#HOW THE FUCK DID I RENDER THIS ENTIRE DRAWING AND FORGET HIS OTHER ARM???

[animeshades1]

it's my boy Lee

[ncitygirls]

belong - chan x f reader

fluff, smut, 2.8k

when your lover called on you, the bells in your heart rung. chan invited you to his home for an evening spent together in the sweet peace of the one another’s company. upon your arrival, he greeted you with pure admiration in his eyes, a youthful wonderment sweeping over him as he gazed upon your person, pulling you into his embrace where you belong.

he took your hand, dusting his lips across your knuckles as he whispered, “i missed you, love.”

“and i you.” it’s not often you admit that time spent away from chan adds painfully to your longing, this much is evidenced by his wide eyed surprise. “i have spent every second counting down until we would meet again.”

“oh?” he gasps, believing not a word. “maybe hypnos might finally stop by now that you have come.”

“maybe breath will finally enter my lungs! and food settle in my stomach!”

“my love, if we are of such detriment to ourselves when apart,” he mumbles against your lips as he captures them sweetly. “then perhaps we mustn’t part again.”

“not ever?”

“not ever,” and so, with your indefinite union confirmed, chan ushers you into his home. you quickly note the sheet music that customarily garnishes every corner of the black oak table is now stacked neatly to the side. in their place are gold lined porcelain dinner plates, and sat atop them are a meal you know your lover did not prepare. “i know what you are readying yourself to say, so i feel i must confess something.”

“please do.”

“the lees did assist me with the preparation of this meal,” he lies as you turn to him. “you do not believe me? my love, i take great offence.”

“one can only find offence in the truth, chan.”

“fine,” he sighs, kindly untucking your seat. “the lees prepared the meal.” his confession is rewarded with the softest kiss to his dimpled cheek, deepening the indent greatly. “but i did prepare the table!”

“and had you not, the meal would not look half as inviting,” your praise, though clearly meant in jest, still colours the tips of his ears.

“lest you plan for my head to swell to twice its size, i suggest you stop.”

you press your hand to his cheek, the soft skin warming your palm as you turn his face towards you. “surely that is just more of you to love, is it not?”

“goodness. u are like a god sent spring during drought! love just pours from you. surely i am not this worthy,” he ponders aloud. he rests his forehead on yours, settling his eyes on your lips, he trains his pounding heart to beat in time with your breathless chortles. “what did I do to deserve you?”

as you shrug, you lean up, capturing his lips with yours, offering up the most delicate of pecks. the motion is dizzying, and the pace moreso. his fingers grip your side almost painfully, his wandering thumb finding the skin of your hip, drawing the tiniest circles. your tongue finally slips between his teeth before he pulls away. “the lees would not be happy to learn how we have treated their meal.”

“that you plated,” you remind, squeezing his arms in want. “and a plated meal can be reheated. hell, a plated meal can be unplated!”

“is this a want or a need?” chan suddenly asks, watching your teeth catch your lip. raising his thumb once dragging along the band of your knickers, he tugs at the trapped lip, freeing it from restraint. “i asked you a question.”

“it’s a want,” you admit shamefully, your hunger amplified with another whiff of the cooling dinner.

“a want can wait.” without another word, chan releases you, waiting patiently so he can tuck your seat in. once you are seated, he tucks himself in at the table’s head, reaching for your hand to his right. “go ahead, angel.”

you can only nod as you reach for your polished fork before scooping up the braised pork and buttered mash. he grins as you moan, the sound oddly innocent as you slowly begin to regain your appetite. he frees your hand as you reach for your knife, settling it instead on your knee, squeezing before he attacks his meal. as you make your own ways through dinner, you settle into a comfortable silence, both happily welcoming any intermittent interruptions. he speaks in part of his long work week spent apart from you, you speak in part of the gruelling work week spent apart from him. you both speak of family, sharing thoughtless yet meaningful tidings. you speak of friends, of gossip and news as he updates you on the lees’ plans to finally go into business together.

“how does hyunjin feel about it? he, minho and felix, were they not in talks about a dance company?” you speak with your lips perched on the rim of your glass, never forgetting a detail chan offers up. and though this at times works to his detriment, he cannot help but smile as he nods, gleeful at your continued interest in his companions.

“hyunjin wishes them well. of course he sulked for days, but he sees their passion and respects their wishes.” chan watches as you nod, acquainted well enough with the man to understand. “but he expects shares.”

“as he should!’ you punctuate your point with a final stab at your dinner, chewing the cooling carrot far too aggressively for how well it had been prepared.

“must everyone be compensated for broken promises?” he asks, reaching for your cleared dinner plate. “that hardly seems just.”

“is that not the very underpinnings of law?”

“so that makes it just?” he asks, returning to his seat with wine before pulling you onto his lap.

“well,” you start, grabbing your glass and straddling your lover. “it depends who is profiting.”

“consider this,” placing his wine down, he rests his open hands on your thighs, “when i make you mrs. bang—”

“when?”

“yes, when,” he emphasises with a sweet kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder, trailing his nose up the column of your neck. “should you change your mind, must i hold you accountable?”

“i would never change my mind,” you state, rendering his analogy futile. “being mrs. bang would be the honour of a lifetime.”

“you are insufferable,” he breathes, his warming forehead pressed to your shoulder. “for the sake of my analogy, say that were not the case. say being mrs bang was unliveable, the biggest regret of one’s life. should you be accountable for leaving?”

“annulment is a fickle thing, chan. there are so many other factors involved.” you predict the question on his tongue, so you proceed to list them. “wealth, health, kin, religion, intimacy—”

“we won’t have that problem.”

“we won’t have any of those problems,” you correct. “will we, mr bang?”

“no,’ he agrees, pulling your frame further up his lap, “none.” there’s a pause where he regards you with an insurmountable confusion, as if regarding you for the first time again. “you never did tell me what I did to deserve you?”

“it isn’t for me to tell,” and therein lies his issue, his desperation to remedy his thanklessness, to express his unyielding gratitude for the blessing that is his lover. if he knew what he did, then he might know what to keep doing. “just enjoy me.”

“i intend to do just that,” he breathes against your skin, lips dragging along the bone of your jaw.

it is impossible not to squirm. his touch is at the best of times manageable, yet at the worst, insufferable. his fingernails press moons into your neck and thigh, firming his grip on your nape and dragging your hips down onto his crotch. the friction is hot and reeling, the slide of his cock along your clothed folds, slowly milking him whilst displaying his restraint. you detest his chosen pace, it is all the things you simultaneously love and loathe about your partner. his mature approach to love making and his need to drag out every moment beyond what is absolutely necessary. you begin setting your own pace, digging your heels into the ground as you roll against his length. the pleasure is short lived.

“it would serve you well to hold still,” he pours into your mouth, the beginnings of a smirk tainting even the purest parts of his face. he makes it increasingly difficult to follow his generous warning, as he frees your neck and grabs the table for leverage, dragging his groin against you, readily instigating your demise. “i can be fair, y/n. just tell me what it is you desire?”

“you, chan.”

“but you have all of me,” he reminds, guiding your hand to the warm space between you, tightening your grip around his heavy length. “all of me is yours, so speak plainly.”

“i want you to—“ he lets a single digit pass between your clothed folds, soaking the fabric and the pad of his finger. your eyes slowly follow his movements, the lone finger sucked into the warmth of his mouth. “chan, please.”

“how can you beg for that which you have not asked?”

“fuck me.” he reels at your embarrassment, the warmth on your cheeks warming his neck as you burrow out of view. “please,” your breathy plea fills the shell of his ear as you drag yourself along his lap. “is that not the reason you asked me here?”

his laughter fills the air as he kicks out his chair, your combined weight tugging at the carpet. “not entirely,” he admits candidly, lifting you both in a swift motion. “i do enjoy time spent in your company.”

“well, of course,” you agree, clinging to him as he moves through his home, covering more ground with every kiss he offers to your neck. “but my company can allow for a multitude of activities.”

“a multitude you say?” he places you gently atop his sheets, your weight forcing a sensual warm oak to waft through the room. his hands settle firmly by your head, his elbows collapsing to barely rest his weight on you, eliminating any and all space. his gleaming eyes bore into your own, the tip of his nose gliding along the bridge of your own. “you mightn’t believe it, but I am a simple man. i am happy to settle for one.”

“and which one might that be?”

his head lolls dumbly from left to right, allowing but a second to pass before he gives you his answer. rows of pearl capture his lip as he lowers himself, slow sensual grinds of his hips reveal his thoughts like no words could. his hooded eyes drink the creases in your face, the waves of pleasure coursing through you as he passes between your folds. the air thickens tenfold, your pants fanning his lips as you succumb to the movements of your lover.

“chan—“ your whine draws a devious grin on his face. you feel his palm rest on your cheek, his thumb running along your jaw down to your chin where he tugs, no words nor force required to tell you what he wants.

“may i?” he breathes into your mouth, tongue rolling in his own, collecting what you unknowingly crave. you nod once, leaning up to meet his lips as he leans back. the saliva gathered on his tongue slowly passes from between his lips into your open mouth. his eyes follow the string that connects you both as you swallow, your breath faltering as his eyes drag up to gaze at you. the hunger you’re met with would force your knees together, only his own keep them apart. “i’m going to give you what you want now,” he promises, fingers tugging at your panties. “and I know you can take it,” he affirms as he slides a finger in you, grinning as you whine. “i just need to make sure.”

he pumps his finger slowly, dragging the pad languidly against your walls, his thumb circling your clit. be laughs at the tremble in your thighs, how little restraint you have always exhibited. it has always been this way. your neediness bursting through the seams, rendering his own restraint powerless. especially as your fingers toy with his waistband, fist closing around his leaking tip. your palm rolls against his slit, the heel gathering his precum as you slide against his tip. he struggles with his weight over you, his forehead pressed to your own as he winds his length between your closed fist. his lips suck on your tongue, teeth clashing, when he feels a familiar ripple of heat pass through his veins.

“baby,” he huffs, stills his hips and his fingers. “is this what you want?”

“no,” you whine, humping against his hand and pumping him all the same. “but it is you i want,” you pant, chasing a high you know your lover will never give you. “it’s you i need.”

at that he pulls your hand from him, ready to fulfil his duty as your love, to give you all the things you want and need. he shows no haste removing his clothes, buckle hitting the floor, trousers and undergarments gently kicked down his legs. he takes a modicum of time on you however. his hands glide down your sides as he frees you of your sticky underwear, hiking up your skirt as he pumps his cock. lining himself up with your slit, he gazes down at you, his doting expression in stark contrast with his bare form.

“i love you, angel,” he breathes, eyes shining as he pecks at your cheek, nose, lips.

“and i you,” you breathe in kind, choking up as he sheathes himself within your walls. he sighs as you take him, your hot folds sucking him in as he slips his tongue between your lips, swallowing your whimpers. as he bottoms out he pulls away, watching your eyes gleam in want before he snaps his hips, denouncing all fatigue. “oh, chan—”

he grunts as his name falls off your tongue, your mind and body at a loss for thoughts besides those of your lover. as he pounds into you, his tip hitting your g-spot perfectly, forcing your mouth open. unintelligible moans fill the air, though he hears you calling out for him. for the most part, he hears your lustful grumbles of inexplicable pleasure. he needn’t decipher them, nor does he try. he just basks in them, his groans falling into your open mouth, the odd praise passing between your lips as does his tongue, his spit, his praise, his tongue, his spit. he uses you, as you so wish. he fucks harder into you as you fall further into delirium, pleasure rippling through you with every snap of his hips. he watches you gasp for air, gulping around his saliva, watery eyes pleading for him.

“tell me what you want.”

“i want to cum,” you whine, clinging to his tired arms as he deepens his thrusts, rolling his length into you in short, sharp motions. “please, channie.”

he feels you clench around him, his movements growing slow with each passing second. there are moments when he slips, his fist guiding himself back to you, his fingers pressed to your stomach, thumb circling your clit. he feels you teeter to the edge. your pussy closing tighter as he gathers your release, sliding his thumb harshly over your clit, fucking even faster into you as you pass into ecstacsy. his teeth clench at the base of your throat, the combined stimulation drawing your orgasm from you. all that fills the air is your gargles, his name falling off your tongue in a chant, coated in gratitude and adoration. in love. chan follows you to euphoria. his hips stutter as you milk him. His arms weakened, he rests his forehead on your temple, chasing a high only you can conjure. one that draws out grunts of gratitude, of adoration. of love.

moments pass in sticky silence. pants filling the air as the afterglow sets in, the air stagnant as the pungent smell of sex fills the room. he welcomes the short seconds of peace, but he must break it.

“move in with me.” his motives on evenings like this were never too clear, not even to himself. but chan had not lied. every moment in your presence makes your absence all the more unthinkable. sleep comes easy when you are near. he dreams sweetly when you are here. he leans over to remove your blouse, freeing you from the damp material. as he does, he gazes into your eyes, speaking softly of all the nights you could spend doing just this. all the nights you have wasted not doing this. all the ways you could spend the nights in between. all the mornings he could spend with you and you with him. “you belong with me,” he breathes, lips pressed to your knuckles as his fingers trail up and down your arms. he stills, realising he might lull you into slumber, if his words had not already done so when you speak.

“how could i not know?” you ask, splitting his pretty face with a grin. “i belong with you.”

[hurting-fictional-people]

Cry for me

CW: restraints, vomit mention, electrocution, implied noncon, knife cut (?)

Before  |   After

“Do you know what day is today, precious?”

Kiara glared at Blake, willing all her hatred to show through her eyes since she wouldn’t dare to voice it. She knew if she did, it would only buy her more pain. 

They both knew the answer to the question. She had been asking him what day it was for the past… she didn’t know. The days started to blur together soon after she was kidnapped. And ever since they did, Kiara had been tormented by the helplessness of losing everything she ever had, even something as simple as knowing which day it was. Blake had taken so much from her already – her freedom, her house, her life. But it all only truly hit her when time was taken from her too.

Blake had watched her collapse to the floor and curl into herself as Kiara realized she was so completely in his mercy, she depended on him to know something as simple as the days. And he, always the bastard, rejoiced in her despair. Refused to tell her. 

If she had to, Kiara would guess she was with him for a month now. Maybe two. Or something in between.

Blake patiently waited for her to answer, never looking away from her blazing gaze. Kiara sighed and hissed through gritted teeth “No, Blake, I don’t.”

“Better yet. Do you know what day is tomorrow?”

Kiara seethed. Oh, how did she want to spit in his face and tell him to fuck off. How did she want to scream and punch him senseless. If the threat of being pinned down and tortured mercilessly wasn’t constantly hovering over her head, she would’ve seriously considered it.

“Come on, don’t be like this, I’m only teasing you.” Blake crooned, brushing a finger under her chin and lifting it slightly. “Tomorrow is your birthday, sunshine.”

With only one sentence, a few well-chosen words, he knocked out all the air from her lungs. Tears welled up in her eyes, but Kiara made sure to squeeze them shut before Blake could see them.

Kiara would be 25 years old when midnight came. She had planned to throw a big party to celebrate it. Had been talking about it since she turned 24. Now, she would spend it with the man who was breaking her piece by piece, probably lost in a daze of hurt and despair. What a birthday.

“Don’t make this face,” he pouted, “you’re turning 25, it’s a beautiful age.”

“How do you know my age?” she asked, turning her face to the side, hoping he would let go of her chin. Thankfully, it worked.

“I know everything about you,” he grinned. A chill ran down her spine, even though she already knew that. She would’ve probably told him whatever he wanted to know either way – when he decided to take something from her, there was no holding it in. “What do you think about a birthday gift?”

She peered suspiciously at him. “A gift is only a gift if there are no strings attached to it. You never give me anything without expecting something in return.”

“You wound me like that, Kiara” Blake breathed, placing a mocking hand over his heart. “Now, seriously, I mean it this time. You’ve been good to me and I think you deserve a treat. So, what do you want?”

“For you to let me go.” His smirk vanished instantly at the response, and something dark replaced it, making her heart skip a beat. She was quick to correct the mistake. “I want a book.”

Tilting his head to the side, Blake narrowed his eyes and unclenched his fists. “Which book?”

“Any book. You can choose.”

She only started breathing again when Blake sighed and smiled, the immediate danger leaving his eyes as she gave him a wobbly smile of her own. He muttered an all right then before taking a handcuff from the nightstand and closing it around Kiara’s wrists. She shuddered, but let herself go limp under him and tried to think about which book he’d choose as he pulled her into the already well-known world of pain and fear. 

-

The book was covered in ugly orange and blue wrapping paper. Blake sat across from her in the living room as she opened it, watching her intently. As soon as she set her eyes on the book, Kiara had to bite her lip to hold back the tears. 

Heartless, from Marissa Meyer. The same book her brother had given her the Christmas before, and she had never read.

“Do you like it?” Blake asked, drinking in each emotion that passed through her eyes. “You had a lot of fantasy at your place, and the girl at the bookstore recommended it. It’s an imagined backstory to the Queen of Hearts.”

She didn’t know what was worse, for him to actually know which books she’d like, or that she actually felt a hint of gratitude sparking in her chest. It was twisted and painful, but he had given her a piece of her brother, even if he didn’t know it. A piece of the life she used to have, the person she used to be. Kiara nodded and thanked him, sincerely for once.

“I have a job to do, so I’ll leave you to it,” he said, seeming vaguely disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm. Little did he how fast her heart was pounding, or how hard it was to draw breath through the tightness in her throat. 

-

Kiara missed a lot of things. Everything. But having a distraction, losing herself in a good story, was what she wished for the most after she’d accepted she wasn’t getting out of there anytime soon. Alone in the penthouse – aside from Blake’s employees, who never came too close to her –, she dived into the book until the story took her away from all the hurt, fear, and sadness. 

The hours ticked by, but she only stopped reading to go to the bathroom once before returning to the book. As it was, she would be happy to be lost in just about any story, well written or not, but that was one of the good ones.

Pages flew by until she came to the end with tears streaming down her cheeks. It had been good, but so, so sad. Kiara sniffed as she closed it, a familiar peace enveloping her. That wonderful feeling of finishing a great book.

It didn’t last long, though. As soon as she looked up, green eyes pierced into her soul with a seriousness that made her quiver. 

“You’re crying,” Blake stated. 

“It was a good book,” she said, slowly. “Really good, but also really sad.”

“You never cry because of me.” 

Kiara held the book to her heart as if it could protect her from the danger dancing inside of Blake’s eyes, around the edges of his words.

“You scream, and beg and comply, and yet you never once cried,” he said, taking a step closer. “But I leave you alone with a book for a day, and find you crying over a piece of paper.”

His voice was low, but there was something in the way he said it, the way his eyes swept over her, that had Kiara ready to go down on her knees and plead him for mercy.

“It suits you, the tears. It’s cute. But I want you to cry for me.”

Her stomach churned as Kiara brought her knees to her chest, uselessly hoping that if she made herself small enough, he might forget she was there. She knew it was an empty hope even before she did it. It always was, when he was staring at her like that, taking slow steps in her direction, just to watch the fear blossoming in her eyes.

He was right. He had done a lot to her, hurt her in more ways she could ever dream existed, more than she could remember by now, and yet she hadn’t cried once. Refused to. It was the last thing she had control over. The only thing.

“Cry for me, Kiara,” Blake ordered, crouching in front of her. “Cry for me and I won’t hurt you.”

The part of her that had learned to bend and obey shuddered, ready to do it. It wouldn’t be hard. She was always on the verge of tears nowadays. But even though part of her begged her to comply, Kiara gritted her teeth, raised her chin, and stared straight into his eyes.

“The fun way it is, then,” Blake crooned.

Before she could do as much as take a breath, he yanked her out of the couch, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her away, yelling and clawing at his back.

She knew it would only make things worse if she fought, but she also knew she would only cry if he did his worse anyway, so why not throw everything to shit? Her nails found skin under his shirt, and then blood. She was thrown on a table before any real damage could be done, though. Pity.

Kiara thrashed and cursed as Blake closed restraint after restraint around her until she could no longer move. Ankles, wrists, stomach, chest. She could only pant when he finished and towered over her defenseless figure.

“It really is a shame that you decided to behave like this on your birthday, of all days,” he sighed, holding up a knife where she could see it. Kiara’s entire body went rigid as its sharp point touched her temple. “This is for scratching me,” Blake whispered as he pressed the knife until it broke the skin in a shallow cut. And then dragged it down, all the way from her temple to her chin.

Kiara yelped, too stunned to even scream. It burned. Blood soaked her hair, slipped down her neck, warm on her already sweaty skin.

“I hate you,” she choked out, “you can say what you want to, but scaring me not to tell you how much I despise you doesn’t make it go away. I’ll always despise you. I’ll never be yours, no matter how many times you force me to repeat it.”

Blake snickered. 

“We’ll see about that, sunshine.”

She continued to spit each hateful, panicked thought her mind could conjure. In the end, she knew all those words would render her was more pain, but at the moment the anger was something to hold on to other than fear. It almost muffled the hurt, too, so she grabbed the rage desperately and used it to try and shield her heart.

Something was stuck to her arms, her legs, her collarbones, but she didn’t give herself time to fear or wonder and just kept jerking against the harsh restraints and shouting her hatred. 

Blake worked in silence, watching her resistance with a furrow in his brows.

“You are a fucking psycho, and you never–“ she grunted, cut off by a thick cloth being shoved into her mouth, making her gag. Kiara glared at Blake with wide, furious eyes, hoping he would read her contempt there. He only licked his lips, as if he could already taste her pain.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the entire world shattered around her and was replaced by pure agony. 

Electricity coursed through her body, making her muscles constrict, her breath hitch, and a high-pitched screech fill the room. She was beyond any form of rational thought or normal sensation. The pain swallowed her whole until Kiara was nothing more than anguish and despair. 

It stopped as suddenly as it started. In a moment she was enveloped in pain, and in the other she was trying and failing to curl into herself, begging muffled pleas. 

When the last bolts of pain started to subside and her muscles slowly tried to relax from the painfully constricted position they were in, Kiara found Blake staring at her, looking amused. “The pain suites you, precious. The blood does too. At least you look pretty for your birthday.”

A sob tore through her throat and she closed her eyes fiercely to stop the tears from falling. As soon as she closed them, a pain unbelievably bigger took her away from any rational thought once more. 

Pain was too small of a word to describe the unbearable shock that stole away anything she ever was, felt or thought, and left in her place a puddle of hurt.

It lasted forever. A life. Eternity.

When it ended, she felt bile in the back of her mouth, but couldn’t even vomit with the cloth pressed against her teeth. She sagged on the metal table, sleek with sweat, and choked on the gag and the dread. 

Her throat felt raw from screams she didn’t remember screaming and her entire body shook and ached. The electricity might have stopped, but the pain didn’t, not in the slightest.

A chuckle filled her ears, accompanied by a gentle hand caressing her cheek. “If I take the gag out, will you be rude to me again?”

She didn’t have the energy to do anything. Not to nod or spit or even open her eyes, really. So Kiara kept them closed and tried to breathe through her nose as Blake pulled the cloth out of her mouth.

“I’m so very pleased with you, Kiara” Blake crooned, slowly unbuckling each restraint. She just laid there on a puddle of her own blood, too drained to move or think or talk. “It’s over now, my precious. You can rest.”

He sounded utterly amused. It was only when he opened the last restraint that her heart stopped for a moment.

Blake was pleased. But she hadn’t…

With shaky fingers, Kiara reached toward her eyes. She felt the wetness there, knew what it meant, but didn’t believe it until her fingertips stood right in front of her eyes, gleaming with tears. 

“You didn’t even realize you cried, did you?” Blake murmured, running his fingers through her bloody hair. “Do you realize you’re crying right now?”

This time, when the sob came, there was nothing she could do to stop it. As well as the tears she suddenly felt as burning paths on her skin.

He had truly done it. He had taken everything from her. Every last thing.

Kiara sobbed as Blake picked her up and carried her to the room. She wept throughout the bath he gave her. As he tucked her in and shackled her hands to the bed, there was a steady stream of tears trailing down her cheek, even when the whimpers and sobs stopped. 

She thought the tears were stopping when sleep made her eyelids heavy. She would be dehydrated if it went on for much longer. 

But then, when Blake leaned in to kiss her cheek and murmured “happy birthday, sunshine,” the sobs started all over again. 

[myherowritings]

Fact or Fiction?

— “OKAY get this : pro hero bakugou & pro hero reader are shipped by literally everyone bc it’s painfully obvious that the boy likes her & people keep tagging him in n*fw stories abt reader & him & he reads one & literally cannot look at reader the same & she goes “you’re acting weird. oh no, did you read the fanfics?” because SHE HAS TOO. anyways they finally end up getting together & maybe n*fw???" by anonymous.

pairing: pro hero!bakugou x fem!reader word count: 3.0k genre: pro hero au, humor/crack, smut warnings: explicit language, masturbation (bakugou), imagined oral?, bakugou is just fucking horny y’all, 18+

a/n: tysm for the request! it’s not full on heavy fucking (i’m still warming up to writing that...so prob in my next smut fic hehe) and it’s more crack than smut lolol, but i hope you like it! [y/h/n = your hero name]

GROUND ZERO AND Y/H/N SPOTTED IN KANAGAWA PREFECTURE!

Bakugou rolled his eyes. That was the headline following a Pro Hero meeting at a neighboring ward just a few weeks ago. Of course you were spotted together. You were both Pro Heroes after all.

SECRET ROMANTIC GETAWAY?: GROUND ZERO AND Y/H/N CAUGHT HOLDING HANDS AT MOUNT MITAKE

He definitely was not holding your hand. You simply dropped your wallet--for someone so good on the field, you sure were rather clumsy--and he handed it back to you. Easy as that. It was only the angle of the photograph that made it look like your fingers were interlocked.

Y/H/N SPOTTED WITH A HICKEY AFTER HER DATE WITH GROUND ZERO

There were many issues with this headline.

For one, he did not take you out on a date. Deku invited you, Iida, and Bakugou out for dinner, but of course the paparazzi captured pictures of only the two of you, making it look like a one-on-one date.

And for two, there was no hickey anywhere in sight. You had simply banged your jaw on the table while reaching down for a spoon you dropped, causing a small bruise to form on the place your jawline met your neck.

(Besides, if Katsuki were to give you a hickey--which he wouldn’t even dream of--it sure as hell wouldn’t look as sloppy as that.)

GROUND ZERO PROPOSES TO Y/H/N?!

Now this one was just bullshit.

TOP 5 HOTTEST “GROUND Y/H/N” STORIES YOU NEED TO READ

Bakugou froze at the last headline, cautiously eyeing the link before scoffing in both curiosity and disgust and exiting the window.

He knew what the article meant by stories. He was tagged in them more times than he could count. Plus, he wasn’t stupid-- Katsuki knew that people shipped his hero persona with yours and that some fans went a little overboard with the art and writing. But honestly, he didn’t pay that much mind.

In fact, he gave little to no fucks about what people chose to do in their free time, but tagging you and him in them and commenting links for you to see? That was a different story. Doing so was obnoxious and revolting and if he ever found out someone made you uncomfortable by exposing you to a the obscenity, he would make sure they suffer the consequences.

He hoped you didn’t see any of that shit in your lifetime and he sure as hell didn’t want to either.

So, of course, the universe heard his plea and decided to give him the exact opposite.

“Can’t you people fucking keep these to yourselves?” growled Bakugou when the first thing he saw as he logged onto his social medias were notifications of tags and links to obscene creations on his page.

There were drawings of him and Deku, him and Uravity, and even him and the half-and-half bastard. But the overwhelming majority of the pictures were of him and Y/H/N. Some of the art was normal enough and most of them were incredibly well drawn and pure. But a handful of them were--to put it nicely--lewd as fuck.

And Katsuki couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty was his eyes wandered from the exposed swell of your breasts to the curves of your hip and lower to the smooth expanse of…

He squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his phone onto his sofa with a disgusted snort. Even though it was only a drawing, he felt terrible for indulging in it like that.

“Dammit, Katsuki,” he scolded himself, running his fingers through his hair as he tried not to picture how you really looked underneath your hero costume.

Now was not the time to be wondering if your skin would feel as soft under the caress of his fingertips as he had imagined. (Yet, here he was.) Nor was it the time to pick up his phone and stare at the obscene drawing of Ground Zero and Y/H/N he was tagged it. (Yet, he found himself walking over to his sofa and doing just that.)

And it was definitely not the time to be tempted by the link to the “5 Hottest” fanfictions written about the two of you. (Yet, two seconds later, the curiosity--and horniness--won over and he there it was on his screen.)

“Don’t fucking do it,” threatened Bakugou, glaring at his reflection on the darkened cellphone.

But either he wasn’t as strong-willed as he thought or his logic was rendered completely useless whenever it came to you, because he found himself reading through a 20,000-word long story about a sex pollen quirk.

In the story, a villain with said quirk attacked you on the field and the only way to relieve yourself of the unbearable pain was-- Well…an orgasm. And for some godforsaken reason, Ground Zero was the only one able to provide you with that release.

It was ridiculous and would never happen in real life, and yet something about the writing made it impossible for him to tear his eyes away.

As Bakugou continued to read, a vivid image of you sprawled out underneath him flashed before his eyes and he stifled a groan. His throat felt dry as the Ground Zero in the story trailed kisses from the swell on your breast to your sensitive navel and lower still, hands firmly gripping your hips to keep you from squirming under the assault of his tongue as your fingers tugged at his hair.

“Y/N… Fuck,” he swore under his breath, his one hand clutched his cellphone as he continued reading on, while his other hand made its way down to his semi-erect member.

His touch started light and feathery, almost tentative in a way, as he ran his fingers up and down his length in repetitive strokes. As his cock hardened, Bakugou grew more impatient and increased the pressure around his shaft, thighs tensing at the sudden spark of pleasure.

In the story, he had just finished eating you out and, to return the favor, you dropped onto your knees in front of him. You swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock and he mimicked the motions, pretending it was your mouth around his head and not his own fingers.

Oh, how he wished it was your tongue instead of his own fucking fingers…

His vision grew hazy as his phone slipped out of his grasp, forgetting the fanfiction and picturing what you would do to him instead. Your eyes would be wide open as you peered up at him through your lashes, lips wrapped around his shaft as you took him deeper into your mouth.

As his thursts grew more and more uncontrolled, a low moan slipped out of him when he gently squeezed his fingers around his member one last time.

The moment he reached his climax, Katsuki’s eyes fluttered shut as his chest rose and fell in shallow pants. He was sweaty and flushed and sprawled out on the sofa, praying you would be there between his legs when he opened his eyes.

But of course, that wasn’t the case. And all Bakugou could do was laid spent on his back, wondering how the fuck he was ever supposed face you after that happened.

“Well, fuck…”

- - - - -

It was a Saturday evening and Bakugou and some of your other Pro Hero friends were supposed to meet up at your house, but that wasn’t what ended up happening.

Instead, the moment Katsuki texted the group chat that he was almost there, every single one of your friends began making excuses as to why they could no longer show. Deku had to babysit, Yaoyorozu had a last minute dinner date, Shouto was visiting his family… And the list went on, each excuse more pathetic than the last.

And so, that was how you and Bakugou found yourselves eating Chinese take out on your sofa while a shitty reality TV show played in the background.

“So,” you said, plopping a piece of steamed broccoli in your mouth and chewing slowly. “How was your day?”

He avoided your gaze, glaring down at his container of chicken and rice. The whole evening so far was filled with one awkward encounter after another-- Entirely his fault, he could admit. But he couldn’t help it! How the fuck was Bakugou supposed to look you in the eye and pretend everything was normal when just last night he jerked off to a sex story about Ground Zero and Y/H/N?

There was simply no way.

“I’m fine,” he managed, voice gruff as he almost choked on his words.

You stared curiously at him and he tried his hardest not to look your way. He knew one look into your eyes and he would be stuck wondering how they looked rolling back into your head as he fucked you senseless.

“Why are you acting so weird?” you asked, scooting closer to him on the couch. “Are you mad at me?”

Katsuki shook his head, pressing himself against the arm rest. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he would disappear into it.

“Then what’s the matter?”

You set your food aside on the coffee table and turned your body towards him, tucking your feet underneath your legs as you leaned forward. When he jumped at your brief touch, you studied him with unwavering intensity.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” you said, sticking your tongue out.

He winced at the sight of your pink flesh. God-fucking-dammit.

You pouted when he didn’t respond, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Okay, fine. I’m only kidding-- Please, tell me!”

“Nothing’s the matter,” Bakugou lied through clenched teeth.

“Sure. You’re acting like I was after I read all those--” you cut yourself off, eyes widening in realization. “No way!”

“What?” he asked defensively.

There was no way you could have meant that you read those obscene stories… Right?

A teasing grin grew on your face as you scooted closer to him, whispering conspiratorially. “Don’t tell me you did it.”

Bakugou jerked away, your close proximity and warm breath too tantalizing after the events of last night.

“What did I do?” he repeated.

“You know what.”

He had a feeling he did know, but he damn well hoped he was wrong. “No I don’t.”

You narrowed your eyes at his avoidance before nodding understandingly. Giving him a little more room, you leaned back against the sofa and folded on leg across the other. (Unfortunately for Bakugou, all that did was draw more attention to your exposed thighs-- Or, as the fanfiction called it, “a long expanse of smooth skin leading to a delectable center.”)

“Remember that one week around Deku’s birthday when I was ignoring you?” you asked suddenly.

He snorted at the memory. “Yeah. You didn’t reply to my messages for days and when we saw each other at his birthday dinner, you turned into a bumbling mess and tried to leave the room.”

To this day, Katsuki still wasn’t certain what exactly had happened that caused you to avoid him like that, but he has a sinking suspicion he was about to find out.

“Exactly!” you agreed. “I got flustered whenever you were around and could hardly think straight.” You turned your body towards him once more, crossing your arms across your chest and accidentally pushing your breasts up. (Not that he noticed.) “Me back then? That’s how you’re acting right now!”

His nose crinkled indignantly. “Bullshit! That doesn’t describe me at all.”

“Oh, really?”

He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Hmm,” you drawled, leaning forward and giving him a clear sight of your cleavage. Bakugou almost choked on air at the sudden assault. “If that’s true, then why have you been staring at my boobs the whole time we were talking? And why does your vein look like its about to pop out of your neck from your overwhelming self-control?”

“And why are you spewing all these lies?!”

You smiled knowingly and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to wipe the look off your face with an explosion or with a kiss.

“They’re not lies. Do you know how I know that?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. There was no reason to argue any longer. “Hmph.”

“Because I was once in your shoes, too, young grasshopper,” you said serenely. Before he could get mad at you for fucking around like that, you continued. “I know you read those stories.”

This time, there was no almost-- He really did choke in surprise. You stared at him in alarm, moving closer to gently pat his upper back as he coughed up the fucking air. As if today wasn’t embarrassing enough…

“What stories?” he wheezed, trying to save face.

The word was such a vague term. It could have referred to many things. Maybe you got tired of hearing stories about how great of a Pro Hero Ground Zero was… No. That didn’t make sense even to him.

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to play dumb with me, Bakugou. You know what I’m talking about. And I know you’ve read them-- It’s written all over your face!”

Bakugou made an indignant noise of protest, but what you said next shocked him into silence.

“I know that look on your face very well… Because I’ve read them, too.”

He could only blink in response.

“After I read one, I couldn’t look you in the eye for weeks!” you said, shaking your head with an embarrassed, yet amused, smile. “When I saw you at Deku’s birthday party, I couldn’t even glance your way without thinking about ‘the beads of sweat framing your flushed face’ or ‘the way your red eyes darkened at the captivating sight sprawled out underneath you’.”

An angry blush invaded his cheeks and made its way to his neck and ears as the image flooded his head. Bakugou felt an uncomfortable heat as he tugged at the collar of his shirt. But nothing in the world could prepare him for what you were about to say.

“And don’t even get me started on your ‘big tiddies’,” you huffed, pursing your lips disdainfully.

There was one beat of silence… Two…

“My big what?” he forced out.

You shrugged drumming your fingertips along the couch cushion. “You know-- It’s what your fans call your pectoral muscles.”

If it were possible to die from embarrassment, Katsuki was sure it was bound to happen to him within the next few seconds.

First, you admitted to reading those lewd stories about the two of you. Second, you recited direct quotes about what was most likely his orgasm-face verbatim. And third, you were talking about tits while yours were resting comfily atop your crossed arms.

You tilted your head to the side, deep in thought. “Now that I look at them… They are rather big. I bet they’re bigger than mine.”

Well, if yours were anything like the drawing he saw yesterday, he would have to say you were wrong. Utterly and completely wrong.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Bakugou muttered under his breath as he eyed your breasts, only loud enough for him to hear.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

Shrugging, you brushed off his comment with a pensive look on your face. “Your fans’ description of your chest is so spot on, I’m beginning to wonder if the other things they’ve said are facts too.”

“What other things have you heard?”

“That you have a nice ass. But just one look at your butt in those jeans is enough to prove them right.”

Bakugou’s embarrassment faded away at the compliment. He did have a nice ass. And he damn well worked hard for it too. He puffed up in his seat at your praise while you rolled your eyes in amusement.

“Yours is pretty nice, too.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sticking your tongue out at his teasing. God, if he saw that fucking tongue one more time tonight… He wasn’t sure what was bound to happen. “You know what else they said? That you’re packing.”

Your eyes flitted downwards to his jeans and he shifted in his seat to subconsciously give you a clearer view. You made a quiet nose of surprise but didn’t back away, instead meeting his gaze with a darkened look.

Only the sound of the static from the forgotten television played as neither of you wanted to move and break the fragile moment. When you swallowed slowly, taking your plush lower lip between your teeth, Bakugou decided he was done with letting you have the upper hand.

“You know,” Katsuki said slowly, his voice so gruff it startled even himself, “I guess there’s only one way to find out if that’s true or not.”

The air was thick as you crossed and uncrossed your legs. “W-What exactly are you saying?”

Bakugou smirked. “Not so cocky now, huh?”

You puffed your cheeks up in a pout that did nothing to help Katsuki’s thinning self-control.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“No, but a loud-mouthed asshole got on my nerves.”

He scoffed in laughter, taken aback by your blunt tone. Shrugging as you sulked, he warned, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baka.”

“Oh, I can finish just fine,” you remarked with a challenging look in your eyes. “Don’t you worry about me. And I bet when I’m finished, you’ll see it won’t be like the lewd stories you’ve read.”

Tilting his head to the side, he met your gaze without backing down. “It won’t?”

“Nope. It’ll be better. Because it’s the real thing.”

“Is that a fact?”

With a mischievous grin, you leaned closer to Bakugou and craned your neck up so your face was mere inches from his. Using his own words against him, you replied, “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

And it was safe to say that, yes, the real thing was leagues better than the stories could ever imagine it to be.

[blacktofade]

This is approximately 3 million years late, but what’s up. I’m still alive. Hope you’re all okay.

*

“It’s getting long,” Ryan says apropos of nothing on a Thursday evening.

Shane looks up from his phone and glances over. “What?”

“Your hair,” Ryan clarifies. “It’s getting long.”

Apart from Anthony, who’s quietly clicking away at an edit in the back of the office, Shane and Ryan are alone. It’s already dark outside, the spring nights still closing in quickly, and honestly, Shane would have left a long while ago, but he’s lost track of time.

On his desk is his abandoned beanie. He doesn’t remember pulling it off, but he’s not surprised it’s there. He gets a hot head and has picked up a habit of raking his fingers through his long hair, which accidentally shoves off anything in the way, hats and headphones included.

“Oh,” Shane says. “Yeah.”

Ryan leans in, reaching up to flick a strand of hair out of Shane’s eyes. “You haven’t cut it.”

Shane shrugs and pushes his fingers through it, tucking some behind his ears. “I kinda like it.”

Ryan’s gaze skitters across his face. “I do, too.”

Shane doesn’t think there’s anything he can say to that.

“You could go longer,” Ryan tells him. “You could do a lot with it.”

Shane leans back in his chair. “I could braid it.”

“You shouldn’t hide it under your hats.”

“You like a good hat,” Shane points out. “Seems hypocritical.”

“Maybe I like your hair more than I like hats.”

Shane spares a glance back at Anthony, who has his headphones on and doesn’t seem to even know they’re there.

“You suddenly have a lot of opinions about my hair,” Shane says looking at him again and Ryan shrugs.

“I like it long.”

“So you’ve said.”

Ryan rubs the bridge of his nose. “How long do you think you’ll let it get?”

Shane grabs a nearby pen, using it to occupy his antsy hands. “I think you’ve thought about this a lot more than I have.”

“You were the one who decided to grow it out,” Ryan scoffs, clearly trying to save face. “You’ve gotta have a general plan.”

“No,” Shane insists. “I just missed a haircut, which was fine until you decided I deserved the third degree about it.”

“I’m not giving you the third degree,” Ryan tries and Shane lifts an eyebrow.

“So there’s no newfound interest in my hair.”

“I mean, it’s hard to ignore,” Ryan says, gesturing vaguely at Shane’s head. After a lack of reaction from Shane, he huffs in frustration and leans over, reaching into Shane’s space.

The second Ryan’s fingers curl into Shane’s hair, part of Shane’s brain yells that he should pull away, but overwhelmed by unexpectedness, the rest of his brain freezes and he can’t move at all.

“Look how thick it is,” Ryan mutters, raking his fingers the wrong way through Shane’s hair to muss it. Shane washed it that morning, which means it’s fluffy and unstyled. He hadn’t even put gel in it because he’d planned on covering it with his hat. “You missed one haircut and this is what happened?”

“It started with one missed haircut,” Shane explains softly, half afraid to move his mouth too much and draw attention to the quickly growing weirdness of the situation.

“It’s been months,” Ryan continues idly, fingers shifting in a way that Shane can’t predict, that keeps him on edge.

“Sure,” he agrees, glancing at the inside of Ryan’s elbow and the flex of his arm as he holds it aloft.

“I can just grab a whole handful,” Ryan announces, and Shane finds all the air suddenly rushing out of his lungs as Ryan tightens his grip and does just that. It tugs at the roots of his hair, tipping his head in the direction of Ryan’s hold.

Shane doesn’t expect to let out the noise he does, least of all one that sounds horrifically sexual in every way possible.

Ryan pauses and their eyes meet in what could be the longest second of Shane’s life. And just like that, Ryan’s letting go, pulling away like he’s just burned his hand on a stovetop.

“Fuck,” Ryan says, blinking like he’s only just realizing what’s happening. He glances to his right, towards where Shane knows Anthony is still working, but he turns back to Shane almost immediately and Shane knows Anthony hasn’t noticed. “Jesus. Sorry.”

Shane doesn’t think sorry covers any part of it.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Shane should say something like you’re right or try to make a joke about being the next Fabio, but instead he does nothing, just keeps quiet.

“I didn’t think,” Ryan admits. “I just — ” he flexes his hand and Shane understands. Ryan has a habit of doing that — just acting without thinking.

“It’s fine,” Shane finds himself saying, because it’s easier than anything else.

“I just — ” Ryan starts and Shane can’t let him finish the thought.

“It’s late,” Shane interrupts. “I should go.”

He pulls his hat on because he feels strangely vulnerable with his hair exposed now, but the action doesn’t seem to be lost on Ryan, who quickly glances away, probably already internalizing things.

“Don’t go because of me,” Ryan says and Shane shakes his head like Ryan’s not the issue.

“It’s late,” he repeats.

It doesn’t feel right to leave with things left unspoken, but Shane knows that sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.

He undocks his laptop and slips it into his bag, ready to go in the blink of an eye, already an expert on extracting himself from awkward situations.

“You’ll be in early for the meeting tomorrow?” Ryan asks, clearly grappling for something just to make sure they’re okay.

Shane knows him. He holds Ryan’s gaze as he says, “Yeah, I’ll be here.” Meaning, it’s okay, you haven’t scared me off completely.

Ryan nods, adjusting a post-it note on his desk, like it’s the thing he’s most worried about. “Okay, cool. I’ll see you later.”

Shane tips his head in response and carefully slips past him to leave.

He takes a moment to lean against the office door, letting out a heavy breath as he adjusts his beanie. It feels like something too huge to think about...so he just doesn’t. He shifts the strap of his bag onto his shoulder more securely and then heads down the hallway towards the elevator.

He’s just pushed the call button for the elevator when he hears the office door open and close behind him. He’s not entirely surprised when he turns to find Ryan standing there, five or six paces away, but that doesn’t mean it makes sense.

“Did I forget something?” he asks, but Ryan’s quick to shake his head.

“No, I — I think it’s hot,” Ryan says instead and it feels like the continuation of a conversation Shane doesn't remember having with him.

“In the office?”

“Your hair,” Ryan explains, taking three steps closer, and the bottom of Shane’s stomach drops like he’s staggered backwards and plummeted straight down the elevator shaft. “The longer it gets, the hotter it is.”

Shane grabs the strap of his bag, his whole body feeling unsteady, like the slightest push might send him sprawling.

“What?” he says. “Is this a bit?”

“God, I wish,” Ryan mutters, shoving his fingers through his own hair to push it out of his face. “It would make it so much easier.”

Shane stares at him silently because for once in his life, Ryan has rendered him speechless. He has no idea how to respond or even how to act natural. It’s like he’s suddenly become aware of each breath he takes, which only makes it harder to remember how to breathe normally.

“It’s been driving me crazy,” Ryan continues like he just doesn’t know when to quit. “Every time I look at you, I just want to — ” He raises his hands and clenches them into fists.

“You want to fight me?” Shane asks, because it turns out that when he panics, he deflects with humor.

“Yeah, sorta,” Ryan says with a snort. “But I also want to get my hands in your hair.”

The thought makes Shane’s legs feel weak. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Ryan says not realizing Shane’s talking to himself. “Bad timing, huh?”

“No better time to hit on your coworker than after starting a company with them.”

“I thought I was hitting on my friend,” Ryan tells him, which makes Shane swallow thickly.

Behind him, the elevator dings, having finally arrived, the doors quietly sliding open. Shane glances backwards at it, knowing it’s his one chance to escape. He could duck inside and be out of the building before Ryan even realizes he’s fleeing. He could keep his head down and wait for whatever it is that’s happening to pass.

Instead, after a long minute, he watches the doors close and turns back to Ryan. “This is a bad idea,” he says and Ryan nods in agreement, his eyes seeming brighter with the knowledge that Shane hasn’t immediately left, that Shane hasn’t rebuffed him.

He takes a step closer to Shane, staring up at him. Shane doesn’t know what to do, so he does nothing. He watches as Ryan reaches up, slowly so as to give Shane time to move if he wants to, but Shane doesn’t. He pulls Shane’s beanie off with a deliberate tug, freeing Shane’s hair.

He tucks it into the front pocket of Shane’s bag, which shouldn’t feel illicit, but does anyway. Shane feels his pulse begin to quicken as Ryan leans in, hands raised as he slides his fingers into Shane’s hair, sighing like it’s all he’s ever wanted.

“It’s soft,” Ryan tells him, like it’s not the weirdest thing he’s done and said. He cards his fingers through it a few times, parting it to one side and then the other, as though he can’t decide which way is his favorite. Eventually, he pushes one hand around to the back of Shane’s head, firmly gripping a handful of hair and tugging just enough to rock Shane backwards into the hold. “You liked this earlier.”

Shane lets his eyes shut, senses narrowing in on the dull ache of Ryan pulling again, a little harder this time.

“I’m going to grow it out more,” Shane blurts, which wasn’t what he was planning on saying. He wasn’t going to say anything, in all honesty, and he still hasn’t decided how long he’s going to keep the hair. But one touch from Ryan and he’s apparently making all kinds of rash decisions. “What do you think?”

“I think you already know my answer,” Ryan tells him and it’s a genuine surprise when Ryan pulls him down, pushes up onto his toes, and kisses him.

His mouth is warm and insistent and Shane finds himself automatically gripping Ryan’s shoulders in his surprise. For a second, he thinks he should nudge Ryan away — it’s not the time nor place for it — but instead, he clutches at Ryan’s sweatshirt and Ryan deepens the kiss like he knows exactly what he wants and how he’s going to get it.

Shane doesn’t think a single kiss should be able to change his life so easily. He thought his evening would be uneventful. He’d wrap up work, pick up a pizza, and watch Netflix until he accidentally fell asleep on the couch. Instead, he’s kissing Ryan in the hallway of their office.

He pulls back carefully, a hand on Ryan’s sternum to keep him from leaning back in immediately, and Ryan exhales shakily against his mouth.

“That was unexpected,” he says and Shane lets out a huff of laughter.

“You kissed me.”

"So what,” Ryan argues. “I got caught up in the moment.”

He lets go of Shane’s hair, patting at it in a clear attempt to try to flatten it again.

“Not the best place for this,” Shane admits and Ryan steps back, rubbing a hand over his face like he still can’t believe what he’s done. Honestly. Shane can’t either. Ryan lets out a long breath and looks at him.

“Did you already order a Lyft?”

“No,” Shane admits. “Not yet.”

“I can give you a ride, if you want,” Ryan offers and Shane raises an eyebrow at him.

“How many bases are you planning on rounding tonight?”

Ryan laughs, but shrugs casually. “As many as you’ll let me.”

It would definitely be a change of pace from falling asleep on the couch, he thinks, which might be why he finds himself automatically nodding, intrigued by the possibilities.

“If you’re lucky, I might even let you explain the rules of baseball to me.”

“Would that be considered foreplay?” Ryan asks with a quirk of his mouth and Shane gives him a gentle push back a step.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby downstairs,” he says instead of answering and Ryan almost trips over his own feet in his hurry to turn back towards the office.

“I’ll be five minutes,” Ryan says over his shoulder, already halfway down the hallway and Shane lets out a quiet laugh, watching him go.

“Sure,” Shane agrees. “See you in five.”

[inkribbon796]

It’s Not Rabies, It’s . . . Ch. 3

Summary: Lunky gets to meet some more of the family.

A/N: This was a suggestion-request from the anon Nightfall on AO3. Which resulted in this story and since this one was getting a bit long it inspired a bit for the Visitation Day on Sunday which will be a lot less angsty.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Chapter 3: Meet the Family

Bim was on stage when, apparently, Dark had contacted Wilford, saying to come to the Manor when they both finished up at the studio.

Which Dark tended not to do unless it was something serious. Usually he ordered Illinois and Yan to jump at his command.

But Wil took him home and they found Dark’s office empty. Which was strange because all his important meetings with them were in there.

There was talking in the living room and Wil quickly poked his head out of the room and let out a delighted gasp.

“Now who is this delightful little configuration of being?” Wilford threw open the door and Bim followed more hesitantly.

Bim stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Dark with a child in his arms. He looked at that kid and he could feel his hackles rising.

“Hello,” Wil leaned in close to the child, bracing his hands on his knees. “Are you lucky number seven?”

The spawnling screeched at Wil.

Wilford chuckled, absolutely delighted. “Is that so?”

The madman looked up at Dark with a huge smile, “Their hiss sounds a bit like your echo, Darky.”

“They’re Kay’s child,” Dark told Wil. “Their name is Lunky.”

“Really?” Wil’s enthusiasm didn’t dampen, he clapped his hands on his knees and stood up to look around. “Where is that boy?”

“Hey dad,” King smiled and waved at Wil from where he was sitting in an armchair.

“Congratulations my boy,” Wil moved to his side to clap his hand on King’s shoulder. “Who’s the lucky partner I’ve never met?”

“No one,” King told him. “I got stabbed by a soul splitter and almost died. It gave me a kid instead.”

“That sounds fake as shit,” Bim told him.

Lunky made a little screech.

Wilford roared with laughter, “Learn quick, don’t you?”

King surged up, “Are you teaching my kid to curse, I have to deal with that later.”

“Kid’ll learn sooner rather than later when Anti shows up,” Bim defended with a huge smile on his face as King stomped over to him.

Before King could shake or punch his younger brother, Dark spoke up, “Let’s not Kay.”

The animal magnet threw his arms up in the air, and glared at Bim, “Next time I get you alone you insufferable brat.”

Bim gave him a sharp toothy smile, “Try it Dolittle.”

“Bim, if you keep antagonizing him, you might not win,” Dark warned.

“So to clear the air, this is my nephew?” Bim asked, walking over to the spawnling who maintained eye contact with Bim and both of them began a low warning growl as Bim approached.

“Bim,” Dark warned, shielding Lunky with his aura. “They’re not competition, leave them alone.”

“That’s not why I’m growling,” Bim growled defensively.

“Then why are you growling?” Wil chuckled, leaning his elbows on the back of the couch and resting his chin on the palm of his hands.

Bim glared at Wil before huffing in frustration at Lunky.

“To answer your earlier question, no Lunky is not your brother. You were, to quote Beauregard, a “creation of pure science” and since I killed the other scientists it’s not happening again anytime soon. Besides there are already six of you, and you are all grown adults. Having another child would serve no purpose.”

“I could get a sister,” Yan called as she ran from upstairs with a binder of colored squares and started holding the colors up next to Lunky’s face. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some quality girl time around here?”

“I don’t control that,” Dark reminded her, neither he nor King moving Lunky away from her.

“Come now Darky, we’d get to have another angel running around the house,” Wil pouted.

“That’s what grandchildren are for,” Dark reminded.

“Yes but we have to give them back,” Wilford frowned sadly. Then he seemed to think about that. “We could not give them back.”

“Dad, I am right here,” King reminded. “We don’t live here.”

“A shame,” Wil commented, then he held his hands out. “May I hold them, pretty please?”

“Just don’t kidnap them,” King allowed.

Dark passed Lunky over to Wil, Lunky made an unhappy screeching cry and tried to hold onto Dark’s coat.

Wil chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you back to him.”

Lunky was suddenly very quiet, going completely limp, their eyes large dark orbs as they started devouring Wil’s aura.

“What a little delight,” Wil smiled. “Can they talk to animals too?”

“No, it’d be so much easier if they could,” King sighed.

Dark walked over and lessened the spells keeping Lunky 3-D and they popped back into their actual form. Wil almost dropped them but Dark caught the spawnling.

Lunky quickly stretched onto the wall and started investigating the room.

“Huh,” Bim commented, “weird gift, do they sleep on a drawing of a bed or an actual bed.”

King let out a bubbling, uncomfortable laugh, “They don’t.”

“What? Sleep?” Bim asked.

“Yes,” King answered. “I’ve barely been sleeping.”

Dark pulled a scroll from the Void and passed it over to King, “This is what I used to use on all of you.”

Looking Dark dead in the eye, King said, “You are the best, if this even works half as well as it did on me.”

Dark smirked at him.

The conversation kept going and Bim went off to hunt again and Wil raced off to the attic with Yan to find something. Leaving Dark, the Host, and King alone with Lunky in the living room. The spawnling seemed to be resting but King knew it wouldn’t last and he would actually go to sleep.

Lunky was resting against Dark’s shoulder, still a flat image, and Dark was just sitting in one of the armchairs, watching them rest.

“You know,” King commented. “When they’re like this, I kinda forget they can be an absolute nightmare.”

“Hopefully that spell works for you,” Dark replied.

“How long did it take Bim to start talking?” King asked. “We came in when he was already talking and walking.”

“We got Bim when he was eight months old, he was walking before he started talking. Wil accidentally said the word “fuck” and that was his first word. I was furious. He started talking when he was almost two. Lunky is a little bit more developed than Bim was. However, Bim was completely artificial.”

King made a face that showed that he wasn’t too reassured by those words. “Okay so should I be doing something?”

“The Host should suggest that there is a strong possibility that Lunky could never be able to fully speak,” the Host warned.

The room went quiet.

“Is that caused by something in their aura?” Dark asked.

“It is something within Lunky’s nature,” the Host reported. “There is a possibility that the Host is wrong, but the Host doubts that.”

“Okay,” King said.

Dark frowned, “A large portion of the heroes can sign, you and Illinois can sign, so can I, Wilford seemed to be able to read his mind. Communication shouldn’t be an issue. It would be a shame if we wasted their time and sanity trying to push them to communicate in a way that makes them uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” King was very quick to agree, taking in a huge breath and nodding, looking more resolute by the second. “I can talk to birds and dogs. Humans are just another animal, right?”

“Some more so than others,” Dark offered as a barbed comment.

King looked nervous as he looked at Lunky, “I just don’t want to hurt them. I want them to be happy and safe.”

“You’ll do fine,” Dark reassured.

“Because you raised six kids?” King tried to smile.

“Well experience certainly helps,” Dark smiled. “But I meant to say that you won’t be trying to raise this one in secret like I did with all of you.”

“How did you manage that, anyways?” King asked. “We went to Disneyland one year. Dad broke an entire rollercoaster and killed fifteen people.”

“I used the Anomaly to perfectly replicate areas we wished to take you,” Dark answered. “I even replicated police involvement to keep your father entertained.”

“You absolute ass,” King cursed. “You took us to bootleg Disneyland?”

The Host chuckled at that.

“I will have you know it took a full year to investigate the entire park, including how character actors and crowds reacted,” Dark defended. “Did you expect me to bring Wil, Bim, and Arthur to an actual theme park and have nothing happen?”

“Fair,” King grumbled, and then groaned as he checked his phone. “Alright let’s get back to the base.”

“Before you leave,” Dark held up his hand and a necklace with an eye design on it. It swirled with a myriad of colors. “Something I had to learn the hard way. Spawnlings require aura to survive and grow. Like physical activity for a human. Their own will not feed them. So you have a choice: human or demonic aura.”

“To eat?” A pit formed in King’s heart.

“Yes, a new spawnling can strip all the aura from a human and render them a hollow, dry husk, matured demons have more control over it,” Dark warned. “What would you like to feed your child?”

“Uh, how do I get demon aura?” King asked apprehensively.

“Well now that depends, either an older, more experienced demon can donate their aura to a younger one, helping that spawnling grow stronger,” Dark explained. “Or you could kill a lesser, weaker demon and take all their aura to make oneself more powerful.”

That alarmed King instantly. “Demons can actually die?”

“Not from a single hit or even a volley of hits, killing a demon is a drawn out process but if the lesser is significantly weaker and the other demon is significantly stronger the fight is almost not fair. I have to kill some upstart every couple of months who tries to wander into Egoton thinking they can just take over. Typically I can just run them out and if they’re smart they won’t come back, other demons not so much. Why not put all that energy to good use?”

“O-Okay,” King allowed.

“I figured you would side with the humans so I took the time to mix my own aura with another demon’s that I recently subdued,” Dark told him. “At Lunky’s current appetite this should last him a couple months.”

King moved to put on the necklace but Dark stopped him. “Try to avoid putting it on, we wouldn’t want Lunky to associate you with food, now would we? You have far less aura than I do.”

“Right,” King pocketed the necklace and King took Lunky back who was upset to leave Dark’s arms and aura, but was quieted when they were given the necklace to chew on. Wil and Dark said their goodbyes. The Host took Lunky and King back to the base.

A calm settling back over the city.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Ginsberg, Again

PART SEVEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of death, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: To avoid Mother’s Day, Ella takes a spontaneous journey to the park where David Lee Roth was arrested.

A sleepy Thursday at the diner and Ella was almost finished with her sketch of the streetlamp across the way. Upon doing the preliminary line work, she found it dull, so she had added a UFO circling above it to spice up the drawing. The clinking of mugs filled her ears, but the diner was only moderately populated. Luke was busy filling out some spreadsheet, stealing glances over at the staircase every few minutes. Jess was due downstairs at any moment. Near the front window, Rory sat with piles of notes and textbooks out in front of her. Having overhead Luke and Lorelai, Ella knew Rory had been tasked with tutoring Jess, who was in danger of repeating the eleventh grade. Ella did not envy Rory. She’d only run into Jess a handful of times in the hallways of school, and though they had no classes together, she’d certainly heard tales of his insubordination and mischief. Just as she had finished the shading on the face of the alien through the window of the spaceship, Jess bounded down the stairs. His face brightened when he saw Ella at the counter, immediately taking up the stool across from her.

“Okay, honey, prepare to be amazed,” he began, shuffling his deck of cards before she had even looked up at him.

She scoffed at the name, shutting her battered sketchbook in fear of him catching a glimpse of her work. “Dazzle me.”

It only took him one attempt to guess her card and she smiled proudly.

“It’s Houdini himself,” she appraised.

“And…” he trailed off, grabbing a shiny red apple and a dish towel from a ways down the counter. Showing her the empty sides of the towel, he feigned the apple appearing out of nowhere from beneath it.

Her smile grew, taking the apple as he held it out to her. “Also good. But I’m not the teacher you should be giving the fruit to now, am I?”

Jess sighed heavily as she munched on the apple. “I swore off institutional education long ago.”

She rolled her eyes. “Calm down, Nietzche. You’ll only have to get over yourself for a couple hours so you can stay in this small town utopia.” As she spoke, she gestured to the town around them.

“Well, it’s off to the salt mines, I guess,” he said, head hanging low in resignation.

Ella chuckled at his theatrics and gave his shoulder a gentle push in Rory’s direction. “Yes, I pity you. Now, go.”

.   .   .

About sixty pages in to White Oleander, though she had read it two times before, Ella was enjoying the decadent prose when the phone broke the silence of her bedroom. A smell of lavender, the plant for luck, calmed her as the candles on one of her crate nightstands burned slowly. The flickering flames were the only ones which lit the room. Clearing her throat, she sat up against her pillows and took the old white phone, sitting on the floor in the corner, off the receiver. She expected Lane, though she didn’t call nearly ever. However, Lane’s nearly-never calls were pretty much the only ones she ever received on her landline. The separate number was one she had installed herself, after her mother died, a cheap phone bought at Radioshack with her first paycheck from Luke’s. She knew she would need a form of communication Fiona didn’t have to pay for, to lorde over her during their screaming matches.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Eleanor?”

She furrowed her brows. “Jess?”

“The one and only,” he joked through the line, though she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t hear the smirk in his voice like she usually could.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quickly, her heart in her throat. Since her mother’s death, any sign of trouble made her stomach sink, no matter how small the issue turned out to be.

“It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Jess. What’s wrong?” she repeated, swallowing dryly.

He heaved a tired sigh. “I’m going back to New York. Tonight.”

She was rendered silent for a moment, the information registering. “Oh. What...What the hell? Did something happen? Is it your mom? Do you-”

“Honey, just shut up for a second, okay?” he cut in, and she didn’t even have time to be annoyed about the pet name. “Rory and I...I screwed up. Tonight after we…” Jess stopped to sigh again.

“You don’t have to-”

“I crashed her car. Rory broke her wrist.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, are you okay?” she asked urgently, running an anxious hand through her hair.

Jess uttered a noise between a laugh and a scoff. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m indestructible. I thought you knew that by now.”

Ella cleared her throat again and struggled to find words. “Mariano, I-”

“Look, I gotta get going in a second. But, I uh...I got your phone number from Luke’s address book and if it’s cool I’ll give you a call when I get there?”

Taken aback, Ella couldn’t help but let out a doubtful laugh. “Um...yeah, sure. Of course.”

“Good,” he said shortly.

There was a prolonged silence, full of words Ella couldn’t grasp, feelings she couldn’t articulate.

“So,” she said, her free hand fiddling with the hem of her quilt nervously. “Don’t forget to call me, okay? No matter how late it is. I’ll worry you got mugged or something.”

“Yeah,” he said, almost fondly. “I know, Stevens. So...I’ll see you.”

“Yep. Bye, Jess.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead, and she spent one moment still clutching the phone to her ear, listening to the monotonous final tone. Once she hung up, she tried to keep reading, but found herself distracted. Why the hell did he want to call her? The entire conversation felt unreal the moment it was over, and she knew she should have asked more questions. Though she was aware the news and rumors about the car accident would spread through town like wildfire, everyone glad to be rid of the local Antichrist, otherwise known as Jess Mariano. But there were so many other pieces she felt were missing, even if she couldn’t really name what they were. She thought of how dull her shifts would now seem without Jess to argue with about books and music, to laugh with while she closed, to reprimand and call a jackass. Maybe the peace she’d once enjoyed would return, but she already knew how different, how lacking, it would feel.

.   .   .

Clutching her books to her chest, Ella checked her watch every few seconds waiting for Lane to arrive. Again, Lane had been grounded for some random transgression. But they’d made plans to meet before school and go for pancakes. Ella was too nervous to actually step foot inside the diner alone. She knew Luke would give her those small, sympathetic glances. Especially after Mother’s Day last year. Lane had agreed to be her emotional backup, joining her for breakfast and shielding her from all the dead Mom reminders. Breathing out a sigh, Ella checked her watch again and knew they wouldn’t have time for Luke’s pancakes before school anyway. She was glad at least the morning air was warm, and she could wear her flowy black sundress, covered in tiny pink flowers. She thought wearing her favorite outfit, complete with her black boots and fishnets, would raise her spirits. Of course, the get-up was yet another reason she had to steer clear of the Kim residence for fear of incurring Mrs. Kim’s wrath.

Suddenly, Lane appeared from the front door of the antique shop and sprinted over. “Ella! I am so sorry, I had to-”

“Lane?” Ella said, looking up from her gaze on her shoes with a resigned tone.

Immediately, Lane lost all her joy and urgency. Her face fell and saw the redness in Ella’s eyes, her sleepless features. “What?”

“I can’t do this today. Look, can you cover for me? Tell everyone I’m sick, or something? Get my homework?” she ventured, looking around suspiciously.

Lane narrowed her eyes and put a hand on Ella’s arm. “Yeah...but where are you going?”

A wicked smirk covered Ella’s tired face. “I don’t know. Somewhere I’ve never been before.”

.   .   .

Even the air and the light were different in New York, though she figured it was probably the multiple kinds of pollution permeating the atmosphere. The local bus had a smell like pine which was not altogether unwelcome, and she was able to finish annotations for an article in earth science class. Squealing tires screeched in her ears as the bus stopped outside Washington Square Park where Jess told her he often hung out on the less than rare occasion he cut class. Her stomach churned anxiously as she ran her hands through her messy hair, loose and wavy. Of all the places she’d never been, New York seemed the most feasible, not quite so far away, a place where she had contacts. She needed to get away from Stars Hollow, away from the memories, away from the life she hadn’t asked for, where she carried baggage which didn’t even belong to her.

Descending the stairs of the bus, Ella clutched her messenger bag, heavy with the books she’d originally packed for school, tightly at her side. As soon as her feet hit the concrete, a smile crossed her face. She was really in New York. And she’d gone all on her own, from the station to the local bus, and she didn’t have to deal with any of the Mother’s Day flower sales or the sad looks whenever she entered a room. For a moment, she watched the streets on either side, the bustling people, as the bus rolled away and she had officially arrived. It took almost no time at all to see Jess’s dark hair sticking up from a bench across the road. She didn’t need to see the other side of him to know he was knee deep in a book. Rushing over the crosswalk, Ella felt excitement rising in her stomach, though fears of being run over also thumped against her chest. She plopped down next to him on the park bench and caught a glance at the cover of his book and scoffed.

“Ginsberg, again?” she asked dejectedly. “And you think I’m predictable.”

Jess looked calm as he recognized her voice and smirked at her appearance. “Always. What are you doin’ here, honey?”

Groaning, she threw her head back dramatically. “Again with the ‘honey.’”

“Hey, I’ve only been gone a month. Not everything changes,” he shrugged, saving his place in his book and stuffing it in the back pocket of his worn jeans.

“We talk on the phone almost every day. The ‘honey’ thing was dead, or so I thought.” She shook her head, speaking with her hands.

“It’s not as gratifying when I don’t get to see you almost ready to murder me,” he explained, smug as ever.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a little sexist, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“Calling girls ‘honey,’ Jess. Keep up. It’s the twenty-first century,” she said, exasperated.

Jess shook his head and ran a hand over his mouth, a nervous reflex. “I don’t call girls ‘honey,’ I call you ‘honey.’”

She snorted a laugh, missing the redness which colored the tips of his ears. “If that’s supposed to make me feel special, it doesn’t.”

“It was supposed to make you feel unlucky, actually.”

“Well, then you’ve succeeded, jackass,” she said, though she had a fond look.

Jess grinned and cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest curiously. “So, what the hell are you doing here, Stevens?”

Ella shrugged, cavalier as she stared across the park and the May breeze blew the hair back from her freckled face. “Working on my spontaneity. This was a preliminary exercise.”

Narrowing his eyes, he nodded slowly. Ella tried to quiet the memories flashing before her vision, screaming through her mind. She hoped Jess wouldn’t notice. Her heart was yearning for adventure, something positive. Anything positive. Jess looked down momentarily, mulling something over. Then, he eyed her again with a smirk on his lips.

“You wanna go somewhere?”

“Anywhere.”

“Well, that narrows it down a bit.”

.   .   .

“Y’know, it’s just like you to hang out in Washington Square Park in the middle of a school day,” she scoffed, then taking a bite of one of the hot dogs they’d bought off a street vendor. It was salty, but good. The mid-day lull had hit the city, and the streets were only slightly overcrowded as they weaved around.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, chuckling.

“I don’t know. Not quite as mainstream as central park, it’s got that David Lee Roth thing. Very Jess.”

“I don’t appreciate being typecast,” he joked, watching her from the corner of his eye.

“Hey,” she said, shrugging. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Whatever. I’m not the Stevie Nicks groupie here.”

“If you think that’s an insult, you’re wrong.”

.   .   .

After a trip to the record store, they strolled along with shopping bags in hand. Jess had paid in crumpled ones, but still scored an Iggy Pop record to add to his meager collection. Still, Ella insisted he wait to buy any CDs until she was gone again, so as not to offend her delicate vinyl sensibilities. Watching out of the corner of his eye, Jess noticed the holes in the knees of Ella’s fishnets and the shine of her frizzy blonde hair in the afternoon light. The moment was so surreal, his worlds colliding. She looked oblivious to his gaze, though, drinking the city in. He felt tempted to laugh at the excitement she radiated at the novelty. Even on the subway, with its stale smell and flickering lights, she’d managed to maintain a level of amazement Jess found baffling. After a few moments, Jess chose to break the serene silence between them. They walked so close he could feel their arms brushing against each other.

“Explain to me why you bought all that relentless melancholia?” he asked, having kept quiet since he’d noticed her placing her choices on the register in the shop, punk music blaring over the stereo system. She’d bought three records: Kurt Cobain, Elliot Smith, and The Velvet Underground.

“There is a time and a place for it,” she argued. “We can’t all sustain a diet of constant screamo and metal, y’know.”

Jess shook his head, and chuckled but said nothing. In his natural environment, he was much the same, but his gait was marked with fatigue. His footsteps were heavier. She wondered what his home life was like in such a big city, where he could wander around on a school day without anyone asking after him. A wave of sadness rolled over her, and she again thought of mother’s day. They passed a cart selling flowers, and the smell wafted off the blooms in sickly sweet clouds. It made her stomach twist into a knot, her mind clouded with thoughts for the both of them. When she returned home, everything would be the same. No one would know where she’d been. And the whole excursion would be nothing but a memory, a painting she could touch but could never live again. She sighed lightly, staring ahead as they walked. Jess cast her a sidelong glance, nudging her with his elbow.

“So, where to next?”

Pursing her lips, she thought for a moment. “A place you like to look at.”

.   .   .

Litter peppered the grassy hill overlooking the Hudson river. The engines of the cars which crossed the bridge over the river sputtered with exhaust, adding to the smoggy haze of the air. Clouds had hung in the sky all day, and the air was muggy, but Ella felt light with content. She could hear the slight current of the water under the traffic, and it was oddly tranquil despite the overall grimy atmosphere of the city. People milled about on the sidewalk behind them, their designer shoes clicking away on the gray stone. The sounds swarmed around her and created a comforting sea of white noise. Jess took a seat on the hill without saying a word, and Ella followed suit.

“Good choice, Mariano.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, watching as her eyes lit up at the sight of the water. “In Stars Hollow, there’s the lake. So, I figured, here, there’s the river.”

Ella nodded, beginning to dig through her bag. “You come here a lot?”

“Sometimes,” he said, shrugging a little.

“Oh, he’s so demure,” she teased, then found her sketchbook amongst the hodge podge of items in her bag. Jess watched with a raised eyebrow as she brought out a pencil along with the book. However, she didn’t begin drawing. The weathered moleskin was closed on the ground between them, and Jess didn’t think before he took it and ran his fingers over the cover.

“Can I look?” he asked expectantly.

She turned to him with a suspicious look, eyes narrowed. Then, after a moment, she blew out a tired sigh and nodded, pursing her lips. “Yeah. But if you laugh I’ll tell the principal you were the one who took all the dry erasers.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he warned jokingly.

“Well, the stakes are high in New York, aren’t they?” she said offhandedly, her eyes trained on the river. A huge VW Van rolled over the bridge, and it reminded her of pictures from the Haight-Ashbury circa 1967 in the old edition of TIME Luke had in the stock room.

Scoffing, Jess opened the sketchbook up to the first page, which was slightly yellowed with age. He wondered how long she had been carrying the book around with her. The first drawing was of a vase of flowers, but upon further inspection he found the centers of the blooms had mouths full of sharp vampire’s teeth. He skimmed through the others, similar nature scenes with various ghoulish elements. A few pages away from the remaining blank ones, he stopped short. The shading around the figure was dark, but in the center was the face of a beautiful woman, with the light shading of a skull underneath. He ran a figure over the eyes of the skull and brought his hand back again, hoping to avoid smudging.

“This one is…” he began, then trailed off. She glanced over at him, then felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. She’d drawn it only a few days earlier.

“Not my best,” she muttered, hoping to deflect his attention from it.

He laughed in disbelief. “Are you kidding? This is amazing.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“Stevens, seriously. You’re a fucking artist,” he told her earnestly, staring down at the drawing.

“Well, thank you,” she said, quieting the anxious swirling her stomach. Her heart fluttered. It was rare she showed anyone her drawings, even Lane or Rory. But again, the surreal quality of the moment made her feel as though there would be lesser consequences. Maybe Jess wouldn’t remember her drawing later, as though it were a dream, like she imagined the day would feel the moment she left the city.

He cleared his throat, studying her unreadable expression. “Is it a self portrait? Looks a little like you.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips and she didn’t look at him while she spoke. “No, actually, it’s my mom. Everyone always says how much we look alike.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, a sarcastic smile crossing her face. “Oh.”

“Mother’s Day, huh?” he asked knowingly.

Furrowing her brows, Ella finally faced him. “You keep track of the Hallmark holidays, Mariano?”

Jess snorted. “I don’t subscribe to them, but I am aware of them.”

“I think they should be eradicated.”

“Agreed.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she nodded and looked back at the river. It was murky and green, no doubt polluted beyond recognition, but it still wasn’t half bad to look at. Jess noticed the way her fingers, with clipped black polish on the nails, drummed an antsy tune on her leg. He held the sketchbook back out to her and she gave him a grateful half-smile before cracking it open and beginning to draw.

“You okay?” he asked, breaking through the lengthy, but comfortable, silence.

Her smile grew a little more, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Always, Jess. It’s just one day. And I don’t particularly care about it. It’s the people back home.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed, the town of Stars Hollow isn’t known for minding its own business,” she said.

“Yeah, I kinda picked up on that,” he replied, watching her pencil slide across the page.

Occasionally, she stopped drawing and straightened up a little, appraising her work. Using the pad of her pinky, she shaded the clouds above the bridge, transforming the sketch past just an outline. Jess leaned back on the palms of his hands, letting the time pass as late afternoon turned into evening. He found his mouth left with a bittersweet taste at the thought of her hours away from him by the end of the night.

.   .   .

Back at the Port Authority bus terminal, the air was chalky. The local bus they’d taken to get back to the station had a decidedly more pleasant feel than the one Ella was about to board. But the ride wasn’t too long, and she still had plenty of school work she could finish on the way. They stood facing each other at the head of the bus, with five minutes until she absolutely had to board. Jess had his hands stuffed in his pockets, his shirt adorned with obscenities and the name of some obscure punk band. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, leaning back against the bus for one final moment of escape before climbing back out of the rabbit hole.

“So, how was the tour?” Jess asked.

Humming in thought, Ella glanced up at the splotchy ceiling for a moment before returning her eyes to him. “I’ll give you a seven.”

“Hey, if it’s passing, I’ll take it,” he said, shrugging.

She laughed. “Not a bad maxim. And I guess it's back to Washington Square Park with you?”

“Guess so. It’s a prime spot to brood.”

“I’m glad you’re finally owning your narrative.”

Jess smirked. “Well, if I’m owning mine, you gotta own yours. Show those pictures to someone important.”

Ella shook her head, then stopped for a moment and reached her free hand into her shoulder bag. Placing the shopping bag filled with her new records between her teeth, she flipped to the page where she’d drawn the bridge and ripped it out as neatly as she could along the perforation. Jess watched in confusion as she retrieved a pencil from her bag, she signed her name and dated the drawing in the lower right corner. When she’d tucked everything back into their rightful spots, she held the drawing out to Jess.

“We’ll call this a baby step.”

Letting out a small laugh, Jess took the drawing and studied the messy signature, a grin coming over his face. He brought the book from his back pocket and stuck the drawing in between the pages for safekeeping. “Thanks. I’ll make millions off this someday.”

She snickered and threw a look down at her watch. Two minutes left before departure. “Don’t patronize me, Mariano.”

“Don’t doubt yourself, Stevens,” he shot back immediately, with more sincerity than she was prepared for.

Shaking her head, she ignored the gravity of the moment.

“I think that’s all motivational speaking I can handle. I gotta get back. You sure you don’t wanna return to Hell with me?” she asked, only half-joking.

“I think the moment I step foot beyond town lines I’ll be struck down by the powers that be,” he said, a chuckle in his voice, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He ran a hand over his mouth.

She sighed through her nose and nodded. “Alright, fine. But in my considered opinion, you shouldn’t let those old gossips run you out of town. Sometimes when the world bites you, you gotta bite back.”

Jess raised his eyebrows. “And I’m the motivational speaker here?”

She rolled her eyes and started towards the bus. “You’re impossible.”

“Same to you,” he called as she boarded, and she shot him one final teasing glare before she turned the corner into the aisle.

Jess watched her blonde head move down row after row through the small windows, and when she finally stopped two seats from the back, he rushed down and shouted to her, hoping she could hear him through the thick window pane.

“Stevens!”

Furrowing her brows, she found Jess standing outside her window, uttering muffled words she couldn’t decipher. She groaned impatiently and raised the glass to hear him.

“Come again?” she asked.

“I said, I’ll call you later tonight. Don’t forget to pick it up. I’ll worry you got kidnapped or something.”

A smug smile crossed her lips. “Ah, I’m rubbing off on you.”

“I avoided it as long as I could,” he shrugged, smiling back.

“I won’t forget,” she assured him. “Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, Eleanor.”

And as soon as she shut the window once again, he was out of sight, meandering back to the station’s exit. A moment later, the bus driver released the break, a shrill squeak sounding. Swallowing dryly, Ella settled into her seat and prepared for the long drive back to reality.

[newnewyorker93]

Blueprints for a Rescue

read on ao3 here

Pepperony Week 2020 • Day 1: battle couple

Summary: Tony gives Pepper something special for their 1st wedding anniversary, and Pepper makes an important decision.

—

“Hey, Pep! Do you have a minute?”

Pepper looked up from where she was sitting, curled up on the living room floor with baby Morgan lying on her stomach next to her. Morgan was giggling and shrieking excitedly as she grabbed for the toy Pepper held out for her - a plush platypus, a gift from Uncle Rhodey and currently one of her favorite toys; its beak let out a very satisfying squeak! whenever she managed to squeeze it tight enough in her tiny fists. The two of them were so engrossed in their little game that Pepper hadn’t even noticed Tony entering the room but there he was now, standing next to the coffee table. He had something held behind his back, a thick roll of paper, and he was tapping it against the back of his leg while doing that shift-shuffling move with his feet that Pepper knew meant he was nervous about whatever it was he wanted to tell her.

Instead of answering his question directly, she instead addressed Morgan. “What do you think? Should we see what your silly father is up to this time?” The baby gurgled happily in response and tried to roll over, a move she hadn’t quite mastered yet, and Pepper gave her back a quick rub in acknowledgement of the attempt before looking back up at Tony with an inviting smile. “Sounds like a ‘yes’ to me.”

“Are you sure?” Tony asked, hesitating slightly. “I'd hate to interrupt tummy time.”

Pepper laughed. "Morgan's got a very full schedule today, but I think we can squeeze you in."

“Oh good. I've got something for you. A present, actually. For our anniversary.”

Pepper stopped rubbing Morgan’s back, a puzzled expression crossing her face. “It’s not our anniversary.”

“I know.”

“Our anniversary is next week.”

“I  know.”

"But you're giving me a present today?"

"A stunningly accurate summation of the situation, yes. Astute as always, pepper pot!" Tony was teasing her now, but Pepper could tell there was an undercurrent of real nervousness behind his words. His voice softened, then, as he explained, “It’s just, this is- well, is about to be- our first anniversary, and I want to get it right, and given my, shall we say, mixed track record on gifts…” He trailed off, giving Pepper a second to fill in the blank. She did a quick mental inventory of Tony’s various ‘surprises’ over the years - when he got it right, he got it really right, and when he didn’t...well when he didn’t a team of construction workers ended up getting hired to rip a hole in their wall so a 15-foot-tall stuffed bunny could be maneuvered through. So yeah, maybe his concern wasn’t entirely unwarranted, although whatever this was at least already had the advantage of fitting inside the house. Evidently enough of this thought process could be read on Pepper’s face because Tony nodded in agreement before continuing. “See, you get it. Hence, my brilliant solution! I give you your present a week early, and then I’ve got time to put together a plan B in case you don’t like this one!”

“And if I do like it?” Pepper asked, amused and touched by Tony’s mildly convoluted approach to problem solving.

“Oh, in that case I will…um, still have to find something special to give you on the day of…” Tony scratched the back of his head, a sheepish expression on his face. “I really didn’t think that part through, did I? Although In my defense, this is my first go at a wedding anniversary.”

“Hmm, fair. You’d better get used to it though,” Pepper teased. “You’re going to have a lot more of them to figure out.”

“Yeah…” A soft happy smile lit up Tony’s face, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle up and he was lost for a moment, thinking about that.

“So,” Pepper eventually prompted, “do I get to actually see my pre-anniversary present?”

“Yes! Right. Of course.” Tony moved aside the few knick-knacks left out on the coffee table and unrolled the papers he’d been holding behind his back onto it, revealing a stack of technical drawings. He gestured for Pepper to scoot forward and take a look. "I made you a suit! Well, to be more precise, I designed you a suit."

Pepper examined the figure on the top page and frowned. Armor would be a generous description for whatever this was, as it looked more like a bikini that just happened to be made out of metal rather than anything meant to be in any way protective. It wasn’t until she looked up, ready to indignantly lay into Tony because what the fuck, that she caught the tell-tale mischievous twinkle in his eyes and realized what he was doing.

“Oh god, babe, you should see your face right now!” Tony crowed. “Just a little joke to break the tension,” he reassured Pepper, “I mean, come on, it’d be completely useless as armor like this, no defensive coverage at all. Although I'm sure we could find something else to use it for… Yes? No? You're smiling, Pep, I can see it!” She was smiling, biting back a laugh because it was just so Tony, getting his anxiety out by completely designing and drawing out by hand an entire prank suit of armor. “We'll file that one under maybe, then… But seriously, as much as I enjoy a bit of pin-up Pepper, this-” he pulled aside the top sheet with a dramatic flourish, unveiling a set of schematics for a suit that looked much more like his own Iron Man armor, if slightly more feminine, “-is your real present, should you choose to accept it." 

Tony sat himself down on the floor across the table from Pepper, giving her some space to study the blueprints more closely. After a few moments of forcing himself to sit perfectly still he scooped Morgan up off the rug and snuggled her up to his chest, letting his daughter’s squirming distract him from the otherwise irresistible urge to start fidgeting and drumming his fingers against his leg as he waited for Pepper’s verdict.

“This is…wow.” Pepper didn’t even know where to begin. She was awed by the sheer scope of the project, at the amount of time Tony must have put into making this for her - there were pages and pages of plans, intricate renderings of every piece of the suit from helmet to gauntlets to boots and every bit in between, all painstakingly (and gorgeously; with so much of his work done in holograms and machinery, it was easy to forget how much of an artist Tony really was) hand-drawn and neatly labeled down to the most precise measurements. “How… You drew all of this?”

Tony shrugged. “I’ve had the image in my head for years, this was just letting it all out, finally. Like an exorcism.” Pepper cocked her head at that and Tony laughed. “Ok, maybe that’s not the best metaphor, but you know what I mean. Besides, it was kind of nice to go analog again, break out the old pencil and paper. And it wasn’t all me! Morgan helped too.”

"Oh really?"

"Yep! Very helpful design critic, our daughter. Here, I'll show you." Tony flipped forward to a sheet that displayed detailed close-up and exploded views of the suit's helmet. "She really liked this part, see?" He pointed out the signs of Morgan's interest - a wrinkly spot on the corner of the page where the baby had clearly drooled on the paper, and a few smudges the exact width of her tiny fingers streaked right across the center of the main drawing. "Tried to grab your helmet right off the page!"

While Pepper fondly examined this father-daughter collaboration, Tony turned his attention to Morgan, giving the pint-sized engineer a playful bounce in his arms. “You really are your Daddy’s little girl, aren’t you?” Morgan smooshed her hand onto Tony’s face in response and he pretended to nibble at the tips of her fingers, making her (and Pepper) laugh. “You want a suit too, baby girl?”

Pepper stopped laughing at that and looked sternly at her husband. "Tony, please tell me you aren't…"

"Of course not," Tony retorted, making sure to sound appropriately scandalized at the very notion. “I told her, I said, not until you’re at least six-” he waited for Pepper to glare, right on cue, then finished with an impish grin, “-teen.”

Pepper rolled her eyes at that, but affectionately, and focused back on the schematics. “What’s this mean, here?” she asked, pointing out the title block at the corner of the page.

“Oh, that’s what I’ve been calling her, Rescue.” Tony explained. “You can change if you want something different though!” he hurriedly added. “Maybe something a bit flashier - you don’t know how tempted I was to go with Iron Maiden; a bit more my speed than yours, of course, but you’re welcome to it. Anyway, I just kept coming back to that first time I saw you suited up, remember? In the Mark 42 armor, how you saved me…” How you’ve saved me so many times, in so many ways over the years, he thought, but left unspoken. “It’ll still have all the usual defensive and attack capabilities, of course, and we can add in whatever fancy tricks and toys you want, but the primary intent is, well, rescue.”

“Did you start building it already?”

“No, I-” Tony’s eyes met Pepper’s and she could see the vulnerability there, the kind he only ever let her see. “I did this for you, Pepper, only for you, and it’s your choice. It doesn’t need to go any further than this, it can just be some art for our bedroom wall, if that’s all you want it to be. But I needed to show it to you either way. So…what do you think?"

Pepper traced her finger lightly over a little inset drawing on the last page of the blueprints. It was an image of Iron Man and Rescue flying next to each other, more of a sketch than a schematic really (although, knowing Tony, more likely than not still to scale and accurate in all technical aspects). There was probably some mundane reason for that picture to be there, maybe to show a size comparison between the suits, but all Pepper could think of as she looked at it was Tony sitting at his worktable in the garage, lovingly drawing the two of them twirling through the air together. Maybe telling Morgan about it, spinning her stories of her parents as knights in shining armor, off to save the world. She could see how much he wanted this - for her, for them - in every line, in every detail so lovingly rendered, and to her surprise she realized she really did want it too.

They’d talked so much, over the years, about the negative side of Tony and his suits - the obsession, all the ways he’d hidden away and almost lost himself in them - but that’s never been the whole story. There’s freedom there, and joy too and this...this, she understood, was Tony trying to share all that with her. It wasn’t insecurity or a distraction, it was calm and careful - and beautiful. Invention born out of love, not fear. And just like that, Pepper knew what her answer was. She shifted her gaze back towards Tony’s tentative, hopeful face. “I think…” she gave him a soft smile and nodded. “Yes, Tony, I’ll be your Rescue.”

[sunagitsunee]

Achilles Heel

Hurt / Comfort, Levi Ackerman x Hanji Zoe

POST 115 FIC

ALSO IN AO3

The patterns of the exposed beams of the ceiling were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

Levi had been past his major self-loathing stage, one that immediately kicked in after his stupor post the explosion. He’d been through despondency and helplessness after realizing the mishap took out parts of him that were necessary for battle. Denial was there, too, with the fact that he was a diminished version if himself after the accident—that he might not be the strongest one anymore.

What was eating him away was the guilt: survivor’s guilt. Or more so, having to bide his time until he could fully recover just so he could return to the battlefield.

Basically, he had to stay put, bathe in peace, while their allies were dying by the minute. 

To him, it was an indirect murder by his hands, because he failed.

Once more he was unsuccessful in fulfilling his promise to his previous commander, just because he was being uncharacteristically reckless. And to make it worse, his current commander was stuck nursing him back to health instead of watching over the poor kids left to finish what they had started.

It was all fucked up.

No—scratch that. It was beyond fucked up.

Levi had already faced all kinds of defeat ever since his memory had afforded to remember. And he thought losing his mother, his dearest friends, his own squad, and even Erwin, were already the peak of the damnation of his existence. He was clearly mistaken.

Because this time, he had lost a little more than himself, and gained back one thing he had forsaken a long time ago.

Well, he had spent the last decade redeeming himself from the clutches of the underground. Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, that was what everyone called him. He walked and talked the reputation. He devoted himself to his host and to the cause of saving humanity that the supposed burden became his second skin, to the point that his emotions got in the way—so he got rid of it.

As they say, they had to become what they wanted to kill. And he, including several other members of the original Survey Corps, became monsters to eradicate other monsters. Living with the armor of ferociousness for so long made him forget what it was like to feel despair. People had died left and right and tears came out reservedly, away from a mere human being’s gaze. No big deal.

Before the accident that rendered him catatonic for days, he had the impression that he would outlive everyone, so he had no problems of thinking about who would die next. Normally, his soul would be crushed and be forced to move on the next second because everyone counted on him to carry on the will of the dead.

However, the brush with good old death had changed things drastically.

He can die, alone and powerless. The truth was cold and unforgiving. It hit him like a brick wall. And he hated it.

Years and years of bravado and confidence had led up to this point. And the biggest problem was, who will carry on his will and those who died before him once he is gone? Who was strong enough to bear all the weight he carried in his back? All the lives which were sacrificed, if he couldn’t let them live on through someone else, would they have been wasted all for naught?

Who would care to remember him if he was to suddenly disappear, and no one else was around?

That was not even the worst.

The most fucked up thing that ever happened in that incident was being in the brink of oblivion, almost fading out, but then meeting the gaze of someone else that was filled with terror and sadness over the fact that he was, in fact, perishing.

It stung so bad, that it made him cower at the thought of biting the dust just like that.

He had never thought about it before, to be honest. But back then during his last breaths, when he had the sliver of chances to look upon the face of the person who was calling him back to reality: he saw that expression. Anguished was not even enough to describe what he witnessed. Fear, confusion, resolve, despair, longing… hundred more waves broke through his savior’s—Hanji's—facade while they held him gently, while he clung to that warmth as if it was his lifeline.

Which was stupid. Because they aren’t normally like that. They’d laugh and shout but not once did they throw those sentiments at him without holding back. They were strong like him. They’d lost people too, but they stood up and fought on.

So why, why did the glimpse of their face in sorrow made his wounds ache a thousand times more than they should?

Pathetic. Levi had convinced himself over these past few days that it should be the last time that he’d let them go through that. He wouldn’t go out like that. He’d never want to see Hanji’s eyes, the most vibrant pair he’d ever met, be clouded again in his dying moments.

He would have to make do of what’s left of him to push through, no matter how lamentable the outlook seemed.

 “Knock, knock.”

As if on cue, his rumination was disrupted with the voice that retrieved him from the underworld. The door revealed Hanji’s resigned frame, and light steps against the wood followed after as they approached his rigid figure in the tub.

Levi slowly turned his head towards them and took note of their sullenness behind the pretentious but affable smile.

“What? Don’t tell me you wanna take a bath with me?”

“Maybe. But I suck at doing it. You blasting me with water is still the best way to do it.”

Scoff. “It’ll be a different experience since I have less fingers to blast you with.”

He watched how they winced for a split second, probably a knee-jerk reaction after being reminded of his current setbacks. Hanji finally let out a sigh after holding their breath for several seconds before setting by the floor, absentmindedly playing with his bath water by dipping an entire arm.

“I talked with our hosts. The Azumabitos are displeased with how we are doing. Understandably so. But they are willing to hide us until you’re fully on your feet. Thanks to them, I’ve sent a coded message to Mikasa for our current status.”

“Yeah. And are they still all alive?”

“Presumably. Eren was dead for some time, but as expected of shifters, they can transfer consciousness and heal.”

“Fuck those shifters.” Good thing the kids were still kicking, but man, fuck Zeke and his existence. He spearheaded all this fuckery. And he’s still out there thanks to him.

“Our forces have withdrawn for the meantime… They have control over our new recruits, and most of our leaders have been transformed to…titans… I’ve instructed Jean to gather our remaining allies and rummage for whatever is salvageable. I'm—”

Hanji paused and bit their lip before punching the edge of the tub with their other hand, so hard that he felt the tremors from the impact. Levi knew them all too well, they were frustrated, more so with themselves rather than anything else.

“Damn… We’ve lost so much. I was never suited to be this. I’m such a fucking mess. Erwin would have pulled a miracle out of our asses by now. You know that. I’m sure you think the same way.”

NO! Obviously! Erwin was gone, right? And Levi chose it to be that way. He still doesn’t regret the choice of letting him rest, keeping him safe from this abhorrent world. Except that seeing Hanji at the end of their wits was every bit of torturous for him, too. But still…

“You said it before, Hanji. Outcomes aren’t determined by a single choice. Don’t take all the blame.”

Another fist hit the keg. “But I am at fault. I failed to draw a good gamble, and I got you injured by a flaw in the weapon that I made. I’m… I’m sorry, Levi. I’m not even sure if that amounts to anything anymore….”

Jeez.

Hanji was at it again. His guilt was already a thing, but theirs were like a second punch in the gut. They needed to be coherent as soon as possible for all their sakes, and Levi was one of the handful who could knock some sense into them.

“That’s the fiftieth goddamn apology you’ve managed to spew, and as far as I know, you aren’t supposed to be a deprecatory ass.” He spoke a little louder, making sure to emphasize every word. “Maybe if you stopped gambling and living in Erwin’s shadow and be precise like you used to be, those words would actually bear something.”

They went silent for a while, with only the drops from the faucet accentuating the stillness. Hanji was crouched away from his sight, probably pondering on their shortcomings, wallowing on the hurt from his statements, or perhaps repeating his harsh preaching like a mantra until they were consequential.

In the first place, they were the only person who could read between the lines no matter what foul words he spat out.

What he meant, anyway: Hanji had always been the better person, and if there was anyone who could get their stride back, it was them. They just had to get out of their slump, and they need to be back to their usual self. That he trusted them, and that he would do anything for them.

His speech seemed fruitful, much to his relief. When they straightened up, there were less shadows on their face, albeit the weeks of sleep deprivation and stress made the frown lines seem permanent.

Hanji tapped the surface of the water, purposefully splashing on his body, and some, hitting his face.

“Asshole,” they said. Levi kicked lightly and the ripples overflowed until they got into their clothes, too. He got a stifled gasp as a response.

“That’s the shitty glasses that I know.”

They chuckled but stopped abruptly to move closer until their faces were the same level. Their chin rested against the tub and their fingers hovered on the new scar that adorned his visage.

Caressing without touching, that is. For some reason it relaxed Levi; it was as if they were accepting his impairments instead of intruding upon him. It was their usual dynamic, one that went off-track when the war had started.

A thorn got dislodged from his heart knowing their thing was finally back.

“I’m sorry, Levi. Just this once, I say not as your commander. I truly am sorry.”

He shifted fully to his side so their good eyes could meet. There was something thick building up in his throat; he could have ignored it but decided against it. If he didn’t say it on the spot, he may never have the chance to do so.

“Thank you. And this is personal. You could’ve left me there. A dead man served no purpose to your goals, but you ended up putting your life on the line as well. You’re that dumb, but you saved me. I owe you. Everything.”

Hanji smiled and let their touch graze his jaw, right where the gash ended.

“I will admit, I was being selfish in that one. I could have let you rest, but I was scared. I… couldn’t let you go in the end.”

His chest drummed at their words and how they rolled off from their tongue.

“Scared, huh.“

He was, as well. Openly. For the first time. And if the situations were reversed, he’d risk his life to save them, too. Maybe the fear of losing them was a big part of his weakness now, but it’s a weakness he’d have to live with moving forward. "Maybe we are humans after all…”

“Yeah, you monster… I… just realized I needed you. Only humans do that kind of thing, I guess…?”

Needed. By the way the russet in their eye glinted, he knew they meant it in every sense of the word, and he too, felt the same way. More than they could both comprehend. More than the bonds of the dying breed that they share.

It was needing in a much, much, intimate level. And it took that recent trip to demise to bring those feelings bursting to the surface.

Levi’s hand met theirs, and he immediately appreciated the familiar warmth in contrast with the cold water. He held it down by his neck and rested against their palm. Hanji lightly squeezed on his skin.

“Hey… Don’t die alone, Levi. Don’t die before me. Get our freedom in my stead if I go. Promise me.”

He could feel their breath grazing in his face, and it nearly wanted him to breach the small distance that kept them apart and catch their lips. But no, this was not the time for it. It was unfair. War had no space for such ties.

He decided he would do it when they’re finally free, only then, since they deserved the whole of him. They’d start a new life together, that was his new resolve.

Instead, Levi smiled and brought his handicapped grip to nestle on their cheek.

“Don’t be stupid. If you go down, I go down. If you live, I live. So do your damned best to survive, and I would keep at it too. That’s what I can promise.”

Hanji turned their head to press their lips longingly to his palm before speaking.

“Of course… that seems fair to me.”

[talesofpanem]

Fever

Author : @thegirlfromoverthepond

Rating: T

No Trigger warnings

Summary : Did you know we were heading right into a glacial era ? Peeta is about to find out.

Author’s note: My huge thanks to the incredible @xerxia31 for her beta skills. Hope you guys enjoy this little piece ...

“Can you believe we’re heading into a glacial era?” 

I turn my head in surprise. Usually, Katniss Everdeen doesn’t talk to anyone, goes in and out of Abernathy’s Development Inc, without acknowledging anyone. Yet, I can’t be mistaken as I am the only one in the elevator with her this morning.

“Are we?” What can I say, I’m just an architect, not a biologist like she is.

“Unless we fuck this up, yes.”

This almost undoes me. Katniss Everdeen saying fuck. My very male mind goes to places it shouldn’t, imagining the curves of her body that are currently hidden by a very white lab coat, imagining her moaning under me, or over me.

I have to take a deep breath. I have no idea where this crush for her comes from. She’s far from being the most attractive woman in the building. Madge Undersee has legs for days, blue eyes that shine like sapphire. Delly Cartwright has curves that are to die for, milky breasts and a very round bottom. Johanna Mason is thin and toned, with a piercing in her belly that shines a little too much.

Katniss is just - I don’t know … You wouldn’t notice her in a crowded room, yet I’ve pretty much always noticed her. Maybe it’s her dark hair that she always braids, or sometimes braids then ties in a bun on her head, or maybe it’s the color of her eyes, a gray I have never seen before.

Doesn’t explain my crush, though. Yet, it’s there. 

I sigh. 

“You’re Peeta Mellark, right? Rye’s brother?” I close my eyes. Of course, she would only know me by my brother, the Mellark that got everything. Looks, a career as the top wrestler of the country, a qualification for the Olympics, when I am only the little brother who eats too many donuts.

“Yeah, the one and only.” I try to joke it away, as I always do.

“You shouldn’t have let him win in his senior year.”

I’m glad I didn’t grab a Chai Latte at Starbucks this morning, or it would now be all over my shirt right now.

“What? How?” Once again, I am rendered speechless by a mere sentence of hers. I really need to get a grip.

“I saw the final match, you let him take your arm.”

I did. I knew there was a recruiter from Berkeley, that it was my brother’s chance to win his scholarship in his choice university. How the recruiter didn’t notice that I threw the match, I have no idea. 

“It was a beginner’s mistake.” I shrug everything off. Why is this elevator taking so long today?

“It was nice of you.” 

The ping of the elevator startles me as I try to find a suitable answer for her. A mere “thank you” wouldn’t do, as it would mean I’d admit I let Rye win. It’s a lose-lose situation.

“It’s your floor”, she says as she puts her hand between the doors so they won’t close as I, Peeta Mellark, can’t seem to leave this elevator.

She knows my floor.

“Yup, and I should be going.” I finally remember how to use my legs again.

As I pass in front of her, her perfume hits me right in the feels. I thought she would wear something very feminine, whereas she smells like a forest after the rain. It’s heady, yet light. The kind of perfume you can’t forget.

The elevator pings again as the doors close. She leaves for the upper floors, where I know the labs are.

It takes me the whole day to get over my encounter - only when Thresh suggests we hang out at The Hob like any other Friday do I start thinking of my weekend.

I’m supposed to meet with my family so we can all gush about Rye’s latest accomplishment, or Flax’s awesomeness. I don’t really care, I’ll just take the chance to play with my nephews, something I always look forward to.

I have just ordered my first beer when I see her come in. She never comes to Friday hangouts, even though other people from the labs do usually come.

“Kitty Kat! You’re finally out of your cage, ready to meet us poor people!” I hear Finnick’s voice, as well as the entire rest of the bar, I think. He’s always had a thing for nicknaming everybody.

I can’t help but look at her. She doesn’t answer Finn as she tries to find a place to sit down, until she spots a free chair.  She finally catches my eye, and I n swear I see her wink.

The group settles into our usual Friday night routine, except I try not to look at Katniss every five seconds, which takes a lot of my willpower. I mean, it’s not like because she talked to me for three minutes today that she wants something more.

Right? Right.

Music starts to fill the place as a band has taken the small stage over. As I look at the musicians, I understand why Katniss came. Gale Hawthorne is the singer.

Of course she didn’t come for me. She came for Tall, Dark and Broody. Those two were inseparable through grade school, middle school and high school. They even both went to Panem U together. 

Although they didn’t attend the same courses, Hawthorne was always driving her. Forth. And back.

It’s not like I noticed.

The Mockingjays (what an awful name for a band) start their gig, featuring covers of rock songs that draw people from their seats, to the small dance floor in front of the makeshift stage, that prompts them to start dancing.

Soon enough, our whole table is jumping up and down to Joan Jett’s I love Rock and Roll.

Our whole table minus me and Katniss.

“Don’t you want to dance?” she asks me as she moves to sit just in front of me.

I shrug the answer away. I’ve never been a good dancer, a torn ACL back in my youth made sure of that.

“Come on, it’ll be fun…” She leans towards me, over the table. 

“Don’t you want to go cheer on your boyfriend?” I ask, because no way am I going to make a fool of myself on the dance floor In front of him!

She’s taken aback, her brows furrowed.

“My boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend!”

It’s my turn to be surprised.

“Gale isn’t?”

“He’s my cousin!”

 “He’s your cousin?”

He’s her cousin! I can’t believe it.

“Well, it’s complicated because he is the son of my uncle’s  second wife, but from another man, but still, he’s my cousin.” She explains. “What does that have to do with dancing?”

“I thought he was your boyfriend, that maybe he would be … jealous?”

She starts to laugh. It’s like a cascade of crystal falling into the water, refreshing, pure and true.

“Well, unless you decide to get too close to Madge, you’re safe.”

The music changes to something more bluesy, something I easily recognize. As I watch the bassist, a girl with tattoos and piercings walking closer to the mike, I notice Katniss moving.

She’s standing up now, holding her hand out to me.

“Are you coming?” she asks. All the fibers in my body are pleading me to accept, so I relent.

As we arrive on the makeshift dance floor, she starts moving to the music as the singers begin with the lyrics.

I never imagined how much the lyrics of a song could fit real life.

When you put your arms around me, I get a fever that’s so hard to bear

I watch as Katniss comes closer to me, putting her arms on my shoulder, looking at me fiercely.

Is it me or is it hot in this bar ?

She sways, getting closer to me with each step, until her hips touch mine. I could let go, could step away, but I really don’t want to.

She gives me a fever.

(We do not ride the elevators together again after being caught with my hands under her shirt and hers on my ass. Totally worth it, though.)

[vexedtonightmares]

hey! are you still taking prompts? I was listening to this song called Valentino by Years & Years and MNEK and I was reading the lyrics and I thought that it would be an interesting plot for an elu AU. love your writting x

valentino

Was it possible to fall in love in a single instant, even when you knew you shouldn’t? Sure, Lucas was drunk and that made everyone a little bit prettier, but this boy was something else entirely. He seemed to be the name on everybody’s lips, but Lucas told himself he wouldn’t fall for it. He was done with pretty boys who wanted nothing more than to get him in bed and toss him aside, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fall in love from afar, just a little bit. Wasn’t that what clubs were for?

“Hello.” Lucas clearly hadn’t been paying enough attention, because suddenly the pretty boy was standing right in front of him, bright, innocent smile one his face. There was a saying, ‘You had me at hello’, and Lucas had never understood it until that moment. With one word, all of Lucas’ caution was thrown to the wind and he allowed himself to be led by the hand onto the dance floor. He didn’t even know the pretty boy’s name.

A hand wrapped around his, the other resting gently on his waist, and Lucas stopped breathing for a moment, trying desperately to clear his head. “What’s your name?” he asked when he finally found his voice.

The pretty boy cocked one eyebrow, smirk playing across his lips. “Eliott. And yours?”

“Lucas,” Lucas answered breathlessly, clearing his throat out of embarrassment. “I’m Lucas.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m dancing with you, Lucas, you looked so beautiful standing over there and I just couldn’t resist,” Eliott said, voice soft and alluring. Lucas knew it wasn’t true, knew it couldn’t be true, but what if it was? Had Eliott really seen him from across the room the same way he’d seen Eliott? It seemed impossible, but stranger things had happened.

The music shifted, and so did the mood. They started dancing slow, coming closer together even though Lucas’ mind was miles away. It was hard to stay distant, though, when Eliott’s hands felt like they belonged on his hips and he could hardly even hear the music anymore over the sound of his pounding heart. 

It might have been all right, and he might have made it out alive, if Eliott hadn’t placed a finger under Lucas’ chin, drawing their eyes together. Lucas couldn’t hold back, he practically lunged forward to meet Eliott in a searing, passionate kiss. And woah, Eliott knew how to kiss. It had been longer than Lucas cared to admit since he’d been kissed with such hunger, and maybe that’s why he began to fall so hard. 

There were some things you couldn’t fake, and nothing about this kiss was fake. Lucas didn’t even think about how many people were watching them, or the fact that they were practically devouring each other in the middle of a crowded space, he was so wrapped up in all that Eliott was, putty in his hands. 

“You want to get out of here?” Eliott whispered into his ear, leaving Lucas’ lips exposed and vulnerable, missing the taste of Eliott already. Lucas nodded eyes still trained on Eliott’s lips, which ticked up into an amused grin as he pulled Lucas by the hand until they were outside the club.

“Your place?” Eliott suggested, and Lucas nodded again. Some part of him didn’t feel drunk anymore, but another part felt drunker than he had been before. They could have taken a car, but Lucas’ place was close, so when Lucas started walking away Eliott followed with raised eyebrows, practically undressing Lucas with his eyes. 

They were still attached at the hand, and it was easy for Lucas to pretend, in his altered state, that Eliott was his boyfriend and they were coming back home after a night out together. It was dangerous to think that way, but he really couldn’t help himself.

In the morning he might forget that he’d recreated a scene from Singin’ in the Rain on their walk home, dancing around the first lamp post he saw, watching Eliott’s eyes light up in delight. He might forget that Eliott sang Disney songs off key, loud enough that Lucas giggled and shushed him as they walked side by side. He might forget everything, but did that diminish any of those moments at the time and place they occurred?

When they arrived at Lucas’ flat, the first flat that was his and his alone, they kissed all the way up the stairs, barely making it inside before all their clothes came off. Eliott knew just what he was doing, and Lucas was stuck in his melody. 

He quite literally swept Lucas off his feet, carrying him to the bedroom, making a few wrong stops along the way, which made both of them laugh into their kisses, teeth clanging in a way that might have been awkward if their mouths hadn’t felt like they were made for one another. 

When Eliott dropped him on the bed, hovering over him, taking in every inch of Lucas’ body, Lucas’ mind went blank with utter sublimation, letting every feeling, every desire, overtake every logical, practical part of his brain and leaving him free to melt into everything that Eliott was.

Hours later, so late it was early, Eliott and Lucas were both still awake, but they were in no rush to fall asleep. Eliott was combing Lucas’ hair idly with one hand while Lucas told him all about parallel universes, listening intently to every word. He told Eliott how these parallel universes made him feel less alone without even stating it explicitly. Somehow Eliott understood him better than anyone ever had, and they’d only known each other a single night.

Lucas listened when Eliott told him about a film he wanted to make, a film called Polaris. It was an idea he’d never told anyone before, he said. Every word he spoke had Lucas waiting eagerly for the next one, falling for a story that had only barely been written. Maybe in a year, or even in ten, Lucas would see the name Polaris on the title card at the cinema and he’d remember all the details Eliott was telling him now. Maybe they’d walk a red carpet side by side, Eliott telling reporters how Lucas had been the first to hear the story.

They laughed harder than Lucas had laughed in quite a long time, exchanging stories of their time in school, from when they were children to their respective time at university. Eliott had been an art student, which was unsurprising, though Eliott said he hadn’t pegged Lucas for a biology student. 

“How would you draw me, if you had a chance?” Lucas asked, propped up on one elbow. Eliott had just been explaining his habit of drawing people as animals he thought matched their spirit, telling Lucas that his was a raccoon. 

Eliott considered him, squinting his eyes. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I have to think about it.”

Lucas didn’t want to get attached, he really didn’t, but Eliott made it so hard not to. He would think about it. Did that mean there was more time for their story than that day? Maybe there was a universe where they had met years before, and were still as in love in the present day as they had been initially. A universe where Eliott thought about it, and presented Lucas with drawings of their animals together, right where they were meant to be.

When it looked like Eliott might fall asleep if he blinked too long, Lucas pulled him in close, kissing him softly and brushing his eyelids with the tips of his fingers. “Goodnight, Eliott,” he whispered, kissing the tip of Eliott’s nose.

“Goodnight Lucas,” Eliott murmured back, so quietly Lucas barely heard it. They drifted away together, brains pulling them under a curtain of night and rendering them thoughtless. Neither of them knew it of the other, but each of their last thoughts before their subconscious overtook them was of the boy lying in bed beside them.

Morning was there already, but when true morning came, Lucas kept his eyes shut, trying to figure out what to expect when he opened them.   

He remembered everything. Every touch, every breath, every kiss, every laugh, every word… but the bed was empty when Lucas opened his eyes, and he cursed himself for not knowing better. He wondered if he’d possibly imagined the whole thing, the night had been too perfect to be real. He should have known not to trust Eliott.

Eliott let him go, but he didn’t ask to be let go. He probably should have, and he definitely should have expected something like this from a one night stand he’d picked up from the club, especially one that looked like that, but the stupid hopeful part of him had expected to wake up with an arm curled around his side. 

He didn’t know, when he met Eliott, that he was giving him control. It didn’t feel like it. It felt like they were both equally interested in each other, sometimes Eliott more than Lucas, actually. Lucas had been stuck in Eliott’s melody the night before, but now he wanted nothing of this cruel melody.

It rang in his head, highlighting all the ways he’d been stupid and naïve, a chorus telling him that it was what he deserved, that someone like him didn’t deserve someone like that, or maybe it was the other way around. 

Pretty boys fucked with other boys’ hearts, paying no mind to the wreckage they left behind, and even though Lucas should have known better, it was easier for him to push the blame on the invisible body beside him than to acknowledge the fact that he’d played an integral role in the fissure of his heart as well. 

He flopped his head back on his pillow, switching off everything he’d felt last night, everything he’d woken up still feeling. Eliott wouldn’t get more out of him, he decided, and, with that thought, shut off the cruel melody in his head once and for all.

[maedarakat]

Nyctus

Summary: When Tuff starts losing vision in his good eye, one rider in particular reaches out to him. 

——

She was watching him again, seemingly unable to help herself.

Tuffnut tried not to notice, but honestly, she wasn’t even trying to not get caught. He knew why too - the morning sparring session had been a disaster. Usually he was the first to charge in, eager for combat and later on, the bruise competition he and Ruff would have in their hut. 

Snotlout had done him a solid on the last part - he was sure to win the categories of “darkest” and “widest”. To be fair, the dark haired boy hadn’t known why Tuff was such a reluctant fighter that morning, nor had he bothered to find out. Always eager to impress, Snot had knocked Tuff on his ass before he could even get in a hit, and waled on him solidly until Astrid shouted for a time out. 

His vision had only gotten worse from there on out.

He was sure there’d been a concerned look, but not completely confident; the faces of all his friends were featureless blurs now. And that was with his good eye. For a few years now, the other eye had been there as a mere socket warmer - rendered completely useless after Gruff threw that rock at him when they were kids. 

Tuff squinted down at his plate, deciding to try and focus only on the dinner they were eating. Ruffnut nudged him lightly with her elbow as he poked unidentifiable piles with his fork. He supposed he could always sniff, but that was probably too weird.

“That’s cooked pole beans and kale, from Leg’s garden, and that’s mashed potatoes, and there’s more fish and biscuits on the platter in front of you,” she supplied, of course having more than an inkling of what was going on with him. 

And it’s not that he wasn’t grateful; she’d just unfortunately said all that a bit too loud. 

The other voices stopped chatting over needed supplies from Berk and Tuff felt them staring. 

He froze, panicking inwardly, not ready to admit this was happening to anyone. It had been a day, maybe he’d just ... gotten one too many bugs in his eyes? Scratched a cornea? Rubbed some sleep sand out too hard? 

Tuff swallowed and put the fork in his mouth, trying to act as though nothing in the world was odd - just the normal weird guy, eating his normal dinner. Wait, had he  just ... stuffed a completely empty fork into his mouth? Maybe they hadn’t noticed. Maybe he should keep it in his mouth so they wouldn’t see it was empty. 

.... Fuck. 

Flustered but still trying to play it off, he sheepishly took out the fork, stabbed something randomly on his plate and brought ... an entire fork-impaled biscuit to his lips.

This was a catastrophe. He wanted to cry and run away, but the terror that he’d run into the doorframe or trip over a chair kept him firmly rooted in place. Defeated, he put the fork down and hunched over in his seat, trembling.

Ruff’s head turned to face the others, and he knew she was glaring.

The chatter started up again, tense but flooding Tuff’s system with relief; nobody was drawing attention to what just happened. So long as it didn’t affect them or annoy them, he supposed they could ignore it, but Astrid’s voice remained silent. 

Her face was two colors, firelight and shadows drawing a blurry caricature that his memory filled out far better than his eyes could. Robin’s egg blue for her eyes, hair the color of barley sheaths in the sunlight, lips that grinned sharply, sweetly ...

Scared of what he had to lose, Tuff spent the remainder of dinner with his eyes closed, trying to make it his choice not to see, instead of the grim new reality. His chest started to hurt from pent up sobs and he squeezed Ruffnut’s hand under the table, needing to go back to their hut. 

She squeezed back and muttered something in his ear. There was nothing between him and the doorway, she’d told him, and she’d be out right afterwards to help him the rest of the way. His sister was trying to spare his dignity, though his own terror was swiftly gaining size. 

Blindness, as he understood it, meant darkness, or at least lack of light. He’d be trapped in his head with his own personal monsters and demons and trolls forever. He’d forget what his family or friends or even a friendly face looked like. He’d never know whether it was morning or night - Gods - he could never fight or fly or take long walks on his own or play pranks or see his sister’s face when he Loki’d her —

Tuff managed to get outside, but he didn’t wait, shaking hard. He kept walking, completely forgetting there was a rope bridge ahead until the ground unexpectedly moved beneath his feet. 

He reached out wildly to steady himself as the bridge swayed and nearly fell over the side, but hands grabbed his shoulders to steady and calm him. 

“It’s okay, shh, shh,” came the response to his panicked gasps. “I’ve got you. Let’s just head back to your hut, okay Tuff?”

Tuff nodded, recognizing Astrid’s voice but unable to stop hitching. He could barely keep from breaking down in front of her, only he was too close to the Clubhouse and he didn’t need everyone on the Edge to see him freaking out. She took his hands and turned, placing them on her shoulders, then started leading him.

Astrid moved at a reasonable pace, and Tuff didn’t stumble behind her at all as they moved. 

The night sky was out, with no moon, and there was no light left on in the Twins’ hut, not even a candle. Tuff wasn’t even sure if they had candles; Hiccup had confiscated most of them for some reason or other.

Astrid found one, lighting it and setting it on his dresser, next to his grandfather’s skull and dried orange flowers. She sat down on the bed next to him as he turned his eyes toward the flame. 

Tuff liked fire; he always had. It was a source of light that his mind couldn’t make terrifying, no matter how hard it tried. The candle flame was a soft soothing ball of yellow and white, and the panic started to recede a little. 

He was still shaking, and he knew Astrid could feel it, but she took his hand in hers and held it. She said nothing - no promises it was going to be okay, no asking if he was alright to be left alone now, no pointless reassurances. 

Astrid was letting him know it was okay to be scared around her.

The relief and comfort he felt from that was what finally wrenched the gates to his heart open and he shuddered, feeling tears begin to fall freely. 

He allowed the storm to rage throughout his body, sobbing fitfully as grief, terror and shame each battled for a piece of him to hurt anew. Astrid put her arms around him and laid them back on the bed, just holding him through it. He buried his face in her shoulder, allowing himself to be comforted.

It was a while before he finally calmed, wild pain giving way to exhausted resignation. Astrid was still holding him, somehow keeping the darkness of the room at bay more than the candle. 

Ruff must have dropped by at some point, though if she’d heard him, she would never mention if she had. Only two other people in his life had made him feel this loved and protected - his mother and Ruff, and now Astrid was the third. 

Tuff wondered quietly how and why, then belatedly remembered that of all the maladies that could be affecting him, Astrid was keenly and personally familiar with this one.

“... how did you ...” Loki, his voice was a wreck. Tuff swallowed and tried again. “How did you not freak out when you lost your sight?”

“I did freak out,” Astrid admitted quietly, resting her cheek against his hair. She had removed his helmet at some point; Tuff wasn’t sure exactly when. “Hiccup and Toothless were next to me, but they slept through it. I guess nothing’s louder than a snoring Night Fury.”

Tuff felt immediately upset on her behalf, that she’d gone through something like this all by herself. His arms wrapped around her, squeezing her in a hug. “I’m sorry I was useless then too.”

“What? Tuff, you and Ruff were the only ones even trying. Everyone else was either treating me like I was made of porcelain, or trying to repair me.  You guys still treated me like I was ... me. You tried to figure out ways for me to live my life as normally as possible - even if they were unorthodox. I even heard you ran straight off a cliff for my sake while testing Ruff’s ‘seeing-eye-viking’ method. That was sweet. A little weird, but very sweet.”

Tuff smiled and curled closer to her. “It’s ... I just ... my right eye has been a goner since I was nine. So I half knew what you were going through. Waking up with it like that after Gruff threw that rock was awful, and scary, but at least I had my other eye. You didn’t have either one, and that must have been terrifying. I had to do something for you.”

“You did. And wait, so Gruffnut did that?” Astrid’s question was snarled more than asked. 

“Yeah. Mom brought it up with the Elders and Aunt Hazel, but they told her she didn’t have enough proof for compensation. Gruff did say he was really sorry though, so I forgave him.”

“Tuff,” Astrid sighed sharply, but she didn’t press the issue. She just hugged him tighter and tucked his head beneath her chin. He knew without even looking up that her lips were pressed in a tight line of anger and she was concocting various ways to make his scheming cousin suffer horribly. 

It was pointless - Gruffnut probably didn’t even remember the incident - but Tuff didn’t exactly feel an overwhelming need to stop her.

“... you were awesome, you know,” Tuff said instead. “No matter what, you didn’t let anything or anyone stop you from doing what you were going to do. I’m honestly surprised you let Hiccup keep that foot he tried to put down.”

Astrid snorted. “Me too,” she muttered. 

“And I’m ... I wish I was that brave. And confident. I’m not sure what I’m going to do if it gets any worse. I can at least see shadows and forms and some colors, but - but only if they’re really bright.” 

Astrid trailed her fingers across his cheek and pulled back just enough to look at him. “You’ve got this, Tuff. You’ve got me, and Ruff, and all of us. No matter if you wake up tomorrow and can’t see a thing, you can rely on us and you can learn new ways to rely on yourself.” 

He must have showed doubt, for she lifted his chin and kissed his cheek, then his forehead. It sent little shivers from the back of his neck all the way down his back as he leaned into her touch, craving more. 

“I’m one of the most stubborn Vikings I know, and I still learned how. You’re open-minded, and clever and creative - you’ll probably figure out something that nobody’s even thought of.” 

Astrid’s fingers combed through his hair, lulling him into a more relaxed state. Tuff wanted her to never stop, feeling his eyes prick with tears all over again, but this time from need.  

“Will you ... will you sleep in our hut? I’m ... I know Ruff will be here later, but ... “

Tuff struggled, not knowing if it was alright to ask this much, if he even deserved to ask at all. Astrid’s reply was another tight hug. 

“I’ll stay tonight. Let’s just get more comfortable first.” 

They dressed down for bed - Astrid having to help him undo his boots when he couldn’t make out all the snaps and buckles. It may have been exhaustion and stress more than not being able to see, but she helped him regardless. She also made him take off his tunic in order to put salve on his slowly purpling chest and ribs. 

Tuff quietly reminded himself to thank Snotlout for every bruised area of skin he’d caused Astrid’s fingers to brush across. 

This was Valhalla - or possibly better. 

She cupped his face gently after she was done, thumbing salve over his split lip, and then - after a long moment, kissing him. 

Tuff’s heart practically did flips in his chest, and his mind rummaged frantically through countless thoughts and words to try and make sense of this. 

Astrid had once asked whether he didn’t want to meet a beautiful Viking woman one day and marry her. He’d laughed - of course he’d laughed - to drown out the unbearable ache in his chest that was loudly insisting he already had met her. 

Tuff had ignored it, but it had never gone away. It showed no signs of going away now, or any time in the near future. 

Astrid crawled onto his bed and pulled him to lay next to her, drawing a blanket over them both. Heart still hammering, he nestled back into her arms and closed his eyes.

Finally, for once in his life, the darkness didn’t seem even half as terrifying as it had before.

[lachalaine]

He pressed closer, lifting a large paw and grating it against the thick glass of the enclosure. People milled about on the smooth path and steps he could see on the other side, some were pointing in his direction and taking photos of his trapped form, while others simply chatted and watched the other exhibits.

Again, he scratched the glass, a frustrated whine echoing with the movement, his breath flaring against the cool surface holding him.

This wasn’t right. He wasn’t meant to be there.

Didn’t they know he wasn’t some wild leopard, but a real shifter? A man too?

If only he could just-

Screams snapped tension into place. His ears twitched and wanted to flatten against his head to ward off the sounds of panic. He didn’t need to hear more, as his wide eyes were caught on the many figures fleeing in sudden desperation, and he understood there was danger.

They tripped over themselves, dropped belongings and scrambled away.

He was alone with his racing heart within seconds.

No.

Not alone.

Hair made from the galaxy itself dragged his attention skidding back to the space his eyes had just passed over in a rush.

About 30 feet away from him, on the other side of the impenetrable glass, Jackie dashed down a set of gentle stairs and stopped halfway, halting on the flat landing.

Dread gripped him.

No, no, no, no, no!

There was clearly a threat around, did she not know that!? It wasn’t safe!

His heart stopped as a figure appeared at the top of the steps behind Jackie.

No!

The unknown man descended the steps with weapon in hand.

Jackie didn’t run.

She should have.

She should have done anything but face the stranger with her shoulders straight and her eyes showing her resolve to be strong.

Something in her expression said that she was confident the male wasn’t going to hurt her.

She trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her. That he wouldn’t go so far at least.

She shouldn’t have.

The impact to her chest knocked her back against the handrail. Surprise flashed across her face, and then she crumpled like a beautiful flower beneath a giant’s boot.

No! No, no, no, no!

The leopard threw both heavy paws, and all of his weight, against the window to claw recklessly at the barrier. Strong nails slid and scraped, their efforts only pushing themselves back towards their sheaths with far too much force.

Violent red smeared the glass from it.

Pain arched through him at the points but could not compare to the consuming feeling of having his heart torn from him.

As the window finally cracked and buckled against his assault, he jolted awake.

Air rushed harshly into his lungs and he was already up on his paws, the claws of which were so very deeply entrenched within the familiar sheets and bed.

Wild, frantic eyes searched and swiftly found Jackie just out of reach beside him. Feline muscles shuddered and heaved his body, begging and begging to press nearer to the woman, to let him shift and run his hands over her and see for certain that she was okay.

That she was alive.

His own thundering heart blocked out all other sounds, but at least he could see her breathing and how her eyes were now open with concern.

He could see it all, yes, but processing it was a whole other story.

He needed to shift!

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

He was stuck, trapped! And she was fading away from him, he was sure of it. He had to get closer to her!

Desperate, panicked sounds tore up through his aching throat, interspersing with the rapid punches of his uneven, shallow breaths in the air. The ripping of fabric came as he tried to yank his curved nails free of the bedding, but he only became more tangled.

His tail and lower half twisted and thrashed with the urgency of trying to escape.

But all flailing of his limbs then ceased in an instant.

That is, the instant he hauled himself close enough to Jackie and pressed his head against the softness of her chest. His nose prodded and hunted, tongue even rasped hurriedly against the thin top she wore, grazing her skin too. No blood. No injury at all, those senses told him. And now another belatedly reassured him of her life by letting him register the quick beat of her heart.

She was alive.

She was okay.

But his own heart didn’t stop it’s racing, nor did his breathing slow down.

It had been too real.

Jackie. Gone.

He could still see it all too clearly, and it made him close his eyes tighter as he hid against her. The terror of it all clung to him with a chill that raked icy fingers down his body. He shivered and turned his head, pressing his ear against the comforting heartbeat while tilting up to nuzzle what he could reach of her jaw.

Jackie was there. With him.

She was real.

And he didn’t ever want to be without her.

Please stay with me. Don’t leave.

Kit. 

Something’s wrong.

His name on her lips, the first thought that startles her awake from ( dreamless, dreamless, dreamless — no. not quite dreamless at all ) sleep, eyes flashing open in the darkness, her heartbeat pounding something fierce inside her chest, like the frightened hooves of a wild horse galloping across the plains of her suddenly aching heart.

It renders her absolutely incapacitated – so much so, that she can’t find it in herself to breathe.

‘Help me.’

A stray thought, and yet not one that generally crosses her mind – as her vision flashes with memories ( images, visions, not entirely her own ) stained in the copper stench of blood. The familiar glimmer of eyes crafted out of steel blue, the fear of facing up to a man she’d consider her personal nightmare, yet still with the fragile certainty of hope ( he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he fucking wouldn’t — ) —

He would.

And how could she be so stupid as to think otherwise?

A keening whimper as the sound cuts through the silence forged by the sharpest taint of fear, forcing Jackie back into the present as senses set her on high alert, eyes wide as reality crashes back into her with the force of a freight train, wrenching her from the dull haze of terror that’d cloaked her and right back into the comforts of her bed.

Her bed. Her own – with, with, with her – Kit.

Shit.

—- what’s happening to him?

“Kit?” A terrified whisper breathed between velvet lips as she’d stared – stared at the petrified leopard thrashing about wildly across her bed sheets, a medley of broken cries resonating as sharp claws dug frantically into thick fabric, the sounds of his whimpers – the look in those broken and absolutely horrified eyes – tugging at a heart string that’d felt all too fragile as it was.

‘Help him, oh god, please help him, please, please, please, please, please— !’

Fucking fix this!

“Kit – wait – wait, stop – “ Alarm bells suddenly ringing shrill through her head as the female quickly raises herself towards him, palms held out warily as she’d inched her way forwards, vaguely conscious of the path of wayward claws as they ran deep gouges into the comforter; knowing full well that any slip of fabric that she’d currently adorned would absolutely hold no defense against the sting of the feline’s nails should they accidentally graze her, even knowing full well it’d mattered not to her if she’d got maimed in the process.

She knew her kitten well enough, she knew when something – when everything – was just plain wrong. And regardless of what it was, regardless of the fear still clutched like a heavy shadow around her neck, of the phantom pain settling like the streak of metal within her chest, every attempt made to draw her back, back, back to a past of which she could only ever hope to fully forget –

None of it mattered. Not now. Not ever. What mattered was this. What mattered was that she’d fixed this – this — whatever this was.

Help him. Please. 

‘Please just let him be okay.’

“Come here, kitty, please, please – you need to calm down, it’s oka – “ The shudder of a sharp breath rushing clear past her lips as she suddenly finds herself thrown backwards, bombarded by the full force of leopards heavy frame shoving her into the pillows, rendering the female struck silent as he’d soon forced himself into her arms with all the panic of a frightened rabbit.

Oh. Oh gods, help her. 

Yet she doesn’t even hesitate.

“Kitty.” Soft utterance whispered into the evening air as the male nuzzles his head against her chest, the cold lap of his scratchy tongue against her skin sending shivers racing down her spine, the slightest tremble of her frame apparent even as arms ran taut to hold him close. She could feel his large paws pressing against her waist, could feel the rush of his own thundering heartbeat pounding hard against her flesh. It was so, so much. Almost too much.

But she couldn’t bear to let him go.

“Calm down, Kit. It’s okay – I’m here with you and you’re okay. I promise.” Gentle affirmation muttered as she’d laid a careful hand against the top of his spine, the tender brush of digits as they’d traced along checkered fur, all efforts made in order to hopefully calm the racing heartbeat of the leopard that still sat so clearly agitated before her. 

His terror appeared permanent however, no matter her gestures; as judging by the way he’d nudged his way closer into her arms even despite her hold, it was either he was still trying to hide, or just trying to get as close to her as humanly possible.

The way his head fit so neatly against the swell of her chest, even the way he’d nuzzled himself against the line of her jaw made her heart quake something awful, and she’d held him closer all the more for it, if only for reasons she wouldn’t even dare herself to say.

soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur

“It’s okay Kit, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Soft whispers as the minute trembling began again, the shudder of her hand where it’d laid upon his fur, forcing her mind further and further from the cold draw of dread that’d creeped patiently upon her footsteps –

Goddess help her, but this wasn’t about her. It would never be about her. It would never, ever, evER —

p l e a s e . 

Don’t let this be about her.

happy kitty, sleepy kitty, 

“Nothing will ever hurt you.”

purr

If only she knew –

purr

It wasn’t him that he was worried about.

Purr.

// @bestiatexere​

[dissonancedance]

In that moment, the ghost he had once been searching for in her blood had come back alive, but the idea of succeeding did not bring the reward he had so often dreamt it would. That steel in her eyes belonged to an impossible dream he now saw as a nightmare. 

Chapter 93 of Closing the Distance now available on AO3.

The needle settled onto the record with a soft hiss that ushered up an orchestra, though the composer and era were beyond Vidar’s knowledge or ability to identify. On the faded paper disk at the center of the record, he could make out that it was Russian, or at least the record itself was made in Russia by its lettering. As with most things he had found lately, a closer look did nothing to decipher the mysteries surrounding him. He let the violins play only to distract him as he interacted with where his eye used to be.

Now that the swelling had receded and the wound had healed without incident over the past two months, the plastic conformer plumped up the patchwork flap of his eyelid to its once natural shape, but the slice from his hairline to his cheek had rendered some of the connective structures and nerve damage too tedious for the medical staff to address. That chasm of baby pink scar tissue confirmed that he would never regain full mobility in that side of his face to furrow his brow or blink with what they had salvaged of his eyelid. He held no lasting resentment towards them for their negligence; they were consistently overworked and lacked the necessary equipment for such delicate repairs.

Nonetheless, anyone who looked at him would see how his life held horrible violence and he would bare the evidence of this trauma for all his life, unable to conceal and lie towards normalcy again. The choice to be anything but what he really was had been cut away from him, but there had never really been a choice to begin with. Insanity had a way of slipping through masks.

The conformer slid out with a scoop of his fingernail and the plastic shell clattered in the sink before he tossed it in the wastebasket.

“I am not sterilizing that thing for you again,” Maier said, his wheels coming to stop at the edge of the bathroom doorway.

Vidar clicked his tongue and ground out, “I never wanted you to in the first place. I’ve decided against prosthesis.”

“You’ve decided against prosthesis like you’ve decided against clothes, then? These are both concepts geared towards the general comfort of those who must look at you, so I cannot say that I am surprised at your predictable lack of courtesy.”

“Pajamas are for pneumonic grandmas and Catholics. If you don’t want to ‘bare witness’ to my dick, then don’t come knocking on my door at five in the fucking morning.”

“If you rose at reveille, I would not have to. Besides, it is nothing of yours that I have not seen before.”

“You’re welcome to get more acquainted with it if you want to give your mouth something better to do than bitch all day.”

“I have not the time nor the inclination, Mr. Valstad. There is no room for penalty chores on our schedule today, so I implore you to not make us late to the morning drill again.”

Vidar wiped the rim of his gnarled socket with short, gentle swipes, still not entirely used to the sensation of rooting around this far inside his skull. “And what service to the glory of Ouroboros is on our schedule today? More inventory? Data entry? Cataloging invoices?”

“I cannot say. We are to report to the Doctor at eleven-hundred.”

The sour pit of Vidar’s stomach dropped in a reflexive panic, dragging back up as he willed calm back into his composure and strapped the eyepatch over his socket. “It’s about time.”

  “Not yet.”

Sweat crawled down Simone’s face, dripping off the tip of her nose and chin to add to the puddle on the floor, and she worried that tears might soon join it if she had to maintain the pose any longer. Her entire abdomen burned with the effort it took not to bend or sag in the rigid position, but the board of nails brushing her belly with each shaking breath did well to remind her of her form. These 3 AM workouts were going to kill her.

She watched two more drops fall before huffing out, “Now?”

“Not yet,” Leif repeated, tapping her flank with the long wooden rod he had taken to using to instruct her.

A grunt shoved its way past her teeth as she rebalanced her stance. The rod lingered on her hip, each millisecond of its presence causing her paranoia to rapidly shift between checking her form and assuring herself that her form was perfect until the smooth oak began to slide up her side, dragging her shirt up with it. The relief that he was not correcting some unknown mistake was short-lived when the rod left her only to quickly swat against her ribs in an explosion of unfathomable agony for an instrument so slant.

“AH! OW! Mother-fucking why!?” she shouted, fists clenched and back bowed inward to contain the pain.

“Mind your position,” Leif scolded wearily, tapping her back with the tip of the rod to correct her.

Simone snarled up at him, teeth bared and eyes blazing with a rage that fizzled down when they met his stern and unaffected gaze, but her anger did not abate enough to stop her from grinding out, “I was!”

“You need to practice self-discipline,” he said, and regret doused the rest of her ire in a cold bath of fear when he moved to kneel all the way down to her eye level. “You must not let pain control you, darling. Invite it to flow through you as part of you — a guest in your existence, not an enemy to conquer. Pain is conditional; you mustn’t be ruled by the conditional. Now, mind your position.”

Those too-familiar words hit her with a memory she didn’t want to consider again. She took a calming breath, ignored the shiver that rattled it, and reclaimed her perfect stance in an attempt to draw her focus elsewhere. Arms straight, palms flat on the floor and aligned with her shoulders, all the right muscle groups tight, engaged, and on fire. When the next strike came, she was not surprised. The oak rod cut through the air with an audible whoosh that ended with a slap on her skin and a bright burst of pain in her side, but it did not nearly bowl her over or force out a shout this time. Instead, she sucked in a quavering gasp and held it, shifting her focus until her perception of the pain shifted with it.

The agony that sparked along her nerves also brought the mercy of endorphins to blunt her pain receptors and stimulate the neurological processes associated with pleasure. She knew these biological tricks to mollify and soothe, but the euphoria that clouded everything in a dense and dizzying pleasantness still amazed her. When the rod struck her the third time, the gasp it forced from her was not one of protest. The rod lingered, suspicion heavy in the weight of it, and she knew he had sensed the shift in her. Her cheeks burned in a humiliated blush that she hoped he couldn’t see from his angle over her.

“That’s enough,” he announced, pulling the rod away from her battered side.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed herself up and wiped the dust from her hands as she walked off the burn and nervousness in her abdomen. The three thick red lines along her side were already inflamed with the promise of bruises to come, ready to join the others that her father had made in his constant mission to instill true discipline in her. Pain was the easy part of punishment. Pain was simple, conditional, fleeting; a rude guest in her body that would take its leave or make a chronic home where the damage was lasting. Transmuting the pain he gave into something akin to pleasure was not supposed to be part of the lesson, but that was the lesson he had taught her in his bed and it could not be unlearned. Simone rubbed the marks, her hand absently trailing down to the pink line over her uterus as she continued to pace the length of the sparse room. Not every pain could be changed.

The pressure of his stare forced the issue to boil to the surface, tangling that knot of anxiety in her tight enough to wring out a muttered, “‘Pain is the most poignant reminder that you are still alive’.”

Leif’s brow twitched in what could have been anything from mild curiosity to guarded shock. “Who told you that?”

There was a good eight feet of space between them, but she wasn’t sure if she could dodge him if he came at her. There was no stuffing this cat back in the bag now, not after it had been clawing at the walls of her mind for this long. Her brave front got her as far as meeting his gaze, then dwindled under the intensity of his focus.

“You did,” she answered. His stillness was even more unnerving than his stare, making her sick with dread at wherever she was treading with this topic, but not as sick as holding it within her. “I was eight, or nine, I don’t… I just know that you showed me the picture of the monk on fire and you said that to me… and then you cut open your arm and...”

The warmth and weight of his blood trickling thickly into her lap charged through her mind with all the horror of that memory. Standing across from him, seeing the old impassive mask set firmly over his expression, she knew he had the exact knowledge of the moment she was referring to and the concealment of his reaction was only confirming the worst of the suspicions that had gathered in her since she’d begun to remember.

She swallowed the rising pit of nausea back down, drawing a shaking breath before continuing, “I want to know why I forgot… and I think you know. Why did you do it? How much did you make me forget?”

Leif’s stillness was that of a predator waiting for the moment to pounce on his prey; all coiled muscles and cold observation. When he spoke, she could not tear her eyes away from the pointed sharpness of his eyeteeth.

“After six years of being routinely drugged, can you really place any confidence in your memories?”

The blithe rebuttal stung worse than any violence he could have responded with. Heat crept up the back of her neck and her throat closed around the outrage that wanted to leap out of her in a shout.

Instead of a shout, she could only whisper, “Gaslighting me is old hat, Papa. I know what’s real now.”

“It doesn’t matter. Even if you remember, even if you find out what happened, it doesn’t change anything,” he said, walking towards her, each deliberate step vibrating through the floorboards to rattle her bones despite their lightness. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, then slide up to gently hold the back of her neck. “Don’t let the past get in the way of our future, Simone. Everything that’s happened had to happen for us to be together. Let the ends justify the means this time, my love.”

“Are these our ends?” she muttered.

He pulled her toward him, his grip on her neck guiding her like a ring through a bull’s snout, and she crashed against the hard length of his torso.

“Are you not happy to be in love with me, darling?” he asked, his other hand threading through her hair to cradle her head against his chest. His heartbeat was a steady drum while hers thrashed in her rib cage. “Is this bond not what you have suffered for?”

“I need to know what happened!” she insisted, pushing down the instinct to flee in the presence of his temper.

His hand tightened in her hair, drawing a mewl from her that sounded pathetic even to her own ears as he tugged her backwards. He leaned down close enough for the heat of his breath to brush over her face as he spoke, “No, you don’t. If you can’t trust my intentions, then trust that there are reasons I have weighed and considered to have come to my decisions and have faith that they are correct according to my ability and judgment. Your lack of faith has caused much trouble; don’t make the same mistake twice.”

He released her with a shove, leaving her scalp tingling as she stumbled to regain her balance and put more distance between them. The heat in her blood made her shake and, not knowing how to contain the overwhelming clash of emotions she feared to encounter past her shock, she moved away from him until her back hit the mirrors that lined the far wall.

A mirthless grin tugged at her lips as she asked, “So, that’s it? Half my life gone behind a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ order?”

“Simone,” he warned, and the scrape of gravel in his tone sent a shiver through her gut.

“I’ve been hurt in a lot of ways,” she said, palms too slick with sweat to hold herself up against the mirror as she tried not to cower. “Bound, whipped, strangled… but I had faith that you would find me one way or another if I could just stay where I could be found. I endured. My faith in you endured, even when I begged for death… even when death answered. Whatever happened, whatever you did… You think the truth is going to break me now?” A dry, shallow laugh panted out of her before vanishing behind clenched teeth. “Don’t lecture me on faith when you’re the one who’s lacking.”

Her ears rang as though she’d screamed it all, but her father stood watching, waiting as though he hadn’t even heard her. Then, he threw the cane aside, the clatter echoing loudly in the unfurnished room and making her flinch.

“I can’t give you back what was lost,” he said, that false calm as cold as his stare, “but if it matters to you so much, I might explain why it was done. Go back to our suite and run a warm bath; I’ll be up shortly.”

And just like that, he turned and left. Simone was frozen, her back glued to the mirror as she tried to reconcile the anger and fear still warring within her, the storm of emotions lagging to catch up to what had just happened. For the first time, she had won against her father’s will.

  The morning drill was the same as it had been every day since Vidar’s release from the infirmary; the same lining up in the courtyard to pledge their commitment to their shared path, the same sprint interval training course, the same calisthenics circuit, the same callused hands gripping his as he shared the same wishes for a productive day of service with his Ouroboros brothers and sisters, the same shuffling into the showers and then the mess hall for the same high-protein breakfast. The rhythm of the morning and the physicality of each task provided the distraction to keep him from acting on the urge to panic buzzing just under his skin, but each bite of the egg and mystery meat scramble ground between his teeth like ash after the clock ticked past the 10 AM mark. By the time he saw Maier wheel into the hall, he could no longer imagine that the tremor in his limbs was the effect of a strenuous workout.

“How did physical therapy go today, Dick?” Vidar asked before the ex-agent could speak.

“Well, as you can see, I am still reliant on this wheelchair,” Maier answered with as much terseness as the impassive man could achieve. “Yet even with my limited mobility, I still get through the morning faster than you. I am afraid you must abandon the remainder of your breakfast if you wish to avoid tardiness, Mr. Valstad.”

Vidar’s eye twitched to the gilded clock hanging above the long rows of tables, its sprawling hands only showing it to be just past 10:20, and said, “It’s not that long of a walk to the eastern wing.”

“Dr. Aguiyi requests you attend in your personal attire.”

“What’s wrong with the uniform? The khaki trousers are a little utilitarian, but the V-neckline on these shirts are ready to party. Why don’t you relax and have some eggs?”

“No, thank you. I need to minimize my protein intake. Now, then…” Maier pulled the tray away, the metal scraping along the laminate surface making a sound that expressed the frustration the stoic man never could as he said, “I will escort you to your quarters, Mr. Valstad.”

  Leif waited for his daughter’s footsteps to recede down the hall before letting his shoulders sag with the sigh that left him. This was not anything he had been prepared to address since the incident had come to pass ten years ago and all that the decade had accomplished was only to further assure him that he would never have to. Four years of nervously waiting for her memories to resurface and then six years of mind altering drugs to ensure they never would had all begun to crumble in the five short months since her last dose.

Whoever that was in there that accused him of lacking faith was not his daughter. In that moment, the ghost he had once been searching for in her blood had come back alive, but the idea of succeeding did not bring the reward he had so often dreamt it would. That steel in her eyes belonged to an impossible dream he now saw as a nightmare.

Leif rubbed his face, trying to tame the ache that was building behind his skull and, failing, turned from the corner he’d hidden behind and began the trek back to his quarters. The members he passed gave him a wide berth, but their salutes and greetings smothered him with the thickness of their adoration. It seemed that nothing could disgrace him in their eyes, not his desertion, not his relationship with his daughter, not even his task of occasionally doling out murder among his worshippers. He supposed things could have ended up worse for him than being imprisoned to play the role of a god among war cultists, but this was not where his path would end.

When he stepped into his quarters and heard water rushing into the bathtub, he knew he had to be very mindful of where his path would turn from here. His daughter’s loyalty, while never blind, was becoming uprooted from the source he had planted in her long ago. He stood in the doorway to the bathroom and watched her bend over to test the temperature of the flow. His Simone was a dutiful daughter, an avid lover, and a devoted companion, but that streak of willfulness and rebellion in her could fracture all of that if he allowed it. Perhaps he deserved that, but fairness was not always right and what was deserved rarely served anyone in their line of living.

The squeal of the antique taps turning brought him out of his dread to find her waiting, her gaze still fixed to the water.

“How do you want me?” she asked, each word carefully and deliberately spoken to stave off the quaver of fear.

He swallowed the dryness in his throat and answered with a brief, “Disrobe. Get in.”

There was always the hesitance of shyness in this act, no matter how many times she had done this in front of him and at his command. It was usually endearing, but now as she cast her eyes to the floor and dragged her pants down her hips with a reluctant slowness, he hated it. He wanted her to look at him, to bare herself with eagerness and anticipation instead of humiliation, but he had not conditioned her to be proud of her sexuality. Shame was simply a more effective tool to manipulate.

As she gathered up her hair and stepped into the tub, he pulled up a short stool next to it and started, after a tentative moment, at the beginning, “When my uncle Bjørn was assassinated, there was a general interest among his followers to see that death was not his end but rather his obstacle. To overcome this obstacle, they sent Dr. Benjamin Wallace with a proposition to my door twelve years ago.”

“The same doctor who let us stay in his house?” Simone asked.

Leif nodded. “The very same, yes. He had some theories on genetically predetermined behavior and genetic memory that Bjørn’s followers became very interested in. They wanted him to revive Bjørn through the genetic memory of one of his descendants, and I…” He pressed the heel of his palm to his brow, willing the dull ache of regret to the back of his mind. “I wanted that too. As impossible as I knew it to be, I wanted at least some part of who my uncle was to live again and you… You’ve always been so similar to this man you’ve never met; it gave me hope that maybe, in some small and strange ways, he was in you somewhere and all we had to do was… dig those pieces of him up.”

The silence from his girl was a palpable presence that drew him to notice how still and pale she was, not even the rise and fall of breathing moved her until she asked in a whisper, “Did it work?”

“Of course not,” he smiled. “Even Ben didn’t think it had a chance; it was just a theory he was interested in testing in a human subject.”

“How are you so sure it didn’t work?”

His smile faded as a livid suspicion slunk through the mire of his guilt. “Did Frank tell you anything about this?”

She shook her head, but her glassy stare was miles away from him to be able to tell if she was lying or not.

He rolled up his sleeves as he continued, “The experiments were a failure, but they yielded some unexpected results. We were able to medically induce a controlled fugue state in you that caused you to be extremely receptive to suggestion without sacrificing your motor control or cognition – you would execute any task suggested to you without bias, regardless if that task endangered you.”

He lathered a sponge in a sweet-smelling soap before reaching out to his daughter and scrubbing slow, gentle circles on her skin. She didn’t react to the rough texture of the sponge, not even as he scrubbed it over the scars at the crux of her neck and shoulder where his bite mark had been carved away. He watched her blank expression curiously; she had always at least tensed whenever that area was touched, even after it had healed.

“We were successful in conditioning you to filter out orders that were given by persons other than myself while in that fugue state, effectively turning you into the perfect soldier. Well, almost perfect. You were unable to form long term memory while induced, and we didn’t realize until it was far too late that this side effect had begun affecting you outside of the fugue state. There was a remarkable consistency in the memories that were affected; only your memories pertaining to me were eroding. We shelved the experiment at once, but it took months before we saw any evidence that this side effect was going to recede. There were times where you didn’t seem to know who I was at all. In a way, this was fortunate and fortuitous. I’m convinced that, had you retained a consistent impression of me as your father throughout your life, you would not have developed a strong sexual attraction to me.”

“Well, thank god for that, then,” she said.

Leif paused in his work of soaping up her torso, surprised at the plainly-spoken but deeply sarcastic comment. That didn’t sound like something she would say, not to him. He resumed scrubbing; he could deal with her disrespect later.

“I did not erase your memories,” he said. “It was an unfortunate accident in our past that allowed for fortunate opportunities to occur in our future, not by my design but by the design of fate.”

Simone watched the suds swirling on the water as she asked, “Is Dr. Wallace still alive?”

“I believe he remains a prisoner of the estate. Why? I will not condone you speaking with him on the subject.”

“No, that’s not…” she trailed off, closing her eyes before huffing out a short sigh and starting over, “Thank you for telling me this, Papa. It answers a lot of questions I’ve had for longer than I’ve known.”

Leif sighed again, this time allowing his breath to carry out the tension that his dread had twisted in him. His daughter was taking this all so well, at least for now. There would inevitably be some emotional fallout once the shock passed, but he would be there to direct her grief to more useful channels.

“You don’t have to pose your questions yet, darling,” he said. He cupped a palmful of bathwater and poured it over her shoulders, rinsing the sweet-smelling suds from her skin to leave her brown and gleaming. “We can talk more about this later, but I want you to know that I’m glad those experiments failed. I simply didn’t know what I was risking back then. I’d never want to give you up for anything or anyone else in the world.”

Her downturned head shot up abruptly, distant eyes alert and pinched in worry as she asked, “What time is it? I forgot I had promised to make breakfast with Bisi!”

Leif smiled. It was classically Simone to bury and suppress what she could not handle. He could allow her this retreat today, he supposed.

“It’s just now 20 passed 4,” he answered, giving her a pat on her shoulder. “You’d better hurry.”

  “Quit rushing me!” Vidar snarled, swiping at Maier’s hands as the man reached up to adjust his tie.

“Mr. Valstad, I would highly recommend you consult a mirror before leaving your quarters,” Maier’s bland monotone droned out with a patience that did not match his insistent grab as he yanked him down to his level. The ex-agent’s strength and skill had Vidar bending at the waist without much resistance. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Fuck off,” Vidar sneered, but did not move until Maier’s deft hands completely redid his necktie. Any delay towards knocking on the door to Aguiyi’s office was a welcomed one.

“Well… let’s see what the old man wants,” Vidar muttered, bracing himself as he lifted his hand, only to jerk away when the door opened.

The heavy oak creaked on the hinges, revealing the Doctor seated amidst his ubiquitous cloud of cigar smoke and gaggle of pretty young wives. Gaggle of pretty young assassins, he reminded himself as he stepped into the dimmed room.

“Vidar!” Aguiyi grinned, yellowed teeth gleaming in the light of the candles strewn around his desk. “So good to see you again! Come, sit down and tell me how you’ve been adapting to the lifestyle!”

“The food could be better,” Vidar said, “but there is a grueling sort of comfort in monotony.”

He smiled against the urge to look away from those terrible pale eyes as he approached, knowing how dangerous it was to let his gaze drift to the women. As he sat in the leather chair across from the desk, however, one of them caught his attention from the corner of his vision. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raised in the cold shiver that coursed through his veins when he locked eyes with the silver stare of his once-slave.

“You…” he breathed, the word passing as quietly as a phantom over his lips.

“There exists a measure of safety in how structured each aspect of our daily lives are within the walls of the estate,” Aguiyi went on. Vidar could not will himself to look away from her, the old man’s words drifting into the background all but unheard as Simone’s hand clutched tight over her abdomen, drawing his shocked stare down to where he remembered she’d cut herself open. “Safety is a precious idea among the many reminders of mortality that inundate our purpose here. Inconvenient business, mortality is, but business is booming. Tell me, Vidar, what would you do to secure your survival?”

Vidar jerked out of his shock at the sound of his name on that deadly tongue, swallowing the thickness that clogged his throat before answering, “Anything… sir. I would do anything.”

Aguiyi’s grin settled into a smile that chilled him to the bone. “I know. You’ve suffered, you’ve served, you’ve even sacrificed your beloved. You have proven your commitment to your survival. I must ask you to prove it again.”

Fear numbed Vidar’s face as he forced himself to nod in response. Aguiyi beckoned to someone unseen in a darkened corner of the room and two men dragged a chained and naked older man toward the desk. The leather armrests of the chair squeaked from how hard Vidar gripped them as he took in the prisoner’s sorry condition.

“Vid, I’d like you to meet Dr. Benjamin Wallace,” Aguiyi beamed proudly. “He will be heading a medical research project that we would like you to participate in. Do you accept?”

Vidar could have laughed if he had the breath to. There had never really been a choice to begin with.

[gukiex]

You can't have your cake & eat it too. (m)

;pairing—jeon jeongguk x reader 

;words—8k

;genre— angst, smut, friends w/ benefits

;a/n— one shot??? fic??? idk yet 

New message : Jeon Jungkook Swipe to preview

You don't have feelings for him, you can't.

At least that's what you tell yourself and anyone who cares enough to ask.

So why is it that you're staring at the new text message notification on your lock screen with a giddy smile and the familiar feeling of desire tingling in the pit of your stomach.

You can easily explain the ladder of your current state with a simple explanation, you and Jungkook have been partaking in causal hookups since your freshman year. Sex with Jungkook was always more mind blowing than the last, never failing to leave you throughly satisfied and even more addicted each time. By now Jungkook knew how to play you better than his own guitar, his fingers strumming you with more familiarity than they would trying to create a cord and the moans he could draw out from you were the perfect melody of his song.

What had started out as a simple drunken hookup at a mutuals party had quickly turned into late night booty calls and 15 minute quickies when Jungkook needed to calm his pregame jitters. You both barely had the time to seek out any potential relationships, school and Jungkook's football career diminishing any drive to even yearn for something more, something solid. The friends with benefits deal that the two of you mutually agreed upon ended up serving you perfectly throughout the many years you knew each other. Sure there were times when you would hookup with other people, sometimes even thinking you found someone to share more than a lustful night with. But it all proved useless when your hectic life schedule reeked it's usual havoc resulting in the two of you back together. The many failed attempts were long forgotten when he was eating you out and making you forget—Taehyuk or was it Taehyung, well whatever the hell his name was, it didn't matter in the end because jungkook always made it is sole purpose to erase any traces of them from your brain.

As for the budding emotions that deemed you more conflicted each day, you were unsure when you broke the no strings attached clause that was clearly stated when you first began hooking up; a notion agreed upon by both parties yet here you were, failing miserably yet unwilling to step away. You wondered if it was that night, when Jungkook's fingers were tenderly threading your hair, working through the strands with such familiarity. You felt vulnerable when he held you like that; bare skin to bare skin, hearts beating erratically after partaking in another round of earth rattling sex that rendered you speechless, an effect Jungkook knew he had on you which made you wonder if that's why he decided to bring up such a heavy topic for causal pillow talk.

"Can I tell you something truthful Y/N?"

You were wrapped up in Jungkook’s arms, head resting on his bare chest with your eyes shut in content bliss, soaking up his warmth and listening to the calming pace of his heartbeat. You nodded, giving him a silent go head, your brain still fuzzy from the intense orgasm that shook your bones moments ago, leaving you unprepared for the storm he was unintentionally about to brew.

"I'd date you."

Your fingers that traced along the side of his bare chest slowed as your brain processed what he had actually just said to you.

"Y-you'd what?"

You wondered if Jungkook could feel the way your cheek began to heat up against his chest with a forceful blush. Certainly he would be able to see how his confession affected you if your paled expression wasn't thankfully hidden from his gaze. You would be lying if you hadn't thought about dating Jungkook in the past, even wondering if he would date you too so hearing him confirm it out loud made you feel a whirlwind of emotions that left you utterly confused.

Before you could gather what his words were insinuating he was already giving you an explanation.

"Don't get weird, it's just a friendly confession. I just wanted to say that if things were different, like if I didn't have my football career taking up all of my time and I could actually commit to something else, I probably would have tried to date you."

If things were different.  Would have.

Those two bits taunted you ruthlessly and you were slightly saddened and even a bit hurt by his choice of words. Different? What did he mean by that? You wondered if Jungkook meant you ruined any chances with him because of your friends with benefits deal. If he thought lesser of you now that you slept with him without a relationship title—surely he couldn't be that shallow. It wasn't like you wanted to date Jungkook back at that time but you were such a hardheaded person at times, being told no something you didn't hear often, you tended to want it all or nothing so if this whole agreement had left you without even a chance you wished you never slept with him at all.

An infamous line mockingly popped in your head, leaving you frustrated as it applied perfectly to your situation.

You can't have your cake and eat it too.

At this time your feelings for the male were entirely non existent but you couldn't deny that you hadn't thought, even pathetically hoped, that things between you two would one day turn into something more. The two of you worked well together, people who didn't even know you thought you were already in a relationship and the people who did wondered why you weren't. You were well aware that the chemistry the two of you shared could easily be manipulated into something else, something more, if you ever dared to take it there and for the first time you began to wonder, why hadn't you given it a shot?

Only if how you imaged Jungkook saw you now were actually the case, you felt naïve and slightly offended to have once believed you even had a sliver of a chance.

As if Jungkook was reading your mind, he quickly backtracked and clarified his statement.

"Don't get me wrong, even after all of this I'd still date you but if things work out after university—for both of us, we'll be going on such different paths I don't even think they would be compatible."

Sadly, you did know this to be true for you had tried to picture what a life with Jungkook would look like. You didn't give it a whole lot of thought but each time you did the results tended to be the main reason behind your ability to separate your heart from the erotic activities you partook in with the man who held you tenderly. It wasn't an unknown fact that one day Jungkook would make it pro, the endless recruiters showing up to his games confirmation of this, sometimes even with contracts in hand, all pining to sign the star player who dominated the field with such poise and skill. Local sports headlines claimed he would be the most anticipated recruit of his year when that time came.

And that time was coming too soon for your liking.

Listening to Jungkook state the obvious about how unrealistic a relationship would be with him resonated perfectly with you back then. You weren't stupid, you saw the warning signs when they presented themselves so how was it that you let yourself develop even the slightest tingle when he simply smiled at you or subconsciously held your hand.

"Why are you saying this Jungkook?" You laughed a little to stiffly from trying to cover up your true feelings, hoping he couldn't sense the slight panic that lingered behind the sound. You wondered if this was Jungkook confessing to actually wanting more than emotionless hookup's and you remembered being slightly worried that he was the one who would ruin what you two had going. You couldn't have been more wrong about who the true culprit would turn out to be though, for you were walking down a dangerous path that only had three possible outcomes. One: realization that whatever it is you were feeling lately was simply because you were starting to get lonely and absentmindedly confusing your friends with benefits relationship as something more than it actually was. (You honestly preferred this option the most) Two: you were actually starting to develop feelings for Jungkook and for God only knows why, he somehow felt the same and you two would start dating. Or Three: you had feelings for Jungkook only for him to not feel the same and prefer to have a no strings attached relationship with you. You would try to extinguish your feelings but knowing yourself, you'd fail and end up losing what you and Jungkook had. To say this scenario doesn't scare the living crap of you would cause you to shamefully lie for what you shared with Jungkook was the only form of stability you had in your life at the moment.

You recall Jungkook's silence after you questioned his choice of topic, how his brows furrowed cutely as he carefully pieced together what his reasoning would be. When he sighed lowly, removing his hand from your hair to wrap his arm around you and hold you tighter against him, you braced yourself for the inevitable truth he was about to bestow on you.

"Honestly I don't know, it's not like I have feelings for you or anything, you're my friend—a friend who lets me fuck them senseless now and then that is—"  you slapped Jungkook's chest and he chuckled, gripping your hand and wrapping it around him once again, not liking that you removed it solely to cause him physical harm. Jungkook was undeniably a cuddly person, without failure he would find a way to end up intertwined with you, wether it be holding hands or hugging, he always managed to be touching you in some way. When he was satisfied with repositioning your limb back to it's original spot on his chest he continued on, "I was randomly thinking about what we could have had if life wasn't so messy and don't try to tell me you haven't either. We've been doing this on and off for over three years now, we've built a friendship out of what started as just sexual attraction and now I couldn't picture not having you in my life. You're smart, beautiful and funny, truthfully any man would be lucky to date you, it's just unfortunate I'm not eligible to be one of them."

Your heart stirred pathetically when he spoke such honest words, so sincere and unexpected, the blush forming hot and prominently across your face probably glowed in the dark room and you laugh now remembering how foreign that feeling was when currently it felt like it would never go away.

"Even if you were, I wouldn't date you anyway."

A sad, sad lie but you needed to change the topic so you could control the way your heart felt like it would burst out of your chest at any second.

"What? Why not? I'm perfect boyfriend material!" Jungkook sounded genuinely offended and you giggled, knowing he indeed was boyfriend material but you didn't want to feed his already enlarged ego.

"You snore."

Jungkook groaned, pinching your side and causing you to squeal, "well that's not fair, I can't help it! You know I have a sinus condition!"

Rolling your eyes, you held back the laugh that pulled at the corners of your mouth, trying to appear as serious as possible. "Just accept it, you're too high maintenance kook."

Jungkook snorted loudly, "as if you're not."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You scoffed, lifting your head up to finally look at him.

Jungkook was radiating with his usual post sex glow, ironically he always looked good after sex while you looked like you had just been beaten up by 6 different people at the same time; hair tangled and frizzy while your makeup smudged around your eyes making you look like a distant relative to a raccoon. You weren't embarrassed by your appearance anymore, recalling how you used to hide your face or rush to the bathroom to quickly fix yourself up before he would see you in such a state. But now the levels of comfortability had peaked and you didn't care how horrid you looked, especially when it only made Jungkook feel even more proud of himself for being the reason you looked that way to begin with.

"Jungkook bring me food, Jungkook massage my neck, Jungkook I can't sleep so come over even though it's 2am and you have practice tomorrow."

Even though you knew Jungkook was purposely dramatizing his mockery of your voice, you still glared fiercely up at him for such a monstrous representation. He had made you sound like a cat being murdered with a dull blade.

"I do not sound like that."

Jungkook kissed your nose, an action you took as a apologetic gesture until he opened his mouth again, "it's okay to be in denial Y/N, I still like you regardless."

Let's just say, joke or not, Jungkook wasn't graced with the gift of your skilled mouth for a while after that. (A while actually being a day because not having sex with Jungkook for longer than 24 hours would be a punishment not only to him but to yourself and you cursed him and his magical cock for your inability to hold a grudge.)

So here you are, swiping open the message without hesitance to see the usual 'you busy?' text you received whenever you didn't already end up hanging out that day. Normally the two of you were inseparable, in the sheets and out but for the past week you were so busy you hadn't been able to spend much time together. Your week consisted of participating in a group project at the library a few times, work your mid day shifts at a local coffee shop while also cramming in enough time to study for upcoming midterms. Jungkook too was dealing with his own shortage of personal time since the football season was starting and training alone was practically a full time job.

As a result the two of you were feeling the effects of your time apart heavily, your clit was so overstimulated by your vibrator that it just felt like a dull buzz at this point and you were in desperate need for some real penetration. Jungkook was dealing with his feelings towards the separation by sending you a variety of photo's and texts about his own frustrations at unnecessary times of the day. Conveniently (insert sarcasm here) one of them happened to be when you were discussing the new work schedule with your boss, using your phone to bring up the calendar just as Jungkook decided to grace you with a message, begging you to come suck him off in the locker room before practice in graphic detail (followed by a million crying face emojis, some praying hands and an eggplant because what's a sext without the eggplant emoji. Jungkook's words, not yours.) Let's just say, things haven't been the same with your manager since and you're starting to contemplate finding a new job.

[10:21 pm] You: just studying

[10:23 pm ] Jk: the new season of Riverdale is pretty good study material huh

Your eyes lifted from your device to look at the paused screen of the show you were watching on Netflix and the smirk that appeared on your face was confirmation that Jungkook was right about his accusation.

[10:24 pm] You: what can I say, Cole Sprouse is a good stress reliever

[10:24 pm] Jk: meh, I think I know of a better one tbh

[10:25 pm] You: oh yeah? And what might that be?

[10:29 pm] Jk: New picture message

[10:32 pm] You: be over in 20

A picture of Jungkook's bugle in his grey sweats was all you needed to have you practically falling off of your bed and scurrying out of your apartment like the thirsty dick fein you were. It was Friday night and you didn't have class or work tomorrow, the group project was finished and you had already clearly given up on studying. You were a free woman for the time being and you knew exactly how you wanted to reward yourself for such a tiring week.

Realistically ten minutes was all it took to make it to Jungkook's shared apartment a few blocks down from your place, especially when you practically ran the entire way. By the twenty minute mark you found yourself on your knee's, hand wrapped around the base of Jungkook's pulsing cock as you bobbed your head at an unforgiving pace.

"Ah fuck Y/N, fuck...!"

Jungkook's thigh was trembling under your free hand that rested against it, a sign that he was close even though you had only been working him for less than ten minutes, your mouth never failing to bring him quickly to the edge.

You could tell Jungkook was fighting against the premature orgasm as usual but his heavy breaths and steel like grip in your hair were telling you he was already failing miserably. You wondered how long he would hold up his resolve this time, would he push for ten minutes? Five? Maybe even one more minute if you were lucky. Sometimes you liked to keep track of how quickly you could make him cave from your skilled mouth, the longest session being twelve minutes so far and as of right now it appeared that you were about to break a new record.

His hips were jerking erratically at this point, the once steady pace of his thrust's into your mouth turning sloppy and desperate. You didn't know why Jungkook kept torturing himself like this, maybe it was his ego and competitive demeanour that didn't allow him to give into you like he knew you wanted but whatever the case, it just made you work that much harder. Your hand gripped tighter around him as you slid his length even further into your mouth, you could never fit it all on your own but that didn't stop you from trying. When you felt him at the back of your throat you swallowed, allowing the sensitive head of his cock to be engulfed by the sensation causing him to moan and hiss above you. Your thighs snapped shut at the sound. Jungkook was always so vocal, something you never knew turned you on until you began sleeping with him.

"Fuck!" Jungkook ripped away from you, not being able to take anymore when you swallowed a second time, his own hand quickly replacing yours to pinch the base of his cock and stopping himself from cumming too soon. You contained the satisfied smirk that was daring to spread across your face knowing you had done it again, you had made him lose. Instead of basking in your smug satisfaction, you began to softly massage his thighs, eyes feigning innocence as they looked up at his disheveled features, pretending as if you didn't know what you had just done.

"God, that mouth of yours—" Jungkook trailed off completely out of breath, eyes screwed shut in concentration as if he was thinking away the orgasm that threatened to take over. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and the action caused you to lick at your own, a new want taking over as you wished it was your own lip between them instead.

"It's dangerous." Jungkook finally says and your eyes finally drift away from his mouth to see his own staring darkly down at you, catching onto your bold staring that's was filled with a noticeable desire.

"Come here."

Jungkook didn't even give you the chance to stand since he was pulling you up himself and within seconds the lips you were just thinking about were attacking yours without warrant. You moaned the instant they met, wet and soft and burning against your own. You felt almost relived now that you had gotten what you wanted and your heart swelled pathetically in your chest since he was finally kissing you again after what had felt like decades.

The two of you didn't kiss very often, even as affectionate as Jungkook was, kissing wasn't a common action you indulged in for it was a little to intimate compared to the way the two of you fucked; wild, rough and needy. But then there were times like this, times where you were graced with feeling Jungkook's soft lips moving against your own, his tongue swiping eagerly against your bottom lip, the satisfied moans that died in the back of his throat as he too lost himself in the sensation. It were these moments that made the blooming ache in your chest worse, something Jungkook was blindly unaware of. If only he did know that the reason you weakened in his arms and whined desperately into his mouth wasn't because you were affected by the desires of lust, no, but because you were shamefully falling even harder than you were before.

So enraptured by the heated make out, you didn't realize Jungkook was gradually guiding you backwards until the back of your knee's were hitting the edge of the bed. Jungkook was breaking the kiss and speaking before you could even protest against it.

"Lay down on your back."

You didn't hesitate to comply when he spoke with such promise laden in his words. You missed this, you missed falling submissive to Jungkook's will, letting him do anything and everything to you for he never failed to bring you immense pleasure in the end.

When your head rested against the pillow, Jungkook had finished removing his shirt, the last article of clothing left on his body and now your eyes were graced with the otherworldly sight of his tanned skin, fully bare and you treated yourself to the view, letting your eyes scan the expanse of his toned frame. Your mouth parted slightly at the image of Jungkook’s muscular arms flexing when he crawled on and up the end the bed. You were only watching him come closer yet the simple action left you breathless and wetter than you had been already, anticipation and need pulsing through your core and you clamped your legs together, desperate for fiction to soothe the ache that was burning between your thighs.

Jungkook smirked, loving the affect he had on you even when he hadn't even touched you yet.

"Don't get shy on me now Y/N, let me see."

His hands were gripping your ankles and spreading your legs apart before you could attempt to close them back up, your bare centre on full display for his eyes to see.

You had been ridden of your clothes the moment you stepped into Jungkook's room, the male waiting and ready to attack the second you let yourself in. He had hidden behind his door, shocking you when he approached you from behind, completely unexpected and covering your mouth to contain the scream he knew you would make. Jungkook was always pulling stuff like that, looking for new ways to spice things up in the bedroom or to simply just scare the living hell out of you. The second Jungkook's body moulded onto your backside, tongue and teeth assaulting your neck with his free palm boldly cupping your warmth, you knew it was him and you fell captive to his assault, became putty in his skilled hands. Jungkook sometimes enjoyed to strip you himself, an act driven by the dominant side of him that occasionally flared up when he was feeling more daring. The first few times he did it you were too shy, trying to cover yourself up much to his dissatisfaction. But now you were more comfortable and confident as you stood with arms by your sides, intently watching him as he drank you in with such hunger, the way he circled you, licking his lips and eyeing you from head to toe, loving how you were fully displayed for him. When Jungkook acted like that he reminded you of a beast stalking its prey, preparing to attack with no mercy.

And that's exactly how it felt right now, his hands holding your legs apart, your core exposed and dripping, completely enticing and the male fell to his forearms, mouth inches away with a look of pure need blazing in his eyes.

"So pretty," Jungkook says, warm breath fanning over your cunt, drawing out the syllables to make sure you could feel the ghostly air of his words against yourself. Your head fell back in embarrassment, finding yourself unable to watch him look at you with such thirst, licking his lips as if it were the most delicious thing he had even seen. Jungkook liked to tease you, liked to push your limits and you expected that, what you didn't expect were the two fingers that slid into you with such ease, no warning or work up to prepare you for the invasion.

"And tight."

Jungkook chuckled darkly when your back arched off of the bed, a drawn out moan of his name escaping your lips at the feeling of being filled up so quickly.

"Jungkook!"

"Yes?" He mused, watching smugly at the way you wiggled and bucked when he began to slowly pump and curl his fingers inside you.

"Please, oh my god—please." You always found yourself begging and pleading with him, for what though? You didn't know, you never did. You just knew you needed something, anything.

A low and husky chuckle left him as he quirked an eyebrow at you, "come on Y/N, tell kook what you need."

Jungkook curled his fingers even further, hitting a particular sweet spot inside of you that had you mewling and you didn't know how much more of his teasing you could endure.

Jungkook picked up his pace just slightly, enough to stir up your arousal even more but still not enough to satisfy your ache.

"Jungkook...!" You whined pleadingly, slamming your palm onto the bed when he puckered his lips and let out a puff of cold breath to breeze against your throbbing clit. "Anything, please give me anything, your mouth, your cock... please, just more!" You cried out, ignoring the way he smirked in satisfaction when you were now the one that was caving.

"Anything huh?"

You nodded, gripping your hair in frustration when his fingers switched back to the agonizingly slow pace, your juices squelching with each thrust.

Jungkook licked his lips, looking as if he was contemplating something for a moment until he spoke once again, "than I want to try something new."

"New?"

You weren't quite sure what was left to try between the two of you but before he could clarify his tongue was on you, swiping and flicking with so much fever. The moan that came out of you was surely heard by his roommates now that he'd finally given you what you needed the most.

Jungkook fingered you slowly and deeply as his mouth worked at a contrasted level, sucking and nibbling at your clit with such intensity and you were reeling from the confusing yet mind blowing course he had taken.

If this was the new thing he was talking about, you didn't know if you loved or hated him for it.

When he decided to switch back and forth between his tongue licking languidly whilst his fingers pumped you at a body rocking pace, the coil in your stomach was rapidly becoming unhinged whilst a foreign feeling was lingering along with it.

"F-fuck...! Ugh, Oh my god!"

You didn't even care how loud you were being and it seemed that Jungkook didn't either when he made no attempts to quiet you. Your hands had found purchase in Jungkook's hair, holding on for dear life as he ate and fingered you into a different dimension. The new sensation was starting to overpower your looming orgasm, you had experienced it a few times before, only with Jungkook of course and whenever the telling signs appeared you welcomed them with open arms and delightful cries of pleasure.

"J-Jungkook, I'm gonna, I-I'm gonna...!"

You wanted to warn the male about the oncoming release but it was too late, you were cumming and squirting before you could even process that it was actually occurring. Your body shook and trembled with pleasure while Jungkook coaxed you through the entirety of your orgasm, his fingers never faltering and his mouth never stopping until you came down.

Jungkook pulled his fingers out of you slowly, in awe at what had just occurred, "wow, that was..."

You felt a stray tear roll down the side of your face from how overwhelming the sensation mixed with your orgasm was. It was almost everything you needed you alleviate the stresses of the previous week and you basked in the remaining remnants that surged through your body, leaving you weak yet still needing more.

When you finally lifted your neck to glance down at Jungkook, you saw the way his chin and chest glistened with your unanticipated juices, soaking him in your arousal but he just stared at you in amazement.

"I just made you squirt, Again. Holy fuck it was even hotter than the last time."

You couldn't even find the strength in you to form a reply but it didn't matter since Jungkook was already crawling up your body until he was resting between your spread thighs. He pressed his mouth against yours, coating your lips with the slickness of your own juices and making you taste yourself on his tongue.

Pulling away and looking down at you, his hand came up to brush away some hair that had fallen onto your face. "Are you good?" He asked when he noticed the glossiness in your eyes and the few tears that had already fallen.

You nodded, "just fuck me already Jungkook."

Jungkook chuckled, bending down to give a quick peck to your lips and the familiar warmth didn't fail to spread through your chest when he did.

"Your wish is my command."

Jungkook's mouth continued its assault down the expanse of your neck, peppering soft kisses along your collar bones until they found purchase on your breasts, his mouth working against your hardened nipple, gently sucking and licking at the bud until you were wiggling and softly moaning beneath him.

"Jungkook—" you breathed out when he switched to the other nipple, focusing his tender assault on the sensitive area.

His hands began to slide down the sides of your body, his rough palm moving against every curve until they reached your thighs. Gripping onto them, Jungkook hoisted them around his hips, securing your legs there as one of his hands slid between your bodies to rub against your tender mound.

Jungkook let out a huff of approval at his findings, "such a good girl, always so wet and ready for me."

You needfully groaned in response, you always felt weak when he talked like that. Taking note of how your hips desperately bucked up towards him as your grip tightened around his neck, Jungkook was back at your neck, nipping at the skin and causing you to hiss at the feeling of his teeth biting and sucking the flesh.

Jungkook rolled the palm of his hand against the length of his throbbing cock, catching some of his precum to slick up himself up before settling his grip at the base and guiding it towards your heat. You wiggled in anticipation, eager to have him inside of you after so long. Jungkook began to slowly rub the tip of his cock along your slit until your own juices wetted the head even more to make it easier for him to slide right in.

And slide right in he did.

Jungkook bottomed out instantly, wasting no time to bury himself in you and you missed how full and thick and perfect he felt inside of your walls.

Finally. You sighed in relief as you gripped onto his shoulders, wrapping your legs even tighter around his waist to pull him closer, making him feel even deeper than before.

"S'good—" he panted into your neck when he began to roll his length into you, "s-so tight, always so tight."

Jungkook raised himself to rest on his forearm and used his free hand to hoist up one of your legs higher. He was slowly grinding into but he was hitting so deep you couldn't even find the strength to tell him to fuck you harder how you liked. Everything was feelings too good at this point, his lips on your neck, his hand burning a hot path as he stroked your thigh and his cock, fucking so deeply you could swear you could feel him in other places too. Your eyes were rolling at the sensation, head falling to the side weakly as the pleasure of his slow pace began to intensify.

Jungkook had never fucked you like this before, languid stokes hitting the deepest parts of you without the roughness you were used to. Your nails clawed at Jungkook's back when his thrusts started to draw out even more and somehow even deeper with each thrust into you. He was filling you up with every inch he had to offer and your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp when he began to hit your G spot with perfect precision and pressure.

Your head was spinning madly, trying to process the amount of pleasure he was giving you. Your hips were lifting subconsciously, meeting his every stoke, the faint sound of skin hitting skin also filtering the room that danced with both of your whines and moans.

You gasped in shock when Jungkook suddenly flipped you onto your stomach and reentered you before your body could even process that he had left it. Your hands were gripping onto the metal frame of his headboard, face scrunched up in the ugliest frown at how much better he was sinking into you from behind. His hand not supporting himself above you had firm grip on your ass cheek, separating them so he could watch himself slide in and out of your pussy with ease. Laying on your stomach, ass slightly arched upwards with your legs pressed together made you feel even tighter around Jungkook and he was moaning and panting as the feeling brought him closer to his own highly anticipated orgasm.

Your brain was fuzzy, throat dry due to how long your jaw slacked open and heart beating erratically at how intimately you were being fucked by the man you'd foolishly developed feelings for.

It scared you how perfect this felt, how his hands that slid up and down the expanse of your body while you felt his breath hit the side of your face made the sensation of him slowly fucking you more fulfilling, more pleasurable.

You could feel everything and for once you didn't want to. For once you wished he was just pounding you mercilessly, pulling your hair and leaving bite marks all over your body like you were used to. At least then you could ignore the creeping feelings that threatened to overshadow your judgement, at least then you were distracted and could forget about the reality of how stupid you were for falling for a man who couldn't fall for you back.

But now you were made to feel it all, experience how your heart soared knowing he was the one making you feel so good, how you knew you'd never find anyone else who could fuck you so well, make you cum so hard you squirted, a thing none of your previous boyfriends or hookups could do. Realistically no one could compare to Jungkook in any form; visuals, kissing, sex or simply being a good person with a heart of pure fucking gold. He was perfect, too perfect and the revelation that he could ruin you, raise your standards so high that no other man could possibly fill his shoes was terrifying.

"Fuck, your pussy feels so good," Jungkook groaned before he pressed his pelvis firmly against your ass, swivelling his hips so his dick could rub around your walls even more and you cried out at the feeling. Jungkook was filling you to the brim, as far as he could possibly go and it was slightly painful but the pleasure of it was more intoxicating.

"That's it Y/N be a good girl and take it, take it all."

You were speechless, eyes rolling into the back of your head and your ears were ringing so loudly they drowned out the loud moans that ripped from your throat. You probably looked wrecked, you certainly felt that way, physically and mentally. This wasn't how people in your situation were supposed to fuck, you knew this and you knew Jungkook did too. It was this that he meant when he said he wanted to try something new, it had to be. Sure what Jungkook did with his mouth and fingers was absolutely mind blowing, but this was another level, a style of fucking the two of you never even thought of trying. Well at least you hadn't, for this was a style reserved for couples, the term to describe it being making love, was it not? Sensual, slow, passionate, raw. You could experience everything this way, touches, sensations, expressions, the things that went unnoticed or unappreciated when you were fucking like a blur, hard and fast.

You came silently and hard. Harder than you ever had before and that said a lot considering jungkook hadn't even used any clit stimulation to push you over the edge like he normally did and that revelation was slightly terrifying. Had you really enjoyed being fucked so intimately by Jungkook that it was better than any other session you experienced before? You didn't know what to think.

Your sudden release took Jungkook aback for he collapsed on top of you with a loud whine when your walls began to spasm and clench without any warning. He didn't stand a chance when your pussy was practically sucking him in and holding his cock as its prisoner. You were so lost in your own world of conflicting, overwhelming pleasure that you didn't even notice how affected Jungkook was either. He was drenched his sweat, trembling above you and panting breathlessly from how hard he worked at fighting off his own looming orgasm, one that was present from the moment he slipped himself inside of you at the start.  Jungkook was such a pleaser, never finishing before you and the time's he did, which were rare, he'd make sure that you'd cum so good that you'd fall into a blissful orgasm induced slumber. And right now was clearly not one of those times from the way jungkook was almost crying out in relief when his ball's finally twitched and he was coating your wall's with his own much needed release.

The both of you were silent as you basked in the aftermath of such a heated session. Jungkook had already slipped out of you and rolled onto the open spot beside you, breathing deeply and weirdly enough what was normally a sound you enjoyed hearing was suddenly making you very uneasy. Jungkook was surely reeling from his orgasm and completely unaware that your own lack of words was mainly due to the listless thoughts that surged through your brain. You were trying to process what had just happened and why it affected you as much as it did. You knew that you had developed feelings for Jungkook, that was almost undeniable at this point but you could certainly say that they weren't anything too serious, you liked to think you had them under control for they were still at a tameable level. Your feelings were really only present during small moments like when Jungkook would smile at you a certain way or hold your hand as you walked down the street as if you two were already a couple. It had never been too intense, you didn't spend every waking moment thinking about him and your heart didn't feel like it was being ripped out of your chest whenever he did end up crossing your mind.

But now, now you weren't so sure.

What you had thought was just a minor problem that would pass or get swiped under the rug like the rest of your concerns you tended to neglect purposely. You always told yourself you could live with the idea of secretly liking Jungkook a little more than what one would consider as just friendly feelings.

Now a new discovery had struck you. A notion so big, so inexplicable and totally unrealistic you wondered if Jungkook had finally done it, had actually fucked you senseless for the tingles and butterflies you thought were petty, those little specs of feelings had abruptly blossomed into something more complex.

You hadn't been falling for Jungkook this whole time, you already fell long ago.

And you didn't have feelings for the man either, didn't only just admire the small things that made him so sickeningly cute and just so, jungkook. No, you loved them, loved the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed, the way his head tilted when he found something challenging or how he poked his tongue into his cheek when he was feeling bothered. You loved them and as comical as it would sound, how absurd it felt to simply feel it and think it, you loved him.

You loved jungkook and this terrified the crap out of you.

Because as easy as it was to ignore the signs before, to play them off as only minor feelings or maybe even a pathetic crush, now you knew it would be impossible to ignore the soaring of your heart, the flushing of your cheeks or how perfect it felt to be held in his arms. And you couldn't, no you wouldn't allow yourself to love someone you knew could never love you back, even if they tried. Realistically it would never work out in the end, Jungkook even said it himself, the two of you are going to live completely opposite lives, lives that could never blend well and would certainly be your demise. You would rather suffer in silence than potentially lose your best friend because you were too selfish with your desires to see that you were digging a bottomless hole and blindly jumping in.

"Holy shit."

Jungkook finally talking had brought you out of your dwelling and you blinked yourself back into reality, feeling the dampness pooling around your eyes and you brought a hand up to touch you face, feelings the trails of tears that tricked unknowingly down your cheeks and you were thankful that Jungkook hadn't noticed them but even if he did, he probably thought it was just sweat.

"I don't think i've ever came that hard before." Jungkook let out a breathy laugh, turning over to look at you and you faked a smile, hoping he couldn't tell how insincere the action truly was. "And I know for sure you hadn't either, well at least not with me that is. Jesus, you have to at least give a guy some warning next time."

"Sorry."

"Better be." Jungkook teased before getting up and heading to his ensuite bathroom, the male fortunate enough to score the room with a private bathroom in his shared apartment. When he returned with a damp cloth for you to clean up with, you thanked him and fell back into the awkward silence jungkook wasn't picking up on.

"Breaking bad or Game of Thrones?"

"What?"

Jungkook shot you a look over his shoulder as he began setting his laptop up to his TV and you realized he was already preparing for the post sex hangout the two of you always had. Jungkook's eyes squinted at you questioningly and you froze, knowing that he was starting to see right through you like he always could.

"You good? You seem kind of out of it?"

You swallowed nervously under his scrutinizing gaze, "ah, yeah i'm good."

Jungkook looked far from convinced and to cover your ass, you threw a pillow at him and told him to fuck off, mimicking behaviour you were known for. Your act must have been convincing enough because Jungkook was laughing and directing his attention back to his previous affairs. "mm, okay... well what'll it be tonight, drugs or incest?"

To keep him from questioning you further, you kept up the facade of your usual self, "drugs please."

You decided you would watch an episode before you would spew off some excuse as to why you needed to head home for the night and when the time came your reasoning was you forgot you were covering a shift for one of your coworkers. Jungkook gave you a questioning side eye for a moment since he knew you never worked weekends. When you further stretched the lie out to something more believable, Jungkook was nodding understandingly with a disappointed groan.

"Can't you just stay here and leave early?"

"I'm sorry, you know I would if I could."

Jungkook wasn't pleased with the news of your departure, pouting his lips as he crossed his arms like a stubborn child. "Well are you sure you're fine to walk home right now?"

You nodded, a silent response for you didn't know how your voice would behave while your emotions were rapidly boiling over inside of you.

Jungkook sighed in defeat when he saw you actually heading to the door and gripping the handle, "okay fine, just call me when you get home so I know you're good okay? I don't know why you aren't just staying over like usual, it's already so late and I know you're probably exhausted."

"I'm fine kook," you lied, honestly you were dying to just stop your cowardly retreat and crawl back into bed with him so he could cuddle you and play with your hair like usual. But sadly you knew those days were over, as were a lot of other habits the two of you had, such as holding hands and worst of all, the friends with benefits deal. If you expected yourself to control your emotions you certainly couldn't have sex with him anymore, that would just be purposely pouring gasoline into the fire.

"Alright Y/N, if you say so. See you tomorrow yeah?"

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, tears welling in your eyes knowing that you would once again have to lie and you were selfishly glad you didn't have to look him in the eye when you told the biggest one yet. You wouldn't be seeing Jungkook tomorrow, or the next day or probably even a month from now and the idea of this hurt you beyond repair.

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow."

You hoped he didn't notice the way your voice broke in the end or the gleam of fresh tears spilling down your cheeks when the light from the hallway shown onto your face. And you certainly hoped he didn't hear the sob that escaped when you shut the door behind you, brought out by the simple action that symbolized something much more than what it actually was. It felt like you were closing the door on the two of you and you had to stop yourself from opening it back up and heading back inside.

This would be the end, for a while at least until you figured out what these feelings meant, but as of right now, you and Jungkook were officially, unofficially over and once again, that same phrase started it's mantra inside of your head—

You can't have your cake and eat it too.

[remainingso]

your choice of starblaster crew, how many cycles of dying in front of each other does it take to become numb?

The first thing most people see when they look at Magnus is all his outside stuff: big dude, kinda scary looking maybe, probably would fuck you up if he wanted to.

Magnus usually tries extra hard to get you to forget all that, mostly by crying a lot, and adopting all the small woodland creatures he can, until Taako laughs himself silly when the governing council or whatever of the latest plane asks if they could chat maybe without your bodyguard glowering at us from the corner?

Here’s the thing though: it is really hard sometimes, caring that is.

It’s something around the fiftieth time they’ve done this whole song and dance (he hadn’t started counting, not yet), and he and Lucretia are out in the woods, tracking down some rare birds she wanted to get a record of in her journals. It’s just them—Davenport’s trying to fix the ship so they can take off a little faster this time, Taako and Lup have been spending the last few cycles playing some sort of game of bad cooking chicken (no pun intended) and are holed up in a kitchen flinging truly horrendous dishes at each other, Barry’s doing some nerd shit Magnus doesn’t really want to try and understand, and Merle’s off trying to talk to John—so, hey, what the heck else is there to do but beat around some bushes and see some birds?

It isn’t supposed to be a hard cycle. They had the Light already. The trees looked a bit funny, maybe, coming here, bark and branches and leaves all in various shades of reddish orange, but Lucretia said it was probably mostly aesthetic. Everything was going fine.

Neither of them had expected the fifty foot wall of flames that would shoot up around the clearing they stepped into. Magnus hadn’t expected Lucretia to be caught in the blaze.

He stands, still holding onto the journal she’d given to him for safekeeper earlier on, blinking.

Lucretia’s gone.

Magnus scratches his head, tucks the journal away in his bag, and his first thought is, who’s supposed to take me birdwatching now?

He waits for the wall to subside and is mildly disturbed when Lucretia’s just gone. Like, what kind of magic mumbo jumbo even does that? Maybe Taako will know. Heck, maybe Lucretia would know—Magnus walks a slow perimeter around the clearing and vows to ask her next cycle.

“Man,” he says, ducking into the Starblaster, “these woods are kind of scary.”

Davenport pokes his head out from behind some control panel. “Is there something we should look out for out there, Magnus?”

Magnus scratches at his head. “Yeah, man,” he says. “The trees shoot fire. Dunno what sets ‘em off, but we were just walking along, minding our own business, and then, bam—” he smacks his fist against his open palm—“giant wall of flames.”

“Did anyone get hurt?” Davenport eases all the way out of the panel. “Wait, wasn’t Lucretia with you?”

Magnus opens his mouth, then stops.

Davenport’s brows furrow. “Magnus? What happened? Where’s Lucretia?”

“We—we have the Light, right?”

“Yeah…? It’s in the back, over there.”

Magnus rushes into the back room, where they always put the Light. He stares at it for as long as his eyes can stand it. It’s...well it’s really freaking bright is what it is. Magnus isn’t very good with words, so all he can think is that it’s the brightest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life (lives?)—definitely hella brighter than that wall of supernatural flames.

His eyes water, maybe from the Light, but probably because the thought of what if there was no next cycle? suddenly sneaks into his brain.

He runs back out of the room, sees Davenport again, then bursts into tears.

See, the thing is, caring hurts. It hurts way more than anything Magnus has ever been hit with. He sits in his room, alone, listening to the rest of the IPRE crew enjoying some new recipe Lup swears is the best thing she’s ever made.

He doesn’t feel much like celebrating.

It’s easy to forget, he thinks. It’s so much easier to forget that this thing they do, it’s dangerous, and no matter how many times people come back, any time might be the last. Taako’s voice floats to his mind, quoting one of his most popular aphorisms from back at the Legato Conservatory: Life’s full of second chances! Heck, it’s full of third chances, and fourth chances, and fifth chances, and—well, you get the point, don’t you, darling?

But what happens when their chances run out? 

Magnus pulls Lucretia’s journal out from his pack and makes a promise to himself right then and there: he’s never gonna forget. Not how dangerous it can be. He’s never gonna let himself not care, even if that might be easier and he might just die of dehydration by the time all this is over from the crying. But Magnus Burnsides is never ever going to forget to care, not even again.

The first thing Lucretia sees when she comes back is light. It’s always light, this blinding, surging mesh of light that imprints itself on the back of her eyelids as she comes back to herself. It just so happens that the last thing she remembers seeing is also light, tinged orange, hot and brief before everything falls into dark again.

The second thing Lucretia sees is Magnus.

He pulls her into a hug as soon as they’re all fully formed and people again. It’s a Magnus hug, so Lucretia mostly feels like she’s dying again until he puts her back on her feet, but when he pulls back, there’s tears dripping down his face, black eye and all.

“What was that for?” she asks, bemused.

Magnus sniffles. “I’m sorry for, y’know, letting a bit wall of fire eat you, and all that…”

“It’s okay,” she says, because it is (now). “It wasn’t your fault,” she says, because it absolutely wasn’t. Still, she thinks of the fire again and shudders a bit. But they can’t afford to think about the what ifs and the maybes. All that really matters is that she’s here, and Magnus is here, and so is the rest of their crew, safe for now.

“I have something for you,” Magnus says, then runs to the back of the ship before she can ask what it is. When he comes back, he’s holding—she squints—is that her journal?

“Here,” Magnus says, almost bashfully. He shoves the journal back towards her. “I, uh, hope you don’t mind that I...sort of maybe wrote in it?”

She flips it open, revealing a messy spread of bird drawings, some high up on tree branches, some rendered mid-flight, colourful feathers sticking out all over the place. Magnus has little captions besides each one like, this lil guy snuck up on me when I was trying to eat lunch, or, my green buddy here likes to sing to me sometimes when I’m out here. I think he likes me.

She turns the page and sees the beginnings of the next day, written out in what was obviously Magnus’s best attempt at printing neatly. Today, Lup and I blasted a big chunk out of a cliff by accident. It’s kind of a long story, but…

Lucretia looks up.

Magnus is looking at her, blinking with barely restrained hope brimming in his eyes. “I didn’t want you to miss any of it when you were gone,” he says.

This time, Lucretia’s the one who throws her arms around him in a hug.