#and how hard he worked to even make the showdown

[hyperfixating-rn-brb]

The Good Omens Fandom has had a lot of fun recently with the knowledge of Aziraphale and Crowley holding hands on the bus at the end of season 1.

Soo here's everything that went through my head as I learned of it for the first time.

For that entire scene, Aziraphale is really far gone. He's dissociating so hard he can't even realize he's been sitting on a sword. Crowley is probably the only thing keeping him grounded.

They just narrowly stopped Armageddon after a showdown with literally Satan, and still can't let their guard down. For the first time ever, they're completely on their own side. Now they have to orchestrate a body swap to save both of them. They wouldn't just be killed, they'd be completely destroyed. Everything must go exactly according to plan, but how often does that actually happen?

And on top of that, his bookshop, his home, his safe place with the demon he has to pretend not to love is burned and gone.

Crowley is so incredibly gentle and reassuring this entire scene. He's been through so much trauma himself and has spent a lot of his existence shielding the angel from it, hoping to protect some of his innocence and naivete. Crowley is absolutely familiar with every symptom of PTSD and anxiety.

Now he has to see his sweet angel see such a small bit of the horrors of heaven and hell and start to crumble inside. He's going to do his dam best to try and help Aziraphale through it. Speaking softly, ("the bookshop burned down... remember?) slowly and carefully, gradually helping to pull the angel back to reality, reminding him that he's there and will help ground him.

They get on the bus, and sit next to each other. 11 years ago, they sat nearby but separated while Crowley begs Aziraphale to help him prevent the Apocalypse. Now they are sitting together. Both an act of reassurance and unity.

Crowley sits first, Aziraphale could so easily just sit across from him, behind or in front. But he chooses to sit right next to him. And hold his hand. Aziraphale desperately needs to be near to the *former* demon he loves, to hold him, to make sure they won't be separated.

In the book, their famous lines of "none of this would have worked out if you weren't, deep down, just a bit of a good person" and "just enough of a b*stard to be worth liking" came as Satan rose from the earth, as a goodbye in case they were destroyed.

Luckily, that didn't happen and they survived. Armaggedon was stopped. But the angel is still so anxious of losing Crowley. So he chooses to reach out, to anchor himself and reassure himself that Crowley is still there beside him and that they are okay, at least for a few minutes.

And Crowley let him. He knows how badly Aziraphale needs him, he needs the angel just as much. He knows how badly he craved an anchor and support system as he was first abused and traumatized by his Fall, then further by Hell. So he's going to continue being there for Aziraphale, doing everything he can to make his angel feel safe and comfortable.

Over the next few years, Aziraphale would become so much more comfortable reaching out and touching Crowley. Leaning into him, resting a hand on his shoulder or briefly touching his chest. Somehow both reassuring himself that the former demon was still there, and reminding Crowley that he's still there for him at the same time.

Then Crowley becomes more comfortable with the touch, leaning into the angel by himself. No longer flinching at a sudden graze of a hand or reassuring squeeze.

That one moment of the two holding hands on the bus cemented so much of their relationship. "The last few years, not really..." all started on that bus the moment Aziraphale chose to sit down next to Crowley.

edited: at first this said "new knowledge" because I just found out about this all the other day, and wrote this up at 3 AM, and didn't really fact check when this knowledge became well known. I've only really been a GO fan since maybe 2021, and only really started being active in the fandom during the last few months, so a lot of info that is fairly well known is still generally new to me. soo yeah this was edited :)

source for anyone asking for it!

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU part 9

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 10 is here.

"I think you should take off your veil now. You need to impress the princes so that one of them could take pity and marry you. Or you could try black magic-"

"Baris, I will pull your tongue out and strangle you with it if you say another word." You muttered, holding your head in your hands.

After Baris landed the "marriage bomb" on you last night, you've been stressed. Why did I have to teach Mihirmah? Why did I have to accept the bracelet? Why did I-

"You have bags under your eyes, and considering that they're the only feature visible, its not good-" You threw a pillow at him, which he dodged easily. You hadnt slept at all, how could you? You tried to figure out a plan, that didnt work. You tried to fix your time machine, that was not going to work at all without tools.

"You could be wrong." You mumbled, opening your eyes as you stared ahead. "This bracelet could be nothing but just a kind gesture. It is not a marriage proposal. You're wrong-"

Baris cut you off. "I know it seems impossible, considering how you look, even I'm surprised- but I'm never wrong, Y/n. I've worked here for more 25 years, I know what everyone thinks." You stared at him with a pinched expression.

"You have to help me, Baris."

He smiled. "Of course, you'd be lost cause else wise! I'll get the seamstress to make you some new clothes-"

"No, I meant- you have to help me escape. I cant- I dont want to get married!"

He scoffed. "Darling, we're alone right now. You can drop the "I dont wanna marry a prince and enjoy the luxuries of the world" act."

"I mean it!" You huff.

"And why is that?"

"Because-" you bit your lip. What excuse can you possibly come up with to satisfy him?

"I love someone else."

"How tragic." He said monotonously. "Love has no place in the harem. You're here to attract, serve and please the royal family." He walked closer to you, leaning down as he lowered his volume. "And I'm going to give you some advice: you better not use that excuse again, never even MUMBLE about having a lover again, not unless you want to be tortured and executed for being a traitor."

You knew what he was referring to. The harem, the concubines, the whole palace was filled with jealousy. If anyone were to hear about this, they would use it against you, conjure up such vulgar lies that the sultan will chop off your head.

"Baris I cant-"

"You dont have a choice, Y/n." He cut you off harshly. "I suggest you suck it up and pretend to be happy or else you'll be in for a hard life."

"Now, get ready. You need to teach a lesson."

-

"You look sick."

You resist rolling your eyes. "Yes, I know I'm ugly. Thank you for keeping me updated."

Mihirmah shook her head. "No, I mean you dont look well. Are you alright?"

No, I lost sleep because of you and-

"Just tired, Mihirmah. I think we've should stop here today." You watched her beam.

"Finally! Now we can celebrate!" Mihirmah clapped her hands as the servants brought in some tea and sweets. She had initially wanted to celebrate her victory from last night as soon as you came in, but you wanted to get the lesson done with so that you could leave.

"You enjoy it. You did a good job." You tried to excuse herself but she frowned.

"I did. And so did you! I mean, the way you made Mahidevran shut up! It was amazing!" She took a piece of sweet and handed it to you. "Besides, my father appreciated your efforts as well-"

You looked down at the bracelet. This was more of a death sentence than a gift.

"Mihirmah." You took off your bracelet. "I- I appreciate the sultan's gift, but I cant accept this. Its too much- its-" you mentally rolled your eyes at your next excuse. "Its above me."

She furrowed her brows. "Even if that may be the case, which its not because you fully deserve that after the showdown, you still cannot refuse or return a sultan's gift, much less one that he made himself!" She tilted her head. "What is really going on? Why do you not want the bracelet? And dont say its not to your taste, because lets face it- you probably have not seen jewels like this in your life."

Biting the inside of your cheek to prevent the insults from slipping out, you took a breath.

"I... heard that..." you took another breath. How do you say "I dont want the bracelet because I dont wanna marry any of your brothers" without sounding narcissistic. "I... I heard that there might be a different meaning behind the bracelet. That it may signify... something else."

"Which is...?" She prompted you.

You exhaled.

"That I might be considered to be... a spouse for a sehzade."

Mihirmah snorted as you looked down to conceal both your embarrassment and fear.

"I'm sorry- what did you say?" She was laughing now. You continued to look down. As long as she's laughing and not getting mad at you for even suggesting such a thing, you're fine. Besides, if she's laughing then it means that all that bullshit Baris was spewing earlier was just that- bullshit.

"You think- my father, the sultan, wants you- YOU, to marry one of his sons?" She wiped a tear away from her eye as she laughed. "That is the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard. True, father does only give handmade gifts to those he considers close, but I dont think thats true in your case, Y/n. You're just my teacher, that's all. Besides, even if you were to be considered as a potential spouse for my brothers, you have my mother and Mahivdevran standing in your way. And trust me, they're going to marry their sons to someone they like. You- they cant even tolerate you as my teacher at this point of time."

Sighing in relief, you nod. "Well, that's great to hear-"

"Wait." Mihirmah narrows her eyes at you. "If you thought that my father wanted to marry you to one of his sons, why did you want to return the bracelet? Did you- did you not want to marry my brother?"

Oh shit. "Mihirmah no-" You tried to pacify her.

But she snapped at you. "What? You think you're better than my brothers? Any of them? You'd be lucky if Mehmed or Mustafa chose you, if such a miracle does happen."

Your eyes were wide at her venomous tone. You dont know whether it was because she was protective of her brothers, or if she just really hated the idea that you would consider rejecting royalty.

A few more moments of silence went by. "You misunderstand me, sultana." You chose her title to please her. "I know of my status, and I am well aware of how... lowly I am to be a part of this family. The only reason I was returning the bracelet was because... I didnt want the harem to assume things and threaten or hurt me. I am aware that the sehzade have their favourite concubines, much better equipped to their tastes. But if they were to see this bracelet gifted by the sultan on me, they would... it would cause misunderstandings. I just wanted to avoid that."

Your words were carefully selected to not aggravate her any further, which it didnt but they also didnt calm her down.

Mihirmah's face was still sour. "The concubines are smart enough to figure out who's a competition and who's just a mere servant. You have nothing to worry about."

The words stung but... you just bowed and took your leave instead of slapping her across the face.

Mehmed had just turned the corner when he saw you leaving Mihirmah's room with tears pooling in your eyes, the niqaab only causing them to look more prominent.

He entered Mihirmah's room, finding his sister looking angry as she gazed into space.

"Mihirmah?" He sat down beside her, noticing how she didnt immediately light up as she always did when he came. What did you do to piss her off so much?

He cupped her face to look at him. "What's wrong? Tell me."

-

You're laying in your bed, arm over your eyes as you try to think of a way out of here.

When will the time machine work again?

Its not like you can go out of the palace to get help or even tools to work on it, and you always fear that someone just may walk in on you tinkering with the machine. The only place where you can get privacy in this palace here is the dungeons, only because its dark and oh-so-daunting that it doesnt really attract people there.

There's a knock on your door. With a grunt, you get up and open the door, only to find no one there. Your room was in the harem, but it was on the upper floor, so you could see the whole area from above, including the silhouette of someone leaving the harem doors.

Normally, you wouldn't have bothered with the "door bell pranks", but you made your way down because 1. you're not familiar with what this might mean, maybe some royal summoned you and you're to follow the servant. 2. you're bored.

When you left the harem and looked to your left, spotting the back of a girl in red dress, you knew she was baiting you to follow her. So you did, turning around the corridor only to be body slammed to the wall.

3 women surround you, blocking any escape routes. They're all glaring at you, and you recognise their faces. They're the concubines.

You clear your throat. "Well? I suppose you have something to say that you couldnt say in there."

The brunette in front of you narrows her eyes. "Who do you think you are?"

"Why dont you tell me?"

Her glare intensifies. "You think you can just bat your lashes and whore yourself to the sehzade?"

"Heh?"

The raven haired girl on her right grabbed your throat and banged your head against the wall behind. "Dont play dumb! We know you're trying to marry the prince!"

The blonde on the left banged your head against the wall this time, gritting out "Stay away from sehzade Mustafa!"

"And sehzade Mehmed!" the brunette warned, repeating the same assault as the other two.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you rubbed the sore spot on the back of your head. "None of your accusations are true. Unlike you, I actually have a respectable job here-"

"We saw the bracelet! You think you can just prance around here, pretending to be this holy and pure, untainted girl while we work ourselves to the bone to get in bed?!" The brunette screamed at you, getting in your face.

You pushed her away. "First of all, I am not interested in marrying anyone. Secondly, the bracelet means nothing than a job well done. And finally- you seem to mistake your status over me. I dont work for you, or under you. So, this is for earlier-" You slapped her hard across the face, making her fall. The other two were in shock, and you took that as an opputunity to slap them too.

"Now, we're even." You huffed, adjusting your niqaab before turning on your heel to leave. You needed to slap them, not only because you need to let them know they cant bully you, but also because you needed to release some steam. It felt good, you wont lie. You may have even imagined some people's faces as you smacked them-

"Omph!" You're pushed to the ground, flipped over onto your back. You grab on to the hands that are wrapped around your neck, eyes wide as the brunette starts to choke you.

"You stupid bitch!" She screamed as you fought hard to pull her hands away. She yanked the veil off your face, smacking your cheek hard enough to scratch you with her sharp nails.

"Laira stop-" the blonde tried to pull her off you but Laira continued to beat you.

"Hand me the torch!"

"Laira-" The blonde started again but the raven haired grabbed the fire sconce off the wall and handed it to Laira.

You stared in horror as she brought the torch closer to your face, the heat radiating. She grinned manically, one hand still squeezing your throat.

"You're not even that pretty for a sehzade. Did you use black magic on them?" She clicked her tongue, while your eyes were fixated on the torch. "I guess, it wont be futile to ruin your face for guarantee."

"Please no-" she choked you harder with her man hands that you just couldnt seem to pry off, and you sort of became paralysed as the dancing flames took you back to the night in the desert, when the assassins set your tent on fire. Everything slowed down, and noise drowned out like in the movies.

Salauddin. Help-

The flames suddenly vanish from your view as Laira is thrown off you.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?!" The man roared behind you. Your eyes moved from the shaking concubines to your saviour.

Ibrahim pasha.

"Pasha bey-"

"Shut it. Guards! Throw them to the dungeons!" Ibrahim yelled and automatically, 4 Janisarries appeared from behind him and dragged the wailing girls away.

Ibrahim looks down at you, his eyes shifting from rage to sympathy. He crouches down and helps you sit up, his touch gentle.

"Are you alright, Hatun Y/n?" You're staring at him in a daze, your body has not recovered enough to physically react, almost on autopilot.

Say something.

"Y/n?" He asks again, his brows furrowing as his concern deepens. Why does everything sound so far, so low?

He snaps his fingers near your ear, and your brain finally reacts.

"Y-yes." You tear your gaze away, looking at the fire torch lying on the ground far from you.

Fire. Second time you were almost burnt to death.

"Come on." He helps you up, gently tugging you to follow him. A few shaky steps later, you follow him to your room.

He sat you down on the bed. "There we go." Ibrahim pasha scanned your face for any burns or injuries, noting the nail marks from the slap.

"Baris Agha!" Ibrahim called and a few seconds later, the eunuch stumbled in.

"Yes, pasha- ya Allah, what happened to-"

"Baris." Ibrahim snapped at him. "Get me bandages and healing balm. And keep quiet about this." Baris only nodded before following orders.

You cleared your throat. "I... thank you for saving me, pasha." Ibrahim smiled courteously as he sat on a chair nearby.

"It was my duty. Sultan Suleiman had asked me to keep an eye on you."

Your brows furrowed. "Why?"

Ibrahim looked at the bracelet around your wrist. "I suppose you did something to make him pleased."

He relaxed in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "So... what happened with the concubines?"

"Misunderstanding." You said dismissively.

"And what that might be?" He prodded. When you didnt reply, he sighed. "I am the pasha, the sultan's right hand. I am supposed to know what happens in the palace."

"Its nothing of significance. You can let the girls out of the dungeon."

"I'm afraid that decision is not upto you." Ibrahim deadpanned. "If you do not wish to tell me, fine. I have other ways of finding out." He made his threat clear and began standing up.

"Wait!" You clenched your niqaab, looking at the veil in your lap. "I'll tell you, but... you cant tell anyone."

Ibrahim stared at you before nodding, sitting back down.

"There may have been a rumour... the cocncubines- they think that the bracelet, a gift from the sultan means that I am... special." You mumbled the last word.

"Special how?"

"They think... that the sultan wants me to be his... daughter-in-law. Actually, they think that I am wooing the sehzades- Mustafa and Mehmed."

"And are you?" He asks immeadiately.

"Of course not!"

"Why not? Anyone would love to marry a prince."

You scoffed. "I would never want to be a part of this family, not even as a teacher."

He raised a brow. "Hate the Ottomans?" You shake your head. "No. But I wouldn't want to be a part of it." You clicked your tongue. "Everyone in this palace is a slave. The concubines, the servants, the wives, the kids, you and me too. The wives of the sultan, they have all the luxuries one could imagine... except for the loyalty of their husband. Not to mention, they have to live in constant fear of being replaced and be in paranoia forever because everyone who is not family, is a threat to her. The kids? If you're born a boy, sure- you are immediately given a superior status, but with such power and princely status also comes with its own drawbacks. The boy will have to always be compete with his brothers, not because he wants to be the next sultan, but for survival."

In Ottoman empire, there was a common practice of fratricide- a tradition where once the next sultan is chosen, the new sultan is allowed LEGALLY to kill his brothers, stepbrothers, nephews and even female relatives (sisters included) as well, so as to get rid of any future competition or betrayal by his own family. In a nutshell, it was done to prevent civil wars.

"If you're born as a girl, then you may have a better chance of survival than your brothers, but that's still not guaranteed. Not to mention, you are raised to be married off to someone that will strengthen the royal family. Not to someone you love." Ibrahim watched you as you continued. "Its not better to be a servant either. Always being threatened, questioned about your loyalty, having to take the fall for the higher ups. The eunuchs, who think they are all high and mighty and control the court, you and I both know that their job to "protect the women of the harem" wasnt even their choice. To be forcefully castrated as children, forcefully ripped from their families, forced to serve the royals... they dont have a choice. I dont have to tell you how degrading it is to be a concubine."

"And me? How am I a slave?" Ibrahim asked.

You smiled sadly. "You know very well, and youre just trying to see how much I know. Your past is not a well kept secret, pasha." You kept quiet, and Ibrahim realised you already knew about his life.

Ibrahim, born as Orthodox Christian, was enslaved during his childhood. He and Suleiman became close friends in their youth, or perhaps forced to convert to Islam and then raised to befriend Suleiman. Suleiman appointed Ibrahim as grand vizier when he took the throne.

"How do you know?" Ibrahim's gaze was sharp. "I know a lot of things, pasha. But dont worry, I have no ill intent. If anything, I want to be as far from this life as possible. Perhaps... you could help me with that?"

He raised a brow. "I dont think that is an option for you right now." At your frown, he explained. "The safest place for a woman like you is here."

"Did you just forget that my face was almost burned off moments ago?"

He chuckled, shaking his hand. "Of course not. But you need to understand that you cannot just up and go without a word, especially after the sultan just gave you a handmade gift, and whether or not it signifies that he's considered you for one of his sons, it does mean that he considers you important. His majesty will not just accept your leave for no reason." Ibrahim leaned forward, clasping his hands. "As for your safety, you can leave that to me. I will make sure no harm befalls you again. I promise."

"But what about the sehzade? The rumours?"

He hummed thoughtfully. "If you're so concerned about that matter, then you should just avoid the princes as much as you can. Keep your niqaab on, continue your lessons with the princess and avoid interacting with people as much as you can."

Well, its not a bad suggestion. If you make yourself scarce and draw less attention to yourself, you can slip out of the palace and leave unnoticed.

"Oh, pasha?" You called him as he stood up to leave. "Can I request you not to tell about this incident to anyone?" You pointed to bruises on your face.

He grinned and nodded. "Of course. But it is not me you should be worried about talking." At your confused face, he chuckled.

"Baris Agha still hasnt returned."

-

Mihirmah and Mehmed were in your room just a few moments after Ibrahim pasha had fetched the bandages from below and treated your wounds, further confirming that Baris was spreading the news about your attack all over the palace.

"Y/n! Who did this to you?" Mihirmah traced the bruises gently as she sat beside you on the bed, while Mehmed sat in front of you, on the seat previously occupied by Ibrahim pasha- just closer this time.

"I dont know." You lied, pulling yourself away from Mihirmah's concerned touches. Oh you're still mad at her.

Your evasiveness didnt go unnoticed by her, as she dropped her hand and her mouth settled into a thin grim line.

"Why did someone attack you? What happened?" Mehmed asked, cutting the tension.

You shrugged. "I dont know." You fiddled with the niqaab in your lap. There's a big bandage on your cheeks, so while you couldnt exactly wear your veil again, you suppose in a way your face was somewhat covered?

"Probably mistook me for someone else. Or just a misunderstanding." You tried to brush this off.

"Still, it shouldnt warrant such a reaction. We should investigate-" Mehmed started but you shook your head.

"Ibrahim pasha is already looking into the matter. He'll take care of it-"

"I am the sehzade. I will look into this personally." Mehmed stated before leaving the room before anyone could stop him. Ah, to be the knight in shinning armour for a distressed damsel.

You and Mihirmah sat alone now. The air in the room was thick, the silence thicker. Mihirmah glanced at your nonchalant face, your eyes fixated on the ground, not caring how uncomfortable the silence was making the princess.

It was clear she had to break the ice.

"Y/n." She called. "Yes, sultana?" You answered, but your eyes still remained on the ground.

Sultana. Not Mihirmah, like she'd allowed you to call her, but sultana.

She pursed her lips. "I..." She paused. What is she supposed to say? Sorry? The word is as foreign to her as it is to any royal.

"I dont like the things you said this morning." She finally stated. "You shouldnt have said those things."

You resisted the urge to scoff. Is she really trying to pin this on you and make you apologise? Entitled brat-

"You're right, sultana. I was out of line. I suggest we should just stick to our lessons and avoid talking about anything else. I'll be careful not to bring up any other topic." You stated monotonously.

Mihirmah frowned. Why are you saying this? Why are you being so difficult?

"Stop it." She warned. You nodded. "As you wish, sultana. I'll arrange another Quran teacher for you." Your words only enraged her further.

"I said- stop it." She ordered but you're hell bent on making her apologise- a dream, but still. You clicked your tongue. "I suppose I'll hand in my resignation to the sultan and explain to His Majesty that it was my fault for being a useless servant who is just not capable- ow!" You finally looked at her in disbelief.

She pinched you. Mihirmah pinched your arm. Hard.

And she had the gall to glare at you, with some anger and remorse in her eyes.

"What did you do that for?" You spat, hissing as you rubbed the area she'd assaulted. There was going to be a bruise, for sure.

Her frown deepened. "You- I told you to stop, didn't I?!" You watched her trying to contain her rage, her body shaking as she tried not to wrangle you by the neck. "I- I dont want you to leave."

"But sultana-" "Mihirmah. You call me Mihirmah." She emphasised.

You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress your smile. "I am just a dispensable servant-" You jumped back when she went to pinch you again.

"Will you stop doing that?!" Your arm still hurt from her first attack. Mihirmah's nostrils flared. "Will you stop acting like a brat?!"

Your throat made a sound of disbelief. "I am acting like a brat?! Have you looked in the mirror recently?"

"Yes and I look very beautiful! Unlike your busted face!"

"Oh so you just get to insult me?" "I am not insulting you! I am DESCRIBING YOU!" She screamed as you glared at her. Mihirmah took a few deep breaths to calm down. "I am not calling you ugly, I was just referring to the bruises on your face. How did you manage to get beat up so badly? Did you not learn anything from my sparring lessons?"

"Sparring lessons? You mean the times where you would flip me on my back or throw me against the wall?" She glared at your accusation. "How is it my fault that you dont fight back?"

Mihirmah's gaze flicked the arm you were holding, the one she'd pinched. "Does it still hurt?" Her voice was much softer this time.

"Would you like me to pinch you back to demonstrate how much it hurt?" You spat back and she scoffed. "I didnt pinch you that hard. You're just sensitive." "Sure, you must only have meaty man fingers." You grumbled as she gasped and smacked your bruised arm, making you hiss.

The two of you glared at each other before Mihirmah wrapped her arms around you and looked up at you with a small pout.

"This doesnt work on me." You muttered, making her grip tighten around you.

"You know you're not a servant." Mihirmah whispered, looking up at you with puppy eyes, but only you knew the real Ronda Rousey in her.

"You're my friend, Y/n. Or the closest thing I have to a sister." "If you were planning on beating up your sister, I'm glad your parents didnt have one."

"Shut up, you're ruining the moment." Mihirmah scolded you. "I dont want you to go. I dont want you to be hurt, either. So just- I'm willing to let things go back to the way they were before this morning, if you are."

You stared down at her. You knew you were never going to get a real apology, Mihirmah was too prideful. You couldnt make her feel ashamed for her actions, or hold her responsible. So, you'll have to make do with this.

"Fine." She broke into a grin and squeezed her arms around you tightly before letting go.

"Now, tell me! Who were these girls who attacked you? I'll skin them with my daggers!" Ignoring her sociopathic tendencies, you shrugged. "I dont know, Mihirmah. I dont know who they were- I'm still new to the palace."

She hummed before her face lit up in realisation. "Wait! Baris Agha did say something about concubines. I'll ask Mehmed too when he returns with more information from Ibrahim pasha!"

-

While you are trying your best to hide the incident about your attack, unbeknownst to you, the news has spread like wildfire in the palace. A maid saw Mehmed entering Ibrahim pasha's office, and when she reported it to her friend, she then told her about how she overheard the eunuchs talking about a fight breaking out between the concubines and someone else, and then someone added that they saw Ibrahim pasha, Mehmed and Mihirmah in your room, so you were involved too. It wasnt long before this news reached Hurrem and Mahidevran, only this time it was more dramatised.

"The concubines tried to kill Hatun Y/n! It was only by pure luck that sehzade Mehmed saved her! And now her wounds are being tended to by Mihirmah sultana while sehzade Mehmed and Ibrahim pasha are punishing the concubines!" Gul, the chamber maid, told Mahidevran.

Mahidevran narrowed her eyes. "Why did they save her? She's just a teacher." The queen didnt understand why the royal children were going through such lengths to get justice for you. Fights in the harem break out all the time.

Gul fumbled with her thumbs, avoiding eye contact with her queen. Mahidevran's frown deepened. "What is it, Gul?"

"I- sultana- I just heard some rumors, its probably not even true-" "Out with it!" Mahidevran snapped.

Gul licked her lips as she spoke. "Um- I overheard that sehzade Mehmed has been... spending a lot of time with Hatun Y/n. Especially after the dinner where Mihirmah sultana recited-"

Mehmed... spending time with you? Why? If he wanted to sleep with you, he could have any girl from the harem. So why you? Why you, a Quran teacher, a conservative girl who covered herself from head to toe? Surely, Mehmed hadnt been bewitched by your physical appearance- not that you had any, in her opinion. And then Suleiman seemed to like you to, so for Mehmed to fancy you would be because-

Mahidevran's eyes widened at the sudden realisation.

"Get me Mustafa. Now!"

-

"Hatun Y/n was attacked by the concubines! Ibrahim pasha saved her and carried her unconscious form to her room!" A maid reported to Hurrem.

"Why was she attacked?" Hurrem asked, bored.

The maid hesitated to answer. "I am not sure, sultana, but the word is that the concubines were jealous of the attention Hatun Y/n was getting from sehzade Mustafa."

Mustafa? No. What possible business could you have with Mustafa? From the past week's events, Hurrem was told that you'd spend most of your time with her daughter, and only moments with Mehmed when he visited his sister.

"Mustafa isnt interested in Y/n." Hurrem stated, more to herself than to refute the maid's claims.

The girl nodded. "I'm only telling you what I heard, sultana. And... I also saw sehzade Mustafa leaving Mahidevran sultana's chambers to visit Hatun Y/n earlier today, just moments before I came here!"

Hurrem halted as she tried to make sense of the information. Mustafa was out all day because of the hunt, he wasnt supposed to return before dinner. Which means, he was fetched, likely by Mahidevran. Who probably informed him about your attack and now he went to check on you.

But why? Even at the dinner the other day, Hurrem didnt detect any sort of affection from Mustafa for you, or you from him. You both barely glanced at each other.

Maybe he's just checking in on you. That's all it is to it.

"How badly was Y/n injured?" Hurrem inquired.

"I didnt get a chance to see her yet, she's been with Mihirmah sultana since the event, but I heard that her unconscious body had to be carried by Ibrahim pasha himself! And- and that he even bandaged her up-"

"Ibrahim pasha?" Hurrem whispered to herself. What business did he have with you? He could've easily had a servant tend to your wounds, so why did he personally do it himself?

Ibrahim. Mustafa. Mahidevran. What are they upto? Hurrem knows Ibrahim doesnt like her, that he favours Mahidevran and Mustafa over her, that he wants Mustafa to be the next sultan-

Hurrem's heart sinks as she pieces it together.

"Get me Mehmed. Now!"

-

Suleiman was having dinner with his family. Both of his families- Mahidevran and Mustafa joined him tonight as well. He was happy to have them together, all well and healthy.

Except... something was off.

Suleiman's gut could sense it. The children were making small talk, his wives as well, but he could tell. There was some sort of tension.

It was Mihirmah that made him finally speak up.

"Mihirmah." He called out the girl who was playing with her food. "You've barely eaten. What's wrong?"

The room immediately fell dead silent, the attention now focusing on Mihirmah.

She smiled nervously, taking a small bite. "I'm fine, baba."

But Suleiman could see that her usual bubbling aura was somewhat depressing. "Mihirmah." He called her name more sternly, and this time, her smile faltered as she finally spilled.

"I'm just worried for Y/n."

Suleiman frowned. And when he looked at everyone else, it was clear that they knew something he wasn't aware of.

"What happened?"

-

Baris Agha was having fun riling you up. "So, you're telling me that both sehzade Mustafa and Mehmed, the two crown princes racing to be the next sultan, are visited you?" He snickered as you shot him a glare. "Can I just suggest you to remove the niqaab for the wedding-"

"Baris! Shut up!" You raged at him. "Dont think I dont know you were the one spreading the lies about-" "Lies? About what? About you being attacked? By concubines who are jealous of your- I dont know, I'm sorry what it is that these men seem to be enraptured with-"

There are hurried, intense knocks on the door. Baris opens the door as a servant stumbles in, out of breath.

"Hatun Y/n! Sultan Suleiman has summoned you! Now!" His tone signified that you're not to waste time.

"Why did he call for me?" You whisper to Baris as the two of you rush down the hallways.

"Perhaps he wants to formally ask you to marry one of his sons-" "Baris!" He grinned. "What? I have a sixth sense-" "YOU HAVE NO SENSE!" You yelled. "Have more sense than you." Baris grumbled.

"Why are you even following me? Dont you have a job?" You wanted him to stop vexing you.

He snorted. "And what? Miss out on all the fun? Besides, you know as the future sultana, you will need me-"

"I swear, as soon as I'm finished meeting the sultan, I am going to throw you off the roof."

The two of you turned the corner leading to the royal dining hall, and you bumped face first into Ibrahim pasha's back, the man catching you by the arms before you fell on your ass.

"P-pasha? What are you doing here?" You asked, backing up once you got your footing.

"Sultan sent for me. What are you doing here?" Ibrahim asked, equally confused.

"He summoned me as well. What do you think its about?" You watched the cogwheels in his mind turn and the realisation dawn on him.

"The attack earlier." He exhaled, closing his eyes as he tried to figure out his next steps. "We cant- you cant tell him the truth!"

"You want me to lie to the sultan?" He rose his brows. "Please, Ibrahim! I- I told Mihirmah and Mehmed and then Mustafa that I didnt know who the attackers were, or why they attacked me! If you tell them the truth-"

"Y/n." He grabbed your shoulders, staring into your worried eyes. "I promised to protect you, didnt I? I intend on keeping my promises."

You both entered the dining room together, bowing to the royal family sitting there.

"Y/n." You looked up at the sultan. "Is it true? Were you attacked?"

You were quiet for a few moments, resisting the urge to glance at Ibrahim to figure what to say, before nodding hesitantly.

"Y-yes, sultan." You trailed your eyes back to the ground. These people, they were warriors. They didnt have any technology back then, and they had to rely on body language to read people.

And you didnt want to risk him catching you in a lie.

"Are you alright?" Suleiman's voice was much softer now. "Did you go to the infirmary?"

"I'm well now, sultan. Thank you for asking." You meekly answered. "I was saved in time, thanks to Ibrahim pasha."

Mahidevran's eyes narrowed at you. Ibrahim saved you? Of course, you'd lie about that, so that no one would suspect you and Mehmed getting close. She thought to herself.

"Ah, Ibrahim pasha." Suleiman's voice turned serious. "You were the one who saved Y/n?"

"Yes, sultan." Ibrahim confirmed.

"And you have the attackers in custody?"

"Yes, sultan."

Suleiman slammed his fist on the table, rattling everyone. "Then why the hell wasnt I informed of it?!" Ibrahim kept his head down as the sultan continued to rage. "Why does everyone seem to be aware of this matter, except me?! Answer me, Ibrahim!"

Hurrem couldnt help the smile that curled on her lips. She was glad to see Ibrahim getting in trouble, perhaps Suleiman will finally get rid of him for once and for all-

"It's my fault, your majesty!" You announced suddenly, and everyone's focus shifted to you. "I- I was- I was shaken up from the attack and I- I made the pasha stay with me. I was too scared- I didnt think I was safe- so Ibrahim pasha left to make arrangements to assure me I was safe! He was busy because of me. I'm sorry! If- if anyone should be punished, it should be me!"

You held your hands together tightly to stop them from trembling. The room fell silent at your explanation, with you and Ibrahim holding your breaths.

"Is this true, Ibrahim?" Suleiman broke the silence.

"Yes, my sultan." Ibrahim answered. "After I had saved Hatun Y/n, I wanted to assure her of her safety, so I was busy interrogating the concubines who attacked her. After they confessed, I wanted to check if anyone else in the harem had any ill intentions for Hatun Y/n, so I was engaged in checking everyone who could be a possible threat. I was on my way to inform you, but you summoned me before I could."

"Concubines? Why did they attack Y/n?" Suleiman asked, wanting to know the result of his interrogation.

Ibrahim answered without missing a beat. "They were jealous of Hatun Y/n's bracelet." You looked at him but the pasha kept his eyes ahead at the sultan. "From what I gathered, Hatun Y/n refused to give up His Majesty's handmade gift, and when she put up a fight to defend your present, she was subjected to a harsh beating and had her face almost burned."

Suleiman's eyes widened. "Burned? Because of a bracelet?"

"It was what the bracelet represented, my sultan." Ibrahim's statement made your heart sink. He better not tell him about the "daughter-in-law" theory.

"The concubines think that you... favour Y/n over them." Ibrahim's words set fire to your cheeks and you had to bite your lip to suppress the gasp you almost let out.

Ibrahim decided to change the "daughter-in-law" theory to "3rd wife/bedwarmer theory".

"What rubbish?!" Suleiman slammed his fist on the table again, and perhaps everyone in the room was silently grateful for his rage and disbelief, as it disapproved the theory and quelled any future rumours. "I only see Y/n as my daughter, nothing else! How dare they slander me like that?! How dare they hurt someone I care about?! Ibrahim, execute those wretched concubines!"

Your eyes widened at the order. Preventing their death sentence was the only reason you lied and kept this charade up. You cant risk more people dying and history changing forever because of you!

"Y-your majesty!" You fell to your knees, your voice wet. "I- I beg you- I beg you on the behalf of the concubines, please- have mercy!"

Everyone watched in surprise as you cried for mercy for... your attackers?

"You... want me to forgive them? Despite what they did to you?" Suleiman asked, watching in disbelief at your tears wetting your niqaab.

"It- it was wrong- but please, they're just- they're just young girls. They made a mistake, they shouldnt pay with their lives!" You tried to come up with better reasoning. Aha!

"Sultan, I- we are Muslims. You are a role model for Muslims all over the world right now- but you have a role model as well- someone you havent met or seen, but you follow his advices and footsteps every day. Its Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)- and- and he advices us to be forgiving and merciful." Ibrahim watched you try to persuade the king.

"On the Day of Judgement, when we beg and grovel Allah for forgiveness, would He not forgive us happily if we show mercy to His creatures? If we forgive His mankind?" You pleaded and Suleiman was touched by your words, so-much-so that he walked over to you and pulled you by your shoulders before pressing a kiss to your veiled forehead.

"You're too kind, Y/n." He whispered, before nodding at Ibrahim. "Dont kill the concubines. But find a fitting punishment for them, Ibrahim." The pasha bowed his head obediently.

"And find Y/n her personal chambers in the royal wing." Suleiman stated, making everyone surprised.

No. Room in the royal wing only meant more contact with the royals themselves. This was the last thing you needed-

"Your majesty-" He held up a hand. "Dont protest, Y/n. You were hurt because of my present and while I appreciate that you defended it, I do not wish to see you hurt. Ibrahim, find her a room and shift her there by tonight. And assign a few guards and servants to Y/n as well. I dont want her to feel unsafe again." Suleiman looked at Ibrahim with a serious expression. "I trust her in your hands, Ibrahim."

"Of course, your majesty." Ibrahim nodded.

Suleiman looked back at you, a gentle smile on his face. "I would like you to join us for dinners now." He gently pushed your back and Mahidevran immediately scooted a bit closer to Suleiman's seat and patted the space beside her... and next to Mustafa.

Hurrem glared at the blatant display of intentions- Mahidevran showed her "generosity and humbleness" by letting you sit next to her to please Suleiman, and also make you sit next to her son to get close with.

At this moment, both queens are under the impression that Suleiman wants you to be his future daughter-in-law, so both women think that the other is making her son court you because the first one to marry you will produce a heir, further legitimising the prince's claim to the throne and becoming the next sultan, especially since Suleiman views you to be the perfect, pious woman who would be the perfect mother for his grandkids.

The only difference is- Mahidevran wants you to be Mustafa's spouse, not because she thinks you're a good match for her perfect son, but because she wants to speed up Mustafa's claim to the throne. She knows Suleiman prefers Hurrem over her (Hurrem's five kids are proof of that), and since she has no child other than Mustafa, Mahidevran is at disadvantage and she needs every advantage she can get, no matter how savoury it is- like you.

Hurrem on the other hand, does not want you as her Mehmed's spouse, because you're not what she had in mind for her precious son. She wants someone soft, demure, submissive, beautiful and more importantly- someone she can control. But she also knows what game Mahidevran is playing, and since Hurrem doesnt want Mustafa trying to steal the throne from Mehmed, Hurrem will have to just- get rid of you.

-

"So... the sultan just said that outloud?" Baris ate a date from the fancy table in your brand new chambers. "He just announced that you're his "daughter" to everyone?" He heard you groan a yes from your place on the bed- face buried in the pillows.

"And Mahidevran sultana made you sit between her and sehzade Mustafa?" He heard you groan another "yes".

Baris plopped down next to you. "So you're marrying Mustafa. Huh, didnt bet on that-"

"You bet on this?" You asked miserably, finally pulling your head up. "Of course, need to make money. Unlike you, not everyone has the oppurtunity to marry into royalty-"

You smack a pillow right across his face. "If I hear you talk about marriage again, I will strangle you."

Baris rolled his eyes, fixing his hair that you'd messed up. "I dont know why you're so upset. Did you want to sit next to Mehmed instead? If so, maybe I can still win the bet-"

"I dont want either of them!" You stated frustratedly, sitting up. "Do you not get it- I dont want to be a part of royalty! They're- they're all mad! My life would be in constant threat- from jealous concubines, possessive mother-in-laws, throne hungry princes. I dont want that!"

"Is it because you want Ibrahim pasha?"

You blinked at him. What? "What?"

Baris rubbed his chin. "Oh come on, I saw the way you two looked at each other before you entered the dining room- how the pasha promised to protect you, even from the sultan's wrath."

"Are you like- fishing for anything? For fun?" You shake your head at him.

Baris gave you a look. "Really? What about you going in and lying to protect him? He didnt even say anything before you took the chance to save him."

"I saved him because it was the right thing to do! Not because I love him!" You exclaimed, throwing your hand in the air. "If this is how you think, please- PLEASE resist the urge to ever help me! I dont want a proposal coming from you just because you saved me from choking."

Baris glared at you. "First of all- I'm never going to be as blind as the sehzade when it comes to love. Secondly, you'd be lucky to have me as a husband. At least your offspring will have a chance at looking somewhat normal-" You lunged at him and put him in a chokehold while Baris grabbed at your hijaab covered head to pull you off.

Your fighting match is brought to a halt as someone knocks on the door.

Mustafa stands outside your door, surprised to see Baris looking slightly disheveled when he opened your door.

"Baris? What are you doing here?" Mustafa asked, watching the eunuch fix his collar.

"Ah sehzade! Oh I was just helping Hatun Y/n adjust to her room. Shift her things in here." Baris faked a smile.

Mustafa nodded before lowering his voice. "Is she awake?"

"Yes yes- please come in." Mustafa walked inside just as you appeared out of the wooden divider screen, adjusting your niqaab.

"Sehzade." You gave him a courtesy. "How may I help you?"

Mustafa gave you a gentle smile, his moustache quirking up handsomely. "I would like to ask you to spend the day with me tomorrow."

You froze, and you didnt dare look at Baris who you knew was sporting a smug look because you didnt want to throw your shoe at his face in front of the prince.

"I- I think I am busy with Mihrimah sultana tomorrow-"

"No, I asked her. She said she's happy to skip her lessons for tomorrow." Mustafa cut your excuse. "I'll come by after breakfast. Good night, Y/n."

-

Even though Mustafa said he'll see you after breakfast, which for royals was just an hour before noon, you were woken up by Baris at the ass crack of dawn.

"Baris! What the hell?" You glared at him when he yanked the covers off you. Baris grinned at you. "As much as I'd like to believe in beauty sleep, its so not helping in your case. Come on, you need a bath and a lot of other stuff!"

He'd brought fine silk gowns and matching niqaabs (which you insisted on wearing despite Baris voicing his displeasure).

Currently, one of the maids had just finished doing your eye makeup- which in this case was kohl, and some dried berries crushed to a fine powder to make a rouge sort of shade.

"Since your eyes may be the only thing the prince sees, we need to make them bewitching!" Baris had commented before spraying you down with a lot of perfume.

"That's enough!" You push the bottle away as you coughed at the musky, earthy perfume. "Isnt that for men?" You ask coughing.

Baris's grin only widened. "Its sehzade Mustafa's favourite attar! I had to bribe his chamber servant to tell me this. And you my darling-" He sprayed you again. "-need to smell like him so that he thinks you two are a perfect fit!"

"That is literally the stupidest thing I've heard-" your insult is cut short as your vision is blinded by Baris flipping up your veil to reveal your lower half of the face and him applying some crushed berries juice to your lips.

"Just in case you have a change of morals and want to kiss the prince." He jumped back when you tried to slap him.

Soon, Mustafa came to fetch you. You two were currently walking through the royal gardens, with you giving curt answers so that he would lose interest in you and leave you alone.

Your dismissal didnt go unnoticed by him. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"Read." You answer looking at the well cut hedges. "Have you been to the royal library?" He looks down at you, finding you gazing at the flowers. "Yes. I've already read all of the books there." In college, of course.

"All of them?" His disbelief makes you look at him. Finally. Mustafa thinks.

"Of course." You answer, offended.

"Even the royal ancestry book?" Mustafa raises a brow at you.

"Yes." Your brows furrow. "Ask me anything."

He shakes his head and chuckles. "I doubt you know more about my ancestors than me."

When he looked back at you, you were still looking at him expectantly.

"Ask me."

Mustafa's curiosity got the best of him at your determination.

"This is- this is incredible." Mustafa commented, his eyes wide as he looked at the ancestry book from where he basically quizzed you. He didnt know he was talking to a historian who had pulled all nighters for pretty much every major empire for finals.

"How did you learn all of this?" He asks you, still double checking your answers.

"Oh... I have good memory." You mutter, making him shake his head at you with an amusing smile.

"Of course, I should've figured. You're a hafidha, you're passionate for learning." And passionate for making money in trivias.

Mustafa closes the book. "So, since you've read every book in here, I suppose you must be bored?" He doesnt wait for an answer when an idea pops in his mind. "Come on, lets go."

You follow him, trying to keep up with his fast pace. "Go where?"

"To get you new books." He looks over his shoulder and gives you charming grin.

Your steps falter. New books? "We're leaving the palace?" He hums.

You havent left the palace since you came here, mostly because you havent been able to leave.

You match his pace. "Lets go!" And Mustafa finally sees you excited for the first time today.

With a few Janissaries and some disguise, you all head out into Istanbul. You're looking around the city like a kid in a candy store, only you're looking for a something or someone to help you fix your time machine.

The market comes into view along with the sound of hawkers trying to attract customers. Of course, the only shopkeeper who wasnt yelling was the blacksmith, allowing his hammer to garner the attention of serious clients.

He could be of use. If you're able to find some tools, maybe even get some metal films, you could try to spark a charge and trigger the time machine to work.

You start to take a few steps towards him when Mustafa grabs your shoulder and pulls you back to him. "Where are you going? Stay close to me. I dont want to lose you." He tells you, almost in a chiding tone, but his hands carefully pulling your robes around you said otherwise.

He lead you towards a bookshop. Mustafa nodded at you to go ahead, explore and get any book you want. He'll buy it.

While you were busy browsing, Mustafa couldnt help but steal glances at you. He didnt understand why he was doing this- he couldnt really see your face, or anything except for your eyes.

Your eyes, they were pretty but its not their beauty that really captivates him. Its the swirl of emotions in them. The mystery in them, like there's... more to you. Like you're hiding something.

Perhaps it was your mannerisms. Your dismissive nature, your tendency to not be impressed easily by their eccentricities or status, almost as if you've lived with royalty before.

Maybe he likes how different you treat him him. How you dont bend over backwards to please his family, or try to pursue him or his brothers. In fact, you almost seem to be avoiding them altogether.

You intrigue him. Badly. Amusingly. Adorably.

-

"I dont understand! Where could she have gone?" Mihirmah whined to her brother at lunch. Mehmed only raised a brow. "Who? Y/n? She might be in her room recovering from yesterday's events. She was pretty shaken up-"

"I already checked! She's not there!" Mihirmah sighed before laying her head in his lap, and he began patting her hair. "She went out with Mustafa but she still hasnt returned! Its lunch time and I planned on teaching her sword fight! For self defense, you know- so that she doesnt get beat up like last time."

Mehmed's hand stopped patting. "She's with Mustafa?"

She nodded. "Since morning!"

"Huh." Mihirmah sat up, looking at her brother puzzled.

"What? What is it?" She asked him.

"Nothing." He faked a smile, but Mihirmah knew him like the back of her hand. "Mehmed. Tell me."

"I just... dont understand why Mustafa is spending time with her." He stated, standing up to walk to the balcony. "She's your teacher. What business does Mustafa have with her?"

Mihirmah watched her brother stiffen suddenly, watched the way his jaw ticked as he looked down the balcony. She stood up and joined him, following his gaze to see what he was looking at.

Its you. And Mustafa. Finally returning to the palace, servants holding piles of books following behind you two. What's even more bizarre is to see Mustafa smiling down at you while you giggled, covering your mouth despite the niqaab, making you look even more bashful.

Even Mihirmah hadnt ever seen you so joyful, and yet here you are- laughing so gleefully with her eldest brother. Step brother.

It rubbed her off the wrong way.

"You want her?" She asked him, her voice so hollow that it made Mehmed look at her.

"What?"

Mihirmah looked at him, her eyes stern. "Do. You. Want. Her?"

Unwavering determination. Thats what he saw in his sister's face.

Say the word, and it'll be done.

Mehmed stared at her.

"Yes."

-

"I hope you had a good time." Mustafa asked you as he walked you to your chambers. You nodded. "I did. Thank you, sehzade." Despite your best attempts at dismissing him, Mustafa was very persistent at breaking down your walls. And sure, part of you giggled and pretended to be flustered at his words, you mainly acted cordial so that he may take you out of the palace more often. He was your only way out at the moment.

You both stopped outside your door, the servants walking past you to place your books inside. Mustafa looked satisfied.

"If you ever need to go outside again, feel free to come to me, Y/n." He offered, before taking out a small box from his pocket and handing it to you.

Your heart dropped. A ring? Now? This fast? No no no no no-

You opened the box and you felt life returning back to you. It was a gold broach adorned with rubies and a diamond in the center, encaged in an intricate heart pattern.

"I may not share my father's gift of handcrafting jewels, but I do happen to be skilled at acquiring precious jewels on my conquests." Mustafa informed you as he took the broach from the box and looked at you for permission before pinning it to your hijab, just below your collar bone.

You were too stunned to stop him or even turn down the gift, though Mustafa took your silence as awe.

He adjusted the broach.

"Perfect." He whispered, looking into your eyes.

You watched him leave with a grin, finally able to breathe when he was out of sight.

With a sigh, you enter your chambers, half expecting Baris to be sprawled over your bed waiting to tease you for details on your outing.

What you werent expecting was... her.

"Did you have fun?" The sultana asked, her eyes sharp. "I've been waiting for you, Y/n. Lets have a chat, hm?"

Shit.

-

"You're abnormal." Your hands stop adjusting your hijab as you glare at him through the mirror.

"What?"

Baris tilted his head. "You're abnormal." He repeated.

You turn around from the vanity and glare at him. "Is this another way of calling me ugly?"

"Tch. No, I have words for that." He shook his head. "I meant, you've been acting weird since yesterday, after you returned from your secret outing with sehzade Mustafa."

"You're imagining things." You mumble, turning back to the vanity mirror and picking up the broach Mustafa gave you.

Baris scoffed. "I am not. I may have been busy with the younger royal kids yesterday, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of you giggling and blushing when you returned with the prince." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So that means, the day went good. Something happened on the way to your chambers." He narrowed his eyes at you. "Did you kiss him?"

You whipped your head. "Baris!" He palmed his face. "Sorry, I forgot you're the religious prude. Did he kiss you?"

"No, Baris! No one kissed anyone." You began pinning the broach to your hijab, the same area where Mustafa had placed it yesterday. But you werent able to, too frustrated at the interrogation.

Baris grabbed the broach from you and pinned it in place. "So, you two didnt kiss, bought you enough books to make a you a scholar, and gifted you this broach, and you're disturbed because...?"

You frowned. "I am not disturbed. You're just reading too much into this."

"Fine, dont tell me. I'll find out on my own." You walked past him to teach your Quran lesson.

As much as you'd like to think that you're sly, Baris is right. Something did happen. After you'd returned to your room, you were met there by Mahidevran sultana.

You were reasonably scared because you thought that she's here to torture you or even kill you because you've been "seducing Mustafa" or whatever rumour Baris has spread about you.

But you were surprised when she told you that she wants you and Mustafa together, in marriage. As soon as possible. For the next half hour, Mahidevran basically told you all about the likes and dislikes of her son so that you would accustom yourself to them and then emphasised how supportive she would be of you to be her daughter-in-law. She even encouraged you to... sleep with him, she didnt say it directly but you got the meaning behind her words.

At the end of her lecture, she warned you to not spend time with Hurrem or any of her offsprings, besides Mihirmah because you are her teacher and even then told you to keep your interaction strictly formal and minimum.

When she was about to leave, she spotted the broach on your clavicle and beamed, almost proudly so. When you confirmed that Mustafa gave it to you, and started to take it off to return it to her, she stopped you and told you to wear it everyday. EVERYDAY.

"My son has given you something. You should be honoured. Cherish it." Mahidevran ordered.

The main reason you didnt tell Baris about Mahidevran and her confusing but threatening demands to court Mustafa was because of Baris's blabber mouth that couldnt hold a secret if his life depended on it.

And you have enough on your plate as it is.

You enter Mihirmah's chambers, bowing as you spot her.

"Ah! Welcome! Sit, sit!" Mihirmah pats down the seat next to her and you're slightly suspicious of her energy.

She's upto something.

You sit down beside her, opening the Quran. "I think we should start with-" She closed the book in your hands.

"In a minute. Lets talk first, hm?" She smiled at you. "How was your day off yesterday? Well rested?"

Your shoulders sag slightly. Of course, she wants to know about your day out with Mustafa. Baris probably blabbered something to spark her curiosity like this.

"Yes. A much needed break. Quite refreshing." You tell her, purposely keeping away from the details, lest she gets the wrong idea again and accuses you of whoring around your "ugly self" to her brother.

"Mmhm. Had fun with Mustafa?" Her sharp tone made you look at her.

Is she implying something?

"The prince was kind enough to get me some books." You told her cautiously, trying to ease the tension. "I think you'd like some of them-"

"Mustafa sleeps around." You blinked at her. What were you supposed to do with this unsolicited information.

"Okay...?"

She shrugged, picking up her cup of tea. "I'm just saying- he's been with a lot of women. The other day I was reading a verse from Quran where it mentioned adultery. Then I realised- thats what Mustafa is. An adulterer."

"You read Quran without me making you-"

"Mustafa is an adulterer, Y/n. Allah will not forgive him. He's doomed for hell."

"Actually, if he repents sincerely-"

"He's doomed, Y/n. Doomed." She reiterated.

"By that logic, so are most of your ancestors. I think most men, kings and princes commit adultery-"

"Mehmed doesnt." She stared at you. "He's never slept with anyone. He's a good Muslim man. Allah will be pleased with him."

What is going on here? "Um... okay. That's great news for sehzade Mehmed."

"And for you." Mihirmah announced. "You are the lucky one."

"What?"

She let out a sigh of frustration, as if she has to state the obvious. "Mehmed likes you- no, he loves you-" "Loves me?" "Shh! I'm still talking. You have caught his eye for some reason, so you should end whatever it is that you have with Mustafa and be loyal to my brother."

The room was silent, the two of you staring at each other- you, in confusion. Mihirmah, in determination.

A crow croaked outside.

"First of all, I have nothing going on with sehzade Mustafa. Secondly, Mehmed said he loves me?" You asked while trying not to show resentment.

Mihirmah scoffed. "He doesnt have to say it, I know it."

Your tension deflates to some extent. Okay, so she's just making up stuff. This can be handled.

"Mihirmah, I understand how-" you resist the urge to roll your eyes "-you may think Mehmed may be attracted to me, I am honoured, really. But I can assure you, Mehmed does not love me."

"No, I love you." Your head whips around at the sound of his voice.

Mehmed. He's standing behind you.

"Sehzade-" you begin standing up to bow to him, but he holds up a hand.

"Mihirmah's right. I love you." Mihirmah beamed proudly at standing correct.

Your eyes could only widen in horror as Mehmed sank down to sit right beside you, and with Mihirmah on your other side, you were trapped between the siblings.

"I. Love. You." Mehmed repeated, his hazel eyes staring into yours.

After several moments of silence, a crow croaked again. Mihirmah nudged you to say something.

"Um-" You cleared your throat. "Ugh... thank you."

Mehmed's brows shot up in surprise while Mihirmah broke into a fit of laughter.

"Thank... you?" Mehmed asked, and you would've thought he was mad if it werent for the amused smile on his face.

Mihirmah continued to laugh, and you had to look back at her to make her stop. "I-I'm sorry, Mehmed- this was- this was just too funny. I mean, she has a prince, the next heir of the empire confess her love and all she says is "thank you"?" She said, chuckling as she wiped the tear from her eye.

Mehmed glared at her playfully. "Well, maybe she's just shy around you." Why are they talking about you like you're not right there?

Mihirmah hummed, then nodded. "Perhaps you're right. I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. I have to do something-"

"What? Why? You dont have anything to do." You stopped her from standing up. You dont want to be alone with Mehmed.

"I do!" She narrowed her eyes at you.

"Like what?"

"Like-" her eyes zeroed in on your broach. "-pretty. Mustafa gave it?"

"Yes-" you yelped as she grabbed it and pulled it off you, ripping the niqaab it was pinned with along.

"Mihirmah!" Mehmed yelled at her, his eyes stern. You could only stare at her in disbelief before turning away from Mehmed to hide your bare face now.

"Oops! I'm sorry Y/n! I'll go get you a new niqaab- this one is all torn!" She said without an ounce of remorse before leaving the room.

Mehmed shakes his head as he watched her leave, before turning his attention to you- or well, your back.

"Y/n?" He called out to you softly. "I'm sorry for Mihirmah. She... she doesnt mean you any harm. She's just- she sometimes doesnt realise how hurtful her actions can be when she's trying to help someone."

When you didnt reply, Mehmed grew slightly worried. "Y/n?" He sighed when you didnt reply. An idea popped in his head as he looked around the room before looking down.

You heard the sound of cloth ripping, your heart dropping as you assumed the worst. He wasnt going to-

Your head turned around just as Mehmed's hands encircled around your head, a red cloth blocking your view of him.

"Mehmed?" You whispered, scared. His frozen hands seemed to snap out of it and began encircling round your head, the red cloth in his grip brought closer to your face. Thats when your eyes landed on the bottom of his red shirt (kemis). It was ripped.

Mehmed had torn his shirt to make a niqaab for you.

His eyes were focused on tying the makeshift veil, securing it before they landed on you.

"Y/n?" He called your name gently again, his concern growing at the sight of tears pooling in your eyes. He softly sighed as a his hand reached up to wipe a tear that escaped your eye.

"You're that scared of me?" After a few moments, you sniffled as more tears escaped your eyes and you shook your head. "Then?" When you didnt reply, or couldnt as you continued to cry mutely, he took it as a sign that you were humiliated because of Mihirmah removing your veil.

He took a deep breath and cupped your face gingerly before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

"My mind is occupied by you. I think about you all the time. Perhaps...I only think about you, moon." He wiped another tear with his thumb. "I love you, my moon. I fear I... I love you too much. My heart holds so much love for you, I can hardly call it my own anymore." He then kissed your teary eyes one by one.

"I know you... you dont love me yet, but one day, when you find yourself being generous, I want you to be the one holding my heart in your hands. Its yours, moon. Yours."

-

Baris waited with a few guards and servants outside Mihirmah's room, when Mehmed left the room with a satisfied smiled on his face. Baris noted the bottom of his torn shirt but before he could comment on it, Mehmed asked him where Mihirmah was.

"She went to see sehzade Mustafa. Shall I fetch her?" Mehmed waved him off, saying he'll go get her himself, after all- Mihirmah still had to finish her lesson with you.

Mehmed had just turned around the corner when you came out of the room.

"Y/n-" Baris called out to you but you sped past him, and he didnt chase after you when he saw your red eyes.

He'll tease you later, when you're not so sad. For now, he has to report the sight of this to someone.

-

Even if Mihirmah hadnt bumped into Mustafa and proudly showed off the broach he'd gifted you, the news would've still somehow made its way to him by the servants whispers.

"Oh this broach? Its pretty, isnt it?" Mihirmah smirked, showing it off to Mustafa. "Y/n gave it to me."

"She... gave it to you?" His gift. You gave it away?

She nodded. "Mmhm. She said it wasnt that precious to her, so she gave it. She was going to throw it away, but it went well with my dress so I took it."

You were going to discard his gift? Just like that?

"Mihirmah. There you are." Mehmed walked over to her. "Mustafa." He greeted his brother.

"Mehmed." He looked at his shirt. "What happened to your shirt?"

Mehmed grinned. "Nothing." He then looked at Mihirmah. "Come on, Y/n is waiting for you. I talked to her."

Mustafa could only watch the two siblings beam at each other as the taste in his mouth soured.

His broach. Torn shirt. Mehmed "talked" to you.

Mahidevran could feel her blood boil at the complaints Mustafa brought to her. Even if he didnt, the maids she'd hired to spy on you had already reported of everything they'd witnessed. You and Mehmed alone in Mihirmah's room.

Did you not understand a single word she said? Does she need to give you a more stern warning this time?

"Hurrem must've put them upto this." She muttered, before her gaze flickered to her worried son. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dont worry, Mustafa. I will fix this. You focus on Y/n, hm? You deserve her, my lion."

So? How was it?

Part 10 is here!

[nervoussagittarius]

to win or not to win

chris sturniolo x reader

summary: chris and his girlfriend do a twitch stream together and compete at who’s the better fortnite player, request

warnings: fluffy, language

it wasn’t unusual for you and chris to get into friendly competitions. most of them ended in a temper tantrum from one of you, but they were innocent nonetheless.

todays topic of discussion was ‘whos the better fortnite player’. although chris had been playing for a significant amount of time longer than you, you were sure you could hold your own. especially, because chris was the one to teach you how to play.

you both we’re confident in your skills, so the only logical way to decide was to take it to twitch and let the viewers watch the showdown.

“okay guys so here’s what’s happening today. y/n and i are having the fortnite championship and you guys are here to witness” chris said as he took the seat next to you. a very serious look was etched on his face

you looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a look that said ‘really?’

“while we wait for mr. dramatic to calm down i’ll tell you why we’re really here. chris thinks he’s better at fortnite then me.” you said. there was a slight pause before both of you broke into laughter and fell into eachother.

you continued as chris placed his head on your shoulder and watched the chat, “i don’t think chris is better a fortnite then me. so we’re gonna play a few rounds and see who has the best outcomes.”

“yeah so basically we’re gonna be playing 3 rounds, and when we finish we’re going to see who had the overall higher placings.” chris explained.

“that’s quite literally what i just said. thank you for repeating me, love”

“that’s quite literally what i just fucking said” chris mimicked as he poked your side to agitate you.

“stop it” you said giggling, trying to slap his hand away from you.

chris had the split screen set up on his pc. it was a tight fit but you guys were going to make it work. this argument needed to be settled.

the first two games went smoothly. trash talk was being thrown and so were elbows. you both didn’t mind playing dirty. lines had been crossed to many times to count, but it was all in fun.

“it all comes down to this, ma. so far we each have a first and second place finish” chris said cracking his knuckles. no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t intimidating anyone.

the game went smoothly for a while. you were both able to get through with out any scratches. it was down to the last ten when chris noticed you leg start bouncing in anticipation and nervousness.

as much as chris hated to admit it, he didn’t want to see you lose. he loved seeing how excited you got whenever you win a competition between the two of you, and this was a game chris was willing to throw.

chris looked at you, then at the game before him, then back at you. he could see the distress on your face and he hated it.

“dude i don’t even fucking know where these guys are coming from!” you exclaimed as you started firing random shots to try to hit someone.

you guys were now in the final four. chris made his way over to your character and quickly took out one on the guys shooting at you. you were able to get the other one out not long after that.

“oh fuck chris. please don’t shoot. please don’t shoot. please” you repeat over and over as you tried to get the perfect aim on chris’s player. without warning chris pretended to fumble his controller, dropping it to the ground.

“oh shit!”

this gave you the perfect opportunity to kill chris’s character and win the game and the overall competition between the two of you.

“yes!” you yelled as you threw your arms up and jumped out of your chair.

“oh my fuck. no chance. i just fucking won.”

you did a celebratory lap around chris’s room. chris winked at the camera and held his finger up to his lips telling the chat to not spoil the fact that she is let you win. when you made it back to him you held his face in your hands.

he looked up at you as you said, “you we’re good. simply just not good enough.” you leaned down to place a short peck on his lips and held out your hand for him to shake. he instead grabbed your hand pulling you down to sit on his lap.

“you know chris, me winning really just proves how good you are at fortnite because you taught me everything i know”

chris groaned in joking frustration as he nuzzled his head into the crook of you neck. he placed soft kisses around the area as you watched the chat congratulate your win.

chris finally picked his head up, “thank you guys so much for watching me get my ass kicked by my girlfriend i-”

“kinky.” you interrupted.

“okay that’s it” chris stood up, picking you up by your waist at the same time. he walked over to his bed and gently threw you down. swiftly, he ran back over to his desk chair, taking a seat.

“as i was saying, thanks for watching and we’ll see you again soon”

“bye!” you said blowing a kiss to the camera.

an: this one’s cute. i didn’t want it to seem identical to matt’s so i hope y’all enjoy it🤍

[yoongihan]

You Left A Mark - LYB - OneShot

pairing: felix x female reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

romantic trope: soulmates (inspiration from this reel)

word count: 10k

rating: M for smut, a little language

warnings: cursing, penetrative sex (unprotected), kissing, cuddling, so much touching but it's FELIX, an excessive amount of felix admiration, mc is a reporter and i make up all of that because i know nothing, ages are never mentioned but felix is a few years younger than mc, mc is shorter than felix, silly use of skz song titles for the names of venues. i can't think of anything else that might need a headsup, please let me know if i've missed something.

a/n: fic #2 in skz as romantic tropes collab with @jl-micasea-fics. the soulmate trope i use is one i encountered here (it's a great fic and i'd highly recommend it) and i have no idea if it originated anywhere else. don't click if you don't want to be spoiled, my fic explains how it works about half way through.

--

It was, in appearance, just another work day like any other. 

In truth, just another work day tended to be not like any other work day as your job entailed reporting the news, which means you could be anywhere in the city in any kind of situation. Your job probably seems exciting to the regular person, but more often than not, it’s dealing with the news anchors’ larger than life egos and your producer not allowing you to cover much more than fluff pieces. 

You like fluff pieces, you do. The world is a big hot mess of negativity and darkness and reporting on a child who saved a hamster is definitely a small bright light in that void. But you also care about the dark things, the horrors big and small that need to be announced so that maybe someone can do something about them. 

But you aren’t there yet. According to your boss and her boss. You are still growing as a reporter, as a television personality (wtf?), and the latest showdown at the courthouse is to be covered by seasoned professionals.

Not little you and your four years of effort and hard work (not even counting the internship). 

But you digress. 

You’re in front of the newest coffeehouse in one of the smaller neighborhoods. Taste is the simple name and it looks more like a sleek, modern cocktail bar than a cozy coffee shop. Austere and intimidating if you aren’t someone who can look put together (which you often aren’t).

“So for those interested in a new type of caffeine experience,” You start to close your segment after speaking with the owner and manager. “This place is definitely for you. The coffee mocktails themselves would require multiple visits before you try them all. So come by and have a ‘Taste.’” You smile as brightly as you can despite the cringe-worthy pun, but before your cameraman (one of your favorite humans on the planet, Chan) can call cut, you are bowled into by someone running past. 

Part of your professional attire sometimes includes heels and as it is a particularly nice day that doesn’t require too much traversing, you wear heels. Which give no stability when being bumped by someone careening down the street. 

“Hey!” you hear Chan say but you can only concentrate on trying to keep upright (a losing battle) and you hold onto the microphone because compared to your body, the mic will cost more to replace.

But you don’t fall. You don’t feel the hard smack of the concrete against your skin. 

Hands are wrapped around your upper arms, grip firm and steady.

“You okay?” 

You try to regain your balance, find your footing in these insensible but pretty heels. “I’m okay, I'm fine.” You turn your head to see your would-be rescuer and have to blink a few times. 

Okay, freckles.

He smiles. This guy of probably mid-twenties, warm russet eyes, with black hair is smiling at you once you’re standing on your own merit. He releases you, but not without a quick pat as though to say ‘there you go, you got it’. 

“Thank you.”

His cheeks redden. “Oh, um, you’re welcome.” There’s an accent to his words, but you’re still rather gobsmacked by the entire exchange to place it.

“You alright?” Chan has moved to the both of you, eyes quickly inspecting you as though you might hide any injuries even though you didn’t fall. “It was some kid.”

There’s a deep sigh from your rescuer. “Yeah, he stole some of the chocolates we keep by the POS.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I…well, it’s just chocolate.” His smile is less brilliant and more sheepish. “He probably needed it.”

“Chocolate is not a necessity,” you reply immediately, but then pause and rethink your words.

“It might be.” He smiles again. “It’s pretty good chocolate.”

You shrug. “That’s fair…wait, we caught a crime on camera?” you ask Chan. “Amazing.” You brush yourself off even though you really aren’t covered in debris because again, you didn’t actually fall. But this guy’s attention is throwing you off just a bit.  

“I caught you nearly falling on your face,” Chan says before laughing at your glare. “I’ll edit it out.”

“Whatever,” You aren’t really annoyed because it’s Chan and you did nearly fall on your face. “Thank you, again, Mr….”

“I’m Felix,” your rescuer says. “I work here.” He reaches out to move a wayward piece of your hair out of your eyes, his finger brushing along your cheekbone. It makes you pause in your attempt at gratitude because you’re not really bothered. Like he’s a stranger and is touching you and you don’t mind? Because he has a nice, sweet face? “Sorry, you had some hair…”

You can sense Chan moving away, packing up the camera, leaving you relatively alone with this person. 

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” You stutter a little because you’re off your game. “Felix. At some point, I owe you a drink.” 

“Oh no, it’s not a–”

“I owe you a drink.” You smile, though it’s your television smile because you need to be professional even if you feel the least professional. “Even if it’s just a coffee.” You gesture to Taste. “If you want.”

The smile returns in full. “Yeah, okay. I’m here most days.” His lips part like he might say more, but he doesn’t. Nor do you. 

It’s nice just looking at him. The sun-warmed skin that contrasts with the inky black of his hair and eyebrows. He’s taller than you, but there’s no intimidation factor in the difference. He feels like someone you could meet anywhere and approach without worry.

You bet he gets great tips as a barista. Imagine walking in to get a coffee and that luminescent smile. 

You hear Chan call your name in an attempt to get you to head back to the studio. It shakes you out of the strange reverie this stunning, deep-voiced person has you in. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you.”

He waves as you walk away before tucking his hands into his back pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. It’s now that you notice that he wears the half-apron other employees were wearing, black pants and emerald shirt (a t-shirt, but like a really nice one). You glance back once you’re in the news van with Chan who chuckles.

“Isn’t he a bit young for you?”

You look back at the road and huff. “Aren’t you a little too interested?” You grab a granola bar out of your bag and take a bite, sighing happily. 

“Not at all. I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that though.”

“God, he’s cute, alright. And saved my job because I doubt I could keep reporting with a broken face.” 

“Methinks the lady doth protest too–”

“I can murder you, you know,” you interrupt. “No one would suspect because I know things. I’ve watched a lot of Criminal Minds.”

He presses his lips together, but is grinning. “Ooooo, scary.”

“Exactly.” You roll your eyes, your mind briefly leaving the cute barista and returning to all that is work. 

–

When you get home that night, he pops into your brain again. The pretty, voice as deep as the ocean, Felix. 

But not for the normal reasons one would ponder a good-looking acquaintance. 

He pops into your brain when you undress in your bathroom in order to take a much desired shower. In the corner of your eye, you see your reflection when you remove your shirt. There, in marked contrast to your skin, is the beginnings of the darkest bruise you’ve ever seen. 

“What the–” You turn to examine it better, spooked by it when you had no memory of bumping into anything that hard. Your other arm shows a similar discoloration, in a similar area. 

In fact, it almost looks like something left by a tight hand grip.

You roll your eyes at your own reflection. It hadn’t felt like he’d held you that hard, but you could bruise pretty easily, so of course, Felix, the fae-looking barista, grabbing you to keep from planting into the sidewalk would leave a mark. No big deal.

You pull your hair back as it is not hair-washing day, and then quickly use make-up remover on your face. You are stopped again by your reflection.

On your cheek, not as dark or as prominent, there is the slight darkening of another bruise.

You push a piece of your hair out of the way as you move closer to the mirror to see it clearer. As you do, it sparks the memory of Felix moving your hair and how you’d felt the brush of his finger keenly.

“But…like, a bruise?” Talking to your reflection isn’t a thing you do, but today really has been a weird day. You press it and wince. It does pinch a bit. Nothing worse than the time you ran into the sliding glass doors at your family’s home as a child. Nothing topped that fiasco and subsequent pain. 

Dismissing it as your body being more sensitive than usual, you hopped in the shower and soon went to bed after that. Your dreams are filled with a strange scenario of chasing after croissants and them being sucked into a hole in the sky. 

–

It’s two days later when you find yourself at Taste again. You aren’t sure if it’s just Felix who’s stuck in your brain, or the fact that the bruises you see when you wipe off your makeup and undress at night makes you remember meeting him; therefore, he’s just there, hanging around in your memory which is distracting. 

You tell yourself you just need some coffee that isn’t out of the ancient coffeemaker at the station. 

You can’t really buy him a drink unless you have his number or something after all.

The list of excuses and rationalizations you’re coming up with is concerning. 

You walk in and smile at the person behind the counter, trying to look for your rescuer without looking like you’re looking. The barista smiles at you as you place your order for a Fiery Redhead (salted caramel breve latte with a hint of cayenne) and you go to sit at an empty table by the window. You know you should ask if he’s working or coming in later, but you also just sort of want to not do much of anything for a few minutes. Work is very intense even on days you aren’t recording. News never stops whether it’s life-changing or just a cat stuck in a tree (life-changing for the cat), and you spend most of your off-work time catching up on stuff around your apartment or sleeping. 

You’re staring out the window, watching the cars pass, people drift by, and you aren’t sure where you go, but when you hear a slight noise, you jump and see a mug topped with curlicues of latte art. You look up the arm attached to see Felix smiling apologetically. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You feel your skin heat at his attention on you. You’ve thought about him quite a bit in the last forty-eight hours, assuming that maybe your fascination is due to that imagination of yours. But no…he’s really that lovely to look at. 

The freckles are particularly still eye-catching. 

“I just zoned out.” 

He’s wearing the uniform, though no apron. 

“Are you on break?”

“Haven’t quite clocked in yet,” he swallows. “Saw you…kinda thought you might be here because of me.”

On anyone else that could sound arrogant, but his voice is incredibly gentle and the lilt up at the end of his words frames it hopeful; a tiny question. 

“I am. You thought right.” You gesture to the chair across from you. “Hard to buy you a drink when I don’t know how to get a hold of you, except show up creepily at your job.”

As he sits, he’s chuckling, tugging on the foodsafe opaque plastic gloves encasing his hands. You notice them and it triggers something in your brain, but before you can follow that path, he speaks:

“I figured with your connections being a reporter, you could find out everything about me in mere minutes.”

You smile. “I’m so flattered you think that I have really good connections.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m still kinda low in the newsroom hierarchy.” You rest your chin in your hand. “How long do you have before your shift?”

He glances up behind you, presumably at a clock. “Ten minutes.”

“Early.”

“I hate rushing if I can avoid it.” He looks back at you and you take a second to marvel at the rich brown of his eyes. 

He is stupid pretty. 

“So…” you begin, trying not to be too direct (hazards of the job). “Is barista-ing something you’ve done before here?”

He nods. “Yeah, though this is a lot fancier than where I was before.” He shrugs. “I'm in school, so it helps pay the bills. And I like serving people.”

“School? For what?” You thought he might be young, but how young?

“Culinary. Baking specifically.” He smiles, the warmth just lighting him up. 

“That’s so cool.” You lean closer. “I am a passable cook, like enough to follow a basic recipe and feed myself, maybe buy cookie batter on days I need a sweet, but that’s the extent. If a recipe says to fold in something, I run away in fear.” His answering chuckle warms you more than the latte (though it is very good), all the way to your toes. “Do you love it? Even though it’s school?”

The skin between his freckles turns pink. “Yeah…I enjoy it. Both learning the traditional rules, and getting to experiment.”

“Do you get to experiment here?” You point toward the shelves of pastries. You’d been tempted by at least three. Maybe you’ll give in before you leave. 

“A little. When he’s feeling generous and doesn’t think I’ll screw it up.”

That’s a story you want to hear, but you file it away for later. Maybe when you get him that drink. 

“What about you?” he asks, derailing your thoughts. “Always wanted to do the news?”

You straighten up and gesticulate aimlessly. “Kinda. I think I wanted to do more print journalism in the beginning. But you have to do both in school and I was good at speaking clearly and on the fly, so I stuck with broadcasting.”

“What do you like about it?” Now he rests his chin in his hand, winces before then straightening. The pained expression makes you want to reach out and check on him. You aren’t uncompassionate or anything, but the immediate concern for this near-stranger is unusual.

Maybe it’s because he looks like taking care of him would be nice. Like to curl up with him on the couch someday and watch a movie together. You bet his hair is soft and playing with it would be so nice. Maybe he’d look up at you with those big eyes and ask you for a kiss, his voice all rumbly and–

Uhhhh, maybe you should not fantasize like that. 

“It feels important. Even when perhaps it’s not. I get to meet people and learn things I wouldn’t in a ‘normal’ job or ‘normal’ life.” 

“Makes sense.” 

You watch him look back at the clock and then sigh.

“Work?”

“Work.” He opens his hand. “I’ll give you my number? If you still want to–”

“I do.” Maybe a little too eager. “I mean, you are under no obligation if you don’t want to.” You pull out your phone and unlock it before handing it over.

“I do.” He says it simply and you wonder if he’s mildly as fascinated by you as you are by him. “I do, too.” His nose scrunches up as he types in his number, and it’s adorable.

“Okay.” 

He hands you your phone back and smiles at you. “Okay then.” He starts to stand, pressing his hands on the table to aid him and he grimaces. “Ow.”

“You okay?” The concern, again, you feel is bigger than it should be, but that’s another thing you file away for the time being. “Did you hit your knee?”

“No, I…” He is looking at his hands then at you, and you feel like he’s searching for something as he gazes at you. “It’s nothing.”

You must come up short. 

“I better…” He jerks a thumb toward the coffee bar. “I’ll hear from you?”

“Yeah.” You are still intrigued and concerned and a whole lot of other things, so you just force a smile to your lips. “Have a good shift, Felix.”

“Thanks.” He walks over to the bar, grabbing an apron to tie around his hips (why does that emphasize his narrow frame so much and why does that affect you?) and greets the other barista. You look back out the window, taking another sip of your drink (it’s really very good, especially with the heat of the cayenne) and try not to look back at him. 

But you do. You watch him as he greets each customer, that smile bright like stars. You watch as he moves around with the other barista in the small space, like a choreographed dance for two; opening a cabinet for something, closing it with his hip or foot as he moves to the espresso machine, spinning the knob to steam the milk. 

He speaks with a customer as he makes their drink, laughing without slowing down his work. He sets the paper cup in front of them, showing off the latte art you think, before covering it with the plastic lid. The customer takes it, with a smile almost as brilliant as Felix’s. He waves goodbye before glancing over at you.

You smile, embarrassed at being caught staring, but his tiny grin is shy and cute, and he gets back to making the next drink. 

There’s a quick rush in the thirty minutes that you spend there. A queue of ten people, several who are in a hurry and speak with sharp, short words. 

One even berating the other barista for not inputting her order quickly enough.

Felix comes to the side of his coworker, speaking calmly to the customer; not smiling, but not frowning. 

You wish you could hear what he says, but the lowness of his voice makes that difficult. The perturbed customer doesn’t look too pleased, but does seem to back off. Felix makes her drink and sends her on her way. 

He walks back over to his colleague, eyes searching and you know, you just know that he’s checking in. Making sure. 

Caring.

You glance at the dregs of your latte, surprised at how much you feel you know this person. You don’t. You know you don’t, but there are things about him that feel familiar. That feel safe, like maybe instead you could curl up in his arms, he could play with your hair, you could ask to kiss him, taste those curved, pink lips and–

You stand up rather abruptly, taking your mug and setting it on the marked table for dishes.

“Bye!”

You turn to see him looking bewildered but bidding you a farewell. You think you smile, but you just nod and hurry away. 

Good thing there’s a bit of traffic on the way back to the station. You need a moment or ten to calm down. 

–

It’s a few days before you actually message Felix and make plans. Work is relentless as the local election is days away and both candidates for commissioner seem to believe that character attacks on the other is the best way to convince people to vote for you. 

There was almost a fist fight yesterday. You also forgot to eat, which you didn’t realize until breakfast the next day. Perhaps your stomach shrunk because you could only do a small yoghurt in wake of not eating for a day. Despite the printed expiration date, you think it might have been spoiling already. It tasted tangy.

As you get ready for your…you’re just gonna call it a date and not overthink about it…, you see the bruises and they seem darker which makes little sense to you. You’ve bumped them a few times and it hurt, but no more or less than a normal bruise.

The bruise on your face is darker too, but your foundation and concealer does a good job of lessening the contrast so most of the time it looks like an oddly placed shadow. 

But you feel like it’s a thing. Something you can’t quite figure out. And you will, once the election and campaign stuff is over and perhaps you’ll have a bit more free time. 

But tonight is a date. A something with Felix. Who you have texted a couple times beyond the mere matching of your schedules. His schooling is at night four times a week. You imagine working a shift then going to class must be exhausting. You spent your undergrad years in class and in the library for work study. Not on your feet for eight hours or more, serving person after person. 

Wow, you are creating a traumatic story for him. He might really love both. 

He is excessively positive in his messages. He diatribes one night about nailing baumkuchen (you have to google that to understand what it is and why it’s hard) finally in class. 

He’s really proud of that grade. And though you had nothing to do with it, you’re really proud of him too. 

Something about him is just inviting, the opening of a door and a wave to come in. 

You arrive at Back Door, a relatively less popular bar than Up All Night, which is where you would normally grab a drink after work with your colleagues if you were feeling social (which is about 50% of the time post-work). You’ve not been to Back Door yet, but just walking in makes you smile. Everything looks like a hotel lobby with big couches and large tables to stand at. The art on the walls is a mixture of traditional and modern. The red and black color scheme is daring.

Not a place to get cozy, but a place to make an impression. 

Do you want to make an impression on Felix? Maybe.

You walk to the bar, finding a spot in between well-dressed people. You wait your turn for one of the two bartenders to find you and as you often do, you watch people and imagine what their lives might be like. 

“Hey.”

You jump at his voice (how do you forget how freakin’ deep it is every time?) and then you get his laugh.

“I keep scaring you. Sorry.” He squeezes in next to you and you get a new image of him. Dressed in ripped black jeans and a pale pink button-down shirt with black tie loosened. 

He is…delectable.

You shake your head to his comment as well as the path your thoughts are going. 

“I just zone out a lot.”

He moves closer, his ear toward you so he can hear better. You repeat yourself and he nods before turning back so his eyes can look into yours. 

Damn, that’s powerful. 

“Where do you go?” he asks. “When you zone out?” 

Do you admit that you regularly think about people you don’t know and make up backstories for them? You think that maybe he won’t judge you too harshly.

“I–” You cut yourself off when he lifts his hand to try and get the bartender’s attention. He’d had on gloves the last time you saw him, but he doesn’t now.

And the insides of his hand is dark. Like a bruise covering the length of his index finger across the palm to his thumb. 

As though he’d grabbed something (someone) and bruised himself. 

You don’t think to check for consent, but grab his hand, peering at the marks then you take his other. It doesn’t register that he just lets you, not even saying a word about your impoliteness. 

“Felix,” you say slowly. “You…” You look up and he’s looking at your arms which are covered by three-quarter length sleeves. You’ve been intentional about not highlighting that you look like you’ve gone through a round with a MMA fighter. You nod at the question in his eyes. 

What’s the point of lying? And to lie to Felix feels beyond wrong.

“Let’s get that drink and talk, huh?” he offers, tugging away from your hold to wave down the bartender. Your brain feels like it’s frozen, like a computer that has glitched so badly no matter what key you press, it’s unresponsive.

“What do you like?” Felix asks you softly, which helps your brain function just a bit. The bartender is there as well, waiting.

“Whatever you’re having.”

He nods, seeming to know that you are processing intensely at the moment. A few seconds pass, you trying to logic why bruises on him and you mean something, but you’ve got nothing when he nudges you with his elbow and lifts his chin to indicate you both should find somewhere to sit. 

You follow him, blindly, as he weaves through the weekend crowd, finding a small table in a far corner where the music and talk is muted. He sits, laying the two wine glasses on the table. You scoot in across from him, staring at the wine wine ripple in the glass before settling. 

“Can I see?”

You meet his gaze and shrug a yes, knowing what he’s asking. You shove up one of your sleeves, inadvertently pressing the bruise which makes you inhale sharply. He leans forward, hand reaching out to hold your arm carefully. 

“Fuck. That’s dark.” He lightly rubs his thumb over it, gentle. “I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t have thought much about it,” you begin, feeling content with him touching you, even though he’s the one who left bruises. He’s warm, not just in temperature, but it’s like he emits a toasty energy that flows into you. It’s odd, but you like it. “Because I bruise pretty easily, and you did keep me from busting my face. But…” You touch the bruise on your cheek. “You barely touched me here.” 

He follows your motion and peers closer. You actually stare back into his eyes, sparkly as they are with the bar’s array of lights. 

“Fuck.”

His second cursing makes you smile even if you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because his freckles and generally soft demeanor make him seem innocent; i.e. not someone going around using the f-word so easily. 

You’re also really enjoying the skin to skin contact. You weren’t even cold, but his touch feels secure, sheltering. Like you’re in an oversized armchair with a cup of tea, reading on a thunderstorm night. 

“Do you know what it is?” His demeanor makes you think that he knows more than you, and you have to admit, you’re bothered that you’re so clueless right now. You’re used to being the smarter person on a date. 

Which explains why you don’t date much and have been single for nearly two years now. 

“I…no. I didn’t realize you had them too.” You sigh, and trace the marks on his hand that isn’t holding you. You don’t question the intimacy as you’re pretty sure whatever is going on is not a normal interaction with a man you only barely know, even if he is pretty. “Work has been slammed…I was going to go to the doctor if they didn’t fade soon.”

“They won’t. I mean, not on their own.” He stares at the mark on your arm. “Not without me.”

It’s like he’s talking in riddles. “Felix. What do you know?”

He lets go and you shiver as though a cold front blew through the bar, at you specifically. He takes the wine glass and sips it, closing his eyes as though he’s savoring it. 

He must like wine because it seems like minutes upon minutes that he keeps his eyes closed.

“Look…” He opens his eyes and you are floored by how much pain echoes there. The same eyes that sparkled seconds ago. “You have questions and I think, think, I know the answers, but…fuck…this means–” He breaks off, dropping his head. 

Is he crying?

“Felix….” You reach out, burdened, and place your hand over his. He jolts at your touch, but doesn’t pull away. He slots his fingers in between yours. “Please tell me what’s wrong? Can I help?” 

“I need to go. I knew what it was. I just wanted it not to be true.” His voice cracks and he looks up, eyes welling. There’s a quiver in his lips, like maybe he wants to smile or maybe he wants to cry, or maybe it’s both. “I just need some time?” He stands up, leaving his glass and leaving your touch. 

“But…?” What the fuck is going on?

He’s next to you, leaning down so your faces are close. You catch your breath. 

“Soulmates. Look up soulmates.” He presses his mouth to your cheek before tearing away and disappearing in the ever-growing crowd. You stand up, to do something; call him back, chase after him…something. But he’s gone and you sit down again, staring at the two wine glasses. You take a sip of yours and grimace.

It just doesn’t taste quite right.

–

You take a cab home because you drink your wine, his, and order two cocktails (they all taste odd, but honestly it doesn’t matter by the time you get the first cocktail, you are such a lightweight). It’s dumb but you spend two hours at a bar, using Google on your phone. 

At a bar. On a Friday night.

You get approached at least three times by someone either intent on chatting you up, or getting your coveted spot at the table. You basically ignore these approaches because you are intent. 

Soulmates.

That’s what he’d said and though normally you would laugh derisively at the mere use of that term in anything other than some cliched romantic film, you find that the moment he said it, your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a tight grip.

So you search ‘soulmates’ which yields more links and pieces of information than you are willing to wade through. 

You type in ‘bruises soulmates’ and that narrows it way down.

When you touch the first time, it leaves a mark; something similar to a bruise, but far more distinct. This is your soulmate. 

“I met mine, because we ran into each other on the train. Literally. My hip is black and blue. How do I find them?”

The marks take hours to show up, so you have to retrace your steps to find them. Chances are they’re looking for you too. 

“I can’t eat any more. It tastes like licking the inside of a dumpster.”

Food and drink will lose its pleasurable taste. It’ll become disgusting, revolting. 

“I’ve sent out messages on all SNS. It’s been a week. The hospital keeps pumping fluids, but it’s not working. Someone please help me!”

The only way to survive is to be with your soulmate. Skin to skin contact for hours if you are sick or hurting. Not as long if it’s just daily need. You will no longer need food or drink. Water will be the only thing palatable.

You stumble out of the bar, Uber app open on your phone. The air outside is heavy from late summer humidity and it’s like you can’t catch your breath.

If you don’t find your soulmate, you will starve to death.

You can starve to death. You’re not even thirty years old yet, and death is now something more likely than ever.

You look at your arm, the sleeve still pushed up from earlier. 

He doesn’t have very big hands, you muse. The mark is actually lighter and you realize that the little amount of contact you had with him has already started to heal. 

Holy fuck.

Your Uber shows up and you practically throw yourself into the backseat as though someone nefarious is chasing you. 

“You alright?” the driver asks, glancing back. “You run here?”

You are panting, your breath short from the magnitude of what you’ve just found out. Part of your brain denies it all. Surely this is bullshit. Soulmates, touch, inevitable death for those who lose their person.

It can’t be true. 

But what you thought was just hormones when he touched you tonight; the warmth, the comfort, the irresistible draw…

You’ve dated. You’ve fucked. You’ve had men who looked great and those who looked less so. No one affects you the way the quiet-eyed, deep-voiced barista has in three encounters. 

You give the driver your address and force yourself to stop looking at your phone before you get more nauseated, and look out the window. 

You need to sleep before you can tackle whatever the fuck this is. 

– 

It strikes you two days later. You go through the weekend researching everything you can, or pointedly turning off your phone and your laptop in order to clean your apartment and reorganize your kitchen. 

You look at the set of pots that you got two years ago because you wanted nicer, matching ones and now, you aren’t going to need them.

You’d been able to stomach one egg this morning, the desire for food already waning. You wonder if going to get your favorite donuts would be good, if life-changing information warranted donuts.

It hits you then. 

Felix wants to be a baker. 

And he’s going to lose his sense of taste. 

You sink down to the floor of your kitchen with the weight of that revelation. You lean back against the lower cabinets and let that take hold.

By meeting you, Felix can’t pursue his dream. 

You barely know him, but you know enough to understand perhaps a tenth of the loss he must be feeling knowing that he’s going to lose what he wanted to do with his life. 

You did this. By nearly falling over, you have changed the direction of his life. 

You enjoy food, and the loss of it isn’t something you’re looking forward to, but it doesn’t change your job or your life. 

You cover your face when you realize that you’re crying. 

It’s your fault. 

You cry for longer than one would for a near-stranger before you force yourself back to your feet. You trudge toward your bedroom, seeking your phone that you’ve put on silent and plugged in. There are notifications for work, for social platforms, from your mom. 

You don’t check them, but you search out the chat between you and your…

Soulmate. 

<<I am so sorry. 

What else can you say? There is nothing you can do because unless every source you’ve found online about this phenomenon is wrong and lying, the ball is rolling and nothing can stop it. 

You set your phone back down, sitting on the edge of your bed. There’s a window across from you and the view is simply the brick building next to your apartment complex. There is nothing to really look at, but the simplicity of the brick, the gradient of burgundies and reds with beige caulk between is a lot easier to make sense of than anything else right now.

Your phone vibrates. 

>>It’s not your fault.

There’s hardly anything you can say. You can state that it is. It is your fault. Without touching you, he’d go on with his life, pursuing his dreams like everyone should get to.

&lt;<Regardless. I am. Very very sorry.

You don’t expect to hear from him. You set your phone aside, noticing that your hands are shaking. You feel exhausted, like the crying you’ve indulged in has drained you. Maybe you’re coming down with something. 

Or maybe it’s something else. Something soulmate.

>>Can I come by?

You type out yes before you think through it fully. You send him your address and close your phone before getting back up to go to the bathroom and look at yourself.

Maybe it’s silly to make sure you don’t look like someone who has fought dust bunnies and lost, but you think that showering wouldn’t be amiss. 

It’s a half hour later when there's a knock on your door. You’ve already buzzed him in, so it’s not that you’re unprepared to see him, but really, how would anyone be able to prepare for the groveling you want to do when you see him. 

He stands in your doorway, eyes wide and you chastise yourself for changing because he obviously had no qualms, dressed in sweatpants, and a creased t-shirt. He looks terribly soft with rumpled hair, light wrinkles on his cheek from sleeping. 

There are dark smudges of weariness under his eyes. 

“I’m so–” you begin because surely apologizing profusely will relieve a little of the guilt you feel. He doesn’t let you finish, but strides in and wraps his arms around you. He’s got several inches of height on you (lack of heels) and rests his chin on top of your head. He closes the door with his foot, falling back on it, his hold on you firm. 

“You don’t need to say you’re sorry,” he whispers. “It’s not your fault.”

“Kind of is. If we’d never touched…” The heat of him warms you through, as though you were icy but didn’t know it until touching him. 

It’s uncanny, how much better you feel just by being in his arms. Soulmate or not, you think that anyone would be better receiving a hug from him.

“I could have let you fall. So I’m just as responsible.”

You feel your eyes well up, your throat constrict with grief. “But you were just being nice. That’s all. And this is your reward.” You bury your face into his shoulder, noting how bony he is and how nice he smells, like cookies. “I’m so so fucking sorry.”

You’re crying into his shirt and it’s embarrassing, but you can’t seem to stop. You feel his hand stroke your back, soothing. 

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

There’s a rumble against you, he’s chuckling. You lift your head to look up at him. He smiles sadly, releasing his hold to wipe under your eyes. 

“You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re too nice. I would fix it, if I could. I would give you back–” He kisses you. 

Oh. My. God.

If touching him casually or even being in his arms is comforting, kissing him is that feeling amped up to eleven. You actually feel light-headed and dizzy like you’re back at the bar drinking too much wine. 

He presses one small kiss to the corner of your lips before drawing away. You whimper to lose that caress, but he keeps his arms around you like he knows you need it. He rests his head on the door, eyes fixed on you. 

“Wow,” you breathe. 

There’s a slight quirk of his lips, like he wants to laugh, but won’t at the moment. 

You realize both of you are still standing in your little foyer so you draw away, but his hands tighten. 

“I was just…just gonna invite you in.”

“That’s okay. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “Don’t let go?” You peer at him, seeing that the dark under his eyes has already lessened.

You nod, adjusting so your hand encloses around his. You lead him into your apartment, watch him as he looks around, eyes still wide, but seemingly less panicked now. You sit on your two person couch that is opposite your television. He sits next to you, looking at your bookshelves, covered in photo frames, books, knick-knacks from places you’ve gotten to go for work. 

“I have to ask,” you say, making him look over at you. “What are you thinking? Right now?”

“I…I feel a little out of place,” he replies, glancing down at your clasped hands. “You have a real job and a nice place and I’m just a barista, trying to get a certificate.” The mention of his schooling makes you tighten your grip and he squeezes back, still not looking at you. “Makes me wonder if the universe screwed up.”

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

He looks up then. 

“You are this beautiful, ridiculously kind human who smiles like the sun and because of me, lost your dream and you’re still here. You should hate me.”

He covers your mouth with his untethered hand. “I don’t. I couldn’t.” His hand drifts to cup your cheek. “I’m not mad at you.” He takes another deep breath. “I’m mad at the fallout. Like…it sucks.” He nods. “It really does. That’s why I just needed some time.”

“I’m sorry. I only gave you like two days.”

His thumb runs over your lower lip and you feel like you’re melting. 

“I wanted to see you. I can already tell that I need to…” He blushes. “I need to touch you.”

“You look less drained.” You touched his heated cheek. “I felt out of it, too.”

“Me too.” He leans in, face close, watching you. “I didn’t ask. About kissing you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Weird circumstances.” You hope your smile does half of what his smile does for you. “You’re stuck with me unless you want to starve to death.”

He half-grins, his hand still on your face, tracing along your nose. “It’s pretty dramatic, right?”

“It really is.” 

“You don’t mind?” 

“What?”

“Being stuck with me?”

“No.” You’re louder than you meant to be. He blinks at the emphasis. “I mean, I don’t know you all that well, but what I do know…” You take his hand from your face, holding it as tight as the other hand. “I like.”

He nods. “Can we…” He takes a breath. “Can we touch more?”

It is weird and you both laugh at the awkward and latent innuendo. 

“Like nothing…” He stops talking, expression helpless. You just nod.

He watches as you let go of his hand to get close. His dark eyes seem darker when you pause to figure out how exactly you plan to touch him. 

“Here.” He pulls you in, aligning you to his chest, your back resting against him, his arms around you, his chin coming to sit on your shoulder. “The longer we touch, those bruises will fade.”

You lift his hands so you can see that his marks are lighter since you saw them Friday night. He presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck. It tickles, but you don’t shy away.

“I feel like we’ve gone from acquaintances to whatever this is really quick.” It’s an obvious statement, a pointless one, but things are progressing at an exponential speed that you need to voice it, if only to remind yourself and him that it’s real. 

“It’s okay, though?” he asks softly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but even beyond the need to touch you, I want to.” His chin rests on your shoulder again.

“You do?”

You can hear the smile in his voice, “I thought you were pretty when you came in for the interview. I think I would have tried to talk to you if you ever came back, even without the rest of it.” 

You’re still playing with his hands, absorbing his words. 

“This whole thing is weird.” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you know about soulmates before?”

You feel his chin as he nods. “My grandmother’s second husband and her. My grandfather died and at age sixty-three or something, my grandmother bumped into this man at her favorite bakery. Bruises and everything. She told me the story when I was about ten, when they decided to get married. No one believed her, but I did. It just made sense when you saw them together. But it’s rare. Like…there are accounts of it all over the world, but not a high percentage.” He noses your ear. “What did you find out? You researched, didn’t you?”

“If you call googling for too many hours, proper research.” Being in his arms is slowly making you feel less weary and calmer. You’re still sad and worried, but your body feels less like debilitated frozen tundra. “I guess we’re lucky that it wasn’t hard to know who it was. There are stories…of people…” You stop talking, overwhelmed by the fact that this could have gone so badly. “I’m glad I knew it was you immediately. Like I meet so many random people and I–”  

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

You’re both quiet for several minutes. You’ve stopped playing with his hands and he’s just wrapped around you even more snugly. 

“How do we do this?”

“Well, I’m going to quit school tomorrow. The semester is nearly over and I haven’t paid for next semester yet, so that’s money saved.”

“It sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.” His hand slips under your shirt and you tremble at the energy pulse that such a slight touch does to you. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” You ponder for a second. “Do we need to do this every day?”

“I think it’s encouraged, and necessary. Like to go too long not in contact is…well, I felt like a zombie until I held you.”

“I hope you don’t need alone time.”

He chuckles. “Not too much. You?”

“Some.” That’ll be an adjustment. Someone wanting to spend hours with you. More than just the occasional meet-up with a friend. “Do…you…god, this is gets more and more bizarre…should you move in with me?”

The gentle motion of his hand stills. “Would you…would that be okay?”

“I mean, we should probably find a place together, but I still have a few months left on my lease. You?”

He sits up and you move away, though you notice his hand stays on your skin, following as you adjust to face him. 

“I’m rooming with some guys. Month to month.” His eyes are wide. “Really?”

“I mean…will it make it easier?”

He chuckles. “I have a twin bed.”

“Mine’s a queen.”

“You really are so much more of an adult than me.”

You bat at his arm. “Stop saying that. You aren’t any less. You work and go…went to school.”

“Yeah.” He stares at you for a few seconds. “You’re willing to just let me move in?”

“I mean, we can have sleepovers if that’s easier.”

He laughs, covering his face with his hands for a second before making sure he’s still touching you with a hand on your knee. “I don’t have a lot of stuff. My baking stuff…that I guess I need to sell.” 

You lace your fingers with his. “I’m–”

“You don’t need to say it.” He shrugs. “It just is what it is. Anyway, clothes, not a lot. I have my computer and that’s kinda…” He looks around. “Do you have another bedroom?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of a makeshift office/storage unit right now.” You make a face. “I should probably get rid of some of it. Do you have a big computer?”

He shrugs again. “I built it. I game and fiddle with computers in my free time.”

You move closer. “How are you that interesting? It’s not fair. You’re ridiculously pretty, you bake, and you do computery things?”

His ears, cheeks and neck all flush. “It’s not that interesting…”

“It is to me,” You point at him with your connected hands. “I just do the news stuff.”

“And zone out.”

You laugh. “And zone out. Regularly.”

He brings you back to rest against his chest, a deep sigh releasing. “So…I guess…we’re moving in together?”

You aren’t horribly impulsive usually. In big things you try to think logically and rationally. But that seems to have been tossed aside currently. 

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

You feel his lips on your cheek. 

–

It’s a month later, after you’ve emptied out the second bedroom with as much as you can let go off, Felix moves in with his stuff (the computer set-up reminds you of like the command bridge in Star Trek or something), and you’ve learned how to sleep in bed with a person you aren’t actually sleeping with (despite the touch thing, both of you seem to avoid talking about anything past necessary touch).

The progression the soulmate-ness has had is different for both of you. You lost your taste for food and drink well before he did. It’s nearly three weeks to the day you two met that he can’t eat one of his galettes because it tastes like the way wet dog smells.

He cries in your arms. 

You handled working over eight hours a day as well as you always have, but if it moved to twelve hours, you found Felix at the apartment, on the couch or bed, looking more fragile and delicate than normal. The toll your separation took on his body was far worse than the toll on your body. 

It took some adapting and adjusting; trial and error to see what worked for the both of you. If it was going to be a long day, Felix would leave work and come find you at the station, or you’d come to him just to sit and hold hands for a half hour before one of you had to go. It helped. 

For the first time since being on your own, you have to worry about someone else and yes, at times, it can be frustrating; overall, it’s nice. It’s nice to come home to someone. 

“I can’t do it,” Felix comes in late from the coffeehouse. You came home early and are spending your time trying to figure out what one does with a kitchen and all that cabinet space if one no longer eats. 

“Can’t do it?”

He doesn’t stop in his path, dropping his bag on the ground as he toes off his shoes. You barely can say much else before he’s wrapped around you in what has become a regular habit of his. In your arms the moment you’re both home. 

You can’t complain even if it thwarts your thought process about the kitchen. 

“The coffee smell is awful,” he mutters into your hair. “Like, I thought not tasting it would be okay, but the smell is just as bad. All day, every day…” he sighs. “I almost quit.”

“Maybe you should. I make enough for you to take a break for a little bit.”

“I’m not…” He sighs again. “I don’t like that. It’s your money.”

“And therefore I can help you out.” You rub up and down his back, soothing him. “You haven’t had much time to figure out a new plan.”

He moves so his face is in the crook of your neck, nuzzling. Normally you giggle because it tickles, but lately when his lips are anywhere near you, it’s like every nerve you have is on high alert. 

“I think I’m avoiding it.”

“That’s okay too.” You hurry to continue when you feel his body stiffen as though he wants to argue with you. “For now. It’s a lot.”

He lifts his head, but not before brushing a soft kiss on your neck which sends you down a path that you’ve tried to avoid thinking about with Felix in mind. A path that includes not only sleeping in your bed. 

“I…” He watches you for a few seconds and you can feel your face heating with his scrutiny. “I’m gonna game for a bit.” He then sees that you have all the plates and cups and paraphernalia on the counters. “Unless you need a hand?”

“Go shoot something digitally. I’m good.”

He smiles that soft smile of his. The one that makes you want to cozy up with him on the couch, his head in your lap and mindlessly watch a movie. 

“Sure?”

You nod, and start to move back to the kitchen problem when he drops another kiss, this time on your cheek. You should be getting used to this, and perhaps you are, but it still floors you. The feel of him, the subsequent burst of soulmate voltage that it emits. 

He doesn’t seem to notice that every time he kisses you, your brain pauses like a video buffering. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe kissing you doesn’t do much more than just heal in the soulmate way. 

He hasn’t kissed you on the lips since that first time. You want him too. You’ve thought about it way too much, even when you’re supposed to be working. 

You should say something. You should kiss him, and often. But you hold back. You don’t know why. 

He’s had so much of his life uprooted because of you, you don’t want to add the burden of your sexual wants onto his plate. 

He shuffles off to the second bedroom and you eventually go back to working on the kitchen. 

He calls your name about an hour later, after you have given up on the dusting because it’s too much, and have ended up on the couch, looking through your SNS feed to find that there isn’t much new in the world.

“Hmm?”

“I think…I think I had an idea.”

You get up and wander over to that room, more Felix’s than yours now. You stand in the doorway, eyes adjusting to the darkness because there’s only a lamp that he keeps on by his set-up. 

He wheels around in his ergonomic chair. 

“What’s your idea?”

“One of my friends,” He waves toward his screen, “Asked me a question about what to add to his computer to boost its…” He chuckles immediately when you furrow your brow. “You don’t care about that.”

“I will attempt to understand it?”

“Nevermind.” He reaches out his hands toward you and you walk in, suspicious. He latches on and pulls you into his lap, which just makes you freeze even more than the nightly cuddles. “I gave him about three different options and he asked if I’d do it for him. He’d pay me.” He cradles your face in his hands. “He’d pay me.”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“I mean…maybe that’s it. I could fix or enhance, I guess, computers. I know too much about it for just fiddling with my own.” He trails his fingers down to your neck and you tremble. “Maybe this is what I should do.”

Even in the dim light, you can see how bright his eyes are. It reminds you of when you met him, before everything changed.

“If you want. I imagine you probably do know more than the average person. I’ve heard you ramble enough to your friends on that thing.” You smile even if the heat of his legs is burning you in the best way. “Will it make you happy?”

His infectious joy fades a little. “It might.” With his finger, he draws an amorphous shape on your skin. “I think it might.”

“Then you should do it.” You pat his shoulders, getting ready to remove yourself from him because being on his lap, facing him, being so close is making you want more than you think either of you are ready for. 

His hands slip to your waist to keep you from leaving. 

“Felix, what are you–?”

“You make me happy, you know that, right? Being here with you, coming home to you or vice versa makes me happy.” His gaze is zeroed in on you, and it’s a lot. Having his focus.

“You don’t have to say stuff like that.”

He adjusts you so you’re nearer, his hands clasped at the small of your back. “I’m not just saying that. I mean it.” His lips turn down in concern. “Aren’t you? Happy?”

“With you? God, yes.” Sometimes with him, you do this. You say things before thinking it through. “Even when you hog the covers.”

He looks a bit sheepish, but doesn’t apologize. 

“But my life didn’t derail because you entered it.”

He touches his nose to yours. “Mine didn’t either. It just changed direction. Maybe a little more dramatically than yours.” He purses his lips in thought. “I only worry about the job stuff because well…I want to work in something I like.”

“Of course you do.” You comb back his hair, longer than when you met him; shaggy and probably needs a cut, but you really like it. “If you want to do this, I think you should.”

“It might take a while for me to make much.”

You point at yourself. “Do I look worried?”

He smiles, teeth flashing, eye crinkles, and your heart flutters. 

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper, tracing the curves of his smile and cheeks. His lips part at the compliment, and your finger slides to his teeth. “I…uh, sorry.”

He kisses the tip of your finger to reassure you. You swallow your more lustful feelings and smile. 

“You better get back to your friends.” You try to stand up, but his arms tighten. “I should…go.”

“Why?” he asks softly. “Why can’t you stay right here? I want you to.”

“You do?”

He says your name in the same whisper and kisses you reverently. You dissolve into him, scooting closer so you can embrace him. There’s a soft groan, and it’s not from you.

“Am I too heavy?” you ask, breaking the kiss. He pouts at you and shakes his head. 

“It’s…it’s not that.” 

It takes you a second and your eyes widen before you look down. 

“Oh.”

He chuckles. “You haven’t noticed?”

“Well, I mean, in the morning, but that’s like…all guys.” His cheeks turn pink as you continue. “I…I wasn’t assuming that it had to do with me.”

“You can assume.”

You stare breathlessly at him. 

“If you want, I mean.” His eyes dart away from yours. “If I’m the only one turned on here, you can pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Just because it’s not as obvious doesn’t mean I’m not.” 

You feel him raise his head and meet your gaze. If he can tell your face is hot in the shadowy room, he makes no mention of it.

“Yeah?”

You nod before hearing some tinny voices coming from his headset. “Your friends.” You nod again toward his computer screen. “Your game.” You don’t even try to move out of his hold, but his arm wraps around you so you’re nearly chest to chest.

“Don’t move.” He grabs his headset from around his neck and slips it on, pressing a button on the side. “Guys…something’s come up. Min…I’ll come by tomorrow with a better graphics card and install it for you.” He presses the same button amid all the protests you hear, and takes the headset off. He tosses it on his computer desk before returning to hold you, with one minor adjustment. 

One hand slides up the back of your top, searing. He watches your face, intent. You tug at the collar of his shirt, and he stands up gingerly, letting you slide down until your feet touch the floor. He pulls off his shirt before taking your hands in his to bring them to his chest and arms. 

“I didn’t know,” he says as you outline the planes and facets with your fingers. 

“Didn’t know?”

He dips his head so you have to look up into his eyes, away from his beautiful skin. “Didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

“How could I not?” You let your hands trail up his sides to his neck and then to his face. “You are beautiful, both inside and out, Lee Felix.”

He doesn’t answer but kisses you with none of the former softness or gentleness. His hands are gripping your arms, directing you backwards out of the room and toward the bedroom. All of your kisses have been chaste, as though the crossing into using tongue would mean something else.

Perhaps it did. Perhaps it’s not just about a mutual need to live, a mutual admiration, though that’s all true. Perhaps being soulmates is just the beginning of having a partner. In everything.

You feel the bed at the back of your legs, unaware that you’ve traveled that much of the apartment because Felix might be good at gaming, but he’s exceptionally good at kissing. It’s all you can do to hold on as he consumes you, tongue stroking yours, teeth nibbling. You fall back on the bed, and he follows, climbing on top of you, mouth still seeking yours. His hands have slid under your top, mapping out your shape with fervor. 

The calm and quiet of him has broken. 

He draws away to look down at you, panting. “Okay?”

“Yes, so much,” you answer breathlessly. He smirks and peels off your shirt before sitting and undoing his pants. “Hey.” 

He pauses and glances at you. You can see his hands trembling. 

“We don’t have to rush.”

“I know. I know, but I…” He leans to kiss your jaw. “I want you so much.” He slips a finger under your bra strap and slides it down your shoulder. “Sleeping next to you is both wonderful and fuckin’ torture.” 

His grin when you laugh only lasts a second before he pulls you close and on top of him. You work his pants off, trying not to get sidetracked by his undoing of your bra and ensuing caresses. It takes a few minutes, both of you distracting the other in the process, but eventually, gloriously, the clothing is gone and you’re both looking at each other in awe. 

Beautiful. Inside and out. 

“C’mere,” his voice drops to a decibel you aren’t sure anyone else can hear (you don’t want them too because he’s your soulmate and you are so damn grateful). He places soft kisses all over your face, making you giggle as he props up pillows at your back. “We’ve never talked about past relationships.”

“Oh. I mean…” You twist your lips thinking about your last date let alone last relationship. “I haven’t…work kinda replaced everything else, you know? I’m clean…it’s been at least a year.”

“Six months. Had to move away.” He eases in between your legs, hands rubbing your thighs almost carelessly. “Clean too.” He leans down, face inches away and those perfect freckles blurring together. 

“Was it serious?”

“I think it could have been,” he says honestly. “You?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been serious about someone till you. Even before I saw the bruises,” You run your hands up his arms, his muscles taut from holding himself up. “You stuck in my mind. Chan teased me about it.” 

He grins before slipping one hand down your chest, your stomach and farther down… “You weren’t kidding about being turned on, were you?”

You half-heartedly slap his shoulder because one, it’s more than obvious and two, his tender exploration of you is dizzying. The soulmate energy, with no clothing to bar skin to skin contact, feels like you’ve laid down in a meadow on a warm day; not too hot, no bugs, no pollen, nothing but heat and light and tranquility. 

Then his fingers lightly touch your clit and the tranquility liquifies into heat and lust and want. 

“There, huh?” The teasing, soft but dark, makes you want to say something snarky, but he’s kissing you, his fingers circling until you're gasping against his mouth. 

“Lix, please,” you whine. His lips leave yours before he pushes in. “Oh god.”

As with everything, the soulmate need for touch just amplifies everything; how he feels sliding in, each thrust, the grazing of your g-spot. It’s a million times more and when you break, and feel him break; it’s not surprising that for a few seconds you aren’t sure where you are. 

Then the puffs of his shortened breath on your skin, the length of his body covering yours, one hand trailing up and down your arm. 

“You back?” he asks, voice gruff. 

“I think so.”

He lifts his head, eyes at half-mast, smile sleepy and well-contented. “We should do that again…often.”

You roll your eyes, a grin twitching at the corner of your lips. He kisses you, open-mouthed, but delicate. 

“I am really really glad you caught me that day.”

He stares down at you, eyes fond. “I’m glad you caught me too.”

--

a/n #2 - the coffee drink, fiery redhead, is not mine, but created by a coffeehouse in my parents' town. i love it, and make it at home now.

--

(c) yoongihan 2024. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

[astroboots]

Punch-Out Love

Artwork by @guruan

FIGHT NIGHT

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You're lucky enough to score ring-side seats at a boxing match on Friday night. Getting the best view in the house of boxing champion: Miguel O'Hara.

Word count: 1,500

Next Chapter

Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist 

You know fuck all about boxing.

About the only thing you know about the sport was from the glimpses you caught watching scratched up old recordings of Muhammed Ali fights on the boxy mini-tv of your old childhood friend's house.

It always seemed barbaric. The practice of watching two human beings beat the shit out of each other for spectator's entertainment. It seems like something that was better left in the Ancient Roman times. Have we all human beings as a society, really not come further some 2,000 years later?

Your bestie used to get mad at you for this. Constantly defending the sport from your criticism, because (according to him) it's not just about smashing each other's faces in. Supposedly, there's an art to the sport. Boxers are taught to respect their opponents and adhere to the principles of good sportsmanship. It takes great mental discipline, dedicated work and years of hard and punishing training to master boxing.

You never saw any of that in the matches he showed you. All you saw were two men needlessly being hurt, sustaining brain damage for rich people's enjoyment.

Then again, he was more than a little bit biased, considering it was his dream to go pro one day. Tall and gangly, with his scrawny antelope legs, thick-rimmed glasses and big-ass braces, he looked like he couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag, much less another person. You never understood how exactly he thought he was going to make it as a boxer.

But you never found it in you to burst his unrealistic bubble when he used to point at the screen excitedly, drawing your attention to Ali's footwork and the artistry in it. 

"It's like he's dancing," he used to say.

Except dancing is done with swelling music in the background. In dancing you often have a partner. It's an embrace. It's gentle and kind.

Boxing... was not that.

So you don't know how you managed to find yourself in the ringside seats of a local boxing match on a Friday evening, staring up at the boxing ring with the glaring ring lights shining into your eyes.

"Aren't these seats amazing?" Jess shouts excitedly over the familiar lyrics of ‘We Will Rock You' being belted out by Freddy Mercury on the loudspeaker.

You smile, and nod, because boxing-fan or not, she's right, these are some amazing seats. And considering you didn't have to pay a dime for them, personal aversions aside, you're never going to turn down free stuff.

Jess' husband tested positive for covid at the last minute, and you're the only one in your social circle that is anti-social and single enough to not have any plans on a Friday evening.

On the monitors above you, the menacing headshots of the two fighters swish into view.

"The first guy is an old reigning champ," she explains to you, as she leans in, shouting into your eardrums (and yet you can still barely make out what she's saying over the music). "The challenger is some new kid on the block. Has an amazing track record. Zero losses in the season. He's something else."

You look up at the gigantic screen, at the sharp cut cheeks, strong thick brows and the intense pitched brown eyes staring down at you.

Angry looking dude.

...Handsome too.

With a face like that, surely he could've gone into other careers. Calvin Klein model, movie star, or a news anchor. You wonder what makes a guy voluntarily have his face bashed in for money as a career.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud booming voice announces from the stage.

You jump in your seat from the suddenness, as you see a bald and overly formal dressed announcer in the middle of the ring. 

"Welcome to the electrifying boxing showdown of the century! Are you ready to witness some knockout action tonight?"

The crowd around you cheers with a pandemonium of shouting and whistling.

"Introducing our first fighter, a true hometown hero! With an impressive record of 20 wins, 15 by knockout, and only 2 losses, standing at 6'3 feet, and weighing in at 340 pounds of determination and strength, give it up for ‘the Knockout King’ Bobby Kane!"

You watch as the reigning champion walks down the tunnel to the midst of adoring cheers as he waves and gestures at the crowd like royalty.

Every inch the king that he is nicknamed, he jumps over the rope and stands tall and proud over the ring.

The man is huge, bulging with almost grotesque muscles. He's so large that you almost expect each of his steps to send a reverberation throughout the hall, as if this was Jurassic Park and he's a T-Rex.

"Now, entering the ring with the confidence of a warrior, fighting out of the red corner, with 15 wins, 10 by knockout, and no losses, standing at an astounding 6 feet 9 inches, and weighing in at 310 pounds of raw power, let's hear it for tonight's challenger, ‘Steel Jaw’ Miguel O'Hara!"

Wait what? You do a double take at the announcement. Six foot nine?!?! What kind of giant is that?

From the far corner of the hall, you see his silhouette emerge, and your eyes go wide at the sight of him. Tall doesn't even begin to describe him. 

There's a 200 year oak tree at Central Park, and with the shadow this man casts, you think their height must be nearly comparable. If you thought the Knockout King was tall, the "King" is practically tiny compared to this challenger.

You watch, as the man with cheeks so sharp they mind as well be blades (and god never has a nickname made more sense to you) as he strides towards the stage. He reaches the rope and barely even has to climb over it with how tall he is.

He's leaner than his predecessor. Every inch of him is cut muscles and tanned gorgeous skin as he stands in front of you. His presence is electric. The air crackles where he stands, towering over the stage.

You swear that his towering height blocks out the ring lights with it, casting the stage in the darkness of his tall shadow.

Somehow, he's even prettier in person compared to the still image of him blown up and plastered on the big screen. Soft brown curls and pouty lips. You don't understand in what world a man like that is a professional fighter.

From this distance, with the way that the light refracts from his irises, his eyes almost glow with a scarlet red that takes your breath away as you look up at him and meet his eyes.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was staring at you.

The bell rings out, but he's not looking away. The intensity you find there is enough to make you swallow your tongue. Your face prickles with heat and for several long moments you forget to breathe, until the air seems to thin around you and your vision starts to swim.

Then he turns to face his opponent.

You're not quite sure where to look. There's so much happening at once. For his size, Miguel O'Hara is surprisingly deft on his feet. His footwork is somehow both unpredictable yet intentional all at once.

The King throws a strong punch, as he lunges forward, after his tall opponent. But O'Hara dodges them seemingly without effort. It's followed by punches so quick, the movements blur together.

Strike after strike. The King is giving it his all. But none of it properly connects. With every failed hit, you can see him growing increasingly more frustrated.

Your heart is in your lungs, and despite how close you are to the stage, you almost want to get up from your seat for a closer look.

Safe as you are behind the ropes, adrenaline rushes through your veins with a fury. You can't recall the last time you felt this ecstatic about... well, anything.

With each punch O’Hara dodges, you feel yourself lurch back in your seat, trying to dodge the punch with him.

It's titillating.

Exciting.

O'Hara's movements are precise and honed with intention despite the ferocity in his movements. Each one is measured and intricate and if you didn't know any better you'd almost call it graceful.

You think back to those moments in your childhood friend's home, and his excited words buzz in your ears now. For the first time ever you finally understand what he had meant.

It is like a dance.

Before you, O’Hara's eyes cross over in your direction and for a split of a second, you swear your eyes connect again. His gaze holds you there, pinned to your seat, and excitement shoots through the entirety of your spine until you feel lightheaded from the attention.

Then he finally steps forward, no longer evading.

It's brutal and efficient.

An uppercut that connects cleanly to his opponent's jaw.

Spit and blood flies out from the man's mouth, the flabby flesh of his cheek vibrating from the impact as he lands on the floor with an ear-shattering thud.

Then the guy is out.

Barely even eight minutes in. 

There's a stunned and shocked silence. The crowd seems both enthralled and disappointed at how fast it all went. On the ring floor, you can practically see the circle of cartoon birds flying above the defeated King's head.

You may not know anything about boxing, but you know that this man is not getting up anytime soon, no matter how far the referee counts.

Tearing your eyes away from the motionless body splayed out on the ground elevated above you, you can see the victor towering menacingly over the body.

But Miguel O'Hara isn't even looking at his defeated opponent

No, his eyes are staring straight into the sea of awestruck spectators. Except he’s not looking at them.

He's looking at you.

~ Next.

Author's note: What's that you say? CiCi wtf are you doing starting another series when you already got one going on? ... Idek man. But I hope you guys enjoy it, cause I had a blast writing it, smut will ensue in later chapters I promise!

Dedications and Credits: Buckle up it's gonna be a big one!

Firstly to @guruan when I say she's my muse THIS IS WHAT I MEAN! Look at that beautiful artwork. I am drooling into my panties. I am crying between my legs. I am so damn horny! I cannot thank this amazingly talented genius enough. Please please give this wonderful brilliant human your love by following her, and drop by her KO-FI SHOP cause the art this woman bless us with is UN-fucking-REAL

Then to @djarinsbeskar who put this idea into my head. In my mind she is the OG Boxer AU champion and mastermind. If you are in the mood for more boxing content, she has a wonderful, devastatingly sexy series Boxer!Din AU that is just woof woof bark bark.

[cheynovak]

Bound by Fear - Teaser

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary:Y/N’s life with The Boys has been one of constant fear, especially when Soldier Boy joins their ranks. She knows his dark history, and just being in the same room with him makes her blood run cold. But when a final showdown spirals out of control, and her friends are moments from death, Y/N steps forward, putting herself between Soldier Boy and The Boys. Terrified but determined, she offers him an escape—an out that might save everyone, even if it means sacrificing herself to the supe she fears most.

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, Some spice scene further in the series.

English is not my first language 

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

I can still feel my heart hammering, louder than the chaos that unfolds around me. The Boys are ganging up on Soldier Boy, Ben, and it's not looking good. Every blow, every clash between them reverberates like thunder, and I know… he's not going to back down. He never does. They’re going to get themselves killed. Or maybe he’ll kill them, because he can.

The fear I’ve always had around him swells, but so does a sharper instinct—to stop this. My voice is shaking as I step forward, yelling, “Ben, wait!” The others barely register my words, but he does. His head snaps toward me, confusion narrowing his gaze.

“Run away with me,” I say, not knowing where the words come from. “You don’t have to do this. We can go somewhere else. Start over.”

He laughs softly, almost a scoff, and I know he doesn’t believe it, and I can’t blame him. How many times has he seen me freeze or flinch in his presence? How many times have I buried my horror at his past under a facade of polite distance? Yet here I am, forcing myself to stand still as he steps closer, his gaze locked on mine.

He’s silent for a long moment, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek. His touch is gentle, though there’s a hard look in his eyes, as if he's trying to see through me. “You’re scared of me," he murmurs, the words cold but oddly intimate. “You don’t want this.”

I swallow, trying to steady my breathing. “Yes, I do,” I whisper. “Please, Ben. Come with me.”

His grip moves ever so slightly, his fingers lingering near my neck, his thumb following the beat of my heart under my skin, as he studies me, like he’s weighing the honesty in my words. For a moment, I almost feel the warmth flickering in him, a hesitation.

But then Ben’s hand moves up, his fingers wrapping around my neck, pulling me closer to him, just firm enough to hold me in place, to remind me exactly who he is. I try to steady myself, but the fear is thick in my throat, and despite everything, a tear slips free, tracing down my cheek. I see his gaze drop to it, his jaw clenching as if he’s fighting something within himself.

"You're terrified of me," he murmurs, his voice low, a mixture of frustration and something deeper I can’t quite place.

I try to speak, to hold steady against the intensity in his eyes, but my voice is a whisper. “I’m not—I’m not afraid. I want this, Ben. I want you to come with me. Please, let’s just go.” I say holding my hands around his wrist.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, his grip still firm, his gaze unwavering as if trying to understand what on earth I’m doing, why I’m standing here in the way I am. Then, after what feels like an eternity, his hand drops from my neck, and I exhale, feeling the lingering touch even as he lets go.

I turn just as MM steps closer, the sedative ready in his hands, his eyes hard, determined. I know what he’s about to do, what they’re all about to do. Without thinking, I step forward, my arms outstretched, blocking him from Ben. “Don’t!” I say, my voice breaking. My back is to Ben, shielding him, and I can feel the weight of everyone’s stares—the disbelief, the confusion.

MM’s voice is tense, frustrated. “Y/N, move. He’s not worth it, he’ll kill you the second he gets the chance.”

But I shake my head. “No. This isn’t the way, MM. He’s…let us go, please."

I can feel Ben’s gaze on me, that hard intensity still lingering, but it’s different now, softened somehow, like he’s caught off guard. Annie grabs my arm, her voice a soft, urgent plea, “Y/N, you don’t have to do this. Think about it. You don’t have to protect him.”

But I pull my arm free, looking straight at Ben. “Yes, I do.”

For a moment, it’s as if the whole world pauses, like this decision is hanging in the air, impossible to ignore.

Then Ben steps back, his shoulders relaxing, a flicker of something like understanding in his eyes. And without another word, he turns to leave, and I follow, feeling the weight of every gaze behind me.

There’s no going back now.

--

Taglist:

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma

@ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27

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[spitdrunken]

THIS IS INCREDIBLY SELF-INDULGENT BUT. MY BLOG!

notes: power imbalance, sexual harrassment, murder mentions.

rotating a thought in my head where 'you' are an increasingly popular erotica writer from the pride ring. with writing, you've hit a bit of a niche, as a lot of the big porn producers (VoxTech's subsidiaries) are not exactly known for their riveting dialogue or personalities. no one's there for anything more than that, but there are demons who do want a bit more 'meat', so to say, with nowhere else turn. that is where you come in!

it's not enough to make a steady living off of, not even when you start taking incredibly specific commissions, but it's never been more of a hobby anyway. you are completely anonymous online, keeping care to use throwaway emails and accounts for everything. still, voxtech's products are utterly inescapable: it's either using them, or using nothing at all. (and those rumours about their boss vox having complete control over his technology, even after selling, has to be a rumour... you hope.)

meanwhile, as your penname continues to grow more and more recognizable, it falls in the vees' meeting room. valentino's immediate suggestion is just to kill you. people in the comments keep comparing his dialogue to yours. what the fuck is that about? who the hell watches porn for the DIALOGUE in the first place?

velvette, while shrugging her shoulders, only adds that their new releases tend to go trending, prior to release. fucking far from the top of that list, but still. trending is trending.

vox, sighing internally, plasters a smile on his face. there's really no need to kill new up and coming talent, val. we should suggest them to work for us instead. and if they don't... we can simply prevent them from working. they'll make up their mind, then.

you return to your laptop to an utterly inescapable pop-up describing the opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to work at voxtech! it's a whole wall of text, describing your pay (higher than you would have expected), where you will be living (in one of the appartment buildings owned by voxtech), and when to head to their main office. there is no word on denying the contract, an utter impossibility, it seems. not that you'd dare. vox's and the radio demon's showdown was the talk of the ring for days, and apparantly, all that rancour was the source of alastor denying a contract of his own. that really is more shit than you can handle in your undead life now. so, you take the job.

as your stories are starting to get heavily promoted, velvette absolutely insists that you add in at least a couple of looong clothing descriptions, based on her tastes. she's such an overwhelming, pushy presence, that it's hard for you to say no. she goes on about how, if it gets popular enough, people might be interested in somewhat similar outfits. probably not, though, let's be honest with ourselves. she makes you model them, all the while telling you that you really wouldn't be allowed to breathe in the direction of her studio otherwise. when you ask her why you absolutely have the one modelling, she just rolls her eyes. you based large parts of their appearances after you, didn't you? might as well make you look the part.

valentino is one of the worst parts of the job. compared to everyone else, he hardly pesters you, but he's still a terrifying presence. he'll give you 'suggestions' and make you steer your work in certain directions, getting too close and blowing smoke into your face. he gives a graphic description of how he jacked off to one of your stories, just to see your response. (this is a lie: why would he jack off if he can just call some stupid whore over to do it for him? also, he doesn't read.)

if a part of one of your stories ever gets a 'porno adaptation', he's having you play the part of the director, and has you sit in during the entirety of the viewing. you can tell he takes great pleasure out of any of your discomfort, or any of your fumbling- until it's too sloppy, and then he gets mad, of course, and you end up leaving the room with shaky legs.

vox seems to be the nicest one out of the three of them. really, he's only ever been courteous to you. but you've seen him flip his lid during the aforementioned 'radio demon fiasco', which you have been wise enough to never mention, so you still walk on eggshells around him. he can also get pretty pushy about deadlines, so you're not taking any chances.

he insists on having semi-regular meetings with you about the sales figures of your most recent works, wherein you also have to describe your process on other projects and pitch new ideas. frankly, you wish these meetings could be an email! but even when you tried to broach the subject, telling him that, surely, the company leader's time is much more important than this?

he simply brushed you off, telling you that he can decide for himself who and what to spend his time on, thank you very much. now, please continue. he'll inform you of the latest kinks and dynamics that have been most popular, though with some peculiar additions as well. you swear that, sometimes, the main character really does seem to resemble yourself in those suggestions, and the love interest a member of the vees...? you're certain you're just imagining it.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

How The Movie Night Went (18+)

Fortnite!Raphael x reader

A/N: Another short blurb like thingy I just had to do❤️

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Rough sex, doggy style, unprotected sex, back shots.

It had started off like any other movie night for you and your boyfriend. You and Raph had decided to start watching a series together, and this time you would actually watch it, and not get caught up in any other activities. Well, that’s at least what the two of you have been saying for a while now. But each and every time, you and Raph would end up doing… other things. And those things would usually involve Netflix asking if the two of you were still watching, while you had either one of your openings stuffed, or Raph’s lips locked somewhere on you. And today… was no different.

The series you and Raph had wanted to watch together was playing in the background, with an important scene taking place. A tense showdown, the protagonist having a meeting with their enemy, tension slowly rising before the inevitable climax. But neither you or Raph was keeping an eye on it. In fact, it had very quickly turned into background noise to the activities you and your turtle boyfriend had gotten up to. To be honest, you couldn’t even hear what was going on on the screen, due to Raph’s heavy grunts and growls, and the echoing slaps from his skin meeting the back of your thighs.

You yelped as Raph’s three fingered hand came down on your right butt cheek, watching it jiggle before grabbing on with both hands, pulling you back on his as he increased the speed of his hips.

You cried out, resting your forehead against the soft surface of the couch, once again thanking the universe that Raph’s family wasn’t home, allowing you to be as loud as you wanted to. And Raph loves when you’re loud, his body reacting to it instantly, his speed increasing even further.

Moans left your lips as one of your hands slided down between your legs, finding your bundle of nerves, being wet from both you and Raph’s slick that had dripped down over it, using it to lubricate your fingers, rubbing them in circles over you. Raph saw you move your hand over you, and felt your walls close in around him, sending a low groan out with his deep churrs, his hips buckling against you from behind.

“Fuck yeah, babe”, he moaned, catching your eyes as you looked at him over your shoulder, your cheeks flushed and our mouth agape. “Rub yourself for me. Fucking cum on my dick”, he continued, before planting another slap to your butt cheek, the loud sound piercing through the empty lair.

“Raph! Babe!”, you called out, feeling tears of pleasure forming in your eyes, at the stinging yet pleasurable sensation on your soft flesh.

There sounded loud yells and screams from the tv screen, but neither you or Raph gave it a second thought. Instead Raph lifted his left knee, putting the weight on his foot instead, giving him another angle to plow into you with. You cried out once more, your back arching upwards, and your fingers stopping momentarily. Raph leaned over you, his plastron resting against your back, while one of his hands moved from your hips, up your sides and under your shirt, grabbing your breast in his fist. You felt his breath against the shell of your ear, slowly bringing life to your fingers once again. Raph chuckled.

“Do you love my dick, babe?”, he asked, amusement thick in his voice. “Do you love it when I fuck you stupid? Do you love it when I take you on the couch while no one is here, huh, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, Raph!”, you cried out, your fingers working just as fast as his thrusting member, both bringing immense pleasure, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You let out a desperate cry, letting Raph know that you were close. So damn close that you almost were going crazy.

“I’m going to make you cum so hard”, Raph mumbeled, before straightening back up, placing both hands back on your hips, going to town on you with all the power his strong body could muster.

You saw stars before your eyes, as Raph assaulted your g-spot over and over again, pushing you over the edge and into the ocean of pleasure that was your orgasm. Your body contorted under Raph, with the hand you hand used on yourself, instinctively reaching for Raph behind you. He held onto your hand, feeling his own high rabbitly appearance with the clenching of your walls around him, your juices gushing down his member. He felt the tightening of his muscles behind his cloaca, quickly pulling out of you, before resting himself between your cheeks, right before your lower back. With small grunts, Raph came onto your back side, closing his eyes as he emptied himself onto you, letting him run down the curve of your back, pooling at your spine.

Slowly coming down from your highs, panting as you opened your eyes, you were met with a very familiar message from Netflix on the tv screen; “Are you still watching?” Once again, you and Raph had failed to watch the damn show, creating a mess of your backside like all of the other times. Guess movie nights were just bound to fail for the two of you - just like you both secretly wanted it to.

[luna-rainbow]

CATWS and its building of stakes

Part of the reason why CATWS was so memorable in its appeal was the way it built the stakes throughout the story. Each of the major characters had something(s) at stake by the final act, and that was pivotal for the plot to sustain its tension and for the satisfaction in its final payoff.

The overarching conflict was the global, existential threat of Hydra getting their mass murder machine up in the air, and the ideological question of what the middle ground between freedom and security should be. But what made the final act so moving was the intimately personal stakes for many of our characters.

There was, obviously, the very personal stake Steve had to surmount in having to physically get through Bucky in order to protect the freedom he was advocating for. But apart from Steve, every other major character was challenged with a personal sacrifice in the final showdown. Nat was faced with having all her covers blown and her past - that she had tried so hard to hide - revealed to the world. Sam was confronted with going back into the field after losing his partner so traumatically that he changed careers. Fury was grappling with dismantling the organisation that he had devoted his life to build. And on the other side, Pierce and Rumlow had invested decades of their lives in an ideology which if successful would install them at the top of the food chain.

There was a great meta from years back talking about how well the movie established the competencies of the characters before introducing threats -- and how we were then able to quickly understand the threat because of how competent we have seen our protagonists be. Every action sequence served a purpose and built upon the previous one.

The Lumerian Star sequence was fantastic in how effectively it established the competence of not just Steve and Nat, but the entire Strike team. Rumlow and Rollins were good at their job; they're not super soldiers or super spies, sure, but they were skilled enough to keep pace with Steve and Nat.

This was an important foreword for the elevator fight, which itself was a pre-requisite for the Causeway fight. We have seen both Steve and the Strike team capable of taking down multiple pirates swiftly, so when the elevator fight started, there was a genuine sense of threat to Steve, even if he would make a quick job of disabling them. Then, after seeing Steve's skills against a very capable Strike team, it became all the more terrifying when the Winter Soldier almost nailed him to a van about 2 minutes into their fight.

On the other side, the Winter Soldier's introduction was an assemblage of horror story tropes -- of unexpected manifestations and impossible disappearances, and urban myths stretching back through half a century. The two characters used to introduce him were extremely competent from what we had seen of them. There's Fury, normally prescient and wily, scraping by a very determined assassination attempt, only to be stopped by the Winter Soldier materialising in the middle of the road...which he escaped, only to be later shot through the wall. There's Nat, normally cunning and cautious, telling Steve of how the Winter Soldier successfully ambushed her, of how his kills spanned 50 years, a logical improbability.

Not only was Steve about to meet the Winter Soldier with the weight of these legends behind him, from the vantage point of Hydra, they were sending out the Asset to meet Captain America with his historical legends behind him (oh look, another narrative parallel). All of this build-up culminated in the Causeway fight. The technical impressiveness of the stunts aside, part of why that fight worked so well was because we have had all these story beats that showed us how capable Steve and the Winter Soldier were, then we see them both genuinely struggle to overcome the other.

We can't talk about the final fight without talking about the emotional stakes, and we can't talk about the emotional stakes without discussing what Bucky means to Steve. We already had the "not without you" and the "I'm following the little guy from Brooklyn"; we've also had the "I don't want to kill anyone" turn into "I'm not going to stop until all of Hydra is dead" and the "I'm just a kid from Brooklyn" callback. This movie added the "even when I had nothing I had Bucky" and the "I knew him" and the "he will (know me)" and of course the "end of the line" exchanges.

But there were also more subtle cues -- that came from Steve's frequent rebuff of Nat's suggestions for companionship, the string of betrayals Steve had to grapple with, and Steve's lamentations of guilt and regret and uncertainty. Steve could not deny that he was lonely, but he had 101 excuses for why he could not make new connections. Steve did not know what he's looking for or why he's fighting or how long he wanted to continue, until he found out what was behind SHIELD and, specifically, what Hydra had done with Bucky.

Even removing the shipping angle, the final showdown between Steve and Bucky was unique in superhero movies, even for a friend-turned-enemy battle. It was not like the fight between Tony Stark and Obadiah Stane, or Peter Parker and Harry Osborne, or even Thor and Loki or Charles and Erik -- because there was no ideological divide between Steve and Bucky. Bucky did not and could not believe in the cause he's fighting for - he simply did not have that capacity for choice. The ideological battle was carried by the other characters - between Fury and Nat vs Pierce, between Sam vs Rumlow, and between the rest of SHIELD vs Hydra.

For Steve, his fight was much purer, dearer, and more heart-rending. The final battle held such emotional significance, not just because he's fighting his best friend, but also because his best friend was an unwilling participant in the circumstances. Bucky was Steve's physical equal, but he's also Steve's shared life experience, his tragically failed mission, his unfulfilled childhood promise, his betrayed faith in SHIELD, and the price that was paid for Hydra to grow under SHIELD's nose. This fight offered closure for all of these narrative and emotional threads.

He was also, once again, Hydra's asking price in exchange for the freedom Steve wanted for the world...and Steve so desperately wanted, this time, for that world to include Bucky.

[angellayercake]

Thinking really hard about how easily a Raphael romance could have been added.

Only if you accept his deal and only if you reciprocate all his flirting (because no one can convince me he isn't flirting genuine or not) you can suggest the two of you consummate your newly signed deal and then that is that right?

But then if you decide actually I've made a mistake, the Emperor wins you over, or you decide that Gale deserves the crown more, you break into his House of Hope and discover things between you are not as you thought.

You find he has written about you extensively, in his diaries, in his little stories, he even has your signed contract pride of place in his archive that is filled with centuries worth of treasures. It's flattering at first learning how much he has thought of you, how important you are to his plans but the more you find, that you even haunt his dreams, the bigger the knot of unease grows in your chest.

Your exploration continues until you get your invitation to the boudoir and of course that is a temptation you can't resist. Haarlep greets you and is eager to tell you how Raphael is interested in no one but himself but you know that's not entirely true. Between your night together and everything you have discovered thus far you know. So you tell them, maybe even boasting slightly that perhaps you are the exception but all the reaction you get is a smirk and assurance that being an object of his obsession has always worked out well in the past.

You could heed their veiled, smugly given warning or you could continue on with your mission. In this scenario Haarlep can be convinced to help you without either sleeping with them or killing them. They would gladly give you the key to the safe just to have a front row seat to the showdown between Raphael and his rebellious new pet. You find the pass code for your contract which gives you pause.

His heart's desire? You know it is the crown and the power that will inevitably come with it but that little phrase being used in association with you makes you question more than anything else so far if you are doing the right thing.

And then there is Hope. Maybe you feel sorry for her, maybe you can't squash down that flicker of jealousy but then as you learn more and more about her, why she is there and what he has done, you realise what you are about to do is exactly what earned Hope these years of imprisonment and torment. Deprive him of something he wants desperately. So you have one last chance to make a decision and you better make it quickly.

The master of the house is coming...

[sunny44]

Old vs new

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x daughter

Warnings: none, just fluff

Summary: When Lewis is bored in his house and decide to do a instagram live with his daughter.

This is a request

It was a sunny afternoon and I was bored in the house, my wife was with her sister and I was at our house with my daughter who was doing something in her room and then I had the idea of doing an Instagram live witch is something I usually don’t do but since the fans lives Ava I thought it was a good ideia.

I called Ava saying to meet me in my trophies room and when I press the button to start the live, Ava entered the room and she sit in my lap and we immediately created a buzz as fans tuned in to witness our live.

"Hey everyone, I've got a very special lady here with me today," I said to the phone and Ava smiled and waved at everyone. "As you guys already now this is my daughter Ava. And she’s already in go kart to be the next Hamilton.”

Mia giggled, her eyes lighting up as she playfully jabbed, "Yeah, Dad, you're not as fast as you used to be. You're like, ancient in F1 years!"

The comment sparked laughter from Lewis and his audience. "Ancient, huh?" he responded, feigning shock. "Well, I might not be as young as I was when I started, but I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve!"

Ava’s eyes twinkled mischievously. "Oh, I've seen your tricks, Dad. I've also seen your old races on TV. Vintage stuff!"

The banter continued as they reminisced about Lewis's early days in racing. He recounted stories of his breakthrough races, while Mia giggled at the outdated racing gear he used to wear. "Hey, don't laugh too hard! Those suits were cutting-edge back then," Lewis protested, feigning offense.

Mia, her voice dripping with mock seriousness, quipped, "Yeah, sure they were, Dad. Just like those ancient cell phones you used!"

The playful teasing exchanged between father and daughter endeared them to their audience even more. Amidst the jokes, Lewis shared the valuable lessons he learned from his journey – the hard work, dedication, and resilience that drove him to become a champion.

"You know, Ava" Lewis began with a thoughtful expression, "racing isn't just about speed and trophies. It's about determination and pushing yourself beyond your limits. That's something you'll need to remember when you're the next Hamilton in F1."

Mia's eyes gleamed as she leaned closer to the camera. "Oh, I'll remember, Dad. And when I'm on that track, I'll make sure to remind everyone that the Hamilton legacy continues!"

Their connection was a beautiful blend of admiration and camaraderie. As the conversation flowed, Lewis turned the tables on Ava. "You know what, Ava? I think it's time for a challenge. How about we have a karting race this weekend? Old vs new!"

Ava's face lit up, excitement radiating from her. "You're on, Dad! Just remember, I've been practicing!"

As the live session drew to a close, Lewis shared his pride in his daughter's aspirations. "I'm not just her father, but also her biggest fan. If she chooses to step into the world of racing, I'll be there every step of the way."

The Instagram Live ended with promises of the upcoming karting showdown and a grateful farewell to the fans. Lewis and Ava had not only shared their love for racing but had given the world a glimpse into the genuine bond they shared – a bond that would undoubtedly continue to flourish as the next generation of the Hamilton legacy began to unfold.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Power (Vox x reader) 18+

Vox x Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Porn without plot, Power dynamics, Secretary reader, Choking on dick, Office blowjob. Summary: Vox is wound tight after his on air showdown with the newly returned Alastor. The show must go on though and you have just what he needs to get into the right headspace to move forward.

AN- A little gift for some friends because idk, I can? I'm high off attention? I don't even know anymore. Have a TV Dinner...

Join Us at VoxTek today! A discord server dedicated to Vox and the rest of the Hazbin crew.

Masterlist Kofi AO3

Your heels clicked against the polished tile floors as you approached the heavy doors of your boss’ office. The doors were intimidating to most anyone that had to approach, a sign of the power of the man inside. 

For you though, the only thing that could intimidate you was his mood though you’d never admit it. His moods shifted with the winds, endlessly volatile with a charming smile. 

He was in a foul mood tonight. Between having to clear his schedule to deal with Val’s latest bitch-fit and losing his own shit- not that he would admit to that- on a ring wide broadcast was enough to leave him sour for the day. 

Add in his little hissy fit causing a city wide power outage and having to deal with only getting a phone meeting with Carmine weapons on such short notice… he was in a state. 

The show had to go on though. Just as Val needed Vox to talk him down off the ledge, Vox needed you to bring him back to center. Technically, you were his secretary and for the most part, that was the role you filled but on occasion your tasks went above and beyond the standard secretarial duties.

But perhaps, considering the era Vox had died in, it wasn’t really so much above and beyond your job description after all.

It should have made you feel degraded. You should have raged against being put in a 1950’s stereotype of the sexy secretary. You should have pushed back against sleeping with your boss. 

But, when in Rome. 

It got you a good paycheck, a nice apartment, top quality food and the best entertainment Hell had to offer. Why pretend you were better than that when having the favor of an Overlord brought so much? Plus it got you some Earth shatteringly good sex. Or maybe Hell shatteringly was a better way to put it?

It helped that he had a sexy body and was charming, most of the time. The TV head took some getting used to though. It was cute how it digitized his expressions, broadcasting them for all to see. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had been easy to read in life as well but you’d never ask. 

You didn’t knock when you reached those heavy doors you knew so well. Instead you pulled them open without hesitation and slipped inside as if you belonged. In a way, you did.

Vox glanced over at you, eyes running up and down your figure before going back to the computer he was working at. What he did half the time, you hadn’t a clue. It was above your paygrade. 

“I’m busy, doll.” 

“And in a bad mood, too.” Your hips swayed as you walked up to his desk, unafraid.

Your skirt and blouse were tight, highlighting every asset you had. The click of your heels echoed as you drew nearer to his desk. His eyes only flickered to you as you began to circle it, running your finger tips over the smooth surface. 

You knew how this dance went. 

Rounding on him, you ran your fingers up his arm and across his tense shoulders. You were only just touching him. Fleeting glances of your fingertips teased him, making sure he knew exactly where you were and doing little else. 

“I don’t have time,” He shuddered a bit at your touch, turning to face you, “Expecting a call.”

“Not even enough time for a kiss?” You asked, using the slight opening he created between his lean torso and the hard desk to slip into his lap. Your hip banged against the edge of the desk in the process causing you to swallow a yelp. 

“Doll,” Vox signed before screwing his face up, demanding to be in charge. 

It was just another part of the game between the two of you. The power games between the two of you were what drove you to indulge is touches more often than not. It was intoxicating, having a man such as Vox bend to your touch. 

You slipped a claw tipped finger under his collar, scraping his dark blue neck as you worked it under the bowtie and pulled him to you. 

“Kiss me,” You demanded rather than asked, just how you knew he craved. 

“Baby,” Vox crumbled but you knew he would. Sure, he would bend you over, put you in your place but Vox craved having someone to serve in ways you were not sure he even was fully aware of. 

His kiss was greedy, just like he was. 

Kissing his screen face was never not weird when you thought about it for too long, but it wasn’t unpleasant. His plasma tongue sent sparks through you as as it dipped into your mouth, demanding you submit to his thin lips. He was never a slow kisser, always greedy for more and trying to take it by force. 

It was his greed that gave you power over your boss, limited though it was. 

The ringing of a call sounded through his speakers, shattering your kiss. Having his face ring was never not awkward. It was one thing when a man’s phone would ring on his desk or in his pocket but when his face was his phone? That was a whole different level of weird. 

“Gotta take this,” He sounded less sure as you shifted on his lap, feeling the hardness in his pants. 

You had hardly kissed and yet he was stiff. It didn’t surprise you in the slightest. He knew why you were sent in and you knew that. Just some more steps to the ever so addicting dance. 

“Take the call,” You said as you slipped off his lap, melting to your knees under his desk. “You don’t want to miss a chance to make a deal?” 

“What are you-?” Vox choked on his question as you palmed his crotch. 

“Take your call,” You demanded, “And if you make this deal, I’ll make you see Heaven’s Gate. Be a good boy and get your deal in motion.” 

“Fuck, Doll.” Vox tossed his call to the computer in front of him and answered, all business. 

As he began to speak as you scoot back under his desk, letting the darkness shroud you. He kept his chair leaned back, eyes on you as he ironed out details and specifics, voice full of confidence. You didn’t listen, instead deciding to put on a little show just for him. 

Fingers worked free one button after another on your blouse, slowly exposing the deep blue bra you wore. Not lace, no- you wore slick silk. Smooth, clean lines cupping your breasts and ensuring they looked their best. 

Vox was a modern man with modern tastes, even if he liked a classic scandalous preoccupation with his secretary. You tailored your undergarments to match. 

As you ran your hands over your chest and down your body his eyes followed every twitch of your fingertips. He watched you as you hiked your skirt up, bunching the clingy fabric around your hips as you showed him the matching panties, center between your legs visibly darker even in the shadows you sat in. Smooth fabric made running your hands over your moist covered slit easy. 

Vox’s cock strained against his pants as he watched you, now fully engorged. His voice never wavered though, as he did his job like the master he was. No one would ever know how distracted he was except you. 

The call was quick, over after a few minutes with a promise to send a write up of the proposal. Now it was your time to act. If you didn’t, he would take control and you didn’t want that. Right now, what you wanted was to make him mush in your hands. 

And you would. 

You climbed up on your knees, resting your head against his thigh for a moment as he carded his dangerous claws through your hair. For a moment, you indulged in the soft affection. It was the moments of soft affection, complements dished out casually that risked making you think for even a moment that this was more than just a arrangement. 

You could feel the heat of his cock, still contained but straining for freedom just in front of your face, reminding you why you were there. Reaching up, you palmed him again, feeling how much harder he was as you ran your lips along the length of his still cloth covered member. 

“Fuck, Doll, were you trying to set me up for failure?” Vox’s voice warbled out for a moment, wavering with his excitement. 

“Do you fail at anything?” You teased, leaning back to look at him as you ran your hands up and down his spread thighs, each pass taking you closer to his cock, teasing him with how you had withdrawn your touch. 

“No,” Vox said firmly, smile growing on his screen as he looked down at you fondly. 

You laughed at his arrogance, trying to put a lid on any feelings the look on his face could stir up. It was better to focus on his confidence. It was one of the traits you found so attractive about him. 

“I did promise you a reward, didn’t I?” Your fingers worked his belt open and slowly pulling the zipper of his pants down. 

You didn’t waste time in pulling him from his pants, fingers eager to wrap around his length. Just as you didn’t need to knock on his office door and wait for permission, you had blanket access to him as well. The knowledge that he wouldn’t deny you made you feel all sorts of ways. 

“Get up here,” Vox tried to demand but it sounded more like a plea.

Just how you liked it. This was what you did to such a powerful man. While you were physically on your knees for him, you he was the one who was really on the ground. 

Instead of back talking, you simply ran your tongue up the underside of his dark blue cock, taking in the salty taste of his skin. The veins were prominent and glowed ever so slightly a blue light, hardly noticeable if not for the darkness under his desk. You wouldn’t have ever considered a penis to be pretty before but Vox’s changed that. 

He had a penis that was, frankly, pretty though if you had told him that you could imagine the scoff easily. It made you crave it, crave having the weight of it in your mouth. The sight of it alone made your mouth water.

Dark blue, light glow and dusty pink at the tip. What a treat he made. You needed him in your mouth. 

He groaned as you wrapped your lips around his tip, wasting no time. Legs stretched out around you as he leaned further back in his chair. A gasping breath shuttered through him as you set to work. 

You ran your tongue over the tip, sucking softly as you looked at him. His screen was pointed down at you, eyes blazing into you. Pink tinted the blue background of his screen, seeping in from the edges, just as pink dusted the tip of his cock.

Did he know that he matched? It didn’t matter, with your mouth full you couldn’t tell him anyway. 

What mattered was the sounds falling from his mouth as you worked more of him into your mouth painfully slowly. Wrapping your fingers around his shaft, you stroked what you hadn’t taken in yet. 

It would be a matter of time before Vox got another call or someone came knocking on the office door. That was part of the excitement though. Claw tipped fingers curled, fisting in your hair as you sucked more of him into your mouth leisurely. 

You were going too fast for him, you knew that but you couldn’t help it. His strong thighs twitched and flexed under your hands as more of him disappeared into your mouth. Down you sank, one slow inch at a time until he hit the back of your throat. 

Slowly you pulled back, dancing your tongue over the sensitive underside of his cock while you did so. 

“Don’t tease me, Doll.” His fist tightened, pulling captured hair roughly in the process. 

The moan that poured up your throat and washed over his cock had him twitching on your tongue as you sank back down, pushing him as deep as you could in your current position only to slowly pull back once again.

He hated it when you teased him like this. It drove him insane. He would never admit it but you knew, he loved it. 

“Faster.” He demanded as you looked up at him, breasts moving with every deep breath you took as you licked and sucked the head of his cock as if it was a piece of candy. 

With the hand at the back of your head, he put pressure on your head in an attempt to guide you back down his shaft. That wouldn’t do.

Pulling back, you let his head fall from your lips with a pop. The pressure on you head wasn’t something you could overpower and so, you didn’t fight it after letting him free. He was unprepared as he shoved your face into his crotch. 

“Please, babydoll-”

You smiled at his words, kissing the base of his shaft only to work your way back up toward his tip.

“What do you want?” You spoke, lips moving against his shaft teasingly. His hips flexed, thrusting his spit slick cock against your mouth. 

“Stop teasing,” His breath was already coming labored, much to your delight. “Put that pretty little mouth of yours to work.” 

“But I am?” You blinked up at him, feigning innocence even as you slowly took his cock back into your mouth and bobbed on it twice. 

“Faster.” He demanded, voice not quite giving his demand the power to force you to comply. 

Again, you let it free with a pop in order to speak, “I don’t know, you didn’t make the deal.” 

“But I will,” He promised, voice straining as you stroked his chock casually. “I’ll make the deal.” 

You loved it when he got like this. Pleading. “I don’t know if that’s good enough,” Pausing, you licked and kissed his pink tinted head as you let him sit on the thought a moment longer. “You know, they had to pull me out of a meeting to come to you. That’s so inconvenient…” 

“Please,” You smiled at his word, rubbing your thighs together as he looked down at you, “Please, I’ve been good, I- Fuck.” 

You sant down his cock, raising up on your knees carefully to avoid banging your head on the solid desk above you as you adjusted your position. One deep breath and you sank lower, lower and he slipped into your throat. 

“Fuck,” He whispered as you sank as far down as you could. 

Never could you have taken all of him into your throat but you tried. For the sounds he made, you always tried. Reaching into his pants, you pulled his balls free. Rolling them in your hand, you backed up again.

“No, baby-” Vox whimpered as you kissed his head again. “Please,” 

Reaching down your body, you ran your fingers over your silk covered slit as you sank down again. Faster and faster, you bobbed along his length. The sounds he made drove you on. 

“Please,” He repeated the word and your name as he grew more desperate.

It was music to your ears. This is how you liked him, powerful and folding to you. You could taste his power on your tongue, static electricity dancing over his skin as he watched his cock disappear into your mouth again and again. 

You spread you knees, slipping your hand under the waistband of your silk panties, stuck tightly to your skin by your fluids. His pleasure was your goal. His pleasure was your job but you were not above indulging in your own as you moaned around him. 

He begged as he watched your hand pleasure yourself under the shiny blue silk. You clenched around your fingers as you dipped inside, feeling just how excited you were to be partially undressed and on your knees in Vox’s office. 

You moaned around him as you ran your fingers over your clit expertly. You knew exactly how to touch yourself. 

“Please, Babydoll,” Vox’s hips thrust forward, jabbing the head of his cock so far down your throat that you gagged on him. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Now was when the dance would change. Vox could only give up power for so long. He would only be weak to you for so long. 

“I’m close,” His hand ran through your hair, pulling stands away from your face and fisting again in the back. “Doll, can I?” 

Though he asked, you both knew he wasn’t really asking. Still, you moaned in approval as the coil in your core pulled tighter and tighter. Your practiced fingers paired with his moans and the way he looked at you brought you to the edge of your own orgasm. 

As your orgasm washed over you, you moaned deeply around him. That was the last thing he needed for his cock to begin twitching. You hardly had a chance to breath as his fist at the back of your head drove your head up and down his cock. His hips matched his pace. 

You could do nothing but hold onto his thigh as you rode out your high. He used your throat to chase his high until he pushed you down hard on his cock, your nose grazing the soft skin above his cock as his cum exploded down your throat. 

He thrust lazily as he rode out his high, spilling his seed on your tongue as you struggled to swallow it down. It wasn’t an offensive taste, salty and tasting like plasma. It was your turn to be greedy as you softly sucked his tip and licked his shaft clean, not wanting to waste a drop.

When the overstimulation got to him, Vox pushed you away harshly. You fell in a heap under his desk, clothes and hair a mess but satisfied smile on your face as you looked up at his blue screen.

You couldn’t read it from where you sat but you knew what those little white words along the bottom of the screen read. 

Vox had overheated and an error message proclaimed that your mouth was too good while he sat still, chest rising and falling in deep breaths you never understood how he took in that state, without a mouth on the screen. 

You may not have territory or the power to take lives. You may not be independently wealthy but you were far from powerless. 

You had the power to short circuit the reigning king of the technological sector of Pentagram City. 

[ecargmura]

Unpopular Opinion: I Liked The Hashira Training Arc! (Season 4 Review)

Unpopular opinion: I liked this arc! While the Entertainment District arc will always be a personal favorite of mine, the Hashira Training arc was fun for a majorly low stakes arc where there is no demon slaying. I liked seeing Tanjiro going through shenanigans with the Hashira and fellow Demon Slayer Corps. It was a definite calm before the storm before all the stuff that transpired at the end of Episode 7 and the entirety of Episode 8. It definitely got me engaged and anticipating the movie trilogy.

In the manga, this was Demon Slayer’s shortest arc with it only being 8 chapters, I believe. Ufotable expanding the training and also giving anime original content was a real treat to fans because fans of the Hashiras can have more content before the the depression that is the Infinity Castle arc (Yes, I read the manga and yes, I know how depressing the next arc will be). Sanemi and Iguro actually get a lot of action scenes because their skills weren’t revealed until the Infinity Castle arc, so it’s a treat to finally see them finally get some action, even if it’s anime original content.

I think the best part about the arc is the added content. In the manga, Tanjiro goes through each Hashira training in a page or two. That’s it. He just sweeps through them like that. Ufotable takes time to help both Tanjiro and the viewers see what he is going through for each training session. Some take weeks to finish.

The first two episode is mainly a rundown of what’s to come for the other episodes and a sneak peak at the Infinity Castle, which finally appears in the season’s finale. It’s mainly the Hashira learning that the Demon Slayer mark that Muichiro and Mitsuri temporarily got back in the previous season is an effective way to take down demons, hence why they decided to hold a training session so Hashiras and the corps can get a boost in power before the big fight. Giyu was the only one who didn’t want to participate in it, so the second episode was just Tanjiro trying to cheer him up and learning why he is detached from the rest—it turned out to be due to self-loathing over the fact that his friend Sabito died while trying to protect him during the Final Selection Exam. Fortunately, Tanjiro was able to get Giyu to cheer up and he recovers well enough to participate in the Hashira Training, which is from Episodes 3 to 7. Also, no one is harking on Shinobu for not participating in the training session; though, she has a reason to not participate…

What I liked about the Hashira Training is learning what Uzui and Muichiro have been up to since their spotlighted arc. In fact, all of the Hashira Training is to get attached to the Hashira before the big showdown. While Uzui has retired, he has been helping out with the training by making the corps do basic training like stamina building and endurance. His three wives Suma, Makio and Hinatsuru tell Tanjiro that Uzui does want to participate in battles again, which worries them. It’s nice to see that the Hashira has their own fair share of worries even after retiring. I don’t think Uzui wants to fight demons out of bloodlust, but it’s more like he wants to help out. Muichiro, after getting his memories and emotions back, is still the same in demeanor, but the way he’s super sweet to Tanjiro but super cold and condescending to the other corps members was hilarious. He clearly has favoritism. I think the best part of these two episodes is seeing Tanjiro motivating the other nameless corps members to work hard! Tanjiro will always be a ray of sunshine to everyone!

Episode 5 is where the Hashira spotlight sort of stops because Mitsuri gets the short end of the stick. While she is still the same after the Swordsmith Village Arc, it would have been nice to learn what has changed for her since then. Though, I would admit that her flexibility training is the scariest of the bunch because getting your legs stretched out all the way when it’s not used to it is terrifying. You need your legs, after all! After that, Mitsuri’s training is done and then Iguro gets most of the spotlight, which makes sense because Iguro isn’t really showcased as much in the manga. Giving him that extra spotlight is necessary. I honestly liked the Iguro training segment because of how it was animated. The first episode showcased Iguro’s Breathing skills and he is able to utilize that in a regular wooden sword. Though, I do admit that Iguro tying up the nameless corps onto poles does make me wonder if they were tied there afterwards on purpose or if they always angered Iguro. After Iguro’s training is Sanemi’s training where it’s just hacking and slashing, but Tanjiro gets the most fatal blows due to his dislike for him. After helping Genya and trying to stop an angry Sanemi, Tanjiro gets a restraining order and is suspended from doing Sanemi’s training. The backstory between Genya and Sanemi was shown in Season 3 and why Genya wanted to apologize. I know that Sanemi does have his reasons for getting angry at Genya and why he was telling him to quit the corps, but he’s not doing a great job on expressing it. I always saw Sanemi as a bit of a foil of Tanjiro in a sense as they’re both the oldest but their treatment of their only living family member is totally different due to how they process the trauma.

Episode 6 is where the comedy starts because it was the most hilarious episode. Just seeing Tanjiro, Zenitsu and Inosuke reunited to do Himejima’s training session was so funny. Tanjiro had to be the mom friend by saving Zenitsu and Inosuke from drowning in two different occasions. Also, learning about Himejima’s backstory in the following episode hurt a lot because the kid who ratted them out to the demon in order to survive was the kid who bullied Zenitsu in his flashback back in Season 1.

Then in the last two episodes, Muzan finally shows up. After making small appearances here and there with new Upper Four Nakime in order to search for Nezuko, Muzan located Ubuyashiki and entered the base. It was amusing that the penultimate episode had him walk for like 5 minutes. Muzan confronts the Master and after talking with each other, the Master launches the craziest bombing I’ve seen in an anime so far. He legit did a suicide bombing with Amane and his two daughters Nichika and Hinaki—if you saw the opening, the Master has 5 kids, so no, his entire family isn’t wiped out. Where are the other three kids? Well, watch the movies to find out.

I think the finale was very memorable because of how everything played out once the bombing happened and how every Demon Slayer Corps got sent into the Infinity Castle in hopes that Muzan will wipe them out for good. It does reflect on what Ubuyashiki said before with how the Demon Slayer Corps are eternity in itself in a similar way to Muzan. In order for Muzan to be eternity, he needs to wipe out his main obstacle so that he can find Nezuko without anything blocking his path.

The animation has been consistent with the quality getting an upgrade whenever there’s an action scene. However, the finale amps up the quality tenfold. The way Himejima attacks and also blocks Muzan’s attacks to seeing Tamayo’s expressions move around from anger to regret were seriously a visual treat. The music was really good too! The finale really amped up the soundtrack. Go Shiina really knows how to produce quality songs—I’ve always been a fan of his pieces as I am a big fan of the Tales series.

All in all, making the Infinity Castle arc into a movie trilogy is actually the best solution because the arc is very long and it mainly consists of fighting the remaining Upper Moons. Trying to condense the arcs into a television series might be difficult due to choppy pacing and untimely cliffhangers. While I’m not necessarily a big anime movie fan, I still do think this is the best route Ufotable can take with a big franchise like Demon Slayer. What are your thoughts for this entire season and your thoughts on the movie trilogy announcement?

[havg02]

Fem!Batman headcanons (part 2)

◇By the time she realises she did care for Tim, his parents are dead and she immediately takes him in and only then raise him with actual full love as a sort of apology. She's still hesitant about him being Robin since Jason's death ran deep but seeing that the Teen Titans needed a Robin and Tim's intelligence, with Dick's reassurance, she decides to have another go. And soon enough, everything seems fine. Bryce dotes on Tim like she did with others and is very protective when he gets sick bc of his spleen, constantly scolding him on drinking too much caffeine and fickling about his scrawny appearance as if he's seconds from dying from starvation while Bruce wouldn’t be over the top about it like her. Tim and her have literal showdowns on stopping him from having caffeine.

◇Tim loves it the most when Bryce takes him out to picnic on a nice place and asks him to take pictures for her, then when she's at the gala party, she'll go show the pictures and his grades off for everyone to see how smart and talented he is--Bryce probably becomes more extroverted because of this well since she actually has something to talk about and not rely on her shyness to not talk more often. And when people saying how much she seems to love him and how important he must be reaches his ears, Tim is all mushy inside since he's not used to all this and Bryce can't help but find it amusing when his ears go all red whenever she holds his face and plants a kiss on his head. He's unsure what to feel when she bites his cheek and pinches his baby fat skin out of cuteness aggression.

◇Bryce knew that Dick and Jason couldn't take over her role of being the ceo of the Wayne enterprise so she didn't bother expecting Tim to take it up but when she sees that he's doing pretty great, she's kind of lost at the amount of new free time she has now that she doesn't need to work anymore. Like.....she can actually rest a little longer? It's.....so new. But boy is she thankful for him, maybe a little sorry when he's looking tired from balancing patrols, managing the Teen Titans, and work so she does still the paperwork for him to allow him to rest. And when Tim is having a hard time, he'll go straight to her to cry or for some comfort and curl up while taking whiffs of her scent that he's come to take it as a comfort smell like it's crack, with no fear of looking/feeling like a baby. Cuz everyone's a baby around Bryce!

◇Like with Dick and Jason, Bryce puts effort in protecting Tim from Damian’s attacks so they wouldn't be estranged bc she knows that Damian depends on his biological genes with her to only prove his worth and might be jealous of the others who got to be with her before him, and she definitely makes sure Tim knows that too. Like she'd sit him down to tell how brainwashed Damian is by the League and how Dick used to resent Jason too yet was still a big brother to him, and while he's not her real child, she still wanted him and chose him so he's still just as special. Tim is worried at first thinking she was going to neglect him too in favor for Damian but is happy again. Especially when Bryce says he's allowed to hit back if Damian is really gonna kill him and she promises she's going to do her best to calm him, and that he just needed to keep patient.

◇When Tim feels the absolute worst from receiving endless pain from Damian, Bryce makes sure to praise him by saying he's good as Dick who also joins her to get the two to get along, and it works. Tim is fangirling and probably ends up staying in the manor too. When Bryce dies, Tim is an absolute mess as he is in Canon when he doesn't have anyone like her to use their bat-senses to immediately know that he must be suffering from something and be there without him calling. He might go sleep in her bed with Damian like he used to do when he had nightmares and even bond with him as well by telling him all the stories of Bryce so that Damian who didn't get know her as much. Then he'll remember her praises and really get the idea of what being an older brother is about, and get along with Damian more. Cue Dick gushing like a school girl and telling Bryce in heaven would be proud.

◇When Talia introduces Damian to her, Bryce also goes r u srs like Bruce but mostly bc of the running joke of her having so many kids and she'd just sworn she wouldn't have anymore right before he showed up, yet she can't turn him away because IT'S HER BIOLOGICAL CHILD this time, who she never got to see at birth as a baby. Regarding the fact Damian has been raised in the league, she knows he'd been spoilt & only taught to kill and her kids may feel a little insecure around him since they're not her real children like Damian is so Bryce makes sure to be firm with him when teaching him respect/boundaries and everyone else to know she's not favouring him. She tries to get close to him by sparring and allowing to be as deadly as he wants so she could evaluate his weakness/strengths at the same time/learn about his life with the Leagues.

◇Bryce will also asks him to show off his art and music skills so she can praise him to make sure that Damian knows she IS proud of him and loves his skills so that he doesn't think she doesn't approve of him or that he's a bad person when she tries to tell him that his skills are too deadly. She tries to please him by taking him on missions where he could destroy enemies like robots so he can go ham as much as he pleases but she struggles so bad on trying to get him used to normal stuff that she wonders if that's how Dick felt with her when they went to eat McDonald's and she cut the burger with a knife to eat in smaller pieces. Luckily speaking of who, Dick helps Damian with that for her too that she's so thankful for him bc she believes that Damian should still get to experience having a dad figure too.

◇Bryce is super careful with him but does end up raising her voice at him at one point to get a message through and Damian gets scared for once, but she really wants him to know that he's not at fault for his violence as he would've feared being punished for failing and that he shouldn't feel ashamed for having be taught over again. So when Damian actually starts following orders, even though the criminals are still suffering more than they should be, she accepts it anyway since Jason does the same.

◇When she dies, Damian would probably be a little scared she's not around because she undid the fear of disappointing the League and taught him how things are meant to be, making Bryce his comforting figure to run to when he feels weak and vulnerable as Talia has never done that for him except worshipped him as the Batwoman's blood heir. Dick literally had to try gently coax him out of her bed he was hiding, but ofc, Damian doesn't like to be seen in a weak state. When Tim comforts him by telling how amazing Bryce was and he could be just as good as her, Damian begrudgingly appreciates it and remembers how she told him to let Tim have a chance, so he does try to respect everyone like she had requested. So when Bryce comes back to see this, she is SO relieved/happy.

◇As he softens, Damian becomes a little more awkward and shy around Bryce, but VERY super protective. Like I said in part 1, he's disgusted by people who don't bother hiding their hots for her and has gotten into many accidents at school or in public in general, just because he was catching them saying something perverted about her or looking way to grossly. Bryce has to thank him yet tell him that it can't be helped so as long as they don't lay a hand on her, it was fine but Damian can't fathom how it's 'fine'--this should be punished through death, because how dare you to his mother who taught him to live?? Fortunately for him, he has Dick, Jason and Tim to support and cover him up. It's the only time they'll ever help him.

◇Bryce may be known for her sons, but she was built to be a girl mom 💯. When Cass who is similar to her shows up, she is so excited to think of having her own daughter. Although she doesn't speak often, Bryce never really spoke as well as a child so she knew exactly how to interact with her. She tried to get close to her by teaching her to read, doing ballet which Bryce still remembers what she learnt as a child, taking her out to teach her of the normal life unless it's too loud because she's scared that Cass might find it overwhelming. But Cassandra was her first daughter and doted on her probably a lot more than she did with the boys, and for a moment when they complained about it, Bryce actually almost agreed. But no, moms aren't supposed to pick favourites but everyone knows.

◇Cassandra is like her hypeman when she scolds someone and probably low-key the instigator. Like, she would giggle outloud on purpose even if it was none of her business and hand her a rolled up newspaper when Bryce is looking for something to smack someone with. But in serious situations, she is the one to tell Batwoman when she's doing something wrong when Dick’s not around and Bryce really appreciates her for that and depends on her too to go out of their way to stop her from doing something messed up since she still is pretty unhinged. Yet Bryce thinks she shouldn't have to as she's still a kid like Tim, she doesn't want to be anywhere near like her dad. Bonus points if Cass asks Bryce to do her hair like her and feeling happy when people actually mistake her as her biological child.

◇Before Cass there was Barbara, despite having an almost sadistic side that Bryce couldn't believe Dick wanted to date her, she had her utmost respect and was the go to gal on top of her list. Out of all the batfamily, she was the most headstrong and when Batwoman couldn't get something into her head, Babs would do that. She might even trust Babs more than Dick cuz girls are there for each other, and that's how it was at the first with just the three of them. When Babs gets sent to a crippled state from Joker, Bryce's mama bear mode goes on and she sees absolute red because how dare you cripple this young girl with the most pretty red hair who has nothing to do with you?? She's the one to be there for Babs during her recovery as she feels like she's at fault when she just could've been the one to get rid of Joker with her abilities when the government themselves weren't doing anything about him.

◇Since Dick might not have to feel like he has to worry about taking after the Batwoman mantle since he ain't a gorl💅 Babs will. At first Babs will wonder if she can stay as Batgirl even if she becomes older as a woman and will start to feel bothered like she has a role to fulfill and has to catch up to be as good as her. She obviously doesn't want to become Batwoman and it bothers to the point that she ends up telling Bryce who's taken back since she doesn't expect anyone to even take up the role of Batwoman (like, Dick doesn't even want to be Batman) so she has to reassure Babs that she doesn't have to since Batwoman was made of her own personal inner darkness that Babs might not understand and she likes her better as her lovable friend Batgirl than be like her. And that washes away all of Barbara's worries but the people expecting her to be the next Batwoman anyway still affects her anyway.

◇But after Bab's accident, Bryce is scared to let any girls in the team because she feels as though the girls would suffer more than the boys since there are jerks like that in the world, even when Babs has recovered and could still kill someone despite being wheelchair bound. So when she met Stephanie, she was about to stop what she was doing because there were already enough in the batfamily to help around but when she sees that Tim likes her and her background with Stephanie expressing the only reason she doesn't kill is because of her, Bryce let's her do her thing but still is worried. She doesn't even let her be Robin in the first place since she'd end up like Jason while keeping Babs in mind. And when Stephanie is tortured by Black Mask, Bryce is even MORE scared shitless because that just proved her fear.

◇Nonetheless at the hospital bed, Bryce holds her tightly like shes her own child as she makes sure to let Stephanie she was a special case for her and if she had felt more comfortable, she would hire her in a heartbeat. With her paranoia of not anyone understanding what she means and having already expressed why she doesn't want Stephanie to have been Robin or be a vigilante in the first place, Stephanie gets it and doesn't mean any harm because yeah, Babs had it rough and having children's death in your hand is pretty harrowing. But after that, Bryce tries to put more faith again and welcomes her with open arms, trusting her to take care of Tim for her and trusting Tim to look after Steph from danger. Otherwise, she cannot handle her energy and vibes, because she's not as youthful, even though they're both tireddd.

◇Also when Steph gets pregnant she might ask Bryce for help on what to do since she still was a mom, and tell her plan to have someone adopt her child. As an adoptive mom who adopted Dick, Jason and Tim so they could have a better life/still have a chance to have a parent in their life, Bryce would let her know that she wasn't the best person to raise the boys so Steph could do better than her by getting someone more better to raise her child otherwise the child might live in danger like Jason. She might help her by finding the best foster people to raise a child but otherwise she'd give Steph space and have Tim to do his role as her boyfriend to comfort her. This is random but Steph probably low-key has a puppy crush on her and feels like a kid around her despite being a little older than Tim.

◇All three girl maybe make up a girls only sleepover and use puppy eyes to get Bryce to join in, and totally not because she wants know her luxurious makeup/skincare routine and try use the said luxurious products. Or they could help her go shopping or just simply have fun dressing her up. The girls all low-key love being part of the batfam because Bryce gets so many gifts from admirers that she doesn't know what to do with them so she just dumps it on them to keep the manor from getting cluttered and give Alfred some break, which is just the best because they get to try new products and don't have to go blow any budget from shopping for cosmetics. Or else, it'll just be thrown into the dressing room for disguise/ shower room down at the batcave.

◇Duke is probably the only normal child she's ever had. At first Bryce assumed that kids were normally just this quirky but no, everyone she had was just that unique. And my gosh it's a fresh of air. But after being to used to it, she's not even sure how to approach him sometimes. Though of course she loves him dearly like everyone else, also something about him being weirded out by everyone else was kind of endearing. Like, she can't help but marvel at how 'clean' of darkness he is while pinching his cheeks. Duke has already long gotten used to it, ironically making her just as nuts as everyone else lol. She might feel a little sad though because that might be proof as to how unhinged her life is and looks at Duke as an example of how she and the kids are supposed to be.

◇Bryce doesn't even ask anyone to come with her to a gala. Well she did have some hopes that there was someone who could do well in fancy events, but not anymore when she found out that neither of them were fit to be in a place like that. Tim and Babs could be great if Tim isn't sleep deprived every time and Babs liked to talk as much as she was smooth at it. Dick was perfect since he was a gentlemen but Bryce knows he wants to be alone in his thoughts nowadays (or that's how he seems to look in canon), so she can barely even make phone calls except only in emergencies. Not that she doesn't like going alone, she's learn to enjoy to take this time to just have fun with the rest of the world instead of fighting. And what could be more better than dressing up finely a gown, dusted with glitter and hair pinned with jewelry? She tries to appreciate what others dream of, no matter how empty it feels so it feels less guilty.

◇I'm pretty sure at the start, there would be a lot of rumours of Batwoman and Superman dating to the point that there were people online making fanart of them much to Bryce's annoyance and Clark's awkwardness (while scared of Batwoman's wrath). But through the end Clark would be her right hand man when she needs advice on being kinder to not just children and Bryce would teach Clark to be firmer/scarier to protect him from being used and stuff. If they weren't a couple, then they would be like a black cat sister and a golden retriever brother. Bryce is good friends with Lois but Lois would have felt jealous of her because Bryce is a superhero who's a genius with lots of money while she's just a journalist. Though if Bryce ever found this out, she'd avoid Clark and have Babs to delete fanarts/fanfics and spread the news of her being uncomfortable with it so the fans would stop.

◇By the way, imagine secretly being 'best friends' with Selina in secret? They go shopping together, listen to crap about the superheros and the villains, share lipsticks (and by share, I mean by kissing since logically and efficiently, it's quicker). Maybe Selina will trade money and presents to help her in a mission or give dirt on another criminal, or Bryce constantly blushing around her alluring and sexy air and stubbornly denies it, and will be there for her when Selina looks for help or advice since her villainous allies wouldn't be good enough to give her any. Like when Selina went to Bruce about Helena, Bryce will also immediately but gently warn her Helena might end up living in danger and help her get adopted, and be there to comfort her while telling her she's still a good mom for thinking about her safety anyway unlike when Dick got shot while he still lived with her.

◇They even might have been the worst enemies at the beginning and have catfights, but soon Selina ends up warming up and holding her hand out to Bryce first, then become secret friends from there--making them probably have the first unique friendship. Like, they're so painfully almost a couple but not?? She and Harley have friends but they'll have this special one with Bryce when they genuinely need help but have no one to turn to since they're villains and Batwoman is the only gal who will understand them despite their evil background. Harley mostly, because Bryce just cannot stand at how she's allowing Joker to be such an ass to her and if there's anything she learnt from her parents, men aren't supposed to hurt their ladies!!

◇Lois isnt the only one jealous of Bryce, Harley despises her out of jealousy bc of the rumoured unsaid chemistry between her and Joker, constantly feeling like on a compeition with her as Bryce tries to make her see how awful Joker is everytime. And when Harley finally realises, she looks to her for help like Selina does--oh, and don't get me started on the Joker. If Joker likes her like with Bruce, he'd be looking at her like she's a gentlewoman in shining armour. But the Batfamily (especially Jason) will be so protective over her, knowing about this crush. Joker is striking again? No worries Bryce, the Bat team will take care of it, you don't need to go. Did the Joker just force an annoyed Scarecrow to help make one big valentine heart balloon filled with fear gas dedicated just for you? Just stay home with Tim and Cass who are totally not distracting you. They'll take the choice of their friends crushing on their mom over Joker being creepy on her on any other fucking day.

[ichigopanhpff]

Translation: Toman Tengoku Showdown from the “Tokyo Revengers Exhibition The Final World Line SILVER” Book

In Roppongi’s TR exhibition, they had a section where they had an installation of the final timeline story drawn by Wakui-sensei. This installation had a mix of the printed manga panels and voiceover drama to cover more backstory and content because the man can only draw and cover so much.

Luckily, they included the transcript to the voice overs and are divided up into chapters with titles, which I'll mark with --.

I was lucky enough to my my hands on the book directly from their limited time merch site (https://mikey-mart.online/); unfortunately, they ended all online orders by 2/4.

Out of respect for the exhibition and the hard work put into this entire thing by Wakui-sensei and the staff, I will not be posting any images of the panels from the booklet and will post whatever the official exhibition's Twitter account have posted. I’ll do my best to put scene descriptions where I see fit. I have seen there are some JP vloggers who've done content on the exhibition itself, but don't know how much they were able to film.

They also have an interview with the artist who made the statue installation of the Tenjiku arc scene where Takemichi raised his fist up when Mikey appeared, an interview with the Japanese VAs and Wakui-sensei himself. If there’s enough interest in any of those sections, I’ll do my best to translate them.

Note: Translation isn’t 100% and I may take some liberties in translating certain things for a more colloquial approach. Anything in brackets are my personal notes.

Intro: This is the story about our final time leap and battle.

Kisaki: The Toman Tengoku Battle will take place one week from today. It will take place at the Roppongi 3rd multi-story Parking Lot.

Panel Card: Tokyo Roppongi Manji Tengoku Summit Meeting

[This is the panel they teased in the YT video where Toman, Tenjiku and Black Dragons were sitting in a private room in a Chinese restaurant].

Kisaki: There are three rules: No weapons! No retaliations! The gang that wins will absorb the other gangs! No objections?

Takemichi: None.

Taiju: There’s nothing left to say at this point!

Izana: This’ll be a festival to decide whose fist will rule over the biggest gang in all of Japan; a huge feud between the three of us.

Kisaki: This concludes the meeting!!

(Each respective gang make their exits)

Takemichi: The next time we’ll see each other will be at the battlefield.

Mikey: Get ready to be beaten to a pulp.

Taiju: Ha! Back at you!

Izana: Hmph.

Kakucho: Are you okay with this, Izana?

Izana: With what?

Kakucho: Isn’t Mikey Shinichiro-san’s younger brother? Are you gonna go all out?

Izana: … Haha. Idiot Kakucho. This will be the second time Mikey and I go at it.

Flashback quote: “Even if we’re not related by blood, Shin-nii is my brother!!!”

--Get blood out of a stone--

Young Hanagaki Takemichi CV: Watanabe Akeno Young Sano Manjiro CV: Fairouzi Ai Young Kurokawa Izana CV: Tanezaki Atsumi

Takemichi: This is your hardest mission, Mikey-kun.

Mikey: Got it.

(Takemichi and Mikey are standing in front of the orphanage talking to each other secretly)

Takemichi: I don’t know what kind of scary thing will happen if we tell Izana-kun suddenly. That’s why I thought of this strategy.

(Takemichi starts shaking as he opens his hand with a piece of chocolate)

Mikey: Chocolate?

Takemichi: Yes, chocolate. [Oh you sweet summer child…]

(He begins to explain his strategy with confidence.)

Takemichi: This is how you’ll lure Izana-kun in and with time, you two will slowly start getting along and gradually tell him the truth.

(Takemichi clenches his fist, immersed in a monologue)

Takemichi: This is a perfect plan, if I do say so myself… With this, Izana-kun will also…

Mikey: Yeah.

(Mikey runs in before Takemichi realized)

Takemichi: Mikey-kun…?

(Mikey punches Izana and sends him flying, landing firmly on the ground.) [Good job following the plan.]

Mikey: You’re Kurokawa Izana!

(Takemichi is so surprised, he’s rendered speechless)

Takemichi: Mikey-kun?!

(Izana stands up)

Izana: What the hell’s up with you?!

Mikey: I’m Sano Manjiro!

(Takemichi noticed Izana is surprised by Mikey’s words)

Izana: You said you’re Shin-nii’s… younger brother?

Takemichi: Mikey-kun…

(Mikey throws another punch)

Mikey: You and Shinichiro aren’t connected by blood!

Takemichi: Mikey-kun!

(Izana returns the punch)

Izana: What the hell are you goin’ on ‘bout, y’bastard?!

(The fist fight between the two turn into an argument)

Mikey: There’s no way you two are siblings! Why would you trust my idiot older brother like that!

Izana: What?! The hell’s wrong with you? Are you an idiot for comin’ here?!

Mikey: You accepted Shinichiro’s words without even questioning it ‘cus you’re lonely, right?! That guy did some digging, but now he can’t take back what he’s said and didn’t even mention he had a younger brother!

(The two face each other)

Mikey: I bet you must’ve noticed it too.

Izana: … Shut uuuppppp! What do you know?! My parents threw me away… I’m here while you have a warm family to raise you. You understand nothing! What if we are blood related?!

Mikey: Is it really that important to you?!

(The two start their fist fight again and eventually lay on their backs on the ground)

Mikey and Izana: Haa haa…

Izana: … Shin-nii is my brother! Even if we’re not blood related, he’s still my brother!

Mikey: … Shinichiro said the same thing.

--End--

Taiju: Mitsuya. Is Hakkai gonna go at us seriously?

Mitsuya: … Stop calling on the enemy to check up on your baby brother. You and Yuzuha are a pair of spoiled siblings. Hakkai’ll end up that way too.

Flashback quote: “No matter how violent you get on us, mom will never come back!!”

Taiju: Hmph.

--Let’s drop it--

Young Shiba Taiju CV: Tomozaku Sugita Young Shiba Yuzuha CV: Komatsu Mikako Young Shiba Hakkai CV: Hatanaka Yu Young Sano Manjiro: Fairouzi Ai

(A door forcefully bursts open into a room, where an angry Taiju enters in)

Taiju: Who forgot to turn off the bathroom light?

(Yuzuha and Taiju become frightened)

Hakkai: A… A--

Yuzuha: It’s me!

(Yuzuha protects Hakkai)

Taiju: … Why are you lying?

Yuzuha: Eh?! I’m not lying! It was me!

Taiju: The toilet seat was up. Only men do that.

(Hakkai’s hand clenches tightly at Taiju)

Taiju: Hakkai! Come here!

(Yuzuha interferes to stop Taiju)

Yuzuha: Wait! Don’t beat Hakkai anymore! Let me take his punishments instead! Please!

Hakkai: Sis…

(Hakkai hangs his head down, unable to say anything)

Taiju: You said it. From now on, you’ll take the beating for two people. Is that fine with you, Yuzuha?!

Hakkai: …

(A mysterious voice flashes in Hakkai’s memory!)

Mysterious voice (Mikey): Hakkai!

Hakkai: …!

(Hakkai stands up and faces Taiju)

Hakkai: Stop this already, Taiju!

Yuzuha: Eh…

Taiju: !

(Taiju gets violent with Hakkai)

Taiju: What’re you tryin’ to do here, Hakkai.

Hakkai: Don’t beat up sis anymore! This is ridiculous at how crazy you keep going at us.

Taiju: As I thought, you’re the one who forgot to turn the lights off. How many times have I told you to fix that?

(Hakkai gets hit and falls down. Yuzuha stands and goes beside him)

Hakkai: … I’m sorry for everything up to now, sis.

(Yuzuha is surprised)

Yuzuha: Hakkai.

Hakkai: … My friend told me.

(He recalls Mikey’s voice)

Mikey: It’s okay if you lose. Fight him.

(Taiju turns toward Hakkai)

Hakkai: Cut it out already, Taiju! No matter how violent you get with us, mom’ll never come back to us!

(Taiju is surprised)

Taiju: !… Hakkai.

(Hakkai starts crying)

Hakkai: ‘Cus I’m… I’m lonely…!

Taiju: You…

--End--

Kokonoi: Inupi. How’s Akane-san doing?

Inupi: Yeah. I’m gonna go for it.

Kokonoi: … I see.

Flashback quote: “Leave Inupi-kun to me! Hurry up and go back to save Akane-san!”

Inupi: Well, didn’t you say first loves usually don’t go as planned?

Kokonoi: Shut up.

--Every cloud has a silver lining--

Young Inui Seishu: Koichi Makoto Young Kokonoi Hajime: Igarashi Hiromi Young Inui Akane: Ueda Rena Young Hanagaki Takemichi CV: Watanabe Akeno

(The house is burning with a roaring sound as Kokonoi runs toward it)

Kokonoi: Haa haa… Akane-san!

(Kokonoi desperately addresses someone)

Kokonoi: Fire trucks… Have you seen anyone leave the house?!

Old Lady: I… I’m not sure. I haven’t been able to see anything. I’ll call for the ambulance and fire truck right now!

(Kokonoi turns and suddenly decides to run into the house)

Kokonoi: Akane-san! Akane-san! Haa haa… Akane-san! Akane-san!!

(A mysterious boy suddenly shows up inside the house)

Mysterious boy (Takemichi): Leave Inupi-kun to me! Koko-kun should hurry up and find Akane-san!

Kokonoi: O… Okay.

(Kokonoi continues his search)

Kokonoi: Akane-san! Where are you?! Akane-san! … Akane-san!

(He finally sees her and rushes over. Akane looks like she’s about to pass out)

Akane: … Hajime… kun…?

Kokonoi: I told you I’d protect you, right?

Akane: … Thank you…

(He carries Akane on his back and staggers out)

Old man: Hey! There’s another person who came out!

Old lady: Two people were able to be rescued out of that house. Thank goodness!

Kokonoi: Haa haa…

Seishu: Koko! You were able to save Akane?

Kokonoi: Yeah… But someone else saved you, Inupi.

Seishu: Huh… I was sure it was Koko who saved me. Then… Where are they…?

Kokonoi: … ?

--End--

(Scene is the night of the fight and Toman members are gathering.)

Chifuyu: Baji-san!

Baji: Yo, Chifuyu. It’s finally time, huh.

Chifuyu: Our third big battle! I got Baji-san’s back so you can go all out!

Baji: Oh! I’ll leave it up to you.

Chifuyu: Please leave it up to me.

Kazutora [He a jealous boi]: … Hey, anythin’ goes with you huh? Eh? Eh? When did you join Toman?

Chifuyu: Um… 2004.

Kazutora: Is that right now. And when did I join?

Chifuyu: Um… you’re a founding member, right?

Kazutora: Exactly! This is a photo that only a founding member has!

Chifuyu: Whoa, awesome!

Kazutora: You don’t have this right? Which means I’ve been with Baji much longer, right?

Chifuyu [Poor thing is confused at Tora’s ire]: Ye...ah…?

Kazutora: Baji definitely likes me more, right? You get what I’m gettin’ at, right?

Chifuyu: Yeah.

Takemichi: They’re trying to justify something dumb again.

Kisaki: What are they, kids? I’m surrounded by idiots in Toman.

Takemichi: Idiot. It’s fine as long as you’re the one who’s got it together.

(Takemichi puts his arm around Kisaki’s shoulder and pulls him close)

Kisaki: Stop that. You’re suffocating me.

Takemichi: Rely on me a bit more, partner!

Flashback quote: Do you like Hina? I like her too.

--It takes two to tango--

Young Kisaki Tetta CV: Ozora Naomi Young Tachibana Hinata CV: Waki Azumi Young Hanagaki Takemichi CV: Watanabe Akeno

(Some middle school kids are bullying a cat)

Cat: Nya-!

Hina: Hey, Kisaki-kun. That group is bullying the cat! Hina’s gonna complain about this!

(Hina steadily walks toward them)

Kisaki: Ta-Tachibana?!

(Hina faces the middle school boys [MSB])

Hina: Stop that! What’s so fun about doing something like that?!

MSB A: Huh?

MSB B: I hate kids with a strong sense of justice.

MSB A: Hey! The cat ran away.

MSB B: Then you take the place of the cat.

(Hina resists crying)

MSB: Aww, you’re gonna start cryin’? Did you think we’ll let you go if you started cryin’ like this?

(Kisaki watches from afar)

Kisaki: This is why I said stopping them’s useless.

(Takemichi suddenly appears and takes Kisaki’s arm)

Kisaki: Eh?!

(Takemichi brings Kisaki in front of the middle school kids, stepping onto the gravel)

Takemichi: Stop that!

(Kisaki panics)

Kisaki: Wh-what?

Takemichi: We’re the super hero partners! How dare you middle school kids pick on a young girl. That’s unforgivable!

MSB: Huh? What’s up with you guys?

(Kisaki continues to panic as Takemichi neither cries nor trembles)

Kisaki: W-Why are you including me?!

Takemichi: Shaddap! Let’s go Kisaki! You’re a man too, right?!

Kisaki: Wh-What…

(Takemichi dashes)

Takemichi: Ooooohhhh!

(Hina cries)

Takemichi: I didn’t think too much on my actions before and after.

Hina: (crying noises) Hic… I’m sorry…

(Takemichi’s wounds throb from pain)

Takemichi: Ow ow ow…

Hina: Ah, Hina will go buy some bandages!

(Hina’s running footsteps fade out, leaving Takemichi and Kisaki alone together)

Takemichi: … Do you like Hina?

Kisaki: Eh-Um, uh, I--

Takemichi: (smiling wide) I like her too.

--End--

The night before the Toman Tengoku Showdown at Musashi Shrine…

Toman’s finally gathered, with Mikey facing everyone

Mikey: Tomorrow will finally decide who will be Japan’s top gang! Everyone, are you ready?!

Toman: Yeah!!!

Mikey: Is there anyone scared of tomorrow’s battle?! No one right?! Let’s take the top spot!

(Toman chants)

With the call of Mikey’s voice, Toman’s morale is at its peak. The climax of an alternative future where they continued their revenge.

Mikey: This’ll finally put an end to our revenge.

Takemichi: The final battle.

It’s time to head to the battlefield. Roppongi 3rd multi-story parking lot!

Mikey: Let’s go!

Takemichi: Okay!

Tensions rising! Tokyo Manji Gang, Tenjiku and Black Dragons Gather!!

Tokyo Manji Gang, Tenjiku, Black Dragons A Fight that Lasted One Night to Decide Japan’s Strongest Gang

[sparrowrye]

Alastor x Fem! Reader {soulmates} Part 7

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies, you die too. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes. Though it looks like we have a couple secrets of our own.

Part 7: pushing boundaries

Previous Part

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I reached down to touch the cold, soft cloud. I swayed side to side and looked under me to see my trail along the cloud's surface. I was giggly with the rush of cold air in my lungs. I loved flying.

I flapped up once then dove into the cloud. My heart lurched at the momentary blindness but I came out underneath it to see the ocean beneath me. I looked up to see Husker's bright red wings cutting through the cloud after me. Both our wings were a stark contrast of the beautiful white and blue sky.

Husker was always willing to go on a fly with me. We made it a morning routine. It gave me a lot of exercise since I had to hold up my entire body with my core. It left everything sore but in a good way.

Landing was still rough, though. I glided down and tripped over my own feet while Husker slowed enough to perch exactly where he wanted. He smiled at me, his canine tooth sticking out of his smile.

I lunged at him. He rolled on his back and threw me over with his feet. Roughhousing with him was fun, usually leading into a magic showdown. The goal was to get them the opponent on the ground for five seconds.

I never won. But I did make Husker work for it.

I landed hard on my back and let out a gasp. A few seconds later Husker came into view with a side smile. "You know you'd probably do a lot better if you actually tried to hurt me like before."

"I didn't like you before." I groaned as I pulled myself to a sitting position.

"How kind." He held his hand out and helped me to my feet. I shook my body free of dirt and looked forward to a warm shower.

As we headed back to the house, I noticed Alastor stalking from the porch again. My eyes narrowed and I kept my attention on the door. I ignored him and went upstairs to my bedroom. Ever since he corrected me in the library, I've been ignoring him entirely.

Showering was a new venture with my demon form. I had cut myself a few times with my own claws when washing my hair. It also seemed to constantly tangle around my horns if I didn't have it pulled back. Not to mention the shower was small and I had large wings. They seemed to grow with every day.

I would be meeting Rosie again tonight. I had a journal full of things to tell her. I was slowly seeing more and more memories through my dreams. They were simple scenarios, often abusive, but surely they had something hidden in them.

I followed Alastor behind the house later that evening. I hated when he grabbed me by the waist instead of the shoulders like he used to do. It infuriated me when he would snatch it back before I could shove it off myself. He usually left me at Rosie's then disappeared into the shadows.

Rosie listened to my synopsis of my dreams with amazing patience. Once I had finished, she placed her cup down and asked, "When you dream of your mother, is there a color you often see?"

I was quiet for a moment as I thought about it. "Well...I mean there's lots of red...the walls are always red or brown. But...I don't know...I think...maybe there's some deep blues?”

"Hm...interesting."

"Why?"

"Conjure up that fork in your hand for me, dearie." I focused in on the fork, unsure of how to use teleporting yet. So I did the next best thing and sent it flying into my hand. "Did you notice there was a glow on it?"

"What? A glow?"

Rosie nodded. "Try again. Watch carefully."

This time I tried moving it more slowly. I could see a faint, blue glow surrounding it as it drew near. I watched it for a long moment for looking up at Rosie for an explanation.

"I have a strong feeling that...maybe...perhaps...your mother casted the curse on you."

"What?" I looked between Rosie and the fork. "No she didn't. She was trapped in those fights just like me! She wouldn't handicap my powers like that if it was the difference between living and dying."

"Maybe she did it to protect you. In your memories, you constantly talk about looking over her shoulder. She may have hiding you."

I looked down at my black claws. "Do you think...if the curse is active, does that mean she's alive?"

"I’m afraid not, sweetheart. A curse can stay on someone until they die." She stood to put a hand on my shoulder. "What about your father? Do you have any memories of him?"

I shook my head. "I don't know what he looks like. I don't...I wouldn't know how to pick him out in my dreams. He probably died in a ring fight."

"Or perhaps he escaped. There's still hope, dearie. Let's try looking again."

Our memory search yielded nothing. Though Rosie says I've unraveled more of the curse with the practicing of magic. She reassured me that I was doing everything possible to help my case.

"How's living with Alastor?" she asked abruptly. I coughed on the tea and covered my mouth with a napkin. "Ooh, that doesn’t sound too pretty."

"It's..." I tapped my claws on the glass. "It's uh...it's something."

Rosie laughed. "Oh you sweet thing. You're being so polite. Come, tell Auntie Rosie what it's really like living with him. I know how he can be."

I held my suspicions. "He's uh...Husker and I fixed up the house together. It was practically falling apart."

"Needed a ladies touch, hm?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"How's he treating you? I'll straighten that man out if he's not treating you like the proper lady you are." My mind jumped to the library and my first escape attempt.

"He's been...alright. He seems to be impatient with me a lot."

"Goodness that man," she huffed. I noticed a shadow appear along the wall behind her. It was Alastor's shadow. "Don't worry dear, I'll tell that old man to mind his manners with you."

"Come now, I'm not that old." Alastor stepped out from behind her chair. She laughed and crossed her arms as she faced him.

"Be patient with your soulmate, Alastor. She's still learning a lot."

"Not to worry, Rosie, I've been very patient with her. Like you said, she has a lot to learn and who better to teach her than me." He casted a glare in my direction. I rubbed my sweaty palms together.

"You betta. Us girls have our own language and I'll know if you weren't being kind to such a sweet thing like her." She hugged me tightly.

"Of course, my lady," Alastor bowed his head to her. "Well, we must be heading home now." He held out his hand for me. The two taller adults watched me, waiting. I clenched my teeth and took his dark red hand. "Good day, Rosie."

"Good day, Alastor." She held the door open for us. I kept my eyes on the ground as we walked over to the scorched symbol. Rosie waved goodbye as we turned to face her. Alastor lifted my hand up and grabbed it with his other one. He placed his hand on my hip and pulled me close. My lips nearly pulled back into a snarl as he smiled down at my discomfort.

The smell of the ocean reached my nose first. My feet touched earth and I immediately shoved him away. He grabbed both my wrists and held them at his shoulder height. "Now is that anyway to treat your soulmate?"

"You surely don't know how to treat one," I snarled, letting my sharp teeth show.

"You make it difficult to with this defiance of yours." He let go of one arm to twiddle his claws in my face.

"Oh right," I scoffed, "I completely forgot. I'm not being held here against my will."

"Not anymore, you're not." He let go. "You came back willingly the night you reunited with your old master."

My tail whipped back and forth. "You're not a savior! You're anything but one. I'm perfectly capable of living on my own. Especially with my new magic."

"Magic you don't yet have control over. And a form you have yet to master for long periods of time. You wouldn't last one week as a young, naive Demon in this world."

"I'm not naive." My claws elongated and my wings grew bigger. My hands emitted a purple glow that rang along my entire body. "I learned just fine how to survive for five years on my own. I know how to handle myself!"

"Do not raise your voice at me." Red stitches appeared on the corners of his mouth and his antlers grew to the size of an elk. His body portions grew inhumanly and he towered above me in seconds. My ears flattened against my head and I bent low to the ground.

He can't kill you. He can't kill you. He can't kill you.

"I'm a human with my own free will." My voice quivered. I had yet to see him distort like this.

"You're a Demon." His arms grew even longer and his huge claws slammed down on either side of me. "A Demon without proper training on her magic. You are a danger to others and yourself." His face slowly came closer to mine. His mouth stopped moving as he spoke, instead his yellow teeth pulsing when he did.

I sprouted my wings and shot myself out from under him. He reached for me but I was too fast with my wings and wind magic. I dove backwards over the cliff and nearly fell into the sharp rocks at the bottom. I pushed myself over with wind and caught myself at the last second. Pain shot through my back at the force of the stop.

I boosted myself further away from the cliff and looked over my shoulder. My face paled at the sight of Alastor growing bigger than the house. I suddenly regretted my choice to run.

I clenched my teeth and flew higher up. I was in it now. I was a Full mage. If my magic was as untamed as he claimed, that meant I was unpredictable.

Black tentacles sprouted from his back and flew at me. I barely missed the first and the second slammed painfully into my foot. I dove down then pushed myself up into the gray clouds. The night sky would help provide cover.

At least, that's what I thought before his red eyes lifted above the clouds, sending a red light across their surfaces. His pupils were a radio dial but I knew that didn't lessen his sight. His sharp teeth appeared next.

I stopped flapping and fell back through the clouds. The tentacles were still there and came at me at inhuman speed. I couldn't evade them as they slammed into my face and chest. Fire did little and they wrapped around my legs and waist within seconds. I flapped furiously and dug my claws into their squishy skin.

The tentacles pulled me back towards the house. Alastor's terrifying figure shrunk the closer the tentacles drew me in. My flailing lessened as he returned to the state I recognized.

The tentacles pulled me in faster and he stuck out his clawed hand, enclosing around my throat. The black things unwrapped from me and pulled on my wings. My feet barely touched the ground as he held me way too close to the edge. His hand was securely under my jaw and digging into my skin so I started to bleed.

"You need to accept the fact that you will never leave this place for the rest of your life," he said with radio static behind his voice. He let me down so my feet were flat on the ground but so he could tower over me. I put one hand on his wrist and the other arm across his chest to keep him away.

"I'm growing tired of your antics. These little outbursts of yours will stop today." It was more terrifying that he was smiling through his anger. I leaned away despite the sheer drop beneath me, and he only followed never more than an inch away. "If you don't want me to treat you like a caged pet, I suggest you apologize and quit it with this delusion of yours."

His smile was wide and his breath smelled like roadkill. He dug his claws further into the wound he created, making me wince. "I'm-I'm sorry." He held me over the edge for several heartbeats. Eventually he pulled me away but didn't let get off my neck.

"I never want to hear you mention anything about leaving here, again. To me or to Husker. Do you understand?"

I wanted to cough from the way he was holding me but I held it in. The tentacles were still pulling onto my wings and pulling them painfully down. My resignation made my shoulders fall. "Perfectly."

He let go. I turned to the side to cough, clutching at my bleeding neck. I felt the wounds closing but the blood was still plastered to my skin.

"Good talk." His cane appeared in one hand and he put the other behind his back. His voice sounded chipper again. "Come, dear, let's clean you up." He held his hand out towards the house, looking at me sideways. I took a deep breath and walked past. He walked close behind me.