#((what does this count as? Is it just a series?))

[endursent]

Hi Ma’am! I’ve recently come across your “my partner turned into a cat” series and it’s wonderful. I was wondering if I could request something similar where reader turns into their partner’s favourite animal? Preferably with Kaveh, Neuvi, and Dottore (if you write for him). If not, that’s all good. Have a nice day!

【 content; established relationship , humour , gn!reader , temporarily turned animal (reader) 】

【 characters; il dottore, kaveh , neuvillette 】

【 note; i haven't actually written for dottore before strangely enough considering how much i love him, so it might take a while for me to get his personality and mannerisms down... thank you for the ask! 】

【 word count; 1.454 | masterlist 】

Il Dottore;

Never had you considered what his “favourite animal” is, mostly because you’re convinced Dottore doesn’t have a “favourite” anything—his interests are too unpredictable and subject to change at any moment. 

  Though you should have seen it coming that one day, his experimentation would strike you—thankfully you’re not dead, you’re luckier than some assistants that have been zapped a time or two and carried out in body bags. However…

  Why are you a fat little platypus, and why does he seem so excited about it?

  You look absolutely ridiculous, you imagine—and feel, having four legs and a beak is peak body horror that is unfortunately eating at your brain right now. And yet, Dottore picks you up like one would a cat and dangles you in front of him with both an excited and thoughtful expression. “How unexpected—and interesting. I made little change to the formula…” he plops you down on the table next to the damned formula he had been adjusting… never will you inhale “experiment fumes” again. Not that you’re supposed to be doing so in any case.

  “A fascinating specimen indeed,” he pokes around your fur and you shake yourself, but he is relentless with his prodding! “One of the few mammals capable of electroreception! I wonder if you've maintained those sensory capabilities... This requires immediate testing."

  He doesn’t leave you alone for a single second that you’re like this, always either checking something—one time you were freaking out about the fact that you had no idea how to eat or drink like this… and Dottore took out a notebook and tried to get you to bite his fingers to “test the venom”... you bite a bit harder than he likely bargained for. 

  Dottore does try to “help” in his own way, while he brainstorms how to turn you back, he creates a “suitable habitat” with burrowing zones and a “pool”. He means well, but he’s also using it to observe you like a specimen so you kick up dirt and splash water on the floor and tables in spite.

  Out of anyone, Dottore is the fastest to get you back to normal… or he could, if he wanted to. But he kind of likes seeing you waddle around trying to walk with webbed feet and seeing you knock your tail into things and make weird noises. He has plenty of experience pressing your buttons and what makes you tick as a human, why not enjoy a new side of you?

Kaveh;

He’s more traumatised than you are when one moment you’re standing next to him—and the next there’s a random ass deer there. He looks around and searches for you frantically, thinking you might have fallen into a creek or rolled downhill… very unaware of that same deer following him around and trying to get his attention. 

  He does love deer, he thinks you’re unimaginably cute but also kind of silly in the way horses are silly but not huge and terrifying. 

  Kaveh almost needs you to headbutt him for him to realise that you are, in fact, in front of him and not soaking around in a nearby river hanging out with the frogs. Thankfully, he’s smart enough to put two and two together after he snaps out of it—but now he’s just confused.

  How? You had just been right there! There wasn’t even a rustle of leaves or anything!

  In any case, he needs to get you back to the city… you walk like a human in a deer suit, unused to the long four legs and strange join positions—and as soon as you enter his and Alhaitham’s home (after getting your antlers caught in the door like an idiot if you have those) you suddenly stop. 

  “What is it?” Kaveh peeps from behind you, confused as to why your ass is just standing in the doorway.

  The house has hardwood floors.

  He doesn’t realise this, of course, and gives your behind a firm push—only for you to slip and slide and nearly tumble inside like a freshly born animal. Kaveh rushes in behind you, apologising for nearly knocking you over and trying to make sure you don’t fall against anything and break things… Alhaitham would never let him live it down if he saw this.

  It’s not exactly easy to… navigate this, you’re not a small animal nor are you yourself particularly knowledgeable about your new proportions. 

  He can barely stop himself from continuously stroking your fur and feeding you crunchy things to be able to watch you munch on them. It does kind of kill the fascination he had with deer, as he’s never really interacted with them so closely until you happened to become one.

  You follow him around like a lost puppy, even as he had a very important client meeting—you didn’t let him get away… and thus, Kaveh had to improvise a bit. 

  The client, an older woman, squints at you standing slightly behind Kaveh and trying to munch on the blueprints in his hands (you haven’t had food for two hours, which is disastrous with this huge stomach you have now). 

  Kaveh clears his throat, pushing your snout away. “Yes, we can change the—no, you see, this is… yes, it’s okay, this is just… a friend.”

  He has no idea how to explain this so he just chooses not to. “Anyway… about that garden idea, if we put a patio by this side—”

Neuvillette;

You can’t believe he’s keeping you in a bowl. 

  Somehow, and for some reason, when you had accompanied Neuvillette for an evening walk along the seaside just outside of Fontaine’s walls—you had stubbed your toe on a shell that stuck out of the ground, and with a sudden zap… you had turned into a blob.

  Neuvillette looks up from his desk as he hears your soft body pound against the bowl next to him—and toss up some water that almost splashes onto the documents splayed out before him—and frowns slightly. “I know it’s not very spacious… I apologise, my love. But I don’t have anything larger at this moment, hopefully the pet store will find a more adequately sized fish tank soon.”

  He doesn’t understand how you had suddenly turned into a jellyfish, you had been behind him for a brief moment before he heard your curse (likely because you stubbed your toe) and then a poof… when Neuvillette had turned around, you were like a deflated balloon on dry land. 

  Thankfully he had created a pocket of water for you from the saltwater nearby to float in as he brought you back to the city, but the situation puzzled him greatly—how could you become such a creature? He wasn’t entirely sure you were fully conscious in that body, but judging by your frustrated movements in the small bowl, he suspected you at least had partial awareness. 

  Neuvillette doesn’t want to leave you alone while you’re like this, he’s both worried you might suddenly transform back, without any clothes—which would be terribly awkward to try and depart his office in that state—or possible hurt yourself if you broke the bowl with the transformation and cut yourself.

  Thus, thankfully after you’re given a larger tank in his office (and at home, he’s not leaving you at his office overnight alone!) there is a smaller one placed in the Opera Epiclese, next to his chair. 

  During a court proceeding, Neuvillette had to present the evidence in a firmer manner than usual, as the representative to the one being judged was being rather contrarian—which was far from productive and consumed far more time than it needed to. 

  Every time he successfully made an argument that couldn’t be refuted or argued with, you released a faint bioluminescent glow—as if applauding his expert navigations of the evidence and arguments. No one seems to notice (it’s difficult enough to see Neuvillette so high up above the stage) but he still feels a bit sheepish when you do it—you’re likely not doing it on purpose, he doubts you would know how.

  Neuvillette is very careful with the temperature and the salinity levels of the water you inhabit for the time being, he creates a careful schedule to check it every few hours as well as adjusting it depending on day and night. He’s very determined to ensure you’re as comfortable as you can be, whether you realise you’re a weird blob with tentacles or not. 

  And he hopes he can figure out how to change you back soon… as cute as it is to watch you twirl around and show off when he stands before your tank, he would rather you show off your moves as yourself—where he can properly talk to and touch you. 

[identitty-dickruption]

in the same way, what ends up being called "a disability" is not politically neutral. you can't really talk about what is or isn't a disability without acknowledging the ableist history that created the disability category. something being considered a disability is only meaningful in relation to what a society expects a person to be able to do, and there is a complex web of social and political pressures that reinforce this

governments will always have stricter definitions of what counts as disabling because governments are responsible for allocating resources to vulnerable populations. the greatest pressure on them is to tighten and tighten the category until disability is defined out of existence. this is also true of institutions such as universities, if they are legally required to provide services to their disabled students

normalising social pressures, however, kind of work in the opposite direction. their goal is to restrict the definition of 'normality', and to punish those who do not conform to this. because 'normal' is an aspirational identity rather than anything that is actually functionally achievable, these pressures only work if 'normal' is incredibly restrictive

this doesn't mean that there is some magical social pressure out there that tells everyone to identify as 'disabled'. there is actually a lot at play to prevent people from giving up on the strive to be normal. what it does mean is that there is a large category of people who would likely identify as 'not abled' in some capacity without actually defining themselves as 'disabled'. because. again. there are ableist histories that mark out 'disability' as a dirty word and as an identity that is best avoided

anyway what I mean to say is. disability isn't an objective category and it never will be. it's all a series of complicated and interrelated political pressures, just like with any other human category under the sun

[back2bluesidex]

To Be Popular - JJK [Chapter 1]

Pairing: Social Media Influencer! Jungkook X Marketing Manager! Reader ft. Yoongi

Summary:

You love everything about social media - apart from the ever-growing number of social media influencers. You don't understand how these people gain followers and admirers just by installing a camera and doing very basic things in front of it. And you despise how some of them can do anything to gain fame, to be popular - even if it includes uploading their bedroom scene in pornsites aka people like Jeon Jungkook. But when your company launches a new product and your department head tasks you with signing Jeon Jungkook up as an endorsement partner - you have no choice but to chase him like the corporate slave that you are. However, things turn worse when you embroil in a dating rumor with him and have to keep the game going for the sake of everything. is it really for the worse or things will turn in a way you never expected it to?  

Theme: Strangers to lovers au, fake dating au, kind of enemies to lover au, angst, smut, fluff.

Full Series Word Count: 26k

Chapter word count: 5.8k+

Warnings: tiny flirting, argument, that's all.

Masterlist | Patreon (For access to the complete series)

Taglist requests are open.

Minors, I am not responsible for what you consume online. So, act more rationally and stay away.

Chapter index: -

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |

Or read the full series right away on Patreon!!

Thanks to the every possible gods out there, you are capable of keeping your poker face even when your insides are burning with rage. 

Like right now. 

First of all you landed in a proposition with one of the people you don’t even like, that too, with the most insufferable one in question. 

Secondly, your superiors are treating him as if he has won a gold medal or something. 

Min Yoongi - the man who is known for his nonchalance and quiet wisdom, can’t seemingly stop giving his gummy smile to this guy, Jeon Jungkook. 

Mrs. Lee, who is probably double the age of the guy, is ogling him as if it's a zombie apocalypse and she hasn’t seen another male for thirty years or so. 

When they both turn to you, you realize they are probably waiting for you to react the same way as them. 

Too bad, you are not even the least bit amused. 

After greeting both of the superiors, Jeon Jungkook looks at you - with those big ass googly eyes. A kind smile plays on his lips. 

He extends his hand with a soft “nice to meet you.” 

Well. definitely not the same. You scream internally but you compose yourself and return his smile, somewhat half-assed, as you wrap your small hand around his big veiny ones (the same hand that does those dirty deeds with others of his stature).

“Nice to meet you too.” you murmur only because Yoongi is giving you those eyes you absolutely love and hate at the same time. 

Yoongi gestures to Jungkook to take the seat, “So, Mr. Jeon. I assume you have gone through our proposal already?”

“Umm.. yeah. My manager did go through your proposal and briefed me.” Jeon Jungkook says with a voice that doesn’t match that gruff, breathy one from the video. 

Why the fuck do I keep thinking of the video? You inhale a long breath. 

“Okay so.. Is there any question in your mind? Or do you want me to go through it all once again?” Yoongi adds good naturedly.  

“Umm no actually. I came here to decline your offer.” Jungkook drops the bomb. If you are low-key happy then you don’t let it show on your face. 

“W-what? Why? Is there any part of the offer that is not up to your liking? We can revise it anytime you want.” Mrs. Lee butts in. 

“Uh. no not that. I personally don’t like to use the devices that your company manufactures. All of your laptops are so bulky, the chassis is always too old-fashioned. It’s not something Jeon Jungkook would use, you know what I mean?” Jungkook reasons smugly, as he leans on the backrest of his chair and crosses his legs. 

You hear blood rushing to your brain and before any of your superiors can say anything you start speaking, “oh really? Must be tough to carry our laptops to a pornset or something, huh?” 

You see Jungkook’s eyes going comically wide as he tries to register what you have just said. 

“What? What are you talking about?” he semi-screams. His attention is now trained only and only on you. 

“You know very well what I am talking about, Mr. Jeon.” you lean on the table just as smugly. Under the table Yoongi kicks on your shin but you dodge his attack at the right time. 

Jungkook laughs. A big, thunderous laugh, “I don’t see it being any of your business to question what I do in my free time, is it?” 

You smirk. If he thought you are going to back off that easily, he was wrong, “it definitely is not. But the fact that we chose to offer you this endorsement deal despite your current public reputation, tells a lot about our dedication towards charity.” 

“Oh.. so this is a charity huh?” Jungkook narrows his eyes at you, “sorry to tell you but Jeon Jungkook doesn’t need any charity.” 

With that Jungkook stands up and gales at you for one last time before he storms out of the room. 

Yoongi slams his head directly on the table making you wince at the loud thud. 

“Y/N! What do you think you did?” Mrs. Lee screams in horror. 

“What?” you shrug in nonchalance, “he was going to say no anyway.” 

“Y/N” Yoongi finally says, probably after struggling not to punch himself in the face for inviting you to the meeting, “we could have negotiated if you chose to stay silent.” 

“But I only said what’s true. This collaboration could have saved his face. He was the one who chose to be an ass- I mean, inconsiderate.” you argue. 

“Oh really? Then why don’t you show him what’s right?” Yoongi says in a sugary voice, one that’s not really good news. 

“What do you mean?” you question, suspicion landing on your brain.

“You need to bring him back if you love the year-end appraisal or you can kiss your promotion goodbye.” he says in a collected voice. 

“What? Yoongi! You can’t do this!” you stand from your seat, and Yoongi only smirks at you. 

“Oh I definitely can. I can also submit a formal complaint against you calming that you have messed up an important deal. Do you want that?” 

You stay silent, questioning your life choices, your career choices. Cursing at the every god above for making you a human when you could have been a worm. 

No job, no money issues, no Min Yoongi, no Jeon Jungkook - only soil and dirt. 

You sit on the chair again, cover your face with both of your hands and curse “fuck everyone”. 

Your eyes zero on your phone this time. The insta handle is burning too bright for the darkness of your room. Honestly, tapping the name is currently hurting your pride. 

But what can you even do - you are a corporate slave after all. And the crush you have on your direct superior, prevents you from being rebellious. 

But more than just that - you know you were wrong. 

Your hate towards the social media influencers clan is pretty much ridiculous and apparently has no reason. 

Is it due to your underlying insecurity? Is it because you believe you are inferior to them? While they make hundreds of dollars per hour, you make a dime? 

You probably hate Jeon Jungkook because he is the same age of yours and yet has everything you don’t? - like an amazing sex life. 

As you tap on the story, it takes you into a video with all colors of gleaming lights. Clearly a club. Loud music blares through your phone speaker, almost paralyzing your ears. 

You can’t see Jeon Jungkook on the screen, obviously because he is the one recording the video. But you can hear him whooing in the background. There are some girls around him for obvious reasons. 

Suddenly you feel jealous of him again. 

He is of your age and he is enjoying a night out at a posh club while you are on your bed, with your ugly pajamas on and you can’t go out because you have work tomorrow. 

As soon as the word “work” registers in your mind, you remember you have been tasked with bringing Jungkook back. 

You look at the screen again. He has added the location, which means you can find the club, find him and apologize (oh god no!) and beg him for another meeting. 

Yes. That's a nice plan. You can then mourn for your dead self-respect with a bucket full of ice-cream. 

You have picked the shortest possible dress you own. 

It’s a shimmery black bodycon that reaches your mid-thigh. The noodle strap of the bodycon dress gives a tempting view of your collar-bone and cleavage. 

You have let your hair lose - you look the best like this. A touch of makeup and you are all ready. 

You know you are attractive but will that be enough for the bouncers to let you inside that posh club? You pray it’s enough. 

When the taxi drops you in front of the well-known club in Gangnam, you spot the line. And thankfully, the queue is not at all terrible. 

Since the clock hasn’t hit 10:00 pm yet, the entry is free. 

When you reach in front of the bouncers, they give you a once-over, then look at each other. Your hands feel clammy because they have rejected almost everyone before you. If you are not wrong then only two of the visitors were let in. 

But then one of them brought the stamp out and held it in front of your face. You gave him your wrist with a squeal of joy. 

You let yourself go blind and deaf with the glaring lights and loud music. Wherever you look, you see people attached to people. Some are dancing, some are drinking, some are making out, some are just standing and talking with drinks in their hands. 

You don’t think you have seen this amount of strangers all year. 

You will admit - you feel alive. 

But no! No Y/N! You are here with a motive, you can’t let yourself be distracted! 

In the story, Jungkook seemed to be close to the bar island. Even though that was more than an hour ago, you still start looking for the bar island. 

“Why are there so many bars?” you mumble to yourself as you scan the entire floor. There are at least four bars here, there must be more on the upper floor. 

You start feeling helpless at once. All these strangers around you, wrapped in wealth, some giving you long looks - trigger your social anxiety. 

Bad decision. It’s a bad decision. You should probably just run away. 

But when you are about to take an u-turn, you see him. 

You see Jeon Jungkook on the dance floor, grinding on a red-headed pretty looking girl. 

He looks - like a fucking wet dream. 

A black baggy jeans, a black t-shirt, some bulky golden chains, his dark hair gleams under the lights. His lip ring shines directly on your eyes and you snap back. 

Great. Now that you have found him.. You can proceed with your plan - which is to beg him. 

Without a second thought, you start stepping on the dance floor. 

There are not a lot of people, so you easily get past everyone and stand there behind him. 

Your eyes drop on his ass, then his hands, his veins and you question your life choices. 

Somebody just crashes on you making you lurch forward. 

Your body slams against Jungkook’s back. You are about to apologize when he reaches behind with his hand and grabs your side. He grinds his ass on you without even looking at your face. 

You feel nauseous. This is the second time you are meeting him and the proximity is very scandalous. 

Placing your hand on top of his, you break free from his hold. 

“Jeon Jungkook, can I please talk to you for a moment?” you scream in his ears. 

He doesn’t stop moving, but you know he has heard you. 

Jungkook slowly moves on his feet while vibing and then turns to face you. 

His mischievous eyes bore into yours as he takes you in slowly. He shamelessly eyes your cleavage then looks back up your face. 

“What?” he screams over the music. 

“Not here. Can we go somewhere quiet?” 

He smirks at you, “oh? Already? Wait- have I seen you before?” 

Your blood turns cold, “no. I mean yeah. Actually-”

“You- that obnoxious employee from Techtonic? Right?” his eyes go wide. 

“Obnoxious? I am obnoxious? Then what are y-” you inhale, “Yes. I am Y/N. You are right. I am from Techtonic. Can I please have a word with you?” 

“No? Why would I spare my precious time on you? So that you can insult me again?” he frowns at your figure before starting to walk away.  

You grab onto his hand, “Please. I am here to apologize. I promise.” 

He looks back, takes a look at the place you are touching him and then looks at you, “if I give you a chance… What will you give me in return?” Jungkook challenges. 

What in the world did you get yourself into? 

You don’t have a single drop of alcohol in your veins. 

I repeat - you don’t have a single drop of alcohol in your veins then what is making you feel so lightheaded? 

If it’s the spicy citrusy smell that Jeon Jungkook’s emitting then you won’t admit it even if you end up dying. 

“Tell me, Y/N. What will I get if I give you another chance?” he challenges again. This time his tongue pokes out of that perfectly small round mouth and plays with the glinting lip ring. 

You don’t understand the science of hearing him clearly despite the sound of loud music and the loud beating of your heart. 

“I- anything. Anything you ask for.” you choke out, uncertainty lacing your voice. 

“Anything I ask for?” Jungkook comes impossibly close to your body. 

You can see long fingers with even longer nails circling around his torso. The red-headed girl is clinged around him. 

“If- If I can afford that.” you choke out again.

“Oh.. you definitely can.” he smirks like a devil. All the smug pride drains from your body at the thought of what he might be asking from you. 

“Come with me.” Jungkook whispers briefly as he takes your hand and guides you through the crowd towards the upper floor. 

The piece of skin, where his fingers are holding your wrist - burns. 

You are ashamed, nervous, afraid - all in all you want to die. 

Just a week ago you were scoffing at your laptop watching this guy make fame out of a porn video and now he is leading you god knows where to do god knows what. 

Before you could take in your surroundings, Jungkook slams you on the nearest wall. He wastes no time in locking you between his arms. 

“You really came here only to convince me? You had no other intention, huh?” He asks with the lowest possible voice. A shiver runs down through the path of your spine. 

“No. What intention would I even have? I fucked things up at the meeting so my superiors are making me clean the mess.” Your voice comes out firmer than what you thought you could manage. 

“Oh? Really? But I think there is something else to it.” Jungkook comes closer to your body. His chest touches yours. You take a sharp inhale but keep the eye-contact intact. 

Jungkook’s eyes dip down to your chest again as he continues, “you want what you watched in that video, don’t you?” he wets his lips once those vile words come out of his mouth. 

Your jaw hits the floor almost, “what the fuck? What makes you think I want you?” 

Jungkook invades whatever was left off of your personal space and whispers right into your ear, “If you accept it nicely, tell me the truth whether you got turned on or not, I will give your company a chance.”  

You gulp at his offer. 

If you say you were completely unaffected after watching him fucking his partner so well, then it will be a lie for sure. 

So… if you swallow your pride and tell him that he indeed had some kind of effect on you - he will be up for another meeting? 

“And what if I tell you the truth?” you question, looking deep into his chocolate eyes. All you see there is mirth. 

“I will schedule another meeting with your company. But I will be declining you all again.” Jungkook adds nonchalantly. 

You scoff at that, pushing him away and making some space between your bodies, “so you are just going to use my confession and insult me in my workplace?” 

“Oooohhhh… You are not dumb, I see?” he muses, stumbling back from your body. 

“Wh-what? Dumb? You thought I am dumb? Mind you, Jeon Jungkook, I get paid for doing actual work and not because I keep hollering at a dumb computer screen in front of camera.” anger flares through every vein in your body. 

“And yet you came here to beg me?” he shrugs smugly. 

“You know what? Fuck you and your stupid followers who feed your stupid ego!” screaming at his face, you take steps away, stomping on the floor even if your heels are killing you already. 

This was a bad idea. Indeed a bad idea. 

You don’t get paid for dealing with these scumbags. So it’s not your responsibility. It’s better to have your appraisal compromised than falling in the trap of Jeon Jungkook. 

You imagine Jungkook’s face in the place of the ice cream tub as you stab your fork in it with as much fierceness as you could find in yourself. 

Yes, you are eating ice-cream with a fork, so that you can imagine Jungkook’s face and stab in it. 

“Fucking nutjob! What do you even think of yourself!” stab stab stab “Karma will hit you back very soon! You fucking asshole!” stab stab stab. 

As if granting your prayers, the cosmos sends a notification to your device. You take the phone to see Yoongi's instagram handle that has sent you a text. 

You start blushing instantly.  

“Is this the universe’s way of making up for today’s trashy encounter?” you murmur to yourself as you open his text. 

It’s a link so maybe it’s one of those cat videos he sends you the links of. 

As you tap on the link, it takes to a post that has been made just an hour ago. The post - a video, containing proofs of Kim Doona (the influencer Jungkook fucked) being a high school bully. The video has texts sent by Doona to the victim, threatening her not to reveal anything. 

Looks like Karma mistook the address. It should have been Jeon Jungkook! 

You go to the comments. 

All of their followers are going crazy, it’s just the same shit in different sentences. So you scroll past it all. 

But there are two comments that catch your eye, actually one comment and its reply. 

Commenter: Can’t believe Jeon Jungkook chose her out of everyone? A class bully? Really Jeon? You could do better. 

Reply 1: What are you even saying? Jungkook probably didn’t even know and mind you, none of them confirmed if they were together or not.  Reply 2: but girl, they f*cked on camera!  Reply 3: How does that confirm their relationship?  Reply 4: Jeon Jungkook has a girlfriend, I caught them at the club just a few hours ago. The proof is in my story. 

Eh? Kim Doona isn’t his girlfriend? That was a rumor? He has another girlfriend who was with him at the club? 

But you were at the club too, you should have seen them. Is it that red-head girl? 

All of these questions swirl inside your head as you tap on the person’s story. 

The video is taken amid a mass of bodies, trying to be discreet, but you can recognize Jeon Jungkook, leading a woman through the crowd. 

Your heart stops beating for a moment when you realize it’s you. Your face is not visible properly, curtained by your hair, and you are thankful for that. 

The video continues as Jungkook takes you towards the quiet corner. The person, who’s recording, moves too for getting a clearer view. 

Now he is hiding behind the end of the wall that Jungkook had pressed you on. The video shows how he had towered you in, whispered in your ear and smirked at you. But then it gets cut right before you push him away! 

“Fuck! I am not his girlfriend! Are you people blind? How do we look like a couple?!” you scream at your phone. 

You decide you have had enough humiliation today. Hence, putting your phone in charge and traveling towards dreamland is a better idea. 

This fiasco may die down by the morning. People will definitely defy the girlfriend theory because you two don’t look like a couple. And your face wasn’t even properly visible in the video. So yeah let sleep solve your problems. 

Except - nothing solves. 

When you wake up and take your phone out of charge, you grasp so hard that your phone slips from your hold and lands on the bed with a thud. 

You have a thousand new follow requests on your instagram account. There are a ton of texts from various people in Ktalk and most of them have sent you insta links. 

You open your younger sister’s text. She has sent everything in caps: 

Y/N!!!!!!!! WHAT IS THIS??? [Link] YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU ARE DATING JEON JUNGKOOK????????

You type your reply: 

Calm down. I am not dating that douchebag. 

And then you tap on the link. 

The post that the link takes you to, can rival your natal chart. It’s a detailed discussion of who you are, what’s your job, how do you look, where you have probably met Jungkook and your insta handel. 

They have also attached a photo of Jungkook talking to you standing in the middle of the dance floor. 

“Fuck fuck fuck!!!!” you curse and curse and curse. 

Why are these people dragging you into this mess now? Why do they have to link you up with him? What the hell is even happening? 

How are you even going to get to work today?

You shoot a quick text to Yoongi saying that you need a off-day today for obvious reasons. He sends one of those rofl emojis along with a thumbs up and you try not to feel down. 

Yoongi doesn’t really understand what you feel for him? Does he? 

You mean you are embroiled in a dating rumor with someone else and he seems to be just fine? 

It’s just another confirmation that he doesn’t reciprocate your stupid crush on him. 

Just when you are about to keep your phone aside and sleep some more, you get a call from an unknown number. 

You don’t think much before receiving it. 

“Hello, who’s this?” your voice is still groggy and your stomach rumbles as you speak on the phone. 

A sweet cherry voice rings in your ear, “Hello, is this Y/N?” 

“Yes. and you?” 

“I am Kim Seokjin, Jeon Jungkook’s manager.” 

The remnant of sleep flies away from your eyes as the man introduces himself. Why is Jeon Jungkook’s manager calling you this early in the morning!? 

“How can I help you?” you voice, not trying to mask your confusion. 

“Y/N, I assume you are aware of the situation, right? I mean the rumors?” 

“I am aware and currently waiting for Mr. Jeon to decline the speculations.” you state as firmly as possible. 

“About that… Why don’t we discuss before revealing anything?” 

You frown at that.

“Discuss? What is there to discuss? You know well that I got to know Mr. Jeon via a professional connection, there is nothing else added to it, except for the fact that I visited the club to convince him for another meeting. And all of these things happened.” 

“Exactly. I know it all and I also know that it’s not nice to be dragged into this mess but we, me and Jungkook, have a proposition to make. We can use this situation for both of our benefits for strictly business purposes.” 

You sigh, “I don’t understand what you are trying to say Mr. Kim.” 

“Yes. That is only natural. So, why don’t we meet face to face and get down on the details of the proposition? You can bring a friend or family if you are not comfortable meeting us alone. How does lunch sound?” 

You think for a moment. You could probably take Jimin with you? Even though it’s monday, he will squeeze some time out of his schedule if you promise him free lunch. 

“Okay. I will send you a confirmation text in this number.” you reply before cutting the call and directing your fingers towards Jimin’s text. 

He has sent you a similar array of texts, so hopefully he won’t have too many questions to ask. He will understand once you give him a brief. 

“I will tell you everything, can you meet me for lunch? I need to meet Jeon Jungkook and his manager for obvious reasons. Free lunch will be offered.” 

His reply comes within a few moments, 

“I’m in. I will pick you up just text me the time.” 

You now type a text to Kim Seokjin confirming him the meeting as he texts you the time. 

Just when you are about to go to Jimin’s inbox again, another unknown number sends you a text. 

Annoyance flares through your veins as you open it. It says: 

“See you soon, pornaddict. 

– Jeon Jungkook.” 

You groan at the choice of nick name, “Fuck you, Jeon!” 

You don’t understand many things. 

But currently, you don’t understand why this fine-as-fuck man is Jeon Jungkook’s manager slash assistant. 

He goes by the name Kim Seokjin. 

When he smiles at you, you melt. And to compose your flustered state you look at Jeon Jungkook - the (current) bane of your existence. 

He gives you a lopsided smile that obviously is fake, leaning down against the sofa seat absorbing as much sunlight as possible. 

You don’t give him any reaction.. Beside you, Jimin introduces himself to both of the men. 

“Miss Y/N. Thank you so much for coming.” Seokjin says in a pleasant tone. His voice sounds like honey dripping from a silver spoon. 

You nod, “Yeah. Alright, Mr. Kim, can I ask about the proposition you were talking about?”  

“Call me seokjin. And sure, let’s get into the important details.” he pauses to give you a sweet smile then opens his ipad and scrolls through something. Jungkook, too, scrolls through his phone so unamusedly as if he has been dragged here without his consent. 

“So, as you already know, the situation is out of hand now. We tried to take down the initial posts but the photos and videos spread like fire.” he speaks calmly. You nod along with him, Jimin too gives the older man his utmost attention. 

“On the other hand, our Jungkookie has been interacting with people, who are currently embroiled in controversy.” noted: Seokjin called Jungkook as Jungkookie and he is talking about Doona. 

You see Jungkook rolling his eyes. 

“If it wasn’t not for you, then he would be dragged down in the mess too.” Seokjin continues, “I know it’s not nice to be the center of unwanted attention and it is already causing you damage but… we need your help. Jungkook needs your help.” 

Jungkook makes a very unapproving sound from his seat. 

“What help? How can I even help you guys?” you are now extremely confused. Why would Jeon Jungkook, out of all people, need your help? 

“Date him.” Seokjin proposes. 

“What?” you and Jimin scream in unison. 

“Not for real. Calm down. I meant to say, if you pretend to be his girlfriend before the world, on social media, it will help Jungkookie in defying possible criticism and hatred.” Seokjin explains calmly. 

However, you are anything but calm. 

Whatever criticism Jeon Jungkook faces, it is simply his own problem. You have nothing to do with it. What is your benefit by being involved with him? 

As if reading your mind Seokjin now states, “in return, Jungkookie will sign an exclusive deal with your company for not only one but any kind of future collaboration your company wants with him, that too, at a discounted price.” he winks at you. 

Your jaw hits the floor. 

“Hyung! What the fuck! Where is this discount coming from?” Jungkook finally opens his mouth for the first time. 

“Cool. I’m in.” you reply in a heartbeat. Jimin clutches your wrist under the table. 

“Y/N! Aren’t you even going to think?” he whisper-yells in your ear. 

“There is nothing to think about. This is a very good deal, Jiminie. I will be hard-pressed to let such an opportunity go.” you whisper back. 

“But-” 

“I knew you would be an intelligent one” Seokjin cuts off your friend with a cherry tone, “I look forward to working with you” he extends his hand, you take in him with a shake. The shit-eating grin is lighting up your face. 

Jungkook sits there throwing daggers at you with his eyes. 

“It’s all because of you! You fucked things up!” Jungkook’s loud voice invades the serenity you were enjoying while waiting for Jimin to show up with his car. 

You turn your head in astonishment and give him wide eyes, “My ears must have gone cold. You are saying thanks and I am hearing something completely different.” 

“No! You are hearing it right, I said you fucked things up. Only if you didn’t show up at the club-”

“Then people would be dragging you down in twitter and instagram for fucking a school bully on camera.” you finish the sentence for him. 

Jungkook clicks his tongue and the smirks, “you know what? I can see how bad you are down for me. Is this all a part of your plan?” 

You smirk back, folding your hand in front of your chest, “FYI, your manager reached out to me to help you out. I am doing you a favor and you are returning it. Got it?” 

“Again.. Again that nasty attitude of yours.” Jungkook steps towards you, “you know what… I kinda like it.” 

He breathes directly on your face. 

The puff of his breath lands on the apple of your cheeks making a blush creep up without your notice.

“Make sure you save my number, girlfriend. See you tomorrow.” he leans down and whispers the last words in your ears and then disappears inside the parking lot. 

You stand there, catching your breath and questioning your decision for the first time since the proposition landed on your lap. 

But wait? What does he mean by ‘see you tomorrow’? 

Somebody must have pressed a replay button on the cassette of your life. 

If not then it’s certainly a deja vu, because the scene that’s unfolding is exactly the same as what happened last week. 

You are sitting inside the conference room, with Yoongi and Mrs. Lee and there is Jeon Jungkook sitting right across from you. 

The only thing that seems changed today is his attitude - which is a little more tamed. 

And oh… your clothes too. 

“This is so nice of you to come forward and ask for a meeting after whatever happened last time.” Mrs. Lee speaks in a sickeningly sweet tone. You wanna roll your eyes but decide against it. 

“Ah. no no. Miss Y/N is really competent at what she does. The credit goes to her. Even though things went south for the first time, we figured out that we actually are very compatible and working together will be beneficial for both of us. Right?” Jungkook directs his question towards you. 

“Uh- yeah. Hahahaha. Yeah.” you honestly don’t know what to reply. He is obviously faking it and you need to fake it too but Yoongi is sitting right beside you and he is staring at you and you are on the verge of losing your sanity. 

“I’m sorry if I am overstepping any boundaries but I can’t help being curious if the rumors are true?” Yoongi barges in. He looks at you and then Jungkook, expecting an answer or a reaction. 

Before you can say something - something you don’t even know what, Jungkook decides to answer. 

“Only time will tell.” he smiles at Yoongi. 

The amount of weird glances you are receiving from your colleagues is astronomical. 

For most of them it’s just eyeing you up and down and for some of the brave ones, it’s throwing impromptu comments like “oh, Y/N is a celeb now.” 

You want to punch them on their faces. 

Nevertheless, you don’t want a new trouble right when you manage to fight one crisis in exchange for your name and relationship status. 

You scroll through company social media accounts and start planning for all the new content that’s going to drop as soon as Jungkook’s done with the photoshoot. 

Your phone chimes with a notification. When take it in your hand to see it’s a text from the devil himself: 

“In front of the parking lot. Come in five minutes.” 

Your eyes close in frustration. You haven’t even stepped into the deal properly and he has started ordering you already. 

But what can you even do, you dug your own grave after all. 

It takes you seven minutes to reach the parking lot - obviously because you work on the sixteenth floor and the elevators don’t run on your will. 

When you find Jungkook waiting for you at the mentioned location with his bike, you find him kind of intriguing. 

It’s been long, embarrassingly long, since you have had a guy waiting for you. Even though you know it’s fake. You can turn blind eye for a moment and let yourself believe otherwise. 

“You are late.” he says with a pout. 

You lose your sanity only a little. 

“Sorry. The elevator didn’t listen to me when I asked it to run fast.” you reply. 

“Haha. very funny.” he replies animatedly then reaches for his backpack and plucks out a document folder. 

“What is this?” you question naturally. 

“The dating contract for our fake relationship.” he shrugs, extending the folder towards you, “Hyung asked you to go through it meticulously. You can add or reduce any term you don’t see fit. We will finalize it and announce our fake relationship officially once you are done. You have time till Friday.” he recites flatly, “also, you can’t tell anyone just yet. Got it?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever-”

“Y/N?” someone calls you and it’s not Jungkook. 

You whip your head to see Yoongi is standing a few feets away inside the parking space with keys in his hand. 

Your stomach feels funny at his unreadable expression. 

And then you feel a pair or lips pressing down on your cheeks. 

Jungkook kisses you before parting and saying, “Hasta la vista, baby”  

You freeze at your stop. You can see Yoongi’s eyes narrowing on you. Jungkook hops on his bike and leaves within a moment. 

You stand there, staring apologetically at the man you like and he sports an expression you can’t comprehend. 

“So.. the rumors were true, huh?” Yoongi finally voices after what feels like an eternity. 

“No- I-” also, you can’t tell anyone just yet. Got it? Jungkook’s words reel inside your head, “yes” you lie, crossing your fingers behind you. 

“Congratulations” Yoongi greets before flashing his gummy smile at you and then leaving you there to look for his car. 

“You really don’t care, do you?” you ask him. Even though you know he can’t hear you. There is a mixture of different emotions inside your gut and you are way too tired to name any of those.

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Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Epilogue: Part One [Boulevard of Broken Dreams]

Summary: You received a call you and Bradley Bradshaw have been waiting on for what felt like a decade. Jakes mother causes a scene as worry consumes you. And does Jake want the very thing that put him in the hospital in the first place?

Warnings: Jake Seresin Whump. Mentions of Religion. F!reader x Jake Seresin. Angst, Mother-in-law issues. F-18 crash. Bad Medical representation.

Word Count: 6.2k

Author Note: EEEPPPPP we're almost there. this is the chapter EVERYONE has been waiting for. Just what the hell is going on! Please don't forget to let me know what you think.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

December 23rd 

Your genetic makeup, the genes that you inherit from your parents, determines who you are biologically. They’re your blueprint so to speak. Everything from your eye colour to your height to your laugh. Even some diseases like asthma, diabetes, and various cancers. 

But who you are at the core of it all goes far beyond your genetic makeup. Who you really are is the result of many, many things: How you deal with fear. Who you surround yourself with. And how you show up when it matters most. 

The sea breeze was a gentle reminder of how quickly life could change in the blink of an eye. As you walked along the sand with small, barely there waves lapping at your ankles, the sight of families running after beach umbrellas and holding down sandy towels after the sudden gust of wind came through and caused a disturbance, really made you smile. Smiles were a treasure that was few and far between. It had been for months. 

The somewhat sunny day was shrouded in the unknown. Chronic winds continued to wreak havoc on unsuspecting families just trying to enjoy their weekend. A storm was brewing off the coast. But for you, something much more life-altering was wreaking havoc. Something all-encompassing and certifiably depressing was eating away at your soul. 

Your boyfriend and the love of your life had been severely injured in a work accident just over two months ago. His mother is certifiably insane and clearly doesn’t like you even existing on the same planet as her son… and his best friend hasn’t left you alone in what felt like a century. 

But who were you to compare tragedies on this fine, sunny day? 

“There you are!” The second you heard that agitating, grading voice, you rolled your eyes so hard you could have fallen into the shallows. The flightless bird you knew as Bradley Bradshaw was racing after you, making his presence known along the shore as he ran to catch up. “God, you had me worried for a second there. I was talking to Sue for like five seconds and you were just gone.” 

“Some bodyguard you are,” you huffed as Bradley finally caught up to you. It wasn’t that you didn't like Rooster, it was more about the fact he felt obligated to keep an eye on you given the circumstances. “How is Sue anyway?” 

“Uh–” Bradley looked back over his shoulder hesitantly to see the woman he’d been dating for the last few weeks walking away. “I don’t think we'll be seeing Sue much anymore.” It was all the explanation you needed. And if you were to be completely honest you didn’t blame the women. Who wants to fight for attention with a man whose sole responsibility these days was to keep his best friend's unborn children safe? 

“You should be paying more attention to the women you’re trying to sleep with you know,” you replied as you kept walking down the pristine beach. The place that had become a home away from home. “I’ve told you, I don’t need a babysitter. We’re good, I promise.” 

It had been an unspoken understanding since meeting Jake’s wingman that Rooster would look after you if anything were ever to happen to Jake. It went both ways for the two aviators from hell. Although at times the pair couldn’t be in the same room as one another without starting World War Three, it was a given that they would always be there for the other’s loved ones. It was brotherhood in its finest and rawest form. 

But it was driving you mad. 

“Jake wouldn’t–” Bradley tried to explain, but you’d heard this explanation too many times by this point. So much so you could finish Rooster’s sentence for him. 

“‘Jake wouldn’t forgive you if something were to happen to me’, I know I know,” you huffed again. Your right hand came down to rest across your growing bump. Two little souls were currently using your internal system as their personal development grove. Two little Seresin babies that were as unexpected as they were blessed— or at least, to you. “But you– for as much as I appreciate everything you have and will continue to do for us Rooster– are driving me insane.” 

“Too bad,” couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled you into his side. His arm slung over your shoulders before you could even protest his actions. “You’re Jake’s girl and Jake’s not here so therefore I gotta do what I gotta do and that my dear Y/n–” Bradley paused for a second before he continued just like the small waves that lapped at your ankles. Fear threatened to overcome Rooster’s nervous system. Yet, fending off fight or flight mode, he continued. Playing the role you needed him to be: Caregiver brick wall extraordinaire. “---Is to be right here, by your side, until that idiot wakes up.” 

They say time heals most wounds. And for the majority of people that saying is pretty spot on. But for Jake Seresin, that hadn’t been the case. Jake had been in an induced coma for weeks after his near-death accident. The experienced aviator was no match for the panic attack that took him hostage mid-training exercise. His body currently lay battered, burnt and bruised in the Miramar Base Hospital in the intensive care unit. His soul remained trapped inside the mind you sometimes hated to love and loved to hate. 

And when Doctors tried to wake him from the state they’d put him into in order to heal…he didn’t wake up. 

That was back in November…It was now approaching Christmas Day and still, there was no sign of Jake waking from his coma. He’d battled and fought what seemed like everything the world could throw at him: Broken bones. Third-degree burns. A swollen brain. Organ damage. Pneumonia. You name it and Jake had battled it. 

He was a fighter. Someone who was going to fight until he had nothing left. Doctors assured you there was brain activity. A good indication of a recovery.

But when he would wake was entirely up to him…

“Some idiot huh?” you teased playfully at your boyfriend’s expense. But the reality of the situation was that with every passing day, with every complication or turn of events, you missed Jake more and more. “He’s coming out the other side of the phenomena though, which is a good sign.” 

Bradley walked by your side as the two of you debriefed about what the day would bring. First, you needed to shower and change into something that wasn’t kissed by the salty air of the beach you liked to walk along every morning. It helped you clear your head from all the noise. Since Jake’s accident, your head hadn’t been quiet. Voices echoed all day long inside your mind about what you could be doing better, more of. What you could have done differently.

Sometimes those voices would grow louder and stronger the longer you tried to avoid them. However, averting your gaze and pretending the voices didn’t exist was a harder task than first thought…especially when the voices that escaped your mind were coming from Jake’s mother. 

That self-proclaimed holier than thou mother fu—

Next, you needed to eat something. You hadn’t had much of an appetite your entire pregnancy. Bradley liked to think it was because of the additional stress Jake’s hospitalisation had caused. You knew he’d say something if you didn’t at least try to consume something of substance. 

And finally, to you, the most important part of the list of to-do’s, was to get over to Miramar Base Hospital and see the man who’d captivated your entire heart. The goal every day besides growing two human lives was to be by Jake's side. 

Even if at the end of the day the result of all this turmoil and trauma was a breakup you knew his mother was already actively praying for, you’d still be able to say you weren’t the one who walked away. 

“Come on,” Bradley gently placed his arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get outta here. I’m sure Jake’s waiting for us.”

“His mother will be there,” you said without hesitation. There was a frustrated sadness in your voice. A longing for privacy. A declaration for peace. You knew Bradley was aware of the hostile relationship between the two of you, he'd been present for a few altercations. But you also knew he was right and Jake would want you there if you could be.  And it was a could-be day. For both you and Rooster. “I was thinking maybe we could go a little later in the day, give her some time alone–”

“Y/n?” 

Yeah?” You knew what was coming, it felt like the two of you had had this same exact conversation every day for the past four weeks. 

“You’re the mother of Jake’s soon-to-be twins. He’d want you there more than Janise.” 

“It’s Janeen, Roo,” you grinned to yourself as you looked down at your growing bump with a loving hand resting over your belly button. “And Hell would probably freeze over before she realises that.” 

“I thought you weren’t a religious person?” Rooster frowned momentarily as he searched his brain for any conversational remarks he may have missed in passing that would have led him to forget your religious values. He wasn’t a God-loving man himself, but there had to be something out there, right?

“I’m not.” You had never followed a religion or its practices, but the longer the love of your life remained in a coma after sustaining life-threatening injuries, the more you were open to whatever religious being extended a helping hand first. Including but not limited to Satan. You’d sell your soul in a heartbreak to bring Jake back. “But a girl can dream, can’t she?” 

Your non-religious self-awareness was the deciding factor when it came to Janeen not accepting you. Ever since Jake had brought you home to his parents one winter break back in your college days, you knew it was a battle not worth fighting. 

You were the girl who got away. The rogue agent. The true crime writer with an appetite for knowledge and literature. Jake was the aspiring college football star turned Naval Aviator. 

Jake broke it off in the spring before he went to basic. You wanted roots and stability he at the time couldn’t offer. He was off to see the world and the world would be his oyster. You couldn’t stand in the way of that no matter how much you believed Jake Seresin was the one for you. 

You knew Janeen was over the moon with joy and delight that her precious boy had come home to his faith and exiled the woman who was leading him down a road of treacherous sin. 

Get the fuck outta here. 

It wasn’t until about a year or so ago that you and Jake reconnected after he’d come back from a mission that had him staring death right in the face and questioning what he had to look back on. 

All he saw was you in that library at college smiling across at him while explaining that Christmas was fake. Something his mother would have burnt him at the stake for believing. 

So, Jake called. And like a love-sick loser, you came running from across the country. Rhode Island was your home, but wherever Jake Seresin was in the world was where your heart would be. 

“I bet she cries herself to sleep at night more over the fact you and Hangman are having children out of wedlock than she cries over the fact he nearly died,” Bradley growled. 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” you replied as a gust of wind picked up a beach umbrella in the distance. “I’m something straight out of the book of the damned, Bradshaw. The idea of us having a child together, let alone twins, took twenty years off her life.” 

“Jake would have loved to see her face when you told her,” Bradley chuckled. Then he cleared his throat and did his best to steer the conversation back on track. “We still have to go to the hospital.”

Reluctantly, you agreed. “Fine, but you’re taking me to get a muffin from Bells Bakery first,” you said all the while Rooster rolled his eyes. You knew he couldn’t say no. How do you say no to a pregnant lady who just wants a sweet little treat before spending hours in the same room as your comatose boyfriend and his overbearingly religious mother? You don’t. You don’t say no, you simply nod in agreement. 

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

Every disease has its unique course it takes in the body when left untreated. The process begins with exposure to a root cause that sends a ripple effect throughout the body. The disease then progresses, ultimately resolving in one of three possible outcomes…

You get better, you stay chronically ill, or you die. 

The weather had taken a drastic turn since you and Rooster left the beach earlier that morning. The slightly overcast and windy day brought in a nice north-easterly storm. Rain was the only thing that filled the silence as you sat waiting patiently. You caught yourself thinking of what you’d give to hear Jake’s voice before the new year. 

The carefully cultivated interior design of Bradley’s Bronco was something straight out of every single bachelor’s wet dream. This car was what you expected the inside of his soul to look like. And if you were to ever become anything like Jake’s Mother, you’d think this car would be Bradley’s version of a perfect heaven. 

Then, like a premonition, your phone rang, splitting the quiet like lightning through a dark sky. 

"Hi, Y/n,” Doctor Hughes sounded rather cheerful as you sat in the passenger seat of Bradley’s Bronco. 

“It appears that our dear friend is waking up," his voice was urgent but steady. For a moment, your mind stumbles, caught between disbelief and hope. Then you’re moving — grabbing keys, kicking on your sandals, heart pounding louder than an engine roaring to life.

“Rooster?” you whispered as you clambered out of the parked Bronco. The curb hated to see a Bradshaw coming. “I’ll be there as soon as I can!” You awkwardly spoke into your phone before hanging up without hesitation. There was no time to waste on small talk. Jake was waking up. 

The world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow as you walked as fast as you could, each passing second stretched thin by desperation. Memories flashed — hospital visits, whispered promises, tear-soaked prayers, or whatever bullshit Jake’s mother insisted on mumbling. 

“Rooster!?” you yelled as panic, fear, and anxiety overcame your nervous system. “Bradshaw?” you yelled once more as you entered the small locally owned bakery..

“Hey, what’s wrong? I just ordered a coffee to go and your apple cinnamon muffin.,” Rooster could tell by the look on your face and how sickly you looked that something had happened. “Is the Bronco okay?” 

The fact that was the first thing his mind jumped to angered you to no end. “Yes, the fucking Bronco is fine, you idiot,” you sighed as your belly felt heavy with two Seresin children, a nervous shit, and impending vomit. “Jake’s waking up.”

“No way, who called?” Bradley kicked into fifth gear before your eyes as he ushered you out of the cafe without his coffee or your muffin. 

“Rooster, our order?” you protested as he barrelled out of the cafe with your shoulders in his hands. “Hold up!” 

“We gotta go, you wanna be there when he wakes up, don’t you?” Rooster asked, thinking the answer you’d give him would be a straight-up “yes”. There shouldn’t have been any other answer. But the longer you stood still not answering, Bradley knew something was eating away at you. “Y/n, why are you being weird about this? He’s okay, everything’s gonna be alright.” 

“What if he doesn’t want this?” your eyes welled with tears in the middle of the walkway. “What if he doesn’t want me? What if…what if he doesn’t want the ki–our kids?” 

Surgical intervention doesn’t always work when it comes to disease. Sometimes, despite best efforts, the disease wins. It takes over our cells one-by-one…until the damage can no longer be reversed. When that happens, all you can do is take the loss and move on. But when you can change the course of someone’s disease, you can change the course of their life. It’s enough to make you want to come back for more. 

“Oh, Y/n, no,” Bradley cooed as he drew you in for a much-needed hug. “Jake’s a lot of things, and he’s done a lot of stupid things, but giving you up all those years ago was his biggest mistake,” Rooster reminded you as the tears you cried stained his T-shirt. Your face was buried in his chest. A chest that had soaked up far too many of your tears these last few weeks. “I know there’s a lot of unknowns, but if there’s one thing I know for sure it’s that Jake’s never gonna let you guys go. I promise you.”

“He didn’t want the baby before he–” You couldn’t finish your sentence without breaking out into an all-out wail. Bradley held you tighter than he ever had before. He didn’t know what you hadn’t told him. And what you hadn’t told him was the whole truth…

The whole truth was that Jake’s accident had been your fault. Or so it felt like it. 

“Hey, hey, you’re good,” Rooster tried his best to soothe your soul all the while the lady who’d taken his order before kindly brought it out. He was sure to thank her silently over your shoulder as she placed the muffin in its brown paper bag and his takeaway coffee on the bench. “Whatever happened before all this, I’m sure it’s gonna work out. Jake loves you so much,” Rooster beamed as he rubbed your back. “He’s not letting you or these kiddos go.” 

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

As the Bronco sped down the rain-slick streets, tires hissing against the wet pavement, Bradley’s hands gripped the steering wheel as tight as possible. His knuckles were white with tension. You sat anxiously in the passenger seat, phone clenched tightly in your hands, replaying the call from Dr. Hughes in your mind over and over again like a broken Rolexes that held only one memory. 

"It appears that our dear friend is waking up,” Jensen Hughes, Jake’s primary doctor who had been with him since the first day he was brought into the hospital, had said. The words echoed in your head, filling your mind, body, and soul with equal parts hope and fear.

"We’re almost there," Bradley muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. His best friend was waking up from a coma he never really thought he’d come out of. He’d been looking after you and his unborn children since the accident. Jake had missed so much and nothing all at the same time. 

"He’s strong. He’s been fighting this whole time." You reached over, resting a hand on his arm. Bradley nodded in return but didn’t speak. The memories of countless nights spent at Jake’s bedside haunted you both. Each mile seemed endless, stretched by the weight of anticipation.

The hospital's glowing sign finally appeared through the rain-streaked windshield. Bradley exhaled sharply, parking the car with a jerky halt. Without another word, you both dashed toward the entrance, hearts pounding, ready to see Jake — ready to hope again. 

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

The elevator doors opened with a subdued ding as you and Rooster stepped into the hushed hospital hallway. The dim overhead lights cast a pale glow, reflecting off the sterile white walls. Neither of you spoke as you walked toward Jake’s room. Both too anxious to say anything that could jeopardise this significant moment in Jake’s recovery. 

As you approached the familiar door, you hesitated. Your breath hitched in your throat. Bradley gently squeezed your hand, grounding you in the moment. You felt like you were going to be sick. Your twins pressed on every vital organ they had shoved to whatever side they could to make room for themselves. Here you were, Jake Seresin’s pregnant girlfriend, about to see him awake for the first time in what felt like a decade. Rounding the final corner, you saw the familiar door, slightly ajar, light spilling into the hallway. For a moment, neither of you moved, overwhelmed by hope and fear intertwined.

"We’re here," Bradley whispered, his voice steady though his eyes betrayed the weight of his worry.

As you pushed the door open, you were met with the soft beeping of the heart monitor and the steady whoosh of the ventilator. Jake lay still, his face pale but peaceful, lost in the depths of his coma. His mind was a world away, carried off into the subconscious. His body was the only remaining evidence to suggest he was still with you. 

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill as you stepped closer. Why were you expecting him to be awake and alert? Wishing thinking once again overcomplicated your usually realistic outlook on how things worked in this world. Perhaps it had been the way Doctor Hughes spoke to you on the phone. Or maybe it was the pregnancy hormones that allowed for more hopeful endings. Either way, neither explanation added up to the expectation you had set. 

"Hey, Jake... it’s us," you whispered, voice trembling. Bradley pulled a chair close and ushered you to sit beside the bed. 

"We’re not going anywhere," he said firmly. "You hear me? We’re right here." Resting a hand on Jake’s forearm, Rooster was quick to let his wingman know he was there. The room remained silent except for the rhythmic beeping, but neither of you moved, holding onto hope with every passing second. 

“We heard what you’ve been up to while we’ve been gone, baby,” you cooed softly as you stroked Jake’s cheek gently, taking in the sight of his peacefully unaware self. “And we don’t plan on going anywhere until we get to see those beautiful eyes of yours.” 

“What’s going on here?” The familiar voice made your heart sink into your stomach as you tried to get as comfortable as you could in the world’s most uncomfortable hospital chair. Janeen stood in the doorway with a fresh coffee from the cafe downstairs in her aging hand. Her nails, manicured to perfection, clutched around the paper cup so much so that you swore the scolding hot liquid would burst through the weakened structure. “Did something happen? Why the urgency to not go anywhere?” 

“Did–” you paused for a second as you allowed yourself to sink a little further into your chair with a protective hand strewn across your ever-growing baby bump. “Did anyone call you?” 

“Why would anyone call me when I’m already here, silly girl.” Janeen scoffed as she walked further into Jake’s room. A room that had been his for weeks. A room that your mother had helped you decorate with Christmas lights and decorations as the season approached with every passing day. A bleak, barren hospital room was no place for a soul full of such joy and fun and high-octane energy. Jake deserved more than white walls and sterile floors. 

“Right, my bad for asking,” you sighed as Rooster rolled his eyes discreetly and tried to hide his disdain for his best friend’s mother. A mother he knew Jake wasn’t so fond of either. Especially when it came to you. 

“Jane!” Rooster beamed as he broke the tension. “Long time no see. How long has it been?” Bradley smiled as he shot you a cheeky look of mischief. This was who Rooster was at his very core. A shit-stirring moustache-having gold star kid. The best there was. He’d been a rock for you during this whole ordeal. There had never been a moment these past few months where you hadn’t been able to cry on Rooster’s shoulder or vent to him in full confidence that everything you said would stay with him and only him. 

“I saw you yesterday, son,” Janeen replied sternly, not a single hint of amusement in her tone. Yet, Rooster continued with his antics. He knew well enough by now to know if he kept going, Janeen would cut you some slack. Rooster had been an on-and-off fixture in the Seresin household for years. Ever since Jake and Bradley met in the academy. And boy did Janeen Seresin have a soft spot for the man who grew up without parents or any sort of guiding light. She saw real potential in the Bradshaw kid. If he just applied himself to God, he could be one of his finest soldiers. 

“Really? I’d never forget seeing you! Are you sure it was yesterday? I heard dementia is kinda contagious in these sorts of environments,” Bradley grinned as he pulled the shorter, aging woman with that signature older mother smell into him for a hug. He was sure to send you a wink over her head. 

You had to stuff the boisterous laugh that threatened to spill from your mouth right back down into the depths of your stomach before World War Three could erupt right here in Jake’s hospital room. To be perfectly honest though, you wouldn’t be opposed to that diagnosis. Perhaps then you’d have somewhat of a chance at developing some sort of relationship with the grandmother of your children. Even if each and every day brought a new personality and memory bank. Oh, a girl could dream. 

“Y/n, be a dear and get me a chair will you?” If you weren’t already sitting down, you would have fallen over with shock. 

“Oh, I can do that,” Bradley quickly jumped into action, not wanting you to get up. “I’ll go get you one, I’ll be right back.” He grinned at Janeen before sending you a worrying look of concern. A look that didn’t necessarily look the best on him. “Don’t–just don’t kill each other while I’m gone, alright?” 

“Scouts honour,” you held your hand up as if you were swearing on the bible. Something you’d never actually do. But as Janeen looked over at where you were sitting, she nodded in agreement. 

“Right, I’ll be right back,” Bradley groaned hesitantly as he left the room. Leaving an unconscious and comatose Jake to fend for himself. “Sorry pal, she’s your mother,” he mumbled to himself as he shook his head and continued out of sight. The second Rooster was gone…it was on for young and old. 

“I’ve organised a paternity test for when you have the babies–” Janeen informed you like it wasn’t the worst insult you’d ever heard.  

“Excuse me?” you replied rather harshly as you sat up in your chair. In what world would these not be Jake’s children? How was this happening right now? How was she doing this when Jake was slowly waking up from his endless sleep? 

“You heard me,” Jeneen smirked. “I need to protect my son,” For a woman who preached about being God’s seeing eye, she really was doing the devil’s work. 

“Your son should have listened in sex-ed a little more.” You knew even the mention of sex would have Janeen’s skin crawling. Sex out of wedlock! How dare you, how would you ever be cleansed of your sins? “Are you being serious right now Janeen?” 

“I almost lost him once!” Jake’s mother raised her voice as she stepped closer to his bedside, taking in the sight of her grown, adult child. “I’m not losing him again and certainly not to some wannabe writer who wants to live off my son’s achievements.” 

“Almost doesn’t matter because almost never happened,” you made sure to say before you went on to unleash a declaration of war against your not-so-mother-in-law. “But I can guarantee if you try and destroy this family before it has a chance to grow, so help whatever God you believe in bitch…I’ll burn your entire life to the ground and smile when I watch the millions of dollars you put into that ranch burn too.”  

“You vindictive girl.” Janeen had nothing else to say from the other side of Jake’s hospital bed. 

“Don’t threaten my family and I won’t threaten yours.” It was the only warning you were ever going to give. 

“He’s my son!” Janeen shouted as Bradley made his wake back down the hall with a chair in hand. 

“And he’s my hu–” 

You couldn’t finish your sentence. With so many hormones and emotions coursing through your veins, you slipped. Jake wasn’t your husband. He wasn’t your fiance. He was your boyfriend. And for as much as you wanted to marry the man lying in that hospital bed after nearly losing his life, you knew that question was far from being asked. If it were ever to be asked. Jake Seresin had grown up watching his parents hate each other…he’d made it clear marriage was something he wasn’t interested in. Why would he be when he spent his childhood listening to his mother beg his father to fix some stupid faucet that never did get fixed? 

Why would Jake ever be interested in marriage when he could remember the intervention his grandfather gave his dad at their wedding, something about it wasn’t too late to back out. Hell, why would Jake be interested in marriage when he watched his father fall out of love so hard with his mother that she never really clued him in on her battle with breast cancer? Jake grew up under the guidance of God and his almighty word…

But the way his father had treated his mother throughout Jake’s life had truly left a sour taste in his mouth. And if Jake, through biological design, was anything like his dad…he was never going to put himself in a position where he could emulate any sort of resemblance to his father. 

Trauma am I right? (He’d told you so much about his childhood.) 

“Honey, you’re nothing more than an incubator,” Janeen hissed with a wicked smirk plastered across her face. “He’s my son, and my son knows better than to allow himself to stoop as low as ending up with someone like you.” 

“I thought I told you two not to kill each other?” Rooster tried to intervene as he placed the chair down beside where Janeen stood. He’s never seen you look so worked up. So angry. So hurt. 

“Janeen.” You took a deep breath in and closed your eyes. “When I have these children, Jake’s children, if I have it my way you will never see them. You will never get to know them do you hear me? No God or religion or wackadoodle fucking beliefs you have will ever help you have a relationship with my children because if you can’t look me in the fucking eye and see what your son sees in me then I’m not entertaining any sort of relationship with you.” 

“If they’re really my grandbabies then you can’t keep them from seeing their family–” 

“She’s their mother, Jane, I don’t think you have much say in the matter,” Rooster sided with you as politely as he could. He wasn’t going to be the one to point out that Jake's fingers were twitching either. 

“Better start praying really hard Janeen,” you chuckled, knowing that although you didn’t win this battle, you’d win the war. “Maybe Rooster will bring back a pillow for your knees,” you teased, a little out of line but it was so worth the look of horror on her face. “You’ll be on them for a hell of a long time.” 

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

The roar of twin afterburners pierced the sky as Jake pushed his F-18 Super Hornet through a steep climb. The clear blue expanse stretched endlessly above, the ground a distant memory. This was his element—a place where skill and instinct defined survival. Still, the only thing on his mind when he should have been focusing on controlling a multimillion-dollar piece of military equipment was you. You were pregnant. Jake was going to be a father. 

He should have listened to you when you said the two of you could talk about it after he got home from work. He never should have pressed you for more information. But Jake had and the second the words came out of your mouth, he heard nothing else after the words “I’m pregnant Jake–we’re gonna have a baby.” 

He wasn’t ready to be a dad. A father. Being a dad was the last thing Jake thought he should ever be. He wasn’t raised to procreate. He shouldn’t be responsible for another human being. If Jake was even an ounce like his own father, that kid, that poor fetus growing inside you as he raced through the sky, was about to have one hell of a childhood. It wasn’t even just having a baby that terrified him. How was Jake meant to teach this kid right from wrong when he was still learning that himself? 

“What if I told you that I wasn’t sure if I wanted kids, but I want you?” Jake knew the second that the question left his lips…that it hadn’t come out the way it should have. But the reality was he had said it, and the look in your hopeful eyes quickly shattered and was replaced with a reluctance to continue with the conversation. 

Self-doubt radiated off Jake like his life force was fading. Today's training was a high-intensity combat simulation over the rugged terrain of Redstone Valley. Jake and Rooster were executing advanced dogfighting maneuvers against an elite training squadron. Every turn, every roll, every burst of speed was a calculated dance of power and precision.

"Bandit on your six!" Bradshaw’s urgent voice crackled through Jake's headset. 

His wingman had questioned him earlier in the day about what had him so uptight. Jake hadn’t been himself today, he knew that much for sure. But that was because he couldn’t stop thinking about you and the very fact you were pregnant with his child. A child created out of love and endless passion. But that wasn’t enough to make Jake want to be a father after being so sure for so many of his adult years that he wasn’t supposed to be a father. “Hangman! Get your arse into gear man!” 

Jake yanked the stick hard left, pulling into a sharp barrel roll. The G-forces slammed him into his seat as he broke away, narrowly avoiding the pursuing jet's simulated missile lock. His pulse raced, his adrenaline surged as his heart beat against his cheat so hard he swore he was having a heart attack… 

Suddenly, the cockpit warning system blared—a mechanical shriek of impending doom. "ENGINE FAILURE—LEFT ENGINE!" flashed across the Heads-Up Display.

"Mayday, mayday, this is Viper One, experiencing critical engine failure. Attempting emergency procedures," Jake radioed, his voice steady despite the rising tension. The heart attack he swore he was having was a full-blown panic attack. Jake couldn’t catch his breath long enough to maintain focus. “Fuck, Rooster! I’m going down! Mayday–mayday!” Children’s laughter filled the cockpit as Jake spiralled out of control. 

“JAKE! EJECT EJECT EJECT!” Bradley shouted frantically through the coms. He watched on in pure horror as one of the best aviators he knew plummeted to earth without much control. “HANGMAN EJECT!” 

“Tell Y/n I love her–” was the last communication that Bradley received before Jake frantically gave up his battle with the controls to pull his chute. 

Much like Rooster’s late father, Jake’s emergency exit hadn’t gone according to plan. The roar of the F-18's engines screamed in Jake's ears as the warning lights flashed across the cockpit. Smoke billowed from the right engine, as his aircraft trembled violently. 

As Jake pulled his emergency chute, he was propelled into the sky as his F-18 was engulfed in flames so hot the heat melted his uniform into his skin. If he’d waited even one second more he would have been a goner. The emergency exit did little to stop the dramatic fall from grace Jake was experiencing. He plummeted unconscious from the sky towards the burning pile of rubble that was, just a few seconds ago, his Super Hornet. 

The ground felt like solid concrete as Jake slammed into the side of the valley, bones shattered on impact as Rooster watched on in utter agony. His helmet did little to cushion the impact, although that was its intended purpose. Emergency services had already been sent out to Jake’s last known location… but there was little that could be done for Jake as he lay in a twisted pile of his emergency parachute. Blood stained his flight suit as his body began to shut down.

He was dying, but the laughter of children filled the silence like sunlight filtering through leaves—light, spontaneous, and full of love. 

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

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream

@maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional l

@jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog

@a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination

@the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes @eternallyvenus @emma8895eb @kmc1989 @avengersgirllorianna

[velvet-n-lace]

NSFW Alphabet (Lucifer Edition)

Series: Obey Me!

Genre: Smut/Headcanon

Word Count: 1.7k words

Pairing(s): Lucifer x Female MC

A/N: This has probably been done before, but I wanted to throw in my two cents. I made some for the other brothers too ;)

Original Template by @/the-coldest-goodbye 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Lucifer is both sweet and caring. He would leave you a bit sore, but he knows how to soothe the pain and patch up some wounds. He would clean you up and then hold you in his arms so that the pleasure lingers. He is gentle and possessive when he traces your skin and leaves goosebumps behind.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

For Lucifer, it’s his arms and hands. Without them, he wouldn’t cuddle with you or perform some sadistic desires on your body. His favorite part of your body is your pretty face, specifically your lips and blushing cheeks. He loves tracing them with his thumb and kissing your lips passionately.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Lucifer cums huge loads, and he cums multiple times in every position. He especially loves watching you swallow it or when it leaks down your mouth like frosting. Sometimes, it’s a bit much and spills over your face, or it’s leaking out your quivering pussy. His cum is bittersweet; its saltiness reflects his personality~

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Y’know how Lucifer ties up his brothers to the ceiling as a punishment? He does that out of love, if you could believe it. As for you, though, it’s simply for his pleasure; sometimes, he punishes you for the littlest things just to see you bounded with rope, all helpless and vulnerable. He admires his work well with a wicked grin the more he sees you struggling to break free. The tighter the ropes are, the more you will be writhing in frustration; Lucifer lives for that.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Lucifer is very experienced, as expected, but he won’t tell you how he got these experiences. Obviously, he punishes his brothers and ties them to the ceiling; that explains his sadism, but the sex is a mystery. It’s off the charts, so maybe deep down inside, he’s just a built-in sex god.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Any position where he looks down at you with fear and pleasure in your eyes. Kneeling, giving him a blowjob, fucking you from behind, fucking you against the wall, or getting fucked beneath him give him his power. He also loves the positions where he restrains your limbs besides bouncing on his dick. Riding him could be its own form of pussy torture, but that’s only if you're getting punished.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Serious, of course he is, but he can be very teasing. If he’s in the mood to fuck the brattiness out of you, he will push your buttons and then punish you for it. He knows the game, and you almost hate him for it.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s very well-groomed. You can tell he keeps himself clean for any occasion, even when he doesn't need to be. The carpet matches the drapes perfectly, and he keeps it well-shaven and trimmed.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Lucifer is so sweet; the affection he gives you practically seeps through your skin, and he knows that the more love he gives you, the more pleasure you will be drowning in. His touch is firm but laced with pride and passion, especially in the aftercare.

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

When Luci started falling in love with you, there were times when he had to relieve himself in unexpected ways. Of course, he locks the door to his room and jacks himself off, but there have been days when jacking off in his office was more exciting, especially when you walked in and did something unintentionally sexy in front of him. Getting a boner in the middle of the day is always so bothersome for him since it’s so obvious. He would just imagine your mouth on his cock as he pumps himself hard. Having you so close yet unaware of his desires was once thrilling until he finally got to feel your body against his.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Bondage and S&M are his prominent kinks. If it wasn’t clear already, having power over you is what he lives for. If you are comfortable being his slave, you will be collared and bound in rope or leather. He won't be able to control himself when you tap into his praise kink, especially when you call him “Master” or “Daddy.”

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

His room and your room, but also maybe his office. Fucking you into his bedsheets is fun, and having you fucked over his desk is risky; but damn, he always fantasized about doing it to you. If there is an empty classroom, he might try that, but that’s even more risky.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Anything you do can give him some type of desire, especially if it’s unintentional, like bending over to pick up something or reaching for something across a desk. Acting like a brat would definitely have you over his knee for a spanking; the sharp sting on your ass is a constant reminder of your place.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Seeing you making pacts and flirting with his brothers made him slightly jealous. It wasn’t phasing him at first, but the more he wanted you, the more possessive he became. Sharing you is a massive no-no unless maybe Lord Diavolo was invited to your little twosome. Anything that causes him to lose any sense of power or control over you is not nearly as bad as sharing you, but he prefers being the one on top.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers receiving it from you. It’s probably one of the only times you could take charge as you worship his cock and have him writhing in pleasure before he shoots his load down your throat. His skills with giving are god-like. He would eat you out and finger your pussy, only to stop and leave you begging for him to go harder and faster.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s slow and sensual if you prefer vanilla sex; he doesn't mind if that is what you like; his cock would reach your cervix anyway. When you’ve gotten used to his length, it’ll feel like the first time with more flare. When he goes rough and fast, you will be climaxing with a scream.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t prefer them, but there are days when he wants you on his cock in the middle of class. When he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into an empty classroom, that means he’s desperate and knows he can get away with it. He’ll be fine; he knows what he wants and will leave you wanting more throughout the day.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

If you like it a little bit rough, Lucifer can bring in more challenging positions or some more intense BDSM. Fucking in the office or an empty classroom is a risk too, especially if you are loud.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Lucifer can go for a long time if there is enough preparation. Usually, he stops if you’ve had enough of it for one night; he wouldn’t want to destroy you completely. Sometimes, he’s a bit exhausted from the student council work and dealing with his brothers, so there are days when you have to be the one taking charge.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Lucifer owns a whip, for some reason~ He’s got some rope to tie you up with, and at times, he can just use anything around him to spank you with, like a leather binder or a ruler. If he owns anything else, it’s probably something he bought to use on you~

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He would tease you if you were being extra bratty. He’s a serious demon, so he would always maintain a professional demeanor if you two were in public. The teasing is subtle, like when he gives your thighs a light caress or when he sneaks his fingers under your skirt to rub your clit through your panties.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He knows how to set his volume low; his grunts and moans are like a whisper on your skin, making you shiver. His breathing is also soft and deep; it always puts you in a trance. Some of his moans can be guttural if you tighten around him or deepthroat him. You can always just make him loud ;)

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

He can let you take charge at times; he loves you so damn much that he can let you be the one ordering him around or pleasuring you~ It was a bit humiliating at first, but it didn't matter anymore; if anyone had to order him around, it either has to be Lord Diavolo or you. You are his Master, after all~

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Lucifer’s cock is huge. It’s veiny and long with a crimson tip. He can grip his shaft in his hands, and its veins add to its girth. It’s almost overwhelming to look at, and you can't help but wonder if Lucifer is proud to have such a massive tool. He is very much proud~

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is mildly high, but he knows how to control it as if it’s not there. He can never show it around anyone; otherwise, he reveals his weakness to you. If his brothers ever found out, he would be livid.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

When the aftercare is over, he will make sure you are comfortable in bed with him. He will fall asleep shortly after you fall asleep.

[yuikomorii]

Shu-Yuma because their friendship is the most engaging in the series, yet idk if it still counts as mere friendship, given that in DF and LE it was sort of implied that Shu feels something more for Yuma.

I saw this interesting point you made, I’ve played both games repeatedly over the years and have honestly never thought of it as anything much what’s presented surface level. I’m intrigued by your comment and would love to see what points in routes could be used to back up such an interpretation? :)

p.s you converted me into ayato stan ;P

// Hello there, fellow aNYAto stan! >:3

In my opinion, Shu seems to have feelings for Yuma because he is overly obsessed with him and his well-being, to the extent that he does things for Yuma that he doesn’t even do for us, the players.

Of course, he does feel guilty, but even Shu admits that feeling such remorse is unusual for him, and he's right.

We know Shu is a sadist who enjoys torturing his prey in grotesque ways, so why doesn’t he regret what he did to the previous sacrificial brides? Why doesn’t he regret hurting his own brothers? He sometimes doesn’t even feel remorse when he’s hurting you/Yui. But when it comes to Yuma… Shu would sacrifice ANYONE for him.

This guy must have some kind of built-in Yuma radar, since there’s no other way to explain how he always manages to find him. He willingly goes out of his way to save him and doesn’t even care if he looks pathetic, as long as Yuma is safe, even in routes that aren’t his own, where he’s supposed to be a lazy and apathetic loser.

Not only that, but Rejet had to make him commit sui€ide and then say the “I hope we will get along in another life 🥺” part. What makes it even crazier is that he’s reincarnated as a fetus from the Tree that Yuma later decides to adopt. Basically, his wish to be on good terms with Yuma was so strong that it literally came true. When Shu dies in his own endings, he never says anything as emotional or profound, which is a bit… questionable.

Last but not least, you know how the apple is supposed to symbolize Edgar? It almost feels like Shu was trying to hint something, but when Yuma didn’t catch on, Shu was just like “Yeah… nevermind.”

All translations belong to dialovers-translations

While I understand that he might consider him a "best friend," it feels obvious that, deep down, Yuma holds a more significant place in his heart than anyone else. The way he fixates on Yuma makes it seem like their bond goes beyond mere friendship, with Yuma being someone irreplaceable and central to his world.

I know that BL themes would likely never be included in Diabolik Lovers, given the backlash such elements often receive in otome games. As a result, everything is left open to anyone’s interpretation! :3

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (1)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 7.9k

Warnings: Bucky is a dick; mentions of murder, fire, death, knives; loss of parents; sexism; violence; prejudices

Author’s note: First part. Hope you enjoy! I'd be happy if you let me know what you think ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The evening went well. Or that’s what you tell yourself every single time.

You played your part impeccably - every nod, every word, every glance, and every smile was measured and graceful.

Even the rivals among the lords seemed charmed tonight.

You didn’t really catch a glimpse of your father, but that is nothing new to you.

Thankfully, you could spend a little time with your mother before the banquet began. She always insists on braiding your hair for formal events. Usually, that was meant to calm you down when you were little but she still insists on doing it, despite the fact that those formalities don’t matter to you anymore.

They always leave you feeling uncomfortable, like you are merely a sculpture to be appraised.

Tonight’s garment had been chosen with precision. Of course not from you. You don’t get to choose your own clothes. They are softly lilac colored silken folds, embroidered with delicate threads of gold to catch the light. It hugs your frame in a way meant to flatter but left you feeling exposed the whole evening.

You play your part, but you hate it.

The music, the scent of roasted meats, the spiced wine, the laughter of guests - it’s always the same. You scarcely even remember what kind of occasion today’s banquet even marked.

All you remember are the gazes lingering on your body.

Men who have long since passed their prime looked upon you with the hungry eyes of wolves, their smiles a thin veneer of civility. Their eyes did not see a girl barely stepping into adulthood, they saw a prize. A princess. A pawn in the great game of power.

Gazes can move away but the heat of every single one lingers. You still feel it on your collarbones, the curve of your neck, the way the gown cinches at your waist.

Your worth is measured not by your thoughts or your dreams, but by the alliances your hand could forge.

You despise it.

But your father doesn’t care. He doesn’t look out for you in situations like that. He just expects you to play the part you are meant to. And sadly, you do. Because you don’t have a choice. This is what your life was meant to be.

Only your mother would notice the way your shoulders always stiffen when a lord leans too close or the way you avoid the wine, lest you dull your senses in a room full of predators.

She would smile at you kindly, reassuringly, probably trying to give you some strength in knowing that she understands what it feels like. And you do appreciate her gesture.

But even her love and her sympathy can not unbind you from the duties imposed by your birth.

You wanted to scream the second you stepped into the great hall. You wanted to tear the silken gown from your body, strip away the gold and jewels, and stuff them into the faces of the many greedy men. You wanted to shout until your voice grew hoarse.

But you can not.

You are a princess.

A princess does not scream. She does not cry. She does not falter.

Your life is not your own. Your voice is not your own. Even your smile belongs to the court, to the crown, to the men who watch you with eyes that devour.

Sometimes, you long for freedom. But what does freedom even mean?

You have no frame of reference for a life beyond these walls, these duties, these suffocating expectations.

The world outside the palace is unknown to you - a mystery, a threat, a promise so far out of reach.

And yet, as you sat at the banquet table just hours before, smiling politely at a lord who complimented your gown while his eyes lingered far too long, you thought even the unknown would be better than this.

So now, back from hell, you are so ready to get into bed and sleep your misery away as you try every day. It hasn’t entirely worked out yet, but a princess can hope.

The tight corset, the layers of silken skirts, the necklace that hangs heavy - all symbols of your station, all unbearable tonight. Every night.

A maid is at your side, about to loosen the clasps at your wrists and shoulders to let the gown slip away.

You’re ready to let it pool around your feet and step into your robe, letting the candlelight brush and warm your collarbone and bask in the silence of the faded music from the hall below.

But before anything of that can happen, there is no silence anymore.

It’s distant at first, muffled. Unrecognizable.

But the sounds grow louder, sharper, and the hands of the maid freeze. You do too.

A roar pierces the stone walls, then another, and another. Steel clashes.

A scream, then another, and another.

Those aren’t screams of surprise, or anger, or perhaps the aftermath of too much alcohol. No, those are long, guttural wails that make your blood run dry.

Death spills over into sounds just outside your doors.

Your candle wavers as the ground beneath your feet seems to tremble. You clutch the edge of the dressing table to steady yourself.

It is as though the palace itself is exhaling its last breath.

The doors to your chambers burst open with a force that sends the wooden panels crashing against the walls.

Your lady screams at the sound.

You spin around, equally in fear, heart leaping to your throat and almost spilling over into a sound as well.

A relieved exhale flutters out of your body at the face you see.

It is Sir Barton.

He has always been there, from your earliest memories. You see him more often than your own father, though his face now is drawn, pale, and streaked with soot. His blond hair is usually meticulously combed, but now it’s disheveled, and his armor bears fresh scratches and bloodstains.

His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths and his eyes - fierce and determined, but aching with something more - lock onto yours.

“Your Highness,” he says, his voice breaking through the panic. “You must come. Now!”

He doesn’t spare a glance at the hyperventilating lady hiding behind your dresser. And after you take a second too long to follow him, he steps forward and grabs your arm - not with the gentleness of a knight guiding royalty but with the desperation of a man trying to save a life.

He leads you out.

“What is happening?” you whisper, a shudder raking down your spine at the way the sounds are getting so much more real with each step you take.

“The palace is under attack,” Sir Barton says, eyes still focused forward. “They’ve breached the outer gates. We don’t have much time.”

He seems to feel you hesitate because his grip tightens on you. His steps don’t falter.

The hallways are dark and thick with the acrid stench of smoke. Shouts echo from all sides, some distant, some too close.

Barton shields you with his body as a deafening crash shakes the walls, sending dust raining from the ceiling.

“This way,” he commands and you have no choice but to follow him blindly, clutching at his cloak.

At one point, he stops abruptly, pressing you into the shadow of an archway, shielding you again and only turning to you after the commotion turned far away. His face is grim, his voice a whisper.

“Stay close to me, no matter what happens. Do you understand?”

You nod, though your throat is too tight to form words.

The air in the tunnels he leads you through is cold and damp, pressing in from every side. But you can barely feel it. Your legs burn from the fast pace Sir Barton holds, your lungs clawing for breath.

Sir Barton's tight grip on your wrist is the only thing you can latch on in this darkness. His armor clinks with every step.

You don’t ask him where you are going. But there is a question you need to ask.

“Where are my parents? Where is Mother? Are they both led here as well? Will they follow us?”

Alright, perhaps more than one question.

Seconds stretch without an answer. His armor still clinks. He squeezes your wrists - a warning not to ask further. A warning not to expect an answer.

Something creeps into your mind, something insidious and cold.

Sir Barton guides you into a small alcove carved into the rock, barely wide enough for the two of you. His shoulders heave heavily and you make out the glistening of sweat on his face even in the darkness.

You open your mouth again, taking a breath, but his expression stops you.

Sir Barton, the unshakable knight, the man who stood at your father’s side for decades, looks broken. His usually grey eyes are shadowed. His lips are parted, but no sound comes out, the weight of what he has to say even too much for him.

His jaw is tight. There is a tiny shake of his head as he releases a breath that cracks you open right in the middle, leaving a gaping hole where your heart once was.

And in that shatter, you linger. You don’t know if you’ll ever get out.

Because you know what his silence means.

“No.” the word is barely audible. You stumble in your steps. “No. They can’t be. Don’t tell me they’re gone. They… They’re not!”

More silence. More tension.

“No!” You shake your head, stepping back until your shoulders hit the cold, rough stone. Your legs feel as though they might give way beneath you.

“Your Highness.”

Sir Barton takes hold of your arm again. Almost roughly. His voice is clipped, his breath is broken. But there is vehemence in his words. Something deep weighed, but strong and determined as he meets your eye intensely, gripping you hard.

“I feel deep regret for their loss. But I swore an oath to protect you. And I will keep it.”

With that, he hauls you forward again, falling into his fast pace.

You can’t help but follow. You let yourself get dragged.

The tunnels seem unending. And although the screams and the tumult are no longer in earshot, every sound you hear feels like a betrayal. Every footstep, every breath a reminder that your parents would breathe no more.

Your thoughts are wild things, crashing against the confines of your skull - flashes of your mother's sweet smile, your father's stern but still warm eyes, the sudden attack with the screams, and the clashes, and the steel.

Grief is an excruciating pain. Your breaths are trapped, pounding on the walls of the cage that is your chest. Begging for release. Your heart still seems to be missing. Or it simply is divided into so tiny pieces it feels like it vanished entirely. It disappeared into the crack of the earth, giving way to roots, the tremor of something breaking open to grow.

Grief is the fullness of too much.

Too much feeling, too much meaning, too much of the world compressing itself into a single-held breath.

And that breath lingers.

Not because it cannot rise, but because rising would undo you.

The tunnels end.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been walking them, but you emerge into a hollow chamber, dimly lit by flickering torchlight. The air is colder here, less stagnant. It smells faintly of earth and steel. Your pulse quickens.

There is a man.

He stands there, leaning against the far wall, the flicker of firelight wildly illuminating the sharp planes of his face.

He didn’t move when you entered, not even a shift of his shoulders. He remains standing there, utterly unbothered, casually sharpening his blade against the whetstone in his hand, as though your arrival is an inconvenience rather than an event of consequence.

His leather armor looks worn, clinging to his tall frame as if he’s been wearing it for years.

His hair is dark, a smooth chestnut brown, and it is unruly, curling slightly at his temples as though it had been left to grow wild for too long.

He looks like a mercenary. He probably is one.

You try to find strength in Sir Barton's solid presence beside you. He doesn’t seem surprised at this man being here. More like, he is relieved.

The mercenary sighs, long and exaggerated, as if this entire meeting is a chore he’s been dragged into against his will.

He tugs the blade back into its holster at his side, throwing the stone casually aside and the clank of it against the ground sounds out loud enough for you to shrink into yourself ever so slightly.

Slowly, the man pushes himself off the wall with the effortless poise of a predator, standing to his full, imposing height.

He is still a little distance away from you, but you find your skin prickle when his gaze falls over you. He seems utterly unimpressed.

His eyes struck you. They are icy, strategic. It’s not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of the color blue. However, that’s the essence of the blue in his eyes.

He doesn’t regard you as a princess. He regards you as a problem.

“Your Highness,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that makes the title sound more like an insult than an honor.

He gives the faintest bow, a mockery of decorum, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk that barely hides his amusement.

This man regards you with the same detached air he might afford a stranger begging for coin.

His posture remains loose, almost insolent, and yet there is something in the way he carries himself that warns you not to mistake his casual attitude for weakness.

“Is this it, Barton?” he asks, turning his sharp gaze to the knight, who stands protectively at your side. “This is the prize you want me to bleed for?” He raises a single brow, arms crossed over his chest, his expression one of sardonic disbelief. His voice is rough, perhaps shaped by years of commanding others or cursing the world.

He throws you a single, apathetic glance. His smile turns into a sneer. “She seems awfully fragile to be worth the trouble.”

Your cheeks burn with anger and humiliation. Perhaps you are, in a sense, fragile. Your hands have never gripped a sword, your feet have never trudged through mud and blood, and the realization that your parents are no longer alive threatens to make you crumble right then and there.

But his dismissal feels like an assault on everything you still hold within yourself.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words are sticky and stay clinging to the back of your throat, the glue being grief and exhaustion.

Sir Barton, however, steps forward, his voice low and authoritative.

“She is not your concern to judge,” he firmly declares. “She is your charge, whether you like it or not.”

There is a pause. Sir Barton stands rigid and straight before he continues. His words seem to have trouble coming out but he still makes them sound strong. But you can see the strain in his jaw, the slight tremor in his hand as he adjusts his grip on the pommel of his sword. “Your Majesties - The King and Queen - are no longer with us.”

You flinch, breath catching sharply.

The mercenary stands still. Dark brows shoot up in genuine surprise, though his face remains otherwise unreadable. The contrast is startling, though. His indifference was disrupted by that sharp, flickering reaction.

His surprise unsettles you. His lips part slightly, but whatever words have formed behind them don’t emerge. For a fleeting second, his hard, smug veneer cracks, but just as quickly it reassembles itself.

He purses his lips, looking at the wall for a few moments. His face smooths into something almost deliberately blank. Then his eyes narrow slightly, and though his expression is hard to read, there is something dark and bitter there. But what scares you is the tiny glimpse of satisfaction.

“They’re dead,” he grounds out almost flatly and you find yourself flinching again.

The mercenary gives a sharp, mirthless laugh, the sound echoing painfully. He shakes his head, smile slipping from his face. “Well.” His tone is laced with bitterness. An air of irritation floats around him as he exhales sharply through his nose. “I do believe that changes things,” he then sneers.

Your heart is pounding so drastically, you hope it doesn’t echo around the room as well. You try to breathe as silently as possible. Barton's eyes gleam fiercely as he takes another step toward the man. The mercenary meets his gaze with raised eyebrows, not backing down, not bothered in the slightest.

“I am sure you have not forgotten, Barnes. Do not make me remind you.”

The mercenary - Barnes, you guessed - narrows his eyes, a flicker crossing his features. “I have not forgotten,” he says, voice quiet, almost a growl.

“You swore to protect what mattered to her. You swore to see her will be carried forward. You swore an oath to her. What mattered to her still lives. The princess lives. She is what the Queen cherished above all else, and it is her safety you are bound to protect.”

You watch Barnes’s jaw tighten, displeasure clear on his features.

“You will protect her daughter. Therewith, the oath will be discharged.”

Barnes’s gaze flickers to you, and for the first time, you see something other than indifference or scorn in his eyes. It isn’t kindness, not for a long shot, more like conflict. As though he is weighing you, judging you against the memory of the woman who had once earned his loyalty. The woman that is your mother. Or was your mother, you acknowledge with a lump in your throat.

“I swore to protect what mattered to her. But I did not know it would be her daughter. His daughter,” he spat out the last part, disdain following along his harsh tone.

Your skin is flushed, your chest is heaving, your hands curl into fists. You are confused beyond belief about what exactly is going on. It’s like you are watching yourself getting shoved off into the arms of a mercenary who couldn’t care less about your life.

You don’t know what your mother has done for this man, how deeply her actions have tied him to your family.

But you really don’t like this conversation.

Sir Barton is clearly losing his patience. “And yet, you will protect her still.” His words brook no argument. “The oath binds thee, not to the Crown, nor to me, but to the memory of the Queen. Do you mean to forsake it now?

Barnes exhales a frustrated sigh.

“Fine,” he says at last, the word dropping from his lips like a stone into a well. He straightens, his broad shoulders squaring and his hard eyes fixed on you. “I will keep you alive. But you better not expect me to bow, curtsy, or kiss your hand, your Highness. Do not expect me to coddle you. I am not your knight, and I am not your servant. I’m just the man who gets to clean up your mess.”

He then steps closer to Barton, standing almost nose to nose but none of the men back down. Barnes’s gaze is menacing. “I am a man of my word. But do not mistake my actions for loyalty to the Crown.”

“I would not dare, Bucky Barnes,” Sir Barton counters coldly.

Something twists inside you at this man’s words - anger, yes, but also something deeper, something more profound, something hard to press down.

You hate the way he dismisses you, the way he refuses to see you as more than your title.

You want to protest, to tell Sir Barton that this is a terrible idea. And that this is not his decision to make. You should have a say in who guards you, who holds your fate in their hands. Though, being realistic, you never had a say in anything. Your father always made sure of that.

And despite him not being here anymore, the safety of the palace is gone, just like your mother's love. There is no way you are getting out of here safely without some help and you hate it. You hate the fact that you have no idea how to wield a sword, throw a knife, or face the horrors of war.

You grew up in the sheltered halls of the palace, surrounded by courtiers and silks, not steel and blood.

So, Barton’s faith in this man - however misplaced it seems to you - is all that stands between you and whatever awaits beyond the damp darkness of the tunnels. It’s all that can get you out of here in one piece.

You want to hate this Bucky Barnes. To rail against the unfairness of it all - fleeing in the dead of night in a gown that is not at all suitable for an escape, weighed down by the pain of your parents’ demise, entrusted to a man who seems to care little whether you live or die.

He might have sworn to keep you alive, but that doesn’t mean he won’t happily watch you get hurt.

And yet - for all his roughness, for all his scorn - you can’t shake that there is something more to him.

He is dangerous, that much is clear, but there is also a sense of control about him, an air of competence that both reassures and unnerves you.

This man does not want to protect you.

He does not care about your title, your lineage, or your grief.

He is here because he has to be, because of a single promise he made.

You wonder if he really is a man of his word.

Bucky Barnes studies you again. His expression is hard, inscrutable. Then he says, his tone dry, almost mocking. “The road ahead will not be kind. Do not expect me to be sympathetic.”

****

You stumble forward through the tunnels.

Your limbs feel like lead, your breaths are shallow.

The air seems to have forgotten to hold you.

You don’t know how your legs keep moving, how your body is able to obey commands you no longer consciously give.

Perhaps it is the inertia of shock. The kind that shakes in your hands, makes them search for a reality that is no longer solid. The kind that makes you believe the universe is folding in on itself, a star imploding in the vastness of your chest. You are the void it leaves behind - immense, consuming, and desperately reaching for light.

But there is no light.

The tunnels are silent and dark, except for the torchlight the man in front of you carries and the footsteps that sound out. But the torchlight seems to illuminate more shadows than it chases away.

There is a distant drip of water echoing through the labyrinth but you are too tired to try and make out where it comes from.

Bucky - or Barnes - or whatever you even are supposed to call him now, moves through the darkness as though it is his domain, as if the passages yield to his command.

He scarcely takes a moment to reflect on his path, turning corners and selecting forks with an animalistic accuracy that disturbs you.

His pace is brisk, his steps calculated. There is a certain confidence, a strength, in the way he holds himself, an instinctual awareness that might have captivated you, were you not so consumed by sorrow and wariness.

Just earlier this day you had imagined leaving those constricting castle walls but it seems the freedom you had dreamed of meets you in a way you never would have thought possible.

You don’t feel like the perfect princess you played just hours earlier.

You are a disheveled figure trailing behind a stranger in the bowels of the earth.

The air is lacking the lavender and citrus of the gilded halls you walked through your whole life. Here, the air is damp, heavy with the scent of soil and decay. The stones of those walls are cold and rough, nothing like the smooth marble walls from the polished balustrades of the palace.

The man walking ahead of you hasn’t spoken a single word to you since you parted from Sir Barton.

You’re not sure if the silence is meant to intimidate or if he simply doesn’t care enough to speak.

His broad shoulders move steadily. His stride is long and swift, forcing you to half jog just to keep him in sight.

He doesn’t look back. Not once.

Maybe it's for the best, you reflect with resentment. Any word that could escape his lips would likely be brimming with animosity towards your family regardless. And distance between you and this man feels safer.

There is something coiled about him, something you can’t name but feel in the way he carries himself.

The torch he holds throws flickering light across the sharp planes of his face when he passes too near a wall.

His jaw is set, his expression grim.

His eyes - bright in color but oh so dark, when they had deigned to glance at you before - are unreadable pools of shadow, devoid of warmth.

He is not kind. He is not comforting. He is a stranger, forced into your service by circumstances neither of you have chosen.

You don’t know what desperation Sir Barton must have felt to send you away with this wild man. Bucky Barnes seems as indifferent to your survival as he is to your existence, and yet, here he is, leading you through an underground labyrinth you can only hope leads somewhere safe.

You feel the urge to speak - to inquire about where he is taking you, to seek answers, to convey the growing frustration and fear that seem ready to shatter you. Greater than you already are.

But the words flee as soon as they are formed. Leaving only the roar of nothingness.

There hasn’t been time to mourn, no time to feel.

Sir Barton had hurried you through the secret corridors under the palace, with his hold tight on your arm, and his tone tense with urgency.

He didn’t ask if you wanted to flee. He didn’t ask what you thought was best. He simply acted, as though you were another piece in this tragic game of chess, to be moved and sacrificed as necessity demanded.

You are a princess, yes. But first, you are a person. And in this moment, you feel like neither. You are a shadow following a stranger in the dark, uncertain of the path ahead or the person leading you.

But there is nothing you can do about it.

The tunnels begin to shift.

The walls widen slightly, though the ceiling remains low.

The air grows colder, fresher, carrying with it the faintest scent of pine.

You realize with a start that you must be nearing the forest. Relief and fear wars within you. The palace is behind you, but how is this supposed to go on?

Barnes slows. Finally.

He comes to a stop at a rusted iron gate, the hinges creaking in complaint as he shoves it open with one hand.

Beyond it lay a rough-hewn staircase carved into the rock, leading upward into a faint glimmer of moonlight.

He turns to glance at you for the first time since you are alone with him.

“Keep up,” he says, his voice low, and rough, and utterly devoid of warmth.

You say nothing, biting your tongue. Perhaps to stifle the frustration that threatened to shove a snarky retort out of your mouth that might lead to your early grave, or the tears that threatened to sting behind your eyes ever since you heard of your parent's passing.

Instead, you nod curtly - he isn’t even looking at you anymore to see it - and step forward, legs trembling, feet already aching, with the effort, and follow him up those stairs.

The stone steps beneath your shoes are rough - like everything in your life now as it seems.

Each step you climb seems to strip something away - your strength, your breath, your will. Each step seems to demand more from your trembling legs, every motion a reminder of how deep you’ve fallen - from grace, from safety, from everything you have ever known.

Erratic shadows move over Barnes's ahead of you, his broad frame a dark silhouette against the faint moonlight spilling down from above.

You struggle to keep up. The air is cold, sharp with the sting of frost and pine, but it does nothing to clear your thoughts.

As you reach the top of the stairs, the night sky opens before you, vast and infinite, studded with stars.

But their light is dim against the inferno that rages behind you.

You turn around slowly.

Shock and utter terror flood every single one of your senses. The world seems to pull away beneath your feet, but it does not let you fall. It lets you hover, holds you suspended in a hollow-out silence as if it means to forget about you. As if you’re not worth the fall. Meant to suffer in silence. Meant to suffer the terror of drifting in a void where even gravity has abandoned you.

Far in the distance stands your palace.

Your home for every single day of your life.

And it is all up in flames.

Consumed by them. Greedily gulped up by them.

The towers that once touched the heavens now spit fire and ash.

The gilded walls, the halls where you had danced and dined and dreamed, collapse in on themselves, devoured by the flames’s hunger.

The sight steals your breath.

Your legs give out for a moment, and you stagger, clutching the bark of a nearby tree.

Barnes notices you falter, his gaze flickering back toward you.

You don’t make a move to look at him. You don’t do anything other than stare at your life breaking apart in the distance.

But for his indifference and gruff demeanor, he does not bark at you to move along. He just stands tensely.

The flames lick at the night sky, their glow painting the darkness in hues of violent orange and crimson. Smoke rises in thick, twisting plumes, swallowing the stars, blotting out the heavens.

The great spires that had once stood so proud against the skyline now crumble beneath the viciousness of the fire. The golden banners that had fluttered in the wind just hours ago are ash now, carried in the same breeze that chills your skin.

It has been only hours - hours since you stood in the great hall, dressed in the very same silks you are still wearing, the air filled with laughter and music. The banquet, the formalities, the endless charade of being a princess - all of it suddenly feels like a lifetime ago.

You had thought it then. How it might feel to leave it all behind. How it might feel to shed the heaviness of the crown, to break free from the stifling demands and expectations that constrained you, the scrutiny of the court.

You dreamed of freedom, of a life beyond these walls. You imagined it. You wanted to see the world, to be more than a title, more than a pretty body in a gown, more than a vessel for alliances and admirations.

And now here you are, watching it all burn.

It doesn’t feel like freedom.

It doesn’t feel like anything you had dreamed of.

Your body becomes foreign, a machine running on instinct alone. Your chest heaves. Because it knows it needs air. But it doesn’t seem to get enough, judging the harsh rise and fall of your chest.

Your heart thunders, but it seems to have lost its rhythm, shaking but not steadying. It’s in panic. Pumping and pumping and pumping so much blood but where is it supposed to go?

Every room that now is a pile of ash on the ground held a memory. Every part of the castle was your home. The gardens where your mother had taught you the names of every flower growing there. The study where your father's voice sternly had shaped your understanding of duty. The kitchens where the maids had smuggled you pastries as a child.

It is all gone.

You are gone.

Your parents are gone. The King and Queen - your mother and father - are dead. Their crowns, their rule, their lives reduced to ash.

Yes, you wanted to be free. You wanted to leave this life behind but you never wanted it to happen like this. You never wanted your home to burn, your family to die, your title to become meaningless in the most violent of ways.

You wanted to leave the crown and not have it ripped away from you.

You wanted to see the world but now you aren’t sure you even have a place in it.

Swallowing the tightness in your throat, you force back the sting in your eyes.

You want to scream, to rage, to fall on your knees and weep until there is nothing left of you.

But you can’t break down now. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him.

Barnes still stands a little away from you. He has turned as well, though his expression is unreadable. His eyes reflect the firelight, the flames flickering like tiny ghosts in his gaze.

He doesn’t say anything and you are sure you don’t want him to. He surely would not tell you he is sorry.

He doesn’t look sorry at all. If anything, he looks tired. Detached. As though this is just another job, another mission. Another life going up in flames.

He simply stands there, his figure slightly outlined by the torch and the moon, waiting.

You hate him in that moment. Hate the way he stands there so calmly, so unconcerned, while your world is crumbling down. Hate that he isn’t doing a single thing to acknowledge the gravity of what had happened.

But then his gaze shifts. Just slightly. For a fleeting moment, you thought you saw something crossing his expression. A shadow of something too fleeting to name. Pity? Regret? Compassion?

No, you tell yourself. He doesn’t care. Why would he?

And he shifts then.

After all, the world hasn’t stopped for your grief, and neither would he.

A clear of his throat. “C’mon. Told you to keep up.”

He doesn’t say it unkindly, but he says it bored. Monotone. Flat. And that might just be worse.

You draw in a shaky breath and turn away from the fire, though the image remains burned into your mind. It might be reduced to ash there too, but it won’t ever be swept away by the wind.

****

You have no idea how long you’ve been dragging your body through this forest.

It seems like an eternity.

Aching legs barely lift high enough to make the next step. The soles of your feet throb in time with the pounding of your head.

Your steps are so heavy, you might think the earth sought to pull you down, to bury you beneath its roots and brambles. You might just let it.

The thin slippers you wear - so ill-suited for a flight through the wilderness - offer little protection from the rocks and gnarled roots beneath.

The tightness in your chest is beating. Thud. Thud. Thud. It might be your heart, but it doesn’t feel like it.

Each inhale burns, the night air carrying shards of glass instead of cool relief. They scratch your throat and your face heats at the effort to keep from coughing.

Your arms hang limply by your sides. They are scraped and raw from pushing against barks and thorns. Even lifting your hands to brush a stray branch from your path feels like a monumental effort at the moment.

Your fingers are pale, losing their place in the map of your body.

The trees surrounding you loom high above. They stand so close together that only the faintest slivers of moonlight dare to filter through.

There are endless shadows, all connected with each other, twisting and merging, until there is no discernible path, no way to tell where you are or where you are going.

Not that you have a clue anyway.

The shadows seem to breathe. They surround you completely, absorbing every noise except for the crunch of leaves underfoot and the sporadic hoot of an owl, which causes you to jump each time it calls out.

Even Barnes seems like a shadow himself, moving with a surety still too many steps in front of you - silent, unknowable, untouchable.

And then he is gone.

You didn’t even notice at first. You were too focused on keeping your legs moving, too consumed by the fog of your thoughts. But when you lift your gaze, he is nowhere to be seen.

The tightness in your chest keeps thudding, so loud, so sharp, so fast. Thud. So many thuds. Thud. They try to escape. Thud. Try to leave your chest all of a sudden. Thud. Escaping. Thud. Fleeing. Thud. But there is no way out. Thud. Your ribs are closing in. Thud. Your chest is a locked room with no windows.

Panic.

Wild eyes are darting around, breaths sound in your ears, hands tremble at your side so helplessly.

You knew this was a bad idea. What in the world did Sir Barton think would come out of giving you into the care of a mercenary? Those men are not to be trusted. Those men don’t care about the things they promised.

Bucky Barnes waited for the perfect moment to leave you alone. He took you out, deep into the forest, and then vanished.

He left you alone. He left you to die. He left you to rot.

You should have seen it coming and yet your heart is thundering, your world is spinning faster than you can hold.

You won’t give this man the satisfaction of calling for him. Wherever far he might have gone already.

But you wouldn’t get a word out even if you tried.

Your body becomes its own betrayal, muscles taut and trembling, teeth clenching against the unbearable roar of your own pulse.

He betrayed your mother. He betrayed Sir Barton. He betrayed you-

There he is.

Leaning against a tree, arms casually crossed over his chest, making his muscles strain under the grey shirt beneath his brown leather armor.

He looks as though he’s been waiting there for hours, watching you stumble through the dark like some clumsy, lost creature. His head tilts slightly, his face twisted in an impassive expression that doesn’t make you relax as much as you had thought.

But then the corner of his mouth tugs up in a smirk. Amusement and mild exasperation mix in his gaze, as though your panic has been nothing but entertainment and a burden for him.

Your blood boils.

He doesn’t say a word. The slight raise of his brow, the subtle shift of his weight against the tree, say everything.

He simply turns and starts walking again, knowing you will follow.

You hate him.

Oh, how much you hate him.

But unfortunately not because of his smirk, tough that certainly stokes the fire. Not because of the way he moves through the forest so effortlessly, while you struggle for every step. Not because of his silence, his cold aloofness that feels like a slap to the face every time you dare hope for some shred of kindness.

You hate him because he is right.

You are fragile.

There is nothing you can do but follow. He knows it, and you know it.

You are helpless, a princess who grew up like one, trailing after a man who barely tolerates your presence. Because the alternative is unthinkable.

You don’t know these woods. You don’t really know any woods. Don’t know what or who might lurk within them.

You hate that he holds all the power, that your life is now tethered to his whim.

You hate that he seems so unaffected by it all while you are falling apart.

You hate the world for thrusting you into this nightmare.

You hate the gods that took your parents.

You hate the crown that marked you as a target.

You hate the life you lost in the span of a single, horrific night.

But most of all, you hate yourself.

For your weakness. For your dependence. For your title. For not fighting for freedom when you started hoping for it. For not learning what freedom even meant when you started dreaming of it.

Maybe you really aren’t even worth all this.

That would make him right again.

You would love to scream at him. To demand he acknowledge you, to force him to see you as more than a burden, more than a thing to be tolerated.

However, if you don’t believe in yourself as anything other than a hassle for him, then you definitely won’t persuade him to think differently.

Your hopelessness is rewriting you into silence.

And again, you hate yourself for it.

The forest stretches on and so does your pain. And somewhere ahead, Barnes moves through the darkness, being the guide you despise but can’t abandon.

The trees are swaying above you, almost whispering like they are mourners at a funeral. Your funeral.

Barnes stopped walking.

You almost noticed it too late, nearly colliding with him, his wide back suddenly a wall in front of you.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, his sharp eyes flickering down to your trembling form before moving past you to survey the shadows.

He says nothing - he never seems to say much - but you get the sense that this is where you will stay the rest of the night.

Or at least you hope so.

Your feet won’t carry you any longer.

He turns his back to you again and moves forward.

You follow his gaze. There is a small, haphazard clearing, tucked between the roots of a tall oak.

There is nothing welcoming about it.

A rough bedroll lay crumpled near the base of the tree. Its fabric looks weathered and stained. Beside it, there are charred remains of a tiny fire pit, though the ashes are long cold.

A battered pack leans half open against the roots, some of its contents spilling out. You glimpse rope, whetstone, and a dented flask.

You take in the thinness of the bedroll and how it might not even do anything for the hard ground, wondering how anyone could sleep like that.

Thoughts drift to your own bed that now may be reduced to ashes. It was high, draped in silk, the pillows stuffed with down. You used to sleep with the warmth of the hearth that burned low through the night.

It seems like a dream now, something too far removed from the reality that is your life now.

Barnes moves toward the tree, picking up the pack and tossing it down beside the bedroll.

He kneels, checking the contents quickly, before sitting back on his heels.

His eyes catch yours, and the twinkle of humor you had seen earlier is gone, replaced by his coldness, hardness.

You wrap your arms around yourself, partly to fend off the chill, partly to brace against the words that spill from your mouth before you can stop them.

This silence just got a little too unbearable.

“Is this where you slept?”

He looks at you, his expression flat. “What of it?”

The bluntness of his tongue stings, but you press on, emboldened by your desperation and the icy air that feels too silent.

“It does not look like much.”

His brow twitches. “S’ not meant to be.” Irritation roughens his words.

You hesitate. “Do you-”

“Let me make something clear,” he says, his voice low and dignified. He stands then, and even in the faint moonlight, his presence looms over you. He feels more imposing than the trees around you. You swallow hard. “I’m not here to answer your questions. I’m not here to keep you company or make you feel better about your little situation.”

Your cheeks burn, your arms around you tighten at the condescension in his tone. You say nothing, your breath caught in your throat. Your tongue is locked in your mouth.

His jaw is clenching and he exhales a sharp sound that is somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. It’s not a happy laugh though.

“I’m here because I have to be,” he continues. His eyes are fixed so intensely on you, you have to look away. “And you are here because you have nowhere else to go. That’s it. Don’t mistake this for anything else.”

He turns around stiffly and walks over to a patch of ground a few feet from his bedroll. He starts lazily removing sticks and stones to clear the space of dirt.

After he’s done, he moves away and gestures towards it with a careless hand, not even looking at you.

“You’ll sleep there.”

You are about to open your mouth, a protest on your tongue but his head snaps up, his eyes locking onto yours with a warning look.

“Go to sleep.” His voice is commanding. Unkind. He is done with tolerating you for today. “Now!”

You swallow the words that had risen, relieved they didn’t make it up all the way. Because there is no way you can win against this man and you don’t have the fight in you to argue at the moment.

Sinking to the ground he pointed at, you wrap your arms around yourself harder. The dirt is damp beneath you, cold seeping up through the ruined fabric of your gown. It is streaked with dirt, torn by brambles, and clings to you all wrong.

You shiver, your body curling in on itself, though that doesn’t make a difference.

You press your knees to your chest, burying your face in the crook of your arms.

But the chilly air still carves into your cheeks and whispers to your blood to slow.

You think of your mother then. Of the warmth in her smile and the way she used to stroke your hair as she tucked you into bed. You think of your father. He has always been a little harsh on you, a little distant. But you still relied on him in ways you always took for granted.

They are gone. And you are here. In the dirt. In the cold. In the woods. Alone but for a man who doesn’t care for you. He most certainly would leave you here without hesitation if it wasn’t for the oath he gave. To your mother.

You blink back tears, biting down hard on your lip to keep from crying. It is bad he already sees you like this. He can’t also see you cry.

The sound of Barnes’s blade scraping against the whetstone fills the silence.

You close your eyes and try to focus on the sound, trying to let it lull you into some semblance of sleep.

But it only makes your stomach queasy.

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.”

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

[mirrorcatcreditcard]

Things I think the fandom just willfully ignores or has no idea about that would be super easy to slip into your fanfiction if you want to be inclusive and try out new things.

Lucifer just likes shibari, nawajutsu, or some form of rope tying art, and there's nothing inherently sexual about the excitement it brings him. He's a sadist too, but attraction to the other party would only add to the experience, not be necessary or a byproduct.

Belphegor could age regress and nobody would really be the wiser because of his position as coddled/spoiled youngest child. Even if they were, it doesn't change anything, really.

Beelzebub can fuck. He's also a cannibal. Do I need to say the vore word for you to understand how underutilized food/gore as a love language would be with him? No, it doesn't need to be sexual either, but goddamn so many keep treating him like UwU baby when he kills demons in cold blood because he hungy

Asmodeus is any gender or sexuality you want him to be. Lust ≠ attraction, and you can make him asexual. He's pretty free with how he presents. Also, his fans are so desperate for nice content on him that they'll take anything too. Nobody is going to kill you over this.

Mammon's greed can also be depicted as someone who wants to monopolize your time and/or affections. He attempts plenty of times in canon.

Barbatos' strongest attachment is Diavolo, but he does care about other beings. As long as they're not getting in the way of Diavolo, he's allowed to show care in his own way goddamnit. He's not an ice statue.

Mammon is allowed to be a non-sexual masochist. I don't know why people think all kinks are sexual, BUT HE'S ALLOWED.

I just want to take a moment to acknowledge bloodlust counting as a lust.

Luke is a genuinely deep character with a compelling story and important appearances, and you will be doing better than 99% of the fandom if you just acknowledge that he's more than just a kid who tags along and whines when he's scared (like all kids do when they're his age btw). Kicking him to the side is just another child discrimination case, and you can just say you don't understand him...

Almost everyone if not everyone has had a 1-on-1 in this series, and you're allowed to write about that scenario that "seems ooc" because there's someone out there who wishes that they could write who wants to see them interact, and they haven't found you because you haven't made yourself known.

I think over 75% of the cast has what humans would call a trauma disorder, and you guys have got to stop ignoring the fact that Solmare usually just brushes over stuff that genuinely affects them to keep the plot going. They've done it since the beginning, even before the cursed lesson 16.

Non-character-specific stuff under the cut:

You can headcanon and write any character that you want to as aromantic or on the spectrum. Also, news flash: familial, platonic, romantic, and sexual are not the only relationship labels to exist. Go look up "alterous attraction" if you wanna do something that would line up with, you know, emotions that aren't all centered around how our society depicts stuff.

If they're all built like that and inherently different from humans, neurodivergence may not exist to demons but have fun with the headcanons anyways. The world is your oyster.

[strawberryblue-blog]

Period —FC BARCELONA.

summary: barca's boys reacting to your period when it is annoying or painful.

warnings: none. mention of the menstrual period, reaction, angst, pain, discomfort, cute/soft.

words count: +1.3k.

Pedri González.

When you tell him you got your period, the first thing he does is drop everything he was doing to become your special supplier. "Give me five minutes, I'm going to the store," he says as he quickly puts on his shoes.

You know it's over the top, but you can't help but smile. He returns with your favorite brand of pads or tampons, a couple of chocolates, chamomile tea, a hot water bottle and whatever else you've been craving.

"I know chocolate doesn't cure everything, but I thought it would help," he says as she arranges things on the table and hands them to you with a smile. "I got you, love."

Ferran Torres.

He knows that during your period you prefer to stay in bed or on the couch, so he takes the reins of the kitchen and the housework so you can rest.

"I know you don't feel like moving, so let me do you something tasty," he says as he puts on an apron. You hear him fiddling around in the kitchen, looking for ingredients and following a recipe that he clearly struggles with, but insists on finishing.

"It's made with love, even though it didn't come out so pretty," he says as he serves you a hot dish. The aroma and his effort comfort you more than you expected. Maybe later you help him clean up so you can finally snuggle in bed and receive a lot of his affection.

Pablo Gavi.

When he sees you squirming on the couch, he carefully approaches you and asks, "Do you want me to hold you?" Perhaps a bit fearfully so as not to disturb you or invade your space (or your sudden mood swings)

When you agree, Pablo will take you. You settle against him, and his arms wrap around you like a warm shelter. No matter how long it takes, he doesn't move or complain, even when you change positions several times.

He will walk you to and from the bathroom, comfort you, lift you up, help you. If you need to talk, he listens; if you remain silent, he simply gives you little kisses on your hair and makes sure you are comfortable.

Fermín López.

He finds you in bed complaining about colic and tiredness. He would be very sorry to see you go through something like this, so Fermín wouldn't leave you alone for a second.

He sits beside you, carefully, strokes your hair and says in a soft voice: "You can handle this, you're much stronger than you think. But let me do anything for you, I can cook, make your bed, bathe you, anything. I'm here for you."

He holds your hand, and his presence is enough to make you feel that you are not alone. Every once in a while, he says something funny or sweet to lift your spirits.

Alejandro Balde.

"Let's get distracted," he tells you as you look for something to watch together. He'll do anything to make you forget you're on your period.

He lets you choose absolutely everything: the movie, the series, even the snacks you're going to share or even if you just want to lie on his chest and rest. If you decide to play something on the console, it doesn't matter if you're terrible at the game; he makes sure you have fun. He'll even talk your ear off so you don't suffer.

"Today is your day, there are no rules. What else do you want to do?" he says, willing to go along with all your decisions.

Héctor Fort.

When he sees you doubled over in pain, he disappears for a moment and returns with a glass of water, a painkiller and a hot compress, what did he ever see you do to yourself.

"This should help you," he says as he helps you put the compress on your belly. He himself will pat your belly or hug your legs to help you. Then, he stays by your side to make sure the pain subsides.

If he sees you are uncomfortable, he adjusts the pillows or brings you more blankets without you having to ask. He would go to the store or make pastries (your favorite), all for you during this annoying period.

Lamine Yamal.

He sees you in a bad mood or on the verge of tears and decides to change your mood with a touch of humor. He takes everything with humor and of course he was going to do it for you when you need it the most.

"If your uterus could talk, I bet it would tell me to shut up but you are an angel" , he says with a smile. Then he starts making up stories or making jokes that make you laugh in spite of everything, he would pretend to fall down, snore, etc.

"See, you're the only person who laughs at my bad jokes. I'm sure that means you love me more than your hot tea." I'd say when you unexpectedly laugh together with him and almost forget about your period. Your goal in life, fulfilled.

Pau Cubarsí.

There are days when you don't need words or grandiose actions, and he knows it. He sits next to you in silence, watching you carefully. If you need something, he does it without you having to ask.

If he sees you are uncomfortable, he adjusts your pillow, brings you a blanket, or simply puts his hand in yours to let you know he is there. His caresses are soft and gentle, he cares for you as if you were fragile and delicate and maybe that's because you are. But Pau is even more so.

You would spend it in bed, him hugging your belly while your favorite series is on in the background. You can laugh or cry, you can moan, sweat, get dizzy, ache or anything but Pau is there. Hugging you like a slug.

[celli-ohs]

I Can't, I Have Rehearsal

pairing: socially awkward!park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

synopsis: What happens when you get seated right next to the most handsome boy in your entire grade? Well you thought it'd be a great excuse to get to know him better, but the guy won't even talk to you! After a mishap in the science lab, you come to find out that Park Sunghoon, the cold-hearted prince of EN High, isn't in fact rude, he's just afraid of women.

before you read: character profiles

warnings: language, physical violence in the forms of hitting and stomping, mentions of pushing someone in front of a bus, sunoo getting revenge on riki

word count: 3.7k

taglist (open): @ancnymcnzjy , @frankenstein852 @tasnemluvs

note: part 1 of my and scene! series, loosely based off en-drama.

Log 5: Monday - May 13th, 2024

“So why do you need to beat up Riki again?”

Sunoo rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that morning. “Because I have to scare that damn Belift guy off.” 

Jaeyun blinks. “Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you need to beat up Riki.” 

“We’re not actually beating me up. He’s just gonna pretend.” Riki adds. “We’re gonna fake a fight and make it seem like Sunoo’s the leader of a gang. That way the recruiter gets scared and Sunoo never has to see him again.” 

“And who thought of this?” Sunghoon asks, skeptical.

“Me, duh!” Riki stands tall and proud as he says this, only to be slapped up the head.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Riki growls. “For creating the most dumbfuck shit plan I’ve ever heard.” Jongseong sighs.

“You’ll be regretting that when my plan works and I save Sunoo.” Riki grumbles to himself. “Okay stop,” Sunoo swats Jongseong away. “Riki and I agreed to do this, we’ll be fine, Jongseong.”

“Anything he’s involved in already has me worried.” Jongseong throws a finger towards the youngest. “Hey! It’ll be fine, Riki A and C are gonna be there too, they’re gonna be Sunoo’s lackeys.” Riki rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, just don’t get caught up in anything, Jungwon and I have to go to election rehearsal after school today and I’m not gonna leave if something goes wrong.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me, I still have to write my speech.” Jungwon covers his face in shame.

Though he planned to drop out, Jungwon and everyone else soon found out that dropping out wasn’t allowed once you were nominated, as there was only one other person running for president, some second year named Byun Euijoo.

So now Jungwon was forced to actually run, though he showed absolutely no enthusiasm.

“You don’t even care though, don’t you want to lose?” Heeseung brings up. Jungwon nods as they all walk down the street. “Yeah but I also don’t want to go up there and make a fool of myself.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not actually gonna fight, Konon said we could borrow her makeup, we’ll make some fake bruises.” Riki assures the other boy.

“Did she actually say that or did you just steal her makeup without her knowing?” Sunghoon questions, though he already knew the answer. 

“Does it matter? What matters is we save our friend. Which none of you have done anything by the way, only me!” Riki marches forward, leading the seven inside the school building this morning.

Sunghoon slows down and grabs Sunoo’s arm. “Why are you going along with this? You could just call the police, you know?” 

“Oh I already did, I have a restraining order on that guy,” Sunoo agrees as they walk to Sunoo’s classroom. “But this is my revenge on Riki for his stupid April Fool’s prank. I told him to help me or I’ll tell Konon about the time he slept over at my house and he cried that night because he couldn’t sleep without her or Misora.” He grumbles. 

(Sunoo found out that Riki’s prank for him was making him audition for the newest “act” the theater club was performing: Spongebob Squarepants The Musical. Poor Sunoo had shown up with bright yellow face paint and suspenders while everyone else was auditioning for Les Miserables.)

Sunghoon shrugs it off and walks down the hall to his classroom. 

“Hi Sunghoon!” A random girl smiles and waves as he passes her. “Hi,” He gives her a small smile back, and pretends to not notice her squeal of excitement to her friends. 

Just last week it’d come to his attention that Sunghoon was in fact not hated in his entire school, but actually quite popular.

Well in reality, his friends told him.

“You were so scared of girls you never noticed more than half of them are in love with you,” Jaeyun laughs. “Yeah, and now that you can talk to them without running away, we thought we’d tell you.” Sunoo adds.

While he was initially a bit upset his friends would withhold such information from him, Sunghoon’s anger soon morphed into hope: does that mean you are also in love with him? That thought brought butterflies to his stomach immediately.

As he enters his classroom, he’s ambushed by a few female classmates.

“Good morning Sunghoon! I got these cookies for you-” 

“Yeah well I bought you some juice, and I wrote you this letter-”

“Move aside! Hi Sunghoon! I hope you like this muffin, I made it myself-”

“Ahem.” 

Someone behind him clears their throat, and he spins around. 

“Excuse me, you’re blocking the door,” You glare right past him and towards the other girls. Everyone moves out of the way, and you walk towards your cubby. “Excuse me,” Sunghoon mumbles, pushing the girls to the side to follow you.

“Hey,” He beams at you, opening his cubby to your left. Before you can greet him, a pile of letters and presents fall out. “Oh shit,” He scrambles to pick them up, stuffing them back in. 

You watch him as he struggles, giggling a little. “Need help?” You ask as you close the door to your cubby. “Nope! No, I’m good!” He tries to play it cool, finally shutting his door and leaning against it awkwardly. 

“Okay,” You eye him up and down before smirking and leaving for your desk. Sunghoon follows you like a puppy.

As you get your supplies out for the day, Sunghoon sits and watches patiently. Recently, he’s noticed something was off with you. You seem to be keeping your distance more often than not, and it’s more noticeable when around others. 

At first Sunghoon thought it was just his imagination, but then he started to notice the weird looks your friends would give you whenever he joined in the conversation.

The only time he felt like you were yourself was whenever you two had a calligraphy club together, away from the crowds. Your eyes seemed to sparkle whenever you two were alone. It didn’t help that he now had a massive crush on you, seeing you shine like that.

“So!” Sunghoon clears his throat. “How was your weekend? Do anything fun?” He tries his best to create small talk, hoping to remove the awkward air.

“Oh yeah,” You nod, glancing at him. “My family and I visited my grandmother, I’ll have to show you the-”

“Hey Sunghoon!” Another classmate calls from across the room. Sunghoon can’t remember her name, but she grins at him like they’ve known each other their whole lives. “Did you have a good weekend? I was wondering if you were free after school today, we could go to a cafe? Jaeyun and Yuri are coming too.”

The girl gestures to his best friend and another girl conversing by their desks. With the way this girl smiles, Sunghoon has a feeling her intentions aren’t just to go eat pastries after class. And using his best friend as bait wasn’t going to bite either. 

“I have club today, maybe another time.” He tries to apologize. The girl pouts. “What about after? I can wait-”

“No thanks, like I said, maybe later.” He waves her off, turning back to you, feeling embarrassed. Just weeks ago he would have cried if he knew a girl was even staring at him, now he was busy rejecting the hoards who got in his way. 

You on the other hand, don’t look happy at all, facing the book on your desk and shoulders tense. “Sorry, what were you saying-”

The bell suddenly rings, and everyone scrambles back into their seats as Ms. Hong enters the class to start homeroom.

“It’s nothing.” You mumble, sighing as your eyes dull. You don’t even look in Sunghoon’s direction for the rest of the day.

Sunghoon frowns as he stirs his spoon around his soup, moping.

“If you’re not gonna eat your rice, can I have it?” Heeseung asks with a full mouth as he points to the pile of untouched rice on Sunghoon’s tray. Silently, he slides it over to the senior, who looks delighted to have a second portion.

“Where is everyone?” Sunghoon finally asks, realizing 15 minutes had passed and the only people sitting at their table were him and Heeseung. 

“Huh? Oh, Jongseong is helping Jungwon write his speech in the library I think. Riki and Sunoo said they’re practicing their fake fight in the small gym with the other Rikis. I don’t know where Jaeyun is though, I thought you’d know.” Heeseung fills him in.

Sunghoon’s frown deepens. Heeseung suddenly clears his throat, taking big gulps of his milk.

“I don’t mean to pry, but are you okay? You’ve been kind of killing my appetite with your weird mood.” Heeseung asks. Sunghoon eyes the empty tray of food, as well as Sunghoon’s previously full tray dwindling down to zero with every bite the senior took. Sunghoon was pretty sure Heeseung was eating just fine.

But when he looked up at Heeseung, for some odd reason his mouth began to speak faster than his brain could comprehend.

“I think the girl I like hates me.” Sunghoon confesses.

Heeseung blinks, shocked. “Why do you think that? I thought Y/n was in love with you.” 

The sudden mention of your name has Sunghoon’s stomach doing a flip. He sits up straight, looking around to see if anyone had overheard them. “D-Don’t say that out loud!” He shushes the other boy.

“What? That you like Y/n-” One glare and Heeseung shuts up. 

Sunghoon sighs, rubbing his face, now stressed out. “Sorry.” Heeseung mutters. “But can I say something? I know we aren’t close or anything,” 

He peaks through his fingers, making eye contact with Heeseung’s big brown eyes. He can feel the sincerity through his gaze.

So he sits up again and nods, wondering what advice someone like Heeseung could ever give him.

Heeseung fiddles with his spoon, looking down at his tray. “I think you should try being more confident. You’ve got everything I’ve always wanted: you’re good-looking, humble, well-liked by everyone.”

“And I know you’ve been working hard on your social anxiety, but maybe you can show your newfound confidence by confessing your feelings to her. Why let yourself get in the way? You’ve gotten so far now, why not go a little further?”

Heeseung’s words click inside Sunghoon’s head. It’s true, he’s at an all-time high for the first time in his 17 years of living. He doesn’t know if he would have ever been able to conquer his fears without you. 

Sunghoon has always sabotaged himself, continuously mentally feeding himself the worst case scenarios, but you showed him how to break those walls down. You’ve been happier than himself at his growth.

Even if it killed him, he needed to tell you.

Sunghoon suddenly stands up from his seat, scrambling out the table. 

“Where are you going?!” Heeseung asks worriedly. But instead of answering, Sunghoon smiles fondly at his friend, running off. “Thanks Heeseung!” He shouts.

“Does this mean I can have the rest of your food?!” Heeseung calls out after him, only to get no answer.

And that’s how Sunghoon found himself running through the entire school, searching for you. 

He’s gasping for air as he checks the time on his watch. He had 30 more minutes before lunch ended, yet you were nowhere to be found.

While he knew EN-High was a giant school, with many twists and turns in the hallways, he also knew you wouldn’t just drop face off the earth in the middle of the school day.

Winded, he lands in an empty hall, leaning against the wall as he catches his breath. Looking around, Sunghoon realizes he’s right by the old library, where you two held calligraphy club. There’s no way, right? He thinks as he quietly enters.

The tables are empty, the room feels stiff, as if no one was there but him. It reminds him of the day he discovered it, where you two had your first real conversation. 

Silently Sunghoon walks around, his hopes of finding you falling. Though he knew he could just wait until later today, he felt as if he couldn’t keep this information to himself, and he swore to himself that he’d find the courage to confess-

Sunghoon stops in his step, head whipping around. He swore he heard a whisper. He stills, hoping to hear it again.

"...swhswhshwshwshwsh..."

There it was again! A whisper! Slowly Sunghoon makes his way down the aisles of books, getting closer and closer to the noise.

“-just say something. What’s the worst that can happen?” Sunghoon recognizes that voice, he peeks through a bookcase, and suddenly he connects the dots.

“I can’t, I couldn’t bear risking our friendship,” You sigh, looking distraught as you talk to your best friend Kai. The both of you are speaking low. Sunghoon tiptoes closer.

“Well sooner or later you’re going to have to say something,” Kai crosses his arms. You shake your head. “How can I?” You ask.

“Well you like him right? Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

Hold up. You like someone?! 

The pep talk Heeseung had given Sunghoon earlier begins to turn into slush as he starts to worry. Who could you possibly have a crush on? He hoped it was him of course, but he could never be so sure-

“Yeah,” You hum. “But you know Taehyun’s-”

“Ignore it, just tell him.” Kai opposes, just as Sunghoon’s heart shatters into a million pieces. He was no longer listening to the conversation.

Taehyun was one of your best friends. Someone you’ve known for years and have done everything with. To top it off, you’ve been helping him more frequently for the elections, spending more time together. It made sense why you’d like him. 

But no matter the truth, hearing it didn’t hurt any less, and Sunghoon had to refrain from bolting out of there and causing a scene. 

Except he does. Because of his distress, he doesn’t realize he’s bumped into the bookshelf behind him, causing one of the novels to fall and land loudly on the ground.

The slam of the book hitting the carpet is loud inside the silent library. You and Kai have stopped your conversation, and Sunghoon is regretting that he hadn’t run out when he first thought of it.

Swiftly, you round the aisle, finding Sunghoon looking at you with wide eyes full of terror. “Sunghoon?!” You gasp, looking just as horrified.

Out of habit, he spins around, facing away from you as he mentally prays you don’t see him if he stands still.

“Sunghoon, I can still see you, you know?” You call him out. Fearing for his life, as well as trying to tame a broken heart, he rigidly turns back around to you. “Hi. Fancy seeing you here,” he waves like a robot.

Kai tries to hide a giggle, covering his mouth. “I’m gonna go, see you later Y/n,” He nudges past you, giving you a playful wink as he leaves. 

You sigh, hiding your face as you mutter something to yourself.

“So I’m guessing you heard.” You finally say. Sunghoon feels his stomach drop as he nods.

Your cheeks are bright red, you can’t look at him. “I’m sor-

“No.” Sunghoon interrupts. You’re shocked, and so is he, but no matter what happens, he was going to tell you his feelings, even if you rejected him. 

“I mean- Uh, Can I say something first?” He stumbles over his words, realizing he probably came off too strong. You nod slowly, brows furrowed. 

Taking a deep breath, Sunghoon bites the inside of his gum. 

“Y/n, do you remember the first time we had calligraphy club together? When we were walking home that day, that was the first time I’ve ever really looked at a girl and not felt scared. You smiled at me.” Sunghoon begins sloppily. 

“I’m not really good at speaking, I’m better at writing, but I want to tell you how much you've helped me these past few months. I don’t even think I’d be able to talk to you right now if you hadn’t encouraged me. I’m really grateful for you.”

“I don’t know when I started to feel this way, but I do know one thing, I like you. More than a friend.” Sunghoon gulps as you gasp quietly. 

“I like you so much, if it meant I’d have to sacrifice everything I’ve worked hard for to disappear just to be with you, I would do it. If I have to embarrass myself in front of our class again, I will. Heck, I’ll even fight Taehyun- I mean I know you have a crush on him and that he’s the captain of the boxing club, but I just like you so much I don’t mind getting my ass kicked for you.” He begins to ramble, not noticing your confusion.

“Wait,” You hold a hand up to stop him. “Say that last part again.” 

Sunghoon freezes. “I like you so much I would push Jongseong in front of a bus if you told me to?”

“What? No! Before that!” You look at him bewildered.

“I’ll fight Taehyun for you because you like him?” He repeats and you suddenly slap your hand on your forehead. 

“Sunghoon,” You grumble, approaching him. Even when you’re glaring up at him, you make his heart race. “I don’t like Taehyun.”

Sunghoon blanks.

“Huh?”

You sigh, again, and grimace. “I don’t like Taehyun. I like you, idiot.”

Now he’s really confused. 

“But you and Kai were-” 

“You obviously heard wrong. I thought you heard the whole thing, which is why I was freaking out because Kai was trying to convince me to confess to you.” You poke his chest with your index finger, looking away shyly. 

“Him and Taehyun have been pushing me to say something for weeks.” You admit. “I’ve just been stalling since elections are so close.” 

Wait. So you like him back?!!

Sunghoon is malfunctioning as you wait for him to speak. 

“Hold on!” He suddenly yells, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Then why have you been ignoring me these past two weeks? You barely even talk to me!” He points out.

You blush again, scratching your head. “I-I wasn’t doing it on purpose,” You mumble. 

“It’s just every time we try to talk, someone interrupts. It’s been getting annoying. Especially the other girls-” You suddenly stop talking, glaring at yourself. Sunghoon cracks.

“You’re jealous? That I’m getting attention from other girls? Oh this is gold, I never took you as the possessive type.” He chuckles. “No I’m not! Stop laughing!” You argue, though your red face proves you wrong. 

As you try to make up some other reason why, Sunghoon can only smile. This is the you he likes, one so full of life and passion. You stop talking, words trailing off as you realize Sunghoon’s been watching you with a lovesick smile.

“D-Don’t look at me like that.” You turn away, but Sunghoon stops you, engulfing you in a hug. He feels you reciprocate, squeezing him tightly.

He can feel how fast your heart is beating. He wonders if you can feel his.

“Two months ago you would have rather eaten a bucket of bugs instead of hug me.” You mutter into his chest after a long silence.

“Way to ruin the mood.” He groans, cringing at his own past self (and how right you are). You two laugh, and as the bell rings, you both walk back to class together. 

“Does this mean we’re dating now?” Sunghoon asks you, ears pink. “I would hope so.” You joke. 

“Good, I’m telling everyone you’re my girlfriend now.” He grins to himself. “Well, as your girlfriend, I’d like it if you held my hand.” You tease.

“And as your boyfriend, I’d like for you to give me a minute, my palms are sweaty,” He wipes his hands on his pants as you laugh, before taking your hand in his.

The two of you don’t say anything more as you walk down the hall towards your shared classroom. Hands swaying together, Sunghoon only has one thing on his mind.

You two were a perfect match.

Bonus:

“Can you believe I’m the first person in my friend group to get a girlfriend?” 

You look at your boyfriend, astonished. “Seriously? I swear I thought at least Jongseong had a girlfriend,” Sunghoon shrugs as you two walk home together.

It’s only been a few hours since he’s become your boyfriend but he couldn’t be happier. He loved holding your hand, it fits so snugly into his own. Knowing that you were all his, and he was all yours now was the best feeling in the world. 

He hadn’t shut up about it since, and now the entire student body of EN-High knew you two were a couple. 

(Sunghoon marched you two up to the front of the class and announced to everyone you were dating. He claims he did this so that the other girls wouldn’t approach him so much anymore so you wouldn’t have to be jealous, but a part of you suspects he just wanted to brag. Either way, you were embarrassed.)

“Hey,” You suddenly slow down. “What’s up?” He asks, looking at you concerned. You’re not paying attention to him, looking forward. “Uh, isn’t that Riki and Sunoo?” You point.

Sunghoon follows your view, and sure enough he finds himself with a front view of Sunoo beating the shit out of Riki. 

“Y-You-Agk! You said you were going to pretend!” Riki whines as he lays on the street, shielding himself as Sunoo stomps on him.

“Gotta make it look believable!” Sunoo grins. Behind him, Riki C is recording while Riki A laughs.

“Should we stop them?” You ask, looking concerned. Sunghoon contemplates the idea, but in the end shakes his head. 

“Nah, they’ve got it covered.” He steers you away, assuring you his friend will make it out healthy and alive. 

“Come on, don't get distracted, we still have our first date to go on.”

Log 4: Monday - April 1st, 2024

I Can't, I Have Rehearsal masterlist | and scene! series masterlist | kpop masterlist

author's note: ahhhhh!!! finally finished with sunghoon's story! what did y'all think? i loved writing for him lol he's such a silly goofy guy stuck in a hot body. this entire plot was created based off that one scene in en-drama where he's like "girls never talk to me since I was young" lmaoo anyways thank you so much for reading and supporting! look forward to mr park jongseong's series next!!

[superficialdomina]

Down Under - Part 2

Word count: 2.1k

Part 2 Warnings: 18+; minors DNI. Loki thirst. Aussie slang. A big lizard. Language. Reckon that's about it.

Part 1

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Image credit

Part 2

The SHIELD operative who’d been sent to guide you into Hall’s Gap found you an hour after dawn, as you were packing up camp – just appeared out of the bush like Waltzing Matilda’s ghost, wearing an ancient cork hat and carrying a walking stick taller than she was.

Bruce offered her his hand. “Bruce,” he said. “Thanks for meeting us.”

“Aah, Dr Banner!” she said in a broad Australian accent, enthusiastically shaking his hand. “Great to finally put a face to ya name! Call me Ray,” she added, smiling widely as she nodded at the rest of you.

Thor – who was imposingly dressed in full battle attire, his red cape fluttering in the morning breeze – took her hand and kissed it magnanimously. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ray.”

Ray looked horrified as she pulled her hand out of his meaty grip, and Thor’s face fell as she wiped it on her shorts. “That what yer wearing, mate? Ya might get a bit warm.” You saw Loki hide a grin behind his hand.

“Ah - what happened to Agent Herriman?” Banner cut in before Thor could respond.

“Ol’ Jack? Crook, mate. Laid up down in Ballarat.”

Banner looked to you, and you realised he was waiting for a translation.

“Oh – he’s sick,” you supplied, distracted. You turned to Ray. “He doesn’t have this – this new infection, does he?”

“The horny bug?” She shook her corks to clear a swarm of flies that had gathered. “Nah, got the ‘rona.” She was still eyeing Thor as though he were a serious threat. “We ready to hit the frog n toad?”

“Just one more thing,” Banner said, pulling a series of small plastic cannisters from his pack and passing them around. “Antifungals. Take one every 12 hours. If you do get exposed, these should protect you.”

“Assuming it’s a fungus,” you added pointedly.

“Assuming it’s a fungus,” Banner agreed. “You too, Ray.”

Ray took the small bottle sceptically, stashing it somewhere in her myriad of cargo pockets. “Righto. Watch out for snakes.”

You left the campsite in single file, Ray in the lead. The climb wasn’t especially steep, but it was steady, with no undulation to offer respite to your burning calves. The bright summer sun quickly turned the warm morning into a swelteringly hot day, and your pack, filled with standard camping gear and an extensive list of SHIELD tech equipment, was heavy. You shifted uncomfortably at the sweat that had gathered between it and your skin, the damp spreading through your shirt.

You glanced up at Thor, ahead of you on the trail, still ridiculously dressed in battle leathers. They must be finding this heat brutal, you thought.

There was a scoffing sound behind you, and you realised the branch you’d just pushed past had flung back to nick Loki square in the face.

“Oh - sorry,” you said quickly, grimacing at the angry red mark across his eyebrow.

“I should be more careful,” Loki said acidly. He wiped his forehead, leaving a dusty, sweaty smear, but he didn’t complain further.

If Loki was handling the conditions with stoicism, Thor was more than making up for his silence. His face was bright red, and sweat poured from every conceivable inch of skin. He had begun using the corner of his cape to wipe his brow, and it was now a murky, rusty brown colour. At least he’s getting some use out of it, you thought wryly.

“Gah! These infernal flying creatures will be the death of me!” he bellowed, arms flailing at a cloud of bush flies.  “Why must they congregate in the immediate vicinity of my face?! Aargh!” he spluttered, voice raised an octave, dramatically forcing air out his nose. “One of them has just flown up my nostril!”

“Supposed to be good luck,” Ray called back seriously, “’specially if it comes back out ya mouth.” Thor made a gagging noise; Ray didn’t seem to hear him. “There’s water in about half a k; we’ll stop there for smoko.”

“What is "smoko”?” Loki asked, as you carefully passed him the next cleared branch.

“Um - morning tea?” you replied. You swallowed as his long fingers took the branch from you; you weren’t often this close to him, and his lean body was distractingly luscious. Fuck, he really does look good in hiking gear.

There was another yelp from Thor, who had mistaken the snap of a stick underfoot for the strike of a snake.

“It’s the scorpions you’ve got to watch out for,” Ray added, not pausing in her climb up the overgrown track. “At least a snake’ll let you know it’s there.”

Thor’s mouth hung open as he stared after her.

Hall’s Gap was nestled into a long, flat gully between two mountain ranges, with a lake at one end and a steep climb out of the valley at the other. When the five of you arrived in the late afternoon, you quickly set up a small base camp a short distance from the lake edge, in the long shadow of a high rocky outcrop known as Sundial Peak.

You washed briefly in the cool water, rinsing away the sweat and grime of the day’s hike. It was all so… familiar. Feelings you had pushed aside all day came rushing back. Memories of the last time you had stood in the Australian bush, your back turned to your family home after another long, drawn-out argument with your conservative, narrow-minded father. Tears streaming down your face as you decided it was time to pack up and leave for good.

That was years ago. You can’t step in the same river twice, you reminded yourself. You were not the same person who had walked away from them that day.

Somewhat cleansed – literally and metaphorically – you made your way back to camp. A squawk from a large eucalypt announced your arrival; Thor ducked dramatically, covering his head with his hands.

“Gads! What the Devil is that noise?!”

“What – you mean the cockatoo?” you asked, puzzled. “That squawking?”

“Cock or… Two?”

Before you could correct him, Ray also returned, a very large, very dead goanna heaved across her shoulders. She slung it to the ground in a single, fluid movement. Thor saw the flick of its tail out of the corner of his eye and gave a high-pitched yell.

“It’s dead, you buffoon,” Loki sneered at him, “and it has legs.”

Ray grinned. “Caught him scurrying up a red gum.”

Your eyes were wide with hunger and glee. “They’re meant to taste really good!”

She gave a comical double-raise of her eyebrows. “Once that fire’s got some decent coals under it, we’ll get ‘im cooking.”

Later, as you all licked charred remnants of the oily white meat from your fingers, you made plans for the following day. Bruce picked up his cell phone and waved it around hopefully.

“Won’t get any signal up here, mate,” Ray said, as she casually carved a goanna rib-bone into a fishing hook.

 “In that case,” Banner muttered, giving up on his phone reception, “I guess we do this the old-fashioned way.” He pulled out of his pack a large, paper map, and smoothed it on the ground.

“We’ll split up tomorrow. Thor and I will go into town and see what we can learn. If we’re lucky, I’ll find some unlucky bastard who’s dead enough to give up an infected brain sample. You two,” he glanced up at you and Loki, “will head into the national park to look for signs of Hydra. Ray will wait here for us and keep an eye on –”

“Fuck off,” Ray laughed, then realised Banner wasn’t joking. “Begging ya pardon, Doc, but if you think I’m waiting around here like an arsehole, yer dreaming.” She pointed her sharpened bone in the direction of town. “I’m coming with you.”

“Ah,” Banner hesitated. “Um, alright. I guess Ray’s coming with us.” He looked at you again. “Everyone back at camp by dark. If you don’t find anything, we can continue Thursday. If you do find something, stay in touch with the satellite radio. Apparently,” he added dryly, “there’s no cell service up here.”

Ray threw her head back and cackled with laughter.

You reached the summit of the Sundial by mid-morning. Dropping your day pack, you sucked down a large swig of water, then looked back at Loki below you on the trail. His hair was pulled into a low bun, that goddamn Akubra slung low over his eyes. It was, admittedly, sexy as fuck.

“Are you OK, Loki?” you asked as he neared you. It was reaching the hottest part of the day, and you were pretty certain that Norse Gods weren’t meant to be out in this kind of weather.

“Fine,” Loki snapped. His face was pink, and grimy with a combination of sweat and dust. At your small recoil, he softened. “I’m fine. Just... Hot.” He reached the uneven spread of rock you were standing on, and looked out across the valley, where the outcrop’s finger-like shadow fell over the smattering of houses far below.

“It’s pretty exposed up here. We should keep heading down and find some shade.”

“A moment,” Loki said, turning to look down over the other side of the crest. “How far are we from SHEILD’s first suggested location?”

You pulled out Banner’s tightly folded map. “We’re… Here.” You pointed to the little triangle marking the summit. “And Stark’s algorithm predicted these,” your finger passed over a small cross etched in red pen, “as possible Hydra sites. This is the closest one.” Loki peered at the little markings, then out across the landscape again.

“I am correct that the first of them should be in the next valley?” He pointed.

“Um…” Maybe? “Yeah, I think so.” You looked again at the worn paper. “At any rate, there’s probably water there. Give you – ah, us – a chance to cool down.”

You continued along the steep trail, descending now, watching your step in the uneven terrain. To the right of the track was a sheer drop; a misstep could send you on a severe short-cut to the creek at the bottom of the valley.

Loki must have stumbled behind you; you were briefly showered in loose scree and rock that had caught on his boot. You were about to ask him again if he was alright, when you heard it – running water. No, not running, you realised excitedly. Falling.

Another 300 metres, and the two of you stood at the foot of a roaring waterfall.

“Well,” Loki said, delightedly throwing his hat to the ground. “Shall we?”

Before you could answer, his long legs were carrying him to the water’s edge, a shimmer of seiðr peeling away his clothing as he went. Naked, he slid into the deep pool and dipped under the water.

Holy shit. It was only a second’s glance, but it was an image that you were certain would remain with you for a lifetime. The God of Mischief’s long, broad back and perfect, muscular ass, flexing as he strode away from you before it vanished under the surface. Holy shit.

You freed yourself from your own gear and waded in, gasping as you did. Unlike the Asgardian prince, you had opted to keep your underwear on, but the flimsy fabric did nothing to dull the slice of the cold. You knew the secret to quick acclimation, however, and with a hasty three, two, one, you ducked your head under the surface. When you reemerged, Loki was nowhere to be seen.

A short swim brought you to the foot of the falls. This close, the sound of it drowned out everything else; no birdsong, no insect buzz, no gentle wind through the treetops. Just the eternal roar of water crashing into the plunge pool. Even the force of it splattering your face was secondary. Behind it, the undercutting formed a dark, cavernous chamber, isolated from the world by the endless curtain of falling water, its sound muffled by its reflection off the rock face. The pool itself was deep – you couldn’t touch the stony bottom – and the rock was sheer, with wet striations reaching upwards to an uneven overhang way above. The seclusion was almost eerie.

“Fuck!” You jumped as something wrapped around your ankle in the dark water, before Loki’s mischievous grin emerged. “Jesus Christ, Loki!”

“Just ‘Loki’ will do,” he smirked. Does what it says on the tin, you thought grudgingly, eyeing him. His bun was gone; his wet hair was slicked back from his glistening face, fanning out over the pool and his bare, pale shoulders. His sculpted, naked body was only inches away from you under the water; you tried desperately to think about anything else.

“Good news, Agent,” Loki continued, still with that shit-eating grin. “I found a cave.”

Part 3

Tags in comments xx

[sqh3e]

quiet nights, l.sh

warnings : fluff, suggestive.. if you squint?, sohee is needy but in a cute way — soft hours ★ bf!sohee x reader

word count: 345 (not proofread sorry)

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this was the first night in awhile you and sohee were both home, sohee would spend most of his time playing the game but tonight it was you on your nintendo switch playing minecraft curled up in your shared bed. sohee was pouty cause he just wanted to be under you but you were already preoccupied.

“love,” he pouted “put the console down and love me.” you laughed your attention still on the switch, he sighed. he needed a plan and a good one to win his girl over, not that he needed to be extra but he wanted to be dramatic. he climbed out of the bed and headed towards the kitchen he knew that if you heard him in the kitchen moving around eventually you’d come in there.

sohee opened the pantry door looking through all the snacks you both had, he noticed those strawberry gummies you liked that he bought you a few days ago. he grabbed them, closed the pantry door and walked back into the room since you didn’t get up to join him in the kitchen. he plopped down onto the bed with a loud dramatic sigh, you let out a small chuckle finally deciding to play along with him.

“yes lovely?” you ask him turning off your console setting it on the night stand. “are you finally ready to give your poor lovely attention…?” he pouted, “hmm, i don’t think i am.” you teased turning facing in his direction and he whined. “look what i found in the pantr-“ sohee lifted up the gummy strawberries but was cut off but you snatching them from him.

“hey! these are mine, i’ve been saving them why do you have them??” you spoke. “cause i want you to pay attention to me but you were to occupied by the console.” he whined and you ruffle his hair “does my baby need attention?” you pout and he lays his head in your lap.

“yes i do.” you gently squeeze his cheek, “fine, talk to me tell me what you do all day.”

authors notes: i really miss my love sohee omg 😭 UGH FIX MY RIIZE RIGHT NOW! masters list coming soon! so is my about me- i’ve been busy and haven’t really gotten a chance to finish it :D working on a mini series so please look forward to that ;) also!! the tws comforting you after a bad day is coming i’ve just been super busy so i do apologize 🙏

perm taglist (open) : requests (open)

© sqh3e

[strawberrystepmom]

bakugou x f!reader. part 3 of a mini series called by heart. part 1 can be found here, part 2 can be found here cw: mentions of alcohol, implied sexual content, weddings. | word count: 2.8k, reading time: ~12 minutes

The morning after. 

You managed to rise at the same time as Katsuki, his incredibly loud alarm blaring through the wall that both of your beds are against on opposite sides. It only sounded once, naturally, yet you found it impossible to go back to sleep knowing he was stirring just a few feet away. 

He robbed you of the opportunity to witness him covered in dawn’s first light. Does he look like he’s on fire, a mythical hero from an old tale when the sun streams through his downy blonde body hair and tinges it red? Could you ever convince him to linger between the sheets after that alarm goes off, wrapping your thigh over his and kissing the planes of his chest?

Shooting up, you decided to simply start your day instead of following such a dangerous line of thinking down an unknown path. 

One workout, shower, and ‘got frustrated while getting dressed and left a tornado of sequins and leather shoes behind’ scenario later and you are finally making your way down to the resort’s restaurant for brunch. 

Katsuki, of course, is already sitting at the place designated as his with his name. Yours is directly next to him. 

You’re in a better mood today and didn’t concoct any plans to make him grovel for forgiveness overnight. It’s like turning over a new page in a fresh book, getting to know each other all over again for the first time. 

Right?

Sighing to yourself, you guess that probably only works with people whose secretions you don’t remember the taste of. Or something.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you inhale in and out for one beat and hold your head high walking toward the table. There’s no reason not to take last night at face value and see the hatchet as buried. You’re a few steps away from finding out if it is or not either way. 

“Morning,” he offers as you come closer.

His table setting has only minimally been rearranged, tea on the left and water on the right. You pause for a moment to watch him slowly start to change your setting too, moving your coffee mug and water glass around and fluffing your napkin.  

“Good morning, I hope you slept well.”

He snorts at your formality and refuses to encourage it further, instead reaching for the sugar he knows you take in your coffee and tearing the wrappers in half, pouring a stack of three into the bottom of your mug. 

“I can’t believe they’re using sugar packets at a place like this.”

Giggling, you pull out your chair to sit down, leaning close to him in the process. 

“You’re such a snob.”

If this assessment were coming from anyone else he’d be wildly insulted but it’s you. So you get the ‘he’s used to your incessant ribbing’ eye roll. 

“Is it really that horrible to want to see people get what they pay for?” 

Steadying your chair by pushing the toe of his dress shoe against the leg of it that rests closest to him, he pours coffee over the sugar while you sit. He leans over the table and picks up a spoon, stirring your drink to make sure everything is distributed the way it should be (read: the way he thinks it should be), tapping it delicately on the ceramic lip when he’s finished. 

“Look around this place and imagine how much it costs - it’s absolute bullshit there are packets instead of cubes.”

It never fails that you forget how refined he is between your periods of time spent together so it’s a treat to see the careful consideration he puts into nearly every move he makes. What he lacks in soft skills with his words he makes up for in impeccable manners when they matter the most, habits you’re sure his mother gave him no choice but to adopt to offset his natural unruliness. 

Finally situated and seated, you turn toward your male counterpart and grace him with a wry half-smile. 

“Better let Deku know they’re slighting him out of at least one yen per grain of sugar.”

The tension that flared during your conversation last night appears to have been put to rest if you’re comfortable enough to make a joke. Unfunny as it is, it’s a good sign that you’re ready to move on. Finally discarding the spoon, Katsuki folds his arms over his chest and glowers in your general direction.

“Are we…?” 

He doesn’t want to be any more of an asshole than he’s already been and assume, so he trails off. You pick up your coffee and sip, placing it down with a smile. 

“Good?”

A solemn nod from him, arms still folded. “Yeah.”

Pretending to waffle for a minute, you puff out your lips and look around the dining room, humming to yourself. 

“Hmm…I have a few more questions but consider yourself off the hook. For now.”

Exhaling loudly through his nose, you find yourself wondering if it isn’t a sigh of relief. What, exactly, he’s feeling relieved about is anyone’s guess. You have no plans of letting it derail your day that is going to be filled with brunch, hugs, and girl time with the rest of the bridesmaids that will be arriving today so you change the subject.

“How was Midoriya this morning?”

You place perfectly made coffee down and reach across the table to dish up berries onto his plate and yours, subtly reminding Bakugou that the groom to be isn’t only his friend, turning your body to fully face him. 

There’s no sense in asking how you even knew the two of them went for their usual morning run together, he’s well aware that info came directly from the bride. The blonde shakes his head thinking of his lifelong friend’s ear to ear grin when discussing his soon to be wife. Even while feeling a little anxious he didn’t bother to hide his joy and how lucky he feels to spend the rest of his life with a woman he unashamedly called his other half. 

Clearing his throat upon realizing it feels a little heavy with emotion, he decides to choose his words carefully. The term other half has danced around in his mind since Izuku said it hours earlier.

What does it mean to be someone’s other half? Is it to make them better? To fill in their gaps and let them do like in return? 

It’s a lot to consider. Too much, actually. He reaches for his water and takes a sip, coming to senses enough to speak. 

“I can tell he’s excited, he asked me to read over his vo—-“

“There you are!”

Before he can finish that thought, another sound Katsuki wasn’t looking forward to hearing all weekend captures the attention of the other guests who turn their heads to see the source. 

His mother. 

“And you too!” She calls, pointing at the occupied spot next to her son to which you respond with a wiggly fingered wave and a lazy grin.

Mitsuki Bakugou, aging gracefully and claiming naturally, approaches the two of you with the same determined smile you’ve seen her son wear on a few occasions. She and Masaru made it last night between the welcome dinner and his time at the bar with you. Their son welcomed them with mostly fake reluctance. 

Truthfully, he’s happy they’re here. They’ve cared about Izuku as much as they have him throughout their lives and it seems only right they witness the newest beautiful branch of the Midoriya family tree sprout. 

He simply doesn’t want to deal with both you and his mom at the same time. You’re high maintenance in different ways - she with her fierce spirit and you with your unfortunately difficult to ignore nature - and he has a duty to fulfill. 

“I asked her to tone it down this weekend,” he mumbles under his breath and sips from the water he’s now nearly white knuckle gripping.

You fake pout in his direction, reaching to pat one of his cheeks but he dodges you at the final second.

“She’s just excited to see her handsome baby boy. Have a heart.”

If side-eyes could kill, you’d be a cadaver yet it doesn’t deter you from leaning in closer, the space between your chest and his shoulder getting too small for comfort. 

“Oh that’s perfect! Hold on, let me get my camera…” 

The woman of the hour has finally made her way over. Her son grits his teeth and looks away, refusing to bother hiding his annoyance. It’s the most childish habit of his that has hung over into adulthood. If it were seen as less uncouth to simply physically remove yourself from situations you don’t want to be in, he’d just do that. 

“Hurry up,” he warns with arms folded over his chest. 

“Not until you uncross your arms,” his mother sing-songs from in front of the two of you, phone covering her features. 

He unfolds his arms and lets them dangle rebelliously at his sides. You lean in as close as you can without potentially getting bit, putting on your very best photo smile, sitting frozen. 

“Pull that woman closer to you or so help me...”

Without any warning, Bakugou’s arm snakes its way around your shoulders and pulls you against his side. Attempting to keep your smile and show no surprise, you clench your jaw tightly knowing he’s almost certainly doing the same. Big fingers cup your shoulder, almost tenderly, and his smile is tight but there when you steal a glance at him and just like that the flash goes off. 

Backing her phone away from her face, his mother beams. “I might need to frame that one!” She flips her phone around to show off the photo.

His arm around your shoulder, the trace of a real smile on his face and not just the fake one you assumed he had. You, face turned to look at him with tenderness you’d usually reserve for a man you’d be calling your lover. 

To the unfamiliar, you two would look shockingly…together. 

“It’s good, mom. Thanks for taking it.” 

He pushes the phone away, hoping to get this ordeal over with sooner rather than later. His mother is insisting on sticking around, picking around the table and making little notes about what she sees aloud. Of course this is no big deal to her.

“Sugar packets?” 

The Bakugou matriarch wrinkles her nose in disgust while plucking one from their ceramic home causing you to swallow a laugh. Katsuki throws up his hands as if to say “told you so”.

“I said the same thing and she acted like I was crazy.”

Mitsuki hums to herself, placing the packet back in its cradle and zeroing in on you with a smile. “Well when it’s finally you two’s turn we’ll make sure there are cubes, won’t we?”

The warmth drains from your face, eyes widening and before you can catch yourself to prevent the horrified expression from being seen you’ve been spotted. Such open disgust has told him more than you ever will. The blonde next to you snorts bitterly and looks away yet again in an effort to distance himself from the situation. 

“Lighten up, I’m just messin’ with you both.” She digs in her purse, eventually giving up and dropping her phone inside. “Anyway, I need to go find Inko. I need to see how she’s handling all of this for when it’s finally my turn.”

Kissing her son atop his head and ruffling his hair, she wiggles her fingers at you while taking her leave with no idea about the mess she’s left behind. 

“Are we…?”

It’s you asking it this time, a little alarmed by his distance and silence and that his eyes haven’t even bothered to turn toward you since you were caught.  

“Yup,” he emphasizes the “p” with a popping noise while leaning across the table to dish up his plate. “Have some questions just like you but we are so fucking good.”

Despite his obvious annoyance and the way he speaks through gritted teeth, he spoons out portions of each of the dishes on the table onto your plate alongside his own. 

The meal is consumed wordless and awkwardly, his eyes staying glued to the edges of the room until it’s time for you to go join the bridesmaids at the spa. 

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Celebrations for Ruby's birthday are interrupted when Aberama arrives with claims of betrayal and a desire for vengeance.

Word Count: 5,478

Warnings: Violence, suicidal thoughts, and references to minor character death.

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Chapter 7: Endless Night

When they got home, Tommy touched her gently by the arm. Eyes lowering, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. 

“I need to go talk to Lizzie about her letter.”

She frowned, wondering if now, on his daughter’s birthday of all days, was a good time to pick a potential fight with her mother. But she supposed that there was no point really in trying to put it off. 

“Okay. I’ll make myself scarce.”

He frowned at the wording, entwining their fingers and raising her hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “I don’t expect we’ll be long.”

She gave him a peck on the lips. “Good luck.”

He gave her an agonized look that she was pretty sure was meant to be a smile, but came out as more of a grimace. Her fingers fiddled at her rings as she watched him head towards his office. Turning, she made her way towards the sitting room, hoping to seek out the kids or maybe one of the animals to keep her company. 

“Lucy!”

She started at the sound of Ruby’s voice, smiling when she spotted the little girl racing down the stairs towards her. 

“Hey, birthday girl!” She bent down to scoop her up, groaning overdramatically as she lifted her. “You’re getting so big, sweetheart! I won’t be able to carry you around for much longer.”

“Noooooo!” Ruby cried, but she was giggling toothily. Trailing behind her, Lizzie descended the stairs, heels clicking delicately against the floor.

“Tommy wants to see you in his office,” Lucy told her in a gentle voice. Lizzie just nodded, but her eyes darted to Ruby. “I got her.”

Lizzie reached out to stroke a lock of Ruby’s hair back. “You stay with Lucy, alright sweetheart? I’ll be just a few minutes.”

“And then we can have cake?”

Lizzie stifled a laugh. Lucy smiled. “Yes, sweet one.”

Ruby wriggled happily, watching with Lucy as her mother wandered away in the direction of Tommy’s office. Hitching her up higher on her hip, Lucy carried her from the stairway and into one of the nearby sitting rooms. Strategically far enough away from the office that, if any yelling started, Ruby hopefully wouldn’t be able to hear. With a huff, she collapsed back onto one of the couches, setting Ruby down on the cushion next to her.

“So. What did you get up to today, little miss? Hm?”

“Well…” Ruby giggled. “Mummy took me and Charlie to afternoon tea at the Midland.”

“Did she now? Did you have fun?”

Ruby nodded vigorously. 

“Did you get to open any of your presents yet?”

She pouted a little, dark doe eyes widening. “No. Mummy said not until after you and Daddy came home.”

“Ah. Well that was very thoughtful of her. I’m sure that your dad will want to see you open them.”

“Yeah,” Ruby shifted to snuggle into her side, picking at a loose thread on her dress. Lucy wrapped an arm around her, head cocking as she examined the little girl. Outwardly, she seemed her usual cheerful self. But there was something in the slight lowering of her eyes that made Lucy frown. 

“You okay, sweetie?”

“Uh huh. I just think that Mummy’s sad, is all.”

Your mummy is always sad, sweet one, Lucy thought, throat turning to sandpaper as she swallowed around the words. 

“It’s been…a bit of a difficult time at Daddy’s work lately, love. And it’s been affecting all of us. Including your mum.” She hoped that would be a good enough explanation about what was happening. Ruby frowned. “But hey,” she quickly moved to reassure the child, “your daddy will take care of it, eh? He always does.”

Ruby nodded. “Daddy takes care of everyone.”

“Yes, he does.”

A crease formed between her brows, those dark eyes darting to Lucy’s, wide with worry. “But who will take care of Daddy, Lucy?”

She felt her heart squeeze a little at the girl’s sweetness. Always a daddy’s girl. From the very moment she’d been born.

“I will, Ruby. That’s what I’m here for. You don’t need to worry.”

“You promise?” Ruby’s eyes were beseeching. Lucy smiled down at her. 

“Yes, honey, I promise.”

Seemingly satisfied, Ruby wrapped her little arms around her and nestled her head against her shoulder. Lucy stroked a hand over her hair.

“We can make it part of your birthday present, hm? What do you think?” she asked, hoping to lighten the mood. It seemed to work, Ruby grinning brightly. 

“Yeah! Okay!”

“Happy birthday, kiddo.” She kissed the top of her head. “Just you wait. Soon you’ll be old like me.”

“Noooo! I’m never gonna get old!” Ruby laughed. Lucy chuckled. “Can we play cards?” 

Lucy pressed her smiling lips together. Young as Ruby still may have been, it was her philosophy that you were never too young to start learning how to swindle at poker. She’d been teaching both the kids various card games since they were practically still in nappies. 

“Of course. I’m sure we can find a deck around here somewhere.”

It only took a little searching for them to find one, and they were just wrapping up their first game when Frances came in. 

“Miss. Winters, Mrs. Shelby asked that I take the children to the drawing room at seven for cake.”

At the mention of cake, Ruby bolted up from her seat and went racing for the door. Lucy smiled a little to herself, reaching across the table to gather up the cards and arrange them in a neat little stack. 

“Are you not coming, Miss?”

She looked up to find Frances still hovering in the doorway. She offered the housekeeper a weak smile. She had not been expressly invited to the celebrations going on in the next room. Nor did she feel bold enough to try to force her way into being included. Lizzie didn’t want her there, so she would respect her wishes. 

You are so fucking selfish.

The words had cut her deeper than she’d initially thought. Cycling in her head. Tormenting her. Leaving her to lie awake at night, staring up at the canopy, and wondering, for perhaps the thousandth time, if her presence truly was as massively damaging as Lizzie made it out to be. 

“They don’t want me there.”

“That’s not true, Miss.”

“Well, I’d rather not have to deal with Lizzie’s temper, today.” 

“Mrs. Shelby…she sometimes lets her jealousy get the best of her, but deep down, I don’t think she dislikes you nearly as much as you think.”

“Yeah,” Lucy whispered. She had thought that too, once. But as time went on it got harder and harder to believe. “Thank you, Frances.”

“Of course, Miss. I’ll leave you be.”

She nodded gratefully, curling her legs under her on the couch, plucking up a book sitting on the end table. The room was dimly lit, not the best for reading, but it fit the mood she was in. As she flipped through it idly, Trouble crept out from wherever it was she had been hiding, and curled into her lap. 

It did not take long for her to hear the sounds of Lizzie and Charlie singing Happy Birthday to Ruby in the other room. Her throat tightened, chest suddenly aching sharply with the feeling of exclusion and loneliness. Snapping the book shut, she stood, scooping Trouble up into her arms. With quick steps she headed for Tommy’s office, where she was unlikely to hear the sounds of the family singing and celebrating. 

Setting Trouble down on a nearby armchair, Lucy picked up a few stacks of papers on Tommy’s desk, sitting down and beginning to look them over. Trouble found her way into her lap again, meowing in complaint everytime Lucy ceased petting her even for a moment. She wondered if the cat could sense her distress. It would explain why she was suddenly insistent on remaining so close to her.  

The door opened perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes later. Tommy’s heavy footfalls approached her slowly, coming to a stop right beside her. 

“I was looking for you.”

Lucy swallowed harshly, the action burning a little. She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you come for cake?”

“Didn’t want to spoil things.”

“You could never spoil things.”

“Lizzie would disagree. I’m sure that she had a much nicer time without me there to pop her happy little bubble.”

“I didn’t have a nicer time.”

She finally looked up from the papers she had been pointedly keeping her gaze fixed on. He was standing over her, a plate containing a slice of chocolate cake with a silver fork balanced on the edge clutched in one hand. His eyes were tired and hurt.

Another sharp pang of guilt twisted like a knife in her heart. “I’m sorry.”

He examined her for a moment more, then looked away. “It’s alright.” It clearly wasn’t, but she didn’t really want to discuss it further. At least not right then. He held out the plate to her. “I brought you this.”

Setting aside her papers, she took it. “Thank you.” Watching him walk around the desk to sit behind it, she frowned at the continued look of open distress on his features. Trouble hopped off of her lap to follow him, brushing her little body against his ankles. “Did Ruby have a good time?”

“She loves her presents.” He shot her a knowing look which Lucy shied away from. They both were well aware that most of the gifts with his name on them had actually been purchased by her. 

“Good. That’s good.” Taking up her fork, she gathered up a small bite of the cake. It was dense and rich. Sweet on her tongue, with just the right edge of bitterness to keep the sweetness from being too overpowering. As she chewed, she eyed Tommy, worry growing by the minute. “Are you alright?”

He cleared his throat, looking away from her to some far off, distant point. “I got a call.” He didn’t need to specify from whom. “I asked them some questions about Michael, but they didn’t have anything of much use for us.”

“Okay…” That wasn’t really all that surprising, all things considered. Disappointing, maybe. But it didn’t seem like reason enough for him to appear so upset. “How did your talk with Lizzie go?”

He didn’t respond, still staring at a nondescript place on the far wall. Setting her fork down, she put the plate on the desk in front of her and leaned forward to try to get in his line of sight. 

“Tommy?”

He came to with a jerk, eyes snapping to hers. “Hm?”

“What did Lizzie say?”

The way that his face fell told her that she’d found the source of his sullen mood. Lucy tensed, preparing herself for whatever new venom Lizzie had chosen to throw at him. Tommy drew in a deep, painful breath. 

“She said that she took Ruby to Arthur’s because she’s scared of me.”

Lucy’s brows drew in. Already that made no sense. Ruby adored Tommy. Not once had she shown fear towards him. If anything it was the opposite. He was always the one that she wanted whenever she had nightmares or was frightened of the monster under her bed. 

But Tommy wasn’t done yet. “Lizzie says that when she knows I’m not coming home that she’s…different.”

Rage, hot and trembling, began to course through her. Her fingers balled into fists, little crescents digging into her skin as she fought to leash her temper.

How fucking dare Lizzie try to use that sweet girl to hurt him. She knew how much Tommy loved Ruby; how important she was; how cherished the relationship that they had was to his heart. 

One look at Tommy’s face, and she realized that was not all. There was something more. “What else?” she asked, working hard to keep most of the anger coursing through her out of her voice. 

Tommy smacked his lips together. His thumb was moving back and forth anxiously, she could see, where it was resting on his thigh. 

“She’s concerned that if I get killed, or end up offing myself, that there won’t be anything left for her.” He choked out a humorless laugh. “She thinks that if I’m gone, she’d take my place in everything.”

Lucy stared at him, eyes wide, mouth half agape. Lizzie thought that Tommy was going to die. She thought that he was on the precipice of death, that he was suicidal, and all she cared about was fucking money!? And she told him that!?

She opened her mouth to speak. Or maybe to just let out a scream of rage before flying out of her chair to go find Lizzie and throttle her, when the growl of an engine quickly approaching the house sounded from outside. 

Her brows knit. Tommy frowned, standing and going to peek out the window. A bark sounded from near the front door. Asher. 

“Tell Lizzie to get the kids upstairs,” Tommy said, springing into motion. Lucy nodded, rage momentarily forgotten as she hurried out of the office and to the drawing room. Lizzie was seated with Charlie and Ruby, playing with some of Ruby’s new toys. Lizzie looked up, saw her expression, heard the approaching engine, and shot out of her seat, taking both children by the hand and rushing them towards the stairs. Lucy gave her a quick nod in approval. At the very least, she could always depend on Lizzie to keep the kids safe.

Barreling from the drawing room, she met Tommy at the cupboard loaded with weapons. Her fingers flexed around the rifle he pressed into her hands, bringing the stock to rest against her shoulder. Together, they headed for the front entryway. 

Asher was still barking and growling by the door. “Stay, boy,” Lucy ordered. He quieted and sat down on his haunches immediately, though his brown eyes followed them as they went outside. Tommy plastered himself against the wall of the archway that curled over the front door, a hand signaling for Lucy to take position behind him, her side also pressed to the cold wall that was serving as their cover.

They remained completely still, just listening with hands gripping tight to their weapons. The car engine jutted to a halt, then shut off entirely in the driveway. One of the car doors opened, followed by a thud, and sharp groans of pain. 

Lucy frowned when she recognized the voice that started calling out Tommy’s name. “Is that Johnny?”

With fluid movements that greatly resembled that of a big cat, Tommy sprang into motion. Lifting his gun to level with the car as he stepped out onto the drive, he began shouting orders to the person still inside behind the wheel. Lucy followed behind, rifle raised to cover him. Her eyes squinted at the driver’s seat, trying to make out in the shadows who was seated behind the wheel. Johnny Dogs had been dumped out onto the ground, writhing and clutching at his side. 

When Aberama stepped out of the car, Lucy felt her breathing hitch in horror. He was bloodied, tears shining in his eyes. There was something half mad in them that made her skin prickle with alarm. She kept her rifle raised, just in case. Despite Aberama not holding any weapons in his hands.  

Her blood chilled as Aberama started to speak in a voice laced with tears. Telling them of how Bonnie had been strung up on a cross and shot while they were camping out in the wilderness. At Tommy’s question as to who had attacked them, he reached into his pocket, and threw a crumpled ball of paper to them. Lucy kept her rifle trained on Aberama as Tommy stepped forward to pick it up and unfurled it. She glanced over Tommy’s shoulder at the words scrawled in black, the paper stained red with blood. 

BY ORDER OF THE BILLY BOYS.

Her eyes snapped back to Aberama as he explained that only Johnny Dogs had known where they were camped. Johnny immediately started to try to insist on his innocence. That sent Aberama into a rage, lunging at him where he was still curled on the ground.

 Tommy put down his weapon and jumped between them, trying to wrestle Aberama off of Johnny. Lucy kept a careful distance away from them, rifle still raised in case she needed to use it. She couldn’t fire as long as they were all tussling together like that, though. She wouldn’t risk hitting Tommy, and she didn’t want to outright kill Aberama or Johnny either. At least not before they had a clearer understanding of what had happened. She could always shoot Aberama in the leg to incapacitate him. She didn’t want to, but she would if she had to. 

Tommy managed to pull the two men apart, and Lucy took a cautious step closer to Johnny, lowering her rifle a little. Taking hold of Aberama, Tommy started to try to calm him down and talk sense into him. As Tommy continued to speak, Aberama suddenly went still, his gaze turning cold. 

“They crucified my son…for you,” his voice had lowered considerably into a malicious murmur. 

Lucy brought her finger to rest on the trigger of her rifle at the same moment that Aberama lunged for the gun Tommy had left lying on the ground. He had just coiled his fingers around it, half raising it to level with Tommy’s chest, when two gunshots rang out sharply. 

But the bullets came not from Lucy’s gun, nor from Aberama’s. 

They came from Lizzie’s.

They all jerked with surprise, the thundering echoes of the gunshots reverberating all around them. Lucy felt her muscles lock with the preparation for a fight before she realized what was happening. Aberama drew back, hunching over himself as if expecting to be shot. Johnny cringed. Tommy’s eyes snapped to where the shots had come from, wide with shock and fury.  

Lizzie came barreling down the steps leading to the front door. The gun she’d just fired into the sky waved wildly at all of them. Her eyes were bulging and she was screaming, demanding that they all get away. 

“This is my house! And I don’t want you back. I don’t want you back!” She looked half out of her mind, the gun aimed squarely at Tommy’s chest. Lucy stared at her in shock. Fear locked around her throat when for one terrible moment, she actually thought that Lizzie might pull the trigger. 

Tommy recovered first from the silence and stillness that the outburst had stunned them all into. With quick footsteps, he walked his way over to Lizzie. Lucy tensed, half rising her rifle towards Lizzie when she didn’t lower the gun, panicking that Tommy’s approach would trigger her to fire.

But she didn’t, and he ripped the gun from her hand with ease, opening the chamber and dumping all the remaining golden bullets out onto the drive. Lizzie smiled spitefully, rabidness still gleaming in her eyes. 

Tommy stuffed the emptied gun into the front of his trousers, then stalked over to Aberama to snatch away the rifle still held limply in his hand. It seemed that the shock of Lizzie’s intervention had drained all his remaining will and strength, leaving him swaying dangerously on his feet. His face was pale, left arm limp at his side.

“You wanna take on the Billy Boys? You need me alive,” Tommy said to him, then turned to fix his gaze pointedly at Lizzie, voice raising. “Everyone fucking needs me,” he said, no small amount of bitterness enveloping the words. Lizzie sneered at him, hate shining bright in her eyes. Lucy wondered if she actually would have had it in her to shoot him. If maybe she even had wanted to. 

But her interruption had allowed Tommy to seize back control over the situation. Aberama slumped against a nearby stone bench with a soft groan, while Tommy ordered Lizzie back inside to call an ambulance for him. She gave each of them individually a look of deep contempt, but did as she was told, turning to stalk back into the house. 

“Stay with him,” Tommy said to Lucy while he moved to haul Johnny inside. She nodded, shouldering her rifle and going to sit beside Aberama. They sat in silence, watching as Tommy helped a sobbing Johnny through the front door. Aberama’s breathing was wheezing and labored. 

It was quiet inside the house for a while, likely as Tommy got Johnny settled in one of the rooms. But then there was muffled shouting, both Tommy and Lizzie’s voices distinctive in their raised volumes. 

“Do they always argue like that?” Aberama asked softly after a few minutes passed and the yelling didn’t cease.

“Yes,” Lucy mumbled, staring down at her hands. Tommy finally came outside at the sound of the ambulance approaching, speaking to the driver in a low voice before helping them to load Aberama into the back. 

“What about Johnny?” she asked, standing beside Tommy and watching as the ambulance pulled away.

“Maisie, Clara, and Sandra are taking care of him.”

She nodded. Their maids were no stranger to setting bones and sewing up wounds.

“That letter the Billy Boys left that Aberama threw at me,” Tommy began, “it was written in the same style and handwriting as the one that was on the scarecrow in the field with the landmines.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. In her mind, she could see Bonnie, strung up on a cross not unlike the scarecrow out in the field. “Oh…” she swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “At least we know who left us them, then.”

Tommy hummed. She looked over at him worriedly and reached out to rub his shoulder. “Johnny’s not a traitor.” There was a list–albeit a very short one–of the few people whom she knew in her bones would never betray them. Johnny Dogs was on that list. 

“Agreed.”

“So how did the Billy Boys find them?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. Lucy looked out across the grounds, towards where the thick smattering of trees began on the property. Her lip caught between her teeth.

“Maybe it was just bad luck.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“No,” she sighed, reaching up a hand to run over her hair. “Not really.”

“Come on,” he brushed a hand across her shoulder. “Let’s get inside.”

She followed him back into the house. While he went to go check up on Johnny, she returned her rifle to the armory. Just as she was closing it up, she heard heels clicking against the floor. Protectiveness flared fiercely inside her at the memory of Lizzie brandishing the revolver in Tommy’s face.

She told him she doesn’t care if he dies.

The wrath that had briefly been extinguished by Aberama’s arrival returned in full force.

Slamming the cupboard closed, she turned sharply, walking with rapid steps towards where Lizzie was standing in the doorway. Grabbing her firmly by one wrist, she started to half drag her into one of the adjoining sitting rooms. 

“Lucy!? Ow! What the fuck!?” Lizzie cried, and Lucy yanked her through the door, closing it behind them hard enough to nearly rattle the frame. The moment that she let Lizzie go, Lizzie took a step back from her, rubbing at the wrist she’d been gripping. 

“You and I need to talk,” Lucy said, eyes blazing.

Lizzie’s throat worked, drawing herself up to her full, towering height. But there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

Lucy took a step forward, and when she spoke, her voice was icy calm. “You will never point a gun at him like that again. Ever. Do you understand me?”

Lizzie’s jaw worked, but she didn’t reply, instead just fixing Lucy with a defiant, stubborn expression. Lucy scoffed. 

“Enough of this. Alright? Enough.” She was so angry she was nearly shaking, but thankfully no tremor found its way into her voice. “Enough with the crying. And complaining. And the fucking temper tantrums every other bloody week.” She shook her head back and forth. “What are you doing? Do you really think that being hateful to me and using your daughter to hurt him is going to endear him towards you? Really? That’s your great master plan to make him fall in love with you?”

Lizzie let out a hiss and turned away, cheeks reddening.

“You fucking idiot.” Now that the words were pouring out, she couldn’t stop them. “If you’re going to leave, fine. Fucking leave. But don’t just sit around here, crying and complaining and dragging the rest of us down with you.”

“I do not–”

“Yes, you fucking do, Lizzie! God! It’s like living with a fucking see-saw! Do you understand? Do you realize how exhausting it is? And now on top of every other fucking thing I have to do, I have to worry about you pointing fucking guns at him, and telling him that your daughter’s scared of him.”

Lizzie shrank in on herself a little.  

“You know, I see two possibilities here: either you’re a terrible mother, who has willingly brought your child back into an environment where you know she’s uncomfortable and frightened. Or, you were just saying that because you wanted to hurt him as deeply as you know how.”

Lizzie’s eyes met hers sheepishly, and she had the answer that she already knew. 

“Despite everything, I know you’re not a terrible mother. You’d never have brought her back here if you genuinely thought she was scared of him.”

Lizzie still said nothing, eyes staring back into Lucy’s, defiance slowly ebbing from them at being caught in her lie. 

“You know how much he loves her,” Lucy shook her head. “You know that he would do anything for her. How could you do that to him?”

Lizzie at least had the decency to look a little guilty. “I’m sorry–”

“Oh please. No you’re not!” Lucy laughed humorlessly. “You always fucking do this, Lizzie. You throw some big, grand temper tantrum and then you act all apologetic after the fact. As if that immediately absolves you of everything. It doesn’t. My guilt can’t absolve me of the crime of fucking your husband, and your apologies cannot erase the hurt that you’ve caused. Especially when you keep doing it over and over again.”

She drew in a deep, harsh breath at the end of her rant, taking a step away from Lizzie. Stalking to the windows, she looked out at the dark grounds, fingers toying with each other. In the reflection in the glass, she could see Lizzie still standing motionless in the same spot she’d been in while Lucy yelled at her. Staring at the wall as she processed her words. Lucy wrapped her arms around herself, returning her gaze to outside. Even as she felt Lizzie finally look over at her. 

“You’re scaring me, Lucy,” she said finally in a quiet voice. 

Lucy took no pleasure in the statement, tongue darting out to wet her lips. Looking down, she nodded once to herself. 

“Good.” She turned to face Lizzie. “I think that you’ve forgotten who exactly it is you’re dealing with, here.”

Lizzie stared at her with wide, wounded eyes, and Lucy felt a stab of guilt for how harsh she’d been. But she shoved it away. Because when it came to protecting Tommy, nothing else mattered. 

“Pull yourself together,” she commanded, raising her chin. “Or I will put an end to the entire fucking thing. You know I can. All I have to do is ask him to leave you, and he will. Like that,” she snapped her fingers. The crack seemed to echo throughout the room. “I’m almost fucking there, Lizzie. Because you can hurt me and take jabs at me and say as much hateful shit about me behind my back as you want. But you’re hurting him now. And I won’t allow that.”

The look Lizzie fixed her with was wounded and angry, but also contemplating. Lucy wondered if, just maybe, she had gotten through to her a little.

“We’re friends, Lucy,” Lizzie said, after another moment of silence. For some reason, Lucy found the idea hilarious, bursting into a round of helpless, quiet giggles and shaking her head. 

“No. No; we’re not. That was just a pipe dream.”

Lizzie shuffled a step closer to her. “That’s not true.”

“You’re just saying that to manipulate me. Like you always have. You’ve never actually given a shit about me. It’s all just been about trying to get closer to him.”

“No…it hasn’t…”

“Do you really not see how I may have started to think that every time you’re nice to me, it’s only because you want something?”

Lizzie looked down at her hands, ringing them together. “I love him, Lucy,” she finally said helplessly. 

“No,” Lucy whispered, shaking her head furiously. “Tell me, how exactly did you phrase it, Lizzie? When you were talking about your concerns regarding his potential death? How did you say it?” Her voice had dropped so low it was a miracle Lizzie could hear her. When Lizzie didn’t immediately respond, she raised an eyebrow. “Tell me,” she coaxed. Lizzie shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. 

“I said, I’ll need to know there will be something left.”

Lucy blinked slowly, letting the words sink in and digest. “I need to know there will be something left,” she repeated back at her. Lizzie let out a shaky breath. Lucy shook her head. Her voice remained soft. “No. I don’t know what the fuck this is, but it isn’t love. Someone who loves someone wouldn’t be so focused on making sure that there will be things left for them when faced with the idea of their love’s death.”

Lizzie looked down at her hands. Lucy examined her face, watching the way that her expression fell to one of confliction and exhaustion. She raised a hand to wipe at her eyes, breaths turning shaky.

Lucy inhaled sharply, pulling away before she could allow herself to feel too terrible for making her cry, heading for the door without another word. 

She found Tommy in one of the upstairs bedrooms with Johnny, standing by the window and smoking as the maids finished bandaging Johnny’s ribs. 

“You alright?” she asked Johnny, coming to stand by the bed. He gave her a weak smile. 

“Hurts like a bitch to breathe, but I’ll live.” He looked at the maids tending to him. “Especially with these lovely beauties to look after me, eh?”

Sandra blushed and looked down at her hands. Maisie and Clara–both more seasoned and familiar with Johnny’s antics–chuckled and fondly rolled their eyes. 

“Good,” Lucy gave him a light pat on the shoulder before going over to Tommy. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders with a heavy sigh, reaching over to stub his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. 

“Right, Johnny. If you’re alright, we’re going to go to bed.”

Johnny nodded, waving them away. Tommy took her hand, and they began the walk to their room. 

“He have anything significant to say?” Lucy asked.

“Nothing useful.”

“Mm.” That wasn’t that surprising. “I don’t like the connection to the Billy Boys. Especially after that whole business between them and Michael. It reeks of…something.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I talked with Lizzie.”

“Oh?”

“Yelled at her, is probably the more appropriate description,” she paused as he opened the door to their room, holding it wide for her to duck inside first. Trouble was curled up on the bed, asleep, though she stirred and meowed at them after Lucy flicked on the lights. Tommy closed the door behind them. “I feel a little bad about it, now.” 

“Don’t be. She’s needed a good talking to for awhile, now.”

“You don’t even know what I said to her.” She moved to sit at her vanity to take off her earrings. They settled in the little dish she kept them in with a clink. 

Tommy kissed her on top of the head, undoing the buttons on his waistcoat. “I trust you.”

Lucy smiled, grabbing a cloth to start wiping away her makeup. The smile faded quickly. “Things between you and her are getting worse.”

“Now what gave you that idea?” He flashed her a humorless smile that came out as more of a grimace, then sighed. “I’ll deal with it.”

“She pointed a gun at you.”

“She did.” 

She parted her lips to speak, then paused, considering her words before finally deciding to utter them. “If she had shot you, I would have killed her.”

Tommy glanced over at her, and smiled sadly. He reached out, resting a hand at the base of her neck, drawing her close so he could press a kiss to her lips. “I know, love.”

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[novasintheroom]

113. Heart (part 2/?)

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.3k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: Vash thinks more about The Box.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (coming soon!)

Despite his best efforts, Vash does think about The Box.

It creeps up on him, like a lizard up the back. Slow, in spurts. He feels the edges dig into his chest on orange sunset nights, when you’re walking ahead and are outlined by twin lights. The burning gold rims your head in a halo. You’re beautiful. If he squints his eyes just right, he can imagine something shiny on your ring finger. But he shakes his head, muttering about mirages, and continues his way.

It ties him in knots when he convinces you to dance with him in a lonely little bar. Pulling at your hands, your fingers, until you’re both swaying to an off-tune piano in the corner and your head lays on his chest. His heart leaps for a moment – do you feel The Box? – but settles when you say nothing. It’s just another bullet box for all you know. For all he’s able to convince himself.

It settles on his mind like dust, like an incoming sandstorm, when you come to him after a long day and kiss him. Just because. Just to show you’re with him. The kiss makes his teeth hurt, like biting into something too sweet. You pull away, and his lips move, a “Will you - ?” popping out before he shuts it down. You look at him, curious, but leave it be.

Vash wishes he could do the same. Leave The Box on some distant dune, start this whole thing all over. But the thought of giving up? After all it’s been through? What’s in The Box symbolizes everything now – determination, forgiveness, love. His very heart. And as much as it pokes and prods at him every waking moment, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Well, maybe one other way. A way that involves opening the damn Box and letting you see. But Vash is still a coward, and cowards like him do not open The Box.

[arkadijxpancakes]

Yeah, I guess that we have to disagree, at least when it comes to the statute of secrecy.

I guess I would agree with you, if the following conditions were actually met:

the Harry Potter-universe were just a series of books for kids

the series stayed focussed on Great Britain and Great Britain alone, without bringing other countries into the mix

instead of blaming the witch trials, the series actually used the political climate of the time as the reason for the statute

the series established the statute as "British Statute of Secrecy" instead of "Internation Statute of Secrecy"

Unfortunately, that's just not what happened.

Firstly, while the series started out as children's books, they did not stay children's books. Book 1 to 3 are solidly children's books. Book 4 is a mix between a children's book and young adult. Book 5 to 7 are young adult novels. And then you have the three Fantastic Beasts films, all of which have plot-lines that are largely tailored to an adult audience.

Secondly, the series does not keep to Great Britain. It starts to bring other countries into the mix in book 4 (book 3, if you count that holiday in Egypt) and the whole world building starts to fall apart there. And while the books were still kind of okay-ish in that regard, the Pottermore posts on wizarding North America are all horrible. And while Rowling knows British history well enough, she isn't all that knowledgeable about other countries, and she's not curious enough to do more than surface level research.

When it comes to the statute itself, the books itself definitively use the witch trials as the main reason for the Statute. There are definitively some historical titbits in that history. (You did a wonderful job on pointing them out, by the way!) Unfortunately, most of them come from secondary sources like Pottermore, additional books and those weird W.O.M.B.A.T.-tests, where we just don't know whether they are intended as canon or whether they are a retcon Rowling came up with later. (Or whether they are just as much bullshit as that "before modern plumbing, wizards just shat where they stood and vanished their shit away afterward"-episode.)

And worse than that, they largely use a fantasy version of real life history that are mostly ahistorical. Which would've been okay, had Rowling stayed kept to writing a fantasy version of real life history. Including actual historical events just hurts her narrative. On one hand, she wants to make shit up as she pleases. (Like that witch who was supposedly burned a couple dozen times - during a time, where witch trials were still rare and burnings were even rarer. The muggle-stuff from Beetle's fairytales falls into a similar category.) On the other hand, she wants to pretend that the history she portrays in her series is the same as our real history. Those two world building strategies just don't work well with each other. They clash constantly and undermine each other. In my opinion, she should've picked one.

And finally - it's just not the British Statute of Secrecy. It's the Internation Statute of Secrecy, straight from the beginning. In book 7, chapter 16, the following is stated:

Upon the signature of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, wizards went into hiding for good.

And that just does not line up with historical events. Colonialism definitively was ramping up significantly during that time, but the British Empire wasn't really a thing yet. So forcing that statute on an international level was kind of out of the question. Heck, I'm not sure British wizards could've forced it on a European level. In Western Europe? Maybe, as long as the magical population in those countries had similar opinions and muggle and muggle colonialism, as those in Britain. But in Eastern Europe, where muggles followed a different form of Christianity and had a very different relationship to magic? No, it's already getting dicey, there. And that's before we factor in all those wizards and witches on other continents, where the differences would be even bigger.

When it comes to colonialism: Yeah, I think we agree on that one. British wizards definitively subjugated and colonized other magical people (whether human or non-human).

When it comes to colonialism, the magical folks in Africa, Asia, Australia and the Americas stood before the decision: Should they use their magic to fight the (non-magical and/or magical) colonizers or should they go into hiding and leave their non-magical brethren to fend for themselves. Wizards in Britain (and other countries in Europe) would've definitively profited from the latter option, one way or another. So if they had the means to force those people to go into hiding ... yeah, they would've.

(By the way, this is, why the stuff about Ilvermorny and the MACUSA Rowling published on Pottermore is just so fucked up. It barely acknowledges the existence of the native population and it completely ignores slavery and the civil war. It's very likely that she did this, because including both genocide and slavery in her chill "history of the USA"-essays would've opened a can of worms she would not have been able to handle. At the same time, the way she wrote this, it reads like "North America was completely uncivilized, before British wizards got there. They basically had the whole place to themselves, just ignore the NPCs in the background", which ... urgh. No. She should've never touched that. Period.)

The tangent:

Yep, that's the Watsonian explanation. I admit, I was aiming at the Doylist explanation for that one.

The/A Doylist explanation is also about colonialism, or, to be more concrete: The way "the West" was (and still is!) treating Greece.

This all started during the late Middle Ages, when Western Europeans "rediscovered" Ancient Greek art and mythology for themselves. They went on to rip the culture of those ancient civilizations from its roots and use it for themselves. They even used parts of Greek mythology as founding mythos for their own royal lineages and nations. (The amount of people who tried to trace their lineage back to Troy is insane, for example.)

To this day, Greek mythology is often seen as a European thing, instead of a Greek thing. It's basically seen as a historical playground, white people can use for whatever they want. Often with very little respect for the Greek people alive today. (This means, Greek mythology is treated as "white man stuff", while Greek people as equals and often aren't considered to be white.)

And Rowling is basically doing the same. She's taking stuff from Greek mythology, rips it from its roots and inserts it into her English fantasy.

(Note: I'm aware, that this tangent probably seems pedantic. I picked this one, to show how far colonialist thinking is affecting the wizarding world on a meta-level. Because it's not just the Statute of Secrecy, that has dark implications in regard to colonialism. It's also not just the Pottermore-stuff, that shows a very British, very Colonialist mindset. It's also the cultural appropriation, that happens constantly. And it's not just the centaurs, either. Rowling does this constantly. I picked the centaurs specifically, because Greek mythology is considered to be okay to appropriate.)

It’s really interesting that the events that triggered the creation of the statute of secrecy all happened in Europe or North America, yetttt the statute is an international wizard law. The non western nations where wizards and muggles were peacefully cohabitating and probably sharing culture with each other would have been forced to change their entire structure of society based on European issues… alright