#like nothing is ever out of bounds because the way its framed is too funny and casual

[dirt-str1der]

This whole chapter with knives is still funny because in the finale he at least had pants but he was straight naked here. Like it was swinging , his millionth knife

[theynchapter]

「 YOUR PLACE IS EMPTY 🥀࿐ ˊˎ- W. 최범규 」

three. the four propeller knots // 2K WORDS

there's a lot of things you're not quite sure you know of: the reason why you and choi beomgyu parted ways, the person who hacked into your guys' godforsaken shared twitter account from middle school, and the account's password. now it’s up to you and beomgyu to work together and solve the mystery. great... just great.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! @kooktattoos @openingssequence @ahnneyong @miyawwn @breadcatcreations @pokyloky @obeymeharemowner @luvsoobs @jeongintwt @cha0thicpisces @0x11s @thatgirlwithafatty @beatr2x @thisisnotjacinta @todorokiskitten @erisisblue @agisajinn @impureperhaps @forever-in-the-sky2 @ineedsomezzz @taekwondoes @catsyoon @woncheecks @wondersgyu @txtbrainrot @aestheticsluut @concatpng @yumilovesloona @wonyoungsvirus @henderyenthusiast

WARNING! Beomgyu is mean 🙁, idioms(?) of death & violence, reader gets a little anxious, reader gets injured

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BEOMGYU DID NOT NEED YOUR HELP.

Well, he did not.

Not until he got his list of four suspects from you. (He’s gonna pretend that he got it himself.)

And funny enough (for karma to laugh at), Beomgyu’s four leading defendants are his old childhood friends.

Slamming the car door shut with one hand behind his trail, Beomgyu stared up at the two-story residence with no hint of a surprise.

“He still lives with his parents…” He muttered incredulously. “Typical.”

The house was just as he remembered it. Not too grand, not too simple either. A house of two floors layered by the uneven surface of three rooftops at minimum. The plants surrounding it seem to be still taken care of in the good hands of the mother, he presumes. It was like any other house you’d find in the suburban areas of Seoul: a well-shaped and modern clay roof that’s bound to keep you safe from having either too much pour or too much heat. A place of balance.

That feeling alone made Beomgyu want to throw up all over.

Kim Jungsu. 

Former pianist and keyboardist of your childhood band. Arguably main vocalist. Sometimes said the most questionable things with no anticipation from anyone. Also ate his Kit Kat bars very weird. Overall, highly attentive and caring. But—

“The hell are you doing here?”

Beomgyu’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Slowly but surely, he aligns his gaze from the front of the door onto you, straining the smile on his face, narrowing his eyes. “What do you think I’m doing?”

You scoff as you shuffled your way past his frame to ring the doorbell yourself. “Figuring out the password is not your job to do, it’s mine.”

“I’m not here to figure out the password,” Beomgyu huffed, scanning around cautiously as he minimized the volume of his voice. “I’m here to figure out the suspect.” 

“Suspect?” Your eyebrows raise– astonished– before breathing out a satirical laugh at his diehard commitment to absolutely nothing. “Oh please! Tell me more, Scooby Doo!”

The man glared at you, already sick of standing in the midst of presence. He sighed, continuing anyway, “When it was obvious that we had to call the band off, Jungsu still wanted the four of us to stay together.” Beomgyu sealed the top of his lips with his tongue, thinking deeply. “He was strong. Persistent. He didn’t care whatever happened between the two of us, he just needed a band to play with in order to keep on performing. To stay professional.” He air-quotes before looking back over to you.

“Haven’t you ever considered that your old friends would stab you behind your back with the advantage of having something that’s yours?”

“No,” You mutter, “Not until I met you, I guess.”

Beomgyu groaned. Of course you wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about me.”

“Oh! Then tell me what is it about, Beomgyu?” You sneered, your finger having a mind of its own as it effortlessly finds its way back to the doorbell once again. You just wanted to talk with Jungsu, you just wanted to get everything over with. “Because even if I don’t talk to my old friends anymore, even if I may not know them as well—” Your lungs were closing in, and your breath was only racing in desperation to get out. “They would have never left me for dead.” Your eyes were burning, and if tears were an option to water the flames down, then they would have been just as perfect to take siege now. But you couldn't let them. Not in front of Beomgyu. Not like this. “Not Jungsu. Not anyone. Not ever.”

A sudden creak from the front door startled you both.

“Hey, you’re gonna break my doorbell, man!”

Now awake, you peer over to see that the tip of your finger was, in fact, crushed against the front doorbell. You blinked, breath unsteady, and you finally pulled your shaking hand back to the surface of your chest. You glance up at Beomgyu to see him staring back at you with an expression so unfamiliar; his eyes could only stare in immobile stupor, and his mouth was slightly agape, words anticipating to break out— yet what only came was a breath of silence that lingered you both. Not long after the unsettling minute, you and Beomgyu look over to see none other than the house owner himself.

“No way…” And there he was. Kim Jungsu, who stood ice-still at the doorway as he gawked at the sight of you both standing next to each other after God-knows-how-long. “Choi Beomgyu and Y/N L/N… Noooo fucking way!” The man suddenly gasps in excitement, striking the edge of his door.

“Are we getting the band back together?!”

You and Beomgyu said no right away. 

After Jungsu led the both of you to the comforts of his living room, he slumped back on the couch, frowning defeatedly. “I knew it was too good to be true. So then, what are you here for?” He patted down the space next to him as an offer for you both to sit as well. While you were quick to comply, Beomgyu stood perfectly still in his place, leaning against the door frame of the entrance.

“We’re just here to ask you a few questions.” He starts off, but you were quick to jump in with an annoyed huff.

“No, we’re not. Jungsu, do you happen to remember the password of Beomgyu and I’s old twitter account?” 

The man in question scrunched his nose at your inquiry. “Twitter account? What twitter account?”

You blink, stunned. “The… one that Beomgyu and I made back in middle school. We would always post there together. I gave… I gave you the password. Did I?”

It was then that Jungsu’s eyes would widen in familiarity, laughing right away. “Oh, that one! I remember! Beomgyu would always tweet cryptic Paramore lyrics.” He fondly chuckles at the small memory, having Beomgyu turn around to roll his eyes. 

You tried your best to suppress a grin, knowing just exactly what your friend was talking about. How could you forget about Paramore? It was the first band Beomgyu's ever introduced you to as kids. After greeting his parents one day when you came over to hang out, you heard him blasting “The Only Exception” from the echoes of his corridors. And when you entered his room, he annoyed you to the brim until you took a photo of the song playing on his laptop because he knew that if he loved it, then so would you. You hated how right he was. “Yeah, we were just wondering if–”

“If you were the one who posted that photo the other day.” Beomgyu steps in, now standing at the other side of the man. His head craned down indignantly, and his eyes were keen sharp.

You frown at the sight, protectively leaning over Jungsu’s side to glare back at the latter. “Beomgyu.” You warn.

Jungsu could only glance between the two of you before raising an eyebrow cluelessly. “Photo? What photo?”

You both avert your gazes to the poor man stuck in the middle. Beomgyu blinked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You really… don’t know anything?” “Jesus no, I don’t even know the password.” Jungsu chuckles to himself. “How am I supposed to remember the password if I can’t even remember the name of the account itself? You guys used a shit ton of letters.”

Beomgyu fell dead-silent, and you think that humbled him quickly. You fought the urge to laugh, then diverting your attention back to your friend. “Thank you, Jungsu.” That was all the talk you needed. Getting ready to leave, you reach for your bag and keys as you stand up, offering Jungsu a hug.

The male frowned, refusing to move from his seat. “Leaving already? Did you guys eat?”

“I already did– don’t know about him, though.” You glare at Beomgyu, who’s already made way towards the front door. You look back at Jungsu with a smile as grateful as it can be. “Oh Jungsu, you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Neither have you.” He grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist before pulling you into a hug you never thought you’d miss so much. He then sighs defeatedly as he guides you out to the front porch. “Well…” Jungsu turns back with an endearing pat on your head. “If you ever need to eat, let me know!”

You chuckled at the parental instincts that Jungsu doesn’t seem to take notice of himself. Backing away, however, you fail to notice that you’ve stepped on your loose shoelace, now tripping over the first flight of stairs. Yelping at the rapid slip-up, you squeeze your eyes shut as you prepare for the awaited collision.

But it never came.

“Hey– watch it!” Beomgyu was holding your waist.

His eyes swiftly darted from your face to your shoes as he shifted you back to the top of the stairs. 

“Your shoes are untied, can’t you think of something right to do for once?” He scoffs before trudging to the front of his car.

Jungsu was quick to grab your hand in comfort, smiling softly at you before going down on one knee to reach for your shoelaces.

Taken aback, you shake your hands in worry. “Oh, Jungsu you don’t have to—“

“Done!” But the latter grins up at you, standing tall once again— and with a little more pride this time.

You glance down to see the way your left shoe was fixed up. “Oh, Jungsu…”

Four propeller knots.

APRIL 27TH, 2012.

“Jungsu, hurry it up already!” You whined, watching as five other classmates jog past you and the 11-year-old boy who was tying his shoes. “We’re only on our first lap of the mile, how did your shoes even get untied!”

“Because you tied them wrong.” Jungsu rolled his eyes irritably. “You only looped them around twice.”

“I always double tie my shoes.” You raise an eyebrow. “What other right way is there to do it?” It was then that Jungsu would grab his two laces as he glanced up at you, grinning knowingly. “Like this.”

The boy ties his first knot, left end over the right, before looping the two loose ends with one another. He then takes his right end and forms it into another loop, pulling it through the left one to make another complete knot. He mirrors the same action but with the right loop and left end this time, to then create a third knot. And finally, Jungsu swaps the bottom right loop with the top left corner, finishing it off with four propeller knots.

You blinked. And stared. Then laughed.

“Oh my god—“ You wheeze out, clutching the pit of your aching stomach. “That is the stupidest thing I have ever seen!”

Jungsu could only look at you incredulously before taking in a sweet breath of fresh air as he got back on his feet again. As you continue your little fit of giggles, he took this as an opportunity to sprint a few feet ahead of you, making you look… quite stupid, this time.

“The way you took— almost nine minutes—“ You wipe a tear as your palm hit the front of your hard knee. “Just to make some helicopter looking a— Wait. Jungsu? Jungsu! Wait up!” Unbeknownst to you, your shoes were now untied.

After jogging a couple steps forward, you still fail to reach your friend as you take a clumsy step on one of the loose ends of your shoe. You yelp, tripping over yourself before stumbling down onto the pavement of the track. Your skin was on fire, and it was pretty much inevitable that the hit would trigger a nerve that'll make you want to cry (although you had no emotional reason to, odd enough). As you hiss and grab onto the knee that’s now painfully scraped with blood, you hear the light footsteps from what you could assume was your classmate.

To your disappointment, you open your eyes to see those stupid propeller knots once again.

“And that’s why you tie them the right way.”

“You still tie them this way.” You smile wistfully, looking back at your friend.

Jungsu beamed as he nudged your other shoe— that was tied just the same.

“The right way, of course.”

[harborpointeblvd]

I’m starting over on my rec list

I ended up dropping some of the comics I’ve recommended before, so I’m only going to recommend completed stories from now on.

A Shoulder to Cry On (Dongmul)

When Dayeol is framed for assault by Taehyun, he nearly loses his archery scholarship. But instead of feeling the least bit remorseful for nearly ruining Dayeol’s life, Taehyun starts to torment Dayeol even further.

I can’t tell you how much I hated Taehyun in the beginning of this story, but by the end, my heart belonged to him. I usually don’t like assholes with sad backstories as love interests, but Taehyun is the exception.

Trigger warning for self-harm.

Official English translation available on Lezhin.

.

Fools (Yeongha)

Shounen Ai - After overhearing a fight that new student Jeongwoo had with his boyfriend, college senior Eungi finds himself becoming increasingly confused about his feelings toward Jeongwoo. Jeongwoo, meanwhile, fresh out of a long and rocky relationship, isn’t ready to act on his feelings toward Eungi. Commence awkward not-dates.

This is the most relatable depiction of the uncomfortable early stages of a romance that I’ve ever seen. It also shows how trauma from past toxic relationships can affect new, healthy ones. But it’s never too heavy-handed about it. It’s really funny at times, but also has its fair share of angst.

In the official English translation, their names are Edward and Justin, but I think it’s weird when they do that.

Official English translation removed by author from all official platforms.

.

Heesu in Class 2 (Lily Zuzu)

Shounen Ai - Despite both being big dumb idiots who don’t know anything about relationships, Heesu and his next door neighbor Seung Won agree to help each other out with their respective secret crushes. Little does Heesu know, he is the real subject of Seung Won’s affection.

Heesu’s and Seung Won’s best friends are the best wingmen, and extra points for one of them being a well-written female character. My only complaint is that I wasn’t interested in the second couple at all, but if you tend to like side pairs, you’ll probably like them.

Official English translation available on Lezhin.

.

How to Hate Mate (Reck, Yeongha)

Alternate Title: Hate Mate

Shounen Ai - Two years ago, Subin drunkenly confessed his feelings to his straight roommate, Hyunwoo. After that, Hyunwoo left for his mandatory military service, and Subin hasn’t heard from him since. Just when Subin is finally ready to move on, Hyunwoo reappears and things get complicated.

Listen. Hate Mate hurt me in a big way. Don’t read this if you’re looking for the warm fuzzies, because you will not find them here. I loved this story for its realism. All the characters are seriously flawed, and even though it ended the way I hoped it would, nothing feels fully resolved. This comic will hurt you and skip the aftercare. Anyways, have fun.

The authors announced that they are working on a second season, so I guess this one is technically ongoing. But if I don’t like the new ending, I’ll pretend season 2 didn’t happen.

Official English translation has been removed from Lezhin.

.

Just Kidding (Cho Hyerim)

Alternate Title: A Strange Joke

Shounen Ai - Min Kim is an unremarkable college student who is firmly in the closet. Sijun is a heartthrob who, for reasons Min can’t fathom, has taken a sudden interest in him. As the two grow closer, Min can’t help but wonder if their connection is more than friendship.

This story holds a special place in my heart. It will have you ugly crying in one chapter and ugly laughing in the next. Min and his friends are a bunch of drunken dumbass college students in the best way.

Trigger warning for grooming.

Official English translation available on Pocket Comics.

.

Roommates (Young Seok)

Shounen Ai - Kisub just needs to crash on Jinwoo’s couch for a few days, or months, or forever. Which is a problem, because Jinwoo has secret feelings for Kisub, and they’re bound to come out eventually.

Roommates is just too funny. The art style and story are pretty simple, but it has a lot of funny little details that make it relatable. Jinwoo is affected by the tiniest things that Kisub does, like putting a medication patch on his neck. Oh if he were an icy hot patch against that neck…

The second season is a new story, completely independent from season one. It’s not as light-hearted as the first season, but like it too.

Trigger warning for sexual assault in season 2.

Official English translation available on Tappytoon.

.

Shape of Your Love (Park Nodeok)

Alternate Title: For Your Love

Shounen Ai - Jung Yohan thinks unrequited love is for idiots, but joke’s on him, because he’s the biggest idiot of them all. When Yohan realizes that his upperclassman Moogyeong has feelings for another guy, he makes it his mission to get the pair together. But the more time he spends with Moogyeong, the more he resents Moogyeong’s secret crush.

Yohan is easily the best thing about this manhwa. He has the greatest facial expressions. There is a spinoff involving two side characters from this story, but I haven’t read it and I don’t plan to.

Official English translation available on Pocket Comics.

.

Someone Else’s BL Manhwa (Bbobariee)

Shounen Ai - Loner by day and cross-dresser by night, Kim Seunghee has managed to keep his double life a secret, until he’s caught in drag after a bad date by class president Park Seungtaek and class trouble maker Lee Kyubin. I’m not even gonna spoil who the pairings are, because it’s not immediately apparent.

Seunghee is a bit of a brat, but that’s part of his charm. He’s not for everyone, but he’s my favorite character. All of the characters turn out to be different from how they first seem, which I adore. There is a HUGE portion of the comic dedicated to the side pairing (hence the title) but both the main and side pairings are cute as hell.

This was one of the first BL comics that I read, so there’s a nostalgia factor there for me. I honestly love it too much to be objective about it. Do I love it because it’s good or is it good because I love it?

Official English translation available on Tappytoon.

.

Soulmate (Bing Ke Ran, Wenzhi Lizi)

Shoujo Ai - 27-year-old Yu Qi has been dating Yuan Zi since college, but Yuan Zi’s health has been declining. When Yu Qi wakes up one morning ten years in the past, in her 17-year-old body, she decides to use it as an opportunity to meet Yuan Zi sooner and prevent her illness. Meanwhile, 17-year old Yu Qi wakes up in her present-day body and doesn’t know Yuan Zi.

This is such a sweet story. The girls are so cute together, and I love everything about Yuan Zi. A beautiful romance that will make you believe in soulmates.

Official English translation available on Tapas.

.

Unintentional Love Story (Pibi)

Shounen Ai - Wonyoung is fired from his job after being falsely incriminated in a corruption scandal. By sheer luck, he happens to run into the company chairman’s favorite ceramic artist, Yoon Taejun, who has been living under an alias. He’s told he will likely get his job back if he could convince Taejun to partner with the company. Wonyoung tries to get close to Taejun without revealing that he knows his true identity. What he doesn’t plan on, though, is falling in love with Taejun.

This one is where the DRAMA is at. The story doesn’t ignore the fact that the relationship was built on a lie. It hurts so good.

Official English translation available on Lezhin.

[hotwings0203]

fighter kirishima who doesn't like it when other people even stare for one second at his partner, so then he just kills anyone who dares to stand less than 2ft from his darling 😌👍

Tw:noncon implication, implied murder

“Why’re you standing so far away babe?”

You’re not, he’s got his arms wrapped around your waist to the point of crushing your hips.

“‘M not, just couldn’t breathe.”

“Oh good, for a moment there I was worried you were looking at that guy again.

That guy referring to the blond haired weirdo who kept laughing and pointing at the losers of the ring like a maniac.

Right, like you were totally head over heels for the one weirdo in the entire basement.

Except your “boyfriend “ maybe. He could definitely take that title.

Well, maybe not weirdo. Maybe Possessive Controling Freak would be a better name for him, instead of Kirishima.

And just to drive the point home, he soothingly rubs his calloused hand up and down your arm while the next match rages on in front of you both.

It’s not soothing, on the contrary it seems like a threat.

He just amps it up from then on any time he feels like your attention is elsewhere or if he feels like other men are looking at you for a second too long.

First it’s taking on arm and tightly squeezing it. Then, he puts one leg of yours over his thigh much to your embarrassment.

Eventually he just picks you up and plops you on his lap. While he thinks he’s keeping other men at bay with this tactic, it’s doing the complete opposite.

Because these testosterone filled savages are quite enjoying the scene with your limbs being toyed with and thrown over a man like the rest of them, your ragdoll-maneuvered body a promise of something they might be able to one day get a taste of.

The entirety of the fight goes by dreadfully slow because all you can focus on is how long Kiri’s hands dip in and out of the crevice of your legs way too casually. His hands settle comfortably under your shirt and across your boobs, which can be seen by literally everyone when they catch a glimpse of an evident hand on your chest.

He prevents you from squirming too much with his limbs tightening around you and disapproving grunts to your discomfort. So you sit there, stewing with rage and humiliation.

Until a distraction appears.

In the midst of the next match brawling in the ring, a smaller fight breaks out amongst the raging spectators.

It only catches both your attention when the yelling starts getting close to your area and men start throwing fists and yelling until their faces tie beet-red.

Kirishima and you both crane your heads around to see the source of the commotion, but you realize quickly that it’s getting way too intense around you, so much so that men begin lifting chairs and falling over themselves in their own battles.

You try to get up but Kiri’s hands are wrapped so tightly around your midriff that you barely manage to dislodge his arm. He’s distracted and looking around curiously at the dangerous setting and you have to frantically tap his arm to indicate it’s time to go.

But he snaps out of it too late, and a body gets punched your way, his large mass descending on your weaker frame.

You shriek and try to lift your hands up to protect yourself, but it doesn’t work. You’re slammed into and knocked clean off Kirishima’s lap onto the floor laced with blood and bits of torn clothes.

There’s a loud ringing in your ears as you blearily get up and take in your surrounds, which seem to love in slow motion around you. You belatedly think that you must’ve hit your head on the concrete floor when you fell.

Your arms ache as you groan and lift yourself up on shaky elbows, the sounds around you swim in and out of your aching head when suddenly an open hand is thrust in front of your face.

“Are you alright? I’m so sorry!”

Grimacing, you tilt your head up and see the same man who knocked you down. You’re in no condition to refuse help in such a volatile area however, so you gingerly lift your hand and grasp onto his open palm.

You find yourself being pulled up easily and crushed into the man’s body. It’s hard to push back but when you see how many bloody faces and broken limbs windmill around you decide it’s best to keep close to a safe space.

The man gently starts stepping over writhing bodies and lifting you up under your arms to ensure that you don’t trip and fall again while on your way to a clearer area.

You don’t resist, only looking up at him helplessly like a kitten being dragged by its mom from the scruff. His body is warm and toned, yet plush and comfortable to lean against when you need to. Your cranium still pounds, but your head clears a bit when you look into his surprisingly concerned grey eyes.

“You alright? Hit your head a little hard, huh? My bad.”

He sets you on a perch near the office and looks around, deeming it a less loud and crowded area for your health.

He says nothing, but you don’t sense any malice from him. He doesn’t move either though, he just leans an arm on the extension and puts another hand on his hip, scanning the screaming men and casualties as if he were looking out in a snowy field.

He might be protecting you, or looking for a good place to jump in and start swinging himself, you’re not sure.

But you’re grateful for his helpful presence, nonetheless.

And then suddenly your moment of reprieve is dismantled when you hear him frantically calling your name.

You see his head hair sticking up, spiky as ever while the top of his head bobs left and right, in circles and backwards as he tries finding you.

Your head starts to hurt again.

“Y/N! Where the hell are you?”

Eventually and unfortunately he sees your figure above the fray, and he swears you look like an angel-siting above this rifraff, your body perfectly intact unlike the rest of these thugs, your expression dazed and vulnerable like it did when you were choking on his co-

He sees the man next to you, and his vision shatters like glass when he takes in the proximity of him next to you.

Kirishima sees red.

“Hey, there you are cutie! I got scared I lost you for a sec’ there. Thanks for looking out for her man,” he smiles and shakes his hand with the steel-haired guy, crushing his grip a little too hard to be deemed grateful.

“No problem. The name’s Tetsutetsu. ‘Think I’ve seen you around here, you fight pretty good not gonna lie! When’s it gonna be my turn to match that strength in the rink?” He smiles deviously and knocks shoulders with you in jest.

While you smile uncomfortably and rub your now-bruising shoulder, Kirishima’s eye twitches at the contact and his smile starts straining as well.

But this is too easy to give up.

“Hey, that’s actually a really good idea. Why don’t we have our own little practice match after the shit here clears up?” He nods around to the ongoing pandemonium.

You look at him stricken, unsure of what he’s playing at. You’re not stupid, you can tell by his off body language that he’s not at rest or relaxed at all by this conversation.

The expression he’s making, while it might fool the himbo next to you, is extremely reminiscent of the faces he pulls when he chides gently in your ear to stop moving so fucking far away from him and soothes a hand over your head.

“Sounds good, and don’t worry, I’ll take it easy on you.” The other man laughs heartily and kicks away a stray rolling body.

Kirishima merely grins gently. “For your sake, is give it my best.”

*************

He’s strapped you to the bed-check.

You’ve been spanked black and blue-check.

A lecture has been given to your sobbing body-check.

Ointment has been slathered on the bruises-double check.

And he’s out the door at exactly 9pm, jogging his way to the bar and down the steps to the basement as a light warm up. He considers calling an ambulance before-hand, but that would mean he’d give enough mercy to leave Tetsutetsu intact…and alive.

When he bounds down the rickety steps he finds that Tetsu is already there and lightly boxing a body bag that the newbies use for practice.

He has to hold back his snort and paint his usual cheery face on, but something tells him even the dim yellow light in this room would still show the dark emotion swirling in his ruby eyes.

“What’s up bro, you made it?”

“No, I’m still at home.”

Tetsutetsu laughs heartily and doesn’t catch onto the cold bite Kirishima’s words hold.

“You’re funny. ‘Wanna warm up-“

“-Nah, actually, ‘think I’m good. Let’s just get started, I’ve been waiting for this.”

“You got it boss.”

And without further ado they both shrug off their shirts in the hot basement and ready their fists in a protective stance, circling each other.

“Y’know, when I saw you next to my girl I fantasized about caving your face in,” a punch is thrown suddenly and Tetsu is thrown off guard by the surprising agility of the bully opponent and his words.

He practically eats the hit square in the nose, his head snapping back and immediately pouring blood from his nostrils.

He coughs and staggers before realigning himself the opposite end of the fighting circle. “Wha-? Why?” The victim sounds congested from the leaking blood but his focus is only on Kirishima’s change in expression.

“Yeah, and then I saw you knock shoulders with her too…maybe I’ll cut yours off and sell ‘em for a couple hundred, whaddaya think bro?”

This time when Kirishima aims for his face again he’s ready, and he quickly dodges and strikes his face fist out.

But what he doesn’t expect is the redhead to actually catch the fist in his own larger hand and hold it in midair. He also doesn’t react in time to pull his hand out and move back when Kiri’s other fist swings low and punches so hard into his stomach that he falls to the ground, hand still captivated by Kirishima’s.

He’s never seen a man with that kinda of face on while fighting. His eyes are narrowed and dark, his mouth is set in a thin like and his whole body is taut, as if holding back his own strength.

For the first time since he’s ever been in the basement, Tetsutetsu doesn’t to fight anymore.

“Look Kirishima,” he hacks and looks wildly at him. “I don’t know if you’re upset at me for something but you gotta chill out. You can’t catch my hands like that, that’s not how you’re supposed to fight-“

“You still think I give a shit how we’re supposed to fight? No ones gonna care about strategy or sportsmanship when you’re dead, Tetsutetsu.”

His last scream is so loud and so shrill that Kirishima thinks it’s a shame it wasn’t witnessed in a real match by paying spectators.

[forever-rogue]

Honeyed Whiskey

A/N: This was not called for at all, but I was so inspired by THIS dress from yesterday. It’s just a little soft, gentle fluff. Enjoy! xx

Pairing: Jack Daniels x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: references to sex, but nothing graphic

Pedro Character Masterlist

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By the time he's lulled from sleep, far later than he normally would have preferred, the first thing he notices is the golden sunlight streaming in through sheer curtains and open windows. Instantaneously, a smile is tugging on his features and he shifts onto his back, stretching limbs made stiff by sleep. He's content and comfortable, already enjoying his days off, knowing they'd be spent with you. 

As soon as the thought of you crosses his mind, honeyed brown eyes slowly open again and he's blinking away the bleariness while reaching over to your side of the bed. But you're gone already, he notes with a light huff, finding nothing but cool emptiness where you normally laid.

Before he can get too lost in his own thoughts, he hears you. Its faint - soft and barely audible over the steady stream of the shower, but it's there. Crystal clear and beautiful, at least to his ears, he hears you singing softly under your breath along to whatever you had playing on the speakers. Rubbing away the remaining sleep from his eyes, he pulls back the soft, warm blankets and slides out from underneath. 

He's still naked from the evening before, but he doesn't even bother to dress or reach for even a stitch of clothing. He already knows you'll just strip off in seconds anyway. A beaming grin crosses his features at that; you certainly knew what you wanted and when you wanted it.

Almost as if you could sense him, you stopped singing for a moment and he hears the tell-tale rustle of the shower curtain, "Jack? Honey, is that you?"

"Hi Sugar," he poked his head and found you staring back with excited eyes and a head full of shampoo lather, "you're up early...need a hand?"

"Its the Farmers Market today," you reminded him with a crook of your finger as he stepped into the warm bathroom, "I don't want to miss it, besides you're taking me to brunch and everything!"

"And just who decided this?" his tone was teasing as he stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed. You grinned up at him, pressing a kiss to his plush lips and batting your lashes innocently. He huffed in jest before reaching up and tenderly cupping your face, "I suppose I did, huh?"

"I'm sure that's what you were saying last night," you couldn't help but beam at him, "when I was on top - somewhere in between telling me how good I was and how much you love me."

"Well now, I definitely can't say no to you, Sugar," his hands slowly went from the side of your face and into your scalp as delicately massaged it to help wash the shampoo out.

"Jack, you don't have to wash my hair," you insisted but you definitely wouldn't have minded if he did. Showering with Jack was always an experience; something so intimate and sacred, especially when you took the time to wash and explore each other's bodies. You took the opportunity to shower together whenever you could, especially on lazy weekend days.

"I know I don't have to, baby," he insisted softly as he started to tender wash the lather, "but I want to. Let me take care of you, Sugar. You always take such good care of me, its my turn to love you."

"Well, who am I to turn down an offer like that?" a contented sigh left your lips as you keened into his gentle touch, "I am no fool. I love you, Jack."

"And I love you, honey."

»»————-　♡　————-««

You spent a long time in the shower, and by the time the two of you got you were both pruned. Jack's towel was slung low on his hips as he went to his side of the closet to grab some clothes for the day.

A sly little smile found its way onto your face as you dashed down the stairs and to the laundry room. You'd gone shopping yesterday and found something you'd planned on wearing today. As soon as you had seen it, you knew you had to have it, and you were positive that Jack would love it too.

"What happened?" Jack called down the stairs as you quickly slipped on your undergarments and the item of clothing.

"Nothing!" you promised as you bounded back up stairs to surprise him. Jack was standing in front of the full length mirror, buttoning up his shirt. The simple sight was still enough to take your breath away as you watched him for a few moments. His dark mop of hair was still damp and unruly, and you couldn't wait to run your hands through it.

You leaned against the door frame and cleared your throat in order to garner his attention. Jack slowly turned around, and when he was fully facing you, his jaw almost dropped. He slowly walked over to you, that look of adoration and devotion in his eyes that you were so fond of.

"You look beautiful, Sugar," he drawled as you slowly twirled to give him a look good at the beautiful yellow sundress you were wearing. It was breathtaking, and you had known from the moment you spied it that it was the one. Stopping just at your knees it was a beautiful, golden yellow with flowers all over it, with simple thin straps. The bodice hugged you just right and the little flare was perfect. You had a feeling Jack would like it too, "what a gorgeous dress on the most gorgeous woman in the world."

"Now you're just flattering me," you laughed lightly and put a hand on his broad, pushing him back ever so lightly, "do you like though? Really? I-I saw it and fell in love and couldn't help myself."

"Its not flattery if it's true," he insisted as he grabbed your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, "I love it - not nearly as much as you, of course, but it's beautiful. And you make it even more so."

"You really do know just what to say, don't you, my love?" you couldn't help but steal a quick kiss as you flounced past him to finish getting ready, "still up for brunch?"

"And then the farmer's market," he reminded you with a soft smile, "I couldn't think of a better way to spend my day."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Brunch was a slow, fun affair as the two of you ate and drank your way through probably too much food. You'd insisted that Jack could pick the place since you were technically forcing him to brunch. He'd agreed, but that quickly turned into him driving to your favorite spot regardless. A silly old fool you had lovingly deemed him.

By the time you'd reached the farmer's market, it was warm and everything was bathed in brilliant sunlight. Jack had quickly reached for your hand and laced your fingers together, as you walked around and looked at all the various little stalls. It was busy and bustling, and everyone seemed to be in a good mood today; funny what the first nice day in the spring could do.

Jack was the type of man that loved to show you off, but there was also a part of him that was fiercely protective, never possessive, over you. It comes from years as an agent; a tried and practiced thing. 

Whenever someone would stop the two of you, he'd always make sure you were front and center, getting all the attention you deserved. Today, in your new yellow sundress, that was no exception. There was something about today, how radiant and happy you looked, how kind and gentle you were, that set something off in him. Suddenly, as he watched you pick out some fresh oranges and apples from one of the stalls, he knew he had the answer to the question that had been on his mind. 

“Honey?” you turned back to him, finding him watching you with a dopey little grin on his face. You held out your hand to him, and Jack wasted no time in coming over and taking, effortlessly entwining your fingers, “what’s wrong, Jack?”

���Nothing’s wrong at all, Sugar,” he pressed a kiss to the side of your head before taking the large tote filled with fresh fruits from you, ever the gentleman. You used to try and fight him on little things like that, insisting that you were more than capable of doing things on your own, but it was always useless. Eventually you learned not to argue with your cowboy. 

“You’re just awfully quiet today is all,” you squeezed his hand in a sign of reassurance to let him know that everything was okay, “you can tell me anything, right?”

“Of course,” he stopped suddenly so he was facing you, a half smile on his handsome features. After studying your features in his aviators for a moment, you gently pushed them to the top of his head before leaving in to give him a gentle, saccharine kiss. When you pulled back, you found a light tinge of pink creeping into his cheeks, “whatever was that for?”

‘Just because,” you shrugged lightly before taking his hand again and tugging on it for him to follow, “I love you, Jack.”

“I love you too,” he shook his head at your playfulness but both knew the words were true. You’d both been jaded in different ways throughout your lives, but this was the one thing you were sure about. You really did love him more than anything - and he you.

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You clutched onto your drink, or rather what was left of the smooth, honeyed whiskey, before turning to Jack and setting the glass down. You found Jack staring into the roaring fire across from you, his expression suggesting that a lot was going through his mind. 

You were across the small fire pit from him, the one he had lovingly built in the background for cool nights just like this and let out a small sigh. His drink wasn’t even touched and he’d hardly said more than a word or two the whole evening, leaving you to do most of the talking yourself.

“Alright, Jack, this is enough,” you stood up and flounced over to him, and sat down next to him, “what’s going on, Jack? Ever since this afternoon at the market, you’ve gone practically silent. It’s not like you, honey. I-is it something I did? Are you upset with me?”

“No, no, no it’s nothing like that at all, sugar,” he promised as he turned to you, a worried expression on his own face, “I am far from upset, or anything else for that matter. I’ve just had a lot on my mind today - lately.”

“What’s going on? I can help…” you watched with worried eyes as he stood up and moved in front of you, a thoughtful expression on his face as his hands dove into his pockets, “Jack?”

“We’ve been together for a long time now,” he started as you swallowed the lump in your throat, “honestly, it seems like there wasn’t any time in which I didn’t know you. It feels like we’ve always been together…”

“Oh my God,” you looked at him with pouted lips and a worried expression in your eyes, “you’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?”

“What on earth...how...no, Sugar, I am absolutely not breaking up with you or anything of the sort,” he quickly insisted and you relaxed at his reassurance. Then why was he so...off today?

“Then what’s…”

“I love you more than anything,” he reminded you, and your heart fluttered in your chest as you nodded slowly, “and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and only you. I don’t know a lot, but that is one thing I do know.”

“I want that too,” the corners of your mouth turned up into that brilliant smile that still made Jack weak in the knees. Radiant and golden as ever as nervous butterflies fluttered about his stomach; he was sure you would be able to hear the nervous beating of his heart, “you’re my one, Jack.”

“And you are mine, Sugar,” he slowly kneeled, almost eye level with you as he got down on one knee and reached back into his pocket. Suddenly you knew - all the quiet moments, the little secret he seemed to be hiding, all the extra declarations of love, it all made sense now. Your lip trembled with effort as you tried not to cry then and there. He reached for your left hand and gently held it in his, “I have never been more sure of anyone or anything, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I want to build and grow our family together, all of it - I want it with you.”

“Oh honey…” you looked into those soft brown eyes and found that they were glossy with tears as well, “I...love you so much. I want everything with you too. Only you.”

“Well then I just have one very important question to ask you,” he slipped his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box. He made quick work of displaying the beautiful ring inside. You looked between the ring and him, hardly able to believe this was happening, “Sugar, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and allowing me to be your husband?”

“Yes - yes,” you nodded as he slipped the ring onto your finger. He studied your face for a moment before delicately wiping away your tears, after which you put your hands on the sides of his face and pulled him in for a gentle kiss, “of course I’ll marry you, Jack. Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes.”

“And just like that, you continue to make me the happiest man in the world,” he scooped you up in his arms and spun you around as he held onto you tightly, “I love you so much, Sugar.”

“I love you too, Jack,” you whispered against his lips, “tell me what finally made you ask? Was it the dress? I always knew yellow was your favorite!”

“Of course not, darlin’,” he laughed lightly, “it was all you - the dress was just an added bonus. How lucky I must be to have the privilege of getting to gaze upon such beauty everyday.”

“And what about me?” you asked in response, “I must be pretty lucky as well. I get you all to myself, the best man, and soon I get to call you my husband.”

“I suppose that makes us a pair of lucky fools,” he mused as you beamed at him, “what do you say we do inside and grab some champagne to celebrate? Just the two of us for now, before we tell the world.”

“I love the sound of that,” you agreed, “this is perfect.”

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[johobi]

A Lycan Dignity

Word count: 4k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: rough, penetrative werewolf sex, pregnancy sex, blood consumption, biting, knotting, squirting, very strong dom/sub dynamic, extremely graphic sexual description lol, impreg kink, baby bump worship, masturbation, giant COCK, i mean huge, tiny amount of angst

A/N: This was commissioned by the wonderful @divine-bangtan​ in exchange for a Black Lives Matter donation! I really hope you enjoy it!

Next: Mark of the Beast || Tooth and Claw Masterlist

Sympathetic to the plight of the werewolves your kind have culled to near-extinction, life as a human informant has never been one of safety. However, when you catch the eye of an alpha, your situation only grows more perilous.

After many months of unremitting use, your once solid bed frame had become a rickety, wretched old thing. Its joints ground like those of a horse bound for the knackery. Weeks ago, you thought it near total collapse. Since then, however - though it protested any and all movement - it had remained intact. Because, no longer did you and Jungkook breed with the impassioned fervour you once did. No, these days your bed hosted only the most lacklustre of sex; the sort you never imagined needing endure when you tied yourself to him. After all, Jungkook was an oversexed, testosterone-burdened manbeast with a twelve inch cock and a negligible refractory period. So why was it now so scant? So underwhelming? 

According to him, it was necessary. 

Ugh.

Oh, how you longed for the days and nights Jungkook would run you all the way through, bending you this way and that to offload himself for the third, consecutive time. How he would grow and grow and grow, locking into place in the depths of your cunt and soothe you all the while.

Being that you were now five months pregnant, however, you were the only one ballooning. God, you missed his knot. Missed the intensity with which he once bedded you. Missed the—

“Does that feel okay?”

“It’s fine.”

Presently, Jungkook mounted you with the shallowest of thrusts, barely wetting half his length. The bed swayed beneath you, tapping the wall to the rhythm of his gently rolling hips. Before you’d grown big, it had clapped the cabin’s pine like thunder, and splintered where it struck. Today you clutched a pillow for comfort as Jungkook rocked you into a drowsy stupor.

It was so quiet that his breathing carried across you. It, too, was shallow - hardly laboured - and sometimes there came an occasional grunt of effort. Or perhaps of pleasure? It was difficult to distinguish to what extent the act satisfied Jungkook when he restrained himself so. By the furrow in his brow, it appeared more akin to torture. It certainly was for you. Your libido had grown unruly during gestation, and nothing much gratified you. 

Nothing but your aforementioned, well-endowed mate. Only he could alleviate the nagging ache.

So it was to your utter dismay when Jungkook deemed you too large for such boisterous intercourse, and insisted you be handled like some delicate bijou. It was preposterous! You were tough enough to withstand a decade’s duty in the militia’s vanguard! A few extra inches of cock weren’t like to break you.

In the end, despite two full days of moody back-and-forth on the matter, he tempered your lovemaking significantly. And though your post-coital canoodling was as much to your joy and satisfaction as it ever was, you found the preceding act painfully lacking. Actually, literally painful. Pregnancy was quite intolerable. 

You challenged Jungkook on several, fruitless occasions thereafter. But his constant dismissals would not deter you. Especially not today, when the entirety of you quivered for satiation, and he had been drip-feeding you cock for the past twenty-odd minutes. It was maddening. The path to climax was a sleet-sodden slope that you could never hope to climb.

"Jungkook, please, enter me fully. There’s no need for such caution. I know it hurts you to hold back." And me. “How many times must I assure you that I’m not as fragile as you think me?" You grimaced at the headboard as Jungkook probed your entrance with middling impetus. His girth was such that your cunt begged and fluttered to receive it deeper, distressed by the gaping space that went unfilled.

“Hmph.”

Jungkook’s considerable weight descended,  blanketing your back to secure your compliance. With his breath at your ear, he interwove your fingers and exerted pressure enough to bow you to the blanket. Your ass, however, remained high and accessible; as submissive a posture there was. By the devilish chuckle that blew across your cheek, Jungkook already thought himself the victor of this quarrel. "And how many times must I ask you not to challenge me? I know my own strength." It was difficult to rebuke him when his lips skirted your ear so. So soft and wet and careful in their pressure.

"And I know your strength just as well. I have been on the receiving end of it for months before th-this—ah!" Pain suffused your neck where Jungkook’s mouth lingered. He curled his lip at your continued defiance. Out of the corner of your eye, his fangs bore a red glaze. 

Mayhaps it was a warning, but it only served to embolden you. 

"Nothing you could do would harm the pups. Please, Jungkook. I'm begging you." He liked being begged. Liked when you relinquished your power and station entirely. Because, outside your bedchambers, you were as important and respected as he. That he liked, too. 

Your particularly bullish nature meant that Jungkook relished your surrender. Especially in the aftermath of contentious discussions. There had been many an occasion where Jungkook’s red-blooded urges almost jeopardised tactical assemblies, because he simply could not ignore them. Particularly the meetings where you butted heads on some divisive detail or another. The tension grew so stark during these exchanges that it cowed the other attendants into silence. You would exchange little else, thereon, but sultry glares, and Jungkook would orbit you in inappropriate proximity, breathing down your neck and rubbing you where others could not see. The sex after those meetings was singularly wild.

Jungkook attested often to his being a tethered beast, but you were the one with the leash. “Please. Put it all the way in,” you snivelled. “Alpha.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched at your urging; you felt him on your back, chest broad and feverish. He did not perspire out of exertion but sheer sexual frustration. It was obvious by the weight with which his balls hung; you spied them between your legs when you looked beneath. "Please, alpha. Take me completely." 

Furtively, you grinned. Jungkook was an astute man. However, he was also a simple, dick-driven creature. 

“Argh!”

A snarl seared your ear, drawing gooseflesh in its wake. You tilted your head to behold him; to enthrall him with lust-lidded eyes. But it was you who was captivated. Jungkook would never be anything less than breathtakingly handsome. The type women ripped costly bodices for. He was rugged; as hewn in the jaw as he was in body, and with eyes so honest you could be sup from his soul. Your mouth hung in open appreciation of his masculine beauty. Jungkook’s hips stuttered, then, as you drunk one another in. A fleeting slip, but enough to propel him deeper for a crucial moment. The repercussions manifested immediately. Your eyes rolled in their sockets and out came a harrowing groan. The entirety of your body tautened as your cunt did, grasping at his elusive length as it again withdrew. "Ugh. Jungkook!"

"Cease your attempts to seduce me, woman," Jungkook menaced, butting aside your head and raking his fangs along the angle of your jaw. "Your charms will not work." His tongue laved wherever they grazed, his hands surrendering your hips only to snake beneath and caress your rotund belly. So tender was he in his touches, that your cunt pulled with desire. Jungkook splayed his fingertips, cradling your circumference as best he could in his calloused palms. He muttered something soft and indiscernible about our children as he admired you, your provocation momentarily forgotten.

His cheek came by yours, then, rounded nose drifting to your temple to huff in your pregnant scent. According to him, you’d become overwhelmingly, wonderfully fragrant. Such that he would pine if denied it too long. 

Chamomile. 

That was what you effused while with child.

Jungkook’s favourite tea.

The headbutt that came next would reasonably incapacitate the average person; indeed, it was so strong that your knees rattled on their hinges. But Jungkook went unscathed, nuzzling a path through your tangled hair, air whooshing through his nostrils as he scented you. "God, you are beautiful. So round, so full. And utterly mine," Jungkook murmured, teetering on the fringes of abandon. He continued his ardent groping with a whine.

Had he really sabotaged his own restraint? 

How funny that his undoing was his own. Positively hilarious. 

That was, until you felt his cock sink deliberately deeper. Jungkook groaned as you did, though you were far more shameless in your desperation. “Oh, God—!”

"Fuck!" The curse word unravelled into a low, ungodly growl.

"Yes, Jungkook. More—" Your hands scrabbled for purchase on his backside, but it soon retreated out of reach as he again withdrew. "Godfuckingdamnit! What must I do to convince you? Please, do it again. I can take it!"

"I will not. It’s too much a risk. What happened was—was entirely unintentional, and I won’t allow it to happen again." He stated it with resolve, but his hips stuttered traitorously, heeding not him but the wolf within him. A rush of breath buffeted your shoulders and then Jungkook's nose was again in your nest of hair, inhaling himself to his senses. "That is the end of it," he murmured on exhale, seemingly sobered. "Now, let us continue." Penetration resumed at its previous, underwhelming pace, maddening you to your very marrow.

"Fine." A growl of your own grew in your chest. "Then I will not submit to you today."

When you dared look Jungkook’s way, the sheer displeasure buckling his features very nearly undid your determination. His brows hung gravely over his eyes, obscuring their usual, gentle glimmer with a severity that stirred your wanton pussy. "You will. You will always submit to me. I am your alpha," Jungkook stated with a snap of his teeth, seeking to subdue you with his hefty physique.

Oh, you absolutely would and should submit but it was imperative you defy him now or you would never see satiety.

With something of such import in the balance, you heaved yourself onto your elbows and then your hands, quaking beneath the werewolf that hung plastered to your back. As you rose, as you straightened your spine in defiance and denied Jungkook your submission, the growl behind you grew in outrage. His cock stalled at your opening, tip still between your folds.

“Not today.”

Jungkook's lips curled back along his gums, a slight tremor to his tautened jaw. Two, prominent fangs confronted you in the candlelight, your skin prickling where they'd countless times pierced. His authority was difficult to oppose when the mere visage of this apex predator was enough to buckle your knees and sodden your cunt. "You're a baffling woman. I've dominated you on hundreds of splendid occasions, and today is the day you defy me? Must I subjugate you again, my sweet?"

As much as you yearned to present him your sopping hole, it would be another five months of unrealised desire if you did. 

To hell with that.

“Come, now. Show me how ready you are to receive me.” Jungkook sought to bow you with nips and kisses, but you would not be bowed. Not this time. When this much became clear, he peeled himself from your back and his cock from your hole. Oh, no. No, this wouldn't do.

"If you will not obey me then you will not receive me at all," he snorted, as enraged and engorged as a hung bull. Truly, he was a marvel that you could not tear your desirous eyes from. Not when he knelt there so, in all his strapping, virile glory. You whined for what you were cruelly denied. Jungkook interpreted your meaning well. "It is your own fault." He vented frustration through his flaring nostrils. "Present yourself to me or I will simply finish all over you."

Your cunt pulsed in anguish and joy. What a dream it would be if he painted you, cock in hand and strangling it of cum. If his sac throbbed with each ejaculation as it fell across your body, hot and sticky. If his lips were bitten bloody and his eyes crinkled closed.

God.

Yes, it would be beautiful. But it would afford you nothing in the end but your own, spiritless fingers to finish with. Jungkook had been so keen a lover that you could not even recall the last time you masturbated. And you weren’t about to start now, as unquenchable as you were. 

So, you persisted. Prayed that your ruse might finally bear fruit. It all culminated with this: "I won't. How about you I take you, so that I may seek my own pleasure? Get on your back. Offer your belly up to me, wolf, so I may sit on you."

In a lightning's flash Jungkook was atop you, one muscular forearm looping your hips and the other strong across your chest, claws toying with the malleable flesh of your swollen breasts. His weight suffocated you once more, but you did not resist when he sought to manoeuvre you into submission. Not when, in the ferocity of his outrage did he then stuff you full with his entire cock, plunging to your depths in one, fluid thrust. It took your breath away. Deprived you of your vision. For a moment, nothing but blood raged in your ears as you fully comprehended just how in want you were. "Oh, G-Gods."

A scramble of depraved utterances streamed from Jungkook's mouth as he handled you as he truly wished. With just the one, greedy hand he bullied your swaying breasts, squeezing them as if to strain you of milk. Every vulgar grope, every pull of your nipples manifested violently in your cunt, throttling Jungkook's monstrous cock in arrhythmic convulsions. "I-Is it truly safe?" He posed it to you as a throaty moan, his other hand charting the flesh of your inner thighs and skimming them like a potter might wet clay. As his thumbs brushed the apex between, willingly and desperately you split your legs further apart, elevating your backside for his inspection. The mere act of yielding to Jungkook sensitised you to him tenfold. Though you were not werekind, his influence was such in its potency that it affected you all the same. A familiar, innate desire to pleasure him overcame you. And as you submitted to him now, nothing thrilled you more than the whines of appreciation that kissed your ears as his full length stretched you silly. Jungkook murmured again; lower and in earnest. "____. Is it truly safe?"

"It is. A thousand times I've said it." As you spoke he shifted within you, and the world shifted too. The gratification was profuse. "The babes will come to no harm," you sang, sliding along the base of his girthy cock. "And neither will I. No, I need this. And so do you."

"I won't deny that." Was all he said before he pinned you like a ravenous beast its beaten prey, hips snapping, momentum rippling through you. Each drive of his pelvis bombarded your cunt with his weighty, bloated balls as he dove in deep. They struck you like a rider’s crop, again and again, until you were sore and splendidly puffy. “Fuck, you’re so deep. I forgot how far back you go. God, you’re made for me. My perfect, pretty little bitch.” Jungkook was quickly carnal. Every phrase concluded in a wolfish whine. 

He rutted you with the vigour of his first heat, feverish and erratic, jamming you to your limits with his colossal cock. His tip kissed your cervix on repeat, greasing your insides with pre-cum as he ploughed apart your unyielding walls. He leaked it so liberally now, so profusely that it dribbled from around him. All the while you yelped up a din beneath him, fully engrossed in your deference to him. You glimpsed night sky in the bedsheets, spatterings of stars combusting before your very eyes. They fell as tears, streaking your cheeks wet with relief.

"Yes, yes—that's it. Oh, you feel so good, my love. S-So good." Jungkook pistoned into you with expert precision, sweeping across your g-spot with every frenzied pass. A glorious ache tugged at your navel as he did so, wringing your insides like a sopping sponge. And, oh, how you were sopping. Vulgarly so. Jungkook juiced your cunt each time he crammed you full, soaking the space between you. It lacquered his abdomen 'til he shined in the lowlight. Gods, he was gorgeous, you could not help but glimpse him past your shoulder, to observe him as he split you apart, his eyes sharp and expression fraught. Your cunt heaved at the sight and sensation of him, and spurred him on.

"You were right. So right." Jungkook's tongue flicked around his gaping mouth, touching on his teeth in concentration. His eyes remained fixed to the site of your messy joining, tracking the drag and draw of his throbbing cock. "You can take anything. You're so strong. So beautiful," he whispered between uneven breaths, adhering himself to your arching back and resuming his earlier, intimate ministrations. As his lower half rippled and rammed you, his upper half cocooned you in comfort, gifting touches so soft they could be whispers.

You sensed it before it came. Hot breath tickled your nape for the briefest moment and then, there it was, sharp and soothing, a bite as familiar as his tender kiss; the bite that affirmed your initial bonding. It no longer induced pain, only a midsummer's welcome warmth. This first bite was the gentlest; Jungkook reasserting his claim. But then he withdrew, and struck again, and again, latching onto your nape for purchase as he pounded himself into your cunt to eke mewls from you.

"Ngh, fuck, it's happening too soon." Jungkook sounded utterly bereft. He did not, however, slow his incessant pace. His zeal had displaced you so far up the bed that the headboard clattered against your cheek. Discomfort was an irrelevant notion when you were having the life fucked into you, however. "I should withdraw."

"No!" It was practically a scream. "Knot me. Please, it's been too long. I need it, I need all of you," you burbled, tears afresh in your eyes. You were so close. Something momentous accumulated in your abdomen; teased glimpses of divine completion.

"Fuck!" Jungkook's hands roved your underside in woeful abandon, gripping at you like he might yet reestablish restraint. Clearly he could not, for his next move was to indulge in the blood that trickled freely from your neck. His long, rough tongue lapped you clean of his excesses, and his lips made sweet reparation. "I want—" A wet, solemn kiss. "I w-want—" A quick, furious thrust between your legs. "I want to fill you to the brim."

"Yes, do it, alpha. Please, please." Your whining rivalled that of the den's neediest pups. "I'm strong, like you said. I can take it. There is nothing more I've wanted these past months than that. Please knot me, Jungkook." As incentive you pitched your backside higher, clenching both orifices for his appreciation. Jungkook observed the gesture keenly, his cock jumping to a stall within you.

“Sh-shit—”

With surprising composure, he cupped the back of your head and tilted you toward him. Your cheekbones brushed in passing, and the tips of your noses pressed close. He sifted your eyes for sincerity before pressing his lips to yours in a long, torrid kiss that conveyed all that you needed from him. As you parted, Jungkook's tongue lingered long enough to draw strings. And then he grinned. "Alright. As you deferred to me so readily." His pace quickened, escalating into a frenzy of cunt-cleaving thrusts that drove ruthlessly along your upper wall. "I shall oblige you."

"Oh God—" The reservoir within you burgeoned suddenly, pulsed behind your cunt for release. And as you felt the dam begin to fracture, Jungkook's fingers found your clit amidst your plastered folds. One, establishing touch was all it took to undo you. As the base of his cock began to thicken, a river of fluid rushed around it as you finally, joyously climaxed, eyes half-lidded and sightless as you ascended. Euphoria tinged your every atom and daubed the world white. You convulsed on end and with alarming force, your pussy gulping down Jungkook's rapidly ballooning cock. The stretch of him stung wonderfully, pushed apart your seizing hole without care for your capacity.

"F-Fuck." Jungkook faltered upon witnessing the ferocity with which you gushed. It soaked what little remained dry of his thighs, clinging to their definition. You gasped and moaned beneath him, dizzied by orgasm, your mouth agape and cheek crushed flat to the headboard. His vascular forearms shook to support him as he hurtled toward completion. "You needed all of me, hm?" Jungkook panted, drunk on lust and wild with power. He gloated over you like the primeval beast he was, fangs bared and liberated by instinct. "Your slippery little cunt missed this, didn't it?"

You mustered little more than a gurgle as he continued to ravage your boneless body, fucking through your spasming cunt until he himself began to twitch. "Sh-Shit, fuck," he exclaimed on high, head thrown back and knot taking root. Though you were spent and without much sense, Jungkook's sudden, violent expulsion shot new life through you. Together you groaned, until he began baying, grinding his turgid cock as far as his knot would allow, frustrated by its impediment. Possessed by ferality, Jungkook nipped desperate pleas into your bruised shoulders, grunting with each subsequent spurt he emptied into you. Though he could no longer snap his hips, they nonetheless dug into you as he milked himself of residue. “God. Shit. I—” Monosyllabic cusses continued to fall from him as he prised himself from your limp body. Without a moment’s reprieve he maneuvered himself to his knees so as to better inspect your expanding belly, his hands roaming your bulging expanses. "Yes." It was almost a hiss. "You are perfect. So full of me and mine."

"Indeed, I am." You cast him a struggling smile. When Jungkook returned it, it revitalised you. Your smile grew into a grin. "And what a lucky woman I am."

"Come, let us make you more comfortable," Jungkook muttered with a touch to your dampened cheek. Historically his knots did not always abate in a timely manner. Knowing this, Jungkook clutched you to his chest, adjusting you so as not to tug at your joining, nor disturb your swollen belly. Ever so gently he steered you onto your side, his sweat-slick body clinging to your back. His knot throbbed pleasantly within, interlocking you indefinitely. And you did not object, because this was when you felt most at peace, most loved, most protected. His arms cradled you, encircled your precious load, and all the while he washed you of perspiration and blood. No week went by where your neck and shoulders were not a spectrum of colour due to Jungkook's oral attention.

You did not object to that either.

"Thank you, Jungkook. I really needed that. I genuinely shed tears," you giggled, your breasts askew around his forearm. It tensed and pulled you closer.

"So did I." A growl laced his chuckle. "But I would never harm you or the pups to satisfy my own selfish desires. Forgive me my obstinacy, but I had to be sure."

"I understand. And we are safe. We're the safest with you, my love."

Jungkook suspended his rigorous bathing of you to kiss the crown of your head. "You are. Nothing shall befall you while I still breathe.

For a dreadful moment, your ongoing predicament punctured the post-coital glow. But you resolved not to let it. No, it could wait until tomorrow. In the here and now, you did not have to fret whether Jungkook would return home tomorrow. Whether his dinner would grow cold and your bed perennially so.

No.

In this moment, he was here, as were you. One bonded pair and their six, synchronous heartbeats.

Just a quick note to elaborate on the reader’s pregnancy, as I appreciate not everyone will have read these asks.

1) She is pregnant with four boys.

2) They develop in utero as wolves, and are born in that form too - therefore they are quite a bit smaller than human babies. So she isn’t particularly overburdened. A few months after birth they will begin popping in and out of both forms until they learn to control it.

Next: Mark of the Beast || Tooth and Claw Masterlist

[20moonchild21]

𝗦𝗲𝗵𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵𝘁 [𝗯𝘁𝘀]

⇉ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 3

[Pairing]

Jungkook x female!oc, bunny!JK x human!oc

[Warnings]

mentiones of abuse, abuse, traumatized JK, humiliating, breakdowns, past sexual harassment, mentiones of violence, violence

[Words]

4.6k

[author]

Here is the next chapter. I really hope you like it. It is so fun writing new chapters and creating a new story.

Check out my recommendation below this chapter! My personal favorite is Inferiority Complex by @starlightauroras-writes. It‘s well written and so exciting to read. Make sure to leave her a lot of likes and comments! She deserves it so much!

Also, leave a like or comment, if you like this story. This makes me happy!

Stay safe and healthy!

Mꨄ

[chapter 2 ||| chapter 4]

It had been six days, since the girl had found him inside the dark alley way. Six days since she had taken him in with her, and six days since his world had been turned upside down.

Everything he had ever learned in his life, from which he thought they were right and normal, suddenly seemed to be so wrong and cruel. He wasn’t stupid. Of course, in his past he also had wondered if there was a life for him, in which could just be him.

Bred in a laboratory near Seoul, the capital of South Korea, he was soon adopted by a rich couple from New York who were looking for a rare bunny Hybrid. His younger him was so excited to finally be adopted and have a family, instead of some scary people in white coats.

God, had he been wrong.

He was nothing more than a pet for their pleasure. In every way.

A shiver ran down his spine, when he thought about the times the man had run his hands over his sensitive ears, pressing and twisting them. Or when his hands had gone down over his back and into his pants, so he could pull the soft fur of the boy’s fluffy tail. Sometimes, his hands had gone even further down, pinching or slapping his butt cheeks.

The boy felt his cheeks redden at this memory.

At first, he had thought it was an accident. He had made sure to leave some space between the man and him, or wriggle himself out of the man’s grip. Little had he known that he had made things worse by that.

He had gotten many punishments. Some of them were okay for him. They would made him clean the house or the laundry, and sometimes they had would lock him up in the small chamber next to kitchen without some food or drinks for several hours.

This had been some of the harmless punishments.

If he had been really bad, they would made him take of all his clothes, serving either them or their friends as they were over. Other days, they would punched him with this heavy belt or with a bat.

His eyes swelled with tears at this memories. He had always thought that he deserved all of this. He thought it was normal for Hybrids to be subordinated to human. He thought that every time he got a punishment, it had been his fault because he was such a bad Hybrid.

How could he had been so wrong?

Since the girl had taken him in with her, there had been no point where he had felt the urged to hide himself from her. Not even when he accidently dropped the whole package of flour over himself and the floor, while trying to put it up into the top shelf.

The kitchen had stayed silence for a few seconds, before she broke out into the most beautiful laugher he had ever heard. It was not played or evil or meant to hurt him. It was a real, clear laugher, about a funny situation.

He felt himself warming more and more up with every day, getting more and more comfortable while being around the human girl. He also loved the apartment she lived in.

It definitely wasn’t as big as the former house he had lived in. The apartment was small, but he loved anything about it. He loved the soft sofa that was placed in the middle of the living room that was so soft and warms with all its cushions and blankets to wrap oneself in.

He loved the small kitchen that would send out the mouth-watering smell of food every evening.

He loved the white hallway with the photo framed wall that he loved to look at when he was bored, because every time he discovered a new detail of them. Like two day ago, when he looked at the picture of Hope and the older women and suddenly realized that they actually have exactly the same smile.

He loved his own room with the big, soft bed in the middle, on which he loved to lay and read a book when Hope was busy. He had often wondered when she knocked on the door, but she had told him that this room was his private territory, and no one was allowed to enter if he didn’t want to.

Together, him and Hope even had created some kind of a daily routine.

In the mornings after he would wake up around 7.30 am. he would wait for Hope to be done showering. When she was done, she would leave the bathroom for him to go his routine, while starting to prepare the breakfast.

In the bathroom, he would take a quick shower, brush his teeth and hair and change into some new clothes.

Then, he and Hope had some breakfast together, before they both made the dished and he helped her to clean the table. After the dishes were done, Hope would sit down on the same kitchen table, writing something into her laptop, which she said was very important for her university graduation.

He often was a little bit sad that they couldn’t talk to each other while she was working on her essay, but he still tried to be as quiet as possible.

He then would either try to read one of the books standing in her bookshelf, try to sleep or he would watch some TV with the minimum of volume. But yesterday, he had found something more interesting to occupy himself with.

In the corner of the living room, he had spotted Hope’s old guitar. He was so curious that he had carefully asked her about it, and she immediately showed him how to use it. She said that she hadn’t played it in years, because she was too busy with university. But when she had pulled some strings of the wooden instrument, she created such a beautiful melody and Jungkook thought that it sounded absolutely amazing.

She even said, that him practicing the guitar, would not be bothering her while she wrote her terms. So, he tried to play the instrument while she worked. She had showed him how to google for tutorials on YouTube. At first, he was sceptical when the human in the TV screen began to talk to him, but soon, he had realized that he wasn’t actually talking to him, but for everyone who clicked on the video.

Sometimes, he would catch himself how he watched the girl working at the table. He would just stare at how she cringed her nose while her fingers slide over the keyboard, how she chewed on her lips as she read through the thick book, or how her tongue would stick out of her mouth when she was concentration really hard.

Beside the wife of his owner, he had never seen a human girl before. He only had seen some visitors of his owner, with all their make-up, pushed up breasts, heavy perfume and fake laughers. He never had thought at one of them to be beautiful, but Hope was.

He found out that she actually was a year younger than him, but her personality seemed to be much older than his. She never wore too revealing clothes or heavy make-up, nor did she ever covered her scent with perfume.

When he noticed how creepy he would stare at her, deeply absorbed in his thoughts, he would turn his attention back to whatever he had been doing before spacing out.

Once she would be done, usually around noon, they would both go into the kitchen and bake a cake together, that would be eaten in the afternoon. While waiting for the cake to be done in the oven, they would sit on the soft couch and talk about random things.

Jungkook had to admit that talking to the girl was one of his favourite things to do each day. Not only because she was a really funny person, or because her voice was so smooth and soft, but also because she actually talked and listened to him.

In the beginning, he sometimes had hesitated, not wanting to speak too much. But by now, he wasn’t afraid of talking too much and being punished for it. He just could talk as much as he wanted without being stopped.

Hope had told him some stories from her childhood and live. He listened to every detail carefully, wanting to give her the same attention she giving him all the time. She would tell him stories about different items in the house, and she even explained him the photos on the wall next to his room when he had asked about them.

Now he knew that the older women was her mom, who had sadly died a few year ago during a car accident. He felt sorry for her when he saw a tear leaving her eye and for a short moment, he had thought about hugging her. But only for a second. The pain and fear were still bounded too deep onto his bones.

The younger people next to her were her best friend from High School. He didn’t miss the sad tone, as she told him that they hadn’t had talked recently, because every one of them was busy with university and their own lives.

She had also told him about her college life. From what she told him, he assumed that she must be really smart.

But he was even more amazed when she told him about her future plans. Hope wanted to be a lawyer for Hybrid rights, because she thought that they deserve more rights than they have now. She thought that they should be equal to human and that she wanted to give them a voice by standing up for their rights.

He couldn’t believe that she actually was fighting for Hybrids to have all the same rights than human have.

He imagined himself and how he would leave the house to go to work every morning, like every human did each day. He imagines himself and how he would go shopping all by himself, or how he would just walk around the park whenever he wanted to. It must be great to fell that free.

When they would be done eating their cake in the afternoon, Hope would always clean up the apartment a little bit. She said that she didn’t want the house to be sterile, but she wanted it to be tidy. She would use the vacuum to clean up the floor in every room, while Jungkook cleaned up the kitchen from when they had baked.

In the evenings, they would both prepare their diner, before eating it together, making the dishes and watch some more TV, until they both were tired. They would brush their teeth again, before changing into a pair of pyjamas and then go to sleep.

“Jungkoooook! Can you come here for a second, pleeeaaaasee!”

The Hybrid’s ears shot up high in the ear when he heard the girl’s voice coming from the living room. He quickly closed the book he was reading on his bed and laid it onto his nightstand. Slowly and a little bit scared that he had done something wrong, he walked out of his room. He carefully peeked his head around the corner, looking into the living room.

“Hey Jungkook.” The girl waved at him when she saw him standing in the hallway.

The boy gulped. Hope didn’t look mad or angry, so he assumed that he didn’t do anything wrong. Rather than mad, she looked really excited and happy as she made her way over to the couch where the boy suddenly spotted something big.

He curiously made a step further into the living room, slowly making his way up towards her. His mind was filled with questions when he saw the girl walking up to the big, brown box next to the sofa. It was much higher than the small girl, almost his hight, and printed with many different signs and…warnings?

Don’t shake. Caution, heavy package! Lift with care.

“Don’t look so scared, Jungkook.” The girl smiled at him when she saw how he hesitated to come near her. “I have a surprise for you.”

He watched as she pulled a small pocket knife out of the pocket of her jeans. She stepped closer to the package and quickly slide the sharp blade of the knife over the plastic strings that were wrapped around the big box.

“A Surprise?” He whispered in disbelieve. “For me?”

“Yes, for you, silly.” She smiled again, as she cut the last string, leaving only the tape wrapped around the box. “Now come over here. I need your help with this.”

He made two big steps until he had reached the girl and the package. Hope was already pulling at the tape trying to rip it off. He lifted his arms up to the top of the box, pulling the tape that was placed there.

His mind was still filled with questions. Never in his life had someone bought him a present, not even on his birthday. He wondered why she had decided to buy him something this big and heavy, after all, she already shared her apartment with him, and this was more than he could ever ask for. He wondered what was hiding inside the brown cardboard, but he knew that whatever it was, he would love it.

He ripped the last piece of tape off, throwing it onto the pile on the ground. The girl was already holding her knife, slicing open the brown cardboard of the box. When she was done, she laid the piece of metal onto the dining table, before turning around. Her eyes were flickering between the Hybrid and the still closed package.

“Come on. It’s for you.” She said after a few seconds of silence. “Open it.”

He was still looking at the girl with wide eyes, before he snapped out of his trance, and just pulled the brown cardboard away carefully.

He gasped and took a step back. Now standing in the middle of the living room, was a big, red sack. It was round and about his height, with a big metal chain on the top, along with some red, big gloves. He didn’t know what this was supposed to be. Never in his life had he seen something strange like this.

“Do you like it?” The girl squeaked excitedly while jumping up and down.

Did he like it? He didn’t even know what this things was used for. What was he supposed to answer? She looked so excited and happy, and the last things he wanted was to hurt her feelings.

“I – ehm…” He hesitated for a moment. “I like it?”

His answer sounded more like a question, and the girl didn’t miss that.

“You don’t know what this is, do you?” She pulled her left eyebrow up, while she watched in amusement as the boy struggled to find an answer. He was too adorable. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I will show you.”

She walked up to the red sack, standing onto her tippy-toes to reach the red gloves from the top. She pushed them into his arms and gestured for the boy to pull them over his hands.

“This is a punching bag.” She said as she walked behind the so called punching bag. “You can punch and kick it to get stronger, or when you are angry. I just thought – you once said that you think of yourself being too thin, and since you can’t go out, I thought that you would like something like that. We can hang it up in your room if you, but if you don’t want it it’s okay, then I will send it back. Come on, punch it.”

The boy stared at the red gloved that were now covering his hands, before looking up at the girl, checking whether she was serious or not. When their eyes met, she smiled and nodded at him to go on.

He carefully lifted his left hand in the air and pushed it forward. His punch was weakly, as if he was scared to hurt the bag.

The girl encouraged him to hit the bag harder this time. Insuring him that he was not hurting someone.

Jungkook lifted both of his hands this time, like he was actually preparing to fight someone. He threw another punch at the bag, which was much harder this time. Then he threw another one with the other hand.

Something inside him had just been woken up, and he was surprises by the power behind his punches. Before he had come to Hope, he was thin and weak, almost too weak to hold himself on his own legs.

Though he had gained some more weight over the last 7 days, he still was not happy with is body statue. He didn’t want to seem weak anymore. He wanted to be strong and powerful, so he could protect himself so he would never had to fear some human ever again in his life.

Being roommate with the small girl, he had recently developed the primal urge to also want to protect the female from all intruders and dangers coming from outside. So this punching bag could be a good chance to actually gain some muscles.

Over and over again, he punched the bag harder and harder, until the girl, who was still steadying the heavy sack, stooped him.

“Okay, okay!” She laughed, and immediately, Jungkook stopped. “I think it is better to hang it up in your room, or else you will punch me around the room. Come on, help me carrying it.”

Together, they carried the bag into the Hybrid’s room. The girl also brought a hammer and a hook for hanging up the punching bag onto the ceiling. The boy watched in amazement, as she climbed up onto a chair and bringing the hook into the ceiling all by herself.

When she was done, he helped her to lift up the bag and hang it up onto the hook. Proudly, she stepped off of the chair and rubbed her hands.

“Do you like it?” She asked again, this time more referring to the position they had hung up the red bag.

“Yes. I like it very much.” He just whispered, not knowing how to thank her appropriated. “Thank you…Hope. Thank you so much.”

They looked for another seconds at each other, before she said that she had to do some more work. She was about to leave, when she suddenly turned back.

“I forgot something.” She spoke more to herself, as she ran out of the room, leaving the confused boy behind. She came back a few minutes later, holding something black in her hands. “I actually have another surprise for you. Well…it’s not actually a surprise but more like a recommendation from me to you.”

She walked back inside the room, making her way up towards his bed. She asked him if she could sat down and he nodded, taking a seat next to her. Jungkook could sense her racing heartbeat and her nervousness. She lifted the black object and placed it on his lap carefully.

“This is a notebook. I – I know that you have been through some tough times, and it’s okay that you don’t want to talk about it with me. But if you ever feel like you need to get something off of you mind, you can just write it in here. Believe me, it helps very much to organized one’s mind into a notebook. I used one for myself when I was younger and didn’t want to talk to someone. So – here.”

Carefully, she lifted her hand and laid it on his for a moment. She knew that he was still afraid when it came to physical affection, but she just needed him to know that she cared.

Jungkook just stared at the notebook and then at her hand that was covering his. His cheeks blushed slightly when he realized that they were actually touching. But somehow, he didn’t feel the urge to pull away.

“The Simpsons, again?” The girl groaned and threw her head backwards, closing her eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

When she opened her eyes again, she immediately was confronted with those big, brown orbs staring into hers. How could she say no? She sighed loudly, while pressing the right button onto the remote.

“Your play wasn’t fair.” She muttered, as she bent over and snatched the bowl of popcorn out of the Hybrid’s hands.

This day had been more then exhausting for the girl, but also a day of many happy occasion. First of all, she had finally finished the majority of her paper terms. It wasn’t perfect yet, but being done so early she had plenty of time for working on the details.

Jungkook wasn’t so pleased when she had worked twice as long for finishing her terms, meaning that he had to bridge twice as much time alone. He had tried a few times to convince her stop working for today, but when he realized that she wouldn’t go after his demand, he just pouted and went to his own room.

Hope had noticed the process Jungkook had made over the past two weeks which made her extremely proud.

Not only mentally, he became much more confident, but also physically. Since the day she bought him his punching back, he had been practicing almost every day. She would hear the dull tones of his gloves hitting the bag, while she would sit in front of her laptop in the dining room.

His skin and body looked much healthier, now. With his cheeks red and more plump, and with his shoulder and arms that seemed to get much and much broader every day, there was nothing left from the shy, injured boy from two weeks ago.

She had also noticed, that he actually wasn’t too averse to physical affection as she had thought. She thought that she had crossed a border when she touched his hands without his permission a few day before, but since then, he only seemed to trust her more.

He wouldn’t pull his hands away anymore, when their hands accidently touched. He also wouldn’t sit on the couch as far away from her as possible, instead, he even agreed to share the same blanket two nights ago.

He also had taken in her recommendation when she had given him the notebook. She sometimes watched him as he was bent over the small book, writing something in with fast and hectic movements. Sometimes, she wondered if he was actually writing, or if he was just sketching some pictures or signs. But then, he could read, so she assumed that he had learned how to write, too.

When he was done, he would just lay his pen aside, and stare at the book for several minutes, completely spaced out. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, but decided to not go for it. He should always have the chance to organize his thoughts without her bothering him.

The second exciting thing that had happened this day, was Jungkook accompanying her towards the grocery store. It wasn’t planned at all, but lately he had asked her more often if there was a chance that he could leave the apartment. At least one time.

Lucky for him, he had a short fluffy tail that was normal hidden by his shorts, and his ears could be easily covered by a beanie. He had looked like a normal, healthy and happy young man, when he had strolled behind her through the hallways of shelves.

It made her even more sat that he indeed was a normal boy. He had never asked to be bred in a laboratory. He had never asked to be threatened like a slave in his own home, and he especially deserved nothing mor than to feel normal. One day – One day he would get the chance to feel normal. She would to anything in her power to give him that chance.

“We can also watch something else if – if you want.” Jungkook ripped her out of her thoughts.

He had curled up under the blanket beside her, nudging his head into the soft pillow behind him. His ears were sprawled out to one side and all over the soft cushion, as well as his deep brown hair. The day in the supermarket had really worked him out.

The boy was so focused on the TV playing his favourite cartoon, that he didn’t notice how the girl took a quick picture of his being curled up on the couch. She looked at the taken picture for a few seconds, before closing her phone and throwing into onto the couch.

A sudden idea came into her head. The boy’s birthday was coming up soon, and she was still thinking of a nice surprise for. She knew he loved all of the photos that were placed all around the apartment. He loved to look at them every morning while she worked, and he loved even more when she told him the story behind every single photo, even if she had told them to him for several times.

What if he would wake up on his birthday, leaving his room and seeing a photo of him framed and hung up onto the wall? She actually like that idea.

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked for her phone. Why did she had to throw it away so far from her? She groaned. If she wanted to memo her idea, she needed to move now. She pushed the blanket away and bent over to reach her phone.

While doing so, she accidentally pushed her hand onto the remote, that laid next to her. The TV screen went black for a moment, before popping up with a new picture.

In the middle of the screen was now a news reporter talking. Hope didn’t pay him any attention. She was still occupied with her phone, when suddenly the Hybrid next to her shot up from his lying position.

He sat straight up, his mouth slightly open and his ears high up in the ear. Like paralyzed, his wide open eyes were fixed on the screen where the report was still talking about something the girl hadn’t caught yet.

“Jungkook?” She asked quietly, but he didn’t’ move an inch. “Jungkook, are you –“

“Shhhhh!” He didn’t even looked at her, as he shushed her shut, pointing his finger wildly onto the TV screen.

“…Unfortunately, the police had not been arriving in time. Witnessers though spotted some of the rarest breeds under the illegal participant Hybrids. Among them were Asiatic lions, some Azawakh dog and even an Amur Leopard. All of these Hybrids belong to the rarest breeds of the world. Dealing or participating them in illegal fighting clubs is highly is highly punished…”

Bullshit. None of those people will ever be arrested, and this guy in the TV knew it. If illegal dealers or ZCM’s, so called ‘Zoo Club Members’ or owners who send their Hybrids to illegal fighting clubs, were caught, there was neither someone who wanted to defend the Hybrids in front of the judge, nor no one even cared to actually bring the case in front of a judge.

She turned her head over to the hybrid sitting on her couch, but she wasn’t prepared for what she saw. When he had jumped up from the couch, she thought that he got scared because of the sudden change of the TV channel, but what she saw broke her heart.

The bunny Hybrid had laid his ears flat against his head, while big tears were spilling out of his eyes. Between short sobs and gasps he whispered two words all over again.

“Jin Hyung.”

[inspirations | recommendations] ⇉ 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘀!

@wishesunderthestars

@agustdakasuga

@ditttiii

@angelicyoongie

@starlightauroras-writes

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 11

Silent scream

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n gets shut up

Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"Fuck you." I snapped, mustering all the saliva I could before spitting it at his face. He flinched back when it splattered over his cheek, his fingers swiping through the spittle before he was shaking it from them and standing back to his full height.

"It appears this one is never going to cooperate. If she won't give us information, why let our experimentations on her possibly...benefit the girl the the future?" The general spoke menacingly to the guards behind me. "How about way find a way to shut her up?"

My heat thudded so hard in my chest it was like someone was punching me from the inside, all air knocked from my lungs before I was being hoisted up to my feet again with two rough grips on my upper arms. My chest heaving, I coughed a ragged breath before composing myself. The glint of the silver blade in the corner of my vision sent my eyes bugging out of my skull and my mind into a flat panic.

So, I did what any rational person with my capabilities would do. I began to hum the deep melody - one a seldom sung - and a smirk crawled its way onto my now curved lips. Clearly, the general was prepared, but the two guards behind we weren't so lucky.

A desperate cry pierced my tune, harmonising with my voice as I heard the havoc I was causing. This was the first time I'd enjoyed a kill, the very first time I'd wanted to use my powers for such a horrific reason. I'd only ever used this part of my power a few times, but this was the only time I'd been fully lucid whilst doing so.

Some people want nothing more than to blow their enemies' brains out, and trust me when I tell you; It felt good.

However, luck was never on my side, and the General had come full prepared. He wasn't even affected, it must've been something to do with the funny earpiece he was wearing.

As my eyes met his, the General's face held non of the cocky, smug tones that I'd expect. No, the only word I could use to describe his old and crinkled features was pure ire, and it was directed at me.

"You conniving, vile little bitch!" He snarled, the flash of silver weeding a sense of utter and complete dread, tangled with fear inside of me, uprooting my confidence. I don't remember a lot after that, to tell you the truth. I know the blade sliced along my throat. I know everything was rained black. And that's about it.

...

Awakening with a gasp was the last thing I expected to happen. The sight of the blade risen in front of the general burned into my mind, almost as if it'd been scorned against my flesh. But here I was: awake, gasping for breath, completely surrounded by doctors I'd never seen before.

My hand instantly flew to my neck, a stinging sensation pulsing from the delicate skin. I hissed as my sweaty palm made contact with the bandage, the material corse and scratchy against my skin. As a doctor waddled over to me, needle in hand, I flailed desperately, a silent scream ripping from my throat.

Hang on a second-

Silent scream? I tried again, the shrill noise that should be tearing from me simply vanishing as it hit my throat. My eyes widened with the realisation, my bottom lip wobbling as I suddenly pieces together what had happened.

He said he'd have to shut me up, didn't he? The thought made me want to scream loudly, that the blade had touched my skin and left me with no defence.

They took away the hell they'd reigned upon me, something I'd wished I could be rid of for years, and now I was disappointed. Maybe this was their plan all along, that little voice in my head sang. The tears pricked at my eyes, which rolled back lazily as the scratch of the needle poked at my neck.

...

My calloused fingers ran over the cut tirelessly, trying to itch somewhere that I could never seem to find. I don't know how long I was sedated for, but since waking up the bleeding had stopped and there was now an offensive red line that slid horizontally across my neck.

Every time I touched it, it coaxed a wince from me, and yet that's all I seemed to do. It was like poking a bruise, I guess. The more it hurts the more you want to do it.

They'd returned me to my cell, clearly very little need for restraints against my weakened, starved and dehydrated body. I could see the flesh thinning on my arms, my ribs pressing painfully against my skin. Not only could I see the hunger, but I could feel it.

Manifesting, biting, gnawing hunger. The type that are you from inside out, devouring everything of you until the only thing you could think about was eating. Huh, I guess I was already at that stage then.

My eyes remained locked in place, glossy with the endless tears as I stared at the floor. If I really looked hard enough, the still wet blood smeared over the floors of the hallway resembled something close to strawberry jam. The thoughts of the sickly sweat substance spread over a perfectly toasted piece of bread, accompanied with a big glass of fresh orange juice and washed down by a large coffee made my mouth water. The booming rumble in my stomach made the groan, even more drawn out than expected when I remembered all I'd get to eat today: a small bread roll and a tiny glass of water.

Sadly, the sink in my cell did not contain drinking water. The liquid was so discoloured that I purposely avoided washing me hands, preferring to possible have my own germs coating my hands than whatever they were giving me. I'm not kicking you about, I genuinely think the water was filtered through a clump of fucking horse shit, mixed with fish guts and complimented with a hint of rotting fruit. If I could help it, I'd be dodging that water like the plague (if it didn't contain one already) for the rest of my life.

I'm not really sure why, but my head snapped up in surprise why the door sprang open, a single guard entering.

"The general requires your presence." He deadpanned, eyes cold as eyes and sharp as a knife as they stabbed through me. I wanted to fight back, stay glued to the spot and snap back some snarky remark, but in my current condition I almost couldn't bring myself to care where I was about to be taken, or why for that matter.

I stood without a word, silently following the man until we reached an unfamiliar metal door. I found it almost laughable, really, that they'd reduced my strength so much, that no one even considered putting me any sort of restraints anymore.

The door was pushed open with a child-like whine emitting from its rusty hinges, the metal scraping over the concrete floor painfully. The guard simply grabbed my arm before tugging me into the room, letting the door shut behind his with a hollow thunk.

"Ah, she has arrived!" The general's voice exclaimed, a deviant smile spreading over his thin lips. "And just in time to meet Mr Pierce, too." He said menacingly.

I felt embarrassed, exposed, stood before the room of men. My hair was a mess, tears streaking my reddened face, eyes puffy from crying and the only clothes a wore was a now-battered hospital gown. My eyes darted around nervously, trying to avoid the blonde man sat before me, chin resting in his palm as he surveyed me.

"Why is this one...important?" The man asked, eyeing me up and down before his eyes seemed to fixate on my neck. The scar.

"This," the general spoke, but Mr Pierce kept his eyes on me, "is Miss y/n Stark." Mr Pierce's eyes widened ever so slightly, but it was barely noticeable.

"As in Tony Stark?" Pierce pondered.

"The very same." The general smirked.

"She seems awfully...quiet, for a Stark." Pierce said with almost a hint of disgust, eyes still glued to my shaking frame.

"That's because we shut her up." The general snapped, awfully harshly.

"Is that the scar? How fresh is it?" Pierce jabbed his questions, curiosity clearly becoming him in the moment.

"Indeed. Our doctors here are very good, Sir. They had her all patched up and out of bandages in just three days." The general bragged, shoulders back and head held high as if he was posing for a portrait.

"I see." Pierce mused, brows furrowed in thought. "What do you plan to do with her? Now that she can't tell you anything?"

"Oh, trust me, sir. She wasn't giving anything up either way," he paused, striding over to me and yanking my head back with a fistful of hair, my back mow  pressed to his chest and his mouth at my ear, "isn't that right, sweetheart?"he clarified, and I didn't hesitate to nod my head as much as his grip would allow.

"So why isn't she dead?" Pierce gritted, seemingly annoyed. "It's not like Tony's attached to her, he never looked for her and I've never even heard him mention her."

"But then they'll keep coming. I don't want the avengers on my back, and I'm sure you don't either." Pierce hummed in agreement. "She's with them - her and that Captain America guy arrived together - so why not use her to send a message?" The general suggested.

...

That's how I found myself tied up, wrists bound and gun to my head as I sat shakily in a chair in the middle of the quinjet. I had no clue how long I'd been since that day, but I do know that I had been sedated once again. The flimsy hospital gown allowed a shiver to chill me, skin  forming goosebumps as I sat before the open door or the quinjet.

"You will tell them exactly as I just did. Got it?" The general pressed, pushing the gun into my head hard enough to make by head throb. Tears biting at my eyes, I nodded furiously, now determined to live with the promise of being free again. "Good. Soldat, make sure she gets back to New York without being seen, I'd hate to have to spill more blood than we intended." The general demanded, a figure rustling its way out of the shadows at the edge of the room. A gasp tore from my throat at the sight of him - clad in black leather and arm as silver as the moon. The soldier - my soldier.

But he simple stared through me, eyes blank and clouded in a coldness I'd never had directed at me from him before.

"And make sure you don't fail this time, soldat." The general snapped. The soldier nodded solemnly, the echoing of boots thudding filling both their ears as the general walked off the ship.

[sunnysviolin]

Reading that one post it makes me imagine Mari comforting her Mob Husband when he had those nights where he feels horribly guilty about those three deaths.

Nonnie....I kinda went off with this ngl. I didn’t really stick to your prompt but like...I went off with this. Hero is my favorite character and I love him so much in this AU and if you want to resend this and get bulletpoints or something then aok but I think you’ll like what I have. I’m...obsessed with it ngl. I’ve been working on it all day long, and I think it’s not half bad. But also ummm Huge fucking TW on this one guys. 

TW: Death TW: Violence TW: Mafia TW: Knives

In his dreams, Hero always ends up back in that parlor. 

It was an opulent room, extravagant to the point of garish. There was a tall ceiling with a simply enormous chandelier hanging down. The tiny crystals glittered in the light, sending dancing shadows along the walls. Along one wall was a bar with a gleaming gold rim. It was gilded with real gold, Hero knew on instinct. He had become an expert in finding the truth since he had taken his place at Mari’s side. 

The only ordinary thing in the room was the knife. Just a straight butcher knife, polished clean. It sat on the table in front of the couch he sat at. Everything else was excellence, the best of the best. This one thing was average. The thing that Tommy “Hedonist” Barone was going to use to kill them was average. The irony would have been funny if it didn’t make Hero feel sick. 

Those are the things that stick out to him- the glittering chandelier, the glowing bar, and the knife. 

Hero knows it's a dream because he’s wearing his pajamas. Just a t-shirt and boxers, remarkably plain for everything in the room. That day he had been in a custom made suit, tailored to fit his exact frame. He had burned that suit, it no longer existed. It had been a beautiful thing, the fabric sinfully luxurious against his skin and light enough he barely noticed. Barone had apparently paid an italian seamstress thousands for each piece of the ensemble, just for the perfection of that night. Hero had hated every second of wearing it. 

He knows its a dream, but he’s still terrified. He’s still shaking as he sits on the too soft cushions of the couch and waits alone in this too big room. There’s no point in trying the doors, he knows that right outside wait two burly guards. They are the same people who marched him here from the cell they had been holding him in. The cell Tommy Barone had tortured him in. 

The cell where he had laughed about how he would kill Hero’s family. How he would rip apart his brothers, Aubrey, Mari, his father, even his mother though she had been dead for over a year. Over and over he had taunted Hero, cutting him and beating him and burning him, all in an effort to get him to scream. Hero had stayed silent. 

The human part of Hero wants him to run and hide or pick up the knife and prepare to go down fighting. Hero keeps himself still and straight. He is the consigliere of the most powerful crime syndicate in the world. His wife is Don Migliore, a legend. Tommy Barone was nothing. He would not be what made Hero break. If he was going to die, he would die, but he wouldn’t be turned into a puppet for Barone to use against his family. The door opposite the one he came in opened, and in walked the Hedonist. 

Tommy Barone was every stereotypical mobster- his greasy hair and his rotund belly. He hid himself under fancy shirts and fingers fat with rings, but Hero had known him most of his life. Hedonist was a slimeball who liked to pretend himself into being a capo. Hero hated that there was fear inside of him from this man, this pig of a man. 

“Well well. You shine like a jewel. I dare say you didn’t even look this nice at your wedding Henry!” Hedonist taunted, the words forever branded into Hero’s mind. He would remember the exact words said to him that night for the rest of his days. Hero loathed being called Henry. Only his mother had ever gotten away with it, but that didn’t matter to Barone. Hero shot a harsh glare towards Barone but kept his mouth shut. 

“Still not talking? And after all the trouble I went through to get you that suit.” Barone stepped further into the room and waddled his way over to the bar. He grabbed a crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of amber, continuing to speak, “I have a little jewel myself- my own personal seamstress. Of course she lives in the old country, she would never want to leave, but I pay her well to be available whenever I need her. She handcrafts everything I wear. Isn’t her work magnificent?”

Hedonist turned from the bar and began to walk to the lounging area. He took a second to do a slow spin, turning to Hero with an expectant look. Hero bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth. A beat passed and Hedonist sighed, coming to sit on the couch directly opposite Hero. 

“I’m fine with continuing to talk if you don’t want to, Henry. You were always a bit quieter though. Your brother, what a chatterbox!” Hero couldn’t help the slight jump in his shoulders when Hedonist mentioned Kel. Barone noticed this and jumped on it, continuing to ramble like the pathetic old man he was, “Even when you two were little you were always teaching him when to be quiet. You should hear him on the phone when your little wifey is arranging your safe return to her. I offered to send them a little piece of you when she tried to say I didn’t have you. Ha I think they had to drag him kicking and screaming from the room,” 

Hero was going to kill him. Hero was going to fucking kill him. Barone had been a part of his father’s business, had watched him and Kel both grow up. Tommy Barone was one of his father’s bannermen, a staple of their organization, but Hero had never liked him. When Mari had taken over she and Hero had cleaned house. Hedonist had been one of the first to go, his methods too messy, his tastes too extravagant. Barone had always lived up to his nickname, and Mari hadn’t wanted to deal with his exorbitant costs. Hero didn’t see it as a waste, and now he knew it wasn’t. 

Barone took a long slow sip of his drink, appraising Hero who continued to stare him down. Hedonist was forced to look away first, and his congenial attitude quickly soured, small blue eyes blown wide in fury.

“You should blame her for this, you know. Your precious Mari. Your family used to be powerful, one of the greats.” Barone sneered, downing the drink and slamming the glass down next to the knife. Hero jumped, his hands trying to pull away from one another. When had he been bound? Weren’t they free only a minute ago? 

Hero looked down at the rope rubbing angry red bracelets onto his wrists. Barone was still going on, but Hero was able to ignore it in favor of looking down and trying to remember how he got this way. He had been forced to listen to Barone’s drabble on an endless loop for the three weeks since he had been taken from outside the Bakery. Hero couldn’t remember anything from before he got in this room, but he knew it had happened. He knew he had been taken, he knew what Tommy had done to him, but it all felt murky. The details existed, but they held no meaning. Barone, clearly done with being ignored, leaned up and grasped Hero’s shoulder, pulling him roughly forward. 

“Now look at you, heir to nothing but being a bitch for some uppity woman who calls herself a Don.” Hedonist leered. Hero shook the man’s hands off of him, leaning back as far as he could. There were a thousand and one things right on the edge of his tongue, but he held himself back. He had gotten this far, he just had to keep playing the game. 

Barone laughed at the boy’s fire, a twisted noise that Hero had always loathed. He had heard it more than he ever wanted in the last few weeks, as Tommy took his pleasure from doing everything he could to get him to buckle. Barone stood, walking towards the door Hero had come in. 

“I hope I do get to hear you scream eventually, Henry. Maybe when Mari gets here,” Hero couldn’t help his quiet gasp. His heart beat a thunderous pattern, sick both with longing and fear. His girl couldn’t come here, not near this monster. Not for him. Hedonist saw that he had gotten a crack, and he chuckled again, “She’s coming herself to get you tonight. Mistress was finally willing to pay the price for her lost puppy back. I told her to come alone, but I’m sure she won’t. I’ll get the satisfaction of wiping your whole miserable family off the planet. At least the last time she sees you, you’ll look perfect. Aside from a few bumps and bruises.”

Barone locked the door, and Hero’s head spun. Mari was coming for him. He knew she had been looking for him, he knew that they had sent her pictures of the damage they had done, humiliating photos that Hero hoped Mari had destroyed before anyone else saw. He knew Mari would eventually come, but now that the reality was at his doorstep, Hero felt his control beginning to slip. Hedonist turned back around and with slow sloping steps began to get closer. Hero was never more aware of the knife in the room, the same knife that had given him the injuries that were still healing all over his body. They pulsed with a familiar wave of pain, and Hero tried to define the exact moment he had gotten so hurt. He didn’t understand, he hadn’t been hurt before. But he had? This was a dream. This wasn’t real. Why did it feel so real?  Hedonist was speaking again.

“The silent treatment is getting boring kiddo, and you know what I’m like when I’m bored.” Hero knew. Hero knew all too well. He had the evidence written into his skin. Hero kept his mouth shut. Mari would be here soon. Mari would make everything okay. Mari would make sure that Tommy begged for mercy, and then she would deny him. 

“Just a few more minutes… actually, I think I’ll kill you now. I was going to kill Mari first, just to get you to finally do something, but it would be more fun to throw your corpse down in front of her and see her lose it.” Barone’s face contorted in glee at the thought, and Hero’s stomach bottomed out. A few more minutes. Mari was coming. Mari would be here soon. 

“You’re the reason she killed her daddy after all. So...maybe all of this is your fault then.” No that wasn’t their fault. That wasn’t Hero’s fault. That was Mari’s father. Mari’s father had made his choices, and forced their hand. Mari had killed him to protect Sunny, to save their families. It hadn’t just been for Hero. It couldn’t have been just for Hero. He couldn’t have been the reason behind everything. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be. Barone twisted the knife in his hands, throwing his final punch to Hero’s mind, “You’re the reason your family is nothing. You’re the reason your mother is dead.” 

Hero breath began to quicken, and Hedonist jerked him up by an arm, pressing the knife tip against his throat, tracing it almost lovingly against his pulse point. Hero was nearly hyperventilating, his eyes up, staring at the chandelier shaking. Was it the chandelier? It looked fuzzy. Maybe it wasn’t a chandelier at all. This was a dream? Why were his palms sweating? Why was he so terrified? If it wasn’t real, it wouldn’t be like this. He would wake up. 

Please wake up. Please wake up.

“Any last words? Anything to say?” Even if Hero had any, he wouldn’t be able to speak. His mouth was a desert, his throat closed tight. There was no air. This wasn’t a dream. He was going to die. He was only eighteen, and he was about to have his throat slit by an ex-mobster in a parlor. They were using him to get to his wife. Hedonist was going to hurt his Mari. “How disappointing,” 

A series of gunshots tore through the air, throwing them both out of synch. Hero took the two seconds that afforded him. He slammed his bound hands into the side of Tommy Barone’s head, taking all of the rage he had been storing up in the last 24 days and unleashing it. Barone stumbled back and Hero surged forward. He grabbed the blade end of the knife, wincing in pain as it cut into his palms. Hedonist’s grip was loose from disorientation, and that was enough for Hero to wrench it away, spin it around, and thrust it deep into Tommy Barone’s stomach. 

All sound cut out. A high pitched whine was shrieking in his ears. The knife handle was sticky in his grip from the blood. 

Tommy looked at him, confused as a lost child. Hero ripped the knife out of the other man’s gut and buried it in the side of his throat, joined hands holding fast to the black plastic handle. Hot blood sticky and disgusting sprayed out, staining Hero with it. The fabulous suit that Tommy had commissioned was destroyed, ripped from their scuffle and forever marked with red. 

Hero pulled the knife out with a horrific squelching noise, and Tommy fell back. His pale fingers went up to his throat, trying to stem the bleeding. Sound cut back in, there were people yelling and shouting outside. Someone was banging on the door. Hero took two stumbling steps towards it, then paused. 

He was panting from exertion, the feeling of the suit and the blood curdling in his stomach, but he wasn’t done. Not yet. Not after what Barone had done to him. 

Hero turned back. Tommy was a lost cause, panic racing across his features as mortality flew towards him. Hero felt a cruel smile settling on his features, so unlike anything he had ever done before. His face felt like wax, molded and shaped by some unknown force. He practically slid over to where the dying Hedonist lay, tilting his head and staring down at the monster turned human. He stepped over the older man so one foot was on each side of him. 

“You’re going to kill my wife?” Hero’s voice was shredded after so many days of keeping from speaking, but he kept going. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, “Kill my family? You want to hear me scream?” 

Hero turned the knife so the point was directly above Barone’s heart. The man was making a horrific wheezing noise, and the stench of death hung in the air. Someone was rhythmically pounding against the door, clearly trying to break it. Hero ignored them. He had a job to do. He had to protect them from this monster. He had to do what had to be done 

Hero fell to his knees, drove the knife deep into Barone’s chest, opened his mouth, and screamed. 

Hero wakes up still screaming, the iron taste of Hedonist’s blood heavy on his tongue. He thrusts himself into a sitting position, pitching forward and letting his head smack down onto the mattress. A broken howl of agony heaved from his chest, and he continued to wail. His joined hands were pressed up against his chest, no longer bound to one another but stuck in the position all the same.  Hero’s voice gives out on the fourth cry, and Mari’s hands are cool on his back as she runs her fingers along his spine and hushes him. She is speaking to him in soft whispers. He can’t hear her words, but the smell of her shampoo is strong in his nose. She is here. She is safe. 

Hedonist is dead, his body burnt and ashes scattered in a dump. Hero is not bound, his injuries long scarred over. The horrible suit was destroyed. It was a dream. He was safe. He had saved his family. He had done what he had to, and it had broken him, but he had protected them. 

Hero continues to cry out silently until the sun rises pale in the sky.

[anika-ann]

Challenge Accepted...?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader                Word count: 4468

Summary: Steve’s never been good at quick decision-making when it came to his own safety. After one particularly horrible experience, you find a way to remind him every day to think twice the next time he’s faced with a tough choice. He is not amused. 

A/N: For @mermaidxatxheart​ 500 writing challenge; congratulations! I’m happy to be part of what could be 750 in building ;)

Prompt: “I thought you were dead.” “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” (bold in text)

Warnings: angst, fluff, attempt at humour and action; swearing, vomiting, sort-of a panic attack, mentions of death (which you probably figured from the prompt, but hey, I didn’t have to take that literally… I did)

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ 

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

You had been awake for about half an hour, sneaking from your bed – and how painful it had been, leaving the other occupant there – in search for caffeine; and more importantly to pick up the package that arrived for you that day. A package you had been waiting for to arrive for three days now despite requesting your order to be express.

You had been gracing your boyfriend with silent treatment the whole time and it was getting old, so you couldn’t wait for it to end your misery. Naturally, it wasn’t as simple as that, a package magically resolving your problems, it was nothing but an object, but you had been left with three days to deal with your feelings and dark thoughts until it was delivered and you appreciated it.

Symbols were important; and the package was a symbol for you, a symbol of acceptance.  

Raising your gaze from the floor at the voice, you couldn’t but smile over your cup of coffee at how reluctant Steve sounded, the great Captain America himself afraid and hesitantly wavering at the door to the communal kitchen of the Avengers’ compound.

You loved him to bits, which was why you hadn’t enjoyed torturing him (and yourself) by keeping him at arm’s length, but fuck it, he deserved every single second of it and more.

Jerk.

“Morning, honey,” you replied warmly, barely holding your laughter at bay when an utterly baffled expression settled on his face at your sudden inviting tone. It was a complete U-turn from how you had been treating him the past days. “Slept well?”

It was a tricky question and you knew that he knew. Your time in bed – reduced to very chaste displays of affection, not lovers’ ones at all – was the only time he had been allowed to touch you, because the very first time you had spent night together after the event, your body had followed its instincts and gravitated towards Steve no matter how pissed you had been. So, cuddling in your sleep was the most contact you had.

“…yes. Always do with you,” he whispered, his steps towards the kitchen slow but firm, apparently encouraged by your inviting tone.

“I’m glad. Any residual pain?”

He gulped, but his face brightened a bit at your care; you, of course, had cared the whole time, but you wouldn’t let him know too explicitly, your conversations rather clipped. When he had confronted you about it, about the way you kept treating him – with flames in your eyes –, your glare discouraged him from pressing further, his mouth opening only to fall shut again as you had stridden away.

“No. No pain at all anymore.”

You nodded thoughtfully, finishing your cup. “Good. That’s good. Coffee?”

Not needing his answer, because it was always bound to be the same, you poured him a cup.

The moment you returned the pot to its place, Steve’s large hand covered yours, the radiating heat of his body warming your back even with the slight distance between you remaining.

Turning your head to side, glancing up to his face, you saw his eyes searching in your expression, looking for an answer; did you decide to grant him a pardon?

You charmed a tight smile for him, ignoring the tug at your stomach when you remembered you had every reason not to forgive him and tell him you were done with his bullshit – and with him.

With your face still under scrutiny, his other hand landed on your shoulder, squeezing with a tinniest strength. When your gaze involuntarily flickered to his lips in response to his proximity, he knew; manoeuvring your body as if it was nothing but a puppet, he pulled you into his embrace, his cheek resting on the top of your head, his chest expanding with deep inhale.

Your shoulders fell and you felt yourself melt into his frame, your rapidly beating heart in sync with his. His own raced because he was afraid you’d push him away, just like you had been doing it for the past few days; yours did, because it recalled with paralysing precision every single painful second in which you believed you would never feel his arms around you again.

He swayed your bodies a bit from side to side, cradling you in his arms, nuzzling your hair, tightening his hold on you.

Tears stung in your eyes at the display of his guttural need to keep you close. God knew you felt the same way, craving the reassurance of his embrace.

“I love you,” he whispered to your hair and you squeezed your eyes shut so the tears wouldn’t escape. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“You’re an idiot. The biggest idiot I know, but I guess I never liked them particularly bright,” you muttered into his sleepshirt and his chest shook with hushed laughter as he took no offence. You even received a kiss to the top of your head, firm and lingering, filling every cell of your body with content and feeling of security.

Standing in the kitchen, the walls, which you had built up to be able to punish him for his crimes and to let him realize what he could lose, crumbled to dust.

It had taken a lot of strength to get to this point, leaving you drained both mentally and physically, but the package arrived today to seal the deal, as if confirming the victory of tolerance over emotions. You felt much better now, mostly because you couldn’t wait for Steve to see what you ordered for him – and for you.

“Oh. Good, you two made up. We can stop walking on eggshells around you now,” Sam’s voice interrupted your blissful bubble and you nearly jumped out of your skin at his voice. You never heard him coming.

And then he burst out laughing and you just knew he noticed the change in the kitchen decorations. It caused your lips to curl up in a smirk before you kissed Steve’s clavicle over the fabric of his shirt and withdrew.

“What’s so funny?” Steve mumbled, slightly dazed, apparently still overwhelmed with the sudden drop of cold-shoulder attitude of yours.

Sam simply grinned, pointing at the sign sitting on the top of one the fridges as he opened it in search for breakfast.

“What the-“ Steve questioned incredulously, his eyes wide as he spun to you when you snorted at his reaction. “Was this you?!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re not being serious,” he stated, his glare flickering between you and the small black table with caption and large number written with a chalk.

You frowned at him, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “But I am. Very.”

Steve eyed the small blackboard-styled sign in a wooden frame with an obvious distaste and a pout to his lips, but he remained silent; either he couldn’t find the words or didn’t dare to speak them.

Served him right.

Stupid risk-taking dumbass.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

“Surveillance room secure. No sign of activity,” Natasha’s voice informed you through the comm in your ear.

You peeked from behind the door opened for a crack, scanning the level of the stairwell before moving from your hideout, arms stretched with your gun raised, ready to shoot. Soundlessly approaching the middle where the handrails of opposite stairwells nearly met, only leaving a slit in between to glance through, you did a quick once-over above and below you, ears pricked up to catch the tinniest of sounds that would alert you on having any hostiles present.

Still ready to fire any second if needed, you raised your hand covered in fingerless glove to your left ear. The ampullas of tranquillizers covered in black metal reflected subtly in the flickering light of the fluorescent lamp. It was no coincidence your codename was Robin; you could easily put your enemies to sleep, bringing them the night much like the bird, Tony’s invention making your job easier.

“Looks like east stairwell is clear,” you announced lowly to the rest of the team.

Similar message arrived from Sam on the roof and surprisingly, it sent a chill down your spine rather than a relief to the tension in your battle-ready body.

This was not okay. A S.H.I.E.L.D. undercover operative had reported activity only few hours ago; admittedly, it had taken you some time to get here, the distance New York – middle-of-nowhere Latvia posing a tiny problem to your time management, but the team consisting of you, Sam, Steve, Nat, Tony and Clint had been on the way with minimal delay after receiving the report.

You didn’t like this base empty. It tickled your spy-sense and not in a good way.

“West stairwell clear, heading to lower levels.”

“Starting the extraction of files. Last log-in was 6 hours ego. It’s hard to tell how much of their actual intel has been left for us,” Steve announced from the server room and if your gut wasn’t screaming at you that this was messed up, you would have smirked proudly at Steve’s skills with technology and rubbed it in face of anyone who had ever called him a grandpa.

“Feels sloppy to leave anything behind at all. The only heat signatures I’m reading are yours. Am I the only one who find this sketchy as fuck?” Tony’s voice rang from your ear and you muttered a silent ‘not at all’ under your breath.

“Heading to upper levels, since Clint is on his way down.”

“Roger that, future Mrs. Rogers,” Sam hummed over the comms and you rolled your eyes.

Poor Steve. You had been together for only few months; you were most definitely not engaged, but the rest of the Avengers kept giving Steve shit about your relationship, because a) he apparently spent months working up the courage to actually ask you out and b) you were the first girl whom he in fact was interested in to begin with after refusing like thirty different candidates from Nat (and occasionally Sam); to be fair, you couldn’t but feel incredibly flattered, learning these things, but Christ, your team was full of little shits.

Must have got it from their captain then.

“Har, har. You’re hilarious, Wilson,” you hissed quietly and mentally slapped yourself to return your full attention to the mission. Hundred percent concentration was the key to survival.

“Cut it, Sam. Focus. Twenty percent downloaded.”

“And we’re hundred percent in deep shit,” Clint announced, his words coming out strangled.

Your heart pounding due to adrenalin stopped as you awaited an explanation in dreadful silence. What?

“Get your asses out of the building! RIGHT NOW!” the archer yelled over the comms, paradoxically freezing you on spot for a moment, leaving you with thousands of question marks in your head.

“Explosives. Shit ton of them and the timer shows two minutes and change, counting down as I speak,” he added and that got you moving.

“My route’s shorter to the roof. Sam?” you demanded, index finger pressed to you ear, already heading up, hoping he would respond in affirmative.

“I got ya’, Robin.”

Speeding up despite every single muscle in your legs burning, you focused on your breathing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Suddenly, you were very grateful for all the cardio you had been forced to do. For every single morning run-

“Steve?” your hand shot up to your comms once more.

“I’m nearly at the exit,” Clint announced instead.

“Me too,” came Nat’s voice.

You growled in frustration; Steve’s voice probably couldn’t come through as the legendary spy duo spoke practically at the same time.

As far as you knew, the servers were at the basement and the fact Steve didn’t report made your spine tingle in horrible premonition.

“Cap? Need a lift from anywhere?” Tony’s voice broke through this time and you faltered in your step. “One minute, thirty seconds.”

You finally saw the last two sets of stairs. You were sure you must have left your lungs about five floors below, but that was not why you felt your chest constricting.

“Nearly at ninety percent,” Steve hissed and this time your feet tangled enough to send you flying headfirst, only years of practice in falling saving your skull from cracking as you curled up, landing on your side.

The edges of the stairs dug into your arm and ribs, but you couldn’t care less for that, air knocked out of you altogether at the exclaim.

What the FUCK-

“Rogers, get your ass out of there!” Natasha yelled at him, out of breath herself and honestly you loved her at that moment.

You couldn’t make yourself to get up from the floor, paralyzed, panic squeezing your heart. He was not going to make it!

“Ninety-three-“

“And only a minute left, you idiot!” Tony spitted out. “Get out!”

“Robin, still on your way?”

“Ninety-six.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rogers!” Clint panted to the comms.

You only managed to blindly stare ahead, forcing your brain to imagine the blueprints of the building, calculating the route Steve might use to get out, your mind sinking into dark waters of horror as you realized there was no fucking way he would-

A crash sounded from above on your left, your head snapping that way on instinct just in time to see Sam burst in and the door hit the wall.

“Robin! Can you get up? We really need to-“

Strong hands pulled you to your feet as Steve’s voice, impatient, rang in your ears.

“Done. Heading out.”

Unfreezing, you pushed yourself and ran alongside Sam, but a bitchy sneer in your head informed you that Steve didn’t have enough time to escape the explosion at that point.

You shushed the prophet-of-doom voice with all you had and sped up.

“Don’t get seasick on me,” Sam warned you, buckling you to him via the straps on your suit and the snap-links on his, his palms sliding to your armpits. “3, 2-“

The sudden jerk and void opening beneath your feet made you dizzy and you stupidly closed your eyes in hope to make it better.

It didn’t work, your stomach somersaulting.

And then… then you were flying, speeding away from the building, two figures running tens of feet under you; Clint and Nat.

Your pair approached the ground quickly, not landing exactly gracefully, but your first instinct was to snap your head back to the enemy base, eyes hypnotizing the exit.

You found it just in time to see it swallowed up in flames, the ground shaking beneath your feet with the force of the explosion. Glass blew to shards, smoke poured through the suddenly free space of the windows.

Despite the deafening noise shaking you to your core, the world seemed to fall silent, just like your heart.

A second later, your instincts kicked in and you sprung towards the building.

“Hey!” someone shouted from a seemingly endless distance, just a dull scream in your ears; out of nowhere, you were falling, tackled to the ground. “Not happening. You’re staying right here.”

Jerking your body to get rid of the weight on you, you achieved nothing, tears of despair welling up in your eyes as you repeated the motion in vain. The void that had opened under you when Sam had carried you away seemed like nothing in comparison to the sudden rip that cracked opened in your ribcage at the image of- of Steve-- he-

You sobbed and trashed around once more, a Kevlar-clad silhouette shielding you from the view of terror. Your eyes travelled up, your gaze swimming in tears, meeting worried yet piercing green eyes of your fellow spy.

“Steve? Report! Rogers?”

Your body turned limp at the sound of his name, your eyelids sliding shut, ice crystalizing in your veins. Your whole world swayed, vertigo overtaking all of your senses so intensely you tasted gastric juices.

No one responded.

The moment the weight shifted from you, you doubled over and spitted the contents of your stomach, nearly choking on the vomit, a pit growing in your stomach.

A hand landed on your shoulder, possibly with an attempt to soothe you; with zero effect as you couldn’t breathe in properly.

“I’m scanning the building, but the heat everywhere is making it a bit difficult,” Tony informed you mechanically, no emotion in his statement.  

You had barely realized in your haze that you hadn’t seen his figure either, but you assumed the suit would protect him, more so since he had been mostly flying around the building rather than bursting in.

A violent tremble took a hold of your body, blackness edging your vision even with your eyes closed. Ashes danced behind your eyelids, fire and dust, white roses, black wood covered in fabric, red and white stripes, stars scattered over the blue, hiding the ugly truth of a fallen soldier.

A fallen soldier.

An irreplaceable leader.

A loyal friend.

Your partner.

Your lover.

Your love.

All gone.

Your hand was pressed against something solid, moving periodically and your breath instinctively attempted to match the tempo. It was really fucking hard, because your ribcage ached, your mouth felt disgusting, your heart pounded in both your chest and temples and pictures of Steve’s smile haunted you.

‘There must be some hope left for him, come on-‘

‘It blew up, you nitwit-‘

“Any-- -py? L-- help? West-- under-“ fractions of words reached your ear and you laughed hysterically, your palms instantly covering your mouth in disbelief, tears rolling down your face.

“Son of a bitch,” Clint commented behind you and you chuckled, the sound hurting you and yet relieving your tension that had been crushing you for god knew how long.

You found yourself gasping for air again, this time because you couldn’t stop laughing– and crying-- and cursing in every language you had ever tried to learn.

“Yes, we copy,” Tony announced wryly, but clearly flied to lend a helping hand to the dumbass of a captain.

Scrambling to your feet with difficulty as your legs felt strangely wobbly, Sam’s arms appeared on your sides to support your stance. You head spun with adrenalin and residual terror, endless relief slowly creeping in; you needed to see him. You needed to see him and hear his voice clearly, touching him, tasting him, soothing all of your senses with the reality of him not being blown to hell.

And then, you might kill him yourself.

But god, first you needed him to prove any way imaginable that he was still breathing.

Rationally, you knew it couldn’t take that long, but the moments of no report from Tony was tugging at your stomach, impatience filling every cell in your body as the time stretched to eternity. When Sam hesitantly let go of you, you started making your way, one shaky step after another, towards the still burning building; in hope to shorten the torturous period of not being quite sure Steve would be alright.

Eventually, the heat and smoke became too much, the danger too imminent for you to come any closer; you, unlike some other people on your team, one in particular, had some self-preservation left.

“Well and I thought you were born in the first half of the past century, not in the stone age… Gee, Rogers, that’s a lot of rubble…” Tony complained over the channel and you instinctively winced.

Perhaps Steve wasn’t burn to a crisp, but… trapped under the stones and concrete? That did not sound any better.

Minutes were ticking by and as the adrenalin gradually left your body, you started shivering despite the heat which the flames provided.

The sudden flash of red and gold was your salvation. Like an angel of mercy, Tony flew up with a man supported only by his iron palms, carried much like you had been from the roof, and descended to your level, Steve’s feet touching the ground with barely visible stumble. The dried paths of salt on your cheeks were watered again, fresh tears rolling down in endless waterfalls, your mouth once more covered with the back of your hand; your teeth sunk into the leather of your gloves on instinct.

Steve simply stood there, ribcage expanding widely, favouring his left leg, his arm curled around his ribs as if he had been in a fight with a hostile agent who landed a few lucky hits and not with a building that had fallen on him, apparently.

Your feet acted on their own account as they brought you to him, your body crashing into his chest with ferocity, arms thrown around his middle, face buried in his shoulder. He grunted at the brutal impact of your weight, but his hand reluctantly let go of the shield and had it hit the ground, his arms sneaking around your body instead.

‘Don’t squeeze too tight,’ you scolded yourself. ‘He might be bleeding internally. Don’t squeeze him too tight, he’s hurt, because-‘

‘-because he’s a fucking idiot!’

Just as he buried his face in your hair, you jerked away, staring him down with a murderous glare.

‘He’s injured,’ you reminded yourself, but that didn’t stop you.

Balling your hand in a weak fist, you punched his chest with vigour, flaring rage replacing the dread in your veins, searingly hot and destructive.

“I thought you were dead, you—you stupid piece of-- jerk!” you spitted out venomously, your impression of a harpy ruined by your voice breaking as you choked on a sob.

His blue eyes shone bright yet tired through the smudges of dirt on his face, dust and trickle of blood on the side of his neck, seeping into the high collar of his uniform. He was a picture of misery and exhaustion, but you were torn between pity, relief and anger as he reached out for you, offering you something small in his palm.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he rasped, voice rough from the smoke he doubtlessly inhaled. “But I got the drive-“

Snatching the stupid device from his hand, you threw it away – peripherally checking where it landed – and stretched your arm to hit him again.

Weary hand caught your blow before it could collide with its target and with a strength that surprised you he could still possess after nearly getting buried alive, he pulled you into his embrace again, wrapping you in his arms and breathing you in as if he needed to assure himself you were still in the land of living. Or perhaps he felt the urge to confirm that he was still breathing?

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he creaked lowly, his fingers flexing on the flash of your sides. “I’m okay…”

You shook your head wildly, but didn’t try to escape the cage of his arms, melting into his frame instead.

The truth was though, you fundamentally disagreed with him.

He was not okay. And you most definitely weren’t either.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

You, in contrary, adored the board. Not because it reminded you of the faults your beloved boyfriend had, but because you were hopeful that the whole team giving him shit about it would cause him to be less impulsive and more considerate of the consequences of his actions.

The sign read: ‘______ without Steve doing stupid life-threatening shit’

You had proudly written down number 3 and the word days. You prayed the number would climb (and that you might possibly write down ‘months’ instead of just days), even after Steve healed completely and returned to active duty; which was apparently about to happen very soon.

“Sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh? Nope. It’s staying right here and you better be getting to higher numbers than that.”

“But-“

“When did you ever back away from a challenge, Cap?” Sam entered your discussion subtly and you sent him a grateful wink, while Steve shot him a glare that would have had him lying in a pool of blood if a glare could kill.

“That is awfully accurate,” you noted with a tired sigh, torn between enjoying Steve’s discomfort and fighting with the anxiety caused by the fact that what Sam said was uncomfortably on point. “I can’t believe it took me so long to see the extends of your lacking self-preservation. I didn’t believe them when I first joined, you know? When they told me you were reckless…? God, I should have known better…”

“He did crash a plane before-“ “I’m not that bad-“ Sam and Steve spoke at the same time and you rolled your eyes at the former, locking your gaze with the latter.

“1 minute and 19 seconds,” you protested, not offering any context.

Both Sam and Steve seemed flabbergasted at your statement.

“Huh?”

“I asked Tony about the time,” you elaborated, voice dangerously low. “For 1 minute and 19 seconds after the explosion, there was nothing but silence from you. I thought you were dead,” you repeated your words from that day to remind him.

A flare of fury ignited in your chest again and Steve must have recognized the expression on your face, because he instantly took a step back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

You huffed, running your hand down your face, forcing your breathing to return to normal as your glances met and you exchanged a wordless conversation.

His ‘I’m sorry,’ followed by a perfect set of kicked-puppy eyes he excelled at performing.

Your raised eyebrow in return and ‘I’m sure you are. And?’

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Steve resigned and it brought a victorious smirk back to your face. The victory tasted bittersweet, the fact you were still discussing his near-death experience kinda taking the satisfaction of overpowering him away.

“No.”

“And you’re gonna remind me at every occasion, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” you chipped and crossed the distance that had somehow managed to grow between the two of you. You raised your hand and repeatedly poked at his chest with your index finger; cheekily, yet deadly serious. “Until it gets through your thick skull that your life matters too much to me, to all of us, you idiotic. Piece. Of dumb-”

You never got the chance to finish your outraged clipped sentence. Steve shut you up the most effective way known to lovers of humankind.

His fingers sunk into your hair in one swift movement, pulling you in for a dramatic kiss.

And after the days of torturous distance, you gave in, convincing yourself that you’d get plenty of opportunities to give him shit about his recklessness later.

After all, you had the sign to help you with that.

Judging by the burst of laughter as the rest of the team entered the kitchen, you bet they would have your back as well.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in conciliatory manner once more, his words brushing your lips. “I love you.”

“Hpmf. I love you too. But the sign stays.”

“…dammit.”

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Sooo, I possibly made it too long? *sigh* I also hope I didn’t like… broke some rule or something, my first prompt fic and all. If I did, I’m really sorry.

Anyway, I wanted to thank @mermaidxatxheart​ for letting me be a part of this challenge. I enjoyed participating and hopefully, you people, enjoyed reading :))

[sluttyprincessinarizona]

Taishiro Toyomitsu (FatGum) x shy! reader (fluffies!)

This is my first, o f f i c i a l tumblr fanfic, so woo! I ' m f c k i n g t e r r i f i e d -anyway, this is a FatGum x reader, because Tai is the cutest thing and I don't see enough of him. I'll be doing some of my personal favorites from the anime, ranging from popular to underrated characters, so I hope anyone who comes across this weird mess enjoys it! Leave a comment, or like, or smth, because I think this will be really cool, and i wanna be like those other awesome fanfic writers one day- anyways, byeee!

Word count: Idk dude, I'm on mobile-(it's a lot tho, trust me-)

Warnings: Mild cursing, also make sure to brush your teeth afterwards, cause this will give you a toothache from the sweetness-

A box. Wait, what? Where did it come from? Who put it there? Is this a prank? It smells like…Takoyaki?!? Fatgum rushed to his desk, opening the pastel purple box sat neatly on his desk. ¨Yes! Morning snack!¨ He cheered whilst fist pumping the air. Fatgum reached to take a piece of the octopus goodness, but hesitated, for just a moment. His smile faltered, and he took a second to evaluate, his hero instincts shining through. Poison? Intruder? Stalker? However, the mouth-watering smell of his newly-acquired treat pulled him sultrily out of his cautiousness, and Fatgum gave in to the temptation, devouring the takoyaki in mere seconds. He made sure to be careful with the box though. ¨Ill ask Kirishima or Amajiki if they gave me this. Those kids are just the greatest!¨ He bounded out of his office in a rush to excitedly badger at his two son- interns, but he soon found that neither knew what he was talking about. They had just barely entered the agency for the first time since yesterday, so they had no part in this adorable gift Fat had received. Fatgum was slightly put off, but resolved that he would ask everyone at his agency personally, determined to find and thank the angel who gave him this thoughtful present. 

Its been about a month since then. After a week of daily takoyaki, Fatgum was wondering if he´d be destined to live a life of having takoyaki for breakfast when he opened his office door and froze. Fatgum had expected to see that same lavender(he checked) shaded box of goodness, but he was greeted with a rolled up bag sitting on top of a box, but it was a different shade of purple. His seemingly permanent smile grew tenfold and he giddily bounced over to his desk to investigate the new items he had been gifted. He opened the bag first, and took out a cup. Coffee. He was stunned. Not by the fact that his ´secret admirer´ had brought him coffee, nor was it the fact that they could have gotten it wrong. No, he was floored by the logo on the coffee cup. It was the logo of the small cat cafe down the street. Fatgum asks Kirishima and Amajiki to visit there almost everyday, though he insists its just for the coffee. Fatgum went there once to get himself a coffee his two children were busy, and he hasn´t gone back since. Not because the establishment was bad, no it adorable. The pastel color scheme, the friendly felines who endlessly entertained him, even the mere scent of the cafe brings a smile to his face, but for one reason, and one reason only.

You.

You, the one who owned, managed, and staffed the humble cafe all on your own. Fatgum could barely manage to keep professional, for he had no idea where he was supposed to direct his eyes. Your precious attitude, the excitable gleam in your eyes, your contagiously cute giggle, and your blush, oh the blush! Fatgum had told you a joke to ease his own nerves, but the waver in his tone and ok-at-best comedy skills only proved to make him even more anxious. That was, until he heard you laugh. You didn´t just laugh, no, because he had just found your weakness. Simple, honest, puns. You attempted to cover your mouth so you could save your dignity, but resistance was futile when you were hit with such a bad joke from such a cute man. You doubled over in pure, jovial, laughter, and at that moment, you thanked every Greek god that has ever lived that you two were the only ones occupying the shop at that moment. Well, besides all the spectating kittens. You were so caught up in that stupidly funny pun, you failed to notice that you were the only one laughing. 

Fatgum was speechless. Normally, hes the one laughing at his own jokes, but here you were, laughing. Not only that, but your laugh was heavenly. It was music to his ears, and he could hardly stomach the rush of feelings that had hit him. Embarrassment, anxiety, calm, joy, happiness, lo-…

Love? Did he love you?

He wanted to say no immediately, there was no way. But his rushing mind stopped once he heard you snort. You covered your mouth, hoping he hadn´t heard such an embarrassing sound come from you, but it only made you laugh harder, and soon you were snorting with every other breath. He couldn´t breathe. You snort when you laugh too hard??? His head was spinning with every wave of feeling that enveloped him. He felt like he was floating. He was on cloud nine simply from the fact that he could reduce you to giggles and snorts like this. He was so overwhelmed, yet relieved by your reaction. You had bashfully admitted to him that you had trouble opening up to others, and you had found it remarkable how easily he had broken down your walls as if they were nothing more than a breeze. He wondered if this meant he ad a chance. Talking with you was effortless, and brought him a level of joy he had never experienced. It made him wonder what else you two would get up to. His mind flashed with endless scenarios, you appearing in every single one. You on a date, shy smiles and ´accidentally´ bumping into each other every two seconds. You at his house, leaning into his chest as you stuff your faces with popcorn, hypnotized by a movie. You underneath him, your small frame dwarfed by his larger one, breathless and writhing. You in his office, sitting on his lap and snuggling him as he finishes up some paperwork.

He wanted you, with every thing he had. He wanted to have you, have fun with you, do things with you, go places with you. He wanted you childishly, so you two could bounce around the world together with reckless abandon. He wanted you selfishly, to pull you close where everyone could see, so no one would mistake that you were his. He wanted you devilishly, giving you endless kisses and lovebites, just to see you squirm and blush. He wanted you innocently, to sing karaoke at the top of his lungs with you, and do scavenger hunts for your anniversaries. He wanted you longingly, knowing that he could power through the villains, the mountains of paperwork, all of lifes bullshit, just so he could be greeted by your smile, the smile of a tried-and-true angel.

After that day, Fatgum never went back to your store. He knew that if he saw you again, with that illegally cute maid outfit and those entrancing eyes, he would be compelled to get down on one knee and ask for your hand in marriage, which is a level of mortification hes not ready for. The day after his return, he was so stunned by the mark your presence left on his very being that he began to notice that almost everything reminded him of you. The fluffiness of the clouds brought to his mind the cute way the frill on your outfit bounced in excitement. The soft shades of blues and purples at nighttime reminded him of the perfect lighting of your cafe as he passed it late at night. Hell, his assistants cat reminded him of you, and he noted every one of these things for his own sake, but he never realized just how loud he gets when hes in his own head. His muttering got louder and more distracting, to the point that he would daydream at every possible moment, dreamily sighing your name like a mantra. Taishiro Toyomistu, an established pro-hero, a fully functioning adult, had been reverted back to a love-sick teenage boy. It was almost pathetic, yet he made up for by how excited even the mention of you made him. It piqued his interns interests, and they decided to take matters into their own hands.

Amajiki was currently rethinking his entire life. His decisions, his friendships, his entire existence was being heavily reevaluated. How did he let Kirishima talk him into this? His underclassman who he thought was just beginning to understand what boundaries are, had somehow, by some absolutely-mystical-means, convinced him to hide in his mentors cabinet to watch for some mystery person leaving snacks for him. He couldve been training, he couldve been eating, hell, he couldve even been talking with Mirio and Nejire, but no. Here he was, cramped between a shelf and crates of paperwork, staking out someone who he doesnt know, and hoping that he wont have to wait for too long stuck in this position. He was about to adjust himself to leave the cabinet and forget this whole plan, when the office door creaked open, the annoyingly loud squeeeak making the person wince as they continued to open it. Amajiki froze, barely containing his squeak of fear as he watched in awe as the door opened but...n-no one was there???

Amajiki blinked, wondering if was just a stray breeze, or some ghostly apparition, which brought tears of terror to his precious eyes from the mere thought. He blinked his tears away hastily, and looked back to reassure himself that no one was there, and even if they were, they were probably friendly. Or, at the very least, he could overpower anyone with relative ease, but he choked on his own reassurance. One second, there was no one, the next, there was you. You, the girl from the cafe, had just appeared out of thin air! You were the one leaving the snacks for Fatgum! Amajiki gawked as you set down the periwinkle box of cupcakes, along with the bag that contained his mentors coffee, brewed to perfection and made with so much love that he could feel it from his hiding spot. He stayed as still as possible, silently spectating as you arranged the snacks neatly while humming a sweet tune, as if you were in the comfort of your own home. You decided that you had adjusted the box by .1% enough times, and you smiled warmly at the box, before jumping at the sound of Fatgum's voice, laughing joyously at something while steadily getting closer to the office you both were in. You panicked and ran behind the door, closing it fully before he got too close, so as not to seem suspicious. Amajiki had blinked only once, and then you were gone again, and Fatgum had opened the door, bringing the operation to a screeching halt. When Amajiki reported back to Kirishima, he realayed back what he had witnessed to an excitable Kirishima, who jumped for joy when he heard that it was you. 

¨I knew it!¨ Kirishima exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air. He had guessed beforehand that you were the one leaving such a heart-warming gift for his mentor, and now his next meal was paid for, which he was very happy about.

Fatgum was accompanying Kirishima and Amajiki to his favorite restaurant after a surprisingly peaceful patrol, and they knew they had to tell him then, when they had a peaceful moment to relax. So, they told him.

¨Hey Fat, I just wanted to let you know that…¨ Kirishima started, looking over at Fatgum from his menu, but his sentence was soon forgotten. He, and Amajiki, were staring incredulously at Fatgum, who was currently trying to disappear into his jacket. ¨F-fatgum?¨ Amajiki asked shakily. ¨Whats w-wrong? A-a-are there villains here?!¨ He looked around in alarm, but there were no immediate threats in sight. What had shaken their fearless mentor up so severely? Fatgum simply shook his head, and laid his forehead down on the cool table in hopes of soothing his burning face. Kirishima and Amajiki looked at Fatgum, then to each other in confusion. They both shrugged and went to comfort him when they heard a giggle that caught their attention. Normally that wouldn’t matter at a time like this, but that giggle triggered something in Fatgum and the most obvious shiver went down his spine at the sound. Amajiki, who was across the booth from Fat and Kirishima peered from around his seat to see who it was and gasped. He looked back at Fatgum, then mouthed to Kirishima ¨Its the girl from the cafe!¨ Kirishima gaped, standing up to get a better look. Sure enough, there you were, chatting with a friend who worked the reception booth at the establishment. You were there for your weekly shipment of leftover supplies from the restaurant that you could use for your sweets, but Fatgum didnt know that. All Fatgum could think of is how embarrassing it would be if you saw him cowering like a child in your mere presence. But even then, he couldnt get over how absolutely stunning you looked in casual clothes. He was thoroughly surprised at the fact that you werent already up and married when he met you, because you were simultaneously everything he wanted and needed, and not at all what he was expecting. You were funny, smart, and cute, but he knew there were worlds of things hiding behind your bright eyes. You were perfect. You were everything. You were-

Poke

¨T-Toyom-m-mistu? Ar-are you ok? You seem a b-bit sick or som-something?¨

You were right next to him, poking his arm. You were blushing almost as fiercely as him, for multiple reasons. 1. you were right next to someone who instantly caught your heart in his excessively large hands as soon as you met him, and you were poking him. 2. His two interns were staring you down so intensely that you began to wonder if you ever should have walked over in the first place. and 3. is he sick or not?!? You just wanted to make sure hes ok, and maybe kinda possibly ask him why he hasnt visited the shop in a while. But it doesnt seem like thats gonna happen. You kept your voice down because you knew that if a commotion happened that you would actually be sick from fright, but you couldnt help the worry that bubbled in your gut at the sight of him.

On the other hand, Fatgum was just about ready to fucking combust. He wanted to look up, he wanted to see your soft, caring features and the look of concern that was undoubtedly on your face, but he knew impulse would  overtake him. He barely managed to keep from making a fool of himself in front of you and everyone who knew him, and he felt backed into a corner. His mind was racing, and he couldnt even feel his heart beating anymore. His breath was getting heavy, but he barely noticed it. He was driving himself mad, slowly devolving into a panic that he didnt know was enveloping him, nor did he know how to get out of it. All he could think of was you, how disgusted you would be by him if he proposed to you, how you would walk away from him if he said the wrong thing. He wanted you, but he cant have you, and he doesn't know what to-

¨Taishiro!¨ you exclaimed, no longer worried about making a scene. You wrenched his head up from the table and pressed his forehead against yours. He stared wordlessly at you, his thoughts going silent for just a moment, and that was all you needed. ¨Taishiro, look at me, ok? You're ok. I've got you.¨ You spoke softly to him, phrases that you're soothing voice spoke to him. Things he could only imagine from his wildest dreams. His breathing slowed as he slowly came back to his senses, forgetting all about his panic in favor of taking in you. He made no effort to move, because he was completely content on being this close to you forever. He was astonished by you, how you could calm his mind and steal his heart all at once, but the thing he couldnt draw away from was your eyes. They held no pity, however in it's place was the light of experience. You held him not because you pitied him, but because you knew his fear, and wanted to take it away, if only for a moment. He couldnt help but tear up at the genuineness in your gaze, the gaze that you never broke, not even for a second. You had grabbed his arm as he sunk, pulling him back up, and encouraging him to let you help him. You knew what it felt like to be stuck with no one to help, so you told him to relax, let himself be helped just this once, all without any words. All you needed was to look into his eyes and he could understand everything you tried so desperately to convey to him for months. You lost control of your filter as you soothed him, letting slip how much you missed him and his goofy smile, and how undeniably happy he made you. You brought him onto his feet and carried him up, and as you unknowingly whispered "That was when I knew that I loved you", he could see the bright glowing light that enveloped you. You really were an angel. He could see your halo, your soft wings, but overall he saw your heavenly smile, one that begged him to respond, as you were losing confidence at an alarming rate. At that moment, he broke into the brightest, cutest, and dorkiest grin you had ever witnessed, and it melted your heart all over again. He leaped up in a flash, and before you knew it, he had you bridalstyle in his arms with dizzying speed. You squealed in fear, but relaxed as you saw him gaze down at you lovingly. You smiled back shyly, and buried your face in his chest when you could hear the restaurant goers cheering at the display, He carried you out of the restaurant in a valiant display, and his remark as you both exited made the cheers of the onlookers sound deafening, and it drove your blush all the way down to your ears in shock.

¨Hey sweetcheeks, we should get married!¨

~End~

I hope you enjoyed it! It took me about three days to finish, cause online school, but this was awesome. I legitimately love this one, and this probably the only one I've finished and was satisfied with. If you like it, pls let me know cause I already adore this, and I wanna share with the world, no matter how scary it might be. Anyways, this has gotten long, so I'm gonna bounce. Gotta start the next one. Bye-bye!💜

[watchingtheroad]

Awakening in Arles

Damen and Laurent meet. Six years later, they meet again. 

Auguste Lives AU, Love at First Sight, First Kiss

[Inspired by this AMAZING artwork from @saltroclus of Laurent and Damen’s respective panic and pining upon seeing the other for the "first" time.]

Laurent, age 14–>20 Damen, age 19–>25 Auguste, age 25–>31

POV switches from Laurent to Damen every scene, with a surprise one at the end ;)

[AO3 Link]

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

Laurent was in the library, sitting among his dearest friends, apart from his brother Auguste and prize-winning horse: 

His books. 

There were hundreds of them lining dozens of shelves along the walls, and because his father was King of Vere, all of it belonged to Laurent by extension. 

He was thrilled and fortunate to have so many. Laurent loved to live through stories, to be transported to other worlds in his mind and go on magical adventures without ever leaving the palace. He had a hunger to learn everything he could—every language and battle strategy, and an endless number of useful facts to share with Auguste. From the moment he learned to read, he had promised himself he would devour them all, even the boring ones, because knowledge and stories were never really boring to Laurent. 

Except on the day the Akielon Prince came to visit Arles. 

As a demonstration of trust and good faith, he had come ahead of the Akielon King Theomedes and arrived without splendor or festivity, hopping off his horse with a modest guard of only two men at either flank. Laurent had not even left his rooms to greet him. He knew he had come for Auguste. Theirs was the business of heirs, not second sons. 

That morning, Laurent carried on as usual. He sat in his favorite chair in his favorite corner of the library with his favorite snacks. With his legs folded comfortably beneath him, he tried to focus on his studies. 

They could not hold his attention. 

Cruelly, he could hear the faint sound of commotion, laughter and the clanging of swords drifting in through the open window. 

He tried to resist. 

Really, he did. 

His curiosity took him over to look out. 

Down below in the courtyard, Laurent saw them—his brother and the Prince of Akielos. They were sparring, a small crowd gathered around to catch a glimpse of the Princes and their budding friendship. It was an important symbol for their countries. Once disputing, now reaching peace. Laurent knew the significance, even from the periphery as he was. Not long ago, whispers of war frightened him to nightmares. Despite his unwavering confidence in his older brother, he could not risk Auguste leaving for battle and never returning to him. He would not survive it. 

Watching the two of them, Laurent felt especially relieved that their nations would be signed into a peaceful alliance within the week. 

The Prince of Akielos was… imposing, physically. Younger than Auguste, Laurent knew, but taller, wider, with a longer reach, and very, very skilled. Auguste was the best fighter in Vere. The Akielon Prince was rumored to be the best fighter on the whole continent. It was unsettling in more ways than Laurent could place. 

His clothing was sparse, an Akielon custom. His accent was heavy, detectable even at a distant height, deep and strong. His laugh was—

Captivating. Laurent thought he might go and hear it up close.

His pulse bounded as he walked, a massive book in tow, as fast as his legs would carry him. He knew he must hurry before his mind changed and he chickened out of his plan: He would casually read resting against a tree nearby where they were sparring. 

He would not be watching the Prince of Akielos at all. Only reading. 

As he approached, Laurent made himself as unobtrusive as possible, his eyes careful on the broad back of the Akielon Prince. He had not yet made it to the tree, and so looking at him was still permitted. 

His upper body was distractingly bare, his complexion dark and golden warm, with thick, curly hair to match. Everything else seemed to fade to black as Laurent looked him over, once, then again, admiring the way his muscles flexed beneath smooth skin. He was unlike anyone Laurent had ever seen. 

As Laurent made to move past them to his chosen tree, horrifically, Auguste yelled to him, blowing his cover: 

“Laurent! You came out of your room, little brother!” It was not as shocking as Auguste’s voice suggested. Then— “Come and meet Damianos.” 

Laurent simply could not, but now he must. 

The Prince of Akielos turned. 

Laurent’s mouth dropped open, a muted gasp escaping him, and without his permission, his feet brought him over to them. 

The Prince was smiling, brighter than the sun that shined in Laurent’s eyes. A dimple adorned his left cheek. He said, in perfect Veretian, “Good morning, Your Highness,” and gave a bow of his head. “It’s an honor to meet you.” 

Laurent had a funny feeling fluttering in his stomach, heated all over. The Prince’s mere presence was quite nearly more overwhelming than his… everything else. Had Auguste honestly needed to call his name? Did he live to humiliate him?

Through his internal crisis, Laurent answered in his best Akielon, “Hello, Damianos. Welcome to Arles.” 

“Akielon!” the Prince said, delighted. He had been practicing for the visit. Then, much to Laurent’s surprise, he added, “Damen. Call me Damen.” 

“Damen,” Laurent repeated, smiling. The Prince had not even permitted Auguste to call him that. Laurent’s cheeks were surely the shade of the apples he had fed his horse with breakfast that morning. 

“Did you come to watch us?” Auguste asked, reaching out to ruffle his hair. The nerve. Laurent wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

“I came to read,” Laurent deflected, gesturing with his book. 

“And what have you come to read?” the Prince—Damen—asked. His tone held kindness and something akin to genuine interest, and Laurent was, again, taken aback. He did not expect the Prince to be so warm. Whatever the rush of feelings was inside Laurent, he had never experienced it before. 

“Oh, um—” Laurent stumbled his words, silently wishing for death. He had read the book countless times but could suddenly, uselessly remember nothing. “It’s just a silly story about a Prince on an adventure.”

“I happen to love silly stories about princes on adventures,” Damen said, using the towel a servant had brought to wipe the sweat from his neck and shoulders. “Perhaps you’ll tell me about it later?” 

“Of course,” Laurent nodded, his smile growing wider despite his efforts to conceal it. Ill-timed or not, he took that as his cue to leave, backing away slowly then turning quickly to retreat in case Damen changed his mind. 

“Well then,” Auguste chuckled, calling to him again, “See you around, little brother!” 

Laurent threw a half-wave over his shoulder, utterly mortified. Again with the little brother. He was trying to make friends with the Prince of Akielos! Auguste was not helping!

Once he arrived at his chosen tree, Laurent positioned it between them, taking a deep breath behind the safety of its wide trunk as he sat and leaned his back against it. After collecting himself, he opened his book to think about the best parts he might share, if asked by someone. 

If Laurent peered around the tree a few times for another look at the Prince as he read, that was no one’s business but his own.

+++ 

Damen rode into Arles for the first time in six years, with Nikandros and a single guard at his back just as he had come before. 

The countryside was vibrant, the breeze sweet and floral in the summertime. Damen felt rejuvenated upon his arrival. It was fun to escape Ios for a change, and to leave his country entirely was an adventure, especially for one as…stimulating as Vere. Another visit was long overdue; only this time, the King of Akielos would not be following behind him. It was a trip for catching up, not business, and Damen trusted the Veretians. 

They were, in a shocking turn of events for both countries, the closest ally of Akielos. Since the signing of their treaty, peace and friendship prevailed, which was a stark contrast from the violent past his father had taught him about growing up. 

And so, over the years, the Kings corresponded through letters, as did the Princes. As for the Prince of Vere’s younger brother, Damen sent him books once in a while. More silly stories about princes and other things with simple handwritten notes inside, inspired by their first meeting. He had hoped he liked them. Now Damen could ask. 

As he rode toward the palace, he passed a set of stables, grand and ornate as he remembered everything else in Arles. There were stablehands working, noblemen waiting for their mounts to be saddled. He wondered how many horses the building held and to whom they all belonged. 

Then, a young man walked out, his stride so graceful, as though moving on air. His hair was striking, golden yellow, with longer strands framing his lovely face. He carried himself with an arresting elegance, his expression neutral with an aura of unattainability. He was, indisputably, the most breathtaking individual Damen had ever seen. Since his last visit to Vere, he had warmed to the idea of men, bedding them when it suited him, but never had one bewitched him quite so strongly, so quickly, without a word or an act beyond walking. 

Damen stopped his horse in her tracks, squinting at him in the sunlight. He looked oddly familiar, but of course, Damen knew no one from Arles of his own age. He had not been there in a half dozen years. Suddenly, he wished to know this man from Arles. 

That singular, acute desire drove him off his horse without a second thought. 

“What are you doing, Damianos?” Nikandros asked, alarm dripping from his words. 

Damen barely looked at him. “Nothing. Go on to the palace. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Will you?” Nikandros pressed, dubious as ever. 

“Yes,” Damen answered. “Take my horse. You’ll barely notice I’m gone.” 

“I’m sure,” Nikandros grumbled, and if he said anything more after taking the reins from him, Damen was too far away to hear it. 

He turned the corner where the young man had gone, finding him with his sword in an empty arena around the opposite side of the stables. Meant for training horses, he was training himself. 

As he approached, Damen said, in soft Veretian, “Hello there.”

The young man looked, blinking a few times in quick succession, then looked again with a secret in his eyes. 

“Hello,” he said back, also in Veretian, a smile pleasantly threatening his mouth. 

“Do you keep a horse here?” Damen asked, unfortunately the first viable question to cross his mind through his nerves. It was unusual for him to experience them in any pursuit. 

It was exciting. 

“Have you come to police the stables?” the young man returned, tilting his head to one side in question. It was interesting he seemed to pay no mind to Damen’s status, obvious as it was with the red cape and golden lion pin at his shoulder. Damen did not care. He could do anything short of cursing his mother’s grave, and Damen might accept it. 

He was gorgeous, even in confusion, his eyes intensely blue and penetrating right through to the center of him, it seemed. His features were delicate in some ways, stronger and more distinctive in others. The sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline, the plush curve of his lips, his flawless skin… 

“No. Of course not. I just—” Damen faltered. “I’m only curious about you.” 

He lowered his gaze. Damen interpreted the flush that rose to his cheeks as a sign of encouragement. He eventually said, “I keep many, but only one is truly mine. Her name is Dauphiné.” 

“That’s a beautiful name,” Damen said. His accent flowing from that pretty mouth only served to enhance it all. “I would like to know the name of Dauphiné’s owner as well, if he would like that in return.” 

His smile grew wider, more amused than Damen thought warranted. “You don’t remember me at all, do you?” 

Damen furrowed his brow. “What do you mea—”  

“Damianos, my friend!” Auguste’s voice boomed from behind him with impeccable timing. Damen wanted to shoo him away. “I see you’ve found my little brother already!” 

Damen recoiled at his words, stammering, “I’m sorry—Your little—What?” 

Little brother. 

Damen was stunned. It was as though the ground shifted beneath his feet, the world turning on its head to reconcile what he previously knew with who stood before him and what he saw and felt now. This was not a stablehand or a nobleman waiting for his horse. He had not cared that Damen was the Prince because he, too, was the Prince. 

He was completely blind not to see it. 

The blushing fourteen year old he met six years ago had grown into a man. A very attractive man. 

It was Laurent. And he was laughing, silently to himself. 

Damen could not locate his voice to speak. 

“Yes, Your Highness, he found me, but I was just leaving. I’m sure you two have fascinating things to attend to after all this time,” Laurent said, walking past where he stood in shock next to Auguste on his way out. Cooly, he murmured, in much-improved Akielon, “Welcome back to Arles, Damianos.” 

Damen could do nothing but stare, open-mouthed, after him. 

+++

[THE REST IS HERE ON AO3]

[seafleece]

he still hasn’t told them about everything. is not even sure it would be possible.

there is time, yet— somehow, he thinks he may be a passenger of the mighty nein’s funny little ship for a while longer— but he is afraid. not afraid that they will hurt him for it— though he has not been on the blunt end of yasha’s strength, before, and the specter of it looms terrifying up before him like never before, he knows she has a sword that is meant to kill mages— no, he is afraid in the way he’s afraid to look into their eyes. afraid to have to tell of the things he has done— worse than they know, than they can even imagine— and have to see how it hurts them up close.

that was the easy part about this, that in the end he’d be away from them, that they’d at least have the luxury of hating him.

you know what’s funny is, when they’d left the last time, he’d thought he’d never see them again. not like this, at least.

he knows them, now— and gods, for something that should feel so bad, it still gets at something so buried and hopeful in him— and of course they were going to find him out, of course a simple illusion wouldn’t be enough for them. of course they’re keeping an eye out for every move the assembly makes— and he is, too, he wants to say, he doesn’t trust the assembly a single iota more than they do. he even saw frumpkin. knew it was over the moment he saw that funny little fey disappearing behind a barrel in the deck of the assembly’s ship. avoiding them at the party was a delay at best, selfish at worst.

and, well, hasn’t everything he’s done in the past years, the past decades, been selfish?

he thought the next time he’d see them would be when they inevitably ended up fighting the assembly over the other beacon, a fight they’d lose. a fight he would have to make them lose.

he hasn’t cried in a long time— that, among so many other things, was trained from him so young, too young (in another world, he thinks, he’s sitting in the plush office of one of den olios’s councillors, and the soft-faced councillor is asking him does he think his problems have anything to do with how the umavi never held him as a child?)— but he cried after they left, sat in his study over the papers he and caleb had scribbled the spell’s early parts out on and sobbed like he hadn’t since he learned about his father.

(in that world with the councillor, their face pinches into a look of practiced sincerity and they say ah, so there was an absence of both parental figures. there is something comforting about it, recognizing patterns in himself. reasons, when in looking for reasons he so often comes up lacking.)

so dangerous can be trust, he thinks, that it can make things previously known, previous truths, unrecognizable. caleb took off the manacles from earlier— and gods, the pain, jester healed him some but caleb had been looking at him when he put them on, had looked him in the eyes he hadn’t convinced himself to change the color of, and hurt him so badly he almost crumpled to his knees, almost lost consciousness.

it is fair, he supposes. it is the same pain he has caused them. has caused so many, and so many there were that would not have been able to endure it. weak as he is, there are those who are weaker.

(“you are one of us, you know,” caleb says, “whether you have meant to become so or not. we do not choose the people who care about us.”

no, essek thinks, we do not. he thinks of the umavi— his mother, he thinks of his mother, is allowed to call her that in his own mind— the warmth he wished would fill her eyes.

“there is nothing sadder than wishing someone cares for you more than they do,” he continues, like he can hear it, see what plays behind essek’s eyes. the feeling of caleb’s lips pressed to his forehead, the funny pressure of it, still lingers.

“you do not have to feel it again. we care for you. please let us. may i see your wrists?”)

they’ve put another set on him— the fact that they just carry these things around is startling, to say the least, but this must be justification enough. he can see a loose strand where, he imagines, caleb has wound silver thread around and around the frame of the door. it is not unfamiliar magic. and he is sorry— really is— that they don’t trust him. that he made that an impossibility, before they even met.

he lies back in the bed of the little room they’ve given him— it’s clean, he imagines, for a ship, no dripping water or cloying mold. they are perhaps the least vindictive people he has ever met, and he wants to believe so badly that this is not punishment. they want him to stay, and he wants to want to. wants to think of nothing else than being with them, to be together and simply ignore why it should be that they are.

this meeting would not take place, were it not for you, he thinks. there would be no need. if the beacon is a god, you have earned its ire like none before. enemies die on the battlefield, but traitors hang.

he goes to move his arms, to grab at the wooden frame of the bed or dig his fingers into his forearms or something else frenzied, and the chain of the manacles stops him. somehow, it is comforting.

sometimes, he thinks, friends keep you from doing things because they would hurt you. he is a traitor, he is powerful and dangerous and there is blood on his hands, but the traitor essek thelyss sits in what should be a prison and thinks of veth brenatto— whose husband he saw kept in chains— calling essek one of them. he thinks of caleb, pleading, he thinks of jester pressing her magic into him with sad, enormous eyes, and sleep finds him.

in the dream that he has, that night— he has not dreamed in so long, almost thought he had forgotten how— he is still bound, by the hands and feet and by a long chain pulling at his neck. there is water, all around, conjured perhaps by the tertiary rock of the ship with the waves, and it drags him down, towards depths he cannot see. he knows of the quasi-deity fjord had been bound to, wonders if this is its influence, dreaming so close to its domain, to one of its chosen, but as the chain pulls at his throat he can see it attached to another.

a few feet away, caleb is there, the end of the chain at his neck, and he looks right into essek’s eyes as they’re pulled closer together. we are the same, he hears, though caleb does not speak. if damned, then damned together, and they thrash in the water and cling to one another.

the water is freezing and burning, somehow, endlessly dark, and stretching forever, and yet, as long as they move, they do not drown.

[dolce-peach]

AAAA I LOVE SIDELINES!!! are u planning on making a part 2? 🥺

sidelines [part 2]

pairing: akaashi keiji x reader

warnings: fluff

a/n: omg thank you all so much for the love for sidelines 🥰 just had to continue hehe -- hope you guys like it!

permanent taglist: @kaitlynmalikisnotonfire​ @just-another-loki-fanblog​

** TO MAKE A REQUEST -- please check the status in my bio **

masterlist

----

To say you had a headache when you woke up was an understatement.  You knew for a fact that if you saw anyone’s face before noon, you’d absolutely rip them apart.

“Perfect,” you grumbled as you slipped out of bed, stretching as you exited your tiny bedroom.  “Just perfect...”

You yawned while you washed up, tiredly rubbing your eyes.  Your memory was a bit foggy, but that was to be expected.  For some reason, you couldn’t remember getting home, but you supposed it didn’t matter, since you were home and safe.

Unless there was something else.

You shook your head as you walked out of the bathroom.  You would’ve kicked someone’s ass.

You froze in your tracks, seeing Akaashi asleep on the couch in the living room. Though his tall frame struggled to stay curled on the short couch, he still slept soundly, his lips slightly parted.  A couple minutes went by until you realized you were staring at him.

As he curled deeper into himself, you stifled a laugh as you crawled over, eventually stopping in front of the couch.  You couldn’t help but poke his cheek.

“Mm, stop...” he breathed.  “Five more minutes...”

“You and I have class,” you said.  “Want me to call Bokuto?”

Akaashi immediately sat up straight, his eyes half open.  You laughed at the sight.

“I guess not.”

He yawned.  “Did you sleep okay?”

You nodded before heading to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.  “Fine,” you replied.  “You?”

“Could’ve been better,” he groaned as he stretched, his shirt lifting just high enough to reveal his toned stomach.  Feeling your face grow hot, you turned away, focusing on making coffee.

What the hell, you thought.  He’s a guy.  All guys have abs, especially sporty guys.  You shook your head.  You’re probably still drunk, you idiot.

Though you knew that couldn’t be possible.  Right?

You sighed.  It was way too early for this.

“Can I use your bathroom?” he asked as he leaned into the kitchen, his voice low and scratchy with sleep.

“Yeah, of course,” you said.  “Want some eggs?”

“Please.”

While he took his time washing up, you managed to make a pretty extravagant breakfast with what you had.  The toast turned out a bit dark, and the apples could’ve been cut cleaner, but you happened to cook the most beautiful eggs you’ve ever made.  

As you celebrated your somewhat embarrassing victory, Akaashi staggered sleepily out of the bathroom, sitting with you at the small dining table.  His eyes lit up at the sight of food, making your heart swell a bit that you were at least able to cook for him.

“Thanks,” he said softly before digging in.

“Anytime,” you said.

The two of you ate in silence, not that you wanted to complain.  There was a certain calmness about Akaashi’s presence that forced you to relax.  You were glad to have a friend like him, otherwise you’d end up tearing yourself apart.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” he asked out of the blue.

You furrowed your brow.  “Not really,” you admitted.  Your interest was piqued.  “Why?  What did I do?  Did I make a complete fool of myself?”

“No...just...well...”  He looked back down at his plate and continued eating.  “Never mind.”

Your face was flushed as you took a bite from your toast.  “Wh-what did I do, Akaashi?”

“You were making out with Bokuto.  Hard.”

“What the hell, Akaashi!” you shouted, choking.  “Really?”

He chuckled, handing you your coffee.  “Kidding.”

You glared at him before taking a gulp.  “Has anyone ever told you you’re really not that funny?”

“Just you.”

You huffed, finishing the rest of your meal.  He took your plates and washed them, leaving you still sitting at the table, wracking your brain for any kind of memory.

There was nothing but haze, but you then remembered it was Akaashi who took you home.

“Hey, Akaashi?”

“Can...can you stay with me?”

Did I say that?

“Hey.”

You looked up, wincing as Akaashi lightly flicked your forehead.

He handed you your book bag.  

“We’re gonna be late for class.”

--

Needless to say, you couldn’t focus at all that day.  You spent all your energy thinking of the most embarrassing and ridiculous scenarios of the night before.  It wasn’t like you to get that drunk.

When you were finally free for the day, you stopped by the campus coffee shop to clear your head.

“Hey, Y/N!”

Good grief.

Your eyes widened as Bokuto threw an arm around your shoulders.  “You feeling okay?  I heard from Akaashi you were completely sloshed last night!”

“I wasn’t --!”  You could feel yourself blushing.  “That’s exaggerating things a bit.”

“Don’t worry about it!  I’m glad!”  He grinned.  “It was the first time I’ve seen you cut loose.  It’s quite refreshing.”

You elbowed him lightly.  “You were imagining things.”

“I was not!”

“You were drunk too.”

“Touché.”

You eyed his gym bag.  “Going to practice?”

“Yep,” he replied happily.  “You should stop by later!  Akaashi and I have been working on this new attack!”

Bokuto’s enthusiasm was infectious.  

“Alright,” you found yourself saying, though you couldn’t see how you could possibly face Akaashi at the moment.  “See you later.”

You hurriedly got your coffee and escaped, taking in the fresh air.  You sighed heavily.  You couldn’t believe what you got yourself into.  It seemed like the more you tried to untangle your mess, the more it ensnared you.

Rolling your eyes to yourself, you took a sip of you drink.  Why were you making such a big deal out of it?  Knowing Akaashi, he probably just took you home and stayed to make sure you were okay, like a good friend.

Like a good friend.

Those words stuck bitterly in your head.  Weren’t you happy with being friends with him?  It wasn’t different from being friends with Bokuto.

You shook your head.  It was very different.

But why the hell did you feel like this?

--

As much as you didn’t want to go to the gym, you went anyway.  You figured you might be able to confront the thoughts that were eating you up.

The volleyball team was made up of tall, muscular guys, and Akaashi and Bokuto were no exception.  The entire gym smelled like heat, sweat, and muscle.  It was almost suffocating.

Shoes squeaked against the floor as you watched them go again, attack after attack.  They moved swiftly, almost too fast for you to comprehend.

“You made it!” Bokuto exclaimed, trying to give you the biggest hug while sweat gleamed from his skin.

“Bokuto Kotaro, I swear if you hug me, I’ll roundhouse kick your ass!”

The boy ended up laughing hard, so much he almost fell over.  “You should see your face!”

“I can still kick you if I want to!”

“Bokuto-san, can you help me with the net?” a teammate called.

“Be right there!” he called before bounding over, leaving you alone again.

You scanned the gym and found Akaashi on the side drinking water.  Your body moved on its own, walking over to greet him.

He looked surprised to see you, his blue eyes questioning.  

You pursed your lips.  “Bokuto said I should come watch.  You guys are pretty cool.”

He nodded, going back to drinking his water.

The silence that followed was deafening.  The team had begun to clear out, the volume in the gym in a sudden diminuendo.  You tried to busy yourself with the handles of your book bag.  How was it that you didn’t know how to interact around him anymore?

“Were you studying?” he asked suddenly.

“Yeah...”  You were suddenly aware of your sore shoulders and neck.  

He closed his bag with a quiet zip.  “You hungry?”  Seeing your eyebrows raise, he rubbed his neck.  “I mean, you came out here, right?  And it’s late.”

You shrugged.  “Wanna come over?  I can order pizza.”

Did I really just say that?

Akaashi didn’t look too bothered by the offer.  “Okay.”

You inwardly sighed with relief.

The two of you didn’t say a word as you walked back to your dorm room.  You were surprisingly fine with the silence, as that was how the two of you seemed to communicate anyway.  It also didn’t help that you had absolutely nothing to say.

You didn’t want to say you were afraid of making a fool of yourself in front of Akaashi, but the fact was, you were, especially after the previous night’s antics. Earlier that day, you remembered you nearly puked in front of him, and you whined.

Whined.

You managed to regain your composure after you got the pizza.  Akaashi was using your shower, leaving you in the living room waiting.

“Can...can you stay with me?”

You shook your head.  You couldn’t have done anything the night before, and Akaashi would never do anything like that, given your state.

“Sorry for the wait,” Akaashi said as he came and sat next to you on the floor.  

His lean muscles were bulging through his t-shirt.  You noticed his hair was still pretty wet, heavy drops threatening to fall.  

His brow furrowed.  “You okay?”

“What happened last night?”  You had to know.

He ran a hand through his wet locks.  “That’s what you’re so worked up about?” he said.  “I just took you home.  I was going to leave when you asked me to stay.”

You gulped.

“You were scared of the dark.”

You sweat-dropped.  “Scared...of the dark?”

“What did you think happened?”

“N-nothing!” you exclaimed, your face hot as you turned away.  “Just forget it.”

He chuckled.  “That’s why you wanted me to stay.  But I wanted to stay because I was worried.”

“You...what?”

He leaned closer to you, making your eyes widen.  “What?  You want me to spell it out for you?”

Your mouth opened and closed again.  You had nothing to say, that is, nothing that made sense.  Having Akaashi that close to you made your head spin.  The heat from his body radiated onto yours.  You could smell your shampoo in his hair.  

“What are you doing?” you whispered.

Your breath hitched as he leaned closer, the gap between the two of you slowly closing.

“What I wanted to do last night.”

It took you a few seconds to realize his lips were on yours.  Nerves made you pull back, but he held the nape of your neck ever so gently, his callused fingers fluttering over your skin.

Everything seemed so clear.  Your feelings didn’t exist in vain.  They were as real as his.

When he pulled back, you nearly leaned forward again to keep the connection.

He licked his bottom lip.  “You get it now?”

You were dazed.  “I think so.”

“You think so?” he mused as he leaned forward again.  “Maybe I should work on convincing you.”

“What about pizza?”

“Pizza can wait.”

[scapegrace74-blog]

Saorsa, Chapter 28

A/N  Here is the next installment of Saorsa.  I’m not sure how I feel about this chapter.  I knew I wanted them handfast, couldn’t work it into the modern marriage ceremony (which we don’t see anyway), but wanted there to be some acknowledgement of their deepening relationship.  In the series, that happens because Claire doesn’t go through the Stones.   This is my equivalent.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging!  It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

She wasn’t a demonstrative person by nature.  The circumstances of Claire’s childhood had seen to that.   Practical, pragmatic, emotionally cautious: the nomadic life of an orphan following her scholarly uncle about the globe had shaped her for an adulthood of no-nonsense behaviour.

Which didn’t explain why she was swallowing back tears the Monday evening after Easter.  She sat on their bed watching Jamie pack a simple change of clothes and slip a few spare coins in a hidden slit inside his tall leather riding boots.   She could blame her pregnancy, but it had been many months since her last hormonal outburst.   In truth, she was afraid for Jamie.  He was undertaking a difficult twentieth-century journey with only his eighteenth-century wits to guide him.   She was going to miss him horribly.  A nagging premonition gnawed at her, that he would leave and never come back.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” he said, noticing her discomposure.  “I may be new tae these times, but I ken a thing or twa about keeping safe on a long journey.  An’ Rupert will watch o’er me, leastaways as far as Edin’bra.”

“I know that, Jamie.  I just…”   She broke off, hands unconsciously cradling her swollen belly, as though comforting the child within her was the best she could hope for.

“What is it, mo chridhe?  Are ye worrit about the bairn coming early?”

“No.  Not really.  First babies are often born late.  I’m worried about…” she broke off, at a loss to articulate the swirling mix of emotions she was feeling.

Jamie must have intuited her ambivalent state of mind, for he settled next to her and enveloped her hands in his.

Still new to the art of husbanding, he had learned that the best way to induce Claire to talk was to offer her silence to fill.  He therefore sat quietly, tangling and untangling their fingers.

“I can’t help but feel…” she began hesitantly, “that once you leave Lallybroch you’ll… oh, I feel stupid saying it…”

“Out wi’ it, Sassenach.  If it’s causin’ ye tae fret sae badly that ye didna remind me tae pack spare socks, then it needs to be given voice, aye?”

She grinned ruefully, then tried to collect her scattered thoughts.

“I know you chose to stay here, in this time, rather than return to your own.  Given what you know about the aftermath of Culloden, it was a reasonable choice.  But Jamie…” He could see how dearly this was costing her.   A furrow of worry bisected her brow, and her molten eyes looked haunted.  “Jamie, you’re a Highland warrior, and I can’t help but feel that I’ve turned you into some kind of glorified field hand and future babysitter.  And that once you leave Lallybroch, you’ll not want to return.”

Having blurted out her fears, Claire’s gaze sheered away from her husband, focusing instead on the patterned wall coverings.

“Claire…” he breathed, stunned by her revelation.   “Sassenach, look at me, will ye?”

Their eyes met, and the look he was giving her was so pained that she blinked in shock.

“Have I given ye reason to doubt my commitment to ye and yer bairn?”

“No,” she answered plainly.

“And was it no’ me who asked ye, ripe wi’ another man’s child, to be marrit?” he continued.

“Yes, it was.”

“It’s true that I’m a Highlander, Sassenach, an’ a proud one a’ that.  But I was a warrior by necessity, no’ by desire.  I fought because to do ought would ha’ been craven, an’ my Da didna raise me tae be a coward.  Twas the only way I kent tae protect my family, my clan.   Now ye and this bairn are my family, an’ those who serve Lallybroch are my clan.  I may no’ ken much about yer science an’ industry, but I can provide for my own, an’ tis my great honour tae do so.  And if so doin’, I help ye raise a braw wee Scot tae be laird or lady of this home of my heart, weel, I will one day die knowin’ I was a credit tae the Fraser name.  In my time, I would be ded, or just as well.  Here, I can do wha’ I was born tae.  Now I ask ye, why would I turn from that?  Why would I turn from ye?”

It was the most he’d ever spoken about matters neither practical nor routine, and she took the words inside her heart where they lit a spark in the tinder of her newborn love.

“It does pain me, though, that ye feel I asked ye tae be my bride merely because it was prudent.  I havna done my duty as yer husband, if ye dinna ken…”

Jamie stood abruptly and held out his hand.  She grasped it gratefully to leverage herself from the bed.

“Follow me, Sassenach.  It’s high time tae address my neglect.”

***

Murtagh looked mildly perturbed to have his evening’s routine interrupted, but scarcely more so than usual.  A few murmured words in Gaelic from Jamie and he grunted in surprise, appraising Claire’s hastily donned overcoat and pale blotchy skin.

Claire was surprised to find the small croft next to the stables comfortably appointed, its solid wooden furniture decorated with heavy woolen throws and the occasional cushion.    An ornate picture frame adorned the mantlepiece, displaying a dour couple posed stiffly in outmoded wedding clothes.

Disappearing through a darkened doorway into the croft’s only other room, Murtagh returned carrying several objects: a long strip of frayed tartan, a two-handled tarnished silver cup, and a short dagger in its sheath.  Murtagh placed the items on a low table and exchanged a significant look with Jamie before returning to the adjacent room.

“Claire,” he began, and she could sense the air in the room shift with his pronouncement of her Christian name, muted but sure.  “I ken that you and I, weel, we’re still new.  But the lady I’ve come to know, she’s… weel, she’s all that I could e’er want in a wife.  Canty.  Brave.  Strong and fierce tae make me heed, but soft and gracious and sae, sae beautiful, she can make the sun shine on a cloudy day.  I could travel through the stones across the ages, and no’ find a better companion fer my heart.  So I’m asking ye, Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser, will ye do me the ‘onour of becoming my wife?  No’ because ye’er wi’ child.  No’ because ye need me tae drove yer sheep or mend yer fences or tend yer hearth.  I want to be marrit’ to ye because ye’er the only future I wish tae know.”

He was balancing both her hands on his open palms.  She fixated on their size; broad and calloused, yet always gentle with her.  She smiled and felt him take a deep inward breath.

“Jamie… I… that… but we’re already married!” she blurted.

“Aye.  The church ‘as blessed us, and a good thing too.  I feared I would be goin’ tae ‘ell fer all the lustful thoughts I had of ye, bonnie wee thing that ye are.  Tis a relief tae be back in God’s good graces.”

His impudent smirk released the tension from the room.

“Very funny,” she retorted.  “But seriously, Jamie, why are we here?  And what is all this…” she gestured towards the table.

“Have ye ne’er heard of handfasting, my Sassenach lass?  Tis the proper Scottish way tae be marrit’.  When ye’er bound together in the auld way, they say nought can come between ye for a year an’ one day.  Sae I’ll ask ye again, Claire, will ye accept tae be my wife?”

“Of course, you ridiculous man.  Why else would I be standing in Murtagh’s croft in the dead of night, wearing nothing but an overcoat atop my nightgown and slippers?  I swear, James Fraser…”

Any further chastisement was halted by his sudden, emphatic kiss.  She nearly lost herself in his mouth before she remembered Murtagh was only a few feet away, waiting for them to finish their quiet conversation.  Jamie called him back to the room with a shrill whistle.

Standing before the fire, Murtagh first unsheathed the dagger and drew it roughly across Jamie’s outstretched palm.   Claire flinched, but only a few scarlet beads of blood rose from the shallow cut.  Understanding what was coming next, she extended her right hand and received a matching slash.  Jamie then pressed their bleeding palms together.  Murtagh quickly enveloped them in several loops of the tartan sash.

“Is that…?” she asked in wonder.

“Aye, tis a wee strip of my plaid.  Murtagh saved me a piece a’fore ye burned the rest, ye heathen,” he joked, calm now that the ceremony was underway and she hadn’t laughed in his face.

“What now?” Claire asked, feeling the slippery warmth of their co-mingled blood against the fine skin of her wrist.

“We repeat our vows.  I ken ye dinna understand the Gàidhlig, but would ye consider sayin’ the Fraser oaths?  I could translate them for ye and…”

“Jamie,” she interjected.  “Of course I want to use your family’s vows.  I am a Fraser, after all,” she asserted proudly.

Slowly, using only their free hands, Claire and Jamie each grabbed an end of cloth.  Staring at his mouth to capture the nuance of the unfamiliar sounds, Claire slowly repeated after Jamie:

‘S tu smior de mo  chnàimh , na mo chuislean ‘s tu ‘n  fhuil

Bheir mi dhut-sa mo chorp, gum  bith ‘n  dithis mar  aon

Bheir mi dhut-sa  slàn m’  anam , gus an  crìochnaich ar  saoghal

With each phrase, they clumsily tied a knot above their pressed hands, until the room was silent and their hearts were full.  Unsentimental to the last, Murtagh quickly unbound their hands and wiped the blade of his dirk on the plaid.

Jamie opened a nearby cupboard with apparent familiarity and withdrew a half-empty bottle of whiskey, pouring a generous amount in the double-handled cup. Murtagh growled something unintelligible in Gaelic.

“Tis my wedding day, ye auld coot.  Dinna be parsimonious,” Jamie replied easily.

“Tis yer handfasting day, ye muckle-sized eejit, an’ tha’s my only bottle,” Murtagh retorted with no malice.

Claire grinned at their easy banter, happy that Jamie had made a friend in the older man.  Besides her, Murtagh was the only person to know Jamie’s secret.

“Here, Sassenach.  A’fore Murtagh here drinks it himself.”

Grasping the offered cup, which Jamie informed her was called a quaich, in both hands, she took a hasty sip while looking at him over the bowl.  His blue eyes danced in merry amusement.   Receiving the quaich, Jamie finished the amber liquid, watching her all the while.   Something crackled between them, and both could feel the buzz of it in their veins, stronger than any liquor.

“Weel,” Murtagh interrupted, “if tis all the same wi’ you, I’ll be goin’ tae bed.  There’s sheep that require dipping t’morrow.   Godspeed tae ye, lad.  Dinna forget what I told ye about the roads beyond Edin’bra.”

With a polite goodnight to Claire, Murtagh fled to the other room.

“Well,” Claire began.

“Aye.”

At this rate they’d still be standing in the croft’s living area when Murtagh rose at dawn, staring at one another.

“What did you have me say, exactly?” she asked.

“You are the marrow in my bones and the blood in my veins.

I shall give you my body, that we two might be one.

I shall give you my whole soul, until our lives shall be done.”

“Until our lives shall be done?” she asked in a timorous voice.

“Aye, Sassenach.  Ye’er stuck wi’ me,” he tried to jest while they slowly made their way across the courtyard and up the stairs of the main house, leading each other through the dark towards home.

“It’s a good thing I love you then,” she confessed.

“And I you, mo nighean donn.  Come.  Let me show ye how much.”

[shebeafancyflapjack]

The One With Eleanor’s Chair

A cute little piece of S2 Hellstrop fluff I wrote because The One Where Rosita Dies was just on TV and it ends with Joey and Rachel sat enjoying their new La-Z boy together so it gave me ideas.

“Ugh. What are you doing here?” Eleanor asks, entering her creepy house and seeing its very own Architect stood waiting for her in the living room.

She’s past the point of being shocked or angry at him letting himself in as if he lives here, rarely even knocking before barging in. It seems to be an unspoken part of their truce to allow him a permanent invitation into the not-so-private homes he designed for them, as if he had his own demon doggy-door.

Michael raises his palm; “I get it. You’re still pissed at me.”

“Oh, ya think? ‘Don’t worry, Eleanor, Vicky’s only planning on making the unicorn poop a little bit on you’! I wasn’t expecting to be buried alive under it all!” She glowers at him.

“C’mon, it’s not as if it smelt that bad. Unicorn faeces are basically bubblegum.” He tries to console.

“Yeah, and you know how tough that is to get out?! I thought Janet was gonna have to shave my head!” Eleanor removes her jacket; “Look, if you came here to study, I am so not in the mood!”

Chidi and Tahani are out to see some boring ash opera, Jason is having an all-night Madden binge. The one silver lining for Eleanor has been looking forward to a night of sitting on her own watching wedding fails and avoiding every single stupid demon in this fake Heaven, including the one who could do nothing but watch her humiliation earlier today without intervening.

She knows it’s probably unfair, it’s not like he can do anything to help, in case it gives their game away. But that little devilish smirk she’d caught him sharing with Vicky when she thought they weren’t looking made her blood boil and it hasn’t cooled down all day.

“I actually came here to try to make it up to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t help earlier today, truly I am...As funny as it was! Sorry!”

Eleanor steps forward and Michael flinches back when he sees the urge to pummel in her eyes.

“Listen! I wanted to get you something to cheer you up! I thought long and hard about it...Close your eyes.” He smiles, his fingers poised in the air.

She tilts her head at him, suspicious; “Seriously?”

After everything today, he really expects her to let that much of her guard down around him?

“Come on! Remember our Kierkegaard lesson yesterday? Have a little faith!” 

Faith in a demon who has been torturing her for centuries? It’s ridiculous. But she knows there’s no easy way to get rid of him so Eleanor plays along, closing her eyes.

She feels Michael’s hands on her shoulders, guiding her to walk steadily to the side.

“Okay, so...Y’know how I designed all the furniture in this house to be as uncomfortable as possible to torture you? Hence why there’s hardly any cushions and why your back is always aching or your catching yourself on corners-.”

“Is your making-it-up-to-me supposed to be me hearing you brag?”

Because it’s having the opposite effect!

“Just...sit down.” He tells her; “Go on.”

Eleanor tuts and goes for it, keeping her eyes closed, expecting to fall into a giant bucket of pigs blood or whatever the fiendish towering imp has planned.

When her backside lands on something incredibly soft, she gasps, her hands feeling back as the firm cushions seem to instantly settle around her frame. She has to open her eyes, first seeing Michael’s wide grin, before she looks down to examine the chair that has manifested where her wooden excuse for a ‘sofa’ used to be when she entered the house moments ago.

Eleanor beams as she strokes the leather arms.

“Holy fork...Is this...?!”

“Yep. The chair that got you banned from the furniture store for making too many loud, orgasmic noises when you took it for a ‘test ride’.” He tells her, jovially; “With a few upgrades, of course, curtesy of Janet. For example, lift up the flaps on the arm.”

She does so, finding a freshly made margarita in one side and an endless pit of popcorn shrimp on the other.

“Oh, shirt! I’m never getting up again!” She giggles, stuffing several into her mouth before sitting back and switching on the massage system, thrilling as the leather vibrates into her back and shoulders, releasing all the tension that is only bound to appear after three hundred years in mental Hell; “Dude...this is pretty sweet!”

She’s gotta give it up to him. He knows what she wants and how to get around her. And, try as she might, she is a soft touch when it comes to her demon bud.

“So...are we cool?”

Eleanor twists her lips, reaching her foot to give his ankle a soft nudge; “Yeah, you’ve won me over. For now.” She closes her eyes to moan again, barely able to remember the last time she felt truly cosy in this damn house.

“Great! I’ll, uhm...leave you to your Lonely Mid-Thirties Loser Night then!”

“You do that.” She has no shame, nor is she going to try to correct that surely she’s way past that age now, as if she ever told the truth about that before. What’s another three or four lifetimes?

Still. She can’t help but think it was a nice gesture of Michael’s. It’s not like she had expressed any outright anger towards him or pressed him to apologise for letting Vicky overdo the torture.

He just...did it. By himself. He just wanted to cheer up his...friend?

“Hey, bud.” She says before he leaves, “This is a pretty big chair. Fancy filling up the rest of the space?” She scoots a little to the side.

The almost victorious smile almost falters on his face as she manages to surprise him.

“You...want me to stay?” He blushes and then tries to cover it up with a scoff; “I mean, not that I want to, I’m far too busy and our alliance is purely one of convenience so it’s not like I’d be interested in-.”

“I’m gonna watch Friday the 13th, man. Dumb, horny teens getting slashed, what d’you say?”

Ten minutes later, the two are smooshed together on Eleanor’s new chair with a blanket over their laps, cheering at every bloody kill on the tv screen, as if they were watching a sports game, as well as Michael guessing what type of torture would be planned for each murder victim, as well as the killer themselves. They have a good chuckle imagining how the others would react being chased by a masked man wielding an axe. Jason would arm himself with Molotovs. Tahani would be looking to complain to the camp manager. Chidi would defeat the murderer with some philosophical dilemma that would make him commit suicide.

Eleanor leans her head on Michael’s shoulder, his arm having somehow slid around her back, thinking to herself that she should act more upset after all these fake tortures if it means getting spoiled by her very own sugar devil like this.