#anger is when your tolerance is pushed past its limit

[luvrxbunny]

churn

pairing: knight!Miguel O’Hara x princess!reader

summary: Your royal knight helps you in a way your fiancé never could.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has hair that can be pushed over her shoulder, reader has visible collarbones, infidelity, miguel seems to have a little thing for readers collarbones.. Idk,  f! masturbation, IMPORTANT LINK (ill be refering to this throughout the fic)

wc: 4.9k

a/n: i don't even think this is good guys cry i just needed to post something but i tried ilya 🫶🏾 (not proofread one bit)

He hated this part of the day. 

Miguel isn’t allowed to feel many things, he is even more limited in who he can feel them for, but he hates this part of the day. When you finally finish your chores and duties. You always tell him that you’re not going to get excited this time, that you know he’s busy but he always sees the excitement build in your face as you search tirelessly for your fiancé. 

Ser Isaac was one of the more well-known lords of the land. He’s known for his outstanding looks and entertaining charm. Everyone has heard of his endless generosity, empathy, and care for others. But in Miguel’s experience. He’s a selfish dick. 

He doesn’t hate Ser Isaac, of course not, that’d be treason. He is allowed to hate his actions, however; the way he neglects you. He hates how Ser Isaac is using you for your position, stature, and admiration throughout the kingdom. He spends all his time sucking up to your father, thanking him for his daughter's hand in marriage rather than worshipping the daughter for tolerating his artificiality. 

You round the corner to find your father and fiancé at the bar, once again. This is where they’ve been for the past few weeks. You’d asked them to try to spend less time together, to make some room for you, but they both laughed you off and continued their boisterous chatter. 

Miguel watches your smile melt off your face as you take in their inebriated state. You turn to him for a moment with a small smile, knowing he’ll give you the same pitying look you get every time this happens. It’s a small comfort; knowing that at least one person in your life cares about you, even if that person is your assigned guard.

You approach the pair of drunks with a brave smile. “Have you saved any for me, my love?” The two men pause to look at you before slowly turning back to one another and breaking out into a fit of laughter. Miguel can see your expression flush into one of embarrassment and anger. You open your mouth to speak again but their laughter raises in volume, drowning out anything you would’ve said. 

Miguel sees a heartbreaking sadness flash over your face before you compose yourself. 

In his mind though, it’s the same as you begging him for help, so he steps in. He moves from his corner by the doorway to stand at your side. His presence gives you a small boost of confidence and commands the men to give you more than 3% of their attention. 

Your fiancé is the first one to quit his laughter and sober up a bit. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes at Miguel’s presence. “Is he necessary?” He doesn’t even look at Miguel, his eyes don’t flicker in his direction once. Miguel does the same, keeping his eyes forward and surveying his surroundings. He can’t help the slight smirk that worms its way onto his face, however. 

You stand up straighter at the acknowledgment of your muscle. “Miguel is mine, therefore he stays by my side.” Miguel’s eyelids flutter and flicker to you for a moment. He tries his best to ignore the swirling in his stomach but his breathing stutters. “I’d like to confer with you about your schedule, dear.”

Your fiancé smirks maliciously at you before changing it into a faux kind smile. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll make so much time for you.” He stands up, looming over you but not taller than Miguel. “When I’m finished organizing all of our affairs, paying all your maids.” His voice gains more and more venom as he stalks closer to you. 

Your confident gaze is gone, now looking at the wall rather than your soon-to-be husband. “Yes, dear. I’ll spend time with you when I’m done with cleaning your messes.” His voice raises to a shout, screaming right in your face as your eyes stay on the ground. Miguel’s hand goes to rest on the hilt of his sword, just as a reminder of what could happen if Ser Isaac decides to do more than yell. But that negatively catches his attention. 

He scoffs loudly and turns to Miguel, who still isn't meeting his threatening eyes. “You think to strike me? You?” Miguel hears you take a breath, like you’re preparing to speak up for him but he can’t allow that. “I only mean to protect the Princess, Ser.” Miguel keeps his smirk from crawling onto his face this time, he keeps his expression stoic and straight ahead. 

“Oh? OH? I’ll I have you know that I shall do whatever-” He raises his hand. “I’d like-” 

It comes down toward you “with MY wife.” Miguel grabs his wrist, stopping all movement. You watch his grip tighten before your eyes, so tightly you swear you can hear Isaac’s bones cracking. 

“You will not. Not in my presence, or ever, if I can help it.” You’ll never forget the look on his face. The pure shock on his face, the look of disgust and disdain. You don’t even want to think of Miguel’s face. The anger, and unwavering confidence. He exudes this certain dominance over Isaac that you can’t help but admire.

Isaac’s face shows a look of embarrassment once he sees how easily Miguel can hold him back, so he scoffs and goes back to his seat, grumbling about your ‘big oaf of a guard.’ He complains about the both of you to your father as if you aren’t even in the room. You’re not too sad about it, you’ve grown a bit used to his rejection, and it doesn't sting as bad. 

A clock in the corner of the room catches your eye and excitement runs through you with a soft gasp. Miguel looks over to you and follows your gaze to see the time, 3:00 PM. The swirling in his stomach returns as you clear your throat and begin to leave the room. Although you know Mguel will follow, you keep pace with him once you both exit the room, choosing to walk by his side. 

You’re always different for the next two hours. You linger by him more, find more excuses to touch him and talk with him. He knows why, he knows how princesses like to play their games, how they love all their suitors. But sometimes he slips up, sometimes he believes your advances are genuine, that you honestly wish for him to whisk you away from your castle life, your perfect, royal life. Then he comes back to reality. 

You enter your chambers and stand by the foot of your bed, Miguel by the door. His heart is racing because he knows what comes next. It’s- unfortunately, his favorite time of the day. You stand by your wardrobe, just looking into the mirror before catching his gaze in the reflection. “Mig?” Your soft tone sends a suppressed shiver through his body. “Do you think you could help me?”

He’s walking towards you without hesitation. “I- I’d ask one of the maids but they’re all busy and-” He doesn’t need a justification, you don’t need an excuse. “Of course, Princess. I understand.” You do this every time. Your maids are always ‘too busy’. You both know it's a ruse, but neither of you wants it to stop. 

He lets his hands rest on your side for a moment, relishing the way he can feel you expand with the deep breath you take. He slides them back to where you’re laced into your dress and takes his time untying the strings. You wish you could see his hands, the way they’d thread through the strings, how careful and gentle they’d be. Or how small the strings would look between his thick fingers. 

Once he finishes loosening your corset he opens it for you, reliving the extreme pressure it puts on you and you thank him with a soft sigh. He’s in a trance though, he slowly removes the fabric from your body. Your spine seems to compress itself, making you seem even shorter than usual now that you don’t have this brace forcing you upright. You’re just watching him in the mirror as his hands come up to your shoulders and slowly turn you around. He’s not looking you in the eyes yet, he’s just looking at you. He looks at your collarbones and slowly pushes your hair over your shoulder to reveal more of you to him. But something snaps him out of his trance and he puts distance between the two of you before you even take a breath. “S- I’m so sorry, Princess.I—” You cut him off before he can say more. 

“There's no need for an apology! I didn’t say anything, did I?” There’s a shy flirtiness in your tone that causes Miguel’s face to sink into a dark red color, bringing a giggle to your lips that only worsens his condition. He turns and walks back to the door while you finish undressing. 

He keeps his eyes dutifully out the window. Pretending he can't hear the fabric sliding against your naked skin. How he yearns to look, it's like you have your own gravitational pull. It’s a constant struggle to hear you undressing and redressing yourself into something he knows is going to screw with him. You’ll probably change into your favorite nightgown. It’s an adorable sleeved gown with feathers at the top. You always mention you don’t like how long it is, and that it’s “unflattering” but in truth, everything you wear is flattering. You make it so. 

Miguel suddenly becomes aware of the silence in the room. No rustling, no sliding fabrics. He risks looking over at you and his heart almost beats out of his chest. It’s new. You must’ve gotten it tailored because he’s never seen anything fit you so well. It’s a night dress, flowy but short, very short. It barely reaches the halfway point of your thigh. It has no sleeves, your neck, collarbones, and shoulders on full display, and the top hugs your breasts in a way he’s never witnessed. 

You watch him admire you for a moment before speaking up with a soft “Hmm?” and his eyes fly to yours. “I think it’s quite cute!” You smile at him brightly, waiting for his opinion. He doesn’t give you one though, he just stares at you for a little longer. You grow conscious under his stare and anxiety begins to eat away at you. “W- What do you th—” 

His face twitches before he blurts out. “Yes. Yes, you look-- It’s very- You look very cute. It’s beautiful. You- You look amazing, Princess.” His sentence ends with a sharp inhale that's followed by a calm exhale as Migusl straightens out. He’s been slowly leaning down, subconsciously trying to get closer to you. “You look incredible, Princess.” He tries to place his eyes forward again, trying to turn the environment back to professional, he can’t help but look at you one last time as you thank him. 

Your eyes are on the ground and your hand sliding up your arm, uncomfortable with all the skin you’re showing. “You do.” Your eyes snap up to his upon his third confirmation. You seem to be searching his eyes for something, looking deep into him in a way he’ll never get used to. 

Your brows furrow and you chew on your lip for a few seconds before declaring that he follow you and starting a rapid pace. He follows behind you urgently before realizing where the two of you are headed.

The castle has a lot of tunnels and hidden passageways, these passageways sometimes lead to other rooms in the castle or secret rooms in the castle. One of your handmaidens was kind enough to show you a passageway right by your washroom that leads to a secret chamber. You’d instantly fallen in love with what you found. 

Miguel was there the first time you saw it, you laughed so loud it echoed off the walls. You thought it was a novelty. He was there when he saw it pique your interest for the first time. It had been late at night, and Miguel hadn’t retired to his quarters yet so he was guardian of your door. Inside your room, he could hear you giggling with a drunk Ser Isaac. Your giggle soon turned to breathy whines but they were interrupted with a dull ‘thump’ before a very disappointed sigh from you. It was a matter of seconds before you opened your chamber doors and told him to follow you with about the same amount of urgency that you just did. 

You told him to guard the door and quickly shut it before you could see any opinion on his face. He was almost hyperventilating at his post. First of all, he was uncomfortable being out here, staring at your drunk, passed-out, fiancé, while you’re in that room doing god knows what. The other thing that bothered him was how he could not stop thinking about how he’d be so much better for you than that machine. 

You opened the door again far too quickly with an even more frustrated expression on your face. “I cannot figure it out. It- It doesn’t work.” Your words come out as an exasperated whine that tugs at his heartstrings. “Show me.” 

You chew on your lip for a second before opening the door to let him in and shutting it behind the two of you. There’s a single, yellow light overhead, shining down on where you would be sitting, where the heavy, metal rod protrudes from the seat. “This thing? It will not move, no matter how hard I try!” He examines the churning lever, immediately spots the problem, and starts removing his gloves. 

“It’s rusted over, Princess. I can fix it.” You watch as his thick fingers curl around the lever and his biceps tense as he pushes, trying to break it free of the rust. There’s an awful screeching sound and Miguel grunts roughly as the lever begins to move. You try to hide your smile of excitement as Miguel rotates the handle a few more times before letting go. “There.” 

You rush over to test for yourself and make sure you can operate it on your own. You smile and turn to Miguel after moving it around with ease. He smirks back at you while he brushes his hands together to remove the rust, and something about the whole scene does something to you. His hands are dirty, his knuckles hairy, his hands huge and thick as he stares at you with something you haven't seen before. You still have one more problem. 

“It also…” You trail off before clearing your throat and starting again. “It doesn’t seem to fit.”

Miguel has to shut his eyes for a moment as arousal floods his veins. He takes a deep breath before looking up at you with the softest expression he could muster, hoping it would hide his lust. “You need to start with your fingers, Princess.”

Your eyes widen at his answer and you quickly nod despite him being able to see the confusion written all over your face. He smiles fondly before explaining further. “That.” He gestures to the machine. “Is too big for most girls.” He looks you directly in your eyes as he speaks, slowly bending to your height. “So you have to start with your fingers.” Your eyes dart to his dirty hands for a moment. “You put them inside you, however many you can take.” 

You start blinking rapidly like your innocent little brain is having trouble processing what he’s telling you. All you respond with is, “Oh.” Miguel chuckles quietly before standing upright and putting his gloves back on. “Yes. I hope that helps.” You walk up to the door with him, to open it for him or accompany him out but you both pause when you hear a bit of commotion on the other side of the door. 

You watch him as he identifies the noise, and breathe out a soft sigh of relief when you see his tense expression relax. “They’re cleaning up Ser Isaac.” He states with a certain disdain that makes you smile softly. You stare at him.

“Okay, then you stay here.” You walk over to the seat and churn the lever a few times to ensure you could do it yourself before sitting on the edge, not quite on the metal penis but close. Miguel is watching from the corner with wide eyes, unable to rationalize what’s going on. You simply tell him “Don’t look.” And he whips his head back around. 

He stares at the dark wall, unknowing what he’s waiting for until he hears it. A soft sigh leaves your lips. He waits. He receives more. You grow in volume as you become wetter, he can hear it, the little squelching sounds getting louder, and faster as you get more desperate. Miguel is using all his willpower to not turn around and take in what he has no doubt is a beautiful sight. 

He hears your whines muffle as you bite your lip and he wishes you could tell you not to, that he wants to hear them all and more. He heard you let out a ragged breath as you added another finger and he couldn’t help his desire to do it for you, but he happily settled with only hearing your beautiful sounds and movements. 

He thanks the Gods every day for letting him stay in that room, for giving him the saccharine memories of you pleasuring yourself for the first time. 

This time feels different though. You’re all dressed up and giving him that look. The one that swirls fantasies into his head and makes his hands clam up. 

He follows you to the room and assumes his position in the corner, but never hears the metallic clink of you situating yourself in the seat. He waits and waits but hears nothing, no movement from you. So he turns around. He has to see what you’re doing, even if it's only for a second, just to make sure you’re safe. 

He finds you standing directly behind him, staring right at him so you guys make eye contact the moment he looks over his shoulder. He instantly turns back around, embarrassed that you found him looking, and worried you might get the wrong idea.

Miguel tries to explain himself, stumbling and stuttering over the start of his sentence before you cut him off. “How come you never look?”

The question silences him. 

“Do you have no desire to?” He turns around again. You seem genuine in your questioning, he feels like he detects a bit of hurt in your voice as well, but that’s most likely in his head. 

“You know I cannot desire.” He states softly. He, as a knight, cannot desire any woman, and most definitely not a princess. Yet he sees anger flash through your eyes at his statement. 

“Just because someone tells you you’re not allowed, does not mean you can’t.” Miguel stays silent, not knowing what you want him to say in response. He can see you scanning his face, examining his features to try and find any crack in his exterior. You must find whatever you’re looking for because you suddenly nod and take a step back. 

“Who are you more loyal to, your oath, or me?” The question baffles him. “If I, your princess, were to tell you to disobey your oath… Would you?” 

His eyes widen and you can see the gears turning in his head, trying to understand where his loyalties should lie. His mouth opens and closes with unsaid words and you decide to give him a break. 

“Come here.” You demand, pointing next to the machine, by the churning lever. You take a deep breath, seat yourself by the metal phallus, and slip a finger under your gown before you can give it a second thought. 

You slide your fingers over your panties for a moment, teasing yourself. Through a lot of trial and error, you’ve found that this is your favorite part; exploring your body, what makes you feel good, and feeling yourself soak your panties throughout the process. 

You hear Miguel take a sharp breath of air, reminding you of his presence and sending a jolt to your core. You’ve never been like this in front of someone, aside from what Miguel could hear and the few times your fiancé was sober enough to attempt to get you off. But even then, it didn't feel like it does now. 

You can’t help but imagine what it would be like if Miguel was the one touching you. If it were his thick fingers sliding under the satin fabric of your underwear to finally slide into you. There’s a burning stretch due to you using two fingers instead of one but it only furthers your fantasies of Miguel’s large hands. You peek your eyes open for a moment, your gaze still on the ground but you can see his feet, a small (or rather large) reminder that he’s right there. 

You can’t help the whimper that slips out, louder than usual. You’re more desperate. You can’t think of any other reason aside from him. You’re soaking your fingers in a way you haven’t since your first time and it’s driving you wild. “Miguel” His name comes out with a small whine, pitching your voice up and scrambling his brain. 

He has to take a deep breath before answering you out of fear that his voice will shake. “Princess?” His voice is rough and gravelly. He hears you take a sharp breath at the sound of it before clearing your throat in hopes of composing yourself. 

“You will churn the lever for me today.” His heart stops. “Understood, Ser?” His eyelids flutter as his eyes burn holes in the wall he’s facing. He goes over your sentence in his head, assuming he must’ve misheard you. His brows furrow and twitch along with his face before accepting that he heard you correctly. “Un-” He takes a shaking breath. “Understood, Princess.”

His hand comes up to wrap around the lever without him even looking in your direction. 

You stare up at him as you pull your panties aside and slide down the cold metal, your teeth digging into your lip to try and keep any noises inside. You only let out a satisfied sigh once you’ve sunk to the bottom before pushing yourself to the tip again. 

You can’t help but focus on him. He’s right there. You can see the curve of his nose and the plush of his lips, the way they purse before his tongue comes out to wet them and pull one into his mouth to bite. He doesn’t have his helmet on so you can see his rich brown curls, the way they frame his face and dance over his neck. You can see his thick, bushy brows, and behind his beautiful lashes are his warm, chocolate-brown eyes looking down at you. 

You gasp once your eyes meet and Miguel goes red. He just wanted to see you for a moment. You’re right there, practically whining in his ear as you impale yourself on what should be his cock. 

He can’t take it anymore, he can’t hold his feelings back as he feels a ripple flow through him and blood rush to his dick. His head decides to conjure every arousing, heart-warming, lovable memory he has of you. He hears you whine again at the loss of eye contact, even if it was only for a moment. Another ripple flows through him, settling in his lower stomach, and creating a painful pressure as your whimpers grow. He tries to redirect his thoughts and focus ahead as he keeps churning for you, cranking the lever again, and again. Your moans pick up as he regains his steady pace.

He tries not to imagine that it’s him. He tries not to think about the fact that your moaning aligns with the throbbing of his cock. He definitely doesn't think about the way his dick is pressing into the metal plate covering his cock. He doesn’t note the way his free hand twitches behind his back, wishing to provide any sense of relief to himself. He doesn’t get distracted by the thought of him touching himself with you sitting right there. 

You feel your orgasm building before Miguel starts to slow down again, his timing uneven again and you look up at him in confusion. He’s staring at the wall, his chest heaving and that same expression on his face. You don’t care to decipher what it means in your impatience. Miguel just feels your delicate hand on his, pushing his hand, forcing him to churn the lever.

You moan as your seat becomes functional. Your chin collides with your chest as you release all the moans and whimpers you’ve been trying to quiet. It almost feels like he’s been toying with you, with all his starting and stopping. You’ve been pushed to the edge of your sanity. 

You can’t comprehend how embarrassing this might be for you, a princess burying this rod inside you again and again, wishing it was someone other than who you’re set to marry. 

You shake the thought of Isaac from your head and replace it with Miguel. Just thinking about the life you could have with him has you tensing over the metal. Your fingers lace with his before you can even think about what you’re doing.

Miguel’s gaze is now on the ceiling, his eyes already slipping shut as your nails dig into his hand. His dick is leaking behind his crotch plate now, begging for your attention, a feeling he isn’t used to regulating. He feels himself pulse painfully and his free hand twitches again. 

Just for a moment. He thinks. Just one second. 

His hand comes from behind his back to crush itself against his crotch, trying to relieve any pressure before he loses his mind, but you hear the clink of the metal hitting and open your eyes instantly. You spot his hand over his dick before slowly looking up to meet his eyes. Miguel lets a moan slip out as he massages himself more thoroughly, squeezing more precum from his tip before pulling away and forcing himself to break your stare. 

“Please.” Is all he hears from you. It’s weak, pathetic, and punches him in the gut, taking all the breath from his lungs. His eyes wander back to you before he can think better of it and he’s instantly stuck, locked into your eyes. 

He watches your body catch alight. You tremble over the steel cock, holding eye contact with Miguel and pushing his hand, forcing him to churn, fuck you over and over as you cum. He can’t do anything but watch. He doesn’t even think about touching himself, not wanting anything to take his attention away from this moment. 

He watches you come down, your body melting into a puddle before him. You drape yourself over the front of the machine as you huff. Even out of breath and covered in sweat, your hair a mess and your dress surely mussed, he thinks you look like an angel, and it breaks his heart that he’ll never be able to keep you. 

He takes a deep breath before releasing the lever, relishing in the whine that leaves your throat as the rod slides out of you one final time. Despite better thinking, Miguel pats your head fondly, almost petting you before speaking as softly as he can. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you to bed.”

You only hum and bury yourself in his neck as he lifts you from your seat. He takes his time getting back to your room, letting you rest in his arms for as long as he can allow. 

He lays you on your bed gently, propping your head up on the pillow and even going to cover you before you stop him. “Mmm Mig..” You begin sitting up again and stretch before opening your eyes to look at him.

Your eyebrows twitch, furrowing for a moment before he sees recognition in your eyes, quickly accompanied by mischief. “Sit down.” Your voice slurs adorably with your fatigue. He doesn��t get to hear this often. Normally, he’d do anything to stay with you, talk with you just a little more. 

But Miguel is still harder than steel in his suit, so pairing that with the hard metal of his armor, and sitting down? It sounds like the most painful thing he could do right now. “Princess… You should get some res-”

“ Sit down, Miguel.” He stares at you, debating his options again in the face of your stubbornness. You, however, take this as more defiance. “Please?” You beg him. 

You should know you never have to beg him for anything. 

He’s seated before your mouth even shuts. Your mouth is shaped into a smirk before he can take a breath, and you’re in his lap before he can blink. 

“Wha-?” Is all he can breathe out before your mouth is on his. His hands find your hips on instinct, grabbing all that he can and pulling it against him. You pull away. “Thank you.” And dive for him again. 

He places one hand behind your head to ensure you don’t do it again. 

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist or send me some motivation here!!

[blacklinguist]

I love being an English major. I just hate 98% of other English majors because their opinions are wrong. I know people say you can't have opinions that are wrong, but that's wrong too. I keep taking the diversity classes like Afrofuturism, Asian American Lit, and a class about a very specific subsection of spanish people and I was one of, at the luckiest, 13 people. At the unluckiest, 5. And these were like 30-50 people class sizes. Being an English major has made me increasingly violent (1/?)

As the years pass. Which is really funny because I'm a pacifist and I don't believe in violence. But some white kid will open their mouth and say some fuckshit in the middle of class and I'm like "ok, I know murder is wrong, but could I argue this in court as self defense of my mental health, and a justice for the people because this man will no longer be able to speak his wrong opinions." We had to talk about racism and every kid of color was like "yeah, we been knew" and the white kids (2/?)

Were like shook and shit. And I was just completely appalled at the lack of social awareness. My friend and I are black and we're sitting in the back and riffing off of each other about various horrible experiences we've had with racism. And this white girl in front of us goes 'I'm so sorry' and we were polite cause you can't be the angry black women in public but afterwards we were howling. Like how are you gonna apologize for shit that happened years ago and still keeps happening, yet (3/?)

You do nothing to enact social change? That class was what made me go "omigod I hate white people in a serious manner." Our teacher was a latino gay man and we were reading books centered around immigrant narratives and violence and class discussions had me going "I would now like to proceed to shatter my eardrums so that I do not have to witness it." It really was an experience. I learned a lot about other people, and a lot about myself and my low bullshit tolerance. (4/4) sorry for the rant

this is a very real set of experiences here, anon!

truly, whichever field you find yourself in, there will always be (white) folk who are willfully (and HARMFULLY) ignorant of the current social dynamics they fit into. this also goes for a lot of nonblack people too. 

it gets so old to see the shocked expressions and hear the hurried and empty apologies. knowing that every january they’ll all post the same two quotes from mlk on their ig and talk about ‘being better’, but when they come back from summer break, it’s all “omg i’m darker than YOU now!” the suspicion you feel when someone ‘champions’ black people in nearly every breath, and only wants to study black folk and what we do. when you realize they’re stealing the light from black folk already in those fields and feel the need to control the narrative.

the role of the black scholar is dual (as dubois discusses with the idea of double consciousness, i’m sure you know!). 

the black scholar is burdened with lifting up their own community (whatever this means), but also operating under the intense microscope of Others. caught between going at this alone (learning + sharing knowledge), or having to reach out to those who would relish the opportunity to study a real live black person / cultural phenomenon / piece of literature ...

that barrier does not go away in many cases. your tolerance SHOULD be low for that kind of foolishness.

but also surround yourself with those who WILL listen to you, rather than running their own mouths. those who WILL extend grace, and those who have excesses of patience and desire to change. you’re definitely facing a lot of the worst parts of what you do now, as you sit around with other (severe) non-professionals who are encountering your LIFE experiences for the first time. but there are those who DO recognize these wrongs, and who are playing an active role in rectifying them, I promise!!

[twjournals]

So Wrong It's Right

Sequel: What's Wrong is Right

Warning: dark!Peter Parker x reader, DUB-CON, manipulation, age gap, drinking

PLEASE READ MY WARNING BEFORE CONTINUING. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Any and all negativity will be blocked.

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: You're an old troubled friend of May's. Your life consists of being a workaholic, a party animal, and bringing home the shittest of guys for a one-hit-wonder. Just when you get your life in order, you're knocked right back into your old habits. Peter has watched you suffer long enough. He can make it all better.

Your life was far from where you thought you would be. It was sad to say, but you were anything but a role model. Yet May still tolerated you, regardless of Peter. Maybe she used you as an example to show Peter what not to be or maybe she was just too good of a friend to leave you on your own. To say the least, your life was a mess but you could not be more grateful to have a friend like May.

"Peter, go get me a wet rag, please," May spoke quietly. Peter left your side once he helped May get you over to the couch. You were beyond the limits that someone should be drunk.

You were in a fit of hiccups, giggling to yourself as May bent down to take off your heels. You had far too many drinks, that much was clear.

"Maaay, you.." you hiccupped, "are suuuch a good.." you hiccupped again, "friend."

May shook her head with a sigh, taking in the drunken sight of you. She was not sure how you managed to let yourself get this far gone, but every time you would drink, this is how you ended up. Either you had zero limits or you loved to push the limits you did have.

"Pet-" May started to call over her shoulder, but Peter was already hurrying in the room with his hands full.

"I'm here, Aunt May." Peter reminded and she watched as Peter sat the trash can nearby the couch. He then placed the bottle of water on the table with some medicine for the headache he knew would come with your awake in the morning. He kneeled down beside you on the couch, pressing the rag to your forehead.

May only smiled to herself as she pulled the blanket from its spot on the back of the couch and pulled it over your figure. She didn't say anymore. Peter had seen his Aunt May take care of you many nights when you were so shit-faced it was a wonder you could still see faces.

Your head was propped up against a pillow on the couch as Peter wiped your forehead with the cool rag. Your skin was burning up. Peter could not help but wonder how you let yourself get like this. You were quite a few years younger than May, but it amazed him how different the two of you were to be the best of friends.

You were fast asleep in no time, making Peter smile as his eyes gazed over your face. He had always thought you were so beautiful. Too precious to be taken advantage of by the guys you went after. He witnessed many nights when you had told Aunt May about a new guy you had hooked up with. Everyone knew it was nothing more than a one-night stand, but Peter could not help but hate any guys that touched you only for only their benefit.

It was not until you had eventually settled down with a guy you had met from one of your nightstands that you finally stopped ending up on May's couch. You had moved on with your life, still keeping in contact with May every now and then. You were happy. Not just the sex but he was truly seemed like a guy you could see yourself spending forever with.

You had stopped drinking. You had stopped going out to parties. After the first year, you had moved into the city and got an apartment together. Another year later, you guys were engaged and everything seemed to fall into place. After 3 years, the wedding was right around the corner.

Your world moved at a quicker pace now considering all the things you needed to get done before the wedding. In between work and house chores, you were planning for your big day.

As time went by, you were so wrapped up in your own little world you did not notice the slow-burning flame in your partner slowly being put out. While your plans had been coming together, your relationship was falling apart. You had for the most part ignored all the signs and assumed he was having a bad day. It amazed you how many he was having. When you would try to talk to him, it seemed useless since you could never get him to talk about it. In reality, it all brewed into something bigger. It all hit you like a ton of bricks.

You had been working later hours than usual for extra money. It wasn't cheap, but you had told yourself it was okay to want the things you wanted. After all, this was going to be your first and hopefully wedding. You wanted everything to be perfect. You even tried to get opinions from your fiance to include his vision of it, but he insisted you were better at this sort of thing. You couldn't argue with that.

You wrapped up your work at the office fairly early so you decided to call it a night and surprise your fiance. You felt like everything was on track. One night worry-free was much needed. You had earned it.

You pushed open the front door to your apartment before walking through the living room into the kitchen. You sit your keys on the counter, placing your bag on the stool by the counter. You peered around the apartment for a moment. All the lights were off and it was quiet. Had he already gone to bed? You checked the time.

7:13pm

You were surprised you did not hear his game or at least him yelling at it. You started down the hallway to the bedroom you shared, staring at the closed door. Why was it closed when it was just him? You shook the thought a little too soon. Maybe if you had just thought a little longer, you would have prepared yourself for what was on the other side.

You pushed the door open just a little to see inside when you heard a faint moan from the other side. Your heart stopped. You stood in shock taking in the sight of the man you were in love with hovered over another girl in your bed under your covers. Your face was hot in embarrassment, anger. You were feeling so many things right now you could not think straight. You were hurt.

"Are you serious??" You blurted out, causing them both to jump to try and cover themselves.

"You're sick, Chris." She shoved his chest, pushing him off of her as she quickly got out of the bed. "He told me you guys were no longer together."

She scowled as she hurried to gather her clothes off the floor and pulling them on. If it were even possible, your eyes could have burned holes through the girl. You were in disbelief. Your jaw would have already been on the floor if it wasn't connected to your face.

"I'm so sorry." She mumbled, embarrassed as she hurried past you out of your apartment.

You were left to deal with Chris. You starred at him with tears kissing your eyes.

"I-"

You took a deep breath, shaking your head. "Don't."

"I can explain." He started to get out of the bed to dress.

"There's nothing to explain, Chris." You stared at him, trying to restrain yourself from coming across the room and punching him in the face for acting like an explanation could even justify his actions.

"She meant nothing to me." He started to walk over to you.

“You told her we weren’t together. How is that nothing?”

“It felt like we weren’t. You were so busy.” He tried to touch your arm but you shoved his hand away.

"Don't you dare think about touching me when you were just touching another woman." You looked at him with dark eyes, struggling to fight back the cry. He wasn't worth your tears. "I want you to get out."

"Get out?! Where am I gonna go?"

"I don't know." You shrugged your shoulders. "Maybe you could have thought that through."

He frowned, running his fingers through his hair frustrated. "It doesn't have to be like this. Can't we just talk this out?"

"No!" You shouted at him, making his eyes grow wide. You could tell he wasn't telling this as seriously as you. "I don't want to look at you right now." You turn to leave the room, but he grabs your arms to turn you to face him.

"Please. Look, I can- I can stay on the couch tonight. I'll give you your space and when you're ready we can talk about it. I was wrong for that. I fucked up and I'm sorry." You yanked yourself from his hold.

"You can give me space by leaving. Pack yourself a bag and go."

"I love you, Y/n. I never meant to hurt you."

You shook your head as your eyes wandered over the bed to where they once were before meeting his eyes. "You mean you never meant to get caught."

He sighed before hanging his head in defeat and walking by you to gather up some of his things. You didn't move from your spot. Only stared at the mess of a bed. The place you made love to him while he made love to another. You listened to the front door close behind him on his way out before you finally covered your face, letting the tears fall.

For days, weeks, all you could seem to do was feel sorry for yourself. You couldn't find the strength to get out of bed. No matter how many calls you received, you let them ring through to voicemail. Everything you had felt for him was in ruins. You changed for him. You let yourself grow for him and even that wasn't enough. After all the time you spent picking up after him, cooking, cleaning, planning, staying loyal for crying out loud. You didn't know what else he could of you.

You had called off the wedding in the time you stayed closed up in your apartment. Even took some time off of work to handle it all. You took that time to gather every piece of him scattered around the apartment and packed it up. You wanted to end this as painless as possible aside from the pain you were already feeling. You had thrown away the sheets and replaced them, even get a new comforter and it still didn't feel the same anymore to lay in your bed. You stared at your phone beside you as it lit up for what felt like the hundredth time. You finally sighed, lifting the phone. You knew without even looking at the name it was from him.

You canceled the wedding? It doesn't have to be like this. I still love you, Y/n. You were so busy with work and all the planning. You abandon me. Whenever I wanted your attention, you were always too tired to pay any attention to me.

It's like the girl I fell in love with was gone. Some time ago, you couldn’t keep your hands off of me now it’s like I have to beg you to touch me.

You're being selfish.

You can't be THAT mad, Y/n. I’m a man. I have needs. You were busy and she was willing to help. We can fix this. Don’t give up 3 years. Don’t give up on me.

There were loads more, but you could not care to bother reading the rest. You tossed your phone back down on the bed, rubbing your hands over your face. You didn't owe him anything, not even a response. The girl he was talking about was not gone. She was only on hold to plan a wedding by herself and it was more stressful than he knew. You wanted to forget everything that had happened. You wanted to forget you wasted 3 years of your life planning on growing old with this man.

--

You weren't sure how you had got this far and with that being said, May wasn't either. You had talked May into joining you to a night out at a club. She needed a night to herself and you needed a break from everything. Along with that, if you had stayed inside that house a moment longer, you might have gone insane.

"You're going to be hammered if you keep on like that." May reminded with a laugh, both of you clinging onto the bar and each other for the extra support. You thanked the bartender as he pushed your last round of shot glasses in front of the two of you.

You smiled, passing a glass to May before keeping one for yourself.

"We can only hope." You winked at the bartender who only chuckled before clinking your shot glass with hers and downing your shot.

Your throat was already numb from all the alcohol you had already numbed it with. May wasn't far behind you. You took your final shot, grinning and pulling May along with you to the dancefloor to get lost in the sea of people. You threw your arms around May's, moving your hips as you both danced to the music.

This was the therapy you needed. Sometimes you had longed for nights like this. You had freedom. You had no worries, aside from worrying who you might wake up beside. But you had fallen in love and even though you had grown up, you had not nearly grown out of this lifestyle. It was all too familiar.

"Hey! I'm going to the bathroom! I'll be back!" May moved closer to you, raising her voice to be heard over the loud music. You nodded, watching her pushing her way through the crowd of people to get to the ladies' bathroom before easing yourself back into your dancing.

You swayed, grinding your hips with the rest of the crowd. You weren't the slightest bit bothered to be dancing by yourself. You used to lose yourself on the dancefloor for hours days after days years ago.

"I've missed this." You heard a familiar voice speak from behind you, startling you when their hands landed on your hips with your sway. They pulled you back against them, catching you off guard. "I've missed you." He mumbled in your ear, sending chills down your spine.

You peaked over your shoulder to make sure your mind was not playing tricks on you. It wasn't. You prayed it was an old one-night stand, but of course, it was the one person you were trying to get away from.

"It doesn't work like that, Chris." You dropped your hands down to his on your hips, trying to push them off your hips but they only hold you tighter. "Get- get off of me." You gritted through your teeth as your eyes glared at him. "Get off!" You raised your voice.

"Now, now, let's not cause a scene. You've had quite a bit to drink haven't you?" He wrapped your arms around your figure, making your blood run cold as his body pressed to yours.

"That's none of your business."

"I'm your fiance. You are my business."

"Ex." You corrected him. His nose flared slightly.

"You really want to go there? You're nothing without me. You're shit-faced in the middle of the club and you can't even accept my help?" He growled and you pushed on his arms.

"I don't need your help."

"You're drunk. You don't know what you need." He spat.

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted your argument. "I think I've got it from here." You looked up to put a face to the voice, your eyes widening slightly.

"And you are?" Chris didn't budge while staring down Peter as if challenging him.

Peter was reaching his hand out for yours. "Her boyfriend." You stared up at Peter in shock at how much he had changed over the years and he smiled reassuringly.

Chris stiffed slightly and you could feel his eyes burning a hole into you. "Is that true?"

You didn't take your eyes off of Peter, taking a hold of his hand and letting him pull you out of Chris's arms. "Yes." Your voice was hushed.

Chris scowled. "Wow. I wish you luck there, man. She's a real catch." He laughed, making you look down. You couldn't believe he was really trying to ruin your night when he had already ruined everything else.

Peter only snaked his arm around your waist, letting his hand settle on your hip while his eyes never left Chris's. "She certainly is." He agreed. He gave your body a warm squeeze, grabbing you closer into his embrace. "Now, if you'll excuse us."

With that, he guided you through the crowd off of the dance floor.

"You okay?" He finally broke the silence once he got you back to the bar, sitting you down on one of the stools.

You nodded, letting your eyes wander up to him as he motioned the bartender over. "I'm just curious as to why you're here right now. Aren't you supposed to be in college?"

He smiled as he pulled out his wallet to pay your tab and you grabbed his hand, shaking your head. "No, no. I can pay for my own."

"What if I insist?"

"You don't have to, honestly. I have money."

You started to reach into your purse for some cash but Peter covered your hand, giving you another reassuring smile.

"You'll have plenty of other times to pay. I'll get it this time." He reminded you and you sighed in defeat, giving him a playful scowl. He only grinned, proceeding to pull some cash from his wallet to give to the bartender.

"You didn't answer my question." You continued as he turned back to you.

"I'm still college. I just sometimes stay with Aunt May on the weekends."

"And you just so happened to be here?"

Peter chuckled, pointing in May's direction as she stumbled over her feet returning back to the two of us. "Aunt May called."

You raised your eyebrow, looking over at May as she stood beside you now. "You called Peter?"

"Someone has to get you back home." She reminded you and you hit her arm slightly, tilting your head.

"May, I could have got a taxi or an uber. You didn't have to call him for me." You scowled at her and she shook her head in a tsking manner.

"No, no, no. I called Peter so I can rest assured you got home safely and not by some random stranger."

You rolled your eyes slightly and Peter butted in with an awkward chuckle. "I really don't mind. I don't consider this anything out of the way. I'd rather it be me than some stranger or someone." He noticed him giving the floor a swift scan around the three of you.

"Fine." You pouted your bottom lip slightly before rising from your seat at the bar. "You guys make me feel irresponsible or something." You grabbed a hold of May's arm and pulling her with you to the exit of the club while Peter followed behind the two of you.

"Are you coming?" You muttered over to May and she shook her head.

"Happy is here." Just as the words left her mouth when you started out the door, you spotted Happy parked in front of the building to pick up May. "Peter isn't too bad of a driver." You stopped in front of Happy's car.

"Oh goody, rest secured." You muttered and she laughed. Your arms looped around May's neck, hugging her tight. "I'm so glad to have you back. Message me when you get home." You told her and Happy a quick goodnight before letting her go.

Peter led you over to his car, unlocking the car and opening the passenger side for you. You settled comfortably in the front seat, leaning your head back against the headrest. You didn't like how it felt as if you couldn't take care of yourself, but you were in no position to complain when Peter Parker had yet again saved the day.

--

Peter glanced over at you in the passenger seat from time to time as he drove the distance to your apartment. He tried to keep the glances quick to keep you from noticing. You were just as beautiful as he remembered. It had been years since he had actually seen you, but you seemed like the Y/n he still remembered. Not that it was anything bad. He adored you then, and now a bit more.

He had always had the hots for you for as long as you remembered. Of course, you never minded when you ended up staying with him and Aunt May. You were always kind to Peter and he did his best to nurse you back to health to take on the hangover that awaited you the next morning.

He had never forgotten what you said to him one day while you were sick from the night before. You had been clinging onto the toilet and he had taken the opportunity to hold your hair back out of your face to keep from getting anything in it.

You sighed as he rubbed your back in soothing circles. You leaned against the toilet miserably. That was the day you learned to stay away from tequila.

"I hope I meet a guy at least half as amazing as you someday, Peter."

No doubt did the compliment find its way to his cheeks. He blushed a deep shade of red. He tried to restrain himself from making a big deal but it was a big deal to him. Though he knew he didn't stand a chance right now with his age, it meant if he had been of age, he had a chance. He thought about it even when you had stopped coming around so much. He knew this was all a coping method for you. You were hurting then and he could tell by the way you seemed toward the guy back there that there was more to that counter.

He noticed your shiver as you stared out the window. You mentally cursed yourself for wearing something this revealing. You rubbed your arms to try to warm yourself a little. Peter reached behind him in the back seat to retrieve a hoodie of his he always forgot in the car and handing it to you.

"Here." He offered before fumbling with the heat in the car. He smiled at your quiet thank you, putting your arms in the hoodie and pulling it close for warmth with putting it all the way on. He tried to control the big grin threatening to break across his face.

"I'm sorry you had to keep seeing me like this." You looked over at Peter as he kept his eyes on the road. He didn't realize how thankful you were for him in times like this. It was embarrassing how many times this had happened but you were still thankful Peter didn't think any less of you.

"You really don’t have to apologize.” He smiled at her before turning his attention back to the road.

“I really do though. I feel like you’ve taken care of me enough. I’m grown, you know? It should be the other way around.” You giggled and Peter glanced over at you.

“I’m 21.” He reminded you.

“And I’m pushing 30.”

“You’re 28. You’re still young.” He chuckled.

“Almost 29!” You huffed as he pulled into the parking lot to your apartment. “My point is- you know what my point is.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at your frustration. Your age didn’t matter to him. He could always settle for his MJ, his best friend, but seeing you tonight relit the flame to his crush for you. There was just something about you.

He parked the car in the parking lot, walking around to your side to open the door for you. You slid your arms out of his hoodie and leaving it in the seat as he helped you out of the car. You could feel the shots hitting you all at once when you stood. You stumbled out in your heels, grabbing onto Peter’s arms for support.

“Easy now.” He held onto your waist as he guided you to your apartment, asking for your keys. He took your keys when you dug them out of your pocket, letting you in your apartment.

You couldn’t help but notice all the little things he did for you. You kicked off your heels at the door, stumbling over your own two feet again as you wandered down the hallway to your bedroom. You could hear Peter in the kitchen getting you a bottle of water from the fridge along with some medicine from the medicine cabinet.

You sat on the bed when you hear his footsteps coming down the hallway toward the bedroom. You looked up at him, pouting your bottom lip out slightly when you saw him with a bottle of water and medicine for the headache to come.

He set them down on your nightstand, noticing your pout. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Peter, you’re seriously too good to me.” You sighed.

“How’s that?” He looked down at you as he towered over you.

You motioned over to the stuff he had placed on your nightstand and frowning. “All of this. You- you really didn’t have to do this for me.”

“You’re right I don’t. But I want to. I would want it done for me if I were ever in your shoes.”

You laughed slightly at the thought of Peter drunk and you smiled to yourself. “I would definitely be there anytime you needed me.”

You thought back to all the time you had ever been drunk, remembering all the time you woke up to water and medicine from him. Only from him. Even a trash can in case you were to ever get sick, but you never got that with Chris. You always took care of him, but no one ever took care of you. You shook your head with a frown. You had tried so hard to hold it together, but it felt like you were slowly falling apart. He wasn't worth your tears, yet he was always the cause of them.

He kneeled down in front of you, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Talk to me. Everything okay?”

You couldn’t stop the words from coming out. “Why am I never enough?”

His eyes widened at your words. “You are more than enough and anyone who doesn’t see that, who doesn’t appreciate you and the things you do for them doesn’t deserve you.” He corrected you, his thumb stroked over your jaw as he held your face to keep your attention.

You didn't know what to say. All you could do was stare. Your eyes scanned over his face before stopping at his lips. Don't. Don't you do it. You mentally told yourself. You couldn't control the effect the alcohol had on your mind and your actions. You tried to fight back the urge but the alcohol only pushed down the buriers you had built.

Your lips smashed against his firmly, catching him by surprise. He was frozen about your lips for a first, in shock, this was actually happening but he surely gave in the kiss. Your hands grabbed at the back of his neck and pulling him onto the bed with you without breaking the hungry desperate kiss. His body hovered over yours as your fingers curled against his shirt, gripping on it. You knew it was wrong. It was so wrong, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

Your smaller hands slid underneath his shirt, brushing your hands over his defined abs. He was sculpted by a God. He knew he should stop, but he couldn't find it in him to stop. He didn't want to miss his chance to prove himself to you. He wanted to take care of you.

Your lips parted for air even though you left like you could hardly catch your breath when his lips started to kiss down your neck. Your hands tugged on his shirt until you started to pull it up and over your head.

His hands pushed your tight dress up the curves of your body, tossing it beside the bed once he peeled it from your body. Your lips still tingled from the loss of his and you whined quietly, your hand grasped the curls at the nape of his neck to bring his lips back to yours.

He kissed your lips passionately and letting your lips mold together. He could taste the alcohol on your tongue but it didn't bother him any. He had dreamed of this moment since he was a teen. Your fingers worked desperately to undo his jeans, feeling his bulge already through his pants before your hands pushed his pants off of his hips along with your boxers.

You were so desperate. You couldn't stop the whine that escaped against his lips. "Peter, please..." His cock twitched at the sound of his name falling from your lips.

He dragged your panties down your legs swiftly, placing himself back between them when he spread them open again. He peppered light kisses to your lips as he dragged the tip of precum-coated tip through your folds, not wasting any time to give you what you wanted.

You cried out as you clung to Peter's bareback, feeling his cock stretching you in all the ways you craved. You moaned out, letting him swallow them in a kiss as his hips rolled into yours again and again. He sighed in pleasure against your lips as your walls invited him in. You were even better than he could have imagined.

He couldn't believe this was actually happening. His lips covered your body in his kisses, admiring every part of your body as it sang for him. This was nothing like what you used to. He pressed small kisses against your bottom lip, nibbling on it as your core ached with a building climax. Your legs wrapped around his hips, causing you to gasp at the deeper strokes.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a loud moan drawing from your parted lips. Your fingers held onto Peter's hair as he hit that spot over and over, making your eyes roll slightly. You needed so badly for him to stop, but you couldn't bring the words to the surface.

"Oh my god..." Your core tightened with every deep thrust. His cock touched parts of you no guy had ever. You had never felt a climax so fast or so strong. "Please don't stop..." You couldn't fight the words from coming out. Your grip tightened on his dark hair, feeling yourself falling apart with an orgasm with every thrust.

"You're so pretty when you cum." He couldn't stop even if he wanted to. He was not far behind you by the way your walls sucked him in, milking him for all he was worth.

"Do it again. I want to make you cum again." He groaned against your chest as his tongue dragged over your hardened nipple, flicking his tongue against it teasingly before letting out a groan against your warm skin. He didn't want it to stop. He didn't want it to end. "You feel so good, Y/n..."

His hand reached between the two of you, rolling his fingers over your clit in circles. You gripped onto his wrist at the overpowering feeling. You were soaked to the core. This man made you crumble.

"I-I'm gonna cum.." His voice cracked slightly as your walls clenched around him tight In your second orgasm, pushing him over the edge into his first. His cum filled you full, marking you as he pressed delicate kisses across your neck while praising you in the process. "So beautiful, so perfect."

Your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, smiling to yourself when Peter laid down on the bed behind you. He wrapped an arm around your body, pulling you back against his chest.

It only took a matter of seconds for sleep to claim you as Peter pulled a blanket over the both of you tiredly. It was only a matter of time before the morning came to rain on your parade. Bringing along the guilt and regret that followed.

[silkenstarlight]

body is a temple

Summary: Bucky and reader are training when she finds him staring at her ass. She tries to rile him up, but quickly learns that he doesn’t tolerate teasing.

Pairing: Personal trainer!Bucky x reader

Warning/s (18+ only, minors dni): enemies to lovers, dirty talk, degradation, spanking, multiple orgasms

Word count: 2.8k

My masterlist

Join my taglist

Author’s note: i wrote this while wine-drunk, so if it’s extra horny, you know why

“Fuck!”

You tumbled onto the mat, back slamming against cool polyethylene. The breath whooshed from your body in a dramatic, crushing exhale, your lungs desperately trying to pull in air but failing beyond shallow, raspy puffs. Bucky looked down at you, the fluorescent lights of the gym feathering behind his head in a blinding halo, smirking as he drank in the image of you sprawled on the mat below him, completely at his mercy. He let you lie there for one, two, three seconds, before holding out his hand for you to grab onto. It was a kind gesture, something that completely contrasted with his previous rough treatment. You squinted and firmly grasped his hand, feeling your back leave the mat as he propped you upright again.

“Is that the best that you can do, (Y/N)?” He stepped back, walking to the edge of the mat and retrieving your water bottle for you.

You huffed, raspy breathing slowly returning to normal. “Is this really necessary?”

He handed you your water bottle, frowning. “Of course it’s necessary.”

“I was told that you would be my personal trainer. Nowhere in the program description did it say that you were going to beat my ass all day,” you shook your head, slightly incredulous, and took a few grateful gulps from the water bottle. You felt more comfortable talking back to him because you were the last ones left in the gym today, with no one but him to overhear your complaining. You had expected some light cardio, maybe some weight training, when you had signed up for individual sessions with a personal trainer at your new gym. You didn’t think you would be paired right away with Bucky, who seemed to exclusively work with experienced heavy lifters, and you definitely didn’t think he would take it upon himself to teach you self-defense, a skill which he was surprisingly extremely well-versed in. Every day for the past week, you had ended up in a similar supine position on the mat, beaten and scrambling for air, accumulating a mottled collection of nasty bruises and scrapes on your knees and elbows. The most frustrating part was that he remained unscathed through it all. Every time, it was you on your ass, and him helping you up. It made you want to scream.

Well, that actually wasn’t the only thing about this whole situation that made you want to scream. He was incredibly good-looking, exactly your type, all brooding looks and dark eyes. You actually had to pick your jaw up off of the floor when he walked in to your first session last week. But, the worst part was, he was a cocky bastard. He had to know the effect he had on you, and yet, he chose to do nothing about it.

“Well, you’ll just have to do better if you want me to stop crushin’ you every time.” He dabbed at his forehead with the hem of his shirt, and even though he frustrated you to no end, it took everything you had in you not to let your eyes drift down to look at his toned stomach.

“Now I think you’re just trying to make me mad.” You huffed, walking to the edge of the mat and returning your water bottle to its perch, preparing for another round.

“Well, if I’m pissing you off, why don’t you use that anger? Beat me. Just once,” he smirked, as if firmly believing that you couldn’t, that you didn’t have it in you. But, you were just stubborn enough to take the challenge.

“Fine.” You cocked your head and gritted your teeth, digging your heels into the mat and crouching in a ready position. 

“3… 2… 1… start.” The ghost of a smirk still graced his face, but he was concentrating on your movements now, eyes darting as you approached.

Jab, cross, jab. Knee, high kick, and--

“Damn you, Barnes.” 

One quick sweep, and he had you pinned. You wanted to scream, to thrash in frustration, but his body pressing against your back limited any movement on your part. Wonder if he likes having me pinned like this. You tried not to let that thought develop further, lest the heat you had worked up from sparring travelled up your neck for him to see, or worse, somewhere farther south--

“Why are you still panting, (Y/N)?” You could feel a puff of hot breath against your ear as he chuckled.

Fuck. “My, uh… my asthma must be acting up again.” 

“Didn’t think you had asthma.” He flipped off of you, arching a brow as you slowly stood.

“Forgot to tell you, then,” you fibbed, trying at all costs to avoid spilling the truth, that your panting was the effect of an illicit fantasy that you had thought about in bed, alone, on more than one occasion.

“Uh huh,” he said, unconvinced. You both got into a ready position again.

“3… 2… 1… start.”

This time, you took more of a defensive strategy, evaluating him before striking. Maybe, if you weren’t so focused on completing the flourishing movements, on hitting with perfect precision and strength, you could anticipate his attack instead. You circled around each other like sharks, his eyes glinting almost hungrily, but doing nothing to bely his next move. It was like trying to size up a brick wall.

Suddenly, he darted forward with a speed that no man his size should have, and he swept your legs from under you, flipping you with ease. You fell ungracefully in a prone position, cheek smacking the mat, eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. You groaned, aching muscles begging for you to stop and rest instead of getting up and accepting his challenge. You pressed your forehead into the mat, weighing whether it was worth the hassle of asking him to cut your session short today, when you noticed that he was completely silent.

You furrowed your brows, eyes flying open. Every time he had defeated you in previous rounds, he had uttered some sarcastic, infuriating quip, trying to rub in his victory even more. But he hadn’t said anything yet.

You pushed your chest up off the mat, craning your neck to look back at him. He was obviously looking at your body, eyes transfixed on your lower half, but when he sensed your sudden movement, he broke out of his trance. He quickly got up from his kneeling position, clearing his throat and walking to the water jug on the far wall. A smile slowly grew on your face as you realized that he had been staring at your ass.

You stood up, slowly walking toward him, assessing him with a sly expression on your face. “Were-- were you doing what I think you were doing just then?”

His back was to you as he filled a little paper cup with water. “If you mean pummelling your sorry ass into the mat yet again, then yes.” His voice still carried its usual snarky tone, but it shook slightly, as if he were just caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Not exactly what I meant.” You stepped closer until a foot separated you, and he turned around to face you.

“Then what do you mean, doll?” He smiled smugly, but you noticed the pink blush that was creeping its way up his neck.

You hummed a laugh. “What I mean, Barnes,” you cocked your head, relishing how your sudden onset confidence wiped the smirk from his face, “is that you were enjoying the view back there. Isn’t that right?”

Now it was his turn to huff a laugh. “Well, what can I say? You’ve got a nice ass. Gotta get something out of these sparring sessions.”

You scoffed. “Fucking pervert.”

“Call me that again.” His tone was more serious, suddenly bereft of the saccharine sarcasm you were so used to.

You paused, weighing his tone against the risqué direction the conversation was heading, and you smirked, deciding to provoke him further. “You’re a fucking pervert. Beatin’ girls up, just so you have a chance to get a good, long look at their bodies. What the fuck is up with that? Can’t get some like a normal person, can you?”

He let that sink in, head dipped, eyebrows raised. But then, a thought seemed to cross his mind, and a wicked smile crept onto his face. He looked at you with hooded eyes, and your stomach flipped, unsure if you were extremely turned on by your sudden proximity to him, or if you were preparing to balk.

“You’re going to regret saying that.” His voice was low, rasping with something you’ve never heard from him. Your mind was telling you to back up, to leave this encounter before it got messy, but your feet stayed rooted in position as he bridged the gap between your bodies. He grabbed your shoulders and turned you around before pinning you roughly against the wall.

“You know,” he said, breath hot against your ear, “you really shouldn’t be calling me a perv, when I know exactly what goes on in that head of yours during our training.”

“Wh- what do you mean?” You decided to play dumb, hoping that he wasn’t astute enough to deduce your secret, licentious desires.

“Oh, you know. Whenever I pin you, you’re always blushing.” He laughed mockingly. “It’s cute. It’s like you secretly want to be dominated.”

You huffed a breath as his hands traveled down your waist, before settling gently on your hips. His lips dragged across the shell of your ear and down your neck, pressing against your pulse point. You arched your back, grinding against the hard bulge that was forming in his shorts.

“Is that right, (Y/N)? You want me to pin you down and fuck you dumb?” He mumbled against your neck.

A wanton moan tumbled from your lips in response, but it wasn’t good enough for him. His fingers dug harshly into your hips. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, p-please.” You hated how breathy your voice was, but you were too overtaken by desire to care whether he was just doing this to get a reaction from you.

“Please what?” You could feel his mouth curl into a smile as he reattached his lips to your neck, sucking lightly.

“Please, please, please, fuck me, Bucky.” Another moan slipped from your mouth.

“That’s better, baby.” His fingers relaxed against your hips, tracing upwards to the hem of your leggings. He tugged them down with your underwear so that they settled just below your ass, and he pulled back slightly to look at your bare backside.

“Goddamn,” he said, voice gravelly and low. He squeezed one cheek with his hand, kneading it slightly before letting it go and slapping it. “Been dreaming of this ass. It’s just as good as I imagined.”

You gasped, giggling. “So, I was right.”

“Right about what?” He asked, pulling down his shorts and freeing his cock before pressing it against your backside, hot length already dripping with precum.

“You’re a fucking perv, Bucky Barnes.” You smiled coquettishly.

He stilled behind you, and you could feel his glare burning a hole through the back of your neck. You kept smiling anyways-- this was the exact reaction you had hoped for.

He guided the tip of his member down to your slit, dragging it from your perineum to your clit and back again to gather your wetness, before completely sheathing himself inside of you in one motion. You moaned loudly in response to the harsh intrusion, body struggling to accommodate his size.

“Thought you learned not to call me that,” he said, voice level, unbothered by the fact that you were throbbing around him.

“Guess I n-never learn.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he began to move, slowly thrusting to allow your body a chance to adapt to the thrilling ache of being so completely full. It was a harsh sensation, but it felt good, each stroke dragging pleasantly against your tight walls.

“Oh, you’ll learn.” His left hand travelled up your body, drawing under your shirt and flipping the band of your sports bra up. Your breasts bounced free, full and heavy. “Let’s see those pretty little tits, huh?”

He pinched one nipple, rolling its rosy, peaked bud between his cool metal fingers and making you squeal in delight. You ground back against him, encouraging him to move faster inside of you.

“You like that?” He switched to the other nipple, kneading your breast gently in his hand, and you arched into the motion. “That feel good?”

You bit your lip and shook your head, trying to swallow your moans, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart so quickly and completely at his hands. “N-no.”

“You know,” he said, driving into you harder and harder with each thrust, but remaining frustratingly unperturbed and casual, “you don’t have to lie to me. I feel how drenched you are. You can admit how good it feels, baby.” His feigned affectionate tone, paired with the way that the tip of his cock was starting to brush against your g-spot, made you cry out. His permission to let go just made you want to disobey him even more, but the pleasure was slowly overtaking your body, overriding your sense of shame. You rocked on your heels, trying to take back some semblance of control, but when his left hand dragged from your breast to your neck, squeezing slightly, you were a goner. You shattered around him, your muscles fluttering around him and coaxing a gruff moan from his throat. But, he kept his focus, fucking you through your orgasm and watching your face as he did, your eyes scrunched shut and your lips dropped open in a soft “o.” He let go of your throat and you gasped. 

As the waves of your orgasm subsided, he refused to slow down, his unrelenting pace repeatedly hitting your deepest point. You could feel him grinning stupidly at you, proud that he had already coaxed an orgasm out of you despite not cumming yet himself.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, your body limp against his. Though your first orgasm had abated, you quickly felt tension building again inside of you.

“Not so cocky now, are you, (Y/N)?” He said between heavy breaths. You knew he was close, just by the sound, but you also knew that he wouldn’t leave this room without teasing another orgasm from your body. “So docile once I put my dick in you.” He panted, laughing at the way you mewled and gasped around him.

His hand drifted down to where your bodies met, finding your clit in the slippery mess of your combined arousal. He pressed his fingers against it in erratic little circles, your body keening for him, completely at his mercy. 

“Look at that, makin’ you gush around me again,” he said, almost to himself, reveling in your neediness. “Looks like I win at this, too.” And, with that, you were done for.

Your muscles squeezed around him in a sweet, warm vice, and he groaned at the sensation of you cumming around him a second time. You mewled pathetically, body spent with unabashed pleasure. He followed closely behind you, losing himself inside of you and spilling his arousal in hot, vulgar stripes. His head was thrown back, claiming your body as his in sweet, silent throes. Once his hips finally stilled, his body slumped against yours, completely and utterly spent. You stayed like that for a moment, leaning up against the wall, the battle between you clearly over. And then, he grasped your hips, his cock slipping out of you with a vulgar sucking sound.

You bent down, pulling up your pants, when you heard him clear his throat. You looked back, reaching underneath your shirt to pull your sports bra back down over your tits, when he chuckled. You arched a brow, but he just shook his head slightly. “That was… much more fun than beating you up.”

You frowned slightly, but when you saw his goofy smile and suddenly relaxed demeanor, you couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “Does that mean that we get to do that, instead of my training?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said sternly, crossing his arms but smiling slyly nonetheless. “But, we can do it outside of training. As long as I get to take you to dinner first,” he added quickly, his voice almost shy as he averted your gaze.

You smiled, laughing, and he looked up, expression nervous. Now, you shook your head. “Considering how good you just fucked me, I should be the one buying you dinner.”

He smirked, grabbing your water bottle and handing it to you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Now, that’s an offer that I can’t refuse.”

[mieohmy]

𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗋 | 𝗃𝖾𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝗐𝗈𝗈

PAIRING: CEO boss! jeon wonwoo x secretary! reader 

GENRE: fluff, angst, humor, office au

WC: 5k (whoops got carried away- i mean its wonwoo)

NOTES: mentions of death, depression 

SUMMARY: you loved being a secretary, the work and stress included. but your ‘stone cold’ boss was really testing your limits in more ways than one. alternatively, who knew mighty CEO jeon wonwoo was such a softie?

update: part two can be found here !

update 2: final part → here 

❋

“Yes, sir. Also, the opening ceremony is today at 7pm. Would you like me to set up your chauffeur?” The man nods. “Yes, make sure to finish the layout for tomorrow. And the catalog by Thursday. That’s all, you’re dismissed.” You bow politely before turning and exiting his office. 

You take two steps forward before displaying a scowl and muttering, “never get a break. not even a thank you. just wait, jeon wonwoo, one day i-“ “Y/n!” A voice snaps you out of your trance, spotting Seungkwan walking your way. 

Greeting him, you ask, “What’s up?” “We’re getting food tonight. Team dinner at 7. Can you make it?” he says. You sigh before replying apologetically, “Sorry.... boss wants me to finish something up for tomorrow.” 

Seungkwan taps his feet in disapproval. “The CEO is still giving you more work? When will that man ever let you have a break?” You grit your teeth, attempting to smile. Seungkwan stares at the CEO's office. 

“Y/n, you work the hardest out of all of us, and you have to deal with him every day. If there’s anyone who deserves a rest, it’s you. Our team’s planning on going to the beach on the weekend since we have Friday off. You should join us. It’ll be really fun!“

Contemplating for a moment, you’re about to accept before you suddenly remember what Friday is, eyes widening. Turning to Seungkwan, you smile sadly. “I really-like you don’t even know-really want to go, but I have something really important on Friday. I’m so sorry.” He nods, reassuring you it’s fine. “Well, you can join us on Saturday then!” 

You bow, biting your lip as you continue on. You totally forgot what day Friday was. 

❋

The rest of your shift was rough. Wonwoo, AKA your horrible boss, didn’t seem to want to give you a break. The past few weeks had been very tightly packed with the upcoming debut, and although you understood it was very important, sometimes it felt like your boss didn’t know you were human too. 

Waking up at 5 am, driving to his place and setting up, and then getting to work was exhausting. Not to mention the late nights working on assignments. It all came with being a secretary, but recently, you didn’t know if you could keep going. Maybe it had something to do with your boss’s attitude as well. 

Jeon Wonwoo, CEO of one of the largest writing and printing companies. Exactly how you expect. Handsome, cold, quiet. You’re pretty sure he’s rejected more than a hundred women who attempted to ask him out. What did he even do for fun? Lame word searches?

When you first started working as his secretary, you had at least one breakdown a day. Everything you did was wrong, Wonwoo’s ‘redo it again’, echoing in your mind. He never cared about your feelings, just your work. You needed the job to help your family since it had good pay, and your siblings were focused on school. So it was up to you to provide for your family that you weren’t even close with.

You and your coworkers loved to complain about wonwoo’s cold attitude and the workload he gave out. Sure he was handsome, but it didn’t matter to you since his attitude was such a shutdown. You blamed him for not having a social life or a boyfriend, but of course, he didn’t care. 

That just made you want to work even harder. You stayed up countless nights practicing, studying to be perfect. Until Wonwoo tolerated you. Everyone knew you as Jeon Wonwoo’s longest secretary. It wasn’t easy work, but it made you feel proud, and you were able to push through working for him. 

At least before recently. Wonwoo was extremely busy with the preparations, and so were you. You understood, he was stressed, but was taking it out on you okay? You really contemplated quitting, but this time of the year was extremely important, so you would have to wait until after the new debut passed. I mean, you were kind enough to start the resignation after finishing the event, unlike another person you knew.

Wonwoo calls you into his office late that night, the floor almost empty. You walk in, carrying the same tea you always brought at the now perfected temperature. Setting it down, you bow before asking, “you called for me, Mr. Jeon?” You can tell he’s frustrated by his ruffled hair and wrinkled collar. Your fingers itch, wanting to fix it. 

“Finish the chart for tomorrow. I want you to adjust my schedule since father’s coming by. Cancel everything before 10.” You tense, feeling the frustration course through you. “But sir, I already got all the-“ “I don’t care, change it. You can go now.” You tightly bow and leave, fuming in anger. 

❋

You’re not surprised you only got three hours of sleep. It was a regular thing these days. Groaning, you get ready as usual like every day, the schedule drilled into your brain. You grab a shirt, frowning as you remember the one time Mr. Jeon called your fashion taste revolting and ordered you to a complete wardrobe change. 

It was finally Friday, the day you were anticipating the whole week. Also the one day you got off from work early and seeing Mr. Jeon’s face. You couldn’t wait until 5 when you were done and could prepare for later. The whole week was awful, you’re pretty sure you looked like a raccoon with the amount of sleep you got. 

You’re typing furiously at your desk when Seokmin comes by. His footsteps alert you. “Oh, hey Seokmin. What’s up?” He grins. “Did Seungkwan tell you about what we’re doing later today?” You attempt to smile. “Yeah, I’m sorry I can’t make it. I’m busy later. Can’t wait to get off.” He claps, rubbing his hands together. “It’s alright. Don’t work too hard.” 

You smile, winking. “Don’t worry. And try not to have too much fun without me!” The buzzing on your desk interrupts you, causing you to groan. “What does he want now?”

Walking in, you find Wonwoo signing documents. He doesn’t even look up as he says, “I need you to complete the finalizing documents right now.” You pause, processing the information. “Wait, but those will take me at least four hours. My shift ends in one.” 

He finally looks up, face devoid of any emotion. “Well, that’s your job. You’re expected to do it.” You feel your heart speed up, tightening your hands into fists. You respond shakily, “I’m sorry sir, but there’s something really important I have to do tonight. I can get Mr. Lee to finish it. Can’t you let me go this once?” 

“But why? You’re supposed to do what I ask?” His voice sounds annoyed, bored even. You scoff, feeling your eyes burn. “Those last couple of weeks I’ve been doing everything you asked, even more. Don’t you think I deserve a break?” 

“You signed up to be my secretary. What kind of breaks do you expect? Things are very tense with the new debut now, so don’t expect me to take pity and let you go just because you did what I said,” Wonwoo retorts.

That was it.

You hated yourself. You hated yourself for snapping. But at the same time, you didn’t. 

You slam your papers on the table, shaking. “I work basically 24/7, every day, running errands for you and doing everything you tell me.” Your voice cracks, and you feel hot tears run down your face. 

“And you don’t even have the respect to treat me like a human being? I wake up immediately thinking about what you’re going to make me do for the rest of the day.” A sob escapes you. 

Wiping your tears angrily, you continue to stare at him with wide, furious eyes. “I go to sleep thinking about what I have to do for you the next day. But you don’t even thank me. Not once. No appreciation when I try to impress you and go above and beyond. And then you won’t even let me have one break? I don’t even get vacations or holidays off!”

You sniffle, body shaking, as you let the words sink in. “I signed up to be a secretary, not disrespected.” And with that, you walk out with tears pouring down your face, grabbing as much of your stuff as you can and leaving, ignoring the shocked whispers and startled questions.  

❋

Once you get home, you slap yourself. What did you just do? What did you just say to your boss? Oh god, ex-boss now. You’re dead. Officially. You feel numb like you just watched a confusing movie and were trying to process everything. 

You want to bury yourself in the ground. Or become a rock. That’d be way nicer than being yourself right now. 

But you have to continue on. You don’t even care if you’re going out wearing sweats and a hoodie. He wouldn’t care. After buying everything, you drive to the spot. You pass blurs, barely paying attention as you blankly stare at the road. 

Once you get out, you feel the drops, glancing up. You didn’t realize it was raining while you were driving. You let the water pour over you, making your way to the familiar stone.

Stopping in front, you sink to your knees. 

“Dad...I’m so sorry I’m late. Can you believe I basically threw a tantrum in front of my boss? Well, ex-boss?” Laughing weakly, you wipe the tears you didn’t notice had run down your face. “I don’t have a job anymore, that’s for sure.” 

You look around, your whole body soaked now. Softly, you arrange the flowers neatly in front of his grave. “Are you still proud of me dad?” You smile weakly, adjusting yourself comfortably on the cold wet ground. “I’m so sorry... happy anniversary, still. Another year passed. How are you?” 

❋

You spend days at home, never leaving your bed, only allowing yourself to mope about your life. Your phone is spammed with texts and calls. Probably from coworkers, you figured. You didn’t have enough energy to respond. 

You sighed for the millionth time. Everyone had probably heard about your childish rant in wonwoo's office. How could you let yourself break like that? No one had contacted you and deemed you officially fired, but you knew it the moment you opened your mouth. Maybe finally going outside and getting snacks would cheer you up. 

Cringing, you saw yourself in the mirror. Just like someone who got broken up with by their partner. I mean, it’s not like you had a job anymore or anyone to impress, so you just shrugged and went out for the first in a while.

Entering the store, you walk down an aisle, glancing at the options. You’re squatting, choosing between banana or strawberry when you spot movement in the corner of your vision. It’s just a man looking at the ice cream, but it’s what he’s wearing that catches your attention. 

You raise an eyebrow. Who goes to a mart in a full suit and tie like that? Scoffing internally, you bite the inside of your cheek. Ha, he looks like- The man suddenly turns, and you can never mistake that face. 

BEKDJRE WHAT IS MR. JEON DOING HERE?? You whip your head back, hoping, praying, that he doesn’t recognize you in your horrible clothes. Your heart pounding loudly, you stand up, deciding just to get the heck out of there before-

Oh ****. Why does he have to stand right next to you? 

You internally freak out, don’t make eye contact I swear to god y/n if you do you’ll- 

“What do you recommend? Melon or banana?” You recognize his deep voice and freeze. Is he talking to you? Maybe he doesn’t know who you are??

Facing away from him, you respond in a croaky, low voice. “U-uh banana?” You catch him nodding in the corner of your eye. 

Time to escape. You turn, briskly walking away until a hand abruptly grabs your wrist, preventing you from leaving. Panicking, you don’t move, not wanting to expose your identity. What does this man want??

The hand on your wrist doesn’t loosen, instead, it tightens and spins you around until you’re face to face with him. Your now-former boss, Jeon Wonwoo. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have an angry look on his face. Instead, he simply says, “Y/n, I know it’s you. It seemed like you when you walked in. And the fact that you chose banana instead of melon for me because you know I hate melon confirms it.” 

You open your mouth before lamely responding, “Could’ve been a lucky guess?” 

❋

 You would’ve never expected yourself to be outside a grocery mart at 1 am with jeon wonwoo.

Awkwardly shuffling on your feet, you watched as wonwoo paid for your treats. He insisted on it for some reason, and you knew you couldn’t beat him when he looked at you with that face. Chills ran down your spine whenever you thought about it.

When he finishes, you walk side by side out the door, a silence between the two of you. You wait a couple seconds before you can’t take it anymore. 

You quickly fall to your knees in front of him, head down as you plead, “Please forgive me, Mr. Jeon. I-I didn’t mean anything I said. I was just extremely stressed- I completely understand if you never want to see my face again, although I’m not sure why you confronted me today and bought stuff for me but it doesn’t matter anymore- It was completely rude of me, and I just hope you’ll accept my apology.” Finishing your ramble, you keep your head bowed and eyes squeezed shut as you await his response. 

You almost don’t notice it, it was so gentle. Wonwoo’s hand slowly reaches forward and tilts your chin up, and you don’t realize your heart speeding up. He squats in front of you, his face seems surprisingly amused. 

You would’ve never expected the words that came out of his mouth next, either.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I realized the workload I put on you, and it wasn’t wrong of you to burst out on me. I’m afraid I’m not good with words, but after you disappeared, I realized how much you do for the office. Truly, I appreciate your hard work. Hopefully, you can come back to work once you feel fit.” 

You stare at him, processing the words that the CEO of one of the biggest printing companies just said. 

You stay still, eyes still boring into his until you’re finally able to break out of it. You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off. You breathe a sigh of relief, muttering, “thank you for not firing me.” You clap your hand over your mouth, surprised eyes moving to look at wonwoo. 

You watch as wonwoo’s lips slowly turn up, letting out a quiet chuckle. You blink. Did he just laugh? Like fr? Oh my god, you have to tell Seungkwan. His voice interrupts you. “I should drive you back to your place, it’s getting late.” 

Your eyes widen in shock. Shaking your head, you reply, “oh no, it’s fine. I’ll walk home. It’s not far.” He insists, and of course, you aren’t able to say no. 

It’s an awkward drive as you direct your boss to your apartment. Once you arrive, you quickly thank him, and he smiles. What the-

“Well, I hope to see you soon at work, secretary y/n.”

You can only nod, dumbfounded. You had never seen him smile before, and it was kinda nice.

You numbly wave goodbye as he drives off, entering your apartment and crashing into bed. 

❋

After two days, you’re back in action. The second the elevator doors open, a swarm of people rushed up to you. You stand there as people begin talking, asking questions. You feel like a celebrity being interviewed by paparazzi.

You take a step forward, pushing past everyone. It didn’t feel right to have to answer their questions. You settle at your office, politely asking people to stop asking. Eventually, the crowd leaves.

You’re unpacking the stuff you took home in a blaze of anger when you hear footsteps approach. Sighing, you turn around. “I’m sorry, I don’t- ..Dokyeom?” 

“Y/n!!! What the frick happened? All we know is that you stormed out of the building and didn’t come back for a week!! And with our project, things were going crazy without you...”

Grimacing, you say, “I know, I know, I’m sorry.  It’s stupid, but I’m back for real now. Promise.  I’ll explain it all later, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” 

Dokyeom sighs, giving you one last ‘you better not forget’ before leaving you. 

It takes hours, but you’re finally able to get wonwoo’s schedule up to date. You check the time. Shoot. Wonwoo usually expects tea at this time.

You quickly run over to the drink station, hoping no one comes up to you. You glance around, mostly everyone’s focused on their work and staring at their computer screens. 

You’re pouring the hot water when a familiar voice calls your name. Turning, Wonwoo comes into view. You immediately jump, causing the hot water to splash onto your hand. 

Letting out a hiss of pain, you drop the cup. The sound alerts the workers in the room, most beginning to notice your presence. 

Wonwoo quickly walks over to you, gently taking your hands in his. “Are you alright?” You gape at him, and you’re pretty sure everyone else in the room is dumbfounded too. Whispers immediately break out. 

You snatch your hands from him and quickly bow. “I’m fine, thank you, sir.” Forgotten tea, you dash to the bathroom. Huffing, you place your hands on the sink.

What happened to your boss and why do you kinda like it? The feeling of his warm hands over yours causes you to shiver. You punch the sink, grumbling. 

“Ughh seriously, what’s wrong with this guy?  I yell at him and suddenly he becomes this nice guy? And then in front of everyone too?”

❋

It doesn’t stop after that. For days, jeon wonwoo would somehow make his way to you and act all nice. Sometimes in front of others, and sometimes when it’s just you two in his office. You would always feel hot and nervous afterward randomly. 

It began spreading around the office. What happened to CEO Jeon and why did he become so nice to you? You heard some of the rumors, ‘probably slept together’ ‘did they find out some juicy secret about him? ..’

It was annoying, but you tried to ignore it. You were able to explain everything to doykeom and seungkwan. They were the only ones who knew about the late-night grocery mart trip and wonwoo’s sudden kindness. 

You wanted to confront him, really. And you tried, but he would just say it was because you were his secretary that worked so hard for so long. 

You wanted it to stop. You wanted it to stop cause you liked this side of him, and you didn’t want to admit it.

❋

It all changed one day when you received a text at work. From a number that you didn’t recognize. At first. 

After reading it, you immediately shot up from your desk. Wonwoo came from his office, walking over to you, but you hurriedly made an excuse and ran out, leaving him surprised. 

Groaning, you noticed the rain. Perfect timing... You braced yourself and ran through the pouring rain. You had to get there, no matter what. You were soaked, gasping for air, once you reached the stone. 

They left. You stood there, staring down at it. 

It was just you and the rain.

Until it wasn’t, anymore. You look up. It’s a black... umbrella? Spinning around, you come face to face with a suit. An extremely familiar one.

“M-mr. jeon?” He’s holding the umbrella and staring at you, but it feels like he’s looking into your soul. 

You blink, eyes flicking down to the wet ground. It’s silent until he speaks up. “Why did you suddenly come here? Y/n?” 

You slowly turn back to look at the plaque. “This is where my dad is,” you softly say. There’s a pause before wonwoo responds, “I’m so sorry.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t have to be sorry. This is why I blew up last Friday. I was supposed to be here that day.” You feel wonwoo tense next to you. 

Before he can say anything, you face him. “It still doesn’t excuse my behavior. But.. why did you follow me?” He fumbles a bit before replying, “it was raining.. it wouldn’t be safe for you to go alone.” 

You laugh, a pleasant sound ringing in wonwoo’s ears before saying, “thank you. And, I came here because of my family. You might not have known this, but I got this job to help them. After my father died, my mother became depressed and my siblings couldn’t do anything. So I had to get a job to support them.” 

You bitterly smile before continuing, “I’m not even close with them. I was too busy working, and my mother was too busy moping. My siblings are busy with school, and I never see them anymore. It’s gotten to the point where I just pay their bills and don’t even speak to them. Ha, they finally contacted me to say they were gonna visit him today, can you believe it? And I missed them. As usual.” 

Wonwoo looks down at his feet. “I never knew that about you... You’ve been working for me for years, and I didn’t know that.” 

You shift. “What about you?” He turns to you, surprised. “Me?” You nod, “your family?” Wonwoo shuffles closer to you, causing you to unconsciously swallow. 

“Well, I’m not very close with my family either. It was all work, preparing me to take over the business. I mostly grew up alone... and I didn’t really have many close relationships. Uh- well, you can most likely tell. Everyone in the office probably can too.” 

You glance at him. He’s going back into his shell. The one he would always go into when he was stressed, scared, alone. You hesitate. “That’s okay, you don’t have to be close to everyone. It doesn’t hurt to be a little kinder, though. Not to be rude, but a lot of people in the office are.... a bit scared of you? To be honest, we were all a bit shocked when you started caring more. I was surprised. Um- but i-in a good way.” 

Wonwoo stares at you with wide eyes as you focus back on the stone. A comfortable silence fills the air between the two of you. Standing there, hearing the sound of the pouring drops. 

As the rain falls harder, you feel as if you have too.

❋

There’s an understanding, a deeper one between you and wonwoo after that day. You feel like you know him, even if it’s only a little more. 

The CEO suddenly turns into a completely different person. To others, he may still seem like a cold boss, but to you, wonwoo’s an endearing introvert who’s obsessed with cats. 

You were shocked, to say the least when wonwoo comes by your desk and shoves a phone in your face. You flinch before opening your eyes and staring at the screen.  “Mr. Jeon..... why are you showing me a picture of a cat?” 

“It’s cute. Isn’t it?” Laughing, you cover your mouth to hide a smile. “Yes sir, it sure is.” 

He continues to show more of himself, and you find yourself falling deeper. For someone who you never expected.  He has such a cold exterior to people around you, but once it’s just you two, he turns into such a softie. 

Seungkwan confronts you one day. “Y/n, you have to explain. What is happening between you and CEO jeon??” You shake your head in response, but you feel heat creep up your neck. 

“Seungkwannn, I told you already. He just helped me out, and I guess, I understand him a bit better now. He’s not bad, seriously.” 

He lets out a small tch! “A week ago you were complaining about his nasty personality, and now you’re saying he’s not bad?”

You whine, clinging to his side. “Ahh, seriously I said it was nothing. Why won’t you believe me??” Someone clears their throat. 

You and seungkwan turn. It’s wonwoo who else would it be. Immediately, seungkwan bows. “Sir!!” Wonwoo stands there, face passive. “Secretary y/n, come to my office.” 

Seungkwan shoots you a look, leaving you to shrug and follow the CEO.

He offers you a seat, and you sit on the plush couch, waiting.

He shifts in his seat awkwardly, and you raise an eyebrow. “Why did you call me in, Mr. Jeon?” 

He coughs before muttering, “are you close with him? Mr. Boo?” “You mean seungkwan? Oh, he’s my friend, that’s all. Why do you want to know? Are you jealous?” you tease.

But wonwoo only scratches his head. You’re about to apologize for going too far with the joke, but you can’t even respond after what he says. “Well, of course, I am. Cause I’m interested in you.” 

Your mouth drops open. “What did you just say?” He looks at you, a serious expression on his face. “I want to go out with you. Truly.” 

Heart beating faster, you internally panic. He just asked you out? He’s interested in you? What is going on? 

“So? What’s your answer?” You snap out of it, glancing back at your boss, nervously shaking his leg. I mean, you enjoyed his presence. But he was your boss, the supposed cold and scary Jeon Wonwoo.. and also the one who still managed to infiltrate your mind.

“Um, yes. I will go out with you.”

❋

You find out and learn more and more sides to him. They all cause your heart to flutter harder and harder. He’s no longer just your boss, he’s someone you can trust, confide in. 

You begged wonwoo not to tell anyone. All the dates happening in secret. Wonwoo was upset, originally. He wanted to tell people, to show you were his, but you firmly insisted on keeping it quiet. If people in the office found out, you would never hear the end of it. 

You walk into wonwoo’s office one morning, carrying the itinerary for the week. Once he sees you, his eyes light up. He walks over to you, grabbing the file and throwing it on the desk somewhere. 

You stare at him with wide eyes as he strides over to you, wrapping his arms around your body. There’s a second of peace and content, but you interrupt him, tensing and saying, “wonwoo- someone might see us.” 

Even as you continue to shift and glance around to check, he sighs and rests his head on top of yours. “Secretary, can’t you just relax for a second? We’ve been working so much, we need a break.” 

Letting out a huff, you allow yourself to melt into his embrace. “Two more minutes,” you mumble. Wonwoo leans down, so his face is inches from yours, a small grin displayed. You smile back, knowing what he wants. 

You lean in, placing your lips on his. His mouth moves hungrily on yours, causing you to make a small sound of surprise. 

Then there’s suddenly a knock, and you hear the door open. “CEO Jeon?” 

You fly under his desk, squeezing your eyes shut and praying whoever it was didn't see you.

You wait there, attempting to muffle your breathing and keep still. You recognize the voice, it’s Mr. Choi Seungcheol. Vice President of the company. Why did he have to come at the worst time? 

You hear the distinct sounds of their conversation for what seems to be forever before Mr. Choi finally bids him goodbye. Your body slumps in relief, waiting to get out from under his desk until you hear seungcheol suddenly speak again. 

“Also, why is secretary y/l/n under your desk? I see their feet sticking out.” You silently curse yourself. Slowly and very ungracefully, you maneuver your way from under the desk. Standing up, you quickly smooth your clothes and hair. “Oh, ha, Mr. Choi. I had no idea you here. Um- well, you see...” 

You quickly look at Wonwoo and back to Mr. Choi. Stammering, you finally say, “Mr. Jeon thought he saw a coach roach and called me in. Must’ve just imagined it.” You nervously laugh as wonwoo sheepishly nods in agreement. 

Finally, he leaves the two of you, and you sit on the couch, biting your lip as you examine wonwoo’s expression. 

“Was the coach roach your best excuse?”

You cringe. “I’m sorry-! I couldn’t think of anything else. Do you think he saw?” 

Wonwoo shrugs, sitting next to you. “Is it so bad for him to see?” he speaks quietly.

You face him, aghast. “No! It’s just, you know how it is... if everyone knew. They’d misunderstand, think I’m using you or something.” 

Your body freezes as you turn to face him. “Wait- you don’t think I’m using you... right?” 

Wonwoo quickly shakes his head. “No, I know you y/n. You would never do that. I’m just afraid. That you’ll leave me because I’m too quiet, or too busy with work or-..” 

You smile at him softly.

“You know I love you?” He stares at you, shocked. You had never said it to each other before, but you truly meant it. 

Reaching for his hand, you intertwine it with yours. “Did you know I thought about quitting my job before? When we were debuting the showcase. It was so stressful that I really was gonna leave.” You feel his hand grip yours tighter, so you continue.

“But you know I'll never leave you, right? I won’t ever leave you alone.” Nudging him, you add playfully, “that means you’re stuck with me forever.” 

Wonwoo laughs- a short deep sound. 

“I’m okay with that, cause I’m in love with you too.” 

 author note: i actually wanted to write more but got lazy...  im conflicted if i should add to the story or leave it as it is :\\\\ 

[writtenfan]

Party Consequences...Aftermath of Another Gabriel Party.

Part 2: “Unneeded Stress and Make-out Sesh”

Warning: Some intense lip action...both talking wise and other, brotherly fighting and jumpscares~ 18+ <3

LuciferxFemReader

You stop in your tracks outside the door, you raise your swimsuit to your face, and roll your eyes. Bathroom, you need to change in the bathroom. You turn back to the door. Although you were no longer dizzy, your whole body still thinks it is way too early to be up. You turn the handle and open the door.

Lucifer is standing in front of the door. Arms at his sides with a smug smile. You jump and turn away from him, pressing your forehead head against the open door repeatedly, cursing under your breath.

He lets out a sweet sighing laugh and leans his shoulder against the door, and starts playing with your hair.

“You are so cute in those few seconds of terror.” You turn to face him, and he stops playing with your hair and instead fumbles around with the collar of your shirt, focused on this action. “Just like a little deer in headlights ...oh, I could just hunt ya for sport and place you on my mantle!”

You steadily put your hands over his, rubbing your fingers across his knuckles. He looks up at you, the swimsuit in your hand presses against his chest as he leaned in closer to you.

You tell him that makes you uncomfortable you don’t want him to keep scaring you just because he finds it “cute.”

He stares down at you and drops his smile, glancing down your body next at your eyes, his eyebrows chewing on the inside of his cheek. He gives you a lingering wink as he slides his hands to the sides of your shoulders and squeezes you gingerly. 

“Yeah, bad word choice. Bad joking. Wish I had a autocorrect sometimes! Ha, I’ll tone it down and think about what I say before I say it. But, I can’t help it if I’m astonishing, that's part of the packaged Lucifer deal...” The lines under his eyes move up as he squints his eyes in a smile.

 Your eyes flicker for a second at Gabriel who you caught flipping off the back of Lucifer’s head as he walked to the other side of the room. Still in a speedo. 

You crack a smile, and Lucifer raises an eyebrow but he shakes it off.  “But I’m glad you came back, I thought you had a sensory overload and decided to leave without me...” His voice is pleasant to your ears. 

You tell him that you are going to get changed for the pool and that he should join you. You wait for him to let you go. But he remains looking down at you with a smug look. He takes a quick look at the bathing suit in your hands. It was a black one-piece, but one side had a hole that was mean to expose the side of your midsection. He slides a hand off your shoulder and pinches the swimsuit with his fingers, getting a better look at it, gently tugging at it.“Mind if I see?” You could tell this wasn’t really a question

You let go reluctantly and watch as he takes his other hand off your shoulder and holds the swimsuit up to his face as he turns, his side facing you.

“Ok, tasteful but kinda restrictive, right? I mean, if my brother wasn’t here, I would say lets Adam and Eve it….” He focuses his eyes on you, looking for your reaction and smiling as your start blushing.

You tell him to "cool it hot stuff".

“Of course, good point, I’m a way sexier Adam and Eve have nothing on you and this is a villa instead of a bountiful garden...but hey! We can still pull it off." He twirls the swimsuit in his hand. "I know I'd love to tempt you into more than just eating a piece of the forbidden fruit".  

Gabriel lets out a groan and you blush and look behind Lucifer's shoulder. Gabriel turns on the TV and turns up the volume. His arm relaxed on the back of the couch as he flips through channels with purpose. Lucifer clears his throat, your attention is pulled back to him and you blush even harder.

"As I was saying, love the black and the peek-a-boo, look what I have hole...” He looks at the hole and turns back to you, presses the suit against his chest, shimmying his shoulders as he rocked up onto the toes of his shoes. 

“So, come on, as you said, let's get changed!” He finger-guns you then places a hand against your back.

“What?!” Your face grows hot as he takes a hand and pushes you towards the bathroom door. You told him you did not mean for him to join you in the bathroom. “Nonsense. Bathroom buddy!” his voice in high spirits. 

"I have to powder my nose too, so might as well hang girlfriiiiend." 

You glance over at Gabriel, then around the room as your hook your hands on the wall, preventing him from pulling you in as you can't help but awkwardly laugh, feeling bad for Gabriel. You hear the bathroom door open behind you and feel Lucifer's chest against your back as he wraps his arms around your waist trying to pull you into the bathroom. You tell him to hold up, stuttering as you pull against him. You notice that two people are gone and you feel butterflies in your stomach as you expect the worst.

 You ask Gabriel where Baraquel and Lamech with a forced calm quiver of your voice. Lucifer lets out a soft, "Forget about them... let's get naked." Which you try your best not to react to.

Gabriel doesn't look at you, his face stern. Well, he's obviously mad at something Lucifer must have said to him. Great. 

You watch as he swats the air in your direction, “Don’t worry your little Luci didn’t murder them…” Lucifer’s hands stopped pulling at you as he looks around the corner at Gabriel. 

“Don’t like how you assume I’d be the one to snap Gabriel…Ive been very good in not doing that, as of late if you haven’t noticed!” Lucifer retaliated, in a childish tone.

Gabriel grunts back and doesn’t acknowledge his brother's comment with words. You feel Lucifer lean down to your ear “He’s just jelly about you and me." He uses his hands to point to you and him and nods his head. "Stable relationship and all …” he whispers snootily and soon after straightens up and continues to hug you against his chest.

Gabriel turned the channel. “I sent them out to get some food.” He points to you, turning his head to look at you, and only you. He gives you a big forced smile as you feel the anger behind that was aimed towards his brother.

You're the only one that needs to eat around here so, I Being considerate about your basic human necessities..."

He glances up at his brother with a frown. "...sent Baraquel to wait outside an IHOP until it opens. While Lucifer here sent Lamech off with a mystery shopping list!" He taps his fingers against the back of the couch. "Of probably little to no use or value, to you." He says saucily and turns back to the TV playing around with the remote.  He only does this for a second before pointing towards the Tv as if talking to you. “Not sure when his little demon will be back! Good riddance! Less Hellspawn the better!” He declares with a single irritated laugh.

Lucifer lets go of you and slides to your side,  you stop him from going further by placing a hand in front of his torso. He glances down at your hand but is focused on striking back his brother's words. 

“F.Y.I, I told them to get stuff for (y/n) my little brother...clothes, one of those drinks I know she likes from (Jamba Juice/Starbucks/ Insert drink place here) so don't make me look like the uncaring guy!"  He mirthfully growled, ready to bite back and return the attitude.

 "I would actually prefer you would leave all that caring for stuff to me. Gabriel as I can more than handle, the basic eat, drink, sleep care kay?” 

“As I keep feeling like I have to remind you, she’s mine.” This hung in the air. Making you feel a mixture of discomfort and pleasure. 

“Even last night, when you kept being all up on her..all close and personal. Don’t think I didn’t remember, guess why you were the one who woke up laying flat on your face under the table.” He presses his fingers together and drops his smile.

“Had to take a nighty night after getting socked by brother karma.”

And I’m reaching my tolerating limit so...It would just be SO GREAT! If you'd stop being so snippy about me and my abilities to care for her! Unless you want to...” he tilts his head. “Settle things.”

You tell Lucifer to stop and Gabriel to calm down mentioning that they are making you seem like a (pet/Tamagotchi/sim). 

"Your right (Y/N) he is. But thats who your involving yourself with!" Gabriel chides making you feel offended.

Lucifer chuckles through his teeth and clenches his fist towards his brother “Just give me the word babe. I’ll knock him out for good.” He waits for your response eagerly. 

You say no as you look at Gabriel’s angry face aimed towards the television.

Lucifer says as he turns to you and gives your temple a quick kiss. “Fine.” His breath sending a chill against spot even though it was warm. 

Lucifer presses you against him again. “Bathroom’s off limits~” he sings to his brother as he forces you to walk backward with him into the spacious white bathroom. But didn’t turn on the lights. You hold onto his fingers against your stomach as he slides you into the darkness. Feeling the cold tile against your feet. “Enough of that pathetic jealous bachelor energy…” he jeers.

You tell him that if he keeps arguing with his brother, you might as well leave.

The door, still open, allows you to see a bit of the bathroom layout around you. Lucifer lets go of you and seems to vanish into the darkness of the bathroom.

“Oh, I promise, no more fighting...”  his lulling voice echos from an unknown location. Then it's silent.

You hear Lucifer’s voice from the main room, but it was muffled from the television. But Gabriel’s response was loud and clear as they let out a loud sigh and walked towards the bathroom door. You casually sit on the sink and try to avoid his eyes as he continues past the door and exits the room. "Don't mess up the bathroom." He grunts shutting the door hard behind him.

The door starts to creak shut on its own. You shout that he better not try to scare you as you hop off the sink and rush to the door as it shut and locked itself, leaving you in darkness as you fumbled your hands to the doorknob.

You felt like you weren’t the only one in the bathroom anymore.

You close your eyes and feel a cold chill at your side and the tapping of shoes as they get closer behind you, stopping at your side. You call out Lucifer’s name feeling apprehensive, yet you refuse to look behind you. You hear a click sound and look down at the floor, seeing his shoes in a now illuminated bathroom. You trail your eyes up to his body. His other hand clenching and unclenching as he grinned at you, his head leaning back. His finger tapping on the light switch as he gazes down at you running his tongue on his lower lip. “What can I say...I’m dramatic.” he shrugs his shoulders and smiles.

You furrow your eyebrows with an angry grin as he slid his hand down the wall and pushed himself off. Winking at you as he turned away and walked to the middle of the bathroom. “Wow, look at that handsome guy…” He admires himself in the mirror and rubs his jaw, striking a few poses and flexing his arms. He then walks to the sink counter and gestures at you, looking at you through his reflection intensely. You raise an eyebrow and scoff at him. He swivels to face you while mocking your expression, then proceeds to walk up to you and gently presses a hand on your abdomen, guiding you back against the door. “Fine, I’ll come to you then.” His hand press against the door, right at the side of your face.

“Gabriels going to take a dip in the pool while we...undress...so we have some space to...” His voice trails off as he starts stroking your hair.

Your eyes flicker to his lips, all the negative emotions you felt after hearing the brothers fight melted away. 

“...Enjoy each other's company.” He leans forward and tilts his head to the side. Pressing his warmed up lips against yours. 

You part your lips, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide his tongue into your mouth. You taste the faint bitterness of alcohol on his tongue as he continues to give you the most passionate french kiss you've ever experienced. Your tongue a slave to the whims of his. You taste the faint bitterness of alcohol in his mouth.

His stubble tickles your face. Your eyes are unable to open as your overwhelmed by the sudden display of passion. You feel his finger slide underneath your chin, tilting your head up as he longingly shifts the angle of his kiss. He presses his whole forearm against the door and sandwiches you between him and it.

He slides his hand down the side of your neck, and you stand on your tippy-toes as he pulls away, teasing you.  You feel his body press against yours, and his mouth returns back to yours.  The muscles of his chest and midsection soft enough so that it almost molded with your body, and it felt so warm against you. His waist, his pelvis, everything fits so perfectly with yours.

He was no Sam in height,  but he still towered over you in this position. His arms muscular nonetheless...you felt trapped, and this gave you a buzz. He won't let your lips go. As you tried to break away every now and then, he would follow and make you silent, with a dominant eagerness. You could feel with each movement of his body that he was getting more and more reckless. Something you often had to balance when you two were intimate, for your own sake. You don't want him to have to heal your broken pelvis again...ever since then. You realized the effect you have on him, and how powerful you often forget he is. But you asked for him harder, and he sure gave it to you.

You turn your head and try to look into his eyes. He looks into yours for only a second before he presses his lips behind your left ear, kissing down the side of your neck. Doing whatever he could to trail his lips down the path to your collarbone. You toss your swimsuit near the sink and wrap your arms around his neck, caught in the ecstasy. You ran your fingers across the back of his head, into his hair. You feel his hands slide down your side, and he leans down. One swift movement, he hoists you up by your thighs and presses himself between your legs as he slides you up against the door. It rocks, and the lock clatters as it shifts in creaks as he continues to kiss your neck. Every tickling kiss he gave you sent a chill down your body. It was a warm chill, and the hairs on his face made this even harder to resist. You say his name softly, and this makes him press himself harder onto you, his midsection between your legs.  

You let out a soft moan as he opens his mouth and slides the tip of his tongue briefly up your neck. You press your head back against the door, and he pulls back to stare at you, unforgivingly close. “You always taste so good…” he mutters sucking in his lower lip and bites gently onto it, letting slide out slowly. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he glances behind him and back to you with a smile. His blue eyes traveling across your face as he lets out a sigh,   “When I’m with you like this...I’m always reminded that I’m completely curve-balling my values. ” The leans his head back and continues to look at you, at your nose, mouth, head. “I sometimes wish I hadn’t fallen in love with you…” he says in an earnest tone. This confuses you and makes you feel...not that great.

You ask him why he would say that. 

He takes his hands from under your thighs, and you tighten your legs around him more, but he’s pressing you up against the door, and so you slide up. He scratches the side of his jaw and slides his other hand against your waist, pulling you from the door and walking with ease over to the sink, setting you down on the countertop. You unhook your legs and watch him as he starts to pace.

“Because, if I had not.  I could just easily have killed you and felt nothing…just like Jack’s mother...maybe one day go for a redo and make you the second baby incubator.” 

He says this so matter of factly as if it shouldn’t make you feel alarmed. 

 “Now, I just can't...I have to actually live with the fact that I love a human...and I’m just saying his because its true, I’m probably too much for you to handle.” 

He stops pacing and walks back up to you, a sad looking grin on his face as he  places his hand on top of our head and rubs your forehead with his thumb. 

“Right now, I know you're scared...I can feel it…” he chuckles tilting his head to the side smiling.

Why is he smiling? 

Your heartbeat quickens...you look into his face and feel once again how much different he is from you. How he doesn’t feel the same way as you do or view the world the same. “But you still love me...despite my slip up and little quirks…” his smile lowers. “Right?”

Your feeling the pressure every second your silence is another second he clenches and unclenches his jaw. You tell him that you care about him, but not when he lets his emotions overwhelm him, and that needs to calm down. He scrunches up his face tapping his fingers against t the counter, as if unhappy with your reply. You tell him he’s making you feel uncomfortable, and that if he cares about you as well. He’ll take a moment to think about how you feel hearing him say all this to you. 

He rolls back his shoulders and steps away from you, turning his back to you. You both have moments like this way too often for your liking. But he’s getting better at understanding you and allowing himself to be less...demanding...for the answer he wants to hear, less god syndrome and more compromising. 

“Ok, I'm sorry. Hey, I have to admit Gabriel got into my head.” He says with a musical tone as he pivots back to you. “He probably wanted me to feel doubtful and make me mess this up…" he gestures between you both. "Make I feel like you would...leave me... because I apparently shouldn't have a single person who's on my side! Knowing this-”

“ -I still need to hear you say the words...that you won't.” He gestures in the air and forces a laugh. “ I just need to hear it or I can’t and won't calm down and I'll go bash Gabriel's head in just to feel better. Ok, so please?“

You look at him with sad eyes and smile. You tell him that you won't leave him. He opens his mouth, but you silence him by continuing to speak. You say as long as he continues to care about you, your free will, and what you consider important. You won't leave his side. 

He rolls back his shoulders and lets out a nervous laugh shaking his head. 

“Ok. Yes, you and only you. Your all I care about anyway, so its done. I promise.” He starts biting his thumb and glances at the door. “I've obviously rattled you a bit so let me just...give you some space.” He heads towards the door, and you see his face snap into an emotionless stare at the door.

You say his name clearly, and his face switches back to a smile as he turns to you. You tell him to stay here and help you get dressed. Knowing him too well, and that he would probably do something stupid to Gabriel that would ruin this whole experience.

So he watches you undress and helps you put on the bathing suit. His hands, being slow with each tug and pull and you. Watch that shirt of his come off, and him only in his boxers...then nothing and then suddenly. Some very nice, pink swim shorts with pink glitter on the rear that read “Eat me”.

Damn, he really knew how to throw you around emotionally.

[yandere-daydreams]

Another Yandere!Dabi/Reader piece for the lovely @goretillery​, this one a little more action-packed than the last. I’ve been in such a mood for fight scenes, lately, so it was nice to experiment with a little violence and quirk I haven’t gotten a chance to use before~

Word Count: 1.6k

TW: Graphic Violence, Fire/Burning, Themes of Imprisonment and Unhealthy Mindsets.

It was like you’d been breathing underwater, for the past year.

The change was tangible, as soon as the collar was off. Getting out of Dabi’s apartment during the League’s attack had been child’s play, but finding a Hero with a metal-manipulation quirk had been a miracle, especially so close to home. You weren’t proud of what’d you’d promised in order for her to get the damn thing off of you, but with an odd look and a snap, the quirk-canceling collar was a ball of crumpled foil at your feet and you could inhale without a puddle forming at the bottoms of your lungs. You could’ve sobbed as you felt the wind circling around you, brushing over your skin like a long-lost friend. You’d always been skilled with your quirk, manipulating wind and air pressure, even without a proper source of training. Your wings only--

Oh, god, your wings.

The fire around you didn’t matter, the buildings collapsing didn’t matter, not as you flexed the pair of snow-white, weightless wings sprouting from your back, the appendages following the movement of your arms as you stretched them out in front of you. Twelve months of immobilization had left them stiff, delicate bones cracking into place as you attempted anything close to a flapping-motion, but they were still strong, still reliable, still heavenly to have. You could’ve died now and died happy, right now, if only because you felt free again. Truly, genuinely free.

Of course, Dabi found a way to take away your moment. You weren’t sure what else you’d expected.

He always found a way to make you miserable.

You felt the heat before you saw him, your wings reacting off of instinct. You were in the air before you realized you’d moved, barely rising over the plume of blue frames that’d encapsulated where you’d just been standing. If he intended on pulling his punches, you couldn’t tell, hovering in the sky as the asphalt below you began to sizzle and crack, only cementing the fact that you could’ve easily been a pile of ash, if Dabi had his way. Still, the danger did little to dampen your spirits. You were shoeless and bruised and sore, sure, but you were flying.

You were flying, and you could breathe.

You wouldn’t let him take that away from you, again.

Your fall was short, concluded with a satisfying, knee-skinning thud. The pain was short-lived, dulled by adrenaline, but your time in captivity hadn’t left you in prime condition. Dabi wasn’t fairing much better, though. He was already panting, chest heaving as he took an offensive stance, his skin simmering and smoke rising from scarred patches, his signature jacket covered in a fresh layer of soot. It wasn’t hard to tell Shigaraki’s plan (if he’d had one) had taken a wrong turn, and Dabi was paying the price. In terms of agitation alone, really.

“I knew I should’ve thrown you in the deepest ditch I could find,” He spat, his voice only just audible over the destruction to either of your sides. He was talking to himself more than to you, but when wasn’t he? Gritting your teeth at the thought of the countless one-sided conversation you’d had to tolerate, you held your ground, seething as he went on. “I took care of you, I pampered you, bu that wasn’t good enough--”

You didn’t let him finish. A faint breeze circled you, urging you to make good use of it, and you didn’t think before obeying its command. With a beat of your wings, the breeze turned to a gust, one strong enough to throw Dabi off his feet, slamming him into the nearest building. He hunched forward, protecting his head reflexively, but you used the position to better throw him to the ground, a downward draft to add momentum to his fall. The toll hit was instantaneous, your wings beginning to ache as if you’d created the currents manually, but the sense of power drowned it out, your quirk instilling you with a confidence you’d all-but forgotten. You wondered why you ever let him take advantage of you, why you ever let anyone take advantage of you.

You were strong. You didn’t know why you’d ever thought otherwise.

“You didn’t take care of me!” He couldn’t have been more than a few steps away, but you were yelling before you could stop yourself, hoping your volume would hide the tremble in your voice. He pushed himself up swiftly, sending a volley of blue fire in your direction, but you sent it off track with a flutter and a miniature cyclone, his flames swirling before dissipating into a shimmer of heated air. “You turned me into a housepet. You said you were my friend, but you put a collar around my neck and trapped me the first chance you got.” A whirlwind swirled around his left leg, attempting to buckle his knee, and Dabi countered with a redirection of his own, his calf beginning to smolder, your attack dissolving in the blink of an eye. “You took away a year of my life. I’m not going to thank you for that!”

You saw him stiffen, but the spectacle was quickly obscured by a rush of smoke. It was a distraction, you knew, but that did little to stop your eyes from beginning to sting and the world around you to blur. Dabi emerged through the haze, his fist embedding itself in your solar plexus, black spots forming on the edges of your vision, but you didn’t hesitate to get him back. He was blown off of his feet by a vertical current, giving you time to nurse the bruise forming below your diaphragm, but Dabi latched onto your leg before you could find your balance. “What would’ve happened to you if I didn’t? You’d still be a pigeon just wandering the streets, waiting for someone to come around and snap your neck.” His nails dug into your ankle, his palm heating up and smoldering against your skin. You stifled an automatic sob, attempting to escape, but your efforts to fly were limited by the dead weight still holding you down. “You would’ve died without me!”

“I would’ve been happy.” You didn’t have time to be graceful, driving your heel into his skull, knocking him back to the ground. You were tempted to take off, to get as high as possible and find somewhere he wouldn’t be able to follow, but… you didn’t want to. Your wings were beginning to cramp and a steady, persistent needle pricked at your nerves, but you didn’t want it to be over. For the first time in a long time, you felt good. Not content, not safe, good.

Surely, you’d only feel better when his blood was splattered across the pavement.

Your anger was spiraling before you could rein it in, the constant breeze coiling around you, forming a protective swirl, the wind’s speed soon growing unmanageable, uncontrollable. You let it, memorized by the extent of the bluster, but the briefest moment of stagnation was enough for Dabi to act. He was uncharacteristically quiet as he worked, but the hiss of his flames filled the silence on their own, everything above his waist seeming to alight. The fire snapped you out of your daze, but it was all you could do to consider dispelling your wind before the fire had begun to circle you, a blue glow encasing the two of you. It was beautiful, blocking out the destruction, but Dabi’s powers were never just for-show.

The heat hit you like a wave of arctic water. Sweltering, stifling, suffocating heat, seeming to eat up whatever oxygen was left in the city. You were surrounded on all sides, barely able to keep yourself in place without falling into the fiery inferno. Still, your route of escape was clear, the top of the spiral left open, unattended. You beat your wings, attempting to shoot upwards, but as soon as the appendages were fully extended, you realized your mistake. The pain of feathery down becoming kindling was almost secondary to the smell of your flesh burning off the bone, the terror of glancing over only to see white turn to black in the blink of an eye.

Your plummet wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t elegant, and it wasn’t angelic. You screamed as you hit the ground, letting out a hitched sob as something in your rib cage bent and cracked. Dabi didn’t even bother to laugh, kicking you onto your chest and planting his foot between your shoulder blades, letting out a heavy breath as he pressed his heel into your spine.

“Are you fucking done?” His voice was low, weighed down by strain, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be sympathetic. His stare burnt holes into your neck, and with a click of his tongue, he went on. “Went and broke your jewelry, too, bet you handed it over to the first fucker who asked. And look at this-” A scarred hand grabbed at the bend of your left wing, his touch alone bringing tears to your eyes. “You got yourself all dirty. It’ll take weeks to get the color back.”

“Go screw yourself.” The words came out with a fatal passivity. You didn’t think you were mad, anymore. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“I’ll touch whatever the hell I want. These shitty little things control your quirk, don’t they?” Another grope, this one a bit rougher. You had a feeling he wasn’t trying to be gentle. “I wonder how many feathers we’d have to pluck before we fixed this problem permanently.”

At that, you started to struggle again, your self-preservation instincts finally making themselves known. Dabi only chuckled, that insufferable, unbearable heat returning with the sound of his laugh, the pressure on your chest increasing until it’d pushed out the remaining air in your lungs.

“I can’t have my little birdie tryin’ to fly away again, can I?”

[almost-correct-bnha-quotes]

Soft spot|Bakugou×Reader

Requested: Nope!

Warnings: Nah

A/N: It's 12 AM on a Wednesday and this idea popped up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first, he treated you like everyone else. In his eyes, you were nothing but another extra, as he called you. But things changed after you made the simple gesture of standing up for him, after some older students began attacking him verbally. He never thanked you, but the manner in which he treated you had subtly changed since then. While he cursed other people and called them names, he seemed to avoid saying certain things to you.

Seeing the tolerating relationship between you two, people began suspecting something even more was between you. On several occasions, you were even asked if you were his girlfriend. Hell, even Deku asked you about it.

To be honest with yourself, he was attractive, and he definitely had the brains. The only thing that pushed you off, however, was his rather pompous personality. Things were, however, about to take a turn on a Thursday afternoon.

'Alright, y'all,' Aizawa said, during one of the homeroom hours he held for the 1-A students, 'I prepared an assignment that's due next week. You will have to work with someone and make a presentation of three minutes on how the Hero system can improve its security. You cannot choose with who you work. You can be as creative as you want, but keep in mind that you must have a PowerPoint that holds all the information that you'll present us.'

You sighed, just as the rest of the 1-A students. It was a pity- you had a particular strong friendship with Momo, reason for which you hoped that you could work with her.

'I put all your names in a bag, right here,' Aizawa pointed at a black, small, leather bag on his desk, 'Half of you will pick out a piece of paper with a name on it. Whosoever name you got, that's the person you'll work with. All clear?'

'Yes, sensei.' The group of students answered, in unison.

'Good.' Aizawa nodded, as he picked a random piece of paper out of the bag, 'Let's see... Momo, come take a paper.'

Momo did as she was asked to- she walked to the front desk and took a piece of paper out of the bag. Please let it be me, please let it be me., you thought.

'Ashido Mina.'

You pursed your lips. Not this time, you guessed. Momo looked at you and smiled softly. As she passed by your seat, she whispered a quick apology. You weren't mad at her. You didn't need her apology. You were very much aware that it was beyond her control to choose who she was working with that time.

Seeing how you wouldn't be working with your favourite person in that class, you scanned your classmates, looking for other good options you'd have. Deku could be a great person to work with, due to his knowledge over heroes and his persona, maybe Tsuyu would be nice too... Bakugou. He had his knowledge on heroes and the hero system, but seeing how the amount of patience within him was equal to a peppercorn, you doubted how well he's work with anyone.

Aizawa took another piece of paper out of the bag. 'Bakugou.'

The blonde boy stood up and walked proud fully towards the desk. He put his hand inside the bag and took a few moments to mix all pieces of papers inside, before eventually taking one out. He looked at the name on his paper and let his face visibly drop. He didn't have the smallest ounce of anger on his face, but he did seem... frustrated, in a way. You almost wanted to laugh. It was Deku, wasn't it?

'Bakugou,' Aizawa said coldly, 'Who is it?'

Bakugou looked at the man irritated, regaining his composure. 'Y/N.'

You felt your entire body cool off as everyone looked at you. Really...? Did... Did I just jinx it?

'So... Bakugou and Y/N,' Aizawa repeated as he wrote it on a piece of paper, 'Got it.'

'Don't say it like that.' Bakugou mumbled as he walked back to his seat.

By the end of the class, everyone had a partner. As everyone walked out class, you tried catching up to Bakugou. Finally reaching him on the hallway, you put your hand on his shoulder for a moment, as a request for your presence to be acknowledged.

'Hey, are you free this-' You began, only to freeze at the look he gave you.

He turned his head to you with a ice-cold look. He brushed off your hand off his shoulder without saying a word.

'What?' You asked.

'Leave me alone.' He demanded, coldly.

You weren't the type of person to give up so easily, but something in his tone and eyes made you rethink your choices. You shook your head.

'Alright then, mister bad mood. See you later.'

With that, you turned around and walked the other way down the hallway. You could live with a bad opinion on you. Or two, or three. It didn't matter to you much- there would always be people who won't like you, and it was okay. It wasn't even like you and Katsuki had a relationship anywhere near close, so you didn't miss out on much. All you had for each other was a slightly higher tolerance than with most people.

What you didn't know as you walked down the hallway was that Bakugou remained frozen on his spot with pursed lips, watching you get lost in the crowd of students.

'You didn't have to do her like that, you know.' A familiar voice said, next to him.

Bakugou snapped out of his trance and looked at the owner of the voice, only to recognise the relaxed face of a blonde boy in his class who looked at him expectantly.

'I know you have everyone, but-' he continued, but got interrupted mid-sentence.

'Do her like what?' A redhead boy, Kirishima, said with a laugh, 'Don't be stupid, Kaminari. Haven't you seen?'

'See what?' Kaminari frowned, as Bakugou looked at Kirishima in confusion, waiting for a more in-depth explanation.

'Bakugou,' Kirishima said, calmly, 'If you really like Y/N, your current attitude won't help, even if you do your be-'

Once he processed what the boy meant, Bakugou didn't hesitate to silence him through planting a rather violent kick on his head.

'Shut up! Who said I like her?' He yelled in his usual tone.

Kirishima laughed dryly as he rubbed the back of his head. He joked lightly on a different topic, in the hope that he'd change the mood.

As he and the two boys walked down the hallway to their next classroom, Bakugou snorted. Like you. He didn't even know why he tolerated you this much. Your Quirk wasn't anything spectacular, your skills were just a little above average, and he's seen girls who could be considered prettier.

Yet.. that once simple attempt to stand up for him while others took the chance to make him taste his own medicine did catch his attention. It was the first time he felt weak, and it was the first time he felt someone want to be by his side.

The rest of the day passed by rather quickly, as you occupied his mind through the rest of the classes. That evening, you were in your own room in the 1-A dormitory, completing an English essay that was due the next day. An unexpected light knock on your door made you jump.

For a moment, you looked at the clock. It was fifteen minutes past eight. Dinner was just an hour and a half or so ago, and most students preferred to be in their own bedrooms at the time, completing their homeworks. Who would bother visiting you?

You walked to the door and opened it curiously. You expected one of your friends to be there to ask you if they could borrow some school supplies or to ask you something regarding schoolwork, but that wasn't the case this time.

'Eh... Bakugou. Hi,' you greeted surprised as the boy looked at you with his typical frown, 'How can I help you?'

'May I come in?' He demanded.

'Of course. Enter.'

You backed away, allowing him to enter before closing the door behind you. While seating yourself back on your desk chair, you watched how he threw himself nonchalantly. on your bed.

'So... what brings you here?' You asked, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

'Whatcha writing there?' Bakugou raised his head from your pillow, to get a little sight on your desk. 'The English essay? That was really easy.'

You smiled as you continued to write down the rest of the essay. 'Yeah. It's not that hard.'

As you wrote, he didn't say anything. He simply watched you write. You two didn't get any moments to be alone, so you never got to truly know what the other was like when not under the influence of impressing others. He's looked at you before, but he couldn't remain and watch you for too long, in fear of someone noticing. It was in that moment Bakugou truly got to admire you for the first time.

It was then he realised how much he loved the way you looked when concentrating, the little tics you had while focusing, and how well you could use your time without getting distracted. He loved the way you talked, the colour of your eyes, and the way you always looked at things so optimistically. He loved the way how, even if you couldn't do something in that moment, you always pushed your limits to become better. He loved you.

After a while, he got up from your bed and walked behind you, looking at your essay over your shoulder.

'Hey, watch out,' he said as he pointed at a word on your paper, 'You forgot an h after the t.'

You analysed the word before turning at him with a smile. 'Thank you.'

At the sight of your smile, the corners of his mouth rised up inevitably.

'Tch,' he said as he grabbed a small chair and seated himself next to you. 'No need to thank me... loser.'

You smirked. 'Aren't we all losers at something?'

He didn't say anything, but he looked at you with a challenging gaze in his eyes, before resting his head over his arms on your desk. For the next ten minutes, neither of you said anything, except for the occasional moments when Bakugou would correct your mistakes on your paper.

Being honest with yourself, even if you knew that he was smart, you didn't expect him to do so well in theoretical classes. He gave off more of a street-smart aura that had you assuming that he just memorized everything before an exam or test and then let it go once the testing was over.

'There.' You smiled as you arranged your papers who were now full of writing, 'Essay's done. At last.'

Bakugou snorted. 'At last.'

'Thank you for your help, by the way. Is there anything I can help you with in return?'

You locked eyes with him curiously, as he thought. He opened his mouth almost immediately, ready to refuse, but a better idea came to him.

'Are you free this Saturday?' He asked, his smirk not leaving his face.

You felt how your face heated up, resulting in your cheeks turning as red as they could. What is this...?

'Ah... yes. I am. Why?'

'[Insert favourite movie]'s premiere is this Saturday in the cinema, isn't it? I thought you wanted to see that movie.'

Seeing the offer, you couldn't help but laugh. You couldn't say that any of the girls in 1-A were interested in seeing that movie, and you didn't know many people outside your classroom.

'Yes, I do want to see it!' You smiled.

'Then... will you go out with me, Y/N?' He asked.

The confidence he usually presented wasn't there in that moment, and you could easily feel it. You felt how vulnerable he was in that moment as he waited for your answer, and you couldn't understand why. Why would the king of confidence lose his wealth for a girl? Why would a king lose his wealth for a stranger?

'I would love to go out with you, Bakguou.'

You didn't even know why you accepted. You knew how rejecting that he normally was with everyone. Yet... in that moment, it felt different. It always felt a little different, but now the sensation that he might've been more than the hot-blooded demon he was in and outside class.

Bakugou smiled broadly as he got up from your desk. 'This Sautrday at six, then.'

He paused a moment as his eyes lingered a moment from you to your completed essay, and then back to you.

'Good luck with your essay... and everything else.'

'Thanks. You too.'

You watched how he walked to the other side of the room and pressed the doorknob. Just before opening the door, he looked back at you.

'Hey, Y/N?'

'Yeah?'

'Goodnight.'

'Goodnight, Bakugou.'

[justheretobreakthings]

Perchance to Dream

Written for @gentronlegendaryfriendships

Day Three: Telepathic Bond | Crying in Front of the Other

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

​Prompt: Sleep Deprivation

Word Count: 5,092 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Characters: Keith & Lance Read on AO3 My house, my rules, my ko-fi

Story Summary:

In the stress-filled days following Shiro's disappearance, it becomes clear that Keith is in desperate need of a good night's sleep. Lance and the rest of the team are determined to find a way to make that happen.

It was understandable that Keith would be in a bad mood as of late. After all, now that Zarkon was out of commission, a lot of political matters across the galaxies were up in the air, and the paladins were constantly meeting with one planetary leader after another. They were still having to keep up with battles and missions, and although the Blade was lending its assistance wherever it could, it still felt like they were spread thin now that they were short one paladin, and battles were that much more difficult now that they couldn’t form Voltron.

And, of course, there was the matter of what Shiro’s absence meant for Keith.

The other paladins didn’t have a whole lot of detail about what Keith had gone through when Shiro had disappeared on the Kerberos mission, since Keith wasn’t exactly eager to share any details about his past with anyone, but there were some things he couldn’t hide, not when some of his teammates were witnesses to them. Like the fact that Keith had been expelled from the Garrison for disciplinary issues within a week of the news of Kerberos breaking, or the fact that he had been living in self-imposed isolation for a year afterward, with no sign of having had contact with any sort of family or friends or of any family or friends even existing, until Shiro had finally returned, whereupon he steadfastly took up the role of Shiro’s right-hand man while remaining stubbornly closed off to everyone else in the Castle of Lions.

So, some emotional regressing was probably inevitable, and the rest of the team had formed an unspoken agreement to let it slide when Keith was snappish with them, when he skipped group meals and bonding sessions, when he stormed out of meetings, when he’d take the Red Lion out on yet another fruitless search for any sign of Shiro without letting anyone else know he’d be gone.

It was understandable, sure, but that didn’t mean they weren’t allowed to be irritated by it. And Lance was accustomed to being irritated by Keith, so it wasn’t like this was anything new. Just more of the same.

And more of the same also meant more venting about his Keith-related frustrations to Pidge and Hunk, who were annoyingly not particularly receptive to hearing about it.

“Look,” Pidge told him during one of these rants, cutting him off right in the middle of a very impassioned tirade about Keith having rammed into his shoulder in the hallway earlier that day without even stopping to apologize, “I’d be annoyed too, but cut him some slack. He just lost his brother, again. He has the right to be in a bad mood.”

“A bad mood, sure,” Lance said. “But there’s a limit to mood badness we should be willing to tolerate. Not like he’s never been a grouch before, but now it’s at the point where it’s messing with public image and missions. And team morale.”

“Him shoulder-checking you in the hallway really screwed up your morale that badly?”

“There’s no fucking way he doesn’t know he owes me an apology,” Lance snapped. “He’s just intentionally being a dick.”

“You always say that when it comes to Keith.”

“It’s always true.” He sighed. “Come on, help me out. When you get into a really bad mood about the situation with your brother and dad, you still pull yourself out of it after a while. What’s the difference there, huh? What do you do that Keith doesn’t?”

Pidge bristled. “I don’t get into ‘bad moods’, it’s perfectly justifiable to be pissed the fuck off when a tyrannical empire kidnaps your family and - ”

“Hang on, whoa, I wasn’t saying it wasn’t justifiable!” Lance said hastily. “I was just - ”

“So, what, does it mess with your fucking morale when I get grumpy about - ”

“I think what Lance is trying to say,” Hunk cut in, “Is that, when you’re feeling extra upset about the whole setting, the anger still settles. It’s just not sustainable to stay so angry for a longer period of time, you’d completely burn out and wind up basically breaking down. You’re mad about the whole thing, and rightly so, but you temper it enough that it doesn’t keep you from functioning and interfere with daily life, right? Meanwhile, Keith’s temper’s been flaring a lot longer than is healthy. It’s no good for him to not be coping.”

“Yeah,” Lance said with a nod. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was gonna say.”

“Like hell it was,” Pidge muttered, but thankfully she let it go for now. “It’s not like I’m doing anything to work through the anger, really. Just, like you said, it burns out. Eventually I just gotta sleep it off, get some air, wait ‘til I can focus again.”

“Ah, okay, so Keith has to sleep it off,” Lance said. “I’m sure a nap will make everything all better again.”

“Hey, you asked how I deal, and I told you. Not my fucking problem if you don’t like the answer.”

“Well,” Hunk said slowly, “It… actually could help.”

Lance frowned over at him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s kind of a well-known fact that lack of sleep basically kills your mood, right? Just think of how cranky toddlers get after they miss a nap. I mean, I’m not trying to say Keith is a toddler or anything, or that this is a temper tantrum, nothing like that. But, well, he’s been really pushing himself trying to find Shiro, and he hasn’t really been recharging. He’s still up earlier than the rest of us, and a couple nights ago when I woke up halfway through the night and went to get a snack, he was up pacing the hallways.”

“Huh,” Pidge said. “Come to think of it, I’m usually the last one to bed, but I have heard Keith still moving around in his room a few times while I was heading to my room to sleep. And he’s been yawning a lot in diplomacy meetings. More than usual, I mean.”

“Oh!” Lance said. “And our last team training session, I was totally kicking his ass on reflex time against those drones! Normally he’s like, almost as fast as I am, but he was stumbling around like a drunk! Think that was because he was tired?”

“Lance, he normally has the fastest reflexes out of all of us,” said Hunk.

“No, no, we’re pretty much even. My reflexes just look slower to you guys because you’re more used to seeing them.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s how it works,” Pidge said, rolling her eyes. “But hey, the point stands. Bit of sleep would probably do him some good.”

“Well, if it means a possibility of a slightly less pouty Mullet stinking up the place? It’s gotta be worth a shot.”

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

The next time Lance encountered Keith in the hall, he didn’t wait around to get brushed off or bumped into. Instead he strode straight up into the path of Keith’s stomping boots, earning himself a level glare that he pointedly ignored.

“Hey,” Lance said, “Cancel any plans you’ve got for tonight. We’re doing a sleepover.”

“... What?” Keith said, blinking uncomprehendingly.

Lance wasn’t sure if Keith was just taken aback by his abruptness, or if he actually didn’t know what a sleepover was. Just in case, he explained. “You know, we all gather together, have some quality bonding time, get as comfortable as possible, then pass out and sleep through the rest of the night and, if we did it right, half of the next day too. We’re all meeting in the paladins’ lounge, at - at half past, uh… fuck it, Altean clocks are stupid. Once you start seeing someone heading that way in pajamas, it’s time.”

“No thanks,” Keith grunted.

He moved to step around Lance, and Lance held out a hand to block him. “Wait, you gotta hear me out first. We’re all gonna put on our paladin pajamas and lion slippers - that’s all mandatory, by the way, sleepovers are very strict about dress codes - and gather up all the pillows and blankets we can find, and we’re going to basically transform the lounge into a massive blanket fort. And Pidge is gonna bring her caterpillars along to join, and they’re basically the softest things in all of existence, and we’re gonna taste-test some of Hunk’s new dessert recipes he’s trying out, get nice and stuffed before we go to bed. Basically, this is gonna be the best night’s sleep any of us have had in years.”

“I’ll pass.”

“No, look, you can’t pass. It’s team bonding.”

Keith huffed. “We do plenty of team bonding in all our battles and meetings. And speaking of which, we’ve got more important things to be focusing on than blanket forts.”

“Well, yeah, but how are we going to be able to focus on those important things if we don’t take some time to relax in between? All work and no play makes Keith a dull paladin.”

“All… what are you talking about?”

Lance sighed. “Okay, look, I’ll level with you. The whole team’s been kind of, uh, concerned, lately. About your mood. And Hunk noticed you haven’t been getting much sleep lately, and frankly it’s making you even more of a grouch than usual - no offense, I mean - so we figured - ”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Keith growled. “Yeah, I’ve been in a bad mood. Do you wanna guess why, Lance? Can you think of anything that might have happened lately that may be worth getting a little bit upset over? What could I be concerned about, huh? What could I possibly have going on that’s more important than a goddamn sleepover?!”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about,” Lance said. “Maybe if you got a decent night’s sleep, you wouldn’t be yelling at me right now.”

“I’m not yelling!” Keith snapped. “And I definitely don’t need you to be monitoring my sleep schedule!” He stepped around Lance, and this time, Lance didn’t stop him. “Have all the sleepovers you want, but leave me out of them,” Keith muttered as he left.

Lance slumped as he watched him go. He had figured that it would take a bit of convincing to get Keith on board for a sleepover, but he hadn’t actually expected him to get angry over it.

God, he definitely needed a nap.

“Stupid, stubborn Mullet,” Lance grumbled under his breath, scuffing his shoes against the floor as started back to the lounge.

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

The sleepover may have been a no-go, but that didn’t mean they had to give up on Operation: Make Keith Actually Get Some Sleep quite yet, especially since, in the coming quintants, the dark bags under Keith’s eyes, the disheveled state of his hair and his clothes, and his irritability were all increasing before the very eyes of the rest of the team. If any of them had had any doubts over whether he was sleep-deprived, they were certainly dashed by now.

But since apparently Keith had some sort of issue with his teammates actively encouraging him to sleep, they agreed that they would have to try more subtle methods to get him past his insomnia, help him sleep without letting him realize they were doing it.

Lance initially proposed raiding the med bay for some sort of sleeping tonic and slipping it into his food, but that idea was shot down immediately by Pidge explaining that it would be too risky to use a medicinal sleep aid on someone when they didn’t know how it would react with his biology, and Hunk saying that drugging Keith without his knowledge and consent was just an extremely sleazy and messed up thing, and making it clear that he found it very disturbing that he even had to point that out to them.

But there were other things to try, discrete ways to try to make the Red Paladin a bit more susceptible to some solid sleep. Hunk planned out dinners over the next few nights that heavily featured poultry and whole grains, which he explained to Lance induced the production of some sort of sleep hormone - Lance honestly had sort of zoned out the moment Hunk started throwing science into the conversation. Pidge messed with the lighting in the living quarters to dim the lights in Keith’s room, just enough that he probably wouldn’t notice the difference, but would also have a slightly easier time falling asleep despite the light.

Even the Alteans got in on it, as it seemed the human paladins weren’t the only ones who had taken notice of Keith’s insomnia. Allura had them all do meditation shortly before the castle’s night cycle began, under the pretense of it being a training exercise for the paladin bond. Coran, who it turned out was an ardent advocate of aromatherapy, pumped some sort of faint fragrance into the air vents in the living quarters, which smelled a bit like lavender and vanilla, although with a certain tartness to the scent that was distinctly Altean.

And yet, even after all of that, they still weren’t seeing a change. It was frustrating, to say the least.

Lance decided to try his own hand at it a few quintants into their new subtle approach, figuring it couldn’t possibly hurt. He waited in his own room with the door kept open, until he saw Keith pass by in the hall and called him in.

“What?” Keith asked. The word came out sharp and tetchy, but lately that was how everything Keith said sounded, so Lance paid it no mind.

Instead, he simply held out his headphones. “Would you mind giving this a listen for me? I think something’s a little weird with the audio, like it’s scratchy or something, but it’s hard to tell. I wanna know if I’m just imagining it.”

“Wouldn’t Pidge be better with audio stuff?” Keith asked.

“With fixing it, yeah, but right now I just need someone to give a second opinion.” Lance bounced the headphones in his hand. “Come on, please?”

Keith let out a long, low breath, but he obliged, taking the headphones and sitting on the edge of Lance’s bed as he placed them over his ears. Lance gave him a thumbs-up and pressed play on his music player, watching Keith’s face carefully. This was a special mix he’d been using for the last couple of years, and the fact that he’d had his player in his backpack with him when they’d wound up in the Blue Lion was a godsend. A playlist of soft guitar songs and light Caribbean ballads with steady and melodic percussion beats, all interspersed with ocean sounds. It had lulled him to sleep every night since he’d been in the Castle of Lions.

The mix played for a few minutes before Keith moved one of the earphones aside and said, “I don’t hear anything weird.”

“You positive?” Lance said. “Listen real closely, all right? Close your eyes, it’ll help you concentrate.”

Keith did, and his eyes stayed closed for another few minutes before he shook his head. “It all sounds fine to me.”

“Well, that’s good,” Lance said. “Guess it was all in my head after all.” He accepted the headphones as Keith handed them back to him, then cleared his throat. “So, ah, did you like that music? You looked like you were enjoying it.”

“Sure,” Keith said with a shrug.

“Hey, that’s - that’s cool. Gives us something in common. You know, if you want, you can borrow my music player for a while.”

“That’s all right, you keep it.”

“No really, I think you’d like it. You could, like, give the whole mix a listen, let me know what you think. I bet you’ll enjoy it, I’m sort of known for having great taste in music.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Lance asked.

“Since when are you so eager to let me borrow your things?”

“Uh, since always? I’m generous.”

“Lance, last week I accidentally used your toothpaste instead of mine and you acted like I had stabbed you.”

Lance huffed. “Our bottles look completely different, how could you possibly have - ? You know what, not important. Just, I’m up for sharing now, okay? So come on, just take the music. You’ll like it.”

“Not until I figure out what you’re trying to - ”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m just trying to help you, Mullet! This is supposed to be relaxing! So could you quit being so goddamn stubborn for once in your life and just take the stupid headphones already?!”

A pause of silence stretched between them as Keith’s expression slowly fell to a dark scowl. “Oh my god. Is this seriously about that stupid sleep thing again?!”

“Yes,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “You know what, yes, it is. And honestly, we shouldn’t be having to go to this much trouble to get a grown-ass adult to actually take a nap, and this is getting really ridiculous - ”

“Wait a minute, ‘we’?”

“Well, it’s kind of really fucking obvious that you haven’t gotten half a dobosh of sleep in ages, but since apparently you’re too proud or something to admit you actually need help, the rest of us have had to intervene to keep you from just straight up dying of exhaustion.”

“For the love of - I don’t need anyone’s help to sleep!”

“Oh, like hell you don’t. Look at you, the bags under your eyes are so big I’d have to check them at the ticket counter. I don’t know why you’ve gone and decided that having trouble sleeping is something you’ve got to be ashamed or whatever’s going on in your head, but - ”

“I can sleep just fine! I don’t want to sleep!”

“What, because you’re being so damn productive in those extra waking hours you get when you don’t? You’re not exactly doing yourself any favors here.”

“It’s got nothing to do with that!”

“Well then what’s it got to - ”

“Do you know what happens every time I fall asleep?” Keith snarled. “You know what I see every single time?”

“Uh…” said Lance.

“I see Shiro.” Keith crossed his arms, his scowl deepening. “Every time I close my eyes to go to sleep, it’s Shiro. Sometimes I see him bleeding out in the hall of a Galra base. Sometimes I see that gladiator arena he told us about, and he’s in the middle of it, barely hanging in there. Sometimes he’s just floating out in the middle of space and he’s cold and he’s too far from anyone or anything to get help. And sometimes it’s just the Black Lion, getting shot to smithereens right in front of me in the middle of battle and I can’t do anything to stop. He’s hurt and he’s dying and I just do nothing.

“Because that’s what I did, didn’t I?” He choked out a dry laugh that was completely devoid of any humor. “He got taken, right under our noses, and we didn’t even know until we got back to the hangars. He could be dead, or being tortured; maybe the Galra have something in mind for him that’s so horrible we can’t even fathom it. And we could have prevented it, but we didn’t. And it’s all I can think about, and when I’m asleep, it’s all I can see.

“Hell, I got nightmares after the Kerberos thing too, imagined his shuttle crash-landing against that stupid moon and wound up with that playing over and over every night. But at least that time, it wasn’t like it was my fault. Not like I was there and could have done anything. Not like I’d ever seen Shiro hurt and scared before, so my stupid brain couldn’t use that for reference. This time, though?” He tapped his temple. “It’s all there. Just waiting to play out.”

He took a shaky breath. “If I stay awake as long as possible, though, just let my body pass out when it can’t handle being awake for one more second, I don’t dream. I guess I’m just, like, too exhausted for the subconscious to do anything but wait for me to wake up. So I can’t sleep until I absolutely have to, you know? Because if I don’t I end up - I have to see - ” He gritted his teeth and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“... Shit, dude,” Lance said, slowly lowering himself onto the bed next to Keith. “I, uh… I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Keith grunted. He lowered his hands and Lance could see the glistening of tears there before he brought his knees up, wrapped his arms around them and buried his face in them. “God, you’re not supposed to see this.”

“Why not?” Lance asked softly. “Keith, if you’d told us what you were dealing with, we could’ve helped you out.”

“How?” Keith snapped. “You can’t control what I dream about, you can’t undo what happened to Shiro. I just - I have to deal with this.

“Keith, you don’t need to - ”

“Yeah, I do.” He sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “Okay? And this isn’t me being stubborn or anything, I’m just stating facts. This isn’t something that can be fixed, it’s just something I - something I have to figure out. Somehow.” He coughed. “So, please, Lance. Stop trying to help. Tell the others to stop trying to help.” With one last sniff and failed attempt to blink away the now cascading tears, he stood and turned away. “I’ve gotta go,” he mumbled. “Should really get to the training deck.”

“But - ”

“Don’t - don’t tell the others. About this. It’ll just… make them worry.” And before Lance could say anything in response, Keith was out the door.

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

It was several vargas later that Keith finally stopped training and came back to the living quarters, and by then the castle was well into its night cycle. Keith was drenched in sweat, trembling somewhat from exertion as he trudged his way back toward his room.

So, the sight of Lance standing in front of the door probably wasn’t a welcome one, and Lance was unsurprised by the glare he received as Keith approached, which deepened further as he spotted the music player in Lance’s hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Keith asked.

Lance took a deep breath. “I, uh - I had a bit of an idea. I know you said you don’t want me to, like, get involved in - in this whole thing going on with you, but I gave this a lot of thought, I really did, and I think you should hear me out. I’ve got something you really need to try.”

“Lance,” Keith sighed. “We already went over this. I don’t need you to help me fall asleep. And besides, the music, the beach sounds? They just don’t work for me, okay? There’s no point in - ”

“No, okay, I know we went over all of that,” Lance interrupted. “But this is different, I swear.”

“Lance - ”

“Look, this is either going to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done for you, or a stroke of absolute genius. It’s like fifty-fifty and we won’t know which one it is until we try it. So, here.” He held up the headphones. “Just give it a shot.”

Keith frowned down at the headphones, but slowly, he obliged, taking them from Lance’s hand and positioning them onto his head. “All right,” he said, closing his eyes. “Ready.”

Lance nodded and pressed play, then watched Keith’s face. At first he remained stoic, then, gradually, his brow began to scrunch in confusion. Lance held his breath as he watched, and after about a minute Keith’s eyes opened to look warily at him. “What… what is this?” He moved the headphones down, and Lance could just hear the sound of the playing track: a voice, soft and tinny at this distance from the earpiece but still confident and sincere. “We’re entering a new era of human exploration of the unknown universe, and every one of you has the ability to become part of history.”

“That,” Lance said, “Is a speech that was made about five years ago at my middle school, and probably a couple hundred others. By a certain Galaxy Garrison lieutenant I admired very much.”

“Yeah.” Keith brought the headphones off his head completely to stare at in his hands. “Thought I, um, recognized it. How did - how did you even get a recording of it way out here?”

“I downloaded a video of it that was on Youtube, converted into an MP3. Listened to it while I worked on my Garrison application, because that stupid application process was frustrating as shit and I needed the motivation. Guess I just never deleted it.”

“...Oh.” Keith kept staring at the headphones for a while longer before slowly moving them back up onto his head and closing his eyes again. Lance watched as he stayed still, for long enough that Lance was starting to wonder if Keith had forgotten he was there, when Keith finally opened his eyes back up and pushed the headphones aside again. “It’s… nice,” he said softly. “Hearing him talk. I’d… forgotten… how nice that was.”

Lance gave him a small smile. “Yeah. That’s the idea. See, I got to thinking, about the stuff I was having you try listening to before, and how you didn’t find it relaxing the way you were supposed to, and I realized, like, the reason that that stuff calms me and helps me sleep, is because it’s for me, specifically. Like, the Timba music is stuff I’ve been listening to my whole life, that I’d play in my room at home all the time, and the ocean sounds, they make me think of swimming and going to the beach with my family and laying down on a surfboard to watch the sun and stuff. And, you know, stuff like that, it makes me feel at home, right? It feels peaceful, and familiar, and safe, and that’s all good for getting a good night’s sleep, and for keeping the bad stuff away.

“But for you, well, none of those sounds are really home to you, are they? The music genre’s kinda niche, and I figure you’re more into… I dunno, punk rock? Post-hardcore? Some genre where your mullet might be considered acceptable. And as for the ocean sounds, I mean, you lived in the middle of the desert and you don’t even swim.”

“I can swim,” Keith said.

“Eh, you don’t so much swim as just ‘not drown’, but whatever,” said Lance. “Point is, they weren’t the right sounds for you. So I asked myself, okay, what sort of things would make Keith feel at home? Duh, explosions. But then I realized explosion sound effects would probably be hard to sleep through, so I went searching through my MP3s and found this. And, like, it works doubly well because if you fall asleep with this playing and Shiro shows up in your dream, then your subconscious or whatever might connect the two. So instead of him, um, going missing or - or stuff like that, dream-Shiro will start giving a motivational speech instead. You know, how sometimes when you’re asleep and dreaming and you hear a sound in real life and your brain just sort of incorporates it into the dream? I mean, it’s just a theory, but it has to be worth a shot, right?”

“Lance, I dunno if - ”

“Yeah, I don’t really know for sure either. Might be a little out there. But, you know. I just thought maybe this could be, uh - this could work. Here, you can set it to play the track on a loop like this, see.” He held up the player to show him. “And the whole thing is about an hour long, so it’ll probably only make it through one loop, if even, before you fall asleep, so you don’t need to worry about it getting super repetitive and driving you crazy. Now, the real motivational stuff is only at the beginning and the end. The whole forty-five minutes or so in the middle is mostly just talking about the Garrison’s programs and how to apply and stuff like that, but that’s still probably better than nothing, right? You can dream about Shiro in teacher-mode or whatever.”

Keith bit his lip in thought, eyes darting between Lance and the headphones, before quietly saying, “... Yeah. Maybe.”

“Try it, at least. For the team’s sake, yeah? ‘Cause we’re all kinda worried about your health at this point, and - and I don’t care what you say, you really need a good night’s sleep.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay?”

Keith nodded, reaching and hand out to take the music player from Lance. “I’ll try it, at least.”

“Great!” Lance said, face brightening. “Let me know tomorrow how it goes, okay?”

“All right,” Keith said. “And, um - just - for the uh, for the - I just - it’s, um, it’s nice to know that you guys all - ”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, Mullet,” Lance said. “Now, go the fuck to sleep.”

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

For the first morning in a long time, Keith wasn’t the first paladin up and about. In fact, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge were all already halfway through their breakfasts when Keith finally showed up in the kitchen, blinking drowsily against the light. But it was a different drowsiness than usual. The sort of drowsiness that came from just having woken rather than from desperately needing to go to bed.

Wisely, none of them made any remarks about the change. They bid him good morning and asked if he’d like to join for breakfast, as casually as they would have on any given morning on the castle before Keith’s whole insomnia episode began, and he accepted, his focus entirely on the food in front of him.

Lance waited until Hunk and Pidge started their own conversation, distracted enough by each other not to pay the rest of the table any mind, before tapping the table near Keith’s plate and giving him a questioning thumbs-up. Keith nodded, and Lance smiled as what he had already suspected was confirmed: Shiro’s speech had worked.

Lance was a goddamn genius.

And in the following quintants, as Keith gradually grew less irritable and the bags beneath his eyes started to fade, it became easier to believe that maybe, the team could get through this. Keith could get through this.

He just needed his goddamn genius teammates to help out a bit sometimes. That’s all.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Officer Cutie Pants

Anon Request: Can I do a request on our sweet little detective, where he frisks, cuffs, and has a lot of physical contact with the reader, maybe some light hearted smut at the end? :P

A/N: This became a story, but I hope it still satisfies your request. I tried some third person for a change bc I get bored with “Y/N” and “you.” However, there are some places where I had to use a “Y/N,” but I did try to limit it. Feedback welcome, as always, especially if you are like omg stahhp this is way too much “she/her” and “you” flows better sis👏

WC: 6087

Warnings: Reference to a jackass in a club who doesn’t know what “no” means, minor physical violence of said jackass, SMUT (18+ please)

* * * * *

Mike hides his laugh behind his hand as Baxter’s girlfriend pushes her ass into her boyfriend, grinding back into him as he tries his best to still her hips. His forearms are strained with effort as he holds her at bay.

“Y/N. Get. In. The. Car,” Baxter growls out before adding a quiet, “Please.”

“Youuu are gonna have to cuff meee,” she sings, twirling in his arms and wrapping her hands around his neck. “Andstuffme,” she loudly whispers, causing Mike to laugh as Baxter looks ready to die on the spot.

The night had been a fairly quiet patrol, so when Mike and Baxter got a call for a drunken disturbance outside of a nightclub in their area, they both sat up a little straighter as their adrenaline kicked in. Baxter’s breath hitched as he remembered something, his palms all of a sudden very sweaty; he rubbed them over the starchy fabric of the uniform pants that covered his thighs, and Mike glanced over from the driver’s seat.

“What is it?”

“Y/N is there tonight—I just … I’ve got that feeling. Something’s happened.”

Mike’s foot pressed harder on the accelerator as he flipped on the siren.

“Hey, Mike!” she calls, suddenly aware of his presence. “Bax is bein’ a loatboad of nofun.”

“A loatboad, huh,” Mike says as he walks over, his arms crossing as he looks down from his substantial height of 6’5 at both Baxter and Baxter’s girlfriend.

“I can handle this,” he says, glancing up at Mike before returning his eyes to his girlfriend’s face.

He grasps her wrists and removes her hands from his neck, gently pushing her back. She giggles and leans against the cruiser, her head tilting up to look at the night sky.

She is absolutely drunk off her ass, along with at least three of the five friends she had been partying with.

“I wanna press charges against that bi—”

“Careful, sir,” Mike says, cutting off a guy who is almost the same height as himself, except it looks like this guy currently ran his nose into a doorframe. “You wanna tell me what happened here?”

Mike maneuvers his body to block Baxter from the view of the guy who is now insisting that Bax’s girlfriend assaulted him.

“I’ll tell ya wha’ happened!” she interjects, raising her head from its spot on the car and struggling again.

“Tell me what happened,” Baxter says, moving so that his back is to Mike’s, further distancing her from the man claiming assault.

Her eyes are filled with a wild anger until she realizes her boyfriend is the only thing she can see. She blinks, then grins at him.

“Le’s go downtown, Officer Baxty-Babe. I’ll take my pants off ‘n you can do that thing you do that makes me—”

“Please, please stop, sweetheart. You need to focus and explain what happened, or I am going to have to arrest you. Which means mountains of paperwork,” Baxter explains, moving to try to capture her gaze long enough to hold her attention. “Which means it will be a week before I can do that thing to you again,” he adds in a low voice, pulling a wide smile from her as her bloodshot eyes finally settle on his again.

Staring intently into Baxter’s eyes always makes her feel like she is being scrubbed raw. His eyes look dark in the dim light of the street, but they still hold that same pull that had initially attracted her. She quickly found out that dating a cop was hell, constantly worrying about what might happen to him, and after an initial few months of swearing she was going to break it off, and Baxter showing her why she shouldn’t, she acquiesced and let herself fall ridiculously in love with him.

Which suddenly occurs to her to say.

“Iloveyousomuch,” she gushes, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re so sexy ‘n smart ‘n officery ‘n I jus’ looove you.”

Baxter blinks, a long, slow blink of patience, and releases his grasp on her wrists. He moves his hands to her face and asks her not to cry.

“‘M not cryin’!” she declares, laughing as she flings herself into Baxter’s arms, finally able to make full body contact with him, her hands travelling south to grasp his ass at an incredibly high rate of speed before he snatches up her wrists again.

“Stop!” Baxter says loud enough to make her freeze, the tears she swore she didn’t have in her eyes returning.

“Okay,” she mumbles, stepping back and going slack against the car, so slack that she just keeps sliding until she’s sitting on the ground, her ass suddenly cold as it connects with the asphalt.

Gracie and Kendra move forward to help their friend, but Baxter holds out his hand, stopping them.

With a sigh, he kneels, thankful his girlfriend can’t make any more sudden moves.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently. “Please tell me what happened.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t.”

“You can’t remember?”

“I re’mber.”

“Then why can’t you tell me?”

She finally looks up, sniffling but not yet crying.

“You’ll kill ‘em.”

Baxter’s fingers flex as he suddenly realizes he should’ve trusted that feeling in his gut all along. He looks up at Gracie and Kendra, and they are frowning.

“Did you see what happened?”

“Not until after she hit him—but it was for a good reason, Bax,” Kendra answers.

Baxter turns his attention back to his girlfriend.

“If you told the girls, you can tell me, too.”

“Gonna kill him ‘n you’ll lose your job—”

“I am an officer of the law, Y/N,” Baxter says, his voice even and soothing, the exact opposite of how he really felt. “I took an oath to protect and serve. The least I can do is protect the woman I love.”

Gracie hiccups as tears fill her eyes and she softly says, “He won’t kill ‘em—ya gotta tell him anyway.”

Too drunk to have felt Baxter’s shift in demeanor from one of embarrassment to controlled anger, she feels reassured by Gracie’s appeal.  

“Tell me what happened,” Baxter requests again in the same soothing voice, his eyes trained on her face as she looks slightly over his shoulder and into the small crowd that had gathered.  

“We were dancing. ‘N it was fine. All the girls. Guys too. Some guys, couple a guys. Some guys started dancing. Yes. Wasn’t even really payin’ attention, just dancing ‘n then one of em was pullin’ me away, tellin’ me he was taking me home ‘n I said no ‘n he wouldn’ listen so I hit em—just like you taugh’ me,” she finishes, suddenly happy again as her face splits into a wide grin as she mimicks her upward, palm-flat punch toward Baxter’s nose.

He grabs her hand in time to stop her from accidentally hitting him, but this time, instead of restraining her, he presses a kiss to the back of her hand.

“Good girl. Now, can you stay right here for me? Don’t move?”

“I like it here. ‘S comfy,” she says patting the ground and leaning her head to the side.

Baxter’s movement is a blur as he brushes past Mike and starts in on the guy who apparently couldn’t understand the word no.

“Turn around. Put your hands behind your back,” Baxter says as he pulls his cuffs from his belt.

Mike is on immediate alert, ready to back up his partner. He acknowledges the backup officers who had arrived only a moment ago, and they work to push the crowd back.  

“What the fuck, man? I’m the one with the busted nose!”

“I said turn around,” Baxter growls as he steps forward, his eyes fixed on the guy’s face. “In my area, no means no.”

“I never touched her,” the guy says, an edge of panic creeping into his voice as he realizes he’s not going to be able to use the sympathy of a few fellow men. Neither Mike nor Baxter have any tolerance for men who don’t respect women, especially intoxicated and vulnerable ones, although it turned out that this guy’s target was not at all vulnerable.

“It was loud—I didn’t hear her. I swear, Officer,” the guy babbles as he complies to being cuffed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes dart back and forth

Mike steps forward and hooks Baxter’s elbow, angling him so he could lean down to his ear, “Bargain. Get him to drop the charge against Y/N if we let him off with a misdemeanor disturbance. Guy doesn’t have a record.”

Baxter’s eyes turn up to Mike’s and they are hard, unwavering, but Mike doesn’t look away. Under his partner’s gaze, Baxter’s anger falters and logic takes hold again.

“Interview Y/N’s friends while he cools his heels in the backseat. I’ll check in with the bouncer to make sure he’s never had an issue with the asshole before.”

Mike nods and is once more greeted by a cheer as he approaches Baxter’s girlfriend, a few of her friends joining in this time, making Mike grin and shake his head yet again. Meanwhile, Baxter walks the guy in custody to the backup’s cruiser and puts him in the backseat.

At least she’s okay, he thinks before he begins to clean up this mess of a night.  

*  *  *  *  *

Groaning, Baxter’s girlfriend lifts her head from the mattress between the two pillows she had fallen onto when she passed out. She has a vague recollection of her friends helping her into bed, but at the moment, much of the night was a blur.

Rolling over, she thinks hard.

Dancing. Lots of dancing.

Shots. More shots than dancing.

God, what got into me?

There is a rustling and a few thunks from the kitchen that make her sit up in bed, her heart picking up speed as she listens.

“Hello?” she calls, wondering if Gracie, Kendra, or Eliza had spent the night.

Clutching her blanket to her chest, she holds her breath as heavy footsteps scuffle down the hall.

Baxter appears in the bedroom doorway, a smile on his face and an apology for scaring her on his lips.

“You did scare me! Last night … bit of a blur,” she sighs as she lays back down.

“How much of a blur?” he asks as he moves farther into the room, his hands settling into the pockets of his gray sweats. He still has on his sneakers, and he’s wearing a black, LAPD t-shirt from the 5-k run the county hosted a few weeks ago.

She’s quiet for a moment and then sits up with a gasp, her eyes wide as she begs Baxter to tell her she’s wrong.

“I didn’t … oh my god. Please say I didn’t. That guy’s nose. OH. MY. GOD. I tried to—while you were on duty. Oh god, Bax. I’m so sorry!”

Baxter only smiles a little.

“So you remember it all?”

“The details are a little hazy—what happened to the guy I … bopped?”

“It was a little more than a ‘bop,’” Baxter says, pulling his hands from his pockets to make air quotes.

“I think I may have overreacted,” she says as she bites her lip, realizing that her mouth tastes like a drifter took a bath in it.

“The bouncer corroborated that he got pushy. It’s club policy to kick anyone out that makes physical contact, though. Apparently, you didn’t like that.”

Closing her eyes, she thinks back and remembered issuing quite a string of profanity as the bouncer escorted her out.

“Who called the cops?”

“The guy you slugged. Guess he has a modeling gig next week and no insurance. He wanted the ‘crazy bitch’ who hit him to pay for the damage she caused to his livelihood.”

“He was a model?” she asks, her lip turning up in confused disagreement. “No way.”

“Way,” Bax replies, sitting down gently on the edge of the bed.

Her eyes squint as she thinks hard about what transpired, frowning as she looked to Baxter’s face. It is still fixed in what she calls his “cop face.” His features neutral, his mouth closed and his eyes alert as he waits for her to talk—he has the patience of a saint, which makes him a damn good policeman.

“We were all dancing—a big group of us. The guys came up and pulled a few shots from the floating tray for us. I was feeling pretty stellar by then anyway, but I remember the feeling of his fingers closing over my wrist—tugging me away from the dance floor. I told him I had a boyfriend, but he shrugged. It was that fucking shrug. He pulled on my wrist again, and the rest is a blur—I do remember the way it felt when my palm connected with his nose—shit! I have a bruise!” she exclaims, looking at the bright patch on the heel of her palm.

Baxter’s eyebrow rises and he scoots closer, reaching out to take her hand in his to examine her palm.

“Are you mad at me? I don’t blame you if you are.”

Baxter closes his eyes for a moment, then raises her palm to his lips, pressing gently into the bruise.

“No. I’m not mad, sweetheart.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Baxter chuckles, his lips vibrating against her palm.

“Would I be here about to cook you a big hangover breakfast in my sweats instead of my uniform if you were?”

“I feel like I’ve sullied your sacred uniform,” she says, her grin shy before splitting into one of joy. “Wait—did you say breakfast?”

“Mmhmmm.”

“You are the best boyfriend in the universe!”

“I know. And I also know you will somehow think of a way to repay me for the merciless roasting I took at the station when Mike opened his dumbass mouth.”

“I will kill him. I don’t care how big he is.”

“You’ve clearly proven what a tigress you are,” Baxter replies, his face becoming more open as he relaxes, knowing that his girlfriend really is okay after the ordeal.

“Just you wait,” she says, her headache momentarily forgotten as she darts toward the bathroom.

“I shower … you cook!”

Baxter smiles and shakes his head as he stands and makes his way back to the kitchen.

As soon as the bathroom door shuts and she flicks on the light, she remembers her hangover. Opening the medicine cabinet, she pops a few ibuprofen and scoops up some water from the running faucet. Unable to take the dirty feeling any longer, she brushes her teeth as she turns the shower on and lets it get hot.

About 20 minutes later, she emerges from her bedroom, showered, comfily dressed, and feeling mostly human, to the smell of bacon and coffee.

Baxter is pushing around eggs in her skillet as she walks over to him, bacon on the burner beside the eggs, and another skillet of potatoes sizzling on the back burner. Standing behind him, she pops her chin onto his shoulder and slides her hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“You smell good,” Baxter says through a smile that she can only hear.

“So do you,” she purrs as she turns into his neck and nuzzles, enjoying the slight stubble along Baxter’s jawline that meant he had gotten ready in a rush to come and see her.

“Is that so?”

“Shut up,” she bites back playfully, her hands moving to grip his strong thighs from the inside of his pockets. “You know you smell better, look better, and are an infinitely better human than any idiot fuckboy in a club who thinks ‘I have a boyfriend’ is a challenge.”

She feels Baxter chuckle again, and as he steps slightly to the right, she pushes her hands deeper into his pockets, inadvertently exposing a strip of his stomach between his boxer-briefs and his t-shirt.

“Hey—if I get a third degree burn from bacon grease on my junk, I am going to be pissed at you.”

Laughing, she relinquishes her boyfriend and moves to pull down two mugs for coffee.

“You are so sexy, Mister Officer. I can’t help myself—as we clearly learned last night,” she banters back with a slight eyeroll at her own behavior.

“Can I ask you something?”

She puts Baxter’s coffee on the counter closest to where he’s scrambling the eggs, and then leans into the edge before replying, “Of course.”

“Why were you so shitfaced last night? I’ve seen you have a good time, but that seemed … out of character. Or maybe not? I’m just curious.”

“It’s a very legit question, Bax. And you’re right … a little out of character for me.”

Pausing, she takes a sip of her coffee. Baxter turns the burner off for the bacon and moves it from the heat. He turns the potatoes down before running his spatula through them, making sure they don’t burn. Sitting her coffee down, she moves to a cupboard to grab a plate and a few papertowels.

“Sometimes I just want to get fucked up. I wanna not worry for a night. Not overthink. Let the constant yammering in my head take a night off, ya know?”

Baxter nods and asks for two bowls for the scrambled eggs and the potatoes. She moves to the cupboard again and pulls out two white bowls, ones that are just a little bigger than the cereal bowls.

“Any particular worries?”

“Work, always.”

“I feel you on that one,” Baxter replies as he looks around for a serving spoon.

She reads his search and reaches into the drawer to pull one out.

“Toast?” he asks.

“Oh yes. I need all the carbs to quell the queasy.”

As she carries the bacon and eggs to her small in-kitchen table, she says quietly, “And you. Pretty much always.”

Baxter clicks the toaster down and turns to look at his girlfriend, his eyes narrowed and his lips a little tight.

“Me, huh?”

Chewing slightly on the skin behind her lower lip, she crosses to the toaster and leans on the counter opposite of Baxter.

“We talked about this when we first started dating, but I didn’t realize how consuming it would be. I think about the what ifs all the time. I love you. What would I do if—"

“Hey, hey,” Baxter says, cutting her off as he moves into her body, his hands coming up to cup her face.

In return, she slides her arms around his waist, her fingers moving under his t-shirt to touch the bare skin of his back.

Baxter and Y/N look at each other for a long moment before he closes the distance and kisses her, his lips forming perfectly against hers in a tender moment of genuine affection.

When Baxter pulls back, he holds her gaze as he says, “Imagine how I felt hearing that call come in for a club I knew you were at. When I saw you standing outside, I thought I was gonna be sick.”

She looks into Baxter’s eyes, and then both of them jump as the toaster pops, both of them uttering a soft giggle.

Bax presses a quick kiss to her forehead before pulling the toast out and setting it on a plate. She lines herself up behind him again and kisses between his shoulder blades over his t-shirt.

“Let’s both try to worry less.”

“I’m more concerned for any … what did you call him? Idiot fuckface?”

“Boy,” Y/N says, laughing. “Idiot fuckboy.”

“Fuckboy who tries to steal you away.”

“Never, ever gonna happen.”

“Even though I make you worry, like, all the time?”

“You’re worth it—you just may have to answer a few more what are they called? 213s?”

Baxter laughs, his teeth flashing, “Shit, sweetheart. If I had to answer a 213 for you, I think that would be the end of our relationship.”

“What’s a 213?”

“Use of illegal explosives.”

“Oh! Well, then. Nevermind. What’s the whatever I was code?”

“You came in as a 415 and a probable 390.”

“Oooh two codes! Yay me!”

Baxter is still smiling as he sits down catty-corner from his girlfriend.

“A drunken disturbance—pretty typical for a club call. Sorry to disappoint.”

After scooping half of the scrambled eggs onto her plate, she looks at Baxter with sincerity and says, “Thank you for not arresting me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong—technically.”

“I’m still thankful.”

“And you’re still gonna repay me,” Baxter says, his voice low and his eye shutting with an exaggerated wink.

Laughing, she shakes her head as she takes a big bite of eggs and reaches for the bacon.

“I’m more inclined to fuck you into next week for making this amazing breakfast.”

Baxter’s lips pull down in an exaggerated frown as he shrugs before declaring, “Or we could read this as two separate thank-yous from the tigress. She can feel free to make an appearance whenever she likes.”

“As if I need a reason, Bax.”

Their eyes meet for a moment before Baxter clears his throat, grinning as he tucks into his breakfast.

Conversation flows easily between the two of them, and soon enough, both are leaning back in their chairs, sipping the last dregs of their coffee.

“How’s your hangover?”

“Mostly cured, I believe,” his girlfriend says from over the rim over her mug.

“You going to the gym?”

Baxter shrugs, his fingers drumming on the table.

“In that case,” she says, standing up slowly from her chair, “I think we oughta treat ourselves to a lazy day … in bed.”

“I like … the sound of that,” Baxter replies slowly, taking his girlfriend’s proffered hand. “I did have a really long night. Some drunk broad came on to me while I was arresting her.”

She spins around, feigning offense, and Baxter laughs, his hands whipping to her sides to tickle her. She bats at him and speeds down the hallway to her bedroom, pausing to turn only to be met with a body full of her boyfriend as he tackles her onto the bed.

Still laughing, they look at each other for a moment as their smiles quietly slip into an intense kiss. They both taste like coffee and bacon, their shared meal a reminder of their shared lives.

Baxter settles between her legs, his growing hardness evident through the forgiving material of his sweatpants.

She is dressed only in sleep shorts and a thin t-shirt, so when she pushes her hips into his, she moans at the friction when he bucks back into her.

Baxter’s lips kiss at her chin before he nudges her jaw up by tangling one strong hand in her hair and pulling.

Her lips part with a silent sigh as he kisses down her neck, soft, slow, long kisses where he presses the whole of his full lips against her skin before moving down a fraction to repeat the action. The feeling of his lips on her skin has always driven her wild and today is no exception.

She knows she’s already wet, but she doesn’t want to be needy for him. She keeps thinking back to Baxter’s banter in the kitchen and wondering if it really did hide an insecurity: perhaps he needs some reassurance that he is the sexiest man she has ever been with, that no “model” will ever turn her head when she knows she is coming home to Baxter. Her drunken teasing last night outside of the club meant nothing; she was out of her mind.

But right now—right now, she is here and more than willing to show him how important he is to her.

With a growl, she pushes at Baxter’s shoulders causing him to look up with heavy, confused eyes. With every ounce of lust she feels, she flips Baxter over and straddles him, thrusting her hands in his hair and mimicking his earlier tug of her own head.

“I want you.”

Pulling even tighter on his thick curls, she flattens along his body and starts to nip along his jaw, the stubble chaffing her lips and scratching against her teeth as she mouths at him before moving down his neck.

She licks along the strong muscle and settles into the indentation between the muscle and his windpipe to suck at little patches of skin, not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough for Baxter to shiver as he wonders if it will.

She works her way down to the exposed skin at the neck of his t-shirt, pulling on the fabric with her teeth before sitting up so she can maneuver him out of it.

Baxter lays back slowly, propped on his elbows as his girlfriend swirls her hips against his bulge. His mouth falls open and a sigh escapes as she pushes him down again.

He’s fit; his lean muscles standing out enough to make her lick her lips in appreciation and run her hands over his pecs, kneading them before lightly pinching his nipples into stiff peaks. He’s sensitive, everywhere, which always makes their time in the bedroom all the more satisfying.

She flattens her body along his again, his cock now pressing into her stomach as she leans down to kiss across his chest, moving to his right nipple to pinch it between her teeth.

Bax moans and reaches to run his fingers through her hair, pushing it out of the way so he can see her lips on his skin.

Flicking her tongue, she plays with his nipple before moving to the left one to repeat her ministrations, her right hand back to kneading that strong muscle before sliding up to his shoulder and back again.

He has soft skin, mottled with freckles that make her want to kiss them all every time she sees them and a thin smattering of hair on his chest that scratches lightly against her lips as she continues to kiss his chest before following his happy trail to his stomach.

Humming in the back of her throat with pleasure, her tongue swirling through the trail of softer hair, Baxter can barely control his hips. They are desperately trying to rut against her body, and she has a strong feeling he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

Sitting up slightly, she places her hands on his hips and pushes down.

“Behave for me or you’ll spoil all the fun.”

Baxter looks down, his face the perfect picture of debauchery: cheeks flushed, eyes heavy, and indentations on his bottom lip where he’s been biting.

He blinks, long and slow as if coming out of a fog, then huffs out a tiny laugh, his hands moving up to run through his hair before settling behind his head.

Her eyes trail over the way his biceps flex and she can’t help but reach into the course hairs of his underarms, scratching just enough to make him twitch before she smirks and returns her hands to his stomach.

Moving her body lower, she’s straddling his lower thighs now, Baxter’s thick cock clearly visible beneath the grey fabric, and at this point, she’s barely able to stop herself from stripping and mounting him on the spot.

But she wants him to know how much she needs him and from this angle, he can watch her face, also flushed with swollen lips from kissing his torso, fill with an unabashed desire as she grasps the bulge of his dick.

Slowly, she squeezes, not quite wrapping her hand all the way around his covered length, but pressing into him and sliding upward, jerking him off in the most teasing manner she can manage until a spot of precum leaks through his underwear and stains the grey of his sweats an even darker grey.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re killing me,” Baxter mumbles as his big blue eyes are flicking between her hand and her face, almost begging but not quite.

She takes hold of the waistband of his sweats and works them over his hips, Baxter lifting his ass off the mattress to help.

They repeat the process for his underwear, but she scoots down the bed to tug his clothes off. After pulling his socks off, too, she scratches her nails along the bottoms of his feet, making him jerk again, his face grinning as she pinches the big toe on each foot.

“So sensitive,” she breathes, her voice sultry.

She runs her fingers through the thick but soft curls of his leg hair, sliding them up and over his knees, slowing down only to push his thighs apart so his entire package is on display.

He’s so pretty, perfectly proportioned, and she reaches out with both hands to lightly grasp each testicle. She plays with the soft skin and watches Baxter’s cock jump as she applies more pressure, switching his balls to one hand so she can give them a good squeeze.

She takes the base of his dick in her other hand and very lightly begins to stroke him, once again watching the way her boyfriend responds to her touch and feeling the ache in her pussy which has become so pronounced that it feels like its throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

Sliding the thumb of her hand that was playing with his balls beneath them, she presses her thumb into his perineum and begins to move in firm, tiny circles, massaging him until his thighs are twitching and his chest’s rise and fall quickens.

She bends over now to take the tip of Baxter’s cock in her mouth, licking the precum from his slit first before closing over his head and lightly sucking. She slides her mouth over him, taking as much of his shaft as she can until Baxter begins to breathlessly plead.

“Stop—stop. I want to come inside your pussy.”

As if she couldn’t get wetter, the way Baxter’s mouth moves as he pleads sends a fresh wave of arousal to her center.

“Ride me, please. Wanna watch you.”

With a quiet groan at his words, she slides off the bed and strips out of her clothes. Baxter’s head turns to watch and he licks his lips before pulling on his worn, bottom lip, doing that thing that always makes her feel like a teenager again, crushing on the cutest boy she’d ever seen.  

Baxter shifts on the bed, adding another pillow behind him so he’s sitting up a bit more as his girlfriend straddles his hips. Still holding herself over him, she reaches between her legs and slides her fingers through her slickness.

Holding them up, coated in the evidence of her arousal, she murmurs, “Look at what you do to me, Bax,” before slipping them into her mouth.

“Kiss me,” he says, his eyes trained on her lips as she removes her fingers, the intensity of his gaze a bare beacon of his desire to taste her.

Leaning forward, she braces her palm on his chest as she kisses him, and with her other hand, she maneuvers his dick to her entrance, sliding down onto him, pulling his groan of satisfaction into her own mouth as she deepens the kiss.

“You feel so good,” she groans out as she breaks the kiss and stills her hips so she can just bask in the sensation of being filled up by the gorgeous man underneath her.

“So fucking good,” he answers.

After grabbing onto a fist full of dark curls and tilting his face up, she gives him a wicked smile as she starts to move, rising up and falling down at a teasingly slow pace.

She loves the feeling of control, but what she really loves is watching the way Baxter’s mouth falls open as he pants out his pleasure, his hands sliding over her hips and reaching up to grasp her breasts. He pulls on her nipples before he lets his hands fall to her hips again, silently encouraging her to bounce on his cock before asking again.

“Fuck me. Show me how much you want me.”  

All teasing is dispatched with as the room fills with the sounds of their pants and moans, both of them lost in the bliss of good sex between people who know what their partner likes and what their partner needs.

Her clit is swollen, aching for his touch and as he nears his orgasm she waits, patient, wanting him to come inside of her, wanting him to get lost in his own pleasure.

Baxter’s hand slides around and tries to touch her, but she grasps both of his hands and brings them to her breasts, squeezing them with him as she grinds into him, swirling her hips before rising and falling, repeating the motion until she can tell he’s about to come because his chest is red and when she steadies herself with one hand over his heart, she can feel it beating hard.

His hips buck up erratically into hers as his lips purse with an exhaled breath and he begins to groan, his face twisted into a magnificent ecstasy as he lets go, his hot cum shooting thickly all over her inner walls, the feeling something she would struggle to explain but nonetheless it’s a feeling that causes her eyes to close at the intimacy of it.

His heartbeat is slowing as she opens her eyes, unable to stop her smug grin at the way she’s left him damn-near cross-eyed after coming for her, but as he begins to wiggle out of her body, it’s clear he knows she needs him, really needs him, so Baxter pulls her to him as he flips her onto her back and quickly moves to between her thighs.

He admires his handywork for a moment, his thick fingers playing in their mixed arousal before he latches onto her clit and sucks. He glances up and her head is thrown back as her hands grasp her breasts; she looks like a goddess to Baxter as she pulls on her nipples and bites her lip, finally giving herself over to his mouth.

He releases the pressure and flicks his tongue rapidly over her clit before sucking again, this time, his suction pulling out her orgasm in a near-violent wave of release as his name echoes off the walls of her bedroom.

Baxter licks lightly at her clit, coaxing her down until her thighs press against his face, signaling him to stop. He presses a kiss to her mound, then to her stomach, right beneath her belly button before he presses a final kiss to her sternum and lays flat, his head nestled between her breasts.

She reaches down and swipes at the sweat along his hairline, running her hands gently through his hair.

“Mmm. Mmhmm,” Baxter sounds, and she can see his eyes are closed, his dark lashes resting prettily along the skin beneath his eyes.

“I think that was the best cure for a hangover I’ve ever had.”

“Not the bacon? Or potatoes?” he mumbles.

“No—definitely just you. You are the ultimate cure for a hangover.”

“Box me up and sell me. We’ll never have to work again.”

“Like I would ever fucking share that with any other human on earth. You’re mine, Officer Cutie Pants.”

Baxter laughs, his breath a warm puff across her skin. He twists his position, his chin now resting on her chest so he can smile at her, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“I’ll be only yours as long as you’ll be only mine.”  

“Hmm,” she replies, pressing her lips together in mock-thought. “I think forever sounds like a good amount of time.”

“Forever it is,” Baxter answers, pushing up to lean over her face, his kiss full of a gentle, loving warmth.  

* * * * *

Our fancy bean never wears sweats, so this is all I’ve got for reference material:

Special thanks to @sherlollydramoine for nurturing my muse at 2 am 💞 

Tags: @ramimedley @clumsybookworm18 @r-ahh-mi​ @aboutthatmelancholystorm​ @alottanothing @sherlollydramoine @txmel @diasimar @hah0106 @flipper-kisses @rami-malek-trash @ramisgirl512​ @dancing-disco-deacy @just-a-queen-bee @eightiesriot @s-k-y-w-a-l-k-e-r @breadnbutternips

[ymiwritesstuff]

Hey, I was wondering if you could do a Gyro x female reader who, because of her roguh past, has questionable morals? Like she has those "dark determination" moments like Johnny does and Gyro has to stop her from killing someone. Thank you so much for this. Don't forget you're a talented writer!

This was super super fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you so so much for the amazing request once again! I love writing for you!

Trials of Fate

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 7: Steel Ball Run

Gyro Zeppeli x Reader

Summary: For as long as you can remember you have been put under cruel tests by life itself and these trials have formed you into a cold, merciless individual who desires to conquer fate.

Notes: Angst, Fluff

Life was cruel. It had always been. From the moment you came to this world, life had been a constant game of survival, filled with hunger, poverty and struggling. It was as if life itself was testing you, each time forcing you to take part in its twisted trials just to stay alive. The horrible things you had to do in order to stay afloat in the sea of troubles haunted you and made you question everything. Was it truly worth it to kill someone or offer your body to someone in exchange for just a few coins? 

The constant fear of being betrayed by fate and put under a set of unforgiving trials of life caused you to desperately cling to those small amount of things you occasionally owned. You would guard your possessions with your life and put an end to anyone who tried to take anything from you. But of course, fate evaded your efforts to protect your belongings and had allowed your precious items and food to be stolen all too many times.

You saw Steel Ball Run as an opportunity for a change. A change you so desperately needed. If you could win the prize money perhaps it would all be better. You could buy a new house, you wouldn’t have to worry about staying alive and maybe, just maybe, the shadow of cruel fate would finally fade away. That one, tiny possibility gave you hope and you were determined to surpass the cruelty of life.

Still, even though life had treated you exceptionally well ever since the start of the race, allowing you to travel with two very capable and tolerable males, you couldn’t allow yourself to relax. The journey was far from over and you were sure that fate was planning to throw more misfortune your way if you allowed yourself to feel at ease too much. You had to stay sharp, eliminate all threats without hesitation and then, and only then you could hopefully live in peace.

Staring at the starry night sky above you had an odd effect on you. Despite the darkness some might consider sinister, you found strange comfort in the sight of millions of stars upon the sky, looking down at you. From the corner of your eye you see the sleeping forms of Johnny and Gyro, both of whom were most likely exhausted. It was understandable and you would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t tired from the constant riding and enemy stand attacks as well, but the usual fear you held towards fate treating you poorly kept you awake, preventing you from traveling to the world of dreams. 

And due to that fear, your senses immediately caught an unfamiliar presence, followed by a sound of something -or rather, someone-, digging through your belongings. Your bag was located a good distance away from you and you immediately cursed yourself for not placing it closer. The familiar anxiety you had grown accustomed to over the years plants itself within you and you immediately get up, trying to stay as quiet as possible. The darkness surrounding the camp prevents you from seeing the thief fully, but there’s no mistake about his intentions. He’s greedily digging through your property, trying to find something worth taking. And it doesn’t sit well with you.

You silently grab a hold of your trusty handgun, the anger slowly building up. This was exactly what you were fearing and there was no way in hell you’d let this pathetic thief steal from you. Fate was testing you far too much and you were at your limit. You would not let anything get in your way again. Your (E/C) fill with burning flames of rage, a strange feeling of determination washes over you and everything around you falls under a dark veil. The only thing your mind is desiring, is the sight of this insect’s dead corpse on the hard ground, punished by you.

The man stops dead in his track when he hears a gun click behind him, followed by its muzzle pressed against the back of his head. Your merciless gaze shoots through him like a shotgun and his blood runs cold as he feels your cunning presence behind him. “Up.” You order, the man immediately doing as you say, holding his hands up as a sign of submission. Your eyes briefly glance at the ground, noticing all your belongings in tact. Fortunate for him, as you would’ve pierced him with a bullet had he actually taken something. 

“P-please.. I don-” The thief’s miserable pleas are cut off as you harshly press the gun to the back of his skull and grab him by the shoulder, turning him so he’s facing away from the camp. “Walk.” Your voice is dark and quiet, ringing in his ears like a shout that makes every bone in his body tremble. He takes a step forward, terrified of you. He hasn’t even seen you as you remain behind him, but the sheer power that radiates from your voice and presence alone make him regret trying to steal from you in the first place.

As for you, this feels good. Life was trying to make you suffer yet again and you were punishing it. The endless misfortune and agony built you into the woman you are now, so to an extent you should have been grateful. You were strong, determined to end your suffering and it would all start with this. Nothing would get in your way and there was only one way to ensure the success you have been craving for years.

Once you’re satisfied with the distance between you and the camp, you kick the thief to the ground, still pointing your gun at him. Your hand is steady and shows no signs of fear or hesitation and your eyes are filled with dark determination that desires to spill the man’s blood. The sight of the man, trembling and looking at you in terror only fuels said determination. “You’re pathetic.” Had life not been treating you so poorly, you would have probably felt sorry for the man. But in this state you’re in now, you feel nothing, hear nothing but your steady heartbeat and see nothing but the cowering man before you, begging for his life.

“This is another test, isn’t it? Fate is testing me yet again, trying to make me crumble. Isn’t that right?!” Your victim flinches at the volume of your voice and falls to the ground, shielding his head. The rage bubbling within you desires to be let out and heard by everyone. And because you can’t keep it in you any longer, that’s exactly what you do:

“I will not fall! I will conquer fate and make it regret trying to ruin my life! Do you see this?!” Your eyes lock onto the sky above you as you try to voice your determination to some higher power you’re not sure even exists. But it doesn’t matter if no one heard you as this was a moment you so desperately needed. Life has been punishing you from the very day you first opened your eyes and now, you lust for revenge. You felt powerful, invincible and the whimpering man in front of you only increases those feelings. Life was beginning to submit under your determination.

“I refuse to suffer any longer.” Your gaze returns to the unfortunate thief and you raise your gun, ready to eliminate your obstacle. You would finally get revenge on life and fate. “I will not suffer.” Your finger slowly presses the trigger, your eyes once again filled with that dark determination and lust for blood. This test wouldn’t be yet another failure.

“(Name)!” You gasp at the sudden noise and turn your head over your shoulder, only to see Gyro running at you with a terrified expression on his face. The thief takes this opportunity to scramble away from you, immediately making you shoot at him, the loud gunshot filling the air around you. Due to your hasty movements the bullet misses and your eyes fill with desperation. No! This can’t be happening!

Before you have time to fire another shot, you’re tackled to the ground by Gyro who has no idea what’s going on, but refuses to let you kill a helpless human being. The gun slips from your hand and you immediately begin struggling against your lover's grip. “What the hell are you doing?!” He shouts, grabbing your hands that try to push him away. Your mind loses all determination and instead fills with desperation, your eyes filling with tears. “Let go of me! Please! I don’t want suffer anymore!” Utter confusion makes its way onto Gyro’s features as he holds you in place, refusing to let you do anything you might regret later.

“(Name), stop it! Nothing is going to hurt you!” He tries to calm you down despite the uncertainty clouding his vision. He absolutely hates seeing you like this and wants to know exactly why you were about to shoot a defenseless man. You continue thrashing around, that fear of being betrayed by fate returning. “N-no! This was a test! And I failed! I failed again! How can I-” Your words come to a halt when you feel Gyro’s hands on each side of your face, his emerald green eyes looking into yours with increasing concern.

“Look at me, love.” His voice soothes you and for a moment, you forget everything and only focus on the man before you. “You’re fine. Nothing is going to hurt you, I promise.” A single tear runs down from the corner of your eye and the Italian gently wipes it off. Your lip quivers as you wrap your arms around Gyro. You felt stupid. So very stupid. You had failed to realize how fortunate you had been for once in your life, as Gyro had been able to bring happiness and joy into your grim and horribly unlucky life.

“I-I’m.. S-sorry..” You say as Gyro allows you to sit up, still holding his arms around your sobbing form. He’s not sure what has been going on in your mind and he doesn’t dare to ask right away. For now, he knows you need him, and he’ll be there for you as long as you need. “It’s alright, love..” He gently runs his hand along your back, bringing you an endless amount of calm and silencing your lust for revenge.

You start to think back at the way fate had decided to test you tonight, and in this very moment can’t help but to wonder if the purpose of this particular trial was to make you realize just how enjoyable your sad, pathetic life had become thanks to Gyro Zeppeli.

[technogeekmituna]

STEVEN UNIVERSE FUTURE SPOILERS

Pink Diamond Background Analysis

Disclaimer: This post is not a discussion on if Pink Diamond was the worst thing to ever exist, so don't try applying arguments slandering/defending her here. This is a post about, potentially, explaining how she turned into who she was. So enjoy.

Soo... Now that we know Pink Diamond was a bit of a spoiled, temper tantrum throwing, demanding, and violently explosive child-like Diamond and that she expressed her frustrations aggressively, I think a lot of her absence of growth makes sense.

Imagine a child if you will. You know children can be explosive and bratty things sometimes, even if they're raised properly, healthily, and rightly, when they don't get that doll or bike. It just happens. They're growing humans that can't express themselves. They learn and grow, and they eventually learn how to properly process their emotions without having tantrums or breaking things when they get mad.

Now. Imagine a young Pink Diamond raised in an empire based on dictatorships and being in the top ranks with much older Diamonds with a lot of responsibilities and worlds/gems to manage over.

Now compare the two statements. Imagine a four year old sister with her eighteen year old sibling who has all these things that consumes her attention, physical things like make-up, a special keepsake that gets a lot of love, or something new and shiny that is adored and fawned over.

We know how kids are. They want what you have, especially if it takes your attention.

Pink Diamond is basically a child. She wants what the other Diamonds have, and when she can't get it she explodes with her tantrums. Human children can be extremely violent when denied a want: destroying toys, making messes out of anger, ripping things apart, stomping and hitting things, loud yelling, and obnoxious crying/wailing with big crocodile tears. It's awful.

She exhibits almost all of these things. She punches the wall of Yellow's base, she gets stompy and demanding from Stevonnie's POV, she screams when denied things. She broke Pink Pearl.

Now imagine a child all tuckered out from their tantrum. They cry, they're sad. They look around and notice the mess. It's awful, because they were so full of anger, and they didn't know how to express themselves without the violent outburst. Now their toys they love are wrecked and it's their own fault because they caused them to be damaged/broken forever. Now they're miserable.

Pink Diamond was a Diamond that didn't quite fit the quota. She wasn't allowed to have a colony because she doesn't act like a Diamond, she's not fit to run one, she's not mature enough, etc. But she wanted what the others had. She threw her tantrums when denied her wants. She got punished by being locked in a tower, alone, for years, on a lot of occasions.

Child or Diamond, that doesn't teach anything. It only enforces more bad behavior or more backlash of angry emotions. Or being hurt and miserable. Or teaches that you have to act a certain way and to keep your shit to yourself.

Pink Diamond hurt Pink Pearl physically. She also hurt her psychologically to the point P. Pearl's gem couldn't fix her form. Abuse begets more abuse, and even if Pink Diamond didn't mean to, she did it.

She broke and hurt her only friend that she could express herself with, albeit secretly, and White Diamond took the damaged toy away and gave Pink another.

This stage of events changed Pink Diamond. Rather if it was Pink Pearl being damaged and taken away, a fault all due to Pink Diamond, and then Spinel and CG Pearl being given to her to replace her original Pearl or wanting to be seen as mature, this set her to change.

But being a Diamond that was only punished, belittled, mistreated, threatened, abused, ignored, pushed to fit the status quo, told no no no without a follow up as to why or any reasonable explanation to help her understand that she still had to grow up first, made to feel guilty just for herself being more expressive and curious about organic life, shamed, neglected of proper growth and tolerance from the system that made her... fucked Pink Diamond's growth up.

You can only grow and mature so much in an environment that doesn't allow to do too much without repercussions.

Imagine a child wants to do gymnastics. They really want to! They start, they do it, then they don't want to. It could be various reasons, but they don't want to anymore. Yet they are forced to, because it was expensive, because they whined, begged, bothered, and moaned and groaned to do it, so now they gotta. Deal with it.

Pink finally decided she wanted out, so she did what she did. That's the issue of her character. She did bad things, awful things, unforgiving and unforgettably terrible things. She might have been an abuse victim, but she abused others too.

Abuse is a boiling pot word, because when we think of abuse we think violence with bruises and blood, of psychological, emotional, and mental stigmas that limit things because of ptsd flashbacks, child abuse being spanked and yelled at. That the victim is just a victim, and they can't do harm unto others. That's just not how the cycle works.

All situations are different. All reactions are different.

I'm a victim of child abuse. I was physically and verbally abused, but those treatments formed into emotional baggage for years that I'm still working on. I've been a bad friend, a selfish friend, a childish friend, a guilt-tripper, a strain on mental health, I've lied for my own benefit. I've been an abuser. You might not think you are, or maybe you had a self-realization on your actions/behavior, but you have potential to be an abuser too.

It could be a result from my own abuse from my mom, or how she and my grandmother impacted me, or my environment which I suffered in. Or I could just be a bad person. But I understand it's my own problems now and that I have to work on myself. (Probably why I understand/interpret Pink like I do.)

We all try to deal with it, or grow out of it, or ignore it, or whatever to bare with it.

Pink Diamond, despite the HUUUUUGE amounts of problems she left behind, did what she thought was right while dealing with her issues. Keeping her past secret from Pearl, forcing Pearl to keep her identity a secret, not talking about herself, bubbling Bismuth, hiding from the Diamonds-- all her lies and secrets stem from her time on Homeworld. She doesn't understand how to connect to people, like Greg, or she held herself back from getting close to others, like CG Pearl, or how she reflected Garnet's question back at her so she didn't have to talk about herself, or how she fought for a freedom on Earth for a lot of reasons, like maybe her own personal freedom, among her want to save the Earth and its inhabitants.

She tried to protect people by hiding things. She lived and never regretted missing Homeworld, her past life, or the Diamonds. I can almost guarantee you Pink suffered for her actions in the war, regretted the losses. Her actions were her own, and she most likely understood the gravity of the consequences.

They happened though, her mistakes, her guilts, her stemmed problems to Steven, her "running away" from responsibilities, her leaving the Crystal Gems, her detrimental lies coming back to bite everyone, her secrets found by others which ended up ruining their lives, her actions gravely having affects years later... her growth from the life she had.

She was an abuse victim that hurt others too, but she grew all the same from her past and how the Diamonds "raised" and treated her. Her background doesn't entirely define her, but it does define her ability to understand how to properly process/express everything she ever did. It was just unfortunate that a lot of it hurt others she cared about.

She didn't miss the Diamonds. The mere thought of them seemed to irritate her. She can't be compared to them. Because she's not like them. She didn't owe them anything. But she did owe her friends and allies a hella lot.

She's not the worst of the bunch, but she did still come out a bit of a bad, morally gray apple.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Kitsune | iii. spring

Jung Hoseok/Reader [F]

Genre: Demon Hunter AU, Action, Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Japanese Federal Era 

Warning(s)!!: Contains Heavy Violence & Blood + Death [Rating: PG-13]

Words: 9k

Summary:  Demons: man-eating, murderous monsters who would kill anyone for the blood of humans: be it man, woman or child.  They have no need for comrades. Known cannibalize and kill other demons if they so choose. Demon Hunters are tasked with eliminating any and all demons without question, but what would come to pass if they were told that a demon saved a human life? Views, values and relations become altered and absolutely nothing seemed human anymore.  Never sharpen a blade too much, lest you become the wounded.

Series Index | i. demon | ii. winter

a/n: annnnnd we’re back with the next part of Kitsune!  This is a pretty dialogue-heavy part; towards the end especially, but for all the stuff I crammed into this chapter, I think it’ll make sense for Taehyung to talk his head off LOL. Time to put your big-people pants on, cause here we go >:D

t.list: @kathrynwynterbourne @tiredjedi @kaekae-93 @multycoloredtaco @sunshinechim-98 @baojinnie @perpetually-single @lexi-tries-art @fallingjungwoo​ (want to be added for future parts? Tell me!) 

The same evening of the day Fuuta spoke to Hoseok and entrusted him with a glass spider lily, Taehyung also paid him a visit. Coming by his room for a chat about what was asked of them.  He already knew Hosoek wouldn’t bend so easily and would need a small push of persuasion to do anything regarding you. So, as a token of a friendly chat, Taehyung had brought with him a small gourd of sake with 2 brilliant red painted ochoko with him for the two men to leisure with. 

The samurai slid open Hoseok’s door, catching him in the middle of polishing the only sword of his in use.  “Have a drink with me for a bit, Hoseok.” Hoseok wouldn’t turn down perfectly good sake, even if he knew that Taehyung wasn’t just here to have a drink with him. 

The two sat in silence, both nursing on their own red ochoko of sake before Hoseok broke the silence enveloping the two warriors. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk to agree to relocate that fox?” Taehyung chuckled at Hoseok’s curt tone, sipping on sake with a relaxed, content grin and shut eyes.  

“Not necessarily.” 

It wasn’t commonly known among Hoseok’s peers because of the distance he placed between him and them, but although he is a warrior he was a simpleton when anything liquor is involved.  His constitution for alcohol was anything but strong.  Easily the most vulnerable lightweight Taehyung knew.  It also wasn’t known just how gut-spillingly open Hoseok was when intoxicated.  It was those factors that lead him to hardly ever having even a bit of liquor.  He only ever drank in front of people he deeply trusted- a small few to be sure. 

Taehyung sat and listened to the woes of his friend silently.  If Taehyung was anything, it was a listener.  He listened to and heard many things as he filed them away into his memory.  A strong skill to be certain, as Taehyung’s memory is something most people can’t comprehend- it’s as if he never forgets a thing he’s learned.  

Hoseok spilled his guts about how uncertain he is about Fuuta’s request to move you somewhere else.  He was frustrated by his lack of information and the fact that Taehyung and Fuuta both kept hiding things from him.  He expressed the urge to break the glass flower Fuuta gave to him because he just knew it was linked to you somehow.  

Taehyung would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about it all.  

He stayed completely silent the whole time with only assured head nods to show he was listening.  He eventually watched as Hoseok took the stages down before he was nearly at his pass-out limit.  Slowly rolling into the territory of drowsiness, Taehyung cut off his intake and loosened his obi around his waist.  Pulling Hoseok’s futon set out onto the floor, Hoseok was already sleeping in a blissful drunken heap on the tatami.  Dragging him to the futon and tossing the blanket on him, Taehyung silently left the hunter to sleep in a dead-drunk state.  

Only lightly laughing in relief.  It had been some time since he had caught a glimpse of the open, sour-mouthed Hoseok he used to be.  Drunk Hoseok always felt like a trip back in time to Taehyung. A trip back to a time where everything wasn’t drenched in sorrow or anger.  A time he often found himself dearly missing. 

Hoseok was rudely awakened by a harsh shove to his shoulder.  Ignoring it once was a mistake because after the initial shove followed a sharp kick.  Yelping he shot up and pried open his heavy eyes.  Looking up and seeing Taehyung grinning above him, he sneered back. 

“Bastard,” Hoseok hissed as Taehyung innocently shrugged as if he did nothing wrong. Not at all guilty about the fact he got Hoseok drunk.  Rubbing his head and tossing his tangled mess of auburn hair, Hoseok pulled his legs to ta cross-sitting position.  Pulling his kimono sleeve to his nose, he sniffed it and winced.  “I smell like sake,” he grunted.  The scent of the strong rice-wine purging straight through his clothes. 

“Yes, you do.” Taehyung chuckled in agreement.  “Get up. We’re going into town.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I told you so.” 

Hoseok rolled his eyes before he started rolling his kimono off his shoulder.  Letting the fabric gather and hang off his hips from the loosely tied obi around him.  Taehyung grabbed Hoseok’s arm, helping the headache-hungover man up.  Taehyung whistled in awe at Hoseok’s physique, something he did often in good fun- resulting in Hoseok to roll his eyes.  Not like Taehyung’s body was any different than his.  Taehyung was probably more fit than him, he just didn’t flaunt it. 

Changing without a word with Taehyung loitering in his room with him, Hoseok didn’t question the samurai about why he was being forced to go into town.  He knew he wouldn’t get an answer anyway.  Taehyung was too good at deflecting and avoiding questions; Hoseok wouldn’t waste his breath. 

When both men had made it to the entrance of the compound, Hoseok stopped walking and sneered.  There you were, dressed casually in your standard priestess-like garbs and your hair tied back with a ribbon much like Taehyung’s and a parasol open over your head. Hoseok briefly thought that Taehyung was the one who tied your hair back in the first place. 

Some demons can easily become burned by sunlight.  Some consider the sun lethal in specific cases.  You would never effectively die by being in the sun, but too long in its light does bring a spec of discomfort you wish to avoid.  

You heard their footsteps as a wind of cold blew in small breaths past you.  Winter was already sapping the once spring-stuck stime the compound had been stopped in.  Turning, you saw Taehyung strolling closer and you didn’t seem to be shocked to see Hoseok at his back- frozen in his steps. You returned the glare he offered you.  Neither two of the party of three were pleased. 

Taehyung had more or less forced you to leave the compound today along with him and Hoseok.  The hunter, however, seemed to be left in the dark about your accompaniment until now. 

“Hoseok,” Taehyung called with a stern voice without looking back at him. “Don’t lag behind.” Hoseok bit his tongue. He could tell that if he even thought about fighting back on the topic that is you joining them, Taehyung would take him to the dirt until he screamed mercy and complied. The samurai would get what he wanted and that was the end of it.  Hoseok simply returned to walking, his steps albeit more dragging now, as both of them soon stood before you. 

“Glad to see you listened to me, Y/n,” Taehyung spoke to you.  You just looked away from him.  “Come now, you cannot possibly be angry at me.” You scoffed at him. 

“I can and will be.” 

Taehyung simply chuckled as he turned to Hoseok who was staring off somewhere; scanning anywhere that wasn’t in your specific direction. 

“Now then,” the samurai started, “shall we be off?” He gestured for you to leave first, even the gentlemen’s rule of thumb- ladies first.  He moved Hoseok by nudging him forward by his shoulder before the three of you started the walk into town.  A walk that seemed longer than usual because of the tense atmosphere. 

Hoseok had his arms tightly crossed in place across his chest.  Out of all peoples, why had they run into a group of rowdy rugrats? Hoseok tolerated children at best- most being just too much for his patience to handle.  Of course, pair that fact together with how much of a people magnet Taehyung is, the entire ordeal spelled disaster in Hoseok’s case. 

You didn’t seem to mind the children- acting rather indifferent actually.   You’d scold them when they tugged on your kosode sleeve or try and grab your parasol from your grip.  You answered questions they fired, but you didn’t engage any further.  You never sought the attention and the constant brow crease you tried to ease was a clear indicator of that. 

Taehyung, however, completely fawned over the children.  In his day to day life as a civilian, Taehyung was the complete opposite of his ever strict, samurai alter-ego. If anything, his talent for being able to effectively separate the two made Hoseok envious.  Hoseok wasn’t as personality flexible as his friend, and he often wished he was.  Memories of the past flooding in his head and how he used to be.  Of course, the memories of ‘him’ followed with the past. 

Hoseok’s mood plunged further as he squeezed his eyes shut- willing away the past from his mind; at least trying to.  His grip unconsciously whitening his knuckles on the hilt of his sword.  No intent of ever drawing, but using the cold of his scabbard to remind him that he was in the now- the period of his life that revolved around fighting and killing demons.  He had been away from his trade too long- he was losing his focus. 

He wasn’t cut out for dealing with kids.  For escorting demon’s around- he glared at the side of your face, eyes following the curve of your redlined cheeks.  Watching the winter air puff around your lips with each exhale. He wasn’t cut out for complicated bonds or being kept in such a people-infested place.  

“Keep growling and the children will cry,” you spoke out of nowhere at Hoseok’s side.  Hoseok grit his teeth as he stood beside you with a three-foot distance between you both.  He narrowed his eyes at your face as you did nothing but stare forward.  Not even looking in his eyes. “I’m a demon and I do not frighten them, yet with that look on your face,” you finally looked at him, a scowl painted on your features. “You’ll send them running off as if you were the demon and not I.” 

Hoseok’s eye twitched as he just barely restricted himself from reaching out and clasping his hand over your throat.  Daring you to speak more nonsense towards him about how to act in front of humans.  The audacity you had to even think that one would look at him, a human man, and consider him as frightening as a monster. You directed your attention back to the front as you watched Taehyung speak to some random shop keeper as a child tugged on his hand. 

“Like it or not, Taehyung is one of the few things you and I have in common.” 

“Do not compare me to yourself. Not unless you want me to ruin your kosode.” 

“You would never be able to strike me.” Hoseok looked at you as he sucked in a harsh, chilled breath of offense.  “We’ve proved that before, haven’t we?” 

“Have you forgotten that both of those cases ended with me pinning you and you hardly able to move?  I could have killed you given the chance.” 

You offered him nothing after that.  True, both cases set you both on equal ground.  The first time you fought was when you had trapped him and the other leaders in a spiral of fire.  You charging him and the fight brought to a halt when Hoseok pinned you and Fuuta called it off.  The second when you sprung into his room and he had his sword blade hovering in front of your eyes as he pushed on your throat.  

You flicked your chin up in a small, slow fashion as you looked up towards the sky.  The weather had begun to cloud as the sun started to become hidden.  Something about the clouds made your eyes narrow and your lips twist into a frown far deeper than the one you had given to the hunter at your side.  Hoseok had moved to look up as well- it looked like the sky to him. Just the normal, cloudy to the full overcast winter sky. Bland and grey. 

You lowered your head down again as you closed up your parasol, the sun hidden from any uncomforting rays.  You called out to Taehyung when your parasol snapped shut in its flimsy wooden design. 

Taehyung had been with you the better part of a year now, and the tone in which you called him alerted him to come to you immediately. Quickly apologizing to the child tugging on his arm and dismissing them to go on and play elsewhere, as well as leaving his conversation with the shopkeeper, he was at your side quickly.  Standing with you and Hoseok in the streets as you looked at him with something behind your eyes Hoseok couldn’t identify. 

“What is it? What do you hear?” Taehyung asked you as if he knew exactly why your tone had shifted.  You were a demon and as such your senses were heightened to a level far higher than humans.  Sure, some humans can have exceptional senses of smell or hearing or sight, but it would only occasionally be one sense.  As opposed to you, your sense of hearing and sight and smell was that of your wild counterpart- a fox. 

“I can’t tell, but it’s loud and it’s not just one something.  It’s a lot of them and it’s getting closer to the town center.” Taehyung nodded before he looked around.  The streets were quiet for the middle of the day, not many people out as the cold weather were too off-putting for the selling season.  “I think we need to get back to-” You cut yourself off when you quickly covered your ears, wincing and dropping your parasol to the frozen ground.  Hoseok jumped as Taehyung quickly grabbed your shoulders. 

“What is it?!” 

“It’s too loud!” The sound of metal clashing and scraping in your ears, vibrating into your skull and shaking your very foundation.  It sounded so close now and you could start hearing screaming along with all the noise.  You looked to tell Taehyung, but as he whipped his head around, you knew that he could hear those noises now too.  The sounds you heard were far closer than you expected as the two men besides you heard it all. 

Hoseok had pulled his sword from his hip as Taehyung took out his own- a bit annoyed that he wasn’t in his proper battle gear at the current moment. If he had been, he wouldn't just have his sword to rely on- but other weapons and techniques of defense on his side. However, his blade would have to do.  

Turning your head, your hair seemed to spike at the ends as you saw a ball of flame barreling down the city road.  People rushed into their homes or business place to escape the fire before they were then forced out of it as torches were thrown through windows, burning buildings from the inside out.  

“A mob of bandits,” Taehyung seethed under his breath.  

“What do I do,” you asked him, grabbed the back of his kimono.  “I can’t kill humans!” You yelled over the volume increasing chaos.  Hoseok side-eyed you as you seemed torn between your options.  He hadn’t witnessed you actually deny attacking humans, as you had sprung on him more than once without thought.  It was odd, and irritating to see you struggle with the decision now. 

Though, now is when it really mattered the most.  

“You have authorization from Kim Taehyung, Leader Swordsman and successor of Lord Fuuta Tono. Defend the city and take down the bandits under any means necessary. Are my orders understood?” 

You hesitated before you dropped his kimono fabric from your hands.  You moved to stand at his side and not behind him any longer.  Placing yourself between the bodies of Hoseok and Taehyung as you bore your fangs at the threat approaching in a wild flaming rage. 

Hoseok watched as your eyes spread out wider and your irises expanded.  Your red cheek markings widened and became jagged along your cheeks and your hair stood on end like cat fur.  Your claws sharpened with your tense, locked fingers as your neck and lower jaw bulged with wide, feral veins.  You looked nothing like the human-demon you previously were before.  You were much more demonic and feral looking than before- truly the fox demon specimen. 

You let out a hiss and growl as Taehyung slowly counted beneath his breath. He was a strategic man, and everything had a precise start because not even he and his calculations could see when something would end.  He shifted in position as he counted from five.  Each second down he moved and you and Hoseok followed.  When zero hit, the three of you split. 

Taehyung took off down an off-street road to cut off any other proceeding bandits as he followed their echoing manic laughter and crackling torches.  Hoseok began to sprint down the main road, facing the enemy head-on as he began to take down horses they road on before going for them.  You had begun climbing.  Scaling buildings and throwing balls of blue flames down below like a fire-shooting catapult before you jumped from whatever height you were at and landing in the center of the mob.  Igniting the center of thieves in a violent explosion of blue fire before the real attack began. 

Bandits fell one by one with ease at the hands of you three.  However, something snatched your attention when you picked up the scent of smoke from behind you in the distance.  Shoving a bandit off your arm, you whipped around and stiffened to see a plume of black smoke rising into the sky far beyond where the battle is taking place. The compound that temporarily had the barrier of protection down and left everyone inside vulnerable had been set ablaze by some unknown enemy.  

The bandits were just a decoy.

Plowing through the band of thieves, you lept over their spears and swords before running down the road back to the compound. 

“Y/n! Get back here!” Taehyung shouted before he was forced to disarm the bandit he had been fighting and shoved the tip of the man’s sickle into his own neck, kicking his bleeding body out of the way as he gargled and choked on blood that pooled in his mouth.  He hissed in annoyance as you just kept running further, ignoring him.  “Hoseok!” Taehyung yelled, watching as Hoseok had sliced the chest of a rather ignorant and clumsy bandit.  “We’re regrouping at the compound.” 

Hoseok looked over his shoulder, shocked to see the smoke so far off.  How had someone snuck past them?! He grits his teeth. 

“Get back to the compound! Now!” Taehyung growled as he pushed his way out of the mob before Hoseok was running after him, not willing to test the limits of Taehyung’s rage. 

“Taehyung! Wait!” Taehyung was far faster than Hoseok was, the hunter was pushing his limits trying to at least keep the samurai leader in his sights. Taehyung was nimble, taking out anything and anyone that even tried to get in his way. The closer they got to the compound, the fewer bandits they saw.  Hoseok felt a prick of something in his gut- his sense telling him that whatever was at the compound probably wasn’t a bandit. 

Taehyung ran through the compound entrance, Hoseok at his heels as he halted immediately at the front gardens. Wisteria leaves were blown from their branches and scattered on the grown and the fallen bodies that littered the once beautiful sight. The ground dyed red in blood and bodies crumpled and shredded in a frozen massacre. 

Both men’s eyes were blown wide, not expecting to witness such chaotic devastation.  Taehyung tightened his hold on his sword as he clenched his jaw and forced himself to pass by the bodies and enter into the compound. It was no better inside than out.  Bodies of servants and guards slouched against walls or split in two with a torso in one room and a set of legs in another.  Heads had been severed from bodies and arms torn and tangled with detached legs.  Hoseok covered the bottom half of his face with this haori sleeve of his free hand- the stench of the place gag-inducing. 

Both men rushed through halls and rooms and holes in doors to Fuuta’s quarters when they got closer’ the harsh winter breeze could be felt in the halls.  The door had been blown clean out of its groves- in fact, the entire wall was blown wide open.  It was a miracle the wall didn’t crumble into rubble with the lack of foundation and support. 

Rounding the corner, Taehyung skid with his heel, Hoseok not far behind.  “Lord Fuuta!” He shouted, his voice catching and body stopping when he entered through the demolished wall.  Hoseok was soon skidding to a stop beside his frozen friend and comrade in arms before he too froze.  His body stiffened at the sight of the once spotless, organized room.  

The back wall had been demolished, showing the spring-zapped winter yard. Fuuta’s once decorated desk was cleanly ripped from the wall and broke into two splintered halves.  The far-right wall had been slashed and the closet door buckled in its groves, some clothes inside hanging loosely in place.  The left wall had rock shaped holes and dents punctured into it. 

However, it was what lay outside the busted out back wall and beyond it that made the two men fill with dread.  Blood began to pool in puddles on tatami before it began to smear into dragged textures out into the yard.  Following that blood, it was easy to find what produced it all.  

Out laying in the cold was Fuuta and Shiro, still and cold as blood still leaked from their once warm bodies.  Fuuta was on his back, staring at the sky with dead eyes as blood dripped from his lips and eyes, his throat torn open and kimono stained.  Shiro was lying chest to chest on top of Fuuta- most likely to try and protect him.  Her back was slashed open with gashes far greater than any weapon could cause.  The blood seeping slowly into her kosode inch by bloody inch. 

In front of their bodies, stood you.  Motionless as you stared down at them.  Hands at your sides as your arms were hanging motionless, your sleeves swishing in the breeze.  Your hair had come undone as it blew in whisps.  Your back was turned to the men in a semi-diagonal stance as you could smell nothing but the blood of your first family- your first parents. 

Taehyung was the first to move.  He narrowed his wide-legged stance and sheathed his sword slowly, letting the tip of the hilt click into place in its scabbard.  Taking small steps through the room and back to outside, he stood beside you. He glanced at your face, seeing nothing there.  

Your eyes looked down at Fuuta and Shiro’s bodies, unmoving and dazed.  They were glossed over in a film-like emotion. Taehyung stepped back a single stride, looking back towards Hoseok. 

“Come,” he told him in a soft, yet stern command.  Hoseok only nodded slowly as he sheathed his sword and took in the deathly quiet estate.  Coming to stand at your opposite side, Taehyung walked closer to the bodies.  He lifted Shiro up and off her beloved husband’s chest and lay her on her back to face the same sky Fuuta did.  He placed her hand in Fuuta’s and then gently closed both of their eyes.  

Standing back up, he pulled his scabbard from his waist and knelt to the ground before both his feet were folded under his rear.  Laying his sword horizontally in front of him, he placed his fingertips on the cold ground and bowed.  His forehead touching the dirt Fuuta and Shiro- his Lord and Priestess use- to gleefully grace; he closed his eyes in prayer. 

Hoseok moved to mirror his senior’s actions.  Bowing and lowering his head to his once-proud leader. 

Taehyung raised his head looking back at the face of Fuuta.  “Thank you for all you’ve taught me,” he spoke before he stood. He grabbed his sword, slinging it back onto his waist before he looked at Hoseok raising off the ground.  “Go and check on the city. The bandits were just a diversion- with their goal accomplished, I’ve little doubt they’ve already fled.” 

“Understood,” the low voice of Hoseok spoke. He snuck a glance at you before his eyes widened at your face.  He’d never seen a demon look so miserable- it’s as if you could break into tears at any moment. He shook it off before his shoulder passed yours, leaving the bodies of his leaders behind and not looking back at you for a moment. 

“We’ll have a proper burial later, alright?” Taehyung placed a hand on top of your head, a heartbreaking smile on his lips.  

You simply nodded, one single crystal clear tear dripping from your bottom eyelashes. 

The next week was… Chaotic to put the term into the simplest form. The burial Taehyung spoke of was something Hosoek couldn’t picture him doing unless he witnessed it.  It was a big step for someone who personally remained hidden or small in trying times.  Instead, he watched as Taehyung had buried the bodies of the dead- including their fallen lord and his wife.  

After sending out separate calls for the leaders to reconverge at the main estate away from this town in the mountains, he ordered Hoseok and you to follow him until he said otherwise.  It was still unofficial, but as of the moment, Taehyung was the highest standing rank in the organization. Hoseok just continued to give up more of his time he could spend out fighting to follow after Taehyung. 

You had been mute since the day Fuuta and Shiro died.  In fact, you had even regressed to your fox form.  Trailing along with Taehyung’s ankles like a loyal pet.  You never spoke, and hardly even lifted your fox colored eyes past the human knee.  You never even bit or growled at the children who would yank on your tail, or try to ride you like a horse when you followed Taehyung into town. You would only occasionally leap to rest on his broad shoulders- a way of showing exhaustion or annoyance.  

You never even showed signs of refuting when Hoseok neared you.

Hoseok should be glad about your silence, as your voice and opinions were the polar opposite of his and grated on his nerves.  However, your silence seemed to irk him as well.  Your silent animal form frustrated him just as much as your human-like, loudmouthed persona.  It seemed there was no happy middle for him and his ideals towards you- a demon. 

Taehyung burned that compound to the ground.  

The walls and the gardens burned.  The trees that began to lose their wisteria blooms carried flames on their branches instead of petals and the compound weakened as the fire spread.  Taehyung stood at the compound’s perimeter, watching as the roof caved inward and the supports crushed one by one into a single level mass of debris and destruction.  The heat put out by the fire was significantly different from the winter chills as ash rose into the air, falling like faux snow. 

Taehyung turned, his hair blowing in long, loosely tied threads in the hot and cold winds as he moved to mount his horse, you jumping up the arm he offered down to you as you lay in front of him, your paws digging into the saddle of his steed.  He turned to Hosoek who sat on his own faithful mare beside him.  He trotted, ready to take off. 

“Let’s go. We have to get to the main estate as quickly as possible.  We’ve no time to waste.”  

“Of course,” Hoseok agreed, pulling on the reins of his horse, and kicking back his heels.  “Lead the way,” he said, holding back the urge to announce with it a sassy ‘my lord’.  In truth, he didn’t know what to address Taehyung as.  His name, like normal, or something that fits his new unofficial title waiting for him back at the main estate.  He was soon to be his overall leader, not just his comrade and friend.  He would need to address him with faithful, unwavering loyalty- honorifics included.  

It was a three day trip on horseback to get away from the town and into the busy city of the main estate. The townspeople of the small town that held the burial site of his fallen lord, were told by Taehyung that he wouldn’t be returning and to let the compound at the far end of town rot away.  

He instructed the villagers to never step foot inside it’s fallen perimeter and to treat it as a cursed place that one should never tread.  Never try and clean it up, never allow your child to play inside its crumbling walls, never be a curious adult and venture inside.  Just let it rot away with time. 

They all trusted Taehyung and promised to follow his orders and warnings alike before they sent him off with heavy hearts; Hoseok following behind him. 

When Taehyung and Hoseok caught sight of the city from over a cliffside they had been traveling down, they slowed their horses as they entered the city’s north entrance.  Hoseok hadn’t missed being in this city, still far too busy for his taste.  As he rode beside Taehyung, only a horse clop or so behind, he could even see your fox fur stand and tails flick in hyperawareness with all the ruckus around. 

Finally arriving to the estate, Taehyung was greeted by Bunji who had sent word that he was already in the city.  He was sat on a large stone, legs crossed and hands in prayer that was looped with prayer beads.  He opened his eyes and halted whatever mantra he was currently mumbling to himself when he heard the clopping of hooves. He was quick to remove himself from his meditation and stand on his two feet as Taehyung slowed his horse to a halt, Hoseok mimicking his motion.  

“Master Taehyung! Welcome back!” He greeted in the same boisterous way Hoseok remembered and didn’t miss.  Taehyung dismounted his steed as you leaped to his shoulder before leaping onto the ground.  Shaking out your fur and stretching. Taehyung worked with his horse's saddle, untying his small bag from its side as he then pets at the neck of his faithful horse.  

“Bunji,” Taehyung started, earning the monk’s undivided attention. “Have the other’s arrived yet?” 

“Yes, Sir.  However, it seems as though Tsutsui has gone into town from some shopping.  Shall I call him back?” 

“Yes. I’m putting a meeting into order immediately.  We’ve no time.” 

“Yes, Sir!” Bunji was quick to take off, heading back to send word for the medical specialist to return.  Hoseok walked up to Taehyung as he watched the samurai release a sigh.  

“Hoseok, if you would, take the horses back to the stables.  I’m afraid I have much to prepare for.” 

“Of course,” was Hoseok's only reply.  He could see the invisible weight pushing down on his friend’s shoulders as he took the reins of his and Taehyung’s horses before leading them towards the back.  

Hoseok had gently pulled the reins over and off the ears of the horses once they were by their individual stable before pulling out the mouthpiece.  He unbuckled the leather saddle and instead threw a cloth over their backs before persuading them inside and shutting their stable door.  They whined at him as they shoved at his shoulder with their nose, nipping at his clothes as he swatted them away playfully.  Feeding both of them a carrot or two, he left soon after.  

Entering the estate, it wasn’t long before he ran into someone.  Kaori, walking around the halls in her daily kimono.  He remembered the female counterpart of Taehyung as one of the few leaders he’d be able to tolerate and maybe respect if put on the spot.  She held herself with enough dignity that Hoseok prided her in. 

“I see Taehyung has brought you back with him once again,” she softly spoke as she stopped to speak briefly with him on her way towards the meeting room. “He’s called a meeting so suddenly it’s a bit concerning. I do wonder what it is he’s planning to tell us all.” She looked at Hoseok.  “Perhaps you may enlighten me? Surely you know what is going to take place.”  Hoseok bit the inside of his cheek as he straightened his shoulder and took a small, nearly unnoticeable breath. 

“I believe it is in my best interest not to take Taehyung’s job away from him.  He’ll let you know in due time.  It is not my place to say.”  He lowered his head. “Excuse me,” he spoke before he was on his way in the opposite direction Kaori had been heading. In truth, he wasn’t sure where he was walking.  Weaving in halls, probably walking in a circle.  He didn't know what to do at the moment.

Was he supposed to attend the meeting like Taehyung had him do before? Or was he supposed to just hang around and wait it all out until a new order was given to him?  Right now, his only order was to accompany Taehyung and serve as his guard and comrade until further notice.  He finally stopped to sit on the outside walkways of the garden.  He sat for a while just thinking.  

His lord was gone and so was his lady.  All those people in the compound were slaughtered, but it didn’t look like it was done by just anybody. People had been split into two or had their heads crushed.  Hoseok cupped around his chin as his finger bent around his lips that dipped in a frown.  It was no human that broke into that compound.  Besides, Fuuta wouldn’t have fallen at the hands of bandits.  It was unlikely that everyone would’ve died even in the event of a bandit rush.  

The smell of that compound was musty and bloody.  It was no human- that he knew.  But now the question lies on what demon did the deed.  Taehyung probably told the townspeople that a bunch of bandits with wild boars broke in and killed them, but Hoseok was no fool.  Taehyung was simply reassuring the people that there was nothing more to fear, as he and Hoseok and yourself had taken out the bandits. They were the simplest go-to excuse. 

However, the look in Taehyung’s eyes as he lied to the people, as well as the way they looked when he watched the compound burn and even when he found everyone dead, they moved like he was hiding something.  Hoseok was curious about so much but had zero answers to any questions he had. What was Taehyung hiding? What demon attacked the compound and how did they locate it so quickly when the concealing spell had just been removed a day prior? How did they know that Fuuta was at that specific location? 

He sighed as he soon picked up on small taps from his left.  Lowering his hand from his chin, and resting his arm on his knee, he watched your fox body worked its way down the hall.  The small blue of your fire that never burned wrapping in small flames around your tails and paws.  You stepped towards him and stopped not far from his sitting form.  

“Did Taehyung send you?” He asked with a tone you were familiar with when confronting him.  Cold as the snow.  You merely dipped your head in confirmation.  “Don’t tell me he’s going to make me actually sit in on another meeting?” Your head fell and rose once more.  He sighed before he pushed himself up, straightening out his haori.  He looked down at you.  “Fine.  Lead me there. He’s probably getting impatient.”  You merely turned and started down the hall, him following you.  

This is the second time he’s had you lead him.  He’ll probably never forget the first time he followed you, as you pounced on his in his Inn room and lead him here to his estate. As he walked, he grew anxious.  

What could Taehyung possibly want him to attend this meeting for?  He was only to relay the message of Fuuta’s passing and announce his succession.  It was nothing Hoseok hadn’t seen or known already.  Perhaps he wanted him there for the reason that he was present during it all.  Perhaps he needed someone else to clarify and back him up in case someone tried to call it a bluff. 

You sat in front of the meeting room doors, waiting on Hoseok to catch up with you.  He stood over your small, animal form before announcing himself and sliding the shoji open.  Just like before, the leaders were sat among a table. The only difference being that Taehyung stood at the head of the table while the others sat in their rightful place and Fuuta was absent. 

Hoseok simply took the seat that belonged to Taehyung, earning a small click of the tongue from the monk across from him.  He gave an eye roll towards Bunji. 

“Alright,” Takaki’s shrill voice cut into the silence once Hoseok had taken his seat and you had trotted to sit at Taehyung’s ankles, “we’ve all gathered.  Now, what is it that you’ve called us here for, Taehyung?” 

Taehyung’s eyes traveled to each leader, making eye contact with everyone, even Hoseok as he saw that look in his eyes again. Taehyung tucked his hands together in his sleeves, as he had changed out of his armor and even let his hair down.  The kimono he wore was one Hoseok recognized in blues and yellows.  

“I have called to order a meeting of the remaining four leaders to announce a few important changes that will be happening immediately.”

“Four? You speak as though you are not including one of us,” Kaori spoke.  Everyone knew there were five leaders that worked under the lord.  Taehyung just closed his eyes and nodded once only to reopen them.  

“Yes, I will come to that.  Bare with me.” He cleared his throat lightly as your tails flicked opposite of each other.  Taehyung looked down at you for a moment before lifting his head again.  “Just over a week ago, our Lord Fuuta and Lady Shiro, along with the entire headcount of the northern compound were killed.”  A deathly silence filtered into the room, replacing the seriousness that was there before.  It vibed with small panic and somber sorrow.  “In light of the recent grim events, I will be stepping out from my position as a leader and taking my place as Fuuta’s rightful successor. 

“Lord Fuuta was killed?” Tsutsui asked. 

“I had heard that town had undergone a bandit’s raid, is that related?” Takaki asked, keeping his composure about him. 

“That’s impossible! Our Lord would not fall to the hands of a simple ruffian!” Bunji announced as he moved to stand in protest. Takaki was quick to shut him up by pulling on the back of his thick prayer beads, pushing them again his neck and lowering him back down to his rear. 

Taehyung raised his finger to his lips, mirroring the same method Fuuta always used among them to keep peace within a meeting of his children.  Bunji quickly settled.  Taehyung lowered his finger as he replaced his hand back into his sleeves at his front.  

“Yes. The raid took place at the entrance of the town and happened when Hoseok, Y/n and I were already out.  We had taken care of most of the thieves ourselves, but they were simply a distraction.  By the time Y/n had noticed something wrong and retreated back to the compound with Hoseok and myself, the culprit had already done his deed of slaughter and fled. The damage done was not that of a human attack- the one who killed the people of the compound along with Lord Fuuta and Lady Shiro was absolutely demonic.” 

“Do the townspeople know of it?” 

“No.  I told them that a second band of thugs and wild boars raided the compound.  I left them strict instructions not to go to the compounds remains either.  I burned the entire building to the ground myself after properly laying to rest the people who died there.” Some leaders looked at Hoseok, knowing he was present as well, for confirmation.  

“It’s true.  The compound was demolished and Fuuta was buried with Shiro, along with all the others.” 

“Do we have any leads on who the demon who killed Fuuta is?” Kaori asked. 

“Yes, I do.” At Taehyung’s proclamation, Hoseok raised his eyes to him with shock.  He knew? “I’ve had many nights to sit and think about it all.  Fuuta did not raise or teach a fool, I am abler than many think.  Fuuta shared many secrets and wishes with me, and I with him.  Today, I shall share a wish and a secret of his to me in light of his passing.” The attention on Taehyung was absolute, no one dared to look away, Hoseok especially.  

The seriousness in Taehyung and the way he stood, holding himself.  It was so surreal and clean cut.  It was like the Kim Taehyung, Hoseok knew and grew up with wasn’t there anymore.  It was truly the heir to the throne Fuuta left behind. 

“Among his many years of hunting and the founding of our organization, it is a well-known fact that we are not recognized as an official unit of power by the government.  However, it is unlikely that the military power of the capital would truly lash out as we have a direct connection to nobility through Fuuta as well as Kaori, the daughter of a wealthy conglomerate, sitting so high up in authority. With all that in mind, it should come as no surprise that certain demon’s despised Fuuta for creating an entire army against their kind.  He created a force made specifically to eliminate and destroy demons.” 

Taehyung looked down at you who had still been sitting at his ankle.  He reached down and picked you up. 

“This small fox is the same demon woman you all met one year ago that Fuuta and Shiro had taken in and raised.” There was a small murmur of recollection.  “She has taken on this form for a reason, but she is still Y/n and is still a demon who has sided with us.  She remembers the scent of the demon that lingered in the compound that day and will be beneficial to us.” He set you down onto the table, where you sat in front of him facing the others.  

“The demon who is most-likely the demon who killed Fuuta and all the others is named Zath. He is a terrible demon who has been around for longer than we have.  I won’t share it all, but of the things Fuuta had told me about him and how he knew the demon, it’s not farfetched to assume it was Zath who ended his life.”

“And what should we do about it?  Should one of us hunt him down?” Tsutsui asked, knowing that no matter what, it wouldn’t be him doing the tracking and killing- as it was not his forte.  He already saw enough work in his future by adding more reinforcement to his medical camps with the temporary lack of leadership chairs. 

“Yes, however, it will not be one of the four leaders. I shall be assigning someone else to do this, as this will lead onto the one wish Fuuta passed to my shoulders.” Taehyung reached into his kimono pulling out two objects.  One of which was a wooden play piece of the game of Shogi- the rook.  The other was a hair stick that once belonged to Fuuta.  “This Shogi rook is the one thing Fuuta gave to me when he announced me to the chair I sat in only a week ago.  As you all know, Fuuta had a tradition of giving someone something as a token of future success- you all possess such an object from him.”  

It was true.  The prayer beads Bunji wore were his gift.  Takaki was given a set of leather sheaths for his sai.  Kaori was given her hair comb with a rose carved onto it.  Tsutsui was given an engraved, rare metal rod for luck in his medicine.  Taehyung was given the strongest piece of Shogi, the rook. Along with the five of them, Hoseok was given something as well, that glass flower.  Hoseok began to question something and he lightly jolted when Taehyung looked at him. 

“You were given something as well, weren’t you, Hoseok?” He spoke with a small smile.  Hoseok nodded as he pulled out from a small pouch his glass flower, wrapped in a cloth to keep it from breaking.  Small gasps were sounded around him from his leaders.  Even you were looking at the flower, still astonished he had it.  “It was Fuuta’s hope that one-day Hoseok would take my place as the swordsman leader and I don’t disagree with his opinion.” 

“Wait, Taehyung-” Hoseok tried to interrupt.  

“However, even though he is strong, Hoseok isn’t strong enough to take my place yet.” Even if it was a fact, it still shot through Hoseok’s ego to hear it said aloud.  “In simple terms, he’s got a long way to go before he could hope to replace me in full confidence, so I will be giving him a mission that will require him to build his strength.  Once it is completed and he returns to me, only then will he be able to pridefully sit where I did.” 

Taehyung looked at Hoseok and his unsure face.  Hoseok never strived for a seat at his table, in fact, he hardly ever thought about what would happen if he were offered one.  Now, here he is, sitting in a chair that previously belonged to Taehyung, his best friend, and might soon belong to him.  

“Hoseok’s mission is not easy, and there are two conditions that will be included if you agree to take it.” Taehyung smiled at his friend.  “That being said, it is up to you if you wish to embark on the task I will give to you or not.  If you do not wish to, you are welcome to decline and return to your lower-ranked status. I will not force it upon your shoulders, as I know Fuuta would not have either.” 

“I’d like to hear the mission first, if you don’t mind,” Hoseok apprehensively requested.  

“Of course. Your mission will be to track down and kill Zath. The endgame is to have him eliminated for many reasons; however, all you need to focus on is killing him for the name of our fallen lord.  In regards to that, it would be a requirement for you to take with you someone who could track him down, or alert you to when he would be present.  To that end, I would instruct Y/n to accompany you on your mission as your partner.” 

Your head shot up to look at Taehyung as your ears flicked at his words.  Hoseok’s eyes widened as his jaw nearly dropped.  You moved to look at Hoseok as he looked back at the fox that was you.  He would have to work with you? If he took on this mission to succeed Taehyung’s chair, he would have to work with you and be your partner to hunt down the demon that took Fuuta’s life? He clenched his hand around his second, unused sword’s scabbard. 

“I do know of your past, Hoseok, as you know.  We’ve been friends for years, and I know the horrors you’ve seen and the trust you’ve lost.  I know the full depths of your hatred for demons, and that makes you an excellent demon hunter.  A fine swordsman with two blades, one that does not truly belong to you so you choose to never draw it in battle.” Hoseok’s jaw set at the hit to his past that Taehyung knew so well.  “You keep that second blade with you as a reminder as to why you fight. So, accepting Y/n- a demon fox- as your partner in this mission must be difficult for you to imagine.” 

Hoseok knew that hunting down that demon alone would be nearly impossible.  If Zath was as strong as Hoseok imagined with the ability to take down Fuuta and everyone else in so little time, Hoseok on his own would surely die.  And tracking him would be a nearly impossible task in itself, because how could he track a demon he didn’t know a thing about? You, however, knew his scent, as Taehyung had explained earlier.  You would be the only lead someone could use in trying to track Zath down. 

Taehyung looked away from Hoseok and around to his new subjects of which he used to stand beside as equals.  

“Now, I’d like to ask for your consent to properly take place as the leader of this organization.  I wish to ask for your blessings to take over where Fuuta left off if you all would let me.” He untucked his sleeves from his front as he lowered his back and head to bow respectfully.  There was silence before Kaori spoke first.  

“I offer my blessing,” she spoke with ease, raising her hand in approval. 

“I wholly offer mine as well!” Bunji announced, raising his hand along with a set of blue beads of prayer used to plead well wishes from the heavens.  

“I see no better time than the present to allow the one practicing for this position to finally take it, even if the situation is grim.  I’ll offer you my blessing,” Tsutsui easily agreed.  

“You’re a better fit than I, I’ll support you as the new lord as well,” Takaki finished.  

It was when Taehyung stood straight again that he knelt down and sat at the head of the table.  He placed his Shogi piece of the table and prayed to it, thanking Fuuta for guiding his path through this one piece of a strategy game.  He then raised the hair stick and looked at Kaori.  

“Would you mind? You’re far better with hair than I am,” he chuckled as Kaori rose from her seat and moved to stand behind Taehyung.  She pulled his long hair from his loose locks and began to pull it back.  Brushing it out the best she could, she was soon taking the length of it and folding it onto the back of his head.  

“The hair stick if you would,” she asked as she reached around his head as he offered it to her.  She placed it between the folds of neatly tied up hair and pinned it in place.  Stepping away from him, she took back to her seat. Your tails swished as you looked at him.  He picked his Shogi piece back up before he offered it out to you. 

“Y/n, take this.  As a gift from Fuuta to me, and me to you.”  You slowly reached out and lightly took the piece between your teeth, taking it from him and carefully placing it in front of you by your blue flamed paws.  “I think the rook suits you perfectly,” he chided with a pet to your head. He looked up again.  “As of the moment, all has its place.  You all are more than welcome to leave as you wish.  Take your time to grief as well, performance can be hindered by sorrow- do not neglect yourself from your emotions.” 

Taehyung began to stand again as the other four leaders exchanged looks.  They quickly got up and out of their chairs, Taehyung shocked at their quickness.  His eyes widened when they all gathered at the back of the room in a line, from right to left lining up in order from ranking.  Takaki, Kaori, Bunji and Tsutsui, all standing and facing Taehyung before taking to their knees, pledging allegiance to their lord.  

Hoseok watched them from his chair before he closed his eyes and made a decision for himself.  He stood from his seat as he looked at Taehyung before walking to the far right of the line of leaders.  He soon knelt beside them. 

“I’ll accept your mission and will work alongside Y/n to hunt down the demon Zath and return back to you and take my place as your fifth leader. I agree to work hard and prove myself as the next swordsman leader you and our late Lord Fuuta both can be proud of.” Hoseok declared as he lowered his head.  You had turned to face him on the tabletop, taking the Shogi piece into your jaw again and lowering your head, almost agreeing with Hoseok. 

Takaki raised his head.  “As the head ranking leader, I speak on behalf of all present leaders of now and the future.  We shall serve you as loyal and faithful servants until the time of our death.  You have our vow as the new Lord.  May you depend on and accept us as your new children, Lord Taehyung.” 

Taehyung smiled as he composed himself, feeling the stinging sensation of tears in his wide eyes.  

“I will disclose any further information regarding the Zath mission to Y/n and Hoseok at a later time, for now, you both shall remain here and rest. As for the rest, I look forward to working and leading each and every one of you. Please, be safe on your journeys.” 

“Yes, of course.  We wish you the best as well.” 

The sun fell below the horizon that day with a new lord, a new leader, an empty seat with a future promise to be filled and the unsuspecting alliance of Y/n and Hoseok.  However, it’s the future of the alliance between the two of you that Taehyung worried for, as he would soon be sending you both out on your own together without him to mediate.  

The entire idea- though the only way he could resolve the Zath issue at hand- gave him a terrible headache. 

[warwaged-archive]

Alleria had always been good at pushing aside unwanted feelings.

It wasn’t comfortable, no, but easy enough to do while moving forward towards she who had been her tormentor for so long. Leave her dead; leave her buried in rubble never to be found again. It is what she deserves. What leaves her lips is much more softspoken, heart poured out in spite of her hesitance to do so; there is no word against the Light Mother, no offered offense regardless of how many come to mind. No sense of retribution to see her shattered, no gloating, no satisfaction; but there is fear, and there is vulnerability, and there is the silent begging for him to see her reason, to see her side, to see her pain.

And what then? I was locked in a cell for delving into the Void against her wishes. Will she make me a prisoner again? Or worse?

He would have tried to soothe her at the very least, in the past. This time there is no offered comfort; there is nothing but nearly disinterested certainty that surely it shall be fine, surely Xe’Ra would see the reason, surely she would do Alleria no harm.

But she has already done. Alleria has the scars to prove it.

Hurt that hits her then is not of so visible sort; only in her heart, after all, and that she can hide easily enough. Not comfortable, but easy. She knew Turalyon trusted her; she knew the Army of the Light fought for the future the prime naaru had foreseen. They think it is the only way to save the universe from the Legion, of course bringing her back is important. Somewhere deep down, she can almost hear the echoes of disagreement.

(Weren’t you important for him? Didn’t he care? You gave your heart and body and soul in a way so complete and honest and whole, in a way you never had before; you gave yourself to the wrong person. He doesn’t care. You abandoned the Light, and he no longer cares. He cannot love someone who dwells in the Shadows. But he can love a being of Light even if it is a tyrant, even if it is a torturer.)

They are not loud enough she cannot silence them. The bleeding is not severe enough she cannot ignore it.

Alleria underestimates how hard it would be to see Xe’Ra again.

Indeed, apprehension gripped at her heart at the mere suggestion of restoring the Light Mother, but she had since steeled herself to the inevitability of it; or so she thought. The Windrunner had never been the submissive sort, never one to be forcibly controlled; one who valued her freedom too much to ever submit to chains, never had, not other than those that would lead her to Azeroth again. Alleria could have escaped, even if she could not have fought; could have returned to the Void, to her displeased teacher, could even have wandered the Twisting Nether again until she found path to Azeroth by herself — but the Xenedar was where she had to be, reliable path to the future she had seen that Light and Void were both blind to. The future where they won.

It wasn’t enough to make her fond of her cage, but it was enough to make it tolerable.

The bars were made of Light, as pure and bright as the Light that composed Xe’Ra herself. Alleria could not touch them, of course; a way to guarantee she could not reach beyond it, to make her as little threat as possible. More often than not, she had been left alone to reconsider her path and forsake the Shadows; not always. Sometimes the Light Mother would reach to her in sickeningly sweet tone, elated in listing all that she would lose forever were she to stay with the shadows, before offering her a path to the Light once more. Unbeknownst to Xe’Ra, perhaps, those were the days she got to Alleria the most, heart tight at the idea of losing her sisters, her homeland, her lover, her son. Yet it was for them, too, she chose the path she walked; and it was holding on to this knowledge that Alleria kept herself calm enough not to give away any reaction, nothing but constant denial.

Other times, it was Light forced on her physically, or the attempt to. She remembered thinking of Lothraxion, of Fel being cleansed by Light, of how much it must have hurt for the Nathrezim; she remembered thinking Xe’Ra underestimated the Shadows and Alleria’s own will both, if she believed to cleanse her as easily as Fel. The Void would not surrender one who had so willingly given herself to it; and whenever she was at her limit, Alleria saw Xe’Ra give up, made aware the mortal would break before bending, and knowing she needed her alive for the future she had seen to come into being.

Well, at least until she decided Alleria needed another push, a more direct interference from the Light to set her once more on the right path.

Seeing her may have brought memory of such instances to her mind, but it does not make Alleria fear. She finds it hard to fear, then, in spite of being haunted by it not long ago. Seeing Xe’Ra again makes her rage. A quiet, contained sort of rage, to be sure, but one that burns intensely, one that she had not felt so strongly in so many years. Had she the power to destroy the Prime Naaru, Xe’Ra would be in pieces again already. The thought comes with a certainty that does not let her deny its truth even to herself; Alleria doesn’t try to. She does not shun the anger, either; it is justified, and she has kept it long enough. Let it be felt. Let it bleed out if it must. There has been silence and submission for too long.

If anxiety or anger occupy her, neither finds reciprocation in the dreaded Light Mother. Xe’Ra does not care, she realizes; and there is no shock in this, not truly, not for her who knows the naaru to only have cared for her perfect vision of the future for years, but to see it extended to Turalyon as well is new and unexpected — as is his loyalty to her, so blatantly offered, so unblemished. He kneels as if faced by most sacred being, and it is the truth of it, Alleria realizes, the truth of it in his eyes at least. There is adoration in his gaze, devotion in his voice, relief to see Xe’Ra restored.

It is enough to subdue the flames of her resent, ice cold aching in her heart substituting it. It is neither comfortable nor easy, then, to push aside unwanted feelings. It is hard, and it hurts; oh, if baring her feelings to be met with disregard had been bruising as being punched in the gut, this hurts as being trespassed by blade instead. Part of her wants to cry out betrayal, that he would so devote himself to this thing who had tried to rob her of choice, who did rob her of freedom, who hurt her as it saw fit and branded her wrong for having a mind of her own. Part of her thinks the betrayer to have been herself, venturing in the Shadow out of own volition. It hurts all the same. Duty she could understand; this wasn’t it. This was care and concern Turalyon had not shown to her, even when he had last seen her behind bars made of pure Light; it was commitment he had not shown her when she spoke of her worry and hesitated to aid one who had only done her harm.

Keeping herself impassive is stilling breath with same focus she had been taught once, so many years ago, when learning to tread amidst Eversong trees quiet as a shadow. It is clenching teeth and digging her nails in the flesh of her palm so strongly it hurts, but it is a welcome hurt, grounding, simple enough to deal with. It is forcing herself not to feel, impossible as it is — making herself ignore it, as if that was someone else’s lover, someone she did not know.

Did she know him at all, as it was?

Alleria had always been good at pushing aside unwanted feelings, and she succeeds, even when it is arduous effort. All eyes remain on the naaru, on the demon hunter that steps up to speak to it; all eyes, even her own. She feels what will happen before she processes it; heartbeat racing and body taut as a bowstring ready to snap. True understanding only comes to her, clear as crystal, when Illidan refuses Xe’Ra. She knows, and how could she not? It is watching her tale reenacted with different characters. It is seeing yet another fall prey to a monster who cloaks herself in good intentions, who makes use of righteousness to blind others on her tyranny.

She isn’t sure she can stomach to see it, yet green eyes do not dare look away, barely even blink. It is only when Illidan forcefully frees himself of binding light that Alleria releases breath she hadn’t realize she had been holding, a quiet gasp made soundless by deafening noise; only then gaze is forcefully torn away, the coalescing forces much too blinding to withstand.

There is barely a moment of quiet, briefest second in which she can feel how deeply Illidan’s words resounds with her, how deeply she feels it, from life that was not Xe’Ra’s to take to destiny that is his own, just as hers was, is, will always be. The moment ends too soon. All too quickly, it is brought to an end by a different voice loudly asserting his rage over Illidan’s actions, more vicious and angry and passionate than she remembered seeing in a long time.

When had he last acted like that? The rage upon seeing Lothar fall, perhaps. Turalyon had never been prone to outbursts of anger, seldom allowing himself to act on rage or resent. Lothar… Lothar had been his mentor, closer than even just his commander. There was connection between them, it is secret to no one; a bond, truly. And if any had been deserving of it, Anduin Lothar most certainly had; yet even drawing out such comparison thinking similar feelings would be attached to Xe’Ra sickens her (breaks her heart).

Breaks her further. Both relief and cathartic sense of justice done, found in seeing one pushed into a situation so similar to what Alleria herself had lived through destroy her tormentor, fade all too soon; feelings she had not even had the time to fully feel, truly, barely acknowledged at all amidst surprise and shock and rush of each turn of events. It is too much, too sudden, and amidst the overwhelming sea of feelings she experiences, she does not even know what is it she feels.

And then and there, for the first time in so long she does not remember when it happened last, Alleria feels like falling apart.

She doesn’t. Many years of shutting feelings tight within, burying them within own chest until they cannot hurt (until they hurt all the same, just as deep, just as truly, but all of it is securely beneath the skin) do not fail her then. Alleria barely acknowledges what happens, if focus is entirely on the scene before her; the words are lost in the haze, but she can see Turalyon’s sword (Lothar’s), half metal and half Light, and although she cannot see the wound, she can see Fel blood dripping to the floor, clawed hand holding sword in place even as it carves his flesh. Something Illidan says must have gotten to him, for eventually Turalyon withdraws, and eventually the demon hunter is left to brood in a corner, and eventually the paladin returns to the bridge, perhaps unsure how to go on about his duties then.

They have not been able to touch for many years now, but it is the first time Alleria is glad of it.

Even standing close to him feels like too much; but the mask does not slip, and neither him nor Vereesa nor Arator, not a single person in the multitude of faces within the Vindicaar, seems concerned when she offers some poor excuse of something to do, steps taking her away (away, away, even if she does not know where), aimless until she finds what she was looking for without conscious thought: a distant corner, empty and lonely and dark. Like she is. Where she belongs.

No strength is enough to keep herself together then.

The tears are quiet, if only because she does not dare making noise and drawing attention to herself — it’s not what she wants. Alleria does not resent that none of them noticed her distress; she has never been comfortable with exposing such feelings to others (lie; she had been comfortable enough once, with him, and the thought only causes her to cry more). If the sounds do not escape her, body still shakes with the soundless sobs, heartfelt, hurting, broken.

Xe’Ra is dead! Xe’Ra is dead. Gone, truly and completely this time. Why is it not enough? Why does it still hurt, even when she knows she is glad the Light Mother will never harm her or anyone else in attempt to force her will on them? Why does it hurt, when loathed dreading she had felt upon realizing what Illidan was going to suffer had turned to overwhelming relief, honest joy even, to see such fate averted and Xe’Ra dealt with? Why does it hurt regardless?

(How long have you been silent? How much have you ignored, set aside, pretended not to see? And now that she’s dead, what? Now you pretend and ignore and set aside and stay silent forever, because Xe’Ra is dead and it doesn’t matter anymore.)

Whatever she had suffered, it does not matter; not anymore. Her pain does not matter; this is as much justice as she will ever receive.

Her pain does not matter. And thoughts return to Turalyon, then, Turalyon who had once gone through lengths she expected none to go in order to help her; to offer her a hand she refused time and again, to do whatever he needed do to allow her to heal. Turalyon who shrugged off her concerns in favor of believing in Xe’Ra’s goodwill. Turalyon who knelt in front of Xe’Ra, who offered her respect and adoration he had not spared his so called wife. Turalyon who so eagerly threw himself at Xe’Ra’s killer, in blind rage that was not stopped by the logical thought he could not defeat Illidan, not truly, not when his own power would not have been enough to defeat the Prime Naaru.

Alleria had never resented the lack of further action when she was imprisoned. Turalyon stood with her then, between herself and Xe’Ra even, when he pleaded for her life. It was all she could have asked for; neither of them could defeat her, much less the entire Army of the Light. Alleria never meant to make them enemies, either. It was her path home, to accept Xe’Ra’s sentence; it was how she would reach Azeroth again (how she would see Arator again) — and Turalyon had done what he could. Had done enough.

Had done so much as he was willing to do, she thought now. He could have acted then how he acted now, could have known it was an impossible victory but raised his sword all the same. His lack of action was not because he knew it would be futile; he hadn’t done more because he hadn’t cared enough to do it.

He surely seemed to have a tremendous amount of care for the thing that kept her captive, however.

Arms wrap around her knees, attempt to make herself quieter, to give herself comfort (no; to make herself smaller, perhaps, as if she continued to shrink in her shadowy corner, she might disappear completely). It wouldn’t matter, would it? Arator had an aunt who would always be better mother figure than she could hope to be. He and Vereesa and Sylvanas had all believed her gone for so long; they didn’t need her (Sylvanas is the name that gives her pause; she hadn’t had the chance to meet her, hadn’t seen her in so long… but perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps it would be easier if she had not met any of them at all. At the very least, Sylvanas could be spared the disappointment.)

The Locus-Walker had taught her the Void would play her feelings to their purpose, and it never fails to prove true; her shadow companions, voices without bodies, whisper to fan the flames of her resent, to deepen her sorrow, to offer her comfort. It is barely effective at all; she is drowning in feelings all her own, sinking each time she briefly thinks she might swim again.

There is but one certainty for her, then and there; she does belong to the shadows, in the shadows, irreversibly, irrevocably. It is in the silent darkness she finds as much solace as she could find anywhere; and the cold nothingness of the Void does not feel like such terrible option after all.

[wordcubed-writes]

What if Naruto’s ~Ancient Aliens~ plotline didn’t suck?

Fandom: Naruto

Fanfic: A Different World

Context: "The Uchiha and Senju are descended from ancient aliens and their mom is the final bad guy” plotline in Naruto... kinda sucks. So I’m just going to throw the whole canon out and substitute my own.

____________________

Hagoromo slew the monster. Then he ended the war. He ended the war because he said so, because he was a god, because he held the Ten-Tails and he could pull all the world’s chakra inside himself. For a thousand years, he ruled over the world, carefully laying the foundations for a just and peaceful future.

Then he died.

His sister shook her head and called him a fool. Always distant, ever aloof, she took her half of the Otsutsuki clan and left. She left for the moon, to guard the Ten-Tails’ corpse, and to watch. Hagoromo might be able to hold all the world’s chakra, but Hamura could see the world with a clarity her brother never had. She would, she decreed, give her awful nephews two centuries to make peace, and if they failed, her wrath would turn them to dust. If they failed to uphold the glorious Otsutsuki name, then she would simply ensure there weren’t any left to ruin it.

She’d never been particularly fond of the Impure Lands. They were merely a sinkhole for unworthy souls, after all. She’d humored her little brother anyway, like she always had, but now Hagoromo was dead. Worse than dead, he was stuck in the Grey Lands. What a fool.

Then she died. It was inevitable, really. Like her brother, she’d stayed for far too long in the Impure Lands. Her body became corrupted, and wasted away like a mortal’s. It was embarrassing. Also, painful. Dying was unpleasant, and she was fond of her children, however pitiful the world they called home was. Now she would never see them again.

“Have you learned anything?” he asked as she marched past him, towards the Pure Land. “That pain was only a taste of what all mortals go through. They’ll reincarnate over and over again, hurting over and over.”

“Is that why you wanted me to stay?” she stated more than asked. “To learn? I don’t need whatever it is you think I need. Not in the Pure Land. I am going home. You are free to waste your time in the Grey Lands. Enjoy watching your insufferable children ruin your legacy.”

She never spoke to him again. The Pure Land was short one god, a gap that could never be filled, but she put it behind her.

~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~

The first time Hagoromo Otsutsuki used Creation of All Things was to put away the Ten-Tails. He found it less memorable than seeing the look on Hamura’s face. She’d tried destroying it outright, and found it was beyond even her power.

That she needed help with something was such an affront to her dignity. When she’d grumbled that they might have to work together, while looking so offended at the very thought of admitting weakness, he’d actually snickered. She’d glared at him for that. Her eyes made it a very formidable glare indeed. (It was like the whole world, heaven and earth itself, was made of eyes and all of them were looking at him at once.)

Between the two of them, the greatest monster to ever wander the Impure Lands was crushed. The full power of two of the greatest gods from the Pure Land, the twin wielders of all destruction and all creation, was brought against it. Its spirit was shredded and torn and its body rendered to dust, and even as it simply rebirthed from the Grey Lands the monster found itself reshaped and remade into something less vile.

When it grew weak from their assault, Hagoromo stayed her hand. He would not let her destroy it. Instead, he locked it inside himself. Hamura called him a fool and warned that it would destroy him. He’d looked at her and said that this way, he could try and understand it.

It was bewildering.

But she could see everything, and she watched the monster from the outside in as it changed. He tamed it, somehow, and when he let it out and created nine new shapes for it, she let herself believe that it was no longer a being of pure loathing and cruelty, of violence given boundless form but no function beyond itself.

She was a fool because she’d forgotten how foolish mortals were, and how foolish Hagoromo’s half of the Otsutsuki clan was. If the monster could be tamed, then it could be untamed.

Hamura belittled her brother’s compassion, but she was wise enough to recognize that his heart was big enough for the whole world. The problem was, nobody else could ever measure up. Strife would return as soon as Hagoromo died.

It did.

~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~

The third time Hagoromo used Creation of All Things was when Hamura declared that he owed her for her help with the Ten-Tails, and therefore he should create offspring for her, much as he had done for himself. (That’d been the second time he used Creation of All Things.) In her image, she was careful to specify. Hagoromo had made his own children in his image, and they were every bit as foolish as he was. If her children were crafted after her, they’d at least be sensible.

(They were indeed very sensible, though Hagoromo felt that had little to do with worshiping reason and everything to do with looking down on others. It was easy to disclaim emotion when you thought yourself superior. Hagoromo held others close and grew to care too much. He liked his approach a lot better.)

Their children had children of their own—with, ugh, mortals, though Hamura found mortals tolerable enough if they simply shut their mouths and deferred to the superior Otsutsuki. Hagoromo actually liked them, presumably for the same reason he wasted his time on the tailed beasts.

~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~

Hamura found her nephews grating, but in different ways. Asura was the younger of the two by a full century. He was a weaker version of his father, with the merest sliver of his father’s power but most of his kindness. (“Kindness” was Hagoromo’s word for it, though. Hamura called such a thing by its proper name: shameful indulgence of others.) He was weak, but never seemed to fail. He had... companions? Friends? Family? Whatever it was, Asura possessed some quality that drew others to him, and another, equally strange, quality that compelled him to raise them up, to treat them as equals, to see them thrive alongside him.

Hamura could not understand this—this drive to indulge others even when they had not earned it—but she respected it. Somewhat. Asura’s power lay, not in himself, but in the people around him, and in the world itself. Asura was a fool, but a fool in the same way as his father. He had the same heart, and as soon as she realized that, she understood that he was meant to be Hagoromo’s heir. (If nothing else, Asura respected her wish to be left alone.)

Indra worried her. His eyes were so different from Hagoromo’s and from hers. She wasn’t frightened—Indra could grow in power for a thousand thousand years and still never touch her—but she worried for her brother’s sake. Indra seemed less like Hagoromo’s son and more like the Ten-Tails’.

Indra used his eyes to destroy, like hers. But he used them poorly, and to torment. Hamura was detached from the world as much as possible, to better judge it, and to better destroy what was necessary to keep All Things in balance. Indra held some too close, much like his brother and his father, but pushed some others away, and he was cruel to them. His eyes did not show him All Things, but instead Us and Them.

He seemed driven to power, much like Asura, but only for himself and the tiny handful within his Us. Indra had approached her many times, seeking power, and on the sixth time she laid out her will. She told him that while his brother was a human seeking human power to embetter humanity, Indra was a human seeking divine power only for himself. She warned him that if he continued his pursuit of ruinous power, if he ever became a monster to replace the Ten-Tails, she would destroy him. Hagoromo’s son or not, Hamura would remove him from All Things and place him into Nothing.

She had not been looked at with such hatred since she fought the Ten-Tails. It worried her even more.

~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~

Hagoromo Otsutsuki died and war came.

Indra failed to see what Hamura had seen centuries ago. He hadn’t realized Asura became Hagoromo’s heir the moment Indra paired limited compassion with limitless cruelty. So when he heard his father declare Asura the inheritor of his will, Indra attacked his brother even as their father lay dying.

Hamura was furious. How dare they make Hagoromo’s last sight in the Impure Lands be his own children fighting! That fury was precisely why she did not strike. Being too close to something was a mistake. It was not her way. She waited until she was calmer, until her divine will to destroy could come crashing down out of necessity and not anger.

Indra brought suffering and violence to a thriving and peaceful world. He was like a new Ten-Tails, feeding off loss and pain even while destroying others. And the tailed beasts responded. Some fled, either to the deepest ocean or highest mountains, while others became untamed, the foulness around them seeping into their very being and changing them to match.

Almost two centuries later, Indra still fought Asura at every turn. Indra fought to destroy this usurper, this traitor, this once-brother, now-deceiver of their late father. He understood that Asura was weak because he couldn’t stand on his own, because he drew on others for strength when he had none.

Asura cried and cried over and over again, begging Indra to stop. He begged because he was weak. Indra knew this. Asura claimed to fight for something greater than himself, for a world that was better and kinder than the one now at war.

It was vile. Indra and Asura were gods among mortals. How dare Asura defile that heritage. There was nothing greater than them, no principle worth obeying beyond their own greatness. Indra sought power because he alone deserved to have it. The entire world was his inheritance, it was owed to him, and if it wouldn’t be given then he would simply take it by force.

It took Indra two centuries to win, but he still won. He’d eaten of Asura’s flesh—a prize stolen in battle. Asura might’ve had the whole world’s chakra and righteous fury for countless victims living and dead, but Indra was great in a way Asura could never be. That was why Indra had the Samsara Eye and all nine of the tailed beasts, while Asura merely had mortal powers and mortal anger.

When Indra won he ate the rest of Asura’s body, too. Then he raised his hand for Divine Subjugation. He didn’t need to use it—his enemies were already defeated—but he wanted to impress upon his dominion the power he held.

Hamura Otsutsuki swept down from the moon. Indra became dust. As Indra had destroyed the Otsutsuki under Asura for being degenerate and weak, she too destroyed the Otsutsuki under Indra for being too cruel, for embracing the worst of all possible qualities and seeking to purge all they saw as less than them.

As her eyes held Indra’s spirit before her, she said to him: “I will give you eight chances to redeem yourself. Eight chances to understand your brother and learn to value others. You will be reborn once every 900 years—the length of time you lived alongside your brother in peace without ever learning anything. And when those chances are up, if you have failed, if you became a monster in all eight, if you can’t live even one life as nobly as your brother’s, I will remove you from existence, as I promised all those years ago. The heavens will fall and justice will be done.”

Hamura Otsutsuki herself died very soon after that.

She made her last divine order as she lay dying. Her eldest daughter was to come down from the moon. Her own descendants were to safeguard the world from Indra’s worst, should it ever come to that. They were to utterly destroy any new monster that rose up.

Centuries later, from the Pure Land, Hamura was very disappointed. Her daughter had died, as was inevitable. None of her great-grandchildren had inherited her eyes. Instead it was a strange, twisted derivative, no longer the Rebirth Eye but now the White Eye. What was worse, as the centuries passed, as more and more of the original Otsutsuki died, Hamura’s descendants grew more and more mortal.

Soon, the name Otsutsuki was forgotten. Hamura’s daughter’s reincarnation was left to start her own clan from nothing.

She named it after the sun: Hyuuga.

It irked Hamura, that her own descendant should forget which celestial body she came from. But the Hyuuga at least remembered their purpose, if not their name and origins. They treasured the carved stone she’d left them, which told them:

Hold yourselves apart and above the world

So you can judge it all the better

And destroy that which unbalances the world

____________________

Notes: Setup! Now the Hyuuga also have a tablet giving them terrible advice—just like the Uchiha!

(I know I said I’d post about my BNHA villain OCs, but that’s taking longer than I thought, so here’s a random thing from my big Naruto fic to tide you over.)