#but the trade off is they have terrible vision. like normal human vision but terrible vision in comparison to other mers

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

Just found out electric eels a) technically aren't eels, they're just fish that look like eels and b) swim in a special way that make them extremely fast swimmers (with average speeds of 62 mph)

So anyway, merperson au where the speedsters are electric eels

[psylockexs]

The Purple Chick

Maria: Lorelei! LORELEI! You can't do this! You'll never be accepted by anyone if you do this!

Lore: Do what? Unlock what's rightfully mine? You had no right to order me to hide my true nature. Sure, maybe while I was young but not when I grew up. I only did it out of respect for you. Respect that's wearing very thin.

Maria: I had every right! You're my daughter!

Lore: You don't treat me like it. turns to walk away

 Maria: snarls YOU'RE JUST A HARBINGER! A HARBINGER OF RUIN! NO ONE WILL ACCEPT YOU! YOU'RE THE REASON WE'RE HERE NOW! IT WAS YOUR FAULT!

Lore: scoffs Well then. Let's see if that's actually true, shall we? walks out of the house

Maria yelled at Lorelei's back that continued to walk out of the door. The last bridge had been burnt between the women. But truth be told, that bridge burned long ago.

Trigger warning: Bullying, violence, torture and death.

Lorelei's real name is Aliana Petrovna. She is one in a long line of necromancers who all have an affinity with death. Her father was called Anton Petrov, and he was a necro-wielder. He could do way more than manipulate the dead. He could commandeer someone as his very own puppet. Anton was regarded as one the most dangerous sorcerers in the world, both by good and bad people. Maria Erwin was his wife who worked in the intelligence business.

Naturally, life wasn't easy for a necro-wielder. Anton was the target of many assassination attempts, and Aliana was constantly bullied at school for her strange appearance by humans and supers alike. Aliana grew resentful of her classmates. Things came to a head when she was around 10 years old. She had a terrible nightmare of Anton being surrounded by assassins. His necro powers weren't working. Blades were drawn. Blows were traded. A sickening slice rung through the night...and that slice woke Aliana out of her sleep.

She'd been having those 'nightmares' for a while now, and her father explained that it was a gift that was passed down his family line. Immediately, Aliana warned her father about her vision which worried the latter greatly. Not because it spelled his demise, but because he knew what was in store for her. In Anton's family line, females had a chance of being born with exceptional necromancy. These powers allowed one to manipulate anything that flowed with life; they could rot someone from inside out, bend a soul to their will, even commune and command crows. As a cherry on top, their bodies would normally have purple marks. These women were known as Morrigans, or Harbingers of Death. And Aliana was one of these women.

Before the fateful night, Anton crafted a sword and taught his daughter a special ritual. He told her, 'When the time comes, you will know what to do'. Three days later, Aliana's vision came true and Anton met his end at the hand of hired thugs. Maria, who had been profiling the thugs' boss, blamed Aliana's powers for the sad incident. 'Why didn't you prevent it?', 'Why didn't you tell us earlier?'. That was all Maria could say to Aliana about it. She begged Aliana to hide her purple hair and purple face marks so that no one would know what she was.

Primary school children came to terms with her odd appearance, but high school kids weren't so forgiving. Anton and his family were famous, so when Aliana grew up and attended high school, everyone knew she was the daughter of the late Anton Petrov. The goth girl with purple hair. Even though it was dyed, it was painfully obvious that it was naturally purple. Her eyes. No normal human has slotted irises. Even supers don't have those generally. You have to have some serious genes to get physical mutations like that. Some were in awe of her, some were jealous. And they were the ones who picked on her.

Shoulder checking, ripping homework assignments, framing for incidents. Whatever would piss her off they did it. But it didn't piss her off. Quite the opposite. They were feeding her. They were feeding her spirit that craved rage. Craved resentment. Craved vengeance. Another day, another gang up. 6 bullies in the gang, usual spot in the sports yard. Poke, poke. Poke again. Why wasn't she saying anything? Sure, she never said anything. But this time it was scary. Why was she reaching for her eyes? Did they finally break her spirit? Was she gonna cry for her superpowered mummy to take her home?

'Ubiystvo.'

What was that? What was she saying?

Purple eyes looked at each bully. They bored into the very souls behind those eyes.

One crow. Two crows. Three. Four, five, seven, eleven, fifteen. Twenty. All circling above.

'Ubiystvo!!!!!!!!'

The birds descended with deafening cries. They set upon the gang, pecking them apart limb from limb. It wasn't just that set of birds. More and more joined. The girl with purple hair standing in the middle of them, only one word emanating from her mouth. 'Kill...'

There was nothing left on that field. Only feathers, gore, bones, grass. And the birds' commander. Aliana.

Maria took Aliana and fled the town. For the next 9 years, both of them sought refuge in Henford under the radar. During this time, Maria was trying to set up a task force to 'rid the world of renegade superhumans', as she put it. What she was really doing was rounding up supers and handing them off to be 'dealt with'.

This now brings us to the present day, where Aliana goes by a different name. A name that befits her deadly nature: Lorelei. Lorelei Petrovna. She'd been secretly doing her mother's bidding with the intention of going her own way. In order to perfect her plans, she had to awaken her full powers using the sword her father made for her.

Lorelei moved out of her mother's house and headed towards San Myshuno, a place that was basically ruled by superhumans. Rebelling against mummy dearest was good and all, but one needs a place to do it strategically. Turns out Lorelei got lucky as well...

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

as an ordinary, Vision-less citizen of Liyue, you’re not the most courageous person in the world. that’s not saying that you’re a coward- you can easily stand up for yourself and the people you care about when needed, but what’s not easy is facing off against monsters and not becoming petrified with fear. people without Visions are defenseless, even weak in some people’s eyes, and even with a cautionary blade at your side you can’t help but feel your chest tighten uncomfortably whenever you have to venture close to hilichurl camps or a swarm of cicins.

that’s what the Harbor is for, to protect those who can’t protect themselves, to keep them safe under the sturdy stone of Rex Lapis.

you’re fine with people, though, for the most part. neither the Qixing nor the Fatui scare you, and you’ve even been fortunate enough to make a friend in the latter- Childe, a Harbinger, accompanies you on your walk to work every morning. to some it may seem like you’re arguing, quietly, but you both enjoy the witty banter that you trade back and forth as you walk and Childe kicks his feet against the pavement. it brings a grin to both of your faces and makes your perpetual routine just a little more interesting and exciting.

you don’t see the fond glances he casts your way, but he doesn’t mind. as long as he’s friends with you, that’s enough for him, even if he has to resist the temptation to sweep you into his arms.

one day, you’re making the trip to Wangshu Inn for work- something about picking up an order and discussing papers that need to be filled out. you’re reading over your current forms as you walk, so focused that you don’t hear the commotion nearby, just beyond the bushes, until a hilichurl is suddenly thrown violently into the path at your feet. you leap back in shock, heart jerking painfully and fear sending chills down your spine. the creature is alive, but barely, and you’re focusing on getting your breathing under control when a violet spear flies out and stabs the hilichurl in the heart.

something tall and distorted emerges from the brush, taking the spear and wrenching it out of the dead hilichurl with seemingly no effort, and you can only stare at the monster’s red horns and dark armor and sharp claws while paralyzed with fear. it surveys the area, somewhat calmly; but there’s a growl building in its chest and you bite your tongue to keep yourself from hyperventilating.

Childe’s gaze lands on you and he almost yelps in surprise before reaching his hand towards you. but you violently flinch and take a jerky step backwards and that’s when he sees it: your expression, normally alight with a smile or laughter, now laced with terror and fear. he nearly cries in alarm, wanting so terribly to hold and comfort you and reassure you that everything will be alright, but your arms are raised over your head and you look like you want nothing more than to run far away and never come back.

please... please don’t look at me like that... Childe allows a whine to slip from his mouth as he steps closer, and his heart breaks when you step back again. you’re trembling, and Childe whimpers desperately, trying so hard to tell you that he’s not a threat, you’re safe, he won’t hurt you. 

please don’t be scared of me...!

but it doesn’t help, not in the slightest, Childe can hear how your breathing is turning ragged and it hurts so much. his heart aches when he finally forces himself to step back instead of forward, away from you, and you take this moment to turn and bolt, running up the path and away from the monster. you don’t even spare a minute to look back, and Childe watches you fade from view before crumbling to the ground and burying his masked face in his claws, body shaking with quiet cries for you to come back.

it’s okay. it’s okay, and he takes a shuddering breath, closing his one eye. he’ll ask you tomorrow if you’re alright, when he’s a human and you’re not scared of him. he’ll as you what happened, and tell you that you’re safe, and you won’t be scared of him anymore.

it’ll be okay.

right?

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ruined, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Why is there a mostly shirtless man in your bedroom and why is it Kim Namjoon's, your roommate's, fault? All you want to do is play League of Legends, not be visually attacked by ridiculously attractive Jeon Jungkook as his six friends perform living room karaoke at the top of their very drunk lungs.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; classic Namjoon ripping clothes; you don't have to know how to play LoL, I explain most of it; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, begging, scratching / marking, nipple play, edging / orgasm denial, handjob, (unintentional?) voyeurism, little bit of cum-eating, choking, cowgirl, cock warming); non-idol!BTS – purple-haired, kind-of-a-brat, sub!Jungkook x gamer, noona, dom!reader, ft OT6 being chaotic in the background XD

@yn-the-reader linked me in this and I was already writing about him. a prophet, maybe? XD

--

“WHY ARE YOU SHIRTLESS?”

You died.

Not literally, but also literally.

“Fuck!”

Now you had thirty-seven seconds of gray screen to figure out why the fuck Jeon Jungkook had busted into your bedroom on this cheerful night with his black dress shirt three-quarters of the way unbuttoned, revealing most of his – oh, sweet Satan, very muscular – pecs and the upper half of his abs. He was holding something in his hands, looking helpless and sad, while you were panic buying Liandry's Anguish and experiencing a special form of anguish yourself.

“Noona, um–”

That’s right, because you were in the middle of a League of Legends game, playing Cassiopeia, the Serpent’s Embrace, also known as half-snake lady or the lamia of the champion roster or a mean version of Monster Musume’s Miia (if you know, you know, and if you don’t, be glad you don’t). Your roommate was having friends over after going drinking. All this was fine and dandy with you, because you were going to spend all night wearing headphones and playing League of Legends, therefore ignoring the outside world, until the outside world came to bother you in the form of Kim Namjoon’s – your roommate’s – mostly shirtless friend Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t mostly shirtless most of the time, only right now.

“Noona, Namjoon-hyung ripped my shirt…” Jungkook whimpered hesitantly, chewing on his lip. He looked awkward and distraught despite his long dark purple hair giving him a rather fierce, bad-boy look.

Namjoon was a great roommate. He was smart, conversational, and insightful. A chat with him usually led to an enriching, open-minded perspective. He was relatively clean, considerate, communicative, nonjudgmental, fun to be around, and only set the kitchen on fire twice.

The second time was your fault.

You shouldn’t have let Namjoon in the kitchen the second time.

Also, Namjoon with his friends was a wildly chaotic time. All of his friends, especially drunk, were fucking nuts. Normally, they were probably relatively calm people (maybe not Kim Seokjin or Jung Hoseok, they were very excitable), but together they were a mess. You often wondered how they could function as a group.

Currently, however, you were trying to collect your brain cells as you had mere seconds before respawning onto the platform and were forced to play again. Timing in League of Legends was very important. Seconds can mess up wave management of minions and wave mismanagement can lead to game losses if you weren’t careful. The nuances of the game were often ignored by casual players.

You were, in short, a nerd about it.

“Fucking s-shit, what h-happened?” you sputtered out, turning back to your screen, unable to look at mostly shirtless Jungkook because he was MOSTLY SHIRTLESS. Honestly, he had quite nice pecs, and you should not be thinking about that, but it was incredibly distracting, just like how it used to be distracting when Namjoon was shirtless, but several years of living with him made you accustomed to his impressive pectoral muscles, to the point where you could joke about them with him.

But this was not Namjoon – this was his younger friend Jungkook and you had no idea Jungkook was ripped, mostly because you didn’t pay attention to Namjoon’s friends.

There were too many of them and you were too introverted for that.

“I don’t know, he just grabbed my shirt and it ripped and I managed to find all the buttons, but, but…”

Cassiopeia respawned on the platform and you couldn’t ignore the snake lady any longer. You had to play the game because four random people on your team were counting on you and you couldn’t exactly type, sorry, there’s a hot man in my room with his shirt practically off and I don’t know what to do with my life, so you had to suck it up and play the damn game.

Right-clicking and keeping your eyes only on your computer monitor.

Half-listening to that trembling, silvery voice coming up behind you, making your hairs stand on end even though all he was doing was dumping the tiny buttons on your desk.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself.

“Can you repair it? Please? My mom bought me this shirt and Namjoon-hyung said you can sew, so maybe you can sew them back on? Please?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I can, just not right now, I’m in the middle of a game,” you rambled, suddenly trading damage with the enemy Viktor, trying to avoid the laser from the Machine Herald, swearing under your breath as you stutter-stepped and stunned him, poisoning him quickly enough with your abilities to avoid dying. “I will help you, I just – fucking shit, get the fuck away from me Udyr, fuck!”

“Wow, you curse a lot, noona. It’s kind of funny.”

“I – fuck– I mean, sometimes, and what are you guys doing out there? It sounds like a deranged cabaret club,” you remarked, ticking your head towards the direction of your bedroom door.

“Karaoke!” Jungkook replied brightly, still standing behind you, why was he standing behind you, it was freaking you out a little, but Ocean Dragon was being taken and a team fight was about to happen, so you had to ignore it and support your teammates in chasing down the enemy support.

Seokjin hit a high note that was so shrill that you heard it through your headphones.

“… Wow, he’s got some lungs on him.”

“Do you wanna join us, noona?”

“I can’t sing.”

“Neither can we.”

“Pretty sure all of you can sing better than I can, even Yoongi and Namjoon. I’m fucking terrible.”

“I’m not that good.”

You barely survived with thirty hit points after that debacle of a team fight, but your team had the dragon and you all were slowly on your way to victory. You pressed the ‘B’ key to return to base, but kept your eyes on the screen, lest Udyr, the Spirit Walker and serial bear stun-slapping enemy jungler, ran your ass down and killed you.

“Jungkook, your voice is absolutely heavenly. Fucking beautiful. I’m sure every human being on Earth would want to be serenaded by you.”

Silence that you didn’t notice was awkward for him because you were too busy letting out a sigh of relief and building your next item, typing quickly to your teammates. You all were about to set up for vision around Baron Nashor, a large purple worm-dragon monster that when killed provided a significant, sometimes game-ending buff.

“R… really?”

“Yeah, and you’re handsome, gorgeous, and hot as hell too, so the whole damn package,” you responded absentmindedly, realizing the enemy were trying to split-push and trade objectives so you sent some pings to your teammate to take care of that as you accompanied the main group to help clear waves of minions.

Heat.

You heard him shift beside you and suddenly his face was next to yours, watching your screen closely.

Side-step, cast your ultimate, cast your Miasma ability to ground the enemies and prevent them from dashing away, switching between auto-attacking and piercing them with Twin Fang, all in the span of a mild freak-out because why was Jungkook so FUCKING close?

“Wow, you’re so good at League.”

“I’m Diamond rank, so not that good, but definitely better than all seven of you combined.”

“Haha, true, we’re all pretty bad,” Jungkook laughed next to your ear and, oh, shit, is warm breath feathered on your neck, why weren’t you wearing a turtleneck or something and not your self-cropped oversized band t-shirt and slinky black leggings, why weren’t you cocooned in layers of clothes, because you were quickly highly aware of how attractive Namjoon’s friends were.

To top it all off, you were in the middle of a game, so you just had to tolerate it and stay calm for the sake of your teammates and your elo.

“Maybe you could teach us and we’ll teach you something in return.”

“You guys don’t even listen to each other, why would I assume you all would listen to me?”

“I’d listen to you, noona.”

Now your team was doing the Baron dance, skirting in and out of vision, daring the other team to make a move, daring each other to make a mistake so the other could capitalize on it, slowly, slowly, watch the waves, watch the minimap. Careful. You could control the situation if you were calm and not too trigger-happy. Tension in your fingers and tension in your neck because your roommate’s friend was right next to your head, observing your every move.

His violet hair brushed your shoulder.

Soft, delicate strands against your skin.

“You’re more experienced, so you would know what to do.”

Your support snap-engaged a fight and you were immediately in the zone, right clicking rapidly, cycling through your abilities, keeping track of the opponents’ spells, determined not to let any of them get away, following your teammate’s calls and not hesitating, because hesitation as death and loss, and you were so close to winning you could taste it, going after it with passionate vigor and a slow-forming grin, seeing and hearing the in-game announcer declaring, QUADRA KILL.

You didn’t kill all five of them because someone took the pentakill from you.

You might have cared about that except your ear exploded into clapping as Jungkook excitedly applauded for you, cheering you on, reminding you that a mostly shirtless man was standing right next to you.

Thanks, Namjoon, you thought sarcastically.

“Wow, you played that so well, dodging the Viktor ult and stunning three people like that–”

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliments, busying yourself with your team killing Baron. You didn’t usually have someone commenting on your games. Your eyes flickered to the small buttons on your desk.

Especially not a mostly shirtless guy.

Mostly shirtless hot guy.

Back to screen, seeing your jungler’s typed instructions, suggesting you all to destroy as many structures as you could and then prepare for the next fight for Ocean Dragon Soul and – oh? Your eyebrows raised as the screen abruptly jerked to the enemy base, the nexus inside exploding into shiny gem-like fragments that became the VICTORY banner.

“They surrendered?” you uttered with surprise, clicking on the CONTINUE button. “Why?”

Your eyes flickered to the kill score.

“Oh, thirty-two to nine… maybe that’s why….”

Your team had the nine deaths and the opponent team had thirty-two so, well, maybe that’s why they surrendered the game.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” Jungkook pouted as you clicked on the damage screen. Second most damage. Okay, you could take that. You were a little distracted.

“So, about your problem–”

You spun around to, ack, realize that, yes, Jungkook’s shirt was still flapped wide open to expose his chest like an unwrapped piece of caramel candy. He seemed to realize it too, making a surprised face and yanking the sides closed, as if you hadn’t gotten a damn eyeful already.

“I can resew the buttons back on, but you should borrow a shirt from Namjoon in the meantime,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Because I, ah, can’t really sew it when you’re still wearing the shirt.”

“Oh… Oh, right, yeah.”

Then he started yanking his shirt out of his slacks.

UMMMMMMM.

Usually, you didn’t care about this stuff. Men were men. They had chests. But you had things you liked too. Just like how men like tits and ass, you liked well-built pecs and forearms. Actually, you appreciated a nice ass and thighs too. And cute faces. Fuck, you loved a cute face.

“Uh, Jungkook…”

He looked up, questioningly. Big round brown eyes, his violet bangs framing his chiseled jaw, parted pink lips, the small mole underneath his lower lip looking so, so kissable, quivering slightly.

Fuck, Jungkook had a cute face.

His shirt was very open.

Fuck, his lightly tanned skin.

He was hesitating around a button, his deft fingers flexed, ink black tattoos standing out on his knuckles and the back of his hand. Your legs were slightly spread, thighs flush to your gaming chair. Half a second and Jungkook’s eyes flickered back up to your face, pretending he hadn’t been looking.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Are you really just gonna strip in my room and walk out asking Namjoon for a shirt and hope none of the six guys think anything about it?”

His eyes shifted around your room. Bed with black sheets and black velvet duvet. Television with your gaming consoles. Your collection of character figurines from various games. Your black denim jacket hanging on a hook, covered in monotone patches that you had sewn yourself, mostly occult-themed, skeletons, skulls, cats, ghosts, potions, eyeballs, that kind of thing. Back to your desk.

Your legs.

Really staring at your thighs, hips, and crotch.

Up your torso, your hands, your exposed collarbones.

Your face.

Guarding his expression, testing the waters.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said slowly. His eyes darted away and back, teeth catching his lower lip. “I really am hoping you can fix my shirt.”

You watched his face carefully, the flare of darkness in those brown orbs, a hint of naughtiness, dancing with danger. Jungkook had a mischievous streak. You could tell by the way he interacted with his hyungs, listening but talking back, helping them with things but not without a roll of his eyes or a smart remark added, probably because all his friends were older and he was the youngest. He knew he could get away with it.

In short.

Brat.

“What would you like in return, noona?” Jungkook purred, smile dancing on his lips.

Honorifics were supposed to honor you. Show a sign of respect and all that shit.

All I wanted to do was play video games, you grumbled internally. Not suddenly have a thirst fest for one of Namjoon’s best friends. You narrowed your eyes a little, seeing the smirk on that perfectly shaped mouth. He’s not stopping either.

Outside your room, something fell with a loud crash. Probably Namjoon by the depth of that startled yelp. Everyone else started laughing and a very loud, cheerful melody was blasting from the living room television. Nobody was coming to investigate you and Jungkook.

Yet.

“Turn around and ask for a shirt,” you sighed, waving a hand. “Then take off your shirt in the bathroom and then, only then, do you come back and give me your dress shirt.”

You saw Jungkook frown, not expecting that as your answer.

“Oh. Okay.”

He seemed disappointed, lowering his hands.

The silky fabric of the dress shirt slid off his right shoulder, partly revealing his tattoo sleeve and fully revealing his right collarbone and shoulder.

You sucked in a breath, eyes flickering to it. Then his face. Then back to his body. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Jungkook jumped, startled by the fallen fabric and reached over to grab the fallen collar. Your hand moved faster than you had time to think. You had good reaction time. It was the gaming obsession.

You slapped his hand down.

Jungkook squeaked, head snapping up, purple hair floating around him, gold chain on his neck glittering as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Strangely, his chain resembled your sterling silver choker that you were wearing right now, except you also wore another necklace with a circular white gold pendant with your zodiac sign.

Not that anyone was ever close enough to inspect it.

“N-Noona?” he breathed, sounding strangely winded.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant to do that. Your body reacted faster than your head.

Shit.

Fuck, he had a nice body. His pecs. Even had a nice dark nipple – well, he probably had two, but you could only see one at the moment – and it all trimmed down to a slim waist and shapely hips. You could tell because of his tailored black slacks. He had been wearing a blazer earlier in the evening too. It was probably on a chair somewhere in the apartment.

Shit.

What did Jungkook need to look so damn good for?

“Where did you guys go to be dressed like that?”

Yes, you were really just going to interrogate him with his shirt dangling off like that.

Jungkook chewed on his lower lip, the tiny mole underneath bouncing up and down as he spoke. “We went to a fancy hotel rooftop bar to celebrate Yoongi-hyung’s award that he won at the music show for producing that song–”

“Ah, right, Namjoon mentioned that earlier today.” Dress code must have been black tie.

Those dark brown eyes found yours, observing you carefully.

“I would have liked to see you there, noona.”

You stopped staring at the tattoos on his bicep and made eye contact. Fuck. Those eyes. Sparkling with deviousness. Trying to see how far he could push your buttons.

“I wonder what kind of dress would you have worn?” he murmured, musing to himself. “I bet you would have looked hotter than any girl there.” Jungkook smiled, playful and boyish. He wasn’t being sleazy about it. Every word was light and honest. “A tight little black dress? Maybe bright red? Short, because you have incredible legs. It would be a crime not to show them off.” He was only complimenting you. His tone wasn’t trying to be suggestive.

Yet.

You didn’t close your legs. You had nothing to be shy about.

Instead, you leaned back in your gaming chair as if it was a throne, resting your left elbow on the armrest and your chin on two fingers, thighs wide open, and your other hand in between them, fingers curled inward to your inner thigh.

Jungkook’s pink lips curved ever higher, ever more roguish.

“Whatever you would have chosen, you would have looked so, so sexy.”

You ticked your head.

“I know.”

Because you did.

Look here, Jeon Jungkook, I’m here minding my own damn business and you’re here inserting yourself into my life, so if you can’t handle me knowing my self-worth, you can fuck right off.

He reached up and tucked a bit of his purple hair behind his right ear, grinning at you.

“You sure you don’t want anything from me?” he asked, a slight flicker of pink tongue between white teeth. “I can give first and then you can decide whether or not you want to help.”

Honestly, those sultry eyes could stop a heart.

You removed your hand from your chin, tapping the air with those two fingers in a dismissive manner.

“Hm.”

Outside, Kim Taehyung and Jung Hoseok were singing a soulful duet and Park Jimin was hooting at inappropriate moments to ruin the atmosphere as much as possible. That raspy, breathless laugh was Min Yoongi, who was probably doubled over on the floor in his expensive suit. Classic genius music producer of the year behavior right there.

Jungkook tucked his hands in his pockets, shirt sleeve falling down, revealing his blacked-out inner elbow. Mountains with a dark sky. It must have hurt, doing something like that. Still, he did it. For aesthetics?

You heard the smirk rather than seeing it, mostly because you were looking at his body.

“I would look so damn good on you, noona.”

Alright.

You closed your eyes slowly and reopened them to look directly into those dangerous, dangerous eyes.

“Lock the door.”

Not really an order. More of a statement. Jungkook could do it or not, you knew. He couldn’t be coerced to do anything. He did things because he wanted to do them. He was nice because he wanted to be nice. He was childish when he wanted to be childish.

And.

Jungkook was obedient when he wanted to be obedient.

He turned around, went to your bedroom door, and locked it.

Well then.

He came back and stood in front of you. A little closer now.

You cocked an eyebrow. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

Jungkook smiled down at you. “I’m sure they will.”

You frowned, lowering your hand to tap the end of the armrest. “They’re going to think I started this.”

“You kind of did.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply. He grinned, taking a step closer.

“Because it’s not my fault you look so good,” Jungkook breathed, voice deepening, leaning down, your expression unchanging, not pulling back but not encouraging anything either. “Not my fault your body is hotter than a summer. Not my fault your confidence is the biggest turn-on I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your thighs were still as open as his shirt.

Jungkook put his knee in between them.

His dress shirt was basically almost completely off his body now, falling off the left shoulder too and dangling off his forearms, exposed collarbones and shoulders, tan skin taut over muscle. A delicious body line, so fucking close to you that you could feel the heat. You still didn’t do anything. You weren’t going to do anything. You didn’t prompt this. You were simply minding your own business commanding a snake lady to victory, not expecting to get seduced by a mischievous bunny-like smile and a tiny black mole under a cute pout.

“I can’t help myself around you.”

You usually didn’t say more to Namjoon’s friends than a mere hello, not wanting to bother them with your presence. They were all men after all. You expected them to want bro time or whatever. Also, you were too busy being obsessed with men that didn’t exist in real life to pursue men that did exist in real life.

At least League of Legends had 3D models so no one could say you lived only the 2D lifestyle.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t partake when the dinner laid themselves out to be eaten. They often had to, because you wouldn’t pay attention otherwise.

Purple hair drifted into your vision, surrounding you in a curtain of violet and dark brown eyes, warm exhale and trembling pink lips, trapping you in Jungkook’s gaze, but you refused to relent, keeping your gaze even. Steady breaths to disguise your racing heart.

You kept your hands closed to prevent him from seeing your shaking fingers.

“Every time I see you, I want you to touch me,” he whispered, trying to hide the edge of nervousness by lowering his voice, enticing you to lean in to hear him better because someone was wiping a damn window in the living room outside your door or was that Kim Seokjin laughing?

There was no difference.

Jungkook’s forehead touched yours and you stopped thinking about Seokjin.

“I just want you to feel me up, rip my clothes off, and fuck me until I can’t think straight. Use me, abuse me, wreck me, ruin me,” he shuddered, definitely thinking about it, and one blink and you spied the obvious tent in his pants.

“Maybe I’m a lazy girl,” you finally said, touching your nose to his, inhaling his breath, a little bit of alcohol, a little bit of fruitiness, and that hint of cologne, fresh, clean, and intense. Something else too. Musk, maybe his pheromones or something like that. Whatever it was smelled fucking delicious, just like you. What did your perfume smell like? Spiced fire blended with addictive sweetness.

You shrugged casually.

“Maybe I’m a pillow princess.”

Jungkook chuckled.

“I can tell you’re not.”

You had to smirk.

Of course, you weren’t.

You closed your thighs around his knee and squeezed, raising to your tiptoes. He gasped softly, shivering at the simple touch of your soft thighs pressing around his muscular leg. It was disturbingly noisy out there, but here it was silent, pared down to your breathing and Jungkook’s breathing, mixing together, blazingly hot, closer, closer, doing the careful dance, daring each other to make the move that was so obviously going to happen.

“What are you gonna say when they ask you where you’ve been all this time?” you whispered, avoiding letting your lips brush against his.

“The truth.”

His tongue flickered out and barely touched your lips.

You didn’t make a sound.

Jungkook moaned, the sound drifting into your throat, and you could taste his desire.

“I tripped and fell into your lap.”

Your lips curved into a smirk.

He kissed you.

His hands on the armrests of your rolling chair, pushing it back into your desk, pressing his lips to yours, inhaling deeply, wanting to breathe you, wanting to taste you, wanting you, shivering as you finally touched him with your hands, but this was you, and your first touch wasn’t going to be wasted on a conventional innocent touch.

Your fingers closed in on his rock-hard erection and stroked him through his pants.

Jungkook moaned your name right in your mouth, eyes half-lidded, his violet hair encircling your face as he rolled his hips into your palm, whining deep in his chest.

“Fuck, yes, noona, play with me…”

You flitted your tongue between his lips and he chased it, begging you for more, and yet you continued to tease, light flicks between those soft pillows, nipping at them, even pushing up his lower lip so the tip of your tongue could draw a small heart around that mole, kissing it, so gentle, so delicate. His entire body shook, your hand palming his hardness through his pants, nails scraping against his balls, caressing all of it, acting like you owned it. Jungkook was certainly humping your hand like you did.

“You only want me because I didn’t want you,” you taunted, not bothering to hide your smirk and your slight disapproval.

“That’s not true,” he panted, attempting to get you to touch his chest, pushing you back into your chair, and yet you kept the fingers of your free hand on the cusp of what he wanted, heat close but no contact, causing him to whimper every time your fingernails barely nicked his skin. “I want you because you’re pretty, gorgeous, and hot as hell.”

Hm, that sounded familiar.

“I want you because I love watching you play your favorite games,” he chuckled, kissing the side of your lips, nose to nose. “I want you because I love that little smirk you make when you do something good. I want you because I love that aggressiveness that comes out and how you seem to lose your filter. Shit, it’s so fucking hot when you’re focused. Makes me wanna see your face when you’re pinning me down and having your way with me. Makes me want to obey you and disobey you at the same time, because I want you to reward me and punish me, I just can’t decide, fuck, you make life so hard for me.”

He punctuated hard by violently humping your hand, rattling your desk with his force.

Outside you heard Namjoon yelling “CANNONBALL” and throwing himself onto that giant gray furry beanbag you paid far too much for about six months ago. It was now a household party favorite, due to its massive size and fluffiness. At the moment, it sounded like a pile of six guys in semi-formal clothing was beginning and, instead of watching this heap of hot dudes being constructed, you were making out with the seventh guy’s face and grabbing his dick.

You’ll take this trade.

You felt Jungkook’s hands groping around, undoing his pants and the zipper, trying to get you to touch more, more, desperate for you to be all over him.

“P-Please… please, I don’t know when they’re going to notice…” he pleaded. “You’re so close, so close, ah, I can’t think, please…”

“Shh…” you soothed. “The door is locked.”

Your fingertips finally touched his chest, not disappointed in the slightest when you touched those delicious-looking pecs. They felt just as nice under your palm, his pounding heart and wanton moan vibrating up your arm.

“Aren’t you a needy little brat trying to distract me from my games, hm?”

Your fingertips hooked over the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“You’re going to have to face the consequences, Jungkook.”

You said his name like a delicious sweet about to be eaten, growl in your throat as you yanked down his underwear, capturing his lips, robbing him of his cries as you clawed down his chest, grasping his cock and pumping him, long, complete strokes from base to tip, curling your fingers around his balls, juggling them with your fingers teasingly as he squirmed and groaned. Your free arm shot around his back, digging your nails into his spine, not letting him get away. His black dress shirt was falling, falling to your floor, his bluish-purple hair in your face and his strong hands on your shoulders, sliding down, kneading your breasts through your clothes, whining that you were still wearing a bra – of course, you were, six dudes were coming over and they didn’t need to see your magnificent nipples on display, although clearly one of them wanted to see – and he was trying to get to the hem of your shirt, but you smacked his hands away, building the pressure and speed, pre-cum leaking between your fingers and adding slickness to lessen the dry friction.

Fuck, you could smell him and he smelled so fucking good.

“Noona, please…” Jungkook gasped, hands on the armrests of your chair, tipping his head back at the pleasure, pants at his fucking knees, chest, crotch, thighs on display. “This is… embarrassing…”

He meant him being mostly naked and you being dressed.

You shrugged, acting indifferent. “Not for me.”

He whimpered at your words, so noticeably dominant despite not using an aggressive or commanding tone. Either that or he was very invested in you jacking him off. You suspected it was a combination of the two, considering how eagerly his cock twitched when you answered.

“What should I do, Jungkook? Should I let you cum? Or should I play with you and stop, make you put your clothes back on and walk out there, desperate to be finished off?” you mused aloud, running your nails up his back, not that hard, but he leaned back into it so they sank into him, wordlessly begging you to do it harder, so you did, setting your jaw and scratching at his back, forcing him back into position. His cock throbbed in your hand, pulsating wildly.

Hm, he really loved it, huh.

“P-Please… wanna cum, please don’t be mean…” he gasped, thrusting his hips into your punishingly tight grip.

“Hm, why does it matter? You’ll just run to the bathroom and finish yourself off anyway, right?”

“Want you to do it, please,” he begged, his long hair curling around his jaw, dark purple locks framing the sharpness, lashes fluttering as you rubbed your thumb against the underside of the head, smearing pre-cum over the slit. “Your hand feels so good, so fucking good, better than I thought, please, I need you to touch me or I can’t get off, please…”

You removed your hand.

Jungkook cried out in denied despair, pitch hiking, the sinful sound clearly audible despite the debaucherously loud ruckus outside your bedroom door that included not one, but two people howling like werewolves for some unknown reason. At this point, you were mildly curious.

But you had a job to do.

He grabbed the front of your shirt, almost sobbing with need. Somehow his violet hair was a mess and you hadn’t even touched it. It cascaded over one of his eyes, an indigo curtain, the other chocolate orb shaking and pupil dilated, black prominent in the dark brown.

“Please don’t–”

You shoved two fingers from your right hand into that pleading mouth and raised your left.

He choked, gagging a little on your fingers.

You stuck your tongue out and licked your palm, slathering it with a thick layer of slick saliva.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the dirty action and then rolled back into his head as you wrapped your hand around his aching cock once more, now covered in saliva, swiftly and fervently jacking him off, hard, fast, tight, nearly choking his cock, pushing his chin up and his chest to your hungry mouth, tongue and teeth and lips, all over those dark nipples hardening under your persistent touch, heedless to his rising moans, so very obvious now what was happening in your bedroom.

It didn’t bother you at all. Jungkook walked in here and asked you to wreck and ruin him, so you did exactly what he asked you to do, leaving harsh bite marks and slippery saliva all over his soft skin, your perfume rubbing off onto his body, coating his chest in your scent and his pulsating thick length with your spit, and he was so fucking hard that you were impressed, feeling his mouth suck on your fingers desperately and wetly, your name a messy garble above your head.

“Fuck, yes, umpf, oh fuck, I’m so close, so close, gonna cum, goona cum for you…!”

“Jungkook?”

You had no idea who called his name through your door, because the next second Jungkook was pitching forward and shooting his cum up your thigh and chest, thick white strings painting your leggings and band t-shirt, soaking into the fabric and creating a sticky mess on your skin, your head lifting in response to his movement to avoid knocking into him, your fingers sliding out of his lips, strings of saliva snapping as they left, and suddenly Jungkook’s face was in your face, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss, rutting into your hand to increase the sensitivity, shoulders and hips flinching, whimpering gratitude and ecstasy into your mouth, his hands in your hair, kissing you deeper, more ravenously, ignoring the questioning voices, lost in the pleasure of his orgasm.

You heard Namjoon say outside your door, “I think he made his move.”

You asshole, at least warn me, you thought irritably.

“You’re so good… so good, exactly what I need… I knew you would be… fuck…”

You thrust your tongue into his lips once and backed off, chuckling as he whined for more.

“Go ask for a shirt.”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, violet hair flying everywhere. Your hand was still wrapped around his semi-hard cock, his cum dripping onto your wrist. His ears were turning red.

“I can’t… They know something is going on…” he mumbled, scooting closer to you, as if your body heat could somehow mask the fact that you just jacked him off with six of his friends standing outside your bedroom door whispering.

“Maybe you wanted them to know.”

You squeezed his ass and he trembled, clutching your shoulders.

“Easy way to tell them that you want to be owned by me, right?”

You could tell by the way his eyes were darting around rapidly that the thought crossed his mind more than once.

“Jungkook.”

You said it loud enough for a keen ear to hear it if they were really eavesdropping. You looked up at Jungkook, his eyes immediately fixating on yours because of your tone.

In control, not to be questioned.

“Get on your knees.”

Dead silence outside your bedroom.

“B… but…”

His cheeks flushed pink.

You took his chin and pulled him down to your face, murmuring to that mole under his lips, pecking it daintily, almost innocently, his wispy moan drifting over your nose. Your words were barely above a whisper, only for him.

“You made a mess. Clean it up.”

You stroked Jungkook’s chin with your thumb, your other hand tucking his long hair behind his ear.

“I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight, so be a good boy for me right now and I’ll let you be a bad boy in bed.”

His head tilted and Jungkook whispered your name into your mouth, drenched with desire.

You smirked, stroking his jaw fondly.

He got to his knees, in between your open thighs, leaning forward, subservient eyes on your face as his pink tongue extended, licking at his own cum staining your clothes, eyes closing at your hand on the top of his head, not directing the movement, but reminding him who was in charge here, reminding him with nails in his scalp that he was going to be fucked until he couldn’t think straight.

Used, abused, wrecked, ruined.

-

“I don’t wanna.”

“We both know you do.”

“But I want to fuck you,” Jungkook protested, speaking softly because everyone was sleeping, or at least it seemed that way, not that either you or Jungkook cared, because you were forcing him to his knees on your bed, pushing his torso back, nails digging into his chest, towering over him, his naked body already covered in your bites and scratches, focused on his inner thighs and chest, none on his neck because that’s where he wanted it the most.

And you knew it.

“Noona, please…”

He said please a lot for someone who did not, in fact, want to be pleased, but tortured.

You grabbed him by the chin, cocking an eyebrow.

His hands were behind him, arms shaking as they held him up, shivering delightfully under your petrifying gaze.

“Please what? Hm? Saying please when you come crawling into my room, begging for dirty things with your friends right outside, saying please when you interrupt me and distract me, jeopardizing my chances to win my game?”

You leaned in close, you knowing you were only crafting a scene, him knowing that you didn’t actually care, but Jungkook wanted to hear the words, wanted you to put that malice in your tone to caress his ears, wanted you to cannibalize his sanity and put him in a different headspace, his cock already responding to it, bobbing in the air, purple-red and achingly hard from multiple orgasms, and he still wanted more.

“Saying please so you can say please when you’re under me, helplessly begging me to let you cum?”

You could hear his whines vibrating under your fingertips, pupils blown wide, lower lip trembling, begging you already, such a needy little thing, those lovely brown eyes full of submission, muscles tense with anticipation, every passing second spiraling him into increased frustration, because instead of doing anything, you were only smirking wider and wider, pushing his head back.

“Well? Tell me if you’re a dirty boy or not. Maybe I’ll do what you want.”

His violet hair cascaded to his shoulder blades, his low moan coursing through your fingertips and the heated air of your bedroom.

“Y… Yes, I’m a d-dirty boy…”

“Noona,” you prompted.

Just because you could.

His lips curved into an open smile, two of your fingers hooked over his lower lip, fingertips rubbing his tongue. Your thumb nail pressed into his mole.

“Noona.”

You ripped the condom open with your teeth, which was not advisable unless you were the kind of person that practiced that for hours on end, spending an obscene amount of money on unused condoms to perfect your technique, because nobody wants a broken condom or lube in their teeth. Why would you want to learn such a thing? You were a stickler for details. A perfectionist in perfecting a perfect display of raw dominance.

You spat out the torn corner onto Jungkook’s chest and he whimpered, unashamedly amazed.

Your left hand removed the condom from the package and your right slid out of his mouth and encircled his neck.

You inspected the condom, lazily turning it to the correct position, fingers pressed to the sides of his neck, leaving plenty of space for his trachea between your thumb and forefinger. You didn’t bother looking at his face. Instead, you spread your legs, poised and naked over him and his throbbing cock.

Your right hand started choking him.

Your left hand started rolling the condom down his thick, hard length.

Your name leaked out of his lips in a thin gurgle, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Say please, Jungkook.”

A sharp, distinct order.

“P… Please…” he gasped out, chest shuddering.

Your hand tightened around his throat and your pussy clenched around his cock as you forced yourself down on him.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck…”

You didn’t bother asking if he liked it. His vicious fisting of your sheets and trembling body, cries and cock included, told you everything you needed to know. You only watched the color of his cheeks, knowing there were limits to how long you could choke him. Therefore there was no time to be wasted, already starting your favorite pace, rough and hard, filling yourself with that delicious cock built to take your abuse, jaw set, gripping his throat, blood pounding under your fingertips, slapping hips to crotch, heat sparking though your veins, hotter, hotter, your smirk growing more and more smug, tongue tracing your lips as you witnessed Jungkook’s descent into sin, raising his head so he could watch you bounce on his cock with hazed brown orbs, mouth open, tongue lolling out, circulation thinning, purple hair wild around that cute, distressed face.

You let up the pressure on his neck, dark snicker rumbling in your chest.

“This pussy worth it, brat?”

The rush of missing blood into his brain, the suffocating pleasure of your pulsating walls wrapped around his twitching cock, your authoritative growl and merciless words tearing through him – you saw it all taking over Jungkook, forced to respond honestly from pure instinct because there was no time to compile pretty words or a smart comeback.

“Yes, noona, yes, I love it, I love it, this brat fucking loves what you do to him…”

You immediately choked him again and slapped your pussy onto his cock like you were whipping him.

His eyes rolled back and a wild moan tore out of his chest, cut off by your hand.

The bed creaked under you, bearing the weight of your roughness.

“I know you love it,” you snarled, leaning in, fucking him into your bed with vigor, straining his knees, so uncomfortable and so comfortable for him at the same time, pain and pleasure, clearly something he craved and loved from how hard he was. “You said you need me to touch you or you can’t get off.”

You knew that couldn’t be true.

Jungkook probably got off hundreds of times thinking about you, otherwise he wouldn’t be so ecstatic about you violently riding his dick right now.

His teeth sank into his swollen lower lip, staring at you through his lashes, his voice a thin whisper laced with insatiable need.

“I can’t cum without you anymore.”

You removed your hand.

Your hips stopped abruptly, fulling sheathing his cock inside you.

“No!”

His shout was so loud and desperate that you had to conceal your surprise, not expecting the frantic ferocity of his tone, nearly an agonized sob as he grabbed your upper arms in a crushing grip, his indigo locks crashing into his high cheekbones, sticking to his sweaty face and sharp jaw. It took everything in you to stay calm, everything to not give in and let him have what he wanted. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was knowing the role you were playing, maybe it was the sadistic side of you, who the fuck knew, but there was only a beat of hesitation, a second of you staring into those beautiful dark brown eyes, so perfect.

Just perfect.

Perfectly wrecked, willing to do anything in this moment for you to continue.

Before he could utter a peep of a plea, you shook out of his grip and seized his head, crashing his lips onto your neck.

Jungkook bit you.

Instant, searing pain, taking out all his sexual frustration on your neck, sucking at the skin, hot tongue lapping, groaning, moaning, half-crying because you didn’t move. You just sat on his dick and forced his mouth onto your neck, gleefully savoring his despair, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the pleasure, his hands and nails digging into your waist, his teeth latched to the side of your throat, his stiff cock shuddering inside you, your tight heat keeping him hard but not letting him cum, repeatedly squeezing the engorged head brutally, driving him insane.

Insane.

You could feel his lips move, but you muffled his words, pushing his head into your neck.

Please.

Deep inhale, his wonderful scent filling your nose.

Please.

Riding the high that was Jungkook’s desire for you, fingers tangled into violet strands.

Please.

He felt so, so good, spoon-feeding the dom in you with his tiny whimpers and distraught sniffles.

“P… Please…”

You pressed your lips to his hair, murmuring his name sweetly.

“Jungkook.”

No quiver to your tone, only serene calm.

“Noona…”

His hands slid up your back as your hips began to rock, slow, so painfully slow, building the frenzy layer by layer, his hardness swelling inside you, his soft lips pressed to his hickey onto your neck, even more turned on because he knew you let him mark you, he knew in this moment you were his and only his, everything he wanted and more, his hips rising to meet yours, deepening your thrusts, matching your force, burying his face into your skin and your scent, wanting nothing more than your command over his body.

You turned his head, tucking his hair behind one ear, speaking dark whispers into that curve.

“You look the best when on your knees for me, Jungkook.”

He shivered, your name falling sloppily from his lips, drunk from your power and lost in his service.

You let go of his head and grabbed his shoulders instead, putting all of your weight onto him, now letting yourself chase it, chase the orgasm that you had been building for yourself all this time, letting yourself feel Jungkook and feel the full force of the pleasure he gave you, because, yes, of course, you served him first before you, even if it didn’t seem like it.

Because when it came down to it, Jungkook came to you, opening himself petal by petal to show you his vulnerable side, testing the waters, hoping, wishing, praying that maybe, just maybe, you were the kind of person that he was expecting, wanting, needing, and you, knowing how difficult that was because, well, you had made it difficult, only focusing on games and not on those longing eyes that watched you whenever you came into his view.

Eyes that you looked into now.

Half-lidded, glazed over, fucked-out, still honest.

His large hands were still on your waist, holding you to him as you rode him with furious slaps, muscles flexed in his chest and arms, tattoos on his right arm tense and taut from holding this position for so long. He looked so good. Felt so good. Had an amazing cock.

And fuck.

Jungkook had a cute face.

You genuinely smiled.

“I’ll take care of everything,” you drawled, injecting your words with conviction and adoration.

That did it.

His lips parted, low groan emitting from his throat as his head tipped back, purple waterfalling onto his back, thrusting up into you and shooting into the condom with fierce jolts, unable to hold back any longer, his entire length flinching uncontrollably, sweet whimpers at his release, feeling sorry that he didn’t let you cum first, but that didn’t matter, because you rode through it, already there, falling, falling, your sigh like laden smoke as your orgasm slammed into you, welcoming the bolts of cruel pulses flying through you, concentrated onto your core, Jungkook’s moans hiking into pitched ecstasy at the convulsing clenches of his oversensitive, overused cock, arms embracing you tightly, hugging you for dear life, chest to chest, pounding heart against yours.

Your fingers tangled into his hair.

His hand fitted around your head.

Lips to lips and you took care of everything, claiming that mouth as yours, holding him up even though you were the one in his lap, your kiss onto that perfect mole under that pretty pout, cherishing every mumble of your name, lowering him onto your pillows, soft kisses in between. You took care of everything, lifting yourself off him, chuckling as he whined, pawing for you to come back, but you rapped his knuckles and calmed him, removing the condom and cleaning him off gently with a towel, soft kisses in between because he wanted the attention, deliberately not closing his eyes until you crawled back into the bed, tucking the covers around you and him, Jungkook immediately turning and yanking you into his chest, nose against your skin.

“Who’s the pillow princess?” you teased, ruffling his long violet locks.

His lips pressed onto your hickey, his mark on you, and he sighed in content, drifting into sleep.

-

In the morning, you found a pile of five guys in the living room sleeping in various positions on the giant gray furry beanbag and the sofa. Jungkook was in your bed, passed out. The last guy, Min Yoongi, was in Kim Namjoon’s room, sleeping on his bed, because he was a smart man and took advantage of a perfectly good bed that five drunk hooligans undoubtedly forgot about.

You chuckled and rubbed your neck as you brushed your teeth, seeing yourself and the large purple hickey Jungkook had made last night in the bathroom mirror.

You went back to your room after retrieving the sewing basket from the living room, spending the morning calmly stitching the small buttons back onto his black dress shirt as the seven guys in your apartment continued to snore away.

Then you went back to playing League of Legends.

Ah, Cassiopeia, I had an eventful evening, but I have returned to you.

-

drabble morning-after hungover breakfast

--

masterpost

[whaleofatjme1920]

Seeing Him Smile and Kiss Someone Else (Hoodie X F!Reader)

[Hoodie/Brian Thomas X F!Reader]

[Warnings: none]

[AN: Howdy! I cross post these on quotev under ‘Elsie I Guess’ and on AO3 under ‘Whaletales1920′ under the title ‘The Places You Shouldn’t Be’. Just thought I’d start uploading them here too.]

Part 2

Proxies aren’t supposed to do a lot of things: speak back to their master, challenge hierarchical roles, have relationships with each other of that caliber, and never, never ever absolutely never have romantic relationships with humans. 

Why? It’s a losing game. Everyone knows that. Should proxies seek any kind of attachment, platonic, romantic, even sexual, their best bet is to stay within their own kind: other proxies. It’s the polite thing to do. It’s the right thing to do. 

When you first came in, you bonded almost immediately to your group of four other individuals. There’s Masky, your group leader. He’s really sweet when he wants to be and seems to care the most about you - it’s probably because you’re new. Toby is akin to the middle child. He’s always buzzing around you a lot like a bumblebee. While he has his jerk moments, he’s got an eye out for you. So too does Kate, once the group’s newbie/runt. She’s the one you replaced. She’s relatively quiet and sticks to herself, but she’s never a stranger to helping you out and immersing you in the culture and world you’ve found yourself entangled in. 

And then there’s Masky’s right hand, a proxy named Hoodie, but you know him as Brian. Out of all your group members, Brian was the hardest to warm up to. He hardly acknowledged you when you were first placed in his group and was amongst the hardest in the hazing process (you’re still technically going through). But, after some time and getting to know each other, the two of you became the closest of friends, even going so far as to rival Masky’s friendship with him. It’s safe to say you got a bit of a crush on him, in simplest terms. 

Three times. Three times you felt you liked him.

The first time was when you were about to head out of your safe house on a grocery run. Proxies don’t have any leads, so cards are absolutely off the table. You walked out of the safe house, yawning slightly, and barely made it down the driveway when Brian had popped back out of the house. 

“Reader,” he called out, slowly moving to lean in the doorway of the empty house the five of you were squatting in. 

“Yeah?” You asked sleepily. 

“Forgetting something?” He holds up his hand - it’s the wallet. 

You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you speed walked back to the front door to retrieve it. “Guess I’m still kinda tired,” you admittedly awkwardly with a small chuckle. 

Brian shrugged slightly and threw you a smirk as he met you halfway, “Think I’ll accompany you this morning,” he said with a wink. 

The two of you began to walk as you mentally mulled over the man walking beside you - his hands in his pockets. You’d never really thought of him like that before, but the way he smiled and that wink… It planted a seed. You weren’t quite sure you were going to acknowledge it or if it was just a fluke, but the thought stayed, and then it remained. 

As the two of you traversed the grocery store for various things your comrades had asked for, you and Brian traded conversation about everything that popped into mind. 

“Oh, like you knew any better in high school,” you wheezed before tossing in a box of brownies. You’d just been discussing how terrible and how gods awful high school relationships can be and how at one low point, you got into one. Brian had said he knew better than to mess around in high school, but you had retorted that ‘we’re all young and dumb once.’ 

Brian raised a brow at the box but allowed it anyway. “I most certainly did and I knew how things were gonna play out before they even happened.” 

“On what basis? It’s not like you have future vision,” You snorted. You watched as he pushed the cart forward as you plucked items you needed from the shelves. 

He shot you a look. “I’m a guy, it’s practically flowing through our veins,,” he said as his eyes raked over the list. “I’d most likely be the reason those things are happening to begin with and knowing that is like it’s own future vision..” He flashed his smile at you. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever grew out of the dumb part,” he chuckled. 

Your heart skipped. 

The second time you thought you liked him was when you were in the car with him, heading back to your safe house (in an entirely different part of the country). The two of you were more than exhausted after clearing a house whose occupants the Operator wanted dead for one reason or another and Brian decided to steal a car. So, there you sat in the passenger seat. 

“Something on your mind?” He hummed, arm resting on the console. His hazel colored eyes flicked over to you with interest. 

You shrugged, “just thinking.”

“Dangerous for people like us,” Brian chuckled. “Care to get specific?” 

You sighed slightly and turned your eyes to the passing street lights overhead as the car pulled onto the late night expressway. “Thinking about all the things I’ll miss,” you admit. 

Brian nodded from the corner of your eye. “I think about that stuff too,” he said, a small frown pulling onto his face. “You were finishing up college?” 

“Yeah,” you said. “I mean, I guess I’m getting out of the college loan debt but… Y’know,” you trailed off slightly, your posture changing slightly. “Maybe I would’ve been normal. Get a cool job, live a non murderous life, have a family and a loving partner. I don’t know, like, whatever the American dream says we should have. Anything but this.” 

Brian laughed slightly, “sorry. It’s not - it’s not you,” he explained. “It’s just awfully similar to what I wanted.” 

You turned your attention from the passing lights over to Brian. “White picket fence is your thing?” 

“More or less,” he hummed. “Wanted to live the rest of my life like a normal person.

Certainly died like one, more or less,” he finished. 

You mentally hummed, already knowing what he was referring to. Died and got resurrected. “Don’t think falling from a floor up counts as normal.” 

“Hey, it worked out for…. Something nice,” he quickly chirped. “Fell and met an angel.” 

He briefly turned his head to look at you and flashed a grin. 

“Oh that’s so bad.” 

“You love it.” 

You really do.  

The third time was when the two of you were on the rooftop of some house you’d been spending a lot of time at. It was kind of nice to be able to settle down in one place for more than a month - it’d been going on close to a  year. It was your roof, the one you shared with Brian. Late in the night, when the crickets sang and the stars danced, the two of you snuck up against Masky’s best wishes to talk about the world and life before. 

When summer was giving way to autumn and sending cool breezes throughout the night, you and Brian had been up there once again. 

“You think EJ will be around?” You asked, looking up at the stars you barely knew the names to. “BEN did say he was in the area.” 

“Gonna say yes,” Brian hummed back, momentarily pausing to point out Altair. “He’s always had a soft spot for our group,” he noted. “Why? You looking forward to seeing him?” He chuckled, hand reaching out to ruffle your hair. 

You laugh as quietly as you can and shake your head, “we’ve hardly ever spoken!” You giggled. “I just think he’s cool.”

Brian snorted in response and nodded, “yeah, I think so too. Though, where’d you get the opportunity to talk with BEN?” 

“There’s a little computer cafe in town,” you said, eyes flicking towards the direction of said cafe. “I’ve been spending a lot of time there. Mostly to use the internet,” you admitted, a slight heat coming to your cheeks. Proxies really aren’t supposed to use the internet. “Toby also sometimes tags along.” 

“So that’s where he’s been getting those weird references from,” Brian said with a tone of understanding. “Next time you go, let me know. I’d love to see what you children are up to online,” he teased. 

You laughed again and nodded, “sure thing.” 

The two of you continued to talk before a particularly hard gust of wind came in. On instinct, you shivered - though you weren’t really cold. 

Upon seeing you shiver, Brian took no hesitation in taking off his hoodie, much to your chagrin. 

“Oh, you don’t have to-” you began as you attempted to push it towards him. 

“I insist,” he had said, already popping the thing over you. 

You relented and allowed the giant hoodie to envelop your form like a warm hug. It smelled just like him - something woodsy, smoke, and the faintest of graphite. When you looked back at Brian, he was staring up at the stars, a small smile on his face. His eyes did not leave the inky blueish-black, not even when your hand came within millimeters of holding his. 

All it took was three times. Three times to know you liked him, and once to know you’d lost him. 

As stated before, it is absolutely a losing game to get involved with humans. Humans are frail and prone to panic. They can’t understand the world the way you do, nor are they suited for life the way you are in their current form. In your society, humans are the lowest of the low, akin to cattle - albeit, sentient cattle. Only when they are lifted from their human status are they finally given the time of day. 

He never would have known about her if you never brought up that computer cafe. Truly, it was a mistake on your part. You didn’t mean to, but it had happened anyway. 

“Cute place, right?” You smiled, eyes traveling up and down the rows of tables. 

“The cutest,” Brian agreed with a small chuckle. “Do we go up to a counter and order or..?” He trailed off slightly as he inspected the place and took in all the minor details. 

“Just take a seat, a waiter will be around shortly,” you said, immediately pulling him to your preferred spot by the windows and tucked away into the corner. 

Brian followed your lead and took a seat next to you where he immediately powered on the computer. “It’s kinda weird that they let us have food this close to the electronics, no?” 

“Oh no, it’s super weird,” you nodded as you began flicking open tabs to get to the things you wanted - maybe say hi to BEN. “But, it works. So like, c’est la vie?” You giggled, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. 

A few moments later, a waitress stopped by. You had already managed to pull up a chat with BEN and were so engrossed in catching up with him that you failed to notice her. You hadn’t even recognized she was there until you heard her giggling at something Brian had said. 

“Never thought I’d be that star struck,” Brian had finished the small anecdote with eyes that practically sparkled. 

Her smile only widened. “You? The star struck kind?” She teased lightly. “Have to see it to believe it.” 

Brian looked up at her, his lips now pulled up into a smile. “You’re looking at it right now.” 

It pulled you so hard out of your conversation with BEN that you’d accidentally sent him a half-baked thought. “Wait what?” 

Your sound of confusion had snapped the two back into reality. “Oh! I’m sorry, sugar,” the waitress apologized with a slight blush rising to her cheeks. “Was there something I could get you?” 

You blinked a few times, your eyes darting between the two before finally managing to stammer out your drink and pastry of choice. You watched as Brian’s eyes followed her out and when she came back in. 

Long after the two of you had finished, the two of you decided to head back. 

“That was fun,” you said. 

“It was,” Brian replied, thoughts drifting elsewhere. 

Ever since that moment, he’d been going to the café with and without you. Sometimes you’d find yourself heading there only to see him entranced in conversation with the waitress, and when that happened, you turned right back around. At first it was to give them space, and then it was to give yourself space. 

You wished you could allow yourself to weather through this one with grace and that it didn’t bother you, that it didn’t get on your nerves, but it did. Slowly but surely, it had chipped away at some odd part of you that you didn’t even know existed prior to. 

Masky was the first to bring it up. 

“Reader,” he began. “Can you wrangle Hood from that café? Operator wants us to do something - I just need him,” he said, barely looking up from his newspaper. 

“I can go if you want,” you suggested before poking your head back out from the refrigerator. 

“Hm?” That got Masky’s attention. “Are you sure?” He raised his eyebrow, giving you an inquisitorial look. 

“It’s no big deal,” you said with a small smile as you plucked your drink out from the fridge. “Besides, I think Hoodie’s busy.” You had to fight the unpleasant feeling that bubbled up in your chest after you said that. 

“Oh,” Masky gave a hum of recognition. “Toby did mention he was getting a little close to someone there,” he said in passing. 

You shot Masky a look. 

He shot one back. 

Internally, you both know that’s not the best thing - but Masky’s not going to stop his best friend. And you know you won’t either. 

Kate mentioned it next, though she seemed to be telling you that you’d get  over it. It came relatively out of the blue. See, the two of you were standing in the living room of a house painted in blood just chatting, waiting for the Operator to give you direction on what he wanted for the man he wanted alive when Kate got weirdly serious. She sat down on the sofa and invited you to sit down next to her. 

“You can’t keep avoiding him like that,” she hummed, her shoe digging into the man’s chest as he wriggled beneath her step. “I know it’s awkward, but he’s your comrade first.” 

You rolled your eyes and lightly pushed at her. “Come on, it’s not that serious,” you said, attempting to play off your feelings that were so gods damn obvious throughout the time you’ve been spending in this area. 

“Are you kidding me?” Kate chuckled. “Look,” her hand is on your shoulder as she digs her heel into the man’s chest, cracking his ribs slightly. “It’s uncomfortable. I get that. It’s why we don’t… Do that kind of thing.” She rubbed her thumb in little circles on your shoulder as she grounded you. “It’s probably for the best, even though you can’t see it right now.” 

You sighed and gave her a look of slight pain. “You’re probably right.” 

“I know I’m right.”

It’s not that Toby is bad at reading a room, but it’s that he’s really bad at reading a room. When the two of you went to the computer café for your outing, he was excited to see the girl Brian was ‘seeing,’ as he somehow managed to miss her from every other precious visit. It was so obvious that they had been - her perfume was practically embedded into his skin now - and his smile was brighter than the sun after seeing her. 

And here you were, not even wanting to know her name. 

It’s Fiona. 

“Toby!” She greeted as she bounded up to your table. “Reader! What a nice surprise!” There was no malice in her tone. She was genuinely happy to see you. “What can I get you two today?” 

“C-Chocolate croissant and some h-h-hot chocolate please,” Toby said. He then turned to you, and as if he read your mind, gave her your order as well. “H-How have t-things been?” He asked. 

“Really good,” Fiona replied. “He’s such a sweetie, got me this necklace.” 

Your eyes immediately left the screen and travelled to her neck. There it was. Beautiful necklace. Silver chain with a hunk of rose quartz at the bottom in the shape of a bullet.You remembered seeing that pendant. It hung on his mirror for such a long time. You once overheard him saying to Kate how it was your possible birthday gift. 

“It’s so pretty,” you smiled, eyes not quite following. 

You were damn certain if you were suffering from hanahaki you would’ve choked on flowers by now and died. The last nail in the coffin? 

Now. Right now. You came back to the safe house just wanting to relax, maybe star gaze for a bit and fall asleep outside - anything and everything sounded better than just being alone in your thoughts after the Operator had some harsh words to say to you on account of your performance slipping ever so slightly from his golden standards. You fix yourself a warm mug of tea and start making yourway to the rooftop. It’s the same path you’ve always taken: head up the stairs to the upper floor, last room on the left side of the hall, go in and open the study windows there and hang out on the roof. 

You make sure to take careful steps as you ascend, not wanting to spill any of your carefully made tea as you seek to unwind. With a deep breath, you start making it through the hallway, thankful no one else is here. Masky is away on business, Kate is doing something with Jeff and Toby left a few hours ago to meet with someone he deems important. Come to think of it, you haven’t had the house free in a while. 

But, as you step closer and closer to the last room on the left, you hear it. Giggling, whispers, conversation that’s so innocent and intimate at the same time. You notice the study door is closed. It’s never closer. You step closer. 

“You’re so sweet,” That’s Fiona’s voice. “You don’t have to get me all these things - I don’t even know where I’m gonna wear all of them.” She giggles. 

“Wear a different one every time I come to see you.” That’s Brian. “Gonna be burning through those things like crazy.” You hear the sound of a kiss. 

“You got a deal,” Fiona chuckled. Another kiss. 

You hear the roof shingles move slightly as they move closer together. Against your better judgment, you push open the study door slightly. Must you be so nosy?

There, sitting on the roof outside the window is Fiona and Brian. She’s wearing his sweater (it’s just polyester) and giggling as he peppers her face in kisses. When she’s decided he’s covered her in enough kisses for an entire year, she presses her lips to his. 

He smiles before kissing her back just as fervently. 

Without a sound, you begin to head back to your room. 

Perhaps tea in your room would be better. 

[endlinetheredeath]

Arrested

“KEZEKET A LEVEGŐBE!”(Hands in the air!) came a strained raspy voice trough a loudspeaker

I was squinting hard as my eyes adjusted to the harsh light, my right arm still blocking a large portion of it. Nak was looking much worse, his eyes closed, shut tight, both his upper arms blocking as much light as possible, his face contorted in a painful grimace. His eyes likely much more light sensitive than mine trading range for better night vision, evolution in this instance was a bitch to him, the police floodlights must have almost blinded him.

Before i could process what the voice even said i heard a bunch of feet quickly shuffle towards us and in the next moment both of us were tackled to the ground. The team of officers quickly cuffed us, pulled us back to our feet and stuffed us in the patrol cars that were just behind the lights.

**************

Time passed and minutes became hours, on the bridge Kiela was getting more and more nervous, pacing back and forth.

“Where IS he, he should have been back long ago...”

The place where Nak had landed on Earth was behind the planets moon at this point as well as they themselves were laying low in orbit of the next planet in the system that they now knew was called Mars and didn’t want to risk discovery just yet, so for now they were blind to what was happening on Earth.

“Try hailing the captain again!” she ordered one of her subordinates

A couple quick clicks could be heard and then...

“Captain this is the Terkwrat, do you copy...”

“... “The line remained silent, the comms officer tried again...

“Captain Nakqr’ this is the Terkwrat, DO you copy?...”

“... “The result was again, the same.

Another 10 minutes pass, the ships scopes all trained on the spot where the shuttle landed on Earth behind the moon, all waiting for the big rock to move so they could finally see. The minutes dragged ever so slowly as the crew nervously waited, then they started to see flashing blue and red lights and the shuttle illuminated by dozens of large harsh white lights. Around the craft they were able to see a small army of people scrambling everywhere... they knew immediately, things have gone terribly wrong in the past couple hours.

**************

The cops took us to the nearest police station in separate cars and now i was sitting in an interrogation room, alone and nervous. One of the walls had a huge one-way mirror, I’m sure they are watching me, either waiting for the right moment to burst in to intimidate me the most or are currently trying to get Nak to talk or worse.

“Shit...” i said under my breath. I shifted in the chair lookin around, nervously rubbing my chin.

Out of nowhere the door to the room almost exploded, a detective stood in the doorway. He sighed angrily and stepped into the room. I looked up at him my eyes narrowed slightly my face became serious and I could feel my nervousness pulling back deep within my body. I watched as the detective made his way to the table that i was seated at and sat before me.

“Hol van..”(Where is..) I was cut off by him

“NEM te vagy aki itt a kérdéseket felteszi...”(You are NOT the one who is asking the questions here) he pointed a finger at me “TE szépen válaszolni fogsz minden kérdésre amit felteszek és HA kielégítőnek találom a válaszaid akkor TALÁN nem mész a bíróság elé hazaárulásért...”(YOU will answer my every question that i ask and IF i find your answers satisfactory then MAYBE you wont be put in front of a court for treason...)

“M M MI!? Hazaárulás? Mi a faszt csináltam én, hogy hazaárulással vádol!?”(Wha Wha What?! Treason? What the fuck did i do that you are accusing me with treason.)

“Állami titkokat árultál el ismeretlen erőknek amivel aláástad az ország de talán a bolygó biztonságát.”(You have disclosed state secrets whereby you undermined the security of the country or maybe even the planet.)

“MILYEN ÁLLAMI TITKOKAT, semmilyen titkokról sem tudok. Egy kicseszett szerelő és hobbi pilóta vagyok az isten szerelmére.”(WHAT STATE SECRETS, i don’t know of any secrets. For god’s sake I’m an F-ing mechanic and a hobby pilot.) I sighed  “Ok nézze, igen beszélgettünk jó pár dologról, DE semmi olyat nem tudok s ezáltal semmi olyan ‘érzékenyet’ nem tudok elfecsegni ami ne lenne könnyedén elérhető az interneten, csak kérdezze mag Nakot.”(Ok look, yes we have talked about quite a few things, BUT i don’t know anything that isn’t easily available on the internet therefor i can’t divulge anything that’s ‘sensitive’, just ask Nak.)

The detective looked me over with a cold gaze as i was on my tirade then just said...

“Tehát Nak a neve...” (So it’s name is Nak...) he leaned back in his chair.

I blinked a couple times and lifted my head a little in confusion before saying

“Várjunk csak egy kicsit ... még nem beszéltek vele?”(Wait hold up... you haven’t talked to him yet?

Just as I finished the sentence the door to the interrogation room opened again but this time the figure that stood in the door was less angry and more worried.

“Nyomozó ennek itt és most vége. Tamást most azonnal engedje el az űrlénnyel együtt.”(Detective this ends right here right now. You will release Thomas and the alien this instant.)

“De kapitány...”(But captain...) The police captain held up his hand sharply silencing the detective.

“Semmi de, új fejlemények történtek és ezáltal ez a letartóztatás sosem történt meg, értette!?”(NO buts, new developments happened and thus this arrest never happened, understand?!)

I was led out of the room and into the lobby of the station where I got back my stuff. I stood there dumbfounded to what just happened. After a few minutes Nak was led into the lobby as well, when i saw him i saw that his left shoulder was bandaged and his left upper arm was held up by sling.

“Well this was a first ...” he said as he walked up to me with an officer in tow.

“Wait you speak English?!” said the woman as they came to a halt in front of me. Nak turned to her and sighed.

“Well yes i do speak English with the help of a translator, but you didn’t bother to find that out in the last ... how many hours?”

“ 13 ...We were brought in roughly 13 hours ago ...” I answered his frustrated question. “What happed to you...”

“Well when they tackled us to the ground i hit some rock and felt my arm go limp, turns out my shoulder got dislocated. Don’t worry i should be back to normal in no time...” he said turning away from the officer and back to me with a smile on his face. I smiled and shook my head a little.

“Do you know why they let us go?” he asked. I opened my mouth to answer him but before i could the doors of the station were thrown open and a big group of the ships crew flooded inside led by Kiela and followed by a bunch of human diplomats as well as the minister of defense.

“There you two are. By the Gods, are you ok captain?!” she said as she marched up.

Turns out once the crew realized what happened they scrambled together a diplomatic team mostly consisting of the department heads on the ship and contacted the Hungarian government. They got us out, but by doing that they basically announced to the whole planet that yes in fact humanity is not alone in the universe, not by a longshot. Now Humanity knew that not just aliens existed but that there is an intergalactic federation.

Yeah...things are going to get interesting ... i hope we don’t F it up.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Somehow Technoblade had managed the spectacular achievement of becoming the odd one out in an entire community made up of rare and strange beings.

The fact that all the other residents were non-humans happened to be what made him different though. Wilbur had told him the history of the commune, how their town was founded with the direct purpose of being a safe place for mobs and hybrids to live in peace, secluded from the humans who hunted them, enslaved them, or would otherwise harm them. Their location was kept secret, hidden from most by enchantments, and they were almost completely self-sufficient in the way they were run in terms of food and stuff.

Only occasionally would somebody wander out to another village, to trade or just to seek a little adventure for themselves. Phil especially was prone to do this – a traveler at heart, his Elytrian nature – and he was the one who had found Technoblade in a rather... compromising position.

If by compromising you could mean having an arrow sticking out your back.

People didn't like Technoblade. And Technoblade generally didn't like people, but he liked it even less when they chased him out of their villages with their bows drawn. Phil had been kind enough to remove the projectile. Technoblade had bravely said it didn't hurt but then secretly dug his blunt nails into the palms of his hands hard enough to leave white indents. Then Phil had insisted on taking him home to get a proper look at the wound and clean it up.

Not all of the other residents were thrilled with Technoblade's presence at first, scared it could compromise their location. A lot of their tunes had changed when they found out other humans were the cause of his injury, even more so when Techno revealed this was hardly an isolated incident. People didn't like Technoblade at all.

(Most humans had little tolerance for that which they did not understand. And according to them, Technoblade was weird and very hard to understand. Techno understood himself perfectly fine, he always thought they were the weird ones.)

So he stayed and overall things worked out great. There were only minor issues caused by the 'only human around' thing. Their pub was a good example. A few of the others in the commune could simply fly or teleport, and those that couldn't had no problems either since they could rely on inhuman stamina to make the climb tolerable. Techno had a hundred rungs of a ladder he needed to brave with his pitiful human physique if he wanted to get up there. Same thing for Phil's ridiculously high-up birdhouse.

And then one day he got sick.

It was probably his own fault. Last night when it was storming he'd been coming home from mining and gotten completely soaked out in the rain. A small voice in the back of his mind told him he should probably take his drenched clothes off and get warm and comfortable as soon as he got home – the voice sounded suspiciously like Phil when he lectured Techno about fixing his terrible sleeping schedule and eating more regularly. But he had gotten distracted by putting away the materials he'd mined into his chests and starting to smelt the ore and by the time he noticed he was shivering at how cold it was, his clothes were damp more than wet. He lighted the fire and felt too exhausted to bother getting changed, crawling under the covers as he was - though it didn't completely ward away further trembling.

When he woke up his head hurt and there was this annoying tickle in his chest, feather-light touches against his lungs. The clothes had become sticky and uncomfortable, peeling off his skin. Techno coughed into a fist and set out as normal, intent on resuming his tasks where he left off yesterday.

It would probably go away on its own.

Except the coughing didn't stop. Small bursts of it kept coming up when he needed them least. He was in the middle of one when a voice rang out behind him.

"Techno, are you okay dude?" He must have jumped a solid three feet into the air and for a moment Wilbur only chuckled at his reaction.

"I told you to stop doing that," Techno grumbled, a little too sharply. Just because Wilbur could literally appear out of nowhere didn't mean he had to use that ability to sneak up on him for no reason. Techno coughed again, hiding it in his elbow.

"You did," Wilbur acknowledged with a smirk, but didn't apologize. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look I'm doing, I'm headed to the mines." Techno swung his pickaxe up on his shoulder, kind of almost nearly dropping it in the process with how clumsy his hands were being. Stupid.

"It looks like you were hacking up a lung, really." Wilbur's features softened. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Techno responded. He started walking again, knowing Wilbur would have a hard time following him while in corporeal form. Especially in the daytime.

"Are you coming to the pub later? I've got some new plans to unveil, think they'll be sick." Wilbur did make a valiant attempt at following him, though he quickly started falling behind, floating inches above the ground and unable to keep up with Techno's human strides.

"Uh, I'll think about it?" Techno answered evasively. He wasn't looking forward to braving that ladder in his current state. His arms hurt just thinking about it.

Wilbur stopped to call after him. "What do you mean you'll think about it?"

But Techno was far enough gone to be able to pretend not to hear him as he descended down his mineshaft.

Techno liked Niki's hair a lot. He'd even told her so not long after meeting her.

It was long and wavy and a nice shade of pastel pink that reminded him of the sunset. Technoblade would consider growing out his own hair that long if he didn't know it was way too unruly to keep in shape and stay untangled. And if dyeing it wasn't such a chore – one he knew he'd be too lazy to undertake as regularly as he should – he might have dyed it from its boring brown shade into something more interesting.

Niki was glad he was keeping her company while she tended to it, combing through it with what he presumed was a comb made of a seashell. Techno didn't tell her he had only really left the mines early because his lungs were starting to strain from the dust down there, the coughing fits getting closer together with less time in between to let him breathe. He sat on the sandy shore and traced patterns into the sand with one finger while they talked.

Niki was telling him about her builds, and expressing her disappointment over how she couldn't easily show them to her friends. None of them could breathe underwater or deal with the pressure common at the depths Niki lived. But she loved describing them in detail.

She was just explaining the sea glass she was intending to use when Technoblade started coughing again. His lungs expressed their displeasure through a series of sharp pangs that shot up into his neck. The sound he made was wet and disgusting, like there was something liquid rattling around inside his chest. Niki stopped talking to look at him worriedly.

"Are you alright? Techno, what happened?"

He tried to wave her away but it was kind of hard with his body still intent on making it impossible for him to get oxygen. Techno closed his eyes against the blurriness of his vision to concentrate on inhaling slower instead. "M'fine." He could feel the phlegm in his throat.

Niki was pulling herself onto the beach a little, trying to get a closer look at him. "Are you sick?"

"No." Getting up so fast was a bad idea. His head spun and he felt incredibly shaky. Techno ignored it. "No, I'm not. It's fine. I think I'll just head home now."

He started walking away quickly. The afternoon sun felt unbearable suddenly, scorching. Or maybe that was the beginning of a fever.

Niki called after him to wait but confined to the water as she was, it wasn't like she could do anything to stop him. Technoblade walked until he crested the hill, already seeing the shape of the other buildings in the distance. He made it halfway through the grass field and then he felt too drained to continue. Deciding to sit down for a bit, he lay back and closed his eyes.

"Do you think he's dead?"

"I dunno, we should poke him with a stick to find out."

Techno groaned at the sound of loud voices, ringing painfully around his aching head. He cracked his eyes open – not sure when he had even fallen asleep - and tried to blink the three faces hovering above him into focus.

"Oh, I think he's alive. Kind of." That was Ranboo.

"We could still poke him, just to make sure." Tommy.

Which meant the third person had to be Tubbo.

Techno pushed up on his elbows to get into a seated position, hating how difficult it was. His limbs were weak, as if they were made of jelly or some shit. The light fever had escalated into him feeling like his entire body was on fire.

This was not good.

"-chno? Hey, anybody home?" Tubbo was talking to him, waving one hand in front of his face. If his frown was any indication, Techno had been spacing out for a while.

"Hm?" he asked.

"I think there's something wrong with him," Tubbo said to the others.

"I'm fine." Techno tried standing up but fell back onto his ass a moment later when dizziness plowed into him with the force of a boulder. Tommy snorted.

"Yeah, we can tell." He reached out but pulled his hand back as soon as it came into contact with Techno's skin. "Fuck you're almost the same temperature as Jack Manifold. Pretty sure humans aren't supposed to run that hot."

"I'll get Phil," Ranboo offered, teleporting before Techno had a chance to object.

He covered his face with his hands and sighed. This was going to be a thing now and that happened to be the exact opposite of what Technoblade wanted it to be. He just wanted to go home and sleep this off.

"You're not..." Tubbo broke through his thoughts. The boy hesitated, wings vibrating a bit with nervous energy. "You're not like... actually dying are you?"

Techno tried to answer but was interrupted by another coughing fit first. When he was done Tubbo looked even more anxious than before. "Probably not. It's just a cold."

It was definitely not a simple cold. Pneumonia, more likely.

"Oh good."

Techno agreed. Not dying would probably be good, even if he currently felt like death warmed over.

Philza took him to the pub, much to Technoblade's horror.

All his protests and insistence he'd be fine if he was just taken to his house were brushed off easily, especially when Phil took flight with Techno barely able to keep from falling off his back when dark spots took over his vision. If it weren't for Phil's supporting hands keeping him steady he's probably have fallen off.

Normally Techno didn't dislike flying with Phil – despite the other always making some quip about how little Techno weighed for his height. But this time the vertigo was horrible and made him want to puke. Maybe it was fortunate he had skipped breakfast this morning.

They landed on the wooden porch softly, Phil keeping Techno's arm around his shoulder as he put him down to make sure he wouldn't collapse. Techno wasn't about to admit he probably needed that, though he muttered a quick thanks under his breath, which was starting to get more wheezing by the minute. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't ache.

There were a few beds in the backrooms of the pub, sometimes used for newcomers to temporarily reside. Techno found himself dumped into one, not really caring where Phil went when he left the room. Not when the sheets were so blessedly cool and comfortable. He could have probably fallen back asleep soon if Phil hadn't returned almost instantly.

"I checked with Sneeg, he said this should help a little." Phil sat down on the bed, holding up a cup with the nastiest-looking brown tea inside it Technoblade ever did see. "I'm sorry we don't have any real potions to give you, but he's closest to you in physiology, so I'm hoping this will be enough. We don't exactly have a lot of experience with human illness."

"Did you ask him if it was poisonous?" Techno asked, eyeing the steaming liquid.

"Don't be dramatic." Phil handed him the cup. Techno sighed and downed the herbal tea in one go, suppressing his gag reflex. Medicinal and earthy, it somehow tasted worse than it looked. He didn't think that was possible.

"Great, can I go home now?"

Phil shook his head as he got up again, taking the cup from him. "You're not going anywhere until your fever breaks. You think I flew you all the way up here for fun?"

"Possibly."

Rolling his eyes as he leaves the room, Phil once again came back only a moment later. This time he was holding a bowl of what Techno could only presume was water going by the cloth that was soaking in it. Phil gestured for him to lie down properly and this time Techno obeyed without complaint.

"I think it's best if you stay here for a while," he said while folding the cloth and putting it on Techno's forehead. The coldness of it did feel nice against his pounding headache. "The pub is the best place for us to take turns keeping an eye on you."

"I don't need you guys to keep an eye on me, though. I'm not a child."

"No, you're just a stubborn asshole with pneumonia." Phil drew back a bit, smile faltering. "And also the only human currently living in the commune. We don't have the needed supplies to treat you should this get worse, so I'd rather not take the risk."

And while he did a fair job hiding it, it was undeniably clear Phil was worried.

"Fine, I'll stay." Techno made an effort of showing how annoyed he was by huffing and pulling the blankets over himself. "But can you at least get me a book or something? Won't help much keeping me here if I'll be bored to death."

Phil laughed – light and teasing. Techno liked that a lot more than he did the worry.

"I'll see what I can do."

He spent a solid week in bed.

Much to Phil's relief, Techno's sickness did not get worse. But without proper medicine, it didn't improve as quickly as they would have liked either. He had to get better the old-fashioned way: waiting for his body to fight off the infection on its own.

Most of his time was spent sleeping. Whenever he woke up somebody else was at his bedside, to make sure he could eat and drink. Phil hadn't been kidding when he said they'd take turns. It was almost comforting to know there was always someone watching over him while he slept, though Techno didn't feel the need to say that out loud.

After that first week, he was recovered enough to at least limp out of his room and around the pub. He was too weak to attempt the ladder and any sudden moves were still likely to throw him into a coughing fit that could last several minutes. But he could sit at one of the tables and talk to Niki when she visited.

Or to the others, who all seemed to be coming by a lot more often than was usual.

Wilbur unveiled his plans and talked Techno's ear off about what he was working on. Fundy came all the way to the pub to try and sell him stolen trinkets. Ranboo was always coming around with some new book for him to read, asking him if he liked his previous recommendation.

(None of them visited as often as Tommy though, who always complained about having to be there while fluffing up his wings, yet always stuck around the longest even when Techno told him he'd be fine on his own.)

And with them around, Techno realized that despite being the only human, he had never felt less alone.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

Werewolf Thomas x Merman Sammy.

This might end up taking multiple chapters, in addition to me digging in too deep, this ship in general just gives off a petty enemies, to reluctant allies due to supernatural circumstances, to ‘hey you’re not as bad as I thought.’, to friends, to lovers vibe.

Occam's razor indicates that the simplest explanation to a scenario is also the most likely scenario to be the true one.

For example: when an animation studio suddenly closes down and gets condemned, people who are on the outside looking in are much more likely to blame the studio's poor money management than go look for some extraordinary truth. That, paired with the workers of the said studio also coming out to site the terrible conditions of the place as an added cause for the studio's demise. When people have to work long hours with little pay to show for it in a dingy, gloomy, constantly-falling-apart studio that clearly wasn't going anywhere except six feet under or lower, they aren't exactly motivated to work hard or happy.

The Hunger was intense, growing beyond mere gnawing and was now consuming the cursed mechanic. The first change he felt was his teeth, the Curse deciding it was easier to make them all fall out at once so his new ones would grow in. He cut up his own tongue on the newly-made fangs. Call it an act of mercy or an act of mockery, but the tongue followed the teeth's example, falling out altogether so that the tongue of a wolf could grow in.

No one batted an eye when a majority of the studio's former workers left with some of them being untraceable, the lucky ones moved on to greener and happier pastures, others simply got a change in scenery, and sadly, accidents happen all the time in such an unsafe studio, people got severely injured in there all the time, so it was gut-wrenching for many, but not a shock to discover that it was common for unlucky people to lose their lives in the Dancing Demon's domain.

His entire body burned on the inside and outside, taking off his clothes did nothing for him as his new, thick coat grew in, a coat that was the same pitch black as his hair, at least, most of it was. The change did not hurt as much as he thought it would. As painful as it sounded when his bones became a crackling choir that reminded him of fireworks, it was not pure agony, he was sore, afraid, and so, very, very, hungry, but he was physically fine.

No one suspected anything like somebody intentionally sabotaging the many pipes that pumped ink through the entire building, that would just be silly! It was more than obvious that the pipes got the same treatment as the rotting wooden walls: they were ignored until it was too late. With all the wood, paper, flammable ink, candles, no windows, and avid smokers in that place, it was only a matter of time before that place went up in flames.

Colors began to dim and fade out leaving him with vision that could only see black, white, and the several shades of gray inbetween them. The trade off with his senses made itself clear as his sense of smell and hearing both grew stronger, he could barely think as the smells and sounds his human self had been blind to came to him at full force, overwhelming the mechanic. He held back the urge to scream and call for help, he knew none would come, unless it was the dogcatcher at this point. However he would not hold back the urge to whine, whimper and cry, as pathetic as he looked and sounded, he would at least give himself that mercy, even if he didn't deserve it.

No one thought the ink machine was anything more but an expensive and stupid project that definitely sped up the studio's already fast decline, but only with it's mere presence. Honestly, a machine that made models out of ink, wouldn't it be cheaper and easier to make a statue of your beloved mascots out of plastic or something like that?

Thomas yelped in surprise when the tail grew in, it felt like somebody gave his spine a good sharp yank. He was furious, scared, even remorseful as he knew he was responsible for this happening to himself and possibly others knowing Mr. Drew, and by god, did he want to sink his teeth into something.

No one except for crazy cross-clutching worrywarts who want to spoil every one else's fun and or conspiracy theorists would assume that the Little devil darling who graced the comics and silver screens for at least a decade would have literal satanic magic going on behind the scenes, no matter how screwy the man in charge seemed.

He was starving all day ever since the ritual, but now that the changes were over, he felt hungrier than ever before, like his stomach was a black hole that would make him consume everything in his path.

No one would ever seriously suggest that magic was real and led to being the studio's final nail in the coffin instead of becoming its savior like it's founder had wanted it to.

In the moment, Thomas Conner believed that Occam's razor was bullshit.

The mechanic knew what he'd seen, he knew to an extent what he took part in, he saw what happened to some of the unluckier members of the "Missing" studio workers, and most importantly of all, he experienced what he just went through. There was no 'simple' or 'normal' explanation for it; the ritual failed and as a result, he and a handful of other people had gotten cursed.

Here the new wolf was, squeezing his now much larger body underneath his bed to do nothing but cower like a frighted animal while trying to convince himself not to panic or to eat his pet snake. Keeping his human mind at the moment was both a blessing and a cur- -some extra salt to rub into his fresh wounds.

On one hand, the fact he was still smart enough to know better than to jump out the window and follow his nose for food like his instincts were telling him to was a lifesaver that kept him safe from animal control. On the other hand; if he was a beast in mind, he would at least be doing something more productive than sulking in his apartment thinking about anything else other than how badly he got fucked over, how his life was in shatters and how he had nobody but himself to blame for it (Well, aside from Joey, but that wasn't the point).

While far from ideal, his current plan was to remain under that bed, try his best to go to sleep, and occasionally chew its legs to stop himself from going on a rampage. He might not be the most supernaturally informed person, but he had seen enough werewolf horror flicks to know that nothing good would come if he gave into his hunger or if he tried to leave. Best case scenario; he'd become as sick as a dog after eating something he found in the garbage. Worst case scenario; Somebody decides that he'd make a great living room rug and BANG!

And then, his ears perked up as he heard the song.

It was a simple, repetitive tune, made with a music box maybe? It was the first time he heard it yet it felt familiar to him. The song itself was muffled, used a lot of ambiance in its melody, and if he strained his ears enough, he could almost pick up the sound of a voice singing along with it, but it was far too faint for him to tell who or what was singing, let alone what the lyrics to the song were. It sounded nice in spite of it's strangeness, but it gave him goosebumps. He knew it wasn't playing from the radio, he only kept it on when he was fixing something at home.

The curious wolf struggled to push a window open with his snout to figure out where it was coming from. He was making progress, the song did sound slightly less muffled now that he was poking his head out the window. Was it just him, or did the tune become faster? And it was also louder and more frantic, and he swore that the constantly repeating motif sounded like something he knew. The mechanic never considered himself to be a man with a keen ear for music, but he knew he heard it before.

Three short notes, three slightly longer notes, three more short notes, again and again and again repeating endlessly...---...Wait a minute. Thomas didn't recognize that pattern from a song, he recognized that that was a call for help!

"Don't do it..." He grumbled to himself as he put his paws up on the windowsill. "You don't know what'll happen, or if you'll even get there in time. Just go back inside and you'll figure out what to do with yourself in the morning."

The song, almost as if it was aware he was trying to ignore it like he was ignoring his hunger, grew louder and faster.

"Don't give in..." The wolf turned back. "You can't help anyone like this anyway, you'll only end up hurting yourself."

It... started to die down, back to its regular, chilling melody and grew even softer. Flickering away like a candlelight in the cold.

"Don't..." The wolf let out a very tired sigh as he looked out the window. "Oh fuck me."

Thomas leapt out the window and sped towards the source of the song, not caring who or what saw him in the city that never sleeps, he bolted directly into the forest. He tried to block out the new sounds of various creatures he couldn't hear before as well as the new smells of the earth underneath his paws and the plants all around him.

Strange marks were on the ground, they looked like someone dragging themselves through the dirt and the marks themselves smelled vaguely of fish and ink.

The song, while faint was very close, he was hot on the mysterious caller's trail! In fact, the wolf's new sense of smell started to become useful as he picked up some familiar scents in the woods; the smell of ink, smoke from a fire, and the smell of cologne- Wait, he recognized that specific cologne, it was that fancy European brand that the "missing" hot-headed music director used to keep himself from smelling like cigar smoke, vomit, and despair.

And the voice of the singer in the distress call 'song' did sound like him now that he was close enough to hear it. He felt a pit of dread in his stomach that almost made him forget his hunger. He knew that the musician was far too prideful to call for help for anyone unless this was his very last option and his will to live made the difficult task of overpowering his ego.

Squelch.

Almost confirming his fears and adding a new one that he was too late, the mechanic made the mistake of looking down and saw that he stepped on a severed leg. A black, tar-like substance that smelled like ink and rotten meat was squeezed out of the part of the thigh that should've been attached to a person.

"...Mr. Lawrence?" He hesitantly called out, thankfully getting him an exhausted groan in response. "Lawrence, where are you?"

"Here." A hoarse yet relieved sounding voice answered. "Look down."

The wolf looked down into a shallow pool to see what had become of the musician. If he was being honest with himself, he wouldn't deny that the music director was always easy on the eyes, and while the curse effected him drastically, that fact about him didn't change.

The water was clear enough to show off the musician's jet black, fish-like tail which glistened in the moonlight, the still human half of his body went through some changes as well; his hands were webbed and clawed, unlikely to properly hold any instrument, let alone use it, his torso, arms, and neck had patches of black scales scattered about haphazardly like splashes of paint on a canvas. Aside from the siren's new set of teeth (which looked like they could haunt anyone's nightmares), waist-long hair when it was previously shoulder length hair, and glassier eyes, the man's head seemed relatively unchanged.

"Could you stop gawking!?" Sammy re-positioned himself to keep his tail out of sight, or at least he tried to, the damn thing was two thirds of his body and he didn't exactly have something to cover himself up with. "I'm not exactly 'thrilled’ about this... Change, for lack of a better term."

"That's one way to put it." The mechanic almost let out a sympathetic chuckle. "I’d never thought I’d be saying this, but it’s great to see you haven’t died yet.”

“Why thank you.” The merman sarcastically responded. “That’s exactly why I went through all the trouble of literally singing my fucking lungs out!” He exclaimed while gesturing to a pair of charcoal-black things that the wolf previously thought were rocks. “To hear you tell me that ‘it’s great I haven’t died yet’.”

The wolf rolled his eyes.

“So why did you go through all the trouble for summoning me here then? Aside from the whole ...fish thing, you seem perfectly fine.”

“It... wasn't intentional.” The fish-man begrudgingly admitted, his voice sounded bitter, but his eyes shone with fear. “I wasn’t thinking about who or what would hear me or come at the moment. My body was falling apart before my eyes and all that was on my mind during it was; ‘Oh god, I’m going to die here, aren’t I?! And if not, my life will be ruined beyond repair!’. And when I sang out as a panicked response, you became the first to show up. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The siren swam to the other side of his aquatic prison and sighed resignedly.

Tom’s ears folded back in guilt, It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the musician was cursed by the failed ritual HE played a giant part in. As strongly as he disliked the musician, it didn’t feel right to leave him like this; alone, scared, and immobile in a place that could even spell out his death if he was unlucky enough.

He walked over to the other side of the pool and laid down beside the edge of it.

“Hey, you don’t need water to breathe, right?”

The siren looked confused.

“I’ve been breathing air just fine, in fact, I think one of the few advantages to this new body is that it replaced my old lungs with healthier ones. Why are you asking?”

“Climb on my back and I’ll take you out of here, granted, I don’t know where we’re gonna go, but where ever it is, it’ll be better than sitting around waiting for your pool to dry up.”

The merman, while hesitant, did climb up on the wolf man’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck to keep him from falling off, the wolf stood up and ran deeper into the woods.

[seoulnotes]

Love Is Not Over — knj

Inspired by lyrics from Love Is Not Over by BTS

Track 2 of The Playlist Series

S Y N O P S I S | Namjoon wants a divorce; he fell out of love. y/n has one request for her to sign the papers: Namjoon has to act like the husband he once was for the last month of their marriage before he stopped caring. Is 30 days long enough to save love?

P A I R I N G | Kim Namjoon, reader (y/n)

G E N R E | angst (a lot), fluff (a bit) ; PG-13

W A R N I N G S | none

W O R D C O U N T | 4.5k

사랑이란 아프고 아픈 것

이별이란 아프고 더 아픈 것 같애

니가 없으면 나 안될 것 같아

사랑해줘 사랑해줘

다시 내 품으로 와줘

—

Love is so painful

Goodbyes are even more painful

I can’t go on if you’re not here

Love me, love me

Come back to my arms

You already knew what the bound papers Namjoon gripped were as he approached you at the kitchen counter before he had set them onto the countertop.

“What is this?” You feigned ignorance as if you hadn’t discovered the bound papers hiding in Namjoon’s dresser a week prior when you were doing the laundry. It wasn’t a good hiding place. Although, the words in bold at the top of the front page were mocking you far more now as Namjoon set the papers before you.

You were hurt having found them hiding, but now that they were glaring at you on the countertop you just cleaned, you couldn’t help the way your heart shriveled just a bit within your chest.

It was an inevitable end that was coming and it had finally arrived after months of apprehension.

For months, he slowly distanced from you, bit by bit. You felt him slipping away, losing hold on promises he bound himself to in front of both your families. He rarely even touched you anymore.

It started with the little things like your kisses or hugs. He didn’t return them the same at first and then he stopped altogether. Then he slowly spoke less to you. You thought it was because of stress or work, but you couldn’t have been farther from it. A normal stressed filled month never went this far.

He distanced himself so far away you couldn't pull him back even if you tried. And you did, so much. You wondered if there was someone else.

“How was today?” It took enough built up courage for you to speak with him as he walked through the doors. You tried to uphold a smile on your lips as an offering from you.

“Fine,” just one word without even taking a glance towards you to acknowledge your presence.

“Did you eat yet?” Another attempt.

“Yeah.” It made you look at the plates set on the counter with cling film around it. You made dinner for two, but only one person was home.

He continued to walk further down the hall and you trailed behind him with just a bit of courage left after the initial rejection. He laid down on his back.

You leaned against the doorframe. “Are you okay?” Perhaps it would be your last try at trying to talk to him.

“y/n, I'm really tired,” just four words and you knew he didn't want you there. It was probably the most he had spoken to you in a while.

With that, you turned to walk back. When you thought you had reached a far enough distance with a door in between, you crouched down as your vision became blurry. You were defeated; his rejection was enough to shut you out of your attempts to reconcile what was broken.

You let it out. All the built-up frustration came out in cries you attempted to muffle with your hand.

Maybe he had heard it, but either way, he didn't do anything about it.

When enough time passed and you felt more numb towards the matter, you emptied all the dishes on the counter and went to bed. Next to him.

You slept that night with a lovely dream. You dreamt that he would hold you close like he used to with his arms slung around your waist as he pressed tightly to you.

If you dream hard enough, you would be on cloud nine and would feel a slight warmth around you as if he was holding you.

But the next morning you woke up to his side empty.

“I want a divorce.” His words were laced with utter gentleness as if speaking to a child. He knew what he was asking of you. “Just look through the terms and change anything if you need to.”

“Why? Do you have someone else?” You felt pricking in your eyes and that familiar lump in your throat, but you forced yourself to speak.

“No, I don’t,” there was a firmness in his voice. He was telling the truth leading you to further question how things got this way.

“If you can’t tell me why, I can’t accept this.” The lump at the back of your throat became harder to swallow and it was near overpowering the stability of your voice.

“I-,” it seemed the words were hard for him to get out. They were stuck at his throat, unable to be formed by his tongue and he paused.

You knew what he was going to say before he even began the first syllable.

He didn’t love you anymore. You wished you knew what had gone sour.

“Please y/n, please do it for me?” His tone was begging.

This was the most you had spoken to each other in months and it was him asking for a divorce.

At the end of the day, human selfishness was stronger than human logic. Instead of allowing him a chance to escape your marriage which no longer brought him happiness, you turned your body and stood from the chair.

For so long you had wanted his attention, for you both to be in the same room. At this very moment, you wanted nothing but the opposite, to be alone and away from him.

As you turned your back to walk away, you said quietly, “I want to be alone, please.” You took the divorce papers and went down the hall to the guest bedroom.

With yourself locked away, you allowed your emotions to take over and the tears to fall.

What had you done for this to go so wrong?

He'd peek into the room when he came home once every day to check on you. You made sure to avoid him with times that aligned with his schedule. You left the room when he would be out for work and slipped back in around the time when he would arrive home.

The first couple of days were avoidance out of hurt. You cried and cried, but you did it quietly when he was home.

After the initial tide of emotions, you began to briefly look over the papers considering. Those days, you slowly began to abandon the avoiding. You did what you wanted to do and he didn’t bother you.

You caught him at times, eyes glancing towards you, probably noticing the dark circles that formed from nights of not sleeping or the redness of your eyes, and you swore his eyes hid worry as his hand went to the air to reach out to comfort you. He’d catch himself mid-air and then rush to slide his hands back into his pockets.

One day, he came back to see you out of bed and sitting at the counter. Laid out in front of you were the divorce papers and a black pen.

You slid the papers to his view. You had crossed out all of his terms. You crossed out all the terms that gave you anything he was giving you out of pity. The house, your car, you didn’t want any of it.

“I don’t want any of it.”

His eyes held confusion as they began to gloss over what you scribbled next to it. It wasn’t anything of value or you could trade for money after the divorce; it was more like a deal.

He can get what he wants and you can get closure.

Then it would be fair for both of you.

For one month, your last month before divorcing, you both will act like that last month was the first month of your marriage, when things were right. You will act as if there isn’t a divorce, just like how you used to be.

“Just one month. That’s all I want. At the end of 30 days, I’ll sign it.”

To be honest, he was looking at you as if you had grown three heads. “y/n, one month is not going to fix what is broken.”

You shook your head. It would be a dream if that could happen, but you knew reality better than that. “That isn’t what I want. I just want closure so I could remember the end as happy.”

Even if it wasn’t real, at least to pretend to love me for one last time.

That’s what you really wanted to say, but it sounded too pitiful coming from you who was basically asking him to play husband for one last time. At least for one month, you'd receive the love that was once lost; even if it wasn't real.

After a drawn-out moment of silence, Namjoon met your eyes. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“I have one more request. Every day, carry me to bed for this last month.”

It received another strange look, but he nodded. You honestly didn’t think he would have agreed and in some time, you would have signed the papers regardless.

That very day started the 30 days and you were beginning to think it was an extremely terrible idea.

Namjoon forced everything he did that day with you. It was as if you were both strangers, he didn’t know what to say to you when you ate dinner, leading the air to hang in thick silence and the worst came when he had to carry you to bed.

You were both sitting on the sofa. “Do you want me to stand? Would that be easier?”

To be honest, despite the divorce lingering in the air, the entire situation was quite humorous.

He shook his head and turned towards you. He bent down to slide an arm behind your knees and another arm behind your back.

“Hold on or I’m gonna drop you,” he half-joked with a quiet chuckle.

You obliged and looped your arms around his neck. “You’re out of practice,” you joked back.

Unfortunately, the words didn’t sit well and Namjoon answered back in a still tone. “I suppose I am.” With that, he moved towards the bedroom and gently placed you onto the bed.

He disappeared into the attached bathroom and reappeared moments later, dropping onto the bed beside you.

You supposed sleeping in the same bed every night was also a part of becoming a husband again. As much as you wanted to ask for more, asking for something like him sleeping with you in his arms would just be ridiculous.

When the one week mark rolled around, the routine wasn’t as awkward as the earlier days. This morning, Namjoon woke up before you and snuck out of the room.

When you woke up, you were surprised it was by his hand gently shaking you and the first thing you smelled was coffee.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” his lips curved into a smile and he offered the mug of coffee towards you.

“Coffee? For me?” You were still in your sleepy state, sitting up, and blinking a couple of times to adjust yourself to the situation.

“Coffee in bed, for the both of us,” he added and handed you the mug.

It was warm in your hands. You took a sip; you had not had his coffee in nearly half a year.

Namjoon walked around to his side and slipped in next to you leaning on the headboard. “I suppose it is fair that we have coffee in bed for these couple of weeks since we used to do it all the time.”

You knew what he was really trying to say behind those words.

Yes, you used to have coffee in bed every morning for as many mornings that would allow between both of your work schedules. The real meaning was when he used to wake you up every morning with a hot cup of coffee. He did that and he did it every morning, never missing one.

When you went on vacation or stayed away from home, he found a way to get instant coffee or bought coffee from any shops nearby to surprise you in the morning.

You nodded. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Yeah, I forgot how nice this used to be.”

He thought you were referring to the coffee. You shook your head. “Thank you for the coffee, but thank you for agreeing to do this. I know it’s kinda ridiculous and you might think I’m trying to make you love me again, but it’s not really my intention.” I don’t think that’ll happen anyway.

“I just wanted a nice conclusion you know? That we both said a proper goodbye and remembered the good things better, fresh in our mind, instead of the bad things.” You took another sip of coffee.

“If I’m being honest, I’m glad you chose to do this,” he mused.

While other people liked to spill feelings and nonsensical thoughts over wine or alcohol, you both liked your mornings with coffee in bed better. The comfort of warm sheets and a nice mug of coffee brought peacefulness to your minds. You didn’t mind sharing your thoughts with him and he didn’t mind sharing his thoughts with you.

Guess that was one thing that had never changed.

It was the weekend and that meant your days off. It also meant Namjoon’s days off if there wasn’t anything on his schedule.

Weekends you both had found were the hardest in all of the days of the week to spend with each other. During workdays, it would be a simple dinner, a couple of hours of watching T.V. or spare time, and then off to bed. You really only spent a couple of hours together for the weekdays.

For weekends, it meant the entire day that you had to spend with each other.

At least it was the middle of the month and you were set to do many tasks including laundry from the past week, cleaning the entire house, and shopping for the next two weeks of groceries and other things that you were out of.

“I’ve got some errands today. I mean, you could come with or just do something by yourself.” You swiped through shirts in your closet and chose one.

He was sitting in the bed behind you as you pulled on the shirt you’d wear out.

“Joon? Got an answer?” You began to button your shirt.

“I’ll come with,” he offered, though it took him a seriously long time to answer such a simple question.

No, he had been too distracted, watching you and you noticed realizing that it had been months since he had seen that much of you.

“It’s not something you hadn’t seen before,” you teased. “Or touched.” Which prompted his face to turn a shade of red.

“Groceries!” He attempted to diffuse his own humiliation with a laugh and darted towards the front door.

You realized the intimacy in your marriage had been missing for a long time. You missed the intimacy of Namjoon loving you and all of you. He made you feel confident in your own body when he used to remind you how much he loved every inch of you.

You shook your head and followed him to the door. Now was not the time to be bringing up things you might begin to long for when the divorce was still on the table.

All the while driving to the store, you had the urge to reach over and grab his hand, but you refrained.

Shopping with someone other than yourself proved to be another thing that had gone in your marriage. Groceries on the weekend used to be a two-person job.

It was nice to have someone push the cart behind you while you went searching through every aisle for the items on your list. It was amusing to see the spark in Namjoon’s eyes when you went into the snack aisle and him wanting to fill the rest of the cart with snacks.

“We can’t survive off snacks!” You began to laugh as he swiped numerous items from the shelves.

It felt normal today. It felt normal because this day wasn’t forced. Namjoon didn’t force himself to be your husband again; he naturally began to fill the role.

At the beginning of the 30 days, you almost signed the papers and escaped your own terms. The awkwardness that was yet to overcome was almost unbearable, but falling into this old routine became normal again.

You wanted a conclusion, to end this happy and full of good memories. Instead, you were a dog that was being led on, treat after treat, and you didn’t want this to end. You came to realize you missed all the things that used to be every day in your life. You came to realize that you wanted this so much that you made this ridiculous deal up so you could get it again.

30 days later, you felt the dread of 12 PM hitting the following day. What you had feared had happened: you didn’t want to let it go.

However, at 12 PM, you would take a pen and sign those lines on the divorce papers as promised. It was only fair for you to complete your end of the deal.

Thankfully, the one thing that could potentially have you unraveled completely didn’t occur.

Thankfully, Kim Namjoon had not kissed you.

“Ready for bed?” You attempted to muster a smile.

Namjoon had not shown any sign of dejection for the impending date. He only continued to work towards completing his part of the deal of being your husband again.

“Yeah,” his lips curved slightly as he approached you.

His arms were quick to slide behind you and your knees and pick you up from the ground.

“At least you’re not as bad as before when we started this,” you joked.

Namjoon released a chuckle, throwing his head back slightly. You joined him, releasing a small laugh yourself.

He hasn’t moved yet. After silence settled, he took steps towards the bedroom.

Each step felt like they were taking longer than before, but you weren’t sure if it was just in your head. You subconsciously let your arm fall onto his chest, wanting to be closer if it was even possible with him practically carrying you.

You breathed in a deep breath and noted to remember the way he smelled, a lingering scent of his cologne, the laundry detergent that you used to wash your clothes, and… peaches?

“Did you use my body wash?” You rose your head to look at him and realize that you stopped moving. Turning your head, you were met with your bed and you waited for Namjoon to place you down.

Except he didn’t budge.

“Aren’t you gonna put me down?” You asked with slight humor in your tone after he didn’t move for another minute. You placed a gentle hand onto his shoulder to grasp his attention.

“I don’t want to.” He spoke so quietly that the words were barely audible to you.

You felt a frown tug on your lips. “What’s wrong?”

Instead of responding or repeating himself, he shook his head as if to get rid of whatever was lingering in his mind. He gently placed you onto the bed, but when he was leaning down to remove his arms, he lingered for a second longer.

He wanted this closeness. He shifted his eyes to you and the confusion knitted on your features at his strange actions tonight.

He disregarded your confusion and allowed him to truly see you for the first time in a long time. As his eyes roamed your face, he remembered how beautiful the girl he fought for so hard was.

He remembered your eyes that were always bright like stars reminding him to be hopeful and find the best in anything. He remembered that he hated it when he saw tears in those beautiful eyes because they would dull with the tears washing out any ounce of happiness. He remembered that he was someone who made you cry like that.

His eyes flitted to your lips and remembered the feeling of kissing them. Most importantly, he remembered the way they moved when you spoke or curved into the most beautiful smiles that anyone who saw them might be charmed. He remembered he fell for that smile.

He remembered the curves of your face and how bare the side of your face looked right now because he was used to having his hands caress that exact spot. He wanted to do it right now and subconsciously, he did. His hand raised in the slowest motion and you didn’t stop him when they gently caressed your face.

You didn’t stop yourself from leaning into his touch even though you know you shouldn’t. He was just having a moment and you didn’t want to believe it was anything more than that.

This was a level of intimacy he had not felt in a while and he came to the conclusion that he was partially to blame. 30 days of trying even if it was pretending in the beginning, it made him feel again. Pretending brought back memories, actions like riding a bike, ones that you didn’t use in a while, but they were built in.

Along the way, he realized one of the faults was that he stopped trying. He stopped giving and kept taking. At the same time, it led him to lose the feelings that came with giving.

Taking gets too boring after a while.

He took advantage of the term marriage. He got too comfortable.

“Joon?”

He moved slightly as if you reeled him out of his thoughts once again. You wished you knew what he was thinking.

Instead, he leaned his head towards yours. You stayed frozen; he was not about to do what you least wanted.

He did; he did the one thing that would release you of any control you had over the situation.

His lips were on yours.

He didn’t hold back the emotions that he no longer kept a chain on and deepened the kiss.

It felt like poison yet if the kiss was poison, you wanted to get drunk on it. You lost control over yourself for a second, kissing back and having your hands grasping his hair and sliding down his neck and his back. The feeling that your fingers had longed for and the lips you longed to feel against your own.

Then the leash came back.

You pulled away quickly out of his hold. Shame caught a hold of you and you frowned. Honestly, you were angry. Angry that he would mess with you like that. “Don’t kiss me like that. No, don’t kiss me at all.”

He ducked his head as if just realizing how far his emotions took him. “I’m sorry.”

You wanted to ask him why he was doing this. You want to know if your own hope was fulfilled; you bit your lip to stop the questions from surfacing.

You didn’t want empty hope. It was better to let curiosity be.

Instead, you just slipped the covers over you and turned away from him.

You were already awake when Namjoon brought your coffee the next morning.

It was silent, but not like before. The silence had weight.

“You don’t want to sign it,” he spoke beside you.

“Do you want the truth or something to make you feel better?” You didn’t want to make it sound so harsh, but your words had a bite to them.

“I think the truth and what I want to hear to make me feel better would be the same,” he said, nothing but honesty in his tone.

You didn’t like that he was using riddles. They only made you feel hopeful he wanted the same as you, but he was too scared to admit it.

“What would that be?” You questioned. You wanted to hear him say it.

“That you don’t want to sign it. That after 30 days, you found that this was not a worthy conclusion. That this was not something that put your feelings to rest,” he said. “That you still feel something after this month.”

“You’re right. All of it.” But you couldn’t bring it in you to turn your head to show the truth in your eyes. You were leaving your feelings vulnerable and for all you knew, he could be playing a cruel joke.

“y/n, I don’t want the divorce.”

To hear him say it, you didn’t know why you felt anger rising within you. He was the want who wanted this. He was the one who put you through months of hell and self-doubt that you weren’t good enough and brought divorce onto the table.

The remaining love you nurtured the past month was like cold water splashing onto the fury you felt.

“You’re the one who wanted it in the first place,” bitter. Now you really couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“And it’s my fault. In 30 days I realized I still love you and I let that slip from me.” Namjoon knew that whatever he wanted to say, they would never be good in words, but he was willing to try.

You were conflicted because the work of trying to bring yourself to face the fact that you were going to divorce the one person in the world you would never, was being shattered by this decision he came to face.

You were prepared to give up some of your happiness and out of love, give him freedom and happiness. You didn’t want him trapped in this marriage even if you still loved him.

Now he wanted to stay.

But you wanted him to stay. After 30 days, you’ve come to remember the feeling of being loved again and giving love. You didn’t want to let that go.

You didn’t realize opposing thoughts ripping through your mind made your heart ache so. It was crumbling within your chest.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon’s voice was weak. He didn’t know if even he would forgive himself for having brought up something like divorce only to take it back. “I know I stopped trying and I know I put you through hell, but,” he paused because you reached under the blanket to grasp his hand.

He was asking for a second chance to start over and you were willing to give it.

“We can try,” you said. For the first time in this conversation, you brought your eyes to meet his with confirmation in them.

It was something that wasn’t nothing. Of course, you wanted to give it to him. You just had to tread on the thin sheet of trust you had for him now and hope it wouldn’t break below you as he slowly worked to bring that trust back again.

Namjoon knew he would have a lot of work to bring things back to what once was if it was even possible.

Subsequently, that afternoon, the divorce papers were shredded and you both began to try once again to fix your marriage. This time, both parties were aiming for the same goal.

a/n

i don’t know how to feel about this one guys, is it angsty enough lol? 

yours truly, Selene ♡

[peachyteabuck]

enemy of my enemy is my lover

summary: you planned on just going to a meeting with an adversary, hoping to gain more territory in the process. you left with something much, much better. 

pairing: mobster!bucky barnes x mobster!reader

words: 3,226

trigger warnings: smut (oral - f recieving and vaginal sex), mob dynamics

notes/other: this was inspired by ask received by @bucky-plums-barnes a long, long time ago about a mobster!bucky headcanon that describes the plot to this fic. while i could not find the exact ask (trust me, i tried), i credit the anonymous genius & gen heavily for inspiring this. thank you both!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Each step you make is loud, sharp; the sound of heels clicking against the cold, cracked cement of New York City. It’s something, one of the things, that makes you powerful – sends this thick feeling of invulnerability through your veins, as if you’re some deity returning to her alter.

That feeling – one of untouchable power – has always been…sort of…hard for you to conjure. It’s not like you’re not not powerful in this world absent your fantasies. You run the second most powerful mob in the country! You’ve got a large pull in international trade! You’ve got major influence in congress and almost every state senate! You’ve got money, a smoking hot and super amazing boyfriend, and loyal coworkers. What else do you need?

Regardless of all that, roaming the streets at night never fails to send a special kind of shiver crawling across your skin. It’s a particular type of fear, one that makes you pull your steel grey coat closer to you as you roam the street, makes your hand cling tighter to the .45 in your deep, righthand pocket.

As you reach the alley where the deal you’re brokering is supposed to take place, your phone buzzes a few times in a row. You have an urge to check it, to make sure the man you love is okay, but letting your guard down now wouldn’t be wise. You’ve got to keep a keen mental sharpness about you to make sure no one kidnaps you (or worse) or fucks you over at your own deal, but still, the only person who would be texting you at this godforsaken hour is the man you left at home, and in this business you can never be too careful about the ones you care deeply about…

Your thoughts are interrupted (quite rudely, you might add), by the sound of a thick winter coat shuffling – as if someone were to be rolling their sleeves up. The noise of the fabric gets louder as the person – a man, you soon realize – steps closer. A man with sharp cheekbones and a dark beard and beautiful, pillowy lips.

His gaze, even under the dark baseball cap that lacks insignia, seems hauntingly familiar. You can’t place it, and it seems rude to ask if you’ve met before, given the circumstances. Still…something seems…recognizable about this mystery man.

You don’t realize it, though, until the man opens his mouth and asks about the new baby seal in the San Francisco zoo. It’s the right code, that’s not what throws you. Rather, it’s the gravely voice of the man you’ve been dating for years that stops you in your tracks.

“Bucky!?” you call out, completely confused and abandoning the correct coded response. “Why are you out here?”

Bucky, now meeting your eyes, seems just as bewildered as you are. “I, uh…I’m….what, what are you doing here?”

You have no idea how to respond, mind too baffled to form words. “Wh…what…”

You step closer, carefully – as if he was some rabid cat you found behind your apartment building. His beautiful baby blues are wide, eyes narrowed – you gasp when you get close enough to smell the cologne, his cologne, the exact scent you bought him for Christmas the year previous. “Are…are you…you’re…are you the White Wolf?”

Bucky visibly steps back at the mention of the street name – the street name of the guy who runs the mob that (similar to yours) is based in New York and works in black market goods. He tries to hide his shock, just in case what he thinks is happening definitely isn’t happening. In all honesty, Bucky can’t tell which one would be worse. “And, you’re uh. You’re…um…are you….are you She-Devil?”

If you were disoriented before, you have no word to describe how much your brain is short-circuiting at the thought that this man – the man you love, has secretly been running not only a mob, but a rival mob, this entire time.

“Do…wait,” you shake your head to try and collect your exceptionally scattered thoughts. “Are you the guy who wanted to negotiate territory with me?”

Bucky hesitates for a second, body tense and reluctant to say anything. You’re both still, not daring move a muscle and the both of you stare each other down. It feels like an eternity before he does anything, your surprise only growing as a massive, shit-eating grin spreads across his gorgeous, scruffy face.

It’s a look you know well, one you’ve come to both love and despise. It’s the same look he gave you when he told you he wanted to build (not pay someone else to build, build himself) a deck in a house you moved out of two months later, when he almost got a face tattoo, when he sold your house (you know, the one he wanted to build a deck for) to buy one three streets away. That’s the look he get when some grand idea that will probably turn out to be a disaster – the look that says “this may be a disaster, but the only way to see if it is will be to try it.”

In an instant, Bucky closes the gap between you and presses his lips to yours. As he arms wrap around you, you can feel him rub at the small of your back, just as he always does when he’s trying to keep you calm. “Yeah, babygirl. That’s me. I’m the White Wolf.”

You press your face in the warm embrace of his coat, muffling your speech. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky shrugs as he answers. “Didn’t want you to feel unsafe, I guess. Didn’t want you to worry about me.” He presses a kid to the top of your head. “Better question, why didn’t you tell me?”

You sigh, your small voice becoming even tinier. “I dunno…same reasons as you, I guess. Felt like I’d be dragging you into something you wouldn’t want to deal with.”

Bucky barks a laugh into the night, the sound reverberating off the tall buildings. “Seems reasonable.”

You pull away but refuse to make eye contact as tears well in your eyes and cloud your vision. For a mob leader, you’re very emotional. “Baby, are you sure? Like, are you sure this is okay? I mean, we kept this major part of our lives from each for literal years…like, does that say something about us as a couple? And we’re, like, rivals, we’re supposed to be competing against each other for money and goods and ports and clients and-“

Bucky cuts into your anxious ramblings by pulling you back into a tight bug. “Hey, hey! Baby, listen. This is a good thing! A great one, if you want it to be!”

You wipe at your nose with your hand. “Are you…what do you, are you sure? What do you mean?”

Bucky nods, eyes ablaze with excitement for the future. “Of course, baby, listen. Separate, our mobs are both powerful, right? We can agree on that. But together? With the territory, the influence, us...together, we could rule the fucking world.”

Technically, he isn’t wrong; with your strategy and Bucky’s brutal execution, your combined business could easily become the apex predator of the mob scene within the Western hemisphere. What Bucky had, you lacked, and vice versa. You’d studied his…business…for years (before you knew it was Bucky who ran the Pack, of course) as you climbed the ranks of your own mob. You know they have hands in several international black markets, have relationships with lots of lots of rich people who do lots and lots of bad things and pay lots and lots of money for those bad things.

Oh God, you’d never think being power-hungry and love drunk could feel so good. Your mind fogs over with all the things you could do if you had Bucky and his gang by your side, you could do anything. Simply by territory you’d be outgunning Hydra, let alone the combined wealth and human capital. You’ve never felt this exhilarated before in your life, the freezing night air electrifying your rib cage and-

Bucky and you grin madly. Wordlessly, you clasp hands and walk back to your shared apartment halfway across town. Both of you are silent until you’re safely inside your secured home. As you pull your hair up into a messy ponytail, Bucky began grabbing bowls for dinner.

“You know-” he said as he ladled soup out of the deep red Crock Pot. “Now that we aren’t desperately trying to hide our occupations from each other, we can move into a bigger house?’ Bucky says it like a question, but you know better.

Normally you’d tell him “no, of course we can’t do that, we can’t afford it.” But now that you both know that you’re each hiding hundreds of millions of dollars in offshore accounts, slush funds, and dummy corporations throughout the world…

“Sure,” you shrug. “Why not.”

Bucky grins like a child on Christmas. “If we’re gonna rule, we need the proper palace.”

You forego giving into Bucky’s terrible, awful joke to hang up your studded coat, to take off your business casual navy-blue pants and black button-up in, and change into a pair of workout shorts and some tie-dye hoodie you thrifted about ten years ago. Bucky calls them your “thinking clothes,” attire you wear specifically to center yourself, to clear your mind of everything except the task at hand.

During dinner, you and Bucky begin to plan how you can consolidate assets, personnel, jobs, and everything that comes with heading mobs. It’s a long talk, one that lasts long into the night and ends with hastily-drawn diagrams and maps strewn around your living room.

It takes hours and way too many pots of coffee, but eventually the plan for the merger is laid out in front of you – all the graphs and math and official language handwritten in your neat cursive (along with a few notes scrawled by Bucky) on over twenty sheets of pristine printer paper.

Bucky sighs happily when he sees it all finished. He’s standing, desperate for a bird’s eye view of the entire thing.

You, on the other hand, are much too tired to stand. You settle for, “How does it look, babe?” as you draw two lines for each of your signatures below both of your full names.

When you look up, you see Bucky – eyes twinkling with joy. “It looks…,” he sighs, happily. “Amazing. I love you so much.”

You giggle, drawing lines for a few witnesses (you’ll make a few of your associates sign tomorrow). “I love you, too, babe. Now, you still got that champagne from our visit to France?”

Somewhere between the front room and the wine fridge, Bucky had you pinned against the wall and was cupping your clothed pussy.

“While I think you look great,” Bucky murmurs against the hot skin of your neck. “You’re wearing just a little too much for me.”

In an instant he tears the skimpy shorts from your body, the sound of ripping fabric making you moan;

“Fuck,” you gasp as one digit, then another enters you. “Holy shit that feels good.”

Bucky pulls away enough to look you in the eyes, smiling as he watches your jaw slacken from the pleasure. “Yeah? You like that?”

If you could speak you would, but each word just comes out as a breathy moans. Your first orgasm hits you like a wave, Bucky pulling it from you with crooked fingers and his lips on yours.

When you come down Bucky carries you to the bed, undressing himself as you do the same.

He pulls you to the end of the bed by your ankles, pushing your legs up to your chest. He enters you easily – bottoming out within a few thrusts.

You and Bucky moan into each other’s mouths as he fucks into you.

“Oh God,” he groans, moving to kiss at your neck. “Holy shit!”

He rubs at your clit with the thumb of one hand as he bites bruises in your collarbones, desperate to hear the symphony of sweet sighs and deep moans as you near another peak.

“Come on baby,” Bucky murmurs into your lips. “Come on, cum around my cock for me.”

It doesn’t take much after that – a few more circles around your clit in time with his thrusts and soon you’re scream and nearly tears the sheets from how tight you’re gripping them and your whole body convulses from pleasure.

Bucky finishes himself onto your stomach, head thrown back in pleasure as he does so.

He takes a minute to collect himself, still panting as he grabs a tissue to clean you off.

After water and a snack (two granola bars you had stuffed into your bedside drawer an unknowable amount of months ago), you curl into Bucky’s chest, tracing the litany of tattoos there. “Weren’t we supposed to drink to celebrate?”

Bucky lets out a full belly laugh. “Probably. But the alcohol is all the way downstairs. Plus, I know something else I can drink to celebrate?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Only you? Why don’t I get to get drunk?”

Bucky just smirks, moving you off of him. You’re about to protest but begin to understand once he pushes the covers off the both you to make room for himself between your legs.

“Trust me,” he tells you, leaving kisses on your skin between every few words. “You’ll love this a lot more than any old champagne.”

And, of course, he was right.

The next day, you meet with your closest adversaries. While you two wait in the conference room in the building Bucky took over after it was condemned a couple years back, you can feel your heart ram into your ribcage. It’s less from anxiety and more from anticipation, knowing you might face major backlash from the people you trust the most.

The first to arrive is the woman you trust the most in this world: Natasha. She doesn’t move towards the table, simply stands just inside the doorway while staring you down. She doesn’t recognize Bucky, but doesn’t enjoy being below the eyeline of a man she’s never seen before.

“Natasha,” you say, desperate to remain calm. “This is Bucky. We’ve been together for five years. And he’s the leader of the Pack.”

In a fashion much atypical for Natasha Romanoff, her eyes widen slightly. “Oh…” she says after a long while. “Okay then.”

She promptly sits down with no further questions.

As with many business, heads and second-in-commands of mobs rarely come face to face. They have goons, messengers that do their footwork. Descriptions of the faces belonging those in charge pass around akin to rumors, only whispered quieter.

Which is why, when Steve comes in, he has no idea what to think until Bucky introduces you and Natasha.

By the time Bucky’s finished talking, Steve’s beat red. “Buck, what the fuck is this.”

“Just,” Bucky sighs, worried about his phrasing and angering his best friend on the face of the planet (whether that be Steve, for reasons that feel obvious, or you, for reasons that feel even more obvious). “Sit down. We’ll explain-“

“’We’ll!’” Steve nearly screams.

Bucky is the only one who flinches at the sudden loud noise. You finish his sentence for him. “Yes. Bucky and I will explain.”

Steve doesn’t like it, doesn’t like taking orders from a rival. Still, he sits at the large, oval conference table opposite Natasha.

The last two people to come in are the head of you and Bucky’s legal departments. Wanda gives you a single nod before sitting next to Natasha, a man Bucky addresses as “Tony” sits next to Steve.

You exhale deeply once the metaphorical dust settles, encouraging Bucky to begin the spiel he had prepared last night been orgasms four and five.

“Alright. We have,” he sighs. “We have decided to combine our two…”  Bucky struggles to find the right word. He worries for bugs and secret agents and misunderstandings, brain always struggling to remember that this is sacred, secret business. Any crack in any of the numerous protective facades could mean its downfall, along with the loss of billions of dollars and his life.

“Entrepreneurial endeavors,” you finish for him.

You hear Natasha snort, amused by the avoidance of saying gang and mob and illegal distributor of goods. The rest of your cohort are silent, unsure of what to say next.

Each beat of verbal inaction leaves you more fearful than the last, your heart getting louder and louder in your ears.

For what feels like forever, no one says anything.

Though, with the pounding of blood in your ears, they could be screaming obscenities at you and you wouldn’t be able to hear them.

The only thing that seems able to quiet the noise is Bucky’s fingers intertwining with yours.

Only then do you hear Wanda speak, her accent tinging each word. It’s comforting, to hear something so familiar.

“I assume you both have drawn up something that,” she eyes the man across from her with a look dusted with disdain. “Tony and I can look at.”

Bucky slides the thick document, held together in a beat-up binder you found under a bookshelf, across the table. Wanda is the one who stops it and looks into it first.

She says nothing, holding her tongue as she allows Tony to eye the document. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and pushes them to the corner of his nose as thumbs through it, looking bored and tired.

“Yeah, this shit looks good,” Tony says quickly, shoving the dark glasses back over his eyes. “Can we leave now?”

The resounding silence continues until you break it yourself, attempting to detail for Steve and Natasha what it all means. They listen diligently and sign where needed, Natasha being decided on as the most likely to type it up into an official document and send it to the necessary parties.

Once it’s all over, you and Bucky ride down in the big, glass elevator together – excitement electric in the air.

“How’re you feeling?” Bucky asks. It doesn’t seem to be out of concern, even if tears of happiness are pricking at your eyes.

“God,” you tell him, voice breathy and ecstatic. “I don’t even know how to describe it. I just, I don’t know. I’ve been so terrified I’d have to hide this forever – or that you’d find out, or that someone would figure out who you were. And now…I just,” you wipe at your eyes, and Bucky pulls you into his chest. “I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I know you’re protected. And I don’t have to hide this from you. And I’m so fucking happy about it.”

Bucky kisses the top of your head, tucking you under his chin. “Oh, baby. Darling I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”

The two of you stand in silence, holding each other until you have to exit. Neither of you say anything until you’re both in the car, safely on your way back to your shared home.

“We’re in this together right?” you ask, looking at Bucky as he keeps his dark eyes on the road.

Regardless he smiles, moving his right hand from the wheel to rest on your knee. “Always, baby. Always.”

[lyrishadow]

Come back.

Nymai and Theron - freshly written and a little bit raw but you get that with a prompt a day. So have a little bit of an all over the place fic? 

Prompt number: 1 (“no, come back!”)

Fandom: Star Wars the Old Republic

Rating: G

Pairing: Theron Shan/ Nymai (OC) Title: Where you Came From Warning: Discuses a little about slavery.

“No, come back!” His voice was irritated, and they were starting to get looks from people who were passing by the Commander’s quarters on Odessan. Nymai shrugged and kept walking as Theron ran to catch up.

“Ny.. c’mon… I wasn’t …. I didn’t…” Theron stuttered as Nymai turned, to onlookers the Sith looked angry, though it was never a sure thing with a pureblood - they often looked angry regardless. “Not here, Theron.” he shook his head  jutting his chin at the curious onlookers “Outside.”

They made their way to the lift that would take them downstairs.

“I’m sorry,” Theron muttered. “I should have thought before I said that.”

“No… we need to talk about it, just… not inside where everyone can hear us.” Nymai sighed in frustration “Really should see about soundproofing my quarters.”

As they exited and stood in the sunlight near Nymai’s ship, the old fury he flew around the galaxy, and became a sith lord on. Dusty, now he didn’t use it constantly, and yet still home. His ancestor had even appeared on there, of all things, hopefully, that ghost was resting now. “My mother died in those camps, I had a sister who was taken away, and there is… “ Nymai sighed “there is the fact I was a slave. I know what it was like.”

“I didn’t know your mother died in the slave camps.” Theron glanced at his husband with a sad look “I even forget that you were one too.”

“Slaves are not things to be listed as numbers, they are people,” Nymai replied as they rounded the corner of the ship. “Especially by the Alliance that I am the leader of.” “I know. I will fix it. I am sorry.” Theron sighed “It is easy for me to get caught up in the work and forget about the people I am dealing with, doing this for.”

They had found a slave camp; a place where human lives were traded back and forth for pleasure and work. Theron had been trying to do logistics, numbers, instead of people, and he had said as much to Nymai. 

“Was it... I mean how was it?” Theron stuttered a little, it was hard to ask about something so deeply disturbing on every level to the happy Nymai he was used to. They had talked at length about Mast Zhou and some of the different things Theron has done. How he had only barely connected to his father, and that his mother was absent - and had disappeared again. “You know my past, but  we don’t really talk much about yours.”

“It was a while ago, I admit time does ease the pain,” Nymai nodded, gesturing that they should sit down and relax on the ramp that led to the fury. “Even being a sith lord was a while ago.”

“I guess I forget sometimes, you have lived this whole other life.” Theron paused a little to lean back against Nymai on the ramp. “Without me.”

“I wish… “ Nymai started then shook his head “No, I would not wish that on anyone, let alone on you, the Empire is not a kind place to anyone.”

“You really had to fight to get through?”

“Everything in the Empire is a fight - even if you are born in the right places, with the right amount of force, and so on, it is a fight to be noticed, be someone.”

“I never thought of it that way; we always just imagine the Empire as something evil and Imperials as this collective evil machine we need to fight against,” Theron said it lightly but the facts behind the statement were sound. The Republic propaganda machine had been saying the same rhetoric for years. If he had not met Nymai, he would have believed that the rhetoric was true, because of Nymai, he had found out that the Empire, though not a good thing, did indeed have good people in it. “My mother, may she rest in peace, told me to go with the status quo until I could escape to the Republic. She believed the Empire was flawed, and broken, that her people - her own people the Sith - had sent our family to die in the pits because of greed and revenge”

“I never knew that.” Theron pondered “Is that why you gravitated towards me?”

“Initially yes.” Nymai laughed as Theron scrunched his face up, “but once I realized that I was falling for you… “

“When was that?”

“When you were captured - or rather Lana let you be captured, I thought I would tear Rishi apart to look for you.”

“Thanks…. I think you got me when you smiled at me the first time.” Theron grimaced knowing how absolutely crazy that sounded. Love at first sight? WIth a Sith?

“Theron, you are a sucker… and I love you.” Nymai laughed

“Are we ok Ny? I didn’t mean to hurt you with what I said.” 

“We are fine, and arguments are normal. I know you want to ask me things, go on.”Nymai could see Theron had been wondering about things and now he could ask the

“How… if it is okay to ask... How did you end up as a slave?”

“It’s ok like I said before, these things need to be talked about.” Nymai closed his eyes to recall a time away from the sun.

“I am here still, not going anywhere, not even to work.” Theron drew a deep breath because not working was a big deal Nymai had known when Theron followed him outside he had his full attention, and he appreciated it. Theron continued speaking as Nymai took his hand in his. “I want to know more about where you come from, where you came from.” They were now quite comfortably lounging on the ramp for the fury.

“The slave pens, the pits, none of those are a nice place, Theron, they are dark, cold and isolating.” Nymai could not drop the bitterness from his voice “If you do something wrong, like use force abilities, you will be reported by someone trying to be better than you, or trying to get up the ladder”

“Using force abilities is wrong?” 

“Yes, more likely to get you killed than assigned to the Academy. Fortunately for me, when they caught on that I had more than average force ability… “

“That is an understatement.” Theron breathed, he had seen Ny fight more times than he could count now, and seen how he channeled absolute focus to wield the force as a weapon. 

“I was still hiding it… first my mother had kept the secret because she did not wish another child taken away.”

“You have an older sister?”

“Had… I am certain that they took her away to kill her.” Ny shook his head, he had not thought of his sister in years. “Her name was Kai, she was far more curious about the world and took far more risks than I did. She would also use the force for small things, like lighting the fires in the morning.”

“Oh.” Theron kind of knew where this was going.

“She was reported, and we never saw her again.” Ny shrugged, “Such was the slave pens however that you often just thought of yourself rather than of anyone else. Even family.”

“And your mother? What was she like?” Theron wondered what his mother would have been like in a similar position. Though he was not the force-sensitive child they had all expected to come from the lineage. 

“She was nothing like you would expect a matriarch of a SIth family.” Ny paused “ She was opinionated, strong-willed, and stubborn;  but if she loved you if you were family, she was kind, gentle, the absolute best towards you - she would also give a stranger the shirt off her back if she could. In the pens, she became known as everyone’s mother because she cared more for others than herself..”

“I see where you get that from.” Theron murmured.”You would sacrifice yourself for everyone else.”

“Especially for you.” Ny grinned “My mother would have liked you. Not approved exactly, she had visions of a great sith legacy being reclaimed.”

“Ah, I see.” Theron shifted a little in his seat, being reminded of the idea of legacy he recalled the events of Rishi yet again. “My own legacy I am not sure if it is worth continuing..”

“Revan.” Nymai replied “He was already mad when we invaded the Foundry, he was… determined... That all Sith should die, regardless of right or wrong.”

“It took me a while to learn… “ Theron admitted.

“Irrational fear of my race is rather common with the Republic?”

“Irrational fear of any race…” Theron sighed “Especially if you are force sensitive by nature.”

“Even the Massasi are force sensitive.” Nymai pointed out “But I am joking, I know we have a terrible track record.”

“It would be good to… adopt maybe..” Theron broached the subject twiddling his fingers around “I mean, it would make your mother’s wish fulfilled and…”

“And we could have our own children? Save someone along the way?” Ny asked with a smile now “That could make up for many things in my past.”

“It would mean we have to find a better place to live than on base.” Theron’s comments were accurate, they had not even been able to have an argument on site.

“Do you think they hate us?” Ny gestured to the building “Witnessing every little thing we do or say?”

“Not everything.” Theron coughed, turning a shade red.

“Hahaha... Okay, not everything.” Ny laughed, “But still, anywhere you are, is home enough.”

The sun was setting now, the afternoon spent talking had started with a mild argument, and ended as all of their days lately ended, with declarations of love. As long as this lasted, it would be enough. 

[ridiasfangirlings]

Saru no there are better ways to get a hot merman to save your life. So say Yata's a merman and he lives a perfectly normal life in the sea, he's not supposed to go to the surface or let humans see him and he's always been told that humans are bad news. Even so he's always been kinda curious what it's like up there, he probably has visions of like swimming to the surface and fighting off a bunch of vicious humans like a he's a superhero. One day he decides to swim out to a part of the ocean where he's never been before, just to see what's there and maybe have an adventure, and that's when this huge ship passes above him. Yata's never seen a ship this big so he swims closer, even surfacing right next to it. Yata's having fun swimming around the ship when he suddenly hears this splash to his right. He turns to see there's a human drowning, presumably having fallen off the ship. Even though he knows that he shouldn't let humans see him he can't just leave this guy to drown and Yata decides to save him.

He drags the human onto the nearest beach and Yata can't help but be interested by him, like he's never met a human before after all and are they supposed to be so pale and skinny. The guy's skin is really smooth too and Yata finds himself leaning in to get a closer look. The guy's eyelashes start to flicker and Yata gets a glimpse of the bluest eyes he's ever seen before quickly diving back into the water before he can be seen. He swims behind a rock though so that he can keep watching as the guy sits up and shakes his head, clicking his tongue as if annoyed. Yata notices that the ship is coming closer, presumably to pick up the guy he just saved, and finally Yata reluctantly dives back under the water and swims back home.

Yata can't stop thinking about that strange human he saved though so a few days later Yata goes back to where he saw the ship. He's swimming along the shore when he hears a splash near this small cliff, Yata goes to investigate and there once again is the same guy that Yata saved last time. Yata's probably like what the hell if you can't swim stop going near the water, like he just can't believe this guy. Of course Yata goes to save him anyway, dragging him back up onto the beach and then going to hide when the guy wakes up. This time though there's another tongue click and a sullen voice saying 'stop saving me, you idiot.'

Yata's immediately like hey I'm not the idiot who keeps almost drowning, realizing too late that he just showed himself to a human. The guy doesn't seem fazed though, irritated expression never wavering as he says he was trying to drown. Yata's really confused about that and a little concerned, like sure he doesn't know this guy but who would ever try to drown. Yata awkwardly introduces himself and asks the guy's name, getting a curt 'Fushimi' in reply. Yata's like look Fushimi I don't know what your problem is but trying to drown is a super bad idea, Fushimi snorts and says Yata doesn't know anything about him and should just go away.

Yata gets angry and is like fine I will, turning and heading back into the ocean. But he can't stop thinking about Fushimi and he's worried that maybe Fushimi will try to drown himself again so he heads back to the beach the next day. Fushimi's there again, walking along the beach, and Yata's immediately like 'don't drown yourself again.' Fushimi sullenly says that wouldn't work anyway, since Yata's here, and Yata's like that's right I'm always gonna be here so you can't drown yourself. Fushimi has a momentary shocked look but then he says that Yata shouldn't say stupid things he doesn't mean, Yata's like I mean it I'm gonna check on you every day. Fushimi clearly doesn't believe him but Yata intends to show him and they start meeting every day at the beach, becoming closer and Fushimi's clearly confused about how Yata really is always coming back for him.

One day Yata goes to the beach though and Fushimi isn't there, he's immediately worried because even though he doesn't know much about Fushimi's life he's aware that there's something with Fushimi's family that's bad enough he was trying to drown himself. Yata feels super helpless that he can't go find Fushimi and finally in desperation he goes to Sea Witch Hisui to ask for help. Hisui agrees to give him legs, but he needs to find Fushimi within three days or he'll go back to normal (oh and also he'll belong to Hisui unless Sea King Mikoto wants to trade for him please don't look too closely at that fine print it's nothing important). He also has to give up his voice, Yata doesn't get how he's supposed to find Saruhiko without his voice but Hisui says body language works wonders above the surface and Yata's like well I guess.

Yata gets his legs and spends some time flailing around on land trying to get used to this whole sudden being human thing. Imagine him traveling to the nearest town and getting all these stares because he's wearing a sack and he can only communicate with wild gestures and animated expressions. Yata's getting super frustrated when he spots this guy in the marketplace, a guy who looks kinda like Saruhiko does. Yata decides to tail him and follows him to this giant castle outside of town. Yata doesn't see Saruhiko in the house but then maybe he spots the guy who looks like Fushimi coming up from the basement and he's like carrying a pair of glasses that are definitely Saruhiko's. Yata realizes that this must be Fushimi's dad and he decides to like present himself to Niki to try and get a job at the castle. Niki is amused at this weird mute kid who apparently wants to become one of the servants but he figures maybe this kid will be fun to torture a little so he hires Yata, now Yata has to endure Niki's terribleness all while trying to find out where Fushimi's being held and rescue him before the three days pass.

[welcometoels]

Session One - Introduction

Els, in the world of Toltirgis, is a melting pot of a nation.  Invaded, conquered, re-conquered, rejected and eventually left to seed, it attracts a wide range of races, many of whom have struggled to find peace in their home nations.

One such individual is Tom.  An itinerant Half-Elven bard, he roams from town to town, plying his lyrical wares and sowing his profligate oats.

It is in the Burning Man tavern that he finds ample opportunity to enjoy both of these interests, in the form of an open stage upon which to strum his lyre, and a beautiful snowy owl Aarakocra by the name of Bubo Scandiacus, upon whom to practice his charm.

As a very keen Bubo leads Tom to their room in the tavern, our attention moves to Oddsock, a Golden Retriever gifted unholy warlock powers by his sinister hooded, flame-eyed patron.

Something of a local hero amongst the village folk - after saving some children trapped in a mine by barking until someone did something about it - Oddsock is nevertheless still very much a stranger in this land.  Dogs speaking in the common tongue are perfectly normal in Chew, in the nation of Rawhide, but unknown here in Els.  In fact, nobody has even heard of Chew here.  Most bamboozle.

Upon the instruction of his patron, Oddsock trots into a new town with a dancerly poise, and leaves his mark on a nearby chapel.  Almost caught in a puddle of his own guilt, he charms the pious priest, and heads to the Hanging Lock Inn to refresh himself in the company of a cheerful Jack Russell.

Next in our sights is Julius P Otterman.  A Water Genasi by birth, but a humanoid otter by appearance, Julius was raised and trained in the druidic arts by an elderly Gnome by the name of Pa McGinley.

Julius lives alone now in Pa’s old cottage in the woods, but makes occasional journeys to a small trading post to exchange his intricate notes on local flora for other tomes of interest.  The Dwarf that runs the post regards Julius with no small amount of irritation, and amuses himself by teaching the naïve otter Dwarven curses that he pretends are warm greetings.

During today’s jaunt, Julius swaps his thorough treatise on watercress (plus a pawful of inexpertly carved pebbles) for a promising book of local flora and fauna, with a dandelion on the cover.  Upon leaving the trading post, he engages in a lively chat with a local Halfling greengrocer, who takes Julius to her shop to discuss the best herbs to enjoy with fish.

Lastly, we move our gaze to Kadis Enn, a Human monk.  Along with his simple but hardwearing monk garb, Kadis wears a strip of cloth over his eyes, having been blinded by the mysterious necrotic force that struck his home town of Amberstall.

As the sole survivor of the Amberstall event, Kadis has wandered ever since, guided by his uncanny monk senses and the terrible idol that has hung around his neck ever since his town was razed.

A couple of days prior, Kadis was led by the nightmares created by the idol to the town of Thornhelm.  Whilst there, he helped to fend off a group of bandits who were attempting to steal the artefact that gave the town its name - an artefact that, it transpired, contained amongst its thorns a long, pointed tooth, to which the idol reacted with an uncanny warmth.

Today, Kadis has arrived in a new town, and is immediately accosted by an obsequious local tradesman, keen to sell his beverages to the new arrival.  Allowing himself to be lured in, Kadis follows the man to what he reasonably assumes is an inn.

However...

As each of our central characters pass through the doors they were led to, instead of finding the comforting interior of bedroom or inn or shop, they are confronted with a drab, grey stone room - cold, damp, and impossibly tall, disappearing into darkness where a ceiling ought to be.  The doors close behind them.

Confused and perturbed, the four make brief introductions to each other, before the sudden arrival from above of Slathiel - a golden skinned, white haired, six armed entity with ruby wings.  They make an impassioned entreaty to the adventurers to help recover Slathiel’s power, which had been stripped away and cast into a strange, patchwork land:  A land they are just about to encounter for the first time.

Slathiel, and the room that held them, slips away from existence and drops the four onto a grass verge.  From there they can see a small nameless town - little more than a collection of mismatched buildings, several of which are still being built.

Away from the carpenters’ industry steps a haughty Elf, flanked by three Humans wielding clubs (though one is little more than a chair leg).  Introducing himself as the mayor of this town, the Elf welcomes the adventurers, and lets them know that they are welcome to stay, for a small consideration: Whatever money they have on them.

Julius offers up his best pebbles, which the mayor slaps out of his paws.  This proves to be the last straw for the party.  Roll for Initiative!

The fracas is brief and decisive, thanks to some smart play from the adventurers and some godawful rolls from the enemy.  Within only a couple of rounds, all four aggressors are down with ringing ears, flame-licked clothes, and one unpleasant case of death.

At this point, a stern Half-Elf woman approaches the party.  She regards them coldly for a moment, before spitting on the prone body of the mayor.  “He’s a prick,” she says, “and you’ve done us a favour.”

She signals to a couple of the workmen, and a nearby Cleric, to round up the bodies and tie up the living somewhere safe, then leads the four adventurers to her inn, The Jaunty Skinner.  She tells them that her name is Tiatha Rowe, and that she and the pub have been here for the last three months, having been magically plucked from their home town and dumped in this place.  Though she was previously the cleaner, she has taken over the running of the pub, since the landlord is nowhere to be found.

The “mayor” character, it transpires, was little more than a local crook, who rounded up a few weak-minded individuals to shake down any new arrivals.  Since the four had effectively ended his malignant reign, Tiatha has decided to offer them a night of free lodgings, with ale and food for the night.  Future accommodation would have to be paid for, though.

Oddsock decides to pay up front for their next stay by levitating a few gold coins into Tiatha’s hand.  Tiatha, a little confused by receiving floating coins from a yellow dog in a leather jerkin, excuses herself to the back room for a moment.

Food is brought out by a Gnomish gent - a plate of blackened vegetables, with ale on the side (and a drop of goodberry wine for Julius).  The Gnome introduces himself as Peg Leg Normal Leg Barty, a simple honest farmer from his eyepatch to his boot, who is now acting as chef and waiter in the Jaunty Skinner.

He fills the team in on local events - mostly word that has travelled up from the south about a farm that has “gone wrong”.  The team mostly enjoy their vittles, though the flavour is a bit at odds with the appearance after Oddsock uses his Prestidogitation to make them taste like meat chunks in marrowbone jelly.

With full bellies, the team heads to bed - Tom and Julius sharing, Kadis alone, and Oddsock in front of the warm hearth downstairs.  From here, Oddsock hears a squeaking from his pack.  This is Tim, a small dragon chew toy that serves as his means of communication with his patron.  The flame-eyed figure tells Oddsock that he completely lost sight of him after the Jack Russell, and has only now picked up his location again.  This town is unknown to the patron, and he needs Oddsock to explore more, with a view to returning to their original quest.

And so we leave them for this day, as they sink into a well earned slumber, and Kadis sees visions of writhing black-green magics, and a compass with bright glowing lights at each of its cardinal points...

[fangbites]

Who: Caleb With: Ollie ( @sxncerelyme​ ) Verse: Makin’ Magic. Prompt: send me a 💏 and i will randomise a number in order for my muse to kiss yours... 20. on a scar.

Caleb had never been a particularly violent man.

His Ma and Pa had been simple folk, farmers, and not even particularly large- scale ones at that. They’d been the kind of peasants that treasured their small herd of sheep like their lives had depended on it, and it had. Their sheep and their garden had been what kept them from starving.

They’d had no business at all taking in the screaming infant they’d found left abandoned on the rocky shoreline on their way home from a trip to the capitol city, but as his Ma had always put it- they’d had no choice, from a moral standpoint. And, she always told him, you’ve been the greatest blessing we ever could have asked for.

It had been years since the plague had taken them, and they’d never been able to conceive any other children. In a community like theirs, Caleb hadn’t ever really been completely alone- he and his neighbors had a policy of helping where they could and with them all banding together, with them all scrabbling at a different livelihood and specialty, they managed to form a trading circle that ensured they all got what they needed to survive, even if some years or seasons stretched awful thin.

Still, there was a difference between the shelter of community and the bond of a family. Perhaps Caleb had been desperate for that kind of love when he’d brought home a nearly dead witch and nursed him back to health.

Something- someone- had attacked him.

Caleb had been terrified, looking at the bloody body unconscious near the treeline at the very edge of his property. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to dig a grave. He’d done so twice when he was eleven. He was nineteen now and stronger, he could do it- but the corpse had let out a startling raspy moan when he’d went to bundle it up and move it and of course the only thing left to do was cart it to his little two- room shack and take care of it. Him.

It was the edge of winter now, and he had barely enough stored away to feel secure that he’d feed himself. But from a moral standpoint, he didn’t have a choice. And who knew? Maybe it would be a blessing. Maybe his greatest blessing ever.

And as time went on, Caleb grew more and more convinced that it was.

It turned out the man’s name was Ollie. It also turned out that Ollie was even more handsome cleaned up and fed and conscious than he was bloody and dirty and nearly- dead looking, and Ollie was funny and smart and pretty and he made Caleb feel warm and happy even on the dreariest winter days. It had taken him a while to get better, and much as Caleb doted on him, much as he fretted over his wellbeing- the stronger Ollie got the sadder Caleb became. He’d grown a little too attached. A little too fond. The thought of him leaving opened up a yawning chasm inside Caleb’s chest, something terrible and hungry, and he didn’t- he didn’t know how he was meant to let him go.

And there was another thing about Ollie, too.

He was a witch.

Caleb had been a little afraid when he’d first learned, but curiosity had quickly overtaken the fear and he’d begged and pleaded to see the magic and had bombarded the other boy with questions, his eyes lit up with sheer, unadulterated joy. Ollie’d been a little confused that Caleb hadn’t been one too- he’d said something about how he could feel it. Feel the magic. But Caleb wasn’t and never had been a witch, never would be, and the little experiments Ollie tried went to prove that.

There was a part of him that was still worried, but not in the sense that he believed Ollie was any sort of scary, evil creature. Everyone knew that those with magic would end up dead, executed by the guard if the people around them didn’t get to them first. Harboring a witch.... well. Caleb was sure nothing favorable could come of that being discovered, but he wasn’t sorry, and he didn’t want Ollie to leave.

Hadn’t, at least, until he’d let Ollie journey to the creek to catch a few fish for their dinner and he came back hurt.

A smaller- scale attack this time, and a fought he’d won, but there was a slash on his neck that was still gushing blood, too much, and something--

Something happened to Caleb.

Something weird.

It had started with his jaw, with his teeth. Started with something shifting and rearranging, growing sharper, serrated. And his eyes, going a milky- blue and glowing, and his skin--

“I’ll kill them,” He spat. “I’ll kill them all, they touched you, they hurt you-” He was shaking, that fucked up, flaky- thick- scaly- distortion spreading up from his nailbeds, nails gone long and curved and inky black, and it was taking over his hands, spreading up his arms-  if he’d thought to focus on it, he would’ve realized the same thing was happening to his feet, patchy scales taking over his skin. Changing.

He’d never felt that sort of fury. The kind of anger that sang hot through every vein in his body, casting a hazy red- hot veil over his vision, the kind of anger that made him lust for blood. There hadn’t been a single part of him that hadn’t wanted to give in to it, sink further into that mindless, furious hunger, and fucking devastate whatever monster had done this to Ollie. To his Ollie. His witch.

But Ollie was there. There, with his hands cradling Caleb’s face, warm flesh overtop Caleb’s clammy scales, having spread upwards to form patches along his cheeks. There with wide eyes filled with something inexplicable and a voice that was warm and honey- sweet even against the backdrop of whatever horrible inhuman noise was coming from Caleb’s throat as he shook and envisioned the bloodiest of deaths for whoever’d laid a hand on Ollie.

He was saying something. Something to the extent of It’s okay, probably, or calm down. Something like that. Something that Caleb didn’t hear overtop the sound of that furious, snarly, clicking- high- pitched chirpy noise he’d been making, but something that his mind and body registered nonetheless.

It started in his teeth again this time, but in reverse. Slowly. His vision grew sharper and his skin began changing, nails began receding, vocal cords twisted and changed once more until all that he was was a boy that looked like a human, teary-eyed and keening over this injured witch he’d wanted so desperately to care for. 

“Ollie,” He said, brain fuzzy and unwilling to process whatever it was that had just happened. “Ollie. You’re hurt. Let me- let’s go inside, please, I need to take care of you. Please, Ollie. Please. Please.” And, perhaps in the interest of preventing another episode, or perhaps just because the man really was bleeding out and looking rather unsteady on his feet, Caleb had gotten his way.

He’d applied pressure and frantically, fretfully fetched ingredients for a poultice, one that Ollie had imbued with magic before he’d passed out, and Caleb hadn’t taken his eyes off him since. Or his hands off of him. Or legs. He’d carried him from the bed to the chair by the fire because his skin had felt cold, colder than normal, and he hadn’t thought twice about crawling up into his lap and curling around him while he slept. Just sleeping. A heavy sleep, one he apparently wasn’t interested in waking from- but from here, Caleb could press his ear to Ollies chest and feel his heart beating. He could slip his fingers beneath his shirt and feel it beating if he wanted. He could hear and feel every inhale the witch took, each little noise he made in his sleep, could keep track of the way his lashes flickered or his lips twitched as he dreamt. Could take in the scent that belonged solely to him, faint as it was beneath the copper tang of blood that clung to him no matter how carefully Caleb had cleaned him and the bitter- sweet aroma of the sticky mishmash of herbs slathered on his skin beneath the bandage.

It had been hours of this, now. Hours of Caleb mumbling and begging the sleepy witch to be okay. Hours of him petting his messy curly hair and brushing careful fingers across his perfect cheekbones. At some point Caleb’s legs had gone numb, knees squeezed in the chair on either side of Ollie’s hips and his lower legs squished beneath his own weight, but they could fall off for all he cared. He wasn’t leaving. Couldn’t. He’d thought about it once, just in the interest of making soup for whenever Ollie woke, but he’d started shaking again and his heart had started pounding and he’d pressed his nose against Ollie’s collarbone and tried not to let it happen again. That thing, from earlier.

Whatever it was.

He was still there, now, though his face had shifted slightly so that his cheek was pressed against Ollie’s shoulder. If he’d been any less on guard, he would have fallen asleep long ago, lulled by the warmth and comfort of being close. He was still idly running his fingers down Ollie’s arms, but at some point- he wasn’t sure when and wasn’t inclined to examine it or stop- he’d started pressing little barely- there kisses to the bandage that covered a wound that would have killed a lesser man. Would have killed a human. A wound that would leave a scar that only magic and intent would ever take away. And kisses that wandered elsewhere, too, to his jawline, to what little of his throat was left unmarred, to his collarbone. Maybe a nibble there, but Ollie wasn’t awake to know or care- or. Oh. Maybe he was. 

Cal should have bitten him forever ago if that would do the magic trick of waking him up, he thought, though he knew it was doubtful such a little thing had been the cause of the end of Ollie’s great slumber and was likely just coincided with it.

Perhaps he should be worrying, now, as the shallow breaths of sleep deepened into those that accompanied wakefulness. Perhaps he should keep his lips to himself. Give the man a bit of space, pretend to be a decent and respectable person. Instead, he dragged his nose along the underside of Ollie’s jaw, inhaling shamelessly before pressing another pointed but oh- so- gentle kiss to the bandage that covered Ollie’s wound. “How are you feeling?” He rumbled, voice husky, just a tang of that something other marring it again. Something not human.

He wasn’t a witch, but he wasn’t a human, either.

But that wasn’t his focus right now. He tried to regain control of his thoughts again, tried to reroute his focus away from how close he’d come to losing Ollie.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, scoring his nails down Ollie’s arms slightly without ever turning to look at him. “Thirsty? Does it hurt? I’ll get you something. Anything. Just tell me what you need. Please.”

[whaleofatjme1920]

Right Back Where You Started

Right Back Where You Started

[Masky/Timothy Wright X F!Reader]

[Warnings: slight blood, slight violence, language]

[AN: Four of my OC's are in here! This was also requested from a friend a while ago.]

The beauty about being able to live a life outside of murdering people and being at the whim of a monster that fancies itself as a god is a variety of your own accord.

For instance, you can wake up whenever you feel like, take a job wherever there’s openings, meet new people and not have to bash their brains in just for asking about your life and only need to pick up a blade to cut food or occasionally packages you impulsively bought on the nights that feel like too much and not enough all in one. You can breathe and not worry about inky black tendrils crushing your throat for doing so without his permission. You’re able to sleep at night knowing that no higher up in your group will attempt to kill you in an act of proxy related hazing. You can clear your mind temporarily of the thoughts of what may come next in trade for semi-normalcy even though you know those thoughts won’t go away anytime soon. The weight of what you’d done was too much to bear, and Atlas can only disappear for so long.

When you first decided to betray your boss, the tall man in the woods, the faerie that steals children away, you acted on impulse. It was an impulse that was born from being all too exhausted with risking your life, committing sin upon sin and other terrible, no good things that should ever be uttered. The decision you made on impulse had no foresight or planning, and when you decided to run, you ran as far and as hard as you could away from him. Away from them. Away from it all. Of course, you know there were going to be repercussions for running like so few others did.

The ire of the Slender Man being the worst.

Most days, you try not to think of him. There’s no point - well, maybe there is a healthy fear you still have - but to worry yourself into a stupor would be silly now. You’ve been free of him for a year. He hasn’t sent you any signs, nor has he sent anyone… Maybe you weren’t important enough to set him off like some of the others had.

These are the things you like to think about as you sit on your couch watching the late night news that’s barely audible as you scroll through your phone. You never really did like the total silence an empty house provides. There’s a simmer cup of tea on the coffee cup and a few snacks laid out that you have little plans of eating while you relax and enjoy the midsummer night. Outside, you can hear crickets sing and cicadas accompany them. It’s peaceful, and while your mind would like to think of it as such, you can’t ignore the ringing in the back of your head. Things have been pleasant, too pleasant. There’s bound to be a storm due to roll in.

Still, you try not to think of these things, and instead focus on the content that scrolls in and out of your vision. It’s nothing particularly interesting, but helps get your mind off the things that often keep you up. And you continue to sit there on the couch, wrapped up in a light blanket to combat your AC as the hours of the night tick by. Your mind is completely off of really, any higher cognitive thought, when you hear something. It’s soft, low, sounds like two, maybe three people and they’re out in the distance. Must just be stumbling onto the borders of your ‘farm’.

See, the funny thing about trying to integrate into normal human life is that you physically can’t. You can follow all their customs, get into their society, look like them, but you’ll never be fully human. You want to know why? Proxies can never go back to what they used to be. They’re forever changed, and no force on heaven of earth can ever get rid of that. He can take your memory and dump you on the side of the road, but your biology has forever been changed. In most cases, it’s a nice thing to have: faster healing, better pain tolerance, heightened senses, and a better sense of problem solving than most people. Other days, it’s a hindrance for reasons you can’t quite explain. Some call it Slender Sickness, and the only way to remedy it is to be under the tall man’s care.

Because you’re not, you’ve found other ways to remedy the sickness he inflicts on practically everything he touches. Pills. You find them in odd, strange places, but they get the job done. So long as you have them, you can be free of his grasp and his connection.

But goddamn, the hearing is mostly a hindrance. On the account of you living on the edge of a college town, you’ve got land and are surrounded by farmer’s fields. You heat it all- critters in the night, teens messing with the patches, arguments, sometimes crimes, and it keeps you up at night. That’s a downside to not having him in your life- he’s not there to dampen its effects when it becomes too much. However, in this specific instance, your heightened hearing is a blessing.

The feeling in your gut only furls together tighter as you hear the three strolling down your dirt road. They’re close, much too close. You know that they’re here for you.

Frantically, you jump off the couch and start to damage control by making the place look like no one inhabits it. The TV and lights are turned off, the mug emptied of its contents, snacks put away and other leads buried. Your heart pounds a mile a minute - you know that if he finds you, it’s all over.

He’ll kill you - the Slender Man is not known for his mercy.

You feel like a chicken with its head cut off as you look around the house for weapons before settling on the kitchen knife. It’s cliché and reminds you of someone you once heard whispers about, but it’s all you can think of in this moment. When you left this life, you left the physical parts of it as well. All your gear, weapons, they’re hidden in a place that’s too risky for you to even attempt getting. Armed with the kitchen knife, you debate running out the back or hiding, then running. You always were good at staying out of sight, hiding it is.

Your eyes dart to the basement door and you slip through right as you hear the three outside your front door. There’s a window that opens in the direction of the town. If you slip out of it, you’ll be able to get a good headtstart through the field. The moment you start booking it down the stairs, you hear your front door get blown open.

“Wallace, what do you think?” You hear a male’s voice ask.

“Someone’s been in here recently,” a deeper male voice responds - must be Wallace, eyeing over your living room.

In the darkness, you quietly maneuver the crowded, cluttered basement, mentally cursing you left your phone upstairs in your haste.

“It feels like someone’s been in here,” Wallace’s voice continues. You can practically hear him smelling the air. “Ruth, tell Nyein to sniff this one out.”

You hear boots scuff against your wooden floor and stop somewhere in the doorway. “You could always just ask them yourself,” the female voice identified as Ruth verbally shrugs. She clicks her tongue, and you hear even more steps. How many of these people are there? You hope it’s just four. That’s a well sized group, come to think of it. “Ny, can you please sniff this one out? Seems like they’ve done a good job at scent covering.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Don’t give us any attitude,” the first male voice hisses slightly. “Do what you’re told-”

“Theo,” Wallace sharply reprimands.

You hear Theo sigh right as you reach the window. You pray to whatever deity will have you that it won’t squeak or make any loud noises, but the thing hasn’t been opened in gods know how long. You use the blade to lightly cut through the layers of off-white paint before the window is free. You mentally smile before attempting to lift it.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Nyein got your scent. Their pupils dilate upon realizing you’re the one the Slender Man has requested alive. You hear someone rapidly padding to the basement.

Panic fills your veins as you struggle to get the window open, not even caring that it’s making all the noise in the world. You need to get out!

“She padlock this thing?” You hear Ruth ask before she grunts. The door can’t hold them back forever.

You frantically push up on the window - it's a quarter open, not near enough for you to slip through. Shit, shit, shit! You need to go NOW.

“Jesus- just break it already,” Wallace sighs.

A few more grunts and you hear the wood splinter. You hear them descending the steps quickly.

“There!” Theo points.

You hold your breath and push the window up with all your strength before hosting yourself up.

“Shit! Out the front! Ny, keep on her,” Wallace commands as he smacks Ruth and Theo’s shoulder, the two quickly following him up the stairs.

You begin to shimmy out the narrow window as the being called ‘Nyein’ eyes you down. You don’t think you’ve ever seen an independent like that before. They look absolutely feral, and the scent of you has them locked on your crawling form.

Their eyes narrow, teeth bared, and they quickly lunge across the space for you, right as your legs reach the windowsill.

You cry out in surprise as their clawed hand digs into your ankle, drawing blood you know you can’t afford to worry about.

“Get off!” You shout in retaliation, kicking at their face. Freed, you begin to sprint into the field.

Nyein snarls and crawls out the window as well, running after you with a speed that has you on edge. You continue to run. Behind you, you can hear the other three quickly gaining on you as well. How badly does the Slender Man want you? Your lungs light on fire as they chase you through the field. Soon, you’ll be hitting the small stretch of trees before you reach the town. With other people, you’ll have a better chance at being safe. But the stretch of woods is an awful mess of brush and loose soil. You can’t afford to misstep now.

You take in a deep breath as you hurl into the small stretch of trees, all too aware of the proxies and independent that are hot on your trail. In the back of your head, you can tell they’re tired of you. Good. They should be. You narrowly avoid twisted roots and piles of mud and grow closer and closer to other people.

It’s so close that you can almost touch it.

Lost in your thoughts and too tunnel visioned in on reaching the town, you fail to recognize the steel jaw trap in the darkness and send your shoe right on it. It clamps down, bites, and holds you. You screech and fall forward, careening into the forest floor. The pain in your leg is absolutely agonizing, and you claw at it in vain to free yourself as your pursuers close in on you.

“Gave us quite the chase, Reader,” Wallace says with a slight scowl as he crouches a healthy distance from you. “Should let you rot here,” he muses. You can’t see his face both from the darkness of the night and the fact he’s wearing a mask, but you can tell he’s upset.

“Or let Ny eat her. Been a while since they’ve last had anything,” Theo adds on, glaring at you through the eyeholes of his mask that’s the head of a pig.

“He said he wanted her alive,” Ruth chimes in, a sigh in her tone. “She’s already fucked herself up enough, let’s not rub salt in the wounds.”

“Put her to sleep then,” Wallace shrugs.

You look up at these people like a caged animal, your eyes narrowing and slightly watering at the pain of the steel jaw trap. You feel yourself inching closer and closer to the earth subconsciously as Nyein eyes you like a prize.

\ They reach their hand out to touch you before you smack them away. Their snarl, their eyes traveling down to your ankle where the blood smells the strongest.

“Do it before they eat her,” The deep voiced man says again. “Though, last I checked, Ny doesn’t eat proxies.”

“She’s a traitor, not a proxy,” Ruth lightly corrects, her gaze alone shushing you from making any noise.

Not wanting to work yourself up, you settle for cursing them under your breath.

Without any other words, Ruth comes up to you, resting her boot on your chest to keep you down. You attempt to grab at her leg, throw her off balance, but she’s stronger than you on account of still being an active proxy. Her dark eyes scan you up and down before she reaches into her back pocket. “Take a deep breath for me,” she murmurs before smacking the rag to your mouth and nose.

You flail about, screaming and cursing before reluctantly taking that breath.

“... Thank you, you’ve done well. Head out to - yes, that’s right, Theo - head there and I will give you further instruction.”

You blearily come to on the carpet of an office you hoped you’d never be back in. The smell of jasmine and incense hangs in the air. You hear a door shut and catch the boots of the people who brought you back to him leave the room. He must be sending them out to their next assignment; it’s probably some poor other bastard that won’t escape like you did. You take in a few timid breaths and allow the light to filter in.

There he is, your boss. He stands in front of you like a god. He has no face, but you can tell he’s more than upset.

“Miss Reader, what a pleasure,” he says in a deep, authoritarian tone.

On instinct, you feel yourself shrinking.

“Really?” He muses, inky black tendrils sprouting from his back. “You have the nerve to run from me, suppress me, and now you do this? You dare show your submission?” He hisses. The tendrils move like bolts of electricity as they wrap around your exhausted, terrified form.

You cringe as the tendrils take over every part of you, squeezing as if they’re threatening to break your bones if you so much as breathe out of turn. Tears well in your eyes as you remember the fear you used to feel rushing back and overloading your senses.

“You’re absolutely pathetic,” he spits as the tendril wrapped around your neck begins to constrict. You notice his body language bristle as he looks at you longer. “I could pop your eyeballs out of your sockets. I could tear you limb for limb,” the Slender Man continues like it’s nothing.

You feel nothing but malice radiate off his form. It’s heat that singes your very soul. “S-Sir,” you gasp out. “Why would you b-bring me here just to k-kill me?” You attempt to reason, eyes watering and vision going fuzzy. You weakly attempt to use your fingers as a barrier between the constrictor and you. You can’t take this low oxygen any longer - not with him physically inhibiting you.

A cold chuckle reverbates in your head while the vision of wolf’s teeth smile at you, as if they’re ready to snap. “You always were smart,” he notes, loosening his grip ever so slightly. “I could rip your head from your shoulders and it would make none of the difference.”

“Answer my observation,” you weakly cough out before he holds you tighter. You struggle to move your limbs. Your blood feels hot.

“Masky,” he suddenly calls out, hand gesturing to his office doors.

You’re barely able to move your head and settle on shifting your eyes instead to those large, oak doors as they open just a crack.In slips a man in a tan coat. He’s got dark hair, bags under his eyes, and he looks exhausted - more exhausted than you feel. He doesn’t look at you but instead focuses on the Slender Man.

“Sir,” he greets, bowing his head slightly in reverence.

The Slender Man hums, clearly pleased. You see the wolf’s jaws smile in your mind’s eye.

“Reader, you will be under his care now,” the Slender Man says. “If you successfully spend half a year at his side, I will reconsider tearing you apart.” He says it so nonchalantly that you feel chills run up and down your spine.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“Do you oppose me?” The Slender Man asks. “I am being more than generous, aren’t I?”

“Don’t take this offer for granted,” you hear Masky quietly add. Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, you can hear Masky telling you not to push him too far.

Hesitantly, you nod, voice too weak to say anything physically.

The Slender Man’s tendrils suddenly retract from you, sending you roughly to the carpeted floor.

You yelp as you come into contact with the carpet and slowly gather yourself as you try to push down the aches and pains that bloom on your joints and shins that hit the ground particularly hard. You cough a bit as air returns to your lungs and struggle to stand.

“Do what you must,” the Slender Man waves off, turning his back to both you and Masky.

Masky finally breaks from his stance and moves quickly to your side to help you up.

At first, you try to smack his hand away, but upon realizing you’re too weak to even see straight, accept his hand and his arm when you’re standing upright. He smells of cigarettes and some out of date cologne. It’s not bad.

The two of you hobble out of the Slender Man’s office with Masky’s eyes never leaving your form. After all, you are his responsibility now. He continues to lead you through a mansion you’ve grown to despise and out into the warm summer morning. The Slender Man could never imitate the beauty of earth to its entirety, that much was apparent.

“Where are we going?” You ask in a rough voice, attempting in vain to clear it by coughing.

“Stop that,” Masky sighs as the two of you cross the lawn. “To the parking lot, getting in the car, then driving across the border to Mississippi. We’ve got a temp there,” he murmurs. “You good?” He’s mentally wondering why your healing hasn’t damage controlled this yet. Probably the boss still being mad at you is the best reason he can come up with.

“Do I look like I’m good?” You dryly respond, eyes squinting slightly as the fog begins to kick up. You know you’re reaching the end of his reach. Once the fog clears up almost as quickly as it appeared, you realize the Slender Man’s practically kicked you both out of his realm. The walk was always longer when you truly were his. He must be severely pissed off at you. In a way, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you from the get go.

It’s best not to dwell on that thought though.

The rest of the walk is quiet and you’re in the car before you can count to 100 (your numbers are very jumbled though). You slide into the passenger seat and feel a little better at being able to rest.

Masky slides into the driver’s seat and sighs as he grips the wheel. “You have any questions, you ask them now in the car. I’m not putting up with your bullshit when we get to the temp.”

You roll your eyes and look out the window. “Who are you?”

“Masky, you heard him,” he’s pulling out of the parking lot and mentally thanking the gods he wasn’t killed alongside you. When the boss is in such a questionable mood, there’s no telling what’ll happen.

“You know damn well what I meant,” you cough slightly.

Masky scoffs before reaching into the backseat for a moment. His fingertips brush a water bottle, and upon realizing that’s what it is, grasps it and then tosses it to you.

You nod and take a sip, mentally frowning that the water’s been heated in the morning summer sun.

“I’m a group leader. Probably haven’t heard of us though, we’re not terribly monumental,” he begins as he flicks the turn signal on. “You’ve got three other people to watch out for. Hoodie, he’s the right hand, Toby, he’s essentially our middle child, and Kate. You’re replacing her and the hazing process will start up,” he finishes, now matching pace with the other cars that sparsely decorate the expressway.

You pout slightly and press your lips into a thin line as you gaze out the window at the rolling scenery. You’ve been here before. You’ve brought people back here this exact way before. They’re all unwanted memories. In response, your body language becomes unreadable.

This does not go unnoticed by Masky. “Yeah the attitude isn't gonna work,” he says as he glances over at you. “C’mon, you’ve been through this process before. We all have - what gives?”

With a sigh, you flick your eyes over to him to gauge his mood. He seems genuinely curious. “You do know that I ran away for a reason, right?”

Masky nods. “Sure, it was stupid though.” He takes a hand off the wheel for a moment to open his window. “What did you think would happen?” Sounds like he’s trying to pick at your brain.

“Anything but this,” you gesture angrily to your current situation. “I hoped to never see him again,” you groan, clearly frustrated. You chug some more water.

Masky breathes out slightly, as if he’s judging your answers. “Whatever. Forget about pulling something like that again because I’ll personally come after you if it comes to that,” he claims in a tone that’s far too serious.

You roll your eyes slightly, “sure, like you’ll-”

His eyes shift on the expressway, and after ensuring there’s no one that’ll cause a pile up on behalf of him, he hits the brakes, sending you lurching forward into the dashboard.

“What the hell?” You cry out in an exasperated tone, struggling to peel yourself up from the dashboard. You cry out in shock again as you feel his hand at the back of your head, successfully grinding your skull into the heated polyvinyl chloride.

“Get that thought of your fucking head,” he hisses, raising your head slightly before smacking it back down.

You growl back and relent. Once the pressure from his arm is gone, you shove him off of you. The car picks up pace again and you notice him wave to a person who passes by - they have a mildly concerned expression - and he smiles like he didn’t just slam your skull into PVC.

Welcome back to the proxy life.

You make it to Mississippi by mid afternoon. Masky brings the car down some dirt path where a house lays right on the Mississippi river, and you can smell traces of blood. They must’ve cleared the previous residents out.

There, on the porch in a muscle tee holding a can of coke is a man with his left cheek missing. He twitches slightly as he waves at you and Masky.

“T-This her?”

Masky nods.

“Can’t b-believe she g-g-gave Wallace’s g-g-group the s-slip,” he says in a slightly amused, slightly annoyed tone.

“Word travels that fast?” Masky replies with a slight chuckle.

The proxy before you nods with a small smile, “c’mon. I wanna g-g-get out of this h-heat. It’s a-a-awful out here,” he says with a playful grimace as he slowly rises from the front step where he had been sitting.

“Is Kate happy?” Masky asks as he watches Toby head in, then nods for you to go.

With a small frown, you do so. At least it’s air conditioned.

“Over the moon,” a feminine voice cuts in from the kitchen. She’s stirring a thing of lemonade.

Masky smiles slightly and takes a seat at the table. “We weren’t that bad,” Masky notes as Kate slides a glass of lemonade to the group leader.

She raises a brow at Toby who glances down to his open pop can. “So, this is the one he wanted alive for this term?” She questions as she glances at you, silently asking if you’d like some.

You mouth a ‘please’ before getting comfortable at the table.

“Weirdly, yeah,” Masky replies before taking a languid sip. “Thought he was gonna go for someone with more street cred, but, whatever. She’s our problem now,” he shrugs.

You look down into the pastel yellow liquid and furrow your eyebrows in annoyance. All of this, it was wrong. You hadn’t had to play by proxy rules in a year, and here you were, bottom of the rung, the runt. You hadn’t been a runt in gods know how long.

Conversation begins to flow between the three people around you as glasses of lemonade are poured. You sit in silence, listening because you know it’s not your place to speak. As far as proxy culture goes, you don’t really have any rights. Well, you’re in a better place than independents, but according to other proxies, you’re a glorified errand boy. They say to jump and you’re supposed to ask ‘how high?’ Your group’s word becomes gospel.

Apparently, Kate was this group’s runt before you came in. But, runts only stay runts for a certain amount of time. It’s possible for groups to not have runts - and that’s essentially what this group was doing. Kate had outgrown her runt status and was well considered the youngest (in experience) member of their group but had the same social standing as Toby. While it was a joke to refer to her as a runt, they hadn’t had one for a while.

That’s where you come in. You’re the first member to be considered a runt in quite some time. And you can tell they’ve been itching to take it out on someone.

“Where’s Hoodie?” Masky asks as his fingertips trace the lip of his glass. “Should be thrilled to see we’ve got another one.”

“Only t-thing holding h-him back from h-hurting you is the f-f-f-fact the O-Operator asked f-f-for us to t-take her,” Toby giggles slightly as he crushes another pop can. “He’s h-h-handling something, Should be c-c-coming back now, though.”

“Speak of the devil and the devil will appear,” you hear another man’s voice chuckle as the front door swings gently open.

Standing in the doorway holding a crowbar and wearing a white t-shirt is Hoodie - sans hoodie. It’s much too hot to be wearing one anyways. He haphazardly tosses the crowbar to the floor before closing the front door behind him, then begins walking towards the kitchen.

“This is her?” He asks as he takes a seat next to Masky, silently thanking Kate for the lemonade.

“Disappointing, right?” Kate lightly jokes, making Hoodie smile.

“In this form, sure,” Hoodie observes as his hazel eyes rake over your form. “She looks weak, scrawny, low endurance, probably forgot all her skills, what, with her being missing for a year?” He says it like it’s a game but looks at you like he despises you. “Not training her. Not my problem, and especially not in this heat.”

“She’s part of our group,” Masky replies in a slightly exasperated tone.

“No-Nose goes,” Toby suddenly blurts out.

Everyone presses their index to their nose except for Masky, who sighs dejectedly.

“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles. “Let’s go, Reader. You’ve been awfully quiet.” The brown haired man says in a less than pleased tone, picking his glass up and momentarily pausing to place it in the sink.

You quietly follow in suit, nodding to your other comrades before following him out.

The nice thing about waiting for Hoodie to stir things up was that it was the late afternoon. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, and a breeze was beginning to shift through the air. It wasn’t near as hot due the sun no longer beating down on you. Besides, it was nice to get out of the house for a bit.

Masky and his group must have been staying here for a while, because he walked into the woods on this deer path like it was nothing and led you to a clearing. There were a few training things, but nothing of any substance - just a temporary fix until they were somewhere more permanent. Proxies are nomadic, after all.

“You still have a knife on you?”

“I would’ve stabbed you with it.”

He shoots you a look as if to tell you to watch your mouth and you holds your hands up.

“I’m joking,” you defend. “When I meant I wanted to never look back, I truly, deep down to my bones, meant it.”

Masky’s hand goes to his belt loop where he takes out a knife. It’s… severely dulled. Looks like he doesn’t trust you just yet.

“See that dummy? Show me what you remember and I’ll decide if we’re out here until midnight or not.”

The dummy in question looks gods awful. It’s missing an arm, the stuffing is all over the grass, and the poor thing looks like it can’t support its own weight anymore. You wonder which one of your comrades got it to this state of if this was a group effort.

You narrow your eyes and get a hold of the blade in your grasp. It’s much nicer than a kitchen knife - reminds you of what you used to use when you were but a shadow in the night. You glance at him, then the dummy, and decide to get to work.

There’s no use in running. The Slender Man will hunt you down regardless, and he won’t be as merciful the second time around.

“Stop stalling,” Masky chides.

You take in a breath, and do as told.

To say six months passed with ease would be a lie. It’s been six months of hell - and that’s mostly because you’re a runt paired with the fact you never wanted to be back here to begin with.

It’s been strange, you’ll give it that. The proxy in you took over faster than the human side of you could and you integrated back into proxy culture and society far easier than anyone expected. Of course, there were some moments where your group members would ruffle your feathers and put you in your place, but that was expected. To be a proxy is to be put under fire until you prove yourself otherwise.

You’ve gone on operations with them. Took lives again. Stole things again. You settled back into the life you originally left behind as if you’d never departed to begin with. That’s how deep the proxy mindset and muscle memory is embedded into those it takes hold of. It sets itself out to be the only thing you’ll ever know. You live by it, you die by it.

So, where have you been for the past six months? Well, still in Mississippi. About two weeks after you first arrived with your new group, you and the group moved down south near the ocean and have been staying there the entire time. Luckily, this place was considered a temp house for the people who owned it - they liked spending time in Europe - which left this place as yours. Besides, the Slender Man likes having you close. He was able to periodically check in on you with you being a few hours away as opposed to days. Why he was so interested in you, you’ll never know.

According to both him, and Masky, you’d been making good progress. By the end of your six months (lovingly referred to as a “trial run” by your group), you were half way back to what you used to be. It was disheartening to only hear “half” but it was better than nothing. A part of you wonders why you’re so inclined to get better when you should be focusing on leaving.

It’s not like you didn’t try.

You tried so many times that your group started a tally board and whoever found you first got a mark under their name. Whoever hit five before the board was reset got the next operation (or operation of their choosing) off. For the first few weeks when you were but a stranger with them, the punishments were harsh and unforgiving, like they hate you to your core. But, as the months went on, they went from fists to phrases. Eventually, you stopped trying to run so they no longer had to beat you. Every time you got that far off look in your eye, someone would reprimand you. It’s probably because they cared about you.

That’s common for proxies, bonding with your teammates on a level outsiders can’t understand. It’s mostly to keep you safe while out in the field. And unfortunately for you, you’ve been feeling that way towards your group. You’ve covered for each one at least once, and that gesture doesn’t go unnoticed. You’re in a strange place, if you’re being honest.

Take for instance now, back in the passenger seat of a car and heading back to Rosswood with Masky (he told you his real name is Tim) to talk with the Slender Man face to face. While the others in your group have been keeping up with him regularly, you haven’t seen him in person since well, six months ago. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have butterflies in your stomach as you draw closer to the woods you once considered home.

“You nervous?” Masky hums as he turns the radio down.

“Yeah,” you reply, gazing out at the rolling fields again. “What if he-”

“It’d be stupid of him,” Masky cuts you off. “Six months of putting all this time and effort only to off you? Just… Just don’t say anything stupid,” he reminds you, a slight teasing tone lingering on his words. He looks at you with gentle eyes.

You scoff playfully. “Eyes on the road, weirdo.”

Standing in the Slender Man’s office this time as a welcome guest is weird. There’s still the scent of jasmine and incense, but there’s also something sweeter - like a memory he’s trying to provoke specifically for you. It’s warm, but not uncomfortably so, and it doesn’t feel near as suffocating as did that first time.

“You’ve certainly changed,” a deep voice says with an audible smile as it reverberates through your head.

“Sir,” you bow your head slightly.

“I’m going to make this short,” the Slender Man begins. “Miss Reader, I am satisfied with your progress these past six months.”

“Thank you, Sir,” both you and Masky reply.

The tall man hums. “However, you have only reached half of what you used to be. I believe the longer you stay in this group, the better you will become.”

You take in a sharp breath.

“Does that bother you?” The Slender Man doesn’t sound mad.

“I…”

Masky mentally clicks his tongue at you, and you glance over through the corner of your eye.

You decide to respond carefully. “I know normalcy… Sir, I don’t know if this life was ever meant for me, but,” you take in a deep breath and ball your fists to ground yourself. “If this is what you want of me, I will do it.”

The Slender Man chuckles. “Timothy, you’ve done an excellent job with this one. Perhaps I should have placed Pariah with you,” he emptily thinks aloud with another slight laugh. “I regret to inform you Miss Reader, that normalcy was never an option. You will go back with your team and you will continue to better yourself until I say otherwise.” He makes no move to stand from his desk, but his hands reach out.

Taking that as a nonverbal cue, you and Masky stand and each take a large hand.

The Slender Man’s fingers close around your much smaller hands before his hand leaves your grasp entirely. Instead of striking you, he gently cups your cheek. “Now go. I look forward to seeing you in six months.” The warmth is gone from his tone but lingers like doused coals in a still simmering fireplace.

“Thank you for your time,” Masky bows slightly, nodding for you to follow.

Without any other words, you nod to your boss and follow Masky out. The two of you trade silent conversation as you exit the mansion and back to the car. You slip in just like you did six months ago, and so too does Masky. The car comes to life, and you begin to peel out of the parking lot, back to Mississippi.

“How are you feeling?” Masky asks as he pulls down the sun visor after squinting at the beams of light.

“Not as bad as I thought,” you say in slight surprise. “Maybe it just hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Or,” Masky begins. “You were always meant for this.”

You laugh in response and smack his shoulder lighter. “You know you’re not slick, right?” You tease as you stick your tongue out.

Masky chuckles deeply and gets back on the expressway. “I try when I can.”

“Oh really?” You pretend to be shocked. “Where was that smooth talking when I first met you?”

“Out the window because I just met you,” he retorts, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You are literally the worst,” you teasingly scoff.

“Right back at you,” Masky breathily laughs. His dark eyes stay focused on the road as

you get comfortable in the passenger seat.

“Really though,” you say as you stretch slightly. “Thanks for not killing me.” You look at him with such gentle eyes that he can’t help but smile just as genuinely in response.

Masky won’t lie, he was admittedly worried for you in the beginning. What with you running away all the time, speaking ill of literally everyone, almost getting everyone caught by the cops… You were colorful, for lack of better words. It’s been nice cultivating that into something better. Maybe you’d make something of yourself out of this garbage fire of a hiccup.

“It’s nothing,” he shrugs. “It’s my responsibility to watch out for you anyways,” he says as before honking at someone who almost swerved into your lane. “Besides, you’re not all too bad, and as long as it’s me making sure you don’t set shit on fire… Think we’ll be just fine.” He looks over at you and smiles warmly - it feels like the sun - before he turns back to the road.

You hum contentedly as your hand reaches for the radio. You turn up the music and let it play, a serene, comfortable silence falling between the two of you.

[nykrose]

Obligatory Spirit Familiar Infodump

Nyk is perfectly capable of being someone’s familiar and that has a lot of potential for plots and interesting relationship dynamics, but what does it mean?

Firstly, what is a spirit familiar? A familiar is a non-human, non-animal entity (often termed a liminal entity or spirit,) that makes a pact with practitioner of magic to provide magical aid in return for...whatever the spirit finds to be of worth.

What it is not is a magical pet. It is not a slave. It is powerful and sapient. Any spirit bound against their will won’t be so for long, and whoever came up with that genius idea will have a drastically reduced life expectancy. Some familiars are passed down through generations, some only work alongside mortals for short periods of time. It depends on the terms of the pact and whether both parties find the relationship to be mutually beneficial. Familiars can, and often do, leave when it suits them. Many of these relationships, historically, are both casual and intimate, but they originate in a business contract. A familiar is a partner, first and foremost.

So, what can a familiar do? Why would anyone want one? A familiar can act as the following:

A source of magical power

An advisor, for they are ancient, terrible, and probably know better than you

A guide

A teacher of both magic and natural sciences

A protector

An agent or proxy that works on the other’s behalf to do what they cannot, or will not

A companion...the intricacies of which shall be left to the imagination

What might a spirit want in return? Any number of things, but the most common are as follows:

A foothold in the mortal plane, for those who do not exist there on their own (this excludes Nyk)

Blood sacrifices, because why the hell not

FOOD

Like any relationship, they require regular upkeep and most arrangements are not a one time deal. A familiar who demands to be fed, for example, isn’t going to settle for one meal only to starve for years on end after. While some pacts can certainly involve a singular act or trade on the practitioner’s part, spirits are smart enough to know that most won’t even out in the end and thus, they are rare.

How does one acquire a familiar?

A familiar can be gained in myriad ways. As described they can be passed down from one person to another, if the spirit agrees. Sometimes they are offered up by another, more powerful spirit who has dominion over them, but of these arrangements one should be wary, as what benefit the greater spirit receives from this is an unknown. A spirit can be summoned and petitioned, to which they may or may not agree. They can simply appear and offer their service at random or in a moment of need.

How does this pertain to Nyk?

Nyk is super flexible, we can really mix and match his role, the nature of the pact and of the relationship. Most anything goes! There are, however, a few things to note.

Nyk is fiercely independent and may not be looking for a long term arrangement...at least, not initially.

He prefers to do things himself and would be fairly low maintenance so far as familiars go. The good news is that he’s an easy keeper and sits squarely in the “appeased by food” category.

The bad news is that getting him to see the appeal to such an arrangement is tricky, as he doesn’t want for much. This part requires a bit of plotting!

Most familiars appear in approximately human shapes, so expect the same from Nyk. He will take the shape of whatever is convenient.

All of his normal abilities apply! They are, after all, what would make him desirable as a familiar. It sure as hell ain’t his personality.

Nyk can either be physically present alongside your muse at all times, appear only when summoned, or a mixture of both. It’s whatever fits the plot.

Nyk does, ultimately, act in his own interests and will not betray them.

Possible plots and starting points could include the following:

Your muse wants the aid of a powerful spirit, but Nyk isn’t having it. They try to outwit him with a challenge, claiming that he isn’t strong enough to complete the task. Does he fall prey to his own ego? Which of them has bitten off more than they can chew, here?

Your muse bests a witch or otherwise wins Nyk in some sort of contest. Nyk isn’t happy about it and, in short notice, neither is your muse.

Nyk has been trapped/enslaved and agrees to become your muse’s familiar in exchange for freedom.

Your muse suffers terrible dreams and visions, and needs the protection of a spirit familiar to sleep soundly. Or, alternatively, they seek to navigate and interpret these visions.

Having a familiar is basically step one in being any decent sort of witch or sorcerer so there’s that for motivation. 

Can be a pre-established relationship!

Familiar plots are available for all but Nyk’s Shrek verse.