#but instead he decided to risk it all and place himself back in the spotlight again

[kageyama-ritsu]

idk theres something about makotos overarching character arc being that he basically decided to devote his whole self into doing something he loves (being an idol and being part of trickstar) and sticking with it even when it consistently drags him outside of his comfort zone

parallels with his modelling career where he was also repeatedly pulled outside of his comfort zone, but in ways where he was being taken advantage of, where it was done to the detriment of his own self, something he wished he could escape from but circumstances prevented him from doing so until he reached a breaking point and physically could not continue anymore.

now he's constantly being pushed to do things like take charge, assert himself, and gain self-confidence, even when he doesn't quite feel comfortable in doing so. he fights back when he doesn't think he's being valued as a human being with his own desires and wants. every time he's pushed out of his comfort zone, it's for his own benefit - and even if it isn't, he finds a way to put a positive spin on it. and most importantly (to me anyways), he does this all while pursuing his dream of becoming an idol, something that doesn't come as naturally to him as modelling did, something he still feels inadequate about and is unsure he even has the talent for. but he works his ass off to be an idol despite the fact that he can quit anytime BECAUSE he loves the new path he's chosen so much

[soulsxng]

Ever since the situation with Rylenn and Allisae, Tahariel had been on high alert. Keeping stoutly by the side of his betrothed, just in case anyone else decided they wanted to approach her and try something. Gaze sweeping over the crowd in search of Avelan, or any of his fellows.

But it wasn't Avelan he found. Instead, he found himself crashing directly into a different familiar face.

A face so familiar, in fact, that in some ways, it felt a bit like looking into a mirror.

"Tabbris."

The other man stiffens, looking back at him with a gaze that quickly frosted over with an icy recognition of its own. It was rather obvious that neither were pleased to be in each other's presence.

"...Tahariel."

The silence hangs heavy between them. A suffocatingly oppressive weight to the air as they give each other a brief once over...until finally the younger of the two speaks.

"Everything that you've been doing lately, and you still think it's a good idea to show up here? Awfully gutsy."

"I can't say that I'm sure of what it is you're talking about. Are you trying to accuse me of something? Because if so, the only thing that I've done as of late to garner any attention, is find my fiancée again."

"--And kidnap she and her children?"

Tahariel laughs; short and disbelieving, as his arms cross loosely over his chest.

"Is that what you believe? If that were the case, then why would I have brought them here? Risked them running away from me, and casting an even larger spotlight on us? They came with me willingly, of their own accord, and it is Charidynn and Vanystea who have been unable to accept that fact. Who have sent assassins after us and threatened all of our lives, including Lily-- a child."

"We came here because Meriburn is a long time friend to Allisae and her children, and as such, they wanted to come to celebrate the occasion. And yet, Vanystea has weaseled their way in regardless of having not been invited, and have already been harassing us. You want to accuse me of causing a disturbance, but all I have done this entire time, is take in the festivities, and try to ensure that they can have the good time that they deserve to be having right now. Perhaps instead of pointing the finger at me, you should be looking for the ones that are actually causing the issues in the first place."

[quindolyn]

hi can i request the maurauders going to see the reader do a musical like heathers or mean girls and they are just confused and turned on bc they didn't expect it to be this dirty (can lead to smut or not). luv you and hope you are taking care of yourself, if not go get something to eat, drink some water, take a nap, or do somthing you enjoy. or dont not trying to be pushy :)

Creature of the Night || Poly!Marauders

Word Count: 3029 (excluding song lyrics)

A/N: I think I liked how this turned out? I didn’t make it smut but it’s certainly suggestive, I went with Rocky Horror, I know that the musicals mentioned in the request are more modern but I fucking love Rocky Horror and I think it works with the request. When I first read this request I smiled so much because I love live theater, I don’t perform as much as I used to because as I progress with my education I’m focusing more on the stuff I can use to pad my resumes for college and stuff but I still love going to see productions. One of the worst parts of the pandemic for me has been not being able to go see shows, I miss it so much.

Warnings: theatre enthusiast reader, erections, suggestive material, song lyrics, slight teasing, wearing very little clothing in front of an audience, I believe that that is it

Masterlist

500 follower celebration

antici-

The magic of the stage was second to none. Sure, Hogwarts may have had witches and wizards, subjects like Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and ghosts that spent their time meandering about the halls but there was always a part of you that looked forward to the summer between your years at Hogwarts. Because no matter how magical Hogwarts was, the theater always made you feel completely and utterly alive. 

Every summer since the one after your first year at what all of your muggle friends thought to be a very prestigious boarding school up in Scotland, you’d taken part in your local youth theater’s productions. Your parents both being muggles thought that it would be a great way for you to be able to stay in touch with your muggle origins. 

The first year you’d been far too nervous to actually audition for a role, the very thought causing bile to churn in your stomach and threaten to make you sick all over your kitchen floor when your father first pitched the idea. So instead you’d done costumes and it was the most wonderful experience of your life. 

Who needed drugs when you had live theater? The hustle and bustle behind the scenes was electrifying but after two summers of costuming, of quick changes in the wings, learning how to use the ancient sewing machines they stored in the depths of the storage rooms, and pulling pieces for the actors to try on you decided that you wanted to try something more.

The moment you had stepped onto the stage it was like you’d come to life and you cursed yourself for not taking the risk earlier. You belonged on the stage, with the harsh stage lights on you and pounds of makeup plastered onto your face you could feel the magic thrumming through your veins and it was addicting.

If it was possible, you were even more excited to perform this summer, the previous school year you’d finally gotten together with your long time best friends the Marauders, turning them from friends to your boyfriends.

When your mother had sent word of the production being put on this summer you’d squealed while seated next to James and across from Remus, who had Sirius hanging off of his side. After explaining to them, mostly Sirius and James really, just what live theater was their first reaction was to ask if they could come see you perform.

“I don’t even know if I’m going to be cast,” You had explained gently, not wanting to get their hopes up in case you weren’t cast this year.

“Bull shit of course you’re going to be the cast,” Sirius had contested through a mouthful of jam and toast, waving his hand theatrically through the air, watching him that day was not the first time you’d considered how the way he acted often reminded you of an over enthusiastic theatre major.

Remus, the only one with any knowledge on muggle theatre had snorted, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist to pull him closer to his body, “She’s not going to be the cast Pads, she’s going to be casted,” He’d corrected gently, pressing a kiss into his long, dark tresses.

“Whatever,” The smaller boy had grumbled, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Which brought you to where you were right now, five minutes to curtain touching up your make up in the mirror of the shared make-up room.

“Hey (L/N),” One of your cast mates called settling into the makeup chair next to you as she plucked a tube of dark red lipstick from the small canary colored makeup bag she had previously abandoned on the counter, “Your boyfriends coming tonight?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, they are,” You responded, applying mascara to your lashes.

“Excited to meet them, that photo you showed us,” She smiled, fanning her face with her hand, “Smoking,” She smiled, making eye contact with you in the mirror.

Rolling your eyes you ignored her comment, “It’s five minutes to curtain, you’re just now doing your make-up?” You chuckled, noticing her black face.

“Oh, shove it,” She laughed as you pushed yourself from your chair, traipsing out of the room, giving her the middle finger on your way out.

“Break a leg!” She called after you as the door latched shut.

You weren’t usually this nervous before a performance but knowing that your three boyfriends were sitting out there somewhere in the audience had you pacing back and forth backstage wondering what they were going to think of the whole production.

“Rocky Horror?” Sirius’ confusion evident in his voice as he plopped down in his seat next to Remus, throwing his arm around the werewolf’s shoulders, drumming his fingers on his clothed shoulder hidden behind his knitted cardigan.

“Yeah,” James collapsed into his chair on the other side of Remus, tucking one leg under his body, “No clue what it’s about but I’m sure our angel will be wonderful. Can you guys see her?” He straightened himself up in his seat, craning his neck in attempts to catch a glimpse of you.

Remus being the only one with any ties to the muggle world knew a bit about the show and had to do his very best to suppress a smirk from overtaking his face as he knew exactly what he and your other two boyfriends were getting themselves into. 

“Just hush up you two, the show’s gonna start any moment,” He scolded, patting his large, scarred hand on James’ thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Rem,” Sirius whined, puckering his lips and closing his eyes, signaling to his boyfriend that he wanted a kiss.

“My needy baby,” He crooned, leaning in to connect his lips with Sirius’ in a quick liplock before pulling back, allowing Sirius to drop his forehead to smear against his shoulder.

“That’s mean,” Sirius murmured discontentedly.

“Poor baby Pads,” James cooed mockingly.

“Both of you,” Remus hissed as the lights in the theatre dimmed, “The show’s about to start, be good for me and be quiet yeah?”

Their response came in their silence as the crowd started settling down and the music from the orchestra pit began a voice coming from somewhere out of sight as it was played through the speakers,

“Michael Rennie was ill

The day the earth stood still

But he told us where we stand”

Not 20 minutes into the show all three of them were as hard as rocks, James had already made Remus check the playbill for the name of the character you were playing, not being able to remember what you’d told them as all of his concentration was focused on a certain place.

Janet Weiss.

Remus couldn’t remember either, but he was almost certain that’s the name he could make out in the dark theatre, printed next to a picture of your smiling face.

When you’d stripped down to your underwear the boys could barely focus on the plot line of the show, only being able to watch the way your bare skin shone under the harsh light of the spotlights. Watching as sweat glistened on your skin, making you shine as you moved about the stage. 

Enchanted by the melodic cadence of your voice they all felt a certain jealousy burning deep in the pits on their stomachs at the thought that there were dozens of other people packed into that theater, all observing you in your vulnerable state of under dress. Only they got to see you like that.

Sirius missed much of the first act glaring at members of the audience who he deemed as looking at you for too long for his liking, but if you were being honest a 4th year smiling at you in the hallway was sometimes too long for his liking.

It wasn’t like any of them had never seen you naked before, in fact they’d all seen you naked more than their fair share of times but something about you on that stage in a white bra with a matching slip was driving them all crazy.

Especially Remus, whose ultimate weakness was seeing you in anything white which was one of the reasons you’d been so excited to invite them in the first place, knowing that they would be horny messes the entire time.

On stage you did your very best not to look out into the audience looking for them, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to stop a ginormous grin from forming on your face and you couldn’t afford to break character. Not if you wanted the night to go your way.

As the opening notes to “Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me”, rose from the orchestra pit you had trouble stopping a small smirk from pulling at your lips as you opened them, inhaling deeply before singing the first words of the song,

“I was feeling done in, couldn't win

I'd only ever kissed before”

Despite yourself you caught a glimpse of long dark hair in the audience, quickly taking a glance at Sirius’ face, eyes glazed over in lust, legs shifting uncomfortably with his mouth hanging wide open. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed another raven-haired boy’s mouth dropping as you shrugged off of your robe

“I thought there’s no use getting, into heavy petting

It only leads to trouble and, seat wetting

Now all I want to know, is how to go

I've tasted blood and I want more”

It was impossible to miss the way Remus’ jaw clenched as you laid your palm against Rocky’s chest, he was being played by your good friends who’d been working with the same theatre company as you since forever, he was like a brother to you. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t lay it on extra thick tonight with your boyfriends in the audience.

Tracing a dainty finger down Rocky’s chest you pushed your body against his singing out the next lyrics of the song,

“I've got an itch to scratch, I need assistance”

You turned you and your cast mate so that looking over his shoulder you were able to meet Remus’ eye, sending him a quick wink before focusing back in on Rocky.

“Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me

I wanna be dirty

Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me

Creature of the night”

Pressing your back up against Rocky’s chest you guided his hands with yours to your breasts, squeezing them as you followed the choreography you knew by heart.

You ripped your slip from your body with the help of Rocky leaving you in only your white bra, matching panties and a pair of small heels as you paraded around stage, belting the suggestive lyrics into the theater.

“Then if anything grows, while you pose

I'll oil you up and rub you down (down, down, down)

And that’s just one small fraction, of the main attraction

You need a friendly hand, oh i need action”

You smirked, thinking about all of the action you’d be on the receiving end of later that night as you sunk to your knees in front of Rocky, your hands grasping his thighs. Deciding to tease them perhaps a little more than necessary as you went through the number, curling your leg around his and pressing your bodies together so that there was no space between your two questionably clothed bodies.

As the number was brought to a close it was impossible for you to ignore the excitement bubbling up inside of you as you continued your way through the show you kept throwing glances at your boyfriends, always finding their eyes already trained on you. More often than not, on some body part other than your face.

If your boyfriends thought that they had a bit of a problem before that song they were in a terrible predicament now.

Remus caught Sirius on multiple occasions trying to move the hand that he was holding to grope at his crotch as he tried to buck up into his boyfriend’s hand. And much to his own dismay, Remus would pull his hand away, thinking it probably wasn’t the best idea to give his boyfriend a hand job in a crowded theater. Knowing that he wouldn’t have to worry about James touching himself because he would never dream of disobeying him, Remus divided his attention between you on the stage and keeping Sirius in check.

Each of the boys were counting down the seconds until the show came to an end and they could get out of there and relieve some of their tension.  As the curtains were pulled closed they all breathed a sigh of relief before they reopened, leaving all three of them bewildered and slightly annoyed, even more so when they noticed everyone around them standing as they applauded the actors.

Remus forced both of them up when you rushed to the front of the stage, curtsying as the crowd went wild, your boyfriends most notably. As you took your bow you blew a kiss to your boyfriends taking note of the uncomfortable way they all stood, trying to adjust their erections to make them less noticeable while simultaneously applauding you.

As you cleared the stage after curtain call you took your time, doddling towards the dressing rooms where you had left the clothes you’d arrived at the theater in along with a special outfit you’d brought for after the show. Usually you were one of the first actors to clear the theater after a show but tonight you took your time. Hanging up your costume with more care than anyone really should treat any garment with and certainly more than what it needed. 

You smirked mischievously as you pulled the you’d brought outfit from your bag and shimmied it up your legs before slipping the delicate straps up your shoulders. You glimpsed yourself in the mirror, the red satin of the dress clinging to your curves in an attractive manner, short enough to display miles of legs and low cut enough to show off a decent amount of cleavage and perhaps a sighting of the matching red bra you were wearing beneath it.

Slinging the back of your black heels over the heel of your feet you snatched your purse from the armchair in your dressing room before striding out to go meet your boyfriends in the lobby, where you’d told them to wait for you.

Their heads all turned as they heard the clacking of your heels against the tile of the floor, “Boys,” You greeted as they unabashedly took in your new appearance.

As he most often was, Remus was the first one to collect himself, “Puppy, you were wonderful,” He praised, walking to meet you as you approached him, leaning down to smear a kiss against your cheek, “You did amazing up there, so proud of you,” He threw his arm around your waist as you walked towards Sirius and James.

“We got something for you,” He explained, his grip on your waist tightening, “Jamie give it to her, yeah?” 

“Oh yeah,” The smaller boy grinned, remembering the bouquet he held cradled in his arms as he handed it over to you, “Here you go angel.”

“Thank you Jamie,” You said as you took it from him, closing your eyes as you buried your nose in the sweet smelling flora. As you opened your eyes you made eye contact with Sirius, who stood across from you, practically drooling as he took in your appearance without any shame, “They smell wonderful.”

“You okay Si?” You asked, looking up through your eyelashes, batting them innocently.

“Like you don’t know exactly what you did up there to us (Y/N/N),” Remus whispered in your ear, pressing his nose into your temple.

“You guys are the ones who wanted to come,” You lilted, rubbing one of the velvety petals between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.

“Could’ve warned us,” James mumbled, his eyes not leaving your thighs as he licked his lips, if it were anyone else you would’ve been uncomfortable but you couldn’t help but feel flattered whenever any of them ogled you. 

“And what’s with the dress Pup?” Sirius nodded his head appreciatively towards your dress, obviously admiring the way it hung on your body.

“What, you don’t like it?” You asked with fake hurt in your voice, knowing that he more than liked it, he fucking loved it. 

“S’not that,” Remus mumbled, nosing at your jugular, “Just that whole show, got us a little bit worked up. We didn’t expect it to be so sexual Puppy,” He nodded towards James and that’s when you noticed the erection he was still sporting. 

“Got us really worked up, can we go home now?” James asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to distract himself from his little problem.

“Jamie,” You whined, smiling wickedly, “I wanted to celebrate, I was thinking we could go eat somewhere, I was thinking maybe Thai food?”

You watched as Sirius ground his teeth, conflicted between needing to get home and not wanting to deny you from what you wanted. 

“Having fun teasing us Bunny?” Remus asked you with a sly smirk, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“M’not teasing,” You insisted, turning indignantly to your other boyfriend.

“Sure you aren’t,” He chuckled, “Thai sounds great (Y/N), wanna talk with you about the show,” The idea of teasing Sirius and James even longer was very appealing to Remus and he was ready to make the sacrifice of being teased himself, knowing that he’d be able to get back at you later that night.

“But-” James began.

“You wanna argue with me Jamie?” Remus challenged, raising a singular eyebrow.

“No,” He moped, “Of course not.”

“Good,” Remus said, nodding his head approvingly, “We wouldn’t wanna deny our Princess would we?”

James shook his head, eyes pleading, desperately seeking Remus’ approval.

“Pads?” Remus challenged, turning his attention to the other raven haired man.

“What? Oh um, of course not,” He agreed distractedly, dragging his eyes from your form to meet Remus’, his reluctance evident in his voice.

“Good,” Remus said pointedly, his eyes cold, daring Sirius to question him. When he didn’t the werewolf continued, “Let’s get going then, there’s a nice little restaurant a couple blocks away yeah?”

As you all hummed your consent you made your way to the exit, “Ten galleons if you can make James cum in his pants at dinner,” Remus whispered in your ear quietly enough so that  James and Sirius trailing behind you wouldn’t be able to hear you, you could hear the smirk in his voice as you exited the theatre.

“Deal.” This was going to be fun, you considered that you might have to invite them to come see the show again.

-pation

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete

[i-just-like-goats]

Miya Atsumu x Female Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: The Inarizaki team have all placed bets on when you and your longtime best friend Atsumu will finally get together. Kita is close to losing the bet, time for him to step in.

It is known to all students at Inarizaki High that Atsumu was a lady’s man. Sure he wasn’t a womaniser or a player, but that didn’t stop him from breaking hearts everywhere he went. His mere dismissal of a girl would lead that girl to burst into tears, straight up rejections even worse. His casual flirtatious comments did not at all help with his reputation, leading oblivious girls to believe he actually held interest in them. How wrong they were.

Whereas you. You deemed yourself nothing special. Nothing too flashy, unlike a certain someone. You didn’t stand out in a crowd, and most certainly never attempted to shine or take the spotlight. You left that to your best friend.

Miya Atsumu.

“Hey could you-“

“No.”

“Will you please put in a good-“

“No.”

The first two girls had left, their hopes crushed, you felt relieved they had gone to class until another girl replaced them and effectively disrupted your short lived peace.

“Y/N!” She said, her voice oozed with fake sweetness.

“Do I know you?” You asked bluntly.

“We sit next to each other in chemistry, silly. Don’t you remember?”

“And?”

“So I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?”

“If it’s homework we had none. If it’s class work I’ll send you my notes. If it’s anything else; leave me alone.”

“I just need you to give this little gift to At-“

“Not interested.”

With that you swiftly walked away, which left the unnamed girl open mouthed with shock. This was the daily routine you had to put up with. Reject all of Atsumu’s fan girls who approached you in order to reach him. Truth be told it was extremely tedious, but you couldn’t really complain - after all you were the one who befriended him. It was a small price to pay for being friends with him.

“Hey I was wondering if you could set me up with Atsumu?” A different girl asked.

Scratch that it wasn’t small. At all. It was a big price to pay. Very tedious. Very irritating. Very time consuming. By the time you reached your first class - English - you were already exhausted and plopped yourself into your seat.

“Don’t you look wonderful?”

“Well you wouldn’t look so hot either if you had to fight off Atsumu’s admirers in the space of one morning.”

Osamu noticed your sharp tone and held his hands up in mock surrender. You shook your head at him and started writing down what your teacher was saying.

Lunch came around and you made your way to your usual table next to your best friend.

“There’s my favourite best friend!”

All eyes were on you as you made your way to Atsumu. Some looked with contempt. Some with envy. Others with anger. All harboured ill feelings towards you. He had that certain look in his eye when you walked over to him, like you were the greatest thing in the world. His smile widened once you took the seat across from him, Atsumu’s eyes sparkled with joy as though it was his first time seeing your face again. Suna scoffed at his expression, not before taking a sneaky picture of proof about how much Miya Atsumu was whipped for Y/N L/N.

“Where were you all morning! I missed you so much,”

“I was dying,”

Silence. Atsumu tilted his head in confusion. Next to him, his twin stifled a laugh.

“Bro, your girlfriend here was busy fending off the wild animals that make up your fan club. She had no time to see your stupid face, and the last time you saw her was yesterday,”

Everyone in proximity of your table tensed up at Osamu’s words. From the table next to yours, Atsumu’s fan girls glared daggers at you.

“Yesterday was ages ago,” Atsumu whined.

“That’s what you focus on?” You ask incredulously.

Instantly Atsumu’s demeanour changed and he glanced to his left.

“Way to go Osamu, now Y/N’s on their hit list,” Atsumu said dryly.

“Well if you didn’t flirt back none of us would be in this mess,” Kita kindly passive aggressively informed his teammate.

Ever since Atsumu’s first official match, girls had been flocking to Atsumu like a swarm of bees to their queen. Every day the Inarizaki volleyball team had to deal with squealing fan girls gushing over Atsumu’s talent for volleyball, essentially distracting the players and disrupting practice. At first Atsumu shamelessly flirted back, basking in the attention, now he, as well as the others were fed up. In short, Kita was tired. Tired of the fan girls. And most importantly tired of the fact that you and Atsumu weren’t dating yet. At this rate Kita would lose the bet that Osamu and Suna had coerced him to take part in. He had bet that you and Atsumu would be dating by the end of the month, which was this Saturday, and the way things were going between you two, he’d probably have to ask you out himself for Atsumu in order to win the bet. On the other hand, Osamu bet that Atsumu would ask in their third year, Aran bet that you would actually ask instead of Atsumu and Suna bet that Atsumu would ask at the end of next month. It was decided that the losers would do what the winner wanted for a day, with no complaining whatsoever. A whole day of getting the team to do what he wants without complaints. A dream come true for Kita.

“It’s the end of the month on Saturday. Two days,” Osamu sing songed.

“So?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing,”

You dropped it and shrugged. Opposite you, Kita sent a saccharine smile towards Osamu, while the latter playfully smirked back. Kita had a plan.

Two day passed as usual, nothing significant happened; that is until the end of the second day. As usual, you made your way out of Physics with Atsumu; your best friend filled in the silence with his cheerful chatter. Unusually, Kita stood there at the end of the corridor.

“Hey cap! What brings you here?” Atsumu inquired.

Kita seemed to snap out of whatever was bothering him, for his face returned from his previous scrunched expression to his more neutral expression.

“Hm? Oh I came here to speak with Y/N. If that’s alright with the two of you?”

You nodded, though intrigued as to what Kita wanted to talk to you about, Atsumu on the other hand stayed silent. Before you left with Kita, he crushed you with a hug and sent puppy eyes at your retreating figure, walking next to his captain.

During the walk out of school grounds, Kita mentally prepared himself to convince you to ask Atsumu out, allowing both his and Aran’s plan to work, so that the pair won the bet - Kita was too engrossed in his thoughts. A while passed before you and Kita spoke; you were already halfway home before you confronted Kita.

“Kita?”

“You have feelings for Atsumu, don’t you?”

Kita panicked at your sudden dialogue and spoke the words that first came to his mind. His panic was not conveyed through his steady tone of voice. Truth be told, it was more of a statement than a question, it certainly caught you off guard. The latter half of the sentence seemed to be added hastily as though to soften the bluntness.

“What makes you say that?” You answered evenly, and turned your face away from him, a small blush settled firmly on your cheeks.

“Answering my question with a question I see,” he teased, “Everyone knows, the both of you don’t hide your feelings very well, it surprises me that you two aren’t dating yet,”

“I know he has feelings for me, I’m not an idiot, I see the way he looks differently at me and I see how he’s more clingy towards me than the others. I’m not an idiot,” you repeated.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know,”

“I think you do know. Idiot,”

You pouted and let out a huff.

“Fine. Fine,” you finally conceded, “I’m not an idiot but I am a coward. I guess - as cliché as it sounds - I don’t want to ruin our friendship. What if it doesn’t work out and we end on bad terms? Years of friendship would be wasted and gone in an instant. I just. I just don’t want to risk that happening,”

“What’s life without a little risk,”

At Kita’s attempt at lightening the mood, you scoffed and shook your head.

“Sorry, that was unlike me. What I meant to say was you won’t know until you try. Sure there is that possibility that the relationship may end badly and the precious friendship between you and Atsumu would probably be lost, but there is also a chance that this relationship will end happily, with no heartbreak. I can’t guarantee that everything will be peachy; obviously there’s going to be some problems along the way but knowing your stubborn personality I am confident that you will fight for you and Atsumu, because I know you care way too much for him to let him go,”

Kita’s speech surprised you, this was the most encouraging thing he had said to you. Ever. You smiled.

“Thanks Kita. I really needed that,” you said as you finally reached your house.

Kita made his way to his house, waving as he walked down the steeet. He left you with a lot to think about.

Later that evening you called Kita again, and talked until he decided that it was time to go to sleep.

That morning you walked to school with Kita in a comfortable silence. Once you reached school you spoke.

“Ok I’m going to do it,”

“Yes you will,” Kita encouraged.

Confidently you walked up to your long time best friend, then suddenly turned the other direction.

“I can’t do it,” you cried out.

Exasperatedly, Kita shook his head and forced a strained smile.

“Y/N do you want to do this or not?”

“I do,”

“Then go get him,”

“I’ll do it while we walk home,”

Anyway, the school day passed, honestly you couldn’t remember what happened, it was all a blur.

“Atsumu?” you called.

“Yup?”

“Do you want to walk home together?”

“Yes! I’m still kinda annoyed you walked with Kita, Kita of all people instead of me,”

“Sorry about that ‘Tsumu,” you replied bashfully.

With that you both made your way out of school. Little did you know Kita, Osamu, Suna and Aran followed you both from a distance. Osamu and Suna because they just wanted to go home. Kita and Aran to make sure you confessed.

“Get ready to do what we want for a day,” Kita stated.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Suna questioned.

“Kita and I formulated a plan,” Aran answered cryptically.

“Guys shut up Y/N stopped walking,” Osamu whisper shouted.

You had indeed stopped walking, leaving Atsumu to carry on walking and talking. You had been quiet the whole walk, which wasn’t unusual, as you normally let Atsumu talk, while you listened. You were just too lost in your thoughts.

“Y/N?”

Atsumu had finally noticed that you were no longer by his side.

“Hellooo. Earth to Y/N,”

“I like you,”

Atsumu was taken aback. That was not a reply he was expecting.

“I just really like your smile, your personality even though you can be quite big headed at times, I like your laugh, I just like you for you, not in the way that those girls like you for your looks and skills. I like everything about you even your flaws,”

“Whoa, for real?”

You glanced at his expression and burst out laughing.

“You look like surprised Pikachu!” you wheezed out.

Atsumu joined in with your laughter. The two of you continued laughing for several minutes.

“I like you too,” Atsumu said once both your laughter finally died down.

You turned your gaze towards his eyes. His beautiful eyes that held all the stars in the galaxy.

“That’s a relief,” 

[floof-ghostie]

Bakustans be bending over backwards to justify why Bakugo treats people badly, and it’s really insulting to those who have faced worse than him. There are so many characters who have genuine reasons to be angry. You want examples? 

Izuku Midoriya has been bullied, suicide baited, discriminated against for his whole life, and is currently being targeted by every villain on the planet, yet somehow manages to be one of the kindest people in the bnha world, and never hesitates to save somebody, no matter the risk to himself. 

Mezo Shouji has also been discriminated against due to his quirk, and has been regarded as scary, but he’s still kind, and one of the best friends ever. He didn’t care that one of his freaking limbs were cut off, as long as his friend was safe. 

Shouto Todoroki was abused by his father, basically bred for fighting, his mom is in psychiatric care, his brother, who was assumed to be dead is now actually one of the most dangerous villains. He is working past his trauma, and is actively trying to be a good person, and a better hero that his mother can be proud of.

Mirio Togata lost his quirk for a time, and his future as a hero was compromised. He still was humble, optimistic, was still nice to people, and didn’t regret rescuing Eri in the slightest. 

Mashirao Ojiro has been looked down upon for his “boring” quirk and still has to struggle with constantly being called plain. He’s still a good person, and doesn’t hold any ill will toward his more popular classmates.

Eijirou Kirishima was bullied during middle school, and had a lot of insecurities about his quirk, but is really encouraging to others even those in different classes, and is very secure in his masculinity.

Hitoshi Shinsou was discriminated against for having a “villain’s” quirk. He’s blunt, snarky at times, but it’s understandable given his history. It’s not excused, but he’s still not a bad person. He’s a hard worker, and arguably is working even harder than Bakugo in order to be a hero, because unlike Bakugo who has a quirk perfectly suited for combat, Shinsou has to start all the way from the bottom up to even get a shot at making it into the hero course.

Neito Monoma was looked down upon for his quirk. Does he constantly lash out, and treat his classmates badly? Here’s the thing though: He’s constantly building his classmates up, and supporting them, putting them before himself, and is jealous that the students of class 1-A with flashier quirks get all the spotlight because he knows that his class is full of hard workers who deserve it just as much. Overall, he’s a good person, kind of annoying at times, but is a great classmate hyping his classmates up, and instigating a harmless rivalry with the other class.

Yuga Aoyama has to learn to master a quirk that hurts him. He sturggles with insecurity over his quirk and abilities as a hero. He comes off as conceited and self-centered but is actually friendly, just shy, and nervous about what others may think. He sacrificed his chances of passing the exam so his classmates could pass instead. 

Shouta Aizawa? This guy’s been through hell and back. He was treated badly because of his quirk. Two of his three closest friends since adolescence are dead, near the start of the series he lost stability over his quirk, his leg is gone now, and basically fights quirkless with a capture weapon, because his quirk alone isn’t enough. He’s cold, tired most of the time and seems apathetic and uncaring most of the time. But the thing is, he doesn’t show it, but he cares so much for his students! He didn’t hesitate to throw himself into battle to protect them at the USJ incident, despite the horrible injuries that ensued, still came to class while injured, trained a student that wasn’t even his, took in a little girl to help properly train her quirk and treats her like his own daughter, provides comfort and encouragement to others, and fought to stay alive for the sake of his students!! He has every reason to be bitter and cruel to others, but he’s not. He’s arguably one of the kindest people in the entire franchise.

Katsuki Bakugo on the other hand? He comes from an arguably wealthy family, is privileged, and had pretty much everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth. Even if you argue that his mother smacking him upside the head is abusive despite obviously being played for laughs, that doesn’t excuse him bullying somebody who was supposed to be his best friend due to a genetic mutation (or lack of), telling them to kill themselves, actually TRIED to kill that person, and only treating a select few with basic human decency. He’s only now deciding he wants to “atone” for his actions, despite never apologising or actively treating Midoriya better, only because Midoriya doesn’t have a quirk and is therefore “not weak”, as if it was Izuku’s fault he was bullied in the first place.

What’s his excuse? Midoriya tried to help him out of a stream when they were little, so now Bakugo hates him? Midoriya constantly complimented him as a child so apparently he’s looking down on him? I dunno how to say this, but when a person genuinely compliments and praises you, it isn’t out of pity or malice. Not gonna deny that Bakugo can develop and actually grow as a character, but this should be through actually facing the consequences of his actions, rather than it constantly being shoved in out faces with no evidence.

[swissmissficrecs]

Favorite Sherlock Holmes fics from 2020

Usually I put a bunch of explanations and disclaimers on these lists but you know what, it was a weird year and I’m not going to try to justify or apologize for what I read or didn’t read so here are my favorites that were completed last year, in descending order of length:

and your very flesh shall be a great poem by CaitlinFairchild (151K, E, Johnlock) After a tragic confrontation with terrible consequences, Sherlock and John follow Mary as she flees to America.

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (107K, E, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being. (This one is very slightly cheating because it was finished on 30 Dec 2019, but it didn't make it onto my 2019 list because I didn't read it until after I'd made the list. And it deserves to be on a Best Of list, so here it is.)

Thermocline by J_Baillier (83K, M, Johnlock) John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Do No Harm by Calais_Reno (79K, T, Johnlock) In 1923, Dr John Watson is on trial for the murder of his lover, Mary Morstan, a writer of popular mysteries. If convicted, he will hang. Sherlock Holmes sets out to prove his innocence, but finds himself more and more infatuated with the handsome doctor, and deeper and deeper inside the bohemian world of London's painters, playwrights, and poets. Will he uncover the evidence needed to acquit him in time?

To Be Human by ohlooktheresabee (78K, NR, Johnlock) There is a serial killer on the loose with a penchant for collecting the brains of his victims. Sherlock, John and Scotland Yard are on the case, but something about the chosen victims has Sherlock on edge. While they piece together the clues that will lead to the killer, John begins to realize that the way his best friend thinks may sometimes be more a hindrance than a help….

immediate and inglorious by simplyclockwork (72K, E, Johnlock) Bodies are showing up in back alleys, with no sign of a struggle, no trace of drugs. If not for the strangulation bruises on their necks and the scythe carved into their left shoulders, they could have died peacefully, in their sleep. With New Scotland Yard dumbfounded by the Grim Reaper Killer case, Sherlock is called in to consult. The more he investigates, the deeper Sherlock finds himself drawn into the work of London's newest serial killer. As his views of good and bad begin to blur, he risks losing himself to a darkness he never imagined. And, even more pressing: where does John Watson, grieving ex-boyfriend of the Grim Reaper's latest victim, fit into all of this?

Curtain Rising by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (61K, E, Johnlock) A disgraced television star is the target of a series of death threats just after a theatre production’s adaptation of The Sound of Music is announced with her as the lead. The suspect list is a mile long and growing, Rosie Watson is in the spotlight, and Sherlock might be getting too fond of his time on stage to focus on the case. With opening night approaching, can he and John figure out who wants their client dead before her final curtain rises?

The Fire Finds a Home by fearfully_beautifully_made (61K, E, Johnlock) After Sherlock and John decide to give having a relationship a go, this is how their relationship starts to develop. There a little bit of plot, if you squint, but it was mostly an excuse to write John and Sherlock having sex in a lot of different ways and learning to love each other.

Borrowed Ghosts by DiscordantWords (57K, M, Johnlock) In the aftermath of the Culverton Smith case, John spent one painfully stilted afternoon hanging out with Sherlock. He counted the minutes, finished his tea, and left for home without ever clearing the air between them. And once he'd left, he found it very hard to go back.

You Might Just as Well Be Blind by ArwaMachine (56K, E, Johnlock) When a serial killer starts targeting couples, Sherlock and John must do what they have to do in order to get to the bottom of things. Unfortunately, John already has a girlfriend. Surely pretending to be in a relationship with Sherlock won't pose any problems with his relationship, will it?

The Broken Tether by J_Baillier (54K, M, Johnlock) Maybe he thinks that you only enjoy his company because of the Work, because of the way his dazzling intellect shines when he's in his element, but the truth is this: it is when he is at his most human, most bare, that you feel closest to him.

how the light gets in by subtext-is-my-division (Quill_A)  (54K, E, Johnlock) Red wine always makes him tipsier than usual and he finds himself saying, the words slurring a bit. “You know, I’ve got to ask. Do you always shoot cabbies for people you barely you know?” John meets his gaze over the rim of his glass, and there’s something there that Sherlock can’t pin down. “Not for everyone,” he says, meaningfully, pointedly, his smile all teeth.

Erosion by saintscully (53K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock’s father falls ill, leaving the surviving family members broken and rudderless. James Sholto shows up in London unexpectedly, his intentions unclear. John has to navigate the consequences of crime, illness and death and their impact on his frayed relationship with Sherlock.

Hold You Like a Weapon by MissDavis (52K, E, Johnlock) Eurus shows up at 221B Baker Street in labour. Things go downhill from there.

Chances Are by Berty (51K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock is spending some time in his mind palace - so far, so normal. But why is John there, why do things keep changing and why are there only two exits from the sitting room at 221B, neither of which seem to go anywhere useful? It's a case like no other for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Sine Nomine by SilentAuror (45K, E, Johnlock) As Mycroft reviews the footage from Culverton Smith's morgue, he revisits his original question: whether John Watson would be the making of his brother, or make him worse than ever. He's come to a conclusion, but decides to give John one last chance. So he gives him a choice.

Cockaigne by HollyShadow88 (38K, E, Johnlock) When John’s contacted by an old uni friend about problems in his new art exhibition, he doesn’t think it will be worth Sherlock’s time. After a glance of the crime scene, however, they’re both pulled into the project in ways John didn’t expect. Will a week of erotic performance art finally be enough to bring them together in the way they both secretly hope? (Spoiler: it’s a tropey fic, of course it will)

Written in Ashes by 88thParallel (37K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock becomes the prime suspect in a homicide case, and recently unearthed memories of his childhood are complicating matters. It's up to John to track down answers — can he help Sherlock before it's too late?

A Desperate Indulgence by LollipopCop (34K, M, Johnlock) John thinks it's 2012 after waking up with amnesia, having no memory of Mary. Sherlock, exhausted from years of tension and hiding his love, pretends they got married instead.

Inhale With Ease by Vulpesmellifera (25K, E, Johnlock) In the years after Vivian Norbury's capture, life seems to work out just as John planned. He's got that respectable job at the surgery and goes home to his wife and child. He joins Sherlock on cases a couple times per week. It's a rhythm he can live with - just enough adrenaline highs to balance out the drudgery of a normal bloke's life. Until a pandemic, and Victor Trevor, arrive in London.

The House on Rue des Boulangers by Berty (24K, M, Johnlock) After being invalided out of the army and without any other prospects, John Watson has relocated to a small town in northern France. Now he has to decide what to do for the rest of his life. One morning there's a mad stranger in his garden chasing a swarm of bees, and it seems John's decision is made.

High Mountain Tea Leaves by disfictional (23K, E, Johnlock) A mountaintop robbery on a Japanese-occupation-era train where the only item stolen was a small case of mysterious tea leaves in a backpack? An ideal Christmas gift, two days late. Sherlock convinces John to travel for tea.

Detours by saintscully (22K, M, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) During the better part of the first year following Mary's death and the events at Sherrinford, Sherlock and John are slowly rebuilding their lives and their friendship. All seems (relatively) well and John takes comfort in once again being a father, a doctor and a friend. An unexplained shift in Sherlock's behaviour catches John by surprise, and he begins to worry about his place in his friend's life. John has to examine everything he thought he knew about Sherlock, himself and their relationship in order to win his rightful place yet again.

hands full of matter by simplyclockwork (21K, E, Johnlock) When Sherlock is captured in Serbia, Mycroft cannot afford to involve the British government in his rescue. Instead, he sends John. After two years spent thinking Sherlock was dead, John finds himself navigating not only Sherlock’s rescue but their fractured friendship as well.

The Victim Experience by J_Baillier (16K, T, Gen) A case takes Sherlock and John deep into the seedy underbelly of the haunted attractions industry. With audiences craving more and more intense experiences, is a real murder the next logical step?

On the Fence by BeautifulFiction (13K, T, Johnlock) The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

Plus bonus ACD era:

"Baker Street: The Sleep of Reason": A Memoir by John H. Watson, M.D. by Gaedhal (98K, M, Johnlock, Johniarty) This is a Victorian Era story in the "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Ritchie-verse. The main characters are Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson and is from the doctor's memoirs. It was written before "A Game of Shadows" so there are differences in this story and film canon, mainly in the person and backstory of one particular character.

The Taste of Truth by sanguinity (25K, T, Johnlock) Two and a half years after Reichenbach, John Watson discovers the magical tree that caused Holmes to fake his death.

The Adventure of the Vatican Cameos by Garonne (18K, E, Johnlock) How should one behave when waking for the first time in the bed of one's dearest friend? Holmes and Watson solve a case in Catholic London while navigating the turbid waters of their new relationship.

Hot Water by wordybirdy (13K, E, Johnlock, Watson/Gregson) Dr. John Watson's libidinous affair with a respected Scotland Yard inspector abruptly judders to a halt when the former meets a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, for the very first time. The attraction between the two is strongly mutual, but misunderstandings only multiply and tensions abound, as all three men attempt to deal with the new situation.

[delldarling]

diving stars | hior

male bog mummy x male reader 3754 words citrus | mild description of death, minor mention of blood, mild description of mummy having stitches (though not getting them), kissing, implied future relationship test match-up: Waaaayyyy back when, I decided I should try my hand at some match-ups. I wanted a unique experience for those coming to me for commissions, and so went through several versions of a 'choose your own adventure' kind of personality questionnaire. Matt, or @severedreamerbeard, was one of the people lovely enough to let me test out my match-up process! Thank you a whole gosh darn bunch Matt, for letting me do so in the first place, and I'm going to heap on extra thanks because I've been such a snail about it! <3

————-　🌠　————-

Much of the bog is a terrible endless black, with nothing to reflect but the cloud covered nighttime sky. Scrubby, dried grass circles the edges of the water, the torchlight making their flickering shadows look like creeping, growing thorns across the opaque surface, ready to snag the unwary and drag them down into the depths. There’ll be no coming back out of that dark water, Hior knows, not once he’s been pushed in.

I’ll close my eyes before I go under, he silently promises, though either way he supposes it shouldn’t matter much. The last thing his body sees will only ever be darkness. He swallows, tucks auburn hair behind his ears, calloused fingers catching at his skin, and pastes on a grim smile, turning to face the gathered people. He can’t linger any longer, no matter how much he would like to, not if he wants the rest of the village to make it through this. Not many of them have gathered, either. Just enough to see the ritual through to the end. Honestly, it’s better this way. If his brother had been allowed to leave the defenses, then Hagan would have interrupted Mother Gree, ritual or not. He would have tried to stop her, tried to stop Hior, even if it meant the loss of the village.

Hagan will be angry.

Hior sweeps his eyes over the surrounding villagers, their frightened faces and trembling hands, their teary eyes reflecting the torches in the misty dark. Hagan will be angry, but the fact of the matter is that he will still be alive to hold onto that anger. Hior can’t find it within himself to regret that.

There’s no time for being maudlin, Hior tells himself, and his smile becomes a bit too wide, stretching painfully at the corners.

This will be the last he ever sees of the village if the Gods deem his offering worthy, but that’s alright. Really. As long as he knows the village will be protected, as long as he knows that his people will do their best to endure, he's willing to fight his way through the Beyond and stay there.

Mother Gree begins to speak in a rough, ragged voice, worn through by years of pipe smoke and leaning over heavily herbed fires. Her words—the spell, the prayer—drape themselves around Hior’s shoulders like a heavy blanket, sweeping away the tension of his worries and the fear of the crowded villagers. Hior’s smile softens.

Mother Gree’s only warning is the icy grasp of her fingers, twisting sharply into the hair at the nape of Hior’s neck. The blade pinches. Wet heat spills down his throat and over his chest, soaking his clothes as he begins to fall backward.

Overhead, the clouds part, and a fierce rumbling fills the air, punctuated by sharp screams. A star, smaller than a pebble, but more brilliant by far than any flickering fire, falls out of the sky. It dives after Hior’s falling body, following him down into the depths of the bog.

The last thing Hior sees is light.

————-　🌠　————-

It’s midday, or just after, and there are odd shapes in the clouds, like reaching hands backlit by the sunshine. The shifting shades of them make it look like they’re trying very hard to break through the atmosphere, a primordial being grabbing for mortals like marbles. The wind picks up, and the flicker of pale warmth and the cloud hands are blown swiftly away, hidden by a tumult of grey and violet. It shouldn’t rain for hours yet, it’s not supposed to, but you’re starting to doubt the truth of the weather forecast. The sky is very clearly telling all watchers that a storm is on the way.

And here you are: distractedly doing your best to carefully skirt the edges of dreary, muddied water, hunting for a folktale. There are weak spots throughout the area, and one wrong step will have the ground turning to mush underfoot. Which, while fitting with the tales, is the last thing you’d ever want. Risk of drowning aside, all the local stories claim that it's your soul you really need to worry about, or you'll be trapped for eternity as 'a ghost given solid form'.

In other words, from what you’ve pieced together, that might mean something like a zombie?

Water sloshes, lapping strangely at the grassy shore and pulling you clean away from your thoughts. You know you shouldn't linger with the storm on the way, but something about the water keeps you from getting more than a few paces past. The noise, rising steadily, almost bubbling, draws you closer even as tension weighs down your steps. Whatever might be down there, you doubt it's anything pleasant, and you’ve had stories of zombies running through your head all afternoon. You edge closer anyway.

The shore grows terribly soft underfoot the closer you get, and it looks like something is struggling just under the surface, wriggling, a bit like—the water fountains. It soaks your shoe and the hem of your pant leg, while icy droplets speckle over your shirt and face. For a moment, a breath, your eyes fall closed as you attempt to wipe the water away. Something smooth and cold grabs hold of your ankle, yanking your foot forward so you slam back into the ground, a quick burst of pain flares in the back of your skull. Fingernails dig into your skin. You can’t remember shouting, can’t remember a loud noise, but your ears are ringing, adrenaline rocketing through your veins as the hand—the literal hand—heaves with all it’s might, pulling you towards the water. You scrabble backwards, you kick, trying to get free, but the arm tenses, fingers curling tighter around your ankle, heavier than iron. You haven’t gotten loose, but you’re starting to pull whatever is in the water out as you struggle.

The water burbles and the haze of panic begins to clear. This isn’t a story. Someone has just grabbed hold of you. They’re not trying to pull you in, they just want you to pull them out. Because they’re trapped. You suck down air, scrabbling at the hand wrapped around your ankle, trying to get them to grab hold of your wrist instead. Their skin is strange under your touch, hard and smooth and fragile, like flowers dipped in paraffin.

A head finally crests the water, a choking, wheezing noise filling the air as liquid cascades off of his body. His breath sounds wrong though, and his cheeks are hollowed, hair and skin stained with peat. He releases the death grip he has on your ankle, bony, wet fingers smacking against your arm so you can grab hold and pull. His other hand twists into the scrubby grass, ripping handfuls of it free as he does his best to work with your desperate bid to get him out of the bog. And then a few startling things happen all at once.

Your eyes drop to his throat and the wide, old injury spanning the entirety of his throat, stitched shut with a pale cord. His eyes snap open. An eerie light gleams in his eye sockets and you do shout this time, words tripping over themselves as you give up on holding him to try and yank yourself out of his grasp. Lightning quick flashes of the zombie stories and a variety of undead flicker through your mind. He’s too strong for you, you can't push him off, even with the wasted-looking muscles of his arms. He holds on terribly tight, knees and calves and feet splashing in the water and sliding through the slick scrub grass. You continue to try to get his hands off of you, breath coming far too fast, but he lets go as soon as he’s clear of the water. His hands fall away, clutching at your thigh for balance before he finally removes his hands from you entirely. He drops to the grass, retching, and then grabs at his own throat. The tie keeping his hair back crumbles, falling away like drying clay, and though most of his hair is still slick and dark with peat, it looks like it’s normally a bright coppery red underneath the muck.

He wheezes again, hands hovering over the injury, fingers feather soft over the strangely clean stitches. After a moment, he lifts his chin, spotlight eyes roving over your face with awe.

"..you..you answered?" He asks, voice warped by withered musculature. His stained cheeks stretch, a painfully tight smile exposing teeth that don't look altogether human. They're even, and clean, but they gleam with a deep blue patina, as if they’re actually polished stones. “I—I must conf-fess,” he rasps, hands falling to his knees, nails digging into the tattered trousers barely clinging to his body, “I doubted. I..” He leans forward, gasping once more as he stares at the ground. “He answered,” he whispers, and his eyelashes flutter, the light of his eyes flickering. Despite his apparent frailness, despite his inattention, you can't bring yourself to run away now. You’re caught, the desire for knowledge outweighing the potential danger. “What would you ask of me?” He breathes, and your heart twists painfully in your chest. He sounds wretched, reverent and fearful, both, anxiously waiting for you to strike out.

"What would I ask?" You struggle to murmur, tongue thick and too-dry in your mouth. Slowly, you get up, rubbing awkwardly at your wrist and forearm. His grip had been a shade past 'uncomfortably tight', but you don’t think you’ll get anything more than faint bruising.

"In exchange," the man says, clutching tighter to his knees. He doesn't notice when you flinch, not with his head still bowed.

Your heartbeat nearly drowns out the distant thunder, adrenaline chasing the wariness out of your veins. "For what?" You demand, pleased when his head jerks up. He's acting like you're going to kick him back into the bog with a boot to his chest. "For saving you? Why would I want anything? I was just-" Your mouth snaps shut, brain desperately clamoring for you to acknowledge that there's a mummified man currently speaking to you. He’s talking, not groaning, not calling out for brains or blood or violence. He may as well be straight from the local legends and he’s… Fully conscious of his actions, nothing like the eerie embellishments all the tales carry.

"I was being decent. Helping. I didn't do it so you would owe me." Any further words slip your mind as soon as your eyes catch on the stitches in his neck again. The rest of him is withered and warped by the peat in the bog, permanently stained—but the stitches are still silvery pale. What on earth happened to make him this way?

Hesitant, he raises his head, the inhuman brightness of his eyes more than enough to make you wince. Your gaze darts to the soft glint of metal in his earlobes, trying to keep from squinting.

"For… For saving my village," he finally clarifies. "You accepted my sacrifice and allowed me the chance to speak, but surely I must complete some task to prove my faith? To win a boon and guarantee their survival?"

Thunder rattles your bones and the mummy tenses, looking past you to the sky. Nerves or not, you can’t stay out here in this, not if you want to escape the weather… Or the panic that will spread like wildfire if anyone happens to catch sight of him. You offer him your hand.

"You'll help me?" He asks, hand lifting from his knee, but not yet reaching for yours. Mist dots his cheeks, rain trying desperately to break free of the heavy cloud cover.

"Help? Yes. In the way you’re asking me to?” You can’t stop yourself from cringing, but that doesn’t seem to have deterred the bog mummy still kneeling in front of you. He’s still staring with rapt attention, caught on every word you speak. “I—I don't know if I have any answer you want, but I do know we shouldn’t stay out here in the rain." You take a single step closer, fingers splaying as you reach for him. He slips his hand into yours and the rain falls heavy upon your heads.

————-　🌠　————-

From what you’ve gathered from Hior on the trip back here, he has for all intents and purposes, traveled through time, via his death. You freeze in the doorway of the kitchen, mind whirling as you attempt to puzzle out whether he can eat or drink anything. He hasn’t needed to, not while he’s been in his enchanted… sleep down in the bog. But he’s actually dead, isn’t he? You hadn’t felt a pulse when he’d taken your hand, but you hadn’t been searching for one either, keen as you were on getting him out of the torrential rain and out of sight. He hasn’t asked for any food or drink, but your brain has seized onto hospitality like a lifeline. No matter what age Hior is from, sharing what you have is always appreciated.

Decision made, you fetch the glass, ears straining for any noise, for any hint of where he is in the house. He’s done nothing but stare at modernized gadgetry since you brought him in, taking the towel you’d offered as if he were in a dream, but he’s bound to get curious eventually. You move a little faster, though when you find him back in the living room, sitting straight backed on the edge of the couch, dampened towel around his shoulders, you feel rather silly. He just crawled out of a bog, knowing that he’d given his life for his village. Maybe he’s frightened? This can’t be like any afterlife he’d expected. “Would you like some water?” You ask, still unsure as to whether he can actually drink it or not. He’d been gasping for air when he’d broken free of the bog, but that might only be reflex, seeing as he is very much mummified.

Hior clambers to his feet, lamplight eyes skittering over your face and then down to the floor before he kneels, towel flaring out like a cloak. You pause where you are, fingers tightening around the glass in your hand, but your brain doesn’t catch up to what he’s trying to do until he speaks. “I must thank you for your hospitality. Truly. To be welcomed into the home of a God-”

You nearly spill the water, breath caught fast in your throat as you hurriedly urge him to get back to his feet, fingers brushing over his shoulder. “Ah, no, not—how about some water first?” Hior rises, the fine hairs of his eyebrows catching the light as he furrows them. They’re the same coppery red as the hair on his head and arms, and even on his legs when you take the time to glance down. “Here,” you mutter, slipping the glass into his hand as soon as his fingers uncurl. “If you don’t want it, or, or you can’t, then it’s fine. But, uh, I’m not a deity. Not a God. Just a man.” Like you, weighs down the tip of your tongue, but you clamp your jaws shut. You can’t honestly claim similarity, seeing as you still have blood flowing through your veins and your neck doesn’t have eerily clean stitches from ear to ear.

"A man," he repeats, but he doesn't sound like he believes you, "of course." Hior sniffs at the water, but he must not need it. He cradles the glass against his chest, water untouched and risks another sly glance at your face, waiting, as if he expects you to change your mind and confess to a different identity. Your brain buzzes, skipping over the hint he’s attempting to fish for.

“Those… It looks like that was a bad injury,” you murmur, gesturing to the neat stitches, a permanent, unsettling necklace. It doesn’t really help change the subject.

“Hmm,” he rumbles, reaching up a single hand. For a moment, he marvels at the sight of his own skin, turning his wrist this way and that before he finally ghosts his touch over the stitches. Hior doesn’t shy away from them, or even appear concerned, fingertip dipping between each rib of cord. “I’ve little idea how I came to possess these,” he confesses. “It wasn’t you?” You grimace, and Hior croaks out a laugh when he notices. Warmth blossoms in your chest, the sound of a real, genuine laugh soothing away some of your nerves. “No. I can see that now. And it wasn’t Mother Gree either,” he says softly, eyes lowering. “No one would have taken me from the water. The… the star?”

“Star?” The God you think I am? You want to ask, but the stiffness is easing from his limbs, memory returning, and you don’t want to interrupt. Frankly, you might be a little shell shocked yourself, but something about his question makes your brows furrow.

“It followed me into the water,” Hior adds, and your heart skips a beat, your own memories a cacophony in the back of your head. You’ve read something about that before, you’re certain of it.

“The star followed you?” You ask, clarifying. “Dove after you?”

For the first time, Hior isn’t staring past you or searching your face for any hint of divinity. A wry smile twists his lips, exposing the polished stones serving as his teeth. “From what I recall, yes. Of course, I was dying at the time,” he says quietly, humor in the arch of his eyebrows. “Perhaps I could not comprehend the visage of our Gods? They often take other shapes, so as not to cause alarm. Such as that of a man,” he says. He’s hinting again, gaze heavy on your face, but all you can think about is the phrase: the star followed me into the water, on repeat.

You lick your lips, darting past Hior for the stacks of books you’d left out this morning. “The Diving Stars,” you explain, pushing two volumes to the side and letting them fall to the floor with a clatter. You seize the elderly green book, whirling so you can brandish it in Hior’s direction. The title glitters, faintly golden but worn away by the passing years. “It’s a folktale, a legend, about… About you, I think.”

————-　🌠　————-

Hior never does drink the water. He sets it aside, fingertips lingering along the rim before you settle down on the floor, book laid open across your knees. He joins you, and as respectful as Hior has been up to this point, he sits close against your side, pressed against you from shoulder to hip so he can better see the pages. It’s intimate, and strange, and he’s… He’s not cold, not exactly, but the lack of human warmth is enough to have the fine hairs along your neck prickling with awareness. It only takes a moment before his attention drifts from the book to your face, staring at your mouth as you read the short tale aloud.

The Diving Stars

For the greater good of a war torn village, a sacrifice was made. A favored son was chosen, one beloved by the village, and kind to all he knew. He was strong, and clever, and though he was leaving behind his family, he knew he must act for the well being of all. When it came time for his sacrifice, he smiled and walked willingly to his ending, hoping that the Gods would accept his service and defend the village from invaders.

A God took notice.

You do your best not to lift your eyes from the text, heat spreading over the back of your neck when you realize how hard Hior is staring at you. You might keep trying to ignore his assumptions, but Hior isn’t going to let you forget about them completely. He still fully believes that you’re the deity from his tale.

Moved by his plight and coveting the favored son’s courage for his own hall, the God left his domain. He dove from the sky as a star, following the favored son into the depths and setting the entire blog ablaze with his magic. When the light faded, when the villagers uncovered their eyes, two men stood by the side of the water, the light of the stars in their eyes. One was the favored son, strange and withered, having sacrificed his vitality to the Gods. The other was the God who had accepted his bargain, and behind them, marching up out of the water, was a brigade of the village ancestors, led back from the underworld to help defend the home of their children.

When the battle was won, and the ancestors had marched back into the water, the favored son wished his people farewell. Lit up from within, the favored son and the God slipped back into the depths, and then two brilliant lights fountained up out of the water, diving back into the sky as stars.

When you lift your gaze away from the book, Hior’s eyes are still on you. They’ve grown even brighter than before, the shine of them sharp enough to make you wince. His hands, resting gently on his knees, are steadily curling into fists, and he’s smiling. Small and sweet and absolutely enchanted. “I knew it,” he whispers, voice tight and low, and then Hior yanks you by the neck of your shirt halfway into his lap, knocking the book completely out of your hands. He kisses you, in want or in gratitude, you’re not sure, the taste of rainwater and the chill of stone heavy on his lips. It’s… It’s not unpleasant at all, the kiss. His lips are smooth, and cool, and tingling, like the sharpness of static in the air, seeping through your skin and racing through your veins. When Hior finally allows you to wrench yourself away, lungs heaving as you attempt to remember how to breathe, all you can think about is the way he’s smiling, arousal pooling heavily in every limb.

“No matter what you might believe,” you mutter, trying to keep your thoughts in order, “I’m not a God. Not of any sort, Hior. I swear I’m not lying.” You lick your lips, the taste of rainwater still lingering on your skin. “Though, even if I don’t know how to help you yet?” You take his hand off of your arm, lacing your fingers with his. “We’re bound to find out together.”

————-　🌠　————-

[rocorambles]

Kinktober Day 13: Master/Slave

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Toxic Relationship, NSFW, Drugging, Kidnapping, Non-Con, Mind Break, Degradation, Corruption Kink

Oikawa hates heroes. Their naïve morals and silly aspirations to always save the day leave a bitter taste in his mouth. To everyone else they might seem like genuinely good people, but he knows better. He knows how arrogant they are, power hungry they are, fame chasing they are. There’s nothing worth respecting under their bold and striking uniforms and he enjoys squishing them one by one like the flies they are. 

But you...you’re different. When Oikawa first met you, he thought you were just another pretty face trying to grab a piece of the spotlight, not ready or willing to really risk your life for the greater good and he already had plans on how he’d defile you, absolutely ruin you and humiliate you before ending your miserable life. So imagine his surprise when instead of bolting at the sight of him, one of the most infamous and notoriously cruel villains on the wanted list, you defiantly stand your ground, only your quivering legs and voice indicating just how terrified you actually are. 

And suddenly he’s interested in dragging this out and he lets you make the first move, easily sidestepping and dodging your every attack, but he has to give you some credit. You’re really putting your all into every punch, every kick and that’s more than he can say for most of your fellow heroes he’s faced. But time’s up for now and with a swift movement he traps you against his body, twisting your arms painfully behind your back as he grinds his already half-hard cock against your clothed ass while he teasingly kisses your cheek. 

“I’ll see you soon, cutie.”

Oikawa prides himself on his seduction skills. He’s not just some brute who’ll bend you over and fuck you like a mindless animal. He enjoys foreplay, the art and game of coaxing pretty little things into his bed. It just makes it that much more satisfying when they willingly give themselves up to him and his ego and pride soars at what a willing slut his play things become for him. But you are proving far more difficult than he expected and impatience and frustration are eating at him as you remain resistant when he pays you some more visits. 

In his defense, Oikawa really does try to be as patient as possible with you, but all hell breaks loose when he spots you hanging out with Ushijima, one of the top three heroes in the country and the top hero on Oikawa’s personal shit list. And when the taller man leans down to gently kiss you on the lips before softly smiling at you and walking you home, Oikawa decides right there and then that it’s time to expedite his plan for you. 

He’d expect a hero to be more careful of their surroundings, more mindful of their own home security, but you’re still a rookie after all and he takes advantage of your carelessness to slip silently into your abode and there’s little you can do other than look at him in shock as your bathroom door suddenly slams open and he’s under the streaming water raining down from your showerhead with you, your defenseless naked figure struggling futilely to escape his strong hold. But it’s game over when you feel a small prick in your neck and you unwillingly succumb to darkness as your body goes limp. 

Your head throbs and you feel groggy when you finally awaken and you move to sit up, only to freeze at the sound of chains clanking and the feeling of an unfamiliar heavy weight around your neck. Panic courses through you and your hands scramble to your throat, trying to comprehend what’s happening, but your heart drops when movement catches your eye and you come face to face with a full body mirror. Tears prickle at your eyes when you see your still naked figure on display in front of you, a leather collar securely wrapped around your neck attached to the wall by a sturdy metal chain. 

“Now, now. Don’t cry, cutie! I think this is a good look for you. And even if you don’t like it, you better get used to it because I plan on keeping you around as my little slave for a while.” 

You whip your head in the direction of that mocking voice you’ve come to hate and Oikawa can feel his cock rising at the fierceness in your eyes, already imagining how good it’ll feel to beat that fire out, how beautiful you’ll look pliant and obedient to his every whim. 

He has to give it to you. You put up a much better fight than he expects, screaming scathingly crude words at him, throwing punches and kicks, clawing and biting him whenever he gets anywhere near you. But it’s nothing a pretty pink ball gag and ropes can’t fix and he coos down at your pathetic bound figure. Your rebellious attitude is really starting to get old, but at least you’re starting to look more like the role he has intended for you. 

He’s pleased to see that you’re as innocent as he had guessed you were and he takes sick joy in the confusion mixed with unknown pleasure on your face as he touches and explores your body in ways and places you yourself have never even touched. It just makes it that much easier to train you, to leave his mark all over and inside of you, and he darkly smirks at the way your body lewdly reacts to even just the sight and smell of him. It’s laughable how easily your pussy creams from just his hand cupping your mound, how your nipples stand to attention just from him tauntingly poking them. But it’s even funnier watching how he can see your mind still fighting against him only for your eyes to roll back in your head and for your face to go slack and dumb with pleasure when he brings you to orgasm after orgasm. 

You’re on the right path, but it’s still not enough and he continues meticulously teaching you, relentlessly pouring his attention on you, corrupting your mind with sweet lies until there’s no more need for binds, no more need for uncomfortable gags. And Oikawa feels like he’s on top of the world when you eagerly crawl towards him on your hands and knees at just the slightest tug of your chain, when you obediently kneel in front of him, when you submissively follow all his orders no matter how lewd or depraved they are. You’re just his slutty little slave now and he can’t wait to show off his newest possession to the world.      

[detectivecarlosreyes]

Your heart out on the asphalt 

Ao3 | 2.1k | Rated: Teen | Tarlos angst

Summary  A serial bomber who uses bomb vests as their calling card is on the loose and they are targeting spouses of members of the police department. Unfortunately for Carlos, TK becomes their next victim. 

For @silvarafael‘s prompt request: angst #36 - “Don’t tell me to calm down!”​ + tarlos

TK was missing.

Unable to be reached.

Nowhere to be found.

Missing.

It had been 24 hours since anyone had seen him last, when he had left the station after a shift, on his way to his dad's ahead of Captain Strand for their weekly dinner. He never made it.

24 hours wasn’t a long time, not even long enough for them to file a missing person’s report but the captain knew something was wrong. It wasn’t until they had tracked TK's phone to a back-alley dumpster that they could only assume the worst. He had been taken by the serial bomber, just like the other victims, it was the only assumption that Carlos could make, though he didn’t know why he was a target.

TK would be the fourth in a string of abductions, and as it turned out, became the missing link to all of the officers that were connected to the other victims, each being a spouse of an officer. He and TK had been dating for a little over year, which seemed to be enough for the serial bomber to consider him spousal material. The details didn’t matter to Carlos, all his thoughts were on TK and what his fate would be because of their relationship.

And that’s when he found him.

Carlos lost his breath all at once and for a moment all he could do was sit in shock as his car idled in the street. There TK was, with arms bound in front of him and his head bowed as he sat cross-legged on the dusty, worn asphalt lit by the Camaro’s headlights like spotlights in the late afternoon shadows.

And then TK lifted his head, even from this distance, Carlos could see his eyes shining with unshed tears as he took in the car before him. Carlos could see the bruising gash stretching across TK’s temple and the dry, crusted blood that had dripped down the side of his face. Carlos watched, unable to breathe when he saw the recognition blanket TK’s face and it was only then that the tears began to fall.

Carlos couldn’t recall when he got out of the car or when he called his Captain’s direct line, passing on the pertinent details as he was trained to do. All he knew was the smell of the tar that had been cooling from the then-gone afternoon sun. He wasn’t sure he’ll ever be able to forget the scent after that day. 

He remembered feeling the rough, loose grit that scraped his hands and knees through his pants as he skidded down to land himself in front of TK; The way the small fragments of gravel clung to his hands as they ghosted around TK’s body, too afraid to touch him in fear of setting off the crude vest attached to his chest, like what happened with the first person. 

“Carlos…” TK whispered as the tears ran steadily in tracks down his face. It was enough to break him out of whatever trance that he’d fallen into upon seeing his boyfriend in the street. 

“I’m here. Everything will be okay.” He said as he gently palmed TK’s cheek for a second in an attempt to reassure him despite the frantic tone of his voice.

“You shouldn’t be here,” murmured TK, “This is what he wanted.”

“What do you mean? Who did this?”

“I don’t know who he is, but he’s watching from the street cameras. Said he’d set it off if I moved…” The vest beeped once, the sound coming from behind a small panel on the front. Carlos gingerly peeled it back to reveal a countdown that was trending downwards, “…and said he’d start the timer as soon as he saw you.”

02:58

02:57

02:56

Carlos looked down at the phone that he had haphazardly dropped beside him when he reached TK’s side, remembering that he was still on the line with his Captain. He picked it up with a shaky hand and described the device strapped to TK. From here he learned that his Captain had also added to the call the leader of the bomb squad who was already on the move to their location.

They weren’t going to make it in time to diffuse.

The bomber had made sure of that.

02:44

He had left them just enough time to say their goodbyes, but Carlos was not ready for that just yet. Staring hard at the device, an idea began to form, and he spoke hurriedly to the bomb squad leader, asking if she’d be able to possibly guide him in diffusing it himself if he showed her the vest through video call.

She had quickly agreed understanding there to be no other option, and listed what he would need, which he thankfully had in his Camero should he ever need to do any simple repairs. Carlos hurried to retrieve them before returning, glancing briefly at the countdown as he felt his whole body break out in nervous sweating over what he was about to do.

02:11

02:10

02:09

TK mirrored him and looked down at the countdown and also saw how little time Carlos had causing him to look back up sharply, “Carlos, you don’t have the time for all this! Just GO! Save yourself, please!” he pleaded in a rush, voice panicked as he tried to push at Carlos’s shoulder awkwardly with his bound hands in an attempt to get him to leave.

02:01

It doesn’t take much for him to catch TK’s hands and hold them in place against his struggling, “TK I need you to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” TK exclaimed mostly out of fear than anger, “I have a bomb strapped to my chest, and I don’t want you to die with me if it goes off!”

Carlos changed tact and released TK’s hands in favour of grasping the back of his neck, forcing his boyfriend to look at him, “Look at me TK. I can do this. Trust me.”

01:54

TK let out a shaky breath and almost inaudibly whispered, “I trust you, of course, I trust you.” as he settled under Carlos’s steady gaze before he released his neck and studied the wires that he could see

Carlos set the phone down and listened to the instructions given to him and exposed the wire port to the device. He picked it up again showing her what he could now see. It was a chaotic bundle of multiple coloured wires complicating the system, but the chief was pretty confident in what she saw and what wire he needed to cut in order to diffuse it safely.

00:32

TK caught his wrist, stopping him as he steadied himself to make the cut, “TK we don’t have time for this.” He uttered tersely, heart racing at the thought that this could be their last moment if the chief was wrong.

00:24

“Just let me do this part Carlos and you can go; you still have time to get far enough away to be safe,” implored TK.

00:16

Carlos shook his head again, not even considering leaving him as an option, not when his heart had already decided that TK was it for him. He didn’t think his heart would be able to survive it if he left him here, “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together.”

00:11

He bit his bottom lip and slot the scissors over the yellow wire, making eye contact with TK as he does so before TK pre-emptively squeezes his eyes shut.

“I love you TK.”

He cuts the wire.  

-

-

-

-

-

-

00:08

00:08

00:08

The timer continued to flash the same number. 8 seconds. 8 seconds between life and death.

Tears of relief sprung to Carlos’s eyes, and he let out an audible gasp, realising he’d been holding his breath for some time. TK opened his eyes at the sound, glanced down, and shut them again as a sob bubbled out of his chest and he pitched forward, sagging in relief against Carlo’s chest with his forehead on his shoulder.

Carlos caught him, wrapping his arms around him gently, being mindful of the vest as they both panted heavily from the adrenaline of the drawn-out moment. Eventually, TK pulled back, eyes red and puffy from the tears that were now soaked into Carlos’s shoulder.

“Why would you risk yourself like that?” He asked, voice shaky with emotion, “You could have blown up with me instead of being safe.”

Carlos cupped TK’s cheek, gently brushing a thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone, wiping at the residual rivulets of tears, “Because there wasn’t a chance in hell that I would give you up so easily, even if it meant us blowing up together.”

It’s then that they’re interrupted by the sound of arriving emergency vehicles, and most importantly the bomb squad. Carlos sat back on his haunches glancing down at TK’s hands. He picked up the scissors that he’d dropped in surprise when TK fell into him and started working on the duct tape binding on TK’s wrist.

By the time he was done, the bomb technicians were at their side with a lead-lined box held between them. He watched warily as they carefully took the vest off TK, placing it resolutely into the box for safe detonation, and took it back to their armored truck.

Carlos took in their still seated position and moved to stand up, offering his hand to TK as he did so. TK slotted his hand in his with a smile and Carlos pulled him up where their eyes met again and this time they crashed into each other once again, tightly wrapping their arms around each other and finding themselves breathing in the soothing scent of the other.

As they slowly began to disentangle, Carlos felt TK’s body waver and he saw TK’s eyebrows knit together as he brought a hand up to his injured temple as he took a faltering half-step backwards. He nearly collapsed if Carlos didn’t still have his arms around him and supported his weight as the paramedics picked up their speed with the gurney that they had on standby and brought it to them, helping Carlos to guide TK to lie on the bed.

He doesn’t move from the gurney’s side as they wheeled it back to the ambulance, stopping for a moment when TK reached out to him, dragging him close enough that he could get his hand on Carlos’s cheek and pulled his face close enough the Carlos could feel his breath on his lips.

“I love you too. Thank you for staying.” TK whispered and guided Carlos down until their lips met for a quick and gentle kiss. They parted after a beat as the paramedics returned to take him to the hospital.

He watched as the ambulance drove away, wanting more than anything to be in the back of it with TK, but he still had a duty to debrief with his Captain who had surprisingly joined them out in the field. It was there in the debrief that he fould out they had figured out why the specific officers spouses had been targeted.  it was a revenge story. Some twisted sense of justice from a time when he was still a rookie, the first trial he had to testify at. The bomber had been targeting anyone involved from the department. And they were already on the move to find the man responsible. 

By the time that he'd finished debriefing and made his way to the hospital, he found TK already set up in his own room, hooked up to an I.V. for dehydration and butterfly strips over the gash on his temple.

“Hey.” TK said softly from the bed when he noticed him in the doorway.

“Hey. How’s the head?”

“Throbbing, about as bad as my last abduction.”

Carlos sighed and sat down in the chair next to him, picking up his hand, “The fact that you have something like that to compare it to is a worry. Actually, the fact that you’ve already been in the hospital multiple times since I’ve known you is a worry.”

TK shrugged his shoulders with a smirk, “Unfortunately for you, this is what you’ve signed up for. I’ve already made my peace with it.”

Carlos rolled his eyes and chuckled, “Well I guess I’ll have to make my peace with it too.”

He just adds this moment to the now slowly growing list of the most terrifying moments of his life, the other being their home burning to the ground. He was grateful that overall both incidences had resulted in their relative safety. All he could do was hope against all hope that there won't be any more in their immediate future. 

[marveloussupernerd]

Miss Trustfund Kid - Zen x Han!MC

Chapter 2 - Dinner Nerves

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Synopsis: The younger sister of Jumin Han. An actor and model who thought he wanted nothing to do with the family. But you’re... different. And he could actually picture a life with you? If he wasn’t such an asshole

You were pacing the conference room nonstop. A negotiation dinner? Just sitting down with Zen to sign the papers made you want to throw up. You weren’t good at this

But what were you going to do? Jaehee had made reservations for the nice restaurant nearby, you were all dressed, you had sent Zen the information...

Jumin knocked on the door to the room, making you jump visibly. “Did I scare you?” He asked, closing the door quietly behind him.

You buried your face in your hands. “I messed it up, Jumin. He didn’t sign. He wants to talk more about it tonight.”

Jumin sighed, leaning against the conference table. “He’s always difficult. I didn’t think he’d be so bad for you, though. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never done a negotiation dinner. This is so out of my league.”

He glanced over at you, eyes scanning your features. “You’re really stressed, huh?”

You pouted. “I just don’t like feeling like I’ve let you and dad down.”

He sighed, pushing himself off the table and wrapping you into a hug. “You’re not letting us down. You want me to go instead? I’ll whip him into shape.”

“I wanna go... I really do. But I’m just incompetent. And I messed it up already. I think I’d be better staying back and doing other work.” You felt dejected, but you had messed this up enough already. You didn’t want to risk the deal falling through because of you.

“Okay. Don’t worry about it.” He looked down at you. “You did great. Don’t feel bad.”

“I’m sorry...” you apologized again. Jumin just gave you a soft smile and excused himself, having to get ready for his dinner.

You settled down and got back to work, trying to avoid thinking about the situation. Hours passed, you absolutely refusing to look at your phone and trying to absorb yourself into your work to forget about the whole situation.

A knock sounded on the door, much later. The office that had once been lit up by the blue sky, now was illuminated only by the moon and the flourescent ceiling lights. You glanced at your phone: 9:17. Then at the door. You were surprised to see the model back, waiting for your beckoning to come in.

You stood up to meet him by the door. “Hi, come on in. I’m sorry I skipped out on our dinner; to be honest, I’m not fully confident in the negotiation sort of thing.” You flashed him an apologetic smile.

He chuckled. “I’m sorry for making you panic. I thought I was being upfront, but sometimes I just can’t get my point acros. I was actually just trying to ask you to dinner.” He pulled a bag of food from behind his back, holding it out in front of him. “Have you eaten yet?”

Oh. You were an idiot. You felt heat rushing to your face: you were pretty bad at picking up on those sorts of signs, huh? “I’m so sorry!” You buried your face in your hands. “I’m so stupid. Yes. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“Good.” He strolled over to the table, taking a seat next to the one you had been working at, laying out the burgers and French fries he had gotten. “It’s nothing like the place we were supposed to go to, but still.”

“You went there anyways!” You giggled, happily taking some of the fries.

“Yeah, but I got out of there as quickly as possible when I saw who I had to meet with. You sent Jumin after me? Really? I’m hurt.” He held his chest in fake pain.

You shrugged unapologetically. “Well, he’s the one who signed me up to do this, so it was his job to clean up my supposed mess.”

“I thought you were ghosting me.”

“No! I’m just really bad at picking up signals. My relationship and flirting life has been very dry,” you explained, looking down at your food, embarrassed to admit it.

“Really? But you seem so fun to be around.”

You shook your head. “People take one look at me and run for the hills. I can’t say I blame them though. Everyone thinks I’m stiff and intimidating and snobby.”

“You genuinely look like none of the above. You seem like a nice, beautiful, down to earth person.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” you grinned, unable to hide the smile on your face.

The room fell into a comfortable silence for a minute, the two of you focusing on your food. You decided to break it and get to know him better. “So, do you have any siblings?” Obviously you had one, that went without saying, but you wondered if he was an only child or if he had to share the spotlight too. You could see either case.

“I have an older brother, yeah, but I’m not really on good terms with my family...”

“That sucks. I’m sorry about that. Could I ask why?”

You were afraid of him shutting you down, but he just looked at you and smiled. “Well, they’re really well educated and they didn’t really support my dreams to be an actor, so...”

“Oh. My family’s chaotic and all but they’ve always supported my career goals, so that’s nice. I’m sorry your situation is so different.”

You finished up your food, throwing the empty containers into the bag and throwing it away.

“Thank you for bringing me food. Sorry I’m embarrassingly bad on picking up your cues earlier. It was really sweet of you to come see me,” you told him. Nobody had ever gone out of their way for you. They just wanted you for the status or the money — well, it was quite possible he was the same, but he didn’t feel like it. You hoped you were right.

“Of course.” He stood up from his spot. “Uh, now I’m always a gentleman, but I’m not gonna lie, I’m super attracted to you and I would love to give you a kiss good night.” His ears were tinted red at his own statement, but his eyes met yours, no fear or hesitation in them.

You giggled. He was just so cute and chivalrous? This was probably a bad decision. “Of course you can.”

He cupped your cheek, leaning in close. He smelled like peppermint. His nose brushed against yours, taking his time to place his lips on yours.

“Miss Han, I hate to interrupt, but you have a call on line one,” Jaehee stated, standing awkwardly in the doorway and rubbing her arm.

You jumped back from Zen. “Oh! Thank you!” Flustered, you went over to the desk and picked up the phone, sending an apologetic glance over to Zen.

“Hello,” you started the call, grabbing your notebook and planner just in case you needed it, “this is Y/N Han.”

“Hi! Sorry for the late call. This is James Amei from NovaTech. I was looking over our contract and found something we wanted to talk over.”

“Oh! It’s no problem. I’m working late as always anyways. We’ll get you in here as soon as possible to discuss...” you glanced up at Zen, who was still standing where you left him, a look on his face that you couldn’t quite read. “Uh, how’s Tuesday at 2:30?”

A pause. “That’s great. Thank you so much.”

“No problem!” You flipped through your book. “Have a great rest of your night, and tell Shannon I said hi!”

He bid you good night then hung up. You looked back over to Zen. “Sorry about that. The work never ends.”

He was still blank faced, staring at you. You looked down at your hands, trying to figure out what the issue was.

“Oh! I write down details about all the people I correspond with in my journal. It’s nice to recall little things about them, like his wife or whatever.”

Nope. That wasn’t it.

“Are you okay? Do you need a water?”

He blinked hard, then shook his head. “I’m... your his sister?”

“Huh?”

Oh. Jumin’s. You nodded your head. “I honestly thought you knew.”

He shook his head violently. “I didn’t know. I- God. I hate his guts. How can you two seem so different?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Well we have different moms. And we were raised different. He was raised as the heir to the company. I was just raised as... me.”

“You’re Miss Trustfund Kid?”

Uh. So maybe he wasn’t as amused by this as you thought he may be.

“...an argument could be made for that, yes. I didn’t realize you didn’t know, and I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

You were almost... offended? That the second he found out who you were his whole attitude took a shift. It sucked. This is how it always was though.

He ran a hand through his hair, his face looking far more tired than it did a few minutes ago. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. I just- you’re his sister!?”

“Yup.”

“Like you two... played together as kids!?”

“Jumin didn’t really like children’s toys all that much.”

Zen frowned. “Of course he didn’t. But still. You grew up together?”

“Yes. He’s a few years older though.”

“You grew up with V?”

“Of course.”

Zen took a seat. “I just... wow. Wow.”

“You look like someone told you you have a week to live.”

He glanced at you, then pouted. “I’m just surprised.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “What? You don’t like me now? What’s so different, I have money?” You grinned. “I’m a college student getting my PhD, so I’m definitely no Jumin.”

“I just assumed you were going to be in the family business.”

You grinned, shaking your head. You were proud of paving your own path. “Nah. I’m in law and I want to be a professor.”

“You’re so badass.”

“You so hate that you like me.”

He stood from his chair, leaning forward to lock his lips with yours. It wasn’t the chivalrous, gentle sort of kiss that you were expecting a few moments ago, but it was just as good, maybe even better? He was a fury of emotions and passion and he was handsome and witty and amazing. Even if this was a bad idea, it was a great one.

Until a voice broke you out of your spell.

“What in God’s name are you doing to my sister?”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @imatalossforwords lmk if you want to be added :)

[trollartistry]

Fleeting Reunion

Doing a drabble again! No art this time, but I might draw it later. I had the idea of ‘what if Nemi reunited with Classic Freddy as an adult?’ and wanted to do something with it.

Now, just an FYI, this drabble’s based on the idea that *somehow* and for *some* reason, the old classic animatronics were kept and used as parts or something for the new Glamrocks. Also dunno what year Security Breach canonly is in so I’m using our current year, 2021. So I’m really breaking canon here- oh well.

Story under the read more!

The first time Nemi discovered the old, beat down classics, he was shocked and thought he had been seeing things. Tucked deep in the pizzaplex was a parts and services room, and while he worked as a nightguard, on occasion he’d act as a mechanic. The man only had been looking for a basic piece to replace in Monty’s arm as it had broken mid golf swing, and it was an easy fix. But Nemi found more than just the part he needed- he found 4 familiar animatronics from the pizzeria he used to go to as a child; Foxy, Bonnie, Chica, and of course Freddy.

It plagued his mind, and it unnerved him every time he had to go into that room. They weren’t even that dismantled, if anything just.. broken. The foam and fabric on all of them torn, Chica’s hands were missing, Bonnie’s face was gone, and Foxy looked shredded up along his limbs and ear. Freddy was the only one that looked mostly decent, but the state he was in infuriated the nightguard. All of these beloved robots, just dumped in the back with no care in the world.

And then Nemi’s thoughts went from a simple, curious walk to a manic, inquisitive run. Were they the same four from that old pizzeria he attended on a weekly basis when he was a child? Why were they here? Could they still work if he powered them up? What would he even do once he turned them all on and they were the old ones he once knew? ...Would Freddy remember who he was, if Nemi was to power him up? 

Finally his willpower broke one night. He had to know. He would only power up Freddy, just to see what would happen. If it wasn’t the same Freddy as the one all those years ago, he’d just shut him back off and let his burning questions fizzle to forgotten ash. And if it was the same Freddy, well.. they could at least catch up.

He spent a good month or so sneaking in, fiddling with wires and parts to make sure the bot could turn on without much difficulty. Thankfully, it seemed any evidence of his tampering either went unnoticed, or wasn’t reported cuz no one ever stopped him. And finally, one night, he was done. All there was left to do was flick the switch and power Freddy up. Nemi took a breath in, muttered his hope, and flicked the switch.

Sparks sputtered and the whole frame of Freddy jolted as power ran through his circuits, causing Nemi to jump back. Inside there was whirring, old inner workings flowing with electricity. The man watched, unsure if his heart was racing with hope or anxiety as the bot’s eyes twitched a bit, before blinking, focusing in on the darkened room and the person before him.

Freddy sat up against the wall, ears tilting a little and he blinked once, twice. Nemi could tell he was confused immediately, the way his eyebrows furrowed and he shut his jaw in a pursed manner. There was silence, an uncomfortable silence and Nemi didn’t know what to say or do, Freddy was just sitting there..

As Nemi opened his mouth, Freddy blinked with some recognition and spoke, unsure, “..*D-Deadname*?”

It’s a name that hasn’t been used by friends or family in so many years, only used for legal manners. But hearing it makes Nemi choke on his words as his heart clenches with emotion. So it is the same Freddy, and he recognizes him even after all these years.

“..Y-yea, it’s me, Freddy.” Nemi said, coming back over to kneel down before the sitting bot, unable to help but grin at him. “I don’t- don’t go by that anymore b-but it’s me.”

Freddy’s silent as he looks the man over, obviously a bit frazzled seeing someone he last saw as a child now kneeling before him as a grown man. He then looks around the room, and sees all of the different parts, and his fellow animatronics. He’s quiet as he takes it all in, and even though he’s old and worn, Freddy was wise and knew what this entailed. They weren’t in use anymore and instead replaced.

“I uh.. go by Nemi now.” Nemi said, bringing the bot’s attention back to him. Freddy blinked, then softly hummed a little as he nodded, “Nemi.. it’s.. unique.”

“Heh.. yea, got it during highschool.” Nemi replied. It’s quiet again and Freddy’s once again looking around, and Nemi wiped his watery eyes before deciding to explain, “You uh.. You’re in Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaplex. The year’s 2021.. I guess you guys are being used as parts now.”

“2021?” Freddy asked, attention back on Nemi. The man nods and Freddy gives a quiet sigh, “..I’m amazed we’re still in solid pieces then. Or that I even work..” He looked down at himself.

“I uh.. had to fix you quite a bit actually just to get you to t-turn on..” Nemi said with a shrug. He’s looking over Freddy again, and now that the animatronic’s on and talking, it makes his withered state hurt Nemi all the more. Freddy doesn’t miss the first tears dripping down the man’s face and he tries to distract him from his emotions, “Hey.. at least my name’s still out there, right? Surely there’s another model of me still keeping an eye on you.” He smiled.

Nemi’s heart only hurts more than that. Glamrock Freddy was just as incredible as the classic, if not more, and sure, the man loves him dearly.. but he could hear his younger self weep in the back of his mind, ‘But that’s not MY Freddy!’ Nemi clenches his eyes shut at that, a sniffle escaping him, and Freddy quietly sighs before he opens his arms, the old joints creaking. “Shh.. come here, it’s okay.”

The guard, though grown, can’t help but immediately close the distance to hug the beloved animatronic, a sob escaping him. Freddy holds him close, and recalls the few times he did this to Nemi when he was a little girl. He begins to try and play the same tune he did back then, but realizes he no longer has his music box, only a soft clicking noise coming from the inner crank that was left installed to turn it. So instead, Freddy talks and hopes his voice offers that same comfort.

“I missed you.. It’s nice to see you grown up.” Freddy said softly, removing the security hat from Nemi’s head to stroke his hair soothingly. Nemi manages to whimper out that he missed the bot as well, along with an apology that makes Freddy hush him softly, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Nemi..”

The brunette pulls back a little, shaking his head as he tries to wipe those spilled tears, “I-I didn’t even get to say goodbye to you back then when I had to move.. A-And now, here you are, i-in the back of a damn mall collecting d-dust and in pieces-” He began, and a old paw cups his cheek.

“None of that is your fault.” Freddy said as he comforted the man, “What matters is you had a good life after your time with me. I knew I would eventually be taken down from the spotlight, either for good or for a new model to replace me.. it happens, Nemi.”

Nemi looks at the bot who gives him a warm smile, the same smile he would give him all those years ago. It calms some of those bubbling sorrows, but Nemi still can’t help but sniffle.

“It’s been, what.. 10 or so years? And you’ve changed so much.. we have time, why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to? Just like old times.” Freddy offered, and Nemi nodded.

He told the bear about his father’s passing, the many years of moving before he ended up in his aunt and uncle’s care. How he discovered his own identity and realized he was a man, and graduated highschool by the skin of his teeth. Freddy listened to all of it, just like how he used to listen to Nemi as a child talk about his days back then. He then asked about the pizzaplex and how the man enjoyed working there, and Nemi in turn talked about the whole place and the Glamrock animatronics. Freddy’s amused at how Nemi talks about Glamrock Freddy- its that same admiration the man had for Freddy back then.. and something more, Freddy can tell. The conversation helped Nemi calm down and it was comforting to Freddy himself to know he was still loved by people, even if it was a completely different model. But a glance to his watch told Nemi he only had another hour or two before his shift was up. Before his time with Freddy, was up.

“..Y’know,” Nemi began after a silent moment of just being close to the bot, “I think- I think they’d get along fine with you and the others.. I could work on them too, get them up and running, and-”

“No.” Freddy shuts down the idea with a frown. It hurts to do so, but he knows his place. “I’ve had my time on the stage. We all have..”

The nightguard looks shocked at Freddy’s answer, and tries to change his mind, “F-Freddy c’mon, it’ll be fine! Maybe- Maybe HR would consider refurbishing you guys and you can be part of it all even-!” He said, voice cracking with desperation and Freddy cups the man’s face again, eyes sternly looking down at him.

“You and I both know that’s not how it would go, Nemi.” He said, “Even if we got along with the Glamrocks, it’d be trouble for all of us to be on again. You already risked your job just to get me back online, do you know how much trouble you’ll get into if you left me on?”

“I don’t care!” Nemi exclaimed, not caring just how childish he sounded, “Do you know how much I missed you when I had to leave?! And now here at my job I find your- your broken body just laying here and not know if it was really you and now that I put in all that work, it really IS you?! I-I can’t just- power you back down and forget about you after this, I-I wont! I love you too much to lose you again!!”

There’s a silence, and Nemi’s face grows red as he realizes what he said was selfish and childish of him, along with a confession for the old bot. Freddy’s surprised to hear it, but he then smiles, brushing back some of the brunette hair.

“I know. But you’ve never lost me nor forgot about me, have you? You got a job at a place with my name still in it, along with getting along with another me.” Freddy said warmly, “I know it’s hard.. but it’s for the best. If you kept me on, it would jeopardize everything and you could lose everything you have here.. including that Glamrock version of me.”

Nemi’s eyes widen, before looking away with sorrow at the thought of losing Glamrock Freddy. Freddy was right, but the thought of having to turn him back off had Nemi’s heart twisting in agony. “..B-but.. I can’t..” He whimpered, and Freddy pulled him back into the embrace.

“I know it’s hard.. but you have to.” Freddy murmured. “I’ll still be here, in more ways than one.”

Nemi nodded, fresh tears spilling as he let out another sob, “Can- can I hear your song, just one last time..?”

Freddy may of not had his music box, but he began to hum softly, letting the man hear that tune once more. They stayed there in the darkness of the room, Nemi quietly crying in Freddy’s arms as he listened, before sitting up as the last few notes were hummed. Nemi opened up the bot’s chest, reaching in to that power switch and looked up at Freddy, the two sharing one last gaze.

“G-Goodbye, Freddy..”

“Goodbye, Nemi.”

And with a flip of the switch, the sound of machinery powering down echoed in Nemi’s ears as he watched the life fade from Freddy’s eyes as he slumped against the wall, eyelids closing over. The man closed the chest plate, staring at the bot with a heavy heart before picking up his hat and getting up. He went to the door, pausing to take one glance back to the beloved bear, before exiting the room, the thud of the door closing behind him echoing down the hall.

A week later when he has to go in to that same room, he’s griefstricken to see the four bodies of the classic animatronics were gone for good and for the rest of that night, it’s spent sticking close to Glamrock Freddy as the new, shiny Glamrock model of his beloved childhood friend still brought the man comfort and happiness.

[btxtreads]

Once In A Lifetime | cyj

➳ “This is a love that will last me for a lifetime.”

↳ Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader

↳ word count: 1.8k

↳ genre: angst

Me: I’m going to make Yeonjun fluff to cancel out the sad vibes for Seesaw! Also Me: pain

My boss is calling me because I didn’t do any work today. Enjoy!

“TXT’s Choi Yeonjun rumoured to be dating rookie idol Jeji. More details to follow after the break.”

Y/N sighed, closing the television.

It’s been like this, ever since Tomorrow X Together debuted. It’s always hiding herself, hiding him. He’s never home. She didn’t even know if she was his home anymore.

The doorbell rang, making her jump slightly.

She walked over closer, hands shaking as she opened the door to gaze at the tired eyes of her boyfriend.

“Junie,” she greeted with a small smile, leaning in to place a peck on his lips.

Instead of responding, like he usually does—or, at the very least, smiling—he only grunted, walking past Y/N and plopping down on the couch and opening the television. He gave a big sigh when the television displayed a large image of his face, flashing quickly to a short videoclip of him talking to Jeji at a music show.

Immediately, he pulled out his phone and started typing.

“Why didn’t you sleep at the dorms today?” Y/N asked, smiling softly as she made her way to the kitchen. “Have you had dinner? Are you hungry?”

He didn’t reply, standing up and walking over to her—standing behind her as she opened the cabinet in search of something to cook. He enveloped her in a big embrace, burying his face in her shoulder as he sighed.

“I know you’ve heard about Jeji.”

“It’s fine, babe. It’s just a rumor,” Y/N said, smiling softly at the boy as she planted a kiss on his hair.

She hummed as she pulled a pan from the counter and set it over a low fire from the stove.

“It’s not.” Yeonjun sighed, making the girl freeze.

Yeonjun sighed as his hands moved, closing the stove himself and guiding her over to the kitchen counter.

“Y/N—“

“What do you mean it’s not?”

Yeonjun eyes turned sad, licking his lips in distress.

“Um, I—“

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, emotions dancing in her eyes as she tried to zero in on one response.

“Yeonjun?”

“It all happened so fast,” Yeonjun said, gulping as he ran a hand through his hair. “She was always there, Y/N,”

Tears started to well up in Y/N’s eyes—so much that it was already impossible to hold back. However, she didn’t sob. She didn’t throw a fit.

She just clenched her fists and let the tears free-flow.

Yeonjun decided that hurt more.

“Why, Junie?”

“Jinjoo—“

“Jinjoo?”

“Jeji—that’s her name,” Yeonjun said, holding her hands. “She was always there. Everytime I looked for you, she just—she’s just there,”

At Y/N’s confused glance, Yeonjun launched into a monologue.

“I’m never home, I never experience anything—I’m always under the spotlight. I’m the oldest in the group, and there’s just this pressure on me, Y/N,” Yeonjun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I never had anyone to share it with, until I talk to her. It just—she knows, Y/N. She knows, and she understands—she could ease it off. I haven’t done anything yet, but kiss her once when I told her I liked her—I wanted to end this first,”

Y/N’s eyes danced around the room, trying to avoid Yoenjun’s apologetic gaze. The girl gave a small sigh as she smiled over at him sadly.

“I was never enough, was I?”

“No, no—“

“It’s okay, I should have seen this coming,” Y/N smiled, wiping her tears away before cupping his face. “I should have understood that you shined too bright, Junie. I couldn’t keep up but I still tried. Now, look at us.”

Yeonjun sighed, hands cupping over hers.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” He said. “I tried to hold back, and ignore it, but I really couldn’t. I couldn’t go home here without thinking about her,”

“You’re always going to be my home, Yeonjun.” Y/N said, chuckling softly. “I guess I should’ve accepted long ago that I can never be yours.”

He only smiled, laying a kiss on her forehead.

“I’m leaving.”

“Yeah,”

Y/N watched as he made his way over to the door. Yeonjun turned, looking over at her with a sad smile before he closed the door behind him.

“That’s what you always do,”

Y/N let out the first sob.

It was one year later, when Yeonjun lied down at the dorms having just finished breaking up with Jeji. She wasn’t enough.

She wasn’t home. Yeonjun looked for a respite, a chance to be him outside the spotlight. He looked for somebody who understood Choi Yeonjun—not someone who only knew the eldest TXT member.

He kept looking for her.

As he scrolled through his phone, he can’t help but open that one single folder of memories he kept buried deep under his phone. He pulled out that one video—him in the park with Y/N the day he found out he was going to debut.

“Baby,”

“Hm?” Y/N in the video asked, distracted as she threw duck feed into the park pond.

“I’m going to debut.”

The girl in the video froze, and then she dropped the bag of food in her hands to jump on the boy and give him a kiss—covering the camera as she squealed.

“I knew you could do it, I love you—I love you!” Y/N laughed as Yeonjun held the camera away to document them as she attached herself to him. “Your dream is coming true—You deserve everything, and I know you’ll do great. I love you.”

This.

This was what he wasted.

It’s not too late to get it back, right?

Y/N jumped as a frantic series of noises came from the door.

“Jeez, I’m almost there!” Y/N huffed, opening the door. “I didn’t order anything, you have the wrong address.”

“Y/N.”

Her eyes rose, being met with the sight of Yeonjun panting at her doorway—his blonde hair almost glinting in the light.

“Yeonjun.” She blinked, gulping as she moved aside. “Come in, do you need water?”

“No,” Yeonjun shook his head as he made his way in the apartment. Not wasting anytime, he grabbed her shoulders and firmly looked her in the eyes. “Y/N, I need you.”

“What?”

Y/N blinked.

A year ago, this would have been everything she ever wanted. She would have withstood all the pain and the suffering, if he could only keep telling her that.

She never really stopped thinking about him, anyways.

But...

“Why?” She asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Jeji was—she wasn’t what I wanted. I know that now. I wanted a home—I wanted someone who will be there for me despite what the fucking Billboard Chart says, I wanted someone who didn’t care about me being famous—but loves me because I’m Yeonjun.”

Y/N pursed her lips, blinking as Yeonjun ranted.

“But, Jun—” Her eyes turned confused as Yeonjun shook his head.

“What I’m trying to say is, I love you. I love you, Y/N. I always have.”

“Yeonjun,” Y/N said, frowning in sympathy. “You shouldn’t.”

“I-I’m sorry. I know I screwed things up, but I’ll be better!” Yeonjun exclaimed, pulling Y/N closer and tucking her hair behind her ear. “I—Home stopped being a place when I met you. I didn’t lie about that. I wasn’t lying when I told you I loved you.”

“I love you, too, Yeonjun.” Y/N sighed, shifting his hair away from his forehead. “But I can’t.”

Yeonjun’s eyes widened frantically.

“No, Y/N! I won’t leave again!” Yeonjun pleaded. “I’m right here, I promise. I’m not going to leave,”

Y/N’s eyes turned sympathetic.

“Yeonjun, this isn’t it.” Y/N shook her head. “The last moments I had with you—Jun, I didn’t see you smile. For months.”

“I was confused—“

“You weren’t happy.”

Yeonjun closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on hers.

“I won’t be happy without you.”

“Don’t make me be the sole reason for you being happy.” came Y/N’s soft reply.

Screwing his eyes shut, Yeonjun leaned in to land a rough, desperate kiss on her lips. Y/N cupped his face, replying as intensely before pulling away.

“I can’t be with you.”

“Why not?”

“Yeonjun, I’m leaving.” She sighed, making Yeonjun eyes fly open.

For the first time, he let his eyes dance around the apartment—taking in the suitcases piled up by the door. He slowly looked over at her.

“Where?”

“Boston—I’ll be studying Law in Harvard,” Y/N sighed, biting her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yeonjun nodded determinedly. “I’ll go with you.”

“Yeonjun, stop.”

“I’ll pack up. I’ll-I’ll tell the boys and BangPD, and—“

“Don’t ruin your dream just because you’re trying to work this out.”

Yeonjun’s pained eyes landed back on Y/N’s sad gaze.

“I love you, but I’m not risking your dream for mine.”

“Stay.” came Yeonjun’s broken whisper.

“Yeonjun, no.” Y/N said, voice shaking as she started to cry again.

“Why?”

“Because this is the first thing I’m ever going to do for myself,” Y/N replied, closing her eyes. “I love you, but this is my one shot at showing myself that I love me too.”

Yeonjun closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

He didn’t want it. He didn’t like it, but he knew. He understood. She wasted all her chances for him back then—he always took his shots. It was time she did too.

“I’ll wait for you, until you get back.”

“No, don’t.” Y/N shook her head, smiling softly. “I’ll leave. I’ll leave loving you. I’ll always be in love with you, but I’ll go and experience everything without you. I want you to do, too.”

Yeonjun didn’t reply, pursing his lips.

“When I come back, one day,” Y/N said, voice still shaking with emotion as tears flowed down. She swallowed back the pain as gulped. “And you still love me, and I still love you. When everything is good, and there’s still a chance for you and me—then we’ll go. We’ll take it. That means it’s us.”

Yeonjun sighed and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Thank you for letting me fall in love with you.”

“Thank you for letting me experience love and heartbreak—Look at me, Yeonjun,” Y/N said, locking her gaze firmly with his. “This is a love that will last me for a lifetime.”

“Maybe one day,” he started. “I’ll find you again.”

Y/N only smiled, leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on his lips—leaving out all the promises and farewells.

One day.

Thank you for coming!

As soon as the stage lights closed down, Yeonjun made a beeline to the dressing room. Soobin and Beomgyu exchanged confused glances as their hyung tore off all the microphones and equipments on his body and made a beeline outside the venue.

At the parking lot, there was a girl leaning on a car as she crossed her arms and smiled.

“It’s you,” Yeonjun said, a smile slowly growing on his face.

The girl only smile, sparing a soft smile at the rest of the members exiting behind the boy.

“Hey, Junie,” she greeted. “I’m home.”

Maybe this was their chance.

[knchins]

Sex Tapes - Todoroki Shouto

Summary: Billionaire playboy Todoroki Shouto has a secret collection of personal sex tapes and tonight he plans on adding to his stash.

Pairing: Celebrity!Shouto x Idol!Reader

Rating: E+

Word Count: 4k

Bingo Prompt: Sex Tapes

Warnings: Vaginal sex, hair pulling, unprotected sex, hidden cameras, filming without permission, mild dirty talk, pull-out method

Notes: I was supposed to finish this last Saturday but life just has to get in the way sometimes. Well, here it is and I hope it was worth the wait. This was for @bnhabookclub​ NSFW weekly prompt "celebrity x celebrity". In this reader is a rising idol star that had just gotten her big break while Shouto is a young billionaire. I hope he's not too OOC! I may make this into a short series but haven’t decided.

 Todoroki Shouto adjusted his Windsor knot while looking at his reflection in the mirror. In just half an hour he’d be making his grand entrance at one of Japan’s largest charity balls that beckoned only the most famous of the country to attend. It was always considered one of the highest honors to be invited, a decree of one's success during the previous year.

 This was his sixth one, having become Japan’s youngest billionaire at the age of eighteen through risky business decisions and investments that all paid off in the end. Being a man of money and status had its perks. Women fell at his feet, he always got the best service in restaurants, and he could afford anything in the entire world that his mother may dream of having. Not that she ever asked for much, but he spoiled her all the same.

 A smirk pulled across his lips as he looked over his reflection. He never went home empty handed after one of these things. Young celebrities wanted nothing more than to climb the social ladder by riding his dick. He thought that his taste was impeccable when it came to...well, everything. Dates, food, cars, houses, he only wanted the best of the best and he was sure to get it.

 Every year Shouto had a tradition that none of his late night partners knew about. Hidden in the lavish bedroom in his penthouse were three small cameras and one well placed microphone. He quite enjoyed the secret tape collection he had. They were ordered by year and last name in a locked down file folder on his computer. Hard copies were kept in a secret safe. You never knew when you needed to cause a good scandal to take the eyes off of something that was maybe more sinister.

 He checked his ruby and diamond watch, the bejeweled face matching his iconic two-toned hair. Right on time, he mused as he checked himself over one last time before departing for the penthouse’s elevator. He made it down to the valet where a white limo had been waiting for him.

 The driver opened the door as Shouto said nothing. He entered, not even bothering to marvel at the red interior. The first few times he had ridden in his custom limo, it had amazed him at how well the designers were able to make his wishes come to life. Now it just seemed all the same to him. If you’ve ridden in one, you’ve ridden in them all. Painting it a different color only made it interesting for a short amount of time.

 When he arrived, there was a sea of expensive cars and limousines as far as he could see. He was silently thankful that large crowds like this didn’t bother him. While being with a big group of people wasn’t what he preferred, it also didn’t give him any kind of negative feeling such as anxiety or nervousness. It probably helped that he was great at working a room no matter how many were inside of it.

 The valet opened the door for him and he stepped out onto the long red carpet. Cameras were flashing as paparazzi stormed the limo, wanting to get a glimpse of his sharp white tux with bright red accents. His hair in perfect placement, having just gotten his undercut touched up that morning just for the event. He gave the cameras a sinful smirk that had all of the ladies sighing dreamily. If he were into small fry then maybe he’d take a few home and make them into stars. But no, he was after a much bigger fish tonight.

 He took his time walking to the building, enjoying the attention from the photographers and journalists. He entertained a few by doing some quick interviews about the event and his outfit. He praised his designers and stylists that worked hard to make him look the best, and that was probably the only honest thing he said to them.

 After nearly an hour, he ascended the stone staircase into the science museum where the ball was held. More people had arrived by this point and the place was filling nicely. He figured he was almost to capacity by the time he finally went inside.

 His mismatched eyes ran over the crowd, looking for one guest in particular. He knew from her social media that she would be here tonight and he was more than eager to start baiting her to get her to go home with him. He didn’t think it would be particularly difficult. It never was for him.

 Shouto’s gaze fell onto a beautiful young woman dressed in a tight dark blue dress with a long slit up the left side, exposing a fair amount of leg. He grabbed two glasses of champagne as he strode towards her at an even pace, not wanting to risk showing any sort of excitement.

 “Miss Y/L/N, how nice to finally meet you in person.” He said to the idol star in front of him. Her cheeks dusted pink in a light blush as she took one of the glasses from him. Everyone who was anyone knew who Todoroki Shouto was.

 She had just recently broken into the scene of stardom, having formerly been a member of a popular idol group. She started her solo career about a year ago and was finally a big name all on her own. The attention from other powerful people was still relatively new to her, her inexperience served as a kind of amusement for Shouto. If she  really   wanted to be a star, then he’d make her a star.

 “Mr. Todoroki, it’s nice to meet you.” She said, trying to hide her nerves. If she somehow spurned the young billionaire then she could ruin her own career. The mere thought had her walking on eggshells.

 He gave her one of his famous, dazzling smiles. “Please, call me Shouto. Mr. Todoroki is my father.” He teased and she chuckled lightly at the joke that admittedly wasn’t very original. “You look very lovely tonight, perhaps you’d like to dance with me later?”

 She looked up at him, blinking slowly as she processed the request. An excited smile crossed her soft lips, “I would love to Mr-” She stopped, “Shouto. Perhaps after I finish my drink?”

 Shouto nodded, sipping at his glass. They continued to make small talk, mostly about business and her rise to fame. When she asked him about his personal life he deflected, turning the conversation back to her. She didn’t seem to notice that he was doing this, which worked out better for him.

 As the night went on, he noticed her face flushing more and more, giggles spilling from her any time he teased her. They danced, ate  hors d'oeuvres  , and drank more of the bubbly alcohol than either of them probably should have. Shouto found himself becoming increasingly handsy as the time passed, first her upper back, then down to the gentle curve of her spine, her hips, and finally as they were slowly dancing he chanced to grab a handful of her ass.

  The idol star leaned into his toned chest, resting her head on his shoulder so that her breath fanned against his neck. She didn’t protest his touch, sighing softly instead of pulling away. The champagne had put her nerves around him at ease, and by now she was feeling as if she’d known him for years. In a way she had, always reading about him in magazines and seeing him on TV talking about his latest business ventures. He always found a way to stay in the spotlight.

 “Would you like to see how the rich live?” He asked, keeping his tone light in a way to show her that there was no pressure if she didn’t feel comfortable. Despite being such a playboy, Shouto never forced a woman to come home with him. That included heavy persuasion to get them into his bed. He had too much respect for the opposite sex to coerce them into doing anything they didn’t want to do.

 She looked up at him, blinking in time with the downbeat of the music playing. “Your place?” She asked, not bothering to be coy about it. She just wanted clarification for what he was asking of her before she agreed to anything.

 He simply nodded his head, a few red hairs daring to dip in front of his eyes. She reached up and brushed them back into place without much thought, “I’d love to.” She responded, suddenly feeling breathless by how close they were. Typically she didn’t do things like this, however they had such a profound connection that she decided to cave in to her wants for once.

 Typically she lived a very rigid lifestyle, adhering herself to strict rules to stay on top of her game. She had already broken several rules of her diet tonight and would more than likely regret it in the morning. However, Shouto’s presence seemed to make her forget about all of that. All she wanted was to spend more time with him, and thoroughly enjoy herself in the process. Maybe the calories burned through some extracurricular activities would help equal out all of the champagne she drank and pastries she ate. One could only hope.

 As the night wound down, and after Shouto did a grand display of his wealth by buying a few very expensive art pieces at the charity auction, the two wound up in his custom limo. The young star was not above throwing herself at him, his light touches across intimate areas throughout the night had her wanting him more and more. It was obvious what his intentions with her were, and she was completely on board.

 After marveling the beautiful interior of the luxury car, she turned to the side so she could face him. A gentle hand found his face, cupping his cheek as his two-toned eyes stared her down. Behind them was a lustful fire burning brightly, ready to explode. He stopped hesitating for the first time that night as he leaned in and brought their lips together at last.

 A needy whine left her, passing through her resolve with ease as her lips parted for his eager tongue. The kiss was sensual and greedy, hands aimlessly pawing through each other’s clothes as they wanted nothing more than to be closer.

 Shouto pulled away, knowing he had to wait for the main action. He didn’t have any recording devices within the limo, which in hindsight felt like a huge mistake. The night started as a simple conquest, but after talking to her and getting to know his little idol, the desire blossomed into something much more intense. This was no longer a simple catch for him. He wasn’t just going through the motions, he was actually putting in effort and if he hadn’t been inebriated then it probably would have frightened him.

 She looked at him with enlarged pupils, wondering why he pulled away. The playboy chuckled at the expression and a blush lit up her entire face. “I can either be a gentleman or we can do this here, I don’t believe I can do both.” He admitted, only adding fuel to her embarrassment. It clearly wasn’t rejection, however it did somehow feel that way just the tiniest bit.

 As they rode back to the building that housed his penthouse, he put an arm around her shoulder, tips of his fingers brushing the bare skin there. Even though it was light, it still seemed to set her ablaze. She shifted so that their sides and legs were touching, needing the closeness as she squeezed her thighs together. Something about him just made her so incredibly turned on that it was hard to keep her hands to herself (or off herself?) while they waited.

 When they finally parked out front, her hand darted for the door handle. Shouto let out another laugh as he reeled her back to him. “Hold on, sweetheart, I pay someone for that.” He couldn’t stop the amused look from crossing his features as a pout made its way onto her soft lips.

 A moment later the door opened. She took the hand that was outstretched to her and let it guide her out of the vehicle. A bright flash of light caused her to wince, though she was temporarily blinded she could hear the shudder of a camera. They just never give up, she thought bitterly as they called out to her, asking what she was doing with Todoroki Shouto at this time of night.

 Shouto appeared beside her, obviously unaffected by the paparazzi. He’d dealt with them for most of his life now, his father also being quite famous. They were just little insects that didn’t deserve his attention.

 He put an arm around his prize, his palm on the small of her back as he took her inside. The building security kept the onlookers at bay, not allowing them to come too close to the doorway. “Just ignore them.” He murmured into her ear, “they thrive on attention.”

 She nodded her head as they went through the glass doors. They went far back into the building, through a maze of corridors to a private elevator that could only be called when activated by his key. She tried not to marvel at the grandiose decor of the bottom floor. So far she couldn’t imagine what his penthouse would look like.

 Shouto inserted a silver key into the lock, turning it before pressing the call button.He removed his key and a few seconds later there was a high pitched chime before the gold doors opened. They went inside and he pressed the button for the top floor.

 They stood in a comfortable if not pleasurable silence as Shouto’s hand drifted downwards to her ass again. She acted as if she didn’t notice, though there was a tinge of pink on her cheeks as he gave her ass a small pat when the doors opened to reveal his lavish penthouse.

 She walked inside, awestruck at the expensive decor and beautiful open layout. It was even more magnificent then what she had expected, though in all honesty she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Despite her celeb status, she wasn’t nearly wealthy enough to have anything bigger than an upper class apartment. It was a comfortable living, but it was nothing like this.

 Shouto wasted no time in guiding her into the large master bedroom. The king sized bed was adorned with silk sheets and a plush duvet. “Strip for me, sweetheart.” He murmured into her ear in a low voice, “dance for me like you do on stage.”

 He moved away from her, loosening his tie and shedding his jacket and vest as he sat on the edge of the bed. The singer stared at him before slowly starting to dance to an inner beat, unzipping her dress in the process and letting it fall to the floor.

 She expertly stepped out of it before smoothly taking off her heels. Keeping her pace slow and deliberate, she removed her stockings, only stopping when she was reduced to nothing but a pair of bra and panties.

 The billionaire was captivated by everything about her. Her rhythmic dance, the soft and bare skin, and the sensual expression that graced her face. He was slowly unbuttoning his shirt, leaving it open for her to take in his sculpted chest and abs.

 Her tongue came out to wet her lips, moving to straddle his lap. She rolled her hips against him, grinding her sex against his thighs. Shouto grabbed her upper legs, forcing her even closer as he captured her mouth with his own in a kiss that was a whirlwind of lips, tongue, and teeth.

 Shouto changed their positions so that he was on top of her, devouring her with his mouth as he moved his hips against hers. He quickly finished taking off his shirt. The only thing separating them now was their underwear and his pants. This didn’t stop her from feeling his hard shaft press against her pussy, his movements stimulating her clit slightly. It was enough of a sensation to make her whine needily for him, taking a fistful of his multicolored hair into her hand to force the kiss to go even deeper.

 He growled, tearing off her bra in order to fondle her breasts, tweaking the soft nipples until they were hardened peaks. His mouth ripped from hers and left a trail of smoldering kisses down the small expanse of her neck, nipping the flesh at the most sensitive points that had her gasping for some kind of release.

 Her hands moved to his pants, managing somehow to get them off without being able to see them. He kicked them out from around his ankles, enjoying the smaller amount of resistance against his straining erection.

 His fingers caught the elastic of her thong, sliding it downwards off her legs, making her untangle them from around his waist. Once she was completely nude he pressed a thumb against her engorged clit, eliciting a whimper from his conquest. He moved the digit in slow, agonizing circles that had her panting and keening for more. She had never felt so untouched in her entire life.

 “S-Shouto,” She rasped, “P-please!” She wasn’t sure how much more of his taunts she could take. His mouth had found the swell of her breasts, leaving purpling hickies across both of them. His eyes flickered up to look at her face, seeing the desperation infiltrating her features. He felt like he had hardly even touched her yet. He chalked it up to inexperience, she wasn’t known to go on many dates or have a steady partner.

 “Do you need my cock that badly, Y/N?” He asked quizzically, pulling his face from between her breasts. “Your body hasn’t stopped begging for me since the limo.” At the end of his statement, he pinched the delicate bundle of nerves to get his point across. The action caused her to buck her hips in a feeble attempt to try to get out of his grip, but Shouto merely laughed in response.

 He stood away from her and slid down his thin boxers. Instantly her teeth sunk into her lower lip as the sight of his hardened member, the tip nearly touching his belly button. There was a thin trail of multicolored hair connecting the small divot in his stomach to his groin, the colors split perfectly down the middle the same way as they were on the top of his head.

 “I’m going to need you to do something for me first, doll.” He said as he climbed onto the bed and settled back. There was a smirk plastered on his face now, “Before I fuck you, I want you to give me a little taste.”

 He watched as she sat up, her entire body flushed as she crawled to sit between his legs. One tentative hand reached out to stroke his shaft as her soft tongue lapped at the pre-cum glistening on his head. Shouto bit back a moan as he watched her, his eyes flicking to one of the several hidden cameras and giving it a wink.

 The singer didn’t notice him, too busy concentrating on the task at hand. Her tongue swirled as she slowly led him into her mouth, hollowing out her cheeks in an attempt to elicit some kind of sound from him. “That’s it,” He cooed, his hand finding its way into her tresses, “suck my dick like a good little idol.”

 She kept her eyes closed, too embarrassed to look up at him as she moved her head faster, hand still giving attention to the part of his length that wouldn’t fit within her mouth. After a few minutes, Shouto let out a small sigh of content before wrenching her off of him by tugging on her hair.

 He was smiling as she caught her breath, maneuvering them so she was on all fours in front of him. He aligned himself up to her soaking cunt, running his tip along her folds. “Wow, you’re really dripping for me, aren’t you?” He asked, voice sinfully deep. Before she could give him any kind of coherent answer, he slammed into her.

 Keeping his grip on her locks, he pulled her head back so that she had to arch her spine. A gasp rattled her throat as she was forced to quickly acclimate to his large size, walls stretching painfully at first before relaxing once more. She was so small compared to him that he felt like he was being suctioned inward, the feeling so powerful and overwhelming that he couldn’t stop the moan that came out of him.

 He continued to thrust his hips at an intense speed, the sound of his scrotum hitting against her skin bounced off the walls it was so loud. The up and coming music star was nearly screaming for him, her moans so loud that he wondered if the whole building could hear her. He imagined someone who always looked so innocent on stage sounding so positively lewd. Shouto felt so incredibly powerful for reducing her to nothing but a fuck toy.

 Shouto tilted his head back, groaning at how amazing his dick felt wrapped inside of her pussy. It was like she was made for him, perfect in every conceivable way. After all, no one had the level of dirt on her that he now had. It was such an addictive feeling, knowing he could do anything with the video. He had the power to ruin her career if he wanted to, though of course he really had no reason to.

 He was pulled from his thoughts at the sensation of her walls fluttering around him as she came so hard that she was silent for a full thirty seconds. When she finally started to descend from her high, she gasped out for air as if trying to mentally grab any oxygen she could find. He pulled her back by her hair, making her stand up on her knees. A muscular arm wrapped around her body and a strong hand captured her throat.

 She was silent again as he deprived her brain of blood and oxygen. Shouto found himself toeing the line between orgasm and not, holding himself back as much as he could for the time being. His other hand also snaked around, releasing her hair finally so he could stimulate her clit. Another few seconds he released the hold on her neck and she came a second time with the rushing sensation of blood racing through her brain once more, drinking in air in loud gulps.

 Shouto quickly pulled out and released his seed across her lower back and ass, easing her down onto her stomach as he caught his breath. She lay in a puddle on the massive bed, unable to form any sort of coherent thought as her mind was a tornado of emotions.

 After catching his breath, the playboy retrieved a warm wet cloth and dry towel. He cleaned up the mess he had made gently, careful not to touch any place that may be overstimulated. There was a sincere smile on his lips and a warmth within him that he hadn’t recalled ever feeling before.

 Once he was done cleaning her up, he tossed the towels into a laundry chute and pulled the sheets back. He climbed in next to her after turning out the light and covered them with the silk threads. His hand lightly moved up and down her back until she was fast asleep. As he listened to the light sounds of her breathing, regret began to sweep over him.

 He stood, frowning at the small whine she gave when he left. When he was sure that she hadn’t actually awoken, he padded to his laptop and unlocked it. He cut the feed to the video and promptly deleted the file before crawling back into bed and holding her once more in his arms.

Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist || Bingo requests open!

Tag list: @gallickingun​, @dabi-hates-fish​, @hawksward​, @sadistiks​

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Mature [References Bullying and Homophobia]

Prompt: AU Rivalry Teamup

Summary: Sent away to a delinquents academy, Freed knew life wouldn't be easy. That was proven to be the case when he met Laxus, a cocky, aggressive arse who used his fists over his words. At least, that's what he thought when they first met, but things can change over the span of a year.

Notes: This is the sixth submission for Fraxus Week, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This one has a brief descrition of bullying and period typical homophobia.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

The London School for Delinquent Boys

Year 1890

Location: London, England

"We've a new boy in class today," The teacher – Mister Porland, that's what he'd called himself – said as Freed stood before the blackboard. "Freed Justine. I expect you all to behave and not cause any trouble with him."

Freed would have picked another way to be introduced if he'd been granted the choice. He would have much rather not had an introduction at all, and instead he'd slip into the back of the classroom, wave off all the questions that would be aimed at him, and try and get through the first day without any complaints. Instead, he'd been forcibly marched to the front of a class of about thirty sixteen-to-seventeen-year-old boys – all of whom had been taken from regular education and placed in a disciplinary academy – and been served up almost on a silver platter.

He had to wonder if this was a punishment in and of itself. A hazing from the teachers.

It wasn't that he was intimidated by them, of course. He'd earned his place in the school just like them, and he could more than handle himself, but he didn't care for the fuss. This was as close to jail someone of his age and social stature could undergo and, due to an enthusiast habit of reading and a slight flare for the dramatic, he'd decided prison rules might best serve him. Rule number one was to keep your head down.

A few jeers, exclamations and a patronising whistle filled the room, quickly quietened by the teacher. Freed made an effort not to pay attention to it. Animals, all of them. At least he could be safe in the knowledge that he held moral superiority over them, not that he'd state it out loud. Idiots tended not to like being told that.

Keeping his head down would be harder than he thought.

After he was allowed to take his seat, he was forced to walk through the lot of them to the back of the classroom. The jeering continued, albeit quietly, and someone tried to trip him as he walked. He ignored them, and nearly got to his seat when a particular classmate caught his eye. He wore an arrogant sneer, had a scar running down his face, and had shoulders larger and broader than a student their age ought to have.

Freed would have thought the boy attractive were it not for the look of challenge in his eyes, one Freed knew all too well. This boy was testing him, wanting to see if he would be a victim in the school or someone to be respected. To show him, Freed halted his step, made eye contact with the boy for a few moments, and then continued walking to take his seat.

A little 'hm' was the blonde's only response, but Freed paid it no mind.

Two weeks passed before the blonde actual did anything. The two weeks consisted of Freed getting used to his new surroundings, idiots trying and failing to one-up him in the hopes of looking tough in front of their idiot friends, and the blonde's presence being constant but in the distance. That changed when the blonde approached him in the dinner hall.

"Hey," The blonde grunted in greeting, storming towards Freed. His body was tense, coiled up and ready for a fight. "You think you're better than me or something?"

Freed didn't know why the blonde thought that, exactly, but his response was instant. "Better than you, yes."

He felt that was a fair way to think. The blonde had proven himself to be nothing of note intellectually, he barely spoke in lessons and when he did it was usually to make an unwarranted joke or to get an answer wrong, and he seemed quick to anger. More than once, he'd lurched at another student, looking ready for a fight he'd probably win. The fights never happened exactly, but they seemed like a constant risk. So yes, Freed did think he was better than him.

"This whole thing might 'a worked out in yer old school," The blonde growled, taking another step forward. Freed didn't flinch. "But actin' like yer hot shit and that yer smarter than everyone here ain't working. You're here like the rest of us, and you ain't better just because your pa's got money."

"I don't think I'm better than everyone here," Freed retorted, also taking a step forward. "But I am better than an idiot who can't shut up and takes his hobby by rolling around in the mud, somewhat like a little pig. My betterment was never in question."

The insult wasn't his best. The reference to the blonde's position in the rugby team tenuous at best, and Freed's supposed superiority complex might have shone through – but it annoyed the blonde, so it served its purpose.

He would have rather not been shoved in the chest, though.

Stumbling back slightly, Freed made a choice. He had been told in no uncertain terms that he wasn't to get into another fight, it was partially the reason he was there in the first place, but the blonde deserved a punching. He seemed to be something of an unofficial head-boy, and the fear of him was obvious to anyone who would look, and as such Freed felt a punch to the face was long overdue. He was a student like anyone else, and while others might want to lie down and take it, Freed didn't.

That was why he punched him. It hurt more than he thought it would.

Their fight was hardly that. It lasted less than a minute, and anger overpowered its elegance. Freed perhaps got another two punches in, and received one in return. Teachers were storming over the moment it started, and were dragging them away before it could get out of hand, but Freed felt good to hit the bastard.

"Laxus Dreyar, Freed Justine," Their head teacher yelled, voice filled with a rage that Freed felt was slightly exaggerated given the situation. "My office, now."

As Freed was dragged – literally dragged, which again was an overreaction – into the office, he was sure of three things. He'd already completely failed in his goal of not bringing any attention on himself; his father was going to find out and want him thrashed for getting into a fight again; and Laxus Dreyar had perhaps the most interesting name he'd ever heard.

---

"You heard what he did?"

"Nearly killed him."

"Apparently they're gonna kick him out."

"Nah, he's the team captain."

Freed didn't pay attention to the conversations happening around him as he ate. After three months of being in the academy, he'd learned it was best not to. Most of the people had nothing of interest to say, and the people who were interesting were the ones likely to try and start a fight with you if they knew you were listening. He'd learned that when a younger boy, Natsu, tried to punch him and Freed had ended up dumping a bowl of cereal over the man's head and temporarily strangling him with his tie. The detentions and lack of breakfasts for a week had been worth it.

In truth, he'd forged a comfortable place for himself in the school. He was known as the boy who gave Dreyar a black eye, and that title came with its perks. Mainly that most people would leave him alone. He and Dreyar had… something. He couldn't tell if it was a truce, or simply a stalemate. But either way, Freed would enjoy the calm and only reignite the fight should Laxus need another punching.

Other than that, Freed was forgettable in the school. People ignored him, he ignored them, and everyone went on as if he hadn't arrived. The school was fine – teachers were far too happy to punish, but that was to be expected – and their lessons were as good as his old schools had been. Had his parents been scammed, the tuition fee had been high?

His parents were an issue. They hadn't visited, but they were in constant communication with the head teacher, and apparently their 'donations' meant Freed was put under a spotlight by the staff. Maybe that was why they were so quick to punish: they were being paid to do so. Annoying, but it could be worse.

The food, however, was abysmal.

Mashed potatoes and sausages would be a good meal, but the potato was half cooked, and the sausages were tiny. He'd eaten as much as he could stomach within a minute, so he absently played with the food with a slight huff. The rain, as tended to happen in England, was heavily pouring and Freed knew the moment a teacher saw he'd stopped eating he would be forced into the yard for recreational activities. The eating hall was at least partially warm, and he had to admit that the conversation behind him was of interest.

"What's that got to do with anything?" One boy shrugged.

"They don't wanna piss off the rugby team, they all worship him," The other explained. "If they kick him out, everyone gets angry about it, and they fight back. They'll never do it."

"You didn't see the kid," The first dismissed. "Half dead. They've gotta do something."

"Doesn't seem like Laxus to just beat a kid up for no reason," The second argued, and Freed did have to agree. Laxus was an argumentative and aggressive man, but he did tend to stick to people his own age. Mainly those who knew how to fight back, as well. "The kid must have pissed him off."

"Romeo, nah," The first laughed, and Freed frowned. "Kid's nothing. Wouldn't bother Laxus."

Romeo. Romeo Conbolt. It took Freed a moment to put a face to the name, and when he did his fork stalled and his body tensed. He had heard the rumours of a kid being beaten half to death, of course he had, but he hadn't heard who it was. He wouldn't have cared, were it not for the fact he had seen days prior the beating Romeo had endured. Laxus hadn't been the one to beat the kid, it had been a group of six of his classmates.

Freed had stopped it, of course. They were all thirteen, he was seventeen and the boy who got into a fight with the school's toughest figure, so they scarpered when he yelled at them to stop. He told the kid to go to the nurse, and saw the issue as finished with.

Had the kid used Laxus as a scapegoat? Or had it been the group of brats?

Either way, Freed was a man of principles. As much as he wouldn't mind seeing the back of Laxus and his insistence of approaching problems with his fists, it wasn't fair to have him blamed for something he hadn't done. Especially when a grown man beating a kid was something that could get him taken from the school and placed into an actual jail. That wasn't fair. He stood, and quickly started to walk towards the head teacher's office.

"Enter," The headmaster, Mister Fernandes, said once Freed had knocked on the door. Freed entered, and waited in silence. "Mister Justine. It's rare you're here voluntarily."

"I suppose so, sir," Freed agreed, ignoring the insult. "Sir, I have a complaint to make."

"Of course you do," Mister Fernandes sighed, removing a pair of spectacles, and leaning forward in his chair. "You do know that this is a disciplinary institution, and I don't act on the word of my students. If you have issues with your treatment then it's not my concern."

"I understand that sir," Freed assured him. "But my complaint is more about the treatment of another student: Laxus Dreyar."

"You needn't worry about that," Mister Fernandes dismissed the complaint, despite the fact Freed had yet to make it yet. "I know that you and he have something of a… personal vendetta against one another, and I'm sure that the rumours about what he has done have reached you. I will be following a strict set of procedures which will likely end up with him incarcerated for what he did to a younger boy. He'll be out of your hair soon, so don't concern yourself about it."

"That is not my complaint."

"If this is something to do with your silly feud then I'm really not interested by it," Mister Fernandes sighed. "As I said, he'll most likely be out of here within the month. If you can't be civil for that long then that's a bad reflection on your own character. And boys your age really should be fighting their own battles."

Freed bit back a retort, wanting to point out that the time he did try to fight his own battle he was dragged away and reprimanded. Instead, he calmed himself and spoke again with the level of respect a teacher believed they deserved.

"Laxus wasn't the person who attacked Romeo, sir," He said, and the headteacher paused. "It was a group of his classmates. Six of them, I believe."

"And you know this how?" Mister Fernandes asked.

"I walked in on them doing it, sir," Freed admitted, not flinching when the teacher looked at him with sharpened poise. "They stopped when I approached, Romeo went to the nurse's office and I expected him to tell you who actually was responsible, rather than placing the blame on Laxus. Had I known earlier what he'd done, I would have spoken to you sooner."

Mister Fernandes took a moment, thinking before sighing. "He did, actually. He gave me a list of names, before returning a day later stating that it was actually Laxus to blame, and that he'd lied initially as he was worried about the consequences."

"And you believed him?" Freed asked before he could stop himself.

"Are you questioning me, Justine?"

"No, sir."

He was.

"You're dismissed, Justine. Thank you for speaking with me," Mister Fernandes waved a hand in his direction, and Freed nodded curtly and went to walk away. "It was big of you to do this, Justine. Well done."

"It's what's expected of me, sir," Freed dismissed.

"Good man," Mister Fernandes nodded, before waving Freed off again.

Freed left, closing the door behind him. He immediately turned to the right and started walking towards the courtyard, which was still being battered by the heavy rain. As he walked, he was completely unaware that Laxus was leaning on the wall outside of the office, looking at Freed with an expression of mingled bewilderment, disbelief, and belligerent respect.

---

The idiom that the enemy of one's enemy was one's friend was a complicated one. It was limited, didn't work for all situations, and seemed to fall apart under any scrutiny. Freed had long since decided that it didn't make much sense when thought about, and yet he found himself subscribing to the idea when it fitted him.

That was the reason he found himself walking into the rugby team's changing room.

Laxus seemed to notice him approaching the moment Freed walked into the room, and stopped mid-way through changing into his kit to stare Freed down. Freed wasn't put off by the intense and lingering gaze of the man, walking towards him without hesitation. The room seemed to quieten around him, and Freed couldn't be sure if it was because of his presence in the room or because Laxus apparently changed in the back corner away from most of his team. That worked well for what Freed wanted, at least.

"The hell are you doin' here?" Laxus said, voice growly and angry sounding. He always sounded like that with Freed, but it seemed more intense today. Perhaps this how he acted before a match.

"I have a favour to ask of you," Freed stated.

"No," Laxus rebutted immediately.

"You might enjoy doing it."

"Wouldn't be a favour, it'd be an opportunity," Laxus smirked, seemingly proud of himself. Freed had to give him credit, it was somewhat clever. "So, what's the great and powerful Freed Justine need from a man like me? Lessons on how to be an idiot; that's what you keep calling me. Or is it a few tips on rolling around in the mud? Y'know, because that's all rugby is, right."

"The captain of the team you're playing," Freed began, rather than rising to the bait. "Hurt him for me."

"What?" Laxus asked, a laugh tainting the word.

"Hurt him," Freed repeated. "Kick him, punch him, give him a concussion if you're able to. Or perhaps accidentally kick him in the balls, that'd be rather nice to watch. Just do whatever you can to make him cry."

"Why?" Laxus grinned, clearly enjoying this.

"You're playing my old school's team, and he's the reason I got sent here in the first place," Freed admitted, ignoring the quirked eyebrow he got. "He deserves more pain than he gets, I suspect. I want you to remedy that."

"And why should I?" Laxus said, voice a little taunting as he continued to change into his rugby kit. Freed forced himself to ignore the strong body that was revealed to him when Laxus removed his shirt. "We ain't exactly friends, are we? Maybe I'd have more in common with him than I do with you."

"Do you need an excuse to hurt someone?" Freed asked, and Laxus held his gaze. Freed eventually relented. "I can tell you the team's weaknesses. The coach wont change tactics and so they can be exploited."

Laxus thought for a moment. "Nah, you don't need to. I'll do it."

"You will?" Freed asked. He… honestly hadn't expected that.

"Yeah," Laxus nodded. "So long as you watch. If I'm gonna put on a show, I wanna know I'm gonna have an audience."

Laxus pulled on his shirt, much to Freed's quiet disappointment, and sat on the bench before his locker. He leant against it and looked at Freed expectantly, who was looking back with confusion and disbelief. His arrival in the changing room was stupid at best – he'd seen the man who had gotten him there in the first place and old resentment bubbled up faster than Freed would have liked – and as such he had thought Laxus would dismiss him. It's what Freed would have done were the situation flipped.

"Why?" Freed asked.

"This place is shit, anyone would wanna punch the guy who put 'em here. I don't get to do it, but it'll be fun to do it to some other guy," Laxus shrugged, standing up and cracking his back when the coach called for the team to leave for their warmups. He stepped past Freed, but halted once they were all alone. "Be there, pretty-boy."

"What?" Freed stammered slightly. Had Laxus just…

"You think I don't know the reason you're here?" Laxus chuckled a little, but it lacked the edge it normally did. He lowered his eyes slightly and spoke softer than Freed was used to. "You two get caught? Or did he catch you with some other guy and squealed on ya?"

Freed shouldn't answer. He and Laxus weren't friends and admitting anything to him was stupid, but he found himself whispering, "The latter."

"Fucker," Laxus growled, equally quietly. Freed didn't know what to think of it. "Yer right, he needs a kick in the balls. I'll handle it."

"Thank you," Freed whispered.

"Don't worry about it," Laxus dismissed. "Besides, I guess I kinda owe you for stopping me from getting expelled, don't I?" Freed frowned a little. That had been half a year ago, and he didn't know that Laxus even knew of it. Laxus didn't seem to notice Freed's change in body language and continued talking with a smirk. "And, you never know, having a pretty little rich boy watching me might make me play better."

That was all Laxus said before slowly dragging a knuckle over Freed's cheek in a gesture so light but so intimate that Freed felt a shiver run over him completely. Laxus grinned at him, pushed his knuckle against Freed's lips for a split second, before leaving Freed alone in the locker room, heart racing and eyes wide.

---

"How did you know?"

"How'd I know what?"

"The real reason I'm here."

Both Freed and Laxus were sitting on the school house's roof. Laxus had been taking a drag of his cigarette when Freed had approached him and sat bedside him, and the blonde absently offered Freed one. He didn't take it, and for a few moments they had been sitting in silence before Freed had broken it.

It was the last day of the school year. Freed would be dragged back to his home, where his parents would no doubt have a list of grievances about his behaviour throughout the year. His father would make threats about how if his behaviour didn't improve immediately, he would be punished off the back of the man's belt. Nothing would come of it, of course – the elder Mister Justine stopped punishing Freed that way the moment Freed was of an age where he could fight back – but the yelling would be near consistent. It always was when Freed met with his parents now.

He wasn't going to complain. There was no point. Instead, he was going to tie off the loose ends of his school life, particularly with Laxus. Because, when it came to the beautifully, and now somewhat flirtatious man, Freed really didn't know where he stood.

"It's obvious, when you've been here for long enough," Laxus explained, puffing out a stream of smoke. "Yer not obvious, I don't mean that, but when you've been here for years you look out for the signs."

"And what were the signs?"

"You never spoke about why you're here other than saying you got into a fight. I'm guessing it was with the guy who told on ya," Laxus shrugged a little, shifting slightly so that his side was pressed against Freed. "Everyone here wears their story like a badge of honour. Getting into fights, beating kids up, stealing from places. They're all good stories and get's you a lot of credit in a place like this. The worse you were, the more respect you get," Laxus chuckled. "There's only one thing that gets you in here that you don't talk about. Yer queer, and you get found out."

"You don't talk about why you're here," Freed pointed out, and Laxus turned to look at him with a lazy smirk.

"My dad saw me with the neighbour kid," He laughed. "He wasn't even good looking, felt sorry for him really and wanted to know what it's like to kiss a guy. But dad walked in, threw a fit, and I've been here since I was thirteen."

"That's awful of him."

"Maybe, but this place ain't so bad once you get used to it," Laxus shrugged again, leaning back against the wall he was resting on. "Kinda funny, really. I'd say about a quarter of the guys are here for the same reason we are. If you know what to look out for, you can have a pretty good time."

"You could have told me," Freed laughed a little. "I've been rather bored."

"If I told ya, I wouldn't have you all to myself," Laxus grinned, and blew a puff of smoke directly into Freed's face. Freed simply quirked an eyebrow. "I've been spending the last couple of weeks showin' off to ya on the field and I think it was working pretty well. Hardly fair on me if I got you all excited only for ya to use it on some other guy."

"You're a manipulative man when you want to be, Laxus," Freed smirked, leaning just a little closer to Laxus. "But you haven't done anything yet, have you?"

"Maybe I want ya to be desperate for me," Laxus whispered, voice low and rumbling. "Maybe I'm waiting for you to make the move on me."

"If that's true, then maybe you've waited long enough."

They were close now, and Freed wanted to be closer. Laxus' hand was resting against his thigh, and Freed leant further in. He could smell the smoke on Laxus breath, see the slight dilation of the man's eyes as he grinned, and slowly brought their lips together in a slow, tentative kiss.

His first kiss. A beautifully electric, smoky kiss that set Freed's very soul on fire.

He tangled his hand into Laxus' short hair, tugging at it slightly and relishing the slight groan that he was given in return. Laxus pushed into him further, and Freed practically melted.

Eventually, when a harsh gust of wind flew over them and shook them from the spell of their kiss, they pulled apart. They were quiet for a moment, the gravity of what happened only just hitting Freed. He had just kissed the brutish, angry, brilliant man he had once expected to hate, and had felt more alive than ever before.

"You better be here next year."

"Nothing could stop me."

"That's right, pretty-boy."

They shared a smirk, and leant forward to reignite another perfect kiss.

[pellelavellan-a]

Pelle + Post Trespasser Notes

When Pelle resigned from his position he did not actually disband the Inquisition because he still believed there was a need for it, but it needed to continue without him. What it needed was someone whose authority the nobility would respect ad it had become clear that he was not that person. In ways he understood how the situation had gone as far as it did even if he disagreed. A lot of the disapproval he had gained over the years actually stemmed back to the crucial missteps he made in the beginning like nearly inciting another elven rebellion with his stunt at the Winter Palace and his reckless language regarding the elves' position in the world. Does he still believe every word of it? ...Most of it but while he wouldn't take a single thing back he is aware of the controversial reputation it earned him. Moreover, while he had improved a great deal as Inquisitor, he still did not tolerate any maltreatment of himself, mages, or other elves for what they were and while he chose his words much better never backed down on the stances he stood upon when he was a much younger Inquisitor. When he resigned he appointed his disciple, Kane Trevelyan, to take over as Inquisitor. He did remain in Skyhold for some time after his resignation. The first reason was the huge risk it posed him to leave immediately. Cullen and The Iron Bull had warned him of the huge target that would be placed on his head once he was wandering without security and soldiers to stop an assailant from trying to assassinate him. He was well aware of the danger of course, and per Dorian's request he remained in Skyhold for a little while for his own safety. In the meantime, he took the time to decide what identity he wanted to take on once he was no longer Inquisitor Lavellan, as well as sought out Cullen, Bull, and Leliana to identify things about himself that would cause him to stand out in a crowd or give away the fact that he was a mage which to him was just as dangerous as being recognized by any other means. While it wasn't ideal, Cullen recommended he learn to desensitize himself from mana drain as it was often a telltale sign that someone was a mage. He recruited a trusted Templar, Captain Rylen to conduct some exposure therapy on him daily to help him get used to having his mana drained and with time no longer have a visceral reaction to it. He decided to remain amongst other elves in alienages once he was gone, easier to blend in that way. He would go by Sibs instead of Pelle. Both were technically his name, Sibs was just his nickname back home by many of the hunters. The endearing nickname originated from his surname before he was adopted by Keeper Lavellan. Sibil was his last name by birth, and he did identify with that when he was young but as he grew older his connection to Keeper Deshanna as her son encouraged him to embrace her name after her passing. Many within the Inquisition did not know his surname was not always Lavellan save for a select few so it felt a safe enough name to go by to avoid attention and so he committed to it.

Post Corypheus changes:

After Corypheus, Pelle became far better at his job when granted the time to learn it. He took up Leliana on her offer to teach him bard skills on the side, she also taught him a great deal about hiding his facial expressions as they often got him in just as much trouble as his mouth used to. He became better informed on politics from a lot of reading (and Josephine). Became a polyglot from picking up Orlesian, Tevene, and Antivan speaking a total of five languages when Common and Elven are added into the collection. He did not all three in this three year period, he picked up more Elven from Solas before Corypheus was defeated and the Tevene from Dorian here and there both before and after, and studied to fill in the gaps. Professionally it was simply useful to learn Orlesian and Antivan so he put in the effort to do so. Overall he matured a great deal, became more discreet, professional, informed, and able to communicate. His necromancy also improved dramatically.

Extra Post Trespasser:

Pelle was correct in believing that the nobility would respect Kane more than him but soon found it was for all the wrong reasons. Afraid of the nobility and what they were capable of he denounced Pelle entirely as a teacher and claimed to disagree with any views of values that Pelle had thoroughly enforced. The nobility liked him because unlike Pelle he was easy to manipulate and in time it was his sister, Mira, who was running the Inquisition in the background, pulling strings and putting ideas in his mind that benefited her and the empire. Cullen and Josephine resigned after Kane took over as they could not agree with his leadership. They were replaced by Mira and a chevalier. Seeing as the Inquisition had quite literally gone to shit, Pelle was still eager to help with things so long as his name stayed out of it and he had no further affiliation with the Inquisition, He became a bard, working for Leliana as a spy and venturing places she could not as Divine. He functioned somewhat like a Left Hand though never claimed that position as it would draw too much attention to him. He currently lives in an alienage built over the remains of the one that was burnt down years ago by Empress Celene. While he keeps to himself most of the time he is a Friend solely to help his people in a way that does not place him in the spotlight. It was slow going finding a shred of stability. For a long time he was wandering from alienage to alienage dodging templars and anyone who might have the slightest suspicion of who he was. As he'd expected there were a number of people who had gone through the trouble to track him down to harm him and so staying anywhere too long was far too dangerous. He found himself in a number of close calls, spontaneous squabbles, and made scenes places he really shouldn't have including restraining and nearly strangling assassins with the Vhenadahl in the Kirkwall alienage. It was almost two years before he was able to blend in enough with the rest of the elves wandering about in Orlais to go unnoticed in the common rabble. It still took a great deal of effort but finally after such a long time of running and cheating death he learned along the way how to cover his tracks and draw as little attention to himself as possible. Eventually, the attacks slowed as he became harder to track down. Working as a bard for Leliana was risky, but he couldn't justify sitting back and watching idly while all the hard work he and his advisers put into putting things back together was all being unraveled by his cowardice disciple. By the time he's thirty he's learned more than enough for her and from trial by fire to look after himself and avoid unnecessary danger. The downfall is having to occasionally appear in society again because despite his efforts it is impossible to become entirely invisible after the influence he had over Thedas for so long. If he catches any hint that someone knows who he is and intends harm he has had to become comfortable quietly killing them. It hasn't happened too often but he would be lying if he said he hasn't murdered people for discovering him out of self defense. Though it isn't entirely positive, he does consider the skill of discreet murder to have been a huge blessing the sole time he discovered someone who after Dorian during an assignment that brought him to Tevinter.

[tehrevving]

Cocked and Loaded

My piece for the @ssszine. I was waiting until I received my copy to post it buuuut it’s been stuck in about 3 different countries now, so I’ve decided to just go for it.

This is a funny fic that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Enjoy!

The bar is so deserted that Dante can’t even find someone to refill his drink. He just sits there, swirling the ice around his empty glass and staring at the strange fruit bowl in front of him. He doesn’t know why there’s one on the bar, or why it’s filled with only bananas and a giant purple fruit that looks like the emoji thing that young people use when they text. If he’s not going to be able to get another drink, he decides to just leave. He stands up, not noticing the woman standing behind him, lower than his eye line. He almost knocks her to the floor. She’s pretty, older but with a bit too much plastic injected into her face for his tastes. 

“Sorry Miss,” he says sheepishly, moving around her. 

She puts a hand on his bicep and squeezes, “don’t worry about it big boy.”

Dante carefully lifts her hand off his arm. She just puts her other hand on his chest. “You’re quite a catch aren’t you Love,” she smiles sincerely, through the face fillers. “I’d popped in here for a drink, but now that I’ve seen you. Well I could go for something a little bit more,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “Salty.”

Dante chokes. He’s never heard that one before and it catches him off guard, especially said with such a serious tone. The man behind the camera sighs.

“Cut!” he yells, and the room comes alive. 

People are running around, adjusting the angle of the spotlights while the director yells. Dante sits back down on the stool and takes a sip of his whisky, shaking his head. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this. 

It was an offer he hadn’t been able to refuse. A simple, quick job attached to a ten thousand dollar cheque. He was already eyeing up a stylish new coat, custom holsters for his guns and the very expensive pizza shop down the road. The catch was the very nature of the job itself. The client wanted him, Dante Sparda, Legendary Devil Hunter, to star in a full frontal pornographic film, for their personal collection. 

Dante needed the cash desperately. He’d been sent a script, a time and an address, and now he was here, thrust into the spotlight and still not really sure what was going on. 

He thought that he would be walking into an amateur type affair. A casting couch in a dark room with a handycam sort of thing. There’s a whole team of people though, including an eccentric director - stupid hat included - who seems incapable of speaking in a volume lower than a shout.

He takes another look at the client, his co-star. She’s a socialite, rich, influential, and apparently a huge fan of his. She’s nice enough even though there’s just something off about her. She doesn’t look quite right when she smiles. She reminds him of the hellspawn he regularly exterminates.  

“One minute warning!”

Dante takes a deep breath and steels himself.

It takes two more attempts for the director to be happy. Dante is already bored of repeating the same thing over and over. He wonders why getting this scene right is such a big deal. It’s not like anyone ever watches the intro to porn films anyway. He just drains his glass and reaches over the bar for the bottle to refill it. 

One of the cameramen is next to him suddenly, grinning. “Are you sure drinking more is a good idea?” he smirks, biting back laughter, “it’s all well and good to calm your nerves, but don’t let it affect your performance. If you catch my drift,” he winks.

Dante rolls his eyes, the great Son of Sparda getting whisky dick? Please. Dante reckons that even flaccid he’s got a bigger cock than this idiot. He downs his drink as the man drags him into the next room.

The director has a megaphone now and is screaming into it. He walks over and puts the speaker right next to Dante’s ear. “All you have to do is let her undress you. Got it?”

Dante nods, desperate to stop the ringing in his ear as he’s dragged to the centre of the room.

“Action!”

His co-star stands in front of him again, she’s tiny. He wonders if the camera can even get both of them in the same frame. 

Dante takes in a breath and puts on his usual act, cocky and carefree. 

“Why, is that a sword in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” she smiles, winking.

Dante struggles not to laugh at the lines, or at the expression on her face. He just follows the script, cocking out his hip. “Why don’t you come a little bit closer and find out Sweetheart,” he purrs flawlessly, finishing off with some finger guns for effect. He’s starting to feel a little bit more relaxed. 

She steps in closer as a wind machine starts up. The sound almost deafening. Dante feels the breeze push at his hair and uses his heightened senses to time the shrug of his shoulders. His coat falls off his shoulders effortlessly, fluttering stylishly to the floor.

The wind machine stops and he shakes out his long hair. He flexes his arms and reaches up, over his head. He pulls off his shirt, struggling not to get caught in the fabric or mess up his hair. Sure, it’s an impractical way to take off a shirt, but he saw it in a movie once and thought it looked pretty sweet. 

She stands up on her toes and starts licking at his neck and then his hairy chest. His skin is covered with saliva when she pulls away and it feels pretty gross. She works her way down his body until she’s half crouching to be level with his crotch. The cameraman moves to get the shot, getting tangled up in the cables. Dante tries not to laugh. He tries to look sexy instead. Like he’s excited to have a desperate woman kneeling between his legs, instead of apprehensive.

She traces her hands down his thighs and works quickly down to his boots. She licks the buckle and uses her teeth to pull the zipper down. Dante notices, as she pulls off his shoe, that everyone in the room is staring at his feet.

“Cut!”

The director storms over, his voice distorted static through the megaphone. “What are those?!”

Dante looks down, “my socks?” he questions, wiggling his toes inside of his lucky, pizza print sock. 

The director groans, holding his head in his hands.

“Costuming!”

They take away Dante’s favourite sock and the mismatched pink strawberry print one from his other foot. He’s given replacement socks that are boring and plain black. He’s just managed to get them on when an assistant appears and throws all of his previously discarded clothes at him. Dante gets dressed again.

He can’t believe he has to go through it all again. He has a lot less enthusiasm during the next take. His coat falls dismally to the floor and he takes his shirt off the normal way because he’s not going to risk stretching the neck out. Eventually they get back to where they were, and then further. Now she’s crouched awkwardly in front of him, working on his fly. 

She rubs her face all over his clothed cock. He’s not really hard yet but not one seems to have noticed. It’s all going well so far. She undoes his fly and slowly pulls his pants lower. She works seductively, dragging the fabric down his legs while biting her lip. Dante cocks out his hip while the camera pans around him.

“Cut!”

The director is utterly irate this time, stalking towards Dante like he’s going to murder him. “Your underwear,” he spits. Dante twists around. He’d accidentally put on his smokin hot black briefs this morning, the ones with the word ‘sexy’ stamped across the ass in giant, holographic letters. 

His co-star turns, struggling not to laugh. “I don’t think those are a problem.”

The director stares at her like she has two heads but quickly relents. 

They don’t have to redo the whole scene again apparently. Dante’s just glad he doesn’t have to get dressed again, or deal with the wind machine. He just does his pants back up and they go from there. There’s only one more hitch on the next take. She’s a little bit too enthusiastic ripping off his underwear and his semi-hard cock springs up. Hitting her solidly in the face. She’s not hurt, but she’s definitely a little bit shaken up. The next time they try the take, she makes sure to hold him steady with her hand.  

There’s a team of people adjusting a stool in front of him. His co-star kneels on it and they mess around trying to get her high enough to comfortably reach his cock. Dante tries to play it cool. He’s starting to feel a little bit out of his depth, now that she’s about to properly touch him. 

The director turns to Dante. “Get ready,” he scoffs and makes a jerking motion with his fist. Gross. 

Dante has never had any problems with his performance, even with an audience. It’s different in the dark recesses of a strip club though, compared to harsh lights and critical stares. He ignores them, reaching down and stroking his cock a few times. He quickly gets into it, adding in a twist of his wrist here and there. It feels good. 

The director fawns over him, tells him to bend his knees, cock out his hip, tense his butt. Dante tries his best to follow the contradicting directions, ignoring the strain in his thighs. 

“Action!”

It’s now or never. She reaches out and wraps a hand firmly around the thick base of his cock. She strokes him a few times, making exaggerated movements while she leans her face in closer. She holds him in place and then sticks out her tongue. 

Dante is watching closely. There’s something not right with her tongue. It’s slightly too long and flicks out strangely from between her lips. Her grip tightens painfully around the base of his cock. He hears her hiss. “Gotcha!”

Dante recoils. Managing to pull himself back just in time. Her maw crunches down on the empty air where beloved lil’ Dante was only moments ago.

She crouches to the floor, splayed out with too long limbs. “Famed Devil Hunter,” she hisses, staring at him with glowing, slitted eyes. “You’ve fallen right into our trap. Let us see how strong you really are, aroused, naked and without any weapons.”

Dante doesn’t need to look around the room. The grotesque snapping sounds echoing off the walls tell him that everyone else in the room is transforming too. She takes a step back as the others gang up on him. 

This is his element though. He can handle a fight. “Oh, Darling,” he taunts, “I’m always fully loaded.” He winks and flies head first into battle. 

The creatures aren’t strong. Dante doesn’t need weapons. His bare fists are strong enough to puncture through their squishy chests. He has fun, backflipping and dancing around. It’s interesting, getting to fight with parts of his body that he doesn’t normally. He laughs, snapping necks with his thighs. Yelling out, “cut” and “action” as he slams disfigured faces to the ground. It’s easy to improvise, though he has to be careful not to bang his large adrenaline filled erection on the furniture. 

Far too soon for his liking, it’s just the woman and the director - stupid hat still perched on his reptilian head - left. The director stalks forward, looking just as agitated as he had when he looked human. He’s so focused on Dante that he doesn’t notice the camera cable, stretched taut and hidden by streaming corpses. He trips. Dante watches it play out in slow motion. The director flails, trying to keep his balance. His hat flies off his head. There’s a pause and a click as the swinging cable flicks the fan blades on. Dante can’t tear his eyes away from the director’s horrified face. He screams as the sharp blades slice through him and paint the walls with his blood.  

The client is furious now. She screeches at him. The sound threatens to shatter the windows. Dante throws a quick come hither motion in her direction, goading her on. She lunges forwards. 

It’s an accident, honestly. Dante was having way too much fun. He wanted to capture her, interrogate her, find out exactly what was going on here, who sent them. But it wasn’t to be. It wasn’t that he mistimed his stylish double pike backflip exactly, it was more that she anticipated his movement and decided to attack him with her teeth.

Her head swung back as he twisted. Neither her nor Dante though have accounted for the unrestrained and exceptionally lethal weapon between his legs. His dick hits her solidly in the neck. He has too much momentum. He doesn’t stop spinning. Her neck splits with a pop as her decapitated head flies across the room. 

Dante stops moving as quickly as he can. Frantically inspecting his makeshift sword for any damage. There’s a little bit of devil gore, but otherwise everything is intact. He sighs with relief as he looks around the room. 

Dante sneaks out of the apartment through the back window, dropping into the bushes below. He’s haphazardly dressed, already having put on and taken his clothes off way too many times today. He leaves the mess of bodies and equipment as they are. Not his problem. He steals the bottle of booze though, along with the strange purple fruit from the bowl and the tape from the camera, which has ‘Cocked and Loaded’ scrawled across the front of it.

He starts the slow, long walk back to the office, still broke. He’s pretty sure that the large cheque he has in his pocket is gonna bounce. He turns the purple fruit around in his hands and then takes a bite. It’s disgusting. He throws it away. Why would anyone want to eat that?

He can’t believe that he’s walking away empty handed. He’d been so confident this job was going to work out. He pats the tape in his pocket, glad he has it as a souvenir. He’s almost giddy, thinking about watching it later tonight in private. He’s already decided that he’s never gonna show it to anyone else, and even if it never really got juicy… well, he figures at least one person should jerk off to it.