#all the better to beg for his dinner bowl that he won’t touch

[intriga-hounds]

he’s extra spooky in the glow of the bug zapper

[antebunny]

You should've left her in the pond

(A retelling of the swan maiden fairytale. Trigger warnings for: explicit body horror, gore, assault, dismemberment; implied animal death, cannibalism, and sexual violence).

~

He finds her by the water. Deep in the forests where sunlight holds no power and the shadows reign supreme. Fear of the wild has long since settled into his bones. Any hunter that reaches his age ought to revere the wild, or at least respect it. He doesn’t. Fear substitutes well enough. 

He strays too deep and wanders too far and in return the sunset sees him lost, far away from his cottage, still on the hunt. He stumbles upon the pond entirely by accident. One boot slipped over the edge before he registers the dark clearing before him. 

Perhaps I shall spend the night here, he muses. A pond has fresh water and is no safer than anywhere else. Still, unease squeezes his insides. He is still the hunter, not the hunted, but in the dark this can change at any moment. He tries not to think about how long it will take before someone from the village knocks on his door. (A while). Or how long before someone goes out looking for him. (Never?)

Faint splashing has him readying his bow. A catch will make this miserable day end that much better. A missed shot will cost him a precious arrow. He creeps closer, ringing around the pond. His foot slips on something soft and loose. Without taking his eyes off the darkened smudge in the pond where he heard movement, he picks it up. His fingers run over a wet, soft and feathery cloak. 

“Don’t take it!” An alarmed feminine voice rings out from the pond and into the darkened woods. 

His eyes flicker from the woman in the pond to the feather cloak in his hands. He may not respect nature but he did not get this far by ignoring the tales. “Are you a swan maiden?” His voice runs like water over gravel.

“Yes.” Breathless. The swan maiden rises from the water’s black surface, with more grace than he expected from a pond-dweller. She approaches him, skittish, determined. Every finer feature lost to the night, save for her bright red eyes. They’re beautiful. He yearns to know the rest of her. 

“Please,” she begs. “Give it back.”

Something yawns open wide at her words. Bubbling in his stomach, then frothing in the mouth, a waterfall, a hunger; call it curiosity, call it consumption. Or childishness: he just doesn’t want to. “No,” he says, perplexed by his own refusal. “Come with me.”

Her bare feet stumble over each other, closer to him with every step. He won’t fall for the pitiable fear in the curve of her hunched shoulders or be tricked by her fumbling feet. He knows the stories too well for that. And isn’t he owed something from this fruitless day? Doesn’t he deserve some joy out of this wretched night? This is just a different sort of catch, and he is a hunter, after all. It wouldn’t do to defy his nature.

The stories must be true, because she doesn’t fight him. She follows him out of the forests, afraid, stumbling, quiet like a whisper, yet silent in dignity. Let it never be said that swans do not comport themselves with grace.  

(She cries so pitifully the first night that he doesn’t touch her for the next month. But it’s not because he feels guilty. It’s not. He married her, after all. What has he got to be guilty about?) 

~

“Please,” the hunter says. “Eat.”

It isn’t right that he must beg for her to feed herself. 

The swan maiden hisses at him, maintaining her low crouch atop the wooden chest that contains her cloak. “Give me the key,” she says. Too pitiful to be a demand, too confrontational to be a plea. 

“No.” The hunter clenches both hands. In his left, the golden key. In his right, the bowl of duck soup that was supposed to be their dinner. She ought to be grateful. No other maiden in the village receives lovingly made duck soup for dinner. Porridge, perhaps, barley soup or mushroom stew. Never duck. 

“They will come for me,” the swan maiden vows. 

The hunter laughs. “No one,” he says, “ever comes.”

He wonders, fleetingly, if she is telling the truth. If she has a family, how long until they coming looking for her? A week? A while?

The swan maiden bares two rows of perfectly human teeth. “Maybe not for you.”

(Never). 

He hurls the bowl at her feet. Thick, viscous liquid drips down her dress. Those red eyes blink rapidly and well up with tears. He refuses to pity her. He refuses to apologize or return her cloak. He refuses. “Fine,” he hisses. “Starve.”

~

Perhaps it is for the best that he does not hunt or fight with sword or dagger. Sometimes he catches her staring at his arrows a little too long. When he fletches new arrows, she always joins him, across the table, and watches hungrily.

“What are the tips made of?” She asks on one such day.

The hunter reaches for another goose feather. “Flint.”

“Why are they shaped so?” She mimics the triangular shape with her hands. 

“For the highest chance of success,” the hunter replies, “and maximum damage. The arrows enter easiest from a smaller point, like this.” he demonstrates by taking an arrowhead and ramming it into the table. It quivers, and so does she. “Thus making way for a wider wound.”

She tears her red eyes from the arrowhead and leans forward gracefully. (Let it never be said that swans–swan maidens–do not behave with grace). Bony elbows dig into old wood, tongue flickering over pink lips. Hungry. “Will you teach me?”

He pauses, fingers over goose feather. “No.” 

After that, he makes his arrows only when she’s not around. Which isn’t often, since she’s always around. She can’t leave. 

~

The fading sun follows his footsteps back to his cottage. From his belt hangs one gold key and two plump rabbits. He’ll have to skin them himself–he won’t let a knife out of his sight, much less into her hands–but afterwards she’ll turn them into an excellent stew. Well, first she’ll pray over the rabbits and weep. But then she’ll pull herself together. She always does. 

A faint squelch stops him in his tracks and drags him out of his thoughts. There, leading up to his front door: footsteps. No, not footsteps. They’re not human. He squats, hunter’s eyes running over the gentle indentations. A duck. No, a goose. Or a swan. His eyes travel up the goose or swan tracks to the bottom of his front door. Fear knifes his spine. Dread runs deep. He sprints the rest of the distance and throws the door open.

She’s inside, boiling a pot of water. Her hand jerks on the handle when the door flies open, splashing hot liquid on her fingers, and she flinches. By the time he strides to her side, she’s smiling. 

“What’s the matter, dear?”

His breathing calms. “Nothing. I just missed you, that’s all.”

A polite laugh. “Well then.” Smiling, smiling, smiling. “What have you got for our dinner?”

He presents the two rabbits proudly, though he knows what comes next.

“Ah.” Sure enough, tears spring to her scarlet eyes. They spill down her nose, caught in the curve of her lips, because she is still smiling, through the tears, through everything. (Let it never be said that swan maidens do not carry themselves with grace). 

All he can focus on is his relief. The tracks outside do not belong to her. But of course they don’t. If she could leave, she wouldn't stay. 

~

But sometimes he thinks she might love him. 

Sunlight dances on the pink rose petals. They stand side by side in the cottage’s single window and admire the roses together. 

“They’re beautiful, dear,” she says. “But how in the world did you get them? What did they cost?��

He half-shrugs. “You said you missed smelling the flowers.”

“Yes, but–” she stops, cross.

“No, don’t stop. What were you going to stay?”

She hesitates. Licks her lips. Hungry. Who’s hungry? “But roses are so rare around here.”

“I’d do anything if it made you happy,” he says honestly.

“Oh,” she says, and again: “oh.” And she laughs. A bubbling brook in summertime. 

His stomach swoops, because this is real, and it’s true, and it’s burning him alive. And he ignores the tinkling little voice that whispers any thing but one. “If you left you wouldn’t be able to smell the roses,” he points out carefully. Not carefully enough.

She makes a noise, half birdsong, half hum, into his shoulder. 

He draws himself up, shoulder by her chin, lungs filling with fresh air. “If you could leave, would you?”

She hums again, rose red eyes on his neck. “I don’t know.”

And he believes her. (He has to). And it’s good enough. (It has to be).

~

On stormy nights he sleeps uneasily. The slumber of the guilty and the damned. He dreams of his wife’s skin covered in swan feathers, and of his hands, plucking the feathers out one by one while she screams and begs for him to stop. Inevitably the dream reaches the stage where her screams evolve, reaching higher pitches, more animalistic, until from her lips bursts a bright red beak, which opens wide, teeth shining–

He wakes. The hunter throws off his blanket and sits up, willing his heart to calm. Beside him, his wife slumbers on. He listens to the sheets of rain battering the cottage walls and the sound of her breathing; the sigh of spring, a summer breeze. (Let it never be said that maidens–swan maidens–do not live and breathe grace and beauty). 

The hunter slips out of their bed, feet crossing the floorboards without touching any area that creaks. He fishes the golden key out of today’s hiding spot (beneath the bed of roses) and takes it to the wooden chest. 

Fleetingly, he wonders if he can truly keep this up forever. Hiding and rehiding the key every day. Bringing water fowl and small game animals back for dinner, to see eyes that demand pity and fear in her smile. Waiting for her to break. Waiting for her to love him back. He banishes the thought as quickly as it came. 

The wooden chest opens silently. He reaches one arm down and runs his fingers over the soft, silky swan feathers. Pristine from years of disuse. He closes the lid as quietly as he opened it and stands. He looks at the bed. Screams ring in his ears, below the rain, but above her breathing. 

He walks to the front door. Breathes in and listens to the rain hurling itself against the wooden frame. Isn’t there something else, something higher, something calling out in the night? In a fit of idiocy, he throws the door open.

Outside, the forest howls in anger. Raindrops batter his toes and he steps back. Wind threads through the inky black night, bowing the trees to its will. A tiny red light blinks. The hunter squints and strains his eyes. Two tiny red lights blink. With his lack of depth perception, they could be large and far away or small and close by. They look like eyes. But what eyes glow?

The hunter closes the door. “Not tonight.” And he goes back to bed.

Something must have woken his wife, because she speaks when he slides back under the covers. “What’s the matter, dear?” She murmurs. “Nightmares?”

“It’s–” Nothing. She blinks at him innocently and he thinks of the red lights in the darkness, watching him. He cannot see the redness of her irises in the dark, but the knowledge haunts him. “Nothing.”

“Tell me,” she encourages. 

And he almost does. Well, he thinks about it. (No he doesn’t). “It’s nothing,” he insists. A dismissal. A refusal. “Go back to sleep.”

~

A problem is running around the village. He can tell by the little gatherings of people, their positions, their voices. Subtle changes invisible to someone who has not spent their life in this village. 

“What’s wrong?” The hunter asks.

“It’s the water,” the baker says. They’re in the village’s favorite gathering spot. The tavern. “There’s something wrong with the water.”

“How so?” The hunter does not usually engage in midday drinking, but he does today. Something from last night’s rain has not left his mind. 

The baker shrugs. “It tastes funny. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it’s the well. I wouldn’t drink it if I were you.”

The hunter leans back in his chair. “I’ll keep that in mind.” (He won’t).

“Whatever.” The baker shrugs again. “And tell your wife.” She side-eyes the hunter, countless questions in her eyes, questions that he’s long grown tired of. Why don’t we ever see her? Where did she come from? Why doesn’t she ever go outside? Who is she? What is she?

~

The nightmares worsen. On kinder nights she screams for mercy, for forgiveness, for a savior, for peace. On crueler nights she finds that she is the one with no forgiveness to give. 

(A swan head, severed at the neck by an arrow, rolling to a stop at his feet. Red beak opening wide, revealing two sets of human teeth, and one human question: “Why?”)

He wakes panting on those nights, running from the wolves. But they keep howling during the day. He doesn’t stray so deep into the forests anymore. She needs him to be back before dark, after all. 

(Well. Technically, she doesn’t need him, but–)

~

“What’s the matter, dear?” She asks one day when a sudden gust of wind sends him walking into the table.

“Nothing, nothing,” he mumbles. “Distracted, that’s all.” He casts about the little room for their water jug. “How is the soup?”

“Simmering,” she replies swiftly, with a sweet smile. (Let it never be said that maidens do not converse with grace and wit). She turns her back to the pot. “Are you looking for water? It’s right here, dear.” She serves both of them a glass. “But really, if something’s going on, you can tell me.” Her fingers linger on the glass when she hands it to him. She’s as human as they come but he’s never touched another human that felt this electrifying. “I’m here for you.” She smiles, too, well, smiles more, and it’s all for him.

He knows what she’s saying, underneath her spoken words: I love you. She loves him. He knows it. He knows. The hunter gulps the water down like a man lost in a desert. “Do you still want to learn how to fletch arrows?”

The swan maiden’s voice trembles. “Yes. I would love to.” 

“Then I’ll teach you.” 

The hunter leads her to where he keeps his secret cache of arrows–where he’s kept them today, at least. He doesn’t think he’ll be hiding them anymore. He has just a few unassembled materials–sticks, flint and feathers–on hand, but it’s enough for a first attempt. 

He doesn’t plan on letting her try for that long for two reasons. First, he’s developed a frustrating headache, and in his experience the only cure is a long and deep sleep. Second, her eagerness reminds him uncomfortably of her hunger to learn of violence, earlier in their relationship. She ought to know by now that he hunts out of necessity, not desire, and that violence does not justify violence, and that not all hunger is equal. He ignores the argument raging in the back of his mind. (When you first saw her, was that not hunger? Yes, but a different kind, an understandable one, a satisfiable one; after all, it’s my hunger). 

Sticks, not yet shaped. Flint, sharpened, but unattached. Feathers, loose and not yet fletched. A small wood-shaving knife. The hunter spreads them all across the table. “It’s a complicated process,” he prefaces. “Don’t feel bad if it takes you a while to get.”

She picks up the pieces one by one and turns them over in her hands. The stick, which she discards. A white goose feather, which she smoothes over and over. A flint arrowhead. She smiles wide. 

“Oh, I won’t,” she promises. 

Then she rams the arrowhead into his neck as hard as she can.

Well, more like his upper chest, because he jerks back on instinct. The scrape of the flint point across his collar bone is what he imagines burning alive to feel like. No, he thinks. NO. She wouldn’t. She can’t. She loves me. He stands without thinking, shoves her without thinking, and then the anger rushes in. He tackles her to the floor, but she’s got another arrowhead in her other hand and she swipes it across his face. Someone’s screaming, or roaring, like an animal. Is it him? His head spins. He’s dizzier than before, but it can’t be the rush of anger, it must be something else, it must be the water. Blood splatters her face, spraying from above. She screams. Did he punch her? Yes, but he missed. He tries again. One of her hands snakes through, grasps the arrowhead still buried in his upper chest, and twists. Pain explodes across his chest and in his head, pain like he’s never known. His arms give in. She rolls out of the way as he collapses. 

“Maximum damage,” she spits as she rises. 

She swipes something off the table and stoops down. He raises his arms to defend himself, and each slash of flint across his forearms redoubles his screaming. She grabs one of his arms with her free hand, and he was lying before when he said her touch was like no other, because this is like no other, before was merely some pale imitation, a ghostly foreshadowing, this is electricity, fire on his skin, this is burning him alive and–

The arrowhead sinks into his neck. 

He screams, or he gargles, feet lashing out blindly. One flailing arm finds the table’s edge and holds on tight. Sweaty and bloody hand on the old wood. An arrowhead strikes across his wrist, tearing through muscles and tendons and arteries. He didn’t know she had this capacity for brutality. She strikes again; same wrist, different line, making a jigsaw puzzle of his arm. He reels back, hitting the floor right before his hand does, jolting the arrowhead stuck in his neck. 

Someone’s screaming. It’s still him. He clutches his bloody stump with the hand he still has, eyes fixated on the lifeless fingers on the floor a foot away from him. I’ll never shoot an arrow again. A realization and a bargain. Both come too late. 

Blood soaks his clothes. He can’t feel a thing. Her foot comes down on the arrowhead lodged above his collarbone, pressing it in, and suddenly he can feel, but he’d gladly never feel again. His spine curls and he flattens to the floor, head banging against the floorboards. 

She looms over him, those red eyes he once mistook as beautiful overflowing with malice, a gentle curve to her lips. He screams until he chokes. 

Why? A horrible, rattling gurgle escapes his lips instead of a word. She still answers like she heard it loud and clear.

“It’s like you said, dear,” she explains, sweet smile in place. (Let it never be said that swan maidens–that swans–oh, you know). “No one was coming.” 

She reaches down and plucks the golden key from his belt. “You should’ve given me the key.” It may be blood loss but her teeth are longer and sharper. “You should’ve left me in the pond.” It may be the lack of light but there are small teeth on her tongue. Like a swan. Or a monster. She strides to the front door and throws it open. 

The wild streams in. Chipmunks and raccoons, scampering across the floorboards, chittering and growling. Insects, invisible until they’re crawling over him. A brown hare thumps to a stop by his face, eyes large and red and unafraid. The wind blows cool night air into the cottage and her bloodstained dress ripples in the breeze. Something bites him, teeth on his ear, and horror breaks through the all-consuming pain. Many things bite him, only some with teeth, and quickly the horror grows into pain once more.

“Please,” he sobs. An insect crawls over his face and into his mouth. He spasms and curls. The animals gnaw closer.

“What’s the matter, dear?” The swan maiden tilts her head, red eyes blinking, clawed hands on hips. “Isn’t turnabout fair play?” She squats by his side, fingers brushing his hair back tenderly. “I should thank you. It’s because of you that I’ve developed a taste for meat.” Eyes alight, tongue over lip. Hungry. “And I know just what to make for supper.”

[nightowlfandom]

Kanato Sakamaki- I’m Sadistic For You

FINALLY SOMEONE REQUESTS DIABOLIK LOVERS CONTENT AAAAHHH THANK YOU BESTIE! I GOT YOUR OTHER ONE AND I’M DOING IT TOO!  

CHECKOUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!!

So ANON ASKS

For Kanato from DL ( I haven’t seen much done for him and it makes me sad because he’s a favorite ). (: I could Lowkey do some more if you’re not super bogged down I had another idea BUT I ALREADY SUBMITED ANOTHER BEFORE THIS SO IM NOT GONNA OVERWHELM YOU LOL but- anyway Fee free to be as nsfw with my prompts (if you do them) as you want. I dont have any triggers so- writing them super accurate and sadistic won’t bother me :3

Bruh....Jesus is my helmet...but NOT TODAY let’s fucking go! Okay readers, you heard, they aint got no triggers. So if you do...move it along.

52- “You can’t call me cute!”

80- “Shut up! I’m not blushing!”

31-“You need to be taught a lesson…”

81- “You look so...inviting all tied up.”

84- “What’s the word I’m looking for?....Pet!”

Also in this you and Yui are BFFs because she isn’t some cold hearted bitch (homegirl trips over oxygen, plus I love her lol)

I was legit about to have him spit in your mouth....I’m so shameful...maybe next time.

Leggo!

I’m turning into a Yandere account and I am totally okay with that.

...

“You know living here isn’t that bad.” you mused to Yui. “When no one is talking.”

Your friend laughed as she cut up some carrots. Yui turned to look at you as she prepare to peel some potatoes. “So living here is terrible every day other than right now?” she replied.

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. She wasn’t wrong. 

You and Yui were making dinner for the house. After a ambush that landed everyone injured except you and her (thankfully). You had offered to make soup and stew for everyone. They were all in their respective rooms healing while you had prepared everything.

“They really fought hard today, I thought Kanato was about to rip that vampires jaw off. He’s really protective of you, Y/N.” she winked. “I think he likes you more than he lets on.” 

Kanato and you had a very strange relationship. He hated you, but he didn’t HATE you. No one could lay a finger on you, no one could even look at you, even if he said he didn’t care. Reiji tried to and Kanato almost murdered him.

“He then told me that Teddy said I was ugly.” you reminded her flatly. “Yeah he so cares.” you snorted.

“Maybe he has trouble telling you his feelings”

“I wish everyone was as optimistic as you.” you shook your head. “Looks like the soup is finished.” 

“I’m just saying Y/N, just think about it.”

...

You only had one bowl of soup left to deliver, to Kanato’s room. You grumbled as you stood outside the door. 

“Kanato? It’s me.” you knocked on the door. “I’m coming in okay?” 

Before you could wait for an answer you opened the door and walked in with the cart. 

Kanato was laying on his bed when you entered, groaning in what you assumed was boredom.

“Teddy, tell Y/N that I don’t want whatever she made.” Kanato turned away from you. The scars he had suffered on his back said it all. All for you...

Your recalled the terror in your voice as you had screamed for help as the rogue vampire wrapped his claws around your leg. Kanato’s name was the first to escape your lips as you had tried to crawl away to Yui. You remembered reaching out to Kanato with your strongest hand, begging him to save you.

The look in his eyes was feral as he screamed your name too, grabbing you hand and pulling you to him. You were sobbing into his chest, clutching onto him for dear life for a good ten seconds before Yui replaced him, hugging you tightly in her small arms too. Before you knew it, the rogue’s head had been thrown through a window...

...

“Y/N, Look at me! You’re safe now...you’re safe with me...”

...

“Teddy, could you please tell Kanato that while his pouting is very adorable, it won’t get him out of this?”

“Don’t call me cute! You can’t do that.” Kanato glared at you through hooded eyes. “If I wasn’t so weak I’d-”

“Well let me take care of you.” you cut him off, taking the bowl to him. “For me?”

Kanato paused, his glare softening. 

“You must be in love with me if you’re so insistent on me getting better.” he grumbled, sitting up. “Y/N is in love with me Teddy!”

“Kanato.” you felt your face heat up violently. “Don’t say things like that.” you groaned.

“It’s blushing teddy, how cute!”

Kanato’s use of the word ‘it’ wasn’t new to you. In fact when he wasn’t calling you names, chasing you around with forks pretending to stab you, or worse, it was denoting you to objects.

“H-hey! I am not blushing!” you pouted. “My face just looks that way.” you lied. “S-shut up.” you grumbled.

“And what if I don’t feel like it?” he challenged, knowing you wouldn’t say a word back. You were kind of like Yui. You wouldn’t dare challenge any of the Sakamaki brothers. It was a death sentence in every sense of the word.

“Kanato, I just want you to feel better.” you looked down at your feet. 

“There’s one thing you can do.” Kanato used his strength to stand to his feet. Despite his looks, he was tall, and under that cute exterior was a mean and feral beast. He staggered over to you, a sick smile on his face. That couldn’t be good, not by a long shot. 

“And what exactly would that be?” you asked. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t wanna know what he was planning. You were positive that it wasn’t gonna end well either. 

“Get on your knees.”

“My knees?” you repeated. “Why do you want me to-”

“Now Y/N.” he spoke over you. You felt his hand on your shoulder. “I don’t like repeating myself.” his nails dug into your skin, causing your knees to wobble under the pain. “On. Your. Knees!”

Your feet gave out, practically sending you crashing down to the floor. You looked like a dog, on your hands and knees. You appeared weak and pathetic.

You found it in yourself to look up at Kanato. Teddy was perched on the bed, ‘watching’ you two. You felt his fingertips creep under your chin. 

“Aww...” he smiled. “You’re like a little...What’s the word I’m looking for...PET!. It’s cute.” He caressed the side of your face. “Too bad I kill all my pets...they can’t handle me...can you handle me, Pet?”

“Yes, Kanato.” you found yourself saying. You felt like you didn’t have a choice...

and you loved every second of it.

“Bullying you has made me regain my strength! Isn’t this wonderful?” he wrapped one of his hands around your neck. “You’re so fun to torment” he laughed.

“K-kanato.” you coughed.

“Is it hard to breath. Y/N?” he asked sinisterly, that crazed smile gracing his lips. His words were terrifying although his actions said otherwise. He loosened his grip on your throat, allowing air to flow more freely. It was those small things that made you think he didn’t hate you as much as he loved to preach.

“Y/N...when that vampire came...I thought I was gonna lose you for good this time” he said sadly, allowing his arm to return to his side. “I thought I had-...that you were gonna die.” 

“You saved me though.” you replied. Kanato knelt down to your level, still slightly above you. 

“Yeah...because if anyone is gonna break you, it’s gonna be me.”

“I care about you a lot, Kanato.” you finally said it. “I like you too much.” you exposed yourself. “I want you stay by your side.” you said pathetically. “Even if you hate me.”

Before you could say another word, Kanato claimed your lips in a kiss. He held the sides of your face in his hands. It was the first time he had ever kissed you. He hummed thoughtfully, pushing you down to the floor so you were laying on your back. He crawled over you, not breaking the kiss. 

“K-kanato.” you whimpered.

“You need to be taught a lesson. If your gonna be my girlfri- I mean pet, you’ll have to learn.” he kissed down your neck.

Suddenly, Kanato ripped the seam of your jeans all the way up your left leg, leaving it completely exposed to the air.

“Oh look, your clothes are messed up, guess we’ll have to take them off.” he smirked. In another swift motion, your pants were torn to shreds. The fabric fell in a circle around you both.

“Teddy look! Y/N is wearing such cute panties.” he cackled maniacally. “Her naughty place is leaking.”

You trembled, waiting for him to do whatever it was he was planning.

“I heard blood tastes better when it’s from your naughty place.” he ran his tongue along the top row of his teeth. “Y/N” he moaned, running his index finger along your clothed heat. “You smelled so much better here...I just want to- ungh.”

He suddenly drove his fangs into your right thigh. You gasped, arching your back. He violently grabbed your legs, holding them down. His tongue lashed against your freshly made wound. 

You could hear him whimpering, cursing under his breath. 

Kanato would deny it with his life, but everything about you was like a drug to you. Tasting your blood was even sweeter than every dessert he’s ever tasted. Feeling you whimper and plea for him did things to him that would make a sailor blush. 

Forget Yui, forget his brothers, forget it all.

“Fuh-” Kanato couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stop himself from ripping off your panties and driving his tongue into your most sensitive parts. Hearing you moan for him, cry for him. 

The rumors were right, vampires were godly lovers. It was like Kanato knew what you wanted and where. He lashed his tongue against your heat, grabbing your legs. 

“Wrap your legs around my head,” he demanded. “Not like it’s gonna kill me.” he laughed manically. “

Knock knock

“Y/N, are you in there?” Yui’s small voice caused you to panic a little. As you tried to get up, Kanato pushed you right back down, growling into your pussy,

“FUCK!” you whined, making it very obvious what you two were up to. “Kanato, I can’t-”

“Then don’t.” he grunted, not ceasing his movements. “Cum, cum for me.”

“K-KAANAAA!” you cried as you came. You thrashed and writhed under his touch, but he didn’t stop. His tongue never stopped moving. “fuh- fuck! Kanato, t-too much!”

“I said cum for me, I didn’t say I’d stop.” he thrust his fingers into you to add insult to injury. “You’re so fun to fuck with!” he spat.

“Kanato!” you sobbed. You couldn’t stop moving, you couldn’t stop thrashing. Th epleasure had gotten to you so much, you were drooling.

He finally withdrew his mouth from you, smiling evilly at the mess he left.

Kanato had grabbed one of his ties that had left on the floor and bound your wrists together.

“You look so inviting tied up for me...” he shuddered as he bit his lip. He licked his fingers clean of your blood and juices. “Good thing the night is young...because I’m not done with you.”

...

[julek]

a humble offering to @west-moor and @kueble, for bringing this post to life. they’re very dumb, your honor. | read on ao3

It starts at dinner one night. 

They settled in a few days ago, bringing the ice cold from the mountains and the snow with them, after trudging up the Killer for two weeks. They sit at the wooden table and before them stands Vesemir’s famous roast, the one Geralt had told Jaskier all about. 

Geralt helps himself to some potatoes, and gestures to Jaskier’s plate. “You want some?”

Before Jaskier can nod, Lambert cuts him off. “Darling,” he says with a pointed tone.

Geralt turns to him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “What?”

“You seemed to have forgotten you were speaking to your bard, there,” Lambert quips, and sits back with a knowing smirk. “Just wanted to help you out.”

Geralt blinks. “Uh.”

Jaskier notices the way he’s frozen in place, and gently touches his forearm, ignoring Lambert’s non-sequitur. “I’d love some, Geralt. Thank you.” 

“Uh,” Geralt repeats, and doesn’t take his eyes off Lambert as he fills Jaskier’s plate. “Sure.”

+

Jaskier pads into the kitchen the next morning, eyes still fuzzy with sleep and an old, worn woolen sweater hanging off his shoulder. Geralt looks up from his bowl of kasha and smiles. 

“Morning,” Jaskier mumbles, and sits down at the table. 

“Good morning.”

The shout comes from the pantry, followed by the unmistakable sound of pans and cups clattering. “Morning, honey!” 

Jaskier narrows his eyes, and looks at Geralt for help. He shakes his head. “Um. Hi?” 

Out of the pantry walks Lambert, hands full of baking ingredients, a flour scar crossing his cheek. “How’d ya sleep, sweetheart?”

Jaskier decidedly does not blush a bright shade of red. He doesn’t. “Well, that’s just— thank you, Lambert, for asking. I slept well, even though this keep’s freezing cold and my bed was entirely too big for one fragile bard such as myself.”

Lambert frowns. “What do you mean, too big? You’re not sharing with Geralt?”

Geralt chokes on his kasha, momentarily. Jaskier snorts and shakes his head. “No, I’m staying in the east wing.”

“Ah,” Lambert says, a wolfish grin on his face as he ties the apron behind his back. “That’s… interesting.”

He shoots Geralt a look that’s there a second and gone the next, and Jaskier would’ve missed it, if not for the developed skill of observing Witchers and their fleeting emotions. Still, it’s a look he can’t decipher, a mix of amusement and mischief. Best not to find out, he decides. 

“So, Lambert,” he starts, a touch louder than he should. “What’s that you’re making?”

+

Geralt had warned him, Jaskier thinks in retrospect, that Lambert was a bit weird. An acquired taste. And he is, Jaskier won’t deny it, but he’s also incredibly unpredictable — his gruff demeanor and rough disposition always, without fail, betray the sweet words that leave his mouth. 

He’d been brushing the horses down when Lambert ruffled his hair and called him dear. Geralt nearly dropped his sword one morning, when Jaskier walked out onto the courtyards and Lambert called out hello, sunshine. On their way to the library to get absolutely smashed, a gentle touch to his elbow and little bird. 

They’re all incredibly sweet, incredibly unexpected delicacies, and Jaskier doesn’t know what to make of them. Sure, Lambert isn’t horrible to look at in the slightest, what with the entire lean-body, scarred-face look he has going on, with the playful teasing and easy smiles he gets out of him. He’s objectively handsome, and funny, and kind, when he has to be, and Jaskier has let him know, many times. He hasn’t been exactly subtle in feeling his muscles through his linen shirts and sending looks his way whenever he’s said something salacious and tempting — signs so clear even the brother of one of the Continent’s most oblivious Witcher could read them. Which is why it’s so infuriatingly confusing, the fact that name-calling is all Lambert’s got for him. 

And it’s not lost to him at all, the way Geralt frowns and fiddles with his medallion whenever Lambert lets a honey-sweet pet name slip. He doesn’t miss the way Geralt stubbornly looks straight ahead, focused on absolutely nothing at all, nor the way his mouth twitches, almost, almost resembling a pout. 

It’s amusing, to say the least.

+

“Well, I’m off to bed, my wonderful friends,” Jaskier announces one night, after playing a few annoying renditions of Toss a Coin, until he got Eskel to break and beg him to stop. 

The wolves say their goodbyes, and just as Jaskier’s about to leave the Great Hall, Lambert calls after him. 

“Night, love,” he says, offhandedly, and continues his conversation with Eskel, as if nothing had happened. 

Jaskier scans the room, and his eyes fall on Geralt, who’s trying very hard to remain seated, even when his knuckles are white and his leg is bouncing wildly enough to propel him into the night sky. His amber gaze follows Lambert’s movements and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say Geralt was about to throttle his brother. 

“Hmm.” He murmurs. “Goodnight, Lambert. Goodnight, Geralt.”

Jaskier smiles sweetly and leaves the room at a leisurely pace. He can feel Geralt’s eyes on his back.

+

One particularly chilly afternoon, Jaskier’s leaving the library when he hears voices that carry through the hall. 

“Well? Gonna explain yourself?”

Oh, the middle-aged woman that lives inside Jaskier’s heart and loves to gossip jumps up and down in joy at the prospect of what seems to be a very interesting conversation. He slips out of the room and presses his back to the wall, even when he knows the Witchers could sense his presence. It’s more fun if there’s a risk to get caught, he reasons. 

Lambert’s voice is low, and Jaskier can hear his smug smile as he says, “Well, you weren’t doing anything about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Geralt’s voice echoes. 

“It means, you thick-headed idiot,” Lambert drags the words out, like he’s speaking to a child. If Jaskier’s quiet, he can hear the way Geralt’s blood boils in his veins. “That you’ve been walking in circles for too long. Jaskier’s here.” At the mention of his name, the bard perks up. 

“I know that, Lambert. I invited him. What’s that got to do with this— this sweet talking thing you’ve got going on? It’s weird. Creeps me out.”

“What? I can be decent when needs must!” Comes Lambert’s offended retort. “What I’m saying, pretty boy, is that he’s a good thing, the kind that Witchers never get to have. Not that you own him or anything— it’s just. He’s good, and he’s obviously waited for you to make a move, sometime in this past decade. He’s here, for fuck’s sake— in an old ruin in the middle of fucking nowhere, holed up with four Witchers and a goat, nothing else. Ain’t exactly a walk in the park.”

Jaskier stands very still, his heart beating out of his chest. 

“Hmm. I still— I don’t deserve him.”

Lambert laughs. “Well, too bad, then. You can’t come to me with that self-deprecating shit, I’m not Eskel. But, fuck, if you don’t deserve him, who the fuck does? Certainly not me, but— I need you to listen very closely— he won’t wait forever. He might even settle for me, if you don’t make a move soon.”

“Ugh.” 

“Yeah.”

Geralt’s footsteps echo down the hall, moving closer to Lambert, Jaskier thinks. 

“You’ll stop with the pet names, then?” 

Lambert laughs, again. “Absolutely not. It’s too fun seeing you get all hot and bothered.” He steps out of the room, thankfully, in the opposite direction, and calls out, “Don’t fuck it up!”

Jaskier lets out a breath and slides to the floor, gathering the new information in his brain. Geralt wants him. He wants him, and worst of all, thinks he’s undeserving — damn him and his humility. He lets out a laugh in disbelief. 

Geralt wants him. 

+

The next morning, when Jaskier walks into the kitchen, he’s greeted by a blushing Geralt. 

“Hi,” Jaskier says, an amused smile curling his lips, and sits down at the table. “How are you this morning, dear?”

Geralt pushes a bowl in his direction, a bit too strongly. “Good.” He coughs. “Uh, I’m good… Sugar face.” 

“Huh?” Jaskier stops mid-bite. He quickly regains his composure. “Um— that’s good, I’m glad, yeah.” 

Geralt grimaces, and an awkward silence follows. Jaskier digs into his breakfast with more enthusiasm than necessary, until Lambert walks in, firewood under both arms. 

“Lambert! Thank the Gods— I mean, uh, it’s so good to see you. It’s a bit chilly this morning, isn’t it? I’m sure you agree, what with coming straight from the great outdoors and such— I’m going to the library, if anyone needs me, uh, just,” he rambles as he washes his bowl, “just call. You know. My name. Jaskier the bard, ha— that’s me! Anyway, see you.” 

He makes haste to leave the kitchen, and as he walks down the hall, he hears Lambert clicking his tongue. 

“Fuck, Wolf, it’s not even mid-morning.”

+

Jaskier stays in the library until the sweet aroma of Vesemir’s stew reaches the room and his stomach rumbles pleasantly at the thought. Given the way he’d fled the kitchen, he wouldn’t be surprised if no one called him to lunch — they probably thought he was having some sort of stroke, with his word-vomiting and hurried escape. He’s just opened a new book when he hears a knock. 

“Come in,” he says, voice steady.

The door opens, and sure enough, Geralt’s standing at the doorway, a sheepish smile on his face and a terribly endearing flush creeping up his neck. 

“Hey, love,” Jaskier says, because it’s difficult to call him otherwise. “You okay?”

“Hmm.” Geralt walks over to his chair, and stands there awkwardly until Jaskier gestures to a bench next to him. “We’ll have lunch soon.”

Jaskier smiles. “I was just thinking about that. It’s stew, isn’t it? Oh, Vesemir spoils me so.”

“Thought you’d be hungry,” Geralt says, looking at his hands. “You left breakfast early.”

Jaskier pales, then lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh! Yes, well, I had suddenly remembered a book I just had to examine more closely, and—”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s looking at him now, and Jaskier closes his mouth, choosing to look back into his amber eyes and wait for whatever comes. Nothing does, for a while — they just stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak up. Finally, Geralt does. 

“I invited you up here, to spend the winter with me,” he rasps, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of not being close to you, Jaskier, I— I can’t stand it.”

Jaskier’s heart breaks a little. “Geralt.”

“I should’ve asked you to come up here years ago. I wasn’t brave enough. Thought you’d hate the idea.” He grimaces. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats. “When you asked me to come here with you— you have no idea what it meant to me, knowing you still wanted my company. I couldn’t have been happier.”

Geralt sniffs and gives him a weak smile, his white hair falling on his face.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, and gestures vaguely at the space between them. “The whole…”

“Calling me disgustingly sweet and somewhat alarming pet names?”

Geralt nods.

“I know, dear heart.” Jaskier takes Geralt’s hands in his own. “I know, and I don’t expect you to.”

“I’d still like to call you something, though,” Geralt says, the tiniest hint of a pout on his lips. “Can’t let Lambert best me.” 

Jaskier snorts. “So it’s all about honor, then?” 

Geralt shakes his head. “It’s about you.” 

And oh, he sounds so sincere, so open and fragile, Jaskier can’t find it in himself to tease him any further. 

“You know what I loved the most about traveling to Kaer Morhen with you?”

A tiny frown knits Geralt’s brow. “What?”

“‘T was when we stopped in those hamlets, the ones that aren’t even on maps,” he murmurs. “Where you gather your supplies, where people know you and call you by your name. You know why?”

Geralt shakes his head.

“Because,” Jaskier whispers, bringing their foreheads together, “whenever they asked you about me, about who I was, your answer was always the same.” 

He’s my bard, Geralt had said to the horse trader when they bought a mule. My bard, he’d answered, when the chatty shopkeeper had inquired about the colorful fellow trailing after him. My bard, he’d said with a shrug and a fond smile, as Jaskier and the tailor entwined themselves in an argument about fabrics and the season’s colors.

My bard. 

“You always called me yours.” 

Jaskier closes his eyes when he feels Geralt’s lips on his own, a soft, gentle thing. They move slowly, simply exploring — when they part, there are kisses being pressed to his cheeks, his brow, the corner of his mouth and his jaw.

Geralt smiles at him, and Jaskier smiles back, aware that they probably look like two lovesick fools staring at each other, but far too gone to care. 

“I don’t need flowery names or honey-soaked terms of endearment,” Jaskier assures him. “Being called yours is more than enough.” 

Geralt presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Hmm. Can’t go around claiming you as mine, though. ‘S a bit archaic.”

“Mm. You’re right. Love of my life, my moon and my stars should be enough, then. Rolls off the tongue, even.”

Geralt growls. “Jask.”

“Dearly beloved— no, that’s too formal— I’ve always been fond of Angel, though I doubt I’ve earned that title.” 

Geralt kisses him again, and Jaskier half-suspects it’s less about the tender gesture and more about shutting him up. 

“I’ll think of more, you know. You can’t distract me with kisses forever.”

Geralt huffs a laugh. “Okay.” He pecks his cheek. “Bard.”

“Yours,” Jaskier says smugly. 

Before Geralt can open his mouth, the library door swings open. 

“Fucking finally, Geralt! We’re all so very happy for this revelation, way to go, and all that.” He clasps his hands together. “Now, you both need to get your asses to lunch, otherwise Vesemir will kick you out. Jaskier, baby, please be grossly in love with Geralt later.”

Geralt groans. “Fuck off, Lambert.”

He leaves with a cackle. Jaskier smooths out his doublet, gets up and holds his hand out to Geralt. He grins.

“You coming, sugar face?”

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

for your eyes only || h. styles

warnings: swearing, references to drugs

word count: 2.5k

summary: harry is feeling the pressure of making his new album...

You were already in bed by the time Harry got home. Though still awake, your eyes were heavy and your body ached for rest. But you’d never been able to sleep without knowing Harry was safe at home. 

The slamming of the front door echoed through your house. You listened silently as he hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes. You heard him wander into the kitchen, turn on the tap and pour himself a glass of water. After a couple of minutes, he ventured upstairs, heading straight into the bathroom. He began brushing his teeth. 

All the while, you stared out the window of your bedroom. It looked out onto the London streets, dimly lit by the street lights. The bedroom was dark, only illuminated slightly by the outside sky and all of its stars and the moon. 

Harry had been at the studio all day. He’d been stressing about writing his new album. He had started coming home late and leaving early. You barely saw him anymore. You always left him some leftovers in the fridge for him to eat when he got in or take for his lunch. Every time you tried to ask him if he was okay or if he needed to take a break, he’d just shrug you off and tell you he was fine. 

You’d seen a similar thing when he was making his first album, but it was never as bad as this. You’d seen it when he was trying to finish Watermelon Sugar, but it was never as bad as this. 

You felt the bed sink beside you, which consequently woke your cat, who was sleeping at the bottom of your bed. His name was Podge. Rolling over to face Harry, you smiled softly at him. You wanted to be angry at him for never telling you where he was anymore or prioritising his album over your relationship, but you just couldn’t be. You always knew where he was. He went to the studio all day and then would go back to Sarah and Mitch’s for a bit during the evening. “How are you?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your body.

“Tired,” you replied, squeezing him tightly.

He pressed his lips lazily to the top of your head. You smiled at the feeling of his touch. “Go to sleep then,” he mumbled. 

“But I haven’t seen you today. And I won’t see you tomorrow,” you sighed. “I just miss you. And I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, love. You know I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

You sat up, turning back to him. He frowned, propping himself up against the headboard. “That’s the thing. I don’t think you would tell me.”

“What? Where did you get that idea?” 

“Well, you never told me when you were making your first album. You never told me when you were trying to finish Watermelon Sugar. You don’t have a great track record of being transparent when it comes to telling me when you’re not okay,” you explained. “Instead, all you do is come home and go to sleep. Then you wake up before me to get to the studio early. And even when you finish at the studio, you go back to Sarah and Mitch’s. She’s fucking pregnant, Harry, give them some time alone.”

He sat there and took it like a small child being scolded by his mother. He played with his fingers as you tried not to shout. You both knew it would only be a matter of time before you broke and all your feelings would come pouring out. 

The sound of Podge whining at the bottom of the bed interrupted your heated rant. He plodded his way up to the two of you, settling in between you both. He often did that. He’d clamber up to the top of the bed to sleep between your bodies when everyone was comfortable.

Harry reached down to run his hand along Podge’s soft back. You sighed, throwing the covers off your legs. “I’m going to get a drink,” you told him as you left him alone in the bedroom. 

He watched you leave. He didn’t call out or beg for your forgiveness. That was never how arguments were handled in your relationship. He sighed, getting comfortable in bed again, waiting for your return. The sound of Podge purring was enough to calm his nerves as he listened to you pour yourself a glass of water in the kitchen. He listened carefully as you walked around a bit, before he heard the back door open and close. 

You often went outside to take a moment to collect your thoughts whenever you and Harry got into an argument. Harry knew this. 

You set your glass down as you sat down on the bench against the wall. The fabric was cold against your thighs. You looked up at the bedroom window, wondering whether Harry was contemplating everything you’d said or if he was comfortably falling asleep. 

Harry waited for you to return. You never did. You’d gone to sleep in the spare bedroom. The two of you were too tired to take it too further tonight. So, you both slept, knowing tomorrow would either be full of shouting and tears of frustration or pettiness. 

However, when Harry woke in the morning, he climbed out of bed to apologise to you. Podge followed after him, his claws loud on the floor. But you were gone. The bed in the spare bedroom was made. He slowly made his way down to the kitchen, his nerves getting the better of him. Had you really left? 

There was a note on the kitchen counter by the bowl of fruit. ‘GONE OUT FOR BREAKFAST WITH GEM’. Harry looked over at the clock on the wall. It was thirteen minutes past nine. But he didn’t know when you’d written the note. He quietly poured himself a glass of orange juice and buttered some toast. He went out into the back garden, sitting down in the very spot you’d sat in a few hours earlier. 

The weather was nice. The sky was blue and there was a moderate breeze in the air. His phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up to reveal the picture of you he had set as his lock screen. Your slightly pixelated smile was electric through the screen as you cradled Podge in your arms when he was just a kitten. 

The notification was from Mitch. He couldn’t make it to the studio. Harry replied quickly, telling him it wasn’t a problem. It was Saturday anyway. Granted, Harry could probably do with a day off. But, even when he lay in bed all day doing absolutely nothing, he was still working.

That was the trouble with making an album: it plays on your mind until it’s finally out in the hands of the public. More so, Harry noticed, with his solo albums. And that was why Harry seemed to spend every waking moment in the studio. He figured that he might as well be in an environment where he can turn his epiphanies into harmonies.

He heard the front door open and close. You were home. Harry finished the remnants of his orange juice. Podge appeared in the doorway, rubbing his head along on the edge of the threshold. Shortly after, you followed. You were standing in the doorway, shuffling awkwardly. “Not going to the studio today?” you asked, sitting down opposite him. 

He shrugged, “Might do. It’s still early yet.”

You nodded. There was no pettiness. There was no shouting. There was just silence with intervals of small talk. Harry watched you as you fiddled with your fingers, your knee bouncing. You were nervous, he could tell. “How was Gemma?” he asked. 

“She was great,” you replied. “Asked how you were.”

“Yeah? What did you tell her?”

“I said you were fine,” you shrugged. “Just busy with the album.”

He nodded slowly, “Right.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, sitting up straight. You felt Podge run his body along your leg beneath the table. “What? Was I wrong to say that?” you asked, worrying that you’d done something wrong. 

He shook his head quickly, “No, no.”

Harry didn’t say anything more. He was closed off. There was something he wasn’t telling you. You’d been with Harry long enough to know this. Usually, he was quite open with you. He told you what felt like everything. But this never applied to his music. His job. You and his job were two separate things. He made that explicitly clear from the very beginning. You were never to get mixed up with his music and his music was never to get mixed up with you. The line between the two was never blurred. 

But this meant he hardly ever told you when he was struggling or when he felt like he needed a break from it all. You only ever heard songs when they were finished. You only ever saw music videos when they were complete. You had only ever been to one awards show with him - the 2020 Brits. You had never even seen the inside of the studio. You had only met his band on a handful of occasions, all of which had been on nights out or for celebratory dinners, never when they were rehearsing. 

It was like he was leading two lives. 

“You are okay, aren’t you?”

He nodded, “Sure. Just a bit stressed.”

You sighed, exasperated, “You always say that! Every time I ask if you’re doing alright, you just shrug and tell me you’re ‘a bit stressed’. Harry, ‘a bit stressed’ isn’t spending every day at the studio. It isn’t spending all night at the piano, trying to get a song just right. It isn’t constantly comparing yourself to other artists, trying to work out what worked for them and what didn’t. It isn’t getting high every time you fuck something up. It isn’t acting like you have no life outside of the music you make.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a life outside of the music I make. Don’t you get it? I’ve dreamed of this my entire life. I reached the top with the band. And once you’ve had a taste of what it’s like to own the fucking world, everything you do becomes about trying to get there again. It’s like a fucking drug. When it’s been in your system once, it lives there forever and you can’t stop thinking about it. You crave it,” he snapped. You winced as you watched him become so worked up, tears of frustration falling down his cheeks. He dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands harshly. 

It took you a moment to absorb everything Harry had said. Last night, it had only been a matter of time before you’d broken. Today, it had only been a matter of time since Harry broke. You were sick of it. Harry was sick of it. You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as his words registered, “I don’t know if you need to hear this from me. I don’t know if anyone has ever actually said this to you. But you’ll never be as big as the band.”

Harry looked up, his eyebrows knitted together. He looked offended. As anyone would be, you supposed. “What?” he squeaked out. 

“I know it’s brutal. And I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you’re never going to be as big as the band. And it’s shit, Harry, I know. But you’re a fifth of that band. Some fans left with Liam, and some left with Zayn, and some left with Louis, and some left with Niall. And some left with you. And some left with all five of you. But the point is you’re missing four of the components you had when you owned the world. That band was fucking massive, Harry.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. You didn’t expect him to. You’d said all you felt you needed to say to him. And, while you knew you’d never be able to relate to exactly how Harry was feeling, you’d seen the devastating consequences stardom has on a person. You pressed on, “You owned the fucking world, Harry. But you owned it with four other guys. And I don’t think you could do it on your own.”

He sighed, nodding, “It’s just hard.”

“I know, baby. But it won’t get easier if you just don’t stop. You need to step back from this toxic mindset you’ve got yourself into. You literally just won a Grammy, give yourself a break,” you said. 

“That’s the point. I won a Grammy for Watermelon Sugar. What if I can’t make that again?” he sighed.

“Harry, you’ll never be able to make it again. Surely that’s the beauty of it all, right? Nobody wants to hear you put out another Watermelon Sugar. I can guarantee your fans would be happy to listen to what you want to make,” you said. 

It felt so foreign to be talking to Harry about these kinds of things. You’d reassured him and given him advice on all sorts, but never about the music industry. That was his area of expertise. But spending time with Gemma always put you in some sort of healthy frame of mind.

You reached across the table to squeeze his hand. There was no way you could still be angry at Harry for spending so much time away from the house. He wiped away the stray tears that clung to his cheeks. He reached down to cuddle Podge, who’d jumped up onto the bench at some point or another. “Thanks,” he said quietly, finally looking you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for getting so worked up over this. It’s so pathetic.”

“Don’t apologise, H. I love you and I’m always gonna be here for you. Please don’t be embarrassed about these things. I’ll never judge you for being emotional,” you smiled softly. 

“You’re too good for me,” he said, grinning across at you. 

You leaned back in your chair, shrugging, “Probably. I do think of this relationship as more of charity work.”

He laughed, “You’re so selfless!”

“I know! What can I say, some heroes don’t wear capes,” you smirked. 

It was moments like these, with the sun beaming down at the two of you, that you’d missed. Harry was smiling again. It felt like something you hadn’t seen for weeks. 

The truth was, Harry had always found it easier to express his feelings through the art of music. And, while this posed many benefits for him, it meant that, when he was trapped with writer’s block, he found it difficult to free himself of the burdening stresses of his industry. 

You got to your feet, extending your hand to Harry, “Come on, you’ve not had a shower for days. You stink.”

[your-highnessmarvel]

From Bleak to Bright - Part Nine

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: this chapter is long again but worth it;) I’ve included two lines from two of you who’ve participated in my little challenge and these are the lines:

“You will not touch her!!”

“ Darling, I may be a god but I am still a man”

so be on the look out;)

Warnings: angst, language, sexually explicit language (18+ only!)

MASTERLIST - SERIES MASTERLIST

PART NINE

Three days passed without incident, well, false, there were a few spilled cereals on the floor and burning yourself while trying to make dinner. Otherwise, though, there was no incident!

Loki kept his distance, or well, as far away as he wanted. Whenever he deigned to come back to the loft, he was handsy. A hand at the small of your back while you made dinner. A hand on your thigh while you read to him late at night. A lingering hand in yours while you said goodnight. But never more. 

And as much as you wanted to be more, to have the courage to swallow your pride and to act on the soulmate bond, you never went further. 

Even despite the soulmate bond, the fact that colors were so vibrant and real, there was always that nagging thought at the back of your head. Bruce. He came to you in your dreams, pleading, begging you to come back. Even if you woke up with your heart in your throat, your fingers trembling, you never made another attempt to leave the loft. 

And that’s what it was this morning, waking up with your heart bashing against your breastbone, your breath haggard, hands shaking as you gripped the sheets. You gasped, trying to catch your breath, but the vividness of the dream made your head spin. Ever since colors came to you, your dreams just felt that much more real. 

After sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to get your brother’s face out of your mind, you went to the bathroom and cleaned up for the day, dressing in your regular jeans and t-shirt. You planned to ask Loki how his evil mastermind of a plan was going, but the loft was quiet. 

Last night, you’d gotten through half of Jane Austen, while Loki played in your hair, watching you with those intense green eyes. The book still lay on the couch, open, face down, and you picked it back up.

“Proceeding without me, darling?”

You looked back as Loki strode in from the hall, the door to his room wide open, and you could see his unmade bed beyond. You wondered how Loki slept. Was he a quiet, unmoving sleeper? Or a loud, messy one? 

“Sleeping in late now, are we?” you countered as you went back to the book. Loki went to the kitchen with a chuckle, beginning his breakfast. 

“A day off never hurt anybody,” he answered.

“A day off from what?” you asked with a snark. “From taking over my planet?”

He chuckled softly but never answered. He was so dodgy when it came to questions about it. Even your questions about the Avengers, he usually shrugged and ignored you. 

He came back with two bowls of Lucky Charms and coffee, which you both indulged in silence. Today, Loki was wearing a black knit sweater and his usual trousers, his leg folded on the couch between you. He looked almost sweet eating his child’s cereal, deep in thought, those green gems faraway.

When you were finished, he took your bowl and empty mug and went back to the kitchen to wash them. You looked at him, chin on the back of the couch, losing yourself in the width of his broad shoulders, the way the fabric of his sweater strained across the expanse of his back.

He was truly, utterly beautiful. Maybe it was the soulmate bond tugging deep in your chest, making you see things in him you’d normally never notice. But his touch was gentle, even if his body was all sharp, hard angles. His face was sweet despite the constant frown and the obnoxious tone he sometimes employed. There was something about those strands of raven hair, cut short just beneath his ears, that you wanted to run your fingers through. Would they be soft? Would they be thick? 

Countless times you’d pictured yourself tugging at those dark roots, pulling his head back and exposing his pale, long neck. 

“Staring, Y/N?” came the rumble of his voice. 

You perked up, cheeks growing hot. He was still facing away from you. How did he know?

Your silence made him chuckle, his shoulders moving along with the waves of his laughter. He turned off the tap, turning to face you, leaning against the countertop. You wanted to absolutely delete the space between the both of you, but instead, you fell back against the couch, only your eyes and forehead visible to him. 

He smiled cockily. “It’s fine if you stare,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s adorable.”

“I wasn’t,” you stuttered, looking away, wanting to hide. “I wasn’t staring.”

“I am not an idiot,” Loki said, stalking towards you. “I know staring when I see it.” He put his hands on the back of the couch, on each side of your face, and you had to look up to maintain eye contact. 

“I was just - looking,” you mumbled, looking down. 

He hooked a finger under your chin, bringing your eyes back to his. “I said it’s fine if you look,” he said, inching closer, leaning over you. “I do it too.”

He watched you frown with a tilt of his head, his fingers still grasping your chin. Your mouth parted to say something back, maybe a clever little retort, but you found yourself at a lost for words. 

“I feel the same bond as you, Y/N,” he said, and now his tone was lower, rougher. “I feel the same... desires as you.” You wanted to look away, but he kept a hold on you that you dared not break. “Do you think of me at night?” he asked in a whisper.

Your breath hitched. You did. God, you did. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but you stayed long hours staring up at the cream ceiling, imagining what he was doing in his room. What he was thinking. If he was imagining you as well. If his body responded to the thought of you. Because yours did whenever his smirk appeared in your mind’s eye, whenever those hands imaginarily stroked your hips.

His mouth quirked up in a smirk. “You do,” he murmured, gaze dropping momentarily at your parted lips. “Say it.” It was a command.

You gulped, finding it extremely hard to maintain eye contact. “I do.” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper. 

He smiled. “Of course you do.” He stroked your bottom lip with his thumb. “I can’t help it, having you in my thoughts. It’s like a plague. I can’t bare it when I am not with you. I want...” he trailed off, his eyes round, red mouth parted as if he was surprised he’d admitted this much. “I want to kiss you so much. I want to touch every single inch of your skin. I want to taste you and hear what that brings out of you. I can’t stop thinking about it, and Gods, is it hard to control myself.”

You gulped, heat crawling up your face, your hands in fists at your sides. Something new spilled in your tummy, a heat previously unbeknownst to you. It dripped like lead down your thighs, seeping into your core, and you shut your legs together to keep it there.

Loki chuckled, watching you struggle. “Darling, I may be a God but I am still a man,” he whispered. You shivered, the force of his words like a hot flame coursing down your body. “And I won’t be able to keep myself from you any longer.”

You looked up, something daring crawling up your features, relaxing your trembling fists. 

“Then don’t,” you said. 

He was so close to you that you could see the little freckles on his eyelids, the crinkling of the skin beside his mouth as his lips split into a grin. 

“You’re bad,” he uttered. “I like it.”

He softly jerked his chin, eyes boring into yours, and you felt the kiss before he even touched you. His hand left your chin and slid down to grasp your shoulders, bringing you up, kneeling before him. And as he softly pressed his lips to yours, he brought you over the edge of the couch until you stood before him.

At first, his lips were hesitant, soft, slow, as if he was afraid to scare you. To make sure you totally and utterly wanted this. And God, was this better than anything you’d ever experienced. The smell of him so close, the feel of his body pressed flushed against yours, his lips molding against your mouth. It was Paradise. 

Flames erupted under your flesh as Loki kissed you, slowly, sensuously. Your hands slid across his arms, up around his shoulders, and finally, you gripped the soft roots of his raven locks. A guttural groan escaped his throat when you tugged softly, and his left hand - that’d been obediently tucked against your waist - gripped your ass, while his right hand wrapped slowly around your throat.

And his kiss deepened, became hungrier, his tongue opening your lips for him. Heat pooled treacherously down your belly, settling in the pit of your pelvis. This side to Loki, this lasciviousness, the way his hand around your throat squeezed ever so slightly, the one on your ass gripping possessively, made your heart trash against your ribs. 

You wanted more. You wanted closer. You wanted him. 

But the moment broke. It shattered at the sound of a loud, blaring alarm, the loft shutting down and coming back blood red in lights. 

You broke apart, panting, and Loki quickly turned so you were behind him. Your hands rested on his upper back, and you could feel his quick breaths as he scanned the room. Your lips were warm, swollen from his kiss.

A shuddering, ground breaking crash made the floor beneath your feet rumble, like a great big beast had thundered through the walls.

“Shit,” you said, all heat lost, a frozen, merciless cold gripping your insides. You knew exactly what great big beast had found you. 

Loki turned, and the complete change in his expression - from lust to panic - made your head spin. 

“We’ve been found,” he said. “They’ve come for you, my dear.” He looked at you expectantly, and whatever he wanted you to say, you didn’t. Because you couldn’t choose between your brother, your fucking family, and your soulmate. 

The unfairness made you want to cry. 

He gripped your hand and kissed it harshly. “Stay here,” he ordered. 

Your empty hand felt cold without his.

He turned and rippled his magic, illusion dripping from him, revealing the true God. Clad in his long green cotton cape, his black, gold, and green armor adorning his lean build, his horned, golden helmet casting off the brute lights. He looked like a true God; a powerful one. 

Something weird and unpleasant settled in your stomach when he brought his left hand up, his golden staff materializing between his fingers. The light at the tip glowed a nebulous, familiar blue. 

He used it to travel - that was the only word you had for it, the way the world seemed to crack before him, swallowing Loki whole and closing, leaving you staring at empty space. 

Panting, heart beating, thoughts wild from both the kiss and the blaring alarm, you ran for the door. As you’d guessed, it was locked. Whatever magic Loki held on the loft, it wasn’t about to let you out. Pressing your ear against the door, you heard nothing but the muffled rumbling of the lab on the other side. 

You pushed back, angry, groaning in frustration. Maybe if you found your brother and explained. Even if it was ridiculous. Even if Loki was ultimately the villain, the one to threaten your own planet, there had to be an explanation for the bond. And surely, your brother would understand, right?

But you had no time to answer your own question. You had no time to venture into your thoughts. The door blasted open, sending a wave of heat, throwing you back across the air. You landed hard on your back, your head cracking against the floor. 

You vision blurred, wavered, flooding in and out from black to red. A few sparks blew in your vision, muffled voices blurring in your ears. Something pushed off your chest, a heavy weight clearing, your breathing returning in a rush.

Someone was talking to you, yelling at you actually, but you couldn’t make them out. Your world was red and black, a harsh duality, your head swimming viciously. You thought you’d vomit, but the feeling passed. Your left arm was numb.

“Get up!” 

It was a voice you recognized. 

Thor.

You felt arms under your knees, behind your head, gently lifting you. There was a cold harshness, like steel, against your cheek. A rumbling voice overhead. 

“Y/N,” he said, shaking you slightly. “Can you hear me?”

You shook your head. “He’s going to kill you,” you mumbled, frowning, a violent headache searing across your brain. 

Thor huffed. 

Something crashed nearby. Thor groaned, his body moving slightly. 

“Let her go!” Loki’s voice made the world regain its focus, like being taken out from underwater. You reached up, gripping Thor’s armor. Trying to push yourself off. 

“Loki, you’ve mascaraed this planet!” Thor shouted. The force of his voice shook through you. The voice of a God. A king. 

“Let her go, brother! You’ve no idea what you’re doing!” There was pain in Loki’s voice, urgency. Fear.

“Put down the staff, Loki,” Thor demanded. Your head was heavy. An ache crawled along your skull. Another concussion. 

The air shifted, something similar to space travel, but your skin didn’t tighten, your body didn’t feel stretched across time. Thor yelled, his hands curling at your sides, until you were dropped and Thor’s body was propelled from yours.

When you looked up, your head aching something fierce, Loki was bent over you, green eyes torn with fear. He placed a hand on your shoulder, skimming your collarbone. “I’ll kill him,” Loki growled, getting to his feet.

You wanted to tell him to stop, to just take you away again, but your head was too heavy to lift. 

“Bruce is out there, brother,” Thor said, but you couldn’t see him, and your brother’s name on his tongue made tears brim in your eyes. “He’s coming for her and you can’t stop it!”

“You cannot have her!” Loki yelled back, vicious, teeth snapping. “You will not touch her! She’s mine!”

There was a vicious, tremendous crash, the ground rumbling under your spine, sending reverberations painfully dancing along your skull. 

Loki turned, saw the flash of green in the blaring red of the alarm. You wanted to call out. Call out to your brother. You didn’t want him hurt, even if you knew that in this form, the Hulk was basically indestructible.

Loki was too far away to simply leave with you, using the power of his staff. He glanced at you, saw the expanse of space between you both, and his eyes sharpened, just as Hulk came barreling through the wall, roaring in rage, coming toe to toe with Loki.

And Loki vanished, leaving you there, on the floor, broken, and empty.

Tags:  @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki @holaamishamigos @palegoopbearlight @heyarely16 @pleaseexecuteme @athalahild @help-i-need-a-social-life @tapismyforte @coloursforyourportrait @celestialstarshadow @fukyouthink @lust-for-pan @thic-thor

[lovelylusts]

Stop the World || Alex Turner || Request

Pairing: Post-TBHC!Alex x Virgin!Reader

Genre: fluff, smut

Warnings: first time/loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, cute lil petnames like doll, handjob, protected vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it plz), where can i find a man like this?

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: pre-rona times obviously. thank you for your patience, my dear anon! i hope this was worth the wait!

In which your first sleepover with your boyfriend of 7 months leads to your first time.

There were no words in the English language that could really describe your past few months with Alex. All of your boyfriends before him were terrible - self-centered, only ever talked about themselves, cheaters - but Alex was so different from them that you were nearly convinced he wasn’t human. He was always a gentleman, always ensuring that he would respect whatever boundaries you set in place - whether it be discomfort with PDA, or having to tell him you were not yet ready to take the “next step” in your relationship, he was always respectful towards you.

And that brings you to your first time spending the night at Alex’s house, roughly seven months into dating. To say you were nervous would be an understatement - you knew that you were ready for whatever may happen once you two were under the covers of his queen-sized bed, but you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming amount of butterflies arising in your stomach as you neared his house, your overnight bag sitting in the passenger seat beside you and you gripped your steering wheel. You took the familiar turn into the driveway to the gate that led to the high-class neighbourhood in which he lived, filled with white two-story houses that were a bit too close together for your liking, pressing the four-digit code into the keypad before driving into his neighbourhood towards his house. As the distance between his house and your car closed, the butterflies in your stomach fluttered more and more rapidly, until you parked your car in his driveway and your chest felt heavy.

It’s just one night, you thought to yourself. Everything will be ok.

You dragged yourself out of the driver’s seat of your car, walking around to gather your bag of belongings from the passenger’s side before trekking towards his front door. Your hands were shaking lightly, your head feeling a bit fuzzy, and you began to fear that your nerves would ruin your quality time with your beloved boyfriend. But when you saw him open the front door, presumably after hearing your car door be slammed shut, you felt your nerves begin to melt away - not all of them, but you definitely felt a lot better than you did during your car ride.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted as he neared you to take your bag from you, his long hair tied in a messy bun with a few loose hairs flowing in the cool breeze. “How was your day?”

You were relieved that he wasn’t bringing up any of the pressures you felt regarding your night with him, and that he was going about conversation in his regular manner - whether or not he could sense your tenseness, you weren’t sure, but you still appreciated the normalcy. You carried on the conversation as he led you inside his house, which you always thought was a bit too big for just one person, and smiled as he turned to face you and bring you into his arms. You were enveloped in his warmth and distinct cinnamon-like scent, nestling your face closer to him as if you were scared of losing grasp on this feeling.

He always made you feel so warm inside.

Your afternoon together went as per usual, with him listening to your gossip about co-workers, and you listening to new demos and song ideas that he had come up with in the gaps between visits. But as the night drew closer and closer, and you stood behind him with your arms wrapped around his torso as he prepared dinner, you felt your nerves come back. You prayed that he couldn’t sense the sudden tenseness in your body, or the mild shaking of your hands.

“What’s wrong, love? You feel tense,” he said, concern laced in his tone of voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied in response, hoping that he wouldn’t ask any further questions.

“You sure?” he asked, as if he could see right through your lie. He moved over to dump the pasta into the strainer that sat in the sink before turning to look at you as he spoke, leaning against the counter. “Seriously, what’s going on? Are you nervous to spend the night with me?”

“I…” You lowered your head in shame, staring at your minor scuffed boots. “Yeah. I am.”

“Love, you know I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, right? We don’t have to do anything like that if you don’t want to.”

“The thing is that I want to. I really want to. But I’m just scared, because, y’know, it’ll be my first time doing any of that stuff, and I don’t wanna mess it up,” you admitted, unable to look at your boyfriend as you feared his reaction to what you deemed an overreaction.

“It’s fine to be nervous. If you’re really ready to take that step, then I promise I’ll be gentle,” he said. He turned away from you to divide the pasta into two bowls and cover them with meat sauce before placing them at the table - again, the table was quite big for somebody who lived alone, but you figured it was because he had company over quite often. You two tried to move past the awkward conversation from the kitchen, instead going over your respective work affairs with laughter and smiles.

By the time the sun had completely set, you were both immersed in watching a random sci-fi movie that he picked from his extensive movie collection, though your mind was noticeably elsewhere, your eyes on the screen, though you were not processing a single thing that happened. You were weighing your options, going through each pro and each con of sleeping with Alex that night: you could either wait and just put off your nerves, or you could do it now and not have to worry about it in the future.

“Alex, love, I think I want to get it over with,” you said. You could feel him tense up beside you, though he quickly relaxed himself so as to not worry you.

“Are you 100% sure?” he asked. “I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

You swallowed, trying to breath slowly and deeply to calm your racing heart. “Yes. I want to do it.”

He reached forward to grab the tv remote from the coffee table, the screen going black at the push of a button, before he stood up and reached out his hand to assist you in standing beside him so he could walk with you towards his bedroom.

The room followed a neutral theme with paintings depicting a variety of different autumnal nature scenes, and a few fake plants littered the window sill. He had a king-sized bed with very simple beige bedding, a few throw pillows centered on the mattress decorated with various stitched patterns in varying colors to stand out against the monochromatic setting surrounding. Unsure as to what you were supposed to do, you turned to face him as he approached you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked, his already thick Sheffield accent growing thicker and his voice had become a bit deeper, softer.

“I am,” you nodded, looking deep into his dark brown eyes, seeing that his pupils had blown out as your eye contact continued on, before you felt him walking you backwards towards the bed until your knees hit the mattress, causing you to fall backwards onto the thick comforter. 

You watched as he unbuttoned his off-white button up, untucking it from his chocolate brown trousers and tossing it off somewhere, followed by the plain white wife beater he wore beneath it. You assumed you should follow after him and began to remove your own clothes, unbuttoning your blouse and throwing it to the side, followed by your pants.

“You’re so beautiful, doll,” he awed, a small smirk forming on his lips as he dropped his trousers to his ankles before stepping out of them. You could see that he was hard beneath his black boxers, and evidently he was quite big, which made you feel a bit nervous, but you calmed yourself by reminding yourself that he would take care of you. “I promise I’ll be careful, ok?”

“Ok,” you sighed out, your voice a bit shaky as he climbed on top of your nearly bare figure, pressing a kiss to your lips as he trailed his right hand down to play with the hem of your underwear right next to your heat. You felt the familiar tingle of arousal between your thighs as his fingers neared your sex, until you felt the pads of his fingers rubbing against your sensitive clit over your black underwear. You whined, bucking your hips against his hand and begging for him to further. “Please, I want your fingers. Please, Alex.”

Alex smirked against your lips, his hand pushing past the top hem of your panties until he was met with your soaking core, running his fingers through your arousal before bringing them back up to your clit to begin rubbing small circles over it. He kissed your neck softly as he listened intently to your sweet moans, taking in how your hips slightly rocked against his hand and your chest heaved. You felt a finger prodding at your tight entrance before slowly pushing in, your walls contracting at the odd intrusion - it was only something you had experienced on your own, but this was the first time somebody else had touched you this way. You never wanted to forget the feeling of his long finger thrusting against the soft spot within your walls. Ever.

“How does that feel?” he asked in a husky voice.

“S-so good,” you moaned out. “M-more. Another finger. Please, Alex.”

A second finger slid into your tight hole, a slight burn accompanying the stretch, but it wasn’t something you were completely unfamiliar with due to your own exploration through late nights on your own. His thumb still toyed with your clit as he thrusted his middle and ring finger against the internal sweet spot, leaving open-mouthed kisses, and every so often a hickey, on the skin of your jaw, neck, and collar.

You finally felt comfortable moving your own hand towards his body, a moment of confusion evident in the way he faltered for a bit before he realized what your intentions were, letting out a low groan as he felt your hand wrap around his hard member.

The two of you lied there, wrapped in each other’s warmth as you worked in tandem to prepare for the main event. You both momentarily forgot that you would be losing your virginity that night, though you were shortly reminded when a third finger plunged into you. Your thighs were shaking, the familiar knot growing in your stomach (notable quicker than when you were on your own.

“Alex… I think I’m gonna cum,” you whisper, unable to raise your voice in fears of being embarrassingly loud.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “Cum around my fingers.”

He groaned as he felt your walls tighten around his fingers, the motions of your hand around his cock pausing as you cried out his name, shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body as you came harder than ever before.

“You look so beautiful when you cum,” he said, pulling his hand out of your underwear and removing your own hand from his. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I want you, Alex. I’m ready, I promise,” you said, still breathless from your orgasm. Although you were weak, you were still able to remove your bra and underwear; now your bare body was on full display as he worked on removing his own underwear, his large cock springing out from the cloth confines. From jerking him off, you could already tell he was well endowed, but now that you could actually see the member, your worries came back.

Is he gonna fit? How badly is this gonna hurt? Should I still go through with this?

“Doll,” he calls out, interrupting your train of thought. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I-I want to. I’m just nervous it’ll hurt,” you admit, leaning on your elbows and looking up at him, trying not to be distracted by his bare state.

“I prepped you, but if you’re nervous, I can do some more,” he suggested as he walked over the the nightstand beside you, opening the singular drawer from the dark wooden table, grabbing a silver packet - obviously a condom - from the disorganized drawer, before looking at you with concern.

“No need. I’m just nervous. Were you nervous your first time?” you asked with curiosity.

“Of course I was. But, I was also a horny teenager who was desperate to knock boots, so… Are you sure?”

You nodded quickly, watching as he tore the condom wrapper over and placed the piece of latex over his member before he climbed on top of you, holding himself up on his forearms. His member was resting against your lower abdomen, his lips pressing soft kisses to your next as he tried to soothe your worries. Before you knew it, he was grabbing his cock and lining it up with your entrance, asking you once again if you were ready, before proceeding to push forward. You cringed at the intrusion, a whimper leaving your swollen lips upon feeling the burning stretch of your walls as he pushed his hips closer towards your own, his thick length filling the tight virgin canal.

“You doin’ ok, doll?” he asked through a grunt. It wasn’t necessarily an unfamiliar sensation for him; however, it had been a while since he had been intimate with somebody on this level, and he had not been with a virgin in quite some time. Your walls felt so warm around him, so tight, and in that moment he felt so lucky that he had the high amounts of self-control that he did, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

“Y-yeah,” you whisper with a tremble, and you could feel the sting of tears forming in your eyes; you attempted to blink them away, but they only hazed your vision and trickled down your temples onto the Egyptian cotton pillowcase. “Keep going.”

He nodded at your wish, kissing you gently to distract from the ever growing pain between your thighs, whispering to you to keep breathing and stopping every few pushes to make sure you were reading to continue. He eventually bottomed out, and you felt as if you were able to finally breathe normally, melting into his touch as he brought a hand to your face to wipe the tears off of your flushed face.

“You’re doing good,” he praised. “Let me know when you want me to move, ok?” He ran a large hand through your hair, kissing you all over your face as you calmed down.

“I’m ready, Alex. Make love to me,” you pleaded to him, grabbing his biceps to brace yourself for the upcoming main. He slowly began to pull his hips away from yours, steadily dragging his cock out of your sopping heat before he pushed forward again at a matching pace, intently watching your reactions to make sure he wasn’t hurting you too badly. The pain was unlike anything you had experienced before, but you welcomed it with open arms and the knowledge that it would soon fade into something more desirable. So you waited. You waited with tears until the pain subsided, whimpers and sobs of pain derailing into breathy moans and cries of his name as you held him so closely that he felt as if you feared letting him go.

You felt as if you had reached the ultimate euphoria as you felt him thrust into you, though you were certain he was not going as hard as he normally would in fear of harming you - he was always so gentle with you, and he wanted to take care of you now more than ever so as to not make your first time unpleasurable.

He felt as if you two were made for each other in every sense of the word - it was the way your hands fit perfectly together, the way your lips felt against his, the way your laughter made him feel as if his heart was going to grow so large it’d explode, the way your small sounds of pleasure filled his ears as he filled you in a way he hadn’t filled anyone else.

The familiar knot was slowly tying itself in your core as he began to speed up his thrusts, the burn had subsided completely and now you felt as if you were weightless and floating as he pleasured you. Then his fingers had once again made their way between your bodies to make contact with your clit, rubbing circles in the same manner as before. Many soft sounds filled the room, such as his low grunts, and your quiet whimpers, and the bed creaking ever-so-slightly as he rocked his body against yours.

“I’m close,” you whisper against his skin as you wrapped your legs around his lower torso, the knot now too noticeable to ignore. Your orgasm washed over you almost instantaneously, your body shaking as you came so hard that you swore you saw inverted stars against the white-hot flashes behind your closed eyes, a loud cry of his name leaving your hips as he overstimulated you.

“Fuck,” he moaned out, the constricting of your walls bringing him closer to the edge; and before he knew it, he too was finishing, filling the condom with his hot seed. He rolled off of you, collapsing on the bed beside you as he came down from the intense orgasm. “Well… how was that?” he asked after the brief moment of silence.

“It was… amazing. Thank you, Alex.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“Because I can.”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (Part 7): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: the General makes you train, you wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into, and plans are revealed. 

wc: 2K

tw: none

a/n: Thank you for being patient, sunshines! 7.5 will be out tonight as a huge thank you to all of my followers and anons who are reading. You all are just amazing. 

masterlist

“Take a break!” The heavy rake is tossed to the ground,and you struggle for air, panting and coughing. Torturing you with the rake-swinging seemed to be Geto’s objective today, and it’s taking the life out of your body. 

As you rest on your back - facing the sky - there’s a massive gust of air above you, and you tilt your head back to see a tiny, raven haired boy standing above you. He’s fanning you eagerly, face scrunched up in frown as he exerts all of his energy on the fan. Your first reaction is to stare at the child in fascination; the next is to laugh. 

“Junpei…” you chuckle, and the child stops, letting the fan drift to his side. “You’re too sweet.” He nods once, huffing out a short breath, then starts fanning you again, making your hair blow back behind your ears. 

“Giving Lady y/n a nice breeze, Junpei?” Geto asks, walking towards you two with the rake in his hand. 

“Yes, Master Geto,” Junpei affirms, scrunching his face up even more as he increases  the force of his fanning. Geto leans on the rake and watches the scene with a small smile on his face, and you allow Junpei to continue his task for a moment longer before standing. You grin at the child, placing a hand on his head as you murmur:

“Thank you, sweet one.” His hair bobs as he bows to you, then to Geto, and dashes off into the camp once more. You watch the child run off, his hair flying in the stale air of the mid-day. 

“You have quite a few admirers, I see,” Geto begins, and you shake your head. “First, little Itadori, now Junpei… who’s next, I wonder?”

“I would like to wager a certain General would be next in line to try and win my hand,” you reply; Geto straightens up immediately and walks closer to you, a lazy grin painted on his face. 

“Well, it seems that General might have quite a difficult time getting past your growing line of suitors.” You both chuckle, and Geto tilts up your chin with a forefinger. You’re prepared to kiss him - well, that is until he stops and says:

“Only six more sets of ten swings to go.”

_______________________________________________________________________

 You can barely bring your spoon to your lips during lunch. 

“My Lady, do you require assistance?” 

You shake your head no, but your arms are screaming please help us. 

It was one thing to have to swing until the sun went down. It’s an entirely different thing to not only swing seventy times but also run laps around the field like a soldier in training. You felt exhausted by the third lap, but Geto encouraged you to run more; his hands on his knees as he watched you turn into a floundering fish on land. 

The other women surely watched you train with a curious eye. No one dares to ask why you allow Geto to reduce you to mush in full view of the camp, even though they know why you let him do it. 

Because he turns you to mush when they’re not watching, as well. 

“Master Geto?” Kaori shouts, standing from her seated position on the tarp laid out in the grass. 

“No, don’t!” you cry out, but she’s already trudging down the field, leaving you behind as she calls Geto’s name over and over again. You curse softly, sitting down your soup with agonizing slowness and try to stand from where you’re sitting, but your legs will not move an inch. 

“She can barely move; how do you expect her to eat lunch and remain healthy if you render her arms useless? Then you walk off, leaving her to her own devices! You don’t pay me enough to feed her like you do during dinner.” Kaori is stomping back up to you, followed closely by Geto, who is shrugging on his haori and appears to be rather alarmed. “You should take better care of your captives, Master Geto. Look at her!” 

You try your best to look as painless as possible, but the facade is broken when Geto extends a hand out and you grimace as you try to reach your own hand out. His face falls instantly and without speaking, he hoists you up into his arms. “Kaori, bring her soup, please. I’ll feed her myself.” Your head rests against his broad chest limply, and the way that his heart beats wildly against your ears oddly soothes you. You’re in pain, yes, but you’re not completely immune to the way he makes your heart stutter and trip over itself when he’s near you. And you’ve never been as near to him as you are now. 

“When you are in pain, you need to say something,” Geto chastises as he lays you in the bed, folding a fur up before resting you against it and sitting beside you. “Kaori made it sound like you were dying.” 

“I wasn’t dying,” you retort. “I tried to prevent her from saying anything.” 

“So, you thought I wouldn’t find out later?” When the head maid deposits the soup bowl into Geto’s hands, he looks up at you and raises a brow. 

“No, I--” 

“Open.” A spoonful of clear onion soup is presented to you, and you obey, knowing your argument is completely lost already. “It’s my duty to make sure you’re taken care of while you’re here,” he continues, offering another spoonful. “You should let me know when you’re struggling, or when you need something.” 

Your mouth is full of soup, so you can’t reply like you want to. But what would you even say? Would you tell him that you’ve been struggling between your plan - which had been altered slightly over the past few days - or would you tell him you needed him in more ways than one?  

“Master Geto,” a voice calls out at the opening of the tent. You don’t recognize the voice at all, but when the person walks through the flaps, you recognize his face. His wide, dark blue eyes are all-too familiar, and the young man’s mouth presses together in a thin line at the sight of you being spoon-fed by Geto. This is the same man who captured you when you tried to run away the first time. 

“Yuta, I’m glad you’re here. What do you have for me?” Yuta… The name rings a bell along with the memory of Nanami mentioning him when talking about the new emissary. Yuta produces a thin roll of brown paper and hands it to Geto. 

“They’re not going to send another emissary.” The implications of this knowledge brings the weight of the world down on your shoulders, and you look to Geto’s face, which is blank. 

“Wait, but that means--” you’re quickly interrupted by Yuta’s sharp eyes cutting to you, and Geto chuckles. 

“That means I’d better get you all settled in the next village as soon as possible.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

“What if the elders don’t agree to his plan?” you wonder aloud, and Kaori runs water down your arms before answering softly. 

“Then he will wipe the village out, my Lady.” 

“But how? And single handedly?” 

“I won’t claim to know how he does it. I have never been privy to his methods, nor would I want to be.” 

You think about Kaori’s words long after the bath was over, alone in the bedroom and wrapped in furs. The thought of Geto slaughtering an entire village is chilling, but his truly ruthless side was not something you had been exposed to. You shake thoughts of death out of your mind and stand from the bed, dragging the fur pelt behind you as you stride over to Geto’s desk to eye his newest plans. 

The page full of black and red ink marks is unfamiliar to you, and you can’t make heads or tails of the drawings despite looking at it from different angles. The mystery of the paper engrosses you fully - so much so that you don’t hear someone approaching you from behind. 

“They’re formations.” Yuta speaks behind you, and you jolt, knocking your hip against the table. 

“I b-beg your pardon?” you stutter, clutching the pelt around you tightly. 

“Formations... for battle.”  Yuta reaches over to point at a circle and then to the arrows moving away from it. “This is the center of the formation - where Master Gojo will be - and this,” he points to the triangle at the head of the formation. “Is where Master Geto will be.” 

“Why is Gojo well-protected and not Geto?” The inquiry is met with laughter as Yuta slides the paper away from you. 

“He’s not being protected. He’s protecting everyone else.” 

“And when is this occurring?” Yuta raises a brow, looking over at you with a tender gaze. 

“Haibara and Gojo are negotiating with the closest village as we speak, but we could encounter the Imperial Warriors at any time. This could happen tomorrow, if I’m being honest.” 

“Tomorrow?” Your shock doesn’t affect the young man at all, and he steps away from you, eyeing you carefully. 

“I won’t say anything further. Geto is protecting you from this information for some reason, and has obviously commanded Kaori to say nothing as well.” With this, he exits, and you’re left looking at the squares, circles, and triangles while wondering where you fit into all of this mess. 

_______________________________________________________________________

Your encounter with Yuta gave you more questions than answers, and when the bed dips behind you, you roll over to meet Geto face to face, intent on getting answers.

“I thought you were asleep.” You don’t respond to the statement, instead sitting up fully and pushing your hair out of your eyes. 

“You should have told me that you could go to war at any time.” Geto frowns, sliding in next to you and tilting his head to the side. 

“I’m waiting on word from Haiba--” 

“And that. What happened to my village after you took me?” 

“Little one, I haven’t touched your village. You would know if I made any decisions about the fate of your peers.” 

“Kaori doesn’t know what happened to her family, and she’s just a maid! Why would you feel obligated to tell me - a captive - about my family?” 

“You’re more than just a captive to me, y/n. You know that,” he whispers, blinking slowly. 

“Right, I’m a pawn,” you grunt. “I asked you to tell me your game, and now I’m asking you again. What do you plan on doing with me while you’re away at war? I know you’re not stupid enough to leave me here while you’re away and can’t keep an eye on--” 

Geto puts up a hand, trying to stop you from speaking. “You’re right, I hav--” 

“Did you know I tried to run away?” The General looks at you, face blank. “But I came back and…” You fumble for the words, but they don’t feel right in your mouth. So, you rephrase. “I came back because…” You pause. You remember the reason you justified coming back, but it doesn’t make sense now. You can’t even say you followed your own plan. It had fallen by the wayside the moment Geto’s lips met yours; that you knew for a fact. 

“Nanami watched you; I knew you left the tent the moment you began walking across the camp,” he admits, and your lips part in surprise. “But you turned around. I came to confront you after dinner, and that’s why I was at the tent when you started to yell. My anger overshadowed my disappointment, but then even that was overshadowed by my desire to have you.” 

“Then why--” 

“I’m not leaving you here; you’re absolutely right about that. I wanted to wait to tell you when the time was right, but… I suppose now is the time. Your carriage will leave as soon as Gojo and Haibara send word back to me about the village. I’m sending you home.”

TAGLIST: @kamisamaundercover​ @jotazinha @just4readingfics​ @mxhi​ @sammytamaki​ @brownskinnedgirll​ @keelyshayee​ @leanne-tamashi​ @vabybizzle​ @amaris9​ 

[blushnote]

↳ requested | 1.6k words

↳ dom!wonwoo smut

a/n: HELLO. i’m sure everyone is wondering what’s going on and WHY i’ve been absent for a few months. put simply: things got hectic and i needed a break! i’m not saying i’ll jump back into being completely active again, but that i’m going to come on as often as i can! (which might be every few days or so! i apologize!!)

as a treat for everyone - this features rich girl wonwoo! <3 

wonwoo stands at the street pole, conversing with his friends. the bar is unusually crowded. mostly likely because it’s a friday and there isn’t much else the townspeople would rather do than get plastered, forgetting the atrocities of work. his friend extends a box of cigarettes to wonwoo, offers him one, but he shakes his head.

since getting involved with you, wonwoo has attempted to forfeit smoking. it has always been something he’s done to pass the time at the street corner. plus, he likes the idea of blowing a big, stinging cloud right into someone’s face when they give him attitude. 

instead wonwoo suckles on a lollipop that tastes like an artificially sweet strawberry, pushes up the bridge of his glasses, and folds some silvery hair under his beanie. he knows it’s about the right time for you to be returning from that dinner party your parents forced you into attending.

as wonwoo’s friend exaggerates a tale about getting into a fist-driven confrontation at a bus stop last week, someone strutting by on the packed street bumps wonwoo’s shoulder.

“choose a better place to stand.” the stranger rumbles, agitated.

wonwoo flicks up his middle finger indifferently. “fuck off.” he grunts, the fog of his breath appearing in the night air.

he’s feeling sort of agitated himself. your parents have tethered you to a leash lately, forcing you to all these fancy gatherings and opening ceremonies and dinners. to put it frankly – wonwoo misses you. your laugh, your eyes, the texture of your skin, your voice in his ear. he’s been wanting an excuse to get his hands all over you. every single inch.

that’s when he hears the ding in his jacket pocket. looking away from the dramatic enactment involving his friend driving a fist into his palm, wonwoo checks his phone to see a text from you. a series of images.

23:28 // JPEG.1034

23:28 // JPEG.1035

23:28 // JPEG. 1036

the three pictures load. he chokes on his breath.

23:28 // i know u don’t like when i spoil my lingerie but.

23:28 // don’t i look so cute :( so fuckable?? im srry but I had to :(

his teeth crack the strawberry lollipop into sugary shards in his mouth. that lace is squeezing your flesh in all the right places. the picture with your fingers splayed teasingly over your underwear, hiding your core, it’s enough to make him shudder, salivate even. he’s officially ignoring his friend’s story by tapping a reply, fiddling with the thin stick in his mouth.

(ww) 23:30 // u free now? head to my place.

he receives an answer immediately.

23:30 // hmmm why?

(ww) 23:30 // u know why. don’t act like such a brat.

already, wonwoo can sense the desire form inside him. pounding almost. like a second heartbeat. you’re usually compliant and bending to his carnal whims. maybe all this time away from each other has you forgetting just how well wonwoo can fuck that stubbornness out.

23:30 // it’s new. i don’t want u ripping anything!!

(ww) 23:30 // idc.

23:30 // so mean!! not even gonna let u touch me now :-)

(ww) 23:30 // yeah. ok. we’ll see about it then.

after sliding his phone back in his pocket, wonwoo glances briefly in through the bar window. he sees a bartender pour a glass full of ice cubes before sloshing in a surge of alcohol. at that, wonwoo gets an idea. when his friends question about why he’s leaving so suddenly, he smirks.

“need to teach someone how to behave.” wonwoo shrugs before jogging quickly across the street.

“i’m not gonna tell you again. keep your fuckin’ thighs spread nice and wide for me or else i won’t let you cum – not even once. you understand?”

a harsh dip in your stomach suggests the breath you just inhaled. after a moment of silence, he hears you comply, and watches with his hungry, intent gaze as your legs part open for him. wonwoo has been teasing you with a bowl of ice cubes. at first, he held them to your nipples, had you whimpering into his mouth while he simultaneously rubbed his tongue against yours. but the real fun began when he introduced the ice cubes to your lower region. it was a very different punishment compared to his past endeavours, a tantalizing one.

wonwoo returns the cube to the nook of your inner thigh, then creeps it slowly toward your core. you’re beginning to tremble with the restraint required to not snap your legs shut. the ice cube ghosts transiently up your slit, a contact you had yet to experience, and a beautiful gasp tears from your lungs. he swears that you leak even more onto the sheets.

he takes the cube away, then drags his warm tongue from the bottom of your pussy right to the top, delivering a slow, flat lick which tastes sweet and cold and makes him so unbelievably dizzy with how much he loves it.

“w-wonwoo, please, pl-please keep going.” you stutter, opening your thighs even wider to invite his tongue.

he shakes his head. “what else did i tell you? don’t ask me to do anything. you’ll lie there and you’ll fuckin’ take it.” smiling, wonwoo issues a tight grip on the ice cube and presses it right into your clit. you whine sharp and loud, your hands traveling all over your body in confusion, not sure if it’s more pleasure than pain, or a hot mix of both.

“or are you still interested in acting like such a brat, hm?” wonwoo utters in his deep voice. “ like a smug little princess who thinks she can tease me whenever she wants and she’ll still get my cock all the way inside her? nice and full, just how she likes it. is that it, babygirl?”

he feels the ice melt under his fingers. you can hardly piece together a response, just a very incoherent, “no wonwoo” as tears start slipping down your cheeks. wonwoo takes the cube away, then massages your clit with his thumb, warming you up slowly. a few jolts pass through your body. he can tell you’re falling apart inside with how badly you want to cum, though wonwoo had strictly told you to hold it. he rubs and rubs and rubs, barking at you to control yourself, your pussy so slippery with arousal that it’s running all down your skin and wetting the bed.

right when he feels you’re about to snap, wonwoo completely removes his touch. you wail at that, suckle in a shaky breath and cry his name.

“please, wonwoo! i-i’m sorry, m’soso sorry! i’m sorry for acting so bratty and sending those pictures, t-teasing you like that! but i just c-ccan’t take this anymore. treat me however you want, but please let me cum!”

he’s truly missed the sound of you begging for him. his cock twitches in his pants, reminding him of how hard he currently is. each time you cry the boy’s name in such a lewd manner, there’s another surge of pleasure and he aches even more, to the point where he could cum just from touching himself over his clothes. still, wonwoo must ensure you’ve really learned your lesson. so, he offers you a deal. he’ll get to watch you pleasure yourself with the ice cube until he cums.

and so wonwoo sits in a chair based at the end of the bed, a hand stuffed down his pants, watching you swirl an ice cube at your sensitive core. he guides you every now and then: “hold it right there, pretty baby. let it melt all the way down. that’s it, sweetheart. n-now rub it, okay? f-finger yourself too. nnrgh, f-fuck. fuck you sound so wet. m’gonna c-cum—”

his strokes lash faster until wonwoo’s head rolls back against the chair, his eyes blinking shut while he chases his high. he hears you continue to whine as he cums, his cock throbbing in his hand, still so hard and heavy. in fact, wonwoo requires a moment just to breathe and let the heat circulate properly through his body.

with his fingers covered in the sticky mess of his cum, wonwoo approaches the bed again, fingering it as deep as he can inside you. he’s unable to remove his gaze from the filthy sight. there’s something so raw and intimate about watching his own seed getting pumped into you that sets his whole body aflame. he decides to let you orgasm as well, stimulating your g-spot consistently, letting you clamp down tight and ride his hand until you’ve got a full fix.

wonwoo supposes he’s done his job.

“i don’t think i’ll ever be able to look at an ice cube the same way again.” you laugh, sitting back against the headboard, tucked into his t-shirt.

drawing a warm washcloth between your thighs, wonwoo blinks at you, a very sly grin forming on his mouth. he plants a kiss on your nose.

“good. means it worked.” the boy says.

he folds the cloth over and finishes the last of his cleaning, ensuring there’s nothing more of his fluids that are still leaking out or anything sticking from your orgasm. grabbing your overnight bag off the floor, wonwoo pulls out a fresh pair of underwear and helps you slide into them. your lingerie sits in a pile off to the side, a few lace straps ripped.

“sorry about your little outfit.” wonwoo apologizes, staring at you earnestly. “it was pretty. you look good in everything.” he squeezes your hip and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“it’s okay.” you murmur. “i’ll order something even better. and i’ll surprise you with it. maybe for your birthday. sound good?”

“mmhm.” wonwoo purrs, pulling you down with him to cuddle up close for the night.

“as long as i can take it off you, sweetheart, i’m fine with that.”

[supermantv]

daxton + first date after getting back together

Their first date after getting back together is technically at the Winter Dance, and while it had been overall pleasant, there were still the minor bumps (the major glaring one being that Paxton had nearly ran his girlfriend over with his car) that prevented the date from retaining a sense of utter bliss that Paxton was still seeking. He adores her, loves being around her, thinks she is the most exciting person that he has ever met, but there is no denying that Devi is an absolute hurricane. He loves that too, and he’s starting to understand that moments of complete peace will be hard-earned, but entirely worth it. He’s also hoping that these moments of peace become more and more common, with a smoother path paved to achieve them each time. 

They’re in his garage when he decides to broach the subject, a random slasher film playing on the screen that neither of the two are really invested in. Devi lays between his legs, her own feet dangling over the edge of the couch as she rests her head on the hard planes of his stomach. She traces unrefined patterns into the exposed skin above the waistband of his jeans where his shirt has ridden up, and Paxton knows that if she keeps this up, there’s a very high possibility he will actually be driven insane, so to prevent this, he shifts into a sitting position, forcing Devi to move with him.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and it’s hard not to get distracted when his eyes follow the movement of her hands, shifting to smooth out her skirt, because it’s yellow and pink, and cute, and short, and it very much suits her. 

“Um.” Paxton clears his throat and flicks his eyes away and Devi must see something in his actions to tip her off to the situation because she actually laughs. Loud and unapologetic and Paxton feels the tip of his ears beginning to burn but he’s smiling. “Shut up,” he grumbles without a trace of any real aggravation, lobbing a pillow at her head. She catches it easily and hugs it to her chest. 

“Okay, okay,” Devi says and she quiets down but her eyes are twinkling. “What’s up?” 

“I was just gonna ask what you wanted to do for our first date on Saturday.”

“First date?” Devi asks bemusedly. 

“Yeah, y’know, first date since getting back together,” Paxton clarifies, but Devi still looks confused. 

“Wasn’t that at the dance?”

“Yeah, about that,” he starts, drawing back his shoulders and filling his voice with enough mock authority that Devi guffaws under her breath. “I’d like to put in a formal request right now for a do over.”

“Why?” Devi asks, taking this chance to throw the pillow back at him. It bounces harmlessly off his face where it slides into his lap, and he cries out from the shock of the hit rather than the pain. Devi ignores him. “I had a good time. Did you not have a good time?”

“I had a great time,” Paxton reassures her and his heart just about melts when she beams at him. “But I very nearly ran you over with my car at the beginning of the night.”

“After that!”

“After that you threatened to kill the DJ.”

“He deserved it,” Devi grumbles and the same murderous scowl she’d worn that night resurfaces. “But those were minor issues anyway.”

“I’m not sure vehicular manslaughter or attempted homicide are minor issues,” he jokes and his girlfriend rolls her eyes before he becomes serious again. “Really though. I just want to go on one perfect first date with you. No Trent or Marcus, and no narrowly avoided death.”

Devi wrinkles her nose. “Perfect is a tall order.”

“Third time’s the charm,” he says, but Devi’s doubtful expression doesn’t waver, so he relents. “Okay then, not a perfect first date. A first date where everything goes according to plan.”

“That’s more realistic,” Devi says, but she sounds and looks unconvinced by his words. “But still.”

“Don't worry,” Paxton says, leaning forward to rub his thumb tenderly across her cheek. She relaxes into his touch and he grins. “I'll prove you wrong.”

“I sure hope so,” Devi sighs, and no more is said on the subject for the night because then she's grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him into her. 

But of course, Devi was right to be skeptical, because as Paxton is starting to learn, it is impossible for things to go according to plan when they're involved. 

He’d called that very same night to make reservations at a semi-fancy Italian restaurant across town, and was promptly told they didn't do reservations, which as Paxton figured was even better, because if a restaurant didn't do reservations, that had to mean there was always available seating, right? He asks his mom to teach him how to iron on Thursday, and by the time Saturday night rolls around, he feels relaxed and ready, so assured that nothing could possibly go wrong. He lays the bouquet of flowers he'd bought for Devi gingerly in the passenger seat and whistles to himself as he starts the car. 

Except his car won't start. Why won't his car start?

And from then on, things only spiral out of control further. Paxton texts Devi asking if she can just walk to his house and he'll order an Uber to take them to the restaurant from there. Except when he checks his bank account, he cringes at the lack of money, failing to realize earlier how long it'd been since his last paycheck from his summer job. He wouldn't have even been able to pay the bill for their food, much less order a $15 Uber now. And really, he's not above begging his parents or sister for money, but his parents aren't home, gone on a weekend camping trip in the wilderness where they most likely don't get cell service. And Becca is working on a new assignment for school, her door locked with very clear instructions for Paxton not to interrupt her. He doesn't want to risk becoming a murder victim before his third first date with his girlfriend. 

So, when Devi arrives at his house and the front door swings open to reveal her visibly frazzled boyfriend explaining to her that he's going to be cooking for her tonight instead of going out, she smiles sweetly and nods her head in understanding. Paxton wonders briefly if she had seen it in his face, how close he is to snapping, because he’d been expecting maybe a little push back, a slight protest. He knows his girlfriend isn't renowned for her accommodating nature, but he thinks she's trying to be in this moment, for his sake, and he's grateful and questioning how he could have gotten so lucky. It makes him want to cradle her in his arms and kiss her senseless, but he can't because he needs to figure out what he's going to feed her. 

Paxton leads Devi to the living room and leaves her with a peck on her forehead and the TV remote before rushing back to the kitchen. And this is where the next problem presents itself, because Paxton doesn't know how to cook. 

At best, he can scramble an egg and microwave a hot pocket. Both of which he thinks Devi would not appreciate. So, Paxton grabs two packages of ramen from the cabinet and drops the noodles into a pot of boiling water. He thinks he can spruce it up with an onion, trying to recall all the tips and tricks he'd seen on the Food Network, but as he's cutting it his eyes begin to sting and he can't see all that well because he's blinking back tears and he's starting to feel like a contestant on Chopped when he slices his finger with the knife. He winces at the initial pain, but the cut is shallow, and it would be fine but now his blood is all over the cutting board and the onion and there goes that idea. 

Paxton is praying that it can't get any worst from here, because if one more thing goes wrong he's not sure he'll be able to keep it together. 

He turns off the stove and removes the pot from the heat, pouring the noodles carefully into two separate bowls. It's certainly not Michelin star worthy, but Paxton promised Devi dinner and it's better than nothing. 

But it's as if he’d been a war criminal or a serial killer in his last life, and the universe is determined to punish him, because Devi is sitting at the dining room table waiting for him, and all Paxton has to do is take three moderately sized steps to make it to the make it to her. But his foot gets caught on the corner of a rug and he staggers forward, the noodles and bowls flying out of his hands and straight onto Devi. The broth stains and drenches her dress and the noodles coat her from her hair down to her shoes, but she's still sitting, as if she hadn't processed what had just happened. 

“Shit,” Paxton swears, crouching next to her and flicking noodles off her thighs. “Are you okay? Any burns?” 

“I'm fine,” she says, glancing down at him, and her eyes are a little wide and her chin wobbles slightly, and he feels his heart drop into his chest because she's about to cry-.

The sound of her laugh startles him and his head snaps up, thinking she might've cracked before he had.

“What?” he asks, concerned. 

“I tried to tell you,” she says, but she doesn't look upset. Noodles cling to her cheeks but her smile stretches the entire length of her face. She doesn't even sound like she's gloating, even though she had been right, and as a result of his unwillingness to listen she was now wearing their dinner. 

Paxton’s fingers curl around the hem of her dress, causing broth to seep down his fist. “I wanted to make this perfect for you.”

“And it was,” Devi insists, hands coming up to cup his face. 

“Devi,” he grimaces. “You don't have to lie.”

“I'm not!” she objects. “It was perfectly us. And I like that.”

Paxton lifts a brow. “You like being covered in soggy ramen noodles.”

“You're deliberately missing the point,” Devi rolls her eyes and pinches his cheek. “I like being with you, even if the day is a complete disaster, I'll be happy because I was spending time with you. And, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a bit of a disaster magnet.” 

“I think it's cute,” Paxton murmurs demurely. 

“See,” Devi says. “You know what I'm talking about, and you agree.” 

“The noodles don't help though.”

Devi makes a face. “No they do not.” 

And while Devi is taking a shower in his bathroom and Paxton is laying in bed, thrumming his fingers against his stomach, he thinks about what she had said about this date being perfectly them. He smiles to himself.

[quillsareswords]

Could you do something with Damian and a really cuddly, clingy, touchy-feely reader? I feel like his brothers would be v confused about the whole situation bc Damian's just chillin and always seems neutral to what's happening while reader is just like, koala bear hugging him and stuff all the time.

Firstly. I love this concept with every fiber of my being because, oh good god, it's me. Thank you so much for bringing this to inbox, because I've been lacking on inspiration lately, and this is just what I need right now. Thanks doll!!

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

Tim stops dead in his tracks, cereal bowl nearly slipping from his hand as he halts in the doorway to the huge living room. He pauses, before cautiously asking, "What is this? What am I looking at?"

Damian's arm twitches against your back, the only give away that he's been caught off guard. You seem just as relaxed, sprawled on top of him like you've been there your whole life.

You don't even look at him, eyes still glued to the phone screen shining up at you from the floor, which you're facing with your face pressed against Damian's shoulder. "You've known me for five years and you still haven't learned my name? Rude."

He blinks. "Sure, sure. Right. Because it's absolutely normal for anyone to successfully get within a foot of Damian and not get knocked out."

You snort, but it still isn't enough to pry your attention away from your phone. Damian either, as he reads a book over your shoulder, which is settled under his chin. He must be tired or in a terrifyingly good mood, if he hasn't shoved you off in hopes of hiding emotions from his family. That's what he usually does when he gets caught with you, anyway.

He's been tiptoeing around the subject of you for a solid year and half now. It wasn't exactly easy, seeing as you're also a family friend, what with being a vigilante and all. You're Damian's partner, have been for three years, and you're in the manor often enough that you have your own room, right next to Damian's.

Still, even with no clear answers from either of you, the whole family has suspected a relationship for a long time.

But Damian isn't very touch oriented. In fact, he's been known to go to nearly astonishing lengths to avoid being touched at all.

And now here he is, you laying on top of him, out in the open, absolutely unbothered by Tim catching it.

Tim decides quickly not to risk Damian's mood spoiling while he's around, so he backpedals and heads for his room.

• • •

Jason doesn't come to the manor often, but when he does, there's usually a decently concerning reason for it. This time, he's waiting out a possible kidnapping by one king pin or another. You haven't been paying as much attention as you probably should.

Now, he's trotting down the steps from Bruce's office to fix a suspicious rattling noise his motorcycle has been making for a shameful period of time.

However, he stops beside the super computer, looking a little aghast and far too dramatic for the sight.

Damian side-eyes him, still typing away, but his head doesn't move. It really can't, because you're resting your head on top of it.

You're resting your full weight on the back of the chair, which Jason now realizes isn't the tall backed chair that usual sits there, with your cheek buried in the soft looking bush that is Damian's hair. Your eyes are closed, and your arms and draped over his shoulders, hands laying on his chest.

Jason catches himself staring when Damian's side-eyeing turns into a curious glare. Tentatively, Jason points to you, and raises an eyebrow.

Lowly, Damian somewhat patiently answers, "She's half asleep."

Your eyebrows slant together. "Hmm?"

Jason's expression becomes more confused. "She sleeps standing up?"

"Apparently," Damian mumbles.

Jason, more than a little perturbed but Damian's oddly placid demeanor and your absurd sleeping habits, shuffles the rest if the way to his bike, grabbing the toolbox on his way.

• • •

Dick sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket—correction, three blankets, facing the rest of the living room, where Damian sits on one couch, and Duke occupies the other.

"No no, I'm not saying Bella wasn't smokin, I'm just saying that those facial expressions and life decisions were questionable enough to make a guy think twice," Dick tries to reason.

Duke makes a face. "Bro, are you kidding? If a chick stares at you from across a lunch room and you've never spoke to her, you don't even try."

Damian scoffs. Duke raises an eyebrow, and just when he's about to beg for the story of who tied him to a steel chair and forced him to watch Twilight, you shoulder the double door open.

Damian doesn't look up from his newest book, which could be deemed rude if you weren't so close and comfortable with one another. "Evening, Beloved, how was your drive?"

You say nothing. You drop your bag by his feet, crawl the rest of the way onto the couch, and collapse. Your head in on a pillow between Damian's thighs and the arm of the couch, the rest of you divided unevenly between his lap and the rest of the couch.

He glances away from the pages briefly. "Traffic?" His hand slips under your shirt to gently run blunt nails up and down your spine.

For a moment, you're quiet, and neither of the two older men know how to react.

Then, without warning, you wail into the pillow. "Who the everloving fuck drives a Winnebago through central Gotham at six o'clock going fourteen miles an hour?"

Duke barks a loud laugh, before he claps a hand over his mouth in fear of a punishment. But a man can only do so much, so he sits with his hand over his mouth, giggling like a fifteen year old listening to a dirty joke with his parents in the room.

Damian chuckles lightly, white teeth peeking through a little smile that he's trying to suppress, much for the same reason Duke is doing his best not to let you hear him laugh.

Dick is more focused on the two of you, and the fact that his baby brother has grown up and changed for the better so much—

• • •

Cassandra climbs the stairs with some difficulty, thanks to two new sets of stitches and a few too many fresh bruises.

It's nothing a few days of relaxation won't fix. It was worth it, to see Poison Ivy put back behind bars—even if it did take four of you.

Shortly after arriving back, you and Damian had disappeared up to his room, after you'd both been checked over by Alfred. Aside from some intense bruising and a fee cuts and scrapes, you'd both been spared.

She knocks on his door a few times. With no answer, she loudly turns the handle and pushes the door open slowly, giving you enough time to correct her if need be. She knows at least one of you are in here, because the light is on. "Alfred sent me to tell you that there's dinner, if you want–"

She stops. You are, in fact, both in the room. However, neither of you are conscious.

Damian is sprawled haphazardly across his bed, face half squished into a pillow.

You're flopped across his back, horizontal across his bed, likely also with a pillow, but she can't see your face to be sure.

For a moment that feels a little intrusive, she stares, eyes wide. Not because he's in only boxers and you're in shorts and a sports bra (neither are necessarily a new sight, with one makeshift locker room in the Cave and a city with way too many privacy-surpassing emergencies), but because she's never witnessed Damian allowing another person to be so close to him while asleep.

Even on week long stakeouts that confine them to one room, he claims one corner for himself and doesn't tolerate that invisible boundary to be broken, especially when he's asleep.

She wouldn't even be so surprised if you were passed out in his reading chair, or even on a pile of blankets in the floor, or hell, even if you were on opposite sides of the bed. But you're literally as close to him as you could possibly be. And he's still sound asleep.

She closes the door and backs away slowly, a little smile on her face, even though she was too tired to laugh at the joke Bruce tried to crack a few minutes ago.

• • •

Bruce sits, almost impatiently, on a stone bench by the fountain the middle of Gotham City Gardens. The whole family had come here for the day, on invitation of the organization's owners. Of course, not everyone was officially recognized as family by anyone outside the Manor, so there were quite a few plus ones—you being one of them.

Of course you were. You're always invited. Over the years, it's become a running joke. A trip to the grocery store? (Y/N) must be invited. Walking from the W.I. building to an ice cream parlor and back? I bet (Y/N) is invited. At one point, Damian became so simultaneously annoyed and amused by it that for a week, you really did join him on every single outing. No one knows how exactly you made it across Gotham in six minutes flat to help him pick up cereal but by golly you managed it.

Bruce is currently waiting on you and Damian, who swore to meet him here for a few pictures (at Alfred's request). The pair of you had gone off on your own after about an hour of meandering around with his family, and no one has heard from either of you since. He would be worried, but you were both too excited about this to get into any trouble that would risk being sent home early.

Your laughter finds him before you do. It comes from around a corner of tall hedges, and shortly after, so do you.

You're smiling ear to ear, giggling like a school girl, elbows balanced on Damian's shoulders, about as precariously as you are on his back. That is to say, quite stable. Damian is grinning as well, his arms linked around you're knees at his sides to keep you as stable as you are. You've got an ice cream cone in each hand, one obviously having had more attention than the other.

Bruce's heart swells in his chest at the absolute joy on his son's face.

Damian stops not too far, shifting your weight to free one hand. You help, carefully resituating yourself to hold yourself up easily. You hand him the neglected ice cream, resting your now free hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry, Father," Damian sounds a little winded, and Bruce wonders if the running he heard earlier had been you two. "Somebody found an ice cream bar and insisted we stop before meeting you." He doesn't sound apologetic in the least.

"Hey!" You laugh, flicking the back of his ear as payback.

As payback for payback, he takes the edge of his cone between his teeth, and uses his free hand to give the back of your knee a quick pinch, before he occupies his hand again to tilt the odds in his favor.

You squeal and jerk. "Damian! You're gonna make me fall, and if I go down, you're coming with me!"

Bruce laughs loudly.

• • •

Alfred is on his way to the library to finish the afternoon chores. All he needs to do is straighten up in there, and he can call it an evening. Just in time, too, as one of the local channels is running a Downton Abbey marathon tonight that he doesn't particularly want to miss.

He pushes open the doors to get a little extra fresh air, but pauses just inside the doorway.

Damian is stretched out in one of the plush leather chairs, his long legs propped up by his ankles on the coffee table, head resting limply on the back of the chair. You're curled up in his lap, head on his shoulder, legs folded up on either side of his thighs, arms wound around his back. His hands are folded together on your back. You're both fast asleep.

The elder man is suddenly flooded with memories of the boy's first few months in this manor. In this room, even. He was politely feral, as Bruce had once put it. He was so uncomfortable all the time, though he fought not to show it. It was so new to him, to be openly cared for the way his family tried to care for him. Most people he met back then treated him as the cold, rude, trained assassin that he presented himself as.

So many overlooked the terrified ten year old boy that shook beneath the armor and the weight of the mantels he was expected to take up in so few years.

Of course Alfred had been paying attention to him all this time, all the growing he's done and the man he's becoming. He's always been proud.

But it's here, in this exact moment, that Alfred really takes in how different he is now, compared to then.

Not only did he find the strength and the trust to forge a close bond with you, one that would arguably outlast just about anything it was forced to endure, but he'd fostered such a sweet affection for you. He's found the space within himself to make room for a great love for you, and his family, and his friends.

And you're so good for him. You remind him of the things he could be, if he wanted, and not of what he should be or could have been. You provide him a sense of normalcy when he needs it, and battle ready companion when he needs that.

You look past the blazing armor of controlled aggression and lessons learned to reach the beautiful soul he is. And most importantly, you love him for all of it. You manage to dig so far beyond what he's been taught and the walls he's put up, that you look at what was meant to be the perfect soldier and you see a pillow to sleep on. You trust him with everything, including your vulnerability, just as he trusts you.

Alfred marks the page of the open book on the floor, closes it, and leaves it in the table for you later. He leaves as quietly as he came, in hopes of leaving the two of you undisturbed.

[hockeyisit]

You're Having A Baby?

Summary: Mitch and Steph have a baby.

A.N. Hey guys I know its been awhile since I’ve posted. I’ve been going through a lot and haven't had much time to write. Heres something that I have had saved in my drafts for awhile. Its kind short but hope you enjoy and hopefully I’ll be able to get back to writing soon!

Masterlist

“Babe,” I called out as I pushed the door to Auston and my bedroom. He was currently laying down on bed with Noah and Kai laying down next to him. I had been downstairs washing the dishes when I had gotten a text from Steph. He looked up from where he was scrolling on his phone with a raised eyebrow.

“Steph’s in labor,” I told him excitedly as I made my way over to the bed and sat down next to him near the boys. I reached out and set my hand on Noah's little stomach.

“She just texted me that her and Mitch are on their way to the hospital. She was wondering if we’d be able to go feed Zues tonight because they weren’t home when she went into labor and she won't be back for awhile,” I told him as I looked up from Noah so I could see Auston’s face.

“Alright did she say when we should go?” he asked as he locked his phone and slouched down, he wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned forward so he could rest his head on my lap. I reached my hand down to rub it through his hair in a soothing manner.

“Whenever. I was hoping we could go to the hospital since she was there for me,” I told him gently. He hummed as he buried his face into my stomach.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea for the twins babe,” Auston mumbled as flipped over.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Well we don’t know how long it’s going to take and the twins might get restless. Maybe we should have her text us when we are allowed to visit and then we go over,” Auston suggested, causing me to let out a sigh as I thought about it. Steph had been in the waiting room for me the entire time I was in labor.

“Okay,” I finally agreed, leaning back against the headboard.

“So you have the day off tomorrow, what would you like to do?” I questioned as I continued to run my hand through his hair. He shut his eyes as he relaxed into my touch.

“Sleep,” he answered honestly, with a sleepy grin on his face. I let a smile overtake my own face as I grinned down at him.

“I’m not tired. Do you mind if I turn the tv on?” I asked as I reached for the remote. He shrugged his shoulders as he closed his eyes. I smiled down at him softly as I turned the tv on. Once it was on I turned the volume down and opened up Netflix. I had recently become obsessed with the show Designated Survivor.

It was currently July and Auston and I had decided to stay in Toronto a bit later than we normally did. We both had things holding up back from traveling back to Arizona like we normally did in the summer. One being I had gotten a job offer and I was going through the process of training for it. Even though it was an online job they had wanted me to come in for a few days of in person training. Auston had also wanted to stay and do some different training sessions with Mitch and a few of the other guys that had decided to stay in Toronto.

After watching two episodes the twins started to stir.  I glanced over at my phone to check the time. 6:45pm. I locked my phone and reached my hand out to rub Kai’s forehead in a comforting manner. The twins were just now a little over a year old and looked more like Auston every single day.

“Hey baby,” I cooed as his face scrunched up like he was about to start crying. I could reach out to grab him though because of the way that Auston was still laying on my lap. I shifted my body slightly trying to lean forward more so I could get a better grip on Kai but with no luck I tried to gently remove Auston from my lap.

“Huh?” he asked as he picked his head up from my lap.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you. Kai looks like he's about to blow.”

Auston glanced at Kai who was quietly crying next to Noah. I reached out and picked him up, he immediately quieted down once he was settled in my arms.

“What time is it?” he mumbled out sleepily so that it sounded more muffled then anything.

“Six fifty,” I responded as I glanced over to Noah who was starting to stir lightly. Auston picked him up before he was able to let out a cry.

“We should probably go feed Zues,” I said as I stood up from the bed.

“Honestly I can just go and pick him up,” Auston offered as he stood up himself. I glanced up from what I was doing to look at him. It had been awhile since we had both Felix and Zues together.

“That sounds like a good idea. Let me just check with Steph and Mitch that it's okay,” I told him. I picked up my phone and sent Mitch a quick text asking him if it was okay before making my way downstairs with Auston following behind me.

“What do you want for dinner?” I asked, setting Kai down in his bouncing chair.

“Anything you want,” he set Noah in the chair next to Kai before making his way over to me where I stood leaning against the counter. I smiled up at him as his hands slipped to my waist.

“I kind of want to make taco salad,” I said, reaching my hand up and resting it on his chest. He smiled as he leaned a little more weight on me so that the counter was holding us up.

“Alright do we have everything for it?” he questioned. I thought about it for a moment before sadly shaking my head.

“I don’t think we have avocados but I guess we don't really need them” I thought aloud, feeling slightly sad at the idea of a taco salad without them.

“I can pick some up on the way to pick up Zues,” Auston suggested causing me to perk up.

“Could you please,” I begged. He laughed lightly as he nodded his head.

“Yeah no problem,” he pressed a kiss to my cheek before leaning back.

“You're the best,” I grinned before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his lips. He smiled against my lips before deeping it. I pulled away when I heard my phone ringer went off.

“Mitch responded and said it would be really great if we could watch Zues,” I told Auston after I finished reading the text. Auston nodded as he pulled away.

“Alright I’ll go now. See you in thirtyish minutes,” Auston said before leaning in for another kiss.

“I love you. Drive safe,” I told him once he pulled away.

“Love you too,” he smiled at me and then turned to press a kiss to each of the twins' foreheads. He made his way over to the garage door and grabbed his keys off the hook before making his way out to the car.

----

I moved the pot filled with beef to a burner that wasn't warm and started chopping the lettuce. I heard the door open causing me to pause and peak my head around the corner. Zeus immediately ran in and started exploring while Auston walked in behind him. He held up the bag of groceries and made his way into the kitchen.

“Got the stuff you wanted,” he said holding his hand up that had the bag of groceries.

“Perfect thank you,” I said, walking up to him and wrapping my arms around his neck so I could pull him in for a kiss.

“It was no problem,” he slid his hands to rest on my waist and tightened his grip lightly as he pressed another kiss to my lips.

“I’m going to feed the dogs and then we can eat,” he suggested once he pulled away from the kiss. I glanced at all the things I had spread around the counter before giving him a nod.

“Sound’s good, I'm just going to cut this up and then we're ready to go,” I told him as I held up the grocery bag. I finished chopping the food up before putting them into two separate bowls and setting them on the table. I glanced over at the twins to make sure they were fine and they both seemed pretty happy. I sat down at the table and waited for Auston to join me at the table. When he showed up he washed his hands and then made his way over to the twins and pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads before joining me at the table.

“Thank babe,” Auston said as he took a seat and pulled his bowl closer to him. I shrugged my shoulders as I reached my hand out to his.

“Bless this food and bless this family,” I mumbled before dropping his hand and reaching for my fork.

“I love you,” he mumbled as he picked up his own fork. I felt a blush spread across my cheeks as I took a bite of my own food.

“Always and forever,” I responded after I had finished chewing, his smile brightened as he looked at me. My phone vibrated from the table and I picked it up to find a text from Mitch saying that Steph was heading into a C-Section which I knew hadn’t originally been a part of the birthing plan.

“Auston,” I exclaimed before turning my phone towards him and showing him the text from Mitch.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” he asked after reading the text. I thought about it for a moment before shaking my head no.

“What good will I be sitting around at the hospital. I’ll go first thing in the morning,” I told him before taking another bite of my dinner. Auston nodded as he started eating his food as well. Halfway through eating Kai started whining from his chair. I shared a look with Auston before reaching out to pick him up.

“What's up baby?” I asked, holding him close to me. He relaxed slightly in my arms but continued to cry. I let out a soft sigh as I pulled my shirt to the side so that I could feed him. I was getting to the point of wanting to stop breast feeding the twins but when the boys were hungry and crying I found it harder and harder to stop. I knew that it was something that I would just have to act stronger on.

“I thought you were done breast feeding them,” Auston called out from the table. I turned around and gave him a look to which he quickly held his hands up. When he finished I set him back down in his chair and joined Auston at the table again.

“I want to stop but it's just so much faster. They hate the formula,” I admitted before taking a bite of my food.

“Well they gotta stop at some point,” he said, turning his attention back to his food. Rolling my eyes I glanced at my food

“What?” Auston asked, noticing my expression.

“Nothing,” I mumbled as I took another bite.

“Babe seriously, what's up?” he asked when he finished chewing. I shrugged my shoulders helplessly as I thought.

“Nothing, I just, why are you being so pushy about this?” I asked quietly. Ever since I told Auston I wanted to quit breastfeeding he had been so harsh and pushy whenever I did it.

“I’m not trying to be pushy, I'm trying to be helpful and supportive. You said that in your research it can be hard for women to stop breastfeeding because it feels like they are losing out on the closeness. I was just trying to make sure you did what you want,” he told me as he reached out to place his hand on mine. I looked away from his intense gaze to the boys sitting in their chairs.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m being a bad mom,” I admitted quietly. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Auston put his fork down.

“Amelia you're the best mom,” he reassured me rubbing his finger over my hand causing me to look back at him.

“I’m serious. You do everything right by them. They are so so lucky to have you as their mother and I’m so lucky to be doing this with you,” he removed his hand from mine and moved it up to my face so that he could move a piece of hair and tuck it behind my ear. I gave him a soft smile as I leaned into his touch.  

When we finished eating Auston started doing the dishes while I started getting the boys ready for a bath. As I kneeled down next to the tub I noticed Zues and Felix hovering in the corner. I let out a smile as I reached out to rub my hand through the closer dog, Zeus’, fur.

“Alright time for the bath babies,” I cooed as I reached for Noah so that I could settle him into the bathtub.

“Auston will you come help me wash them?” I called out raising my voice so he could hear me from the kitchen. I heard the water shut off before his footsteps approached.

“Hey Kai, are you ready for bath time?” he asked sweetly as he swept Kai up into his arms and quickly undressed him before making his way over to me so he could settle him into the bathtub.

“When I was washing the dishes your sister called,” Auston mumbled after a moment of cleaning the babies in comfortable silence. I glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow as I continued to rub the baby wash into Noah’s hair.

“Oh what did she want?” I questioned as I poured water gently over his head. Noah let out a small whine before quickly quieting down.

“She got into U of T,” he said.

“Oh my gosh what?” I exclaimed excitedly.

“Yeah she got the letter-,” he started to say before getting cut off by the sound of a phone ringing.

“Is that yours or mine?”

He shrugged his shoulders while I stood up. I wrapped Noah in a towel and then quickly made my way out of the bathroom to where our phones were on the kitchen counter.

“It's Mitch,'' I called out before pressing answer and holding the phone up to my ear.

“Hey Mitch. How's everything going?” I asked the second the call connected.

“Steph is out of surgery and everything went perfect,” he responded through a smile. I could hear nothing but joy coming from his voice.

“I’m so glad to hear, is she up now?” I questioned as I started making my way up the stairs and to the nursery. Auston glanced over at me from where he was standing at the changing table when I entered the room.

“She’s sleeping right now, he was born a few hours ago and she just now finally fell asleep.”

I put the phone on speaker before setting it down on the changing table so that I could start dressing Noah.

“Did you guys get a chance to name him?” I asked as I pulled out Noah and Kai’s pajamas. Steph and Mitch had done a gender reveal party early on in the pregnancy so we had known that they were going to have a boy. We however had been placing bets on what we thought they would name him.

“Charlie Andrew Marner,” Mitch said softly.

“What a beautiful name,” I responded, giving Auston a soft smile. I was so happy for the two of them. Steph and Mitch deserved everything and to hear that everythin went well I was so happy for the two of them.

“Yeah you’ll have to come meet him once Steph is awake,” Mitch said.

“We definitely will. You enjoy your first night as a dad, you wont get much sleep after these first few nights,” Auston warned him. I let out  giggle as I started rocking Noah back and forth.

“Yeah for sure. Also if you guys don’t want to take care of Zues I can have my mom swing by and pick him up,” Mitch responded.

“Nah man don’t worry about it. Felix loves having Zues around,” Auston reassured as he started rocking Kai.

“Alright if you say so. But I do have to go. I have more calls to make so I’ll see you guys.”

“Tomorrow,” I called out before he could hang up, causing both Auston and Mitch to laugh. Auston reached out and ended the call before making his way over to the rocking chair and taking a seat. I quickly crawled on so that I was sitting with him, causing him to settle Kai in my lap as well so that we all fit on the chair.

“Baby Charlie,” I whispered. Auston pressed a soft kiss to the side of my head and wrapped his arm tighter around me allowing me to finally relax and stop worrying about everything I had been during the day.

“Feels like it was just yesterday that the twins were born,” Auston mumbled against my ear. I let out a sigh as I stared down at them.

“I know. I cant believe it's been over a year,” I admitted reaching out to touch Kai’s tiny hand.

“They were perfect, just like their mother,” Auston grinned before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my lips. The four of us stayed curled up like that until the twins fell asleep.

[retrogeekgal]

Captain’s Orders - Dark! Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve assumes his role as Hydra’s new leader and takes what he’s been promised- you. Whether you want him or not.

Warnings: Dark!Steve, Restraints, Non-Con, Gagged Reader, Dirty talk, Choking, Rough Sex, Fear, Threats of Imprisonment, Threats of Murder, Crying, Mind Fuckery, Slapping

This gets real dark folks, you’ve been warned. 18+. Otherwise, enjoy ;) “Dinner should be ready in about fifteen minutes!” You call out from the kitchen. Shutting off the burner on the stove, you turn around and see Steve leaning against the island. He gives you a brief smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Hey,” You say brightly, admiring the way his broad shoulders fill out his button down shirt. “You have perfect timing.” You smile back at him and point up to one of the cabinets. “I can’t reach the bowls, would you mind?” 

“Sure thing, Princess.” Steve shrugs, pushing himself off the counter. He reaches above you as you stare at him. Princess? 

You raise your eyebrows in confusion. “Princess? Why on earth would you -.”

The words have barely left your lips when the back of his hand connects with your cheek. You tumble to the floor and scoot yourself back against the lower cabinets. Pressing your palm to the heated skin on your face, you turn your gaze upwards. “Steve, what’s gotten into you?” 

“You don't talk back to your Captain.” He crosses his arms, eyes narrowing as they meet yours. “Obviously you need to be reminded of your place.” 

Scrambling to your feet, you reach for the butcher block, but Steve is too quick. Your fingers barely graze the handle of a chef’s knife before you're pulled away. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He harshly grabs your wrist, pulling you close to him. 

“Stop, please. You’re scaring me.” You try to push yourself away but he tightens his grip, now locking both wrists in his fist. “Why are you acting like this, Steve? This isn’t like you.” 

Steve lets out a low chuckle that makes you shiver. “You’re right, but I’m tired of doing what’s expected of me, doll. Being the dutiful soldier, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s poster boy? That was all I cared about. Until I was shown a different path."

A different path? What is he talking about?

"After S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, I wanted to be more than just Captain America. If I led Hydra in this new century, they'd give me what I wanted most. That's you, doll. Everything I'm going to do to you? There’s a part of me that’s wanted to since I met you. This is what I’m owed; what Hydra’s promised me.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?!” You call out frantically, panic lancing through you. “Get Tony or Sergeant Barnes down here, please!”

“I’m sorry.” The A.I. responds immediately. “But you do not have authorization. Your request is denied.” 

He lets out another laugh, shaking his head. “No one’s coming to save you, doll. If they didn’t fall in line with the new order, I had them killed.” Your eyes widen in mounting terror at his words. “Tony understood what’s expected of him; locked you out of the system days ago.”   

Before you can say anything, he shoves a dish towel into your mouth, gagging you. With his free hand, he undoes his belt, causing panic to rise in your chest. You struggle against him and without hesitation, Steve whirls you around, trapping your wrists behind your back with his belt.

 The way you’ve been gagged and the roughness of the leather on your skin is a horrifying feeling and no matter how much you twist and pull at it, the belt refuses to loosen. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Struggle for me, I’m going to enjoy breaking you.” He shoves you towards the kitchen island and you can’t help but stumble. His fingers knot into your hair, pulling at the root, to steady you. 

“You’ve been such a bad girl. I need to remind you what happens when you make your Captain angry.” You can hear the smirk in his tone as he pushes your chest down against the cold marble. 

Closing your eyes tightly, you fight back the tears and try to beg him to stop through the towel. The words come out muffled and unclear. “Oh, doll, did you say something? I couldn’t hear you. Maybe try speaking up?” Steve laughs, reaching forward for the gag. 

He’s pulling it out, thank - Your thoughts scatter as he pushes the towel further into your mouth and you struggle not to choke on it. 

As his hand snakes up the back of your dress, you hear another voice from the doorway of the kitchen. “What’s going on here?” Your eyes shoot open and lock on Tony’s face. His brown eyes squint in confusion as you attempt to spit out the gag. When it doesn’t move, you struggle further and shake your head. 

Steve tugs you off the counter by your hair, locking his arm around your restrained ones. “What the fuck do you think is going on?” He shoves you forward slightly and you whimper in fear.

“Cap, she doesn’t seem to be okay with this.” Tony inclines his head in your direction and steps further into the kitchen. Thank goodness, Tony will put a stop to this. Once you’re safe, you can both figure out what to do next. Obviously something is wrong with Steve, what he was saying didn’t make any sense. 

You frantically shake your head, only stopping when Steve yanks your head back further, forcing you to look up. “Don’t you fucking move.” He growls low in your ear. “Obviously she isn’t, Stark. But that’s half the fun, isn’t it? She struggles so nicely for me.” 

“Mmm, it does make it better if they try to fight you.” Tony agrees as he closes the distance between you. He reaches up, roughly caressing your swollen cheek. “Oh honey, I gotta tell ya, you look so much prettier when you’re trussed up like this.” Dread settles in your stomach as you look up into his cold eyes. 

His hand travels down your neck and settles on the buttons of your dress. Once you realize what Tony’s going to do, you try to struggle away from him frantically. Steve’s fingers move from your hair to wrap tightly around your throat. “What did I just fucking say?”

You freeze when he further tightens his grip in warning. You squeeze your eyes shut as Tony’s fingers deftly unbutton the top of your dress. “Open your eyes, honey, I want you to look at me when I’m touching you.” 

Sniffling, you do as he says and he smirks, eyes flickering up to Steve. “Did you not teach her manners? You said you wanted her for your own, I figured you’d get her in line.”

“She doesn’t understand how it’s going to be around here from now on.” Steve chuckles. “But I plan to make sure she obeys me.” 

“Guess you’re gonna have to beat it into her.” Tony chuckles, running his fingers along the curve of your breasts. “Hydra, Cap, won’t put up with your disobedience.”

Steve tightens his grip around your neck as he lifts you off the ground, cutting off your air. “He’s right, we won’t.” He flexes his fingers against your throat and your eyes flutter when your toes try to touch the floor. Through the gag, you try to beg him to stop. The choking sound you make elicits a wide grin from the man in front of you.

“My god, she’s terrified. That’s so fucking hot.” Adjusting his pants, Tony clears his throat and looks over to Steve with a smirk. “You’re gonna turn her into such a good girl for you.” 

“I plan to.” Steve laughs dangerously. He lowers you back to the floor but doesn’t quite loosen his grip. You greedily suck in as much air through your nose as you can.

“I’ve done everything you’ve asked, Cap. I disposed of Romanov and Barton. Helped you get Fury.” Tony looks down at you with lust in his eyes and you shiver without meaning to. “I want a turn.” He moves to unbutton his own pants and then reaches for the gag in your mouth. “You think she’s a beggar or a screamer?”

Steve backs away, holding you tight to his chest. “As entertaining as it would be to watch her get used by you Stark, I don’t share my toys.” 

Disappointment in his eyes, Tony crosses his arms and makes a face. “Not even once? Come on Rogers, I’ll let you break her. I just want to see why you’ve kept her around.” Steve growls in response, possessively moving his arm from behind your back to your chest. 

“Fine.” Tony huffs in annoyance. “What are you planning to do with her when you’re done?” 

“You know exactly what I’m going to do.” At Steve’s words, you shake your head, silently begging one of them to come to their senses. You can feel tears prick your eyes and desperately will them not to fall.

“What a waste.” Tony sighs heavily, buttoning his pants while looking you over. “Just do it in here. I don’t want to have to hire someone to get that much blood out of the carpet.”

Your eyes widen in terror. Surely Tony doesn’t mean... You know you should try to fight but it’s completely useless. With your hands bound behind your back and Steve’s hand around your throat, you know there is nothing that can be done. Squeezing your eyes shut once again, you let out a sob that makes both men laugh. 

“Have fun. I can’t wait to watch F.R.I.D.A.Y. 's security footage later.” He grins over his shoulder as he walks away. “Make her scream for me.” 

“See, doll?” Steve whispers in your ear as he walks you back towards the island. “I told you no one cares about you.” He pushes you back down onto the marble, hand returning to its place up your dress. “Now, where were we?” 

 You can hear his jeans unzipping and you can’t help but try to twist away from him. It’s a futile effort, you know you won’t be able to stop him, but you have to try. “Go ahead, struggle all you want. I promise you aren’t going anywhere.” 

You can hear the sound of a kitchen knife being unsheathed from the block and can’t stop the tears from flowing freely. You’re expecting pain but instead, you feel your panties being ripped away from your body. Your sobs come out muffled from the towel stuffed in your mouth; your body tenses, knowing what he’s about to do. 

“Please, please give me a reason to hurt you.” He threatens and the calmness in his voice is so out of place given the situation you're in. "Because, honestly, I’d love nothing more.” Without warning, he slams into you and you choke back the muffled scream. “I mean, how do you think this is going to end for you? You aren’t walking away from this.”

He pulls out fully and before you can catch your breath, he slams into you again. You try to kick out your legs, hoping to connect with him. Instead, he chuckles and pushes you further up onto the counter, causing your feet to dangle inches above the floor.

 "You’re still trying to defend yourself? That’s cute, I don’t know if you’re brave or just stupid." Not stopping his relentless motion, he slaps you hard across your upper thigh. The stinging coupled with Steve’s tight grip on your wrists only makes you sob harder. “You can’t fight me doll, you’re just making it worse for yourself.”

Tears fall from your eyes and pool on the marble countertop as he forces his way inside you over and over. You keep your eyes squeezed shut and try to keep breathing evenly through your nose. Every snap of his hips is designed to hurt you, punish you for whatever wrongdoing Steve seems convinced you’ve committed. 

His fingers find their way into your hair and he tugs at your scalp while letting out a deep groan. He finishes as suddenly as he started, tilting his hips as far into you as he’s able. 

Still buried in you, Steve leans forward and brushes your hair from your face. The gesture should be sweet but comes off foreign given what’s just happened between you. “So tight for me, doll.” He whispers next to your ear before taking a step back. 

You hear him shuffle behind you before he grabs your shoulder and flips you around. Your hands are now trapped between you and the counter as Steve leans back down to run his hands along your collarbones and the curve of your breasts. He tilts his head as you shudder from his unwanted touch. 

As you watch him uneasily, his fingers move to caress your cheek. “You’ll do exactly as I say from now on. When I want you, I’ll take you. Anywhere, anytime.” You sob through the gag at his words. Why was he doing this to you? 

Steve reaches for the towel and roughly pulls it from your mouth. Tossing it to the side, he examines you with contempt. “But as much I love this sweet little pussy of yours, if you don’t obey me, I’ll make you disappear.”

“You don’t mean that.” You whisper softly, voice trembling with fear. “Steve, you’re a good man. You can’t really think that leading Hydra is what’s going to make you happy.” Steve smiles in a way that sends a shiver down your spine and you close your eyes expecting to be slapped again. 

What you don't expect is the sound of metal scraping against the marble counter. Your eyes fly open and wildly connect with his. Steve stands a few feet back from you, holding the large knife. “Not happy, huh?” He grins again, casually flipping the knife in his hand. “You have a ten second head start doll, and you better pray that I don’t catch you.” 

Shaking your head in disbelief, you stare at him for a moment. “What are you -” 

Steve flips the knife once more and starts counting down from ten. When he hits seven, you push yourself up with your shoulders and try to bolt out of the kitchen. You get through the doorway and turn back to see if he’s still standing where he was. Seeing nothing, you turn back around and slam into his chest. 

Without your hands to steady you, the force of it knocks you to the ground. Before you can scramble backward, Steve is on top of you, straddling your hips. “One.”  

You open your mouth to scream but stop when he leans forward, pressing the blade to your throat. “I’d think carefully about your next words, they might be your last.” 

“Why?” You whisper, closing your eyes to stop the tears. 

“Because I saw the way you looked at me. Until now, I wouldn’t have had the balls to make a move and do to you what I really want.” Steve sneers, laughing when your eyes open and stare up at him through your tears. “I have the power now.” He tosses the knife to the side and your eyes follow the movement before looking back up at him in confusion. 

When he wraps both hands around your throat, you thrash frantically beneath him as fresh panic sets in. “Steve, please don’t do this -” You can only wheeze out the words before he tightens his grip, cutting your air off completely.

“This is your life now, doll.” He leans down, his face inches from yours. You struggle to get air into your lungs as he presses down harder on your throat. “Over and over I’m gonna use you, even after you pass out. I’m not going to stop.” He continues squeezing, watching your useless struggling with dark amused eyes. 

As your vision starts to blur, you can feel the tears sliding down your cheeks. You feel yourself going limp, your body too weak from the lack of oxygen to fight him any longer.

With a shuddering breath, you feel yourself grey out, only to be startled awake by Steve’s hands on your shoulders. “Sweetheart! You’re having a bad dream!” You push yourself up with wild eyes, too terrified to speak. “Are you ok?” He asks softly, pushing the covers back from your shared bed. 

“No,” you whisper, meeting the kind blue eyes of the man you love. “I just need a minute.” You slide out of bed and walk toward your closet to grab a robe that you hope will chase away the lingering chill in your heart. When you slide open the door and flip the light, your eyes scan the row of clothes for what you're looking for.

You tilt your head when the sleeve of Steve’s uniform catches your eyes. Stepping closer, you run your fingers over the material, confused by the crimson and black of the tactical suit in your hands. 

“Oh doll,” Steve chastises from behind you, his voice taking on a vicious, mocking tone. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

[kitkat1003]

When the Tide pulls away and the Earth Sharpens to Steel

Chapter 2: But He Burns All the Same

HUGE Warning for this chapter -Temporary Suicide -Graphic Depictions of Violence -Blood and Gore Nothing too crazy imo, but still enough cause for an alarm I imagine.  Just want y'all to know what you're getting into. Enjoy!

AO3 Link

In the end, very little changes.  Tang still continues through the days, as winter turns to spring turns to summer turns to fall.  Almost lazily, Bajie and him fall into a routine just a little different, where they no longer have to dance around their feelings.  Lingering touches can mean something, can lead to something.  Tang can blush and get teased and not be terrified of being found out, of ruining anything.

The days are very much a routine.  He goes out to meditate, and comes back to help Bajie cook.  He’s not actually much help, considering that of the two, Bajie has far more experience in cooking, but he certainly does try.

Bajie seems to enjoy teaching Tang, regardless of Tang’s missteps.  Tang thinks Bajie likes feeling like the smart one for once.  Likes seeing Tang fumble around awkwardly.

Bastard.

The other monks notice Tang’s chipper mood, but no one was ever that interested in anything Tang has done or been, unless it’s to admonish his misconduct.  So, they leave well enough alone.

All save for one.

Tang is coming back from meditation to see what wonderful concoction Bajie is cooking up for dinner when a hand grabs him by the shoulder.  He whips around, startled, and comes face to face with

“Bao,” he grinds out.  “Have you taken up stalking?”

“You’ve been a ghost in the monastery for months,” Bao argues.  “I just wanted to see what you were up to.” 

He steps around Tang and towards the doorway.  “Collecting occult objects?  Sneaking in meat?”

Tang runs so that he’s back in front of Bao, trying to stop the monk’s advance.  His face is bright red, a mix of rage and embarrassment.  If Bao finds out about Bajie-well, the whole monastery will.  The one thing that brings Tang joy will be thrown into scrutiny, until he can’t enjoy it anymore.

“I wanted some privacy.” It’s not exactly a lie.  “And besides, no one liked living near me anyway!  Shouldn’t you be happy I’ve found a space far away from the rest of you?”

“Why hide it then?” Bao argues, smiling when Tang cringes away from him.  “Clearly, you’re doing something you know is wrong.”

“That-that isn’t-why won’t you leave it?” Tang clenches his fists, voice quieting as he speaks, as if the thoughts turn everything to a hiss.  “If you know I’m doing bad things, then why do you care?  Everyone already thinks I’m a bad person!  What, you just want to satisfy your curiosity?”

His voice has more hurt in it than anger, because he’s spent his entire life knowing his life’s features were segmented into categories. There was the place he lived, the people who lived there, and him.  He could never be part of that whole.  He’s the outlier, always has been, and he’s learned to live with that.

It still hurt, when he thought about it.

But Bao was a reminder.  Bao pushed.  Tang could take the neglect, the snide looks, but Bao would talk.  Would intrude into the space Tang carved out for himself and himself alone, and prod at Tang’s sore spots until he snapped.  And Tang was so tired of that, nowadays, because he finally had someone that made him believe he might not deserve it.

A shadow falls over them and anything Bao was going to say doesn’t come out, silencing into a squeak.  Tang watches Bao’s gaze rise up, up, up, before locking onto something.

Bao’s eyes quickly fill with fear.

A very familiar hand rests on Tang’s shoulder, though Tang is surprised to feel Bajie’s grip tighten.  The claws dig just a little into the fabric of his shirt, though Bajie’s grip is always careful not to damage Tang or his clothing.

A growl comes from Bajie’s throat, too.  When Tang looks up, he’s surprised to see Bajie’s eyes glowing, his teeth bared.

“Tang is my mortal.” Bajie’s voice is cold.  Rage is painted in his posture, as he leans down so he’s eye level with Bao.  He huffs a breath through his nose, one that ruffles Bao’s hair.  “Mine.”

Bao flinches.

“You stay away, or I’ll find you.  You say a word about this, and I’ll find you.  Got it?” Bajie pokes a claw into Bao’s chest every time to punctuate each ‘You,’ eyes narrowed to dark slits.Bao nods, very quickly.  His head is a blur.

Bajie leans in even closer, so that his snout is touching Bao’s nose.

“Now, start fucking running.”

Bao stumbles back, trembling.  He turns on his heel and sprints down the hall, disappearing behind the corner.

Tang blinks and looks up at Bajie.  Bajie continues to stay in a battle stance, free hand splayed out with claws bared, fingers twitching.  Likely for his rake, Tang surmises.

“Bajie,” Tang reaches up and places a palm flat against the side of Bajie’s face, gentle.  As much as it is charming to have a strong demon as his protector, Tang much prefers his Bajie when he’s off the battlefield.  Bajie responds best to touch, regardless.  Sometimes words don’t reach him. 

 “Dinner will run late if we stand out here all night.”

Bajie blinks a few times and shakes himself off, lifting his hand from Tang’s shoulder carefully.  His shoulders slump down as he relaxes, a little weary after being so tense.  He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and smiles, a little strained.

“Right.  Uh, sorry.”

He ducks beneath the doorframe and heads back into their room.  Tang follows.

They make dinner in relative silence.  Tang has gotten rather proficient with a knife, and he chops up the vegetables as Bajie sets up the broth.  Bajie’s started making the noodles himself.  Apparently it’s far cheaper if you do, even if it takes longer to complete.

When they’re done, and when Bajie pours out their servings so they can eat, Tang speaks up.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.  “I could have handled it.”

Bajie sets his bowl down with a heavy sigh, hands clenched into fists in his lap.

“He shouldn’t talk to you like that,” Bajie says slowly.  “No one should.”

“Bajie,” Tang starts, a sad smile of acceptance already on his face.  “Plenty of people here are like that.  I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be!” Bajie explodes.  “You shouldn’t have to deal with all that, it’s none of any of their business what you do!  People shouldn’t expect the worst from you!”

Bajie stares down at him with a plea in his gaze, like he’s begging for Tang to understand, but Tang looks away.  Something about what Bajie is saying, some part of Bajie’s expression, makes his chest twist something painful.  Maybe Tang has always known, deep down, that being treated the way he is is wrong, maybe he just buried that part down so it wouldn’t hurt so much.  The earnest look in Bajie’s expression, the desperation-that digs that part back up, and Tang struggles to bury it again.

“It doesn’t matter.  People think what they will of me.  I just don’t want their opinion to be any worse,” he sighs.  “I can handle what they throw at me.  I can prove that I’m better than they are.”

Bajie’s reaches over, tilting Tang’s head up and forcing Tang to look at him again.

“You don’t have to hold yourself to such a high standard, you know.  You’re allowed to be angry.  I get mad enough, and you never tell me not to be.  Why can’t you get upset?  Why do you gotta handle it all?”

Tang blinks, and his vision blurs.  When had anyone, before now, told him that he was enough?  Just as is, without need for a perfect posture, unbreakable composure.  When he was young there were times where he could almost say he was liked, but soon the other children pulled away and Tang was forced to climb his way up to somehow reach their level again.

But here Bajie is, on the same level as him, telling him the view is just fine right here.

Bajie pulls him forward, and Tang holds Bajie as tight as he can, hiding his tears in Bajie’s chest.

When he finally lifts his head up, Bajie is smiling down at him.

“See?  Nothing wrong with gettin’ upset.  Better to go through it and come out better for it than to let it sit and grow.”

“You’re just saying that because you liked going ‘protective demon’ on Bao,” Tang mutters, grinning despite himself.

“Hey—well, maybe, but that’s not the point!”

Tang presses his face into Bajie’s chest to muffle his chuckles.  Soon enough, Bajie is laughing too.

At night, when they lay together, Bajie likes to pull Tang close.  Tang will pepper Bajie’s jaw with kisses and lean his head against the demon’s chest, listening to the rumbling purr of delight Bajie is unable to stifle, along with Bajie’s heartbeat.

Being in love is something Tang finds unexpectedly warm and comfortable.  Like slipping into a slipper fitted perfectly, he stands taller and walks with far better purpose than he had before.  Even the whispers of how he isn’t a proper monk do little to stifle the swell of elation sitting in his heart, each breath making his ribs creak with strain, as if his heart couldn’t fit it all.

It’s a good type of pain, to be in love.

One night, though, Bajie presses Tang so tightly against him that Tang startles.  He’s about to ask when his lips are stolen in a kiss, and, well, he doesn’t mind that at all.  He leans into the heat, making his cheeks blush.

But a hand creeps up his thigh, beneath his clothes.

Tang is suddenly consumed by panic.

He pushes away, quickly, wide eyed and trembling.  Glancing at Bajie’s eyes show no anger, more confusion and hurt.  They’re both breathless, but Tang has to take an extra minute to get his lungs to cooperate, to be able to breathe at all.

He knew this would happen.  This was the whole point of the challenge, was it not?  He just...he hadn’t thought of it, between the shock of Bajie actually loving him and the fluttery feelings he had for the demon as well.

“I-I’m sorry,” he sputters, embarrassed.  Ashamed, even.  

He’d known that women were expected to perform for their husbands, and while Tang wouldn’t call himself a wife, he knew that there was always the expectation to perform if he began this sort of relationship.  To be unable to...it’s shameful.

Bajie looks very much like he wants to reach for him, but he keeps his hands pressed against his chest, away from Tang.  Worried.  Nervous.

“I-it’s okay.  I’m not-I want you to be comfortable.  Did I do something wrong?” Bajie assures.  Soothing.  The lack of anger makes Tang relax a little. 

“No-no, you didn’t, I just…,” Tang doesn’t know how to explain.  “I-do we have to?”

Bajie blinks a few times, confused, and he rubs the top of his head in thought, looking around before his gaze settles back on Tang.

“I thought…,” Bajie starts, haltingly.  So very careful.  “I thought that this is what mortals do.  Anyone does.  You know?  Is this about the monk thing?”

“No,” Tang replies again, firm.  “It’s hard to explain, I just…,” He takes a breath.  Shuffles a little closer.  

Bajie’s hand settles on the bedroll.  Tang places his own on top of it, like an olive branch.  He feels Bajie relax, a little.

“What do you like about me?” Tang asks. 

Bajie tilts his head to the side, at the question.  It’s an odd one, but Tang has heard time and time again that consummation equals the truest love.  And yet, if that were true, why love any other part of your partner?  Why think of anything besides this moment?

Tang has a plethora of things he loves about Bajie.  He hopes that Bajie is the same.

“I mean it literally,” Tang clarifies.  “Why are you in love with me?”

Bajie shifts, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.  His hand does not move from where it is, in Tang’s, so he rubs a circle into the back of it with his index finger.  He turns it into a spiral.  Bajie’s hand is big enough for it, after all.

Bajie’s voice starts soft. “I like the way your hair looks.  It’s windswept, almost.

“I like how your face looks.  It’s very soft, and comes to a nice point, you know?  I like your eyes, because they’re a brown red I haven’t seen before, and I like your smile, because it’s kind of cheeky but mostly just kind, and I like that look you get on your face when you read, or when I make you something to eat, and I like that your hands are soft, and—”

Bajie stops, for a moment.  His eyes are wide, face  flushed, like the more he talked, the more affection burned him.

Tang thinks he’s nearly a cherry tomato himself, with how much he can feel his face steaming.

Bajie shifts to face him again.

“I love that you can talk to me about things like this.,” Something warmer enters Bajie’s voice, right then.  “Most people either tell me to go or don’t tell me anything.  You stand your ground, but you don’t just shove me away.  You tell me why the things I do upset you, so I can fix it.  Most people are too scared to bother.”

“I am scared of you, sometimes,” Tang whispers.  He’d kept that fact a secret, afraid of the look it would put on Bajie’s face, to know that Tang, even with all his love, fears Bajie even a little.

“But you still try and stop me if I push too far.  That’s trust.  That’s bravery,” Bajie rebuffs, steadfast even with the hard truth laying between them.  “I love that about you.  You’re brave.  You trust me.”

The way he says that takes Tang’s breath away.  It takes Tang a few moments to even collect himself, and when he does he still feels like he’s going to melt into a puddle.

“Right,” he starts, and Bajie chuckles before he continues.  “And what does that, any of that, have to do with,” He gestures vaguely to the whole concept they’re avoiding.  “Sex?”

Bajie opens his mouth, and then closes it.  Tang watches the thoughts bounce around Bajie’s brain with a fond smile, until Bajie finally looks back at him.

“I guess it doesn’t,” Bajie mutters, and then laughs, incredulous.  “You’re so smart, you know that?  Sometimes I wonder if you’re wasted, here.” 

He reaches over and brushes a hair back behind Tang’s ear.  Tang chuckles, both at the sentiment and at the motion. Perhaps laughing will help the butterflies out of his stomach.

“This place is my home,” he says, and he shrugs.  “I belong here.”

Bajie’s smile flattens into a straight line for a moment, but he doesn’t argue.  Silence falls upon them, as Tang’s fingers trace shapes into Bajie’s hand and arm, until Bajie speaks up again.

“I uh-I thought for a second it might be because of, uh, this,” Bajie gestures vaguely at his person, and Tang raises a brow.

“You just gestured to all of yourself,” He says.

Bajie flushes, embarrassed, before huffing out, “The biggest hurdle most mortals have to get over is that I’m not exactly conventionally attractive, by mortal standards.” 

Bajie doesn’t look him in the eye.  It’s said matter of factly, and there’s an undercurrent of hurt that has Tang’s brow furrowing.  Tang doesn’t know about the partners Bajie’s had before, but he does know Bajie has been chased out of many towns.  He wonders how much of it was because of Bajie’s attitude and how much of it was his appearance.

“That’s true.  You’re not,” Tang replies bluntly.

Bajie seems surprised, before Tang continues.

“You’re not mortal.  You’re not human.  It would be ridiculous to use those standards to classify you as attractive or not.  By my standards….”

He trails off for a moment, and when he continues, his smile is coy.  “Well, you’re quite outstanding.”

“Tang,” Bajie starts, and it comes out choked out, the blush moving from embarrassment back to attraction.

Tang scoots closer, and reaches up to Bajie’s face.

“You have lovely ears.  Perfect for hearing anyone who would dare attack you.  They blush like your cheeks, did you know?  I always love that about them.  Gorgeous blue eyes.  Two different shades, even.  Most mortals are stuck with one, but I suppose this was a treat from the gods for me,” Tang fiddles with the ears for a moment, before his hands trail down. 

Bajie doesn’t seem to know how to handle this much affection.  His eyes are locked on Tang’s, and his lips are slightly parted in shock.

“You have such strong tusks.  Very imposing,” Tang wraps his fingers around them, grips them for a moment.  “Perfect for biting through most anything.  A strong jaw.” 

He trails the shape of it with his finger.  “To show you mean business.  Powerful vocal cords.”

Tang smooths a hand down Bajie’s neck.  Bajie shivers.  “To shout at anyone who would challenge you.  Broad shoulders so that you loom.   Sharp claws to cut through any obstacle.  Strong arms to lift that rake of yours.”

“Burly legs so you can move faster than any mortal would dare, and,” Tang has to laugh. “An adorable tail that you can’t stop from wagging when you’re happy.”

Bajie just stares, as if no one has ever said something like that to him in all his years of life.  The tragic thing, to Tang, is that it’s likely that that’s the case.  He pulls himself up, so that he and Bajie are eye to eye.

“I almost forgot your lovely snout,” he leans forward and places a kiss there.  “Perfect for kisses.  All of it makes you the most beautiful demon I’ve ever seen.  My Demon.  My Bajie.  My Pigsy.”

Each phrase is punctuated by another peck.  The last title snaps Bajie out of his haze, and he grins, lopsided and gorgeous.

“Pigsy?” he asks.

Tang flushes a little.  “Do you not like it?” 

Bajie lifts Tang up and shifts so he’s on his back, placing Tang on top of him.

“I love it,” he murmurs.

Tang smiles and curls on top of Bajie like he’s always belonged there.

They lay there for a moment, until Bajie opens his mouth.

“Did I still win the challenge?”

Tang laughs so hard  he cries, tickled by the memory of a conversation what feels like a lifetime ago finally coming to its close, leaning down until his forehead is resting against Pigsy’s.

“Of course you did.  You got me, didn’t you?”

They have arguments.  Disagreements, really.  Arguments imply real hatred and they never have that, not for each other, but they do disagree.

Bajie wants Tang to come with him, to leave the monastery and go out into the world.  But Tang can’t.  Not when everyone here already expects him to fail, to be the worst of them, to fall away from the religion and be the lesser monk they think him to be.  What would they say, if he disappeared into the night, never to be seen again?

“I don’t understand why that matters,” Bajie stresses, during one such disagreement.  “You know they’re never gonna be satisfied.  And what about when they find out about me, huh?  How are you gonna swing that?”

“I know!” Tang cries, head in his hands from the frustration.  “I know, I know that, but what can I do, Bajie?  I can’t just leave, they’re my family, this is my home.  What don’t you understand?”

Family is difficult to handle, and Tang knows his isn’t perfect, isn’t terribly kind, but it’s his.  It’s so hard to imagine disappearing.  Could he even come back?  Obviously not, they already dislike him, so there’s no way he could leave.  How could he keep in contact?  The mail moves so slow, and how would they write him back when he’s moving around so much?  Would they even write to him?

Bajie doesn’t get it.  Bajie doesn’t have a family like Tang does.  Hecan just salt the earth and leave and lose nothing.  Tang could lose everything.  He needs his foundation.  He needs something to go back to.

“Tang,” Bajie starts, soft and gentle, but unrelenting.

Tang raises a hand to silence him.

“Stop asking,” He says firmly.

His voice takes on a more desperate edge as he adds a quieter “Please.”

He needs to figure this out for himself, and if he’s constantly being pressured one way over the other, how can he make an informed decision?  He just needs a little more time.

Bajie’s brow furrows, eyes going dark for a split second before his expression empties, like everything has been poured out of him.  Tang stiffens, because the lack of reaction is frightening, somehow, like he’s been pushed to the edge of a cliff, and isn’t sure how long the precipice can hold him.

But then Bajie leans down, and presses a kiss to his forehead, soft.

“Alright,” Bajie whispers.  “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too,” Tang whispers, promises, hopes.

Bajie starts leaving.  At first, it’s only for a few days.  Then, the trips become longer.  A week.  Two.  

He’s never gone longer than a month, and he always tells Tang the night before that he’ll be gone in the morning.  Tang will wake up to the feeling of a soft kiss to his forehead and he will watch Bajie trudge out of their room as sunlight peeks over the horizon.

Tang hates every second that Bajie is gone.  Hates that the monotony of his normal life is no longer satisfactory.  He had forced himself to be satisfied with the mundane, the normal, the expected.  Then Bajie had come in and smashed all his expectations and made Tang yearn for more again.

At the very least, Bao is no longer a problem.  Tang feels a sense of satisfaction that when he enters a room, Bao is quick to leave it.

“I wish you wouldn’t leave so much,” he says, during a night when Bajie is here, and close, and Tang can lay with him.  “You never seemed bothered before.  You never went anywhere for this long.”

“I had a goal, then,” Bajie rumbles, voice soft.  “You’d be surprised by how easy it is to forget about other stuff when you have a task.  But I’m a demon, with a nine toothed rake that isn’t for tilling land.  I’m not made for domestic life.  Not when I’m just getting started.”

The explanation feels almost like a farewell, and something in Tang’s chest squeezes tight in a panic.  Tang isn’t a demon, he isn’t a fighter.  He’s the definition of domestic, isn’t he?  If Bajie isn’t made for domestic life, maybe Tang isn’t made for him.

“Can’t you stay?” Tang whispers, interlocking his fingers with Bajie’s.  His hand is dwarfed by Bajie’s large palm.  “Just for a little while.  Just—am I not enough?”

“Can’t you come with me?” Bajie rebuffs, voice almost too pointed.  “Aren’t I enough?”

And, well, there’s no winning the argument there.  Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and Tang’s afraid of the crash.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.  “It’s never because you aren’t enough.” 

He needs Bajie to know that, to know that Tang isn’t doing this because Bajie failed, in some way.  Tang wishes he could feel secure enough to jump ship, to leave everything behind like Bajie wants.

But, regardless of what Bajie thinks, Tang has never been brave.

Bajie says nothing.  Tang wonders what the silence means.

As Tang wrestles with himself, his wants, his life, he finally comes to his conclusion.  He rethinks life, his own, from beginning to present, and like any good story he wants a happy ending.  Who doesn’t?

And he realizes, at the center of it all, that a happy ending isn’t possible if Bajie isn’t there.  That in every path Tang’s life leads him down, Bajie has to be there if it's to end with a smile.

And if Bajie needs Tang to leave, then Tang will swallow his terror and take the leap.  He has to at least try.  If it doesn’t work, if Tang fails, then...then he’ll only have himself to blame, won’t he?

He has to try.

There’s preparations to be had.  He researches.  While Bajie is out on trips to who knows where, Tang learns about the marriage methods of demons.  Apparently, when a demon takes a mortal’s hand in marriage, they kidnap the mortal, steal them away.  There’s an exchange of courting jewelry.  A physical claim.

He doesn’t have the money for jewelry, but he thinks he could do something else.  So he buys some paper, some leather, some twine, and carefully, he constructs a book.  A journal.  Something that they can write in for years to come, something they can share.  Maybe it’s unorthodox, maybe it isn’t good enough, but Tang wants to be able to look back.  He wants to see Bajie’s scrawled sentences, words written comically large next to Tang’s smaller, tighter script.

Maybe it isn’t the right way, but it’s Tang, in every sense of the word.  If Bajie rebuffs that, then there’s nothing to be done.

He writes out a script.  The next time Bajie leaves, Tang works on his speech, writes and rewrites.  He memorizes until every line is burned into his head, and then goes over it again, because he knows that when he says it he’ll stumble.

He plans, and strategizes, and hopes.

 This time, when Bajie returns, Tang can tell something is off. Bajie is….distracted.  He spends more time off to himself, staring out the window, than he does interacting with Tang.

It makes Tang anxious.  It feels like the moment before an explosion.  He wants to broach the subject, but he’s afraid of being caught in the blast zone of whatever Bajie is hiding.

So he sets the plans aside and focuses on lifting the terrible fog that makes Bajie stare at him like Tang is already gone.  Like Tang is some far away place that Bajie cannot reach.

It seems to work.  Tang complains uproariously about different texts he’s been reading in the interim of Bajie’s stay, and he gets Bajie to laugh.  He helps make dinner and remarks on how invaluable he is to Bajie’s cooking process.  Bajie rewards him with a few stories of some customer service issues he had to resolve when he worked as a cook.

“She had to get thrown out by the owner, she was screaming so loud,” Bajie laughs.  “It’s a good thing he settled things with her and not me.  I woulda given her the what-for, if she’d screamed at me.”

“I have no doubt,” Tang giggles.

It settles, as they become comfortable with each other again.  Every time Bajie leaves and comes back, it’s like they have to slowly get back in sync with each other.  Sometimes it takes longer than Tang likes.  Like now, where it feels like it takes weeks.

Bajie stays for an entire month and it takes most of that to get back to that comfortable place their relationship should always be in. A month full of Tang making excuses to wait to propose, making excuses to be patient, to give it a little more time.

But, after a month, things seem comfortable.  Tang swallows his fears.  Bajie called him brave once and Tang has to live up to that, right?

Except, after a week of things seeming okay, Bajie suddenly closes himself off again.  Goes quiet, empty.  Pensive and secretive in the worst way.

“Don’t shut me out,” Tang whispers, a hand against Bajie’ cheek.

Bajie’s sitting down, staring out the window, and Tang is standing, as he slowly turns Bajie’s face toward him.  “Is something wrong?  Tell me, please.  You’ve been...different.”

Bajie still stares at Tang as if Tang were the world, except now it’s as if the world is crumbling in front of him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Tang promises.

He leans in, so his forehead rests against Bajie’s.  Bajie leans into the touch, eyes shut.

“I’m sorry,” Bajie’s voice is soft.  “I—nothing’s wrong.  I’m just...I’ve been thinking too much.”

“That’s a first,” Tang smiles, trying to joke.  

Bajie’s lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t smile.

Tang glances back, towards the book hidden, and thinks of the speech burned into his brain.  He could let everything out, right now.

But Bajie looks like he needs more time.  Looks as if Tang were to push, he’d crumble.  And Tang is terrified to see Bajie break, so he decides to wait a little longer.  To stall, a little longer.

It takes far too long to coax Bajie to lay down that night, pulling his gaze away from the starry sky and back to the ground, back to Tang’s eyes.  Tang searches for something familiar in Bajie’s, but the picture is too blurred to be recognizable.

“You look tired,” he hears himself say.  “You should get some rest.”

Bajie doesn’t reply, but he does lay down, and Tang curls up against him, like he always has.  Like he always should.

“I love you,” he whispers, promises, hopes.

Bajie must say it after Tang is already asleep.  He must.

That’s the only reason Tang wouldn’t hear it said back to him.

Tang does not see Bajie sit up in the night, knees pulled to his chest.  He does not see Bajie turn to look at him, eyes watery.  He does not see Bajie run a hand over his head, shaking, glancing between the door and Tang over and over.  He does not see Bajie reach a shaking hand over Tang, a breath away from touching down, from shaking Tang awake.  He does not see Bajie pull away with a choked breath so quiet it’s almost unheard even by Bajie’s ears.  He does not see Bajie cry into his knees for far too long, and he does not see Bajie wipe his eyes, look over, and press a feathersoft, gentle kiss to the top of Tang’s head.  He does not see Bajie stand, slowly, and walk out the door, never to return.

Tang sees none of this.  He wakes up the next morning to see Bajie gone, with nothing but the indentation he left in the bedroll to indicate he was ever there.

It’s odd, because typically Bajie says something before he goes, but Tang chalks it up to the odd mood Bajie was in.  He must have simply forgotten.  The alternative is of course laughable.  Impossible.

So Tang moves on, continues with his life, and waits for Bajie to return.  

Because he has to.

Right?

It takes three months for Tang to start doubting.  

It takes six for it to start to hurt.

A year passes.

Tang feels the shelter he’d given his heart cave in as he buckles under the weight of heartbreak.   

The cliff has crumbled beneath him.  He’s fallen over the precipice, and the worst part is that no one, absolutely no one, would ever think to reach and catch him.  

Heartbreak feels like grief.  Tang has felt grief before, when his beloved masters would eventually fall to time.  Loss of a person and loss of love are equally painful, because once something is gone it can never be reclaimed.

He goes through the motions.  Moves slow, but moves regardless, like every step is through mud. He gets up, gets breakfast, gets some new scrolls.  Meditates, waits.

He just keeps on waiting.  He refuses to get rid of the fire pit Bajie made, nor the kitchen utensils, nor the pot.  He cleans them, scrubbing them all until they shine in the sunlight, polished and pristine, and then he places them back in their spots with a reverence reserved for the gods.

When Bajie gets back, he’ll want them to look nice.

Another few months pass, before logic kicks in.  Of course Bajie would leave.  Why stay with a nobody, why stay with a mortal, a monk?  There are far too many cons against the few, if any, pros.  Tang should have known that this was an eventuality.  

Sure, he’d dreamed of them growing old together, or spending eternity together, or any number of things.  But those are all that those thoughts will ever be, dreams.

Tang is a fool, to dream.

The utensils collect dust.  Tang does not read books. He doesn’t do much of anything.  He meditates, more to give himself an excuse to sit, with his eyes closed, and forget existence.

He settles again.  He must.  Logic holds him together like cheap glue, and while his cracks drop pieces as he forces himself to continue to move on, move forward, it holds enough.  Enough that he can breathe.

“Have you heard?” 

Tang is eating lunch in the common area, idly chewing on rice, and he only hears the conversation because he’s not focusing on anything else.

“The monk Triptaka is going on a journey!”

“Isn’t his name Tang Sanzang?”

“Yeah, but he goes by Triptaka.  Maybe wants to get away from a name shared by…”

Tang ignores the glances thrown his way.  He’s dealt with them plenty.

“Anyway, he’s going on a journey to get holy scriptures.  I’ve heard Bodhisattva Guanyin is even overseeing the journey herself!  She amassed a group of demons to protect him.”

“Wow, who?”

“Sun Wukong-she had to release him from under a mountain.  She also got, um, I think a dragon prince to be his steed, a demon named Sha Wujing, and one named Zhu Bajie!”

Tang freezes.  Logic starts cracking.

“What?” he finds himself saying, turning to the group.  They seem startled by his intrusion into their conversation.

“Uhhh,” one of them goes, cringing away from Tang in confusion.

“Who is on the journey?  The last name you said.” The words keep coming out of him, and Tang doesn’t have the time to figure out where they’re coming from.

“Zhu Bajie?” The name falls out of the other’s lips, and Tang recoils.

No.  No, it must be a mistake.  It couldn’t be.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

The thought is acid in his brain.  It burns, and he feels his hands shake.  The bowl drops to the floor, and shatters against stone.  Rice is wasted at his feet.

“Tang?” someone says.

It doesn’t matter that this is the first time in months that anyone has spared him a drop of concern, because Tang is running, running to their room, running to the room he’s been waiting in for months and then was grieving in for longer as the pieces of his broken heart started trying to slide back together.

Everything is shattered again, and Tang doesn’t know if he can put himself back together.

He gets to their room and falls to his knees in the center, the thud muffled by a bedroll he hasn’t had the energy in months to fold or move because that would require realizing that one half of the space would never be filled again.  He covers his mouth with his hands.  He can’t stop shaking.

He can’t.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

He thought it was because he was a mortal.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

He thought it was because he was a monk

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

Gods, he didn’t think it was because of his name, but even that avenue is gone.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

Tang sobs.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

In the end, when you strip away his mortality, you strip away his monk status, when you strip away his name, all that’s left is his character.  His personality.  Himself.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

And that’s what Bajie ran from, wasn’t it?  That’s what he abandoned.  He didn’t abandon a mortal monk named Tang, he left Tang.  The person he is at his core.  Bajie looked, was given Tang’s heart, and decided that wasn’t what he wanted.

A monk named Tang, on a journey with Zhu Bajie.

Tang laughs.

It’s funny, he thinks, after hours curled into a ball, heaving sobs and crackling laughs.  It’s so terribly funny, so terribly cruel, so terribly poetic.  He knew from a young age that he wasn’t enough, that he wasn’t a good monk, wasn’t a good person, but he’d tried.  He’d tried so hard. 

And then Bajie had come along.

And Tang had hoped.  Selfishly, he’d slacked on improvements, believed that he was enough as is.  Bajie never seemed to want more from him, never expected anything special, and Tang had grown lax, grown complacent.

No wonder Bajie had left him.  Tang was never good enough for anyone.

But maybe he can try to be.

He can’t change who he is.  Clearly, his 25 years of failure have shown him that.  He can’t change who he is at his core, but if he fixes everything else, maybe that will be enough.

Just maybe, then, he will be enough.

Step one.  Get rid of his mortality.

Bajie and him can’t share eternity if he’s dead a hundred years into it.  If he’s to reinvent himself into something worthy, into someone worthy, he needs time.  Mortality cuts that short.

He is a ghost in the monastery in the sense that he appears in rare bursts and his continued existence leads to whispers and rumors.  He leaves and does research in the library.  The stares of disapproval no longer stab through what once was pride, because that space in his chest has been torn open.  The knives pass right through the hole left in its wake.

He’s fervent.  Doesn’t sleep.  Doesn’t eat.  There is no point in maintaining a body doomed to die, regardless of his efforts.  He can care about himself when he’s worthy, when someone tells him he matters.

And no one has told him that.  Bajie can’t count anymore.  Not until Tang gets him back.

A year of research leads to nothing. 

Tang lives in the barest of senses, half dead on his feet as he works.  He has to figure it out, he has to.  The books he find tell him little.  But, then, he remembers the town.  The townspeople.  

People know plenty, when you know how to get it out of them.

He is a ghost in the town in the sense that he hides in its darkest, coldest corners and listens.  Travelers come in and out, always with stories.  Slowly, Tang learns how to use a stiff drink and a kind smile to pull the stories out.  Slowly, Tang learns how to twist until the people he talks to think that it was their idea, to say what he wants them to.

Tang does this all quietly.  He’s always had a way with words, always too afraid to use that power.  After all, a true monk wouldn’t be so manipulative, wouldn’t want the knowledge of anything beyond the buddhist texts, much less the ravings of wordly travelers.

Bajie is worldly.

Tang wants.

He has heard, from a million different whispers, of how Monkey King is able to live forever.

Folktales fall from slippery lips and Tang listens.  Tang learns and relearns, drags the specifics out with carefully placed drinks and sugary sweet honeyed words that coax out more information.  This is important.

Monkey King’s spirit was dragged down to Yama’s realm, he hears.  Monkey King blotted out his name from the ledger, so he may never die again.

Die again, he thinks, and realizes you have to die once for such a thing to be true.

He considers the stares aimed toward him.  He considers the lingering whispers of how he doesn’t belong, how he isn’t true to his practice.  He considers the years of him asking what else?  What else is there to learn?  He considers cold, disapproving eyes that followed him from youth to adulthood.

He considers blue, beautiful ocean blue ones that looked at him as if he’d hung the stars and he considers blue eyes gone in the night without a word.

Considers dying.  

Considers.

Acquiring poison isn’t difficult.  He buys it in the market (He used to go with Bajie where’d they’d pick out the vegetables and noodles for the ramen that night and make fun of weird shaped vegetables and laugh) with some coins Bajie left behind (left behind with him, like him, left left left abandoned because Tang made Bajie wait made Bajie lose love Tang ruined everything—) and stuffs it in his pocket.  He eats dinner (Bajie made it better he was always the better cook and Tang is nothing isn’t anything just the worst monk in the world—) and carefully pours himself some tea, mixes in the poison, and breathes.

It barely changes the taste.  There’s something bitter on the edge of it, but Tang drains the cup and sighs.  

He sets up his bedroll and lays down, eyes staring up at the ceiling.  He can feel a slight pain in his chest.  Likely due to the poison.  It’s not a very painful one, slow but not cruel.

Like this, he can practically feel Bajie next to him, a hand over his heart.  That must be where the weight on his chest comes from.  Must be.  Bajie has to be here, beside him, at the end of it all.  Where else would his love be?

They were having a conversation.  One hard to navigate, but Bajie was trying, so Tang would too.

“Why are you in love with me?” he tries to say, but the black edges take over his vision.

Dying isn’t so bad, he thinks, when it’s like this.

He comes to with little difficulty, laying down on stone.  The sky is a dark purple, with blue clouds.

He feels empty.  Weightless.

He stands and is immediately shuffled into a line of a million people, all spirits heading in one direction.  The dead are the dead, and he is placed with the typical mortals, those without plans.

Some are far older than him, some far younger.

The land of the dead is a palace.  He can see the entry gate, a speck in the distance.  The dead whisper amongst themselves, but he says nothing, stepping out of line.

He heads down the path away from the gate, off to the right.  Occasionally, he ducks out of the way of guards, which only proves that he’s going in the right direction.

Being dead doesn’t change much.  If anything, he feels a little lighter, without a physical body to hold him down.

He finds the room he’s looking for after about an hour, a large, seemingly endlessly long book sitting on a table, open on a table.  Tang walks over and when he looks down on it, he can see thousands of names.  Every second, another changes status.  Black for alive, white for dead.

White is a mourning color, after all.

He quickly begins searching for his own name, flipping through page after page with utter abandon and scanning, because time is of the essence.  He is fairly certain that there’s a reason only the Monkey King was known to have pulled this off, because it isn’t as though anyone besides King Yama and his attendants are meant to touch said book.

Not that Tang much cares who is and isn’t supposed to be doing this.  If he’d cared at this point, then, well, he wouldn’t have bought poison for himself.

He’s finally making headway, recognizing a few names from those who once lived in his town, when he hears footsteps coming toward his direction.

Well, not footsteps.  Hoofsteps.  The sound of cloven feet on tile.

Tang schools his expression, and continues to flip through the book, even as the steps come closer.

“Hey!” He hears.

He looks up.

Ox head and Horse face were mentioned in the stories detailing Monkey King’s escapade through the land of the dead.  They were the ones to drag the Great Sage’s spirit down, after all.  Ox head has dark eyes and a shining golden nose ring that accents the gold on his arm and leg bracers.  Horse face has golden earrings to match, and his outfit is much the same.  They both wear a leather-esque set of armor, ornate in its stitching, but scuffed with dirt from sparring matches or nonsense fights.

Tang looks them up and down, and decides immediately that they do not compare to how Bajie intimidates.

“Hello,” he greets, keeping his voice even and uninterested as he glances back down to the names on the page.

Ox head and Horse face stare, clearly taken aback by Tang’s cavalier attitude.  Tang is simply glad they can’t see his knees wobble behind the desk.  Sweat trails down the back of his neck.  He cannot fail.

He won’t.

“Mortals aren’t supposed to touch that,” Ox head growls out.

Tang looks up again, face the perfect picture of confusion, before he smiles.

“Oh,” He laughs a little.  “Clearly there’s been a communication error here.  King Yama sent me to fix a clerical mistake with this book.  I’m just looking for it now.”

He looks back down, and bites his lip to stop himself from smirking.  Time is of the essence.  If he finds his name before they catch onto the ruse, far better for it, right?  He just needs to find his name.  He can tell he’s close.

“Nobody told us about this.  And we’ve never seen you before,” Horse face interjects.

“Yeah, we’re in charge here.  Someone would’ve said something to us,” Ox head agrees.

“If you say so,” Tang replies.  “I’m simply following orders.  King Yama is a very busy man, and he wanted this completed quickly.  If you want to waste his time by dragging me to him just to get the same answer I’ve told you, be my guest.  

“But,” Tang shrugs and smiles. “I don’t believe King Yama is very forgiving, when someone is wasting his time.” 

He continues to flip through the book, ever patient.  When he glances up, for a split second, he can see Ox head and Horse face share a look.

“...You know what, I think I remember being told about, the, uh, clerical thing,” Horse face finally says.

“Yeah,” Ox head agrees, awkwardly.

“Don’t, uh, don’t tell King Yama about this, alright?” Horse face tries for a smile.

“We’ll just keep this between us,” Ox head fidgets with his arm bracers.

Tang smiles, and he doesn’t know what he looks like, but the two demons freeze.

“Of course,” hHe replies.

The pair leaves, rather quickly.

It takes Tang a few more minutes to find his name, written in white on the yellowed pages.  There are pens near the book, so clerical changes must be a plausibility.  He takes one of the small pens and dips it into the inkwell.  He carefully drags the ink across his name, blacking it out.

With a harsh yank, his soul is pulled away from tangibility, and he drops the pen with a clatter as he is rocketed back up, up, up—slammed into his body with utter abandon, weightlessness and emptiness replaced with the heavy feeling of embodiment.

He wakes up with a gasp, and when he breathes he coughs, as if his lungs collected dust in the time he wasn’t using them.  He moves his limbs experimentally, and everything moves fine.  His senses are a little duller, he thinks.  His vision was always poor, but now it’s even moreso.  He doesn’t smell much of anything.  He can barely taste his own saliva.  There’s a ringing in his ears that doesn’t go away, but eventually he gets used to the sound.

He sits up, glancing around. Everything in his room is untouched.  He is unsure of how long he was dead.

To the left, he hears the shuffling of footsteps.  He turns his head.

Bao is scrambling back, half fallen over, hand gripping the doorframe.  His eyes are wide, his breaths are coming out as gasps.

“You—” Bao breathes.  “You were dead.  I-I checked—you were dead.”

Tang stares.

Bao.  Terrible, awful, disgusting Bao.  A nuisance that plagued Tang’s life for years, a person who took great joy in Tang’s upset.  A person who, at one point, was someone Tang desired the respect of.

Terrible, awful, disgusting Bao, trembling at the sight of him.

Tang smiles, slow, letting his lips curl up to show a flash of teeth, and finally learns the joy that comes from being feared.  He winks.

“Only technically,” He says, almost hisses, and he finds a perverse sense of utter satisfaction as Bao pales, turns on his heel, and runs, as fast as he can.

Away from him.

Tang laughs to the disappearing sound of footsteps, and breathes in new air.  He thinks Bajie would be proud of him, as he stands and brushes himself off.  He’s finally stopped caring.  

Immortality achieved.  But there’s still more to do.  If he’s to be worthy, he needs power.

Which means he needs to learn how to acquire it.

He takes what will be useful, settles it into a pack, and leaves his home of a quarter of a century behind without much thought.  So silly of him, to be attached to it.  If only he’d left sooner.  If only he’d stopped caring sooner, maybe this all could have been avoided.

He leaves the utensils.  Leaves his books, the dictionary, and keeps the memories safe in the space where his heart once resided, heading off to the next town.

He becomes a vagabond of sorts, coasting from town to town.  He will devour the town library’s collection, searching for something, anything, and perhaps partake in town gossip.  People have so much to say, after all.  Finding the pearls of wisdom and knowledge beneath the swine tales, so to speak, is something he becomes rather shrewd at.  

Some of the people he talks to apparently find him attractive.

“Has anyone told you that you have beautiful eyes?” A woman he met in a small restaurant asks him.

 I like your eyes, because they’re a brown red I haven’t seen before.

“No,” Tang replies.  “But it’s kind of you to say.”

He’s drawn to a town over whispers of mystic artifacts and knowledge being held there.  It’s a rather unassuming town, no different from the others, but the library is a bit bigger than most.  He pours over texts, though in the week he spends searching for something of use he comes up short.

Frustration has him nearly tearing the pages, and he lets out a harsh breath through his nose and forces himself to be patient.  He has eternity, after all.  As does Bajie.  The execution of his plan needs to be perfect or it won’t work.

A tap on his shoulder.  Tang turns his head to glance up at the librarian, previously absent or seemingly oblivious to his existence.  She stares at him with sharp, knowing eyes.

“You seek something?” she asks.

“Knowledge,” Tang finds himself replying.  “Power.”

She smiles at him.  It’s a wicked type of smile, but nothing cruel towards him.

“Come. I have something for you to see.” She turns, and gestures for him to follow. 

Tang nearly trips over himself rushing to her side.

She leads him to a room behind the library desk, a small office with more bookshelves filled with large, old scrolls and books.  He watches her trace her fingers across the different scripts, searching, before she slides a book out from the shelf and turns, handing it to him.

“If you want power, this is how you will take it,” she says.

She opens the book in his hands, flipping it to a specific page and pointing at the picture there.

“A gem,” she explains.  “You fill it with life, and it grants you power.”

Tang reads over the text.  You take a gemstone, one typically one clear in color for better results, and then use the life force of others to power it.  After a certain amount of power is added to the gem, you fuse it with your being.

“I’ll have to kill humans?” he asks, glancing up at her.

She chuckles.  “If you want, but it would take a lot.  Demons are far more...potent.”

Tang nods.

Demons.  That may take some work.  Demons are a breed far more powerful than humans, and even as an immortal being, Tang is fragile.

And, before even that, there’s the matter of acquiring a gemstone.  Those are often expensive.

He snaps the book shut.

“Thank you.” He bows his head in thanks.  “I’ll be taking this.”

It’s not a request.  He leaves with the book in hand and starts his search for a jewel.

He finds it three towns over.  There’s a jeweler there with an assortment of gemstones.  All definitely out of Tang’s price range, but now he’s located them. 

He thinks of stealing, but that’s a fool’s errand.  Taking something that can be bought with hard work is something an idiot would do.  Tang wants to be able to move between towns as he pleases, and gaining a reputation of a criminal makes it far less likely that people will speak to him, will tell him the things he needs to know.

So, he gets a job at a restaurant.  Bajie did it once and so shall he.

The work gives him something to do.  Being immortal means sleep and nourishment are no longer a requirement, and without those time killers the days and nights stretch on longer and longer, Tang made painfully aware of every passing hour, minute, second.  His purpose, his goal, remains the same, but with his job now there’s something else to occupy his time as he plans.

Plus, it helps that he learns how to use a knife effectively.  Bajie taught him the basics, but when it’s the lunch rush you learn far more how to cut, dice, chop, and slice efficiently.  If he’s to kill demons, he needs to be able to fight.  

His coworkers do try to start conversations with him, but he is far too focused on the task at hand to join in.  They learn, eventually, that he isn’t up for talking.  Interacting with people is only useful when there is something to gain from it.

Life has made it very clear that friendships do not come to him, so there is no bother hoping.  Tang is chasing the only person who gave him some semblance of respect.  He does not need, nor want, anyone else.

No one typically comments on his appearance.  His skin is paler than most, eyes dark and shadowed.  Still, that’s not enough to raise suspicion of him.

Typically, anyway.

“Do they know?” A man asks, when Tang comes up to the counter to hand him his order.  “Do they know what you are?”

Tang glances at the man with a small smile.

The man pales.  

Tang smiles wider.

“Here’s your order, sir,” he says.

The man leaves.  Quickly.

It takes him a year to accrue enough funds to acquire the gem.  It’s a clear white stone, almost in the shape of a teardrop, and it sits comfortably in his palm.  The jeweler had asked if it was a gift for someone.  Tang chose not to reply.

Now, there’s the matter of finding a demon to power it.  Again, not very hard.  Demons are well known to ravage towns from time to time.  Steal their crops, take the flesh to devour, things like that.  The next town over has been struggling with one.  Nothing too powerful, or else they’d have had a far bigger outcry, but of interest nonetheless.

He leaves his job without notice.  He doesn’t care if they’re bereft of a cook, not when he’s so close.  He rushes off, clutching his gemstone and his knives and disappearing into the night.

The demon doesn’t attack during the day, so when he arrives he has enough time to ask around.  Gather details.

They’re some sort of rhino demon, evidently.  Charging through homes in the night, taking mortals to consume, leaving nothing but demolished buildings and blood in their wake.  The townspeople are terrified, spending most of their days fortifying their homes.  They’ve neither the money nor support to escape, and sending for help will likely take too long.

That’s fine.  Tang can take care of this for them.  They get to be saved, and more importantly, he gets the power he needs. 

Tang stands at the entrance to the town, the moon high in the sky, patiently waiting for the demon to arrive.  His knife is gripped tightly in hand.  He has his pants rolled up to his knees, though his sleeves still hang loosely.

He hears the footsteps before he sees them.  Charging hoofsteps on the ground, and the glint of blood red eyes.  The rhino demon is large, at least twice his height, and is aiming for him, specifically.

Tang side steps, holding his knife out and letting it slice through the demon’s hide as he charges past.

“Sloppy,” he calls, turning around.  

Blood drips down the demon’s side.  The demon snarls, baring his sharp teeth.  He shakes his injured leg out a few times, splattering blood across the dirt, before he stomps it back down onto the ground, readying his stance for another charge.

Tang readies himself.  “Not used to a human who fights back?” 

Bajie taught him to fight.  Well, more how to dodge, because he said if Tang got hit by a demon even once he’d probably die on the spot.  Apparently, humans are very fragile.

“Do you have to be careful, with me?” Tang asked.

“A little,” Bajie had admitted.  “I mean, you’re not made of glass.”

“I’d hope not,” He��d laughed, sitting on Bajie’s shoulder..

“But I have to be a little careful,” Bajie shrugs the shoulder Tang isn’t sitting on.  “Most demons wouldn’t.  I, uh, want you to be ready for that.”

Tang scritched the place behind Bajie’s ears that always made a purr rumble up Bajie’s throat, smiling when he heard it right on cue.

“You have a lot of enemies?” he’d asked.

Bajie laughed.

“Something like that.”

The demon charges, and Tang jumps, stepping onto the demon’s large horn and using it as a springboard.  He leaves a large gash in the demon’s back when he descends, stumbling a little when he hits the dirt.

There’s a roar of pain from the demon at that.

Tang smirks.

He ducks when a large fist is levied his way.

Jump.  Sidestep.  Dodge.  Slash.

Close quarter combat would be to Tang’s disadvantage, considering one blow would break him into pieces.  The demon knows it, refusing to allow Tang an opening to make any more distance.  Tang doesn’t let that deter him, using the milliseconds between strikes to slash at whatever part his knife can reach.

By the time he trips, the demon is bleeding in more places than Tang can count.  Not bleeding much, the gashes rather small, but bleeding a little from a lot still has an impact.

Of course, getting choked also has an impact, Tang finds.

A large hand grips him by the neck when Tang trips, squeezing tight enough to bruise and then some.  If Tang were entirely mortal, well, this would be it for him.  Needing to breathe is certainly something required of Tang, in a sense, but he can hold his breath for far longer.  He makes his eyelids flutter, sliding them shut to keep the illusion that he’s dying. 

As this happens, as he goes limp, the demon huffs. Even relaxes a little, as if the battle’s won.

Tang opens his eyes and smiles.  He slashes once more and catches the demon across the throat.

Blood sprays out as if it were thrown out of a bucket, coating Tang’s face before he’s dropped.  The demon presses his hands to his throat and chokes, coughing up blood and wheezing for air.

The demon drops to his knees.  Tang comes close.

He drives his knife into the demon’s head, right below the horn, and the demon goes limp.

Tang side steps the falling body.

He takes a few deep breaths, watching the blood pour across the dirt in a way he’s never seen before.  He’s never watched anyone die like this.  He’s never made someone die like this.

All life is sacred, he was told.  All life was to be protected, cared for.  That’s why he was vegetarian.  That’s why he was a monk.  He should feel something, staring at the dead body before him.  He should be devastated by his actions.  He should be horrified.

He should care, but the demon was killing this town.  All life cannot be sacred when one life takes so many.  And, besides that, he needs the power.  If this is how he is to gain it, so be it.

He pulls out the gem, fumbling a bit.  His hands are wet from the blood.  He presses the gem against the demon’s body and waits.

Sure enough, energy flows into it.  The gem warms in his grip, and Tang swears he can hear a rattling scream before the gem begins to glow pink.  Reaching towards red, but not quite there.   

He holds the gem up in the moonlight, watching the light filter though it.  It’s too clear, still.  Once it’s near opaque-that’s when it’s ready.

“Look on the bright side,” he says to the body, though his voice is hoarse.  His throat is sure to bruise, and it makes it a little difficult to speak.  “Now that you aren’t murdering families in the night, maybe you’ll be of use.”

He pockets the gem, and after stealing some hanging clothes from the village—he feels little remorse, considering he saved the town—leaves the body to rot.

He washes himself off, burns his bloody clothing.  He’ll have to be smarter, he thinks, about how he kills.  Clothes are not easy to come by, and Tang doesn’t enjoy the idea of taking new clothes every time he kills a demon.  Far too much work, honestly.

He cleans off his knife once the rest of him is free of blood, staring at his reflection in the water.  The knife glimmers in the daylight.  The gemstone weighs heavy in his pocket.

He travels on the words of humans towards demons, flitting through the towns of the former and murdering the latter, and finds it a little isolating that he sees himself as neither.

The isolation is nothing new, though.  Tang has always been alone.

It’s after the sixth demon he kills that the gem starts to glow with promise, rattling in his grip as it begs for an outlet.  One powerful demon would have brought it to this point easily, but while Tang is no longer mortal, he is still terribly human, which means he is terribly weak.  He has to find the scraps of the demon world, those so weak they spend their days with mortals, hiding amongst them while trying to live a normal life.  He finds them using sigils that allow him to follow their trails like a scent, and he is silent as the grave in the night, knife steady in hand.

He’s gotten rather proficient with a knife, but he hates using it.  Too messy, too close, too personal.  He’ll find something more suitable later.

For now, there’s the matter of making sure the power he won (stole is such a dirty word, and is it really stealing if he beat the demon fair and square?) stays with him.  Consulting the book he took from the library, he knows he needs to establish a physical connection to it. 

That requires effort.  But Tang is nothing if not stubborn enough to make it work.

That night, he takes off his shirt and folds it carefully, setting it down beside him.  He places the gem on top of the cloth, and then uses his finger to trace the line where he needs to make the incision.  

He grabs the knife and follows his finger’s line down the center of his chest with the tip of the blade.  

Up and down, up and down.  

It starts to burn.  He trembles.  

It stings, aches, sharp and raw, and the knife slips from his fingers.

It drops, he presses a shaking hand to the wound.

Gasping for air, he coughs on agony.  Chokes on it as he wrestles with the pain of the action.  The urge to heave makes him shudder.

He isn’t unused to pain. He’d slipped a few times, cut his fingers while preparing dinner with Bajie.  The bruises on his neck took weeks to heal and asphyxiation burned.

But nothing like this.  Carving flesh, your own flesh, and having to continue regardless of every logical, emotional, and primal part of yourself screaming at you to stop is a challenge Tang didn’t think would be so hard to undertake.

Not for the faint of heart, the book said.  

His is already shattered, isn’t it?  What’s another break?

He takes a piece of wet cloth and wipes away the excess, patching up his failed attempt and making sure everything is clear.  He cleans off the knife, and takes a deep breath.

He raises the blade to right beneath his chest, closer to it than his stomach but still enough below that it isn’t exactly where his heart resides.  He hisses a breath in through his teeth as he sinks the blade in again.

Up and down, slowly pushing in deeper and deeper until the blade presses into flesh.

Up and down, like cutting vegetables, steady.

Up and down, deeper with each movement.

Blood wells up and pours down his chest as he slices deeper.  The stream buffers with every rise and fall of his chest as he takes deep breaths.

His hand shakes.  Pain is all he can think of and he pulls out the knife when he manages to make an incision a centimeter deep.  

Deep breaths.  Focus.

His teeth are clenched so tight they might shatter in his mouth, as he reaches over and grabs the gem.  He sets the knife aside and uses one finger to pull one side of the incision apart, creating more space.

His skin is clammy, sweat dripping down as he fights to keep himself from curling in on himself and screaming.

The blood pools down his legs, dripping toward the ground.

The gem sits comfortably in his palm, as he drags his tired limb up to press the stone into the newly made space.  His fingers are slick with blood, fumbling and terribly unsteady, as he forces the gem in deeper, until it pushes apart his flesh even more.

The sound is wet and sticky, as if his flesh were overwatered rice.  He swallows back nausea at the thought.  His breaths are haggar pants, wheezing gasps as his lungs beg for air below the lump of pain that tightens his throat.

The power hums, as he presses a flat palm against his chest, holding the gem in.  It pulses once, twice.

And then everything pitches into white hot agony.  Tang screams.

White becomes red in his vision as power surges through his core, the smell of burnt meat rising up to his nose as the gem clings to his flesh and fuses with it.  He can feel it touch bone, pressing against it.  He can feel veins crawling beneath his skin like worms, forcing their way into him.  

He curls in on himself, holding himself up by his forearms trembling against the ground, as something inhuman breaks through any barriers Tang once had and makes a home in his center.

It feels like hours.  Like centuries, even, as he twitches uncontrollably with every spark of energy that courses through him.  He coughs, and blood splatters onto his knees and onto the ground.  He spits a few times, to get the rest of it out of his mouth.  The metallic, bittersweet taste lingers on his tongue.

He swallows the urge to vomit up the meager meal he had a few hours earlier and breathes hard through mouth.

And then, as quickly as the pain comes, it vanishes.  Warmth spreads through his being, a soothing balm against the agony that threatened to pull him under.  Skin and flesh knit itself back together, even his first attempt healed within moments.  Where there was once pain there’s adrenaline

Tang pushes himself up and wipes his mouth.  A flash has him staring at his palm in surprise.

Crackling red energy twirls around his fingertips.  It bathes his skin in warm light, and when he clenches his fist and opens it again the power settles in his palm like a flame. Swaying with the wind, it moves in time with each breath.

His eyes glow with promise, as power surges through him.  He throws his arm out towards the firewood and the red energy crashes against the wood, splintering it and creating a blaze that shoots up tall, the flame rising up towards the treetops before it settles.  

He lets out a half hysterical laugh, a hand still against his chest.  He traces the veins that pulse outward, bright red, and imagines just how powerful he’ll be with more than six demons, more than ten, more than a hundred even.  It doesn’t matter how much it’ll take, he’ll make it happen.

“Just you wait, Bajie,” he whispers, grinning, imagining warm blue eyes, imagining the room they shared, imagining a new one.

The journal, the speech, it sits in the forefront of his mind.  He hasn’t had a chance to give either, yet, but that’ll change.  It’s only a matter of time.

“I’ll catch up to you soon.”

[fandomsnfluff]

Hellooooo ! Can I request scenario 7 with sentence starter 7,4,2 ? (Umm if i can’t ask for more than one prompt , you can choose the one you want ) with obey me annnnnd whooooo ? Hint: 🖤💚. SATTAAAAAN OFCCCCC , as the lee please ! Thankkkk youuuu !

hey hey!! you can absolutely request some lee satan, so i decided to combine the prompts since they fit really well together!! also i love this bc i love lee satan and i want to try writing it HAHAHA UWUWU

tickle prompts/scenarios

scenarios 7: random tickle attack

sentence starters 2: “What happens if I really tickle you?” 4: “You asked for a massage...I’m massaging you.” 7: “What’s happening? Why are you laughing?”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

It had been an extremely long day for Satan.

He had woken up at the break of dawn to go and volunteer at a local cat cafe, and he had been there to take care of the cats and prepare them for prospective adopters who had had their eyes on the kittens for quite some time. After the three hour “shift,” he popped by Hell’s Kitchen to grab a quick sandwich before heading to a four-hour shift at the local library. After heading home and grabbing some dinner, he headed down to Majolish to pick up an early birthday gift for Lucifer (he would never admit that was what he was doing, but you knew nonetheless, since his birthday was coming up).

He had returned home exhausted, and practically fell on top of you when he entered his room and noticed that you were curled up on his bed reading a book. You could tell he was happy that you were waiting for him, even if his face didn’t betray his feelings. You offered to help him get into the shower, but he shook his head, and he grabbed at his shoulder, his face screwing up in pain.

“Would you like a massage?” you offered gently. You were aware that he must have had a really rough day since he had run from place to place that day with barely a single break; his muscles were bound to be screaming for some kind of release.

He sniffed, sitting in front of you and leaning his back against your chest; you took that as a yes. Smiling softly, you began to dig into the rather tight muscles of his shoulders; he let out a slight sigh of content and leaned into your touch.

However, the already tense muscles of his back seemed to tighten even more when you ran your fingers along the spot underneath his shoulder blades. You smirked, getting the sense of what was wrong, and you playfully pressed into the spot again, feeling the muscles twitch beneath your touch. Satan’s breath had hitched in his throat, and you watched his head twist at the awkward sensation. You did it again, and this time the blonde burst into hushed giggles that he quickly tried to cover up. The answer as to what was going on became crystal-clear in that moment.

“What’s happening? Why are you laughing?” you asked, trying to keep the laughter out of your voice. You knew you didn’t have to ask to get the idea of what was going on, but you decided to tease him nonetheless.

“N-nothing.” The response sounded like it was being hissed through gritted teeth. You knew that tone of voice all too well; Satan was absolutely hiding something, or trying to seem unaffected by your playful touches.

You didn’t reply to him; you knew he was absolutely bullshitting you. Instead of verbally replying, your response came in the form of the physical; as you returned to work out those knots that had built up around the sides of his back, you decided to give his ribs a very brief, playful tickle before returning to your work.

The response was a squeak and a violent flinch that nearly dislodged your hands from his body. Satan huffed at you, attempting to cover up the embarrassing high-pitched noise that just left his mouth, and he leaned forward slightly to try and get away from you.

“Where are you going?” you asked him, reaching out to try and grab him again. “You asked for a massage...I’m massaging you.”

“Not...that kind of massage,” Satan hissed back at you, recoiling from the grabby hands that reached out for him again.

“You didn’t specify what kind of massage you wanted, anyway,” you teased. “So I just massaged you.”

“That was barely a massage! You kept...tickling me.”

The way that Satan hesitated during that last sentence confirmed your exact suspicion. You wasted no time as you pounced on him, bowling him over onto the mattress. You two wrestled for a few more moments until you managed to pin him down on his back, and he desperately tried to squirm away from you.

“MC!” Satan gasped. “You better not--”

“What happens if I really tickle you?” you mused aloud, interrupting him. A hiss came from the demon that you still had pinned, and you smirked.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Oh, you certainly dared. Even if the crafty blonde put a curse on you after this, it would still be worth it to see his reaction. But you shrugged, deciding that it would probably be funnier to get him out of nowhere.

“Okay, maybe I won’t,” you declared, sitting up to let him free. Satan glared at you for a few more moments before turning so his back was to you again. You continued to massage his shoulders, and while you did so, you moved, little by little, so you were close enough to get a grip around his shoulders when you began your attack. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice your minuscule movements. When you were finally in the ideal position, you reached forward and pulled him towards you slowly, and he let out a slight purr at your touch. When he had nestled into you, you reached forward and began to tickle him under his arms.

“MC...? What are you-- BAHAHA WAHAHAIT!” You blinked, trying not to chuckle at how absolutely adorable the sound of his sudden laughter was. You had never seen Satan burst out laughing like that, but you weren’t determined to let him go just yet. He leaned forward with a squeal, trying to evade your touch, but you pulled him back so he was lying beside you on his back, laughing with his whole chest as you began to attack his sides.

He had no time to protest as you moved to attack his legs, and the moment your fingers brushed up along the underside of his bare knee, all hell broke loose. He let out a scream unlike any other sound you’ve ever heard from him, and he began to kick, squirming and rolling over to latch onto your clothes as he squealed in laughter like he was begging for his life.

“WAHAHAHAHAIT NAHAHAT THEHEHERE!!!” he cried, and he genuinely sounded like he was sobbing. You couldn’t help but laugh along with him as you exploited and tortured what looked to be a hyper ticklish spot on his body. He let out another alarmed shriek as you playfully tickled the bottoms of his feet, but it was quickly covered up by more shrieky cackles when you returned to torturing his knees.

As soon as you noticed how red his face had become and how much he was sweating, you decided to give him a bit of a break, but you didn’t want to tease him too much. However, you couldn’t hide your giggles at the sounds of him panting.

“You are too cute!” you declared. “Seriously, I’ve never met even a human with as sensitive knees as yours. That’s incredible!”

“Shut up!” Satan hissed.

“But it’s cute!” you insisted, which earned you a glare.

“If you so much as dare to tell my brothers about this, I’ll put a curse on you,” he warned. “A curse that makes you feel ticklish for an indefinite amount of time.”

You didn’t respond to his threat straight out, but you did feel a shiver run down your spine at the prospect of your nerve endings’ sensitivity being heightened even more so than they already were. Instead of letting your alarm show, you leaned down to press a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “It’ll be our little secret.”

[oh-so-scenarios]

ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴇɴᴅiᴘiᴛʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜiɴɢs...♠| 14

⤖ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴀs ᴛɪᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ sᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇs? Jᴜɴɢ Hᴏsᴇᴏ�� ɪs ᴛᴏᴏ ʙᴜsʏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴍᴀғɪᴀ ɴᴇᴛᴡᴏʀᴋ. Hᴇ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀᴇɴᴅɪᴘɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ʜɪs sᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ…ʀɪɢʜᴛ?

⤖ Mᴀғɪᴀ Lᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ Hᴏsᴇᴏᴋ x ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ Fᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, sᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇ!ᴀᴜ

Warnings: mentions of sexual acts, vulgar language

****Theere are some errors. Please ignore! (Word Count: 8.6K)

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Y/N:

The warmth I’m feeling isn’t coming from the hot shower I just stepped out of. It was a warm feeling in my chest, along with the nervous patter of my heart. So I’m spending the night here? The rain doesn’t show any signs of stopping, and the cracking of thunder is enough to keep anyone inside.

Hoseok gave me a long sweatshirt of his along with some basketball shorts. I used the towel he provided to dry myself off and slip on the clothes he gave me. As I’m staring at myself in the partially fogged up mirror, I get a flashback to what happened in the car. 

My skin still tickled with his soft but wanting touches. I’m also shocked at my actions. I really dug my hand into his pants with no shame. I stroked his dick, and begged for him to fuck me in the back of his car. 

I shook my head, as if to shake off the embarrassment of the past events. As I removed myself from my thoughts, I recognized the sound of another running shower. Hoseok must be using his other bathroom to take a shower. I hung up the towel and grabbed my rain soaked clothes.

I stepped out of the bathroom, my hot skin being met by the cold air that circulated the hallway was refreshing, and caused me to sigh in bliss. 

I shyly looked side to side, staring at the hallway that led to more rooms, and the way that led to the living room. I took small and hesitant steps towards the other doors down the hallway, not sure what I was looking for. 

I came to a door that I thought was a closet and opened it, surprised to see a washer and dryer stacked on top of each other in the cramped space. They were clearly the newest model, and still had that new appliance gloss. The dryer already had something in it, making my stand on my tiptoes to glance in through the clear circular door. I recognized the shirt, and came to the conclusion that it was the clothes Hoseok wore on the date. 

He must have thrown them in here while I was in the shower. I opened the dryer and tossed my clothes in, my eyes reading all the dials before setting them and pressing start. 

The dryer hummed quietly while the clothes tumbled and turned inside. It was only a light vibration as well. Very different from my dryer, which was loud and echoed throughout my place. 

Hoseok is clearly a man of luxury, even with the most simple things. I closed the door and walked down the hallway to the balcony-like area. I slowly made my way down the stairs and to the living room, finding time to gawk around at the decor. It’s simple like Hoseok, yet luxurious. It’s nothing overbearing either. 

Hoseok doesn’t seem like the type to flaunt his wealth in excess. No big mansion with a bunch of unused rooms, but rather a comfortable and roomy condo. I stared into the darkness that was outside, and the other buildings in the distance. 

Seeing as the whole left wall was glass, it made the room feel a bit larger. Small threads of light from other buildings giving me a sliver of the raindrops floating down towards the ground. I watched lightning whip through the sky, the thunder that followed being a loud rumble. 

Speaking of rumble, my stomach makes a grunt sound, reminding me that we weren’t able to get dinner. With my hand pressed to my stomach, I shyly turned towards the dark walk way, strolling up the two small steps and cautiously venturing into the space.

My hands move along the wall hoping to find a light switch. My feet shuffled carefully, and I inched around, trying to keep from crashing into something.

My fingers run across something circular and hit it. Lights come shining on and I wince at the brightness, turning the circular dial to dim it. I look around to see a medium sized rectangular table with a few chairs. It seems to be a dining table, but with different sheets of paper scattered all about. There were opened binders and files carelessly thrown down. 

You’d think Hoseok would have left them in a hurry, so he didn’t have time to clean it up. 

I looked to my left to see some of the kitchen. It was barely visible, but the dining room lights gave me enough to see the switch for the kitchen. I switched the lights on and strolled in, my feet making a slapping noise on the cool tile floor. 

The kitchen matched the penthouse perfectly. All the appliances were a shining silver while the medium sized island, cabinets and all the countertops were a smooth black wood. The tile floor was an imitation of white oak wood that kept the place from seeming too dark. It was spacious and unlike the dining room, very clean. 

Everything has its place and would make anyone uncomfortable to move it. The coffee machine next to the mug rack that was next to the blender, before the gas stove interrupted the smooth countertop. 

On the other side of the stove was a rice cooker and a toaster. All the appliances showed signs of being used, but were cleaned wonderfully. 

I turned my eyes to the large two wide door fridge that had a drawer at the bottom as the freezer. I approach the fridge, staring at it. I glanced around me, as if I was doing something bad. 

Is it okay for me to open his fridge? Should I wait for him to come back before I ask if I can cook something? I reached a hand out to rest on the handle before opening one of the doors.

Hoseok’s fridge was stocked beautifully. All the water bottles lined up like the aesthetic posts I would see on Tumblr. The condiments were organized and all the foods were set in certain places. Now I really feel bad to go in there and mess it up. 

I open the other door and scan all the foods and items, deciding on some beef japchae. I started to take out the ingredients, taking the cuts of beef that were wrapped in one of the fridge compartments. I moved to the cabinets, getting more comfortable as I pulled out the needed items. 

I found all the seasonings and bowls I would need while I hummed a song I heard on the radio. 

I jump slightly when I heard a door closing, followed by footsteps coming down the stairs in a bit of a rush. I keep my eyes on the entrance way that connected the dining room with the living room. It wasn’t long before Hoseok’s figure rushes through, his cell phone pressed to his ear. 

“No, no! Move it to next week! I will not let them threaten me in such a way.” He hissed into the phone, striding to the papers spread out on the dining table. He throws a glance my way, and I notice his eyes move about the kitchen. He saw all the things I took out and looked back at me in question. 

I couldn’t answer, as the person on the phone had grabbed his attention once again. He wore a simple Tee with a colorful graphic on it, along with some black basketball shorts. I giggled at the butterflies building in my stomach. I’ve never seen Hoseok in comfortable clothes like he is now. 

I took a deep breath as my eyes stayed on him. He was looking through the different sheets of paper on the table. He was muttering something, whether to himself or the person on the phone; I can’t be sure. 

His brows furrowed as he stared down, listening to whatever was being said to him. I leaned against the counter, my arm pushing some of the items I laid out. His hair was still damp, and disheveled. Probably the results of a towel being roughly rubbed over it. 

“They aren’t going to get a better offer. I am not going to use my time off to try to prove myself for some petty investment. I won’t call them, I won’t even send out an email.” He barked, rolling his eyes. 

Whoever he was speaking to, was slowly pulling him into a bad mood. My mouth scrunched up bitterly, hoping that work wouldn’t take up all his time tonight. I turned my focus back to the food, taking out the meat preparing it. 

I was zipping around the kitchen, Hoseok’s business banter fading into the background. I put the pot on the stove and got it nice and hot for the beef. Hoseok still stood at the table, making me wonder why he didn’t take a seat. 

He probably was hoping to not waste this night with work as well. His reluctance to sit down showed his effort of finishing the call quickly. 

I glanced towards the rice cooker, now that I wanted to pair sides of rice with the glass noodle dish. I looked in his, his eyes trained down on the table while he focused intently. I took small steps in his direction, my movement catching his attention right away. 

As I got closer, he put a hand on my lower back, turning his phone away from his mouth to look at me. I leaned in a bit, the fresh smell of his soap tingling my senses.

“Can I use the rice cooker?” I whispered, trying to keep my voice down so as to not let my presence be known to those on the phone. 

He smiled and rubbed my lower back in a very loving manner, “Yeah go ahead princess.” Unlike me, he didn’t whisper but spoke loudly, the tiny chatter I could barely hear from his phone had gone quiet. I went back to the kitchen and began with the rice and rice cooker.

“I was talking to my girlfriend.” Hoseok said as a matter of fact. He pauses and scoffs, turning his back to me while his tone grew sharp. 

“Mr. Robins, I told you it was my time off. Don’t act surprised now! You’ve already cut into an important night so might as well finish this.”

When Hoseok speaks again it’s been a few minutes. I’m cooking the beef in the pan, the cackling and sizzling of it in the pan drowning out his words.

“Tell them I said that such petty threats do nothing for me. Let them know that my offer has an expiration date.” He pauses, glancing at me.

“Also Mr. Robins, don’t call outside of work hours anymore. I allowed it in the past, but let’s not make it a habit anymore. So tonight is the last time. But yes, talk to you soon.” 

I turn my focus back to the meat, cooking it evenly before moving it to a plate. I start to put the noodles in the pot with boiling water and move to cut the vegetables I set out.

“Let me help.” Hoseok says from beside me. I jump, surprised to see him so close. His phone was no longer with him and set on the dining table. He looked down at me with a kind smile, his dimples on display as he did so.

“Okay,” I giggle, “Can you cut the vegetables for me?” He nods, and moves to the sink to watch his hands. 

“You made yourself comfortable,” He chuckles, looking over his shoulder at me. 

My cheeks warm up, “See, I knew you were going to say that. I was going to wait to ask if I could use your kitchen but I got hungry.”

We work in a comfortable silence, the sound of water boiling and the clunk of the knife hitting the cutting board. I drained the noodles and checked on the rice in the rice cooker. 

We work efficiently and Hoseok turns to randomly smile at me every few minutes. I giggled each time, asking him if something was wrong. He’d only smile and shake his head no. The noodles were just about done, and I was lightly stir-frying them with the beef and the vegetables. Hoseok was washing the dishes. 

This moment felt very domestic and I loved it. It wasn’t long before I was plating both meals and bringing them to the dining table. I gently moved some of the papers to the side, shuffling others together into stacks. Hoseok swiftly washed the rest of the dishes while I set the table. 

His quick movements revealed just how hungry he was. I can’t be surprised. I’m sure his lunch was earlier in the day, and the rain killed our plans. He saw me shivering and thought it’d be better to cancel the dinner reservation he had for after the movie.

We eat in silence for a bit, our stomachs were crying out for some food. The pleased exhale as he eats has me thanking my mom in my heart. 

The times she’d make me stay with her in the kitchen has come in handy. That’s how she’d try to bond with me, since work kept her away a lot. I naturally picked up on her recipes and at the young age of 12, I could cook dinner for the whole family. 

That’s how the dream of becoming a chef manifested itself. My parents supported it, believing that’s what I was really going to pursue. But it was a phase I held onto for a year. 

“It’s good?” I asked, taking my chopsticks and grabbing my side of rice. I put some rice in my mouth, watching Hoseok for an answer. He chewed and swallowed the noodles before grinning at me.

“You know it’s good.” He answered in a teasing manner, “I might have you over here every night.” He looks down at his food, missing the way my eyes widen at his words.

Have me over here every night? He was too focused on his food to notice my still figure. By the time I snapped out of it, a pregnant quiet fell over us. 

Once again it was a comfortable quiet. We were simply enjoying each other’s company. We’d talk every once in a while, Hoseok finding something to say that would cause me to laugh. Was he always this funny? 

I narrowed my eyes at him, realizing that he was speaking his thoughts more. I enjoyed it, gladly listening to whatever he’d have to say. 

“What time do you need to wake up tomorrow?” His question was coming out of left field, seeing as he was previously talking about how much he enjoyed the seasoning on the beef. 

“I’ll need to get home then get ready, so probably 8 am. They have me coming in later, since I’m only doing paperwork.” A slight pout on my lips as I spoke. Ugh, paperwork. It’s what I dislike the most about my job but I’ll be confined in my office doing just that. 

“Okay, I’ll drive you home, then to work.” He informs me, taking some more noodles in his mouth. 

I could only nod in response, and we returned to silence. We never really said that I’d be staying the night, but a wordless understanding was met. As I finished my food, I noticed Hoseok glancing at his phone, checking the time. I drummed my fingers lightly on the table, curious if he had something he had to attend to. 

I waited till he was done with his food, looking up to meet my blank expression. 

“What’s up?” He says simply, putting his chopsticks into the bigger glass bowl. 

I lean forward, setting an elbow on the table, “Do you have something to do? You keep looking at your phone.”

He blinks at me, trying to figure out how to respond. The guilty look on his face told me everything I needed to know. 

“I just have some contracts I need to write up. I didn’t want to ignore you while yo--”

I cut him off, vigorously shaking my head. 

“It’s fine,” I reassure him, “I know you’re a busy man, and you weren’t expecting me to be staying here so you don’t have to entertain me. I’ll watch TV or something.” 

He raises an eyebrow at me, his hair now dry and ruffled out like it was just brushed. 

“Are you sure?” 

��I’m sure.” I confirm, reaching my hand out to smooth out his hair. 

~!~ 

I only watched TV for an hour before I was growing bored. I grabbed the remote, flipping through the channels. I passed various shows, seeing the scenes flash on the large flat screen for no more than a second. I groaned into defeat, deciding that I’d just review some medical notes from my email. 

I noticed my purse carelessly thrown on the loveseat adjacent to me. I stood up, grabbing the pursue and situating myself in that same loveseat. 

I figured that since Hoseok was somewhere in the condo working, I couldn’t disturb him much from the living room. I glanced around me, looking at the spiral stairs that led to the second level. 

Using bluetooth, I connected my phone to the Bose soundbar that the TV was using as an output. Music always helps me study and review. Whether it was patient files or some techniques that I had to brush up on. 

My phone showed that it was 11:47pm. After a long day of work, I would have been knocked out on my bed, knowing that another tiring day was waiting for me in the morning. I took note that my phone was at 56%. I’d had to go bother Hoseok for a charger soon.

I hit shuffle on my studying playlist, and opened up my emails to review patient notes. I won’t be working those cases till next week but it was good to show up prepared. I keep the volume low, leaving it just loud enough to fill the living room. If it’s too loud, Hoseok will let me know. 

I’m looking over files and notes on a burn victim, along with the progress on Mrs. Choi. Her physical therapy is going well. It’s moving slowly but they believe she will walk again, however it seems her motivation is dwindling. 

Her husband shows no signs of progress. He is still in a coma that leaves doctors to truly unable understand the length of the damage he has from the car accident. 

The notes were a lot. Long detailed files and charts for patients. I’ll be the one typing all these up when I head back to work. As the song changes to something with a faster tempo, I start bobbing my head to the beat. Soon my shoulders join in, having my body do a stiff and closed off jig in my seat. 

My attention was on the notes, so I wasn’t putting much effort into my rhythmic movements. I’m sitting there reading for some time, and when I check the time again it’s 12:54am. 

I take a break, locking my phone and dropping it in the loveseat as I stand up. My playlist is still on, a funky R&B song coming on just as I’m walking towards the dining room. I was going to head into the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

I stop my steps, letting my hips sway to the beat in the middle of the living room. I close my eyes, mouthing the words and slowing my movements to the breakdown of the song. I let the song get to the chorus before I stroll to the dining room.

I walk to the beat, switching on the dining room lights. I could faintly hear the song, singing the song under my breath now. I don’t bother turning on the kitchen lights. I grab a water bottle like this as if my own home and dash back to the living room.

I barely turn off the dining room lights as my feet shuffle along the floor. I’m back in the center of the living room, opening the bottle to take a sip of water before setting it on the center table. The space between the center table and the couches was enough for me to dance. 

I just felt like dancing, forgetting that I wasn’t in my own apartment. However, Hoseok’s presence somewhere else in this place brought a sense of safety and comfort. The notes were all forgotten about as another song came on,having me rock to the beat. 

I’m circling my hips in a provocative manner, bending my knees and holding one arm up as I do so. I stick my tongue out a bit, feeling myself. My confidence is growing since I’m by myself. Or so I thought. 

I keep dancing, closing my eyes as if it could help me hit the high notes the singer was reaching. The slow winding of my hips momentarily stutter to a stop when two hands enclose either side of them. 

I jump, the touch startling me. I felt Hoseok’s chest against my back and his breath on the back of my neck. I let out a shaky breath as his crotch lightly brushed my butt. I hear his shallow breaths close to my ear. His hands are big, his hands are hot and grip me just right. 

Trying to shake off the hot and heavy atmosphere falling over us, I kept dancing as I was, humming the song as if nothing had changed. My butt brushing his crotch every movement. 

“Are you done with your contracts? That didn’t take too long.” I said over my shoulder. 

“I worked quickly cause I could hear you having your own little party out here.” His voice was playful. He placed a kiss on the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to rise all over my body. 

We establish a steady rhythm, his hips moving with mine. It wasn’t crazy sexual, but I was impressed by how fluidly his hips moved, along with the bit of distance he kept between my rear end and his crotch, like he was worried I wouldn’t like him pressed on me.

“I was reading some notes, but the music distracted me.” I answered, as a slower track came on. Our bodies swayed in a sluggish fashion. I lean my body back into him, my whole body pressed into him. I leaned my head back, and closed my eyes.

“I can relate.” He says softly.

“Oh yeah,” I mention, “You said you wanted to be a dancer?” His hands on my hips are replaced by his arms enclosing my waist. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his cheek against my cheek.

He giggles at the uncertainty in my voice, “Is it still hard to believe?” 

“A little bit.” I reply, “What type of dancing did you do?” 

Hoseok inhales and exhales slowly, looking forward like he could see the memorie playing before him.

“I’d dance whatever I could learn,” He says vaguely, “I was just happy to be dancing.” 

“You can still dance...with me. I’ll always be your dancing partner.” 

“Thank you for the offer Y/n...I’ll gladly think about it.”

“I mean I’m no professional, but I can stay on beat, and I like to have fun so you’ll never be bored.” 

He opens his mouth and closes it again, deciding not to speak. 

“But before you can even ponder on my offer, you have to show me your dancing skills! I need to see what you got!” I challenge, and his arms pull me in tighter to him. I could feel the steady hits of his heartbeat against my back.

The song faded to quiet, before another track began. It picked up a bit more than the last track, fun and quick tango beat to it.

Hoseok let me out of his arms, spinning me around to face him. I was astounded by the speed in which he spun me around. He clasped one hand of mine in his. He moved my other hand to rest on the bicep of his arm that had it’s hand placed on my waist. 

He straightened his posture, tilting his chin up a bit while he gazed down at me. 

“Just follow after me okay?” He said quietly, as if we were dancing in secret. 

I tried. I tried to keep up. The first few steps were rough. He was clearly moving a bit slower for me, waiting as I caught onto the basic steps, before he picked up the pace. It was easy to dance with Hoseok after that. 

He was truly leading me, surprising me with some quick spins and other flares of flavor. 

I giggled as he spun me, bringing me close to his body. My chest was falling and rising as I tried to catch my breath, staring back into Hoseok’s eyes. 

It was only a second as he began to move his feet again, having me follow along with the rhythmic steps. 

Now my arm was wrapped around his shoulder and neck, while my other hand was clasped in his. I yelped in surprise as he dipped me. So low I was worried he’d drop me. As he brings me back up, I let go of his hand and wrap my other arm around his neck.

He brings his face close to mine as we stand there, catching our breath. I, breathing a lot more heavy than him.

Hoseok shows a soft smile, wrapping both his arms around my waist. 

“Wow,” I say in-between small gasps for air, “You really can dance.” 

Hoseok chuckles at my dazed expression, leaning forward to kiss my lips. A peck so quick, by the time my eyes are fluttering closed, he is pulling away. 

“Do you want to get back to your patient notes?” He licks his lips, his eyes flickering down to my lips.

I shake my head, “I want you to kiss me again.” 

He hums in response, leaning in close to kiss me again. A short peck, followed by a lingering kiss. His arms around me tightened and melted into him. Our heads tilted as we deepened the kiss. My heart hammering in my ears, and my stomach twisting into nervous knots. 

His lips are soft, warm and welcoming. Everytime we kiss, it feels like I’m trying to get a message of my feelings to him. Hoseok, however, kisses me slowly and in a cherishing manner. Like it’ll be the last time he kisses me, like he needs me to breathe. 

Each and every time, I’m left weak in the knees. My heart is squeezing with delight. He doesn’t always say how he feels. A lot of time he’ll say it randomly or in passing, as if he didn’t want a whole moment around it. 

But the execution of his actions make me feel warm inside. 

The small touches, his hand on my back, the way he’ll pause a work call to listen to whatever I have to say. Picturing him as the same cold gentlemen I met nearly 4 months ago, makes my heart grow in size.

But that also makes me wonder, should I be the first to tell him I love him? Hoseok is so casual about things, whether it’s due to his discomfort or he doesn’t see the significance, that he might not say such words right out. 

The way he calls me his girlfriend now, although he didn’t ask me to be his girlfriend, shows he doesn’t see a need for all the formalities.

He sighs as he draws his lips away from mine, kissing my cheek, my jaw and then a small kiss on my neck. He hides his face in my neck, my arms tighten around him so we were hugging.

I bring a hand up to rest on his hair, “Thank you for such a fun date.” 

“You don’t have to lie Y/n, I know it was sucky.” He says, his lips brushing against my skin.

“It wasn’t at all. I had fun, I always have fun with you.”

“I’m not exactly the life of the party Y/n.” 

“You’re a lot more fun than you think. You’re also a lot kinder than you realise. I know you were probably exhausted, but you still went to the movies with me.”

“And you cooked for me,” He smiles. I know cause I can feel it against my neck and collar bone. I thought he was going to say something else, his statement felt incomplete so we stood in silence as I waited for him to speak again.

When he didn’t I listened to his soft breathing. 

“You’re clearly tired, so let’s get you to bed okay?” I said. He drew back from me, staring at me with jaded eyes, and I could only giggle at the tired pout on his lips. He was totally starting to fall asleep in my arms.

I pinched his cheek and pecked him on the lips before stepping out of his arms and walking over to my phone left forgotten in the love seat. I disconnected it from the soundbar from my phone, and switched it off. 

Hoseok goes to turn off most of the lights, leaving the small doorway light on. I followed him up the stairs, my strides slowing down as we got to the hallway. 

He stopped walking, leaving me just a view of his back. He looked to the door on his left, before turning to me. 

“So here’s the guest room.” He said gesturing to the room. 

I awkwardly nodded, rubbing my hands together and walking closer to him, opening the door to see a plain but nice bedroom.

A larger twin size bed with a desk closet and a TV. 

I stare at the room, knowing that Hoseok was also watching my reaction.

He’s being considerate. He doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable by assuming I’d want to share a room with him, but damn I’d like if he’d at least ask me. I don’t want to deal with the horrifying embarrassment of telling him I want to sleep in the same bed. 

The rain was still falling, the occasional thunder sounding, but this time further away.

“Alright,” I say, turning to face him. I muster up a smile, and open my mouth to speak. 

Hoseok is looking at me with a rigged smile. 

“Good n-”

“Y/n?” Hoseok cut me off, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He looks off to the side as he thinks.

I blink up at him, knowing what he wants to say. This shouldn’t be a big deal! Why are we both feeling so nervous? I’ve already had my hand around his dick for goodness sake! 

“I want you to come sleep in my room...with me.” He finally looks at me, staring at me with a cute uncertainty. 

I laugh, “Good! My goodness! I thought you weren’t going to say anything!” I chime, stepping out the guest bedroom. I closed the door behind me and saw Hoseok’s scoff of disbelief.

“What?” I ask.

“You were just going to watch me stress like that? Why didn't you say you wanted to sleep in my room?” He complained.

“Oh please! I don’t need to be the one making all the first steps!” I hissed, poked his chest.

“Plus, you’re the one that led me to a guest bedroom! I’ve already had my hand around your dick for fuck’s sake!” I add, giggling and the wink he gives me.

“Do you want it in your hands again?” He whispers, stepping closer to me. I back up, pressed against the guest bedroom door. He smirks at me, placing a bashful kiss on my cheek.

“Stop messing around!” I say, slipping past him while he snickers at my shyness. 

“Or, would you rather have it in your mouth this time?” He jeers. My eyes widen and I start screaming as if to run from the embarrassment that was manifesting it’s in my warm face.

He laughs at my cringing squeals, taking my hand in his and leading me towards the door at the end of the hallway. 

His room is dimly lit, but I could make out the beautiful ivory colored walls. The bed was a large king size bed that sat low. The black bed frame was low, only lifting the mattress off the floor a foot or two. The bedsheets were a rich and dark green, tying together the whole aura of the room. There was a tall lamp that stood on the left side of the bed, and it was the only light on. 

Though it was nothing compared to the lights fixtures in the ceiling, it didn’t leave me completely blind and in the dark. 

I wasn’t aware of how weird i must have looked, standing there, staring at his room like I’d never seen a bedroom in my whole life. 

 He squeezed my hand, pulling me out of my daze.

“I’m sorry what did you say?” I asked, blinking at him. 

“I was saying that the bathroom is that way.” He pointed to a door on the further right side of the room, “It’s the door on the right. There is an unopened toothbrush if you want to brush your teeth.” 

He released my hand and scratched the back of his head. He looked down at the floors as he spoke, making me want to giggle at the embarrassment that was showing itself in his red ears. 

It made me feel better to remember that it isn’t just me that has never had such intimate and close moments with people. Something like having my own toothbrush at Hoseok’s place is a big deal. It’s an unspoken step into new territory. 

“Thanks.” I said softly, walking around him and further into the room. The room was spacious but also cozy. It was pretty simple and showed that Hoseok doesn’t spend much time here. He works all the time so I’m sure he just plops down and sleeps. 

He doesn’t sit in here to relax or anything like that. I heard the door close as I walked towards the bathroom, followed by the sound on Hoseok sitting on the bed.

I brushed my teeth swiftly, admiring the bathroom as I did so. One of those big showers with the tile walls, and glass doors. There was also a big white bathtub on the other side of the room. The sink was large and in the middle of a long rectangular marble counter. I stare at myself in the crystal clear mirror, feeling a bit out of place as I stare at my extravagant surroundings.

I continued to brush my teeth, and rinsed my mouth thoroughly, I set the purple tooth brush in the cup that held another orange brush. I used one of the towels to wipe off any water from around my mouth and walked out the bathroom, shutting off the lights. 

When I step out I’m met by Hoseok laying on the bed, his back to me. I couldn’t be sure if he’d fallen asleep, but I didn’t want to wake him. He was under the blankets, and looked like he’d settled in for the night.

The lamp on his side of the room was off, leaving the room in almost complete darkness. The moonlight shining through the window provided enough light to let me see the outside of his body. I tiptoed  over to the bed, lifting up the blankets and sliding in. The bed and everything around me smelled like Hoseok.

I smiled to myself, and looked up at the ceiling before closing my eyes and turning onto my side. My back was facing Hoseok, and I tried to keep some space between us. I wasn’t sure how much space he wanted. 

I slowly started to fall asleep, the comfort of the heavy blankets and the scent of Hoseok around me lulling me. 

I was barely awake when I felt Hoseok shift beside me, muttering something in a hoarse voice. 

“So far away.” He grumbles, before I felt some more shuffling. He slid his arm under my body, causing me to hum in response, since I was barely awake. 

My eyes stayed closed and I turned my body so I was facing him. That’s clearly what he wanted, as he wordlessly curled his arm up, pushing my body till my head was on his chest. I was too sleepy to say anything. All I could do was cuddle closer and rest my hand on his chest. 

“Are you awake?” He asks softly. When I don’t reply, he shifts slightly so his face is buried in my hair.

I fell asleep peacefully as his hand found my back and rubbed soothing circles.

~!~

“Why did you choose today of all days to follow the speed limit?” I mutter at Hoseok. He chuckles but keeps his eyes on the road. He wasn’t going his usual speed today, and though I find his speeding distasteful, today it would have come in handy. 

We woke up late, which is no surprise. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well in my whole life. Being in Hoseok’s warm embrace soothed me all the way down to my soul. Although we were running late, he was still in a good mood.

He drove me back to my apartment, waited for me to get dressed for work, and is now driving me to the hospital. I won’t see him most of today, but we agreed to see each other tonight.

As we pulled into the Seoul Sky hospital, I had my passenger door opened before the car came to a full stop. I grabbed my purse, making sure it had everything I needed. 

I leaned towards Hoseok, kissing him on the cheek before kissing him on the lips shortly. Two pecks on the lips before I pulled away beaming at him. 

“I’ll see you later.” I said. 

He showed me a small smile and nodded, “See you later.”

“Don’t work yourself too hard!” I exclaim as I step out of the car, “And remember to eat!”

I close the car door and Hoseok rolls down the window, “Even when you’re in a rush you still manage to nag me!” 

“I nag you because I l-” My words stop short and I clasp my hand over my mouth. Hoseok, oblivious to what I was about to confess, raises his eyebrows at me in question.

“Because you..?” He trails off, but all I can do is smile awkwardly. 

“See you later!” I shout and bolt away from the car. I don’t look back as I jog through the automatic sliding doors. 

“Good morning Dr. L/N!” A nurse calls out to me. I stop in my tracks, recognizing the nurses at the front desk. I smiled, waving at them energetically.

“Good morning!” I chimed. 

“You’re running a little late aren’t you?” The older nurse stated. 

I nodded my head but before I could open my mouth, the rest of the nurses giggled. 

“You don’t have to explain, we could see it through the glass doors. Time moves quickly when you’re in love.” The older nurse said.

I stood there a bit confused before looking behind me at the sliding doors. It really was a perfect view of where Hoseok had stopped the car. I turned back to the nurses who were cheesing at me. 

  “It’s wonderful to have you back Dr. L/n, let us know if you need help with anything.”

I thanked them, heading to my office quickly. I was in a rush so I settled on some black dress pants and a blue dress shirt. My hair was styled in a rush so it looks decent. I made it to my office, happy to see it again. It wasn’t locked, which is strange but I didn’t think much of it. I set my bag down and grabbed my white coat. I pulled it on quickly and went to my desk. 

All I’ll be doing today is paperwork so I might as well get comfortable. I took my seat and turned on my computer, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before Jennie waltzed in here with all the work I’d have to do.

The computer switched on quickly, but something else took my attention. On my desk was a red envelope. I waste no time opening it, thinking it was a welcome back card. Oh how I was wrong. 

Dear, Y/n. I am so glad to have you back. The whole department has felt incomplete since you left. I was very hurt when Jennie informed me that you weren’t allowing anyone to visit you as you recovered. You did not answer my phone calls either. I was sad to hear you got hurt and fell down the stairs. It seems your boyfriend isn’t taking good care of you. But I am glad you have recovered fully. Please come see me when you have the chance. This may be inappropriate but the absence of your presence has helped me realize something. 

Sincerely Taemin. 

I stared at the letter in confusion. Now what the hell is Dr. Lee doing? What is this? My face scrunches up in annoyance as I read over the letter again. This is completely inappropriate and leaves me feeling uncomfortable. 

I’ve turned down Dr. Lee’s advances before, taking them as jokes but by the sound of this letter, he wanted me to take his advances seriously. I ignored the login screen of my computer and stood up from my chair with the letter in my hand. 

I stepped out my office and headed down the hallway, knowing that Dr. Lee would be making his rounds instead of being in his office. I’d have to go around a bit before finding him. But sitting on such an issue would leave me unable to work all day. 

I rounded the corner, greeting regular patients with a small smile. Some of them told me they missed me and others smiled at me with shining eyes. For a second I forgot about the awful letter Dr. Lee left for me. I am back at work and even though I’m stuck with paperwork, the atmosphere was enough for me. 

I turned around a corner and crashed into a familiar person.

“Hey, there you are!” Jennie chimed. She smiled at me, wearing her usual red lipstick and that iconic slicked ponytail was just as sharp as ever. Her eyelashes look really long and she looked happier than usual.

“Yup, I’m back to work. It feels great.” I answer. 

“I’m sure your date yesterday went well? You’re radiating happiness.” She mentions.

I raise an eyebrow at her, “Am I? Cause I'm pissed off.”

Her brows furrowed and she looked concerned. The question she was about to ask was clear.

“No, it has nothing to do with Hoseok. The date was...amazing.” My tone softens at the mention of Hoseok.

“So what’s got you so angry, so early in the morning?”

I handed her the letter, watching her face expression change as she opened it and read it. 

The humorless laugh that struggles it’s way past her lips makes me wanna scoff all over again.

“This is weird.” She groans. 

“It’s very weird.” I double down, “This is totally inappropriate. You know I am chill about many things, but I don’t like stuff like this at work from co-workers! How many times have I rejected him? This isn’t harmless banter anymore.” 

I speak in a low voice, watching as different nurses and doctors pass us. 

“Are you going to bring this up to Hose-”

I cut her off, “Of course not! I haven’t seen a jealous Hoseok and I don’t think I want to. He’ll come in here and scare Dr. Lee. Working here will be even more uncomfortable.”

“I know he’s on the second floor.” She says, and points towards the elevator not too far from us. 

“I can’t be sure how he’ll react so could you come with me?”

“Of course! Did you think I was going to let you do that alone? Let’s go!” She takes hold of my arm and pulls me along. 

While in the elevator she tells me about all the awful comments he’d make while I was gone. Jennie brushed most of them off but a few were too much.

He’d say, “Where is that boyfriend of hers?”

“That guy looks controlling. She doesn’t want me to visit her or he doesn’t?”

And a few more that were totally unfitting for a work environment. She wasn’t even going to bring it up to me, but she didn’t expect ‘love letters’ to start becoming a thing.

The elevator doors opened and before we stepped off we could hear chaos. Jennie and I looked at each other in disarray. We stepped off the elevator to hear loud yelling and shouting from different people. Other patients were running away from the noise, telling us that it was coming from our right.

Our stroll turned into a speed walk, and I hid the letter in my lab coat pocket. We turn the corner and the yelling is louder. 

We see Dr. Lee and Dr. Shin, a newer doctor standing outside a familiar hospital room.

“Mrs. Choi?” I mutter to myself. Jennie and I approach the situation, Dr. Lee being the first one to see us. I don’t miss the way he smiles when he spots me. I had to fight a grimace off my face.

“What is going on?” Jennie askes, catching Dr. Shin’s attention this time. She moves her focus from Jennie and right to me. 

“Oh thank you goodness you’re back Dr. L/n! Please calm these ladies down!” She cries, running her fingers through her auburn hair. 

I take a look into the room, the door being wide open. There was Mrs. Choi screaming at the top of her lungs at another woman. This woman was a lot younger than her, looking to be in her late 20’s. Her hair was long and brown with soft waves. She wore stylish jeans with boots and a lovely top and a lovely trench coat. 

From the wonderful jewelry on her neck and the rings on her fingers, she’s clearly someone who is well off. Both women were red in the face while they screamed at each other.

“Who is the younger lady? Why haven’t you called security?” I looked at both Dr. Lee and Dr. Shin. 

“Well…” Dr. Shin hesitated to speak, looking down at her feet in guilt. 

“So I was wonder why Mrs. Choi didn’t have any family? She was feeling so down lately and her husband wasn’t getting any better. The psychical therapists said she was losing motivation in their sessions so I tried to help.” Dr. Shin looked up to find my dubious face expression.

I crossed my arms over my chest, “What did you do?” I hate how accusing my tone was, but the hospital Dr. Shin transferred from told us she would cause trouble. A lot of nurses have been avoiding her. Some say she’s too spunky, and focuses too much on making her personality shine through.

“I did some digging and it turns out she has kids! There was no information on the son, but I was able to find her daughter! So I invited her daughter here as a surprise.”

Both Jennie and I groaned. 

“You can't do things like that!” Jennie scolded.

“I know, I know! But I didn’t think things would turn out like this!” She whined.

I couldn’t say anything to Dr. Shin as the argument between the two women was escalating.

“What is the daughter’s name?” Jennie whispers. 

“Her english name in Helena. We don’t know her Korean name.” Dr. Lee answers. 

“You don’t get my pity mom!” Helena shouts. She’s standing at the end of her mother’s bed tears running down her cheeks. 

“You set me away! You pushed everyone away! You tricked yourself into believing dad was a bad person because you wanted an excuse for falling out of love with him! You could have just divorced him!”

“You don’t know what I was going through!” Ms. Choi shouts back.

Helena snaps back just as quickly, “You sent me away! You sent me away from you, dad...Hobi.”

Hobi? Who is that?

“I sent you away because I wanted you to be safe! I love you Helena!” Mrs. Choi’s voice was growing hoarse from the screaming and  I was getting ready to jump in.

“Bullshit!” Helena spits, “Bullshit! You sent me away and never called. I never even got a fucking letter. I grew up without you. I graduated college without you. I moved on with my life without you. You never cared for me. You were so fucking focused on Hobi! You just wanted me out the way. No one would tell me where the fuck Hobi was so I couldn’t find him to even attend dad’s funeral.”

Dad’s funeral? So Mrs. Choi’s husband who is in the coma, is not the father of her daughter?

She vigorously wipes her tears off her face, “You keep telling yourself you did what you had to when in reality, you’re just a shitty person.”

“Am I?” Ms. Choi croaks, “Am I really that awful because I thought I deserved to be happy?” 

“Your journey to happiness left a path of destruction for everyone else. You’ve lost you fucking mind if you believe anything you did was okay.” Helena’s voice toned down. The both of the basked in the heavy silence. 

Helena let out a solemn chuckle, almost like her mother was the joke.

“Well, mom,” she emphasized the word ‘mom’, “Did you find the happiness you wanted?” I couldn’t see her face fully, just her profile...but she reminded me of someone.

She shows her mom a sarcastic smile, “I mean look at you. Look at where you are. Your new precious husband is stuck in a long sleep and they don’t know when he’ll wake up. Your legs aren’t working and you’re all alone. I only showed up so I could get the years of hurt off my chest. So since you can’t run away…” She gestures to her mom in the bed. 

“I’m gonna finally say, fuck you mom. Dad was never the bad guy. Hobi might have been gullible enough to believe your foolishness but I always saw right through it. It was you...it was always you. You don’t deserve any happiness.” She finishes, glaring at the old woman staring back at her with sad eyes. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after that. I will waltz in here every day and remind you that this is a product of your own choices. When you’re ready to apologize I’ll listen.” She grabs her purse from the guest chair and turns to face all of us at the door. 

Her eyes flicker across  each of our faces and I feel a prick in my chest. I feel weird. Should I know this lady? Something tells me I should know Helena but I’m drawing a blank. 

She pushes past us and down the hallway.

No one speaks to Mrs. Choi and she doesn’t speak to us. We all can only shift in discomfort. No words could bring comfort after such harsh lashings were thrown. We can only look on in distraught cause for some reason...the pity we’ve felt for poor old Ms. Choi was no more. 

♠----♠----♠-----♠

Alrightty, what did you guys think?! Things are progressing right! We’re moving into the next phase of the story! Yay! 

Tell me what you think? What do you think will happen next? How do you feel about Mrs. Choi? Was she right in what she did?

Inbox me too! I love hearing y’alls thoughts!