#and the author feels too present i think. i had a better explanation for it but i lost it

[wildwood-faun]

listening a Lot to this audiobook but unfortunately it's not because I'm hooked it's just because I want to be done with it

[tempe-brennans]

and i'd come back if you'd just call

author's note: soulmate au + apocalypse

summary: you show up in jackson and turn joel's life upside down

warnings: implied smut and handsy touching

word count: 2.7k

There’s gray in his hair. He’s sure he should feel grateful for that–especially now–and some part of him does, he supposes.

He has people.

There’s Ellie and Tommy and Maria. You.

He’s not sure exactly what to do about you.

Besides, he’s more concerned about the ache in his back and the knots in his muscles–much more important problems than the love he’s beginning to think he still feels for you or the sunflower burning on his wrist.

There’s heating pads for his muscles and pain pills for his back–concrete solutions.

You, on the other hand, you’re young and fun and something he can’t quite get his fingers around.

And, you had left him–a fact he can’t quite forget. No matter how much he’d like to.

His throat is sore, scratchy in the way that tells him he spent last night snoring. Sighing as he sits up in bed, he cracks one shoulder and then the other.

His feet don’t want to find the floor. His body doesn’t want to hide behind the curtains in his own home because he can never be sure if you can see him.

Tommy thought he was so funny, making you two neighbors.

Joel does turn, eventually, let his feet land on the too cold floor. Toes slip into slippers he’d left in reach when he’d gotten into bed last night. He reaches blindly for the faded flannel robe that’s draped over the chair in the corner of his room.

He hasn’t had time for such indulgences, too busy running–from life, monsters. Anything. Before, he simply hadn’t wanted them.

But, Ellie had presented them both–a set, though the patterns didn’t match at all–as a gift and he hadn’t been able to say no.

He’s tired of being so sharp, so tough. In his own home, at least, maybe he can rest.

Home.

The thought brings his mind back to you, against his will, and as he pours his coffee he tries to see if your lights are on.

He can’t tell. The sun is working against him. He resolves himself to the fact that he’ll run into you at some point in town, so, really, what does it matter if you see each other sooner rather than later?

Besides, he’s almost positive you aren’t sitting in windowsills, pining after him.

He sits in the recliner Tommy had insisted he just had to have and welcomes the ability to put his feet up. It’s a relic–a handle raises and lowers the foot rest–but, somehow, it still works.

Taking a drink of his coffee, he thinks.

There’s no sound in the house, something Joel still hasn’t gotten used to since Ellie moved out.

I’m 20, she had said when Joel had asked if she was sure she wanted to leave, as if that was an explanation. Besides, don’t you want your own space?

He didn’t, if she wanted to know the truth. He wanted to hear her downstairs cooking breakfast or the sound of her snoring through the crack in her bedroom door.

He knew why she had gone, though. It was the same reason he had left home the moment he turned 18.

Freedom.

So, he could understand it, even if he wasn’t entirely fond of it.

He sees her every few days anyway.

Coffee now gone, he knows his day has to start, even if the town now feels like a loaded gun is waiting around every corner. He dresses–a flannel still happily coasting between cozy and too threadbare and jeans. He cracks his front door, feels the bite of the winter wind, and shuts it firmly.

An extra jacket wouldn’t hurt.

x

“I’m telling you,” Joel mumbles, “she probably doesn’t even remember.”

Tommy quirks a brow. “Are you kidding?” Shaking his head, he laughs. “You spent the better half of a year together. The tattoos–”

“I don’t wanna talk about the tattoos,” Joel dismisses. “Besides,” he mutters, “it was eleven months.”

“Oh,” Tommy hums. “My mistake.”

Silence and then, “You know someone will notice, right?”

Joel tilts his head. “You see me wearing a lot of short sleeves in the winter?”

“You can’t use the weather to hide forever, bro. The minute Ellie–hell, anybody–notices the two identical sunflowers on your arms?” He shakes his head. “Secrets out.”

“Yeah?” Joel asks. “What secret is that?”

His little brother leans in, whispers, “You can still find your soulmate after the apocalypse.”

“She’s the one that left.” Joel sighs. “Obviously, she didn’t care that we were soulmates.”

“You don’t even know why she left!” Tommy exclaims, exasperated.

Joel quirks a brow. “Somehow I haven’t had a lot of time, what with the apocalypse and all.”

His brother claps him on the shoulder. “You’ve got nothing but time now.”

x

Joel walks the streets of Jackson, spitting snow beginning to fall around him.

Maybe Tommy is right. It’s not like Joel doesn’t have some extra time on his hands, a strange concept after the last twenty years, he has to admit.

Maybe he should take advantage of it.

It’s that thought that’s rattling around in his brain when he collides with someone else.

“Sorry!” He reaches out, blindly, tries to catch the person or their belongings–something. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” a voice says. It’s a voice he’s never forgotten–couldn’t forget, even if he wanted to–and he kicks himself that this is the way he’d run into you again.

Literally.

“It was really,” you stand, catch sight of his face for the first time, “my fault.”

He’s older now, grayer and a little softer around the edges, but, still, he can see the moment recognition lights on your features.

“Joel?”

He nods, suddenly sheepish. For once, his mind is completely blank. It can’t begin to come up with an adequate greeting for an old flame that, maybe, still burns somewhere behind his rib cage. He settles on an all too casual, “Hi.”

You smile, a soft thing. “Hi.”

On instinct it seems, you take a step closer and hug him. Though it’s been years, the feeling of you pressed against him, your arms around him, it’s familiar.

He wants to hate it, but he doesn’t. Not even a little.

He barely resists the urge to press a kiss to your forehead, take a minute to inhale your scent, before you pull away.

“S’nice to see you.”

Joel nods. “You, too.” Somewhere between the truth and a lie.

“Your hair, it’s…softer,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” Joel reaches up, runs an idle hand through it. “Haven’t had a lot of time for haircuts, I guess.” He shrugs. “I kinda got used to it.”

You nod. “It’s been a long time.”

Joel quirks a brow. “Whose fault was that?”

It’s too sharp, too biting, and he can see the results flash across your face.

Shaking your head, you glare at him, blow out a breath. “I should have known you hadn’t changed.”

You turn on your heel, away from him, and he wants to reach out, tell you he’s sorry, but something won’t let him.

He thinks it’s his heart.

“I’ve changed plenty!” He calls after your shrinking form. “Changed enough to know I should stay away from you.”

You look over your shoulder–just for a second–long enough to cut him to the core. “The feeling is mutual!”

He sighs and continues on his own path, towards his own lonely house, entirely too close to you for comfort.

x

“So.” Ellie sighs. “That went well.”

Joel chuckles, rolls his eyes. “You think?”

“We can fix it,” she says, sitting on the couch closest to him. “It’ll be fine.”

“Sure about that?,” he asks. “It’s not a leaky sink, you know.”

Her eyes light up in the very particular way that tells Joel she’s had an idea he won’t be fond of.

He’s suddenly nervous.

“That’s it,” she exclaims.

“What’s it?”

Ellie leaves the room, obviously in search of something, and ignores him.

“Ellie,” he calls after her. “Ellie, what’s it?”

x

It’s her scheming that puts him on your porch, in fact, toolbox in hand and looking for something to fix.

Real or fake, it hadn’t really mattered to Ellie.

He should never have told her he had been a contractor.

The door opens and you glare at him, unsurprisingly.

“What do you want?”

He spits it out, before he can change his mind, run back home and hide.

“I’m sorry for earlier.” He shakes his head. “You left…before. And, I was angry and seeing you again…” He trails off, settles on simplicity. “I’m sorry.”

Something in your face softens as you step aside to let him in.

“I’m sorry for leaving, you know.”

You take him off guard, turn his pulse to a gallop.

“I was…I was afraid,” you murmur, skipping over his own apology in a way that’s entirely you.

Of course it’s the way you’d let him know things are okay.

“I should have told you that, though, instead of disappearing.”

He nods, swallows down a memory he doesn’t exactly want to relive right now, whispers, “It’s okay.”

You nod, smile at him. “You want a drink? Some food?”

He nods, places the toolbox in the floor next to your couch.

“That’d be nice.”

x

Joel isn’t sure how long the two of you have been talking–minutes or hours. Maybe days. Easy familiarity settles over the pair of you, and things are like they used to be.

He’s glad for it.

“Were there others?” Joel asks, words slipping out before he can stop them.

It’s the question that he somehow desperately wants the answer to and also never wants to hear.

You nod. “A few.” But, then, “None like you.”

It’s more honest than he expected, like your heart has opened to him once again.

You’re vulnerable. He knows you hate that.

“That makes sense.” He nods, rising to his feet, hand curling around the handle of his toolbox, imagining you want him to take his leave. “I’m pretty unforgettable.”

You laugh, look at him with something he would have called affection, once upon a time. “Yeah, you are, Miller.”

Something buzzes inside of him at the knowledge he can still make you laugh, even after everything, and he ducks his head, starts to head for the door.

“Joel?”

He turns, finds apprehension on your features.

He aches to set you at ease.

“Yeah?”

“Could you…would it…” You shake your head, shoulders squaring like you’re heading into a fight. “Would you want to stay? The night? With…with me.”

In a minute, he forgets it all. The pain and heartache and anger disappears with one look at your eyes.

“Yes.”

Simple–the way it’s always been between the two of you.

x

You crawl on top of him in a way he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined over the years.

His hands find a resting place on either of your hips, squeeze the flesh there lightly.

“Hi,” you murmur, grin on your face.

“Hi.” He smiles.

It’s different when you’re with your soulmate.

Joel had been with others, sure.

Tess comes to mind, but he quickly shakes the thought away–along with the memory of her death.

But, every time, even when stars popped up behind his eyelids and warmth erupted through his every limb, it wasn’t what it had been with you.

The best way he could think to describe it was…more.

As you lean down, press a kiss to his lips, he finally admits to himself how much he’d missed it. You.

x

Joel feels you pull away and squeezes you closer. “Where you goin’?,” he mumbles, already half asleep.

“Shirt,” you whisper.

He shakes his head, nuzzles his nose into the hollow of your throat.

Chuckling softly, you say, “S’winter, Joel.”

He holds you even closer–if that’s possible. “I’ll keep you warm.” Then, just to tease, fingers dance over your hip bone, inches from the crux of your thighs. “Any way you want.”

“Joel…”

“Or, are you too old for this game?” He hums, getting a rise out of you too tempting to ignore. “You get soft on me while you were away?”

Your own hand–cold from it’s trip beyond the faded quilt that covers you both–dances along the soft skin of his stomach, curls around his still too sensitive length. He jumps, hisses out a breath, interest already simmering at the base of his spine.

“I can still play,” you purr. “Can you?”

Your hand works him over, languid strokes finding a pattern that makes his skin buzz.

Joel rises, mouth desperate to find yours.

He’s always liked to be kissed–especially by you, especially when you’re touching him the way you are.

You indulge him, lips parting to let his tongue tangle with your own. He can’t help but grin into the kiss.

x

In the morning, he wakes alone. Part of him isn’t shocked. Part of him is heartbroken all over again.

Quickly, he gets dressed–avoiding mirrors with the hopes of missing any evidence you’d left behind of the night before.

He goes to Tommy’s, doesn’t even look towards your house as he walks down the street.

x

“You’ve been in love before.” Tommy shrugs. “Maybe it could happen again. Nothing says you have to be with your soulmate.”

Joel hadn’t thought about it when he’d fallen in love with Sarah’s mother.

He hadn’t had much choice, if he’s honest. One look at her and he had been done for.

So, the fact she didn’t have a sunflower on the soft skin of her forearm wasn’t of much consequence. The fact she had her own tattoo–purple dahlia petals curling around her own wrist–had never mattered to her either.

They had shared a life and love and had turned that love into something that lived outside of them.

Sarah.

It was only a few months after she was born that Joel had woken up alone to the sound of Sarah’s crying.

He had adjusted, though. The two of them had made a team and found happiness all on their own.

Until…well, Joel didn’t really like to think about that day–that last day. He preferred to imagine her laughing, head thrown back in joy.

“I know,” he murmurs. He adds, almost under his breath, “I don’t think I want to fall in love. Not if it’s not with her.”

Tommy ducks his head, sheepish all of a sudden.

“What is it?”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell you.”

He leans forward, insistent. “Tommy, what is it?”

“She told Maria that she was…thinking of leaving Jackson.”

Joel is off Tommy’s couch and out the door before Tommy can ask where he’s going.

Joel suspects he knows.

x

His knocks are incessant, barely a pause between them.

“C’mon,” he murmurs to himself. “Please don’t be gone.”

The door opens, shocking Joel, and he almost falls through it.

“You can’t leave Jackson,” he pants. There’s an ache in his side, a pulling at muscles that scream with use more often than they don’t these days. He’s certain he shouldn’t have run to make sure he caught you.

You shake your head, hands coming to rest on either side of his face.

It’s a gesture full of affection and hope ignites in his gut.

“I’m not leaving,” you murmur.

Joel’s tongue is heavy, suddenly too thick to form a reply. “You…you’re not?”

“No.” Gently, your thumb rubs back and forth over his cheekbone. “I thought of something to stick around for.”

“Yeah?” Joel hums. “What’s that?”

“You.”

Joel feels the heat flush his cheeks. The emotions he really feels are too much–too real–so, he settles for a joke.

“That makes sense.” He nods. “I’m pretty unforgettable.”

“Yeah.” You laugh, duck your head for a minute before your eyes meet his again. “Yeah, you are, Miller.”

x

Later that night, with most of your closet mingled with his own, he pulls you close to him in bed. His lips ghost over your forehead and an arm wraps around your side.

He glances down at his wrist, takes in the bright yellows of the sunflower petals. With gentle fingers, he finds your wrist, brings it to his mouth and kisses the yellow of your own petals.

There’s gray in his hair, but, right now, he couldn’t feel more grateful for it.

[nervous-alien]

Let Me Save Him | At Least Once...

Also can be read on Ao3 and Wattpad!

!Check Introduction for description, disclaimers, warnings, chapter index, and other information!

Quick author's note: For this chapter, I will be using almost exact dialogue from the games during the trial. Sorry if it's a bit repetitive. This will be the only chapter like this. I'm not really sure how I feel about how this turned out. I thought it was a good idea doing most of the trial but I had second thoughts after I was done. Also, chapter two was supposed to be combined with this one but it felt better separate. That's why it is already out. This will most likely be the only time I post two chapters in one day. Enjoy! Please lmk what you think of it!

Ch 1. The End of Something New

Song of the Chapter: Trapdoor ~ Twenty One Pilots

“So what you’re saying is the killer was wearing the same blue tracksuit as him? My tracksuit is black!”

I felt my eyes widen.

It can’t be!

I could feel my heart skip a beat. 

I looked around at my fellow classmates and prayed to whatever god was out there that none of them heard what Mondo had accidentally let slip from his lips, but to my misfortune, Makoto also heard those dreaded words. He glanced over at Kyoko, silently asking if she heard it too and she gave him a small nod.

As Hifumi was proclaiming his innocence, Makoto stopped him mid-sentence. “Hold on a second, Mondo! What did you just say?”

Mondo swiftly looked over to Makoto. I could see a faint glint of fear present in his eyes. I couldn’t tell if it had been there since the beginning or had just appeared, but it was there nonetheless. His brow began to slightly furrow, giving him a perplexed look.

“Huh?” Mondo huffed out, a bit aggressively. It was evident he was caught off-guard. “What’d I say?” His voice had a tinge of uneasiness. You could tell he was getting nervous. He always had a tendency to raise his voice when he felt under pressure. 

My fingers rhythmically began tapping along to a nonexistent beat as I felt myself cringe at his statement. I couldn’t believe he could say such a thing without realizing it. My concern was rapidly growing. 

How did he know that?

There must have been some kind of explanation. My mind began to race with possibilities, but they all led me to one tragic conclusion. My fingers moved faster. I brushed the thoughts away. I was becoming way too anxious.

I forced myself to continue listening. He must have some kind of valid excuse. I refused to believe that Mondo could have been the one who—I couldn’t even finish that thought.

I watched as my kyoudai waited for a response. His hand unconsciously moved to the back of his head, playing with the long strands of hair not included in his pompadour, a habit that I had noticed he only does when he is overwhelmed.

“When Celeste testified a few minutes ago, she never said anything about the jacket’s color. So why did you say Chihiro’s “blue” tracksuit?” Makoto leaned forward on his podium, glaring at Mondo with a look of determination. 

Quiet gasps emitted from most of the class. A few of them shared shocked glances. I doubt Mondo was on any of their radars up until this point.

Mondo’s eyes widened. He had finally realized the crucial mistake he had made. “What are you—? You just—!” he yelled out. Beads of sweat were beginning to form on his face. He was at a loss for words. 

His lavender eyes began darting around the room, noticing that everyone was staring at him. They stopped once they met my red ones. His expression faltered for just a second. I could almost see tears begin to form but he quickly blinked them away. As he did, he promptly altered his gaze.

“Hey, Celeste. What color was Chihiro’s tracksuit?” Byakuya butted into the conversation as it had piqued his interest. He had a small grin tugging at his lip. It was sickening. How could he enjoy anything revolving…this?

Celeste began to think back to the previous encounter. Without a thought, I crossed my fingers in the hope that it was a completely different color. “As a matter of fact, it was…blue.” 

Dang it! 

Byakuya made a grunt of approval and pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. His sickening smile grew wider.

“And before we began the trail,” Makoto began, “did you tell anyone that?” 

I hoped she would say yes. Or at least if she said no, Mondo would reveal that he overheard her telling Makoto. That had to have been the answer.

“The only one I told about any of this was you,” she replied, confidently. And just like that, my hope was instantly crushed once more.

Please, Mondo! Please say you overheard them!

“Then,” I heard Sakura’s voice suddenly, “Mondo, how did you know what color Chihiro’s tracksuit was?” 

Mondo’s knuckles were turning white. He gripped the podium as if trying to squeeze the life out of it. 

“B-Because I—! I just—!” He couldn’t finish a single sentence. I assumed he was just under pressure. He just needed some help! I was sure of it.

“I-I’m sure he saw the clothes at some point in the investigation!” I quickly added to the conversation. 

Mondo slammed his eyes shut, squeezing them tightly as the words left my mouth. His arms began to shake as he gripped the podium even tighter. He swallowed hard and was just about to say something when—

“No, that can’t be it.” Kyoko immediately stated. “The bag and clothes were surely disposed of by the time we began our investigation.” My mind began racing once more. 

How did I already forget that? Why didn’t I say something else? Please don’t say I made this worse!

“Then the only reason he could have known what color the tracksuit was,” Genocide Jill began, yelling excitedly, “is if he saw Cherry with it before he died! That’s the only possibility!” As Hina quietly asked if  ‘Cherry’ was referring to Chihiro, the serial killer continued her accusation. “So, how ‘bout it!? Did you see the tracksuit or didn’t you!?”

“J-Just by chance,” Mondo finally was able to begin defending himself, “ I just happened to see it last night. He walked past me, and he was carrying the tracksuit in his hands.”

See! I knew he was innocent. This just proves it!

“No, that can’t be it, either.” 

Wait, what!? 

“According to Celeste’s testimony, when she noticed it, Chihiro made a point of making sure the jacket was completely in the bag. If you just ran into him briefly, you couldn’t possibly have seen what color the tracksuit was.” 

Why couldn’t Makoto look past this? Why did he have it out for Mondo?

Mondo let out grunts of frustration. 

“It would appear you’ve dug your own grave.” Kyoko kept a straight face. I couldn’t fully tell what she was thinking but I sensed a bit of…pride?

I didn’t understand what made Mondo so suspicious. I mean, yeah he did know the color of Chihiro’s jacket but that doesn’t mean anything. Anyone could have guessed that! Heck, what if he actually did hear about it before but just misspoke about when? It was completely possible he heard Chihiro mention it to someone…maybe?

At least those thoughts helped me keep my faith in my kyoudai.

As I was lost in thought, Kyoko began telling the class how she suspected Mondo from the beginning. Something about him calling Chihiro ‘dude’ instead of ‘chick’. The group was surprised she picked up on such a small detail. Genocide Jill even called her a ‘frightful witch’. 

She is a witch for assuming these horrible things about my kyoudai!

“No, I’m not the frightful one. Not nearly as frightful as someone capable of murdering a friend.” 

Mondo involuntarily made a noise at Kyoko’s statement.

“Mondo, was it really you?” Makoto calmly asked. “Did you really kill Chihiro?” 

I was starting to get sick of that word.

Kill. 

How could anyone associate that word with Mondo?

“I…I…I-I-I…I didn’t kill anyone!” Mondo was almost screaming at this point. “You’ve been all over me, judging everything I say, putting words in my mouth. What gives you the right to treat me like a goddamn criminal!?”

“Y-Yeah! He would never do something like that! This is a false accusation!” I had to jump in and support him. He needed to know that I was there for him. Maybe that would help him calm down and then he wouldn’t say nonsense that could unjustly be used against him.

“It’s true, my reasoning on that is pretty shaky,” Kyoko let out, a bit dejectedly.

“Th-That was fast,” Makoto said, his shocked look mirroring mine. I couldn’t believe Kyoko would just give up that easily. Yes, I was ecstatic that she did, but it didn’t sit right with me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mondo relax. I couldn’t imagine how scared he was. How bad it must have felt to be accused of such a heinous act.

“Well, this does present us with a problem. It seems we are all out of leads,” Celeste sighed, slightly shaking her head.

Hifumi was now bringing up the broken e-Handbook he had found, but I was having a hard time paying attention. I was just too overjoyed. 

They finally moved on from Mondo. They finally realized that he would never do such a thing. I wanted to run over to him and embrace him. I wanted to congratulate the fact that we would still have each other by our sides helping one another get through this game. But after this trial, I would have to give him a lecture to make sure he learns to think before he speaks. He almost framed himself without reason!

I shook myself out of my thoughts again when I heard the word sauna.

Apparently, Hifumi found the broken handbook on the floor in there. 

Just the thought of the room reminded me of that night two days ago. The night Mondo and I became kyoudais. It was one of the best nights I had ever had. But as much as I would like to reminisce, I had to pay more attention to the case.

The group had just been discussing the handbook’s weakness. Monokuma confirmed their thoughts and now began ranting about saunas.

“The temperature in the sauna can reach over 200 degrees. Strange how you don’t get burnt, huh!? It’s because as your sweat evaporates, it creates a cooling layer of air around your skin! If the hot air of the sauna were somehow pushed directly onto your skin, you’d definitely get fried! That layer of air would get blown away. That’s why you may feel a burning when you move around. So when you’re in a sauna, make sure to keep nice and still!”

“Wow, interesting! I learned one new fact today!” I exclaimed. That was actually very useful information! Who would have thought you could learn something worthwhile from that bear?

I’ll have to keep that in mind next time Mondo and I hang out in the sauna!

I began getting lost in thought once more, planning to ask Mondo if he would like to spend time with me the next night. We could go to the sauna again! I thought about all the fun we could have since we wouldn’t have to worry about a competition. I thought about finally seeing him with only a towel, his large muscles as they began to gleam with sweat. I—

Wait a minute! What was that about!?

I noticed that my cheeks were growing warm. I quickly shook my thoughts away. I didn’t know why I would think such… inappropriate thoughts about my kyoudai. I forced myself to just ignore those…thoughts, and listen back in on the conversation.

“What if the killer took their own handbook into the sauna, not knowing its weakness, and it broke? They’d realize it was broken, of course, and it wouldn’t be hard to figure out why. And once they had Chihiro’s handbook, they knew they had an easy way to dispose of it,” Kyoko suggested.

“I won’t say it’s not possible, but,” Byakuya chimed in again, “who would have done something like that? I don’t know of anyone who took their handbook into the sauna.” 

Surprisingly, Byakuya had a good point. Who in their right mind would take a handbook into the sauna? Unless they left it in their pocket or something. But then again, who would wear clothes in the sauna other than—

N-No. No, no, no, no, NO! Ignore that thought! You’re still caught up over them accusing him.

“I might know someone who did,” Makoto hesitantly said. 

He had to have thought the same thing as me. But it couldn’t have been right. We were just thinking of the worst!

“I think the one who may have taken their handbook into the sauna was,” Makoto continued, but paused before he said the name. He slowly looked over to Mondo and proceeded to stare him down.

Tears began forming in my eyes, threatening to fall. I had let out a few grunts, trying but failing to hide my sobs.

“Mondo…your handbook got broken in the sauna, didn’t it?”

Mondo stiffened up like before after hearing his name. “Wh-Wh-What!?” 

“Why!? Why do you keep accusing him!?” I continued to hold back my tears but you could tell they were close to falling by my wavering voice. 

Mondo looked over at me and I could see the sadness in his eyes again. He looked guilty. He was trying to hide it as well, but he too looked as if he was about to cry.

“Mondo and Taka had an endurance contest in the sauna not too long ago, remember? And for the contest, Mondo just so happened to keep his school uniform on. But little did he realize, he’d also left his handbook in one of his uniform pockets. And when it was all over, Mondo discovered that taking your handbook into the sauna could easily destroy it.”

“No, wait, hold on!” I slammed my hands on my podium and stared daggers at Makoto. “You’ve got it all wrong! He would never kill—! I don’t accept this! Show me the proof! The actual, solid proof!”

“Let’s test Makoto’s assertion. If what he says is correct then Mondo,” Kyoko looked over to him, “ you broke your own handbook.”

“In other words, if Mondo’s handbook is actually broken, then that proves what Makoto said is right,” Celeste added.

“Well, my goddamn handbook works just fine!” Mondo yelled in his defense. 

“S-See? Look! Makoto was wrong, after all! Mondo wouldn’t hurt a fly!” I was also yelling. I needed to make sure everyone knew that Makoto was wrong. I glanced over to Makoto and saw that he still had determination. He wasn’t giving up.

“Mondo, the handbook you have right now…Is it really yours?” I didn’t know what he was getting at but I could tell it was not good.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean!?” Mondo asked it as a question, but a distant part of me could tell that he knew exactly what Makoto meant.

“The broken handbook that was in the main hall…Isn’t that one actually yours?” 

“What the heck are you talking about!?” I asked, finally voicing my confusion. 

“What I mean is, I think Mondo swapped his handbook out for one that actually works. I think he took Leon’s handbook and replaced it with his own. After all, Monokuma said himself that Leon’s handbook never should have broken.”

I stopped listening as a few others added to the conversation, just spacing out, until I heard Makoto mention Mondo’s name again.

“Well, Mondo? If I’m wrong about this, you’re welcome to say so. I’m happy to admit I made a mistake, but—” Makoto began but was cut off by Mondo.

“S-Son of a bitch!” Mondo muttered those words but said nothing else.

Why wasn’t he defending himself?

“What’s wrong, kyoudai?” I asked him, hastily making my way over to his podium. He made no response.

I grabbed him by the shoulders, starting to shake him, begging for some kind of response. “Come on, tell him he’s wrong!” My tears returned once more and began streaming down my face. He was staring right into my eyes until he saw the tears. He then looked slightly to the side. Water began welling in his eyes but he still stayed strong and refused to let them fall.

I turned away from him, leaving one hand on his shoulder as I looked at the rest of the class. “You ARE wrong! You HAVE to be wrong! Everything you just said is wrong! You made it all up!”  I sobbed.

“Okay, then why don’t we look back on this case one more time, from the beginning? That way, everything will become clear, and we’ll all see if I was right or wrong!”

Makoto began explaining the events, as I stared at him mortified. Unconsciously, I moved closer to Mondo and thought about pulling him into a hug but ultimately decided against it.

My head began spinning. I hated what I was hearing. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, what Makoto was saying made complete sense.

What are you thinking? They’re all just polluting your mind! There’s absolutely NO way Mondo is guilty! It just all coincidentally fits in place.

“And that’s how it all played out. Isn’t that right, Mondo Owada!?” Makoto finished the story and was now pointing an accusing finger toward my kyoudai.

Mondo started to breathe irregularly and began making strained noises. He just stared blankly at the ground, tears finally falling.

“W-Wait! No, this can’t be right! Where’s your evidence?” I was desperate to prove that this was false…Even if I wasn’t so sure anymore. I don’t think there was anything that could disprove it at this point but I had to at least try. “Y-Yeah, where’s your evidence!? You need evidence! You need proof! Without any proof, you can’t pin any of this on him!”

I felt like I was going mad. I just kept shouting “Show me some evidence! You’re wrong! I won’t listen! I refute you! False! You’re corrupt! I refuse to vote!” until Makoto broke me from my trance.

“If my thinking so far is right…Mondo must have replaced his broken handbook with Leon’s. In which case, we can just check each of our handbooks right now. Once we do that, we’ll—” Makoto was interrupted by something I dreaded hearing.

“We don’t gotta do that.”

“Huh?” Makoto’s eyes were wide. He was shocked by Mondo’s sudden submission.

“Yeah. Yeah…I did it…I killed him.” He started shaking.

I turned back towards him and placed my other hand back on his shoulder, facing him towards me again. He refused to look me in the eyes.

“Kyoudai? Kyoudai…what are you saying?” I wanted to shove my face into his shoulder and just hold him tight.

“I got no choice, man. After hearing all that, I gotta just…give up.” My mouth was slightly ajar. I couldn’t understand why he was giving in to their madness. “Go ahead, Monokuma. Get it over with. Ask for the god damned verdict.”

I felt the color drain from my face.

Th-That means he’s going to get—

“W-Wait, hold on—!” I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t bear to see my kyoudai get executed in front of me!

“No waiting! No holding on! Time for the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Grab your lever and give it a yank! Who will you elect as the blackened this time around? Will you make the right choice or the dreadfully wrong one? What’s it gonna be? What’s it gonna beeee!?” 

I felt like punching that bear into tomorrow, but I knew better than that. Mostly because I didn’t feel like exploding or getting impaled like Junko. I was contemplating not voting but I didn’t know what would happen to me if I didn’t so I begrudgingly made my way back to my podium where the small levers were.

I looked at all of the names in front of me. I couldn’t bring myself to vote for…Mondo. I considered who else to vote for but I couldn’t with good conscience pick anyone. Then I looked at my name. Before I could think, I yanked my lever down and immediately sprinted back over to Mondo. 

Once I made it back to him, I snuck a glance at his levers.

He v-voted for h-himself!

My hand instinctively reached for his and squeezed it tightly. As much as I hated any form of… P.D.A…especially in a school setting…I needed some form of comfort. He looked over at me for a second but quickly looked away.

The slot machine used to show the person with the most votes lit up, signifying that everyone had voted. I shut my eyes, not wanting to see the verdict.

I heard the sound of coins falling and celebratory music, showing that the class had voted for the guilty person. Even though I knew the answer, I opened my eyes and saw three tiny pictures of Mondo on the machine’s screen. Below it, the word ‘guilty' flashed in red.

I involuntarily let out a loud sob and looked over at Mondo. He was still staring at the ground like before.

“Uh-oh…This time it looks like…you got it right again! Yes, it is so. The blackened that killed Chihiro Fujisaki was…Mondo Owaaadaaaa!” Monokuma sang out cheerfully. “In case you’re wondering, the vote was NOT unanimous. Kiyotaka chose the wrooong answer! You’re treading very close to the danger zone, Mr. Ishimaru! You need to be more careful!”

I felt everyone’s eyes on us. Us. The murderer and the psycho who was too stupid to believe his kyoudai would commit such a crime.

My hand released its grip from Mondo’s. “I-I refuse to believe it. There’s no way…no way he would kill someone!”

“Sorry…”

Is that all he had to say!?

My sadness now had a newly found anger with it. I swiftly turned around and yanked Mondo forward by grabbing onto his beloved jacket. I put my face close to his and began yelling.

“Wh-Why are you apologizing!? Why!? Why why why why why!? WHYYY!? Wh…why? Why did you do it!?”

My words left him speechless.

“Well, it looks like Mondo’s taken a vow of silence, so allow me to explain on his behalf. The story of murder this time…is the sad story of two men...” Monokuma told the class a story about Chihiro’s past, explaining his secret. “And the person he went to…”

“It was me,” Mondo softly let out, almost as a whisper.

“Yup, it sure was! The biker gang fella had been painfully clear about how important his manly promises were. So Chihiro probably figured that even if he confided in Mondo, his honor would make him keep the secret.”

The group was now talking about how Mondo kept the promise he made to Chihiro, and how he tried to hide Chihiro’s real gender. I couldn’t comprehend any of this anymore. The whole thing didn’t make any sense.

“Then…Mondo did all that to keep the promise he’d made to Chihiro…who he’s also killed?” Makoto was also trying to wrap his head around this concept.

“Why…would he…do that? The more I hear you talk, the more I don’t understand!” I turned to Mondo. “I mean, you guys trusted each other, right!? So why? Why did you…?” I needed to hear the real reason come from his own mouth.

“Because…no matter what, I didn’t want anyone to know…” I felt myself physically lean back a bit. 

He k-killed Chihiro over one little secret?

“So that’s what triggered it, after all. The possibility of having your embarrassing memories and secrets exposed,” Kyoko looked somewhat disappointed but at the same time…understanding?

“Th-That’s impossible! Nothing could have been that bad! Something he didn’t want anyone to know, even if it meant killing someone? It’s impossible!” My secret was pretty bad, but to kill someone over it? I couldn’t even dream of doing something like that.

“How many times must I repeat myself? To judge others by your own standard is the height of folly. Even if you can’t comprehend it, he obviously can. That’s all there is to it.” For some reason, Byakuya kept getting defensive over that but I just ignored it. I didn’t care what he thought, I was too busy worrying about…other things.

“Well, while we’re on the subject, why don’t I tell you? That embarrassing memory…That secret he didn’t want anyone to know. You know what Mondo did? He killed his own brother!”

Mondo’s eyes fill back up with tears. I reclasped my hand with his to try to give him comfort. He squeezed it until it felt like he was going to break it, as Monokuma now told Mondo’s story. The story about how Mondo accidentally caused his brother Daiya’s death…

“N-No matter what…I couldn’t let the other gang members find out. If that happened, everything would have been ruined…Everything me and my brother had worked to create…woulda been destroyed…His death…all the guilt I’d been carrying around…it all woulda been for nothing. So that’s why…That’s why I…I…!” I had never seen Mondo act this way before. It felt like someone was ripping my heart out. I hated seeing him like this more than anything.

“Mondo…” Makoto tried comforting him. I tried ignoring the tinge of jealousy I felt.

“After I saw what Monokuma had on me, my head filled up with a kind of fuzzy uneasiness, and just started swirlin’ around. I’d never felt anything like it before. I…I didn’t know what to do about it. I wasn’t sure what to think or say. But after a while, that fuzzy uneasiness…turned itself into a rock-hard lump of anxiety, way down in my stomach! And it was right around then that Chihiro asked me to start working out with him. And right there, I… He told me a secret. His words were like a knife in my gut. I felt like he was exposing the lie I’d been living myself. I was…jealous. I was jealous of Chihiro’s strength. He had the strength to face his own weakness, to try and overcome it! It was the kind of strength I’ve never had…So I was jealous of him. And that jealousy…broke me. I felt like I could hear something starting to…creak. Something…inside my head. I don’t remember anything after that. When I woke up again, he was laying at my feet…covered in blood. I had the dumbbell in my hand…and I was just staring at him…down on the ground…”

He was violently shaking now, sobbing the words out. “H-Hey…” I reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. He buried his face into my shoulder. I rubbed circles into his back trying to calm him down. I leaned my head against his and let my tears dampen his hair.

“I…killed him. I killed Chihiro. Even after all this time, I’m still just as weak as I’ve always been! And thanks to that, I did something I can never take back!”

Monokuma began laughing. “Look at him! You see? You’re all just like him! For a secret from the past, for a memory. For that, he killed another living human in cold blood! He couldn’t cut free of his regrets from the outside world. He doesn’t know what true strength is. Do you see hope anywhere in there!? Cuz I sure don’t!”

I felt myself lose control of my emotions. Hearing him say such hateful things about my kyoudai made me snap. I couldn’t stand that…that…STUPID FUCKING BEAR!

“You…bastard! Just shut up, you son of a bitch! Go ahead, say that again, I dare you!” 

Everyone stared at me with shock. I had even shocked myself. I never swear. I didn’t know what came over me.

I felt Mondo pull away from me. He looked at me with heartbroken eyes.

“Okay! I’ll say it as many times as I want!...is what I want to say, but unfortunately, I can’t do that right now! Because the time for punishing is fast approaching!”

It felt like I had gotten punched in the gut.

“You mean…execution!?” I held onto Mondo for dear life. I couldn’t let that monster take him away from me.

“That’s what I promised you, right? The blackened that disturbs the peace will be punished.”

“H-Hold on!” I shuffled towards Monokuma’s chair.

“Now then, I’ve prepared a very special punishment for Mondo Owada, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader!” The bear began dancing around, grabbing his gavel.

“N-No, wait! Wait! Don’t do this! Take me instead!” I was screaming like a madman.

“Let’s give it everything we’ve got! It’s…PUNISHMENT TIIIME!” Monokuma began slowly raising his miniature hammer, adding what he must have thought was dramatic ‘suspense’. 

I lunged forward slamming my hands on the armrest of the chair. “I! Said! WAAAAAIIIITT!!!”

Through my screams, I could hear Mondo say his…final words. Words that I will never forget, no matter how long I live. Words that will forever haunt my dreams…

“Sorry, man. I couldn’t keep the promise we made…from one man to another…”

~~~~~~

Word Count: 4,776

~~~~~~

Introduction

Chapter 2>>>

[shadowwing15]

Hello I hope you are still doing requests and if you dont mind but if you can write for iida with a S/O with alot perieces(hope I spelt that right). But if you can't I understand and thank you if you do am a big fan of your work. Have a nice day if you read this.

Tenya Iida x Reader with piercings

Authors note : Hello Hello. I didn't thought that i would say this, but damn it is hard to write, when to stand shortly before your graduation. So I am really sorry that it took me so long, but well here it is now. Also i kind of didn't put the reader as his S/O, since i didn't really had an idea for this. But i still hope you like it.

~ Shadow

Summary: When you arrive at UA with a lot of piercings, you give your class representative nearly an heart attack.

Warnings: none, besides piercings

Tenya was shocked to say the least when you entered the classroom for the first time

nearly everywhere on your body were piercings and this was definitely against the school rules

You didn't even had a chance to sit down, before he walked up to you and told you that you "could not wear these piercings to School"

You on the other hand were just staring at him, not really knowing how to react to it

No one had ever told you before, to not wear your piercings at school, especially not someone you didn't even know

After the blue haired boy finished his speech, telling you to not wear them again near him, you just nodded and went to your seat

soon after a girl with short purple like hair entered the room and sat down besides you

she introduced herself as Jiro and complimented you on your piercings

you thanked her and you two started to talk more often

soon a friendship between the two of you was formed

with Tenya you didn't had much to do for quit some time

You first started to really talk after you and him got paired up for a presentation

Tenya was hesitant to work with you, thinking that you would just sit around and let him do all the work

He was more than surprised when you showed up that same evening, knocking on his dorm door, asking if he would like to already start on the presentation

he nodded and let you into his room where you sat down on his bed

You presented him a list with different parts and topics of your subject, asking him wich ones he would like to do

He slowly reached for the list, took it from you and looked at it

You had parted the subject into four smaller ones, each one having some small explanations under it

He looked at you again and just now realised your missing piercings, while you looked at your hands

Feeling his eyes on yours you looked up at him, to see him looking at you with a quizzed shine in his eyes

"Is everything alright Iida-kun ?"

Still in a trance he asked bluntly

"Where are your piercings?"

You where caught off guard by his question, but simply answered

"You didn't like them so I took them out before I came here."

To that Tenya just nodded and finally decided on two of the topics

Over the next week you two worked at your topics and met up every second day to work on the Handout and tge presentation

Tenya watched you throughout this time, realizing that you wore your piercings to class, but never when you just were with him

He didn't exactly know why, but it made him feel sad

He got to know you a lot better and saw you as his friend, a very good friend at that

So the next time you planned to meet up, Tenya came yo your room far too soon

When you opened the door, you quickly apologized, stating that you still had to take out your piercings, but he stopped you

It surprised you, but Tenya himself just started to apologize

"I am very sorry for I have treated you at the beginning of this school year. I don't hate your piercings, so please do no longer take them you while you are around me."

He then bowed to you, wich placed a smile on your face

Of course, you accepted his apology, and you both left for the library, you joking about how he also should get a piercing

And him just moving his arms like a windmill, embarrassed at the idea, while a great relationship started to bloom between the two of

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Monsters - Chapter Ten

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

The small team is presented with a new kind of problem, and Leona investigates Riley's strange behavior.

Hello!

I don't have a specific Trigger Warning for today's chapter! But again, I'll probably have some in the next one! :D

Have fun!

I.M.L. - Infected mammalian lifeform. I.H.L. - An infected humanoid lifeform.

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Ten

..........................................

Under my eyelids, the whole body of the soldier lying on his hospital bed becomes a map interwoven with a complex network of blood vessels, and I search for injuries, so that when I reach to the broken ribs and bruised internal organs, I can help the tissues heal with a very nice little push of my energy. Ever since our little team got back, I've been working on patching up the surviving soldiers, while Riley disappeared along with MacTavish, who already looked a thousand times better, to alert their other two companions, because they had to hear the crap we went through, after which our little team returned crippled, beaten and reduced in numbers. Riley didn't have to say a word for me to begin acting on my benevolent role and escorting their wounded mortal comrades to the infirmary. Of course, I don't do this out of the goodness of my heart, but mostly because I suspect that Price would certainly not be happy if I would let these poor bastards meet their maker, just because I don't feel like straining my pretty little body with so many tasks in one night. Another more pressing reason is that while I fix the physical integrity of these guys, I still have time to reflect on what happened.

And the more I run through the whole series of events in my head, which destroyed the entire bombproof plan in the blink of an eye, the more I'm sure that it wasn't the virus that got to a magical evolutionary peak and helped to give birth to a completely new kind of humanoid mutant. Even if the development of the pathogen had been accelerated, it wouldn't take just a year and a half to go from a brainless idiot to a beast carrying out organized attacks and capable of planning tricks. And this explanation just stirs up more questions in my skull, because even though I worked in the field and studied the behavior of these assholes for years, I can't think of anything that could have caused this. Provided that someone didn't interfere with the order of nature intentionally. But who would be so idiotic to pronounce the death sentence on humanity with this? And although I know that people can be mean, evil, and most of all stupid, but not to this extent. No one can be this suicidal, because the fear of death and terror is a much greater motivational force to not delve into such dangerous games. Of course, if the chance of something happening is not zero, that will never be a factor that can be ruled out.

When the last broken bone has mended together and all the damaged organs have regenerated, I just silently step back from the man resting on the bed, who looks up at me and mutters a quite "thank you", but my brain is too far gone for that. Without any further comment, I head towards the door of the infirmary, so that I can finally go to the place where I can release the many hypotheses swirling in my head and discuss with those who, along with me, have experienced what kind of new hell can be unleashed on the world.  Because the fact that these bastards behave intelligently and are able to corner S-Class Hunters is more than worrisome. We've been lucky so far because these monsters have also learned that if they don't stray too close to the colonies, they can get away without the Hunters making mittens out of their flayed skin. Of course, this is also a fragile balance, where random attacks still could happen starting from the yellow zone, but it’s a system that has been operating for fifty years, and is mainly held together by the Holy Spirit. And although Hunters are always born, and there are a few idiots every year who join liquidation units as soldiers, still, the number of our defense and that of mutants is not even, to say the least. Moreover, in light of the new developments concerning humans, we have theorized that within a few years, we will be more and more outnumbered by the infected lifeforms. But this… this puts this very friendly prediction into a new perspective.

My hasty steps thump loudly in the empty silence of the base, and I find it surprising that the commotion caused by our arrival didn't attract more attention from the busy little soldiers living here. Although I suspect that at this moment, the most advantageous thing to do is to remain quiet, since creating fear with insufficient information would be the stupidest thing we could do right now. Even if, with the available data, the subsequent events won’t be much better. And the sinister foreboding, fighting with sharp claws in my mind, keeps telling me that this little trifle is the result of some huge blunder, the consequence of which we will nobly bear now. And I secretly hope that Laswell and her omnipresent hand will make sure that the thousands of questions arising in me will be answered. Although I know that this is mostly a futile dream, because that is exactly why she sent us there, only to return with even more unclear circumstances and question marks.

I make my way to Price's office in the heart of the base as quickly as I have never done before, and I suspect that restlessness and the desire for knowledge make my steps so damn springy after the stress and adventures of the last few hours. And I could even muse about the fact, that it's quite irrational of me to be so interested in the new risk threatening the colonies, and I could even argue that in order to keep my peace, as a simple Healer, it's not my concern to worry about this. But rationality has always been stronger in me, and it alerts me that there is no corner of the world where I can escape to, if what we've experienced today develops into a worldwide problem. And this has the potential of becoming one. In any case, my renewed selfless soul wouldn't let its new little squad down. No matter how much the latest incidents promise new complications in addition to my life which is already full of excitement.

As soon as the door to Price's den appears in front of me at the end of the familiar corridor, I see the restless movement of several shadows in the light filtering under the doorstep, and it's clear from the muffled muttering, that they are just as excited by the thrills we encountered during the mission as I am. And as I get closer, I catch the worried grumble of the captain, as he surely tries to get more information from the two Hunters with enthusiastic questioning, and despite the fact that I can't see through the walls, I can still imagine the serious expression on the man's face. That's why I don't hesitate any longer, but after a soft knock as a courtesy, without waiting for an answer, I reveal the entrance to the office, only to be met almost immediately by five pairs of rather grim eyes, that settle on my approaching figure at the same time. And after I survey the people gathered in the dim room, my gaze almost instinctively finds MacTavish, who is resting in his chair next to the table, now wearing civilian clothes instead of his earlier tattered ones. There is now a significantly more human color to his face, even though his features are now dominated by an unusual sullenness, which softens just a shade when he turns his attention to me. The edge of his stubble-framed mouth moves upwards into a faint curve, and it almost physically hurts to see the gloom that settles over his entire being. And I can assess it quite well that this is for the failed campaign and our diminished team.

"Woods!" Price addresses me, when he snaps out of the surprise caused by my arrival, and as he scans over me quickly, a small smile appears on his face. "I'm glad you're in one piece." He adds, and the fact doesn't escape my attention that, regardless of his delight, he lingers on my rather battered person for a few long seconds, and it feels good for the hidden little corner of my soul as I catch the sparks of concern glimmering in those sky blue eyes. I almost find this paternal worry to be sweet, but now is not the time for this in the least, no matter how much my brain wants to go off on disgustingly sentimental tangents.

"Yeah, I almost ended up in several." I note rather darkly, and I also cruise over to the table with just a few quick steps, and driven by the bubbling tension under my skin, I don't even notice that for some reason I automatically arrive at Riley's side, who just silently turns his head towards at me as I appear next to him. Our gaze only meets for a fleeting moment, but that's enough for me to observe that in some magical way, he lacks the distance that has been a constant guest in those chocolate eyes. And this would even make my morbid little heart skip a beat with the honor, if his pious behavior didn't arouse suspicion in me, in light of how enthusiastically I disregarded his orders earlier.

"Ghost and Soap gave a broad outline of what happened." Laswell also joins the conversation, who seems to have been so interested in the outcome of the excitement she brought here that she stayed here to wait for the news. And from the line of her thinly pressed lips, it's clear that she the story she got was far off from what she wanted to hear. And the evil little voices in my brain warn me to watch every reaction of the woman carefully, because if my assumption is correct and this whole mess is the work of humans, then our informant was either honestly unsuspecting, or she's hiding it damn well that she was aware of the hornet's nest she was sending us into. And although I would like to believe that she was barking up the wrong tree as much as we did, it crosses my mind once again that what cannot be completely ruled out is still a potential possibility.

"We've had our fair share of excitement." I draw my mouth into a rather cynical smile, and I don't try to hide the sarcastic edge in my voice, because it wouldn't make any sense. I suspect that my mood is shared by Riley and his Scottish friend, whose dark eyebrows seem unable to separate from each other, because they hold the gloomy expression with unbroken enthusiasm that, according to my intuition, has been on his face since he regained consciousness. "Fortunately, you won't miss out on the experience either." I announce pointedly, and as I reach for the camera resting on my vest, suddenly all eyes are focuses on the gadget with intense curiosity, which my skillful fingers peel from the cavalcade of the many pockets with ease. And when the device is finally off of me, my free hand automatically searches for my communicator from my side pocket to prepare for the early morning movie screening. They're in for a real treat.

"How much did you manage to record?" Price turns to me again, and when the wry smile sitting on my lips softens into a single motionless line, he unspokenly understands the sheer ominous graveness emanating from my expression. And since he can guess that my sourness is not for our impromptu late-night slumber party, I know from the deep, troubled wrinkles appearing on his forehead that he understands how horrible the recording can be, which I have collected in such an artistic manner.

"Just enough." I state succinctly, and I don't even need to add more to the introduction of the documented material, because it perfectly sums up my feelings. Pulling out the connector on the side of the communicator, I insert it into the input of the camera, and everyone watches tensely as I conjure up the video with a few button presses, the existence of which may have been forgotten by everyone until I entered, but fortunately, my memory spins sharper than ever from the stress that still lingers in me.

And when the barren road marking the edge of the combat zone appears, looming with blue light, I place the gadget in the middle of the table and flick on the frozen image of the hologram to begin the presentation of the bedtime story. The first few minutes pass with almost disturbing uneventfulness, as our small team confidently moves forward towards the heart of the city that houses only rotting remains. But my attention doesn't waver, and my frustrated brain, demanding answers, focuses more intently than ever before, circling every square millimeter of the footage that is presented to me. Because now that it's finally not preoccupied with the rescuing of my fellow Scotsman, and not the horror of the mission turned into chaos dominates my mind, I have the free brainpower to wonder how long they could have been watching us. They outwitted the expertly hidden traps with such vileness and attacked our group in such close coordination, that it’s almost impossible that this was all just a random phenomenon committed out of an impulse. No. These bastards have been monitoring us from the very beginning.

The video cuts to our parting at the observation point, and even though I suddenly see only the uniforms of the two Hunters and all the equipment lined up on them, it still flashes in my mind with what high hopes and confidence MacTavish reassured me that this whole operation couldn't end badly.  How sad that after I continue to stroll to the overpass and take my place, we can admire up close how fast everything went awry. The room watches with tense concentration as the events take place in quick succession, and I still can't find anything wrong with the way the little soldiers skillfully set the traps intended for surprise with nimble movements. But, when the noise of the sound alarm slowly filters through the video with a muffled screech, the first unmistakable wrinkles of confusion and astonishment soon appear on everyone. Because the human-like creatures emerge, and even though they are much smaller than how I saw them through my binoculars due to the distance, I still manage to follow them perfectly as they throw themselves into the line of sensors first with jerky movements and then with frantic haste. That's when the first startled voice breaks out from Garrick, who watches with growing bewilderment as the mouth of the nest slowly begins to pour out hordes of mutants like an unstoppable flood. The pale moving flashes of the hologram are reflected in his dark eyes with a ghostly light, and this only emphasizes the disbelief that is held there even more.

And since I know that the best is yet to come, I direct my focus to the corner of the footage, because the star of the evening will make its impressive entrance within minutes, and I'm not willing to miss a single second of it. For an uncertain moment, it seems as if the smudge on the roof of the ruined building is just a speck of dust floating in the air, but I know that it is that dirtbag. Even I acknowledge this deformed lowlife, because it sneaks out of the ruins with such masterful invisibility that I still only notice its appearance a few fleeting seconds earlier than I did hours ago. And the possibility arises in my mind that maybe it could have avoided the position of the soldiers operating on the ground from another underpass, because there wasn't only one subway stop like that in a city. If these scumbags inhabited the entire subway network, they could have emerged from anywhere that hadn't yet degraded into a crumbling pile of garbage. And this means that we had no chance to surround them from the beginning, because they could have thrown themselves at us from literally anywhere.

Although the video doesn't fully reflect the reality, the mutant and its rider offer at least an unnatural sight as they did in real life, as they stop at the edge of the building and with noble simplicity direct their little buddies who are lying in wait towards MacTavish's team. And now that I have time to analyze the whole interaction more soberly, I notice how the I.H.L.s standing by on the ground look up to their leader with devoted attention, and they move as a team when, they carry out the silent order with almost blind obedience, as if they had been secretly practicing this for some time in their dirty little home. Which still doesn't sound much less unlikely.

"What the hell is going on?" The confused question breaks out from Garrick, and one of his fingers is points at the humanoid monster climbing down on the building, who starts its calm little walk towards the battlefield with such grace and pride, as if it had just gone on a peaceful evening sightseeing. I perfectly understand the Hunter's surprise, because even for the second time I can't find an explanation for the whole surreal event. And this only awakens impatient frustration in my mind, because instead of observing new details, I only find more incomprehensible puzzles.

"What is that?" Laswell fixes her bright eyes on me, and as I divert my searching gaze from the recording for a moment, I carefully study the expression hiding on her face. The troubled fine wrinkles that run between her eyebrows emerging from under her hair look sincere, and the concerned sparks that appear in her eyes don't seem to be the result of contrived acting. Although I have no illusions that this woman can play with her facial expressions as effectively as she can retrieve anything that comes out of our little mouth when needed, but I'm also well-versed in studying others to know when someone is trying to trick me. And now she urges me to answer with the genuine astonishment of the first shock. Based on this, she was kept in the dark at least as effectively as we were. In other words, there is still a corner of this world where the influence of the woman, unfortunately, doesn't reach, and this leads directly to the not-insignificant fact that if there is a human hand in this, then it will belong to one of the highly prestigious members of the higher authority.

"An I.H.L." I finally give the curt answer, and despite the fact that I don't indulge in further explanations, she still understands how terrible news this means for us. Because she snaps her head back to the unfathomable chaos unfolding on the recording with such speed that it makes even me dizzy.

The tension is palpable in the silence that slowly fills every corner of the office, and nothing else echoes from the white walls than my panting and pounding footsteps, which are filtered through the video, as I wander the deserted streets in search of MacTavish. And although the camera shakes wildly as it tosses and turns in the middle of my rush, it's still possible to follow my path perfectly to the location of the Hunter with the mohawk. And when I finally arrive, from the wall of the building that serves as my hiding place, only a part of the view that greeted me upon my arrival can be seen, but it's enough for me to catch on my periphery, how the Scotsman's fists are clenched with painful force in his lap, as a blood-soaked hand appears in the tumult of many feasting monsters. There's no doubt that he blames himself for his team's unfortunate end, and I'd love to give him a little of my selfishness to ease the paralyzing pain and disappointment in his eyes. Because even though I know that he isn't an innocent sheep either, he doesn't deserve to fall into despair like this because he couldn't avoid the slap that this unfortunate situation gave him.

The time comes for my dramatic entrance, and the sight of the mangled bodies of dead mutants on the ground still fills me with morbid joy. But I don't have to wait long, because soon a completely new excitement occupies my attention, because the mutant-riding scum appears again in the alley, preparing to attack. Riley's body imperceptibly tenses up from the sight, and I only take a furtive glance at him. Every cell of him radiates pure rage, and I haven't been able to catch this reaction yet, even though I've tried quite enthusiastically to rile him up previously. His fingers, which are still covered in blood-soaked gloves, are squeezed around the thick table top, and when the large piece of furniture creaks from the fury directed at it, for a moment it feels as if he would want to tear the furnishing apart with his bare hands. And I have a suspicion, that although the helpless anger felt due to the injury of his comrade and the failure of the mission may also contribute to his sore mood, my keen little senses tell me that something else is going on here. Because it's only when he catches my searching gaze, that he manages to steer himself back into his usual cold indifference with great difficulty. My eyes just narrow cautiously as, unusually for him, instead of any kind of unfriendly remark he turns his attention back to the video, where he has now also made his brilliant appearance and sets off on the way back, hauling MacTavish on his shoulders. And from this strange reaction, I quite understandably come to the conclusion, that something is very fucking wrong with him.

As soon as the recorded material ends, the footage shown on the hologram freezes again, leaving behind nothing but confusion, anger, and sinister silence. It's no wonder, because countless things happened in this video that no one could have foreseen, not even in their wildest dreams. The mission, which started as a simple nest extermination, concluded in such an ugly massacre that ended with the death of a dozen soldiers, after which we returned home with their few survived, but tormented companions, without answers. And this will be a hard pill to swallow for everyone. Including me.

"What the hell was that?" Garrick finally speaks after digesting what he has seen for few tense moments, and his voice is filled with the same anxious temper that slowly appears in definite outlines on the faces of his captain and Laswell as well. And his look says that he wants to ask a thousand more questions, but after the information he received, which is shocking, to say the least, he can only formulate this one sentence, because suddenly he isn’t capable of doing more.

"I don't know, but it sure wasn't normal." I state immediately, and at this point, my brain feverishly begins to organize the data so that I can present all my grim observations and assumptions to the small team that have formed in me so far. And there are quite a few of them. "They carried out an organized attack. They bypassed the traps and followed orders. And that bastard used a specific strategy and a weapon." I summarize the essence briefly, emphasizing each word, and although I could list a whole bunch of other smart observations, it wouldn't change the fact that this damned monster surprised us all with something completely new.

"But how?" Garrick asks his next anxious question, and his mouth is pressed into an angry line that rarely surfaces on the man's face. A thick vein appears on his neck as his entire being begins to radiate wild waves of irritation, and it seems as if he's considering to reach through the footage and grab that infected piece of trash to end its little fun with his own two hands.

"I have no idea." I finally answer, and with a tired sigh I straighten up, browsing through all the knowledge I've acquired over the years to put together everything that started this whole sinister train of thought in me. "The virus also attacks the structures of the brain that enable a person to see cause-and-effect relationships and consequences, logical thinking ceases completely. The instinctual level remains, because this is beneficial to the virus. It drives the host to spread it and survive. An infected person is unable to follow orders because they cannot interpret verbal or advanced non-verbal communication codes." I explain, and the vast amount of research data that I have been lucky enough to come across over the years flashes before my mind's eye, based on which the leader of the small mutant team is such an incomprehensible and no less dangerous enigma, the solution to which must be found as soon as possible, if we want to enjoy our approximately peaceful life in the future. Because I'm sure that if there is one such individual, there are more, and it's only a matter of time before they decide to play soldier and attack the first colony that gets in their way.

"But they still followed I.H.L.'s." MacTavish breaks his silence for the first time, and the annoyed lines on his forehead deepen as he articulates his observation, and they continue to hold their position on the Hunter's face with almost inexorable stubbornness.

"That's exactly the problem." I confirm the essence perfectly captured by the man, because this is exactly what further complicates the already tangled events. "That I.H.L. showed intelligent behavior that contradicts everything we know so far. It took the I.M.L.s ten years to gather into hordes, and it took the infected humans only a year and a half to get further?" I formulate the problem that has been maturing in the depths of my brain since I first had the opportunity to look back a little and understand what I witnessed. And my suggestion seems to set off a spark of suspicion in the other members of the small group as well, because the anger on their faces softens and a completely new kind of gloom takes its place when they understand what I want to imply.

"It doesn't seem very likely." The captain agrees, directing his eyes back to me, and with this, he puts into words the uncertainity that is slowly but surely digging its sharp little claws into everyone's head. And I know that even without my little scientific lecture, they've seen enough mutants to realize that there's very little chance that there's just Mother Nature's graceful hand in this whole fucking upheaval.

"Because it's not."  I affirm their unspoken doubt, and with that, the dilemma is also put on the table, which has been settling on my consciousness like an oppressive ghost for some time, to further feed the frustration raging inside me. "The virus is still the same as it was fifty years ago. It has undergone a slight mutation, but the infection itself is the same. The same way of spreading, the same course, the same effect." I list the facts, pointing my index finger meaningfully at the still motionless recording emerging from the communicator. "This is not the work of nature here." I give the final push to my long-winded argument, thereby also cementing the friendly thought in them that this excitement is probably the gift to those who shove them from one dangerous action to another as their lapdogs.

"Are you sure? " Price asks, his deep voice ringing with a seriousness that leaves no room for any jokes or uncertainty. He also knows exactly that if this is true, then we are embarking on a complicated game that won't only be difficult to untangle, but also downright life-threatening, and not only because new kinds of monsters are lurking on us. Once someone starts pulling out the skeletons, there is a fear that the whole closet will topple over. If we go down this road, we may come across information that makes mutants not the only threat.

"Quite." I state firmly, and I keep the man's gaze unflinchingly, sending the message with every inch of me that I couldn't take my rather dangerous little accusations more seriously than this. And I know that they have enough experience with higher management to agree with me, as they have experienced firsthand what radical methods they are willing to resort to if the need calls for it.

"Woods is right. I've never seen anythin' like the bastard who tried to kill me." MacTavish joins in, thereby confirming the I.H.L.'s unusual nature. And I'm sure that in the couple of years he spent in the profession, he was lucky enough to meet enough monsters to know that our new little friend, who almost stabbed him to death, is a far cry from his usual playmates.

"We don't have enough information to know anything for sure." Price notes cautiously, and despite the tense edge appearing in his tone, he remains perfectly stern, as a true leader does. Although I know that he would rather break the neck of whoever is responsible for this whole fucking mess. "But it's certain that we got involved in the shit that someone else stirred." He adds, and smooths one of his large palms meaningfully on the top of his table, almost illustrating the pile of crap we stumbled upon. And I don’t doubt that everyone agrees with this observation, even if it's only indicated by a silent nod. Because it's more than shady that they send a private unit to an operation with such great urgency, which was selected precisely so that the small problem could be eliminated under the radar and with the greatest possible discretion. A government-run unit would also have been able to exterminate a nest, but since then there would have to be official reports, where the fact of our new mutant-rider friend would have appeared, and then the story would have been over.  And Shepherd didn't run this circle by chance. He's hiding something. And I'm really good at recognizing that, because I, myself, have done that for years myself.

"If this is the work of humans, then there is a trace left somewhere." Laswell joins in, who up until now had been shrouded in gloomy silence digesting the barrage of very steep assumptions and accusations that unfolded during the conversation. But it seems that now she too has found her determination again, and is springing into action with corresponding vehemence. "I'll look into it and let you know as soon as I find something. We have to get to the bottom of this." She states in a tone that excludes all doubts, and almost immediately gets to work as she reaches towards the camera to disconnect it from the communicator with a simple movement and puts it in the pocket of her vest. "Until then, stay alert. Nothing can get out of this." She issues her instructions for the last time, and then, when she receives a nod of agreement from Price, she rushes towards the door of the office and storms away with the same fervor with which she entered the base before our whole disastrous adventure. And I hope that this momentum will help her find something useful, because I have an intuition that we cannot sit on this topic for long, because it will soon escalate into such bloody consequences that could easily cost millions of lives. And although I didn't advance to sainthood either, my pretty ass is also included in these millions, and I specifically fear for my own safety.

"I think this much excitement will be enough for today."  A tired sigh leaves the captain's mouth, and he only strokes his bearded chin with his fingers, trying to pull himself together after the information-saturated discussion. For the first time, he seems really exhausted, and it occurs to me that he may have been awake all night waiting for us to return. "Go rest. Kate definitely won't be back for a while." He directs his words to our trio, who have just returned from the mission, and although I can feel the fatigue eating into my limbs, my brain is still as alert as if I had poured a bucket of coffee down my throat.

And as I look at MacTavish, I realize that I have to agree with the captain, because even if my still actively working brain is not interested in sleep, the Scotsman, despite my professional regeneration, would need to finally position himself horizontally. But what surprises me more is when Riley moves next to me with unexpected suddenness, and without any further comment, he strolls out of the office, as if he would have some desperately important business to attend to somewhere else. Although I could believe that the only reason he leaves this abruptly is because he is burning with the desire to check his surviving little soldiers, but since the beginning of the whole meeting he has been behaving so unusually that his hurries disappearance just deepens my suspicions even more. And I can't get rid of the thought that something is definitely not right with him.

But I can't dwell on this any further, because I feel a warm palm on me, whose strong fingers gently squeeze my shoulder, directing my attention from the doorstep back to the interior of the room. A sincere smile spreads across MacTavish's face, and even though the light eyes are still filled with sadness, they look at me with such warmth that even my rough little heart immediately begins to pay attention.

"Thank you for comin' for me." The man says, and his heavily accented voice is mixed with genuine thankfulness, and I have no doubt that he means it, because gratitude flows from his every fiber, which makes my dark little soul sensitive for no reason. I don't want to share with him what motivation the image of his bloody death in my head and later the sight of his mangled body gave me, because I'm afraid that I would reveal too much about how close he and his small team came to my heart. My pride still doesn't allow me to be emotional, but it's still nice to see him alive and together. Mainly because I'd hate it if my two-person cheerleading squad was down to one.

"Don't forget about your gratitude when it comes to my training." I utter with a rather cheeky undertone, and I let that faint, but no less superior, small smile appear on my face, to finally divert my attention from the memories of the Hunter's injuries, because I can almost feel the wet touch of the warm blood under my fingers even now. And I was never moved by either blood or violence, but the fact that something terrible happened to someone I'd rather see alive is a completely different matter.

"I can't promise anythin'! " He grins as his big hand slips off my shoulder, and it seems that life has returned to him for a minute because of my teasing, since the troubled wrinkles on his forehead are reduced a little, and with this, he regains his healthy glow. And this suits him much better than the mournful misery that dominated his expression not long ago, because it also awakened compassion and pity in a disgusting way in me.

"You were good." Garrick chimes in, who finally seems to have recovered from his stunned silence, and an appreciative light flashes in his dark eyes, which only further feeds the idiotic warmth inside me, for which, despite all my objections and denials, I could kill to continue to feel. Therefore, to gather myself, I straighten up and stretch my tired limbs, like a cat that has woken up from its pleasant afternoon siesta. And I suddenly feel the desperate need to take a shower, because even if I won't be able to sleep because of the hundreds of thoughts raging in my head, my aching muscles still deserve the caress of hot water.

"I know." I reply lightly and without any modesty, but it occurs to me again that if the masked Hunter doesn't jump in so kindly to help, then I wouldn't be able to think about my relaxing bath right now. And this suddenly reawakens my restlessness caused by his behavior, and I don't even understand why I should be so interested in the fact that he acts even more rigidly than usual. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that, due to my observations that turned into a hobby, it became a habit to analyze him, and every new tidbit he shows appears to me as another puzzle waiting to be solved. And this is just a bone for my overworked brain to chew on. And at this point, I decide that maybe it's time to step down before I can weave this fucking cavalcade any longer. "That's why I'm leaving now. That's enough for one evening." I declare, and now I don't even try to hide the exhaustion in my voice, which is pulling at every fiber of my body like heavy weights. This gives me enough momentum, and guided by this, I set off with one last wave to my other three little friends, already standing under the warm stream of water in my imagination.

"Get some rest." Price calls out after me, and as I turn back and meet his gaze for a moment, I find the unspoken message in his eyes, which conveys to me that I should take advantage of the rest now, because I won't have the opportunity for this luxury, if Laswell returns with the intel. And I can fully agree with this intuition, so without any further comments I say goodbye to the small group with a curt nod, and then go on my way down the deserted corridor bathed in neon light.

And as I get farther and farther away from the captain's office with my sluggish steps, and the empty silence of the base engulfs me, my thoughts return to the events of the evening. And interestingly enough, now my nerves are not obsessing over the new mutant threat, but rather Riley appears in my brain once more, as he towers above me in the dark street, staring down at me with his wild eyes glowing in red. And I can still feel the uncontrollable power emanating from him, which awakened the tingling sensation in my stomach, that appears in some inexplicable way near him. I can't pinpoint what it is, but it keeps drawing my attention back to the man, as if his whole being would be a magnet that my mind can't resist. I could justify this by saying that the relationship between the two of us is far from peachy, and that is why I dedicate so much time to studying him, but a small voice in the hidden recesses of my subconscious tells me that there is more to it than that. And even if I bend and break, I can't articulate what this motivation is that pushes me towards him, apart from my pettiness and my morbid curiosity.

My boots echo with a muffled pounding on the walls of the lifeless base, and by now those who came to help our returning defeated group after our arrival have also disappeared. And I'm a little sorry that I can now make my way to my room alone, because that way there is nothing to distract me from my train of thought, which is quite irritatingly focuses on the masked Hunter. And as the road leading to my little room appears in front of me, I stop dead in my tracks for a second. Because to the left of me stretches the corridor, at the end of which Riley's door is located, with a dull light filtering under the threshold, which makes it clear that even though he was running away so enthusiastically earlier, he still couldn't rest. So I was right to guess that he didn't rush off in such a hurry because he was worried about his men, which begs the question of what could make the always stoic man act with such unusual urgency. Because normally, he would have long since started an enthusiastic discussion with Price or thrown himself into work, but now he was gone with a haste that is rarely seen. And when the rather recent memory of his fingers closing with terrible force around the top of Price's large desk flashes through my mind, my legs almost automatically change direction and carry me forward toward the man's door, even though I know it's probably an even dumber idea than playing a one-person rescue squad. Still, the desire to calm my uncertainty is stronger than the warning voices in my skull, and the doubt inside me gives me the impetus to gallop through the dark walls with unbroken determination.

And when I arrive at the door, without thinking, one of my hands goes up knocks softly. Unmoving silence greets me for a fleeting moment, and it occurs to me that I may have misjudged the situation, and perhaps the man really left earlier because of some urgent plan he couldn't postpone. But then the sound of heavy footsteps hits my sharp little ears, and a second later the entrance to the apartment opens before me. And I raise my eyebrows in confusion as I catch a glimpse of the pair of glowing crimson eyes fixed on me, and the man's previous strange behavior immediately makes sense. Because the fact flashes in my mind that since my arrival I've been lucky enough to recharge all of his little friends, except for him, thanks to which I can now enjoy every threatening wave of hot energy flowing from him. Although I know that S-class Hunters, and perhaps he even more so, are able to reserve their small stores for a long time, especially if they don't use their ability often, but this is a game that cannot be dragged on indefinitely. Tonight's party seems to have pushed him over the edge, in a direction that has the potential to turn him into a raging lunatic. And a fierce spark of rage awakens in me when I understand that he would rather drive himself to madness than let my evil little hands help him. Why else would he have dragged this shit until now?

"What are you doin’ here?" The legitimate question comes from him, and his deep voice sounds more hoarse than usual, as if he would have to force himself to pronounce this simple sentence calmly and humanely enough. And it's undoubtedly true, because he hasn't regenerated for two and a half months, and even professionals like him suffer from it. No matter how strong he is, it doesn't matter if he is capable of taking down an entire colony with his two hands, he cannot escape the curse of his kind, which sooner or later drives every Hunter close to a Healer. He is no exception to this, even if it hurts both of us to admit it.

"You look like shit." I remark simply, and although I’m able to suppress the anger that is growing in me, I cannot push the mockery out of my voice, which infuses my words like poison. I'd like to think we've gotten over this animosity, but I'm not naive, I know I'm not the favorite person of this tough guy, but he can't be so stupid as to put his little comrades' safety in jeopardy. And although I understand why he tries so vehemently to push me away, because I suspect that despite my saint-like behavior so far, he still very much remembers how our little relationship started, but now even I admit that in this situation we both need to get rid of our pride.

"Go back to your room." He cuts the conversation short, or at least tries to settle the matter quickly, but unfortunately he still can't deter me with his grumpiness, because he hasn't achieved any lasting change in my charming personality with this attitude so far either. For the second time tonight, it seems, the time has come when I must remind him that, although I have been somewhat tamed by the grace shown by his team, my self-esteem and determination are still stronger than his intimidating aura, which he tries to project at me with every cell of his being.

"I always forget how much better you think you are." I reply to him and, tilting my head to the side, I hold the stare of his vivid red eyes, which shine with such unnatural sharpness in the dull light escaping through the opening of the door, as if he weren't from this world, but rather some kind of demon released from hell. And I reluctantly have to admit to myself that instead of fear, a completely different kind of tingling wells up under my skin from his flaming gaze. "But maybe you could let go of your pride now. Unless, by the morning, you want someone else to be blamed for the reduced team besides the mutants." I suggest cynically, highlighting the simple but unpleasantly probable fact with deliberate cruelty, that his stubbornness doesn't protect anyone, especially not the members of the base's tight-knit family. With this whole tug-of-war, he risks snapping the last string of his sanity and slaughtering those whom he tried to protect until now with his own hands.

And it seems that my little comment hits its target, because even though I don't break off our stare-down duel even for a minute, I can see in my periphery how his fingers clench irritatedly around the door, and when the wood creaks under his hand with a low scream, then I take a brave but simple step closer, and he follows my movements with narrowed eyes. Even though I can't see him fully, I can still feel the burning heat of the angry force emanating from him, but that doesn't distract me from my goal. Because although I hide this deeply even from my rational self, it's not just my doubts about my safety that urge me to lend a helping hand. But also that unknown pull that draws my attention to him, as the light of a lamp lures the unsuspecting moth.

"It's amazing how tough you are. But you’re only screwing yourself over. And the others." I note, pressing the last few words significantly, highlighting the fact that not only his pride is at stake here, but also the lives of those he will crush when the blinds come down in front of his brain after he runs out of the energy. "Let me help you." I  plead with him, and the nasty edge that has been residing in my voice softens, trying to make it known that, for once, I only want to support him without any ulterior motives or malice. Which would be my job anyway, but in light of the fact that he saved my life, maybe I even owe him that much.

It seems that I might have succeeded in making him come around, because after a nerve-wracking second of silent hesitation, he steps back and opens the entrance to his room wider in front of me, offering me the way in. And I, without any wait, venture into the realm of his modest home, ignoring the smoldering gaze that follows me unceasingly, the heat of which almost burns my back, as I slowly invade the lonely silence of his quarters. And although I try with every fiber of my being to impose a nonchalant calm on myself, it's impossible to forget how the whole room is filled with the fiery temper that rolls off of him in steady wawes. Therefore, in order to reinforce my confident indifference, I scan through every little corner of the room with my curious eyes. It's only a fraction bigger than my humble abode, yet despite the neat order, it radiates a homeliness that makes me want to question whether the Hunter I know for his unfriendliness and coldness even lives here. And although the furniture is quite simple, I still discover one or two personal relics and some pictures taken with an old camera. In most of them, he is posing with his friends, but there is one photo that stands out from the rest, and even though I can only make out the blurred figures of a few people from this distance, I still capture an older woman, whose face, adorned with a warm smile, almost radiates something quite intimate, which only the close family members can show to each other. And I have to forcefully divert my searching gaze from there, because I know that I'm poking my nose into a corner of the man's life that I have nothing to do with in the slightest. Not even if the curiosity awakened in me eagerly demands to know who the relative he holds in such high esteem could be.

However, I can't survey the surroundings any longer, because I hear the thumping of his heavy boots as he approaches me, after the door closes with a soft click, and as he walks past me and heads towards the bed resting at the end of the room, I follow his path intently. He's still wearing his uniform stained with dark blood, but he's already gotten rid of the tactical gear, and for some reason, without the many supports and straps, the restrained aggression that dominates his body becomes even more noticeable, as he throws himself into the soft comfort of his bed with measured movements. And as soon as he has settled down, he focuses his expectant stare on me, which, despite the fact that his insides are probably torn apart by irritated impatience and pain, is still filled with indifference. And his ability to protect his image and self-respect, even when he certainly feels as good as washed out shit, is worthy of recognition.

And I don't waste my time, but amble closer cautiously so that I can join the man sprawled out on the bed with deceptive relaxation. He follows my every move with keen attention as I crouch down next to him, as if he would suspect that at any moment I will attempt something evil against him after allowing me into the intimate recesses of his quarters. And although the idea of getting into someone's personal space and later using the knowledge gained in this way against them is not completely foreign to me, this is not what drives me now. The dark bedding rustles and crumples under me as I turn towards him and hold out one of my pretty little hands so that we can finally get down to what the ugly little voice in my subconscious brought me here for. His crimson eyes settle on my hand with suspicion, as if it alone could commit unimaginable horrors. Which in itself is a flawless truth, but it's also true for him, and I'm guessing that his hands have seen a lot more violence than mine, and unfortunately, because of that, none of us are innocent enough for this charade.

"I'm going to need skin contact, Riley." I inform him with my tone spiced with a drop of sarcasm, because I doubt that he is not aware that he will have to allow my ugly little hands to touch him in order to recharge him. Even if I can understand how this fact fills him with resentment, unfortunately now he will be forced to let me get close so that I can do my job.

He casts one last unfriendly look at me, then quickly frees himself from one of his gloves, and a strong hand appears from under the textile decorated with a skeleton pattern, with dark veins stretching under the unnaturally pale skin, through which the traces of the many scars left from the past run with faint lines, only silently testifying to the excitements in which he undoubtedly took a part in. He reluctantly offers me his hand, and my fingers firmly wrap around his large palm almost immediately, and I'm surprised for a moment by the burning heat emanating from it, which slowly creeps along my skin following his touch. And this small interaction is enough for me to gauge how close he has strayed to his limits even without the help of my ability, and it gives me enough motivation to close my eyes and begin the regeneration, before I can dwell on how surprisingly pleasant his long fingers tightening around mine feel.

When my energy carefully stretches out towards him, I get lightheaded for a minute from the demanding, aggressive pull, with which the power raging in the man clings to me almost instantly, like a starving wild animal that has finally found a tasty morsel. And I have to concentrate more than I would normally to not give in to this violent pull, because an SSS-class big boy is able to suck all the energy out of me in a careless moment, before I even have a chance to recover from the attack. The complicated system of blood vessels running through the Hunter's body is revealed in my mind's eye, and only a few areas peppered with dark spots show that he didn't get through the night without minor injuries and bruises. Although he is undoubtedly a human killing machine in terms of his abilities, today's events caught him by surprise, and I can guess that he got these passing bruises when he was trying to protect his men from the monsters that was attacking them. And with that, the mission filled with pointless death appears in mind for the hundredth time since our arrival, which I don't think I'll be able to get past any time soon. It would be foolish to forget this whole parade, because it delighted me with new experiences, the fruits of which we will soon reap if we don't get more information. But the little conversation I had with Riley before rescuing our Scottish friend comes to my mind, perhaps with even more enthusiasm. Although he now sits next to me with an almost eerie immobility, and lets my cunning little gift soften the furious flames of the power that simmers in him in slow waves, I can't get over the fact that he hasn't yet punished me for my disobedience. I don't feel any particular desire to remind him of my reckless opposition, but I'm still curious to see how he will retaliate for my little rebellion.

I break out of my concentration for a moment, and I raise my searching gaze to his face again, only to meet his closed eyes emerging from under the mask. And I take advantage of this stolen moment to observe his features as closely as I haven't had the chance to before. In the yellow light of the lamp on the bedside table, his eyelashes look golden, and they cast shadows on the skin covered with blurred dark paint as they flutter when the cooling waves of my energy wash through his body. The sharp line of his nose can be seen under the black fabric, and as I peer down and recognize the shape of his lips parting in relief, I feel the burning tremble that has appeared with disturbing frequency around him lately. But I can't tear myself away from him, because my eyes slide on his chin, then on his textile-covered neck, and when his Adam's apple moves, when he swallows after a barely audible sigh, my mouth dries up with maddening speed. I feel like it's time to finally occupy my mind which drifted on a dangerous path, before the warmth in the pit of my stomach has time to get cheeky. Because I don't understand at all what is happening to me, and it annoys me more than anything that I feel the control of my brain slipping out of my hands.

"You won’t punish me?" The question that occupies my mind breaks out of me, because although I'm not afraid that he will snap my neck because of this, I can rightly assume that he will honor my little indulgence with some kind of retribution. Of course, this may seem like an almost masochistic move on my part, but it's still a safer and more predictable area than the series of thoughts buzzing in my head caused by just observing his face hidden under the mask.

His eyelids open slowly, as if I had just disturbed him from his peaceful slumber, and when his usual brown eyes are focused on me again, the lazy sparks dancing in them almost take my breath away. It seems as if heavy weights have been lifted from him, and as the tension ready to jump disappears from his muscles, and his body relaxes, his aura becomes quite human. As if sitting next to me wasn't the fearless, grim, and always terrifying Hunter, but the man who calls MacTavish Johnny, who sometimes disappears into Price's office and reappears with the scent of whiskey and tobacco smoke trailing after him, and who responds with a low snort to one of Garrick's lame jokes. He almost becomes a different person, and this makes me wonder why he allows me, exactly ME, to see this side of him. I doubt he is aware of how carefully I have observed him so far, but he certainly knows the dubious messages he is sending with this. It might make me believe that he doesn't hate me nearly as much as I had assumed.

"Theres no need to." He states finally, and his voice now rings with a much healthier depth, indicating that my little trick is slowly starting to reach its goal and pull him back from the edge of the abyss, where he voluntarily danced close to. But this answer is far from enough for me, because again it's just a short sentence that scratches the surface of the problem. I know that he is comfortable with settling the matter with that much, but it never was my strong suit to settle for speculation, so I decide to keep pushing.

"I thought disobeying orders was a serious offense." I vocalize this tiny detail, raising one of my arched eyebrows, conveying perfect disinterest with my whole being. Although I appreciate that, contrary to my previous experiences, he is not coming up with some vile and mean comment to let me know his dislike, but now I'm curious about more than just his curtness. Mainly because my disobedience has annoyed him terribly so far, and I doubt that this current transgression of mine would leave him unfazed, which could have ended much uglier if he hadn't decided to show up.

"It is." Comes another rather informative answer, and when I'm about to open my mouth to tell him how talkative he's become in the wee hours of the morning, his fingers tighten around my hand, almost warning me that he hasn't finished yet. "I thought about leaving you there." He says dispassionately, and with this tiny little sentence, he lets me know exactly what I was already aware of. And when I left the overpass, I departed with this knowledge, because I never even considered that he would come after me. But nevertheless, he stepped in when he was most needed.

"Yet you came after us." I emphasize the obvious, because in the end, despite the fact that I managed to save the Hunter with the mohawk from an early and brutal death with my suicidal action, he had to intervene so that I wouldn't end up dying together with his Scottish friend. And I'm not so naive as to believe that it was his concern for me that led him to the dead-end alley. "MacTavish is lucky to have such a loyal partner. I might even envy him." I note, and I curve the beginnings of a mean little smile on my lips, because that way it might be easier to silence the evil little voices that arise in me, which whisper that Riley would have left me to my fate with the greatest peace of mind, if MacTavish's life had not depended on his appearance. There is such a close bond between the two Hunters, the origin of which I don't know, but I'm aware that they would put their hands in the fire for each other, which is why it's perhaps understandable why he can let go of my punishment so easily. Because I suspect that if he hadn't been almost neck-deep in the remains of the mutants, he would have intervened at the start of the chaos at the beginning of the combat zone.

But before I could delve deeper into the mass of dark little thoughts born in my own brain, mocking me for having the faint and silly idea even for a minute, that maybe he didn't just come to the party of my private rescue mission for his friend's sake, the man's body moves towards me in a rather surprising manner, and I freeze instantly. Every part of me is prepared for the counterattack by the instinctive reflex of defense, and my nervous system is almost automatically attuned to forming a blood clot in the snaking vascular network of one of Riley's vital organs instead of friendly regeneration if the need arises. However, when the brutal attack I expect doesn't arrive even after a few nerve-wracking seconds, I shift my confused eyes to his face. It's only a few centimeters with which he brings his broad shoulders closer as he leans down to me, but even this tiny movement is enough to make me unsteady and focus on the Hunter's body language with every nerve. And when I don't find anything in his mannerisms that would indicate that he wants to kill me, I only stare with growing puzzlement into the pair of brown eyes in which golden sparks swim from the lamplight.

"I didn't go there just because of Soap." He declares, and there is such a significant weight in his voice that I feel that my heart, which is hammering in confusion, skips a beat. Because with this simple expression, he drives away all the clouds of gloomy theories fighting in my head, so that nothing else remains after it, but honest surprise, which I'm unable to stop before it also appears on my face. And I must give a comical sight as I stare at him with slightly parted lips and eyes wide with astonishment, but despite this, he doesn't let my gaze wander and maintains eye contact with unbroken determination, as if he hadn't just made the most benign comment that he has ever said to me. If it weren't for the pull of the smoldering power inside of him, interlocking with my energy, I would quite simply think of this whole absurd scenario as a dream image created by my brain. But it's real, just like the bitter smell of blood and gunpowder emanating from the man and the fiery touch of his skin under my palm.

It takes me a few seconds to snap out of my shock-induced stiffness, and when my gray matter manages to grasp what Riley just said to me, I straighten up in my seat with an amused sigh. For this one confession amounts to a peace treaty, which he nobly offers me, no doubt as a reward for saving his Scottish friend. But I don't care why he had the motivation to tell me this, it doesn't take away from its importance.

"Just be careful, Riley." I utter with a mock warning in my voice, as I regain my confidence and lean forward a hair's breadth, boldly reaching closer to him. And as interest flashes in his eyes, a cheeky smile appears on my lips. "You might end up liking me." I cock my head to de side with sassiness, and when neither anger nor contempt follows my little comment, I know that maybe he wouldn't mind so much if that happened.

And although silence reigns in the room again, and only our shadows dancing on the wall in the warm light break the immobility, this peace doesn't weigh on me suffocatingly. I turn my attention back to the visible network of blood vessels beneath my closed eyelids, letting the waves of the now-calmed power of the Hunter lick at every fiber of my body. For the first time, I feel that neither of us is in a hurry to get rid of the other's company, which lays the hundreds of thoughts in my head to rest. And for a little while, the sounds of exhaustion that are slowly growing inside me are silenced, allowing me to enjoy this idyllic moment.

⃰

My body shakes with another wild wave, as the torturous claw of hunger digs into my stomach again, pulling my insides with such force as if an elephant was trying to press down on my chest. I angrily kick off the blanket that is clinging to my skin drenched in cold sweat, because every square centimeter of the textile that touches me pricks me with the sharpness of a thousand needles. As if I were in a torture chamber where everything wants to make me suffer, instead of lying in the comfort of my soft bed. The air flows into my lungs with moist heat, and with each breath, I get more and more dizzy, because I feel my trachea sticking together from the sticky, disgusting dampness that settles in the silence between the walls of the room.

Of course, my brain, hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, knows that everything is exactly as normal as it was before this hell started, when I returned to my room and after a nice shower, I threw myself on my bed and fell asleep. Because maybe I managed to sleep for a few hours, when with the first rays of the sun, that well-known pain woke up in me, which didn't mean anything good at all. Although it's not surprising that the unrelenting feeling of hunger appeared in me, because I actively worked for my energy to be drained sufficiently. MacTavish's healing and regeneration, Riley's recharging, and the recovery of the other little soldiers meant just enough stress for my little ability, which even though I started the mission with a full stomach, my body couldn't tolerate. And now I get to enjoy the aftermath of this, since Laswell isn't here to give me the only thing that could help this damn situation. The woman is now digging and researching for information somewhere within the walls of the colony, and she will most certainly not come back because I whine because of my rumbling stomach. And since only the all-knowing boss of the base knows the code to that fucking door that stands between me and my snack, I'm forced to wait here writhing until she gets back.

My canines sting with a sharp pain as I think, that I actually have dozens of opportunities to alleviate this suffering, but even my dulled mind is aware that I shouldn't betray the team's trust in me. And even in my current state, I find it quite ridiculous that my instincts can be crushed by the image of the Hunters, because before I arrived here I would have quenched my thirst behind a club with the help of an unsuspecting idiot a long time ago. There would be plenty of such silly little fools here, and all I would have to do would be to lure one of them into a dark corner, stun them, and that's it. They wouldn't even feel it. They wouldn't even know about it. No trace would be left.

And as another torturous spasm twists my insides, I hiss weakly and grip the skin of my stomach, because it feels as if an iron fist would try to tear my intestines apart. My nails tear at the skin of my belly with desperate force, as if that would ease the torture. Although the aching caused by my own abuse doesn't reach my senses, the sweet smell of the blood coming out after my fresh wounds is even more so. Its seductive aroma snakes into my nose, and I impatiently raise my hand to my mouth to clean the crimson liquid off with my tongue. But that doesn't help one bit, and the couple of small bites I stole from myself only push the claws of hunger that stab into me like knives even deeper.

Time crawls forward on leaden feet, and I might even lose consciousness for a while, because by the time I regain awareness, and the fever has subsided from my brain enough to be able to perceive the outside world again, then I become aware that the darkness of the night has engulfed my small room. And it occurs to me that if no one has tried to find me until now, then the woman probably hasn't magically appeared since then either. But the impatient hunger is now demandingly straining inside me, and keeps shouting in my head to go and find something that will finally make this pain go away. And nothing seems like a better idea to my confused mind, which eagerly urges me to move and look for food.

With hasty movements, I peel myself from the tangled fabrics of my sheets and rush to the door with my newfound momentum to tear open the entrance to my room. And as soon as I step out to the hallway, I shiver from the cool breeze that caresses my feverish skin that emerges from under my t-shirt and shorts. I set off almost automatically through the deserted corridors of the base, as if an invisible leash was guiding me towards my goal, promising that at the end of my journey, I would find something that would finally be able to free me from the pain piercing through all my limbs. And for a fleeting moment, it crosses my mind how eerily empty the entire base is, but I can't do anything with this information. Maybe it's better this way, because even my twisted brain understands that if I saw an unsuspecting victim, I wouldn't be able to control myself. I would throw myself on them, sink my teeth into them, and drink from them until the last memory of the hunger tearing at my stomach vanished.

Those few minutes seem like millennia until I finally find my final destination, wandering through the maze of uninhabited corridors, and when the door of the infirmary finally appears in front of my eyes, an almost aggressive temper takes over me. Food is within arm's reach, and nothing can stop the angry voices raging in my skull. This vehement impulse takes me to the threshold of the medical room, and I have no capacity to understand why the door is open, when I almost tear it from its socket and open it, and it obeys my aggressive attack with a loud creak. Without thinking, I enter the noiseless, empty space of the room, and in an instant, my nose senses the faint remains of the scent of blood even through the smell of the disinfectants. And I feel like a wild animal looking for its prey as I catch sight of the beds resting against the walls, ready to pounce on them as soon as I find the source of the delicacy. My clever little nose leads me all the way through the dark room to an abandoned, neatly prepared bed, and I reach for the white bedclothes with impatient haste to pull them from their peaceful position. Although only the dull light of the buttons of the many machines shines in the blackness of the night, it's not a problem for my eyes to discover the few small, brown spots that rest on the mattress laughing at me. If I had an ounce of self-respect left in me right now, I'd find it pathetic that I messed up a fucking hospital bed just because I sensed that the unfortunate injured soldier had left behind a little crumb of that delicacy for which every nerve in me screams with ever-increasing despair. But now I have no self-respect left, only hunger.

The disappointment that settles into my consciousness stops me for a fleeting second, and when I realize that it wasn't my dinner that greeted me under the sheet, then a thick, red fog descends on my brain. Every part of me fills with the heat of this smoldering passion, and it moves my body almost automatically to action, which carries me all the way to the fucking password-protected door. As soon as that damned thick metallic thing appears in front of me, I don't even try the panel, because I know that my fingers wouldn't be capable of the fine motor movements required to press the buttons. On the other hand, the fury in me warns me that there is another way to get in, I just have to try hard enough. And with the keen senses of a hunted beast, I look around the infirmary, so that when my eyes stop on the chair resting next to the doctor's table, I can cross the distance between me and my improvised weapon without hesitation. The heavy piece of furniture seems as light as a feather as I pick it up, and I know that the strength I have when I storm back to the door with the chair is due to the blessed effect of the stress hormones working in my muscles. Without any delay, I raise the seat up, and as I slam it down, the plastic squeaks between my hands. I strike again and again, and with each blow, I only get angrier, and the infirmary's quiet peace is filled with a series of furious snaps and cracks. I feel my mouth contort into a snarl as I methodically destroy the furniture, and the irritation bubbling up inside me doesn't let up until my weapon is shattered into pieces, and I'm left with nothing but the mutilated legs of the chair in my painfully clenched grip.

It takes me a few seconds to realize that I can't continue my assault against the door any longer, and then carelessly tossing aside the shattered pieces of the furniture, I move closer to see if I managed to damage the goddamn metal. But it still looks back at me unscathed, laughing at the miserable and pitiful way I tried to break through it, and I know I never had and never will have the chance to tear down. Only one or two faint scratches are visible on it, and nothing else shows how indignant I attacked it. And that gives me enough motivation to charge at this damned garbage with my bare hands. My fist collides with the door with a dull thud, and not a single spark of the pain radiating from my hand reaches my brain, I just beat the entrance to the storage room with increasing distress, becoming more and more anguished with each passing minute at the sight of my failure. And when the suffering rips into me again, and another agonizing wave of hunger grips my stomach, I fall to the ground along the cold steel with a tortured whimper. My attempted break-in resulted in nothing other than the rapid deterioration of my already poor condition. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and with each heartbeat, the violent grasp that holds my insides in an iron fist becomes more and more suffocating. Fuck….

Suddenly, the rhythmic noise of my panting is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and I break out of my paralyzed self-pity to turn my head towards the gaping entrance of the infirmary in a daze. Although my brain is still not on top of the situation and is slowed down by the dull confusion left behind by the disappearing poisonous fog, I would recognize the outline of the tall figure I see stopping at the doorstep out of a thousand. Riley stands there in the embrace of the darkness behind him, like a spirit freed from the underworld, and as I weakly lift my eyes to him, I can only focus on the skull that glows with eerie vivacity, and I remember that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he snapped my neck.

[v3nusxsky]

Hey! Can I please request a hurt/comfort Clarissa Dovey fic where reader has a bad panic attack and dissociates maybe because of sensory overload please??

As always, your work is wonderful! 💜🙏

Dying inside| h&c

*authors note~ Mars failing her drivers exam means h&c fluff and Agere to come*

Trigger warnings~panic attacks, sensory overload mentions of thinking r will die

The first thing you knew was it was too loud, the lights the sounds and smells overwhelming you, the ball being crowded only aiding the feeling of suffocation. You really tried to attend this, fighting off all the anxious thoughts as you got ready, really you were doing it for your mother, she’d never seen you attend a ball and considering you’d be graduating in a month this was her last chance, so with all the begging and pleading you agreed to attend.

Present you was now cursing past you. Really you knew this would happen that’s why you picked the comfiest clothing will still being ball worthy, you stashed some fidget toys in your clutch. You spritzed your mothers perfume in an attempt to calm yourself and yet none of it worked.

Your chest squeezed together painfully as you felt your throat close up restricting air to your lungs, tears prickling at your eyes as you felt yourself dying inside your own body. Your skin feeling like fire had you running from the bustling hall and attempting to rip the clothing off your body. Your brain telling you it was the problem, but of course it wasn’t . No you couldn’t breathe now and you were sure you’d die now, there was no other explanation or expectation.

Clarissa was informed by Tedros that you had ran off in a state truly, his words weren’t very Ever like but considering his infatuation with Sophie that was to be expected these days. Immediately, she set off in a hurry to find you and that’s what broke her heart. You were bent over in a ball as your body was wracked with breathless sobs and your hand gripped at your heart.

“Oh my love, I’m so sorry baby, I shouldn’t have made you come, it was selfish of me my darling. Can I touch you baby?” She whispered knowing you’d be sensitive to noise right now. “Can’t breathe mama” you struggled to get out. “Oh my baby, it is okay, mama is here baby” she whispered to you before gently guiding you to have your back pressed to her front, “can you try and copy mama baby?” It took a few attempts but you slowly managed to get your breathing somewhat at a normal level as you slumped back against your mother. “Come baby, let’s go lay in mamas bed, that always help you feel better.”

[cienie-isengardu]

I find it hilarious the Grandmaster probably banging Sektor's head on the wall about how loyalty is important and how Lin Kuei principals are absolute since he was baby and he didn't see Sektor might develop a tinge of independence to realize he didn't have to be told what to do once he's in a superior body. I feel like Sektor was kind of just waiting for a chance to seize power from his father and the Cyber Initiative gave him an opening and I feel his programming somewhat deteriorating was actually just Sektor's personality resurfacing above protocol and seeing that his father was no longer necessary.

I feel Sektor was honestly probably waiting for his father to die in the back of his mind prior(maybe he thought the guy would just die of old age or something) but when the Cyber Initiative was in motion and he got converted, this thought came back and eventually it just kind of weakened the loyalty protocols to where Sektor's desire to rule overrode his father's authority and he didn't feel like waiting for him to expire on his own.

The major reason why I have so hard time buying the whole human Sektor's desire to replace his father from MK9’s BIO is that the story mode, alongside other sources, doesn’t give me anything suggesting he was that ambitious or cunning to begin with and even less to think he was the designated heir. Quite the opposite, from the all named Lin Kuei characters from the same game, he is the most obedient one, the most willing to put Grandmaster’s wish over his own well-being and (at least visually wise) easily dominated by the presence of his fellow clan members. When Bi-Han is shown with Cyrax and Sektor, he takes the central place within their little group. When he is out of the picture, Cyrax openly questions Grandmaster’s vision of cyber Lin Kuei while Sektor is on the defensive, as he has no real argument to add to the discussion and Cyrax clearly doesn’t treat him as his superior, especially when Sektor confronted him about not killing Johnny Cage. 

It may be just me, but the human Sektor lacks the initiative that is characteristic for his cyber version. Similarly, for a supposed heir he feels so… subdued and withdrawn, not to mention his father sent him on a very dangerous mission in which the chance of dying was very high. Sub-Zero’s BIO from Deadly Alliance summed Kuai Liang’s choice to aid Raiden in his quest against new threat as “It was highly unusual for the Grand Master to embark on such a dangerous mission” and I think it wouldn’t be too far-stretched to assume Lin Kuei had a similar approach to the Grandmaster’s designed heir.

Sektor is a grown up man in MK9, if he was meant to replace his father at some point, I imagine he would be trained from birth for this duty. However, all the BIO says is that he had no choice about being Lin Kuei, but there is no information he was designed to be next Grandmaster. For all we know, the Grandmaster could have more children than Sektor and even if the man was considered as a potential candidate, sending him to the Mortal Kombat Tournament seems like too much risk - if he died, literal decades of proper education for the leadership would be wasted, wouldn’t it? 

My point is, I don’t think Sektor was seen by his father as the future leader of Lin Kuei - or anything more than an useful pawn, so I can understand that Grandmaster has never considered him a threat nor questioned his loyalty. Especially after automation, as C.I. Project was supposed to perfect the human warriors, not grand them better understanding of trauma and abuse they endured for Lin Kuei's benefit.

Frankly, maybe the fact that his son was so obedient and lacked initiative was the reason why he allowed Sektor to volunteer for C.I. Project - additional sources like Mortal Kombat Legends: Battle of the Realms adds a lot to that feeling of my, as Grandmaster’s explanation - complaint - about human weakness seemed to be solely directed at Sektor, the only cyborg fully presented during the speech: “The mortal body is fragile, weak. So, we enhanced them.”

Maybe you are right and Sektor waited for a chance to seize control and C.I. Project provided it - and the BIO indeed tells the truth that his “ultimate goal is to supplant his father as Grand Master of the Lin Kuei”. However I personally think it was not human Sektor’s desire for power nor personal ambitions that corrupted his programming, as he has never been shown trying to enlist Bi-Han or Cyrax for his planned coup. I think the problem lies in the fact that Grandmaster removed the “flaw” that kept Sektor in check, be it out of love or fear of his father. And once the flaw was subdued, Cyber Sektor could clearly see for the first time that his father is the danger he needed to remove to ensure his own safety, but also Cyber Lin Kuei’s independence. Because this is what you get when you remove humanity from a ruthless killer - no loyalty, no mercy. 

And yes, indeed, there is something hilariously ironic about Grandmaster's blindness to the danger of the C.I. Project and perfecting his own son that already dedicated all his life to him and the clan.

[namkooktyddys]

3. Break Free

Author's P.O.V:

One Day to the Wedding

The enthusiasm had died. You were restless to get married and start a new phase of your life with Taehyung 2 days ago and look at you now.

You didn't feel like a bride at all.

There you were, continuously staring at the ceiling of your room as you were laying on your back. Just how quickly the things took a turn just before your D-Day. Everything was being replayed in your mind from the beginning, the day you and Taehyung met and immediately you fell for the man he was. Never you had thought he would be someone like this.

You went on 8 dates in total in a span of 17 months. Each time he would show up with a present for you, which you had preserved so dearly in your shelf. Your families met each other for 3 times in the same span of time.

This was not a love marriage.

It was rather an arranged marriage where you got convinced that Taehyung is the man of your dreams.

The demons inside your head was not letting you to reach a conclusion. You were constantly thinking about what had happened in the evening.

At the dinner table, you were all quiet while everyone was immersed in the wedding vibe. Ha-Eun was nowhere to be spotted. Tonight, the food was hard to chew, drinks were hard to gulp and the urge to swipe away all the plates on the table was at its peak. The whole time, your eyes were filled with tears, however nobody took a notice of that as your hairs hid your face perfectly. The pain that you were feeling was real. It felt like crying your heart out until you passout. Your body felt heavy looking at the smiles plastered on your parents face, wondering what would happen to those happy faces when they realize the truth.

Would they still force you to get married to a betrayer?

Hence, to confirm this doubt of yours, you pulled your mother to a corner amidst all the hush and rush.

"Ma..."

Your mother nodded at you while her entire attention was at your aunt who'd been drinking ever since she came to your place.

"Ma.. Listen to me."

"Oh yes I am, dear- Y/N? Ahh.. it's okay to feel overwhelmed."

Mrs. Lee wrapped her arms around your figure, engulfing you into a warm hug after she saw your teary eyes. She guessed you were anxious and overwhelmed about the wedding, and separation from your family.

This was your last straw. You broke down in her arms.

"Please call off this wedding."

She chuckled at your words and patted your back lightly.

"I ain't gonna spend my life with a cheater, Ma!"

Mrs. Lee's actions froze. Pulling off from the hug, she looked deep into your eyes hunting for an explanation, which you eventually gave her.

You summarized the entire scene but kept Ha-Eun away from the story. Instead, you lied that Taehyung was making out with a random girl cause no one would believe if you said it was your own sibling who did this to you. All your life, you got accused of being jealous of Ha-Eun so what would be the repercussions of spilling the naked truth?

"Dearie, Taehyung loves you so much and so do you, don't ya? It's better to pretend that event never happened okay? For you, and for us too yeah?"

"Gosh! Why should my life be at stake huh?!"

"Your dad will never agree to call it off you know? It's a wedding that holds the ability to change the trajectory of the fashion industry! Lees and Kims, two massive names are extending their relationships from just business partners. Well, about your life.... Life is full of compromises dear, and you gotta accept that. With the Kims, your future is gonna be secure and comfortable. And Taehyung... He is a good guy. It was just a mistake alright? You will forgive him and you both will lead a happy, successful life yeah?"

"Unbelievable Ma! Never in my wildest dreams I had thought of you being so unaffected!"

Your jaw clenched in anger recalling the conversation but is this how the world is shaped? Cheating on your partner is never a mistake but a choice. The cheater knows it well. They are aware about their wrongdoings yet get caught up in lust that lures them.

Why are you being forced to sacrifice your happiness and compromise, negotiate for the bad? You knew the world was always cruel, but when did it turn heartless, ready to trade anything and anyone for money? Your own blood behaved so indifferent and mean towards you.

All people care about is profit?

Reputation?

Society?

Social status?

Wealth?

This is your life, where you weren't in power. You had zero control over it. The steering of your life was in someone's else's hands and right now, they're driving towards the wrong lane. You thought to yourself, it's time to either continue with the journey, or snatch the steering. This is the time to become brave and bold, take a stand for yourself to save from ruining your future from your own hands. One wrong decision and there lies your emotions for the world to play with. That would be so damn foolish of you.

"'Secure and comfortable' my foot!"

Quickly jumping out of the bed, you picked the cat-shaped backpack purse from your cupboard and shoved a few clothes alongwith all the gifts you'd ever received from Taehyung inside it.

"WHEN I SAY I AIN'T MARRYING THAT BASTARD, I FUCKING MEAN IT."

_______________________________

__________________________

Author's Note:

What are your thoughts on this chapter? Will Y/N manage to escape from Kim?

[idealspawn]

throughout my journey on growing as a person somehow the only thing i still havent managed to resolve or find the deepest true cause for is my insecurity regarding my intelligence. every single evidence from outside authorities is screaming in praise and approval of my level of knowledge yet i am filled with such anxiety. i dont know how to not let my high standards lower my self-confidence. i think its good that i do have high standards too in a way but not the anxious perfectionism that comes with it. ive thought maybe im unsure about my competence because i feel like i dont belong. in university since ive had an unconventional route, i sort of lack like a group of coursemates (ive changed universities and now im in like an exchange programme so i havent had and dont have the same curriculum as anyone). so i dont know what i should know and what i shouldnt. like what prior knowledge others have. i dont know where i place in the context. i dont know what is stupid to bring up and what isnt. google also told me that maybe its like the dunning-kruger effect where the more you know the more you become painfully aware of how little you know. i guess thats true. i also in general am like programmed to seek for irregularities (i study philosophy and have a background of doing a lot of things requiring close analysis and pattern recognition) so maybe thats why i only see whats wrong in my work or opinions even if that actually forms a small portion regarding the whole. usually my professors dont even pick up on those things i think are massive logical fallacies and am afraid will fail. i literally only get praise and they are so so so credible too, its not that i get approval from people who dont know any better. i dont know. i have all these explanations in my head but not one of those hits the nail on the head. ive gathered that what relieves my anxiety regarding.. well anything.. is just acknowledgeing it. like cracking the code as to whats the underlying deeper cause that projects itself in this belief, insecurity. but i cant seem to ever get it. i wonder is this too small of a problem to go to a psychologist. right now its not too bad but i actually get like weird intense uncontrollable nervous anxiety twitches and breakdowns from the pure thought of how little i know and what others think of me. im most afraid that they think that i think im smart when in reality im so painfully aware that im speaking on matters i feel i dont have proper knowledge of (yet i must because its an assignment). though i think its pretty apparent that im insecure, at least during presentations or speaking in seminars because of the way i speak (hesitantly). i know that to wait until i truly know sth before i speak is a lost cause. you cant ever fully know anything. and its like. so what if im wrong. nothing happens if im wrong but im so terrified of it. i guess ive tied my intelligence to my identity quite a bit but i dont know if that is it either. i guess you could say i should care less abt what other ppl think but in other areas im so confident and sure of myself i dont know why this is manifest only here. i know im actually quite capable at least compared to some people and there are periods where i do get my feedback on an essay or task and i feel really sure of myself but its a very very small slice of the time. i know comparison isnt proper but its also so necessary and inevitable in my field of study, i cant seem to avoid it. ive genuinely resorted to paying a lot of attention to my looks and makeup that makes me look cute and kind in order to hopefully cause the halo effect that when im silent or say something stupid i get the benefit of the doubt.......... its stupid. but im that afraid :/ of coming across narrow-minded.

[acotars]

i saw your list of top 5 romance authors and ilona andrews was there so clearly you have great taste but i also saw christina lauren - i read love and other words and ADORED it until the end, which i thought was so incredibly awful that it totally ruined the entire book and the author for me. what did you think of LAOW/did you think other books were better? the whole "cheating but actually rape but skimmed over and never clarified or discussed" REALLY threw me, esp bc i loved it so much before

first of all, thank you!!! secondly, this is so real and it totally surprises me that this isn't talked about more. i've had great conversations about it with some mutuals but it's.... bizarre the way the end of love and other words goes down and in my experience, so unexpected from CL. putting the rest of this under a cut because it got long!!

what happened to elliot was rape, hands down and without question. but the narrative never (never!!) treated it with the gravity it required? and because it happened to him at the same time that he lost macy without any explanation, all of his feelings about each experience get so tangled up and intertwined with each other. when he sees macy again, he drops everything in his life to make things work with her, and we get the distinct impression from the (very few) glimpses into his adult life that it's taken him a very, very long time to rebuild. his recent ex rachel even says something snidely to macy about how much she "fucked [elliot] up," how what macy supposedly did to him impacted elliot and rachel for the entire year they were together. this, combined with other subtext throughout the book suggests elliot had a very hard time with physical intimacy, and his ex-girlfriend rachel very much believes this to be macy's fault.

without digging into blame too far (no one is at fault in what went down on new year's except emma, the girl who took advantage of someone far past the point of consent), i find it so intensely strange that CL still have elliot apologize to macy, that macy still feels justified in her anger at him, that after allll the pieces are laid out between them, macy laments the tragedy — not that elliot was assaulted, but that this "tiny whimper of a drunken misunderstanding" blew up their lives so completely.

the simplest course of action would have obviously been to never write this scene into existence at all — there are so, so many other ways to have broken them apart and left them both reeling for years. any book featuring on-page rape is a massive undertaking, as this is a subject that requires so, so much intention and care in the writing. love and other words handled it so poorly, it ruined the book for a lot of people. and i don't blame them!!! of all the christina lauren books i've read, this is the only one to feature on-page sexual assault. it is also the only book by then two of them that was published as women's fiction and not romance, which i think contributed a lot to the tone and introspection of this book. it could very well be that romance publishers are stricter about guidelines when publishing sexual assault scenes and that influenced the genre switch. it could also be that christina lauren never intended for elliot's new years encounter to be considered rape (even though it so clearly is) — they write about it with a flippancy that is so incongruous with the stances they've shown in other books. the whole thing confuses and disappoints me, but luckily isn't present in their other books.

i really enjoyed the soulmate equation by them — i think it has similar levels of yearning and pining, with less of the will-they-won't-they and none of the assault. others have loved the unhoneymooners but it wasn't totally my thing. the then-and-now situation is also explored really well in twice in a blue moon, but i found the "now" portions less compelling. i would recommend checking out their other books if you feel comfortable doing so, because as far as my memory serves, none of the rest of them feature anything similar to the train wreck that is the end of laow. but also! if that ending was enough for you to never read another book by them, more power to you!!! it was.... so bad and it still doesn't sit right to this day.

[willothewispwisteriadawn]

Aw. Why thank you. I definitely tend to need to unpack things I read and watch and TSH is so just packed that I was just like “good golly” when I finished. There’s just so much going on internally and externally throughout it all.

1. Yes, exactly. Henry says he’s the same as Richard in that they don’t feel for others. Both of them definitely show what resembles love throughout the book: taking care of others, having tender moments, etc. But they’re both very clearly very impacted by outside factors in their relationships. They go into things having already decided who and what their friends should be. Richard denies their faults and Henry shows that his friends are pieces in a bigger picture for him which is making himself and his own life perfect and as close to Julian’s ideals as possible.

2. I admit that some of this is going to be emotional reactions from the reader. I think a few things hit me about Francis before his statements on Charles that, by the time I got there, I didn’t take him as seriously as I see now that a lot of people did. He’s just… always offering up really facetious responses to things that are serious as hell. Like there was saying he was sad the farmer was dead but that he was “No Voltaire.” His reaction to Richard telling him to stop was just along the lines of “c’mon, you’ll have fun.” Him just saying “you were there” as an explanation to why he went after Richard so aggressive was a punch in the face (AND LITERALLY THE EXACT SAME ATTITUDE HE ACCUSED CHARLES OF. He said Charles views him as “you’ll do” and doesn’t talk about it later. That is literally a description of Francis). Then he tries to justify things by the number of times they happened is SO BONKERS to me. Like, at this level of crime, the number of times just mages it worse. But he admits himself that he doesn’t see much morally objectionable about the twins’ relationship. At the end of this mess of a conversation, he starts making fun of Richard for being too Californian as if that’s at all an appropriate comment to make while your friend is trying to discuss. So yeah, at that point in the story, I kind of felt like Francis didn’t care much about anything but what was fun and his own safety. That’s not to say I didn’t pity him. Honestly his backstory really got to me and does inform his attitude. I mean, the “psychiatrists” at that place, by presenting these topics as not so much morally objectionable but interesting areas of study to children who were already scared and starved was just unconscionable.

All this said, it IS hard for me to draw harsh “this happened” or “this did not happen” conclusions. I think it’s really common for super good theories and super supported arguments to not have been considered by the author (lol I’ve been in workshops before where everyone latched onto a detail and explained my work back to me with a reading I just hadn’t at all considered). So I guess there is room to question things. There is room to day that Charles wasn’t about to discuss something sexual when he was cut off. Or that he and Francis merely were hiding out and drinking in the bathroom (I mean Francis didn’t admit to this moment like he did to the time he and Charles left Richard’s). But I also think some readings just support the story way better than others. And, despite the specifics, both these things inform what kind of people they are.

3. Lol! Fair enough. I could honestly be conflating Bunny’s character motivations with what his actions provided to the story, which was light shined on how immoral things were. Bunny is weirdly one of my favorite characters in retrospect (though I largely suspect that if I reread this, I’d be questioning myself all over again. He’s unbelievably hatable in the moment, so enjoyable in the big picture). The thing that gets me about Bunny is that I’m not sure anyone ever gave him a fair portrayal the whole book. He was completely at the mercy of Richard and Henry’s narrations and they both had motives for painting him a certain way. Also Richard questions his own words when he starts to realize that what he says about Bunny doesn’t match how characters react to Bunny (and this is very noticeable to the reader as well. In fact, Bunny is liked by people outside the Greek class on a more frequent level. I kind of was reflecting back on all the bad things Judy said about the others but how she liked Bunny). All that said, I kind of wondered if everyone was being very unfair about his feelings about the murder. I guess him being scared for his own life is a simpler answer than “he was left out” and “he was morally concerned” in many regards. He joked quite a bit about terrible topics. He joked about the poor farmer until he realized his friends did it. And he made light of his friends getting hanged (geez that’s so messed up now that I consider it). But this was all just stuff I questioned and considered as the novel unfolded.

My head is hurting after Secret History inner ramblings.

I think the one thing that’s difficult about this book is that EVERYTHING is a little true and a little false at the same time? It’s weird because sometimes I go to make a statement on something or post a thought, and I just can’t get the nuance right ever. All my opinions have a bit of a “but here’s where that thought ends” aspect to them. Here’s what I mean:

Keep reading

[leviiattacks]

how does levi kiss like the first kiss as a couple or just random levi kissing headcanons!!

author note :: very cute ask thank you to anon. my requests are always open and i try to get to them eventually !!! :-)) word count :: 1.6k... i have too much to say

the first time levi kisses you all he can think about is whether or not he’s doing it right. sure, he’s had his fair share of kisses but he’s never overthought it to this extent

he’s the one to initiate it. he approaches you and gives you a warning before he does – “i want to kiss you.”

you would have thought someone like levi would be hard and rough with the way they kiss but instead he swoops in awkwardly – your noses bump against each other and he softly presses his lips against yours

he doesn’t pick a very good moment to do it. you’re covered from head to toe in sweat and are beyond surprised he’s thought you’re worthy enough to be kissed especially when in this state. you assumed he’d like it better if you were cleaner

but what you don’t know is the reason why he’s kissed you, levi knows he’s bad at expressing himself, he knows no matter how hard he tries he’s bound to be misinterpreted at some point. he just wants to make you feel loved. his usual way of doing it is by taking care of you or scolding you when you make mistakes during training

he’s been told time and time again that it doesn’t even look like the two of you are dating. it’s probably because dating levi isn’t much different from any other relationship with him, for the most part it doesn’t seem like much has changed to everyone else

so he really does want you to know that you are in fact different and special to him. he’s secretly very insecure about you leaving him. he thinks maybe if he doesn’t show how much you mean to him you’ll leave and he doesn’t want you to leave

that’s how the two of you have got here, levi’s been wondering when to do it all day and something kicks in when he sees you walk out of the stables. you still seem so upbeat despite the current climate of the world around you

no matter how dark everything’s become you’re an ever present light in levi’s life, your shine never dulls

and so he takes his opportunity not caring if your hair is disheveled or if sweat layers your forehead. he’s happy to do it no matter the circumstances.

midway through the kiss he cradles your face in his hands and you both just kinda stare at each other, it isn’t awkward the both of you are just in awe that levi’s the one to initiate the first kiss

usually when you hold hands you’re the one to place your palm into his, if you hug you’re the one who’s placed your arms around his frame. the only time levi’s ever initiated physical contact is when he’s adjusting the straps of your gear

so really for him to initiate something as huge as your first kiss together really is heartwarming

he pulls you back into the kiss by intertwining your fingers together and leaning in so he can continue again. for some reason he just gets emotional by it all. maybe it has something to do with the way the world stops when he kisses you. he’s resilient and doesn’t let any tears fall but he shakes trying to hold himself together

of course you sense the trembling when your hand begins to vibrate against his. you immediately stop not wanting to overwhelm him.

levi looks hurt by that, he thinks you might have not enjoyed it but then you wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself and press a soft kiss against his forehead

“are you doing this to show me that you love me?” the question you murmur against his chest has him scowling but you can see the hint of a blush creep up his cheeks

“why would i do that? you should know i like you.” he nearly smacks himself across the face when he says like instead of love. he doesn’t mean it, he does love you he’s just too embarrassed to say it

he half expects you to be angry about that but you smile and he’s never felt more grateful to have you around

“i’m glad you like me, that means you care for me.” you tell him

he doesn’t know what to do, he completely malfunctions because you’re just so right for him. you’re so firm in your belief that he loves you that you don’t even need his reassurance to understand that.

“don’t you think i treat you like everyone else?” he asks, he’s been meaning to bring it up for a while now, he has no idea how to act around you

“no i love you. you bring me tea every day. you don’t do that for anyone else. i think i’m pretty special just for that!!! :-)”

at that levi kisses you again not because he wants to show you he loves you and so you don’t leave. he kisses you this time because he knows you won’t leave him and he knows you’re aware of his love for you

it’s even more soft and gentle than the first kiss you shared together just seconds earlier. you can practically feel the beating of your heart it thumps erratically and at this rate it may as well jump right out of your chest

levi’s holding up much better after hearing your soothing words. he has no doubt you love him. usually touching his hair is a no go for most people but he allows you to play around with it, you’re understandably fidgety and nervous and don’t know where to put your hands

by the time the both of you pull away panting he acts like it hasn’t happened for a few minutes. he sits there thinking woah so i finally did that ????

then he starts worrying what if you didn’t like it ??? what if you were pretending to enjoy it ??? what if he was a bad kisser ??? what if—

“you look worried.” you say looking right into his eyes, you’ve always been able to see right through him.

“am i a bad kisser?” the question leaves his mouth so quietly it’s inaudible and you have to ask him to repeat himself again

being physically intimate has always caused worries for him and he can’t help but overthink. he refuses to repeat what he’s said but you won’t let it go

“fine...” he can’t even look up at you. “i asked if i was a bad kisser. what if you like me less because...well yeah.”

god

he’s just so

endearing????

everyone assumes he’s the type to just kiss and go for it without much thought but honestly he really does think about the importance of the action for a long time

“you can kiss very well. trust me.” your fingers curl into the fabric of his button up, you can see that there’s a still a little uneasiness left in his eyes

“and anyway if you couldn’t kiss i’d just teach you how. it’s no big deal.”

his face lights up and the ghost of a smile makes itself known – “then why don’t you teach me what i don’t know?”

and then he’s back at it, once levi starts kissing you it takes a lot to stop him and you telling him that he can actually kiss pretty well has him feeling on top of the world!!!

all in all levi is a gentle kisser for the most part. it’s a popular assumption that he’s rough and powerful with it but really he enjoys savouring the moment. he doesn’t have to go hard and fast, he’d much rather spend his time with you. he finds that going slow makes it all the more meaningful :-)

a few other random yet specific headcanons i have about levi kissing !!! :

levi prefers to kiss you on the forehead or cheek compared to the lips because your reaction is always bashful and flustered, it’s nice to see that

after your first kiss he builds his confidence up, he feels comfortable kissing you anywhere even in front of others but that doesn’t mean he will. pda isn’t really his thing, sure he’ll respond if you kiss him in front of other people but he saves kisses for when you’re alone. it’s purely because he doesn’t like having others spectate.

very bad at reading hints, if you want to initiate a kiss with him you’ll just have to go for it because no matter how much you hint at it he won’t understand

“are you going to kiss me or am i going to have to lie in my journal?”

“since when have you kept a journal??”

likes to kiss you after you’ve both had your daily cup of tea, no explanation needed it’s pretty self explanatory

once he accidentally bit your tongue and he hasn’t been able to live it down ever since. whenever you bring it up he just acts like he hasn’t heard you, it’s too embarrassing to talk about again.

another time jean told him he wasn’t romantic enough and despite disliking pda levi grabbed you by the waist and dipped you out nowhere so he could kiss you. yeah,, that really did shut jean up and levi was understandably incredibly smug about it :-)

[iiraven]

Odyssey

Pairing: Poseidon!Armin x Reader

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: slow-burn, minor character death, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, Yandere behaviour, puppy play, piss play, body worship, throne sex, implied age-gap, oral(male receiving), hair pulling, collaring (without consent)

Word count: 9.8K

Synopsis: Armin’s quest for revenge leads him to you, daughter of a merchant and object of his infatuation.

Author’s note: thank you @bubbleteaimagines​ for hosting this collab and allowing me to join <3 Also, thank you @onyxoverride​ for teaching me how to write about pee!

Attack on Titan Masterlist

Present day:

If the river could speak, you wonder what it would say.

In the silence that surrounds the rushing of the water, you’re sure you would hear it. Sometimes, you’re sure you can hear it, but then you remember the dangers of trusting unfamiliar voices. Especially unfamiliar voices in a place like this.

No one goes near the river Shiganshina. And you forget the reasons why much too often.

It’s rocky, slippery, there’s no path to walk on, and the nymphs grow sharp teeth when men approach them, hissing and eyes glowing red. But that’s what makes it perfect for you.

Sasha first mentioned the river months ago, recalling the places on the island that her and her father avoided whenever they went hunting. You hadn’t paid much attention to it until days later, when Connie recounted with round eyes how Floch’s body was found beside the river Shiganshina, mouth full of water and eyes gouged out. You knew you needed to go there yourself.

A pearl necklace is what you stole. And under the guise of going to wash clothes at the well, you made your way south of your small island with only Sasha’s vague instructions and your intuition guiding you.

You could hear the ocean as you walked through the untouched woods, your heart hammering in your chest every time the waves crashed against the island’s cliffs. You weren’t allowed to see the ocean- you weren’t allowed to be around any large body of water, for that matter- but you still knew your island well enough to know that a step in the wrong place could lead you tumbling down the cliff.

You would die before you got to feel the water on your skin and that, you thought, would be the most tragic part.

As your feet began to sink into the muddy ground, you could smell the salty water, and a slight metallic scent behind it that only drew you in closer until you reached a clearing. It was small, crowded with foliage with only a few dead plants on the ground where you could only assume people had attempted to step foot.

And there was the river. It was small, its water emerging from underground before the tide pushed it to the edge of the island- to a waterfall. So loud that it could drown out any noise, any screams. You shivered. For a moment, you just stood back and watched. The water was was green, but so clear that you could still see the fish swimming beside the floating objects. Coins, silver, small statues, and whatever else hopefuls had tried to offer. You pulled out your own offering and whispered a short prayer before throwing the necklace in.

It could have been your imagination, but the water calmed. It was quieter. And, like that, you felt as if the river had opened up its arms to you. Strong arms that you have to be cautious not to spend too long within lest you get trapped.

Thankfully, you’ve learned to read the signs. You know when the river wants you to leave, when it wants you to keep your distance, when it wants to keep you close, and even when it wants you to bathe. Those are the special moments. It’s rare the river is calm enough for you to dip your naked body into, but surrounded by the cool water, you feel like you could stay their forever.

If the river could speak now, however, you’re sure it would tell you to fuck off.

Either that or it would tell you to come back when you have something more to offer its god than a single golden bead from your grandmother’s necklace. Only three are left on the thin string, though you think you might keep the last one to honour her death. After that, you’ll have to go back to offering coins and whatever other trinkets that will keep the god of this river sedated long enough for you to dip your feet into the cool water, maybe take a sip, and then return home before your father realises where you’ve been, much less where you’ve been unchaperoned.

The latter is hardly your fault. Sasha and Connie are too scared to step foot in the Shiganshina forest, let alone the river itself. And you can’t trust anyone else to accompany you, especially the servants whose tongue could slip at the drop of a golden coin. Your father would never forgive you for spending time in the territory of the God of the Ocean or- as he liked to call Armin- the destroyer of seas. And thus, being left alone seems to be the only way.

Well, that’s unless Mr Arlert decides to join you.

The owner of the stable who appeared on the island out of nowhere is the last person anyone would expect to be brave enough to spend time at the river Shiganshina. He mostly keeps to himself, only ever seen tending to his horses or immersed in scrolls of literature and poetry. And yet, he’s here almost as often as you are, almost as vulnerable as you are.

Despite his solitary nature, Mr Arlert has been quick to make himself adored. Mothers swoon over his charm, scholars constantly indulge in his curiosity, and sailors are fascinated by his knowledge of the world and its oceans. He’s no warrior, and already in his late twenties, but he’s still without a doubt one of the most eligible bachelors on Paradis. And, yet, to any marriage proposal sent his way, he declines with a polite “A husband is not what I am fated to become”. Even Annie Leonhardt- whose father Mr Arlert would constantly visit- had her heart broken. But no one blames Mr Arlert, of course, who was there to comfort Annie, to make her realise that she just needs to be a better person, that’s all. It’s not his fault her heart broke, Mr Arlert reassured.

Thinking about it now, you’re amongst the handful of women who haven’t been offered to the tall blond. And with that comes a sigh of relief as you drag your fingers through the water.

It’s not like you dislike him- the opposite, actually- but being with Mr Arlert is like taking the hand of an invisible man in the dark and letting him guide you.

His words constantly have your thoughts spiralling in directions that they shouldn’t be. Thoughts about leaving the island, thoughts about going to the ocean, thoughts about becoming a priestess. Thoughts you aren’t allowed to have.

You fate is bound to the home you were born in, a thick rope tied to your ankle, only letting you go as far as this very river. And Mr Arlert sits beside that rope, a knife in his hand, blue eyes staring into your soul, waiting. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for. But what you’re sure of is that to be taken away from the life you know of is an inconceivable fantasy. The unknown is a dangerous thing, after all.

The small island of Paradis may lie far away from the rest of the world, but their core values remain the same. A woman must grow up to either serve her father or her husband. Your fate has already been decided for you. And, frankly, if it means not having to share a bed with an old man who marries you for your dowry, you’re very happy with taking care of your father until the day that he’ll be put into the ground.

But then there’s always the third option. A woman who serves neither her father nor her husband will serve her god. 

You had never been given that option by your god-hating kin. Simply suggesting a future as priestess would earn you at least five lashes, so why… why can’t you stop thinking about it? Your instincts have you blame Mr Arlert, but you know that your fixation began before he arrived on the island; all he’s done is vocalise your thoughts.

As a gust of wind blows the leaves and the salt from the sea gently caresses your cheek, you wonder who your god would be. Do you resonate with Pieck’s beauty, or Zeke’s creativity? Maybe. But as you look into your reflection, you know that your god is no other than Armin, the god of the ocean. The fates must think this is hilarious, but you just want to scream.

“It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want your father worrying about you.”

You jump at the sudden voice, turning around at the familiar face, leaning against a tree with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Mr Arlert.”

His footsteps are so gentle, as are his apologies.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve come to invade your space, after all.”

“It’s not my space, it’s Armin’s. The god is only letting me stay here.”

He smiles a knowing smile, one that you would usually find patronising on any other man. But Armin is charming, too charming for you ever to think that of him. “I suppose you’re right.”

He comes to sit down beside you, taking his usual place at your right- the voice of reason. It’s quiet for a moment, before you remember.

“Lemnos,” you say.

The blond smiles. “I’m not named after a place.”

And you roll your eyes, as you’ve done every time he’s given you a useless hint. “That hardly narrows it down.”

“Well, I can’t make it too easy of a game.”

“You can’t make it impossible either!”

“It seems like I already have.” And you’re not sure if you want to wipe the smirk off his face or just stare at it.

“What about Tree?”

Arlert laughs. “No, but you have one guess left.”

“What?!” You sit up straight, eyes wide. Now you really want to wipe the smirk off his face.

“You have seven guesses, and in the eleven months we’ve known each other, you’ve used up six.” His explanation is calm and rational enough for you to almost convince yourself that the rule has been there from the start.

“Wait- wait. I never knew about this!”

“I thought everyone did. It’s traditional wager rules.” Mr Arlert’s tone is sorry, but you know he’s everything but. So, you cross your arms and pout, hoping that staring him down might at least give you the smallest chance of winning your wager.

He leans forward, mirthful and you feel a shiver go down your spine. “What is it, little puppy, sulking because you’re afraid you can’t win?”

You flush at the implication of your loss- “No- no not at all- no”- before registering his actual words are and only then can you feel the heat rise and you’re sure it’s doing you no service. “I know I can win!”

“I know you can too,” he assures you.

You frown. “Are you being sarcastic?”

It’s his turn to flush. “No, not at all! You can win- the water god favours you, after all.”

And although you shrug, his words stick. They always do.

Before you go home, you pass by Armin’s temple and place at the foot of his statue the remainder of your grandmother’s necklace.

A year ago:

Amrin knew how fickle the gods were and he thought that this knowledge made him impervious to those feelings. He watched how Eren jumped from woman to woman daily, how Reiner picked and chose his battles without a care, how every single fixation a deity would have never lasted more than a year. He thought of how stupid it was to spend a life of immortality indulging in such temporary pleasures. And he looked down on his kin for that very reason.

It was only after one argument too many that Armin finally let it slip. The god of the sea was usually quiet, offering soft smiles, casual conversation, and minimal conflict. That was his only rule: keeps quiet before the gods of the pantheon as he takes his anger out on the humans below. But that day, he forgot about his rule.

Maybe it was the years of silence that caused the Eathshaker’s outburst, or maybe it was just Eren’s bored expression as he talked about his mistresses in front of Mikasa. Armin couldn’t take it. Gathered at a marble table beside all the Olympians, he scowled and told them how stupid they all were.

“Don’t you realise? You’re all wasting your immortality by being so idiotic, so fickle! Everything you touch becomes a temporary pleasure, ruined by your inability to act like real gods.”

He should have stopped; he really should have stopped. But the crack in the glass bridge had been there for years, and now the shards of glass were dropping down into the sea. “You might as well be human!”

The room went silent. Eyes went wide, and mouths gaped, but the gods opted for silence. Every deity wanted to speak up, maybe even draw their swords, but they were more intelligent than Armin was in that moment, which was more unusual than one might think. He had never snapped so violently before. Armin may have been aggressive, but he knew his place. Knew when to be docile. Now, he felt like he could crumble Olympus itself with his rage and bury the Olympians with their dead parents.

The king of the gods, however, leaned forward. His emerald eyes were unmoving, devoid of emotion though his lips tilted into a monstrous grin.

“You’re just as fickle as the rest of us, brother,” was all Eren said.

When Armin lunged at him, knocking the fine glass off the table, it was Mikasa who pinned him down. Arms locked behind his back, all Armin could do was watch as mirth flooded Eren’s face, and the god of the sky laughed. The bastard laughed and laughed and licked the small wound on his hand from a shard of glass. It healed immediately. Even their pain was temporary.

And like he had been doing for the past millennia, Armin found solice in his only rule: if he couldn’t take out his rage on his brother, Armin would take out his frustration elsewhere.

His first instinct was to find a woman, but the thought of seeking out temporary pleasure, from a mistress no less, reminded him too much of Eren. So, he descended to earth, trident in one hand as the other gripped the reigns of his horse and they rode for three days and three nights. That’s all it took for the god of the sea to find what he was looking for- someone deserving of his hatred.

There are many humans like the merchant. But most of their hatred is silent. And when it’s not, blasphemy often falls upon deaf ears. The merchant just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when his drunk rambles led him up on the deck screaming out Armin’s name like it was venom in his throat, until he could scream no more. He was drunk, but the merchant’s hatred for the god of the sea did not cease when he was sober.

And when Armin heard his name, the god wasted no time calling forth a storm to sink the merchant’s ship. He took care to ensure that the arrogant man watched each and every one of his men be swallowed whole, their bodies only resurfacing lifeless, before the storm calmed.

It took five days for the merchant to swim back to his island.

He never returned to the sea.

As the weeks passed, he relocated his home to help him stay away from any body of water and made sure that his family followed suit.

But Armin followed, and the merchant’s father died weeks later with saltwater water found in his lungs.  

Unfortunately, that was not enough to sedate the god of the sea’s need for vengeance. Fortunately, it was not enough to sedate the merchant’s hatred either. The hubris didn’t leave him. Instead, it just grew and grew and grew until the merchant considered himself more of a god than Armin would ever be.

“Oh, oh.” Armin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man urinate before his temple. “This is perfect, so perfect.”

Armin was going to show his uncaring brother how different he was from the rest of the miserable Olympians. As he stood above the island of Paradis, golden hair blowing in the ocean wind, the god vowed to begin his Odyssey. An eternal Odyssey. A journey that would last longer than the ten fleeting years he had with the Greek hero- a journey that would last longer than the universe itself.

And he knew exactly where to begin. A man’s most valuable possession: his child.

It was only after your grandfather’s death that Armin noticed you. When he first began watching the merchant’s household, under the guise of either a guest or a bird, he had been surprised to learn that the blasphemous man had no wife, nor children. Armin only realised his mistake one night, when you came to lay a blanket on the drunk man’s barely conscious body. The merchant had pulled you towards him, muttering apologies and you had wrinkled your nose before offering him a soft smile. “It’s okay, papa”.

A daughter sheltered from the world, it seemed.

The god had initially thought you were one of the servants. There were only two in the house, and your tasks were all similar. But as Armin began to watch you closer, he saw how you did have a life outside your home with friends, interests, men- a life your father was blissfully unaware of.

The merchant hardly left home- playing the part of the sick man- and you took care of him- playing the part of your dead mother- in a happy sort of agreement.

You didn’t speak about it to your friends, but you detested your doting role. Armin could tell. The way you wrinkled your nose every time your father walked through the door, the eye-roll when you were given a load of laundry. The god couldn’t help by laugh at how pathetic the merchant was that not even his only daughter- his lifeline- cared for him. The merchant didn’t know, of course. Your fake smiles and gentle hands were enough to deceive him, keep him sane. But Armin was going to break that pattern.

The merchant didn’t deserve the care of a woman. He didn’t deserve anything. So, Armin was going to take you away from him.

His initial plan was to kill you. Simple, efficient, quick. And then he thought of dumping your body somewhere far so that the search for you would break your father’s spirit even more. He hesitated, though, he wasn’t sure why, but he did. And then, you changed your routine.

After meeting up with the two individuals you called your friends at the Sunday market- instead of going back home- you carried on walking. Through the houses on the outskirts and into the dense trees, you almost stung your sandal-clad feet twice before reaching a river. The river had no god of itself, but you still threw in an offering and muttered. Stupid human. And then you sat beside the river and- nothing. Your routine was boring, obviously a ritual to let you escape from reality. Yet, he couldn’t tear away from you. The woman at the river Shiganshina was a different one than the woman who served her father. The one here relaxed her shoulders, cursed at the world around her, smiled- albeit randomly but it was real. He decided there that he would kill you tomorrow.

But when, the next day, you led him back to the river, Armin was lost in you again. Lost in your honestly, lost in your need to escape. He wanted to see more, he needed to see more. Metaphorically, of course. But when you began undressing, the pleated robes dropping to reveal soft skin and tender curves, the god of the sea realised that he wouldn’t mind literally seeing more of you. Armin had been with goddesses and nymphs and, hell, even Aphrodite herself, but never had he been this awestruck. He had to hold himself back. Even though the way you were bathing made it seem like you were worshipping him, water dripping from your body, wet hair hiding the swell of your breasts. Armin’s breath stuttered. He couldn’t reveal himself. He couldn’t.

So, he watched, and watched. Trying desperately to take in everything you were from a distance. Armin didn’t count the number of times he visited you before finally decided that killing you was no longer an option. He told himself that his change of mind was progressive. A practical choice to draw out his revenge into the most painful and convoluted Odyssey. To do that, he couldn’t kill you. No. He was going to take you for himself. Armin was going to turn the daughter of the merchant into a servant of the one God he detested.

Putting the thought into your mind was pathetically easy. As you walked past his temple on your way home, an echo of laughter emerged from the marble building. You paused for only a moment, but it was enough for Armin to catch the look in your eyes. It was one of longing, mixed with a curiosity that threatened to pull you in. But you seemed to catch yourself in the act and hastened yourself home.

And so, Armin’s true Odyssey began. 

For his journey to progress, he had to meet you. Not as a bird or a horse or through glances as a guest. He had to meet you properly. This was the only way to draw you in, he told himself. The only way for you to submit completely and willingly.

Armin could have forced you too your knees, but he had to ensure that your father watched has his daughter chose Armin over him. And chose Armin you would. Every piece was in perfect place. The fates seemed to have woven a beautiful cloth of gold for the god of the sea.

What he failed to realise was that the cloth was in fact a snare- a trap which he will never be able to escape from.

Eleven months ago:

A short gust of wind had the pears in your thin basket tumbling down onto the rocky ground. You rushed after the fruit, crouching down to pick it up when a shadow appeared, and a hand reached out to pick it up for you. The sandal-clad feet were pale- paler than anyone living on this warm island and the robes a fine, ironed white. He somehow seemed to glow brighter than his clothes, and you purposefully let your fingers graze his as you picked up the fruit.

“Thank you,” you said, standing up.

You were hoping that he wouldn’t catch your staring. But even if he did, you couldn’t tear your eyes off him. He was lean, taller than you but not intimidatingly so and his eyes were like oceans that you found yourself staring into as he introduced himself as Mr Arlert. Just Mr Arlert. The new owner of the stables with a voice so soft, it took a moment before you remembered to introduce yourself.

“Y/N. And thank you, again.” It isn’t appropriate for an unmarried woman to be talking to a man on her own, but you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you have a first name Mr Arlert?”

His smile was contagious. “I do. But names are a powerful thing. I’m afraid I can’t give mine up freely.”

“Oh.” You scrunched your nose. “Can I pay for it then?”

You were dead serious, but the blond man laughed. How can someone look so pretty when they laugh? You wondered.

“I’m serious! I can pay you; name your price.”

Mr Arlert looked down at you, blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll think about it.”

“So, is that a no?”

“It’s a no, for now. One day I’ll tell you my name.”

He was sweet, so sweet, but you still gave him a sceptical frown, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing. Mr Arlert in turn gave you a sorry look before his eyes lit up and he pulled out from his brown satchel a small book of yellowed pages and a dusty blue cover, the gold embossing hardly visible. You nose only scrunched further.

“My name is in this story. It’s mentioned few times, but it’s an important one,” he said to you.

You took the book and flipped through the worn pages, immediately recognising the tale of Aphrodite and Ares. The lovers.

Why the challenge? You wanted to ask Mr Arlert but you knew the answer you your get would be too cryptic. Besides, you think, I like a challenge.

“How long do I have?” You asked instead.

“A year and a day.”

“And what will I get if I figure it out?”

At this, he pondered. But it seemed feigned, and you wondered, just for a split second, if the man had planned this from the beginning. But why? This was another one of your questions that went unanswered that day. Because before you could say anything more, Mr Arlert leaned forward and said, “Your reward will be divine”. And he walked away.

Nine months ago:

Life was well after Armin arrived. There was no other way to put it. Your father was confining himself to his room more often than before, and you were finding more opportunities to visit the river, leave the house and, eventually, you met the handsome baker’s son. Jean was kind, a gentleman, but not the arrogant type like most the men your age. You didn’t even feel too much guilt when you thought that spending a future with Jean- taking care of him and his home- wouldn’t be too bad. It’s quite pathetic that your life had been reduced to not being “too bad”, but the idea of marrying Jean sat on the comfortable line between reality and fantasy. Safety.

And then you were visited at the river.

Mr Arlert wasn’t even surprised to find you there, he had just smiled and sat beside you as you clenched your fists and forced yourself to smile back at him. You had always enjoyed him, his company, his challenges, but now it was like he was provoking you. The river Shiganshina was your river, your special place away from the hellscape that was the town. And now Mr Arlert had brought himself and his ordinary life into it.

You pulled your sandals back on, the crease in your brow evident. He clearly couldn’t get the hint. But before you could stand up, he spoke, and you paused.

“I wish I could jump in and swim away,” he said.

Curiosity got the best of you, as it often did with the man.

“The waterfall would kill you.”

The awkward laugh again. It had an effect on you so that your jaw couldn’t help but unclench. “If it means that I get to touch a waterfall, I wouldn’t mind, you know?”

You knew. You knew exactly what he meant. But you didn’t tell him.

“Didn’t take you as the suicidal type,” you said.

“I might get saved, who knows.”

“If you’re counting on me to jump after you, I’m letting you know I won’t.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I was thinking of more of a divine rescue.”

You finally looked at him, and- unsurprisingly- his blue eyes were glued to yours. What was surprising was his unwavering tone, his straight face. Mr Arlert was being serious. Why was he opening up to you this suddenly? So far, your interactions had consisted of him staring, you trying to guess his name, and him continuing to stare. In that order. You knew there was more to him, but it’s only now that you found yourself wanting to seek that out.

“You think Armin would save you?” You didn’t miss Arlert’s smile.

“I’m hoping I’ve gained his favour- done enough for him to allow me freedom via waterfall.”

It was your turn to smile. “You probably have, You’re at the temple often.”

“Thank you.” He blushed and you quickly pushed down the thought of how cute he looked. Sitting beside you, trousers rolled up and feet in the water, Mr Arlert looked more than cute. He looked like he belonged. You weren’t sure how that made you feel but, in that moment, you didn’t mind him entering your world.

“I think you would also be saved if you jumped into the waterfall,” Mr Arlert said.

You laughed. “Is that your way of saying I’m a nice person?”

“Something like that.” He paused. “I think Armin would appreciate your- uh- honesty. You’re like a priestess.” He laughs nervously at your expression. “You know, they have this personal affinity with the water and such.”

You knew exactly what he meant. How a stranger could read you so perfectly, you weren’t sure. But as you hid your smile between your hands, you wondered whether you were prepared to face the fear of the unknown. Maybe, with Mr Arlert, it would be a bit less unknown.

A few days later, Jean was announced missing. A search party was sent out and even Mr Arlert, on his recently acquired brown horse, couldn’t find him.

Present day:

Armin isn’t sure if he likes playing the part of the nice boy or not. Humans are simple creatures who praise him continuously and, without divine responsibilities, there is no need to take his rage out anywhere. But a god is who he is, and every day, he yearns to be seen as one. To be seen as one by you. He watches as you worship him, but you never look at him- not like you do the statues, or even the small river which you think is your only true connection to the god of the ocean.

You both want more, and you both know that, but you only ever admit it to each other when you sit beside that very river. There, in those moments, Armin feels a bit more like a god. Whenever he’s around you, he feels a bit more like a god.  

He’s told you before, but your perfect honesty has made it easy for him to unravel around you. He wants to unravel around you in other ways, too, and he wants you to unravel around him. Armin can’t count the number of times he’s sat beside you at the riverside and wanted to do nothing more than to kiss those lips of yours, to press the hard cock that he hides inside of you and watch as your eyes roll back, and you call out his name.  

But the God of the Sea is not Eren. Armin will earn you. And he’s very close to doing so. Not Mr Arlert. You have no interest in human men, that much is clear. You yearn for something more powerful. And you’re right. Only a god is worthy enough to stand beside you, lay between your legs, be in your arms. Mr Arlert is simply a means to push you to realising that the god in question is Armin.

In the meantime, he’s been nothing but patient.

It’s only when you come to his door one night, eyes puffy and red, that he lays his hands on you for the first time. He rubs your back as you cry and cry, fat tears refusing stop falling. You tell him about bout your father. About how, since he got better, he’s been refusing to let you out of the house, snapping at every moment and accusing you of being a filthy god-worshipper.

“He s-sai-d- he said we’re ‘gonna move away- said we’re gonna get as far away from the s-sea as possible.” You can hardly speak, though the tears have stopped, your voice still shakes violently. But Armin listens, he holds you close to him and repeats that everything is going to be fine.

You can’t stop thanking him as you leave, and he promises that his door is always open for you. “Whenever you call for me, I’m here,” Armin tells you. “Right beside you, always,” he adds as he watches you walk away.

He’s reached a new chapter of this Odyssey.

Present day:

You suppose your father’s death should have been expected. He was an old man, obviously depressed, and his only lifeline was his daughter who hated him.

You also suppose you should feel guilty. You don’t.

Familiar faces give their condolences and whisper questions of what is to happen to you now. You only pay heed to Sasha and Connie, though, who give you a soft hug before Sasha tells you that her family would be happy to take you in. You reassure her and everyone else that you have a plan, though your best friends are the only ones who seem to believe you.

“I heard Marie has a son who’s single, maybe they can-“

“You’re not actually talking about marriage here are you?”

“Well, the girl is all alone in the world, now! She needs a man to lead her on the right path.”

The old women are wrong, so very wrong. You don’t need a man. You’re fucking sick of men- sick of them all- everything they’ve created and everything they stand for.

What you need is a god.

The head priestess of Armin’s temple in unsurprised when you knock on her door with nothing but a bag and the clothes on your body. Those clothes are burned soon after, along with many of your other things, leaving your old life behind.

She tells you that you’re lucky there’s a place for you. The last priestess left running off with a man, “Which is a cardinal sin”, she makes sure to repeat every-so-often. The head priestess seems to hate men more than you do, sneering whenever Connie comes by.

Sasha and Connie are unsurprisingly shocked at your choice of work and even if they visit almost every day, they always tell you that they miss you. They think you’ve come the temple out of desperation- everyone does- and you let them believe. Because despite cleaning the marble floors or whatever other arduous duty you’ve been given, a smile is never far as you realise that you’re free from man. Indeed, explaining the truth to anyone would be far too difficult.

Well, except one person.

You’ve never missed anyone before. Not with your father keeping you so sheltered for most of your life. But as you push through the Head Priestess’ relentless schedule, you can’t help but miss Mr Arlert. He disappears after your father’s funeral, so you leave him a note at the empty stable with your final guess. You like to think he decided to follow his own path, you also like to think that he too wishes you were beside him, a guide in the unknown.

Present day:

The room is a box of marble, with a throne sat upon a dais at the centre and one fountain at every corner, each one sculped into a horse. The object of your interests, however, is the large bowl of water on the floor in front of the throne.

This is your initiation. You will emerge from this room not as an apprentice, but a Priestess.

You kneel down and lift the pot of clay to your lips. The head priestess kept on repeating how important it is to not put it down until you’re finished. So, you gulp the water down until you can see the image of Armin. You’re the one who selected the pot, with its faded paint depicting Armin and Hange’s fight for patronage of Sina. It’s a powerful image, but when you put the pot down, you come face to face with something very different. Armin is standing in a room-this room, you realise- and crouched down before him is a young woman, looking up in awe. It takes bit longer of a moment for you to realise that the woman is you.

Looking up slowly from the pot, the first thing you see is sandal-clad feet. Golden sandals, just as fine as the robes he wears, draped in perfect waves. The first word you think of to describe him is divine and it’s indeed accurate because-

“Mr Arlert.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

But you know that’s not correct. The man- no, not a man- before you is taller than Mr Arlert, by a foot and a half at least. His muscles are more prominent that the stable boy’s ever were, strong legs visible through the large slit between the layers of fabric draped over the god’s figure. Half of his shoulder-length hair is tied back using a golden pin whilst the rest frames his perfect, perfect face. You can’t help but think that Armin looks nothing like his statues- no medium of art could capture the ocean within his eyes, glowing in the dull light of the room. Then again, the stories didn’t capture the way the god acts either.

“Armin,” you say, this time your voice louder.

Now, you know.

His sad smile is familiar, but there’s something there that never was. “Oh dear,” he says. “I’m afraid you’ve lost out wager.”

Armin can’t help but compare you to a puppy, with large eyes staring up at him from your crouched position and an expression a perfect mix of excitement, curiosity, and shock.

You reach out a hand tentatively, but it hovers in the air between the two of you once you notice Armin’s raised brow. But he doesn’t rebuke you for it. After all, it’s only your first encounter with the god. He can’t expect you to behave perfectly, to adopt the right etiquette- no, he’ll have to train you first. Like he would a baby mutt. The thought makes him smile.

“I’ll accept any consequences, my god,” you say. Your voice sounds so sure of itself, so unlike your usual ramblings, those that Armin could and would listen to for hours. Right now, though, the certainty, it’s laced with desire that sends blood rushing south. You don’t notice. You’re too lost in his eyes to notice anything.

When he places his hand on your chin to hold it up, he can feel you shiver. “Such a perfect little worshipper,” he says. “I couldn’t possibly punish you.”

Armin can swear he sees disappointment in your eyes before he turns around and walks up the dais. The marble of the throne is cold beneath him, but the sight of you looking up at him with such longing is enough to warm him up. Now, Armin is sure you’ve noticed his growing erection because you crawl towards the dais, not yet climbing it, but close enough to see and lick your lips.

“Let me thank you at least, Armin.” He almost groans at the sound of his name. God, he wants to hear you say it over and over.

“Come here.”

And you climb up the dais only to pause before Armin leans forward and grabs your hips. Two lips, as if led by an invisible string, meet. You kiss like you’ve been waiting years for Armin and, in a way, you have. His tongue is inside your mouth quickly and he’s kissing, sucking, letting his teeth gently graze your lips as he revels in the feeling of you. As your bodies lean against each other, you can feel his heart hammering against your own. His chest is stone, but his lips are so soft and your hands find his golden hair. It’s also softer than it looks, and Armin can’t help but let out a moan as you gently tug.

When you pull back, his pupils are blown. “Thank me, then,” Armin says, breathless.

Sitting between his legs, your hand is tiny compared to his cock, and you can’t stop staring at it. Long and somewhat slender, but veiny with a flushed red top- he can see you gulp before you take an experimental lick at him. Armin’s hold on your hair only tightens and you look up at him, doe eyed and seemingly innocent.

“Put it in your mouth, pretty girl,” he says, guiding your head gently. “So obedient- Yes, exactly, just like-ah- just like that.”

But he doesn’t need to push down- no- he lets you set your own pace only because you do it so perfectly, almost as perfect as the wet noises you make. Armin doesn’t have time to be surprised, he’s just able to react fast enough to suppress his own moans so he can hear your wet tongue caress the base of his cock, as your lips create the perfect o-shape to accommodate him. Your drool is everywhere in a matter of seconds- his balls are coated with it, and so is your lap, where the spit seeps through the thin white fabric you call a robe.

“Like a puppy,” he murmurs. And you look up quizzically. “You’re drooling over me like a desperate puppy- a puppy in heat,” he grunts. “You just want to please me, don’t you? ‘S alright, puppy, I’ll let you do that.”

If you could nod your head, you would. Instead, your cheeks burn, and Armin is so lost in the way that you look- not even able to take his entire cock in his mouth- that his hips begin to buck unconsciously. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden impact, but he hisses and murmurs “What a good, wet hole. So good, good-”

The earthshaker is afraid that if he speaks any louder, his voice will slur into incomprehensible sultry sounds. But as you struggle to take his cock even deeper into his mouth, he lets out groans that go straight between your own legs. You moan around him, and the reverberations make his head roll back. God, you could stare at him forever. And he would let you.

“Look at me,” he says whenever your eyes go astray. “Look at your god.”

As his hips buck more violently, Armin can feel the pressure in his lower stomach, the impending orgasm and he wants to stop- wants to hold out the way he always has. But he can’t, it’s too much and he just cannot pull out of you. He simply pushes further and further into your tight throat, repeating your name like it’s a blessing. “fuck, puppy, ‘m going to- I’m going to cum down your throat. You want that, do you you’re your god’s cum- ah, fuck, ahhh”-

Pushing your head down to the base, both of his hands at the back of your head, Armin cries out you name and you can feel the warm liquid go down your throat, thick ropes filling up your mouth, some of it dribbling out. Armin reflexively pushes it back in your mouth, ordering you to swallow it all, to show how grateful you are. Of course, you oblige. But before you can even regain your breath, Armin suddenly pulls you off his cock. His pupils are dilated, and he wears an expression- anger? Shock?

“You’re not a virgin,” he hisses, teeth gritting against each other. His breath is frantic, uneven. It’s not a question and you begin to recognise his expression. Rage. “You’ve done this before.”

Fuck.

The God of the sea has his fair share of consorts and mistresses. Some of them virgins- though he never chases them the way Eren does- some of them not, but none have made him cum so fast. He would like to blame it on the year of pining, of restraint, but he knows better. It’s you. You do this him. You make him so wild, so willing, so pliant even. 

In that moment, as he looks your worried face, so desperate to please, he thinks that he’ll never be able to let it go. You’ve consumed Armin and he wants to do nothing more than burn eternally. You must understand that- that you exist as his beacon, that’s where you’ll be your happiest, but those thoughts are too complex for a human. You, in your fragile state, can’t understand. It’s alright, he’ll just have to show you bit by bit that you’re his. But to do so, he must first take on the role he’s familiar with. That of the punisher.

“Who is he?” Armin snaps.

“It was only-“

“Who is he?”

You pause. Memories of nights spent together, huddled close and trying to keep quiet already fading. “Berthrolt Hoover.”

Armin’s shoulders relax, “I see.”

His breathing slowly goes back to normal, and, at the back of your mind, you know you’ve signed the young warrior’s death. But your worry is fleeting as Armin grabs you by the neck and hoists you over his knees, laying you down on your stomach effortlessly. “A priestess who isn’t a virgin?”

You look up as see Armin’s familiar sweet smile, but it’s laced with mirth that makes you forget the Mr Arlert he was before. You cry out at the first slap of his hand on your ass, more out of surprise than pain.

“I don’t think the people of Paradis will be very happy to hear that,” he says. “An unmarried woman giving herself away to a pathetic boy.”

Slap!

“I’m sorry!” you cry out. “It was a mis-”

He slaps you thrice.

“No excuses, dumb little puppy. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure this punishment.” His voice is deceptively soft, as if he is actually sorry. And when you look back up at Armin, his face betrays no malice. But it doesn’t show any cruelty either. Instead, there’s a fascination.

Armin has you sprawled across his lap, at his mercy and he is discovering you bit by bit. As a god. His cock twitches and then suddenly he tugs off the fabric of your robes and they disappear.

The way you squirm is half- hearted, and Armin has to laugh. “Embarrassed? Now of all times? I didn’t know you were such a prude. Or is this all just to compensate for the fact that you’re a whore in my temple?”

You shake your head, “I swear, I’ve never belonged to any man!”

Fingers trace the expanse of your naked body, soft enough to send shivers down your spine. “Oh? Really?”

“Yes yes, I swear, ah!” His fingers find your naked ass and they grab onto the flesh, massaging, groping, feeling you. Armin’s other hand rests on top of your head, stroking it gently and you’re so lost in his touch that you almost forget to speak.

“I belong to no man, I never have. Only you. It’s always been you, Armin.”

The god’s eyes widen, and he gently pulls you up from his lap only to seat you on it, upright and, this time, there’s so much more to admire. “You’re right,” he says. Armin captures your lips and this time, it’s longer, rougher. He doesn’t want to pull back, doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your soft lips against his, but his hands have already found your breasts and soon, his tongue joins them. You moan as he begins to lap at your breasts, leaving hickeys and spit in his wake as his finally finds your nipples and begins sucking them like a child as you whine and lean into him.

“You do belong to me,” he finally says, his voice partially muffled as he loses himself in the worship your breasts. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

And you can do nothing more than nod your head as your fingers tangle in Armin’s hair and you’re pulled into another kiss. His hand goes down your body, squeezing every single mound of flesh as if it needs to be touched so that when he finds your cunt, Armin can’t help but smile at how wet you are.

“Already, but I’ve hardly done anything to you?”

What a liar, but you don’t have a chance to tell him before he plunges a finger inside of you. “Oh, puppy, my puppy,” he groans at the contact the same time you moan, pushing your hips against his digits. “You like my fingers like that inside of you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, I really love them- it feels, oh my god, it feels too good!” you grip his shoulders, unable to do anything but desperately buck your hips at the smiling Armin. He knows what he’s doing, he knows that his fingers are giving you just that satisfaction, but it’s still not enough to bring you over the edge.

“Please Armin, please.” You squeeze his shoulders.

“Tell me what you want, tell me, I’ll give it to you- I swear.”

“I want to feel you, all- ah- all of you. I need to feel you inside of me!”

You’re not sure at which moment Armin removes his robes, but as he moves both of your legs so that you’re straddling him, your hands are on his bare, lean chest. The god’s nipples are flushed pink and pert, practically calling to you and you respond by brushing your fingers over them and watching him twitch ever-so-slightly in response. You withhold the urge to take them into your mouth, even as Armin rubs his cock against your cunt, releasing the sweetest of sounds.

He’s already leaking precum and it mixes with your juices so perfectly, his cock being dragged back and forth, only making you gush even more. “So messy,” he mumbles as he uses his tip to spreads your juices across your thighs. At this point, you can practically feel it throbbing, ready to be sheathed inside of you and the whimpers of your desperation echo against the temple walls.

When Armin slips inside of you, simultaneous gasps escape your lips. The god pulls your body closer to his as you throw your head back, stars in your eyes.

“Look,” he whispers. “Look how easily I slip in- it’s- it’s like your cunt is made for me.”

“Armin,” you whisper back. “Armin, Armin- ah- Armin.”

He sinks you down slowly, the stretch hitting every single spot that leaves your legs practically limp. The god is holding you up, whispering his own mantra that you can’t hear over your bliss. Once inside, your eyes look lock with Armin’s and he’s staring at you in a way he’s never done before. You’ve never seen pupils so dilated and the two of you stay like that as if making up for the moments when you should have been connected in this way. An eternity, it seems, the two of you have needed each other.

“I’m your god,” Armin finally says. “I’m your god and- hng ah-” He begins moving you up and down his shaft. “And I’m going to make you cum all over this cock- okay? All over your god’s cock.”

You nod your head pathetically as he lifts your hips and slams them down against his own. He is strong, ruthless in the way he bucks his hips up every time he lifts you from his cock, as if he can’t bare the empty feeling of not having your tight pussy clamped around him. At this relentless pace, you’re sure that the sound of your connecting bodies could penetrate even these marble walls. And yet, you don’t hold back. Thanks and praises spill from your swollen lips and Armin can’t help but lean forward and push his tongue between your mouth, as if he can absorb all of your word. “So good, so good, it’s- uah- I just want more, more of your cock, you fill me up so good!”

Armin can’t deny you. He pushes your thighs to your chest and picks up your entire body to fuck himself. He manoeuvres your body like a toy and as your tongue rolls out and your eyes become glassy, you begin to look like one too. The only sounds coming out of your mouth are incomprehensible, even as Armin attaches his mouth to one of your bouncing tits, you can only squeal.

“Such a good puppy,” he says between kisses. “Letting me use her holes like this. A god using a puppy’s holes- you should be- you should be grateful! Tell me, tell me you’re grateful!”

“I am!” you cry out. “I am grateful!”

“Good girl, good puppygirl.”

When Armin flips you over, you’re sat on his throne and he fucks into you harder, harder than he was doing before, and you swear his moans are louder too. He’s looking down at the movement of your stomach as if hypnotized by the way his cock disappears into you. And, in a way, he is. The fascination of being inside of you- just the idea even- is enough to make him want to cum.

The sudden position has him hitting new spots and the build-up is so fast, you hardly have the time to warn him. “Armin, Armin I’m cum-“

He grabs your face as you release around his cock, body spasming but unable to look away as Armin’s gaze burns through you. “Good girl,” he says. “Show me, show me how you cum. Just like that, just like that.”

He continues to plough his hips into yours and the spasms of your pussy leave him unable to hold back. “Inside of you,” he practically growls. “I’m going to cum inside of you- yes, yes, yes I am puppy. I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to show me how you take it yeah?”

You’re too far gone to even register the implications of what he’s saying, but he buries his cock in your warm walls and releases his cum inside of you with a heavy groan. “Just like that, just like that- I’m going to fill you up with my seed, puppy, my puppy.”

Armin feels like he’s emptied his balls- two powerful orgasms which leave his legs shaking violently. And yet, he pulls out of you slowly and stands back up to his full height, cock in front of your face. Almost instinctively, you rub your cheek against it, giving Armin soft kitten licks and he coos at you, stroking your hair. But he doesn’t push, he just holds his cock there and pumps softly as he stares at your fucked out face. Messy, covered in his spit, his hickeys, his bites, his cum- you look perfect, divine. Only one thing is missing. “I’m going to give you everything I have, puppy. And you’re going to take it, okay?” You nod and open your mouth for him and, immediately, a strong stream of pee emerges.

At the bitter taste on your tongue, your eyes roll back, and you spread your legs even wider, a welcome to the mess he is about to make. Armin accepts and angles his cock to release his pee over your chest, then your stomach, and then your already-throbbing cunt. He lifts a foot to rest on the throne and Armin doesn’t think he’s even seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

As if guided by an implicit will, Armin’s foot hovers on top of you and suddenly, he presses against your lower stomach. Your eyes snap back into focus as you whine out for him to wait, wait just a moment “I just had water,” you cry out. “It’s gonna- It’s gonna come out!”

But Armin simply grins. “Let it come out,” he says and presses his foot down harder. “Pee yourself dumb little mutt, be a good puppy for your owner.” The trickle that emerges is involuntary, but Armin’s grin is wider. “Yes, good girl, just like that. Let me see more, let me see more of you.”

The pressure that was holding the bowl of water back broke and you felt the warm liquid against your thighs before you realise what’s happening. Armin practically moans as he watches you whimper and struggle to hold your pee back as it spreads over the throne, the dais, and even Armin himself. He doesn’t stop until you’ve given it all to him.

You expect Armin to disappear. 

You’ve given him everything. His goal is complete, you think, he has nothing more to do with you. But, as he has done many times before, the god surprises you. Armin’s body is heavy against yours when he collapses on top of you, but the weight is comforting. Despite the malaise of urine and cum rubbing against both of your bodies, you wrap your arms around the god of the ocean and hold him close. 

Even as you close your eyes and lean your head back on the marble throne, Armin doesn’t leave you. Even as you open your eyes back up and see blue ones staring back at you, the look he gives you is so familiar and long hair in such unfamiliar disarray that you can’t help but smile.

He doesn’t ask why. Instead, Armin calls forth a stream of warm water from the adjacent fountain to clean the both of you. It feels like a fever dream the way floating droplets caress your bodies, and when Armin stands you up, his hands not leaving you, the perfume that suddenly envelops you is heavenly.

“Can I give you a last kiss, please?” you ask when your robe appears once again. And Armin leans forward to capture your lips, dragging his tongue on your bottom lip as if to taste you.

It doesn’t feel like a final kiss. You’ve had many of them- Jean, Sasha, Berthrold, your father, and even your mother, though you can’t remember it. This kiss is different. It feels less like a kiss and more like a promise, a vow. a shiver runs down your spine. 

“I am your god,” he says and lifts his both of his hands slowly to wrap around your neck. “And you’re my worshipper.” You gasp as a cold sensation spreads around your neck, just below Armin’s fingers. It’s sudden, and heavy and when he removes his hands, yours fly to your neck and there’s a metal band there where there was none before.

“It’s sculpted from Hephaestus’ gold,” Armin says as he strokes his fingers along the metal. But he’s not looking at his gift, instead he looks at you. 

“Armin- I- this is. But why?”

For the first time, he can’t read your expression. But it doesn’t matter. You belong to him. You always have, but now you know. And if it takes time for you to understand, Armin can wait. He’ll wait right beside you, always, always there to guide you.

“This is not the end of my Odyssey. My Odyssey is eternal,” he says before giving you another short kiss and disappearing, the warmth of his lips still present.

The gods might not all be fickle, you think, so you just smile sadly. But the gods are all selfish, so you touch the collar around your neck.

A/N: This is my first ever collab and I was- as still am- a bit insecure about how this story turned out so I appreciate all of your support ❤️. I would also like to apologise to my fellow history nerds for the historical inaccuracies. 

[studiojeon]

troubled outsiders | intro - jjk

| summary | -  how you two end up pining for each other.

warnings: none :) 

content: idol!jungkook x student!oc, friends to lovers (because it’s THE superior trope okurrrt), jungkook is quiet and shy but a social butterfly when needed (and when it comes to oc but you’re not supposed to know that yet), oc is both a badass and a socially akward queen, she has TWO friends and only because one is dating the other (like... same), the Lee Charyeong is her bestie, oc works at bighit and feels like everyone either fears her or hates her, author nim is a crackhead and has no plot planned for this series whatsoever (doesn’t know if she’ll keep this up, we’ll see).

words: 1.93 k

His presence was overwhelming, to say the least. Even if he were surrounded by six hundred other equally handsome men, somehow, to you (and the majority of the female population, at that point) he was as captivating and magnetic as they come. Jeon Jungkook didn't pay no mind to no one, but sure as hell everyone became hyper aware of his existence and essence in time. And that didn’t exclude you.

Yet, as nonchalant and indifferent as the man could be perceived, in reality he was more considerate and friendly than the aura he exuded. You knew this because working in the same company had to teach a thing or two about the people who literally carried said company and the whole industry at some point, still you barely knew four or three people, including your assistant and Jungkook, whom you had met once.

The opportunity of working at the company had come to you out of the blue, quite literally, you were attempting to send one of your assignments in when an email appeared in your notifications during your sailor moon study break. 

HYBE Entertainment

We’re glad to inform you that you’re being recruited for the position of Logistics Manager in one of our sub companies, BIGHIT Entertainment. We’ve thoroughly looked through the CV you’ve submitted and are very interested in your capabilities and what you can contribute to our organization. One of our other managers will gladly meet you on a day you can both agree on. Make sure to answer this email to get more details about your interview.

“Nani!? THE FUCK?” sure as hell that your eyes and cognitive functions were deceiving you (ADHD) you went over the text a little over three times in a row before the message settled in your mind. This was sus. 

Before even considering a reply you made a quick call. “Fucking Lee Chaeryeong” you spat on your end of the line. “You did this, didn’t you?”.

Her silence was more than enough to have you cursing her under your breath. “I don’t know what exactly you’re talking about but it most likely was me. Does it have to do with a sex toy in particular?”

“No” you denied almost monotonously, guessing the pile of boxes in the corner of your room with her names on them was what she referred to. “Does anything come to mind if i mention BIGHIT FUCKING ENTERTAINMENT?”

It was her. All those conversations during the summer about how badly you wanted to work in the entertainment business as marketing staff of some sort had their effect on your friend, who, despite all your excuses and denials, knew you better than you and your mom combined did, and because of this, was sure as hell you were not making a move towards that goal whatsoever. So, being the boss bitch she was, she took matters into her own hands, was what she explained.

You concluded that was the reason you had reached a point in your life where you had more experience than most recently graduated kids in your field, because Chaeryeong had you moving every summer break. You had been the manager of a coffee franchise and convenience store during you junior and senior years, and also figured a way to improve the marketing management strategy of a fucking restaurant while at it. Not to toot your own horn, but you were kind of cool.

Or not. “I hope this job satisfies your workaholic ass for once, I’m running out of ideas”. Chaeryeong spat before hanging up.

Sure as hell it would. 

On friday afternoon, you made your way to the HYBE INSIGHT building and introduced yourself to your recruiters who promised to give you a call at some point. “It went fine” you told Chaeryeong once you were in your car. And it was the truth, however you weren’t so sure if they would actually hire you at some point since well, you were a girl in a male dominated industry and, in your opinion, there were always better people than you. “Wanna go grab coffee?”

“I want to. But, I have practice today. I’m actually on my way there. Please avoid driving through Hongdae today, this shit’s packed.” You sighed and thanked her for the heads up. You missed your friend, badly. You hadn’t seen each other in three weeks, and you didn’t even live so far away from each other (you did, but it had been worse before). You two had very agitated lives to say the least. Chaeryeong was a kpop group member, and well, you were jumping from job to job and getting your phD in Business Management at the same time. It was hard to find moments to spare together during some periods of the year, but you guess the anticipation made your encounters better.

“Talk about anticipation” you slammed your forehead against your desk, taking a breather after such an anxiety packed situation. Short story: you got the job (for some fucking reason). And you had gone through a whole week of expectancy and anguish. Not getting that job would have broken your heart, and ego at the same time. 

You guessed the law of attraction tactics Chaeryeong had taught you had sorted their effect and were what led you to your current position in life.

“Miss _____, your presentation’s ready” your work assistant gave you a comforting pat in the back as she took a seat somewhere next to you. You were nervous, shitless. It was your fifth week at the job, and being the proactive woman you were, you had collected lots of data in order to come up with a resources management plan.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and more than a hundred people sat in front of you, waiting for your speech. Including him, who you’d once bumped into accidentally during one of your data recollections runs inside the building. 

You hated having the need to impress others yet, hence your anxious behaviour. But this was a decisive moment in regards to your validation in your new job and how you’d continue to be perceived during your work stance (no reason to panic at all)… you needed to get it together.

“I think I just pissed off a bunch of old men right now,” you told your assistant right after you got off stage. “I need a bathroom break”. Linh gave you a reassuring smile, one she always had plastered on her face.

“Take as long as you need to. I’ll give you a call once the rest are done”.

The commute to the bathroom was unnecessarily complicated in your opinion. You had spent a little over a month rushing through the hallways of the building and you swore every single day your spatial orientation got a bit more fucked up. There was no way there wasn’t a single bathroom on the floor you were in, that would just be atrocious. “It’s not completed yet” someone said beside you as you stared at the half empty map the company had projected on a wall next to the elevators. “Where do you need to go?” 

Kim Taehyung of all people in the world was talking to your ugly and unworthy ass. Your breath caught in your throat and after staring for at least five seconds your body finally reacted to your orders. “Oh, um… the bathroom. I’ve been looking for it for a good ten minutes” you explained with a nervous laugh.

“Trust me, I get it. I still get lost over here” he smiled gently. “It’s in the hallway in the middle of the next hallway” 

You laughed at his very ambiguous explanation. “Thank you” you bowed your head and made your way to said destination.

It was in the hallway to your left, not your right, and it took you a while to figure out that new piece of information. Once you were staring at yourself in the mirror, you realized that you looked considerably tired and exhausted from all the social interaction you had undergone throughout the day. You were used to the side stares and whispering you’d get whenever you entered a room at that point, but some days you just wished you could get a break from them. After all, it wasn’t your fault you didn’t look Korean at all, and that you also didn’t fit the stereotype of a foreigner.

You got that from your mom, both the non Korean features and social fatigue. But that wasn’t even the problem most of the time, it was your friendly and smart nature which she had also passed onto you. Some would consider it a blessing, but to you it was a burden, like a clear glass that shielded you from introducing yourself into other people’s realities. You had few friends and people to trust, but in your everyday life you had to deal with the pressure of standing out too much and that came with a lot of negative energy from others. You sigh as you spray your favorite fragrance on yourself. You could be feeling like shit, but no one will ever catch you slipping.

But that excluded him apparently. You hadn’t noticed that on the other side of the hallway was the men’s bathroom and the realization hit you as you were calmly getting some tea from the vending machine. “Good afternoon” the man greeted you as he made his way out the hallway, but stopped in his tracks right after he noticed you. “_____! Hi” he smiled at you and you wanted to die, suddenly forgetting what you were ordering in the first place.

“H-hi Jungkook” You smiled back, poorly attempting to put your wallet back into your backpack. 

“Need help there?” he noticed your agitated state and held your bag for you. He smelled just as heavenly as you had expected, somewhat between big dick energy and flowers. Oh, and he also remained as kind and polite as you remembered him.

Seeming as if he wasn’t planning on continuing his path to wherever he was heading to in the first place, he stood quietly by your side, waiting for you to be done with your deal. “How have you been?” you break the ice for him.

Quickly, you grab your tea and start walking back to the auditorium together, unaware of your surroundings or the suspicions that could arise. “Busy, but very good. How have you been? I saw your presentation earlier… I wish I understood half of what you said but you still sounded amazing”.

And you would never admit it out loud, but you were positive you were blushing (and falling in love too - platonically, of course). “Oh god, you think so? I basically told them they’ve been doing things wrong all along so maybe you’re the only one who’s appreciative of my work” you handed him the second can of iced tea you bought without him noticing. You swear his eyes lit up like stars in the night sky. “Payback for the other day” you smile at him.

The first time you two had crossed paths you didn’t look nearly as glamorous as you did now. In fact, you looked incredibly disturbed and in pain, carrying a huge pile of paperwork in your hands. But as soon as sweet Jungkook noticed your state, he offered you a hand and somehow ended up helping through your multiple data collecting trips that afternoon. It was a nice day.

“Anytime” he took the can in his hands with a shy look on his face. “Unless I’m practicing, you know…” you look down at his feet, with huge black boots engulfing them, and you smile due to their contrast with his personality. “Here, i’ll give you my number so you can call me whenever you need to put all those papers back. Hopefully I’ll be around” he added as he pulled his phone from his back pocket.

Way to get a girl’s number, my god.

[helloalycia]

teenage dirtbag [five] // wanda maximoff

summary: spending the afternoon with the Maximoff twins proved to be interesting... and prom night finally arrives!

warning/s: none.

author's note: here’s the final part to this mini series! i’m so glad you all enjoyed it and i appreciate every note i get, thank you 😊♥️ i’ve still got other wanda stuff in the works that will be posted soon, so stay tuned!

part one | part two | part three | part four | lil bonus bit for after p5 |masterlist | wattpad

After a few tries and encouragement from Pietro, I managed to win the black cat plush toy for Wanda. It was strange, her brother wanting me to make a move on her, but I guess it reassured me a bit to know he thought I was actually good enough for her.

The two of us headed to the diner next door to find Y/BF/N and the other Maximoff twin, myself hiding the plush toy behind my back.

"Finally, you two took forever!" Y/BF/N exclaimed when he saw us approaching their table.

"Y/N here is one stubborn girl with that machine," Pietro explained with a smile as we took our seats. His eyes fell to the drink in front of him. "Oh, you ordered!"

"Just the drinks," Y/BF/N said, before looking to me as I slid in beside him in the booth. "I got you a Cherry Coke. Your favourite."

I smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

"So, what d'you win?" he asked, quirking a brow.

Feeling the heat rising up my neck, I looked to Wanda who was sat opposite Y/BF/N. She was leaning on her hand as she stared at me with a kind smile on her lips.

"You said you wanted the black cat," I said nervously, before holding it out to her. "Here."

Taken aback, she raised her eyebrows but accepted the gift. "Aww, Y/N... you didn't have to!"

I shrugged, smiling awkwardly.

She grinned, studying the toy before looking up at me with sparkling hazel eyes. "I love it. Thank you."

Nodding, I glanced at Pietro who was grinning with pride before me. I could feel Y/BF/N staring at me and when I looked his way, he was smirking and wiggling his eyebrows knowingly. Rolling my eyes, I focused my attention on the menu to distract myself.

"So... what shall we order?" I asked, hoping to change the subject.

After relaying our order to the waitress, Pietro was the first to speak up.

"Okay, I have to ask," he began, leaning forward slightly as he looked between Y/BF/N and I. "Are you guys dating?"

I almost choked on my drink as I looked over my glass to see him grinning cheekily. He knew full well that Y/BF/N and I were only friends, so what was he playing at?

"Definitely not," Y/BF/N answered with a chuckle. Y/N here is practically my sister."

"Exactly," I added, giving Pietro a look that basically said I'm going to murder you. "He's been my best friend since we were kids."

"So there's never been feelings there?" Pietro continued to question curiously, leaning back in his seat.

Wanda slapped his arm gently. "Leave them alone, Piet."

"Never," Y/BF/N answered for us both. "Like I said, she's my annoying little sister."

I quirked a brow and looked to him. "Little? I think I'd be the older sister in this fake sibling relationship,"

"But I'm a month older than you," he stated like that was explanation enough.

"But you act like a child," I retorted. "I'd be the older one."

He rolled his eyes, though a smile was playing on his lips. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

I rolled my eyes, too, before looking back to the twins. Wanda was smiling as she sipped her drink and Pietro had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked to me. What the hell was he thinking?

"So you're not interested in Y/BF/N," he thought aloud. "And you definitely weren't interested in me..."

"You made a move on Y/N?" Wanda asked suddenly, looking to her brother with knitted brows.

I breathed out through my nose, eyes falling to the table with embarrassment.

"Yeah, but she made it clear she didn't like me," Pietro said with a shrug, before looking to me again. "So who do you like then? Or is their a girlfriend we don't know about?"

Looking up, I saw three sets of eyes on me and I suddenly felt nervous. Y/BF/N and Pietro were watching with amusement dancing in their eyes as Wanda chewed her lip curiously, awaiting an answer.

"You know there's nobody, Pietro," I said through a forced smile as I looked to him.

His cheeky smile was still present as he said. "Really? I thought you mentioned someone back then. Whilst we were playing in the arcade."

Oh, boy, was he going to die.

"You misunderstood," I played along, before kicking him in the shin to shut him the hell up.

Of course, it was just my luck that the leg in front of me was actually Wanda's. She squeaked an 'ow' as she bent down to rub her leg.

"What was that?" she asked with confusion.

Pietro must have pitied me, having put me on the spot enough in the past two minutes, as he looked to his sister with an apologetic smile. "My bad, Wands. My foot just twitched."

I breathed out with relief as Pietro looked to me, trying not to laugh. He was lucky we were with company otherwise I would have killed him there and then.

—

I wasn't expecting to be hanging out with the Maximoff twins on a Saturday afternoon, but by the time dinner came to an end, I realised how much I enjoyed the day. And I think I could say the same for Y/BF/N, too.

The rest of our meal was pretty uneventful after Pietro's initial teasing, to my relief, and Pietro eventually quit it with the overt hints towards his sister. The last thing I wanted was for Wanda to feel uncomfortable, so I was glad he eventually cut it out.

At the end of the meal, Pietro and Y/BF/N offered to split the bill between them – something about chivalry not being dead, I don't know, all I knew was Wanda and I were getting a free meal so why complain? – and headed to the till to pay, leaving Wanda and I alone.

She was hugging her new black cat plushie on her lap adorably, making me smile.

"Aren't black cats supposed to be bad luck or something?" I asked, earning her attention.

She put her arm on the back of her seat, leaning her head on her hand as she gave me her full attention. "I didn't peg you for the suspicious type," she taunted.

I smiled. "I never said I believed it. Just what I've heard."

She chuckled, licking her lips. "Fair point... I don't believe it either. I just love black cats. They're so cute and get way too much stick for merely existing."

It was my turn to laugh. She had such a unique way of thinking that I couldn't help but be attracted to. Something as simple as the way she was smiling at me right now warmed my heart.

"How is your hand by the way?" she suddenly asked, eyes looking down to it.

I squeezed it into a fist and released. The purple bruising along my knuckles had turned yellow-green which meant it was getting better, but it did still hurt a little. Nonetheless, I didn't want to make Wanda feel bad, so I gave her a reassuring smile.

"It's okay," I said, making her look up at me with concerned eyes. "I mean, it hurts a little, but it's getting better."

She pursed her lips, nodding. "Nate really did deserve what you did. Bet it felt good."

I raised my eyebrows with surprise, certainly not expecting that. "I guess it did a little, but..."

"It's okay, I'm not biased," she promised with a slight smile. "We broke up, remember?"

I relaxed before mirroring her expression. "Then yeah, it felt pretty great. Karma for hitting me with that stupid football."

She chuckled, leaning back into her seat and clutching her cat. "Karma, indeed." There was a pause, before she grew excited. "So prom is coming up. How are we feeling?"

I groaned playfully. "We're feeling exhausted already. I'm not a huge prom fan."

She gasped. "Seriously? Y/N, come on, it's our last one! How aren't you excited?"

I pulled a face. "The concept of dancing in a hall with people I barely speak to isn't exactly appealing."

She straightened up, hugging her cat closely. "So what, you're not gonna go?"

"I'm not sure yet... Y/BF/N has plans to ask someone and really wants me to go, too," I admitted. "But I've not decided. I might just leave him to it."

She tilted her head to the side curiously, eyes studying me intensely. "What if somebody asked you to go with them? Then would you go?"

I tried not to laugh as I leaned my head in the palm of my hand on the table. "Nobody is going to ask me, Wanda. Nobody even knows who I am."

She scoffed playfully. "Now that's just not true. You're beautiful, Y/N. Funny. Kind. Intelligent. Someone is bound to ask."

I rolled my eyes, hoping to distract from the heat rising to my cheeks. I knew she was just saying all of that stuff to be nice, but God was I awful at accepting compliments.

She must have noticed as she leaned forward on her own palm, eyes glowing with entertainment. "Okay, what if you asked somebody?"

Appreciating the subject change, I leaned back in my seat. "I wouldn't even know who to ask."

She thought about it for a moment, before saying, "Pietro was being annoying earlier with all of that questioning, but he's right. Is there nobody you're even remotely interested in at school?"

I quirked a brow, wondering if she was serious. The way she was watching me patiently, a small smile tugging at her lips, made me believe she was. And I found that I couldn't bring it in myself to completely lie to her. So, I didn't.

"There's one person," I admitted reluctantly, swallowing hard. This piqued her interest as she sat up straight, an excited look on her face. I continued, "But I could never ask her."

She gave me an are you serious? look. "And why not?"

I tensed my jaw, smile fading at the thought. "She wouldn't say yes."

Wanda's expression softened. "I doubt that."

Feeling a little uncomfortable, I shuffled in my seat. "She wouldn't. And it's fine anyway! I mean, I wouldn't even know what to say. It's pointless."

"Try," was all she said. And in response to my confused face, she added, "Try asking me. Practice what you would say if I was this girl."

I shook my head. "Wanda, that's not–"

"Just try!" she insisted, sitting back in her seat and smiling encouragingly. "No harm, no foul, right?"

Maybe a little, I thought, but straightened up anyway.

"Okay, er..." I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling nervous as her eyes followed my every move. Looking up, I felt intimidated by her gaze, even though she had the softest smile and kindest eyes directed my way. "Wanda, would you like to go to prom with me?"

Without hesitation, she nodded. "I'd be honoured to, Y/N."

It was fake, this whole thing was 'practice'. But God, I wanted it to be real so bad. She held my gaze, confident and startling and wonderful all at once, and I had no idea what to do. My palms were getting sweaty and my heart was racing the longer she stared. My gaze fell to her lips at the wrong time, as she licked them and I wanted to lean in, wanted to kiss her. I wanted to kiss her hard and tell her how I felt. I wanted to ask her to prom and dance with her in the school gym. I wanted to hold her hand and pull her close, staring into her eyes without fear of going too far.

I wanted her.

"Okay, we're all done here," Pietro's voice broke our staring contest. He clapped his hands together, stopping by the table. "You both ready to go?"

Wanda nodded, already sliding out from the booth. "I'm ready. Y/N?"

I looked up and forgot how to breathe when she smiled down at me.

"Y-yeah," I got out, wiping my palms on my jeans before sliding out the booth. "All ready. Let's go."

—

Prom came upon us in no time and I'd made the decision to attend. My sister ended up convincing me with Y/BF/N, the two of them rambling about how it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and a rite of passage before graduating high school. As much as I hated the thought of attending, I knew they were right, so I agreed to go.

Y/S/N came over to help me get ready, as she was the one who picked my dress. I wanted to wear a cute pantsuit, not really one for dresses, but after her complaints – "you're really milking that whole 'I'm a lesbian' look aren't you?" – I agreed on a dress that she chose.

She helped me do my hair and makeup before taking loads of embarrassing photos of me at the door. I went to prom with Y/BF/N and his date – some girl he liked in his Maths class – which wasn't too bad, but I didn't want to third wheel too much, so I gave them space when we actually arrived.

The school had done a good job at converting the gym into something unrecognisable, I must admit. Plus there was food, which was always a good distraction.

Some acquaintances from some of my classes said their hellos to me and engaged in some quick conversations before moving on. Admittedly, it wasn't too bad catching up with people I'd shared class with over the past several years. Y/BF/N even had a few dances with me, both him and his date, which was sweet, but honestly, I still felt out of place.

Two hours in, I was already fed up of the experience, opting to stand on the sidelines by a cocktail table with a sad glass of punch. I definitely didn't expect to see Wanda approaching me with an impressed smile on her lips. I hadn't actually seen her since arriving, the place full of students and myself barely recognising anyone as it was, let alone in a full gymnasium.

"You came," she said when she stopped my table, eyes looking me up and down. "You look amazing, Y/N."

She was one to talk. I tried not to drool over how beautiful she looked. I assumed she'd be one to wear a dress, but I guess I assumed wrong as she was pulling off a burgundy suit and white blouse. Her hair was curled and left out, paired with a smokey eye makeup look that only complimented her eyes perfectly.

"Says you?" I replied with a smile. "You look gorgeous, Wanda."

She smiled bashfully. "Thank you... so what made you change your mind in coming?"

I laughed uncomfortably, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Partially forced by my family, partially felt like I had to."

She laughed alongside me. "Well, I feel like you made the right choice."

"Not too sure about that," I joked, before straightening up. "So, who was lucky enough to bring Wanda Maximoff as their date to the prom?"

She rolled her eyes at my compliment, smile on her lips still. "Nobody. I came alone. Well, alone but with my brother."

I was surprised at that, but tried to hide it with a nod. "Alone works, too."

"Says the girl who also came alone," she teased.

I couldn't help but smile with amusement. "Yeah. Says she."

Setting her purse on the table, she began to open it. "I was looking for you earlier. But I couldn't find you."

I watched as she fumbled around in her purse. "Yeah? And what did you need?"

After a moment of searching, she finally pulled out two slips of paper that looked like tickets. Holding them up with a small smile, she said, "I've got two tickets to the Paramore concert happening in the summer."

My jaw dropped with disbelief. "You're kidding."

She shook her head, holding them towards me. I accepted them, looking to see if she was pulling my leg. She wasn't.

"These are really good seats," I pointed out, before looking up at her. "You scored big time."

She laughed as I held the tickets out to her. Accepting them back, she said, "I did. And I bought them for a reason."

I raised an eyebrow as she watched me.

"We've got to get matching tee shirts somehow, right?" she joked lightheartedly before looking to me with certainty. Green eyes sparkled with hopefulness as she said, "Come with me."

My mouth went dry. She was asking me to go with her, holy shit.

I opened my mouth, about to speak, but she cut me off.

"Don't say maybe," she said, chewing on her lower lip nervously. "Say yes."

The music and the dancing students and the lights all faded into nothing as Wanda waited for a response, stepping closer to me, way too close to be platonic. I was overwhelmed, definitely not expecting this. Never in a million years did I think Wanda Maximoff, the most popular girl in our grade, would be asking me to see Paramore with her. I didn't even think she knew I existed! 

Her eyes darted between mine patiently, sending shivers down my spine. I could feel her breath tickling my lips as she waited and I looked down to hers, suppressing the urge to lean in.

"Yes," I finally spoke, voice barely a whisper as I swallowed hard. "I'll go with you." 

She nodded, but that wasn't enough as she licked her own lips. I looked back to her eyes, only to see her looking down at mine.

"Can I kiss you?" she muttered softly, making me freeze in place.

Her eyes looked back to mine, dark and patient. I managed to nod weakly, and she wasted no more time when pressing her lips to mine a in a slow, gentle, warm kiss. Her hand wrapped around my waist, tugging my body close to hers, as the other rested behind my neck, giving me goosebumps and turning my insides to jelly.

I closed my eyes, melting into her embrace, one hand planted firmly on her waist as the other rested on her chest. She tasted like peppermint and her floral perfume was infiltrating my senses, making my head dizzy in the best way possible.

When she pulled away, I opened my eyes and was immediately submerged in pools of green. Still so close to her, I kept ahold of her waist as she did the same with me, eyes flickering down to my lips once more.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," I admitted breathlessly.

She looked to me again. "Why didn't you?"

Her lips were swollen slightly, red lipstick ruined. I could only imagine the mess on my own lips, but I didn't care.

I smiled nervously. "You were with Nate."

She tried not to laugh. "How stupid of me." Eyes falling to my lips again, she added, "I should have broken up with him sooner if it meant I could do this."

I smiled widely, heart fluttering in my chest at her words. Leaning forward, I took her bottom lip in mine, giving her a final kiss that was long overdue before pulling away.

"In case you couldn't tell, you were the girl I wanted to ask to prom," I said, stepping back slightly, but taking her hands in mine.

She bit her lip to contain her smile. "I figured... and for the record, I would have said yes."

My cheeks began to heat up, but I smiled nonetheless. "Well, in that case... Wanda, would you like to go to prom with me?"

She grinned. "I would be honoured, Y/N."

I mirrored her expression. She held out her free hand.

"Do you wanna dance?" she asked gently.

I accepted her hand, squeezing it gently. "I'd love to."

Before either of us could make a move to do so, we heard Pietro's voice shouting in the distance.

"Fina-fucking-lly!"

We turned to the left to see him racing towards us in his blue suit, a knowing smile on his lips.

"You took forever," he said with disbelief to his sister. "I thought I'd have to keep flirting with Y/N in front of you for you to get the hint and make a fucking move."

Wanda rolled her eyes, but I smiled as her cheeks dusted pink.

"And you!" he said, looking to me. "You're so oblivious it hurts."

"Wanda didn't know I existed before this year," I told him, half joking and half serious. "I had every right to be."

Wanda squeezed my hand, earning my attention. She shook her head. "That's not true. I always noticed you."

I gave her a knowing look. "Seriously?"

With an endearing smile, she nodded. "Seriously."

I sighed, looking away and definitely not expecting that. "Well, okay then."

She laughed, pulling me close and wrapping an arm around my waist comfortably. "I believe you owe me a dance. C'mon.

Pietro opened his mouth to speak, but Wanda merely pushed past him, guiding me to the dance floor.

"Not now, Piet," she said, before looking to me with sparkling eyes. "I want to dance with my girlfriend."

I was sure it was impossible for me to smile anymore.

"Girlfriend," I noted aloud, nodding. "I like the sound of that."

She grinned before standing opposite me, holding out her hand. And as I accepted it, I felt a warmth spread all over me that was only possible because of one girl and one girl only.

Wanda Maximoff.

[yeojaa]

feed me, fight me.

pairing.  boxer!jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  relationship issues, baby angst, comfort, unprotected sex (please be responsible!).  wc. 3.5k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​, always.  💖  author note.  i’m really into comfort fics rn so... 

What do you get when you mix a pissed off girlfriend with a neglectful boyfriend?  (Aside from trouble, that is.)

The answer is you - throwing punches far harder than you should be, completely disregarding the fact that you’re meant to be playing the part of perfect partner, meeting pads in the sequence he’s laid out.  It’s you throwing a hook when you should be swinging an uppercut.  It’s you, snapping your leg out with a satisfying thunk! of your shin when you should only be thip kicking.  It’s you, not giving a single damn as you take out all your frustrations on someone who’s growing increasingly more irritated by your childishness.  It’s you, blatantly disrespecting him in his ring - sending a reminder that there’s more to life than the four corners of this space. 

How can he blame you though, when he’s the reason?  When you’ve voiced your annoyance more than once - more than twice, more times than you care to count - and each time it’s met with a half-hearted apology (if you could even call it that)?  How can he hold it against you when you’ve asked, demanded, pleaded for more? 

“Cut it out,”  he seethes, quiet, under his breath, irritation igniting his expression, something hot and angry burning in the dark of his stare.  A withering wildfire in an empty field, smoldering coals flickering bright.  It presents itself in how his mouth curls, the hard line of his jaw as bone threatens to snap in half from the tension. 

“Cut what out?”  Your retort is punctuated by the smack of leather on leather, the worn edge of your boxing glove meeting the pad that Jungkook raises just in time to avoid a black eye. 

“What’s your problem?”  How he manages to snipe back - somehow sounding disgruntled by your behaviour - you’re not sure.  All you know is it boils your blood, searing heat within your veins when he effortlessly blocks your next jab.  He knows you well and knows the sport better, predicting each movement as if you’re telegraphing it all with a giant neon sign on your forehead. 

(You probably are.  You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions, pinning your heart on your sleeve, your sadness heavy in your mouth.  They wear you, rather than you it.  A weakness of yours.)

“You’re my problem.” 

“Shut up.”  It’s not the usual exasperated annoyance he levels you with, meaner and paired with a swat of your gloved hand.  He’s not supposed to be countering you, instead only blocking the punches you throw his way. 

(But then again - when did he ever listen to you?  When did he ever do what he was supposed to?)

(It’s not a fair assertion.  You’re just mad.  Livid beyond belief, standing atop this hill that you’ll happily die on.)

“Fuck you,”  you snap, offering the petulant comeback in the same instance you surge forward.  He blocks your jab - sees it coming from a mile away - and goes to block your hook. 

Except it never comes, your knee straightening out instead, hard edge of your shin slamming right into the side of his leg. 

He crumples more out of surprise than anything, eyes wide, all the anger swept away by something closer to astonishment.  It shines impossibly bright in his eyes, turning his entire expression upside down when his knee hits the ground.  By how he falls, you’re sure you’ve hit just the right spot, left his nerve endings buzzing uncomfortably as the feeling leaves the limb. 

“Are you serious?”  You know he’s genuinely baffled then, voice slipping, cracking in a way you’d normally find adorable.  (It goes to show how upset you are, the awkward split of his words doing nothing to soothe your temper.)  “What’s your issue?”  He’s still seated on the floor, rocking back on his heels, brow knit in consternation.  It’d take him seconds to jump up - to put you on your ass - but he chooses to remain where he is, staring up at you with that look on his face.

(That look you love.  That you hate.  That makes your insides turn to goo on his best days and misery on your worst.  That you’ve seen every single day for the last three years, as the first thing upon waking up and the last thing before passing out.  That makes you hesitate now, peering down into it.)

(Were you being unnecessary?  Unbearable?  Was this on you?)

“I’m going home.”  It’d be nice to tear your gloves off, throw them in his face and storm off in a huff.  It’d cause the scene you’re hoping for, push him to where you need.  (Because that’s the thing about Jungkook - he doesn’t react otherwise and you’re sick of it.)  Instead, you turn on your heel and slink away, silent as a mouse.  

You’re tired.  Too tired.  Why had you started something you couldn’t finish?

It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re home alone for hours that night, curled up in bed and half-asleep when light from the hallway spills into your bedroom.  It comes with hardly any noise, a tell-tale sign he’s trying not to wake you (or disturb you or get caught).  You almost let it slide when his figure appears in the doorway, broad frame swallowed up by the oversized sweater he wears.

He’s moving near silently, having already deposited his gym bag in the laundry room.  He doesn’t even switch the light on, moving around in the muted glow of the hallway, fumbling as he strips his clothes off and tosses them into the hamper against the wall. 

You expect him to head directly into the en suite, wash away whatever grime he’s accumulated throughout the day.  He’s always been this way, far too concerned with dragging in odour and dirt into your bed to do otherwise.

Except tonight, he doesn’t follow his usual routine.  Tonight, he makes a detour.

The bed dips before you realise what’s happening, grip on the pillow under your head tightening.  Words fit between your teeth, ready to spill out, lash out, tear out like a bullet deadset on landing a bullseye. 

“I’m sorry.”  Two words you’ve been waiting to hear, that startle you enough to throw your anger out the window, tossing them out with the wash.  “I don’t know why you’re upset but I’m sorry for whatever it is.”  He’s speaking into the quiet of your bedroom.  You can feel his hand settled on the bed, wrist somewhere over the line of your spine.  

Oh - he thinks you’re asleep.

“Things have been crazy.  I’ve been stressed.”  Here, under cover of night, he’s vulnerable, explanation tumbling forth uncertainly.  You can hear it in the way the words form, syllables slipping into each other - a sure sign of his exhaustion.  “I know that’s not an excuse, so I’ll be better.”  Though he readjusts, weight distributing differently over the bed, he isn’t touching you.  You can only imagine how he looks, the posture he’s taken on, arms leant over knees, hands twisting together in that way of his that begs a silent help me.  A version of him you’ve seen only a handful of times.  

(Jeon Jungkook does not let things get to him.  Never has, likely never will.  He’s immaculately put together, strung tight by years of growing up too fast, wanting too much and fearing it’ll slip away.  He goes and goes until he can’t any more and only then does he still, crashing headlong over a cliff of his own creation.)

It’s then that you realise while you’ve grown irritated with his preoccupation, coming second to the man you’ve only ever put first, he’s been suffering right alongside you.  Differently, certainly, but suffering nonetheless.  Holding his cards close as he’s always done, shouldering all the things on his own and hoping for the best.

Irritation flares first.  Anger at the fact that he hadn’t confided in you.  It burns bright, erodes everything else in its path.

And then it dims almost immediately, overshadowed by a tenderness that blooms in the small of your chest.  Rosebuds that fill the cavity and swath affection in broad strokes, colouring everything purple - a pretty mosaic made up of equal parts love and sadness.

“You should’ve said something.”  

Bambi-eyed baby is your nickname for your boyfriend - one he reluctantly wears, scowls at when you use it in public - and yet you’re still blown away by the glossiness of his stare, how wide it goes when you roll to face him, simultaneously flicking your bedside light on.  There’s embarrassment crowding his expression, lighting up every handsome facet of his features in technicolour.  He works to hide it almost immediately, moves back on the bed as if he might find himself a home in the shadows.

“I thought you were sleeping,”  he mumbles, not quite looking at you, stare focused on your pillow case, the white linen that you’d bought when you’d moved in together.  “Did I wake you up?”

Though his concern is real, you know it’s a distraction too.  His way of deflecting, shifting the focus back to you.  

(Jeon Jungkook doesn’t live in the spotlight.  Hates it, in fact.  It’s a curious combination - wanting to be praised, to show off, and yet fearing failure so strongly.  A worrying mix when he’s down and an endearing one when he’s up.)

You’re still cocooned, still held far enough away that he hasn’t run for the hills, locking himself in the bathroom to put a further physical barrier between you.  Should you move too fast, you know he’ll spook.  Push too hard, he’ll leave.  

“Couldn’t sleep without you.”  It’s true enough.  Dreams had evaded you for the better part of the evening, held somewhere by hands inked like his, blemished by scars and calluses like his. They’d been kept in his coat pocket, tucked behind his ear.  (So maybe it’d been anger, too, that’d kept you up.  That doesn’t matter now.)

The disbelief is evident, both in his words and the quirk of his mouth, bathed in dim light.  “Really?”

(You sometimes wonder how different the two of you see things.  What a day looks like from his point of view - whether he reads all of your interactions in the same way.  You’ve always been terribly incompatible in that way, opposites in so many respects that it’d frankly baffled your friends when you’d started dating.

You were intent - sometimes too intent - on resolving problems, never letting up.  Forcing conversations you felt you needed to have, demanding answers even before there was one.  He, on the other hand, was uncomfortable with conflict, choosing to ignore the things that bothered him until they went away.  It’d driven you absolutely insane at first, made you worry that it was you that was the issue, simply being too much.  

But over time - three long years, to be exact - you’d found a common ground.  Or so you’d thought.)

“Why are you so surprised?”  

“You were pissed earlier.”  There’s a lightness to his tone, careful consideration poured into each word he offers, as if he’s navigating a minefield.  You’ve had these kinds of disagreements too many times for him to believe otherwise, as if his caution is a part of him, stitched lovingly - forcefully - by your hand.  “Thought you wouldn’t wait up for me.”  

“I shouldn’t have,”  you retort before you can help it, still just a little childish, a little hurt.  “But you know I hate going to bed angry.”  Of course he knows.  He’s lost hours of sleep due to your insistence that everything be talked out. 

He hums a noncommittal sound - more of a grunt - and you know your window is closing.  Now that you’re not out for blood, he’s retreating as he always does.  Readying himself to rise from the bed, close this half-read chapter and move onto the next. 

You beat him before he can, curling your fingers around his wrist, over the dangling silver chain.  (His birthday gift this year, heavy metal that’s cold under your touch.)  

“Don’t.”

One blink.  Another.  Slow and confused - deliberately so.  Then he’s looking away, staring down at the ground as if you haven’t just read his next move.  The ring might be his domain but home is yours;  it’s the one place you hold the upper hand.  “What?”  

“Don’t leave.”  It’s easy to read the meaning in between your words, the unspoken request that might as well be brilliant red ink.  It’s far kinder than your usual demands, more pleading than begrudging, more need than want.  

“I need to shower.”  

It’s not a no - which you suppose is a win. 

“Just wait.”  Your request comes with an adjustment, whole tired frame rising from the bed only to sink back down - this time against your partner, your other half, your infuriating love.  He accepts you readily, dropping his ink-strewn hand over your covered thigh.  The weight is comforting over the warmth of the duvet, grounding you in the quiet of your home.

“I’m gross,”  he complains, though he doesn’t make to move away.  Stays right by your side when you drop your head against his bare shoulder.  “Now you’re gross.”

“We can be gross together.”  Because you’re not ready for him to leave you, to close the door as he so often does.  (And, for once, you’re not quite as angry, not seeking an argument that’ll give you the resolution you hope for.  You want communication, open and honest.  You want him, vulnerable and soft.)

A little sigh comes, a puff of breath that expands his doughy cheeks and sends wayward strands fluttering.  It’s less resigned and more endeared - you know how much it means when his acquiesces like this.  

Maybe he wants those same things, you think.  

“Do you wanna shower?”  You ask in perfect tandem, words folding together.  You nod in the same way.

Encased in the small space - it’s different.  He’s preoccupied, back turned to you, shielding you from the slow-heating stream.  It’s as if his mind is a thousand lightyears away, trapped somewhere with the stars as the water rains down around the two of you, fogging the glass and wetting his hair. 

“Babe?”  

There’s a delay before he reacts, peering over his shoulder at you, a faraway look in his eyes.  You wonder what he’d been thinking of, whether he’s still on the same page as you or if he’s skipped ahead as he tends to do.  When he speaks, you have your answer, his words flicking through paper to bring you two where you need to be.  

“Can you wash my hair?”  An indulgent treat he rarely requests, one he seldom allows.  He’s far too on the go, jumping from this to that to spend much time like this with you. 

It’s a sign if there ever was one. 

You reach for your shampoo bottle wordlessly, popping the cap and depositing sweet peach-scented liquid into your hands.  They fold into his strands carefully, tips of your fingers pressing into his scalp, delightful bubbles accumulating between your digits.  He doesn’t make a sound but you feel the way he relaxes, practically melting into your touch as you work the cleanser through his roots, careful to keep the suds from descending into his eyes. 

When was the last time you’d done this?  Weeks ago?  Months, maybe?  You honestly can’t recall.  (Not that it matters now.  You’ve found yourselves back here, terribly tender and intimate in the dead of night.  Almost as if no time has passed at all.)

Silence stretches between the two of you.  You don’t even need to instruct him to rinse, running seamlessly through the routine without hesitation. 

Conditioner replaces shampoo, deft fingers combing through the few knots in his feather soft strands.  Though there are hardly any, you know he loves when you take extra care, treating him in ways he’d never ask for otherwise.  He savours these quiet moments of almost-solitude, spoiled rotten by your familiar touch and comforting affection.  

You’d give it every single day if you could.  Had, in fact. 

That’s what’d brought you here, after all. 

“‘m sorry,”  he says - mumbles really - surprising you as you’re working your fingers into the nape of his neck, concentrating on the tension that’s carved out a home beneath muscle and sinew, turned bone iron-clad. 

“For what?” 

Any other time, it might’ve come across demanding, needing an answer that would soothe whatever inadequacy he’d somehow strung your heart up with.  Now, it’s genuine, asked more for him than you.  

You want to be let in.  Need it. 

“Being out of it, I guess.”  It’s a lot for him - admitting this.  “I’ve just been busy and I guess I kind of just—“  The imposing line of his shoulders rise and fall, a mountain range disturbed by the uncertainty in his voice.  

“Forgot about me?”  You don’t mean it meanly.  It’s a simple statement of fact, one the both of you have to face. 

“Yeah.  Something like that.”

You deliberate accepting the apology and moving on, sweeping it under the rug because he’s already come so much further than you’d thought he would.  But that’s not the kind of person you are, so you press just a little more, stand just a little taller. 

“I don’t think I ask for the world, Kook.”  Maybe more than some people.  Maybe less than others.  “If I’m being too much, I’d rather you let me know than shut me out.”

A sigh comes, so heavy you wonder whether he might be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.  

“No, I know.”  

“Do you?”

(At some point you’d stopped massaging the conditioner in, opting to crowd your hands over his back, working into the knots that run beneath his skin.  He hadn’t been lying - he’s stiff as a board, entire broad form twitching any time you press the pads of your thumbs into a particularly sensitive spot.)

“I thought I’d figure it out myself,”  he reasons, in that oh-so impossible Jeon Jungkook way of his.  “Didn't realise it was taking a toll on you.” 

“On us,”  you correct, not at all tactful.  

“On us,”  he agrees with another sigh, smaller this time, tinged blue with something that feels like guilt and fills up the glass space. 

“We’re a team, you know.” 

(You know he knows.  You just have to remind him sometimes, anchor him with the knowledge that it’s not him against the world.  That you’re in his corner - always.)

“I know.” 

When he turns to look at you - doesn’t even flinch when the sudden movement has you wobbling on your feet, catches you when you stumble - you don’t doubt that.  He loves you just as much as you love him, sees the whole world in the small of your stare.  

“I’m sorry,”  he says again, two hands coming to cradle your face, palms warm over each cheek.  “Just give me some time.”  For what, you’re not sure.  You don’t mind waiting to find out though - willing to weather the storm just to see him happy.  

Jungkook holds you close, threads his fingers through yours and peppers love into the silk of your hair.  Dresses your skin in the heat of his affection and sears his signature into the velvet of your skin, teeth dragging, tongue gliding.  

“Is this better?”  He means how he holds you, how he treats you like porcelain as he fucks you slow and tender, keeps one leg hooked back over his own. 

It’s not that this is the kind of lovemaking you prefer but rather the one you need, with him consuming you wholly, sweetly, filling you with each fluid roll of his hips and nothing else.  No elaborate dirty talk, no overzealous bouncing, just the two of you together, curled against each other like you might not survive otherwise.  

He’s not pushing you to your finish with deft fingers over your clit, not taking his fill with greedy hands.  He’s simply there, with you, feeling every curve of your body as he sinks into your aching cunt and sighs as if he’s in heaven.  (And maybe he is - because where he is could only ever be where you are and you feel like you’re floating, weightless and lovestruck, anchored only to your bed by the hand that squeezes yours and the mouth that purrs your name.) 

“Yes,”  you breathe, exhale in a breath that seems to take all of your effort.  It’s hard to focus when he splits you open so well, fills your pussy and your heart and makes your chest erupt with a kaleidoscope of butterflies. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he says it like that - folds it like a promise and tucks it into the spot behind your ear - you know it’s true.  Even if you don’t always feel it, even if he doesn’t always show it, there’s not a doubt in your mind. 

In all the ways he can, he loves you.  And whether that means enough from one day to the next, you don’t mind sticking around to find out.  Not if it means more of this. 

(Of him, of you, of your life together.)

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle