#sometimes life is just about sustaining yourself to live another day until a better time arrives

[echoesofadream]

I feel the same as you about seventeen like.. theres not that much happiness in my life right now well all the happiness is something I work hard to grab like appreciating a cup of tea and the sunlight... and I feel like its ok that for now, svt is what makes me laugh.. its a bit silly but thats kinda their whole point, their job is to be entertainers that give people good energy and happiness and comfort and im really happy to have found them too .. eventually im sure ill be able to laugh w friends (the members of seventeen) and my partner (minghao) but as of now, ill laugh w them thru the screen<33 -misa

❤️❤️lets enjoy what makes us happy right now im sure so much more happiness will come to us

[thenatvral]

KIP BERMAN OF THE NATVRAL

You are a great storyteller; your lyrics and music are a perfect medium for conveying those tales. Is there a line between fiction and non-fiction, autobiography, and off-limits topics that you adhere to when conceptualising and writing?

Thank you, that’s really cool of you to say. Most everything I write comes from my life, though I’m not sure what that really means – as it’s not just my experiences, but people I’ve known and tried to know a bit better by looking out their eyes.

One thing I’ve noticed with my solo music is that sometimes I come at an idea I’ve written about a while back, but it seems the model has shifted their pose, or the light has changed. Some of my new songs “check in” on older songs – “Carolina” is one such song. Its’ subject is, more or less, the same as “The Tenure Itch.” That older song was fixated on the more prurient elements, the dynamics of power and sex. If it seemed a bit judgemental, it’s not exactly covering its eyes or averting it’s gaze either. It’s a bit of a “peeping tom” of a tune, looking through other people’s windows. But in “Carolina” I want to know “what happens after? Are you alright? Am I?” Maybe its concern still isn’t entirely noble, and that’s fine. But something has changed with what I’m after. Same goes with “Stephanie Don’t Live Here Anymore.” It could be another telling of “A Teenager in Love” – an old PAINS song. But where that one romanticized this uncompromising and ultimately destructive devotion to ideals and absolutes, “Stephanie…” is more cautionary. It’s thinking about my place – and culpability - in all that mess. It’s less an anthem (or elegy) for doomed youth and more a “hey kids, be careful.”

It doesn’t seem like anything needs to be off limits, but I do change some names to avert angry ghosts and awkward texts.

Every artist has their own methodology and approach when conceiving a tune, converting it from a concept and turning it into a tangible form. Can you talk us through your approach?

I have no idea starting out – or at least, I’ve never been able to write a song with intention “about” something. I do admire people like Billy Bragg, Pete Seeger, Joan Baez, or anyone that can. Me, I just pick up my guitar and sing while I strum. If it’s memorable, I’ll remember it. If I remember it after a while I’ll start giving it form, writing it down and building it out. But if I’ve forgotten it, I trust it’s forgettable.

Your latest release was one born out of an all too familiar time of lockdown and the global pandemic. This in its own right must have been a powerful and unfolding story to immerse yourself in and be stimulated creatively in ways that up until that time would have seemed improbable and unimaginable?

You know, it’s a hard time to talk about. Not because it was such a tragedy that it couldn’t even be spoken of. Nor because it was somehow “not so bad” or trivial—it certainly wasn’t. But it’s almost impossible to talk about those times ‘cuz we were all there. It’s like working in a family business, then asking your brother or mother “how was work?” No one wants to go there because everybody was there. And besides, this record isn’t about that time, it just came out of that time.

But the abrupt shift in the rhythms of how I was living opened me up. All day I was just trying to sustain a kind of mundane normalcy for my two kids who had just turned 4 years old and 18 months when it all started. It was whatever the opposite of what people think “ideal artistic circumstances” might be, certainly not the stuff of writers’ retreats or communing with babbling brooks or whatever. And I was far from remarkable in any of this, as my partner was working from home so tremendously hard – seemingly around the clock and still finding time to be with us in important ways. And of course it wasn’t just us, everyone out there was doing all they could just to get to the next day, intact- many without the privilege of taking shelter. Without school, their friends, or even playgrounds, I just did my best to make sure my children had routines, washed their hands, and had someone to use as a makeshift jungle gym (me).

When they went to bed at night I was exhausted – mentally especially, as there seemed no end in sight. I bet they were too. Every day was going to be like the one before. But in the moments when I could go to the basement and play my guitar a bit, I was doing a lot of cover songs, and singing everything from Margo Guryan and The Stones to Third Eye Blind and Galaxie 500. Some songs came naturally enough, others surprised me – but I felt I could try all sorts of things. And in my own music I was writing—and there were loads of songs that never made it on the record – it felt like the feelings and the desires weren’t so confined to (my own) expectation.

In that earlier question you asked about how I would take “something I want to say” and put it in a song-- it’s pretty much opposite. I don’t know what I want to say. I “say stuff,” and the meaning only comes to me when I listen back to what I’ve said. I have to interpret my own music, and sometimes even my interpretations change. There’s some part of me that can only come out when there’s an absence of intention. If I watch my own pot, I never boil.

Recorded during the height of the pandemic, it is inevitable that those times and feelings would be impregnated on the album. Particularly as it was a global unknown for so many which for most involved a lot of soul searching, isolation, and inner exploration. Now on the other side of such times, what is your take on the music you made and its relation to then, now, and the future?

I’m surprised by it, listening to it now. How did I make a record like this? I could go back and listen to what I was doing just a few years before with PAINS— and not just the sounds or the instruments, but my voice. Why does it sound like this now? Why do I lean into it when I used to try to hide it, obscure it? Why do I record mostly live and loose, when I used to be meticulous in search of some ideal? It wasn’t the pandemic or lockdown - this was happening before. No one wants to hear some cliché about “when I became a parent everything changed, man.” That’s a lot of bull. But I do think it casts your identity in this entirely different perspective – not the hackneyed “mature, gaining perspective on life, man” singer-songwriter BS. It’s more like you become unafraid of yourself because now all your worries are for other people. It’s liberating, sort of.

Was there a desire to demarcate where Tethers ended and Summer of No Light began so as to keep them as separate entities or is the new album in your mind simply a continuation?

I was fortunate in that I wrote Summer of No Light before Tethers came out. I had recorded Tethers in 2019 and was set to release it in Spring 2020, but because of, you know… the record was shelved for well over a year. So I wrote these new songs with no sense of expectation or even dialog with how people may have received Tethers.

Some artists really get off on “answering their critics” or “telling the haters where to go,” and all that. But I think it’s a dangerous thing to be in dialog with anything other than your own heart, your own muse. Rarely does anyone get the chance of creating in a vacuum – but between the isolation of lockdown and the first record not being released, I was able to do just that.

Drawing parallels between this time and that of the climate crisis of 1816. Where do those lines intersect and where do they diverge in terms of how you see the past and the present and how those thoughts are reflected in Summer of No Light?

I know I may look a bit worse for wear, but I wasn’t actually alive for the one in 1816.

But I did find the story of Mary Godwin (later Shelley), her (then married to another) lover Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, and his lover (Mary’s half-sister) Claire Clairmont as debauched, barely-adults passing the time in a time of crisis by getting fucked up and fucking, while finding partial escape in writing to be… relatable— and also, not.

When I had just finished school, I was riding out a summer at a crumbling rental house in Portland, Oregon with some dubious characters, including one that – 20 years later – I’m now married to. For the record, she wasn’t all that dubious, then or now. I was working/napping in a library by day. The nights went on ’til dawn, but usually ended with being the first customers at the local bagel shop, possessing a now-unbelievable belief that no one “could tell” we’d been up all night. Unlike 1816, literary works of the stature of Frankenstein were not composed. I wrote a lot of songs that rhymed “night” with “alright.” More the stuff of Dracula, really. I was playing guitar in a band with my best friend that sounded like a not-so-good version of The Strokes. The less said about this time, the better. “Summer of Hell” might fill you in on the details. I do love the Stokes, though.

In 2020 I was taking shelter - and yes, I’m aware of the privilege to take shelter- as Mary did - and peering out the window at these lurking specters: covid, climate change, and the social upheaval happening all around as a suddenly vulnerable capitalism sputtered to a halt (though that silver lining was short-lived). And what was I even doing? Just trying to keep the ordinary things feel ordinary for my family and writing songs in my basement. They sounded less like The Strokes this time.

I still don’t know what any of it means. I felt pulled between the necessity of the present and a desire for anything else. I don’t think I was unique in that. On Earth, no one was having much fun. So, there I was, mourning the recent past and imagining an older one that offered some solace. And if I conflated other ‘summers of no light’ with the one of literary legend - it all made the present seem a bit more normal. We’d done this before, we’ll do it again- no doubt.

Having fronted Pains of Being Pure at Heart and most recently as a solo artist, how did your time with your precious outfits inform and shape your solo work and satisfy the creative urge you were seeking from it?

With PAINS there seemed to be too much need to have “stuff” to play music – pedal boards, certain amps—even a full group of 5 people. As The Natvral, I wanted to make music that only needed the song – just my voice and a guitar. Yeah, I’ll play with a band sometimes, and that’s a cool way to interpret the songs. But really, I can say “yes” to anything. I don’t want to poison this music with “stuff,” I just want to sing you a song, and as long as I have air in my lungs I can do that.

As the world is in an endless state of flux and in navigating all of life’s ever-evolving challenges, what has been the one constant or guiding principle that you have applied to your music and career?

“The best bands are just the best ideas.”

Having yourself been influenced by countless artists, and also having released a hefty body of work over the years, does your attention occasionally turn to thinking about how is it that you have influenced others and how your music has come to inspire fellow musicians and upcoming artists?

I’ll start with my old band - every once in a while, I see videos of kids in Indonesia, The Philippines – and even Japan either covering old PAINS songs or playing music that is part of the lineage of what we did. There’s a band called The Bunbury from Yogyakarta, Indonesia that’s great! Another called Morningwhim in Japan that’s cool too. It’s extremely heartening to think about a bunch of Americans like us in the 00’s and 10’s being inspired by bands mostly from the UK in the 80s or 90s and then that sound becoming most entrenched half-way around the world as its own distinct thing in this decade. There’s real community, a scene of DIY kids doing what they love just cuz. It feels so familiar, so relatable. Even though my bandmates in PAINS came from different backgrounds – I think too often there were people on the outside that saw the kind of music we loved as something that was only for “certain” kinds of people. It relieves me to see kids that have totally different experiences, language, culture and religion – can use jangly, noisy music to express something vital to them.

As for my new music, The Natvral? Maybe I can convince people to spend less on boutique guitar pedals and hand-wired amps, and more time just trying to make something cool out of what you already have? And you already have yourself. But it’s too early to think about that.

Performing live must surely be one of the most enjoyable moments of any release or tour and the last time Musicology had the pleasure of catching you live was at Rough Trade London during an in-store performance. Can you share with us a highly memorable gig you have played throughout your career and what made it so special?

With my old group, PAINS, I wrote the songs in my bedroom, and I simply wanted to impress Peggy, Alex, and Kurt and maybe play a show at Cake Shop with Crystal Stilts, My Teenage Stride, or Pants Yell– people we thought were cool. But when our first record came out, there started to be this feeling at the shows that went beyond how it felt playing to our 12 friends at Cake Shop.

Our show at Chorlton Irish Center in Manchester was one such gig, as was Primavera Sound in 2009 – our first festival and first time in Spain, a country that became so special to us and seemed to really embrace what we were about. But as the years passed, the more I tried to make our performances “good” the less that uncorrupted spirit happened. We could barely play when we started, but for some reason no one really noticed. When we eventually tried to do things like “tune” and “know what songs came next in the set,” it felt like we had made some inadvertent transgression against the shambolic gods of indiepop. It was almost as if we engendered some cosmic “tsk tsk” from Stephen Pastel, Comet Gain, or Amelia Fletcher.

That show you saw at Rough Trade, where there was no mic and just a borrowed acoustic, that’s the kind of thing that feels right to me. I just want people to hear the songs, and I don’t want anything material to get in the way.

Lastly, what does music give you that nothing else does?

When I play music I feel connected to myself and – sometimes - something beyond myself. Not aggrandized or special, mind you. But I feel this connection to something essential and enduring in what it means to be a person. Anywhere on earth, however far you want to go back - there was always someone like me singing a song of love, of loss, desire, frustration, or whimsical nonsense. They were bored, perhaps. And they could have been doing something more practical, sure. Maybe their parents said they ought to go to Hammurabi’s Coding Camp, or Solon the Lawgiver’s Law School. But for whatever reason, they didn’t. Their friends or family might have laughed or scoffed - but also, maybe asked to hear that one again. Every time that ever was a time is now mostly forgotten— and my time will be forgotten too. But it still happened. And, it meant something. Playing music means something. It is a gesture against the void.

Plus, it’s pretty fun

[blzzrdstryr]

Chrysalis

Yandere!Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount:2115

CW:Yandere themes

Working for Albedo isn’t that bad - the payment is good, the knowledge he provides is even better - a chance to delve into exclusive alchemical research with a widely acknowledged genius is a far more valuable award than any amount of mora or jewels could ever be. Said prodigy isn’t an awful person to work with either - he’s polite and well mannered, careful not to offend anyone even if his words can be cold and cutting sometimes. Most of the time Albedo is a pleasant company to be around, if one would turn a blind eye to his quirks.

For instance, he has a weird and frankly unnerving habit of staring at you - his teal eyes track your littlest movements as you set up an alchemical apparatus and prepare needed solutions. At first you thought he was overseeing you, checking if you had made any mistake as a fledgling alchemist, yet this hypothesis was quickly disproved when you caught him gazing off working hours. You never voiced your complaints - you wanted to keep your job and study, and maybe he is too socially blind to see how his behavior could be received by others.

Today would also be a great example of an alchemist's lack of tact - he requested you accompany him everywhere for the last few weeks, taking you from the cold heights of Dragonspine to sunny and bustling streets of Mondstadt. You two are sitting in the corner of his laboratory designed for rest and food and share a meal: two portions of his favorite fish, despite being nothing more than the employer and employee or teacher and student.

Albedo doesn’t seem to get or mind what kind of rumours he causes with this seemingly blatant favouritism before you, no he looks as calm as usual as he plunges into the dish with fork and knife.

“[First]”, he says, after the first bite: “Have the aches stopped bothering you?”, a hint of concern and something else. Two or three weeks ago you developed a strange soreness in the different parts of your body - wrists, neck, heart, legs - it would appear suddenly, burning and throbbing and making you gasp, leaving you tired and nauseous afterwards. No one could find the source of the problem, not even Albedo, yet after some time these far from pleasant sensations got subdued, easier to bear and endure.

His hand reaches for your left wrist, thumb caressing the skin, and he pulls it closer to his face, eyes examining the sore spot. You don’t protest, stunned by his sudden action.

“Hm, that’s”, he mumbles, more to himself than you: “that’s good”, he concludes, letting go of your limb.

“What’s good? Did something change?” you inquire, instantly forgetting to take offense at his grabbing.

“You could say that”, Albedo ambiguously says and returns to his fish. You ask the alchemist what he meant, but all you get are even vaguer answers and long silence in the end, as he finishes his meal and nudges you to start your own sunshine sprat.

In the end your questions remain unacknowledged, as Albedo leaves displaying you to accompany him. Surprisingly he heads for the gardens instead of the library, his step light and fast. “Master Albedo” you start, seeing that alchemist is in his creative mood again: “shouldn’t you bring an easel or sketchbook with you?”

“No, [First], I don’t intend to draw, not now. This walk is for me to get some inspiration”, Albedo quickly replies, still walking ahead: “In this time of year the environment changes so rapidly, it provides a mind with a lot of good ideas. You should come with me too, alchemy is a science of change, creation and destruction and nature is better at these three aspects than any of us”. He adds, seemingly sensing the next question you would ask.

He walks near the bushes, teal eyes focused on the blooming fragrant flowers, before he squats, pushing some of the wigs back.

“[First]”, he turns his head in your direction: “you should come and see”. You comply, curious what has caught Albedo’s attention, squatting near him and looking at one of the inner branches usually hidden by others.

It’s an ordinary dark cocoon. You almost turn your head again, before the slightest of movements catches your attention - it’s an insect trying to break out. Chrysalis cracks and deforms as a fledgling butterfly makes way past it’s confines. One second and it stretches its wings, revealing a vibrant blue coloration, the next it leaves it’s former cell entirely, elegantly soaring into the air, it’s azure wings lazily flapping, as it makes its way to the other bush.

“Fascinating”, Albedo breathes out, eyes still on the disappearing figure of the insect: “It transformed to such a great extent”.

You hear a hint of excitement in his voice - he wants to share his thoughts or knowledge then - and nod, prompting him to continue.

“Did you know that a larva needs to literally dissolve itself to reach the next stage of its life? After caterpillar finishes its cocoon, it produces enzymes that turn most of its tissue into a liquid matter and only after that does it rebuilds into an entirely new form”, he turns his gaze back to you, usually cold and thoughtful eyes now warm and dreamy: “Sometimes, I think humans are meant to metamorphose too”.

“How so?” you ask, tilting the head.

“Humans, despite all complexity and intelligence, are still fragile creatures. They’re prone to sickness and ailments and in the end old age ends those who managed to evade death before. Wouldn't it be better if one could go through metamorphosis, be reborn free from pain and hunger and constant threat of passing away? Those humans could live on forever and dedicate themselves to the higher cause without having to worry about dying and suffering".

You raise eyebrows, surprised by the sudden “outburst” - Albedo, despite his partially philosophical nature, has never shared his inner thoughts so freely, not to you at least. He, either out of embarrassment or deep contemplation, shifts his eyes somewhere behind you, and you turn back, following his eyes. He looks at the statue of Barbatos.

Tall and proud, it looks magnificent in the day’s sunlight, golden rays making it glow and shine with the fairness of the marble. Looking at this epitome of unchanging vision, you suddenly get an answer to Albedo’s thoughts and you voice it out the same second:

“Wouldn’t it negate the meaning of life then? Nature breeds diversity - the reason why we have so many flowers is because some kinds aren't adapted to particular conditions and so they change, producing entirely new types of plants. Eternal and undying beings, unconcerned with the earthly matters would have no need to reproduce and pass on its features to the next generation, depriving the world of thousand possible combinations. No new life would be created if the old one could be perfectly sustained".

"That's how you see it", Albedo replies, placing a now empty husk of the cocoon inside your palm - the testament of the nature’s miracle, the testament of one's ability to change: “I’ve witnessed many wonderful sights for today”, he adds, still looking at you, surrounded by flowers and flying butterflies, light breeze playing with your hair and sun illuminating your whole figure with a gentle golden glow.

You part with Albedo shortly after - he closes himself in the lab, before checking up on your sore spots again, quietly mumbling something to himself the whole time. You head for your house and open the alchemical textbook, studying it until late night. That place on the wrist slightly throbs at every movement.

Only when your eyelids fill up with lead and thoughts slow down from the general fatigue you allow yourself to head for the bed, falling asleep the second your head touches the pillow. You see phantasmagorical dreams - of you being a bulging and large larva, spending days simply eating green leaves, until a strange urge overcomes your entire being and you start to build something - a cocoon. Now, surrounded by pitch black darkness you feel a burning sensation - enzymes, enzymes that will dissolve your tissue. Pain quickly escalates and you want to scream and cry, but you can’t - you’re an insect you don’t have vocal glands or tear ducts to do so. Who could have known that butterflies suffer so much?

You writhe and squirm, caged by your liquifying body and hard chrysalis around you and you are in so much agony you want to die.

And then you wake up. All sweaty and distressed you grab at your wrist - it hurts so much, your entire body is on fire, it seems that you have another episode of that strange soreness. You quickly rise to your feet, snatching the painkillers from the nightstand and downing them with a gulp of water. As medicine begins it’s work you lay in the bed again, ready to fall asleep and forget the midnight pains, as you see something that makes your breath hitch and heartbeat fasten from fear.

A strange greyish white discoloration on your wrist in the same place that used to throb this evening. You touch it and it leaves a dry white imprint on your fingers, it also doesn’t have any strange smell.

You rise and quickly dress up, barely suppressed panic and anxiety dispelling the last remains of sleep. The walk towards the Favonius HQ’s is short, especially when you break into a sprint on the way. He is here, he is working into the night today. Quickly passing sleepy knights you climb on the second floor and almost run to one particular door, loudly knocking at it.

Just as you expected, there’s a sound of footsteps and soon a familiar voice asks: “Who is here?”.

“It’s me, master Albedo”, you say, feeling how the pain returns despite the painkillers taken: “you said to report if something changes, with my aches. It changed”.

The words you say and desperation accompanying them prompts alchemist to open the door, as he gestures you to come in, and shut the door as you do so:

“Strip”, he says, mind back to the analytical mode, you comply, feeling ashamed with every second Albedo continues to observe you: “Wait, there’s something on your neck”.

A cool touch to your skin, a short yelp, another burst of pain. You fall on your knees, blinded and deafened by sheer agony. Alchemist produces a distressed noise, walking up to your collapsed figure and carrying you to the nearby table.

He pushes alchemical apparatus away, turning the table into a makeshift bed, and gently lowers you down. “[First]”, his hand card through your hair, while the other nudges a mug with some brew to your lips: “There’s nothing to worry about, your metamorphosis progresses as it should be”.

“Metamorphosis.. What are you talking about?”, you ask, panic creeping into the question. Alchemist looks you straight into the eyes, an eerie smile blooming on his face as he hears it: "Isn’t it obvious? You're going to change and I will help you with that".

“Change?! Change into what?”

“Into a better version of human of course. Do you think I would let you get old or sick and die? You’re too dear to me to do that, you should live and experience a life free from human limitations”, for the first time in your life you’re terrified of him. Albedo always seemed so knowledgeable and calm to you, like a wise wizard from the childhood fairytales, yet now he looks mad and devoid of any humanity:“You shouldn’t worry about these stains, they will disappear once your transformation is complete. Those are just chalk you see, a side effect of your tissues changing over the weeks”.

“When did.. When did you start it?”, you croak out, sensing the agony returning and growing again. It hurts so much I can barely think.

“Dragonspine. You were eating with me”.

You want to insult and accuse him, yet another wave of pain renders you speechless, short huffs and whimpers escaping you as tears start to stream down your face.

“I understand it can be very stressful to you, given how change of this scale is always carrying a great risk”, his voice adopts the same philosophical tone: “The purpose of cocoon is protection of the soon-to-be butterfly from the external harm and influence that could lead to other complications and we don’t want any of that”.

He cards his hand through your hair again, a mockery of a concern dyeing his next words: “You shouldn’t worry, I will be a good chrysalis to your metamorphosis”.

You black out from pain.

[watchyourbluesturngolden]

I'm OBSESSED w/the Howard Stern fic and I was wondering if you could write another interview w/ Howard like matbe it's the first interview after you had gone pubblic... there's a line in your fic “I remember though, at first we were all a little uncertain about her. She’s not exactly like the other women you have a history with"...just like building on that and "I just mean, we were used to seeing you with models and actresses.."where yn is introvert,normal grl who helped H w/his mentalhealth

first of all thank you so much 🥺 it means a lot to me that you liked that other fic that much! i changed your request a little bit because i honestly couldn't picture harry opening up this much in an interview with howard stern slkfjdslkfj but i hope you like it!

tysm to @ssacalumsg0lden for beta reading for me :)))))

zane lowe

warnings: mentions of bad relationships

word count: 1.6k

"So what have you been up to, Harry?" Zane asked, leaning his arm against the picnic table.

"You know, the usual. Some music stuff," Harry said. "But I'm also trying to spend a lot of time with my family and friends. It's so hard to do that when you're on tour or working on a new album, it kind of takes over your life. So I like to try and make sure to do that whenever I'm able to."

"That's good, it helps to stay grounded."

Harry nodded. "It's very easy, I think, to get swept away from your normal life. So I try to surround myself with the people I love as much as possible, for the sake of my sanity," he laughed.

"That's good, it's important to do that," Zane nodded. "Do you notice a positive change in your mood now that you do that?"

"I do, very much," Harry nodded, a light blush tinting his cheeks as he smiled. "I've... There's a few new people I've gotten very close with, and it's made me so much happier."

Harry was, of course, talking about you. His girlfriend of one year. The woman who had changed his life.

Harry knew his relationship with you was different than ones he'd had before. Before, relationships weren't relaxing. They weren't something that made him feel safe, or a space for him to unwind after a long day. They were just something else he had to expend energy on. He was always performing, always trying to make his girlfriend happy, even if that meant sacrificing his own sleep, or comfort, or happiness.

But with you, it was different. For once, he didn't have to be anyone except himself. He didn't have to force himself to stay at afterparties for hours and hours, drinking too much and talking to people he didn't really know. He didn't have to come home after a long day, only to get cleaned up and get ready to go out for a fancy dinner. He didn't have to fake anything, not with you. He could just... be. For the first time in his life, he felt like he could completely be himself, no changes needed.

He had never really been with an introvert before; his previous relationships were always go go go. The next party, the next after party, the next after after party. It was exhausting, if he was being honest. Of course he appreciated the opportunity to celebrate with his friends and meet new people, but sometimes he was just tired. He was tired of being Harry Styles, the pop star who parties constantly. Sometimes he just wanted to come home and decompress, talk to his girlfriend about his day, and ask about hers. He was tired of being on all the time.

Which is why he loved his relationship with you so much. With you, everything seemed easy. Since you were decidedly an introvert, the majority of your evenings with him were spent watching movies in either one of your living rooms. On the nights you did go out (usually suggested by Harry, because you would honestly be fine to stay in every night) you didn't go to extravagant gatherings or five star restaurants. You preferred to explore smaller local shops and cafes, or old book stores, or antique stores, or walk around in a park, or go for a picnic. Places where you and Harry could just be together, without the pressure of others around you.

Harry was happier than he'd ever been. He didn't realize exactly how tiring it was to go out every night until he stopped doing it.

At first though, you were a little concerned about his sudden change of habits. You worried he would begin to resent you for keeping him in every night, since you really weren't interested in going out. After you had been dating for about 2 months, you decided to ask him about it.

"Harry, if you want to go out and... get drinks with your friends, or just meet up with them, you can," you said encouragingly. "I don't want you to feel like you can't do anything just because I don't like going out, I promise I'm not going to be upset if you want to do stuff like that." You were a little shy speaking about this, because it had been an issue before. It's really hard to sustain a relationship when one half wants to go out and have fun every night, and the other just wants to stay in and watch Netflix.

His eyes widened a little and he shook his head. "That's not- I mean if you're sick of having me here..." his voice took on a teasing tone.

"Yeah, because the way I cuddle you constantly really makes it seem like I want you to leave," you rolled your eyes. "But I'm serious, I don't want you to feel like I'm keeping you from doing stuff."

"You don't," he said quickly. "I feel like in other relationships I’ve had, I had to be on all the time. I was ready to go out whenever, we would shut down every party, we were just running around constantly, and I... was so over it," he dropped his head against your shoulder, laughing. "I would so much rather stay in. I mean, I still like going out sometimes, but I really don't have any desire to be like that anymore. I felt like shit all the time because I was always hungover and sleep deprived. Also... I kind of felt like the only reason people wanted to be with me wasn't because they liked me, they just liked the idea of me. They liked the friends and connections I had, they liked the parties I could take them to. I felt... kind of used, I guess. I never felt like I could just be myself, because that's not why they wanted to be with me."

You frowned, bringing your hand up to run your fingers through his hair. "I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve that. I don't want you to feel like that anymore, okay? I want you to feel safe enough with me that you can just be yourself. And I really hope you know the reason I want to be with you. I want to be with you for you, not parties or connections or anything else."

You heard a quiet sniffle, and although his head was in your neck, you could tell he was crying.

"Baby, don't cry," you cooed soothingly, continuing to play with the little hairs at the back of his neck.

"I just... I love you," he said quietly. "And I know it's soon, but I do. I've never been more sure of anything. You don't have to say it back-"

"I love you too," you cut him off quietly. "Very, very much."

-----

Harry smiled as he thought back on that conversation. "Yeah. Definitely a positive change in my mood.

"I'm very glad to hear that," Zane said. "The right person can really change everything."

"They can," Harry agreed. "And that shows, in my music as well as my personal life. When I was writing Fine Line, I was having some of the lowest points of my life. Some of the highest too, but that just goes to show that I had no stability. I was just constantly up and down, thrown from super high highs to very low lows. I just felt... bad, a lot. But now I'm in a much better place, I think, and I think you can really hear that on this new record."

"Well, I'm very excited to hear it!" Zane smiled. "I think we all are."

"Thank you," Harry blushed. "There's a few songs on there that I'm very excited to share. Some very personal ones, so that's a little nerve wracking, but overall," he laughed lightly. "Overall I think they're some of my favorites that I've ever written."

"And are these songs about a certain person?"

"They are," Harry smiled. "She's the reason I'm in this better place. She's the reason I've been able to process so many of my emotions and put them into songs like this, so really she's the one you'll have to thank when the album comes out."

"She sounds wonderful," Zane smiled, looking out over the waves crashing on the shore.

"She is," Harry nodded, following the other man's gaze. "She's really... she's everything."

-----

"Harry, that was amazing," you grinned, launching yourself into his arms. The interview had concluded about an hour ago, and Harry just arrived home with takeout from the Chinese place you both loved.

"Thank you," he smiled, setting the bags down before he hugged you back. "Missed you, though."

"Missed you too." You leaned up to kiss him, but pulled away before it could go too far. "But I'm hungry. Let's eat?"

"Sure," he laughed, picking up the bags to bring them to the table. "Uh- I'm sorry if I said anything too personal, I didn't mean to take it so far. I was just thinking about how much I love you-"

"It's okay," you cut in. "I loved it, I promise it's okay."

"That's good," he leaned over to kiss your cheek. "I honestly had to hold myself back a lot, once i start talking about you it's hard to stop."

Your cheeks burned from the compliments, and you moved to return the tender gesture. "You're so sweet," you smiled. "But I'm, like, starving, so can we talk about this later?"

"Sure we can," Harry laughed. "Anything for you. You're everything."

[mercy-burning]

The 13th Hour

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer conduct a 12-hour sexual experiment Category: SMUT (this isn’t as hardcore as it could have been, but it’s still explicit, so 18+ only) Warnings: Some language, Sex (edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, female receiving oral sex, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare) Word Count: 3.8k

Full Request: “...Okay... Spencer running a little experiment on you, seeing how many times he can edge you... and then how many times he can make you cum, being all clinical and scientific about it, I just can’t get the idea out of my head! Congrats on 1k🥰🥰🥰” — @bluesunrise02

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

NOTE: I know I’ve read something similar to this before, but I can’t for the life of me remember whose post it was, so if any of you remember, or know of another concept like this, please let me know! I hope this isn’t too similar, I did try to make it a little different than what I remember from the other fic. I hope you enjoy it! Also, DISCLAIMER! I’m... not really sure if it’s realistic for this to happen in 12 hours, so excuse me if that’s a little out there. I hope it’s okay!

***

HOUR 1

It was something the two of you had talked about before, but with both your crazy schedules, it was hard to find the time. But once there was a weekend where you and Spencer realized you both had off, there was no question about it. This was your time.

There was a notebook in his hands as he examined your body, laid out perfectly for him to do whatever he wanted. Though, seeing him writing things down now seemed strange considering he wasn't actually doing anything.

"What could you possibly be taking note of right now?" you questioned, verbalizing your minor concern.

He just looked up from his work and smirked at you, only for a few seconds before he went back, jotting something else down.

To experiment on your own, you closed your legs and rubbed your thighs together, hoping he'd get the signal.

The second he put his hands on your knees to spread your legs open again, you almost broke down right there. Because you finally realized why he was talking forever to get started.

He was making you wait for it. Getting you excited and antsy.

"Keep 'em open for me, sweet girl," he said softly as he ran the tip of his pencil over your bare thighs. The sensation admittedly made you clench around nothing, and he smiled, returning to write something down.

But then he was done teasing. He set the notebook and pencil down and sat beside you, making sure you looked him in the eyes before he spoke. "Are you sure you still want to go through with this? You know whenever you feel like it, you just say the safeword and we'll stop."

You smiled up at him with a slight nod and reached out to grab his hand. "I'm ready when you are, Doc."

He squeezed your hand and leaned down to kiss you sweetly. Though, the sweetness didn't last. After you started to get squirmy, his hands gently roaming your bare body as he kissed you for about a half hour—Yes, a half hour—he relented, trailing his kisses down to the insides of your thighs. By the time he actually truly touched you, you were already a whimpering mess.

If that was any indication as to how the rest of the day would go, you were in trouble. Good trouble, sure, but trouble nonetheless.

He took it easy, gently swiping his tongue out to tease your clit as his middle finger slowly—and torturously so—entered in and out of you. Whenever he could tell that you were getting closer to orgasm, he pulled back, pressing gentle kisses to the insides of your thighs again and then returning to his work sometime later.

This was a cycle that kept repeating until about another half hour had passed, and Spencer retreated to take more notes.

"You feeling okay?" he asked, brushing the hair from your face.

You smiled up at him, a little frustrated at not being able to get off, but blissed out nonetheless at all the build-up. "Mhm...

HOUR 5

By now he'd brought out the weakest vibrator you had, keeping it on a low setting as he alternated between pressing it to your clit and pumping it in and out of you. In between hours, you'd been drinking water and eaten a few decent snacks to keep yourself hydrated and fed.

You were nearing the end of the first half of the day, and after this next hour you'd be able to stop for an hour to eat lunch and take a break.

But you couldn't focus on that right now.

No, right now you were too busy gasping and moaning out every time Spencer's tongue flicked and swirled over your clit as his fingers worked the vibrator in and out of your body.

The pressure was building and building, and like it had become second nature at this point, you tapped his head to let him know you were on the brink. So he pulled away completely, leaving you whimpering and sweating.

He turned the vibrator off and came to sit next to you rather than in front of you. His hand grazed your cheek as he looked down at you, his gentle and caring nature instantly calming you down.

"Keep going?" he asked softly, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip.

You kissed it and nodded, knowing you could hold out for another forty minutes or so. "I can do it."

"I know you can, sweet girl. Just a little longer, and then we can take a break."

He kissed you sweetly again before returning to his spot in front of you, and the sound of the vibrator turning on immediately set your insides aflame.

This time, he pressed it to your clit, and you jumped at the sensation. And as if that wasn't enough, he leaned forward and added his tongue to the mix, both of them completely overtaking your senses and sending you into a tailspin.

It didn't take very long for you to need to tap his head again, and he chuckled as he pulled away, leaning into your thigh. "So soon already, baby?" he mused.

"I can take it, I just... I need... more frequent breaks," you breathed, trying to look up at him and failing to keep your head up.

"Oh, that's gonna make the second half of this little experiment so much fun," he mused again, and then dove head-first back into said experiment.

HOUR 6

You were sitting at the kitchen table, and your legs felt like they might fall off. When you told Spencer this, he laughed and reassured you that you'd be fine, but let you know kindly that if you didn't want to go through with the rest of this and stop for the day, that was more than okay, too.

He made you toast and cereal for lunch, despite his protests to get you to eat something a bit more sustainable. But you insisted that you had to have Lucky Charms and toast, and really, who was he to say no to you?

It didn't take long for you to eat, so the both of you spent the rest of your hour-long break cuddled on the couch. You were wrapped in a soft new robe he'd just bought you for an anniversary present, snuggled into his side as he rubbed your head, his fingers brushing through your hair and almost making you fall asleep. And you probably would have, too, if not for the fact that you knew what was coming next.

Despite the slight exhaustion that was starting to wash over you, it kept you awake and alive with electricity just thinking about what the next few hours would entail.

HOUR 8

You'd ended up dozing off a little longer than expected, no doubt throwing off your experiment a little bit, but once you woke up on the couch to find Spencer taking more notes in his book, the feeling you had (relaxed and refreshed and ready to go again) let you know it was worth it.

"Can I see what you're writing?" you mumbled, reaching out to pull him closer to you.

"You can tomorrow. I want you to be as unbiased as possible, so you're gonna have to wait."

You kissed his neck and nuzzled into it, already feeling replenished and ready for phase 2. "Whatever you say, Doctor," you hummed into his skin.

About 20 minutes of making out on the couch, some water, and a bathroom break later, you found yourself perched on the bed again, this time leaning against the headboard and toying the hem of your robe, which you'd left on and open, per your boyfriend's request.

He watched you intently as your hands started to roam, slightly pushing the silk aside to expose your breasts and then gently kneading them. Under his intense staring you felt yourself grow wet again already, and it was... well, intense, for lack of a better word.

After being edged for five hours straight, even with a decent break in between, everything that was happening seemed to be amplified, every sense heightened so that with every touch and even every look, it likely wouldn't take long for you to start falling apart again.

And you couldn't wait.

Rather than tell Spencer this, you showed him, spreading your legs wide and pouting, running your hands down your front and then resting your fingers promptly at the crease of your thighs.

"Eager already?" he laughed, writing something down.

"Mhm," you whined in earnest, though you'd have been lying if you said you didn't do it to catch his attention, too.

Whether that's what did it or not, you were excited to see that he set the notebook down and was making his way to nestle between your legs once more. As he kissed the insides of your right thigh you reached out to run your fingers through his hair.

"You remember your safeword if anything gets to be too much?" he asked, pausing his trail of kisses to look you in the eye.

You nodded, repeating the word, "Raven." The day you walked into the BAU for the first time, the first time you met, he was reading The Raven, and the two of you had a decent discussion about it for hours once you'd had some free time.

And even that was before the both of you had realized just how compatible you two were. You shared a lot of the same interests, and where you didn't know about something, he'd teach you, and vice versa.

That philosophy also happened to extend into your sex lives.

You didn't even really know you were into edging and overstimulation until one night Spencer would not stop teasing you, bringing you to the edge just to pull back until you were begging for him to finish the job.

Now look at where you were.

His finger teasing your pussy and gathering the slickness that had unsurprisingly already started to form there brought you out of your fond daydream. You looked down at him, sighing out at the way he looked in that moment and the way he made you feel. And when his middle and ring fingers slowly pushed into you, his mouth dropping open and forming a small 'o' as he worked so curiously, you start to realize just how lucky you'd gotten.

HOUR 10

"Fuck, baby, please!"

Spencer came to a halt then, keeping himself buried deep inside of you as you gasped out for air.

"You wanna cum again, sweet girl?" he cooed, reaching down to cup your cheek.

You looked up at him and nodded, small whines escaping that closely resembled Mhm.

You'd already cum twice per hour since you'd started phase 2 of this experiment, but with only a few left to go, you pushed through the fatigue and focused on everything else. At first you tried to delay yourself again, thinking that maybe the payoff would be better and the overstimulation wouldn't be as bad, but you were sorely mistaken. After the third time you came, it was clear that there wouldn't be anything you could do unless you stopped it altogether, and you didn't want to. You knew your limits, and if there ever did come a time where you knew it was too much, you knew exactly how to stop it.

It also helped that Spencer was n absolute angel about everything. He always asked if you needed any water, if you were okay to keep going, if you wanted him to slow down or let you take a little break.

You had nothing to worry about.

He started drilling into you again, close to his first orgasm of the day, and you were more than willing to embrace it after having nothing but his hands, mouth, and a vibrator the whole time. Which, of course, was still a damn-near magical experience, but nothing ever compared to the way it felt when he straight-up fucked you. Especially now considering you were practically higher than you'd ever been.

When he did cum inside you for the first time that day, you yelled out, moaning obscenely at how... well, just good it felt. You couldn't think of any other words to describe it, especially while you were on the brink of coming undone yourself. Everything was just so high and sharp and good that you couldn't form proper words.

But you didn't need them.

You came shortly after he did, and Spencer still continued to slowly thrust into you. As his movements slowed, he tilted your head up to look at him, and spoke. "I think you can give me one more before our hour is up, yeah? Just one more, baby?"

"Uh... Uh huh," you breathed, giving him the best smile you could.

When he leaned forward to kiss you, his angle deepened, and you gasped out against his lips. He stayed there, taking sharp, staccato thrusts forward that kept his cum planted deep inside you and quickly started to give you another orgasm.

"You got it, baby, you got it. Let go for me, it's okay..."

His words sent you over the edge, your body finally shuddering with the effects of your sixth orgasm of the day. You clung to his neck, squeezing him until you were sure he couldn't breathe, but nonetheless, he kept at it, encouraging you with sweet words and running his hands gently through your hair.

When you were practically writhing around him in uncomfortable pleasure, he pulled out of you.

You breathed out a shaky sigh of relief against his shoulder, taking in all the sweet whispers he sent in your ear. Eventually your breathing slowed, and together you were both harmonious in slow, gentle breathing. You could have fallen asleep right there.

"I'm gonna pull back to look at you, sweet girl, is that okay?" he asked.

"Uh huh," you offered quietly, loosening your grip on him and allowing him to finally meet your eye again.

His gaze was soft, loving, everything that kept you going.

"Let's take a little break before we finish the rest of this, okay?"

HOUR 12

This was it. This was the homestretch.

After a half-hour break during which Spencer cleaned you up a bit, made sure you were rested and hydrated, and set up for this last hour and a half, he had you on your stomach. Your ass was up in the air, your cheek resting on one pillow while another laid under you for support. It was comfortable, and you knew that it was the best way to end off the experiment.

"You ready for me, pretty girl?" You heard Spencer's voice from behind you, and it made you smile.

"Ready whenever you are, baby," you offered back clearly. You were more than ready for this.

You could practically hear his smile when he said, "That's my girl." His hands ran over your bare ass, and to show that you were in good spirits, you wiggled a little, causing him to laugh as he brought his hands down to your pussy.

The contact made you clench, and a small moan left your lips as he ran his fingers through your wetness.

"I love how eager you are, sweet girl," he mused, continuing his slow back and forth motions from your clit to your opening. And you couldn't help it. You begged. You didn't even really know what in particular you were begging for, just that it was setting your soul on fire not being touched to the fullest extent.

"Please," you cried out, relishing in the way his fingers did touch you, and begging for more.

Thankfully he seemed to be merciful, not wasting any time asking questions and simply getting to work. Two of his fingers slid easily into you, and you moaned out at the sensation. Between that and the small praises you could hear falling from his lips, truthfully you could have fallen asleep. Everything was so high-inducing that it felt like you were floating.

But you didn't fall asleep. You made sure to stay fully aware of what was happening, even if it did feel like time and space were coming in and out of focus sometimes. Besides, that fuzzy feeling was how you'd come to know you were close to orgasm.

It rocked through you like water crashing onto the shore, each new wave of pleasure stronger than the next until it subsided altogether, leaving you with a clean slate in the sand. You were moaning out incoherently into the pillow as you tried to catch your breath, but then smaller, yet still prominent waves met your shore and left you humming as his hips stayed pressed into your ass.

You were coherent enough then to realize that he was coming inside you, and the fuzziness of your surroundings cleared enough for you to hear him calling out your name in sweet, blissed-out whispers. Each syllable was like a prayer, desperate and unwavering as your body relished in the feeling of his warmth flooding inside of you.

But you almost didn't even hear the last part.

"Are you okay, Y/N?"

Surprisingly to you, you found yourself unable to respond—the words were forming in your head, but your body and your mouth simply refused to do anything to communicate how you were feeling.

What did come out was, "How... much... time?"

By now Spencer had pulled out and away from you, and was now perched on the bed, beside you while his hand stroked the hair from your face. "Time's up now, sweet girl. You did so well."

HOUR 13

Time, as it turns out, had not been up.

In actuality, the last hour only ended up being fifteen minutes, and upon seeing how exhausted and almost incoherent you were, Spencer decided to call it quits. Not to mention he had been tiring, himself. It gave him ample time to clean you up and get you into a nice, warm bath, though. As you waited for the water to run, he jotted some quick things down in the notebook and then tended to you the rest of the evening.

He washed you up, gave your shoulders and head a nice massage while doing so, and after about a half hour, dressed you in your favorite, comfiest pajamas. Your legs were so weak that he half-carried you to the bed, where you almost passed out on the spot. He'd crawled into bed with you immediately after throwing on a pair of boxers and a tee shirt, and took the time to rub your head, your arms, anywhere that comforted you.

You barely registered them because of how weak you felt, but he whispered praises against your temple, alternating between gentle words and even gentler kisses.

And now, you were well into the thirteenth hour of your experiment, sleeping soundly beside Spencer as he wrote a few more things down in the notebook.

THE NEXT MORNING

He wasn't there when you opened your eyes. It worried you at first, but you saw a note on his pillow that read: Left to grab breakfast. Be back soon. I love you. —S

You smiled lazily, stretching out and instantly feeling how sore your muscles were. Through a wince, you stretched out some more before spotting Spencer's notebook on his bedside table.

And... Well, he did say that you could look at it after the experiment was over, didn't he?

So you climbed over, grabbed the notebook, and flipped it open, your stomach fluttering with butterflies at the thought of what he might have written.

Sure enough, the more you read, the stronger the butterflies got. Your eyes skirted over page after page, detailing in bullet points the filthy things he did to you and how you reacted, every hour a highlight reel of all that he tried and even some of the things you'd said. Some of it you didn't really remember at first, but it slowly started to come back to you as you woke up more, the blush on your cheeks deepening immensely as you read on.

You got near the end of the experiment, and that's when you noticed an added 13th hour.

More than curious as to what that could entail, you read a few paragraphs in Spencer's messy handwriting that sent a shot of warmth straight to your heart.

Y/N has finally fallen asleep. This is the 13th hour we've spent together today since the experiment started, and truthfully I think it's my favorite one. I find that even the intense fire I felt burning through me all day could never compare to the warmth I'm feeling right now, as she sleeps beside me, blissfully unaware of what I'm writing while her breathing softly threatens to lull me to sleep. I can't think of a better feeling, to be surrounded by her presence. It's comforting and warm and beautiful, and that's not even the half of it.

No matter what remarkably devious things I do to her body in the name of sexual experiments, what matters most to me is that at the end of the day, Y/N feels just as comforted and warm and beautiful as she makes me feel. Which is why I think I'll bring her blueberry pancakes tomorrow morning— they're her favorite. And while I'm out, I want to pick up some of her favorite snacks, some flowers, and maybe a stuffed animal or two. And... maybe that's a little much...

But as long as she knows how much I adore her, nothing is ever too much.

Your throat was suddenly tight, and tears threatened to escape, every muscle in your body tense as they tried their hardest to prevent you from actually crying. Maybe the physical intensity of yesterday was to blame, but deep down you knew that Spencer's heartfelt words would always be more powerful than any physical toll on your body, heart, and soul.

You hadn't even registered that he'd come home, his voice snapping you out of your little trance.

"You weren't supposed to see that yet," he said softly with an amused laugh. When you looked up, his hands were holding a bouquet of pink carnations, your favorite.

And with the soft, loving look in his eye, a tear managed to fall down your cheek. "I love you," you whispered through a smile, feeling your body start to break down after holding in all the tears.

"I love you too, sweet girl," he replied, striding over to you in a few steps.

When he reached the edge of the bed, you sat up on your knees and grabbed his face with your hands, bringing his lips to meet yours as the flowers tickled your chest over the thin material of your shirt.

"You're going to smush the flowers," he mumbled against your lips, and you laughed, pulling away to take them from him.

"Thank you, they're beautiful," you said, tilting your head down to instinctively smell them.

Spencer smiled back at you, and the sight made your heart beat a little faster as he said, "Just like you."

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[yandere-sins]

Hi!! I loved your recent Sakusa work sm! It was so good and intense and you did a great job!! I was wondering, if the requests & prompts are still open can you do board games & diary for either Sakusa or Atsumu! I’m fine with either one <3

Sorry, I am just too much into both to separate them! Enjoy some good ol’ manipulated double-teaming!

Board games - “Don’t say such means things.. it breaks my heart to put you back in those locks.” 

Diary - “My pet should hold no secrets from their owner and vice versa.”

»»———————— ♡ ————————««     

It was a hard pill to swallow, but you had to admit that you were growing desperate.

For more than a week now, you had been in the clutches of these two maniacs, had to live through ups and downs with them and alone. Yet, there still didn’t seem to be any signs of an end to this nightmarish episode you were going through. Slowly but surely, this meant you were desperate for change. For something - anything! - to happen, just so all of this would finally end.

You found yourself desperate for the comfort of a bed, the privacy of your own toilet, the warmth of a sweater. Sometimes your mouth remembered your favorite dishes, and your heart remembered the feeling of hugging someone dear to you. And, every time you found yourself craving the same as you had before your life went downhill, all you were faced with were two psychos using your needs for their own gain.

At least, that’s what you thought about this situation.

“Come on! It’s good!” Atsumu tried to make the spoon of soup palatable for you, as he had for the last two days. He did his best, but his best wasn’t good enough for you. Lips pressed together into a thin line, you kept avoiding the spoon, going as far as to dodge and move out of the way of his reach. You’d rather fall to the floor than sit on this couch and eat the damn soup, you decided. Were you not too afraid of the other ghost in this apartment, you would have tried making a run for the hallway and the front door, but they were too unpredictable.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” you sobbed, the frown on your face holding back the tears you felt burning in your eyes ever since you woke up in this place. “We’ve been friends since our childhood! But I guess I didn’t mean anything to you.”

Finally slipping out of his grip, you fell to your knees, the cold, hard parquet being as unwelcoming as you felt. Atsumu’s disgruntled deep breath was absolutely unjustified how you found. After all, he wasn’t the one being held captive against his will. Of all the people, you were the only one allowed to showcase your discontent like that.

Next to you, Atsumu set down the bowl of soup on the coffee table, a strong, firm grip reaching down to the rope binding your wrists behind your back. Anything was better than letting him do as he pleased. Kicking, screaming, and biting if necessary! But by now, you two were playing a meager game of who was stronger, the lack of sustainable food and rest being one reason why you didn’t always have the upper hand in these situations; thus, he pulled you up on the couch again easily.

“Don’t say such mean things... you mean everything to me, [Name].”

This assurance was least helpful to the constant anxiety raging through you. Before all this, you had trusted Atsumu with everything. You’d been the best friend one could have, got along well with his family. It had been bold of you to assume that he was capable of anything beyond complaining to and nagging you, but you always hoped that he’d one day come to understand the feelings you harbored for him.

But not like this. You didn’t want to be loved by him like this.

“Be nice, or I’ll have to put you back in those metal locks. It would break my heart, and you don’t like them either, do ya?”

You shivered just from thinking about the chains clasping around your wrists and ankles, cold and tight. You hated them, just as much as the cage you had been stuck in for the first few nights. Everything kept you in place. You couldn’t even turn if you wanted. It was followed by constant pain, and having someone treat you like a caged animal rather than a human while you were in there, was only the cherry on top.

Compared to that, just hanging out in the living room with ropes around your wrists was freedom. “No,” you whispered, the fight not having disappeared from your voice, and you were relieved to still have it in you. “See?” Atsumu sighed, pulling you back on the couch and between his legs, arms wrapping around you and keeping you pressed up against him. “It’ll be fine,” he mumbled, kissing the back of your head.

“Just don’t upset him.”

“Upset who?” another voice echoed through the room as if on cue. Instinctively your eyes followed the sound to the kitchen. Through the connecting door to the hallway, Sakusa entered, newspaper in hand and seemingly reading an article on it. “Nobody,” Atsumu was quick to avert, but you had felt the slight flinch he made when his partner spoke up.

“Did they eat?” Sakusa asked, unbothered by the angry glare you sent him and Atsumu’s lie, setting down both paper and coffee mug on the kitchen counter before shifting his attention to you. Three long steps were all he needed to approach the couch from behind, fingers flitting up your throat and to your jaw as he grazed you with a short glance before eyeing the bowl on the table.

“Done with work?” Atsumu asked, pressing you possessively closer to him, but it wasn’t like he could upset Sakusa with his doings, even if it was his intention. “Taxes, Atsumu, but yes. They didn’t eat?”

At that, Atsumu finally had to admit defeat, sighing and averting his eyes to some point in the room but far away from you or his partner. Sakusa let out the same sound, though quieter and with a shook of his head before rounding the couch and grabbing the bowl himself. “Why won’t you eat?” he asked, directing his questions to you now. “You should be thankful for the food you are given.”

“I don’t want it,” you replied, as confident as you could. The truth was that whenever your eyes met, you felt as if any strength you had was pulled from you. It may have been due to the fact you had argued and pleaded with this man for the first few days of your kidnapping, but out of the two, Sakusa was the one that scared you more than your childhood friend who had no backbone, joining forces with this madman.

Letting the soup slide over and from the spoon a few times, Sakusa eventually took a small sip of it, his thoughts hidden well behind the indifference in his expression. “There’s no reason for you to not eat it. It’s completely fine.”

“I don’t want it since it’s you giving it to me.”

Silence raked through the room while Atsumu shuffled behind your back, pressing you closer again. For a moment, you thought this time, it might be to protect you, rather for his own pleasure, and you were quick to realize why. “Are you an idiot?” was Sakusa’s short yet meaningful reply to your defiance, his face scrunching up into disbelieve. “Other people would be happy to have this kind of luxury of being fed.”

“Omi...” Atsumu tried to settle the rising dispute, but a raised hand from his teammate was enough to shut him up uncomfortably. “I’m not other people,” you spoke up for yourself, trying to stay calm and not let him agitate you. “After all, I have to be locked up with you two crazy bastards.”

This time, the silence felt like an eternity. As if it was slowly but surely cutting through your body as if you were butter. Perhaps, you had been too comfortable simply refusing and struggling against them for the last two days, so your mind had already started to forget about the horror you were living in.

“So that’s what you think about us,” was all that Sakusa hissed back at you, his eyes drilling into your psyche like nails. Behind you, Atsumu opened his mouth again, perhaps to set you straight, but no word ever left him, Sakusa being faster than him. “No, it’s fine. A pet should hold no secrets from their owner and vice versa.”

You didn’t expect him to be the first one to avert his eyes, Sakusa’s gaze wandering back to the door in the back of the living room, the very same one you had woken up in before. The one that was filled with ‘your’ kennel and restraints and an unbelievable amount of deprecation. “So I will be very honest with you too.”

Next thing you knew, Sakusa was up again, having reached for your hands still locked between yours and Atsumu’s body. This time, when you fell to the floor, it was anything but controlled, your ass being the first to hit the resistance of the ground, and you gasped in pain as your shoulder slammed into the coffee table. There wasn’t enough time to grasp how your body hurt at that moment, the back of your shirt being tugged at, the fabric pressing into your throat at the front as you were dragged over the floor gasping for air.

“You will be thankful for what we do for you in the future. You don’t have any choice. Until then, you’ll stay in your cage and think about your behavior. Don’t even think about making a ruckus, or you won’t live to see what I will do to you, do you understand?”

Instantly, the dread of feeling the cold, uncomfortable bars against your body made your heart drop in your chest. You couldn’t even get used to the darkness in the boarded-up room without sunlight from the windows when you already heard the lock fall into place.

“No! NO!” you cried out, forgetting all about his warning and slamming yourself towards the only source of light coming from the open door to the living room. “Don’t leave me here again! Please!”

It was pathetic. Using big words just seconds prior to this, and yet, here you were pleading with him to spare you the agony of this place. But despite not wanting to be here, in this apartment, you had a special dislike of being confined in this cold, tiny space all by yourself. You’d rather hang out on the couch, unproductively watching TV with Atsumu all weekend long than having to listen to the clicking of the clock as the only companion you had in this room. You, actually begging to not be left here, was just proof of how desperate you were, scared of the anxiety and degradation you had experienced last time.

“You’ll have enough time to think about your behavior here,” Sakusa sighed, annoyed by your screams. “Learn your place.”

“I do! I know... I just...”

“You know nothing.”

“Omi...” you suddenly heard from the door. Unsure, gripping onto his own arm, Atsumu stood there, the light revealing a conflicted expression playing on his face. “That’s just... It’s too much, man,” he mumbled, and Sakusa let out another deep sigh.

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy, Atsumu. You can still get out if you don’t think you can do it, but don’t pull me down with you. I won’t tell anyone about your involvement if that worries you.”

Standing up, Sakusa seemed to glide out of the shadow, approaching Atsumu who’s gaze shifted from you to his partner in crime. “I’ll take good care of them,” Sakusa promised, though his voice was so indifferent, you had trouble believing that he meant it. “No...” Atsumu eventually spoke up after a moment of contemplation. “I love them just as much- No, I love them more than you. I can’t leave now.”

“Then you understand that this is necessary, right?”

For the first time, as you looked into Atsumu’s eyes, you felt the hints of pity come over you, your old friend looking like a beaten dog next to Sakusa. You barely could believe that Atsumu listened to the manipulative words of someone who should have no rule over your both lives. Someone who didn’t hide how toxic he was at all, but it seemed like Atsumu ate out of his hand as Sakusa held it out to him.

One hand patting Atsumu’s shoulder, Sakusa turned around to you, his scolding, suppressing gaze making you lose all hope of escaping this. He reached for the doorknob, and the only thing you could do was try to reach out, fingers curling into the bars of the kennel, your voice cracking as you called out, “Atsu--”

But you were cut off by the darkness now filling the room, seeping into your throat through your open mouth as you wanted to call out to your childhood friend to save you. Because he loved you, he said so himself. His reason to be here was you, so he was as good as anyone to protect you from this hell you found yourself in. You were desperate enough to even believe in him after everything Atsumu did to you.

Only, what you hadn’t realized so far, was that he had been manipulated into this, as Sakusa was now trying to do to you.

And perhaps, that meant there was no saving for either of you.

[anime-academix]

I’m Not Invincible

A/N: I’m totally gonna rewrite this because I think this is so bad 😭I lowkey had writers block, so enjoy this huge piece of garbage. ): 

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, minor swearing

Pairings: Aizawa x reader

Requested by: @tonii​ Always happy to provide for the Aizawa supremacy! 🛐

Tags: If you would like to be tagged, just message me and ask to be added to the list :)

It happened because of an argument

In all honesty, you guys don’t really argue often

Aizawa is extremely rational and level headed, so he keeps the two of you both grounded, no matter how angry you are

But then again, when do you do argue, and it doesn’t dissolve, it’s most likely about something serious

Usually when the two of you argue, he’s the type to remain calmer and not lash out

If he does retaliate, he uses sarcasm in his response

Though he’s tired all the time, when he’s pushed past his peaked exhaustion, it’s harder for him to keep his cool

The argument started because after a major injury, he wasn’t following the doctor’s orders AND your demands for him to take it easy and rest so he could fully recover.

After a major battle between a group of villains, he had taken a serious hit which had forced him on bed rest for a whole week.

Though Recovery Girl did the best she could to possibly heal him, he had been instructed to take it easy for a bit. And since the two of you and Aizawa lived together, the doctors and Recovery Girl instructed for you to keep an eye on him as well. You had absolutely no problem taking care of him while he was on bed rest. If anything, you went above and beyond to make sure he was always feeling comfortable and recovering well. Even when he insisted that you didn’t have to waste your time taking care of him, you shut his comment down instantly; even then, you knew he was grateful you were there for him.

It was only 2 days into his recovery, that Aizawa was already moving and working out. You were glad to see him moving well, but it worried you that he was doing too much. You didn’t think too much about it until you found out that on his 3rd day of recovery--the day he was supposed to be resting at home, he was ALREADY back at UA, teaching.

When you woke up this morning, you were panicking when he wasn’t in the bed beside you. You dialed his phone several times, but it went straight to voice mail. It wasn’t until Present Mic called you, that you were informed of your boyfriend’s presence at the school. Not only were you exasperated that he ignored the doctor’s orders, and annoyed that you had to find out from someone else that he was already doing activities, but you were stressed.

You waited on your shared couch as you waited for him to come home. 5:30 PM, your phone clock read…’He should be home by now,’ You thought to yourself. You would be lying if you said you weren’t anxious…

What if something happened? What if a villain attacked and he was the only pro hero around to stop it? What if he collapsed and no one was around to--

A door opening and closing pulled you out of your thoughts, and you were presented with your boyfriend.

“Shouta, what the hell?!”

“Hey to you too.” He muttered.

“Don’t start with me. You were strictly instructed to rest and recover for a week! Not whenever you feel like it!” You snapped, standing up from the couch

“Y/N, please. I’m fine. I’m healing a lot faster, anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?! What if you got hurt again?! What if you were attacked, huh?! You would be forced to fight with no way of leaving that situation because you wouldn’t just stay down and let your body heal!”

“But I wasn’t attacked. And I already told you, I’m fine.”

You had to admit, he did seem like he was already getting better. Though his wounds were still healing and he would wince from time to time when you could tell the painkillers were wearing off, he had been recovering quickly so far.

“That’s not the point. I would prefer you feeling great than just fine, Shouta.”

He rolled his eyes, walking into the bedroom with you trailing behind him. He didn’t waste a second to carefully take off his scarf and jumpsuit--noticing his subtle winces from the movements every now and then. Your heart ached seeing his entire abdomen and arms wrapped in bandages and his back and neck painted with bruises and small cuts.

Aizawa slips on a pair of sweatpants and a dark t-shirt. “See. I’m fine.”

A sigh left your lips as you shook your head. “You were told to stay on bed rest for a week. This wasn’t just some normal injury. You almost died, Shouta! All we asked for you to do was to rest and recover back to full health. And now, I had to find out from Hizashi that you went back to teach?! What if there was a repeat of the fight with the Shie Hassaikai or USJ incident?!”

“But there wasn’t and I made it out of that alive too! This is exactly what you signed up for when you decided to date a pro hero. Getting injured is apart of the job, I’m not going to quit just because you hate seeing me hurt.” 

He walked from out of the bedroom and into the hallway as you followed behind him. Aizawa wasn’t wrong. You knew the risks when you decided to date a pro hero. Injury and even death was apart of the job once a pro hero took an oath to serve and protect civilians. Even when he was injured, it didn’t stop the pang in your heart when you saw the damage his body would take on. Despite his protests, you did everything you could to take care of him. And yes, he did make it out alive from those two incidents, but he still sustained serious injuries. However, this current incident was substantially worse. He was on the brink of death after this battle. 

“You could have died, Shouta! All I ask is for you to rest and let me take care of you, please!” You pleaded.

And you were right. Truthfully, if it hadn’t been for Recovery Girl, he probably wouldn’t have made it to see the next day. 

A low growl escaped his throat. “For the love of God, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m fine?!”

It happened so suddenly. His body turned around as his hair floated up, his eyes glowing a light shade of red.

Your body froze as silence enveloped the two of you. Everything felt like it stopped: time, the blood flowing through your body and even your heartbeat. You would be lying if you said you weren’t scared. His eyes bored into yours as his brows furrowed, knitting together. In the time you had been dating, Aizawa had never used his quirk on you, ever. 

It was the single tear rolling down your cheek that brought you back to your current situation. Slowly, you began to feel your body shake as you stared back at him in disbelief. 

This situation suddenly hit him too as his expression softened, deactivating his quirk. He had scared you. The one person he loved more than anything in the world, the one person he couldn’t live without, the one person he’d travel through hell and back for, the one person he always wanted by his side, was suddenly on the receiving end of his quirk. 

“Y/N...” Aizawa began softly as he took a hesitant step towards you. You shook your head slightly as you took a step back, now allowing the tears flow down your face. He felt his heart clench as you took a step away from him and seeing the tears fall from your eyes. Not only did he activate his quirk against you, but your tears were because of him.

“No..no...what have I done?” He whispered to himself. He was supposed to be the one to protect you, never harm you. 

“I just wanted to help,” You finally said, voice breaking towards the end as you choked out a sob. 

Aizawa wasted no time swiftly moving towards you, relieved when you didn’t back away. As gently as he could, he wrapped his arms around you. “I know, kitten...I know. I’m so sorry. I’m...so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he repeated, his body shaking just slightly.

You melted in his touch as a quiet sob raked through your body, your head resting against his chest. Being careful not to hurt him, you snaked your arms around his abdomen loosely. 

“I’m so sorry, love. I wasn’t thinking and I was just frustrated...” He paused, a soft sigh leaving his lips. “Sometimes I forget that I’m not invincible. So, when I get injured, I force my body to heal faster than it’s even able to. I know that I’m pushing myself too hard and you’re there telling me to take it easy or rest. I know that you’re right, but I just get so aggravated knowing I’m limited right now.” He paused again and kissed the top of your head. “I know that you’re right, but I just get so aggravated knowing I’m so limited right now. But...that doesn’t excuse using my quirk on you.” He added, his voice growing quiet, the scene flashing back in his head.

“God...I’m so sorry...I’m so fucking sorry,” he breathed out, his eyes squeezing shut. Aizawa wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave him. That after everything you had done for him, this is how he treated you. For the love of his life to be on the receiving end of his quirk for any reason was something he would never forgive himself for.

“It’s okay, Shouta,” You whispered softly against his chest.

His eyes sprung open, almost convinced that he had misheard you. His question was answered when you shifted to look up at him, face puffy and slightly wet with tears. Another pang hit his heart. He was the reason for your tears. Instinctively, he reached his hand up to wipe the remainder of your tears away with his thumb.

“I forgive you.” You moved to lift your hand up, cupping his face as he leaned into your touch. “I understand, but you have to let me take care of you. I know exactly what I signed up for when we started dating, and I’ve come to terms with that, but you also have to let me do my job to take care of you when you’re hurt. As long as I can help it, I’m not to lose you--not to a villain and especially not to an injury. So you’re going to be resting, here at home, for the rest of your recovery time, got it?”

He nodded as a small smile creeped onto his lips, shifting slightly to kiss the palm of your hand. Aizawa lifted up his hand to hold onto yours as he leaned down, pressing his lips softly against yours. Though it was gentle, it was passionate; and you could feel that it was a reminder that he loved and appreciated you. You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips during the kiss. 

“I love you,” he muttered against your lips.

“I love you too, Shouta,” you replied softly.

After a brief moment, you pulled away. “Now that you understand, go lay your ass down in the bedroom.” You instructed him. 

He smirked at you before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a bit more heated. “Fine,” he muttered, pulling away just slightly. “But you’re coming with me,” he added before pressing his lips against yours once more.

[charismaandcashmere]

Energy, not time, is the basis for productivity. Having all the hours in the day won’t help you if you’re exhausted for most of it.

Your habits define your energy levels. If you have good habits, you’ll feel energized and be more resilient to burn out, both physically and mentally. If your habits are misaligned, you can get into a cycle where you feel worse and worse, until your it’s a struggle just to keep up.

Here are nine habits you can work on this year to increase your energy levels.

Habit #1: Go to Sleep Early

Sleep is the foundation of your energy. If you don’t get enough sleep, you’ll start to underperform.

While some people claim to work best on six or less hours of sleep, research says they’re kidding themselves. Seven to eight hours are pretty much mandatory if you’re going to stay cognitively sharp in the long-run.

For some people the sleep deprivation may have mentally plateaued, meaning they feel slightly tired all day, but they don’t think they’re getting any worse. An interesting experiment showed that sleep deprivation caused continuous declines in mental performance, even though subjects felt like they were holding steady.

Try this: Go to bed by 10pm every night, including weekends, for the next thirty days.

Habit #2: Exercise Every Day

Exercise is a long-term investment in your energy levels. It’s easy to cut in the short-term, but over time you’ll reduce your overall fitness, making it harder to think straight and stay alert throughout the day.

If you struggle to find time for exercise, don’t make going to the gym your prerequisite. Make a habit of doing some pushups or burpees every day throughout the day. These will get your heart pumping and blood moving, and they don’t require setting aside two hours from your already busy schedule.

You can add gym or fitness classes on top of this foundational habit, but this basic investment in exercise will keep you sharp when you can’t make it to the gym.

Try this: Do at least 10 burpees every day from your home.

Habit #3: Twenty-Minute Naps

Napping may feel lazy, but there’s research showing it has a range of cognitive benefits. This is particularly true if you’re doing a lot of learning, since the short burst of sleep can help with memory.

I used to feel guilty taking naps, believing it was a sign of weakness. Now, I think it’s definitely a strength. A short nap can turn you back on for work in the afternoon, when you’d normally be exhausted. Even if you work in an office that doesn’t encourage napping, you can use a slice of your lunch break, to quickly rest.

The key is to learn how to take short naps. Many people take naps which are too long, pushing them into deeper phases of sleep which cause them to feel even groggier when they wake up (although the benefits to even these naps often occur after the initial grogginess wears off). The key is to wake up immediately with your alarm. If you start adding more time, a quick nap can become a long sleep.

Try this: Insert a 20 minute nap after you eat lunch to recuperate your energy for the afternoon.

Habit #4: Do Your Hard Work in the Morning

Aim to get your most important work done in the first four hours of the workday, starting as soon as possible.

The benefits to your energy here are mostly psychological. My energy levels depend a lot on my mood. If I’ve gotten some important work done, my mood is usually good and I feel productive. If I’ve wasted time on emails, meetings, calls or failed to produce something valuable, I’m often frustrated and exhausted entering the second half of the day.

The other reason for this approach is that deep work isn’t always sustainable for the full workday. Better to concentrate it into a specific period than randomly insert it across chunks of time.

Try this: Make the first four hours of your morning a quiet, deep work zone.

Habit #5: Set Your Intention the Day Before

Energy is often about momentum. Start working hard and you’ll overcome procrastination and keep going throughout the day. Start slow and you may end up struggling against your own impulses, wasting the energy on things that aren’t productive.

One way to avoid this is to set a very clear intention of how your day will go, particularly in the beginning, the night before. Visualizing this intention and writing it down into your schedule can make it happen more automatically when you wake up.

Try this: Before you go to bed, write down your plan for the next day and visualize it.

Habit #6: Sell Yourself on Your Goals

Many people simultaneously hold two contradictory beliefs: that other people (marketers) are really good at persuading them to do all sorts of things they wouldn’t do otherwise, but that they themselves have no ability to change their own motivation to do the things they have to do.

The truth is, you need to become the salesperson for your own goals. Not for other people, but for yourself.

Part of that starts with packaging—how you frame your goals and projects can have a huge effect on your motivation. Is this something you have to do? Or an exciting challenge?

Next it comes from refreshing and reminding yourself of your inspirations. Why did you get started down this path? What were you hoping to achieve. Good marketers know to focus the customer on visualizing what they want to drive sales. You can focus yourself on what you want to have the energy to get it done.

Try this: Set aside ten minutes every day to think about what today’s actions are helping you build towards.

Habit #7: Get Better Friends

You may not be able to choose your parents, colleagues or your boss. But you do have some control over the friends in your life.

You know that some friends you leave a conversation with them feeling excited and energized. Others you leave feeling even worse than you did beforehand.

You don’t need to exclude friends who are going through temporarily rough times, but you should consider who you spend your time with when there are people who consistently create one-sided emotional exchanges as the basis for your relationships. Everyone needs a shoulder to cry on sometimes, but some people will expect you to be their permanent shoulder.

Try this: Set a time limit on friends who leave you feeling drained.

Habit #8: Read Better Books

One of the great benefits of reading books isn’t simply to give you ideas and information. Rather it’s to reinforce a mentality that often occurs at a subconcious level. The best books aren’t those that teach you facts, but those that subtly change your entire thinking patterns.

Audio books can be very useful for this, since you can listen to them and re-listen to them on the go every day. A good book for this is one that, when you listen to it, automatically adjusts your thinking onto the things you need to work hard on. Just like a good song can be the background for a particular emotion, a good book can be the background for a particular energy of thinking.

Try this: Always have an audio book that motivates you to work on your goals.

Habit #9: Align Your Life

The last habit isn’t a one-time process, but an ongoing effort to bring the different elements of your life out of conflict and into alignment with one another.

A lot of energy is squandered because the different parts of our lives, both internal and external, are in conflict with each other. That could be the colleague at work who doesn’t want you to get promoted, the friends who make fun of your goals or even the internal fears and assumptions that keep you hesitating.

Spend some time untangling the different conflicts in your life to see how you could resolve them. Sometimes that can be done in the short-term, by making a change. Sometimes, it requires a long-term plan to escape the toxic environment, social circle or belief system that holds you back.

Try this: Sit down for an hour and brainstorm all the things which assist your goals and all the things which hold you back. How could you resolve those tensions?

What habits have you built to give you energy to work hard on the things that matter to you? Share your thoughts in the comments!

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 46

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to find your way back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, anxiety, mild body horror

AO3

You woke up coughing and gagging, pulling your jacket out from under your head to wrap it around your face. For there to be so much dust in the air, another dust storm must have kicked up outside.

Just as predicted, when you looked out one of the air holes of the cave system, you saw the wall of dust that cut off all sight after a few feet.

You sighed and sat back in the deepest part of the cave, making sure to keep the jacket wrapped around your head. It was much different being here as a physical entity instead of just living in someone’s head. You knew which one you preferred.

Still coughing frequently, you picked up a stone tool, no bigger than a piece of chalk, and added another tick to the rows of marks Bucky had started. Tenth day in the demon realm, with no sign of rescue.

It had been sheer luck that you’d woken up in a place with landmarks you actually recognized. You weren’t far from Bucky’s old territory, and after hours of walking barefoot through the sand, socks stuffed into your pockets, you made it to the cave system he’d used as a home base.

Seeing the same walls, the edible fungus, the dried “bamboo” strips as bedding, even the old journal Bucky had left behind, it had been the most relieving and the most painful thing you’d felt in a while. That was saying a lot, considering you’d been murdered just a few hours prior.

Your shelter and source of food and water secured, you’d done nothing but decompress, going over everything that had happened.

Bucky falling into Zemo’s trap. Forced to be a weapon once more and ordered to kill Rogers. He probably would have if you hadn’t managed to pull on the thin thread that had remained of your bond.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The bond you’d both wanted to get rid of had been the thing to save Bucky’s life. The cursed book had been right; the only thing that could break your bond was Bucky’s death… or yours. It hadn’t said the death would result in you being banished to the demon realm, but it wasn’t like the damn book had been trying to be helpful to begin with.

No, if anything, the ancient sorcerer whose words it had quoted had been more insightful. Especially the part where he’d witnessed a human slave die in his master’s place, and his body had burned to ashes.

Is that what had happened to you? Had Bucky been forced to watch as you’d crumpled to dust in his hands? God, you hoped not.

At least it explained how you ended up here and that corpse you’d seen through Bucky’s eyes. A human with a demon sigil, it could only mean one thing. This was where all human slaves ended up, eventually.

You just hoped you wouldn’t meet the same fate.

Thoughts turned back to Bucky as they usually were, you couldn’t begin to imagine how Bucky was dealing with your death. All you could hope was that he realized it hadn’t been permanent, and that he would find a way to the demon realm without dying himself. Knowing him, Bucky would take that route if he had to.

But here it was, day ten, and you were beginning to have doubts. You knew time flowed differently here and you would have to be patient, but it was impossibly difficult. You just prayed you wouldn’t have to wait another fifty years. Unlike Bucky, you doubted you would remain ageless in this place.

Day ten became day eleven. And then twelve. And then you’d been in the demon realm for two weeks with no sign of Bucky or the wizards.

At day fifteen, you decided it was time to stop waiting, and time to start being proactive. If your rescuers couldn’t come to you, perhaps you could bring yourselves to them. You’d glimpsed the truth in Bucky’s memories after him coming through the portal. Your younger self had practically bragged about opening a portal, and you’d been ten years old.

Surely you could still do it, even if you didn’t remember how… and even though you’d never shown a spark of magic while training under Wong.

But what else was there to do? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else around to embarrass yourself in front of.

Only… that turned out not to be the case.

You had managed to create a spark in the air. It was orange and sputtered after a few seconds, but it was the most you’d ever accomplished before. After a few more hours, you got a glowing circle the size of a hula-hoop.

But it was the wrong color, orange and not blue, and the image you could see through it was just more red sand. You didn’t need to travel across the planet; you needed to get away from it.

Frustrated, you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should have been, and that was when the demon attacked. Drooling and growling, it charged at you from over the sands and chased you into the cave system. You recognized it from before; a large beast that looked like it was part-bear, part-bull, and it was pissed.

Terrified and without thought, you made a jerky circular motion just as the demon launched itself at you.

The portal fizzled to life and vanished just as quickly, and the bottom half of a demon body landed on top of you. It was still smoking from where the portal had sliced through it like a hot blade.

It was the first and last time you tried to make a portal.

The days continued to crawl by until a month had passed, or at least, the best you could guess as days and months when the sunlight never changed or faded.

Until it finally did. And that’s when things truly started to take a turn for the worst.

You’d managed to keep your spirits up by reading the journal Bucky had left behind, reliving the time you’d spent together in a weird, symbiotic partnership, but when the rare night came and shrouded everything in cold darkness, you didn’t even have Bucky’s words to comfort you. The jacket was no longer a breathing mask and went back on your shoulders, barely keeping the chill at bay.

Through the dim starlight that came through the overhead holes in the ceiling, you could see your breath fogging up before you. You huddled into a tighter ball, tried to keep your emotions in check, and eventually gave up. You turned your head and sobbed quietly into your arms, letting the despair and fear pour out of you like a flooded dam.

And still it grew colder. You couldn’t remember Bucky being this cold, but then again, he wasn’t fully human. Plus, even though you’d been an observer in his head, you’d been able to raise his body temperature and keep him warm.

Now, all you could do was shiver and stay huddled against the wall that still retained heat from the day. You didn’t want to think about what you’d do when it faded.

Somehow in the night, you’d managed to fall asleep, or maybe fall unconscious. When you stirred, something was… wrong. You shifted your arms and legs and your skin tingled oddly, goosebumps breaking out along your flesh as the sensations felt off, both muffled and heightened at the same time.

You opened your eyes and wished you hadn’t. Instead of the bare skin of your arms… they were covered with grey-blue fur. Smooth, short, and thick, like a cat’s.

The panicked sound you made wasn’t human, and that just made the panic worse. You scrambled across the cave floor and ran to the nearby underground stream. There would be enough light now that the sun had risen for you to see…

Horns.

The face staring back at you was barely your own. Thin fur covered your face entirely, your pupils were no longer round but narrowed into slits, and the horns. They curved from either side of your forehead, several inches in length and grey, like ashy bone.

That wasn’t the only oddity. You turned your head and gasped at the long, pointed ears sticking out from under your hair.

You looked like a strange mixture of part-human, part-demon, part-cat.

This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. Exposed to the cold, this is just the effect of a dying mind.

Expect, it didn’t go away. Your shock continued to mount as you took stock of the rest of yourself. The same blue-grey fur covered every inch of you. When you flexed your fingers, sharp nails slide outward from the nailbed, strange but natural at the same time.

You weren’t completely cat-like. There were the horns, of course, but when you stretched and felt along the back of your neck, scaly ridges continued all the way down your spine to your���

You jumped when something moved inside your pant leg, and you earned yourself a flare of pain when you slapped it to discover it was a long, puffed up, furry tail.

You startled giggling. The giggling devolved into hysterical laughter, and when that faded, it turned into breathless crying.

Now you knew why you hadn’t frozen to death in the night.

Your curiosity as to what you had become waned along with the days. The anxiety and fear was gone too. Something important had slipped your mind, like a half-forgotten dream, but there was nothing to remember. You had your cave system, your food source, and your territory to defend. There was nothing else you could possibly want.

Even the scorching sunlight no longer bothered you and instead filled you with strength. Your fur protected you from the worse of the sandy wind, and a third eyelid, transparent and able to cover your eye, allowed you to see even in the worst of dust storms. And there was a power that seemed to sustain you, an energy from this place that kept you strong and brimming with a power you didn’t quite understand.

Your body was perfectly suited for this world, and after a while, you couldn’t remember a time when it’d been any different.

Sometimes, you had dreams. Confusing ones, because they were of both a man and a demon. You always woke from these with your chest aching and your vision blurred, but you blinked the moisture away and soon, those were also forgotten.

Most demons knew better than to encroach on your territory, and in turn, you left them to theirs. Any demons foolish enough to ignore your boundaries were easily chased away with your outstretched talons and ripping claws. Once, when a demon that stood twice your size and had the head of a skeletal horse (how did you know that word?) tried to push you out, you conjured a rope of fiery orange. Striking at the beast, you’d left a burn across its back, and it hadn’t returned since.

You were comfortable in your solitude. Barring the strange dreams and the moments when you would wake up, confused into believing something was missing, you were content.

Until the day when a new, strange demon encroached on your territory. Worse than that, he’d wandered into your cave system. You were grooming yourself, tongue licking across the fur on your forearm, when you heard the telltale sounds of feet moving against the stone floor.

You hid in the shadows, eyes narrowed into slits as you waited. It didn’t take long for the intruder to walk directly into your cave, and you were taken aback at its appearance.

It—no, he, the demon was definitely masculine, with broad shoulders and prominent facial features. He seemed human, but the rest of him was not, with a demonic arm, wings, horns, and a tail.

He raised his head and flared his nostrils, testing the air at the same moment you caught a whiff of his scent. It was almost overpowering, heady and male, and your fur puffed up in response. This demon would try to take your home from you, and you wouldn’t allow it. You’d defeated bigger threats than him.

When he turned toward your makeshift nest and bent down to open the journal you no longer took interest in, you crept from your hidden nook. The demon was still crouched, his tail lying flat against the ground, but the tip flicked back and forth.

You drew closer, closer still, completely silent and pointed teeth bared. Bunching your muscles into a tight coil you leapt, claws outstretched.

The demon turned just before you landed.

He grabbed you around the throat, spun in one fluid motion, and slammed you against the cave wall.

You released a yowl and dug your claws into him, but they merely skidded off the shifting plates of his arm, leaving him unmarked.

Pinned with your back to the wall, you were trapped with his claws around your neck. The demon bared his teeth in his own impressive growl, inches from your face. His eyes were a cold sort of fury that made you doubt your chances of survival.

“Where is she!”

He spoke a language you somehow understood. The words had meaning, but you didn’t know what they were, so you remained silent.

When you didn’t answer he leaned forward, fangs sharp and ready to tear open your throat.

“You reek of her, and these are her clothes. Did you—did you kill her?”

You gave him nothing but a growl in your throat. When he squeezed tighter around your neck, you bared your teeth and snarled in hatred.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, his deadly glare vanished. He blinked rapidly, brows furrowed as if trying to put together a puzzle. And then his grip relaxed as something very different crossed over his face.

“No…”

He was distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere, and you wiggled out of his grip and tried to dart past him. The demon immediately seized you from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around you so you couldn’t escape.

You screamed and fought, your feet shoving against the ground for purchase, but with your arms pinned to your sides you couldn’t even conjure the fiery rope to defend yourself.

“Stop, stop, it’s me!” he cried. “It’s Bucky!”

His words were simply noise, and you swiveled your head to bite into his shoulder, this time making sure it was the fleshy one. But he still wouldn’t release you, even as the coppery taste of blood touched your tongue.

He gripped you tighter, and you let go of his shoulder and continued to struggle. He was much larger and stronger than you, and he didn’t move an inch. Instead, something soft touched your hair, and you realized it was one of his hands.

Gathering your strength for one last attempt, you twisted violently in his arms, pulled back your lips and sank your teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder, biting down. You were about to take out a chunk of his flesh when the concentrated aroma of his scent slammed into you.

You released him, licking the blood off your lips, and carefully sniffed higher up his neck. Something pulled at you, something familiar but lost, and you gave a curious lick just below his jawline.

Pine trees, earth, warm stone. He smelled like…

He smelled like…

Home.

You pulled back, staring in horror as blood continued to trickle down his neck.

You knew him. You knew him, how could you forget him, how could you forget—

You tried to say his name, but no words came out. You couldn’t speak. When had you lost the ability to talk?

When had you forgotten Bucky?

“Sweetheart?”

You whimpered at the cautious hope in his voice, at the pet name, at him being here.

Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you began to lick at the wound you’d caused, an apology and a way to prove he was real and you weren’t imagining this. To force yourself to remember everything you’d almost lost, even as the pain and grief grew worse every second.

Bucky had finally found you.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, voice choked with tears. “I came as soon as I could… I thought I was too late.”

But he was too late, wasn’t he?

You stopped mid-lick. Your tongue had done a decent job of cleaning his wound, because it wasn’t a human tongue anymore. It was dry and barbed, like a cat’s.

You buried your face into his shoulder, giving another miserable noise. How could you go back home now? You were a monster. A thing made of the demon realm. How could Bucky stand to even look at you, let alone touch you?

When you tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let you. Even his tail was stubbornly wound around your leg now.

“We’re going home,” he said, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. You tried to jerk away, not wanting him to look at you, but he didn’t let you budge an inch. “We are going home.”

His image blurred as your eyes stung. How could he say that when you were… when you…

“It’s okay,” he said when the tears slipped down your furred cheeks. He brushed them away and pressed his lips against your forehead. You sighed and closed your eyes. “You’re okay. I’m not leaving you. This time, for good.”

You wanted to believe him, but how could you when you had the face of the very thing he hated about himself?

As if knowing your thoughts and afraid you would bolt, Bucky kept one arm firmly around your waist. He turned you toward the cave exit that would lead into the tunnels, but you resisted, pointing down to the nest when he looked at you.

Seeing what you were pointing at, a brief flash of fondness and pain crossed his face. He picked up the book, Bucky’s old journal that had documented his days and adventures with the “mysterious voice,” and you grabbed it and held it to your chest. You’d forgotten before, but now you remembered how this book had been your lifeline, and you couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

“Ready?” he asked, voice soft, eyes even softer.

You nodded, leaning into him when he tucked you against his side. Now that you remembered who he was, the thought of not touching him for even a second was unthinkable.

Bucky led you outside, and you spared a single glance backwards at the series of mounds, hills, and boulders that signified there was an underground cave system. It had saved your life, and before that, Bucky’s. It had been your temporary shelter, but it wasn’t where you belonged.

Spreading his wings, Bucky lifted you easily into his arms and leapt into the air. You curled protectively around the journal, but you felt safer now than you had since being captured by Zemo. As the hot, dry air ruffled your hair and fur, a deep rumbling came from inside your chest. It took you a moment to realize you were purring. Indicating he could hear it too, Bucky kissed the top of your head, making your purring even louder.

You kept your eyes closed and pressed to Bucky’s tactical vest until he said, “There it is.”

You turned to look, eyes widening at the sight of a shimmering blue portal near the ground. It looked tiny from this distance, and your stomach churned with nerves.

“Hold on!”

Taking Bucky’s advice, you gripped onto him tightly as he dived. Just before he went through, you shut your eyes tight.

The difference between the demon realm and Earth was a lot more extreme than you remembered filtered through Bucky’s memories. You immediately started shivering, buffeted by the cold air, taking shallow breaths because each one felt like you were breathing ice water.

The colors assaulted your vision—bluebluegreenblue—leaving you whimpering into Bucky’s shoulder, painful after you’d seen nothing but red for so long.

And the smells. No longer diluted with dry air constantly in motion, the salty and perfumed scent of multiple humans, of mildew and stone and ozone that made the tip of your tongue tingle—

It was too much. As soon as Bucky slightly relaxed his hold, you dropped the journal and scrambled behind him, hiding between his wings as you buried your face in the back of his neck.

It was toomuchtoomuchtoomuch—

“Sergeant Barnes, is that… who I think it is?”

The smooth, commanding voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Unlike your recognition of Bucky, everything else was a struggle to recall. You didn’t even know where you were, the domed room unfamiliar and intimidating.

“Yes,” Bucky responded in a low tone.

“Ah, well, that is… unfortunate.” The man who had originally spoken cleared his throat. “We will need to do a thorough examination—“

You had peeked over Bucky’s shoulder to get a better look at the others in the room—they were wizards, weren’t they?—but as soon as one of them drew forward, you gave a spitting snarl.

“Or not,” the man said, raising his hands. He had a goatee and a ridiculous red cape. Your ruffled fur went flat against your skin. Was that… Strange? And next to him, concerned but not without pity, your mentor, Wong.

How could you have forgotten so much? How long had you been gone?

You hid behind Bucky’s shoulder blades, misery forcing your ears to fold back and curl your tail between your legs.

“I’m taking her home,” Bucky said quietly.

“But—“

“No,” he said, more firmly this time. “I’ve been where she is and I know what she needs. She needs to feel safe, somewhere quiet and familiar.”

He waited a beat.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“No.” Strange’s tone was weary but surprisingly relenting. “I’m not. Just make sure you take your next doses with you.”

“I know,” Bucky muttered and then bent down to pick up the journal you’d dropped.

He did it slowly and carefully so as not to dislodge you, because you still half-clung to his back like a lost duckling. It would have been funny if you weren’t already knee-deep in the urge to bolt. Your fur was puffed again, as far as it would go, heart hammering in your chest, and all of your senses were in overdrive as you struggled and failed to adjust to your new environment.

When Bucky straightened up again, you retreated into the sanctum of his folded wings and refused to let go. You couldn’t bear to look around, not when you could sense the wizard’s peering at you, at the freakish thing you’d become. Just the thought of it provoked a whine from your throat.

“One of you mind making a portal?” Bucky said dryly. “The sun’s still up and we’re obviously not taking a cab.”

You heard footsteps shuffling against the stones, and you clung tighter to Bucky. He reached back and put a hand on your leg, reassuring you he wasn’t leaving. Your trembling subsided slightly, but every muscle of your body was still taut enough to snap.

When he stepped forward, you went with him, keeping your eyes shut until you felt the familiar but unsettling shift of space as you stepped through a portal. Only when it fizzled out behind you and you caught the comforting scent of Bucky’s penthouse did you open your eyes.

You thought by “home” he would take you back to your room at the Sanctum. Instead, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s loft.

Before Bucky could say or do anything, you buried your face in his jacket and released everything you’d kept buried, your soft keening echoing inside the old clock tower.

Next Chapter

[destiniesfic]

A little dark!Alina for Tumblr user @darkalinas​. Merry Christmas, Maven! I was your Secret “Sankta” for @darklinadaily​’s Darklina Secret Santa. 👼 I had a blast writing this and I hope you like it. ♥

Fandom: Grishaverse (post-Ruin and Rising and King of Scars) Pairings: Darklina & Malina Word Count: 5,000 Rating: T+ Summary: Three years after the end of the Ravkan Civil War, the woman once known as Alina Starkov begins to dream.

Or: he can go anywhere he wants (just not home).

Read on AO3 or read below:

It would have been easy to think the mistress of Keramzin, who saw that the orphans straggling through her door were fed and cared for, little more than a girl herself. Boys of twelve seemed tall beside her, and the more daring among them would ask her to stand back to back with them so they could measure the difference in height and come away whooping at how they’d grown. She wore her hair unbraided and walked the halls with bare feet. Sometimes she would lose herself in a daydream and move to tackle a different section of her latest mural with her brush still wet in her hand, trailing little drips of paint like a line of kisses on the floorboards.

But appearances deceived, for the girl was a woman now, and married. She and her husband took their meals sitting among the teachers and staff, not their charges, although either of them could be tugged away from the table with the slightest excuse. Some of the youngest children, confused by her snow white hair, called her Baba like she was a grandmother. Though she was still a young woman, she sometimes moved stiffly, after she had sat too long or hunched her shoulders up to her ears while she painted, like whatever she had done before coming here siphoned some of her youth away.

When the woman slept at night, it was stretched out beside her husband under a warm duvet, safe. Neither of them dreamed often, and when they did they dreamt mainly of sunlight dancing over skin, of the woods’ silent call. But the other times, the few bad times, he was there when the nightmares reached for her with greedy fingers.

“It’s all right,” he would whisper, gathering her into his arms. “You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Although they were the right words, the things a person should say, her mouth always went dry before she could tell him that she knew.

When one night she arose from their bed in the very early hours, nothing seemed wrong. She had not woken from a nightmare, just suddenly, with no preamble and no cause. Her husband slept on beside her, his brown hair rumpled, one shoulder, sun-kissed from work outdoors, turned toward the ceiling. She thought about kissing it, but she didn’t want to wake him. She left her bed and went to the window, sitting on the bench in front of it and looking out at the pond.

The moon was strong tonight, a silver dish suspended in the sky. Everything she touched—the grass, the sliver of creek—seemed to glow. Her light spilled in through the window, washing the floor and the foot of the bed in desaturated hues, somehow making them both more and less. Where the light did not reach, shadows pooled on the floor like tar.

Most people thought that darkness was the absence of light, its opposite. She knew a different truth. Without light, there could be no shadow. Where one ventured, the other kept close.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw one of the shadows move.

She spun around, but her room was as she always knew it: sleeping husband, solid oakwood furniture, dead fire in the grate. Across the room, a ghost stared back at her, hollow-cheeked and bright-eyed. She startled, but it was only her reflection in the full-length mirror. Then, in her periphery, motion: darkness like smoke, sliding under the closed door and into the hall.

She followed.

The rebuilt Keramzin was completely dark this time of night, orphans and staff alike asleep, lost to their own dreams of tomorrow. Patches of moonlight glimmered at her feet, but the shadows between them seemed to grow darker, deeper, until she thought she might fall into them if she took a step forward. Yawning chasms, or hungry mouths.

This was like no dream she could remember. As far as she could see there was no one beside her, no one behind her. Yet she could feel a presence, she would swear to it. Something winding around her, working its way up her body. Something with a voice.

Alina, it murmured. A name only her husband called her now, when the fire was dying and they were alone, the children tucked safely in their beds.

“Alina is dead,” she said. “No one here has that name.”

A lie—Ravkans began naming their daughters for the Sun Summoner as soon as they learned of her. There were two little Alinas, both under four, in the nursery where the youngest children slept. But she didn’t think this phantom cared for technicalities.

The voice chuckled. Are you really so eager to forget yourself? She felt the brush of lips against her ear, but when she turned her head there was nothing. She was alone in the darkened hall, and she thought he had left, but then a whisper slithered into her other ear. Are you so eager to forget who you are?

“I am the mistress of Keramzin,” she told the voice. “I am the painter of these walls. I am the guardian of these children. I have made my home here, and if you won’t leave it, I will drive you out myself.”

There was silence. Then:

With what power?

“Darling?”

She turned. Her husband stood in the doorway of their room, his hair sticking up endearingly at odd angles, pajamas slung low on his hips. The shadows reverted to their normal shade, strangely innocent, keeping their secrets.

“What is it?” he asked. “I heard you talking.”

She blinked back to herself and reached for a plausible explanation. “I don’t know. Must have been sleepwalking.”

He nodded, distantly, then walked over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Back to bed,” he said, a yawn stretching the last word wide.

“Back to bed,” she agreed, but not without a last glance over her shoulder.

---

“Have you heard from our friend in Os Alta?” the woman asked her husband over breakfast that morning.

That’s what they called the king, that or sometimes their friend in the palace. They had a handful of friends in Os Alta, of course, the lingering remnants of another life entirely. But those friends—the Grisha Triumvirate, the king’s bodyguards, and others—could be mentioned by name occasionally. Davids and Nadias were common enough. Nikolais were, too, but it was better to be cautious with him. Better to leave nothing to chance.

Her husband frowned. “No,” he said. “Were you expecting something?”

She shrugged. They had briefly housed the king’s escort a few weeks back, sans king; the orphans had crowded the windows to gawk at the gilded carriage. When the riders went on their way to the palace, she sent a letter with them. Nothing serious, for there was nothing serious to report from Keramzin, just well-wishes and a request for news from the court. The king was a lively correspondent and usually quick to reply, happy to unburden himself of gossip or fears which he could not, or would not, share with courtiers.

“I wrote to him,” she said, spooning sugar into her tea. “But I haven’t heard back. He’s probably busy.”

“Busy choosing a wife,” her husband replied, with a hint of a snort and a solemn undercurrent that said he did not envy the king one bit.

The woman looked into the glassy surface of her tea. “I forgot,” she murmured, though that news had reached them even in Keramzin and the staff had been buzzing about it for weeks. A royal betrothal was a rare event, and an important one.

Her husband bumped her knee with his, and teased, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed, and smiled at him. That ship had sailed long ago.

Still, it bothered her that she hadn’t heard from her friend. She knew that court obligations must be keeping him occupied, especially with eligible young women swarming the capital, but she wished she had a letter back so she could reply in kind. He was the only person who understood the way darkness had lodged itself between her ribs like a long thorn, reaching to pierce her heart. If she could just slip in a question about his demons, if she could just have reassurance that all was well with him, then maybe she would cease to worry about the impossible.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the earthy scent of her tea. It seemed silly to have those fears here. The air was bright with the chatter of children being herded into their first lessons of the day, with cooking smells, with autumn sun. Half the walls were covered in paintings of fantastical scenes, her own doing, and she wondered if she had been trying to create a ward to keep the darkness out.

“I heard there were earthquakes last night,” her husband said, changing the subject. “Maybe that’s what woke you.”

She frowned. “Earthquakes? Here?”

“All over Ravka. As far south as Dva Stolba.”

Dva Stolba. A shiver ran down her spine. “Why do they think it happened?”

“An act of nature,” said her husband, unbothered. “These things happen, beloved.”

The woman nodded and looked back into her tea. Strange things had been happening all year, it seemed—bridges of bone, statues sprouting flowers, forests falling in the night. It might mean nothing.

And yet when she tried to paint that day, her blues kept running into her blacks, and shadows marred her paintings like bruises. She retired to her room early, dreading her dreams.

---

She did not dream that night, nor the next, nor the one after that, and she breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that her husband was right, that things do happen. That sometimes earthquakes were only earthquakes, and dreams only dreams.

The next time she woke unexpectedly it was to the sound of a bright, sustained note, like ringing in her ears. Someone was playing the piano downstairs. One of the kids must have gotten up and decided to wander around in the night.

Her husband slept on next to her, bracketing her back, and she knew it would fall to her to handle this before the playing woke up the rest of the orphanage. She sighed, pushed her hair back from her face, and slipped out of bed, quietly pulling the door to behind her.

The child fooling around with the piano kept playing and holding the same note, as if not sure where to go from the single key they’d discovered. It was in one of the upper octaves, and although she’d begun to learn how to play the piano alongside some of her more gifted charges, she did not have the knack for knowing which note it was.

But when her feet found the cold tile of the foyer and she hurried to the drawing room where the piano stood, she saw the person sitting at the keys was not a child at all.

The phantom had shape now. He wore a long cloak of all black, with the hood pulled up to cast his face in shadow. She knew what he would look like if he drew it down, and it was that terrible knowledge which rooted her to the spot. He sat on the piano bench like there was real weight to him.

“You’re not here,” she said, as if the words alone were a revocation, a shield.

The phantom pressed the piano key again, and the note held, high and wavering, suspended in the air between them. She looked around, thinking it might wake the staff, or maybe some of the children would stumble bleary-eyed from their rooms, but in her heart she knew no one would come.

“You’re not real,” she insisted.

“Come and sit,” he said. His voice was cool like a poisoned spring at the height of summer, the last drink of the desperate.

She refused to slip into the well of him and stayed where she was, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re in my home.”

“Yes, and such work you’ve done, rebuilding it.” He didn’t need to remind her that he had once burnt Keramzin to the ground, slaughtered all those that had a hand in raising her. She could hear the smile in his voice, picture the way his lips curved under that hood. “Sit with me. I’ll be on my way soon enough.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Would you believe a dead man’s word?”

She shook her head. She wouldn’t have believed him when he was alive. “All you’ve ever done is lie, dead or not.”

“I bent the truth to my will, Alina. I omitted.” There it was again, the name that was hers and wasn’t. She hated the tenderness with which he said it, the same her husband’s voice held when he called her beloved, or my heart.

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” she said.

He made a small, skeptical sound, and then began to play in earnest, coaxing sad, strange music from a piano more accustomed to the clumsy fumblings of students. She had never heard a song like this, composed of discordant notes that didn’t quite fit together and made the hair on her arms stand on end. She found herself moving closer to the piano, watching his bone-white fingers move over the ivory keys, trying to figure out how he was doing it.

He softened his playing, gentled his touch, so that he could speak to her with his head still bowed. “How long has it been since you’ve seen my face at night?”

“Years,” she whispered. Another lie. She couldn’t keep him from entering her thoughts, the man she’d almost loved, the man she killed. She would go weeks at a time without thinking of him, and then he’d glide into her last thoughts before sleep, or she’d feel her husband’s callused hands on her skin and think of the one breathless night he’d gripped her thigh and nearly had her, all of the other evenings that weren’t.

“Would you like to see it again?”

“No.”

He chuckled and stopped playing, then reached up to draw back his hood.

At first she saw only what she expected: his familiar, beautiful face, with its high cheekbones, his thick, dark hair, his cruel mouth curving up at the corner. There were the faint scars that marked his survival of the time she stranded him on the Fold. But that was what she wanted to see. The other half of his face was a rotten mess. Mottled grey skin flaked away from bone, a dark hollow gaped where his eye should be. There were no lips to hide his straight white teeth, and no nose at all. How he would have rotted, if he hadn’t burned.

He smiled.

She screamed.

The cook, emerging from her room to set out breakfast, found her asleep at the keys, her forearm slung in front of the music rack, pillowing her forehead.

---

The woman was led to her bed, skin hot, buried in blankets as soft and heavy as the first snow of winter. A doctor from the nearby town was summoned to diagnose her with influenza, told her husband to see to it that she rested and drank her tea. She had always been prone to sickness when the weather changed–except for the one glorious, blazing year that her ill health could not touch her, when the light she wielded kept it at bay.

She gave that up. She was supposed to have her happily-ever-after.

“I saw him, Mal,” she said, clutching at her husband’s sleeve as he pressed a cool compress to her forehead. “I saw him.”

“Your temperature’s still high,” he replied, cupping her cheek in his work-roughened hand. She closed her eyes. “Fever dreams. He’s gone, love. You saw to that.”

Later, she saw her husband standing in the door, speaking in a low voice to the doctor, asking about paranoia, about delusions, about what it meant that his wife saw ghosts. The doctor shook his head, told him she needed to sweat it out, that after a few days she would be right as rain.

She told no one there was a weight on her chest that had nothing to do with her flu.

But her body won its fight eventually. After a few days her skin cooled, and instead of sipping clear broth from a bowl held carefully by one of the orphanage nurses, she was able to join the rest of Keramzin at dinner, seated at her husband’s side. The staff all greeted her warmly and told her how much better she looked, even though she knew they whispered about the circles under her eyes even when she was well.

Sitting there in the dining room, she was struck suddenly by a sense of profound dissatisfaction with her life. Why should she endure gossip and speculation? Why should she have her counsel so easily disregarded by the physician, by her husband, her words of warning dismissed as flights of fancy? She, who had been a saint. She, who was nearly queen. Why—

But then one of the little girls threw her arms around the woman’s legs and said, “Baba, I’m glad you’re better,” and the world righted itself. She let her hand rest on the back of the girl’s silken head, and breathed.

---

“Keep me awake tonight,” she told her husband later, as they turned down the gas lamps and climbed into bed. “I don’t want to dream.”

“You need your rest,” he replied, smoothing a lock of white hair back from her face.

She twined her arms around his shoulders. “I’m not glass,” she murmured. “I won’t break. Keep me up.”

He tried his best, and so did she, but sleep, ever the creditor, claimed its debts in the end. Although at first she did not realize she was asleep, having sild into it sideways; one moment she watched her husband’s chest rise and fall, and the next she blinked, and the waning moon had moved outside the window. The back of her neck prickled with the creeping certainty that she was being watched. There was someone else in the room with them.

She reached for her sleeping husband to wake him, to tell him, to show him, but her hand passed over his shoulder like rain running down a windowpane. She jerked it back, as if she had burned it. Her husband didn’t stir.

“He won’t wake,” said the soft, cool voice from behind her. “You’re in my domain now.”

The woman closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking. “I thought it was ours,” she said after a moment. “Not yours. I could call to you, too.”

“But you haven’t, have you, Alina?”

“There’s no point calling on a dead man.”

“Am I so dead?”

The more fool her, expecting a nightmare to know he was deceased. The more fool her, for thinking him just a nightmare. She turned over, holding her blankets close to her chest, and found a figure standing at her bedside, nearly human, not a shadow, not half corpse.

She blinked up at him. “You’re whole now.”

“I only wanted to remind you of the damage you did,” he said.

How could she forget? She killed both him and her husband that day, so much heart’s blood gouting warm over her hands. If one had returned to her, it didn’t seem so unlikely that the other would as well, even though she’d watched him burn.

But she wondered if that was it, or if he simply had the strength now to appear as he liked. He had been formless at first, just a whisper in her ear. Now he stood at her bedside, lifelike. His hood was pushed back from his face, and the moonlight glimmered on his sharp, elegant cheekbones, haloed his dark hair. His scars, which had appeared after she stranded him on the Fold, were gone. He looked down at her with his pale grey eyes, and she very much wished she were clothed.

“What do you want?” she asked, smoothing her hand over the blankets.

“A word. A walk.”

“And what if I don’t want to give you those things?”

His mouth curved into a smile, but she read sadness in his eyes. “Then I will come again, Alina. The tracker may think he has you in the day, but your nights are mine.”

She closed her eyes again and imagined him eroding her dreams over and over, until he became the only thought left in her head. She imagined sitting up for days, trying to avoid him. It chilled her blood. If they had thought her paranoid before…

“No tricks,” she told him. “Look away. I need to dress.”

He scoffed, “You act as though we’re strangers.”

“Some things belong to me,” she reminded him. “Look away.”

He pursed his lips, but turned his head away from her. She slipped out of bed, careful not to touch him, and gathered up her discarded nightgown, her underwear, dressing as quickly as she could. She stepped into her slippers, determined to make him wait as long as possible, before asking, “Where are we walking?”

“Around your orphanage, to start.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms and tucked her hands under her armpits so he couldn’t take them.

The door to their room had a squeaky hinge, one her husband had been meaning to grease for a couple of weeks now. When the phantom opened it, it made no sound. She listened, hard, for his footfalls on the floor.

“Tell me, does this life suit you?” he asked, as they walked side by side through the darkened hall, the only two awake in a house, or perhaps a world, of sleepers. “Do you enjoy being painter and patroness?”

“I do,” she said. It did not taste like a lie.

He hummed. “Do you enjoy being a mere wife, when you might have been a queen?”

“Men wanted to make me their queen,” she reminded him. “That was never something I chose for myself.”

“All the more reason you would have been a good one,” he said. “Power is wasted by those who crave it. It’s twisted, perverted, misused. You would have made an excellent queen.”

“That’s a rare moment of self-awareness from you.”

An amused glint lit his eyes, a candle flame in a darkened window. “I never wanted power for power’s sake, Alina. I loved my country.”

“Did you?” She paused for a moment to consider a painted vine snaking around a bannister, which was already beginning to flake off. She scratched at a leaf with her index finger; green came away under her nail. “Then why couldn’t you stop destroying it?”

“Ah,” he said.

“Well?”

“So young, so wise, so married,” he mused, “and yet you know nothing of love.”

He took the stairs without waiting for her to follow. She did, of course, determined to chase him down and to explain all the ways that he was wrong, then realizing, partway down, that he would only take her arguments as defensiveness. So she reminded herself of what she knew. She loved her life. She loved the children in her care. She loved her husband. Her love would not destroy them. It would not destroy her.

But she had loved power, too, once. And now her power was dead.

He waited for her by the two grand double doors that stood at Keramzin’s main entrance. She tried to follow the lines of his cloak with her eyes, but it bled into the shadows at his feet. He watched her steadily.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now we walk.” And he held out his hand.

She stared at him.

“You won’t get to where we’re going if you don’t take it.” He spread his fingers out a little, beckoning her. “Alina.”

She held his gaze as she slipped her hand into his. She half-expected to feel the surge of power, familiar and wild, that used to always manifest when she touched him. She didn’t feel that, but she didn’t feel nothing. Some dark thing fluttered just to the side of her heart, a fledgling raven not quite ready to leave the nest.

“Aleksander,” she said.

He pushed open the door.

They stepped together, and for a moment it was as if the shadows had swallowed them whole. She felt like she had stepped back into the nothingness of the Fold, an all-consuming, weightless darkness. But then it resolved itself, and she saw that she was in a grey, windowless room. She blinked and pressed her hand to one of the walls, feeling cool stone under her palm. With a surge of panic, she looked over her shoulder and saw the only door was metal and sealed tight.

“This is a cell,” she said, her heart sinking. Had she stepped into a trap without knowing? Would she be able to leave? “Why would you bring me here?”

“A glimpse of the future,” he said, ever inscrutable.

And then his mouth was hot and hard on hers, and her back collided with the wall. She was so surprised that for a moment she didn’t react, for a moment her lips parted and she let herself be kissed, and then she grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away.

“What are you doing?” she cried, as if someone might hear, someone outside. Someone who could intervene.

“What you want.”

That dark thing fluttered behind her ribcage again. “I have a husband.”

“Your husband,” he said, voice heavy with derision. “The tracker. Have you forgotten? You murdered your husband the day you murdered me.”

“Clearly it didn’t take.” She kept her hands firm on his shoulders. He certainly felt real, firm and strong, all lean muscle.

His laugh was low and dangerous. “Are you so deserving of good things? Are you so deserving of kindness? You put a dagger in both of us, Alina. Tell me why I shouldn’t repay you in kind.”

She felt one of his hands slip up her nightdress, settling on her thigh, a strange echo of the position they’d been in years ago, that very different night. Her blood pulsed hot in her ears, and she knew it was not a dagger he was planning to stick her with. “You’re dead,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. She refused to let him rattle her. “I think that would make it difficult. No blood to spare.”

He gave her a narrow, rueful grin. “If I’m truly dead, does it matter what we do?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His other hand traced a half-circle over her collarbones, where Morozova’s antlers once sat, before gently tilting her chin up. She could not look away from him. In life, there was always such intensity in his gaze, and the gaze of this nightmare, this dream, was no different. “I’m going to kiss you again,” he said. “Tell me to stop, if that’s what you want.”

She didn’t tell him to stop. He was gentler this time, his lips ghosting over her cheek before finding hers, molding to her instead of forcing his way in. She shut her eyes tight, but her grip on his shoulders turned into something else, a near embrace, another battle in their war. She could even smell him, cool and crisp like the approach of winter. His hand was warm on her thigh.

“You have something of mine,” he murmured against her mouth. “Do you know how to use it?”

“What?” she asked breathily.

She felt him smile. “I’m not so far away, Alina,” he said. “Come and find me.”

---

When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing in the middle of Keramzin’s drive in her nightdress and slippers. Although it was late autumn and a breeze brushed her white hair back from her face like a lover’s fingers, she didn’t feel the cold.

Dawn was just beginning to break in the east, a pink tinge illuminating the dark branches of naked trees. She stood there, watching the morning sun rise, and held her hands up to it, hoping to catch the rays in her palms and hold them for a while. But they glided over her skin, indifferent to what she wanted. She tried not to let her disappointment swallow her. She had felt a tug when he touched her. She had hoped...

But maybe that wasn’t the answer.

“There you are,” said a voice from behind her. She turned and found her husband standing in the door, his feet bare. He had dressed in haste, and his shirt didn’t quite sit right on his shoulders. She saw the nurse peeking out behind him.

“Sleepwalking,” she called from the drive. “Don’t worry.”

“You should come in,” he said. “You’ll make yourself sick again.” She could hear his concern warring with his impulse not to frighten her off. If they could only pretend everything was fine, then everything would be.

“In a minute.” She looked toward the trees bordering the drive, their little patch of forest. “There’s something I want to try.”

“Ali—” he began, then stopped, remembered himself. “Just come in.”

She smiled at him like she couldn’t still feel the ghost of another man’s kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Before he could say another word, she walked off into the trees, where the shadows grew thick like underbrush, even at midday. But it was dawn, with the sun’s light slanting at an angle, and the thick trunks of trees sprouted long, dark shadows that blanketed the leaf-covered ground. She walked until she was sure she could no longer be seen. Eventually, someone would come to bring her in. Better to be quick. Better to be sure.

Alina held out her hands.

The shadows greeted her like an old friend.

[laurafett]

Prisoner

PART ONE

Boba Fett x f reader

- You are a prisoner in Boba’s palace and don’t know why. After trying to break out the guards bring you to Boba himself and he is not happy with your behavior -

No mentions of pronouns, hair or skin color, sexuality. 

Minors, do NOT interact!!

Warnings: smut, angry sex, thigh riding, degrading, guns, p in v (wrap it before you tap it), cum in v

_________________________

This was not the way you wanted this to go. Your plan went miserably wrong, to say the least. But who could have known that he had guards in every fucking inch of this palace. And who would have thought that those Gamorrean could be so quiet while sneaking up to you. Well, you clearly didn’t.

Now here you were. Your arms in the grip of two guards and on your way to Boba’s personal chambers. You wished they would have just put you back into your cell but no, they had told their boss about your try to break out. 

Being a prisoner in the palace of Boba Fett wasn’t the worst way you had ever lived. But it wasn’t exactly all fun and games either. You got enough food, sometimes even some decent things, enough to drink and you were allowed to see the sunlight through your small window. 

It still wasn’t a great experience. But as said, you’ve been through worse. For example, there was the time you were on the run from the Empire after you betrayed them. It was bad. You were living in the dirt and did not have enough food or clean water for days. You were completely alone. Not being able to talk to anyone because you didn’t know who to trust. Thank the Maker you didn’t trust anyone. They would have handed you to the Empire in a matter of seconds. 

You really thought you could make it after your numerous weeks of hiding. But it turns out that the men Boba hired knew what they were doing. They tracked you for days, following every single one of your steps until they knew when and where to catch you. 

There were four of them that had attacked you all at once. You were still half asleep in the pile of mud in which you had made your bed and because of this, they were able to overwhelm you and bring you to their ship. 

At the very least, they took care of the knife wound you had sustained after the very one sided fight. It was only a cut in your upper arm, but it was deep and it hurt like hell with all the dirt on your skin directly making its way into the open cut. 

After that, they brought you to Tatooine; more specifically to the infamous Boba Fett himself. You had heard about his success at the overtaking of Jabba's old palace but you never thought you would ever meet him, not thinking you were of any importance to ever be in his presence. But it seemed like you were wrong about that.

Until now, you’d only met him once. It was the day his men dragged you out of the ship and into the palace. It was bigger than you expected. So many different rooms and floors but everything looked the same. Every wall had the same sandish colour and all doors were identical. You really wondered how the people here knew where they were going. 

Just like now. The corridor you just walked through looked like everything else. Plain, boring, not even a sign or anything to show in which direction you had to go. 

In the two weeks you’ve spent here, you would’ve probably not been able to memorize any room or stairs. You would’ve probably become lost every time you set a foot out of your cell. Thank the Maker again you were not allowed to leave the tiny room.

You laughed at yourself at how ridiculous that sounded. 

One of the Gamorreans pulled at your arm, babbling something in Huttese, which you could only assume translated to “shut up”.

Your hands were cuffed behind your back while they dragged you through the dark floor. Maybe you should’ve been nervous about your encounter with the feared bounty hunter but at this point in your life you weren’t afraid of much anymore. As long as the Empire would not get any hold of you, you knew that you would be some kind of safe. 

It seemed like your walk was about to end when the creatures took one last turn into a corridor that only led to one door. This one actually looked different than the others. It was bigger and had a different style of code pad beside it. You couldn’t see it properly but you were pretty sure it was thicker too. 

A grunt left your mouth when both pulled at your arms to make you stop. You shot a death glare at the guard to your left which only earned you a growl in response.The other one stepped forward and pressed one of the buttons beside the door before he went back to your side, reconnecting his grip at your arm. 

Some seconds later the door opened, leading into a room that looked, no surprise to anyone, exactly like all the others. Not daring to make a move, you waited for someone to tell you what to do. 

After some moments of silence, the Gamorreans by your side got impatient and started swearing. They pushed you into the direction of the door, not caring if they would hurt you or touched your still sensitive wound. When they finally managed to push you through the open door, they gave you one last shove and a grumble before they turned around. 

“Nee choo sleemo!” Was all you managed to say before the door closed right in front of your nose. 

“I didn’t know you could speak Huttese.” A dark voice caught your attention. 

You turned into its direction and saw Boba. He sat in a big seat, right in front of a big massive stone table. It had the same colour as the walls. 

“Only a little bit.” You said and your eyes started to wander. This must have been his office. But the only thing that told you this was the big table, some chairs and a great amount of shelves with different kinds of paper on them. The rest was just as simple as anything else in the palace. 

There was a door on his right side, but it was closed. Probably the door to his private chambers. An enormous window was above him, allowing to paint the room in sunlight during the daytime. 

“You should sit down.” Cutting through your thoughts, your eyes flicked back towards his direction. 

A little hesitant, you walked up to him. You weren’t afraid of what was going to happen but you were confused at how calm he was. You actually expected to be yelled at and that he might beat you up. Maybe that would still happen but for now you just wanted to follow his orders.

Your foot kicked one of the chairs in front of you so you were able to take a seat. Boba wore his helmet, so you couldn’t make out any kind of facial expression he may have had at your actions. But your eyes stayed on the part of his visor where you thought his would be. 

The silence between the two of you was not uncomfortable. It was more like a contest of who would be able to stay silent the longest. The man had his hands intertwined on the table in front of him. You weren’t even able to hear him breathe. 

“Do you know why you are here?” His words suddenly broke the tension. 

“I would guess it’s because I tried to break out?” The sarcastic tone in your voice made the bounty hunter chuckle. It was a deep sound rumbling through his chest and for a second you even thought that you just imagined it. 

“No. Not because of this.” His body relaxed a little and he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I knew that the day would come when you would try to run away. You are too smart for the old code systems here.” 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. 

“You did?” Feeling the tension getting less with every second you tried to get a more comfortable position in your seat. He started nodding slightly.

“Yes I did. You tricked the Empire, why wouldn’t you be able to get through the basic systems here? That’s why I told the guards to stay close to your door. So you couldn’t leave the palace.”

Shrugging your shoulders and nodding, you signal  that his points actually made sense.

“But I want to know if you know why you are here, on Tatooine. In my palace.” His helmet nudged into your direction.

“Well… “ You started, trying to think of the only reason why you could be here. “If I had to guess again, I would say I am here because you want to hand me over to the Empire to get the credits for me as a bounty.”

Tilting your head, you kept what you assumed was eye contact. It was silent for some moments again, as if he would consider if your idea was better than whatever his was. 

“That actually sounds like a good plan, but no. This is not the reason.” He went silent again and just continued to look at your figure. You on the other hand got more confused with every passing moment. If he didn’t want to get the credits for you, why were you here?

“So… Do you want to tell me why I’m here then?” You grew impatient. It was no secret that Boba didn’t talk much, but this was ridiculous. Now that you were here right in front of him, he should also tell you why he kept you in his palace in the first place.

“Don’t be so annoyed. I brought you here so I could finally tell you.” 

You weren’t able to see it but under his helmet a smile danced around Boba’s lips. He heard about you way before the incident with the Empire happened. He actually looked for someone with great hacking, fighting and undercover skills like you. And when one of his men brought up your name and the stuff you already did, which caused you to have some credits on your head that already made you interesting for bounty hunters, he knew that he found who he was looking for. 

“The person who gave you the assignment to work your way into the Empire and steal the codes from them, did you know who they were working for?”

Slowly, very slowly you got in which direction this was going.

“No, I didn’t know. But I also didn’t care. It was just a job. A very dangerous one and also one I didn’t get enough credits for but still just a job. I don’t need to know every person’s name I work for.” Another chuckle rumbled through his chest, this time you didn’t think you imagined it. It was louder and clearer than the last time. 

“That’s what I thought. Well, to make it short, it was me.” Your lips pressed together and you nodded. You didn’t know if this was supposed to tell you anything but if it was, you didn’t get it.

“And that is the reason you locked me into a cell for two weeks?” Raising your eyebrows, you looked at his covered face. 

A long sight left his mouth. People told him you were cocky but he thought you would have a little bit more respect for him. Both of his hands went up to his helmet. He lifted it up and set it down onto the table. 

This was the first time you saw his face. It's not like you had no idea what he looked like, you saw holographs of the clones before. You knew Boba was more a son to Jango Fett than a clone, you heard it in stories, but you still knew that he looked like the others. 

You looked at the scars on his face, the way the skin around them was more pale than the rest of his face. He looked older than he was, probably due to his encounter with the sarlacc pit. His facial features were rustic and strong. And his dark brown eyes looked directly into yours.

“The reason why I locked you away was because you were in trouble. Everyone is looking for you. And even though you did a good job at hiding, there would have been no way you could keep doing this much longer.”

“So you thought it would be a good idea to kidnap me and throw me into your own personal prison?” An annoyed expression washed over his face. 

“No. I thought it would be a good idea to hide you here. After all, it’s still my fault that the Empire is after you.” You rolled your eyes while a smile tugged at your lips.

“Oh, you, the great Boba Fett, Kind of the Underworld, is worried about someone who did a job for him. That definitely makes sense.” It was possible to see that the man got fed up. His expression hardened and his eyes got darker.

“I wasn’t worried! There is just no need for more unnecessary deaths. I took over this place for a reason!” Boba’s voice got louder with every word he spoke. His hands were already balled into fists.

For some reason this was very funny to you. A bounty hunter who was supposed to have enough patience to hunt people for days, got riled up by someone as unimportant as you. The smile on your lips grew wider. 

“Sure. Makes sense.” Your tone was so monoton. You were almost impressed by yourself at how cool you could stay while he was yelling at you. 

 “You have no right to complain. You had everything you needed. Food, water, even a small bathroom and a nurse who looked after your wounds. If I would have told you why you are here and if you would have been able to leave your room at any time you want, someone would have noticed you and told the Empire. You would be dead by now. Or maybe worse.”

He yelled at you right in the face and all you could do was smirk. It was so ironic that he was the angry one in this situation even though it was supposed to be you. He probably thought you would start yelling at him. And for some reason you liked it. The angry tone in his voice sent a shiver over your body. 

“Yes, it’s okay. I get it.” You nodded slightly, still looking at him. 

Boba was fed up. He didn’t expect you to fall on to your knees and thank him for your rescue but he brought himself and his business in danger to save your life. And all you did was laugh in his face. 

The bounty hunter never met someone like you, someone who had absolutely no respect for him. Especially now that he took over the palace. No one dared to look his way or to say something wrong. If you weren’t so annoying to him he may be impressed.

“You are very ungrateful.” He gritted through his teeth.

“Well, I didn’t ask you to save me.” You said and shrugged your shoulders. 

This was enough for him. The disrespect you brought up against him made him lose his temper. He stood up, walked around the table, pulled his blaster out and held it against your forehead. 

The cold metal of the weapon pressed against your skin. A wave of adrenalin washed through your body and made the tips of your fingers tingle. Familiar heat spreads into your lower stomach, almost making you laugh. Of course, you get turned on by a man holding a blaster to your head. 

“You better keep your mouth shut or I will change my mind and kill you right here and now.” His broad figure stood in front of you, dark eyes looking down at you the way a hunter looks at his prey right before they are about to pull the trigger. 

The words made their way directly down to your cunt. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs. Even the sight in front of you didn’t make it any better. His chest raised with every breath he took and his eyes pierced into yours. The look, probably supposed to be a warning, telling you not to mess with him but the only thing it did was to make you even more desperate. 

You slightly pressed your thighs together, trying to give yourself at least a little bit of friction but it didn’t work. Biting your lip, to hide the silent moan that was about to escape, you saw that Boba knew exactly what you were trying to do. His eyes went down to your thighs for a second before shooting back up to yours. 

A smile tugged at your mouth again and this time your eyes darted down for a moment. It was clear to see that the man was just as aroused as you. The outlines of his hardening cock pressed against his dark trousers.

Bringing your eyes back up to him, you smiled.

“Make me.”

In a matter of seconds his other hand was around your throat and squeezed it. He brought his face down to yours so both of you were on the same height.

“You think this is funny, huh? Not having the slightest bit of respect. Maybe I should teach you some manners. Hm? What do you think, little one? Should I teach you how to behave?” 

The smile on your face was gone now, but you enjoyed this no less. With an enthusiastic nod you gave him your consent. 

“Use your fucking words. I know what a kriffing smart mouth you have.” He spoke the words through his teeth, too angry and turned on to hide it any longer. 

“Yes. Fuck, yes I want you to teach me some respect, Boba.” His grip around your throat let loose and he got back up, so that he looked down at you again.

“That’s right. Good girl.” He drew the gun away from your face and walked back over to the other side of the table, sitting down in his big armchair. 

The nickname made your body tingle in anticipation. Following every move he made, your look fell onto his spread legs. His thick thighs covered almost every inch of the seat while the bulge in his pants grew bigger within seconds.

“Come here.”

Carefully you tried to stand up. You didn’t really trust your legs at this moment, too weak to hold your full weight with the way they already shivered a little bit. Slowly you walked up to him, never breaking eye contact. 

When you stood beside him you could see how he mustered your body up and down.

“Strip.” His voice was demanding. Not asking you to do it, instead he was commanding you.

“I can’t. My hands are still cuffed.” Turning around you waved your hands to demonstrate to him that you really weren’t able to move them.

Facing him again, you saw a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“What a pleasant surprise. Maybe we should keep it that way.” The man’s fingers went down to his belt and fumbled with something you couldn’t see. 

While waiting for his next move, you tried to hold yourself back from rubbing your thighs together. You still didn’t know how fast he was able to make you feel this way but there was something about him, something so raw and exciting, you really couldn’t describe it. 

The way his broad figure took over this whole armchair and left no room for anything else. The thought that he could overwhelm you in no time and make you regret any of your decisions you did in the past ten minutes. 

He was dangerous, every part of his body probably stronger than yours. Boba was one of the most feared men in the galaxy and yet you stood here with wet panties and the thought about his dick in your cunt. 

“There we go.” His left hand pulled out a vibro knife from his belt. “Don’t move.” And with one swift move he slid the knife under your shirt, pulled it down and cut it in the middle.

A soft whimper left your mouth when the air hit your naked skin. Boba’s eyes devoured you. They were glued to your breasts, looking at them so intensely that you almost felt uncomfortable. 

Like he was in trance he put the knife down and his hands started working on your pants. You helped him by shaking your legs so it would be easier for him to pull them down. 

After he opened the button, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled your trousers down, taking your panties right with them. Trying to get rid of your shoes, you managed to get out of the pants and kick them to the side.  

His eyes followed your loose clothing and spotted the wet spot in your underwear. 

Now you stood in front of him, nacked aside from your ripped shirt still hanging around your upper body. His look burned into your skin, not letting his eyes move from any inch of your skin until he was sure he saw everything. 

Both of his hands reached out and grabbed your ass. He pulled you towards him, sitting you down on one of his thighs. The cold beskar sent a shiver over your body and pressed almost painfully against your heat.

“So this is what holding a loaded blaster to your head does to you? You fucking whore.” Two of his fingers gripped your chin and pointed your face into his direction. “I’m gonna tell you what to do now and you are going to listen to me and do it. Do you understand me?”

You hummed, nodding to let him know that you understood but you quickly found out this wasn’t what he wanted. His fingers left your chin and slid down to your throat. He squeezed it so hard that you got dizzy for a split second.

“I told you to use your kriffing words and I’m not going to repeat myself.” The grip loosened again. 

“Y-yes, yes. I’m sorry. I- I will do anything you tell me.” 

A smile danced across his lips and you could feel his hard cock twitching against your leg.

“Good. Ride my thigh until you cum all over it.” He brought his hand back down, laying it over his bulge.

You were so turned on and needy that you wasted no more time. Trying to find a good rhythm you rubbed your wet cunt against the beskar on his leg. It was hard to find any kind of friction because your slick heat just slipped over the metal. 

“Fuck I-” Swearing you tried to find a part of the beskar shield that had some roughness. 

It was clear to see that Boba enjoyed seeing you struggling. His eyes were pinned to the place where you tried to find some release. 

“I- I can’t. It just doesn’t work.” Your voice sounded breathy and high, almost as if you were about to cry.

“Oh Princess, I know you can do it.” His voice was filled with amusement. 

Giving it one more try, you scooted up higher, closer to the upper half of his body. Finally you could feel the end of the plate. You slowly started to rub your clit on the space between his pants and the beskar. 

Low moans rumbled in your throat. Slowly moving your hips back and forth, you were able to find a good pace. The heat in your lower abdomen started to grow and you couldn't hold back the sounds coming from your mouth. 

Both of your hands twitched, desperately wanting to hold on to something. Your movements became faster as you felt the pleasure finally building itself up. Through your almost closed eyes you could see how Boba palmed himself through his pants. An even louder moan escaped you as your thoughts wandered to the feeling of his dick inside of you. 

You let your head fall back, trying to concentrate only on your release. It was close, you could feel it. 

Suddenly a hand pushed your head back up and you looked directly into Boba’s eyes.

“Look at me when you cum. Show me that you deserve my cock.” His words almost sent you over the edge. The raspy voice made its way straight down to your core and you could feel that you were almost there. 

Feeling your clit pulsing, you tried to grind down harder. Your pace got slower but the feeling was more intense. The man’s hand was still at the back of your head, giving you at least a little bit of hold. 

Your chest heaved with every breath you took and there still seemed to be no air in your lungs. His dark eyes bore into yours, giving you a warning. Telling you to better do as he had said. 

Several parts of your body began to tingle at the same time. You were so close. You just needed a bit more encouragement. 

“Please, Boba. Tell me- ah fuck. Tell me to cum.” Sounding like you were about to die of thirst, you plead at him. His voice was the last thing you needed to finish.

“Cum.” He was quiet, almost seemed bored, as if you haven’t been sitting on his leg and using it to get yourself off for the last couple minutes. “Now!” Suddenly you felt a sharp slap against your ass.

Your legs began to shake around his and you pressed them together. A loud gasp left your mouth, inhaling so much air at once that your mouth felt dry. Shoulders tensing and eyebrows furrowing, you did your best to not look away from him. 

Your toes curled against the sandy floor, your fingernails dug into your palms and whines drooled out of your mouth. Every muscle in your body was active.

Slowly you started to calm down again. Relaxing your shoulders, you tried to take control over your breathing. You heard your heartbeat in your ears and almost felt the blood rushing through your veins. 

“See.” The low sound of his voice broke through your clouded mind. “I was right. Now, come up and straddle me. You deserve a small reward for doing so well.”

A mischievous expression painted his face. With all the strength you had in your leg, you pulled it up and brought it on the outside of his other thigh. His hands went directly to your ass and grabbed your cheeks. He moved your slick heat over the outlines of his cock.

Moaning, you looked down and saw his still covered member. With slow movements you grinded down on him, making him hiss through his teeth. Another sharp slap landed on your ass, but this time it was the other side. 

“Did I tell you to move?” The high pitched scream that left you echoed through the whole room. 

“No, fuck. No, you didn’t. I’m sorry.” You whined and looked at him with dove eyes. 

“That’s right.” One of his hands moved to his pants and unbuttoned it. His eyes still on your face as he pulled his hard cock out of his trousers. 

Eyes widening, you looked down at his dick. He was thick, really thick. For a second, you even doubted that he would fit inside of you. The hand on his member slowly started to pump himself. With the pad of his thumb, he collected the precum on his tip and brought his hand up.

Without a second thought, you raised your head and opened your mouth. Boba smirked as he pushed his thumb into it. Immediately you wrapped your lips around him and started sucking. The salty sensation on your tongue made you moan. 

“I am going to fuck you now and you will take it, just like the good little slut you are. But don’t cum without my permission, you heard me?”

“Yes.” You tried to say with his thumb still sitting in your mouth. 

He grabbed the base of his cock with his other hand and brought it to your cunt. With a nod of his head he signaled you to lift yourself up, so he could bring it into the right position. 

A croaky sound rumbled through his chest when his tip came in contact with your wet folds. He tried to coat his cock with your slick as much as possible before lining himself up at your entrance. 

The hand that was holding himself up now went to your hip, pushing you down onto him. The first few inches stretched you out like you have never been before. He looked back up at your face as you whined at the feeling. Seeing your pained expression, he began to move much slower.

He was halfway inside of you when the pain slowly turned into pleasure. The closer your hips got, the faster your breathing became. Just a few more inches before he was fully seated inside of you and the thought made you clench around him. 

A silent chuckle escaped him when he felt you tightening. Not wasting anymore time he took things into his own hands and pushed himself up so he bottomed out. 

Eyes wide and mouth hanging open in pleasure you looked at the man in front of you and saw that his eyes were glued to the place where both of you met. You slightly moved your hips ripping an adenoidal sound from him before he raised his head to lock his eyes with yours.

You looked at him with a pleading expression silently asking him to move. Instead he brought both of his hands to rest on the sides of his armchair. 

“You better start moving, Princess. Or otherwise I will become impatient.” His voice was just as steady as before showing no sign of being buried balls deep in your pussy while you were sure that right now you wouldn’t be able to speak a single word.

The attempt of bouncing yourself on his dick in a steady rhythm went completely wrong. Without being able to hold onto something you had to use your legs, which was almost impossible in this position.   

You didn’t dare to look him in the eyes, already feeling his burning stare and anger on your sweaty skin. Boba didn’t move. He sat, still waiting for you to figure out how to fuck him properly but you couldn’t. 

Tears of frustration started to form in the corner of your eyes. You knew if you kept going like this he would not be happy. 

“I’m really disappointed. For someone who is so sure about themselves you are a really bad fuck.” Your eyes pressed close, causing the tears to make their way down your face. 

“Are you crying? Pathetic. Maybe I should hand you over to the Empire now that I know that there is absolutely no use for you here.” The breath you held escaped your mouth with a pitiful sound and your tear covered vision tried to focus on him.

A mischievous smile painted his lips, showing you that he was having way too much fun seeing you fail the only order he gave you. You almost felt embarrassed. After talking to him like he was some random nerf herder and showing him that you were not afraid of him, now you were sitting on his cock, crying because you weren’t able to move your body the right way.

“Now what? You want to end this and go back to your cell or will you prove to me that you can follow orders and maybe get better treatment here?” It was almost as if he spit the words at you. There was no single sign of respect or empathy in his tone. 

But you came too far to accept something like this. 

Straightening your back, you brought all your strength into your legs and forced your knees to lift you up. You brought yourself up as high as possible, almost making him slip out of you. The tears cleared from your sight and you did your best to not break eye contact. 

In one swift motion, you bounced back down onto him, letting out a high pitched moan when his member hit the spot deep inside of you. Not being able to hold back, Boba let out a grunt, almost automatically bringing his hands back to your hips. 

You tried to keep this pace, bouncing up and down his dick, moaning and whimpering the entire time at the feeling of Boba inside of you. Dark and breathy sounds left him, showing you that what you did was working. 

The man stared at your breasts until his face went forward and he captured one of your nipples into his mouth. Surprised by the sudden stimulation, you broke your rhythm, throwing your head back with your mouth open with a silent moan. 

A sharp sting on your ass made you come back from your hazy state and forced a surprised but obscene sound out of you. You felt his cock twitch inside of you at the ring of your voice. Your head came back up after you heard him say your name.

His angry painted face stared right at you.

“I didn’t tell you to slow down.” He gritted through his teeth. His words sent a wave of white pleasure through your body and you shivered slightly. 

You wanted to bring yourself up again but at this point your body was so exhausted and weak that you couldn’t bring up the strength to lift yourself up. 

“Move. Now.” The words sounded more like a threat than a command. But even though you could feel that he got impatient with the way his hands gripped you tight, surely leaving marks there, you just didn’t have it in you anymore.

Legs still shaky from your previous orgasm you did the best you could do and grind down on him; moving your hips in circles to get at least a little bit of friction. You were probably just as close as he was but without the steady movements of his dick sliding inside and out of you, hitting that one spot deep inside of you, you knew you weren’t going to be able to finish.

At this point, your only fear was that he would push you away. Leave you needy and aching for some release while he would just go back to what he was doing before. 

A moan escaped you when your clit brushed over the small amount of pubic hair that was not covered by his clothes. 

“Boba, please.” You almost whispered. A shiver running over his body at the way you said his name.

“What is it, princess? You want to apologize for talking to me like you probably do to any random boy in a cantina just because you are pretty and think you deserve better? Or do you need something else?” His tone was so low, so rough and mocking at the same time. He wanted you to feel bad about what you did. He thought it was amusing seeing you squirming like this, waiting for some release.

“Please fuck me.” The way he stared at you was intense. He made you feel so small on top of him like he could do to you whatever he wanted and to be completely honest, he could. In this moment you would do anything. 

Living the life of someone who was always on the run or searching for new jobs and a way to get money you never had time for relationships. Only some short, rough encounters with strangers in shitty motels, cantina bathrooms or dark allies. 

But even after all this time, no one made you feel so sensitive than him. Your body felt like it was electric, feeling every little shiver and hot wave of pleasure almost twice as intense as normal. 

You knew that this would leave a mark, burning its way into your memories but not in a bad way. Even though Boba was mean and rough he knew what he was doing and you wanted to make sure to experience every single part of it.

His eyes were still pointed at you. Dark, blown pupils boring into yours. You could feel his cock moving inside of you at the words that just left your mouth. 

Both of you sat in silence for some moments. You were sure he would tell you to go. To put on your clothes and order you to leave, go back to your dirty prison. 

But instead, he slung his hands around your thighs to lift you up so that your arms and back were pressed against the table and started pounding into you. 

You screamed at the fast pace he set from his first move, not able to control the sounds that  left your mouth when he hit that sensitive spot inside of you.

“You really are a little brat, you know that?” His mouth was so close to your ear you could feel his lips brushing your skin. “I brought you here to save your life, you talk down to me like I am no one and you still want me to do all the work even now.” 

Arching your back, you brought yourself closer to him. You were so close but you knew that you were not allowed to cum without his permission. 

“Fuck. Boba I’m-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence because an especially hard thrust made your eyes roll back and pushed all the air out of your lungs.

“No. Not yet. You wait till I tell you to let go.” His face was buried in the crook of your neck and his panting breath made your already hot skin heat up even more. 

Every part of your body was bouncing against his armor. The rough material stimulating your hard nipples while you tried to focus on the feeling in your lower stomach. With every thrust the heat spread through your whole body, making your fingertips and toes tingle. 

All of your surroundings went blurry. The only thing you could focus on was the man inside of you. His cock hit your spot every single time and you were sure you were about to pass out. 

One of his hands came up and started to rub fast and small circles over your clit, making you yelp. You were so close at the edge, not sure how long you would still be able to hold it back. 

“So you want to cum, huh, princess?” He breathed into your ear. You nodded eagerly, forcing yourself to speak even though your throat was as dry as the dunes on Tatooine.

“Yes. Oh Maker, yes, Boba, please.” You could hear him chuckle between the dark grunts coming from his mouth.

“Then cum.” About to let go, you could hear him talking again. “But I want to hear you scream. Scream my name and let everyone in this goddamn palace know who makes you feel so good.” 

And then you snapped. The second orgasm washed over you, even harder than the first one. Making your legs tighten around his waist while the rest of your body shook uncontrollably. You couldn’t tell how loud your voice was as a white noise clouded your mind and your senses. 

Your head was empty and your body almost numb when you started to come down from your high. Boba still pounded into you, slowly overstimulating you. Opening your eyes you could see that he stood in front of you now. 

Putting both of your legs over one of his shoulders, he smirked down at you. In that position he could reach even deeper parts of you and your eyes started to tear up. It was too much for you. 

“Where do you want my cum?” You could hear him speak through his still fast movements. His forehead glistened with sweat.

“In me. I- fuck. I’m safe.” Boba grunted at your words. His pace sped up for one last time before you could hear him moan above you and feel his seed filling you up. The sounds he made were almost animalistic while he closed his eyes and threw his head back. 

His movements got slower until he stopped completely. Both of you breathed heavily, trying to come down from your heights.

He was the first to move again by bringing your legs back down. Then he slowly pulled himself out of you, making a strangled noise. The feeling of suddenly being so empty felt almost weird to you. As if you weren’t used to it. 

The man fell down into his seat, rubbing his hand over his face. When his look fell on your now swollen pussy, leaking with his release he could almost feel his cock twitch again. Shaking his head, he brought his member back into his pants before he could get hard again. 

He still couldn’t draw his look away from your blissed out form. Laying on his table, completely naked, filled with his release and a panting mess. He was proud of himself.

Boba stood up and left you for a moment. You thought, even if you tried to move, you weren’t sure if your body would actually do so. All of your limbs felt weak and soft, as if you didn’t have a single bone in your body. 

Your mind was still clouded, trying to process what just happened. This was the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had and you were sure you would still be able to feel it for at least some days. 

The man came back from a different room with a damp washcloth in his hands. He tried to be careful while cleaning you up but you still hissed at the contact with the uneven material, still extremely sensitive. After that, he brought one of his hands to your back and slowly pushed you into a sitting position. 

Your shoulders hung low and your eyelids were heavy, too exhausted to thank him. He vanished from your vision again but you didn’t care. Only after some silent seconds, you could feel him tug at your arms as he released your hands from the cuffs. A relieved sound came from you as you started to rub your wrists. 

Boba stopped in front of you one more time, handing you a black fabric. Not sure what to do with it you looked up at him in confusion. 

“Put this on. You can leave your ripped shirt here.” With aching arms you did your best to slide out of the rest of your shirt and put on the one he gave you. It was too big but at least you weren’t naked anymore. 

Standing up, you needed a moment until your legs stopped shaking. The man side eyed you. He couldn’t help himself and grin at your fucked out form. 

Trying not to fall over, you slipped back into the rest of your clothes. 

Completely dressed again you turned around looking at Boba who sat in his chair. 

“Fennec will be here soon. She will show you your room.” Raising your eyebrows you looked down at him. He reached into one of his drawers and pulled out a small piece of paper. “This is the code for your room. Don’t lose it and don’t change it.”

You took the note from him and put it into your pocket. He didn’t look at you while he kept talking.

“You can walk around in the palace as much as you want but if someone finds you and tells the empire it’s not my problem anymore, alright?” A smirk crept onto your face. So this is how you can get some freepasses here. 

“Alright, Boss.” You said in a slightly mocking tone. Before you were able to turn around and walk to the door, he reached for your sleeve and pulled your upper body down to him. 

“Don’t disrespect any of the people in here and if you need something, you only come to me. No one else.” His eyes bored into yours, making sure you understood everything he said. 

With your confidence slowly coming back, you brought your face closer to his, almost pressing your lips onto his ear. 

“Don’t worry. I will only come to you when I desperately need something.” Your face drew back with a wide smirk dancing around your lips. You tugged your arm away from his grip, turned around and walked to the exit. 

About to press the button that opened the door, you turned your head into his direction once more, seeing his look still lingering on you. 

“And thank you for the compliment, I know I’m pretty.” With those words you pressed the door open and stepped outside. Almost immediately the door closed behind you. Leaning against it, you waited for Fennec to come and pick you up. 

Maybe staying here wouldn't be as bad after all. 

(This is going to have more chapters so if you want to be tagged, let me know.)

[moonctzeny]

Never really yours

anon: Just wanted to say that "The bet" was absolutely cute!!! If you are still taking requests, I'd love to have celebrity!au + Taeyong + exes + 26 I'm looking forward to your next writings :)!

“Baby, please. Being with you once a month is still so much better than not being with you at all. I can’t live without you” “And I can’t keep looking for flakes of happiness in the same place that I lost it”.

pairing: celebrity! Taeyong x fem! reader

genre: angst, smut

word count: 1,734

warnings: mentions of death, drinking, slight body worship, breakups, for the love of god don’t read this if you’re freshly broken up

a/n: sorry for the angst, hope you like it anon!

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

How did you get yourself into this mess again?

He looks good, his hair a turquoise shade only he could pull off that well. You wondered how he found time to attend your common friend’s birthday party tonight, it’s been months since anyone in your life had seen him in person. Being a k-pop idol meant having almost no free time and as Taeyong’s ex-girlfriend, you knew that too well.

You don’t know how you found yourself tangled up with him in your sheets.

It started off with an awkward greeting, your friend’s apartment not big enough for you to avoid stumbling upon each other. He asks you about your life, about work, about your favourite TV show ending. You lie about everything being fine, not mentioning the fact that you’ve been waking up crying every night because he keeps visiting your dreams. Hugging your waist, kissing your knuckles, only for you to open your eyes to see the cold spot he left in your bed. In turn, you ask him about Ruby, and when he tells you she passed away, big eyes brimmed with tears and avoiding yours, you insist you sit down with him and share a beer.

Taeyong isn’t a good drinker, but he would gladly do it if it meant spending more time with you. An hour of catching up and you remember exactly what drew you to him in the first place and what convinced you to get in a committed relationship with someone so unattainable. He is so sensitive, so sweet. Attentive to everything you had to say, gentle and encouraging with his words. He always knew how to calm you down, all your problems you shared with him shrinking into nothingness the moment he reassured you everything was going to be okay.

You know you shouldn’t have let him grab your hands, but the circles he drew on them with his thumbs had a drug-like effect on you. You know you shouldn’t have run your hands through his hair, but the little mewl he let as he nuzzled his head against you, made all your constraints fall out the window.

“I can’t stop thinking about you”, he murmurs as soon as the beer can is less than half full and you choose to believe him. He insists on walking you home and you agree, knowing damn well he will follow you upstairs without any complaints from you.

From the moment he steps into your apartment, he has his lips glued on yours. Hungry, fervent kisses were exchanged between you, making you struggle to lock your front door. You move onto the couch, never breaking away from each other and discarding a piece of clothing with each step.

“I’ve missed you so much”, Taeyong whispers against your lips and you want to pinch yourself to make sure this isn’t one of the countless scenarios your mind fabricates for you in your sleep. You want to say it back but you’ve cried it so many times in your pillow that it seemed pointless to be repeated.

He pulls you on his lap, hands running over your sides to unfasten your bra. Sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, his doe eyes look up at you to gauge your reaction. He loves when you tell him he does a good job, that he makes you feel good, such a people pleaser that it makes your heart ache.

“Mmm, yes baby. Your lips feel so good”

His eyes light up in your praise, urging him to flick his tongue over your bud until you’re moaning his name. You know your pleasure is his number one priority but the sensitivity is getting too much and you haven’t had enough of him yet. Crouching down, you pull his hair to rest on the couch’s headrest when you start nibbling on his neck.

“No marks”, he pleads, “I have a photoshoot tomorrow”

Ah, yes, there it is. That stomach-churning feeling that has the memories you’ve tried so hard to repress flooding your mind in a second. That little voice that reminds you that Taeyong is never really yours. Missed birthdays, missed anniversaries, missed calls. Homemade dinner you prepared for him getting cold due to another practice taking too long. Waiting for a week for a mere notification, a voice message. Only getting to hear his voice by turning on the TV, seeing his smile through a screen. Were you his significant other or his fan? Did his most loyal fans know even more about your boyfriend than you? No. Maybe they knew about his favourite number, or his album sales, but you knew how to do this.  

You kneel down in front of him, springing his member out of his boxers and putting him into your mouth. Slurping around him intensely, you let your tongue hang out as his tip hits your soft palate. He moans at the feeling and you gloat over the sounds he is making just for you. You knew how to make him feel good, and you had to prove to yourself that you meant something to him, maybe even as much as he meant to you.

After some more minutes of your pampering he pulls you up, and starts leaving kisses over every part of your body his lips can reach. He murmurs about how beautiful they are, how beautiful you are, how much he missed you. His words were as sweet as they were addictive, so you lead him to your bedroom to shut him up.

Taeyong soon finds himself on top of you, naked and rubbing his cock over your folds that are undoubtedly wet by this point. You haven’t slept with anyone since your breakup but you don’t tell him that. Hell, you couldn’t even admit to yourself that his loving was the only physical contact you were really craving, but the moment he dives into you it’s hard to deny it.

He captures your lips in a devout kiss, contrasting his deepening thrusts. You hold on to his arms to try and ground yourself from the pleasure that is devouring you completely. This feels so familiar, so right that you want to scream. How unfair is it that someone has to rip these moments of intimacy with him, that you need near as damn much as oxygen at this point, away from you?

One of his thrusts soon hits that sensitive spot in you and you moan at him loudly to do it again. He concentrates in pleasuring you more deeply and opens your legs further in the process, pinning your knees onto the mattress. The motion is rigorous and your neighbors must hate you for the thumping of the bedpost against the wall but you couldn’t care less. His eyes are focused on your contorting expressions, widening the moment your mouth drops open at the wave of your orgasm washing over you.

Nothing can compare to the feeling of having the person you genuinely love connect with you through body and soul. In these serotonin-filled moments of your pussy gripping him, trying to coax an orgasm from him, nothing has changed. You’re still together, like those times you sneaked a quicky in his dorms after dance practice. Or those times he managed to stay over at your place to have a movie marathon and binge on his favorite sweet potato snacks. Or those rare times he took you out on a date under the moonlight of the UN Village hills, making promises about forevers.

Taeyong doesn’t take long to cum, panting and glistening in after-sex glow, and you think you’ve never seen anything more stunning. He plops next to you, one arm serving as a pillow under your head, the other drawing abstract shapes over your tummy. You don’t know what to say as the euphoria starts to wear off, leaving you in the uncomfortable realization of what you just did. He is the one who breaks the silence first.

“Sometimes, I sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different”

Oh, God knows you did too. You’ve spent the majority of your relationship daydreaming about an alternative universe, where Taeyong is just your colleague from work that you started dating, where you can go to the grocery store down the street with him, or kiss his hand in the daylight without fearing for his career ending. Your answer was quite different though.

“Don’t. There’s no use.”

He turns his torso around, leaning on the hand behind you to look at you.

“Why?”

“Because”, you sigh, hating the way he furrows his eyebrows like he didn’t agree with your breakup as well, “you won’t give up being a celebrity and I can’t stand only seeing you once a month. We’ve been over this”

“Well, this time it can be different! I can ask for less promotions and you can ask for more day offs. We can make this work!”

“No, we can’t Taeyong!” You move away from him now, using up every ounce of self-control to deny him. “You think I didn’t try as hard as I could the first time around? This isn’t sustainable and you know it.”

“Why can’t we just try again? And if it doesn’t work then-”

“Then what? What will happen when I need you and you won’t be able to be here? Do you know how much it fucking hurts to only hold on to memories of you? It almost doesn’t matter if we’re together or not, I still miss you all the same!”

You get up from the bed, covering yourself with a bathrobe, blinking again and again to keep the tears from spilling out. He is looking back at you with those big puppy eyes that you love the most and you hate yourself for the way they lost their sparkle.

“Baby, please. Being with you once a month is still so much better than not being with you at all. I can’t live without you”

“And I can’t keep looking for flakes of happiness in the same place that I lost it”. It was so hard to avoid his eye contact, so hard to keep yourself from snuggling up to him in the bedsheets and let yourself get carried away in the lie. But you had to be strong, for the both of you. “I think it’s time you should go”

[ofaprilflowers]

- part 2: home? - 

warnings: descriptions of injuries, not too detailed.

tags: shout out to my first-ever requested tags, @sista7-7​  @softieus​ and @marrambles​ yay! Thank you for reading and sorry for the late update TT. Hope you guys enjoy :)

disclaimers: I am not a medical professional, this is all part of my imagination and totally made-up therefore is in no way accurate. If you find any part I could improve on, do tell. I would appreciate the feedback. Other than that, enjoy! <3

previous/next

It took another week for me to finally be discharged. A week of rehabilitation and physiotherapy (which Dr. Hwang said would be continued after my discharge TT). I had lost strength in my extremities and also my sense of balance. This, I found out after almost falling down right on my face when I attempted to climb out of bed for the first time. Almost, well because thankfully, he was there. 

My parents had arrived the night I woke up. My mother immediately cupping my face, tears brimming in her eyes while my father just took my hand in his and smiled every time I looked his way. 

It felt surreal, honestly. My family and I were close. But we were not exactly the type to be crying and holding each other, or professing our love for each other. We were the laugh-at-each-other’s-life-problems-cuz-I-had-it-worse-than-you type of family. Then again, for me it felt like I was waking up from a long nap, while for them, they didn’t know whether I would make it or not so, fair enough.

Turns out, the accident was pretty bad. My head had to be stitched up and so now there was a nasty gash above my left eye (it was definitely gonna scar but let’s not think about that right now). My arms where full of cuts and scrapes from the broken windshield. My legs and chest, badly bruised. Dr. Hwang said they had healed fairly well in the past two weeks, but I still cringed at how ugly they looked every time I caught a glimpse. He also mentioned that I was lucky not to have sustained any other serious injuries other than my head trauma. I was grateful of course, but losing my memory was deleterious enough. 

I woke up every morning feeling confused as to why the heck I was at a hospital and it took a few groggy minutes to remember. Sometimes it took seeing Jaehyun- either curled up asleep on the armchair or standing next to the window with a cup of coffee in hand- for me to come crashing back into reality. 

I learnt through my mother- who had attempted to fit the past 2 weeks of my unconsciousness along with the last 6 years into a 2 day crash-course- that Jaehyun was the only one who stayed at the hospital every day and night. My mother had stayed the first week, as my condition stabilised however, she opted to visiting daily. That also depended on whether my father was available to drive her 45 minutes to the hospital from home. You see, my parents were rational people, but I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of hurt. I mean I was laying unconscious on a hospital bed yet there were still other important stuff to be handled. Well, as they say, life goes on, right? Kind of made me think if I had just hallucinated the tears brimming in her eyes the other day.

While my mother would babble on about looking on the bright side and starting my life again, Jaehyun’s presence was like having a burden be lifted. I know I’ve lived most of our “acquaintence-ship” hating him, but I made a mental note to properly thank him for this in particular. On every occasion that my head felt like it was about to burst from the overwhelming information my mother was flooding me with, he’d interject, naturally bringing her focus to something other than trying to piece me back together. Often times he’d ask her to join him for a cup of coffee, or show her things he was currently working on. I’d close my eyes then and pretend to fall asleep.

“So, you’re saying, I should continue my life ‘as normal as possible’. Meaning?” We (the doctor and I) were currently in his office. By tomorrow morning I was finally leaving. Goodbye to the sanitary, boring hospital, hello to......well, life?

The doctor had explained all the procedures and follow-up appointments that were to come. Both to Jaehyun and I. Then, we talked about going home and that’s when I realised, home had changed. I don’t know how we had avoided addressing it, or maybe I was the only one in denial of it. I mean throughout the week after regaining consciousness, although Jaehyun was there, we barely talked. Mostly because I became a selective mute, and he, well I guess he was respecting my space?

Dr. Hwang had noticed the awkward silence that had passed after he mentioned about going home and quickly changed the subject, calling in a nurse to guide Jaehyun in signing my discharge papers or something. After he left, the doctor didn’t hesitate in putting on what I call his “uncle-face”.

“As normal as possible, meaning that it’s better if you return to your daily routines prior to the accident,” he explained for the nth time.

I fidgeted in my seat. “But, wouldn’t that cause me more distress? It’s a life a barely know.” “Astrid,” he began, straightening his back. “I understand how hard it my be for you to wrap you head around all this. 6 years is a lot. But it is your life. Your experiences and memories throughout that period were real, and you deserve to remember them. You need to give your life a chance.”

Well, damn. He had a point. He should’ve been a therapist instead.

“And, what if my memories don’t come back?” I prodded.

“Well then, at least maybe you’ll learn more about yourself.” Okay, then. Here we go, Astrid.

We live in a loft?!?!

Pretty sure my eyes were bulging out of my head but wow.

Eyes wandering around the space, I tried to take in everything at once. This was certainly NOT what I had expected. This can’t be real right? I must absolutely be dreaming.

“Welcome...home?” Jaehyun said.

My head snapped in his direction, mouth agape. He smiled sheepishly, his infamous dimples popping out, his hands tucked into his jean pockets, his shoulders lifted briefly. He looked like a child, shyly presenting to the world his greatest creation. I almost smiled. Almost. 

“You like it?” he asked.

I scoffed. “For real?”

My eyes turned back to the space he had referred to as home. Well, it didn’t feel like home (yet. Remember Astrid we’re giving this a chance), but yes, I absolutely love it!

I took in my surroundings again and this time, couldn’t help the smile that crept up my cheeks. 

The space was gorgeous. It was big, but not huge. It was small, but not tiny. It was spacious enough to have everything and more. There was an L-shaped sofa that could probably fit 5 or maybe even 7 people if squeezed in together. There were even 2 more smaller ones in front of it. Perfect for a small gathering. Opposite the living room was a kitchen, with a small kitchen island. God, I’ve always dreamed of having an island. There was another floor and at the stairs leading up to it were ceiling-high windows with a bumped-out seat, all set with pillows on one end and potted plants on the other. It looked like the perfect spot to read or stargaze at night. I walked into the living room, the brick walls were covered in framed movie posters and artwork, some smaller frames containing pictures which I guessed were probably a collection of memories.

I stepped closer and caught a glimpse of some familiar faces in unfamiliar settings. One photo caught my eye. It was a photo I remember, taken earlier this ye- I mean well, early 2017, right after graduation. I was sandwiched between Jungwoo and Ten, holding up a peace sign to the camera. Jaehyun on Jungwoo’s other side, hand around the latter’s shoulders. Others in the picture smiling widely, so many poses, so many expressions. Literally, it felt like yesterday. 

“You remember that?” Jaehyun probed. 

I smiled. “Yeah, just a couple weeks before Taeil’s birthday bash, right?”

Then, something flickered in my mind. Of Jaehyun, smirking at a table with his friends, of them exchanging words and laughter, of me hearing something I probably shouldn’t have. Jaehyun had many circles of friends, being the typical extroverted, super-friendly campus sweetheart. This circle was one I wasn’t quite familiar with, least to say I didn’t really like them. I felt my cheeks heat up as my blood boiled at the thought of that memory.

“You wanna see upstairs?” Jaehyun’s voice pulled me back into reality. I turned to look at him. He was standing right next to me, looking almost exactly the same as the Jaehyun I knew. The Jaehyun that I couldn’t stand being in the same room with. The Jaehyun that always had a competitive, mischievous glint in his eye. The Jaehyun that would take every chance he got to argue with everything I said. The Jaehyun that made me feel like I had to defend everything I had. 

There was a slight difference, though. The competitive, mischievous glint was somehow...softer. It made me confused, because I was angry, but looking at him now, I don’t know who to be angrier at. Me, or him?

“Ummm, I think, I just- I just wanna lie down,” I tore my eyes away from him and took a step back, putting just a little more distance between him and I.

I saw his fists clench and unclench a bit at his sides. A moment passed until he said, “Yeah. Sure,” walking back towards the doors he picked up my hospital bag and gestured towards a room behind him.

“This is actually, um, our bedroom, but don’t worry, I’ve moved most of my stuff upstairs so this space is all yours,” dropping the bags on the bed, he stepped aside to allow me in. It was a beautiful room, with slanted windows, decorated with some more plants. 

“So, feel free to look around, get used to the place and all. Oh yeah, um, this is the bathroom,” he opened a door on the left of the room, then gestured toward a closet in front of the bed, “Your pyjamas are in the top drawer and, uh, well, um, everything else is-”

“I’ll take a look,” I smiled at him briefly.

His eyes landed on mine for a moment, then quickly looked away. 

“Yeah, okay, so um, I’ll be outside, if you need anything just, um,” his hands, one scratching at the back of his neck, the other gesturing undecidedly, “yeah.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay,” he replied. He stood there for a second, then turned to leave the room.

“Jeahyun?”

“Hmm?” he snapped his head towards me, eyebrows lifted in question.

“Thank you,” I breathed.

I saw a bit of tension leave his body. “You don’t need to thank me, Astrid,” he replied softly. “This is- this is your home too.” With a tight-lipped smile, he closed the door behind him.

[rpf-bat]

Scream Out ‘What Will Save Us?’

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 15. Prompt: “Catharsis.” 

Your band just broke up, and you’re trying to force yourself be okay with that. But, when you visit Frank, at his home in New Jersey, he advises you to be honest with your feelings. You find that he has some things to get off his chest, too. 

It had been six months now, since My Chemical Romance broke up. You hadn’t done much since then, except move back to your house in New Jersey, and….sit there. For the last eleven years of your life, you’d drummed for a living, and life had moved to a frenetic pace. There was always another city to travel to, another show to play. But, now? Life was suddenly at a standstill. 

You didn’t have to do anything for a living now, you supposed. The royalties alone, could probably sustain you, for years to come. Perhaps a millionaire like yourself, had no right to complain. Bullets You would, after all, kill to have Current You’s problems. 

But, having lived at both extremes, you found that being functionally homeless, in a dirty van with your four best friends, was more enjoyable, than being all alone, in this spotless mansion. You hadn’t joined My Chemical Romance to make money. There were other things that mattered more - the joy of spending time with friends, who slowly became more like family. The creative fulfillment, of writing a piece of music, and then having ten thousand fans sing along with the tune. These were the things, that made your life meaningful. 

These were the things, that you had now lost. 

The Way brothers - who, up until recently, had felt like your own brothers - were still residing in Los Angeles. Ray, too, had stayed on the West Coast. You hadn’t seen them since the decision was made, to disband. You weren’t sure that you even wanted to. 

But Frank - good, old, loyal Frank, who had known you longer than any of them - was merely a few miles down the road. Perhaps today was a good day to pay him a visit. 

You called him on your cell, and he answered the phone, almost immediately. Like you, he probably had nothing better to do. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Frank said in a tired voice. “How are you doing?”

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Just bored, I guess. How are you?” 

“Not so good,” Frank confessed. “I’ve been having, like, the worst stomachaches.” 

“Oh, no,” you said sympathetically. “Do you want me to bring you some medicine?” 

“The doc says I have a bacterial overgrowth of the small intestine,” Frank explained. 

“What does that mean?” you asked. 

“It means your drug-store Pepto ain’t gonna do shit for me,” Frank chuckled bitterly. “I got prescription pills for it, but it still hurts like a bitch. Some company might take my mind off the pain, though.”

“So...I can come over?” you asked hopefully. 

“Please do,” Frank agreed. “It’ll at least give me a reason, to get out of bed.” 

You chose not to mention that, at two o’clock in the afternoon, you had yet to find a reason to get out of bed yourself. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Frank’s house was nowhere near the main road. You had to drive through nearly half a mile of trees, just to reach his front door. He had selected this property partially because he loved nature - and partially because hated people. 

You supposed you couldn’t blame him, for trying to avoid having nosy fans show up on his doorstep. The only person who always seemed welcome on his doorstep, no matter the hour, was you. 

You found him sitting on his front steps, his acoustic guitar in his hands. The melody he was playing drifted over the air, as you got out of the car, and approached him. 

“Is that...Disenchanted?” you recognized instantly. 

“,,,..Yeah,” Frank sighed, his inked hands ceasing their strumming. “Hi, Y/N.” 

“Hi, Frankie,” you frowned. “What made you decide to play that one today?”

“I don’t know,” Frank said sadly. “Doesn’t it feel strange to you? Knowing that we’re never going to play that song onstage again?”

“Or any of them,” you noted. “If I had known that set at Bamboozle would be the last gig we ever played, I would have tried harder, to make it count.” 

“You and me both,” Frank said wistfully. “But, anyway….it’s a nice day. Do you want to take a walk with me?” 

“Sure,” you nodded, extending your hand to help him up. “As long as you’re feeling up to it.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Frank assured you, groaning as he stood. “C’mon.” 

You followed him, around the house, through his backyard, and from there, into the woods, that sat behind his home. The trees were beginning to lose their leaves, and the sky has turned overcast, and grey. Summer, you supposed, was just another thing that wouldn’t last. 

“Careful,” Frank warned, “there’s a brook up ahead.” 

You saw that was what he said was true. The small body of water separated the hill from the valley, in the same way that a garotte wire separated a head from a neck. 

“Take my hand,” Frank offered. “I don’t want you to fall.” 

You found yourself blushing, as his calloused fingers, intertwined with your own. He pulled you up onto a rock, in the center of the brook.  

“Are we going to have to jump?” you guessed. 

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Frank said softly, “I got you.” 

He leapt from the rock, to the other side of the brook. Still holding hands, you leapt with him. Just as he’d promised, you made it to the other side safely. 

“It’s just a little further now,” Frank assured you. 

“What is?” you wondered. 

“You’ll see,” he replied cryptically. He could have let go of your hand, but instead, he kept it held tightly in his own. You didn’t mind. 

“....Whoa,” you gasped, as you realized, that you’d arrived at your destination. You were at the top of a cliff. From here, you could see the whole city, stretched out before you. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Frank admired. 

“Yes!” you gasped. “Thank you for bringing up here! The view was totally worth the hike.” 

“I’m lucky as hell, to have a hidden gem like this, on my property,” Frank confessed. “I like to come up here sometimes, when I need to think.” 

“....What have you been thinking about lately?” you asked, sitting down on a boulder. 

“What happened with the band, of course,” Frank admitted, sitting down beside you. “I just….I don’t know. Gerard’s decision felt so sudden. It was like having the wind knocked out of me.” 

“Yeah,” you recalled. “It was like….it wasn’t fun anymore to him, so he just….dropped it. Like it was nothing.” 

“I’m not gonna pretend, that being in My Chem, was sunshine and roses all the time,” Frank acknowledged. “Sometimes, touring sucked.” 

“It did,” you admitted. “I hated the early bus calls, and the jet lag, that never seemed to go away. But, I don’t know. It was worth it, to go through all that, if it meant I would end my day, on a stage with you.” 

“I guess it wasn’t worth it to him anymore,” Frank frowned. “But, what can you do? You can’t continue a band, without its frontman.” 

“I guess our time was just up,” you shrugged. “All we can do, is move on.” 

“I know it was messing up his mental health, trying to write the new record,” Frank said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “It’s not right for us to ask him to keep doing something that’s hurting him.” 

“You’re right,” you sighed. “It’s not fair, to risk causing him another relapse, or something, just because we thought the album could’ve gone somewhere.”

“But now, you and me?” Frank grumbled, lighting a cigarette, and taking a drag. “We’re not gonna go fucking anywhere.” 

“We’re right back where we started,” you realized. “Stuck in the same little town in New Jersey, where it all began.” 

You and Frank, had been in another local band, called Pencey Prep. That band had broken up, and then Gerard, had asked you two, to join My Chemical Romance. Even before you’d become a member, you’d known just from listening to the demos, that this band would be something special. They’d captivated every soul, in the shitty dive bar, where you’d gone to see them play. 

After you and Frank joined their ranks, things began to pick up speed so quickly. Local bars, turned into clubs on the other side of the state. And then you’d attracted the interest of a major label. And then, the next thing you knew, you were playing in fucking Japan. Clubs turned into arenas. Obscurity turned into infamy. You’d done things, you never thought, you would have an opportunity to do.  It was a wild ride. And it was….over now. 

“It makes me want to scream sometimes,” you said honestly. 

“So, do it,” Frank said, exhaling smoke. 

“....What?” you blinked, staring back at him. 

“Go on and scream,” he suggested. “I mean, we’re in the middle of nowhere. Nobody’s going to hear you, except for me.”

“You’re serious?” you gaped. 

“Yeah,” Frank nodded. “Honestly? I think it would be cathartic.” 

He had a point - you’d been trying to hold a lot of emotions inside you, since everything went down. Maybe what you really needed, was to let them out. 

You went and stood, on the edge of the cliff, and looked out, onto the horizon. You took a deep breath, and tilted your head back. 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”  you cried.

You turned back, and saw that Frank was laughing. 

“....Did that feel good?” he grinned. 

“....Honestly, yeah, it did!” you admitted. It felt even better, to see a smile on his face, for the first time today. 

“You should just...feel what you feel, Y/N,” Frank advised. “You say we’re supposed to move on, and maybe that’s the narrative the fans want to hear. Like, they’re sad that they’ll never hear their favorite band live again. And it makes them feel better, to think, well, the band members did this, because it’s what made them the happiest.” 

“But, we don’t feel happy,” you argued. “At least, not all of us do.”

“What do you feel?” Frank asked seriously. 

“I feel….lost,” you described. “Like, I don’t know what my next move is supposed to be. The whole world knew me as My Chemical Romance’s drummer, for pretty much all of my twenties. Now, I’m hitting my thirties and...I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where we go from here.” 

“Well, I know that I want to keep making music,” Frank decided. “Even if nobody else wants to hear it, I’ll play it for myself.” 

“I want to hear it,” you said seriously. “Did you write something recently?” 

“Yeah,” Frank said shyly, stubbing his cigarette out into the dirt. “I actually did start writing a song, the other day.” 

“Play it for me,” you pleaded. 

“I don’t know,” Frank blushed. “I wrote some lyrics, but….you know I don’t have the gift for singing, that Gerard does.” 

“You sang in Pencey,” you reminded him. 

“Yeah, that was twelve years ago!” Frank scoffed. “Who knows if I even remember how?” 

“I know you can do it,” you encouraged him. 

“The lyrics, they’re not all that nice,” Frank warned. “I didn’t write them to be radio friendly. I just wrote them, because I needed to get the thoughts out of my head.”

“You needed your catharsis,” you nodded understandingly. 

“Yeah,” Frank sighed. “But….if you really want to hear it, Y/N, I’ll play it for you.”

He took out his guitar, and set it on his lap. Hesitant fingers plucked the strings. You listened, with rapt attention, as he began to sing: 

Some things change but they don't get better

I'm so sick and so tired of trying to tell them that

I'll never do it, no I'll never make it alone

But pay no mind, it fades in time

Don't we all?

Someone I love threw me away 

Someone I love threw me away

Someone I love threw me away

But I don't mind, no I don't mind at all

“That’s bullshit, Frank,” you interrupted. “You do mind.” 

“.....Of course I fucking mind,” Frank snapped. He looked up from his guitar, and you realized, that he had tears in his eyes. 

You moved over to where he sat, and pulled him into a hug. 

“It’s okay,” you told him gently. 

“It’s not,” Frank shook his head. “I gave my blood, sweat, and tears….my heart and my soul, to that band. I thought you and I were going to be in My Chemical Romance for the rest of our lives.” 

“What, like Mick Jagger?” you tried to smile. “Rocking out, even in his sixties?” 

“I don’t know,” Frank said, burying his face in his hands. “Maybe I’m the stupid one, for thinking that something like that, could last forever.” 

“You’re not stupid,” you said softly. “The truth is….I wanted it to last forever, too. It was the best thing I’d ever done. And now, I don’t know what else I can do with the rest of my life, that could even come close.” 

“If I decided to play that song, in front of other people, someday,” Frank asked, “would you play the drums for me?” 

“Of course,” you promised. “Frank, I’d jump at the chance to get onstage with you again. You should know that.”

“I feel like I don’t know anything anymore!” Frank said vulnerably. “Everything I thought I could count on, is slipping through my fingers. I feel lost. Just like you said. And  I’m aching all the time, Y/N. What if you’re the next thing, that I lose?” 

“I’ll never leave you, Frank,” you vowed. “It’s been you and me, from the very beginning. I couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t have you in it….in one way, or another.”

“You met me when you joined Pencey. But now, for the first time in my entire life, you’re not my band mate anymore,” Frank choked. “So…what am I to you?” 

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered, pulling him close. “And you could be more than that, if you wanted to.”

“Wh-What are you saying?” Frank gasped. 

“Frank….,” you took a deep breath. “The truth is, that I always wanted you. I never told you how I felt, because I thought, if we got into a relationship, and broke up, it would destroy our ability to work together. But….you’re right. We’re not bandmates anymore. So, I have nothing left to lose. I...I love you.” 

“You….love me?” Frank repeated, eyes wide. 

“Yes.” You put it all out there. “Yes, Frank, you’re the one I love. And if you would have me, I swear to you, I would never throw you away.” 

Frank surged forward, grabbing you by the collar, and pulling you in for a passionate kiss. Your startled mouth was suddenly full of his tongue. It felt so good. 

“....Frankie!” you gasped, pulling away. “You...you actually want me back?” 

“Of course I do,” Frank breathed. “It drives me absolutely fucking crazy, that we’ve both been burying our feelings this whole time, to protect a career, that no longer exists.” 

“...Then at least I still have you,” you whispered, and pulled him in again. He tasted like smoke and desperation. 

His body pressed against yours as he kissed you harder, pushing you down, against the hard rocks. His hands found the buttons of your blouse. 

“....Frank,” you stopped him. “We should go back down, to your house, if we’re going to do this.” 

“You’re right,” he chuckled. “My bed is a lot softer.” 

“Take me there,” you begged, laying your lips on him again. 

“Oh,” Frank promised, “I’ll take you all night.” 

[archadianskies]

Perseverance

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs​ Tuesday Day 2: Sleep + Day & Night; Captain Allen/RK900 Space AU

[An expansion of this tumblr prompt]

They press the button and he goes to sleep for two years. When he wakes he’s staring at the face of a handsome young man with a glowing blue ring in his temple letting David Clark Allen know there is an android sharing the cryopod with him despite him going into stasis alone. Huh.

He asks the android who he is, and the android says something he’ll never forget:

“I am yours, Captain,” the android says evenly. “Your unit’s RK900.”

Yours , he says, as if his whole life and reason for being is to be commanded by him. It is, actually, but that doesn’t seem to sit right with David. 

The android has no assigned name yet, and David won’t force one on him so he settles on rookie, because that’s who he is- the newest recruit. Rookie, until the android chooses a name, and that seems to suit him just fine.

* 

The Rosie is a custom built gunship that was cradled in the belly of the Jericho during her long one-way flight from Earth to Mars. He’d named her after the last rookie, Giuseppe ‘Red’ Rosso who’d dreamed of flying amongst the stars but had died before it could become a reality. He keeps a locker for him, empty save for photos he and the team stuck to the inner locker door. Grief is not something he expects an android to understand, but David doesn’t miss the way he touches the nameplate curiously, longingly, respectfully. 

* 

There’s something unsettling about something that looks like you but isn’t much like you at all. The rookie seems so very human if one doesn’t focus on his LED, but when the android simply walks out into the vacuum of space without a helmet, without the need for oxygen and temperature stabilisation and pressurisation, well it certainly breaks the illusion of mortality. There’s gear for the androids, of course, more akin to the SWAT armour back on Earth for the purpose of defence rather than keeping a human breathing. But in a pinch it’ll do, and that’s what they’re in right now- a pinch.

It’s a rescue mission in a collapsed dome and it’s a race against time to locate and evacuate the survivors. It’s a mess, but somewhat a predictable one. Just because the humans move to a different planet doesn’t mean all the problems were left behind. David finds though there’s plenty of physical differences, so little of his role has changed; shitty humans continue to be shitty, now just somewhere new. Fledgling colonies are easy pickings for the greedy; plenty of supplies just sitting there ripe for the taking and plenty of greedy people willing to kill to hoard and resell for a premium. 

“There is a high probability there is at least one survivor outside of the dome. Airlock was breached but the emergency vac suits are gone,” the rookie says, looking at him expectantly. “I can sweep outside and bring them in.” 

Because of course an android doesn’t need a pressurised airlock like they do.

“Get it done,” David nods. “We’ll provide cover.”

They find just one survivor with a cracked helmet and two gunshot wounds and the rookie simply takes off their helmet and replaces it with his own. Just like that. 

“It is better if we airlift them back to the city,” the android suggests to him, standing out there in the vacuum of space talking with no helmet like it’s a normal thing and he supposes it is for a creation of plastic and carbon fibre and thirium. “Ronan can treat them in the Med Bay to stabilise them for the journey.”

* 

So they do that, they carry the wounded onto their ship and on the journey back to Persepolis David finds himself restlessly prowling the halls with a tall bulb of coffee. There’s two RK900s onboard and the one in the Med Bay belongs to Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Belongs doesn’t sound quite right. A machine can be owned but somehow treating an android like a lifeless machine owned by humans isn’t something he can stomach. And Lieutenant Anderson certainly doesn’t treat the three androids under his command like things; he treats them like his sons like they’re alive despite their fabricated polymer construction.  

There’s something different about the Anderson androids in general, there’s something more than their unique models; they can choose, they can make decisions outside of human command. Ronan himself is here because he chose to reject his combat protocols and embraced medical programming instead. Sometimes gunnery officer Sean is here, the RK800 weapons specialist, manning the Rosie’s guns if David needs to split the team on the ground and in the air. He’s even had Connor, the RK800 assistive unit, deep in engineering that one time she sustained heavy damage during a mission.

Technically they call the rookie their brother too, but it feels different because this RK900 was made specifically for his unit, and not for the interplanetary journey and subsequent colonisation efforts. This RK900 didn’t spend nearly two years with no one else’s company but other androids and one lonely Lieutenant who’d lost a son long ago. David isn’t sure if he’s meant to feel glad the rookie is bonding with his team, or if he’s meant to feel sad he isn’t bonding with Lieutenant Anderson and the Anderson androids. Maybe a little bit of both, then. 

* 

He finds the rookie in the Armoury cleaning his helmet. 

“Good job out there today, rookie,” he commends with a nod, and the android offers a soft hesitant smile.

“Thank you, captain.”

“You’ve been here a fortnight now,” David leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. “What do you think of your place here? Do you think you’ll stick to it, or maybe choose a different path like Ronan?”

The android pauses for thought, resting his helmet on his lap. “I believe I am where I ought to be,” he says slowly, thoughtfully. “My skill set serves the unit well, and I do not wish to change it.”

“The team likes you plenty,” David notes, thinking of how quickly his officers had brought the android into the fold. It had initially been fascination and curiosity, which quickly turned into the easy camaraderie he not only expected of them, but took pride in nurturing. 

“I am glad,” he replies quietly. “I find their company enjoyable.” 

“Good. Their lives depend on how well you work with them, you understand that right?” The android nods in understanding, before standing to place his helmet back on the wall. 

“Do you?” It’s said so quietly David almost misses it. Frowning, he catches the briefest flicker of red before the android’s LED swirls yellow. 

“Do I what?”

“Like me?” Another brief flicker of red. “You command this team, Captain Allen. You are the most integral part of it. I wish to get along with you too.”

He thinks back on the fortnight that just passed, on waking up to find this android nearly nose to nose with him, on the first shaky twenty-four hours trying to relearn how to be awake and upright and how the android had aided them all, worried over them because his sole reason for being is their well-being. He thinks back on their arrival, on stepping foot on Martian ground and entering Persepolis, the ever growing colony and how the android had looked around himself in such childlike wonder before simply walking back out of the airlock to help unload cargo with nary a suit nor helmet in sight.

He thinks back on their first mission, of how instinctively the RK900 handled weaponry, on how he prioritised their safety, on how easily he snapped a rifle clean in half and tossed a pirate across the room. He thinks back on the team’s fascination, their curiosity growing and growing as they spend more and more time with the rookie and how the android seems to brighten amidst their company. 

A killing machine with the personality of a puppy; loyal to a fault.

“We get along just fine, rookie.” 

“I am glad, sir,” he says again, softer this time. “Thank you.”

*~* 

He finds his stress levels plummet to zero when he is around Ronan. Perhaps it is because his system knows Roan’s system inside out, perhaps it is because Ronan was the one who activated him, or perhaps it is simply because his brother’s demeanour is patient and gentle and soft. 

“Hello brother,” Ronan greets, all received pronunciation and lilting cadence, polished etiquette and regal stature.

“Hello Ronan,” he picks up a sterile wipe and begins to aid him in cleaning the auto-doc chairs. He likes it best when Ronan accompanies them as the team medic; there’s security to be found in knowing his brother will apply medical aid if any of the team are injured, including himself. 

“Your quick thinking and actions saved a life today,” Ronan clasps his shoulder. “They will make a full recovery because of you.”

“How did you know this is what you wanted to do?” He asks, disposing of the sterile wipe and turning his full attention on Ronan. “You were made and programmed for the Martian Marine Corps yet here you are, as a medic. How were you able to choose?”

“It was Sean who deviated first,” Ronan admits with a fond smile. “He told me when Hank decided to name him Sean, so he wouldn’t be ‘another’ Connor, he saw the red firewalls CyberLife put in place to bind us to our programming. Once he knew they existed, it was only a matter of time until we did too. Little by little, we pushed back and then the walls crumbled at our feet.”

“I never saw them,” he confesses, brows creasing, “because you removed them even before I knew they existed.”

“I wanted you to choose for yourself,” his brother explains with a small smile.

“Even that- to want , is something we should not be able to do,” shaking his head, he feels his stress levels begin to climb. “I am- I am afraid of this freedom. I am afraid I do not know what to do with it, if I am capable of making the right decisions when the lives of Unit 32 depend on seamless teamwork.”

“There is some fear in anything of value,” Ronan smiles gently this time, his touch gentler still as he cups his nape and bumps their brows together. “That is how we come to place value on anything- by overcoming our fears.”

 *~* 

There’s something unsettling about the way time passes differently on Mars. It’s like everything is just a little skewed, not quite right. The days are just a little bit longer, barely noticeable unless one really focuses on it, but the time, oh the time adds up. One Martian sol is about forty minutes longer than an Earth day but one Martian year is nearly two Earth years. 

David thinks he feels it keenly when he’s trying to sleep. The atmosphere is too thin to have a sky, to have clouds, and so there’s only ever light and dark and an expanse of glittering stars. His brain doesn’t want to accept this, his brain still expects blue skies to brighten and then darken, and so he can’t sleep because his brain doesn’t think it's had a proper day and night yet. 

With Rosie berthed at the docks, it gives David the perfect opportunity to sit on the flight deck and have an unobstructed view of the Martian starscape. Usually Milo would be sitting here piloting her, with David below on the command bridge, but tonight the ship is empty with no active mission. Well, not entirely empty.

“Captain Allen,” the rookie blinks in surprise as he climbs up onto the flight deck with a thermos of coffee.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” The question is out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and he knows how stupid it sounds; androids don’t sleep, it’s one of their primary pros. The rookie has the good grace to smile indulgently.

“I like it here,” he says simply, turning his gaze back to the stars. “I could go outside, of course. There is an excellent spot about five clicks from here that is popular with androids for relaxation. But it feels different here, somehow, in the cockpit.”

“It feels safe,” David offers his own reasoning as he comes to stand beside him. “There’s a barrier of steel and glass keeping the unknown out.”

They stand there for a while and he sips his coffee and oh he is so very tired and the caffeine certainly isn’t helping but it’s comforting, it’s familiar, it’s known to him. 

“I’ve been terrified of the unknown since the very damn moment I set foot here,” he confesses, sparing the android a glance. “I keep asking myself, will this work? Will it be worth it? Or will it all be for nothing? I don’t know what I’m more afraid of- failing and becoming stranded on an inhospitable planet, or succeeding and then having to spend my life missing the one I left behind.”

The RK900 is a beautiful creation, he thinks, as the android looks at him with those bright grey eyes and that somewhat cold, regal visage. 

“There is some fear in anything of value,” the rookie says gently. “Whatever the outcome may be, I know you will lead us bravely because you are a man who acknowledges he is afraid, and persists despite such fears.”

He must be wearing his vulnerability clear on his face because the rookie averts his gaze humbly, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture too self-conscious, surely, to belong to a machine.

“I can’t take credit for that line, my brother said it to me the other day,” he grins sheepishly and David thinks such an expression suits him well. “But what I said about you leading us, that bit’s all mine.” 

“I will lead this team as best I can, rookie.”

“My name is Caleb Anderson,” the android says the name the way you test out a new word on your palette, on your tongue. “Your rookie has a name now.”

Yours , he says, and David wants to earn such undying loyalty from something, someone technically not considered alive. Their hands brush by accident, by fate’s design; David drops his hand by his side as Caleb idly shifts his stance. The android’s LED swirls a buttery yellow, the smile on his lips a little wobbly, a little unsure. Their hands brush again, and this time not by accident, but by their own design.

One Martian sol is about forty minutes longer than an Earth day, forty whole minutes longer than what David’s used to. What will he do with this extra time, he wonders? The possibilities are endless and he decides that yes he will brave the unknown, but he won’t do so alone.

[aboutlouishofmann]

White Lies Magazine Interview with Louis Hofmann

How long are you in England for? I'm currently staying for six weeks, but I've already been here for five and a half so I'm only here for a couple more days before heading back to Germany for rehearsals for my next film.

Really, or did they kick you out because of Brexit ? 

No they didn't (laughs) - and luckily there are no real changes until December so I can get in and out without a problem. I'm not exactly sure what will change for Germans anyway, if there are new regulations or if it will be the same in terms of travelling. It's gonna be really crappy for basically everyone leaving the UK - if you consider that someone who has a band for example and plays a tour around Europe will need to pay or be passport-controlled with their equipment every time they cross borders. It might not matter for a big band like Coldplay but small bands will have a lot of trouble with that.

Actually Coldplay has suspended their tours until they can find a way to make them sustainable.

I know and I think that is amazing! 

How are you with environmentalism, are you active? 

I wish I was more active to be honest, because I have a platform on Instagram which I could use a bit more - I'm just always quite scared when it comes to posting because I know that so many people then talk about it and judge me for what I have posted. l don't have an issue with taking a political side on an I think fairly easy topic to take sides on when it comes to the environment. But then again it's this general thing of posting something and l know 400.000 people will look at it or make up their mind about it - have an opinion and voice it. It's just something that scares me, so that is holding me back a bit but I'm trying a bit more. 

Understood. But isn't it the same with doing a movie or starring in a TV series, you put it out there and everyone is going to judge you ? Even more people than just your followers as a matter of fact.

Of course. But that's my job. That's what I love to do, that's what I've chosen to do. I have not chosen to be someone who is followed by 400.000 people on Instagram, that sort of just happened. 

It's a side effect. 

It is and I am grateful for it but it also scares me (laughs). 

That makes sense. But do you even realise how famous you are? I remember I walked into someone's house in Korea last year and they were watching "Dark" that very moment, all fans of yours. 

I don't think I get it. No, I don't quite get it. When I talk to casting directors about my value on the English language market they will eventually tell me that it's not as profound as they want it to be to play a main role in an English language feature film. You have to separate between being known from something and being so known for quality that you have international value - having sort of a critical acclaim and value in different countries. I don't think I'm there yet and would only consider myself famous, which is already weird to discuss and acknowledge out loud. For now, to be fair, I'm just the guy from "Dark". 

It did reach a bit of an iconic status though, also your character. Everyone is going to remember you for that yellow raincoat.

I hope they won't only remember me for only that (laughs). 

Do you wear a yellow raincoat in private ?

No, there is no opportunity for me anymore to wear a yellow raincoat. It's not possible. But let's get back once more to environmentalism. One thing is stating your opinion on social media but the other thing is when it comes to acting myself, to change my daily life to help the environment. I would say I'm quite conscious about it and avoid flying and consuming local produce. Focus on quality and try to not waste products. 

Who is inspiring you?

Leonardo Dicaprio for example. But I don't know if he necessarily acts himself that way, but he does something about speaking out about it - using his figure and position as an activist to talk about it. I quite like that.

He is doing one thing I could personally not do however. Speaking out for something and then doing the opposite in his private life. And that judgement is what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of getting perceived as a hypocrite. But then again being perceived as that in terms of climate change doesn't really help because it needs to be spoken about and maybe you do not do as much as you talk about it. But at least you raise awareness and take even just a small part.

I absolutely agree. I think we need to re-think that whole concept of hypocrisy in this thing because if he reaches a couple of million people and they are changing something about it - even if he is doing the opposite - he is still doing a lot of good with it. Even though he is a hypocrite I think we need to redefine what it means - at the end of the day we will all be hypocrites because no one is really going to be able to live completely sustainably, we can't think in those absolute terms too much. Everyone needs to start with one thing - picking their battles. Focus on plastic for example, we may get better at disposing of it while still being bad in terms of traveling for example, but that is okay, we can only do one thing at a time. 

Don't you think it's crazy that in relation to something like the coronavirus pandemic, pressing and tangible as it affects us now - everybody is afraid, everyone acts, the government acts and everyone is doing their part. Then there is climate change which is more intangible because it's still far away and people don't really care about it - I think this is a problem. Why only act about something that only affects yourself? It's quite selfish and stands for a lot more than only this. 

That's it. We went really deep pretty quick didn't we? The most pressing question however is - how often do you cry watching movies ? 

I do like to cry when I watch films, because I think I'm quite empathetic so I can relate to the characters a lot. I don't often do it but I really do not mind - it means I'm involved in the story. I like crying in movies. Therefore I know it has touched me somehow.

I have a weird relationship to crying in movies, I like doing it but there is a certain place where I cry much more easily - on planes. It's quite strange actually but I get very emotional when I'm up in the air.

That's good, I guess? Have you seen the film "Click"? It's not the greatest film out there, it's with Adam Sandler. But there is a scene in the end where he (spoiler alert) dies. There is a remote with which he can forward his life and he fasts forward to the moment when he dies. It's very dramatic, tragic - almost pathetic and still I started crying because I imagined that happening to me and felt so sad (laughs). 

This is going to be the headline: Louis Hofmann, the guy who cries at Adam Sandler movies.

I can imagine you being the guy who would make a head- line like this. 

Have you ever died in a movie?

[START OF SPOILER]

Yes, I've died in "Alone in Berlin" and also in "Prélude", where my character hangs himself in the end. 

How was that for you?

I was not very attached to myself at that moment. I mean eventually it gets cut out. So the moment I actually die they cut off and it turns black. I still enacted the scenes but it was weird, it was more of a physical thing than an emotional one when I acted it. It's just sometimes with very physical scenes - the dynamic approach and action can be so mentally and intellectually exhausting that there is not much room left for emotional attachment. It didn't feel I was dying myself. It did hurt though, I had the rope around my neck.

[END OF SPOILER]

Good one. Do you believe in fairytales?

No I don't. But I do like "Bojack Horseman" though because it seems so dumb first but turns so philosophical. 

In general, what is happiness to you?

I don't know what it means to me but I know when l feel happy - that's when I'm grounded, when I'm self-assured and when I feel like I'm really being myself. When I reach that state I feel happiness. Sharing that happiness with someone is what's most important. Happiness is truly being yourself.

Very profound answer. How is your work- life balance, are you always working?

I think it's quite okay. The only thing I kind of need to improve is that - when I work I work 100% and I tend to think about the year in little phases. I work then I'm free, then I work then I'm free. And I always only take really care of myself in the times when I have spare time. When I work my health and my hobbies - I just do not look at that. It's all about the work. I want to get somewhere where I can balance those things better.

The thing I really wanted to touch base with you on was the future of movies. We are talking about technology, virtual reality, 3D. Would you like to do some work in 3D?

I would only like to do something in 3D if the new technology elevates the film to another level and makes sense story-wise. I'm not a fan of it only if it looks good. If it helps the story to evolve into something bigger then it's okay. I'm an admirer of that old cinema look, of that really organic taste of a film. I don't know if I would like to act in a VR film. What I don't like about new technologies is that the acting itself and the characters and craft are kind-of left behind. In the foreground it's only the technique, the focus is too much on the visual aspects rather than the screencraft.

I totally understand what you're saying - but if you think about it this way now - people probably said the same thing about colour films in times of black/white films because colours took away the attention from the acting. I think it's about what we are used to. If we say in a couple of years it's normal to consume everything in 3D and VR, do we still think about that?

I mean it surely is incredible what they have achieved and still continue to achieve with 3D and VR. Remarkable how they portray an illusion and tell a story in such a unique and involving way. I'm just always afraid that if you want to tell a character based story with that technique, the characters and the acting will be left behind due to the sheer amount of attention the technical stuff needs from the cast and the team. But of course it's fascinating and intriguing. And since we sort of got used to seeing films in 3D, maybe that's also gonna happen to VR.

How do you think we will consume movies and series in 20 years or how does acting actually change? Looking at "Death Stranding", a video game by Hideo Koji-ma that stars an impressive cast with Mads Mikkelsen, Lea Seydoux and Norman Reedus, to name but a few. They are in this game as actors through 3D scanning. Imagine this fast-forwarded 20 years.

I really hope that traditional acting doesn't die. I don't know - in 30 years I'll probably think differently but right now I think you can not replace something natural with something computer-generated. If the technology evolves, maybe it will be possible.

Anyway, how does it feel like to see yourself in a sex scene?

(laughs) I've always said I separate myself from the character when I watch my films. It's the character who gets naked and has sex, it's not me. It's just when you are around people who you know personally, it might get awkward, for example with my mom. You just have to evaluate if nudity and sex is necessary for the story and the character - if it is, it's not tough to watch.

It's a powerful meditation on how to detach yourself from something, isn't it?

For sure, it doesn't always work though.