#and now i have to sit here all day in proper clothes waiting for them to show up

[agayconcept]

.

[jujutsukgojo]

My gifts to you

feitan portor x reader

Summary: You knew him for years for only moments at a time. Yet, you take it upon yourself to love and mourn him anyway, even when the world won't. tw: light smut, slight yandere feitan, spoilers, mentions of murder, light angst, fluff(?), injuries, cheating, time skips an: didn't mean for it to be this long. Feitan is a bit tricky for me but oh well :) kind of inspired by criminal minds 'no way out'. 10.8k

“If you tie it like this, it should stay, okay?” You tap the boy’s foot. Although he is smaller than you in height, his feet are bigger. It’s quite comical but you don’t dare laugh. In this blasted city, you’d be bound to die for such a thing. Especially if you laugh at someone with crazy hair and carries a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.  

  He says something in a foreign language that you can’t understand. If you are correct, it may be inverted Japanese. In the books that one kid collects, there is a country, Japan, where the common language originates. Since the common language isn’t his mother tongue, it makes you wonder where he’s from and why he’s here. 

  The boy stands up to his full, but short, height. You sit on random rubble and look up at him, waiting for what he’ll do next. Will he call over Phinks or even bring Uvogin? He hangs out with Phinks mainly but who knows these days. 

   Instead of swinging the bat at you or calling over his friends, he pats your head awkwardly. You don’t make any sudden movements or noises. The boy leaves right after. A sigh escapes your lips after he leaves you behind.  

   What's his name again? Feitain? 

__________

  In your hut, you slightly stir the food that sizzles in the pan you found. It’s rare to come across tomatoes and eggs but you managed this time. The smell is mouth watering. You hope no one else can smell it. 

As much as you want to live elsewhere, this is what you settle for at the moment. In another world, you’d be out of this city and somewhere clean and safe. Like the church or something. No, even better than the church. You’ve heard of the outside where there are bright flashing lights and diamonds and pearls on people’s necks. There are flowers of all colors out there. Different shapes, smells, and meanings, they’re all beautiful. You hear that food isn’t scavenged but bought or given to people without a price.  

   People said they’ve seen the safety of children your age that play without a care. There are parents for the lost kids and doctors for the injured. Clean clothes and showers on the regular. You can even see the sun clearly and the big, round moon that doesn't bring out the wolves in men. 

There are pastors and priests that don’t turn people away, either. Hell, you have even wondered if there were schools there that allow everyone to get in. You're sure that you are reading and doing math wrong. How embarrassing.  

Finally done, you place the food on a plastic plate you found. You made sure to wipe the grime off the plate and rinsed it with clean water before using it. Even though you can just eat out of the pan, you want to seem sophisticated like the outside. They don't eat out of pans or use dirty plates. 

  The food steams and is welcoming. Without a lot of utensils, you pick at it with your hands. It burns at first but you’re too hungry. The flavor bursts in your mouth. Even without the proper seasonings, it’s still heaven. You haven’t eaten in a while so you’ll take what you can get.  

   Suddenly, the boy, Feitan, enters your hut. You gasp and protectively cover your food. He brings his foot out. His shoe, which he stole, is untied again. You swallow the substance and point out, “I taught you how to tie them.” 

“Tie.” 

“I taught you.” You set your plate down.  

“Tie.” You roll your eyes and pat your thighs. He walks over to you and places his dirt caked shoe on your lap. Slowly, you tie them.  

“There, see? Come on now, you need to learn. A little boy can’t grow without tying his shoes.” 

“I’m not little boy.” You give a breathy chuckle. “Of course you are, honey.” 

  He leans in close to your face. “I’m older than you.”  

...He does hang out with Phinks, who is a couple years older than you. In fact, it is rare to see them apart. Is it possible that it’s true? Is Phinks the type to be friends with someone who is younger?

 Curious, you ask, “Then why are you so short?” His eyes widened in shock. Then, strangely, he laughs while patting your head harshly. Studying his face revealed what looks like the beginning of a sinister smile.

  He looks at your plate and sits down in front of you. You’re both on the dirt floor. 

 “Give me.” You scoff and snap at him. “No! Find your own!” 

The little beast decided that the two of you should ‘share’. He smacks on his food, making you want to punch him repeatedly. He’s gaunt and bony, but not really bad like last time. His face has a tiny bit of roundness to it. 

  “Stop staring.” He inhales a tomato. “You look better than last time.”

“Better?” He cocks his head to the side. The remnants of the tomato smeared a little on his cheek.

“Yeah, healthier.” He stares at you for a second. “Thanks.” His accent is thick, and you still can’t place it. Nevertheless, you understand. Afterwards, much to your surprise, he sleeps in your hut now that his belly is full. Satisfied and strangely not afraid, you follow suit. It’s nice to have a friend, however strange.

You are barely awake, sleep still heavy in your eyes, when you see him pop up. Drool is crusted on his cheek, and he rubs his eyes. He yawns and then spots you next to him. Feitan eyes the entry of the hut then back at you. He puts the only cover you have on you then pets your head. 

  Before he leaves, he places his bat in your hand. Feitan secures the entry as he exits the hut. 

_____________

  It’s been years since you and Feitan have talked. You've gotten familiar with him but when Sarasa had died in such a disrespectful and gruesome way, he withdrew. In the meantime, you waited for him and studied a power you discovered. No matter the eyes that were always on you, you didn’t care about the mysterious and hidden audience. 

  You don’t know what it’s called but it started when you witnessed some kid about to get her ass handed to her by some thugs. The man had moved a pair of scissors without using his hands. They aimed right towards her and in a moment of instinct, you rushed to push her out of the way. Unfortunately, the scissors stabbed you in the shoulder.  

  It was then did you feel the rush of a force so strong, that it knocked everyone away from you. A faint white light that glowed from your skin that only your eyes could see. As you looked around in shock, you saw that same glow coming from that man and his friends. 

  You were gasping when you fell to your knees. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t be here!” The girl your age ran for her life and left you behind. In a moment of fear, you call out to her to help you. You were so afraid; you couldn't tell if the screams were hers or yours. Given the situation, you were too rattled, terrified and hurt, to focus.

The men shook for a second then got up to face you. The blood from your shoulder wasn’t stopping its flow. Crimson red stained your clothes and the ground. It was all so strange, such an unusual feeling of adrenaline that you couldn’t help but memorize. Almost as if the world had finally made sense. Every single thing became so much clearer to your dismay.  

  The men came towards you with malicious intent. While putting pressure on your injury, you managed to kick one of their legs, causing them to buckle and hurt his knee. He screamed in agony. 

  “G-get away!” You try to stand. The press of your hand on the wound isn’t helping. Is it supposed to bleed this much? It hit your shoulder, but did it nick something?  

  You need to stop it, to heal and get away from them. In this city, people like you are in danger from men like them. If you don’t get away, you’ll end up like Sarasa. She was never really close to you. She was a nice girl who always looked for video tapes, so you'd help her from time to time. Yet, her death scarred everyone since it was so close to home. And now, you no doubt are facing the exact same situation. Wrong place, wrong time.  

   Same fate.  

You fell back on the ground and looked at the sky. It has always been so dirty, just like the city due to pollution. Still so young, you know you won’t see what it really looks like. In the corner of your eye, you spot something green. A small clover with four leaves. 

  One time, an old man told a story of how four-leaf clovers are a sign of good luck. By the intense feeling and pressure of your eyes, you know it’s not true. Pain in all ways makes tears fall from your eyes. Lips wobbling at how unfair everything is and that you will never see the sun. The outside must really be heaven, and for someone so young who hasn’t committed a sin, you are wondering if you can go.

  Suddenly, flowers that you never knew blossomed around you. The soft petals touched your filthy skin and got rid of the aches. The blood on your shoulder faded from view as well as the pain. A soft and beautiful hum whispered in your ear. You truly believed it to be in your head, an imagination of paradise as you leave. Heaven, they call it. You must be close to the outside world then. 

  This must be it, you thought. There was no pain from a strike or fear. Just closed eyes and peace. Something you know you couldn’t get in the atrocious city.  

It ends. You were shocked as the beautiful flowers disappeared. Heaven, would you reject someone? 

  The men didn’t hurt you. The one whose knee was broken was able to move his leg. His red hair kind of glowed in the sun, and brown eyes were wide. He muttered a soft ‘thank you’ and walked away without a limp. His friends followed.  

   After that, you had realized that your ability wasn’t anything like scissors or something scary. It was to heal and be healed.

Although after immediately learning this, you didn't go out of your way to find the source of the screams in the direction the people went. First was the girl, then the group of men. After what you went through, it didn't seem like a good idea. 

 Feitan, somehow, got wind of it. Now in his later teen years you both estimate, he sits still and points to his arm. There’s a gnarly gash oozing blood. You wonder how he’s not feeling this and if he is, how he isn’t even fazed.  

  You gently pick up his arm and inspect it. He's thin but has clear definition in his arms. You haven’t seen him in so long that you are surprised by his growth. Hell, he’s taller now. Still short, but at least he grew.  

  In a jar, you take a premade petal. This is a way for you to save energy and reach people when you physically can’t tend to. Acting as a pill, you make sure that people can get infections out. For some reason, illnesses and infections are particularly tricky and tiring for you.  

  “Eat this, Feitan.” He frowns. “No.” You sigh. “It’s infected. You need to eat this so I can heal it right.” 

  “It’s not.”   

Rolling your eyes you bring his wound to his face. “This, this is infected. It's literally oozing pus.” How long did this go on? Was he really that hesitant to just come and see you?

  He growls and takes the delicate petal and places it in his mouth. “Stop pouting.”  

“Not pouting. It’s nasty.” He’s not wrong. It has a bitter taste and when chewed, a slimy texture. The color of the disintegrating petal leaves a stain in the mouth as well. If not for the benefits, no one would even bother. They'd be just as offended as Feitan.  

  The pus stops and clears up. “Alright, this’ll leave a scar.”  

You blow on your hand so that flowing blossoms surround him. Beautiful shades of pink and white go through his hair. With a gentle caress, you see the flurries touch his wound. It starts to encourage his own healing.  

  As much as you want to do the full thing, you’re tired. All day you’ve been working and collecting payments. Not to mention facing the disappointment of them being useless. You want to kick yourself for not getting paid first. But the sight of those grateful people and healed kids softens your heart.  

  Soon, it stops once the injury becomes manageable. You’re about to wrap it when a hand stops you. “What’s this?”  

  “Feitan, I'm tired. You caught me at a bad time.” You try to move your hand but he stops you. He's a lot stronger than you remember. “Heal.” 

His fluency isn’t the greatest still.  

“I’m tired! Just let it heal the rest of the way.” No matter how much you try to yank your hand away, his grip is too strong. “Please, Feitan...”  

  Surprisingly, he lets go and from what you can see, the subtle white glow appears and heals him the rest of the way, leaving small flames. “Feitan...what was that?” 

  He rolls his eyes and plops down on a chair. He says nothing and just relaxes, or at least that’s what he’s trying to make it seem like. It has been a while since you’ve seen him, but that doesn’t make you blind to his behaviors…sometimes. 

   “As a transmuter, I can heal a little by using enhancer,” He looks at you suspiciously. “You know nothing about nen?”

“Nen?” You put the gauze and other items in a black bag. It was found in the safe zone by the church. Apparently, it belonged to a doctor from the outside. The bag had all kinds of necessities. Gauze, medicine, some syringes, disinfectant, a thermometer, all kinds of stuff that you’ve had to use sparingly. What you save in the bag, you make up for with your ability. 

  He smacks his lips and calls you a ‘dumb brat’. “You use nen but don’t know it?”

Sighing, you ask, “What is nen, Feitan?” 

“What you do. Use your aura and stuff.” His arms are crossed, and he looks at you expectantly. You gather that he likes knowing things you don’t. It’s like a weak power trip. 

  But it is nice to finally have a name and explanation for it. And that’s what he did this time. Visiting you for a moment just to pick with you while teaching you something you should have known. 

“Wait, if you could do that, why’d you come here?” He just shrugs.

------

When you see him again, he brings his friends along. You immediately recognize some of them. Phinks, who ran with Feitan, the boy who always collected books, and Uvogin, the giant who was always claiming territory and beating people up. 

  Feitan should be twenty now. It’s hard to tell since he looks youthful. He points to his friend, the boy with the books, and orders, “Heal.”

“You can do it, Feitan, remember?” You were in the middle of cleaning when he and the rest of his posse pop up. They look flustered and a little worse for wear. 

  “Heal.” He always does crap like this. You roll your eyes at first. The body they carry tugs on your strings a bit. 

“Fine. Put him on the table.” Thankfully, it’s cleaned, and a new wrapping has been placed on it. Gently, the man is put on it. You spot the cross tattoo on his forehead. Ah, that’s where Feitan has been. Lately, there’s been whispers of the Phantom Troupe. Merciless killers and thieves from Meteor City that have been gaining respect over the years. Your opinion of them isn’t the greatest but it also isn’t the worst. You appreciate them for standing up for Meteor City, but their methods are questionable.

   You sigh and begin to undress the boy with the cross. “Is that necessary?” 

You continue to pull off his clothes, not bothering to answer the question the girl asked. If she can’t understand why you need to remove his clothes, then that’s on her. She scoffs after another female voice answers her question. 

  You finally see his wound. Feitan can heal himself to a degree, but you don’t think this guy can. The gash is deep and sewed with makeshift stitches. There’s no nen involved, surprisingly. Given that Feitan is an avid user, you thought his friends would be keen on it too. 

“He’s a specialist. Enhancer techniques are harder for him.” Phinks spoke. He must've understood your confusion. 

“And the stitches?” You gently investigate the area. It’s an angry red around it and, like you suspected, infected. It wasn’t properly taken care of. You begin to remove the stitches. You wonder what the thread is made of and how long this has been going on. 

“He,” Phinks points to Uvogin. “And him,” He then points to another large man with long ears. “Thought they could do it. Normally, Machi heals us but they were away from her. Her stitches would have helped him but not any infections.”

  “Ah, well this requires more than I thought.” You touch the ground and out comes a beautiful swirl of flowers. Underneath the moving petals is a blooming sunflower. It picks the guy up so he rests on it. The bed of the flower glows softly and becomes warm. His once wincing face is now peaceful. His injury is slowly closing and the red is beginning to turn pink. 

“The downside of this is that it takes a while. It’ll be all healed up in about an hour or so.”

“ An hour?” Uvogin, who has abandoned his afro and traded it for long standing hair. “Feitan, I thought you said she was good? We could’ve gone to that one guy and got it done right then and there.”

“She’s the best. Wait.” His hands are in his pockets and he moves. Feitan looks around and touches whatever he pleases. You try not to focus on his compliment. You wonder if the reason he moved from your line of sight is because he got embarrassed. If so, you won’t tease him. The Troupe are killers, afterall. 

   You start to feel the weight of your nen. This technique requires more effort than the others. Feitan explained it to you but you never did get the hang of it. You just know what to do instinctively. You were proud that you could do any of this without a teacher.

 What you’re sure of is that this man, whatever his name is, is giving you a crap ton of money after this or there’ll be hell to pay. 

   You feel something tickling the side of your face. The wrapper is red and unopened. You take the energy bard gratefully. “Thank you, Feitan.”

A couple of the Troupe members complain about the time. Machi or Mochi or whatever, the pink haired one, especially complains and criticizes for some reason. You have never seen this person before in your life yet here she is pouting. 

  “You okay?” You see the blond boy with big blue eyes study you closely. He moves closer to your face. A smile never leaves his face. Before you can answer, Feitan, who hasn’t left your side since you ate the bar, answers for you. 

“She’s fine. I’m watching her.”

You hear a couple of snickers. Feitan glares daggers at the offenders. You take a deep breath and ignore the friends who decided to crowd inside your hut. The boy with the forehead tattoo lies peacefully. Although you are running out of steam, his wound is healing nicely. One of the women, you believe it’s Pakunoda, comes to you and bends down. 

“Can I get you anything?” You discover that your throat is absolutely parched. “Some water, please.”

  If you remember correctly, the last you saw of her was when her head was shaved and some outsider kid did it. She had always kept it short. And now, it’s on her shoulders and very sleek. Over the years she’s drastically changed.

  You drink the water, which to your surprise, is clean. “Hey, how did this happen anyway?”

  “Don’t ask questions.” Feitan quickly shuts you down. Before you can ask anything more, you notice the entire group of friends are quiet. 

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?” You nod at the blonde boy with blue eyes and a permanent smile. Completing the hour, the tattoo guy is up. He’s immediately impressed. “My name’s Chrollo Lucilfer. Yours?” He puts out his hand for you to shake. 

  “Yeah, the book collector-theater nerd-kid, right? My name’s-” Before you can even answer, Feitan does it for you. 

  He gives your name and how your Nen works. He’s quick with it, too. You side eye Feitan for a second. “Thanks, Feitan. I, uh, really needed a spokesperson.”

“Ah, I guess it can’t be helped then, Feitan?” There’s tension in the air. It’s thick and heavy. By the looks of it, neither one is backing down. “Um, it’s not a big deal that he answered for me, you do know that, right?”

  Seconds pass through this. You look around for anyone to intervene with this. Whatever the hell is going on, it’s deep. “Since Fei explained it, why not have her join?”

“Positions are filled.” Chrollo still stares directly into Feitan’s eyes. Phinks nervously chuckles, once again trying to defuse the situation. “Fei, come on. No fighting. Right boss?”

  Suddenly, it’s lifted. Chrollo has what looks like a practiced smile on his face. “That’s true. That’s a rule.”

  Chrollo takes a glance at you. “She obviously means a lot to you. Clearly, she’s an asset, too.”

  “I’m right here, jackass.” Feitan smacks you on the head. “I’ll handle her.” 

  The others sigh in relief. Momentarily, you’re a little offended. “It was nice meeting you.”

They exit your hut right after, leaving Feitan behind. “So. those were your friends, huh?”

“Watch tongue.” You smack your lips and roll your eyes. There is blood on the floor and on the table. The furniture is in disarray due to all of his friends having no home training.  “I haven’t seen you in forever and this is how you greet me?”

 He frowns. “I say hello all the time.” You turn to him. “When? I didn’t see you.”

Feitan huffs and kicks the ground lightly. You get up to move the furniture back to place. Your movements are slow and everything seems so much heavier. Everything is swirling right before your eyes. Your head hurts and yet feels so light. Before you meet the ground, Feitan takes you to the couch and lays you down. 

  “I haven’t seen you in so long, little boy…” Those were the last words you say before you drift to sleep. 

Hours later, you wake up at the sound of birds. There is a beautiful blue blanket on you with golden yellow designs. It’s thick and so warm you could stay forever. You’ve never owned anything like this. 

  Slowly you get up and search for Feitan. He’s nowhere to be found much to your dismay. Last night’s conversation still stays with you. He insisted that he says hello all the time. That he sees you regularly, yet, you haven’t seen him at all. 

  The blanket, the wind chime, the medical supplies, the various decorations with stones, paint and if you weren’t smart, you’d say gold. Could Feitan have been the one to give you gifts? Silently watching over you and in his own way, saying hello? You have felt like you were being watched for years. 

____________

  “Do you understand why I didn’t welcome you?”

“No, and I never will. Now please, leave me alone.” You feel convicted by turning a man of God away, but can he truly be one when he left a child to suffer? You were in the cold, wind, and rain, alone in one of the worst parts of the city. All you had was Feitan, and he was there once in a blue moon. After the rejection from the church, you took it upon yourself to care for others as no one had ever cared for you. Although hurt and afraid, you chose not to spread that toxicity. You decided that no matter the size of change, it still works. 

 However, you will not fall prey to the same people. For instance, that girl you saved and this priest. How can he expect your services with no repentance or atonement? You forgive, but like hell will you forget. 

Damn…you were so sure you were over the pain of your past. That the change you made within yourself and how you treat people so no one else suffers like you, would stick. Alas, all it takes is one person to bring it down. You want to kick yourself because of the regression. Then again, the hostility isn’t your fault.

You walk into the hallway with small statues, stone walls, and large windows. The sun shines brightly through them, making the church seem prettier than it is.

“Please-”

“She said no.” Feitan stands with his hands in his pockets, the sun shining on his pale skin. It has been a few months since the incident with Chrollo. You haven’t seen any of them but have felt eyes on you, which you have deduced was Feitan. However, you learned the truth of the blanket. The name stitched on it belonged to an old clan, the Kurta, that was mutilated, tortured, and murdered by the Phantom Troupe. It disgusts you. The blanket is comfortable but still. 

Feitan, the boy who you taught to tie his shoes, gave you a trophy of his crime. You wanted to burn it, or bury it in the memory of the Kurta, yet you couldn’t. It’s a gift from the one consistent person in your life. Your protector and giver. So, you folded it and put it in a box. 

   Now, here he is like he’s done nothing wrong. Defending you and putting the man that’s been with the city for ages in his place. You’re shocked at his behavior. 

  “Feitan, surely you must understand!” 

“Shut up.” Father Rizole took a step back in surprise. Feitan was one of his regulars, if you remember correctly. This must be a surprise for the aging priest. 

You hum at the scene. Even though the rumors of what the Troupe has done bothers you, it doesn’t mean you aren’t opposed to the benefits. The priest backs up and sighs. 

“If you ever reconsider, please, let me know. We could use your help.”

“I could’ve used it too.” You end the conversation there and leave. Feitan soon follows you. He’s silent on his feet and very fast. Feitan was behind you but his quick feet caught up in less than a second. Now, he walks right at your side. 

“So, you just decide when you want to see me?” 

Feitan shrugs. “I don’t know.” 

Sighing, you turn to him and ask, “What do you need this time?” The lower half of his face is hiding under a plain cowl now. His eyes show all of the emotion needed. “I just hang out.”

  The sun is too hot for this nonsense. Sweat trickles down your face and back, becoming sticky. “So that’s why you’re here, right? I’m shocked.”

Before he can say your name, you continue. “Oh! And let's not forget the little massacre that took place, huh? Yeah, being used to heal your friend from that was really fun.”

“I didn’t.”

 You roll your eyes. “No, just that one guy. That’s who to you, again?”

“Boss.” You scoff at his short answer. Then, you think about the possibility. “Your boss? Then…doing that to the Kurta, wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“No, not mine.” His hands remain in his pockets. His hair blows in the wind slightly. You realize he hasn’t gotten a haircut in a while. 

“If you could, you know, go back in time…would you still do it?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no thought put into the answer. Just a plain as day answer and a tone that leaves no room for an explanation. 

“So whatever he wants he just gets? As long as it aligns with your twisted mind, right?”

  His eyes grow darker. “I save you.”

You point to the church. “No, no you didn’t. That guy wasn’t going to do anything to me. I had it handled.”

Shaking your head, you go to leave until a hand wraps around your wrist. “Boss takes nen. I didn’t let him.”

  Was that what that was? That tension that day that was suffocating? Remembering that day, you start to form pieces. “Would he hurt you if you didn’t go along with his schemes?”

“No.” 

Well there goes that idea. “Nevermind.”

You try to yank your wrist from his grip, but it’s iron tight. “Let me go!”

“I protect you, always. Bad people here, everywhere. I get dirty for you.” His face is indifferent but his words give it away. The plea for you to understand and realize, dare you say, his devotion to his friends. Does this include you?

Is that what it is? What friendship, this connection is? You are aware of the deeds the Troupe do. You understand why they thought it would be a good idea (somewhat anyway). 

“Thank you, then.” He lets go of your wrist which was grabbed painfully tight. He trades that in for holding your hand instead. You are shocked at first, but if you make it a big deal, he’ll stop. You don’t want him to right now. 

  Not when you feel safe. You still want to kick yourself… and maybe throw in a punch.

_____

Apparently, the Troupe have gone their separate ways for now. They don’t cling onto each other for a long period of time after a job. It’s better that way since it has a lesser chance of them getting caught. They still hang out from time to time, though. 

For you, you managed to get out of Meteor City after the argument with the priest. Feitan had gone to do another heist with Phinks, if you remember right. You took that moment to skip town. You never wanted to stay in the trash, anyway. 

  And you were right to! Everything you thought of as a child about the world outside was true! Sure, people can be rude and things can be corrupt, but you’re fed and resting. There are bright lights and kind people. It can be clean and the soap smells so good. Just the other day you got to experience a nail salon. Rather than stealing from you, the lady next to you, Jade, talked about her family. Her daughter is Ruby and her wife is Scarlet. Jade and Scarlet want another child. You offered the name Emerald. 

  In Meteor City, you would’ve had to fight. Now, you are making friends and offering beautiful names. It’s a stark contrast that is fully welcomed. 

  The sun is bright and the moon is sometimes round. It doesn’t always attract evil and can sometimes sing such a beautiful melody. There are pearls and diamonds. There are seasonings that make the food taste unbelievably good. It’s all expensive, but infinitely better than Meteor. 

And Nen is a secret here. In the city, many knew about it and used it without discretion. Here it’s different. Like a secret identity for a hero. Your nen in particular isn’t used as much as it was before. Your ability was so tiring. Pretty and incredibly useful, but exhausting nonetheless. 

  It has been a few years since you saw him, but he’s seen you. He found you quickly, too. When you came home from your office job (which you are still ecstatic about, by the way) you noticed a new painting in your house. It was dull and in black and white. The painting is of a few plants that take the center stage. Actually, they’re your nen plants. In the background is what looks like your old city. Piles of rubbish and polluted air in black swirls. There are clouds above and a dark sun barely poking out. 

  It’s sad. Beautiful, but sad. You have wondered what he meant by it. You open the door to your apartment. It’s not much and one day you want to get a house. 

  The keys make a jingle when you set them on the countertop. The apartment is still dark, so you scramble to flip the switch. “Why you leave?”

You scream at the top of your lungs. Standing there nonchalantly is Feitan, who you haven’t had contact with in a hot minute. His hair is even longer than before. He wears a new cowl that has a skull on it over his face. His trench coat looks a little too big for him but he wears it well anyway. 

  “Uh, because I live here? What are you doing here?” You set your bag down and take off your short heels. Although he’s a murderer, you still feel safe with him. 

 He takes slow strides towards you. “ Why? I looked for you and you weren’t there.”

“You knew where I was. I got your presents,” You point to the painting. He hides his face a little in the fabric. “I like it by the way. Did you do it?”

“Shut up.” You sigh and walk into your kitchen. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

 You begin to wash the rice. Your eyes switch from looking down to taking obvious glances at him. Right about now, he should be in his mid twenties. It’s amazing how long you’ve known each other. You remember him as that kid who didn’t know how to tie his shoes and him teaching you about Nen. Time flies so fast when you least expect it. 

  You crack the eggs and whisk them. The sound of the utensil against the bowl and the sizzle of the tomatoes in the pan is all that is heard. Feitan doesn’t make one sound. He opts to stare at you working and even has a glint in his eye which you think could be satisfaction. 

  “Do you still like this, by the way? I remember you snatching it.” You try not to smile at the memory. 

 “I do.” He hovers in your kitchen, just waiting, watching you do all of the work. Stingy bastard. After adding the seasonings, you could have never gotten in Meteor City, you fix him a plate. He happily accepts it and sits down on the floor. 

“I have a tab-” Oh, the memory. Allowing yourself to smile, you sit with him and eat off of his plate. “We’re sharing. ”

 He gives a slight growl but doesn’t do anything. “So, what brings you by?”

“I say hello.” You hum with a mouth full of food. “Well, hello to you too, little boy.”

He gives you a light kick. The two of you finish the plate. Both full, you just lay back and talk. 

“How long are you staying?” 

“Not long.” You’ll miss him. “Running from the cops again?”

“Need to hide out for a bit.” You nod, accepting his answer and that your connection will probably always be sweet moments. “It’s nice to have you here, even only for a moment.”

  Feitan taps you again with his foot. “I’m always here. I say hello all the time.” You know and are fully aware of what he means. His odd little gifts decorate your house. To bones, to rugs, even a china set he stole. It’s routine for him to give you something, even when you don’t see him. 

“Even though you run.” He kicks you again. The more you watch him, the more your chest tightens. He’s the only consistent thing in your life. Everything is fleeting. Your job is new as well as your relationship with your coworkers. But there is a line with them. Feitan is different.

  “How long are we going to do this dance?”

“I don’t dance.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “I mean you coming by once in a blue moon.” 

  He shrugs. “I don’t know.” You nod. “Figures.”

He frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, that this whole thing is tiring. You come and go like some kind of feral cat.”

  “So?”

You sputter, “ So I don’t appreciate it.” He takes off his long coat and reveals his chest, next goes his shoes. “I sleep here.”

“You can’t use me!” He gets up and goes in the direction of your room. “Feitan!” You pick up his clothes and set them aside. “Do you hear me? I wasn’t done talking!”

  On your bed is a sprawled out Feitan. He looks at you with squinted eyes. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”

  Like always, he makes himself at home. You sigh, giving up on trying to talk to him. “Move over.” 

  He scoffs and reluctantly moves out of your way. You feel him tense up as you lay down. “This is my bed. I can sleep here.”

  You face each other as you lay down. Neither of you say anything about how close you are. This is probably the closest you’ve ever been since you helped him tie his shoes the second time. You feel his eyes on you, making you nervous. “Stop staring at me.”

  “Never sleep with someone in a while.” You know. The last time was with you, no doubt. At the time, you didn't think about it, if you remember correctly. It's hard to tell since it's been so long. 

“The couch is that way.” He smacks his lips. “No, you go.” You open your eyes. 

“Like I said, this is my bed.” Feitan doesn’t say anything about your ownership. Instead, he’s honest with you. “I’m tired.”

  Instantly, you start to feel a little bad. In the city, no child was ever able to fully sleep. It was too dangerous, especially in the more dangerous districts. Him being honest about his state, you take it as a step. 

  “If you want to, I’ll be on the lookout.” His hands are next to yours. You grab them, just like he did those few years ago. “You can sleep now, Feitan.” 

  You don’t know when, don’t know how either, but you two do end up sleeping. His eyes are closed and his breath even. Your eyes flutter open and see that he’s got slight dark under eyes and his mouth leaking drool. Feitan looks peaceful, sleepy, like he hasn’t done this in a while. 

  The next morning, he’s gone with no evidence he was even there.

_________________

  You watch on the tv screen above the bank about the attack on York New, a city not too far from you. The attack happened a few days ago but it’s still in the headlines. You don’t blame them, to be honest. It was an insane event that over two thousand people died! 

  You cling onto your boyfriend’s arm. He touches your hand reassuringly. His watch gleams in the moonlight and his suit is perfectly pressed. He's the entire package, he’s perfect. A good job, good manners, an honest man, and treats you well, too. He always holds the chair out for you and gets up when you leave the room. Just like a true gentleman. 

  When you first met, it was a classic coffee shop romance. Then it blossomed into a romantic and expensive dinner, the movies, a nighttime walk in the park, all of the classic dates. In every single one of them he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect man. You like him and how he treats you. How consistent he is. He's the type of man you can rely on. 

  Nevertheless, there is a bothersome voice in the back of your head that reminds you of someone he just isn’t. He’s not Feitan Portor. You don’t feel the contentment Feitan gives when the two of you sleep. You don’t study your boyfriend’s features like you did Feitan.

Dammit, why are you thinking of him? He’s not around and you haven’t seen him in what? Two or three years? So why think of him now. Plus, you haven’t received a gift or a ‘hello’ from him. For all you know, he could be dead.

  “Are you alright?” You wake from your thoughts and look at your boyfriend. His hair is dark, blending in with the night. Eyes kind and green, a Grecian nose, and average sized lips revealing a dazzling smile. Not only is the very essence of him suave, but his looks are also perfect. Tall and handsome, well dressed and a smooth voice. 

It's just that one five foot one pest that won’t get out of your head. 

  “Y-yeah just…it’s all so shocking. York New is literally over there.” You point past the river where more tall buildings reside in the distance.

“I know, I know.” He brings you in close to him. He places a kiss on your head. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you.” 

Suddenly, the newscaster stops mid sentence and gasps. Before you know it, the Phantom Troupe have been named the offenders that caused all of this. Two thousand people. Feitan, did you really kill that many people?

“I would like to go home. I don’t feel the greatest.” He rubs your arm, you still being tucked into his side. Your excuse was a lie to cover the gnawing feeling towards Feitan and his deeds. Although the Phantom Troupe’s original intentions were from a decent stand point, it seems they’ve lost their way. Feitan has lost his way. 

  The gifts have stopped coming, him no longer saying hello. After the last time, when you made him familiar food and sat in a comfortable silence, he disappeared. This time, there was something about it that hurt. Like he didn’t want to come around. He didn’t want to say hello anymore. Or perhaps, he died which if confirmed, you would ache beyond help. 

  “The Phantom Troupe is dead.” The newscaster said. The crowd gasped, shocked that the most feared criminals in the world are gone. Did you jinx it? Curse the little boy who needed you to tie his shoes. The boy who liked your cooking and made sure you rested. Had strong faith in you, never doubting. Protected you from the shadows and held your hand. 

  Is he really gone? 

You hide your face in your boyfriend’s jacket. Tears stream from your eyes at the thought of his grave. With the Troupe, his friends dead, you’d be the only one to truly mourn him. To remember his name beyond his violence. 

You clutch your chest. “Are you okay? Does your chest hurt?” He grabs you by your shoulders, making you face him. He’s such a kind, decent man. But he’s not Feitan Portor. 

  “I just need to rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” You give him a chaste kiss goodbye. Once he leaves, your chest hurts even more. You slide down as you look around at all the menace’s little gifts. The painting, the skull, the windchimes, everything he’s given you. Why, oh why, couldn’t you stay here long enough for your gift, Feitan?

Wait, what could you have given him anyway? He’s a thief that takes what he pleases and has nothing to wish for. 

You lay on your couch and put your arm over your face. The tears refuse to stop for even just a second. You don’t know what you’re crying harder for. Feitan or the confusing feelings for him. Now that he’s gone, you can’t properly tell him. How can you explain it? 

  It’s heavy on your chest and tightens it. You want to feel his body heat no matter how hot the day is. There are no small flutters in your stomach at the thought of him. No, it's something in your heart. You want to stare at him, to memorize every feature he has. To hear his soft voice that is just a centimeter away from a whisper. Just melt in his touch, his presence. Wait, why is this happening? You barely knew him! Does that fact even matter though?

 You slip your hand in your underwear, still staring at the ceiling, sniffling at the news of his death. You imagine the future. Seeing him walk into your house and setting his belongings on the table. Wrapping his arms around you and kissing your back. No matter how long you’ve known him, his stature never fails to amuse you. He’d paw at your body, tearing off your clothes. Feitan wouldn’t hesitate to use his hands for your pleasure. 

  You trace your fingers in the direction you think he’d go. Curling your fingers inside, thrusting them in harshly, knowing that he can only be gentle in his own way. Your back arches from the couch. You swear you can smell him and the faint metallic scent that he holds. The feeling of his ragged breath on your cheek you could swear is real. 

  You moan as you take that jump you’ve searched for. Thinking of how good Feitan would make you feel. You're relentless on yourself, still going as strong as he’d be. Adding another finger, going faster and faster on your clit. Your moaning gets louder as the indiscernible amount of time goes on. 

‘ The Phantom Troupe is dead.’

You crash on the couch with one last gasp. The dream of the two of you ends in flames. The house, the passion, the years that go by in that home. Maybe even a child or two. Seeing him in the morning with a groggy voice is gone. Rubbing his eyes and saying he wants more eggs and tomatoes is no longer there.

  What would your gift be to Feitan? Memories? Sex? Food? Nothing fits. He can have those with anyone. 

  You slip yourself out from your underwear. It didn’t distract you. Perhaps if you thought of your boyfriend, it would have. But the feelings you have towards Feitan went beyond physical. What is this? What do you call this?

  Love? Time stops at the realization. It has to be that. That would have been your gift to him. Love. You cover your mouth as you admit it to yourself. 

'I love you Feitan Portor. I won’t forget you. I love your messed up hair and soft voice. For how you didn’t reject me when the world did. I will do the same for you. I’ll look past your torturous ways and miss you anyway. Maybe the world will curse you, but I’ll mourn you. Bury you so no one can spit on you anymore. I love you Feitan. 

   I’m in love with you Feitan Portor. This is my gift to you. For you to know that you will not be forgotten even though I never got to tell you, to thank you for everything. For leaving the baseball bat with me to protect myself. For painting that picture for me. All of the little gifts you thought I’d like, too. Thank you for protecting me from the priest and the wolves that hunted me every day when we were young.'

You stare at the ceiling till the earliest of mornings. It’s still dark, still heavy with the night sky. There’s some rumbling in the distance, a flash of light in the sky. You don’t bother to confirm anything. 

Just as you close your eyes, the window opens with a creak. You move your eyes to see the figure before you. The darkness covers it, only leaving the silhouette. “Why cry?”

You squint, trying to make out the features.  “Are you real?”

“Very.” It must be a lie. A cruel humor the world has. “Stop crying.” 

“I can’t. Not when you sound like him.” The figure cocks his head, that much you can see with the flash of lightning behind him. “Him?”

“Someone who can’t tie his shoes.” Your lip wobbles again. “I can tie them now.” The moon glows enough to show his face now as he steps up to you. Feitan’s delicate features peek out from his cowl. 

 You shake your head in denial. “It’s not real. It can’t be. You’re dead, Fei.” Your voice is hoarse from your sobs. 

  He looks shocked at your words. The man who looks like Feitan smacks your feet off the end of the couch so he can sit. 

“I’ll miss you Feitan Portor.” The longer you stare at the imaginary man, the more you hurt. “Well, stop.”

  He roughly wipes away the tears. “Ugly when you cry.” His face is close to yours. Since he’ll be gone by the time you come to your senses, you grab his face and kiss him. He sharply inhales, not expecting your sudden decision. 

  He growls against your lips, “Stupid brat.” 

  He feels real. He smells real, familiar too. You tell him such and with furrowed brows and a strong grip of his hand, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. “I’m real, you idiot.”

“They said you died…” You comb his hair through your fingers. It’s real, he's real . So, what’s going on? Before you can ask him, he cradles you. “Stop crying or I’ll go.”

  Your lips wobble at his threat. Rather than listening to it, you hug him. He nestles on top of you, hips placed between yours. He’s light, lighter than you thought so it isn’t a bother.

  “You’re so ugly when you cry. Don’t cry.” He holds you closer and kisses your head. Against your ear, you feel his lips move. You can’t tell what he’s mouthing. When the two of you comfortably slept those years ago, that was the closest you’ve been. Now, this beats that record. Face to face, body to body, and sharing breaths. 

  After a few moments of thunder and lightning, he kisses you gently. Not at all like the desperate one like before. Realistically, you know these feelings you have for him seem fake. You’ve only had a few moments with him. So, why are they so significant? Are they with him too? Is it possible that love can blossom quickly?

  Gentle kisses turn passionate, never wanting to separate. Little nibbles on the right places and sucks on all of the best ones. Clothes leave, not wanting to get between the two friends, those who dance around each other. For the first time, they meet. 

His hands reach your throat as he kisses you, making sure to give it a light squeeze. His weight is still on you, not hurting in the slightest. Feitan makes sure his hand reaches below and swirls his thumb on your bud. You gasp, surprised you were right about how he’d do it. Every ministration he does is exactly how it was pictured. Your hands don’t compare to it. Not by a long shot. 

  Despite his size, his hands are still bigger than yours. They reach deeper than you and are thicker too. In no time, you come, the bliss lasting a good minute before he sheathes himself inside. His thickness is more than you thought. It’s a bit of a stretch, but in a good way. 

  His gasps quicken with every thrust. You can tell that you're being loud, way louder than when you touched yourself. Feeling the rush and strength of his movements has you claw his back in ecstasy. He groans at the sensation. Finally, after this time of passion and intimacy, you both hold each other as you fall off of that cliff.

  Feitan looks into your eyes. With a softness that no one in the world could’ve predicted the torturer of the Phantom Troupe to have, kisses you. “Don’t cry anymore. Don’t cry.”

 “It’s hard not to when I know you’ll leave.” Silently, Feitan removes himself from inside you. It’s become routine, so you expect him to walk out. He lays back down, his head on your stomach. You run your fingers through his hair. He needs a haircut. 

--

 You wake up, not realizing that you went asleep in the first place. Before you can get up, you feel pressure on your stomach. Feitan rests on you still, eyes completely closed and his face peaceful. The two of you are naked and the only source of heat is each other. As much as you want to wrap your arms around him, you know he’ll react negatively or at least flinch. 

  Soon after, he stretches and rubs his face against your stomach. Like before, he drooled in his sleep. “Good morning.” 

He grunts in response and sits up on his heels. It takes him a moment to remember the night before. His eyes widen as he looks you up and down, making you highly aware of your current state. You cover yourself with a blanket draped over the couch. 

  “I have to go.” Ah, right. He’s a cat. 

He gets dressed. Once he has his boots on, you see him tie them the way you taught him. “Proud of you. You finally learned huh?”

 “Brat.” You laugh a little at him. Once he’s done you ask, “Will I ever see you again?"

He cradles your face. “I come back.” You nod, holding back tears. He studies your face and settles on your eyes. He must have realized that you were trying not to cry. His hands still remain on your face as he kisses you. He lingers there for a minute. A parting kiss, a meaningful one. 

  Something tells you that this feral cat isn’t going away anytime soon. That he’ll always be constant and you won’t be totally alone. A companion you won’t see everyday and only for a night. 

 This is the gift you’ll give him. You’ll be home for him. 

___________________

Months later, news about the Chimera Ants came out. You had already broken up with your boyfriend and heard he had left town to avoid them. Of course, you followed suit and got the hell out of there. 

  Without any plan, you moved back to Meteor City, where you thought that they wouldn’t be. Alas, that was stupid. You made a home base in the residential area. Not knowing that Meteor City was plagued by the wretched beasts. 

  By God’s grace, you managed to avoid them due to you being in the residential district. News that the Phantom Troupe were home to fight them ran rampant. The thought of Feitan made you nervous and you don’t know why. 

  Suddenly, right as you put away your dishes, the door opened. You grabbed a knife and faced the intruder. Standing there was the Phantom Troupe, who once again, barged into your home like they owned the place. 

  “What the hell?” You shout. The first one is Phinks with a wide smile. “There she is! Fei, I found her!”

  You put your hand on your hip. “Seriously, what are you doing her-you’re dragging in mud, take off your shoes!”

 “It’s only a little.” Phinks pouts. “I don’t care! You don’t live here.” 

Phinks and his friends grumble as they do as they’re told. The last one to enter the house is Feitan, who is notably holding his left arm. Without being told, he removes his shoes. 

  “Feitan…” He hasn’t faced you yet. “What happened to your arm?” 

“I’m injured too, (Y/n)!” The smiling boy with round eyes whines. You have no idea what his name is. Only that he and the rest are in Feitan’s gang. 

  “Alright, let me see.” He lays down on your clean table and says, “It’s all over. I need the full treatment!” 

  “Ugh, fine.” You grumble under your breath about the disrespect and your poor table. Finally, Feitan sits on one of the pushed aside chairs. He says, “I need it too.”

  “Big babies.” 

You heal the biggest cry baby completely. The blond, whose name you now know as Shalnark, stretches. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve been hurting all day!”

  Rolling your eyes, you turn to Feitan who has been silent. He holds out his arm for you. You take the limb and inspect it. 

 “Completely shattered.” He grunts in agreement. He stares into your eyes and gives you a familiar slight smile. You notice that his friends are quiet, not a sound or word among them. 

“You guys alright?” You ask. The girl shakes her head yes and ‘whispers’ to the rest. “Should we leave them alone?”

  “Probably.” A mummy with boxing gloves answers. You’ve never seen him before in your life. 

“Uh, we’ll check the place out. Y’know, make sure it’s safe.” Shalnark shoos the little kid out and into a separate room, your bedroom. “We’ll clear this out in case you guys need it!”

  You huff and roll your eyes. Feitan’s cheeks are red and he’s glaring daggers at his friends. The girl goes outside with the remaining three to check the area. You and your feral cat are alone. 

“What are they checking for? I’m in a residential area.” 

“Ants.” 

  “They’re here? In the safe zone?” You begin to panic until he grabs your hand. “You’re safe now. They’re not in the city anymore.”

“Wha-how? What’s going on?”

  He pinches you lightly, encouraging you to heal his wounds. “Oh, right, right.” Flowers of all colors circle around. They begin to smooth over Feitan’s wounds. You take a second to wipe the blood off of his lip, letting there be some room for the petals to go. 

“How’s the other guy look?”

“She's toasted.” You smile. “Atta boy.”

  He’s healed, the petals and flowers disappear. You lick your lips at the sight of his bare chest. You didn’t notice before due to the audacity of these heathens barging in. 

  His heart rate quickens. “You leave again.”

You nod. “Yeah, yeah I did. I had to, Fei. the Chimera Ants invaded. I had to run.”

“With your boyfriend?”

You let out a small gasp. “ No. How do you know that?” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair. “You lie.”

“I didn’t lie to you. I just never said anything.”

  “Words of a liar.” You scoff at him. “I did not lie to you. I lied to him. You don’t have any business with our relationship.”

At first, he was looking at his lap. Those grey eyes of his immediately found a new target to glare at. “You’re not with him anymore. ”

“No. Why does that matter?” He begins to tap his foot lightly. “Why did you break up?” 

  “You hungry?” You start to get up until you’re tugged down. “Why?”

When you don’t answer, he whispers in your ear. “Because I fucked you?” Your face is so warm. 

“If we run, we can still make it out.”

“Why are we running?” A small voice asks.

“Because I think they need the room.” 

“Will you two shut up?!” You are two seconds away from running out of your own damn house. You stand and his hands hold you by your hips. “Tell me why you leave him?”

  “Because of you.” It’s embarrassing to tell him your feelings. Hopefully, he can read your mind or something and shut up. He sighs and stands, walking over to you without a hitch. He kisses you. 

  “That’s what you get for lying.” He’s not remorseful or even boastful. Feitan takes your answer in stride. “No more leaving. Stay so I can find you.”

“You’ll always find me, remember?”

______________

Time after that, you were stuck in charge of Chrollo’s lover or something. She’s not too bad but clearly traumatized. Anytime you’d tell her to go with you, she’d look shocked. Like she was surprised she could leave. You were suspicious of her relationship with Chrollo. Something didn’t sit right with you whenever he or Feitan came up. She’d tense up. She never talked about it either. From what you understand with the little information you have, is that she was a former member that raised an orphan and that Chrollo loved her immensely. Perhaps too much.

  From what you know, there was a big showdown on the Dark Continent and the boat that was taking a voyage to the fake one. The Phantom Troupe were on that one at first, fighting Hisoka Marrow. He was a sore loser that got humbled and decided to attack again. 

  Amazingly, only a few died. You didn’t want to know the details or anything. You can’t go through that again. So, after that news, you and Chrollo’s lover parted ways. She went on to find a kid she raised. You, on the other hand, decided to settle out of Meteor City. This was almost a year ago.

  You have an apartment now in the town where you and your boyfriend lived, right next to York New. It’s basic, not fitting any aesthetic or anything. The good thing about it is that it’s bigger than your first one. It’s two bedroom and has a good price. 

   Feitan hasn’t reappeared. It tore you to shreds. You’ve managed to piece yourself together bit by bit, but you are a hollow version of yourself. Surviving and not enjoying the little things you used to. You even saw Jade, Scarlet, Ruby, and the new child, Emerald. Even that heartwarming moment didn’t fulfill you. However, it was the first time you smiled in a while. 

  You stir the food in the pot. Since it’s a little chilly, you made soup. You put the lid over the pot, letting it cook. There’s a knock on the door. You open it and see the man you’ve waited for. 

  Feitan is in dark clothing and has a large scar on his face. There’s no cowl over him, or a large trench coat. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks at you expectantly. You realize that you’ve just been standing there, you move to let him in. Once again, he makes himself at home. 

  “How’ve you been?” 

“You leave again.” He states bluntly. His eyebrows are furrowed and has a frown on his face. 

“Bold of you, very bold.” You move around him. “Why did you go?”

“Because I’d never stay in that city forever. The Ants were gone, the world settled. So why couldn’t I? That place is gross anyway.”

  He sits on the barstool and cracks his neck. You ask a question right after he sits. “How long you here for?”

You don’t know why you asked that. He’ll only be here for a moment. A while ago, you had made the decision to accept it as your gift to him. To love and mourn him when the world won’t. When news about the Phantom Troupe hit, you couldn’t bear to hear it. Their trip to the fake Dark Continent, then their corrected course to the right one, ended in a battle with them facing Hisoka and Illumi and everything else over there. 

  It was too hard for you to think about. That doesn’t mean you didn’t mourn and that you’ve snapped out of it.

   “For good.” 

You look up into his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he’s smiling with soft eyes. You see that he has a dimple on his left cheek. “W-what about-”

“Done for a while. Maybe forever. I know I’m staying.”

   “But your friends, where are they?” He shrugs even though you see the tension. “Separate. We split for a bit.” 

  He rubs his shoulders nervously. “Can I stay with you?” 

“Wow, you’re asking? Shocked.” You tap on the counter. The weight you’ve been carrying is lightened. “Feitan?”

“Yes?” He gets off of the stool and makes his way around the counter. “You know how you give me all those gifts?”

  He nods his head. “Well, this is my gift to you, Feitan Portor. You can stay as long as you like.” 

  He wraps his arms around you. He’s hugging you. This time, you aren’t afraid to hold him back and squeeze. Maybe, just maybe, this is what home is? 

  If the Phantom Troupe resurrects, at least you know he’ll always come home. That you two will be a constant force for each other. No matter if it does or doesn't, you two aren't dancing but admitting things you couldn't. This is home, a gift for each other.  

[kvrlsefni]

Hello *Kicks the door down* I SEE YOU'RE SEARCHING FOR REQUESTS. You know how snezhnaya is kinda based on Russia? Imagine the the harbingers teaching darling Russian. Reading stories for columbina, pantalone pressing his chest to your back while holding your hand to teach you how to write a letter you had problem with, sitting on Pietro's laps and read him his reports,.. yeah just that. Feel free to ignore this ofc! Have a nice day :] ~Raven anon

the harbingers’ little darling ♡

♤ OMG HELLO !! JAISJWJEJ okAY I AM ABT TO SLEEP BUT I CANNOT STOP THINKING OF THIS AKDNWJSK THAT’S FR SO CUTE??? also i hope u don’t mind but i branched it out a little more and made the language more general like hinting at several if that’s alright ! ;0 it’s ,,, also this is part one (maybe), since i was getting tired and i wanted to post this alr😭

♤ unedited because it’s 4:40am

you’d be unofficially known as the harbingers’ darling. they all kinda almost don’t trust each other and don’t really agree on anything with each other outside of work, but they really start to get along when it concerns you! i’d imagine like they all have a meeting, and sadly, because you aren’t a harbinger, you can’t take part in it. but that’s okay! you fr have your own little waiting room they made for you. it has comfy seats and a nice view of the outside, and it’s got bookshelves and a small fireplace. it’s really near their meeting room too!

after their meeting (of course, this being a given that it’s not like they have an immediate mission they have to go to at once), the doors immediately open, and this was your sign that you could now enter since their business was now finished.

of course, this isn’t limited only to spending time with all of them at once! each and every one of them at one point, depending on their schedules, love to spent time with you one and one or with a few others as well (though they really would prefer if it was just you two…).

columbina, i like to think, is the one who actively searches for you the most. she loves to hold your hand as you two walk around either at the palace of anywhere for that fact! she also loves it when you two are just in her office or in the garden, sitting around while you two chatter with each other. sometimes, when you two are in her room, she makes you sit down and fixes your hair while she sings for you or you read her a story! after which, she’ll dress you up in clothes she bought the day before or so because they reminded her of you! she also sometimes teaches you new songs to sing in new languages.

if not columbina, then it’s dottore who also actively searches for you as well! he’s always excited to bring you with him when he’s doing his little experiments (though maybe the less extreme ones), and he loves it when you ask him all sorts of questions! it ranges from asking what he’s doing to who’s he doing it to to why he’s doing it. sometimes he doesn’t give you a proper answer on why, or it’s a really plain answer like he felt like it or something, but you liked how excited and fired up he got from doing them, so you liked it when he did them!

whenever you bump into childe, he always asks you how you are! he asks who you were with before you two bumped into each other, and he asks you if you want to hang out with him. he likes to sometimes asks you if you want to practice sparring with him, or he asks if you want him to teach you some new tricks and moves he learned. capitano usually is who opposes this. capitano likes to spoil you and he treats you the gentlest out of all the harbingers, handling you like you were a doll that might break if handled too recklessly. that’s why he’s so against it whenever he’s walking around and he sees you sparring with childe and the 11th is getting a little too worked up. immediately, capitano will pull you aside and say it’s his turn to be with you.

a lot of the time, you find yourself wandering the palace whenever the other harbingers are out. you love it here! it’s so pretty and big and you love to explore! however, sometimes when you do, you find yourself in the presence of the ninth, who for whatever reason, is one of the few who stay here the most.

truth be told, you just love listening to pantalone! you always found his voice so soothing and relaxing, and he always greets you with a smile even when he’s busy with the finances in his office. he’s one of the busiest, having been tasked with dealing with all the finances and so of the fatui, but the few times he’s free for you, he loves to spend spoiling you! pantalone also has a habit of asking you to help him out a little bit in terms of getting him certain books and whatnot. this sometimes leads to him asking if you can understand the language it’s in, and if you can, he praises you and if not, he’ll smile and pat your head, saying it’s okay, and if you’d ever like to learn in the future, he’ll teach you.

of course you go with learning-

learning how to read in those new languages proved to be useful whenever you were with pierro! whenever he’s busy with paperwork or so but you just insist on spending time with him (which, he can has a hard time refusing sometimes), they prove to be useful when you’re reading some reports to him while he’s signing or checking other works! he doesn’t like having any other chair in his office (except for the couch he placed inside for you), so often times, he lets you sit on his lap while you read to him, and he strokes your hair!!

[lou-struck]

A Peaceful Project

Hajime Iwaizumi  x reader

Flufftober Day 11

WC: 1.4k

~You bought a few beginner crochet kits from the airport's gift shop to wait out your long layover, while traveling with your Fiancé and the Pro- Volleyball team he works for. 

What a sight your group must be amidst the usual airport crowd. The Japan National Volleyball Team mostly stands tall in their all-red warm-up uniforms they have elected to travel in for their flight home from an International Volleyball tournament. You would never tell them this, but the group looks a bit like a cult. 

Due to hazardous weather, the flight home has been delayed for at least another twelve hours, and it is quite amusing to see how these top athletes deal with the stale stench of boredom that wafts throughout the gate.

Between the rows of leather-backed seats, you spy the muscled form of your Fiance, who busies himself with adjusting the athletic tape of Tobio Kagyama’s fingers, but you can tell by Hajime’s tight smile he is thankful to be wearing his normal clothes.

“How much longer do we have to sit hereeee?” Shoyo Hinata whines, squirming in his seat. The redhead has never been good at staying in one place, so this must be agonizing for him.

“A while,” you reply, feeling pity for the man. “Maybe you could go check out the airport and get yourself some food.”

At the mention of a meal, he brightens up exponentially and looks at you with wide eyes. “There’s food here?”

“Yeah, idiot,” Kageyama says, walking over to the two of you, flexing his freshly taped fingers. “Why would we be stuck in a place like this without something to eat?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Crappyama,” the smaller man responds, childishly sticking out his tongue at the setter. He turns his attention to you nicely. “Wanna go with me since Iwaizumi is busy?”

You smile warmly at him and shake your head. “Thank you for asking, but I’ll wait for him to get done.”

“Oh, okay,” he says before turning to the setter. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Why me?” Kageyama asks, looking surprised. 

“Because you’re always grumpy when you’re hungry.” the redhead says before zipping away down the terminal. 

“I’m not grumpy!” The dark-haired man calls, sprinting after him. 

You laugh as they disappear out of sight, and you hear a deep chuckling behind you. Turning your head, you see Hajime walking over to you. 

“There goes our entertainment.” he laughs, leaning over you in your seat. His large hand slips under your chin and tilts it upwards so that he can give you a proper kiss. “How you doing, baby?”

“Better now,” you hum, enjoying his attention. While you are glad that you were able to join him on this trip, you definitely haven’t gotten to spend as much time with him as you would’ve liked. Between tending to the player’s injuries and providing nutritional advice for the team’s meals, he has made a lot of overtime pay these last few days. “How many players do you have to do treatments on?”

His face falls, and he glances back at the queue of men standing behind him. There are at least a dozen players in need of treatment. The last few days were tough on them, and there was no shortage of injuries. “I’ll be at least another hour,” he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Your comforting touch finds his bicep, and you give it a reassuring little squeeze. “Hey, it’s alright. I can just get a book or something from that little shop over there, and then we can go and get something together.”

He looks between you and the ‘Go Mart’ a few yards away before giving you a tired yet heartfelt smile. “You would really do that for me?”

“You know I’d do just about anything for you,” you laugh, reaching into your backpack and pulling out your wallet to pay for whatever kind of overpriced airport entertainment you are about to get for yourself.

“Thanks, baby,” he says, helping you to your feet. “I’ll go as fast as I can, I promise.” With quick steps, he walks back over to his empty row of seats that he has cleared out for his athletic training purposes and starts barking directions at the men waiting in line. “You’re next, Miya, sit down and let me see that damn wrist of yours.”

Leaving your suitcase in the safety of your party, you step into the little shop. Walking past the rack of keychains and shot glasses with various city names and other last-minute travel gifts, people get when they forget to buy them on their travels to the back of the store. The wall of mass-market paperbacks looks down on you. 

You are just about to reach for a cheesy-sounding romance novel until something catches your eye. Your head turns to give yourself a better look, and you see a little rack of arts and crafts kits, including some paint-by-numbers coloring books and ‘Beginner-Friendly’ crochet kits. 

The little pouches have adorable little crochet animal pictures on the front, including a little green lizard guy and a purple penguin. It may not be a book, but these little kits look like just the thing you need to make it through this layover. 

You scoop the light packages off their hooks and bring them to the counter, not bothering to look at the obscenely high price they have. 

It will hurt less to just ignore the charge on your credit card completely…

~

The gift shop bag sways to and fro as you walk back to where your group is supposed to be. Your gate has become practically empty save for your Fiance, who diligently watches the luggage with his arms crossed. 

“Where’s the rest of your line?” you ask, noting the absence of the volleyball players. 

“They got hungry and left.” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “We should’ve just gotten food when we had the chance.”

“So now you’re on suitcase duty?” you ask, plopping down in the seat next to him.

“Until they come back, I guess we are stuck here.” He spots the bag in your hand and peaks into it. “That doesn’t look like a book.” 

“Nope,” you say brightly, taking the kits out of the plastic and showing them to him. “I got us a project.”

“Crocheting?” he asks, reading the label. 

“The package says it’s for beginners, so I think the two of us can figure it out together,” you say, tossing him the lizard. “Go make a mini Godzilla.”

“That’s just a Lizard,” he chuckles. 

You roll your eyes and open the package of your purple penguin. “It could be a Mini Godzilla.” you hum. 

He smiles just for you and opens the package, taking out the yarn, the crochet hook, and, most importantly, the instructions. “Let’s see what this is all about then.”

Within minutes, you guys are hooked…

As much as you love talking to each other, you are dead silent as your eyes scan the instructions and your project. And despite the hustle and bustle of the airport around you, you feel remarkably peaceful. 

Thirty minutes go by before you say anything. “How is it going?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the little penguin bottom you have crafted. 

“Good,” he says, short and sweet. No doubt thriving in the comfortable silence the two of you have created for yourselves.

“Good.” you parrot, looking at the yard strand between your fingers and admiring the long chain you have formed. You may not know what you have to do after this step, but you’ll find out when you get there.

“Hey, we’re back,” Hinata calls, rushing back over to you two with Kageyama on his heels. “This airport is so cool. There’s a whole plane inside this garden thing and like a gazillion places to eat; when you go down there, make sure to,” he is cut off by an icy glare from your Fiance. 

“Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.” Hajime hisses at the dynamic duo. “Unless you are injured or dying, leave us be.”

They look a bit taken aback at the Athletic Trainer’s outburst and look to you for any kind of comfort, but you are too engrossed in your project to give it to them.

“Sorry guys, I have a penguin to make.” you hum, looping another strand of violet yarn around your crochet hook. 

Neither of you has acknowledged it yet, but whoever finishes their project first won’t have to pay for their meal.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network @eussstasss

[divine-donna]

your desire

got inspired, so here's something for steven grant. because i love awkward autistic oscar isaac.

pairing: steven grant x gender neutral! reader

for vibes: "venus" by bananarama

you were in london for a phd program. you wanted to pursue a doctorate in art history and work with repatriation. after all, every place deserved their stuff back.

especially from the british museum.

you lived in a simple flat across from the sweetest man you've ever met: steven grant.

now, aside from how tired he was and the sometimes weird things you'd wake up to coming from his apartment, he was a good neighbor.

at one point, he even helped you unlocked your door after you had left your keys in the apartment. you rushed to get out of the apartment as fast as possible and came back near 1am without your keys.

"i didn't even know i could do that." is what he said when he successfully gets your door open. you were sure he was joking. he was being genuine.

the dating scene in london wasn't...well, the state of dating was bad in general. especially considering that half of the world literally disappeared and then came back, including your own brother. your father died thinking he was dead permanently, leaving you with a soft spot and a desire to pursue a fulfilling relationship.

why wait if you might die tomorrow? there was always another world ending event around the corner.

perhaps developing a crush on your attractive neighbor was not the way to go.

none of the people you went out with had steven's smile. had his curls. had his smile. had his nose. had his little information dumps that you adored.

but from the interactions you guys had, it seemed the destiny might be platonic. which hurt your soft, romantic heart.

you were about to retire for the night since you had class the next day. that's when you heard mumbling outside your door. peeking through the peephole, you can see the man looked downtrodden. he was holding some flowers and a box of chocolates.

you opening the door surprises him. he nearly jumps out of his skin. "(y/n)!"

"hey." you lean against the doorway and cross your arms over your chest. you were wearing some comfortable lounging clothes: a tank top and some fuzzy pants with hello kitty designs. "everything okay?"

"huh? yeah. i mean..." he purses his lips and sighs. "got stood up on a date." again.

you understood all too well. you lost count of how many dates you went on and they just didn't show up. not even a text to tell you they weren't coming, or to ask for a rain check. wasting your time. and being general dicks.

the state of dating was not it.

"i'm sorry. i'm sure there was a reason." perhaps there was. perhaps there wasn't. there was no point in thinking about it.

"yeah. well, good night!" even when upset, there was still a pep in his voice.

watching him pull out his keys made you feel...sad. you didn't want him to spend time alone.

"how about you come in for a cup of tea? that way you don't have to eat the chocolates alone."

steven turns around. there's a sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, making you melt.

"i'd like that. a lot."

you move aside to let him in and close the door behind you. he removes his shoes, setting them on the side and you take his jacket to hang it up.

steven sits at one of the seats at the kitchen island, watching you pull out your kettle and fill it with water, before placing it on a burner. you adjusted the flame to a medium.

"you want some cake? i have some left. it's lavender lemon." you ask, pulling out two mugs. you love the way his face perks up. one of them was a mug from the gift shop with an egyptology theme.

"i think i'll be fine. but it's kind of you to offer."

"okay. what about tea?"

"do you have chamomile? kind of...basic but..." he would like a sleep aid.

you don't say anything. you just smile at him and grab the box from your cabinet. you place a bag in each much, discarding the proper trash. "so...you wanna talk about it?"

steven spends the next few minutes talking about his feelings. it felt good for him to unload and vent just a little bit. he held no ill will towards his date. just some frustration about how his romantic life has hit a brick wall. something was always getting in the way of him pursuing a relationship. something was always happening. he was always screwing up. perhaps he was the problem.

in the middle, your kettle was screeching. so you turned off the burner and poured it into the mugs, letting the tea steep.

you can't help but relate. with all the people who stood you up, you wonder if you are the problem. were you that unlovable, that undatable, that people can't even tell you they weren't coming?

steven stops talking when he notices the way you're looking at him: with intensity. you look like you want to tell him something. "what is it?"

"what? you can keep going."

"you want to say something. your lip is twitching." he gestures. he takes a sip of his tea.

"well...i don't know if..."

"go on. you can say it."

you take a sip of tea before looking at him. "it's not your fault. none of it is."

steven's smile is sad. "you don't have to say that."

"i mean it. steven...i know it feels like it is. hell, i relate a lot. sometimes it feels like you're the problem because no one else wants you. but it's not your fault. i think you're...pretty cool. and amazing."

he blinks slowly, almost like a cat. he's busy just looking at you, admiring your features. your beauty. and your warmth. not many people would invite people over just to vent.

"it's all good to vent. but i also think it's important to...think of it as redirection. like my dating life sucks but my studies are going well. and i'm going to be published."

"r-really?" he watches you walk over to the record and set your mug down. you look through the vinyls and pick one.

"yeah. academically too. so i get academic validation. which isn't everything, but it's certainly nice." it was important to get your work out there. you turn the player on, place the disk, and then drop the needle.

your body movies instinctively. you recognize the synth beat, picking up your mug and moving your hips. "this was my dad's. he really like british 80s synthpop." you turn to steven and take a sip of your tea.

he was trying his best not to stare, not to watch the way your hips moved. it was mesmerizing. he wasn't one for dancing. he was not the best at following a rhythm.

you dance over to him and gently take his hand. "come on steven."

"i don't think so." he sees your pout. "okay, okay."

he gets off the stool and lets you guide him to the middle of the room.

your hips move. your body is unchoreographed. you weren't really a dancer. but you can't help yourself. you spins a few times, bathing in the casualty of it all. and unknowingly bathing in steven's love filled gaze.

you look deep into his eyes. his soft brown eyes. and your eyes glance down to look at his lips. his soft looking kissable lips.

could you be bold? could you make a move? was it appropriate to make a move? you take a sip of her tea and sets the mug down. "steven..." you bites her lip as the music keeps playing.

"y-yes (y/n)?" he could feel his cheeks warm up. especially as you step closer. your bodies are nearly touching.

you gently cup his face with one hand and pull him by his waist so his body is against yours. you could feel your own body against his. it was quite arousing.

you leans forward and kiss him softly, pulling away for a second only to kiss him again.

"i like you." you mutter against his lips.

steven doesn't know what to do. he's hesitant. because you want him. and maybe he wants you. but do you really want him? was it just the heat of the tea? or the music?

"you...you like...me?" surely there were better men. better people.

your eyes soften. "yes. i do. i like you. i like you a lot steven." the music appears to fade to a soft lull. your heart beats in your ears. perhaps you made a mistake.

"i know this is sudden. and maybe it's inappropriate considering that...you just got stood up and i invited you in my home and it seems weird and terrible honestly. and if you don't like me back that's fine. you can just tell me and i'll stop and you can go..." you begin rambling nervously. your mouth runs faster than you could comprehend.

he has to set his mug of tea down.

you stop talking when he presses a finger against your lips. he feels how soft they are. and is tempted to trace your lips with his finger. "don't...don't you dare stop."

your lips curled into a smile and he removes his finger to kiss you. his hands rest on your hips, trying to bring your bodies closer.

a small moan escapes you, feeling him grind up against you. his kisses are fervent, as if he's trying to taste you.

your back hits the edge of the tv stand, causing you to giggle. you let him kiss you, parting your lips so his tongue slides in. they dance for what feels like an eternity.

you manage to pull away and turn around so he's against the tv stand. then you tug him along, heading straight for your bedroom.

[kkami-writes]

devil's advocate — chapter six. cw. none wc. 778 + 12 SS

A week had passed surprisingly fast with the kids who had no immediate schedules, mostly dance practice to perfect a few routines for a few performance videos they were going to record soon. It was currently Friday night with all the boys home, spread out across the dorms and by the smell slowly wafting into your room, Minho was in the kitchen cooking. Which reminded you that you needed to ask the boy for some lessons. You had never been much of a cook before - only knowing how to cook a handful of things but it was definitely something you’d like to learn. If not just to give Minho a break from working hard all day only to come home and cook for a bunch of still growing boys. 

You were busy getting changed out of your work wear, slipping off your blouse and throwing it into your hamper. While yes, you could just magically change your clothes directly onto your body, you had figured it would be best if you got used to doing things the ‘normal’ way. If you had to pretend to be a human, you might as well get used to it. Letting out a sigh, you run a hand through your hair. It was certainly something you’d have to get used to. After all, it was still up in the air how long you were going to be stuck here. 

There’s a knock at your door but the person on the other side doesn’t even bother waiting for a response before walking into your room, not even aware that you were changing. The effect of living with 7 other boys you mused, them probably not used to the term privacy. You turn your head without moving your body to see Seungmin frozen in the doorway, his gaze glued to your naked back. He’s staring at your exposed skin, eyes trailing down your spine. You raise an eyebrow at him, surprised that he’s still standing there and hasn’t fled at the first sight of your half-naked body. 

It’s then you realize just exactly what he’s staring out, a more frustrated sigh escaping your lips. “Do you mind?” You question him with a more pointed stare. This seems to snap Seungmin out of his daze, now coming to terms that you are in fact, not wearing a shirt. He retreats, slamming the door in his wake. 

“Shit, sorry. I just- uh wanted to come let you know that dinner is ready,” 

“Ok. Can you give me a second? Let’s talk for a minute,” 

“...ok,” His voice is soft and slightly muffled behind the door. Quickly, you pull on some more comfortable clothes, hoping the boy hasn’t run away from the slightly awkward situation. When you come back to open the door he’s staring at the floor, looking very much like a puppy that’s just been scolded. Seungmin’s ears are tinted red and you can’t help but find him oddly adorable. Had you not felt a little bad, you might have teased him just a little. 

“Come in for a sec, yeah?” He does so, shuffling in and taking a seat by the desk. He doesn’t say anything nor does he look up at you, much too embarrassed to do so and instead waits for you to initiate the conversation. 

“So. I assume you saw them?” Seungmin nods his head, this time raising his gaze to you. “I’m not mad, it’s ok,”

“Um- How did..” His voice trails off again. “No sorry, I shouldn’t ask,” 

“It’s fine. I don’t mind telling you. Remember when I explained that I was a hybrid? Half demon, half succubus?” Seungmin nods. “I had avoided giving you a more proper term. It’s not that I was trying to hide it? I just, I don’t know.” You shrug. “Didn’t seem relevant. But since you’ve seen it, I’ll explain. I’m a fallen angel. What you saw are the scars from where my wings used to be. Before they ripped them off and threw my ass into hell”

Seungmin blinks at you and you can practically see the clogs in his brain trying to work. “Sorry, I know it might be a little too much to process. I’ll explain more later, ok? In the group chat. For now, let’s go eat, I’m sure you’re hungry,” 

You move to pat the boy on the shoulder, gesturing with your head for the two of you to join the rest of the boys. Seungmin sits there for a second, blinking and trying to process your words. In the end he can’t quite wrap his head around it so he moves, coming to join everyone else at dinner.

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[just-a-torn-up-masterpiece]

for i have sinned

masterlist

Pairing - priest!wanda maximoff x reader

18+ : dubcon, religious language used in and out of sex, smut; degradation, rough sex and kissing, strap use(r receiving), blood kink, cutting (wanda to r), sacrilegious asf tbh, dom!wanda

A/N - catholic school trauma said i had to write this and also photoshop priest!wanda so that’s an extra little gift

A job at the catholic church was not what you’d originally planned for your summer break from university, waiting tables or serving behind a bar was what you had in mind but this was all you could find. And money is money.

So now you’re finding yourself making copies of fliers for the church, leaning against the wall with the whirring of the printer as background noise. You didn’t necessarily believe in this stuff but putting ‘atheist’ on your application wouldn’t have done you any favours so within the hours of nine and five you’re catholic through and through. 

It was only your first week and it’s already getting boring. The smell of the candles burns your nose and the polish they use on the pews makes you cough but at least you don’t have to sit through services and mass.

“Afternoon, Y/N.” Wanda smiled as she walked in.

“Hi, Wanda.” You returned.

“Mass starts in twenty minutes - all staff are expected to attend. I wasn’t sure if you knew so I thought I’d tell you.” You did not fucking know at all, you’d had enough of sitting through masses during your catholic school days and it took so much effort to hold back the grimace fighting its way to the surface.

“Oh, okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

“No worries. They’re big on Latin here, so I’d brush up on that if I were you.” She added. “I could always help you if you want.”

“That’d be great, thank you.” You smiled as she left with a nod. She’s too sweet for you to turn down, always smiling and softly spoken, going out of her way to help anybody and everybody. Everyone who steps foot in the church knows how nice she is, such gentle innocence and light radiates from her.

You made sure to drink another coffee before the service, you were going to need it if you didn’t want to doze off.

—

The last few weeks have been spent printing flyers, drinking crappy coffee, learning Latin with Wanda whilst trying not to stare at her unimaginable beauty and sitting in on sermons. At least when Wanda gives them you can watch her speak, white clerical collar around her neck, black blouse hanging over her body.

Her hands made gestures with her words, fingers dancing through the air, svelte and adorning a couple of rings. Her voice was soft as her eyes gazed over the crowd and although the lilt to her voice was melodic, you tuned her words out, instead flitting your eyes between her and the stained glass windows beside you.

“For this is the will of god, your sanctification; that you abstain from sexual immorailty; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honour, not in the passion of lust like the gentiles who do not know god.”

Her words barely registered as you just pulled at a loose thread on your sleeve, eyes mindlessly trailing over her body; up her long legs clothed beneath trousers, boots partly covered by them. 

“But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.”

She could tell you weren’t paying proper attention when she caught sight of you at the back of the church where you sat alone, a bored look plastered over your face. She wasn’t surprised, she sees you fighting back yawns any time you attend a service, she catches you stealing glances at her during your tutoring sessions.

She was aching to do something about it. It goes against her own life, her entire life and vocation she’s built. But she’d be helping though, right? Doing the lord’s work. You were a stain, dirty and sinful, desperately in need of purity. It was her calling to erase the tarnish within your soul.

“But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire.”

She glanced at you and licked her lips, she can’t wait to set you on the right path. Her hand gripped tightly onto the missal stand as she flicked pages, clenching her jaw at your obvious inattention and sending a sickly sweet smile your way when you glanced up. 

—

“Okay, repeat that back to me.” Wanda spoke from beside you, she sat next to you at the table in the break room where she’d been helping you with your Latin, chin resting in the palm of her hand as she watched you.

“Extra Ecclesiam nulla salus.” You returned, returning the radiant smile she gave you. (Outside the Church there is no salvation)

“Good girl.” She knew that would make you nervously clear your throat the way you did and she didn’t even bother hiding the smug smirk that tugged her lips upwards. “Try this one. Nitimur in vetitum.”

You repeated the phrase as best you could, basking in the praise she sent your way. “What does it mean?” You asked her and watched as she inched closer with eyes darker than you’d ever seen them and her hand trailing over your thigh beneath the table. You wanted to move away, you knew this was wrong but you couldn’t ignore the shivers sent through you at her touch.

“We strive for the forbidden.” She returned lowly, plump lips so close to your cheek you could feel the ghost of them pass over your skin and the intrusion of her hand pushing further and further up your thigh.

“Wanda, we can’t do this - you can’t do this.” You rushed out, moving your head back from her.

“Deus vult.” She growled through clenched teeth, a possessive hunger on her features you never imagined she could ever possess as her fingertips harshly dug into your flesh and her lips slammed into yours. You wanted to push her away, you really should push her away but the way her lips moved with yours was better than you could’ve imagined, all the rough possessiveness she could harness. (god wills it)

Her grip was harsh on the back of your neck until she pushed your head away at the sound of approaching footsteps, all of a sudden encompassing that innocent doe eyed facade she always sports when a few colleagues walked in. You lowered your head nervously at the stern glance she addressed you with, perfectly hiding the fact she was so near to just fucking you on the table just moments prior. 

“This will be continued.” She whispered before taking her leave.

—

Wanda was a woman of her word and that’s why you’re now in her bedroom with your back flush against her door as her lips claim yours and her tongue licks into your mouth. The ring on her thumb pressed into the centre of your throat when she held onto your neck, cold against your heated skin. 

The way her lips slotted with yours was desperate with her teeth nipping at your bottom lip, clashing into yours sloppily; it was clear she’d been wanting to do this for a while. Her other hand trailed down your side, creeping beneath your shirt to pinch the bare flesh of your waist. 

She growled breathlessly against your lips, “Hoc est corpus meum.” Her thumb pushed onto the column of your throat and you were sure her thick silver ring was going to leave an impression behind but the thought of being left with any physical reminder of her only made the arousal in your belly grow tenfold. Her hand slid further down until she cupped your cunt through your trousers, feeling your heat as you just yelped in surprise. “Corpus tuum est corpus meum.” Her voice was low and possessive and she claimed your lips as hers again, not caring about the way she pushed your head into the wooden door behind you. (this is my body)(your body is my body)

Wandering fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt before yanking it over your head, drinking in the sight of your body as she tossed it across the room, reaching behind you to rid you of your bra with an immediate sinking of her teeth into your breast. You hissed at the feeling, arching your body into her as her fingertips pulled at your nipple and her tongue licked over your skin.

She pulled open the button of your trousers, forcing them past your hips and only pulling away from you to watch as you stepped out of them and kicked them across the hardwood floor. When she pushed her hips back into yours you felt a bulge against you through the thin material of your underwear and you couldn’t help but rock your hips over it whilst she kissed you. 

“Such a little fucking whore.” She breathed, stepping backwards to unbuckle the belt around her waist, undressing herself so she stood before you with only her shirt and clerical collar on her body and the red strap she’d been waiting to use on you between her legs. You licked your lips at the sight of it, not missing the way Wanda smirked at the flustered look on your face.

It nudged against you when she closed the space between you, holding your chin between her finger and thumb to make your eyes lock with hers. “Genua ante patrem tuum et orate.” She muttered through gritted teeth, pushing you behind her to swap places, nudging your shoulder down until you were on your knees before her. (kneel before your father and pray)

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” You closed your eyes as you spoke, head bowed and hands clasped together. You shivered at the feeling of something cold gliding over your shoulder and pushing your head up from beneath your chin, cool metal on your skin when you opened your eyes to Wanda towering over you. She held a silver letter opener against you with her fingers wrapped around the handle, guiding the pointed end down the thin skin of your throat musingly. 

“Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.” You continued with bated breath at her next move, the feeling of the blade moving lower to settle beneath your collarbone. (my fault, my fault, my grievous fault)

“I’m going to make you pure.” Wanda whispered, pushing the sharp metal into your skin. You winced at the two cuts she decorated your flesh with, a cross that will stay on your body as a scar and a reminder of who had been there.

With one hand she pulled your head back by your hair, with the other she swiped her thumb through the pooling blood, the crimson that was slowly but surely dripping down your breast. The bloodied pad of her thumb drew the sign of the cross on your forehead, two overlapping lines of a red smear. She admired the sight of you beneath her, looking up with teary eyes.

“C’mon, take it.” She smiled, pushing the tip of her cock against your lips, roughly pushing it past your parted lips when you slackened your jaw for the intrusion. She fucked into your mouth, not caring about the way it hit the back of your throat roughly and caused tears to spill down your cheeks at the feeling. 

She only pushed your head away once she was satisfied and your lips pulled away with a string of saliva clinging to her length and your face hot and wet with tears and bleary eyes, she only pointed to the bed and you followed her gesture obediently, lying back with your head on her pillows as she climbed over your body. Her gaze was predatory, the stroke of the back of her fingers down the skin of your cheek shocked you but the soft look on her face wasn’t completely honest. Yes, she looked at you admiringly but more as though you were in need of her help, the sacrificial lamb she was saving from slaughter - this was for your own good.

She pushed her lips to yours and caught the yelp you let out into her mouth when she pushed into your dripping cunt without any warning, she eased into you slowly, stretching you out and coating her cock with your arousal before pulling out and thrusting into you again to begin her harsh pace.

She grabbed the hands that clung to her back, linking her fingers with yours and pushing them into the mattress either side of your body whilst she continued to fuck you

“This is for your own good, you know?” She breathed through grunts of her own from her clit rubbing on the strap as she fucked you, growing closer to climax with each snap of her hips into yours. “Dirty sinners like you need to be fucked pure, isn’t that right?”

You couldn’t even answer her, too mesmerised by the sight above you. Her body hovering over yours, fitted shirt still on her body with her collar still fixed around her neck and the crucifix necklace she always wore swinging rhythmically above your face. The silver pendant shone in the light as it swayed. 

“Isn’t that right?” She repeated sternly with her hand now squeezing at your throat and lusting eyes boring into yours.

“Y-yes, yes.” You nodded, cutting yourself off with a moan as Wanda’s pace increased, growing rougher if that was even possible. You could hear her pushing into you, the small thuds of the bed and the shaking of the wooden crucifix on the wall, threatening to fall if she fucked you any harder.

“You belong to me.” She uttered, bringing her lips beside your ear. “I’m your fucking God. Now, be a good little devoted catholic girl and fucking cum all over my dick.”

With the way her voice rasped and her thumb rubbed over your clit, it took practically seconds for you to scream her name, your body hot and shaking as your back arched off the bed and your eyes scrunched closed. Her own orgasm was close behind and you both took a few moments to catch your breaths before she left you empty and discarded her strap across the room. 

She lay beside you where you looked at the ceiling in a daze and musingly dragged her fingertip over the drying blood on your chest.

“I don’t think you’re quite pure yet.”

“I s’pose I need more of this penance then.”

[kitthepurplepotato]

Shenanigans part 13

Chapter 13 / Bakugou Katsuki and the case of a furious mother.

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki gets slapped. Twice. He kinda likes the second one. That’s the summary.

(Author has a migraine, don’t judge her.)

Warnings: Katsuki speaking rudely to his mother, swear words.

First chapter Master List

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“Can I have the agency stamp, please?“

Today is a shitty fucking day.

Katsuki is back to work, sharing an awkward silence with the Menace. His mother can’t stop messaging him about random shit, even though he’s not responding; Who the fuck cares about his Uncle’s birthday? He’s an asshole anyway and he haven’t seen him since he was 18. Why does he need to send him a message?!

“Dynamight, hello-ooo.”

Also, why is she so hooked up on him these days? Did Kirishima message her about his outbursts? About the Menace? He’s definitely gonna kill that shitty haired idiot if he did. His mother is the last person he wants to know about his shenanigans with Y/N. Knowing his mother, she’s gonna start crocheting baby clothes right away. Fuck no.

“Katsuki fucking Bakugou!!!” Someone yells while hitting his head aggressively. He knows that slap. It’s the slap of doom. Katsuki is fucked.

“What the fuck are you doing here, you old hag!” Katsuki screams. She’s really not supposed to be here. Bakugou literally banned her ass from the agency, so his traitor best friend probably sneaked her in through the back door. What a fucking ass.

“Oh, I’m sorry that I wanted to see my ungrateful son for once!” Katsuki’s mother yells, her face so red she might explode in a few minutes. “Respond to your fucking messages and then MAYBE I won’t barge into your workplace!”

“Get a fucking life and then MAYBE you won’t be so bored! Make another son, maybe that one won’t be a fucking disappointment! Oh wait, you can’t anymore. Sucks to be you, mother!”

Okay, that was really harsh but Katsuki is really not in the mood today.

Apparently, his mother isn’t the only one who got offended; a much stronger slap follows his mother’s one, right on his face. It burns like a bitch.

“You can’t fucking say that to your mother, you prick! You should be happy she cares about you enough to come and see you even though you are the biggest asshole the world has ever seen!” The menace looks like she’s about to cry which makes Katsuki do a double take on his next words. Actually, scratch that, he has no idea what to say to that. “And give me the fucking stamp because I was asking for it for ten minutes before your mother barged in.” Y/N takes the stamp out of Katsuki’s drawer and closes it with such a fervor the drawer breaks down.

Silence fills the room as Y/N sits back to her desk, not looking up at all as she starts to stamp her paperwork.

“I’m… sorry.” The blonde mumbles, still incapable of proper words. What the fuck was that?

“Don’t say sorry to me, you dimwit.” Y/N sniffles but keeps a straight face. Katsuki is really not the type for physical affection, but he really wants to give the Menace a hug right now.

“Did you just make my son say sorry?” His mother deadpans, staring at Y/N incredulously.

This will be a long day.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Okay, you went a bit too far but Bakugou’s words really hit you in face.

You miss your family so much and you would do anything to see them yet here he is, being an absolute asshole to his own mother who came over to see him. You know it was really inappropriate to interrupt a family conversation, but you just couldn’t listen to him speaking like that to this poor woman.

“I’m going to the toilet.” You stand up, not being able to take this awkward silence anymore. “Sorry for barging into your conversation, I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Stay.” Bakugou sighs and keeps you from leaving by grabbing your hand. “Hag, this is Y/N, my new secretary. She’s okay, I guess. Ahh, whatever, you can go now if you want.” Bakugou lets you out of his grasp, looking like a ripe tomato.

“Hi, I’m Bakugou Mitsuki. I would like to say I’m not usually like this, but that would be a lie. Like mother like son and all that jazz.” Bakugou’s mother snickers while looking at her grumpy son proudly. “I’m glad my son is in good hands, please take care of him. I know it’s hard, I brought him up, you know. I had grey hairs since he was born.” Mitsuki reminiscences, lost in her thoughts with a fond smile on her face. What a lovely woman. Fierce… but lovely.

“Oi, stop oversharing she doesn’t care!” Katsuki retorts, frustrated.

“Oh, I really do.” You mumble, looking at the guy’s mother with begging eyes.

“What, I didn’t even pull my photo book out! Yet.” The woman winks at his son, clearly enjoying the fact that the blonde is too embarrassed and scared to say anything too rude after your lecture. Katsuki is just about to explode when Kirishima joins the conversation with a massive smirk on his face.

“Hi mom!” The redhead snakes his arms around the small woman affectionately, giving her a little spin in the air.

Mom?!

“Stop acting like you didn’t sneak her in, you fucker.” Katsuki reprimands. “Also, stop spinning my mother like that, she’ll have a backache again!” Katsuki mumbles, his face contorted into a frown.

“I’m sorry, Ma’!”

“It’s fine, Pumpkin!” Mitsuki gives Kirishima an affectionate head pat, standing on her toes to reach his head.

You’ve been around these two for so long yet you didn’t realize how close they are until now; they literally act like two brothers in front of Bakugou’s mom, and Bakugou’s mom is clearly thinking about Kirishima as her own and she’s also calling him Pumpkin which is the cutest thing you’ve ever heard.

It always surprises you how different the blonde is when he’s interacting with his closest friends and family. You can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever be comfortable to share his real self with you one day.

You are so deep in your thoughts you don’t even realize when Katsuki comes close to you, touching your hips with one finger before changing his mind and pulling back.

“You okay? We can be a bit much for new people, but this is how we’ve always been.” Bakugou says with his head down, ashamed for being outed in front of you.

“I’m fine. Sorry for slapping you, that was a bit much, wasn’t it?” You giggle self deprecatingly, still a little bit flushed after his sudden touch.

“It was a nice slap though. Like damn, you made me fucking speechless, woman.” The blonde grins at you, clearly affected by all his loved ones being so close. You look at him like he’s an alien for a second before looking the other way to calm yourself down. Mitsuki also looks at his son like she’d just seen a ghost, staring between you two for a few seconds before looking back at Kirishima who smiles knowingly at the woman. You have no idea what’s going on between those two.

“Okay, I’m going to leave you guys for today but Y/N, please come over to our house with Katsuki for dinner sometime, will you? It would be really nice to get to know you better!” The woman perks up. “Ahh, I’m so glad I came over today!” Mitsuki envelops his son in a tight hug, squeezing the shit out of the poor guy who tries his best not to yelp loudly from the lack of oxygen.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, now get out!” Katsuki mumbles but the woman doesn’t go yet, she comes over to you with her arms open, ready to give you a hug as well. Thankfully, she doesn’t try to kill you like she did with Katsuki but she does whisper something into your ears before letting you go. “You have my blessing.”

You can’t even try to hide the blush on your face when the woman gives you the Bakugou family’s signature smirk before Kirishima escorts her out of the office.

“Why can’t I have one day without drama?” Katsuki sighs when his mother is finally out of the door, throwing himself on the sofa to rest.

“I really like your mom.” You mumble, not even reacting to the blonde’s moaning.

“She likes you too.” The blonde says with a tiny, hidden smile on his face.

You can’t help but smile back as you sit down to finish your paperwork.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Kirishima is a good friend. He helps his bros, he listens to his bros, he comforts his bros and he even meddles for his bros when it’s needed.

This time, he might have gone a little bit too far but as he said, he would do anything to make his bros happy.

Well, this bro won’t be happy when he hears about his plan, but it will make him happy on the long run. Maybe. Hopefully. Yeah.

Kirishima got an important intel from one of the underground hero groups about a situation that needs to be investigated as soon as possible, hopefully without causing any drama; the suspect is a high risk person, probably planning on another world war behind the scenes. So Kirishima came up with a plan to send over Katsuki and Y/N to have some time off while gathering information about the suspect.

What they don’t know yet is the fact that they will need to act like a couple on their honeymoon to not stand out. Hah. Kirishima is a genius.

“Okay, let me summarize this.” Katsuki grumbles, his shoed feet up on Kirishima’s desk. Rude, but okay. “There is a five star hotel on the other side of Japan where people get brain washed to get free food and drinks and somehow, this shit is connected to a yet unknown terrorist, whose quirk is similar to the one used in this hotel.” Katsuki looks at the redhead with questioning eyes.

“Correct me if I’m wrong Eijirou, but this isn’t enough evidence to start such an investigation.” Y/N speaks up. Sometimes, Kirishima forgets that Y/N is also a hero and she clearly knows her shit.

“You are right.” Kirishima admits with a sigh. “There is another case going in that area, one that involves quirk-enhancing drugs and apparently there is a big chance the same guy is behind it. We don’t know too much about it yet but by the look of it, this terrorist got his hands on a massive amount of drugs and he’s probably planning on brainwashing several people all at once with it or even a whole city as an act of terrorism. This could be fatal. We need to stop this guy before he makes an army and we will have another world war. We’ve all fought in the last one so I’m quite sure you understand we don’t want it to happen again.” Well done, Kirishima. You sounded professional.

“Do we know what kind of brain washing this person can do?” Y/N asks with fear in her eyes. Oh fuck, Kirishima didn’t even think about Y/N’s feelings when he came up with his plan. She’s clearly traumatized by something similar. Is it too late to play dumb and ask them to leave? It probably is. Fudge.

“The victims said they couldn’t stop their negative feelings towards themselves to come to the surface, they became vulnerable and ended up doing everything the person asked for after a few days just to hear a praise. This was before he got his hands on those drugs. The victims he got after… they are all missing.”

“They are all dead.” Y/N sighs. “We had a guy with a similar quirk on the enemy team back when I lost everything. He wasn’t the one I was fighting but he was the reason my whole team retreated, leaving me alone with the enemy. He fucked their head up so much they couldn’t fight anymore. I’m more than happy to help, Eijirou. I want to help.”

Kirishima feels terrible, but he can’t back down now. It might have started as an innocent prank on his best friend, but the situation is real and it does need to be sorted, so…

“Thank you, Y/N. All you need to do is to mingle in the hotel and be aware of your surroundings. The hotel is a honeymoon hot-spot so the best would be to act like a freshly married couple while outside your hotel room. I hope that’s fine.”

Katsuki will loose his shit in 3…2…1…

“What the fuck, Kirishima?!”

“Stop being a cunt, Dynamight, this is an excellent idea!” Y/N stares at the blonde with a judging look on her face. For Kirishima’s surprise, the other hero shuts up. “I have several quirks I can use to help the investigation! I can alter our appearances, scan the people around us to see their quirks and get personal information and I can put a tracker on the guy once we find him to be able to get info on the drug cartel. We don’t even need to talk to him, but if shit goes wrong you’ll be there to keep my weak ass safe.” Y/N reprimands, making Katsuki all fluttered and red and… Oh My God, he’s in love, isn’t he?!

“Not like you need my help, but yeah, let’s fucking do this then.”

Yes. Bakugou Katsuki is in fucking love. Kirishima can’t help but grin at the two bickering heroes in front of him; playing a married couple definitely won’t be a problem for these two.

“Let’s arrest this fucker and save the world again!” Y/N throws her fist in the air, all excited to be back in the business, while his best friend tries to hide the fond smile on his face as he stares at Y/N lovingly.

Kirishima might not be the one lucky enough to receive a smile like that from someone but he certainly is the happiest best friend the world has ever seen.

… Next Chapter!

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Potato ramble:

- Guys, we only have a few chapters left from Season 1! But don’t worry, Y/N and Katsuki will come back in season two with even more shenanigans!

I was so excited for it I already made the header and I also have a small bit of the first chapter written down! IT WILL BE SO MUCH FUN, GUYS!!!! 🩷

- But… before all the fun and shits and giggles, there will be 2 chapters of heavy angst. And by heavy, I am “ohshitwhatthefuck” type of heavy and it’s connected to the mission we are just about to go on. If you feel affected by it and you want me to tell you what the end is to keep your soul happy, just message me privately 💚

- I still have a banging migraine, gimme hugs and kisses, thank you 😭

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Taglist: @ibkg @chuugarettes @lilmaimai @nonomesupposedto @sozainturpal @luleck @notplutos @gold24fish

Btw there will be a brand new taglist for season two so if you want to be on it/keep being on it, let me know!

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

**slaps money on counter** I need more Judgement Day content please. Maybe SOEMTHING kinky??

It’s been a while since I wrote anything with these gorgeous, wicked devils so here it is 💋

P.S. HEAVILY UNEDITED

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @sldghmmr , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @blaquekittycat

The pastel pink and white clothes were definitely a silent statement that you belonged anywhere but here. The bar was crowded, and loud conversations could be heard from across the street. The motorcycles made a line at the bar’s sidewalk, precluding any passerby to walk through.

Taking one last breath - to gather up the currently lacking courage - you pushed the door open to reveal the inside of the old bar, filled with too many people wearing a combination of black and leather. Carefully making your way in, your eyes spotted the young man behind the bar counter. The name “Dominik” was sewed in bold letters at the back of his vest, his kind face and wide smile made him the least threatening among the crowd.

“Excuse me? Sir?” Your perfectly manicured fingers waved in his direction “Hello? Yes, hi” A welcoming smile was plastered on your lips the minute his eyes found you “How are you?”. He continued to stare at you with curious eyes without a proper answer to your previous question. “Silence treatment then, ok…Ummm, I’m looking for someone named Bálor?”

His brows furrowed at the name, as if he didn’t quite understand what you mean.

“Wait! Not Bálor. No, that’s not the name…Gosh, what’s his name again?” Your fingers twirled around a soft strand of your hair in an attempt to remember the man’s name. “Uh! Fergal! Wait, no…Finn! Yes, that’s the name! Finn…Well, Finn, Fergal, Bálor..they’re all the same, right?” An uncomfortable giggle left your lips “I mean, Irish people, what do we know, yeah?”

The young man kept staring at you, but this time, a subtle amused smile roamed his lips. He pointed with his chin towards a corner of the bar before turning around again.

“Am I supposed to find him alone? Hello?”. When only silence answered you back, you decided to say fuck it and squeeze your way through hundreds of leather vests towards the way Dominik indicated.

Three pairs of eyes easily spotted you among the crowd. I mean, how could they not? You were dressed in pastel pink for Christ’s sake! You stood out like a bleeding animal in the midst of a pack of lions.

“She’s a cute little thing, isn’t she?” Rhea chuckled, as she watched you struggle to walk through the crowd without touching them.

“We could have lots of fun with her” Damian spoke, already imagining you tied up in their dungeon.

“Yes, but we’ll have to take it slow” Finn’s blue eyes followed your every step, his mind raced with the thought of caressing every curve of your body “She’s a valuable prize, it was difficult to bring her here and if we want this to go how we planned, we’ll have to take our time. She’s naïve, yes. But she’s not dumb, so we’ll keep it cool for now and when the time’s right, we’ll play with her”. As soon as he finished his sentence you stopped in front of their table.

“Good Lord, people. Careful!” You mumbled before looking at the trio in front of you “Mr. Devitt?”

“Yes, sunshine” Finn’s grin looked warm and inviting to your eyes, when in reality they held a mischief you were yet unfamiliar with. “I’m so happy you could make it! Come take a sit” He patted his thigh as Damian and Rhea just smiled widely at his statement.

[callsigndragon]

Home is where you are | Javy Machado

Summary: Javy misses you and Jake plans him a big surprise.

Pairing: Javy Machado x fem!reader

Requested: Yes!

A/N: This has been sitting on my inbox for MONTHS and I'm so sorry. It's not as long as I wanted it to be, but it's freaking cute and i love it.

warnings: all the fluffs

Homesickness is something that Javy hasn’t experienced before. With his personality, he can fit everywhere and touch everyone's hearts, earning himself a place in every single group he encounters. He is the kind of guy you want to have near, always lighting up the room with his genuine smile. It was impossible for him to feel homesick when he was surrounded by a lot of people. Sure, he missed his home and his family, but he never had a feeling of longing. Not until he met you. 

Falling for you was the easiest thing Javy Machado has ever done. How was he supposed not to? You were, and still are, the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. You were even more beautiful on the inside. Always make him feel happy and giddy all over. It was like you two were a match made in heaven—two souls waiting for years to meet each other. 

And that was what made him feel homesick. 

You weren’t a Naval aviator. You had a normal job and a normal life outside the military world. He was deployed several times during the year, and communicating with you during those times was complicated due to the lack of a proper signal and the time zones. But you two made it work because, as complicated as it was, it was also worth it.

Javy was absolutely worth it. 

He had been deployed for a few weeks before he was called back to Top Gun for a special detachment, and it was an honor to be part of an elite squad, sure, but he was supposed to come back to you once his previous deployment was over. And now he can’t. 

“Jake, is everything okay?” You ask when you answer Jake’s phone. You’ve been friends with him since you started dating Javy, both of them are inseparable. 

“Yeah, yeah, sweets, don’t worry. I’m actually calling you to tell you about our special mission.” 

“You guys are on a special mission, isn’t that supposed to be a secret?”

Jake chuckles, and you can almost hear him rolling his eyes at you. “You and me, Y/n.” 

“Oh, right. What mission?” 

“Javy misses his fiancee, which happens to be you, and I was thinking that maybe we can give him a surprise.” 

You sigh, remembering that neither you nor Javy know when he’s going to be back from Top Gun. “That surprise involves seeing him?” 

“Oh, Mrs. Machado. It involves much more.” 

“Guys, can you tell me what the fuck is happening? Well, can you tell me why Natasha is wearing a suit?” Javy begs for the hundredth time. 

Jake pulled him out of his house this morning, not explaining why he was dragging him out of bed so early, and took him to a dozen different places before going to Mav and Penny’s house, where a brand new tuxedo is hanging in the closet door. The jacket is white, with dark navy blue pants that match the bowtie and pocket square in the same color. 

“Oh my god, what’s this?” Javy walks closer to the tuxedo, his fingertips caressing the material. It’s exactly the same tuxedo he had in his closet back home, waiting for his wedding day. 

“Doesn’t it ring a bell?” Mickey teases grabbing a glass of champagne from a table. 

Well, it looks like the one I have back home.” Javy responds, his eyes never leaving the white attire. 

“Wrong. It’s that one,” mutters Natasha while grabbing the hanger and leaving the clothes on the bed. “Get changed, Coyote. Your special mission starts in twenty minutes!” 

She’s the first one to leave the room, with Rooster, Bob, Payback, and Mickey following right behind. Jake is about to leave when Javy calls him. “Is she here?” 

Jake turns, a smirk on his face. “There’s only one way of finding out, buddy.” 

It takes Javy exactly twenty minutes to get changed, make sure he looks presentable, and walk out of the building, watching how the backyard decoration has been changed to make room for all the chairs and decorations that form the aisle. 

And right at the end of the aisle, waiting for him at the altar, it’s you. 

“Shouldn’t I be waiting for her?” Javy whispers, afraid that speaking a bit louder might wake him up from this dream that he must be having. 

Because there’s no way in hell that he is marrying such an angel as you in real life. This must be a dream. 

“Well, we’ve decided to change the tradition a bit.” Payback explains, placing a hand on his shoulder. “After all, the groom waiting for the bride at the altar is a tradition that doesn’t have any romantic meaning. It was only to make sure that the poor guy didn’t run away.” 

Javy’s eyes wander all over your figure, and he knows that there’s no other place he’d rather be right now. Well, right next to you, holding your hand and kissing you. 

“Ready, buddy?” Jake asks Javy, although he knows the answer already. 

“I’ve never been more ready.” 

Hours later, when the party has calmed down a bit and Javy can take his wife away from the rest of the world for a few minutes, you two walk down the stairs that lead to the beach. Javy carries your heels in his hand, while your free hand, the one that isn’t holding Javy’s, grabs the tail of the dress to make it easier for you to walk on the sand.

“Did you like your surprise?” You say, your thumb caressing the wedding band that you bought without him knowing. 

“It’s the best surprise ever, baby. I still can’t believe we’re married.” He says, the smile never leaves his face. He’s extremely happy.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t marry at home with all your friends and family. I could only get your parents to come,” you explain, your smile faltering because of the lack of guests. 

Javy grabs your face between his hands, kissing the tip of your nose before pressing his forehead against yours. “Babe, my parents were here, and the daggers were too. I couldn’t ask for anything more.” 

“Yeah, that’s true. I guess I’ll have to start packing our things back home and sending them here. I’m now Mrs. Machado.” You joke, but there’s something real behind your words: you have to move all your things to Javy’s house at the base. It’s now your home. 

“Will you be okay moving here?” He questions, afraid that this big change might upset you. He has friends, but he knows that for you, it’s going to be a bit difficult. He can introduce you to Bob and Natasha’s partner, he knows they’re absolute sweethearts and that you’ll get along with them. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m a tough cookie. I can handle a change. But… what about you? Won’t you miss our home?”

“Honey, home is where you are. You are my home. And you make me feel like I’m at home every time. It doesn’t matter if we’re here or in a supermarket. You will always make it feel like home.” 

His words make you tear up a bit, making him chuckle and kiss your tears away. “My, my, Mrs. Machado. I never thought you were a crier.” 

“Shut up, you idiot! I’m emotional.” You whine, slapping his chest, which only makes him laugh more. 

“It’s a very emotional day, baby. Want to go back, steal a bottle of champagne, and make out in Jake’s car?” 

You raise an eyebrow after hearing his offer. “Jake is gonna kill us.” 

“He fucked a random girl in my car back in the academy days. He owes me one.” 

“He’s gonna sanitize the entire car after tonight.” You laugh, turning back to the path that takes you back to the house. 

“That’s Jake’s problem, not mine.” 

@purplevortexx

@novastories

@pono-pura-vida

@xoxabs88xox

[sparkles-and-trash]

dabihawks, sorta hawks centric, post war Drabble pt2 pt 1

Touya liked to think of himself as a man of his word, and this was no different.

But right now he kind of wished it was different, because he has severely underestimated how nervous he'd be on Keigo's behalf.

It didn't really matter anyways, because ever since Keigo kissed him that Thursday afternoon he asked him to come with him to meet the weird owl looking man that had apparently raised him at The Commission, Touya had been left defenseless around the hero.

How could one possibly say no to anything when it was asked by the most beautiful being on Earth, especially when that being for some reason looked at him like hun hung the sun and the moon in the sky himself?

No, Touya would have ended up right here one way or another, and really, he was grateful for the trust Keigo had in him to bring him with him to such a vulnerable position.

The week leading up to this meeting had been long and filled with nerves, but Touya had done his best to help Keigo trough it.

Mostly they had just stayed distracted, but as they were sitting here now, waiting for the owl guy, Mera, Touya reminds himself, his name is Mera, Touya starts thinking that might not have been the best idea to go about it.

Keigo's eyes are wide and large, his hair is messy from how much he's ran his hand trough it, his hands are slightly shaking, and all in all he looks so much like a lost baby bird Touya can hardly stand it.

Just as Touya reaches out to gently take Keigo's hand, the door opens and Keigo clothes Touya's hand with a vice grip.

Mera looked just like Touya remembered him, hair messy and feather-like not unlike Keigo's, dark circles still present, but he looked way less stressed than the last time they met.

At first they did the whole proper introduction thing, and Mera had enough mind not to comment on the fact that Keigo was couching Touya's hand still, but he did smile a little when he looked at them.

When they were done with the pleasantries quiet fell over them for a moment, before Keigo finally spoke up.

"Why..." he started, but his voice bristled and Touya gave his hand a gentle squeeze of support.

"Why did you ask to see me now?" Keigo finally asked, and Mera nodded slowly as he took in the question.

"That's a complicated question Chi-, erm, Keigo," Mera started.

Touya looked between then curiously at the name correction, and noticed a hint of a blush on Keigo's face.

"I'm sure you've worked out that I wasn't allowed any contact with you after your Hero Debut, which was horribly hard if I'm to be honest, and right after the Commission fell I figured you had more than enough other things to focus on," he finished, and Keigo nodded meekly.

Touya cleared his throat and two birdlike heads turned toward him in unison.

"Keigo's been working very hard, and he should be proud of how far he's come," Touya says without thinking, and Keigo turns bright pink.

Mera just smiles wistfully.

"I can see that, yes," he said warmly, and Touya could tell Keigo's posture got a little straighter at the praise.

Mera suddenly started to shuffle with his shoulder bag, and Touya and Keigo both perked up with curiosity.

"I wasn't allowed to of course," he started to explain as he pulled up a small stack of what looked like pictures from his bag.

"But I couldn't help myself when it came to pictures from your youngest days," Mera said with a small smile.

Keigo's eyes widened.

"You have... pictures?" he asked in a small voice, and Mera nodded.

"They would have had my head if they knew, but can you blame me?" he asked as he handed to two men the stack of pictures.

Touya had to properly work on himself not to make an embarrassing sound as he saw the first pictures because holy shit, that was the cutest thing he had ever laid his eyes on.

The first pictures seemed to be from right after Keigo arrived at The Commission, all his clothes too big, his body thin and weak, his eyes taking up most of his curious face.

After that it shifts to a slightly older Keigo, now in more fitted training clothes, hair growing long and messy, determined look on his little face.

The pictures grew more and more sparse as he grew, but there was pictures from every growth spurt, secretly snuck in birthday snacks, homemade party hats, the small collection of Endeavor merch slowly growing.

As Keigo grew older and shifted into a teen the pictures turned into embarrassed looks and eyerolls from the lanky teen who's wings were suddenly bigger than his body, and Touya felt a soft spot for the small glimpses of normality hidden between the cracks of such a rough adolescence.

After he's looked trough all the pictures once Keigo slowly starts going trough them again, but this time he looks up at Mera as he goes.

"When was this?" he asks carefully as he holds up the first picture, the one showing a way too tiny Keigo in a way too big t-shirt nervously clutching the very same Endeavor toy Touya knew he still had in his nightstand.

Mera hummed sadly.

"The first night you were with us," he explains as he reaches for the picture to look at it properly.

"You're in my shirt actually, The Commission didn't have anything that fit you yet. I was worried you wouldn't be ablate sleep in a new place with new people, but you slept for almost 12 hours that night."

Touya's heart breaks a little, but Keigo just smiles.

He shuffles trough some more pictures before he holds up the one where he's in a proper uniform for the first time.

It looks eerily like the old hero suit, or at least the shirt under the jacket.

"I remember this," Keigo said softly.

"Yeah?" Touya asks, and Keigo nods.

"I'd just turned seven, and the Commission made a whole bunch of those uniforms just for me, it made me feel so special."

Mera sighs softly.

"You were special Keigo, but not only for the reasons they saw," he says seriously, and Touya watches curiously.

Keigo tilts his head.

"How you mean?" he asks, suddenly sounding way younger than he normally does.

Mera smiles wistfully.

"You were smart, fast and perceptive, yes, but you were also just incredibly sweet," he explains, and Keigo looks away bashfully.

Touya squeezes his hand.

"You had every right to be weary and bitter, but since that first day you hopped around after me like a duckling, curiously pointing out things I'd never noticed, smiling at everyone you saw, and no matter how much sternness and harshness you were met with, those parts of you never went away."

Keigo just shrugs awkwardly, but Touya understands.

"I might not ever be one to sing heroes praises, and I definitely do not think you were only acting out of your heart before the war, but even I can recognize that there was always something different about you," Touya says in a quiet but clear voice.

Mera doesn't say or do anything, simply listening, and Touya turned towards him to explain.

"It might not seem like a compliment now, but there was a reason I sought him out back when I was... back before."

Keigo gently squeezed Touya's hand, and a soft smile sneaked it's way onto Touya's face as he finishes explaining.

"You never really lost that curiosity and hopefulness towards other people, and I didn't realize it then, but I really needed that."

Mera looks between the for a moment, before he smiles again.

"I think you should keep this one, Chirps," he says to Keigo with a wink, and Keigo squawks embarrassedly as Touya grins.

"Awwh, Chirps?" he asks as Keigo hides his face in his hands and Mera chuckles.

Touya grins to himself as he takes in the scene and realizes that maybe Keigo had more of a parent in Mera than he realized.

After all, nobody knows how to embarrass you in front of your relatively new boyfriend like a parent.

[pedropascallme]

The Good, the Bad, and the Better

Pairing: gunslinger!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: "You stretched your legs when you got off the train, wondering how so much sitting could make your joints so sore. You had one bag, which was, truthfully, more than enough. You fit your entire life into the handheld leather case, and it felt both freeing and deeply, deeply woeful."

Content: Mentions of death, uuuh US cholera epidemic? gnc!Ellie because I said so. That's all for now. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: hi I’m trying something new….felt the need to get Joel involved with a sexy lil cowboy AU. Full disclosure this was inspired by @qwimchii and the AMAZING gunslinger!ghost series she’s been writing (go support her work!!). Lmk if you guys want more of this in the future, I have….plans….for this story, to say the least, so treat it as an intro of sorts?

Jefferson Territory (Colorado), September 1847

The executor of your father’s will wore small bifocals, perched gently on the bridge of his nose. You bounced your leg, perhaps unladylike, but it was all you could do to steady your mind in the tight office that smelled of wood and purified alcohol.

You clutched your handkerchief to your chest, fresh out of tears to wring from your eyes and waiting to get the bequeathing over with. With breaths so deep they threatened the lace of your corset, you were able to look up at the executor, who had been kind enough to wait for you to give him the ok to continue.

“Alright, miss?” His voice was nasal, but not condescending. You nodded. “To my daughter, my only child and carrier of my good name, I leave my land in Texas; doing so in the hopes that she will live out her life there, with kin.”

The man stopped reading and looked up at you. That was all he had for you.

You hadn’t been expecting any more. Hadn’t even considered you would be getting any land—an unmarried woman with land, though, was sure to catch the attention of a gentleman, and you’re sure that your father had known that.

“Thank you.” You mumbled to the man, dry lips cracking under the moisture of the tears you had licked up. “Am I meant to sign anything?”

“No, miss.” He seemed sorry for you, and you felt a flare of anger at him in that moment; you were sick of hearing people speak to you so slow and soft, as if the weight of their words would knock you down and bury you along with your parents.

It hadn’t even been one year since the death of your dear mother, the woman who had brought you up like a proper lady, who had taught you your prayers, and the proper way to tie your hair up so that God would smile upon you along with the sweet church-going boy on the ranch next to your own home. Your family had been naïve in thinking that the cholera outbreak wouldn’t reach them in the west. When word first spread in the papers, it was a small number of people in the City of New York; your father was quick to dismiss the cases as God’s wrath upon those who didn’t appreciate the frontier, too busy with their fancy jobs and big-city values to go to church. But your mother fell ill that summer, vomiting and lethargic, and it wasn’t long until you watched the priest say his prayers over her coffin.

You admired your father’s will to keep going, until you didn’t. He kept busy, and you thought he would work himself to death—maybe that’s why he seemed so calm when he got sick, compared to the panic your mother had in her eyes in the days before she died; he knew he wouldn’t be on the mortal plane much longer, soul too deeply intertwined with your mother’s and ready to go where she went even in death.  

So here you sat, in the same mourning clothes you had worn for the past 11 months, listening to this law man explain that he would be taking care of any other business that had to do with your father’s measly estate. You thanked him, giving him a polite curtsey before you exited his office and found your way back onto the street.

You didn’t have much left in Jefferson Territory. You made the short walk back to your family’s home with your head down, ignoring the coaches that passed on their routes and the women who spoke in hushed tones when they saw you walking all by your lonesome. "Poor thing", “just a girl,” “should have been married off sooner.” You wanted to bite back at them, tell them you’d rather die along with your parents than ever abandon your family and run off with some boy just to mother ungrateful children who would in turn run off themselves. You were happy, at least, that your parents had died in your presence; you couldn’t imagine the suffering had you been gone from their home, the pain after being there with them when they took their last breaths was bad enough.

You walked through the door of the house, careful to close the door and lock it how your mother always told you—even without her present, you knew she would appreciate the little things. You appreciated them, too, now, more than you had ever thought you would.

“Auntie?” You called out to your father’s sister, hearing a bustle in the kitchen and smiling for the first time that day; your aunt was a wild woman, never married and never sitting. Her kindness was perhaps the only thing that motivated you to wake up every morning without your parents. You found her kneading dough, moving her whole body over the clay-like clump with a force, upper half covered with flour. “Auntie.”

She turned, noticing you for the first time since you arrived back home. “Welcome home, little one!” She greeted you, and you watched her run a hand over her forehead to combat the sweat running over her eyes, leaving a trail of flour over her brow. “You doing alright?” She turned back to her ball of dough, leaning an elbow into it, anticipating your answer.

You just sighed, pulling up a chair close to her and studying her movements, unsure of how to tell her just how alright you were; it was like you had no emotions left, your heart a husk keeping your body moving with nowhere to go. Not nowhere, maybe.

“I got land in Texas.” You were quiet, and her movements stalled.

“Texas?” She quirked a brow and slapped her hands together, sending flour to stray over her apronless front. “Who got you land in Texas?”

“Papa.”

“Your daddy had land down there?”

You shrugged, “That’s what the lawyer said. Said it’s all mine, now.” You hadn’t yet absorbed the news, unsure of what to do with yourself or your earnings.

“War’s bad, little one,” your aunt huffed, not angrily, but with a concerned look spread over her face, “not much use with Texan land until Mr. Polk can figure out how to appease the folks down south.” You nodded, aware of the conflict and uneager to get anywhere near it. “Still…” Your aunt looked at you now, the black fabric of your dress bunched up over your knees with the specks of white dust she had covered you with.

“Still?” You questioned, feeling a wave of anxiety cross you.

“…Nothing left for you here.” She spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, looking you dead in the eyes.

“You’re here!” You felt trapped, scared, but mostly confused. She of all people would be the only one to condone such an outlandish notion—dropping everything and running off to a war-torn territory away from everything you ever knew—but you had hoped she would appeal to her more realistic side in this particular matter and tell you to forget the whole thing before dinner.

“I’m not staying, little one,” her eyes were pleading, “got my own life, got people in other places to look after.”

You felt tears well in your eyes, appalled that you had any water left in your body to cry out today. “I don’t want to leave…I don’t want you to leave.” You felt yourself begin to cry again.

“I’ll never leave you,” she whispered, the ghost of a smile on her lips, “but I can’t stay in Jefferson Territory…got plans back east.”

“East?” You practically yelled it, offended that she would leave the life your extended family had built in Jefferson Territory despite the unease that churned in your stomach whenever you thought of living out your own life in the same spot you'd known since you could toddle.

“East.” She was calm, balancing your abject terror. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m not exactly cut out for…roughin’ it.” She emphasized the last words, using the accent your father had worn so proudly. “I got friends in New York—going out to be with them…it’s safer there, easier.”

You were enraged; the one final person you trusted was abandoning you for a life you couldn’t ever imagine. It was safe here, you were safe here—with her, and your mother, and your father. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not a big city fool like you!” You felt yourself tremble, “I’m sorry you’d rather have it easy than live the life God gave you!” You were seeing red, standing now to lord yourself over her and make her seem as small as you felt. It didn’t work, and she looked at you now like everybody else did—full of pity.

She let you cry, sobs taking over your body and forcing hiccups up your throat. You shouldn’t be mad at her, you realized, couldn’t be mad at her; she was a grown woman, with wants and needs, and maybe someday you would be, too.

“Take me with you.” You pleaded through sniffles, wiping your nose on your sleeve in a move that your mother would have tutted you for. Your aunt stayed silent, placing a hand on your head to smooth over the hair that had come undone in your rage.

“I would,” she explained, “but I don't think you...I don't think you'd enjoy it any more than you enjoy it here. Not now, at least. Not yet." The pity in her eyes faded to reveal the compassion she had for you, and you nodded into her chest when she pulled you into her, acknowledging the truth she had spoken. You wouldn’t know up from down in a place like New York; too many people, too much smoke and noise. You let her hold you for as long as she would, soothed by the hand she combed through your hair and the way her heartbeat thrummed in your ear. Maybe someday.

“We’ll get you a train ticket,” she murmured above you, chin resting on the crown of your head, “I know a fella in Texas—real gentleman, cross my heart—and I know he’ll have a place for you away from all the ruckus.”

“Cross your heart?” You asked her to promise once more.

“Cross my heart, little one.”

~~~

Texas, October 1847

You stretched your legs when you got off the train, wondering how so much sitting could make your joints so sore. You had one bag, which was, truthfully, more than enough. You fit your entire life into the handheld leather case, and it felt both freeing and deeply, deeply woeful.

Your aunt had arranged for her associates (her words) to pick you up, show you around, and help you to your new home, but she hadn’t given you much of a description; you had no idea who you were looking for, or what they might look like. All she had done was give you a name. You felt small, already sweltering in the Texan heat and feeling out of place in your black mourning gown. Maybe it would be ok, given the circumstances, to forego the entire outfit, and simply wear a veil, but you felt that the only thing grounding you was the way you were dressed, the reminder of why you were here in this dusty sand-and-brick station.

You looked around, not minding the jostling of the people passing you to get to where they needed to go. You tried to identify anybody that might look as if they were waiting on a lonesome orphan, but all you saw was a pool of sweaty businessmen and women in large hats.

Attempting to find a map to get the lay of the land, you turned a corner, and collided into the chest of a tan man with long black hair and a hint of a mustache.

“I’m terribly sorry—” You felt yourself go bright red, already a nuisance and you hadn’t been in Texas for all of ten minutes.

“Woah, there,” the stranger tipped his hat down to you, offering a wink and a toothy grin, “no harm done, ma’am.” He patted down the front of his vest, smoothing out any wrinkles that remained from the collision. “Y’look lost.”

“I am lost,” you straightened your posture, trying not to seem so inconsequential compared to those around you, “Um—I’m looking for…Mr. Joel Miller?”

The man in front of you laughed, and he flashed the same toothy grin again. His laugh came from his stomach, and you watched him take his hat off to fan himself after he calmed down.

“Found her, El!” He called over his shoulder and a shorter, much younger boy appeared; he was wearing the same style of hat but was much paler than the man who had yet to introduce himself. His clothing gave away how young he was—that, and he was shorter than you, with a babyface and nary a whisker on his chin. He looked almost feminine up close, and was clearly quite a few years your junior.

“Oh, I’m sorry—you’re Mr. Miller?” You closed the confused ‘o’ of your mouth to form the question.

“No, no no no—I’m Tommy Miller,” he put his hat back on, “Joel’s my brother.” You nodded, trying to appear as though you understood the series of events that were taking place in front of you. What an odd introduction to the people whose care you were in. You had never questioned the company your aunt kept—she had her life, and you had your own, much more conservative one. Still, you began to think that these men had just as little an idea as to what you were doing here as you did. “’N you’re Tess’s girl.”

“I’m her niece,” you clarified, “my parents are dead.” You winced when the words came out, unsure of why you felt the need to share that with a man you had just met. Surely he must have been aware by now, and if he wasn’t, why would he care?

Tommy let out a low whistle in lieu of an apology. “Best get you goin’ then, girly.” He turned on his heel, encouraging you to hurry after him through the crowds. El grabbed your sleeve in a manner that, although gruff, was clearly meant as reassurance.

“Mine are, too,” he spoke softly, and his voice was similarly feminine to his face. When you gave an inquisitory glance at him, he continued, “My parents. They’re dead, too.”

“Oh,” you tried to think of a way to make the subject more lighthearted, aware of how tiring it got to hear constant apologies for something out of everybody’s control, “so you’re not—”

You didn’t even have to finish your sentence; El had anticipated your question from miles off. “Do we look related?”

“Well…no…” You muttered, embarrassed by how obvious the answer was.

“They’re like…well,” the younger boy mulled over everything he could say, but instead placed his arm in yours and laughed, “you’ll see.”

~~~

The ride back to the Miller’s land was long and bumpy—or maybe it just felt that way with Tommy looking back on you and El to ask various questions and soothe any anxieties, though it wasn’t as much help as he had thought it was. You taught El cat’s cradle with a string you had found in the cart, and it amused you for long enough before you switched to cards instead. El was shocked to hear you didn’t know how to play poker, and tried to teach you blackjack before Tommy reprimanded him for trying to corrupt you; you opted for go fish instead.

The cart came to a short stop in front of a rundown shack. There was a horse tied to a post with three feed bags in front of it—the extra two, you assumed, belonged to the two horses pulling the cart you were in.

Tommy helped you down, and you were careful to pat down the front of your dress when your feet touched the ground, not wanting to look unkept in front of new company. El jumped down behind you, making quick strides towards the door of the cabin. You and Tommy followed suit, with the older man taking your arm to lead the way.

When the door opened, El swore. “Jesus H., Joel!” he jumped backwards when a large figure stepped over the threshold and onto the dirt outside, “Scared the hell out of me!”

“Language, young lady.” The man in the doorway was tall, with a chest and shoulders to match his height. He was older than Tommy, and had the salt in his beard and dark hair to show for it. He wore the same hat, but didn’t have a full outfit on, with only the pants of a gentlemen to go with his undershirt and heavy boots.

So this was Joel Miller.

You were so focused on the new addition to the group that you almost didn’t catch what he had said to El—“young lady.” Tommy, still holding your arm, sensed your confusion.

“Well, cover’s blown,” he laughed, and El rolled his eyes. Taking off his hat, you watched thin, curly locks of hair come down to frame his face, and when you looked under the dirt and grime that coated his skin, you saw a little girl.

“El’s short for Ellie,” El laughed, tossing the hat in the air and catching it before walking past Joel to go inside.

You were almost more confused now than you had been.

“Little girl living with two grown men, wearing men’s clothes?” Tommy read the look on your face, trying to offer an explanation, “she’s a natural at bein’ a boy—‘n it draws less questions.” You nodded.

Joel continued to stare at you, and you couldn’t help but feel exposed to him despite your body being covered in the modest dress you had on. He was riddled in scars, and his tan skin flexed under his white undershirt; he looked so masculine, and it frightened and excited you in a way you decided to repress. He strolled over to you, taking slow steps and examining you with dark eyes that looked like honey under the Texan sun. He stopped in front of you, and you let go of Tommy's arm to curtsy, unsure of what else to do under his gaze.

“You’re Tess’s girl.” He said it with more confidence than Tommy had when he found you. Joel didn't bother returning the friendly gestures of introduction you had extended, shifting his weight on his heels and letting his eyes drag over your face.

“I’m her niece.” You clarified as you had at the train station.

“I know, darlin’.” He smirked down at you, and the way it was painted on his face made him look almost predatory. You offered a weak smile in return, hoping he would mistake the blush creeping up your face as a sunburn. He grunted something that sounded like approval.

Joel turned around and walked in after Ellie, leaving you with Tommy.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy took your arm once more, “he’s like that with everyone.”

You didn’t know if you liked that.

[valeriianz]

A WILD PROMPT APPEARS

Dream and Hob take a very cliché romantic walk on the beach at sunset. really lean in to the rom com tropes. like maybe it starts raining and they kiss in the rain but then they have to run home and they’re all wet oh no however shall they get out of these wet clothes oh my oh dear 👀

xo @hardly-an-escape

EDIT: now heavily edited and expanded on Ao3!

___________________

Most people go to bars after a breakup, numbing themselves from the pain of a broken heart. Some stay at home, curled under a blanket and hiding themselves from the world. Hob had been there, sitting at the corner of his couch and taking on equal amounts of whiskey and ice cream until he was (literally) sick with it.

Morpheus, however, could be found in the stacks of the campus library. Hidden away in silence, sitting on the floor against a wall of books, losing himself in dry, educational text. Distracting his brain from the sentimental, emotional, raw feelings of rejection with the names of dead kings, scientific formulas, or art theory.

“Knew I’d find you cooped up in here, feeling sorry for yourself.”

Hob spoke softly, walking up to his oldest and best friend, crouching down next to him. Morpheus spared him a glance before swinging his eyes– blue, like sapphires, like polished stone glinting in the sun– back to the dull and dusty tome opened on his lap.

Hob remained perched on his heels, watching, waiting for Morpheus to snap out of it. It sucks that Calliope broke up with him, they really seemed great together (even though watching them together, Morpheus holding her hand, pulling her into even a casual kiss, made something ugly and green roar inside of Hob). But what makes the whole thing worse is the reason.

“Too much…” Morpheus had told him. He was too much for her. Too fast, too intense, and her sisters worried about her settling before she was ready, swayed by Morpheus’ eagerness. Hob hated that. He hated the idea of breaking up with someone because they loved too much. 

Hob was desperate to be loved like that. To be the only person in his partner’s orbit, to be the only man worthy of Morpheus’ attention. To be loved so intensely, so frequently that Hob would ache with it, would suffocate with it, drown in it, everything. Everything. He wanted to be everything to Morpheus.

But Hob was his friend, had been since childhood, and that was enough. It was enough to even be in his life, no matter how platonic and at arm's length. So what if Hob had to be there to pick up the pieces of Morpheus’ shattered heart. Offering him comfort, encouraging words and booze to drink, if he so wished.

So what if Hob saw the most fragile, frail side of him and Morpheus never seemed to understand how he was pouring his love into him, filling the cracks and splinters with his soul, his breath, his wanting. Hob had hoped, foolishly, that one day Morpheus would figure out his little crush, his obsession, and act on it. But as the years went on and Morpheus continued dating other people that were decidedly not Hob, he figured it was nothing more than a fantasy

And of course Hob dared not reveal his own feelings, worried to death how that would affect their friendship. He’d never forgive himself for demolishing a perfectly good foundation, the history that they’d already built. As friends. Best friends.

And best friends do not fall hopelessly in love with each other.

“Must be a really good book.”

“I must confess,” Morpheus finally spoke, sighing tiredly. “I have been reading the same page for ages now.”

“Let’s move on then.” Hob slapped his thighs, standing to full height and offering his hand down to Morpheus.

Hob felt himself grin as Morheus studied his hand, watching it like it might bite. Hob wiggled his fingers and Morpheus finally relented, closing the heavy book and taking Hob’s hand, hefting himself up.

—-------------------

It was not proper weather for an outing to the beach, the sky was graying and a breeze had kicked up, carried by the water. But Hob had insisted, taking off his shoes and rolling his pants up past his ankles, encouraging Morpheus to do the same. 

His toes sunk into the cool sand as they walked just out of reach of the shore, the tide ebbing and flowing, scaring off the Curlews who poked their beaks into the sand, searching for morsels.

Hob swung his shoes, stuffed with his socks, in one hand, smiling in amusement as Morpheus did the same, though his arms didn’t swing. His fingers stuck in the loops of his heavy black boots, hanging low and barely moving. He looked dead ahead, his brows furrowed, like he was thinking too hard.

“Hey,” Hob pushed his shoulder into Morpheus’, bumping him out of his thoughts.

“You’re too good for her.”

Morpheus sighed, his eyelids slipping shut, but he kept pace with Hob, kicking up sand now.

“I’m not good.” Morpheus says at length, his eyes opening again, but the stress is gone, replaced with tired acceptance. “I’m selfish and greedy and…” he huffed, a humorless laugh. “Rational. Which I’ve learned recently is just as bad as being irrational.”

“That what Calliope said?”

Morpheus shook his head, his midnight dark hair ruffling in the breeze. 

“That’s what everyone says.”

Hob keeps his eyes on him as they walk, slowly, not so much enjoying the sounds of the waves coming in, or the soft grit of the sand underfoot, but relaxing in the company of one another.

“I like your rationality,” Morpheus peeks over at Hob’s words. “Balances out my impulsiveness.”

“Yes,” Morpheus sighs, amused, the corner of his mouth curling up. “I must keep you in check.”

“I like it.” Hob feels his neck heat up, looking away from his friend as Morpheus swings his head back to him. “Helps me stay out of trouble.”

Morpheus hums, a quiet settling over them once more.

There’s no one else on the beach, and it’s almost eerie, but it’s also relaxing. Knowing they are alone, staring down the coast that stretches on for miles, reveling in the large clouds that move quickly with the wind. The sunlight that manages to peek through the clouds is setting in the distance, casting a deep indigo across the sky. but Hob feels comforted anyway, in good company, and only hopes Morpheus feels the same. His sweater hangs thick and heavy around him and Morpheus’ jacket hugs tightly to his frame, barely bristing in the breeze.

“Thank you,” Morpheus says, the minutes wasting away. “For dragging me out here. I needed this.”

“To feel the sand between your toes?” Hob teases, smiling.

“Mm…” Dream hums, his own smile threatening to break through. “To feel grounded.”

“Anytime.”

Hob looks down, movement caught in his periphery, and watches Morpheus move his boots from one hand to the other, using his freed hand to tentatively grab onto his, slowing their walk to a stop.

Hob only has time to gasp softly before Morpheus is pulling him into a one-armed hug, his face tucking into his neck.

Hob immediately drops his shoes to get both arms properly around his friend, pulling him close and shutting his eyes with it. He feels himself unintentionally rocking them back and forth, like a mother soothing her child.

Though that is the last metaphor on Hob’s mind. Especially as he feels Morpheus drop his boots too, both arms now around Hob’s shoulders, with his around Morpheus’ middle, holding him close, reveling in the heat that emits from his slim frame.

Morpheus inhales deeply, as if he intends to pull Hob into him, sucking his very essence into him, curling further, crushing Hob against him like Hob’s a glue meant to put Morpheus back together.

Hob’s hands move, rubbing soothing motions on Morpheus’ back and failing to hold in a full body shudder that nearly decimates him as Morpheus exhales, long and low and hot against his throat.

Hob’s eyes open, staring into the horizon, scanning the dark water and choppy waves, distracting himself from his own feelings. His own stupid heart racing in his chest, trying out for a marathon run. His stomach clenched in delight, in anticipation, fighting down the urge to turn his head, to press a kiss to Morpheus’ head, to nuzzle his nose past feather soft hair… to sob wearily.

Morpheus needed comfort. Not– this. But the longer they stood there, locked in each other's embrace, Hob couldn’t help but imagine this was happening under different circumstances. That Morpheus clung to him out of want, out of affection. That Morpheus’ cold nose dug into the flesh behind Hob’s ear with intention to lay a kiss there, to bite and leave a mark. 

Christ Hob was a goner. And he was so resolutely fucked.

After a moment, the seconds ticking away and hedging on too much, too far, Morpheus speaks again, his low voice and deep timbre rattling Hob’s brain.

“I’ve been thinking lately…”

“Dangerous.” Hob grins, tapping his fingers now along Morpheus’ spine, certain he can feel the knobs of it even under layers of shirt and jacket.

Agonizing seconds pass, and Hob wonders when a good time to pull back would be (never, he never wants to pull away from this), when Morpheus whispers, soft, careful:

“About you.”

Hob feels his stomach give a delighted swoop.

He licks his lips, finds them chapped. “What about me?”

A pause. Hob feels his blood racing, his nerves singing. Morpheus finally pulls away, but not far, keeping his hands on Hob’s shoulders, their faces mere inches apart.

“I didn’t fight. When Calliope suggested we separate, I didn’t fight for her.” Morpheus looks bewildered with this revelation, his eyes never leaving Hob’s. “I didn’t beg her to reconsider. All I was thinking about was… you.”

Hob swallows, not daring to speak or move, frozen to the spot. He feels his pulse pounding in his ears, it’s a miracle he can hear Morpheus speak again.

“And I was thinking about our time together… all that we’ve been through… how much you selflessly care for me.” He shakes his head, like Morpheus can’t believe it, his eyes trailing down, as if taking Hob in, settling– Hob feels a spike of want stab through his body– on his mouth. 

“You pick me up, you always have. You’ve stayed for so long, despite my ridiculousness– my inability to cope.”

Morpheus’ gaze swings back up, regarding Hob’s eyes again.

“Are you in love with me?”

Hob’s jaw drops, his heart halting in his chest before kicking up again, nearly making him dizzy. But before he can say anything, Morpheus leans in, just a touch closer, noses brushing.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

“Oh.” Hob eloquently says. His body is vibrating, he can feel it. 

And Morpheus is still staring at him, watching, waiting for something. Hob licks his lips again, catching Morpheus’ eyes slipping down, and doesn’t hesitate as he leans in.

Kissing Morpheus, his best friend, doesn’t feel real. Like Hob is in a dream and could float away any minute.

So he hangs on, tightening his hold around Morpheus as he moves his lips, pressing harder, reveling in the way they fit together, like two halves of a whole finally reconnected. 

Morpheus’ arms slide back around Hob’s shoulders, getting his hands in his hair and lighting Hob up, his groan muffled as Morpheus slips his tongue– insistent– past Hob’s parted lips.

Hob is on fire. The long, pianist fingers knotting into his hair coupled with the way Morpheus’ tongue sweeps the inside of his mouth, like he intends to memorize it, sets Hob ablaze. Morpheus tastes like earl gray tea and rainwater and something indescribable, something heady that makes Hob’s head spin, makes him crazy.

The whine Morpheus makes as Hob pulls back, only to bite at his bottom lip, turning into a moan so salacious it causes Hob to momentarily forget where they are, his hips jerking involuntarily, searching for friction. 

“Fuck– Morpheus–”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Morpheus gasps, breathless and misty. Hob finds his eyes and sees how blown his pupils are, the black such a stark contrast to the bright blue of the iris.

“What?” Hob breathes, going back in to kiss along the sharp edge of Morpheus’ jaw, dragging his lips and tongue and teeth to his ear, nipping it and grinning at the noise that pulls out of Morpheus.

“Do you– ahh–” Hob feels Morpheus’ pulling him in impossibly closer as he bites behind Morpheus’ ear, sucking at the skin there.

“Do you love me?”

Hob laughs gently, elated, getting his own hands in Morpheus’ hair, moving them to face each other once more.

“Yes, you impossible creature. I love you.”

Morpheus smirks and it nearly strikes Hob down. He’s never seen Morpheus so… confident, his eyes sparkling with mischief, with euphoria.

“Will you show me,” Morpheus leans in, brushing their lips. “...how much you love me?”

Hob has to bite down something animalistic, something feral that rises in his chest, threatening to come out as a growl. Instead his fingers clench in Morpheus’ hair, pulling to expose his neck (Hob’s arousal jumping in his pants at the choked off noise that comes from Morpheus’ lips, unbidden).

“Yes.”

[cake-writes]

A Dutiful Disaster (Part Seven)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Story Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Royalty, Pre-Thor (2011), Smut, Angst, Drama, Slow Burn, Odin’s A+ Parenting, Cis Female Reader (she/her), No Y/N Usage, Second Person POV, POC-inclusive descriptors, Toxic Relationship (lil bit of abuse from both parties - mostly screaming matches with the occasional physical thing but he never like slaps her or anything), Smut, Slut-Shaming, Mommy Issues, Reader has anxiety, 18+

Chapter Warnings: anxiety, reader is super bitchy in this chapter, and so is her letter, oh my gosh you guys they actually talk shit out like MATURE ADULTS

Word Count: 3.8k

Snippet: “I do not wish to be kissed. It’s too great an intimacy for our,” you pause to consider the word, tapping your finger to your chin, “unique situation, wouldn’t you say? We are the furthest thing from lovers.”

“Oh?” Loki sounds amused by your answer – and then he drops his feet back to the floor with purpose, taking advantage of your startled jump to pull you further into his lap where you can feel the hardening length of him against your clothed core. “If not lovers, then what are we?”

“Married,” you gasp, arms clutching around his neck for fear of being dropped – or so you tell yourself.

Master List / Spotify Playlist / Part Six

A/N: And we’re back! This chapter finally ties us in to the prequel one-shot, as well as the argument between Loki and his father in part two. You may need to read them again for a refresher because it’s been a fair few months (in real life) since those were posted. Enjoy :)

You study your husband from above the gold rim of your teacup. It’s suspicious, the certain ease to his demeanour as he discusses today’s breakfast offerings with his servant.

Loki is manipulating you. He must be. It's the only conclusion you can come to.

You haven’t forgotten the nasty things he said about you to his father the day after your wedding. Loki made it crystal clear that he can't stand you, that he finds this sham of a marriage as torturous as you do, to the point that he'd even referred to it as a life sentence – much like your own thoughts on the matter. Yet, it bothers you in a way you can’t quite explain.

What’s worse is that the Allfather thinks you disloyal to the Crown, and you still haven’t been able to figure out why. You’ve been nothing but loyal, the events of last night notwithstanding. It makes you feel uneasy, knowing that the King has tasked Loki with ensuring your loyalty to Asgard, like he actually expects you could ever be a traitor—a proper one, that is.

Even so, you find yourself begrudgingly admiring the way your husband’s dark, glossy hair perfectly accentuates his sharp cheekbones – during which he turns his attention to you. 

“Is that acceptable?” Loki questions, just as you take another sip of chrysanthemum tea—your favourite, and all you can think is that it can't be just a coincidence.

You hate how infuriatingly attractive he is. Even now. Especially now, with his pretty green eyes so focused on you, like he actually cares what you have to say. 

“That would be lovely,” you answer amicably as you set down your teacup, even though you have no idea what you’ve just agreed to. Something about smoked salmon and capers.

Loki seems to accept your answer, and when he engages once more with his servant, you lose yourself in your thoughts. Two ragged, albeit manicured fingernails tap an anxious rhythm against the side of the porcelain cup in its saucer, each fingertip sounding its own melody.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

It worries you how easily Loki plays the part the perfect husband. Sitting here in his chambers is unnerving; you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he seems perfectly content, like he isn’t at all bothered by the contents of your letter. Nor does he seem to hold any opinion of the events that transpired last night. 

For now.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

The daylight streaming in through the open windows offers a glimpse of the fine lines near his eyes and the dark circles just beneath. While he always appears as though he’s never been able to get enough sleep, courtesy of his fair skin, you’re starting to think that Loki might have slept about as well as you did last night—in other words, scarcely at all.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

You conceal a yawn with your free hand as the servant bows and makes his way to the exit, and then you’re alone with your husband again. That knowledge should set you on edge, but you’re more focused on the rich accoutrements of his sitting room. It’s the first time you’ve been here since that awful argument following the attack; no sign of shattered glass in sight, but then, it has been a week since then.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

A vase full of fresh flowers sits upon the entry table. You’d bruised your hip against it that self-same night. How suspicious that the blooms are the colour of plum wine, a deep reddish-purple that makes your heart sing: your colour.

Tink, tink—

You stop tapping the instant you notice him watching you, and snatch up your teacup as if you meant to do so all along. Then you take a larger sip than you intend. The hot tea scalds your tongue, and his lips twitch in silent laughter as you try and fail to pretend it doesn’t.

“What?” you snap irritably.

“How did you sleep?”

“Why act as though you care?”

Visibly amused by your bristly demeanour, Loki retrieves his own tea, his slim fingers pinching the gilded handle with more finesse than you could ever hope to achieve. “I cannot help but wonder, petal, if you haven’t slept a wink. Were you worrying about how this conversation would go?”

You set your teacup down in its saucer with force, the loud clink of fine china resounding through the room. “Considering the events that transpired during our previous one, I’d be a fool not to worry. I expect that you will have me imprisoned the very moment you manage to lull me into a false sense of security.”

He doesn’t bat an eyelash at your vitriol, instead opting to take a sip of his tea. You can scarcely tell what kind of tea it is anymore, what with how he's drowned it in cream and sugar. Some things never change. It’s comforting, in a way.

Your husband savours the too-sweet taste for a moment before he speaks. “I will not have you imprisoned. You have my word.”

You scoff. “I threatened you.”

“Indeed.”

“With a knife.”

“A dagger, actually,” Loki corrects, and when you cut him a withering look, he gives you a shit-eating grin. You hate how stupidly reassuring it is that he’s just as insufferable as ever. Then his expression shifts to something a little more serious, his eyes softening at the corners. “You felt that I posed a threat to your safety, and you acted in self-defence. A sleepless night is punishment enough.”

You don’t buy it. “And my letter?”

“I suspect that you would never have sent it, had your fear not driven you to do so. No one in their right mind would call me—what was it, an animal?—among so many other insults that I cannot even begin to fathom them all, in a letter signed with one’s personal seal. That alone could have landed you in the dungeons, yet you did so with little regard for the consequences.” A puff of laughter escapes him. “You have always had an impulsive streak, darling, but never to that extent.”

He sees right through you. You despise it. “Yes, well—”

“If you truly think me an animal, then I can only imagine that you would indeed feel safer in another part of the palace.” He mentions the request you’d made in your letter so nonchalantly, like the two of you are merely discussing the weather. “Where did you have in mind?”

That does it.

“How—How can you be so calm about all of this?” you sputter. “Forgive me, husband, but I do not trust how willingly you would turn a blind eye to my transgressions!”

The precise manner in how Loki returns his teacup to its saucer betrays him. “Don’t you?”

You glare at him. Something is simmering beneath the surface of his suspiciously mellow exterior, but you can’t quite discern what it is. Not yet.

“If you think that I am calm, darling, then you couldn’t be more wrong—unless, of course, you honestly believe that I have any penchant for forgiveness.” His tone may be cordial, but every single one of his movements is calculated to the nth degree. The tactician.

No, he isn’t calm at all. He’s plotting. You should have known.

“Or is there another reason that you would arm me with more than enough ammunition to have you imprisoned?”

With that single question, the conversation becomes an interrogation. Your palms turn cold and clammy at the knowledge that he very well still could, and when you start to fidget with the white napkin in your lap, the cloth sticks unpleasantly to your skin.

“Is that what you want me to do? Arrest you for a rash, impulsive decision? A crime of passion?”

You can feel your blood pressure rise under his rapid fire, your anxiety and sleep deprivation giving way to anger. “No,” you bite out. 

While part of you feels that a life in the dungeons would be infinitely better than one bound to him, your more reckless side likes to push boundaries – to your own detriment. And Loki knows it as well as you do. His mouth sets in a firm line, his expression unreadable.

“Then you do trust me,” he says, tone neutral. “And that, dear girl, is the worst transgression of all.”

You stare at him, disbelieving, before you let out a loud peal of laughter – like he’s just told the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. It just might be. “I trust you, do I? No, husband,” you spit the word like it’s a curse. “I loathe you. If you have mistaken that for trust, then I pity you.”

If your venomous tirade affects him at all, Loki does well to hide it. A prolonged silence falls over the room as he rests his elbows on the table and laces his fingers before him, no less patient with you than he has been for the rest of the morning. He studies you – studies your reaction – studies every single flaw you try so hard to hide, and he says nothing.

You look away first. You always do, when your temper gets the better of you.

Only then does he finally grace you with a response. “I am amenable to your request. Choose whichever chambers you’d like.”

Your eyes snap back to him in shock, only to watch as he procures a small envelope from beneath his place setting. Your letter.

Casually, he extends it out to you between two slim fingers. “I wish to return this to you as well. I refuse to hold something so incriminating over your head. It is neither fair to you, nor to our marriage.”

You stare at it, then at him, stunned into silence by his magnanimity. The Loki you know would never do such a thing. He’d hold onto it for leverage.

Your husband rolls his eyes, almost like he knows what you’re thinking. “If you do not take it, then I will destroy it in a similar manner to the gift you so graciously decided to bestow upon me, after…” he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, then, “after what I did to you that morning.”

He means his own letter – the one you’d returned to him, torn to shreds after he’d all but thrown you into the entry table. The very same entry table upon which those lovely flowers now rest.

You sit up straighter at the memory. It sets you on edge, and though you’re tempted to cower, instead you overcompensate. “Oh? Go on, then.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“It is incredibly cathartic, you know,” you drawl, delicately picking up a biscuit between your thumb and forefinger to examine its intricate design. The sugar granules glimmer in the light. “To destroy one’s heartfelt letter in a fit of anger. Though I must confess,” you hold your head high, smug as can be, “I did not read what you’d written before doing so.”

That doesn’t seem to faze him either. “You say that as if you expect it to surprise me.”

You scrunch your nose at him in annoyance. “Well? Go on. Or will you not follow through on your promises?”

His promise not to harm you. His promise not to touch you. His promise not to lock you away.

Maintaining eye contact, you use your teeth to break off a piece of the biscuit with a crunch.

Your challenge isn't lost on him. “Very well,” Loki sighs. He swiftly opens the letter to pull out the fine stationery upon which you’d so hastily scrawled all manner of insults, after which he makes a point to show it to you, front and back, to prove its authenticity. “I’ll not have you thinking I’ve stowed it away to use against you later on.”

You bat your eyelashes at him. “I see you’ve turned over a new leaf.”

“Charming,” Loki comments dryly, but you don’t miss the humour in his tone – nor in his eyes as he skims them down the page. “I must say, darling, you have quite the talent for castigation. It would be a waste not to read such a heartfelt letter aloud.” His eyes flick back up to yours, then, and you know for a fact that he’s taunting you. “For posterity. You understand.”

Posterity. There is no doubt in your mind that he knows you only wrote it yesterday. You’d even sealed the envelope with the ink still wet, as evidenced by the dark smudges littering the page.

“Stars above,” you grouse. “Get on with it, then, seeing as you are positively chomping at the bit to humiliate me.”

“Humiliate you? No.” Loki holds your gaze, resolute, and for once, you’re inclined to believe him. “I want you to acknowledge exactly what you’ve said of me before we put all of this to rest.”

Of course he does. Gracelessly, you wave a hand at him as if to say go ahead.

Loki clears his throat before he begins to read your letter verbatim, surprisingly in a manner that befits its serious nature. His voice holds not a single shred of mockery.

“To my dear, despicable husband,” he arches an eyebrow at you, “I fear I cannot stand this any longer. My chambers are in such close proximity to yours that I’d sooner return home than sleep here for another night, knowing that a wolf in sheep’s clothing rests his weary head so near to mine.”

Whether he intends it to be or not, it is humiliating to hear what you’ve written become spoken word. All too soon, you feel your face start to flush.

“I find myself ill with the knowledge that the Einherjar would allow such a predator to prowl these halls while I remain entirely defenceless. Nay, it is hardly reassuring to know that not a single soul shall protect me from the animal who would bring me harm, either in his own chambers or in our marital bed.”

When Loki pauses, you immediately recognise the real reason behind this exercise. Though you’d written the letter to be purposefully harsh in order to invoke a reaction, in the light of day, your spiteful words seem to imply something else.

You haven’t just told him of your fears in a general sense, using your marital bed as an example. You’ve alluded to a significantly more heinous act.

“You will not see me become your prey, thrilling though the chase may be to a brutish man with little regard for others. I refuse to become the spoils of a war you’ve so savagely waged upon me and my body for no other reason than your own entertainment.”

No wonder he’d been so angry with you last night. The implication that he would assault you in such a way is bad enough on its own, but there is another layer.

For centuries, the two of you have harboured a forever unspoken secret. Neither of you have acknowledged it outright, but it’s there. You’ve seen each other at the den – the covert, invitation-only club which caters to the niche sexual preferences that both you and Loki seem to share. Namely those that are, and have always been, less than socially acceptable.

“One cannot expect an animal to behave in any way but his basest nature. As a scholar of grey morals, you have always preferred books to people, but a snake, however erudite, is still a snake.”

There, on multiple occasions, your rooms have been next door to each other—through no fault of your own, though you suspect Loki has done it intentionally. After all, what he’s seen of you through the window in between are things that you’d never tell another soul, and you’re sure he relishes in holding that over your head, if not your letter.

But then, you’ve also seen similar of him. His proclivity for consensual non-consent is just one of the great many things you’ve witnessed, time and time again, and you realise, now, that Loki thinks you’ve used that forbidden knowledge against him. He thinks you’ve used it to hurt him in a way that most others could never.

“No ruffian should ever be permitted to walk freely as you do. Until such a time that you do not, for my continued health and wellbeing I have made arrangements to return to my family’s manor.”

Of course he’s bothered by what you’ve implied – albeit unintentionally. And he has every right to be.

“I will only be persuaded to stay if you grant me a new set of chambers as far from yours as possible, for I have no desire to encounter any manner of beast in the wild.” Loki snorts derisively and drops the letter down onto the table between the two of you. “Disrespectfully yours, your dutiful wife.”

There is no laughter to be elicited, now, nor anger, but something else entirely. Loki hides it well, but the implication has clearly gotten under his skin. You can see it in his eyes, and in his posture, how guarded he is as he looks to you for a response.

Thoroughly humbled, you swallow the lump in your throat and focus upon your lap. “I… I did not mean what you’ve understood my words to mean.” 

When you glance back up at him, you immediately have to look away again in shame when you find him watching you, jaw set, waiting for a proper apology. 

“Of course, that does not matter when they have made such an impact,” you rush to add. “I sincerely apologise for my thoughtlessness. I did not mean to imply that you would do something terrible.”

Silence stretches uncomfortably between the two of you as you begin to pick at the skin around your nails. At the very least, you should have reread your own letter before you sent it. Perhaps then you wouldn’t feel so guilty.

After a prolonged few moments, he asks quietly, “What else could you have possibly meant?”

“I meant to paint a picture of my fears.” You accidentally draw blood from a hangnail, and it stings. “My intent in mentioning our marital bed was to offer an example of one such fear—not that sort of fear, mind, but I fully understand how it could have sounded like an accusation.”

“I see.”

Finally, you muster the courage to look at him again, impassioned because you would never, ever use what you know against him. “You’ve been nothing but a gentleman in that regard, Loki. You respected my wishes on our wedding night. You have asked for my consent during every one of our trysts. Please know that I would never accuse you of anything untoward.”

His eyes search yours for a long time, trying to discern the lie, but there isn’t one. Then he exhales a long, weary sigh and leans back in his chair, the tension visibly lifting from his shoulders. “Norns,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Yes, I suppose not even you would stoop so low.”

A jab.

You respond with the opposite: a jest. “Ah, but how could you know for certain? What with our—” you clear your throat, nearing ever closer to openly acknowledging the forbidden secret that you both share, “our history?”

It’s the closest either of you have come to doing so. You and Loki have been playing this game for centuries, trying to see who will cave first, but you continue to tiptoe around it.

Just as you predicted, the layered meaning instantly captures his attention. “Our history?” he repeats, as if he doesn't quite believe he's heard you properly, before his lips curl up into that same insufferable grin you so adore. “Oh, do go on, sweet. I’m all ears. What about our history?”

You try to give him a deadpan look, but find it impossible to keep the smile off of your face. “Only that we have never enjoyed each other’s company, you and I. You know that as well as I do.”

It isn't at all the history you’d originally mentioned, and you’re well-aware he recognises that when his voice takes on a note of smooth, persuasive silk. “In what way do you intend for me to take that, darling? Because I suspect that there are many things for a husband and wife to... enjoy.”

His insinuation is absolutely not what you meant, and he knows it, but your heartbeat quickens all the same.

Just in the knick of time, two rapid knocks resound on the door. 

“Enter,” Loki calls out, never taking his eyes off of you. Something about the heat within them, however slight, makes you think he isn’t done with you just yet.

You find yourself silently thanking whoever has chosen to interrupt.

The door opens, and another servant pushes a small gold cart into the room, two shelves stacked high with breakfast delights. The spread is much more elaborate than your typical morning meal, and your mouth waters.

“Now, I believe you said I would find this cathartic?”

You glance back over at your husband, only to watch him deftly pluck your letter up from the table. Before you can get a word in edgewise, however, you watch as your stationery sets aflame in the palm of his hand.

It’s an impossible sort of fire, for it doesn't seem to burn his skin. 

Magic.

You’ve always loved his magic, even now, loathe as you’d ever be to admit that you find Loki’s mastery of it in any way appealing. He wields his seidr like one might a paintbrush, creating masterful works of art from intricate spells and enchantments.

As the flames burn away your spiteful letter, your eyes follow the curling wisps of smoke as it drifts up, up, up towards the intricately-painted ceiling. Instead of the colourful collection of wildflowers you expect to see upon it, however, you find a field of white daffodils in their place.

A symbol of forgiveness.

In that moment, as you stare at the illusion he’s cast, you realise that your husband will forever be an enigma to you. Perhaps he’s changed in the great many years you've known him, or maybe you've never really known him at all.

Then Loki lazily waves his hand, and the illusion dissipates—as do the singed remains of your letter.

He’s manipulating you. He must be. It’s the only conclusion you can come to, but when you meet his eyes once more – when you see the mischief shining within them, and the softness hidden just beneath – you desperately wish that he wasn’t.

Part Eight

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Demon's Haven 11

woo!! okay this is the chapter I've been waiting for, I'm so excited to post it 💚💚💚

—  

masterlist

warnings: blood, past torture, description of wounds

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Dressed and dry, Haven led the demon over to her bed where they could both sit. She’d fetched a collection of bandages and gauze and whatever else she could find from the bathroom, leaving the door open so the demon could still keep her in his sights and wouldn’t launch into a panic. He seemed to find comfort in her presence, or what she thought was more likely, he just didn’t want to be alone. He probably would have taken comfort in anyone’s presence regardless of who it was. She didn’t know why the thought of that filled her with such disappointment.

She spread out her collection on the multicolored blankets, then sat down beside the demon and inspected his wounds once more. They’d begun to bleed again, especially the fresh lashes. Blood seeped from them in a steady current, creating ribbons that trailed down his back. Still, it was much better than it had been when he’d been filthy with grime and dried blood so that Haven couldn’t tell how bad the damage really was. Clean, the wounds weren’t any less grotesque, but more manageable.

Haven pressed a cloth to the demon’s back to try and stem the bleeding. She waited a few minutes like that, feeling the demon’s heat under her fingers even through the cloth. She removed her hand yet the cloth stayed firmly in place, and began unwrapping a roll of gauze. Peeling away the cloth from the demon’s skin elicited a sharp intake of breath that caused him to scrunch his face in pain.

“Sorry,” Haven said.

“S’alright,” the demon replied, voice slurred from exhaustion.

She wanted to finish this quickly so he could rest—was tempted to lie down right now as well—but she didn’t want to do anything haphazardly. He’d been through enough. She could at least take proper care of him because if she was going to invite a demon into her home, she was going to commit to it and treat him as she would any guest.

Except she’d never had a guest who’d been tortured in Hell before. Semantics.

Haven began wrapping the bandages around the demon’s midsection, working her way through covering those ghastly stripes. She found herself sighing, looking at them. Silver, the demon had said. Silver made them permanent.

“Are you okay?”

The demon’s voice was quiet, slow, careful. Nothing like the high and desperate pitch of the past few days where he’d begged her not to hurt him, words spilling out of his mouth in stuttered gasps like he couldn’t get them out quick enough. Haven felt herself exhaling a dry and humorless laugh.

“You’re asking me if I’m okay?”

 “You’re sighing.”

Haven shook her head. If she hadn’t summoned the man herself, she would have had a hard time believing he was truly a demon. Here he was, exhausted and in what she could only imagine must be terrible pain, weakened to the point where he couldn’t even walk without her assistance. After being tortured. In Hell.

And he was asking her if she was okay.

A smile crept onto her face, unbidden. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Ah.”

It was silent for a beat. Haven continued her work, covering up too many lashes to count on his back, then wrapping his bruised shoulders and tying the whole thing off. She’d already used up an entire roll of gauze.

She began to work on the smaller wounds on the demon’s arms, deciding she’d skip his fingers for now and wait until she had something better suited than wide strips of cloth. She’d been pondering what to do about his bruised wrists when he spoke again.

“Are you upset?”

He didn’t look at her as he asked the question. Instead, he elected for staring straight ahead, gaze softened to the point where Haven had to wonder if he was really seeing her room at all.

“Of course I am.”

His head snapped to the side. Gaze sharpening, focusing. He was back in the room now, in the present, fearful, ever fearful.

“I—”

“Not at you,” Haven said, interrupting him before his thoughts could spiral. Before he could start begging for mercy and leniency for having done nothing at all. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The demon blinked at her a few times, processing. He tilted his head to the side a bit in a way that Haven felt was far too cute an action to belong to a creature borne from Hell, then opened his mouth as if he were going to speak. He didn’t though, and closed it. Opened it again. Finally turned his head away from her and resumed staring intently at her bedroom door. Haven finished wrapping one arm and moved onto the next, having decided to use extra padding around his wrists given how deep the bruises went. They’d be there for a long time.

“Why are you sad?” the demon asked after a while.

Haven passed her thumb over a deep purple bruise on his bicep and he flinched, to which she apologized and tried to wrap as delicately as she could. A large gash intercepted it. She couldn’t leave the wound unattended, though it was hard to maneuver the bandage around his arm without holding onto the bruised skin that surrounded the gash.  

“Because you were hurt,” she replied.

The demon turned his head just slightly to the side so that Haven could see only a slanted angle of his face, still shadowed by his wet black locks.

“You don’t know me.”

“Does that matter?”

A gasp. He turned fully to face her, his body twisting in such a way that the gauze fell out of Haven’s grasp and unwound. Before she could even feel annoyed at him for it, she saw the look on his face. His eyes were wide and wet, tears already beginning to pool in their depths. He swallowed once, twice. Blinked.

That was his downfall, that one. He’d been clearly trying not to cry, but the single blink had released the built up tears so that they spilled down his cheeks. He looked at Haven with some unrecognizable expression, something so tragic that she had to take him into her arms.

Haven drew him close and wrapped her arms around him. She threaded one hand through his still-damp hair and laid his head to rest on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmured, repeating the phrase just for the sound of her voice and hoping that it would be enough to soothe him.

The demon didn’t try to hold back anymore and sobbed openly. Broken cries tore from his throat, all pitchy sounds and half-drawn breaths. Haven rubbed her thumb back and forth through his hair, trying to ground him in the moment. His body shook something fierce, tremors rioting through him.

They stayed like that for an indiscernible amount of time, as if the very concept were water flowing through their fingers. The two of them, in their tired state, fell back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Haven kept an arm around the demon and a hand in his hair, and he rested his head on her shoulder. The rolls of bandages lay around them.

“I need to finish wrapping your wounds.”

“Mmnh.”

The demon’s eyes had closed. Haven again felt a pang of jealousy at how beautifully his lashes overlaid on his cheeks.

Neither of them moved.

“I don’t want you to bleed out.”

“Can’t.”

Haven sighed at his response. The demon nuzzled further into the crook of her neck. She canted her head so that it touched his.

A thought occurred to her.

“You never told me your name.”

A flinch. The demon’s body tensed against hers enough for her to realize just how much she had gotten him to relax previously. Seemed a shame that all that progress would go to waste.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Haven added. “I just thought it would be nice to have something to call you. I’m Haven by the way.”

“Haven…” the demon whispered, so soft that she wouldn’t have heard it if they hadn’t been pressed together. He said her name with such reverence that it almost made her shiver. He said it like a blessing. Like a prayer.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

The demon sighed and untangled himself from her. He sat up, though it was a poor imitation of the pose. He practically bent double, his back curved with his head hanging low, arms limp with hands clasped loosely in his lap. Haven watched him while propped up on her elbows, waiting for him. He seemed to be gathering his nerve, or perhaps, coming up with a clever lie.

No, that was ridiculous. Why would he ever need to lie about who he was? Not unless he was—

“Envy.”

The demon said his name the way a man would when confessing to a sin on the gallows. Haven drew her head back in shock.

Envy. One of the seven deadly sins.

A demon prince of Hell.

—

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[ash-whimsicalfanfic]

Agent Rushmore (CH 9)

Leroy Jethro Gibbs X Fem OC/Reader

Word Count: 1382

Warning: Mild language, violence, gore, guns, fluff, smut, angst, PTSD, graphic scenes…

Prompt: Special Agent Locklyn Rushmore, a highly trained Russian assassin who is skilled in all forms of hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, negotiating and more. When her cover is blown, she is returning back to NCIS headquarters in D.C…

Locklyn Rushmore

The beeping was steady.

However, that didn't stop my deep hatred towards it. I open my eyes, staring at the ceiling before looking over at the monitor that I so badly wanted to shoot to get it to shut the hell up.

I sit up and the room was empty. However, there were a bunch of flowers and gifts surrounding the room. I let a shaky breath out, my eyebrows furrowing as I move a hand to my chest.

What the hell?

I let another shaky breath out, sucking in a breath before another breath leaves me. The monitor sped up as my chest began to heave violently and I was unable to catch my breath. Tears stream down my cheeks and I let out a sob as the door opens.

Director Shepard rushes forward, sitting beside me as she pulled me against her. She rubs my back, shushing my softly.

"Your okay, Locklyn. Your okay. I promise. You did it. You have ended this once and for all. It's going to be okay. I promise. Breathe. In through you nose, out through mouth. Try to take a breath in for at least three seconds and let it out for three." She soothes.

She guides me through this, until I was calm. My shaky hands reach up to my face where I wipe away the tears.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't know what happened." I whisper.

"You had a panic attack. It's okay. It happens to the best of us. And don't apologize. You have nothing to apologize for." She says.

"Where is everyone? Is Abby okay?" I ask.

"They are in the waiting room. The doctor has been sending me in to check if you'd be awake because we are close. He didn't want you overwhelmed if you woke up to everyone in here. And Abby is okay. She feels guilty, but she is okay." She says, playing with my hair.

"I want to see them." I say.

"Let's get you cleaned up first and redo some bandages before we do that. And lets get some proper food in your stomach. You've been in the hospital for four days. They had you in a medical induced coma and was giving you time to wake up after." She explains.

"What about Tim? And Ziva? Oh! And Tony and Gibbs? They are all okay right?" I ask.

"Everyone is okay. I promise." She says.

"Ducky? Palmer?" I ask.

"Mhm. Them too. They are fine, I promise." She says.

I managed to get some real clothes on. I couldn't stand the gown. So, I was dressed in a pair of scrub pants and a shirt. That's all the hospital had, but they were actually pretty comfy.

I refused to sit on my bed, wanting to pace, so Director Shepard was waiting until I got back in my bed. I grab the IV, dragging it along with me as I walked out of my room.

"Locklyn! Get back in bed! I'll go get everyone!" She says.

I ignore her as I walk to the waiting room. I walk in and everyone was doing their own little thing. Director Shepard sighs, which catches everyone's attention.

"Abby, your okay." I say relieved and she stands.

"L-Locklyn...I'm so sorry." She says quietly.

"Abby, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm so glad your okay. I was worried sick." I breathe, pulling her into a hug.

She lets a sigh of relief out as she hugs me back. I felt relief and I felt a wave of calmness wash over me.

"I should have called Gibbs. This wouldn't have happened then." She says once she pulls away.

"Abby, you did the right thing. If Gibbs showed up, instead of me...you wouldn't be here right now. I know how those men work." I say.

"But, look at you! Your hurt!" She exclaims upset.

"Abby, this is nothing. I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine. I'm a lot better now that I know everyone is okay. It looks worse than what it is. And before you point out I was passed out on the side of the road, keep in mind I had a few hits to the head. And my body was in shock with all that had happened. It was catching up after I got away. I'm fine though." I say.

"Did you eat? And drink some water and take your medications and get your bandages redone?" She asks.

"Yes. Director Shepard refused to let me see you all until all of that was done. I'm okay, Abby. How are you? Are you okay?" I ask and she nods.

"I'm fine. You saved me." She says and my lips quirk up a bit.

"Abby, I was just doing what I would do for anyone I care about." I murmur.

"Alright, let's bring this back to your room. You need to be resting in your bed, Locklyn." Director Shepard says and I roll my eyes.

"I'm fine. I want to move. I hate that bed already." I grumble.

"Lock, come." Gibbs says as he stands.

He reaches his hand out and I look at it confused for a moment before taking his. He lifts my hand to his mouth, leaving a kiss on my knuckles before he starts to lead the way back to my room. He pulls the blankets back, helping me up into the bed before pulling the covers up to my waist. I was leaned up against the pillows and he sat beside me.

I felt relieved as everyone entered the room and we were able to talk and catch up. It was all that I had wanted.

"You broke rule twelve guys." Tony says.

"Rule twelve?" I question.

"Rule twelve, never date a co-worker." Tim states.

"Hm. Strange. Seems like everyone here has broken the rule." I say.

"And what makes you say that?" Gibbs asks with a small smirk.

"Tony and Ziva's body language suggest that they are indeed together, not to mention the looks the two of them share. And the secret hand-holding and sneaky kisses here and there. And let's not forget Tim and Abby. Hm? The same thing, however Tim has also got to sleep in Abby's coffin." I say and both of their cheeks flush red.

"And you guys were trying to give me hell." Gibbs says.

"Boss...I-we can explain." Tim says.

"I don't need one. I broke rule twelve as well. I don't care. I don't plan on going back on it. If I break it, you all might as well." He says.

"Locklyn, you scared the hell out of me." Ducky says.

"I'm sorry." I say.

"Rule six." Gibbs warns.

"I'm just thankful you weren't the one on that table. You are a fighter. And you...you are like a daughter to me. If anything happened to you, I don't know what I'd do." He says.

"I know. This girl is like a daughter to me...you gave us all a scare. But, I knew you would pull through." Director Shepard says.

I listen to all that I have missed the past few days plus random stories. I felt my love for this team grow and I knew that this team was my family, they were home. I'm honestly so lucky and grateful I was placed on this team.

With promises that they'd be back tomorrow, they all left except Gibbs who still sat beside my bed, holding my hand. I look over at him, smiling slightly.

"What were you thinking? You could have told me so we could of put a tracker or something on you." He says.

"Jethro...you and I both know you wouldn't have let me walk out those doors if I had told you." I explain softly and he sighs.

He slumps forward, his head resting on our joint hands. I bring my other hand to his hair where I run my fingers through it.

"What did they do to you?" He asks, lifting his head slightly to look at me.

"Nothing I couldn't handle." I murmur.

"Your one hell of a woman. When your ready, you know I'm here. We all are." He says and I smile slightly.

"Thank you, Jethro. I appreciate it." I murmur.