#i do think my eyes have been opened to the miracle that is double strike grizzly

[skull-storm-daily]

5/28/2022 (mantis deck)

[blu-joons]

Our Little Girl ~ Jeon Jungkook

Pairing: Expecting Dad!Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: Slightly descriptive pregnancy, labour and birth

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Your little girl has been what the two of you have dreamt of for so long, finally the time has come to welcome her into the world with Jungkook by your side.

“You know, for a man that’s about to raise a daughter for the next eighteen years at least, you’re looking rather cocky.”

Jungkook could only smile from the other side of the room as a grimace danced upon your face at the feeling of another contraction hitting you. You’d lost count of the hours you’d been almost doubled over in bed some time ago, barely able to keep your eyes open at the excruciating pain that you found yourself in. With each passing breath, the gaps of relief that came between contractions became smaller and smaller, almost unbearable.

You’d watched plenty of documentaries before your pregnancy to know what to expect, and yet as you found yourself staring forwards at the figure of your husband, keeping his distance from your growing temper, none of what you saw on the television seemed to play out before you. Under watery eyes, you could just make out the time on the clock hanging just above Jungkook’s head, 3:15am.  You scoffed at the sight, doubting even in yourself how much longer you could go through such an ordeal. Despite the several months you’d had to lead up to this moment, not a single part of it could truly prepare you for what was to come.

As another struck against the pit of your stomach, Jungkook raced back across to your side, resting his hands over your reddened ones that gripped tightly onto the rails beside your bed. Murmurs of encouragement came from him, words you’d listened to him repeat for countless hours, and still each time they somehow managed to make your heart a little bit happier. As he counted you through the breaths to see you through, his free hand brushed over your hair, ignoring the beads of sweat that had formed in your hairline as best as he possibly could, focusing on the task at hand and being the best possible husband instead.

“You’re doing so incredibly well,” he whispered as he noticed that the pain was beginning to subside once again, offering you the best possibly smile he could muster, hiding his own feelings of exhaustion that were beginning to come through. Your head nodded, tilting slightly to the left, biting down on your bottom lip until you were sure that the contraction had subsided. A small wriggle from your little one let you know they were done for the time being, waiting patiently, or impatiently, to make their grand entrance.

“You’re getting close now,” your midwife called out, stood in the doorway, keeping an eye on the corridor as she had done for most of the evening, and night. “I must admit, I’ve not seen many women get through labour as well as you have for quite some time Y/N.”

“I’m not really left with much of an alternative to get through it right now,” you sighed, throwing your body back against the bed, allowing the sweat ridden sheets to wrap around you. The end never seemed to quite be in sight, no matter how many times her cheery voice suggested otherwise. In fact, if Jisoo wasn’t quite such a sweetheart, you’d have probably given her what for a long time ago with all of her reassurances.

“She’s a strong girl, I always told you that,” Jungkook whispered from the side of you, grinning proudly across at the elder woman. “So strong I think I might end up having to take up one of your beds soon with a couple of broken knuckles, are women supposed to squeeze this hard when they’re in labour?”

Jisoo’s head nodded, having told you about her four kids several times throughout the night, she had experience on both sides. She’d seen it all, broken hands, broken noses, but best of all, hundreds of humans enter the world.  

“Y/N you do what you want, ignore your husband,” she teased.

Once again, your head could only manage a nod, too consumed by the everchanging feelings that were going on around your bump to truly pay much attention to what was being said around you. The beep of the heart monitor, murmurs of passers-by, shrieks of other women in the ward all seemed to amalgamate into one at this point.

“I don’t think we’ll have to wait around much longer for baby to arrive,” she advised the two of you, “but things are only going to get worse, are you sure that I can’t get you anything?”

“No,” you muttered, despite a concerned Jungkook looking down at your tired figure, “I said that I was going to try and do this naturally, and until I can’t take it anymore, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“No one would think any less of you if you wanted an epidural,” Jungkook reminded you, moving his hand back across to rest over your now much calmer one. “Or maybe gas if you’re not feeling a needle? We saw it on that programme, remember?”

“We spent an hour laughing at a woman too high to even push,” you scolded, shaking your head at the memory. It had tickled you at the time, but the more you thought about not being able to remember your baby’s birth like she had, the more off-putting it became.

“It’s all here just in case,” Jisoo spoke up anyway, pointing across to a small table that was at the back of the delivery room, “too many women change their minds last minute and then we have to leap into action with it all.”

“I bet you might end up having another case like that, she’s a stubborn one,” Jungkook joked.

“Excuse me, I’ll have you- “

You were cut off by another pain stabbing against your side, hurling your body forwards, instantly gripping tighter onto Jungkook’s hand, causing him to yelp. He sat further up in his seat, throwing his free arm around your back, tracing circles against the exposed bit of skin your hospital gown showed off. Your body didn’t have much time to react, snapping your eyes around to look at Jungkook, searching for any bit of help he could offer. Instead, he could only stare helplessly back at you, there was nothing that he could do to truly take away your pain, nothing that would make the experience better for you in that moment, instead all he could promise was to be the best possible father and husband once your little girl eventually decided to come into the world.

As the pain fell aside once again, you leant across to rest against Jungkook’s shoulder, soaking his grey tee, not that he minded, pressing a kiss against the top of your head.

“So strong,” he whispered against your skin, as he had done tens, if not hundreds of times since your water broke in the very early hours of the previous day.

“I feel so weak,” you hummed in response to him, loosening your grip against his hand once again, holding onto only his index finger, admiring the tattoos that he wore so proudly. “I always thought I was strong Kook, but even this might be too much for me.”

His head shook instantly at your words, searching across to Jisoo for a small piece of reassurance that could remind you how good of a job you were doing in delivering your miracle.

“Soon,” her voice called out, although it wasn’t much, it was a small bit of hope that you could hold onto that your ordeal would be done soon. You adored Jungkook, but the calls of the professional who had taken such good care of you made you feel a lot better in an instant.

“Soon,” Jungkook reiterated, tightening the hold that he had around your waist, inviting you to relax into his side as opposed to the bed that you’d been on for hours. “This will all be worth it; you just have to remember that through the hard times.”

Another hum came from you, tracing aimlessly against his calloused skin. “I wish it was as easy for me to believe that as it is for you to say it right now.”

“Y/N,” he whispered, kissing against your forehead once again, “please don’t start giving up on any of this right now.”

“I’m just tired,” you whined, fighting the urge to give your eyes even a second to close out of fear of what might happen if you did. “Every part of me is so tired right now.”

“I get it,” Jungkook assured you, refusing to let you go through the fight alone, “I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this is for you right now my love.”

“Are you sure it’s too late for us to swap positions?” You joked, trying to remove the negativity that ran through your mind, “I think you’d love to be in labour secretly.”

“You know I would if I could, in a heartbeat,” he sniggered, raising his free hand up innocently, “it’s just such a shame that you’re the one that’s got to go through this. Trust me though, it’s not easy being a spectator, seeing you in so much pain is breaking my heart, I can only watch in awe of what an incredible woman you are.”

“You’ve got a good one there, Y/N,” Jisoo called out as she busied herself in the room, paperwork in hand, unable to stop herself tuning into your conversation. “You’d be surprised how many husbands sit back and relax during a time like this.”

“See, you’ve got a good one,” Jungkook continued to joke, tapping lightly against your arm, “can I get that in writing to remind her of this when this is all over?”

“I can change my mind,” Jisoo responded, drawing a light giggle out of you as the two of them continued to exchange innocent threats for a few minutes, until you chose to interrupt.

The mood of the room instantly turned sombre as a loud groan came from you, leaning forwards once again, breathing under the command of your husband. Whilst Jisoo continued to notice how much quicker your contractions came, Jungkook was solely focused on you, counting each time, resting his hands where you needed them, offering his shoulder back for you to rest on as soon as the contraction finished once again.

“I think I’ve decided something,” you whispered across to Jungkook once you’d caught your breath, “we are definitely only having the one child.”

“But I thought we agreed on an army,” he smirked, earning himself a slap against the bicep from you, although with your strength, the strike was pretty weak, even by your own high standards. Still, Jungkook grabbed at his arm, gasping at the sudden strength that had come over you. “Jisoo will tell you, I bet loads of women say that, but once they remember how sexy their husbands are, a quick trip to the bedroom, and suddenly baby number two comes along.”

“Have you ever met a man who makes sex sound so unappealing?” You asked Jisoo before she even had the time to respond to Jungkook’s comment. “It’s rather confident of you to assume that you’re that sexy anyway.”

Rather than answer either of you, Jisoo made her way across to you, asking Jungkook to give the two of you a bit of space as she checked how far dilated you were. You’d counted down almost every single centimetre, as if your little girl enjoyed teasing you before she was even a part of your world. Each time you hoped for the magic number, but each time Jisoo had muttered something else. You’d almost lost onto your last stretch of hope, that was until you looked across, noticing a wry smile etched across her face.

Before she even said the words, you knew exactly what the smile meant. As if your contractions hadn’t made things obvious enough, the expression on her face was the final touch you needed to know that at last that end was somewhat in sight. Once she called Jungkook back across to your side, his eyes locked with yours, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile, extending his arm out for your hand to intertwine with his. The relief was clear on your face, and in your hold, your body was in turmoil, but now it seemed as if you could finally begin to settle.

You were all too aware that there was a long road ahead of you, but just the thought of pushing appealed to your body and every part of you that was crying out for a rest.

“Ten centimetres,” Jungkook whispered beside you, “I bet that feels pretty good.”

“It feels pretty good,” you smirked, keeping your eyes on him as he sat back down in the chair at your bedside. “I had no idea the body could stretch as big as this, it’s surreal.”

Although he hadn’t taken too close of a look at everything that was going on at the foot of your bed, Jungkook had done enough research to know just how your body was changing. From the very first sign of a bump, Jungkook had waited impatiently for the moment that he finally got to see your little girl come into the world, the final change that would complete what the two of you had dreamt of for so many months.

“I love you,” his voice then whispered, just as your eyes looked away from his and down to your bump, “and our baby, I love our baby too.”

“I love you too,” you smiled, quickly looking back at him, “our little one is the luckiest girl in the world to have you.”

What came over the next few minutes felt like a blur to you, several instructions were sent your way, your body reshuffled with your legs propped up, pillows placed behind your back, and a towel dabbed against your head, but one thing remained, the hold of Jungkook’s hand tightly against yours, refusing to leave your side as the first few pushes began.

“This is ridiculous,” you huffed, just after the first few. You’d hoped for some sort of immediate impact, but your baby made no sign of movement instead. If you hadn’t spent hours laid in the hospital bed, you would have given up there and then, but there was one man that was never going to let you do that.

“Patience,” was all that Jungkook had to say, desperate to try and calm you down as he noticed how flustered you became. His hands pressed against your red cheeks before wiping underneath your watery eyes, failing to withhold the pressures that were placed before you.

Whilst labour was never something you expected to be a walk in the park, you could never have prepared yourself for the overwhelming feelings of pain that you’d end up enduring throughout your labour.

“If I push one more time, my body is going to cave,” you admitted, leaning against the cold metal of the rail against the bed. Jungkook’s head instantly shook, moving his arm around you to pick you back up, holding your back against the palm of his large hand.

“You’re far too strong to give up now,” he smiled, standing up from his chair to press a kiss against the side of your head, “there’s still pain relief if you want it, no one is going to think any less of you if that’s what you choose to do,” he reminded you once again, but still your head shook, you’d had plans for how your labour was going to go, and a natural birth was always top of your list of things that you wanted to see through. “Just hold my hand, and don’t break any of my bones and I promise that we’ll get through this together.”

Your eyes rolled at his warning, pinching especially hard against his hand to keep him on his toes, and make sure that he kept his mouth shut too.

“I’m only messing with you,” he whimpered, shaking at your hand for you to loosen your grip around him. “Just try and keep positive babe, we’ve jumped over too many hurdles over the past day to give up now. This one might just be a little bit bigger, but I know more than anything else in the world that you’re going to get over it.”

Your eyelids slowly fluttered shut, letting go of a shaky breath in the hope that it would keep you so composed. Rather than focus on the pain that came from your bump, your mind focused on the traces that Jungkook ran along the back of your hand, just like you’d done against his only a couple of hours ago.

“I just want to hold her and be done with this,” you continued to vent, opening your eyes back up, flinching slightly at the bright lights that came from all four corners of the room you’d somehow ended up calling home.

“I mean it when I say not much longer this time,” Jisoo smiled from the foot of the bed, perched on a stool, keeping a close eye on proceedings. “It’s natural to feel like you want to throw in the towel, there’s often a bit of a wait between dilation and pushing, not feeling anything can sometimes feel worse than the pain of a contraction.”

“You’re spot on,” you responded, forcing the smallest of smiles to your face, hearing a gentle giggle come from Jungkook. “At least the pain let me know that she was definitely moving.”

As if on cue, your baby began to make her presence known again, with Jungkook rising to his feet once again when he noticed how quickly you shot forwards. His arm reached out across your chest to stop you moving too far forwards, just as Jisoo had advised.

Something about this contraction just felt different for you though, as if your little girl was giving you a sign that she really was on her way. Although you couldn’t feel her drop, the pain certainly did. The smile on your face instantly captured Jungkook’s attention, unsure if he should worry, or be pleased to see a sign of happiness in your expression.

“I can feel her,” you whispered across to him before he even had the chance to ask, “it’s like she’s letting me know she’s on her way Kook.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” He anxiously queried, looking across to Jisoo who’s head nodded. “She really is on her way, our little girl.”

“Our little girl,” you repeated, feeling his hands press to either side of your face, just managing to press the softest of kisses against your puckered lips before another contraction hit. His left arm instantly moved around your waist as his right hand held onto yours, it had become second nature for Jungkook now to step each time that your body called out for him, a murmur of his name was all that he needed to know exactly what you wanted from him, and as another contraction passed, he was relieved when he could sit back down again.

As soon as it passed, both you and Jungkook stared across to Jisoo, desperate for any sort of update she had on how things were going.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” she assured you, “plenty of pushes coming up Y/N.”

“R-really?”

“Hey,” a deep voice whispered beside you, brushing his thumb back across the pad of your hand, drawing your eyes across to him with the sound of your voice. “It’s going to be alright, we’ve talked about all of this, the two of us are here, and very soon our little girl will be here soon, remember why you’re doing this Y/N.”

“Pushing feels so real,” you slightly chuckled, feeling the beat of your heart quicken in your chest, “are you sure it’s really time to push?”

“Absolutely,” a cheery Jisoo smiled from the foot of the bed, repositioning your legs slightly so that you were a little more stretched out. “When the next contraction comes, I want you to take a big deep breath, and then lots of little pushes, let your body guide you rather than you guide your body. Listen to my voice, and most of all, listen to Jungkook too, he sounds like he has all the right things to say to you.”

“That’s exactly how we got into this position,” you sighed, shooting a glare in his direction.

“Unfortunately, it’s exactly how you’re going to get out of this position too,” Jisoo grinned, shaking her head as Jungkook leaned forwards to try and give her a high five. “Just support your wife,” she smiled, “I’ve spent less then a day with this guy and I’m struggling to see how you’ve managed to put up with him for so many years.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” you called out, just as another contraction came. The mutters of ‘push,’ that came from both of the people beside you instantly set your body in motion, clutching tightly onto the rail, and Jungkook’s hand as you tried to push down as best as you could, grimacing at the pain.

By the time the contraction had passed, you could feel how quickly your bottom lip was beginning to swell, pouting across at Jungkook, who was unable to hide his surprise when he noticed how red your lip was.

“Still beautiful,” he complimented, leaning forwards once again to press a kiss against the reddened skin, “and so strong too. Who knew I managed to marry such a strong woman?” He questioned, receiving no answer from either of you. It came as little surprise to him, instead he grabbed the towel that was beside him and dabbed it gently over your forehead, and your lip too, trying to make the swelling as minimal as possible before you bit down again.

As another contraction soon came around, you couldn’t quite get your head around at how surreal it was suddenly all becoming. You’d sat with your little girl nested in your tummy for two days short of nine months, and now you could slowly feel her making her way down to enter the world. All of the fears and the doubts that you’d had about labour had been torn apart, your dreams had been blown so far out of proportion, no part of what you were doing felt real anymore. But for the two of you, it felt like the best, and worst, experience in the world, the pain had been hard, but slowly it was beginning to feel as if it was worth it for you both.

When the next contraction came around, the sound of Jisoo’s voice stopped you from biting down on your bottom lip, feeling her hand move a little further up your leg, carefully pushing your legs a little further apart, surprising even you by how flexible you suddenly were.

“I can feel something,” you nervously whispered, looking across to Jungkook who was trying to get the best look he could at what was going on from beside you.

“No need to worry,” Jisoo instantly replied to you, “but I can definitely see the first signs of your little girl.”

“Really?” You chuckled, feeling Jungkook’s head turn to look back across at you. His eyes looked at you for permission, as your head slowly nodded, encouraging him to stand up from his seat and walk across, peering over your leg to where the first sightings of your little one’s head could be seen. A quiet gasp came from Jungkook, squeezing gently against your hand, feeling his eyes watering at the sight before him.

“She already looks beautiful,” he whispered up to you, “I can’t believe she’s all ours Y/N.”

“I wish I could see,” you chuckled, trying your hardest to look past your bump, but failing with ease. You couldn’t help but laugh, remembering all the times you’d failed to see your feet, or bend down to change your shoes, only now, at the most important time, your bump had stopped you from getting your first glimpse of your little girl. A small part of you couldn’t help but be slightly envious that Jungkook had such a clear view from beside you of everything that was going on.

However, as soon as your next contraction hit, Jungkook’s attentions were turned straight back to you, sitting back down in a heartbeat as more encouraging whispers came from him. He’d never told you how proud and how in love he was with you than he had done today, but he also knew he could never love you more than the moment you brought his child into the world.

The late nights, early mornings, and everything that came in between during your pregnancy had been hard on you both, but everything that you needed from Jungkook, he did with a smile. He could never appreciate enough how incredible your body was to carry his little girl, to nurture her so perfectly and give her such good health. There was simply never going to be enough that he could do to repay you for everything that you’d given him over the last nine months, and for the rest of his life too.

“Y/N, keep pushing!” Jisoo’s voice called out, snapping you out of the small daydream that you found yourself in. By the sound of her voice, you knew that something significant was happening, with adrenaline the only thing keeping you going, you did as she said, pushing as hard as you could, paying close attention to the sound of Jungkook’s voice, the only thing that had kept you going through out.

“She’s coming,” he whispered, flickering his eyes between you and your baby, noticing how quickly she seemed to be arriving. Your head nodded, repeating his words over and over again in your head, the only boost of motivation that you needed to dig in to somewhere you didn’t know you had, using up every last ounce of energy that you possibly could.

“Kook,” you whimpered, as you felt the contraction begin to collapse again.

“Just one more,” Jisoo then called out.

“You can do it,” he urged, leaning closer in towards you.

Although your head shook, your body still pushed, and soon the cries of your little girl could be heard ringing throughout the room, as tears fell from both yours and Jungkook’s eyes, feeling his hand slip out of yours so that you could collapse down against the bed.

“I love you, you’re incredible,” he chimed, giving you a moment before leaning over you, brushing the hair out of your face, coupled with a lingering kiss against your forehead, ignoring the droplets of tears that fell from his cheeks against your own. “She’s here Y/N.”

In just a matter of moments, Jungkook moves away from your side, replaced with your little girl settling against your bare chest, with Jisoo dabbing away at her to remove the markings of blood, stretching out of her limbs and making sure to clear out her airways.

As your eyes looked down at her for the very first time, your breath was taken by what was before you. “Wow,” was all you could whisper as you studied every fine detail of the bundle you held tightly against your chest. “Look at you,” you soon added, sniffling back the tears that fell.

Jungkook’s hand reached across, wiping underneath your eyes, perching himself on the end of his bed. He used the tip of his thumb to trace over the top of her head, feeling along her arms, staring in awe of how tiny each digit of her hand was. Neither of you could look away from her, all expectation you had had been succeeded, unable to comprehend what you had just endured.

“Our little girl,” Jungkook whispered, leaving a kiss against the top of your head with his words. It had been the saying you’d had for her since the moment you found out it was a girl that you were expecting, and yet somehow neither of you could correlate that the little girl you’d wished for was finally in front of you both.

“Congratulations,” Jisoo spoke after a few moments, scribbling down on some papers attached to her clipboard. “I’ll give you both a second to adjust, you’re new parents after all.”

“We’re parents,” Jungkook muttered in a moment of disbelief, continuing to stare wide-eyed at your daughter, silently reiterating the promises he’d made to her most nights when he laid beside your bump, trying to help you get to sleep. Although she was still attached to you for a moment through the umbilical cord, his body was itching to get his first hold of his little girl, feel the body and the heart he was going to protect for the rest of his life. “Thank you,” he whispered across to you once he finally looked away from her, “it’s never going to be enough, but thank you for being so strong, and for being the best wife, and mum in the world.”

“How can you say that when I’ve only been a mum for five minutes?” You teased, bringing a smile to Jungkook’s face. His eyes rolled at the chuckle that followed your question, knowing if it wasn’t for your little one, he’d be attacking your side in an instant.

“I just know, call it instinct,” he assured you, “and I’m going to make sure that this little girl knows what a special mummy she’s got to. I’ll never let her take you for granted, just like I never will, ever again. I’m in your debt forever, nothing can make up for all of this.”

“You know, we can’t call her our little girl forever,” you hummed, noticing how quickly Jungkook’s eyes lit up at the mention of her name. Several had been exchanged between the two of you, and yet one always seemed to stand out to you both, almost as if it was just meant to be, her name was her destiny.

“Is it still the one that you want?” Jungkook asked, making sure you didn’t have any doubts.

“Just looking at her, she suits it,” you hummed, taking any excuse that you could to get a glance of your daughter. “Don’t you think, it’s perfect for her?”

Jungkook’s head nodded, leaning across your body to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, treating her as if she was the most delicate thing in the world. As her name fell from his lips for the very first time, Jungkook knew you were right, it was perfect for her, and the perfect name to complete your family too.

“Can you believe we have her forever?” You asked him, brushing your thumb over the top of her head, “we don’t ever have to give this one back, or keep her only for a night. We never have to let her go, she’s ours, always.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever believe that I’ve been so blessed with the two of you,” he giggled in his confession, “every day, my little girl, and my incredible wife, I will love you.”

“She’ll have you wrapped around her finger in no time, I bet,” you laughed, “if she’s anything like you, we might as well enjoy the peace and quiet for now, because she’ll be causing trouble in no time.”

“I hope she takes after you,” Jungkook acknowledged, staring back at you, “everyone will fall in love with her, just like I did with you.”

“Do you still love me after I almost broke your hand?” You teased, staring across at his still slightly reddened hand.

“Y/N, I have never loved you more than I do right now, and I’ll love you more and more every day. You’ve given me the greatest gift, love just isn’t enough.”

“We love you too,” you smiled across to him, feeling his lips peck against yours.

“I’ll never tire of hearing that.”

---

Masterlist

[sukirichi]

earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it.  But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

[sockablock]

(TW for panic attacks and discussions about trauma)

— — —

The thing is, Beau's friends are shit fighters.

To be clear—she's not saying that they're bad at fighting, gods know Veth's a force of nature with her crossbow and all of the spell-slingers can kill with a word—it's just that when it comes to fighting, actual fighting, that down-and-dirty fist-on-flesh shit, her friends suck. Most of 'em just run, or they’d sweet-talk a surrender, or go back to slinging spells.

Beau would never admit she misses the Soul, but at least those people knew how to block. At least Dairon would make her work for it, wouldn't tell her to please, gods, Beau, stop punching me, I give!

Fjord's better these days, but not good enough.

Which is why, on their third morning back in Nicodranas, when Beau opens the door to see Yasha looking restless, she knows exactly what's up.

"Should I get my staff?"

Yasha shrugs. She usually does.

"I'll grab it. Down in five."

Beau considers grabbing some toast too, but she remembers how antsy Yasha seemed and figures she should try to avoid puking in Marion’s yard.

Yasha is stretching when she gets there. The gate swings behind her with a gentle clunk, and she kicks her shoes off, curls her toes in the grass. The sun is barely broken above rooftops and towers, and the first chime of church bells ring out overhead.

Beau yawns a little, but it’s just for flavor. Mind games. She’s not actually sleepy.

“We do not have to—” 

She quickly waves her hand. “It’ll wake me up. You know, get the blood pumping.”

Yasha smiles a little at that. It’s always such a small one, but it’s getting to be familiar.

“I got up early. I couldn’t sleep. Er...sorry.”

Beau doubles her effort to be dismissive. “Don’t apologize to me, Yasha. C’mon. You think I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to?”

This seems to be a winning argument. Yasha nods, like she can’t imagine Beau doing anything she doesn’t want.

Maybe it’s the crisp ocean breeze, maybe it’s the way they circle each other in the yard. Maybe it’s the fresh brush of gauze on her fists.

Beau wants to win.

She dives in, pulls low, uses her quick movement to catch Yasha off-guard and get in as closely as she can. Yasha’s tall, broad, strong as an ox, and even holding back, she could wind Beau with a punch. She presses even closer, limiting Yasha’s motions, sweeps out a leg and cuts up when Yasha moves. The two of them duck and weave and push, neither allowing the other an inch, fists flying, blows being blocked and sweat beginning to pour down their backs. Beau lands a hit that leaves Yasha grunting, then stumbles when a wild haymaker knocks her back. It’s clear that Yasha was never taught any form, just scraped it all together by surviving on the moors and her chaotic movement, high endurance, and reckless confidence just make her deadlier.

Beau tries to close in again, but a lucky kick forces her a pace too far. Her knuckles are bruising in that numb, seething way, and so she darts to the side, grabs her staff, vaults up and then arcs her foot to Yasha’s face—

The dance starts again, this time hardwood hitting forearms and on anyone else, Beau might even feel guilty about it. But Yasha barely seems to register the thwack, her teeth bared in a sideways grin, her eyes hard and excited and alive. Beau’s probably wearing the same expression. She hears herself laughing, and knows that she is. Up-swing, down-swing, slide left, throw a punch, block one, dart back, duck and then—

Yasha’s fist catches her right in the gut, sends Beau lurching flat into the dirt. She chokes her own breath, coughs up dust, barely gets an elbow up with Yasha leaning over her, blotting out the sun, raising Beau’s staff for a finishing strike—

Halts.

It’s like watching a tower fall. Yasha staggers back. She drops the staff. She lifts her hands and stares at her palms and Beau hears a mangled breath. Her knees give. She collapses on herself.

Beau scrambles up, aching limbs forgotten.

“Yasha?” she says. “Yasha? Are you—is—what’s wrong?”

Yasha sucks in more air, but that just seems to make things worse. Her shoulders tremble and her lungs sound ragged.

“Aw, shit,” says Beau, “I mean—fuck—uh—”

She half-runs, half-crawls, ‘til she’s at Yasha’s side. She wants to put her hand on Yasha’s arm, thinks better of it, panics a little more. She wishes she were Jester. She wishes she were Cad. They’d know what to do, they’d be better at this than her, anyone, hell, Marius would be better at this than her—

But it’s her, and everyone’s still in the house, so she shakes her head and stamps the fear down. 

“Yasha, I...aw, fuck, I’m—I’m here, it’s okay, nothing’s wrong—” clearly something is wrong, idiot, “—I mean, um, you’re safe here, okay? It’ll be alright. I’m here, and I’ll stay if that’s what you want, okay? I won’t go anywhere, if you don’t want. Uh...can you shake your head if you want me to go? Is that...possible, can you—”

A frantic shake.

“Oh good, okay, thank fuck, then I’m here. I’m right here, Yash. I’m not going anywhere.” She tries to pitch her voice calm, takes deep, long breaths, and continues to murmur as reassuringly as she can until after...seconds? Minutes? Yasha’s trembling slows. 

There’s a pause. Yasha inhales and lets it go. It’s shaky, but apparently good enough because finally, eventually, she turns and looks back at Beau.

“I’m...okay. I am okay.”

Beau sinks back into the grass. Then she lies down. “Oh, cool. I’m, uh, glad.”

“I’m so—”

She holds up a hand. “Nope. C’mon.” She pats the ground beside her.

“Er...what?”

She pats it again, emphatic. “Lie down. C’mon. I think we’ve earned a break.”

She stares up at the sky while Yasha shifts around, and eventually there’s a gentle thud as she lies down. Seagulls cry in the distance and clouds drift slowly past their heads.

Beau swears, but mentally. A private thing.

“So, uh...do we...want to talk about it, or...?”

Yasha is quiet for a moment. That’s not surprising. Then:

“It...reminded me of when I killed you.”

“What? Oh—” 

“Almost killed you,” Yasha amended. “Both times.”

“Right,” says Beau. “That’s...right.”

She thinks about saying—almost. You only almost killed me, so really it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. And you kill people all the time anyway, right?

She blinks. “Wait, you kill people all the time, Yasha. Is it always that bad? Shit, does it always...does it always make you feel like this? Only...I don’t think I’ve ever seen you...break like that...”

She regrets the words immediately. Stupid, Beau, that’s a stupid thing to say. 

But Yasha answers the question earnestly. “It’s usually different,” she says to the sky. “It usually...doesn’t matter. Er...no, not that it doesn’t matter, it just...”

“Doesn’t matter,” Beau sighs. “No, I...sort of get it. Man, that might be fucked up. Of us.”

Yasha shrugs, which rustles the grass. “It’s how it has always been for me. That is just what life is like.”

“I’m sure Jester would disagree.”

“Jester is...nice. I am not. I...have hurt a lot of people. And not just people who were fighting me, or trying to hurt me, but people who were innocent, who did not need not to be hurt, people who care about me, and, and people who I...”

She trails off. Beau can’t see her face, but right now, selfishly, she is glad for it. She feels anger bubbling up in her stomach.

“You were being controlled,” she says fiercely. “You didn’t do it. Someone made you do it.”

“But...part of that...part of it was still me. Since...since you all freed me, I...I remember parts of it. I remember doing it. Those were my hands.” 

Beau can practically hear Yasha’s fist tighten. She definitely feels it when Yasha hits the ground.

“If I was better, or if I was stronger, if I had broken free faster, none of that would have happened, I could have stopped him sooner—”

This time, Beau doesn’t hold back. They’re lying down, so it’s incredibly awkward, but the first thing she can think of is to grab Yasha’s hand.

She sits up, and waves it over Yasha’s face.

“But you didn’t,” she says, then falters, then wants to smack herself. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is...” Then she stops. “No, you know what? Fuck it. You didn’t break out faster. And that’s because it was a miracle you managed it in the first place. Yasha, you were being controlled by a devil. You were being controlled by the Chained Oblivion. The fact that you were even a person the first time we met—and you were a person, you were funny, you charged me money to, to, well, you charged me five gold, remember that?”

Yasha blinks. Her wrist is slack in Beau’s grip.

“I...do, yes, I remember that.”

“Right. The fact that you were a person then meant that they couldn’t keep their claws in you. Because you were strong. You were better. Better than everything they tried to make you. You kept breaking free.”

Yasha does not try to squirm away, only stays there.

“But...I needed help every time that I did escape. I never managed it on my own. First it was...it was Kord, and then you all—”

“Of course!” Beau throws her other arm into the air. “Who the fuck could do it on their own?! All that means is that when you had a chance, the second you had a chance, you were outta there. In your heart, you knew what was right. You knew it, and held onto it, even when I’m sure it would’ve been so easy to stay there, to stay in that hell and just go through the motions and lose yourself in...in grief, and loss and...and all that. But you didn’t. And now look at you.”

She cracks a goofy smile, all desperation to make what she’s trying to say heard.

“You’re an angel, Yasha. Remember?”

Yasha slowly sits up too. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, black turning white, with little blades of grass.

Beau is made painfully aware of the fact that she’s still holding Yasha’s hand. She lets go. Then she swears again, and hopes that Yasha doesn’t think it’s because of anything s—

“I am, aren’t I?”

Her gaze shoots up and Yasha's wearing a goofy smile too. Small, a bit nervous, but real and warm.

It’s getting to be familiar.

Beau snorts. She snorts so loud that it might dislodge something in her chest. She hits Yasha gently on the arm.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t, uh, don’t let it go to your head.”

She can see Yasha nodding in the corner of her eye.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then, after a brief battle over whether or not to bring it up, “I don’t...I don’t...for the record, I’m not mad about you stabbing me. Or whatever.”

Yasha looks stricken, and Beau regrets it instantly. “Shit, should I not have reminded you of—”

“No,” Yasha sighs, and her face softens. “No. I am...glad that you are not mad at me.”

“Should we, like...go to a cleric about this?” Beau asks. “Is this going to be something that happens in, like...fights? Because if it does, it might put you in danger. Also, it’s...it probably sucks for you. Right?”

Fjord would probably have something to say about the way she’s handling this conversation. He’s not here now.

“I...don’t know,” Yasha says eventually. “It hasn’t happened before. It was only...just now. And...just with you. It...hurting you reminded me of being controlled. It...brought me back to all the times that my mind was not my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau says, because she’s not sure what else to say.

“No,” says Yasha. Beau looks up, surprised by the weight in her words. “If I am not allowed to be sorry to you, you cannot be sorry to me.”

“Ah,” says Beau. She feels a grin pulling. “In that case...I’m not sorry.”

Yasha nods, like this is sacred, and Beau can’t help but snort again. 

“C’mon,” she says. “We can...work this shit out later. Or start to. With a cleric if you want, or not, if you don’t. But I just got my ass kicked, and I’m thirsty. What do you say to some drinks? I think there’s juice. Do you like juice?”

She stands up, and sticks out a hand. 

Yasha takes it.

“Okay. I like juice.”

— — — 

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[astaroth1357]

Congratulations!! So happy for you!! Do you mind writing a HC for the Tiny!MC, where the brothers see Tiny!MC in trouble with some lesser demons? Like, the lesser demon is bullying them or about to hurt them, how would the brothers react? You don’t have to write this if you don’t want to tho. Again Congratulations!!!

Demon Brothers React to Tiny!MC Being Threatened by Lesser Demons

You know, my first thought was "Which one of you fuckers lost tiny!MC in the first place?? Bad demons! Worse than usual! Keep better track of your itty-bitty human!"

Pretty much uses the same continuity to the rest of my Tiny!Series, I put this somewhere during the “Lucifer, I Shrunk Myself...” portion.

Warnings: Violence, Overly Protective Behavior

Intro:

Five minutes. Their demonic guardian said they were only going to put them down for Five. Minutes. It shouldn't have been that dangerous, or even risky, because everyone should have known that tiny!MC was under their protection. Sure, an itsy-bitsy human would make a perfect snack... but who would want to provoke the wrath of the student council for no reason??… Okay so, lesser demons aren’t exactly known for their intelligence but still...

This is not going to end well...

Lucifer

Doesn’t that lowlife know who he's messing with? Lucifer almost pities him for being so stupid, really…

He brought tiny!MC out to the gardens at their request because they were getting restless being stuck in his room. It wasn't supposed to be a dangerous area so he felt fine leaving them briefly to answer a call from Diavolo. When he came back he found a lesser demon standing over them... drooling...

What came out was a rather chilling side of Lucifer normally only seen by Mammon. One where he can walk up to a person, demon form out in full, then drag them away by the collar with an eerily calm smile on his face.

Tiny!MC didn't see what Lucifer did to the demon… but they did hear Cerberus get summoned before the firstborn returned to them. Their imagination worked to fill in the blanks…

Lucifer apologized to them rather kindly (a real rarity for him) but they noticed he cut their visit short and took them back to the House quickly. They got the sense he'd rather they be safe but bored in his room than entertained but vulnerable to such a dangerous world…

Mammon

Pfffffft, Mammon is protective of MC even when they’re normal-sized. Them being tiny doesn’t change much.

He had brought them along with him for one of his gambling nights. Unfortunately, he got too absorbed in the game to notice a group of lesser demons getting closer to tiny!MC than they really should have… At least until they shouted for his help.

It's rare to see Mammon mad. It really is. But there was nothing but pure rage in his eyes when he grabbed one of the demons by the throat and sent him crashing through the roulette tables. His speed made it pretty easy for him to round up all the others that tried to scatter and he gave them a similar treatment.

After everyone was thoroughly on the ground, bleeding, he asked the MC if they were hurt. If they were, then that'd just earn the downed demons another round of his fury. No one hurts his human like that! Big or small.

He'll apologize a whole bunch for letting his guard down… but also complain a little on the way back to the House because his luck was just starting to turn around too! 😖😞

Leviathan

Direct confrontation isn’t something Levi finds himself in often… but there can be exceptions.

He and tiny!MC were in one of the few stores in town that sold otaku goods and he had set them down to do some browsing in that hyper, distracted fanboy way he gets.

A couple of lesser demons were just some other patrons who happened by them, but who could pass up such a convenient snack?

Well, tiny!MC was convenient until the guys heard what was probably the world's most unholy hissing sound coming from the other side of the room…

Levi has never claimed to be at the peak of demonic prowess or anything, but just this once he was at their defense at a speed he’s never pulled off before. In practically a blink of an eye, he has one asshole lifted by the collar and the other getting crushed by his tail. It wasn't a pretty sight...

After the threat was dealt with, he snapped right back into the same ol'Levi like nothing ever happened, though. Blubbering apologies and frantically checking to be sure they were unharmed... What a somewhat terrifying sweetheart. 🤭

He pretty much refused to take them anywhere again until they were back to normal. Who needs the real world anyway?? His room is the only place they ever need to be!

Satan

You know this is exactly why he kept them so close in the first place...

Satan had to retrieve a book from the highest shelf in the RAD library so he set tiny!MC down in order to climb the ladder. A small gang of lesser demons decided to strike while he was up there browsing...

When he slid back down and turned to see the demons had surrounded the table that he left tiny!MC at, his shout alone was powerful enough to rattle the shelves behind him...

Needless to say, the Avatar of Wrath made very short work of the threat. And a library ladder can make a surprisingly versatile weapon if you put it in the hands of someone pissed enough to use it... and strong enough to rip it off its sliding track… What was it? Metal? Steel? Eh, not strong enough to stop an angry Satan anyway.

After the dust settled, he double-checked to be sure the MC was okay and apologized for being so careless... But they could tell he was still trying his best to regain his composure post berserker freakout. Someone's going to have to nurse those bloody knuckles for him later...

His overprotective instincts tripled afterward. If you think that Satan was ever going to put them down again then that’s a fantasy. Between the lesser demons and that sly bastard Solomon, tiny!MC was never leaving his hand at RAD again. Period.

Asmodeus

Excuse me?? Some lesser demon was doing what now?! Oh HELL no!! Not to his adorable tiny!MC!!

Asmo was shopping with tiny!MC and set them down outside a dressing room while he tried on a cute outfit. Apparently, a lesser demon was doing the same in the stall next to him and came out to find a little human waiting patiently outside… powerless… vulnerable… and tasty!

Asmo opened the door right as the demon picked tiny!MC up to have a bite. The fifthborn's scream shattered all the mirrors in the store like he was some kind of infuriated opera singer then he ripped the demon a very verbal (and physical) new one...

Once the attacker was pretty much decimated, Asmo tended to the MC like they'd just gotten dragged through an active war zone. He asked them, "Are you okay?!" so many times that the words "I’m fine" pretty much lost all meaning...

The sheer carnage left the store employees too damn petrified to ask him to leave so he bought the (now ruined) outfit he had on and took them right home. His sweet tiny!MC was definitely getting a spa treatment that night as an apology… Poor thing...

Beelzebub

Apparently, some people just want to go bear poking for fun...

He and tiny!MC were outside a food stall and he had set them down to go wait in line. In hindsight, he probably should have known the meals would attract other hungry demons… ones that wouldn't mind a free snack… And tiny!MC got cornered pretty quickly while his back was turned.

Those demons might have thought twice about their plan, though, if they had known Beel would attack them with the entire stall itself. 😰

Poor tiny!MC, by some miracle, barely got out of the way of the wooden structure crashing down on top of their attackers as if dropped by the heavens in a fit of rage... Those not crushed under the wreckage got squashed under Beel's fists...

In the aftermath, Beel was barely recognizable when he picked them back up, holding his bitty human so close that they might have suffocated against his chest. Even the stall's very upset owner just backed away from him after getting a ferocious snarl…

It took him a couple hours to calm back down… Then a couple hundred apologies to Lucifer who has to foot the bill for that guy's ruined livelihood… But hey, no one would ever be dumb enough to touch his tiny!MC again. 

Belphegor

Heeeey! Picking on tiny!MC is his thing! Like he’s going to let anyone else give them any grief…

Belphie likes to hide on the roof of RAD sometimes to take a midday nap so he thought it would be funny to hide tiny!MC from the others by taking them with him one afternoon. Both were peacefully napping when a lesser demon apparently had the same idea and found them.

Belphie woke up when he heard their distressed cries and saw the demon trying to carry tiny!MC away... Oh, he wasn't having that.

Belphie shot up and snapped the scumbag's wrist to get tiny!MC free before he effortlessly sent him flying over the edge in one fell swoop. Give this to the Avatar of Sloth, when he does get moving he’s pretty efficient.

The demon's fall got cushioned by a grove of trees below, which earned Belphie a slightly less severe lecture from Lucifer. He did, however, get a pretty rough one from Satan anyway because he took the MC like that in the first place…

Beel took custody of tiny!MC yet again but even he was grateful to his twin for protecting their little human. Tiny!MC noticed Belphie started sleeping a little lighter when he knew they were around, but he'd deny that any supposed “guilt” had anything to do with it… Whatever he says, I guess. 🙄

[cal-kestis]

If I Could Never Give You Peace

(Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Gif by @pedropcl​ [original gifset]

Summary: Two years after resigning from the DEA, Javi finds himself in Los Angeles, haunted by glares of gunshots and blood-stained hands. He’d succumbed to the idea that he’d never have peace — doesn’t deserve it after everything he did in Colombia. Then, she moves in next door and maybe, he thinks, things could be different. “I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.” Word Count: 4,357 A/N: A Reader-insert one-shot with a nameless female reader. No “Y/N” or "you," but the reader can be anyone. Inspired heavily by Taylor Swift’s “Peace.” How many TS references can you find? Lol. Tags: Fluff, Angst (with a happy ending), Mentions of death (but no one dies, I promise), Alcohol, Cigarettes

[Read on AO3]

The rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me... All these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret... Would it be enough, if I could never give you peace? — Taylor Swift, Peace —

When Javier Peña handed in his DEA badge and gun two years ago, he knew he couldn’t stay in Texas. Not forever.

Texas held too many familiar faces, old friends calling him a hero when he felt like a villain. It held too many ties to an old version of himself he’d rather not remember… muddied images of him with a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise. No, he couldn’t stay. Not even for his father.

So, Javier Peña and the unwelcomed overcast of his nightmares found a one-bedroom apartment in sunny Los Angeles.

In time, he realized he needed the city: constant motion, endless traffic, and hoards of busy people who would never remember his face. He could blend in. He could be alone.

He could have a clean slate.

But each night, glares of gunshots flashed behind his eyelids and invisible bloodstains marred his calloused palms as if to remind him:

He could never have peace.

Then, she moved in next door.

The first time he saw her, he only caught a glimpse. She and her boyfriend, he assumed, held towering stacks of brown boxes in front of their faces — sweating as they lugged the dusty weight into the empty space.

For a moment, he considered offering some neighborly help but decided against it — When have you ever cared about being a good neighbor, Javi? — closing himself in his quiet apartment with a glass of whiskey.

The second time he saw her, she came knocking on his door the next night.

“Hi, neighbor,” she smiled brilliantly. And for a split second, he swore he felt something foreign flutter in his stomach, but dismissed it as the after-effects of spoiled dinner. “I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself.”

He could not take his eyes off her. His gaze stayed glued to a small bead of sweat trailing a slow path down from her hairline, where she’d pulled it back with a makeshift scarf-headband. The droplet slipped down her cheekbone, over a smudge of dust that had settled in from her moving boxes. It drifted down the curve of her jaw, dipping into the slope of her neck until finally hiding away below her tank top. And by some miracle, she only needed to repeat her name for him once before he came out of the trance.

“Sorry.” He gulped, removing the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Javier.”

He extended his hand and she met him halfway. Soft. So soft.

“Good to meet you, Javier.” She smiled again. Flutter. “I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she swiftly turned on her heel to walk the few steps back to her door, bare feet strutting off, flaunting her daisy dukes, and — God help him, he’s a man and she’s beautiful — he stared.

The nail in the coffin?

When she opened her door and gave him one last smile over her shoulder, she winked.

No, he could never have peace.

—

After that, he hardly ever sees her.

Part of him feels relieved, unduly wary of the strange flutter he’d feel just thinking of her name. The other part, the traitorously curious part, dreams of catching another glimpse of her glistening skin or a quarter note of her honeyed voice. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he finds himself often wondering if her boyfriend gets to enjoy her sun rays and melodies. Lucky bastard.

He blames his roaming thoughts on the fact that it’s… been a while.

This is what you wanted, he’d remind himself when he’d wake to an empty bed — a stark contrast to his time in Colombia. This is the way things should be.

Just when he starts to believe those words, he finds her crumpled on the floor in front of her apartment — the contents of her purse strewn across the hardwood beside her, palms pressed firmly against her eyes. One tiny sniffle and a tremble of her shoulders, and he melts into a puddle beneath her muddy sneakers.

“Hey,” he whispers tentatively, voice raspy with cigarette smoke.

She jolts at the sound, immediately wiping her face with her sleeves and plastering on a saccharine smile.

“Javier,” she tries to say, but her voice breaks on the vowels. “Sorry, I was just— rough day. And to top it off, I think I left my keys inside. I tried Jerry but no luck.”

“Jerry’s a shit landlord,” he sighs, earning a nod from her. He takes out an old, faded receipt from his pocket and kneels in front of her, finding a pen amongst her spilled belongings. “Try this number. He’s usually fast. Can get you back in your apartment tonight.”

He hands her the scribbled receipt and she takes it with a real smile, albeit small. “Thank you, Javier.”

He nods, a tiny dimple forming in one tanned cheek, before getting up to unlock his apartment. The door clicks but he stands there for a moment longer, listening to her waning sniffles as she throws her things back into her bag. His eyes screw shut tightly, a silent war waging behind his forehead, his fingertips feebly trying to rub it away.

He sighs long and heavy when he realizes which part of him has won.

“Would you... like to come inside my place while you wait?” He mutters, mainly to the floorboards. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“Okay.” Her smile is warm like the sun, despite the cloud of tears still glazed over her eyes. “But you don’t strike me as a cream and sugar kind of guy.”

“No,” he admits with an amused smirk. “But I’ve got some old whiskey, older milk, and a phone you can use, toll-free.”

“Thanks, Javier,” she sniffles. “Coffee sounds nice. But hold the booze and tainted milk.”

And that’s how she ends up in his apartment, sitting at his small dining table, slowly sipping from his coffee mug, using his landline to call the locksmith.

Maybe it’s the caffeine or the three (stolen) pink packets of sugar she found in her purse (“It’s not stealing. Diners offer dozens of them in cute little boxes, I mean practically gift-wrapped, and I modestly accepted three.”), but coffee gets her talking the way alcohol coaxes even the darkest secrets from iron-barred lips. She just broke up with her boyfriend. Or he broke up with her — found some younger, hotter-than-her aspiring actress in Hollywood and left her in the dust of the boxes she’d just unpacked.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “You’ve been so nice. Really, Neighbor of the Year,” she laughs, but he thinks it sounds off. He wants to hear the real thing. “And here I am, taking up your space, drinking your coffee, and dumping all my problems on the table. Tell me if I’m talking too much, Javier. I tend to—”

“Javi,” he says, furrowing his brows as if mildly stunned by the two syllables he just spoke. She looks confused. “You can... call me Javi, for short. And I don’t mind listening.”

“Javi,” she tests the name on her tongue, smiles. His stomach flutters. “A good name for a good guy.”

The argument dies on his tongue the minute he thinks it, even though she’s horribly, terribly wrong.

Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.

If she knew...

“I should be out of your hair in 20 minutes anyway,” she says, breaking him out of his dark reverie. “Locksmith’s on his way.”

When she finally gets back into her own apartment, Javi jostles her doorknob, double-checks the lock, and knocks on wood for good measure.

“Find your keys?”

“Got ‘em!” She chirps, jingling her lost keys. “I’m gonna have to memorize that number.”

“I’m next door, too, if you ever need anything.”

“Me too. I can lend you some sugar for your sad-man, bitter coffee,” she jokes. “Thanks again, Javi.”

He sends her a tight-lipped smile and a short nod, a familiar weight settling in his chest as he turns back to his lonely apartment.

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” She asks, quiet and suddenly timid. “I’m no chef, but I’ve never made a spaghetti I couldn’t tolerate.”

He opens his mouth to refuse but she beats him to the punch. “It’s the least I can do after you helped me out. Please?”

And it’s the way she asks that gets him. The way “please” seems to fall from her lips like an unanswered prayer. He wonders, maybe she’s just as lonely as him.

So, he walks into her apartment, she smiles, and his stomach flips.

—

Months pass by with this new routine. He joins her for dinner at least once a week, if their schedules allow. If not at the local diner where she infamously loots sugar, it’s usually at her place. For one thing, although it’s usually pasta, she tends to have more appetizing (read: edible) groceries stocked up than him. But if he’s being honest, something about her apartment just feels more like… a home.

Framed smiles of her and her loved ones line the walls. With each visit, he finds himself studying a new one, imagining the story behind each snapshot. (He noticed after their first dinner, she’d thrown out the photos of her ex, replacing them with Polaroids of the city.) Piles of pillows stack up neatly on her couch, vibrant hues and patterns decorating the space. He adores the soft waves of music always floating around her space. She plays a different record each time, but somehow, each one compliments the sweet tones of her voice perfectly.

Her place feels brighter than his too, and he’s not sure if it’s the east-facing windows or if it’s just her.

Soon, he doesn’t need to decode the photos on the walls anymore. She tells him more than she’s told anyone before — about her hometown, her family, what she studied in college, her travels, her favorite books, her irrational fears, her dreams.

He tells her considerably less, especially when it comes to his time in Colombia.

For now, she doesn’t mind. She likes the way he watches her when she talks — brown eyes soft and warm, brows pinched together as he takes in each word, the ghost of a grin tugging at one corner of his lips when she gestures dramatically.

He realizes, one night after dinner, he comes home smiling now. And he thinks the nightmares have started dwindling, ever since that first dinner.

Maybe, he lets himself imagine. Things could be different.

—

He calls for you over and over, shouting until his throat burns and the echo of his frantic voice pounds in his ears.  

“Where are you?” He screams.  

The narrow hallway is dark, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He crushes his body into the hard wall, arms sliding roughly against cold brick as he tries to keep himself concealed. The gun in his hand feels icy and impossibly heavy, and his arms tremble as they lift the weapon higher, rounding the corner.

“Llegas tarde, Peña,” a deep, gravelly voice sneers. “You’re too late.”

“Tómame!” Javier yells. “Tómame en su lugar.”

“You would die for her?” The voice chuckles. “Llegas tarde.”

The voice’s shadow moves, revealing a smaller shadow crumpled on the floor — lifeless.

“Javier! Javier!” A distant voice chants, accusing him. Boom! Blaming him. Boom!

“Javier!” Boom!

The pounding sound wakes him up with a jolt, and his sweat-slicked chest rapidly rises and falls as he reaches for the gun inside his bedside table.

Slowly, Javier creeps to the front door where the loud pounding started. But when he peers into the peephole, he only finds her — looking as tired and distressed as he feels. A wave of relief floods through his overheated body.

She’s wrapped up in a blanket, a worried look wrinkling her forehead.

He puts his gun down in a drawer and lets her in.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Almost 4 in the morning.”

“What’s wrong?” He demands, suddenly worried about why she’d be waking him this early.

“You tell me,” she says, frown lines still etched by her eyes — mirroring his own tired marks. “I heard you yelling. I was worried, Javi.”

“It was...” he starts, squinting as the images flash in his mind again. “Just a dream.”

It only takes one glance into his eyes for her to reach out to him, pulling him in by his neck until he nuzzles into hers.

He breathes her in, holds her like he’s not sure she’s real, like she might be gone tomorrow. “It was just a dream,” he echoes, but he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“It was just a dream,” she repeats after him.

She pulls him by his hand toward his couch, sitting down before patting the space beside her. And just this once, he allows himself to let his head rest in her lap, lets her drape her fuzzy blanket over him, lets her soft fingers draw slow circles in his hair, lets her lull him to sleep with mumbled whispers he can’t quite make out, and lets her ward off the lurking darkness like a nightlight.

He’s asleep before he can hear the quiet secret that spills from her lips.

“I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.”

She comes over to his apartment more frequently after that. Whether to bring him dinner or just sit on his couch in comfortable silence, she doesn’t like to leave him alone.

And maybe, she’d rather not be alone either.

—

He doesn’t remember how she convinced him, but here he is... sitting at a crowded bar drinking water, watching his tipsy neighbor bouncing alone on the small dance floor.

Every so often, some cocky drunk comes up to put his hands on her waist and tries to dance with her, but she plasters on a faux smile and shakes her head at them, muttering something while nodding in Javier’s direction. Each time, they sulk away and he chuckles.

Finally, she bounces over to him, tugging at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Dance with me, Javi. Please,” she draws out the word, an octave higher than normal.

And despite himself, he follows her voice like a sailor enthralled by a siren’s song.

She puts her arms around his neck, swaying her body against his. And then she shouts over the music, “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

And the heart on his sleeve falls straight to the floor, clanging loudly in his ears like metal.

‘Friends’ is more than you deserve, he reminds himself.

But then she continues, resting her head against his chest, her index finger coming up to tap a tantalizingly slow beat over his collarbone. “Good friends,” she sighs, lifting her gaze until her chin digs into his heart, her lips just inches from his. “Really… good… friends.”

She’s kissing him before he can even process the feeling. And despite his better judgment, he lets her. She’s everything warm and soft and good, with just a hint of alcohol — and he’s what you get when you turn those words upside down, jumble the letters, and crumple the paper into a jagged ball. But he craves the way her curves somehow fit perfectly against his cold, shattered edges. And he knows he shouldn’t.

So, when he feels her tongue trace along the seam of his mouth, he gently pulls away, hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

“You’ve had too much to drink, cariño,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay,” she whispers, smiling with half-lidded eyes, drawing her finger across his mustache then below his ever-pouting lip.

She’s passed out in his car by the time they’re back home. When he unlocks her apartment door for her, she stays latched onto his arm as he turns to leave.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“I—”

“Please?” She asks, in that way he knows he can’t fight. “I don’t want to be alone.”

And just like that, the door closes behind him and he stays.

He finds her an oversized shirt to change into, helps her wipe the smudged mascara off her face, and holds her until the sun rises.

When she wakes, the space beside her is empty but warm and indented, the shape of his body lingering in the sheets. A full glass of water, ibuprofen, and the phantom taste of Javi’s lips are the only other traces of her really… good... friend.

—

He’s not avoiding her… per se. But it’s a long, lonely week later when he sees her again, on an uncharacteristically rainy Sunday outside their apartment building.

“I just got home,” she blurts after standing there dumbfounded for a good minute. She nods to the soaked brown paper bags in her arms. “Groceries. Uh, obviously. Were you...?”

“Forgot my umbrella,” he answers.

“Same,” she chuckles awkwardly, droplets hanging on her lashes and the ends of her hair, only partially covered by her hood. “Obviously.”

“Here, let me help you.” He takes the bags from her, keeping the door open with his foot as he waits for her to head inside.

“Thanks, Javi-er.”

He follows her upstairs silently, his wet, squeaking shoes punctuating each slow and heavy step.

“I can—”

“Let me just—”

They fumble and dance around each other in her doorway as he sets her bags in her apartment. And, as if to torture herself, she decides to stand under her door frame when he leaves to grab his umbrella, waiting the longest minute of her life for him with a forced smile.

He waves his umbrella at her after locking his door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

He nods and walks back down the stairs.

“Javier, wait.”

He pauses, his back still facing her, drenched shoes balanced on two different steps.

“Can we talk?” She hates the way her voice sounds when she asks, tinny and trembling. Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “About what happened... at the bar?”

He sighs, screwing his eyes shut tight and rubbing his forehead.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, low and barely audible as the rain starts picking up outside. And he walks away.

She’s stunned still, watching as his figure shrinks with each step he takes away from her. He’s already out of the building by the time frustration fuels her feet to follow him into the rain.

“Like hell there’s nothing to talk about,” she yells over the downpour, hair quickly sticking flat to her face. “Javi, we kissed!”

“You were drunk,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear, still walking.

“I wasn’t drunk,” she argues to his back, remembering with perfect clarity exactly how his lips felt on hers. “Just a bit braver. Javi, stop! Look at me. Please.”

And like clockwork, he turns slowly but doesn’t move any closer.

So, she closes the distance to stand beside him under his umbrella, taking in his features without the obscurity of rain.

“What are you running from?” She wonders, reaching for his fidgeting hand. “I would never hurt you. I—”

The line between his brows looks deeper than usual, as if they’d been stuck in that pinched position for weeks. Shadows lay in rings beneath his eyes, accompanied by smaller lines that carry untold stories she hopes he’ll entrust her with someday. His mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something he knows could change everything.

And it does.

“I have to go.”

Her hands are empty and wet when he leaves. And the rain buries his parting words into the pavement.

I don’t want to hurt you.

—

She doesn’t hear from him for two weeks. Doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him.

The rain sticks around longer than usual for Los Angeles, making her apartment feel cold and gloomy. But maybe, it’s just missing him as much as she is.

Then, while she’s folding her laundry one night, she hears his door rattle and practically bolts to her own. He’s there. Keys in hand, rolling luggage in the other, hair tousled like he’s been pulling at it with his fingers. He looks at her when she opens her door, just for a beat too long, before hiding away in his apartment.

She sighs, closing her door in defeat.

But just as she starts getting ready for bed, she hears two knocks at her door, heart beating rapidly as she slowly makes her way to open it.

“Hi, neighbor,” he greets her softly, and the sound of his voice after so long without it nearly brings her to tears.

“Where did you go?” She asks. But she really means, Why did you leave?

“Texas,” he says. “I... needed to see my dad.” But he really means, I was scared.

“Oh.”

“Can I...” he mutters. “Can I come in please?”

She hesitates for only a second before stepping aside and he looks around like he hasn’t seen the inside of her apartment hundreds of times already.

He stops near her bedroom, where a new picture hangs proudly: a goofy, blurry photo of him stashing three pink packets of sugar in his shirt pocket.

“It’s the only photo you’ve let me take of you,” she says quietly, standing next to him with a wistful smile on her face. “I miss our diner dates.” But she really means, I miss you.

He doesn’t respond, just silently walks to her couch and sits, fingers rubbing circles into his forehead.

Minutes roll by slowly as she watches him from the other side of the room, battling with some invisible hand covering his mouth, holding on until the end to keep the words locked up.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispers, so softly she almost doesn’t hear it. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of... back in Colombia. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you. I think a part of me is still there, fighting some unwinnable war. Hell, even before Colombia, I—”

Muddied images of a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise flash in his mind.

“Fuck. I can’t shake it,” he says, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes, waving the invisible iron shackles on his wrists to show her. “Any of it. The nightmares...” He recalls her shadowy body and a dark, menacing voice. “They’ve followed me for years. I—” he looks at her, eyes darting across her face. “I could never give you peace.”

His head hangs low and a wayward curl brushes against his forehead. Despite how much space he takes up on her couch, he looks so small, defeated —  the weight of his past crushing him into this tiny, torn, crumpled-up piece of paper covered in red-inked, scratched-out sentences.

“Javi,” she whispers, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. So, she crosses the room and kneels in front of him, her palms reaching for his cheeks and lifting his gaze to hers. “Javi, who said anything about peace?”

The wrinkles deepen between his brows as he studies her, tries to understand what she means in the cloudy orbs of her eyes.

“The past is the past. We’ve all done things we can’t speak of. And sometimes at night, we live it all again. God knows I’m far from perfect. But I know you’re a good man, Javi. I see you,” she tells him, stroking the curves of his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I’m not—”

“Do you trust me?” She interrupts his argument. He stares at her, blinks, before nodding once.

“Then trust what I’m saying. You’re not perfect. But you’re good.”

His eyes close as soon as she sees water beginning to pool behind his lashes.

“I’m not asking for peace. As long as I get to be with you, it would be enough.”

And then his lips are crashing into hers, pulling her into his lap until he’s covered in her. The sound he makes when they touch is devastatingly beautiful, like she’s a balm soothing his freshest wounds and healing his oldest scars. It feels like his entire body has exhaled — lungs deflated, bones liquified, mind released from a decades-old straitjacket. If not for gravity, he could float from the way his stomach is fluttering. His shoulders lower and he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath for his entire life until this moment.

He’s drowning in her, submerged to the top of his head. But he can finally breathe.

“I’m sorry I ran,” he whispers into her skin. “I’m sorry I left, cariño,” he kisses just below her ear. “My dad said I was the biggest asshole on the planet for leaving. I’m sorry, baby. So sorry,” he licks the seam of her lips.

“Mi alma, you have no idea,” he sighs when she parts her lips for him. “How much I love you.”

And she captures the words on her tongue, kissing him with a ferocity that says, Yes, I do.

“Want to know a secret?” She gasps when his lips trail down her neck. Her voice is barely a whisper, as feather-light as her fingertip skating across his shoulder.

He hums, a soft, lazy smile stretching his lips wide, so wide.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” she says, staring into his deep brown eyes. “That I’ll ever love anyone more than I love you, Javi.”

Her finger stops, retracted to shield herself after such a heavy confession. His eyes blink slowly, head lifting off the couch cushion.

He doesn’t say a word. He only stares at her, the softest smile on his face — his edges blurring into gentle curves in front of her very eyes.

“You’re it for me,” she finalizes.

And then they’re crashing into each other again and again and again.

End Notes: Look, it’s been almost 10 years since I sat in a Spanish class and watching Narcos only restored 3% of my limited vocabulary. Here’s what I got from Google Translate: “Llegas tarde.” = You’re too late. “Tómame!/ Tómame en su lugar.” = Take me!/ Take me instead. “Cariño” = Darling, honey “Mi alma” = My soul P.S. Please let me know if I missed any tags/triggers!

[pinkoptics]

Cherik ‘Fallen Angel’ Fic

Part 2 (of Chapter 1)

Find Part 1 (of Chapter 1) here.

Charles is an angel. He loves Erik. He saves Erik. God takes issue with that. Hilarity and adorableness (with a smidge of angst) ensues. In this part, protective!Erik makes an appearance at the hospital.

*

“I don’t know what his last name is!” Erik growled at the nurse, just barely managing to hold back the ‘fucks’ he wanted to pepper the sentence with. “I wasn’t exactly trying to get all of his info while he was bleeding to death on me.”

Erik released them in his mind— Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She’s just doing her job. She’s just doing her job. Don’t strangle her with metal.

“I told you,” Erik gritted his teeth and repeated a variation of the same combination of sentences he had already uttered twice. “I was crossing the street. The car barrelled through the red light. He jumped in and saved my life. I tried to return the favour. His name is Charles. He’s cute. I promised to take him to dinner. That’s all I know and that’s as far as we got before he passed out.”

How was Charles? Was he okay?

It didn’t seem like he could be. It had looked like so much fucking blood. The utterly insane things the man had said (“You should know you’re beautiful. Before I leave this mortal realm, I want you to know that”). Those spectacularly bright blue eyes fading to a frightening dullness. Not that Erik knew anything about anything medical, but none of that had seemed promising. So, not only was this nurse annoying as all fuck, she was stonewalling him. They wouldn’t tell him a goddamned thing because he wasn’t Charles’ next of kin. No one, in fact, knew if he had any next of kin in New York because he didn’t have a wallet, ID or phone on him. This was why the nurse was presently grilling him for information he did. not. have. They hadn’t let him ride in the ambulance, so he’d taken a cab and prayed that the ambulance had made a hell of a lot better time than he had. The only reason they were talking to him at all was because he had been there, had a name, a first name, and that was it.

The swinging doors opened and a woman in scrubs emerged. Erik nearly lunged.

“Are you Erik?”

“Yes.”

“He’s asking for you. I don’t want to let you in at all, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to start anything beyond emergency treatment until he talks to you.”

Asking meant conscious. Living. Thank fuck. The relief was powerful and nearly knocked him on his ass. Later, when he wasn’t teeming with barely contained frustration, and desperately trying to ascertain just how okay Charles was or wasn’t, he might spare a moment to think about how unexpected it was to be so powerfully moved by a stranger (a cute stranger who’d saved his life, granted), but not now.

“How is he?”

“He lost some blood, will need stitches on his arm and he has a few fractured ribs, but he’s stable. He’s going to be fine. After he stops trying to get out of bed to talk to you, we might actually be able to treat those things with something other than bandages.”

If Erik had thought the first wave of relief was powerful, he was not prepared at all for the second.

She sighed deeply and gestured to the double doors from which she had emerged. “This way.”

He followed her a short way down the hall, nearly stepping on her heels each step of the way. She stopped so abruptly before they entered the room that Erik nearly ran straight into her back.

“I should warn you that he’s... well, you’ve both been through a trauma. The mind processes such things in all sorts of ways. If he doesn’t seem... ‘all there’ don’t be overly concerned. Play along, don’t distress him further.”

Charles certainly hadn’t been ‘all there’ at the scene of the accident. His bizarre last words kept spinning through Erik’s head at random intervals— you are so loved. On their own, they were strange enough, but the reverence of Charles’ tone had sunk the words into Erik’s bones like a telepath projecting the emotion behind what they were saying. He hadn’t heard the words, he’d felt the words. Even if Charles was a telepath, it didn’t make them make anymore sense. More forthcoming then... he nodded at the doctor.

“You’re here!” Charles beamed at him from his sitting position on the hospital bed, looking much happier than anyone had any right to be in his situation. “And, you look well. Are you well?”

Charles did too, relatively speaking. He was a little pale, a little bruised but nowhere close to as bad as Erik had expected. Though the car had clipped him as he’d tackled Erik out of the way, it seemed to have been a case of looking much worse than it was at the scene. Small miracles.

“I’m fine.” Fine enough, at any rate. Like Charles, he was understandably bruised, and it was probably going to hurt more in the morning, but his suit had taken the harder beating. Between contact with the pavement and Charles’ blood, there would be no saving it, not that that mattered in the slightest. “You’re the one who was bleeding out all over me. How are you?”

Erik was sitting at his bedside now, the doctor presumably hovering in the background for all Erik’s attention was on Charles. The man in question blinked, cocking his head slightly to the side and giving Erik’s question a more thorough consideration than Erik would have thought necessary.

“I really don’t know,” he finally answered. Charles stretched his injured arm out in front of him, now bandaged (if not stitched) and looked at it with a plainly perplexed expression. “I’ve never been hurt before you know. It’s curious... interesting, but I don’t at all recommend it.”

“You were hit by a car.” Erik couldn’t help but be amused. Perplexed Charles was endearing. “Not something that happens to a person every day.”

“Quite.” Charles conceded the point. He went from staring at his arm to deliberately poking his own rib cage, and subsequently wincing. “You’re all very fragile, you know. So much could kill you every single minute of your life and yet so many of you manage to survive until old age. How do you do it? I’ve only just arrived and I’ve already nearly died.”

He turned his focus from his ribs to Erik and genuinely looked as though he were waiting for a response. Erik opened his mouth and then closed it. Despite the doctor’s suggestion to ‘play along’ he didn’t have one. Erik decided to change course.

“The hospital needs your personal information— last name, address, insurance.”

“Oh, well, that’s easy enough. I don’t have a last name. Just Charles. Or an address for that matter. I feel it’s unlikely my former profession came with any benefits.” Charles suddenly laughed. “That’s not true. It absolutely had many benefits, but certainly not State Farm. Besides, I’m no longer working for Him.”

The emphasis on the last word was... odd. Was Erik supposed to know who he was?

“I was... goodness. I was fired I suppose. Fired. That means I’m—I’m unemployed. For the first time in a millennia, I’m... on the pogey!” He laughed a little harder, the edge of hysteria he’d had at the scene worming its way back in. “Wait, no, you don’t say that anymore, do you?”

Pogey?

“Oh you look so confused. I apologize. It’s a Canadian phrase come to think. Or it used to be, a century ago.”

Shit.

Had Charles hit his head? Was this some kind of bizarre amnesia? The doctor hadn’t mentioned either possibility but... Erik side-stepped again.“How about family? Is there someone I can call and let them know you’re here? Maybe they can provide your information?”

The shift in Charles’ expression and demeanour was so abrupt and dramatic that Erik’s gut clenched. The stunning blue eyes that had stared up at him with such naked concern and relief, took on an unmistakable sheen. The wetness made them impossibly bluer, an unnatural colour that was as striking as it was otherworldly. The tears did not fall, yet Erik somehow knew that Charles would cry beautifully if they did. Erik somehow also knew what the response was going to be before he uttered it.

“No. There is no one. Not anymore.”

Erik surprised himself by doing something he would normally never do, under any circumstance, even with someone he knew well, let alone someone he had just met. He reached out and took Charles’ hand, squeezing it gently. His was a pain Erik was all too familiar with.

“It’s all right. We’ll... we’ll figure this out. You’re Charles. You saved my life. You have me. That’s all we need to know right now. Don’t worry about the insurance or anything else.”

Charles stopped staring out into the middle-distance and focused on Erik. “Truly, you don’t owe me anything.”

Erik snorted. “The hell I don’t. Besides, we’ve got to get you healed up. I can’t take you to the diner in this state. We’ve got date, remember? So there you are. Here you think I’m indebted, but really my reasons are purely selfish. You’re hot and I want to date you. Humour me.”

The wetness retreated and that red mouth quirked up into a small smile.

“As long as you’re being self-centred.”

“Oh, trust me, I am.”

Somewhere behind them, someone cleared their throat. Erik turned. Oh, right, the doctor. “As much as I would love to watch the two of you keep flirting, we need to take care of those injuries.”

She was right, so Erik reluctantly stood and even more reluctantly released Charles’ hand.

“I’ll be back later, so stop trying to leave and let them take care of you, all right?”

Charles nodded. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

Erik forced himself to turn and exit the room. Only after he’d left it, did he truly exhale. Charles was okay. Charles was okay. Charles was flirting even... well, possibly. They were still on for that date. Erik took a few much needed breaths and strode more determinedly, and much less frantically, back toward the nurses’ desk. He would take care of this.

He would take care of Charles.

*

Thanks for reading 😊. I really hope inspiration continues to strike because I’ve had a lot of fun with this thus far.

On to chapter 2 part 1

[aalissy]

Stay

Andddd this is the end!! This is the last chapter for Adrienette April <3. I certainly hope you guys enjoyed reading it bc I had a great time writing it. It DOES contain Gang of Secrets spoilers so don’t read this if you haven’t seen that episode :). Lemme know what you think of this chapter or what you thought of the whole month tho hahah <3. I’ll see you all in my Marichat May drabbles :) 

AO3

Marinette sniffled, gazing down at her bedroom floor that she had collapsed on. Everything had just been so much lately. Being both Ladybug and the guardian was almost impossible. Her phone buzzed incessantly on her desk but she ignored it, drowning in both stress and guilt. The kwamis snuggled around her, whispering reassurances in her ears but she huddled in on herself, laying down on the cold tiles. She didn’t even hear the knock on her trapdoor, only snapping back into awareness when the kwamis jolted away from her, phasing back into where she hid the Miracle Box.

Quickly, Marinette sat back up when the hatch opened, trying to scrub any remaining tear tracks from her eyes. She heard a voice call out her name hesitantly before she saw Adrien’s head pop up, “Marinette?”

She grimaced, swiping the heel of her hand against her smeared mascara. What was he even doing here? Adrien rarely stopped by the bakery, let alone her bedroom. Reaching for her phone, she winced at the number of text messages that greeted her.

“Oh my god, Marinette...” Adrien gasped before collapsing next to her. “Are you alright?! What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” She swallowed the harsh lump in her throat to give him a weak smile. “What are you doing here?”

He frowned at her, looking over her concernedly. “Alya asked me to come check on you. She said you weren’t answering your phone and I was the closest one to the bakery.”

“Of course she did,” she murmured, glancing down at her phone with a small smile. She could always count on her best friend to find a way to bring her back. She had done an even better job after Marinette told her she was Ladybug. She then gave herself a mental reminder to call Alya back as soon as she was able to.

She blinked up with some shock and slight panic as Adrien stood up. His frown had deepened further and he opened his mouth to say something when she quickly reached out. Marinette clutched his wrist rather desperately, nibbling on her lower lip. Slowly, she moved her hand down to hold his tightly, murmuring, “Stay, please. Don’t go.”

Adrien lowered himself back down to crouch beside her, squeezing her hand in his. “I wasn’t going to, Marinette. I promise.”

She gave him a watery smile, sniffling quietly. She scooted closer to him, whispering a quiet, “Thank you.”

Instead of responding, Adrien simply opened his arms to her and she immediately dove into his embrace. Marinette clenched her eyes shut tight, savoring the warmth and safety she felt as he held her to him. She nuzzled her head closer to him, letting out a quiet, happy sigh. Slowly, the pain and guilt from before ebbed away and she could finally relax.

She stayed like that for a few more minutes, content to stay exactly where she was for the rest of her life. Adrien gave some of the best hugs ever. Second only to Chat Noir. Slowly, Marinette pulled back, blinking away any last remaining tears. She gave him another wobbly smile before she worried at her lower lip. “I’m sorry about that. I had a long day today and I didn’t mean to drag you into it.”

Adrien’s look softened as he shook his head. “You never have to apologize, Marinette. I’m just glad you’re okay. Can you tell me what happened? I’d love to try and fix it for you if I can!”

His face was so eager to help and to please that she realized exactly why she fell in love with him once again. He was amazing. Marinette’s smile froze, however, when she realized that there wasn’t anything she could tell him. All of her problems were due to being both Ladybug and the guardian. She couldn’t risk her secret identity again. Especially not when she already knew the repercussions of Adrien knowing. Shuddering at the thought of Chat Blanc, she slowly shook her head. “I-I can’t tell you, Adrien. I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” He frowned at her in confusion as his head tilted adorably. “Why not?”

Marinette sighed quietly, tapping her two index fingers together as her gaze darted around. She couldn’t exactly explain that she had a secret identity that she had to protect. It was too risky with just Alya knowing. Nor could she tell him that she was Ladybug and the recent akuma attacks had left her without any free time to work on schoolwork or spend time with her friends.

She ran a hand through her hair as she blew out a harsh breath. Deciding to skirt around the problem, she murmured, “I’ve just been really stressed lately, Adrien. I haven’t had much free time to finish my homework or even go to the movies with any of my friends.”

Adrien nodded understandingly, “I get it, Marinette. Having a full schedule can be impossible. I’m sorry that you have to go through that.”

A look of realization and admiration lit across her face. Of course he gets it. Maybe not to the extent of having a double life to hide from everyone... but Adrien has certainly had to deal with a full plate before. Marinette gave him another shaky smile before throwing herself into his arms. This was exactly what she needed. Someone who understands and knows what she’s dealing with.

Quietly, she murmured, “Thank you, Adrien. You have no idea how much that means to me. S-so, how do you do it? How do you handle dealing with almost no free time?”

One of his hands came up to rub her back gently. Marinette’s eyes shut tight as her smile grew wider. If she hadn’t already been in love with him, she would have definitely fallen right there and then. How could one boy be so perfect for her and yet be so out of her league? It just wasn’t fair.

Adrien’s breath brushed against her ear as she shivered lightly. Softly, he whispered to her, “I focus on the things that are most important to me. I suffer through my responsibilities for a chance to finally be able to hang out with my friends and do the things that make me the happiest. You need to really relax and let loose in the free time you do have. And I also keep in mind that I have people who love and care about me and will always be there no matter what. Just like you, Marinette. Don’t forget that.”

Her lower lip wobbled as she tried to suppress the tears that were threatening to spill from the corners of her shut eyes. He always knew just what to say. She gave Adrien one last, tight squeeze before pulling back, looking at him rather adoringly. Swiping any stray tears away, she gave him a bright smile. “I won’t. I promise.”

She stood up slowly before leaning down to offer him a hand up. Her heart fluttered as he gave her a crooked grin back. She really had to give Alya that call thanking her because this was the best thing she could have done. Nibbling on her lower lip, Marinette said, “Thank you for staying, Adrien. You really turned a bad day into a perfect one.”

He gave her a soft look, patting her on the shoulder. “Of course, Marinette. I’m always here, whenever you need me. I’ll always just be a phone call away.”

Biting harshly on her lower lip, she ached to tell him her actual secret. How could this boy have ever told someone about her secret identity? He was just so sweet. Eventually, Marinette simply breathed in deeply, deciding that she’d tell him as soon as Hawkmoth was defeated. Peering up at him from beneath her lashes, she murmured, “I’ll be sure to remember that. I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time, though.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed at that. “You don’t need to apologize for that, Marinette. I like spending time with you. Especially if I can help you feel better.”

She glanced down, her cheeks dusted a light pink. “D-do you have time to play a game of Ultimate Mecha Strike III, or do you need to go?”

“I think I have time for one game. As long as you’re prepared to lose. I’ve been practicing.” He gave her a smug smirk.

Marinette’s eyes narrowed playfully as she said, “You’re on!”

With that, they both slid into the desk chairs and booted up the game. Her fingers slid across the controls with practiced ease as she and Adrien fought. Once she had a comfortable lead, her eyes slid over to him. One thing was for absolute certainty after today. She would never truly be over Adrien Agreste. A part of her would always love him. As she defeated him and he screamed for a rematch, Marinette slowly relaxed. He was right. It was time for her to learn to calm down and enjoy her free time before the next mission. Giving him a smug smirk, she set them up for the rematch, certain that she’d beat him once again.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 133

Whew. I finally get a chance two queue chapters and add to my buffer! Yayyy me! Kind of long author’s note, feel free to skip to the readmore.

Seriously, though, I managed to only work 5ish hours of OT this week instead of the 25/wk I’ve been clocking the last several weeks. It’s been a ride, for sure. Thank you for bearing with me through this frankly-insane time.

@baelpenrose and I have had more chances to write together in real-time, which considering both our schedules and living 3 timezones apart has been a delightful miracle and I will never take it for granted ever again.

@anotherusrname and @the-raven-fae have been very encouraging of my efforts to work less, which - it turns out - has been a huge concern for oh, my entire family... Sorry I worried you all. :(  I’m trying to do better! Swear I have vacations coming up!

@charlylimph-blog has just been... such a support. She literally texts me every night at 10pm my time to tell me to take my most important medications. Sainted Eldritch Fae cannot be appreciated enough, and somehow I have two.

Final shout outs go to @snickerfritz, @just-a-pastel-bunny, and @eldritchmoths for love-bombing my inbox recently. Seeing anyone speed-run through this story lets me know that I’m not wasting my time.

Don’t forget to check out the podcast!!  AhhhhH! I want to scream in delight each time a new episode is released!

Focus, I told myself, breath coming in short pants. It was easier said than done, with sweat dripping into my eyes while I constantly tried to pay attention to where I was safe to move to without putting myself in the line of fire. Seeing the incoming hit, I ducked and pivoted to my left - 

“Oof,” I grunted as I took a blow to the ribs.  I managed not to be winded or fall, but I was pretty sure something just broke.

A voice taunted me. “You have got to get better at keeping your guard up.”

“I am,” I panted. “My ribs are a lot tougher than my face.” Refusing to be distracted, I jumped back from the next hit and started circling wide.

“And I hit harder than your sister.”

Yeah, well broken ribs are for bitches, I thought to myself. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had a broken rib before. I was fine. Out of reflex more than forethought, I pivoted my leg and bent my knee to absorb the shock of the next hit - this one to the thigh. Grabbing the offending leg, I held tight around the calf with one arm before shoving upwards on the heel with the other, dropping him onto his back.

Unfortunately, the kick to the chin I got as a result also landed me on my back.

Like an exceedingly annoying ninja, Arthur sprang to his feet before holding out a hand to help me up off the floor. “You should have expected that.”

I scowled and rubbed my jaw. “Why am I sparring with you again?”

“Because Tyche’s busy and I’m the only other person willing to actually hit you hard enough to teach you anything.”

Rolling my neck, I tried to relieve some of the tension that was setting in. “It’s not like aliens are going to know Terran hand-to-hand combat,” I pointed out as I took my stance for the next round.  This time, his movement was a lot more fluid, which told me he was going for grappling instead of striking.

The kick I almost took to the face told me that his stance was also a lie.

There wasn’t any time for trash-talking, this time around. I could barely find time to breathe as he aggressively attacked, although I barely managed to avoid him actually touching me.  I wasn’t an idiot - if he got a hold of me, I would be waking up from a forced nap with a sore throat.  However, after what felt like an eternity and was probably only about five minutes, the odds of keeping it up were dwindling.  My heart was pounding in my ears, my lungs were searing with the effort of trying to keep up with it, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that I had enough stamina to outlast him.  The man ran a 5k a day as a warm up.  Even more humiliating, I had spent the entire time running and dodging without even a chance to mount a counter to any of it.

Finally, I was spent.  Every time I tried to raise my hands, they shook so badly that there was no chance of landing a hit, even if I had the opportunity.  My legs were trembling, my knees burned, and the broken rib felt like someone was twisting a hot blade into my side.  Feeling defeated, I dropped my hands and squared my feet up.  The blow to the solar plexus was unsurprising, as was the chokehold he put me in as soon as I doubled over.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time this had happened while sparring with him - or even with Tyche.

I was so frustrated. No matter how much I sparred with either of them, I felt like I hadn’t gained any ground.  The whole point to training so hard was to prove that I actually could defend myself. Councilor or not, the thought that I was going to be shoved in the back of the Archives in the event of an attack was insulting.  Not only that, it was even more insulting than the time I had round-the-clock guards. No one else had to put up with this, why did I?

“Tap out, Sophia,” he warned me.  He wasn’t squeezing yet, but he had his arm locked tightly enough that I couldn’t get my head out.  When I silently refused, he sighed and applied pressure, pissing me off even more.

I’m not helpless, I growled at myself. The anger at myself and the frustration with the situation flooded my mind, and I started pulling against the hold with my legs.

“You’re going to break your neck,” he grunted as he leaned the opposite direction.  I may not have had his stamina, but I could also leg-press nearly five-hundred pounds. He could let go, or lean back, no other options.

Spots were floating in front of my eyes when I felt his posture change, and as soon as I felt it, both my arms swung up.  Assuming I was going to hit his face, he leaned back even further…

Right into the path of my cupped hands, which hit his ears hard enough to bruise both my hands.

“Ow, FUCK!” he shouted, the pain of his ruptured ear drums distracting him just enough that I was able to pull my head free.

As soon as I stood, he reached up to one of his ears, only to pull his hand away and see blood. “Son of a - “ he stopped when he realized what happened. “Huh. That… that is a pretty neat trick.”

Oh, just you wait, I thought to myself.

Sure enough, as soon as he tried to shift his weight for another assault, he stumbled. Trying to compensate, he made it even worse and ended up falling flat on his back.  Dropping his head to the mat in defeat, he splayed his limbs out to try to gain some sense of equilibrium. “Oh that is cool,” he muttered, obviously for my benefit since he couldn’t exactly hear himself.

I managed to get him to his feet and drag him to the corridor as the medical transport arrived - there was no way I was going to try to walk him to a medbay.  Once his eardrums were restored - along with his internal balance - Arthur stood and stared me down. “That was a dirty trick, Sophia.”  Without warning, I was suddenly pulled into a crushing hug. “I am so proud of you.  Do that, a lot of it.”

“Can’t breathe,” I gasped.

He released me, stepping back. “Right. The rib.”

I tried to wave him off. “It’s just a broken rib. I’ll be fine.”

“Medbay.” He gestured around the room. “Stop being stubborn.”

“You’re overreacting - “

“If you trip and fall, which you will, you can puncture a lung.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“It’s been broken all of ten minutes. Medbay. Now.”

I glared at him. “If you think this is the first broken rib I’ve had, you’re insane. It’s not even the fiftieth.”

“Stop reminding me that I can’t go back to Earth and kill someone who is hopefully dead anyway. You made me go to the medbay for some broken teeth after the fight with Jokul. Also, with your luck it’s a miracle you haven’t killed yourself by breathing, and I am not going to be the one who’s next up on Tyche’s shit list. Go. Medbay. Now.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but was cut off by swearing and Arthur literally just picking me up and dropping me in the closest berth.  With exactly zero shame, he pinned me down by my shoulders and hips while one of Noah’s avatars held me down from the other side and scanned, then healed, my broken rib - both of them, it turns out. Finally, they both let go of me.  “Can I leave now?” I asked petulantly.

“Only if you tell me the eardrum trick so I can figure out how to use it on other species.”

Sliding off the berth and to my feet, I ran a hand through my hair. “Easy. You just cup your hands so there aren’t any cracks between your fingers, like this.” I demonstrated. “And then try to clap your hands through someone’s head, right over the ears. Force of the air ruptures the ear drums, and the trauma reaction kills their spatial sense and balance.” When he tilted his head at the simplicity of it, I shrugged. “Women’s self-defense classes.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Speaking of women and self-defense, we have got to get you more in the habit of striking and blocking with your legs.  Pretty sure you’d kick like a horse if you tried.”

“If I kick you, I’ll break something.”

“Your legs are a lot tougher than you think - “

“I meant something on you,” I clarified, staring at the ground.

I didn’t look up, but I could hear the savage grin in his voice at what he said next. “Oh, we have got to try this.” When my head snapped up, sure enough, he was smiling. “If you can land a kick on me, I won’t even be mad if you break something. But that’s not what I meant.”

“You want me to test it on someone else?” That wasn’t exactly a better option.

He rolled his eyes. “Maverick literally does calibrations for a living. Pretty sure he’s got something that measures impact force.  Then we do the math from there.”

“I feel like I’m on an episode of MythBusters,” I grumbled as we headed out of the Medbay and back towards my office.

“I know!” he agreed enthusiastically.

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[kinglazrus]

Twice is (Never) Enough

Phic Phight for @syrren, continuation of the deadpool AU

AO3 | FFN

Summary: Danny remembers promising his friends two deaths was enough for him. He remembers when keeping track of how many times he died felt so important. Now, hundreds of fatal wounds later, he can't remember why.

Word count: 2374

A moaning wind pushes the fading storm clouds across the sky. Danny first saw them around noon, gathering on the horizon. From the streets of Amity Park, the clouds started as heaps of grey peeking above the buildings. Although the wind was rough and cold, the city basked in sunlight. If you found a spot to stand safe from the breeze, the sun's warmth was rather pleasant. Danny likes this kind of day the best. It helps, sometimes, when his body can't decide whether it's too hot or too cold, switching rapidly between sweats and chills at such a rapid pace that it might have killed a normal person.

Maybe it killed Danny, tool. On those days, it is normal for him to suddenly fall asleep, succumbing to the dizziness in his head and the shortness of his breath. He wakes up minutes later feeling healthy as ever. Then the struggle starts over again.

On those days, when the weather is as indecisive as Danny's body, he can hop from the comforting cold of the wind to the soothing warmth of the sun as needed. However, it only lasted a few hours today. As Danny's patrol took him to the edge of the city, he stopped by the bridge leading to Elmerton and found the distant clouds looming overhead, threatening to suffocate what little sunlight remained. Standing on the bridge's rail, overlooking the expanse of the river, he could finally see what the city had hidden from him before. The distant sky was a dark, stormy blue, filled with the haze of falling rain.

Within the hour, Amity Park was drenched. Freezing rain pelted against the sidewalk, rattled windows, blinded drivers. More than once, Danny had to swing down from the rooftops and rescue a pedestrian from certain death. These kinds of heroics weren't normally part of Danny's job description, but he was there and had nothing better to do. It earned him a few bruised ribs, a broken arm, and one skull cracked against the sidewalk. He got better, though. As he always did.

But that had been hours ago before the Fight Knight decided this gloomy weather was the perfect time to lay siege to the city. His mistake. He could only do so much as a one-man army, especially against a kid who doesn't fear death.

Danny shakes the Fenton Thermos, knocking around the occupant inside.

"Stop. Invading. My. City!" He throws the thermos in the air and boots it down the street. It pings off street lamps and cars (oops), nearly all the way down to the next stoplight. Danny, bored, watches it bounce with dull eyes. Maybe that will knock some sense into the knight.

A gust of wind tears down the streets, buffeting against Danny's back and knocking him forward a few steps. Danny hisses when his feet jolt against the pavement and the pain in his chest flairs. Right, the sword.

Gripping Soul Shredder's hilt, he braces himself before yanking it out. The blade bites at the edges of his wound, one last pointless strike against him. In his hand, the hilt burns, crying out against his possession of the sword. He hefts the blade over his head and waves it.

"This is mine, now!" he calls out to the thermos. The sword, as if protesting, burns hotter, but Danny is too stubborn to let go. Even as the heat burns the fabric of his gloves, his grip stays tight.

Another howling wind hurls its way down the street. It catches the thermos and sends it spinning away into the street and out of sight.

"Shit." Danny takes off after it. His chest, not yet fully healed, burns. Blood drips down the front of his suit, at least Danny calls it blood. He can't remember the last time he actually saw red dripping from his open wounds. Everything inside him turned black long ago.

He finds the thermos easily, caught beneath the tire of a parked car. It rattles when he picks it up. The Fright Knight is obviously displeased with his circumstances. Good. Maybe next time he will think twice before invading the city. This had to be, what, the sixtieth time? He stopped keeping track when it hit the double digits decades ago.

This isn't the first time Danny has thought about keeping Fright's sword, either. The temptation has followed him ever since he stopped bothering to sheath it in pumpkin near thirty invasions ago, but the sword never stays with him long. These past few minutes have been the longest he's ever held it without it disappearing on him.

Danny clips the thermos to his belt on one side and slides the sword into the other. The blade slaps against his leg as he walks. His belt pulls from the additional weight, too, but he can put up with it. With the threat gone and the city quiet, he stops in the middle of the street, hands on his hips, and sighs.

"Now what?" he asks the cold night air.

The wind answers him with a low moan.

"You are a terrible conversationist."

If the wind is offended it doesn't say, which only proves Danny's point. A good conversation needs some back and forth, none of this moaning and wailing stuff. He tried that for a year. It doesn't work.

With no more ghosts left to fight, Danny heads home.

—

The Master Mansion used to be the nicest house in Amity Park. No one could deny its grandeur; only the old Manson estate could challenge Vlad's house in size. But years of neglect have taken their toll on the Master Mansion. The once well-manicured lawn grows wild and tangled, the grass well past Danny's knee. Weeds fill the cracks in the driveway. Hedges, once trimmed to perfect circles, having become hulking green beasts of tangled limbs.

The mansion itself fairs no better. Broken windows, missing shingles on the roof. The garage house collapses inward, closer, and closer to collapsing every year. Once, a long time ago, Danny thought about fixing the garage, since it's his fault it ended up in such a state. It didn't take him long to decide he didn't care.

"Hey Fruitloop, I'm back," Danny calls as he walks through the door. His body, too flesh for an act so ghostly, resists. Walking through the solid would is like pushing your way through a lake of ectoplasm with a broken leg and deadweight hanging off your shoulders. Danny should know.

Opening the door like a normal person would have been easier, but if Danny's predicament is going to give him slightly convenient ghost powers, then damn it, he is going to use them. He has earned it.

Vlad doesn't answer him.

"Are you alive?" Danny shouts.

Still no answer.

He deposits the thermos by the door, leaving it on the front table. There will be time to release its prisoner later. He keeps the sword at his hip, though. During the long walk from the city to the mansion, Soul Shredder's weight has quickly become a comfort at his side. The blade still burns, but in the lingering cold of the storm, the heat comforts him more than it hurts.

Danny walks to the main hall, heading up the grand staircase to the second floor. The entire North wing of the mansion is Vlad's, while Danny has laid claim to the rest. It's more than generous, considering Vlad's a nutcase who doesn't deserve so much care. He can barely walk most days, anyway. If he tried to shuffle his way from one end of the wing to another he might just collapse and die.

Vlad's room lies at the far end of the wing, with large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the backyard. It must have been quite the view when Vlad had dozens of domestic workers managing his estate from day to day. When Danny pushes open the door to Vlad's room, the first thing he sees is the curtains draws open, letting in dull moonlight. Outside, the clouds are finally blowing past Amity Park.

The bed is empty, covers rumpled and hanging off the mattress. Scanning the room, Danny can't find any sign of Vlad.

Danny peeks into the dark bathroom. "Did you crawl off like a cat to die alone?" Empty. He moves on to other rooms, the study, the library—which is basically the study but with a few more books—the Packers room. All of them empty.

"Remember when Maddie did that?" Danny continues his one-sided conversation. "I found her in the garage under that dumb Lexus you loved so much?"

He heads away from the North wing. Maybe Vlad didcrawl away to die. It is a miracle he could have made it so far. Danny's tempted to give up, but he spurs on anyway. He doesn't care for Vlad, despite living with the man. It is more for convenience than anything. And, perhaps, because they are more alike than Danny wants to admit.

His search carries him to the back of the house, through the kitchen, toward the entertainment room where Vlad used to hold parties. Sliding glass doors along the outer wall lead to the backyard. One of them is open. When Danny steps outside, he finds Vlad instantly. A shadow slumped over in a garden chair, looking out over what used to be the pool. Now it's just a hole in the ground surrounded by pretty tiles.

"Damn. I thought you'd be under the car," Danny says.

"Do I want... to know... what you mean?" Vlad has to pause every few words and take a breath. His comes out low and raspy, so rough that hearing it makes Danny's own throat itch. Danny can't hear a trace of the silky voice Vlad used to have.

"I don't know, do you?" Danny asks.

"Still... after all this time... so juvenile."

"What's the point of being an adult if you can't be a kid sometimes?" Danny says with his young voice in his young body, neither of which has changed in over fifty years. He leans against Vlad's chair, elbow resting on the back. His arm barely brushes Vlad's shoulder, but it's enough to make the man groan.

Vlad, like the house, has grown withered and neglected. Nothing but sagging scar tissue and brittle bones. It must have taken him hours to get down here, perhaps the whole day. It would surprise Danny if Vlad had still been making his way outside when he got home.

The hole where Vlad's right eye used to be serves as a bitter reminder of what, or who put him in this state. Perhaps comparing him to the garage house is a better analogy.

"What is it... like?" Vlad asks. It is hard for Danny to pick emotion out of Vlad's voice, but the tremble sounds stronger now. Not the tremor of a weak throat, although Vlad certainly has that, but a waver of fear. A small admittance of weakness that he rarely ever allows, much less shows to others.

But Danny isn't other. Everyone else is, always has been. He doesn't need to ask what Vlad means. "I don't know."

Vlad tilts his head. "How?"

Danny shrugs. "I used to know, I think, but..." Things change. Dying changes you. And dying over, and over, and over again changes you so much that sometimes it is hard to tell what you were like before. So many sensations. So many memories.

Jazz told him, once, that patients with dementia have an easier time recalling old memories, those earlier in their life, then later ones. It doesn't matter if the later memories formed before dementia set in, they're just too new. When someone remembers something for decades, it passes through their head again and again, etched deeper into their mind the more often they remember it. It makes it easier, later, when their minds start slipping, for them to recall those moments they burned into their brains over the years.

For Danny, one such memory comes from the early days of his abilities. At that point, he had only died twice, and he made a promise with Sam and Tucker. Twice is enough. It sounds ridiculous now.

Twice is enough? He died at least four times today, maybe five. He still hasn't decided if he blacked out from his fever that morning or if it boiled him from the inside out. His hand drops from Vlad's chair to Soul Shredder, fingers curling loosely around the hilt. It feels heavier than ever.

Twice is enough. Twice is a fool's dream, the passing wish of a child who knew too little about the world and about himself.

Closing his eyes, Danny reaches inside himself and finds a burning light. Thousands of them, little pieces chipped away from a part of him so far beyond his comprehension he didn't know it existed until Skulker, so rudely, opened his eyes to it. Together, they shine as one solid mass, but he knows the truth. Inside, Danny is broken.

He used to have a notebook. It was Jazz's idea. Confront your trauma through words. Write down what kills you then burn the pages. She got the idea from some therapy textbook. To this day, Danny isn't sure what burning the pages was supposed to do. Whatever great expectations Jazz put upon the ritual, they didn't work. Mostly because Danny never followed through.

He can still picture those first few pages, written with more care than he put into his English homework. Electrocution, suffocation, burning, bludgeoning. Every time he died, he made an entry in the book, put down the details. It seemed so important at the time. Include every detail, how he felt, what it felt like, how fast he healed, who was there to see him die. Pages upon pages of his most traumatic experiences bound together in a neat little coil ringer notebook.

Danny remembers the promise. He remembers writing those words. He remembers believing it meant something. There had to be a reason for it, an explanation beyond the science that would reveal to him some great truth about why this happened. He's not foolish enough to believe that anymore.

Twice was never enough.

[natrogersfics]

After All - Chapter 1/5

Cover art by @faith2nyc​ Read on AO3

​In the history of work-life balances, The Daily’s has to be the most bizarre of any company, and Natasha knows that it has nothing to do with the reasonable work hours Pepper is a stickler for implementing. One would truly be hard-pressed to find another work environment where the people get along so seamlessly. Sure, they have their disagreements, and their instincts are always to engage in debate rather than shy away from it, but for the most part, the second the clock strikes five p.m., all spats are forgotten in lieu of brainstorming which watering hole to head to (Dalton’s, always Dalton’s).   

To say that her coworkers are like family seems like a banality on the surface, the type of line an HR Department would print in the welcome packet for a new employee before their first day on the job. But as she stands by the doorway of Tony and Pepper’s living room, watching the very people she works with on a daily basis joyously mingle with members of her actual family, she does not know how else she could possibly define them. These people are the best of the best in the respective subjects, their combined accomplishments the envy of anyone with even a scintilla of ambition to succeed in the media. And yet here they are, holding plates filled with rainbow cake and sporting unicorn party hats, all because these happen to be her daughter’s latest obsession and they’re all powerless to deny her – especially on her first birthday.

In some ways, she knew they would be fond of Isabel, but she never expected them to adore her quite like this – for Thor to bring her a strawberry cupcake every eleventh to celebrate each new month of her life, or for Stephen and Christine to insist that they come over so the latter can personally perform routine checkups, or for Tony to customize a double stroller for when he takes both Isabel and Maria to his workshop. What’s more, they’ve all rallied around her as well, none of them ever more than a text message away when she’s in need of anything, which proved invaluable as she navigated motherhood for the first time. 

This outpour of love from a group of people who are not by any stretch obligated to go so above and beyond is an anomaly, she knows. It’s going to take some kind of miracle for her to find another group of genuinely kind people who would go up to bat for her and Isabel. And it’s that very thought that wrests the sadness she’s been trying to keep at bay all day as she ponders how this may be the last time in a long while that they will gather like this. 

“Are you sure you have to go?”   

The question breaks her out of her reverie, and she turns to see Darcy next to her, holding up two forks in one hand and a plate of cake in the other. She chuckles, reaching for the other fork as they both take a bite and moan at the perfection that is Sarah Roger’s baking. “I already paid the security deposit on the flat we’re staying in,” she says. “So that’s going to be a yes.”

“Flat, huh? Look at you, getting in on the lingo,” Darcy teases before groaning. “But until your butt is officially across the pond, it is an apartment. And it is take-out, not take-away. Which, coincidentally, we happen to have the best of here. Where are you going to get your Nom Wah fix in London, Nat, huh? Where?”

“They have a Chinatown there too, last I checked,” she counters, laughing when Darcy rolls her eyes. “Besides, I have to go anyway on the account of me being out of a job. I do have a child to support, you know.”

“First of all, the only reason you’re out of a job is because you got a big promotion,” Darcy says matter-of-factly. “Stupid corporate ladder.”

“Big words coming from the newly minted editor of The Daily’s International section,” she says, suddenly brimming with pride.

“Only because I learned everything from you,” Darcy says quietly before sighing in concession. “Ugh! You better not forget us when you’re out there being a hotshot editor-in-chief. And you better make sure Boss Baby doesn’t forget who her favorite is!”

“Darcy, Darcy, Darcy,” she says, wrapping an arm around the shoulders of the first person to truly become her constant at work. “You are many things, but forgettable is not one of them.”

“Yeah, true,” Darcy concedes easily, causing them both to laugh.

“Speaking of the Boss Baby though,” she says, checking her watch. “It’s almost her bedtime, so I better go make sure none of her grandparents have let her eat all the icing.” 

“I think what you really have to be concerned about is an aunt and uncle helpless over her charms,” Darcy says, smiling knowingly. “Last I saw her she was in the kitchen with Bucky and Wanda.”

She’s about to thank her, but before she can, Darcy’s already running towards the center of the living room at Thor’s roaring announcement that a game of Pictionary is about to commence. For a second, she allows herself a moment to watch the pandemonium unfold as her friends – her fully grown adult friends, no less – vie for the positions of team captains. “Hooligans,” she says, shaking her head fondly before making a beeline for the kitchen. She pokes her head in, finding Bucky and Wanda poring over the cheese and cold cuts selection laid out on the island before knocking on the wall to get their attention. “Any of you know where Izzie is?”

“Nat!” Bucky exclaims, “you have to try this cheese. It smells like something died in it, but it’s so damn delicious!”

She tilts her head to the side, the corner of her mouth tugging up in amusement. “Maybe later, Buck.” 

“Ignore him. He’s inhaled too much cheese,” Wanda says over the rim of her wine glass before pointing upwards. “Steve took her upstairs for a diaper change.”

“Thank you,” she says, turning to leave. She makes it to the stairs, climbing it two steps at a time until she reaches the top and stops in front of the framed collage of Maria on the wall. As her eyes scan the plethora of pictures, she can’t help but smile. She’s seen this frame countless times before, can practically name where each photo was taken and how old her goddaughter is in every one of them, but for some reason, she finds herself lingering before it, as if she needs to recommit everything to her memory lest she forget. She gives herself another minute, and with a sigh, forces herself to look away and walk down the familiar path to the nursery.  

“Do you know how much Daddy loves you?”

Steve’s words stop her dead in her tracks, and through the door left cracked open, she catches a glimpse of him sitting on the rocking chair with Isabel across his lap, their daughter staring up at him as he feeds her a bottle. The sight of them gazing affectionately at each other punches the breath out of her lungs, and it’s only by instinct that she moves out of view, pressing her back against the nearest wall.

“I don’t even know if I have the right words to describe how much,” she hears Steve confess with a little chuckle, to which Isabel coos, and in her heart of hearts, she knows that she should not be eavesdropping on this moment – it isn’t hers, and yet, she finds herself unable to move. “I guess it’s a good thing that you don’t understand me all that well yet, so I have some time to figure them out...” He sighs, long and winded. “Though, if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I ever will. There couldn’t possibly be words in existence that will encapsulate how much I love every little inch of you.” Steve’s voice cracks by the end, followed closely by a sniffle. “I’m going to miss you like crazy, fig. And I’ll call you all the time, so please don’t forget Daddy while you’re over there, okay? You’re my whole world, baby girl…”   

The hallway and the stairs and the foyer are all a blur as she bolts, the air around her suddenly too thick. She makes it out the front door, but by the time she gets to the bottom step of the brownstone, her legs feel too heavy to keep herself upright and she slumps down, placing her head in her hands as the Summer night’s air blows by and the sound of the traffic on the Upper East Side rings ambiently around her. She sighs. Steve’s words weren’t even meant for her to hear. It shouldn’t affect her this way – shouldn’t hurt her this way – especially when they’re full of adulation for their daughter. And yet, it’s as if she’s taken another dagger to her already crippled heart.

“Natasha.”

She looks up in time to see her mother take a seat next to her, and in the warmth of Melinda’s embrace, she finally lets the tears fall. “Would you believe me if I said I was just tired?”

“Oh, Nat,” Melinda says, reaching over to thumb her tears away. “You don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”

“Only I do,” she says, the words tumbling out of her mouth almost immediately. “He’s had a year. Heck, he’s had more than that to say something, give me a sign.” Melinda’s expression softens at her words, and she knows that it’s because despite offering her a way out only moments ago, Melinda’s one of the few people who knows she’s right. It’s been too long since that fateful night she asked Steve if she had a reason to stay, only to be met by silence. It was damning then, and it’s even more so in the time that’s passed since they’d agreed to postpone both her move to London and the implementation of their custody agreement until Isabel turned one. If he wanted her, if he felt even a fraction for her of what she felt for him, he had countless opportunities and ample time to say so. But now here they are, their daughter past her first year of life, and a day away from each of them getting her six months out of the year. She shakes her head. “He loves her so much. That’s more than I could have ever asked for, and in some ways, that’s always been the deal.” She turns to Melinda, smiling sadly. “I can’t keep hoping anymore. I have to move on.”  

With a sad smile, Melinda drops a kiss to her temple. “Okay.” 

In the months leading up to this day, there were countless times Natasha had caught herself imaging how it would play out. She expected a tear or two to be shed – Sarah and Melinda being the most obvious culprits – but at the very least, she thought the massive crowds at JFK would prove a compelling enough reason for them to not only keep it together, but also to keep their goodbyes short and sweet. But here, on the tarmac in Teterboro, with the Stark Industries jet before her and her entire family close by, she realizes that this is quickly morphing into her worst-case scenario – drawn out goodbyes, too many sad eyes, and her heart feeling all too heavy in her chest.

“You tell T’Challa that I will never forgive him for this.”

Pepper’s words elicit a laugh from her. “Oh please,” she says, scoffing even as she wraps her arms tighter around Pepper and pretends not to feel the warmth of the tear that drips down to her shoulder. “If you were at all capable of holding a grudge, the three of us would’ve stopped being friends long ago.”

“That was before he plotted to steal my best friend from me,” Pepper mumbles, making them both laugh. “Do you realize that this is the first time since college that we’re not going to live within a subway’s ride from each other?”

“We’ll drop by for Christmas,” she offers quietly, unable to trust that her voice won’t falter if she dares answer the question directly. Over Pepper’s shoulder, her eyes quickly glance at the group by the stairs of the jet – Sarah, Nick and Melinda, and Bucky and Wanda all gathered around Steve and Isabel – and she finds herself relieved that she had already said her lengthy goodbyes to most of them last night. She takes a step back from Pepper as she says, “These next six months will fly by.”

“Alright, alright,” Tony interjects as he comes up next to them with Maria on his hip. “Let’s not act like there’s not going to be a Stark Industries emergency in the London office in two weeks that only the CEO can solve.” He eyes Pepper and then her knowingly before nodding towards the jet. “Best not to misuse company property more than we already are.”

She rolls her eyes, breaking away from Pepper’s embrace completely. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who insisted on this whole spectacle?”

“You were gonna fly commercial,” Tony says, his expression twisting in disgust. “We’re not savages, Red.”  

Her lips quirk up at that. To anyone else, Tony’s quip drips with arrogance and reeks of privilege from a life defined by exuberant wealth. But she’s known the man for over a decade now, and though most of the time his tact leaves much to be desired, she understands him enough to know how to read between the lines. Their friendship has never been defined by heartfelt tête-à-têtes, and part of her is glad that he doesn’t seem keen on starting that now. Nevertheless, she knows that making sure she and Isabel are nothing short of exceedingly comfortable on an already difficult trip, is Tony’s ultimate way of showing just how much he cares. 

“Come here,” she says, stepping forward to engulf both him and Maria in a hug.  

“Oh, we’re doing this?” Tony says. “Okay, we’re really doing this.” She ignores him, but it only takes a beat before she feels his free arm wrap around her as well, squeezing back. When they pull away, he has his signature smirk on his face. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

She chuckles just as she drops a kiss to Maria’s forehead. “Bye sweetheart,” she tells her goddaughter before turning back to Tony, raising an eyebrow at him. “Does that list even exist?”

Tony winks at her, prompting Pepper to shake her head at the both of them. 

“Indeed, it does not,” Pepper says, linking arms with her. “Come on.”

The pit in her stomach that she’s been trying to ignore since she got up this morning rears its ugly head once more. It’s for the best, she reminds herself. These four words have become her mantra ever since she uttered them that night in Steve’s office when she had first given him the custody agreement, and though her heart had never felt as eviscerated as it had in that moment, the fact that she’s only minutes away from jetting off to a different continent is testament to the fact that there’s truth in it. That, despite all that she’d hoped would change, this is how their lives must play out if they are to make their arrangement work. She sucks in a breath at the thought, at the finality of it all, and as she huffs out, the reassuring squeeze from Pepper grounds her enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Sarah is the first to notice them as they near, and she’s quick to offer her a warm smile before turning to Steve, whispering in his ear and giving Isabel one last kiss. 

“Be safe, darling,” Sarah says when she makes her way over to her, cupping her face in her hands. “And please, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” she says, smiling earnestly. “Thank you, Sarah.” Sarah’s barely stepped away from her when she feels two pairs of arms wrap around her simultaneously, and she can’t help but laugh when she finds herself sandwiched between Nick and Melinda. “Sucking up all my oxygen here, guys.”

“Call us the second you land,” Melinda orders. “And not a second later, you hear? We have your flight plan.”

“Or by God, I will order an F-35 to come find you,” Nick adds.  

She scoffs. “You’ve been saying that since I was sixteen.”

“It was true then and it’s even truer now that you’re taking my grandbaby with you,” Nick says, eyeing her pointedly. “Don’t try me.”

“Fine,” she says, chuckling softly. “We’ll FaceTime you the second we land. How’s that?”

“Excellent,” Melinda says, hugging her tightly once more. “Our girl, we love you so.”  

“Love you too,” she says to each of them. Wanda and Bucky are last in line, and as she accepts a hug from the former and a kiss on the cheek from the latter, she begins to make her way towards the landing of the stairs where Steve stands cradling a sleeping Isabel. She stops a foot short of them, tucking her hands into her pockets and mustering the best smile she can. “We should get going.”  

Steve nods, turning to nuzzle the top of Isabel’s head. “Be a good girl for momma, okay?” he says, and she has to avert her gaze elsewhere at the way his voice breaks at the end. “Daddy loves you so much, fig.”

Just as she had the night before, she finds herself once again an intruder in a moment she has no business being a part of as she listens to Steve whisper sweet nothings to their daughter. But despite the feeling of being so unwelcome, so unwanted, she swallows it all down along with the lump that’s formed in her throat in an attempt to keep it together. It’s only when she hears Steve mutter a soft okay that she dares look back, watching as he steps forward to place Isabel into her arms. 

“Shh,” she says gently when Isabel stirs at the movement, carefully shifting her so she can rest her head on her shoulder before turning to Steve. “I’ll text you when we land and again when we get to our flat, so you know she’s safe.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, letting a beat pass before shaking his head. “Natasha…”  

For a moment, she can only stand there, letting his utterance of her name hang in the air between them. Where she finds the courage to look in his eyes, she isn’t certain, but she does. The pain in them is clear as the sky above them, but for whom it’s for, she can only surmise. Surely, for being separated for the next six months from their daughter, who’s oblivious to the loaded silence between them as she slumbers peacefully against her. And though she knows she shouldn’t, she lets herself wonder – wish, really – if only for a fraction of a second, and perhaps for the last time, that maybe that pain is for her, too. And that maybe, just maybe, now he would say the words she’s been longing to hear.

Steve sighs, and she holds her breath as he leans down to kiss her cheek. “Knock ‘em dead, Natasha Romanoff.”

Her eyes fall shut at that, and though he’s close enough that she can smell the familiar scent of his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin, they might as well be continents apart already. “Thanks,” she whispers, giving him a final nod before she turns to ascend the stairs.

There’s only the whirr of the jet taxiing towards the runway as she settles further back against the softness of the leather seat. Across her chest, Isabel sleeps peacefully, her curls glowing russet in the sunlight streaming through the window and her weight a welcome distraction from the hollowness burrowing deep inside of her, settling in. By now, she realizes, the sensation is just an old friend. She sighs, running her hand up and down Isabel’s back, holding her closer. “It’s just you and me, fig.”

I’m not freaking out, you are!

Steve’s brow arches as he reads the words in the blue bubble, and he does not waste time pressing down on the file attachment, eagerly waiting for the video to take up the entirety of the screen. Once it does, Isabel comes into view, sporting a gray Dodgers jersey with her hair pulled up in two symmetric pigtails as she clings onto the edge of a coffee table. The sight pulls his lips up into a beaming smile, all but threatening to split his face. 

“Come to momma, fig,” he hears Natasha encourage in the background. “You can do it!”

Despite Natasha’s message alluding to the fact that this had been a fruitful exercise, he finds himself holding his breath as he watches Isabel blink, her eyebrows furrowing in suspicion as if she’s contemplating her mother’s words. On the lower part of the screen, her foot inches forward ever so slightly, though whether it is to test the waters or tease her mother, he can only guess. But then her dubious expression fades as quickly as it had come, making way for a toothy grin, and then his eyes widen as he witnesses her take one wobbly step and then trot the rest of the way.

“Yay!” Natasha cheers, eliciting an elated giggle from Isabel, and he can’t help but laugh along as the camera flips to show Natasha with Isabel now on her lap. “We’re walking!”  

He types back a quick Yes! followed by But also, uh oh! 😬 before pressing play on the video once more, this time watching Isabel walk on her own without the nervousness that had plagued him only moments ago. It seems ridiculous – though he’s willing to bet that most parents feel the same way – but he feels pride surge right through him. Isabel was just beginning to get the hang of walking while her hands were being held up during her first birthday, and now, less than six months later, she’s already cruising along by herself. Time, he muses, truly does zip on by.

Placing his phone down on the counter, he stops to ponder his last thought. If there’s one thing he’s come to realize about time, it is that it can be a real conundrum – moving faster than you wish it would when you least want it to and slowing down to an agonizing crawl when you’re all but begging for it to fly. Only, these two facets seemed to be happening simultaneously in the last six months since his custody agreement with Natasha had taken effect. On one hand, Isabel is growing and changing faster than he can keep up with, becoming her own person with every day that passes. But at the same time, it feels as if his turn to have her, to witness these milestones unfold in real time, is an eternity away.

“I don’t like that face. Not one bit.”

He turns towards the sound of the voice, chuckling when he sees his mother walking into his kitchen, a box from her bakery in hand. “So much for a face only a mother can love.”

“Of course I love that face,” Sarah says, setting the box and her purse down on the island before hopping on the stool next to his. “I made it.” Sarah snickers as he rolls his eyes. “What I don’t love is when it’s all broody and scrunched up” – she points to his head – “means something’s going on up there.”   

With a sigh, he unlocks his phone, opening the video back up before pushing it towards Sarah. His mother squeals upon seeing her granddaughter, picking up the device to get a closer look. 

“She’s gotten so big!” she says, her eyes on the screen. “Goodness, she’s walking. Really walking!”

“She finally fit into the jersey Thor gave her before she was born, too,” he adds, shaking his head in disbelief. “Now it’s just right.” It’s probably the tone of his voice – crestfallen, though he hadn’t meant for it to come out that way – that causes Sarah to look at him, her eyes rueful. He waves off her concern. “I’m fine, ma. Some days are just harder than most. Technology’s great and all, but I still feel like I’m missing so much. And now...”

Sarah reaches over to place her hand over his. “I’m sorry they’re not going to make it for Christmas, darling.” 

“It’s fine,” he repeats. While he isn’t due to have Isabel until after New Years’, with some cajolery from Melinda, Nick, and Pepper, Natasha had agreed that she and Isabel would come visit for Christmas. That’d been the plan even before they left for London almost six months ago, and if he’s being completely honest, it’s been the day he’s been counting down to since. But then an emergency at Natasha’s work came up, preventing her and Isabel from traveling until after the holiday and successfully upending everything he had been looking forward to. He sighs. “It’s still technically Natasha’s time with her and she was being really magnanimous about sharing Izzie for Christmas anyway.” He swipes his hand out, as if to dismiss his melancholy, but even that is half-hearted. “I was just really looking forward to it, you know? Bucky already bought her a beanie with Reindeer antlers that light up and I thought maybe she could still see the Rockefeller tree.”

“Still might,” Sarah says, to which he gives a non-committal nod. “They don’t take it down right away anyway. But have you maybe considered asking Natasha if you can fly there for Christmas?”

“What?” he nearly spits out the word in surprise, tilting his head to the side as he looks at his mother like she’s grown three heads. “What’re- I mean, what in the world makes you think she’d agree to that?”

This time, it’s Sarah’s turn to look at him incredulously. “You two have been getting along great these past few months, haven’t you?”

“We text about Izzie,” he says, “and yes, Natasha’s there when we FaceTime too, but that’s because she has to hold up the phone on the account of Izzie wanting to put everything in her mouth. That is not the same as getting along great.” He sits up straighter, shaking his head. “Besides, spending Christmas together? In London? That’s not even remotely in our-”

“Oh please,” Sarah interrupts. “I don’t care what you two have written down in your contract-”

“Custody agreement,” he corrects.

“Semantics,” Sarah counters. “Like it or not, you and Natasha are forever bonded by the beautiful baby girl you two brought into this world. That makes you family, and families spend Christmas together.” Sarah shrugs, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip and seemingly deliberating her next words. “Unless…”

He looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. “Unless?”

“Steven, hon, you know I don’t like to pry,” Sarah says carefully. “But ever since… well, okay. I suppose I thought that maybe things between you and Natasha… especially after Izzie was born… I thought maybe you two would give it a chance. But then nothing happened, and I said I’d leave you two to it. It’s your lives. But now she’s over there, making a life for herself and you know what? Good on her. But then I see you, and I… It just seems to me like you’re stuck. And I feel like I’ve seen this before, so I have to ask… Do you maybe still have feelings for Natasha?”

His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “That is not what-”

“And that is not an answer.”

“I…” he begins, only to pause to collect his thoughts. “I have had the tremendous opportunity of curating for a successful gallery and overseeing its expansions. And that is on top of my day job at the paper and making sure I am pulling my weight as a co-parent. I’m barely in the same place for five minutes, so quite frankly, ma, by definition I think that’s the opposite of being stuck.” When Sarah’s pointed glance does not let up, he sighs. “Look… if the lack of two more seats at our Christmas table this year is any indication, I’d say my feelings weren’t any good on a one-way street. If I were stuck, I’d still be standing on it, but like I just said...”

Sarah puts her hands up. “Well, if all the hatchets are buried…” she says as she moves off the stool and slings her purse over her shoulder. “No harm in asking then, is there?” She reaches over to the counter, pushing his phone back to him and nodding towards the screen. “You don’t get any of these moments back, Steve. So if there’s any chance you can be a part of them instead of watching from afar, try.” With a smile, she leans in to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you Sunday at brunch.”  

Sleep eludes him later that night as he watches the shadows dance across the ceiling, his mind replaying the conversation he had with Sarah. As he ruminates on its substance, he’s suddenly transported back to that night almost two years ago when Natasha had received her award from the Journalists’ Guild. At that point, their relationship had plunged into this strange and confusing pitfall. They had gone from living together as Natasha recovered from her awful fall, falling into domestic bliss as they did, to her serving him a custody agreement in his office seemingly in a blink of an eye. When he approached her that night for a dance, all he truly wanted was to erase the distance and the silence that had grown between them. But sometime in the middle of them swaying along to a soft string tune, she had informed him that she was going to take the job in London, and as he remembers how her words had made him feel then, hurt washes over him anew. She had pulled the rug from underneath him, sending him into free fall that, by the time she was accusing him of having never wanted their child in the first place, and asking him if she had a reason to stay, he was frozen. Speechless. Powerless to stop her from walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

Navigating their relationship after that night was incredibly difficult. They were both hurt, and understandably so, but giving each other space became nearly impossible when Natasha’s pregnancy spurned more health complications. They weren’t grave, thankfully, but it was enough to bring them to the sober realization that regardless of what had transpired between them, they couldn’t let their feelings get in the way of prioritizing the one thing that meant the world to the both of them. And by the time Isabel was born, the effort they’d both put in to make their circumstances work was so much that he told himself that it did not matter that his feelings for Natasha were not only lingering, but also brewing deep – rocking the boat was the last thing the three of them needed.

Further, what he had told his mother hadn’t been a lie. Feelings are no good on a one-way street. Perhaps there was a point where Natasha had felt the same way about him as he felt about her, but that was all moot now. In the end, she had gotten on the plane to London, and though he wanted nothing more than to tell her how he truly felt as they said their goodbyes at the airport, he still did not know with a certainty if that would have been enough. That, his love was a compelling enough reason for her to forego an opportunity that she’d been working towards her whole life. So instead, he told her the one thing he knew she’d do anyway – go and succeed. And if the reviews of the paper she’s helming and their cordial co-parenting relationship are anything to go by, it’s clear that staying mum was the right call. 

It’s then that the merit of Sarah’s earlier argument becomes clear. While spending Christmas together isn’t something they’ve ever discussed, with the both of them moving forward, perhaps there really was no harm in asking. Perhaps what’s in the past can stay in the past. Perhaps Christmas didn’t have to be so somber this year.Before he can change his mind, he reaches for his phone. 

Natasha holds her breath as she creeps out into the hallway, relief crashing down on her like a ton of bricks when she successfully clicks the door shut without hearing a cry. With a sigh, she brings a hand up to the bridge of her nose, pinching down and letting her eyes fall shut in exhaustion. Isabel’s been restless the last couple of days, waking up intermittently and distraught for reasons that she cannot seem to figure out. To top it all off, despite the holidays fast approaching, her workload only seems to grow exponentially, and with the recent lack of sleep, the fatigue is getting harder to stave off.With a heavy exhale, she straightens up, willing herself back to her living room and to where she left her laptop on the couch. 

The words on the open document on her screen are ones she’s read enough times that she can recite them verbatim from memory, and yet, as she tries to come up with the next sentence, her mind draws a blank. With a groan, she pushes her screen down shut. Writing has always been her outlet of choice, allowing her to clear her head by losing herself in the topic of her current piece, and for it to fail her now when she’s most in need of a catharsis, she can’t help but feel even more untethered.The ding of her phone cuts through the silence, and she looks towards where it’s resting on the cushion to see an email notification pop up. 

Picking it up, she glides a finger over the bubble on the screen and sighs when she sees the subject line read: 

URGENT – Meeting w/ PR tomorrow

Without reading the contents, she closes her email app, deciding that at two in the morning, she just does not have the mental bandwidth to deal with any more work woes. But as she does, her photo stream appears, and a video begins to play. The camera zooms in, showing Steve carefully lifting a six-month-old Isabel up to blow bubbles on her belly, and she stops to watch Isabel giggle. In her desperation to soothe Isabel tonight, she had decided to play the video as she rocked her to sleep, and much to her relief, it had worked. Within minutes, and with Steve’s voice on loop in the background, Isabel had finally gone to bed.It’s when the frame switches to Steve and Isabel playing peek-a-boo that she finds her throat tightening. When she had moved six months ago, she had believed that not only was it the right decision, but also that the challenge of a new job and readjusting to a different country would aid her in moving on. But as Isabel’s soft coos and Steve’s laughter from the video fills the room, the sounds only seem to further underscore how big and empty her flat feels.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the audio cutting off, and she glares at the screen in anticipation of another work-related email, but her eyes only widen in surprise when she sees a text from Steve.

Hey, do you have time to talk tomorrow morning (late afternoon your time)? Just had a question…

As she reads the text, her eyebrows furrow. While they communicate several times a week, it’s only so he can video chat with Isabel or so she can send him Isabel’s latest photo. It’s not like him to shoot her a text out of the blue, and it’s even more so unusual for him to be vague about the subject. She bites her lip as she contemplates a reply, typing something out only to delete it. By her fourth attempt, her mind begins to race with a deluge of questions. With a huff, she puts her phone down, and finds herself almost grateful when she catches the porch light next door flicker on through her window. Hurriedly, she gets up, running through her foyer and hastily throwing her door open just as her neighbor is about to place their key into the lock. “Any chance you’re up for a nightcap?” she asks, biting her lip. 

Her neighbor turns, looking every bit as tired as any reasonable person returning home at this hour should. Nevertheless, he smirks. “When you’re offering?” he asks. “Always.”

“Long week, huh?” she asks later on as they sit on her couch, each clutching a glass of wine.

“Endless,” he says as he angles to face her. “Two back-to-back shifts with a twelve-hour surgery somewhere in between that nearly went critical, to be exact.”

“Nothing the great Dr. Laufeyson couldn’t handle, I’m sure,” she says, eyeing him knowingly.

“The patient survived, if that’s what you’re alluding to,” Loki says, prompting them both to laugh.

Her gaze falls to her wine, watching the dark liquid swirl as she rotates the glass in her hand. “Must be nice, though,” she says, “knowing what you do saves lives.” She looks over at him as she adds, “That of children, especially.”

“It is,” he agrees. “They’re wonderful and pure, as I’m sure you know. Not yet privy to the trickery and harshness of the world at large like we adults are... But that’s a conversation for a different time.” He takes a sip of his wine before arching a brow at her. “So, tell me, Miss Romanoff. What is it that has you keeping me from my bed?”

She scoffs. “Didn’t realize I had the power to make you do things you didn’t want to do.”

“I’d do anything for you and that little angel of yours,” he says before shrugging. “You know that.”

Loki’s words bring a smile to her face. For all her struggles in the last six months, meeting and getting to know him has been one of the bright spots that’s kept her going. That, and the fact that he lives next door and is up at ungodly hours like she is, is convenient – especially on nights like this when she could really use someone to talk to. It’s with that reminder that she sighs and goes about catching him up on everything that’s been plaguing her mind since the last time she saw him. When she finally gets to Steve’s text, she hands him her phone. “I’m probably just over analyzing it,” she says. “For all I know, he probably just wants to FaceTime with Izzie more.”

“Then why not just get to it then?” Loki challenges. “Natasha, let’s be honest about what this is really about.”   

She shakes her head. “I just said that he-”

“I don’t mean about him,” Loki says, sighing when she stares confusedly at him. “You’ve basically just admitted to missing the man-”

“I said no such thing!” 

Loki shoots her a withering look. “Do you’ve any idea how many parents deny how much sugar they’ve fed their kids as I hold the results of their child’s blood work in my hands?” He scoffs. “It’s easy to say things, Natasha, but you cannot deny what is so. I assume you sulking in the dark and watching videos of him and Izzie aren’t just because you’re feeling nostalgic.”

“What do you want me to say, Loki?” she asks. “That I’m freaking out about this because I’m... lonely? Tired? Tipsy?” She chuckles, but it’s humorless, hollow. Her voice is barely above a whisper as she adds, “or that moving thousands of miles away was for nothing seeing as I’m still so pathetically in love with someone who clearly doesn’t love me back and who can seemingly pull me apart with a single text?”

“Only if that’s the truth,” Loki says, making her shoulders sag in defeat. “Natasha, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He takes her hand in his, causing her to look at him. “I simply wanted you to be honest about what’s at play here.” He sighs. “I don’t claim to know what or how he feels. And for that matter, what you truly do, and I will not pry. But what I do know is that you are smart, strong, gorgeous, and any man would be lucky to have you. The ones that don’t see that? They’re idiots and they don’t deserve you.” Her lips quirk at that, and he smiles. “Remember that the next time you think one text from someone can pull you apart, hm?”

Loki punctuates his words with a gentle squeeze to her hand, and as she lets the gravity of his sentiment sink in, she nods. “Thanks,” she says, laughing when he only winks and brings her hand up to kiss her knuckles.  

By the time Loki bids her goodnight and she makes it to bed, her mind feels a little clearer. Maybe she’s right and that whatever it is Steve wants to ask her is something as small as wanting more time to talk to Isabel, but the reality is that she’ll never know if she doesn’t find out. And if it turns out to be something that takes a wrecking ball to her heart all over again, if what Loki said is anything to go by, then maybe she isn’t giving herself enough credit. She has made it this far – scars and all.

With that in mind, she reaches for her phone and searches for Steve’s message to type out her reply.

Sure! Talk to you then.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

[badsext]

Leap of Faith - Part 2: Klaus x Reader

Part 1

Still no warnings...use of trope maybe?...light crime? The 🌶 is coming in part 3. This thing has a mind of its own. I was listening to early 60’s Motown music to get in the mood.

———————————————————-

“So what happened, Klaus? Why were you walking in the rain?”

“I’m a guru-“

“A what?”

“A spiritual leader...like a priest...but I’m done with that now. I walked away. I quit.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah, It was too stressful,” he sighed. Everyone wanted a piece of me.”

You suppressed a laugh. Klaus turned to you looking defensive. “What about you, kitten? Why are you running?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Who says I’m running?”

“Just a hunch.”

“Well, if you must know...and I don’t know why I’m telling you this...I have just left my husband,” your voice started strong then diminished, the words falling strangely off your tongue for the first time.

“I see. You strike me as someone with an independent spirit. Congratulations.”

You smiled. This was not the sentiment you expected to receive. The validation was nice, even from a stranger.

“Looks like we will both be starting over.”

It was silent for a moment. You put on the radio to the Shirelles singing ‘Will you love me tomorrow’, violins competing softly with the sound of the rain.

“You know, we’ve been driving for at least ten miles and neither of us have even mentioned where we are going,” you mentioned as casually as possible.

“I was hoping you would just drop me off wherever you were going. I have gas money.” He pulled several wet bills from god knows where and attempted to use the car’s heater vents to dry them.

“There’s a Howard Johnson’s up ahead. Are you hungry?”

“I’d die for some waffles.” Klaus sounded like he meant it.

You pulled into a parking space then looked over at Klaus with the blanket in his lap. His clothes were still damp.

“What are we going to do about this?” Your hand found his wet bicep. His penetrating green eyed gaze made you jump and retreat. “I...I have an idea.”

The rain was still coming down. You turned around to fish something out of your suitcase and handed it to Klaus. “Put these on.”

Klaus reclined in his seat. His hands went to his waistband.

“Jesus, what are you-? Wait until I get out of the car and use that blanket to cover yourself! I’ll get us a table and meet you inside.”

The hostess escorted you to a booth in the corner where you waited for Klaus. He sauntered into that restaurant like he owned it without a shred of embarrassment on his face. He was so at home in your black turtleneck and trousers. They were the least feminine garments in your wardrobe, casual pieces you would never dream of wearing together. The women’s cut of the clothes served only to accentuate what was sexy about him. He looked like a rebel, a beatnik. The beard was ugly, but it made no difference. The power he had over you was like a gravitational pull.

He sat down in the booth across from you and spread his arms. “Not bad, eh?”

“Shh, you’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“You’re right. I need to keep a low profile. Destiny’s children...my followers could be anywhere.”

“What kind of religion did you say it was?”

“Well, I made it up. It’s all bullshit.”

“Like a cult.”

“I never hurt anyone. I just persuaded some people -“

“Like a con artist.”

Your words turned some heads. “Okay, now you’re the one drawing attention,” he said dramatically opening his menu. Then he leaned forward and smiled. “I am a rascal though.”

The waitress interrupted to take your orders: eggs, bacon and waffles. The two of you kept talking and eventually the sun went down. The waitress had taken away your plates and refilled your drinks multiple times while you lingered.

You suddenly felt bold. “I want to see these powers of persuasion. Think you could get a free room at the motel?”

“Oh, easy.”

You smacked the table with excitement. “I want in. Tell me the plan.”

Klaus posed as a critic from a German travel magazine. You played his assistant and translator.

“Excuse me, concierge? This is Klaus Schmidt. He is here to review the hotel for ‘Das Vagabund,’ the most popular travel magazine in all of Germany.” Klaus started looking around, pointing at objects around the room and mumbling in German.

The desk clerk looked nervous. “What did he say?”

“He said all this orange decor is giving him a headache. We are tired from a long day of driving. Surely you have a room for us with double beds, yes?”

“Absolutely. On the house.” The clerk checked his guest book and sighed. “Oh, dear. I see the only room available has a king sized bed.”

Klaus nodded as a little smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“We will make do, thank you,” you replied with an elbow to Klaus’ ribs while the clerk turned to get your room key.

Once you arrived at your room, Klaus broke into a fit of laughter.

“Go ahead, laugh it up. You’re sleeping on the floor tonight, heir Schmidt!”

“Hey, that was some good improvisation back there and that accent wasn’t bad either. You ever do any acting?,” Klaus asked, sincerity ringing in his words.

“Oh, ages ago. In school.” You smiled, enjoying his compliments.

“Well, I’m impressed,” he said, stroking his long beard.

“Thank you.” You watched his hand glide over the dark wiry hair that dangled from his chin. “Tell me, Klaus, are you attached to the beard?”

“I am literally attached to this beard.”

You swatted at his chest playfully. “You know what I mean. If you want I could cut it for you. It might help with anonymity. I have a little pair of scissors in my sewing kit.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. It’s all yours,” he sighed, gleefully closing his eyes and sticking out his chin.

Part 3

@motherofanimals @bubblyani @spookyboogyuniverse @helena-way07 @magic-multicolored-miracle @salvador-daley @fendersaur @jynandtonics @rainysuitcaseprunegiant @bla-bla-bla-hut @thegirlinthefandoms @kanaekocho @tuutifruuti @dixonsunicorn @hanatashii @cahtah-haht @punknatch @chipster-21 @ringpopdust

[rydeszegras]

hospitals make miracles - r.donovan

hi guys ! this is my first fic and its not good whatsoever but figured id give it a shot haha, hope you enjoy !

wc: 1,623

warnings: minor swearing, mentions of injuries

-

you were a senior at andover high school on a roadie up to your annual trip in duluth. youve been taking this trip since your freshman year as you were one of the first players to ever make varsity as a freshman. that being said, this was your year, this was the year you had to show out. being named captain this season not only did you have to step up and lead the team, but you also had to focus on your game as it was your year to get scouted. you’d been looked at by minnesota-duluth, boston college, and minnesota, but all you wanted was to go to wisconsin, and this was your year to make it happen.

“y/n/n, are you ready to see all the hot duluth boys this weekend? i heard their varsity team plays at the same time of us and they have the wisco hot shot ryder donovan.” lilly said bouncing up and down in the seat next to you. you and lilly had been best friends ever since you met eachother at little wild camp 12 years ago. “y/n are you even listening”, “oh yeah sorry lil, just thinking about this weekend, did you know wisconsin scouts are gonna be there, i dont know if i can do this lil, i cant mess up, my future relies on this weekend” you exclaimed, trying not to freak out. “y/n/n you’ll be great i promise, but we should get some rest, weve still got 1.5 hours left and we’ve got a big game against east tonight.” you nod your head in agreement, dozing off into a deep sleep.

after an hour and a half of driving you arrive at the rink, getting up you fix your hair and adjust your sweats and parka and get ready to go grab your bag. after grabbing your bag, you start to head into the rink when you hear lil and ken start screaming, turning your head you see what all the fuss is about. and there he is. standing right before your eyes. ryder donovan. you’ve seen him in pictures as you followed him and some of his friends on instagram, but wow he was even prettier in person.

stumbling into the rink you make your way into the locker room gearing up to take the ice for warmups at duluth heritage. stepping onto the ice you complete your typical warmup of one-timers, slaps, and some stretching before noticing two big things in the stands. wisconsins top scout, and wisconsins top recruit, ryder. you didnt like it, but you just couldnt take your eyes off him.

the game begins and you take the ice playing your heart out making a clean goal through the five hole and racking in two more assists. after taking the ice to begin the last 20 mins of play, you get ready to take the faceoff for the third period. you win the faceoff clean and go to prepare to set yourself up to take a one-timer on the net. thats when tragedy strikes, when bringing your stick back to recieve the one-timer, before you know it you’re slammed into the boards on a cross check. tumbling down you hear a snap, a snap so loud that you watch the scout and ryder jump to their feet. as the athletic trainer scrambles to try and get you off the ice, you’re taken off the ice on a stretcher as you cant seem to put any weight on your right leg.

on the way to the hospital all you can think is why me, why now, why today. knowing it was probably your acl, you knew you were done for the season, that was it, it was over. scrolling through your twitter you saw your team won 5-2, which put your team in an excellent spot to start the season.

you arrived at the hospital and settled into your bed when a quite familiar but unfamiliar face walked into your toom. left speechless you see the 6’3 brunette standing in your doorway. “hey im ryder, i know you probably dont know me but i know you, you’re all the wisconsin scout has talked about for the past year and as im committed there i knew i had to see what the girls team is gonna have to offer and let me tell you, you looked incredible out there” ryder says shakily, messing with his fingers. you thank ryder and invite him into your room to sit on the chair. “trust me ryder i know you, youre all the girls have talked about after finding out that we played east this season, and youre committed to my dream school so theres that too, but theres no way the wisconsin scout wants anything to do with me, especially now that i have a double torn acl” you said, pointing down at your stitched up and wrapped knee, trying not to cry.

the next day, lil picked you up to bring you back to your hotel. on the car ride there you told her about everything that happened last night but when telling her you felt you sounded crazy, theres no way that thee ryder donovan went to visit YOU at the hospital and there’s absolutely no way that the wisconsin scout actually liked you. that was until you saw the instagram notification pop up on your screen... rydesdono would like to send you a message. you were shocked, theres no way that actually happened, but you opened the dm anyways to see what there was to say.

-

ryder donovan:

hey cutie, i never got your number last night and i was hoping we could catch up a little bit sometime if you feel up to it, i know with your knee it might not be easy, but i figured i would ask:)

you sat speechless. theres no way last night absolutely happened and there was absolutely no way he just called you “cutie”, but of course youre gonna meet up with ryder, no matter how much work it is

-

you:

hey rydes! id love to meet up with you again ! heres my number 952-***-****

-

thinking he might not actually text you because thats what hockey boys do, but sure enough you were proved wrong

-

maybe: ryder

hey y/n its ryder, pick you up at 6?

you:

absolutely, cant promise it’ll be easy with my knee and all, but i’ll make it work:))

rydes:

how about i pick us up food and bring it back to your hotel room, that way you can still have dinner with me but you can rest your knee at the same time;)

you:

that sounds great, ill make sure to leave the door unlocked

-

speechless you instantly call lilly and tell her everything, who freaks out the second you mention his name. as much as she doesnt believe it, you dont either. how is it that getting injured led you to a hot shot hockey player that is committed to the same school you are (yep thats right, wisco gave you an offer!!), one who’s actually genuine and nice AND insanely attractive. its mind blowing, but knowing theres no way this goes anywhere, as youd have to take the 2 hour drive back to andover in two days and probably wouldnt see ryder again until next year when you were both at wisconsin.

about an hour and a half later you hear two quiet knocks at your door, yelling “come in” at the sound. from your bed you see the cute hockey player who walks in from the doorway carrying the bag of food he got from grandmas, which happened to be your favorite restaurant in duluth. ryder sets the food on the table getting your food prepared so you didnt have to get up. he brings your food over to you and you invite him to sit next to you on your bed. you turned on your tv to the umd vs minnesota game as you rest your head on ryder who had just put his arm around you after you both finished eating. after talking for hours, that really felt like 10 mins, ryder decided that he should probably get back home and even if you didnt want him to go, you agreed.

for weeks after that you and ryder talked and talked for hours on end nonstop whether it was through snapchat, messages, or facetime. even though you only lived two hours apart, your schedules clashed too much to ever be able to meet up with eachother again. eventually after a year later you had completed your physical therapy and were ready to start your first year as a badger, but most importantly you were eager for ryder to get into town so you could hug the gorgeous brunette again.

when arriving at labahn, you were preparing yourself for the first day of practice and your next meet up with ryder, as the boys were using labahn as well as kohl center was undergoing some remodeling. you pull your bag out of your grand cherokee when you saw the brunette, and just like the first time you saw him your heart stopped. dropping your bag you ran in a dead sprint to see him as he dropped his bag and ran towards you wrapping his arms around your shoulders as if its been decades since youve last seen him as he held you for what felt like forever, when ryder whispered into your ear, “so hospitals really do make miracles happen” as he picked you up to kiss you before making your way into practice, knowing that without your injury you may have never found eachother the way you did.

[justcourttee]

And They Were Roommates-Pt 16

Marinette couldn’t figure out where she wanted to start. There was so much she wanted to ask him about, so much she wanted to talk to him about. She wasn’t sure how much time she would have once they arrived at the coffee shop and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to begin the conversation after they were done.

“Marinette, what are you thinking about?”

His voice was so soft, so caring. It made her heart ache at the fact that it all could be an act. She let out a small sigh, dreading the conversation.

“A lot of things actually, for starters, what does being soulmates mean to you?”

Silence crept it’s way into the air, striking Marinette’s heart through its core.  

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, I just know we haven’t had a chance to talk about it and -”

“No, no, no, please don’t apologize, your question just took me by surprise. You’re right, we haven’t had a chance to talk.” He paused, trying to choose his next words as carefully as possible.

“I think it means someone to spend the rest of your life with, someone who is not your exact match, but that compliments you in the areas that you may lack in life. I believe they should be romantic, but there is no reason why it couldn’t be platonic. A soulmate is a support system.”

Marinette bit her tongue, trying to hold back her retort. He answered her question and avoided it all at once.

“But what does that mean for us?”

Her eyes glanced over at his reddening cheeks as he tried to stutter out a response.

“I mean- I would uh- we could uh- I mean I would like to be romantic- or uh- try to be.”

“I would like that very much.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief, a smile slightly stretching across his face. A comfortable silence filled the car, but it was only momentarily. Her light heart grew heavy as she dove head first into the question that had been eating at her for the past few hours.

“Damian, do you know how I get my powers?”

“Sure, your miraculous, your earrings. They’re a gateway for small Gods to share their powers with mortals.”

Marinette sucked in a sharp breath, trying to shake the uneasiness she felt at his answer.

“Damian I,” she began level, gathering a stray piece of hair with her finger, absentmindedly twirling it. “I never told you that. How do you know so much about my miraculous?”

She watched his face carefully, looking for any indication of shock or slip that would confirm her worst fears, but he remained stoic, a slight frown replacing his smile.

“I grew up in the League of Assassins, as I’m sure you already knew. It was my mother’s goal to destroy your Order of Guardians and burn all but one box of Miraculous. Her and Grandfather believed they could use the jewelry to bring their own kind of order to Earth.”

He paused for a moment, letting her take in the information, only continuing when he felt she was ready.

“Of course, I was raised to assassinate any Guardians I came across, but that all changed on my tenth birthday. It was too dangerous in the League and my mother needed someone to dishevel my father’s work so that she could manipulate him into doing her bidding. So she dropped me off at his doorstep to raise. It ended up being her downfall. For once in my life, I had a family. It was rough at first, but as time passed on, I made meaningful connections.”

He paused to take a deep breath, his face looking pained as he continued.

“Then I died. When I was brought back to life, I was given a second chance, only to have my father die. Grayson raised me and cared for me more than my own father had when he was alive. When he was brought back to life, I no longer yearned for his approval. It was around that time that my mother and grandfather were killed.”

Marinette opened her mouth to apologize, the nausea and guilt eating her up, but Damian simply shook his head.

“Don’t even think about apologizing. It was a fair question. I imagine you are worried for the safety of your tiny Gods. Well, I can honestly tell you that I had no idea who you were until Tim outed you and I have no intention of misusing the Miraculous for any purpose or family matter. It is my word.”

The nausea slowly sank in her stomach, but the guilt still sat in her tightening chest. God, how could she think her soulmate would steal the Miracle Box? They sat in silence for the rest of the drive, Damian only speaking as he placed the car in park outside the shop.

“Marinette,” he placed his hand on her arm, causing the girl to turn her attention from the window to the warmth coursing through her. “I know all this is new, but I promise, I will never knowingly place you in danger or make myself a danger to you. If you ever feel like I am, please just let me know.”

She simply nodded as she reached to open her door, trying to hide the tears brimming in her eyes. Stepping out into the cold air, she quickly reached up to brush them away before making her way around the car to link her arm with his. He didn’t say anything, something she was grateful for as the two of them walked linked into the coffee shop. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“You are an imbecile who cannot read a clock is what you are.”

Marinette sighed as she took another sip from her hot chocolate, watching as Tim and Damian laid into each other over his brothers being ten minutes late. Dick and Stephanie were still deciding while Jason stood off to the side, waiting on the poor barista who was trying to offer them everything she could.

“Well Mr. Get Out Of My House, if you would’ve just let us settle this earlier, I wouldn’t have been woken at 1:30 in the morning to be dragged to a coffee house that sells mediocre beans! I mean seriously, where are the Costa Rican beans?”

If it was any other time, Marinette might’ve agreed, but she was too tired and too agitated to deal with him disrespecting her late night spot.

“Tim? Drop it. Either drink your coffee or give it to me.”

Her eyes must’ve screamed murder seeing as he begrudgingly sank into the couch, sipping his coffee in peace. She gently reached up and tugged Damian’s arm until he sat as well, the three of them in a tense silence as they waited for the others.

After another long ten minutes, Jason finally sank into the couch beside her, throwing an arm over the back of the couch, shaking his head.

“Princess, next time you want to hang late at night, can it at least be at a raging party? I’m going to fall asleep any minute now just from the vibe in here.”

“You should blame Tim, he didn’t strike me as the party type for a debrief.”

Jason chuckled as Tim’s frown deepened, only slightening when Stephanie took a seat beside him.

“Okay girly, we’re all here. So like, what’s the deal?”

Marinette sighed, setting her mug on the table in front of them, sparing a glance over her shoulder to ensure that the barista had returned to her position in the back of the store with her headphones.

“Tim, you wanted to know what made me so special that I would catch Lex Luthor’s attention, well, it was my design. I’m working on my business degree to start my own fashion empire, but I needed a sponsorship. He’s been following my work since I first came out when I was 16, focusing more on my college designs over the past two years. He wanted to sponsor me.”

“It’s Lex Luthor! He didn’t want you because of your designs!”

Stephanie slammed her elbow into Tim’s side as Jason and Damian shot him killer looks.

“What?! You all know it!”

Marinette let out a defeated sigh, raising her hands up in defeat.

“You’re partially right Tim. He wanted to sponsor me and in turn have me spy on your family. Not just business wise; no, he made it clear he knows something is going on between you all. I played dumb, let him tell me about your involvement with the Justice League, perhaps just as a beneficiary, but he couldn’t be sure. He wants to cut you off at your knees, but he needs proof first.”

Tim pressed his lips into a thin line, almost looking pained as he refrained from making another comment.

“Anyways, I told him I would consider his offer, after all, he showed me pretty ‘compelling’ evidence that I was just Damian’s holiday accessory.”

It was Damian’s turn to press his lips into a thin line, but his eyes told everyone how he felt about the comment.

“He gave me an untraceable phone that I dropped in the nearest trash can at the Gala and before you get hot headed Tim, I did it so that he couldn’t track me meeting up with you all or track me to my apartment. There are too many risks to go into business with a known villain.”

“But you don’t understand Marinette! We could’ve been feeding him information! You could’ve gone undercover as a double agent!” Stephanie tried to pull him back down, but he was too heated as he loomed over the table at the girl.

Damian stood, his hands curling into fists at his side, but a gentle touch from Marinette stopped him. Calmly she stood, crossing her arms as she strained to keep her face neutral.

“Tell me Tim. When you heroes sent Artemis undercover to work with Black Manta, how well did that end?”

A chill atmosphere crept in as all five faces around her fell, all recounting the tragedy of Wally West. Marinette nodded as she stood a little taller, her cool eyes never wavering.

“And tell me Tim, Why are you so willing to risk my life? The life of my friends? My whole future career? Why were you so willing to out my secret identity to not just Damian, but your entire family?”

Tim opened his mouth, but she refused to let him get a word out.

“No, I don’t want your excuses. If you hacked my profile in the JLE, then you know that I came here for a new start. The world is in a balance at the moment. Equal wars and tragedy to equal good and heroes. I wasn’t supposed to don the suit unless it was an emergency or injustice. But none of that matters, huh?”

“Princess, I’m sure Tim didn’t mean-” Jason was silenced by a small hand in his face, Marinette never averting her stare.

“I’m sure he did. Tell me Tim, you did your research before you showed up at my door. You knew who I was and what I was capable of. So Timothy Jackson Drake, can you look me in my eyes and tell me that you had no idea that my parents died three days before you arrived?”

Four sets of eyes turned expectantly at Tim, waiting for his denial. Marinette narrowed her eyes at his gaping mouth as he tried to find the right way to say it, but his words failed him.

“Tim, tell me you didn’t.”  Dick leaned forward in his chair, his hand landing softy in Tim’s knee.

“Yeah, Tim. Tell him.” Tears slipped down her face, the warmth as the fell matched the rage she felt inside.

After a moment of silence, Tim finally nodded, sinking further into his chair.

“I was hoping you would understand, but I see that was too much to hope. It was necessary for the mission, you were necessary for the mission. I knew you wouldn’t turn us down, the only thing I wasn’t counting on was your relationship with Damian.”

Jason and Stephanie both stood abruptly. In silence, they gathered their things and walked out the shop. Tim’s eyes followed their every movement, even as they pulled away on Jason’s motorcycle.

“I do understand Tim. You felt it was necessary. The difference is, I would’ve never put anyone in that position, no matter the mission. That’s where you overestimated.”

Marinette reached down to gather her now cold drink. Wordlessly, Damian stood and together, they exited the coffee shop, neither looking back.

The car ride was silent, but it was neither tense or awkward. No. There was finally an understanding between the two, an understanding to what the past month had been leading up to.

As Damian pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex, Marinette finally spoke.

“I’m leaving in a couple hours with Chloe and Adrien to go to New York and then Paris to bury my parents.”

Damian nodded, slipping the keys into his coat pocket before reaching over to gather her hand.

“What time should I have my bags packed?”

She gently pulled her hand out of his grasp, her eyes sliding to look out the window at the night sky.

“I can’t ask you to come, you’ll miss Christmas with your family.”

“Trust me, right now, you’re the only family that matters.”

She nodded absentmindedly, pushing the door open to feel the cold air rush in, burning her cheeks. It was nice though. A reminder that she wasn’t completely numb. A reminder that she could still feel the small things.

Damian met her at the side door, offering his hand to help her out of the car. After a moment, she finally accepted, allowing him to pull her up. And just like that, her arm wrapped around his waist, his draped over her shoulders, the two made their way up to their apartment to salvage any sleep before they began the long trip in the morning.

Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ladybug-182 @fusser90 @thestressmademedoit @dast218 @thezestywalru @jardimazul-blog @olynix @dorkus-minimus @xahriia @kris-pines04 @urbanpineapplefarmer @moonlightstar64 @itsmeevie01 @little-lady-bird @alexandriamw @lozzybowe @emmdaenovice @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @jessigurl-design @aegyobutpsycho2 @stark-morgoona @tis-i-beanbandit @rebecarojas07 @abrx2002 @ash-amg @loveswifi @heaven428 @dreamykitty25 @marinettepotterandplagg @smolplantmum @clumsy-owl-4178 @books-and-left-behind-journals @joejoejodee @iloontjeboontje @maybemanymuffins @zalladane @mysupporthyperfixations @tomandjerrydatingsim @naimena @redeemingmygloryintopurgatory @thornalchemist23 @goddessofthewestwind @thehufflepuffranger-blog  @aestheticnpoetic @more-or-less-human-i-guess @parish-vita @kitsunebell @catthhay @kking13 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @sapphirewilliams5095 @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe @jabalem @k-poplunardreams

[bucketofcowboys]

Just A Whisper Away

This fic is based on the interaction between Majima and Saki at the end of her substory in Y0... I just read that line and couldn't get it out of my name for so long! I just had to write this! I hope you enjoy this super fluffy-friends-catching-up fic that no one asked for :)

Relationship: Saki (Yakuza) & Goro Majima, Implied Goro Majima/Kazuma Kiryu

Fandom: Yakuza (specifically 0)

Warning: Canon Typical Violence, but it’s just fluff

Words: 3,869

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074707

Saki's mind always seemed to wander whenever she walked to work in the morning. Not many people walked around the Sotenbori streets this early in the morning, so most of the time her waypath was empty and quite peaceful. It gave her enough silence to live out old reminders of times past. Each block seemed to have its own special memory tied to it. Some silly, some sad, some dreadful... some she looked back on fondly and some she wished never happened. The city weaved together to create a place where every street had a story.

So, her morning walks to the office were her favorite part of her day. She just strolls around the early morning cityscape and relives memories with a special fondness. Her favorite street to walk down was definitely Sochofuku street. Though the alleyways that twisted and turned into the old Sunshine cabaret club had been cut off, passing by the new Club Four Shine still gave her nostalgia. Sometimes she would say hi to Yuki, but oftentimes she wouldn't be there in the morning. Their scene was more late night, and Saki was quite too busy for that nowadays. She visited whenever she could.

Passing by the club always made her think about her time working at a hostess at Sunshine. She was fortunate that Majima took her in when he did and took her away from the abusive situation at her old club. The year she spent there was put in the box of fond memories in the back of her mind.

This morning she was brought back to that evening after her last training with Majima. As she snuggled into her warm fuzzy coat to brace herself against the cold winter wind, she remembered how she rushed out of the club to make it to a meeting that decided the entirety of her future. How she ran into the wrong person, how everything was almost taken away because she refused to ask for help. How Majima came to the rescue. Saved her life.

"Majima-san... you taught me that sometimes it's okay to ask for help... so if I ever find myself in another hopeless mess... will you help me?" 

She carried the burden of everything on her shoulders back then. Her family deepened on her for money, she was saving up to go to nursing school, and she couldn't just be a hostess without putting forth her best effort. She thought that everything had to be on her because she didn't want to burden anyone else...

He smiled at her.

"Sure thing. You just whisper my name, and I'll be there. Bam."

She smiled up towards the gray winter sky. She never actually got to thank him for everything he did for her before he left... It was just one day he was there and the next he wasn't. She would be lying if she said she wasn't heartbroken when he left. All the girls were. Even Youda was upset.

Saki's mind was too busy being stuck in the past to notice that a man was walking towards her on the street. Before she could catch up with reality, she knocked into his shoulder. The man stumbled and barely kept himself from falling to the ground. She quickly turned towards the man and gasped.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention! I'm really sorry!" She clasped her hand over her mouth to try and cover her embarrassment. The man looked mostly unscathed from what she saw, but he turned to her and anger could be seen clearly on his features.

"What the hell! Watch where yer goin' dumbass!" The brash man sneered. She frowned.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I really didn't mean to..." She tugged her sleeve back and checked the watch on her wrist. She read the time and it said 7:27. Shit... she couldn't be late today, she had an urgent patient to take care of that morning. "Have a nice day, sir! Again, I'm very sorry!"

She turned away to continue on her walk to work, but was quickly stopped when the man grabbed the back hood of her coat and tugged her back towards him.

"Ya think sorry is gonna cut it, bitch? Do ya know who I am?!" He grabbed her by the shoulders firmly and she struggled against his hold.

"I'm sorry but I have to go!" She shoved the man off of her, but he grabbed a hold of her arm and held her in place. 

"You ain't goin' nowhere!" He threw her into the nearest alleyway. She scraped her knees on the biting cold concrete and knocked her head against the brick wall behind her. Pain began to bloom from her injuries and adrenaline ran through her blood, hot.

She hadn't fought someone in years. Ever since Majima scolded her for her recklessness... she stayed out of fights. She tried to focus on her future and stayed away from trouble. Its not that she didn't believe in her abilities... but she was significantly weaker than she was before. 

"Get away from me!" She screamed, holding her arms up to protect herself from any further attacks.

"You think ya can just disrespect me like that and get away with it?" 

"I didn't do anything! Help!" She called desperately. The only response to her cry for help was her own echo bouncing on the walls of the alleyway. 

She flinched when she saw the gleam of something sharp catch her eye. That's when she really began to struggle hard against the man's efforts. She kicked at his legs with as much effort as she could, but he grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head against the wall. Bobby pins fell from her previously neat bun, and her vision began to go spotty and black around the edges.

She felt dizzy and nauseous and her head pounded in time with her racing pulse. The situation brought her back to the memory she was reminiscing on mere minutes ago. She was sure she would be in this exact situation if Majima hadn't come to the rescue. But now... Majima wasn't here. Hadn't been here for a while. She was strong, but she wasn't strong enough to fight against an armed man. 

"...just whisper my name..."

The only thing she could think of was that phrase playing over and over in her head. She knew it was meant to be a passing reassurance, a small joke meant to never be thought of again... but now it seemed like a lifeline. 

"M-Majima..." She breathed out so quiet she could barely hear herself say it. She almost felt embarrassed at how helpless she felt. She promised him long ago that she would ask for help when she needed it... and she needed it desperately now. 

"Speak up, princess! Got somethin' to say?"

"Majima-San!" She screamed out, calling his name in hopes that maybe, somehow, he would hear her cries. That maybe, by some miracle, he would come and save her. That he would keep his promise from so long ago.

"Huh? Majima-Han? That your boyfriend or somethin'? Go ahead bitch, cry. Ain't nobody comin'!" Her attacker laughed as if he had said something funny. He then raised his dagger, ready to strike. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered herself with her arms. She braced for the sharp bite of metal. But, after a few moments of waiting, she didn't feel it. 

Instead she heard the sound of metal clattering to the ground and a sharp gasp of pain coming from her attacker. Her eyes shot open and when she looked up she could barely believe it.

It was him.

She had to do a double take just to see if she was imagining it or not. Everything about him was different. His long, neat, tied up hair was now short, his sunken in look had been replaced with a more plump healthy glow, and his beautifully tailored tux had been scrapped for a tacky snakeskin jacket. But that eyepatch and the angry twitch of his bowed lips was enough for her to know that this was her Majima. 

"Yo..." His voice rung out deep-- which was never a good sign. Majima only ever spoke that way when he was really mad. It was rare for anyone to hear him talk like that in the cabaret club. The only time she ever heard him talk like that was when dealing with particularly rude customers... or when he protected her all those years ago. "What the hell do ya think you're doing?"

He stood tall behind her attacker, his gloved hand in a vice like grip around his wrist. The man hissed in pain and tried to pull out of his hold.

"What the fuck, man! Step off!" He yelled as he struggled to pull away. He used his other hand to throw a punch in Majima's direction, but he quickly ducked his head out of the way before it could collide. He twisted the man's arm behind his back painfully and he squealed like a pig. He shoved him face first into the wall opposite of where Saki still sat on the floor. His face scratched against the rough concrete and a groan left the man.

"Sorry, ya rat bastard, but I don't let people get away with hurting my friends like that. Ya understand?" He growled into the perpetrator's ear like he was spitting venom. He shoved him harder against the wall and earned himself a cry in response.

"Majima-San..." Saki whispered in disbelief. She was half convinced that the man had knocked her out and she was now in the middle of a head trauma induced coma. He glanced back at her with his good eye and offered her a friendly smile. It contradicted the raged one he wore speaking to her attacker.

He pulled the man from the wall and held him up in front of Saki.

"Now... you're gonna apologize to this lovely lady... or I'll break your bones... ya understand!?" The man nodded quickly, sniffling back a tear before stuttering out.

"I-I'm sorry! I-I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me!" He cried out. Majima let out a pleased hum at his apology. He hesitated for a moment before loosening his grip on the man. The man took the opportunity to run as soon as he could. But before he could get only a few steps away, Majima punched him so hard in the jaw that he hit his head on the nearby wall and blacked on on the concrete.

Majima stepped over to the newly unconscious man and nudged him with his foot. He seemed to be completely knocked out cold. Majima sighed.

"Ya get what ya deserve, asshole." He turned back towards the, still very stunned, Saki. That familiar, warm smile came to his lips and he stepped towards her. "Ya alright?" 

He offered his hand out to her, and she quickly took it. He hauled her up to her feet and brushed some grime from the ground off of her winter coat. 

"I..." Words were lost from her. She didn't know what to say... She hadn't seen Majima for years, and then all of a sudden there he is. What was she meant to say? "I didn't think you would come." She admitted. 

"Good thing I was in the neighborhood then, yeah?" He chuckled softly. She just stared up at him in disbelief. After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Majima spoke once again. "Ya alright? He didn't knock ya up too badly did he?" 

He reached forwards and gently pressed a gloved finger to a slowly forming bruise near her hairline. She hissed in pain, and reached up to gently push his hand away.

"I'll be fine... just a few bumps and bruises..." Nothing she couldn't fix herself. 

"Ya sure?"

"Yeah I'm sure!" She pouted up at him. Their bickering reminded him so much of the old days back at the club.

She still was trying to process the fact that Majima Goro, Lord of the Night, and the man that saved her life--not once now, but twice, was standing right in front of her. Finally her confused face cracked into a smile. A bright smile filled with the joy of memories past and an old friend brought back from the dead.

"You big lug, I can't believe you actually came!" She exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a warm embrace. "It's been too long, Majima-San..."

An awkward beat of silence passed between them where Majima just stood still without much reaction, but eventually the man warmed up to it. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and squeezed her just hard enough to know that he missed her too. Eventually the two old friends fell apart and Saki smiled up at him.

"Where ya goin'? I can walk ya there so ya don't get fucked over by another brute." He offered with a nonchalant shrug.

"I'm heading to work right now. It's not too far from here." He perked up at that.

"Where do ya work? Not another cabaret club, I hope. Been a severe lack of good ones in Sotenbori since the 80s..." She began her slow pace back to the office, and Majima followed close by her side. For some reason, the fact that she was definitely going to be late didn't bother her anymore. She needed to catch up with him.

"I work at the hospital," She answered and got a surprised face from Majima. She snickered, "After you left, I went to nursing school, got my degree, and the rest is history..."

"Ya really did take my advice then?"

"Of course!" He gave her a look that could only be compared to that of a proud father looking at a succeeding daughter. Sometimes she forgets that Majima is almost the same age as her. He always acted like a concerned older brother, so she always imagined him as being years above her in age. Really there was only about a two year gap between them.

There was a pause where the two just walked down the cold Sotenbori street in silence. Saki kicked her tennis shoes on the ground before looking back up at him.

"What about you, Majima-San?" 

"Haw?"

"You kinda just up and left one day without a word... I want to know what you've been up to!" 

"Oh..." he paused for a moment and looked off into the distance, as if he was thinking. Probably trying to figure out what holes he can put in his story and get away with without her noticing. 

She knows he's yakuza, she knew since the 80s. Though a tux can cover up an irezumi, it can't cover years worth of wear and tear on the soul and an eyepatch she still never got the story behind. She was sure everyone at Sunshine knew he was yakuza, they just kept quiet about it. It was so odd to imagine the kind and quiet Majima being a brash and unforgiving crime boss. But, when she and the girls saw him fight, there was no question. Even less of a question now that his irezumi peaked past his snakeskin. 

She distantly wondered if he was freezing just wearing that, but he didn't seem to be reacting to the cold winds that brushed by.

She allowed him a moment to construct the PG rated version of his life in the past 20 years, and then he finally spoke.

"Not much, honestly. Left Sotenbori and started livin' in Kamurocho..." he rubbed at the buzzed off hair on the back of his head... she kinda missed the long hair. He did still look dashing, even if it was short. 

"Open up any new cabaret clubs?" He shook his head.

"Nah. I did open up a construction company though." 

"Really?" She couldn't imagine Majima at a construction site... but at the same time she could. It was odd. It's like there were two sides to Majima's coin. One a more kind-hearted and soft side and the other brash and hard. "I never knew you could build things, Majima-San..."

She remembered a time when Majima had to order a new vanity for Yuki after an incident involving a live wire and a spilt drink... she doesn't think Majima or Youda ever did manage to finish building that vanity... Spare pieces of wood and screws were strewn across the back room for months, and late at night before going home she could hear Majima cussing out the instructions. So she couldn't imagine him actually being able to build things.

"I don't build, that's my team's job." That made more sense.

"Then what do you do?" He froze for a moment.

"Uhh... managin'. Stuff like that."

"I see." She had to stifle a giggle.

She took a turn down the wrong alleyway, but she didn't stop and turn back. Neither did Majima. He followed blindly as she led him in circles around the block instead of actually heading towards her destination.

"Do you have a family now, Majima? Are you married?" 

"Nah, not really my thing." 

"A significant other?" She noticed that he froze up at that question. A smirk came to her lips. 

"I-I guess? I don't know. It's complicated with him..." 

"Ooooh, so it's a him? What's he like?" She asked, becoming increasingly eager to continue this line of questioning. She took another wrong turn, but this time he grabbed a hold of her arm and pulled her back onto the right path.

"Wrong way, busy bee. Ya don't wanna be late for work, do ya?" She pouted.

"Don't make excuses, tell me about him!" He let out a long sigh and glanced upwards towards the sky. It was almost as if he was asking whatever God there was for mercy. 

"...I've known him for a while now. I met him as soon as I came to Kamurocho." He finally began talking, she bit her lip to keep herself from smiling too hard as he explained his love story. "We... didn't exactly start off as friends but now I think we're pretty close."

She watched as he fidgeted with the seam of his gloves. She had never seen him act so shyly before. He must really like this man.

"Do you love him?" She asked, and he quickly jumped back in surprise.

"Hey! You don't just ask someone that!" He scolded, his Kansai accent exaggerating each word. He threw his hands up in faux rage and she giggled. 

"Sorry, sorry." She apologized between smiles that hurt her cheeks. After a beat of silence she added, "So... do you love him?"

"Sakiii..." he whined, but this time she didn't back off. She looked up at him expectantly and he sighed. 

"I-I... yeah... I love him." He finally admitted. She could see the flush on his high cheekbones. Cute.

She shot him a grin, but spared him from any more of her torturous questioning about this mystery man that had Majima's heart in his hand. Though, she did wonder what this man was like... during their training they spoke about women Majima was into, but never men. Maybe he was into tall dark and handsome guys? Or more of the femenine types? Maybe even big soft types? Probably one who could cook. He always said that a meal was a way to a man's heart. 

"What about you? You got anyone?" He asked.

"Yeah... I got someone." She smiled fondly into the distance as she had a moment of recollection.

She had met him a few years back. He worked at a Takoyaki shop she frequented, and one day he sat down and spoke with her on his break. They hit it off right away and the rest was history.

"I actually just got hitched last year! You see?" She held up her hand and showed off the gold and diamond encrusted wedding ring that sat perfectly on her finger. He leaned forwards and turned his head so it was in the view of his good eye.

"Ooooh, looks pretty. I guess he didn't skimp out on ya did he? Suppose that makes him a keeper, yeah?" She nodded along.

"Yeah... I think he's a keeper." 

Their walking slowed and eventually stopped when they finally made it to the front of the hospital. Saki stared up at the building for a moment. All the desire she usually had to work had been sapped out of her, and all she really wanted to do was walk around town and talk to her old friend. But, work was still more important than that. She sighed softly before turning to face Majima.

"This is the place. Thank you for walking with me, Majima-San." She thanked him with a short bow.

"Of course. I couldn't just let ya walk alone after an attack like that." Her head was still throbbing, and the bruises on her were beginning to settle into a dull ache, but she would be fine. She would be in worse shape if Majima hadn't been there.

"Well... it was good seein' ya again, Saki-Chan." She nodded in agreement. He turned to leave after that.

Saki couldn't help but feel an overwhelming feeling of dread as he left. He would walk away and into the shadows and then poof! He's gone forever. Never to be seen again. Like dust blown away in the wind. A ghost only remembered in stories and whispers of the past... she didn't want him to be a ghost.

"Majima-San!" She called after him before that snakeskin jacket could faze out of sight. He turned back to look at her, and she had to cup her hands around her mouth to speak loud enough for him to hear. "Don't be a stranger! We miss you!"

She could see the flash of his smile, even with the distance. He cupped his hands around his mouth as well and shouted back.

"Just a whisper away, Saki!" His voice echoed against the alleyway walls, and he spared a small wave before turning away again. 

This time, as he turned a corner and left her vision, that dread was gone. He didn't have to be a ghost, or an old memory, or dust. She would see him again. She was sure of that. 'When?' was a question that could only be answered with, 'eventually'. And she would wait until that eventually. 

For now, though, she turned towards the door of her office building and stared at the blue painted Kanji on the door. She sucked in a deep breath, and pushed it open. Sure, she was going to get scolded for being late and fretted about because of the bruises on her face, but she didn't mind. She had almost forgotten that she was even attacked. She was on cloud nine after seeing her old friend again. 

During her lunch break for the day, she immediately got on her phone and made a call. 

"Hello?" Yuki's voice came through the receiver. Saki couldn't help but smile brightly when she heard her speak. 

"Yuki-- you won't believe who I just saw!"

[terracottaalchemist]

Merry Christmas @hexalianrebel-blackfeathers !!

I'm a little rusty with my writing but I hope you like it! Happy Squealing Santa

Special thanks to @ticklygiggles for organizing everything❤️

🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

The Grand Highblood was a name that churned every sane troll's stomach. Ruthless, unpredictable, purple blood twisted inside him, cold, fueling a strength only rivaled by the Royal seadwellers. Signless could deal with the cruelty of the Empress, handle the attacks from his voilet oppressors, but not this. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Signless tugged once again at the sharp, iron cuffs on his hands, thick and noisy in the silent cell. He had always known that one day his luck would run out, that he would finally be captured, but there was gratitude in his heart that the subjugglers left his friends and followers alone. So long as he kept quiet, he would be executed with the knowledge of where Dolarosa, Deciple, and Psiioniic were going safely tucked in his soul.

His feet were bound in frigid chains, sharp on the bones of his ankles. A small light shone overhead, enough to glint off the rusted bars, but not the concrete floor. He could see every exhale curl through the air in white smoke. So cold.

At the very least, Signless could hear every time the guard came within 20 meters of his cell from the sheer weight of his leather footsteps. His stomach gurgled for more of the grub paste he'd been given yesterday, but his tongue prickled preemptively with the phantom taste of bitter acid and bile. The guard stepped into view behind the row of bars, but there was no grub paste. Just keys as they jangled around the lock on the door, which opened with a piercing whine. The guard grunted, motioning with his hand to come closer, clutching a familiar black cloth.

Two guards, ahead and behind him, led Signless through the halls on two chain leashes. The blindfold was tied tightly to his face, forcing his focus to the tiles under his bare soles, the rough material of the unwashed trousers he was given, and the chains. As they climbed an oak staircase, the temperate rose to a more comfortable chill. Signless sighed, but chokes on a sudden, harsh tug backwards. They stopped. A hard knock rang against wood close to his head, but he couldn't move away if he tried. The door opened with a dull click and Signless was lead inside.

Living all his life as a renegade, Signless considered his senses to be rather sharp. But he was preoccupied with the chains on his wrists being pulled over his head so harshly that his heels barely brushed the floor. Far too preoccupied to hear the even more massive boots against the floor until they were far too close.

"That's enough, motherfucker."

That voice. Everyone knew that voice. Signless shifted his weight back, but the chain holding him up was taut and heavy. He hung there, swaying, like an oink beast carcass.

The blindfold was yanked down to his neck, colours and lights striking his mutated eyes. Signless blinked into focus, and took in the sheer sight that was The Grand Highblood. Doubling Signless' height, his wild hair framed his shoulders and wavy horns, adding even more height. Blood-curling, white paint stuck to his face, applied with careful detail to resemble the teeth of a deep-sea horror. With a sway in his step, The Grand Highblood began circling around his prized prisoner.

"You're real fuckin' short, aren't you?"

Signless turned to look at him, but kept his mouth shut. There is only one reason to keep a troll like himself alive, after all, even if it's only for the time being. He would not crack. He couldn't. A sharp slap cut across his cheek, the mark flushing an offensive red. Signless hadn't even see him move.

"Let's make one thing motherfucking clear," Grand Highblood spat. "When I ask you a question, you best give me an answer. Understand?"

Signless licked his lips, his jaw pulsing from the single, half-hazard strike. "Yes."

"Good." He pulled the blindfold back up with a single claw, this time allowing more light to seep through. There was a snap of fingers, a grunt of acknowledgment, and the rough scraping of wood on stone as some sort of furniture was dragged closer, just out of Signless' kicking range.

"Now then, let's not waste any more motherfucking god damn time." The three seconds of silence stretch between them, tensing like a rubber band until it snaps around the Grand Highblood's words. "Where are your apostles?"

Signless gripped back his displays of relief. His friends had not been found, nor will they be without his help. He was the only one on Alternia that knew where they were, and he swore to keep it that way, regardless of the cost.

"Maybe you didn't hear me." He circled again, but much slower, coming to a stop directly behind Signless. "Shit, I'm feeling downright merciful today, so I'll repeat myself one more motherfucking time. Where are your fucking apostles, mutant?"

Signless forced down a shiver, tugging gently at his wrists one more time. Not a chance.

"I was hoping you'd say that. Now I get to have me some motherfucking entertainment!"

Sharp, unkept nails skittered up his defenceless sides, forcing a surprised giggle from the preacher's lips. What on Alternia?

"Honk! Look how sensitive you are! Your skin is even weaker than that of a Rustie, already turning red. What a motherfucking miracle! It must be my hatching day all up in this bitch!"

Signless squirmed, feeling 1000 times more exposed than he did before. Every memory of being tickled absolutely senseless flashed through his eyes, each filled with more tears than the last. Psi had been his most common assaulter. On the bright side, no bodily harm would come to him this way. He just had to bear it until he finds a way to escape, and said escape won't be hindered by serious inquiries. A slight grin tugged at his lips as he clenched his jaw. A little tickling never killed anyone.

Without warning, two pairs of knuckles slotted themselves between his grub scars and dug furiously. Lightning shot through his nerves straight to his spine, his sense of touch heightened by the loss of vision. A guffaw tore out of Signless' throat before he could clamp his mouth shut, as he kicked off the floor to escape the sensations. It tickled so bad, so so bad. But he wouldn't dare laugh.

"Oho, a fighter! You can try that shit for now, but once you're all burnt out, you'll break easy. You're helpless."

Signless bit his lip harder, calves and shoulders quickly protesting all his movement. The knuckles dropped to his bottom ribs, continuing their ministrations. Finally, laughter broke free like water to a dam, harsh and powerful with the pressure. Shame burned his cheeks. Signless spun sideways to throw off the attacker's hands, but Grand Highblood quickly dragged him back into place. The millisecond of relief only allowed him to regret thinking this form of torture would be easy.

"Ha! You think you can escape, bitch? You're weak. I don't even know your worst spots yet."

"Hahahahahaha, oh fuhuhuck!" Nuckles turned to claws as they traveled up and down his sides, spidering quickly. Down to his hips, up, down, up, down, and up further to his lower ribs, still buzzing and flushed. Suddenly, each trip down was a promise to explore higher and higher, until both hands slid way too high to attack his armpits.

"AHAHA! No, nohoho fuck ohofff!" Signless squealed, thrashing as best he could but failing to lower his arms at all. He curled one knee up as high as he could, but it only threw him off balance as pain stabbed at his shoulders. He was truly, utterly, trapped.

The Grand Highblood chuckled darkly behind him. "Is it too much already? How motherfucking pathetic."

His fingers skittered across his torso and sides for what felt like hours and hours, until Signless' laughs became gasps and chokes, eyes falling in and out of focus. Whenever he got even slightly used to the sensation, Grand Highblood would just switch spots.

"HAHA....ahaAA.. p.. ehehaha .pleheheease!"

"You know how to make it stop, motherfucker. Where did they run off to?"

The temptation was there, as much as it pained him. The tickling was too much, he was going crazy. "I-ahaha! C-c-ahan't!"

A rough growl cut through the air, and the tickling stopped. The hands held his ribs roughly, but he finally caught his breathe in progressively deeper inhales. The relief was short lived, however, as two more footspets got closer. Probably more guards, but he still couldn't see for himself.

Seconds later, the tickling resumed threefold. Thirty fingers danced across his skin, in his armpits, ribs, and the rest were fluttering across his belly and squeezing his hips. He heard a girl chuckling at him, and a small "oh" from a young man.

Kids, 8 sweeps at most. With renewed energy, Signless' bucked hard, shaking his head side to side as he began kicking at whoever was in front of him. The first missed, but the second came into contact with a clothes torso. Instead of launching his assaulter back, his ankle was yanked forwards and caught between their body and arm. Stupid highblood strength!

Sharp nails teased his arch skillfully and he shrieked.

"Ooh, boss! Looks like I found a good one!" She said with more giggling.

"Good work, bitch. Keep it up," The Grandhighblood repied.

With one foot in the air, Signless' struggling turned into pathetic twitches and jolts. He scrunched his toes as hard as he could, but the girl simply pried them back and continued. When she reached under his toes, tears started forming in his eyes.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA- AAAAA NOHOHOHO!! nOT THEEEHEHERE!"

"Not where? Here? Are your toes reeeally bad? Is that a really /ticklish/ spot for you?" She teased.

Heat dripped down his neck in embarrassment, even his back began flushing.

"Oh, do you not like that word? Tickle? But you're so ticklish! Tickle tickle tickle, I bet it feels sooo baaaddd~"

"Aha, hahaha! Dohhohoon't!" He pleaded.

"Don't what?"

"Mock meehehe!"

He could feel the venom dripping from her voice. "Mock you? If you wish!"

"Enough, child." The Grand Highblood interrupted. "He needs to focus."

She didn't respond but she dropped his leg. His hypersensitive toes barely brushed the floor before she yanked his other from underneath him, raking her nails over his entire sole hard and fast.

At the same time, the quiet boy shifted his hands down to squeeze at Signless' defenceless thigh.

"NOOOOOHOHOHOA! HAHAHAHA!"

Grand highblood continued to switch from spiders to digs and jabs at his armpits, while the other two scratched and squeezed his shaking legs and feet. After only a few minutes, white flickers of light bloomed under Signless' eyelids, head spinning as it forced his every breath out in raw, desperate laughter. His lungs began to burn.

"no- hahahhaha, nnhaha..noho more..no mohohoore!"

"You can make this all go away, motherfucker. Just tell is where they are and we'll stop."

"haha....n..no.."

"We won't stop until you're fucking dead. But it's gonna be a looking time till this gets you. Weeks, maybe even months"

Signless shuddered, body limp from exhaustion as all three of them tickled both his sensitive sides without care for his pleading.

"Or, you could spare yourself all the trouble now...and we'll make sure your end is swift and painless. You're finished anyways, and we'll find your followers with or without your help. So why suffer?"

His eyes rolled around in his skull, head pointing with blood lacking oxygen. His laugher fell quiet ages ago, but as it became silent his senses began to fail.

"Where are those motherfuckers hiding?"

Body numb and buzzing all at once, Signless forced one last breath through his aching throat, before the sweep lull of unconsciousness took him.

"..if that's what it takes, I will be their sufferer."