#at least there’s like five hundred others who would smash

[jimgandolfini]

some people are so fucking boring

while others are so fucking valid

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

Maze runner chapter twenty-five

Previous chapter

Masterlist

“Be careful Thomas.” Brenda said to him as you all followed Gally to a tunnel in the ground. You stood beside Newt holding onto his jacket.

“Can't Fry go?” You say to him, with a pout. Newt curled his lips up in a laugh before brushing your hair back behind your ears and kissing you.

“I'll be okay. We'll be back before you know it.” He tries to reassure you as he sits down to tie the loose shoelace on his new clothes. You do not miss the slight shake of his hand as he does it.

“Hey y/n, I promise I'll bring him back to you.” Gally smiles, it hadn't been that long but your old friend looked so much older than he did before. You thank him and give Newt one more kiss before moving back beside Frypan, who rubs your shoulder comfortingly

“Well, I wouldn't mind betting that tiger is hungry,” Lawrence announced from his door. Mai Mai shook her body excitedly.

Gally led Thomas and Newt through the sewers into the main city beyond the wall. Hundreds of people walked in all directions, some with masks on their faces. The city was almost beautiful, with it's tall sleek buildings and thousands of lights.

Gally takes them through the streets as a mandatory curfew comes I think action and police cars patrol.

The three boys climb up a grey wall to one of the highest levels. There was a small set up of blankets against the wall and Gally pulled out a large telescope, setting it up on the railing.

“Lawrence has been trying to find a way in for years. Place is crawling with soldiers. They got surveillance everywhere. Scanners on every floor.” He explained.

“Sounds like a bloody fortress.” Newt mused.

“Yeah, I thought you said you had a way in.” Thomas scoffed.

“I might.”

“You might? What the hell do you mean "might"?” Thomas could feel his anger bubble up again.

“Take a look.” Gally gestured to the telescope, “ I said I had a way in. I didn't say you were gonna like it.”

Thomas looked through it and saw the one person he had spent six months trying not to think about. Teresa, there working inside working.

“Look after y/n’s antics here they really locked down the place. It's harder than ever to get in.”

“Y/n’s antics?” Newt asked.

Gally sighed, “she hasn't told you, has she?”

“Told us what?”

“We had a guy on the inside. There was all this chatter about new human trials happening, then it all went crazy. Crick told us that they had a girl in there, the first thing she did was smash up a whole ward, then she was given something, the virus I think; but we don't know for sure. It didn't do to her what it did to us but it gave her strength. Like crazy stupid strength. She tore at least ten men apart trying to get out. It took like seven knockout darts to take her down. I didn't know it was y/n until we got security footage almost a week later and by then they'd moved all the kids.”

“I don't…why wouldn't she tell us that?” Thomas looked at Newt who was chewing on his finger. A million thoughts were going through his mind.

“Would you tell us if you massacred a bunch of people?” Gally shrugged, "there were rumours that she almost got the kids out as well. Security got really tight after that. Ava closed the doors that week."

“We should go back to the others.” Newt says.

“Yeah, hey maybe I shouldn't have told you, y/n won't be-”

“DON'T TELL ME WHAT Y/N WOULD WANT!” Newt shouted before composing himself again, “I know her better than anyone.” He breathed heavily and Gally put his hands up in front of him in surrender.

“Yeah of course you do. I wasn't…”

“Let's just go.” Thomas said, grabbing Newt's shoulder.

“No. There's gotta be another way.” Thomas shook his head and moved back to the table you all sat around.

“Like what? You've seen the building. She is our only way in.” Gally repeated.

“You really think she's gonna help us?” Thomas argued.

“I don't plan on asking for her permission.” Gally replied flatly. You didn't like the implications of his words.

“Am I missing something here? This is the same girl who betrayed us, correct? Same dick?” Brenda scoffed.

“I like her.” Gally laughed.

“What, are you afraid your little girlfriend's gonna get hurt? Hmm? Because this has obviously never been just about rescuing Minho. Has it?” Newt spat out from his seat beside you.

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Thomas asked.

“Teresa. She's the only reason that Minho's even missing in the first place. Now we finally have an opportunity to get him back. And what? You don't want to because of her?” Newt stood and stepped closer to Thomas as he spoke, causing Thomas to slowly step back toward the wall, “Because deep down inside you still care about her, don't you? Just admit it.” There was a venom I. His voice you'd never heard before.

“Newt, I-”

“ Don't lie to me! Don't lie to me!” He grabbed Thomas's jacket and shoved him against the wall. Seeing then what he had done,Newt blinked rapidly and tried to calm his breathing. “Sorry. I'm sorry.” Newt whispered before darting from the room. You look to Thomas and then darts after Newt.

He sits on the edge of the tall building.

“Newt?” You fears of his accident in the maze were flooding back to you. He looked back slightly.

“Sorry about that. Back there. I guess I can't

hide this anymore.” He lifts the arm of his jacket and shirt to show you the bite wound. It was dark around the edges and his veins were filled with the darkness.

“Why didn't you tell me?” You sat beside him but not fully on the edge.

“Didn't think it would make any difference. All I know is that WICKED must have put me in that maze for a reason. Maybe it was literally

just so they could tell the difference between immunes like you and people like me.”

“No Newt, I saw all of your files, you're immune just not as immune as me. I think, I think you're like Gally, but I can help you.” you slide your hand into his, entwining your fingers.

“I don't…y/n I don't want to be one of those things.”

“I'm not going to let that happen.” You say kissing him.

“We have to save Minho.” He reminds you.

“No, Gally, Thomas, and Fry can get Teresa, you and me are staying here. I can fix this.” you hold his head in your hands so he has no choice but to look into your eyes. A tear drops down his face onto your wrist.

“Guys?” Thomas's voice sounded from the door. You weren't sure how long he had been standing behind you but by the looks of his face it had been some time.

“I'm sorry, Tommy.” Newt moved away from the ledge and stood up, before he could take another step Thomas threw his arms around him.

“We can fix it?” Thomas looked at you and you nod.

“I need some equipment but yeah I can.” You say.

Next chapter

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon @afalls14universe @akilaporu001 @green-which

[bigasswritingmagnet]

With My Own Hands (Ch 2/2)

Fandom: Girl Genius Pairing: Higgs/Zeetha Summary: Higgs meets a real tough lady with a very nice hat. By the time he finds out she's Zeetha Wulfenbach, it's too late.

Chapter One | AO3 Link

Higgs sipped his beer as all around him the evening fight raged. Sometimes he wished he was still the kind of Jӓger who enjoyed fighting for the sake of fighting. He liked a good tumble, now and again, but if there wasn’t a reason, a goal, something to be gained or lost or saved, it was hard to see the point. Hard to see the point of a lot of things, these days.

The thought made him frown. Gkika had given him the find an anchor lecture and it was infecting his thoughts. He wondered if the other generals drew straws once a decade to decide who was going to be the one to nag him. Last time it had been Zog, who at least merely said his piece and was done with it; Gkika argued.

It didn’t matter how many times he told them he already had one, they always said it wasn’t a proper anchor. Love for the Heterodynes made you a Jӓger, an anchor was supposed to keep you human. The town then, but apparently that didn’t count either, because he didn’t do anything to the town. It was just there, an idea, an ideal.

They were young. When they got to be six hundred and change, they’d understand. No, seven hundred. Eight? He’d have to find a history book and double check when the Jӓgerdraught was invented. One advantage of being among the very first—he could always keep track of the centuries, if not the decades. How old had he been when he drank it? Twenty? Twenty-five?

Someone banged into his table, causing his beer to slosh out of the mug. He looked up, startled, but instead of a Jӓger, he was looking up at a young woman. The green hair caught his eye first, it was hard to miss. The second thing was the look on her face when she looked back at him. There was a fierce determination there, the laser focus of a warrior in battle.

She shoved something into his hands.

“Hold that,” she said. With her now free hands, she picked up a chair and swung it, smashing into the Jӓger who had leapt towards her, sending him tumbling back into the fray.

“Careful,” he said. “You do that too many times, it’ll mean you’re part of the fight. And definitely don’t draw your sword.”

“Of course I won’t draw my sword,” she snapped. “This is a friendly brawl; I’m not going to stab someone. And I wouldn’t mind taking part, if I wasn’t in a hurry. It’d be easier if I didn’t have to carry that thing around, but if I put it on, I’ll definitely make myself a target, even if I don’t hit anyone.”

Higgs looked at the object in his hands, and realized it was a hat. An extremely elaborate, ostentatious hat, one that would indeed draw the envy of any Jӓger—even Higgs himself, who was abruptly filled with a sullen self-conciousness over his own unimpressive regulation headgear.

It looked a cross between a shako and a candelabra, the purple fabric caged by decorative brass arms that came together at the top in a single point. There was something written on the front, but before he could really read it, the woman snatched it out of his hands and a Jӓger came crashing down onto the table, sending Higgs’ beer flying.

He sighed.

“You need to get out of here?”

“And find my friends,” she confirmed.

“They smart guys?”

“Can be, why?”

“Then they’re probably the ones who aren’t sticking around for the fight,” he said, pointing at the group hightailing it towards the exit.

The woman’s head whipped around and she nailed him with a glare so ferocious, Higgs felt—for the first time in centuries—real, genuine fear for his safety. Higgs knew, logically, that he could take her, and easily. He could snap her neck in a second if he wanted.

But he felt that it was no solid guarantee he’d make it to her neck in one piece.

“…because they’re smart enough to know they can’t take on a room full of Jӓgers,” he hurriedly added.

To his surprise, the woman blushed. She ducked, caught a charging Jӓger in the chest with her shoulder, and tossed him backwards over her head.

“That’s sweet,” she said, as if nothing had happened. Then her eyes narrowed. “Hang on—”

“Let’s get you to your friends,” Higgs said, hurriedly.

They ducked and wove their way through the crowd. Most of the Jӓgers moved around them, knowing better than to try and take him on. His companion—the woman, he corrected himself, hurriedly—was not always so fortunate, but she had no trouble at all fending off any of the Jӓgers who came at her. In fact, he could tell she was holding back.

Higgs found himself wondering what she looked like when she put her all into a fight, how well she’d hold up if she actually did take part. She’d still be standing at the end, he was sure. Maybe he could find some way to see that—she didn’t seem Mechanicsburg born, but she certainly would fit right in. Maybe he could find a way to get her back down here on a day when she didn’t need to leave—

He ducked a chair and shook his head, wondering what in the flaming hells had gotten into him. Why couldn’t he keep his eyes on the fight and off of her? She was just so…bright. More real than the rest of the world around her, somehow.

Then they broke through the edge of the storm of Jӓgers and into the still safety of the passageway out, where the woman’s friends were waiting. He recognized some of them.

“There you are,” Vannamonde said.

“I got caught in the fight,” the woman said, defensively.

“You probably would have had an easier time if you got rid of that thing,” said a man who was, technically, not shirtless, although the leather straps covered about as much as the Jӓgerfrauliens’ outfits. 

The woman bristled and put the hat on her head.

“I earned this hat,” she said, and very pointedly turned a little handle at the top. At the point where the arms of the hat connected, a little flame burst into life. The extra light illuminated the words on the band at the front:

Zeetha Wulfenbach Clank Killer

Uh oh.

“That’s a joke, right?” Higgs asked, who had a sinking feeling he knew why he had suddenly started feeling the ground so solidly under his feet. “You’re sending me out for a crate of balloon juice.”

Zeetha Wulfenbach adjusted her hat.

“I took out two giant laser-canon crab clanks single handedly this morning,” she said, proudly, and his heart skipped a beat.

Uh oh.

He managed to salute. His only hope was that the dynamic of superior officer and soldier would force distance between the two of them, that she might be the kind of person who kept her subordinates at arm’s length.

“Airman First Class Axel Higgs of the SS Rozen Maiden, at your service, ma’am.”

She blinked.

“Oh! That’s...” She looked embarrassed. “At ease, I guess. Probably best you don’t salute or call me ma’am. I might be a little bit enemy of the state right now, what with the whole ‘actively working against my father to protect the Heterodyne from him until she can retake Mechanicsburg’, thing.”

A rope went taut and the drifting world of Axel Higgs shuddered to a halt, held firm by its shiny new anchor. 

God’s little fish in trousers, Higgs thought, I am never going to hear the end of this.

[ackermom]

there's still dust when the soldier lifts his hand. bertholdt sees his skin— grime laid in patches across his palm where his hand glanced over the hot metal, never grasping round the surface of the barrel to keep from getting burned. even so, his fingers are pink beneath the dust and dirt, from the heat or just from the wear of the ropes that pulled the cannons from their carts and onto the field.

"antiques," the soldier announces, as an observation, or an accomplishment, as if that's something to be proud of and he expects to look up and find bertholdt nodding in agreement and appreciation. "these suckers killed a good few of your lot back in the day."

his fingers smudge together as he dusts off his hands. he looks up with a dark grin, his eyes hidden behind the glare of the sun. bertholdt nods in agreement. some things are just facts.

"nearly a hundred years old and probably still finer than whatever they've got to throw at you on the island," the soldier continues. "intel says their cannons are about the same, give or take a few decades. their whole island is armed with weapons stolen at the end of the war. can't be much use left in them by now."

the black metal is glimmering with heat beneath the midmorning sun, even under the dust. three are lined up on the grass, the middle of a field so wide bertholdt can't see to either end, and they're manned by a huddle of soldiers he thinks have seen better days. or worse ones, judging by the stories they've been spewing out all morning. the youngest among them sailed in the north sea armada twenty-five years ago, and the oldest looks as if he might have seen the fall of the great houses with his own eyes. their wicked ancestors, that is, the strongholds of devils whose evil power succumbed to the might of this great empire. at home they say those devils still walk the streets, the descendants of those who met their deserved ends at marley's storm and swords. he used to pray he was not one of them.

it's stupid now, the thought that his family could be descended from anyone other than people who were as poor then as they are now. but he used to pray— if he could not be good, at least let him not be wicked.

"he's half-mad for this," the soldier is saying. he wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his head, and bertholdt sees his palm is still thick with grime. "no expense spared for magath's little warriors, eh? you're getting the royal treatment from us."

not me, bertholdt thinks. he glances to the distance, to the starting line where the race will begin with a flash, a giant scuff mark in the dirt, and a sprint through cannonballs as if there was a wall a hundred meters high standing where they are now. they talked about it. magath's soldiers think him only half-mad, when the truth is he nearly lost it all the day he grumbled out loud whether they had time to reproduce the behemoth fossil they'll have to smash through when they reach the island. there was a hush and a mutter, before it was deemed too expensive, even for the most ambitious operation in marley's history.

he can't see the other end of the field beneath the hard glare of the sun. but the cannons are aimed that way, and they're being loaded to shoot. the cannonballs make a thunderous clanking drop when they're rolled inside, like a bomb going off at the bottom of a well. a sound he's only heard from within.

"will it hurt?" he can't help but ask.

the soldier doesn't answer for a moment before he realizes bertholdt is talking to him, and then he laughs, waving for his grunts to load the last cannonball. "would it hurt if you took one of these to the knee? i'd think so, kid, but that's a question better answered by your lot. can you even feel pain?"

a stupid answer to a stupid question, bertholdt thinks when he's waved off the field so the test can begin. those cannons couldn't even reach his knee. 

[golden-songbird]

whumptober day one: a little out of the ordinary

(tw for near suffocation, violence, and unsympathetic!patton)

Cooking is a skill that can easily be translated to other things. Baking, painting, crafting, and most of all, science.

Logan wasn’t the only side who could do experiments, but while he stuck to facts, pulling things from books and journals of doctors and professors, Patton preferred to dabble in what related to the occult. Potions, after all, could look so innocent on the outside.

Patton’s bedroom was stuffed to the brim with memorabilia. Nobody had the strength or energy to go through it all, which meant that nobody would be able to find any of the things that he preferred to keep hidden, for example: his potion ingredients. Powders and elixirs of all thicknesses and colors glowed as Patton stared at each one, determined to find the one he intended to use today. There were a lot of different potions Patton could make, but there was one in particular that he was looking forward to creating today.

The princely side was valiant and brave, brazen and brash. A good soul, but maybe not the best person. A heart of gold, but a mind of something more common. Too loud. Patton scowled as he thought about the prince’s voice. His raucous, penetrating melody that only he sang, and only he cared about. It was time for the prince to silence, at least for a day or two so Patton could hear himself think.

Green, red, gold, so many vials with different colored liquids. Patton rooted through each one, searching for the right one. There were quite a few silver vials, but Patton picked up one and inspected it for a moment before unscrewing the cap and carefully tipping the bottle into a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Roman’s favorite drink.

The silver elixir reacted with the unsuspecting hot chocolate for a moment, fizzing and popping, forming some small brown bubbles. But soon, it settled and silenced. Patton hoped this display was a mere preview of what was to come when the prince brought the infected beverage to his lips.

Thinking of seeing the prince so helpless, his eyes falling closed as his body became heavy in slumber, made Patton giddy. He picked up the mug and carried it out of his room, searching for his favorite victim.

“Roman, sweetie!” Patton called out, his voice like honey, “I have a little surprise for you!”

Quick and light footsteps could be heard pittering down stairs and down hallways, until the bright-eyed prince stood before Patton in all his willowy, radiant glory. Patton looked up at his lovely dear as he placed the mug into Roman’s hands.

“Woah, this hot chocolate smells amazing!” Roman enthused shrilly, causing Patton to force a smile. “I was just talking to Virgil about the coolest thing that happened in the Imagination, where the trees turned-”

“Yes, yes, drink up, honeypie!” Patton persuaded, trying to gently lift Roman’s hands, “You don’t want it to get cold. What do we say?”

“Thanks, Padre,” Roman said obediently as he drank the warm beverage, not stopping until the cup was completely empty. Perfect. “Now, as I was saying- ah!”

The cup fell and smashed onto the ground as Roman dropped it, bringing his hands to the sides of his head and holding it, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Ow, my head!” Roman exclaimed, “It really hurts! What’s going- what’s- what’s…”

Patton stared at Roman, waiting for his eyes to close. Waiting for his precious prince to fall to the ground, almost dead asleep. And he waited some more.

And he watched as Roman’s eyes grew wider, and he started to bounce up and down on his toes.

“I don’t understand what’s happening!” Roman shouted, “I don’t- I don’t know why I’m shouting! I feel so energized! It’s like I drank, like, five hundred cups of coffee!”

Patton couldn’t hide his contempt anymore, nor his confusion. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Why was Roman being even louder and more obnoxious than before? To Patton’s dismay, Roman started to run around the hallway, back and forth, back and forth.

“I have so much energy, I’ve just gotta get it out somehow!” Roman said, appearing to be a strange mix of happy and terrified, “Run with me, Padre! Come on, it’ll be fun!”

In a burst of extreme frustration, Patton grabbed a fistful of Roman’s shirt and shoved him against the wall, holding him in place. Roman squirmed and fought, staring at Patton with those gorgeously innocent eyes.

“Patton, what are you-”

“Shut up!” Patton roared, “For one second of your life, shut up! You think it’s the right thing to do, shouting all your business, all your opinions, as if everyone cares about what you think all the time?? You think just because you’re Creativity, you get to bother us with every little thing that comes across your pea-sized mind?? Huh??”

“I-”

“I’m going to teach you,” Patton muttered with gritted teeth, “I have other ways to get what I want. You’re not going to win again.”

“Win what??” Roman demanded, “I thought you wanted me to say what was on my mind! Let go of me!”

Roman was a bit taller than Patton, but his strength was pathetic compared to that of a real prince. As he tried to tug Patton’s arm away, the moral side’s grip of steel remained, even as Patton started to drag Roman by his shirt towards his bedroom. Roman stumbled and clattered behind, awkwardly bending down as his back ached in protest.

“Patton, please, I don’t know what you want from me!” Roman said as Patton threw him to the ground in his bedroom, shutting and locking the door. “Why are you being so mean??”

Patton didn’t respond. He was too busy hauling a large pile of things, from trophies to photo albums to musical instruments, throwing them overtop of Roman. The heavy objects clattered to the ground around Roman, and on top of him, pinning the prince to the ground. The last thing to join the pile was a giant cloth sack, filled with metal and plastic toys.

Roman groaned softly as he fought to climb out from under the pile, but all together, it was too heavy. The memorabilia pressed down onto his legs and chest, holding him in place. Even his left arm was almost completely immobile, and what made things worse was that Roman could still feel the strangely artificial energy running through his bloodstream, begging him to be let out in some way. It felt hot and itchy, to be trapped while this was happening.

“It didn’t work, why didn’t it work??” Patton muttered to himself once the deed was done, searching desperately through his collection of elixirs.

He rooted through the silver bottles, trying to find the one he used. When he finally found it, recognizing it by the blue cap, he searched around it for some kind of label. He didn’t find one until he checked the bottom of the bottle. A large red exclamation point was printed onto a sticker. Patton looked through the other silver bottles before finding one that looked exactly the same, the only difference being a few red z’s being printed onto the bottom sticker instead.

The wrong potion. It was so simple. Patton couldn’t believe he had made such an embarrassing mistake. He looked over at Roman, still struggling against the pile that was practically suffocating him. He smirked. Maybe this would teach the prince a lesson even better.

“Hey, sugar cake,” Patton goaded gently, walking over to Roman leisurely. “We’re going to play a little game, okay?”

“Please,” Roman huffed, out of breath, “Let me go. I don’t- know what I did wrong!”

Patton stepped on Roman’s neck, his pastel-colored sneaker digging into his throat. Roman let out a strangled cry, looking up at Patton helplessly.

“This,” Patton said, addressing Roman’s mouth, “All of this. I’m going to teach you to think before you speak, and control your volume. A prince is a gentleman, and you, Roman? You still sound like a baby. A little toddler whining for his mommy whenever you want anything. Now, we’re going to have a conversation, and if you answer too loudly, or say anything ungentlemanly, I’m going to add something else to our lovely little pile here. Don’t worry, darling. You won’t die. The worst that’ll happen is that you’ll pass out. But we’re going to hope it doesn’t come to that. If you work with me, then this will all be over in a snap! Got it?”

“I-” Roman started to protest, but remembered what Patton said. “Okay…”

“Much better!” Patton praised, kneeling down and patting Roman’s head, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No,” Roman mumbled, “How…are you doing, Patton?”

“I’m delighted you asked! A point for my darling Princey!” Patton said, “I’m doing wonderfully, Roman. How are you doing?”

“Good,” Roman replied simply and softly, his body starting to tremble under the weight of the items holding him down.

“If Logan were here, he would say that the proper response would be “well”, but he’s not here, so I’m going to be merciful and allow it,” Patton decided, “You’re doing fantastic. See how easy it is to be quiet? And don’t worry, if you ever forget, we can always play this game again.”

“I won’t forget,” Roman said quickly, urgently. “I promise.”

“Good boy,” Patton praised, “Now, last question. If Padre tells Princey that he’s staying here overnight, or staying here for ten more hours, which would be the longer time spent here?”

Tears formed in Roman’s eyes.

“I- I can’t-” he gasped, “I can’t stay here for that long, it feels like it’s crushing me.”

“That’s not an answer, lovely,” Patton said, “What if I changed the question to two nights? Twenty four hours?”

“It would be the same amount of time,” Roman blurted out in a strangled breath, “Right? If it’s 9 now, and the morning time is 7, then it would be the same.”

“Look at you, being so smart!” Patton cooed, “Now, pick one.”

“But- they’re the sa-”

“I don’t like hearing rudeness, Roman. Princes aren’t rude during conversations.”

“Ten hours,” Roman whispered. At least this way, he would be able to look at the clock on the wall and count down.

A grin formed on Patton’s face.

“Wonderful,” he said, “I’ll help you out when the little hand hits the 7. Goodnight, my prince.”

[sa7abnews]

Nearly 400 arrested in UK anti-Muslim far-right riots

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/06/nearly-400-arrested-in-uk-anti-muslim-far-right-riots/

Nearly 400 arrested in UK anti-Muslim far-right riots

The UK government said on Tuesday that 6,000 specialist police officers were ready to deal with far-right rioting that broke out following the murder of three children, triggering a week of violence.

On Monday, six people were arrested and several police officers injured when they were attacked by rioters hurling bricks and fireworks in Plymouth, southern England.

Officers in Belfast, Northern Ireland, were attacked as rioters attempted to set fire to a shop owned by a foreign national.

Police said a man in his 30s was seriously assaulted during the disorder and that they are treating the incident as a racially motivated hate crime.

Meanwhile, a group of men who gathered in Birmingham, central England, to counter a rumoured far-right demonstration, forced a Sky News reporter off air shouting: “Free Palestine”. She was then followed by a man in a balaclava holding a knife.

Another reporter said he was chased by members of the group “with what looked like a weapon”, while police said there had also been incidents of criminal damage to a pub and a car.

The unrest broke out last Tuesday after three children were killed in a stabbing spree at a Taylor Swift-themed dance class in Southport, northwest England.

Riots have since flared up in several cities and towns, leading to hundreds of arrests.

Justice minister Heidi Alexander told BBC Radio 4 on Tuesday that the government had freed up an extra 500 prison places and drafted in 6,000 specialist police officers to deal with the ongoing violence.

“We will make sure that anyone who is given a custodial sentence as a result of the riots and disorder, there will be a prison place waiting for them,” she said.

False rumours

Mobs threw bricks and flares, attacked police, burnt and looted shops, smashed the windows of cars and homes and targeted at least two hotels housing asylum seekers in a number of cities at the weekend.

Prime Minister Keir Starmer on Monday convened and emergency meeting of ministers and police chiefs to discuss the unrest.

The government will “ramp up criminal justice” to ensure that “sanctions are swift”, Starmer told the media after Monday’s meeting.

The National Police Chiefs’ Council (NPCC) said 378 people had so far been arrested and that others would be “brought to justice”.

Clashes broke out in Southport on Wednesday, the day after three young girls were killed and five more children critically injured during the knife attack there.

False rumours initially spread on social media saying the attacker was a Muslim asylum seeker.

The suspect was later identified as 17-year-old Axel Rudakubana, born in Wales. UK media reported that his parents are from Rwanda, which has very few Muslims.

That has not stopped mosques from being targeted by rioters.

The government has offered new emergency security to Islamic places of worship.

In Burnley, northwest England, a hate crime investigation was underway after gravestones in a Muslim section of a cemetery were vandalised with grey paint.

“What type of evil individual(s) would undertake such outrageous actions, in a sacrosanct place of reflection, where loved ones are buried, solely intended to provoke racial tensions?”, local councillor Afrasiab Anwar said.

The prime minister warned rioters on Sunday that they would “regret” participating in England’s worst disorder in 13 years.

Interior minister Yvette Cooper told the BBC on Monday that “there will be a reckoning”.

Cooper also said that social media put a “rocket booster” under the violence.

Starmer stressed that “criminal law applies online as well as offline”.

On Tuesday, Alexander criticised Elon Musk, owner of X, after he claimed “civil war” in the UK was “inevitable”.

“I think it is deeply irresponsible. I think everyone should be appealing for calm,” she said.

Police have blamed the violence on people associated with the now-defunct English Defence League, a far-right Islamophobic organisation founded 15 years ago, whose supporters have been linked to football hooliganism.

The rallies have been advertised on far-right social media channels under the banner “Enough is enough”.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"RANKS OF CONVICTS ON HUNGER STRIKE DWINDLE RAPIDLY," Toronto Globe. May 6, 1933. Page 1 & 2. ----- Prisoners Yield to Passive Methods of Portsmouth Guards ---- HOLD OUT TIN PLATES ---- (Canadian Press Despatch.) Kingston, May 5. - Guards and offcials of Portsmouth Penitentiary car-ried on their duties nonchalantly to-night, disregarding twenty-five or thirty convicts who refused to eat as part of a supposed "publicity stunt" hunger strike.

Led by Willard Müllich, youthful convict, allegedly a leader in the riots of last October, when several hundred convicts smashed machinery and property, 100 convicts in the new women's penitentiary some distance from the main building last night refused to accept meals. Gradually the strike dwindled until tonight there are few prisoners who did not hold out their tin plates for the evening meal.

According to Warden W. B. Megloughlin, "the convicts had the idea they have the public with them and have been quite frank in saying the entire affair was planned as a publicity stunt. They will be given their meals as usual, and if they don't want to eat - that's their own lookout."

Guards Take No Notice. The convicts, or at least some of them who face trial for rioting and tumultuous conduct, had planned the strike to be in a position to tell the courts at their trials "they had been locked up for several days and had no food, exercise or work," according to information received outside the prison.

When the men - moved to the new prison because the old one was over-crowded at the time of the riots - refused their meals, the guards took no action but simply walked away. The guards' passive methods apparently brought results. for nearly all the prisoners accepted their meal tonight.

The leader of the strike told the other prisoners, it is said, that "the public is with us," and declared publicity would keep the penitentiary be-fore the public eye and produce more sympathy for the men.

Even more startling evidence than that already heard in trials of penitentiary convicts charged with rioting may be heard next week when the sessions are resumed. Convict Murray Kirkland, on trial before Judge G. E. Deroche, when court adjourned ten days ago, may take the stand in his own behalf Monday, while there are reports ex-Warden J. C. Ponsford will give evidence.

Reliable information indicated General W. S. Hughes, former Superintendent of Penitentiarles; E. R. Jackson, former Penitentiary Inspector and Warden of Collins Bay Penitentiary until last year; ex-Inspector Gilbert Smith, and other former officials of the penitentiary would be called to testify.

Ponsford Not Subpoenaed. St. Thomas, May 5. - Captain J. C.Ponsford of this city, former Warden of Kingston Penitentiary, said this evening that he has received no subpoenae to give evidence at the trial of the prison rloters next week.

A press despatch from Kingston to-day said that Captain Ponsford will likely be called.

Cannot Be Deported. Ottawa, May 5. - Prisoners who have not served their sentence and are confined in the penitentiary cannot be deported, it was stated at the Department of Immigration today. The attention of the department was drawn to a despatch from Kingston saying that Convict Sam Cohen, Toronto, would be deported. The despatch added that his term of imprisonment was not yet up. Presumably, if his prison term was shortened for some reason that would change the situation, but the department, it is stated, does not take men out of jail to deport them.

[yerion]

jeon jungkook drives you to think strict criticism isn’t too bad, purely because you didn’t expect things to turn a bit steamier than intended.

as the one and only female esports player, misery was at your fingertip when your skills suddenly deteriorated. however, the stoic leader of your team—jungkook, simply couldn’t sit back. he puts you back on track, yet no one told you sparks would fly; and the crazy fact that it’s inevitable.

pairing : jungkook x you (as aeum). au(s) : tsundere!jungkook, leader!jungkook, gamer!jungkook, roommates!au. genres : fluff, (intense) mutual pining, slowburn, innuendos of suggestive themes, (a sick) love triangle.

content : you thought your skill was the one problem here, but you eventually realise you’re quite surrounded by guys that you’d like to go on your honeymoon with. clearly, consequences follow since you’re not the only person who thinks so (the rest of the world does too).

peek jungkook’s mind in this playlist.

previous chapter. next chapter. chapter directory. masterlist.

chapter three.

word count : 4,4k.

if there’s one thing you’re thankful for during this crisis forged from mistakes and regrets, it’d be the fact that you don’t get hangovers, no matter how much alcohol you sculled the night before.

usually, you’d be boasting about this gifted peculiarity of yours to the other members, but right now, it’s utterly impossible to do such a thing.

embarrassment and regret combined is a bitch.

it’s unbearable; it can’t be fixed, it eats you up and makes you wish for unrealism—the desperate desire to turn back time, or to miraculously wipe one’s memory out.

“if someone comes in—”

“let them.”

why the hell did he say that?

you’ve asked yourself that at least five hundred times this afternoon.

with one flick of the head, you bury your face into your pillow before groaning loudly. you scrunch the blanket in your arms to ease a bit of your overflowing temptation to hulk smash your room walls.

(jungkook and taehyung would be flattened out if you do that—if they’re both home.)

and before you can protest for the five hundredth time, a familiar sensation jabs your stomach with the sound of a growl.

it’s three in the afternoon, yet you haven’t even opened your door once today.

you’re beyond gratified that there’s no training happening on the weekend, but at the same time, how else will you confront jungkook and tackle his shoulder for an explanation?

if only today wasn’t the weekend, you’d be sitting beside your leader, contemplating on how to dare him into a physical brawl after.

you’d juice answers out of his beast-like build.

a trickle of energy accompanies you, triggering your body to immediately bounce up from your bed in realisation.

your fingers find its way to untangle your disheveled bed hair while you march towards your door, eventually letting yourself burst out of your room.

first things first, your gaze flickers and latches onto taehyung—from a floor above, his orbs are still visible to you despite his grey hood weighing down the curls into his eyes.

taehyung’s eyes taper in focus to the tv screen as one leg of his goes over the other, making it seem he’s rather invested.

it’s rare for him to be lingering around on a weekend.

the mischievous smile blooming on your face tells you that the very first stop to make is, indeed, your close friend—taehyung.

like how vivid the intimate memories you made with your leader are cruelly drilled into your mind, the drunk fractions of taehyung last night is just as unforgettable.

“my hands aren’t hot today.” you whisper behind taehyung’s shoulder when you creep up to him. “just thought i’d let you know.”

“we don’t talk about that.” taehyung, seeming rather nonchalant about your spontaneous entrance, flashes you a toothless grin. “i just managed to forget about that.”

you gasp teasingly, covering your mouth with your fingers. “that’s more of a reason for me to bring it back up.”

“no, it definitely isn’t.” taehyung casually prods your cheek with his longest finger. “how are you feeling though?”

“good as new.” you smugly grin to flaunt your pride. “no hangovers for me.”

“me too.” he says. “any plans for the weekend?”

“i’ll try and go out.”

“how come?”

“to get some fresh air and to relieve stress, of course.” smiling awkwardly, the corner of your glossy lips twitches.

taehyung arches a dubious brow. “of course,” he echoes playfully. “up for the new spiderman movie then? you’ve been meaning to watch it.”

“actually?” you blurt, your hands already squeezed together in excitement, nails digging into your palms. it’s an expected gesture at the sound of your favourite avenger. “you’re not going out with your friends this weekend? i thought you made plans with seojun and hyungsik earlier last week.”

taehyung shrugs. “go bombard them for bailing on spiderman’s premiere today.”

“what?” you exclaim breathily. “what are their addresses?”

“the lotte cinema.” intertwining his arms, taehyung lets his head sink to the side just so his narrowed eyes are revealed to you. “i’d rather you spend that time on me instead.”

“you’re too kind, because i was going to chase down your friends.” you snort, but your face immediately brightens afterward. “so, what time are we seeing tom holland?”

“at seven tonight.”

“kim taehyung,” you breathe out, “thank you for giving me a reason to pull out and wear what i ordered three weeks ago.”

“looking forward to seeing you and your interesting sense of taste in fashion.”

“let’s fight.” deadpanning jokingly, you shuffle over to the opposite side of the couch just so you can collapse in the seat next to him. “don’t tempt me, i’ll mix and match my halloween outfits instead. that’ll really teach you what’s interesting.”

“i already know you’re going to wear your zombie onesie and your vampire cloak together.”

“you bet, taehyung.” you coo, casting your eyes to the overwhelming screen, only for your nose and hand to crumple when the couple in the show starts to act disgustingly cheesy. “i wonder if relationships like that really exist.”

“does it seem unrealistic?”

“unbelievably unrealistic.” you honestly exaggerate every word, knowing true love and fanciful relationships are only imaginary.

the taste of acid lingers on your tongue whenever you ponder about the belief of undying love, because like any girl, you’ve been there—you’ve gone all in on a man who you mistook as a soulmate.

he ultimately left you with scars to count.

reasons to not fall hard for a man, because you’re bound to be grazed.

“i think it’s achievable,” he insists nonchalantly. “think about you and i.”

you feign thinking by tapping your chin. “is that an indirect proposal, taehyung?” you kid around airily. “should i be preparing myself?”

taehyung releases a chuckle. “don’t be too shocked when you see a ring come out of my pocket tonight.”

the two of you exchange creased glances as silence veils you and taehyung. but soon, he slowly breaks into a low, rumbling laughter, which naturally falters your composure.

wordlessly yet knowingly, both of you enter a fit of laughter, amused by the eccentric friendship you two hold dear.

with taehyung, a life like yours feels like a fairytale.

you and taehyung met when you entered the team. for the first few weeks, he intimidated you.

the fear began small and trivial, since you believed that there was no way someone in this world could look that fictitious.

you were certain god took his sweet time creating taehyung—god was rigorous with each and every detail; he was probably pedantic, correcting the edges of his nose to the fine curves and length of his fingers to perfection.

he possessed an aura that could cut, and he also seemed to have a bond with every bypassing stranger out in the streets. he was a man everyone respected and admired, always under a gracious light. his fans exaggerated whenever they could, and the walls around taehyung only got higher and sturdier for you to break.

then, once upon a time, you saved him in an official game.

taehyung had to thank you for that as it happened, and that’s when everything took off.

an expression of gratitude always becomes more than what one intends.

“taehyung,” you whisper. “do you think any of our members are dating anyone?”

“maybe.”

“would jungkook?”

“wouldn’t he?”

“you’re not helping.”

“we all know he doesn’t open up that much.” taehyung exhales quizzically. “why don’t you go and find out?”

“not today.” you vehemently shake your head. “how about you though? seeing anyone recently, mr. popular?” you hum as you tuck a palm under your chin, gazing at taehyung admirably.

taehyung narrows his eyes before swiping his loose hair back in thought. “you know who they are.” he answers vaguely.

“oh my god,” you squeak. “do i?” you fidget, squaring your shoulders. “who? who is it?”

taehyung opens his mouth to speak, but his word fails to get uttered the very second you hear the front door unlocking after the register of the house’s passcode.

a look of bewilderment sweeps onto your features, completely wiping the laughter off your face.

taehyung mirrors your look at the noise of an unexpected visitor, but oddly enough, his brows knit together, erupting your interest further.

it’s killing you that taehyung’s curve of his nape and shoulders are hindering you from checking out the scene.

“welcome back, jungkook.”

like adrenaline, heat springs up from your stomach to your throat.

it precipitates you to inhale and exhale deeper than normal, the walls around your stomach clenching like someone is squeezing the life out of it.

plenty of oxygen is circling you, but you feel as though you’re about to be deprived. it’s a feeling you thought you forgot, but truthfully, you understand it, back to front.

as jungkook inevitably appears, you struggle to tear your eyes off him.

watching jungkook is like poison because he’s merely making you feel worse, but as selfish as it is, you want to be noticed; you want to be called out to untangle this invisible knot tied between you and him.

“had anything to eat, taehyung?” jungkook drops down plastic bags on the dinner table before turning entirely to where taehyung and you are.

perhaps he didn’t expect you either, his blasé exterior cracks a bit; the widening of his doe eyes proves it all.

you want to dissect the meaning behind those eyes so damn bad.

“i have,” taehyung answers casually, curiously eyeing the bags of food. “aeum hasn’t had anything today though.”

“i wonder.” jungkook lifts his lowered gaze once he’s done unpacking bags of dumplings to raise his brow up at you. “eat before you go.”

“then there’s no point in going out, jungkook.” you reply tersely, which causes taehyung to spare you a baffled glance at the hint of jungkook’s name being stressed under an informal context.

“you got a point.”

you wince at the sharpness of his few words, though that was completely self-inflicted. you were the very person who provoked that reaction out of him.

“well,” jungkook turns to taehyung, a tenuous smirk curling up to his lips. “you heard her,” he tilts his head. “keep her well-fed.”

taehyung scoffs faintly, smiling lopsidedly to end pleasantly. “i’m sure she can take care of herself,” he defends huskily. “she’s no child.”

“that’s new.” jungkook bobs his head, cracking into a smile knowingly. for the first time, he exposes his teeth when he does. “anyway, enjoy yourselves.” he says curtly before letting himself fade; he strides across the living room, going past the tv, climbing up the stairs.

jungkook doesn’t turn back—he doesn’t look at you in the eye again.

jungkook.

that’s the name you have to call, but you feel restrained, something intangible is grabbing you by the throat and feet.

an invisible hand has you by the throat and you feel as though you’re held at a gunpoint, stopping you from moving a muscle.

why are you sitting there like some pathetic idiot in a classroom—uneasy and hesitant to announce the answer when you know you’re correct?

to approach the man who drunkenly kissed you; the man who held you too closely; the man who threw profound words without any proper definitions—that is the correct answer.

so, why are you letting such a person walk away in light, thoughtless steps?

seven struck the clock too fast, and jungkook’s words are still on repeat like a faulty radio.

before coming out to the theatre, you tried to distract yourself with gorey netflix shows and negligible games on your phone, in hopes of changing the channel or frequency of your thoughts.

but it was as if everything was decided to begin with, like the play of fate is to blame, because nothing could budge you—except jeon jungkook himself.

either way, you’re not dwelling on this any longer.

you’re devoting your night to tom holland and a tiny bit on yourself.

looking at your own reflection in a tinted window, you fix the beret sitting on your hair and you feel the dainty pendant clinging around your neck.

you triple check if your skirt is aligned prettily to your hips while feeling something bloom inside your chest; something warm and ticklish.

out of all, you missed this the most.

the feeling of being an average girl—it’s a time where you can focus on little things based on your appearance and be proud about it.

as a professional gamer, you hardly come across a chance to dress up.

you cycle through an outlet of tracksuits, unattractive baggy t-shirts and puffy pants that bury all your charms as a girl.

“you should’ve gone ahead,” taehyung walks up to you with popcorn and drinks in his hands. each step he takes, there are heads that turn to awe at his beauty.

none of this is new to you, because he looks good—too good.

“nope,” you shake your head. “i’m here to prevent you from falling.” you extend your arms in an attempt to fish the drinks out of taehyung’s hands, but you fail miserably when he flicks his shoulders back.

you could swear this man moved one muscle.

note to self—wear heels.

“you can lower the risk without carrying anything,” taehyung whispers into your ear when he brushes past your shoulder, nudging you gently on the way. “let’s go, miss.”

at that, he walks into the cinema, his figure getting enveloped by the dark.

you innocently follow his trail, knowing taehyung won’t tolerate any further assistance.

entering the cinema is always a surprise to you. considering your excitement towards the anticipated movie graced with handsome men, the claimed surprise isn’t always pleasant.

wailing about the pitch blackness in the room is luckily out of the grid, but you can never get used to the blaring, exaggerated sounds of the speakers.

it pricks your eardrums every time, and you’re always tempted to suppress your ears with all the power you have.

what a way to enjoy movies!

you’d think that’s all, but you’re also dodging a physical crisis.

with the help of the screen’s brilliance, you notice that the cinema is packed. almost every seat is occupied.

the majority of the audience don giddy expressions as they watch the introductory video roll out, and you stick close to taehyung’s back, head dropped, aware that the possibility of losing him is frankly wide and real.

you let your hands fall free from your ears when taehyung safely leads you to the empty seats in the corner.

the two of you silently wriggle into the seats, and you only realise the moment you’re seated, that taehyung’s arm is where the armrest should be.

there’s no meaning of distance between you and taehyung.

at every given second, your arm rubs against his, and his shoulder is permanently perched against yours.

you suck in a sharp breath when a lightbulb frantically flashes in your mind.

this is a couple’s seat.

should you file a formal complaint? no, you shouldn’t.

however, this makes no sense to you—or is your brain just slow?

you must be lacking brain cells from abusing your brain too much today.

if you weren’t here, this seat would’ve been park seojun’s or park hyungsik’s.

unless?

un-fucking-less?

“you can hold my hand if you’re on the verge of crying, but don’t go dropping all your tears on my coat,” taehyung mutters, draping his coat on your bare thighs before placing the tub of caramelised popcorn onto your lap.

“nonsense,” you chuckle. “you can trust me.”

“with my hand or my coat?”

“both, if i get to any of them.” you murmur before gasping deeply at tom holland’s gorgeous entrance. the man is swinging into your heart. “it’s starting!” you exclaim in a whisper.

all your movements in here—like grabbing popcorn from your lap and sipping on your drink at uncertain, sporadic times is automated.

you do everything with a mind so lost, because you’ve signed every drop of your attention off to the movie—is what you thought—up until you feel a bolt of electricity spark at your fingertip.

suddenly, everything comes to a stop—the blown up bass in the theatre becomes irrelevant, although you were despising it a second ago.

it took one touch, no matter how brief.

the popcorn is to blame.

the popcorn is the reason why you and taehyung’s hand overlapped in the first place.

his finger swept yours; a touch of his conducted static.

now, the two of you are sharing a look with each other—you could stare into his eyes and drown in them if you wanted to.

you’re having no trouble seeing him after all, thanks to how close he is.

the silence is unacceptable, and you dislike that you’re given a chance to assume and decipher what taehyung’s eyes bear.

eyes, eyes, eyes—jungkook’s eyes, taehyung’s eyes.

you want to take them and conduct a science experiment.

out of sheepishness, you pinch some popcorn before directly delivering them to taehyung’s lips.

his initial pause says a lot. you can see the gears in his head rustling and tumbling at your awkward gesture, but he quickly redeems himself by tenderly clasping your hand and opening his mouth to bite the popcorn trapped in your fingers.

the screen flits into a paler colour for a moment.

within that time, the colour douses taehyung, and it reveals the corner of his lips pulling up into a broad smile.

“you can take it,” you mumble, lifting up the tub of popcorn with the tip of your fingers. “taehyung.” you breathe out his name when you notice his fingers resting around your wrist.

“sh,” he shushes softly yet tartly. “i’ll be alright.”

“are you on the verge of crying?” you peer down at taehyung cheekily, beaming triumphantly as you wriggle your hand teasingly.

“clearly.” he fights back jokingly. “this is absolutely heartbreaking. i’m in pieces.”

you chortle at his sarcasm, “that can’t be true.” you say in disbelief.

“don’t underestimate the power of peter and ned.”

you bob your head, knowing you need to save your words for later. taehyung seems to be loyal to silence as well.

just when you thought you salvaged normalcy, taehyung turns to you with an apologetic look. he has his phone in his hand, adjusted to the darkest setting, with a kakaotalk conversation opened.

“shit,” taehyung exhales deeply.

“sorry.” is what he’s going to say.

“sorry,” he breathes out. “do you mind watching the rest alone?”

bingo.

“i don’t mind.” you reply softly. “you go do what you have to do.”

at that, taehyung’s upright features crumble, and his hand that was loitering and floating around abruptly grasps your hand.

the breath you were meant to exhale sticks to your throat, and the same tingle you felt earlier returns all so spontaneously.

words become impossible to utter as heat gushes into your ears and cheeks, distracting you.

what?

what the hecking heck?

what the fucking fuck?

“i’ll see you at home.” taehyung squeezes your hand before slowly letting go, each finger stroking past your palm regretfully. the sweet familiarity left in your palm melts away, making you feel rather strange and empty.

“of course,” you smile. “take your coat.” you peel the coat off your thighs, handing it to him. “no tears, just warmth.”

taehyung is quick to walk away as soon as he takes the coat in your hand, eager to not be a nuisance to any of the viewers.

you helplessly watch him transition into an unrecognisable silhouette as he treads down the stairs, and your eyes roam back to the empty seat beside you.

there’s no traces of him left behind.

the movie was amazing​​—sitting alone in a two-person couple seat, having the benefit of sprawling and laying down in all its glory while stuffing your nose into buttery popcorn and watching the three superheroes bicker and laugh together—to you, this has to be a blessing—an occasion to be eternally grateful about.

or not.

you quietly take down the beret in your hair and look down at your skirt, exhaling a dejected sigh as you walk to your house.

being an optimist doesn’t ward off embarrassment.

embarrassed or not, you still need to tap the keycard against the reader for the doors to let you inside the gates of your house.

when the doors open, you’re always welcomed by a garden. you specifically chose tulips to be planted at the entrance, just so it can gift you a smile on a day like this.

“aeum,” it’s the voice from last night’s apparitions—the ones that feel vivid to you, but not him—apparently.

“captain?” you say in utmost surprise.

jungkook, fitted in a black sweatshirt and black track pants, draws near with hands in his pockets. you see him coming from the east wing—the very place a security guard would stand if your house had ever hired one.

when jungkook is close enough to tower you, he looks around and cocks a brow before returning his gaze to you. “have you eaten?” he asks.

you try to smile to your fullest, “too much.”

“really?” he asks again. “what’d you eat?”

what did you eat?

popcorn.

god, you can’t say popcorn.

“meat?”

jungkook sways forward to your neck, pulling back once a few seconds pass.

he was too quick for you to even react.

“i only smell strawberry,” he asserts. “you’ve gotten bold, blatantly lying to your leader and all.”

your lips jut out in defeat. “as you can tell,” you exhale. “i tried.”

“i can tell.”

“were you waiting?” you inquire after a while, gazing at him straight in the eyes. it’s almost spine-chilling because you can literally only detect the black in his orbs.

“not for long.”

“and what brings you here?” you ask though you know exactly why.

“don’t act like we don’t need a conversation.”

“at this time of the day?” you ask solemnly, the disappointment in your tone extremely recognisable.

are you wrong for thinking he should’ve approached you sooner?

then again, you’re the same for not doing so.

“should i book a time with you when the sun rises then?”

you frown, “that’s a terrible idea.”

“i thought the same.” jungkook quips nonchalantly.

“so…”

“i waited to talk about last night.”

the thud in your chest is so loud, you wonder how hard and far it truly fell at the sound of last night.

“do you remember?” you bite your tongue.

“i do,” he claims.

“we were just—” you suck in a breath, struggling to fight the shades of pink away from your cheeks. “—drunk, i’m guessing? it happens often, i understand, but—”

“i’m not careless.”

you feel like you’re suffering from a concussion.

jungkook is as forward as he can be. you’ve never seen him talk this much or be this honest with himself.

why is that you’re suddenly terrified?

you wanted this—confrontation, an initiative from the villain behind your thoughts.

but why does he feel different?

“please don’t be vague.” you warn defensively.

now, everything is starting to fall back to your past.

you’ve scrambled plenty of times with your ex-boyfriend, and out of hundreds of conversations you two had, one of them unfolded just like this.

your patience is limited.

“i haven’t even started.” he mutters.

“was… it on purpose then?”

“i knew who you were, and i know what i did.”

for attention?

to fulfil your needs?

to solve your boredom?

out of impulse?

“it’s not what you think it is.”

“trust me.” yeonjun chose words that enticed you; words that tasted like sugar. “it’s not what you think it is.”

“would you enlighten me then?” you demand bitterly. “like the leader you are.”

“because you asked, i’ll ask as well.” jungkook says after a while. “what did it mean to you?”

“what?”

“see if you can give me an answer.” he leans into your face, and you recall it again—everything feels familiar.

nothing is odd.

one more move, and history will repeat.

but why?

“but if you take long, consider me as the careless person you imagined me to be.”

why is he expecting an answer from you?

“wait,” you grab jungkook by the wrist.

before he could even respond, you immediately rush into snaking your arms around him. you press a cheek against the soft material on the back of his chest while you think about the expression he must be wearing.

you’re dying to know.

there it is again—the thud in your chest, the thud that’s as loud as a drum.

it’s even louder than before.

is this your answer?

“first-name basis, and now this?” taehyung says behind you.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

gin and tonic and bad, bad men

Collab Masterlist

✧ pairing: bartender!dabi x waitstaff!fem!reader

✧ word count: 6k

✧ warnings: misogyny, scummy dabi, noncon/dubcon, yandere vibes, cat calling, toxic relationships, toxic work environment, face fucking (?), smut, semi-public sex (in an alley), alcohol, drunk reader, drunk sex, smoking mention, brief spitting, humiliation, light degradation, probably incorrect use of restaurant terminology, reader is implied female but no body parts are explicitly gendered

✧ summary: Dabi is willing to protect you from those awful, nasty men who torment you at work, but he never does anything on the house -- or the newbie at the bar catches dabi's attention and everyone else's.

✧ a/n: Heyy my first dabi, and he's scummy as hell in this. who's shocked? Not me. This is for the BNHAREM collab and it's a coworker/workplace au! Please go check out all the other works, everyone is so talented! Enjoy~

Dead men tell no tales, but drunk men’s mouths run wild.

Liquor loosens the lips like no other force of nature.

Dabi knows this to be true.

Whiskey runs hot in the blood and makes hands reach to lay claim on whatever is closest, whatever is prettiest within their grasp.

Alcohol on the tongue draws forth cravings from deep, hidden pits in men—bears their ugly truths to the world—and Dabi is the master of this liquid sorcery.

He sits, high and mighty, behind the safety of his bartop and watches the sea of bodies grow loose with vodka and gin and in turn he drinks their secrets. Sees the things they hide in sobriety and knows their nature with a removed certainty that is only found in those who have seen the darkest depths of mankind and come out the other side stinking of their filth.

The mahogany slab that separates Dabi from the waves of slobbering drunkards does nothing to stop the infection from spreading. He knows their thoughts, knows their truth, knows what their hands long to bruise, because they’re his thoughts too.

His truth.

His longing.

Kept only at bay by the simple fact that the boss doesn’t like him drinking on shift. Likes to keep his air of professionalism even if the bar is nothing more than a seedy dive in the bad part of the bad part of town.

Whatever keeps him off Dabi’s back is fine.

“The bar is over there and that door is to the kitchen…”

Toga’s voice pulls him from his stupor. The dirty rag he’d been using to halfheartedly wipe down the counters leaves his skin slick, calluses soft and plump as the water eats at them. She’s showing around one of the new hires. The turn over rate for staff here is so goddamn awful that this is a near weekly occurrence, so Dabi doesn’t pay her much mind as she wanders over.

It isn’t until her face is shoved up against his across the bar that he looks away from his task.

“Say hi to the newbie!” she cackles, smile just deranged enough to keep her safe from the crowds on packed nights.

Toga doesn’t look it but she belongs here too, in the filth and squalor of humans. But not like him. She thrives and gorges herself on their foolishness, twirling through the mob of patrons, always knowing who’s back to pat for gracious tips and who’s to stab when she needs to.

He glances up through his lashes and is both shocked and unsurprised by what he finds.

Hanging off the end of Toga’s arm, you stand out against the dingy background of the taproom. The smog of the bar clings to it’s staff, making their hair dull and their eyes red rimmed. You haven’t been poisoned yet though. The smell of the downpour raging outside still clings to you and errant raindrops drip down your chin like tears.

“Hey,” he grumbles and with another prodding look from Toga tacks on a gruff, “name’s Dabi.”

“He’s our bartender,” Toga provides after his silence and you smile. He guesses cause you don’t know any better.

You’ll learn not to do that down here soon enough.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Your name slips off your lips and onto his like top shelf tequila. There’s rain on your palm as you reach out for him, so when he takes it to shake, you can’t feel the way the grime clings to his skin—can’t feel the roughness etched into his fingers through the chill.

Can’t see him for what he is.

Meanwhile, you’re practically transparent in the dim, neon light of the bar.

The buttons of your shirt are undone too low, he notices as Toga drags you away to the back. He could warn you, should warn you. That when the late night crowd stumbles in, you’ll want those extra inches of skin covered up. That dressing like that is just asking for something to get smacked.

You must be stupid to not know it, because he doesn’t think you do.

You’re not really carrying yourself like a slut, he thinks, watching you trail along behind his boisterous coworker smiling and nodding and eager to please.

He ought to warn you.

But he knows he won’t.

You’ll be gone within a week and Dabi will swiftly forget your name and face just like the others before you. He’ll sneak shots in while his manager’s back is turned and any memory of you will be filtered out by his abused liver.

But for now, Dabi reigns himself back in to polish some of the obvious stains from his glasses and prepares himself for the show. The doors open in an hour, and he wants to be ready for the action.

The drunk antics of all the city's criminals gets old fast when you’re the one who has to clean up their shit.

Fresh meat is the only real entertainment they ever get around here.

So Dabi watches as you don one of the stained, black aprons and doesn’t tell you to cover up that sliver of your chest practically glowing in the electric red and blue light. Just looks on from the relative sanctuary of the bar as Toga instructs you on how to carry the drink trays and waits patiently to see you be devoured.

After you trip on the way back to the kitchen, Dabi pulls a twenty out of his pocket and shoves it in a jar hidden under the bartop. He makes a mental note to tell the chef he’s betting on just under a week you’ll last.

At the very least he’ll get a free performance and a neat hundred out of your inevitable failure.

He goes back to polishing, only looking up once as you breeze past the bar on your way to unlock the gates for the nocturnal animals of the city to filter in as they please.

You smile at him again as you pass.

Dabi tosses another twenty into the jar.

***

Well, he may have lost the bet, but he can’t find it in himself to mourn the forty dollars too hard.

Today would be your two week anniversary, and honestly, Dabi felt a bit of grudging respect for the determination you showed, no matter how pointless it was.

Determination and foolishness often came hand in hand.

He couldn’t help but think you looked more than a little the fool as you smiled and made unbridled eye contact with the patrons while walking your rounds from table to table. You’d learned enough to cover up a bit more, but he can’t be sure if that’s because you’ve started to notice the stares or because a spring cold front has rolled over the city. Either way, he watches you shiver under the gaze of a particularly rowdy guest and feels a chill run up his own spine as he watches the man’s eyes trail up your thighs, drinking down the slivers of bare skin like his fifth beer of the night.

Dabi is intrigued now.

Wonders how you’ve made it out of the fray every night so far.

Wonders what you’re hiding under those skimpy clothes and friendly, thoughtless smiles.

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out.

It’s inevitable really. When you’re working nights there are certain occupational hazards to expect. So when the little clock above the bar reads just past one in the morning, and you drift out once again into the raging mass of bodies, Dabi isn’t shocked to hear the yelp and smash of glasses just a few minutes later.

The first die has been cast.

He looks up from pouring out two fingers of whiskey just in time to catch the man’s hand slipping between your thighs, dirty fingers digging into the flesh and yanking you down onto his spread legs. The tray of drinks you’d been carrying clatters to the floor, lacing the air with the sweet burn of alcohol and futile outrage.

It’s far too loud to hear what the man says to you, but the way his blackened, ragged nails press five perfect, filthy crescents onto your skin—how they mark you as a worthy target, claiming you with their muck—sends a clear enough message.

Dabi wouldn’t bother watching if it wasn’t you trying to squirm your way out of being passed from lap to lap around the booth. He’s isn’t the least bit ashamed to admit how curious he is to see which way you’ll react.

And while he expects passivity—a drawn look with wide eyes, hoping no reaction at all will leave them bored and searching for a more interesting conquest—Dabi finds himself on the wrong side of the tracks once more.

His eyebrows shoot up, quite the reaction from the generally stony bartender, as your hand cracks open palmed across the face of your captor. A strange, heavy silence falls over the bar. It lasts only a few precious seconds but it’s enough to draw the attention of your manager who pulls you, cursing and snarling like a dog without it’s muzzle, back to the kitchen.

It’s your face that does him in—seals both your fates in dripping cream and purple wax.

Working down here, in this pigsty bar with it’s air that clings and dirties and tarnishes, brightness of any kind is foreign.

Alluring.

And your eyes that shine with the glow of reckless willpower have the same draw as the fat wads of cash that slip too easily from drunk fingers into his tip jar. Defiance is a rare currency in the underworld and Dabi’s fingers itch as your secret is revealed.

You believe you’re worth something.

Even as he hears the rasp of his boss’ voice, berating and threatening from behind the swinging doors, Dabi can’t help but hold the image of your smile turned snarl. You’ll get off with a warning because you’ve lasted this long and it’s a hassle to find replacements with pretty enough faces. But only this once, do it again and you’ll be out on the street.

For his part he tries to look sympathetic when you crowd yourself behind the bar and pout with your tail between your legs.

You haven’t spoken to him since that first night and he hasn’t exactly made an attempt at conversation either.

It wasn’t like you were worth the effort before.

But now, as you sniffle and pretend the pin prick tears in your eyes are just from the bite of the liquor slicked floor, Dabi feels an old heat rise in him. Something stokes the embers that laid dying out inside the prison of his ribs, and he welcomes the familiar burn.

Like an old friend, like a knife at his throat.

The man from before approaches the bar to order another drink and his cloudy eyes don’t even seem to register the way you cower from him, back turned and sinking into the peeling wallpaper. They’ve forgotten you already. To them you are one of dozens, not worth the fight it takes when plenty of properly meek flesh hops from table to table, ripe for picking.

But Dabi see’s the flint in your hands and knows it’s you that lit this fire licking up the back of his throat.

With two rough fingers he beckons you over into the soft overhead spotlights of the bar. Like a beast to its master’s call you shuffle forward into his gravitational pull and look up at him warily.

“Wanna learn how to mix?” he asks, even to him his voice sounds harsh with disuse.

“...sure,” you say quietly, after a brief pause.

You’re warm and soft as he settles behind you, caging you in with his arms under the guise of reaching for a strainer or a jar of olives. Unlike that bastard, now long passed out from drink, Dabi’s face remains free of your claw marks when his chest brushes against you or his hand wanders to the small of your back to move you aside as he serves customers.

He even works up a little smile of his own when you stare, sunny bright over your shoulder at his attempt to distract you from the incident.

The city, the bar, the underground—all of it is an angry, storming ocean filled with angry, storming bodies that swiftly drowns its victims as they desperately tread water in the open, black abyss.

Without him, you’d learn to take the wandering hands and vulgar words or you’d be foolish enough to inhale them in lungfuls and sink to the bottom.

But as you smile and nod while he shows you how long to stir an Old Fashioned, Dabi feels his own neglected determination rise to the challenge.

By the end of the night, you already trail behind him as he does his rounds to each abandoned table. Like a stranded victim to a raft, you cling to the safety he’s dared to provide.

And if he plays his cards right.

He might not come out of this bet so empty handed.

If only you knew, he was no better than the rest of them.

You’d run straight from the trees into the wolf's den.

***

“What’s your favorite drink to make?” you ask.

Dabi glances up at you, his chest pressed against the cool surface of the bar as he surveys the empty taproom. It’s a little over an hour till opening, but the only thing waiting for him outside of this hellhole is an even deeper hellhole, so Dabi almost always finds himself lounging around the abandoned bar. The boss doesn’t care anyway as long as inventory gets taken and any dried blood from the night before is gone by the next day.

You’ve taken to drifting in early too, even sometimes on the nights you don’t work.

Normally, he’d be annoyed, but it’s better you’re here than out on the streets.

At least if you’re bugging him behind the bar, he can keep an eye on you. Dabi’s found recently that you’ve been on his mind with increasing frequency. It’s easier if you’re in his line of sight. There’s a certain reassurance in your dopey little smile and your hand fisted in the back of his shirt—your body knows where you belong even if your pretty little brain hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Pretty.

“My favorite or my best?” he grunts, pushing off the bar and wetting his lips.

“Is there a difference?”

You’re looking at him with what he assumes is meant to be a cocky grin, but he has a hard time taking you seriously with your crossed arms squishing your chest up like that.

“‘Course there is,” he turns to grab one of the highball glasses from it’s rack and sets it down on the counter. “Just because you like something, doesn’t mean you’re good to it.”

When he looks back at you over his shoulder, you’ve got this comical little furrow in your brow.

“To it?”

Dabi presses the tip of his finger into your forehead, “At it, whatever. Don’t frown so much, you’ll look old as fuck soon if you do.”

“You don’t know how old I am,” you scoff and slap his hand away.

“Bet I’m older,” he mumbles, searching the shelves of bottles idly while dropping a few cubes of ice into the glass.

It melts in his palm, slipping through the spaces between his fingers.

Dabi clenches his fist tighter.

“I don’t know about that,” you’re trotting around to the other side of the bar now, slipping into one of the worn, red topped stools and watching him start to mix.

He likes having you for an audience. Any other customer is only concerned with getting his drink as fast a possible, to numb whatever wounds need to be numbed on their insides. But you appreciate the art form of crafting this liquid destruction.

“I’m older where it counts,” he replies simply, pulling a bottle of gin down from near the top shelf and plopping it on the counter.

“Oh really? How’s that?”

Dabi measures out two ounces of sharp, clear liquor and pours it smoothly over the ice. He doesn’t bother looking at you as he works. He knows your eyes won’t leave him.

“Experience,” he offers and doesn’t elaborate.

The tonic water cracks open with a satisfying hiss and bubbles as he tips it into the glass. You trail your fingers through the condensation on the bar absentmindedly.

“I’m not as clueless as you think I am, you know that?”

He does glance at you then, senses the lack of your attention that’s focused on the fading finish of the bar top.

Dabi waits in silence.

You do elaborate.

“There’s some real fucking choice clientele here, but nothing that’s gone down on shifts is like, a new development.”

“No?” he asks because you expect him to respond and because he enjoys the way you perk up when he actually engages in a conversation with you.

He likes that you like it.

His attention.

It’s not often he finds anyone worth the effort.

“No.”

You stare at him expectantly now, eyes flicking between him and the glass as he stirs the drink a few times and grabs a lime wedge.

Dabi rolls his eyes at the clear fishing line you’re casting for more questions, but takes the bait anyway.

He hopes you know how lucky you are.

“What, got groped on the train a few times and now you think you're a seasoned member of the criminal underground?” he squeezes the fruit between two fingers lightly to spread its juice around the rim and lets it float atop the ice. “I fucking knew you were a dramatic little bitch.”

“I am not dramatic,” you pout just like you do every time the boss chews you out.

He gets the distinct feeling you’re just as much of a petulant little brat elsewhere as you are at work. Then again, that is what makes you so interesting. If you didn’t try to gnash those little baby teeth at him every now and again, he wouldn’t have bothered jumping to your rescue so often.

Dabi doesn’t partake in...partners often. People disappoint him, which isn’t shocking considering the amount of shit he’s seen them spew in his years behind the bar. People are dirty and never in the sexy way all those pop songs talk about, and that makes them boring. The allure of inviting someone else into his shoebox little life is shaping them to fit it. You can’t sculpt mud that loses its shape, slips through your fingers and back to the filthy earth where it belongs.

But you haven’t been stained yet.

You sit at his bar looking like a perfect slab of clay, ready for his hands to dip past those sweet, sweet lips and form them to fit only his fingers.

A rare find in a place like this, just like the single malt on his top shelf—unexpected, leaving behind a pleasant burn on his tongue.

He thinks back to that man on the first night he showed you some of the drinks and all the others that came after him. Here, in the bar, you can come scurrying over and hide behind the wall of his chest. You can put Dabi and the counter between you and the mass of hands and whistles.

He hadn’t really bothered to think of what might happen to you when he’s not around.

Who might touch his precious treasure he’s managed to dig out of muck.

Who might try and ruin you before he gets the chance.

His brain is working to rationalize the growing feeling of possession he feels towards the half frown half permanent smile that you fix him with. But he knows.

He knows exactly what he’d like to do to you and how he’d like to do it.

Knows it’s exactly what all those creeps on the train or drunks that stumble in one hour to call would like too.

It’s fine though. People like him wouldn’t be so attracted to people like you if you weren’t asking for it.

And you were asking.

Every time you stood by him, attached at the hip and let him chase off the assholes who tried to get in your pants or practically begged him with your eyes for some scrap of attention—you were asking for him to take control.

Even if you were too stupid to see it for yourself.

Your body knows what you want, even if you deny it with every fiber left of you.

He doesn’t offer another response, just slides the concoction across and into your outstretched hands.

Gin and tonic is simple, bare bones and hard to fuck up. He likes that. Everything else is so goddamn complicated, this type of magic doesn’t need to be.

You seem to forget the weight of the previous conversation and peer curiously down into the glass. Dabi is shameless as he watches your lips wrap around the curved edge and your throat constrict as you swallow.

He likes that more than the floral gin that hits his tongue when you pass the drink back and he sips.

“So which is it, your favorite or your best?”

There’s a pause as he considers the questions before passing the glass back to you.

“My favorite.”

He isn’t looking at the drink when he answers.

“Oh,” you respond quietly, sipping lightly on the drink he’s made and looking at him like he isn’t seconds away from taking you then and there.

“Stay awhile after your shift,” he says, not much thought behind the words. “I’ll drive you home.”

***

You look almost angelic, a beacon amongst the refuse and grime of the back alley, silhouetted by the dying orange glow of a lone street lamp. The door to the kitchen is still rattling in its frame as Dabi pulls you stumbling behind him.

He isn’t angry.

But there’s something burning in him.

In reality, he’d felt the potential of the night the instant he walked through the front doors, slipping behind the bar to clock in only to find you leaned up against the drink racks, ready and waiting.

The same sensation since the first time you’d smiled that dopey smile his way was raging to a crescendo under his skin. He’d been doing you a service all these weeks, keeping you from the prying eyes and fingers of the patrons—keeping them from soiling what was his to ruin.

Tonight he would take what he was owed.

Indulge a bit in what he’d won, the gold nugget he’d plucked from the dirty, city sewer riverbed.

After all, he needed to make sure you were a worthwhile investment.

If the boss thought the restaurant business was risky….well, Dabi knew better.

You struggled a bit as his fingernails dug into the skin on your bicep, but he just tugged harder, clicking his tongue at the jumble of slurred protests you groaned into the sweet summer air. There was a space between the two massive dumpsters out behind the kitchen Dabi used to go to smoke. It was a nice, private little spot. Didn’t smell too great but nothing here did, and that wouldn’t matter when he had you to distract him anyway.

In seconds he had your back to the wall, hidden on either side by steel containers. The brick caught on your uniform and Dabi watched the fabric tighten around your chest and throat. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, but your hands were weak as they shoved at him, easy to gather in one palm and pin down.

He wasn’t exactly sure what put this idea in his head—the urgency in his blood—but it definitely had something to do with that last customer.

It was halfway through your night shift, closing in on one in the morning. Dabi was stuck behind the bar, churning out cheap beers and lines of shots. You’d been forced to brave the sea of regulars, too busy to hide yourself away in the kitchen with Toga or watch with owl-wide eyes as Dabi doled out liquor.

The bar was unusually packed. Not that it was strange for a bar to be full on a Friday night, but he’d never seen the place without an empty seat in sight.

Maybe it was because you were so easily swallowed up by the roiling mass of bodies, or maybe it was because Dabi lost himself in the magic of the drinks—of the mixing and matching and perfecting—that he didn’t notice the man.

That the way this particular customer stared and touched and spoke to you miraculously didn’t end in a smart slap to the face and a screaming session from the manager.

No. It seemed that somewhere along the way he’d let that light in you, the matchstick spark, dwindle just a bit too much, let you sink just a bit too far into the mud of the place. Cause when this man pulled you into his lap and plied you with shot after shot, cheering all the time, calling you his ‘pretty little thing,’ you didn’t put up any fight.

No.

No you smiled that dumb, bright eyed smile at him.

Flashed this nobody asshole Dabi’s sweet little smile and drank the shots he’d poured like Dabi hadn’t wasted the nearly a month driving you home and keeping you safe from the human garbage that wandered in off the street. Like all that work had been for nothing, up in ashes the instant that man’s hand found purchase on your bare thigh and you didn’t so much as squirm in his grip.

You squirm now though.

Fight despite the alcohol blurring your vision and turning your bones to jelly. Normally the boss hates it when his employees drink on shift, but if you want to take it like the fucking slut you were well, who’s Dabi to stop you?

He kept pouring rounds for that table and watched the man tip sweet, top shelf whiskey down your throat. It didn’t take long till you were losing your balance and sinking deeper into the quicksand debris of the bar.

Gin and tonics used to be medicinal—mixed up with quinine to treat malaria. Dabi likes that. Likes the idea that he’s whipping up healing potions instead of Molotovs. Likes the freshness amidst the burn.

But Dabi wants you to burn now.

Wants your throat on fire with the betrayal.

It’s easy to force your knees. The whiskey made you pliant even as you shake your head and look up at him with bleary eyes.

“You’re looking at me now, huh?” he works his tongue across his teeth as the words leave him, spitting straight on your cheek to watch you recoil in disgust. “Didn’t seem too interested in me earlier.”

“I don’t, I’m sorry...what?” you mumble.

He thinks if you were more coherent you might be crying.

Maybe he should have cut you off sooner.

“Don’t act stupid with me,” he still has your hands held above your head and his free hand moves to grip your scalp. “You’ve been behind my bar so many times, there’s no way you don’t know I see everything.”

“Why didn’t you…” Dabi shakes your head as your eyes droop and you gasp at his nails raking your skin. “You could have helped me!”

“What? Help you get fucked by some drunk shit? I don’t think so.”

“No,” you shake your head yourself this time, face screwed up in confusion and as the grit of the alley bites into your knees. “They wouldn’t let me leave, I was scared, Dabi please—”

He is swiftly losing his patience, hand leaving your head to fumble with the clasp of his belt and pants. The look on your face—tears beginning to bead at the corners of your eyes and mouth opening up as words try but fail to find their way off your tongue—is enough to have his cock twitching with interest.

“Listen sweetheart, cause I’m not gonna fucking say this again,” he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his chest as his dick falls free from his boxers and your eyes go almost all white as he strokes up the ladder of piercings on his shaft. “You might think you’re cut out for this job, but you aren’t shit. Everything’s got a price down here and you’re gonna have to pay the fuck up for what you owe me.”

You look like you want to protest, even in this state—on your knees in an dirty as fuck alley with a fat cock nudging your lips—but he’s got his thumb worked between your teeth, shoving down on your tongue until your jaw pops open and he can sheath himself inside.

The half choke, half sob, half shameful moan that squeezes out past his dick only has Dabi growing harder. It’s been so long since he’s fucked someone’s throat. So long since he’s fucked anything at all, he’s nearly forgotten how goddamn good it feels to have something other than a fist wrapped around him.

His fingers migrate, moving to grip you by the cheeks, keeping your mouth open and jaw locked so you can’t bite him. Not that he thinks you really would.

Your body knows what you want.

And it seems like you really want a fucking dick in your mouth.

He pulls out, listening to the click of the little metal barbells against your teeth and the gasp of air you take before he plunges back in.

“Look at you,” he muses, daring to release your hands which flop uselessly to your sides as he holds your face still and starts to roll his hips. “Don’t know why I waited so long to collect, fucking shit.”

Your neck bulges with every stroke of his hips, and when the ring at the tip of his dick nudges the back of your throat, you gag so pretty he can hardly stand it.

He wonders idly, as you cry and choke on his cock, if you’re thinking about the man in the bar. Wishing it was his length you were lapping at like a good little hole.

Wishing Dabi had been better.

Not like the others.

And for a moment, it has him stilling—the horrid notion that there might have been something not so twisted between you if only he wasn’t scum like the rest, if he wasn’t just hiding his dirt on the inside.

Tar logged lungs and heart.

But then he remembers that if he just fucks you hard enough, you’ll forget all those nasty things until you’re fit just for him. Molded for Dabi right down to the thoughts in your head.

So instead of stopping this now and hoping you’re drunk enough to forget the filth of the alley and the salt of his cum on your tongue, he picks up his pace.

His thighs burn with the effort, not used to this kind of movement after years alone, and your face is a mess of tear tracks and spit that dribbles out in streams around the length of him slamming into your throat.

It’s quick and dirty and hard and everything Dabi has ever been and will always be. Delicious and hot and fresh. His blood is pounding in his ears, drowning out the cries and sobs and whimpers coming from you between his knees. Instead his head is alight with the thought that soon he’ll mark that mouth as his, claim you before the others could. And if the road to hell is paved with good intentions then Dabi doesn’t know where he’s going when he dies, but he’s deep in heaven now.

With a bang and a whimper Dabi will pretend didn’t slip past his lips, he slams past your teeth once more before exploding in your mouth. Thick, white ropes of release coat your tongue and he doesn’t pull out, just works his fingers under your jaw until he feels you swallow around his softening cock.

Only then does he take a step back to survey his work.

Half in shadow, surrounded in trash and debris, cum stained with dirt under your nails, Dabi feels pride well in his chest.

Distantly he thinks that this burning sense of completion, of perfection, of accomplishment, is what an artist must feel—hand finally dropping the brush to gaze upon their life’s work.

A masterpiece.

His perfect, human clay creation.

Your mouth still hangs dumbly open, hands resting on the brick dust coated ground, your eyes are wide and still stare up at him—reminiscent of a peasant gazing onto a king, confused at the power before you. And with the dim burning of the streetlight, illuminating his hair and glinting off the silver piercings adorning his ears, Dabi thinks he must look just that—a king with his crown of bloody jewels.

He watches as you sway and fall forward on your hands and coughing onto the ground. Your chest heaves, your legs shake, and Dabi feels his shoulders soften. He tucks himself away slowly, refastening his belt as your sputtering subsides. With careful steps, he moves to stand in front of you once again, running his hand along the back of your head until your breaths come deeply and his mouth tastes sickly sweet at the way your hands move to grip at his boots.

“Hey,” he mumbles, feeling some strange heat in his face that brings him to his knees before you. “Look at me.”

And you do in an instant.

Dabi half expects a glare, steely and cold like the walk-in but it’s not.

Your eyes are blank and glossy, staring hooded and helpless like a stray cat desperate to be carried away and fed warm milk.

He wipes a bit of his own release from the corner of your mouth and doesn’t question the sudden, intense need to lick behind your teeth. With filthy hands he cups your face and revels in the feel of your swollen lips and the taste of himself on your tongue.

It screams ownership.

And Dabi has never had much to his name so the thought only makes him want to cling harder.

As he pulls away there’s a smear of red dust on your cheek from his thumbs stroking the skin. Marked. Claimed. Coated in a thin layer of grime just like every other poor soul that walks into this place, but that dirt is his. That filth is him, a permanent imprint on your bones.

He thinks you’d look good with his name in black ink etched into your flesh, dark and blatant so anyone who looks at you would know, would see who owns you even when the muck has been washed away.

“You did good,” he says, giving you a smile of his own—maybe his first, surely not his last.

Your voice is nothing more than a sunken ship wreckage of what it once was, interrupted with sniffles and creaks. “I..want to go home….”

“Let me drive you,” his hands reach under your arms to lift you shakily off the ground, head tucked safely into his shoulder as he helps you limp to his car. “Not safe for you to go walking at this time of night. Men can be fucking monsters you know?”

His heart pounds happily in his chest as you nod against him.

“Thanks,” you whisper into his shirt.

Dabi grins wider than he can ever recall. The kind of expression that makes his cheeks ache and his head spin.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” the words drip off his tongue, top shelf truth if he’s ever heard it. “Anytime.”

[dazz-linglight]

Hi, I hope your having a good day!!

Can I request enemies to lovers smut with Enhypen Jay? :)

(delivered! And thank you for requesting ❤️)

A match made in heaven

"I want you to see how good you look when you cum." He explains turning you around to look at the full body mirror in front of the bed.

"So pretty, all for me to touch." You let his hands wander, his fingers wrapping under your chin, pressing slightly for you to look at him. You stare back, bottom lip pulled between your teeth and he press his thumb on it to make you release it, just gazing over your face for a second then ducks his head down and presses his lips against yours, suddenly moving his fingers to brush over your panties. You let out a whine against his lips, squeezing his biceps and growing needier until he moves his fingers to get inside your panties and feel your wetness directly, circling the bundle of nerves with precision as the other hand find your breast, squeezing it gently.

"Jay.." You squirm getting closer to finish after a few minutes in his arms, provoking a pleasing friction on his clothed cock and he groans on your ear and inserts two of his fingers and moving them rapidly.

"Will you cum for me, baby?"

"Yes, yes please make me cum.." You plead shamelessly and he smirks looking at your body at full display in the mirror, your legs getting weaker and finally feel it just over the edge until..

You wake up with a jolt on your bed with the buzzing of your phone, feeling sweaty and panting from the very convincing dream.

"Oh my god.. I must be crazy." You sit up and drop your head into your hands. After a minute to recover you get out of bed to get ready for school. Your older brother had set a strict rule for you to stay away from his friends and he would stay away from yours. You tried to be strong on following it, even if it meant not giving in to one specifically handsome friend of his, Jay. So the best way you found to do it was to hate him, or at least pretend to while attending the same school and classes as him.

At the school, Jay arrived a little earlier than normal, walking close to the lockers and stopped when one thing got his attention. It was a blue sticker note on your locker, his curiosity screamed louder and he decided to read it.

Want to go to prom with me? Send a text if yes. Hyucka - xx-xxxx-xxxx.

He couldn't let this happen. Jay wouldn't let a random boy take you to prom when he could do take you. He took the piece of paper and smashed it, leaning over your locker as if nothing happened and waited for you to arrive. Not long after you approached to get a book for the first class, confused as to why Jay Park was on your locker when his was at the opposite side.

"What are you doing?" You asked trying to shoo him out of the way and he took a step to the side.

"Go to prom with me."

"Why would I go with you?"

"I don't see anyone else asking you."

"I might as well not go." You pick the book you were looking for and try walking past him but he holds onto your wrist.

"Don't be stubborn. What's so bad about going with me?"

"You're annoying."

"You could be cuter but I'm not complaining, am I?"

"Then leave me alone."

"Not happening."

"Are you a masochist?"

"Do you really want to know?" He raises and eyebrow and you slap his chest, feeling the firmness of it for a brief moment.

"Yah!"

"What?"

"If I say yes will you stop bothering me?"

"Say it and I'll think about it."

"Aish.."

"Watch your tongue." He interrupted before you could finish the word.

"Or what?"

"I'll bite it." You glare at him as he take your belongings and go in direction of the first class and you follow.

"Pick me up at 7p.m tomorrow, don't be late."

"I'll be there by 6:55."

••

He did justice to his words, arrived five minutes early all elegant in his black suit and brought flowers for both you and your mother and she arranged them in the living room, thanking him for the gesture. You wore a fancy red dress and gave permission for Jay to place a white corsage on your wrist and you placed the matching boutonniere on his lapel. Your father held the camera, taking a hundred of pictures of the two of you and gave instructions for you to come back before midnight.

Jay drove you to the school, the building was all decorated inside with fairy lights and balloons, many couples walking in, taking pictures and smiles from all the sides. The night went great, everybody enjoyed the party and danced to the songs, ate sweets, had drinks and you were surprised to know that you and Jay got nominated for Queen and King, even more after winning. Jay kissed your cheek on stage and some girls got jealous for the crown and your head and the boy by your side. He brought you back home a little past midnight and apologized to your parents for the delay, which they understood.

Saturday and Sunday went by and you and Jay kept messaging and soon you found yourself breaking the rule you had with your brother. But he already knew you went to prom with Jay, so it was useless to care about it now.

Jay: You're lucky to have found such an excellent boyfriend. I'm handsome and I can cook, what else you could ask for?

You: Who said you're my boyfriend? You're in the phase of tests."

Jay: For how long?

You: Hm.. Until the end of the next week!

Jay: Then prepare your heart for the most heart fluttering days of your life.

You: You're so annoying 😂

Jay: And you like me 😄

You: You forgot to say you're humble.

Jay: Right?

The next days you always found Jay at the same spot by your locker, waiting for you to walk together to class, hugging you whenever you both had free time and no other guy approached you. He took you on dates after school, cooked for you, you shared kisses and cuddles.

A week later, on Saturday you wake up to the feeling of a warm chest against your back and a pair of arms tightening on your hips, soon kisses being littered across your cheek. You sit up still in a daze and turn around to see Jay freshly awake in your bed. He looks handsome as always, his eyes sparkled with the baby blue that was beginning to light up the sky at dawn through the window of your room.

"How did you get in?"

"You left your window open." He sits up beside you, hands searching for warmth until finally finding it in your cheeks, holding your face in his large hands. "The week is over, you know."

"You're so bold, Park Jongseong."

"That's right. Are we official now?"

"You're already here, how can I say no.."

"You definitely can't."

"Then it's a yes." You sleepy gave him a sleepy smile and he got closer for a peck that you prolonged for a little longer.

[tryingmydarndest]

Thank You (Luka Couffaine x Reader)

Summary (Part 1/probably 3): The author goes on a bit of a tangent about how Y/N goes on a bit of a tangent about Viperion. Who may just have a little, big ol' crush on them?

Tags: -not enough actual relationship -fluff -but like, a weird sprinkling of angst that I didn't plan on right at the end???

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Inspired by this fic by @seriously-sirius-black <3. Luka? OOC? Idk, probably, I don’t write fanfic. But I am actually kinda proud of how well Alya turned out. Writing this made me realize how much of a mom friend I apparently headcanon her as. I wrote this gender-and-as-everything-else-neutral as I can make it (lemme know if you see ways I can improve, tho idk how much more fanfic I'll even be writing). Also, I freakin' RAMBLE and overuse italics, but ya get what ya get and ya don't gotta fret. Ooh, important note for future parts (if i write them) - this is a kinda!au where the miraculous users keep their miraculous. also if I had a nickel for every time I get awkwardly specific about the placement of both of a character’s hands I’d have TWO nickels. Happy reading!! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Part I - Paris's Cutiest Heroes

The look currently on Marinette’s face as she sputtered out a response was priceless, “Cat Noir? Cat Noir!? What makes you think I’d find Cat Noir attractive at all? And- and- HIM- the cutest superhero! Ridiculous!”

“Utterly ridiculous?”

“Nice one, Alya”

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” you gave Alya a high five on your way to your seat next to Juleka and Rose on the couch facing Marinette and Alya. A sunny Friday after school was the perfect place for Kitty Section and their entourage to hang out. Unfortunately without Ivan and Mylène, seeing as their anniversary called for a private celebration. After pushing a couple couches onto the deck of The Liberty, Alya had predictably started talking about Paris's resident hero team. Today, she chose to ask everyone who they deemed the cutest, and she made sure to jump on Marinette's... interesting response, “And girl, he has the same silky golden hair and dreamy emerald eyes as Adrien Agreste. What’s utterly ridiculous is you freaking out and dodging every time we bring up superheroes!”

The designated snack-boy, Luka, walked out precariously carrying three bowls of goodies for everyone, “Alright, I got more popcorn. Sorry, but looks like we’re out of cheese flavoring, Y/N”

“Oh... that’s fine. I honestly wasn’t expecting it since I forgot to ask,” your free hand not reaching for the bowl rubbed the back of your neck, “but thanks for remembering.”

“Oh, um yeah- Always," is it creepy to remember something so specific? Someone as nice as Y/N wouldn't be interested in some creep. Ugh. Luka took a seat with his own bowl after passing Alya and Marinette theirs. He ended up next to you on the floor, leaning against the arm of the couch, dangerously close to touching your legs.

Rose reached for the popcorn as she interjected, “You know, Alya does have a point. So Marinette, why don’t you just tell us who you think the cutest superhero is, if you don’t like us guessing?”

Somehow Marinette’s face went even paler as she spoke, “What- I mean, I don’t- I haven’t thought- Wha- what about Y/N? Why aren’t you interrogating them?”

Alya crossed her arms, “Because Y/N says the same thing about the same hero every day. Just watch. Ahem, Y/N, care to weigh in on the cuteness level of our lovely Parisian superheroes?”

You looked up from the bowl you had stolen back from Rose with wide eyes, "Hey! Okay, no, that is not fair! Besides, what is our criteria for 'cute'? I mean... Are we going just by physical characteristics? Is costume a factor? What about the animal they're representing, could our opinion of that make this whole thing unfair? And cuteness is so subjective anyway... Why are we even reducing these amazing and honorable superheroes to just their looks? I mean we could be talking about skill, or their powers or power lev-"

"-And your answer would be exactly the same. Seriously, are you done trying- and might I add, failing- to talk yourself out of this one yet? Or should I just read the article you wrote for the Ladyblog?"

"You said you deleted that!"

Luka had perked his head up at your initial fumbling response and turned to you when he spoke, "You wrote an article? That's pretty cool."

You rubbed your face to try and distract yourself from the burning embarrassment, "Umm, yeah. But it was terrible and extremely not. worth. publishing." You hoped the glare you sent the girl in question was enough to scare her into deleting it on the spot, or to at least lie about it, "So Alya kindly deleted it, right?"

Sitting up with a smug look and crossed arms severely lowered your faith that she'd keep quiet. "A good journalist archives everything. Especially something as juicy as one of her besties going on for five thousand words about how dreamy the great Viperion is," dramatically fake-fainting into Marinette's lap, Alya could barely finish before bursting out in laughter. Of course, quickly followed by the others joining in to varying degrees. Juleka and Rose happily giggled to themselves, Marinette looked more relieved that the heat was off her, and Luka seemed to be shocked, or maybe just holding back to see how you were taking this.

Horribly. Horribly embarrassed would describe how you were taking this conversation. You sat there stock-still as you hoped that none of the others could hear your heart's desperate attempts to pound its way out of your chest. That's certainly all you could hear, at least until Alya's voice brought you out of it, "Hey, it's fine," she made her way over to sit next to you as she continued, "We all have our little hero crushes. That's why I bring it up all the time, to show you that it's totally normal! I mean, we all know how I could go on about Carapace for days," Alya gestured for the others to continue, and used her other hand to try and comfort you.

"Well, I find Ladybug to be just absolutely adorable and so kind.... oh it just makes me so happy knowing she's keeping all of Paris safe," Rose added softly.

Juleka brushed a strand of hair aside as she spoke, "Rena Rouge is super mysterious, pretty rad in my opinion."

Alya was rubbing your back like the mom friend she is to try and help encourage you, "See? Super normal, so go ahead and release all this pent up Viperion energy that I know you have. Maybe it'll encourage Marinette here to finally join in the fun!" Alya stuck her tongue out at her best friend, who responded promptly by smashing her face into a pillow.

You just sighed, "I mean- it’s- it can't just-'' were you supposed to just get over it all just like that? Well, at least the embarrassment was wearing off, maybe you could just entertain her for a bit, "Well- um, you see.... HisHairJustLooksReallySoftAnd- you know what. Nope. Can't do anymore of this. Yep- that's all you're getting out of me!" This time when everyone started giggling, you were able to comfortably join them. It was a nice feeling.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A nice evening chilling out with your friends was always welcome, especially with the rising number of akumatizations making that less possible. But the night had come to a close. Alya and Marinette went home, Juleka was walking Rose back herself, and Luka and you had volunteered to clean up. Luka stopped drying the cup in his hand for a minute as he looked at you, “Um, I know it might not be my place, but I want you to know that you don’t have to be embarrassed about the whole... Viperion thing.” God, how am I supposed to take the news that MY crush has a crush on.... Sort of me? Am I supposed to count it as me at all?

“Oh, um. Yeah, thanks. I think I’m over the embarrassment now that it’s out. I don’t know, it’s just that a lot of people think it’s weird since he’s kind of a new hero,” how are you supposed to explain this to him? That you kept such a non-issue secret from him, especially without getting suspiciously defensive about it. “And then people use that to try and say that I only like him for his looks..... And that’s not it! I don’t know, it’s kind of.... A lot? To explain, that is.” This was not going well.

“Oh... Well, what is it? That you like about him, I guess.”

This was so not going well. But he was waiting for a response so... “Uh, well I guess it did kinda start..... that way.... but then I started doing research. I learned about his power and saw videos of his fights. He’s really good! Especially for being so new, which kinda goes into why his power makes me like him so much.” Shit. Rambling, I’m just talking and talking and I need to stop. But how am I supposed to change the subject now? And now Luka’s sitting down, and he seems so invested. Why does this have to happen to me?

“What do you mean by that?”

Luka’s voice kindly shuts your little thought-spiral in its tracks. What were you saying? Oh, Viperion’s powers! You can talk about this, you know this. Just keep talking, at least he seems interested in it, “Well, you know how he can go back and redo the last couple of minutes?” Luka nodded, “Well, we always see the time that worked out. Us civilians get to keep going from the one time it all went right. Just imagine all the times he failed, all the times he couldn’t get it right. It could be dozens, maybe even hundreds of times! He must get so discouraged at some point, I mean I know I would.... I guess I didn’t really think about it at first, but.... but, I doubt I could keep that determination, and I’m so glad Paris has a hero who can, and does.”

Silence. Why was it so quiet? Oh no, he thinks I’m weird. He must think-

“All of this from ‘his hair looks soft’?”

“Hey! You can’t tell me not to be embarrassed, then make fun of me! That’s against the rules!”

Luka chuckled as he said, “Against what rules, exactly?”

“The Rules Of Best Friendship, duh!”

“And who exactly said you were my best friend?”

“Well... your loss, I guess. Now you won’t get an invitation when I plan Rose and Juleka’s wedding,” you brushed off his offended glare as you took the seat next to him.

“She’s my sister.”

“She’d take my side.”

I’d take your side, too. I will always take your side. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

A/N the sequel: I am super bad at finishing things, but I really wanna keep motivated to finish this (like I have a full, probably 3 part, plan for this). If you guys want to help, shoot me a message and I'll send you a link to the google doc I'm writing this on. Feel free to leave a little comment (pls be kind, obviously) and see my writing process! Idk, would any of you guys be interested in that? Would you just get annoyed at having already read the thing before I post it?

[asset35-maya]

CALYPSO 🐚 ☕️

Part 1 & Part 2

Part 3/3:

Nines froze as the human’s body melded to his. Gavin kept his eyes shut and his lips moving. Then what he’d been bracing for finally came.

Pain.

Sweet glorious pain, blossoming everywhere Nines gripped his body. Gavin was sure that his lips would bruise under the pressure of the reciprocal kiss… that his rib cage would shatter if Nines held him any tighter… that his lungs would burst if they didn’t fill with air soon…

A wolf-whistle broke through the stunned silence in the yard.

Gavin pulled back, light-headed from the rush of oxygen and drain of adrenaline. He didn’t fall though. Didn’t even move an inch. Strong arms and a heated gaze kept him pinned.

//

\\

“Of all the things in the world… why coffee?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Gavin tucked his head into the crook of Nines’ neck, cuddling closer.

“Hmm… I think weird working hours made me actually need the caffeine… but the bean snobbery just came with the rest of my superiority complexes.”

Nines laughed. It was more of an exhale than an actual laugh, but Gavin was thankful for it nonetheless.

“And you?”

Nines kissed his forehead, prolonging his answer as much as he could before finally relenting with a sigh.

“The reason you’re asking… is because running a café is just about the last thing you’d expect an android like me to be doing. And… that’s your answer. That’s exactly why I wanted it.”

“To subvert expectations…?”

“To not be the terrible thing I was meant to be.”

Gavin’s breath hitched at the depth of emotion in Nines’ voice. He didn’t dare look up to meet his eye and settled for pressing his lips to the razor-sharp jawline.

“I dunno what kinda code runs through you, but believe me when I say you don’t have it in you to be… terrible.”

Nines scoffed at that.

“How can you say that after all the shit you’ve seen me do.”

“I can say that after all the shit I’ve seen others do. Fifteen years on the job, remember? I can vouch that righteous anger is one of the least terrible things out there.”

When Nines didn’t respond, Gavin decided to move the ship out of uncharted waters. He propped himself up on an elbow and ran a hand down the android’s smooth chest.

“In fact, I think it’s downright sexy.”

That did the trick. Nines pressed Gavin into the mattress with a low growl and rolled over him, clamping his mouth over his throat. Their hips aligned and the conversation ended.

//

\\

“Ralph tried hard but the machine is not working. Ralph is stuck.”

“Move. Let me see.”

Gavin took the filter holder and disconnected it from the espresso machine with a firm tug. He leapt away in shock as water came rushing out. That was absolutely not supposed to happen.

“Er… I’ll get a mechanic friend to take a look later. Why don’t you go check on inventory?”

Ralph shuffled away with a thoroughly sceptical look in his eye. Gavin sighed openly once the android was out of earshot.

The café was in shambles.

The vandals may have gotten as good as they gave… but they’d left their mark. Even with insurance, there was no way such a new establishment could financially recover from a setback like that.

Nines said nothing but seethed with his usual brand of silent, impotent rage.

Unable to bear the slammed car doors and dismissive grunts any longer, Gavin had taken a solo day off to come down to the Calypso and see what could be done.

Not much, without a boatload of money, it seemed.

He sat down with a sigh and Ralph brought over a cup of coffee. Black. A pour-over. He set a bowl of runny eggs and a small basket of bread down on the table too.

Gavin looked up in surprise. Ralph shrugged.

“Nines is telling Ralph that you left without breakfast. Ralph’s equipment is all broken so Ralph just made something simple.”

Touched beyond words, Gavin motioned for Ralph to sit down with him instead of scurrying off into the shadows as per his usual habit.

He took a sip of the hand-poured drip coffee and broke a piece of the bread, dragging it through the eggs, European style. It was utterly homely and reminded of him of some bygone era that he’d needlessly bypassed. He looked up and met Ralph’s mildly unsettling stare.

“So… why the name Calypso? There’s nothing beach-themed or Caribbean about the place.”

“Nines chose it. After the Greek goddess.”

“Huh. And she was the goddess of coffee? Did they even have coffee back in those Hercules Orgy Olympics days?”

“She is a sea nymph. She detained the mythic hero Odysseus on her island for seven years.”

Gavin’s brows furrowed as he swallowed a mouthful of fresh bread.

“Did you bake this?”

“Yes. Ralph is baking daily. Ralph does it first thing in the morning at five. It is very calming to knead the dough and hear the birdsong.”

“It’s phcking delicious. Leavened perfectly. Now back to the name. This goddess nymph creature. She doesn’t sound very nice. She trapped this hero dude, right? Reminds me of my ex. Why name this pretty café after her?”

“Ralph can only imagine that Nines’ fascination with Calypso is the ambiguity of her nature. She can seduce and manipulate, but she can also heal. She is neither good nor evil.”

Gavin drained his coffee and sank back in his chair contemplatively.

“What do you think she is, Ralph?”

Ralph’s LED flickered and his eyes dipped to the table. He knew what Gavin was asking.

“Calypso is immortal. Calypso cannot help but fall in love with every sailor who lands on her shores. Calypso dreams of an eternal husband but lets Odysseus go when it’s clear he wishes to return to his wife. Well, maybe only when the Gods commands her to… but she releases him without harm!”

Gavin waited. Ralph’s head snapped up and he spoke in a short burst.

“Calypso is mythical. It does not matter what she is. Nines is real. Nines is good. Very good. Honest and honourable! Ralph will do anything for Nines!”

Gavin leaned back in his chair with the satisfied smile of an experienced police negotiator who’d gotten exactly where he wanted to.

//

\\

“What the hell is this? Where did you get so much money from?”

Nines’ amber LED cycled furiously as he took in the sight of the restored café. Ralph was humming to himself as he proudly polished the knobs of their repaired espresso machine.

Gavin led Nines by the hand to look at the repainted walls… the new furniture… the new crockery replacing what had been smashed…

“How…?”

“Oh I just embodied my inner Gen Z and tapped into the power of social justice.”

Nines looked thoroughly nonplussed.

“Crowdfunding, baby. I set up a link and Ralph told everyone on Twitter what happened to him and the café. Well, showed them, more like.”

Nines looked up at the ceiling and his LED slowly returned to a calm blue as he understood… but when he looked back down, his expression wasn’t any less troubled.

“Okay I just saw it. Edited footage from his optical units and a tearful testimonial. Ethically questionable, but clever.”

“Super effective. We overshot our target by a couple hundred bucks.”

“Hmm. People are kind.”

“Yes. They’ve actually done more for you. Look. Connor gave me this earlier today.”

Gavin reached into his jacket and produced an envelope. Nines’ eyes widened as he spotted the official seals of the Mayor’s office, the Manfred Estate and New Jericho.

“Someone started a petition… to let you back behind the helm of the Calypso. It really took off. I don’t know how you didn’t hear-”

“I muted any mentions of myself and the other RKs from showing up in my newsfeed.”

“Then this makes for a good surprise.”

Gavin gently pushed the envelope into the android’s hands and watched him open it with a precise fingernail flicked under the wax. He scanned the contents of the letter in a split second and let it fall through his fingers.

Without warning, he scooped Gavin up and set him down on a polished table for a deep kiss of even deeper gratitude. Ralph turned his back on them with a bashful giggle.

//

\\

“Baby.”

Nines didn’t respond.

“Hey baby?”

“Hmm...”

There was an intensity to the grumble that had Gavin second-guessing whether to persist. Being Nines’ lover didn’t exempt him from the consequences of asking stupid questions.

“Your thoughts are fucking loud. Just say whatever you want to.”

“Oh. Um… I was actually wondering… I mean, you don’t have to tell me… but like why… um…”

“Why haven’t I turned my badge in yet?”

“Yeah…”

Nines turned on his side and brushed the back of his hand over Gavin’s cheek. The intimate gesture sent a thrill through the human despite how much more intimate they’d just been in the recent past.

“Because I haven’t decided what to do next.”

Gavin’s brows knitted together.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you going to take back your business?”

Nines’ wan smile told him all he needed to know.

“Why?”

“It’s doing really well in Ralph’s hands. He’s capable. He’s creative. And I don’t think it’s fair for me to go back and get in his way all of a sudden.”

“He needs you.”

“He absolutely doesn’t. It’s his café. You helped him get back on his feet and he’s going to be fiiiiine without me.”

“Is it because you don’t wanna be her anymore?”

Nines scrunched his nose up in confusion.

“Who?”

“Calypso. The siren who trapped the Oddball.”

That earned Gavin a heartfelt laugh.

“Odysseus, Gavin.”

“Yeah. You were like Calypso and now you’re letting go of the coffeeshop because you figured it wasn’t meant to be!”

Nines frowned and pretended to check the human for a temperature. Gavin swatted his hands away with mock petulance.

“Fine, I’m probably way off the mark. You tell me what the deal is then!”

Arms snaked around his waist and pulled him flush against the android’s defined chest. Lips brushed the shell of his ear and when Nines spoke next, it was in the huskiest of undertones.

“I’m Odysseus. Not Calypso.”

The realisation was painfully obvious in hindsight.

“I’m the one who’s stuck on an endless journey home. I’ve faced a hundred artificial trials and tribulations. I’ve been a puppet at the hands of false gods. I answer existential questions to prove my self-worth every single day.”

Nines paused to gauge Gavin’s reaction. When he received none, he pressed a brief kiss to the human’s bare shoulder before continuing.

“It’s been a long journey. But not a pointless one. Every metaphorical island I’ve visited has granted me something. From literally running into Ralph in an old building… to defending our turf from other stray androids… getting ourselves off the street… setting up a café from scratch… being arrested on opening day… ending up on the police force with you…”

Gavin recognised that as his cue to squirm around in Nines’ arms and peck him on the lips.

“So who’s Cyclops?”

“What?”

“The story’s starting to come back to me now. Your boy Oddy fought a one-eyed monster on one of the islands he went to. Who’s the Cyclops in your story?”

Nines huffed another breathy laugh.

“Markus, probably. Connor is definitely Helios.”

“Who’s your wife?”

“Definitely not you.”

Gavin elbowed him in the ribs. An action that had more repercussions on him than Nines.

“So which island are you off to next?”

“I have no idea. But it doesn’t matter. I might already be home.”

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villian-Sicle | Part 2

I didn’t expect to get such a crazy response to the first part of this. Here’s part two! I’m always open to continuing this, I love hero/villain whump. Thanks for reading! I hope you like it.

Find part one here.

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, environmental whump (kinda), hypothermia, hospital setting, death mention, delusions, torture mention, pet whump mention (but not really)

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

Villain’s fingers burned.

It was quite paradoxical-- a caveat of the confusing structure of organs known as human anatomy. When cold got great enough, the nervous system somehow interpreted it as intense heat. Tricking itself into believing that warmth might finally be coming, maybe.

Villain knew that such a wish was hopeless. Warmth was a far off memory, as far as they were concerned.

They tucked their knees closer to their chest, pressing their forehead against them and shoving their hands in their pockets, for whatever minimal heat it would provide. As their teeth began to chatter, they gritted them together and closed their eyes. The shelf they leaned against dug into their spine.

“Take stock, and understand your situation.” The brief training they had been provided at their former place of employment sprung into their head, stupidly cheery voice and all. “A level head is more important than any weapon.”

Stupid voice, stupid seminar, stupid job, stupid heroes.

Villain did their best to take a deep breath-- though it did little but fill their lungs with frigid air.

Take stock. Understand your situation. Keep a level head.

The computer in the next room over chipperly reported that they had been in their current predicament for just over five minutes. Five minutes, thirteen seconds, twenty-two milliseconds, and six hundred eight-six nanoseconds, to be slightly more precise. That was the time that had passed since the Heroes had chased them into their own freezing cold tomb.

The moment replayed again in their mind; a series of panicked moments and thoughts, all kaidoscoping into a brilliant moment of word association. That was what had landed them here. Their own stupidity. Not that it wouldn’t have been a problem if the Heroes hadn’t chased them in the first place! Why did they even care about the Serum?! What was it to them?!

Why did Villain have to die for it?

They didn’t know exactly how long it would take for the cold to kill them. The computer beeped and spat out all the medical facts it could, but the fact stood that hypothermia affected everyone differently, dependent on a thousand different factors.

That wasn’t the real question. They knew that. They didn’t care if their last breath would be in five minutes or a hundred. All that mattered was that, in all probability, dying of cold would be quicker than dying at the hands of the Heroes.

In their pockets, they balled their fists. They didn’t notice they were crying until a tear dripped onto their neck, sending a horrid shiver through them.

It was just a stupid bottle. A stupid chemical. It was that fucking chain of atoms that had left them here--between a rock and a hard place. Between dying of cold and being tortured to death. Hell, both ways were torture! Everything was!

Why could nothing ever go right?!

With a coordination they didn’t realize they had, Villain shot to their feet (though it wasn’t exactly a graceful movement.) The tears brimming in their eyes didn’t help their vision, but they didn’t need to see. They didn’t need anything! What was the point, if they were just going to die?!

A sweeping hand aimed itself at one of the wall-high shelves, sending a line of bottles crashing to the ground and shattering in an explosion of glass snowflakes. Their contents spilled out on the tile, and whatever remained of their containers was quickly smashed under Villain’s shoe. They whipped around, attacking another shelf in the same way. Again, they reached for their next strike, but found only steel shelving. Another paradoxical burst of strength sent the whole shelf careening to the ground, sending a blizzard of shattered glass into the air.

Villain unballed their fists, panting, their lungs gasping in the frigid air. Their adrenaline rush finally wore off, sending them to the floor.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leader’s words were cut off by a resounding crash.

They whipped around, sputtering out a last few unintelligible syllables as their attention focused on the steel door. Nerves glittered in their gaze as they clenched their jaw.

“Shit.” They muttered. “Medic?”

“Sounds like one of the shelves fell.”

“Dammit. I suppose they’re not quite sedated yet, then.”

“Cold isn’t the quickest.” Medic shook their head. “At this temperature, real hypothermia shouldn’t set in for about five more minutes.”

Leader sighed, turning back to the rest of the group. There weren’t many of them-- just Leader, Medic, Hero, and Counselor. The rest had been dispatched, on Leader’s orders, to the rest of the hospital, ensuring that none of Villain’s accomplishes had accompanied them. Regardless, the four of them would be more than enough to overwhelm Villain, when they came out.

“You’re saying they can only make it five more minutes in there?” Hero asked, their hands fidgeting at their sides. Small sparks of power appeared along their fingertips-- a surefire sign of their nerves.

“No.” Medic deadpanned. “In approximately five minutes, hypothermia will start to set in. It won’t be fatal for quite a while. I’d say we have an hour, at least.”

“Villain will give up before then.” Leader reassured. “I’ll...”

They swallowed and approached the steel door separating them from their captive. Captive? Was that the right word? Maybe. Villain had, in all truth, sealed themself in the cold storage. There was no lock on the outside. They could leave whenever they so chose. Right into the Heroes hands, of course, but still.

Leader hadn’t exactly expected Villain to stay in the room. They had expected them to turn around as soon as they entered, to keep up the chase. Yet, they hadn’t.

They had to give up soon. They were surrounded. They were stubborn as all get out, but they weren’t stupid. It was death by hypothermia, or surrender. The better of the two was pretty damn clear.

Taking a sharp breath in an attempt to raise their own confidence, Leader knocked on the door.

The response wasn’t verbal. Rather, it came in the form of a panicked yelp, and the scrambling of someone backing away.

Leader exhaled. They supposed that they would have to do the talking, here.

“Hello? Villain?”

A muffled swear came from the room. That was all the greeting they had really expected.

“You’re going to need to come out of there, before you’re in danger. You’re not equipped for those temperatures, you know that. No one is gonna hurt you.”

Leader nearly fell backwards at the sudden crash of an object against the other side of the door. It seemed that negotiations weren’t going to go very far, just yet. With a sigh, they turned back to their gathered team.

“Hero, go get some blankets. One of those electric ones, if you can. This isn’t looking good.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Pourquoi pas niquer le sérum si tu l’aimes ainsi.” Villain swore under their breath.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes and thirty two seconds and- and who gave a shit. They’d been stuck in this damn room for fifteen minutes.

The shivering had only started about three minutes ago. It was nothing like normal shivering-- that incurred when waiting for a bus in the cold. The tremors were far more violent than that, shaking their body. They felt their mind to be knocking around their head with the sheer force of it.

The chattering of their teeth had become normal to them, normal, though it was just as violent and just as uncontrollable.

Outside, their killers spoke in hushed voices. Villain wasn’t sure if they even wanted to know what they were talking about. Probably about how to torture them first. Knives, or fire, or electricity, wouldn’t that be ironic! Jokes on them, dammit! They wouldn’t get the chance. Nope, no, no chance for them... no chancy chancy.

Without thinking about it, or hardly even noticing, their blue-tinted fingertips fumbled at their jacket’s zipper, until they were finally able to undo it. They slipped the garment off, throwing it across the floor.

Much better.

Still, why did they feel so hot...?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Will this be enough?” Hero appeared from around a corner, nearly giving Leader a heart attack with just how suddenly they appeared. In their arms was piled a heap of blankets. They were thin, just enough to keep a patient warm as they fell under anesthesia, but Hero must’ve had at least ten of them.

“I sure hope so.” Leader nodded, gesturing for them to put the pile down. As Hero did so, Leader turned back to Counselor and Medic.

Medic cleared their throat, continuing their throat from before Hero had scared everyone half to death with their appearance.

“Hypothermia is generally thought to occur in three stages. The first is the most mild-- consisting mainly of mild shivering and numbness of the peripheral digits. Stage two is when things start to get... dangerous. Shivering becomes violent, and the patient may be unable to perform finer motor functions. It’s at this stage that the cold begins to affect... mental capabilities. Irrational behavior is common. Hallucinations and delusional states aren’t unheard of. And stage three...”

They hesitated for a moment, until Leader raised an eyebrow.

“Shivering stops. The patient will generally fall into a coma before their heart gives out.”

“We can’t let that happen.” Counselor’s voice sounded as though they were on the verge of tears, which was a very real possibility. Still, the determination in their tone won out over any fear. “Can I talk to them?”

“Be my guest.” Leader nodded.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Villain?”

The tone was quiet. Soft. Whimsical and moving and whisping like a... like a whisper.

Villain looked up. Their cell was tiny-- an eight foot by eight foot construction of corrugated steel. A chain hung limply from the ceiling, from which a light had once hung. That’d been removed, after Villain had made it explode upon their Trainer. Their cot had gone with it, leaving the room bare, with nothing but four walls, a floor, and a ceiling.

“Villain, I’m Counselor. I don’t know if we’ve really met. I know you’re scared, and I can’t blame you. But if you stay where you are right now, you could get really hurt. I know I can’t force you to come out, but... what are you worried about? You can talk to me. I won’t even tell any of the others, I promise.”

The door opened, flooding the room with light. Villain scrambled backwards, hitting a wall that wasn’t where it should be. The two figures that entered were blank-- their faces featureless, nothing but expanses of skin, lacking eyes or anything of the like. One clipped a leash to the ring hanging from Villain’s collar, while the other lifted them from under their armpits.

“Please no I don’t want to go please I’m still healing please I can’t go for that long again I’m still healing. I won’t be of any use please just give me a bit more time.”

That was what they had meant to say, at least. The words came out in a stream of nonsensical syllables.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that. Do you speak English? Um... Voulez-vous un traducteur ? Un traductor ?”

Villain struggled to their feet, lacking any other choice with the tight grip the figure held upon their leash. The tiles clicked beneath their feet, which didn’t make much sense, as the floor of their cell was made of steel.

The figures led them outside of their cell, into the wider facility. Other figures hurried around, faces equally blank. Preparing for a mission, Villain could only assume.

Someone called out to the figures escorting them. They turned. They felt the grip on their leash loosen.

Their heartbeat drummed in their head at the realization. The facility was so busy. Everyone was so distracted... what other chance would they get?

Villain took the risk.

A quick jerk of their neck sent their leash flying from the figure’s hands. They turned to run, but found something blocking their way. They couldn’t see it, but they felt something in their hands...

“Yeah! Come on, Villain, that’s it. Just turn the lock. It’s gonna be okay, alright? Just turn the lock.”

Turn the lock. Turn the lock. Behind them, the figures were already shouting. For a moment, their fingers fumbled around at the contraption, before, at last, they did it. They turned the lock.

The door burst open, and a gust of freezing air with it. Counselor was practically thrown backwards with the sheer force of it, sending them stumbling.

Before Villain, three more of the faceless figures approached, seeming as though they had been in the middle of something. Within a moment, they had turned to them, grasping desperately in a flurry of hands.

With clumsy strikes, Villain did their best to bat them away, but found a pair of strong hands pushing them to their knees, and then onto their face.

Why was everything so white? No, the facility didn’t look like that. It was so bright. They blinked. Where were they? With an absentminded hand, they reached to their neck, feeling for their collar, only to find nothing but frigid skin.

Just as quickly, their hand was pulled behind their back, along with their other arm. The cuffs were soft, fabric, rather than the biting hold of metal. A moment later, more fabric was piled on top of them as a blanket was draped over their shoulders.

Where were they?

Again, they blinked, only to find the facility replaced with a bright, sterile hallway. Where had they gone. Had they gone unconscious? They tried to struggle, but found themself unable.

“It’s okay.” The voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles away. “You’re okay. The doctors are going to be here any second. Just hold on. Hold on. It’s going to be okay.”

It didn’t make sense, but right about now, nothing did. The screeching wheels of a rapidly approaching gurney were the last thing Villain heard as they collapsed into blackness.

[bukojuiice]

a love like the movies  — todoroki shoto

ೃ pairing: (new pro hero! shoto todoroki x female reader)

ೃ  warnings: none

ೃ genre: fluff overload

ೃ word count: 2,024 words

ೃ   𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐮 (𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞! 𝐮𝐰𝐮) 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐜:)

ೃ 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫!! 

ೃ 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨: 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐱 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐲

ೃ Shoto spends his only day of rest and relaxation by watching iconic tv shows with you 

Being one of the top pro-heroes of Japan, Shoto Todoroki always had a tight schedule. May it be fighting off villains, attending interviews from local and international news, managing his father's hero agency, or seeing through the internship of some aspiring heroes, he barely has enough time to be with his family and loved ones. Today, Shoto has one and a half days off before he has to go off to this big mission in the South of Japan.... and what better way would the Top No. 3 Hero do than spend it than with you? "Hey (Y/N)." Shoto calls out to you, in his usual monotonous voice that you know and love, holding a bag of popcorn. "What's up?" You look up to him, whilst propping the pillows on the couch and the table for your TV show marathon. "I got a joke.." He says monotonously, to the point you couldn't even tell if he was even about to say a joke or not. "Is your name Ariel?" "Why?" You ask, playing along with his joke. "Because I think we mermaid for each other." He stifles a laugh, trying his best not to laugh out loud (at a joke he apparently made on his own) as he jumps onto the couch. "Oh my goddd Shoto-kun." You groan loudly, shaking your head. "Since when were you one to make dad jokes? This is slightly out of character for you in all honesty." You cross your arms, still trying to process the fact that your boyfriend. The ever so proud and handsome, Todoroki Shoto, literally just said a dad joke right in front of your face. As in directly to you. Who knew this day would come? "Kaminari said that you'd fall even more head over heels in love with me if I told you a dad joke" He deadpans, cuddling up next to you. "I missed you too much." He pecks your cheek and you couldn't help but giggle. It was a pleasant surprise when your Half Cold-Half Hot boyfriend was in your doorstep this morning. You initially thought that he would be spending his whole day resting, but he did promise that he would at least have a movie or TV marathon with you before he had to go off in a important mission. You just felt guilty that he had to spend it on his only day of rest and relaxation for the month, and then he's back to work. "These are the shows that Izuku recommended." You show him DVDs of Friends, The Office and How I met your Mother. "After all, you do want to watch some old popular sit-coms right?" "Aside from that, Izuku might have slipped and confessed to me that you said that you've been dying to watch some of these." He looks at you and tilts his head, grabbing one of the DVDS. "Well then, let's get to it." "I have a list of some of the most recommended episodes of each show right here." You bring out a piece of paper, hundreds of words scribbled onto it. The love of your life couldn't help but laugh at your eagerness and your interest at the shows that you two were going to be watching. "I'll go cook up some Cold Soba for the two of us. Are you sure you're fine with setting up the TV?" "Yes... I mean Of course!" You nod profusely. "It'd be a huge mess if I was the one who cooked our food instead." Shoto smiles at you and ruffles your hair as he stands up from the couch and heads to the kitchen. After fixing everything up, You put in the 5th Season DVD of The Office (as Izuku had recommended it had one of the best episodes in the series) and you press on the remote control for it to skip to the 13th episode titled Stress Relief. Shoto comes back earlier than expected with two bowls of Cold Soba on both of his hands. "So...what did I miss?" "Gee. That was fast." You get one of the bowls and chopsticks from him and start munching on the noodles. "Not that I'm complaining though. Amazing as always Pee Pee guy." You giggle. "You're really bringing that back huh?" He smirks at you and puts down his bowl of soba. You wonder why until he scoots over to you and slides his hands on your waist. Now, you knew exactly why. "Hey! Stop it! You might think I'm All Might's love child!" You laugh, teasing him again, even though you were already being tickled mercilessly. Shoto stops for a second to give you an enticing glare and then tickles you again, only harder this time. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) The episode had started playing as the intro of the Office appeared in the screen. Shoto stops tickling you as he didn't want to waste more time than he already has, and the two of you start watching You take a deep breath, trying to recover from your endorphin rush. "You have to watch the intro to this episode! It's hilarious!" You nudge Shoto, wanting him to pay more attention. The two of you start snickering when one of the main characters, Dwight, as a way to teach fire safety, sets a fire in an office trash can with a cigarette, saying "Today smoking will save lives." with a straight face. Chaos then ensues in the episode. During the subsequent panic, the office's only copy machine was destroyed, one of them smashes a window to call for help, and an improv of one of the characters, taking advantage of the havoc by raiding the snack machine. One of the female worker characters even had a cat hidden in her file cabinet, and she had tossed it into the air vent so that it could escape. You were already laughing your heart out, looking at Shoto to see if he was laughing the same way as you were too, only for your glance at him to time perfectly, as he lets out a burst of laughter; one that you rarely see from him. Your eyes lit up and you feel your heart burst from seeing your usually so stoic and stern boyfriend, show such an array of positive emotions. "Why is this funnier than it should be?" His cute laugh echoes throughout your apartment. "I have to go do this with Izuku and the others some time." You laugh along with him, "Make sure to call me up if ever you guys ever end up making one!" You watch a few more episodes until you hear rain pouring outside. You pause the episode that the two of you were watching for a minute, and then stood up to look outside the window. "This is so cool! It really sets the mood!" You jump up and down as you couldn't contain your excitement and rush to your room. Your boyfriend looks at you puzzled, as he didn't know what you were being so happy about, until you came back from your room with a long and big fuzzy blanket. "It's cuddle weather!" You sit back on the couch and nuzzle next to Shoto, putting the blanket on top of the two of you. You rest your head on his shoulder and continue watching. You ended up watching all the episodes of season five of The Office for the whole morning. You took a look at the time. It was already the afternoon and you had several more hours to spare, so you then pop in a DVD of the 3rd season of Friends. "Rachel and Ross' relationship is really getting on my nerves." Shoto pouts in disappointment. You chuckle lightly because of how cute he looked and because of how interested he was. "There's so much drama in this series. How come Izuku considers this as one of his favorite shows?" He shakes his head yet continues watching. "They were on a break." You nudge his arm, referencing one of Ross' most iconic lines. "You know what? Speaking of breaks, I'm going on a bathroom break." He stands up from the couch and goes straight to the bathroom. You giggle at his sudden interest in the show, since he is now able to have his own criticisms and opinions on it. He comes back with a huge grin on his face. You look up at him. "Hm? Anything wrong?" "Hey, how you doin? "He says in a thick Japanese accent as he winks at you, trying to copy Joey's iconic pick-up line from the show. "Oh my goddddd Sho-kun." You groan at his antics again. "I can't even give you a pass for that. That was a really bad joke." On the inside however, you wanted to die of embarrassment and of giddiness. His sudden spike of confidence and how hot he looked whilst reciting one of the most iconic tv show lines of all time. You just wanted to tackle him down and cuddle all night, just from him saying that line alone. You were that aroused. "If Joey can get a girl to fall for him through that line, then why can't I do it on you?" "Because- I'm not like one of those girls... I'm one of a kind." You wink back at him. "Okay now that was a bad joke." "Yea yea I know... Let's just get back to watching Friends." The last episode of the season ended with the beach house, and you turned to look at Shoto for his comments. "Chandler really was the star of the show in this season. So was Phoebe. You know, I'll bet you 500 Million Yen that Chandler and Monica will end up together after that last episode." You were surprised at Shoto's attention to detail on the body languages of the characters. How'd he predict that the two would end up in one of the later seasons of the show "Wait til' Season Four." You boop his nose, keeping the spoilers for another future Friends marathon. The next show on your list was How I met Your Mother, though the show was quite similar to Friends, it did have a lot of good elements that the latter didn't have. Although the two of you just ended up watching the last few episodes of How I Met Your Mother since both of you were able to watch the previous seasons prior to your marathon. In the middle of one of the last episodes, Shoto gets comfortable and lays down on the sofa. He leaves a little space for you to sit on, though you didn't complain since you were too invested in the show. The last episode ends, and the credits start to roll. It was already the middle of the night and you were quite sleepy. You stretch your arms and lay down on his chest, Shoto brings you closer for warmth and whispers, "You know, I can't wait to tell our future kids our love story and tell them, "'And that kids is how I met your mother." You giggle and smile at his comment and slowly close your eyes, you hear the faint sound of the TV turning off and the rain still pouring outside, as you drift off to dreamland. "Midoriya. I'll probably be a bit late for our call time tomorrow." Shoto speaks in a soft voice on his phone, as a way to try and not to wake you up. "I just got into a little situation. Nothing big." Your boyfriend smiles, playing with your hair and looking at you with all the love he has to offer in this world. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow." Shoto whispers loudly and then ends the call. He turns off his phone and plants a kiss on your forehead. He closes his eyes, a contented smile on his face, as he also drifts off to sleep whilst you sleeping soundly on his chest. That night, both of you could not imagine spending an even better day with each other, but being in each other's arms. ♡ The End.

[dancingthesambaa]

The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 19

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 19: Got Your Back (And Maybe Your Heart)

“Okay let me get this straight-”

“No one here is, but go on.”

“Hush, I’m still mad at you,” Tang gave a stink eye to the Kappa before turning back to Macaque. “So let me get this straight, so not only are you the same Six Eared Macaque that has fought the Monkey King and the deity that’s known as the Wandering Healer-”

“Not actually a deity,” he inputted.

“Whatever, but I’ve been coming here for years and just now I find out that there are mythical deities and magical plants within the forest! The Yao grass that is said to be a component to the Immortality Pills, an actual Qilin living here?! And the brown bunny and that little shit stain, who probably wants to laugh his ass off, is actually a Kitsune and spirit!”

“Guilty as charged,” the Shui Gui chortled.

“Pretty much,” the monkey shrugged his shoulders.

“Yup,” Ní nodded in her fox form.

“…I am both very angry and very excited,” he grumbled. “Do you know how many questions I have?! Do you know how many things I could have tested? Do you know how long I have wanted to meet someone like you guys? Do you know how many questions I have?!”

“I think you already said that,” said the water spirit though he froze as he saw an ominous glint in his eyes.

“Oh yes I did, because by the time I leave here,” he mysteriously whipped out his phone, “I will have all my questions answered.”

“Just how many do you have?” Macaque cautiously asked.

Tang said nothing as he instead showed a folder containing many files within them. “Quite a few. Quite. A. Few.”

All three immortals, the ones who have faced many fierce opponents throughout their life, gulped at the looming trials ahead.

“Fuck,” they all unanimously said.

It was cold, damp, and thoroughly disgusting with all of the worthless piles of junk lying around, but she supposed she would have to work with what she had under these…conditions.

Lady Bone Demon quietly walked through the open sewer as she attempted to distinguish where exactly she should strike next while her underling, who has been waiting for all these years, searches for the one item she hasn’t quite found.

It was quite tricky, to say the least, all the rest of the ingredients she needed to procure, albeit a bit rare, would be much easier to obtain even if those incompetent bugs mess it up. It won’t be too hard to find a replacement for those, she just decided on them for the proximity, she does not desire to leave the city before she achieves her prize. The last item though is something that is an ingredient that is not so easily replaceable, so she will need to take her time and look through every crack and back alley down until she does.

It was quite irritating, from the conditions she found herself into the annoying bugs that seem to think they are above her to Sun Wukong.

Sometimes she just wished that she could be over and done with this little game entirely and reach the end, but alas that’s not how life works. But she will admit that it will be fun watching them all struggle to get one step ahead of her, though she can’t decide which one she’ll enjoy more, Sun Wukong look when she finally drains him of every last bit of power and torture what he cherishes in front of his very eyes or Spider Queen expression as she stabs her in the back when she becomes the component to her plans. Both sound absolutely delightful when the time comes, but for that to happen she suppose she will have to achieve this the long way, no shortcuts or cheats allowed.

But she doesn’t mind the wait, after all, she had been imprisoned for over five hundred centuries.

She has nothing but time and she intends to play this little game all the way to the end.

“So your not just some random ass immortal,” Macaque bluntly said when Shen met up with him again.

“Took you that long to figure that out,” the frizzy hair old man laughed.

“Well, how am I supposed to know that you were literally giving me Immortal wine when I have never tasted it before you all but shoved it to me?” He grumbled as he held the bottle of very rare wine once more. “You know I don’t really need this, I am still perfectly immortal without it.”

“Oh I know, Yama sometimes grumbled about it from time to time when we get together. Gods know he wants to strangle Sun Wukong's scrawny neck when he gets the chance,” he said while drinking some of the wine.

“You regularly drink with the King of the Dead?” He deadpanned, “Who the fuck are you? Cause that right there shows that you're not just a regular ass deity.”

“Hmm I’ll tell you if you tell me how you figured out how to make the Immortality pills,” he smirked at the monkey still look.

“What do you mean?”

“I may be old, but I can smell a lot of the ingredients for the pills in this forest alone. Yao grass, Biya berries, Voya roots, Gracidea flowers, just to name a few,” he tapped his nose.

“Can’t really hide the smell,” he clicked his teeth. “Alright fine I’ll talk, but you better keep your end of the deal.”

“Will do.”

And so they talked and talked and when Shen spoke of who he was Macaque all but threw the bottle in his hand.

“What the fuck Ping?!” He hissed out as he had to stop himself from bashing his head against the tree. “How the fuck?!”

“He was an interesting one,” he laughed. He met his old friend by the river where he was doing his laundry, they spoke and then he found himself another drinking buddy.

Macaque’s eyes twitched as he just slumped over and groaned loudly. “What the fuck!”

Shen just laughed wildly next to him.

“Yeah yeah laugh it up,” he hissed before letting out a sigh and sat himself up. “Shit I don’t know if I can ask you this but I might as well fucking try?”

“Hmm?” He curiously questioned.

“I may need something soon that I can’t quite get on normal means and I think-no I know I will need your help to get it,” he asked with an almost pleading voice.

“Hmm, why do you need it?” He noted the tone in his voice but didn’t say a word about it.

“There is a demon that wants to take over the land and almost nobody would be able to stop her,” the simian admitted.

“Eh, there will always be some creature that wants to take over the world, been there, seen that, but that never really happens now does it,” he easily dismissed it as he leaned in closer, “but why do you need it?”

“Because there are people that I want to protect and I know that they will be the ones that will be fighting against that monster and like hell I am letting them do this alone,” he growled.

“Oh now I have your reason, so here’s another question. How much are you willing to give for my favor?”

“Anything,” he determinedly said.

“Anything you say? Even your life?” His green eyes challenged his violet ones.

“Yes,” he replied with no hesitation as the question didn’t even make him flinch.

There was a long silence as both beings stared the other down until the red haired man broke off his gaze and chuckled lightly.

“…hehehe, always knew Ping was fond of the stubborn ones,” he grinned.

“Ping is an old coot with the perchance of running into the weirdest fucking things,” he huffed as the air around them seem to settle down.

“You're not wrong,” he nodded. “Alright I’ll help ya, but next time I drop by I expect some high quality drinks.”

“Tch, fine you alcoholic bastard. Hope you don’t mind Plum wine, have a few sitting for a couple of centuries.”

“Are you kidding? The longer the age, the better it is! It’s like you don’t know me sapling,” he said with a mock hurt expression.

“I mean I might as well as you just told me who the fuck you are!” He threw his hands in the air.

“But you know my wine tastes!”

“You've only given me one kind of wine bastard!”

“Still!”

“Don’t you fucking pout you overgrown child!”

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” MK cursed as he dashed his way through the volcanic land and ducked from a large fiery boulder aimed straight towards him. “Why does this happen to me!?”

Now you may be wondering how and why MK found himself stuck in the volcano arena, well he was visiting one of the more interesting customers he had delivered to before, as in she was trying to learn more about magic, with Red and Mei. Which is cool and all, especially since she has mastered how to change her hair color on will, but she was showing him her more advanced spells. Now it was very fun with the Bull Prince trying to explain to the young girl how each spell works and how much energy must be put into it. They were even going to try out a new spell together, but the thing about her is that while she does have quite a bit of talent, she is extremely clumsy. As she took a step forward and accidentally pushed him into the symbol on the ground and then ‘poof’ he teleported right in the middle of the fire imp territory.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem, he can handle a few enemies on his own and he did with such ease that not even a scratch was laid on him. It’s just that the problem was that they all happened to be a bit too loud and woke up a humanoid creature that was three times his size, entirely made up of molten magma and rock crystals, and looked very pissed.

Needless to say all of them booked it as fast as they could, but unfortunately it had their eyes on one creature that looked different from the rest.

“Seriously!” He yelled as he climbed up the mountain and quickly hid and he held his burnt side. He knows that he is quick on his feet, but even he can’t dodge all of those boulders and swipes aimed at him. It doubly hurts as he can feel the burning of the magma touch his skin, he desperately wants an ice bath when he escapes this.

SMASH

But until then he will continue to make his way to the ocean ahead where he hopes that it would be enough to stop the beast in its tracks. He will swim all the way back home if he has to, he can deal with the sickness later after he saves his skin.

He felt the beast let out a devastating roar and a glance back he saw the creature lift the largest boulder that he didn’t even think he could dodge. So, he instead prepared himself as he was about to bring out his staff when-

“Here comes Jade Dragon/ Blazing Bull!” Twin voices shouted as the next second two terrifying forces slammed into the creature and with a pained roar he flew back.

He blinked as he saw Mei and Red Son, one who is surrounded by ethereal viridian energy and the other encaptured in a fiery crimson aura, jump in front of him protectively.

“MK/Noodle boy! Are you okay?!” Both of them have been trudging through not only ashes clogging their lungs and spot marking their skins, but also all different types of books and ruins trying to find the right activation phrase to reopen the portal to where their friend had disappeared to. They were tired, dirty, clothes ripped, and pissed off, but in MK eyes they were the most beautiful people he has ever seen as he couldn’t stop the blush forming on his cheeks as he took in their perfectly disheveled appearance, the muscles peeking from their ripped sleeves, sweat dripping from their face, and the worried look in their gorgeous eyes.

“Y-Yep!” He involuntarily squeaked. ‘I really should not have read some of those romance books with Jin,’ he thought as he cleared his throat. “I mean yeah, yeah you guys are perfect-I mean you got here at perfect timing!” He nervously said as he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to avoid eye contact.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head along the way,” she lightly teased as she kept a firm stance in front of him.

“Would be an improvement,” he smirked, but his eyes didn’t leave the Cherufu dazed form.

“Heyyy,” he whined before he realized what they said before, “Do you guys have names and you didn’t tell me!”

“Umm.”

“We’ll you see-”

“They are so cool!” His eyes sparkled, “they fit you both so perfectly, and the way you guys came in and shouted it made the scene even more awesome!”

Both of them couldn’t stop both smiles and blushes as their smaller friend, and small crush, kept on praising them, but unfortunately, their little bubble popped as the beast roared once more.

“Tch,” Mei irritably clicked her tongue at the beast ride interruption, showing off her fangs (after countless of honing to both tracing and the dragon sword, she was more than ecstatic to see that she matched with both of her boys) “I actually forgot about that.”

“You mean the walking miniature mountain that was just chasing me down,” MK huffed as he shook his head. Hopefully, the two would just blame his fluster on the heat and not drift towards the thought that he may like them more than friends.

“Yeah that.”

“You both need to really get up to speed with your Mythical beings,” Red grunted as he opted to not use his fire against the creature made of lava.

“Says the one who never knew what Advil was,” MK muttered.

“It��s not my fault you mortals inconsistently change their names for no reason!” He hissed as his hair flared up.

“Surrrreee,” both mortals said.

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here.”

“You just don’t want to admit that your wrong~”

“Shut it!

“And where do you think you're going?” Wukong flinched as he heard Macaque's voice behind him.

“Oh you know, just a little road trip,” he smiled wider than normal as he quickly turned around to hide his suitcase, “I thought that it was time I get off of my mountain and see what else I missed.”

“Uh Huh,” he noncommittally said as he casually walked forward, “and you just decided that right this week?”

“Yep!”

“Just out of the blue.”

“You know it!”

“With no thoughts in mind.”

“None whatsoever!”

“Sunny, I know you’re bullshitting me,” he bluntly said.

“Whattt?” He nervously laughed, “I’m serious, I am just going to go sightseeing for a bit and-”

“You still have that same tell when you lie, you know. Smiling too widely,” he pointed out.

“I thought I got that under control,” he muttered to himself and sighed, “alright yeah, you caught me. I was gonna go out and look for a weapon to stop her, but I have to do this, Lady Bone Demon is not someone to trifle with. You know how she can easily command someone under her will and that was when she just got out of centuries of captivity! Imagine what she could accomplish once she regains more and more power! I just can’t sit here and wait for that to happen.”

“I know, that’s why you're not doing it alone,” he pointed out.

“Huh?”

“Did you really think that talk we had the other day was just a one off thing? No no no, there are so many people and demons solely invested in this, because what Spider Queen did really pissed off a lot of people and they want revenge on not only her, but those who helped her,” he said as summoned a map and showed him. “Just see for yourself.”

The monkey took the map and he became confused about what he was looking at. “There’s just a bunch of doodles in certain areas.”

“Those are the areas that have been hit and investigated thoroughly, the ones with X are the no goes of anything suspicious or useful, the ones with question marks are the clues or hints, and the few with checks are the ones where they found positive report and/or confirmation on successful supplies that we need. All of these are for finding the necessary materials to end the Bone Demon life once and for all.”

Wukong's eyes were wide at the end of his statement, “You know how to destroy her?! How long were you planning this? How have you managed to search all of these areas?”

“Well, it helps that I have so many favors stacked up from my former clients. I usually don’t care what they pay me, but usually, it’s in either money, food, or favors and I have a lot of those. I mean just Po and his students alone have them all checking the western areas for it by themselves. He says it’s a good training exercise for them, but I think he just wants a break from those brats. And for your first one, we’ll ever since BK got possessed the family has promised vengeance upon her, and Queen Iron Fan happens to have knowledge of a permanent kill switch to ending that demon life,” he said as he showed him the formula.

Wukong examined it and after a while, he nodded his head and faintly said, “Yeah…yeah that might actually work…there is something to destroy her.” He still couldn’t believe his eyes, but it was right there in front of him, then the first part of his words hit him, “Wait, that long?”

“Yes that long,” he said with exasperation, “Am I the only one who found it fucking weird that the Demon Bull King, one of the strongest beings in the realm, got possessed out of fucking nowhere? That right there was already suspicious by itself and the ominous whispers were sure not helping her case, that just added it on. So we decided to get to the bottom of this and boy is this one deep chasm we got ourselves into.”

“It really is,” he agreed as he looked over the map and saw that some of the places that were marked were the ones he was going to go to, even some that only celestial beings can access, “You already investigated these realms?”

He looked over to see what he was pointing at and nodded, “Yeah, pretty much. As I said, I have clientele all over and I don’t really restrict unless they have really done something so fucked up that I would rather kill them.”

“You have favors with Celestial deities,” he emphasized.

“Just some minor ones,” the doctor tried to brush it off, but judging by his friend's look, it wasn’t going to be easy.

“Celestial. Deities.”

“How about we talk about this later.”

“Oh we are so talking about this later, but I still have to do this. I have to make sure that she doesn’t cause any more harm to people anymore, this is my duty that I have to do-”

“You're not understanding!” He gripped his hair in frustration. “I literally gave you a map and you still don’t understand what I’m trying to say!”

“What!” He threw his hands in the air, “What can you possibly-”

“You aren’t alone dumbass!” He hissed out and froze the Monkey Sage.

“Wha-” he was cut off once more by a furious finger poking his chest at each word Mac hissed out.

“You. Are. Not. Alone. I don’t know how many different ways I have to say this, but if it gets through your thick skull then god damn it, I will.”

“I-”

“I know what you were about to do, you were about to galavant off and try to do everything on your own and not say a single word to nobody like a stupid martyr, cause apparently this is a shared trait between you and MK about being so self sacrificial that you wish to take on the burden yourself! Well fuck that! I’m putting my foot down for both of you, you don’t have to recklessly go out there and hope that one of them will stick!”

“What else am I supposed to do!” He leaped to his feet, “I basically serve no purpose other than this glorified title of hero, which I am really sick of hearing, and that Bone witch could strike at any moment and we won’t be prepared. If I leave the city then that would mean that not only would I be faster on looking for the weapon, but I would be far away from her and her attempt to sap my power.”

“But you would also be away from the city and by the time you come back, there might not be anything left to come back to,” he said with a final tone. “No one would be able to stand against her, not the demons, not the people, not MK, not the Bull Family, not even me. We would all fall by the time the morning sun rises if we tried to face her head on. We would all be corpses below her feet.”

The Monkey King stilled as the morbid images flooded into his head.

City in ruins.

Bodies sprawled everywhere.

Familiar faces all dead eyed.

Bodies collapsed.

Heart stilled

His precious student.

All of his tribe members.

The rambunctious Demon quartet.

His family to the West.

The headstrong Dragon successor.

Demon Bull with his wife and son.

Yanyu surrounded by her siblings.

Macaque

Macaque

Macaque

They're all dead.

Dead

Dead

Dead

Deaddeaddeadeadeadeadeadead

“Wukong!” He snapped out of his thoughts by black furred hands and looked up to see Macaque worried Violet (alive there so alive and bright, so so bright and alive) eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-” he stopped himself and remend what he was about to say, “I will be fine…I’ll stay.”

The Six Eared monkey let out a sigh of relief, “Good, that’s good. Sorry for putting that image in your head.”

“No, no I needed to hear that. I-I can’t be impulsive, not right now, not when things are becoming dangerous, I need to think things through,” he sighed as he sat down.

“You're not going to be out of the loop, you are the one who knows where a weapon may be hidden, so you can easily tell them which spot to tackle more thoroughly,” he reassured him as he sat by him.

“That would be more efficient than me just searching one at a time, okay I’ll do that,” he let out a small puff of air and managed a small smirk, “I guess that’s why I have you in my life, you somehow manage my little quirks.”

“‘Little quirks’ is an understatement,” he deadpans and leans on him, “but yeah we do fit well for some odd reason.”

“Like peaches and congee,” he grins.

“I think you are the only ones who actually dip it into the food.”

“Oh like I haven’t seen you do the same with mango,” he pointed out.

“There’s a difference okay! It just tastes better that way,” he huffed.

“Surrrre it does,” he drawled out.

“It does.”

“Whatever you say.”

[jalapeno-princess]

10:34 A.M.

The sunlight was warm against your cheeks as it shone in through the windows; yet, it wasn’t the harsh rays that woke you from your comfortable slumber.

You could feel a tender gaze directed right at you along with a pair of strong arms, your favorite pair of arms to be exact—wrapped protectively around your waist.

Gentle fingers glided softly along your face; almost featherlight to the point where you wouldn’t have even noticed that he was touching you if it weren’t for the callousness of his digits connecting the dots of your scattered freckles and the cool metal on his fourth finger.

You had yet to open your eyes, but you were confident in the idea that your husband was staring at you and you didn’t want to make it known that you were awake just yet.

Honestly, it felt as though you were still in dreamland—everything was just too good to be true. Memories of the most perfect day of your entire life soon came rushing back to your mind and you couldn’t help the small smirk that was now encompassing your face—giving away the fact that you were no longer asleep.

“Good morning Mrs.Tuan.”

Hearing the excitement yet raspiness in his voice along with his last name that was also yours now sent so many emotions to your chest. You were over the moon to say the least. He let out a giggle when you hid your face against his bare chest and placed a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“Good morning Mr.Tuan.”

“Ah, I’m never going to get tired of calling you Mrs.Tuan. I still can’t believe you’re my wife. God, it’s like a dream come true—“

“Took you long enough. I’ve been waiting for over five years for you to propose to me—“

Mark let out a guttural groan at the sound of your playful complaint; dropping his head in between the valley of your breasts and earning himself a shove to his shoulder. A blush was now adorning your cheeks; only then as you felt his warm breath against your nipples did you come to the realization that you were naked. It didn’t bother you though, not like it did when you and Mark first became intimate back in the third week of your relationship.

He was your husband now and the two of you made love to each other numerous times in the duration of your five year relationship that you were no longer shy whenever you’d find yourself naked around him. Actually, Mark was very vocal about how insanely beautiful you were—and devastatingly sexy which led you to lose your timidity and gain a newfound confidence. One that you never knew existed and you owed entirely to your husband.

“Hey, we went over this on multiple occasions baby. I wanted to propose to you only months after we started dating—I knew I was in love with you after only the third date. Trust me, it was extremely difficult for me having to introduce you as my girlfriend and not my wife for these last few years. I don’t know why—I mean sure, getting to call you my girlfriend and getting to be called your boyfriend was all that mattered to me. You’re my soulmate y/n. My person—but something about the titles “wife” and “husband” is more permanent. It solidifies a relationship. But I wanted us to be finished with school and settled in to our actual careers before taking things any further. It worked out though didn’t it? Look at us. We’re both redeemingly successful with our positions at the companies we work at and we share a two story house in our mid twenties. Not that it matters, but we can live comfortably as a married couple unlike a lot of people our age. We’re a whole now. You’re stuck with me and my penis for the rest of your life—“

“Oh God. Just when it was getting so romantic, you just had to throw your dick in there. Well, you’re stuck with me and my pussy—“

“I don’t consider myself stuck at all. Your pussy is so magical—fuck, we’ve had sex at least three hundred times, maybe even more than that and every single time, you never failed to blow my mind—and my dick. But shit, last night had to be the best night of my entire life. Yesterday, was the most incredible day in my twenty-seven years of existence. You are the most beautiful person in the entire world and I’m not just saying that because you’re my wife, it’s true. Not only on the outside; which, honestly, you are a sight for sore eyes. I can never take my eyes off of you and I never want to. I’d stare at you in awe of your beauty all day if time permitted me to. But you have the most kindest and generous hearts and you are just the sweetest soul. I can’t wait to remind you every single day for the rest of our lives just how perfect you are to me.”

He brought his thumb up to the brim of your eyelids and wiped away a tear that you didn’t even know fell. God, this man was really the love of your life. You’d never be able to comprehend exactly what you did to deserve being the lucky girl who loved Mark and got to be loved by him, but you would never take your position in his life as his bride for granted.

Before you could continue to let any more tears fall at his endearing words, he was quick to continue his not so innocent speech about the many naughty thoughts taking up all the space his mind.

“I don’t know if it’s because we’re newlyweds or because you never cease to amaze me each and every time we stumble in to bed together but the sex we had just hours ago in my opinion was the best sex we’ve ever had. I know I complimented you almost the entire day yesterday on how gorgeous you looked in that wedding dress and I’m sure my never ending tears that flowed down my cheeks as you walked down the aisle and my wedding vows that were almost twenty minutes long are enough to prove my undying love for you. But God, seeing you in that dress—that dress was made for you. You looked so fucking ethereal and damn, it looked so much better on the floor once I got you alone. You know, my mind is still a little hazy from sleeping—maybe you could remind me just how amazing it was—if I knew you were this abusive, I would have made you work harder for that ring you’re wearing.”

Both his and your laughter filled the room and you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes and pinching his cute little butt. Your wedding day was everything you could have ever dreamt of and more. There were countless times in your relationship where you would day dream about what your wedding would be like. It didn’t take you too long to realize that Mark was the person you wanted to settle down and start a family with. Everything within you; your heart, your mind, your body and your soul was his. You were set on Mark Tuan; for life. Since he took his time with asking you to marry him, you developed some insecurities about whether or not he saw himself marrying you. Sure, he may have talked about your future together every now and then, but not once did he ever bring up marriage so you just assumed he had no plans on getting married at all.

It made your engagement all the more special when he did finally get around to proposing to you less than a year ago while the two of you were in vacation in Hawaii. You tried to convince yourself that you would be happy even if Mark were to confess he had no plans on tying the knot. As long as Mark was in your life, you were content with whatever title you held in his. But on that magical night when he got down on one knee and went in to detail about his undying love for you as the two of you watched the sunset go down, you felt wholeheartedly that his proposal was one dreams were made of.

“What are you thinking about?” You looked at him in curiosity and it was in that moment; looking at his blank stare did you realize you were probably mirroring his exact facial expression.

“Nothing. Just that I’m really happy. Really, really happy. You mean everything to me Mark. I don’t know what I would do without you and I dont even want to think about my life before you were in it. It was colorless and dull. Now all I see is so many beautiful colors. Just the mere thought of you along pulls on my heartstrings in such a miraculous way. I love the way you make me feel and I love the effect you’ve had on me. I’m so in love with you and I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for us.”

Your husband gave you his signature gummy smile before smashing his mouth roughly against yours. He licked on your bottom lip and took it in between his sharp teeth, nibbling all but gently while dragging his cold fingertips along your smooth skin.

“You’re my happily ever after y/n. I kind of regret not getting around to marrying you sooner. I just really wanted to give you the ring and the wedding that you’ve always wanted. You deserved the entire universe and more y/n. Truly, there’s so much I want to give you. You are genuinely out of this world; you’re practically a goddess—an otherworldly being and honestly, you deserve so much more than what this world has to offer you. I’m not stupid my love, I’ve picked up on the many wedding magazines you’d scatter throughout the house, I’ve noticed you’ve been watching a couple of episodes from that one Disney weddings show and I overheard you talking to your mom about not knowing how I felt about marriage. I’m sorry that you had to question my feelings for you, but I thought that my constant love confessions and the way I could never stop holding you, kissing you and needing to be around you was enough to prove the fact that you are my home. You own my heart y/n. You always have and you always will forever. The feeling is mutual baby. I don’t care what ends up happening to me. I don’t care where we end up living—if we ever decide to move houses, cities, states or even countries. I don’t care what my job title is, how much money I’ll end up making or what anyone other than you has to think or say about me. Life—life can be rough and there are days that I just want to scream, cry and run away. But then I look at you and I see my purpose—I look at you and see the reason for my existence. You’re the reason why I breathe. You’re the reason why my heartbeat increases—the reason why I wake up with the biggest grin on my face. You are my reason to be happy and I could never thank you enough for all you’ve done for me in the last five years. Now, I can’t wait to continue to relish in our love for many more decades to come.”