#but like…I don’t feel ready to have a gray streak and I should get to decide right

[bereft-of-frogs]

I had a dream I dyed my hair green.

[lovebugism]

hm maybe for blurb you mentioned, some nervous reader about a storm/ reader being shy about having storm insecurities w/Steve?? it’s storming pretty bad where I am so that’s what made me think of it lol

hi, lovely! i also have a pretty bad fear of storms so this is a very self-indulgent fic hahah tw for mentions of parental abuse, not heavily described — the one where steve protects you from a big, bad storm (hurt/comfort, 1.7k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

You’ve always been scared of storms. Maybe thunder most of all.

Thunder was loud, and it shook the walls whenever there was enough force behind it. Sort of like the voices of your parents when they were upset — which they were pretty often. At you, most of the time. 

You hear a crash! rumble in a black sky, and it makes you feel like a child again. You usually did whenever you were frightened. And being a child again was more terrifying than any storm.

Steve knows you hate when the weather gets bad. 

Not because you’ve ever told him as much, but because you shake whenever it rains too hard, trembling like a leaf on one of the trees outside. You tense when it thunders, squeeze your eyes shut when it lightnings.

He doesn’t know how much it really terrifies you — he can’t because you don’t let him see it — but he knows the fear is there.

It’s why it hurts him so bad to leave you when the sky grows dark. 

Gray clouds hang heavy, and the smell of rain swirls in the whipping wind. The wet, earthy scent is so potent that it seeps in through your closed window. Thunder rolls softly in the distance — the promise of a soon storm. 

Steve doesn’t want to leave, but he knows he has to. He opens at Family Video tomorrow morning, and he doesn’t have any clothes at your place. You live pretty far away from town, too. He’d have to wake up before sunrise to swing by his house to get ready. 

You know this. So for his sake and yours, you pretend you’re not as scared as you really feel.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Steve presses.

He stands just over you, right beside the bed you’re curled up on. He shoves his feet into his already-tied sneakers and looks for any reason not to leave. He peers down at you with glittering honey eyes that swim with concern, bushy brows pinched in a puppy-like worry. 

You muster a wavering smile up at him, half of your face shoved into your pillow. “I’m okay, Stevie. I know you need to go.”

“But I can stay if you—”

“I’m fine,” you assure in a dramatic drawl. “You should go before it gets bad, okay? I don’t want you driving in the rain.”

You meant it. The last bit mostly, though maybe not the first one as much.

You’re just scared of being a burden. It was your fear that made you a bad daughter. You don’t want Steve to hate you the same way your parents did. 

“Okay...” Steve concedes, though his distantly perturbed look only slightly ebbs. “I’ll call you when I get home, yeah? I’ll stay on the phone with you all night. Won’t even make fun of you for snoring, either.”

He says it just to make you smile.

You do, but just barely.

“Okay,” you hum quietly, almost inaudibly, in response.

Steve bends at the waist to press a kiss to your mouth. He rests a wide palm on your arm as you lift your head from the pillow to meet him halfway. Your lips lock with his pink ones in a chaste kiss goodbye. 

Thunder rumbles overhead — a loud clap that shakes the walls of your bedroom.

Steve knew it was coming. He saw the lightning streak purple in the sky just before he kissed you, so it doesn’t scare him as much as it does you. He feels you jolt against his mouth when you tense at the sudden boom. It feels like he’s holding a rock in his hand.

He pulls away from you a few inches, gazing upon your scrunched face and squeezed-shut eyes with his own look of distant horror. His honey-colored stare floods with concern all over again.

His hand on your arm clutches you more intently, a warm reminder that he’s there — much closer than the wretched thunder.

“You okay, babe?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you promise though the words sound stiff in your mouth. You haven’t relaxed yet. Or opened your eyes. You’re scared of what you’ll see when you do — Steve’s worried face or your mother’s angry one.

“Are you sure?” he presses like he always does. 

He knows many of your responses are automated, like you’ve been coded to shrug him off along with all the fears you keep hidden. It takes a bit of prying for you to be honest sometimes. You can’t open up unless you’re really sure he wants you to.

“Yeah,” you nod, then huff. The sigh tumbles from your mouth in a trembling exhale — distant laughter mixed with distant terror. “That was just… That was really loud.”

“Yeah. It was, huh?”

“I’m good, okay? I’m sorry, I—” You cut yourself off when you open your eyes, finding Steve toeing off the sneakers he only just shoved on. Your brows furrow as your gaze flits up to his. “What are you doing?”

The boy clicks his mouth against his teeth. His sock-clad feet melt into your carpeted floor. “I think I’m gonna stay, actually. As long as you don’t wanna kick me out, that is—”

“No, don’t,” you whine. Not because you don’t want him to stay (because, truth be told, you were praying that he would), but you don’t want him to feel like he has to. “It’s just gonna make you late to work tomorrow.”

Steve shrugs. “Screw work. I don’t care.”

“No, Steve!” you protest. You scooch over to make room for him on your bed, anyway. His larger frame takes up the majority of your mattress. You curl into him despite your fussing. Your legs entwine with his fuzzier ones, your cold feet knocking with his sock-clad toes. You melt into him while you complain, “You can go, okay? I’m fine! Really!”

“Too late,” he dissents as he bounces his shoulder, slightly jostling your cheek resting there. “I’m already comfortable.”

You sigh and tuck your face into his chest. His musky cologne clings desperately to his cotton t-shirt — vanilla and rose and sandalwood. Your left-hand curls into the fabric as you clutch onto him. 

“I just don’t wanna you to think I’m a baby or something,” you confess and rub your burning cheek against his clothed chest. “You don’t have to stay—”

“Stop,” Steve coos. His chest rumbles with the softly spoken word as his fingers rise to your hair. The tips of them massage gently at your scalp. “It’s okay, babe. I promise. I don’t think you’re a baby for being scared of storms, okay?”

“You don’t?” you murmur with a soft pout scrunching your features.

“No way,” he scoffs, the answer obvious to him. “I mean, it’s actually a pretty normal thing to be scared about, babe.”

Your heart stops for a moment — just a blink of a second that makes you feel like you can’t breathe. Your fears have never been validated before now. You were never taken seriously, only punished. They called you weak for letting something so insignificant have so much control over you. 

It made it almost impossible for you to take yourself and your problems seriously. You eventually ended up punishing yourself for them — just like your parents did. All those words they spat at you turned into thoughts that lingered like dark shadows in the back of your head. 

Steve’s turning all that into sunlight, and he doesn’t even know it.

Your chin brushes against the fabric of his shirt when you turn to look at him. You’ve got a slight furrow to your brows that he meets with a lopsided smile. The boy sits propped up against your pillows, his hair wild and his eyes soft.

“You think so?” you murmur.

“Oh. Totally,” he snorts in a laugh. He tilts his head to his shoulder as his brows shoot up. “I mean, it’s more normal than having a deathly fear of quicksand.”

Your brows pinch further. The frown between them deepens when your face contorts in confusion. “Are you implying you’re scared of quicksand?” you mutter with a curious inflection.

His eyes widen at your lack of understanding. “Babe. There is nothing more terrifying than drowning in the ground, okay? And, like, once you’re in it, there’s no getting out! You’re totally stuck!”

You purse your lips to hide the wide smile threatening to take over. Your giggle gets trapped in your throat.

Steve keeps on rambling — one hand cradling the back of your head as the other flails wildly in explanation. “Sometimes, I’ll have these nightmares where I’m, like, getting home from work or something, and I step out of my car, and I’m like, ‘who the hell replaced my driveway with quicksand?’”

Your previously concealed laugh sputters from your mouth like rays of sunshine.

“Don’t laugh!” Steve chuckles, feigning offense, though his soft touch on you never wavers. “I’m being serious!”

“I know you are,” you hum affectionately. “That’s why it’s so funny.”

“Rude,” he grouses with a playful pout. The corners of his pretty pink lips turn downwards, and his bushy brows pinch softly together. Despite his dreadfully sculpted features, he’s still so soft — like a puppy or melted ice cream. You can’t help but take awe in him.

You rise from where you lay against his chest, shifting against your mattress until your face is level with his. The two of you share a single pillow despite its impracticality — noses inches apart, breaths entwining, eyes crossing at the proximity.

You keep one hand beneath your head as your other rises to his face. The scruff of his jaw tickles your fingers as your thumb brushes the warm apple of his cheek. His honeyed gaze dances between both of yours, sparkling with an adoration you don’t feel deserving of. 

“I’m sorry,” you concede with pretty eyes and a gentle smile. “I promise to protect you from any quicksand we happen to stumble upon.”

“And I promise to protect you from all the storms,” he swears with a similar softness that makes you melt.

His eyes turn golden when he smiles at you — the exact color of sunshine. You bask in the flaxen rays, safe and warm. You forget to be scared of the rain.

[tuzesdays]

15 sounds fun!

i couldn't agree more

Prompt: "you must be pretty down if me juggling your oranges doesn't even get a laugh out of you :( should I light them on fire?"

WORDCOUNT: 1274 | Domestic, Post-Fic | Spoilers for the (still being workshopped lol) end of Dayshift Go Figure

You wake up alone, without your alarm, knowing in your bones that you’ve somehow slept in. All other days this happens, you’re able to ride a wave of panic into wakefulness and get ready for the day in record (though some would call it inhumane) time – cold showers that last the five minutes it takes for the water to heat and only taking the paltry breakfast that’s shoved at you on your way out, then forgetting to eat it, much to the frustration of your housemates.

Today though, something’s different. You lay in bed trying to puzzle it out.

… What day is it? Yesterday was… ah.

It’s the anniversary.

That explains why the alarm was turned off.

You groan and hoist yourself out of bed. You’ve got some sort of itinerary today, but nothing truly starts until noon when you can go and pick up the resident child without sacrificing his education – guh, coparenting. Damn your soft heart for volunteering for that responsibility, there’s no way to feasibly take it back now.

(As if you’d ever want to; Gregory is a little terror of a child with a mean streak that reminds you of yourself. But, far from being put off by these… tendencies… most of the humans and animatronics that make up your inner circle find it either charming or insightful. Except Sun and Moon. They’re sane and you love them for it.)

(Doesn’t stop all three of you from getting attached, however.)

The day won’t wait for noon, so you drag yourself through a morning routine anyway. It’s winter, so warm clothes are your friend even if you’re only throwing on one layer for going around the house. Jeans and an undershirt. You hum at your bathroom mirror as you pass by, looking over the form that makes up you. You didn’t have mirrors in the old apartment – or, well, you did, but you barely used them for anything other than fixing your hair in the mornings – but over the last few months you’ve found yourself taking a moment in front of one.

It's odd. Every time, it’s so odd to look in a mirror and think that not only does it reflect you (asshole, murderous, grit your teeth and don’t let go you) but the reflection looks… normal. Clean, sometimes tired but never weary. You don’t meet your own eyes with distaste anymore.

After a few seconds you continue on. It’s too fucking early for digging into that feeling, you haven’t even seen your boys yet.

Into the hall, seeing all the bedroom doors open, then down the stairs. Sun’s voice drifts through the air as he hums the morning away, likely in the kitchen by the accompanying sounds of washing dishes.

You tread into his domain carefully and take a seat at the table, where your favorite mug is already waiting. “Morning.”

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Sun keeps his voice down out of respect for your notoriously low patience this time of day, but he’s still chipper as ever. “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you for at least another thirty minutes!”

“Wonder why that is,” you say blandly, sipping at the tea in your mug. Mmm, earl gray. “My alarm didn’t go off. Should probably look it over, see if it’s glitching out.”

“Very serious, alarm glitches,” he nods understandingly, both of you fully aware that either he or Moon turned off your alarms for the day. “But it’ll have to wait until tomorrow! We’ll be very busy today.”

You set your mug down. “How are you feeling?”

Though his back is still turned to you, you can tell when his faceplate twists. “I feel like I’m washing dishes!”

“And Moon?” You ask, letting the distraction slide.

“Not washing dishes!”

“Sunny.”

He stops to turn and look at you, expression soft and off-white eyes glinting in the early morning sunlight.

(Riley is truly a miracle worker. Living legend Riley Greene.)

“We’re perfectly alright, dear,” he assures you. “Today’s a day for celebration! There’s no need to get caught on silly things like details when it’s so beautiful outside.”

There’s an unspoken, gentle reminder there: this is also the anniversary of their first foray into the outside world, after all. You’ll never be able to forget the picture they made, the first time Sun was able to truly see the sunrise through the window of a vehicle speeding down the interstate, still covered in soot and ash, eyes fixed on the horizon. You didn’t have it in you to cry for him in that moment, but you’ve taken plenty of opportunities since. It never fails to make both of them sappy.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I slept in,” you mutter, taking another sip of tea. “I don’t know. Mood’s around a five or six, I’d say.”

“Five!” He immediately turns away from his busywork to face you fully. “Five out of ten? No no, that’s far too low for how well this day is going to be. We need to get that number up to a seven, at least! What can I get you for breakfast? Pancakes? Waffles? Maybe a fruit bowl?”

“Didn’t you buy all that fruit for baking?”

“Yes, but it’s our fruit so we can decide what it contributes to,” he wags a finger at you, “and we’re perfectly alright with it being used for breakfast. So, what’ll it be?”

You make a face at him. “I’m not hungry.”

His smile stretches. “That’s not what I asked. How about we start out with some orange slices?”

“You’re an absolute tyrant.”

“You decided to come into my kitchen to visit me,” he muses, picking up an orange from the nearby bowl of fruit when you don’t object, then picking up three more and tossing them in a simple arc between his hands, juggling them effortlessly. “How’s your coordination this morning?”

“Not good enough for juggling.” You hold out a hand to catch an orange, however, and he tosses you the beginnings of breakfast without so much as a stutter in his movements. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, dear.” The arc of oranges shifts so one falls behind his head – again, easily caught by practiced hands. You arch an eyebrow at him as you peel your snack and he hums, thinking. “Not even a laugh for juggling, hm? Should I light them on fire next?”

That gets a snort out of you. Sun’s rays spin in victory, insufferably pleased with himself. You’re so fed up with this boy. “I don’t think setting off the fire alarm today is a good plan.”

“Implying you’re perfectly alright with some pyrotechnics tomorrow.” He shakes his head at you. “You, Sunbite, are my favorite menace.”

“I’m overcome with gratefulness.” Your tone may be flat, but Sun knows you well enough by now to know you never lie about your feelings toward him. So much time in denial has warded you away from stupidly wasting that time with untruths ever again.

In fact, laying it on thick has become a favorite pastime of yours ever since you realized cute petnames made them flustered.

“Poppy,” you begin, and he immediately rolls his eyes at your antics. “Sunnypop, Pumpkin, darling dearest, light of my life, half of my heart. My love. My loves,” you say, knowing double the names means double the boys getting so very fond and so very, very put up with you. “Sweetness, Sugar, Starstuff. Sunny, Moon.”

Sun turns away with a giddy smile, shaking his head before meeting your eyes again. “Yes, Sunbite?”

“You two are also my favorites,” you say primly. “Also I would like pancakes for breakfast after this.”

“Of course, love.”

[p-artsypants]

Down to the Soul (6)

In Which There is Fog

Ao3 

“So, just to clarify, you dug a new well because the old one started smelling funny. And people who drank from it got sick?” 

“That’s the gist of it, Son.” Stoick rested his hands on his hips. “So are you going to help?” 

“I don’t have a good reason to say no. It’s not like I’m scared.” 

“Excellent! We’ll get the ropes ready!” 

It was only about a half an hour later that Hiccup found himself harnessed up and standing in front of the old well. His assembled friends had the rope, and were prepared to lower him into the hole. 

Toothless looked on, unsure as well. He couldn’t go down there. He couldn’t protect his boy.

Hiccup gave him a thumbs up and a faked smile, clearly seeing that his dragon was upset. He climbed the wall of the well and sat on the edge. 

“Ready?” Asked Snotlout, the first in line holding the rope. 

Hiccup held out a torch for Toothless to ignite, and then nodded to Snotlout. He then began his descent into the darkness. 

—

Astrid and Boat Hiccup disembarked on the next island. There were no rock walls waiting for them this time, but the fog persisted. The sky above the water was a midday overcast gray, but in this new island, it was dark and sinister, a muted purple with variegated streaks across it. Silhouettes of spiraling towers dotted the hazy landscape, and dead trees and shrubs covered the ground. 

A raven cawed. 

“I’m guessing this is fear,” Astrid mused aloud. “Because, not going to lie, I’m kind of scared just looking at it.”

“Want to hold my hand?” 

She scoffed, but still did take his hand. 

As they stepped on the black, fog hidden ground, the fog rolled away slightly to reveal a path of misshapen stones. Astrid took the lead, and urged them on. 

It was hard to see, but soon they arrived at a small hill. The hill had a stone post and lintel entryway, where the stone path led too. 

“Nope,” Astrid stated as she began to back away from the mound. 

As if her words triggered it, a specter of Hiccup appeared next to her. This was not an aspect of him like Boat Hiccup or the other emotions, but a literal ghost. Perhaps a memory? He was young. About 8 or 9 if she had to guess. He was transparent, and gave off a bluish glow.

A young Dagur was with him as well, about 12, but still much taller and beefier. 

“So…I just have to go in, and bring back a skull?” Said little Hiccup.

“That’s correct, brother! Once you give me a skull, I will know you are truly as brave as any other viking, and I will take care of Snotlout for you.” 

Young Hiccup squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath. “I am brave. I’m the bravest of them all!” 

“You bet you are! Now, go get 'em!”

Astrid watched with dread as the ghost of her friend stomped towards the burial mound, before disappearing. 

“Ah,” said Boat Hiccup. “Now I remember this place.” 

“It’s the burial site on the south side of the island,” Astrid confirmed. “Always freaked me the hell out. But I never went inside.” 

“Well, Hiccup went in only once. I have a feeling it’s going to look different from how it really is.” 

“I’m doing this for Hiccup,” Astrid whispered as she went toward the door. 

Once they were both inside, ghost Hiccup returned, creeping forward slowly. Suddenly, the stone door shifted and closed on him.

Hiccup ran through them, at the stone, screaming, “Dagur! Dagur don’t! Please!” 

All that responded was an echoing laugh, and then silence. 

Hiccup pounded his tiny fists on the door, crying. “I’m so stupid. I never should have listened to him. Brotherhood…go to hell.” And then he disappeared again, plunging Astrid and Boat Hiccup into pure darkness. 

Astrid shook her head in rage. “How did I know that was going to happen?”

“Now what? Think we can bust through the door?” 

“I don’t think we need to. I think we just need to see where this leads. Hopefully, when I find and awaken Fear, he can lead us out.” 

“That’s optimistic.” 

Astrid wished for a light source, and then reached into her dress pocket. She felt a metal ring and pulled, yanking out a lit lantern. 

“This is such a handy trick. I wish it worked in the real world.” 

Boat Hiccup gave her a smile, now that he was illuminated. 

Astrid turned to face the inside of the mound, and was greeted by the unpleasant sight of a single room crypt. There were two stone caskets on each side, and the walls had several nooks carved out with mummified remains resting on them. 

“Yeah, this absolutely would have traumatized me as a child.” 

As she raised the lantern to get more light, the room seemed to stretch, drawing out into a long corridor that continued on and on, further than the light could reach. 

“I’m killing him. I’m going to kill Hiccup.” 

“Well, it’ll be a nice way to go,” said Boat Hiccup. “Depending how you do it.” 

“What?” 

“How you kill us. Quick and easy? Slow and painful? He’s never forgotten the time you stepped on his face.” 

“I never—was that back during dragon fighting? I did a lot of things back then that I'm not proud of.” 

“I didn’t say he didn’t like it.” 

Astrid paused and slowly turned to him. “Are you saying–no. I’m gonna stop you right there. I don’t want to know.” 

Together, they journeyed down the crypt, the skulls of the ancients staring at them as they walked.

“They shouldn’t be looking at us,” Astrid commented. “If the bodies were interred here, the skulls should be facing up or laying sideways. They shouldn’t be facing us.” 

Boat Hiccup nodded at the observation. “Well, it is a nightmare realm, it’s going to be whatever Hiccup thinks is the scariest.”

“I didn’t think skulls bothered him.” 

“Not so much skulls as death. His, his family, his friends, the dragons, he fears losing them, or them suffering. And who could blame him?” 

“I mean…I think that’s a pretty universal fear. I’m afraid of losing my loved ones too.” 

“That’s probably why I knew it,” Boat Hiccup mused. “Since we haven’t woken Fear up, I don’t have memories of this emotion unless prompted.” 

“Like the specter at the front door?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Your memories are asleep, like you, and the other emotions.” 

“Yeah. Kinda sucks.” 

“I’m working as fast as I can.” 

They walked for a little while in silence, the sense of dread and fear falling over them like the environment dictated. The lantern light didn’t seem to be enough, and the air grew colder and colder. 

Astrid tried and failed to suppress a shiver. 

“Cold?” Asked Boat Hiccup.

“A little.” 

He wrapped an arm around her, though it didn’t do much to ease her mind. 

A snap sounded behind them, and Astrid whirled around, hanging the lantern out. “Who’s there?” 

No one but darkness and bones. 

“Fear?! Is that you? It’s me, Astrid!” 

There was a very distinct sigh from the other end, but nothing else. 

“I hate this place I hate this place I hate this place…” Astrid muttered as she turned back around and continued on. 

Boat Hiccup was just quiet as they moved together. 

Eventually, they reached the end of the crypt. It looked exactly as it had before it stretched. Just a wall, with several deep niches with skeletons laying inside of them. 

“Great, so this is the end?” 

Boat Hiccup shrugged. “I guess so. Bummer.”

She scoffed. “Yeah bummer! What do we do now?!” Then she glanced down at the lantern and noticed the flame was dancing rapidly, more than it should be in stagnant air. She held her arm up to the wall and felt a draft. 

“This is open…” she held the lantern close to the niche and tried to see to the other side but it was black. “He doesn’t expect me to crawl through there, does he?” 

“I don’t know if we have any other options.” 

Astrid groaned and gave Boat Hiccup the lantern. “I’ll go first.” She shoved the skeleton off to the side, wiping her hands on her skirt after. 

Boat Hiccup set the lantern on the floor, and then made a step for her with his interlocked hands. 

“Thank you, sir,” she mocked a curtsy before placing her foot in his hands and stepping up, face first and on her belly into the hole. 

“How is it?” He asked. 

“Narrow. Dark. Can you hold the light up?” 

With the light, Astrid could see that the recess went on a few feet, but then it became dark again. She army crawled in, and just when her feet were able to touch, there was a cacophonous slam and it went pitch black. 

“Hiccup?” She called back. “Hiccup!”

There was no answer. 

Astrid slammed her fists into the rock. This schema sucked. She took a deep breath, doing her best to calm herself. “The sooner I find Fear, the sooner we can get out of here.” 

She continued to pull herself through the little crevasse, the ceiling occasionally bumping against her head or shoulders. Just when she thought she had reached the other side, it kept going. Another foot, and then another, and another. And it was getting narrower, as her shoulder blades scraped against the rough rock. 

It was so silent. All she could hear was her labored breathing and the catching of her dress. And this was a darkness she’d never known. It was cold, unforgiving, but alive. It felt like it was there, watching her, waiting for something. 

Finally, finally, her hand reached out and didn’t touch the rock. She slid over to turn around and get her feet out first, and then lowered herself down. First one foot down, as she searched for the floor with her toe. When she couldn’t find it, she let down her other foot to try to reach further. Still nothing. 

Dare she let go and hope for the best? 

She scrambled her feet against the wall to try to find a foothold, and ended up dislodging a rock. It knocked against the stone as it fell, and then again…

Never

Reaching

The

Bottom.

“No…” Astrid whispered. 

She tried to climb back onto the ledge, but couldn’t get enough leverage with her feet. She started to panic. Up until now, she had been on edge and uncomfortable, but now she was truly starting to be afraid. 

“Hiccup! Hiccup if you can hear me, please help! Please help me!” She cried out to the cave. This was Hiccup’s soul, after all. Surely he was still in charge? “Fear! I know this is your schema! Wake up and help me!” 

But nothing happened. Utter silence, utter darkness, nothing but the sheer helplessness drowning her. 

Astrid felt her arms slide towards the edge, and her breath caught in a gasp. She didn’t want to cry, but she did. This was her worst nightmare. She hated being helpless. That’s why she always worked so hard to be strong and defend herself, so she wouldn’t be helpless. 

Her arms slipped again, and she desperately clawed her fingers into the rough stone. 

What would happen if she died here? Would she just wake up? Or would she die in real life as well? The ritual would end, of course, and she’d have failed Hiccup. 

And if she did die, he wouldn’t even be sad about it. 

The very thought made her outright sob. 

A hand clamped onto her wrist. “Astrid!” 

“Fear?!” 

“No, your travel buddy is here!” She could hear the smile in his voice. He reached his other hand down and grabbed her belt and hoisted her back up onto the ledge with him. “The opening suddenly closed on me. Without you there, I felt very lost and confused. I couldn’t even move. And then—I heard you crying, and all I had to do was reach out.” 

Astrid reached out for him again, finding that he was laying on his back. She didn’t care about playing it cool or whatever. She just threw her arms around him, anyway she could, and cried into his chest. 

“Astrid?” 

“I thought I was going to die. I thought I was going to die, and my Hiccup wouldn’t even care about it.” 

“Oh,” said Boat Hiccup. “Then…I get it.” 

“Get what?” She sniffed. 

“Why we were separated, and then I could suddenly find you. You felt fear. True, honest to gods fear.” 

“Like I said, I’m killing Hiccup when I get back.” 

Suddenly, from the vast unknown of the cavern, there was a sound. A low rumble. 

“Where’s the lantern?” Astrid asked, since there was still pitch darkness. 

“Oh, I wasn’t holding it.” 

“Fine. Let me see…” and she reached down to her pockets and begged for another light source. 

Another ring slid into her palm, and she pulled out a lantern identical to the first. She could see Boat Hiccup’s beautiful face…but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking in the cavern. 

She turned, and there, not five feet away from them, was the gristly white maw of a dragon. Teeth the size of trees, and spines that were tipped in red. 

The Screaming Death. The dragon that Hiccup couldn’t tame. 

Oh sure, they came to a peaceful resolution, but deciding to not eat them for the time being hadn’t given Astrid very fuzzy feelings. 

It was right there.

Watching them. 

Those blood red eyes almost glowing in the lamp light. 

“How long do you think it’s been there?” Astrid whispered, sheer terror gripping her throat. 

He pulled her closer with the arm wrapped around her waist. “My guess? The whole time.” 

“He isn’t moving.” 

And that was almost scarier. 

“It’s not the real Screaming Death,” Boat Hiccup reminded her. “It’s just a representation.” 

“Of what?” 

“Hiccup’s worst nightmares.” 

It happened so quickly, Astrid couldn’t even scream. One second, they were on the ledge, staring at the thing, and the next, it was darting at them, jaws open, snapping shut around them like a bolt of lightning. 

Astrid had nightmares about being eaten by a dragon. She had almost been swallowed by the Red Death, and plenty of dragons after had taken snaps at her. It was a risk of the job. 

But to actually be eaten was a different sensation than she expected. Probably because this was a dreamscape and therefore not real, no matter how real it felt. 

Hiccup was still beside her, arms around her. So they hadn’t been separated again, thankfully. But the black unknown surrounded them on all sides. There seemed to be a cool stone floor below them, though.

“Little Fish, Little Fish, where are you hiding?” 

Now that was a voice she hadn’t heard in a long long time. It actually gave her a chill. “Is that…Mr. Ingulfson?”

“Yeah. Sounds like it,” Boat Hiccup said, with not a hint of fondness in his voice. 

Hosvir Ingulfson was a teacher. Not every Viking on Berk was literate, but Stoick had wanted the next generation to grow up with some knowledge. Hosvir was given the task to give Hiccup’s generation some rudimentary lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic. Astrid remembered him as rather boring, but severe with his punishments. He’d be more lenient the more physically capable you showed, or if you had a talent in a trade…basically if you were able to prove yourself useful.

And suddenly Astrid understood why she was hearing this man’s voice here. 

“H-I-C-C-U-P! What does that spell? That’s right! It spells mistake!” 

A thin line of light appeared then, in the form of a crack in a door. The room beyond was the Great Hall, as it appeared mid-day while everyone was busy. There was a fire in the hearth, but not much other light. 

“Let’s count! How many fingers does the little fish have? One…two…” 

The man walked past the door, and he was uglier than she remembered, but she hadn’t had very many bad experiences with him. She didn’t really remember him all that much, anyway. He had black hair and extremely thick eyebrows. His nose was very narrow, but it stuck out from his face like a shark fin. 

Hiccup remembered him with red eyes. 

“Three…four…” 

Astrid was then aware that she was sitting on the floor, and Boat Hiccup was still clamped onto her. She didn’t dare let go. She didn’t want to be separated again. He was breathing harshly, and seemed to be lost in this vision. 

“Five…six…seven…” 

The memory itself didn’t seem all that scary. Mr. Ingulfson had been a strange man, before he was killed in a raid. Perhaps he was tough on Hiccup? Or perhaps the punishment was the same as on the others, and Hiccup only took it worse because he had been so small? 

“Eight…nine…ten!” Mr. Ingulfson’s figure stood just outside the door now, still looking around for Hiccup’s hiding place. “Very good! How about this? How many fingers will the Little Fish have when I’m done with him?” The man’s head slowly turned, a fiendish smile cracking his face. “Let’s count, shall we?” 

Boat Hiccup gasped. 

“One.” 

The man lunged at them, flinging the door open and changing the scene in the process. It wasn’t pitch black anymore. It was night, but she was in the middle of the village, where everything was lit with fire. 

Belatedly, she realized the fire wasn’t just in braziers, but homes were on fire. Men and women alike were screaming in anger and in fear. 

It was a raid. 

And she was in the middle of it all. 

Astrid looked around, noticing with a start that Boat Hiccup was no longer with her. She was alone in this place. A memory? Or a hypothetical nightmare scenario? 

A chill went down her spine as the draft hit her skin. She wasn’t wearing her blue dress anymore. In fact, she was in Hiccup’s body, and he was only in his underwear. 

Caught in a dragon raid, in only his underwear. It would have been funny from an inexperienced mind. But Astrid knew it was a common nightmare of her people. Being caught in your underwear didn’t just mean embarrassment. It meant you were unprotected, and so so vulnerable. That was compounded for Hiccup. 

“Get back inside!” Her own mother yelled at him as she ran to him, hammer in hand. She scooped him up from the dirt and deposited him beside one of the intact buildings. “What are you doing out here?!” 

“I was bathing! I can’t find my dad!” He cried. 

“Well go home! Don’t make him worry about you!” And she ran off. 

As with all these other memories where she was looking through his eyes, Astrid had no control as he scrambled to hide. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” He yelled. Gods, he was so young! Just a little boy trapped in a hellscape! 

“Little Fish!” Mr. Ingulfson yelled at him, running with a club in hand. 

Unlike with her mother, Hiccup did not respond with relief. The very image took a red hue as the man ran at him. 

Hiccup fell on his rear, hands up in defense. 

Ingulfson had the nerve to raise his club up to strike Hiccup. Hiccup! Not any of the dragons that were causing damage, but a scared little boy! 

“This will teach you, boy. This will get you out of the way!” 

If Astrid believed that this couldn’t get any worse, she was wrong. After all, this was a dragon raid, and the dragons were looking for food. 

A Monstrous Nightmare, extinguished, but not any less deadly, crept over and down the side of the building they were beside. 

This was the largest Monstrous Nightmare she’d ever seen. But, perhaps because Hiccup was so small, it was just normal sized. 

Ingulfson let out a grunt as he heaved the club to try to hit Hiccup. But Hiccup didn’t flinch or look away. He was too frozen in terror by the Nightmare. 

The dragon struck, snapping its jaws around the man, not quite swallowing him whole, but clamping around his torso, leaving his screaming head exposed. The Nightmare shook violently, snapping Ingulfson’s spine like a toothpick. Blood spurted out from the body, falling onto the traumatized Hiccup, before the head snapped off and landed on Hiccup’s lap.

Then the Nightmare flew off with the rest of the body, presumably to feed it to the Red Death.

Little Hiccup screamed, screamed his absolute lungs out as his gaze landed back on the gory remains of his tormentor. 

“DADDY! DADDY!” Hiccup cried, no emotion but terror in his voice. 

Other villagers started gathering around to see what the ruckus was, but no one was helping him. No one dared to touch him. 

“Hiccup!” Stoick’s panicked voice called over the crowd. 

“DADDY!” Hiccup cried back. 

“Oh gods…” The chief slowed his run, then very respectfully removed Ingulfson’s head from Hiccup’s lap. “Are you hurt?”

Hiccup didn’t answer. He just kept screaming and crying. He clutched at his father’s shirt. 

“What a hero,” said someone, “To die protecting the son of the chief.” 

“Hosvir will be remembered for his bravery.” 

The memory soon faded then, and Astrid was left with a nauseous feeling. That memory went beyond things that were scary for Hiccup and went right into trauma. Hell, she might be traumatized herself. A part of her wondered, given all that she knew about dragons now, if that Nightmare saw what was happening and saved Hiccup. 

It was hard to tell if the memory was slightly skewed from time. 

Slowly, a new image appeared. Not a memory, and probably not an illusion. Hiccup, as she saw in modern day. Boat Hiccup was beside her, so this was a new version. He wore all black, and his face was blank and gray. 

“Fear?” She asked, hope filling her chest. 

The emotion blinked at her several times as color came back to his skin. He didn’t look relieved to see her. Quite the opposite, he started to back away. 

“No no, it’s okay!” Astrid clarified. “We’re here to help you!” 

“Oh yeah, sure,” said Fear, heavily dripping with sarcasm. “It’s not like all those fears and memories were put there for a reason. Oh no no, of course not! Just a coincidence is all!” As he spoke, he continued to back away, blending into the shadows. 

Astrid pursued quickly. “I get that they were here for defense, but I needed to find you! I have to wake up all of Hiccup’s emotions, and you’re too important!” 

“If you mean I’m the only thing stopping Hiccup from getting killed, then yeah, I’m just a tiny bit important.” 

“Exactly! He’s so creative and passionate he has to have a little hesitation or he’ll do something stupid! Please Fear, just calm down and talk to me!” 

“No way! Talking feelings with you? That’s the scariest of them all!” 

“What?” Astrid breathed. “Hiccup’s…scared of me?” 

Fear flung out his hand and then disappeared into the dark. 

“You know, I should have seen this coming.” Her own voice echoed behind her. Astrid whirled around to come face to face with a copy of her. Probably the way Hiccup saw her. Her hair was perfect, her skin flawless, eyes enchanting, and a figure she wished she had. “With the way you look at me, and the way the other villagers gossip…but I never thought anyone was serious. I mean, come on. You and me? We’re great friends and all…”

Astrid felt a great blush of embarrassment and indignation rush across her face at the words. 

“But you’re not my type. You have to know that, right? You’re so thin…and the leg…it’s pretty gross.”

“Shut up you bitch!” Astrid spat. 

“And you and I both know that this whole dragon training popularity is so temporary. You’re the best now because you’re the first. But it won’t be long before there’s better than you. I’m pretty close, myself. You know, if Toothless hadn’t been a Nightfury, you’d be irrelevant already. I know it hurts, but someone had to tell you, right? And now that I know how you really feel, I’m not really interested in continuing our friendship.” 

“I said, SHUT UP!” Astrid furiously threw a fist towards the illusion, turning it into mist. 

Boat Hiccup stood nearby, panting as he caught up with her. 

“We should leave,” Astrid said bitterly. “He doesn’t want us here, and I woke him up. We’re done here.”

Boat Hiccup shook his head. “No…I think we need to stay.”

“What!? What more could we possibly have to see here?”

“I don’t know, but it’s something important.” 

Astrid pouted, but ultimately sighed. “Fine, if you say so.” So she started to run in the direction she saw Fear disappear in. 

Without warning, Toothless dropped in front of her, pinning her to the ground under his great paw. She’d been on the receiving end of this look once before, but never with this much vitriol. Toothless narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth. Then he reared up, inhaling with a whistle. He let out this bone rattling roar, right into her face. She swore she felt the heat of fire that was being held back. Then he darted away from her, leaving her flattened on the ground. 

Boat Hiccup pulled her up. “It’s just another memory. We have to push through if we want to get to Fear.” 

She nodded slowly, blinking the shock away. “If only I had…” the thought came to her suddenly, and she reached into her pocket. Out she pulled her beloved axe, and now she was ready.

Together they charged into the never ending dark, cutting through every illusion that popped up. There were memories from long ago, and fresh. Viggo and Ryker appeared, but Astrid cut them down before they spoke. Encounters with hostile dragons that turned friendly in the end were pushed through. And while the gory image of deceased Astrid made her stumble, she still continued on. 

Soon, they had caught up to Fear, who was rather hard to read. He didn’t look afraid. 

“Oh yeah, just run through everything. That’s fine too, you know! It’s not like Hiccup’s sensitive about these things or anything…” 

Then Astrid noticed what she hadn’t before. His mouth wasn’t moving. 

“Are you wearing a mask?” She asked. 

He scoffed. “Yeah, I’m wearing a mask. You know, because I have so many people visiting me at one time?” 

Astrid had enough of the bullshit and grabbed the front of his tunic. Then she grabbed his face and dug her fingers into what felt like wet clay. 

It took little effort to pry the mask away, and what remained was a very young Hiccup. Younger than Sadness. He was shaking and crying. 

“Please don’t hurt me…” he begged. 

Astrid set the costume off to the side. “I’m not going to hurt you, Fear. I’m sorry.” 

He started weeping. “You scared me! You kept chasing me!” 

Astrid felt awful as she pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to talk to you, to understand you.” 

“You’re here because of that witch, aren’t you?” He squeaked. 

Astrid nodded. “She tried to take you, but I came to fix everything.” 

“He was alone,” Fear stated, clawing at her dress. “Toothless didn’t know where we were, and we were all alone and so defenseless. Toothless makes everything easy for me. We’re so strong with him…but without him…”

Astrid just hugged him tighter. “I get it. I promise, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure Hiccup never feels defenseless again.” 

Boat Hiccup just watched this exchange from afar. He knew there was more to Fear than what they had seen, but now that he was close, he got a distinct feeling that interacting with him would be dangerous. Just an echo of a memory. 

–

Hiccup returned from the bottom of the well, wet and with a set of deer antlers in hand. Once he cleared the opening, he puked over the side of the well. “Well, I can certainly still feel nauseous.” He said, still sick. 

“So what did you find?” Stoick asked eagerly.

“Deer carcass.” Hiccup handed him the antlers. “Half rotten. That’s what smelled funny.” 

“How did a deer end up in the well?” Asked Fishlegs.

“Probably fell in and couldn’t find its way out.” Hiccup said nonchalantly, as he wrung out his tunic. “Good thing you guys have another well, because this one is going to be bad for a long time.”

[koishua]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃. 𝐋𝐇𝐒

an excerpt from my wip, the day of the black sun, which i never may get around to complete. 0.654k words. angst. a:tla!au. firebender!reader. waterbender!heeseung. warning: mentions of violence ?? kinda ??

© 𝐊𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐀, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐. 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 • 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆/𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

The rain is falling— ever so present around him and the one person he never thought he would have to face like this. The rain feels cold, the temperature at dangerously low levels for how thin your clothes are, white puffs of air escaping each time you breathe out. It’s dark and gray, the sky— no light, no hope for the future.

No hope for him and the one person he was never meant to be with in this life.

There is a line dividing the places you’re standing, something invisible, yet so open and bare that it’s difficult to not let your griefs swallow you whole. There’s a border, one you can’t cross, for crossing it would be dangerous. It’s cruel, wicked by its nature. It’s a line stemmed out of generations of hatred and anger, one of resentment of your predecessors.

There’s a red, bright red streak on the colorless cobblestone path and it divides two stories that yearn to become one. A scar on his face, on her hands that was always ready to carry her heart for him to hold— there is a burden the two foes must carry. They are the two faces of a single coin, destined to face different directions by creation.

Their stars were never aligned, never once had they been, never once could they have been.

And yet here they stand, hearts beating as one despite weapons drawn and stance taken against each other, bodies begging them to stop. Protesting against everything their souls could not bear feeling them live through, they do not heed the cries of the clouds— the sky sheds tears in pity of the two dying flames.

Heeseung tightens his clenched fists, not minding the pouring droplets sliding down his face as he stands in front of you, raking over the stance you fall into. What a cruel fate it is, being doomed to never be able to show love to someone he would never dare hurt— that’s all he has done, all you have been forced to give him.

Pain was the language of your love.

On opposing sides of two nations, you burn him in flames brighter than the sun, he drowns you in waves heavier than the burdens in your hearts. What a life you could have lived by his side had you not been born to the wrong family. Your hands were tainted by blood far earlier than anyone else, the long living ache being the price you pay for being born kind in a merciless house.

“I’m sorry it came to this, my love.” His voice barely reaches your ears through the thoughts and emotions running in a rampage through you. You can’t even bring yourself to look at him, choosing to lower your gaze regretfully on the puddles formed beneath your feet, constantly rippling with each drop that lands in it.

Whether these are your tears or the heaven's somewhere above, you don’t know— thankfully, you don’t. That means that he can’t as well.

Your lips quiver, the little girl so madly in love with the boy standing in front of you, locked away inside her little cage in the farthest corner of your mind, screams in agony. Her shrieks echo in your mind, a place hollow and devoid of everything it had once been filled with— memories.

“No,” you deny, “It’s me who should be sorry.”

If there is one thing Lee Heeseung is good at, it’s reading you like an open book. He feels everything you do, understands each emotion that seemingly flashes in those glossy eyes of yours that always appear to be putting him under a sweet lull. And now he knows through his heart, that a storm is brewing inside your mind, one far more powerful than ever before.

“Hey,” Heeseung reaches out to you, a kind smile painted on his lips, “Everything will be alright.”

Everything will be alright.

→ taglist no. one: @junityy @jeonqquk @leavethemonsteralive @iuwon @envirae @fairyjunn @renjunvrse @rae-blogging @enhyseob @jitaros @jdyunvrs @kdyism @yourlocalhotgf @strwberrydinosaur @mark-lees-world @99outros @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @tyongishs @yutaalove @yangianwon @icywhatim @sunshine-skz @sooblvr @whoe-dis @thegracerammy @injanggarden @90sni-ki @wccycc @sunfics @woo-minhee02 @yyxy27 @jaeyuncult @bigsobforskz @daystiny @soobin-chois @jaysbestie @ni-kiii @jungwonerz @sunoosbestie @95sjcc @ja4hyvn @ant-ton-ya @blushlin @stealanity @jungwon-luv-bot-pt127 @pshflrts @norifilms @uhmkatt

[just-a-creep-babe]

Giving In

Yandere!Masky x Reader

Commissioned by anonymous—thank you so so very much, I really hope you enjoy 💞💖💗

Requests are closed

Masterlist: x

You don’t know what day it is, or even what time it is, when he finally comes back from his mission

All you know is that it’s dark out, and he looks absolutely exhausted

He stumbles through the door, half-heartedly locking it behind him, and then he makes his way to the dingy couch where he almost immediately collapses in a miserable, overworked heap

You hesitate for a while, unsure of whether or not you should approach, unsure of whether or not he’s in a bad mood, before he finally glances up and notices you

Dark brown eyes wordlessly trace up your form, taking you all in

You shrink beneath his gaze, hints of fear and panic seizing your chest in anticipation 

But all he does is murmur a tired “...c’mere”

He shifts on the couch and extends an arm out, expecting you to curl up against him

You know better than to misbehave

So you inch forwards, one step at a time, and nervously lay down next to him

He feels warm and solid as your back presses against his chest

You ignore the smell of copper lingering on his clothes as he wraps his arm around your torso, securing you snugly against him

There’s just barely enough space for you to be comfortable

“Mmh...” he sighs into your hair, holding you tighter

It, admittedly, takes you a moment to relax

Your muscles are stiff, your heart thumping sporadically in your ribcage as you try to calm down

You’re certain he can feel how tense you are

But he doesn’t say anything about it

Instead, he simply enjoys the quiet moment of peace shared between the two of you

After a few minutes of laying in his arms, you finally manage to calm down enough to settle against him

He groans into you, and murmurs something under his breath that you don’t quite manage to catch

The rest of whatever’s left of your evening is spent in his hold

You hear him quietly dozing off behind you, exhausted from the long mission, before he eventually falls into an even deeper sleep

You consider trying to get up and leave, but something keeps you there, and before you know it, you’re lulled to sleep by the sound of his gentle snoring

He’s still clutching you to his chest when you wake up the next morning

You squirm in his hold, trying to loosen his grasp without waking him up, but you quickly realize that your situation’s hopeless

You’re trapped for good until he finally decides to wake up

And it takes a while, but eventually, he does start shifting behind you

His chest rumbles with a deep sigh, lips pressing to your neck in a slow, soft kiss

You heart rate kicks up at the contact, and you feel him smirk faintly against your quickening pulse

“Morning, sunshine~” he hums

His morning voice is low and husky, and it has small goosebumps prickling all over your skin

“M-morning…” you answer, trying desperately not to sound too flustered. “Can you... can you let me get up? I need to stretch”

He sighs again, making a quiet noise at the back of his throat, clearly admitting that he doesn’t want to

But when you shift and squirm, trying to find a better position, he grunts and gives up, finally releasing you

You get up off the couch and stretch out your stiff muscles, nearly painfully aware of his gaze lingering on you the whole time

“I think... I think I’m gonna go get breakfast ready”

Your excuse is just passable enough to allow you to slip away

Bare feet tread on cold hardwood flooring all the way into the kitchen, where morning light filters through the double windows sitting above the sink

You take a moment to yourself, basking in the warmth enlivening the room, wriggling your toes and feeling your whole body buzz pleasantly in the patch of sunlight spilling onto the floor

When you hear Masky in the other room starting to get up, you decide that you should probably get cooking

You turn on the stove to prepare some eggs, sunny-side up, just the way he likes them, and set some toasts down into the toaster

Masky’s footsteps sleepily trudge down the hall, and into what you assume is the bedroom, as you take care of handling the food

You half expect him to get a shower going, considering that he probably still has blood and dirt smeared all over him

But instead, after a couple of minutes, he returns to find you in the kitchen

You take a shy peak at him from the corner of you eyes, and find that he’s changed into some gray sweatpants and a black tee

But either way, you try not to concern yourself with it too much, and while you’re busying yourself with the eggs, he starts making coffee

He fills the machine with water and its usual ground beans, then flicks it on, and it comes gurgling to life

He rolls his shoulders, stretching out his back and biceps, before finally turning around, leaning back and resting his forearms on the counter

Even without looking, again, you feel him gazing at you—as if watching you cook is the most interesting thing he’s ever witnessed

You try not to let his intent stare get to you

Instead, you focus on your task, acting like you don’t notice him at all, like he’s not even there to begin with

But with every passing second, your nerves steadily start creeping up on you

And the more you urge yourself to calm down, the louder and more frantic your heartbeat seems to grow

It pounds into your eardrums, as if trying to warn you that you‘re always in danger with this man

The fear is nothing new—it regularly checks up on you like an old friend, at this point—but that doesn’t make it any less stressful

Maybe he’s watching you like this because he’s finally grown bored of you, and he‘s just waiting for the perfect opportunity to grab one of the knives and drive it through your sternum

The egg sizzles on the frying pan

You breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth

Pushing down the nausea and the sickly cold sensation of dread licking at your spine, you turn the stove off

“It’s ready...”

Your voice sounds shakier than it normally does

You cringe at the sound, wondering if he noticed

The eggs slide off the pan and onto a plate that you’ve readied

His eyes never once leave you as you set the food down in front of his seat

Then, just as you’re straightening yourself out, a strong pair of hands wrap around your hips

You jump, gasping, almost expecting a cold metal to tear through your flesh, but all you feel instead is... warmth

He chuckles, slow and gravelly, the sound resonating right next to your ear

“You know, there’s no need to be so jumpy, sunshine~”

He gently rubs his thumbs into your hips, as if trying to calm you down

“I’m-I’m sorry,” you stutter, because you don’t know what else you should say

But he only chuckles again, then his warmth disappears as he moves away and takes a seat in front of the plate you’ve set for him

Something akin to guilt, strangely enough, washes over you—along with the feeling of relief

Your eyes linger on him for a beat longer than necessary, and as the pale morning light catches his dark brown locks, you notice, for the first time, that his hair has streaks of faint bronze highlights

Sensing your gaze, he looks up, but you quickly turn away before your eyes can meet

You busy yourself with preparing your own food

The rest of the morning passes by without anything too remarkable happening

After he finishes his coffee, he heads off to the shower, and you’re left alone once again

You clean everything up in a vain attempt to distract yourself from the bubbling mix of emotions in your chest

Your sight falls to the forest outside the windows as you wash the plates, absent-minded, your thoughts drifting on their own accord

Once everything looks neat and tidy and in the right order, you wander to the living room, wondering what you should do next

And that’s when you notice it

On the couch, haphazardly thrown over the armrest, is a familiar yellow jacket

Streaks of dried dirt and flecks of scarlet stain the sleeves, along with the front, sides and the back

Hell—even the interior of the coat looks like it could use a good wash

You hesitate in your tracks

You can still hear the shower running, and you know that he‘ll probably be a while, since he enjoys taking his time after long missions to unwind

You creep closer to the dirty material, and shyly pick it up to examine it more closely

His scent still lingers on it, pine trees and cigarettes, and part of you hates the voice inside your head urging you to breathe it in deeply

Shaking your head, you ignore the temptation

Your finger pokes and prods at the many patches of grime, and you realize that it could easily be cleaned off if you took some time to do so

If you pushed aside your disgust at the thought of washing someone else’s blood from your captor’s clothes, maybe you could make it look more presentable

You don’t know why you have the urge to do this for him, all things considered, but you don’t bother questioning it

Maybe you just need something to do

Offering one last fleeting glance at the closed bathroom door, you return to the kitchen, bringing the stained coat with you

The tap water runs over your hands, changing from cold to lukewarm in a few seconds

You gently pour some soap over the filthiest parts of the jacket and get scrubbing at the grime until the soap suds up

Whatever material it’s made out of, you realize it certainly must not have come cheap

There almost seems to be a protective coating that has even the darkest patches of filth washing right off

It doesn’t even leave any stains behind

The clean water dripping down the sink turns into a murky mess as it spirals down the drain

Something about the small, mundane task is oddly soothing

You find yourself humming quietly as you rinse it all off

And the birds chirping outside almost seem to join in on your song as you do

Once it looks mostly clean—at least much cleaner than it was before, you dry it all off with a towel

You hold it up to the light, watching it glint as it catches rays of sunshine, and the sight has you cracking a smile despite yourself

You quietly make your way back to the living room, where you fold the coat and neatly place it where it’d previously been carelessly thrown

Maybe you did want him to notice, all things considered

Maybe you were expecting him to smile, and to see his eyes light up as he saw what you’d done for him

Maybe that’s why you feel a twinge of disappointment when he comes out of the bathroom and doesn’t even look at it, doesn’t even bat an eyes in its direction

You don’t mention anything about it

And the rest of the day carries on as if nothing happened

Sometime down the line, he takes it from its spot, but you don’t catch him doing so

His coat just disappears from off the couch, and you assume he’s put it away

If he appreciates—or even notices the gesture, he doesn’t show it

A few days roll by and you practically forget about the whole thing

You push it to the back of your head and carry on with life as per usual

One late evening, he comes up to you while you’re in the bedroom, doing some light reading before heading off to sleep

“I’ve got another job to take care of. I’ll be leaving soon,” he says

You blink in surprise

“... Again?”

While it isn’t uncommon for him to leave so often, you thought he’d at least have a few more days to himself, considering how long and grueling the last mission had been

He looks at you with a wry grin on his face

“Awh, what’s wrong, sunshine? Scared you’ll miss me too much?~” he teases

“N-no! That’s not it,” you answer, trying not to look flustered, but failing miserably

That can’t be it, right?

His all-too-knowing smirk doesn’t leave his face as he reassures you, “It’ll be shorter than the last one—I’ll be gone maybe just a day or two”

You look off to the side, trying to hide that slight rush of warmth creeping up your face

“...Ok, bye then”

He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your forehead

And then he’s getting up and leaving, and you’re left trying to decipher what the pit of sorrow and regret at the bottom of your stomach means

Why do you suddenly care about him leaving for work again?

Guilt, confusion and, admittedly, a bit of loneliness, keeps you up longer than usual that night

You spend the next day all by yourself again, keeping as busy as you can, just like you normally do when he leaves

It’s late in the night when he finally does return

You’re woken by the sound of familiar heavy boots thudding on the hardwood flooring

There’s some shuffling, followed by a smaller, duller thud, and then quiet again

You look up at the dark ceiling above you, counting up to 100 in your head

And then you sneak out of the comfort of your bed and quietly check up on him

It’s dark, but your eyes are already well-adjusted as you slink out of the bedroom and down the hall into the living room

Just as you suspected, laying on the couch, is Masky

Judging by his heavy breathing combined with the occasional snore, you assume he’s fast asleep

You’re not sure what to do, or why you even bothered to get up and peak at him, so you sort of just stand over him and watch for a few minutes

The air is chilly, so you wrap your arms around yourself, chewing your lip

You notice he doesn’t have anything covering him besides his usual clothes, so you creep back to the bedroom, grab one of the throw blankets, and return to the living room

Slowly and gently, careful not to disturb him, you cover him with the blanket

Then, right as you’re about to turn and leave, something grabs your hand

You gasp, turning back to look at him

And as you do, he pulls you in, and your lips connect in a slow, sweet kiss

Your eyes widen, a small noise emanating from the back of your throat in surprise

But you don’t pull away

And after a few brief beats, your eyes finally fall close, and you allow yourself to return the kiss

He groans quietly against you, almost humming, the sound deep and low and wonderfully satisfied

By the time you eventually part from him, your knees feel weak and your head is spinning

He looks up at you, his eyes as deep and dark as ever in the quiet of the night

“Do you love me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper

The question catches you off-guard

You know that you probably shouldn’t answer

Or you should at least lie—both to him and yourself

But your body responds before your mind can stop you

You nod, swallowing thickly

“I... I think I do,” you quietly admit

His hand reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear

Shivers dance up your spine, your arms lining with goosebumps

And then he’s tugging you back in again

The second kiss is more impatient, more demanding—like he wants you to prove that you love him

You kiss him as hard as you can—until your lungs are burning and you think you might lose your balance

He brings you in even closer, and you’d stumble and fall, if it weren’t for his strong hands gripping onto you and guiding you on top of him

Everything feels hot and heavy, and you’re breathless and panting, practically shaking by the time you pull apart again

He looks up at you like you’re a goddess on top of him

His lips are parted and he’s panting as well, as his hands occupy themselves by roaming up and down your form

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, “all mine. My little ray of sunshine. My darling”

You nod

You know that it’s hopeless, after all

Try as you might to push him away, to close yourself off from him, you realize that you don’t have a choice

You never had another choice

You were meant to be with him—to be his

“I’m yours,” you finally agree, breathless and borderline euphoric at the realization, “all yours”

He smiles

It’s an honest, genuine smile that sends your heart fluttering in your ribcage

“Say it—say that you love me,” he groans

There’s a sort of insistent urgency in his eyes, like he’s afraid you don’t mean it

You want to prove it to him—prove that you’d do anything for him

“I love you,” you breathe, “I really, really do”

He leans up on his forearms to give you another quick peck to the lips

And then he lays back down again, pulling you along so he can wrap his arms around you while you rest your head on his broad chest

You nuzzle into him, his scent familiar and comforting

You know that no matter what, you’ll always be safe in his arms

The both of you stay quiet, enjoying each other’s embrace in the darkness

Until eventually, the steady rhythmic thumps of his heart slowly lull you to sleep

His hands keep stroking through your hair until he also finally falls asleep, the faint hints of a satisfied smile still tugging at his lips

His

You’re all his

[jekde04]

Of Sudden Rains and Lasting Promises

Pairing: Gruvia (Gray Fullbuster & Juvia Lockser) Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Romance Word Count: 2,254 words Summary: She had been fairly good at controlling the rain and not letting her emotions influence it too much. But there were a couple of instances in the past that it went out of hand–and it always involved one person. Just like how it did now. Prompt: Tears (Day 4 of Gruvia Week 2021, but I'm so late I don't want to tag it as such anymore lol) Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 You may also read it on FanFiction.net and AO3! Check out my master list for other Gruvia fics. Tag list (I'm so sorry I totally forgot to tag you in my last few fics!): @shampooneko @fbflame94 @juviaafullbuster @unvalley @gruviaftw11​ (Wanna be tagged, lemme know)

She didn't mean to make it rain. But thank heavens it was just a drizzle.

It had been a while since it last happened. She had been fairly good at controlling the rain and not letting her emotions influence it too much. But there were a couple of instances in the past that it went out of hand–and it always involved one person.

Just like how it did now.

Juvia wiped the thin streaks of rain pelting her face. She decided to sit on the park bench right under a big oak tree, but the rain must be getting stronger now because the thick canopy of leaves had become inadequate to protect her. She heard a man curse and remark how annoying the sudden rain was as he hastened to pack up the magazines and newspapers he was selling.

She was the gloomy rain woman once again.

"You shouldn't be out under the rain like that."

A hand holding a familiar pink umbrella appeared beside her, shielding her from the worsening downpour. She didn't need to look to know who it was.

"How did Gray-sama get Juvia's umbrella?"

"You left it in the guild, so I borrowed it for myself," Gray said as he moved to sit beside her, all the while not letting the shade of the umbrella leave her head. He moved his damp bangs away from his eyes and ruffled his hair to shake the droplets off.

"Gray-sama can use Juvia's umbrella. No need to ask Juvia," she muttered. She could feel Gray inching closer to her to make sure they're both under the umbrella, their arms and legs touching.

"I know. I just happened to see you here, and it's kinda unfair to keep the umbrella for myself while the owner is getting drenched."

Juvia looked at him, his chiseled profile matching the perpetual frown on his face. She already knew how handsome he was, yet her heart still beat fast every time she looked at him.

But she also couldn't help that sinking feeling in her chest when she remembered what she overheard earlier. She sighed.

"You okay?" he asked her.

"Hmm-mmm," Juvia answered. She wondered if she should ask him or just let him broach the subject. Finally, she decided to just stay in comfortable silence as the rain poured in a steady rhythm.

"Juvia?"

"Yes?"

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

There it is, she thought, but she didn't dare hope. It could be something else.

"Juvia is listening."

A long pause, with nothing but the incessant downpour and the few people out and about being all that they could hear.

"I'm going on a quest with my team." When Juvia didn't say anything, he continued, "It's gonna take a while."

Really, it shouldn't hurt like this. Mages like them go on quests all the time.

But this one was different, she knew.

"Juvia knows. Everyone was talking about it at the guild." She looked at him while he continued to stare straight ahead as if counting each drop of rain. "You're doing Gildarts-san's failed quest, right? The one that hasn't been solved for 100 years."

"Yes."

What was a previously light shower started to transform into heavier rain, bigger drops falling from the sky and making plop-plop noises on the umbrella shielding them. She could feel drops hitting the right side of her body, and she knew that it would only be a matter of time before the wetness would start to seep through her thick clothes.

She felt Gray squeeze closer to her and reposition the umbrella to cover her entire body. Glancing at him, she noticed that half of his body was getting drenched by the sudden heavy downpour.

"Gray-sama, you're getting wet," she said as she moved even closer to him, grabbing the umbrella and trying to cover him better.

"Don't worry about me," he told her, moving his arm around her shoulders so that they could fit under the umbrella better. The sudden warm sensation as Gray practically embraced her lit Juvia's pale cheeks with a pink tinge, but she couldn't bring herself to say more to him.

After a few beats, he said, "I'm sorry you had to hear it from other people. I was planning to tell you, you know."

Despite the dark clouds in the sky and her heart, Juvia couldn't help but smile. At least Gray wasn't planning to just leave her in the dark this time, like what he did when he disappeared without a trace for six months. The thought of it made tears well in her eyes, and she hastily wiped them with the back of her hand, lest the rain worsened.

Gray looked at her, concern written all over his face. "Hey, you can say no if you don't want me to leave."

At this, Juvia looked at him, her eyes wide. "What?"

"If you're not fine with it, I won't go."

"Is Gray-sama asking Juvia's permission to go on a mission?" she asked, not believing what she was hearing.

Gray blushed and looked away from her. He shrugged. "Maybe."

"But why?"

"Well, you are..." Gray swallowed, as if a thick lump had formed in his throat. "You are... my… my friend. And what you think is important to me."

She should have been sad to be called just a "friend," but for some reason, Juvia felt warmth spread in her chest. Gray wasn't particularly good with his words, but he always made up for it in his actions.

And now, he was actually considering her feelings. Ready to throw away the chance to go on a once-in-a-lifetime quest if she said so.

"Does Gray-sama want to go?"

His brows creased in thought, and it took him a moment before he answered. "Yeah, I think so. There's a part of me that wants to stay, but a bigger part of me wants to get stronger."

Juvia furrowed her brows as she looked up at him. "But Gray-sama is already very strong. Juvia knows she says this a lot, but you really are one of the strongest mages she knows."

"I'm not planning to be the strongest out there," he said. "I just want to be strong enough to protect the people that matter to me."

Juvia rolled her eyes. "Everyone at Fairy Tail can protect themselves. You have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not talking about Fairy Tail," Gray answered, his gaze darting once again to the empty rain-drenched street. She may just have imagined it, but she thought she saw his cheeks darken as he tightened his grip on her shoulder.

"There is... someone... I cherish. Someone I almost lost before. I don't want that to happen again. I want to be strong, so I can keep her safe."

It was so unusual for Gray to talk about his feelings that it left Juvia dumbfounded. Of course, she didn't want to assume or make Gray uncomfortable, but…

What the hell. He was leaving soon, and she had to let him know how much he mattered to her. One more time.

"Juvia is sure that whoever that someone is, she already thinks Gray-sama is wonderful and more than enough," she said. And in a lower voice, she added, "And she believes that her love for him won't change whether he's the strongest mage on Earthland or just an ordinary man without powers. Because she loves him just the way he is right now."

She sneaked a peek at Gray, whose eyes she couldn't see behind his bangs, but his cheeks had definitely turned a dark shade of red. And maybe it was just her imagination again, but was that a shadow of a smile appearing on his face?

The rain was finally letting up, the dark clouds gradually going away. Yet the two of them remained huddled under Juvia's umbrella. Gray started to subconsciously play with the tips of her hair, curling and uncurling them on his fingers. Not that she minded, though.

"I know that. After all, she's the kindest person I know," Gray said. "That is why I want to be the best version of myself. For her. I don't want to be anything less because she deserves only the best."

Juvia could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, but she fought it and willed herself not to boil or turn into a puddle. The dark clouds were all gone now, replaced by the sun's rays taking a peek from the clouds and giving an ethereal sheen to their surroundings.

"Gray-sama is so sweet. Whoever she is, she's one lucky girl."

"Trust me, I'm luckier," Gray said, grinning at her. Then, realizing that the rain had stopped and the sun was out, he closed the umbrella and stood up, stretching his hand for Juvia to grab.

"I guess someone's feeling less sad now?" he asked, and Juvia blushed.

She took Gray's hand, and he intertwined their fingers as they started walking towards Fairy Hills. "How did Gray-sama know?"

"Let's just say I also have a Juvia-radar that tells me when you need a bit of cheering up," Gray told her, and Juvia couldn't help the swarm of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Maybe it was due to their interlocked hands and the way his thumb mindlessly caressed her knuckles. Or perhaps the fact that he was walking her home, though he had been doing that for quite some time now. Or maybe it was because of how well he knew her–and actually cared about her.

It was all of the things he had said and done… and even all the unsaid ones that brought unparalleled joy in her heart. Because she felt… no, she knew that she was loved. Deeply and completely.

But she had to ask him one more thing.

"Gray-sama?'

"Hmm?"

"Can you promise... that certain someone... one thing?"

"What is it?"

"Promise her you'll come back."

Gray chuckled. "Of course. I promise I'll come back home to her, no matter what. I will come back as a man worthy of her love. "

She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, and they continued walking hand-in-hand, no words needed.

They were at the gate of Fairy Hills when Gray spoke again.

"Juvia?"

"Yes, Gray-sama?"

He had stopped walking and faced her. "Wait for me, will you?"

A bright blush bloomed on her cheeks. Gray had always been indirect with her, yet here he was, asking her (and not a certain someone) to wait for him.

As if there would be any other answer.

"Always, Gray-sama."

And, in a moment of boldness, she tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering for a second before letting him go. She caught sight of his reddened cheeks before he turned his face away and awkwardly patted her head with his free hand.

"We won't be leaving until the end of the week, so, um... would you like to... spend some time with me?"

Juvia's eyes sparkled. "Is Gray-sama asking Juvia out on a–"

"Not a date!" Gray quickly interrupted. "Just, um, hanging out with each other since I'm going away and we're not going to see each other for a long time."

Juvia smiled knowingly. Nothing would change her mind that Gray was asking her out on a date, but of course, she would let him believe that they were just "hanging out" if that was what he wanted.

"Let Juvia think." She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a finger on her chin. "Hmm, Juvia wants to eat caramade franks, go fishing–"

"You wanna go fishing? We can do that."

"Really? Juvia's so happy! She was told it's always raining around her, so she can't be taken fishing or camping or–"

"Who said that? That's a load of crap," Gray said, irritated. "Tell me and I'll punch his brains out."

Juvia placed a hand on his arm. "Not important, Gray-sama." She smiled and added, "Tomorrow, then?"

Gray nodded. And before she knew what was happening, she felt Gray pulling her body close to him, her hat yanked away from her head, and Gray's lips suddenly on her forehead. Her hands landed on his bare chest, and she could feel his heartbeat thumping loudly, probably as strong as the beating of her heart at the moment.

It ended as fast as it happened, and she found herself being pushed away by a flustered Gray, mumbling, "See you tomorrow!" As he hurriedly walked away from her, Juvia finally broke from her trance and had enough sense to shout, "Gray-sama, your clothes!"

"Crap!"

Juvia giggled as Gray picked up his discarded clothes and started wearing them, still a bit of pink coloring his cheeks. When he was done, he hastily waved goodbye to her and shouted, "Tomorrow!"

She watched his retreating form until he was no longer within her line of sight. Her heart ached a bit, knowing that he was going away soon, but it swelled with the promise that he would eventually come home to her–a better, stronger, and more confident man.

How that was even possible, she didn't know, as he was already perfect in her eyes. But she also hadn't imagined that she could even love him more, yet here she was, finding herself loving him a little bit more each day as he ever-so-slowly let her into his melting heart.

Clutching her hat to her heart, she entered Fairy Hills.

A/N: I'm still writing Gruvia Week fics? You bet I am! It would be a waste if I don't flesh out those drafts I did before, right? Thank you for still reading my fics. I appreciate them a lot and you inspire me to keep writing. Btw, the fishing thing is a reference to the FT 100 YQ chapter 11 cover. And also to what Bora said to Juvia once. :)

[marjiandco]

6. Onerous

Time/Place: ARR - Getting ready to fight titan during that questline sequence

Word count: 573

Raiku crossed his legs as he fell back. A pretzel body that stretched back into a more comfortable position on the beach chair. His toes curled in the sun, the warmth of the day cooking him to the right temperature. He closed his eyes languidly, his thoughts turning to how cool the water would feel after

his sun bath.

Except a shadow stood in his way. He scrunched his face and refused to open his eyes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out finding cheese?”

He rolled over onto his stomach, and the woman clicked her tongue. He heard a clink next to him as she put down a bottle and sat on the sand. She dug her feet into the sand and threw debris away from them.

“If you go get it we can be done with this whole thing.”

“I don’t understand why we’re doing it.” He grumbled into the crook of his arm.

Marji shrugged and scooted into what little shade she could find from Raiku’s chair. He was sure he could hear her gray skin sizzle.

“To find out about titan’s...something.”

“It’s obvious we’re just doing a grocery run for them.”

“We won’t know unless we do it.”

“I thought they’d be better than that liar in La Noscea.”

“What do you mean?”

Raiku raised onto his elbows. He was surprised to see how dirty she looked; as if she’s been traipsing through a jungle. She picked leaf litter and dirt from her black tail, and shivered as a large briar tugged on her hair. Streaks of green stained her clothes, and her face was a blotchy patch of pink burn and brown dirt.

“Do you want to get out of the sun?” he asked

She laughed “Sure. Though I think I’d rather have a bath.”

“Probably have one around here, or” he waved to the ocean.

They got up in search of Y’shtola, who’d disappeared the moment Gegeruju was called upon. On the way, Raiku thought on the best way to explain to an actual hero how his own disappointed him.

“They just, I know they broke up and aged, but I know the Company of Hero members when I see them; I have their trading cards in my old room. I didn’t think they’d be so cryptic with a primal summoning at stake. I thought you’d..er..”

“I’d what?”

“Stand up for yourself more?” He said, voice quiet at the end. “What I mean is you fought Ifrit and won, why are you doing this when you could make them tell you what they need?”

“Should I be unnecessarily cruel to get what I want?” Her words were sharp, and she stopped her grooming to stare down at him.

“That’s not what I meant. We’re scions! Part of this secret organization to take down threats to the land. Why are we doing this, working for people who don’t respect us?”

She looked away. Something rang true in his words, but she had hardened, hiding the doubt behind a dark mask.

“I’ll go get the cheese myself. You can stay here and lament your station all you’d like but keep me out of it. It’s not as if you have to face Titan anyways.”

She stalked off back towards the other side of the island, wine bottle swinging wildly in her hand. The sun’s heat couldn’t reach him now; not when he stumbled over some hidden thorn in Marji’s side. He went after her.

[octania]

Benimaru Shinmon x Reader ( NSFW, 18+)

Word count: 3.8 k

Warnings: NSFW,smut,oral sex,sexual teasing, orgasm prohibition

Short description: You were in love with this man for over a year, but your bratty mouth an denial of your feelings got you in a situation where Benimaru will teach you how to behave in very teasing and heated way....

________________________________________________________

The air was filled with the scent of a variety of traditional dishes and enriched by the happy shouts of excited residents through the streets. This time, the festival did not mean destruction, this time it was celebrated by making delicious dishes and socializing with each other. The celebration itself began at dawn, when they brought out their wooden tables and portable stoves, beginning to enrich the street with enticing scents of a variety of spices and ingredients. You could also hear the gentle sound of kota, whose strings were gently touched by the pale hands of young talented musicians. While these were all just preparations for the big ceremony that would start when sun kisses the mountains, everyone shared their joy throughout the day. His dark hair fluttered in the morning breeze around his narrowed eyebrows. Ruby eyes barely opened as he passed like a shadow past people. Although it was not visible on the expression on his face, he secretly enjoyed the liveliness that spread through the streets of his hometown. Countless greetings lined up behind him, giving him words of praise and support to which he only nodded a few times, nothing more, and continued his walk. The silence of his thoughts was broken by a hoarse female voice. Although it was rough, it sounded kind of gentle. He soon discovered to whom it belonged, when a plump old woman with black hair streaked with gray strands stepped in front of the captain. Her wrinkled face wearing a smiled from ear to ear, her eyes squinting at the young man.“Benimaru, my boy! I have something for you, please do except my gift in honor to you and the members of your squad.”- she was direct, not talking his ear off, just bowing slightly after her words and handing him a medium sized package. He stared in the thing wrapped in light blue material with a lack of interest that he did not hide not even the slightest. “Tempura and sushi, to hold you till the festival tonight.” – she explained getting back up from the slight bow. After a couple of lazy blinks, he raised his hand and responded. “That is alright, we will wait till the festival.”- without waiting for a response, he passed the woman in attempt to leave, but she was not letting go so easily. Shoving the thing in his hands, she smiled again, not bothered by his behavior.“Nonsense! Twins will love it, and we all know Konro could use a break for cooking today.”- Benimaru sighed, pushing the package slowly back at her, but before he could say anything, a female voice sharp like katana echoed the street. “Obaachan, can you please stop giving food to the people who clearly have no decency to even say thank you? Rudeness should not be rewarded.”- (Y/N) stood at the door of their restaurant, squeezing the sleeves of her kimono. Benimaru didn't say a word, looking at the young girl with the expressionless face. The lack of his reaction only made (Y/N) even angrier as she furiously crossed her arms over her chest. “(Y/N), you watch your mouth! You are addressing our beloved captain, to whom you owe your safety!”- obaachan scolded her, raising her finger as a warning, but that didn't stop (Y/N) from responding with even greater ferocity, targeting Benimaru with a look of utter contempt. “Because he is a captain, he should show more respect to his people and their offerings! Shouldn’t leaders be role models? Poor us if that is the case. People usually pay for the food in our restaurant, and yet he shows no gratitude even when his meal is free!”- she did not waver, her stand proud and determent, not showing even a bit of fear from the man who is the head of this town. “Child, hush! Go back inside right now! Sol help your rude mouth!”- Obaachan started waving her hands, showing (Y/N) to go back inside the house, turning to Benimaru. “I apologize captain Shinmon, (Y/N) did not mean it.”- the elderly woman bowed again, with clear expression of shame smeared around her wrinkled face. Still speechless, Benimaru watched the girl, who was now biting her lower lip in frustration as if it were chewing gum. Eventually, he slung the bundle over his shoulder, turning on his heel. “Thank you for the meal madam (Lastname of your family).” – that was the only thing he said, strolling down the dusty street without turning around again. Even though he wanted to allow his mismatched eyes to gaze upon the fearless woman one more time....

The celebration that had its core in the great hall that belonged to your family, otherwise intended for weddings and large feasts, was already spreading like wildfire. People were raising glasses full of sake, feasting on specialties they had been preparing all day, but they preferred to treat their palates to desserts that belonged to your family restaurant. Young artists danced a traditional dance with fans, attracting curious glances with their gorgeous and colorful kimonos. Outside, the streets were crowded with people, gazing merrily at the early fireworks that ate up the starry sky with their tantalizing shapes. You were in charge of serving the guests who sat on the heated floor of the hall in front of the beautifully carved tables. Countless comments on your beauty and grace have accompanied you in your assignment, while you have given a kind smile to anyone who would praise you. No one has noticed that your eyes jump restlessly from person to person, searching the room in hopes of encountering the phlegmatic face of the man who was the source of your deepest suffering.You were afraid that your sharp tongue had resulted in his absence, that he wouldn't show up for the rest of the evening, maybe not after either. Did you overdo it... or didn't you? He was rude after all! Yes it is true, he is guilty of this! You weren't even aware that your angry thoughts betrayed the state of your mind on your face. You eyebrows narrowed, lips squeezed in a straight line, your body tense, as you rushed towards the kitchen, when a familiar voice addressed you. “(Y/N)! Your family always knew how to make the best celebrations, I congratulate you.”- a tall man with a kind blue eyes  that resembled a calm and mysterious sea, smiled at you, holding the door of the kitchen open for you. “Konro! I..”- you stopped for a second, almost dropping the mountain of dirty dishes you were carrying,  as your eyes finally find the one they’ve been searching for. A smile almost escaped your lips, but you prevented your rooted emotions to show. Behind the tall man, Benimaru was standing, scanning the room full of cheerful people. He did not even look at you once, and you could feel the frustration rising in you again. Who does he think he is? No matter how much you were bothered by his disinterested posture, your eyes wandered over his crossed arms on his chest, the muscle that adorned his forearms reached to the very core of your desire. The hands filled with veins always looked tense and ready to fight, as if  he was waiting to defend the whole world with them, alone. You could no longer resist the sight, you had to run away. Blubbering a couple of thanks to the lieutenant, you ran past his arm into the kitchen, kicking the door with your foot behind you to close them. You took quick steps to the sink and nearly broke half the porcelain plates when you threw them inside. You grasped the edges of the sink, closing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath. Before you could muster your whirlwind of thoughts, a young woman approached you from the back.“You know, if you were not such a proud and bratty thing, you would be breaking beds now and not dishes.” – (B/F – name of your best friend) mocked your state without restraining one bit. Your nerves were thin, and being called out like this only made you react like a cornered animal.“Shut up, I don’t know what you are talking about (B/F). Seriously, if you worked even the half of the time you spend teasing people, we would actually get something done. “-you snapped at her, pulling out  bamboo boxes filled to the brim with colorful mochis. “Sure, if you had a bite to support all that barking, maybe you would get something done. I think Benimaru would appreciate your teeth on his skin more than your mouth just bullshiting all the time.”- she did not back down,wrapping the strands of hair around her finger, (B/F) continued before you could counter attack.“How long has it been since you started drooling over Waka? A year? Year and a half? Oh my God, when I remember how pissed you were when you though he was dating that girl from company 8th just because she brought some papers a couple of times.”- the more she talked, the more did rage boil in you, so much that  it seemed that steam will start going out of your ears. Her voice only rose as she continued through laughter.“Damn, you made me wait  around corners like crazy people just so we can see if they are a couple or not. And when it finally turned out they were not, I will never forget your jumping in the air from excitement.”- before she could say any more , something gooey and sticky landed right on her forehead. She whined in surprise, as the pieces of mochi started falling down her face.“Anything else you want to add?!Huh?!”- you lifted your hand high, ready to throw another mochi at her.“Maybe if you threw yourself on Benimaru in the same way you are throwing this mochi, you would get some and your nerves would calm down!!”- she screamed before ducking down as your hand catapulted another one at her.  You didn’t even know that your little show didn’t go as private as you thought. The high tones of the people from the main hall were unfortunately not enough to cover your voices, and one curious ear absorbed every word. Benimaru lowered his head, starting to walk away from the kitchen door. Under his raven hair, a grin was hiding.

He sat quietly watching the people around him fiercely try to get his attention. Some were male neighbors praising his fighting skills, their speech interrupted by hiccups from too much sake was almost humorous, while on the other hand a couple of girls discreetly tried to gain his favor, but all they got was a restrained smile. He brought the glass to his lips to take a sip of the bitter liquid, but there were no more inside. Your grandmother, who was actually only a few seats away from him, noticed the lack of refreshment for the beloved captain, and of course, called your name instantly. “(Y/N)! Fill the captain’s cup!”- you kept away from his table. Actually, you targeted those behind him, in order to better avoid a face-to-face encounter. The things (B/F) told you bothered you too much, and you didn't just want to deepen your cravings and quarrel with yourself over the feelings you carry for this man. Hearing your name, Benimaru tilted his head, looking over his strong shoulder with his glowing eyes. That deep gaze made you swallow, barely keeping you composure. You knew if you came any closer you would break, and you will not give him that satisfaction. You lifted you chin up,  pushed back your shoulders, and turned on your heal as the cold answer followed.“He has hands. He can fill it up himself.”- without second thought, you walked away, but you swore you could feel a set of burning eyes following you.

The hallways were empty, all the guests retreated to the main hall. As the night went on, even the workers began to relax, completing their work and joining the rest of the town in celebration. There was no longer a need to bring the food from the kitchen, at least for the time being, the tables were full. (B/F) was the last person leaving the kitchen, as you said you will join her shortly, you just wanted to finish a few things up. Carrying the empty bamboo boxes, you took a turn into the hallway bathed in dim light, crashing with your shoulder into something big and hard. You blinked in shock, barely managing not to drop the boxes on the floor. The thing in front of you was a person, and seeing him made your heart race. Benimaru Shinmon stood there silently, his eyes half opened, shoulders relaxed, while he studied you.  You almost bit your lip, but seeing the man baring that uninterested expression once more, made your blood boil instead. “Excuse me is the words you are looking for! You should watch where you are going.”- you said irritated, trying to go pass him, hiding your flustered face beneath your hair. A feeling of slight pain spread throw your back as it crashed on the wall. It took you a couple of seconds to figure out what was going on, that is, you needed to believe that this was not one of your dreams. Pressed with his hips on your abdomen, Benimaru towered over you. He seemed stronger than usual, more dangerous, but there was not a shred of fear in you, just excitement. “Wh..what are you doing?! Get off!”- funny you should say that, when in reality you didn’t wiggle or struggle at all, your big mouth once again just stood in your way in order to show your true feelings. But Benimaru was no fool. He did not respond on your demands, instead, he tilted his head on the side, like he was checking something, then returned his gaze on you. You could feel the ground disappearing under you. You gasped at the unsettling feeling, trying to grab onto something from pure instinct. But the only thing you managed to grab was the one making you lose the floor under your feet in the first place. Benimaru picked you up by your waist, his forearm adorned with prominent veins wrapped around your waist like a snake, not letting go of his prey. He was fast, pushing the door of the kitchen that was empty and dark, kicking it again as they closed with a loud bang that made you flinch, while he turned the key in the lock. “Benimaru ! What the hell? I said let go!”- in reality, you hated the thought of his hands leaving your body. The feeling that flowed through your veins when you were this close to him, almost took over even your insolence, but the bits that were left now squirted like popcorn from your lips. “You are too huffish, (Y/N).”- his voice smooth like honey, but a bit dark. The sudden feeling of falling down made a muffled whine to escape your mouth, but you did not hit the ground. He held you in his lap while he sat down on a kitchen table. Your permanent denial tried to strike for the last time, making you turn around furiously, facing the man who dared to pick you up like a helpless and fragile thing. But the sharpness of your words did not come down from your lips, when sweetness filled your taste buds. The warm flesh of his lips now merged with yours. The bitter taste of the sake he drank from didn't bother you, because for you he tasted like cupid's wine, intoxicating you, maddening your thoughts and driving your senses wild. You felt dizzy from the heat that rushed into your cheeks when he first ran his tongue over yours, caressing its soft surface with his tender muscle. You tried to get some air in your lungs but you didn't know how to breathe, you were so enchanted by his kisses. You almost swore in displeasure when he pulled his lips away from yours.“If you just did this, we would be able to skip the punishment.”- confused, you did not even manage to answer his statement when his hands that were resting on your waist till now, pulled you down and flipped you across his lap. Your knees landed on the wooden surface of the table, as you kept your balance on your elbows in the front. “What…what are you doing?”- you asked with a shaky voice, seeing how his hand hold you by the material of you kimono on your lower back, keeping you steady. “I declined the home made meal from your obaachan today because I knew we already had a meal prepared for the day.”- he said sliding his rough palm of his free hand across your spine, down to the your lower back, all the way to your peachy ass. You bit you lip, shivering when his touch did not stop, traveling down your thigh, then taking a handful of fabric of your kimono.“Taking more would mean throwing it away because it would not be eaten. And that would be disrespectful.”- he jerked your kimono abruptly, exposing your entire lower body. Your perfectly shaped ass made him discreetly lick his lips, while you covered your face with your palms in shame. “I-I…I didn’t k..know that ..”- you tried to explain yourself, but in vain, as his voice  responded harshly, accompanied with his finger movement, slipping under the side of your panties. You whined loudly as his index finger brushed along your folds.“You did not bother to ask. But fortunately as you said earlier, I do have my hands. And with my hands I plan to teach you how to behave.”- the sound of tearing fabric filled the kitchen. You bit your hand when you felt the exhaled air from his mouth pass over your naked cunt. He was so close that he could feel the heat coming from it, barely restraining himself from biting into that cookie. You stirred a little, the discomfort ate at you up, the feeling of arousal overcame you.“Don’t look there….Benimaru, please I-….”

“You know how to say please already? Well, I wonder what it will take to teach you to say sorry.”- his fingertips crossed over your silky pussy lips, gently caressing the rosy flesh. You whimpered at the slow pace of his movements. He didn't remove his head, he calmly watched the wet glow slowly appear on those folds. He pushed his finger closer to the opening, collecting some sticky liquid with his fingertip. He didn't push his finger inside, but continued to draw a line along your slit. “Oh my Sol!”- you cried out, squirming already, but that did not even make him flinch. He pushed his digit a bit harder, make it sink into the sensitive flesh, brushing over it all so gently. “Sol will not help you (Y/N), but some manners might. Luckily again, as you said, captain should be a role model, showing the people the art of good manners.”- his thumb slipped across your clit, making the rough skin stimulate it so greatly it made your icing flow more intensely. You yearned for him to do it again, but you were out of luck. This was not supposed to be something to reward you with, this was a straight up lesson to teach you what will happen when your bratty mouth bump into an opponent like Benimaru. He settled his thumb above your throbbing nerve bud, adding another finger to the game. His index and middle finger pulled your pussy lips slowly, massaging them between them. The sensation you were feeling made you feel dizzy. The overwhelming pleasure that arose in you now got your legs shaking without stopping. The feeling was unbearable, because he touched all the sensitive places but leaving the critical ones empty and eager. This teasing was so arousing your juices now strained down your thigh. The crystal like liquid did not go unnoticed by Benimaru, as a grin appeared on his face. Without a second though, he lowered his head, sticking his tongue out and pressing it on your plushy thighs, collecting the juices in long strokes. “Beni!!”- you moaned like a whore, voice filled with begging desire and maddening need, but he did not plan to be interrupted. He slid his hand under you, finding your mouth and sticking the fingers coated in your icing in it.“Clean this up, while I clean you down here.”- he lifted his hand a bit to make you close your mouth around his fingers, pumping them in and out to insure you will do the job well. You sobbed in a low voice as you sucked on your own cum, barely concentrating on his order when the feeling of him patiently licking off the wetness along your thighs and getting closer to your cunt made you almost faint. His soft muscle finally found its way to the grand prize, as he brushed it on your folds and around your entrance in circular motions. You could not take it, you started to push your ass back, trying to make him stick his tongue in, touch your clit, anything to give you the sweet release you so desperately needed. But he will not grant you that. He pressed his mouth right on your heated hole, and started sucking, gathering the last of your juices. You body was on the edge, you could feel your heart skipping a beat, lungs barely catching air and muscles tensing, begging for that much needed release, but the only thing you got was a tender kiss on your clit, before he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, and lifting you off of him. He placed you in the sitting position, spreading your legs so your cunt was fully exposed to him once more. Your own wetness was smeared around your lips. You lowered your gaze, seeing something that made your mouth drop open. On Benimaru’s loose pants, there were more than clear outlines of his thick dick. You never saw something like that before, stretching the fabric mercilessly. He was not big, he was huge, and you wanted every damn inch buried inside of you. But you again forgot that this was not your lucky day….“You can only watch as I get the release that you are forbidden to reach tonight.” he slid his hand under his pants, giving his length a couple of experimental pumps before exposing the beast to you.“If you will behave, next time I will reward you, this time you will only swallow your bratty words…and my cum.”- he started slowly jerking it off, gazing at your plumb lips where his load will end.

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[plush-rabbit]

A Ruined Otaku

Warnings: Dom, Degradation (light), Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: i wanna make Levi cry (also just one oro for him!! I forgot to add the second:(()

-

Leviathan is many things. The third born. The Avatar of Envy. An angel turned demon. A Grand Admiral. He can summon an old creature, scales embedded with everything lost to the sea and kill with a simple squeeze of his hand. He’s something old and powerful, a minimalist body to hold the power and horror that resides. Leviathan, is an old demon, scales and teeth, thirsty for blood and poisonous to the mind, and yet, with all the power and title that he carries, he still lays beneath you, legs spread and cock oozing with semen, a gag shoved in his mouth- a simple makeshift of your underwear that was stained with arousal- soaked with his own drool as tears form in his eyes like dew that forms under the bright moon of Devildom. His hands are clawed into the cheap fabric of the small bed- a futon, if he was to be more specific- the fabric ripped and stuffing fluffing out of the sheet. 

“You’re drooling,” you muse, the heels of your shoes clicking against the tile of his room. “You know how expensive those were, right?” He can only nod his head, feeling a thick sliver of drool slip down his chin. “Here I am, wasting money on you, getting all dolled up, and there you go. Drooling over my underwear like some fucking creep.” Your voice raises into a lilt at the end, a cruel smile stretching against your lips, your eyes narrowing as the fat of your cheeks push upwards. “Who’s going to get me a new outfit? Hm? Are you?” He remains silent, sniffling through the fabric, cock jerking, the spiraled head dotted with pearly white semen that drips down onto the bottom of his stomach, the scales that adorn him are coated in a slimy substance, glistening and heavy, lubricated due to his nature, aching and ready to be put to use. He can only nod his head at your question, he doesn’t do more than that, nodding until his purple hair is ruffled. You’re not stronger than him- you could never beat him in an actual fight, but he is at your mercy right now and with a slight work of spell, he can feel the pressure of your nails against his tight. “Answer me, Levi.” 

His words are muffled against the cloth. He’s heard you say his name plenty of times, but each and every time, it still stirs something within him. “Yes,” he says, the word muffled, a harsh “sh” sound at the end of the word and he wants you to pierce his skin; he’d give you his strength just to feel blood prick at his skin, to feel you have all the power and to put him at your mercy. He thinks with a bit more practice, you should be able to leave him bruises in the shape of your hands. He salivates at the thought of feeling an actual sensation coming from you and not from some type of toy.

His stomach aches, his erection almost painful, skin tingling and running over his body with pricks. He can’t seem to find his breath. He tries to peer at you, so desperate to call you by name and ask you to touch him just once more, to give pity to him. 

“And how are you going to do that? You waste every single grimm that you earn on figures and anything else you can get your hands on.” His legs are spread and he can feel your knee against the inside of his thigh. “So reckless and horrible. You’re a pathetic excuse for a demon.” His chest aches and his hands tighten around the sheets. “Worrying about standing in line, having me do all your dirty work just so you can jerk off to plastic.” He moans against the fabric when your hand wraps around his cock; you don’t cover him entirely but it’s more than enough for him to at least derive some pleasure. “Is that what gets you off? Fisting your cock over plastic, thinking about how the new waifu-” he can hear the distaste in your voice and he’s pleading in his mind for you to just hurry and jerk him off- “would bend over and ask you to fuck them.” Your laugh is harsh, piercing into his fragile self-esteem and he’s whining, a high-pitched and pathetic noise that makes you glower at him. “What do you think of when you jerk off over plastic?”

He refuses to answer. He’s a yucky otaku, something gross and perverted, a title given to him only because he had fallen along with his brothers. He is powerful but weak, cracking under pressure and having to beg for things. It’s already mortifying enough that you know of his perverted secret, humiliating, knowing that you’re using it against him in such a private and intimate moment. But he couldn’t help himself- he couldn’t ask you to help him, he was too nervous, shaking at the thought of telling you that he was aroused and none of the videos or hentai were doing it for him. It was his fault- he’s the one that bought the scantily clad figure, an ahegao expression printed onto it that was soon painted white.

The bed creaks, the metal groaning under the weight of both of you, the front of the bed knocking against the wall and his face burns. He knows that whatever happens will be echoed through the house, that he’ll be forced to endure even more teasing and having to go back to you and beg for you to take care of him. 

Your hands dance on his abdomen, fluttering hands that graze his sides and rest where a rib cage would be, curving over his breasts and the heel of your palm nudges against his pebbled nipples. He is still, breath hitched in his throat and eyes fluttering to a close. It’s the softest touch he’ll get from you right now, something so comforting that it sends the muscle in his chest beating harsh against the skin of his body. He wants something harsher, he wants to feel you grip on him and never let go, to be gasping for breath simply because you gave him what he wanted. He’d lie on the ground and bleed for you, choke against his own blood, grovel at your feet and kiss the ground you walk on if it meant that you would touch him in the way he wanted to be touched.

Your hands are curved against his chest, the pads of your fingertips pressed into him and he stares at amazement above you. His cock, a spiraled tip with bumps and ridges, the shaft is a soft curve is a heavy, dark color. It’s hard, the scales that etch onto him below the head are rigid and bumped, the arousal and state of mind that he is in makes him lose focus. He’s spilling, drenched in his own arousal. You sit bare on his thighs. He can smell your sex, aroused and leaking. He’d give up an entire season of anime if it meant he could see how pretty your cunt looked. 

“You’re a filthy, fucking whore, Levi.” With every inch that you sink onto his cock, he screams against your underwear. “A quick and easy fuck.” You’re so warm and soft, the puffiness of your walls enveloping in a sweet hug. “You should be lucky that even a human would want to touch you.” You spit the words out and his sobs against the cloth, jaw twitching and tear tearing through the fabric. Your hands grip at his face, turning him towards you and he looks at you with heavy eyes filled with tears. “Tell me your perverted fantasies, Leviathan.” The fabric spills from his mouth, dragging across his skin, leaving his lower half of the face in a thin layer of his own drool. You sneer at him and yank your hand away from his face, shaking it beside you as if to flick off any of his own secretion. 

Where could he even start? He’s breathless, shaking in his position, trembling bones as he raises his arms and covers his face with clammy hands. He can feel your gaze on him, his face burning and chest heaving with every intake of air, pressing his heels into his face. His body reacts, knees bending, trying to curl up in a ball, meeting your ack instead and he can hear the soft puff of air. 

He peeks between slender fingers, staring up at you and he can only lay and watch as you tilt your head. You raise your brows at him expectantly, and there’s a falling pit in his stomach. “I-” his voice cracks and his neck burns- “I think of you,” he says in a rushed voice. “I think of how good your mouth feels, how you always leave me pleased and completely drained.” He yelps when fingers twist at his nipple, the skin blooming in red and back arching, hands leaving his face to grasp at the bed. “I- I think of you- It’s always you. How you let such a poor excuse of a demon touch you.” His voice is steadily growing louder, choking through the words and staring up at you. “I’m gross and I’m touching you, a filthy, yucky otaku-” with each word his voice grows louder until it’s booming against the walls, the glass of his aquarium shaking, making the poor fish swim around anxiously- “who thinks of fucking you when I jerk off.” 

He’s pitiful. Messy, purple hair that sticks to his forehead with sweat, orange eyes tinted with blue shine under tears that have yet to be shed, few tear streaks wet at his face, falling down to the pillow under him, the dark gray pillowcase darkens under him. Your hand cradles his face and for the first time in the night, his chest feels light, he can breathe, staring at your parted lips and wanting to kiss them. He purses his lips and jerks his head towards your, eyes closing slowly- just one kiss, something so simple and innocent that he wants. 

He’s pulled back with a soft click of your tongue, your head shaking in a denial that you give him. “Tsk, tsk.” Your hand is still gentle and it’s intoxicating to have you touch him. His cock warms your insides, pulsing and aching, his entire control kept in check in order to not disobey and let himself ravage your weaker body. There’s a horrible thought in his head as you lay limp in his arms as he pushes inside your body, kissing at your wet lips and meeting the dazed look in your eyes. “Only good boys get to kiss me.” Your lips are so close to his and your free hand rests on the curve of his breast. “Are you a good boy, Levi?” The tip of your nose grazes at his and he’s never been so weak in his entire life, never so full of want and hunger to force himself to move so he can kiss your lips. 

“No,” he breathes out. His tongue peeks out, the soft, pink tip lapping at his lips. “I’m horrible.” He thinks he’d kill for just a simple kiss. “Make me a good boy, please.” He calls your name, he dares to utter the breath of his love in such a hopeless voice, wanting to reach above with curling hands. 

He gasps when your lips are pressed against his- slipping past, slick with something sour, tongue slipping past and entering his mouth. If it were any other day, he’d slip his tongue in your mouth and have you choke, but for now, he remains unable to, completely at your will. He’s certain now- he really would kill for just a simple kiss from you.

It’s shameful and he won’t live it down for the next odd years, but the kiss is enough to send him over the edge. He keeps his lips pressed to yours, bruising almost as he pushes himself against you, cock twitching and a soft rut of his hips as he spills his seed inside of you. It’s a thick, heavy flow, filling you and his hands are moving, flat against your back and curing against the back of your head, pushing you closer to him. His mouth opens and he whines, salivating as you let out a stifled moan. Filthy and wet, his slick sliding out of you, coating his cock with semen, the scales that line around him are lost under him. 

He’s delirious, humping you, his face dazed and eyes rolled to the back of his head, a heavy blush across his face as you let him do all the work. While endurance was never his strongest suit, he absolutely loses himself over you, his thrusts becoming sloppier- a lewd, wet shucking sound fills the room, your breasts bouncing and it’s humiliating at how riled he becomes. He pants like a bitch in heat, and he can hear just how pathetic he sounds, croaking and gasping for breath. 

You’re slick, your walls molded around him, the soft walls that envelop him in a warm hug, make him twitch. He’s whining, chest vibrating against yours, his stiff nipples pressed against your soft chest. Every pull of your body makes him murmur a slurred version of your name, mind hazy as he continues to rut inside of you, feeling the burning heat in his lower stomach return, aching and tightening, having him kick out his legs as his body starts to grow rigid and antsy. 

“Such a whore, Levi.” Your lips brush against the shell of his ear, lowering yourself on his cock, the base of it stretching your wet sex. The curve of his cock pushes against a spot, eliciting a strangled moan from you. You clench tighter around him, your plush walls squishing around him- silky and plush, against his cock. “Acting like you’ve never fucked a cunt before.” Your words low, lowering your head to kiss at his neck, wet spots that glisten against his skin.

“Not-” he’s interrupted by a moan, hands clawing against you, pressing you close to his flush body- “not as good as yours.” His hands release you and you immediately rise. Your smile is breathless and coy, chest rising and dropping as you stare down at him. Your eyes soften for just a moment, and his own hands come to pinch at his nipples, the soft tissue of his breast squished under his hands. He must look pitiful- a look akin to that of a hurt animal if your gaze on him is anything to go by. He knows how he must look. A flushed face tinted in a rosy red, eyes that shine with tears, lashes that catch the fallen drops and a tear-stained face, puffy, reddened lips that part with each gasp of air. He must look wretched. 

Your hand curves around his cheek and he leans into your touch. “How sweet-” your smile returns into a more stretched version, teeth hidden behind your lips- “my dear Leviathan.” He wonders if you can hear the way that his heart beats. His mouth parts and there’s a sick perversion where he wants you to spit on him, to treat him like the disgusting pervert that he truly is. “Are you close?” Your nails drag along his skin and he can only nod, eyes flickering to where your skin slaps against his. “You know that you’re only allowed to because of me, correct?” Your eyes glint with something that he cannot place. “No matter what anyone says,” your voice lowers and it’s erotic to him, something like a drug that he’s never taken and makes him all more weak to you, “you’re nothing more than a living toy.” He jerks inside of you and his stomach begins to ache. “A pretty, little demon that I get to fuck.” He so desperately wants to touch you. “You’re nothing more than a filthy, yucky otaku.” His nails pierce into the skin of his breasts, blood dotting along him. Your eyes dart to his chest before returning to his eyes, lowering until the tip of your nose brushes against his. “Don’t ruin yourself Levi, save that for me.” Your lips meet his and he does as he is told. 

His hands leave his chest and he pushes you onto him, spilling his seed into your cunt, feeling the way that your walls tighten and pulse, the heavy beating of your body and the heat that floods out. He’s moaning into you, muffled and drowning out your gasped version of his name that escapes your lips. 

His cock is wet as he lays beside you. He’s curled against your side, a softening cock that sticks against your thigh, body curved so his head rests on your chest. He lays above you, eyes wet as you pet his hair. “You had such a lovely look on you, Levi.” He can feel your lips kiss at the crown of his head. “It made you look so handsome.” He lets out a weak cry, nodding as tears slip past his closed eyes, nuzzling closer to your chest as your hand lowers to soothe against his back. You shush him gently as he begins to rut against your thigh.

[thewildwaffle]

Humans are Weird Shorts : Shorts

This was from a prompt given by a user on Ao3. For my “Shorts” series, they wanted a story about aliens thinking shorts are weird. It was silly, yes, but made for a great slice-of-life short!

***

“Oh I feel like we haven’t had a day off in decacycles!” “Varree, you had a personal day two cycles ago. I saw it on the schedule. Don’t over exaggerate or I’ll start to think you’ve been hanging around the humans too much.” Varree's stiff fur rose indignantly. “Look who’s talking. You always get grumpy whenever there isn’t a human to sit with at meals. Yeah, don’t think I don’t notice that!” Varree’s wispy voice squeaked a bit in triumph as she reached for another basket of laundry. Multiple limbs reached in and began folding the various cleaned clothes and fabrics. “I do not!” Riyabin huffed as he leaned over to help with the laundry. The first thing he grabbed was a uniform that, by the looks of it, belonged to a human. “Hmpf!” He dropped it back into the basket and grabbed another. It was also a human uniform, which made sense since it was usually asked by the custodial and ship-keeping staff that each species submit laundry and other cleaning requests together as much as possible. With a sigh, Riyabin relented and began folding and putting uniforms onto a cart for returns. Varree laughed. “No need to be so gruff about it. You’ve got a touch of ‘human furor’ or whatever. So what? So does most of the galaxy!” The basket of uniforms was nearly empty. It helped when a kreechen like Varree had three sets of arms that made the work go fast. She stacked the now-empty basket with the others and pulled another over another one that was full of what looked like human clothing. This one had a mixture of uniforms and civilian clothes. “Ooh,” she sifted through the basket, “we better hurry with this one. I’m sure whoever these belong to will be wanting them in time for shore leave!” She pulled out a large article of civilian clothing. It was purple and somewhat triangular in shape. “Hey, this kind of looks like what sefra usually wear, doesn’t it?”

“It’s called a shawl, and it looks nothing like what we usually wear,” Riyabin shook his gray-streaked head and grabbed a shirt from the top of the pile. “Humans sure have a lot of different types of clothes though, don’t they?” Varree held up another strange-shaped article of clothing. “Like, look at this? How am I supposed to fold this? What’s even the purpose of this?” “I don’t think you’re supposed to fold it, use a hanger,” Riyabin gestured to a rack holding other hanging clothes off to the side of the room. “Humans have one of the widest array of clothing styles because their planet has such a wide range of temperatures and climates that they can survive in.” Varree had slowed down considerably with this basket as she kept stopping to examine different articles of human clothing. Riyabin merely shook his head and kept working. He usually dealt with folding and returns for crew clothing by himself, but with the ship-wide rest day/shore-leave trip coming up, he’d recruited the small kreechen to the task to make sure everything was done in time. “Hey, look at these,” Varree held up yet another article of clothing. It was smaller than the other ones she’d pointed out and made out of a heavy blue fabric Riyabin had seen many times before with human civilian clothes. The shape of the article was familiar, but it was just that he’d never seen them look so… short. “I think I’ve heard of those before. They’re like normal pants but, uh, short.” Varree tugged on the end of the clothing with an amused expression. “You mean they’re not for some tiny-legged human?” “No, they just leave the skin below the hem exposed,” Riyabin had never personally seen a human wear such an article of clothing, but he was almost certain he’d seen them worn in human media before. Varree gave a purring hum as she considered what he’d said. “I’ve never seen a human with bare legs. I always just assumed it was some sort of faux pax for them or whatever.” “It depends on the environment or culture they come from, but many are okay with varying levels of exposure. It’s just that civilian clothes are usually for comfort, so they usually have jeans or what they call sweatpants.” “Ew, sweat?” Varree paused folding the soft gray pants she’d been working on and squinted a pair of eyes at them warily. It was common knowledge that human bodily fluids, sweat included, could be dangerous to come into contact with in certain circumstances. “It’s just a name, they call them sweat pants because they were originally designed for athletes. A lot of humans like them because they’re warm and soft.” “Oh. Okay then” Varree sighed and placed the folded sweatpants on the cart. “So those have a purpose. What are the tiny pants for?” She held up the denim shorts she still held in her other arm. “They’re usually worn in warm weather so the human’s legs don’t overheat,” Riyabin explained. “They’re called shorts.” “That’s not a very creative name.” “Yeah, humans are kind of hit or miss with naming things. I’ve been told that the shorts made out of that particular kind of material are very fashionable.” With a sigh, he paused and stepped back. The basket was empty. That was the last one too. Well, of the human clothes. There was a small basket of sashes and ties that the stransi used as uniforms. Those took no time at all to process. After that, all that was left was to clear the laundry machine vents, make sure the cleaning droids had room access, and push the carts of clothes to the designated pick-up area. “Thanks again for helping out. That went a lot faster than usual,” Riyabin smiled and gave Varree a polite bow. The Kreechen blinked all eight eyes and smiled. “Happy to help, it helps to have a few extra hands to lighten the load.” “So what are your plans for your day off? It’s not every day we get to go planetside on Earth.” “I know right? I’m so excited! Humans Esomo and Oliver invited me to a circus.” “Oh,” Riyabin blinked in surprise. That’s not what he’d been expecting. He’d been researching different Earth terms and cultures, but wasn’t sure what a circus was. He’d have to look that up. “Well, that sounds like a good time. Human Zara invited me to her hometown. Her family lives outside some large and very historic cities and they’re going to give me the “grand tour” as they’ve described.” “Large cities presumably filled with tons of humans? Sounds like you’ll have no excuse to be grumpy,” laughed Varree. Riyabin was just about to retort with something smart, but Varree turned down the corridor and started walking away. “Well, I’ve got to get ready. I’ll see you later. Have fun on Earth!” “You as well,” Riyabin called back. “And thanks again for helping!” Varree waved one of her dark hairy arms and continued on presumably towards her personal quarters. Riyabin stayed standing in the corridor a moment longer. After he was sure Varree was gone, he pulled up a holoscreen from his wrist device and looked up the word ‘circus.’ Knowing how eccentric and quirky humans could be, he should have expected what he’d found. What really intrigued him were the images of what was known as ‘clowns.’ If Varree had been so fascinated by something as simple as human shorts, she was going to be blown away by the strange and festive-looking clothes that seemed to be the norm at a ‘circus.’ “Well,” he chuckled quietly to himself, “isn't she in for a treat.”

[yukidragon]

Our Life Sippet - A Special Guest

It’s that time again, time for another slice of my first draft fanfic novelization for Our Life: Beginnings & Always! This time it’s another section of the Step 1 prologue. Time for some more cute little eight-year-olds being cute and another XOXO Droplets cameo!

Thanks, as always, to the game’s creators @gb-patch for making the game and inspiring me. You’re awesome and so are your games!

...

Cove carefully set down the box he brought with him before sitting beside Jamie. He realized too late that he should have asked her for permission before moving her stuff like it belonged to him. He made a small, awkward sound, drawing her attention away from the door and back to him as he fumbled for what to say. “I brought the box of shells. I wanna keep looking at them.”

Jamie had already noticed Cove carrying her treasure box with him, but didn’t pay as much mind to the act as he did. “Great,” she said with a smile. “Bust it open. We can keep looking while we wait for Shiloh.”

Relieved, Cove smiled back at Jamie before opening the box. Despite being careful when carrying it, the loose contents had shifted during the move. A bright shimmering streak of orange peeking out of tissue caught his eye. Carefully, he unwrapped a large intact conch streaked in shades of dark and light orange. He marveled at the way the light hit its polished surface and transformed the vibrant orange hue to a different color as he held it up for a closer look. His eyes widened in wonder and a sound of amazement escaped him as he turned the shell this way and that, watching how the shell somehow magically had the power to change from one color from the next before returning to its natural orange shade.

Cove turned to Jamie as he presented the conch to her with stars in his eyes and a huge smile on his face. “I think this one is the best of them.”

“That’s my favorite too,” Jamie said proudly. “That’s why I cleaned it up real good. If you put it to your ear, you can hear the ocean.”

Cove hesitated a moment to make sure that was an offer for him to try it rather than a statement of fact before holding the shell over his ear. He heard the sound of ocean waves just as promised and his smile grew wider.

Jamie delightedly watched Cove admire her prized treasure, her expression growing thoughtful. He seemed so happy with it - the happiest she had ever seen him.

Earlier that day, her moms talked about how it would be a good idea to give the Cove and his dad a special gift to welcome them to the neighborhood. Perhaps just the right welcoming gift would make Cove feel just a little better about the move and being away from his mom, and he wouldn’t have to feel sad anymore.

Sure, it was a bit of a shame to give away her best seashell, but Jamie was confident she could find another one she liked even better eventually. The best part was finding the treasure after all.

Decided, Jamie nodded to herself. “You can keep it if you want.”

Cove froze. He had just been starting the process of re-wrapping the shell in tissue when Jamie made her unbelievable offer. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open in absolute shock. “Really?!”

Jamie smiled, tickled that she had surprised him with her gift. “Sure. You like it a lot, right?”

Cove stared at Jamie a moment more before he had to look away, unable to meet her earnest gaze. It was strange that she was so ready to just give away something so obviously amazing and special, especially after she had just told him it was her favorite of her treasures. It made him feel weird in ways that he couldn’t put into words.

“Uh huh,” Cove finally said quietly as he placed the shell back down in the box. “But… I don’t want to take it from you. It’s okay.”

Jamie saw his hesitation and discomfort clear as day on his face and regretted making the offer. She hadn’t meant to make Cove feel pressured to take it. Gifts were meant to make people happy to get them, not nervous.

Maybe Cove would feel better about accepting it another time when they got to know each other better. They were neighbors now after all.

“Okay,” Jamie said as she gave Cove a reassuring smile to show that she wasn’t upset that he refused her gift. “Wanna hear how I found it?”

Cove shyly smiled back at Jamie, grateful for the subject change and that he hadn’t hurt her feelings. “Uh huh.”

With that, Jamie launched into another colorful story, and the awkward moment was quickly forgotten.

The pair had been able to look through a couple more items in the collection before the doorbell finally rang. They both jumped at the sudden loud sound and turned to the front door at the same time.

Cove frowned a little before looking at Jamie. “Lizzie’s friend?”

Jamie nodded. Only people who knew where to look could find the doorbell, which included Shiloh.

The frown on Cove’s face grew into an uncomfortable grimace. Though he got to his feet after Jamie did, it was with great reluctance as he stared at the door in a mixture of trepidation and resentment.

Jamie looked from the door to Cove. Although she knew she should answer it and let Shiloh in, she was reluctant to do so after seeing his clear distress at the idea. Cove didn’t hide his emotions very well, which made him very easy for her to read. However, before she could ask if he was going to be okay, he spoke up first.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Cove said as he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,” Jamie said, trying her best to sound comforting. “All you gotta do is say hi. Besides, there’s nowhere to go. He’s at our only door, and if you go upstairs, he’ll find you.”

Despite the reassurance and reasonable argument, Cove was already looking around, his eyes wide and searching for some sort of exit strategy. Finally, he locked his gaze to the back of the house and the large windows looking out to the hills he hid in last night. “I can go out the window.”

Cove didn’t wait to hear Jamie’s opinion on the matter, already moving quickly towards the window.

Panic shot through Jamie at the idea of Cove climbing out the window. What if he fell and broke his other arm? Her mind raced for a way to stop him as she ran after him. “Wait! You don’t have to do that!”

Jamie managed to get in front of Cove, holding up her arms both in an appeasing gesture and to block his way. “Shiloh’s not scary, really! Every single bunny rabbit is scarier than Shiloh.”

Cove frowned, but he didn’t try to get around Jamie. That was something at least, she decided. “But I don’t want to see him,” he said stubbornly. “I don’t know him.”

Jamie gave Cove a sympathetic smile. “I know you’re worried, but you’re not gonna have to meet him by yourself,” she said softly. “If you have a hard time with him, I’ll tell him to leave. Is that okay?”

Cove considered the offer seriously as he looked into Jamie’s blue eyes. Even though they hadn’t even known each other for a full day yet, somehow he found comfort in having her support. Finally, he nodded, his shoulders slumping a bit as he gave in. “Okay.”

That was when Shiloh poked his head into the house, holding open the front door. His big, curious gray eyes quickly locked on the other two children. He focused on Jamie first, who stared back at him.

Jamie managed to return the cheerful smile Shiloh sent her way with a small one of her own, but she couldn’t help but worry about how he was feeling. She had no idea when he opened the door, or how much of the conversation he heard. He didn’t look upset, or any different than he usually did really, but it was hard for her to believe that he hadn’t overheard at least part of what they were talking about.

“Hi, Jamie!” Shiloh said with his typical cheer, which only faltered with a touch of uncertainty as his gaze shifted to Cove. “And hi, uh, Cove?”

Cove didn’t turn around right away, his uneasy gaze lingering on Jamie until she looked back at him and gave him a reassuring smile. Slumping his shoulders a bit and letting out a sound of acknowledgement, he forced himself to face the kid his dad wanted him to make friends with. “Hi.”

Just like that, Shiloh’s smile was back to its normal level of pleasantness. “I’m Shiloh! It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Cove said with nowhere near the level of affability of Shiloh. He couldn’t exactly return the sentiment, since that would be lying.

Since there was no escaping this encounter, Cove took a moment to take a good look at the other boy. Shiloh was noticeably shorter than him, with fluffy brown hair hidden under a very large blue hat that matched his striped shirt and overalls. For some reason, Shiloh was blushing, though Cove couldn’t see why. Still, it wasn’t as interesting as the fact that Shiloh’s peachy skin was covered from head to toe in more freckles than Cove had ever seen on anyone before.

“You have a lot of freckles,” Cove said once he finished his assessment.

Shiloh didn’t seem to know what to make of that observation for a moment, but he nodded all the same. “Uh, right. I do,” he said. He didn’t give Cove a chance to make another remark before he moved the topic along. “What are you guys doing?”

“We’re looking at shells,” Cove said as his gaze drifted back to Jamie’s treasure box.

“Awesome,” Shiloh said in what Jamie knew to be the usual Shiloh fashion. “Can I do it too?”

Cove could only offer a shrug. It wasn’t his collection to show, and he couldn’t say he cared either way if Shiloh was interested.

“Sure,” Jamie said happily. She wasn’t about to complain about the interest in her treasures, even if she had a feeling Shiloh would probably get bored of it soon. “We can look at them some more in my room.”

As soon as the three children returned to Jamie’s bedroom and the box was opened back up, Cove had already spotted another shell that caught his eye. “What about that one…?”

Jamie was only all too eager to dive back into another amusing story of her adventures hunting for treasures as she showed off her collection. As far as she was concerned, the plan for the afternoon was to look at all her treasures. She wasn’t particularly in the mood to do something else, especially not when Cove seemed to be having just as much fun as she was.

It was great to see Cove genuinely enjoying himself despite how unhappy the move made him, and Shiloh… well, he was smiling and expressing himself in typical Shiloh fashion, so that meant he was having fun too, right? At least Jamie hoped he was. She could never really tell with Shiloh.

“What’s that one?” Shiloh asked.

Jamie followed Shiloh’s pointing finger to her prized conch. It must not have gotten wrapped back up in its protective tissues properly, and its glittery surface easily drew attention when the sunlight hit it. Still, she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to show it off, and she delicately removed the shell from the tissue before holding it up to the light so it could be seen better. “This one’s my favorite. I found it last year on a family picnic.”

“Cool,” Shiloh said. “I think that’s my favorite too.”

The exchange rubbed Cove the wrong way for some reason. He watched Jamie as she beamed at the praise, and he wondered if she would offer the shell to Shiloh like she did for him earlier. He didn’t like the idea, but he knew he couldn’t say anything to stop her if she decided to give the shell away to someone else.

“Thanks!” Jamie said before retelling the story of its discovery.

To Cove’s surprise, when Jamie was done talking, she carefully re-wrapped the conch before setting it back down in the box.

“Check this out,” Jamie said as she picked up a red and bubbly piece of sea glass. “It looks like a heart, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does,” Shiloh said. “That’s neat.”

Cove stared at Jamie as she launched into yet another story. It was interesting, like all the others she told, but he couldn’t help but be distracted by his confusion. When he said the conch was his favorite shell, she didn’t hesitate to try to give it to him. When Shiloh said the exact same thing, it was like the thought of giving the shell away never crossed her mind.

It was strange. Cove didn’t see why Jamie would try to give the shell to him and not Shiloh; she knew Shiloh a lot longer than him after all.

Still, Cove wasn’t about to complain, no matter how weird and fluttery he felt about it.

[right-brain-of-froggy2]

Christmas In July Ch. 6

This was probably my favorite one to write so far! I couldn’t stop imagining Virgil as Kurt Russel’s Santa Claus from The Christmas Chronicles movie. It would just be so perfect. Hint to the chapter plot: this one is entitled Here Comes Santa Claus!

AO3 link here!

“You’ve got an idea of the route and times? There should be a map uploaded to One’s processors.”

“Looks easy enough. You did all the hard work.”

“And I hope it all works out for this first time. The cargo?”

“All secured.”

“Fuel levels?”

“Tanks are completely full.”

“Good. That should get you to Mali. Alan and Gordon will rendezvous with you for a fuel fill up there and a second one in Colombia. Kayo will have more cargo for you as well.”

Scott taps a few buttons on his console. He smiles up to John. “I think we’re good to go down here.”

“Virgil?”

“I’m with Scott. Everything’s in order.”

Scott cranes his neck to Virgil in One’s jump seat. “You ready for takeoff then, Santa? It’s going to be a long ride.”

Virgil mock salutes. “24 hours straight? Piece of cake.”

“You mean cookies.”

Virgil snorts. Leave it to John to chime in with that comment. Scott groans with a smile on his face as he finishes up readying One. Her engines rumble to life under them.

“Pre-flight checks complete, area is clear. Thunderbird One is go!”

Scott punches One up into the sky out of the swimming pool. Virgil braces himself, gripping tightly to the shoulder pads and keeping his eyes shut at the intense force. Scott switches to horizontal flight and Virgil can sigh a breath of relief until they land in the first destination.

“Can you crank the air conditioning? It’s a bit hot in this suit?”

Scott obliges, but it’s going to take a while to cool Virgil down as cold as he wants.

“Don’t go passing out on us with that. I’m the only other one that marginally fit,” Scott warns as Virgil fans at his face.

He tugs at the collar of the red suit to try and get some of the cooling air beneath his getup. It’s a gorgeous thing that a group of aunties made and sent back in September for this very reason. Underneath the outer layers is a billowy white undershirt that Virgil left tucked into his pants. A soft red vest keeps it from twisting too far out of place.

The coat, hat, and pants are made of a natural plant fiber that mimics that look of leather, both dyed a vibrant shade of scarlet. The trim of the ensemble is synthetic sable fur that swirls into browns, grays, and ash instead of being solid white. Virgil’s boots and belt are made of the same leather alternative while being an oily black. His gloves match the other accessories but were tucked away in his pocket amidst loading One.

Virgil pops the hat off. Scott’s busy navigating with their heavy cargo load of children’s presents. John gave them a very specific flight path and speed guidelines; it’s perfectly calculated to take exactly 24 hours with One arriving at each destination at dusk. The first is their next-door neighbor New Zealand, with Japan following close behind. He runs a finger through his hair. The feeling of it brushing his shoulders is an odd one along with the beard tickling his nose.

Gordon and Alan had conspired before the month of December hit. The aquanaut was the one that joked about having a No Shave November competition between the brothers. Scott only agreed once Gordon put in a blow below the belt of “I bet Virgil is the only one that can even grow a beard.” As it turns out, Virgil and John are the only ones that can grow a full beard given a month’s time.

That’s where phase two started. On December 1st, John came down to the Island to rid himself of the facial hair and collect his betting reward. The Tinies had no qualms. But then Alan insisted (begged is more like it, Virgil thinks) that Virgil not shave his. They even roped Kayo in on their master plan by having her comment that if he grew it out a bit longer and added white and gray streaks, he’d make the perfect young Saint Nick.

It’s actually pretty fitting to the rest of his normal getup and Virgil couldn’t complain when one of his brothers left a high-end beard oil kit on his bathroom vanity. Kayo, a truly evil being that wants to watch her brothers descend into chaos, also gave the idea of Virgil doing the same with his hair.

So Virgil left the beard unshaved and the hair uncut with no gel.

“First stop coming up. You ready, Virge?”

“Ready.” Virgil replaces the hat and gloves to complete his look. Before getting too far, he taps the in-ear headset hidden by the red hat and hair. Security doesn’t stop just because it’s Christmas. “John, how’s this sounding?”

“You’re loud and clear. Have fun.”

Virgil undoes the shoulder harnesses and grabs the railing as Scott lands in their first drop off point. He snags a premade sack from the cargo bay. Scott opens the underbelly of One and Virgil hops onto the helipad of the children’s hospital. As he turns around to signal to Scott to close the ship and turn the engines down, he catches sight of One. The Mechanic had gone all out with aesthetic modifications, and One truly looks like a high-tech Santa sleigh. Scott’s not terribly pleased, but Brains reminded him it’s for the children. And temporary.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Santa!”

“Santa Claus!”

The squeaks and squeals of excited children never gets old. Virgil waves to them from behind the safety line. One little girl gets too eager to see “Santa” and tries to clamor out of her wheelchair with two broken legs. A man who looks to be her grandfather picks her up in his arms instead. Virgil chuckles to himself.

He clears his throat. Virgil steps forward with a proud gait and the burlap sack heavy with gifts over his shoulder. The ooh’s and aah’s increase the closer he gets. Now, just as they practiced…

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, one and all!”

[ffakc]

Pony - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction

I’ve always wanted to write a story from JDM’s POV, especially when it comes to eating 🐱, because I imagine he’d be really good at it. I also got really lost in this when writing it and got insanely turned on, so I hope y’all feel the same way!

@negans-attagirl @happysgal @iluvneganandjamie @mrsnegan

I had grown out my beard for the newest season of The Walking Dead. Negan was going to be in prison for the next year, so I had to look the part. I also hate shaving, so this was my dream come true. I was also promoting my new movie Rampage with my buddy Dwayne. Dwayne Johnson, that is.

My gal also loved the long, grayness of it all. She had been texting me flirty things all day from the hotel room and it was absolutely driving me wild. It’s damn near impossible to do press junkets with a raging hard on.

“Reading the script, this is exactly the movie I’ve always wanted to-“ my phone pings loudly, “Aw, shit. I’m sorry, man. I meant to turn my phone on silent. Cut!” I joke and glance at the text from my Princess: I want to ride your beard like a pony, Daddy. I exhale loudly and shove my phone in my pocket.

“You good, homie?” Dwayne asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks! Just family stuff,” I reply. My pants were painfully tight in the crotch at this point. “Anyway, where were we?” I place my glasses on top of my head. “It’s just one of those classic popcorn flicks, you know?”

The interview seemed to drag on as my phone silently buzzed with filthy messages and pictures. What a dirty girl I had.

***

“What the fuck was that?” I smile at my gal. She looks adorable in my hoodie and her short shorts.

“Did I do something?” she replies, feigning innocence as she slides her legs between mine, running a finger over my lips and kissing me. My breath quavers as she moans into my mouth.

“Teasing Daddy while he’s trying to work. Bad, bad girl,” I groan as she grips my balls gently as she nibbles my neck. She reaches into her back pocket and I hear a jingling sound. A puzzled expression takes over my face, “What do you have there, Princess?”

“Since you’re going to prison for the next year,” she giggles and pulls a pair of handcuffs from behind her, “Maybe you should get used to wearing these bad boys.”

“You think you’re in charge, hm? Might I remind you who your Daddy is-“ I smirk. She grips my throat, cutting me off by making me lose my breath.

“I’m in charge tonight,” she growls. “Lay on the bed, Daddy. Flat on your back, come on,” she commands, snapping her fingers.

“Yes, Mistress,” I do as I’m told. My gal meant business. I look up at her as she walks around the bed.

“Good boy. Don’t move,” she praises. She strips her clothes, revealing a skimpy, crotchless number. I hold out my hand to pull her into a lustful kiss. “I said, ‘don’t move’. Did you not hear me?” Her stern tone sends a chill down my spine. She sucks my finger and throws my hand back on the bed. I giggle like a little kid, her dominant streak was amusing. This role reversal was going to be fun. “Is something funny, Jeffrey Dean? Take your shirt off.” I follow her orders and she grabs my arm and cuffs one hand to the headboard, then the other. She pulls my glasses off, folding them and placing them on the nightstand.

“You sound like my mother,” I smirk.

“Oh, so I’m ‘Mommy’ now?” she bites her lip, trying not to laugh and stay in character. I glance at my cuffed hands.

“What are you going to do, baby gi- I mean, Mistress?” I ask. She leans down and laps around my nipples. I suck my teeth, god that felt good.

“I’m going to make you my fuck toy tonight,” she moans in my ear. She climbs on the bed, straddling my chest. I could feel the slickness of her dripping pussy, leaving a small damp spot in my chest hair. “If it’s too much, just tap my thigh hard three times”. I felt like I was about to bust out of my jeans, but she made it clear I only existed for her pleasure. I felt more submissive than I ever have in bed with her and it was so fucking hot.

“Baby doll, I don’t think I could ever get enough of your pussy,” I moan. She inched closer to my face. My breath was hot against her inner folds, giving her chills. “I’m ready,” I murmur. She smelled utterly scrumptious. The Tommy Hilfiger perfume coupled with her salty, sweet wetness was intoxicating. She pressed my head between her deliciously thick thighs as she rocked against my mouth. I wanted so bad to squeeze her ass to bring her closer, but I wasn’t allowed.

“Jeffrey,” she whimpers my name. I’m lost in a sea of bliss. I love making her feel like the goddess she is. “Your beard feels so fucking good. Oh Daddy!” I smirk and go back to work. I circle my tongue around her clit, sucking it between my lips. She grasps my hair as my head gets squished a little tighter. I chuckle softly to myself, I know that means I’m doing my job right. I lick a stripe from her entrance to her precious jewel. “God, your gray hair drives me insane,” her hips rock faster and I try to match her movements with my mouth.

“Does it now? You love that I’m old enough to be your dad? You love with age comes,” I kiss around her drenched inner lips, “Experience. You love that I take care of you, don’t you, Princess? Daddy loves you.”

“Fuck yes, baby. Oh my god!” her thighs begin to tremble and the familiar throbbing sensation begins like a faint drumbeat from deep inside her walls. I squirm beneath her, wanting release so bad, but I’m not allowed. “Please let me cum, Jeff! Please!”

“You’re in charge, remember?”

“Jeff, I’m going to drown you in my-“

“Fucking drown me, doll. I won’t waste a single drop. God, you taste so sweet.“

“Jeffrey!” my gal screamed out as her juices soaked my beard. I lap my tongue like someone who hadn’t drank water in weeks. She shakily slides down my chest, grabbing the key from the nightstand. She unlocks the handcuffs and collapses onto my chest. I pull her into a kiss.

“Making you feel good,” I say in between kisses, “Makes me feel good. I would go wash my face, but tasting you in my mustache turns me on all over again. You sure have a yummy little treat there, sugar. I love the shit out of you.”

“I love you too,” my gal is still catching her breath.

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

O Children

Minerva couldn’t sleep. Ever since the war had begun, she had become more and more restless in her sleep, increasingly worrying Poppy. Thus, she did not miss a single second of the sharp, rapid, loud knock on the door of their little cottage that sounded at 4 am on that cold November morning. Tightening the string of her checkered green plaid robe, she walked rapidly down the stairs, leaving the vapour of her cup of tea resting on the window sill to god up the window. The lower floor of the house was plunged deep in darkness, the only light coming from the porch lamp whose glow glittered through the door’s coloured glass panels. Gripping her wand tightly, she unlocked the door.

“Albus!” She gasped. “What type of ice cream did I get at Florean’s in Diagon Alleys on August 22nd, 1975?”

Her wand was pointed right at the centre of his chest omnipresent reminder of the war.

“Raspberry sprinkled with rose petals and lavender-infused chocolate topped with almond brittle,” said the old man tiredly.

He looked weary the twinkle in his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles dim, long white hair and beard having lost their silvery shine, clothes dusty. It was almost as if more wrinkles had appeared on his face since the last time she had seen him, rendering his face even grimmer, a gloom look stretching across his features.

“What happened?” She asked tightly. “Who…who died?”

Her friend’s silence was unbearable, hanging heavy in the air, announcing in-pendent doom.

“I can’t remain long, I must go and take care of matters, but I assumed you would wish to be notified among the first…”

“Albus. Who. Died?” She repeated.

He sighed.

“Peter Pettigrew and…James and Lily Potter, all murdered by Sirius Black.”

An icy, unpleasant, terrifying wave of cold flooded her veins, disbelief painted on her face. It wasn’t possible.

“No,” she whispered. “There must have been an error. No. Sirius would never do such a thing to James and Lily. They were his best friends. You are wrong.”

The Headmaster watched her with compassion as she muttered “no” under her breath over and over again, refusing to acknowledge the hard and bitter truth. It felt as if the world was spinning at breakneck speed around her, dizzying her. Everything swam before her eyes, blurring and mixing, a kaleidoscopic slush of colours, and numerous seconds passed before Minerva realised that the thin watery veil clouding her gaze was burning hot, unspilt tears. Her grip on the door handle was so tight her knuckles had turned white.

“When? How?…Why?” She breathed raggedly.

“We don’t know exactly,” started Albus gently. “All we know is that Sirius Black was the Potter’s Secret Keeper, he allegedly betrayed them, which led us to believe he reconnected with his family and worked closely with Voldemort. Peter Pettigrew attempted to warn and save Lily and James, and in a fit of madness, Black blew up the street and killed Pettigrew along with thirteen muggles. He was found in a muggle neighbourhood nearby and has since then been arrested and sentenced to Azkaban for life. It was debated whether or not he should receive the Dementor’s kiss, but the judges decided upon a life sentence at Azkaban. I am still waiting for more information, and I will send you the full Order report as soon as it is ready. Members of the Order are of course working on the case along with the Ministry Aurors.”

She watched him tiredly, still refusing to believe him.

“Now, if you will excuse me, Minerva, I unfortunately still have urgent matters to attend to, I cannot remain any longer. I present you my sincerest condolences for your loss, I know that they were all very dear to you, and excellent students. I myself am still quite disbelieving at the situation.”

She looked at him stonily.

“No, you are not,” she thought, but she only asked:

“And Remus? And harry, James’ and Lily’s child?”

“Mr. Lupin hasn’t returned from his mission yet, as for young Harry…I’ve taken care of it

An uneasy feeling overcame her.

“Albus, what did you do?”

The elderly wizard failed to meet her eye.

“I have left him with his last living relatives, the Dursleys. Petunia Dursley was Lily Evans Potter’s sister—“

“I know that, “ snapped Minerva. “What I do not understand is why you thought this was a viable solution. I have met the Dursleys. They are close-minded, rude, and despicable people. They are not a good family or entourage for Harry to grow up in. Petunia Dursley could barely stomach her own sister, I shudder at the thought of how she will treat her nephew. Neither James nor Lily would have wanted this for their son, Albus, I can’t—“

“It does not matter, Minerva,” he cut her off. “While I appreciate your concerns, the matter is sealed and there is nothing to be done now. I have my reasons, and I hope you will trust me as you have done many times before. I wish you a pleasant evening, or well, rather morning I suppose.”

He turned around, his robes sweeping the floor as he walked away until he was nothing but a mere silhouette amongst the shadows, all semblants of warm, glowing light gone.

“Bastard,” seethed the witch after him, before slamming the door shut.

The shock of wood against wood resonated around her in the darkness. She did not know what to do now, what to say, what to think, what to feel. For the first time in years, Minerva was lost. She stood there, back pressed against the hard door, wand held tightly in her wrinkled hand, dark brown hair streaked with gray tumbling down her shoulders, and felt oddly empty, almost numb, as she looked curiously at the single ray of moonlight piercing through the back windows. The old stairs creaked in the far left corner of the living room, and a trembling golden glow filled the lower floor of the white brick cottage. Poppy appeared behind the sofa, gripping her wand whose tip was alight with a soft shine, wrapped in her midnight blue nightgown. She looked weary and pale in the dim light, almost ghost-like, her quivering lip betraying her inner turmoil. Minerva stared at her blankly, as she approached her.

“Minnie,” whispered her wife, kneeling in front of her, placing a soft hand on her wrinkled cheek.

“That’s what they used to call me, James and Sirius, Minnie, mum…they were the only ones who dared to,” she croaked.

“I know,” said Poppy softly, wrapping her arms around her frail shoulders, hugging her tightly. “They were wonderful children and—“

“He killed them,” interrupted Minerva hoarsely. “He killed them…”

She shivered, whether it was coldness or something else, much darker, buried inside of her, she did not know, but she began trembling violently.

“VOLDEMORT KILLED THEM!” She roared, eyes blazing, face red, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Minerva,” murmured Poppy, chocking on her name, as she held her crying wife in her arms, who shook violently, wracked by uncontrollable sobs.

“He killed them, he killed them, he killed them,” she muttered over and over again, face buried in the crook of Poppy’s neck.

Neither of them had any idea how long they stayed there, on the cold hard floor, leaving against the entrance door of their house. But, soon enough, the morning sun’s first golden rays began filtering through the windows. The sky was beautiful outside, a painted canvas of amber, orange and pink fading into a dark blue in one corner and a clear azure in the other. It was all awfully joyful and pretty, considered the grim circumstances. Exhausted, Poppy got up, and holding Minerva by the elbow, led her to the upholstered burgundy armchair overlooking the small fireplace where coals lay cold and dead amongst the ash. She settled weakly into it, covering herself with a large plaid blanket. She felt nothing, no pain, no sorrow, no joy, nothing. Her mind still hadn’t fully processed the loss, and the first shock of emotions having been evacuated by hours and hours of mourning the dead, she was now empty, hollow.

“Poppy,” she said quietly, taking the small green hand-painted ceramic mug her wife handed her, having come back from the kitchen. “Do you honestly believe, Sirius…”

She stopped, her voice cracking, a shy remnant of the power it used to be.

She took a deep breath in, before trying again.

“Do you think Sirius killed James, Lily, and Peter?” She asked in a small voice,

“Of course not, replied Poppy, taking a sip of her tea. “I don’t believe Sirius would be able to kill someone in the first place, let alone murder his best friends.”

Minerva nodded,

“I do not think so either, but…I don’t know, something is wrong…”

Silence settled in their home, as the birds chirped merrily outside, welcoming the new day with joy and excitement. Suddenly, a loud knock sounded at the kitchen window. Minerva stood up heavily, and leaving her empty teacup on the worktop, she opened it, letting the waiting owl in. Running her hand gently through its glossy tan plumage, she took the newspaper from its claws and slipped five Knuts into the small leather pouch tied at its leg. Big headlines printed in bold black letters glared back at her from the white paper, screaming victory:

“Dark Lord vanquished and gone, for good this time”

“Dark Lord dead: Wizarding Britain celebrates”

“Harry Potter, the young saviour of our world”

She skimmed briefly through the paragraphs, squinting at the fine print, shaking her head slowly.

“Fools,” she thought.

She opened the Daily Prophet to the second page and dropped it in shock when Sirius Black’s desperate face stared back at her from the black and white moving picture. An Auror was restraining him, holding him at wand point, as he desperately attempted to free himself from her iron grip. His face was a mask of pure anguish and misery, as tears ran down his face, his usually lustrous black hair sticking in mangy strands to his skin.

“I’m so sorry.”

He appeared to be mouthing the same three words over and over again.

Above the picture, the headline read:

“Sirius Orion Black: murderer, madman, and traitor”

Facing Poppy who was watching her worriedly, she whispered, voice breaking:

“I must find Remus, now.”

[cesabutterflywrites]

The Duke of the Bay: Part 8

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First Part, Ao3 Link, Next Part (Coming Soon)

Story Warnings: Guns, threats, alcohol, violence homosexual slang used pejoratively and positively, internalized homophobia, ask me to add any if need be

Chapter Warnings:   This is a heavy chapter. Violence is only implied, but the implications have a heavy impact. Read with caution.

Chapter Word Count:    3839

Summary: Patton O’Hearty was a great detective. Most people didn’t take him for one at first glance, especially when he dressed casual. He was abnormally chipper; he thought everything was the cat’s pajamas. He had a smile for everyone he met. He was always tipping his hat at the dames and gents when he walked the streets of the Bay Area.

The only person he could never catch was the leader of the planted mob in Emeryville, nicknamed The Duke. The Duke was good at hiding his dealings and joints well, and he rarely had a snitch in his ranks. The few who tried, well, somehow they disappeared before they could give the police any substantial information. He was well hidden, but popular among the residents of the town. People talked boldly of his rambunctious parties, never revealing the locations though. He was hard to catch, to say the least.

So what happens, when instead, the detective is the one that’s caught?

-

The dawn came as it always did- a soft gray and orange haze streaking in with the marine layer over the water of the San Francisco Bay. Roman de Rossi had a lovely view of it from his family mansion on San Pablo Avenue. A mansion that felt too big lately, with too high of a price to keep. 

 Roman rolled over to get out of bed when he bumped into something hard and stiff. His heart skipped a beat when he heard his wife cry out. 

“Jeeze, Ro, trying to be the first at the breakfast table again?” Rosalie’s voice was gruff. She rubbed the spot on her back where Roman had bumped. “I already got one slugger goin’ for my kidneys.” 

Roman rolled his eyes, though he was relieved he hadn’t hurt Rosalie. “Rose, why aren’t you in your bed?” 

 “Because I needed the warmth and comfort of my husband.” she mumbled sarcastically into her pillow, already on her way back to sleep. 

 All exhausted bitterness left him at the sound of her snores. At the beginning of their marriage it had been incredibly overbearing for him-to the point they shared separate beds- but with the rising threat of the gangs, he never knew when he’d see the last of his wife. After yesterday, there wasn’t even a certainty that he’d make it to see the birth of his twins. 

 Carefully, with a hesitation that seemed to become all-too-familiar, he rested his hand on Rosalie’s belly that was under his blanket. Rosalie hummed in response, but kept her eyes closed still. Roman tried to feel for any movement from the twins, but they didn’t. He tried to think that it was because they were also sleeping. It had nothing to do with the fact that every time he tried to feel for their movement he would get nothing. He ignored the tightness in his throat, he disregarded the burning tears, and prayed to God silently that he would make it through this trying time long enough to at least hold his children once. 

 The thought was an unwelcome intrusion since that fateful telegram from the Duke’s right hand man two months before. Shoving the bitter memory of that message aside, he got himself ready in the dark with a swiftness, already wanting the day to be done. He couldn’t tell whether his need to stay home was due to his anxieties of being a father, his weariness of  having more caseloads of rising crime, or his paranoia about criminal eyes spying on him. He watched his large wife turn about in her sleep as he dressed; she was unable to find a comfortable position. He couldn't blame her. Something he wished he’d have considered before the pregnancy was getting a large family bed so they could share it. Even if she snored like a boozed up bear. 

 A lock of her thick black hair fell out of it’s wrap and was caught in the light from the hallway behind him. Her lips were pushed out in a half pout, half pucker. The gown she was wearing was a large blue cotton dress with flowing sleeves. Her eyes were closed, not restful, but crinkled under her worried brows. Her face had gotten wider in her pregnancy. Her cheeks were flushed with red with elevated temperature from the warm room. She moved her hand to hold under her head as she laid on her side, facing Roman and the door. 

 She was beautiful, and Roman took this moment to appreciate her beauty, for he didn't know if this was the last time he would see her. He’d never know from now on. 

 "I can feel ya starin', darling husband," her teasing tone was muffled by the pillow and her sleepiness. "Get to work so I can sleep." 

 He quietly leaned over her, just as he always did, and kissed her. 

 He’d never know that his tired wife had noticed the despair in the extra moments their lips were met. 

 “Send for someone right away if anything happens, alright dear?” he asked while brushing a stray curl aside. 

 “Sure thing honey…”

 His walk to work was dim in the early morning as the fog was thick as wool. The only light guiding his way was a soft orange desperately clinging to the lampposts. The fog was dense with the promise of the coming autumn season for next month. It wasn’t smart of him to have left so early. There was no one on the street. No vagrants, no Jezebels, and no wayward orphans. Just him, the mist, and the sound of his shoes on moist stones. Still, just because he couldn't see anyone, it didn't mean that he didn't feel like he was being watched with eyes capable of seeing through all sorts of darkness. 

 It was soon enough in his hurry that he made it to the precinct. He ran his hand through his somewhat damp hair as he took his hat off at the entrance. He was early, earlier than normal, and the shift-changing deputies milling about by the entrance desk stood up straighter when they saw him. 

 “Hey, Cap’n. How’s the missus? Ready to burst just yet?” the old man at the desk asked. His name was Reggie, and if you called him a secretary you’d get a busted lip. He was the nicest-and oldest- member of the force. 

 “Oh, she’s fine. Doc says it’s gonna be any day now ‘til they’re here. I think she’s more excited than I am for it to be over. She’s been complaining about her feet being so swollen she can barely stand,” Roman laughed. The use of the word ‘complain’ was only polite. Rosalie’s ‘complaints’ about her pregnancy would make sailors blush. 

 Reggie guffawed. “Yeah, I remember when Ethel had her first. She was cursing so bad near the end you’d think she was a drunken sailor in a brig!” 

 “Women have a way with words, don’t they Reg?” Roman commented as he made his way around the desk. He wasn’t really waiting for an answer as he kept walking away. 

 Reggie must have been in a nice mood, since he didn’t point out the Captain’s distracted behavior as he walked off. Roman appreciated that. He was already in deep enough trouble with his reputation as a younger force captain. 

 Roman was grateful that he was going to be able to take some leave soon. He didn’t like being away from his pregnant wife all day. Especially now, with everything so changed. He sat down in his rolling chair with the force of a thousand anvils. He opened the folder on his desk, knowing there’d be no change in it since the last time he filled it a month ago with the ‘tip’ Logan and Patton got.

 Case Number: 103625 - Open - “The Duke” 

 He sighed to himself as a heavy headache formed behind his eyes. It was a new day, which meant new trouble, which meant he seriously needed some coffee. He reached for his announcer when- 

 “Captain, there’s a visitor here for ya.” A fresh faced rookie announced while walking into the office. His voice was a bit too anxious-to-please for the captain’s liking in the morning . 

 Roman’s voice imitated distant thunder - a warning, a looming threat - “Haven’t you heard of knocking, boy?” 

 The young man was smart enough to appear embarrassed. “I apologize, sir.” He stood at attention as he had been trained to do. His badge gleamed in the light of the office as his chest puffed out.

 Roman felt guilty for snapping at him. He didn’t want to be an angry, bitter leader, like his predecessor. Or like his father had been. Those old men were so hardened by stress that they felt no regard for those beneath them. He refused to be that way, no matter what.  So he forced his body to relax as he imagined the darkness in his heart being swept under the new rug of his office. 

 “I understand. I was a rookie like you once upon a time. What seems to be the trouble?” Roman forced a smile on his face, as though it was drying cement to keep in place.

 “You’ve got a guy saying he’s here for a meeting, a...Mr. Doris? Fella has a scar right here on his face." The officer took his finger and motioned on his face as an indicator of his description. Obviously the young man’s mind was wandering to stories about the nastiest criminals known to man. 

 Roman nodded, cleared his throat, then told him, "Bring him in." 

 The young officer disappeared, and in one breath the enemy had walked through the office door as if he owned the place. Roman sighed in defeat. It wasn’t ‘as if’ he owned the place, it was that he practically did. Especially now that the detectives weren’t ever going to ‘catch’ the bad guys like they should have ages ago.

 “What brings you in so early, Mr. Doris?” Roman asked. He stood up, smoothed down his tie, and held his hand out to shake his visitor’s gloved hand.  

 The visitor smirked. “I like the new you, Roman. Straight to the punch without any frivolous small talk. Such a change from the last time we had spoken.” 

 The memory sat between them. A smoked out room, sweaty foreheads, two guns between two young men, a kiss- a stalemate. 

 Roman gulped down the anxious sensation and forced himself to speak. “Well, I haven’t had any coffee yet, so I’m not feeling patient enough for chit chat.” 

 Mr. Doris’ laughter sent chills down Roman’s spine. His voice was dry and raspy, like a lizard. “I see. Well, the good news is that your two lead detectives are good at their jobs.” He slammed his fist down onto the desk as his eyes peered into Roman’s. “The bad news is, they’re so good at their job, even you don’t control them anymore.” 

 “That’s not true!” Roman exploded. The force of his anger pushed him out of his seat so he was practically nose to nose with his guest. “I just suspended Logan Smith for admitting he’s working with one of your men! Detective O’Hearty is too personable to be focused on investigating your precious boss! Hell, he’s probably going to be too busy sidetracked into chasing wild geese from that stunt Logan pulled. And another thing-” 

 “That’s enough, Roman.” Mr. Doris covered Roman’s mouth with one of his gloved hands. “You’ve told me all I needed to know.” 

 It’s too easy to play you, dear Roman, Doris thought to himself. I knew something was up with Virgil Vitale. He couldn’t keep the grin off of his face at the thought of finally teaching the little punk a lesson. 

 Roman shook the hand off of his mouth. His breath was shaky. “What do you mean?” 

 “Oh, I won’t tell you, dear,” Mr. Doris hummed. He walked to the doorway without any explanation. It was time to take business into his own hands after all. No more time to waste. “I’ve gotta run. Say hi to the missus for me.” He looked over his shoulder to make sure the unspoken threat hit its target. 

 Roman was left standing in that position. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. His hair laid out of control around his face, his heart pounding, and the sense of impending doom- as if he just sentenced an innocent man to death. 

 ----------

 Alice woke up to the sound of the radio downstairs playing some German concerto. It was a slow morning for once. She hummed to herself, pleased that she was able to wake up slowly to beautiful music as opposed to the sound of harsh knocking at her door. Yet as she turned over in bed her peace was interrupted by the brightness of the sun shining through the window. She groaned at the disruption to her dreamy haze. 

 Alice hefted herself out of the large bed and made herself to the large vanity-much nicer than the one at her apartment- and started working on her hair. Once she was done making sure she looked presentable she made her way down the grand staircase to meet Logan wherever he was at. Which, knowing how large the house was, meant that it could be a proper while before she would find him. 

 The smell of sizzled meat wafted through the large hallways. Instead of looking for Logan, she decided to make her way towards the dining room from the night before. It’s rude to check in and hover over a cook’s shoulder, she reckoned. No matter how curious it was to her that Logan didn’t have any help at all. 

 The moment she sat down she heard the door from the kitchen open.  Logan was pushing a dining cart forward on his own. He had a white rag placed over his shoulder and a stained white apron tied around his waist. He was whistling an unfamiliar tune to himself as he set out the platters in front of Alice. She couldn’t help but laugh. She was enjoying this bright version of the detective. 

 “What’s the occasion, detective?” Alice asked once he sat down with her. 

 Logan struggled to hide a sheepish grin, “It’s just been a long while since I’ve had any sort of company over. I don’t get to go out much with my line of work.” 

 “Aw, didn’t wanna bring any wayward souls home for Christmas?” she teased. 

 Logan rolled his eyes at her. It was good that he was loosening up around her humor. Alice wondered if she could get away with cursing around him yet, but decided not to push her luck, given that they had a long day ahead of them. 

 “It’s gotta be more than me, come on.” Alice waggled her eyebrows at him. “What’s with the shift in the wind?” 

 Logan ignored her prompts. Instead, he lowered his head. Alice rushed to set her fork down so she could follow suit. 

 “Father God, I ask that you bless this food and those who consume it. We thank you for providing for us. We ask for you to sustain our spirits as well as our bodies. I ask that you help us in all of our endeavors today, and I thank you for bringing me someone to share this meal with. Thank you for providing me such youthful company. Amen.” 

 “Amen.” Alice echoed. She tried to keep her questions to herself. Logan’s prayer wasn’t one she had ever heard before. 

 Alice lifted the cover to reveal her breakfast. There was sausage, eggs, and toast with powdered sugar. It smelled amazing. 

 “Thank you, Logan, this looks delicious.” She immediately went for the eggs. It had been so long since she’d had eggs for breakfast. Not since she left her farm home nearly two years ago. 

 They sat at the table with only the sounds of the radio in the living room occasionally drifting in through the doors. Alice was enjoying her meal so much, she jumped when she heard the fancy telephone in the hallway ringing. 

 “Excuse me, Alice.” Logan muttered. He wiped his hands on his apron and swiftly walked on his long legs to the hallway. 

 It was irritating, being called in the morning. Especially when his meal was being interrupted. He lifted the earpiece off of the ringing box and greeted the operator quickly. Who would be calling him now that he’s suspended? 

 “Logan? Is this Logan Smith?” a partially familiar feminine voice asked over the receiver. 

“Yes. Who is this?” 

 Her words were spoken in rushes with pauses sounding like heavy breathing. “It’s Rosalie...Rosalie de Rossi.-” she took in a deep breath ”-I’m your captain’s wife!” After that she let out a bone-chilling moan. 

 The captain’s wife? He had only met her once at the Independence Day party at the Captain’s new mansion. Why was she calling someone like him? 

 The woman on the line hissed. “God fucking dammit! It hurts!” 

 “What hurts? What’s wrong? Where are you?” Logan threw his questions at her quickly as he reached for his notepad. 

 “My my,” a slick, whiskey smooth, masculine voice answered. He tutted. “Not very clever, Detective Smith.” 

 “Where is Mrs. de Rossi?” Logan asked. He felt as if the air around him was heavier. There was a weight settling into his chest. He ignored the familiar sensations and made a note that someone else had taken the line. 

 “She’s still alive. And she will stay that way, if you do everything I ask.” The man’s words were drawn out. Almost as if he were bored, or stalling. 

 “What do you want?” Logan hissed. The million questions he had were shoved aside when the man answered. 

 “I want your lover, Detective. Bring that filthy, grimy, Italian punk to the fisherman’s market in San Francisco after dark. Or I’ll just have to do something to your boss’ beautiful broodmare.” The voice chuckled at his sick comment. 

 This man was evil. The most evil he'd ever come across. Logan felt like he was going to topple over. “What makes you think I’ll come alone? That I won’t go straight to the captain?” 

 Laughter as dark as water at midnight bled through the receiver. “Oh Mr. Smith, that’s what I want. Give me a reason to pluck those sweet babies out of his missus.” 

 Logan heard a scream in the background. A string of curse words that he didn’t doubt were justified. 

 “Please don’t hurt her. Be reasonable. Why did you call me? I’m on suspension, I don’t have access to the resources-” 

 “Because your lover's family declared war, my boy!” the man roared. Logan identified his accent-Irish, or Scottish perhaps. “I’m going to get what I need outta him. So lock your brunette bitch away, grab your buddy and your faggot, and get your ass to my docks when the sun sets. Or-” another blood curdling scream from the woman in the background “-the captain’s dear wife and her babies drown.” 

 Just like that, the phone call ended. Logan didn’t have time to stand in the shock. Instinctive training responses immediately took over his body. He didn’t go back to the dining room and instead ran to get himself dressed. No other thoughts intruded. His head was empty of everything other than the fact that he needed backup. 

 He needed Patton. He needed to gather his resources. It was still nine in the morning. He had maybe eight hours before it was sunset, then two hours to cross the bay into San Francisco to the fisherman’s market. His mind was fixated on trying to create the quickest itinerary possible and how to notify the captain without the mysterious caller knowing. He seemed to know much more than Logan was comfortable with. 

 Logan was tying his shoes as he thought. He hadn’t told anyone about the night with Virgil. No one knew. He figured Alice may have suspected, but she hadn’t been able to talk to anyone. Not that she would. She was just a kid. She was just caught up in all of this business out of desperation and survival. Alice was just a pawn in a twisted game. She wasn’t a main player. 

 Patton was too wrapped up in his obsession with the Duke to even notice. Still, he was very angry towards Logan now that he knew Virgil was involved. Who knows what the captain and Patton talked about after Logan was dismissed. He remembered the knowing look at the Lion’s Den last month. His partner said then that he accepted everybody. Could he have been saying that to blend in? 

 Then there was the fact that this was the captain’s wife. Why kidnap her to get to Logan? He didn’t know the woman at all, only that the captain loved her very much. She was pregnant when they had met, and from the sound of the call she still was. 

 “Logan, where are you going?” Alice asked from the doorway of his bedroom. 

 “There’s an emergency. I need to go.” He pushed himself past her and rushed down the staircase. “Please stay here. Don’t leave.”

“Will Virgil be back to nanny me again?” she asked indignantly. 

 The question struck him through the heart. He couldn’t leave her unattended. She was defenseless here. The Duke's men could come looking for her. No doubt one of them was behind this in the first place as a way to distract them.

 “No. No, I-” he turned to her. “There’s trouble. I need to move you somewhere safer. You can’t be alone.” 

 Alice’s face seemed to grow ten years older. “I understand. Let’s go.” 

 They both grabbed their hats from the hook and walked out the door. Logan made his way to his car without another word. Alice felt in her gut that they were running into something more dangerous than she had ever known. 

 “Where are we going?” Alice asked after climbing into the carriage seat. Logan saw that she had withdrawn into herself. The silly child that he was starting to get introduced to had left her body. 

 “To Patton’s. I don’t think he’ll have left yet. We need his help.” Logan pulled out onto the street. “I’ll tell you on the way.” 

 Before the pair had shown up to Patton’s house, he had just drank his coffee. He didn’t need to go into the station today. All of his caseloads were closed except for one. Today was a day of regrouping and hitting the pavement. It was time for some good old fashioned talking to people again. The best way to find someone was to ask their friends or neighbors politely. Give them a smile and such. 

 He took his time getting ready. Trying to find the man that he used to be before this craziness started. The man who was able to walk down the street with faith in his heart. The detective who could solve everything with the right words someone needed to hear. That man was nowhere to be found as he pulled clothes from his closet. 

 It was a new day. He knew he would make progress today. No one was going to get the drop on him again. 

 When he sat down in his armchair his eye was caught on something on the end table. A piece of paper that didn’t seem to be from any of his  notepads. It wasn’t there when he had gone to bed the night before. 

 A familiar delicious thrill rushed through his body. Part of him thought to call on the locksmith soon, though it might not do much good. Carefully, as if the note were an explosive and not a simple message, he lifted the paper. 

 It was no simple message. 

 You’re in danger, dear detective. There are worse evils than I. Don’t do what your colleague asks. Come to me at the Lion’s Den instead. -The Duke

 Before he had time to react, there was rapid knocking at his door.

-

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A/N:

Hello there! It's been nearly a year. There's a reason for that.

I work very, very hard when it comes to my stories. This one has a very important place in my heart. I had to take a break from it because the last thing I wanted to do was make rush decisions or half-ass everything.

In doing so, it meant that I had to wait until I had the time to give it the attention it deserves. I recently had a lot of my life change this past year, mostly losing loved ones. So this fic didn't get much of it's deserved time at once.

That being said, I swear this has a direction. While a lot of it is up to interpretation, this has a very direct sequence of events. That's why it's important for me to be able to pay extra attention.

That being said, I'm making a new normal. This fic goal is to be updated every 3 months, maybe less. My practice is to edit 3 times at least before I post.

Let me know what you thought of this chapter. Tell me your theories about what will happen next! I love talking about this story with anyone who will listen.

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