#took me a lot of willpower not to draw them for a while now but the parasites the demons in me….they want me to draw showtime

[maelicgrn]

Self-indulgent showtime sketches

[vampirebloodie]

Little Help | Mark Hoffman x Reader

Summary: John makes Hoffman help you and he almost kills you (with pleasure)

Warning: NSFW Smut, creampie, degradation kink, puller hair

After having survived one of Jigsaw's tests after making some bad choices in life, John Kramer saw enormous potential in you due to your willpower to survive being different from anyone else tested, you had the strength of an apprentice, as well as Amanda and Lawrence. As you didn't have many things to lose, you easily accepted John's invitation to become one of his apprentices and help him with the next games, even though it was almost like signing other people's death warrants, you saw it as a job, you just don't receive any payment for it.

Amanda wasn't with you today at the factory, so it was just you who was putting together a new trap and John who was drawing some new models in a notebook. You had been making some mistakes for a few days now, which made him start keeping an eye on you to look for some good solution.

“I called Hoffman to give a little help for you. I see that you are having a lot of difficulties.”

John said, still drawing. You felt your heart stop for a few seconds after hearing that. You hated Hoffman just as he hated you too and you knew that very well, he made a point of always making it clear when you saw each other, which fortunately was rare.

"You what? Hoffman? Are you kidding me? What about Lawrence?”

Unlike Mark, Lawrence liked you and you liked him too, you always got along well and always helped each other.

“Lawrence has a family, and he's traveling with them. Amanda is not available, you stay with Hoffman, the end.”

He closed the subject there and you huffed in frustration, the hours there with the detective would be terrible.

.........

It was almost dusk, John had gone home to rest in his room while you had stayed to wait for Hoffman, sleep had consumed you and you soon dozed off on the table, only to be woken up by a loud knock on the table that almost made you have a heart attack.

“Finally! I thought that besides being stupid you were also deaf.”

You rubbed your eyes and looked up to see the devil, aka Mark, staring at you.

“Fuck you.”

“You can curse me later, cutie. We have a lot of work to do.”

He went to the other table where there was the trap that you needed to assemble but there was something wrong with the pieces, since every time you tried to fit it to your body it simply came apart and you had to do it all over again.

"Do it"

He handed the materials into your hand, but you didn't take them.

“How am i going to fix it if i don't know where im going wrong damn? i've tried several times.”

Mark took a deep breath and placed the tools on the table again, carefully picking up the trap.

“Don't be a stupid girl, just open your fucking arms.”

You ignored his rude manner and looked at him suspiciously, opening your arms, then you felt the trap being placed around your waist and your neck.

“Hey hey, what are you doing?”

You despaired for a few seconds thinking he was going to fix it and use it on you.

“I'm not going to kill you with that ugly thing you did. I need a model to be able to see the error. Unfortunately, i only have you.”

You ignored the offense and stayed quiet, he bent down a little in front of you and looked at the pieces, you held your breath when he looked at the part of your neck and ran his hand over it. You could swear he squeezed your neck on purpose.

"Thats it."

He spoke and took one of the tools, where he placed it near his neck and fixed the error that was in the support of the equipment. After that he released the trap again and removed it from his body, placing it on the table. You felt your neck tingle.

Mark ran his long fingers along your neck, where the metal had left a mark due to his grip, you tried to control your breathing when you realized how close your two faces were to each other. You looked at him again.

“Don’t look at me like that…”

"Like what?"

You tried to hide the sexual tension, turning your head, only to feel his hand pulling your face back to look at him, at his blue eyes.

“I know you don’t really hate me, do you think i don’t see you staring at me every day?”

“I stare at you and imagine myself killing you in various traps.”

You tried to finish the subject there and he laughed sarcastically.

“Oh sure. Do you know what i imagine when i look at you, Y/n?”

He got close to her ear and whispered:

“I imagine myself every day fucking that tight pussy of yours right on this table and you screaming my name.”

You closed your legs on impulse as soon as you heard that, only to see a smile appear on his face, he grabbed your hair from behind, giving a light tug making you let out a moan.

“Why don’t you make it a reality then, detective?”

"I will”

You felt his tongue invade your mouth with precision while his arms pinned you against the table, Mark held your waist and placed you sitting on the table, where this time he attacked your neck leaving some marks, your hand pulled his tie. Hoffman took off your blouse, squeezing your breasts and then removed your underwear, he took off his blazer and threw it in a random corner of the room and pushed you against the table, opening your legs, you shivered when you felt his fingers pass through your intimacy.

“You don’t know how many times i've thought of you in this position just for me.”

He squatted in front of you and removed your panties, leaving you completely exposed to him, before you could say anything you felt his tongue invading your pussy making you scream in surprise, his tongue worked so well inside you that made you roll your eyes with so much pleasure, Hoffman stuck two fingers inside you and started moving them while sucking your clit, you pulled his hair, you felt your stomach tighten.

“H-Hoffman, I...”

“No.”

He realized you were going to cum and pulled away, making you moan in frustration, he grabbed your neck and unzipped his pants, exposing his member, which made your eyes widen a little due to its large size, Mark positioned his member at your entrance and forced himself into you, the tip hitting your cervix, which made you squirm at the new sensation.

He placed both hands on your hips and began thrusting hard into you. Completely invading you with each blow. You grabbed his arms and moaned loudly. Hoffman pulled your hair and squeezed your neck, starting to choke you as the loud sound of your bodies crashing into each other filled the empty room. Your face started to turn red due to lack of air and he seemed to enjoy it.

“You look so perfect when im choking you, you fucking little slut!”

He said irritably and began to move even harder and released your neck, making you gasp for air quickly, Hoffman squeezed your waist tightly, which would probably leave marks later, the two of you moaned loudly and together. His fingers began to make quick movements on your clit, making you almost cry with pleasure.

“Be a good girl and cum for me while you scream my name, hm?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck, Mark!!”

"Good girl!”

You screamed, cumming and feeling your legs weaken and shake, Mark grunted and soon you felt him coming apart inside you, you breathed for a few seconds before he came out inside you, watching the semen drip from your pussy, he licked his lips. Mark took you off the table and helped you get dressed again.

“It won’t change how much i hate you.”

You said and he laughed.

“Please remember to say this when i fuck you again .”

He gave two little slaps in your face and put his blazer back on.

“I'll give you a ride. Hurry up. Cmon"

You put on your boots and picked up your bag, walking alongside him, even though your legs still felt sticky to each other. God, what have you done?

[swe3tcoffe3]

Mother's Day (A Deltarune Fanfiction)

(AO3 Version for those who want it)

Kris sprang out of bed, fumbling their way towards that infernal piercing shrill and, as fast as their clumsy morning-self could, switched off their alarm. Usually they would love to just spend the rest of their day rotting under the covers, but today was special. They couldn’t afford to do that, not on Mother’s Day. Stretching their back a little, they threw off their pyjamas and slipped into their clothes. They had quite the lengthy task ahead of them, but that was precisely why they had planned ahead for this.

After successfully creeping down the stairs and to the kitchen, they took everything they needed, tins, bowls, flour, cocoa powder, chocolate, cream; all the things required to bake that cake. They were good on time, for now anyway, but they could be faster. They only had about an hour and a half until Toriel would awake, and the last thing they wanted was to be caught in the middle of preparing their surprise.

They smiled to themself. Their mom loved chocolate, and a chocolate cake? That was basically the same, but better. They had to stifle a squeal before getting to work.

The beginning was… rough to say the least. They accidentally dumped in too much flour, so they had to compensate by using extra milk and eggs. It didn’t get much better, as they almost spilled the batter when pouring it into the tins and accidentally got their hand caught in the oven while trying to slide them in, causing them to suppress a yelp. 

Making the buttercream was easier thankfully, Kris could do that very well. It was merely a matter of whisking the butter, sugar and cocoa powder together into a luscious silky paste. It took nearly all their willpower to not dunk a hand in and scrape it into their mouth. The cream was purely decorative; the amounts had all been carefully measured (for the most part anyway). There would only be enough to go on the cake, and that was it. It was Toriel’s, not theirs. They drilled that into their skull as they placed it to the side for the time being.

Taking a break to wipe the sweat off their face, they bent down to take the cakes out, only to whelp in pain as they accidentally touched the hot metal. They sucked on their burns, muttering to themself as they sprayed and bandaged them. Not good, this was so not turning out good. But there was only one last thing to do, something that Kris was more than grateful for. Decorate the cake.

That did not go well.

Kris was cringing throughout the entire process, awkwardly trying to balance the overstuffed piping bag using their two hands. How did Toriel even manage to do this for their birthdays?

“Trust the process” they told themself, but the process wasn’t exactly processing. It was as if mountains of cream had been carelessly slapped all over the thing, nothing like how they had wanted it to look. Next time, they should probably leave the cake-baking to Ralsei.But they had to think about the present now. 

They paced back and forth, trying to come up with a way to fix this. Maybe they could add sprinkles? No, adding more stuff would just make it even more cluttered and messy. Hm. How about a card? Yes, a card might work! Hurrying to the store room, they grabbed a piece of card, and upon folding it hurriedly scribbled a note inside.

“Dear Mom,

I could never really string together enough words to describe how happy I am to call you that. You’re just so amazing and kind and special and have done so much for me and I could never repay you for it all. But, I hope you will at least accept the chocolate cake?

Lots of love, your child Kris”

They sucked on the pen for a bit, before quickly doodling a few hearts on the front and drawing Toriel’s smile. Her smile was just that infectious, they could already feel their own growing looking at it. A quick hug later and they placed it by the cake, taking a few step backs to admire their handiwork. Better. Much better. It was amazing how much difference a perfectly placed card could make.

A shuffling almost made Kris jump out of their own skin. Impossible! They had planned it all perfectly! They should have had at least 10 minutes to sneak back into bed before Toriel would wake up. Almost falling flat on their face, they rushed to see what was going on.

“Mom? Are you okay? What happened?”

“Oh dear, oh dearie me. I’m going to be late!”

“Late? For what?” Kris asked, trying to help their Mom into her coat. Toriel didn’t seem to notice however as she was busy trying to fit her feet into some unusually fancy shoes.

“Oh, I am so sorry honey, I should have told you sooner! Dearie me, it completely slipped my mind, if Asriel had not texted me today I would have completely forgotten!”

Kris felt a lump form in their throat.

“A-Azzy? What? What’s he…?”

“He’s taking me out for a trip! And I should be having dinner with that lovely shopkeeper this evening too! I simply cannot wait!” Toriel smiled from ear to ear, but for the first time in their life Kris simply could not bring themself to smile alongside her.

“What’s Asriel going to do with you?” They tried to play it cool, seeming as impassive as possible.

“He insisted it be a surprise,” she ruffled through her handbag, stuffing a few tissues and her purse inside, “but from what I can gather he has saved a lot of money for this outing. I hope he doesn’t spoil me too much.” She chuckled.

“Mom, wait, don’t you want to-?”

“I’m sorry my child, but I’m terribly late as is, you can manage by yourself right?” Kris nodded. “Wonderful! I’m trusting you here, do take care of yourself! And no funny business!” and with that she practically ran into the car and sped out of the driveway.

They took as many deep breaths as they could. Trying to sit on the couch to cool down. But they just couldn’t. Asriel? Day-out? And he didn’t even tell them? Their brother knew they got nervous when it came to planning stuff for Toriel, why didn’t he let them know? It was to show-off, wasn’t it? He knew Kris could never come up with anything special, so of course he’d take this chance. 

Asriel, the golden child. The perfect boy. The one who could do no wrong, the monster who could turn mud to gold, a honey-tongued angel prized by the entire town. That was what Kris had to compete with, every single day. No matter what they tried, no matter what they did they could never escape the shadows cast by that brilliant light of his. They bit their tongue, balling their fists and trying so hard to steady their shaking breaths.

Before they were even aware, they found were on their feet, trying to hold themself together with whatever remaining strength they had, but that rage was bubbling up inside them, and try as they might they just couldn’t stop it from bursting out.

And burst out it did, as they felt their fist connect with the wall, and push straight through it. A crunch resounded, and the rage that once held them so tightly fizzled away almost immediately, as the 

They had just made a hole. In their mother’s home. On Mother’s Day.

Of all the days to damage the house, it just had to be today. They gulped, taking a moment to collect themselves. They could fix this, they knew they could. They just needed to get some plaster and some paint. But where did Toriel keep those? The supply closet! Of course, of course, it had to be there!

At least, that was what they thought. Try as they might, no amount of digging through the stacks upon stacks of cupboards and drawers could help them find anything other than a can of paint. Their keen red eyes scanned every nook and cranny, but still; no plaster. Shaking, Kris began chewing away at their nails. It was okay, they could just find another way! It was simple, and shouldn’t take too much time.

Fumbling for their phone, they rushed out the front door and sent a call. They would need a backup for what they were about to do, and who better to ask for one than the resident mean girl herself?

“Yo Suz? I need a favour.”

“Don’t you owe me like five of them now, shithead?”

“Wow, is that anyway to talk to someone who’s saved your ass like twice, worm-for-brains?”

“Always that same line, dammit.” Their phone could just barely pick up a chuckle from the other end. “Whaddya need?”

“I need you to phone Toriel with a cover story if anything unexpected happens today. I have stuff to do, really important stuff. Can you do that?”

“Can I? Please, it’ll be a piece of cake. Damn. Cake… I’m gonna go visit Ralsei first, but rest easy Kris! You can count on me!” Susie hung up, and Kris had to suppress a laugh. Oh, Susie. They hoped she never changed.

But what they wished would change was the pain in their legs. They heaved, huffed and puffed as they sat down and tried to rest a little. They hated running, but the shop was pretty far and they needed to do everything as fast as possible. They had to be fast, or else Toriel might come home, and see, and then she’d just be even more disappointed in Kris and then she’d be upset and yell and then Kris would… well they’d never be able to live that down would they? Maybe any other day they’d be able to deal with it and move past that, but not today.

But an opportunity had struck, and it was gleaming in front of them in the form of Noelle. Well, Noelle and her bike. She had left it leaning against the side of a bush, humming softly to herself, which had given Kris an idea.

I mean, it’s not like Noelle was using it for anything important right? Surely she could do without a bike for… twenty or thirty minutes max?

“OH! Gee Kris, didn’t notice you were here! How’ve you- wait what are you- KRIS!” But Kris had already plucked the bike out of the bushes and had jumped onto the seat.

“Sorry Noelle, but I need it more than you!” They stuck their tongue out and waved. “You’ll get it back in a bit I promise!”

“KRISTOPHER BARTHOLOMEW DREEMURR WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU-”

It was rather smooth sailing after this point for Kris. They had gotten into a good pace, and the bike was pretty cool, quick even! And quick was good! The faster they could get to the shop, the earlier they could get home and solve their problem.

At least that was the plan until they noticed a familiar shock of blue feathers. There could only be one person such a well-kempt plumage could belong to. Him. Their arch-rival, and perhaps sometimes-friend Berdly. An image flashed of that infuriating mocking bluebird, talking about all that grade-nonsense. Maybe, they could spare perhaps just a few seconds to get back at him. Only a few.

They rolled up their sleeves, and cycling by as fast as they could, whacked him on the head, sending piles of his books spiralling into the air as he landed with a squawk on his back. Totally worth it.

“YOU’LL RUE THIS DAY, DREEMURR! MARK MY WORDS!” but Kris didn’t care. They were already far out of his reach by the time he’d gotten back on his feet. As if! Kris was sure everything would be fine. They were already near the store now. All they had to do was quickly go inside, get the plaster, rush back home, fix the wall, paint it, and it’d be all over! Problem solved, and Mom would be none the wiser.

Being extra careful while parking the bike (as it wasn’t theirs, after all), they hopped off and burst through the door, panting a little.

“Hello? Hello, I need help!”

“calm down there, don’t wanna wake up the dead now do we?” the shopkeeper chuckled.

“Fine, just, please! I need plaster! One that dries quick!”

“plaster? well we have all kinds of plaster here! lime plaster, quick-dry plaster, cement plaster…”

“gaster plasters.”

“Just give me the damn quick-dry one! It’s an emergency!”

“sure, sure! geez, kids these days, always in a hurry.” the shopkeeper scratched his head, rummaging through the shelves and skimming through the labels, before finally shoving his whole arm into the depths and pulling out a tub of something.

“this’ll do the trick! that’ll be 200G!”

“...Two hundred?” Kris gulped. A mad thought possessed them for a moment. A sudden urge to just jump at the shopkeeper, wrestle the tub out of his hands and run. But he had some kind of look in his eye, something that sent a shiver down Kris’ spine. And anyway, even if he wasn’t looking like that, I mean how could they? He seemed pretty old, you can’t just beat up an old guy now can you?

“Okay… um, let’s say I only have 2G on me. Is there any that I could possibly afford for that much? Pretty please?”

“...i have a tub of special plaster i can give you.” He gave a devilish wink before tossing something into the teen’s hands. “nope, it’s all yours, free of charge! consider it as something on the house.”

“Uh… thanks?” Kris gave a wave, not sure what else to do, before marching back out through the door. That whole exchange felt so bizarre, but they had what they needed.

Hopping back onto their (well, Noelle’s) bike, they decided to waste no more time. No more distractions, just focus on getting back to their house. They had got what they needed, they just had to speed down the roads, take a few turns, and all would be well-

“KYA!!!” Noelle leapt from the bushes, face covered in war paint, and threw… something. Whatever it was, it lodged straight into the front wheel of the bike, and to Kris’ horror they felt themself lurch forwards.

Everything after that point was just a blur. They saw the sky for a moment, then the gaping window of the Church zoom towards them. And then they saw the sanctuary, with some of the adults praying, and heard a loud thunk that caught every single one’s attention.

Confusion and fear filled the teenager, as they tried desperately to pull themself out. But it was no use, they were stuck fast. A few snickers filled the room and Father Alvin just pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a disappointed sigh.

“HAH! I WIN!! I WIN I WIN I WIN!” Noelle came running, nearly breathless. “IN YOUR FACE, KRISTOPHER!”

“Noelle? This… this isn’t funny!” Kris kept trying to pull themself out but it was no use. Each tug and pull seemed to achieve nothing but cause a giggle or two out of the people sitting in the aisles, and Kris couldn’t help but feel their face flush red.

“Oh? What would you call it then, hm? Humiliating?”

“Yes! It is!” 

“Oh, what a shame! If only something humiliating happened to me, maybe then I’d understand what it feels like! Maybe something like, oh I dunno, getting my bike stolen while trying to greet a friend?” Kris was squirming violently, trying to wriggle free, but they kept slamming against the frame each time they tried to slide out. They were well and truly stuck, much to the amusement of the crowd, who were now nearly roaring in laughter, with the exception of Noelle’s mother, who fired a cold gaze in their direction, leaving Kris’ face burning with shame.

“OUR ANGEL, WHO ART IN HEAVEN, HALLOWED BE THY NAME!” Alvin slammed the pulpit with his palms and the people gradually fell silent. The only sounds that could occasionally be heard overtaking those of the priest were those of Kris’ desperate attempts to free themself.

“Noelle! Please…”

“Hm. Maybe I should leave you here for the rest of the-”

“No!” They started violently thrashing trying to get out. “I need to get hom-”

“AND FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES, AS WE FORGIVE THOSE WHO TRESPASS AGAINST US!” Alvin stared directly at Kris, looking sternly at the child before turning back to the congregation.

Kris felt a strong tug, and before long they were finally out. A little sore, but out of that wretched window.

“I’m going to guess something big happened.” Noelle handed the tub back to Kris, cleaning up her hair a little.

“Yeah. Um… sorry about all that. I needed to get this fast.” Kris showed the tub while shuffling on their feet, not quite able to look at Noelle while being so red and sweaty. Noelle simply nodded, sighing.

“Kris, you could have just ASKED for a lift? You didn’t have to do all that!”

“Well YOU didn’t have to do all that either! Like seriously, war paint? That hairdo? Throwing… whatever that thing was?”

“...Okay MAYBE I went a little overboard.” She chuckled. “But you would have totally done the same, admit it. Come on~”

“FINE! Maybe I might have.” Kris giggled, dusting themself off a bit. “I should really get home now.”

“Well?” Kris turned around, confused.

“Well what?” They slid the plaster into their pocket, tapping it to make sure it was secure.

“Don’t you have something to say?”

“I already said sorry though?”

“Nope, that’s not what I was talking about.”

“Then what…?”

“Aren’t you gonna ask for a lift?” Noelle raised an eyebrow.

“OH! Yeah sure uhm… Oh my dearest friend Noelle Holiday-”

“JUST GET ON THE DAMN BIKE KRIS!”

And so the two were off, with Kris gripping onto Noelle’s waist for support as it was quite a struggle for the both of them to fit on the bike. But they managed, and Noelle was even happy enough to start humming a tune as they eventually made their way back to Toriel’s home.

“Thank you, um, Noelle.” Kris gave her a quick hug before waving and nearly tripping through the door. It would all be over soon. That hole would be gone, it would be painted over and hopefully by the time she was back it would be completely dry and Toriel would be none the wiser. Kris smiled. Everything would be okay.

Donning an old apron and taking out a trowel, they quickly slapped the green paste over the damage, and kept smoothing over and over until everything seemed relatively normal. Great! Now all they had to do was sit down and wait.

Wiping their brow, the teen pulled out their phone and put their earbuds in, booting up Instagram. They had been meaning to check on where Toriel was while on the ride home, but due to their… unexpected encounter with their friend things yet again couldn’t go according to their plan.

Flicking through her story, they couldn’t help but feel their heart sink. Currently she was in the car on the way back home. However, Asriel had given her one hell of a day out. About an hour ago he had taken her to a mall to buy some beautiful clothes for her, 30 minutes before that she had been given a manicure and at the start of their trip he had even brought her to one of the fanciest dessert parlours Kris had ever seen. The patterned curtains, the lavish furnishings and dark mahogany tables just oozed bourgeoisie. And of course, Mom had ordered a chocolate cake. They should have known this would have happened, should have known Asriel would have prepared the perfect trip. He always knew what to do, what to say, how to behave.

Okay. Maybe they couldn’t outdo Asriel, that was fine! Perfectly fine. Asriel was Asriel, there was no way Kris could ever hope to compare to him. But maybe, if their gift wasn’t too bad compared to their classmates, if it didn’t look awful, then maybe she’d be happy with it?

Any hope Kris had initially was washed away almost immediately. It seems like this year everyone had gone all out. If they hadn’t bought some kind of fancy gift, it was hand-crafted. Noelle had gotten an intricate snowglobe, Jockington a football, even MK, MK, was able to make a cool sweater for their Mom. Regardless of the gift’s origins however, each and every single one put the crappy card Kris had to shame. And there was the cake too, but that was worth less than nothing at this point. Why did they even bother? How did they ever think they’d be able to do enough for Toriel? Kris, the poster child for “average student”. Kris, the mischief-maker. Kris, the kid who’s only talent is rotting in bed all day doing absolutely nothing.

Sighing, Kris got up again and pulled out a paintbrush. They slapped paint thickly on the patch of green, until eventually it was all covered good and proper. There. Toriel would never know. It would be like nothing had ever happened. That was one good thing about today at least.

Perhaps Berdly was right. Maybe they would rue this day. Nothing went according to plan, nothing at all. And they looked like a damn fool in front of nearly half the town.

A rumbling from outside alerted them that their mother had returned. Crap. Throwing off their apron and hastily slamming everything back in its place, they raced back to the front so they could greet their mother with a perfect smile.

“Howdy, Mom!”

“Greetings, my child!” Toriel said, beaming from ear-to-fluffy-ear. Kris gulped, but kept their face unchanged. Their mother however was busying herself with the contents of her shining new handbag. “How has your day been? I am so very sorry that I can’t stay for long, but I would love to hear what you’ve been doing while I was out.”

“Oh, nothing really! Just… stuff. Yeah.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Kris. Why are you sweating?”

“I’ve been active! You know, getting my step count up. Being healthy.”

“Right. ‘Active’.” She simply nodded and walked around the house. Kris gulped, feeling their already drenched sweater further dampen. But that was ridiculous. Everything was fine! They had painted over it. Plastered it. There was no way their mom would ever be able to tell. They had covered their bases, their tracks. They even had their backup plan in the form of Susie. Everything should be fine.

“Kris. Why is the wall the wrong colour?” Kris’ heart dropped like a stone, their smile evaporating. Upon further inspection, and paying really close attention, Kris could see it. The paint they had used was a shade lighter than the rest of the wall, something that most people would easily miss; Toriel Dreemurr was not ‘most people’ however.

She lifted a paw to touch it, and to Kris’ absolute horror, the wall crumbled. It crumbled away between their mother’s fingers.

“Kris. Why did you try to fill a hole in the wall with Play-Doh?” They felt even more numb. Play-Doh? That’s what the shopkeeper’s special plaster was? Of course it’d be some kind of joke, his face should have made that obvious. But it wasn’t funny, not at all.

“Kris. Did you or did you not punch a hole in the wall?” 

Kris tried as hard as they could to say something, anything to defend themself. But they couldn’t. They couldn’t even look their mother in the eyes. They just stood there, praying for the silence to be broken.

They would soon realise that perhaps the silence wasn’t so bad after all.

The phone began ringing, and Toriel scooped it up.

“Yes?” She said, in a curt whisper.

“Um, hey! Ms Toriel?” There was a rustle of papers on the other end.

“Oh, hello Susie!” Susie! Maybe she could come up with something, a good enough cover to-

“Um yeah, hello madam! I just wanted to let you know that there was absolutely no way Kris could have done anything ridiculous, stupid, or otherwise… uh… ‘precosteroos’. Yeah. Me and Kris were too busy for all that! So there is absolutely no way anyone could have sent any kind of complaint to you! Otherwise they’re lying. Uhhokaybye!” The phone hung up, and Kris wanted nothing more than to bash their head against the wall.

Toriel however wasted no time in searching through her missed calls, her face steely and distant.

“They’ve lost it! They’re nothing but trouble!”

“They slapped my son across the back of his head! A horrid thing I must say.”

“They completely ruined Church service today!”

“You need to control that child Ms Dreemurr. They’ve been out of line for far too long. We cannot have them ruining the peace like this!”

Kris was still silent, not saying a single word. They just stared dumbly as their mother put down the phone and turned towards them.

“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Kris merely shook their head, shuffling on the spot. “This silly little stunt may have only been a day to you, but to me it’ll be a week’s worth of heartache. Was it so hard for you to not do something so foolish for just one single day? You should know better by now, you should know that your actions have consequences, know that I’m not always going to be able to take responsibility for you. I’m tired of having to run after you and clean your messes. I lose sleep at night simply because I have to worry about what you might do next. And for what? For you to just move on and do the exact same thing all over again? Go to your room. Now.”

Kris nodded, shuffling up the stairs and not once looking at their mother. They didn’t need to see her face to know how upset she was, as not long after they heard her sighing and an oh-so familiar knocking through the cupboards. Great. They had made their mother work extra hard to fix their mess. Just brilliant.

It wasn’t long before Toriel had left once more, locking the door behind her. “When I come back I’ll paint it myself. Leave it alone. Or else.” Each word felt like a dagger through Kris’ heart, but they made sure not to make it obvious. Despite the fact they were holed up in their room where no one could see them.

This was all just so stupid. What was the point? Why did they even bother trying in the first place? All they knew how to do was be an idiot and nothing else. They couldn’t help but steal a glance at their brother’s bed. Underneath it would be a box of a dozen or so golden medals, and on the shelves above there were Angel knows how many trophies. The perfect child. What were they even thinking? How could they ever even hope to compare to that?

And Noelle too. And Berdly. They were all so… normal. They weren’t a handful, a burden. They were strong and capable and Kris was sure their parents were very proud of them.

They stomped their way back to the kitchen now. Hands shaking, they looked at that pathetic card and… in all honesty how could they even call that a cake? It looked more like a turd than anything else. They felt sick just looking at the thing that was in front of them. How the hell did they even think their mother would ever love that?

They didn’t think twice about hurling everything into the trash.

They simply walked back up the stairs, into their room, and curled into a ball on their bed. They should have just done this from the start. Nothing went according to plan, nothing at all. Everything about today was horrible, horrible, horrible.

Nothing but trouble.

A horrid thing.

Their phone was buzzing, but Kris ignored it, just covering themself in their blanket and blocking out the world. That feeling was back, that horrible sinking feeling in their heart, and they hated it, hated how they couldn’t even do one simple thing right. Why did they even bother getting out of bed today? Their mother would have probably, no definitely, been happier if they had just stayed rotting there like they usually did.

It was while they were mid-toss that they heard the front door clink open, causing them to stifle a gasp. Mom was home! She’d probably be even more mad if she caught them awake. They buried themself even deeper in their covers, silently humming a prayer to anyone that was willing to listen.

There was some thumping around below them, and a strange croaking noise, before the steps began growing louder.

Crap.

They lay breathless as the door slowly creaked open.

“...Kris? Honey?” It was a soft, curious whisper. “Are you still awake?”

Kris stayed still, even as their mother pulled a stool and sat beside them, they didn’t move an inch.

“Kris. Did you punch the wall because you were upset?” Despite their very soul screaming at them not to, Kris turned around, trying to keep as calm as possible. They didn’t have the strength to meet her eyes, so they just focused on her fidgeting paws instead. They nodded.

“And did you try to fix things before getting… distracted?”

They nodded again, a burning building up inside their eyes, a burning they so desperately tried to quell. Toriel had slipped something out of her pocket, clearing her throat before raising it out of their vision.

There was a long silence between the two, until eventually Kris was able to start lifting their vision further up, up to their mother’s chest with her snout just barely visible.

And then she spoke, in a soft, wavering whisper. The voice she’d use when Kris needed someone to turn to, when the thunder was loud and they were scared and tired and wanted someone with them, the voice she’d use when singing them a lullaby or watching them play on the school piano.

“Dear Mom,

I could never really string together enough words to describe how happy I am to call you that. You’re just so amazing and kind and special and have done so much for me and I could never repay you for it all. But, I hope you will at least accept the chocolate cake?

Lots of love, your child Kris”

…

“I’m so sorry Mom!” Kris bawled, feeling the tears burst through as they wailed into the night. They could barely see the world around them, they just knew that they had been scooped up into their mother’s arms as they continued crying into what they now assumed was her shoulder. “I’m a terrible child, a horrid thing. All I do is cause problems for you, and, and everyone got their moms such nice things-. And-and Asriel he-he-he-” They blubbered, and spluttered, trying to say something else, but Toriel simply shushed them.

“It’s okay Kris, calm down. It’s okay.” a warm paw rubbed the back of their head, cuddling them deeper into her soft body. And they stayed there, whimpering and sobbing, clutching onto their mother’s fuzzy cardigan, before they could screw up their remaining courage and swallow their tears.

“Mom… I… I’ve been a bad kid. A really bad one. And… I couldn’t even get you something special like everyone else. Azzy gave you so much, my gifts were aw-”

“Kris, please stop!” Toriel’s voice cracked. “I can’t stand hearing you speak about yourself like this! You’re a wonderful, amazing child and I will not accept you saying otherwise! I don’t care about what the other children got for their mothers, I don’t care how fancy their gifts were. And yes, I did enjoy my outing with your brother, but that doesn’t change how much I love the both of you. You’re my babies, whether you like it or not.” She hugged Kris tighter, tears beginning to form in her own eyes. “And… and I will always love the fact that you try. Even if you fail, and fail, and fail again, and stay in your bed for weeks after, I will always love that no matter what, eventually, you’ll get back up again. And I know you will Kris. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, I know you’ll always get back up again. You always do, and I love that. I love you, Kris.”

Kris stayed in shock, not sure what to say in response. They just continued latching on to her, locked tightly by their mother’s love.

“Mom.”

“Yes, honey?”

“Why is there a wine stain on your shirt?” She chuckled at this.

“Well, let’s just say your mother can also be quite… mischievous. I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay? Rest now, my child.”

And so she gracefully tucked her child into bed, and not a moment after giving them a peck on their cheek they were asleep, a dopey grin on their wet face.

“Sleep well, Kris.”

[bayofwolves]

The Return — King (Revised)

You guys know about Path of the Heroes. (Probably. it's the name of an original fourth Spirit Animals arc I'm writing.) But what you might not know is that another part of the project is to take the existing three arcs and rewrite them. Not entirely, but tweaking and modifying for continuity's sake. There are some pretty big canonical divergences in Path of the Heroes (Shane is alive, for one), and since my writing starts after canon has ended, I have some explaining to do.

This may take ages, but that's okay. Since the original course of events stays mostly the same, I can easily just do rewrites of pivotal chapters for now.

Such as this one.

I completed this a while back in the summer. I guess I just never posted it, despite being so proud! This is the last chapter of The Return, where we get the long-awaited reveal of who the mysterious Redcloak is. Personally, I wish the author had given this chapter to Abeke instead of Rollan. I needed to see what was going on in her head! That was really what motivated me to redo this one.

This sets things up for the next development of Abeke and Shane's relationship. From the moment the Greencloaks get on the ship at the end of The Return to the climax of the final battle in The Burning Tide, the two inadvertently end up in the same vicinity, leading to some talks and growth in their relationship. They're healing. Abeke hasn't forgiven him yet, but she's noticing more and more how he's changed for the better.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, here's the rewritten final chapter of The Return!

Content warning for themes of suicidal ideation and dissociation.

Quick notes:

The title of this chapter has been changed from 'Redcloaks' to 'King'.

Shane and Tasha are cousins, which is mentioned here. Shane's mother, Queen Gwyneth, had two siblings; Tasha is the daughter of her brother. Thus, with Drina deceased, Shane missing and Gar leaving no children, Tasha is set to take the throne of Stetriol. There's a lot more to this, but I'll go into it some other time.

This is not the final cut -- this chapter will receive some more edits before being fully published as part of the rewrite. Think of it as a sneak peek.

Okay, enough preamble. Read it under the cut!

Spirit Animals: Fall of the Beasts

Book 3: The Return

Chapter X — King

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The chill wind that rose from the sea seeped into Abeke's bones. She shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, but made no move to leave her spot at the ship's rail. Her gaze, fixed on the fading shape of Zourtzi in the distance, remained unbroken.

She felt hollow. She had no desire to move, to speak, even to think. She doubted she would be able to if she tried. It took all that remained of her willpower to draw in shallow breath after shallow breath. All the life had been drained out of her, the very moment Zerif's black spiral had begun to pulse on Uraza's brow. So there she stood, watching the conquered fortress grow smaller.

Perhaps the tears would come later. So far, she didn't have it in her to cry.

The absence of Uraza was like a wound, the ugliest wound she'd ever been dealt, throbbing with every dismal beat of her heart.

She was so lost.

So alone.

Abeke brought shaking hands up to her eyes and pushed until she saw stars. She willed her heart to simply stop. What life was worth living without her spirit animal?

Soft footsteps sounded behind her. Abeke didn't need to look up to tell that it was Rollan. She knew his footfalls, his voice, his face, even better than she knew her own.

She didn't turn as her friend walked over to her, his steps measured and unsure. It was unlike him to move so carefully around her, Abeke thought. She could feel the pity radiating from him without even seeing his face. It all made Abeke want to jump over the side of the ship.

Rollan made no sound when he reached her side, only wrapped an arm around her shoulder. At the contact, a little warmth bloomed through Abeke's body. It almost brought tears to her eyes.

"How are you doing?" Rollan spoke. Concern was etched into the familiar curves of his face. Abeke wanted to lose herself there, in the steadying weight of his brown eyes, but she couldn't hold his gaze. She glanced away.

"Empty." The sun-tipped waves of the sea rolled below them. Abeke found strange solace in their neverending flow. "Lost. Alone." Her voice didn't sound like her own. It was as if someone else was commanding her body, as the real Abeke hovered above and watched everything play out. Like a ghost.

Rollan was silent for a moment, before he spun her towards him and pulled her into a tight hug. Abeke let herself be pulled and positioned in his arms, like a doll. But as the hug stretched out, she felt the sheet of ice that covered her heart begin to melt away.

"You're not alone," Rollan mumbled into her neck. Abeke dropped her head to his shoulder and hugged him back with all the strength she had left.

When they finally pulled back, Rollan's eyes were wet. Abeke's own throat had started to close, so much so that she didn't trust herself with words. She returned to leaning over the rail, but this time, her arm brushed Rollan's.

"She was there, and then in the space of a heartbeat, she was gone," Abeke recounted. She lifted her eyes to the smoke rising from Zourtzi – the last place she had seen Uraza. "She looked at me like I was a stranger. It was as if our bond had never existed." Abeke forced herself to keep her eyes on the horizon. She knew that as soon as she closed them, she'd see nothing but the moment Uraza leaped for her throat, replaying over and over.

"We'll get her back," Rollan said fiercely. "I promise."

Turning her head, Abeke regarded her friend through a film of tears. The love and worry in his expression was almost overwhelming.

Abeke sniffed and swiped at her face before the tears could fall. She didn't know how to respond – couldn't – but Rollan seemed to understand, like he always did. They stood side by side in the silence Abeke needed.

Awkward footfalls met her ears not long after, and Abeke felt Rollan turn through their connected arms. "Hey," came Tasha's voice. Her dark hair and green cloak came into Abeke's peripheral vision as the younger girl stopped at her other side.

"How's Kirat?" Rollan asked softly over Abeke's head.

"Fine," Tasha murmured back. "The Redcloak medic is tending to him." The exchange fizzled out, and Abeke soon felt the weight of both her friends' gazes.

Abeke blinked down at Tasha's brown hand, covering her own on the rail. When had that gotten there? "Abeke," the Stetriolan girl was saying. Unlike Rollan, who was always in sharp focus, her voice seemed to come from a long way off. "We're here for you."

Abeke pulled her head to the side. It was all too much.

A third set of footfalls sounded on the deck behind the three. Two short steps, strong and curt.

Curiosity compelled Abeke to look. As one, the three Greencloaks turned to take in the newcomer.

It was the Redcloak.

Abeke's eyes flicked over his sweeping scarlet cloak, his black leathers, the smooth wood of his mask. She had seen plenty of Redcloaks, even on this ship, but only one wore a mask so strange. Only one of them had no face.

Some of the fog that had settled over her body since Uraza was taken seemed to lift. Who really was this mysterious warrior that had saved them time and time again?

Something deep in her heart told her she already knew.

"Is everyone in your party all right?" the Redcloak asked. His voice was deep and raspy, almost reptilian in quality. Abeke tried to compare it to the voice she remembered from her past, the voice that still sometimes spoke in her dreams, but recognized nothing.

She realized after a moment that his gaze hadn't strayed from her.

"We'll survive," Rollan said for all of them. His voice rang clear in her ears. She glanced to either side of her, noticing the wariness in Rollan's face and the way Tasha nervously clung to her wrist. "Now, how about explaining what's going on here? I think it's about time for some answers."

The Redcloak tipped his head to one side as he considered Rollan, his oddly pale eyes glinting under his mask. "Soon," he said simply. "Be patient. We're taking you somewhere safe."

"Yeah, and where is that?" Rollan countered, bitterness lacing his words. "If you haven't noticed, nowhere is safe anymore. Zerif can get to us anywhere. In Zourtzi, in Stetriol and even at Greenhaven."

Tasha drooped beside her. A distant part of Abeke wanted to comfort her, but what comfort could she give?

Strangely, the Redcloak seemed to droop as well. "So the rumours are true," he said with a sigh. "Greenhaven has fallen as well."

There was something so intrinsically familiar about his stance, his speech, his whole bearing. Abeke had mulled this over for many nights, but now, with him standing a mere ten feet away, she felt everything in her threaten to spill out. Her heart ached, and she had the strangest urge to reach for him. Could it really be him? After so long?

The masked figure stared out to sea for a brief moment. "You should rest. There are more battles to come."

Then he turned and made to stride away. With her heart in her throat, Abeke pushed away from her friends and staggered forward. "Wait," she called hoarsely. "At least tell us your name."

The Redcloak turned around and fixed Abeke with his uncanny eyes.

"You've saved our lives again and again." The pounding of her heart was deafening. She could barely hear herself over it. She stepped forward again, then gripped onto Rollan's shoulder for support; he had hurried to her side. "Tell us who you are," she repeated, "so that we might thank you properly."

The Redcloak hesitated. "I'm called King," he said at last. Was it her imagination, or had his posture softened a touch? "I am the leader of the Redcloaks."

King. A hush fell over Abeke's mind. King.

As he watched her with wide eyes, Abeke heard Tasha speak from behind her. "Thank you," she said quietly. "We are forever in your debt."

King only spared a glance to acknowledge her. He tilted his chin again, then moved to walk away once more.

Abeke watched as he stopped still, his back to them. She watched him slowly turn back around. And with her heart thundering in her ears, she watched him fix his eyes on her.

His next words came soft, low. "I used to be known by another name."

Not of her own volition, Abeke found herself shaking her head from side to side. No. No.

The Redcloak drew back his hood, revealing light blond hair. Then he reached behind his head and unfastened his mask. "You knew me as Shane."

The mask fell away.

Abeke couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. She didn't react to Rollan's gasp of shock and Tasha's startled cry of "Cousin?" Her surroundings melted into waxy darkness. All she saw before her was Shane.

Though it was unmistakably him, the boy she used to know was barely recognizable. His normally tanned skin was pale, like he hadn't seen the sun in months. Knobbly green ridges had replaced his eyebrows, giving him a fearsome, monstrous look. Worst of all were his eyes. Gone was the keen blue stare that Abeke remembered so well. Instead, she was met with glowing, reptilian yellow-green. They were twice as large as they should have been, and bordered by pebbled scales. Slitted pupils stood out at their centres, holding her captive. A shudder of revulsion rolled over her.

"What happened to you?" Rollan's voice came in a horrified whisper.

Abeke hardly registered the words. Her breathing was coming in ragged gasps, and she felt the prickle of sweat all over her body. Her hands were already slick with it. She clenched them into tight fists, ignoring the way they trembled.

Of course.

It was him all along.

He and his Redcloaks had fought for them in their every hour of need – but now they were at their mercy. They were still in the dark about their motives, and now they were surrounded by them. Abeke's heart seized with panic. Her thoughts flew to Tasha, Shane's rival for the throne, and Kirat, belowdecks with the rest of the Redcloaks. Would they be safe with Shane? What if his only reason for helping them was a twisted desire to collect the newly reborn Great Beasts for himself?

The memory of the mysterious red-cloaked figure coming to her defense in Amaya sprang into her mind. He had saved her life from Arax. In Zourtzi, too, he had protected her from Zerif. Was it possible he still cared for her?

Abeke swiftly banished those thoughts from her mind. Shane was the enemy. He would always be the enemy. And this reveal was proof he would never stop lying.

I'm called King. Abeke shook with barely repressed tension as she remembered his words. An image of Shane with the Devourer's crown atop his head and a wicked smile on his face flashed through her memory. I am the leader of the Redcloaks. She saw him at the head of the Conqueror army at Muttering Rock, almost obscured by their black masses, seated astride his giant crocodile. How did she not see it before? How could she be so foolish?

She knew who the Redcloaks were.

They were enemies.

Shane's eerie eyes bored into her. Abeke recognized them now as crocodilian. How could she believe, even for a moment, that he might have wanted to change for the better? The symbol of his betrayal was branded over his once-handsome face.

But Shane wasn't the only one who was different now.

Abeke was done taking chances.

And she had nothing more to lose.

Whipping the bow off her back in one swift motion, Abeke brought an arrow to the string and pointed it straight at her former friend's heart.

The world came back into startling clarity the moment she did so. She heard a scream from Tasha, heard Rollan clap his hand around the girl’s wrist to hold her at bay. Abeke kept her eyes locked with Shane's. Was it the rocking of the ship that was causing her aim to waver?

"I had hoped it wasn't you," she rasped. "I had hoped you weren't tricking me again."

Shane was silent, slowly bringing his clawed hands up.

"Abeke, he just saved our lives," Tasha said urgently. "Maybe we should –"

Abeke stared at her in blind fury. "Do you know the last time Shane saved my life?" she snapped. "He used it as a way to sneak into Greenhaven and betray us. He used me. I was nothing but a tool to him." Tasha recoiled in the face of her anger, eyes wide with shock. Guilt flickered through Abeke, but she had no time to apologize. Resolutely, she turned her attention back to Shane and tightened her hand around her bow. "It'll be no different now."

"That's not true," Shane protested, with such force behind his words that it surprised her. "You were never a tool to me." His raised hands lowered and spread in a pleading gesture. "Much has changed since we last spoke openly… as I'm sure is obvious. Everything I've done with this mask, this cloak, this name, was not to deceive you, but to start anew and atone for my mistakes."

Abeke tilted her head to the side, steeling herself. She wouldn't let Shane's honeyed words ensnare her again. She was past this. She was stronger than this.

Her sweaty hands were making it hard to keep a firm grip on her bow. Could she shoot him, here and now? Did she have it in her?

With every passing second, she was less and less sure.

Behind her, she heard the worried voices of Rollan and Tasha. They were calling her name, trying to summon her out of her trance. It reminded her painfully of the last time she'd confronted Shane – the duel they'd fought in front of Kovo's empty prison. That time, too, she hadn't been able to finish him off. Something almost like instinct wouldn't allow her to.

She felt it now, some deep force within her, causing her arrowhead to tremble as she looked into the haunting face of her former friend. She let out a short scream, hoping to dispel some of her rage and pain. Sudden tears obscured her vision. "Give me one good reason why I should trust you," she challenged. Her voice came out raw and broken.

Shane stared at her for a long moment, and though it was impossible to read any emotion in those slitted eyes, Abeke thought she sensed immense sadness from him. "Let me speak plainly. The end is near."

Abeke gave a wry, husky laugh. Indeed, Erdas must be in her final days for the two of them to reforge an alliance.

"I know this is difficult, but I need you to trust me. To trust us," the boy said gravely. "There's something you need to see. It may be the key to saving Erdas, and perhaps the key to saving Uraza as well."

Abeke's eyes widened in shock. Hesitantly, she lowered her bow a few inches.

Shane wanted to help Uraza?

His slitted yellow-green eyes tracked her movement, unreadable, before they returned to hers. Something almost like hope lit his face. "Give me this chance, and I promise you, I won't let you down."

Abeke considered him for a long moment. Once, Shane had been a friend to her, a steady comfort even across opposite sides of the war. He had traded that all away for victory, using her as a pawn in his schemes before tossing her aside. He had made promises, and he had broken them. But now he stood before her, after saving her and her friends so many times, with a vow to save her spirit animal as well. Abeke looked at his changed appearance and felt horror. But now, she wondered if a better change was brimming below the surface.

Her bow fell to her side as the fight suddenly went out of her. She stared blankly at it for a moment, then took the arrow from the string and slipped it back into her quiver. She had thought about shooting it across the waves to release some of her tension, but decided against it. No need to waste an arrow. After all, she thought, turning dark eyes up at Shane, there are more battles to come.

She would place her trust in him for now. But for the sake of her friends, for Rollan, for the children they were tasked with protecting, she would be on her guard.

Slinging her bow over one shoulder, Abeke glanced over to Rollan and Tasha. Rollan, who knew her so well, must have read something in her hollow gaze that she herself was oblivious to. He was at her side in a heartbeat, touching her hand with his. Tasha followed in his wake, putting a hand on Abeke’s shoulder with more uncertainty. Abeke stood still with them for a moment, surrendering the worst of her pain and anger to the ocean wind. Surrounded by the best things she had left in her life, she could breathe.

Abeke looked down at her friends, giving them a weighty nod. Tasha returned it, then Rollan. They were with her. They would face this together. The thought renewed her strength.

With a deep breath, Abeke locked determined eyes with Shane. "Where to?" she asked.

Shane took a step forward and looked out across the water. "We sail for the Place of Desolation."

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

The study of magic

Humans did not have large magic capacities like demons. But with a little help and constant exposure, much like iruma and his ring, humans had a way of becoming as strong as their predators. You who had been exposed to the netherworld for a while now had become accustomed to the daily uses of magic at this point.

But of course, it was still weak. In fact, your level couldn't really be on par with demonic toddlers. So it's seen as a major disadvantage. Especially since you don't have wings or super strength to make up for what you lack.

So you studied. Runes were by far the easiest form of magic for a human to study. It was basically just amplifiers for common magic already in place. So what if you just made something like iruma's ring that would absorb and transfer mana to you? It could work.

There was a lot of trial and error in this. Many prototypes destroyed in the process. Sometimes, the material just couldn't hold up to the expectations you held. It irked you.

There was no way you were giving up, though. You had to figure something out. You wanted to protect your family with everything you had. That's what drove you.

There was a lot of testing and adjustments made. Sometimes, you drastically underestimated the energy required to transfer mana, but once you adapted, things went much smoother. Three months of your blood, sweat, and tears, and you were ready for your final test.

The real question, though, was what spell to use. It had to be powerful enough to draw attention as well as be seen as a threat. You had tested many spells, but none of them seemed to suit you.

Magic was not only about intention but imagination. The more willpower to create your desired effect, the better results. But you didn't want any old spell. It needed to be something hard to counter. It shouldn't be something well known either.... oh!

Another theory came to mind. If all it took to perform magic was three simple ingredients, then couldn't you just perform any type? It didn't have to be demonic. Oh, you had to test this now.

Making your way to the schools training grounds, you attached your prototypes to your wrists. You examined the terrain momentarily before picking a random rock formation in the distance. It seemed big enough and far enough away.

Now, you just needed to test your theory to see if it was possible. Rolling up your sleeves, you started chanting. Thank goodness some things could be remembered by heart.

◇Darkness beyond twighlight, crimson beyond blood that flows, buried in the stream of time is where your power grows.◇

You felt a tingle rushing through your viens. Power seemed to flow freely as you observed the results so far. Ok, so it is possible to start, but will it still deliver your results? There is only one way to see.

◇I pledge myself to conquer all the foes who stand before the mighty gift bestowed in my unworthy hands.◇

You felt the power increase as you raised your hand to your predetermined target. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, imagining the amount of destruction this spell could cause. 'Let this work, please.' You thought as you finished your spell.

◇Let the fools who stand before me be destroyed by the power you and I possess... DRAGON SLAVE!!!◇

The ground shook as the magic released itself like a shot. You stumbled but watched as the spell had left nothing but a large gaping hole behind. You stared in silence for a moment. You did it.

You had really done it! Adrenaline and raw magic, making you vibrate on the spot. "It worked! It worked, yes, oh my devi, it worked!" There was so much to do so much research to try.

[howl-at--the-sun]

oooh vidow 13? sounds like it could be fun!

oooh yes yes yes it is very fun

13 -> dance

@goosekee

"And left and right and meet and-" Vio cut himself off with a grunt of pain as Shadow's toes collided with the top of his foot.

"Shit!" The shade exclaimed, glancing down at Vio's injured foot. "Sorry Vi, that was an accident," "I know, I know," Vio said, shaking his head. "And it was an accident the other ten times you did it as well,"

Noticing the hurt look on Shadow's face, Vio quickly moved to correct himself.

"I don't blame you, if my memory serves me right, Link stepped on Zelda's toes many a time when he was learning. But my foot does need a break from your repeated incursions into its non-painful state,"

"Well then," Shadow said, a smirk drawing itself across his face. "Allow me to take a burden off your poor, injured toes,"

Vio yelped in surprise as Shadow moved inhumanly fast to scoop his boyfriend up into his arms in a bridal carry. Muscle memory told Vio to wrap his arms around Shadow's neck and the two of them took a minute to just look at each other, a blush settling over both their cheeks.

"Now, let's see if there's any cakes in the kitchen to steal!" Shadow exclaimed, and Vio's rumbling stomach didn't have the willpower to protest.

-<3 -

"Vio, why is there water falling from the sky?"

Closing the pages of his weekly breathtakingly bad romance novel, Vio glanced up at his boyfriend and the view he was pointing at.

"Oh it's raining," Vio said noncommittally. "That's just when- holy shit it's raining,"

Shadow's head jerked to the side as he heard the rare swear word slip through his boyfriend's lips. Perhaps what was even more uncharacteristic was the ear to ear grin splitting Vio's face.

"Shadow holy shit! It's raining!"

After seeing his startled boyfriend blink at him for seven seconds very much gay with a dumbfounded expression, Vio composed himself and attempted to explain.

"It's rain. That's when water in the ground is absorbed into the sky and then falls from the sky when there is enough of it up there. There hasn't been a lot of rain recently so I'm very glad it has started raining again,"

Shadow's look of confusion lessened slightly. "Okay, huh,"

Vio glanced out the window at the night that had settled over the lost woods and the rain falling down outside it. It was clearly raining, but it didn't look like it was an excessively hard downpour.

That was when a idiotic, or genius, depending on your point of view, occurred to him.

"Shadow, come with me!" Vio exclaimed, grabbing his boyfriend by the hand and dragging him towards the door. Shadow's noise of surprise was completely ignored by Vio, who threw open the door to their cottage and dragged Shadow out into the rain.

"Hey!" Shadow protested. "It's wet out here!"

Vio gave Shadow his best 'no shit' look and re-positioned them so that they were facing each other with their right hand's clasped and Vio's left hand on Shadow's back.

"And left and right and-"

Effortlessly, Vio led Shadow into the dance and Shadow clumsily followed, trying his best to copy Vio's patterns. There, in the cool evening, with rain pouring down around them and making Vio's eyelashes twinkle with diamonds, Shadow forgot his worries and fears and focused only on the sound of his boyfriend's voice.

"-And meet and left and-"

The pair continued to spin through the woods. At some point, Vio's instructions ceased to be necessary and it was only the heartbeat of the two lovers that guided them through their dance. As their rhythm slowed, Vio and Shadow found themselves face to face, and before either of them could think, their lips were meeting in a tender kiss, as soft as the grass that the two of them stood on.

"That was perfect," Vio exhaled, an adoring smile gracing his face as he beamed down at his boyfriend. Shadow met his smile with a smile of his own, and while Vio was still off his guard, scooped him into a bridal carry.

Vio's expression was an adorable combination of surprised and flustered, and his smile only got wider as Shadow carried him into the house for a night of cuddles and hot chocolate.

[intrepidacious]

every dream gone

summary: After the events of Winter Soldier, Bucky slowly realizes just how much he lost after his fall.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: bucky being sad; vague mentions of brainwashing and a whole lot of guilt; don't look for a happy ending with this one folks (i'm sorry 🥲)

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i started writing this fic back in september and it took me until now to gather the emotional willpower to finish it. blame this song that inspired the whole thing.

masterlist | read on ao3

It took Bucky a while to remember you, after everything, but he did.

The first memory came back while he was on the run. He'd been in Europe for a while by then, sleeping in freight cars, never staying anywhere for longer than a week, trying to keep a low profile while both HYDRA and Steve were still frantically looking for him everywhere. Those early days were the worst.

He spent most of his time on trains and tried to figure out why he hated it so much.

Being in England calmed him a bit. It was nice getting used to hearing people speak English around him again, and not in a tone that commanded obedience.

He didn't have much to go off, just scattered memories that didn't quite seem to fit together. There was always something off about them, something like the taste of metal where it shouldn't be. This time, the fragments led him to a flea market.

There were only a handful of people dotted in between the stands, which was probably for the best. His long sleeves usually attracted some curious glances this late into July.

He didn't exactly have money to spare for knick-knacks or secondhand souvenirs, but his feet carried him straight to one stand in particular, without him even realizing. His fingertips grazed along the spines of old paperbacks that were lined up like soldiers, but Bucky didn't spare them more than a glance.

He stopped at the next table over, a small frown on his face.

"Look at all those colors, Buck!"

Pastels and acrylics, steel nib fountain pens and piles of hand-bound sketchbooks. The woman selling them looked up from her novel when he didn't move for a whole minute, his eyes fixed on the notebooks.

"You can pick 'em up if you can't decide, you know," she said.

He nodded, blinked, almost embarrassed at the way his fingers shook as he picked up one of the books. It was bound in blue linen, and the deckle edged pages stuck to his gloves.

"You draw?" the woman asked, in a way that was more politeness than actual interest.

"My friend did," Bucky found himself saying.

Hands covered in charcoal. The smell of paper and something else.

"How dare you!" A laugh, carelessly loud and graceless. The most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. "My nose looks nothing like that!"

The memory passed through him softly, almost dreamlike, and for a second, he didn't know whether he wanted to cry or scream. He did neither.

The woman was looking at him strangely, but she accepted the note he handed her for the sketchbook, even though it wasn't Sterling.

"Young man," she called after him, and he almost wanted to laugh. "You're gonna need this, too." And she handed him a pen, as if she'd known, as if there was something in his face that told her how lost he felt.

It was cheap, surely, but it was also the first gift he'd gotten in decades, and so he kept it in his chest pocket. Right above his heart.

***

The next memory came not too long after that.

He was sitting in a rundown coffee shop in Edinburgh, barely paying attention to the room around him while he tried putting his past onto the page. The book was filling so achingly slowly it made him want to throw it against a wall most days.

A good chunk of it was about Steve.

Bucky supposed that was to be expected, because he'd been the one to first make him remember, and because it was Steve.

So page after page was detailing pneumonias and ill-fitting jackets and bruised knuckles in Bucky's narrow writing, trying to piece together a life that should have stayed his. It was desperate work, futile work most days, but he tried anyway.

And then the café owner switched stations on the old, dusty radio in the corner, and there was the song.

It took only a couple of notes until the images struck like lightning.

Swinging skirts and heels clacking on wooden floors. The smell of sweat and hairspray and something else. Something like May bells.

"You're quite good at this, aren't you?" Hands tightening around his neck in the most pleasant embrace.

"Only as good as my partner."

How could a simple hum sound so content? "And I ain't exactly called Rogers, either. But you’re the one leading."

"And thank God for both."

A dip, a scream. And that laugh again. He wanted to bottle it up and get drunk on it for the rest of eternity.

When the song ended, Bucky was shaking with it. He'd broken the pen in his hand, and the dark ink smeared all over his palm like black blood.

He didn’t do so well with presents these days.

***

He remembered your name when he heard a mother call out for her child in a park and it stopped him in his tracks because the corners of his mouth started to lift on their own accord. It was like you were muscle memory, your name so deeply ingrained that his body remembered you long before his mind could catch up.

And your name.

Whispered in darkened picture theaters until your skin prickled with goosebumps, shouted across dance halls sweltering with heat, spoken with reverence on dizzying fair rides. Bucky’d said it again, and again, and again, and for so long he couldn’t think of anything sweeter than the taste of it on his tongue.

He tried it out now, and it came out like ash.

The sound of his name on your lips came to him only hours later, because he kept prodding at that part of his mind that kept you hidden from him, kept trying to unlock the gate to his forgotten memories until finally it slid open an inch.

He was trying to make dinner.

He’d not had a warm meal for weeks at that point, but the past few days had been good and he’d bought vanilla extract for pancakes. The sugary smell filled his tiny apartment, but he didn’t even notice at first, not until he opened the window and then turned back to the stove.

“Bucky.”

Like a breath of air that echoed from deep within until it reached him and left him shaken.

He said your name again, called it into the silence of the room. It didn’t answer him.

He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than going crazy, and so he breathed in again.

“James! It’s almost nine, we’re gonna be late.” Nails drumming against the wood of a dresser. You’d painted it with flowers, purple and blue and yellow. Beautiful.

“And whose fault is that, sweetheart?”

His fingers wrapping around your waist, pulling you close, so young, so human. Your perfume, soft and lingering mist-like between you, and something else. Something like Christmas morning.

Smiles had come so easy to him back then. “I’ve been sittin’ by the door for a good twenty minutes now, waitin’ anxiously for you to finish up.”

“If you’re getting so anxious over me, you needn’t have waited, Buck.”

“I’d wait my whole life if it went you’re comin’ down the stairs, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t noticed he’d slid to the floor, trembling.

The pancakes burned.

***

Your name was so much and yet so little at the same time.

Bucky tried finding any record of you, in libraries, newspaper archives, even using a computer once he figured out how to go online. But you’d been a normal girl, a lovely, perfect, beautiful, normal girl. That had never been enough for the history books.

He had to put you together again himself, slowly. The smallest details took him months.

You would always get holes in your tights and scold him for prodding at them. You used to hate getting your picture taken, but you would benignly let Steve draw you as long as he kept you entertained. You’d liked dancing, and flowers, and sweet things, and somehow, inexplicably, you’d liked him.

“You are the worst date I’ve ever had.”

The taste of whipped cream and chocolate on your lips, and the feeling of your fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck. That little sound at the back of your throat.

“You were saying, sweetheart?”

Bucky’s hand balled into a fist. It wasn’t fair.

The worst part was that you were barely more than the memory of a beautiful dream, hazy and blurred. He was well aware he didn’t deserve good things anymore, but these faint half-images collecting in his brain were nothing short of cruel.

"I can't remember her face,” he told the only person who might have understood, because he himself didn’t. “Why can I remember every single person that I had to ...” He trailed off, dragging his hand over his face. “And yet I can't remember her face?"

Steve's hand was on his shoulder, a gesture that should feel comforting in its familiarity. Instead, Bucky had never felt this small in his own skin.

Wrong shoulder.

"I'll see what I can do," Steve said calmly, but there was a helplessness in his voice that made Bucky’s stomach churn.

It wasn’t supposed to spill out of his own eyes.

***

You would have loved Wakandan sunsets.

They were richer, more colorful than the ones Bucky remembered, but maybe that didn’t actually mean much. The beautiful things had a habit of evading him.

Sometimes, he was selfish enough to wish it had stayed that way, because at least in forgetting, he hadn’t known to miss anything at all. Years and decades worth of lack came crashing through to drown him now, more and more frequent, as if they were trying to make up for lost time. Or mocking him.

But you would have loved the sunsets, and so he tried to love them, too, just like he was always meant to do.

“Do you have to leave already?”

A sniff, a petulant sigh, his limbs heavy and warm, but resolve unwavering. He’d fancied himself so smart, then. “You know I do.”

Daybreak kisses that tasted contently like sleep. Slowly untangling his fingers from yours, something cool grazing them.

Steve brought back a small package, and that was all that was left to find of the part of the past that he’d shared with you. A thin stack of official papers, the dog tags he’d worn in Austria, and a ring.

Bucky sat down.

He knew, rationally, that you were long gone even before he saw the official documents. He’d never expected you to wait for him when it had always been the other way around. Still, to read it so plainly was like his insides were being twisted into the tightest knot, and his heart, his carefully guarded heart that had only just started to remember its own rhythm stuttered painfully. Like it was sick of this whole dance, the waiting, the longing for something so out of reach. So lost to time.

He didn’t want this, any of this, but there was nothing he could do but stare and wait for his vision to clear.

“There’s something else,” Steve said, his voice far away like he’d been wrapped in cotton. “Do you remember the house?”

A rickety porch swing and a picket fence that needed bleaching. Thorny rose bushes blooming in all your favorite colors. Two spare rooms.

“Are we going to be hostin’ a lot of guests, then?” That smug little curl of your lip he liked to kiss.

“I hope not.” Arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. Always the same gesture, as familiar as the smell. Vanilla and peonies, and something else. “We could find a more permanent use, don’t you think?”

“She kept it. It’s still there.”

Bucky traced the letters of your name with his thumb as if somehow, somewhere, you might have felt the familiar caress. It looked lonely there, all on its own.

Maybe it was lucky that he’d long run out of screams, because he might have never stopped.

“Thank you,” he said, and even though it didn’t seem sufficient, Steve nodded.

Bucky threaded your ring onto the chain of his dog tags and closed it around his neck before he hid them under his vest, the metal like a ghostly touch over his heart.

***

It took Bucky five more years to make it back to New York. Well. Five more years passed.

He’d lost so many of them it didn’t even seem to matter at this point.

The slip of paper had been kept inside an envelope he’d found between the books in Steve’s apartment, waiting for him, just like he’d said it would. At least some things were still there.

The bus drive took an eternity, but his feet found their way on their own accord. They’d known it well, once, after all.

He thought the hardest part would be to turn around the final corner and see it again, but that wasn’t it. He’d dreaded the drawn shades, the overgrown garden, the withered flowers, the faded paint on the front door. Dreading things made them easier to bare, sometimes, he’d learned that.

No, the hardest part was seeing the sign. Cottage for sale.

And the quiet.

The mailbox was battered from decades of wind and weather, but underneath the rust he could still see the remnants of your handprint, cracked golden yellow on the dark metal. It disappeared under his vibranium fingers.

“See? We left our mark now. We have to stay here forever.”

He found the key still inside. He used to scold you for leaving it so recklessly, but you kept losing every spare you got made, and besides, times were different, then. You knew the neighbors. So did he.

“Don’t forget, it’s Mrs Hopper’s birthday on Wednesday, and you promised to mow her lawn.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“And the Sawyers asked if you could take a look at their furnace, because it’s been acting up.”

“You’d think they’d hire a professional for that sorta thing.”

“Maybe you’re just nicer to look at.”

The plot next door had been leveled. The curtains in all the other houses were drawn, even though it was a lovely spring evening.

Bucky’s steps were heavy as he climbed the steps to the red front door. It was like he could hear whispers coming from all sides, his head pounding with the weight of something that was not quite there yet, not quite clear, not quite something.

The key slid into the lock.

“Leave your shoes outside, Buck, you’ll track mud everywhere.”

He almost did.

The first step inside was like going through the looking glass and finding himself in a world so different, and yet so familiar. Because he didn’t recognize the painting on the wall, or the color of the cabinets, or the rug next to the stairs.

But there was that smell. Vanilla and peonies. Something like baking and spring, something like home.

He carefully pulled the door closed behind him, the floorboards softly creaking. Dust billowed.

And then more memories came rushing in, as if they'd been waiting for the moment he crossed the threshold.

"Ready?"

"Yes!" He could feel your cheeks lift in a smile and grinned as he slowly pulled his hands away from your eyes. Could feel the gasp that fell from your lips as you took in the sight in front of you.

"Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding me? I love it!"

“I love you.”

He thought he saw movement just out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned, it was only his own grave reflection staring back at him out of one of the dirty windows. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like the ghosts of the past were surrounding him.

“There you are,” they seemed to say. “What took you so long?”

“Just picking up something sweet for my best girl.”

“This is exactly why I’m gonna marry you.”

“Just that? Really? What about my other qualities?”

“Those I tolerate.”

The plates his ma had given you, the porcellain chipped with decades of use, stacked neatly in the cabinets, gathering dust. Your favorite brass pot was out next to the sink, as if you’d just left it there to dry, intending to use it again in a couple of hours.

In the living room, the horrible curtains your aunt had forced upon you had finally disappeared, and despite everything, Bucky could feel himself smile. The bookshelf was still overflowing.

“We’re gonna run out of space soon, you know that, right?”

“Well, build me a new shelf, then!”

Another promise he’d broken.

He had to go upstairs. He knew it, even though every single cell of his body was screaming at him not to go.

Seventeen steps. The second to last was the one that creaked.

Deciding which door to open first was like choosing his own hell. In the end, the house decided for him, because the wailing behind the one to the far right sounded so alive he almost bolted through the entrance.

It had been locked, and Bucky only realized why when it was already too late.

It was the most desolate room yet, cobwebbed and stale, furniture hidden underneath white linens. A dusty wooden mobile dangled from the ceiling, trembling as the house settled, casting eery shadows over the dirtied green walls.

“Aren’t you a bit overzealous there, love?” He dotted some green on your nose and you shrieked.

“Do you wanna be caught unawares?”

“As far as I know, there’s a bit of a preparation period involved.”

“Hm. Maybe we should just get a head start, then.”

He couldn’t bear it a second time, so he took a lung full of stale air and opened the bedroom door.

“I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Everything smelled like you, had your loving touch on it, had been allowed to live alongside you for all this time when he hadn’t been. The wilted flowers in the vase by the window. A book on the nightstand, your bookmark tucked between the pages because you weren’t quite done with it yet.

You weren’t done yet.

A pair of reading glasses lay on top of it, and Bucky almost laughed because he couldn’t quite picture you wearing them, and then, suddenly, he realized he could picture you, and his hand reached out blindly because he remembered that it was there.

“You know I hate these things.”

He didn’t let go of your hand for a second. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t you want me to have something’a yours to keep me company?”

Your laugh, again, and again. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

The bed creaked softly when he sat down on its edge, the frame shaking in his grip, and hey. There you were.

There was your smile.

It seemed to echo, or maybe he only wished it did.

“I’ll be back so soon, you won’t even notice I’m gone, sweetheart.”

“You better.”

The way you looked at him. Like you really believed him when he told the both of you that everything was going to be fine. That you would be the lucky ones. The exception.

He hated himself for letting you hope, but maybe this was his punishment; to be the one left behind, despite everything.

“I’m sorry,” he must have said, or cried, or screamed, because the house repeated it back to him, over and over.

“I’m sorry.”

And then, there was nothing.

anyone else need a tissue?

thank you so much for reading!! if you liked this, please consider leaving a comment or a reblog, or just come scream at me in my inbox. to see the less heartbreaking rest of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications <3

[skzsauce01]

Bird Is the Word

Synopsis: A series of drunk texts leads to one of the best and worst things that has ever happened to you. Or, Han Jisung is never going to let you forget the time you forgot the word ‘bird.’ College AU. Not a text fic but does include some texts.

Warning: alcohol, a lot of bird puns

Word Count: 8.1k

Pairing: fem!reader x Han Jisung

2:23 AM [Me]: sOS SOS SOS SOSOSOS 2:23 AM [Me]: I NEED HELPPPP 2:23 AM [Jisung Bio]: You okay?? 2:23 AM [Me]: YOU SMART HELPPPPP

2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Do you want me to call the police?? 2:24 AM [Me]: WHAT ARE THE FLUFFY ANIMALS THAT GO FLAP CALLED 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Is this a code word? 2:24 AM [Me]: THEY GO FLAP AND EAT SEEDS 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Do you mean birds? 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Are you drunk?

2:25 AM [Me]: [blurry_photo_of_your_window.jpg] 2:25 AM [Me]: HERE LOOK 2:25 AM [Me]: YES BIRDS 2:25 AM [Me]: THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH 2:25 AM [Me]: LOVE YOUUUUU

In your defense, you were drunk. And when you are drunk, your critical thinking skills disappear and are replaced by pure, uninhibited stupidity. It’s like some twisted Jekyll and Hyde situation, but only when you drink, you transform into this other version of yourself instead of suppressing it.

You mostly remember the things you have done and said while under the influence. The most embarrassing ones tend to be fuzzy. If it weren’t for the grainy phone video taken by Seungmin and your own voice cheerfully declaring that you had an idea, you wouldn’t have realized that you were the idiot who tried to make a chalk mural at the four-way intersection in the middle of the night. You didn’t even have chalk, but that didn’t stop you from drawing on the asphalt with a broken pen you found on the sidewalk.

Good thing Seungmin had the foresight to drag you back to the crosswalk before a car could come speeding by.

However, that legendary act of idiocy doesn’t even compare to this new one. Forget the fact that you could have died.

Your biology class just went over survival of the fittest using Darwin’s finches as an example. How in the world did you forget about the word ‘bird?’ Why did you think it was a good idea to ask the cute guy in your bio study group about “THE FLUFFY ANIMALS THAT GO FLAP?” And why, why, why did you insist on telling him that you loved him? The ‘THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH’ was already enough.

Jisung is never going to let you live this down.

It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s not like you spent the entire Sunday morning knocking back glasses of water and wishing it was vodka instead. It’s not like you drafted about five different apology messages and deleted them all. It’s not like you have to see him in class tomorrow.

Really, you’re fine.

You go out of your way to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible, which probably means you are very conspicuous. Do normal people not wear hoodies and sweatpants to class now, or are you just overthinking everything? The two people in the row in front of you are wearing jeans, and the girl heading down your row has a polka-dotted dress on. A secondary glance at the girl tells you that it’s another member of your study group. Speaking of the study group, maybe you should find another one. Preferably one without Jisung in it.

“Morning,” Lia says as she takes the seat beside you. She sets down her purple water bottle on the floor with a light clink. “How was your weekend?”

Terrible, but you say, “It was fine. I finished up the readings and did some notes. How about you?”

“Those readings took me forever!” she groans. “I was trying to finish everything on Saturday, so I could go out on Sunday. Which I did manage to do, so it all worked out. I got a new dress!” She plucks at the bodice of her dress, and you finally take a closer look at the pattern.

They’re not polka dots. They’re freaking birds — swoopy doves with outstretched wings. Or at least you think they’re doves. Your lack of bird knowledge speaks for itself.

“It’s pretty,” you hollowly say. The universe seems determined to remind you of your texts. Lia’s face falters, and you realize your disdain came across as you lying. “No, it’s not like that! Just… bad experiences with birds. You look really nice in this.”

She brightens up. “Oh, thanks! What do you mean by ‘bad experiences?’ What happened?”

“Good morning, birdbrain!”

“That happened.”

Looking far too happy for a Monday morning, Jisung takes the other seat beside you. He has a cup of coffee stacked high with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle, and you wonder if his extreme cheerfulness is from the caffeine or from your impending public humiliation. Why did you have to pick this guy to have a crush on? Sure, he’s cute and smart and sometimes nice, but there are plenty of people who have those traits without his witticism.

Lia looks at you with more amusement than concern. “So what happened?”

You tell her about what really happened during the weekend, and Jisung laughs all the while, reenacting his facial expression when he received your first frantic SOS message. Meanwhile, you sink lower and lower into your chair, ignoring your tailbone’s cries of pain as you slide further down the thin cushion.

“You can’t hide forever,” Jisung remarks as he looks at your slumping form. “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad. And you were drunk anyway.”

Yeah, you were, but the whole thing is doubly embarrassing because of how much you want him to like you. The overenthusiastic, all-caps messages are normal whenever you text while drunk, but ‘I love yous’ and the even rarer ‘I LOVE YOUUUU’  are few and far between. Only six people excluding Jisung have received them: your parents, your best friend, and your statistics group project members because you accidentally sent the message to the wrong chat.

On the bright side, seven is a lucky number. It means absolutely nothing in this case, and it’s hardly relevant to how you’re feeling, but everyone copes differently. Yours just happens to be clinging onto any silver lining available for solace.

“Anyway,” Lia cuts in, saving you from replying, “you’re here early, Jisung.”

He shrugs and flashes her a playful smile. However, his eyes are focused on you when he says, “You know what they say: early bird gets the worm.”

You give him a pitiful attempt of a withering glare. “I hate you.”

“Okay, fine.” He tugs at the shoulder of your hoodie to motion for you to stop trying to melt into the ground and to help you up. “It’s ‘cause I knew you would be here early.”

You are calm, you are fine, you will not be flustered. He just teased you five seconds ago; you should not be this willing to forgive him under these circumstances. Nonetheless, you slide back up to a more normal sitting position and try to pretend that you are still mildly upset. His next sentences make that impossible.

“You guys want brownies? Felix was stress-baking again.”

One may call you easily swayed by food, and they would be right. Jisung lets you have a coveted corner piece, and you decide that he’s alright again. He stretches an arm in front of you to get to Lia, and you lean back to avoid bumping into him. It also gives you a clear view of his profile. Wow, is he pretty. Look at that jawline. Suddenly his eyes go wide, and his mouth splits into a familiar excited grin.

“Are those birds?”

“Yep,” Lia answers, looking over at you to check your reaction. She tries to hide her smile, but it’s clear as day. You’re not entirely sure what she’s going to say next, but you already know it’s going to involve your current least favorite animal species. “Pretty… dove-ly, don’t you think?”

At least you were right about them being doves. “I hate you both.”

Jisung laughs at her pun and holds out his palm for a high-five. “You know what they say: birds of a feather flock together.”

“I really hate you both.”

Your initial prediction that Jisung is never going to let you live this down is correct. When you meet your bio group again Thursday night to study for the upcoming quiz, Jisung brings lemon poppy seed muffins for seemingly no other reason than to tease you. His housemate is still stress-baking, and judging by the bird silhouette made of glaze, Felix is very stressed and very eager to indulge in Jisung’s ideas.

“They’re finches!” Jisung proudly announces as he sets one right in front of you. The stupid decoration on top mocks you, but the muffin looks and smells delicious.  

Hyunjin, who does not know about your current plight but does know about Darwin’s finches, appreciatively coos at them. “They’ve even got different beak shapes! These are so cool. Man, Felix must hate econ right now.”

“No kidding,” you mutter as you begin peeling off the wrapper. Felix must hate you as well because one bite of this is almost enough for you to forgive Jisung again. It’s that good. How are you supposed to stay mad at Jisung when he gives you free delicious food? “Forget college, he needs to be in culinary school.”

He smirks from across the table, and it takes a lot of willpower for you to pretend you’re unphased. “What if I told you that I made these?”

“Then I would call you a liar.” He better be lying. You do not need another reason to justify your crush on him.

“And you would be right.” He slides his plastic container down to Lia, who has just arrived and is eyeballing the muffins like a predator. “But I did help him.”

“It’s really good,” you admit. You continue nibbling on it, determined to make the muffin last as long as you can. “What part did you help him out with?”

“The birds on top. Turns out drawing them with runny glaze is hard. I gave you the prettiest one, so don’t get mad about the whole bird thing. It goes with what we’re studying too.”

“Fine,” you sigh as you fold the wrapper into halves over and over again. “But only because these are amazing.”

Hyunjin leans in closer, effectively popping the intimate bubble you and Jisung were in. “What’s ‘the bird thing?’”

Fortunately, Yeji has finally arrived, which gives you the perfect excuse to stop Jisung from letting another person know of your drunk texts. You make a big production of pulling out your notebook from your backpack and rifling through your pencil bag for a pen.

“Should we get started?” you ask. Lia nods and uncaps one of her many highlighters.

“I’ll tell you later,” Jisung whispers to Hyunjin, winking at you. You could cry, melt, die. You could do a lot of things, but you opt to stick your tongue out at him. So what if you’re being childish? You can barely concentrate on the real world after that wink. To Yeji, he says, “There’s snacks, if Lia hasn’t eaten them all yet.”

“Hey!”

Hyunjin laughs at her notorious sweet tooth before turning to Yeji. “He gave Y/N the prettiest one, so there’s probably only his fails left.”

“They’re not bad!”

Lia has only had two, so there are more than enough to choose from. Yeji peers inside the container before selecting the one closest to her.

“Is this a plague doctor?” she asks as she suppresses a laugh. “It’s got a top hat.”

Jisung shakes his head and groans. “You chose the worst one on purpose. It’s one of Darwin’s finches. You would have known if you studied.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t draw.” Taking no notice of Jisung’s affronted expression, she takes out the textbook the five of you split the cost to buy. “Okay, plague doctor cupcakes out of the way, what are the four main theories of evolution?”

“They’re lemon poppy seed finch muffins,” he clarifies.

“That’s not an evolution theory,” Hyunjin cheekily replies, earning him an elbow nudge from Jisung and a laugh from everyone else.

You end up answering Yeji’s question and reward your correct answer with another muffin. Besides them being addictive, you’ll need some energy for the rest of the study session if all this talk about birds persists. You select the most plague doctor-ish one out of the box, and Jisung notices.

“Seriously?” he pouts. “I give you the best one, and this is how you repay me? I thought you said you weren’t mad about the bird thing.”

You ignore the last sentence. “What? You’re not proud of these?” you say, mock astonished as you give him a good view of the glaze on top. “They look exactly like plague doctors.”

“I hate you.”

You smile and shrug before returning back into the discussion about Lamarckism. Let him get a taste of his own medicine.

Unfortunately, as promised and as possible revenge, Jisung tells Hyunjin about ‘the bird thing,’ and Yeji overhears since she is only two chairs away. You try melting into the ground instead, but Lia holds you in place as the story continues, so you are stuck reliving the memory. You knew Jisung wouldn’t let you forget, but you didn’t account for everyone else in the group finding out and joining in on the torture.

But thanks to Jisung’s brilliant idea to bring those spectacularly decorated muffins, he doesn’t go unscathed either. It’s a mediocre consolation prize, but you’ll take it.

All around, it’s a productive study session, if a bit long, courtesy of everyone’s unrelenting shots at you and Jisung.

Your study group splits off in three separate directions once you’re all at the library entrance: Yeji back to the on-campus dorms where she’s an RA, Hyunjin and Lia to the off-campus apartments a few streets down, you and Jisung to the bus stop to your apartments on the other of campus. There’s a few people already sitting at the bench, so you and Jisung stand under the streetlight nearby. A moth intent on reaching the light source rams itself repeatedly against the glass covering, and you tiredly watch it. You yawn.

“Not much of a night owl?” he asks. With no clever reply ready, you gently shove him towards the bushes, but he only sways at your push. He throws his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’ll stop for today.”

“I’m really sorry for sending you that,” you say. You haven’t touched the chat between you and him since the incident. “And for not apologizing earlier.”

“It’s alright. Although I almost had a heart attack when you sent me ‘SOS’ like five times.”

You grimace as you remember your frantic texts. If you think back hard enough, you remember furiously tapping at your screen, trying to get his attention as quick as possible because you really, really, really needed to know what the animal that landed on your windowsill was called. Your housemate was in the next room over. You could have asked her instead, but no, you decided that Jisung from bio was the best option. Not even the group chat, just Jisung himself.

“Sorry again,” you weakly reply.

“It really is alright. Finding bird puns is my new favorite hobby now.” He wryly smiles. “I have so many more to try on you. You’re gonna love it.”

Is that endearing or annoying? Living rent-free inside his head isn’t terrible, especially since he seems to do the same in yours. You’ll probably have to endure lots more puns from him in the future, but for now, you’ll decide that it’s endearing.

The bus arrives, and you sit in the back with him. The ride to the apartment complex is quiet; only a group of people near the front are speaking to one another in low voices. Jisung makes no attempt at continuing the conversation, and you are content to stare out into the neon lights outside the window. You can see him in the reflection on the glass. The empty container devoid of muffins sits on Jisung’s lap, his phone placed face down on the lid. If it weren’t for all the other passengers on the bus, you would be convinced that it was just you and him, enjoying each other’s company.

You’re almost sad when you reach your stop.

“Do you want me to walk you to your apartment?” he asks as you step down to the pavement. “Yours is farther down, right?”

“Isn’t your place right here?” you say. You’ve seen him walk out from this particular complex several times while waiting for the bus. That’s not stalking. “You don’t have to go out of your way. It’s just a block away.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely walking you home.”

You hesitate a bit, but Jisung is already taking small steps in the direction of your apartment. A little more time with him doesn’t sound too horrendous right now. “Okay.”

Just like the bus ride, no conversation, which suits you fine. Jisung seems more enthralled by looking into the windows of apartment residents anyway. You can’t blame him, especially when it appears that someone is having their own mini rave in their living room. Once at the doors to your building, you thank him and tell him good night.

“No problem and good luck tomorrow.” His voice is softer at night, or maybe it’s because he’s tired as well.

Your tone matches his as well. “You too. See you in class then.”

“Good night.”

A few minutes after midnight, just as you’re about to get into bed, a message from Jisung pops up. Not Jisung in the study group, just Jisung.

12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: Hey, I know you’re not much of a night owl, so would you call yourself a morning lark? 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: You’re always an early bird to class 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: Are you emu-sed? 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: :D

Well, he did say he would stop for the day. It’s technically the next day. You reply with an annoyed face before burrowing yourself under your blankets. There are other things to worry about, such as your quiz in nine hours.

You dream of birds, namely finches, that night. Thanks, Jisung.

“This is why I tell you to never drink alone,” Seungmin laughs. He picks up the last slice of pizza from the pan and folds it in half like the heathen he is before taking the first bite. “Bad things always happen.”

“To be fair, Ryujin was home.”

“In a completely different room from you.”

You groan and supplement your exasperation with an extra aggressive tear on your crust. “Okay, fine. I’ve learned my lesson. The point is, he won’t stop with the bird jokes, and I’m going insane.”

Seungmin, having been collateral damage from your drunken mishaps before, is unsympathetic. He still hasn’t quite forgiven you for the time you tried to make a Molotov cocktail in his kitchen. Look, the clickbait video you watched online promised that it would be a fun and easy science experiment, and your other self decided that it was a fantastic idea. Nothing bad happened in the end though since you couldn’t find a lighter. So, Seungmin, it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

“You have a crush on this guy. Why are you upset that he’s flirting with you?”

“He’s cute until he opens his mouth and starts giving me grief about birds.” You sigh as you remember the last text he sent: a photo of the sunset from his apartment window with the caption, A bird’s eye view of the neighborhood. On one hand, you were thrilled to have received a non-homework related picture. On the other hand, bird joke.

“You would do the same.”

“I know, but it still sucks.” You wipe your fingers with a napkin and amuse yourself with spinning the empty pan as Seungmin (slowly) finishes eating. “No more Jisung talk. How was your date?”

Seungmin turns flustered, just like you knew he would. “It wasn’t a date! I’m just her photographer. This is a business arrangement, nothing else.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

“Hey, is that Jisung over there?” he asks, nodding over your shoulder.

“I’m not that gullible,” you sigh, though you can’t say you aren’t tempted. Seungmin loves to make fun of you, and he probably wants to get back at you for teasing him about the girl he’s been spending a suspicious amount of time with.

“Gull-ible?”

“Not you too," you plead. It's already awful with one person. To deter him any further, you continue, "Anyway, back to your definitely-not-a-date date—”

“Hey, Y/N, is that you?”

Seungmin has his “I told you so” face on. After sending him a glare, which he promptly pretends not to see, you turn around, resting your forearm on the back of your chair. Jisung, holding a pan of oven-fresh pizza, smiles back at you.

“Hey,” you greet. He's wearing the same black and red sweatshirt he usually has on, but why does he look so much better in it when he's in a pizza place than in class or in the library? “How are you doing? How’s your Saturday so far?”

“I just woke up like an hour ago, so it’s been pretty good, I guess.” His eyes go to Seungmin, who is now sipping on his soda, pretending to not eavesdrop. “Is this your…”

“This is my friend, Seungmin,” you quickly answer. Other than the fact that you need to make it abundantly clear that you are available, there is no way you’re ever going to date Seungmin. Apart from the girl he claims to not be dating, he’s even more merciless when it comes to reminding you about your drunken ideas. You can’t pass the intersection without him nudging your arm. “Seungmin, this is Jisung. We have bio together.”

Seungmin nods like he hasn’t heard of Jisung before. “Hey, nice to meet you. So, do you guys learn about birds in bio?”

Jisung lights up like a Christmas tree, and you want to cover yourself with the pizza pan. Praying for the ground to swallow you up also sounds like a decent option. In the midst of debating whether hiding under the table would be too odd, you notice that Seungmin has finally finished his slice.

“We should get going,” you interrupt. You do not need Seungmin to start sharing other stupid things you’ve done. He’s about five seconds away from telling Jisung about the intersection chalk mural. “And you probably want to eat dinner.”

Jisung sees right through your act, but he lets it go. “Yeah, Felix is probably starving. See you on Monday?”

“Yeah, see you.”

You expect him to go to wherever Felix is, but he still remains behind you. With a lopsided grin, he asks, “Should I expect any quail-ity texts at 2 AM tonight?”

Seungmin laughs, Jisung laughs, and you stare at the ceiling, wondering what you did to deserve this. Surely there were other people you could have in your life besides these two jerks.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” Jisung sings as you correctly answer his question. This week’s study session consists of a game show Jisung has created, and you almost want to believe that he put in all this effort just to say that phrase. “Another point for you.”

You sigh as Yeji slides a wrapped piece of candy towards you. It’s her turn to bring snacks, and though milk chocolate the size of golf balls are great, you’re still dreaming of those wickedly delicious cake slices Jisung shared with you yesterday. Hummingbird cake, he claimed, it was called. Bananas, pineapples, and pecans, all combined together to make a sweet treat. When you cheekily asked why his housemate was so stressed all the time — you really don’t mind. Sorry, Felix — Jisung cheerfully informed you that he made the entire thing himself. After you picked up your jaw from the floor, you stammered something about it being passable. Not nearly as good as Felix’s stuff, you said, lying through your teeth. Jisung, again, saw right through it but let it slide. See? Sometimes he’s nice. However, you did not need another reason to be attracted to Han Jisung, but here you are.

“Seriously, Yeji?” you mumble as you pull apart the blue foil. “You just had to pick the brand named after a bird?” It doesn’t stop you from popping the chocolate into your mouth though.

“They were on sale!”

While you and Yeji bicker about Dove chocolate and how the universe is conspiring against you, Hyunjin answers the next question correctly. Yeji absentmindedly pushes his reward towards him.

“No chicken dinner for me?” he asks.

Jisung shakes his head. “Your question was easy. You get a pheasant instead. Or a quail. Any bird smaller than a chicken works.”

“A hummingbird then?” you suggest. You really need to stop thinking about that cake. “But I hear those aren’t that great.”

“You already ate every single crumb of that cake I gave you!” Jisung says, but there’s not a drop of displeasure in his tone. In fact, he seems rather happy that you liked it so much that you remembered about it. “All my hard work gone in five seconds.”

“You made her a cake?” Lia gasps in disbelief, secretive note checking forgotten. She’s in last place with only six points, so no one cares too much about her cheating. “What about us? We’re your study buddies too!”

Hyunjin and Yeji chorus their agreements, and you realize that he only shared his cake with you. He followed you out of the lecture hall and gave it to you in a plastic container, so you assumed that he also hand delivered a few slices to everyone else. Never mind that he oh-so-conveniently had a fork with him. Never mind that he sat with you at a bench and watched you try a few bites before devouring it all. Never mind all that.

Wait. Does this mean he likes you too?

You fold and unfold your discarded foil wrappers as you contemplate over this revelation, sneaking glances at Jisung all the while. He looks… normal. Infuriatingly so. Same carefree smile, same arguments with Hyunjin, same lackadaisical chair leaning even though he fell backwards that one time. How is one supposed to tell if someone actually likes you when said someone is the same all the time?

Jisung promises to bring something for the next study session to make up for not sharing his cake and continues on with the review game like nothing has happened. However, those thoughts are still in the back of your mind when the session ends. You have gained five more pieces of chocolate and no further information as to whether Jisung is actually into you or not. As per usual, you and he head to the bus stop together. It’s more crowded than last week since it’s only eight.

“Did you have a pheasant time today?” he asks, pausing next to a hedge.

You keep your eyes on the asphalt instead of looking at him. It’s much easier to pretend you’re calm when you don’t have vision of his face. “I see you discovered pheasants recently. And yes, it was fun. Thanks for making it.”

“You don’t want to crow about winning the game?” When you grimace — you did kind of want to point out how amazing your score was but now you don’t — he quickly adds, “Okay, okay. But you’re going to ace that quiz tomorrow.”

And you simply say, “I know,” because you are and because you have nothing else prepared to say.

It goes quiet, and with only the sounds of cars racing by, Jisung abruptly says, “This is a little awkward now. Or should I say… hawk-ward?”

You groan and break your staring contest with the road to give him an exasperated look. A mistake because he’s smiling so wide, squirrels would be jealous of his cheeks. He has no right to be so cute after those jokes. “Why do I feel like you searched up ‘bird puns’ online and are trying to insert them in every possible scenario?”

“Because I did and because I am.” He sighs in contentment. “Those were the best texts I’ve ever received. I’m never letting you forget it.”

You were right about that, and now you have verbal confirmation from the man himself. Another mediocre consolation prize you will gladly accept. But for now, you say, “Well, toucan play at that game, plague doctor Han Jisung.” The only perk of hearing all these wretched jokes is that you are now rather knowledgeable about them. Thank you, Seungmin, for making that one a few days ago.

“They looked just like finches!” he protests, but he’s laughing along, head tilted back. He sighs again. When he turns to face you again, his eyes are soft. “That was a pretty good one.”

“Seungmin came up with it.” There’s a warm feeling spreading across your chest, constricting your air flow and making all your blood rush to your cheeks. It was one compliment; why are you like this? What are you going to do if he keeps looking at you like that? You swiftly go back to the road, counting the number of cars that pass by. One, two, three, four…

And a gray bus pulling up to the curb.

“Bus is here,” you uselessly announce. Jisung follows you into the growing crowd surrounding the entrance. He hovers behind you as the two of you wait for the people in front to board, and his presence is more palpable than usual. “There’s a lot of people today,” you remark in a vain attempt to distract yourself.

“Yeah, everyone’s heading home for the day.” He pauses dramatically before adding, “The birds are all going back to their nest.”

The joke successfully snaps you out of your haze. “That’s not a real saying.”

“I think it should be. It makes perfect sense!”

“You’re—” As the line shuffles forward, you try to think of something bird related, but he beats to the punch.

“Cuckoo?”

It’s almost impressive how much time he has invested in annoying you. Does it make you fall for him more? No, not really, or so you try to convince yourself. It’s strangely endearing, just like everything about him. You merely answer, “Yes.”

He chuckles and nudges you forward up the steps of the bus.

Even though there’s a little bit of daylight left, Jisung walks you back to your apartment building. You’re not upset by this, but where was this chivalry two weeks ago after the first study session? You teasingly ask him about it, and he turns bashful. How unlike him.

“I thought you lived in my complex, for some reason. You were always at the bus stop before me, so I assumed you lived nearby. I didn’t know until I overheard you and Yeji talking about it,” he says, hiding himself with his collar.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of the walkway to your building, “see you tomorrow then. Thanks for walking me back. Good night.”

The Jisung you’re used to seeing, is back with a mischievous smile and yet another joke. “Good night-ingale.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and try not to seem too amused by it. He’s not charming, not even a little bit. “That was awful.” It’s the smile, you tell yourself. No one should have one like that. It has too much power.

“Yet I can see you smiling at it.”

Remain calm. You can do that. You’ve faked this before, so why is your head not cooperating right now? Jisung really needs to stop looking at you with anything more than a neutral face. It’s bad for you, like really, really bad. No witty remarks at the ready is typical, but you can’t even think of anything to say.

After an excruciating five seconds, you manage to stammer out, “Good night.” Cheeks aflame and your heart threatening to pop out of you like a cuckoo clock, you roughly yank open the door and bolt up the stairs. You have too much adrenaline in you right now. Waiting for the elevator knowing that he could be observing your twitchy movements, would be too nerve wracking.

Ryujin asks if you’re alright when she sees you hunched against the kitchen counter, out of breath and muttering to yourself.

“I decided to take the stairs,” you say, which only partially explains your dishevelled state. “I’ll be alright. I think.”

“I’ll get you some water. You look like you're about to collapse.”

Then your phone chimes with a new message, and you decidedly won’t be alright.

8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: Did my nightingale pun quack you up that badly? 8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: Was it that ducking good? 8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: :D

8:23 PM [Jisung Bio]: Anyway, good luck tomorrow. Sleep well and sweet dreams, morning lark

There is no food in the fridge. Well, no proper food. A bag of spinach that expired three days ago but still seems okay, does not count. The same goes for the half empty jar of peanut butter, but Ryujin would likely disagree with that. There’s a reason why the jar is half empty. However, if you actually want to eat something for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow, you need to go shopping.

For some strange reason, it does not occur to you that you can run into Jisung at the grocery store. Jisung belongs in four locations: the bus stop, the lecture hall, the library, and the pizza place you saw him at last week. Not the dairy aisle on a Wednesday night.

“Hey.” You stop in front of him, basket at your feet and hands folded in front of you like the world’s worst defense. Heart, stop beating so fast.

Jisung looks up from his phone to search for the owner of the voice and brightens when he sees that it’s you. “Hey, morning lark.” He has taken to calling you that ever since he sent that particular message. You wish it produced another reaction from you besides pure bliss, but that is the price you pay for pretending to be still annoyed by his jokes. That’s how bad your crush on him now is; you are increasingly beguiled by the puns. “Oh, did you need milk?”

“Yeah.” You grab a blue carton with a picture of a smiling cow from the shelf and place it in your basket. In the meantime, you can’t help but peer into Jisung’s. There is a bag of chocolate chips and a packet of gelatin. “Is this stuff for tomorrow’s study session?”

He nods and grabs the same brand of milk as you did. You get a rush of excitement, much to your chagrin. It’s just milk, and this is the most popular brand too. “Yeah. Felix is trying a new recipe, so you guys get to have some of the failed ones too.”

“What is it? Cheesecake?”

“You’ll see,” he mysteriously says. Then he adds, “You’re gonna love it,” which immediately gives away the theme.

“It’s something to do with birds, isn’t it?”

“You’ll see.”

And when you do see, you’re wrong. Library food rules ignored, at each seat, Jisung has set a slice of layer cake topped with chocolate ganache, no bird motifs of any sort. You take your usual spot at the end of the table and find that yours is slightly larger than the others. Well, except for maybe Lia’s. He has to placate her sweet tooth and her disappointment of not being able to have hummingbird cake.

“Did I not get a message or something?” Hyunjin asks when he takes in the over-the-top display. “Is this a dinner party?”

“Isn’t this against the library’s rules?” Yeji asks as she surreptitiously looks around for any librarians. The surrounding tables of fellow students won’t care.

Jisung elects to not answer Yeji’s concerns. “This is tonight’s snack,” he proudly replies. “Also, Felix wants feedback on it.”

You cut a section off with the plastic fork and marvel at the airiness of the cake. It’s unlike anything you have ever had. The frosting in between the sponge layers is so light, and the ganache is so dark and rich. “This is really amazing. It’s so fluffy. Wow. Tell Felix that he really needs to consider culinary school.”

“Wanna guess what it’s called?”

“Isn’t this just an extra fancy vanilla cake?” you ask. You take another bite, but other than the chocolate ganache on top, you can only taste vanilla. “I don’t know. The… vanilla fluff cake?”

“Nope.” He leans forward, face inches away from yours, lips curled into a smirk, and slowly says, “Bird’s milk cake.”

This can’t be real. Birds don’t even produce milk. “No way. You’re lying.” Even as you say the words, they sound false to your ears. Jisung has made it his mission to find anything and everything bird-related for you, so you doubt he’s lying.

“It’s called this” — he holds up his phone screen — “in Russian. It translates to ‘bird’s milk.’”

Ptichye moloko.

“You convinced Felix to make this, didn’t you?” you say. What are the chances that Felix conveniently wanted to make bird’s milk cake without any nudging from Jisung? Absolutely none. You have never even heard of this dessert before, let alone by it’s Russian name, and you’re willing to bet that Jisung searched up ‘bird cake’ or something of that nature just for this. Maybe that’s how he found out about hummingbird cake too.

“It’s all for you, morning lark,” he cheerfully replies, winking at you. He leans back in his chair again, precariously balancing on the two back legs. “I knew you’d like it.”

Jisung is really not making this easy for you. Forget subtleties, he’s just shamelessly flirting with you now. And in the sanctity of the library of all places! In a poor attempt to save yourself from this mess, you unconsciously begin to slide down the chair, trying to shield your hot face with your raised shoulders. Lia notices this — one of the perks having sat next to you for nearly four weeks during lectures — and grabs your forearm.

“No melting,” she reminds you, “or else you’re going to hit your head on the seat again.”

“I wasn’t melting,” you protest as you wriggle back up. Slowly dying might have been a better descriptor. That wink shot arrows into your already fragile heart. “We’re gonna get in trouble if one of the librarians sees this.”

“Guess we should get started then,” Hyunjin says. Yeji, the only responsible one in the group, begins pulling out the textbook, and everyone laughs at her eagerness. “Not what I meant, but that too.”

After you’re done with the cake and while the others are preoccupied about the timeline of human evolution, Jisung whispers across the table, “Did you still like it?”

“Yeah. No hard feelings about the name because it was good,” you whisper back.

“I thought it would turn out like this, morning lark. I know you love free food too much to be mad.”

The nickname again. You rest your cheek against your palm in a vain attempt to tamp down the growing heat. “Can I get a different name, plague doctor?”

He’s not at all phased by his own nickname, which doesn’t bode well for any future snarky remarks from you. “What, you don’t like birds or something?” He blinks so innocently back at you that you have to stifle a giggle.

“Yeah, well, that’s the—”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Hyunjin interrupts, making you profusely blush and Yeji lightly laugh at the expression, “we’re gonna move on to the next section now. Is that okay?”

“It’s okay,” you reply even though you are most definitely not okay. Jisung, who you notice is uncharacteristically sheepish, echoes your sentiment.

It’s difficult not to stare at Jisung during the remainder of the study session. It seems to be true the other way around as well.

You’re sober when you read the messages, but you don’t think Jisung was when he sent them. Oh, how the tables have turned.

3:02 AM [Jisung Bio]: Good morning morning lark!! 3:02 AM [Jisung Bio]: Winner winner chicken dinner remember? So yes or no?

3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: Or maybe yes or yes? 3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: I really want to go on a date with you 3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: Not lying I swear

3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re always on my mind and every time I see a bird, I think about you 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I bought grey goose because of you 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: [jisung’s_hand_holding_grey_goose_vodka.jpg] 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I don’t even like it that much

3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: You make me dizzy sometimes and I don’t know what to do 3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: You’re probably sleeping so good night larky 3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: Or morning

3:06 AM [Jisung Bio]: Fly high in your dreams!!!

He must have been wasted and under no responsible supervision because this is what you would have done if you were in his place. Does he not have a Seungmin in his life? Or a Ryujin? There’s a Felix, so where was he when all of this happened?

But forget about Jisung’s own problems.

He wants to go on a date with you. A real date, not a study date with three other people and fake quiz questions. If his words are to be taken literally, then one involving a chicken dinner. Possibly a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store, but a chicken dinner nonetheless.

He can’t stop thinking about you. All those bird jokes had you charmed, and all those cakes were baked with you in mind. They weren’t just for show. They were all about you.

You make him dizzy, which is hilarious because he does the same to you. He smiles at you so brightly, laughs so easily, and flirts so shamelessly that you never realized that you could ever make him feel that way.

And “fly high in your dreams?” You’re practically soaring in real life. Han Jisung, cute bio boy, plague doctor, pun enthusiast, surprisingly decent baker, wants to go on a date with you.

You, you, you!

While you alternate between hyperventilating and forgetting how to breathe as you process all this, three gray dots appear at the bottom of the chat. You clutch your phone as you wait. Apparently, your body is on the ‘forgetting how to breathe’ cycle.

11:14 AM [Jisung Bio]: I am so sorry about that. I was very drunk when I sent that

11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: You can just ignore them or delete them 11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: Highly recommend deleting 11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: Also sorry if I woke you up

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. Should you answer him over text, call, or in-person? Is in-person too dramatic though? You feel like something like this is supposed to be done face-to-face, but he’s probably hungover beyond belief.

11:16 AM [Me]: It’s okay. A morning lark is always up early anyway :) 11:16 AM [Me]: Were you serious though?

11:17 AM [Jisung Bio]: Can we meet up in an hour? At the bus stop? I want to talk to you 11:17 AM [Me]: Yeah. Me too

The bus stop is neutral territory or maybe just the closest meeting spot you and Jisung have. If it’s supposed to be neutral territory, it most definitely is not since his apartment complex is right behind it. Despite his close proximity to the spot, you arrive first, so you make yourself as comfortable as possible underneath the sign, standing in its shadow. It’s silly when you think about it, but you wish you dressed in something nicer than a hoodie. In your rush to leave the apartment, you threw on whatever, but maybe you should have worn something prettier for this confrontation. Make Jisung go dizzy and gain a little bit of power from that.

This is even worse than when you had to face him after you sent your drunk texts. At least then it was just a middling attraction and not a full-on crush.

“Hey, morning lark. You’re early. As expected.”

“Hey. You’re… alive.”

Jisung is strangely fresh-faced, not a hint of hungover clouding around him. Why can’t you look like him after a night of seemingly heavy drinking? Where are the pinched eyebrows from the blinding lights? The ghostly gray face? The haunted eyes as one remembers all the incredibly stupid things they did the night before? Unfair. Completely unfair.

“Yeah.” He’s wearing his usual sweatshirt, but his hands are stuffed into its pockets instead of being out and about. He rocks back and forth on his heels. “Well, uh, I meant everything I sent. And I’m serious about taking you to dinner, so do you want to go on a date with me?”

You anticipated this. Why does it feel like you have just finished running a marathon? “Yeah, I do. I really want to.”

He smiles so brightly, the sun would be jealous. Correction, should be jealous. You don’t think you’ve seen a prettier sight than this since he sat down next to you on the first day of class and asked if you wanted to start a study group. He pumps his fist in the air like he’s a movie character, and you hide your laugh behind your hoodie sleeve. You’ve never seen him so happy before.

“How are you not hungover?” you ask as he raises his face to the sky, taking in the afternoon light, basking in the moment. He’s really living his movie character dreams. “You said you were really drunk.”

“I kind of lied?” he says, sounding more wistful than you would expect. When he looks back at you, you finally see dark circles underneath his eyes, but he is still as jubilant as before. “I was more tipsy than drunk. So, when do you wanna get that chicken dinner, winner, winner?”

It’s amazing how shy, excited Jisung disappears and how the usual casual, teasing Jisung reappears. That’s his Jekyll and Hyde moment, you suppose. And the switch is all activated by his one-track mind of bird jokes. How wonderful.

“Next week, after midterms? I’ve got two this week to study for. I should be free on Friday night.”

He enthusiastically nods. “Sounds good to me.”

2:57 PM [Me]: I’m done with all my midterms! Are you free tonight?

2:59 PM [Jisung Bio]: Free as a bird :D 2:59 PM [Jisung Bio]: Also congrats on being done 2:59 PM [Me]: I hate you

3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: So chicken dinner? The restaurant next to the pizza place just opened 3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: I heard it’s really clucking good 3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: A hen out of hen

3:01 PM [Me]: I might actually kill you during our date

3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: Don’t you mean 3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: [flock_of_crows.jpg] 3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: Murder :D

3:05 PM [Jisung Bio]: I’ll see you at 6? 3:05 PM [Me]: See you then

You do not end up murdering Jisung on your date, though you do come pretty close after you audibly ask the ground to swallow you up when he compliments your egg-cellent outfit.

“Swallow?” he slyly says. “Like the bird?”

Instead of committing a crime, you kiss him on the cheek, effectively silencing him. You’ve been waiting to do both those things for some time now, and look at you now, killing two birds with one stone.

Jisung turns a delightful shade of pink and mutters something about needing to get to the restaurant before it gets too crowded. All of his bluster from just five seconds ago is gone. You merrily follow him down the pavement, feeling a little bit like the cat who swallowed the canary.

Yes, you did search up bird expressions beforehand. Jisung will be Jisung, and like you told him before, toucan play at this game. You will not spend your first date with him being humiliated by his large repertoire of puns. Besides, if he retaliates like you expect him to, you will have the perfect excuse to kiss him again.

See? No fowl play at all.

Then he takes your hand into his, his warmth enveloping yours, and everything suddenly isn’t fair again.

And based on his all-too-pleased grin, Jisung knows this as well.

~ ad.gray

[queenshelby]

Roommates – Part Four

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 2,385

Warning: Smut

Note: This plays in 2020. Please interact. Your interactions and comments mean a lot to me.

Just as you were in the middle of your morning routine following a night filled with erotic dreams about your roommate, you heard a loud knock on the door.

You quickly turned off your vibrator and chucked it into your bedside draw before pulling up your panties and singlet and walking into the hallway.

When you opened the door, you were surprised to see James. His face was flushed and he looked like he had been crying.

‘You don’t fucking answer my messages and calls anymore’ he said and it quickly became clear to you that he must have been drinking all night when you smelled his breath from the distance.

‘You shouldn’t be here James, please leave’ you said firmly, knowing that his visit wasn’t permitted under the current lockdown restrictions.

‘Just hear me out Y/N, please’ he begged once again after he had been trying to get back together with you for the past four months and, whilst you initially maintained contact with him, you no longer responded to his messages and ignored his calls for the past two weeks.

‘There is nothing more to discuss James. I am through with you’ you said before you tried to shut the door on him but, just as you did, his foot caught in the doorway and he pushed his way into the hallway.

‘James, honestly, get the fuck out. You cheated, more than once, and I am done with you’ you huffed out and thought that, clearly, he would have received the 2,000 Euro engagement ring he had bought you in the mail by now.

‘You can’t just throw away what we had Y/N’ he went on to say and, just as he did, Cillian returned from his morning run.

‘Get out of my house James or I will call the Gardaí’ Cillian said calmly as he noticed that you were distressed.

‘Alright Murphy, go ahead, call the fucking cops’ James huffed out angrily and, before you knew it, James pushed you with your back against the wall in frustration.

‘Y/N, please fucking listen to me. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen’ he pleaded again with a whiny voice but his grip on you was becoming rather aggressive.

‘James, stop, you are hurting me’ you shouted out and, just as you tried to push him off, Cillian grabbed James by the back of his t-shirt and pulled him out of the house.

‘That’s enough James, fuck off and leave her alone’ Cillian said harshly and, when these words left his lips, James turned around suddenly and hit Cillian across the face with his right fist.

‘Jesus James’ you panicked as you quickly walked over towards Cillian and him but, when James realised what he did, he was quick to run off.

‘Fuck, Cilly, are you alright?’ you asked as you watched him hold on to his face.

‘I am fine’ Cillian chuckled before acknowledging that his face would likely be swollen before Lindsay would arrive in the evening.

‘I am sure she won’t mind Cilly’ you said before giving him a hug and thanking him for defending you and making James leave.

‘Y/N, I stink, you probably shouldn’t…’ Cillian said but you didn’t care and hugged him anyway, pressing your half naked body against his.

Ironically and almost surprisingly, you actually didn’t mind the scent of his sweat covered body. You could still smell the deodorant and aftershave on his skin and the hint of mint from the toothpaste he used that morning on his lips.

‘Let’s get some ice on this, hmm’ you then said before forcing him to sit down at the kitchen table while you prepared an ice pack for him.

After you wrapped the sachet of ice into a thin cloth, you gently pressed it against Cillian’s cheek which, already, had turned red.

The skin on his face felt soft and slightly moist and his deep blue eyes gazed into yours for a brief moment while his lips smiled at you.

His smile was warm and beautiful and you couldn’t help but pay attention to the large freckle on his upper lip.

‘So, uhm, I…uhm…I think I might go and get dressed’ you eventually huffed out after you had gotten lost in his eyes for a short moment.

Cillian nodded in response and, just as you walked away from him, an unfamiliar feeling washed over his body.

It was a feeling he couldn’t explain and it was almost unique in a way. In addition to his arousal which, by this point, had also formed in between his legs again, he felt shivers run over his spine and down into his stomach. These shivers felt almost like flutters and made him feel uncomfortably warm.

***

It was 5 o’clock and Cillian was out, walking his dog and getting some Aspirin from the nearby pharmacy following his incident with James and you decided to have a bath before the said storm was scheduled to come in later that evening.

Despite, you really needed to get your mind of the fact that Cillian was about to shag Lindsay which, in the past, hadn’t bothered you but, more recently it did. In addition, your friend Laura continued to nag you about updates on Cillian’s life, telling you that she was still very much in love with him and asking for your help to turn things around between them.

The sky had already darkened and you decided to gather all of the scented candles Cillian had in the house and carry them to the bathroom. You arranged them all around and poured yourself a glass of red wine before settling in the hot tub which was facing the backyard through a one-sided window, meaning that no one could see inside.

With Cillian being out, you didn’t bother closing the bathroom door and allowed the heat from the fireplace in the living room to radiate throughout the house.

Just as you sat in the half full tub and watched as the steaming water began to fill it completely, you reached for your phone and ipods to listen to something relaxing.

When, finally, the tub was filled completely, you lowered yourself into it allowing the bubbles to overtake your body. Your knees were slightly bent as you laid back and your breasts were floating on the surface just barely exposed to the air above the water. Your hair was floating and the bubbles were popping all around your head while you listened to an audiobook narrated by Cillian.

His voice was always something you enjoyed listening to, now more than ever and you closed your eyes to take in this moment of solace.

But, just as you did, Cillian’s face appeared beneath your eyelids and your heart instantly skipped a beat. You wanted to feel his strong hands on every inch of your wet body and, with those thoughts in mind, your hand began to caress your ass cheek while thinking about him. With each stroke you moved a little further up your thigh and back down the back of your ass. Your pussy lips were throbbing and wet from more than just the warm water, begging to be touched.

You were in a trance, listening to Cillian’s voice through your headphones as you slowly began to pleasure yourself and, with your mind being so far gone, you didn’t even realise that Cillian had returned home from his walk early as it was pouring with rain outside.

‘Y/N?’ he shouted through the house as you were nowhere to be found until, eventually, he realised that you may be in the bathroom.

With the bathroom door open, he looked inside only to find you with your eyes closed, facing the opposite direction towards the large one-sided window.

‘Y/N, shit, I am sorry’ he huffed out and, as you continued to run your hand up and down your naked body, he realised that you had your headphones in and didn’t hear him.

Cillian turned around quickly and you released a gentle moan that softly echoed in the bathroom. In your mind, you wanted him more with each touch of your hand but, of course, he didn’t know that.

When Cillian heard your moan, his manhood immediately went on alert and whilst he knew it was wrong, he couldn’t help himself but turn back around and watch you.

Unbeknownst to you, Cillian watched you as one of your hands was massaging your breast while the other slowly spread your legs exposing more of your pussy to the warmth of the water. It crashed against your lips like waves in the ocean and they were pulsating, begging for more.

‘Jesus, look away, fuck’ he said to himself quietly inside his mind as he stood there motionless and with a raging erection. He wanted to strip down naked right there and join you and it took all of his willpower not to do exactly that.

‘Hmm’ you moaned again as you listened to Cillian’s voice through your headphones and took your fingertips and tightly squeezed your clit. You could feel your juices being released and your legs spread wide as your hand pressed and caressed your mound.

‘Fuck’ Cillian’s mind said again, urging him to walk away and, just as he had built up enough strength and turned around, he heard you again.

‘Cillian’ you huffed out but with your eyes still tightly closed and feeling each sensation you were creating as you indulged on the sound of his voice.

Cillian immediately turned around in a panic, thinking that you had caught him watching you. Why else would you have said his name, he wondered.

To his surprise, when he turned around in a panic, you still had your eyes closed and continued to pleasure yourself. Your hand was working over your mound from top to back and teasing both of your holes now and, with Cillian watching, you continued to touch and tease yourself, caressing the inside of your thighs.

Perhaps he was imagining you calling out his name he thought. You couldn’t possibly have said his name while you were masturbating. Clearly, his mind was playing tricks on him and he was sure about it.

Then, the unimaginable happened. You stood up inside the tub in all of your naked glory. Bubbles were running down your body and the smell of vanilla was in the air as you climbed out of the bathtub.

Cillian was quick to disappear into the hallway and thought that, perhaps, he should have closed the bathroom door. But then, he heard his name leaving your lips again and, just as he went back to see whether you were, in fact calling for him, he watched you lean against the vanity with your headphone still inside your ears and your fingers running over your outer walls of your pussy before teasing your clit with a soft abrasive touch.

In a trance and consumed by pleasure, you dropped your towel to the floor and squeezed your clit between your fingertips as you stood there with your eyes shut. The candle lights still danced in the room, bouncing off the water drops still on your soft skin.

All of your tattoos were on full display and so were your piercings, including the one on your clit which Cillian became rather curious about.

He could not take this any longer and watched you desperately as your body cried out and you responded by slowly inserting your index finger into your cavity and sliding it back out. You did this a few times until she pushed it in deep and held it there, massaging your inner walls. Then you added a second finger into your hot pussy pushing some of your juices out onto your hand.

Cillian swallowed harshly when, eventually, you removed your fingers from your hole and placed them one by one into your mouth, sucking them clean.

‘Jesus fucking christ’ he thought and, despite the fact that he knew that Lindsay would be visiting him in the next hour or so, he turned around and made a quick run to his bedroom.

Seeing you like this was too much for him and, without giving it a second thought, he unzipped his jeans and pushed them down half way in order to release his raging erection.

Leaning against the dresser in the bedroom, he began to stroke his hard shaft vigorously, thinking about what you did in the bathroom at the same time as he was seeking relief.

Just as Cillian was stroking his cock hard and fast while thinking about you, you thrusted your fingers in and out of your pussy while thinking of him. Eventually, you began to pound your pussy, slapping your clit with each thrust. Faster and harder bringing yourself to an orgasm.

Just as you came, your moans filled the entire house, thinking that you were on your own.

‘Oh god, yes Cillian’ you groaned and there was no mistaking it. It was his name he heard when you came and this alone sent him over the edge, causing him to cum hard onto the pile of dirty clothes besides the dresser.

Just as he stroked the last few drops of cum from his shaft, he heard the doorbell ring.

Quickly, he grabbed one of the t-shirts from the pile of clothes and cleaned himself up before walking downstairs and opening the front door.

‘Hey Sweetie’ Lindsay said, carrying two shopping bags.

‘You are early’ Cillian said before giving her a brief kiss.

‘I wanted to surprise you and thought I would cook for you. For Y/N too, of course. At least this way, you can finally introduce us properly and I don’t feel like your beck in call’ Lindsay explained.

‘Sounds great’ Cillian said somewhat flustered just as you walked through the hallway almost completely naked.

‘Oh my god, you are home…fuck’ you shouted, covering your breasts with a towel and Cillian couldn’t help but sigh.

He thought about you, calling out his name as you masturbated and now he was in his hallway with Lindsay who clearly wanted to mark her territory.

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Same universe as the one where LXC kills JGY on a boat to not-Japan. JRS-centric as he grows up in the Nie clan and deals with his reputation as an inbred son of a traitorous bastard.

so I don't think I've ever written a fic in which LXC kills JGY on a boat, and definitely not one where JRS is a character? I mean, I've written a lot of fics, so possibly I did and I forgot, but I'm pretty sure about this one.

That being said, I don't think I've gotten any Jin Rusong prompts before so I'm reinterpreting this to be a prompt for a fic about JRS growing up in the Nie clan. Fic below!

ao3

-

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Nie Huaisang reminded himself. Risk is proportionate with reward. Your spine should be made of steel, just as your saber is.

He licked his lips, thought of his brother who had loved him, and threw himself forward with tears in his eyes.

“Oh, gongzi!” he blubbered. “Can you help me? I’ve gotten completelylost, I don’t even know where to begin –”

Xue Yang blinked at him, the lids of his eyes moving slowly like a reptile.

“Maybe you know where my san-ge is? Lianfeng-zun?”

The feeling of immediate threat lessened. It seemed he’d gambled right, and the rabid dog that was Xue Yang could still be controlled by reference to Jin Guangyao.

“I’d really appreciate it if you could just give me some guidance on where to find him,” Nie Huaisang said, lowering his voice confidentially. “I’d be sure to pay you back! If there’s anything you want –”

“Do you have any snacks?” Xue Yang asked.

Nie Huaisang, who had come prepared based on the rumors he’d painstakingly collected, produced some dragons’ beard candy.

“Not bad,” Xue Yang said. “Okay, sure.”

Nie Huaisang smiled, and even meant it.

-

“Hey, good-for-nothing,” Xue Yang said, and Nie Huaisang turned to look at his least favorite but nevertheless highly useful source of information in Lanling Jin. The fact that Xue Yang had no idea that he was functioning as such just made it more satisfactory. “You like kids, right?”

Nie Huaisang blinked. “Yes?” he hazarded, not so much because he actually did – he’d never had strong feelings about children one way or the other, though perhaps he was being presumptuous in thinking that the reference did not involve goats – but because that seemed to be the answer Xue Yang was looking for.

Xue Yang wrinkled his nose in distaste, though not, Nie Huaisang thought, at him.

“Theoretically,” he said, and he wouldn’t know ‘theoretical’ if it hit him in the face, “if there were, I don’t know, a whole bunch of them hanging around somewhere without parents, you’d be able to do something about that, right? Especially if they had a talent for cultivation?”

It took only a moment to piece together what must have happened to lead to such a question, given the ruthlessness of the cultivation world and of Jin Guangyao in particular, and Nie Huaisang marveled briefly at the idea that Xue Yang might draw a moral line in the sand over something. Presumably he felt some kinship to the children, being similarly utterly infantile, amoral, and fond of sweet things.

“Oh sure!” he said, playing up the brainless idiot who didn’t know to ask questions. “My sect is always recruiting, you know. We took some losses in the war and, well, I feel like adult cultivators aren’t really all that interestedin joining ever since I took over…”

“Because you’re a waste of space,” Xue Yang said, and Nie Huaisang pouted at him. “Whatever, the important thing is that you have space for kids. Orphans. Think, like, a whole orphanage getting shut down or whatever – anyway, not important. You’d take them back to Qinghe, right?”

“Oh, that would be so wonderful!” Nie Huaisang clapped. “That would suit everyone, wouldn’t it? They don’t have to worry about the children, and we get new disciples. I should tell san-ge – no, on second thought, he might be too busy –”

“Definitely too busy,” Xue Yang said quickly. “Wouldn’t it be nice to accomplish something yourself? You could casually show him that your numbers went up at the end of the month instead so he gives you the credit, without explaining that it’s kids making up the increase.”

“That’s a great idea! He’ll be much more impressed by that, I should definitely do that. Where is the orphanage?”

“…uh, in the forest. The back forest.”

You couldn’t come up with a better lie?

“You already brought them here?” Nie Huaisang asked, batting his eyelashes. “You’re so nice, Xue-xiong! I’ll go tell my second in command to go deal with it right away!”

-

It was in the fifth round of kids getting picked up – small cultivation clans being massacred and there was nothing Nie Huaisang could do about it, because there was either no evidence or else Jin Guangyao had come up with some motive to justify his actions and, inevitably, Lan Xichen would be there behind him, soothing over tempers and providing explanations because he believed him, every time – that something unusual happened.

“Sect Leader Nie,” one of his most trusted subordinates murmured into his ear. “There’s a problem.”

Nie Huaisang found a reason to leave the party early, a reason to go to the rendezvous point, and, once there, found the reason for the problem.

“Oh, hey there,” he said with a smile fixed onto his face by sheer force of willpower, crouching down to make himself seem less intimidating. Not that he was ever particularly intimidating, though given the rage coursing through his veins right now, he thought he might be able to pull it off if he tried. “What a lucky chance! It’s so funny, finding you here, Songsong. How are you?”

Jin Rusong wiped his eyes and looked tearily at him, recognized that the person asking was his Little Uncle Nie, and threw himself into Nie Huaisang’s arms with a howl.

This was pretty typical – Jin Rusong wasn’t much of a crier, but when he did he definitely took Nie Huaisang as his model, something all the other adults in the cultivation world had a tendency to give Nie Huaisang dirty looks over.

The only problem here, of course, was that Jin Rusong was dead.

Or, rather…he was supposed to be dead.

And if Jin Rusong was here – here, in the rendezvous point where Xue Yang put those of his prospective victims that happened to be a little too young for even him to stomach killing, at least without the personal grudge that had driven him to slaughter the Chang clan in its entirety – that meant only one thing.

Jin Guangyao had ordered his own son to be murdered.

Through demonic cultivation, no less, which was a pretty nasty way to go. There was a reason everyone implicitly countenanced Jiang Cheng’s vendetta against demonic cultivators no matter where they were, even when he ignored all territory lines and forgot to not ask for permission – the things a demonic cultivator gone bad could do were just so much worse than what anyone else could that they couldn’t risk any delay in dealing with the problem.

Well, shit, Nie Huaisang thought, even as he comforted Jin Rusong, petting the toddler’s back to try to get him to calm down. What do I do now?

-

“There has to be a reason,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “He’s not rabid. Songsong was his son!”

“Sect Leader Nie, we can’t find anything that might explain it.”

“Look harder. I don’t care how minor it is, I want to know everythingto do with Songsong. Every little detail – every person who saw him – every medical report, every compliment, every good grade –”

“He placed last in one of his classes,” one of his spies volunteered.

“What?”

“He placed last in one of his classes. About two months before his ‘assassination’, and shortly before his father started collecting evidence against the other sects that were in his way, which he later used to ‘prove’ that they had been involved in the alleged murder.”

“He wouldn’t kill his son for failing a class,” one of the others objected. “The kid’s barely more than a baby. What’s he expecting, genius from birth?”

“He’s a genius himself. Why not?”

“If everyone inherited everything directly from their parents, he’d be a whore.”

“He’d be a Jin. They’ve all got that nose, every one of them…”

“I heard he’s having the other Jin bastards killed. All of them, even the women…”

Something snapped in Nie Huaisang’s hands.

They all turned to look at him.

“Investigate Qin Su,” he said, looking down at the mess of wood and paper that had once been a fan. “Come to think of it, she has a Jin nose, too.”

-

“I don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want you to go, either,” Nie Huaisang said, feeling tired and also much more in sympathy with his poor older brother than he’d ever been while Nie Mingjue had been alive. “But you disobeyed me, and that means we don’t have a choice. You have to go.”

Nie Songsong looked down at the ground, his lip quivering. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You did,” Nie Huaisang said. “You have to own your decisions, Songsong. You can’t take them back once they’re done, no matter what the consequences. Not even if you feel bad, but definitely not because you feel bad for having to pay for what you did.”

“But…”

“No, Songsong. You cannot be in the Unclean Realm when – when he’s here.”

Nie Songsong hung his head.

“He’s not your father anymore,” Nie Huaisang said. “You know that, right?”

Nie Songsong nodded.

Nie Huaisang sighed and held out his hands, and his arms were full of a teary-eyed child a moment later.

“He loved you once,” Nie Huaisang murmured into his child’s hair. “I love you now. I wish I could give you more than that – I wish I could give you an answer, tell you why he didn’t love you enough to keep from doing what he did. But I can’t. All I can do…”

Is what I’m already doing.

“You’re enough, er-ge,” Nie Songsong whispered back. “You’re enough. I promise.”

-

“When will I get to go night-hunting?”

“You go night-hunting all the time,” Nie Huaisang grumbled. “You’re a fraction my age, and already my height, my weight, yet you wield a saber like my brother was around to raise you properly. You’re ruining my reputation, you know; now no one will believe that my incompetence comes from how short I am…”

“Not night-hunting with the rest of the sect, er-ge,” Nie Songsong said, rolling his eyes. “With other juniors!”

“Not long now,” Nie Huaisang said, looking down at the paper beneath his hands. It was all finally coming together. “Not long now. Just give er-ge a little more time to finish taking care of matters for da-ge, and you’ll be able to go night-hunting with anyone you like.”

-

“Er-ge! Are you all right? You look so pale…”

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang whispered. “Songsong – I’m sorry. I’m so sorry –”

“What happened? Are you injured?” Nie Songsong demanded, already starting to pat him over, looking for wounds. “Er-ge, what’s wrong –”

“Your mother’s dead.”

Nie Songsong’s hands stilled.

“I told her about your heritage,” Nie Huaisang said, his lips numb. He’d never tried to hide it from Nie Songsong, although he’d introduced the subject very gradually and only once he thought that he’d be able to handle the revelation. “About your father – your grandfather. What they did. I wanted her to be angry at him, to turn against him, to distract him…instead, she killed herself.”

“Er-ge…”

“I shouldn’t have told her. If I knew –”

“Er-ge.”

“I should have brought her in earlier – told her about you surviving – I kept her from you for years –”

“Er-ge!”

Nie Huaisang looked at the child he had raised as a little brother the way his older brother had raised him, a father in everything but name, and who he had the constant feeling of having failed.

He wondered, as he always did, whether his brother had felt the same about him.

“Er-ge, it’s all right,” his little brother, his adopted son, said, and took his hands in his. “It’s all right. You tried, remember? Time after time, you tried to talk to her, but every single time you concluded that she would’ve told her husband instead of trusting you. She would’ve ruined everything. If she did that, I’d be dead all over again, and you with me.”

That had been what Nie Huaisang had concluded. That was why he’d never told her.

But…

“She’s your mother.”

“And you’re my er-ge. As long as you don’t die on me, too, it’ll be all right. Okay? It’ll be all right. It’ll be worth it in the end.”

Nie Huaisang shook his head. He’d already done so much, caused so much chaos and strife, and yet this moment – this was the step too far.

This was the first time he realized that he wasn’t sure he believed that it would be worth it anymore.

But by now…what else was left to do? There were no ways out of the plan he’d made himself; he’d designed it that way on purpose, because he’d known that if there was a way out, that snake would find a way to slither through it. He just hadn’t thought that he would be the one looking for it.

It didn’t matter.

He had to keep going.

His older brother deserved it, even if the younger one didn’t.

-

“I represent the Nie sect,” the young man – just about their age, though shorter than either of them – said with a smile. He seemed kind, gentle and polite, easy-going, but Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui looked at each other, and then at Jin Ling, who just scowled. “Can I come in?”

“Were you even invited?” Jin Ling asked in bitten off words. He was still bitter about some of the things that had happened in the Guayin Temple a month before, and of all them the one he was most bitter about was his second uncle’s retreat into seclusion – they were all upset about that.

“But it’s a discussion conference,” the young man said, blinking in confusion. “We’re a Great Sect. Why wouldn’t we be invited?”

In the face of such profound ignorance, there really wasn’t very much they could say, and eventually Lan Sizhui stepped forward with a smile, welcoming the young man – Nie Songsong, he introduced himself – into the Cloud Recesses.

Everything seemed fine for a little while. Lan Sizhui was able to talk to the people in charge of arranging juniors into finding another place for Nie Songsong to stay, although it would be a little delayed – Nie Songsong assured them that there was no issue – and as recompense they even showed him, at his request, a few of the main landmarks.

And then they turned around and their guest had disappeared.

“I knew he was up to no good!” Jin Ling exclaimed.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Lan Sizhui told him.

“I’m with Jin Ling,” Lan Jingyi said. “He seemed so nice and understated – just like you know –”

“Don’t talk about my little uncle,” Jin Ling hissed at him. “I know it’s true, but just – don’t, okay?”

“We should find where he went,” Lan Sizhui decided.

It took them a while, but in the end they found him in the most unexpected place: in the rooms their sect leader had chosen for his seclusion, sitting on the bed with Lan Xichen’s head on his shoulder, sobbing as if his heart had been broken.

“What are you doing?” Lan Sizhui exclaimed, unnerved even out of his own habitual politeness.

“I came to greet my uncle,” Nie Songsong said, his manner just as gentle and polite as it had been from the beginning, although it was now evident that he was as stubborn as a rock and not easy-going at all.

“Your uncle?” Lan Jingyi gaped. “How can he be your uncle?”

“You’re Sect Leader Nie’s son!” Jin Ling accused.

“I’m Sect Leader Nie’s little brother by adoption,” Nie Songsong corrected. “It’s through my father that he’s my uncle – and you my cousin, I suppose.”

“Your – father?”

“Oh, yes. My birth name, you see,” Nie Songsong said, “was Jin Rusong.”

-

“Why did you choose to reveal yourself?” Lan Sizhui asked. “Given that everyone knows – well –”

Nie Songsong finished the character he was writing and put down his brush. “Wondering if you should let it be known that you were born with the surname Wen?”

Lan Sizhui jerked in surprise, then flushed. “How did you – that didn’t come out in Guanyin Temple.”

“No, I knew it before,” Nie Songsong said. “My er-ge is very clever, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose I do...why do you call him brother? Shouldn’t he be uncle, or – or –”

“Uncle is probably right,” Nie Songsong said. “But he raised me like a son, just as his brother did for him.”

Lan Sizhui looked down at his hands.

“Why did he publicly reveal your background, knowing that you were still around?” he asked again. “Everyone will know. Who your father was, all those terrible things he did, his relationship with your mother –”

“Why shouldn’t he? He did do all those things, and he did have that relationship with my mother.”

“But what about you? What about your reputation –”

“Are you planning on sweeping Wen Ruohan’s grave?”

Lan Sizhui stared at him.

“He’s your grandfather, isn’t he?” Nie Songsong looked calmly back at him. “Who he was, all those terrible things he did –”

“That’s nothing to do with me!”

“And the crimes of my father are nothing to do with me. My er-ge gave me his surname, just as Hanguang-jun gave you his, and for the same reason – to cut us off from the sins of our original family.”

“I suppose that’s true. But – no one knew about you, just as no one knew about me until I told them, and I only told them because they were my friends. Why’d you tell us? Aren’t you worried we’d tell more people?”

“Of course I am,” Nie Songsong said. “I hope you don’t, of course, but you would’ve found out regardless – second uncle wasn’t exactly subtle in his grief. And I had to tell him.”

“Why? To bring him out of seclusion?” Lan Sizhui hesitated. “Do you care so much for him?”

“Of course not. The last time I met him, I was a small child, and my father was just about to order me murdered; that’s not much of a basis to build a relationship. But having him lock himself away like that, as if he were in mourning…it hurt er-ge. And I won’t let anything hurt my er-ge. Anything, or anyone.”

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“I understand,” Lan Sizhui said.

“I’m glad you do,” Nie Songsong said, and then smiled. “I would’ve had to escalate to threats next, and I’m given to understand that I’m too short to really pull them off properly.”

Lan Sizhui snorted. “I think we’ve all learned that that’snot true.”

-

“Should we talk about this?” Jin Ling asked, arms crossed over his chest and glaring.

“What do you want to talk about?” Nie Songsong replied.

“How about the fact that your father tried to kill me?”

“Sure. Can we talk about the fact that you got all of his affection for years and years after he tried to kill me?”

Jin Ling blanched.

“I wonder if he would’ve gotten me a dog, too,” Nie Songsong mused. “I was too young for that when he ordered his demonic cultivator to feed me to fierce corpses and have my body ravaged until it was barely recognizable…but sure, let’s talk about how he tried to kill you.”

“I was talking about Sect Leader Nie!”

“Well, then, you should have been more specific. Sect Leader Nie’s my brother, not my father.”

“He’s a whole generation older than you!”

“My little uncle, then.”

Jin Ling flinched. “That’s worse. Go back to calling him your brother.”

Nie Songsong shrugged. “Would it help if we fought?”

“…what?”

“It makes me feel better, sometimes. Besides, I may be short, but I’m pretty good with the saber. I bet I could match your sword…maybe not your arrows. But I’ve always wanted to try.”

Jin Ling looked at him suspiciously for a long moment.

“Okay,” he finally said. “Sure. Why not?”

-

“I really hate that you’re kind of cool,” Lan Jingyi told him.

“I am so cool,” Nie Songsong said, and passed him another jar of wine. “Want to see my spring book collection?”

“…yes please.”

-

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Lan Xichen said to Nie Huaisang, who shrugged. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t trust me to help.”

“It’s only what I should have done,” Nie Huaisang said, not for the first time. He’d said it so often these past few days that it felt like a new refrain, an alternative to the old I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. He preferred the original. “I was his little uncle, remember? I held him on his first month party. How could I do any less?”

He did not say that Lan Xichen, who could be classified as Jin Rusong’s older uncle, had done much less, but from Lan Xichen’s expression, he’d taken it that way anyway.

“You never…” Lan Xichen hesitated. “Did you ever have any – concerns?”

“That he’d turn out an idiot? No. I figured he’d be in good company, with me.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh, you meant whether I was worried that he’d grow up longing for his blood family over his adopted family and turn against me in favor of his real father?” Nie Huaisang asked mildly. “No, not really. The memory of your father ordering you to be mauled by fierce corpses and to make sure your face is destroyed so that there’s a reason to refuse to let your mother see the body, as it would only upset her, is a fairly effective panacea against things like that.”

“No,” Lan Xichen said, though he looked sick all over again at the reminder of how considerate Jin Guangyao could be when it came to those he thought of as people, and how monstrous he was towards those he didn’t. “No, just – your brother always took such a hard line against the Wen sect…”

“Because they were raised with the philosophy that they were superior to the rest of us and my brother purposefully made himself into the symbol of their fallibility, thereby making himself and all the rest of us the primary target for their traumatic realization that they’re just as weak and vulnerable as everyone else,” Nie Huaisang said, rolling his eyes. “Our Nie sect cultivators were always especially targeted whenever we were captured – our survival rate as prisoners of war was less than half all the other sects, and it wasn’t just because we were usually more injured when we got caught. Even the civilians surnamed Wen would pull out knives and try to stab us in the back if they had half a chance! We were in a blood feud with them, er-ge. You don’t put down blood feuds just like that, not even if you want to. That’s not how it works.”

Lan Xichen nodded slowly, thoughtful.

“Anyway, Songsong is mine now,” Nie Huaisang said. “Just as Lan Sizhui is your brother’s, and Jin Ling Jiang Cheng’s. Can’t we all just agree to not care about the rest?”

“I suppose we have to,” Lan Xichen said, bowing his head. “Huaisang…did you ever think about what happens now? I mean – what should we do next?”

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang said, and smiled humorlessly when Lan Xichen looked at him. “I’m not joking. I didn’t know what to do when I got Songsong for the first time, er-ge, and I don’t know what to do now, either. I just wanted to see justice done for my da-ge, and I did, and for the rest – I don’t know.”

“That’s fine,” Lan Xichen said. “I don’t know, either.”

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Nie Huaisang thought. Spine as steel as your saber.

“Would you like to come visit the Unclean Realm sometime?” he asked, pretending to be casual. “Perhaps we can figure out what we don’t know together. If you like.”

“…perhaps I will,” Lan Xichen said.

[youarejesting]

Reaction 14: Walking in on you.

[Masterlist]

If you have any reactions you would like to see send them via asks and I will write them when I can.

WARNING: This is SMUTTY!

Seokjin: 

You had been stressed and you needed relief, you could have gone to Seokjin for help but sometimes you wanted alone time. Seokjin was great. He went above and beyond for you but it was nice to feel cheeky to feel dangerous. Like he could walk in at any moment. 

What you didn’t expect was for him to walk in at this moment. He walked in and slapped a hand over his eyes, “jagiya!” He whined peeking out from between his fingers. 

“Yes my love?” You groaned, not bothering to stop, your hands gripped the sheets as you looked at him. 

“Ya, stop,” he whined “I can’t talk to you knowing your doing this”

“Then don’t talk to me,” you gasped. He climbed onto the bed and took the remote from beside you turning it off. “Hey woah woah what are you doing no Jinnie I was so close.”

Your voice went weak as you saw the dark look in his eyes, “oh, how the tables have turned my sweetheart, do you want Oppa to let you finish?”

Yoongi:

You knew he did it whenever he got the urge but it was rare, for you the urge was often and you didn’t want to bother him it would be too annoying to stop him at work all the time. 

So taking matters into your own hands you brought a toy hoping it would help you unwind. It was a couples toy which you wanted to buy in the hopes Yoongi would use it with you. 

But as you had just ordered it then it wouldn’t come for another week even with the express post. So you were left on your own, it was a little disappointing after seeing all the fancy devices that you could be using.

You were so close and decided to just move into the perfect position where you would feel your orgasm the best but when you opened your eyes and turned you saw Yoongi leaning against the bedroom door. Watching you with his dark eyes.

Hoseok:

Hoseok was amazing. He was happy, energetic, kind, funny, loving and in the bedroom he was hot as hell. His only flaw was being a little naive, what were you supposed to think when he sent you a video of himself dancing and when he finished the routine he would be panting walking to the camera his singlet stuck to his chest. 

Maybe it was your flaw? Thinking he was sexy all the time, you were insatiable. Hoseok had sent you another video and you were unable to stop yourself reaching into your top draw and finding out your favourite toy, you were watching the video over and over and you were so close. 

“Hands off what is mine, jagiya” he said and you froze removing the toy with a few whimpers. “You have been naughty”

“No, I haven’t even finished yet,” you said trying to think up a plausible lie, “I was just preparing for you” 

He undressed climbing over you, “Well now that you are ready, let me show how I discipline naughty girls.”

Namjoon: 

You had been throwing hints all day, shaving your legs and washing and styling your hair early that morning. Even wore his favourite lipstick. You picked out your best lingerie and put on a really short dress. You bent over, leaned down, stretched to the highest cupboards and Namjoon didn’t get the hint. 

Was it always this difficult to seduce your man, you frowned at the end of dinner when he showered and went to read in bed. You decided to make it obvious, stepping out of the shower in a towel, you sauntered to the bed. You dropped the towel and laid down on the bed and he still didn’t notice.

You frowned, what book was he reading that was more important than you. Sighing audibly you decided that you would just have to have fun on your own tonight. You couldn't expect Namjoon to be horny and ready every night. Slipping your hand under the bed you found an old friend. You walked out of the room to Namjoon’s office and sat in his big desk chair.

You had your feet on the desk knees pressed to your chest and was trying to orgasm quickly. You could feel the batteries starting to drain. Using your imagination and willpower you tried your hardest to orgasm when the door opened Namjoon’s face poking through the door. “Hey, where did you go-OH!”

The batteries died and you frowned, head falling back against the desk chair, panting. “Why do the batteries decide to die now!” You whined legs falling to the floor. You pressed your forehead against his desk and tried to cool down the blush on your cheeks.

“Well, I don’t know if you wanted this to be a personal thing but, I don’t require batteries” Namjoon stepped out from behind the door to reveal his tented boxers.

Jimin: 

You were quite embarrassed about your sex drive it was a lot and you mostly dealt with it on your own quickly and quietly. Jimin was a very sensual creature and he seemed a little down. When you kept your sex life pretty minimalistic, you wanted to tell him but you knew he would say it was okay and that you should let him help but he would get sick of you. 

You were in your room he wouldn’t be back for a while he was filming RUNBTS you took the opportunity to get yourself off a few times. 

You put your vibrator inside you and came a few times and leaving it in you started cooking dinner. You paused between cutting vegetables to orgasm again and you clutched the bench and moaned.

You stirred the dinner and heard a cough. You turned to Jimin who hugged you, his cheeks red. “Are you feeling okay love, you sounded in pain?”

You blushed but he lifted your skirt at the buzzing sound and frowned “baby do I not satisfy you?”

“Jimin, you satisfy me so much, I just don’t want you to get sick of me or think that I only like your body. I love you”

He nodded “I wouldn’t get sick of you are you sure it’s not cause I am terrible in bed.”

“Jiminie,” you turned of the stove “let me show you how much I love you and when I am done tell me if it’s too much”

He looked at you a little nervous and nodded letting you lead him to the bedroom for a long night. “Hey Hobi I can’t come in today?”

“Why not?”

“Y/n broke my pelvis. My back is killing me”

“I’m sorry” you said to him. “I shouldn’t have”

“Darling I want it like that every night” he grinned “you riding me until we both can’t walk”

“Eww hang up first” Hobi muttered in disgust. 

Taehyung: 

You don’t know why but the feeling snuck up on you while you had friends over you wanted nothing but to feel some sweet release. You couldn’t exactly tell your friends that you wanted to borrow your boyfriend for a quickie.

Instead you made an excuse about a stomach ache and heading to the bathroom upstairs. You locked yourself in your room and tried to be quick hoping no one would come check on you. You had this really great vibrator that always made things quick. You were almost there, you could almost feel it when you heard a scoff.

“Jagiya,” Taehyung reached between your legs to remove the toy. He twisted the bottom of the device and took out the batteries. “You can wait, can’t you darling for me.” 

He smirked, taking your underwear off the floor and slipping them in his pocket. He grabbed you by the wrist and led you out the door. Making sure to fix your dress back into position. “You can wait can’t you love?”

Jungkook: 

Jungkook was playing video games when he heard noise from the room, you sounded hurt, had you fallen or were you feeling sick. You weakly cried out his name and he threw open the door to see you on the bed. Jungkook’s face turned bright red and he bowed ninety degrees. “I’m sorry” He left immediately and went back to his games room. He sat down, trying to calm his racing heart and looked down at the bulge in his pants.

[hongism]

1:58 am - c. jongho 18+

↣ pairing: jongho x fem!reader ↣ genre: fluff, smut ↣ wc: 2.0k ↣ for @ppersonna​​: “HELLO MY BESTIE RATTY PLS JONGHO WITH 25 - Being somewhere you’re not supposed to be 34 - “It’s 2am. Go back to sleep.” ↣ warnings: language, oral sex: f

In your defense, Jongho is both a maniac and insatiable. What started as a lovely movie night between the two of you, with his roommate Yeosang curled up in the armchair by the couch, has quickly devolved into leagues of stress for you and endless amusement for Jongho. Yeosang is (thankfully) off in dreamland and fast asleep despite the movie still going in the background, although that does nothing to quell your current nerves as Jongho’s hand is moving further up by the minute. 

It started at your kneecap, two fingers tracing mindless patterns into your skin under the blanket. Then he slipped to the inside of your knee and clutched tight at your flesh before pulling up the inside of your thigh.

Now, he has a hand basically over your crotch, close enough to make you sweat but far enough away to have you refraining from squeezing your thighs shut over his fingers.

And being a cocky little shit, of course Jongho knows exactly what he’s doing to you — if the smirk curling over his lips is any indication at least. You aren’t about to scar yourself or Yeosang by fooling around on the already stained leather couch in their apartment, as much as you really want to give in to his lingering touches.

You haven’t been paying attention to the movie on the screen for at least an hour, maybe longer than that because you don’t even recall the name of the damn film at this point, and all your focus is honed in on the fingers pressing into your thigh. Jongho won’t stop teasing with his touches either. Every few seconds, he squeezes just enough to startle you into sitting up straight just when you’ve recovered from the last touch. You’re certain he’s trying to seem interested in the movie given the way he keeps making interested noises or scowling at the screen, but then his smirk returns and you know what he’s really up to.

In short, you have had more than enough of his fun and games, growing increasingly frustrated with each passing second. Your body is so pent up and overheated that sweat is pooling at your brow, and that’s what makes you nudge his hand away as a last-ditch effort to save yourself from this teasing hell he’s trapped you in. Yet this isn’t your apartment and you can’t very well escape to his bedroom without looking suspicious to Yeosang. As far as his roommate is concerned, you and Jongho are still just friends, even if there is an ungodly amount of sexual tension lingering between the two of you like this.

Water. Yes, you need water. And where can you get water? The kitchen of course. Perfect plan. You should be safe from Jongho’s antics there, no?

“Feeling alright, Y/n?”

As it turns out, you are very much not safe in the kitchen.

You nearly throw the glass in your hand at Jongho’s head out of sheer shock when he sneaks up on you, creeping into the kitchen behind you like a damn ghost. You manage to hold back from doing that, but a small yelp escapes your lips instead. Jongho laughs at that, continuing to chuckle under his breath even when you try to level him with a sharp glare. He has the audacity to look absolutely delectable at nearly two o’clock in the morning wearing nothing but a stupid black t-shirt and stupid grey sweatpants with his stupid hands shoved deep in the pockets like he wasn’t trying to practically finger you on the couch moments ago.

“I don’t know, am I?” It made sense in your head, although that might be because of the haze of arousal over your brain because once it actually comes out, you’re wondering why the hell you said that.

“Well, you felt more than alright just a few minutes ago.” He’s smiling again, another lascivious grin that has you sinking your teeth into your lower lip.

“Not here,” you hiss back as a last-ditch effort to talk yourself out of this (again).

“Because Yeosang is in the other room? Come on, Y/n, you know half the fun is in the risk of getting caught.”

A scoff passes through your lips, loud enough to resound through the small kitchen.

“You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re painfully aroused. Are we done stating the obvious?”

Throwing this glass at his head is a lot more tempting now, but that would certainly cause a ruckus and Yeosang would wake up in a heartbeat.

“Only because you were fucking feeling me up on the couch like it’s your goddamn job!”

Jongho crosses the kitchen in three seconds flat, suddenly so close to you that you can’t breathe your own air without feeling the heat of his breath against your lips. You stumble back and hit the edge of the counter behind you. Jongho doesn’t give you a moment to recover, catching your wrists in his grip and pressing them hard against the surface of that same counter.

“Careful there, doll, you wouldn’t want to wake anyone up, would you?”

“No, that’s not what I want,” you exhale. It’s not enough to quell the desire in your gut, especially not when Jongho’s fucking thigh is pressed between your legs and leaving you squirming. He knows how you feel about his thighs thanks to an unfortunate admission on your part one night when you had too much alcohol (and unfortunately Yeosang knows too since he was an unwilling participant in that conversation).

“What do you want then? Although, I’m fairly certain that I know.” Again, Jongho’s gaze flicks down over your body, enough to be obvious about the way he’s checking you out from head to toe, but he returns to staring you in the eye after a second.

“Shut up and eat me out already,” you hiss under your breath. In the same sentence, you free your wrists of his grasp and push down hard on his shoulders. It’s nothing compared to his strength — he’s more than strong enough to resist your futile efforts, but he goes along with it anyway and lets you push him to his knees in front of the counter.

“You’re lucky I never make you beg, baby. If I did, you’d never get to cum.”

Tempting, you think, but right now you aren’t in the mood to be edged or teased anymore. Jongho did his fair share of that for over two hours, so all that is on your mind is a release under his skilled tongue.

“Please, Jongho, I’d like to do this before Yeosang wakes up…”

His hands are already curled around your pajama shorts, taking the soft fabric into his grip and pulling down with no resistance. A sharp inhale follows as the cold air hits your nether regions, and Jongho lifts one of your legs up to his shoulder as he bunches your shorts into the palm of his hand.

“Be glad I didn’t take you on the couch right in front of him then.”

Then Jongho is smiling up at you from between your legs, and you would be lying if you said that isn’t one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life. You brace yourself on the counter, knuckles white from the effort of clinging to the marble, and the man beneath you takes his teasing a step further. Soft lips caress the inside of your knee over the spot he clung to for the better part of an hour, then he follows the same path his hand took as well. He doesn’t stop until his nose is flush with your folds, and even then he exhales against you in a way that has a chill rushing down your spine. Your curl away from the counter, unintentionally pressing your hips closer to his mouth in the same fluid motion. It’s enough to make his nose hit your clit dead-on in a way that has a strangled moan escaping your lips. You fling a hand up to your mouth (too late as it does absolutely nothing to conceal the sound).

“Now it sounds like you’re trying to wake Yeosang up, doll.”

“I’d like to see you stay quiet when I’m sucking you off next time.” You manage to smirk a little, just enough to be playful and throw him off a little. He’s just as quick to retaliate, which is both a good and bad thing for you because his next move is to hoist your other leg onto his shoulder, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to clamp your thighs around his face. You have to bite the side of your thumb to quell the noises bubbling up your throat; your remark seems to have been enough to spur him fully into action, his tongue brushing between your folds until he reaches your hole with practiced ease. You can’t count on one hand how many times you’ve indulged in this — his tongue pressing at your entrance like he has no other purpose in life, eating you out with more enthusiasm than ever, drawing so many noises out of you that it’s getting difficult to keep quiet.

“Jongho?”

The man between your legs freezes but doesn’t move away from your cunt, staring up at you from between your legs without blinking for so long that you think he’s truly stuck like that. Admittedly, you’re stuck where you are too, both because he’s got your legs around his face and on account of Yeosang’s sudden intrusion on your otherwise intimate moment. Your gaze goes straight to the archway to the kitchen. The kitchen island is tall enough to block the view of your lower half, but if Yeosang steps even one more foot into the room, he will certainly see what Jongho is up to. There’s no telling how long it’ll be before he does enter, and you’re watching with peaked anxiety as Jongho sidles up your body into a standing position again.

His hands find your hips, and next thing you know, he’s moving you around and pushing you until your back hits the kitchen island. It protects you from possible exposure to Yeosang, which proves to be a good move on his part because Yeosang pokes his head in the archway a second later. Jongho moves to the side enough to avoid suspicion but you’re still quite nude from the waist down and screwed if Yeosang decides to come further in.

“Oh, there you two are. The movie’s over?” Yeosang says, easing his weight against the doorframe.

“Yeah, you fell asleep pretty early on honestly. But it’s 2 am. Go back to sleep. We’re just picking up some snacks we pulled out while you were asleep.”

You think that excuse is far too easy to see through, especially if Yeosang decides to even so much as glance around the kitchen to see that you are certainly not doing any cleaning whatsoever. You squeeze your eyes shut. Looking at Yeosang right now would be a mistake and you would probably give away what you and Jongho have been up to in the blink of an eye.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’m too sleepy to help you anyway. See you in the morning.” Yeosang stifles a yawn, lifting the back of his hand to his mouth, then lets his arms fall into a stretch. He lingers for only one more second before disappearing from the archway. You exhale the second he disappears, shifting to stare Jongho down as your heart continues to race rampantly in your chest without relent.

“That was a fucking mood killer,” you mutter before crossing your arms over your chest. Jongho huffs out a sigh and puffs his cheeks full of air. He stretches a hand out to touch your bare hip again.

“Let me make it up to you?”

[intheticklecloset]

Karaoke (My Hero Academia)

One Shot

Shipping: Kaminari x Deku (KamiDeku)

Summary: Kaminari isn't the best at karaoke, but when he gets his feelings hurt by Deku giggling at his efforts, Deku does everything in his power to make him feel better. ^^

A/N: I wrote this one especially for @kiyachi-tickles! While browsing through her blog a while back I saw that she really liked the KamiDeku shipping (although of course now I can't find that post for reference), so I set out to write one, since I don't see much of this pairing. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 1,197

~~~

Deku had learned a lot of things about Kaminari lately. He had a thing for keeping his hands and nails clean as much as possible. He enjoyed getting manicures, though he made Deku swear never to tell anyone else. He liked romance anime. Coffee was his favorite ice cream flavor.

But – above all else – Deku had learned that Kaminari was really, really bad at karaoke.

It wasn’t that he was bad at singing; he could hold a tune, and of course Deku thought he had a wonderful singing voice. But karaoke set the pace and tempo of the song for you, and that was the part Kaminari was bad at. He liked to improv his way through a song, setting his own tempo at random. But karaoke was unforgiving in that domain, and so when they played the instrumentals to some of their favorite songs while hanging out one night, Deku couldn’t help but laugh at how Kaminari struggled to keep up with the tempo that was set for him. To anyone else it would have sounded like he was just as good or bad as the next person, but to Deku, it was the funniest thing in the world.

Kaminari, however, took it personally.

“Let’s just shut it off,” he muttered, reaching for the laptop on his desk.

Deku grabbed his arm. “But why? Aren’t you having fun?”

“I was until I tried singing along. Now you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not – okay, well, I am laughing at you, but not in a bad way! I’m not trying to be mean, I promise.” Deku tugged on his arm, drawing him closer. “I’m sorry. You sound great, Denks.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not.” Deku shifted so he was facing his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around Kaminari’s neck. “Your singing voice is lovely. I mean it.”

Kaminari sighed, but there was a light pink flush to his cheeks now. “Can we just shut it off?”

Deku paused, then nodded. “If you really want to.”

Kami stopped the YouTube queue, and the room went silent.

“I hate karaoke,” the blonde muttered after a long moment.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad.” Deku smiled. “You just like to set your own pace, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You were laughing at me. It must have been bad.”

“I’m really sorry, Denki. I wasn’t trying to be mean about it. I just thought it was cute that you were having trouble keeping tempo, and I got the giggles. That’s all.”

“Hmph.” Kami grunted, slouching back down onto the floor. “Whatever.”

Deku grinned, poking his side. “Come on, I said I’m sorry. Can’t you forgive me?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Pleeeeease?” Deku mock-whined, poking him again, then again and again. With each poke Kami scooted further and further away until he was practically falling onto the floor. “Please forgive me, Denks? I’m sorry~”

“S-Stop it, Izuku,” Kami sputtered, doing his best to stay upset despite the ticklish shocks running through his nervous system. He reached to push his boyfriend away, but when he did so he lost his balance and fell onto his back on the floor.

Deku was on him in an instant, straddling his hips and poking up and down his sides. “Forgive me, Denki~ I’m so sorry for laughing at you~” Every word the green-haired boy spoke sounded teasy, and he knew it was driving Kaminari insane. “Please, Denki?”

“Stohohohop it,” Kami giggled, quickly losing his willpower to remain pouty. He tried to block Deku’s hands, but whenever he tried to protect one spot it only opened up another, and he was flustered and embarrassed and desperately trying to keep his laughter at bay. “Izuku, stohohohohohop!”

“Forgive meeeee,” Deku whined, jamming his hands underneath Kami’s arms and tickling harshly. “Denkiiiii~”

“Nahahahahahahahahaha!” Kami squealed, clamping his arms to his sides too late to actually protect himself. He squirmed on the ground at his boyfriend’s mercy, giggling hysterically. “Stahahahahahahahahap!”

“If you won’t forgive me, I’ll just keep tickling you~” Deku giggled too, unable to help himself. This was all so silly, but he loved it, and he knew Kaminari did, too. “Tickle, tickle, tickle!”

“D-Dohohohohon’t – don’t tehehehehease me, Izuku! Stahahahahahahahap!”

Deku decided to be a little bit mean, and he reached behind him to blindly grasp at Kaminari’s knees – his weakest spot. “Oh, Denki~ Your singing voice is so lovely~ I looooove you~”

“STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Kami screeched, giggles bursting into laughter when his boyfriend successfully grabbed his kneecap and squeezed it, hard. “NOHOHOHOHOHO, IZUKU!!”

“I looooooove you!”

Kaminari squealed with laughter, allowing himself a couple of moments to indulge before he mustered up the strength to sit up and grab Deku around his waist, finding his hips with ease and kneading there.

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Deku cried, instantly ceasing his own tickle attack to defend himself, a genuine smile replacing his teasy one. “DENKIHIHIEHEHEHEHE!!”

Denki chuckled, wrestling Deku onto his back on the floor and straddling him the way he’d been just seconds ago, slipping his fingers just underneath the waistband of Deku’s shorts to get at the really, really ticklish spots. Deku howled with laughter.

“Still think it’s funny, huh, Izuku?” Kami teased relentlessly, beaming at the way the freckled boy’s face lit up like a fireworks show at the teasing, his legs kicking frantically behind him, absolute hysterics flying from his lips. “If it’s so funny, then go ahead and laugh!”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Deku screamed, grabbing Kami’s wrists but too weak to do anything more than hold them. “NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!! I’M SOHOHOHOHOHOHOHORRY!!”

“What are you sorry for exactly, hmm?” Kami teased, leaning down to murmur directly in Deku’s ear, his breath tickling his neck. “For laughing at me? For tickling me? Which is it, Izuku?”

Deku squealed, throwing his head back with a shriek when Kami kneaded into a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves. He kicked his legs for a few more seconds before it registered how close Kami was now, and he released his wrists in favor of grabbing his sides and tickling.

Kaminari yelped, but didn’t move, determined to stay right where he was. He had Deku right where he wanted him, and he was not about to give that up because of a little tickling. “Sahahahahahay it, Izuku! Tehehehehell me why you’re sohohohohorry!”

“I’M SOHOHOHOHOHOHORRY FOR LAHAHAHAHAHAUGHING AT YOHOHOHOU!!”

“That’s it?”

“YEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHES!!”

“Yohohohohou’re not sohohohohorry for tickling mehehehe?”

Kami kneaded just right into the hollows of Deku’s hips, and Deku tossed his head back with a scream of laughter, gripping Kami’s sides harder, making the blonde giggle even more.

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

“You’re nohohohohohot?”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE, DENKI!!”

Kaminari let out a few more giggles before capturing Deku’s mouth with his, effectively muffling both of their ticklish cries at once. For a few more moments, he kept kneading that death spot on his boyfriend’s hips, but gradually he let up, sliding his hands further up Deku’s body, up to his chest, and Deku responded by sliding his hands up Kaminari’s back, and soon they had forgotten all about tickling entirely. All that mattered was each other, and the rest of the night was filled with kisses and cuddles and lots and lots of love.

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC’s Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar Part 4

(The side characters strike again!)

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Part 2.5 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Part 3

L!MC= Lucifer’s kid | M!MC= Mammon’s kid | A!MC=Asmo’s kid

Let’s get right to it!

The Uncle That Hardcore Simps For His Spouse In the Most Wholesome Way (Diavolo)

Gasp! More half-demon kids? Oh my! Maybe if he tried again next year a kid of his own would pop down! Hang on- he hadn’t slept with a human in almost a century... dang. No kids for him...

...maybe...

Remember when I said Diavolo would try to do those stereotypical dad (tm) things and be hip with the kids? Yeah he keeps doing that.

The number of broken windows related to wayward baseballs goes up 150%. At least that’s how they all figured out that M!MC is nearsighted like their dad!

M!MC had developed a bit of a habit of telling Diavolo about cool human stuff and making the Crown Prince even more interested in the human world than normal.

You may be thinking “what’s so bad about that?” well, the number of yo-yos at RAD went up so high that Lucifer had to ban them.

Belphie and Satan, being the rebels they are, became yo-yo masters specifically to spite Lucifer.

It was sort of like the fidget spinners craze if you were in school for that.

Oh, hi Lord Diavolo. What’s a fidget spinner? It’s this- I should stop talking...

Since no one learned their lesson from the previous incident, Diavolo threw another BBQ.

“Why are we doing this again?” L!MC asked to no one in particular.

“Don’t worry, L!MC. I’ve taken every precaution possible to make sure that what happened last time doesn’t happen again.” Diavolo said and continued in his crusade to cover the entire pathway with sidewalk chalk doodles.

L!MC, Luke, Diavolo, M!MC, Belphie, and A!MC were all busily drawing a wide variety of doodles and drawings with chalk while the other guests milled around nearby. A!MC was in the middle of drawing quite the nice looking Cerberus chibi, while M!MC and Belphie were drawing a lot of stick figures. L!MC and Luke had just finished a wonderful drawing of... an alpaca? Giraffe? Thing...? Hell, even they didn’t know what it was.

Diavolo looked over at M!MC’s stick figure army with a big smile on his face. “So what are all of them doing? It looks like that one’s flying!”

You could practically hear the Addam’s Family theme play as M!MC and Belphie looked at each other and grinned.

“Oh Belphie was just talking about L!MC’s flying lesson fails and I felt that an artist’s rendition was needed.” M!MC explained, he began to point out certain doodles. “Here’s L!MC getting up off the ground, then there’s them actually flying, and this is them falling in the fountain.”

L!MC looked over at the chalk and glared at M!MC. “It’s generous to call that an artist’s rendition. It looks like crap.”

“And what did you draw?” Belphie smirked at the alpaca-giraffe-thing, Luke protectively covered up the drawing (side note, Luke was wearing white and playing with sidewalk chalk, by the end of the day he looked like a walking pride flag).

“None of your business!” Luke huffed.

“And what about that one?” Diavolo seemed completely oblivious to the hostility brewing between the two groups, A!MC was completely used to this and walked away to grab a drink.

“Ah, good eye, Lord Diavolo!” M!MC chirped. “This is a drawing of the time L!MC almost burned down your kitchen.”

Diavolo laughed and gave M!MC a few pats on the head. “Very accurate!”

“You’re so lucky I followed the rules and didn’t bring a water gun...” L!MC growled as they slowly reached for their backpack.

“Yeah... lucky. Real lucky...” M!MC nodded as they tried to casually reach for their bag, Belphie followed suit.

“I’m so glad we all followed the rules.” Luke smiled, his own hand inching towards his bag.

There was a brief moment of stillness before the four of them whipped out their water guns and pointed them at each other.

“This BBQ ain’t big enough for the both of us!” M!MC’s terrible cowboy impression aside, their gun was poised to shoot directly at Luke and L!MC’s alpaca-giraffe-thing.

“Everyone, I know this is a human world tradition but-”

Belphie silenced Diavolo by pointing his water gun at him. “Sh, don’t talk unless you have a water gun as well.”

Deciding not to smite Belphie for treason, Diavolo pulled his own water gun out of his shirt. “Okay, what now?”

“Now, we’re in a standoff...” L!MC glowered at M!MC, the air was practically crackling with hostility...

Until a burst of flames got everyone to whirl around to see A!MC with hairspray and a lighter.

“No water guns! I refuse to go home shivering and covered in grass again!”

Crisis averted. Everyone went to go fail at throwing beanbags into a hole instead of shooting each other.

That was probably for the best... Belphie filled everyone’s water guns with paint.

The Uncle That Does All the Cooking for Family Dinners (Barbatos)

Remember how I said that Barbs liked smol Lucifer? Yea, he likes smol Asmo too. Smol Asmo is willing to admit that they don’t know how to use an oven and is willing to learn.

M!MC is formally banned from being within 50 feet of the kitchen. It’s for the best.

A!MC often tries to get Barbatos to look into the possible futures so they can see if they can avoid messing anything up and A!MC is just so adorable that Barbatos actually thinks about it.

He still says no every single time.

“Could you at least tell me if I have the possibility of doing something embarrassing in the near future?”

“My apologies, A!MC, but no.”

“P-please?”

“The answer remains the same.”

A!MC sighed and went back to helping chop vegetables. Under Barbatos’ tutelage, A!MC’s cooking ability had increased tenfold, they could now make as many burgers as they wanted without worrying about burning down the kitchen.

Pitying the anxious half-demon, Barbatos sighed. “I cannot confirm nor deny a future where your outfit gets ruined.”

A!MC perked up. “H-huh?”

“I cannot confirm nor deny a future where your outfit gets ruined.”

Quickly understanding what Barbatos was trying to do, A!MC quickly nodded and spent the rest of the cooking time carefully taking note of their surroundings.

“Hey! What’re you guys doin’?” M!MC had managed to get in... damn! Everyone must have been putting their best efforts in keeping Solomon away from the kitchen and forgot about M!MC...

“We’re just finishing up, M!MC,” Barbatos had on his ‘oh no...’ smile. “We don’t need any help.”

“Really? You guys sure?”

“Why are you so interested?” A!MC asked.

“Lucifer said that idle hands are the devil’s playthings and that I should go look for something productive to do.” M!MC huffed. “Very ironic phrase.”

“F-fine, I guess you can...” A!MC searched for the least destructive task they could give. “Take the utensils and set the table.”

M!MC gave them a mock salute and grabbed the utensils, as they turned to leave, they knocked a large bowl of chopped fruit over, sending the fruit pieces flying.

Remembering Barbatos’ prediction, A!MC didn’t bother to try and stop the fruit from falling, they only grabbed the nearest big plate they could find and shielded their outfit from harm. The fruit splattered harmlessly against the shield.

“Whoops... my bad. You alright, A!MC?” M!MC asked as A!MC inspected their outfit.

“Y-yes actually...” A!MC turned to Barbatos, who was already getting the cleaning supplies.

“Thank you!” A!MC whispered.

Barbatos smiled and nodded. “You’re very welcome, A!MC.”

Barbatos now has two sorta-children. A!MC and Luke!

M!MC means well, I swear! He just shouldn’t be allowed in a cooking environment!

The Cousin That Your Mom Points at and Goes “Look at Him, He Helps With the Dishes, Be More Like Him.” (Simeon)

Oh man... time for some more embarrassing stories.

“Asmo was the most adorable child, it’s a shame he was such a troublemaker...”

“Really? My dad?”

“What about mine?”

“I think you can guess.”

I cannot comment on Simeon’s help with flying lessons because I refuse to Headcanon what Simeon’s wings look like until canon gives us a GLIMMER. LIKE SERIOUSLY SOLMARE IM CURIOUS-

I have a feeling the children were quite curious as well.

“What do you think his wings look like?” M!MC asked A!MC as the two peered around the corner of one of the hallways in Purgatory Hall.

“I bet they’re super nice. But besides that...” A!MC leaned over and squinted. “Why is Simeon writing with a pen and pencil? He’s writing a book... shouldn’t he use a computer?”

“Bold of you to assume he knows how to use a computer.” M!MC snickered.

A!MC frowned. “Don’t be mean... I’m sure he knows how...”

Simeon picked up his DDD and took a picture of his face, seemingly by accident, with the flash on, causing him to drop the phone in surprise.

“Probably...”

The two surveyed their angel friend like two wildlife documenters, here we see, the Simeon, not in his natural habitat, surrounded by confusing technology...

“Do you think if we scare him his wings might pop out in surprise?” M!MC wondered aloud, A!MC shrugged.

“Maybe... but I don’t think we should bother him...” A!MC whispered. “He looks busy.”

“What are you two doing?”

It took literally every bit of willpower for the two half demons to not scream in absolute terror at the sudden interruption.

Ah... it was just Solomon... in an apron... Solomon... in cooking clothes...

Oh no.

“Spying on Simeon?” Solomon asked.

“N-no...” A!MC giggled nervously. “Just crouching casually in this hallway...”

“...smooth, A!MC.” M!MC rolled their eyes.

“Well, it’s great that you two are here, I made lunch!”

A!MC and M!MC looked at each other in pure horror, they needed to get out of there!

“Uh- um... we’d love to but...” M!MC looked around frantically before just pointing at a random spot behind Solomon. “LOOK! A DISTRACTION!”

A!MC and M!MC ran out of there as fast as their legs could carry them. Finding out if Simeon had wings was not worth being poisoned. Not at all...

Good ol’ Simeon... Mr. Cristopher Peugeot on the other hand- M!MC had some questions for him.

“TSL is literally the most popular book series ever, does that mean you’re completely loaded?”

“Oh, no I’m not, I don’t have any use for human world money in the Celestial Realm. All the profits go to charity.”

“...Dude really?”

“That’s nice of you, Simeon!”

“You didn’t keep any of it..?”

Wait... Who the Hell Are You..? (Solomon)

So A!MC basically has three dads; Fabulous-dad, butler-dad, and wizard-dad!

“So you just... have capes lying around?”

“Yes, would you like a cape?”

“Okay if they don’t take the cape I want it.”

Solomon shows up to RAD with his nails painted different wacky styles every week, courtesy of A!MC.

Though- the unholy combination that is M!MC and Solomon is feared by all.

“Road work ahead?”

“Uh, yeah I sure hope it does.”

Solomon and M!MC’s rampant quoting of vines elicited another glare from Lucifer.

Despite Solomon having literally been alive since the seven rulers of hell were angels, he had kept up with pop culture fairly decently. Decently enough that M!MC had someone that wasn’t Levi to bounce memes off.

“Pff...” M!MC suppressed a laugh at a seemingly normal water bottle advertisement. “Enslaved moisture.”

“I’m not going crazy, right Simeon? You’re hearing this too?” Lucifer tiredly turned to the angel, who shook his head.

“This is just the tip of the iceberg. Solomon quacked at M!MC earlier and they lost their minds laughing about it.” Simeon shrugged, unbothered by the sorcerer and the half demon’s rampant meme-ing behind them.

Lucifer on the other hand, was quite bothered. Incredibly bothered, if you will. “If you two don’t shut up right now I’m going to-”

“Quick! We must abscond!” Solomon turned and heelied away, followed by M!MC. The shoes that Mammon bought to replace the ones lost during the casino incident were apparently heelies as well...

The day was saved when a rock jammed one of Solomon’s wheels and he slammed face first into the concrete. Yikes... that had to hurt.

A!MC had fun glow in the dark bandaids for Solomon to patch up his face. Even though he he could heal himself with magic, he let A!MC do what they wanted because they were just too adorable to say no to.

Asmo has pictures

The Cousin Squad (tm)

(Luke, L!MC, A!MC, and M!MC)

Ah yes, the bab squad. The most adorable group in the Devildom. Surrender your candy immediately or face destruction.

M!MC teases the crap out of Luke, and A!MC tries to stop it, but L!MC is the one who manages to actually make M!MC stop.

Only L!MC gets to pick on the smol angel. GOT IT?!

A!MC and Luke are already baking buddies because of butler-dad so they get along swimmingly.

Poor Luke’s the victim of many of M!MC’s shenanigans.

Luke: Are you sure this is safe, M!MC?

M!MC (about to put mentos into the bottle of coke Luke is holding): No.

L!MC and A!MC get along really well, being honest, everyone loves A!MC.

A!MC makes sure L!MC gets some sleep because they don’t want their cousin picking up on Lucifer’s habit of living off of coffee and coffee alone. L!MC doesn’t get it but they’re very grateful anyway.

M!MC and A!MC were friends from the start. Well... M!MC decided they were friends right from the start and A!MC did not have the ability to fight the power of friendship.

M!MC: You are being befriended. Please do not resist.

Since M!MC is great and amazing like their pop, they took it upon themselves to be the friend that speaks up when A!MC is too nervous to do so.

M!MC and L!MC? Lucifer and Mammon 2 electric boogaloo. Sorta.

L!MC and M!MC bicker all the time but the babs bounce back from their fights way easier.

One minute they’re at each other’s throats and the next they’re showing each other memes.

“There’s no escaping this.”

Lucifer stood between M!MC and the door... their one way ticket to freedom...

“You need to go to the dentist.”

The entire HOL plus the Purgatory Hall crew were getting ready to go visit the dentist to get their teeth cleaned. It was the time of the year that Mammon dreaded most... and his child felt the same way.

“My teeth are fine! Lemme stay home! I’ll hold down the fort with dad!” M!MC smiled and nodded as enthusiastically as they could, but even the most unobservant person couldn’t miss the sweat beading on their forehead.

“Beel.” Lucifer snapped his fingers and before M!MC could do anything Beel had thrown them over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Don’t worry M!MC, the dentist isn’t that scary.” Beel tried to assure them. By the way M!MC was still kicking and screaming, they were not convinced.

“Y-yeah kiddo, suck it up! Don’t be a baby! I’m just gonna take my car there-”

“MAAAAAAMOOOON?!”

“YIKES!”

Lucifer had the important task of keeping a hold of Mammon as the very large group made their way to the dentist’s office.

A devious little idea popped into L!MC’s head as they all sat down in the waiting room. They began to hum a familiar little tune.

“She said be a deeeentiiiist~ a dentist!” L!MC sang to M!MC, who’s attempts to escape increased tenfold after hearing the song.

A!MC began to hum along, not seeming to notice the commotion going on next to them.

“Son be a deeentiiiiiist~ people will pay you for causing them PAIN! She said be a deeentiiiiiist~”

Belphie perked up and smiled deviously as he realized what L!MC was doing, he began to sing along as well. The three were a veritable choir of terror to poor M!MC. Mammon did not understand his child’s terror and was more unnerved by what a great team Belphie and L!MC made.

Satan rolled his eyes and tried to focus on his book, Asmo was absorbed in his magazine, Levi was having a very in depth conversation with the fish in the aquarium, Simeon and Solomon chatted about school, and Luke was stuck watching the train wreck go down.

Thankfully, it was halted by Lucifer. “L!MC, A!MC, Belphegor, stop tormenting M!MC with show tunes.”

“You would have made a good dentist in another life, Lucifer,” Belphie cooed. “You know what they say, the only difference between a dentist and a sadist is that one has newer magazines.”

Asmo grimaced at his magazine. “Is it the sadist? Because I’m reading a magazine from 1843...”

The conversation was interrupted by one of the dental hygienists coming into the waiting room and saying that Mammon was up first. The Avatar of Greed’s final escape attempt was foiled by Satan (not even looking up from his book) clotheslining him.

Thirty minutes later, Mammon emerged from the forbidden dentist room, with the look of trauma in his eyes and eating a lollipop.

One by one, the group went in, A!MC took it upon themselves to try and make the rapidly panicking Luke feel better.

“It won’t be too scary, in the human world dentists are usually very nice.” A!MC smiled encouragingly.

“I-I’m sure that’s true but...” Luke looked around. “We aren’t in the human world...”

Asmo skipped back in and flashed a blinding grin to the group. “Absolutely perfect, no flaws! It’s your turn, A!MC!”

“If you die I get to say I told ya so!” M!MC shouted as A!MC walked into the dentist’s room.

They did not in fact, die because of the dentist. A!MC walked out and gave a thumbs up. “The dentist said they had never seen a kid with such perfect teeth.”

“That’s my baby!” Asmo chirped.

“M!MC, you’re up.” A!MC and Beel had to practically drag the poor kid out of the room and into the dentist area of doom.

“GO BE A DEEEEEENTIIIIIIST!” Belphie and L!MC shouted one last time as the doors shut. Wow, what dickheads...

Mammon probably would have tried to save his poor little bugger, but he was in the middle an impromptu therapy session with Simeon over the scary scraping dentist knife thingie.

Beel was the last to go, and he walked out of the dentist’s room with his face covered in blood, the dentist walked out after him, missing a hand.

“You tasted like toothpaste.” Beel sighed. “Not good.”

“Don’t worry,” The dentist said to Luke, who looked like he was about to pass out. “My hand will grow back in about four to five minutes.”

Luke, still terrified, nodded. L!MC patted him on the shoulder.

“Anyway, almost all of you are fine, but I have to recommend M!MC to the orthodontist.” The dentist flipped through their notepad one-handed. “Their secondary set of fangs are coming out crooked and need to be corrected with braces immediately.”

M!MC sat calmly for a moment, then attempted to sprint out the door. “NO NO NO NO NO!” One of the dental hygienists grabbed them by the back of their shirt and halted their escape.

“Sucks to be you.” L!MC smirked.

“And L!MC needs to fix their cross bite, braces are a strong possibility.”

The colour drained from L!MC’s face as the news dawned upon them. “Pardon, but what exactly are you talking about..?”

“Your top jaw and bottom jaw aren’t properly lined up.” The dentist explained. “It will lead to problems later if it’s not fixed now.”

Lucifer rubbed his temples and sighed. “L!MC, if you try and run away I swear...”

L!MC stiffened and shook their head. “I’m not some coward, I’m not running away. Just... what exactly are you going to do to my mouth?”

The dentist pulled up a few pictures of the braces and explained what would be done. L!MC nodded, and turned to their father with a big smile on their face.

“It won’t be so bad, mind if I go to the bathroom before I get the mold for my teeth made?”

Lucifer nodded and almost audibly sighed in relief. He basked in the glory of having a child that wasn’t afraid of the dentist and faced their fears like an adult-

L!MC sprinted past the dentist’s office, they had busted out of the bathroom window.

“...Beel.”

“Yep.”

A few minutes later, Beel returned with a completely irate L!MC who was screaming their demands to be put down and be allowed to run for the hills. Taking advantage of the distraction, M!MC ran for the door again, only for Belphie to tap them on the forehead.

M!MC collapsed into a snoring heap on the floor.

“FATHER! DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS!” L!MC practically screamed as they tried to wrestle themselves out of Beel’s bear hug.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “L!MC, calm yourself down. It’s just braces.”

“AS EVERYONE HERE AS MY WITNESSES I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS! NEVER!”

The half-demons in need of braces were dragged right back into the dentist’s area... poor fools.

“They’ll be okay... right?” Luke asked.

“Of course they will be. It’s just braces.” Simeon patted Luke on the head. “They’ll both be fine.”

The scream that came from down the hall right after Simeon said that did not reassure anyone.

“Hey,” Mammon piped up. “How much do braces cost?”

“From what I know about dental procedures,” Satan rubbed his chin. “A few thousand Grimm.”

“Mammon if you try and run for that door I will cut your credit card into a thousand pieces.” Lucifer growled.

Overall, it was a fairly average trip to the dentist. 0/10 would not recommend. A few weeks later L!MC and M!MC were fitted with their mouth prisons- I mean braces, and the two cousins bonded over their horrific mouth pain...

Seriously- braces suck.

——————————————

So! Those are the headcanons! Four and a half whole parts... phew... To all the people who enjoyed this series, thank you so so much for reading! You guys have been so super nice!

Fret not, I plan on writing more for this universe! From what I know about season 2 of Obey Me things will get... interesting. Stay tuned for more! Or don’t, I can’t force you.

...or can I?

[keigoslovebird]

Next Chapter

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers!! Pregnancy and references to pregnancy, you have a child (obvi), aged up characters, breeding kink, negative self image (on Toshi’s part), references to alcohol, self deprecating language, very fluffy Daddy Toshi shenanigans

Genre: Fluff, smut

Word count: 8.3k

Author’s note: I had so much fun writing soft husband Toshi, if it isn’t obvious by the word count. I just want to rub his soft belly and tell him how much I love him. Hopefully you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

Note: Flashbacks indicated by italics

Wakatoshi Ushijima has always been a man of few emotions and even fewer words, with just one thing on his mind—volleyball. 

Since he was a young child, he has always slept, eaten, breathed volleyball. Nothing came close to his fiery, burning passion for the sport, not that he had the time to care about anything else.

That all changed when he retired from professional volleyball at the ripe young age of thirty-one, the years of wear and tear on his body finally catching up to him. He knew it was time when the pain in his joints was so severe he could no longer keep up with his much younger teammates. It was a difficult, emotional decision, but he ultimately viewed it as passing the torch to the next generation of volleyball players.

The announcement of Wakatoshi’s retirement was met with great sadness from the sports community at the loss of such a talented, renowned player, but he left behind an exceptional legacy marked by achievements and historic wins. 

His final game with the Schweiden Adlers concluded in a symbolic victory, this chapter of his life drawing to a close the same way it began—with Wakatoshi as an indisputable champion. Every player, coach, and audience member rose from their seats, clapping and screaming words of encouragement. Each of his teammates got on their knees, lowering themselves to press their foreheads into the floor of the stadium, bowing in an ultimate show of respect. The sight of his peers, his coaches, the entire auditorium giving him such an impassioned send off made a heavy lump form in his throat that refused to go away, no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down. Tears pricked at his eyes but he didn’t want to cry, not in front of all of these people.

The dam broke when you sprinted across the court, wrapping yourself around him in a bone crushing hug.

“You did so well Toshi. I am so proud of you,” you praised through choked sobs, pressing your tear-stained face into his neck. Your watery eyes and trembling smile shattered whatever willpower he had, his own tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. All those late night practices away from you, the excruciating injuries, the heartbreaking losses, all led up to this moment. This was the last time the Super Ace would step foot on a volleyball court as a professional player, but all good things must come to an end. 

The screaming and clapping was so loud you could barely hear his quiet, trembling whisper of, “I love you.”

----

It took him awhile to adjust to what one would call a “normal” life, one that didn’t include daily flights from country to country or backbreaking practices that lasted from sunup to sundown. Sure he still went to the gym and practiced with the volleyball net strung up in your backyard, but it was nothing like his grueling schedule when he was a pro athlete. To make matters worse, the blinders he wore his entire life that blocked out anything but volleyball prevented him from finding any real hobbies of his own. This meant for the first few months, your husband followed you around the house like a lost puppy, just wanting to be a part of whatever you were doing.

You would be cooking dinner, some soup simmering on the stove, when Wakatoshi’s massive form would come up from behind you to shyly peek over your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” he wondered, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips at how cute he was being, getting used to domestic life, something you never really got to experience until now. Before, you would often be sleeping when he came home at night, and still be asleep when he left in the morning. “I’m just cooking, do you want to help me?” you asked, holding a knife out to him to cut some vegetables. He nodded silently as he took the knife from you. 

His chopping skills left much to be desired, but what could you really expect from a man who only ever held a volleyball?

Another time you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through Twitter on your phone. You could feel your husband staring so intensely you were afraid he’d pop a blood vessel in his head.

Looking up at him, you cleared your throat and asked, “Did you need something, Toshi?” You set your phone down and gave him a questioning look, hoping to solve whatever was troubling him.

He was pensive for a moment, his eyebrows scrunching as he figured out what he was trying to say. “No, I just… There’s nothing to do,” he answered finally.

You nearly burst out laughing at his concern for simply being bored, but you held it in. “Of course there’s something to do!” you exclaimed, “You can go on a walk, read a book, watch TV, or even just take a nap.”

His head tilted quizzically, unsure of what you were suggesting. “A… nap? Why would I sleep? It’s the middle of the afternoon,” he questioned, sounding like you had proposed he eat sand and not to take a quick snooze.

You chuckled and walked over to the chair he was sitting in, plopping yourself down into his lap. “Sometimes people sleep in the middle of the day because they’re tired, or just because they want to,” you clarified, “We can go take a nap right now if you would like.” 

Suddenly Wakatoshi stood up, causing you to squeak in surprise, his arms securely carrying you bridal style.

“W-what’re you doing!?” you squealed, panicked by your sudden lack of solid ground, slightly struggling in arms. 

He tilted his head again, reminiscent of a pet confused by its master’s orders. “We’re going to take a nap together, yes? I’m taking you to our room,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of your shared bedroom. 

You stopped squirming once you took in his words, your belly fluttering with affection. Sighing happily, you snuggled your face against his chest, giving him a simple “mhm” in response.

That day Wakatoshi took his first nap since he was six years old and to this day, he still swears he’s never had a more restful, peaceful sleep in his life.

Those instances happened less and less often as he figured out ways to occupy his time that didn’t involve volleyball. 

You adopted a dog, a commitment you didn’t want to make in the past due to both of your busy schedules, but your lives became a lot less hectic after Wakatoshi’s retirement. Your husband made it a daily ritual to take your puppy Leo out on a morning run, both of them returning tired and sweaty before promptly passing out for an hour. He took up a job at the local university to help coach their men’s volleyball team, deciding to try it out when the requests to lend his wisdom and skills kept coming in. Although, his favorite pastime now consists of him standing outside on the patio, beer in hand as he sweats over the flames of his fancy silver grill.

But perhaps the most significant change in your lives came in the form of your son, Hidetoshi. 

Much like your refusal to commit to taking care of a dog, neither of you wanted to have kids while your lifestyle was so unfit to raise a child. You didn’t mind making those compromises for your husband, having known the path he would take since you started dating in high school. Frankly, you didn’t mind not having children at all, so it surprised you when he was the one to broach the subject. 

“What if we did?” he inquired under the darkness of your bedroom.

You turned over to face him, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. “What if we did what, my love?” you murmured.

His eyes flitted across your face with an uncharacteristic nervousness. “What if we decided to have a child?” The shock on your face made his stomach churn uncomfortably and he almost regretted saying anything at all, but his fears quickly vanished as your expression melted into a soft smile.

“We’d have to talk about it more but I’d love to have your children, Wakatoshi Ushijima.”

You had a deep, lengthy conversation about your wants, needs, plans for the future, and whether or not a kid would fit into them. Once all of your cards were on the table you decided to start trying to get pregnant, a mission that your husband took very seriously.

Even as a teenager Wakatoshi’s sex drive wasn’t very high, and his frequent absence and exhaustion in his adult life made it somewhat difficult for you to have sex often. You made up for it where you could, having phone sex and masturbating together over FaceTime, once you convinced him to do it. When he was bewildered as to why you would suggest such a salacious act, you explained you were a grown woman with needs and if he wasn’t there to take care of them, he’d have to help you in other ways. Once he realized how serious you were, he agreed. 

But your husband as a young adult and your husband post-retirement are almost two  completely different people in regards to sex. He has seemingly unlimited reserves of stamina, built up over years of rigorous, intense training, and he no longer had an outlet to expend them. So, his new outlet to test his endurance became you and your body.

He began fucking you every chance he got with the vigor and gusto of a hormonal teenager, seeking to make up for lost time. He asked for sex at all hours of the day, waking you up in the middle of the night with the insistent prodding of his arousal and lazily thrusting between your thighs in the early hours of the morning before you had to leave for work. He fucked you in every room in your house and on every surface—on the dining room table, in the shower, on the living room floor, and even on your back patio when you both got a little too drunk on some cheap rose. 

You welcomed Wakatoshi’s insatiable hunger with open arms, unable to resist your strong, ridiculously handsome husband, but that, coupled with his seemingly limitless stamina, spelled trouble for your muscles and pelvis. In the first year after his departure from professional sports you had to call in sick to work seven times, too tired to function, too bruised to look presentable, and too sore to walk to the bathroom. At first he felt guilty for fucking you out of commission, but the way you begged him so sweetly to pound your needy, gushing cunt deeper, harder, faster and how you whimpered with delight when he bit bruises down your throat, he didn’t feel that bad. A baser, more primal part of Wakatoshi’s brain purred at his marks covering our body and relished in the way you limped. You were just too tempting, too irresistible not to ravage you every chance he got.

After you agreed to start trying for a baby, your partner’s already voracious sexual appetite became downright menacing now that he had a goal to strive for. 

“Gonna breed you, gonna fill you so full with my cum and knock you up,” he grunted as he battered into your sore, dripping hole, your body folded in half in a mating press.

“P-please Toshi! Ah~ please,” you babbled, nonsensical and uncertain what you were even asking for. He had been fucking you for so long everything was muddled into a singular dreamy, intangible haze of pleasure and ecstasy. 

Wakatoshi gave your clit a slap, hard enough to make you cry out. “Please what? Please breed you like a bitch in heat? Please stuff you full with my cum?” He leaned down to wrap his fingers around your throat, squeezing with enough force to make your head swim and forcing you to look into his wild olive eyes. “Well, what is it?” he demanded.

“W-want you to b-ah! Want you to breed mee,” you slurred, too drunk on the delicious feeling of his cock dragging against your pulsing walls to form a more coherent sentence.

His thrusts grew sloppy and uncoordinated with his impending orgasm. “G-gonna give you what you want, you cock hungry slut, I’m—” He came with a choked, shuddering groan, his warm cum flooding your awaiting womb.

You were both basking in the afterglow, exhausted and soaked in sweat and your combined fluids, when you noticed the furious blush spreading across your husband’s cheeks. “I apologize for what I said during sex. I… I don’t know what came over me,” he confessed, giving your shoulder a remorseful squeeze.

Giggling, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I really enjoyed it,” you proclaimed, “I love it when you get rough with me.”

Trying to get you pregnant gave your husband a new goal to strive for and he has never been one to do anything with less than his all.

Thanks to your husband’s dedicated efforts, you got pregnant six months after you started trying, to your shared elation and delight. Those two little lines filled you with as much excitement as they made you anxious, but as long as Wakatoshi was by your side, everything would be okay. 

Seeing your little bundle of joy in a 3D ultrasound changed you, changed Wakatoshi forever. Up until then you had only seen him as a colorless little blur on a computer screen, but getting to watch his precious face scrunch and his chubby legs kick reminded you that he was a real living being. The late night sprints to the bathroom, horrible morning sickness, and miserably aching back were all worth it when you were able to hold Hidetoshi for the first time. With his olive eyes, brown hair and chubby cheeks, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and to this day he still is. 

Taking after his father from the start, Hidetoshi was a happy baby that rarely fussed or cried, not that you complained. He slept soundly through most nights, so soundly you slept in a chair by his crib for the first month to periodically check he was still breathing, despite your husband’s insistence the baby would be fine. Your mother-in-law had insisted that you and Wakatoshi would be exhausted for the first several months after the birth. Imagine her surprised when you and Wakatoshi looked just as well-rested as usual, better even, since you no longer had to deal with pregnancy. Many people, relatives and strangers alike, were astounded at how charming and polite your son was, even as a newborn. He was happy to just sit and play with his toys as you had lunch, smiling and waving at everyone who passed by.

A man as attractive as your husband with a boy as sweet as your son meant that, much to your irritation, women were tripping over themselves to flirt with him. To make matters worse, Wakatoshi picked up your son alone most days due to your office job preventing you from leaving early enough to go with him. This meant many of the moms at Hidetoshi’s school thought your husband was single and they weren’t shy in their pursuit.

A crowd of women surrounded Wakatoshi as he waited for school to end so your son would come running out with his arms spread wide, confident his daddy would always catch him. Most of the moms simply stared at your husband with dreamy looks in their eyes, attempting to make small talk with him.

One especially bold mother reached out and stroked his bicep, slightly squeezing to get a feel for his muscles. “My my Ushijima, you’re so handsome and strong,” she purred, batting her eyelashes at him.

“My wife thinks so as well,” he grunted as he gently but firmly removed his arm from her grasp. 

The woman looked as if he had slapped her across the face and cursed her family. “Y-you’re married? But you don’t even have a wedding ring!” she spluttered, “If you have a wife then where is she everyday?” 

“I do have a ring. I just don’t wear it on my finger because I’m afraid of losing it,” he clarified, lightly tugging on the chain around his neck for emphasis, his ring clinking softly against the metal. “I’m happily married to my wife who cannot be here because she is hard at work providing for our family. Do not disrespect my wife or my marriage again or we will have a problem.”

After that the other moms kept their distance, choosing to admire Wakatoshi from afar. It did not, however, stop them from staring with envy on the rare occasion you came with him to pick up your child, glowering at you with an intensity that surely wished you would drop dead. Your husband paid them no mind and neither did you because at the end of the day, you’re the one he chose to marry and have a child with. They can all flirts and look as much as they want, but they’ll never have him like you do.

----

Fast forward to present day, Wakatoshi is seven years into his retirement at the age of thirty-eight and Hidetoshi is now six.

Your husband is an assistant coach part time for the men’s volleyball team at an up and coming university, the rest of his time divided between you and taking care of your son. Hidetoshi just started kindergarten, growing far too fast for your liking. He seems to have gotten a double dose of his father’s genes as he’s already several inches taller than his classmates, though you can tell by the way he smiles and the slope of his nose that he’s yours as well. He’s the perfect combination of both of you—he has Wakatoshi’s tenacity, work ethic, and confidence and your sense of humor, intelligence, and empathy. He continues to amaze you every single day and you nor your husband couldn’t imagine a boy more wonderful than him. 

These days your lives are a lot less busy than they were when your husband was still a pro, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. With all the playdates, school functions, and parent-teacher conferences combined with your own job, Wakatoshi’s games, and regular house chores, sometimes it feels like you’re right back where you were ten years ago. This time, however, you have your incredible husband and son helping you and you wouldn’t trade your life for anything, no matter how hectic it may be.

Today is Saturday, it’s the weekend, and you’re only awake because of the bright sunlight that’s streaming through your bedroom window and hitting you directly in the face. You rub the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand, yawning loudly as you stretch your tired limbs. As soon as you try to get out of bed Wakatoshi’s arm around your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his solid, muscular chest. 

“Don’t leave. Don’t need to be anywhere,” he mumbles into his pillow, voice even deeper and raspier with sleep. His legs entangle themselves with your own so you’re completely enveloped in the warm, comforting embrace of your husband.

“Need to start getting ready for the party,” you sigh drowsily, but make no efforts to remove yourself from his sleepy but surprisingly strong clutches.

“Not yet,” he says simply, and that’s when you realize when he’s doing. He’s slowly, lazily grinding his morning wood on the soft curve of your ass. You’re a little more awake now.

“Oh I see what this is about,” you chuckle, wiggling yourself against him teasingly. 

He groans quietly under his breath, but you can feel the sound rumble in his chest. “Want you,” he says, still groggy from just barely waking up. His fingers find the hem of your shirt and he slips them underneath it, trailing his digits lightly down your stomach, making you shiver.

“Little man will be up soon,” you halfheartedly protest, but you can feel the warmth pooling between your legs.

“He’s not up yet, we have time.” The movements of his hips become more insistent, more demanding and you have to stifle your mewls behind your hand. Wakatoshi easily maneuvers his hand into the waistband of your panties, making a satisfied hum when he discovers you’re already dripping for him.

You’re still resisting, though it’s weak and feeble. The list of all the preparations you have to make for the barbecue still manage to just barely cut through your sleepy arousal. “We have so much to d—ahh~” You try to sound firm, but it just comes out as a breathy moan when he begins rubbing your swollen clit. 

He uses his other hand to push up your shirt that’s actually his shirt, tracing small circles around your nipples with his rough fingertips. You try to push your hips into his hand in hopes to gain more friction, but his arms keep you locked in place. 

“No need to rush. Let’s just enjoy this,” he insists, but the finger massaging your bud gets faster, knowing just how to make you whine after all the time he’s had to learn your body. He pinches one of your nipples between two fingers and squeezes with just enough force to make you gasp.

His erection has gotten even harder at the sound of your mewls and whimpers, hot and achingly hard against your ass and your cunt clenches in anticipation. Your slick is dripping out of you in thick, syrupy strings that makes your thighs sticky, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please Toshi, need you,” you beg, desperate for your husband to stuff you full just as he’s done so many times before.

Wakatoshi doesn’t respond, opting to push his pants and underwear down to his knees and you almost sigh in relief, just needing to satisfy the desire that’s threatening to burn you from the inside out. You’re so hot you feel like you’re burning and you throw the comforter off of you to try to escape the heat. He removes the hand that was in your panties, instead using it to rub his hard length along your slick folds. You’re keening and so so needy, gasping each time the head catches on the tight ring of muscle around your entrance. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he grits out, barely able to control himself.

Your breath is coming in short, uneven pants as you try to sink yourself down onto him. “I love you so much I...”

That’s the moment when he sheaths his entire cock inside you in a singular fluid movement. You let out a strangled moan, relishing in the familiar burning as you stretch to accommodate how thick he is.  Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice, molding perfectly around his length.

“It’s like you were made for me, made to take me,” Wakatoshi growls, sending another wave of arousal rippling through your body. He stays still for a moment, breathing deeply because he doesn’t want to cum and have this end so soon.

He starts moving his hips, thrusting slow and deep to reach the spongy spot inside you that makes you scream. The hand on your breast reaches around to grab your throat, stifling your moans into small, stuttering gasps. You whine each time he shoves himself deep inside you, his cock dragging deliciously against your spongy walls.

You stay like that for a while, bodies joined in the most intimate of ways as Wakatoshi moves his hips in leisurely, unhurried strokes. Your body is hot, sweaty, thrumming with the pleasure that’s so overwhelming all you can focus on is the intoxicating feeling of your husband’s cock deep inside you. The tightening in your core signals your impending orgasm, but each time you get close to the edge, it escapes your grasp over and over again. You need him to pound into you faster, harder. You need more.

“Toshi please, I-I need,” you manage to stammer out, but your words are stolen from your throat as he sharply thrusts as deep as he can, the tip of his cock smashing against your cervix with just the right amount of pressure. 

“Don’t worry. I know just what you need.”

Wakatoshi is fucking you with so much force that your eyes are rolling back in your head, and all you can hear is the wet slapping sound each time he’s sucked back into your wet heat. He’s close, you can tell by the breathy groans he’s making, but so are you. You clench and spasm around him, growing impossibly tighter and bringing both of you closer to climax. His merciless pounding of your insides just gets faster and rougher, and his other hand moves down to rub your clit in tight, fast circles. 

The pleasure that clouds your senses is overwhelming, just dancing on the edge between pleasure and pain and your body can’t take it anymore. Your vision goes white as you cum, cunt clamping down so hard Wakatoshi can barely move. You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming, your body shaking and trembling as you gush around him. The endless clenching of your muscles practically milks his orgasm out of him, a stifled groan leaving his lips as his thick, hot cum coats your insides. All you can do is moan softly in appreciation, too incoherent to say anything else. 

Your husband presses a kiss to your sweaty neck. “Are you okay?” he asks, taking in the sight of your limp, spent body. 

You haven’t caught your breath yet and your lips won’t form proper words, so you make the only noise you can, “Mmfmm.”

You whine as he slowly pulls out his softening length with an audible pop, sensitive cunt spasming at the slightest stimulation. He untangles himself from you and you want to reach out for him, but you’re too boneless to even attempt to do anything yet.

As Wakatoshi gets out of bed to get a warm washcloth, you hear the familiar sound of little footsteps making their way towards your room and you shoot up in bed, fully alert. You quickly pull the covers over your body, just in time for Hidetoshi to come bounding in.

“G’morning Mama! Where’s Daddy?” he wonders, his little head poking around the corner.

Your husband comes out of the bathroom, now fully dressed and washcloth in hand. “I’m right here, Hidetoshi.” The boy runs straight towards his father who picks him up effortlessly, swinging him around in the air as he squeals with delight. “Did you sleep well?”

Hide bobs his head enthusiastically, “Mhm! I had a dream I was a professional volleyball player just like you.” 

Your loud, exaggerated sigh draws both sets of olive eyes to you, but you train your gaze on your husband. “Have you been putting ideas in his head?”

Wakatoshi shakes his head no, but the child in his arms pipes up first, “Daddy has been showing me videos of his old matches from when he was with the Schwimmy Addles.” Your husband makes a noise of surprise, a guilty look on his face now that he’s been found out.

“You two are going to be my undoing, I swear,” you chuckle as you flop back into the fluffy pillows.

Hide squirms in his father’s arms, reaching out to you, but the man recognizes the warning look in your eyes and tightens his arms around him. “We should let Mama finish waking up first. Why don’t we go downstairs and make breakfast?” he asks, tickling his sides.

The boy shrieks with laughter and wriggles even harder in Wakatoshi’s arms. “F-fine Daddy! Stooop it!” Your husband stops his tickling and hoists your son over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

He passes the washcloth to Hide. “Why don’t you give this to your mama? Then we can go have something to eat.” 

Hide uses his little arms to hold the cloth out to you and you take it from him, nodding with gratitude. “Thank you sweetie, now go with your daddy.”

Your husband starts walking towards the door as a small, chubby hand waves bye to you and you blow kisses to them as they disappear into the hallway.

Using the washcloth, you clean the mess between your legs and muster the monumental effort it takes to get out of bed. You begrudgingly walk over to your dresser to put on clean pajamas and brush your hair so you’re presentable for a meal with your family. The sound of the fire alarm going off has you racing downstairs to the kitchen where Wakatoshi and your son should be.

As you slide into the kitchen and almost fall on the slippery hardwood in your haste, you realize your panic was for nothing. There’s a pan on the stove, grey smoke billowing out of it. Upon further inspection you discern that it’s eggs, you think, that are simultaneously under and overcooked. The guilty parties are sitting at the kitchen table a few feet away, a jug of milk and a couple of boxes of cereal surrounding them. Hide is shoveling spoonfuls of Cheerios into his mouth as your husband eats his own breakfast, only slightly neater in his approach.

“So… you tried to cook?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at the large man chewing his Wheat Chex. He looks over at you and nods, mouth full with milk and cereal. “I’m guessing it didn’t go very well, judging by all the smoke,” you say slowly. Your husband simply shakes his head no, unbothered by the fact that he nearly gave you a heart attack.

Deciding it’s not worth the argument or the work to make a proper breakfast, you sit down next to Hide and pour yourself a bowl of Cheerios. He smiles at you, mouth open and full of disgusting half-chewed food, but you still return his beaming grin and ruffle his hair. The both of them are troublemakers in their own ways, but they’re your troublemakers nonetheless.

After you’ve all eaten breakfast, you lay a notepad in front of them that has a list of all the things you have to do before your guests arrive for the barbecue. 

You’re standing between them, pointing at each task on the list. “I still have to sweep and vacuum the house, Toshi you need to go to the store and buy all the food, and Hide you need to pick up all your toys that are in the backyard. We have a lot to do today and everyone has to do their part, okay?” you urge, looking between the males on either side of you and they both nod emphatically.

With everyone so busy, it’s difficult to find weekends where they’re all available so this get together has been planned for months. You’ll all be seeing friends and loved ones you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s a team effort to make sure everything is ready for tonight. 

----

You finish all of the tasks on time, with an hour to spare thanks to your joint efforts. 

Hide is playing in his room while you and your husband get dressed and ready for what will likely be a long night of socializing and entertaining.

As you’re doing your makeup and getting ready for the party, you notice Wakatoshi staring at himself in the mirror, shirtless. His brows are furrowed, a deep frown on his face as he scrutinizes his reflection. He pinches his belly with both hands, scowling at the softness that used to be hard muscle. Tracing a finger along the stretch marks on his stomach and arms, he sighs heavily.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” you ask from the bathroom. 

Your husband walks over to lean against the wall behind you, his unreadable expression reflected in the bathroom mirror. He hesitates before answering, “I’ve let myself go.”

You set your mascara down on the counter and spin around to face him. “Wakatoshi, what in the world are you talking about?”

“I just said what. I heard a couple of my players say that I’m not as strong or as fast as I was when I was a professional.”

You loosely wrap your arms around his torso, squeezing gently. “Of course you’re not what you used to be, Toshi.” At the sight of his deepening frown you quickly add, “You’re so busy being a father, husband, and coach you don’t have the time to work out like you used to.” Getting on your tippy toes, you press a kiss to his nose, “And that’s okay.” It’s a rare occasion that he looks this vulnerable. His anxiety and self-consciousness are so clearly written in his features and it makes your heart ache for him. 

“It doesn’t bother you that I don’t look like that anymore?” he asks, pointing at the framed photo of his first win with the Japan National Team that hangs on the wall.

“Why would it bother me? This is the body races my son across our backyard, helps me fix our home we bought together, and makes love to me every night. I love you just as much as I did back then, and even more now that we have Hide,” you reassure him and you mean every word of it. Sure he’s not the most romantic of husbands, but he’s your husband and you love him just the way he is, with or without muscles.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he squeezes you even tighter to him. “I know I probably don’t say this as much as I should, but I love you.”

You pepper kisses all over his eyelids, lips and nose. “And I love you more than anything, Wakatoshi. More than you will ever know.”

Your hands lovingly caress his chest that’s softer now, but still sturdy and muscular, and his arms that are not as lean anymore, but are still just as powerful and capable. “For the record, I love how soft you are these days. It’s great cushioning for when we cuddle.”

“Hidetoshi says the same thing,” he recalls, smiling at the thought of your beloved son.

After giving him a knowing look, you go back to putting on your makeup. “See? I told you. That boy is just as smart as his mother.”

It’s nearing five o’clock so Wakatoshi goes to the backyard to start grilling the food for everyone, while you and Hide finish plating the fruits and vegetables you prepared earlier.

You work in comfortable silence until your son turns to you, his eyes shining with unanswered questions. “Hey Mama?”

Putting down the strawberry you were holding, you sit down on the stool next to him and hold his hands in yours. “What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

“Do you not want me to be a volleyball player like Daddy? Is that why you got mad when I told you he showed me the videos?” 

You almost break your neck with how fast you shake your head in denial. “Of course not! I wasn’t mad, it’s just…” you start, trying to find a way to phrase your thoughts that he’ll understand. “Daddy’s job was very hard. His body still hurts a lot from all the times he got injured when he played volleyball. And… his job took him away from me and I missed him a whole lot.”

The look on his face is so reminiscent of his father, it’s like young Wakatoshi was frozen in time and plopped into the chair right next to you. With the way his eyebrows are scrunched up and his mouth is downturned as he thinks, he really is the spitting image of your husband. “Did it make you sad?”

Taking a deep breath, you hold your arms out to him so he can climb into your lap. “Sometimes it did. Mostly at night when I was all alone and Daddy was really far away.”

He rests his head against your shoulder, looking up at you. “Do you wish Daddy had a different job?”

You look out the window at your husband who’s starting up the grill, then look back at the sweet, round face of your boy. “No, I don’t. Daddy’s job was really important to him and it made him so happy that I grew to love it too, even if it made me sad sometimes.”

He sits up in your lap, thinking hard about what you said as he plays with your necklace. “Does Daddy still wish he could do it?”

“Probably, but it’s okay. If he hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t have you, and you make our lives so much brighter and happier. Your Daddy and I love you so much, you couldn’t even imagine it.”

He spreads his arms out as far as he can. “This much?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Even more.”

“Wow, that’s a lot.” Hide’s eyes are wide with surprise, mouth slightly agape as he tries to imagine something so large and vast.

Laughing, you press a kiss to his head. “It sure is a lot, baby. Now why don’t we finish putting out all the food so we can go see what Daddy’s doing?”

Your son leaps out of your lap to grab handfuls of grapes and blueberries from the cartons on the counter, dropping them into the divided sections of the serving platter. “Aren’t you going to help me, Mama?”

You give him a look of mock offense before standing ramrod straight, giving him a mock salute. “As you command, Commander Ushijima.”

You carry both trays of food out to the backyard, not trusting Hide’s ability to hold them upright, while he carries a volleyball in his arms. Wakatoshi turns at the sound of footsteps, a small smile on his face as your son drops the volleyball, barreling straight into his legs with a force that makes the man grunt.

Hide looks up at his father, both arms wrapped around his legs. “Whatcha doing Daddy?” he asks.

Your husband reaches a hand down to ruffle his hair, a slight look of pain in his eyes from the boy slamming into his shins. “I’m just getting ready to start cooking the food for tonight. Do you want to help me?” He bends down to pick him up and Hide quickly hops into his arms, well practiced and effortless with how strong your husband is. The man points to different parts of the grill, explaining what they do, taking care to keep the boy far away from the flames. 

Setting the plates down on the table, you inform Wakatoshi, “Hajime and Tooru should be here soon, so should Tobio and Eita. Satori called and said he might be late, something about his luggage getting lost.” At that moment the doorbell rings, signaling your first guests are here. “I’ll get it. You two stay here and get the food on the grill.”

You open the front door, greeted with the familiar faces of Hajime and Tooru. “It’s so nice to see you two! Come on inside, don’t be shy,” stepping aside, you hold your arm out to welcome them into your home. 

“Mrs. Ushijima you get more and more beautiful each time I see you,” Tooru teases as you snicker in response.

“I see marriage hasn’t changed you at all, has it?” you question, more so directed at Hajime. 

“I tell him people are going to get the wrong idea,” the shorter man replies, sounding exasperated.

You usher them towards the backyard before picking up various soda and beer cans. “Wakatoshi and Hide are both in the back. You two go ahead and keep them company while I bring these out.”

It takes a few trips before you join them in the backyard, handing each adult a can and a juice pouch to Hide, who’s sitting at the picnic table with Tooru while Hajime chats with your husband. 

“How old are you now, little man?” the brunette asks.

Hide holds up five fingers plus his thumb as he swings his legs back and forth. “I’m six! I just started kindergarten.”

They both wave at you as you join them, sitting on the other side of the table. Tooru leans in towards you, a hand cupped around his mouth, and you tilt your ear towards him. “He’s so… polite and well-mannered. Are you sure Ushiwaka is the father?” he whispers, narrowing his eyes.

You lightly smack his head, glaring daggers in his direction. “Yes, obviously. Look at them, they’re basically twins.” Tooru looks at the boy sitting next to him then at your husband standing at the grill, then back to your son, then back to your husband. Hand on his chin, he takes in their matching olive eyes and hair and similar expressions, nodding seriously.

“I was just making sure.”

The doorbell rings a couple more times, Tobio and Eita arriving one right after the other. With almost all of your guests present, everyone is drinking and catching up, some casually passing a volleyball back and forth with Hide.

You’re in the middle of telling Tobio that Hidetoshi is too young to be thinking about his future career when the doorbell rings once more, indicating the last of your guests has arrived. You rush inside to get it, not bothering to check who’s there because you already know who it is. Swinging the door open, you pull the man into a tight hug. 

“Satori! We’re so glad you made it,” you exclaim, giving his back a few hard slaps.

The redhead pulls away from you, smiling. “I’m so glad I was able to make it in time. The airport lost my luggage, then my parents forgot to leave me a key to their house so I had to wait until a neighbor could let me in. To make matters worse, I got stopped by security when I landed because of this,” he says, holding up a white box with a bow around it.

You quickly grab the box, shaking it to try to hear what’s inside and sniffing it for good measure. “Ooh la la, did you bring us some fancy French chocolates?” you ask. “Actually, don’t tell me, Hide will want to open it.” You hand the box back to him and gesture him to follow you, “Everyone’s in the back so just follow me.”

With Satori in tow, you step onto the back porch and call your son’s name. He hands the ball to Eita before running over, eyes lighting up when he sees the man standing next to you.

“Uncle Tori!” he shouts, launching himself into Satori’s arms.

“Hey there Little Toshi, how you been? Keeping your dad out of trouble?” he asks, hugging the boy tightly.

“I think so! Well… we burnt some eggs this morning and the smoke machines started beeping, but that doesn’t count, right?”

The red-haired man waves his hand dismissively. “Of course it doesn’t. Any crimes committed in the name of breakfast are excused,” he insists. Pulling the box out from behind his back, he offers it to Hide. “I brought you something all the way from France, do you know where France is?”

Hide takes the present from him, “Yeah, it’s in Europe! Daddy showed it to me on a map.” He struggles a bit with the bow before he decides to just rip it off, lifting up the lid.

Satori points to the various chocolates laid on top of wax paper. “This one is filled with something called ‘ganache,’ which is basically just more chocolate, but it’s liquidy. That one over there has caramel, and the one right next to it is a bonbon filled with strawberry jelly. I picked all the best ones just for you.”

The boy smiles, eyes wandering over the chocolates like they’re bars of gold. “Thank you Uncle Tori! I bet they’re really yummy.”

He pats Hide on the head. “I hope you enjoy them lots. Now I gotta go say hi to your daddy, where is he?” Your son points to where Wakatoshi is standing at the grill, a spatula in one hand and a beer in the other as he chats with Tobio. “Thanks Little Toshi,” he says, ruffling his hair.

Satori walks over to your husband, pulling him into a crushing bear hug before he can say anything. “Wakatoshi, it’s been too long! I sure get lonely all the way in France, have you guys ever thought about moving?”

Wakatoshi freezes for a moment before giving in, hugging the man back, though slightly stiff in his movements. “We will not be moving to France. Hidetoshi will be raised here in Japan.”

The redhead releases him, sensing his discomfort. “Well, it was worth a shot. How’s your retirement? You miss being a pro?”

“I do miss it sometimes, but it was necessary to let a better, younger player take my place. I wouldn’t trade a few more years on the court for the life I have now with my wife and my son.” 

 Satori lets out a loud whistle. “I never thought I would hear the day that Wakatoshi Ushijima would say he cares about anything more than volleyball.”

“Volleyball was my entire life before, but they’re my entire world.”

The shorter man just smiles, silent for a moment before pointing to the apron your husband is wearing. “I didn’t think you’d actually wear that thing, Wakatoshi!” The apron black with bright red lettering that says ‘Wakatoshi: Grill Master,’ with a drawing of a flaming steak next to it.

“It keeps my clothes clean. Why wouldn’t I wear it?” he asks, genuinely curious. The redhead just laughs and shakes his head, patting him on the shoulder.

Your husband finishes grilling the food, much to the excitement and relief of the many hungry men who have been circling him like a hawk. Everyone takes from the piles of meat and vegetables, noticeably happier now that their stomachs are full. You’re all sitting around the picnic table, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

Hajime recalls a story from when he first signed on as the athletic trainer for the national team. Wakatoshi had approached him after practice, saying he had a serious issue that he wanted someone to take a look at. Concerned for his player’s wellbeing, naturally he took him into the locker room and Wakatoshi took off his shirt. At first, he thought he might’ve stretched one of his ligaments too far or had even torn his rotator cuff muscle. Imagine his surprise when Wakatoshi pointed to an ingrown hair on his back, saying it was inflamed and causing him pain. It was then that Hajime had to explain that he’s not that type of medical professional, and that he should make an appointment with a dermatologist.

 The sun starts to set, but with the fun everyone is having they barely notice. The night begins to wind down once Hide yawns, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and it sets off a chain reaction of yawning that reaches every person at the table. Your son starts tugging on your sleeve, informing you he’d like to go to bed. Not wanting to leave him alone in the house and taking note of the exhaustion on everyone’s faces, you politely suggest to end the night early. A chorus of heads bob, indicating their desire to head home and sleep. 

All three of you hug and kiss everyone goodbye, waving to them as they drive away. You sigh from exhaustion and head inside to put Hide in bed. You and your husband hold each of his hands and take him to his room, pulling back his covers so he can climb in. 

He yawns again and closes his eyes, settling into his bed. “Night night Mama, Daddy. I love you.” 

You stroke his cheek lovingly before placing a kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight sweetie, I love you too.”

Your husband comes up from behind you to kiss Hide as well. “Sleep well, Hidetoshi. I love you.”

With your son asleep in his own bed, all you have to do is take off your makeup and brush your teeth before you too can sleep. 

You’re in the middle of washing your face when Wakatoshi comes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“I enjoyed tonight, I hope you did too,” he says.

You turn around to look at him and smile. “I did, it was amazing to see everyone in one place. It’s been years since we were all able to see each other.” After you finish washing your face, you stretch and yawn loudly, telling your husband, “I’m getting in bed now, join me when you’re done.”

Climbing under the sheets, you nestle yourself into the softness of your bed. You nearly doze off right then, but the shifting of the bed under Wakatoshi’s weight keeps you awake just a bit longer.

He slides in behind you so he can spoon you, an arm slung over your waist. 

“Goodnight Toshi, I love you.”

“Goodnight, I love you too.”

Before he falls asleep, Wakatoshi thinks of all the things in his life that led him here, to you, his wonderful wife, and his precious son.

Leaving professional volleyball was one of the hardest decisions he’s ever had to make in his thirty-seven years of living, but the end of that chapter of his life gave him Hidetoshi.

He knows that every moment of uncertainty, suffering, and hardship was worth it because it ultimately led him to you and your son, to this life you’ve built together. 

He’d do it all over again a thousand times over if it meant that your beautiful, shining face would be there to greet him in the end.

[twdeadfanfic]

Vows Pt.1

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Series Summary: 

The last battle with Negan doesn’t go as it should, with Negan coming on top, and so reader, Daryl’s girlfriend, offers herself as a wife to Negan if he doesn’t kill Daryl or anyone else. Negan accepts, he won’t kill anyone but will take reader as a wife, and he’ll take Daryl and some of the others to the Sanctuary as prisoners, promising not to hurt anyone if reader is one of his wives and the communities work for him.

This has both flashbacks to reader and Daryl’s story since meeting to now, and the present with reader living at the Sanctuary as a wife, trying to keep Daryl and their people safe, and she and the other wives dealing with Negan, plotting... (This is not a Negan x reader fic!)

N/A: I wrote several chapters of this months ago (Before 10C...) , but never felt like posting them once the show came back (and saddened me), and so I kept them for myself. But here’s the first chapter I wrote, in case any of you might be interested in reading this.

Everything was wrong.

You were supposed to win this.

You all had gone to fight Negan and his Saviors even if neither of you were sure about being able to come on top, wondering if you all were going there to die, trying to make use of Dwight’s intel…only to find that Negan had used him, misleading you all, right to an ambush, towards which seemed almost the whole group of Saviors aiming at you, and it was a big, huge group.

Daryl had stepped in front of you as if he could shield you, before you could do the same for him, while Negan made one of those stupid speeches of him and berated Rick…Daryl got his rifle ready and so did you, if you were going to die, you’d die fighting and putting down as many Saviors as you could.

But then, something had happened. The guns of the saviors had malfunctioned, exploding on the Savior’s hands, hurting them. It seemed that Eugine had done something to those, judging by the punch that one of the Saviors gave him. You all had taken advantage of it and of the distraction that it created, and for a moment, you had dared to have hope, to believe that you could win this…

You couldn’t. Maybe in another universe, but not in this one.

There had been too many saviors who hadn’t used those manipulated guns, gunning down your friends and people, until Rick called to a stop, and you weren’t sure if the Saviors weren’t just going to just shoot you all dead, but Negan called to a stop too.

So there you were now, on your knees, next to Daryl and your people, both dead and alive, while Negan walked around you all, grinning and swinging that barbed bat, while the Saviors pointed guns at you all. It reminded you of your first encounter with Negan, which you had survived…you supposed you wouldn’t survive this one…you looked around at your defeated friends, feeling like crying, but you wouldn’t give those assholes that satisfaction.

“You all have balls, I give you that,” Negan was again talking, you knew by now that he loved to hear himself speaking. “But you all are idiots. This could have worked, we all could have been happily together, but of fucking course, Rick here had to do something and lead you all with him, and now, people have to die.”

Negan had stopped in front of Rick, and he placed his bat under his chin, the spikes digging into Rick’s skin, drawing blood as he made him lift his head to look at him. “Look at you. You didn’t have enough getting Carl killed, now you are going to get all these people killed too.”

Rick lost it at that, trying to get up, growling, trying to throw himself at Negan, which seemed to be what that asshole was expecting and hoping. He hit the head of the bat onto Rick’s stomach, not hard enough to hurt him badly, but enough to leave a bruise and to knock the air out of his lungs and send him to the ground with a grunt as he tried to recover his breath.

You heard Michonne and Daryl growl next to you and you shook your head at them, terrified of them trying something and Negan killing them right there, you thought he might kill you all either way, probably, but if there was a chance of some of your friend not dying, you’d do whatever you could to ensure it.

Negan noticed it, giving you a smug smile before he looked at Michonne, the smile turning into a full grin while Michonne glared at him, looking just a second away from trying to cut Negan into pieces with her katana, but finally reaching to help Rick instead.

Then, Negan stopped in front of Daryl, and dread filled you. “Look at this…my escaped, feral, stupid dog…” He grinned, lifting Daryl’s head with the bat like he had done with Rick, though Daryl’s eyes were still low.

You knew how the time that Daryl had to spend tortured at the Sanctuary had traumatized him, and now you could see it right there in front of you, how Daryl was looking, so defeated and done. You hated it.

“Well, dog…you’ve been a bad boy.” Negan pressed the bat harder into Daryl’s skin, drawing blood, and you dig your nails into your palms to stop yourself from doing or saying anything. “I’m going to take you back home to your kennel and I’m going to show you what happens to bad dogs that run away, and it won’t be only like what I did to Dwight.”

Negan threatened with that grin still on his face, but Daryl did nothing, still seeming so defeated, he didn’t move or made a sound while Negan ran the bat from his chin down his neck and to his shoulder, the spikes scratching the skin, creating blood patters, and you almost couldn’t control yourself at that.

Negan stepped back, signaling to some saviors to go and grab Daryl to take him back to the Sanctuary, and sure, it was good that he wasn’t going to kill him, but you couldn’t deal with Daryl being taken prisoner again, to that place that had traumatized him, to be tortured in an even worse way until he died or Negan got bored and killed him…no, you couldn’t let Daryl go through that, you couldn’t…

“Wait!” You jumped onto your feet, startling everyone, and Daryl, who hadn’t moved a muscle for himself, seemed to try to go to you, eyes betraying how scared he was, but the Saviors were already holding him back.

“Someone wants to die first.” Negan turned to face you, bat ready.

“No, no, wait, wait! Please, please!” You begged, holding your hands in front of you and dropping onto your knees again, in front of him, ready to beg on your knees if that’s what it took to save Daryl, hoping like hell that Negan wasn’t just going to bash your head, but he stopped the bat right on time. “You want wives, right? That’s what you do with women, yeah?” You said, voice shaking, you had heard about that. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your wife!” You heard Daryl struggling, but you didn’t look back at him, eyes on Negan.

“Well, now, now, now…look at that…” Negan chuckled, giving you a smug smile while he twirled his bat. “Someone’s throwing herself at me with open arms and open legs to save her pretty neck.” You bit your tongue at that. “Sure…why not, it’d be less wasteful than killing you. Alright, sweetheart, deal, you can come with us.” He nodded to the Saviors behind him.

“What the hell are you doin’?!” You heard Daryl’s yelling, and you wondered if he thought that you were betraying them or if he knew what you were trying to do. You ventured a look at him and you saw it in his eyes, he knew what you were doing, and he was not having it. You knew he wouldn’t have let you do this, that he’d have gotten himself killed to stop it, and you were glad for the Saviors who were holding him back as he struggled.

You saw some of your friends looking at you like they wanted to do something, whether they thought that you were betraying them or knew what you had in mind. But after what had happened in your first encounter with Negan, everyone seemed not to want to risk it, doing nothing, and you were glad of it. You didn’t want to turn this into an even bigger blood bath.

“Poor doggy…” Negan taunted Daryl while the Saviors who were holding him threw him to the ground when he kept struggling and cursing, holding his arms behind his back, tying them and pinning him to the ground, from where he looked at you, scared and desperate, and you couldn’t keep looking at him. “His girl stepping out of him…don’t blame her, she’s a smart girl.”

You got up again, looking at Negan trying not to let your anger get the best of you, you wanted to solve this, not make it worse. “I’ll marry you,” you repeated. “But you won’t kill any of these people. That’s the deal.”

Negan looked you up at down as if surveying you, a smirk growing on his face. “That’s a shitty deal, don’t you think? I let everyone live while getting one single wife? Half of the people here should be proposing to me so I let the other half live.” Negan waved the bat around as he chuckled.

Well, damn. This wasn’t going as you had hoped. “I…I can be a handful,” you said, giving thanks for whatever had made you come with a quick answer that seemed to amuse Negan.

“I see…” Negan seemed to survey you again.

“Nobody dies, they keep working for you, and I marry you and do whatever you get those women doing for you,” you said, trying not to shudder. “Seems like a pretty good deal, if you ask me.”

“Well…” Negan looked from you to Daryl, who was struggling on the ground, pointing his bat at him. “I should ask him if it’s a good deal. Is it worth, doggy? Letting all your sorry asses live…just so I can have a piece of that ass?” Negan seemed thoroughly amused with himself and he slapped your butt, making you gasp in surprise, which seemed to amuse him more.

“You don’t fuckin’ it touch her!” Daryl growled, trying to get up, but Saviors kept holding him down, shoving him back to the ground roughly. “Don’t touch her!”

“Oh, it seems I’m going to be touching my new bride a lot...” Negan was enjoying this, that much was obvious, his hand was back on your butt, and you summoned all your willpower to not slap him, before he looked at you. “Okay, darling. We got a deal.” Despite the situation, despite what you were walking yourself into, you were so relieved at those words that you could cry. “Get him into the truck,” he told to the saviors who were holding Daryl, and they lifted him from the ground, trying to drag him and hitting a rifle into his stomach when he kept growling and struggling.

You looked at Negan at that, stopping your impulse of throwing yourself at the Saviors who were hurting Daryl. “What?! I’m marrying you! We have a deal!”

“Yes, sweetheart, we have.” Negan grinned at you. “You marry me, I don’t kill him, but he’s coming with us to the Sanctuary, his cage is waiting for him.”

“No! You-”

“You rather have me killing him right here, right now?” Negan threatened, pointing his bat to Daryl, and you shook your head quick. “Then he’s coming back to the Sanctuary, and I promise you, dear bride, I won’t kill him.”

You hated that Daryl was going back to that damn place, but it didn’t seem like you could get anything better, and you couldn’t let Negan kill him, so you nodded. “You won’t torture him. That’s part of the deal.”

“A little demanding, aren’t you?” Negan told you, sounding amused, before he turned his smug grin to Daryl. “Is she like this in bed, too?” Daryl growled, struggling against the Saviors that held him, and he was hit again, to the face this time, and you winced, fighting against every fiber in your body that urged you to go help him. “I guess I’ll find out soon…I’m gonna be fucking your girl this night.”

Negan chuckled and Daryl struggled again, even if he looked defeated, his nose bleeding, and when his wet eyes looked at you, you almost break down. “Y/N. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t worry, Daryl.” Negan wrapped an arm around you and you almost shoved him out of instinct. “I’m going to be taking such good care of her.” Daryl struggled again, growling and yelling, only to be hit again and dragged towards a truck, and you tried your best not to cry, hoping that it would be the last time that Saviors hurt him, if Negan kept his part of the deal.

“Alright, darling…” Negan addressed you again, but he was looking at your people, not at you. “Nobody dies. But Daryl is not the only one we are taking with us.”  You didn’t say anything, it didn’t feel like you could do much else, and you hoped that being taken into the Sanctuary would be better than being dead…

“Those two backstabbing assholes.” Negan waved his bat towards Eugine and Dwight, and then to the truck. “Load them up…you’re gonna regret this.” Then, Negan crouched down in front of Rick, grabbing his chin and digging his fingers in his cheeks, making him look at him.

“Rick, listen to me, listen, okay?” He made Rick nod. “You’re coming with us, and you and I? We are going to have so much fun.”

“You can’t torture him, that’s part of the deal!” You rushed to say. “Not killing, not torturing!”

Negan looked at you without letting go of Rick. “I wonder if I’m going to regret marrying you soon…” You didn’t know if that was a threat or not, but he went back to look at Rick, turning his head to make him look at Michonne.

“I’m leaving your woman here, okay, Rick?” He made him nod again. “So she can be in charge of Alexandria and make sure everything is going nice and smooth, and if any of you cross me again, if anyone gives any trouble, I’ll cut something off Rick and deliver it to you,” Negan told to Michonne, smiling in that menacing way. “Starting with his cock in case you’ll be missing it. Got it?”

Michonne nodded curtly and Negan smiled before waving at his Saviors, who tied Rick’s arms like they had done to the others and dragged him to the truck, while Negan walked your people’s line up and down again.

“You…” He pointed his bat at Maggie. “You’re pregnant…and I think that could become much of a fuss, you're staying…unless…” Negan grinned and you didn’t like it. “Unless you’re looking for a new baby daddy?”

You wanted to kill Negan at that, and for sure, Maggie wanted to. You had seen her angry and murderous before, but nothing like that. She growled, trying to get up and go for Negan, but Michonne was fast, reaching for her, making her kneel again, holding her and struggling to keep her in place.

Negan didn’t do anything, though, just turned to look at you, seeming amused, and he seemed to wait for you to snap again, as if trying to get a reaction out of you, but you didn’t, and so he kept walking, stopping in front of Carol and Ezekiel, studying them. “You.” He pointed the bat at Ezekiel. “I want you to meet my kingdom now.” Negan chuckled and Ezekiel just nodded while the Saviors tied his arms and made them get up. You weren’t sure if Carol was going to do something, but Jerry reached out to hold her arm, and she stayed silent and unmoving.

“You.”  Negan stopped in front of Aaron and you couldn’t help yourself.

“No, not him! He has a baby to take care of…please?” You tried, Negan seemed to like it when you begged, and so he nodded.

“Alright…wedding gift…” He chuckled before pointing his back to Rosita. “You…unless you want to marry me too, sweetheart? I saw the way you were looking at me in Alexandria once.” Negan grinned, winking, and Rosita stayed silent. “No? Okay…load her up…also, you.” He pointed the bat at Gabriel this time. “You and I aren’t done speaking, Gabby…and I’m gonna need more absolution.” He chuckled.

Once the Saviors had dragged Rosita and Gabriel to the truck, Negan kept walking around your people, twirling his bat. “I know that you all have at least a doctor with you…Come out, come out, wherever you are…” Siddiq got up at that and Negan grinned menancly at him. “You work for me now, got it?” He asked, and Siddiq nodded in silence. “Good boy, come on, get yourself in one of those trucks.”

Once Siddiq had been scorted to another truck, Negan looked at everyone else again.

“Okay…okay, I think that’s enough for now…Now I want you all to bury all these people that you got killed, and you go back to work, getting stuff for me, and you all better fucking behave for now on, are we clear? Or not even…what was your name, darling?” He turned to look at you again.

“Y/N.”

“Or not even Y/N’s sweet piece of ass is going to stop me from sending you parts of the people that I have in that van.” He waved the bat towards it. “And coming back for more. Got it? I want you all to say: yes, Negan, now.”

“Yes, Negan.” There was a chore of angry, defeated, mournful voices, and Negan’s smug smile was back on his face. You resisted the urge to scoff, he really got off to this.

“I’ll see you all next week, starting with Alexandria.” Negan looked at Michonne, who didn’t say anything, before turning to you, reaching out his hand. “Come on, sweetheart, you’re riding with me in my car. Time to become one of my awesome, awesome wives.”

Everything seemed to move faster from then, or maybe you just were feeling dazed, but soon you were sat down in Negan’s car, anxious, scared about the people that you had left behind, scared about the people inside the van that was following Negan’s car…your people, your family, your Daryl…you hoped that this would work, that they would be safe if you married Negan, or at least alive and not tortured…you knew that they didn’t want to be prisoners at the Sanctuary and that the others didn’t want to work for Negan either, but it was better than being dead.

You hoped so bad that this would work…

Negan was glancing at you all the time and it was making you more nervous. When you finally looked at him, he gave you that smug smile, looking you up and down. “I can’t wait to see what’s under all that dirt, sweat, blood, and baggy clothes.” He chuckled and you scoffed, looking away from him again. “You’re going to love the Sanctuary.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed again. “Sure I will.”

It didn’t matter if you hated it, though, or how it would be your life there, what mattered was that your family would be okay, that Daryl would be as safe as you could get him, and to get that, you knew you’d endure anything.

Once at the Sanctuary, you watched anxiously as your friends were unloaded from the truck. Everyone seemed to know that there was no point in fighting, they’d get killed and there might be potential retaliation on the others, and so they let the saviors lead them inside the Sanctuary without any struggle…all besides Daryl. He began struggling as soon as he was dragged out of the truck, cursing and trying to shake the saviors off him, until he was hit again.

“We wouldn’t, if he stopped making a scene,” Negan said before you could say anything about that.

Daryl kept struggling nonetheless, his eyes looking for you, until he found you. “Please,” you mouthed silently, looking at him, begging him to not make this more difficult, to not end up more hurt, while your eyes filled with tears. “Please.” Daryl looked at you, struggling again, but he seemed defeated, and you hated that look on him, but it was for the best, and finally, he was dragged away with the others.

“Well, well…this…” Negan waved between you and him, seeming amused. “Might end up killing your bitch Daryl after all.”

You could have punched him, it was a dart to your heart, but you tried your best to stay in line. “Yeah, well…” You muttered. “A bat to the head will kill him for sure, so I’ll take the chance with this.”

Negan didn’t say anything, just chuckled, tugging you with him into the Sanctuary. You had to stand yet another of those damn speeches of him to everyone in the Sanctuary, perched up on top of the staircase, and then he led you through the Sanctuary and to the part that was reserved for him and his wives.

Negan opened a door that was guarded by two saviors, and as you walked inside, you found yourself in a big room, decorated with what looked like expensive, luxurious furniture, a tv, bowls of fruit, fake plants and flowers over the tables, and a bar on a corner. It seemed so out of place in this new world and in this shit place, that you had the same surreal feeling as you had the first time that you walked into what would become your house in Alexandria.

Several women were sitting down on the couches, some talking, some going through magazines and books, but all eyes went to Negan and you as the door opened.

It seemed like Negan didn’t have a single type of women, or that he married anything that allowed it. There were two blondes, one younger than the other, the older one looking at you suspiciously, same than a redhead, a black woman who looked at you with more kindness, a brunette whose pretty hair was pinned into an intricate bun, and another brunette with tanned skin and dark eyes that darted from Negan to you. All of them were wearing black, short dresses in different sizes and models, and their makeup and hair were put together as if it weren’t the end of the world, a  stark contrast with how you were looking.

“Hi, ladies, daddy is home.” Negan grinned and you fought the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“Hi, Negan,” they all greeted, stopping whatever they had been doing…he trained them well, you guessed.

“Look what I brought, a new friend for you all and a new wife all for me,” Negan grinned, pushing you in front of him. “This is Y/N and…look at this! We lost Sherry but now with Y/N I got to have seven wives again, one for each day of the week!”

Some of the women said nothing, a couple gave him tense smiles, one tried to giggle awkwardly, and you couldn’t help your snort and the roll of your eyes. He was such a prick and an idiot.

“Something to say, dear?” Negan looked at you with that menacing smile and you shook your head. “Okay, ladies, I want you all to be good girls and show Y/N the ropes. I need to take care of some things first, but when I’m back, I want Y/N cleaned up nice for us to…consume the marriage.” He chuckled and you began to take conscience of what was going to happen and what you had agreed to be. The women nodded in silence and Negan turned to look at you. “I’ll see you soon, dear wife.”

Suddenly, his lips were on yours, and you almost shoved him away, shocked, but managed to stop yourself. Still, when Negan pulled away, he seemed amused, giving you a teasing look as if he knew what was going through your mind. Negan didn’t say anything else, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.

*

It’s the first time I post something that I haven’t finished, as you know, 10C killed my writing Daryl mood, can’t barely think on him anymore (therefore, this is not as curated and edited as my other fics because I didn’t re-read that much), so I even though I have several chapters of this writen, I can’t promise what I’ll do with it.

As always, comments and reblos are more than welcome, and excuse my English, is not my first language.

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