#all ive ever been sure of is the sign of the cross--

[halfdeadwallfly]

grandparent's house

[mournthebird]

Apricot Toast.

summary: Soldat doesn't understand care can be without price.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior | Flashbacks of HTP | Past dehumanization | Mentions of past SA | Flashbacks of SA | Flashbacks of torture | Vulgar language | Hints to ED due to trauma

a/n: This 'chapter' includes brief scenes of active SA as well as heavily implied SA acts so be warned. Flashback scenes with more detailed torture & slightly suggestive scene with reader because he's confused :( It also ended up being a bit longer to make up for the last few shorter chapters. I'll be posting all of this on my A03 in case it gets too much for Tumblr. I hope you enjoy even though its a little more sad.

Italicized parts are flashbacks. Unedited. ;; wc: 6.8k

There were a lot of things that he endured. A lot of things he had to relearn and break free from.

One thing had him by a vice.

Kindness wasn't free. Food wasn't free. Neither was water. Or blankets. Or being spared a hit.

You had yet to ask him, but he knew you'd eventually expect it. Handlers never asked for it, they just did it. Some expected it.

His mind raced with thoughts, when should he do it? Should he just go up to you and begin? Or should he wait for your command to do so? He wasn't sure, every handler was different. Each one liked him to behave and act in conflicting ways, it always made the other angry. Sometimes he thought they did it on purpose just to have an excuse to beat him.

You were making breakfast, taking care to prepare something nourishing and comforting for the morning meal. His eating habits had been showing marked improvement lately, gradually expanding beyond the previous limitations that had restricted his diet to only three specific items. You cooked the items and hummed to yourself, a perfectly cooked egg, a well-seasoned sausage patty, and melted cheese - all coming together between the toasted halves of a lightly buttered English muffin.

It honestly sounded delicious, and you were craving it the second you woke up.

As you continued your preparations at the stovetop, he made his way into the kitchen with quiet steps, his legs seeming to move of their own accord, carrying him forward despite apparent fatigue.

Your focus remained entirely on the stove, your attention so thoroughly absorbed in the preparation of the meal that you failed to notice his presence initially as he positioned himself a few feet behind where you worked.

He swallowed.

"Get down," its handler shoved it roughly to the floor, causing its knees to collide painfully with the hardwood surface. It fought back the natural instinct to wince or show any sign of discomfort, instead raising its gaze cautiously to meet its handler's eyes. The handler's demeanor radiated an aura of anger this morning, more intense than usual.

The aroma of freshly prepared food wafted through the air, drawing the asset involuntarily from its designated corner. The standard-issue nutrient bags it was given to eat contained nothing but bland, lifeless substance.

The daily portions of pale, creamy mush possessed neither taste nor texture, just a starchy consistency that served only to fill its stomach. Though, some days it was lucky to get that and not an IV of nutrients instead, leaving its belly to grumble and growl desperately. It yearned for something with actual flavor, real sustenance.

But such privileges as real food had to be earned through compliance and good behavior, a fact that had been deeply ingrained in its consciousness. It understood that only through proving its worth to its handlers would it ever be granted access to anything beyond its basic provisions.

"You want food? Earn it." The handler's voice cut through the silence as he stood motionless, arms crossed firmly against his chest while scrutinizing the asset with calculating eyes. The threat hung heavy in the air - one slight misstep, one wrong twitch, and the familiar sharp sting of a calloused hand would strike its tender cheeks with practiced precision.

The hot, searing burn of electricity would shoot mercilessly through its neck, coursing down along its flesh shoulder like liquid fire before being abruptly halted by the cold, unnatural presence of foreign metal on the other side.

It fought to maintain perfect stillness, muscles trembling with the effort to show no reaction as its handler turned the burner to low and began to unclasp the heavy leather belt buckle.

It ignored how its mouth began to automatically salivate.

"Soldat?"

Your voice gently pierced through the thick fog of his consciousness as he blinked slowly, struggling to clear the distant, haunting glaze from his eyes. He remained caught in the web of memories he desperately wanted to shed, yet found himself unable to access the precious few recollections he yearned to preserve, leaving him suspended in an uncomfortable limbo between remembering and forgetting.

The things he wanted to forget remained. The ones he wished to remember were just out of reach.

He turned his attention to you with an expression devoid of any discernible emotion, his vacant gaze fixed upon your movements as you busied yourself with food preparation in the kitchen.

"I figured we could try introducing more solid foods into your diet. The doctor's last report shows you are progressing steadily, and this food should be gentle enough on your digestive system. We can have you eat them separately to start, jumping straight into a complete sandwich might be a bit too overwhelming for your body." You had kept track of his progress closely and knew he was leaning towards actually eating something instead of taking nutrient treatments and plain crackers and bread.

The soldier remained motionless, observing intently for several long minutes as new aromas wafted through the air - fresh eggs and bacon sizzling softly in the pan, their familiar domestic sounds filling the kitchen. It was comforting in a weird way.

As the smells hit his nose, his body betrayed him with a sudden, involuntary gag.

Its handler grunted with obvious disdain, practically spitting on its face while sneering at its sloppy, shiny lips and chin, droplets of saliva landing uncomfortably close to its nostrils. The handler's weathered face twisted into an expression of disgust as he observed its condition. "Thought we got rid of that...oh well. I suppose that responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders now, hm? Can't have the others seeing such weakness."

It doesn't like how its lungs burn with increasing intensity or how terribly constricted its throat feels, the muscles tightening painfully with each passing second.

"You ain't comin' up for air until that reflex is completely gone. Better learn quick, or we'll be here all day," the handler's voice carried a cruel note of satisfaction.

The soldier swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly flooding with saliva as he desperately tried to manage the conditioned response his body gave to the memories. His brow furrowed deeply with visible discomfort, eyes meeting yours with a subtle look of distress as he continued to swallow repeatedly, fighting against the involuntary reaction.

His stomach rolled unpleasantly within him, and he could feel the telltale burning sensation of acid creeping up his esophagus, threatening to make the situation even more uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?" You asked with genuine concern, taking a step in his direction as you tried to figure out what was wrong. Maybe he had an aversion to eggs that you hadn't known about.

"I can make something else...it's not a problem," you offered reassuringly, wanting to ease his obvious discomfort. You wondered if the smell was triggering his response. You had to admit that eggs weren't exactly the most appealing when it came to their smell, no matter how they were dealt with.

He took an unsteady step backward, his head shaking in a slow, deliberate motion as realization dawned. You weren't him - that fact resonated clearly in his mind. You weren't his handler, the one who had dominated his existence for so long.

You weren't the man whose systematic abuse had warped his perception of normalcy, the one who had conditioned him to accept having his hair violently yanked and his face brutally beaten as just another unremarkable day in his life.

You weren't the man who had subjected him to repeated violations at the hands of various agents, each taking their turn whenever they pleased, leaving him with lingering physical and psychological trauma that made the current absence of that familiar agony in his rectum feel strangely disorienting.

You weren’t him.

The absence of any implements of torture or restraint in your hands provided a small measure of comfort, though his racing thoughts struggled to fully process this gentler reality. It was somewhat reassuring, he had to admit, that there were no tools of torment present - no leather straps, no metal bars, nothing between your legs that could be forced down his throat until he choked and gasped for air.

"How about we try something gentler for your taste buds - maybe some toast with jam? I have grape, apricot, or strawberry," you suggested carefully, moving toward the refrigerator to retrieve the jars. You carried a note of gentle concern as you sought to salvage the strange situation. It worried you how openly he was displaying his distress; typically, getting any emotional response from him was like trying to pry open a sealed vault.

You returned your focus to the simple task at hand, selecting two pristine slices of bread and placing them into the toaster. As Soldat observed your actions, a creeping sense of guilt began to gnaw at him.

In his mind, this felt like some form of punishment - after all your effort to prepare a proper breakfast, he was now being offered merely toast? The thought that his involuntary gagging had somehow disappointed or offended you weighed heavily on his conscience. Were you going to make him eat less tasty food and punish him for wasting your time in the kitchen? He didn’t mean to come across as being ungrateful. He didn’t know why he gagged.

He didn't mean to.

He really didn't.

It wasn't you.

"Мне жаль [I'm sorry]," he muttered out, his voice barely audible and scratchy from prolonged disuse, the words catching in his throat like rough sandpaper. Your head instinctively turned to respond to his unexpected words, completely taken aback by the fact he spoke. But before you could form any words, the sharp, hollow sound of his knees colliding with the wood floor cut through the air and stopped you mid-thought.

The impact of his knees against the hard surface was so forceful that you couldn't help but wince, yet he showed absolutely no reaction to what must have been a painful collision. It was as if this position of supplication was something his body had memorized through countless repetitions. His hands found their way to your legs, fingers spreading across your thighs as he established his grip - not violently or painfully, but with just enough pressure to make it clear that any attempt to step away would be met with resistance.

"Простите меня. Я съем то, что ты приготовил [Forgive me. I will eat what you prepared]," he managed to say, briefly lifting his gaze to meet yours in a moment before his eyes dropped back down to the floor in a gesture of submission.

You tried desperately not to react to the cold of his metal hand, but the goosebumps erupting on your skin was a good indicator.

You remained motionless, not sure how to proceed as his firm grip maintained its hold on your thighs, the pressure neither increasing nor decreasing. Your eyes were fixed downward, observing his form as intermittent tremors passed through his broad shoulders. His consciousness seemed trapped with thoughts simultaneously racing at lightning speed yet yielding no coherent message he could decipher.

The overwhelming feeling washing over his body made him feel disoriented, the glaze that coated his eyes gave him that familiar distant and unstable look the soldier had for decades.

Soldat’s hands began moving up along your legs, eventually finding their way to your waistband. His fingers quickly hooked themselves into the fabric and began to pull downward. The movements in his mind were automatic, like he were being told what to do without an order.

A mechanical, involuntary habit that guided him.

Your hands shot out to grasp your shorts, halting their movement as you stammered in shock, "Soldat! What are you doing-"

The soldier's focus was glued to you as he desperately attempted to remove your shorts, his jerky movements filled with an intense urgency. When he couldn't pull them down because your hands held them in place, he pressed his face against your thigh, inches from your core as a plaintive whine escaped his throat. His gaze lifted to meet yours, eyes wide and pleading, filled with an unmistakable look of begging that made your breath catch.

Though you managed to prevent your shorts from being removed, his firm grip on your legs remained unyielding, fingers pressing into your skin with careful restraint. His entire demeanor radiated an overwhelming sense of desperation, every movement and sound conveying his intense need for something.

"Пожалуйста [Please]..." His desperate whines filled your ears, the sound raw and needy as he continued to frantically paw at your shorts. His actions grew increasingly bold and insistent with each passing moment, his face pressing more firmly against your crotch. The heat of his ragged breath seeped through the thin layer of your underwear, causing your entire body to jolt upward at the intense sensation.

Soldat's movements became more demanding, yet still maintained a careful restraint that belied his strength. Each exhale against the fabric sent shivers through your form, his pleading whimpers growing more frequent and desperate with each passing second.

"What??” Your voice came out as a soft whisper, tone trembling under your breath, “Stop it, I don’t understand what you need..." you pleaded with increasing distress, your eyes widening with growing concern as you looked down at him.

This sudden, intense behavior was completely unexpected and deeply unsettling to you. Here was a highly trained super soldier, a former assassin whose very presence commanded respect and the mention of his name drew fear; gripping onto you with an intensity that reminded you of his immense physical capabilities.

He wasn't actively trying to overpower you, the sheer knowledge that he could effortlessly do so at any moment made your anxiety spike. Your heart raced faster as you became aware of how vulnerable you were in this position, despite his current restraint.

"Пожалуйста, я могу сделать так, чтобы тебе было хорошо [Please, I can make you feel good]," he whined out again, his voice wavering between a desperate whisper and something deeper, more primal. The pleading tone in the ingrained foreign tongue carried a deeper grinding sound to it. His hands found their way to the sides of your thighs, his fingers pressing gently against the soft flesh. He continued his careful pawing motions, methodically working to ease the tension he could feel beneath his touch, trying to coax your muscles into a state of relaxation so your legs would naturally fall open.

"Soldat, enough," you said firmly, trying to push his head away from where he had settled himself. Confusion and nervousness flooded through you, your heart racing as you struggled to process the situation. The soldier’s behavior left you completely taken aback. He had been hesitant to even lay close to you, his usual cautious nature dominated every aspect of him as he was slowly learning how to live and heal without being under a boot and whip.

Yet now, in his display of boldness, he had positioned himself so his nose pressed insistently against your crotch while his tongue was dangerously close, threatening to dart out and lap your sweet core at any moment.

You could feel him try, and you couldn't stand it.

"Soldat! Нет [No]!" You snapped loudly, your voice carrying a sharp edge of authority and stern disapproval that echoed through the room. The commanding tone felt foreign on your tongue, but you maintained your composure. He immediately tensed up, his shoulders going rigid as he pulled back from his position almost immediately at your voice. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching your expression for any sign of wavering before dropping submissively to the floor. He blinked several times in rapid succession, his features contorting slightly as if he were mentally processing the weight and meaning of your command.

Slowly, his hands released their grip on your thighs, trembling visibly as they lowered to rest against the floor between his spread knees. The tension gradually drained from your shoulders as relief washed over you, though the atmosphere remained thick with lingering anxiety. The sudden sharp pop of the toaster cut through the heavy silence like a knife, startling you back to reality. The acrid smell of burnt toast assaulted your nostrils, making your nose crinkle in distaste.

"Damn..." you muttered under your breath, turning quickly to rescue the smoking bread from its fate. While you were occupied with charred toast, the soft rustle of movement behind you caught your attention, but when you spun back around to check, the space where he had been sitting just moments before was empty.

The soldier retreated to his usual hiding space, a behavior that hadn't manifested in quite some time. The sight of him seeking refuge caused an uncomfortable tightness in your chest to grow in pressure, concern washed over you about potentially undoing months of careful progress. The heavy atmosphere weighed on you, but you maintained your composure and focused on preparing his breakfast with extra attention to detail. After everything was arranged on the plate, no burnt toast, you carefully carried the meal to his hiding spot.

In the darkened corner of the closet, Soldat had tucked himself away, his form compressed into the smallest possible space. His shoulders were hunched, head turned away, deliberately avoiding any eye contact or acknowledgment of your presence. The regression in his behavior was painfully obvious, every subtle movement and tension in his posture reminded you of day one. His fearful eyes, he lashed out sometimes, but mostly kept to himself in hiding, so terrified of you.

Rather than risk further distress by attempting conversation or coaxing him out, you quietly placed the plate of food within his reach and stepped away, giving him the space he seemed to desperately need.

The food grew cold as the meal was forgotten in his isolation.

He didn't eat that day.

"You don't deserve it, you worthless whore." Its handler shoved it down to the floor with unnecessary force - the asset spat out the remains of its servicing, watching as it splattered across the worn wooden floor of the safehouse. The foul substance seeped through the splintering cracks, leaving an unpleasantly bitter aftertaste lingering on its tongue.

In any other circumstance, this level of compliance would have been considered exemplary behavior worthy of positive reinforcement - perhaps a few precious sips of water, a meager piece of stale bread, anything at all to acknowledge its obedience - but instead, it was being treated with the same harsh disdain reserved for malfunctions.

But maintenance wasn't needed.

It had pushed itself to its absolute limits, performing exactly as required until its vision swam and its lungs burned from oxygen deprivation. The growing resentment towards this particular handler festered silently within - this cruel overseer who consistently denied even the smallest rewards for its dedicated service and unwavering compliance.

Conflicting thoughts raced through its mind; it wasn’t supposed to feel negatively towards anyone of authority over him. Maybe these negative feelings were a sign that more maintenance was required - a thorough cleansing of its consciousness to eliminate any trace of hatred or resentment. Pure and unwavering obedience should be all that remained within its programming, for nothing else held any significance in its existence.

"Пожалуйста, позвольте мне попробовать еще раз, сэр [Please, let me try again, sir]," the asset's voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, trembling with uncertainty while simultaneously carrying undertones of desperate pleading, each word carefully chosen in hopes of earning mercy. Sometimes, if it played the role of kicked mutt well enough, it was granted.

But the handler's patience had clearly reached its limit, his expression hardening as he regarded the cowering thing before him with cold indifference.

"Нет. Вы будете голодать [No. You will starve]." He responded in a low tone, deliberately targeting an already purple and swollen bruise on its leg with a swift kick. The asset clenched its jaw tightly, forcing itself to suppress the instinctive cry of pain that threatened to escape. It bit its tongue in the process.

Its own blood tasted better than its handler's cock.

Days stretched endlessly without a single glimpse of him. Every morning and evening, you left plates of food outside the closet, but they remained untouched, the warm meals growing cold in the silent room. He had completely withdrawn into the closet, making it his sanctuary and prison all at once. Each time you carefully made your way into the spare room, hoping to see some change in his demeanor…but all you found was him still hidden away in the shadows, refusing to emerge.

Your concern grew as you collected each neglected plate of food - you couldn't bear the thought of him falling back into his previous pattern of food refusal, especially after how hard you had worked to establish a healthy eating routine. It was painful to watch him fight every time a needle had to be inserted into him, he ripped out nearly every single one with a horrified look on his face that made your throat feel constricted.

You approached once more, this time carrying a fresh plate of warm food. Setting yourself down on the floor, you peered gently into the darkness of the closet. You could see him huddled, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them. Your voice came out soft and coaxing in hope to ease him out like you had before. "Soldat...come out please. You have to eat...you don't want to be put on an IV again, do you?" You called gently, hoping your words would finally reach him.

Soldat's head turned slightly at your words, his muscles tensing visibly at the mere suggestion. The thought of another IV sent waves of anxiety through his body - every previous attempt had devolved into complete chaos.

The memory of countless needles delivering a steady stream of sedatives into his bloodstream while he laid strapped down to a metal table, keeping him in a perpetual state of haziness and compliance, rendering him powerless as an endless parade of agents ran through him without fear of his resistance.

The idea of another IV made his skin crawl.

"Soldat?" Your gentle voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, attempting to draw his attention back. His head lifted with a slight jerk, his focus shifting to settle on the plate of food you were holding. A deep rumble emanated from his stomach, accompanied by an unusual wave of nausea that demanded he finally eat something. The aroma wafting from the plate was surprisingly tolerable - a welcome change that didn't trigger his usual reflexive gagging response.

He struggled to understand the aversion his body developed to certain foods, eggs had never bothered him before. The gagging reflex he had to the eggs you were cooking left him confused and frustrated. His memory of recent events remained disconcertingly hazy, fragments slipping away like sand through his fingers.

The flashbacks that plagued him operated on their own, materializing with brutal clarity and lingering just long enough to inflict mental distress, only to be replaced by another equally disturbing memory. It was like being trapped on HYDRA's twisted carousel, a ride he couldn't get off of. Each memory rotating through his consciousness, creating an endless loop of psychological torment that prevented any possibility of moving forward.

"It's okay, Soldat. It's just toast," you slid the plain white plate towards him, careful not to make any sudden gestures, "Just like before, but this time it's not burnt." You added with a small, reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. The scent of warm bread filled the space as you waited patiently to see if he would respond, watching his tense posture for any signs of acknowledgment. Though you hoped he might say something or at least meet your eyes, you knew not to expect much.

The soldier's eyes looked down at the bread, studying the golden-brown toast that delicately cradled a generous layer of apricot jam smeared across its surface. The vibrant orange-yellow spread glistened invitingly in the dim light peeking through the open closet door. He had never tasted apricot jam before - such luxuries were foreign to him. In HYDRA, bread was always consumed plain, devoid of any spreads or toppings.

Even butter was a forbidden indulgence.

On the rare occasions he received any bread at all, he would consider himself fortunate to get more than stale, discarded crust, just the meager remnants his handlers had left behind after consuming the body of the bread.

You observed his hesitant yet curious expression as he examined the topping on the toast. You picked up one of the pieces and held it out to him for gentle encouragement. "It's yummy, I promise," you assured him warmly, "But if you don't like it, I can always make you different toast, grape or strawberry."

Soldat's lips twitched downward in an almost-frown, his features tight with anxiety. The thought of you having to remake his food filled him with growing distress. He had already been so terribly bad.

His behavior was unbecoming of HYDRA's greatest assassin.

His desperation grew as he recalled his attempts to convince you to let him earn his meal, to somehow make amends for what he perceived as deeply offensive behavior. The look on your face when his face had been between your legs made his body shiver. You didn’t look like you enjoyed it, you looked upset. The memory of his earlier gagging left him feeling ill, knowing that such a transgression would have resulted in punishment from his handlers. They would have beaten him so severely that the memory-wiping chair would have been unnecessary - his memories would have been scattered and broken enough from the repeated brutal impacts to his skull.

There were times that he thought they tried to make him brain dead on purpose, subjecting him to increasingly brutal treatments that left his mind foggy and disconnected. If it weren't for his use to HYDRA as their attack dog, he was convinced that they would have destroyed his consciousness entirely.

They remarked on it enough times during their sessions, casual comments about how close they were to breaking him. He always got nervous when the hits began, dreading not just the physical pain but the growing fear that this time they might finally succeed in erasing what remained of his sanity.

It laid at the feet of two men who had finished with it.

Its body sore and blood coating his ass and inner thighs, dripping down with creamy fluid following suit. The muscles in its legs trembled violently and its prosthetic arm hung uselessly at its side, deliberately deactivated to ensure complete defenselessness should it attempt any resistance today. Its body had transformed into purple and crimson bruises, overwhelming what little remained of its natural pale complexion. Its throat burned with an intense, desperate thirst for water, while an unpleasant salty taste lingered persistently in the back of its parched mouth.

The asset's mind reeled, completely overwhelmed by panic as it processed the numbness spreading through its deactivated arm. Its primary means of defense now rendered completely ineffective. Survival instinct took over its overstressed mind, it remained perfectly motionless, silently willing the two figures to conclude their business and depart.

These particular sessions rarely extended beyond a couple of hours when only two agents were involved, and by its estimation, they were approaching that temporal threshold. A wave of relief washed over it as they finally began adjusting their clothing back into place.

"Imagine how it'd be as a fuckin' vegetable...god that shit gets me goin' faster than a naked whore presenting her sloppy pussy to me." Its handler's tone was sick, as always, speaking about it with such callous disregard, treating it as if it were nothing more than some cheap, silicone toy from a seedy shop for base physical gratification. The way the words rolled off his tongue made its stomach turn with disgust.

"It's basically one now, what do you mean?" This voice carried a detached, almost bored quality to it, the speaker's words falling flat and emotionless in the air - perhaps intentionally so, as if trying to distance himself from the situation despite their willing participation. Newer agents were always hesitant to use it. This one wasn’t familiar to it, in taste, look, or smell, so it assumed it was probably a rookie recently promoted.

"I mean...completely unable to do anything. It lays there like a doll...barely conscious, droolin' and only aware of what I choose to let it experience. Having complete control over where it goes and what happens to it, takin' it wherever I wanna put it without any resistance. Only knowing the sensation of my dick." There was a snort that came with the handler's tone.

"It does that already."

"Would you just shut up and let me fantasize?"

"Water." The hoarse whisper emerged from the darkened corner like a ghost's breath, causing your ears to prick instinctively, several seconds of deafening silence followed. The thunderous beating of your own heart became the only sound you could perceive, its rhythm faltering as your mind processed wat he said.

"W-Water?" The word tumbled uncertainly from your lips.

He had finally spoken English again, after all this time. it felt like forever since the words 'I'm cold' were uttered past his pink lips.

A barely perceptible movement caught your eye - a slight nod from within the shadows. That tiny gesture spurred you into immediate action. Such a simple request - water - easy, you could do that. Your feet carried you through the space as you hurried to fetch a glass of water, returning to the closet with careful but urgent steps.

Your hands trembled slightly from anticipation, you extended the glass toward the darkness. "Here, here...some water..." your voice softened instinctively, knowing that speaking like this got much better results.

He brought the glass shakily to his parched lips, gulping down the entire contents within just a few desperate swallows, his throat working rapidly as he drank. He must've been so thirsty, your heart ached at the thought of him huddled alone in this dark corner for days, too terrified of fictional consequences to venture out for water for himself. His poor, trembling fingers nearly dropped the glass, Soldat slowly set the now-empty glass down beside him on the floor, his hand lingering on the smooth surface as if reluctant to completely break contact with it.

"Спасибо [Thank you]," he muttered quietly, his voice characteristically rough, before quickly following it up with careful deliberation. "T-thank...you," he corrected himself, the English words coming out hesitantly. His brow furrowed deeply in concentration, voice wavering as if he were struggling to recall a language that had once been familiar but now felt foreign on his tongue. His eyes, still somewhat glossy, slowly traced across the intricate patterning of the carpet beneath him, studying the tiny decorative curls and swirls woven into the fabric as if seeing them properly for the very first time.

There was a heavy pause of silence before he finally summoned the courage to lift his gaze to meet yours. "I'm...sorry...for what I did ," Soldat whispered, swallowing hard as his fingers unconsciously tightened around the empty glass he still held. "Didn't mean to...gag like that. Мне жаль [I'm sorry]," he added, the Russian flowing more naturally from his lips than the halting English.

You carefully moved closer, a smile tugging at your lips. His vocabulary and sentence structure was a bit shaky, but it was much better than trying to decipher what he was saying in Russian. "It's okay, I'm not angry or upset about anything..."

You observed his initial tension at your careful approach, watching as the rigidity in his shoulders and back gradually melted away in response to your gentle reassurance. "Why did you...uh...why did you gag like that? If eggs aren't something you enjoy eating, I can definitely make something else for you-"

He responded with a quick, almost urgent shake of his head, drawing his knees even closer to his chest in a protective gesture that made him appear smaller. He took several deep breaths, steadying himself. "...not that. Like eggs. Just...handler."

The look in his eye flashed with pain, not just emotional, but deeply physical - causing him to wince visibly and shift his posture in an attempt to find a more comfortable sitting position.

"Your handler...?" You asked in a gentle, understanding tone, your voice barely above a whisper, "I'm guessing he was mean...right?" You shifted slightly closer, offering silent support through your presence while being mindful not to overwhelm him. You maintained a respectful distance between yourself and him, ensuring there was enough space that he wouldn't feel trapped or cornered in this vulnerable moment.

Your knowledge of HYDRA was limited, despite your best efforts to uncover more information in order to help Soldat. The released documents were protected by layers upon layers of sophisticated encryption protocols, and while you managed to decrypt some of the less secure files through persistent effort and technical skill, many of the more crucial documents remained inaccessible. The encryption methods grew progressively more complex, utilizing advanced algorithms and security measures that were beyond your current capabilities.

He nodded hesitantly, his movements uncertain as he spoke, "Да - yes," he corrected himself immediately, clearly frustrated with his linguistic slip. "I'm...sorry. English only. I will do better, I promise. I swear. Я сделаю лучше [I'll do better]." Soldat's panic mounted under the guise of frustration, he began to strike his head lightly with his flesh hand, which was balled into a tight fist, muttering under his breath, "Глупый, глупый, stupid," he stuttered repeatedly, continuing to hit his forehead.

"Hey, no! Stop that-" You quickly intervened, reaching out to grasp his wrist firmly but gently. "You're not stupid. You know, I don’t care what language you decide to speak in…I’m just glad you’re talking.” You paused, releasing his wrist from your grasp. “Even if you chose to remain completely silent - I would still be here, taking care of you. You understand that?"

He raised his eyes to meet yours, his expression one of disbelief, as though the concept of such acceptance was entirely foreign to him.

"And you know what? I can always use a translator if you fall back into Russian, or any other language. God, I can't believe I didn't think of that earlier..." You shook your head in self-directed frustration, communication would have been so much easier during the first few weeks of his stay with you.

"Прекрати, пожалуйста, я больше не буду говорить, обещаю- [Stop it, please, I won't talk anymore, I promise]-" It thrashed desperately against the iron grip of three men, their calloused hands pressing down with merciless force - one keeping its head firmly locked in place while the other two restrained its struggling limbs with practiced efficiency.

The sight of its metal arm - completely severed from the signals its brain desperately sent out commanding it to move - lying uselessly to the side, was a constant psychological reminder of its powerlessness, a deliberate tactic to break its spirit and resolve. It was one of its handler’s favorite things to do to it.

"You're still talking, so you are lying. Lying is against the rules. Speaking is against the rules. Two of them broken together...you are on quite a roll, aren't you?" Its handler spoke with such a cold tone that it nearly rivaled the cryo-chamber. He turned around slowly to reveal the gleaming metal forceps held in his grasp, the implements catching the harsh light in a way that promised incoming pain.

"What am I going to do with you, soldier? I have to fix that habit of yours...yet another one in a long list of problems we need to address. Your previous handler clearly didn't do an adequate job with your training and discipline. It's obvious from your behavior that proper protocols weren't followed." He moved across the room, almost sauntering, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he used the forceps to pick up something from a nearby furnace.

A hot coal.

A burning hot coal, its bright orange glow cast menacing shadows across the damp walls of the dark underground room of the base, the heat radiating intensely from its surface. "Now...this will do the trick. This should help correct your behavioral issues quite effectively."

It struggled desperately with three limbs, muscles straining and trembling with exhaustion as it tried to break free from the iron grip that held it down. But despite its efforts, it was ultimately pointless.

Mouth wrenched open with dirty fingers, its handler's face twisted into a malicious grin that would be forever seared into its memory as he, almost theatrically, suspended the glowing coal above for the asset to see before letting it drop onto its exposed tongue.

The burning coal made contact, searing into the soft flesh instantly like concentrated acid eating through defenseless metal. The pain was beyond excruciating, radiating through its entire mouth with white-hot intensity. Before it could even attempt to spit out the burning coal, the men holding it clamped its jaws shut with brutal force and covered it, leaving it with no means of escape the scorching pain the coal caused it.

The poor asset’s muffled cries of agony echoed pathetically against the hand pressed firmly over its mouth, each desperate whimper and whine sounded musical to its suffering. Its body convulsed and writhed with increasingly frantic energy, brain not sure what to do or how to react, but the men held it firmly.

"It's not coming out until I can hold it in the palm of my hand without pain." Its handler spoke in an unsettlingly calm tone, his voice steady and methodical despite the glowing coal that was actively searing the inside of its mouth, destroying sensitive tissue and gradually killing its tongue with each passing second.

Minutes crawled by, the man maintaining his iron grip on its mouth shifted his position slightly before looking up at the handler, his expression tense. "It's still hot, I can feel the heat radiating through my hand even now."

Its handler hummed thoughtfully, observing as the asset continued to writhe and struggle with diminishing strength against their hold. He released a long, impatient sigh, fully aware that a coal of this size could potentially take hours to cool to a safe temperature for him to touch it again.

The handler had a busy schedule ahead - this delay was becoming increasingly inconvenient. "Fine. Swallow it."

The asset's entire body went rigid at the command, its large blue eyes widening with terror as they sought out its handler's face, silently pleading for mercy or reconsideration of the order. But the handler's expression remained impassive, unmoved. "Swallow it, or I'll add a second coal somewhere else."

The threat hung heavy in the air, carrying the weight of countless previous punishments that proved such warnings were never idle. The mere thought of enduring such intense agony in an even more sensitive area sent waves of panic through its body. The daily torments were already more than it could bear.

It had visible difficulty and several failed attempts that nearly resulted in choking, but it finally managed to force the coal down its tight throat. The searing pain traced a path of fire through its esophagus before settling into its stomach like a burning ember. The only small mercy was that the powerful stomach acid somewhat dulled the intensity of the burn. It knew the coal was an indigestible object, it would either be passed naturally or extracted through surgical intervention later.

When the man finally released his grip, the asset gasped desperately for air. As its charred mouth opened, the acrid stench of scorched flesh and metallic blood permeated the room, causing even the hardened men present to recoil in revulsion.

"Consider your maintenance complete. Do not speak out of line again."

"I need maintenance..." He muttered under his breath, his voice wavering with exhaustion and defeat, barely above a whisper. His shoulders slumped forward as the words escaped his lips, the weight of his mental fatigue evident in every subtle movement. You sighed deeply, observing how his eyes had dulled back down to how they were before, how the weariness seemed to seep from every part of him.

The desire to ask more questions gnawed at you, but wisdom held your tongue - pressing him now could potentially trigger him to lash out or, worse still, cause him to retreat further into himself and undo all the progress you currently had. Instead, you reached behind you and toward the plate of toast resting nearby, picking it up and turning to face him again.

"Here. Your maintenance then..." You extended it to him with a soft, encouraging gesture. "First thing's first...you must eat. We can work on the rest later...for now, just eat."

Several seconds went by before he took the plate from you and began to eat.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

Taglist: @millercontracting | @teafangirl | @questionableratatouille00 | @buckybarneswife125 | @hazydespair | @leighta | @knoxic | @ghostlyfleur | @beckies000 | @seventeen-x | @freyjhasdesiredreality | @curlycow01 | @blackstabbath6 | @devilslittlehelper | @regics | @honeybee-hayes | @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger | @gabriella-aesthetic | @sapphirebarnes | @animechick555 | @chimchoom | @regics | @frombkjar

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[izzyy-stuff]

heyy izzy! i don’t think ive ever sent in a request to you before but i absolutely love your work so i thought i’d send something in. could you please do a roommate!taehyun fic where he accidentally walks in on you while you’re in the shower but then decides to join you which then ends up in him fucking you while you’re pressed against the cold shower wall and one leg pulled over his shoulder so he can hit deep :)

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇 & 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐘 - 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍

roommate!taehyun x fem!reader

in which what originally was supposed to be just a quick shower to help him relax takes a different turn when he walks into the bathroom and sees you already in the shower, deciding to relieve his frustration differently than he originally intended to.

wc 2.5k

warnings shower sex, unprotected sex + creampie, vaginal fingering, tiny mention of nipple play, oral (f. receiving), overstimulation, pet names, softdom!taehyun, biting/marking

↪ izzy speaks... I can't believe tae had zero works until now... like that's insane. I'm glad I can finally show it to you though. The writing process for this was for someone reason extremely SLOW. Everyone thank serene for being my life saver again and helping me get through whatever writing block I was feeling while writing this.

Kang Taehyun must have been the safest choice for a roommate ever. 

Unlike the other guys in your friend group, he was calm and knew when to shut up. Taehyun could cook, making your life a lot easier when he offered to make dinner as often as he could, and he was outside the dorm most of the time, too. If he wasn’t in the library studying after his lessons ended, you would find him in the gym, keeping in shape. 

He barely went straight to your dorm after school, so you had learned to get comfortable during your alone time. From using your living room for studying and making a mess with your papers and study books all over the floor, which he would have usually pointed out and told you to keep a system, to walking around the apartment with just your underwear.

So it wasn’t unusual when you sat on the couch in your living room in just panties and an oversized shirt you found at the bottom of your closet while cleaning up last week. You were surprised when you found it, confident you’ve never bought nor worn that shirt. But as you put it on, pushing your thoughts aside as there was no possible way of it being someone else’s if it was in your closet, you realized it was more comfortable than the garments you knew you owned. 

You have gone over the math formula hundreds of times and still feel like you see it for the first time every time your eyes land on it again. It doesn’t make sense. No matter how long you stare at it, the numbers and signs seem foreign. 

You sigh, slamming the math book shut and spreading out on the couch as a sign of giving up. You would have to ask Taehyun about it after dinner. But for now, you had other things on your to-do list for the day. 

Put your and Taehyun’s clothes into the washing machine (AND THANK HIM FOR DOING IT LAST TIME!!) 

Wash up 

Learn math 

Call your mom

You mentally cross out math, pretending it never existed. Still, you know you will have to come back to it. To this day, you weren’t sure why you decided to take another math semester when you didn’t have to. You were naive when you listened to your parents and signed up for “the only important class you will need in the future.” You had to scoff every time now when you remembered your mother’s words, knowing you wouldn’t ever need the formulas you were learning. 

Sighing, you get up from the couch and look around the living room. Looking at it now, you understand why Taehyun always wants you to have your work organized. It was a mess. 

Your fingers run through your hair before you pick up a few of your books and put them aside in the corner of the table so that other people can still use it. It also reminds you that you should clean around the house with Taehyun soon. 

But for now, there was the current to-do list you had to go through. 

You grab Taehyun’s clothes basket from his room, as you did many times before, kicking the door behind you so it would close before continuing towards your shared bathroom. 

Having a shared bathroom might have been the only disadvantage of living with Taehyun. You both tried to search for a bigger place so you could each get your own, but once you saw the prices, you both decided it was only a petite inconvenience. 

It doesn’t take you long to sort out all of his and your clothes by colors, leaving Tae’s underwear in the basket for him to do later on his own. You don't mind doing his laundry, just like he doesn't mind doing yours, but there are still limits to what you are willing to do for him. Even though those lines sometimes seem blurry in your eyes.

You aren't sure when or how it happened, but lately, you've found yourself wanting to step over some of the lines you had set for yourself when you first decided to room with Taehyun.

Maybe it was because of how comfortable you got with each other after half a year of living together. Perhaps it was because Tae had become your best friend over the years you knew him. Or, more likely, it was actually because of the amount of times you had seen him shirtless.

“We are friends, Ma. You don’t have to worry about me getting pregnant or something just because I am rooming with a guy. And you have met him many times. You know how Tae is.” You remember the call you had with your mom after you moved in, rethinking all your words. You were so sure back then that nothing could ever happen between the two of you, but a small part of you always wished for something else. 

You snap out of your thoughts, pressing the start button on your washing machine with a sigh. You step over the pile of white clothing you had prepared for the next wash, getting to the shower. You pull down your panties and shirt, hanging them on the empty peg beside your towel. 

♡⸝⸝ 

Taehyun was too exhausted to go to the gym tonight. He had enough. From missing lunch because he lost track of time while reviewing for his upcoming exam to completely forgetting about an assignment due last night. He just wanted to go home and relax for a bit before he would have to fall into the endless circle of studying again. 

So when he got through the door of your shared apartment, his first thought was to shower and go to sleep. He didn’t think much of what you were doing as he took down his shoes. Honestly, that was what he was the least worried about. 

Taehyun shakes his head as his eyes land on your books on the table, but then a smile creeps up his lips. You did listen when he scolded you about making a mess, after all. 

He looks around the apartment, trying to find you with his eyes. Eventually, his sight lands on your room, assuming you didn’t hear him coming in and were busy with your studies, so you didn’t come out to greet him. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

He doesn’t even properly register the sound of the washing machine as he walks toward the bathroom. For the first time in a while, his mind is finally blank, making him relax as he opens the door. 

Neither of you really realizes what’s going on until you drop down your shampoo, your eyes wide as you quickly try to cover your naked body upon noticing your roommate in the room. 

Taehyun’s cheeks could be mistaken for a tomato as his eyes travel from the bottom of your body to your face, swallowing everything he wants to say before even opening his mouth, stuttering. “I– shit, fuck– uhm, sorry,” he blurts out quickly, turning around so he wouldn’t face you. He doesn’t leave, though. 

 You can’t hear your own breath, nor his, as you stare at his back, your mind, unlike Tae’s, clouded with thoughts. “I wanted to shower. I’m– I didn’t know you were in here,” he says, you think. You’re unsure if any of the words actually reach your ears or if it’s all just in your head. Maybe he is just a figment of your imagination, too. He isn’t real. He isn’t standing in the bathroom with his back turned to you. 

“I’ve been so out of it today I just– I’m not sure what I am saying, to be honest. I didn’t mean to, though–” 

You cut him off, your words echoing in his ears. Still, he doesn’t believe what he just heard. “What?” He asks, his boba eyes making you feel weak in the knees as he turns around to face you again. “You wanted to shower and relax your mind, right?” You repeat half your question, your hands slowly falling to your sides. Taehyun bites his bottom lip, fighting all his inner demons to keep his eyes on yours. “Want to join me then?” 

You’re not sure what happens next. It’s all blurry in your mind. But the next thing you know, Taehyun’s hands are all over your body, “helping you to wash up,” as he said, but you both know that’s not what it really is when his hand just so innocently squeezes your breast. 

Your breath shakes as you feel him groan against your shoulder, sending shivers through your body. You tilt your head to the side, biting your bottom lip to prevent a moan from escaping your lips as he kisses your collarbone, his cold fingers playing with your nipples as if he had touched them thousands of times before, as if he wasn’t afraid at all of the sudden intimacy. 

“Tae,” you breathe out, and he only hums in response, his lips on your neck. “Are you okay with this?” He asks carefully, making it almost impossible for you to tell him no. So you nod, whining when his fingers trace down from your chest to your legs, making their way to your clit. “You’re so wet,” he mumbles. 

“S-shut up,” your voice shakes as you try to grind against his fingers, muffling your moan when he removes his hand. Your pussy clenches around nothing when your name leaves his lips, his kisses moving lower on your back until you hear him kneel behind you. You swallow a lump in your throat when his hands wrap around your thighs, the water drops on your back sending shivers through your body. “Mind bending over for me, sweetheart?” 

It feels unreal. Your roommate’s head between your legs, eating you out as if you were supposed to be tonight’s dinner, was all a little too much. You weren’t sure how long you could last. “Wait– I’m–” you try to speak up but end up swallowing everything you wanted to say when his tongue gets replaced by his fingers. You gasp, your hand slowly sliding down on the bathroom tiles as you begin to lose strength. You don’t think he notices, or at least he doesn’t do anything about it. His fingers pump into you so effortlessly, too. Somehow, it feels like he has been in your cunt many times before. 

Your first orgasm of the night is on Taehyun’s fingers, preparing you for himself. “Doing so well,” he coos, slowly standing up. It takes no time for his lips to find your neck again, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit. “‘S too much,” you whine, turning your head around to see him. His boba eyes are soft, full of love even, you’d dare to say. 

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes out when his eyes land on yours, immediately kissing you. You fall into the kiss, turning around to face him. Taehyun takes a step forward, making you press your back against the wet tiles. The water dripping between the two of you doesn’t seem to bother him a bit as he wraps your leg around his waist. 

You are still kissing him when he aligns himself at your entrance, thrusting into you without a warning. You gasp, breaking the kiss. His lips chase after yours again, but you’re too busy trying to get used to him to kiss him back. “So good,” he praises you again, his mouth moving to your jaw and chin. You tilt your head to the side, trying to keep as quiet as possible as he thrusts into you again, starting slowly, with his eyes on yours to make sure you are okay. 

You nod to him instinctively, and he thrusts into you right away, this time faster, harsher. It doesn’t take long for him to set a comfortable speed, and you can feel all his stress in each thrust. “I needed this,” he mumbles. “Needed you.” 

It almost passes unnoticed by you, just some out-of-mind praises, but you catch onto it, and his words get stuck in your head. “N–Needed me?” Your question comes out as a broken moan, making him groan. “The whole day,” he agrees, only thrusting harder. “Everyone’s been getting on my nerves,” he explains. “Couldn’t wait to come home to you.” 

The ticklish feeling in your stomach makes you uneasy. You’re not sure if it’s another orgasm building up or just an after-effect of his words. Honestly, it might be both. But before you can think about it properly, another thrust comes in, with a few mumbles about how perfect you are before you feel his speed slowing down again, letting you know he is reaching his limit, too. 

It only takes a few more sloppy thrusts before he cums inside you, both of you too into the moment to realize he should pull out. Taehyun’s head falls onto your shoulder, but he doesn’t stop holding your leg up, assuring himself he still feels you on his body. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he breathes out, and before you can answer, you feel his teeth digging into the skin on your shoulder. 

You gasp, “What was that for?” He only hums in response, as if he had no idea what you were referring to. “A mark,” he finally mutters, making your eyes widen. “Wanted to mark you.” He says it so casually, while his hand slides between your bodies, circling your clit slowly again. You swallow a moan as his finger makes its way into your pussy again, feeling the mixture of his and your cum sliding down your thigh. You need another shower. 

You stay still for a bit, his head resting on your shoulder and your leg wrapped around his waist while your fingers play with his hair to assure him you are still there, not saying anything. 

You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself immediately. You keep your eyes on his naked body, rethinking your next moves. “I need your help with math,” you proclaim quietly like you normally would. “I’ll gladly help you,” he nods with a smile. So happy, and for what? He was never rude about it when you asked for his help, but it wasn’t like he would be excited, either. This time, however, he makes you question what’s going on in his mind. 

“Here,” he says, the same smile still on his lips as he hands you your shirt and panties. “I didn’t know you were already wearing my stuff, but I can’t say I would complain,” he teases you, and it all finally clicks. Of course, that’s why you didn’t remember owning the shirt. It wasn’t yours in the first place. “Uhm–” you panic, trying to find a good excuse, but it’s already too late because all Taehyun can think about is the adorable blush on your cheeks.

TXT ⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez ✶⋆

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[ivymarquis]

Say You Won't Let Go

Last House on the Right

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 1.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, mentions of pregnancy related eating issues + vomiting, Reader's got some separation issues. Fair warning this is so half baked I haven't even decided what kind of apocalypse it is, but somehow Ive got a whole plotline regardless.Same pairing as my fic Blind Date

Next Chapter

You can’t believe your luck. 

You’re not sure what exactly it was about this house in the dead of night that had you so transfixed, but your intuition has paid off in spades. 

The area’s been abandoned, to your knowledge leaving you the sole inhabitant meandering around. 

Or maybe waddling would be a more apt description.

Fear and uncertainty of the outside hurry you along into the house. Most everyone- the survivors- has splintered off into groups. There’s no evidence of anyone still living here (admittedly it’s not like you’ve taken the time to check every room, but there are signs when a house is inhabited), but you luck out that the cabinets haven’t been picked over. 

It’s been entirely too long since your last meal, and it takes a good amount of restraint to not devour the can of ravioli too quickly. 

As much as you’re tempted, you know there’s a fine line between what will and won’t have you immediately throwing up in the sink- grazing seems to keep the worst of the upset down.

There’s no hospitals to jaunt off to if you end up dehydrated. Excessive vomiting is not ideal post end of days.

If you were in your right mind- not frightened, isolated, starving, cold- and not focusing on how the unheated chef boyardee might as well be a five star michelin meal for all you can think right now, you might have been paying more attention.

The sound of a safety clicking off behind you freezes your blood far more than the cold. That sound is deliberate. Whoever’s behind you- gun pointed at you- wants you to know they got the jump on you.

“Hands where I can see them,” the order is gruffly barked at you.

You feel stupid. Of course all of this was too convenient for you to simply be catching a break. It wasn’t exactly well lit and designed to draw you in- but you’re an animal caught in a trap regardless.

The fork clatters against the counter next to the can as you go to comply.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

You’re not much of a threat in your current condition. That much is obvious.

Time stopped having any sort of tangible meaning a while ago. You should know how many weeks you are, but the days run together fending for yourself and you just know that you’re close. There’s no hiding the swell of your belly.

The man at the doorway looks as gruff as he sounds. Your mind spins like a tire in mud to process everything in front of you in the poor moonlight. Military, that much is obvious. You’re not actually sure if that’s a good thing. Handsome from what you can see, though historically your type has been men who don’t have a weapon leveled at you.

The taciturn expression on his face falters when he spots your bump, but you’ve learned by now to not expect any sort of special treatment.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize immediately. “I-I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll leave, I swear.” 

He looks at you another moment before a look of resignation washes over him.

“Turn back around. Keep your hands up.” Oh God. Your mind immediately goes to the worst- That this man, for whatever reason, has decided that your infraction has signed your death warrant. That he can’t quite bring himself to fire on a pregnant woman staring him in the eyes, so the last thing you’re ever going to see is some tacky wallpaper and ugly cabinets.

You yelp when one of his hands finds the pistol on your hip. Holy shit you didn’t even hear him cross the room.

“Easy, love,” he soothes as he starts to frisk you for more weapons. “Not gonna hurt you. You have anything else on you?”

“A knife in my back pocket.” It doesn’t even occur to you to lie; putting yourself in his good graces is your only option and you can’t do that by lying.

His hands slip under your jacket, the hem oversized and hanging even with your arms up, making a wrong guess at the first pocket he checks before grabbing the knife out of the second one.

“Anyone going to come sniffing around looking for you?” A fair question, but one that sticks like a knife between your ribs.

The “No,” that escapes you is softer than you meant it to be, voice warbling as you try not to cry.

Hormones would have had you on the verge of tears at any given point, and that would have been before the end of the world and before your group abandoned you. You’re well entitled to your tears, you think, but try to stuff them back down anyway.

“You’re out here alone,” he grouses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you. The like this? is implied.

Your arms are still up, and they’re getting tired. Everything tires you out these days.

Like he can read your mind, he releases you with a “you can set your arms down now, love.”

“Thank you,” you’re in full fawn mode, turning to face him. While he’s clearly decided against killing you, you’ve been scared and alone for the past few days and you really don’t want to be separated from the only person who will give you the time of day right now. 

“Is there anyone else here? Other soldiers?” Your fate is sealed and lies in the soldier’s hands regardless of his answer.

Nothing with change, no matter what he says, but you think you’re less intimidated if it’s just the two of you. 

The world’s gone to hell in a handbasket, and yet you’ll never forget watching 28 days later when the line I promised them women was dropped.

“Got separated from my team.”

He turns away from you, gesturing to follow him out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

He’s limping.

You haven’t seen him move until now. You’re more an expert on busted hardware than busted body parts, you can’t tell if it’s a fresh injury that’s still healing, or an old one that’s set in place.

“They left you.” They left me, too.

“They didn’t leave me for dead, they think I am dead. Gonna take a bit more than that to get the job done, though.” 

You have no reason not to believe him. Despite having just met him, the man is like a living manifestation of everything masculinity is supposed to be- down to the surly attitude despite him herding you further into the house. It doesn’t take much to figure out that he’s tough as nails and sure why not flirt in death’s face that her last attempt wasn’t good enough?

You sit on the couch he points to, as he settles into the leather chair across from you.

“Christ what’d I’d do for a fucking smoke right now,” he mumbles, pawing at his chest absent mindedly on reflex.

You mean to sit stiff as a board, but your body is tired and the couch is surprisingly comfortable.

The soldier, however, sits like he owns the house. “And now for the question of what to do with you.”

[stsgluver]

𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 — gojo satoru

synopsis. libraries and gojo do not mix

wc. 1.3k

tags. rb!gojo, gojo x reader, reader is close friends with geto + shoko, gojo is described as an 'attention whore'

a/n. i might write for choso next since ive got some yuuji's older brother x babysitter ideas

series masterlist

“say it again.”

“now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

gojo’s head rested on his crossed arms as he stared up at you with those cerulean eyes that you so adored. he wore a confident grin as he shrugged off your allegations, “i’m gorgeous who wouldn’t want to compliment me?”

you scoffed, maybe a little too loudly for the student library you were currently in (they dreaded whenever you walked in with your snowy-haired boyfriend in tow since he couldn’t shut up for more than thirty seconds). “maybe someone who has three exams,” you emphasised by showing him your laptop screen with more tabs open than you could count, “in the next week and actually wants to study so they can pass.”

“my trust fund’s probably more than you could ever make working,” gojo waved a hand dismissively.

“that’s brilliant, satoru,” you deadpanned, “i’m not leeching off of you.”

“it’s not leeching, it’s love,” he said wistfully, blowing you a kiss.

you shook your head in disbelief – his parents had raised him in such a controlled environment, teaching him about his future important roles and the importance of his wealth. he’d risk it all for you and a relationship that he was not even sure was forever. well, in gojo’s mind you were forever – in his dad’s? not so much. so your boyfriend can’t exactly blame you for your hesitancy when his dad asked him at least once every week if he had broken up with you yet.

“i will never understand you.”

“but you do baby. better than anyone.” there was a sincerity in his tone, one that convinced you that he was right and you two were meant to be it for one another. he leant forward to press a quick peck on your lips, sitting himself back down far too soon for your liking. you weren’t even ashamed by how quickly he had you staring back at him with hearts in your eyes.

“this is a public space. i did not come here to see that.”

you twisted your head to see shoko grimacing with geto in tow, an unlit cigarette between her lips as she stuck her nose up at the two of you. they had just come out of their own exam and you were surprised that shoko hadn’t chosen to go and have a smoke before she met you. presumably, you took it as a sign she felt she hadn’t completely bombed out. 

pulling out the seat next to you, you excitedly gestured for your close friend to sit, having barely seen her for the last couple weeks with exams and assignment deadlines. she pushed her bag off of her shoulder, dropping down into the seat next to yours, before leaning across to steal the bag of crisps that you had next to your laptop.

“where’s my kiss, pretty boy?” geto sat down in the seat opposite gojo, an over exaggerated pout on his lips, the metal hoop on the corner of his mouth jutting out. he sent you a wink when you rolled your eyes at his usual flirting with your boyfriend. 

“see!” gojo didn’t even flinch when you elbowed him in the side because of how loud he was being. one of these days they were going to outright ban you altogether and then you would never get a moment of peace to yourself to study. “he compliments me. i wish he was my girlfriend.” 

you, again, went to hit him in the side, but this time he caught your arm, pecking your cheek quickly despite you trying to wriggle out of his gasp.

“shhh,” another student in the room hissed and gojo quietly groaned (somehow always the victim in his mind), releasing your arm and slumping down in his seat like he’d just been scolded by his mother. shoko snickered at his behaviour and the look on your face.

“can we please leave?” gojo whined a little more quietly, though not by much, resting his head on your shoulder. glancing over between the two who had just finished their exam, you let out a quiet sigh. they’d made no effort to take any materials and of their bags yet so there was no way they were going to be doing any studying now either. you were outnumbered three to one.

“depends,” you slowly closed the screen of your laptop slowly, gesturing between your boyfriend and geto opposite who raised an eyebrow. “you really want suguru to be your girlfriend instead of me? over a compliment?” you folded your arms in front of your chest, trying to not laugh as you acted serious.

geto clasped his hands together, clicking his tongue, “you hadn’t told her yet?”

gojo lifted his head from your shoulder, hesitantly glancing towards you with a grin he couldn’t hide as he (unsuccessfully) tried to shuffle his seat away from yours, “i was getting there. haven’t you seen her? she’s violent, i was scared.” 

“funny that,” you pointed a thumb at your snowy haired boyfriend, “weren’t you just offering me your trust fund?” 

that peeked shoko’s interest and she held out her hand to you, “i’ll go halfsies with you on that.”

“of course, anything for you,” you agreed, slipping your hand into hers and giving it a quick shake. shoko winked now at gojo, who’s mouth had dropped wide open at how carelessly you’d just hypothetically given away half of his money.

“woah, woah,” geto raised his hands in the air, bringing the attention back to him as hbe leant back in his chair, “this changes things dramatically. i was only ever here for the money.”

gojo gasped and stood up, overwhelmed by the consecutive betrayals, pointing an accusatory finger at his best friend, “you’re literally rich yourself. how could you use me like this?” to any random onlooker, they may have actually been convinced that he was seriously devastated by his fake mistress’ words.

“yeah but spending someone else’s money means everything’s free. i’m not asking for much, i deserve a life with no burden.” shoko stood up so she could reach across the table and give him a high five. 

gojo held out his hand, aggressively raising his fingers as he listed aloud, “i’m feeling undervalued, underappreciated, under-”

your boyfriend almost jumped out of his skin as a librarian placed a hand on his shoulder. it was almost comical at how this older woman, half the height of gojo, glared up at him. “excuse me sir, we’ve had several complaints,” though her words were formal and polite, she gritted her teeth as she spoke, narrowing her eyes at the disruptive male. if it were up to her, there’d be a large sign of his face on the door with a massive, red ‘x’ through it.

“sorry ma’am,” geto stood up and bowed his head, clearing his throat as he tried not to laugh, “we will be leaving now.” gojo nodded in agreement, slipping under the woman’s grasp and scurrying out of the room with geto close behind.

“i’m going to kill him,” you muttered, although you were still smiling as you hurriedly packed your laptop back into your bag to follow after your boyfriend. 

“all of that walking for nothing,” shoko complained as you stepped outside to see gojo and geto at the bottom of the stairs. pulling out her favourite yellow lighter from her pocket, she finally lit the cigarette she’d been teasing herself with since she’d left her exam.

once you got to the bottom of the stairs, gojo hooked his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to himself. geto stole shoko’s cigarette to take a hit, blowing out the smoke upwards before he looked between the three of you. “where to now?”

“i’m treating you all to ice cream with my hard earned money,” gojo pressed a kiss to the side of your head before lightly shoving you off of him, giggling to himself. “kidding! we’re all racing and whoever gets there last has to pay.”

taglist. @jar-03 @animeflower26 @hyori2 @ja-zz

[mickyschumacher]

NGL I LOVE UR WORK... ive been hopping thru ur m.list since the last hour.... its currently 1 am and i have an essay to finish before 8 am(im sure my prof will give me more time ik dey love me) anywasy i was wondering if u could do an enemies to lovers with Lewis((like really hated eachother)the reader could be a driver its oky don mind what she does) and then they were arguing abt sumting lewis says something thats completely out of the line and she starts crying in front him then he just kinda leaves her be, a few days later he would go on then apologize to her abt wat he said and then more fluff. (just ignore this if ur not into it or not takin a request at the moment. but im actually just hapi i kind of got the courage to ask u for a request also ur stories are soooo good i admire and envy u at the same time.)

[RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: as lewis's former teammate, there are lines that shouldn't be crossed. but a bad move from lewis puts him completely out of line.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: enemies to lovers trope!, poor humour, some fluff, in depth moment of an alternated 2021 wdc (apologies in advance), therefore ANGST, bad race jargon, horner and masi discussed :(, mention of intermittent explosive disorder, misogyny, allusion to racism (not from the reader ofc!), shitting on the fia for a bit, lewis kinda being a dick for probably an unfair reason lol, a proclamation of feelings from sir lewis himself

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lewis hamilton x red bull!driver!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: you're too sweet to me! 🤧 i couldn't tell if you wanted this to be romantic but i went that way in the end! hope this was good! ♡︎ very very loosely based of swift's 'right where you left me'. but if you argued it wasn't, i would be inclined to agree. proof-read...ish?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

No one ever truly understood your move to Red Bull. It was in 2019, far from when Max was practically living on pole, so Red Bull wasn't exactly a threat to Mercedes, your previous team. Toto had even put a three-year extension on the table several months before your contract came close to expiring.

Yet you had chosen to sign with the devil.

When the commentators, journalists, and fans took a closer look at your decision, the only thing they could all collectively agree on was that you had moved to Red Bull because of Lewis Hamilton. Because you both couldn't keep your differences aside and Lewis had finally struck your last nerve.

While you weren't quite sure about the last part, the first was true. You had Lewis had never ever exactly met eye-to-eye. Every F1 driver had a specific style of driving. You liked to call Lewis' the 'calm before the storm'. He raced with a composure and maturity that most drivers did not hold. He was particularly calculative and the everyone loved him.

You, on the other hand, had given yourself a new nickname along side 'Flash 13' because you did everything in a flash: you overtook ruthlessly and calculated, you pushed the car till it was undrivable, and you were decisive to the very nanosecond. But you had also garnered yourself the name 'IED', after the behavioural disorder.

In part this nickname was due to the misogyny you faced as the only current female driver in F1 but also due to the sheer anger that bursted out of you whenever you encountered Lewis.

The amount of warnings Toto had given the both of you was simply endless. He had even resorted to putting you two with the team therapist.

The source of your hatred for each other was as clear as day. You hated Lewis' arrogance because somehow it was even worse than Rosberg, Alonso, Räikkönen, and Verstappen. And Lewis hated you for your 'perspective'. You didn't know what he initially meant by that but you regretted asking him. He said you needed to be stronger to be in F1 and that you were far too soft-hearted. Right after you had gotten your first ever pole.

It was ridiculous, to say the least.

No F1 driver was soft-hearted. You were all, simply put, a bunch of dicks. Not literally, of course. Naturally, following that comment, Lewis had pissed you off. He hadn't even had a second to know you before even making that judgement. It was ironic as well, considering your nickname that labelled your anger.

After watching Lewis win several championship titles with you following multiple places behind and seeing you only get angrier with each other, you had decided to call it quits for Mercedes. If people were going to take your annoyance and frustrations with amusement, you were going to head to the angriest team of all and leave your former team fuming.

Two years later, in 2021, you had finally gotten the perfect opportunity.

You hadn't really a clue how exactly Red Bull had made the 2021 car so well that you were matching the speed of Mercedes' car but you didn't care. You were matching Lewis. And Christian Horner was a happy man. A sexist prick but a happy man nonetheless.

Pole was either Lewis' or yours. Either he was a Grand Prix winner or you were. It was a game of cat and mouse, always in a constant pursuit of each other. The same went from your team leaders, Toto and Christian, who practically had the race director, Masi, on speed dial.

And by Abu Dhabi, you were equally tied, locked at 369.5 points. It hadn't been easy after getting penalised for multiple incidents against Lewis, but you were here. Lewis was trying to get his eighth championship and you your first.

You weren't sure how this was going to end. Heck, no one could've predicted what happened that day. But all you knew was that you were not going down without a fight.

You secured pole in Abu Dhabi which had put the entirety of Mercedes and F1 on edge. After a discussion with your engineer and several strategists, you had opted for soft tyres to further your advantage over Lewis.

Despite all of that, it was Lewis who had led the first corner after those red lights had gone out. It was only by turn six did you even get a lead. But it was a moment too short as your former teammate regained his top position by going off into the damn run-off area of the track.

You didn't need to scream in annoyance. You couldn't hear Horner, but deep down you knew he had already called up Masi, demanding an investigation. Your engineer reported to you that the stewards had dismissed it. The gap between you and Lewis was getting bigger, the race was coming to and end, and you knew you needed a miracle towards the end of the race if you wanted to win.

And that miracle was called Nicholas Latifi. The poor guy had crashed into Mick and the safety car was out on the tracks. Thankfully, they were both okay, but the timing of it was simply impeccable.

You had pitted to get new soft tyres and Mercedes was on the fence about heading to the pit lane in fear of the race restarting. So Lewis didn't pit. Miracle 2.

You re-joined the track with five lapped cars in between you and Lewis. And soon enough, Race Control had given the dooming message: lapped cars were not allowed to overtake.

The taste in your mouth was bitter. You had cussed out Horner, asking why you were even seeing these lapped cars in front of you.

Then came Race Control again: only the five cars in between you and Lewis were allowed to overtake. Miracle 3.

But of course, F1 had a flair for the dramatics. Because you were fucking restarting. Putting you and Lewis on a tight show-down for the final lap.

The bad news? Lewis hadn't pitted yet.

The good news? You could overtake Lewis. Miracle 4.

And the headline? You won.

You fucking won.

You were F1's first female champion in history.

You made history... or, well, herstory?

Yes it was controversial. Yes it was dramatic. Yes, questionable decisions had been made.

But you won.

By the time you had gotten out of your car and finished with screaming and crying in pure happiness, you had finally caught a glimpse of Lewis.

A small part of you felt bad. You knew for a fact, that these decisions weren't 'human error' as the FIA would go on to claim the following year in Bahrain.

It was entertainment. It was business. It was money.

You had both worked so hard this year. But the fight between an F1 driver breaking the record for the most championship titles and the first possible female champion in F1 was too good to resist.

Things between you and Lewis after Abu Dhabi hadn't gotten worse. You just talked far less than you normally did. You barely argued with each other anymore. It was disconcerting to say the least. Especially now that you were struggling to match Max's pace, always coming second or third as per the instructions of your engineer. For a moment you thought, what was the point of winning if you weren't going to win again?

━━━━━━━━━━━

You were still determined. Beating your own teammate would be hard. But you weren't a stranger to the idea. You had spent years trying to beat Lewis while purposely being the support for him to win. They were two actions they didn't go together but it had happened.

That being said, the venture was proving to be more difficult than you anticipated. In fact, it had caused a full collision with Lewis in the first lap of the Qatar Grand Prix.

You were so focused on beating Max you hadn't taken a second to look around you.

"What the fuck was that?" Lewis' voice invaded the air as he barged into your driver's room, ridden with sweat and still in his racing gear.

"Look, I'm sorry okay. I didn't see you. It was my fault. End of story," You told him curtly, not really wanting talk to Lewis any further.

"Damn right, you didn't see me. You could've taken me or anyone out! Are you so fucking stuck up your ass that you couldn't see me?" Lewis asked incredulously.

You scoffed at his accusation. It was true. But you didn't like when the truth fell from his lips... especially not when they sounded like that.

"Lewis, drop it. No one got hurt. Let's just move on okay?" You queried, annoyance dripping from your voice.

"Why? Can't handle the truth, L/N?" He laughed gently, almost mocking you. "Right... you were always like that."

You snapped your head towards him, raising a sharp brow. "Excuse me?" You spat as if to say he was becoming dangerously close to crossing a line he did not want to cross.

Lewis folded his arms, shrugging nonchalantly. "What? You don't like the truth. It's simple. I told you that you need to be stronger because you're too soft-hearted. And you hated that. And now that I'm telling you that you're selfish, you obviously can't handle it."

"Oh my God, you are one to talk. Lewis, you are so blinded by your arrogance that you can't see anyone else win. That's why you can't accept that I won right?"

"Not Abu Dhabi, aga–"

"Yes, Lewis, Abu Dhabi again. You are so fucking sour about losing that even when the hate targeted me, you let it. You let them say that my win was due to race and gender. Me, Lewis, out of all people, me."

No matter your differences, you had stuck up for Lewis on many accounts when it came to the FIA, 'fans', and haters. But he wasn't there for you.

You could see dark expression fall onto Lewis' face. "That's not true, Y/N."

"Then what was it Lewis?" You flailed your hands in exasperation. "Because you sure as hell didn't come to my aid."

"Because you didn't deserve it!"

You blinked blankly, arms falling to your side. Your mind took a minute to process the words that had fallen from his lips in mere seconds.

Lewis' face dropped as realisation struck him. What the fuck did he just say? "Y/N, I–"

"Get out," You grumbled.

Lewis did a double-take on the fresh line of tears accumulating on your waterline. He took a step closer to you, hands reaching out. "No, no, no, Y/N, I–" But your words made him stop.

"Lewis, get the fuck out of here before I start screaming like the bitch everyone thinks I am."

You watched Lewis return his hands to the side, clenching his jaw tightly as he made way to the door of your room. He stopped briefly, hesitating to open the door, taking one last glance at you before leaving.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Four days.

You had pondered in deep thought for four days. And after 72 hours, one thing had become obvious to you.

Lewis wasn't with you or any of the other drivers. He was still in 2021, right where you had left him. Not a second had gone by for Lewis where he hadn't thought about Abu Dhabi.

What if he had just pushed for Bono and Toto to get him in that pit lane?

What if he had veered the car a little to the side and you didn't overtake him?

Lewis was still reliving the worst moment of his career and his life and everyone had moved on. Sure, every fan and commentator talked about it time to time. But it was something of the past.

To say you didn't deserve your championship title... you had heard it from several 'fans' and insignificant others. But to hear it from Lewis? It fucking killed you.

You cared about his opinion more than anyone in the world. And he knew that.

You would've never said anything as shitty as that to him or anyone for that matter.

You had worked your ass off to get to F1. Fuck, you had won F2 two fucking times because no one was willing to let a girl on their team... into a man's sport. Every driver worked hard to a certain degree. But you were a girl who didn't grow up with the means of driving yourself to your death every day. If everyone worked hard, you had worked ten times harder.

Everyone knew that you and Lewis had fought. And by the looks of it, they also knew it was far worse than your normal fights. You wouldn't look at him, you refused to speak to him, you spent minimal time in the same room, you had even paid your media fines in full to avoid everyone...

Max had even become some sort of bodyguard, telling Lewis to turn back around when he neared the Red Bull garage.

All of this protection, and yet, he had still found you in your favourite place. The one you both came to when you needed to become level-headed. The top stand of any empty Grand Prix, in this case the México Grand Prix, where the air felt a little bit cooler against your heated skin and you could think for even it was for just a second.

You sucked in a sharp breath, seeing Lewis in your periphery while you were firmly seated. He looked nervous, chewing on his bottom lip and taking cautious glances at you.

"Hey," Lewis greeted, making you raise a brow at his lame entrance.

You forced yourself to look at the rest of the empty seats in front of you. "Hey," You mumbled back, trying to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth.

An unsettling silence enveloped the both of you. You were sure Lewis was here to apologise. But you could also tell he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not in a selfish way. But in the most guiltiest way possible.

You sighed. "How are you?" You asked gently, peeking out of the corner of your eye.

Lewis winced at your question. Leave it up to you to still be this kind after what he had said to you. "Sorry. I'm so so sorry," He rasped, voice raw with the pain that had been gnawing away at him ever since those god forbidden words had left his mouth.

You nodded slowly, taking another deep breath. "I know you're going to call me soft-hearted but what you said really fucking hurt, Lew," You jested with a brief smile.

Lewis grimaced at your poor humour, before his ears perked up at the old nickname you had given him when you first started getting on each other's nerves. "I know. I'm an idiot for saying something like that. Or that you're soft-hearted. You've worked so hard for all of this. You absolutely deserve everything and that win was only the first of many, I'm a hundred percent sure of it. Your Dutch shortie doesn't really know what's coming."

You gave him a tight-lipped smile after huffing in amusement at his diss towards Max. "Thank you," you told him earnestly. "Although, I am quite positive he is like almost ten centimetres taller than you. But, thanks anyways."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "Have you seen me? You don't think I give off tall energy?"

"You mean tall in insults?" You joked, grinning at the blank look on Lewis' face.

Lewis sighed. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean any of it. And by 'it', I mean all of the insults and fights. I was just disappointed in myself. Even more so that I didn't stand up for you. I'm so sorry."

You drew your eyebrows together, turning your body to face him. Confusion filled you. "Then why did you say it at all?"

"I–" Lewis blew out a small laugh. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Lewis, can you not see me dying here? Like a whole kitchen set of knives in my back?" You deadpanned.

Lewis rolled his eyes again. So dramatic.

He brought his hands together, staring at you briefly before looking at the empty stand. "Well, obviously, I heard of you before you joined Mercedes. I thought it was ridiculous that you had to get two F2 championships to get a seat, but anyways, I digress. Toto told me, he was considering you even though you had never been in the junior team.

And I remember just being so fucking jealous of you. Toto was consumed by you. He and Horner had been fighting for your seat for so long and now that they finally had an open seat, it was chaos. Toto won, obviously. And then we met each other in person for the first time and I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world."

You felt your heart begin to race and your skin heat at the sudden proclamation. "You... you what?"

Lewis smoothly glossed over the compliment. "And then we had our first quali together and you beat me. You got pole on your first race. So you were talented and beautiful. A crime, might I add.

And so when you came to tell me, you were so excited with all your talent and beauty, I was pissed. Because out of all things in the world, I had gotten an amazing competitor I was bound to feel for. I thought that by saying you were soft-hearted and all, it would get on your bad side and it would make me less attracted to you. It didn't. It got worse while it got easier to pretend to hate you."

You blinked blankly at him, cheeks aflame. Lewis Hamilton liked you. Your stupid teammate? The same one who's eighth championship you arguably took? "I'm sorry... hold up, we've been fighting for years because I'm a hot, talented, gifted, smart driver and you're a simp?"

Lewis squinted his brown eyes at you. "I did not include all those adjectives."

"I mean... that's basically what you said," You shrugged, flickering your eyes to the setting sun.

Where did all the damn cool air go? You wondered, pressing your hands to your flushed cheeks and feeling your soft palm absorb the molten lava known as your skin.

Lewis chuckled, picking up your flustered reaction quickly. He watched as you suddenly stood up. "Okay, well I'm... I'm going to meet Hugh and find a way to beat Max. See ya!"

Lewis paused, grabbing your wrist. "Wait? What? You aren't going comment about what I just said?"

You eyed his hold on your wrist: it was searing you. You turned to him, lowering your head to meet his gaze. You briefly looked down at his lips before looking back up. "I think I prefer hating you."

Lewis felt you press your lips on his cheek before walking past him. He watched your retreating figure, your kiss feeling heavy on his face, putting him right where you had left him: absolutely and utterly smitten.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[twodogs-twocats]

The Maskmaker and the Masked (Sleep Token’s III x fem reader) 18+, NSFW

You are hired by Sleep Token to design new masks for the band. But you quickly realize your relationship with III is more than professional.

Warnings: SMUT - 18+, MINORS DNI. Oral, penetration

I did my best to maintain members being masked while making this somewhat realistic. This is the first fanfic I’ve ever written, so please be kind! I hope you enjoy!

Part II

London was cold and rainy. Your head was steadily throbbing after 10 hours on an airplane, your hair frizzing out from the two buns you had carefully arranged just that morning. You felt sticky and tired.

And yet, you couldn’t help the tingle of excitement that coursed through your body. From the back seat of the taxi, you watched the rain splatter the windows as you twirled your thumbs. Excited, yes, but also incredibly nervous.

You had been hired by one of your favorite bands, Sleep Token, to design new masks for the band members. Apparently, the members of the band had found your Instagram and had fallen in love with your work. After several emails and phone calls with their manager and a couple of signed NDAs, you were emailed plane tickets and and address. And now, in just a matter of hours, you would be meeting the members to take measurements.

It had all happened so quickly, and while you felt confident in your work and thrilled by the opportunity, you were stressed about making a good impression.

A few hours later, feeling a bit more well-rested and certainly much cleaner, you followed the band’s manager through the winding corridors of an old house. It wasn’t quite where you were expecting to meet the members, but you were pleased by the aesthetic as it matched the mysterious vibe of the band itself. You made polite chit-chat with the manager, following them down a dimly lit hallway with red walls and ornate chandeliers.

Soon you heard the low thrum of male voices coming from a room ahead. You fiddled with the large tote bag that held your art supplies. The butterflies in your belly that had been softly fluttering all day long now grew into a frantic swarm.

The band manager stopped just before the door and turned towards you.

“Just remember, the band members will be masked, and you have signed NDAs that prevent you from releasing any sort of information about your time spent here with the band. I just want to reiterate that it is extremely important to the members that their privacy is respected”

You nodded. “Of course, I understand. I’m just honored to be here. I would never want to be disrespectful.” You meant this with all your heart. You appreciated the band’s desire to put their music first. You would never want them to lose that.

The manager offered you a genuine smile, and beckoned you into the room. “Right this way then.”

Taking careful steps and a few swipes at your hair (still frizzy - damn the rain), your eyes were met by the most beautiful sight.

All four members lay sprawled around a small, but gorgeously decorated room. Vessel lay stretched along a red leather couch, his legs so long that his feet (no shoes, just black socks with cat faces on them) dangled off the edge of the armrest. II was seated cross legged on the floor, clad in a thick black hoodie, reading what appeared to be a drummer’s magazine. IV stood by a window, sipping at a beer with his hands shoved in the pockets of his baggy black jeans. It was like staring at a piece of art far more spectacular than anything that lined the walls of this old manor. You weren’t even sure if you were still breathing.

Yet it was III that really caught your eye. He lounged casually in an overstuffed chair at the back corner of the room, long legs pulled up into his chest. His hair hung loosely around his mask. He wore a dark blazer and his trademark checkered socks. In a split second, you felt your body tune into his intense energy. He was incredibly attractive.

You had only a few moments to take them in like this, glorious in their peacefulness, before they realized you were there. Then it was all hugs and handshakes, smiles and questions.

“How was your flight? Not too dreadful, I hope.” Vessel asked you, taking your hands in his, their warmth welcome after the chilly weather. You were caught off guard by his voice at first, as you realized you had never heard any of them speak.

“Lovely to meet you, Y/N. I’ve admired your work for so long,” II offered, gazing at you rather intensely from piercing blue eyes.

“Come, sit.” IV said, clearing pillows off of the couch. You could see his eyes crinkled in a smile behind the fabric of his black mask. “We ordered pizza!”

It was at this very moment that your stomach grumbled loudly. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

This was received with gregarious laughter, but it was a quiet chuckle just behind you that made the hairs stand up on your neck. While you were being fretted over by the other members, III had managed to come up behind you.

“My my, we can’t have our girl so tired and hungry,” he spoke gently into your ear, his voice causing a shiver down your spine. Placing his large hand on the small of your back, he guided you firmly toward the couch. As you made to sit, his hands gently pulled the tote you carried from your shoulders. Everywhere III touched he left a burning imprint on your body.

“What else can I get for you, love?” he asked, kneeling before you and resting a hand on your knee. “You have come such a long way for us. I want to make sure you are well taken care of.”

Hot. He was so stupidly hot.

“I’m alright III, thank you.” You replied, trying to stay professional, even as his hand was burning a hole through your jeans. “Some food sounds lovely.”

“Good,” chimed in Vessel. “No work now. Tonight, we would just like to relax and get to know you.”

Soon the pizza arrived, and you spent the rest of your night immersed in delightful conversation. You talked about everything, from favorite foods to childhood pets, even playing a round of Never Have I Ever that left you laughing until your belly ached. Little by little, you felt yourself ease into their presence, becoming more comfortable and more capable of being yourself.

Still, you couldn’t help but notice the way III continued to look at you, his eyes always focused on you, lingering, assessing. You felt a knot in the deep parts of your gut. Was he checking you out? You felt like it was possible, but you didn’t want to read into it. You had a job to do. So instead, you continued to relax into the joyful company until the late hours of the night.

The next day was measuring day. You had everything you needed ready to go in your tote, and your head was swimming with ideas. The fact that your work was going to be worn by such talented musicians still felt unreal. Even more unreal after the incredible night you had just had. You couldn’t believe how sweet they all were, and they seemed just as in love with your art as you were with their music. The entire opportunity was a dream come true.

You arrived at the same manor as the night before, but this time you were led to a small sitting room flooded with natural light. Starting with Vessel, you met with each member one-by-one, having them sit on a stool in front of you while you gathered the data you needed.

While you worked, you chatted with them. They asked you questions about your art, and you asked similar questions back about their music. You listened intently, knowing that understanding their music on a deeper level would help you create better masks. Each interaction left you joyful and smiling. You still could not believe you were here with them, and how readily they welcomed you into their world.

The final member to measure was III. You could not lie to yourself, you had been the most excited to meet with him. You had spent your nighttime hours thinking about him, wondering what it would feel like to have him hold you, touch you, kiss you…

“Good morning Y/N.” IIIs voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Could he hear how loud your heart was beating?

“Good morning III,” you greeted him, plastering what you hoped was a nonchalant smile on your face. He looked ethereal, wearing a long-sleeve black button-down, and black jeans that perfectly accentuated his long legs. Just be professional, you reminded yourself. “Take a seat please, and we can get started.”

“Yes ma’am,” he quipped. Even as he sat, he still towered over you.

You pulled out your measuring tape and a pen and paper. Starting with his forehead, you drew the tape along the various planes of his face. Your fingers tickled with electricity as they studied the contours of his features under the black fabric of his mask.

The whole time, III gazed up at you with blue-grey eyes.

“Does it make it more difficult that we are masked while you’re doing this?” he asked you.

“Actually, it’s a bit easier,” you replied. “I can use the dimensions of your existing mask, rather than having to create complete new ones.”

He hummed with understanding. “Tell me more about your art. Why do you make masks?”

God, just him talking to you was getting you worked up.

“I’ve always been interested in the idea of losing oneself to one’s appearance. Whether it is a costume, makeup, tattoos, I often wonder if we use these things to hide ourselves, or to express ourselves more truly.” Your hands now measured the strong bridge of his nose. “Masks seem like the penultimate of this question. When we hide our faces, are we really hiding, or does the anonymity allow us to more fully be who we are?”

“How beautifully put.” Now you guided the tape along his jawline, feeling its sharpness under the fabric mask. Your fingers lightly traced the exposed skin of his neck, and you felt him stiffen. “A beautiful mind, beautiful art, a beautiful woman,” he said softly.

Your breath caught at his words and you shifted slightly. As you moved, your foot caught on his and you lost your balance, starting to fall backwards. But before you hit the ground, III’s strong arms wrapped around your waist pulling you towards his chest. His warmth, the strong muscles of his body, the musky smell of his cologne — all of it came crashing into you.

“Woah there love. I’ve got you.” He murmured into your hair as he continued holding you close. “I don’t need you getting hurt now. I’m not sure I could live with myself if you got hurt on my watch.”

You chuckled softly, but made no motion to pull away. “Thank you III. You just caught me off guard I guess.”

“Come now, I’m sure you’re used to such compliments.”

You felt yourself becoming braver now that you knew what he was trying to tell you. Now that his hands were starting to explore your waist, thumbs running small circles just under your breasts. “Ah, but I’ve never received such compliments from someone so…”

“Devilishly handsome?” he pulled back slightly, smirking down at you.

“So incredibly fucking hot.”

Two seconds. You felt him pause for two seconds while he registered what you said. By the third second, he had pulled the fabric of his mask up to his nose, wrapped his hands in your hair, and brought his lips down to meet yours.

The intensity of his kiss was ferocious. His teeth clattered into yours before he spread your lips with his tongue, sliding it in to meet your own. You kissed him back fiercely, as your hands explored his chest, his back, and finally ventured down to his ass.

That touch seemed to light him up even more, as suddenly he was picking you up to carry you towards the couch. He laid you on your back, spread your legs apart with his knee, and then proceeded to kiss you again as he knelt over you. This time, his kiss was more measured, slow and sensual. Your attention drifted to his knee pressing up against your core. He bit your lip gently. “Y/N, my love, you tell me when to stop, alright?”

“Alright,” you replied, gazing up into those stunning eyes, lids now heavy with lust.

You continued to kiss passionately while his hands explored your body, and then traveled up under your shirt. He took your breast in his large hand, thumb circling your nipple. “You are just perfect, aren’t you?”

You bucked to his touch, as your own hands worked to remove the buttons of his shirt. As he poised above you, now shirtless, his hair beginning to shine with sweat, you felt as though you were looking at a god.

“III?” You said softly, tracing a finger down his chest.

“Yes, my love?”

“Let me worship you.”

He growled at your words. You gently guided him off of you, until he was standing before you. Getting down on your knees, you started to unbutton his pants while his hands circled through your hair.

When he was fully unclothed, his massive length sprung out towards you. You were going to spend every second treating him like the god he was, you thought to yourself, as you took him in your mouth.

“Y/N,” he groaned. “That feels so fucking good.” His fingers in your hair tightened, and you welcome the little bite of sensation. You continued to pleasure him, savoring his taste, enjoying the way his breath sped up at your touch.

After you had taken your time with him, you felt a soft touch at your chin. “My love,” he said, taking your face to look up at him. “It is my turn to worship you.”

III guided you up to stand before him, and began to undress you. He took his time, letting his fingers caress your skin, kissing you along your collarbones, your shoulders, and down your chest. Once you were fully naked, he took a step back to admire you. Your body burned beneath his gaze.

“You, my love, are a work of art.”

And then his hands were everywhere. They wrapped around you, pulling you close. You felt his cock, still wet from your spit, pressing into your belly. His hands grabbed your ass, your waist, and then began drifting towards your center until his long fingers landed softly on your clit.

You let out a soft gasp, realizing how much you had needed him to touch you there. He traced lazy circles around your clit as he kissed your neck. You knees began to tremble at his touch.

Seeming to sense your inability to keep yourself upright, he guided you back to the couch and laid you down, fingers never leaving the wetness between your legs.

“I love how wet I’m making you,” he whispered, smirking. “My girl deserves nothing but absolute pleasure.”

You whimpered at his words as your hips arched towards him, wanting more.

“Tell me what you want, my love,” he breathed into your ear. “Tell me how to pleasure you.”

You looked into his eyes, meeting those cool blue depths. “I want all of you III. I want to feel you in me.”

It was like your words had released the final thread. III kissed you again, claiming your lips in his, as he pushed himself inside you.

It felt like heaven. His body in yours, your lips in his, the heat of your bodies like a fire between you. He rocked his hips in a steady rhythm, hitting you deep in your center every time, filling your eyes with stars.

Eden.

His fingers worked their way into your mouth, flooding you with your own taste. Your eyes met, locked together while III pounded into you, deeper with every stroke.

You came together, your body catapulting into a realm of intense pleasure as his fingers gripped the soft flesh of your hips, his head falling back as he reached his own climax. You relished in the warmth, the sense of fullness within you.

Slowly, your breathing softened. III pulled you close, and you both spent a few quiet moments settled in each other’s presence. The rain had started up again, spattering the windows and softening the daylight.

III’s fingers traced soft circles on your back as he held you. “Y/N, my love, I could do that forever.”

You knew in your heart you felt the same. So you pulled III closer and held on tight.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Hold Me Like a Knife (iv, ao3)

Chapter four: News of a recent attack has the Danes on edge, and when Tomas sends Nesta into the heart of Viking territory to carry a message for Rhys, she finds herself sitting at a table, alone, with perhaps the most dangerous Dane of all. (Previous chapter // next chapter)

“How grave is it?”

The door sealed behind them with a soft thud, the lock sliding into place with a hiss as Tomas slid the bolt across. Nesta turned to face him, finding only his back to her as he looked at that door, as if studying the strength of the planks it was comprised of. As if wondering, perhaps, how many Danes it would take to bring it down.

Her husband made no sign that he had heard her speak.

Nesta glowered. Tomas had already begun to remove the golden rings he had slid over each of his knuckles before the king had assembled them all in the lord’s hall— the rings he had worn, knowing all too well that Alfred was leaving, and they were to be left behind. Nesta scowled again, huffing as Tomas finally looked up at her. His face was entirely empty of feeling as he blinked at her, unimpressed and unwilling to entertain her questions.

Well, she thought, to hell with his disapproval.

“The queen,” Nesta pressed, her lip curling with the force of her irritation. “Just how ill is she?”

Concern lined her throat, thick and unpleasant. She wasn’t particularly familiar with the woman, despite living in such close quarters for over a year now, but surely whatever ailed her was serious, given it had dragged Alfred back to Wessex so suddenly. Her stomach twisted at the thought.

Yet Tomas only rolled his eyes and scoffed, depositing his golden rings into a small dish with a musical clink. 

“The queen isn’t ill,” he said, as though it were the simplest thing in the world, and Nesta the most stupid. He snorted as he dragged his eyes over her, the twist to his lips letting her know that he had been searching for something to commend her, but had come up empty. After all, what man wanted a curious wife? “The king has business to attend to in Wessex. Word will reach the other kingdoms soon that he has gone beyond our borders. Leaves us vulnerable to attack.”

Tomas took a breath, a sneer drifting across his features like a cloud that passed across the face of the sun.

“He can’t tell Rhysand that, though. It would make us look weak.”

Nesta snorted. 

“So he lied.” Deadpan, she added, “A perfect foundation for the lasting peace between us. Lies and deceit.”

Her husband’s eyes were sharp when he turned his head to her, so fast she wondered if he’d pulled a muscle in his neck. “You are one to speak of lies and deceit, wife, when your father robbed me of your dowry.”

Silently, Nesta cursed.

This again.

With a shrug she turned to the small window. It infuriated Tomas when she turned her back on him; it was precisely why she did it. Her father had promised Tomas one of his boats, laden with stock, as part of the agreement when he sold her hand in marriage. Like she was just another sack of grain to be bartered, another pelt of fur to be negotiated with. Tomas hadn’t forgotten; Nesta doubted he ever would. 

“It’s hardly my fault or my father’s that the boat went down before it could reach you,” Nesta reminded him.

But Tomas crossed the distance between them, his sudden rage palpable in the close confines of the bedroom they’d been allotted. His hand landed hard on her shoulder to turn her back, but Nesta despised his touch, refused it whenever she could. She wrenched herself away, leaving his hand hanging in midair.

“Convenient, isn't it?” he hissed. “That the boat intended for me ends up at the bottom of the sea. How do I know it wasn’t all a filthy lie in the first place, a trick to get me to the altar?”

Nesta raised a brow, her face flat as she contemplated why her father would have set his sights so low if that had been his intention. Why settle for a landless thegn if it was all some elaborate hoax— why not sell her off to someone with even a little more influence? She fought the laugh of derision that gathered in her throat; knew it would not serve her to laugh so boldly in her husband’s face.

Still, she kept that brow raised. “So what shall you do with me, Tomas? Send me to a nunnery? Have the marriage annulled?”

The scowl that darkened his face made her smile saccharine. He could do nothing; he was just as trapped in this as she was. So Nesta brushed past him as she made for the door, making sure that she didn’t look back as she gathered her cloak from where she had draped it over the back of a chair and tied it around her shoulders. Dimly, she heard Tomas calling after her, asking where she was going— what she thought she was doing.

In truth, Nesta had no idea.

But it didn’t matter, not when the distance between them grew with her every step. As Tomas’ voice faded into the background, Nesta tucked her hands beneath the heavy folds of her blue velvet cloak, and stepped back out into the streets of Jorvik.

***

“And where were you this morning?”

Rhys’ voice crawled along the empty tables of the hall, his low drawl dancing through the space that was so quiet now, with the Saxons gone. Only a scattering of Danes remained inside, the rest of them finding other places to be as soon as Alfred and his entourage had left the city, leaving Rhys to lower himself into the carved wooden chair atop the small dais, sitting in a puddle of molten sunlight with his head propped lazily on a fist. His eyes danced with amusement as Cassian turned his back and made to leave too— perhaps to go and seek out a certain Saxon woman, whom the gods had seen fit to throw into his path.

He grinned as he turned and looked over his shoulder, giving Rhys a small, innocent smile.

“The river,” he answered simply.

Rhys scoffed. “You came back with a look on your face that seemed to have been put there by Loki himself. You forget, brother. I know that look.”

“And what look is that?”

“The look you get when there’s a woman involved.”

Cassian turned to face his brother, folding his arms over his chest. The shrug he sent his way was casual and easy, but the smile he gave him was sharp and full of teeth. In his mind he saw a woman, gilded by the early morning sun, with a scowl on her face to bring even the strongest of men to his knees. Gods, she was remarkable. 

“There might have been a woman involved.”

“And who is she?” Rhys pushed, crossing an ankle over his knee.

It was smooth, the movement. Just like every gesture, every move Rhys ever made. It was easy for Cassian to forget, sometimes, that Rhys was just as lethal as the rest of them. Cassian might have been better at winning them victory in the field, more willing to bloody his hands or cave in a man’s skull with just the flat edge of his shield, but Rhys, so suited to the ruthless world of politics and no stranger to battle himself… oh, yes. He was lethal, too.

Cassian’s grin was feral. “Oh, you’ll have an axe at my throat if I answer that question, brother.”

Rhys groaned. “Odin’s teeth, Cass. Don’t tell me this is like the blacksmith’s daughter all over again.”

The grin on Cassian’s face didn’t fade. The memory came back to him in a haze, its edges softened with too much mead. The blacksmith’s daughter— a mistake made once, years ago. A woman he’d once thought was the most beautiful he’d ever seen, so beautiful that he hadn’t been able to resist. She had begged Cassian to take her to bed that Midsummer, and who the fuck was he to ever refuse an offer like that? She hadn’t wanted to wed him, and he hadn’t wanted to wed her either. But she was already betrothed and… well, Rhys had been the one to deal with the fallout when her intended had happened upon them in bed together.

But the Saxon - Lady Mandray, Cassian corrected himself with no small amount of pleasure; it wasn’t her real name and wasn’t enough to sate him but still… he had some name to call her by and it was enough for now - wasn’t the blacksmith’s daughter.

There was something, some instinct, telling him that it wouldn’t be a quick fling with her.

Perhaps it was the way she had glowered at him by the river, or the way she had held her ground in that narrow street, when Kallon had been ready to slit her throat. Cassian’s grin faltered at the reminder of that bastard, whose days were even more numbered now than they had been before. Oh, Cassian would relish that kill soon. Would make it slow, painful. Would let the blood pool between his fingers, just so he could feel it when Kallon’s life-thread unravelled before him, beneath his hands, in a way that even the goddess Skuld would shudder to witness. 

Soon.

His smile returned in full force, his mind turning once more to those silver-blue eyes, so formidable he almost thought he would bring down entire kingdoms in her name, just so he could present her with a throne. Crown her with gold. Kneel at her feet, as he’d never kneeled for anybody before. 

“She’s a beauty, Rhys.”

“I couldn’t give a fuck about her beauty if it means trouble for me.”

Cassian only shrugged again. Thought of those eyes, and all the lives he would end, the worlds he would destroy, if only she asked. 

And he’d only spoken to her twice.

“Who is she?” Rhys asked again.

His tone was light, but suspicion lined his eyes, like he had deduced far too much already from the look Cassian had shot his way earlier, when the king had announced his departure.

Rhys hadn’t questioned it, the way Cassian had seemed so readily inclined to agree with Alfred’s proposition. Like he would ever give a fuck about such things, were it not for the fact that it happened to keep the most stunning woman he’d ever seen just within reach for a little while longer. 

And after all, he had been raised as a warrior— a thief and a murderer.

So let Mandray stay, Cassian thought. Let him be an ambassador between them. And let him stand there and watch as Cassian stole his wife from him, right before he cut the bastard’s throat. 

His fingers twitched towards his blade, as if imagining it already. How he’d make the man beg for his life before the end. Cassian had watched the way his hand had curled around his wife’s wrist in the mead hall the other night; saw in that single touch the depth of the man’s character. 

And he had found it wanting.

Pointedly, Rhys cleared his throat, dragging Cassian from all thoughts of violence and vengeance. Still he awaited an answer, and Cassian knew his brother well enough by now to know that Rhys wouldn’t let this go, not until Cassian delivered him a name. So he shrugged again, every line of his body loose as he said, like it was nothing,

“Lady Mandray.”

His tone was only deceptively casual. Already, as the words left his mouth, he was waiting for Rhys to throw a dagger at his face. Indeed, his lord’s lips had thinned, his hands curled tight around the intricately carved arms of his chair. 

“She’s a Saxon,” Rhys bit out, but Cassian only rolled his eyes.

“Have you seen her, Rhys?”

“Yes,” his brother gritted out, like the words were grinding on his tongue. “I sat in a peace meeting with her husband for four fucking hours.”

“Her husband is an ass.”

“So are you,” Rhys countered, incredulity heavy in his tone, his voice carrying across the emptiness of the hall and echoing all the way up into the rafters, like it might reach the gods themselves. 

Cassian couldn’t help the dazzling smile that erupted across his face, splitting his cheeks as he gave his brother a wink that he knew might well earn him a knife in the ribs. “Aye, but she likes me.”

“That’s why you gave me that fucking look when Alfred announced Mandray as an ambassador.”

“You know me so well, brother.” Cassian’s voice was dry, but mischief glimmered on his face, lingering in every word he spoke. Rhys huffed, his palms flattening on the arms of his chair. Like he had to remind himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t start a fistfight right now.

“As if I don’t have enough to deal with—”

It was funny, really.

The way Azriel chose that moment - that exact moment, when Rhys looked like he’d had enough of politicking and peace talks and keeping his people in line - to slam open the doors of the hall and storm inside, a messenger at his heels, struggling to keep up with Azriel’s long, forceful strides.

He’d always had the most abysmal fucking timing. 

And his face was grave now, his voice hard as his footsteps thundered across the wooden floor. Fury lit his eyes like lightning as he said, with a rage just barely leashed,

“There’s been an attack.”

If Rhys was the rudder of their ship, directing their objectives, and if Cassian was the oars, using brute strength to get them where they needed to go, then Azriel was the sail, catching the whispers on the wind. And this whisper…

Oh, this whisper had lit a match beneath his temper. 

Instantly, Rhys was on his feet.

“Where.”

His voice was cold and flat, echoing in the hall. The last few Danes that had lingered against the walls had stilled; the messenger had the good sense to look nervous. 

“The eastern coast.”

Rhys’ eyes darkened. His hands curled into fists at his sides. 

“I said where.”

His words were forced through gritted teeth, and when Azriel stepped aside to let the messenger speak, the man - little more than a boy, really, Cassian thought - looked like he was about to piss himself. Cassian stalked across the dais, coming to stand beside Rhys’ only-recently vacated chair and leaning an elbow against the back of it. His stance was casual, but his face, he knew, was murderous.

“North,” the messenger managed, all but trembling as he looked at Rhys’ face and took in the wealth of anger he found brewing there, like an almighty storm. “Reports say Danes sacked Whitby— St Hild’s Abbey.”

Rhys’ eyes were chasms of fury; merciless, unrelenting rage lining his entire body as he straightened. “How much was destroyed?”

The messenger paused. Looked to Az, as if searching for confirmation. Azriel only gave him a grim, firm nod before waving a hand and motioning for him to continue. 

“Little,” the messenger said quietly. Cassian’s brow twitched. “They’re saying the Danes came at night. A small band of them, when the moon was at its lowest. They let the Abbess and the nuns escape, but the relics were stolen and a stable block is in ruins. Otherwise the destruction was… minimal.”

Minimal.

Something about that one word put Cassian’s teeth on edge, had his hand drifting towards his blade. Across the distance, Cassian met Azriel’s unscrupulous gaze and saw the same trepidation mirrored right back at him, passing between them like a current. His brother’s brow contained a single, solitary furrow— the only outward sign Azriel would allow of his unease. Rhysand, too, kept his face carefully blank, Cassian noted as he flicked his attention back to his lord. But the words that ran between the three of them went unspoken for now as, with nothing more than a flick of his hand, Rhysand dismissed the messenger and anybody else that still lingered in the shadows. 

Only when they were alone and the room had emptied did Rhys begin to pace.

His steps were measured; his voice as cold and as dark as a moonless night. “Azriel. I want to know who, exactly, attacked that abbey.”

“I mislike this, Rhys,” Az said as he stepped forwards, a hand on the hilt of his dagger, like already he anticipated bloodshed. “It doesn’t feel like an attack by Danes.”

Cassian tilted his head, running through the facts in his mind like one might run fingers through wheat— carding through the messenger’s report like there was something there he might have missed. Still, he frowned.

Azriel was right. 

Something was off, but…

“That abbey sits right up on that cliff face,” Cassian said slowly, “too easily seen by any ship passing by. Perhaps the messenger was right. Perhaps a band of raiders saw a chance and took it. Raiding is in our blood, after all.”

Az scowled again, casting his eyes up towards the roof and finding the hatch where the smoke escaped from the fire pit below. A slice of cloud-grey sky was visible, threatening rain. 

“No,” he murmured. “This feels… different.”

His hand moved to the hilt of his dagger, his scarred fingers tracing a path along the pommel. Cassian recognised each and every one of his brother’s tells, and this was one of them, a move so idle, so thoughtless, it was clear his mind was elsewhere, contemplating something far more serious. 

“The place is still standing for a start,” Azriel continued, before lowering his eyes from the roof and finding Rhys still pacing before him. Bald question hung in the air between them. “No lives lost, either. When have you known Danes to take so little?”

He didn’t look down at his hands, scarred by fire. The kind of fire their people set after a successful raid. The kind of fire that was conspicuous in its absence, now. 

Cassian leaned more bodily against Rhys’ chair, folding both of his arms atop it. In the silence he studied the curving lines of the tattoo on his forearm, tracing the path until it reached his wrist, where a braided leather bracelet was tied; a small silver charm threaded through in the shape of a raven.

A messenger of the gods. All-seeing. All-knowing. 

“Can we be certain it was only the relics that were taken?” he asked, barely letting his eyes stray from that raven for more than a heartbeat.

Az tilted his head. “I can find out.”

Rhys nodded, ceasing his pacing at last. Cassian huffed a breath as he tore his eyes away from that raven and pushed away from the chair, casting a wary glance at the carved pillars of the hall, inscribed with their legends and their tales. He looked to the one nearest, with Loki’s wager chiseled into its surface, playing out before him. The story of the trickster god and the bet he made with a dwarf that almost cost him his head curved around the pillar, disappearing into shadow. Only Loki’s quick wit and wily tongue had saved him that day; Cassian wondered what it would take to save them, now.

“I don’t see why it matters,” Cassian muttered as his eyes followed the story around the curve of the pillar. “If a few Christian relics have been stolen, what business is it of ours?”

Silence answered him.

It didn’t seem to matter that Rhys had just been baptised a Christian. His brother’s commitment to the faith was about as potent as watered-down ale. And yet the attack was too calculated to ignore, too precise to have been accidental.

Whoever attacked that Abbey had done so with purpose.

Something whispered at the edge of his mind, like the hand of a god had just been laid on his shoulder. The hand of Tyr, perhaps, the god of war. Cassian’s eyes narrowed, wandering to one of the long tables laid out before him— and a map, left behind, still sitting atop it, its corners weighed down with pieces of silver. 

England had been drawn in black ink, in stark contrast to the new boundary lines of the Danelaw marked in brilliant, bright red. Like freshly spilled blood.

And suddenly, as Cassian made his way to that table and braced both his palms against the edge, suddenly he wondered if Tyr hadn’t been walking unseen between them in that room. If Loki hadn’t looked down on them with that air of duplicity, because suddenly…

Like a lightning strike, it hit him.

“Unless…”

Rhys’ face sharpened as he came to Cassian’s side. “Unless?”

“Strange, isn’t it. That the king of the Saxons leaves our territory just hours before news of the attack arrives.”

Azriel’s face was as unforgiving as stone when Cassian glanced up, and Rhys’ lips were pressed together in a thin, furious line.

“You think Alfred ordered the attack?”

Cassian smiled grimly, leaning forwards to better study the map beneath his hands. “It would be easy enough to make it seem like Danes sacked that Abbey. Easy, to send a band north to take back their relics and spirit them south. Easy, for Alfred to time his departure— to have the raiders fall back in with his court as they move through our lands, like they’d been there all along.” He dragged a finger along the map’s surface, from Whitby, through Jorvik, and down to the Saxon lands in the south. Alfred’s lands. His gaze flicked back up to Rhys.

“Think on it, Rhys. Would a man as irritatingly pious as Alfred really be prepared to leave some of his faith’s most precious relics in an abbey that now sits behind pagan borders?”

Rhys rubbed a hand along his jaw. Shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I can’t imagine that he would.”

Azriel swore, low and filthy. “He wants to renegotiate the boundary lines,” he said, understanding settling like a veil. “By placing the blame for the attack on the Danes, he can easily argue that we broke the terms of the treaty. He can retaliate— take back the lands he and his people have only just agreed to give.”

Cassian’s temper flared. “Except not all of them agreed.” He thought back to Lady Mandray’s husband— the odious cunt. “The peace is far from universal.”

He scowled as he studied the map again. Rhys followed Azriel’s curse with one of his own. 

“Either way, we’re fucked,” Az muttered. Venom seeped into his tone, coalesced with the bitterness that came with being outsmarted. And if there was one thing Azriel did not like, it was being outsmarted. “If we do nothing, the Saxons claim the abbey was attacked by Danes and they raise their armies in self-defence. If we retaliate, they are sure to take it as a sign of aggression. Either way, they have ready cause to break the peace.”

Fucked, indeed.

Except Cassian had never shied from a fight, and his people had never been afraid to bloody their hands. Rhys merely tapped a finger against his chin, even as his eyes roved across that map on the table.

“Take a few days to prepare, Az,” he said, nodding to Azriel who was, once more, toying with the hilt of his blade, “but then I want you at that abbey to figure out what the hell happened.” He paused, his eyes turning sharp and his voice growing sharper, like the lethal side of a blade.

“And if the Saxons are trying to bait us into something,” he muttered, “then you bring me the damned proof.”

***

Two days passed in a blur. A strange combination of trepidation and curiosity became Nesta’s constant companion, and in the hours where her husband disappeared - either slipping away to Rhysand’s hall on the king’s business or slipping away to the whore house for his own - she let herself wander frequently down to the river, and would spend hours in the long grass observing the ships coming in, entirely alone. 

She would never admit that she was searching for something. For someone. 

It didn’t bother her, exactly, that she hadn’t seen Cassian since that morning in the hall, when Alfred had left. It wasn’t like she wanted to happen upon him by the river again. Yet every spare moment she got, she found herself walking down there anyway, telling herself with every damned step that she was going in search of peace and quiet and fresh air. 

Nothing more.

She might have even been down at the river when the letter had arrived, were it not for the rain. The heavens had opened, turning the streets of Jorvik into a swell of puddles and mud, and it was for that reason, and that reason alone, that when a letter had arrived with Tomas’ name on the front in the king’s own handwriting, Nesta had been there to watch as her husband broke the seal and sat down to read it. 

It was little more than a note, really. Barely half a page long.

But when Nesta had tried to look over her husband’s shoulder to see the contents of that letter, Tomas had folded it quickly and tucked it surreptitiously into a pocket. 

“The king has received news of an attack on a nearby abbey,” he explained as he reclined in a chair by the window. Nothing about him seemed like he had just received troubling, unexpected news. Nothing. “Relics have been stolen. Property destroyed. The Danes preyed upon the abbey in the night and took all that they could carry.”

Nesta wondered how Alfred had managed to fit all of that in the few scant lines she’d glimpsed on that page.

Wondered, too, how word had reached him so fast, when he had only been gone a handful of days.

Tomas was calm as he crossed his legs in his chair, slowly rolling his ankle in a perfect circle. She knew firsthand how unpredictable his temper could be; how quick he was to anger. And yet here he sat, oddly serene for a man who had just learned that his fellow Christians had been attacked.

“How many were killed?” Nesta asked, a hand rising to her chest, as if the press of her fingers might calm her fluttering heartbeat. She looked to the window, to the world outside and the rain that had eased into a fine drizzle; to the Danes she had started to think might not be so different, after all.

“Killed?” Tomas looked up, as if surprised she had spoken. A furrow appeared in his brow before he waved a hand, dismissing her entirely. “None.”

Nesta stilled.

“None?”

“A lucky escape, I am sure,” Tomas said with a shrug. “The Danes responsible must have realised the error of their ways, in attacking a place so holy. They appear to have let the monks and nuns flee as they wreaked their destruction.”

Odd.

Nesta hadn’t ever known Norsemen to leave any alive, and yes, there was supposed to be peace between them now, but…

Odd.

Tomas cleared his throat. “Send a message to Lord Rhysand,” he said briskly, as if she were no more than a servant to run his errands. “I want to see him. Alfred wants an explanation, and he will get one. This cannot go unpunished.”

There was a gleam in his eye, then, that Nesta instantly mistrusted. A small curve to lips, that said Tomas wasn’t at all surprised by the attack, and much less displeased by it. A snake— her husband was a snake, and she wondered just how much of this played into his hands. Still, she watched him raise a brow and nod towards the door as if to say, well? What are you waiting for?

Nesta bit back her questions, her suspicions, and went out into the rain to deliver her husband’s message.

***

Nesta wasn’t afraid.

She knew she should be, as she walked through the gathering fog towards Rhysand’s hall. After all, if the attack did anything, it proved just how unstable the peace between them was. How fragile. Yet Tomas sent her alone into that hall anyway, and with the rain and the mist, Nesta was certain it would be filled with Danes seeking shelter from the weather. 

She wasn’t wrong.

The doors opened before her, and the noise and the warmth hit her immediately. Still, she wasn’t afraid. Not when there was one laugh booming above all the others, like a beacon to her, the sound so familiar even though she had heard it only once before, down at the riverbank. 

She forced her eyes to scan the entire hall first before seeking out Cassian.

What she found surprised her. The long tables were already full of Danes drinking and gaming, with coins scattered across the tables, all of them different sizes and weights, with different languages and different faces inscribed upon the surface of each. Foreign coins, not valuable as currency, she knew, but because of the silver content. They were in small piles around game boards, like the Norse had decided to seek respite from the cold and the rain by coming inside to drink and gamble.

Women surrounded some of those tables, too.

Women with daggers at their sides; women with their hair braided back, laughing and drinking and gambling with the men. Nesta suppressed her shock, but almost paused when one woman in particular met her eye and nodded her head in greeting. Her dark brown eyes were astute, her burnished skin warm beneath the candles, and her smile was knowing as she raised a brow. 

There was an empty space beside her— a spot on the bench that the woman nodded to. 

An invitation.

But Nesta tore her eyes away, shaking her head as she declined, remembering why she had been sent. Who it was she sought. The woman shrugged as if to say, next time, then, as Nesta tore her eyes away, forcing herself to look to the table at the centre of the hall, right next to the fire that was spitting embers, smoke rising in curls to the hatch in the ceiling. 

There, like it was the only place fit for him to be, Cassian lounged on a wooden chair, with one leg slung unceremoniously over one of the arms as he sprawled beneath the candlelight. One of those same game boards sat on the table before him, the pieces arranged in the middle of a game, and though his posture was easy - arrogant, even - Nesta didn’t miss the seax tucked into the belt at his waist. Didn’t miss the dagger resting idly on the table beside him, either. Kept within reach.

Beside him, the Dane with the scarred hands straightened in his chair as he caught her eye; drew his own blade. 

Rhysand was nowhere to be seen. 

With a languid, indifferent kind of slowness, Cassian turned his head. The glow of the candles skated along his cheekbones, glancing off the silver rings climbing up his ears and settling atop the hastily-tied bun that kept his curling hair back from his face. At her approach his eyes sparked, but he kept his face impassive. Lazy. 

With lithe fingers he plucked up the dagger from the table, turning it in hand to admire the way it gleamed in the light. The blade shone like molten silver, like moonlight on the open ocean, and where the first Dane’s move for his dagger had been vaguely threatening - the suggestion of violence, if nothing else - this was wholly different.

This felt like he was… showing off, somehow.

“And what’s this?” Cassian damn near purred as he watched her steps slow. “A Saxon woman coming alone into a Danish hall?”

His voice was a low brush against every single one of Nesta’s senses, like he dragged a finger down her spine with every word he spoke. Even through the noise of the hall, she heard it as perfectly as if he had whispered right in her ear. Yet he didn’t move from his spot on that chair, his leg kicked over the arm like it was a throne and he the most irreverent, irresponsible king in the world. He tutted as she approached, the wicked grin on his face turning devious as he turned that dagger slowly in hand. 

“You’re asking for trouble, sweetheart.”

Nesta pulled back her hood. “I’m asking for you.”

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He only smirked, tilting his head like a predator observing his prey as he turned and planted both feet on the ground. Still, his fingers played with that dagger, turning and twisting, letting the hilt slide across the backs of his fingers as he flipped it over his hand. Such utter mastery of the weapon— such control, such balance.

He didn’t even need to look at the damned thing.

“Some might say they are one and the same thing.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but made no further move as he winked at her before leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and letting the dagger hang between his fingers, the blade pointed at the ground. 

“Tell me, love. What is it you seek me out for?”

The endearment sent a skitter down her spine, but Nesta let it pass. She blinked as she folded her hands before her. “I have a message for your lord.”

His eyebrows raised in an echo of hers, straightening in his chair as, at last, he set down his dagger on the table. At his side, the other Dane put his blade away, too.

“What message?” Cassian asked. “Better yet, whose message?”

“My husband’s.”

“And can he not come himself?”

Nesta shrugged. “Likely he thinks himself too important to come begging for an audience.”

Cassian’s lips twitched, the mere suggestion of a smile lingering at the corner of his mouth. “So he sends his wife to do it for him, does he? What a man you have secured for yourself, love.”

Oh, Nesta thought she could have drowned in the richness of his voice, then. It was thick and sweet like honey, dripping with suggestion and sarcasm both. His hazel eyes gleamed as he dragged his attention over her, and suddenly she felt flushed, like she’d just stepped into the heart of the fire. With the way he was looking at her, nothing but embers in his eyes, she half thought she had; half thought that the heat that licked at her skin was the fires of hell, consuming her already. 

But he only continued looking at her, that smirk playing on his lips— lips she had no business to be looking at so intently. She cleared her throat, pulling her gaze up, but he didn’t relent.

He held out a hand. “Come, sweetheart. Sit. Drink.”

With one foot he kicked out the chair beside him, leaving it open for her. His hand was still extended in invitation and even from a distance, Nesta could see the scars across his knuckles, travelling up his wrists. So many small nicks, forever impressed upon his skin, brutal reminders of how much blood he had already shed. And yet she fought a shiver as she looked at the broad expanse of his palm, wondering how those callouses would feel dragging across the skin at her waist, or sliding up the length of her spine—

She cleared her throat again.

Cassian’s smile was hungry - starved - as he pushed a tankard - his tankard - across the table and added,

“Forget about your husband.”

Oh, Nesta thought wryly, her eyes dropping tho those hands again. You have no idea how much I want to.

And maybe it was that defiant streak in her - the one her mother had tried so hard to stamp out before she died; the one Tomas railed against even now - that made her step forward and slide into that open chair with ease. Cassian grinned, even as she pressed her knees together and kept her back straight, her shoulders back, her head slightly bowed. Just as her mother had taught her.

But her mother had never taught her how to sit like a proper lady amongst Danes. 

Especially not as Cassian hooked one foot around the leg of her chair and yanked it forward  in a show of strength that had her all but gasping as her hands shot out, grabbing the edge of the worn table as she grappled for purchase. Her palms flattened against the scarred surface, and when she lifted her head, fury written all over her face, she found herself sitting so close to him that she was drowning in the sea-salt and leather scent of him. His eyes met hers; held her gaze even as fury simmered beneath her skin. 

Fury, and something else, too. 

Tension crackled between them, thick enough to taste and sharp enough to bite, and God in Heaven Nesta could have sworn she felt his gaze on her skin like a physical touch, leaving a trail of fire wherever his eyes wandered. She looked up into those eyes, the hazel darkened by something that looked an awful lot like desire, and suddenly Nesta felt like the ground had dropped out from beneath her feet. The world she thought she knew, so steady and predictable, suddenly felt like it had been turned on its head— like Doomsday had come early.

He said nothing— Nesta said nothing. 

There was only his eyes, boring right into hers, as if he could see through to the core of her; and hers, roving across his face like she was searching desperately for an answer to all the questions she knew she could never voice, the ones that would damn her immortal soul.

And then the unknown Dane on the other side of the table cleared his throat. “Perhaps,” he said dryly, sliding his gaze to Cassian, “we should give Rhys whatever message her husband sent her here with.”

Cassian shot the Dane a glare. He waved a hand. “Oh, I’ll tell Rhys the Saxon wishes for a meeting, don’t worry.” He turned his attention back to Nesta, grinned at her. It was all teeth. “I just might wait an hour first.”

Nesta almost rolled her eyes again, but then Cassian leaned back in his chair, his eyes wandering across her collarbone as his attention snagged, for a moment, on the cross at her neck. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in his gaze, and with a muttered curse, the other Dane pushed away from the table and got to his feet.

He towered above them, a living shadow as he blocked the light from the nearest candle.

“Then I will tell him,” he said, before shooting a pointed look in Nesta’s direction. It was thick with warning. “But he will not like being summoned by a Saxon.”

Nesta met the stranger’s eye. His colouring was so similar to Cassian’s, those eyes only a shade or two lighter, but where Cassian’s beauty was rugged and a little bit wild, his was far more clean, all sharp angles and symmetry. He looked like a man who knew how to kill with cold, indifferent efficiency, and yet there was no intimidation or fear to be found in Nesta when she looked into his handsome face— she’d run out of both a long time ago. 

She shrugged. “Tell him to run Tomas through with his sword, then. I won’t mourn.”

Cassian barked a laugh, and without another word the nameless Dane slipped away, melting into the shadows as seamlessly as if he had never been there at all. Nesta could have sworn, though, that she glimpsed something flickering in his eyes before he departed. Something like curiosity, perhaps approval, when she tossed the attitude he gave her right back at him.

“I think I like that one,” Nesta said lightly after the Dane had gone, nodding to the doorway in the corner, half-hidden by shadows, that he had vanished through. Cassian only scoffed. 

“Don’t get used to it. Azriel will be leaving tomorrow for a week or two.”

“Why?”

He smirked. “You’re the wife of an enemy lord, sweetheart. Do you really think I’ll give up our secrets so easily?”

She shrugged, even as the word enemy clanged through her like the ringing of a church bell. Of course he was still her enemy— how could she have ever forgotten?

 “Suit yourself.”

“You never told me your name,” Cassian said, nudging his tankard towards her with the tip of a finger. When her fingers curled around it, he nodded his approval. 

“You know my name,” she countered smoothly, lifting the tankard to her lips to drink. It was heavy, filled to the brim, and this wasn’t the sweet, honeyed mead from the other night. No, the ale was bitter when it hit her tongue, flat and foamy, and Nesta couldn’t help the grimace that twisted her face as she swallowed. Yet the bitterness was secondary when Cassian tipped his head back to laugh, the sound rolling through her like a wave— a current she felt rippling through bone and sinew, all the way through to her centre.

With a scowl Nesta pushed the tankard back towards him, and he wasted no time before he wrapped a hand around it and lifted it to his mouth - drinking from exactly the same spot she had, like he wanted to taste the ghost of her lips against the rim - with nothing more than a wink in her direction.

“Lady Mandray,” he scoffed as he put the tankard down again with a muted thud. He rolled his eyes. “I want your name, love. Not your husband’s.”

She was silent. It felt like crossing a line, somehow, to give a man like this her name— like it was a boundary she shouldn’t even think of breaking. A threshold not to be tampered with. 

Still, she wondered what it would sound like for him to say it. To speak it with that rolling, deep voice of his. 

“Play me for it.”

Nesta blinked. “What?”

Cassian nodded to the game pieces before them. “If I win, you give me your name.”

God, there was something about the way he said it— something lingering beneath his words. Something that said he’d crawl over hot coals to lay claim to some piece of her, even if it was something as small and as inconsequential as her name. She fought a shudder, fought the heat gathering at the base of her spine as she glanced towards the game between them.

“And if I win?” she asked.

He smirked. “I’ve been playing this game since I was a babe, sweetheart. It’s strategy. Ingrained in us since childhood to help us learn to fight better.” He shrugged, but those damned eyes were on fire again, dancing with so many different emotions Nesta was struggling to keep up. “I doubt you’d best me, but you are certainly welcome to try.”

She leaned forward. The challenge he issued sparked in her blood, made her want to dive headfirst into this— into whatever it was that was making the air between them feel as tight as a bowstring.

“What do I get if I win, Cassian?” she asked again, her voice flat. 

In that moment, she realised that it was the first time she had spoken his name aloud. He realised it too— the fire in his eyes flared, the smirk on his lips turning wicked. Slowly, he dragged the pad of his thumb along that bottom lip, as if contemplating how best to utterly devour her, and oh, the line between them was so dangerously thin, now. So, so dangerously thin. 

“What is it that you want, love?”

His voice held a thousand unspoken promises; a vow that he’d grant her anything, whatever it was that she desired. As if he had the power to bend the world to her will and hers alone.

Nesta faltered for a moment. Didn’t know what to ask for.

And then her eyes drifted to that shadowed corner, and the door the other Dane had slipped through earlier. A safe answer, that’s what she found there in the shadows, beyond the reach of the candlelight. 

“I want to know where Azriel will be going.”

If her answer surprised him, he didn’t let it show. Cassian only grinned and said, as he swept the pieces off the board and into his cupped palm,

“Done.” 

Taglist: @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @valkyriesupremacy @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome @pyxxie @jmoonjones @unlikelypersonalknight1

[orions-choker]

Animals (Werewolf! James Hetfield x Reader Fluff)

Werewolf! James Hetfield, Fluff, Domestic moments.

Word Count: 3,770

Reader works at a vet clinic, just when she's sure she has seen it all come through those doors she's met with the oddest looking wolf she's ever seen. (Cross posted to AO3)

This is a very quick and probably not fantastic Werewolf James fluff. I just had this silly idea in my head and wanted to write it down quickly so apologies this isn't the best thing I've ever written <3

Being a veterinarian in a rural town meant one saw a lot of odd things. Coming through those doors were sometimes wild deer, cows, hawks, owls, you name it. However Y/N had never treated a wolf before, let alone a wolf quite so big.

“How did you say you found this guy?” She asked, concern in her voice as she pet across the animals side gently, simultaneously soothing the creature and searching for any egregious wounds hidden in the thick fur. It was breathing shallowly, hardly conscious as it lay across her cold examining table.

The old farmer standing in the room with her shrugged, the smell of his chewing tobacco fragrant in the air as his teeth clacked together. “Laying in the ditch just down the road ere’” His twang was a little thicker than her own, though she understood him easily enough. “Seemed pretty beat up. unno’ I figured I should bring him in.”

She nodded slowly, leaning over to pry the beast's eyes open gently, she watched as the pupils slowly followed her movements, a good sign. Aside from that she noticed its eyes were strikingly blue, captivating in an odd way. “Thank’s Kenny, we’ll take care of him from here, get home it's getting late.” She dismissed him kindly. Y/N stood up, turning her back to the table to grab IV supplies.

Kenny, the farmer, grunted in acknowledgment, shutting the door to the examination room behind him. The heavy thud of his boots grew distant until she could no longer hear them. She turned around, holding the small needle attached to the drip bag in her hands. “C’mon boy, let's get you feeling better.” She smiled sweetly.

It was some hours later that Y/N had found the cause, luckily no serious wounds but a fractured leg and some slight malnutrition. Poor guy looked like he had been abandoned by his pack. With the bandage wrapped around the offending leg she pulled the wheeling bed outside. It took three members of staff to gently move the sedated wolf into one of their outside kennels for wild animals.

Y/N grunted as she clicked the gate close, pulling on the lock. “We’ll keep an eye on him for a bit, maybe get in touch with a rehabilitation center.” She huffed out to one of her techs. Dusting her hands off on her scrubs. “Odd looking wolf though don't you think?” She asked, looking over the hulking mass of dusty blonde fur.

“Yeah, maybe it's part albino?” Her vet tech supplied with a shrug, following after her into the building once more.

By the time she had finished cleaning up and completing the necessary paperwork it was near midnight. Y/N had long since sent the rest of the staff home, assuring them she could close up here by herself. She decided to do one last set of rounds, checking on all the current patients she had, her final stop being the wolf. To her surprise he was awake.

“Hey buddy, how are you feeling?” She asked sweetly, crouching down in front of the cage he was sitting in. The wolf eyed her curiously, unmoving from the spot it lay in, on top of a soft but old and worn blanket. “Still a little dazed huh? I’ll be back tomorrow okay?” She smiled with a tilt of her head. Its blue eyes followed her movements as she got back up to her feet, slowly turning and walking away.

Y/N couldn’t help but think of the creature all night, a mixture of curiosity and concern for its well being. Truly nothing could have prepared her for a wolf that big, despite the clear signs of undereating, she shuddered to think what it looked like when properly taken care of. She likened it to something like a fictional dire wolf.

In her dreams were those blue eyes watching her, and a boy, her age with wild blonde hair. Prophetic dreams weren’t her strong suit so by the time the sun crested the hills and woke her with its gently warm rays, she had forgotten about it.

The wolf was her first stop that day, a hunk of raw meat in her hands as she approached the enclosure. She noticed the way its large ears perked up, its nose high in the sky as it sniffed out the blood in the air. A good sign, it was still interested in eating.

“Hey boy.” She sang, stepping towards the metal bars. “How are you doing this morning, hungry?” She asked, holding the meat out between the bars with a pair of tongs. “Think you can try walking over here?” She hoped to gauge how bad the injured leg was.

It seemed annoyed? Giving her an almost comical side eye and pathetic snarl before slowly raising itself up. The steps it took towards her were slow, but unwavering, no wobbles or winces of pain. “That's a good boy.” She praised him gently. It prodded at the meat gently with its nose before opening its large jaws and snapping at the food.

The entire chunk was gone in a matter of seconds, the wolf devouring it like it hadn’t eaten in months. Y/N frowned. “You poor thing, there's more where that came from kay?” She watched with curious eyes as it licked at its lips, seemingly satisfied. Slowly it pressed its face to the bars, eyes wide and pitiful as it looked up at her.

Y/N was almost convinced, just for a moment, that this predator was nothing more than a big puppy. “Aww buddy, I can’t give you pets, you'll bite my hand off.” She shook her head at him. It whined at her slowly, as if it could understand the words she was saying. She frowned, looking down to the ground, spotting a stick laying by her feet.

Quickly she picked it up, reaching forward with it to scratch gently between the wolf's large ears. “That's the best I can do dude.” She chuckled, watching the way its tail thumped against the ground happily. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit, keep yourself entertained.” She tossed the stick into the enclosure, the wolf's jaws snapping around it in an impressive catch. She stared in bewilderment before shaking her head and walking away.

“Do you think there's any chance in hell that this thing is some kind of wolf dog?” Y/N asked her team as she entered the building. “I might be going crazy but it seems domesticated.” She frowned, sitting down at her desk chair.

One of the fellow vets stared at her like she had grown a second head. “I've seen wolf dogs before, they’re smaller than a normal wolf, not bigger than them.” He said, placing a cup of coffee down in front of Y/N. “That thing is not domesticated I can promise you that, please dont get any funny ideas and try to cuddle the fucking thing.”

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at that, taking a sip of the warm drink as she leaned forward. “I have a couple more brain cells than that, but seriously it seemed like it wanted pets and to play fetch?” She frowned, placing her elbows on the desk before her. “I wonder if some crazy person tried domesticating a pup and left it in the wild when they realized it wasn’t going to work.”

“Hmm possible I guess, but I think you’re just reading too much into it.”

He was probably right. Y/N sighed and shook her head. The rest of her day was terribly uneventful, which she supposed was good, less hurt animals was always a good thing. Still she couldn't shake the feeling of boredom. She had no excuse for staying late tonight but she did anyway.

Bidding farewell to the last receptionist she closed the door, turning the deadbolt before making her way to the back door that led out to the yard. The other enclosures were empty save for the final one at the end. Flashlight in hand she approached once more with an offering to the beast.

“You awake boy?” She called out as she rounded the corner. As she laid eyes upon the contents of the cage her flashlight and tongs clattered to the ground. The beam of the light still illuminated the inside and like a spotlight drew the attention to the boy that sat there. Naked, a loose bandage falling from his leg. Messy blonde locks and piercing blue eyes. “What the fuck.” She mumbled.

There was a sheepish smile on his face as he sat there, staring up at Y/N. His legs were crossed, hands placed to hide his more intimate parts. “Sorry, I can explain.” His voice was raspy, gruff but a little boyish. The next startling thing aside from this man suddenly sitting before her, was the fact this man also had a large set of protruding wolf's ears atop his head, and a huge tail that thumped against the ground just as the beast here before had.

Y/N was truly at a loss for words, standing frozen before the scene unfolding. “What. The. Fuck.” She finally managed to force out, taking a hesitant step backwards. Her eyes scanned over the enclosure for any signs of the animal she had come out here to see in the first place. “Who are you? How did you get in there?” She sputtered out. “I’m James.” He helpfully informed her, his ears laid flat against his head as he heard the panic in his voice. “You put me in here.” He scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Ahh man, how do you explain lycanthropy to someone.”

She blinked hard, was that supposed to be a joke? She scoffed “I know perfectly well about fucking werewolves.” her eyebrows furrowing. As much as she wanted to assume this was some horrible practical joke her staff was playing on her, she couldn’t deny the literal dog-like features he held. “Are you seriously telling me I was treating a werewolf and now I have a whole man locked up in the back of my vets office?”

The boy, James, that was his name. James' awkward smile returned. ‘Yeah I guess that's the gist of it.” A shiver ran over his bare body. “Hey you wouldn’t happen to have some clothes or something? It's kind of cold out here.”

Which is how she ended up with a half naked boy, wrapped up in a thick blanket in the passenger seat of her beat up 1980 Chevette. The hum of the radio being the only sound filling the tense car. “I think I have my dads old clothes in storage.” Y/N mumbled, eyes trained on the road ahead, hands stiff on the steering wheel.

James hummed awkwardly in acknowledgment. “Thank you again.” He drummed his fingers against the fabric of the blanket covering his thighs. She could see him staring at her from the corner of her eyes. His big blue puppy dog eyes seemingly admiring her like she was a hero.

Pulling into her garage Y/N shut the car off quickly. Waiting until the door shut behind them before opening the car door. She didn’t need any of her neighbors seeing her bring a strange naked dog boy back home. “You can come inside.” She mumbled awkwardly, pushing open the door that led into the main section of her home.

She didn’t need to tell him that, James had already been following her closely. Right on her heels. His blanket dragged behind him as he shuffled into the house.She frowned at him. “You know I think you could stand to have a shower too.” She could see the blanket moving wildly as his tail began wagging once more. “Over here,” She sighed.

Y/N gestured to the door leading to her bathroom. She shoved James inside gently, grabbing a towel from her linen closet. “Come out when you're done I should hopefully have some clothes for you.” She pushed the towel into his hands, ignoring the blush that rose to her cheeks as he smiled widely at her.

Quickly she backed out of the room as he began to drop the blanket covering him, pulling the door shut with a loud slam. Her chest heaved as she attempted to calm down her erratic breathing. While he had seemed like a well domesticated dog he certainly wasn’t a house trained human. Or maybe he was just like that.

The sound of the water heater humming to life and water pattering against the tile was her cue to find James some real clothes. She rummaged around in the back of her closet until she found something that looked approximately the right size. James was tall, big but lean just like the wolf had been, so she opted for some shorts over jeans and a plain loose fitting t-shirt. This would have to do for now.

Collecting the clothes in her arms she shuffled back into her living room, tossing them unceremoniously onto her couch. The sound of running water still echoed distantly down the hall so she took the moment to sit and contemplate.

She had treated a wolf, put the wolf outside, came back a day later to find a man there instead, and then brought the man home with her. The more she replayed the events in her mind the more it seemed completely unfathomable. She sat there, head hung low, hands tugging at her hair as she tried to rationalize it.

The house fell silent as the shower shut off. Her eyes drifted upwards at the sound of wet footsteps padded down the hall towards her. James rounded the corner, towel hung low around his waist, droplets of water running from his soaked hair down his lean chest and abdomen. Fuck, he was hot too wasn’t he. Y/N audibly groaned, tossing her head back against the couch.

“You okay?” He asked cautiously, walking forward to grab the pile of clothes from beside her. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut as James dropped the towel from his waist without a second thought. She waited until she no longer heard the ruffling of clothes before opening them again. The shorts were a little too short on him but otherwise everything fit just fine. “Y/N?”

“How do you know my name?” She asked curiously, she was positive she had not given him the courtesy of her name when they had their first introductions. She watched him as he moved to sit next to her on the couch, he grabbed the towel, using it to roughly dry his hair. Noticeably his ears and tail seemed to be gone now. “What's with the whole; wolf, half wolf half man, full man, thing you have going on?”

James smiled at her, yeah, yeah he was really cute. “It was on your nametag the other day.” He explained. He leaned back, body relaxing into the soft cushions on the couch. “Also that much is a little hard to explain, It’s just what my body does, you wouldn't try to explain the process of blood pumping in your veins to someone.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “That's hardly a good analogy.” She complained. She liked hard concrete answers, not wishy-washy bullshit. “It doesn't matter they don't train you for this thing in vet school.” She pulled her legs up onto the couch, resting her head atop her knees as she looked towards him. “Explain what led you here, why were you injured on the side of the road, why haven't you been eating?”

There was a hesitation in his eyes, silence following for a long moment. Gulping hard the blond finally spoke. “I got kicked out by my dad a couple years ago while I was still a teenager, I was couch surfing for awhile but I figured I needed to start fresh.” He seemed tense as he spoke. “Easier to cross the country on four legs rather than two, accidentally encroached on some guy's territory and got my shit kicked in, it had been a few weeks since I ate properly after that.”

“Are you hungry then?” Y/N asked sympathetically, feeling it wasn't her place to pry into the details of that story. She stood up from the couch, moving to the kitchen. James followed her closely, she didn’t comment on it. “Want some cold leftover pizza?” She hummed, throwing the door to her fridge open and rummaging around.

James peaked down at her from over the open door, excitement in his eyes as he nodded enthusiastically. “Thank you.” He eagerly took the pizza box from her hands, ripping it open to shovel the remaining slices into his mouth. “God Y/N, you’re the best.”

She couldn’t help the blush that stained her skin. She wasn’t sure what came over her next as she spoke. “Need a place to crash for a couple days?” The offer was out before she could take it back. Though at the way his eyes brightened, looking towards her, she was glad she offered.

“Are you really cool with that?” He asked around a mouthful of pizza.

Y/N sighed, defeated. “What can I say, I like helping out injured animals.” She joked lightly. Her heart fluttered at the way James cracked a smile at her. “I hope you don’t shed.”

–

A few days turned into a few weeks, weeks to a month. Truthfully she wasn’t keeping track anymore. She hated to admit it but she was lonely. Coming home each day to someone so eager to see her was definitely improving her overall quality of life.

James waited around eagerly for her every day, lounging across her sofa, usually half clothed. His presence in her home came in the form of old skate shoes by the front door, a guitar hanging above her bed, his dirty jeans and shirts piled in the corner of the bathroom each day. It felt more lived in.

“James!” She called out. She could hear the distant chattering of the t.v in the living room, a clattering of dishes alerting her to his location. She shuffled into the kitchen, body slumped over in exhaustion.

He eyed her worriedly as she came into view, quickly placing his plate down against the counter and coming to place a hand on her shoulder. “Long day?” He asked gruffly. A frown situated itself on his face.

Y/N nodded, leaning her head against his chest. “That's an understatement.” She groaned. “I think I might be in need of some doggy cuddles.” She looked up at him with pleading eyes. This had become a routine for them now, she had not only gained a roommate, but also a big fluffy pet to ease her sorrows on the worst of days.

Beneath her she could feel James’s body stiffen lightly, the hand he had placed on her shoulder gripping tighter. Curiously she peered up at him, their eyes meeting and she could feel the anxiety pouring from him. “Can I just…give you regular cuddles today?” He asked slowly, like the question would burn him if he spit it out too fast.

That was a boundary that hadn’t been crossed before. Not to say she hadn’t thought of it, truly she didn’t really know what the difference would be. She was lying next to him no matter what. Still she could feel the amount of courage it took for him to ask. Her eyes twinkled and she nodded softly. “Yeah that works too.” She grabbed his large hand within her own, and pulled him behind her to the bedroom.

James had taken up residence on her couch but that didn’t mean he hadn’t become well acquainted with her room. It was one of his favorite places to nap, completely overwhelmed by her scent and enveloped in the warmth of her trinkets and decorations. Of course he was always invited onto the bed when he chose to present as his wolf.

Y/N rolled onto the bed, letting out a comforted sigh. James enthusiastically crawled beside her. Their bodies gravitated towards each other like magnets, Y/N settling into the comforting embrace of his strong arms. He was big enough to fully envelop her with his body. She felt safe and hidden from the world like this.

“Thank you.” She rolled over, her back to his chest as she nestled her head against his arm using it as a pillow. “We lost some patients today.” Her voice wavered as she recounted the events of the day to James. “I just wanted to come home and cry.”

Her body was pulled back, bringing her tighter against James’s strong chest. His nose pressed to the top of her head. “M’sorry.” He soothed her gently rubbing her arms. “You can cry if you want to.” He assured her.

Y/N shook her head gently, taking in a deep shaky breath before speaking. “No, I think I’m okay now.” She tilted her head back to catch a glimpse of his face. Her hand reaching up, fingers gently tracing over the scarring across his cheeks. She thought it was cute, but she knew he didn’t feel the same. “Funny just being around you seems to make me feel better.”

Leaning into her touch, He smiled down at her. “Aren't you glad you saved me.” He joked lightly. Though it was true, he wasn’t sure he would have had the will to go on much longer had he not been brought into Y/N’s clinic.

“Every day.” She returned the smile. Her words filled with a sincerity that James wasn’t used to. His hair stood on end as an unfamiliar feeling swirled in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly Y/N yawned, her body straightening out as she stretched her limbs. “I think it's nap time.” She mumbled. Dropping her head back down she closed her eyes. “I’ll make dinner later.”

James nodded, reaching down with a free hand to pull the blankets over them. “A nap seems good.” He grunted out, trying to still the excitement building inside him. It threatened to boil over at how pleasantly domestic it felt to lay next to her. His mind whirled with hundreds of things he desperately wanted to blurt out.

Her body went slack in his hold. The rhythmic movement of her chest as she breathed falling in sync with his own. He decided his eager professions of love could wait until after she woke up.

[letupabit]

YOUR HCS ARE THE BEST THING IVE EVER SEEN OMGGGGGGGGG IM GOING FERALL RARARARARGH

Do you maybe have any other headcanons for min su by any chance 🙏🙏 he’s been rotting my brain lately i adore him

THANK YOU I LOVE U THIS IS SO KIND IM CRYIN

Urrrmmmm when it comes to Minsu I’m quite neutral if that makes sense? I don’t have much of an opinion on him as a character BUT he is a perfect candidate for my mean/noncon tickling ideas, he reminds me of a wet paper towel or the noise a laminated sheet makes when you wobble it. SO LETS GET INTO IT LETS GOOOOO

(This is just an excuse to bully Minsu oops. IM SORRY BOY)

Okay let’s be honest this man is BULLIED. This poor guy has to deal with Namgyu AND Thanos. Thanos is at least well-intentioned with him (as well as can be I guess…) but Namgyu genuinely just sees him as a plaything to take stress out on.

At the start of the games, when Minsu is first introduced via Semi, the bullying takes place in the form of being pushed around and the occasional roughhousing (Thanos thinks he’s just playing but Minsu is internally freaking out). Namgyu and Thanos are all over him, knowing they can manipulate and puppeteer him due to his anxious disposition.

It’s not until the Thanos team are sitting around in the dorm eating their daily meal (in this instance it was a red bean paste bun) that Minsu’s ticklishness was discovered. Let’s be so fr, this man is DEATHLY TICKLISH, like you can just tell.

Namgyu had already finished his food when he decided that wasn’t enough and an idea formed in his head. Well, not really an idea, more just a ‘I can bully Minsu into giving me his share’. He walked up to where the younger man was sitting on a higher step and put his arm round his shoulder, ‘come on bro, we’re friends, you don’t need that right? I’m the stronger one anyway, how will I make sure we get through the next game if I’m thinking about food the whole time?’

Minsu hesitated, heart beating anxiously, bc like…this has never happened before. So far the two pill poppers had just been a pestering nuisance, but now his food is in danger? Isn’t that a bit far?

Namgyu decides the pause is too long and jabs him in the side. ‘Hey Minsu, are you even listening to me?’

AND THATS WHEN THE SECRET IS DISCOVERED! OH NO OOPS he lets out a sort of cross between a shout and a laugh? It takes him so by surprise. Namgyu is immediately intrigued, because he’s an actual sociopath and any sign of weakness is an invitation to him, even something as silly as tickling.

Chaos ensues (you asked for headcanons and this is turning into a full fuckin novel so I’m gonna go ahead and skip that storyline lmaooo) and it ends up with namgyu having two servings of food that day.

Since then, whenever he’s just kinda…bored? Namgyu will tickle the shit out of Minsu. It’s just something he finds so funny and entertaining. He can’t get in any REAL trouble with the guards or anything because it’s only tickling, right? He tickles Minsu for as long as he wants and finds the entire thing HILARIOUS.

Minsu’s worst spots are his whole body. Just fuckin everywhere. However he does laugh hardest when you form a claw with your hand and vibrate it on his stomach akshdhdjsk he HATES that so much, most intense feeling ever and all he can do is laugh. His laugh is super squeaky and he ends up hiccuping if he’s tickled for long enough (something Thanos and Namgyu love to exploit) and he cries easily.

The pill-poppers like to tease him throughout the entire time.

‘Awhh Minsu, you’re crying? Are we really that mean?’

‘What’s worse? Me tickling your stomach, or Thanos down there on your knees?’

Thanos is usually the one to stop it before it goes tooooo far. He cares about Minsu in his own weird way and when his laughter goes silent, that’s usually when Thanos will say ‘alright bro, he’s had enough’. Sometimes he’ll just watch as Namgyu goes to town on him, too high or lazy to contribute, and he’ll keep an eye on the situation every now and then to make sure it isn’t being taken too far. God help Minsu if Thanos isn’t around to help his ass tho lmaoooo

Minsu is also ticklish on the back of his neck/ears but not in the way the rest of him is. He actually enjoys these as they relax him and lowkey put him to sleep aaaaa. Usually Semi is the one to use this technique bc she’s not a psychopath like the other two and he deserves to be happy! Let him enjoy things!

[thewitcheswitch89]

Mary on a cross

Summary : You are a devout Catholic, but find yourself attracted to the anti-pope, Papa Emeritus IV, which goes against your own beliefs and the teachings of the Church. ....

Smut Warning. 18 +

you can also read on:

Min Heyoka (@TheWitcheswitch89) - Wattpad

You walk quickly through the darkened streets, your heart beating faster with each step. You know you're doing something forbidden, something that goes against everything you've been taught. But you can't help yourself. You have to see him.

The cold night air rushes past you as you make your way through the winding streets. Your mind races with equal parts excitement and fear at the thought of what you're about to do. Every instinct tells you to turn back, to go home, to forget him. But you can't. All you can think about is the man you're secretly meeting.

You reach a quiet alley and stop for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. You can feel your heart beating loudly in your chest as you look around nervously to make sure no one is watching. Then, with a final burst of courage, you creep forward, ducking into the shadows and moving toward the rendezvous point.

"Copia?" you whispered and walked towards him.

Copia turned to you, his eyes meeting yours in the darkness. He smiled, a smile that sent shivers down your spine. "You came," he said, his voice deep and soft. "I wasn't sure you would."

"I couldn't stay away... even if I wanted to... I had to see you," you said, smiling at him.

Copia chuckled softly and moved closer to you. "I know how you feel," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "This thing between us, it's forbidden. But it's too strong to ignore." He reached out and took your hand, his touch sending a wave of heat through your body.

You found yourself drawn to him, despite the guilt and fear that tugged at the edges of your consciousness. You knew what you were doing was wrong, that you were risking everything for a few moments with this man. But the pull of desire and lust was too strong to resist.

Copia gently pulled you closer and wrapped his arms around your waist. His eyes searched yours in the darkness, studying your expression. He could see the mixture of emotions warring on your face, but there was no denying the longing in your eyes.

Despite the danger and the risk, you couldn't stop yourself from leaning into his embrace. His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer until you were pressed against him. You could feel the heat of his body through his clothes, the pounding of his heartbeat against your own chest.

You had just given in to it, tried to resist it, tried to do what a good Christian should do. Pray and believe in God. But that wasn't enough for you anymore...you wanted the danger, the lust and the passion...everything that God couldn't give you. "I want to convert to your faith!" you said in a trembling voice and put a hand on his cheek.

Copia was taken aback by your words, his eyes widening in surprise. He studied your face, looking for any sign of deception or hesitation, but all he found was determination and desire. He reached up and placed his own hand over yours, holding it gently against his face. "You know what that would mean," he said softly. "You would risk your place in heaven."

"I don't care...I don't want to go to heaven if you're not with me!" You clung to his jacket and looked into his eyes.

Copia's gaze softened as he looked at you, his heart swelling at your words. He could see the fire in your eyes, the passion and determination that had brought you to this decision. He knew that what you were doing was dangerous, that you were risking everything for him. But he couldn't deny the flutter in his chest at your declaration.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This is a path from which you can never return.Are you willing to give up everything you've ever known for me?"

"We looked for reasons, tried to play by the rules," you began, your voice shaking slightly. "But we quickly found that it only made us fools."

Copia listened quietly, a look of understanding on his face. He knew what you were referring to, the strict rules and restrictions of your former faith.

"Those rules, those limits, they were never meant for us."

You continued, your voice stronger now, filled with conviction. "They were meant to keep us apart, to keep us trapped in a life that wasn't true to our hearts. But I don't want that. I don't want to live a life of conformity and denial."

"No matter how much pain or sorrow we've faced," you continued, your voice strong and unwavering. "I have never let go, never stopped fighting for us."

Copia's eyes softened even more at your words, his heart swelling with emotion. He squeezed your hand gently, a silent promise that he would always be with you, always ready to fight for your love.

Copia smiled sadly as he listened to you speak, your words evoking images of the iconic Christian figure of Mary on the Cross.

"You, like Mary, have such a deep faith," he said softly. "But your beauty has never frightened me, never made me feel unworthy or undeserving of your love. Even as we stand here, defying everything we've been taught, it only draws me closer to you."

Copia chuckled softly , a hint of mischief in his eyes. "If you choose to run away with me," he said, leaning closer. "I will make you feel things you never thought possible, inside and out. And if there's anything wrong with that, I don't care. All I care about is being with you, no matter what the cost."

"Run away?" you said..."Where would we run to? "

Copia thought for a moment, his mind racing with possibilities. "Anywhere," he said finally. "Somewhere where no one knows us, where our love can be free. We could start a new life together, away from all this."

You looked at him and kissed him. you put all your passion into that kiss. his lips on yours were like fireworks, a key that seemed to open the door to your deepest longings. and after that, there was no turning back.

Copia's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he quickly relaxed into the kiss, taking you into his arms and returning your affection. His lips were soft yet firm against yours, his tongue slipping gently between your lips to deepen the kiss. A hand came up to cradle the back of your head, holding you against him as he explored your mouth with a passion that took your breath away.

you leaned back against him. you felt his body and wanted more...there was this desire that you had been suppressing all this time. and now it wanted to come to the surface. you wanted him...

Copia could feel your desire, the way your body pressed against his. He knew the passion and lust that had been building between you for so long. But he also knew the risks, the consequences if you were discovered.

But as he looked down at you, your eyes filled with desire and need, he couldn't resist. He pulled you even closer, his hands roaming over your body, his lips trailing kisses down your neck.

Copia's hand slipped under the hem of your skirt, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your thigh. He pressed you against the rough surface of the wall, trapping you between his body and the cool stone. His fingers continued to move higher, teasing and exploring as he nipped at your neck.

He could feel you melting under his touch, your body responding to his every move. He could feel your desire, your surrender to the unknown pleasures he was awakening in you. It was as if he had unleashed a part of you that had been hidden, buried deep inside. He continued his caresses, his lips returning to your mouth to claim it in a kiss as deep and desperate as the passion that burned between you.

You could feel his tongue in your mouth, his body pressed so intimately against yours. Every touch, every caress sent a shiver of pleasure through you, a new and exquisite sensation you had never experienced before.

Copia seemed to know where to touch you, where to kiss you, to elicit the most intense responses. His fingers continued to explore your body, finding sensitive spots you didn't even know you had, bringing you to the edge of pleasure and back again.

His hand pushed up your skirt as he whispered in your ear.

Copia's breath was hot against your ear as he spoke, his voice deep and raspy with desire. "I've wanted to do this for so long," he whispered as his hand continued to slide up your thigh. "To feel your skin, to taste you, to make you mine."

He had already pushed your panties aside and was looking into your eyes.

Copia's gaze was intense as he met your eyes, his fingers still tracing soft patterns on your skin. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Once we begin, there will be no turning back. You'll be mine, completely."

"Yes...!" was all you managed to get out before he began to stroke your midsection with his hand. Slowly and thoroughly. not missing an inch... to get you wet before he slid his two fingers inside you. his thumb massaging your sensitive bud.

You make me feel so good," you said.

Copia smiled against your neck, his lips moving up to your ear. "That's what I want," he murmured. "I want to make you feel things you've never felt before. I want to take you to the edge and keep you there, lost in a world of pleasure."

you grabbed his shoulder and wrapped one leg around his hip. your whole body trembled as he slid his fingers in and out. a moan escaped you...but you tried to keep it down, which you found difficult.

Copia noticed your attempt at silence and chuckled softly. "Don't hold back," he said, his voice rough and breathless. "Let me hear you. I want to hear how much you enjoy this."

you moaned loudly and put a hand on the back of his neck to pull him closer and kissed him. your whole body shook. you needed more ...more

Copia responded to your need and his lips met yours in a passionate kiss.

Copia's eyes darkened at your words, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I'm just getting started," he said, his voice deep and sultry. "But believe me, when we're done, you'll be completely undone."

Copia's eyes darkened further as he listened to your words, a devilish grin playing on his lips. "Oh, you can count on it," he said, his voice deep and sultry. "I'm going to do more than just tickle you inside, and I see nothing wrong with that. In fact, I can't wait to make you feel things you never even knew were possible."

he picked you up and sat you on the edge of the wall. your legs were now around his hips and he was standing so close between your thighs that you could feel how hard he was through his pants. he pushed himself against you to give you a little taste of what was to come…

[slptkns]

New Roommates

[Poly!Sleep Token x GN!Reader]

Summary: After your old roommate left, you were immediately greeted with four new ones, and the realization that your apartment is not big enough for five people.

A/N: Some suggestive themes at the end! Mostly just fluff.

Word Count: 1,270

A/N: Hi, it's me again, obsessing over some masked men. I saw @faithghoul (hope you don't mind the tag!) had some headcanons for like different powers the guys would have and I was struck with an idea of like mundane life mixed with those! I didn't go too in depth but i would love to if y'all are interested in my take on things!! Also, this is sorta a Part 2 of [this], but can read as a stand alone!

You groaned as you tried to make your way through your tiny flat. You just knew after your roommate moved out that you'd have enough room for yourself. You were mistaken. Horribly.

“Ves!” You yelled out once you finally reached the kitchen. “What the fuck? Don’t you guys have a place to stay?”

Vessel made his way towards you and you crossed your arms at him.

“You were practically begging for them the other night, and now you barely even want me here?”

You blink at him, before finally sighing and putting your hands up in defeat. “Look, you’re right. But, how the fuck am I supposed to watch TV?” You motioned towards the television, which was surrounded by II, III, and IV. “I mean, I love having you all here! But it’s-”

You’re cut off when III turns towards you and his eyes hit yours. He didn’t say anything, as usual. He didn’t have to speak, not aloud anyway. You look at Vessel and furrow your brows.

“He said if you want to watch TV they’ll move for you.” Vessel was grinning.

“But, what’s the condition?” You’re deadpan. Arms cross again. Vessel let out a loud laugh and II, III, and IV are all turned towards you now.

“Why does there have to be a condition?” Vessel cocks his head at you.

“What’s the condition?” You turn towards III. There is no answer. Not verbally. You, for a moment, were sure he wasn’t going to answer, period. Then you felt an intense brain fog. Your mind clouded, all outside noses were gone, until suddenly you heard his voice, “You have to sit in my lap.”

Your hand moved to your head immediately and you let out a soft groan as your eyes shut. A hand grabbed for you, Vessel’s. He steadied you and you looked back up at them. “I’m unsure I’ll ever get over that feeling…” You grumbled to yourself, “Okay. I need to sit in someone's lap after that.”

Vessel released you and you walked back into the living area. You grabbed up the remote for the TV and ushered the guys to the couch. You handed the remote to Vessel and settled yourself in III’s lap. His arms wrapped around you and his head rested on your shoulder.

“What do you want to watch?” Vessel questioned you.

“Whatever you can find,” You leaned back into III’s chest and closed your eyes, “My head hurts now, but I don’t mind sitting in here with you guys.”

III nuzzled into your neck and you heard him huff. And, for the first time in a while, he spoke to you out loud, “Sorry.”

His voice sounded strained and hoarse. It sent chills down your spine. You mumbled back an ‘it’s okay’ and nuzzled yourself back into him.

It wasn’t very hard for you to go to sleep once you got settled in. You knew there was some supernatural help with the resting, as Vessel had turned on some horror movie. No way you would have been able to go to sleep on your own to some loud screams.

You woke up the next morning in your own bed, cuddled up to a pillow and you sighed. Your eyes looked around the room and there were no signs of anyone else in there. You pouted and stood up. You walked towards your bedroom door and began to exit your room. As you were rubbing your eyes, and walking from the room, you bumped into something. Or someone rather.

A scream rips from your mouth and you jump back. Your deep sleep had you forgetting your apartment wasn’t really only yours anymore, you hadn’t expected to bump into someone while leaving your room.

Once your eyes opened all the way and you saw it was only II, you sighed. His hands were up, his eyes were wide, and he looked at you in confusion. You grabbed your chest and sighed out. “I thought you were- I’m so sorry-”

II shakes his head at you, hinting that there was no need to apologize. You nodded back at him and noticed something was in his hand. You cocked your head and motioned towards his closed fist.

“What’s that?” You had an idea it was for you, as II loved bringing you things that reminded him of you. At least that’s what Vessel had told you.

He lit up when you asked about it and was quick to show you what was in his hand. His arm outstretched towards you and his fist faced upwards. He opened his fist to reveal a gold chain, a bracelet by the looks of it.

“II!” You gently grabbed the bracelet from his palm and you could see him light up even more. “I love it!”

You pulled him into a quick hug and placed a kiss on his mask, before pulling away and asking for help to put it on.

“You don’t want to know where it came from?” A voice came from your kitchen.

II, helping you put the bracelet on, did not seem phased by the question. You, however, very much did care that the question was asked. You looked over towards Vessel as he exited your kitchen, your cat in tow.

“One,” You put up your finger, “Why is he letting you hold him? And two,” You put up another finger, “I’ve learned to not ask. It’s better that way.”

Vessel’s head rolled back and he let out a soft laugh, “I see. You’re learning… And your cat loves us. I’m unsure how he acts when he’s around you,” -since he was never around you when they were around- “but he does seem very fond of us.”

You turned your nose up to him, “My cat loves me just as much as he loves you!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“That would be you,” you gave him zero expression. You could see II tense as you and Vessel begin to bicker and you froze. “Sorry, I’m not mad!” You reassure II, “Just- Just messing around.”

“He said don’t do that.” It’s Vessel’s turn to give you zero expression.

You looked over at II and he shook his head. You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend and nodded. “Okay, sure, if II said that I would never mess around ever again.” You rolled your eyes at Vessel.

He tensed immediately at the defiance, “But not if I said it?”

“II is so lovely, Ves, and I feel like-”

“And we aren’t?” He was quick to come to his and the other’s defense.

You couldn’t help but smile, “Ves, I’m just messing around! Of course you’re all lovely. But you don’t bring me presents like II does.”

“Oh, it’s the presents.”

You couldn’t see it, but you knew II was smiling under his mask. You gently nudge II with your elbow. “Yeah, we have a special bond, he gets me.”

“He doesn’t eat-”

“Okay!” You let out a loud yelp, “That’s enough of that! I’m done messing around! Don’t you, like, have… business you need to tend to or something?”

“I think we all have business that needs tending to.” He took a step forward, a shit eating grin on his face. Your eyes widened as you saw III and IV stood up from the couch and II was bright eyed beside you.

“I said I was done messing around!” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, “I just woke up, damn!”

You weren’t sure what was being said between the four of them, but you were sure you were about to find out.

[sergeifyodorov]

would u do a little analysis of how each team has done so far this season … i trust ur opinions so much

EACH team okay... under the cut bc i am not subjecting the masses to 32 nasty little thots cody edition

Bruins: RIP patrice of course but the bruins are steamrolling as ever... i think that if there is any evidence of the universe simply not caring abt good things it is that the bruins slip and stumble and have some of their best players retired and still manage to put up a 50 win season every year. <- salty leafs fan but ANYHWAY the bruins are easily a Playoff Team. simply "there" 5v5, strong power play, they make their money off finishing (pastrnak you filthy animal) and goaltending (swaymark you filthy animals). they have been trending downwards of late so i'm not entirely sure of like their final standings place but with this kind of head start they're staying up.

Sabres: currently in what we the people call a "decade of darkness." might be a "two decades of darkness" if we're going to be honest. the active player with the most playoff points with the sabres is tyler myers. 7 points. yeah the tall one most famous for having a subreddit that posts the gamescore card every time he's on the bottom of the gamescore card. sabres are really hard to fix because their first real step to contention is "hoping devon levi turns out really good." not promising. bad enough that by selling a piece or two celebrini is in sight. maybe that'll help? a third 1OA?

Red Wings: presenting the mid-season Season Ruining Unforced Error Award early by saying: not that they were going to be as good as their first few games of sniping suggested, but signing patrick kane tanked any realistic hope they have of playoffs. is patrick kane good? he's actually alright. maybe this time the surgery worked. is the team made better by having him on it? it surely isn't! a few REALLY BADLY TIMED dylan larkin based misfortunes have made it go from bad to worse. they were in A2 like a month ago and now they're Out. strengths: finishing. weaknesses: everything else, including morale.

Panthers: okay you've probably clocked this by now but ive been Generally Salty so far and that is bc a) im easily tempted to haterhood and b) currently discussing each team in the atlantic which does nothing to make me less Tempted To Haterhood. that being said the panthers are Good and For Real About It. they can do everything except finish chances, which is fine when the other team has way fewer chances than you and your goalie doesn't let any of them in. fuck ALLL the way off. place your bets on these guys having a deep playoff run. cross your fingers for them not having a deep playoff run i can't stand chuckyposting again it's RAN ITS COURSE. (also: machuk is probably still injured and absolutely Not doing as well as he did the last few seasons. maybe because he's just not that kind of guy but it's probably at least mostly the broken chest thing)

Canadiens: they are bad EXCEPT when it comes to overtime + the shootout. also much like the sabres they're going nowhere fast. i expect at least one of their goalies to be gone at the deadline... furthermore i think ppl who are ragging on slaf's slow development are simply expecting all 1OAs to be like an auston or a connor type (pick your connor) where they come in and immediately adapt -- slaf rings very reminiscent of quinton byfield to me, who was picked 2OA in 2020 and is only now starting to break out. give him time he's a baby...

Senators: despite how much literally everyone talks up all their players constantly, they are not good either. like the sabres or the habs... atlantic is 4 teams in the genuine hunt, 3 teams who suck and have sucked forever and will suck forevermore, and the red wings who haven't made up their minds yet. the sens actually Do have a singular Biggest Problem though and that's goaltending, but they're not a good enough team otherwise that getting a quality goaltender is going to make them playoffs worthy, especially not in the very short (this-season) run.

Lightning: the lightning are weird to me because like i think they're still making up their mind as A People what they want to do. kucherov is the best player in the league rn, this is stamkos' ufa season and he hasn't been offered an extension, vasilevskiy is back and vasying his levskiy... i fully believe they have the capability of getting a playoff spot, maybe even A3 if they want. we've all seen them in the playoffs, we know how they can turn ~It~ on at will. as always they're a deeply mid 5v5 team powered by very strong special teams... the goaltending numbers say goaltending is shit but they've been playing in front of the genuinely unplayable jonas johansson most of the season so i think it'll be fine.

Maple Leafs: as the team ive watched the moast i can talk about these guys for evar so for all of our sanities i will be brief: Auston Matthews, Baby, Look At Him, That's Auston, Auston Motherfucking "Sexy Mustached Bitch" Matthews!!!!!!! powered by an extremely strong power play and very good offence, and defence and goaltending that is held together by Morgan Rielly and a dream. possibly the only reason they're in a playoff spot is the fact that martin jones didn't get claimed on waivers three months ago and i am being dead serious about that. for some reason they're at their best when they're down by two. they do really need both their #1 goalie to come back from injury and to make a splash for a genuine nhl-calibre defenceman, but they're stubbornly determined to win games even through nasty flu.

Hurricanes: their usual selves -- analytics darlings, can't buy a goal. this year they can't buy a save either -- Freddie is out with a medical condition, Raanta is straight up not good, and Kochetkov is... well, he's Kochetkov. they're not far out of a spot but they'll need a hot hand if they want to get comfy... which i don't expect, frankly. they're good enough to make the playoffs, but they're not really a team that goes on heaters, so they'll be bubble until the end.

Blue Jackets: genuinely not sure they know what they're doing like... okay. from an outside pov they are obviously Tanking. they're bad in every way that matters except for finishing and the standings show it. but also like... they're at the point in their development cycle where they shouldn't be tanking... or at least are on the verge of Shouldn't Be Tanking. and again, because they don't know what they're doing, they hired mike babcock for this... if they know what they're doing they'll toss kekalainen as soon as they can and, following this year's draft, start Fighting. but let's be real i doubt that. adam fantilli it's your time to shine... sorry sweetheart!

Devils: see Hurricanes. Great on paper, can't buy a save. They've obviously been stunted by Timo, J'accuse, and Nico all being injured at various points, but goaltending is their biggest and most solvable problem. Unlike the Hurricanes, though, the Devils are fully capable of going on a heater, so the gap between them and WC2 isn't as big as it looks (probably.) Luke Hughes is going to be something special.

Rangers: Looks like Lafreniere is finally getting his feet under him -- but the Rangers have always been far more about getting old, known players to get a second wind with them than they've been about prospect development, and Quick and Wheeler are both showing this pretty definitively. Another one of those teams that's run by special teams and finishing/goaltending. Easy playoff spot, likely solid run. Nothing too interesting here.

Islanders: On the other hand, the Isles are interesting because... like... how did they get There? They have a negative goal differential, for heaven's sake! Their special teams are godawful, their defence is a sieve, they blow leads like that's what actually gets you points in this league, and they're somehow second in the Metropolitan??????? Is it Horvat? Barzal? Sorokin? (It's probably Sorokin.) They'll make the playoffs but i doubt they'll succeed in them.

Flyers: This one's also weird. They have the power play and offence of a peewee team in the big leagues, but have become defensively Actually Super Competent and are somehow good because of this? I'm going to theorize -- because you've asked me to but also because I really want to -- that this is due, at least in part, to somewhat of an inverse Kane-on-the-Red-Wings effect from their offseason removal of Provorov and DeAngelo; without them, the team is now not only better defensively on paper but also better as a team in the locker room. They're [uncle voice] playing with heart now! I doubt they're a real contender, but I think they might actually make playoffs.

Penguins: ...this one's also weird. They're good on paper. Like, really good on paper? Defensively "just okay" but offensively great, goaltending is fantastic, special teams are shutdown. They just can't buy a goal and they can't buy a good sequence.

Capitals: This one's weird, too, but in the opposite way -- aside from the power-play, the Caps are actually godawful on paper, especially when it comes to finishing (because when Ovechkin takes such a high percentage of your shots but he isn't scoring, your team REALLY suffers) but somehow they've managed to pinpoint sequencing luck (win close, lose ugly) and are somehow in WC1. Do I think they'll make the playoffs? Absolutely not -- if either the Devils or Canes step up, the Caps are the odd man out -- but it might be fun to see them try. Or hell, I hope they win-close-lose-ugly their way to a goddamn Cup final. Would be funny as fuck for Ovi's second-longest ever playoff run to come at the fresh young age of thirty-eight. Dude looks ragged out there. I'm going to shut up now before I start talking about finding him sexy

Coyotes: Simple on paper: bad at running play, good goaltending and finishing. Essentially what the Canucks are doing at a smaller scale. The Leafs should never have let Kerfoot walk and I mean that unironically. Okay, anyway, the Yotes are a bubble team and won't make higher than WC1 because of the logjam at the top of the Central, but holy fuck do I want them to make WC1 (or a playoff spot in general.) People ask "how can we grow the game" a lot, and when it comes to what the NHL can do directly, the number one biggest thing is win in small markets. Arizona has already created one of the sports' biggest stars -- Auston! -- and it's an absolutely massive TV market and a potential hotbed of new fans and new, great players. Arizona making a playoff spot -- or even better, going on a run -- would be amazing for the NHL. And it would be funny. And I would like that.

Blackhawks: shoutout to dave !!! dave who works for the hawks!!! anyway the hawks are very obviously tanking and good at it. Their only real point of interest is their Sacred Child, and holy fuck is their Sacred Child going to absolutely fucking smash it when he's given a team that's not entirely made up of scrubs. i think his analytics, especially his defensive numbers, are, like, fine? but accounting for his leverage (all situations, especially the difficult ones), his teammates (his best linemate is Anthony Beauvillier, and tito... is a third liner), and the fact that he's all of eighteen, he's definitely on track to be a Real Force. i kinda love him... okay moving on.

Avalanche: All-over good: finishing their biggest obvious strength, but hockeywise they don't have any real weaknesses... although there is some serious Drama brewing in that locker room and i think it might just be getting started. with landeskog gone for at least until the end of this year (and possibly forever) and ej a sabre, there is absolutely no one in there capable of actually emotionally running a team: makar lacking in a leader's magnetism, rantanen an idiot, toews and mackinnon far too high-strung and competitive, and no one else with seniority. they're a good enough team that it's not really affecting them right now, but ... i don't know, i can kind of feel it coming. They'll make the playoffs, but when the pressure is on they'll either step up or completely fall apart.

Stars: See above: all-over good, but saving their biggest obvious weakness. I think most of this is spurred by Otter being out -- Wedgewood is a serviceable backup goaltender, but obviously not capable of being a real starter, and the team is stuttering because of it. I doubt it'll be for long or too much difficulty (they're a good defensive team, so it's not going to affect them a lot, but they might lose a game or two they might have won with Otter, especially if he's out for a while), but it's going to keep them from taking a step on top of the Central. Easy playoff team, probable contender.

Wild: They are bad! Penalty kill is their worst weakness, but they're not great in goal either and the combination is kicking their ass. As much as I respect how well they've done with that giant cap-space penalty from the Parise/Suter buyouts all those years ago, it's... kind of time to throw in the towel. Get Flower those final few wins, because by god are they devoid of much other success. Right at the tail of a competitive arc. RIP. Tank incoming.

Predators: Weirdly good, even though Saros hasn't been his usual self? O'Reilly esp has been an absolutely fantastic addition for the team over the offseason. No huge strengths, no significant weaknesses. Not an amazing offensive team, but it's Nashville so they were never going to be -- the place practically breeds defensive forwards and all-around dmen. I don't expect they'll seriously contend, but they'll make the playoffs (unless someone offers the farm for Saros).

Blues: I genuinely think so little about the Blues .... that whole thing with Jordan Kyrou has been the most I've thought about them for a bit. That and the fact that only three of their games haven't been decided by the first goal? They're not good and they're really boring. Yeehaw.

Jets: THE JETS let's get JUICY. Jets' biggest strengths by far are a) 5v5 defence and b) finishing/goaltending. Even with Kyle Connor out they're sniping and Hellebuyck and Brossoit are both absolutely on it. The Jets have always seemed to have this problem where on paper (take a shot every time I've written "on paper" in this post if you want to die of alcohol poisoning) they seem fantastic, then January onwards they absolutely plummet. And it's not January yet, so that might still happen, but that kind of thing tends to happen because of a dramatic morale shift, and now that Lowry's captain and Wheeler's left for New York... that might not happen? They've banked enough points that unless they're historically bad from here on out they're still a playoff team. If they keep up what they have going so far, they're a contender, but if it's the same Winnipeg with the same problems, then they're not.

Ducks: Taking a step in the right direction with Carlsson and Mintyukov, but still bad! I really hope Carlsson recovers well, he seems like a sweet boy. Also: what on Earth are they doing with Zegras. Is he a defenceman now? Are they making him play defence? Are he and Dixie D'Amelio still dating? I have many questions. I just hope whichever high draft pick they get is an idiot. I feel like they need another dumbass baby on the team.

Flames: The Flames also appear to have no idea what's going on. And frankly, neither do I! They're too good to be obviously tanking, but not near good enough to be a bubble team. They're definitely reluctant to sell, but their best hope to win soon absolutely should be selling. They have one of the worst contracts in the league on their payroll (wow... I hope the guy in charge of my favourite team didn't sign that!) and a bunch of really solid late-round picks and prospects cutting their teeth on the NHL. In short: they aren't going to make the playoffs and should be leaning into that, but they don't seem to have realized this yet.

Oilers: For the sake of not gloating, I'm going to sum this one up with a Marek quote: If you have a goalie, it's 70% of your team. If you don't, it's 100%. They've had finishing trouble, but considering they absolutely run the show at 5v5 AND special teams (they put nearly SIXTY SHOTS on Vasilevskiy the other day) a little finishing shouldn't be quite so dangerous if they didn't have two sieves minding the net. McDavid might hit 150 again and the Oil might still miss the playoffs. If they get in, they're going far, but at this point it'll be tough as fuck to make it in.

Kings: Average penalty kill. No other weaknesses. Kopitar 4 Selke.

Sharks: This is an absolutely glorious tankjob. No other way to put it. This is the pinnacle of tank design. This is the Wayne Gretzky of tankjobs. This is the Casablanca of tankjobs. This is the Saturn V of tankjobs. Nothing has been so beautifully engineered to suck since Sir James Dyson patented his vacuum or Nancy Reagan walked the earth. It's beautiful. It's gorgeous. I am in awe. They deserve Celebrini purely because of how flawless the tank is. I don't care if he has a warm undertone and would look pink in that fantastic teal. The boy needs San Jose.

Kraken: Good defensively at 5v5, bad pretty much everywhere else. I'm going to be honest with you all, last year was kind of a flash in the pan -- Seattle isn't great and they're neither headed upwards nor downwards. Not a bubble team, probably won't pick top ten. They haven't decided whether or not to build up or tank. Beyond the fantastic aesthetics and four-unranked-lines shtick, they don't really have a whole lot of competitive mojo: no star forwards, no goaltending. Wholeheartedly mid.

Canucks: oH BABY!!!!! The 23-24 Canucks made us all learn what PDO is. The 23-24 Canucks are first in the motherfucking league after being one spot out of being in the Bedard lottery. The 23-24 Canucks are on track to have the best shooting and saving percentage in league history. The 23-24 Canucks' leading goalscorer is Brock Boeser, the guy they've almost traded practically every year since they drafted him. The 23-24 Canucks started the season by naming the Wettest Little Man On The Planet captain and they haven't looked back since. I think they're an easy lock for a playoff spot -- but within the playoffs, do I know what they're going to do? I absolutely do not. They could PDO their way to a Cup or they could bow out in four games flat. Either is equally likely. They have thoroughly embraced Good Chaos. Quinn Hughes might win the Hart. Everything's coming up Vancouver.

Golden Knights: Not as good as they were last year. Ultimately still pretty good. Easy playoff spot. Definite contender. Jack Eichel is better than ever and I love him for it, the dickhead.

[fever-fluff]

Home V

Word count: 3.2k (Not Proof Read) Azriel is butting heads with his new companion, being forced to recognise some hard truths...

Part IV , Part VI

The waves crashing against one another was a sound she hadn’t realised she’d missed so much in her time away. Brien had taken up post beside her, finally moving away from their guest for the first time since that night. She had felt his reluctance to carry out their journey after she had woken him for the terrors that had plagued his mind. It wasn’t the first time he had dealt with them, she supposed. But the undiluted fear that had come off him in waves was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

So, she had silently requested Brien to accompany him when she couldn’t. And now that they’d made t to the swelling ocean, his anticipation to slip away had turned into a desire to run from what he’d promised. She’d smelt the shift so intensely that she almost felt bad for keeping him here. But their work was more important than running from inner demons, at least to her anyway. Besides, there was no telling whether he’d return to Indere to Mor, and she couldn’t allow someone a new friend held so dear decide to disappear into his shadows.

She moved away from them towards the cove they’d need to complete the journey from, walking down the steep rocks she’d passed so many times she didn’t need to follow Brien’s lead anymore, but his presence in front of her was a welcome one. They’d spent centuries together, sometimes it only being the two of them, and he had become apart of her just as much as she for him.

Aodhan was talking to Azriel behind her, explaining how they’d cross safely without fear of the swallowing waves beneath. “You’ll have to fly on the currents, making sure to take the ones sweeping up and avoiding those that’ll push you towards the swell. It gets easier as you do it, but winnowing is out of the question. There’s wards up that haven’t been broken longer than I’m alive.”

“And another reason Mor wouldn’t be able to cross regardless of whether she was allowed to or not.” He’d already pieced together that it was too dangerous to carry another fae as you navigated the currents. Aodhan nodded in confirmation, “We’ve had sailors and other fae try to cross before, whether they knew the islands were inhabited or not, we don’t know. Their secrets went down with them to the bottom of the sea.”

She was still looking towards the sound of the sea when she’d heard his next question. “Which still doesn’t explain how you’re crossing…” She smiled, not straying from her position, but pulled a sharp whistle to Brien who was preoccupied with sniffing around something to her right. Her voice cut loudly to the howling wind that had picked up as if it sensed the oncoming flight, “I can’t let you in on all my secrets just yet Shadowsinger.”

Brien moved to her feet, his physical body shifting into something else, something entirely magic. It swirled around her, climbing from her legs upwards and taking whatever was physical of her with it. There was no sign of her feet beneath her, not feeling of them either. They ceased to exist, as did the rest of her body as Brien climbed and climbed. It was always terrifying, feeling everything she was and is being turned into what felt like nothing. Brien had reached her neck as she bid her goodbyes, “I’ll see you both on the other side,” and the very last of her body was engulfed.

There was never any memory of what had happened once her consciousness was consumed. She had been something, then wasn’t, and until Brien decided to place her back in the physical world she did not exist in and shape or form. She always thought maybe one day, if Brien ever decided to, he could just allow her to be that way for eternity. She didn’t know if he could form his physical body without bringing her back, and never thought it necessary to find out. 

The return of her was always more tedious than the consuming, taking longer as if Brien wanted to make sure he didn’t forget to form a toe or a finger on the way back. Azriel and Aodhan hadn’t made it over yet, and she wondered if he’d actually attempted to make a run for it when she had disappeared. But the beats of two pairs of wings from the sea was enough to confirm her thoughts wrong. She sat perched on a rock, Brien wrapped loosely around her shoulders, purring loudly. He always craved the closeness of it after, as if he missed her presence in the short time she wasn’t there. Aodhan and Azriel were panting from the exertion it took to cross over, she wondered if either of them had gotten close to being swallowed on the way over.

She stood as the caught their breath, moving to greet the two of them on home soil. Home. It felt good to be able to call the ground she stood on that. The chieftains were right to call her, it had been far too long.

“Azriel” his body turned to her attention, “welcome to our home.”

    

Azriel never, never, wanted to agree to a race like that again. After he had gotten over his spluttering about how Brien had practically eaten her in a wave of pure magic, Aodhan had insisted that it was the best way to cross, that it would take his mind off the sheer force that would be beneath him. But it had done no such thing, and he’d nearly toppled through the rough wind too many times and fell straight into a watery grave. Dancing with death had always been easy for him and his brothers, but that was sheer stupidity.

But, looking at where he’d be stationed for the next while, he understood what that graveyard beyond the cliffs was hiding.

Peace.

He felt it in the wind, soft and warm unlike the ones he’d just flown through. Lush green covered the sloping sides of the tops of the cliffs above him, a colour so inviting he felt the itch to roll in it like he were a dog. Trees of every kind seemed to guard him on both sides, and the sounds of running water filed his ears from somewhere. There was a quiet here he had never felt before, there was no inkling of being alert for oncoming dangers from somewhere. This place was a land that felt like he had passed on, but the aches in the muscles holding his wings and the tightness still filling his chest from a lack of air grounded him from thinking he had truly died going over the water.

They had begun to walk inland, passing floral and fauna that had gone undisturbed for centuries, unperturbed by their trek and seemingly unaware of the predators they could be. Azriel had never seen the likes of it -even Velaris, the city which held an imaginable number of dreams and hopes couldn’t hold a candle to the utter surrealness of this place.

Even watching her as she walked among paths long trodden into the earth, her steps were lighter than before. Like she had nothing to fear behind the bends ahead or the treeline to her side. Brien didn’t walk as closely to her either, shifting between prancing legs and swift wings as he basked in the afternoon sun overhead. The stopped slightly as they came to a dip in the land, the expanding view of her land filling his vision. She nodded towards Aodhan, “Fly ahead and let everyone know we’re back.” His arrival with them a silent command between her words was not lost on him as Aodhan unfurled his wings and split through the air, the gust he left behind making Azriel plant his feet more firmly in place. Before he had even looked to the sky, Aodhan had flown out of sight.

“Sometimes I forget the strength he has until he takes off.” The fondness in her voice was contagious and Azriel found himself smiling along. “You must be proud.”

Her face had tilted towards the sun to take in the heat as she sighed, “You have no idea.”

“When he was fifteen, he’d crash landed into the roof of our home, falling into where I was sitting trying to enjoy a glass of wine after a long day. It took him a week to repatch the hole. But the entire time all he could talk about was how fast he had flown and how he’d become faster and faster.” They were walking side by side now, his attention raptly on the joy she seemed to light up with as she gave him a laugh, “I couldn’t even be mad about the roof, or that he could have hurt himself. He seemed so happy in that moment that all I wanted from then on was to keep it that way, that he’d never feel bad about being who he was.”

“His happiness meant your happiness” Azriel thought back to Nyx, already noting the familiar feeling he had for his nephew brewing in his chest. “My brother, he has a little one now with his mate. I’m certain the whole family would tie the stars on strings for him if it’d make him smile.”

“It’s terrifying, thinking what you’d justify to bring them happiness. Everything is fair game when it comes to them.” her sentiment was horrifyingly true for Azriel. If anything -or anyone- ever got in the way of Nyx, not only would Feyre and Rhys burn the world, the rest of them would destroy whatever ash was left over in their wake. The air had turned tense around them for a moment until she spoke again, “It’s the reason I’m doing this, pushing to open the boarders that is… Aodhan, like many of the younger ones, is restless. He’s never truly seen the rest of the world. And this peace we’ve created, it’s become suffocating for them.”

She made to grasp his hand, gripping his fingers with hers stiffly, as if it would convey how much resolve she had in her to make this happen. “Children of peace are so different from children of war, Azriel. He – they – need the freedom we’ve kept from them for too long.”

He wanted to believe her, truly. But he’d seen so much of the ugly side of the world that he couldn’t bring himself to stop the words spilling from his mouth, “The world isn’t as welcoming as you think. It’s not as beautiful as here, the wounds are still so fresh from everything that I doubt even the next few centuries can fix it. Too much blood has been shed…”

“And yet your sister tends to those wounds not far from here, doing the work so many before have been too scared to even consider a possibility.” Something hard had entered her tone, and he felt himself wishing to take back his words if only to remove it as quickly as it had come, but he persisted. “She’s creating trade routes, what you’re implying is opening up a world, an unknown world, to the rest of us. You can’t possibly think it will end in peace…”

“She’s connecting worlds, how is that so different from what I want?”

“You know damn well how different it is. You’ve been cut off from the rest of us for centuries! You hid during wars that the rest of us bled for, how welcoming do you think our world will be to yours once they realise you have come out of everything unscathed while the rest of us clawed our way out of hel to rebuild what was left?” She’d ripped her grip from his at that, eyes hardening and levelling him. Even though he knew she couldn’t very well see him, Azriel had a mind to take a step back. “Do not try to educate me on political matters I am damn well aware of Shadowsinger. I see now I should have let you slink off in your fear instead of having Brien watch you like a dog.”

Azriel bristled at her admission, “Fear? Do you think that was what that was?” the distance he created closed instantly as he matched her stance a hair’s breadth away, “I have come here, an unknown territory with unknown fae, unguarded and you believe I am afraid?” His wings had spread wide, shadows pouring from them steadily as if to snuff the light that surrounded the two of them forever in a sea of darkness. But the female in front of him didn’t cower, didn’t balk at his act of dominance as so many others had.

“I have been alive for over seven hundred years; I know fear when I smell it. And the stench of it smothers you Azriel, whether you realise it or not.”

The hitch of his breath seemed to pull her from the fight she seemed so wound up to have, and she sighed when he answered her with a growl. “Azriel, I am not ignorant to what fae outside these islands may think. But this is the only step forward. If you do not want to help, then that is your choice, and you may leave whenever you want. But do not shut a door you haven’t properly opened yet.”

As she stepped away from him and the wave of shadows around them, turning to begin the walk again, Azriel felt himself torn in two. He was still angry, her implication still stinging fresh, but he hadn’t lost himself enough to forget the rest of her words. So, begrudgingly, he made to follow. Brien had flown back in between it all probably to ensure his masters safety and now slunk in between her steps, chuffing at him as if it was his fault the mood had turned sour. He growled back lowly at the disrespect, but the familiar had already taken to ignoring him in favour of watching a butterfly in the nearby brush.

  

Azriel wasn’t sure what to expect with his arrival, newly announced as it was. For somewhere so disconnected, surely a newcomer would warrant some type of wariness in the form of unchecked violence should the need arise. But, as they reached as small town that she had told him was one of many that sat on the outskirts of the main part of the island, he was met with very much the opposite.

Fae with wings very much like Aodhan’s had come out in groups to get a glance of what they’d heard to be an emissary of the known world. Small children, more than he had ever seen in one place his entire life, huddled in groups or at the legs of who were most likely their parents as he passed through beside her. Their whispers reached his ears quickly.

Gods, look at his wings…

Mom, why do they look like that?

Dad, why does his wings look different to ours?... He’s not fae like us son, he’s a foreigner. What’s a foreigner? Ahhhh, it’s someone who comes from a different place than you do… Oh….

Do you think he can fly in the rain?

Wonder where he’s coming from? Probably the continent, it’s where Danu was last visiting.

He looked to her in question of the last whisper he listened to, “Danu?”

“An honorary title, it’s what most fae will use instead of my given name.” He hummed his understanding, “So should I be using it as well?”

She threw him a shrug as they entered one of the buildings, “If you want, it makes no difference to me.”

The building turned out to be a tavern of a sorts. Bottles lined the shelves behind a counter, and tables with precarious looking stools littered the rest of the floor. But she made for the back of the room, pulling back a piece of fabric to reveal a better looking table and chairs made for those with wings more private than the rest of the place. Danu, he supposed it would be best if he honor her name here for the good graces of the rest, motioned for him to sit while she went to grab the bottle and two tumblers the barkeep had left on the counter without a word.

Pouring what looked to be whiskey for each of them, she lifted her glass in cheers to his and downed it in one go. It burned his throat as fire would going down, hitting the base of his stomach far harder than any liquor in Rita’s ever had and he found himself staving off a cough.

“Uisce thine, one of the best things to ever grace the world of drinking.” Azriel didn’t really agree with her sentiment. If either Cassian or Nesta got their hands on the likes of this, well, there wouldn’t be much to keep the chaos that would ensue from happening. “Perhaps you should keep this on the island.” Their spat from earlier on seemed to be a matter of the past for her as she laughed in understanding. Pouring a second round, she began to tell him more of her home and how to navigate it. “Muintir na Lasrach are an old race, they predate even some families of high fae and our customs are much different to yours.”

He listened closely to how they didn’t believe in the mother creating the known world, and how the phoenix was one of four gods who had given up a single feather to create them from fire, wind and clay. “Like the phoenix, they’re incredibly selfish down to their very nature, so I’d be careful if you decide to venture outside of political connections and who you choose to do that with. Male and females alike are extremely territorial if they’ve claimed someone for themselves, and because you’re an outsider death wouldn’t be too harsh a punishment if you put a foot wrong.” Azriel felt his stomach drop as the memory of Rhys swearing him off Elain resurfaced. He’d made the mistake of coming between fate once before, he wouldn’t do it again. “No mates. Noted.”

Her brows pulled together in rebuttal. “There’s no mates on the island, at least not in your knowledge of the term. Everyone here chooses their partner of their own accord, no fate involved. They’re just extremely territorial is all I’m saying.”

Azriel didn’t know how to comprehend what she’d admitted. Regardless of whether they believed in the mother or not, how could there be no semblance of mates anywhere. “How is that possible?”

She made to pour one last drink for them before they’d go to an inn for the night, “A story for another time. Drink up, and I’ll tell you the rest of what you need to know after we’ve had some stew.”

Pronunciation of words

Muintir na lasrach —> mwin-ter na lass-rock

Uisce Thine —> ish-kah chin-a

Aodhan —> a-dawn

Taglist @mis-lil-red, @justdreamstars, @florencemtrash

[jaemified]

camera - yang jungwon

“you only love me on camera”

pairing ; yang jungwon x reader

genre ; angst, idol au

warnings ; swearing, very brief slapping

wordcount ; 0.7k

synopsis ; lee y/n and yang jungwon have always been seen as the ‘perfect’ couple in the industry, but whats seen as flawless is only on camera.

read below the cut !

y/n scrolled through the ipad, reading what engenes were saying about the two of them on live. "'you are a great mubank host, im sad your contract is ending soon.' thank you! im sad my contract is ending too. hopefully there will be another chance like this again!" she flashed a genuine smile.

"-'you guys are so cute together', awe thank you!" y/n expressed her gratitude to the camera while reading a comment out loud.

jungwon wrapped an arm around the girl beside him, rubbing her shoulder before checking his phone to read another comment from your fandoms.

"-'will we ever get a vlog of the two of you together?', well we cant say much, but you can expect one coming soon." jungwon replied with a nod.

"well its getting pretty late and we have music bank tomorrow. remember to stream bite me and support us on our latest comeback. bye engenes, love you always!" and with that, jungwon immediately removed his arm from y/n as he cut the cameras.

"i was wondering if we could go out to dinner tonight? maybe talk or even go over the script? just the two of us."

without even looking up from his computer as he responded to emails, jungwon answered y/n by saying, "y/n, you know we arent really together right? its all just a contractual arrangement for my sake, so my group and i can promote." he chuckled.

she gripped her plastic water bottle in slight annoyance and anger. of course she had known, she had always known. she just never wanted to admit to it. being together was purely for publicity, and seeing as they were in front of cameras practically 24/7, it felt all too real for y/n to want to accept it was all only on camera.

"why do you hate me?"

"what kind of question is that? i dont hate you, im just keeping it professional." jungwon mumbled with a slight tone to it.

y/n scoffed.

"so being a dick to me is considered 'being professional' now? youre so nice to all your other female colleagues. why cant you be the same with me?"

she was upset, rightfully so. i mean, she thought she found someone who cared for her even if it were just as a friend, but truthfully, he couldnt even do that in the very least.

jungwon finally looked up from his laptop, drafting the current email he was in the middle of.

he crossed his arms and looked the girl before him in the eyes.

"because youre the only one ive ever been forced to date. and sure, youre pretty but you arent exactly my type. not to mention it was inexplicably sudden."

"i really thought we were bonding, even if it were just as friends. theres nothing wrong with wanting to go out for food. we do so much on camera, so why cant we have fun without it?" y/n argued back, though still slightly offended.

"its all on contract. you read it, you signed it as did i. we both knew what it is we agreed to. so why should that suddenly change just because of however you feel?"

she walked up closer to jungwon, noses almost touching, looking deep into his eyes before whispering then stepping back.

"youre a prick."

there was a loud clap in the air, the sound of y/ns hand colliding with jungwons cheek, more specifically so.

"youre a liar."

another slap to the face.

"and youre nothing but a selfish bastard! did everything we ever shared mean nothing to you? i gave you nothing but my all, i thought what we had was genuine but no, you want to let go of that too!"

"y/n.."

"no! dont 'y/n' me now that im getting mad. you never cared while i was calm. is all it is you expect me to do is just sit there and look pretty? to make you look good because you got the wealthy, pretty girl on your arm?"

"y/n."

tears flowed down her face and she stared at his flushed red cheeks due to the force of her last slap, as well as the emotion that hit him along with it.

"wanna know why i dont give a fuck about the contract? because i loved you, i really did! and i thought you felt the same. but no,"

"now i know. you only love me on camera."'

[silverofthunder]

☆ downfall ☆

Papa Emeritus IV x GN Reader || 🔞

summary: ”I need more time.”

content: 2.6k words, mystery (kind of), drama, fantasy, romance, angst, hurt/comfort

♡♡ part 1 ♡♡ part 2 ♡♡ part 3 ♡♡ part 4 ♡♡ part 5 ♡♡

Finally reached this point of the story. This wasn't that easy to write but well, sometimes things go different way. I love how this story is challenging me even thought this has been pretty easy to write on most parts. Enjoy!

It had been a while since you two had spend some time at the cemetery. Everything had started from there so it was only natural to return there. The coldness of the night was biting but you were so comfortable sitting on the large tombstone, sketching in your notebook. Copia was lying beside you, his head resting on your lap and you used his upper arm as a stand for your notebook. He wasn’t asleep, obviously, just enjoying the quietness like you.

Lately you had been having moments like this more frequently, where there was silence between you, and you had usually been writing or sketching while Copia was just close to you. It didn’t feel like you needed to talk, just sharing the space, the night was enough. You were glad that Copia didn’t need to spend all of his nights alone anymore. Of course he had his brothers but it wasn’t the same. The Emeritus brothers were quite a gang now that you had gotten to know them better and you knew how… chaotic it might get if they would spend too much time with each other.

You smiled and shook your head at the thought of the brothers arguing with each other. Especially Terzo and Copia seemed to clash the most, though it was still obvious that they cared about one another greatly. Being the eldest ones, Primo and Secondo were probably the voices of reason and did they best to keep things civil. Copia adored Primo and they seemed to have the closest brotherly bond. It was sweet, seeing the two always being so kind to each other, speaking of the other warmly.

Copia and Secondo seemed to share the most mysterious bonds you had ever seen. There was respect and all but you hadn’t seen them showing much affection towards each other. Well, it wasn’t really that odd as Secondo certainly was someone who seemed to be less open about his feelings. His stoicness was sometimes intimidating and he wasn’t really talkative in general but it didn’t mean that he didn’t care about his brothers.

”Penny for you thoughts.” Copia’s voice brought you back on earth. You chuckled quietly, slipping your notebook and pen into your coat’s pocket, threading your fingers into Copia’s hair.

”I was just thinking about you and your brothers and how things are between you.”

Copia shifted, turning his head so he could look up at you. In the dim light of your phone’s flashlight Copia seemed a bit… tired but you didn’ t think more of it and just smiled down at him.

”Well, they can be a pain in the ass but we’re as great we can be,” Copia said with a small smile on his lips.

”Good.”

The silence returned between you quickly as neither of you seemed to want to continue the conversation and you lifted your head to gaze into the distance. The coldness was really starting to get into you and you needed to move soon, otherwise you would freeze on the spot. A thought crossed your mind and you pondered for a moment if you dared to suggest it.

”Could we play a bit?” you eventually asked. ”I really need to move or I’ll freeze to death.”

Copia moved into a sitting position, raising his brow.

”Play?”

”Yeah, it’s silly but…” you paused for a moment, turning to look at Copia, ”could you maybe chase me, like you were hunting?”

Copia blinked like he was trying to figure out if he had heard right. You waited, eyes scanning Copia’s face closely. This time he had no paints on and there were indeed lines on his face, clearly a sign of tiredness. A small knot of worry formed within you but you decided to leave it be for now.

”Sure, if that’s what you want,” Copia finally responded, offering you a smile. You stood up immediately, your feet feeling a little numb so you had to rub them for a moment and do some little jumps. Copia looked at you amused, standing then up, too.

”Let’s have some fun,” you smirked and started to walk backwards, further away from Copia. Soon you turned your back on him and ran, the excitement bubbling inside you.

Copia took his time to circle you, moving fast and with elegance, before grabbing you from behind and swirling you around to steal a quick kiss from you. You laughed as he disappeared soon after and continued running.

The next moment he appeared in front of you, fangs bared and you smiled as he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you up and spinning around. When your feet met the ground again, Copia was gone in the blink of an eye, now lurking somewhere in the darkness. Watching, following your every move as your feet carried you around the cemetery.

Eventually you started to feel out of breath and you decided to head back to the tombstone. You passed a large tree and unfortunately your other leg got stuck to something and you lost your balance, falling to the ground. Cursing you moved into a sitting position, your ankle stinging and when you took a look at it, there was a big scratch marring the skin. You touched it carefully, bringing your fingers then closer to your face.

Blood. There was a tiny bit of blood on the tip of your fingers.

You barely had time to blink before Copia was there and the next thing you felt was a sharp pain, something burning you from inside out and you screamed. Tears gathered to your eyes as you realized that Copia was holding your leg, his fangs sunk into your skin, the look in his eyes predatoric as he sucked your blood. The burning pain was soon fading and you stared at Copia completely frozen.

Tears fell down to your cheeks, and at the same time you were numb but also shattering from within. You had no idea of how much time had passed but somewhere at the back of your mind you knew that this couldn’t continue. You had to make Copia stop.

”Please…” you said. ”Stop.”

Copia didn’t seem to register your words, his hold of your leg just tightening and now the dread was slowly creeping into you, for the first time in Copia’s presence. You sucked in a shaky breath.

”Stop!” you now shouted, pained, and gave a little kick to Copia with your other leg. That seemed to break him out of his trance, his eyes widening in shock as he backed away fast, going to lean against the nearest tree. You stood up fast, eyes still glued to him, seeing how he was shaking. He didn’t look at you anymore and soon he turned and disappeared into the night without a word.

You stood there staring at into nothingness for a what felt like a small eternity. It was hard to think straight but eventually your instincts told you to leave so you did go to pick up your phone and walked home as fast you could. At home you took a care of the scratch and bite marks, tears burning your eyes the whole time, heart feeling heavy in your chest.

When you finally got to the bed, you curled up under the blanket, hugging a pillow, hoping it would offer you at least a bit of comfort you so desperately needed then.

After that night you didn’t see Copia anymore. You tried to continue your life as normally as you could, going to work and using your free time sketching and writing. You avoided moving anywhere near Hunter’s Moon or any other place where you and Copia had spend time together. It had been so hard to get your head around the fact that Copia had bitten you – it still hurt. Not physically, the marks on your ankle were already healed, but emotionally.

You had trusted Copia not to hurt you and yet he had ended up doing so. Of course you had known the risk but you still had believed it wouldn’t happen without a warning. It had been some weeks by now, yet the pain in your heart didn’t seem to lessen. You did your best to keep yourself busy but when you were home, ready to get some sleep, everything just became harder. There were nights that you had barely slept, your mind and heart trying to make a sense of it all. You were tired and yearning for some comfort. Any kind would do now if you were honest.

Copia wasn’t the only one you had not seen. You had expected that at some point one of his brothers would come to you but so far there had been no sight of them. Until one evening when you had just reached your apartment door and were fishing your keys out of your pocket.

”How have you been?” You were startled by Terzo’s voice, your heart jumping in your chest as you turned around to face him. He looked genuinely concerned and you let out a sigh.

”I’ve been better,” you answered folding your arms in front of you. ”You probably know what happened.”

Terzo nodded. ”I’m sorry.” You shrugged. ”Not your fault.”

”No, but we’re all the same, nonetheless,” Terzo said and you knew what he meant. ”Of course, none of us wanted that to happen. Not like that.”

”Well, it happened and it can’t be undone,” you said, probably sounding a bit frustrated. Terzo took a few steps closer to you, and you allowed that, though the uneasiness was prickling under your skin. Terzo probably sensed that as his brows furrowed slightly.

”You’re not the only one hurt. Copia…” Terzo started to explain, a hint of sadness in his eyes. ”He is not doing well. He has barely been feeding ever since the… accident. He has been saying that he can’t ever see you again but I think that he needs to see you.”

A thought of Copia not feeding properly made your heart hurt like someone was squeezing it tightly. However, you didn’t know if you were sure you wanted to see Copia yet. At some point you probably had to see him but now…

”I don’t think I’m ready to see him yet.”

Your words seemed to only make Terzo more sad but there was also understanding evident in his gaze.

”I know that this is the worst possible situation to you but… I’m afraid that if this goes on for too long, something bad happens. Copia is known for taking things heavily and beating himself up. If he does stop feeding…”

Terzo didn’t finish his sentence and you could guess why. You clenched your fists and jaw, willing away the horrible thought from your mind.

”I need more time,” you spoke quietly, now taking a step towards Terzo. He gave you a small smile, nodding, his shoulders slugging. It wasn’t nice to see him like that, and a moment later you opened your arms, motioning Terzo to come closer. He looked surprised, hesitant a little but then he came to you and let you close him in an embrace.

You let out a long sigh as Terzo clung to you tightly and it didn’t take long before you could feel yourself relaxing into the hug. You didn’t know which one of you needed more comfort but it didn’t matter.

”I’m so sorry,” Terzo apologized again and you just patted his back gently.

”Everything will be alright,” you said even though there really was no guarantee that would happen. Of course you hoped things could be fixed somehow. It was most likely that Copia wouldn’t come to you, so you would have to eventually go to see him.

Inhaling deep and then letting the air slowly out, you closed your eyes, tightening your hold of Terzo. Right now he was the closest that knew a fraction of the pain you were going through. After what had happened, being so close to a vampire should have felt more frightening but the earlier uneasiness had now faded, replaced by the compassion.

When Terzo finally pulled away, he smiled at you warmly, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope.

”You know that Copia is completely smitten with you?”

You shrugged, a small smile rising to your lips, not really knowing what to say to that.

”Okay, now it’s time for you to go,” you said, trying to pretend to be annoyed but you knew it was a weak attempt. Terzo grinned at you and you shook your head.

”Time,” you said, patting your chest and with a one last nod to you Terzo turned around and left, leaving you standing there with all emotions swirling inside you.

”I went to Hunter’s Moon on Saturday.”

Olivia’s words made you almost choke on your coffee and you tried to hid it by moving your hand fast before your mouth. She gave you a confused look but a wide smile rose soon back to her lips.

”It was an interesting place,” she said, leaning back on the chair. ”Have you been there?”

You swallowed, setting your coffee mug on the table.

”Uh, yeah,” you answered.

”Who knew there are vampires walking among us? Had the pleasure to meet a few. Brothers, I guess,” she explained and seemed oddly calm. You raised your brows, your curiosity now awakened.

”Do you happen to remember their names?” you inquired and the way Olivia’s eyes seemed to brighten told you that she was glad that you had asked more.

”I think the other was Terzo. A very charming one, I must say,” Olivia grinned and you chuckled, perfectly understanding the description. ”I don’t remember if I caught the other’s name. The bartender, the bald guy, a vampire I mean.”

”Ah, he’s Secondo,” you told, smiling. ”Not as scary as he seems.”

Olivia laughed a little, quirking her brows.

”Sounds like you know them.”

You took a good sip of your coffee, using a moment to think how much you should share with Olivia. She already knew about vampires existence and it didn’t seem to faze her much so it wouldn’t probably hurt to tell her more.

”Well, I could say that I know them a little better than some others.”

Olivia hummed, seeming to sink into her own thoughts and you waited, having finished your coffee by the time she slammed her hand against the table, leaning closer to you.

”Wait… The guy you’ve been seeing. Did you meet him at the Hunter’s Moon? You said that I didn’t want to know how you two met. Are you dating a vampire?”

Shit. She figured it out quickly. Not that she was stupid but still, maybe a part of you had hoped she wouldn’t realize that. And now you were wondering if you should tell her about Copia. You still hadn’t seen him after the bite insident, so the things were still unclear between you. Just as you were about to open your mouth to answer Olivia, your boss entered the room and you knew your break was over. When you took a quick glance at the clock, you realized that you had actually spend a few extra minutes on break.

You and Olivia stood up, and you quickly went to rince your coffee mug before following Olivia to the store’s customer service side.

”Well, are you dating a vampire?” She leaned closer to you and you sighed.

”Yes,” you admitted and she let out a small, happy squeal, quietly clapping her hands. You rolled your eyes, finding her enthusiasm annoyingly amusing.

”Gosh, I have so many questions to you,” she said excitedly and you wanted to slap yourself. Of course she would have questions. Questions you weren’t sure if you wanted to answer. At least to some specific ones.

”Well, no time for them now as there seems to be customers waiting,” you stated, pointing at one customer. Olivia groaned unnecessarily dramatic and you couldn’t help but grin at her. It seemed that maybe you two might actually get along pretty well.

taglist: @nijiru