#its almost midnight and I must be off to slumber

[slashingdisneypasta]

Captain Hook x Reader || Excerpt

Plot: Hook wakes up before dawn and he tries not to wake you up too, he does, but you're just such a pretty picture in his 🛏🛏🛏 xx

Warnings: I think he has a bit of somnophilia kinkiness in him- but don't worry, he would wake you up before doing anything. He's a gentleman. He does stare at you though and give you some affections like cuddling, cheek stroking, and a kiss while you sleep though. It is also evident that some hanky panky occurred earlier. Unedited.

Tagging: @stareena Hey! I'm not sure if you wanted this version of Captain Hook or the animated one- but just let me know! ^^

The waters were in good spirits this morning, not flat and still like a corpse but not raging like a furious school teacher either. The ship rocked gently with its waives, so if he weren't a seaman then Captain Hook would feel sick- luckily, he was an experienced seaman and he enjoyed the soft rolling. He stood and walked on it easy, following the movements with an ease you only get out of years of experience.

Years of experience that also lead him to getting up at unholy hours of the morning every bloody day, even when he didn't need to. Even when he didn't want to. When he would do anything to just be asleep curled around his darling; still slumbering in his bed, their body naked except for the throws and furs that adorn his four-poster-cot. But no, though, his body clock had long since been taught that 4 hours past midnight was his morning. And he had to listen. It was in his blood.

So, yes, it was unfortunate that he was awake and dressed, not still naked himself feeling his sweet beauty's soft skin on his this morning. But the view he had, standing at the end of the bed, was almost as magnificent. Almost.

You really were the most marvelous treasure he ever found,.. he thought, smirking down at you nuzzling a cushion. Incredibly beautiful, over worldly sexy,.. unfairly adorable. Here you were, just sleeping peacefully in his chambers, after a long exhausting night between the cot and his hips (Admittedly, he was unrelenting last night- and deserve this rest now), and here we was... ridiculously aroused.

God- how do you do it?

Rolling his eyes upwards, Hook shakes his head and tries to just leave the room- go out onto deck and boil himself a tea and just enjoy the quiet morning and the magnificent sea- but the thought of you stops him at the door. Slowly he leans back from the doorway and turns back, gazing at you again.

"... oh, pull yourself together James. You had them a matter of hours ago." He mutters, chastising himself. Again, he tries to leave; reaching for the doorhandle and wrapping his good hand around it.

Then he's slowly letting it go again, and sighing. He has never had enough, not of you. That's clear. And well... the men are all asleep. If there were ever a time for him to devote himself to you, it was now.

He takes off his feathered hat and unbuttons his red coat on the way to the bed, before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead so soft you could mistake it for a brush of butterflies wings if you were awake. "My dear, you are just irresistible." Hook tells you quietly, as if explaining himself as the coat comes off his shoulders and he lays it at the end of the bed. Then he takes off his heeled boots, hanging over your dozing body. "Completely unfair, I must say... "

With his shirt and his pants still on, he slips back into bed; leaning against the headboard with the intention to stroke your hair and watch you rest for a while longer. When you instinctually, in your sleep, curl into him so your head rests on his chest and your hand slips over his opposite shoulder a slow smirk spreads across his face. Oh dear... "I suppose I'm not the only one who cant get enough, hmm?... "

While you continue to sleep, now nuzzling his collarbone instead of the cushion, Hook uses the tip of his namesake weapon to remove some hair from your face that was tickling your nose and becomes entranced with your sleeping face as he strokes your cheek with his knuckles.

Your delicate eyelids fluttering every now and then, your nose sometimes scrunching up, your pretty lips looking unfairly unkissed... He is besotted. Absolutely infatuated. He wants you forevor.

And he wants to kiss you. Your lips just look so perfect; soft and parted ever-so-slightly. He had kissed them for hours the previous evening, felt your tongue intimately with his, but he suddenly feels like he hasn't felt your lips for centuries. He misses your kiss desperately.

"Hmmm... " Could he manage it?... without waking you?... Spreading his own lips into a thoughtful grimace, Hook watches you needfully for a few torturous, thought provoking moments.

... perhaps... if he is particularly carefully with you,..

Ah. He cant help himself. He is a pirate, after all~ Stealing a few kisses now and then is the least he can do.

So, smirking shortly, Captain Hook leans down over your face. His hook trails soothingly down the side of your face, tracing your jaw until it reaches your chin; there it slips underneath and tilts your head gently up towards him. He can feel your slow, hot sleeping breaths on his face and he doesn't even care about your morning breath- you're far too perfect for him to ever mind something as silly as your simple human bodily functions.

Finally he feels your perfect, sweet, unmoving lips under his own. Its an odd sensation, kissing someone so unresponsive, but since its you he enjoys it anyway. He even tastes you, swiping a tongue across your bottom lip so so softly before pulling back again; satisfied. "... as suspected, my dear. You are utterly flawless, always."

When suddenly your hands glide up his chest to his neck and you guide him right back down to your, now quite responsive, waiting mouth- Hook is surprised but not displeased at all as he gives in to your sleepy request. Evidently his kiss woke you, but you aren't displeased he sees. Your lips move slowly, passionately against his and your tongue languidly glides over his; kissing him in a quiet, very exhausted, almost filthy way that has him hard again almost instantaneously.

When you release him again after a few lovely moments, your beautiful eyes crack open a little and you give him a worn-out smile. "... couldn't get enough?" Your voice cracks, from all the moaning and begging the evening before, but you're intent as ever. Oh, you are his north star, definitely. He loves you so much.

So, of course the answer is no- "Never, my dear."

"... be gentle with me."

"I promise."

[delirious-donna]

Call In The Cavalry [Levi Ackerman]

an: this is an entire rework of an old story for a different character/fandom. I felt like it fit Captain Levi and I enjoyed writing for him for the very first time. This is my first time writing in this fandom so be kind.

pairing: Levi Ackerman x female reader

warning: modern AU, military man Levi, phone sex, female masturbation, male masturbation, use of toys, bit of dirty talk, maybe a little OOC for Levi but I tried...

Masterlist

How perfectly infuriating, you couldn't quite get there.

You know, that blooming ache that resides so deep in your gut that it can only be reached by those with the most skilful of fingers or… well, the less said about the other possibilities the better, especially when you missed your partner more and more with each day that elapsed.

The gnawing need for sweet release mocked you, dancing out of reach of your dainty digits and even the incessant buzz of your vibrator wasn’t enough to see you fall off the cliff edge. Tension crowded the muscles in your abdomen and thighs, a continual pull behind your navel but always ebbing away at the last second. It was clear your mind was choosing to remind you of the absence of a certain someone and you cursed your brain for being so mean.

Finally, you kicked the sheets that were wrapped around your knees from the way you had thrashed around in experimentation. Frustration bubbled in your chest, and your head thumped wildly against the pillows. 

It had only been a week–one miserable week–since he had left. In fact, he was due home tomorrow morning. A thought popped into your mind… perhaps he was already home? Glancing at the alarm clock on your bedside table, the neon numbers illuminated that it was nearly midnight.

Your hand wrapped around your phone, the screen waking from its slumber and you worried your bottom lip with the edge of your teeth. Even if he wasn’t quite home, would he be awake for a call? A familiar smirk cut through the shadows and worries in your mind’s eye, the very slow and knowing smile that could curl your toes at the mere sight of it. 

With your heart hammering against your ribs, you ran the flat of your palm between your thighs to dig the heel into the bundle of nerves that needed him more than ever. It was enough for you to tap the call button, bringing the phone to your ear to listen to the agonising ring.

Long had you known that dating a military man would come with its fair share of sacrifices and this one was by far the worst. You hated when he was sent out on missions that took him away from you. Some times it was only a day or two but others could see him away for months at a time and that was hell on earth. The highs were euphoric but the lows were crushing. Thankfully there were far more highs than lows.

Your stomach flipped over with every ring, the buzz of anxiety teasing your needy anticipation into a frenzy. He might be asleep, might not see the call… so many possibilities.

“Can’t sleep, darling girl?”

Levi’s quiet drawl sent an immediate shiver down the length of your spine, a lowly moan passed your lips by way of response and there was a sudden hitch of breath on the other end.

It took you a moment to collect yourself and speak, all the while Levi waited with apparently endless patience. “I-I miss you, Levi.” 

Quickly, you hit the speaker button and gently placed the phone on the pillow, right next to your head. There was a coil of embarrassment to follow, knowing that you’d become so desperate to get off that you couldn’t even wait the few hours until you were reunited with your lover. What must he think of you?

There was a beat of silence, you almost checked to see if he had hung up on you but finally, he spoke again and it was worth the wait to hear the heated curiosity in his usually unaffected tone.

“Hm, is that so? You could have text me to tell me that. Was it my voice you missed, or perhaps… could it be something else?”

Arousal pooled from the entrance of your slowly clenching cunt, hips forced down into the mattress whilst your fingers painted through the wetness. How badly you wished those fingers to be his, to feel how he would spread your sticky lips apart to draw lazy patterns atop your delicate pearl.

“Miss your hands. Mouth. I-I miss everything,” you admitted with a whimper that only elicited a faint chuckle. You didn’t miss the sound of rustling sheets, knowing that he was in bed but not knowing whether it was his own or where he had spent the last week on his mission.

As a higher-ranking Captain, Levi had the luxury of his own one-bed apartment on the base and you were grateful for that fact. It had made things between the two of you much easier when you didn’t have to worry about being discovered in compromising situations by his comrades. Memories of the rare mornings you had spent wrapped in each other’s arms assailed you–whispered words of affection mingled with wandering hands that gave way to new discoveries and endless hours of bliss.

Whilst you were caught wandering down a hazy, rose-tinted memory lane, Levi was losing his mind. He couldn’t get past the broken way you sounded as you told him everything you missed, the needy inflection that was apparent and unabashed on your part. It had barely been an hour since he had slung his pack into his room and flopped atop his bed, but here he was considering throwing on the nearest pants he could locate and running to your apartment.

Instead, he scrubbed a palm down his face and eyed the traitorous erection lifting the elastic of his underwear. Images of you flickered in his brain like a bad home movie and he settled on a still of you laying in bed, legs spread with your pretty little fingers stuffed inside the very heart of you. He stroked over his clothed bulge and hissed, that was his duty, not yours.

“And what would my hands be feeling if I were there right now, sweetheart? Tell me, are you wearing the cute little bunny pyjamas you begged me to buy for you?”

You bit your lip, teeth sinking deep into your plush skin and your toes curled into the sheets before you lifted your knees and rutted your backside against the mattress.

“Nuh-uh, just a white camisole–s’too hot,” you breathed, listening for his reaction and delighting in the strained groan that fell onto your ears.

“Oh, naughty girl, not even panties? Are you wet for me, would my fingers come away sticky and clear-coated if I were you touch between your beautiful thighs?”

You followed his words as if they were instructions, imagining it was the pads of his fingers that brushed your glistening folds and smeared the sticky essence over the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.

“Yes. Oh, Levi–fuck–I’m drenched. Need you inside me.” 

His head fell back on his pillow at your admission, taking out his leaking cock to languidly pump from base to tip as he listened to your words and wished to be with you. Levi didn’t want you to know how needy you were making him, he had a certain reputation to maintain and he couldn’t let you know so readily that he was just as close to whimpering as you were doing right this second. Besides, this was about you and he would get you off at any cost and worry about himself later.

“My poor sweetheart, I know you want me there to stretch you out like you deserve. Here’s what you’ll do instead…” he stated, watching as precum spilt from his angry slit and coated his shaft. “Have you got that little bullet vibrator you’re so fond of there?”

“Mhm.” You weren’t sure you had ever heard him speak so lewdly before and it was possibly the most intoxicating experience to date. His voice was as low and commanding as it ever was but there was a desperate longing underlying which made you feel empowered despite being completely at his mercy.

Fuck, you were killing him.

“Okay, I want you to put it in your mouth and suck on it like it’s one of my fingers, yeah? You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Your fingers shook as you lifted the small bullet vibrator into your wet mouth, tongue swirling around it in earnest to please. The smooth surface was no decoy for Levi’s finger but you reminded yourself of the times he had forced his digits into your mouth to keep you quiet and it quieted the reality of the device between your lips. Those memories heated your blood until it was close to boiling over.

“Lift that little top, let me feel those beautiful breasts. Be gentle, baby, no pinching. I can tell you’re impatient but just relax into it,” he coaxed softly.

Dainty fingers massaged the swell of your breasts, thumbs rolling over your taut nipples again and again in the exact way Levi would if he were here, and that reminder brought a howl of frustration to your lips.

The tired Captain massaged his aching balls in time with your muffled ministrations on your breasts, every one of your shaky inhales tightened his stomach and drew his sac higher until it was near unbearable.

“That’s it, doing so good. I think it’s more than time to work that bullet on your sweet little button, I bet it is so needy right now. Press it softly on your bud, darling, let the delicious pressure and vibrations build for me.”

“Levi!” You wailed in a pitiful display of your current state. “Shit–s’good, but it’s not enough. I… I need more!” You cried your frustration, and he could practically taste the salt of your tears on his tongue.

He fisted his throbbing cock, pumping so fast and tightly that it neared pain. The angry purple tip stared back at him and he knew that the only way to be truly satiated would be to find release with you, not alone as he was.

“Oh, baby, I know. How many fingers do you think you can take, hm? Two?”

Your every nerve ending was on fire. You were a struck match that was quickly burning down to nothing but ash and soot. Your soaked fingers reached for your entrance, the walls fluttered as you breached inside on a high keen.

Levi panted along with you and you knew that he was fucking his fist, that he wasn’t as unaffected as he tried to portray and you smiled at knowing you were the sole reason he was losing his composure.

Your two fingers twisted, flexing into your cunt and stretched the velvet walls apart, all whilst you slowly applied more pressure to your clit. The tension was there once more, similar to how it had felt earlier but there was hope this time. It was the same but it was different, your unfocused brain trying to decipher what was the change when you already knew it was him. Even miles apart, Levi could bring you the much-needed release when you couldn’t.

Where was his mettle? His courage and valour? All of it was AWOL as he admitted silently that you sounded fucking hot, so completely vulnerable with the eagerness to cum. Moaning long and loud, chants of his name falling from your lips all whilst he continued to fuck his fist and tried to pretend it was your tight cunt.

“That’s it, lemme hear you.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, the sound of his slick hand pumping up and down his thick cock heightened your imagination and allowed you to believe he really was here with you.

“Fuck–you’re gripping me so well,” he whined, feeding your painted delusions with a shudder evident in his voice. “Nearly there. Now crook those fingers, call me over with those fingers and lemme hear you fall apart.”

You exploded like a firework, sparks crackled behind your eyes the second you connected with your front wall and the mass of sensitive tissue engorged from your actions. The combination of the vibrator on your clit, your fingers stroking just right and the imagery that Levi fed you, was more than enough for your orgasm to finally–finally–hit.

Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as your body curled in on itself. You listened mournfully to the grunt on the other end of the phone and wished desperately that he was here so you could see his release if only to admire his features twisted into bliss before smoothing out into relaxation.

Levi was a mess; hot sticky seed had erupted from his cock like a force of nature. It covered his still-tight fist, splashed on his thighs and splattered his quivering abdomen. His muscles contracted from the severity of his orgasm, and he couldn’t clamp down on his reaction–how embarrassing. Amazing, but embarrassing all the same.

“Oh God, sweetheart. That was–that was amazing.”

You sniffled in response, feeling a little overwhelmed in the aftermath of your orgasm. Mostly from the relief of finally getting there, but also because you were sad that your boyfriend wasn’t here to cuddle you close and sweet talk you through the overwhelming sensations.

The line suddenly disconnected with a quick beep beep, and you grabbed the phone even though your fingers were still smeared in your essence.

A text popped up while you stared at the screen, a soft smile spreading over your face and you rolled over and pressed your now beaming face into the pillows.

“I’m on my way over. Unlock the door for me.”

[bangtansmauyeondan]

White Dress or Whatever (Midnight’s Minuet Drabble 2)

This is the second drabble off of the Midnight’s Minuet series, but can be read alone. However, I highly suggest you read the whole series and the first drabble to have a better understanding on how two people who hated each other ended up here!

Inspired by this song:

•••

Pairing: Yoongi x Fem Reader

Genre: established relationship, fluff

WC: 2400

Summary: Settling in at his penthouse hasn’t been easy, Yoongi thinks it’s too spacious for him alone. He’s been dropping hints here and there that he wants you to move in with him once your lease at the apartment is up, but it’s always gone over your head. This time, however, he’ll make sure to coax out an answer out of you.

SERIES TAGLIST: @sugakookies0613 @pinkseokchim @belladaises @potatoandfries @cherrybubblesandvodka @sope-and-shine @juju-227592

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @jinsquishes @persphonesorchid @thatbangtanjagiya @taestefully-in-luv @pamzn @wrmnssoul @ygbubs @halesandy @jayhope88 @bnagtanx1306 @busanbby-jjk @babycandy111

•••

Yoongi woke up from his slumber and squinted at the digital clock on his nightstand. 3:28 AM?  He craned his neck as far as he could to see it clearly since physically turning would mean possibly interrupting your sleep. With over a year of being together, your relationship has grown more stable and comfortable. He really couldn’t recall the time when you argued, except that one time you accused him of not listening to you when in fact, he was. He was just bad at making eye contact. The image of your surprised expression when he repeated everything you had said back to you is one he would never forget. Apart from opening himself to you, and allowing you to get to know him better, he also discovered a lot of things about you. He now knows of the fact that you like your space, and you’re not a big fan of physical contact, which means you’re not much of a hugger either. Sure you enjoy cuddles as much as the next person does, but you’re never the first one to initiate the sweet gesture. But strangely enough, and the thing which he is grateful for, you always seem to crave his touch.  

Despite wiggling out of his arms whenever he would spoon you in bed a little too long for your liking, you would always move closer just when sleep was about ready to win you over, linking one arm with his before reaching for his hand and putting your other hand on his forearm. Then, after leaning your head against his shoulder, you would let out a contented sigh before dozing off. He turned his head to look at you in the same manner, a slight smile on his lips. He couldn't help but chuckle as he heard the quiet snore leaving your lips and observed them forming a half-pout as your cheek squished against his shoulder. “You must have been so tired…” he whispered before planting a kiss on your forehead. 

It has already been a couple of days since he got back from his two-week business trip to Spain, but his body clock has not adjusted properly yet, tricking him that it’s still around seven o’clock in the evening. That’s the time he usually spent walking around the hotel, checking in with the guards, checking in with the concierge, checking in with the kitchen staff - just a final once over on everything before he calls it a night. It’s tiring, it’s energy-draining having to check every single floor and engage in small talk with the employees. He doesn’t know how Seokjin does it, considering they’re both introverts, but his older brother seems to have more innate social skills than he does. Every night, all he wanted to do was to call you just to simply hear your voice, but he couldn’t because of the time difference. It’s the longest that you’ve been away from each other since you started your relationship, and missing you almost made him go crazy. 

Yoongi gently lifted your head and settled you down on your pillow, removing the loose strand of hair that made its way to your face. You sleepily groaned in response before tugging on the duvet over your shoulder and turning your back on him. The distance you created was mere inches, yet a pang of longing struck his chest. Before he knew it, he’s already wrapping his arms around you and burying his face on the crook of your neck, closing his eyes before giving into sleep again. 

•••

Three months ago…

“Why are you here? Who’s looking after the hotel?” Seokjin asked as he opened the door to his younger brother. 

“That’s a nice way to welcome your brother, hyung. Also, the 2000 employees,” Yoongi replied dryly. “I wanna see my baby niece and I dropped YN off at home along the way.” Yoongi walked past Seokjin to enter further into the house. 

“Your baby niece is still in her mother’s tummy and won’t be out in this world until May.” 

“I’m talking about Jihyo, hyung…” 

As if on cue, the padding of Seokjin’s three-year-old daughter’s little feet echoed around the high-ceiling living room, “Uncle Yoonie is here?” The little girl poked her head out between the mezzanine railings, pigtails coming into view first, before squealing in delight at the sight of her favorite uncle. 

“Come down here, Jihyo…” Yoongi opened up his arms to his niece, calling her over.

“She won’t come to you, she’s busy playing,” Seokjin piped up.

“I can’t! I’m– I’m playing with my Polly Pocket…” Jihyo lifted her hand showing off something so small, Yoongi couldn’t even make out what it was despite squinting. “They’re Mommy’s old toys! Mommy said they’re vin-sej!” 

“Okay! Have fun playing then… Don’t put them in your mouth,” Yoongi turned to Seokjin, “They’re what?” 

“Vintage. She said they’re vintage.” 

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Do they still make those toys these days?” Yoongi asked, genuinely confused.

“They make the bigger version now. Nara’s toys were the original compact miniatures, that’s why she’s been going around teaching Jihyo the word ‘vintage,” Seokjin scoffed. “Yah… did you just say you dropped Yn off?” 

“Yeah, she has a wedding to cater to tomorrow and–”

“Seriously, when are you gonna ask her to move in with you? Didn’t you say the lease on her apartment is almost up?” Seokjin cut him off as he made his way to the freezer, retrieving a pint of dark chocolate ice cream and two spoons before motioning for Yoongi to come sit with him at the kitchen island. 

“I’ve been trying to–” 

“Have you, really? Or you’re just throwing empty hints to the wind and then hope for the best?” 

“I mean–”

“I knew it,” Seokjin glared at his brother. “Your time’s running out, dude. I thought Mom has already given you the w–” 

“AYY AYYY HYUNG, I got it! I got it! Yeah, I have them.” Yoongi rubbed his face annoyingly before gesturing to shush his older brother off. 

“Okay okay, sorry!” 

“I’ll ask her to move in with me real soon. She’s been staying over most of the time already though, it’s almost like we’re living together already.” 

“Okaaay,” Seokjin teased. “Just make sure you hid those–”

“YAH HYUNG!” 

Seokjin burst into his squeaky windshield wiper-sounding laugh, satisfied with how easily he could still tease his younger brother.

•••

You woke up to the incessant buzzing of your phone on the nightstand. You set a 6 AM alarm because you were planning on going for a quick run this morning before jumping on a meeting with Taehyung and the rest of your staff for your new business venture— opening the first Sweet Knight branch outside of the hotel. You sleepily reached out to turn it off, and judging by the way that Yoongi was almost swaddling you in his arms, you didn’t think the morning run was still possible.

“You up?” Yoongi’s raspy voice softly rang in your ear, his warm breath hitting the nape of your neck at the same time. 

“Hmm…” You turned around to face him, his hand automatically running down your side and stopping at the small of your back, as your palm rested on his chest. “How long have you been up?”

“Fifteen-twenty minutes, I think.” Your eyes automatically closed when he planted a peck on your forehead. 

“… and you just watched me sleep for fifteen-twenty minutes?” 

“I watched you sleep, I listened to you snore, I— very gently— wiped your drool off, I removed your crusty— OW!” Yoongi flinched at the pain after you smacked him on his arm. 

“Serves you right!” 

Yoongi chuckled before pulling you tighter and nuzzling your hair. 

He’s never been like this to other people. The thing about Yoongi is that he doesn’t speak much in general, but his actions are loud enough to drown out any form of speech. What he lacks in communicating, he makes up for in acts of service and physical touch. In the beginning, you didn’t think your relationship would last. Over one year isn’t considered as long either, but taking into account how you two started out just wanting to tear each other’s throats off, every quarter is a milestone. But it wasn’t long until you realized that you two are a lot more similar and compatible in a lot of ways. You both recharge by enjoying your alone time. You talk, he listens. You’re emotional, he’s rational. You balance each other out so well that you understand each other without even saying anything, and people who don’t know much would think you’ve been together for years. 

“Do you have plans today?” 

“I was planning to go for a run, but I like staying in bed with you.” Early morning pillow talk has also become a thing between you. You don’t live together, and everytime you stay over at the penthouse is either because you’re too tired to go home after work or because it’s a given after an intimate night.

“Yeah?” Yoongi chuckled. “Best decision.” 

“Then Taehyung and I will call for a staff meeting about the new bakery… maybe check the inventory too.” You continued, picking on a loose thread you spotted on his shirt. “I think Taehyung ordered some supplies yesterday and they’re being delivered today.”

“Hmm…”

“Will probably do some tidying up at the apartment today too, Jimin might stay over this weekend.” Your brother has been staying over at the apartment on the weekends claiming he’s bored. 

“Ask him to move into the apartment. It’s only a few minutes away from his workplace by train.” Yoongi dropped another hint of wanting you to move out. 

“…and live with me? We will drive each other nuts after a few days.” You smiled fondly at the thought of your younger brother. “Besides, I think he and Marikit are planning to move in together.” 

“Ohh… he didn’t tell us.” 

“Of course, he wouldn’t tell you. Namjoon has recently broken up with Jelena.” 

“Hmmm… right…” 

Yoongi went silent again and you had to peek through your lashes to check if he fell back to sleep. He didn’t. He gave you a small smile when your eyes met for the first time that morning, and you couldn’t help but run your fingers through his now-slightly-longer hair. “What about you, babe? Do you have plans today?”

“I’m planning to ruin all your plans for today,” he replied smugly, breaking out into his signature gummy smile. 

You were taken aback by the unexpected answer. “What? Okay, why would you–” you yelped as Yoongi rolled over you to climb out of bed, and with one sweep motion, scooped you up in his arms bridal-style. “What are you doing?!”

Yoongi carried you to the ensuite bathroom and sat you down on the granite bathroom sink, “Stay right here,” he caught your face between his hands and kissed you on the lips before going over to the drawers. You watched him retrieve a round-shaped box with a mother-of-pearl lid that shimmer iridescently against the warm lights. He looked at you fondly with a small smile before slotting himself between your legs, handing you the box, and opening up the lid. “My mother gave these to me…” 

Your eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when they landed on two gold bands sitting side by side, one is plain, the other is lined with little diamonds along the side of its entire circumference. “I… wh…” you stammered, a million different emotions rushing through and making your heart go haywire. 

“These are my parents’ wedding rings,” Yoongi chuckled. “She gave Jin hyung her engagement ring, the one on Nara’s finger…” he continued, as if telling you the most normal thing in the world, without knowing its possible effect on you. How could he stay calm like this? 

“These… these are beautiful, babe,” your hands started to get all clammy, you wish you could just wipe them off your pajamas, but that means possibly dropping the rings. Yoongi must have sensed your anxiety because he quickly covered your hands with his, supporting the box. 

“Marry me, Yn…” his tone is almost a whisper, eyes seeking yours at the same time. The sincerity of his words gleamed in his eyes and you were so overwhelmed with emotions that yours started welling up. Yoongi let out a light chuckle before reaching out to wipe the tears that started streaming down your face. “I love you, you know that right?” 

You nodded, still couldn’t believe that you’re being proposed to, sitting on a bathroom sink, in your most unflattering pajamas, yoongi’s old oversized shirt, and a bedhead. 

“Marry me, Yn…” Yoongi repeated. “Today. Let’s get married today. Forget all your plans and let’s get married today.” 

“Babe?” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh through your tears. “Are you serious? We’re not prepared, I need a dress, I–” 

“I have a white suit. Do you have a white dress?” 

“I do, yes, but I–” 

“Any white dress, or whatever, wear whatever you want. It’s not important,” Yoongi nuzzled his nose against yours. “Just marry me today, hmn?” Yoongi wiped the last of your tears off your cheeks. “I love you so much, I couldn’t imagine myself living through another day without having you close to me.” Yoongi cleared his throat. “I prepared a whole fucking speech for this, something along the lines of you bringing color into my life in the form of those little sticky notes we used to stick to each other’s doors, but it isn’t me.” His shoulders shook as he silently laughed, “You’d probably end up not taking me seriously if I said all that, too… but that’s the thing I love most about you, Yn. You just… get me.” 

You smiled up at him fully understanding what he meant, because you felt the same way about him too. He just gets you… and you could no longer imagine your life without him by your side. You rested your forehead against his, your hands still wrapped around the delicate box, “Is this why you said you’re planning to ruin all my plans today?” 

“Is that a ‘Yes, I will marry you today?’”

You giggled at your boyfriend’s persistence before planting a soft peck on his cheek. “Yes, Min Yoongi. Yes, I will marry you today.” 

•••

Can we stay like this forever?

White dress or whatever.

I keep dreamin' there's a somewhere

Where we grow old together.

In a van or in a mansion,

Raining but we're dancing.

There's a billion people out there,

I can't believe the chances.

(It's You, MAX ft. keshi)

•••

A/N: Happy Birthday, Yoongi! ♥ Everyone, I hope you enjoy this little drabble. Were you all expecting the ending? ☺ ALSO... let me know if you wanna see more from this couple. They definitely hold a special place in my heart.

[jennaray143]

Need some Darius being a dad content. Could you write Darius feeding baby Hunter a bottle?

The bright midnight moon cast a faint light through the window of Darius’s bedroom illuminating his sleeping figure. Darius laid on his back comfortably draped in satin sheets, his bed was a adorned with a plethora of pillows varying in size. His blissful slumber was not to last however, as like most nights these days a small whine came from the other room quickly forming into a loud cry. Darius groaned keeping his eyes closed, he reached over for one of the larger pillows pressing into his face hoping the crying would cease on its own. This had been the fourth night in a row an interruption such as this had occurred and while Adrian had told him it was perfectly normal that didn’t stop a pair of freshly formed eye bags from trying to creep their way onto Darius’s face. The crying got louder and Darius sighed in defeat discarding his pillow to sit upright. He lazily swung his legs over the side of the bed when the crying evolved into a scream

“All right, all right, I’ll hurry, sheesh” Darius grumbled, settling his feet into a pair of slippers.

Darius opened his bedroom door, stepping into the generously sized space that served as a half sitting area and half a kitchen. There Darius could see the cause of the racket, he shuffled over to the small witchling wriggling in its golden crib. Hunter had kicked off his blanket and his pacifier lay abandoned within arm's reach, his face was red and glistened with tears. Darius leaned sluggishly against the crib, resting his elbows on the bars.

“What is it tonight kid?” he sighed, stifling a yawn.

Hunter whined, continuing to cry as Darius sighed tiredly. He leaned down to pick up the witchling, holding the babe against his chest as he bobbed on his feet a bit. He couldn’t smell anything that needed changing and his cry was a pitch too low to be caused by pain or fear. The baby chewed on his hand as his wails simmered down to whimpers. He must be hungry. Darius traced a spell circle causing a mound of abomination goo to cover the kitchen island, when the goo seeped down into the counter it left a large tin of Madam Partum’s witchling elixir, a round baby bottle filled with water and a stirring spoon. Darius walked over to the kitchen tracing a second circle to cause more goo to cover the stove top leaving a small pot of water, a tendril of ooze stretched for his head to click the stove on. Darius scooped white elixir powder into the bottle while the water boiled behind him, the infant against his chest grew fussy the longer it took erupting in a loud cry as Darius placed the bottle of milk into the water to warm. Darius winced and grumbled before repositioning Hunter to face him. He supported the baby’s head with one hand and held his body with the other, Hunter squinted through tears to look at the man.

“You know for something so small you sure are demanding,” Darius said with little heat to his voice, the baby whined again “oh forgive me your majesty for taking so long to prepare your late-night meal-”

Hunter hesitated crying, staring at the man. He had never heard him use such a drawn-out and almost theatrical voice, it was like the ones Adrian used during story time.

“-I should be flogged and petrified for such a heinous crime, oh woe is me-” Hunter hiccuped, smiling slightly as Darius continued in his performance. “Just put me down now to save the hassle of it all”

A weak breathy laugh escaped Hunter‘s chest as he smiled up at the man, Darius snapped out from his dramatics to look down almost amazed at the simple fix. Hunter’s laugh grew and rang out over the silent kitchen causing a smile to twitch on Darius' lips chuckling tiredly.

“Yeah, you’re lucky you’re cute ya little prince.” Darius hummed using his thumb to wipe a streak of tears from Hunter’s cheek.

Darius rested Hunter against his shoulder freeing a hand to remove the bottle from the hot water. He dried it with a towel, checking the heat on his wrist before walking over to the chaise Lounge sat in the corner. He settled into the velvet material sitting cross-legged with Hunter comfortably cradled on his forearm. Hunter’s little arms were stretched forward eager for the bottle before Darius obliged, he held tightly onto one of Darius’s fingers as he ate. Darius leaned back gazing out of the tall window, the night sky was speckled with stars in a mix of pink and blue haze that disappeared into inky blackness. A benefit of the castle's seclusion was the un-disturbed sight of the night sky, even with a few of the Titans ribs blocking the view it was still unlike anything else you could see on the Isles. He could feel Hunter’s breathing slow in his arms, looking down Darius could see Hunter’s eyes closing and opening slowly with most of the milk gone. He hummed fiddling with a soft tuft of Hunter’s hair, the repetitive petting motion made Hunter’s eyes grow heavier as his grip on Darius’s finger loosened. Hunter was fully asleep by the time the bottle was empty. Getting up from the couch Darius laid Hunter against his shoulder. Hunter’s head rested heavily as Darius discarded the empty bottle in a sink. He patted Hunter’s back firmly until he heard a small burp. Walking towards the crib Darius rubbed circles into the witchling’s back lulling him into sleep once again. He bent over the crib bars, careful not to let go of Hunter until the boy’s back touched the small bed, a trick Adrian had taught him. Darius straightened up again, picking up Hunter’s Pacifier.

“Alright little prince, rest up” he whispered, placing the paci in Hunter's mouth who took it immediately.

Darius pulled the small purple blanket up to Hunter’s shoulders, smoothing it out so there weren’t any wrinkles “And try to stay asleep this time.”

Hunter rolled his head to the side letting out a tiny sigh as if in response. Darius gave a hum like chuckle running a hand through the boy’s hair.

“Goodnight little prince”

[possiblycringe]

Pssst @themissakat I like your aus @toonteller Medusa au is also urs!

[kamotoshi]

safe [chōsō x reader]

pairing: chōsō x fem sorcerer! reader

genre: fluff with (seriously faint) hints of angst

warning(s): contains manga spoilers for chapter 62!

word count: 2.3k

overview: after spending many years as a sorcerer, you’ve believed certain things to be true. but a chance meeting with a curse that’s developed into a deeper relationship changes your perspective.

notes: want some listening music? here are two songs that helped me write this: summer fling by kang + effervescent by toonorth

A quiet, but gasping breath fills your lungs with a pocket of cold air when you wake from a dead sleep with a start. Instinctively, your hand flies in front of you, directed towards the doorway to obliterate whatever intruder you automatically assume has roused you from your deep slumber. However, much to your surprise, you’re completely alone. Rubbing your eyes, you turn your head towards the alarm clock on your bedside table to check the hour.

Ah, it’s that time again.

With a gentle sigh, you slide out from beneath the warm covers, causing your skin to break out in a wave of goosebumps at the chill in your room that you throw on a sweater and pants to combat before heading to the kitchen of your small but cozy living quarters. Sleep refuses to relinquish its grip, and you ungracefully bump into a few surfaces in the process of preparing two, hot cups of tea and finding a blanket to drape around your shoulders.

The rush of crisp air that greets you when you finally make your way outside of your abode livens you up a bit, though, and you wrap your arms around yourself to retain as much warmth as you can. Following the stone path decorated with glowing lanterns brings you to the front gates of your school—a place you know to visit whenever you wake up with such a start in the dead of the night. The drinks in your hands radiate heat that staves off the bite of the cold as another gust of wind howls past you.

In the darkness of the night, only lit ever so faintly by the twinkling stars in the sky and the waning moon, your eyes search for the visitor who seems to have fallen into a habit of making their presence known around the same time on every odd evening. Sure enough, the thumping of heavy boots against the stone walkway winding near and through Jujutsu High’s campus draws your attention to a tall figure wandering around nearby. The baggy cream clothes draped over his body beneath a vest the hue of blood instantly give away his identity, along with the dark, spiked hair gathered neatly atop both halves of his head.

Before his name can leave your mouth, he turns around to face you, as if he senses your presence the same way you sense his on the nights that he chooses to visit. It’s almost as if he uses some unseen force to disturb you from your sleep so he can steal away anywhere from a few minutes to hours of your time. Of course, this possibility would seem at least the slightest bit insane to an average person, but, for you—a jujutsu sorcerer—it cannot be discounted for the sole reason of what your visitor is: a special grade curse.

Wordlessly, the man you’ve come to know as Chōsō after a twisted event that led to many more spontaneous encounters such as this approaches you. His dark gaze skims over your figure before settling on your own, making your heart thud gently in your chest. Placing his hands in his pockets, he glances at the drinks you’re holding and asks, “Will you come on a walk with me?”

As a sorcerer, it should be second nature to meet the request of a cursed spirit with a no followed by a prompt exorcism. However, in all the times that he’d come to visit, he hadn’t appeared to do so out of ill will or inclination to get some sort of revenge. He’d always sat on the outskirts of the campus or walked around the lush forest surrounding it with you, making as much or as little conversation as you’d liked. In spite of how powerful you knew he was and the nature of his being, you didn’t feel particularly put off by him. In fact, you often found yourself thinking about him and when he’d stop by next more than you probably should.

Slowly, you nod, passing him one of your mugs so the two of you can be on your way. “Thanks.”

The sky above is surprisingly clear, given the school’s location in Tokyo, aside from a few, lingering clouds that float past the moon on their way around the part of the world you call home. It’s oddly peaceful considering your company for the evening. But you’d never really felt uneasy in his presence to begin with. And you certainly don’t feel threatened now, with the way he only seems focused on trying not to spill any of the tea you’d so kindly prepared for him as the two of you traverse a dirt path near the school’s grounds.

It's also a bit ironic, you think, that the route you seem to have fallen into the habit of taking leads you near one of the many, small shrines—gems hidden amongst the forest’s depths—but he appears to have just as much of an affinity to the location since he never suggests going elsewhere.

Beneath the gentle, pale glow from above filtered through leafy branches extending over you, Chōsō’s features take on a soft, almost peaceful appearance. He seems to bask in the symphony of crickets singing as he takes a deep breath and sits down on the grassy hill directly beside you. His dark eyes dipping down to the lip of the mug in his hands before shifting over to meet yours catches you off-guard since you hadn’t realized you’d been watching him so attentively.

“Hmm?” he wonders and takes another sip of his tea. His voice and your own pounding heartbeat are the only things you can hear above the sea of noise.

Inquisitively, you ask him a question you’re sure he’s used to hearing: “Why do you keep coming here?”

He sighs and glances at the grass beneath the two of you before answering, “I get overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?” you echo.

His head bobs in a slow nod as he tilts it up towards the sky once more, making his dark eyes twinkle in spite of the hint of sadness that seems to be lingering behind his gaze. “I’m always expected to do things. To pay the price of being granted my life here. And sometimes, all I wanna do is just sit and look at the sky.” There’s a small, but undeniable ache of empathy in your chest as you allow your eyes to flit over every feature of his face, searching for the words he’s not saying. But with his straightforward, unabashedly honest manner of speaking, it’s unlikely for him to leave you wondering.

After taking a drink to fight off the chilliness, another question leaves your lips. “You could go anywhere to cloud watch or stargaze, though. Why come all the way here?”

“I want to.”

Your fingers tap against the ceramic of your mug. “But being here puts you in a lot of danger. Why would you want to go somewhere like this to escape?”

Without a hint of hesitation, his dark eyes find your own once more as he states, “Because you’re here.” A moment of silence passes between the two of you filled with the ceaseless chirps of crickets during which you attempt to mask any effects of your racing heart and the heat crawling up your neck at his confession. However, the shock that strikes you like lightning must be written on your face, since his eyebrows furrow slightly with confusion at your reaction, and he adds, “I thought I made it clear I come here to spend time with you.”

For a few seconds, your lips make quivering, unsuccessful attempts at forming words your vocal cords won’t allow you to voice before you direct your attention to the mug in your hands filled with tea, instead, and try to regain your composure enough to speak. “W-Well, I knew that, but why?” is all you can inquire with a quiet murmur.

His chest rises and falls in a deep, shuddering breath as a cool gust of wind whistles through the trees. At first, you wonder, with the slight glossiness to his eyes and his sudden inability to meet your gaze, if his emotions are the source of the tremors you notice in his jaw. However, the realization that he’s cold soon reaches you at the sight of his arms folding across his chest. Wordlessly and without thinking, you close the little distance between your bodies and drape part of your blanket around his broad shoulders.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, uncrossing his arms so one of his hands can hold the side of the blanket you’ve given him while the other plants itself on the grass behind you. The unexpected warmth radiating from him that seems to engulf you in the tight space you’re now sharing makes it hard to resist the temptation of resting your head on his shoulder.

“I miss my brothers,” is the gently spoken truth that leaves his lips, “I wanted to give them a better life. My failure to fulfill my role as their older brother is something that weighs heavily on me, even though I know they’d tell me they forgave me if I had been there in their final moments.”

Following his moment of vulnerability, the two of you find enough courage to make eye contact, and you struggle not to lose yourself in the seemingly endless depths of his midnight-colored irises. With your faces mere inches away, you’re granted a closer look at him than you’ve ever had before, and it seems, from the way he’s watching you so intently, that you’re not the only one enjoying the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

The muscles in his neck tense with a thick swallow before he continues, “But when I’m here with you, I feel like it’s okay that I’m still alive even though they’ve passed. You don’t look at me with hatred in your eyes or expect anything from me in exchange for my existence. You accept me as I am.” Another gentle breeze dislodges a few strands of hair tucked behind his ear that you naturally move back into place for him before your hand warm from the drink you’d been holding comes to rest against his cheek. “Why?”

His fingertips ghosting along your own neck and cheek leave sparks of electricity on your skin in their wake. But you manage to organize the thoughts threatening to escape your mind at the tenderness of his touch enough to whisper, “When you fought with me instead of against me, I realized that maybe the way I’ve been taught to view the world we live in isn’t entirely accurate. You risked your life to save mine. You defied the rules about the world I once thought were true. And because you showed me that you cared about my life, I want to do the same for you.” A hint of a smile playing at his lips brings a warmth to you that you don’t think even the heaviest of blankets could provide. Taking a deep breath to slow your heart—which had been racing since he’d locked eyes with you—you ask, “Is that why you want to come here?”

“Hmm?”

“Because you care about me?”

He nods earnestly as his thumb skims over your cheekbones, and the adoration glimmering in his eyes like the stars in the night sky above brings your face closer to his. With a timidness you wouldn’t have expected from him, his lips meet with yours in a short, fleeting kiss, as if he’s testing the waters. The way you chase his after they separate, though, serves as a silent confirmation and has him deepening the kisses your lips return to his to share. Given his relatively blunt yet quiet personality, you’re pleasantly surprised by the slow, sensual manner with which his lips move against yours. You’re sure the two of you could remain in this secluded part of the woods forever, under the cover of the shadows masking you from the pale moonlight as you lose yourselves in the moment, but the reality of the situation marks its painful return when you pull away.

“I care about you a lot, and I want to see you more often,” he breathes, “But the last thing I want is to put you in danger. That’s why I’ve been visiting every once in a while and in the middle of the night.”

Moving your hand to his shoulder to rub it gently, you murmur, “I know; I want to see you too, Chōsō.” In an instant, his arms are around you, pulling your body flush against his, and the action fills you with a bittersweet feeling, since this is only the first time you’ve been so close to him, yet you’re unsure of when you’ll get to share more affectionate moments with him like this one. “We’ll find a way to make it work,” is the promise you whisper into his neck while he nestles his face in yours.

After a few, long moments of silence have passed during which your mind exhausts itself by tirelessly attempting to form solutions to an issue you never could’ve imagined you’d have in your lifetime, you start to relinquish your grip around Chōsō. He, however, isn’t ready to do the same, and refuses to budge.

Instead, he answers your curious hum with, “I’ll let you go back to bed soon, but is it okay if I hold you for a little longer?” Even though fatigue is starting to settle in, you consent and wrap your arms around him once more, resting your head against the side of his and nestling your face in his hair as you let your heavy eyelids close. “I’ve just never felt this way before.”

“Which is…?”

Your heart flutters against his chest in cadence with his own against yours at his answer.

“Safe.”

[vantaenims]

hour of the dawn | taehyung

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: friends to lovers, mutual pining | fluff

word count: 1.1k

warning/s: none.

summary: The backseat of the car really does have its way to make nothing into something.

Part of BTSGhostieMarathon (Trope #5)

masterlist

all rights reserved © vantaenims - do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

--

“I’ll take it from here”

“No, it’s alright” Taehyung dismissed you.

“You’ve been driving for almost three hours now”, you pointed towards the time to show him that it's currently 4 in the morning and there’s still another hour to go before you get to arrive in Busan, “You must be tired.”

“I’m not tired”, Taehyung yawned.

“See! You’ve been yawning non-stop for the past five minutes now”

“I did not yawn”

“You just did!” you retaliated, yawning afterwards.

“Oh you just did too!” Taehyung pointed at you as he turned to look at you and he had to bite his lower lip to contain his laughter when he saw you looking annoyed as hell with the way the corners of your mouth are pointing downwards.

“It’s because yawning is contagious”, you rolled your eyes as you sigh, “Tae, you need to take a rest so why don’t you pull over and let me drive.“

“I told you. I got this”

“Taehyung, don’t be–”

“God, just say you’re worried for each other”, Jimin interjected from the backseat, leaning forward towards the center console as he let out a loud yawn whilst rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “You lovebirds are insufferable.”

Jimin always finds it amusing that you two have managed to still remain ignorant towards your feelings for each other so as to not jeopardize your friendship but it looks like you’re both actually clueless about it and Jimin has had enough with the tension more than the two of you idiots.

“I’ll drive”, Jimin suggested, hoping his plan in mind would work, “It’s about time I put my driver’s license to use anyway.”

Taehyung was quick to comply as he pulled over at the side of the road and you incredulously looked at him but he could only give you a shrug as he unbuckled himself to switch places with Jimin.

“And why are you still here?” Jimin raised his brows as soon as he got himself on the driver’s seat.

“You need someone to stay awake with” you stated as a matter of fact.

“I’ve slept enough, now why don’t you join your lover Instead?” Jimin teased, prompting you to squint your eyes at him suspiciously, “What? I’m just saying that you both need some sleep.”

“I could sleep here.”

“But the backseat is much comfier, right?” Jimin twisted his body to speak to Taehyung who’s currently snuggling himself further down into the small blanket up to the point that his eyes are the only one peeking through it.

“Mhmm” Taehyung hummed as he slowly blinked his half lidded eyes and you tried your best to not coo at the sight but Jimin snapped his fingers in front of your face to get your attention.

“Come on, Y/N. I’m not going to move this car ‘til you get yourself back there”

“You’re pushy, aren’t you?” you huffed as you relentlessly unbuckle yourself to remove your shoes and throw it haphazardly at the back where you joined Taehyung by jumping over the console, “Happy?”

“As long as you’re happy” Jimin winked, immediately stepping on the gas to continue the trip.

You decided to settle by the window, imitating Taehyung on the other end as you crossed your arms and leaned your head against the window, not realizing how sleepy you felt until now and that’s on Taehyung for showing up unannounced in front of your house at midnight to drag you along with him into this trip that Jimin has planned on a whim.

You slowly felt yourself drifting off to sleep but you were disrupted when you felt a tap on your shoulder, prompting you to open your eyes to see that Taehyung had managed to slid closer to you.

“Can I hold you?” Taehyung whispered.

“Huh?”

“I can’t sleep properly”

“Okay” you mumbled.

Taehyung swung his arms around your shoulders to pull you in so he could share and drape the blanket around your figure. You scooted closer to him until you felt comfortable enough although you were a bit unsure if you should even put your head to rest against his chest but Taehyung must’ve sensed your hesitation because he took it upon himself to gently place your head there.

“Is this okay?”, Taehyung asked when he felt your body tensing up, prompting him to squeeze your shoulder to possibly make you at ease.

“Yeah” you affirmed him as you relaxed into his hold, eyes falling shut whilst you nuzzled your face closer to his neck.

“Good night”

“Good morning” you corrected and you could feel his chuckle vibrate through his chest.

Taehyung used his hand around your shoulder to ran his fingers through your hair in a manner that could easily lull you into a slumber but you believe that won’t be happening anytime soon, not when you could feel his other hand ghosting over your palm and you can’t help but wonder what his hands would feel like against yours but wouldn’t it be too strange for the two of you to hold hands?

Then again, isn’t it already strange to get so cozy with your best friend like this in the first place? It is strange but it’s not like you’re complaining and so does Taehyung, so what is there to lose at this point if you let your curiosity take over? You might as well take advantage of the situation while the opportunity presents itself.

You did not hold back any longer when you decided to encapsulate his hand onto yours and you admit that it was a scary thing to do because you felt like you’ve just crossed a line you shouldn’t even be crossing and Taehyung being unresponsive doesn’t help either but hearing the sounds of his rapid heart beat has somewhat made you relieved.

Taehyung squeezed your hand, thumb drawing soothing circles at the back of your hand but he then grabbed it to place it along his shoulder whilst he moved the hand that was on your shoulders down to your waist to reel you in to his side furthermore making this seem more intimate than it was.

“You still awake?” he said.

“Yeah”

“Look at me” and so you did.

Taehyung’s face was dangerously close to yours and you think your heart is going to burst with the way he’s looking at you so softly with that small smile adorning his face that soon falters once his eyes flickered down to your lips and you could already feel the butterflies wilding in your stomach, particularly so when Taehyung began to lean in.

But just as your lips were about to meet, the two of you suddenly bounced off of your seats as your heads painfully clashed against each other and that’s because Jimin accidentally drove over a speed bump at full speed.

Annoyed, Taehyung sent Jimin a deadly glare through the rear view mirror for ruining the moment.

“Oops, my bad” Jimin apologetically smiled.

--

[goldafterglow]

dissolve me (repost)

(deleted this post on accident, reblog of original here)

Summary: We find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Except the Tootsie Pop is Horacio Carrillo.

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 5k+ (look away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, gory metaphors (I use figurative language to mask the scent of flaming trash)

A/N: This is literally the first thing I’ve written in like 3 years so you have to be nice to me. Please give me feedback!! But it has to be exclusively positive or I will spontaneously combust!!!

Horacio is cold.

It’s a little past midnight and the Sun has been asleep for hours by now, but not Bogota. Instead, the city moves in slow motion, the weight of slumber heavy on its creatures as the few visible stars shush the agitated crickets. Somehow, even despite the Sun’s absence, it’s influence still blankets the trees. It accumulates, even. The hot radiation permeates the lungs of taxis and buildings, but the cool darkness brings life into the air as water begins to materialize on the sides of newspaper stands and underneath Horacio’s shirt. His clothes stick to him so tight (more than usual) that he thinks he may be drowning under the moon. He can taste the ocean on his tongue and the sensation is only relieved as he steps off the pavement and onto the tile of the rundown convenience store. The building, heavily air conditioned, makes each drop of sweat feel like icicles pricking into his fried red skin, but his body still burns from the residual heat.

Somehow, Horacio still maintains that icey core in his chest. So even as he makes a beeline for the refrigerated-goods, yes. Horacio is cold.

He exists as a green-sheet ghost walking through the aisles of the grocery store, barely conscious at 2 am as he searches for some goddamn milk. He knows he works too hard, knows his life is concrete and bricks screeching against his steel heart. Every morning he walks on glass to enter his office, and every morning he forces his feet to bleed. What else is there for him? His body has been adorned with splinters and cuts for so long now, so what’s a few more? Each night, he drags his body flat across the floor, just trying to make it out the door. Trying to escape an office that chews him up and spits him out, saliva covered and filthy.

But fuck if he just wants some milk.

So he makes this small trip before he heads home. Once he finds the dairy, his heavy eyes hoist themselves upwards, to the second-to-topmost shelf in the refrigerator. The last carton of fat free milk -  dairy-flavored water - that he’ll chug the next morning. But just as his hardened fingertips reach for it, they meet something else; a third wheel to this toxic milk-Horacio romance that is ruining his plans for what might as well be the best morning he’s had in the past three milk-free days. His mind, once fuzzy from the sleepy grey clouds filling his lenses like cataracts, now feels a sharp jolt of electricity soar through it as his machine body is activated and his surroundings suddenly become clearer, laser vision kicking in. His senses are now sharper and his guard is completely up. His nerves begin racing as the data from his hands shoots straight to his brain to get integrated and that thing he’s feeling is...warm? Shit, no it’s hot. It fucking burns his skin and immediately he pulls back because his motherboard is screaming at him that he’s in danger.

His head shoots up and his eyes dart to the side as he turns to look, expecting a raging bonfire or boiling cast iron, but instead he sees a human. A sweet, candy person that looks almost surprised as he does, but with softer features and kinder eyes. He smells the caramel seeping out of your pores and it stings his olfactory nerves but perhaps he wants to smell it again so it can fill his lungs and then let it harden inside of his cold body. So that it can stay within him forever.

“Disculpame,” you say, remorse dripping out of your golden mouth and if his ears were in control, he’d beg you to say it again. Say anything. He recognizes your accent. Not a Columbian, but a gringo. His brain reminds his heart that hey, we don’t like selfish, egotistical gringos. His heart doesn’t listen.

“Go ahead,” he says, and shit he sounds horrible. He sounds fucked up, and it’s probably because he is fucked up. He talks like toothpicks and needles, but it’s okay because he got to speak to you and he’s never spoken to an angel before.

He notices how you relax a little at the sound of his English, and he feels that heat spread at the beautiful notion that he did that all by himself.

“No really, I don’t need it,” you insist, a small smile gracing your lips. “You’re very sweet for offering, though.” Huh?

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. He doesn’t taste like sugar or chocolate or berries. Horacio is bitter gourd, burnt toast and that shitty part at the end of the banana that no one wants. Copper and hot tar oozing down taste buds and burning the frail pink dots along the way. Straight black coffee that’s tear-inducingly retched. Pepto Bismol and whatever the fuck is inside of those plastic pill capsules. Raw beef festering with E. coli and flies, a rotting corpse under a wake of vultures, the creepy old man that sits next to you on the train, mace burning your shivering eyes while you collapse to your shredded knees onto a floor of thumbtacks.

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. But you said he was, and you are oh so persuasive. That’s when he felt the first one. Crack.

His mind goes into overdrive as panic sets in - what was that sound? What just broke? What crevice of his mind just ripped a little and how can he staple it back shut? He feels the slimey pus of his emotions begin to seep out of the opening a little, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to put his guard back up and regain control of this situation the way he’s been trained to do by offering you the carton and then leaving; defying your orders and following his own.

But who is he to refuse you?

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s just noticed that your hand is back at your side and your eyes shine a little brighter as your smile widens at his defeat. That was me, too. But then you’re turning around and leaving, messy bun flopping up and down as you walk towards the cash register and his heart is furious. It’s pounding in his ribcage like a ravenous shark caged in glass, telling him to not let you get away because it wants to burn in your soft flames and turn to ash in your fingers, but he stays planted. Watches you walk away and take that gentle radiating heat with you, leaving him just as hard and frozen as he was before he’d ever let you poke around into his soul. Suddenly he understands why you’d burned him so bad; doesn’t even the lightest match make that violent sizzling sound when it touches ice? But he can’t deny that you had melted him, just a little bit, and he can’t deny that he likes being a little watery.

He sees you again just a few days later. It’s a Sunday morning and Bogota is now wide awake. Pastel streaks fly down the streets as manifestations of yellow taxis, dusty red cars, and pale blue cyclers bring the canvas of the city to life. Horacio decides to be adventurous, introduce true exploration and child-like color into his monochrome world, and walk to the cafe near his street. A truly exhilarating touch, if he did say so himself.

Except he hadn’t prepared himself for the anarchy that would occur within him when he saw you again. The girl that was awake at 2 am and offered him white calcium water in a carton and called him sweet. You’re wearing one of those pink dresses that you just know is sleeveless, but a light denim jacket guards your shoulders and he can’t help but wonder what would happen if he just tugged on your collar a little bit, exposed some of your delicate skin and traced his fingers over it. Just closed his eyes and leaned down to brush his lips over - shit, fuck. What is he thinking? His eyes don’t know where to look, his heart doesn’t know how to beat, his lungs don’t know how to take in air. What do you do when you see a pretty thing in a pretty sundress? Certainly not function. Horacio wasn’t doing that at all. So he did the next best thing: sit at a table and watch you. That’s the next best thing, right?

He watches as you smile at the young man taking your order, talking to him like you know him, care about him. All you were doing was listing the ingredients you wanted in your drink, but your bright eyes twinkle with a sort of endearment that he isn’t used to. Like you were happy.

He is in awe of you. Horacio has worked so hard to stay numb, to feel nothing but that rusty scrape of motivation that made him do his job. But you made it look so easy to gush, to overflow and spill your delight with life onto everyone around you until that tired, overworked teenager behind the register was smiling too as he said “next!”

You turn your head to find a table once you pick up your order and panic settles into Horacio’s bones again as he reflexively turns his head away from you, but your keen eyes spot him. Oh, how you must pity him. The poor, miserable apparition from the grocery store. He feels that radiating heat begin to grow as you approach him at his table, so he pretends to not notice you. Pretends he’s numb as you thaw him into a dripping mess of thin ice and water.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask him, nodding to the other chair in front of him with a cup of coffee in your supple hands. Horacio’s tactful eyes scan the cafe once more; there’s other seats in the building, other men and women for you to pity. He’s been chosen. And he just can’t resist you, is too weak to deny himself that addicting sugary sweetness that you’re coated in because he’s not sure he’ll ever feel so soft again and he wants to savor it.

Horacio looks up at you, clearing his throat as he takes the kind of breath that you can feel as the air fills his lungs. He’s priming his voice to talk to you because this time, he wants to make it count.

“No,” he says. Fuck. In that moment, he couldn't remember having talked before. Has he ever spoken? Certainly not, or he’d know how to do it. But you don’t seem to mind his cold tone as you take the seat in front of you, and those damned eyes of yours are blinding to look at but god, who needs pupils anyway?

He can tell you’re curious about him. You want to pick him apart scab by scab and take him apart into individual fibers until you get to that soft mushy center that is Horacio Carrillo. You want to see him naked and open, but that’s not something Horacio can give you. How could he? He’s taken that weak, inferior soul within him and crushed it under concrete and plaster of paris, secured it with walls and steel and barbed wire until the protective layers become so extensive that even if someone could get through them all, why the fuck would they want to? It wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“You know, I’ve never been here before,” you say, taking a sip of your drink, and he hums, knowing that’s how people interact but not quite knowing what is going on with him. You’re just saying things, just want him to talk back. You’re trying to have a real conversation with him, and he doesn’t understand why, but maybe for just once in his life he doesn’t need to fucking understand everything.

“Then what brings you here?” he asks, and slowly he begins to regain a little feeling inside him. Not enough that it unleashes his pain, but enough that he can feel that ice water slosh around inside him easily. A gentle flow of slush that mixes with your amber and makes him feel like a person.

“A student of mine recommended it to me,” you explain, and he’s starting to put together a little picture of who you are in his mind. 

“You teach?” he asks, probing you for your life. He wants to study your mind, hear the music that leaves your mouth when you speak. You nod thoughtfully, and he can tell he’s mentioned something you enjoy. He learns that you teach at a local university and hears about just how passionate you are about what you teach. His dark eyes begin to fill with that precious light you possess as you tell him about your students and how though you’re new to Bogotá, you already love it. But that doesn’t surprise him so much; somehow he just knows that you’ve got plenty of love to go around.

“Well now you know what business I have in a grocery store at 2 am,” you conclude after you tell him about your late nights grading subpar papers, curiosity twinkling in your eyes like fairy lights in the dark. “What about you?” It isn’t until the focus is back on himself that he notes the smile that graces his features. A real smile. He smiles not out of diplomacy but because right now, he’s happy. He’s high on you and serotonin and he’d let you ruin him if you wanted to. But your question troubles him. He can’t really tell you why; he can’t bear to take his ugly, black, acrylic life and stain your lavender and daffodil backdrop. So he tells you the bare minimum: that he’s a colonel and leads a special ops unit called the Search Bloc. He leaves out the blood that paints his eyes everyday, forgets to mention the agony he’s felt and inflicted on others.

“Your drink isn’t ready yet?” you question, like a sudden realization has just hit you. Your kind features are furrowed into slight confusion, and Horacio wants to let a black sky swallow him into his own misery because he forgot to order something.

“I didn’t get anything,” he admits, face starting to glow light pink as his foolishness begins to manifest on his hardened features. You don’t look confused anymore; you’re curious again. Forever wondering about the enigma in front of you, except he’s no mystery; he’s a labyrinth. Full of questions and doubt without one single answer, and once you enter you can’t ever escape.

“Then what does a colonel do at a humble cafe?” you ask. And all of the sudden, for a man that makes a living out of repeatedly evading death, he wants to evaporate into the beige, worn tile beneath the teal cushion of his seat because the answer to that question will surely ruin the delicate, blushed bubble around the two of you. But you’ve incapacitated him with your stupid fucking pretty eyes so much so that you must be the enemy in this story. He can escape gunpoint, rouse himself from a concussion, but he hasn’t got a single clue how to regain his quick wit and pistol mind in the face of something much more sinister: a pretty girl.

“I-” he starts, but all of the sudden his throat won’t cooperate because his mind is helpless to lie to you but his body is resisting. His body rejects that frozen, dreadful state of nothing that it’s normally kept in. You’ve spread the warmth of fuzzy blankets and blissful vertigo throughout his stomach and his body wants to stay warm. “I was just…” he coughs, hard, willing his esophagus to heed his commands, “...I was watching you.” Horacio is flustered now, completely out of his element as he feels his blood seep to the topmost layers of his skin, exposing his embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he adds almost immediately, his eyes wide as he tries to avert his flushed features from your careful gaze. “I know that’s weird. I didn’t mean to-”

“Horacio,” you interrupt. Say it again. Say my name again. “It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” Crack. That steel fortress that he thought was so impenetrable was beginning to soften into something moldable, pliable only to your hands so you could transform him from a wall to a rose.

Horacio lets out a soft chuckle, biting his lip so hard he almost can’t feel his teeth digging into his own chapped flesh. His pink cheeks are full and for the first time in so long his eyes glimmer with life and adoration.

“I don’t want to be too forward and scare you away,” he says, a little nervous but so much more giddy, “but could I see you again?” You giggle, a beautiful melody that floods his ears and softens his brow.

“Yes, Horacio, I’d really like that,” you agree, and he can’t help but feel like he’s not in a cafe but somewhere in the cosmos as a compliant planet orbiting a bright, burning star. Somewhere far more heavenly and celestial than this godforsaken planet. He watches you glance up at the grandfather clock situated against the wall behind him and then back at him. “I need to get going, but take this.” You pull a pen out of your small bag and scribble a string of digits onto your coffee cup, holding the marked cardboard out to him. He’s slow to take it from your hands; he doesn’t want to keep you here, but at the same time he very much does. He allows himself to brush his fingers against yours again, like they had the night before, so that your potent you-flavored syrup can inject into his bloodstream and fill his capillaries. 

As you stand to leave, he can tell you have one last lingering thought itching at your brow. “For the record, you couldn’t scare me away,” you assure with a smile that borders on teasing. “You’re just not scary.” And he watches you walk away, leaving him completely and utterly dumbfounded as to who you had just spoken to because it certainly wasn’t Horacio Carrillo, world class murderer and notoriously inhuman interrogator. Crack.

That next Friday, Horacio sees you again. He shakes as he knocks on your door, roses trembling in his fingers as you swing the door open. He knows the bouquet resting under his chin is pathetic, an overused display of affection, but it makes you gush as you take them from hands and bring them to your own wondrous features and let that stupid cheesy token fill your lungs with its scent. 

He takes you to a restaurant like a proper gentleman, not that he gave a single shit where he was as long as it was with you. You put him far too out of his element for him to get creative with his date idea, so instead he pulls every last cliche out of the book and piles it on you. He holds the door open for you and pulls your chair out and orders wine for you because he doesn’t have a clue how to tell you that you turn him into sugar bubbles floating on warm cocoa but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to show you.

So evening after evening he finds himself leaving work just a little earlier each day. He spends less time in poorly lit grocery stores and more time loitering at the open farmer’s market under the real sun, perusing lazily amongst the various produce and trinkets because why not? He starts wearing pink and stripes and maybe a polka-dot shirt because he starts to realize that the world has so much beauty in it and all things beautiful remind him of you. He waits a little longer to shave his face so he can hear that ethereal symphony of giggles play from your throat when he uses his scruff to scratch against your soft shoulder. You start showing up in his life in places that you don’t even exist and filling his odd corners with a pretty white glow.

He lets little things bring him joy; your tongue wetting your lips when you’re deciding where to eat for the night, your neck craning to look up at him from the couch when he walks through your door, the way the stacks of student papers that rest on your kitchen island are always different sizes.  Your tongue tapping his skin when you lay a lingering kiss to his face. Your lipgloss sticking to his tricep when you don’t feel like getting up to kiss his lips, leaving a shimmer on his skin that he never wipes away. Your feather fingers sweeping his torso and turning his skin to cotton candy. The fumes of pencil lead and your perfume choking his lungs when he buries his face into your neck and breathes you in. And every fucking time you call him cute, adorable, pretty, beautiful, baby. All of those forbidden words that you dare to use in vain, courageously sacrilegious considering how he worships you, create more little cracks inside of him.

Horacio may not know how to communicate, but he knows you. He knows which compliments make you turn the reddest. He gets you your favorite artists’ CDs imported from America. He shows up at your door with your favorite pastry from your new favorite cafe. He hugs you from behind and peppers kisses down the column of your throat because it makes you giggle. He flutters his fingers where you’re ticklish until you’re so overstimulated that tears form. He cooks meals for you, insisting that all you can do to help is sit on the counter and look pretty for him. He kisses you deeply, so hard and intimate that the two of you are breathing the same air and taste the same. He does everything he can to make you smile for him because in return he gets called a “beautiful boy” and “my sweet soldier” and an “angel,” all words that send him beyond the stars and spin his head like a top until all he can think to do is giggle.

Passed weeks turn into a month, a month becomes two, and before he knows it he’s twice the man he used to be with you filling in half of him. Horacio is still, however, a man adorned with flaws. And with each moment that you occupy, he starts to really collect cracks. The powerful resolve that keeps him from ever admitting that he’s absolutely gone for you becomes compromised because you are powerful. Without even trying, your soft voice is like a wrecking ball to his defenses, breaking him down as you probe into what you call the “pretty parts” of him that he hides. But you don’t have the first clue what he’s hiding.

Horacio is not a man without emotions. He gets angry and frustrated, but those kinds of emotions sit at his surface, above his armed fortress. He can let them all out in his work through stony grimaces and raised voices and guns and fists. But he also feels sorrow, regret, shame. So much shame. These emotions are unsightly black and blue dents in the soft, fragile mush that sits at the very core of him. Under his walls are wounds still wide open and full of splinters, gushing blood and pus, septic and untreated. And they fucking hurt. So he gathers them all together along with his love, his adoration and sweetness, and ices them over, freezes them away and covers them in layer after layer of concrete until he can barely even remember that they’re there.

But he’s starting to feel again.

His fondness for you is explosive and wild, greedy for your affection. But he’s afraid. He knows you adore him, because you are brave. You can speak your feelings into existence and not feel like something inside you has fractured. But Horacio is a coward. He can’t say he loves you, he can’t love you. He knows that if he did, his filthy rotting core would be unleashed and he’d feel an agony worse than anything he’s ever subjected anyone to. But you’re leaving him full of cracks, making him weak and vulnerable in the security of your arms, and he doesn’t think you could hold all of him together if he was truly unleashed. He thinks you might realize how much of a lost cause he is and leave him on the side of the road to bleed out.

The last crack you leave in him is so small, you don’t even notice.

He sits next to you on your couch, your head tucked into his neck as a shitty telenovela radiates through the thick glass of your TV set. Neither of you say anything because you don’t need to be talking to feel comfortable with each other, so you don’t notice how he hasn’t glanced at the TV in 15 minutes. He can’t take his eyes off of you, hermosa, the puny glow of Rodrigo telling Lucia that “it’s not what it looks like” barely doing your face justice. He notices each pore on your face, the curve of your jaw and the bridge of your nose forming sweeping lines that sculpt your face, and he knows he is so utterly fucked. He knows he’s so dangerously in love with you.

He only blinks when you yawn softly, those lines contorting as you scrunch your face. He relaxes a little as you move to sit up, leaning forward to grab the remote from the coffee table and blindly turning the TV off as the preview for the next episode plays. He fills to the brim with amazement as you stretch your back, letting out a gentle squeal. Now it’s just that antique lamp on the edge of your couch illuminating the room, and it’s still not enough light. Nothing is ever bright enough when you’re there to rival it.

“It’s late, baby,” you whisper, a sleepy rasp scraping your voice a little as you look up at him with a rosy smile. You reach up to run a hand through his dark hair, taking care to let your fingers caress his scalp. “You can stay if you want,” you offer, as he’s stayed the night before. “I sleep better with you anyway.” Crack.

“Cariño,” he breathes, his features turning pained as his lip begins to quiver like never before. “Cariño I love you.”

Horacio crumbles in your hands.

Like a mound of brown sugar after it’s poured, the dome losing its form as it slowly collapses, grains dragging over each other as they sink to the bottom of the bowl and the dome is destroyed. No longer held together by tight, sticky molasses and instead a helpless, feeble puddle too broken down to be considered a shape anymore. Just a pathetic sea of lost particles, helpless in putting itself back together. He falls apart right in front of you.

He feels tears that are years old begin to flow down his cheeks, falling off his chin and onto the baby blue cloth of his too-tight shirt. He is completely unprotected, every last defense around that shapeless, dark flesh inside him falling to dust as you hold it in your kind hands. Your arms are quick to wrap around his head, bringing his face to your chest where he is safe. He’s never been more raw and vulnerable in his life, and yet he’s never felt more secure.

He bares his soul to you. He chokes on his words as he gushes his dried, brown blood onto your cotton skin and you soak up every ounce of him. He tells you he is ashamed, that he is remorseful, that he is afraid. And you listen, skin absorbing him in until you’ve got him enveloped in your big, beautiful heart. And whereas every touch used to break him down, your fingertips are now healing him, building him back up and reshaping him into something better than what he was. He can feel his scars begin to heal and the pain begin to dull as an intense awe for you overcomes him.

He knows you can’t just fix him with your fairy dust overnight. He knows he will need time to restore himself from beast to man. But fuck if he doesn’t want to do it with you, can’t do it without you.

You’ve led him towards your bed, undressing him slowly because you know that he just needs to breathe and feel the air cool his irritated skin. Once you’re both down to your underclothes, you’re careful in letting him onto the mattress. You sit down first, leaning back against the pillow, and then you sweetly tug on his arm to join you. He dives into your body head first, face nosing into your neck as his big arms wrap around your midsection. You reach for your softest blanket, enveloping the two of you in the added warm as his breaths begin to even out against your chest. He feels you wrap your arms around his head again, for the second time reminding him that he is safe.

He can feel his emotions getting the best of himself again as you whisper sweet nothings into his hair, telling him how strong and brave he is, how beautiful his soul is now that he’s really showing it to you. His muscles melt into you as you take those fragments of him and begin to piece them back together, filling the cracks you’d made with your marshmallow fluff and liquid gold.

He feels warm again as you call him your “baby,” and this time he doesn’t try to run away from it. He embraces it, leans into it. He was being protected by bones and bricks, but now it’s by honeycomb and delicate flesh. Horacio finally starts to feel like he’s beautiful because you’re letting him borrow yours. And as long as you’ll have him, he’s willing to share.

[icarus-imagines]

Aizawa Shouta X Male!Student!Reader

Word Count: 3,882

Category: Boku no Hero Academia

Soulmate AU ~ There is a black stain where your soulmate is supposed to touch you for the first time and it turns into millions of colours once they do.

~please tell me (have you ever look at me in that way?)~

Laughter bounces off the walls of the common room. A stray bubblegum pink pillow whizzed past, almost catching the tip of your nose. You pull your head back instinctively, a little too late because the matching pair rams itself in the side of your head. You go down with an undignified shriek, arms scrabbling for the ground to cushion your fall. Thankfully, there is an array of colorful pillows and blankets beneath you that helps you as you drop.

“Minaaa!” You yell, an edge to your voice but the smile you wear betrays your true feelings. You reach out, hand catching on a pillow with an All Might design-Midoriya’s-with all your strength to fling it at where the pink pillow had come to assault you.

You hear a cackling laugh from what you know to be Sero and a loud yet muffled “Hmph!” as your pillow smacks into someone's face. With a triumphant grin, you twist your body from your position on your stomach on the floor to see...not Mina. To your utmost dismay, it wasn’t Mina but it was Kaminari, hands covering his nose. Not bleeding, but that must have hurt. You cringe thinking about it, legs scrabbling as you stand, ground uneasy with it being more of a messy bedspread than anything and the fact your pajama pants may be an inch or two too long.

“I’m so sorry Kaminari!” You apologize quickly, maneuvering your way through the room, ducking from a pillow thrown by Ochako that hits Kirishima in the gut, to Kaminari’s side. You want to reach out but notice the black stain that marred his left wrist, like a wristband, circling all around. You have stains on the pads of your fingers, on both hands. Yours don’t match Kaminari’s in the least, you 100% know this. The sight of his mark just makes you hesitate before speaking again. “I didn’t hit you that hard did I!? I swear that I-”

Once again, before you can react, Sero slips Kaminari the pillow he held behind his back and hits you with it. It smacks its desired target which is square in the middle of your face. With something similar to a squawk you trip backward thanks to the force and your slick socks and you fall to the floor, for the second time this night. You groan from the small pounding in your nose, hands gripping the pillow closer to your face as if to smother the minuscule pain away.

“Ooohh! Kaminari, you hit the man a bit hard, you think?” That’s Mina’s chipper voice that mingles with the chuckling of Sero. “You may have messed up his beautiful face!”

Kaminari speaks up to defend himself, “Says the one that hit poor Iida in the groin!”

“That wasn’t my fault! I was trying to-”

“And you are all this loud at midnight, because?”

An involuntary shiver tingles the tips of all your limbs at that voice you know so well. The fact he sounds scarily close to you, has your mind reeling. If you had known he would show up tonight you would have paid more attention to your appearance, choosing generic blue pajamas instead of the bright yellow ones you wore currently because they reminded you of him, his goggles, his horrid sleeping bag.

A hush falls across the room at his presence, you could cut it with a knife if you had one. Iida, the saint with more courage than you can ever hope to have, speaks up first from his spot in the kitchen where he had taken refuge after being attacked by Mina and her poor aim. “A simple slumber party in the common room sir. It is a Friday night so we all thought it was a perfect idea.”

You hear him let out an aggravated sigh that leans more to being an exasperated echo of ‘What else did I expect of them?’. He starts by giving everyone a small rant about reasonable hours to make such noises and a few rules they should follow if they wish to keep having this slumber party at all.

As he speaks you try your best to be slow and sneaky, hands digging into your pillow so you can drag it down your face from your place on the floor. Eyes peeking over the edge of the white pillow you hold you see the cause to all your trouble this year. The reason why you would sometimes bump into a wall when distracted by him walking in the hallways. The reason you spaced off in the middle of class. The reason you would stare at his own black stain marks in hopes they completed your own.

Aizawa-sensei stood there in all his glory. While a few feet away, he was still practically towering over you. He wore the clothes he always did, indicating he must have been up late himself. Perhaps grading papers or having alone time cause it was the weekend. Whatever it was, you would die to know what your teacher did behind closed doors.

Were you a stalker to think such things?

You would personally say no, but eyes traveling up his body from your upside-down view was incredible. This would have to be the closest you have gotten to him since meeting him. You were too anxious to ever invade his space so closely ever again. That was a bad choice though because just like before you saw his blacks marks clearer and more defined. Long lines starting from below the outer edges of his eyes on his cheekbones. Four streaks on each side cascading back to where they almost touched his ears. So unique and so unlike any other mark you had ever seen before. You had always wondered who would touch him like that, fingers brushing his cheeks, and from the back no less.

But he'll never and has never looked at you in that way.

It’s like all sounds had faded then until they come back without warning. Everyone else is back to their bickering, their laughing, and their roughhousing. You watch, maybe a little too fixated on him as he stands there for a little longer, eyes surveying everyone. It comes to your surprise when his eyes shift downwards and bore into your own, sharp, quick, entirely calculating.

He has the same face he always has, contorted to form utter boredom. Disinterest showing in the way his back hunches just the slightest bit like he can’t be bothered, a hand upon his hip. He stares at you now like that, as he does to every other student he has, because speaking honestly, who are you to him other than another student passing through his life to become a pro hero?

You are thankful for the pillow that covers everything below your eyes. Otherwise, he would have seen the blush that had progressively traveled up the expanse of your cheeks. It strikes you odd though, his prolonged staring. You understand your own, you just can’t believe you haven’t been more obvious for him to not have noticed.

But then you see it, his arms coming to cross over his chest, head tilted down to look at you better. Right there for just a split second before he swiveled on his heels and walked away. A devilish smirk, there in the wide-open, all for you to see and witness.

When you can longer see him and the sound of his footsteps disappear you grab the pillow you have and scream into it with all your might. Your classmates look at you like you’ve gone crazy, they know not why so you don’t care to tell them either way.

*

You sit there on the couch thumbing through your phone on your favourite social media site. Everyone else was asleep, either on one of the couches, the bare floor, or on one of the air mattresses that were blown up. You forgot to mention Kaminari curled up on the kitchen island and Sero on the common room table.

You hug your knees tighter as you toss your phone to the other side of the couch you had successfully snagged. Letting out a sigh you lay your forehead on your knees wishing you were tired already. Unfortunately, that smirk he had given you was dealing hard blows to your mental stability. So eyes closed and trying to use the snores of your classmates as an unintentional ASMR you will yourself to try to become tired. The dim light from the moon outside hopefully aiding in your endeavors.

Barely five minutes pass before you hear the soft sound of footsteps coming your way. Lifting your head up with some effort you turn to your right and see him standing there in nothing but some off-gray sweats with untied strings that dangled from his walking. To see him shirtless and in the dark moonlit lighting seems more than indecent for a student to witness so you snap your head to stare straight ahead at Jirou snoozing on the couch across from you, head smothered by blankets but hair comically poking out.

“Aizawa-sensei…,” you say, soft and small. You expect him to greet you and leave but he comes around the side of the couch and sits right next to you. You feel it, the couch depressing with his weight and having you get in a good position again with how close he is. Hand idly dangling on the armrest, left leg coming up to rest on his right knee, and lounging back he seems more than happy to just relax there.

A few minutes pass with you both sitting there in silence, thankfully it isn’t one that makes you uncomfortable albeit it makes you a bit fidgety with nervousness. You break the silence with: “What are you doing?”

You see him turn his head towards you out of your peripheral vision so you turn your own. His lips turn up into a smirk, not unlike the one you saw just a few measly hours ago. “Doing here, awake so late at night? Or do you mean sitting here by you? Maybe it's not one of those and you're wondering what I am doing by acting so out of character towards you earlier?”

His black marks are just a few lengths away from your face, their starkness such a striking contrast against his pale skin. You notice then that the scar he got from the USJ incident bears part of his black mark, though it's a light gray where it runs over the long scar beneath his sparkly black eyes. In the moonlight, he looks ethereal.

“All of the above,” you answer knowing he noticed you scrutinizing him.

He lets out a chuckle, it’s low and gravely like he had fallen asleep for just a bit and woken up. “Well first off I came up here to see if the problem children went to sleep because-”

“Because you care,” you blurt it out, interrupting him, a statement at that. You meet his eyes and it’s the hesitation in his voice that makes you understand that you're right.

“Because I’m not going to be nice to everyone coming next school day still groggy from messing up their sleep schedules,” he rebukes, eyes narrowing. The snores continue around you and hope nobody wakes up when you have finally seen a different side to him. Talked to him for more than it takes to ring out an answer to one of his questions in his classroom.

You remove your head from its resting place on your knees to lean back on the couch. “I don’t think so,” you say, marking the end of that question.

He huffs, eyes closing for a second or two before meeting your own again, answering the second question, “Nothing is wrong with sitting in an open couch space, now is there?” You shake your head no and he connects it with his third question. His face loses its huffiness as he speaks. “I’m afraid I can’t answer the last one?”

“Why not?” Your eyebrows furrow together, lip catching between your teeth to gnaw on it in confusion and intrigue.

“I don’t think you're ready for that information yet,” is all he says.

Just because of the way he said it doesn't mean he sees you in that light.

Your eyes blink rapidly in realization, head tilting mischievously as you stare at your teacher. “Yet. You put a ‘yet’ at the end of that sentence. That means you might tell me in the future.”

His eyes widened just the slightest. “You are too perceptive for your own, do you realize that?” His voice is almost laced in what you believe is the sound of being impressed. A flush brushes your cheeks faster than you can beat it back down without him noticing.

Your eyes flick to your classmates' snoozing faces and wonder what they would think if they knew about your little crush and how it had just exponentially grown just from what you portrayed as praise. Minutes go by and his voice brings you out of a non-important thought.

“Were you doing each other's hair or have you and everyone else always worn obnoxious clips and ribbons in your hair?”

It’s then you remember that there are hair clips pinned in your hair, sparkly and just like he said, quite an obnoxious colour. “Oh, um...yea,” you chuckle, nervousness pointing your eyes downward to not meet his gaze.

“Nice colour pallet you have.”

There it is. A compliment right out of the left field. And of all things, it’s about how ridiculous you truly look, but his tone sounds so sincere it has you peeking at him through some of the hair that falls in your face.

“Want me to do yours?”

Before you can retract your question, knowing it’s a very, very stupid one he answers back with a resounding, “If you would like.”

“Your,” you turn towards him, eyebrows shooting up, face open in surprise, "telling me I can mess with your hair? For no apparent reason?”

“I assume it’s to indulge in some childish fantasy you still have hanging around in your head even though you're quite literally a full-fledged adult.” He offers you nothing more as he looks straight ahead and closes his eyes. When you don’t immediately get off the couch he crosses his arms over his naked chest, opening his left eye to peer at you. “Well?”

You scramble off when he slides his eye shut. Rounding the couch your mood lifts, reflected in the bounce you obtain in the balls of your feet. “I’ll use the clips in my own hair and put them in yours.”

“-lucky-,” he mumbles.

“What sir?”

He lets out a grunt, leaning farther back so his hair is hanging over the back of the couch. “I said you're lucky I like you enough to be doing something so humiliating.”

You wish you weren’t so hung up on it, but the way he said ‘I like you’ has your head spinning. It may not be the type of ‘like’ you want, but it's closer than you thought would ever be possible. So shaking your head you go ahead with your task. He wouldn’t look at a boy like you anyway, someone more mature and beautiful like Yaoyorozu would be more to his taste. Plus he would miraculously have to be gay, something everyone in the world is sure he is not.

“I might put your hair into a ponytail,” you lean over the back of the couch so he can hear you better, “I’ve never seen you with your hair up I think. Mind if I see it now? I bet you’ll look really pretty.”

He hums an affirmation without opening his eyes, though the twitch in his brow has you silently chuckling. “It’s not pretty, I believe the word you are looking for is more akin to handsome.” You let out a tiny laugh this time, eyes flickering to the sleeping bodies of your classmates. They must have really tired themselves out to not wake up, you internally fistbump yourself and thank your gods for this blessing. To be able to banter like this is a miracle in itself.

You scan the couch and find the brush you used and a few different colored scrunchies. Putting the brush closer you lean back, settling yourself right behind him. Hands both reaching forward you plan to gather up all his hair away from his face. “Excuse me, Sen...sei…,” Your fingertips drag along his cheeks as you gather the front strands of his hair, but right away it hits you.

Your legs feel like jelly, knees almost locking as the nerves on your fingertips burst like fireworks. They travel all up along your arms and down your spine. It’s all pleasure riddled with the tiniest bit of pain as something foreign locks into place. You don’t understand the feeling and can only see out of hazy vision.

How does he see you now?

“I’m sorry Sensei,” your voice breaks, shaky hands slowly retracting from his cheeks and hair, “I should have-should have never touched you-I-” He swivels around to face you and you flinch with eyes shut as he grasps one of your wrists. His grip is a little too tight and you fear you have pissed him off by touching something so precious to him. To touch someone’s soulmate mark without permission is a high offense. You did it to your own teacher no less, an adult that could charge you with soulmate tampering. You rush out more apologies, eyes already drowning with tears. You turn your face away, the tug you give to try to get away seeming to shake him from his stupor.

“Wait, please!” His voice is louder than it should be in this setting, it freezes you on the spot. He fixes his mistake as he continues in a voice more gentle and softer than anything you ever remember hearing come from him. “I didn’t mean to scare you I-”

You tremble in his grip even as he lessens his hold on you. He still holds on though and you open your eyes when some kind of pressure settles onto the sensitive tips of your fingers. They twitch slightly, but settle down the longer he presses. Turning your head you flush as you see what he is doing. Kissing your fingers with an expression on his face that has your heart-melting on the spot.

When he lifts his head to look at you, thumbs pressing into your palms, the moonlight from the window hits his face and your fingers just right. You see it, the black marks upon his face sparkling with that milky white and glittery vision you had learned so long ago to signal a completed bond. They reflect the glittery look of your thumbs. Eyes meeting your own you gasp once again seeing his own hair has flecks of the substance, the front strands smothered with it where you had begun to collect them for a ponytail.

“Aizawa-sensei, I-”

“No, please don't call me that,” he interrupts you, getting up and pulling you by your hands to drag you into the dark hallway adjacent to the common room, careful to not let you trip over your long pajama bottoms. Away from the students sleeping so openly. You are bathed in darkness but a sliver of moonlight illuminates the space you occupy and it is with surprise that you find out soulmate bonds, once ignited, faintly glow in the dark.

And this man in front of you, your soulmate is something beyond beauty with the fingertips streaks, and strands of hair glowing faintly in front of you. He pushes himself forwards into your body that thumps softly against the wall, his naked chest offering you quick heat that seeps through your yellow pajamas with ease. You are caged by a man around 10 years your senior, not a care in your mind at all. One leg coming between yours to push you harder into the wall. He hunches over, compensating for your shorter stature, forehead resting on your shoulder. He is transfixed holding secure your wrists, pressing tender pecks to your fingertips that also give off their own signature glow.

“Isn’t this,” you breathe out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he continues to press into your soulmate marks. You know for sure he knows touching them was sensitive once activated, yet he still does so. “Isn’t this illegal?” You try to rationalize all of what’s wrong with this situation. You speak only of the teacher-student relationship, otherwise, all would be sort of okay. “And I’m a...I’m a guy, you’re just under the effects of this bond.”

You mourn the loss of him at just the thought, all of this chalking up to being a platonic soulmate blond. A friendship that ends at comradery.

“Shouldn’t I have been the one to tell you how illegal this is? I’m your teacher for christ's sake!” He continues to act out of character, or is he this emotive alone? He pulls back so you can admire each other's marks as you talk. “And what does being a guy have to do with anything?”

You blanch a bit, “Well, your not-your not gay, everyone knows that. You’re only being so touchy because of all these hormones! All the hormones you yourself taught us about! You should know-!”

Aizawa surges forward and captures your lips with his own, those dark eyes of his staring into your own as he pushes forward. You free your wrists from his grasp and try to push him away from you, but it only causes your fingertips to start sizzling as they connect with the naked skin of his chest. He feels it too, a low groan bubbling through his throat at your wasteful efforts. He pulls away too quickly for your liking and against your will you moan at the loss.

There’s that smirk again upon his face, your brain wants to smack it away while your heart wants to kiss it away. “Other people can’t decide what I am attracted towards. I see you in that kind of way which should be forbidden right now,” he clicks his tongue in agitation. Eyes burning into yours. “And it may be unprofessional of me but,” the glowing strands of his hair fall in front of his eyes as he tilts his head to meet your lips again, “I may not be able to legally do anything too risky when we are teacher or student, but believe me when I say this.”

Does he see you?

He grabs your wrists and guides your fingertips to graze across his face to glow and pulse in reaction when your soulmate marks touch each other. It’s heavenly and you wonder if this is okay. If being with him, touching him this way, loving him this way is alright. Thankfully you don’t have to make the tough choice of running or staying.

“After you graduate-and even starting now-I will never, ever, let you go. I only have eyes for you," his lips meet yours, softly, so softly.

Oh god.

Finally, you know for sure.

He sees you in that way.

[kishillaa]

SSM21 Day 11: Safe and Sound

This promt is the continuation of my SSM21 Day 10 promt.

***

"He was killed?"

"Yeah."

"Who did?"

"Some Konoha girl."

Snorted, "Didn't think Sasori would be defeated by a female."

"I wouldn't look past that. She is the Fifth Hokage's apprentice. Sakura Haruno if I'm not mistaken."

"I haven't heard about her."

"Meh, she's young. Anyway, I heard Sasori's henchmen is after her. She was able to create antidote for his famous poison. They went rage and wanted to kill her."

"Of course they will be. His poison is what kept them strong all this while."

"True. But I don't think they know though. The Konoha people."

"Sasori do works in secret. No one exactly knew he has a group of his own. If you weren't one of 'em before, we wouldn't have known either."

"Sneaky one, I must say."

-

The conversation Sasuke had accidentally heard during one of his mission for Orochimaru played in his mind.

There is only one female with pink hair in the village he left behind.

Sakura.

Sasuke was panting rather heavily, as he looks over the mess before him. A few of older men laying on the forest floor, at the brink of their death after the ever so furious Sasuke Uchiha, knocked them out of their breath, killing each and everyone of them.

It's been 2 years, and knowing the pink haired ex teammate of his were in danger, that she isn't aware of, knicked him off making he went reckless and find the pursuer at the boarder of the Konoha village. He was lucky he found them first, or else he might be the one laying on the ground, waiting for death calling for him.

He was furious, more to himself than anyone else. He had severed the bond, he was sure of it. But why, just at the mention of the pink hair konoha kunoichi made him do things he doesn't want to, things he should not necessarily do. Sure, they have started exchange letters by his summon, but he still doesn't want to have anything to do with her for now, until his goal is fulfilled.

Sasuke let out a defeated sigh, before he move away from Sasori's henchmen.

As if has the mind of their own, his legs and body makes it way through the forest towards Konoha hidden village. He quickly move to the top of the building when he reached the village at midnight.

From where he is locating, he can see that Sakura's window is widely open as if inviting him in.

Without further ado, he move using the roof and hop onto an electrical post to have a better view into Sakura's room.

He can clearly saw Sakura's sleeping figure as she sleeps with only her head peaking out of the blanket while the other part of the body was covered under it.

She looks distress, rather than calm in her sleep made Sasuke couldn't help but go closer and got into her room.

As if sensing Sasuke's presence, Sakura's head tilted to his direction.

Sasuke hold his breath and wait to see her reaction. When she didn't make any move after that, Sasuke let out a relief sigh.

He moves closer, standing beside her bed looking down at her trouble looking sleeping figure. Slowly, Sasuke sit himself on her tiled floor and stare at her sleeping face.

And then, "S–Sasuke - k-kun."

It was so faint, he almost couldn't hear it but of course he knew she was saying his name.

"P-please dont go." She mumurs again.

-

Sakura blinks, and when she did it for third time, she sees Sasuke. It isn't really Sasuke she knew though. Sasuke she remembered from her dream doesn't look as matured as this, and he usually wear a dark blue shirt that he often wore during their genin days. Sakura quickly dismiss the widen eyes Sasuke, thinking that its another dream.

Sakura groans, as she stretched out a little.

"You're up."

That voice makes her stop mid stretching, as her head snap to her side. "Sasuke-kun!"

She sat up so quick that her head went buzzed with dizziness. She hold it and wince, "Oww."

"Slow down." He said, somehow amused.

At that voice, she look at him. Biting her lips as tears of happiness and longing pooled in her eyes, she lunged herself at the Uchiha, bringing him into her embrace.

She was crying, that was obvious, "I missed you so much." She said in between her sobs, tightening her hold on him, afraid that he's going to leave her too soon.

"I should go back now." Sasuke said.

"I know. Ju–just let me hug you a second." She heard him sigh before he complies and circle his own hands around her. One of his hand is lowering her head to under his chin as he sniffs her hair.

"Your hair smell different, again." He mumbles.

"No, not really. I'm still using the same shampoo, but I just got back from the hospital few hours ago so the smell must've mixed with antiseptic or something." And then she cries harder, "I'm sorry, I didn't know you're coming, if I do I would've shower and wash my hair with that shampoo you like so much, but I just went out of a 24-hour shift and I was just so god damn tired, and one of my patients just died, and I could've save him, but I couldn't." And now she is crying with a whole different reason.

When finally, finally, her cries subsided, Sasuke spoke, "I don't mind. And I don't like them so much. It was just pleasant than this one." She likes how he purposefully left the dead patient out as he runs his fingers through her unruly hair. It always soothe and calmed her when he did, and he knew that.

She whines again, saying something she thought as I could've smell way better than this. Liking the way his hand combing her hair. A wave of nostalgia hit her like a tsunami as their secret moment as genin plays in her mind, if possible, she tighten her hands around him even more. She was just so glad Sasuke isn't one to complain simple stuff like that.

When they were in their kind-of-dating relationship, Sasuke has always sniff on her hair, he once revealed that he likes her smell, it was floral green shampoo which smell minty rain forest. She unfortunately had to change her shampoo to a coconut with vanilla scented shampoo when Pakkun said he use the same one. It traumatised her to use the same shampoo as a dog.

"It's still your smell." He heard him say as he breaths in her scent again causing the heat move up to her face. She pulls away gently to look him in the eye.

Before she utters a single word, Sasuke spoke, "You were hunt by Sasori's henchmen."

Sakura's eyes widen at the news, "What? How do you know?"

Sakura watch as his shoulder moves up and down slowly, "I have my source."

"From Orochimaru?"

Sasuke shakes his head, "No. They didn't even know Sasori was dead."

She nodded, feeling relieved, if Orochimaru knew, their chances went lower to zero to put up to their idea in finding his hideout, "Good. I have to be careful, then."

"There's no need. I killed them all."

This time, Sakura's eyes widen again in surprised, "What?"

"You heard me."

"I know, but why?"

He rolls his eyes and scoff, "Because who else is going to clean the Uchiha compound if you're dead." he deadpan.

The sarcasm lacing through the sentence was so loud that Sakura has to laugh, "You're such a dork, Sasuke-kun."

"Hn." Was his smart boring response.

"Do you have any injuries? I can heal you."

"Just small cuts hear and there. I'll be fine." But Sakura insist.

"Please, let me show off my improved skills while you're away."

And show off she did.

"You're good."

Sakura beamed, with small blush covering her cheeks, "I've learnt from the best."

"That's good, then. I can't seems to regret leaving you now that you're able to heal and kill at the same time."

"Sasuke-kun, don't say that. I will always wanted you stay. It feels so lonely when I sat at the dock few weeks after your departure, that I had to stop going."

Sasuke didn't voice out anything after that as they sit in silence.

"Thank you for coming tonight,"

Sasuke shrugs, "Just want to make sure you're safe and sound."

Sakura's teeth sunk into her lower lips as a sob makes it way out of her throat, he's saying goodbye. Without very much of a warning, Sakura cup Sasuke's cheeks, angle her head and capture his lips with hers.

Her tears cascade down her cheeks at the nostalgic way Sasuke went rigid at her sudden attack before he kiss her with just the same intensity. His lips is still as soft as she remembered, he's still a little bit stiff at the beginning of their kiss, and still so furiously good as they went by.

When they pull apart, both were breathing so hard as their forehead attached, "I love you, Sasuke-kun. I still do. Always do."

"I know," He said, and then, "Thank you, Sakura." All she can feels is a soft peck on her forehead while her eyes focus on the whirling of tomoe of Sasuke's sharingan, bringing her to a deep slumber.

[hostess-of-horror]

Encore at Midnight

A little fanfic story I decided to indulge in! This is my first official fanfic post, so it may not be perfect. I hope you enjoy it!

Word Count: 3301

Number of Pages: 6

[Don't worry! It is not NSFW, I promise!]

________________________________________________________________

There it is again. That familiar song.

It had been playing every night around midnight. Perhaps only she could hear it, for it seems that no one else had woken up to investigate. Lying in her bed, dressed in her nightgown, she turns her attention towards the source of the song. The melody drifts through the gentle, cool breeze coming from the balcony. The curtains billow with every note, dancing as the pale moonlight illuminated them with a sheer white glow. Once again, the balcony doors are open.

Was it the wind? No, it couldn’t have been. The weather had not been terrible recently, so much so that the doors would have swung open. What could have opened them? What keeps opening them, around midnight, for these past few nights? She feared the worst. A thief. Another captor. Another thought disturbs her mind. Are they already inside the castle? She lifts the blankets from herself and investigates the balcony. As she takes a closer look, her nightgown begins to join the curtains amidst the breeze, billowing - dancing - alongside them. Her hands shield her arms from the cold. No damages to be found. The lock remains perfectly intact. What could have opened the balcony doors? The thought drifted in her mind as she locks the doors, once again, and prepares herself for more rest. Her chamber is now silent. Dark and comfortable. She could no longer hear that song.

All of this should be making her sick with worry. It should be making her fear for her safety and sleep with caution. But the caution had been blown away with the wind. This has become a bit of a nuisance, if anything. She would wake up every morning finding no signs of trouble or disturbance. Strange as it is, there was, so far, nothing to be concerned about. At least, she hopes so. Another night, another melody. That’s all it was.

But, by the stars, where on Earth is that song coming from?

Tucked into her bed, she resumes her slumber. Although curious about the song, she is simply too tired to continue investigating. She knew that nothing terrible would happen based on the previous nights. It was only a song. A beautiful one at that. No. That’s a complete understatement. What word could possibly describe it? That delicate sound as it seemingly rides along the gentle breeze? As it makes its presence among the moon and the starlit night? As it gives the darkest of shadows a sense of intrigue? Ethereal. Majestic. Alluring. Yes, that’s it! Alluring. Beguiling. Captivating. Enchanting. She could name off every synonym if she was not falling deeper into sleep. But, by the stars, where on Earth is that song coming from? Who owns a voice as lovely such as this one?

There it is again! That familiar song!

She springs up from her bed, her eyes widening with surprise. She pauses for a moment. Waiting. Listening. She stares through the darkness. Listening. Listening. Slowly her breathing becomes heavier by each inhale; her heart pounds through her chest. Whether it be fear or excitement, she could not tell. Either way, one thing is certain.

The voice was coming from inside the castle.

Ah, that’s it! Enough of this! She must find out about this! She must figure out this strange occurrence once and for all. Should she call for the guards? It would be smart to do so; throwing caution to the wind should be the last thing someone could do. But that has already been done, for she crawled herself out the bed, grabbed her shawl, and headed her way towards the voice. The entire castle was enshrouded in shadow. Only the moonlight from the windows provided light, piercing through those shadows. She could not tell if this made her vision inside the castle better or worse. But she could hear the song! She follows the melody; the more she ventured further, the louder the song became. As she crept, she finds that there was something rather enticing about this situation. For all she knew, she could be in danger right now. She could be a victim of another kidnapping, and she will have to be saved again. But instead, she was curious. Very curious. Intrigued even. Perhaps it is the sense of mystery that pervaded the air. The idea of discovering what lies beyond the darkness; the thrill of finding the source of the voice. Perhaps it was madness. The kind of madness that resulted from the countless kidnappings she endured in the past. Maybe her sanity has finally left her, abandoning common sense and security to whatever comes her way.

The melody takes her through the long corridors and down the marble stairs into the main entrance. The shadows throughout the castle surrounds her like long veils. They encircle her, almost leaving her blind. Despite this, she knew she was close – the song was louder than ever before. She could hear it much clearer now. That voice…. She swore she has heard this voice before. Not from the previous nights, but from a long time ago. How long had it been? Months? Years? She could not remember. It was low – baritone. The song itself wasn’t a song she had heard before, besides the previous nights, but the voice was familiar. That familiar song. That familiar voice. Alluring. Beguiling. Captivating. Enchanting. Alluring… Beguiling… Captivating… Enchanting…

Then light. A soft, warm glow breaks the shadows. She turns; it was coming from an entrance. Finally, there is light! She could finally see, and with that light rises the melody in a dramatic crescendo. Without thought, she follows the light, towards the voice, and into a wonderous sight. Rows upon rows of candelabras greet her at the entrance, all placed together as one giant circle in the middle of the ballroom. The mood lightning makes the elegant décor on the walls gleam with gold; the shadows less intimidating. She looks up and freezes in place. She would be calmed by this discovery if it not weren’t for the presence of a familiar figure. He was massive in size; the ballroom fit perfectly for someone like him. A rotund figure, white as snow, towering – floating! – over the shining candelabras like a giant idol ready to be worshipped. His hair curled into rolls and into a small braid tied together by a black ribbon. His clothes – a cobalt blue coat with a red vest – are slightly torn, riddled with holes and tears at the edges and seems. He holds himself with an air of superiority, and with dramatic flair, he finally rises to a gratifying high note, ending his nightly song at long last. This singer is no human being; he is a creation. An amalgamation of a gramophone, a ghostly Boo balloon, and a Rabbid.

His pained expression softens as silence took over the castle once again. His eyes flutter open, finding himself capturing the attention of one small lady. After a moment of silence, he smiles, “Did you enjoy the performance, Princess Peach?” Princess Peach abruptly wakes from her frozen state. After all these years since they first fought… she never thought that she would ever see him again. How should she react to this reunion? Angry? Scared? Happy? She brushes off her awkwardness. “If it wasn’t during the middle of the night, then yes, I would have.”, she responded in a huff. Phantom softly chuckles, still giving her that sweet smile, “My apologies, your highness. My inspiration comes during the night, especially in a night like this. Something about the pale moonlight gives off a…hmm, je ne sais quoi. Romantic, is it not?”

Peach couldn’t disagree. She does find nights like this one to be beautiful. But, ah, don’t get distracted now! “Why are you in my castle, Mr. Tom Phan? Or perhaps, I should say, Phantom? What business do you have here in the middle of the night?”, she questioned.

“I wanted to see you again.”

“…see me again?”

“Yes. I wanted to start over from the beginning. Our battle from years ago was not exactly the best way to introduce ourselves. Although, that wretched plumber had it coming. Bah, what a fool! He’ll never get the best of me.”

“For what? For merely existing? And you talk as if you didn’t have your behind handed to you during that battle!”

Phantom shot an aghast look. The audacity of this princess! But she was right, he could not deny that. No matter how hard he tried, the memory of being defeated was always painful to recount. However, the princess made quite the shot at him. Feisty. Very witty. He liked it. His composure remains intact, “Hmm. The past is in the past, your highness. Enough of it! What matters now is that I have returned for an encore. An encore, and for you.”

“Are you… are you going to kidnap me?”

“Goodness, no! I have no such intentions! Why would anyone try to harm such a lovely creature as yourself? I’d rather destroy myself!”

“Flattery is not going to work.”

“I promise. You have my word. And I never go back on my word.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Oh, come now. Don’t be that way! No need to be feisty. Even though, to be quite honest… it is a good look on you.”

“Oh, please.”

“It makes you stronger than you already are. I should know, I fought you before!”

Peach pauses. She can feel a warming sensation rising up onto her face. Is she blushing? No, she cannot be! She gently touches her cheek – she is! She turns her face away from Phantom, hiding her bashful expression. He must not know! Phantom lets out an amused chortle, “Flattery is not going to work, she said. And yet here you are, red as a cherry! How adorable.” His mitten-like paw reaches out for Peach’s cheek, delicately turning her face towards him, with a tender caress. Rabbids, Peach learned, have very soft fur and, if they allow it, they can be quite a huggable sort. Cuddling a Rabbid would be the same as cuddling a favorite stuffed animal. Phantom was no different, other than his size. Peach could easily lay her head against his paw and admire the sheer texture of his fur. The mere act is so tempting. No! Don’t get distracted now! “It’s alright. There’s no need to be shy. Everyone loves compliments, especially from someone like me. Although I’m sure you receive compliments all the time, being the ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom and all.”, Phantom added, continuing to caress from her cheek down to her chin. Almost lost in his caress, Peach responded, “Yes, it’s true… but more out of respect, I believe. No one has ever told me that before.”

“Oh?”

“There’s always the usual: you’re so beautiful! Your highness, you look amazing as always! We are certain you can never lead us astray! But I have never heard anyone say anything about my strength.”

“Not even that plumber?”

“Of course, Mario does! He and Luigi have always cared for me, regardless of my royal blood. We’re friends!”

“Friends? I thought you and Mario were together.”

“No… we’re not, unlike what many people keep saying. Those are only rumors. Yes, I have kissed him on the forehead and nose, but that was more out of courtesy. A thank you for saving me from danger.”

“I see.”

“The whole relationship between me and Mario is more of “a princess and her knight in shining armor” fantasy created by my subjects. At first, I didn’t mind – rumors were rumors. They’re nothing but mere stories. But then, people started asking questions. I’m sure they were just curious, but… it’s like as if it’s an expectation. As if it is bound to happen one day. They’re just waiting for me to fall in love and marry Mario. I don’t even know about his thoughts on marriage.”

“Do you like him?”

“I mean… I just… well…”, Peach’s voice and mind trailed off into silence. Did she like Mario? Does she still like Mario? She has been with him for so long, and for so long she had always been grateful of his noble deeds. Her face twisted in a slight expression of confusion. Perhaps she does like him. Why wouldn’t she? And how could she not? Like she had said, he always cared for her. Mario had always been such a gentleman, not just towards her but towards everyone else. But once Phantom asked her that very question, Peach was conflicted. Phantom lifts her chin up towards his face, their eyes meeting each other’s gaze face to face. Peach had never seen his eyes up close in person. Time itself seemed to have stopped the very moment she saw them. Two sapphires gleaming in the candlelight, bright enough to pierce through the darkness and into her soul. Her breath is taken. Such splendid color renders her speechless. And what a tender gaze he has! Mario had made the same gaze, too, but it was only whenever she was in danger. Other than that, there wasn’t anything special. Or, at least, that’s what it seemed like.

Phantom softens into a sympathetic gaze; his eyes never leaving hers. After this moment of quiet contemplativeness, he finally spoke, “You don’t have to continue with any of that, you know. What good does it have? You’ve spent how long, ruling this kingdom, having this “knight in shining armor” come and rescue you every now and then, only to never reciprocate your feelings? It sounds like to me that Mario is oblivious! Terribly so, if he's causing you this much doubt and heartbreak. Why should you stay like this, my dear? Isn’t there something you desire? Something you crave, something you long for? Or should I say, someone? I can see in those pretty eyes of yours that you’re desperate. Lonely. In need of companionship. I sympathize with your troubles, and I confess, I carry a similar burden.”

“You do?”, Peach asked.

“Yes. You see, I am not like the others. No one has the same intellect as I have, let alone the ability to communicate properly and speak comprehensive sentences.”

“It’s true that Rabbids do have…. a limited amount of understanding. But maybe not all of them. Every Rabbid is unique in personality and interests. How you ever tried to socialize with them?”

“I have tried, but unfortunately, I found that you can’t share anything with anyone. You can’t have any interesting conversations with anyone. Once you do, they just gawk. What’s worse is that they don’t even sing like I do! As much as I adore the attention from my audiences….”

His voice fades, his paws quivering. His breathing slowly gets more frantic, his expression aching. He lets go of Peach’s chin and brings his attention towards his palms. Peach watches as Phantom’s entire body shakes, his chest almost heaving with such harshness. His sapphire eyes began to overflow with tears, leaving glistening streams down his cheeks. Peach’s heart shatters with every tear. She could not bear to see someone cry. To her, seeing someone burst into tears was unbearable, no matter who it was. Every now and then, Phantom inhales and exhales, trying to keep his composure, but to no avail. Peach inches closer to him, wanting to wipe his tears, but is stopped. “Ah, it drives me to madness just thinking about it!”, Phantom cries, his eyes closing shut. Suddenly a smile appears, revealing the gap between his buckteeth. He chuckles, “Maybe…. Maybe I already am mad… Mad with arduous desperation! With unbound lamentation!”

The ballroom darkens. Peach freezes once more, this time out of fear. Her skin crawls as the shadows she once tried to escape begin creeping back towards them. She could not look away. Helplessly, she watches as Phantom’s weeping transforms into an unhinged snicker. His paws close into fists and clutches his temple; his eyes still closed and brimming with tears. His low snickering turns into shaking laughter with a terrible force, breaking out of his closed-up throat. Covering his face, Phantom swallows, giving himself a moment to speak. He breathes, “Am I not of the same race as them? The same flesh as them, the same image as them? I am different, yes, but isn’t everyone? People talk of differences, they teach others of differences, and yet differences are what they fear. Fear of the unknown is prevalent, no matter how miniscule it can be. Differences are what people love and hate – why must it be like this? Why? For all these years, I have ventured this world alone! I have given all who come across me the chance to hear my music, talk of music, be one of music, but – nothing! Nothing but a few. But even those few, I never see them again.”

“Only a few? But I thought your singing would make you popular amongst the Rabbids.”, Peach said.

“I thought so, too. They hear me, but they don’t listen. They don’t listen! Hahaha… But you do. You listen. You listened to my music, and it brought you here! To me! At long last, you’re here with me!”

“….”

“We don’t have to be alone, princess. We seek companionship; why not have each other? I promise you more than just my music. You will be the monument to my art, the shining jewel of the stage – of the world! My dear, you are more than royalty to me. You are my dearest one, my precious rose, my muse! That is why I am here in this castle. I wanted to see you again, to see your beauty again. With every note I sing, every night, I see you in the moonlight. In the stars! In everything! I have waited for this moment for so long, your highness. Far too long. I can give you anything and everything you desire. Please…”

Suddenly Phantom clutches Peach’s body, and his eyes open, shooting a hard stare into her soul. Peach’s heart sinks into her chest. Her blood runs cold. Frozen once again as she finds herself gazing into a pair of gleaming crimson eyes. Eyes as deep as rubies – as human blood. In the pitch blackness of the room looms the giant, now in a deep trance, grasping the small frame of her body. Phantom’s demented yet pitiful grin still remains, “See me, your highness! Look at me! Tell me, my darling! How can one create a connection with someone when no one around you can understand who and what you are? Ah, princess! I am truly, utterly alone!”

With this outburst, Peach falls into unconsciousness. Realizing what he had done, Phantom wakes from his trance and catches her, letting her faint into his embrace. The princess had always been beautiful. But now, with her nightgown fitting onto her slender figure, her neck and shoulders exposed, she looked divine. Peaceful, like an angel. She is an angel. His eyes fade back into blue; his expression creased with worry. He curses to himself. If only he had kept his composure…

----

The castle guards found her shawl in the ballroom the next morning. Concern spread quickly like wildfire, and the fear of kidnapping came back once again among the servants. Talk of Bowser and Koopas and hellfire greeted the kingdom; a search party was made immediately. The commotion died down once they discovered their ruler, thankfully, within the castle. She was found lying on a velvet lounging chair, asleep, in one of the many chambers. Upon closer inspection, in her right hand, a single red rose with a black ribbon tied to it was placed within. Along with the ribbon was a small tag written in delicate penmanship:

Until we meet again.

[whitttbit]

Hawks x reader lemon An acceptable apology and an unexpected visit.

Warnings: This is absolute filth. Extreme dom hawks with spanking,Dom sub dynamics,a dash of angst, office smut, and just general smut. It's my first fic so try not to judge to harshly. If you guys enjoy it I'll open requests and do more. Ps: I am incredibly nervous posting this.

You've been warned:

Dating a pro hero was never easy. They were always busy with paperwork, patrols or undercover missions. Dating the number 2 pro hero was damn near impossible. Somehow though, here you were sitting in a shapartment waiting on the winged hero to get home. Hawks was charismatic and energetic and that definitely translated to the bedroom. The sex was phenomenal and the love was passionate. He was always bringing you gifts and when he found the time he would plan out elaborate dates for the two of you that were thoughtful and fun. Lately though he had been working overtime investigating the LOV in anticipation of an attack. He wouldn't get in until long after you'd fallen asleep. He would then leave before you woke up with a gentle shake and apologetic kiss on the forehead. The commission had given him a positively brutal schedule and he hadn't had a day off in over a month since accepting the mission.

You were trying your best to stay awake but sleep finally won you over and you had drifted off to sleep on the sofa. The hero had planned to be home for dinner but ended up sending an apology text last minute after receiving some new Intel on the case. As you drifted into the welcoming arms of your slumber the dinner you had spent hours making was still on the table. It had long since gotten cold but you hadn't been able to bring yourself to put it away. It was well after midnight when the hero finally landed on the balcony of the penthouse, shaking the snow from his tired wings and sliding the door open. He glanced around and his eyes landed on your silhouette on the couch wrapped in a blanket. Sighing he turned to grab something quick to eat from the kitchen and saw the table set for two. His gut tensed and he felt the sense of guilt that he had become all to familiar with.

"damn....." He mumbled as he started to clear the table putting the delicious looking food into Tupperware and loading the dishwasher. Once everything was clean he walked quietly over to you and scooped you up taking you to your shared bed. He knew he'd have to make it up to you somehow but all he could think of right now was sleep.

Five thirty had come far to soon for Keigos liking as he slammed his hand onto the alarm clock by your bed. He stood up and showered and got ready to go back to work. You began to wake as he left the bathroom and the florescent light hit your eyes. Sleepily you groaned and looked at him in his hero costume ready to leave you yet again.

"Kei?"

"Shit! sorry angel I was trying to be quiet. Go back to sleep, Ill text you around lunch." He walked over and gave you a deep apologetic kiss as he tucked the blankets around you.

" You have to work again? Its Sunday and you said you might be able to get off."

" I know but I've got to complete the paperwork today and its a mountain on my desk. I'm sorry. I should be off someday soon though and ill make it up to you."

" You always say that." You hadn't meant for it to come out so harshly but you were sleepy and annoyed. Keigo blinked and stared at you for a moment before finally speaking.

" I know angel but the mission is almost over. It's literally just paperwork. I've gathered all of the Intel that the commission requested."

"Fine. Ill see you tonight I guess." You rolled over feeling slightly guilty at how cold your words had been. Sighing Keigo walked out to the balcony and headed to his office across the city.

You awoke a few hours later and went into the kitchen to get breakfast. You saw your phone on the counter and saw that he had texted.

BIRDBOY: You awake love?

You hastily typed a quick message.

Y/N: Yes, do you want me to bring you lunch?

BIRDBOY: No, I don't really have time I've got a budget conference call at lunch and still have to complete my reports.

God, why did he even bother texting you back. He might as well be dating the commission. Then a thought popped into your head. It was kind of mean but he deserved it. You took off your leggings and t-shirt and threw on some red lacy panties he had bought you for Christmas and a matching bra and tousled your hair a bit snapping a quick aerial picture. 

Y/N: But I miss you daddy... 

*attachment*

You sat on the couch eagerly waiting for him to reply. It took a few minutes and he had started typing and stopped several times.

BIRDBOY: Angel, what are you doing? You know not to send me pictures at work. It's not nice to get daddy worked up before a business call.

Y/N: Well its not nice to leave me this wet either.

You knew that you were pushing it. His daddy kink always put him in his dom head space and testing him wasn't always a good thing. He could be positively relentless with his punishments if you went to far.

BIRDBOY: You are pushing it baby. 

Y/N: Well you aren't here so I guess ill just have to take care of it myself.

You knew that would do it. He was going to lose it, but still you had already hit send so no turning back now

BIRDBOY: Don't you fucking dare. You know the rules! Don't test me darling.

You left him on read and went to the bedroom to grab some black thigh high stockings and a garter belt. Putting on some heels and a long pea coat. This was possibly the gutsiest thing you'd ever done but you were going to pack up last nights dinner and take it to him at work. He deserved to suffer a little bit after all. Grabbing a scarf you hailed a cab and made your way to the office ignoring your phone which was buzzing with angry texts at your lack of response no doubt.

As you pulled up to the tall silver building you felt yourself getting more and more nervous. You were practically naked under a coat and going to your boyfriends job. This was dangerous and uncharted territory. Keigo always took his job so seriously. As you watched the floor number flash on the screen in the elevator you felt more anxious. Finally it dinged and the doors slid open. You made your way to his secretaries desk. Clearing your throat.

"Hi Jamie....um I brought Hawks lunch" She beamed up at you and tapped her desk.

"He is about to be on a call, if you leave it here ill make sure that he gets it." Part of you wanted to do it. Somehow you mustered up some nerve though.

" Um.... actually I was hoping to give it to him myself.....we were planning on eating together. Ill just sit quietly in his office until hes done. He's expecting me." You looked at her praying that she wouldn't check.

" Oh! okay he must have forgotten to tell me, go on in." Oh thank god, You walked to the big steel door and turned the handle. Walking in you saw him staring at papers and biting a pen. He didn't even look up. 

"Jamie, I'm about to be in a meeting whats up?"

You cleared your throat and waited. He looked up and dropped the pen staring.

" I um...brought you lunch"

" Angel, I told you I couldn't have lunch today what are you doing here?" He studied your body like a predator shaking and looking down you began to speak.

" Um.....well..... I thought id just bring it I can go. " Placing the basket on the ground you turned finally losing nerve. What were you thinking. Coming to his office like this? In a flash of crimson he was over to you grabbing your arm and turning you to face him. He cupped you chin forcing you to look up into his golden irises as he spoke.

"I told you to stay home and wait. Impatient are we?" you grabbed the buttons of your coat to keep him from discovering your secret and kept eye contact trying not to break.

" I just want you to eat that's all you jerk." 

"Tch- So disrespectful, its sir or daddy not jerk. Now go sit on the couch until after my meeting. It seems we need to have a little chat, and since you can't seem to respond to my texts or use proper honorifics today you'll have to spend that time coming up with a damn good reason I shouldn't teach you a lesson when we get home." He smirked and pointed to the bright red couch on the opposite side of his office and turned to sit back at his desk.

What a cocky asshole. He was so full of himself sometimes. Still though considering everything you'd done already you figured that you better not push it so reluctantly you complied. 

" Good girl. Now don't you dare move a muscle until I finish this call do you understand?" 

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes....sir."

He smiled as his phone rang. He took the call and began going over expense and damage reports. 

-One hour later-

You had been sitting here for an hour. This asshole had had several openings to end the call but he just kept talking. He would smirk at you every time. God this was torture. Why did he have to be such an ass sometimes? Finally after the fourth opening to wrap things up and he refused you decided that he deserved to suffer. He had told the guy on the phone to go over the quarterly reports one more time for his notes so you knew you had time. You stood up and his eyes darted to you and narrowed.

Slowly you undid the tie of your coat and unbuttoned it revealing your bright red lingerie  and smiled at him. His eyes went so big you had to smile. You laid back on the couch and began to stroke your folds throwing your head back. You felt those golden orbs on you. suddenly you felt a feather wrap your wrists. Jerking your head up you saw him crook his finger. The feather began to pull you towards him....oh shit.

You made it to his desk and he sent one feather to lock the door and the other to sharpen and cut off your panties. He bit his lip looking at you. Reaching to the phone he hit mute.

" Now, since you don't know how to listen today here's whats going to happen." He began unbuckling his belt.  

" You are going to come over here and sit that pretty little pussy on my cock and you aren't going to move or make a sound until daddy is done with his phone call got it?" He shimmied his cargo pants down revealing his throbbing cock. Gulping you looked at him

"....yes daddy....I won't make a sound."

"Good girl now come on."  You shuffled over straddling his lap and lowered yourself onto his cock. He reached over to unmute the call.

The call went on talking about numbers and deadlines for a few minutes and you could feel your resolve slowly crumbling. He reached his hand between you and began lazily rubbing your clit as he continued the call. You had to bite your lip to keep the moans from escaping. You shifted your weight a bit and you felt him throb inside of you. He gave you a dangerous look and you stilled instantly. He began vigorously rubbing your sensitive nub. Fuck this man was the devil. Biting his shoulder you could feel tears welling up. You had to get some relief. This was absolute torture.Fuck you were going to cum. You couldn't stop the whimper that escaped as you felt yourself nearing the edge. His ministrations abruptly stopped as he grabbed a fistful of your h/c hair and yanked your head back.

" Everything okay Hawks?" what was that?" the gentleman on the line asked. He looked at you with rage and replied.

" Everything is fine sir, I just got a paper cut. Listen, I think I've got what I need for now so why don't I finish these reports and call you tomorrow afternoon?"

" Sounds good we'll talk then." Keigo clicked the phone off and forced you to meet his gaze again.

" I said not to make a sound y/n. You are being such a brat today." whimpering apologetically you looked at him. Rolling his eyes he yanked you off of him by your hair and bent you over his desk displaying you perfectly. Kicking your legs apart he leaned down over your back and bit the shell of your ear and growled . You let out another involuntary whimper

" Does my angel want to cum?" you nodded feeling yourself turning to jello beneath him.

" I can't fucking hear you slut."

"...yes sir" was all that you could choke out

" Not good enough. Lets teach you some manners first." He reached over to his phone and hit the speed dial for his secretary.

"yes sir?"

" Jamie, why don't you head out to lunch for a bit on me. Use the company card. We both deserve a break. I'm going to eat here with y/n."

" Thank you sir! I've been wanting to try that new sushi place!"

"Knock yourself out, you deserve it." He clicked the phone and listened until he heard her gather her things and go.

" Don't fucking move." He reached down and you heard him rustling with his clothes. Something dropped next to your face and your eyes shot open. His belt was displayed right next to your face. Leaning down again he spoke.

"Now princess you are going to count for daddy got it? You'll get five with my hand for sending me that photo, Five with my feather for not texting me back, and five with my belt for being a needy brat during my call and not listening. Do you understand?" You could feel yourself shaking.

" ..Ye..yes daddy."

A harsh slap echoed as her hit your ass with incredible force. 

"o....one" you cried another slap echoed through the office

"Tu...two" the next three came so quickly you could barely keep count. There was no way to anticipate his pattern. You could feel your ass stinging already.

"Three.......fo...four...FIVVEEEEE!!!!!"

He smirked pulling out a feather and hardening it into a makeshift switch and backing up to admire his handy work. Bright red hand prints covered your ass. He Pulled back and hit you with his feather causing your entire body to lurch forward onto the desk with force.

"FUCK! one." With a swish he landed another on your thigh

"TWO!!!" It was like he was hitting you harder with each go.  The last three caused more tears to obscure your vision. Dreading what was next you saw the blurred outline of the belt slide off of the desk.

" Last set angel, You okay? Remember the safety colors? Where are we at?" You felt a rush of relief as you heard the concern in his voice. Green meant good yellow slow down and crimson (your safe word) full stop. You and he both knew he'd never been this rough so he was checking in.

"st...still green daddy...g..green." You stuttered out.

" Good girl" he praised

"Okay, lets continue." He folded the belt in half an pulled back to take aim.

SNAAAAPPPPP!

The belt hit your ass ...hard.

"One" you felt so raw beneath him shaking and numb from the sting.

The rest of the hits echoed and caused you to melt into a puddle beneath him. Cunt practically drooling from pleasure and pain. He dropped the belt and positioned himself. Cock pulsating  as he grabbed your hips he spoke.

" Color angel?" Eager to come you answered instantly

"Green."

" If you want it fucking beg. Beg like the needy slut you are beg for me right fucking now"

" Puh...please daddy I need it. Please fill me up I can't take it anymore" He smiled and shoved his full length in with a thrust and began to relentlessly pound you into the desk. His pace was brutal but it was like he was hitting every single nerve. A knot starting to form in your abdomen you started to whimper.

" Can I cum daddy PLEASE!!!!!!! Oh my god!" you were begging trying desperately to hold it in. He would be so angry of you came without permission.

" No." he said simply as he continued his assault

You bit your arm closing your eyes. 

"Please.....daddy please." You were a blubbering mess but you didn't care you needed release.

"NOW!" he yelled. With a scream you came with him Your walls fluttering as his seed filled you with pulsating rhythmic thrusts. Collapsing on top you sweaty and spent. You both laid there in a perfect heap of ecstasy and release.

After a few minutes he picked you up and released your hands carrying you over to the couch. HE sat down placing you in his lap and began stroking your hair.

" You did so well angel. So perfect for me." he cooed all you could manage was a hum. 

" I'm sorry love, i'll take tomorrow off for a personal day. I know its hard but I love you and you are so amazing for sticking with me. I love you so much." He smiled.

Sending a feather to his mini fridge to get a bottle of water he unscrewed the top and handed it to you.

"Drink this angel." You felt the cool liquid slide down your throat steadying you and bringing you back down.

"How about I take the rest of the day off. I'll fly us home, run us a bubble bath and we can order some take out from your favorite place and watch a movie. How does that sound love?"

" That sounds perfect." You rasped out

"I'm so sorry my love. I hope you can forgive me."

"I should visit more often for apologies." You said with a smile. Nestling into his chest. Everything was perfect.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (48) || atz

It’s well past midnight when a strange noise startles you awake.

The sound starts off soft, barely rousing you from your slumber as your sleep addled mind tries to convince you that it’s nothing, cajoling you back to into your dreams. Embarrassingly, you almost let it pull you under for a short moment before the sound gets louder and louder, unrelenting and interspersed with high pitched cries. A sleepy frown pulls at your face as you try to figure out just what the commotion is without opening your heavy eyes, before horror strikes you and your eyes fly open of their own volition.

It’s the sound of Yunho moaning in pain.

Fear jolts through you and you jerk upright in the bed, rubbing at your eyes even as you scramble to Yunho’s side, nearly tripping over when your legs get caught up in the sheets. Catching your balance, you rush to the bed opposite yours, glancing over at Yunho’s face.

He doesn’t seem to have awoken yet, to your confusion, but he’s flailing around in the blankets as if he’s trying to reach for something, whimpering with his eyes squeezed shut. There’s unintelligible noise falling from his lips and you lean down to hear him more clearly, but your heart sinks in your chest when the word repeats itself in your ears over and over again.

“Gunho… I’m sorry, Gunho…”

You stare upon the pale, ashen face of Jeong Yunho as he calls out softly for his younger brother repeatedly, the very same person who had stabbed him in the gut without a second glance. Even after being betrayed, even after being backstabbed, even in his feverish, weakened state...

He still won’t stop reaching out for his brother’s hand.

Anguish, so raw that it almost feels real, claws at your insides and you find yourself reaching out for Yunho’s outstretched hand, wanting to provide comfort to him in anyway you possibly can. Yunho’s fingers close around your hand in a vice like grip, clutching at you desperately like he’s a drowning man and you’re some sort of lifeline in the middle of an endless ocean. It hurts, but you can’t bring yourself to pull your hand away.

Then you freeze.

Because Yunho’s eyes are open.

You almost fall off the bed in a shock, even though your master had warned you beforehand that his anaesthesias tended to have a weaker effect on the older battlemaster, you had never expected it to wear off so quickly. Recovering from your surprise as fast as you can, you wave a hesitant hand in Yunho’s face.

“Yunho? Yunho, can you see me?”

But Yunho doesn’t respond, merely blinking up at you as his eyes wander back and forth, flitting about like a dancing butterfly before they finally settle on the spot right at your left shoulder and a wide, joyous smile blooms on his pale face. You frown as nerves start to creep up in you, uneasiness settling deep in your gut. What’s happening?

“Gunho… you came back to me.”

Every muscle in your body turns to ice at those words, your hand tightening on Yunho’s unconsciously. He thinks you’re his brother.

You search his eyes carefully like your master has taught you, finally recognising the signs that you see there. The hazy, unfocused gaze, dilated pupils, shallow breathing and incoherent mumbling, seeing something that isn’t quite there. They all point towards the same thing.

Yunho is hallucinating.

There’s nothing you can do for him. If you had to guess, the poison in Yunho’s bloodstream was probably some sort of hallucinogen that’s finally starting to show its effects, and without a proper antidote, there’s no way that you can help him in any way. What you can do is to merely keep Yunho calm and his heart rate under control, preventing further spread of poison through his body.

So, even though every part of you is screaming at you not to do it, you squeeze Yunho’s hand back.

“Yeah, I did, hyung.” The words leaving your mouth feel so filthy, you’re assuming the identity of that terrible, twisted man who had laughed as his brother crumpled to his knees in front of him. You’re lying to Yunho, you know, but what else can you do? “I did come back.”

“Ahh… I so happy to see you alive… that you escaped that hellhole.” Yunho raises a weak hand to stroke your face, the action so painfully gentle that it brings tears to your eyes. “I missed you so much, Gunho. I thought that you… that you were dead.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you desperately wipe the wetness rolling down your cheeks as you search for something else to say. Yunho, in his poisoned haze, must obviously not remember what had led him to be in this state in the first place. “But I’m not. I’m here with you now, hyung.”

“Are you here to kill me?” Yunho murmurs with that same, heart wrenching smile and for a moment you’re so stunned that you can find no words, merely staring at him like you’ve been struck on the head with a hammer. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were here to finish the job… I just hope you do it quickly.”

Your mind is completely scrambled as you try to make sense of Yunho’s words. Yunho thinks that Gunho is here, in the infirmary with him, waiting to kill him, but he’s merely accepting death with open arms just like this?

There’s something growing inside your chest, a numb fire that you don’t know whether is fury or horror. You want to scream at your crew mate, slap him, throw him overboard and demand right this second that he fight with every bit of his effort for his damn precious life. But the words are lodged deep in your throat and all you manage is a soft ‘oh’, a simple wisp of air that escapes your mouth as a deliberately vague question.

“I don’t deserve to live after I broke that promise to you, Gunho… I promised that I’d save you from that place… and I failed to do it… I failed you.” Yunho’s voice cracks a little as the hand holding yours squeezes a little tighter, the raw, vulnerable emotion in his voice yanking at your heartstrings. You try and fail to hold back more tears, but Yunho doesn’t notice, staring intently with such a warm, pained gaze at the empty space above your shoulder that you can’t help but want to tell him that his brother isn’t really here, that it’s just you and that he deserves the whole world, much less his life. “I was too late… When I returned to the arena… they told me you were dead, you know? Dead and gone from the fever.”

Agony rips you apart from the inside. You don’t want to listen to another word of this story, how Yunho had believed this painful lie his whole life only to get stabbed in the back by it. But you can only sit there, with tears silently streaming down your face as you grip his hand tight.

You’re utterly helpless in this situation.

“I wanted to die so badly… but Captain… Captain told me that my life belonged to him.” Yunho’s smile is so agonizingly joyous now, his eyes clouded over with hazy, hallucinated memories of long ago. “He said that as his crew, I was his to take care of, and that I needed to live for him.”

You can’t tear your eyes away.

“He saved me. I found another family on board the Treasure, even after you left, Gunho. I wish it could have been you in my place.” Yunho whispers softly and you watch as a single tear falls down his cheek, heart throbbing with pain in your chest. “So please… if you want revenge, just take it out on me. Don’t hurt them, please…”

A sob wrenches it way from your throat as you try to stifle your weeping.

“But I can’t do it… I just can’t say it…”

Wiping your eyes the best you can, you sniff and try to get your emotions under control. “Say what, hyung?”

“The main mast is still better than the mizzenmast… I can’t lie to you, Wooyoung...”

Something between a shaky laugh and an anguished sob leaves your mouth, tears now flowing freely from your eyes. Yunho’s grip on your hand slackens and he returns to mumbling indecipherable nonsense, eyes still shut blissfully in sleep as you cry silently next to him.

Luckily for you, the door that leads to your shared bedroom with San creaks open before you can dwell any more on this. Instead, you focus on wiping your eyes as you turn to face your master, who tries to give you a weak attempt at a wan smile. He can very clearly see how puffy and red your eyes are, it would have been obvious even from across the ocean, but he makes no comment on it.

“How are your tests?” You croak out weakly as your master takes a seat next to you, a soft sigh of disappointment escaping him.

“This poison is a lot more complex than I thought.” San murmurs to you as he reaches over to take your hand in his, the gentle weight of it comforting you more than you can ever thank him for. “I’ve discovered quite a few components in it… it seems to be an addictive and a poison all in one.”

You flinch a little and curl into your master’s side, pressing your face into his arm as if it could shield you from the painful memories of earlier. “Yunho-oppa was hallucinating just now. He thought I was Gunho.”

San stiffens slightly under you, tensing and relaxing before he begins to speak again. “I made a discovery earlier. Something that scares me.”

At his words, fear runs through your veins and you glance at your master in horror. Did your master just find out that the poison is a fast acting one and that you might not have the time to save Yunho? But the words that leave his mouth are far more terrifying than that.

“I detected sorcery in the poison. Something dangerous… something powerful. A sort of… magical trace.”

For a split second, you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Yunho has already been stabbed in the side, poisoned by his own brother, and now there is a person with sinister intentions who was using sorcery to hurt him? At this point, you wish so desperately that there could be something you could do to save Yunho, but unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do in the least.

It eats away at you from the inside.

Obviously knowing the internal struggle going on in you, San rests a gentle hand on your shoulder and pulls you to your feet. You stumble a little, not expecting your master to do that, but he simply steers you towards your bedroom in response to your questioning gaze.

“Go to sleep, Chin Hae.” He instructs you and when you turn around to protest, fully intent on telling him that you can’t just leave him alone here with Yunho when he should be researching the poison, but your master gives you a simple, reassuring smile. All your protests die on your lips.

“I know you’re worried about Yunho, Chin Hae. But you aren’t any help to me like that, half dead on your feet. Go get some rest so that you can watch over Yunho tomorrow, alright?”

At the mention of rest, you suddenly realise just how weary and drained you are from the events of today. Too much has happened, too much for you to process, and honestly you feel a little dizzy, as if your brain physically can’t handle all this new information. But Yunho. You glance back at his still form, something in you terrified that when you wake up the next day, Yunho might be...

“But-”

Your master presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “Leave things out here to me. Go to bed and just sleep right away, alright?”

When he says the word ‘sleep’ again, exhaustion washes over your whole body and you find yourself too debilitated to continue arguing anymore. So with one last look at Yunho, you turn around and step into your bedroom, staggering over to your bed and plopping down on it heavily. Your vision seems to be swimming a little, causing you to feel a strange, nauseating sense of vertigo, but you chalk it up to the events of today and your desperate need for sleep.

You just need to rest.

So, without bothering to think any more about it, you simply close your eyes and fall back onto the comforting, familiar softness of the mattress.

You’re out of it the second your head touches the pillow.

The very instant you fall asleep, dark shadows swirl in your mind, warping and taking on strange, hazy shapes that you can’t tell head or tail from. Blackness surrounds you once more and this time, that crimson eye looms into your dreams again.

“Run…”

Your mouth opens to ask it a question, but no words come out except for a little cloud of bubbles, rising up in the water to the surface. Your hair drifts about you eerily as you try to form the words to the question that you need to know.

Colours and shapes blend together in front of you, voices and sounds bombarding you from every direction as your dreamscape shifts and churns, before it finally settles on a single sight.

The sea waves crash against the shore as you walk along the beach, smiling at the expanse of blue before you. There’s something so relaxing about the ocean, how powerful and wild nature is in comparison with a mere mortal like you. The sound of the ocean fills your ears and you close your eyes, glad to finally get some peace when you see something on the otherwise empty beach.

It’s a small, baby turtle, probably just hatched, struggling to get to the sea as it crawls along the beach. You can’t help but smile as you watch it continue on its path to the ocean from a short way off, cheering the creature on inside your heart.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a large bird swoops down from the sky and in the next second, the baby turtle is in it’s claws. It wriggles about, trying to escape, but its efforts are futile... the bird swoops off into the air, cawing loudly, the baby turtle no doubt its next meal.

Horror rises in you and you almost cry out in anger, but a cool hand on your shoulder stops you. Panic rises in you and you whirl around, only to be met with a sight you thought you’d never see again in your lifetime.

It’s the green eyed man once more, but this time instead of the usual, gentle smile he’s gives you in your dreams, his mouth is pressed into a thin, grim line. He doesn’t look at you, iridescent green eyes focused on the bird that’s soaring away from the beach.

“Blame not the predator, for this is merely the way of the natural world.” His piercing green eyes then bore into yours, seemingly burning holes right into your very soul. “The strong consume the weak to gain strength... this too might come to be your fate.”

Terror wells up in you at his ominous words.

“What?”

“Hurry.” His face blurs and fades into the darkness once more, but his voice lingers on. “It’s failing soon. You don’t have much time left. Hurry and *** for your own sake, Choi Chin Hae.”

What?

You’re plunged into icy cold water once more, flailing about in the water. Above you, there’s a muffled sound of a cannon shot, reverberating in your ears like a roll of thunder.

“Run!”

“Run from what?”

But before you can say anything, you choke on the water surrounding you.

For a second, you’re terrified. This has never happened in all your dreams before, even in those nightmares in which you had always been submerged in water, not needing air in the least, not needing to breathe. It was a dream after, not in the least connected to real life. But this?

You cough and cough and cough, the darkness around you distorting around you as you catch glimpses of a table in the corner, a jar of preserved herbs, a teapot. Then you’re thrown back into real life, eyes wide as you try to hack up the liquid lingering in your throat, the sensation all too real to be just a dream.

Something warm and wet splatters onto your palm.

“Shit.” You curse silently to yourself, stepping out of bed as you move to get a rag to clean the water off your hand with. How the hell had this happened? Not once had your dreams ever caused you to actually be physically affected in real life. You guess that you had somehow choked on your own saliva when you were asleep, embarrassing as that sounded, causing you to feel like you were choking and wake up from your dream.

Sighing, you move to the desk, opening one of the potholes at the side to let the moonlight stream in as you search for a clean rag. Spotting one at the tabletop, you reach for it, wiping your hand and mouth clean with an exasperated shake of the head.

“I should clean it tomorrow.” You muse to yourself, as you stretch and prepare to return to bed, setting the rag down on the table.

But the second you do, all thoughts of sleep flee your mind at once, overcome with sheer, numb shock. You simply stare at that innocent piece of white cloth, the moon’s rays shining upon the fabric as if mocking you, laughing at you, jeering at you.

A choked gasp catches in your throat and you fail to catch yourself, sliding down to the ground on weak legs as a single image sears itself into your mind like a branding iron.

The sight of that white handkerchief stained with blood.

[absynthe--minded]

Headcanon/short fic prompt: domestic russingon (especially cooking/baking!)

(content warning: drunk Findekáno, some sexual innuendo)

this turned into something way bigger than I thought it would, whoops

“Hm,” Maitimo murmured, examining the soup stock dubiously. 

“Hm?” Findekáno asked, glancing up from his entangled fingers. “What’s ‘hm’?”

“‘Hm,’ in this case, means ‘I think I’m going to want more spice in this’,” Maitimo answered, not turning to face his husband. “And pólë, and porocell, and a few roots and tubers once we’re properly making soup.”

“Why couldn’t we make mastarandil?” Findekáno said. “This is - well, it seems like a lot of work.” 

“Because, veru-nînya, mastarandil is more work.”

It was very late, after midnight, and the whole of Himring was slumbering but watchful. Findekáno had been sent to the eastern marches on official business, which meant that he had a royal excuse to spend a few days in Maitimo’s company, and tonight they were awake long past sunset. Their game of cuptalë had gone on for hours, thanks to their mutual enjoyment of a bottle of Maitimo’s nenvalaina, and now rather than sleep they had gone in search of a dinner that might as well have been an early breakfast. 

“Oh,” Findekáno answered, musing on this, his eyes examining the places where the tile gave way to mortar in the anchored table where he sat. “Pass me the bottle?”

“And watch you fall off the stool? Hardly.”

“I’m not that drunk, Russo.” 

“Mhm,” the other nér answered; there was more than a hint of laughter in his voice. 

“What?” Findekáno protested, shifting position forcefully enough that the four-legged stool he was perched on rocked back and forth with him as he moved. “I’m not!” 

“You drank more than I did,” Maitimo said, turning around and pointing to a nearly-empty bottle that made the whole room smell of peaches. “See? Most of that is you.” 

“So what?” Findekáno retorted, drawing himself up in an exaggerated fashion. “I can hold myself well. I’m only a little drunk. Not very.”

“Finno, my love, my dearest most esteemed husband?”

“What?”

“You’re about to fall on your face.”

Findekáno winced, glancing down at himself - he’d slid forward, pushing the stool onto two legs so he could prop his elbows on the table, and his husband was absolutely correct in that the longer he kept up that position the more likely it was that he’d have an unfortunate accident and split his face on the edges of the tile. 

“Right,” he said, awkwardly sitting back and then sliding across the flagstone floor until he was less precariously positioned. “Thank you.”

“Now,” Maitimo continued, returning his attention to the pot on the stovetop, “we need - oh, damn it all.”

“What? What now?”

“I think we’re out of butter,” he said. “At least, out of butter here in this kitchen.”

“So - so go into the other kitchen and get some,” Findekáno said. “What’s the matter with that?”

“I’d be taking someone else’s butter,” Maitimo said. “And besides, Auriel informed me that everything in the main kitchen is reserved for Tarnin Austa next week.”

“You celebrate Tarnin Austa here?” Findekáno asked. “Are there even seasons here except ‘cold’ and ‘more cold’?”

“We have a summer,” Maitimo answered with mock annoyance. “But I suppose it’s kinder in the West where you aren’t staring at what must surely be Moringotto’s exaltation of his own gwî every time you go up to the ramparts.”

Findekáno laughed, far harder than the poor joke deserved; it was a sign of his intoxication. 

“Do you think he considers Thangorodrim sufficient compensation for his lack of girth?” he asked. “Or will we all be subject to some other, far greater tower, demanding Manwë and Varda themselves acknowledge his superior size?” 

“You are drunk,” Maitimo said, but he was chuckling. 

“If being drunk gives me leave to speak thusly, let me be drunk,” Findekáno said, leaning forward again. “Kiss me.” 

This brought a true smile to his husband’s lips, and the taller nér stepped away from the stove to bend down over the table and kiss him. When he drew away, Findekáno reached up with one hand, seizing him by the collar and pulling him back until their lips met twice, thrice more. 

“You taste of peaches,” Maitimo murmured; this time, the amusement in his voice was edged in something raw and smoldering. 

“Do I?” Findekáno asked, looking up at him through dark eyelashes. “Good.” 

They stared at one another, eyes burning and bond sending out shuddering sparks, until Maitimo shook himself and turned back to the soup stock. He was silent, examining it and adding pinches of spice as he stirred, and in lieu of speaking with him his husband settled for admiring the way his shoulders shifted beneath his shirt and the cut of his high-waisted trousers.

“If we still need butter,” Findekáno said at last, “well - isn’t that a churn there in the corner?” He pointed to a tall, narrow vessel made of blue-and-white hyalma with a wooden stick rising out of it.

“Yes,” Maitimo said, “but I’m making the soup, I cannot do that and churn the cream.”

“So let me.” 

Maitimo flinched, and then glanced over his shoulder at his husband. 

“You?”

“Why not?”

“Have you… are you aware of how to churn butter, melindo?” he asked, choosing his words carefully. He could feel his face twisting up on itself in confusion. 

“I’ve seen it done a thousand times at least,” the other nér said. “I know how it’s done.”

“But you’ve never churned butter yourself.”

“How difficult can it be?” he asked, sliding off the stool and nearly knocking it over. “It’s not as if it requires any particular skill.” It was surprisingly difficult to cross the floor and pick up the heavy churn, and Findekáno found himself nearly keeling over more than once, but at last he set the hyalma on the stone with a clank and clambered back up onto his stool. 

“Pass me the cream,” he said, glancing at the bottle of nenvalaina again and debating whether or not he ought to take another drink. “I’m going to take the - lid thing - off of this.” He bent down, his braids spilling over his shoulders as he moved, and fumbled with the top of the churn, sliding it up the stick until it was free and he could set it on the table. Its blue flowers on bone-white glaze contrasted with the warm cream of the tile. Next came the stick, which had an oddly carved ending that was large and resembled nothing so much as a mushroom; this, Findekáno also lay on the table with a loud crack. 

“You could have just lifted the handle up,” Maitimo said. He was watching his husband and obviously trying not to laugh.

“I - what?”

“The handle,” Maitimo repeated, tapping the stick. “The end is bigger than the churn cover. You could have just lifted them both up together.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” Findekáno asked, almost pouting; it was an elaborate and teasing question. 

“Because I’m having fun watching you attempt this while drunk.”

“I’m not very drunk,” Findekáno protested again. “Just a little drunk. Three drunk.”

“Three drunk,” Maitimo said; he very nearly burst out laughing. “And how drunk is ‘three drunk’?”

“Three out of twelve. One-quarter drunk.”

“That implies the existence of three-quarters of you that are sober.”

“How do you think I got this - this - ” He pointed to the tiled table, attempting to be decisive and only flailing. 

“Handle,” Maitimo said. He was grinning as he poured oats and dried vegetables into the soup stock, which was simmering and beginning to smell of spice and fat and savory porocell broth. 

“This handle onto the table?” 

“Three-quarters-sober you would have lifted them both at once, or asked me for help.”

“Shut up,” Findekáno muttered. “It’s not as if you’re helping.” 

“I’m talking to you. Surely that’s accomplishing something.” 

“It is,” he admitted, and when Maitimo looked at him, still smiling, his heart fluttered in his chest, making him even dizzier than before. 

“You ought to kiss me again,” he told his husband, resisting the urge to climb onto the table solely to be closer to the other nér. “It’ll give me motivation to get up and fetch the cream.”

“I ought to kiss you again because you’re three drunk,” Maitimo corrected, turning away from the stovetop and bending over the table again. “And because I want to.”

When Findekáno’s hand went into his hair, pulling them together again, he didn’t bother resisting. 

[nightsinneverland]

Aura, the Shield, and the Sword

Although Aura Storms hasn’t been around that long, she was given certain skills, gifts and wisdom that could fit into several centuries of living. Along with a sword engraved with Nordic and African runes and a dog that holds more to the visible eye, can Aura take any more challenges? Maybe say a soulmate who she thought was dead? Or maybe an entourage of heroes that are constantly in her way?

-

Chapter Five.

12:00am. Midnight. My favorite time of the night and my favorite day due to the full moon energizing me. 

I sigh, laying down on my back, in my birthday suit, and listen to the trees and the air. This is where I feel completely at peace. Under the great Luna and beside Brooklyn. His dark, knowing eyes surveying me and our surroundings, always making sure I’m safe. I turn my head to make eye contact with him hoping he can see the gratitude in mine. 

In response, I received a prolonged blink and a long talon that caressed my bare face. I love when he’s in his given form; free, not hindered by some species that he has to conform to fit into this world. 

I don’t know how long we lay there soaking up the renewing moonlight, but when the temperature starts to lower and I start to drift away into a calm slumber, Brooklyn ruins my almost sleep by shooting up like he saw the Devil himself.

“What?”, I whine. The sweet grasp of sleep being chased away and irritation lingering behind.

Long black masses of arms gently sit me up and cover my nudity in a black cloak, ignoring my fussing. I angrily rip my arms through the cloak, shoving the oversized hood up over my head, knowing I’m acting like a child, but goddamnit I’m tired!

The widow’s time is almost upon us…

I stop my tantrum and stare at Brooklyn in shock. Shock in the fact that I’ve only heard him speak twice, his first being when he swore himself to me when I was awakened years ago and the second being now.

The fact that the second time I’ve heard his voice is to tell me about that insect that tried to steal what was mine lit a fire inside me.

“Oh for Luna’s sake!” I huff, getting to my feet, “FUCK THE WIDOW!” I shout, gathering the cloak at the waist, trying to walk away from Brooklyn, not wanting to deal with the fact that the sticky-handed bitch just won’t die.

Over the minuscule squeals and scattering of the forest critters and small animals trying to get out of my way, Brooklyn growls lowly, not liking my attitude. In retaliation, he extends his arm over to the few feet I’ve made from my aggressive stomping and wraps me up like a snake, bringing me back only to throw me over his strangely soft shoulder. 

“YOU PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU!! I SWEAR I’LL-”, My flustered tantrum cut short from air being sucked out of me due to Brooklyn jolting up into the sky and transporting us onto Tony Stark’s launchpad.

The big oaf gently took me off his shoulder and set me down, readjusting my cloak so it covered my modesty. I received a long blink and a pat on the head before he shifted back into his usual canine form.

I huff at the dog, trying to fix my curly hair, tangled from the wind. “You and I are gonna have a serious chat about manhandling because that was just uncalled for mister.” My response was an eye roll and a gentle nudge in my backside to move me towards Stark’s tower.

-

So far in his time of being in the modern world, Steve Rogers has not gotten a full night's sleep. But he did not dare voice his opinion as he slouches in the gray chair with the rest of his teammates in Natasha’s room. The air is tense as everyone watches Dr. Cho work over the red-headed woman, knowing that we might only have a few hours before we lose one of our own.

“You know what, maybe Point Break over here can work his otherworldly magic on Nat?”, Tony suggests, standing up and making odd hand gestures, “I mean it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

The hammer-wielding god smiles sadly at Tony, “My friend, this venom is something I’ve never seen before. I wouldn’t know where to start. My apologies.” 

Steve lets out a long sigh, “Well we gotta do something. You told me a dog bit her? I don’t know what kind of dogs people are breeding these days but that just doesn’t sound natural.” His voiced confusion getting the attention of the woman of the hour laying on her deathbed.

“Unnatural is right. That dog is something else. Something more dangerous,” Natasha’s voice, frail as it is held hatred and regret and even fear as she spoke into the room.

Clint ran a hand down his face in frustration. “Has F.R.I.D.A.Y. gotten any further with details on that mutt? We know it’s not an actual dog.” His tired voice asked Tony.

Upon hearing his teammate, Steve’s brow furrowed with confusion. “What do you mean not an actual dog?” 

Before anyone could answer any of the questions being thrown around, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rang out in the room, “Boss, she’s back”. 

This was Steve’s day for being clueless because no one had told him about this special dog that’s not actually a dog and now there’s a stranger in the tower that was here before that he hasn’t met yet. He really needs to have a talk with Tony about the need for communication.

Before he could open his mouth to complain about being kept in the dark, a sharp flash temporarily blinded him and everyone in the room. When he opened his eyes, he was met with a giant curly-haired dog, and a woman so beautiful that she must be what dreams are made of.

Her curls were wild yet tame. Sharp cheekbones creating shadows that could scare just about anyone. Except him. He was curious and aroused. And dying to know more about her.

“Hello again,” her deep sultry and sarcastic voice slithered out. Her lips pursed together as if she were annoyed. “Y’all here for the finale?” Her pursed lips morphed into a sadistic smirk that he didn’t approve of.

As a result of her smart-mouthed greeting, the room shot back to life; standing and advancing on the strange woman he felt strongly connected to.

Clint taking the first verbal shot towards her, yelled, “You got some fucking nerve coming here!” His anger bleeding into his words. Still advancing on her until he was towering over her, an obvious power play although it was apparent to the entire room that she was the one who held the power.

The woman in question simply blinked twice up at Clint and stepped aside to make her way to Natasha. Having a vague idea of how much of a threat this woman stood to his teammates, Steve, who had gotten to his feet during her entry, blocked her path to Nat.

“Why are you here? Who are you?” He was aware of how shaky his voice sounded as he questioned her. He straightened his broad shoulders to compensate for his weak voice even though he knew she saw right through him just like she saw through Clint.

It was when she looked up to meet Steve’s eyes when everything seemed to blur before coming into focus. His wrist tormenting him with the intense burning he felt in his dreams. He could tell from the pained expression in her eyes that she felt something similar as well. 

The beauty in front of him quickly masked her expression and replied quietly, “I’m here for the widow,” Her eyes showing hesitance but her voice was still strong as his shield, “But it looks like I found something as well”. 

Tony, looking like he had just about enough of this mystery woman opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the woman’s order, “Brook.” With her one word, everything stopped. He tried to call out in panic but he could not move his mouth. Time was not frozen but he was. So was the room, except for her and Natasha and her strange “dog”.

The curly-haired woman slowly made her way to her intended destination; trailing her symbol-covered fingers up the bed railings until she reached his teammate’s upper body.

“This is your last chance little spider.” Her fingers hovering over Natasha’s failing organs. “Why did you take from me?” Her face a mask of indifference as she casually asked her questions.

Natasha tried to put on a strong face for herself and her team but the pain slowly bled through her mask, “It doesn’t belong to you witch” Her breathy response sent chills down Steve’s spine. He felt like an unwelcome guest as he and the rest of the team watched the scene unfold.

A small cruel smile found its way onto the “witch’s” face. It was beautiful as well as alarming. She stopped her trailing fingers on Natasha’s chest, stopping one graceful finger over her heart.

“It belongs to no one. It chooses its own path. And you interrupted that path”, The witch’s smooth voice lowered with her body, leaning over to whisper loud enough for the whole room to hear, “And that’s why you’re going to die.” 

Her eyes left Natasha and roamed across the room until they landed onto her companion and with a tilt of its head, Steve had regained control of his body as well as everyone else in the room.

With that sealing statement and the renewed movement of his limbs and muscles, he stalked towards the witch, pinning her against the nearest wall, his large hand grasped tightly around her slender, symbol-covered neck.

Attraction aside, he wasn’t going to let this strange beautiful woman murder his friend.

To his surprise, the woman looked to enjoy his strangling. A content smile stretched across her face and she slightly leaned her head back as if she were in ecstasy before she righted herself and looked him square in the face.

“Well, this isn’t how I envisioned our first meeting.” Her face turned almost murderous in a flat second as she finished,

 “soulmate”

[shards-of-divinity]

"Bone-Weary" a WenZhou Word of Honor fic.

Summary: "A'Xu...Haven't you traded massages with a martial sibling after long hours of training or travel?"

Before he can stop himself Zhou Zishu takes his discarded sash and holds it up. “Blindfold yourself and you can do what you want to do.”

He watches Wen Kexing’s throat bob before he quickly rallies himself, flicking his fan out and cocking his head with a slow smile.

“So we’ve switched to this type of play? A’Xu, you continue to surprise me and I only want to know more. The last thing I want to do is over-tax you in your condition--”

Or, in which Wen Kexing takes care of Zhou Zishu after their impromptu swim.

(Find me here on AO3)

He forces himself not to shiver in the night air, energy depleted still from the toxin that lingers in his veins. Not for the first time, Zhou Zishu hates the nails that restrict his internal force and how long it's taking to bounce back even with the tincture he had on hand.

Pushing aside the thought, he tries to focus on his meal. The rabbit meat is stringy and burnt in places but still hot and Zhou Zishu forces himself not to eat too fast. Any food at this point would aid in rebuilding the energy he is expending to heal.

"A'Xu, you flatter me with your enthusiasm for my cooking!"

Zhou Zishu glances at Wen Kexing out of the corner of his eyes; hiding a huff of laughter at the slender fingers trying to make work of the ruined meat. As if he could feel Zhou Zishu staring, Wen Kexing's laughing eyes meet his and he leans in closer.

"If you had followed me back to my boat there would have been a much better meal for us."

"This is enough," Zhou Zishu says, ignoring the pout sent his way. How a grown man and (very likely) accomplished martial artist can look so pitiful and still have any face is beyond him.

"At least try to lie a bit better than that, A'Xu. One can only do so much with only this fire and no kitchen or spices. After the feast at Sanbai Manor--especially those delightful prawns--this is unseemly."

Zhou Zishu's face reddens slightly at the memory of Wen Kexing boldly placing the prawns on his plate as if they were close and anything other than reluctant travel partners. He takes another bite and hopes the firelight hides the color lingering in his cheeks.

"Surely with such a well trained and graceful form you're used to finer things than this poor meal. Your attempt at a disguise and demeanor can't hide the elegance in your every move, A'Xu."

Again with the excessive compliments! Zhou Zishu slowly lifts his head from his food and stares. Wen Kexing is watching him, chin propped on his hand again. Once again he wonders if the man is trying to throw him off balance, enjoys teasing him or…

Or.

The final option just isn't a possibility.

Before he can think of a reply, a cough forces its way out of Zhou Zishu and the food tumbles from his hand to the ground.

"Zhou Xu!"

As he's wracked with a coughing fit, suddenly all of his senses are invaded with Wen Kexing. His vision is full of the man's robes, he's surrounded by the scent of the river and wet hair and clothing, those things covering the faded smell of hair oils and tonics. The other man's warmth feels almost smothering as he leans in to try to steady Zhou Zishu through his coughing fit. He braces his hands on Wen Kexing's forearms, meaning to push him away but gripping tightly as he coughs harder.

Zhou Zishu forces himself upright and folds his body into a lotus pose, closing watering eyes. A second later Wen Kexing's energy flows into him and bolsters his own and Zhou Zishu ignores how compatible it feels.

"Will you follow me back to the boat now?" Wen Kexing is leaning over his shoulder too close in his ear and Zhou Zishu pulls away with a sigh. "You can't hide the way you're hunched into yourself and hurting; not from me."

"Of course, my form is so distracting to you I'm sure you've studied and memorized my every move, Lao Wen," Zhou Zishu quips back between more coughing, and there's a moment of silence between them.

"A'Xu you are shivering, soaked to the bone from our impromptu swim, and lacking energy. Please see reason?"

Zhou Zishu takes in a deep breath and turns to fully face Wen Kexing. "Who is partially to blame for my condition, Lao Wen?"

Wen Kexing sighs loudly. "Alright, alright. Let me make it up to you? On. The. Boat."

It's bone-deep weariness that finally forces Zhou Zishu to give in. In the nearly three years since he's left he's used to sleeping outdoors or in other uncomfortable places, but the excitement of his condition and last few days demand a proper rest.

He finds himself settled at a low table, a flavorful spread in front of him with heated wine. The two maids smile and sneak glances at him in curiosity as they bring more food. There's pea shoots with garlic, sweet sesame buns. Flavorful rice and tender white fish that is savory instead of overly bitter, and other foods placed before them. Zhou Zishu wonders again who exactly Wen Kexing is to just have such opulence at his fingertips, but doesn't hesitate to eat his fill as midnight creeps ever closer.

"So much better than charred rabbit, isn't it."

Wen Kexing pulls back his sleeve with extra flair as if they're at another banquet, serving Zhou Zishu first and then himself. Zhou Zishu tracks the movement, and feels the sudden (irrational) urge to bite at Wen Kexing's wrist.

There must have been something in the water, too, if Zhou Zishu can't control his thoughts.

"Who have you run into now, Master!"

Gu Xiang rises from below deck, bouncing forward; and settling herself between them both at the table. Zhou Zishu watches her face slacken in surprise while Wen Kexing smiles in amusement.

"Aiyah, it's you! Sick Dude!" She waves her finger in his face before rubbing at his cheek in wonder. "Master, you saw through the disguise and were right after all!"

Zhou Zishu leans back, smirking when Gu Xiang squawks loudly as her actions earn her a rap on the head from Wen Kexing's fan.

"Did you ever doubt me? You can see what I've always known, that A'Xu is truly a treasure."

Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes but smiles before returning to his meal. His thoughts drift between the clatter of his chopsticks against the plate, lulled by the savory food and energy of Xiang and Wen Kexing's bickering in the background.

It doesn't take long to finish the meal and round it off with fresh fruit and more wine and then Wen Kexing brings out his flute to play. The music slides smoothly from more refined pieces to local, jaunty tunes that might be more familiar in a tavern before finally returning to the Bodhi Meditation Song. Zhou Zishu watches Wen Kexing’s eyes flutter shut as he plays, and he only stops when Gu Xiang sighs and rests her elbows on the table.

“Will you only play when this dude is around?”

The music continues, only a slight curl of Wen Kexing’s lips showing acknowledgement of the question. Zhou Zishu listens a few moments longer before clearing his throat.

“You don’t need to play all night for me again, Lao Wen.”

The Bodhi Meditation Song finishes after repeating once more and the look Wen Kexing levels him with after makes Zhou Zishu’s mouth go dry. It’s too assessing before his face softens to a playful smile. “Maybe you’re right, A’Xu. I am a bit tired...let’s get settled and start out fresh tomorrow!”

...

Zhou Zishu lets himself be led below the deck where a large, yet cozy room awaits, a small desk with texts stacked neatly rests against the corner along with a room divider and a bed just large enough for two people sits at the opposite wall. Paintings cover another wall and the final holds a small window. He wonders again who exactly Wen Kexing is to have this much at hand yet pursue him so relentlessly, trailing his fingers along the finely crafted wood of the desk.

“Does my modest room meet your tastes?”

He stares as Wen Kexing rummages through a clothing chest and pulls out two sets of inner robes for sleeping. He turns and hands them out with a flourish to Zhou Zishu, who stares blankly.

“My robes are fine--”

“A’Xu, if you won’t change for your own self preservation at least have pity on my bedding. How rude to sleep in a clean bed with wet and travel-soiled clothing, not to mention the blood or did you forget so easily?” Wen Kexing is suddenly in his space again, hand on its way to his brow. “Are you running a fever?”

Zhou Zishu smacks the offending hand away, and then he and Wen Kexing are sparring again, Wen Kexing’s delighted smile growing when he twists to avoid knocking into his desk; advancing and forcing Zhou Zishu to avoid hitting the end of the bed. They come to a stop when Zhou Zishu wavers a bit and he finds himself gently but firmly pushed to sit on the low bed.

“Enough play; you need your rest if we are to continue tomorrow.”

“Who says I was playing,” he grumbles, hissing softly when pain flares down his back and the ever-present ache in his body from the nails in his chest. He watches Wen Kexing take the Glass Armor from his sleeve and produce a key, putting it inside of his desk before locking it inside.

“Alright, A’Xu. Let me take care of you. A massage imbued with internal energy should help ease your discomfort.”

Zhou Zishu pulls away when Wen Kexing tugs on his sleeve, schooling his face into something that isn’t shock. “That’s not really needed. You played the meditation song, I’ve eaten. I can sleep--”

“Come, A’Xu...Don’t you have a long journey ahead of you? Do you want your disciple to worry when he sees you in such a sorry state?”

His sleeve is pulled at again and Zhou Zishu peers into Wen Kexing’s face; taking in his wide eyes and open expression. There’s not a hint of teasing in sight.

"Haven't we shared multiple nights slumbering together under the stars? In a woodshed? Why be nervous now? Haven't you traded massages with a martial sibling after long hours of training or travel?"

Before he can stop himself Zhou Zishu takes his discarded sash and holds it up. “Blindfold yourself and you can do what you want to do.”

He watches Wen Kexing’s throat bob before he quickly rallies himself, flicking his fan out and cocking his head with a slow smile.

“So we’ve switched to this type of play? A’Xu, you continue to surprise me and I only want to know more. The last thing I want to do is over-tax you in your condition--”

Zhou Zishu’s head aches with how hard he rolls his eyes. “Will you do it or not?” he holds the sash up higher, watching Wen Kexing’s smile fade into a thoughtful look; setting down his fan and taking the sash from him.

“Despite what you think of me, I am a virtuous man. However, if it would ease you I’ll wear this."

While he doesn’t think Wen Kexing would truly violate his space, he still doesn’t want anyone who doesn’t need to see the evidence of the nails in his chest. It’s one of his most closely guarded secrets and he’s too tired for questions. He’s too tired to think of this massage as a poor idea, and leans against the wall to wait.

Wen Kexing brushes his hair over his shoulders before making quick work of putting on the impromptu blindfold. Once he’s situated, Zhou Zishu waves his hand in front of his face to make sure he truly cannot see before settling on the edge of the bed.

“Go ahead then, Lao Wen,” he murmurs, waiting and feeling oddly exposed somehow. There’s no reply and then hands come to rest lightly on his arms.

His robes are pulled down from his shoulders and pushed aside until they're pooled at his waist. Broad hands sweep along his shoulders before they begin to knead at the tense muscles, heated with internal energy and Zhou Zishu forces himself to not groan in relief. He allows himself to curl forward and Wen Kexing’s touch follows him.

There's no sound other than the light creaking of the boat and soft laughter and the clatter of dishes above them. Wen Kexing is--for once--blessedly silent, and Zhou Zishu glances over his shoulder to make sure the blindfold is still in place.

"Are you rendered speechless, Philanthropist Wen? No poetry or literature in honor of my flexibility or 'well-trained waist'?"

The hands pause on their journey, and Zhou Zishu can practically hear the smile he can't see. "I can be serious, and taking care of my A'Xu is an important task.”

Zhou Zishu settles again. He lets himself drift in the thumbs rubbing at his shoulders; Wen Kexing careful to avoid the injury and touch around it. His fingers digging into the right muscles in his biceps to help them loosen. His entire back is explored and given the same thorough treatment, even his arms; Wen Kexing learning in close enough that Zhou Zishu can hear him breathing steadily in his ear.

“‘...elegant and graceful is the lord; and fine match for the gentleman.’[1]--”

The soft words startle Zhou Zishu back into awareness. “I should have known better than to think you could stay quiet for longer than a half a dian[2]...”

A huff of laughter stirs the hair at the nape of Zhou Zishu’s neck and he suppresses a shiver. “You seemed disappointed that I didn’t compliment you earlier…” Wen Kexing’s fingers dig in deeper, the heat intensifying at the small of his back and Zhou Zishu feels restless; trying and failing to notice the new heat building in his belly and the need to arch back into that touch.

It’s been much too long if such a simple massage is drawing a reaction like this from him. He wonders what Wen Kexing would do if Zhou Zishu gave in to his body’s urges; turning around and pressing the man to the bed beneath him. Tangling his fingers in Wen Kexing’s hair and dragging that smiling mouth into a deep kiss. Rendering him breathless, but probably never silent. Would Wen Kexing battle him in his usual way for the upper hand or would he stretch out and take whatever Zhou Zishu gave him?

He thinks of pulling away his fine layers and seeing if the skin underneath is as pale yet strong as the wrist Wen Kexing flashed at him while pouring tea. If he’d laugh as much and smile while Zhou Zishu tasted the skin at his throat and trailed further downwards. He wonders what other tricks the man had hidden under the mask of elegance, and if his broad hands would take as much care exploring the rest of Zhou Zishu’s body.

Zhou Zishu’s thoughts cool down and turn to leaning back; letting his head fall onto Wen Kexing shoulder. How those soft lips would feel pressed to his own and of Wen Kexing’s hands coming forward to encircle him gently. When was the last time Zhou Zishu had been embraced by anyone? Much too long and the ache of loneliness pushes aside any unwanted arousal that he might have had.

“What are you thinking about?”

Zhou Zishu takes another breath, letting it out slowly. Wen Kexing’s hands have traveled during his errant thoughts, kneading back at his shoulders again. Zhou Zishu feels light, much better than he’s felt in months. The heat of Wen Kexing’s internal energy making him nearly boneless.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, and he hears Wen Kexing shuffle a bit behind him. “Thank you, Wen Kexing.”

“So formal when we’re like this,” Wen Kexing tsks, spending a bit more time before the energy fades until it’s barely warmer than the room around them. His fingers trail lightly down Zhou Zishu’s spine just to rile him up, and it breaks the moment. Zhou Zishu huffs and shifts forward to stand, but Wen Kexing follows; pulling his robes back up as carefully as he rolled them down.

“There, now we are done.”

Zhou Zishu stands and turns to look down at where Wen Kexing is seated perfectly; his robes settled around him as neatly as if they were at a banquet instead of in bed. His head tips back and a soft smile quirks his lips the longer Zhou Zishu stares.

“Unless you’d like more,” he laughs, reaching out and wiggling his fingers with a playful grin. “My martial siblings always said I had the most talented hands.”

Zhou Zishu shakes his head. “Boring.”

Wen Kexing’s delighted laughter rings around them. “Come now, A’Xu; laughter is also key to healing. Either way, may I remove this blindfold?”

“You’re finished aren’t you?” Zhou Zishu tosses over his shoulder, glancing back as Wen Kexing rises from the bed and removes the sash in one smooth movement. A pout overtakes the full lips and Wen Kexing is back to crowding into his space. “My sadness at not seeing more of your handsome form is soothed by the memory my hands will have of your soft skin and lovely shoulders.”

Wen Kexing tosses a lingering look over his shoulder before setting up the room divider to change and Zhou Zishu takes a deep, fortifying breath before undressing quickly.

“Come sleep, Zhou Xu,” Wen Kexing calls when they’re both dressed for bed, voice firm. Zhou Zishu steps closer and settles on the soft bed; sparing a look at Wen Kexing who looks softer than he’d think the man would in dove gray sleeping robes, hair braided over his shoulder and stretched out on his side.

“The floor would have sufficed.”

“Please, A’Xu. I would never let you sleep that way in my presence, and do you truly think I would sleep on the floor? You’re arguing just to be contrary! This bed is large enough after all and it’s for one night. Sleep.”

Zhou Zishu shakes his head but gets into the bed anyway. He glares half-heartedly at Wen Kexing’s smug smile, and rolls onto his good side; pulling the blanket over him. His skin prickles at the feeling of eyes watching him before the bed shifts and Wen Kexing rolls to face the other wall before settling down.

His last thoughts are of the piece of Glass Armor sitting in the locked drawer of Wen Kexing’s desk and the sound of the man’s slowing breathing behind him.

…

Zhou Zishu wakes feeling refreshed, blinking away half-remembered dreams of lips pressing against his shoulder and a soft smile before focusing on the soft light that stretches across the room and the gentle sway of the boat. Footsteps clatter above, likely the maids or Gu Xiang and Zhou Zishu bites back a groan as he arches his back in a long stretch. His energy feels more stable if not as strong as he wishes, and the lingering pain from both wounds is gone. He slowly drags his arm up and pushes the sleeve aside to see healed skin.

A soft sigh draws his gaze to Wen Kexing where he’s much closer than he was the night before, practically sharing Zhou Zishu’s body heat and pillow. The dawn light casts the other man in different shades of pinks and reds and Zhou Zishu is struck with the odd urge to capture him with the same reds as the flowers he painted in what feels like a lifetime ago.

He wonders about a different life, where he could completely let down his guard and confide in someone in waking hours instead of wishing while the world is asleep. A life where he is whole and able to reach out to trace the sleep-slackened face of a lover or train a smiling and eager disciple. To belong again in a place and not wander in guilt and feel a weariness down to his bones.

“I thought I was the shameless one. Here you are watching me sleep, A’Xu.”

“No one alive could match your levels of shamelessness,” Zhou Zishu quips back, his voice hoarse from sleep. He blinks, focusing on the indentations on Wen Kexing's cheek from the pillow instead of his lips.

Instead of deterring him, Wen Kexing rolls onto his side and props himself up so he’s looking down; eyes sweeping over Zhou Zishu’s thankfully blanket clad form.

“The only shame is I was denied the view of you waking. I keep missing it!”

He rolls onto his back, draping his arm over his eyes; secretly grateful for Wen Kexing waking when he did. Zhou Zishu has no right or reason to try to imagine a life that is impossible or including the man at all. Despite the short amount of time they’ve known Wen Kexing has invaded the cracks of his defenses, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it other than foolish and yet sad he’s not got enough time to see what might happen.

There's a sharp rap at the door and Zhou Zishu sits up quickly, pushing himself up from bed and moves until he’s halfway across the room. Gu Xiang opens it with a basin full of steaming water, not hiding her curiosity as she looks between him and Wen Kexing who is standing just behind him.

"A'Xiang, have you suddenly become so disciplined that you're bringing the bathing supplies so early in the morning? Are Yun Cai and Hong Lu still unwell?"

She sets the basin down and rises slowly.

"No, Master. They're well...but you did sleep longer than you usually do,” Gu Xiang says with raised eyebrows and Zhou Zishu huffs a laugh as Wen Kexing takes the basin from Gu Xiang, setting it down on the table before waving her out of the room

"How could you criticize such a dedicated servant, Lao Wen?” Zhou Zishu teases. “One who is also a cute young lady?"

"A'Xu. You hurt me...dropping so many sweet words to everyone else but me." Zhou Zishu rolls his eyes as Wen Kexing snaps his fan open and steps closer. "Besides, that 'cute young lady' is as nosy as any old grandmother."

"Maybe she's protective instead?" Zhou Zishu shrugs, turning away.

Wen Kexing hums. “‘Protective’? I think I’d enjoy whatever you’d have planned for me, Zhou Xu.”

That startles a true laugh out of him, and Zhou Zishu lets his head fall back in amusement. If only Wen Kexing knew. When he finishes laughing and turns around, Wen Kexing is watching him in a way he can’t read. Zhou Zishu would almost say conflicted and maybe even enthralled and Zhou Zishu shakes his head; setting up the room divider between them to break the charged energy in the room. Wen Kexing pushes it aside a second later.

"Not so fast, A'Xu," and Zhou Zishu steps back as Wen Kexing invades his space with a mountain of robes.

"How could you possibly continue in those old robes now that you are not wearing your disguise? I’ve got plenty more here for you to choose from." Wen Kexing begins to pile robes over his arm until the riot of colors makes Zhou Zishu dizzy.

"Alright, alright. At most I'll take these," he relents; grabbing plain robes in the softest blues, grays, and cream and turning around before Wen Kexing can do more. An irritated scoff meets his back and Zhou Zishu smirks, setting them down before putting the room divider back up.

He washes in the heated water quickly, ignoring the rustling of Wen Kexing doing the same. Zhou Zishu finishes his absolutions quickly, and emerges to see Wen Kexing standing there in deep turquoise and vibrant red.

"You look even more beauti--gallant, A’Xu,” Wen Kexing drawls, moving too close as usual and Zhou Zishu smirks back as the other man’s eyes linger.

“Here!"

He glances down at the wooden comb and guan in Wen Kexing’s hand, and takes them slowly. Their fingers touch briefly and Wen Kexing pulls away with a smile.

"Consider it a little gift."

"You're so generous, Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu says, taking time to brush his hair quickly and secure it before pushing the door aside ascending the steps.

“It’s only fair after you gave me the privilege of touching your naked flesh in my bed last night, A’Xu,” Wen Kexing purrs, and Zhou Zishu shoves him aside at Gu Xiang’s wide eyes and laughter combined with the two maids who hide their smiles behind their sleeves.

“You--!”

“Won’t you stay for another meal before you leave?” Wen Kexing rolls over any reply Zhou Zishu might’ve had and his protest dies in his throat. He rolls his eyes, ignoring all of the eyes on him and shakes his head; taking in the sun’s placement in the sky. “It’s later than I want it to be; it’s best to start out now.

“I’ll see you off then!”

Zhou Zishu gives up trying to shake him off, instead handing the comb out to Wen Kexing. “Thanks for lending this to me...and everything else.”

Wen Kexing’s hand folds over his, thankfully the angle of his body blocking the gesture from being seen. “It’s rude to refuse a gift and someone’s hospitality,” he says waving his fan at Zhou Zishu like he would an unruly child. “As for the rest, I’ll always be willing to care for you, Zhou Xu.”

Zhou Zishu turns Wen Kexing’s words over in his head, the weight of them too much to analyze at the moment. He stares at their hands for a moment before stepping away. He shares a long look with Wen Kexing before offering him a small smile of thanks.

He puts the comb in his money pouch and tucks it into his sash before jumping onto the cool, morning air; Wen Kexing's fond laughter ringing behind him as they travel towards the shore.