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kazscrows · 11 months

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Crooked Kingdom Reread

Chapter 6: Nina

Nina couldn’t stop staring at Colm Fahey…

Nina describes Colm as having “salt-white skin”

Just how pale is this man??

Also I forgot he’s covered in freckles, but duh?? He’s a pale red head of course he has freckles

Side note: You know who else probably gets freckles? A certain pasty bastard of the Barrel—

…though his eyes were the same clear gray as Jesper’s, they had a seriousness to them, a kind of sure warmth that differed from Jesper’s crackling energy.

It wasn’t only the pleasure of trying to find Jesper in his father’s features that kept Nina’s attention focused on the farmer. There was just something so strange about seeing a person that wholesome standing in the stone hull of an empty mausoleum surrounded by Ketterdam’s worst—herself among them.

Colm Fahey too pure for this world Ketterdam

Also Nina is using a horse blanket to stay warm?? Kinda odd

Come on Kaz steal better blankets- I know you can

Reading about Nina’s battle with jurda parem withdrawals is just really heart wrenching

It messes with her mind. She has thoughts she’d never have. Does things she wouldn’t normally do

She knows Matthias either has the parem or got rid of it and the thought literally makes her violently ill and then she “wept in jags of unsteady tears”

“You’re all a bunch of useless skivs,” she’d said to the silent graves. They didn’t seem to care. And yet somehow the stillness of Black Veil comforted her, quieted her. She couldn’t explain why. The places of the dead had never held solace for her before.

Ohh?? Foreshadowing to her powers changing!!

This is what’s fun about rereads

You notice those details you didn’t the first time

It was the first time she’d tried to use her power since her recovery. She’d broken into a sweat from the effort, and as soon as the bruised color faded, the hunger for parem hit, a swift, hard kick to her chest. She’d bent double, clutching the sink, her mind filled with breakneck thoughts of how she could get away, who might have a supply, what she could trade. She’d forced herself to think of the shame on the boat, the future she might be able to make with Matthias, but the thought that had brought her back to sanity was Inej. She owed Inej her life, and there was no way she was leaving her stranded with Van Eck.

There’s something so beautiful about how every single crow cares for Inej so deeply

They’d all do anything for her

Inej is definitely the glue of their crew and I know she cares for them all equally in return

After the Smeet job Nina searches Matthias for the parem…

I remember my heart squeezing when I read this my first time

Fatigue came on suddenly, a yoke at her neck, the exhaustion at least tempering her frantic need. She rested her forehead against Matthias chest. “I hate this,” she said. “I hate you a little, drüskelle.”

“I’m used to it. Come here.” He’d wrapped his arms around her and gotten her talking about Ravka, about Inej. He’d distracted her with stories, named the winds that blew across Fjerda, told her of his first meal in the drüskelle hall…

I love how Matthias is there for her though

He’s not abandoning her in this struggle even when she gets ugly with him

He knows it’s not really her and he’s going to fight this with her

Back to the present though and that means Colm Fahey

Kaz simply leaned on his cane and said, “Were you followed?”

“No,” Jesper replied with a decisive shake of his head.

“Wylan?”

Colm bristled. “You doubt my son’s word?”

Colm is still standing up for Jesper even after everything that’s happened 🥹

Like he’s still mad at Jesper and rightly so

But the theme of this chapter seems to be not abandoning those you love and I love that

He turned to his son. “I wrote to you, Jes.” His voice was confused, not accusing.

“I … I haven’t been able to collect mail.” After Jesper had stopped attending university, had he still managed to receive letters there?

Nina wondered how he’d maintained this ruse for so long. It would have been made easier by the fact that Colm was an ocean away—and by his desire to believe in his son. An easy mark, Nina thought sadly. No matter his reasons, Jesper had been conning his own father.

I’m right there with Nina on this one

It is sad…

Colm threw down the lump of felt that had been his hat. “I don’t understand any of this. Why would you bring me to this horrible place? Why were we shot at? What has become of your studies? What has become of you?”

Jesper opened his mouth, closed it. “Da, I … I—”

“It was my fault,” Wylan blurted. Every eye turned to him. “He uh … he was concerned about the bank loan, so he put his studies on hold to work with a…”

“Local gunsmith,” Nina offered.

“Nina,” Matthias rumbled warningly.

“He needs our help,” she whispered.

“To lie to his father?”

“It’s a fib. Totally different.”

Wylan and Nina are so quick to jump in and try to help Jesper

Boy are they struggling though

But this is what gets me every time:

“They were swindled,” Kaz said. His voice was as cold and steady as ever, but he held himself stiffly, as if walking over uncertain ground. “They were offered a business opportunity that seemed too good to be true.”

Colm slumped into a chair. “If it seems that way, then—”

“It probably is,” said Kaz. Nina had the strangest sense that for once he was being sincere.

He’s talking about Jordie right here

Him and Jordie

He is being completely sincere

This is his genuine story and he’s laying it out for all to see for Jesper

He doesn’t actually say a lot and no one knows that he’s speaking from real experience but…

From Kaz this feels so... raw-

This shows me his love for Jesper, his closest friend… his brother—

“You barely look old enough to graduate.”

“Ketterdam was my education. And I can tell you this: Jesper never would have turned to me for help if he’d had anywhere else to go.”

“You can’t be so bad, boy,” said Colm gruffly. “You haven’t been alive long enough to rack up your share of sin.”

“I’m a quick study.”

Oh poor Mr. Fahey he has no idea

“Can I trust you?”

“No.”

Colm took up his crumpled hat again. “Can I trust you to help Jesper through this?”

“Yes.”

Kaz cares Kaz cares Kaz cares Kaz ca—

Colm sighed. He looked around at all of them. Nina found herself standing up straighter. “You lot make me feel very old.”

“Spend a little more time in Ketterdam,” said Kaz. “You’ll feel ancient.” Then he tilted his head to one side and Nina saw that distant, considering look cross his features. “You have an honest face, Mister Fahey.”

Colm shot Jesper a puzzled glance. “Well. I should hope so, and thank you for marking it.”

“It’s not a compliment,” said Jesper. “And I know that look, Kaz. Don’t you dare start those wheels spinning.”

Kaz’s only response was a slow blink. Whatever scheme had been set in motion in his diabolical brain, it was too late to stop it now.

Scheming Face™️

A dangerous thing to be on the wrong end of 🤣

The urge to comment on every single line—

But then these posts would be a mile long!

“Mister Fahey,” Kaz said quietly. “You know what they say about walking in a cow pasture?”

Jesper’s brows shot up, and Nina had to stifle a nervous laugh. What did the bastard of the Barrel know about cow pastures?

Oh a whole lot more than you would think

Nina felt a sudden lump in her throat. Matthias had lost his family to war. Nina had been taken from her family to train when she was just a little girl. Wylan had been as good as evicted from his father’s house. Kuwei had lost his father and his country. And Kaz? She didn’t want to know what dark alley Kaz had crawled out of. But Jesper had somewhere to go, someone to take care of him, somebody to say, It’s going to be all right…

…She wished Jesper’s father could take them all with him. She’d never been to Novyi Zem, but the longing for those golden fields felt just like homesickness. Silly, she told herself, childish. Kaz was right—if they wanted justice, they would have to take it for themselves.

These poor kids…

He reached inside one of the niches in the wall.

“My revolvers!” Jesper exclaimed, clutching them to his chest. “Oh, hello, you gorgeous things.” His grin was dazzling. “You got them back!”

“The safe at the Cumulus is an easy crack.”

“Thank you, Kaz. Thank you.”

Any hint of the warmth Kaz had shown Jesper’s father was gone, as fleeting as the dream of those golden fields. “What good is a shooter without his guns?” Kaz asked, seemingly oblivious to the way Jesper’s smile collapsed. “You’ve been in the red too long. We all have. This is the night we start paying our debts.”

Ouch ouch ouch

…

She couldn’t make a mistake, not when Inej’s life depended on it. Nina knew that if she’d been on Vellgeluk, the battle would have gone differently. Inej never would have been taken if Nina had been strong enough to face Van Eck’s henchmen.

And if she’d had parem? No one could have stood against her.

Nina that was not your fault-

You saved everyone in the first book!

Okay okay she does acknowledge that if she’d taken more parem she’d be practically dead

That other sense inside her, the gift that had been there for as long as she could remember, the heart of the power that had been her constant companion since she was a child, had simply ceased to beat.

I imagine this would feel like suddenly losing a limb

Nina felt a strange crawling sensation all over her body, but the need for parem wasn’t screaming through her any longer. I didn’t mean to kill him. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t right now. The guards were down and the plan was in motion.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go get our girl.”

Our first glimpse at Nina using her new abilities!

I’m trying to remember my original thoughts on this… but I can’t

Maybe my theory was just that parem made you a different order of grisha?

But now I know that’s not what’s going on here

Also- Nina calles Inej “our girl” 🥹

She loves her so much!

All the crows love her so much 💕

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#crooked kingdom #six of crows #nina zenik #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #grishaverse #shadow and bone #ck #soc #reading #books #matthias helvar #kazscrowsreadsck #kazscrows #leigh bardugo

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masquenoire · 1 year

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What does your muse smell like? Roman has expensive taste therefore enjoys a wide range of men’s colognes. One of his favourite scents to use is Clive Christian’s 1872 Masculine Edition, which combines deep earthy, wooden notes with fresh green resins to produce an invigorating aroma with hints of sandalwood, pine and salt. One bottle lasts a good while, up to a year as he likes to alternate his collection but beneath his colognes, Roman’s scent carries musky tones of cuban tobacco, gunpowder and iron.

What do your muse’s hands feel like? His palms are calloused and rough to the touch even with the use of moisturizer and gloves. Roman’s hands see a lot of day-to-day action from writing, smoking, fighting, shooting guns and torture - he’s pretty much always doing something with them at any given moment but keeping his skin moisturized has given it a softer feel beneath that crushing strength of his.

What does your muse usually eat in a day? Ever since he hit puberty, Roman’s always been a big eater and it wasn’t long before he grew taller than both his parents. His mother tried controlling the amount he ate but his temper only grew worse when smaller portions could no longer satiate his growing body. Fortunately he’s managed to maintain a somewhat healthy relationship with food, enjoying fine cuisine so much he refuses to eat junk food and anything else he considers to be ‘low class’ unless he’s actually starving. For breakfast, he’ll usually partake in a fried breakfast. It’s not healthy but it is quick and the high salt content helps him bounce back from any hangovers as a result of drinking too much the night before. For lunch, he’ll usually settle for something lighter - soup or pasta is his usual choice, with sicilian chicken soup being his favourite during the colder months of Gotham. For dinner, he loves nothing more than a prime cut of steak with fried mushrooms + onions on the side and a colourful salad with dark, leafy greens. For snacks, he’ll opt for fruit, nuts and the occasional bar of dark chocolate. Enjoys expensive meals made with quality ingredients whenever he has time to indulge.

Does your muse have a good singing voice? Surprisingly yes! Roman’s voice is scratchier thanks to years of heavy smoking but he can carry a tune and hit those deep notes wonderfully. Doesn’t sing often unless he’s in a very good mood.

Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks? He grinds his teeth a lot which is noticable given they’re exposed as a result of his facial disfigurement. Roman rarely feels nervous but he’s frequently annoyed, frustrated, vexed or infuriated, expending pent-up energy through huffing, pacing, clenching his fists or punching unlucky henchmen. Smokes and drinks heavily to manage his stress levels thus became an alcoholic (Note: Roman’s experienced some particularly vicious withdrawal spells during his stays at Arkham, heightening his anxiety while being treated there.)

What does your muse usually look like / wear? Just some expensive top-of-the-range business suits, thank you very much. Roman does not like to be lumped in with the other ‘rogues’ of Gotham, thinking his stylish threads set him apart from that costumed riff-raff. His most iconic clothing is his pure white suit and black shirt, matching the aesthetics of his signature black mask. He similarly enjoys luxury coats and footwear made from hand-stitched leather, though on occasion has been known to wear different coloured suits depending on his mood.

Is your muse affectionate? How much? How so? Roman struggles so very hard with affection. His parents were only affectionate in public, pretending to be loving people when truthfully they despised their son so it’s hard for him to accept being touched and held platonically. Doesn’t know how badly he’s touch-starved and pursues it through aggressive sex.

What position does your muse sleep in? Either on his back or on his side. During restless nights he’ll toss and turn, too agitated to fully drop off even while sleeping.

Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room? Yes. Roman is loud, proud and not afraid to make his feelings known, yelling at the top of his lungs whenever he’s pissed off - which is often. His henchmen know whenever the boss is having a bad day, especially when they can hear him several floors away.

Tagged by;; @quinnzelles (thank you peach! ♡) Tagging;; @arkhampsych, @babydxhl, @caestusvulpes, @defectivexfragmented, @elisethetraveller, @fiddlingonthetympanic, @oswald-pengu1n-cobblepot, @riddleroyalty, @sanguine-salvation, @shinebrightsweetdove, @the-arkham-librarian, @undeadasshcle, @zeigekopf and anyone else who wants to do this?

#( 💀 ♮ DASHBOARD DECEPTION ♮ | memes )#( 💀 ♮ IMMACULATE INTERESTS ♮ | musings )#( 💀 ♮ UNMASKED MALICE ♮ | headcanons )#Gonna try and be a little motivated today #Still feeling iffy but it'll pass #Wrapped up warm and about to take a shower #Wash off this grunginess and see what happens tonight #This was really fun thank you Peach x #alcoholism tw #alcoholism cw

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tessiete · 3 years

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Prompt: "Please don’t regret me." You know what I want.

Oh, I tried! I tried to get them to dance, but I could only fit in so many of your tropes. So have bodyguard, party, fancy dress, declarations of love Obitine, with Satine whump! I hope you enjoy, my love!

(And yes, I'm still filling prompts. I love you all, I'm just REAL SLOW!!!)

DEEPER THAN THE SEA

Despite the best efforts - on both their parts - the evening had passed quite pleasantly.

The food had been good (though too many dishes included hoi for his taste), and the wine had been plentiful (though she’d found it too sweet to tempt her), and the dance floor had been packed all night, though neither of them had condescended to partake.

While the Duchess Satine played the socialite, skirting the edges of the room to flatter this senator and that, doing her best to keep her tongue in check and her temper mild, Obi-Wan Kenobi had been at work securing the venue from any would-be assassins. The threat had been commed in to the Senate nearly a week ago, which, in Kenobi’s eyes, was plenty of time to reschedule or cancel the event. But Satine would not hear of it.

“It is not the Council’s decision whether or not a senator may host her own charity ball, and it is not your duty to censure me for it. If I knew you were so fascinated by the intricacies of my schedule, I might have simply offered you a ticket. As it is, you’re welcome to come stand guard by the door.”

He’d rolled his eyes as she’d turned her back, and sighed. “How long?”

“All night, if you wish.”

“I meant how long is the event?”

She’d stopped, and faced him, the slope of her neck a smooth, unbroken line, the skin there pale and soft, aching for a touch. He’d kept his eyes resolutely on her face, and his hands tucked in his sleeves.

“As I said, my dear Jedi,” she’d said, eyebrow raised. “It shall last as long as you wish.”

She was absolutely infuriating.

And so it was Obi-Wan found himself playing bodyguard while the duchess laughed and teased. The only small consolation was that he was fully justified in spending the evening staring at her - in fact, it was his duty. It shouldn’t have been a hardship. After all, it had been years since he’d had the privilege of being assigned a mission he might complete in perfect comfort. He wasn’t cold, or tired, or injured. He wasn’t being shot at, or pursued by droids or Sith. The only thing he had to worry about was being distracted by the hem of her dress, and the swirl of her skirts, and her bright laugh, and claricrystalline gaze. And every so often, from across the hall, the crowd would shift, and she would turn, and he’d catch her looking back.

Agony.

He should have insisted that Mace accept the assignment, but when he’d questioned him in Council Chambers, his friend had only smirked. “We saved it for you,” he said.

Hours pass, and Obi-Wan stares, and no one comes to kill Satine. At half past one, when the more modest guests begin to retire, he allows himself a brief moment of indulgence and grabs a glass of frizz from a passing server. He throws it back, and grimaces as the alcohol runs over his tongue and cools the back of his throat. Satine was right. It is too sweet.

As if summoned by thought, she appears at his elbow, sidling closer until their shoulders touch, and she can nudge him out of his disappointment.

“Still alive?” she asks.

He sets the glass aside, and shrugs. “As far as I can tell.”

“Well,” she says, taking a sip from her own glass. “You’re welcome to check more thoroughly if it would let you rest easier.”

“Am I?” he asks, and for a second - for the length of time it takes for the words to slide over his lips - he is uncertain whether he is meaning to rebuff her, or if he wants for reassurance.

She must hear that uncertainty, too, because she looks at him full in the face, her brow drawing close and a quizzical look of concern falling over her.

“Do you want to?” she asks.

And in his brief, foolish, selfish moment of consideration, the assassin strikes.

He doesn’t realise it at first, and neither does she. All he sees is her mouth open, her red lips wet with wine, and her breast lifting as she gasps out an exquisite little exclamation of shock. All he hears is her indrawn breath, and the high chime of glass as it shatters against the ground. All he feels is the heat of her body as she stumbles, then reaches for him, then falls into his arms.

“Satine! Satine!” he calls, and as he slips his hand beneath her neck to cradle her head, he feels the hard carapace of some strange creature lodged into the skin there.

She whines as his hand rakes over it, and cries out when, with a sharp tug he rips it out of her flesh. It is no creature at all, but a metal dart fired from the barrel of some airgun, based on the way it is fletched, and the silence of the attack. The body of the dart is empty, it’s poison delivered, and there is not enough of it remaining to determine what it is without a toxicology droid. In his arms, Satine gasps and writhes. Her arms come up to grip at his shoulders, and he throws the dart aside. They don’t have time to wait.

“Obi-Wan,” she gasps, her eyes dark with fear. “Ben, Ben, I can’t breathe.”

“Hush,” he says, doing his best to keep his own terror from rising up, and sweeping him away like the swollen tides of Kamino. “You can. You can.”

He looks around, frantic to find some sign of her attacker as they flee the scene, but instead the room is a whirling mass of horrified bodies, rushing to and fro as the situation becomes clear. Someone screams. A window breaks. Satine’s muscles seize, and she cries out as her spine arches and her limbs go stiff and crooked like kindling. Obi-Wan holds her closer, not restraining her but supporting her body as it balks at the presence of a foreign invader in her veins. He runs a hand through her hair, and whispers to her until the fit passes, leaving her gasping and weeping.

“I need to get help,” he says.

“No,” she protests, gripping his sleeve in desperate fingers. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.”

He grits his teeth, and nods his head, unable to deny her anything. “Alright,” he says. “I won’t.”

Instead, he hits the emergency signal on his personal comlink, knowing that it will summon whichever Council member is closest. Mace is the one to answer, his voice breaking through the din of chaos with the promise of salvation.

“Obi-Wan, are you alright? Your com activated -”

“It’s Satine,” he says, not bothering with the little civilities of conversational etiquette. He interrupts and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he speaks her name with no title. “She’s been poisoned. I don’t know what, but she needs - she needs -”

She screams again, her agony dissolving into a whimper, pulling Obi-Wan’s attention. He presses his forehead to hers, and begs her to hold on. She quiets in his embrace, and he’s not sure if it is exhaustion, or his words which have brought her relief, but in the stillness, an idea comes to him. A dangerous one. Mace can feel the shift, even through the mechanical impulses of the tinny comm.

“Obi-Wan,” barks Mace. “I’m on my way. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m going to do a purge,” he says, and he ends the call. He moves from out beneath her, settling her body gently on the floor.

The movement is enough to stir her from whatever stupor claws at her, and her lashes flutter as she tries to bring him into focus.

“Are you leaving?” she whispers, and the resignation in her voice nearly breaks him.

“No,” he says, choking on the word, choking on his own guilt. “No, I’m not. I won’t.”

He presses his forehead to hers, and holds her face between his palms, but she doesn’t seem to hear him. She sighs, her eyes closing again, her fingers twitching at her side, her hands loose and empty.

“I knew you would,” she says. “I knew you’d have to. I wanted you to.”

“I know.”

“I loved you,” she says, so softly that it is carried to him only on her breath, fluttering against the hair by his ear, turning and glittering like leaves in the wind. “Please just don’t regret me.”

He feels like dying. He feels like a hand has forced itself, elbow deep down his throat, knocking at his teeth to grip his heart in a tight fist, and tear it out of him again.

“I don’t,” he swears. “I don’t. Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare.”

He begs her like she begged him, and the injustice of it lashes against him like a slaver’s whip. He knows how that feels, but this time, he can act. This time, he has the Force. He lays her down - just for a moment - so that he may reach into his boot and withdraw the Vespari blade that Qui-Gon once gave him. The knife is sharp. He has always kept it so, though he has rarely had occasion to use it, and it parts the flesh of his palm as though undoing a seam. There is almost no pain as blood begins to well, spilling over his hand and down his wrist. He has to cut deep.

Then he takes her hand, and does the same.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “This will help.”

He wipes the blade on the edge of his tabard, and tucks it back into his heel, using the ritual of care as an opportunity to centre himself for what he is about to do. But he finds he doesn’t need it. He is calm. His heart has stopped its frantic race, settling into a steady pulse. His lungs don’t ache with the need to take in air. He is not lightheaded, or panicked. He is ready. He is resolved.

He takes her bleeding hand in his, and presses the seam of their flesh together so that their blood mingles, and their heartbeats meet. Then, he closes his eyes, and reaches into the Force.

The concept is simple. As a young knight, his master had taught him a technique to purge toxins from his system. It was not perfect, and relied heavily on the user’s ability to manipulate the Living Force into identifying and binding to the poisonous substance to prevent its absorption into the body. It became infinitely more difficult when the poison was already in the bloodstream. It became impossible when it was in the bloodstream of somebody else.

Satine is Force null. She can neither feel its strength, nor guide its flow. But that does not mean she isn’t touched by it. The Force lives in all things. Obi-Wan knows this. Obi-Wan sees this. And he hopes that by exposing his own blood to hers, by bringing them both into such intimate contact he can follow the line of his body directly into hers, and seek out the poison that way. He opens himself completely, unaware of anyone or anything around him. He feels the heat of a cosmic wind through his hair, though he is so far gone that he has no hair to stroke, no skin to touch, no body at all to feel - except blood. He grounds himself in the flow of his veins, and stitches it to the flow of hers. He feels the Force and imagines its infinite currents as his own, until he is gone, and she is gone, and the Force and the Light is all that remains, burning away everything, even the poison.

And everything goes dark.

He wakes a week later, alone in his quarters. There is a cup of hot, but badly brewed tea by his bed that could be from none other than Anakin. He can feel the concerned furling of his presence looped around the handle of the mug, and creeping along the floor, and only he could have anticipated his awakening so precisely, but he is no longer nearby. His saber lies reverently beside it. His cloak hangs over a chair, and his boots sit upright and polished beside it. But he is on his own. There are no dancing senators, no screaming politicians. No assassins, or broken crystal, or tears. There is no Satine, and he throws back the covers, frantic to see her once again. To know that she lives, to know that she is fine, even if she is without him.

The door to his room slides open at his approach, and he races into the front room on bare and clumsy feet. There, resting elegantly at the centre of a low table sits a modest bouquet of Mandalorian Peace Lilies, beside it, a note scrawled on encrypted flimsi. At his touch, the random symbols rearrange themselves to reveal a message coded only to him.

My Knight, it says. And ever mine. Thank you for your sacrifice. Without regret - Your Lily.

#obitine #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #shameless whump #prompt fill #my fic #I TRIED FOR YOU #XD #lovely lovely lovely #thank you!

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

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Hawks would go FERAL if he saw his girlfriend in his clothes. He would go absolutely wild that man has a claiming/marking kink for SURE

Oh absolutely. You technically didn’t request I write this but you also knew what you were doing dropping this in my ask box so HERE WE GO. I wrote this instead of finishing the next part of Official Accounts oops

It’s an 18+ one y’all, minors dni

Contains mention of reader having a vagina, fingering, mutual masturbation, light dom/sub tones, minor cumplay

Maintaining a relationship as a pro hero is hard. Maintaining a secret relationship as a pro hero is even harder. You understand that being a top hero comes with a certain level of fame but if one more fanboy or creepy reporter hits on you, you are going to scream. Not to mention the legion of fan girls constantly screaming after your boyfriend. You get it. Hawks is hot. It’s part of why you date him, but did they really need to mob him every time he was in the vicinity? Needless to say jealousy was not uncommon in your relationship but the two of you had learned to deal with it over the past couple years. Deal with it frequently meaning putting on the best poker face you could muster until you got home and were able to take out your frustrations in a way that was fun for both of you.

You could already tell today was going to be a long day. You had just gotten back from an early morning patrol and just when you wanted to pass out for a much deserved nap you’d instead been told you had to give an interview on the opposite side of town. So instead of napping you had caught a cab to the other side of town and dragged yourself to the studio, only to discover your least favorite reporter would be giving the interview. The interviewer was an attractive man in his late 20s who clearly was unaccustomed to being told no. It didn’t matter how many times you explained you weren’t interested, the man always flirted with you at every opportunity. In a version of reality where pro heroes could punch out interviewers without reproach, you would have taught him a lesson by now, but your temper had got you in enough trouble with the HPSC already this year.

You sit down for the interview and immediately you can tell the interviewer won’t be keeping things professional. It’s live so you can’t do anything in the moment but grin and bear it. By the time the interview is over he’s managed to put his hand on your thigh twice, make an inappropriate comment about your hero costume three times, and imply the two of you should date at least five times. You hate him. The minute the cameras stop rolling, without dropping the polite smile from your face you remove his hand from your thigh and tell him “If you want to avoid a sexual harassment lawsuit I’d reign it in,” before storming off the set.

Finally, finally you get to go home. You immediately take a hot shower to wash off the sweat from patrol and the gross feeling from the interview. What you really want right now is your boyfriend, but Hawks is still working and probably will be for a while so you settle for throwing on one of his shirts with nothing underneath but a pair of underwear. You flop onto his side of the bed, burying your nose in his pillow to catch his lingering scent, and immediately fall asleep.

Hawks is irritated. He’s irritated because it feels like work has kept him from having quality time with you lately. He’s irritated because he saw your interview today. He’s irritated because he couldn’t even explain fully to Mirko why the interview had pissed him off so much. He’s irritated because he never should have come up with the idea to keep your relationship a secret and he’s irritated because you never should have agreed. None of these things are truly your fault though so when he finally gets home Hawks fully intends to just cuddle you to sleep and let you complain about how shitty your day was. Honest! He had not accounted for finding you curled up on his side of the bed wearing little other than his shirt.

You wake up from your nap to find your boyfriend lurking in the doorway to your room staring at you. You sit up and drowsily rub the sleep from your eyes. “What’re you doing just standing there Kei? Hurry up and come to bed,” you whine. You were not expecting him to groan “fuck,” before all but lunging towards you. Adrenaline surges through you immediately, the notion of sleep banished completely from your thoughts as suddenly Hawks is pinning you to the bed. You can feel his erection pressing against you but before you can ask what has triggered such a reaction he’s already got a hand in your panties, his thumb finding your clit with practiced ease. “Shit, Keigo, slow down,” you gasp as you grip the bedsheets tightly but he pays you no mind as his middle finger slides inside you. “God you’re so fucking wet for me. Look so fucking beautiful like this, you know that?” he groans.

You can’t even form a coherent response as he slides another finger inside you, dragging them along your inner walls in exactly the way he knows you like. Your hands move from the bed to his back and it’s only then you realize how much clothing he’s still wearing. “Clothes. Off. Now,” you manage to pant out and Keigo nods in acknowledgment. When he withdraws his fingers it’s all you can do to not whine at the loss of stimulation. He quickly sheds his coat and shirt, and for a moment you’re mesmerized by the wild look he has in his eyes and the haste with which he strips off the layers of his hero costume. As he’s finally moving to undo his pants you move to take off the shirt you’re wearing but immediately he’s back on you and pinning your hands above your head. “Don’t. Shirt stays on,” he practically growls and it sends shivers straight down your back and into your groin. “Ok,” is all you manage to say as he moves to press a bruising kiss to your neck. He doesn’t stop until he’s left at least a couple hickeys there, then he moves his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I want you to do something for me (y/n),” he whispers as he releases your hands and instead moves to slide your panties off. “I want you to touch yourself for me. Can you do that baby? I wanna watch you play with yourself in my shirt,” he continues and you’re already nodding before you’ve even fully processed the request.

He leans back to watch as you obediently bring one hand down to your aching sex. Your legs instinctively fall open to allow you better access as you slowly begin to rub along your folds before pressing small circles into your clit. You can hear Hawks curse under his breath as he quickly removes his pants and boxer briefs but that only spurs you on more. You truly are a sight to behold as you deftly insert two fingers inside of yourself, your nipples so hard they’re visible through Keigo’s shirt. He drinks in every lewd inch of you, wanting to commit the image to memory as he finally wraps a hand around his thick shaft. He’s not going to last long. He can tell by the way his dick is already weeping precum and he hasn’t even started moving his hand yet. He doesn’t mind at all though as he watches you squirm underneath him. He forces himself to wait until he can tell you’re getting close to climax. Only then does he allow his hand to start moving.

“Fuck Keigo I’m so close,” you moan, and it takes everything in him not to shoot his load right then. “Me too baby, me too. Let’s cum together, ok?” he moans back. “Ok.” “Ok. Fuck! God you look so hot so fucking beautiful right now,” he groans as the two of you continue to push towards climax, each egged on by the other’s performance. It seems to last both a lifetime and only a moment before finally you’re both rushing headlong into orgasm. Keigo quickly shoves his shirt further up your body to reveal your torso so he can paint it white with his release. As the high finally fades he collapses down next to you and you both just sit there for awhile to catch your breath.

“Kei can you get me a towel? I’m too lazy to move,” you finally ask once the two of you have recovered somewhat. You get silence back. “Kei?” you try again. “Can you leave it for a little bit? I promise I’ll give you the best bath ever afterwards,” he asks sheepishly. You can’t help but fondly roll your eyes. “So territorial,” you tease, “but fine. It better be one hell of a bath though.” “Thanks baby,” he smiles as he pulls you close and brings the covers up around the both of you. “The hickeys are gonna be a bitch to try and cover up in the morning though,” you sigh. “Then don’t cover them. It’s about time the world knew you were mine anyway,” Keigo says. “You sure about that?” “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life.”

#this got real outta hand real quick #enjoy #hhrequests #hawks #wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hopeless.olivia #hopeless.thirst

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darkisrising · 3 years

Text

The Heat of the Moment, by DarkIsRising, pt1

Haven’t done a Tumblr fic in a while. So, why not? Gonna throw this story on here as I go and when it’s all done then I’ll put the whole thing up on ao3. Cool? Cool! So, here, have some brand new, hot off the press ABO BobaDinLuke. The Heat of the Moment, part one

Din catches it before his HUD does. The sharp uptick of a smell, faint but unmistakable as it drifts through his helmet, of an unbonded omega about to head into heat. He almost believes it’s his imagination— what omega in their right mind would let themselves go natural in a place like Boba’s palace where violence is always a possibility and chaos just a hair’s breadth away?—but then his screen’s sensor clicks on with a faint warning light and he knows that this unsettled restlessness that he’s been watching from his place behind Boba on the dais, the one that has made for shorter tempers and quicker draws and more blood spilled than usual, might be just the beginning of something far worse.

“We got a problem,” he murmurs to the back of Boba’s bald, scarred head.

“Yeah, no fucking kidding. If one more spice runner thinks he can pull a fast one—”

“I mean there’s an omega about to go,” Din interrupts Boba, whose razor thin patience has been cut to an even finer edge all morning. “Unless we can find them it’s going to turn into a feeding frenzy here.”

“Oh,” Boba says and then he says “Oh, kark,” and then Din knows.

He knows and there’s no time to overthink it or wonder why he’s only now learning this about Boba when he’s spent the better part of three years guarding the man without ever noticing so much as a flicker of a tell from him.

Instead, Din’s raising Fennec on the comm and he’s saying: “Clear it out now” just as the first flared nostrils and wide eyes find Boba where he’s sitting on his throne.

“Dank farrik,” he mutters and that’s about the last clear thought he gets before all the alphas in the room lose their kriffing minds and then it’s mostly a lot of shooting after that.

He manages to get Boba back to his rooms where he barricades the doors and sweeps the place to check for any unpleasant surprises. There’s one zabrak alpha that’s waiting behind the ‘fresher door, but Din manages to drop him with a clean shot between the cranial horns easily enough.

By the time he gets back to where he’d left Boba he’s in an even rougher state than the one he’d left him in and that’s saying something since Din had had to pretty much carry him the entire way here.

His forehead is glistening with sweat and he’s doubled over with what anyone without a functioning olfactory system might think was a mortal wound, but the hormones that saturate the air around him make it clear he’s not hurt, at least not in any way that bacta can fix.

Boba is just very, very, very horny.

“I’m going to fucking kill Dranlo, that karking Toydarian bastard,” he spits with venom even as he writhes on the floor. “I fucking knew those blockers were no good. Karking bastard sold me back alley, knock-off shit.”

Before Din can respond to that, Fennec’s calm voice fills his helmet with a clipped: “Clear,” and something tense that’s been lodged in Din’s chest starts to settle.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

“Got it.”

Boba’s still shrunk into himself, muttering through clenched teeth: “—string him up by his wings and then I’m going to saw his snout off with a vibroblade. First I’m going to turn off the ultrasonic, then I’m going to saw it off so it’ll take a while—“

Crouching to a knee, Din starts to take Boba by the shoulder but stops himself at the last second. It’s been ages since he’s been around an unmedicated omega like this. Not since the sewers of Nevarro when Paz had hit puberty and puberty had hit back, and all he remembers is the Armorer snapping out not to touch him as she’d hustled Paz somewhere deep into a tunnel where he could get through his first, unexpected heat in peace.

But that first, weak-scented heat of an omega boy was nothing compared to this. This is so much stronger that even a beta like Din—usually utterly unmoved by the hormonal dance that alphas and omegas circle each other with from one end of the galaxy to the other—can feel something start to yearn in him, too. It’s nothing new, though, and easily ignored since Din’s been slightly yearning for Boba for years.

“Is there anyone I can comm?” he asks and Boba blinks at him, unfocused and uncomprehending. “Come on, this is important. Is there an alpha I can comm to come help you out?”

“No,” he grinds out at last. “No, there’s no one.”

Din rocks back. “Okay. Alright, next question: is there anyone out there that you would—” he doesn’t get much further than that before Boba is growling out: “Fuck no. I don’t trust a single one of them out there.”

“Maybe Fennec—”

“No,” he says and it’s clear that he’d rather eat his blaster than go down that hyperlane any further. “I’m going to get through this cycle by myself.”

Boba says it in the voice of a man that’s used to making his way through the universe on sheer determination and bloody mindedness alone. Like he fully expects that once he’s said it, he will be able to make his body obey. Din doesn’t doubt for a moment that he’s capable of it. That is until the next day when the convulsions begin, and Din knows there’s nothing else for it. He’s going to need to find Boba an alpha.

“Absolutely not,” Boba says when he’s conscious again, back to merely shivering with a strength that chatters his teeth together. “I went through blocker withdrawal in the sarlacc. I can do it again.”

There’s a million reasons why this is a terrible idea, but Din keeps them to himself. Instead he wipes the sweat from Boba’s face with a wet cloth and helps him to the toilet when he needs it.

Each time his shivering turns into waves of convulsions, Din keeps a wary watch, making sure that the area around him is kept clear of anything that could hurt Boba worse than he’s hurting himself.

Finally on the third day when Boba’s so weak he can no longer get out of bed he asks, voice rough from held back screams that makes Din’s own throat ache to hear, “Who did you have in mind?”

#bobadinluke #eventual bobadinluke #darkisrising fic

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hacked-by-jake · 3 years

Note

12 and 93 of your prompts? :3 MC and Jake?

Would be really interesting to see what you'd do with that :D

Why are they shooting at us?

A/n: Thank you for submitting! Here we are and I hope you like it :D

Prompt: “I would die for you.” and “We should break up.”

Words: 1,5k

Warning: Angst

A scream escapes you as the bullet of your persecutor’s weapon hits the house wall, right next to you at the height of your belly.

Shocked you stare at the spot where now a little of the stone has broken off. Jake doesn’t wait a second and reaches for your hand to drag you along in a hurry. The strong traffic prevents the persecutors to can track you fast enough and gives you a head start.

You run through a tiny alley, into a strange shop for souvenirs and on the other side out again. Passing surprised people and back into a small alley.

At the other end, turn right. Your lungs and neck are burning, the side stitches are getting worse and your breath is getting shorter and heavier. Your feet hurt from running and your legs feel like jelly. You jump over a box on the floor and almost slip out in a puddle. Jake’s hand slips out of yours, but luckily you can catch yourself before you fall. He stops immediately and helps you get up until it pulls you further.

Again out of the alley and over a small bridge into the industrial area.

You’ve never run as fast and long as you do right now.

Jake pulls you into a backyard of an old factory where you should be safe until you finish your usual routine.

Hard to breathe, you lean your arms on your knees and try to get air back into your lungs. Jake is still doing relatively well and he is not nearly as out of breath as you are.

"Take off your sweatpants and sweater" he orders and puts his backpack down. Even though you are extremely dizzy, you immediately do what he says. Under the sweatpants you wear jeans and under the sweater a Tshirt.

Instead of the black sweater, Jake gives you a black jacket from the backpack.

He changes from a jacket to a sweater, pulls down his jeans a little further and puts on glasses. His hair disappears under a cap, just like yours. He opens the container for garbage that is here and makes the old clothes disappear in it. It was not much camouflage but at least something.

"Give me your phone," he mumbles.

You get it out of your backpack and give it to him.

The small USB stick that is used for data backup and was programmed by Jake, is removed before he punches it powerfully against the steel container so that it bends once in the middle and almost breaks. Second phone in three weeks..

Exactly the same happens with his and also that disappears in the trash.

"Shit" you moan as a little bit of peace comes in.

The cartridge almost hit you, there were only a few centimetres of air in between.

"Are you okay?" Jake asks worried and comes closer to you.

"Yes, I’m fine." hard breathing, you lean against the concrete wall of the factory and rub your face.

"Shit why did they shoot at us? They’ve never done that, Jake," you hiss desperately and tears kick in your eyes.

"I’m so sorry, MC, I can’t explain, I couldn’t get a signal from them anywhere. I don’t understand how they were able to find us." Jake puts his hand on your cheek and looks guiltily into your eyes.

"Why are they shooting Jake? What the hell did you find out? What is it that makes them shoot at us?" You can’t hold back and silently run tears down your face as Jake’s face turns into amazed and then worried again.

Jake immediately pulls you into his arms and presses you firmly against him.

You cling to his sweater his sweater and hide your head in his shoulder.

"I’m so sorry" a sniffle sounds right next to your ear and jerky you look up.

The hacker’s eyes are reddened and a small tear rolls over his cheek.

"No, Jake, don’t blame yourself," you plead and put your hands on his cheek.

He grabs your hands to remove them from his face and steps back.

His eyebrows are slightly pulled together and his nose is wrinkled.

"I shouldn’t blame myself? mc, but it’s my fault! It’s MY fault! I should never have taken you with me! They just shot at you because of me!"

Before you can answer him, he continues to talk, "You are in a dirty backyard in an old, dirty industrial area instead of safe with your friends in Duskwood! Because of me you don’t get a proper sleep for weeks and are constantly stressed! I’m used to it but you don’t! That’s not what’s supposed to happen in your life, and that’s my fault. Because I’m so selfish, and I thought we could do it without you being in danger and now? Now exactly what I wanted to avoid happened and it is even worse".

His face looks like he’s going through the worst pain in the world right now, and your chest is contracting at the sight.

"Jake please stop saying that, I’m here voluntarily, I want this! I want to stand here for you! I was just shocked, and I shouldn’t have criticized you. I’m sorry, but please don’t blame yourself. You just said you wanted to protect me from this, but I’m still here because I want to be here with you!" you try to make him understand.

"Maybe you’re here voluntarily but I shouldn’t have let it happen! I shouldn’t have allowed you to be put in such danger! You may have wanted that, okay, but you certainly didn’t want to get shot at! And that’s what happened now and that’s because of me!"

Desperately you approach him as you struggle harder and harder with the tears.

You want to grab his hand, but he withdraws immediately.

"Not MC..." he chokes out, his hands tremble and he looks like he’s losing his temper.

"Jake" you whisper before you have to sob out loud.

He wipes his tears from his face and swallows hard, "I think w-we should break u-up."

"W-what?" you gasp for air; "No."

"Y-yes, i think, it’s the best."

"Bullshit Jake! Look me in the face and answer my question" you hiss upset and hurt.

"Do you see that? I cry? When did I start crying? When they tried to shoot me? No! but when you cried! That’s when I started to cry because I can’t bear it! Stop telling yourself that this is your fault, that's not true. I’d be in danger if I wasn’t with you! Then I’d be in danger! The only reason I’m still out here is you! Without you they would have had me months ago, but thanks to you and NYM-OS, the program YOU developed for ME, I am still free. We met involuntarily because of Hannah. Whatever you found out, what has brought you into this situation, was before us and has nothing to do with me! so you didn’t put me in danger because I volunteered to stand here with you! Jake, I fucking love you, and nothing in this world could ever stop me from staying with you. And it’s too late to leave me now, if you leave now, they’ll catch me because you’re not with me. Either they’ll get me right away or they’ll catch me in a few days. But you know what? That wouldn’t be the worst thing, the worse thing is, that you left me.

'Cause that’s the only thing that would really hurt me 'cause that pain could never be compared to another, Jake. I really love you and I know you didn’t have it easy but damn it you have to understand that you won’t lose me or that you can push me away from you, because I won’t let that happen. I’m not gonna watch you destroy yourself. And I’m gonna say it 100 times if I have to, it’s not your fault. Damn Jake, I’d die for you! And that’s fact, and that will not change if you break up or leave me alone. It’s way too late for that!" You take a deep breath, your heart hurts worse than after running, and your vision blurs a little from all the tears.

"I don’t need much to live but what I know I need you!"

And that was the moment when you burst into tears and slumped on the wet floor. You desperately put your face in your hands and weep bitterly at it. It does not take long until Jake shows up by your side and takes you in his arms.

"I’m sorry I said that," he whispers, "I didn’t want that, I just didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t bear it if someone hurts you because of me. I’m so sorry, I would never leave you. I’m not capable of doing that, I love you too much, I would have done the most harm to myself."

"You can’t leave me alone" you are at the end with your nerves "you can’t".

"I’m not going to. I will never leave you, no one will ever be able to separate us. You’re the only reason I breathe"

🌹

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #Everbyte #everbyte duskwood #duskwood prompt

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amusedyan · 3 years

Text

Monthly Meetings

A Peaky Blinders commission!

Words: 2k

Once a month there was a meeting. It was something dreaded by both parties, but one that was necessary- it was neutral territory, where mutual suggestions were discussed, grievances were gone over and business settled. No one officially came armed- but that was never written into the deal. Just like it wasn’t discussed that both parties came with a small coterie of their most trusted, each eyeing the other and waiting for a twitchy trigger finger.

Tommy Shelby was never on time to any meeting.

He came early when he was the one to suggest it- to get the drop on the other person, to make an impression. You waste my time, and you have no right to ask anything of me, was the goal there. When told to meet someone, he always made it a point to arrive 5 minutes late, because you aren’t worth my time.

This meant that meeting Alfie Solomons put him in an uncomfortable position- he had to come on time. And sometimes Alfie was there already, smug, or sometimes Alfie was late and dismissive about it, but with a stack of papers and grievances to make up the difference.

Tommy was continually unimpressed with the Jewish mobster, though you could color him surprised when word got out through the grapevine that Alfie Solomon had started going steady with some bird from the local flower shop.

He’d never figure him to be one to settle down, but those same rumors claimed that he ws continually trailing after her. Considering how…temperamental his associate could be, Tommy could believe it.

When Alfie actually entered the restaurant, Tommy reflected that the rumors must be true because the man was practically glowing. More importantly though, his usual stack of gripes was noticeably absent.

“Tommy-boy!” The man grunted, taking his seat at the table. There was already whiskey poured- courtesy of Tommy, of course.

“Alfie,” Tommy greeted, watching the man settle.

It was such a waste of his time to come here, and it took active work not to lose his temper about it. He could be home now

“So, to business. Would you like to begin?” Tommy offered magnanimously.

Alfie drank from his glass and winced at the taste. “Shit, that is,” he mused, shaking his head. “How’ve you been, Tommy? How’s life treated you?”

Suspicion colored Tommy’s thoughts. What was Solomons up to? Small talk wasn’t part of the meeting, ever. As if reading his thoughts, Alfie chuckled. “Don’t be like that, Shelby. I’ve been advised to try diplomacy.”

“By your new conquest?” Tommy countered. The expression on Alfie’s face closed off, and no longer was he looking at a man blatantly in love and feeling charitable to the whole world for it. It made things much easier to deal with. But a moment later, a sly smile crept across Alfie Solomon’s face, and Tommy wasn’t much fond of that expression.

“You’d know all about conquests, wouldn’t you, Tom?” Alfie folded his hands across his midsection and leaned back against his seat, leveling Tommy with a look just as cold.

Fury unfolded, and beside that, fear. What did that mean? Who had talked?

Chuckling, Alfie waved it off. “Now, there’s no need for that look, my good man. There’s been whispers, same as there have been for me. About a pretty girl. What’s her name?”

“We aren’t here to discuss women, Alfie.” Tommy said flatly, trying not to growl. From the corner of his eye, he could see Finn watching intently. He was waiting for a signal. No, he needed to reign it in.

Alfie was just intent on pushing his buttons though, grinning broadly, damn near leering at Tommy. “Well, her name’s Margaret.” His finger drummed against the glass, the ring he was wearing clinking methodically. “I doubt her name’s in your network, yeah? Every fucking thing else, but not that.” He shook his head. “Beautiful name.” And there was that lovesick look again.

“Is that all?” Tommy asked. What would it take to get the meeting back on track? Alfie eyed him, and reached into his coat-

Finn and Isaiah were drawing their guns, Alfie’s men were responding-

“SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” Alfie boomed, stilling the room. Tommy saw that what he’d withdrawn was his wallet.

“What are you planning, Solomons?” He asked, withdrawing a cigarette from his case.

The Camden bastard rolled his eyes and withdrew a photo. “Here,” he grunted, “have a look at this.” He handed it over to Tommy.

And honestly the last thing that Tommy expected to see was the image of a young woman posing for the camera. Rather lewdly, to put it mildly. Like a whore if you wanted to be blunt.

“My Margaret,” pride dripped from Solomons’ voice, like he hadn’t just shown off the parts of a woman that only her husband would see.

Tommy weighed his answers- would Solomons light up with fury if he complimented the woman? Or would he be offended if he didn’t? The trouble was that you never knew with him. He took a contemplative drag of his cigarette.

“Lovely,” he settled on.

Alfie scowled. “Oh like yours is any better,” he taunted. “C’mon, let’s see ‘er then.”

“I don’t have pictures of my woman on me, Alfie.” Tommy said, unable to stop the slight condescension from creeping into his tone, like he was talking to a child, or else someone very simpleminded.

“Well why the fuck not? How’m I s’posed to know if this woman exists, eh?” Alfie accused, smacking the table.

This was all very confusing honestly. What the hell was he playing at? “I didn’t claim she was real.”

“What man doesn’t have a picture of the woman he loves?”

“What man carries filthy pictures of his?”

“Oi mate, those are fuckin art!” Alfie argued with surprising vehemence. It was a strange hill to make a stand on, but hey, he could relate.

“Whatever you say, Alfie,” Tommy sighed and blew out another cloud of smoke.

It was raining now. Storm clouds had been gathering all of yesterday, and he’d been able to taste the moisture, along with the filth in the city air. Rain was ugly here, didn’t clean a fuckin’ thing. He found himself thinking, longingly of the estate. The Shelby Estate, a grander name than something like Arrow House. But little things like a name change kept your feet on the ground. Sylvia would be there, reading. It was raining, so she couldn’t ride today.

At first she’d hated being in the house. She’d wanted to be back in Birmingham. Always liked the action, wanted to support him. It had been charming before, but now that they were together, it couldn’t be tolerated. Too many risks.

“Are you fucking ignoring me, Tommy-boy?” Alfie’s voice was dangerous now, angry and short. Shit. He stubbed out the remains of his smoke in the ashtray.

“No, Alfie, I’m not ignoring you,” he said on the exhale. Clearly, he reflected, nothing was going to get done with this meeting. It was a shame, but at least that meant things were secure where they stood.

Either Solomons was happy or about to betray him again.

“So, I’ve told you about my Margaret, tell me about your girl.” Alfie ordered, pouring another drink.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tom said, but at the disbelieving look on Alfie’s face, he shrugged slightly.

“I just don’t understand how a man can have a woman and not want to talk about her. Obviously you’ve heard how proud I am, but you? Are you ashamed?” It sounded like it was amusing- the idea that Tommy Shelby would be ashamed of anything in his life.

But the idea of being ashamed of Sylvia? That struck a nerve and that pissed him off properly.

“I’m not ashamed of her.” He snapped.

Alfie’s grin was positively disgusting. “So she does exist? Well, come now, what’s her name?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he spoke begrudgingly, “Sylvia.”

“Sylvia, aye.” He nodded, turning it over. “She a gypsy like you?”

“No. She is not a gypsy.” Eye contact was key. “It wouldn’t matter either way.”

“So why don’t you talk about her? I could talk all day about mine, as I’m sure that you’ve noticed,” of course he had. “You move her in yet?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Tommy mocked, making Alfie roll his eyes.

“Neither of us are gentlemen, Tom, no matter how you fuckin’ pretend. I moved Margaret in almost right away, you know? We just, we just had this connection- I saw her and I wanted her. Sent her gifts every day, came into the store when I could- her smiles, they lit up my fuckin’ life.”

“I’ve never known you to be so open about your business, Alfie. Aren’t you worried that someone might overhear?” It wasn’t a threat, not at all, not for once. This hit a little too close to home for it to be anything more than idle curiosity, and luckily Solomons knew it.

“No, mate. I need her to know how much I love her. And I need other people to know. Because if someone thinks that they can hurt her? I will…” he laughed, and it didn’t sound sane at all, but it didn’t bother Tommy, “well fuck, I think I’d burn the fuckin’ city down. But,” and he looked at Tommy, and that affable, unstable mask came off for a moment, and Tommy was looking at the emptiness that came from the war, the same emptiness in every soldier who’d been in the field, “but I think you know that, don’t you Tom?” He sighed and shook his head. “I figured, hell, if anyone on this Earth knew what I felt- how far I’d go- it’d be you.. And you do, don’t you?”

Tommy thought about Sylvia. He always thought about Sylvia.

He did horrible things on a daily basis. What would he do if something happened to her?

And the thing was, Tommy didn’t even need to ask himself that question. He’d known the moment that he’d seen her what he’d do for her, what he’d already done. She was safe, that was what he told himself, she was under constant watch, by men he trusted, where he didn’t need to worry about someone running off with her, or an accident, or any of the things that could take her away.

“And you just keep her in an apartment?” He muttered.

“How else would I see her?” Alfie countered evenly. “I take it you don’t?”

Tommy didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, not in the context of the question.

“No, no, the way I see it, it’s better that I can keep an eye on ‘er. I get to come home to a nice meal, lovely company, and everyone knows what’ll happen if they fuck with her. You keep yours,” and he pointed at his business associate, “in some isolated fuckin’ kingdom and what happens? People get curious. You can’t see her as often. She goes missing. There’s no fuckin’ neighbors to pay to keep watch.” And hell, that was actually a very good point, but he didn’t want to hear that from Solomons.

“Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Oh I fuckin’ disagree, mate. You don’t get that shit in hand-“

“And what might happen, Solomons?” Tommy asked calmly. He knew what this was- this was Solomons trying to knock him off his game, disturb him. And why? What the hell did Solomons have up his sleeve? “What are you planning?”

“Well I dunno mate.” The glass in Solomons’ hand was empty now, “what do you think I’m planning?”

“I think you’re just being a prick.” The other man barked out a laugh.

“Fair enough, so- grievances.”

And there it was.

When it was over, Tommy went over the meeting- all of it, bullshit included- in his head, thinking it over.

Alfie Solomons was a two faced bastard.

But Tommy found himself making plans to go visit Sylvia as a surprise, nonetheless.

#yandere peaky blinders #yandere alfie solomons #yandere tommy shelby

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oliverwvvd · 3 years

Text

the devil in me, part ii

Back to writing these two, inevitably, at long last. This is for the lovely anon who dropped by and mentioned this one, despite it having been years since the last post. This is slightly trigger heavy, so sorry if the triggers contain spoilers, but people's mental health comes first so they can choose whether or not to engage with the content.

This is part of a series. You can find part one here.

pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

premise: When Marcus wakes again in the endless white of St Mungo's, Oliver is still there, and his wand is still gone. Marcus thinks it's about debts owed, or at least, that's what he's trying to tell himself. Whatever other reasons might keep Oliver Wood at his bedside aren't remotely within a framework he's equipped to handle. [possible triggers: severe PTSD, hospitals, battle situations, Legilimency, implied invasion of the mind, implied intention not to survive]

When he wakes, one needle is back in his arm and Marcus’ first inclination is to be pissed off about it. Of course it is. Being angry is the best alternative, sublimation for all of the other emotions he should be feeling and isn’t. He doesn’t need any St Mungo’s trained therapist to tell him about that, mainly because it’s deliberate on his part.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “I don’t want painkiller withdrawal on top of everything else. The dosage has to be sky-high for me not to be feeling anything.”

“So you’d rather have the searing amount of pain that makes you pass out within minutes instead? You’re right; being a masochist is a much better idea.”

He closes his eyes. “Why are you still here, again?”

“Waiting for you to take your head out of your arse, though it seems I’ll be in for a long wait.” The tart rejoinder in a lovely, rolling Scottish brogue that he instinctively wants to wrap himself in doesn’t help his temper. Neither does the fact that Oliver is still too earnest despite the familiar barb in the words, as though he thinks he owes Marcus something. The stubborn set to his jaw is familiar too, viewed more than once when facing him on a Quidditch pitch.

It makes Marcus want to push him away for his own safety, because don’t you know what I am? Instead, his gaze is sulky, as though he’s a teenager again in a way he hasn’t been in years, and it’s solely fixed on Oliver. “I don’t like you, and I don’t want you here,” he says, and if that’s not the biggest lie he’s told in the past couple of years, he’s not entirely sure what is.

Oliver shrugs. “That’s too bad, Flint, because I’m not going anywhere.” He’s wearing a poloneck jumper, just like he used to at school when it got to winter weekends out of uniform, and Marcus has the fleeting, horrifying thought that maybe it covers bruises or worse. A second thought just as horrifying resurfaces: he still doesn’t have his wand.

That thought makes him abruptly change the subject. “Alright, Wood, since you’re here, be a good boy and tell me why I don’t have my wand.” It’s not a question. He doesn’t phrase it as one. To punctuate it and make it clear he’s not asking, Marcus opts to verbally twist the knife for good measure. “You owe me. That’s why you’re here, right? To settle the debt. So start talking.” That’s not a question either, because why else Oliver might be there is more than he can possibly handle getting into.

Oliver’s (Wood’s, damn it) expression darkens momentarily, as though he’s about to pick a fight. Marcus wants him to, because at least that would be normal, but he sees it the moment that Oliver registers he’s in a hospital bed all over again, sees the way his gaze turns pained and then the shutters draw closed again so he’s at a loss for what the other is thinking. He doesn’t like it. Oliver was always an open book, no filter, no love lost on his side of the equation. He doesn’t know what this new thing is.

He clears his throat brusquely. “Well?”

Oliver sighs. “They’re concerned about your mental state as well. That’s why you don’t have your wand. They thought you might try something you’d regret.”

Fury is, of course, the quickest and most reliable reaction. “So they thought they’d improve things by taking away the only piece of autonomy I had available to me for months? That’s genius thinking, that is. Who do I need to see to recommend them for promotion?”

Oliver’s lips twitch briefly then, clearly catching the sarcasm, but at the same time seemingly unable to smile at it. That’s fine, because it’s not funny at all.

Marcus exhales a sharp sigh, one that’s less exasperated by this point than unimpressed. “I suppose they thought I’d curse the whole place down, eh?” This time, it is a question, and the smile that goes with it isn’t genuine, it’s mean and sharp-edged. It’s an echo of all the ugly things that have stained his hands and his mind, and it occurs to him that throughout that, Oliver has been the only good thing, a pure thing he’d constructed for himself, a secret he kept that was sometimes the only reason he didn’t give in altogether. Now that’s done and it’s back to reality.

To his consternation, Oliver shakes his head, as though he can sense what Marcus is thinking. “No one believes that after the battle. You threw yourself in the way of someone that would have been dead if you hadn’t, without knowing whether you’d survive.” The words seemed hard for Oliver to speak, as though it was like a demon lived in his throat for as long as they sat there. “They didn’t know if you were going to pull through, the first couple of days.”

An eye-roll is Marcus’ first response to that, and he averts his gaze from Oliver then. “That was sort of the bloody point, Wood.” The words fall heavily in the room between them, but this time it’s not out of malice, it’s from defeat, an admission that he should have kept to himself. The anger hasn’t emptied its well yet, but for the time being, it’s quiet, a savage thing made somnolent again by the fact that he can feel the needle in his arm start to pour more potion into him. Presumably, it’s going to knock him out eventually.

Oliver’s own exhale is shaken, as though Marcus has punched him square in the solar plexus and it hurts, badly. After all these months of silence, it’s as though the casually cruel words aiming to drive him away are doing more damage than even the war has managed to. “Flint, you can’t just…”

Marcus wants to sit up again but the potion, damn it, feels like it’s got him pinned in place. That makes him edgy, makes him feel the cold sweat of panic beginning to prick, and he absolutely will not have a panic attack of any kind in front of an audience. He swallows hard, and Oliver seems unable to finish the sentence. It hangs there between them, unfinished.

That’s the moment that the door creaks open and the healer walks in, oblivious to the conversation that had been happening beforehand. Oliver leans back in the chair beside Marcus’ bed.

Marcus’ lip curls just slightly. “Come to check I’m still breathing?” he asks snidely. “Sorry to disappoint. You can go now, your duty is done.”

The healer does no such thing. “I’d hoped you’d be asleep by now,” he says with a tsk tsk sound that reminds Marcus of the teachers from school whenever he didn’t do his homework correctly. It does nothing to endear the man to him at all. “Evidently we need to increase your dosage. You shouldn’t have ripped those needles out of your arm as soon as you did, but Mr Wood tells me you have a remarkably high tolerance for pain.”

That causes Marcus’ gaze to narrow in Oliver’s direction, and it’s as accusing as it gets.

Oliver, to his credit (the little of it that Marcus is currently willing to give) doesn’t look away. “I’ve been in the Hospital Wing with you multiple times,” is the reminder that unexpectedly arrives, softer than he’s ever deserved. “You never took your painkillers. You always cast Evanesco.”

On the one hand, Marcus’ glare only intensifies, because Oliver’s just ratted him out to the healer. On the other, what does it even mean that Oliver remembers; how there seems to be something dark and sad behind his gaze ever since a few minutes ago. It doesn’t correlate with his real life knowledge of Wood, only the fantasy version he constructed in his head to have a reason to go on, and Marcus is fully aware of how incredibly unhealthy that was and is.

It’s only the healer’s voice that interrupts their charged stare, clearly ready to go for another lecture. “Well, there will be no hiding painkillers here. What were you thinking, taking those out? Did you just not realise the degree of damage you took?” It isn’t an indignant pair of questions, instead asked with the tone of someone who wants to understand the subject they are studying. It presses all of the wrong buttons for Marcus, and he endures it in silence until he can’t.

This is the moment he snaps. But it isn’t like every other time he’s lost his temper. No, this is different; his voice is surprisingly quiet and unsteady when he speaks. “Why does everyone want to know what I’m thinking suddenly? I’ve just spent the last two years having my mind pulled apart at a moment’s notice. All that I want is for everyone to stop trying to get into my head because I don’t want anyone in there ever again. Got it? It’s none of your business what I’m thinking.”

Dimly, he registers that Oliver has gone pale as he starts to understand what Marcus means. The healer looks appalled, because evidently, this was something undetectable while he was unconscious, and he’s beyond lashing out, because this has hit places he doesn’t want to go.

“Get out.” The words are quieter still, and there’s a flat, dulled down, deadly note to them.

Even half-conscious on a bed, drugged by the potion, it leaves to question what Marcus is capable of, the one thing no one has dared to think about so far. It’s a weak threat, but his voice carries all of it, like it’s every atom of a star at the moment of destruction.

The healer leaves. Oliver doesn’t, because Oliver hasn’t learned to be afraid of him, even though he should have.

When Marcus looks at him again, he thinks that he sees Oliver flinch, just a little around the eyes, and he knows he’s going to say something unforgivable if he isn’t left alone. “I meant you as well.” The words are empty. You need to go before I do any more things that I regret, and I can’t live with any more.

Oliver doesn’t listen. Instead, he does something that Marcus can handle even less. He climbs onto the bed and rests there next to him, close enough for Marcus to feel him breathe. “You’re really not a good listener, Flint. I already told you. I’m not leaving.”

Marcus’ hands suddenly feel too heavy, utterly ineffectual when he tries to raise them to push Wood right off the bed. Land on his arse. That’ll show him. Instead, his head starts to nod forward, and Oliver, the scheming bastard, must have known that the potion would take effect soon, had kept him talking until he had no choice but to go back to sleep again.

He’s so angry. He’s exhausted. He’s repeating the same cycle, inescapable, stuck on a loop of his own making. There’s wool against his face, something warm against his back. Oliver’s voice is there, he can feel it rumble in his chest, but the words don’t even register. It’s a warm sound, like copper and firelight, and it’s the last thing in his dwindling awareness before the world is lost altogether.

The frightening part is that he’s starting to want to wake up again.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

#the devil in me #ol writes things #flintwood #flintwoodnet #marcus flint #oliver wood #marcus x oliver

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basilone · 3 years

Note

If you are still doing characterization notes, how about Doc Roe? Love your work btw :)

Thanks! 💙 I certainly haven’t written a lot of Gene, which partially is because Gene is a tricky character to get a real handle on. I’ll do my best for these notes, though! 😊

Gene is someone who keeps his own counsel. He is opinionated, certainly, but you ain’t gonna hear about Gene’s opinions any time soon unless it’s through him side-eyeing you and your bad decisions. Gene prefers to stay quiet and observe the goings-on around him without necessarily needing to participate in conversation. He’s not the type to make himself heard over the din and might even flounder in one-on-one talks from time to time. Gene doesn’t stand out from the crowd and is okay with that.

However, Gene has a temper on him. It takes a while for things to accumulate and for his emotions and opinions to stockpile into rage levels, but Gene will cut loose and let you have it at some point. He’s viciously honest when he does: Gene is not one to mince words once he speaks and hits where it hurts. This is because Gene observes people and knows people’s strengths and weaknesses (even the ones they are less aware of in themselves).

When confronted with too many things, Gene withdraws into himself and takes his distance from people. He seeks emotional equilibrium and is not comfortable showing just anyone what’s going on in his head. He’s vastly private, but not unfeeling. Gene has a calming presence on people around him, though he may be subject to inner turmoil, and he does seek out those who need help. He uses his voice as a centrepoint, much more so than his hands, and he might be prone to use an audible mantra or prayer as a way of bringing himself back to his core.

Though practical and decisive, especially in a crisis, Gene is rooted in spirit as well. He is not easily swayed and might believe things all come to pass precisely as they should. Gene knows himself and is assured in himself, but might struggle to find himself in the midst of turmoil. One quick and surefire way to anchor himself is through cracking a joke or making a smartass comment: Gene is rapid-witted and will let you know what’s what even as the world’s going to hell in a handbasket.

#gene roe #characterization notes

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

“If I tell the truth, then I will have to tell you this: Though I grieve, and I believe I feel it truly, But I knew that ship was empty By the time it hit the rocks... We could not hold on when fate became unruly. So consider me a widow, boys, and I have told you why. Does the weather say a better day is nearing? I'll set my house in order now and wait upon the Will -- It's clear that I need better skill in steering...”

~“Widow’s Walk,” by Suzanne Vega

x~x~x~x

Lane Bach (née Cromwell) had been raised in a very abusive magical clan devoid of sincere and selfless love. Despite this, she managed to escape the suffocating, iron-fast control of Charles Cromwell by running away from home and eloping with a Muggle named Evan Bach. Evan swept Lane off her feet, far away from Yorkshire, like a knight-in-shining-armor. With Evan by her side, Lane created a new life for herself in the Muggle World, and actually lived very happily without her magic with her new husband and her precious son, who she and Evan named Jacob. Unfortunately the cracks in the Bach marriage started to appear when Jacob first started showing signs of magic.

When Jacob was first conceived, Evan was initially excited to be a father: to play catch with his boy and teach him how to drive and all the other classic father-son-type activities. Unfortunately Evan had been raised more by his now-deceased great-uncle than his own father, who’d been in prison since Evan was a boy -- so Evan honestly had no guidance about how to be a parent. And thus when Jacob started supposedly “acting out,” Evan didn’t know how to properly discipline him, and ended up resorting to berating Jacob and taking away whatever privileges he could...even if those “privileges” were things that were constructive outlets, like Jacob’s favorite books or chemistry set. Evan also interpreted Jacob’s constant insistence that he didn’t do anything wrong as him actively avoiding responsibility for his actions, which frustrated Evan all the more, since he feared Jacob wouldn’t ever become better if he kept doubling down on his bad behavior. Evan was determined to make sure Jacob didn’t become a screw-up like his father had been, and was determined to mold Jacob in his image so as to prevent that outcome. But the more Evan badgered Jacob to “stop acting out,” the more Jacob would withdraw from his father and act petulant just to stick it to both him and his teachers who refused to believe him when he said he’d done nothing wrong. Lane -- who of course understood the real reason behind Jacob’s supposed “misbehavior” but was forbidden to speak of it -- tried very hard to soothe Evan and shield Jacob from his temper, but this only served to make it so that Evan often felt his wife was taking their son’s side against him, rather than supporting her husband: coddling Jacob and making Evan look like a “bad guy” that Jacob could hate rather than showing a united front that might prompt him to be the upstanding son he should be. Evan had “rescued” Lane from her unhappy life with a family she told him had mistreated her, but he had no idea how to “rescue” his son from his road toward ruin.

This dynamic was unpleasant, but relatively stable, but it shifted significantly again when, around Jacob’s eighth birthday, Lane ended up pregnant with her and Evan’s second child, Carewyn. Unfortunately this time Evan was far less enthused. In the years since Jacob was born, Evan had been very disillusioned by the supposed “joy” of fatherhood. Not only had he completely messed up with his son Jacob, who was as different from him as he could possibly be and openly disrespected him, but he had even less clue about how to deal with a daughter than he had a son. The idea of failing again the way he had with Jacob was something Evan just couldn’t handle...and so, when Carewyn was born, he buried himself in his work at his department store and emotionally plugged out of his baby daughter’s life. Even though Evan still lived with her, Carewyn was entirely raised by Lane and by Jacob, who immediately jumped in to help his mother look after his baby sister. Even as an adult, if anyone asks Jacob about his father, Jacob will attest that as much as he hates Evan for how he treated him, he hates him far, far more for how much he cast Carewyn aside like she didn’t matter. Lane tried more than a few times to bridge the gap between Evan and their children, but it often resulted in Lane and Evan once again coming to a stand-off regarding Jacob and his “misbehavior” or in Evan showing Carewyn some half-hearted affection and then retreating right back into his work. Evan forgot both of Carewyn’s birthdays he was present for, and only got her a Christmas present -- a book of fairy tales -- with some prompting from Lane. Even then, however, it was Jacob who ended up reading those fairy tales to Carewyn, not Evan.

What broke the Bach marriage once and for all, however, was the arrival of Jacob’s Hogwarts letter in the fall of 1975. The revelation that Jacob was a wizard, and that all of the strange incidents he’d been blamed for over the years had actually been the result of magical accidents, filled Jacob with such an unbelievable amount of vindication and validation. He finally knew why all of these bad things happened to him, and better yet, he now knew he wasn’t the only one who experienced that sort of stuff! His own mother said she’d done weird things too, at his age, and best of all, that it was normal! That all young witches and wizards -- hundreds upon thousands of them, all over the world, went through the exact same thing!

But rather than feeling happy for his son, or shocked, or even confused, like Lane had expected...Evan felt like he’d been slapped hard in the face. He didn’t just feel hurt that Lane hadn’t told him -- he felt betrayed. No matter how much Lane told him that she wasn’t legally allowed to -- no matter how much she insisted that she would’ve told him the day they’d first met, if she could have -- it didn’t matter. Evan had swooped into her rescue because she’d needed him -- how could she have needed him, if she could do magic?

Lane’s response was very quiet and grim.

“Magic isn’t all powerful, Evan. And even if it were...my entire family can do it too.”

As sensible as Lane’s answers were, and as apologetic as she was that she had to keep her ancestry from him, nothing seemed to soothe Evan. He was supposed to be the man of the house -- providing for his family, leading them and taking charge -- he’d already had a hard enough time of it with Jacob being so stubborn and obstinate, but now it turned out he had these supernatural powers Evan wouldn’t be able to control? And worse, Evan’s own wife ended up having these same powers too -- ones he could never hope to keep contained?

It was then that -- in the midst of this argument where Lane had only ever tried to pacify and deescalate -- Evan asked the worst possible question he could’ve thought up.

“...What about our daughter? Is she still normal? Is there a way to just...stamp out anything, before she...?”

Lane, who never learned how to properly express anger, shut down all of her emotion at that point. Any love she felt for Evan and had tried to express disappeared completely, and she spoke with a kind of detached, unemotional coldness that made her sound more like a Cromwell than she had in years.

“Winnie is as normal as her brother and I are, and I will not stand here and listen to you insinuating otherwise. You wouldn’t even need to ask if Winnie had magic if you had ever bothered getting to know her, rather than making more and more mistakes just trying to escape from your previous ones. And believe you me, Evan -- you will make a terrible mistake if you make one move toward taking my Winnie away from me.”

The very next morning, Evan Bach was gone. He’d packed up all of his belongings and left his family for good, never to be seen again.

Not long after, Lane -- with some financial help from her old school friend, Judy Castine -- was able to buy herself, Jacob, and Carewyn a tinier flat in Liverpool, and the three started their lives anew, albeit much, much more modestly than before. Lane had to scrape together enough money for them to live on with odd jobs as a magical historian, frequently being forced to leave Carewyn alone at home as a latch-key kid. Jacob had to rely on Hogwarts’s impoverished students’ fund for his school supplies, and Carewyn grew up only owning three dresses that she had to wear multiple times in a week. Despite this, the three were an inseparable family, cherishing their winter holidays together where they could sing Christmas carols, watch Christmas movies on TV, and eat a modest Christmas dinner complete with a chocolate Yule Log. And even when this tiny family was tested and threatened by the shadow of the Cromwell Clan, Lane, Jacob, and Carewyn Cromwell’s greatest strength remained in their knowledge of sincere, selfless love, which they first learned from each other.

#my art #my writing #lane cromwell #evan bach #carewyn cromwell #jacob cromwell #about lane #happy mother's day lane!!#I love this woman so much #for those of you who don't know she's based on the three most important women in my life one of whom is my own mother #so yeah she means a lot to me :)#you'll notice in the drawing that carewyn is clinging onto jacob #jacob is of course carrying carewyn and holding her protectively #and lane has her hands on carewyn's arm and jacob's back respectively #while evan's hands are lightly touching jacob's shoulder and (unseen) lane's back #while jacob glares at evan and carewyn glances toward her mum #no contact at all between daughter and father -- and yeah that's really their dynamic in a nutshell #carewyn has just about no memories of evan because of how absent he was in her life #jacob was more of a father figure for her that evan ever was and he was obviously her brother not her dad #hphm #hogwarts mystery #mother's day

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shy-magpie · 3 years

Text

RQG 160

Live blog under the cut! Gee hitting stuff I wrote only 1 year ago, look at the momentum!

Ben and Alex are having fun with being the two people least distressed at the idea of Zolf in danger. On the other hand Ben did make him a beefy boy; so on some level he does care about making sure he lives.

"not again"?

I swear to god he tried to blow Zolf's head off and missed by the mercy of the dice. Multi guns on the trap emphasized because "Mr She Can't One Shot Me" is not playing with an amateur.

Is Azu going to do the fling open the window bit?

Oh good Zolf isn't going indulge Earhardt

I love how Alex doesn't pull the blow but doesn't twist the knife. Like it would undermine the whole plot point if he tried to pretend Earhardt just needed a day to dry out and a bath, but he didn't go into it or even talk about it on an emotional level. Just gave us the facts, she is underweight because she hasn't been taking care of herself.

"do you touch it" Alex trying to scare us and the players

Azu is giving substantial alms to the whole floor on principle. Nope the whole building.

Alex is the best, clarifies a few things for the listener even though he clearly knows that Helen knows it.

Zolf channels all 7 Positive Energies (drawn from Hope) at the whole building as they go.

I believe that is what the kids call "direct action". Especially nice that Helen remembered to have Azu tell the temple to do more long term stuff.

And I think I will pause it at this transition point because it one of those days and I can't get 5 minutes uninterrupted to listen even though I thought I had over an hour clear. Will resume 13 minutes in.

Lets try that again!

That's my boy! No hesitation about deferring to Skraak as an expert.

"Locusts", "you'll see why", what are you doing Alex?

Zolf sets Earhardt up in his room and assists Azu in looking her over. The Positive Energy did most of the work but since RQ is good people they get that even if all the physical side is dealt with she's still going to need some time and help. Side note: so far neatly avoiding my (for want of a milder word) triggers, of course she's barely spoken but still its nice to be at "natural level of distress at a beloved NPC in a bad condition" and not "is this where I tap out or is the best way out through?". Helps of course that RQ is full of people who are aware of mental health issues & aren't going to excuse abuse but aren't going to write anyone off either. There are bad people in RQG but its their choices, (repeated choices over time) that makes them bad, no one is born evil or evil because of something that happened to them.

"The Heart Beats Faster", I love that Zolf & Azu bonded over those books. Its just so *nice* they have something other than the end of the world in common.

Zolf is going to try to get Earhardt the same food she served aboard her ship.

The Kobolds are great and I love the image of them swarming over the ship

Cel is distressed at the unsorted parts but it sounds like they get to it as a separate step in the process

Oh Cel with a focus for their energy, we've never seen that. I wonder how the others react, I know it can throw people off to see the flip side of ADHD after getting used to the idea of scatter brained.

Hamid has to babysit since the Kobolds are still sticking close to him. Hopefully they've moved past expecting him to go Shoin on them and are now on the "we're only safe under the protection of our benevolent overlord" stage. Resilient sons of guns, its been like a week since they were drugged slaves yet the post trauma speed run doesn't feel forced. Not sure if its worth making a separate post to put in small words things like "when you expect people in power to be dangerous & unpredictable, you feel intensely if not problematically grateful for respect & even temper". On the other hand I have a list as long as my arm of posts I keep meaning to write on tricky bits that RQ does well.

Break

Zolf has perked up now that he has a project #relatable

I love the little tangent on elementals.

"adjust accordingly" I think that means you can do it but you will pay for it.

Tumblespark is such a great name.

The party is just good people ya know? Azu is sitting vigil with Earhardt in Zolf's room, (which he didn't hesitate to give up) while the others get her ship airworthy.

Huh, thought Alex would want to take the opportunity with the Kobolds doing engineering again to poke at their past. Probably trying to keep the emotional energy balanced, he is uncanny at that.

Someone took the notes on his pacing seriously and is making it clear they can't run themselves ragged if they wanted to.

Zolf *bap* take care of yourself. Oh, Azu, be fair why don't you? Yes him choosing what to do with his money includes choosing to spend it on team stuff, but didn't he burn his armor in the lightening strike? And its not like indulging in, IDK, fancy beard oil, good spices or something would kill him.

Zolf is in fact a brooding hero in the chicken sense

Wow Pathfinder without tweaks handles withdrawal with some sensitivity? Or is Alex being creative in his interpretation.

Oh Alex, oh Earhardt, see what I mean about not pulling the punch but not twisting the knife.

Ok Hamid doing the mending while watching the Kobolds is such an image

Oh Zolf, thats a good thought.

Oh Earhardt

Zolf is trying, bless him. Honest to god that someone is trying, does help. Oh Zolf, see this honesty about emotion even when it isn't pretty or simple is why I trust them with stuff like this.

A Meritocrat? Oh Earhardt one last run. There is no bow to tie on it; seriously bless RQ especially Alex & Ben for getting that.

Azu is so damn good at this, respecting the choices of the crew is the exact line to take

Yeah but Zolf would have left the room, he took the "walk away" lesson a bit too well.

Research? Fairy tales, medical, missed the third. Yeah Ben it was killing a Meritocrat or bringing back the dead and we've had an undead arc.

Leave Apophis for last would ya

Bit direct Zolf, but yes I think that would help.

I love how "you chose to do this" is a recurring topic of conversation.

Well shoot all that prep and they don't touch on what I was worried about. Still learning not to grit my teeth when I could take simple measures takes practice so not like it went to waste.

Its my week! I got a great episode with so much character bits, and Casper for my week! (ETA as in the week my name got listed in the patreon thank yous)

#Rusty Quill Gaming #RQG Spoilers #RQG Season 4 #RQG 160 #live blog thingy #addiction #health #mental health

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seeking-shonen · 3 years

Text

Caesar Zeppeli v. Joseph Joestar: Fight Scene Analysis (Pt2)

In an earlier text post I analyzed the face-off between Joseph and Caesar from the Battle Tendency arc of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure. The first part of the analysis focused primarily on the actual flow of events, and how its clever set-up and execution holds many gems of wisdom for other writers out there. I wanted this part of the analysis to focus more on the actual participants of the fight, and how their personalities are developed, played off of, and established throughout.

Perhaps it would be best to start off with Joseph Joestar, not only because he’s the protagonist of the part, but because he’s more or less the instigator of the fight as a whole.

There’s a fantastic character profile page in the Battle Tendency manga dedicated just to Jojo. I couldn’t find any high-res versions of it online, and since MangaDex is down at the time of writing this, I’ll just transcribe the most important parts of it here.

The profile discusses how Joseph Joestar, a high-born Brit with an affinity for American comics and junk food, had been arrested seven times for street brawling and even expelled from school for the same reason. He has a reputation for hot-headedness and an impulsive tendency for battle (r/im12andthisisfunny). Essentially, he’s an eighteen year old delinquent with dreams of becoming a pilot and an affinity for talking with his fists as much as his mouth.

Before I accidentally turn this fight scene analysis into a character study, let me discuss how Araki uses the Caesar v. Joseph fight to expand on and establish more about Jojo’s personality. Joseph’s irritability and quick wit is not only highlighted in his snippy dialogue, but his fighting style as well.

Right after Caesar goes on a whole spiel about how important family is to him and how tragically his grandfather died, Jojo decides to one-up him by saying “tell me, is your whole family as dumb as you are?”

Is it a stupid thing to say in this situation? Absolutely, and I’d wager that Joseph is just as aware of this as we are. Keep in mind that his primary area of expertise is street brawling, mostly with people his age or street thugs with an IQ equivalent to it. Jojo is well aware of the importance of emotional manipulation during a fight; by riling Caesar up, he can instigate a fight without having to be the first to throw a punch and thus be the first to disappoint Speedwagon.

Or perhaps he’s just lost his temper again.

Regardless if his earlier comments were attempts to goad Caesar on, protect his own pride, or a mixture of both, Joseph ends up throwing the first punch. His eagerness to fight contrasts sharply with Caesar’s disinterest in doing so, and he charges forward with his fists and trademark insults.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get very far.

Joseph realizes in a few moments that Caesar’s pulled a sneaky one in him, and he only really starts to put the pieces together when he finds himself face-down in a fountain. It seems like

Joseph’s trademark ingenuity only comes into play once he’s been embarrassed at least once (which, in all seriousness, is a clever choice; having a character who can predict his opponent’s every move without having to even engage would make for very droll fight scenes)

Back to Jojo being embarrassed though, we see Joseph have a change of heart and motive as Caesar drags the Joestar family name through the dirt.

Joseph, in a fit of what’s becoming an increasingly common habit of his, finds his motives switching mid-battle from protecting his pride to defending his family. This creation and crystallization of resolve does a lot to make Jojo seem slightly less petty and slightly more heroic, and, as I discussed in the first part of this analysis, makes him a protagonist slightly more worth being the center of the story.

I would be remiss in discussing Joseph in this fight without also bringing up the pigeon gag -- at the beginning of the brawl, Jojo insisted that Caesar couldn’t even beat a pigeon with his Hamon. A few quick tricks later, Jojo ends up using a Hamon-charged pigeon to knock Caesar off his feet. All of this plays a critical role in helping the fight close on a more light-heated end, as well as give Caesar and Joseph something akin to a fresh start.

Even though they have a lot more spats to work through before they truly see each

The fight ends on a more light-hearted note thanks to the pigeon gag -- Joseph casually insisted that Caesar couldn’t beat a pigeon at the beginning of the story, and Joseph ended up using a pigeon to knock Caesar off his feet.

Jojo is an incredibly perceptive person, and he uses his talent for reading people to pull a fast one on Caesar when he leans in to kiss his new lady friend. He even acknowledges this after the fight, explaining that he knew Caesar would eventually kiss her, “either to withdraw [his] Hamon or because [he] wanted to show off”.

He ends it all with a smile and a wink and the triumphant declaration that, yes, Caesar “couldn’t even beat a pigeon,” yet another example of his light-hearted nature and, perhaps, his desire to vindicate himself in light of his earlier embarrassment.

Speaking of Caesar, this is one of the first scenes where the audience really gets to know him. The Zeppeli has his own profile page -- whether it precedes or proceeds the fight scene, I can’t remember -- and it gives the audience both critical and trivial insight into who our new JoBro is.

Aside from the fact that the first portion of the “personality” entry was clearly written by Joseph (perhaps Speedwagon took the liberty of writing the second half), this profile serves to reestablish what Araki shows us in the fight scene.

At this point in the story, specifically in the animated adaptation, the audience knows little more about Caesar aside from the fact that he’s Baron Zeppeli’s grandson and that he has a flirtatious streak. This fight scene establishes Caesar’s mindset, values, and mannerisms, and also places markers on what aspects of his personality are still open for development.

To take it from the top, Caesar’s contempt for Joseph is highlighted in his fighting style. His speech about having a grudge towards the Joestars on account of what happened to his grandfather, along with the fact that he initially fights with Joseph by proxy, only further highlights just how low his opinion of Joseph is. He even contrasts his bubble launcher with Joseph’s dirty fighting tactics, and the first (and only actual) hit he lands on Joseph is a long-distance slap.

However, despite all the sharp words tossed around earlier, Joseph finds a way to smooth out the denouement of the fight. His ability to actually one-up Caesar and establish himself as a somewhat worthy opponent instills some modicum of tolerance for the Joestar in Caesar’s heart, primarily displayed in the way that Caesar does not promptly walk away after the fight and actually listens to what Joseph has to say.

Their friendship has by no means begun; the two obviously don’t care too much for the other at this point, and only continue to work together out of plain necessity (and perhaps for Speedwagon + humanity’s sake as well). However, it’s the genesis of a truly touching friendship.

Part 3 of the analysis will be coming out...whenever I have the time to finish writing it up. I’ll mostly be going over pieces of writing advice fic and original story writers could use if they want to try and piece together a Jojo-esque fight for themselves. Frankly, the main reason I started these was so I could get a better handle of writing fight scenes, so hopefully the last part might help someone do the same as well!

#fight-scene-analyses #jojos bizarre adventure #battle tendency #joseph joestar #caesar zeppeli #robert e o speedwagon

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unicyclehippo · 4 years

Note

beaujes + "when did you know"

‘can i talk you for a second?’

‘talk you?’ fjord repeats, looking up from polishing his shield with a teasing grin. the expression falls away when he sees the serious look beau levels his way. ‘yeah. yeah, of course. here? or do you wanna...’

beau looks around the clearing, at the others still too close, and she tilts her head toward a nearby set of trees. the spreading vines that wrap tight around the trunks and hang from the branches make a decent curtain but they’re not too far if something comes up. fjord nods and follows her over.

‘everything...alright?’ fjord broaches when beau doesn’t speak for a while.

lightning blue eyes flash to him and for a moment he thinks she’s mad at him—she’s scowling and tense, arms folded—but then she breathes out and the electric charge that surrounds her is gone.

it feels strange; he hadn’t noticed when that tension had begun but now that she has let it go...he thinks it might’ve been there for a while. it’s nothing like her usual energy, always watchful but easy about it. it’s as though that watchful energy had, bit by bit, been needled so many times that she’s completely on edge, unable to slow down or stop looking, and fjord wants to kick himself for not realising it sooner. but he can’t, because she has set that watchful burden down now for the first time in—if he had to guess—a week, set it down at his feet, is trusting him to take it from her and listen and watch her back. the trust makes his heart clench cold and small in his chest, an answering call somewhere deep in his gut that says, if it comes to it, fjord will draw on some pretty terrible powers to protect this girl, his best friend.

‘everything’s fucked,’ beau sighs, rubs a hand over her weary face.

‘not everything. we still have you.’ fjord isn’t as practised at pushing true emotion into his voice as he is at controlling it, but he thinks he succeeds at sounding thankful, and pleased, and relieved, and maybe a little sad when beau looks quickly up at him and then away, rubbing at the back of her neck.

‘yeah. uh. yep.’

‘do i need to have this conversation again?’

‘please don’t,’ beau bites out. fjord nearly laughs but there’s a new desperation in her voice he can’t place.

‘beau?’

she shakes her head. presses her folded arms tighter to her chest. ‘um. look, there’s - something i wanted to talk to you about. and it’s -‘ her forehead crumples into a frown she directs down at the jungle floor. kicks a curious beetle that is crawling over her booted toe somewhere deeper into the underbrush. ‘it might ... change some stuff.’ her face is smooth, other than that hint of a frown, and he can’t pick what she means from it. ‘about me. and you.’

fjord has no idea what that could mean. he goes about asking subtly. ‘what do you mean?’

‘it’s - i appreciate,’ she says, picking her words carefully, ‘what you said. yesterday.’

‘shit, beau - about caring about you?’ now it’s fjord’s turn to rub at his eyes. ‘it’s not something to appre— it’s the truth, beau.’

‘i know, i know,’ she’s quick to assure him. he’s assured for less than a second because she continues with, ‘i know you think that. but-‘

fjord sets his hands on her shoulders. pulls her to face him dead on. ‘i love you, beau. you’re my best friend - nothing could change that. yeah, you’re a shit kicker and you’re smarter than all of us, especially with,’ he flicks the headband, ignores her petulant ow. ‘but even if you were dumb as a brick and couldn’t punch for shit - you’re still our beau.’

‘you don’t know that,’ she points out, which he’s relieved to hear sounds more amused than anything. ‘like, it’s impossible to know that. if i couldn’t punch people, i wouldn’t be me.’

‘you do like to punch,’ fjord agrees, allowing the sidestep, the distraction. ‘you’re good at it.’

‘great at it, thanks.’

they share a grin. fjord hopes that’s the end of it—she needed reassurance and he is happy, more than happy, to provide it. but then beau’s smile slips, first from one side of her lips and then the other before it washes right off her face. he watches as she forces herself to look him in the eye, hold herself steady.

‘i gotta tell you something,’ she says, ‘and it - i’m never gonna do anything about it but it might change things. it will. and,’

‘something i won’t like?’ he asks. beau just looks at him, which is a yes. ‘if you’re never doing anything about it, why tell me? are you trying to make me hate you or something?’

something flickers in beau’s eyes. her voice is abruptly hoarse when she speaks. ‘i don’t want you to hate me. that - would suck. but i gotta tell you now because i- already told someone else and if it comes out ... i don’t want you blindsided and hating me more.’ her voice cracks, quavers the smallest bit and she swallows hard, turns her head away to clear her throat.

he stares down at her, confused. his fingers squeeze gently onto her shoulders out of instinct; she’s shivering, shaking with nerves.

‘okay,’ he says, and when she looks up at him, eyes wet but not yet overflowing, face set in determination that can’t quite cover fear, fjord feels something in him settle. he knows, even if she doesn’t, that there’s nothing she could say now that could break this. nothing that could make him not love her. fjord imagines himself a deep ocean, the one that comes to him when he meditates—uk’otoa’s gifts sunken in its far reaches, the wildmother’s gifts the sky and sea and sunlight, and within that ocean there are boundless stretches that is all him, all fjord, and the tides that pull him pull in one direction—toward beau, toward his friends, toward this weird little family they have made. he’s never said anything like that before so there’s no reason beau should know that, but he knows now. ‘tell me,’ he says, and he fixes his attention on her, meeting her eyes with all the calm certainty of a tranquil sea.

beau opens her mouth. her nose is going red with the effort of not crying. she closes her mouth. makes a sound in the back of her throat like she’s clearing it.

‘i - didn’t mean to,’ she says. ‘i need you to know that, i didn’t mean to, it wasn’t supposed to happen, i didn’t intend for—‘ she stops when he rubs his thumb soothingly over her shoulder. draws in a steadying breath. ‘i like jester,’ beau tells him, and for all that she is technically meeting his eyes, she’s entirely checked out, sunken so far back behind her walls that fjord can’t hardly see her. ‘i like her a lot, and i’m never gonna do anything or tell her if i can help it but nott knows and—‘

‘she runs her mouth on a good day, let alone halfway through withdrawals?’

‘yeah.’ there’s a flicker of normal beau, cautious, when he doesn’t immediately denounce her. he doesn’t know if he could denounce her, not when he knows how that feels. if anything, if anything, could it just be another thing they share? ‘she hasn’t said anything yet, so i’m hoping—‘ she cuts herself off when fjord frowns.

‘hold on.’ he tries to temper his tone, he really does, but a lash of sharpness still makes it in there. beau curls deeper into herself. ‘you thought i would hate you?’

‘i—‘

‘that’s insane!’

‘no, it’s not!’

‘yes, beau, it is.’ he gives her a gentle shake, like he can somehow get her brain to finally sit right and understand what he is saying. ‘how the fuck could i hate you for—you don’t—that’s mad, beau! you can’t pick and choose who you fall for, and if it’s anyone’s fault, let’s be real here, this is jester’s fault for being—what did vendetta call her?’

beau snorts. ‘aggressively likeable.’

‘aggressively likeable,’ fjord repeats, nodding. ‘that’s our girl.’ he waits a moment, turning over reassurances and questions in his head; he can admit that he doesn’t really know what to say so he just goes with his instincts, which have only failed him a few times, and pulls beau in for a hug.

her folded arms are trapped between them and fjord feels her tense even more before suddenly she’s wriggling in the cradle of his arms and freeing her hands, wrapping them tight around him. he groans dramatically at the pressure, grins when she laughs.

‘so,’ she says, quiet, soft, nervous. not like beau at all. ‘you - don’t hate me?’

fjord’s arms tighten around her. ‘no.’ the word is firm. certain. he feels it hit and stun her, feels her go lax against him. ‘your parents really fucked you up, huh.’

beau snorts wet against his shoulder. ‘a bit. i had a hand in it too.’

‘no, i don’t think you did,’ he tells her thoughtfully.’

‘you don’t know—‘

‘i’ve never seen you look the way you did when you told us about the winery,’ he continues over her and beau falls quiet. ‘i didn’t—i actually think it might’ve been the first time you’ve admitted to wanting something.’

‘you make me sound like a freak,’ beau grumbles.

‘not a freak. well. a bit of a freak,’ he amends, and is pleased to peek down and see the hint of a smile on her face. ‘it’s a shitty kind of parent who makes a kid feel like they aren’t allowed to want things.’

‘i could want things,’ beau defends instantly. fjord waits. then, ‘it just...had to be the same as he wanted.’

‘mhm. i hate your dad.’

beau’s fingers drum restlessly against the leather of his chest piece. ‘he’s—‘

‘say complicated again. i dare you.’ beau stays silent. ‘you don’t have to hate him. not entirely. you don’t have to pick one way or the other. but i can hate him for you. if you want.’

beau leans heavier still into him. he wonders at it—this is the longest they’ve ever hugged before, the longest he’s had beau stand still before, and he’s surprised to realise that she’s short. she fits snug under his chin, which he rests atop her head.

‘jes—she wants me to forgive him. or try. she thinks he loves me.’

‘reckon that had any hand in your whole spiral? wanting to leave us?’ he regrets the snide tone immediately when beau pulls away. she doesn’t fold into herself again, looks a little more even keel, but she’s closed off somewhat.

‘i said i’m sorry.’

‘you don’t—beau,’ he sighs. ‘you don’t have to be sorry. i’m not gonna stand here and say i understand but...we just wanna know you’re not gonna offer that again. or walk away next time we zip to zadash.’

‘oh, alliteration.’

‘thought you might like it.’

‘i—‘ beau looks away.

‘jester would be really upset,’ fjord tells her, and grins broadly at the look of outrage that crosses beau’s face.

‘no! absolutely not! i didn’t tell you this so that you could use it against me—‘

‘just so i’d hate you and give you a reason to run?’ that had clicked, finally, and he knows he’s right when shame engulfs beau’s expression.

‘i’m sorry,’ she says again, and he can only sigh.

‘do you even know what you’re apologising for?’ beau looks to hesitate. fjord shakes his head. ‘whatever it is... just make sure it isn’t - that you’re not apologising for being you,’ he says and prods a finger against her chest. ‘i spent months pretending to be someone else, and years before that hating who i was so...i get what you’re feeling. kinda. i was shit scared giving up my powers because i’d let them be who i was instead of something i used.’ beau nods reassuringly and fjord feels a flicker of fond exasperation. smiles down at her. ‘i don’t need to be supported, beau, i’m supporting you.’

‘you were fuckin’ - brave and awesome, okay? i can support that. shut up.’

he rolls his eyes. when he’s done, he frowns down at the ground, the knotted roots and vines.

‘sacrificing yourself ... isn’t your power. it’s not what we need from you, like the snea snakes power wasn’t — what i am, all that i am. we want you, beau.’

he knows it’s not over, not yet fully understood, but he counts it as a success when beau nods slowly. she looks thoughtful, which is better than despair. far better.

‘did you really think i’d hate you?’

beau’s eyes drop and she shrugs, looking every inch an awkward teen. he wonders idly how old she actually is—older than twenty, maybe mid-twenties? she mutters something he doesn’t catch.

‘huh?’

‘how do you feel?’ she snaps. a little louder and crankier than intended, obviously, because she winces.

‘about—‘ he gestures to her and then back toward the camp. beau nods. fjord tucks his thumbs onto his belt, shifts his weight as he thinks, knowing beau won’t be reassured by a half-answer. ‘i don’t know.’

beau grunts.

‘things are complicated.’

she laughs. ‘tell me about it.’

‘there’s so much that i still don’t know. about me. about what the hell we’re doing. about my powers and whether when we get to the ocean uk’otoa is going to drown me,’ he says, which earns him a long, thoughtful look. he hadn’t meant to say it but he’s glad that it was beau he said it to, rather than anyone else. she’s steady, usually, and has his back.

‘i’m a good swimmer,’ she says.

‘you’ll pull me back on the boat?’

‘on the quick, captain.’

they trade smiles. fjord continues.

‘i don’t know how much space there is in that for romance. and - and i like jester, i do, it’s just... sometimes i think, and it’s not her fault i pretended to be someone else for months, but i don’t think she sees me all the time. she can’t,’ he tells beau. ‘i don’t even know who i am, so how can she?’ beau nods. she doesn’t try to convince him or reassure him, just puts a hand on his arm. ‘can i ask you something? you can say no.’ he waits for her to nod, then, ‘when did you know? that you liked her?’

for a moment, he thinks she’s not going to answer. but then the words start, haltingly at first before he recognises the softness in her tone and everything comes a little easier. that’s the jester of it all, he knows. it’s easy to love her.

‘it’s - been a bit. a long while, i guess. not from the start. she just - was always funny and fun, yknow?’ he nods. he does know. ‘and then things started getting hard and i dunno, i was ready to protect her because she’s jester but she—she’s strong. really strong. and kind? and even though we kept seeing all this awful shit, she keeps being kind and it’s weird in a totally jester way. it’s amazing? and i don’t know when it happened but one day i just realised i’d do a lot to make sure she never felt like that effort was wasted and maybe help her out and—yeah. i’m not—it’s not something i’m gonna do anything about,’ she is quick to assure him, ‘i’m not gonna tell her or anything, it’s just a crush,’ beau lies, ‘but it’s there.’

fjord thinks—he doesn’t know, he never seems to know anything for certain anymore, the world so much more complex than he had ever given it credit for, but he thinks—that there is something deeply sad about the idea that beau won’t tell jester. there’s a hurt in his chest at the idea of jester being with beau, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as he thought it might. whether that’s because he loves beau too, or because he doesn’t love jester as much as he thought, or because he knows how good beau is and how well she would love jester...he doesn’t know any of that either. but when he thinks on it a second more, a minute more, he can see it. and the sadness tugs at him again, knowing that beau won’t even allow herself to want it.

‘i get it,’ is all he says, because they’ve talked about enough heavy shit, he thinks. ‘kinda makes you wonder what’s wrong with everyone when they’re not head over heels for her, right?’

beau snorts. her eyes brighten with obvious surprise and a hesitant kind of happiness. ‘yeah,’ she agrees, and when fjord doesn’t react poorly to it, to yet another acknowledgement of how she feels, she relaxes into it. shoulders dropping from where they’ve been lifted around her ears the entire time. ‘yeah.’

#cr tag #prompt fill #tagging my stories #i love the brjeus

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sombreboy · 4 years

Text

Love Maze »14

Previous » Next Series Masterlist ▎ 18+ ▎ pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ▎ genre: School AU, crack humor, smut, angst, ETL, slow burn, fluff. ▎ word count: 6.8k ▎ ch.warnings: cursing, mentions of tae’s father being abusive, crying/mild angst, smut, Top!JJK, Bottom!KTH (these boys switch it up a lot hah), rimjob, fingering, anal, some fluff dw and they’re still dumb for and to each other but hey what’s new.

Co-writer: @velvetwicebang ♡♡♡

The door immediately flung open, and Jisoo had to remind herself to stop answering when she looked like.. Shit.

“Jung— oh my goodness.. you’re soaked!” She stated the obvious, ushering the boy into her home without exchanging another word.

“Jungkook-ah.. what happened?!”

The woman jogged into her bathroom, coming back with an extra towel at hand.

As if it was never there in the first place, the tiredness didn’t linger any longer. Instead, Jisoo was wide awake as she focused on drying Kook to the best of her abilities, wondering if this was Taehyung’s doing.

Jungkook silently allowed Jisoo to guide him inside, running his fingers through is wet hair as he watched her pat him dry,

Technically he could have just gone home to change first, but the cold clothes were nothing compared to the swirling thoughts occupying his senses, eyes still stinging from both the rain and previous tears.

''Noona, you don't have to...'' His hoarse voice from yelling tried to say, his hand reaching for the towel, ''I can do it.''

Jisoo thought about ignoring his pleas at first, but she ended up granting the towel to Jungkook, not aiming to overstep past any invisible line.

She couldn’t help it.. Kook meant a lot to her.

The woman dragged a chair next to his, resting her drumming hands on her lap.

Jisoo caught a glimpse of the boy’s face, spotting the obvious hurt in his puffy, reddened eyes.

That’s it, she couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

“Jungkookie.. do— do you want anything to drink or eat? I can whip something up quick!” The woman hadn’t even noticed she’d been rambling.

“I’m just.. I’m worried. Where’s Taehyung?”

Somehow, she knew the latter had something to do with this. Hence why her voice weakened at the brief mention of his name.

“Hey.. you can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?”

Jisoo scooted closer to the younger boy, the pads of her thumbs wiping at the wetness underneath his doe eyes.

"I'm not hungry," Jungkook whispered. He had already eaten, and even if it was a while ago-- he had no appetite left.

Jisoos question about Taehyung's whereabouts wasn't surprising, of course she'd ask. She cares about him, and she's so attentive.

"He uh..." Kook inhaled a sniffle through his nose, the cold clothes not helping. "We fought.. again." His shoulders sank. "I just... can't tell if I'm being too sensitive about things. He just gets on my nerves with the shit he does sometimes.."

Her hand perched on one of Jungkook’s shoulders, thumb massaging deep circles into the dampened fabric as she listened to the younger’s troubles.

Honestly? The name ‘Taehyung’ was starting to sound sour.

She knows from experience that couples fight— to some extent. But Jisoo began to question if Jungkook’s relationship with the elder was the right fit. Hell, Kook punched a hole in the wall and showed up at her doorstep late into the night, soaked from the rain.

All because of Taehyung..

“What did he do this time?” The woman exhaled, eyes landing on the towel in Jungkook’s hand.

She carefully took it back from his hold, seeing that he wasn’t putting it to good use and started to dry his wet hair like a mother would do, looking out for his health.

“I’ll beat him for you,” Jisoo chuckled to herself, wanting to enlighten the situation no matter how dark.

Jungkook's lopsided smile was a result of Jisoo's promise to beat his boyfriend up, a breathy snort pushing through his nose. ''Maybe he needs it.''

But just as quickly, the smile fell once more, closing his eyes to focus solemnly on the towel rubbing his head. It was really soothing, it felt like a mother's love... He felt himself calm down before he opened his mouth to answer the question at hand.

''He surprised me with this amazing date night... He got all dressed up, he looked amazing...'' Kook sighs at the memory before continuing. ''And he took me to the arcade, it was tons of fun, honestly...'' he left out a few details to speed the story up, including the mcdonalds. She didn't need the cheesy parts. ''At the end of it, I wanted this.. Dumb fucking teddybear, and we didnt have enough points to get it, right?'' His eyes open to make sure his noona is keeping up. ''He flirted with the cashier girl to get it, and it just..... made me really angry. It hurt, because..He can barely hold my hand in public, but shamelessly lets a stranger touch his hand, even wrote his number down on her palm.. Obviously, it was an act.. But it still hurt! And I told him, I was angry, my temper is shitty, I know... And it just blew up into a thing, I was just so fucking angry I couldnt think!'' He was getting riled up just talking about it, breaths quickening as both anger and the anxiety kicked in.

Now Jisoo was definitely going to beat Taehyung up.

What kind of person does such a thing?

Why would he voluntarily put his boyfriend through the pain of seeing him flirt with someone else? No matter what Tae’s ulterior motive was, it was still a shitty thing to do.

“It’s understandable that you’re angry, Kook. I would be fucking fuming..” The woman comforted, now using the towel to gently pat at Jungkook’s skin.

“If you’d like.. we can talk about something else?” She noticed the way his body automatically began reacting to the memory; distressed was one way to put it.

“Stay here for as long as you’d like. Yuna’s sleeping, so we should have some peace and quiet for a bit..” Jisoo squeezed the boy’s hand, a genuine smile grazing her soft features.

Jungkook nods, her infectious smile causing him to mirror it.

''I should go get changed first, though.''

He was surprised by how easily Jisoo's comfort calmed him down already, the thoughts of Taehyung slowly drifting off to be able to relax.

He did wonder, though, what Taehyung was up to…

''I'll be right back, noona.'' He squeezed her hand back as he stood up before leaving to head to his own apartment.

~~~

Taehyung didn’t stay at his house for long. Only long enough to receive a harsh slap to his face, paired with a series of harsh profanities in the form of ear-piercing shouts.

Yes, he stole money from his father.

But Tae didn’t think a red mark on his cheek was the answer.

He didn’t think him bawling his eyes out whilst he recklessly drove towards Jungkook’s apartment— searching for much needed comfort— was worth it.

His father didn’t possess common parenting skills, that was so fucking obvious yet it still dug a hole in Taehyung’s heavy chest. Every single time.

He’d much rather have his electronics taken away, have been forbidden from hanging out with friends!— not this.

The boy’s chest heaved with every shaky breath he took, warm tears endlessly running down his face, staining the collar of his shirt.

He felt worthless.

‘You’re a fucking nobody, Taehyung!’

‘Should’ve forced your mother into getting that abortion— you’re a disappointment.’

‘If she was still here, your name would bring her shame.’

Taehyung was lucky he’d managed to stop in front of his boyfriend’s apartment in one piece, his vision had been blurred with tears. So much so that he nearly stumbled over with every step.

“K-Kook..” Taehyung weakly called out, attempting to roughly wipe the tears away, only for more to come streaming down.

“I’m sorry.. I’m sorry I’m a disappointment.”

The elder knocked on the door, jaw clenched in anticipation.

Taehyung wanted to see Jungkook’s face, feeling like that’d be the true remedy.

~~~

Jungkook had just changed into dry, comfortable clothes when he heard the knock on his door, imagining it was probably Jisoo who'd grown impatient or wanted to check on him. He took a moment, combing his fingers through his mess of a hair before opening the door.

It definitely wasn't noona.

It was Taehyung, but... it also didn't look like him at all, in a sense. He was crying, eyes reddened and his entire posture was as if he'd shrunk.

He looked broken.

And suddenly it felt like Jungkook's heart shattered into a million pieces.

''Taehyung, what's wrong?''

Jungkook didn't hesitate to pull the elder in by his wrist, closing the door shut behind them for some privacy.

“I-I’m sorry..” His voice cracked, unable to meet Jungkook’s eye. Partly because of the blurriness, and partly due to his internal shame.

He was such an idiot.

“I’m so, so sorry!” The elder threw himself into his boyfriend’s arms, broken sobs muffled against the crook of his neck, eyes crinkled shut as he cried.

He felt worthless. Unloved. Taehyung was hurting, badly.

“He— He hit me.. a-and told me how I was unw-worthy of love and fuck.. I believe him.”

The elder let out, never once pulling away from Jungkook.

Jungkook was speechless at the sudden... well, everything. He'd never seen Taehyung in such a state of devastation, the normally strong man now crying in the youngers arms,

''Who-- your father hit you?'' Kook asked, wrapping his arms around Tae in a tight hug, one hand stroking the back of his head in a soothing motion.

''Hey, hey, calm down, please baby.'' The pet name came naturally, nuzzling his nose into the elders hair. ''He's wrong, Tae.. he's so wrong. Don't believe him...You're okay, you're here.''

Taehyung melted deeper into Jungkook’s comforting embrace, soaking up the younger’s reassuring words like a sponge, feeling like he’d gotten enough of a grasp on his emotions to withdraw from Kook’s touch.

“Thanks..” Taehyung weakly drew out, breath still shaky, but definitely not as bad as before.

For one, his chest no longer ached, and being by his boyfriend’s side was all he needed.

He was right to come here.

"Come, let's sit down." Jungkook said. It wasn't a question, so he pulled Taehyung with him to sit next to him on the couch, hands unable to stay away from the elders face as he swiped away the tears staining his cheeks, just like Jisoo had done to him just a moment earlier.

"I'm sorry..." Kook whispered, leaning in to press a chaste kiss on Taehyung's cheeks, as if hoping it would stop the tears. "You don't deserve to be treated that way... but you have me, okay?.. You're loved... by me..." their previous fight long forgotten-- or at least forgiven? There were more important things than that right now.

"We're okay..."

Taehyung slowly looked up from his lap after growing tired of blankly staring at the color of his jeans, now gazing into his boyfriend’s eyes with an unnamed emotion.

Fondness.. perhaps.

He really likes Jungkook— he wouldn’t know just what to do without the younger boy.

Kook is so.. Him.. and Taehyung loves that.

The elder loves everything about him.

The way his nose scrunches when he laughs, how the corners of his eyes crinkle up and never cease until he’s no longer smiling..

Is.. is this what young love feels like? Because if so, he likes it.

After the soft, ‘we’re okay..’ Tae just about lost it, tears immediately welling up in his hurt eyes.

God.. he fucking adores Kook.

“We’re okay..” Taehyung repeats, reaching over for his boyfriend’s smaller hand, tangling their fingers together.

Taehyung remembered his mother telling him he was one day going to find someone that was meant for him.. his person in the midst of the world’s chaos.

She used ‘strawberries’ as a simple reference, aware of how much her son loved the fruit.

‘Someday, you’re going to love someone as much as you love strawberries. Then, I’ll get to meet them~!’

It was straightforward, but Tae didn’t know what it all meant.

Now, he’s maybe not so clueless..

Jungkook was his person— his ‘strawberry’ in a sense.

Shit.. Taehyung’s in love with him.

“I-I..”

Now that Taehyung had admitted it, all of these feelings came rushing back to him. His heart was beating faster than before.

Who else could make him feel so calm? Who else had his back like no other?

His boyfriend did. His Jungkook.

“I.. I love you, too.”

For the first time in his life, Taehyung was 100% sure about something.

He loves Jeon Jungkook. He couldn’t deny it.

“I love you.” Tae said more clearly, squeezing the Kook’s hand in his.

Jungkook swore that he felt time freeze for a moment as the words left Taehyung's lips, staring at him with wide eyes. He squeezed the elders hand in his, just to ground himself and actually make sure that this wasn't merely a dream, because if it wasn't then--.. Taehyung loves him too.

"Yeah?" Jungkook doesn't know why those few words held so much power, but they did. As soon as he absorbed them, it was as if he was ignited from the inside out, his heart felt so full, and his body ached to feel Taehyung.

"I love you.." Jungkook finally said himself. He's done it before, but none of the times were truly this clear, and this time he didn't worry about the rejection.

"I love you so fucking much, Tae.." his voice lowered, hands removing themselves from his hold as they instead snake around Taes waist to pull his body closer into a hug, nose pressing against his neck. The nice smell Tae had put an effort into having today still lingered...

"I'm sorry for getting angry... I just... I get very jealous." Kook chuckles as he starts pressing kisses against Tae’s neck, the possessiveness behind them growing.

"Jealous when somebody wants what's mine.. and thinking they will get to have it."

Taehyung wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s neck, forehead perched on the latter’s shoulder as he giggled. Tae’s always been a bit ticklish on his neck, and having his boyfriend pressing kisses onto the skin was torturous. Good torture, if that made sense.

The elder’s eyes fluttered shut; just like always, Kook was paying close attention to the spot that drove him crazy.

“It wasn’t your fault..” Tae murmured, lips slightly parted as the slim hint of pleasure began to kick in. Taehyung’s fingers played with the strands of hair on the back of Jungkook’s head, his hand then slithering down the latter’s back. He gripped at the fabric of his baggy shirt, warm puffs of air freeing themselves from his lips.

There was little to no space between them— Taehyung could feel the heat of his breath waft back to his face.

“I love you so much.. I’m only yours.”

Jungkook smiles against the skin on Tae's neck before pressing one last open mouthed kiss against the prominent vein that trailed down the elders throat.

''Yeah?'' His own breath was hotter, voice several octaves lower as he spoke.

''Why is it that it feels like we've been apart for weeks when it's only been a few hours... Fuck, I missed you.'' He murmurs as he withdraws just enough to look into Tae's eyes, wasting no time in kissing him on the lips, the part of him he'd missed the most.

Well, that'd be a lie... There's other parts he missed just as much, and his hands weren't shy to let the Tae know of it, as they trailed underneath his shirt to get a feel of his torso, smoothing his calloused fingers over the soft, firm skin. ''Want you...'' He paused, eyes piercing through his boyfriend with a new spark in his gaze, ''Bed, now- please..''

Every time the younger bossed him around Taehyung’s caramel skin flushed, overtaken by the sudden drive to do as he pleases. He wanted to endure whatever Jungkook had in mind— he wanted to feel his boyfriend inside of him.

Just as much as Taehyung was enamored with Jungkook’s Bambi eyes, he also fell victim to his naughtier aspects. He enjoyed listening to his boyfriend’s frustrated grunts.. his sensual moans.

Taehyung loved the way Jungkook’s noticeable girth stretched him out, making him squirm in his spot.. hips twitching the deeper he nailed into his ass.

What was there not to like?

He was highly anticipating what was to come.

Taehyung didn’t need to ask, he knew the younger would be the one in charge this time. The way his sultry voice rang, commanding him to do as he wished— Taehyung turned into a submissive puddle. With a shy nod, Tae walked towards Jungkook’s bedroom, hips swaying provocatively while doing so. He sat himself on the edge of Kook’s bed, biting down on his lip whilst he discarded his shirt, carelessly throwing it to the side.

“I want you to make love to me..”

The elder pushed himself from off the bed, hands traveling up Kook’s chest before settling on his shoulders. “Please?”

Jungkook flashes his genuine bunny-like smile as he looks down at his boyfriend, the sweet boy peeking through his layers of desires. He nods, towering over the elder as he presses another chaste kiss on his lips before using his muscular frame to force Taehyung to back down on the bed, guiding them both to scoot up on the duvet until the elder was on his back, Jungkook on his knees above him.

"I'll make you feel so good, I promise," Kook murmured, his face morphing back into his dominant persona as he discards of his own shirt, leaning down to immediately begin kissing Taehyung on the neck, down to his shoulders, alternating between his tongue, teeth and small sucks. This time, he was the one marking the other-- and he was going to take his sweet time with him.

Taehyung worshipped the boy’s muscles with his roaming hands, hips rocking on their own from the way Jungkook’s sauntering lips stained his neck, chest, and shoulders.

“A-ah..” He gasped, one hand gripping at his boyfriend’s longer curls, feeling the soft texture in between his fingers.

“I can’t get over how strong you are.. hmm!” Taehyung’s dull nails dug deeper into his boyfriend‘s bicep, throwing his head back into the pillow.

Shit, was there such a thing as a muscle kink? Because the elder was sure that’s what he was into..

Completely blindsided by lust, a long, drawn-out moan bounced against the walls of the quiet room. It was as if he felt the blood clot underneath his skin, squirming at the way Jungkook’s tongue effortlessly flicked against it.

A low growl vibrated in Jungkook's chest, he could feel his blood rushing down straight to his cock with every reaction and sound he drew out of his boyfriend. He pressed his clothed bulge against Taehyung's, feeling the obvious; they were both already rock hard for each other.

"Keep touching me, fuck... you're so delicious, and all mine." he murmurs into Taehyungs collarbone before giving it a harsh suck, tainting his skin with purple.

Both men were turning into breathy messes, the tortuous aching between Kooks legs only spurring his greediness further. He desperately needed to be inside of Taehyung.

But, there was no need to rush, he wanted Tae to turn into a needy, squirming mess underneath him--- and he loved being a tease.

"So beautiful," Kook growls, flexing his muscles deliberately for Taehyung to see-- and feel.

"So loved." His voice smoothed out with the words, a drawn out moan pushing through his lips as he started to grind their hips together, kisses trailing back up to the elders lips. He took the chance to slip his tongue into Taehyung's mouth when his lips were parted in a moan, the taste itself allowing low, needy grunts to rumble in his throat, muffled by the kisses.

“Jungkook..! A-ahh.. j-just like that, baby.”

Taehyung’s head snapped to the side, face scrunched up into a delightful mess as all his senses were able to detect was Jungkook’s clothed cock rubbing up against his own.

“Fuck.. make love to me already, I need to feel you inside..”

His needy hole clenched down on its own, the pure image of his boyfriend’s dick rearranging his guts was effective— maybe a little too effective as Tae merely moaned at the thought, hips meeting Jungkook’s with every rocking motion.

"I will, baby, be patient.." Jungkook purrs into his ear before he sits up straight on his knees, admiring the view beneath him as he smoothed his hands down the elders torso until his fingers curl by the hem of Tae's pants and boxers in one go, tugging at them for a bit, teasing a second too long before he gives in-- peeling the fabrics off of his boyfriend, using his strength to easily lift Taehyung's hips up as he does so.

Taehyung’s rock-hard cock sprung up and whipped against his lower stomach, making his body shiver from the sudden contact. The boy wasn’t hard to please, finding every touch of Jungkook’s fingertips intoxicating.

He stared up at his boyfriend with hazy, dimmed eyes— love clearly swirling from within the irises as he shamelessly brought his knees up to his chest, giving Kook a wide view of his puckered hole.

“Use me..” Taehyung whispered, wiggling his hips invitingly, loving the attention he was getting.

The day’s shitty events were long forgotten, instead they were consumed by the lust he felt towards his man.

It was eating him up inside, antsy as he waited for Jungkook’s next move.

It was weird to think that at the beginning, Taehyung felt.. anxious in the bedroom. In a way, the latter didn’t want to open himself up to the younger too much. But now, as he flashed all he had to offer to his boyfriend, Tae grew more comfortable.

Love really does that to you, huh?

The sharp inhale didn't go unnoticed by either of the men as the younger's eyes admired the view, spreading Tae's hole further with his thumbs. Jungkook dropped down to his chest momentarily, there was no way he'd let this simply be a feast for his fingers.

No, he wanted a taste.

Without a word, he did as he pleased, placing warm, wet kisses on Taehyung's hole, the delicate skin so tasteful to his mouth that he moans at the sensation himself, along with the addicting sounds the man above him makes.

Taehyung’s hooded eyes widened in surprise, not expecting his boyfriend to kiss him somewhere so.. private.

“Shit— baby, that’s embarrassing..” The elder moaned out loud, still keeping his legs in place whilst he watched Jungkook, infatuated with the younger’s mind.

“Ah..” He bit down on his lip, blushing a significant amount.

His outgrown fringe fell over his eyes, skin moist from utter suspense.

Tae was an embarrassed mess. Yet, he didn’t mind.

Kook is his boyfriend, he’s supposed to see every part of him no matter how personal.

''You've got nothing to be embarrassed about, baby,'' Jungkook glances up at his boyfriend with eyes blown wide with lust and awe. Maybe a part of the younger did enjoy when Taehyung became a bit flustered, but as long as he was actually comfortable and pliant with what was going on, that's what's important.

Jungkook sticks his full tongue out, using the wet muscle to circle the elders hole that was now soaked with saliva, prodding the tip of his tongue against the opening to draw more reactions. Just a little bit more teasing... Taehyung was delicious.

“Baby..!” Taehyung‘s body was extremely responsive, hips jittering as he clung on to a handful of his boyfriend’s hair. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw slack as he focused on his heavy breathing.

Jungkook’s tongue felt wonderful.. fuck, how would it feel like if the younger ate him out?

The tempting imagery made Taehyung’s pink entrance clench, then proceed to unclench in a pattern. His legs were shaking the slightest bit, toes curled as he snuck a quick glance down at Kook.

“So good.. so fucking good..” Despite his vulgar language, the elder’s voice wasn’t anywhere near as confident. It was soft, close to the form of a strained whisper. As if his hips had a mind of their own, they slowly rocked into Jungkook’s mouth. The sensation was so new yet so.. not. Taehyung fell victim to it, hard.

Jungkook was a little surprised by how well received his ministrations were, so incredibly responsive to him-- it made the younger more desperate for his body, feeling his cock twitch and throb with every shudder from Tae's body.

He pushed the tip of his tongue inside of Taehyung's hole, the slick from his saliva making it easier-- so he did it again, and again, and again until he was able to practically fuck his tongue into Tae. Meanwhile, Jungkook used one hand to reach down to unbutton his pants, the sound of the zipper echoing in the room to indicate what's to come.

Every time Jungkook’s slim tongue thrusted into him, a cry of pleasure erupted from the back of the elder’s throat.

His legs visibly struggled to stay put, thighs lightly closing in on his boyfriend’s head— both hands placed on the crown to steady himself in the midst of the overwhelming rapture.

He was in heaven..

“Fuck.. I-I like that..” Taehyung breathily admitted, smoothing his fingers over Kook’s messy hair whilst he quivered for him, slyly directing his ass closer to the other’s feasting mouth.

As if it was a natural reaction, Tae’s naked body shivered with anticipation at the familiar sound of the zipper coming undone, grunting in disappointment when his boyfriend’s fat dick had yet to push its way inside of him. Taehyung was impatient, but the sensation of Jungkook’s tongue kept him engaged during the meantime.

Jungkook wiggled his pants down below his hips, just enough for him to be able to pull his throbbing length out to immediately stroke himself to the sounds of the elder, still indulging in his ass for a moment longer until he deemed it enough. He withdrew his mouth for a bit, spitting on Tae's already soaked hole for good measure.

''Gonna have to do that to me next time, I'm getting jealous..'' Jungkook jokes, but his voice was smooth and low. He sat up straight to finally discard of the rest of his clothes, making it even in terms of nudity,

''Keep holding your legs up just like that, baby.'' He murmurs, one hand still lazily stroking his cock, tip reddened and eager for the elder, while using the fingers of his other hand to begin stretching out Tae's cute little ass. One finger easily slipped inside thanks to the previous tongue fucking, so it didn't take long before he managed to slip two-- even three inside, until it became a tight fit. A part of Jungkook wondered, and almost craved, to fit all of them, just like Tae had done to him.

Taehyung did as his boyfriend instructed, legs holding up on their own as his slender fingers parted his sloppy entrance, widening the rosy area to grant Jungkook clearer access.

“Fuuck..!” A sharp cry of initial pain, the younger’s never stuffed three digits inside of him before.

The soreness in his legs was nothing compared to this.

Meanwhile, his fingers had a hard time staying in place, the wetness from around his hole making it difficult to get a nice grasp on the moist, sticky skin.

The boy’s raven hair tousled even more when he arched his spine off the bed, carelessly throwing his head back with a loud moan, hips swiveling as he attempted to fuck himself on his boyfriend’s hand.

“I-I’m ready for another one..” Tae lowly pleaded, beads of precum staining his soft lower stomach.

''Good boy,'' Jungkook cooed, his eyes wide with admiration of how good he's stretched out Tae's hole, the rims of it turning a darker shade of pink from the constant friction. He adds a fourth finger, jamming the elder full of his long fingers until he reaches that one spot he knows will drive him towards madness.

''Fuck, you're taking my fingers so well..'' Jungkook groans at the sight, the slick sounds of his fingers now pumping into Taehyung, his other hand jerking himself off with more greed, smearing his precum down his length. He was practically ready for Kook's fat cock, and the younger couldn't wait to give it to him.

“I’m— I’m a good boy..” Taehyung verbally replayed his boyfriend’s low praise, melting further into a puddle of submission as he allowed Jungkook to toy with his worn-out entrance.

No matter how his peers perceived him to be inside of the bedroom, Tae loved letting the younger boss him around— belittle him, in a way.

Taehyung felt so small whenever he was under Jungkook’s control; it was pathetic how much his persona shifted in the snap of a finger. The boy was no longer the grumpy, asshole of a jerk that dismissed how others felt.

No, instead he became.. sensitive, breathless for air as he laid underneath Kook’s far more muscular body.

“Baby! T-that’s so— a-ahh.. so good..” Nonetheless, Tae was desperate to wrap around the veiny cock that ripped him away from his virginity, showcasing a whole new world of pleasure that Taehyung didn’t know even existed until Jungkook came along and showed him.

“Please.. please put it in me, Kook.. please.” He had tears in his eyes, finding the younger’s fingers filling as they quickly fidgeted inside of him.

Taehyungs begging was exactly what Jungkook needed to lose the last bit of patience he had left in him, not wasting a single second longer to pull his fingers out with a wet pop. He moved up into position on his knees, leaning over his boyfriend with his muscular body to get a good close up of the mess he's made of the man, all while using his fingers that were coated with Taes juices to run it down his veiny cock.

"You want this, hm?" Kook made it sound like he was about to tease again, but within the same second he drove his hips forward, letting the thick head of his cock push inside of Taehyung's stretched hole.

"Ah, fuck...yes.." he groaned, slowly filling the other male up until he was fully inside. The warm tightness made Jungkook's cock throb inside of Taehyung, keeping himself still for a second to relish in the feeling, "shit... four fingers stretching you and you're still so tight for me.."

Taehyung’s arms wrapped around his boyfriend’s neck as the latter gradually screwed deeper into him, moaning into the sweaty skin. His hole welcomed the younger’s pulsating cock with a compressed clench of his walls, the warmth securely wrapping around the shaft.

He circled his legs around Jungkook’s small waist, nudging him closer until he felt his boyfriend’s heavy balls press against him. Even then, that wasn’t enough.

“I love you so fucking much..” Taehyung mumbled into the crook of his neck, softly kissing at Jungkook’s Adam’s apple, prodding his nose against the clammy skin.

“You’re t-the best boyfriend in the world..” By now, Tae was simply spilling truthful nonsense.

He couldn’t seem to think clearly when Kook’s dick was planted inside of him, the tip resting against his prostate.

Jungkook felt his entire body shudder, well earned by the man below. The younger loved verbal confirmations, and the way Taehyung said every single word it was as if it gave him an eargasm.

Still warming his cock deep inside of Taes wonderful ass, he slowly begins to move as he hovers over his boyfriend. He keeps it gentle for now, his heavy breaths steady.

"I love you too...ah.." Kook withdrew his hips all the way, until just the tip was inside before snapping them forward, drawing out a low moan of his own. Taking it slow like this after such a buildup made him feel every little clench and throb of Taehyung's insides.

"You like this?" Jungkook asks, finding his slow rhythm to continuously hit that sweet spot-- but without any rush or intensity. This wasnt like before, he wasnt just fucking his boyfriend... this was them having sex-- making love.

Taehyung loves him.. Jungkook was savoring Taes body with his own all while the overwhelming emotions were swirling in his eyes.

Taehyung withdrew his arms from around the younger’s neck, instead softly cupping Jungkook’s face in between his hands, gazing up at his boyfriend’s concentrated eyes while he made love to him.

In a sweet moment like this, he noted how the space between Kook’s brows creased up in attentiveness, how his growing hair effortlessly fell down to his face— things Tae wouldn’t have normally taken notice of if he was getting hammered onto the bed.

“I like it, a lot..” He opened up his legs a little more, enjoying the slower pace this time around.

It was.. alleviating, in some way. To have Kook care for his body with such delicacy in his actions..

The elder craned his neck upwards to press a soft kiss onto the boy’s pouty lips, muffling a strained moan in the meanwhile.

“So good.. I love this— a-ah.. hmm..”

Jungkook's eyes fluttered shut, a quiet rumbling moan getting caught in Taes mouth as the younger kept coming back for more. He couldn't get enough of his lips.

"Feels so good," Kook breathes out when he withdraws from the kiss, his strong arms holding him up with a hand on each side of the elders head, his torso hovering over the male below him. Gradually, the movement of his hips sped up-- using his core strength to drive his entire length in and out of Taehyung,

Eager to draw more sounds of the elder, he kisses down his neck, once more giving the purple marks adorning his skin another addition to the collection before moving down further, his lips encasing Taehyung's nipple-- he wondered if he was just as sensitive as he was. Tonight was all about finding more ways to make his boyfriend feel absolutely amazing, to keep his mind off anything but Jungkook.

The elder’s fingernails grazed along the strong muscles in Jungkook’s back, squeezing and clawing at the latter’s shoulder blades whenever he was met by a harsh prod at his prostate.

“Ah fuck..”

There was not a remaining inch in Taehyung’s body that wasn’t sensitive under the younger’s commissions. He lewdly studied the way his boyfriend engulfed his perky nipple into his mouth, torso stuttering when Kook began to deliciously flick his tongue. That boy knew what he was doing..

“B-babe right there..!” His hips continued to meet Jungkook’s halfway, moaning his little heart out with every precise thrust. Taehyung forcefully lowered the younger’s body, feeling the boy’s chest heave against his own as the elder’s nails dragged along his back, sure to leave a few scratches.

“I-I’m gonna cum soon..” He breathed out against Jungkook’s temple, inhaling his scent whilst he readied himself for the upcoming explosion.

"Me too, shit... please, can I--fuck.." Jungkooks clammy chest rubbed against Taehyungs, providing a friction between their bodies, his stomach pressing against the elders cock with every thrust. His movements were precise, powerful yet soft. Full of love and the desire to make the man beneath him cum just from his cock consistently prodding at Tae's prostate.

"C-can I cum inside? Want to fill you up so badly.." he allowed a whiny moan to escape his lips, burying his nose in the crook of Taehyung's neck, his rhythm slowly losing it's consistency and instead replaced with needy thrusts.

The warmth of his cock getting squished in between their sweaty bodies drove Taehyung insane, jaw hanging slack whilst he roughly dragged his nails across Jungkook’s back.

“Y-yes,” He whined, “fill me up..”

Fuck, he was so close..

Tae’s shaky legs wrapped tighter around the younger’s waist, the heels of his feet digging into the latter’s sides for physical support— emotional, too.

His high-pitched moans were silenced by the bite on Jungkook’s shoulder, teeth gradually sinking deeper into the flexed skin as he held his boyfriend close.

Jungkook cried out a throaty moan at the various sensations driving him absolutely mad. Everything from the elders teeth biting his shoulder, to the scratches on his back, even their sweaty bodies just grinding together. But the best sensation of them all was the way Jungkook’s cock was tightly squeezed by the warmth of Taehyung's insides.

A few punishing thrusts followed, fucking into his boyfriend as deep as he was physically able to, low grunts and curses slipping past his lips,

"I love you, I love you, I fucking love you..!" Jungkook mindlessly repeated over and over in a barely audible whisper between his breathy groans, a particularly loud one following when his hips stuttered as he finally came inside. He kept his cock lodged inside of Taes ass, desperate to fill him up properly as his cock pulsated with every rope of his cum, filling him up with everything he could give.

Taehyung’s long, drawn out moan followed soon after, the skin of their lower stomachs covered in a puddle of his sticky mess.

“Ah..” He moaned at the feeling of the younger’s cum spilling into his insides, clenching down on his boyfriend’s limp cock to squeeze out whatever may be left.

His legs droopily fell to his sides, disconnecting themselves from Jungkook’s small waist.

“Babe, that was amazing..”

Taehyung’s nails were no longer clawing at Jungkook’s skin, instead he smoothed his palms over the fresh marks on his back, slender fingers occasionally grazing over the agitated spots.

As if it was the last time he’d ever see him again, Tae wrapped his arms around the younger, pulling him all the more close.

“I love you,” he whispered, wanting to permanently ink the words in Jungkook’s brain.

Taehyung didn’t want him to ever forget.

He didn’t mind that his boyfriend’s dick was still inside of him, the elder’s persona shifted to a more caring chapter.

“You did so good,” he pressed a wet smooch on Kook’s rosy cheek, brushing his fingers through his tangled hair.

“Thank you for loving me..” Taehyung glanced down at his face, giggling a little before focusing back on his boyfriend’s hair.

Jungkook grimaced at the burning sensation of the claw marks on his back, the feeling of them grew as he came back down from his sexual high. It was quickly forgotten however, when the elder pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek, the youngers shy mannerism crawling back to the surface in the form of a blush on his cheeks and a coy smile.

"I like this new side of you..." he exhaled quietly as he slipped out of his boyfriend, moving to lay down next to him on his back. His hand that was the closest to taehyung reached out to find his hand, intertwining their fingers as a sweet gesture.

"I always knew I loved you in a sense," he suddenly confessed, "but I think... since that first night in the gymnasium... you've grown so much, you know?" Jungkook glanced over at Taehyung, squeezing his hand affectionately, "And so did my feelings.. it's crazy."

Now it was Taehyung’s turn to blush, pushing through the itching nervousness as he continued to hold unwavering eye contact, carefully listening to Jungkook’s every word.

He squeezed the younger’s hand back, smiling at the compliment.

Every time Tae hears his boyfriend admit how much he’s grown.. it tugs at his heartstrings.

That phrase reassured him that he was capable of additional change, and by the sounds of it, change wasn’t an unattainable milestone for him to reach.

Taehyung wanted to be a better man than his father ever was.

That was something that's always scared him— ending up like his deadbeat of a dad.

Now, the elder was sure that would never happen to him.

He was growing little by little everyday, something his father never did.

“I.. I think I knew I had feelings for you all the way back in elementary school,” Taehyung chuckled, staring up at the ceiling whilst he reminisced.

“Remember that day, uh.. was it during recess? I don’t know, but I fell.. and you shared your banana milk with me? Saying how it’ll magically make me feel better or something like that..?” The sound of the elder’s amused laughter echoed in the otherwise quiet room, turning his head to look at Jungkook.

“I remember thinking, ‘this isn’t magical at all, I still feel like shit.’ I don’t know.. it’s stupid, but.. I guess that’s when I started wanting to talk to you more? I wanted to hold your hand.. and kiss you, and share your magical banana milk.”

His smile grew, turning over to his side to snuggle up against Kook’s chest.

“Anyways, I guess all I wanna say is.. ha, I loved you first~”

Jungkook's toothy grin widened at the memory, his heart beating faster at the elders counter confession. They've been through so much, done so much, and yet Taehyung managed to make Jungkook's heart race.

''I guess so, but I said it first,'' He embraced his boyfriend, stroking through his messy curls before placing a kiss on his head. Exhaustion gradually hit him, the day had been eventful after all. He was just glad it ended well.

''Babe?'' Kook used the pet name in a coy manner to draw Tae's attention to him, ''I just wanted to say... You can stay here as long as you'd like, okay?''

Preferably Jungkook would just say, move the fuck in with me, but... yeah, why not?

Just the thought of Taehyung going back home was frustrating. Especially after what had happened today.

Jungkook would do anything to keep him safe... And this is something he could offer.

Now he definitely would need that part time job he's been putting off for too long.

Taehyung snuggled closer to his boyfriend, looking up at him with so much profound adoration in his tired eyes..

Jungkook was the only good thing in his life at the moment.

“Okay,” the corners of his lips curled up into a thankful smile, draping one leg over the younger’s as he closed his eyes to the warmth radiating off of his chest.

“Goodnight, Kook.”

Taehyung pressed a kiss onto the boy’s neck, sooner than later allowing sleep to take over him.

That night, he slept like a baby. No worries, no tossing, just.. soundly.

Jungkook wraps his arm around Taehyung, responding immediately with a kiss at the crown of his head, murmuring his sleepy words.

"Goodnight Tae."

Jungkook stayed awake for a while, even though he was exhausted, chest heaving up and down slowly, the gentle movements rocking the elder to sleep.

His eyes fluttered close, but opened just as quickly when he remembered something.

'I'll be right back, noona.'

He’d forgotten about Jisoo.

Ah, fuck.... But she would understand, right?

#fic: Love maze #taekook smut #vkook smut #top jungkook #bottom taehyung #dom jungkook #sub taehyung #bts smut #bts mxm #taekook series #taekook school au #bts series #taekook fanfic #vkook fanfic #bts taekook

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mendaxiety · 4 years

Note

“After making all that fuss about how you wanted to be fucked hard, you’re whinning like a little baby.” with Virgil doing the fucking on Deceit?

Prompts || Not accepting! || N//S//F//W

Warnings: Noncon elements, dubcon, abusive / rough themes, unhealthy relationship, uuh one large fuck me up fam.

Janus has been at this all day, hardly getting more than a scornful look for his efforts. But, he is nothing if not tenacious, someone like him has to be, after all. The effort to convince one to lie, to present that lie as truth, it all takes an awful lot of work, so yes, Janus is determined, but he is not patient. Perhaps that’s why he resorts to less refined tactics. . . not that Virgil is unused to any of that, either.

The anxious side’s patience is about to snap, and along with it, a very unfortunate liar. But then, they both know that’s the backbone of this plan anyway, the final reward for this twisted game they indulge in. They’ve just indulged too much, someone a glutton for punishment and another a glutton for something. . .equally as damning. Neither of them will ever admit such a thing though, so they continue to dance around each other, pretending that glaring fact isn’t there, until they collide right into each other. . .full force.

Janus’s back hits the wall behind him, knocking the breath out of him with a sharp exhale. Virgil’s hands are like iron around his wrists, and he cracks open one eye to peer up at the other side, but he finds little amusement on Virgil’s face. Janus feels a smirk tug at his lips, and he allows the coy curve onto his mouth, if only to watch Virgil’s jaw tighten. “I swear to god,” Virgil starts, his voice low, dangerous, taking on that timbre that chases a shiver down Janus’s back. “I’ve had enough.”

“Oh?” Janus asks, only not really, just like he tugs on both his wrists, only not really. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m minding my own business,” Janus shoots a condescending glance up and down Virgil. “It’s not my problem you can’t control your own temper.” Janus feels that grip on his wrists tighten, ever so slightly, but that glitter of violet is in his Virgil’s eyes, a brief gleam; a knife unsheathing, just as cold and twice as sharp. It’s a warning, no words needed, Janus still hears the silent “Watch It” that’s spoken from that one look.

“Why don’t I show you what I can control?” Virgil says, his voice dropping, much like his mouth as it hovers by Janus’s ear, a hint of cold, a hint of teeth. Virgil has been stretched terribly thin lately, it really hardly takes any work to rile him like this. Maybe Virgil thinks Janus doesn’t notice those fleeting glances, the curl of his lip that shows off a hint of fang, a hint of hunger. “Oh, I forgot, it’s not my problem you’re too desperate to ask for what you really want.” Virgil smiles coldly, watching Janus’s mismatched eyes widen a fraction, and it’s something Virgil loves so much—watching Deceit get caught, watching him tangle himself in his own lies.

“Fuck you,” Janus hisses, Virgil’s words stealing his breath away just like the hit against the wall had. Virgil’s grin sharpens, darkens, and Janus’s heart is in his throat, the sound almost tangible. . .snap. Virgil descends on Janus’s mouth, the violent, angry action almost undeserving of even being called a kiss. Janus groans when fangs cut across his bottom lip, impatiently forcing entry, and as Virgil’s tongue snakes into his mouth, the tang of blood follows. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, hungry and messy.

Janus tugs harder at his wrists this time, actually trying to get free so he can reach at Virgil, tug at his clothes. Virgil growls into the kiss, the sound rolling like thunder down Janus’s back and prompting him to arch forward, chest gluing to Virgil’s own. There’s a swish of wind, a swoop of his stomach, but Janus hasn’t opened his eyes to watch the rooms change; he can tell by the sudden darkness, the sudden chill, that Virgil has sunk them into his own room. The kiss is broken and they pant into each other’s mouths, the pause so brief, but when Janus blinks open his eyes to look at Virgil, it seems to last forever.

Without warning, Virgil uses the grip he has on Janus’s wrists to yank, drawing a startled cry from the lying side as Virgil shoves him to the side and down onto the bed. Immediately, Janus tries to find his balance, tries to sit up, but Virgil is on him in seconds. His mouth finds Janus’s again, unrelenting as he snags a handful of Janus’s shirt, pulling him in close. Janus’s chest is tight already from trying to catch his breath, and he reaches up to tangle his fingers in Virgil’s hair, dark, darker than the rest. . .

Virgil is shoving clothes off and out of the way, and when Janus thinks he hears fabric ripping, he rolls his eyes. “Desperate loves company, or have you lost control already? Maybe you never even had it—”

A hand wraps around Janus’s throat, cold but steady, and it squeezes. Janus’s voice cuts off with a cracked gasp, eyes fluttering shut as Virgil throws him back down to the mattress and pins him there. He slides off his jacket and shirt where they’re only hanging off him by a shoulder, and Janus lets his gaze drip down Virgil’s body as he prowls above him; he’s coming undone, Janus knows it, has known it. He can always sense it coming, always gets to Virgil first. He’s the only one who can take this side of Virgil, the only one to know this part of him…this part is his.

Virgil feels Janus swallow, throat bobbing beneath his palm where he keeps it clutched around the lying side’s neck, slowly scraping his nails down into green scales. Janus shudders, bucking up into Virgil as that shooting, odd sensation flares at his neck, that feeling Janus can never tell is good or bad, but what he can tell is that Virgil doesn’t care. With careless hands, Virgil twists Janus over onto his belly, keeping one hand on the back of his neck as he briefly stretches away, as if reaching for something. There’s a pause, only for Janus to regain some breath, before he feels Virgil move again.

Virgil settles behind Janus, and with one knee slid between his thighs, forces Janus to spread his own knees far apart. Virgil brings a hand down hard on the pert ass presented to him, and the little yip it earns him makes his cock twitch, slick with the lubricant he reached for. “Bite the sheets,” Virgil growls the warning, far from the mood for bothering with flowery pleasantries. Janus takes it this way all the time, he likes it this way, it’s almost the only way it’s ever done. Nothing slow, nothing gentle, nothing pretty.

Janus opens his mouth, just in time to sink his teeth into the bunched up sheets below him. That warning is the only one he gets before Virgil’s hand is on his hip, and then he’s shoving forward and yanking Janus backwards, forcing reluctant muscles to spread too fast and too rough. Janus screams, teeth grit into the sheets to muffle it, but that does little to ease the pain shooting up his back as Virgil forces himself inside. It aches, it aches hot and deep, and even Janus can feel himself quivering in a struggling bid to relax and try to loosen up. Virgil does still, just for a beat, smoothing one hand up Janus’s back, scratching his nails against scales and admiring black against green. “Always feel so good,” he hisses under his breath, almost to not be heard, perhaps not wanted to be heard.

Janus clings to the blankets when Virgil starts to move, too soon, but he’s not asking Janus. Virgil feels those hot muscles cling tight to his cock, and he shoves himself back inside, setting up for a brutal pace. Each slow pull out is countered with a hard thrust forward that buries his cock in one go, until bit by bit, Virgil is rutting into Janus almost wildly, scratching down the man’s back and not noticing when his nails catch on certain scales to draw blood. Janus does his best, his fucking best, to bite into the sheets and muffle his voice; but he can feel the blankets growing wetter beneath his face, though he tried to ignore his cheeks getting wet.

Virgil hears a choked sob and glances up, panting for breath, but his lips still curve into that near predatory smile. “After making all that fuss to get fucked hard, you’re whining like this?” Virgil says, and neither of them miss the mocking croon to his voice. “You asked for it, this was all you were here for.” Virgil’s voice lowers into a growl again, and Janus flinches when he feels the hands clawing into his hips tighten. Virgil stills, hips shuddering just before Janus feels the other man reach his peak, spilling sticky heat inside. Fuck, Janus hates that feeling. He does.

Slowly, the only slowness of the night, Virgil withdraws, glancing down at Janus’s red and raw entrance as he leaves it a little gaped from the abuse. Virgil slides his hand off Janus’s back, off his hips, and straightens up, leaving the other side to roll carefully onto his side, trembling a bit in the aftermath. Janus winces, aching, sore, thighs closed tight to viciously ignore his own cock. He listens instead as Virgil cleans off, catches his breath, and redresses, all while never sparing Janus a look. “Be gone by the I come back,” Virgil says, and the door shutting punctuates his warning.

It’s always like this. Janus scrubs the backs of his hands over his face, willfully ignoring the sink of his stomach, the throb of his body, ignoring all of it as he struggles to his own feet. It’s his shirt that had torn earlier, he discovers, but he dresses anyway. He can get to his room before anyone else sees; no one will question it, anyway. It’s always been like this. It’s how they do things. Janus doesn’t think either of them want to change it.

Janus doesn’t think either of them know how to change it.

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