#suddenly 2k words of violence and killing and stabbing and... love

[justjams2003]

Sweet Savagery- 10

Sorry for the long wait everyone🙈

Paring: Dark!Thor Odinson x Slave!Reader

Summary: All your life, Thor's blue eyes have haunted you. You believed you outran him, but now all your hopes come tumbling down.

Warnings: Death of loved ones, violence, nightmares, non-con, p in v, degradation. If you noticed it, strippers, technically (but like exotic dancers) Body shaming, stealing, stabbing, mentions of angels and Valhalla, lightning strikes. Talk about slavery and fluff. Google Translate Norwegian. Tell me if I missed any.

Word count: 2k+, Unedited

1st Divider by: @firefly-graphics

2nd Divider by: @cafekitsune

Tag list: @torossosebs @steverogersistheguy @thehighladyofasgard @notyourtypicalrose @presidentlokis-hornyhelmet @lovelyselfshipper @groovy-lady

~Masterlist~

Part 9~Part 11

“Where are you taking me?” Your feet drag across the floor, your body knows this is wrong but your mind is fuzzy. Your ears are ringing with the evil giggles of the dancing woman. Their sinister grins form into that of a cheshire cat. It makes you cold all over. They’re pulling you in all sort of directions. They tug on your clothes, stripping you one item at a time.  

“I want her necklace.” “I want her cloak.” “I want her dress.” Stealing everything Thor has given you and your body is too limp to fight. “No, no,” You whimper, shaking your head and reaching out to take back what they steal from you. But you’re too weak. Your hand just falls to your side as you slump back against the closest wall.  

You feel their hands roam all over you. “She’s so well fed...” You hear someone mutter. “I wish my thighs were soft like hers.” “We’re all just skin and bone.” “I hear those savages like their woman on the heavier side.” Their words swirl around in your head like whiplash. They pull sharply on your nipple and them praise your body. Pinch your thigh and wish they had it.  

“You did so good...so good...” A new voice, a man, the king, not your king. A cold sting drags from your breast down to your naval. Icy and sharp, must be a knife. You gasp when suddenly frosty water drowns your airways. Only to be pulled back to breathe again. Adrenaline swims through you, forcing your vision to clear up.  

The English King’s cruel glare makes you itch all over. Your hair stands on edge, naked and vulnerable in front of him. “Tell me, whore, what’s his secret?” Your brows furrow together and you struggle against whatever has been put in your system. “I don’t know-” He groans, “Come on now, don’t make this difficult. How do I break him?”  

Again, your eyes droop and your legs feel like sticks. “What? No, no.” You shake your head. Break him? You don’t want to break him. He provides for you. Without him you’d be on the streets. He’s shown you new worlds, you owe him everything. “Come on, don’t tell you you’re defending him! He’s killed thousands of my men without even having to call out an army He doesn’t care about you and he’ll kill you as soon as you stop satisfying his cock.”  

You shake your head, “No, you’re wrong.” "If I wanted to kill you, I would not be making love to you." Thor’s voice echos through your mind. That one night so many moons ago. He wouldn’t kill you, he’s never hurt you enough to leave long-lasting damage. He vowed to make you queen, he wouldn’t just kill off his queen. It’s all in discipline, in the name of love. To spare you from men like this English King.  

The English King scoffs and grabs you by the throat. Forcing your droopy eyes to peer deep into his. They’re filled with hate. Thor doesn’t have hate. Only guilt and anger that comes and goes. No hate. “Don’t tell me you love that bastard!” You sit in his lap, he braids your hair. He wraps is arms around you, warms you and you calm his nightmares. Each of you give and each of you take and he’s only ever left bruises of possession. Is that not love? What do you know about love?  

 The English King’s hand tightens around your throat. The drugs mix with the lack of oxygen and suddenly everything feels so light. “You do!” Metal stings in your gut. Right on the edge of making love with your guts. “Pathetic!” Blood pools around the tip of the blade. To kill or to use? To cause Thor more pain or to use her and take over his kingdom?  

But you...you special one are worth so much more than his kingdom...  

Death is dipped in gold. And so peaceful. There is no pain and looking down, your blood isn’t crimson. It’s glittering and looks so appetizing. Your fingers smear into the gore, but it’s not vile. You want more. It feels so nice and warm against your cold drained skin. And it’s not sticky and not fluid either. Thick, dripping gold.  

Angels seem to be singing your name. But, none of this makes sense. You should be in Valhalla. There are no angels where the Vikings go to die. This must be some other place in the great realms of the tree of life. This is the place that your king had showed you, when he spoke the words in the language that feels so close to home and at the same time unknown.  

“Du kan ikke dra ennå. Du kan ikke komme hjem. Du må fullføre oppgaven din.” Who is that? Who whisper to you? You don’t understand. You don’t understand the language. But it sounds so familiar to the words your master speak to you. You wish he would speak to you. Tell you what you’re missing. Tell you why he won’t let go of you. Let you go. Let you go home. Where is home? He took it. He’s taken your home. He has it. He is home.  

“Don’t fall for their lies!” What? The pretty gilt loses it’s sparkle. Turning a sour yellow and falls further into hideousness. And ugly finite red, never ending pour from the gash in your stomach. “That’s it! Come back to me. Please, please, little dove, look at me.” A bloody hand engulfs your cheek and now it’s an pulchritudinous blue. Thunder cracks through the sky and it hides the sound of people begging for their life from you.  

“Du ga henne nettopp til meg! Jeg skal brenne ned Asgard hvis du tar henne nå. Du fryktet meg før, og du vil frykte mitt ord nå.” Who is he talking to? “Du lærer ikke leksjonen din, sønn.” And why can I hear a reply? “Ikke skjenn ut meg mens livet hennes glipper!” Why is he crying? “Min underkastelse kan du ha, men du vil ikke ta henne fra meg.” I’m so tired. “Vær forsiktig med ordene du sier.”  

“What did you do?!” A loud boom wakes you along with a crack of lightning. The darkness now dark pink and the throbbing in your body is so much worse than you remember. “You know what they will ask of you now.” Are they talking to you? “You’ve traded her life for billions!” A growl, no, they aren’t talking to you. “They sent her here to play with you and you fell for it.” A loud smack and then crumbling interrupts the heavy raining, why are your eyelids so weighty? 

“Don’t you think I know that?! This was not part of the plan, she was never part of the plan!” What plan? Slowly your eyes flutter open, but you shut them just as quickly. In fear that they might see you wake. “You were suppose to pull the wool over their eyes. Make them believe that you’re growing soft. Not actually become weak!” You try again, this time more slowly opening your eyes.  

Thor stands leaning on the balcony. His bare back to you, his long blonde hair hangs with shame. The Warriors look to be scolding him. Never did you think you’d see the day of that happening. You didn’t think that anyone could ever hold any power over the mountain of a man. Thick storm clouds colour the sky behind them. “It was too soon. I need more time.”  

“We’ve been here over three thousand years. How much more time do you need? Now would’ve been the time to act!” Thor glares over the balcony, down at the New Asgardian people going about their day. He shakes his head. “These mortals will never be ready. We placed far too much hope in their hands. Your best warriors don’t even come close to grazing me.”  

You try to get up, to hear more of what they’re saying, but the pain snaps through you and a groan escapes you. Another snap of lightning. All four of their eyes find your own. It’s like predators in the dark. Glowing flames from afar. Thor glares at the warriors, cutting the conversation and their comments short. When they leave the room, Thor’s eyes settle on you.  

“Lay back down and don’t move.” His voice is stern, he crosses his arms over his bare chest and just leans against the balcony. You follow his instructions, except you hold out your hand for him to take. Your feel so cold without his body heat always near you. But he does not move, his jaw locks and his eyes don’t move from your stretched out hand.  

You can see he's fighting battles in his mind. Why won’t he come closer? He saved you but does not want you? He sighs, his hand rubs his face and then combs through his tangled hair. “You make me weak.” The words hit like the dagger that almost killed you. To hear him admit something like that could have you beheaded. “No.” The word slips from your mouth.  

His brows furrow and he snarls. “No?” He asks, almost in shock. “No! You... you cannot be weak! If you are weak then there is no hope for me.” It looks as if you’re talking to him a foreign language. “You are talking nonsense, girl.” He gruffs and shakes his head. “I know what I'm saying. If you are weak then everyone else is strong and I’ll end up back in the hands of people who’d rather learn the name of a pig than my own.”  

“You were almost killed! Just because I let my guard down! In the-” he stops and sighs as if stopping his tongue from acting to quick. “Three thousand years?” His eyes go wide and his face goes pale. “How much did you hear?” His jaw locks and his fists crack the stone of the balcony. 

My mouth hangs open and I begin to panic. “Answer me!” He yells out, his voice booms inside of you. Lightning strikes the ground behind him. “Fucking hell.” He mutters to himself. Is the lightning scaring him as much as it scares you? Your heart shakes. “I- Everything.” He sighs and again rubs his face. “Another fucking problem.” It hurts to be seen as a problem, something to deal with.  

“What were you talking about? Please, talk to me.” You can’t talk like this, laying down. Again you try to get up but wince. Fuck does it hurt. “What the fuck did I say? Can’t you follow orders just once?” He snaps at you, as if that isn’t all you’ve been doing...This is the most he’s talked to you at a time. His heavy boots shake the floor as he stomps over to you.  

He sits down next to you, his heavy hand pushes you back down against the soft pillows. Then his hands shove the blankets to the side and begins lifting your dress. You grab his hands. “Please, Thor, I am in pain, I’ll make it up later, I, I promise-” He just growls at you and continues lifting your dress.  

You see the huge gash on your stomach. Nowhere near as long or gruesome as the one on his chest, but still unsightly for a lady. His brows knit together, examining the stitches. “Your wound needs to be cleaned.” He mumbles, standing up to get some supplies from the bathroom. This is different, he seems almost more human now. Acknowledging your pain and not using you.  

The alcohol burns your stomach and you hiss pulling back. Thor’s huge hand clasps around your hip to keep you in place. “How long was I asleep?” You ask, watching those giant hands of his trying to be gentle. He’s clumsy, not used to dealing with a task so small. “Three days you were between life and death. I cursed the English healers for knowing nothing and as soon as you were stable we made quick work back to New Asgard.”  

He explains, it’s so strange to hear him speak so much to you. “Thor, who was that voice? Who was it that you cursed over my dying breath?” His jaw locks tight again. “You were dying, you were seeing things.” You scoff and insist. “I’m not! I know what I saw. It was as you showed me, on the boat. Seeing without looking. Like you said!”  

His hand goes up to grab your cheeks between his hand. Your jaw hurts under his force. “If I said that you were seeing things, then it is so. You are not to question me. Know your place. I have no patience or control left.” He commands, his eyes stern and you know if you push it anymore you could end up hurting yourself.  

He stands up, rinsing out the towel he had used to clean your wound. And when he’s done he opens the door, ready to leave. “You are not to leave this room under any circumstances. You do not open the door to anyone but me. Not even the Warriors.” He commands, and the door slams in your face before you can argue.  

If you want to be on (or off) the taglist, just ask!

[winterscaptain]

nightmare, recalled

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: the hearing. next part up is the slave of duty. we are reaching the end of this arc, and we will do some healing, i promise. thank you all for waiting on this part! it’s a little short breather before we get slave of duty tomorrow night. 

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! (the pieces stand alright on their own as well, for the most part!) one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 2k warnings: discussion of violence, language

summary: “when someone you loved was depending on your lie, it was perfectly easy.” - liane moriarty, big little lies

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You arrive at the office in the early morning, not looking half as exhausted as you feel. It was your own fault - you begged and begged to be the first in the back-to-back team testimonies today. If you were first, you reasoned, you never once had to leave Jack once he and Aaron arrived. 

Jess is taking care of the final arrangements today - handling the catering for the wake with her parents, sourcing roses, all of the wretched little tasks you’d much rather take on yourself - for the funeral this weekend. 

But alas, Strauss needs to continue her warpath on Aaron, and you need to defend him. 

You sit outside of the eighth-floor conference room, just down the hall from Erin’s office. You have tissues tucked in your hand, not trusting her to provide them and saving your pride in the process. You keep your eyes down as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her. 

As you expected, about three minutes later, she pops her head out. “We’re ready for you.” 

Inside the room is one of the deputy directors, in addition to a lackey from the inspector general’s office. 

Gang’s all here...

You take your seat opposite Erin, keeping your hands in your lap. 

“Please state your name and rank for the record.”

You do, clear and steady.

“How long have you worked in the BAU?”

“I was assigned to the BAU as a New Agent Trainee in the summer of 2007, and was assigned to the unit as an agent at the end of that year.”

“So, two years?”

“Just about, ma’am.”

The other people in the room start taking notes, but Erin keeps her eyes on you. It’s unsettling. 

“How was it that you were assigned to the BAU as a NAT?” There’s something hidden in her question, so you answer somewhat comprehensively. 

“I requested a unit assignment based on a recommendation from Jennifer Shepard, the late director of NCIS. I was intrigued by the guest lecture given by Agents Hotchner and Gideon and requested the BAU.”

“Who approved your transfer into the unit?”

Your brow crinkles. “I’m not sure of the specifics ma’am, but the SSAIC informed me that she’d spoken to Agent Hotchner prior to my assignment.” 

“Do you feel indebted to Agent Hotchner?”

Ah. There it is. 

“No, ma’am.” 

She narrows her eyes. “How can that be? He was directly responsible for a massive acceleration of your career within the bureau.”

“All due respect, ma’am, I believe my academy coursework and the Director’s Leadership Award on my desk speaks for itself. Agent Hotchner and Agent Hemingway both recognized my potential and made their decisions accordingly.” You try to keep the sass out of your tone, but you have to throw her off this train of thought somehow. 

She hums - once, staccato. “Given that...recognition, do you feel obligated to defend Agent Hotchner?”

“No, ma’am. I do not feel any obligation or debt to Agent Hotchner.” 

She narrows her eyes again, but makes a note in her small notebook before speaking again. “How would you describe Agent Hotchner’s recent behavior in the field?”

Without hesitation, “Motivated.”

She’s not impressed. “Would you say he’s been taking unnecessary risks in the field?”

Lady, if you only knew the half of it. 

“No, ma’am. I believe his choices in the field have been effective.” 

She chuffs a little laugh, unamused. “Very cute, agent, but that’s not what I asked.” 

You blink at her, waiting for another question. 

“Why did Agent Hotchner step down from his position as unit chief?”

Careful. Careful. 

“He promoted Agent Morgan so the team could continue our work unhindered.” 

“What were the hindrances?”

Shit. 

“By transferring his responsibilities, he had the opportunity to explore more investigatory avenues regarding George Foyet that he would have been unable to prioritize while in his post as unit chief.” 

Good save. 

“Can you characterize the transition of power?” She raises an eyebrow. She’s baiting you. 

You don’t take it. “Amicable. Seamless. Peaceful.”

“So you wouldn’t say there was tension between Agents Hotchner and Morgan regarding the division of responsibilities?”

“No, ma’am. I did not experience or witness any dysfunction arising from the transition. Agent Hotchner was exceptionally respectful and deferential to Agent Morgan following the promotion. There was never any confusion about the chain of command.” 

And that was actually true. 

She pushed and pushed and pushed you to say something that would condemn Aaron for his behavior in the previous eight weeks. Though you were plenty frustrated with him, you didn’t budge. 

Soon enough, she asked about what happened on the afternoon of November 23rd, 2009. You started from the beginning - The Fox, the letters, the medication. 

+++

“Who made the decision to breach Foyet’s apartment?”

This was wearing on you, well into the second hour. “Agent Morgan, ma’am.” 

“Didn’t Agent Hotchner have anything to say regarding the tactical plan?” Strauss looks tired too, but she better rally - her efforts are getting weaker as you continue to answer her questions with steady candor and she still has seven more interviews to conduct today, not to mention the paperwork. 

“No, ma’am. Agent Morgan, even in normal circumstances, is the established tactician of the unit. In this instance and others even while he was in the unit chief position, Agent Hotchner deferred to Agent Morgan’s expertise regarding SWAT deployment and tactical decisions.” 

+++

“Do you believe it was Agent Kassmeyer’s fault that Agent Hotchner’s family was compromised?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m sure you’ll hear it more than once today, but torture is seemingly endless. Agent Kassmeyer took everything Foyet threw at him and still refused to compromise the Hotchner family’s location. There was nothing more he could have done to prevent Foyet from making contact with Haley Hotchner.” 

+++

“Did it occur to you to join Agent Hotchner as he separated himself from the team?”

“No, ma’am. And I disagree with your characterization of the situation - Agent Hotchner did not separate himself from the team. He pursued a lead with Agent Kassmeyer, who requested his presence as he was dying in the back of that ambulance.” 

She purses her lips. “What was your next plan of action?” 

You take a moment. 

This is the hard part. 

“Once the scene was in-process, I took a car and followed the ambulance to the hospital. When I arrived, Agent Anderson had already found Agent Hotchner a car, and he was in touch with the team regarding the next plan of action.” You wet your lips. “He then received a call from Foyet.”

+++

Her eyes remain cold and detached as you walk her through the conversations with Foyet, with Haley. With a certain degree of frustration, you push through your tears as you relay her last words, the gunfire. 

“I don’t remember exactly what happened after that.” You stare down at your hands, focused on the way the pad of your thumb feels against the side of your middle finger. “I remember pulling up to the house and getting out of the car...The - the door was open. I found Agent Hotchner while I was clearing the ground floor. Foyet was dead, at that point.” 

“What had happened to Foyet?”

“He’d been...beaten.” Your voice cracked. That was an understatement. “I subdued Agent Hotchner until the rest of the team arrived.” You press the tissue to your eyes for a second. “He was...understandably distraught.” 

Strauss examines you across the table, sees the emptiness in your eyes behind your tears, the grief, the sorrow, the horror of having to relive it. “What happened after that?”

“I realized,” you continue, “that I hadn’t found Jack. I remembered what Agent Hotchner told him, and we both got up and ran to his home office, off the kitchen. I found Jack Hotchner in the storage trunk beside Agent Hotchner’s desk.” You look up at her. “I can’t begin to articulate the relief I felt at seeing him alive.” 

+++

“When Haley’s sister, Jessica Brooks, arrived, I kept her away from the crime scene for the sake of her health and safety. She met up with Agent Jareau, who had Jack at that point. I -” You stutter and swallow before taking a breath. “I returned upstairs.” 

Your voice shakes, and tears make their way down your cheeks again. 

“I returned upstairs, where Agent Morgan was sitting with Haley’s body. There wasn’t - I couldn’t, um - I couldn’t do anything for her. She was gone even before Aaron - Agent Hotchner - arrived.” 

The representative from the IG’s office looks a little misty now, as does the deputy director. You press your hands to your face. 

“It was... She’d been shot at least three times - that much we heard over the phone.” You voice breaks, but you forge ahead. “She had also been stabbed...There was…” You take a quick breath, but it’s not enough. “...so much blood.” 

Strauss’s voice is quiet when she asks. “What was the nature of your relationship with Haley Hotchner?”

You look her square in the eye, not shy about the grief washing over you in waves. “She was one of my best friends. My boss’s wife, the mother of a boy I consider my family.” You turn your gaze to the table, the fake wood grain suddenly very interesting. “I will miss her beyond measure.” 

A breath echoes around the room as the others collect themselves. 

“I have one last question for you.” 

“Yes, ma’am?”

“What do you think would have happened if Agent Hotchner had allowed George Foyet off of that floor?”

You level her with a look that makes her sit back. “He would have killed Jack. He would have killed me.” 

“And?” There’s one more thing you have to say. 

“He would have let Agent Hotchner live, and he would have told him it was his fault.” 

The rest of the room looks shaken, and you know you’re right. Even beyond the profile, Foyet’s obsession with Aaron was clear. 

Why can’t they see it? 

“Thank you, Agent. No further questions.” 

+++

When you get back to the roundtable room, JJ is there with Derek. You offer them an approximation of a smile. 

“What are you still doing here?” Derek asks. “You can go home, if you want.” 

You shake your head. “I’ll be here until Aaron’s interview is finished.” 

+++

You can’t help the way your face lights up when Jack sprints across the bridge in the middle of the afternoon, leaping ahead of Aaron. 

Rounding the table, you kneel and open your arms to him, letting out an oof when he runs into you full-tilt. You can’t help but smile. 

But then again, Jack has always had that effect on you. 

“Good morning, bud.” 

He wraps his arms around your neck, still impossibly tight. “Hi.” 

You stand in the doorway until Aaron gets there. Jack’s familiar travel bag is slung over his shoulder, and he tosses it down in the corner. “Emily’s in right now, and then it’s you.”

Aaron nods, taking a seat. You follow suit, reclining in your chair so Jack can relax against your chest. The rest of the team watches you both, equal parts mournful and hopeful. 

JJ watches the way Aaron presses a kiss to the side of his son’s head right before he sits down, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder for balance.

Penelope watches the way Jack clings to you, playing with the buttons on your shirt, comfortable and safe. 

Derek watches the way Aaron watches you, brown eyes soft and absent of concern. 

Dave watches the way you watch Aaron, can see the way your fingers ache to reach out for him, to take care of him. 

They all watch the three of you - understanding, but not knowing. 

+++

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[darlingsdevil]

Of What Could Have Been (John Marston x Reader, Arthur Morgan)

Warnings: gore, violence, reference to s*xual ab*se but never explicitly stated

Summary: Arthur missed his chance, and now he’s paying for his past mistakes.

Masterlist

A/N: This story is basically Satisfied from Hamilton! The song was a huge inspiration and I’ve wanted to write a fic for this song for a very long time! Hope you like it.

Words: 2k

•••

The air was sweet and mild, the sun had just dipped below the terrain, and the party was just starting. Everyone was in good spirits, especially the bride and the groom. The whiskey was strong, the songs and cheers loud and the smiles wide. The women were ecstatic, they prepared the dress and the decorations, the party was their resting moment. The rest of the men drank like no tomorrow, congratulating John on his ‘big catch’. Everyone was happy - except Arthur.

Arthur hid it well. The heartbreak, the jealousy, the lonely nights knowing you would never be his. He was happy for you, you got what you truly wanted, and John would make a fine husband. He wouldn’t ruin your special night by his stupid feelings, that would be a shameful thing to do. So he hid it, as he would for the rest of his life while John was around. Only Hosea knew of Arthur’s feelings for you, as Hosea had raised him, he could tell that Arthur was painfully in love, and since he had raised you too, Hosea knew that you didn’t love him like that, and you never would.

The reception was short and sweet, at sundown, as it was tradition in camp. Susan was proud of you, as was Dutch and Hosea.

“Dutch! We got a girl over here!” Arthur yelled, loud enough for John and Dutch to hear him. John was barely a man. Arthur was well into his twenties, and still relentlessly teased the younger boy to know end.

You watched Arthur with fearful eyes, blood splattering your dress. The coach was filled with gore, and you were at the center of it all, a knife in hand, ready to stab Arthur if he took one step too close.

Back then it was trivial, everything seemed so simple. Arthur was more carefree, wild and unpredictable, a young man who sought pleasure. John even worse, a troublesome kid with a mean temper.

“You get an inch closer and this knife is going through your chest!” You yelled, your hands shaking.

Arthur backed away slowly, and pulled his gun from the holster, setting it down on the grass.

“The other one too. And the knife.”

He put his other cattleman next to the first, it fell with a clunk. The knife on his belt dropped too. You ever so slowly put the knife down, still holding it with an iron grip.

“What’s your name, Miss?” He asked you calmly.

Your eyes welled up with tears, when was the last time someone had asked you that? You gave him your name, your voice wavering. He nodded, understanding.

“I’m Arthur Morgan. We’re bad men, but we ain’t them.” Arthur told you. You dropped the knife completely. John and Dutch joined his side, and you almost instantly picked it up again. The silver glint was menacing, but could you really win against three armed men?

Arthur mumbled something to them, they both raised their hands.

“What happened, Miss?” The dark haired man asked you, he was older than both of them.

“They.. they’re dead. I killed them.” You stuttered, with shock.

“Who are they?” The older man asked again, motioning towards the bloody corpses.

“They took me from my home, they kidnapped me. I don’t know their names.”

The older man nodded, reaching out to give you his hand, you took it, stepping out of the carriage.

You had been saved.

Arthur recalled his first encounter with you. You were a fretful thing the first few months, with good reason of course. You were particularly wary of the older men too, but you learned to trust them. The first few months you confided in both Arthur and John, and by the next year it was only John. Arthur was dealing with the aftermath of Mary, and was moody and lashed out constantly. Drink had a mean hold on him. Arthur regretted it the most, in the first year, you had started to fall for John while Arthur pushed you away.

Mary called it off with Arthur that night. He was angry, beyond angry. Seething and blind with grief. When he rode into camp, the air surrounding him was heavy and electric, it’s like if you looked at him he would kill you. But behind that rage, he was upset, like he could sob until he couldn’t see anymore.

And then there was you. When he saw you, he was suddenly helpless. You were sitting by the fire, mending a torn shirt. While he rode into camp with fury, he quickly hitched his horse, rushing to his small tent to brood, but he noticed you, a beacon of light in his darkness.

He walked up behind you, you were quiet, but set the needle on your lap.

“Arthur?” You spoke in a quiet voice, feeling his presence behind you.

Arthur was frozen behind you, taking in your beauty. He felt ashamed, Mary was suddenly pushed to the back of his mind, as if she had meant little to him.

You looked up and smiled at him. His heart damn near shattered with just one look. Your eyes glistening with happiness, the fire illuminated your eyes with a bright glow and they twinkled underneath the stars.

“Can I sit with you?” He asked, his voice strangely low, you could tell he was upset. Like he was cracking at his very core.

You nodded, watching him as he sat down on the oak log.

“What’s wrong, Arthur?”

“Arthur! Arthur!” Dutch shouted, tipsy and cheering.

Arthur looked towards the poker table.

“Say a toast for us, will yeah? John’s your brother!” The men laughed, the women smiled.

He nodded, picking up his whiskey bottle.

“To the groom!” Arthur shouted, the dark liquid sloshed in his bottle. Everyone cheered.

John lifted his glass, wearing a simple button down shirt and dress pants. Susan couldn’t force him to wear a suit. He even had his unruly hair tied back for the evening.

“To the bride!”

“Arthur? What’s wrong with you?” You asked him, those big eyes looking at him with fear. Shame coiled in his gut - he couldn’t be controlled.

“Go out and get some goddamn money for us and don’t come back till you have something.” He seethed, glaring at you angrily.

“I-” you started, but were quickly cut off by him. All you had been doing was gathering flowers and herbs in the field next to camp, to give to Pearson and press the flowers into a journal you had bought for Arthur. You were planning on giving it to him once all the flowers were dried.

“All you do is sit around. Give me those damn flowers.” He shouted at you, attempting to grab your basket of plants. You stuck it behind you, protecting your collection.

“What’s gotten into you?” You yelled, fear rising in you. The lavender in the field masked the smell of alcohol.

Arthur was unhinged, his hair messy and his clothes rumpled and loose.

“Don’t come back to camp until you have money or I’ll throw you out! I’m tired of you not pulling your weight!”

You were silent, backing away from him and his rage.

John shouted your name from across the field. You turned to him, suddenly feeling relieved. Arthur was out of control.

“Give me that damn basket!” Arthur shouted even louder, grabbing you forcefully and ripped the basket out of your hands, the flowers spilling to the floor.

John swiftly came to your aide and shoved Arthur to the ground. He landed on the flowers, now crumpled.

“What the hell are you doing?” John asked Arthur. Rage burned inside him.

“All she does it sit around! Aren’t you tired of busting your ass while she gets to relax all day while we’re risking our lives?” Arthur retaliated, quickly jumping to his feet and pushing John further, John fell back into you.

“You need to go to bed Arthur, you reek of booze. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” John told him, much calmer this time.

But I already regret it - Arthur thought.

The way you looked at him would be forever burned into his mind. You looked at him with fear and sad eyes, you were hurt by his words, shocked.

And there you were, with a wide smile, staring directly at Arthur. John held you, but you were staring at him. You were breathtaking, in a lace gown with multiple layers on your skirt, a sash tied to your waist and sleeves that fell just below your elbow.

“You’ve got yourself a fine wife, John, and Mrs. Marston, boy, have you gotten yourself into some deep shit!” Arthur chuckled, shouts of agreement were heard. You playfully nodded your head at him, looking up at your husband.

Arthur couldn’t sleep - it was usual for him after Mary broke things off. His mind clouded with what ifs, and what he would have done differently. But tonight was odd, perhaps it was the oncoming storm he could feel in the air or perhaps it was because of something more.

He heard quiet whispers from the forest next to his tent, mumbled and he couldn’t make out any words. Arthur was suddenly on high alert, grabbing his gun and sneaking out from his small tent.

There was a brush of trees that backed up right to his tent, so he could be easily hidden. All the lights were out in camp, not even Uncle was wasting away at the fire. The forest was quiet, except for the whispers. It was eerily quiet, a chill crept up the back of his neck, making his hair stand on edge.

“John..” Arthur managed to make out. But who’s voice could that be, and why was he up at god knows what hour?

“You know I like you..” He heard John say, as he snuck in closer.

“I like you too. I have for awhile.” You confessed, suddenly Arthur knew. And his heart shattered again.

He peeked out from his hiding spot, just long enough to see you kiss John with compassion and pent up feelings. Arthur wished that had been him instead. Arthur backed away slowly, holding back tears in his eyes. He wasn’t an emotional man, but that night he wept. He wept for lost opportunity, that you could have been his had he not pushed you away.

“You’ll make a mighty fine husband and wife, and even better parents. I wish the two of you the best, you deserve it.” Arthur told them, hiding his longing for you.

“To Mr. and Mrs. Marston!” Arthur raised his bottle to them, patrons of camp repeating his phrase and lifting their glasses in unison.

Arthur took a hearty swig, perhaps it was long enough to satisfy his aching heart if only for a moments notice.

You danced with John, as Dutch cranked up his phonograph, a slow melodic tune. Everyone watched with heartfelt eyes, Mary Beth - the true romantic held her hand over her heart. Tilly and Karen cooed at the sight of you swaying, and Miss O’Shea held on tightly to Dutch’s arm.

Arthur took in your beauty, imagining himself up there instead. He was jealous of John, no doubt, but you would be happy as his bride. John would be good to you.

And perhaps his feelings would fade with time, but there would be none of that now.

It would always be Mr. Marston and Mrs. Marston, never the Morgan’s.

And he would have to watch you with John everyday, oblivious to his heartbreak. You would take care of John and have his kids, watch them grow up and grow old with John.

And Arthur would have to watch, as he did now, watching you sway with John with loving eyes, realizing you had never belonged to Arthur.

He would never be satisfied.

[thinkyoureholy]

Guess Who [1st Alternate Ending]

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.

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Pairing : Kim Jongin x Reader / Byun Baekhyun x Reader

Genre : Angst, Violence, Language, Fluff, Smut, Character Death, Mafia!AU

Words : 2k

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6. Pt 7. Pt 8. Pt 9. Pt 10.

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

-Y/N’s P.O.V-

I stared down at Jongdae’s face, numb to everything, that is until I heard the first gunshot. I flinched at the sound, turning to face the house only to hear another one. I felt my knees go weak at the sound, hearing two more go off and then another two more. I was trembling at the thought of all of them inside being dead. Before I knew what I was doing I picked up my knife, feeling the gun tucked safely in my jeans. 

I ran towards the house, kicking in the door. The kitchen was spotless, nothing out of order. They must’ve all stayed out in the living room. I held my knife tightly in my left hand and reach for my gun, aiming it down the hallway with my other hand. I knew it was going to be a mess but now matter what I prepared myself for I was never going to be ready for this. Junmyeon lay on his back, eyes closed, a pool of blood surrounding his head. I stumbled back at the sight, feeling the tears start to build up. I looked around some more to see a pool of blood around the same size as the one around Junmyeon’s head at the bottom of the stairs but there was no body. I looked at it for a moment, puzzled by the random pool of blood. And that’s when I noticed the drag marks. Whoever had been here had been dragged away or crawled away, either way the amount of blood on the floor was alarming. I followed the blood, frowning when I saw that the trail had stopped for a bit, looking as if he got up and walking by the look of the blood droplets on the ground. I followed the blood with my eyes, the color leaving my face at what I saw. There on the ground laying face down was Sehun, his shirt soaked with blood. My legs gave out from underneath me at the sight, a sob caught in the back of my throat. I dropped my weapons before crawling over to him, turning him over. I didn’t know what to do, my mind going blank at seeing how pale he was from the blood loss. No...no this--this can’t be happening.

“S-Sehun wake up...please.” I said, my voice strained as the tears began to fall, “Sehun!”

“Ugh...what are you yelling for…?” He asked, his voice low.

I stared down at him for a moment before a sob wracked my body. I leaned down at wrapped my arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly, maybe a little too tight but I didn’t care. I was just glad he was alright.

“Y-Y/N….I-I can’t breathe…”

At that I let him go, regretting it as he fell to the ground with a thud, a groan leaving his lips, “Sorry!”

He chuckled before wincing, his hand on what I assumed to be the wound on his stomach. I reached over and moved his hand out of the way, lifting up his shirt. I inhaled sharply at the sight of the stab wound, it was deep, so deep that it was still bleeding. It was a miracle that he was still breathing, more so that he was able to stay conscious. The amount of blood he lost should’ve already killed him, if not rendered him unconscious and unable to move for days, maybe even weeks and that’s the best case scenario. Without a word I slipped out of my sweated, reaching over to grab the knife I had discarded, grabbing the gun as well. I set the gun aside as I got to work on cutting up the sweater.  I cut off the sleeves, cutting them open. I placed cut up pieces of fabric over the open wound, grimacing at how unsanitary this was but this was the best I could do given the situation. I wrapped the cut up sleeves around him with some difficult, tying the ends together tightly.

“Can you sit up?”

He winced but nodded anyway, pushing himself up on his elbows slowly. I help him sit up, leaning his back against the wall behind him.

“Who did this? Was it Baekhyun?” 

Sehun opened his mouth to answer but instead of hearing his voice I heard another’s, my blood already beginning to boil at the sound of it.

“I didn’t even get to touch him. My best guess is that Jongin got to him first.”

I turned in the direction of his voice, picking up at the gun and pointing it at him. I froze as soon as I did, seeing the bodies that lay behind him. I almost dropped my gun at the sight of the bodies and blood on the floor. I set my jaw and held onto the gun tighter, my eyes on the three men that lay dead on the floor for a moment longer before looking back up at Baekhyun.

“Did you do all this?”

He frowned, going to take a step forward but stopped when I aimed the gun up higher at his head, “Do you really think I’d kill my own men? I’m not that kind of man.”

I scoffed, “I don’t know what kind of man you are so I wouldn’t know if you’d really do it or not. I never really knew you, remember? Everything between us was a lie.”

“Not everything.” He muttered under his breath, my heart dropping at his words, “Look, this whole thing just got bigger than you and me. Jongin he-”

Before he could finish his sentence a bullet pierced his right shoulder, sending him to the ground. I flinched at the blood that splattered across my face. I turned to face the direction where the bullet came from, shocked to see Jongin standing there with a sinister look in his eyes. That look sent a chill down my spine, I had never felt this unnerved in my life, not even when I faced Baekhyun after what he did to me. That look in his eyes was absolutely murderous and I feared for my life at just the sight.

“You really need to learn when to keep your mouth shut.” He said, looking over to Baekhyun with a glare before looking at me, a smirk playing at his lips.

I inhaled sharply, my heart skipping a beat as I quickly turned to aim my gun at him. My whole body trembled underneath his gaze, the fear coursing through my veins was indescribable. Jongin grinned at my reaction, the smile on his face simply growing until he let out a chuckle before he was shaking with a full body laugh. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as he was thrown into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“You--You’re going to kill me is that it? You?” He asked, another laugh falling from his lips, “That’s rich. You couldn’t even kill Baekhyun when you had him all alone that night but you think you can kill me? Don’t get in over your head, kid.”

I froze at his words. How did he know about that night between Baekhyun and I? Had he been watching that whole time? Why hadn’t he said anything? Just how many things was he hiding from me?

“He did this. He tried to kill me and killed Junmyeon. Jongin isn’t the man he made you believe he was.” Sehun said from behind me, his voice barely above a whisper.

At his words I set my jaw, the grip I had on my gun tightening once more. He grinned deviously at the look that was now in my eyes. Just like that, a flip in me switched, looking at this man with nothing but pure hatred.

“I’m surprised you’re still kicking Sehun. I was hoping that fall would’ve killed you if my knife didn’t. If you weren’t such a thorn in my side and so attached to Y/N I wouldn’t have even tried to kill you.” Jongin said with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair, “Now that we’ve got all this miscellaneous stuff out of the way let’s get down to the nitty gritty stuff, yeah?”

He suddenly got serious, all traces of humor leaving his face, his gun now aimed directly at me, “Who should I kill first? The bastard hiding behind you, your ex boy toy, or do you want to go first, doll? I’m a strong believer of ladies first...in any occasion.”

My hand shook at the rage I was feeling. All this time he had been hiding behind a mask and I was blind to it all. Seeing this side of him not only made me incredibly angry but I felt so fucking stupid for ever trusting this man, this man who was now a stanger to me. I trusted him, even loved him at one point, only to find out that the man I knew was nothing but a facade, he was far worse than Baekhyun.

“I’m not going to wait all night darling, make your pick.”

I felt my heart rate pick up. He was going to kill us all even if I did pick. This was all just a sick game he was playing. Even so I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander over to Baekhyun, seeing him leaning against a wall, his face scrunched up in pain. He looked at me in the eyes for a moment before letting a small smile play at his lips, nodding. I felt a lump forming in my throat at what that nod meant. I can’t believe after everything there was still enough affection for me to feel sad about what he was hinting at. I looked back up at Jongin, my eyes widening at seeing the look that now adorned his face, a smirk on his lips. Within the next moment he aimed his gun at Baekhyun, his finger on the trigger. Without thinking I pulled the trigger on my own gun, watching as the bullet lodged itself into his head. His body fell to the floor with a thud, blood soaking into the floor, pooling around his dead body. I let my arm drop back down to my side, the gun falling to the floor.

“Y/N…” 

I went to look at Sehun at the sound of my name but froze at what I saw as soon as I turned my head. Baekhyun’s head was hanging forward, a new bullet wound on his chest, right over his heart. Jongin must’ve fired at the same time I did. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling at the sight, muttering an apology under my breath. After everything I couldn’t stop myself from crying over seeing him like this. Through my tears I turned to Sehun, wordlessly helping him up and draping his arm over my shoulders so he could lean his weight on me. I looked down at Baekhyun for a moment, a sob shaking my body. 

If only we had all met under different circumstances...we would’ve all been happy. Who knows maybe Sehun and Baekhyun could’ve become friends if I forced them to bond for a few days. Both important men in my life would have gotten along just fine if only we had all met each other in differently. 

“I’m sorry...” I muttered under my breath, not knowing what I was apologizing for but I just couldn’t find it in myself to leave him here without uttering those two words.

With one last look I turned my back on him, leading Sehun out of the house to treat him properly. It was over, finally, everything came to an end...but at what cost?

[darcyfirth]

Hartwin fic recs (1/?)

[Long post]

I went through the fics saved on my Kindle aka I read them at least thrice (not the recently bookmarked ones on ao3 or on my laptop) and here are what I found. The order is mainly sorted by authors’ names and texts in italics are my comments. I try not to spoil them for you guys and only include tags the authors use.

⭐ Underneath - Ataraxetta. E, 37k.

Of course, a refusal to apologise and a handjob on the floor of a fitting room does not reparations make.

Eggsy left the shop that night with a new chip on the shoulder of his new suit. Harry left the shop that night with the knowledge of what Eggsy looked like flushed and trembling with pleasure under his hands and the certainty that this single torturous taste of what he wanted most was worth living with the possibility that he would not get another.

⭐ A Marriage of Inconvenience - autoschediastic. E, 11k. Fake marriage.

“Caution in the field isn’t confined to simply an awareness of your surroundings,” Harry says, his tone stern but his breath soft and warm against the back of Eggsy’s hand. His gaze lifts, his eyes hooded as he peers at Eggsy over the rims of his glasses. “You’ve told a lie, Eggsy, and now that lie must be truth.”

(Or, that time Eggsy scored them a better table by saying it was his and Harry’s anniversary and quickly grew to regret it.)

⭐ the train is a metaphor - autoschediastic, Ponderosa . E, 6k.

“What sort of aggression is it then?” Eggsy asks, cutting right to the heart of the matter.

Harry knows even before he hears the response. Knows because even as Merlin is saying, “It appears to affect sexual responses. Activating latent desire and cranking up the subject’s sex drive whilst simultaneously increasing pheromone production,” Harry is thinking primarily of the distance between himself and Eggsy and how very few steps it would take to be within range to push the boy to the floor and pin him there.

⭐ How (not) to get a dad’s blessing - BrightsideIsMyMiddleName. NR, 36k, WIP.

“You know, you almost fooled me yesterday with the whole I want to watch the legacies speech,” Merlin says and Harry groans, because he knows things just went tits up. “Well, I suppose you were half telling the truth. You wanted to watch one certainlegacy, but it was more about his mouth, eyelashes and that thing on his eyebrow you can’t seem to stop staring at.”

Harry head snaps up at that. “Oh, shite.”

“Oh, yes,” the agent keeps going, completely enjoying this. “You forgot to turn off your feed. I saw the flirting. And Lee’s reaction. Good luck with that.”

⭐ Conditions of Release - Calico. E, 5k.

Eggsy pulled furtively at the ropes binding his arms and legs to the metal tracks, as if he’d forgotten the last five minutes already. God, though. Before he’d felt trapped, terrified; now it was more like he was… at Harry’s mercy.

⭐ What Men Want - calico. E, 12k. Lots of UST.

Eggsy goes data-mining.

I died multiple times reading this. 

⭐ Inopportune Moments series - calico, habernero. The whole series is a blessing and I’ll forever treasure the endless amount of UST in it.

⭐ Every Club’s Got a Secret Handshake - ChuckleVoodoos. NR, 4k.

A Kingsman needs steady hands, he tells Eggsy. I’ll resign quietly, he tells Merlin. Eggsy will make an admirable Galahad, he tells them both.

Or: In which Harry has a few minor issues following his head injury that no one but him considers issues.

Status after reading: Dehydrated from crying. 

⭐ Ätherwellen - coloursflyaway. M, 2k.

There are three-hundred and twenty-six members in Kingsman’s tech departments all over the world, and obviously they have lots of stories to share about their agents and what they do to drive them crazy.

The best way to do so is a super-secret WhatsApp group, and if it gets a challenge for all of them to finally get Harry and Eggsy together, it might just be Merlin’s fault.

⭐ Through Time - coloursflyaway. E, 162k.

A chronic of Harry’s and Eggsy’s love, following them from their first meeting to the last time they set eyes on each other, through shots in the head and falling in love and finally getting their shit together.

⭐ Dream In Red - Corvin. T, 11k. Soulmates AU.

Eggsy wasn’t raised to take the soulmate marks too seriously. He could fall in love without them.

⭐ Street Sweepers, Night Watchmen, Flame Keepers - Deepdarkwaters. E, 36k.

Harry survived V-Day - because of course he did - but not all the Kingsman agents were so lucky. With the world still going to shit and the worst staff shortage since the organisation began, Merlin calls a group of retired agents back to their posts to help out while he trains the new recruits.

Featuring snowball fights, banter, innuendo, handsome old men, lady scientists, secrets in walking sticks, Harry’s appalling crush, thumbnails of bigger pictures, a pastede on plot crammed in around all the flirting which is really just an excuse for me to write a silly sword fight, and an old bet from 1986 that’s still not been decided.

⭐ in this safe place here - Della19. E, 5k. Omegaverse.

“I am entirely capable,” Harry proclaims cuttingly to Merlin, puffed up like a prissy cat. And Merlin throws his arms skyward like he’s just begging for lightning to strike ‘im where he stands and asks, with scathing exasperation, “Of what, waddling up to someone and ruthlessly bumping into them?”

And Eggsy one hundred percent doesn’t snicker, and he’s got the bloody inner cheek to prove it, ‘cause Eggsy’s a fuckin’ gentleman.

Instead Eggsy takes in the sight of ‘is pregnant mate, huge as a fuckin’ planet and still the most bloody gorgeous man he’s ever seen. And then takes in ‘is face, and he wonders how much ice cream he’s gonna need to buy to get them all through the four weeks of bed rest Merlin just ordered.

And then Harry’s upper lip looks like it might fuckin’ quiver, and Eggsy contemplates just buyin’ stock in Ben and Jerry’s.

⭐ i blinked (and there you were) - Della19. M, 19k. Time travel AU.

The Weeping Angels, Eggsy reads on the stolen Torchwood intel. Aliens that pose as statues, and kill their victims by sending them back in time and feeding off their years not lived in the present. The politest psychopaths in the universe, a note reads, scrawled in what looks like a doctor’s chicken scratch on the edge of the page by someone who clearly had a perverse sense of humour. A one way trip, the report concludes; you get transported by the angels, and it’s the slow road back to the present for you.

Eggsy lays his head back on the wall, takes stock of his situation. He’s lost 30 years - three years more than his entire lifespan up ’til now - in the blink of an eye, and now he’s stuck here, in 1988. Three years before he’s even born. Arthur, the prick, is sure to be heading up the Kingsmen, and Merlin, if he’s even there would be…20, maybe. Fuck, so fucking young.

Shite, even Harry’d only be…

Alive, Eggsy thinks, and finds himself sitting down hard from where his knees can’t hold him. This is 1988, and Harry’s 23, and alive.

Suddenly, being stuck in 1988 doesn’t seem so bad.

⭐ your world tomorrow - DivineProjectZero. E, 9k.

This is turning into one hell of a fairytale.

(or, the one in which Eggsy never dreamed of the Cinderella life and ends up living it anyway.)

⭐ all the tables turn - DivineProjectZero. E, 23k.

Harry Hart has terrible taste in men.

So it comes as a bit of a surprise when Eggsy smiles at him and the predator inside Harry cocks its head in consideration.

⭐ the things we steal (it was only a kiss) - DivineProjectZero, 5k. HP AU.  

Eggsy whips around to find Harry Hart standing right behind him, holding a martini glass and just as gorgeous as Eggsy last saw him, three years and two months ago.

Thankfully, Eggsy is too busy staring in shock to actually say anything in response, because Harry then says, “Excuse my poor manners. Harry Hart. And you are?” And then extends his hand, which is how Eggsy remembers that he’s not supposed to be Eggsy Unwin right now; he’s actually undercover.

⭐ How not to attack Harry Hart - enjoy_acne. M, 31k.

Everybody wants to hurt Harry Hart. Harry’s really not sure what he’s done to garner such attention.

Where attacking even an amnesiac Harry proves near impossible. This is a romantic comedy with a dose of violence.

⭐ another head aches, another heart breaks - jonphaedrus. E, 44k.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that every good story has its Lazarus.

(or; the one where harry hart dies, and then lives again)

⭐ take me to church - jonphaedrus. M, 2k.  

He sees Westminster Abbey. Instead of a burst of civic and national pride, it feels like someone has just punched him in the chest. Harry stumbles, nearly falls over, and he can suddenly see bright Southern sunlight, he can smell the scent of blood all over him, his shoulder aches where someone’s just stabbed him, there are bullet bruises all over his back. There’s someone screaming in the distance and he can see flat, brown eyes facing him down the barrel of a silenced gun.

He winds up crouched, retching on the floor of a public loo, head between his knees, breathing high and fast through his teeth while Merlin’s voice, quiet and calm and grounding in his ear tells him just stay there, Arthur, someone’s coming, and someone comes.

⭐ A Different Place and Time - Ferrero13. T, 23k. Time travel, soulmates AU.  

Eggsy’s words are ‘What’s your name, young man?’, but Harry’s isn’t ‘Eggsy.’ So he keeps quiet, keeps it to himself, but when he finds himself face to face with a younger Harry Hart, Eggsy can’t help falling in love all over again.

Sometimes, the first words you say to your soulmate aren’t the first they hear from you.

⭐ On Hand - fideliant. E, 24k.

Or, Five Things A Gentleman Should Never Do Without

“In my defence,” Eggsy says, “It could have happened to anyone.”

⭐ Your Highness - Galahard. E, 40k. Modern Royal AU.

 “The international community is in chaos this morning in the wake of the deaths of many world leaders. The death of the president of the United States has been confirmed, along with the majority of his cabinet. Great Britain can count itself lucky that the Queen has been found and finally returned to her throne, but her heirs are another story. It appears that both princes and their own heirs are among the casualties of what is being referred to as the Valentine’s Day Massacre. Sources close to–”

It just so happens that there is another direct heir to the British throne out there, but he’s probably going to need a bit of polish.

⭐ We musn’t touch what isn’t ours - inusagi. E, 11k.

Harry Hart is a sociopath, yes, but he’s a sociopath who loves Eggsy.

or

5 times Harry showed his true colours and 1 time Eggsy really sees it.

⭐ Irish Car Bombs - kimposibl. M, 5k.

“It’s from the gentleman over there,” replies the waitress, pointing over her shoulder.

“Err….” Now, Eggsy knows he’s pissed. He learned his limits and exceeded them back in Cambridge, so being drunk off his arse is nothing new. He also knows that he can finish his pint and maybe get away with one more drink before he’s making a raucous or somehow getting involved in a fight, but he certainly can’t handle six more cocktails of Irish alcohol.

“Invite him over,” he tells her with an easy smile.

–

Or, the drunken one night stand Eggsy thought he’d never see again until he does and they have sex again.

⭐ Gentle - KingKiller. T, 4k.

Harry lives. He’s alive and he knows it.

But sometimes at night after waking up from dreams (nightmares) where Valentine wasn’t afraid of blood and Gazelle wasn’t so enamored with the lisping psychopath Harry wakes in the dark all too sure he’s dead.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

⭐ Hold me tight - KingKiller. NR, 14k.

The dynamics between he and Eggsy had changed. And Harry doesn’t even know how to describe “how” it had.

Continuation of “Gentle”. 

⭐ the parting glass - kirkaut. E, 48k.

The words shrivel and die between them.

Harry’s chest hitches on an indrawn breath. The contours of his face are cast dramatically in the fiery hues of the street at night, highlighting the wrinkle in his forehead and the soft slope of his chin and the silvery pink of his scar.

He’s beautiful, and Eggsy loves him.

“I miss you.” The confession falls. It lands heavily onto the pavement, cracking into the asphalt. “You’re alive, you’re right in fucking front of me, and I still miss you.”

⭐ Whenever you look up there I shall be. - LadyEmrys. E, 114k.

Watching the light spread in those heavy-lidded eyes, seeing the small twitch at the corner of his mouth - the only other physical sign he had strength enough to give - was more than enough to know for sure.

Eggsy was fucked.

Or: In a world rapidly descending into anarchy in the wake of V-Day, Kingsman - under the guidance of it’s new Arthur - must decide whether or not to abandon its hitherto undercover nature and save the the world from itself.

⭐ Ace of Spades - manic_intent. E, 44k.

“This is your next target,” Merlin said into Harry’s earpiece, as Harry leaned forward to look at his laptop screen.

It blacked out, for a moment, then a clip out of some interview began to play. The video was in black and white, crisply and tightly shot, its subject a young man shown seated from the waist up, against a pale gray background, grinning at the camera. He was probably in his mid twenties, dressed down in a black leather jacket over a pale t-shirt, loose over denim jeans, his hair long enough to feather slightly over his forehead, a hint of stubble over his chin. He was also, quite possibly, the most beautiful young man Harry had ever seen, and disturbingly… familiar, somehow.

As the young man laughed noiselessly at the camera, elegant serif type faded over the lower third of the screen: Gary Unwin, by Vanity Fair. Harry blinked, and studied the young man’s pretty face more closely, the crinkling around his eyes, the joyous curl to his mouth, the way he sat, relaxed yet alert, like a hunting hound, waiting to come to heel.

⭐ Kingmaker - manic_intent. E, 49k.

“Eggsy, I really don’t think-“ Merlin began, and stopped, because at that very moment, Eggsy walked right into a lamp post.

Across the street, at a sidewalk corner cafe, reading a paper, sandwich part-eaten on a plate, sleek, long legs crossed neatly under the table, was Harry Hart.

⭐ Strange Sights, Strange Wonders - manic_intent. E, 51k. Stardust AU.

In the glade where the star had fallen, the gloom of the gnarled old woods was deeper than night, save around the blackberry bush that had broken his fall: the grass and the battered leaves were now luminous, moon-touched. There was a long pause, broken by the sounds of twittering insects and the forest folk, then, there was a loudly groaned, “Fuck!”

The star rubbed a hand over his eyes, then flinched and held his hand up, spreading unfamiliar fingers up against the night sky. He turned his hand this way and that, curling and uncurling fingers, then he let out a softer, yet just as vehement “fuck!” and sat up, wincing.

⭐ Calm Like You - MartinShostakovich. E, 10k. Teacher/student AU.

Eggsy develops a heavy crush on his new Classical Literature Professor Harry Hart, and strives to reach the top of the class in order to impress him. Little did Eggsy know, Mr. Hart is fairly easy to impress.

⭐ As Fate Would Have it - midnightsurge. M, 45k. MI6!Eggsy AU.

 The young man smiled brightly again, turning to face him slightly as they walked outside. “M’name’s Eggsy. Eggsy Unwin.”

Harry suddenly stopped in his tracks. He knew that name.

Eggsy turned to face him expectantly once he’d realised the other was no longer walking next to him.

“I think you knew me dad, righ’?” 

⭐ the centre cannot hold - missbecky. E, 34k.

It’s a rainy Monday when Eggsy Unwin is killed in the line of duty. And it’s a rainy Tuesday when Harry Hart starts to feel that there is something very wrong with the world now. As one tragic event after another unfolds, he becomes convinced that Eggsy was never meant to die. Somehow he has to put things right again and find a way to get Eggsy back. No matter what the cost.

⭐ once upon a different lifetime - missbecky. M, 58k.

The night before the final test, Harry makes Eggsy a promise: once he is a Kingsman, they will talk about their future together. Then V-Day happens, and although Harry recovers, he doesn’t remember that last day he spent with Eggsy. Now Eggsy has to carry on like his heart isn’t breaking every time he looks at Harry and he thinks about what they might have had. He manages to do a good job of it, though, keeping things between them strictly professional.

So then, of course, Harry remembers.

⭐ One Night - Nickygp. E, 53k. Judge!Harry, rentboy!Eggsy.

Harry Hart, a Lord Justice, has his life turned upside down when he meets a young rentboy, named Eggsy, who charms his way into Harry’s heart. But can he act upon those feelings, or are their cirmustances too different to breach the gap?

⭐ Bluffing With An Empty Hand - nightwalker. E, 2k. Short and sweet.

The first time Harry Hart threatens to end Eggsy’s step-father, it’s a bluff.

The second time is going to be a promise.

⭐ No Charm Equal- potentiality_26. E, 29k. Cupid AU. The one that got me hooked on this author.

To say that Harry was too surprised to react at first would have been a grave understatement. He wasn’t literally invisible, because he did sometimes need to interact with mortals to do his job, he was just unnoticeable. People- the particular charge he had been assigned to most of all- were meant to see him and yet never actually process his presence. Unless he showed up in their houses- which a gentleman would never do, of course- they would ignore him and just get on with their lives. And yet here Eggsy was, closer than anyone had been to Harry since- well, since he was mortal, and that was long enough ago that Harry could hardly remember it- snarling, “Why are you following me?”

⭐ Getting It Right - potentiality_26. E, 8k. 5+1.

“Kiss me,” he murmured when he reached Harry, because while it wasn’t exactly vital to the mission that Eggsy convince this woman that they were in love, it would certainly make him feel better. Harry pressed his mouth to Eggsy’s as he passed him a glass of champagne, and ‘feeling better’ went out the window. The kiss was quick, sweet, marital. Eggsy didn’t know how Harry made it feel so practiced, but he did.

“I have an admirer,” Eggsy informed him, almost breathless with how much he wanted Harry to kiss him like that every day, how much he wanted Harry to have a reason to.

Five times Eggsy gets Harry to kiss him for the wrong reasons (and one time he gets it right).

⭐ Enough to Live On - potentiality_26. E, 19k.

Harry stated the obvious, something he should have seen that morning but hadn’t: “You shopped.”

“I been here quite a bit,” Eggsy explained, shrugging one shoulder. “And anyway it seemed… better. Food in the fridge, nothing gathering dust. Made it more like you’d be back any day now.” Eggsy swiped his knife over the bread with a little more aggression than was strictly necessary, but his voice was very even. “You said you’d come back and sort things. But you didn’t.”

Harry comes back a week after V-Day. He isn’t strictly alive, but that means less than he would have expected it to. 

⭐ An Ocular Condition  - ProdigalQueer. G, 3k.

Harry sees his adjustment as easy, but that’s only because he’s not really looking.

⭐ Only As Directed - rageprufrock. E, 12k.

“Arthur is a bad man,” Roxy had said.

“Fucking tell me about it,” Eggsy had muttered, and gone to put on the tarty trousers Harry had picked out for him like a fucking high-end pimp.

⭐ A Taste of Mallorca - Regency. M, 18k. Chef AU.

Harry is a celebrated food critic. Eggsy is a Youtube-famous food blogger. They meet at the grand opening of Mediterranean restaurant Mallorca when they’re forced to share a table. It’s a meal, and a night, neither will soon forget.

⭐ my saints fallen series  - neroh. From T to E.  I love this so much.

 ⭐ The Mate in Roommate - ronahn. E, 5k. Uni AU.

Out of all of the blokes occupying their flat, Harry was the one Eggsy saw the most, and yet they had only ever shared passing greetings. It was a growing source of disappointment for Eggsy; he was strangely drawn to Harry and his gorgeous brown hair and eyes.

⭐ The Spy who Loved Me (Or so they say) - ToriCeratops. E, 54k. Fake relationship AU, Pining.

In the wake of V-day the world’s economy hangs in a delicate balance, liable to crumble without warning. One man has the knowledge and the power necessary to send it tumbling down, so that only he remains on top.

The Kingsman have been tasked with stopping him before he can carry out his plan. In order to do so, Harry and Eggsy must act as lovers at an elite couple’s getaway to earn this man’s trust. Will they be able to carry out their mission as planned? Or will old wounds and buried emotions cause a havoc greater than anything they could have expected?

⭐ Kiss Me Now (before I can run) - persephoneggsy. M, 37k. Soulmates AU.

It wasn’t unusual, Eggsy told himself. There were plenty of people- just a little under half of the world’s population, really- that weren’t with their soulmates. Some of them just hadn’t met yet; others had died beforehand; and then there were the people in Eggsy’s situation. Sometimes people genuinely didn’t want their soulmates. Either they were in love with someone else, or they just didn’t like what they got stuck with, and Eggsy imagined the latter was very much the case with him and Harry. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must have felt like for him, the world’s prime example of a posh bloke, to have his soulmate be some beaten-up kid. He would have rejected him too.

Or: soulmate AU where you know your soulmate from the moment you touch them, and when you do, their name gets written over your heart like a brand. But that’s not always a guarantee.

⭐ Tailor Shop - rougewinter. E, 13k. Like a Disney movie except really gay and for grown-ups.

“There’s no need for that now.” The older man said, both hands raised in a placating gesture that only had Eggsy narrowing his eyes in wariness.

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Eggsy demanded, making sure to keep the poker up.

“My name is Harry Hart. And I’m the man, well, the mannequin that you just assembled.”

Or

The one where Harry is cursed to be a magical mannequin and can only be saved by the power of love.

⭐ that which lingers - bruises for tomorrow. M, 22k.

 Here is something that Gary “Eggsy” Unwin (aged 24 and ¾) never knew to expect from ghosts:

- Sometimes their absence hurts worse than their presence.

⭐ Married to the Job - trilliath. E, 18k. Mutual pining, misunderstanding.

 "Hm?“ Merlin asks, distracted when he looks up and squints at Eggsy’s face, then catches up and resumes working. “Oh. No. Zania Bonatti, Italian artist and activist. Also Harry’s wife.”

“You wot?” Eggsy blurts, eyes snapping back to him, then over to Roxy like he might’ve mis-heard.

But he hasn’t because Roxy’s face wrinkles minutely in sympathy that has Eggsy’s ears burning and he snaps his eyes away again in humiliation.

“Yes, Harry’s married. Did he never mention that to you?” Merlin pauses long enough to frown briefly, then he shrugs. “Well, on to more important matters…”

⭐ you make motion when you cry - unhappy_turtle. E, 4k. Pining.

“Wanna go on an ate with me?” Eggsy slurs, “I’ll give you the D later.”

“You are very inebriated, aren’t you?”

Eggsy nods, his head feeling too heavy.

⭐ These Hands (Had to Let It Go Free) - Vacilando. G, 12k.

He does not only recognize this man, he knows him. Harry knows the way he laughs and the way he would smile cheekily at Harry. He knows the way this man say his name, all rough cockney accent and confidence. Harry knows him better than Harry knows himself but none of that matter because Harry does not remember his name.

Nor is he sure if this man is real. 

⭐ Breathless (A Tale of Eggsy Unwin) - xxjinchuurikixx. E, 101k. Pining.

“Harry–"Eggsy breaks off, because, god, Harry’s here! He’s alive, breathing, beautiful, and he’s got Eggsy crushed in his arms and Eggsy can feel his mouth tingling from the roughness of his kiss.

Then Harry pulls back; more-so he shoves Eggsy away. He keeps him pinned to the wall, at arms length, and Eggsy is pleased to see Harry is panting, stray chocolate hairs fallen out of place. The action, however, makes his blood feel cold, and he stares up at Harry in confusion, expecting something more. But Harry makes no move to close the space between them again.

When Harry speaks, finally, it’s low and deadly and it fucking hurts.

“Forget that ever happened.”

⭐ Virtue Over Avarice- Yessydo. M, 13k. Tailor AU.

Eggsy crashes his stepfather’s car into the front window of a quaint but reputable tailor’s shop on Savile Row and, thanks to the charitable spirit of its mysterious owner, ends up working there to pay the damages.

⭐ Lots of Lost Time - Yessydo. E, 1k.

A year after his “death”, Harry is reunited with Eggsy, who has some strong feelings on the matter.

⭐ Lavagulin and Guinness - Snarfle. E, 163k. I waited eagerly for every update of this.

Plenty of people had looked down on Eggsy throughout his life. He had gotten fairly used to it. Didn’t mean it was fair, but he knew how these things worked. What really sucked was that the new Arthur was worse than the old one.

“Eggsy grimaced. He didn’t know how to explain to Harry – who seemed like he hadn’t been discriminated against a day in his life – that the new Arthur kept giving him what amounted to suicide missions, and that he was currently bleeding out in a warehouse because of the deliberately bad intel she had given him.”

[ontheotherside524]

war

“Fight ‘til we are no more.”

Irony | Rebellion | Acceptance

“It’s your win.”

Rating: T

Pairing: Akakuro

Word Count: 2k

Summary: Every year there is a sacrifice made to the god of war, and all of them disappoint him utterly. This year, that is not the case. This year, the sacrifice is able to fight back.

Warnings: Violence (depictions of fighting, but no blood)

 In the depths of an ancient forest lives a god of war, a god of death, a god of destruction. The trees around him rot as the ground erodes, as if merely his presence brings carnage to nature. The people of the forest village live in constant fear of him, so every year they sacrifice one of their own to him, hoping to keep him happy.

Akashi dislikes the weak sacrifices they send to him due to the fact that none of them can fight well. But he kills them anyway, because a human life is just a human life, and humans are such despicable little pests. He ought to wipe out this pitiful village soon; however, for now, he will let them continue to foolishly give their own to him to kill.

Humans are so grandly disappointing. 

Akashi finishes sharpening the blade he will give to this year’s sacrifice. There is no point to fighting the sacrifice because he will just kill them in the end even if they do show promise, but purely out of habit, he continues the tradition he established some hundred years ago.

This village will be destroyed soon; Akashi is getting bored.

Around noon, Akashi’s sharp ears catch the quiet steps of a human traveling toward him. He takes off his armor, setting it to the side. Akashi does not need it. He wonders why he even bothers to wear it anymore; nothing ever challenges him anymore. He stands unopposed, even by his fellow gods, and he is so utterly bored with everything that he is somewhat surprised he hasn’t destroyed an entire continent yet.

No—he is not so imbecilic. He knows not to do such idiotic things; he has restraint.

That does not cure his boredom of these never-changing days, however.

The human finally arrives in the clearing, eyes immediately jumping to Akashi. His posture is wary and cautious, but Akashi finds that he is not terrified unlike the other sacrifices. Although there is an understandable measure of fear in his eyes, he does not shake and cower like the previous humans.

How odd…

And intriguing.

The human slowly approaches Akashi, never taking his eyes off of him. He’s completely defenseless, and the only thing in his possession are the simple sacrificial white robes he wears. He does not even have footwear; Akashi notices that his feet are stained with dirt and are bleeding from stepping on sharp objects. That may hinder his performance.

Akashi decides that he does not care; he will only disappoint him in the end, either way.

“Your name?” Akashi asks, picking up the two swords off the rock he left them on and brandishing them with a quick twirl of his wrists. The human does well not to flinch, but his eyes turn even more wary.

“…Kuroko Tetsuya,” he answers, quietly. He must be barely the age of an adult human—a little young for a sacrifice. Most of the others were almost in their thirtieth year already.

And yet this boy shows more promise than all of them.

“Tetsuya,” Akashi repeats, pondering on the human’s name. Looking at him, at the way he nearly blends in with the shadows in the clearing, he decides that it is a fitting name. Akashi tosses him a sword; if he was one for showing emotion on his face, he would have looked surprised that the boy manages to catch it without injuring himself.

Akashi points his sword at Tetsuya, noting how Tetsuya immediately brings the sword up to defend himself against an attack. Tetsuya must be the smartest human he has met in the last one hundred years—how promising.

“Let us fight until you die, Kuroko Tetsuya. This is your opportunity to choose how you will die—will you die with cowardice, begging for mercy; or will you die with honor, fighting until your last breath?”

Akashi is a being of perfection and war. He knows not how to be gentle with things, unlike the goddess of joy and love.

This is all he can offer the pitiful humans offered up to him as sacrifices.

Still, he has never once thought twice about killing them.

This god’s name is Akashi, and he is terrifying, from his red and golden eyes to the deadly swings of his sword.

As a child, Tetsuya always heard legends about Akashi, that he was borne of the pits of hell and that he was able to perfectly conduct himself from the moment he drew breath. Unlike the other children, Tetsuya was not exactly afraid of Akashi; he has always thought Akashi is one of the most interesting gods he knows of.

But, standing in front of him and feeling the pressure exuding from him, Tetsuya understands why he’s a god of war—death.

Tetsuya won’t live to see the sunrise.

Akashi must be going easy on him because he hasn’t died yet. Tetsuya trades blows with Akashi again, brain muddled with questions. Why doesn’t he just kill him already? What is the merit to fighting a human who stands no chance against him? Is this entertaining somehow?

Akashi’s face stays neutral, just as it has ever since Tetsuya entered the clearing. Tetsuya can’t tell what he’s thinking.

However…he asked him how he wanted to die. Maybe he’s testing Tetsuya not as himself, but as a human being. Maybe Akashi is wondering if there is any merit to human beings.

Tetsuya ducks under a swing that would have decapitated him, rolling toward Akashi’s right side, and then swings blindly, just barely missing Akashi’s flank. Akashi is on him in an instant, moving at lightning fast speeds, and Tetsuya almost doesn’t block in time. The clang that resonates through his sword makes his shoulder jolt with pain, but he doesn’t let up, desperately trying to push Akashi back.

Akashi jumps away from him, casually swinging his sword in a circular motion while Tetsuya pants for breath. He really doesn’t stand a chance against a god, does he? “Your strength is clearly lacking, but the way you utilize your weak presence to get new angles is useful,” Akashi notes, as if he’s Tetsuya’s mentor rather than the person that’s trying to kill him. Baffled, Tetsuya is about to question him when he goes on. “I would say…you would make an excellent assassin, but fighting on the frontlines would be terrible for you.”

Tetsuya is too confused to formulate a question to ask Akashi, so Akashi takes advantage of his confusion, launching himself forward again and bringing his sword up high over his head. Tetsuya barely dodges in time, and he tries not to cringe when he hears the tree he was standing in front of splinter violently. Tetsuya loops around, facing Akashi again as he runs at him, sword unscratched from what he just did.

Tetsuya parries his strike, wincing at the force behind Akashi’s blow. He judges the distance behind him to the nearest tree, making sure he won’t bump into it, and then quickly pushes at Akashi followed by retreating, swiftly running away before Akashi’s sword can connect with his body. Akashi is completely unruffled, taking his time in readjusting his stance and swinging his sword around again.

Tetsuya is wondering if he can sneak in and get a hit on Akashi’s leg when a sword suddenly whistles by and impales itself into Tetsuya’s garments, blowing him back and pinning him to a tree. Tetsuya’s head is pounding from being slammed mercilessly against the tree, and he groans quietly, body slumping in pain.

Even with his head pulsing, he knows that this is where he dies.

“You have potential,” Akashi tells him, slowly walking toward him. Every step the god takes feels like an eternity to Tetsuya. Why can’t he just kill him already? “If we had met hundreds of years ago, when it was not outlawed yet, I would have made you my champion.”

Tetsuya dazedly looks up at Akashi as he comes to a halt in front of Tetsuya. His vision is spinning, but he can just manage to make out the god standing in front of him. “But we didn’t,” Tetsuya murmurs. Akashi is cruel for saying such things to him, trying to make him despair more at the end of his life. He supposes it doesn’t matter, though; he will just die in the end. But, if Akashi is willing to speak to him before he kills him… “Why do you make us fight you before we die?”

Akashi studies him. His eyes are peculiar, and just the slightest bit terrifying, but in Tetsuya’s delusional, dying brain, he wonders if they can look warm and inviting. Akashi is a god of war; he doubts that.

“It is merely a habit I formed many years ago; I am just upholding it at this point. All humans disappoint me.”

Tetsuya has secretly admired Akashi for years. He does not like war, and he does not like perfection; but Akashi has always seemed like he would be interesting to speak to. Even though Tetsuya knew he would just die in the end, he wanted to speak to him.

Hearing Akashi say that, though, makes him realize that his dreams belonged to a child.

He should never have expected anything else from a god.

Tetsuya closes his eyes, suddenly feeling like his entire body has been weighed down with an incredible force. “I understand,” he says, softly. He remembers the questions he wanted to ask Akashi, of what he’s seen in his lifespan, what he’s fought, the changes he’s witnessed. He swallows them down. “It’s your win. Please…end my life now.”

Akashi takes Tetsuya’s sword from him; he hadn’t even realized he was still holding it. It doesn’t make any difference. Akashi can’t die; even if Tetsuya had stabbed him, he would have still died in the end.

Tetsuya braces himself as he hears Akashi brandish the sword in the air…

…And something cold touches his forehead.

Tetsuya’s eyes fly open in shock, and he stares in wonder at Akashi, who gazes back at him, eyes aglow with a mysterious light. Akashi chants words in a language he doesn’t recognize, and Tetsuya realizes that he’s holding the tip of his sword to Tetsuya’s forehead. The red jewel in the hilt of the sword glows, just like Akashi’s eye.

After what feels like an infinity and more, Akashi stops chanting, eyes dulling once more as he lowers his sword. A moment later, the jewel stops glowing as well. Akashi pulls his sword out of the tree, letting Tetsuya go. Tetsuya suddenly realizes that his shoulder was burning where Akashi’s second sword had been touching him, but he’d been so distracted that he didn’t notice. Akashi flourishes both swords, their red and golden jewels flashing in the small amount of light in the clearing, and then sheathes them perfectly.

“What…” Tetsuya touches his forehead, utterly confused. Why didn’t Akashi kill him? In fact, the pain in his head is fading, and his body doesn’t feel as bruised and battered as it did a moment ago. Rather than killing him…did Akashi heal him?

“Perfection should be attained as often as possible, but such a thing does not mean that I must follow every rule in the skies,” Akashi tells him, taking off his white overcoat and tossing it at Tetsuya. Tetsuya catches it, dazed, and stares down at the impeccable fabric and design of the coat. He’s never touched something so brilliant in his entire life. “Tetsuya,” Akashi calls, regaining Tetsuya’s attention. Akashi’s expression is serious. “I have turned you into a monster that will never be loved by another human again; I have set you down a path of pain and destruction at every turn. Listen well: I have done you no favors; be aware of that.

“But you will be under my protection now—not quite a champion like all those years ago, but still most likely against the rules. I will not kill you, and you will never die. Though you are under my protection, my marks will be sufficient enough; there is no need for you to follow me. You are free to make your own decisions.”

Tetsuya’s head is spinning.

Akashi snaps his fingers, and clothes fall on top of the overcoat, along with a pair of boots. “Wear those; human clothes are not fit for my soldiers,” Akashi says, voice almost disdainful. He turns away to leave. “Decide quickly. I will be taking my leave now.”

Tetsuya has hundreds of questions to ask Akashi, but he only manages one. “Where are you going?” As the words come out of his mouth, he winces internally. Why is that the question he asked him? He should have asked why he decided to spare him, why he made him into his ‘soldier,’ why he made Tetsuya immortal. Even so, he has yet to process this flood of information Akashi has given him.

Akashi doesn’t look back at him. “This place has nothing left to offer me. I had thought of wiping out your village before I left to find somewhere else…but I have decided against it. They have one merit to their pitiful existence,” he muses, glancing back at Tetsuya. “They managed to produce a human who did not disappoint me.”

Tetsuya wonders what this feeling is in his chest, but it has no name that he knows of.

He holds the bundle of clothes tighter against his body.

He decides, even though the future is terrifying and uncertain now, he will accept whatever comes his way. There is nothing left for him in his village. And if he is a monster now…

He has never been normal, anyway.

“...I will follow you, wherever you go, and I will do my best not to be a burden. Please take care of me.” Tetsuya manages a tiny, timid smile. Akashi narrows his eyes, and Tetsuya is afraid he said something wrong, but the god just turns away.

“You are the first human to ever smile at me. Perhaps you are more foolish than I thought; have you forgotten that I am a god of war?” He asks. Tetsuya notices that his face is always neutral or serious, and his inflection never changes to show his emotions. He wonders if it’s ambitious to want to change that.

He has an eternity to find out.

“I have not. However, I think you are much kinder than people make you out to be,” Tetsuya insists. Perhaps he’s just being ridiculous; Akashi did spare his life, after all. Of course he would say that. But… “I’ve always thought that you are not as terrifying as people say. That’s all.”

Akashi exhales, snapping his fingers and signaling for Tetsuya to follow him. “You really are a fool, human. Let us depart; you can change your clothes later.” Akashi waits for Tetsuya to arrive at his side, and then he glances at his forehead, observing the mark he made. “A diamond is a symbol of perfection, and…” He looks at his shoulder, which is exposed due to the sacrificial robes having no sleeves. “Crossed swords are a sign of war. With these two marks, you are clearly under my watch. Even if you choose not to come with me, you will be safe.”

Akashi waits. Tetsuya realizes that he is waiting to see if he will change his mind—that he’s giving him one last chance to not go with him.

Tetsuya shakes his head with a smile. “Thank you, but I will still come with you,” he tells Akashi, making a point to smile at him again. Akashi just looks at him as if he’s some sort of strange creature.

“Humans,” is all Akashi says before he snaps his fingers, and they disappear from the clearing.

I will accept you.

meh

I mean I hate it the least out of everything I’ve written recently, tbh

I don’t have to explain anything about this do I? I’m pretty sure it’s relatively straightforward. I’m so rusty on writing fight scenes, but they are absolutely one of my favorite types of scenes to write.

btw nijimura is basically like...in greek mythology terms, he would be zeus, and he is not happy about kuroko, but akashi is akashi, so nijimura has no choice but to let them be

shuuzou be nice