#by god does this man sleep?? the answer is barely. just enough to stay alive

[mamahoggs]

i have some proper shenanigans to post tomorrow (today?? hello it is 3AM) but after that i Think i will go back to oc posting for awhile.... just to break it up you know

[black-dhalias]

hi ! i'd like to request a carlisle cullen imagine with an f!reader with she/her pronouns :) basically reader is carlisle's mate but he's already married to esme and it gets really complicated. preferably a happy ending but it really just depends on you! ! thank u and stay safe <33

Written in Stone

Carlisle Cullen X F!Reader

Warnings: none, fluffier than usual Note: Y/N/N (your nickname)

God forbid you knew where you were going, you think harshly to yourself—but not before glaring at Alistair who just follows his whims. Those urges to run, and others to stay put, but never what you’re currently doing. He simply shrugs his shoulder, which only infuriated you more—500 years with him as your best friend, and you still hated every second of it. The truth is, he’s always right and those whims have kept you alive all this time.

For him, you were simply his great great great niece, or something, who was descended from his only living nephew. Oddly enough, you were turned by the same vampire who turned him—and so began the painful journey together as the only friend and family the other has. Alistair understood your apprehension to run again, to find another desolate town to blend into, but it’s been too long.

So here you are, running to gods no where without a single clue where he’s taking you besides the grumbles under his breath. Barely making out— “last move.” You roll your eyes, practically jogging out in front of him.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, uncle.” Although a hundred years apart, he still sees a lot of his sisters in you—passed down through his nephew. The truth is, he’d do anything to protect you.

It’s a mountain town, where everyone wears thick jackets with thicker accents. The truth is, you barely understood a word the woman behind the counter said as she commented on your accent. Which is ridiculous. You may be in the States, but it’s not like the English are unique—in fact, you find yourself quite understandable.

So here you are, another grubby town in the middle of bloody nowhere—tossing an unnecessarily thick jacket to Alistair, across another grubby motel room. “You’re worse than me, although you knew that.” You raise a brow, eyes flickering between him and the obviously not natural staining on the bed.

“I’m not touching it.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you don’t sleep.” He throws the newly acquired cell phone in your direction. You’ve caught it before you’ve even realized it’s been thrown and smile at him, before taking a seat on the chair designated the cleanest in the room. “There. Now leave me alone for a bit.” With that, he walks out of the room to do who knows what. Not that you care.

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However, what started as you playing on the phone for hours—ended with you killing it three times over before setting it aside. Boredom finally getting the best as day turned into night, the curtains no longer casting shadows, but simply existing in the room.

But night does not bring peace, instead—halfway through your shower, a knock echoed through the motel room. With a groan, you tie the towel as tight as you can manage and move across the room in a blink. “For only having a hundred years on me, your memories getting spotty old man.”

Only when you open the door, it is not Alistair, but two vampires—strangers. Your body goes rigid, your back straight as you tighten your leg muscles, reading their body language. The woman is smiling, her eyes big and face heart shaped. She’s soft. While the man is tall with blonde hair, and those same gold eyes—only they look nicer on him.

Your eyes flicker between their faces, they’re smiling awkwardly as if you weren’t the person they expected to answer the door. And if they were human, their cheeks would be a vibrant red as they try to not look at your toweled form.

“You must be Y/N.” Arms crossed over your chest, tightening around the towel—you raise a brow, leaning on the door, prepared to shut it.

“Nope. So you must going.” As you go to shut the door, the woman’s hand outstretches and lands on the door. You move faster than her, your hand catching her wrist and you instantly twist it to turn her into your chest—your other arm braced against her neck with just enough pressure to scare her a bit.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Based on our current situation, I’d say I’m older than at least three centuries.” Your voice drops as you keep your eyes locked on the man, reading him as he has gone rigid. Now watching you more closely. “That makes me stronger.” Her hands clasp down on your arm, but you do not move or yield. His gaze is not as soft as it was, but there’s conflict as his thoughts sort themselves out.

“Y/N-” Your eyes snap to Alistair as he saunters up, smirking as he wipes away the smallest amount of blood from his lip. “These are friends.” He places a hand on Carlisle’s shoulder, before chuckling again and shuffling past you altogether. Once past, you drop your arm and shove her towards the male vampire. “Pardon my niece, she’s more—” He lingers on the thought, speaking with this hands. “More confrontational than I am.���

You roll your eyes, crossing into the bathroom quickly to change and then rushing back at to sit at the seat. Kicking your feet up on the half table, that shouldn’t even be called a table at all. More like a small square of wood. “I was fairly nice. They’re the ones who didn’t want to leave me alone.”

“Must get that from you, old friend.” The man points out with a smile as he shuts the motel room door. “Although I didn’t expect to find you in the states.”

“Up until last week, neither did I.” You assert, glaring at Alistair for moving you from Europe to this hell hole.

“You don't have a say, Y/N/N." You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to the pair, raising an eyebrow. Something has changed in their dynamic, he's created some distance between them, and everytime the female steps closer—he maintains that distance.

You hum, "So care to introduce yourself?" The woman goes to speak, but your glare shuts her up quick and your lip twitches. Having a great time messing with them. "I wasn't asking you. I was asking the pretty one." However, your comment must have set something right in his brain, because he steps up to place a hand on her waist which is laughable. So protective.

"This is my wife, Esme. And I'm Carlisle." Your expression brightens as you sit back up, resting your feet on the ground and cupping your cheeks in your palms.

"So you're the famous Carlisle Cullen, I heard nasty rumor the Volturi was after-" Alistair cuts in, and you shut your mouth quick.

"Why're you like this?" He asks roughly, that's the thing about you and him. His gift is based on whims, a powerful tracker who knew danger so well—that he could avoid it entirely. Your gift is based on rumors, whispers that reach your ears—things you just know.

"Because its fun, and it's not like they don't know." The minute the words left your lips, you saw the guilty expression on Carlisle's face. The woman not so much, but she's not the one that has caught your interest—she's typical housewife, with dark hair and probably had brown eyes as a human. She was soft spoken and motherly, and she matches him, but he just doesn't seem to fit at her side. Not the way you would expect of mates.

Alistair goes to say something, but Carlisle interrupts him: "She's right. We're facing accusations from the Volturi, that are false." Your eyes widen as a whisper reaches your ear—one you did not expect to hear.

"Half-human, half-vampire." You laugh, sitting up with bright eyes—your interest piqued. "Oh I love a good twist."

"No." You hush Alistair and his denials, knowing he felt the danger creep up on you both, the minute you decided you wanted to help.

"Oh yes, I'd love to stick it to the Volturi."

Talking with the duo for the rest of the night, you find yourself intrigued by their family and their trifles. The intricacies of their life, and their die—none of it made sense, and yet they lived so happily. However, night turns to day and you find yourself sitting across from Alistair, in a battle of wits. Trying to convince him to go, or let you go for yourself. He breaks eye contact for a second at the sound of housekeeping going into the room next door, and you smile.

"C'mon, it's not like it won't be fun?" Alistair raises an eyebrow as if to ask if you really think that's a convincing argument. "Fine, how about this?" You lean forward, folding your arms on the tabletop. "I'm tired of running... What if we finally can stop hauling ass and just live a little?"

"And what if the Volturi wins? Then what?" You've met them once before, when they tried to forcefully make you join them. They almost had you, but your ability made a loophole in their little plan. You knew what they were up to from the start, and it gave you just enough time to disappear with your Uncle. "Aro's already made it clear, you're valuable and what're the odds we get away a second time?"

"Slim-" He makes sense, and that's what infuriates you further as you sigh. "But we need to take the risk. I want to take the risk." You and Alistair fall back into your staring contest, waiting for the other to give in, but he finally submits. Glaring at Carlisle from across the motel.

"We'll all be on Aro's list..." Alistair stands up and moves towards the door, looking back at you only briefly then back at Carlisle. "Some friend Carlisle."

However, when you look back at Carlisle and Esme—you are perplexed by a single thought. While Esme is looking at him, he is looking at you, as if trying to will you hear him. To understand what he wants to say, without him ever actually saying it.

"He'll get over it, sooner or later." Admittedly, Carlisle is intrigued by you and the guilt over those thoughts burn a little when he feels Esme's eyes on him. He glances down and then back at you, as you speak. "We'll leave right after I get a drink." And while Carlisle may hate your lifestyle, he thought someone would make him think he still had a heartbeat until he looked into those vibrant rubies.

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The trip to Washington was silent, you hate long journey's like this, but enjoy the sights that come. The mountain ridges, and the long plains and lakeside views enough to remind you of what it means to live. Maybe that is the fantasy you sell yourself time to time, that it might be possible to feel human even now.

Standing at the edge of the lake, you fall in love with the way the sunsets over the ridge—with it just being bright enough to shimmer off the top of the water. Your smile is soft, so much so that Carlisle almost doesn't recognize you without the playful smirk you often wore. Your sense of humor and playful nature, a protective armor that both confuses and intrigues him. So much so, that despite his guilty conscience, he finds himself standing next to you in silence.

"Ya know, most of the time when we're on the run—the loneliness is the worst part. Not the running. Or the new place, but it gets lonely." You do not remove your eyes from the lake, just trying to memorize the outline so that maybe you'll remember it later when the loneliness begins again.

"That does sound lonely." You chuckle, but its the kind that gets caught in your throat and makes you sound sadder than you are. "It's the worst. And believe me, I love my uncle, but I always imagined the running would stop after a while. So here I am, five centuries later, and still trying to out run..." You finally gather enough courage to look him the eye, "I just want to live a little. My human life, its gone, it's been gone, but I wish I just a piece. A home. A lover. Friends. I'm not picky, but just something would be better than this."

Carlisle's features are softer than you initially thought, not as sharp, but still pronounced. His eyes glitter the color of amber stones, you had a pair of earrings with stones the color of his eyes. "I know what you mean. I travelled a lot before I found my family, and it took a while for it to all be worthwhile."

"How long?" Your voice has an edge as you try to imagine a world beyond this. "Because according to my uncle, he met you in the 17th century—I was turned in the 14th century, that's three centuries longer than you." Your voice is aggressive, but as soon as you feel his hand rest on your bicep, rubbing a small circle with his thumb—you go completely still.

Although you can't recall the last bit of affection you received, you always thought you would hate, but instead you find comfort in the gesture. So much so that your body softens, and you stop glaring at him for a few seconds.

"See..." He smiles softly, and for a second, you don't think about anything else. "Not so scary, Y/N/N." When he realizes his hand has drifted down to hold your hand, almost unconsciously, he drops it suddenly and smiles awkwardly. "But you're right. I don't know the extent, and I know you don't want to leave your Uncle, but it might be time."

You tuck your hands into the jacket pocket, and fidget with the bit of string that is tearing away from the pocket seam. "Actually, you're mistaken." When he drops your hand, you feel your soul tighten around your heart protectively. "I would sooner die, than part with my Uncle. And it's Y/N to you. Only Alistair calls me Y/N/N." You turn on your heel and walk back up to your Uncle, your mind reeling as you try to push away the thoughts of Carlisle Cullen and his inherent need to understand you. Its sick really, he has a whole wife and he's over there holding your hand and worried about you feeling lonely.

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A whisper reaches your ear just as the Cullen's home comes into view, and your eyes widen as you realize the extent of the danger you are in. The Volturi are collecting witnesses of their own, many thought your gift was conditional, rumors, but that's just how you described them. Usually they were pretty accurate, and right now, you almost wish you had listened to Alistair's warnings.

You hardly even remember a time when you ever were in a car, they were pretty useless to vampires especially when the goal was to hide—not blend in as the Cullens seem to. Ever since your "talk" with Carlisle, the silence had become deafening and even more than that, Alistair had not stopped glaring at Carlisle.

"How many came?" You spot the pair of vampires, with the same gold eyes, as you get out of the driver's side rear—the home itself is beautiful, but you feel the presence of many vampires. More than you've ever been around at once.

"Eighteen." The new man responds, although his eyes are locked on you. Mind Reader, your gift shouts, actually it hasn't shut up since you got out of the car. He finally looks at Carlisle. "You have some good friends Carlisle."

"And Alice?" The psychic, it's never been this active before and the whispers are shorter than usual. More like thoughts, they could be, if you didn't know that you knew nothing about them. So it had to be your gift in action.

The unknown female shakes her head, and Esme embraces her tightly—hmm, must be family. Shield, interesting.Hmmm, so many gifts in one place, so many varied abilities. The male is back to looking at you with perplexion as Alistair asserts that he's going to the attic. Edward, now that was a first. It never really cared to tell you names, but hey, who are you to complain.

"Amazing." He mumbles, walking up to you as he pulls the female along. "Her gift, it's almost prophetic. I've never seen anything like it." You smile, oddly enough—unlike your Uncle, you're excited to meet all the new vampires. Curious to see what it's like to live in close proximity to each other. "Wait until I start hearing rumors from halfway around the world. I'm Y/N." You introduce, shaking hands with both of them. Their eyes follow your Uncle as he takes off, per usual. "Like I told them, don't mind him. He's just moody." You hear him scoff in the attic, and laugh a little with Bella.

"How does it work exactly?" Bella asks, as you take her outstretched arm to follow her inside the house. If you're honest, similar to Carlisle and Esme, you knew you could trust her.

"It's like a voice that spurts out information, like I know you're a shield. Although I don't know the extent. Or how I knew Edward's name, although that's never happened before either." You think about, tutting a little—"Actually. Now that I think about it, I don't really understand it much at all."

"Weird." You eye her for a second, and then at Edward before realization hits you.

"You're the human that carried the child? Except you're obviously not human anymore." You separate yourself, looking at the group of four. It makes sense, Carlisle turned Edward who fell in love with a human. They consider themselves to be family. "Can I meet her?"

There is hesitance as she calls out for Rosalie, who comes in with a six year old in tow—if you didn't hear her heartbeat, you would think it was an immortal child. Once she reaches the spot right in front of you, there's a second when you consider running away from the strange girl. But curiosity wins out as you kneel down.

"Hi. I'm Y/N." She doesn't say a word, but instead reaches out to place her palm against your cheek. It's different, you see the world through her eyes as she tells you her story—all with a touch. Your eyes widen as your hand folds over her's. "Remarkable." You murmur, before she pulls her hand away and you are left in stunned silence. A half-human miracle that you didn't even know was possible.

You do not look for anyone other than Carlisle, you are less angry with him than you were when you first arrived at the home. "I'll stay. Whether it ends in a fight, or not. For you, and the child." You stand, and walk off towards the rest of the vampires—some more familiar, actually quite a few are familiar. However, your mind keeps going back to Carlisle's expression—the way he seemed hesitant to do anything other than nod appreciatively.

Edward approaches his father figure once the other's have walked away and raises his eyebrow, "What was that about?" Carlisle is unable to stop watching you, as you walk up to the nomads with that stunning smile.

"I have no idea." It is like the entire world just stopped moving the moment he was in the same room as you, he just could not stop wondering. He was absolutely enamored every time you spoke, and if he was dependent on breath—you would have stolen it with every glance.

"Carlisle..." His eyes are understanding, he knows what it's like to meet his mate. However, Edward doesn't understand what this means for Carlisle because he's married to Esme and Edward knows Carlisle loves her, but mates mean something. That kind of bond is powerful and unforgiving if ignored. "Figure this out before you hurt someone."

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"Y/N..." You stiffen as you realize that you are no longer alone, standing at the edge of the property line, just before the trees. "What're you doing out here?" However, when you look at him, he sees how dark your eyes have become—you hadn't fed in some time, "oh."

"Bella's dad is here..." He understands quickly, nodding as he folds his hands together. "I hate hunting alone, and Alistair—he's him." He just is able to go longer periods without hunting, but he also just hates it here so he's still pouting in the attic. The other's had all left on their hunt, and when Benjamin asked if you'd be joining them, you just didn't have an answer.

You laugh a little, "Honestly, I never felt guilty about drinking human blood. I never lost control. Nothing." You hesitate. "And now, seeing the alternative. I just feel so absolutely guilty." His eyes widen at the admission, realizing that this is about more than just a whim. "And I hate you for it."

You would be stupid to ignore the way you feel when you're near Carlisle, it is unlike anything you've felt for anyone, and that alone is enough to make you feel guilty. The weight of your fear only bubbling to the surface because he's married, and he's a better person than you've ever been. That is what makes you feel guilty, you wish you made different choice—wish you didn't like the way his smile warms your core. The way you don't feel so alone when he's near, even if he doesn't say a word to you.

"Well I can't take away the guilt, but I could help you try..." He hesitates, watching as your eyes begin to do the thing they do when you're trying to read someone. It is like you see right through him, every motivation on full display. "It's worth a shot, right?"

When he expects you to disagree, he is visibly shocked as you nod—Alistair will hate it, but maybe this is how you start to live. Thinking about having a life is becoming easier, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to not imagine Carlisle in that life. Everytime he speaks, you just melt into an entirely different person.

So when he holds out his hand to you, there is a moment you hesitate, but this time you do not pull away or feel worry. Instead, you take his hand gratefully, and follow his lead into the woods where an idea, might just give you something to hold onto.

Only the falling point of a house of vampires, is the fact that the wife watches from a distance as her husband falls in love with another. And there's nothing she can do to stop the ache. She saw it back in that motel room, Esme should have said something then, but she didn't and now look what's happening.

Carlisle rests his hands on your shoulders, fingers trailing down your arms in a vertical motion, as you shut your eyes. "Focus on your senses other than sight." He pauses, "What you hear..." His breathing, despite not needing to, you are well aware of the fact that he maintains breathing even away from the prying eyes of humans. "What you smell..." He smells of medical grade disinfectant, but under that, you are able to make out the sweet smell of cinnamon and what you can only describe as the woods. "What you feel..." His hands, you are well aware of where his hands are at every given moment—especially as they keep moving up and down your biceps.

You turn around roughly, to the point that you forgot how close he really was— eye to eye, close enough to touch if you just lean... His hands dropping to his sides. "You need to back off because right now, all I can think about is you." You swallow, clenching your hands into a fist—so aware. "And you're married." You add on the last bit as a reminder for yourself. He nods, folding his arms across his abdomen, his own guilt is becoming very familiar.

However, you catch the scent of something—a bear you think, and push yourself off in that direction. This doesn't feel as instinctual as hunting humans, this feels like a conscious choice, but you go through. Dragging the large brown bear to the ground, rolling for a second before coming out on top—pinning the beast down, you hope for the best and drink as you would from a human.

Immediately, you note the difference in taste, but it's manageable and not as bad as you imagined it would be. Standing upright, you push away the bear completely and look back at Carlisle who offers you a smile. "See not so bad."

"That was terrible, but-" He eggs you to continue. "But I think I could do it." He smiles brighter, and although he might not admit it to you—he knows what he feels is real.

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You walk back to the house, talking the entire way and telling stories of things long ago. You tell him about your travels, how your gift works, and times when Alistair did some of the most ridiculous things.

Carlisle laughs at your jokes and makes you feel more alive, piece by piece, you feel yourself pulling together. It's like a jigsaw puzzle, but just as you walk through the treeline—you spot Esme and all the pieces come apart right there. You swallow, feeling her eyes burning into you as she walks towards you—you almost hope that she does something to make it all make sense.

Only she hugs him, and whispers something unintelligible in his ear before gesturing for you to follow her. Perplexed, you look at Carlisle who's eyes have widened considerably. You almost don't trust her smile, but you follow her out into the woods and hope she doesn't come for you. Gods you would hate that.

"I know you feel something for him..." You stare at the ground, as you realize she only spoke once you were out of earshot completely. "I don't blame you."

"Well that's kind, because I didn't mean for it to happen." Your words sputter out before you can even think of a reason not to say them. That's the bitter part about being stuck like this, sometimes your body gets ahead of your mind or vice versa.

Esme takes your hand, you fight the urge to pull away, knowing she is just trying to be kind. But you hate touch, except from him. Which is infuriating.

"I know." She bites the inside of her cheek, you can see the indentation form and you worry she would cry if she could. "So I'm not going to stand in the way. I love Carlisle, more than anything, but if my mate walked through the door and consumed me." She rubs a circle on the outer part of your hand. "And I'd be terrible to prevent him the same. When I know what choice I would make."

You can barely even form a thought, "What does that even mean?" She smiles sadly, and you see for a moment that she's being honest. Trust her, that's what the whispers tell you to do and they've always looked out for you before this.

"It means love him. Be happy with him, and make him happy." She is soft, and you feel yourself becoming antsy as you stand in front of her. You can't read her anymore, because you can't focus at all. "Fight for him. Because I know him well enough to know, he's going to fight for you."

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You do not move from that spot, even when Esme leaves back to the house—you feel more guilty because all you did was make a wife leave her husband, and you don't even understand how you feel about said husband. The silence is deafening as you finally find yourself sitting on the ground, your chest heaving because you want to understand. To know what it means to love Carlisle.

"Y/N/N..." You do not look in his direction, gods you hadn't even thought about Alistair until you heard him speak and that just makes you feel worse. Loving Carlisle, means staying here and leaving Alistair because there's no way he would stay.

"Go away." You've never had anyone to care for you other than Alistair, and never had to worry about disappointing anyone other than him. So you never did, because you could always be there.

"Please, I'd never miss this. The moment the great Y/N, found her humanity." He tuts, sitting roughly on the ground beside you. "I think you'd even be crying." You laugh, but he's right—you really do think you would crying right now. This feels terrible. "Plus I figured you were tied to Carlisle, from the first time he met you." He chuckles. "Surprised it took this long."

"Well aren't you a great Uncle." You lean your head onto your knee, "I wish we'd never come here." He too follows suit and leans his own head onto his knees, forcing you to look him in the eye.

"Because you don't want to leave." You groan and finally lean onto his shoulder, he's right. God's you don't want to go anywhere, other than into that stupid blonde's arms. "So stay. I'll be fine."

"What abou-"

"What about nothing. You've followed me long enough—" He hates the idea of leaving you here, but he knows you'd be well protected. "Time to live a life of your own." He laughs, kissing the top of your head. "Besides, with your new diet. You stink of bear."

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You stand at door frame of Carlisle's office, leaning on the pane as you watch him shuffle papers. "Can we take it slow?" His eyes snap to you, and you realize he'd been so lost in thought, he'd not even realized you were there.

You slowly walk into the office, his eyes following you the entire way in. "Are you sure?" He whispers, closing the distance in an instant—"because I know..."

"You know nothing, sweets." You rest your hand at the base of his neck, before resting his cheek in your palm. "But that's okay. We'll take this one day at a time."

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It took a century, but you had forever together—so what was another hundred years of waiting. All it took was a single moment, where he kissed the inside of your wrist before looking up to you—where amber met amber. And you realized that your love story had been written in stone, and no matter how much time passed—it was forever.

So that's where you started.

With forever.

—

Not even going to lie right now, I looked at this request last night because I was struggling to fall asleep. And ended up writing this at 3:00 AM, driven only by insomnia and my innate love of Carlisle Cullen. So I hope you like it!

[kpop---scenarios]

Cravings || One

Pairing: Vampire! Hongjoong x Reader

Warning: None Yet

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: If you would like to be tagged, let me know!

"Babe, hey babe." Your boyfriend, Chad calls out to you, as you're sitting at the kitchen table, running over over bills again and trying to figure out how the fuck you're going to try to pay everything. You worked damn hard, and barely had anything to show for it. Ever since Chad had moved in a few months ago, without an invitation, you were stressed. Everything had gone up and doubled since he hadn't left, and he also hadn't contributed anything financially towards the household. You paid for rent, utilities, groceries and you even paid when the two of you went out for dinner. Chad worked full time, but where his money was going, you had no fucking idea. He constantly went out with his 'boys' , often coming home obliterated, and just expecting you to have your legs spread open for him when he rolled in, apparently that was your duty as his girlfriend, according to him. As if not contributing and acting like a man child was such a turn on. Not to mention the countless hours he spent on your gaming console, yelling and talking to his friends, leaving you no time to play any games that you like, unless you wanted to wake up a few hours before you had to work to sneak on it. But by the time you got home from work, cleaned up the messes he made throughout the day, made yourself dinner, showered and got into your PJ'S, you were too damn tired to do anything. You knew you had to wake up the next day and do it all over again, so any sleep you got was precious. 

A part of you often wondered why you were in this relationship with him. Maybe you were scared to be alone, maybe you didn't think you could do any better than him, but you stuck with him, because for some reason, you loved the guy. 

"What do you want, Chad?" You sigh, walking into the living room where he's sprawled out on the couch, headset on and his match paused. "I'm trying to figure out bills, you know that thing that keeps us warm, and with light and hot water, that you said you'd help pay and haven't." 

"Yeah, babe, can you go to the corner store and get those Takis, you know the ones I like? The not so spicy ones though babe, cause remember I have acid reflux, and a diet coke." He says, turning back to the screen, laughing at something said through his head phones. 

You could feel the rage building up inside of you, awfully quick, and it was seeping out of you even quicker.

"Are you going to pay for said snacks?" You ask, trying to keep your voice calm. 

"What?" He laughs. "Babe, no, come on. I'm broke. I don't get paid again for two weeks. You know this." 

"You just got paid yesterday." You breathe through gritted teeth. "Where the hell did all your money go?" You ask, your hands balled into fists. 

"You know babe, I had the fantasy football league entry, plus I owed Kyle money for the keg bomber last weekend, and I took the boys out for supper yesterday. Shit adds up." He says, never looking at you, only focusing on the game. 

"And that's my problem, why exactly? Why is it always on me just because you're not financially stable. Grow up, you're 35 for christ sakes!" You yell. You stomp to the kitchen, grabbing your purse and slipping on your shoes before heading back into the living room. 

"Yeah, she's got her shoes and purse." He laughs. "She's definitely going to get my stuff." 

"You know what Chad? I'm definitely not going to get your snacks, get your own fucking snacks, Chaaad. I'm going for a drink, with my own goddamn money." You spit, storming out of the house. 

You're wandering down the street, like you had been for the last thirty five minutes, and finally you found somewhere that looked decent enough. You walk in, and the lights are on very low, the place is almost dark, had it not been for the red lights swinging above tables, or the string of red lights wrapping around the ceiling. Your eyes wander the open floor of seating as a soft beat vibrates through the building. Every person in here who was sitting with someone was leaning closely to that person, seemingly having an intense conversation. The vibes felt dark and eerie, but you welcomed it, you enjoyed it instead of being around Chad's fuck boy mentality. You walk towards the bar, sliding onto one of the empty bar stools and setting your purse on your lap. Your eyes were looking down when you felt a presence standing in front of you. You look up and see quite possibly the most beautiful man you have ever seen. 

"What can I get for you?" He asks, his voice is deep, yet so smooth and calming.

"Double vodka and coke please, and for the love of god, keep them coming." You sigh. After your comment you see the slightest hint of a smile appear on his lips, disappearing even quicker than it came. 

"Bad day?" He asks, beginning to pour your drink. 

"Bad relationship." You groan. He nods his head as he slides your drink towards you. 

"Wanna talk about it?" He asks, leaning on the bar with his chin resting on his hands as he waits for you to speak. You look into his eyes, and they're so warm and mesmerizing, you felt safe and secure, like you could tell him anything. Which is exactly what you did.

"What's your name?" You ask. 

"Hongjoong." He replies. "You?" 

"Y/N." 

"Okay Y/N, what's bothering you?" 

"My boyfriend, we've been together for just over a year, and well.. he's something, and not the good something like people usually say. He moved in with me, without even asking me if I wanted to, and I just kind of accepted it. He doesn't pay anything, no bills, rent, groceries, nothing. It's all on me, even though he does work full time. He forgot my birthday, went out and got absolutely plastered with his 'boys'. On Valentine's Day, he took me out for dinner, and can you guess who was there?" You ask. 

"His boys?" He answered. 

"You sir, are correct. I was ignored the entire evening, and then he and his boys left, I ended up paying the bill, and I had to uber home because he had driven us there. Not to mention the fact that he assumes I'm just there for his pleasure, expecting me to be spread eagle for him whenever he decides to show up." You finish, chugging your drink as you try not to gag on the strong taste of vodka. 

"Why are you with him then? He doesn't sound like he contributes to the relationship at all, so why do you stay?" He asks. 

'Honestly, I'm not entirely sure." You answer as he slides another drink in front of you.

"Now that's a bullshit excuse." He replies. "There's a reason that you clearly don't want to admit." 

"Do you ever smile?" You ask him. 

"No." He answers. "Now, why won't you leave him?" 

"Because it's safe, I guess? I don't know if I can do any better than him." You shrug. 

"Y/N, you have no idea how much better you could do." He says. 

** 

From the moment Hongjoong had a whiff of the scent that was coming into his bar, he knew that it was the scent of the one. He intensely watched the door, waiting for the one it belonged too to walk through the door. As soon as you did, it was almost as though his heart could have started beating once again, the ice cold blood that ran through his body could have turned warm just by the sight of you. He isn't sure what it is about you, but he had always been told that he would know when he found the one, and having been alive for over a century, he had just assumed that it wasn't in the cards for him, and now he knows why. Because all his life he had been waiting for you. The person that he would do anything for, the person that he would be anything for had finally walked into his life, and for once he felt an ounce of hope, until, you had mentioned the filthy human you were in a relationship with, not to mention one that treated you like absolute garage, and you had assumed that no one better would love you, but shit were you ever wrong. He was standing right in front of you, and though you had just met him, he loved you with everything he had and would do anything and everything to protect you. 

**

"I appreciate your advice, Hongjoong, but it's getting late and I have to work tomorrow." You sigh. "How much do I owe you?" You ask, grabbing your card from your wallet. 

"It's on me." He tells you, grabbing your empty glass.

"Well thank you." You smile. "It was nice meeting you." You tell him as you slide off the stool. 

"You too." He says, watching you walk away from him. 

That night when you got home, you couldn't get Hongjoong off your mind, a smile spread across your face as you walked through your front door, and headed into the living room, then it instantly dropped. Chad had not moved from the spot you had previously left him in a few hours ago. "Oh, babe." He says, sucking the cheeto dust from his fingers. "Kyle brought me some snacks, since you threw a huge temper tantrum about my snacks, you can just venmo or cash app him, k?" He says, going back to playing his game. 

You went to bed that night, dreaming of one man, who was not your man. 

**

Over the next few weeks, you had absolutely no desire to be at home. So you headed to the bar that Hongjoong worked at, everyday after work for a drink, or two, or four. In those weeks the two of you spent an ample amount of time getting to know each other, you were sure he knew you better than Chad ever did.  You didn't want to see Chad, you didn't want to be near him and it was bad enough that he constantly texted you throughout the day, sending you lists of things to buy from the grocery store, as if he wasn't able to do it himself. But much to your surprise, he didn't text you when you never came home with his snacks, he didn't check in with you throughout the day, and honestly it no longer bothered you. 

You felt your feelings for Hongjoong deepen with every encounter the two of you had, every time you saw him it was like nothing you had ever felt with Chad, your emotions were amplified around Hongjoong and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep them hidden. 

"One more." You tell Hongjoong, as you set down your fourth glass. 

You can tell he wants to smile, but he's too good at controlling his emotions. "You've had enough, I'm cutting you off." He tells you. 

You pout, trying to give him your best puppy dog eyes, but absolutely nothing got to the man and it was frustrating as fuck. 

"A bad storm is coming, you should probably get home." He tells you, drying off some glasses. 

"I don't want to go home, he's there." You scoff, just thinking about Chad made you want to vomit. "I guess I could just get a motel room, at that place across the street." You say, pointing over to the run down motel, that had flickering lights, and probably a rat and cockroach infestation. 

"You will do no such thing." Hongjoong replies. "You can stay at my place." He says. "Give me a minute." He walks from around the bar, towards the back of the building, and you can't help but to turn in your stool and watch him walk away, damn he looks good. 

Within seconds he's back, grabbing your bag and scooping you up into his arms as he effortlessly carries you out the door. 

"I can walk." You object. 

"I know." He says, his face stone cold. 

"You're very pale." You tell him, as if he didn't know. 

"I know." He replies, unlocking the door to his car. 

"And you're very cold." You say. 

He sighs. "I know." He finishes as he slides you into the passenger seat of his car. 

As soon as he started his car, the rain began pouring as thunder and lightning jolted the sky. 

"You were right, there's a storm." You say, watching out your window. 

"I know." He replies, this time it sounded different. You turned to look at him, hoping you'd catch him smiling but no such luck. 

He continues driving, taking you out into the middle of nowhere, out of city limits, this was it, this was probably when you died. You panicked slightly but you felt it in your entire body that he was not going to murder you, at least not that night. 

Hongjoong pulls up to a gate, punching in a few numbers to open the gate, which just blocked off a winding road. You squinted as you tried to see where you were going but it was far too dark for you to see anything, until you pulled up to a beautiful mid-century mansion that made your mouth drop. It was absolutely stunning and you couldn't believe that he lived there. 

"Seriously? This is where you live?" You say. 

"MY family, but yeah." He answers, parking the car near the entrance. 

He hops out of his seat, walking towards your side to open the door for you, pulling you inside before you get too wet. He dragged you up a large flight of stairs, not letting you admire the inside of his house. He put you inside a large room, with a large bed and a bathroom ensuite. "There's towels if you want to shower, I'll be back in a bit to check on you." He says, avoiding all eye contact before walking out of the room. 

You let out a deep breath as you take off your heels, unbutton your pants and unhook your bra, placing it all next to the bed. You sit down on the bed in your underwear and t-shirt, wondering what to do, until your phone rings. 

Looking at the caller ID, you didn't want to answer it, but you felt it would be unfair for you to do so. 

"Hello?" You answer. 

"Hey babe, it's me.. it's Chad." He says. 

"I know who it is." You sigh. 

"Look.. I know you've been terrible, oh, wait, I mean I've been terrible in our relationship lately but I want to make almonds." He says. "No idiot, it's amends." You hear from the background. 

"Are you kidding me right now? Do you seriously have Brad over to help you?" You yell. 

"Well yeah, he noticed that we were drifting apart and offered to help me get you back." Chad explains. 

You get up off the bed, pacing on the hardwood floors as you tried to process what he just said to you. 

"The fact that you didn't even notice that we were drifting apart is all that I need to hear. You know what, Chad? I'm done. I'm done with this relationship, I'm done with you. Just get out of my apartment, I'm over it." You yell, hanging up the phone. 

You stand there, taking deep breaths as you replay the conversation you just had, he didn't even care enough to notice that you'd been pulling away. That kind of hurt, but then again it was Chad. He was never very perceptive. 

A knock at the door before it suddenly opens, reveals Hongjoong, walking into the room. He tried to play it cool with the fact that you were practically naked in front of it. 

"I heard yelling. You okay?" He asks as lightning strikes, causing the power to flicker. 

"Chad called, he had his friend Brad over to feed him lines because Brad noticed we were drifting apart." You explain. "But I did it. I ended things." You proudly admit. 

"Good for you." He says, staring at you, while you stare back at him. A crack of thunder hits loudly, making you jump, and within seconds Hongjoong's arms are wrapped around you, like he was protecting you. You look at him and he looks at you, and before you can tell yourself not to, your lips are pressed against him, and he is kissing you back. 

The kiss turns passionate and needy in seconds, both of your desires for one another coming out without any control. He moves you both to the bed, laying you down as he hovers over you, his strong arms keeping him above you. You wrap your arms and legs around him, pulling his body closer to yours, feeling him near was all you'd wanted. His ice cold fingers touch your stomach as he begins to lift your shirt up, you can feel his cock slowly becoming harder. You begin lifting his shirt, when his phone rings. He stands up, whispering an apology before answering his phone, barely speaking any words. 

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I have some things to take care of." He says. 

"Oh, yeah, no problem." You say, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

"Get some sleep." He tells you before walking out of the bedroom door, leaving you alone once again. 

You tried to fight the exhaustion you felt, but it was far too hard. You got snuggled underneath the blankets, watching the door, hoping he would come back but your eyelids got too heavy for you to keep open, and you swiftly drifted off to sleep, finally feeling some peace. 

**

The warm sun was shining into the room, waking you up. You let out a little stretch before opening your eyes, only to see five men standing around you. You sit up, moving to the wall, as these men stare at you. You looked at them all, and they all looked similar to Hongjoong. Pale skin, dark eyes, dark head, blood red lips. 

"Who are you?" One of them asks. 

"Y/N." You whisper. 

Another one speaks up, looking at the other four men. "Who the fuck brought a human home?" 

[nightwishesworld]

Do u think Alcina would get jealous if there partner had a favourite plushie to the point she considers it competition, the only thing stoping her getting rid of it is her partner being upset 

Umm, we are talking about the same vampire, right??? Of course, she would! You guys have the best friggin ideas I swear! This was such a fun write

p/n = plush name

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

Alcina Dimitrescu is not a jealous woman. 

She is the epitome of beauty and elegance, leaving no room for emotions such as jealousy to squander it. 

Yeah...right. That’s what she tells herself at least. 

To her credit though, Alcina is pretty good at keeping herself in check. Only lashing out, or asserting her dominance, as you call it, when absolutely necessary. The butcher’s son, for instance, got a taste of her rage when she caught him ogling your body like a piece of prime meat. He almost had his tongue cut out right then and there.

Alcina doesn’t do well with competition, and even though you’ve told her several times that there is no competition, she decides to weed them out herself. Can’t get jealous if there are no competitors, right?

Her jealousy doesn’t last long, she claims her spotlight one way or another. There is, however, one creature Alcina is unable to rid herself of. One that resides in her very castle. The closest any little rat has ever come to stealing her beloved y/n.

Even after long grueling days of wasting her time cleaning up Heisenberg’s messes and getting an ear full from Mother Miranda, all Alcina longs for is to crawl into bed and wrap herself in your arms. Tonight it seems the gods are frowning upon her because they have already stolen her place. She rolls her eyes at what should have been a cute display, had it been her, and instead moves to the vanity to start taking her makeup off.

Wiping away the stresses of the day helped lighten Alcina’s mood a bit. It was always such a relief to take her makeup off, knowing the day has finally ended and she can relax.

Making her way to the bed Alcina trips over the small wastebasket and curses herself for making you stir from your sleep.

“Alci, you ok?”

You sit up in bed, grabbing the sheets to cover yourself, but still keep an arm wrapped around your smaller companion. 

“Yes, I’m fine darling I-” Alcina stopped. “You know what? No. I am the Lady of this castle and I say p/n needs to leave our bed.”

“P/n is always allowed in bed!”

Alcina was too tired to start a proper argument and decides to simply give in. She refuses to hold you while that stupid plushy is sandwiched between you, effectively cock-blocking her. Its eyes mock her as it watches her toss and turn tirelessly. Alcina was not accustomed to sleeping “by herself.” The vampire felt uncomfortably bare without your body directly in contact with hers, but not bare enough to reconsider cuddling you and the plushy. Alcina is far too stubborn for that and simply chucking it to its rightful place on the floor would only upset y/n. No matter how much she loathes that plushy, she still does not want to upset you.

A smugness flashed across its cold dead eyes as it stared at her, clearly proud of its victory. Alcina only growled in response, baring her teeth like a territorial animal.

“You win this round, fucker.”

The next day was no different from any other. Alcina was kept busy with her daughters causing mayhem around the castle and paperwork needing to be done for some sort of ceremony. Naturally, when she does give herself a break, she chooses to spend it with you. This is how you ended up sitting here next to the fire, plushy at your side and Alcina by her lonesome across from you. 

“Ooh, do we still have those shortbread cookies from the other day? Or did Cassandra eat them all?”

“I hid some for you above the stove- top shelf inside the teapot.”

Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Be right back.”

Alcina nodded and turned her attention back to her book. She felt a pair of eyes on her, but she tried her damnedest to ignore it. A few intense minutes passed before she slammed her book shut. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? Just because you had them first doesn’t mean you’re their favorite.”

The plush stared blankly at her. Its silence only egged her on.

“You better watch yourself, plushy. You just landed yourself a spot on Alcina Dimitrescu’s blacklist, and no one gets off of it alive. You might have them fooled with your dapper little suit and hat but I know who you really are under all that fluff. Punk ass plushy bitch. Y/n is mine, and I do not share.”

More intense silence filled the room as Alcina was about to strike down on the innocent creature until-

“Hey Al, can you come help me? I can’t reach the top shelf.”

She gave the plush a smug grin before taking her leave. “I know someone else who can’t reach either. Coming, my love!”

Alcina sauntered out of the room only to step right back through the doorway to extend the claw on her middle finger at the plushy. Giving it the most dramatic middle finger in all of Romania.

Sometime later

The cookies were gone within minutes of settling back down on the couch. Now you were lounging across the cushions, with p/n pressed tightly against your chest, finishing the final chapter of your book. You moved to get off the couch to return your book to its shelf and pick out another classic. Before setting p/n on the cushions you place a kiss on the top of their head. Alcina pretends not to notice this out of the corner of her eye and continues to glaze over the pages of her own book, waiting for her kiss.

It never came.

You walk past her without offering so much as a smile and Alcina is sent over the edge.

“That’s it, I can’t take it anymore! Y/n it’s me or the plush.”

You look back at her, rather taken back by her sudden outburst. “Um, excuse me?”

“You heard me. It’s either me or the plush. Take your pick.”

You arch a brow and put your hands on your hips. “Well, p/n and I don’t appreciate that tone.”

Alcina rolls her eyes. “P/n isn’t real!”

You gasp and rush over to the couch and cover their ears. “How dare you! That’s a very sophisticated young man/lady you’re talking about.”

“I am sick of always coming in second to that stupid thing. You act like you love it more than you love me! Giving it a kiss and not me, how rude. We both can’t keep living here; one of us has to go.”

That got you to laugh. “This coming from the same woman who, after sending me away to sleep on the couch after an argument, comes down in the middle of the night to sleep on the floor beside the couch because you got lonely.”

Alcina blushed.

“Something tells me you won’t let me go anywhere.”

She stays quiet, only giving a huff as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“If I give you a kiss now will you stop whining?”

Alcina pretends to consider this for a moment before answering. “Will you sit on my lap?”

“Of course, my love,” you smile.

“No p/n.”

You giggle as you make yourself comfortable straddling her things. “No p/n.”

Alcina pulls you flush against her front and kisses you. “Good.” She bites your lower lip, making you gasp. She takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss and relax back into the couch. Out of sheer pettiness, Alcina cracks an eye open to see the plush staring at your display of affection. She smiled into your kiss and gives it the middle finger before focusing all her attention on ravishing you.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

My Beloved Cherry Blossom ~ Yamaoka Kazan/The Oni x Fem!Reader

Note: Since Kazan lived in the feudal era, and died there, his S/O would be someone from that time, so, just like him, she'd be dead, so the shock of seeing the dead back alive would be great for him...Who also died in a painful death. Haha.

"My son, you reached the age when you have to marry and ensure the continuation of our bloodline. Since you haven't bothered looking for a potential wife, I took the liberty of finding you a pretty girl. She is the daughter of a respectable samurai who guards the Emperor, and her father ensured she is a very capable, smart and understanding woman, so she will be able to deal with your...Temper." Kazan's father sat down with his son, who scowled, offended at what he heard, but despite all this, he was well aware of this bother he had to deal with. "...Yes, father." he muttered, sharply looking down at the floor. "We will go to meet her tomorrow, at her home, an in less than a month, we will have the marriage. I know you are not the type to care about families and women...But you have to do anything in your power to ensure the honor and survivability of the Yamaoka bloodline." yes, of course, his father just had to sigh in disappointment. "I understand, father. I will make you proud." Kazan answered before leaving the room to train, as a way to let out the pent up rage.

Who needed women and a family? He certainly didn't care about that. They were a nuisance. A weakness, at best. Father is too much of a sentimental, even for a samurai. What a ridiculous charade...

And his displeasure continued even the next day, as he dressed in a rich, official kimono, to show off his heritage, but at the same time, his long hair was put in a disheveled ponytail, rebel strands flying with the wind, and the neck of his outfit was lowered down enough to show his outlaw-ish predisposition. Needless to say, his father was angered by this side of his son - Surely, he taught him better! - But it was far too late, and they had already arrived at the L/N estate.

Just outside the big, beautiful house, a petite young woman, her long dark hair shining like ebony, her skin as white as snow...She looked so frail that she'd almost resemble a snowdrop. And she was delicately playing a soft, yet sorrowful tune on her bamboo flute, while her father put a pink flower in her hair, looking at her with nostalgia and love.

Kazan look at his own father, before glancing back at the girl whom he found out was named Y/N, and realised how big of a difference it was to was a son, compared to having a daughter. The difference in the two men's behaviour was huge.

He once heard a samurai, whose wife had just given birth to his daughter, "Treat your daughter the way you wish her husband would treat her." He didn't care at first, obviously - Kazan's mind was never on marriage - But now he was beginning to understand the meaning of his words, for they were wiser than anticipated.

Her father was tender, and treating her as if she was the soft petal of a cherry blossom, and his voice was low, loving and respectful, not wanting to startle her in any way...He was talking as if he was trying to keep the zen equilibirum intact at all costs.

The love between a man and a woman is supposed to be like Yin and Yang...

But how could Kazan possibly behave in such a way, when all he knew was to be a rageful brute who would destroy everything in his path in the loudest, brashest way possible?

"Ah, Yamaoka-san, you have arrived. And you brought your son with you. It's an honour finally meeting you, Kazan. Here, this is my daughter, Y/N. Y/N, dear, why don't you go prepare some osmanthus tea for our tired travelers, while I guide them to our table in the cherry blossom garden?" her father pat her hair, and in return, she bowed slightly at the guests, offering them a gentle smile, that would put all of Spring's flowers to shame. "Yes, right away, father. I hope you will like our flower garden. Papa had them all planted in honour of my mama. They are all her favourite kinds and colours." ah, yes, of course. Women have a special kind of bond with their mother - That was something he would never be able to fully comprehend, Kazan realised very easily, by the way the girl was close to shining as soon as she talked about her birth-giver.

The son of the Yamaoka family obvious saw women before - He wasn't an idiot - And he had enough experience with them...But there was something different about this one. She was...So...Innocent? She seemed to naive and not from this world, almost as if she had no idea of the terrors of the world outside of her residence.

It was such an endearing thing, almost exciting - But the young samurai wasn't sure if he wanted to protect this innocent ignorance at all costs...Or if he wanted to shatter it into pieces and taint it completely.

But that question was easily answered as soon as she came back and started pouring tea for him. And then later in their marriage, the way she behaved so gently with him, it was so weird, so foreign to him, and yet, it made him feel something else...Something completely different from the bubbling, infernal rage he could feel in his chest all the time.

It was soothing, mending his soul completely, for some reason that he couldn't comprehend at all.

But why should he, anyway? He was content just having her by his side whenever he was home. Only she was able of taming the storm that clouded his mind and soul.

His little cherry blossom.

And only the Gods knew how many men he had to kill to make sure she isn't harmed, or prayed upon. He never realised how many desperate, disgusting, dishonorable and lecherous men could be, but Kazan wasn't going to let her see anything other than the honour of a samurai - Like him, his father, and her own father.

However, not even her gentle soul would be able to contain his rage whenever he'd hear that dreadful, shameful nickname they would call him.

"Oni-Yamaoka"

Why was he an Ogre, all of a sudden? Because he brought justice upon the fakes who made a mockery of the code of the samurai? Because he wanted to protect the sole person he cared for in this life? Even his father was against the aggressiveness he displayed on the battlefield, and in the actions he took...It almost felt like even his father was agreeing with that stupid nickname!

"Here, Kazan, lay your head on my lap and forget about your worries, at least for tonight." Y/N pat her lap with a sweet smile, her eyes gleaming with love and benevolence as she reached out her other hand to reach out to him, and as if possessed, he followed her lead absent-mindedly. "Y/N." Kazan called out after a few minutes of having his eyes closed, feeling himself relaxing as her fingers were soothingly playing with his long, untameable hair. "Why do you always tell me to lay on your lap, whenever I'm angry?" "Do you not like it, darling?" she asked, but the passive smile on her face showed that she knew that wasn't the case at all. "I do. I was just wondering why." he grumbled in a lower voice, which made her muse, her smile shaping into an almost kitten-like one. "My mama always did that to papa. She said that the best place for a man to relax is on a girl's thighs. I don't think she was wrong." oh, what a sweet giggle she had. It sounded crystalline, like a river of diamonds going through the forest. "...I won't comment on that." the man closed his eyes, not wanting to give in to the flushed sensation he felt hearing something so embarrassing. "You do not have to be embarrassed, my dear. We are man and wife. There is nothing we could do or say that would be worth or deemed as embarrassing." she reassured him with an amused tone, as her small hand touched his bare chest, just where his heart would be. "Why are you not afraid of me, like the rest of them? You are nothing more than a frail woman. You have the eyes of a baby fawn, and the frail bones of a rabbit. You are nothing more than a flower in comparison to me. I could snap your neck like a twig if I'm not careful touching you. And yet, you allow yourself to be vulnerable around me, and while at it, you encourage me to be the same as well. I will never understand the complexity of women and their thinking." the samurai sighed, grumbling in faux annoyance. "My, my, was that what was on your mind? How lovely of you to be concerned about me. Well, I will tell you a little secret, since you are so curious, but make sure it stays between the two of us, alright?" she giggle softly, almost like a little child kissing her crush on the cheek, and it made Kazan's heart flutter. Was she truly trusting him with a secret? What did he do so worthy to her that she deemed him the perfect candidate as a secret-keeper? "I would not dare tell your secret even to the Emperor himself, or my father." came the samurai's vow with such seriousness, that made the girl grin. "You see, women aren't physically strong like men are, but what we lack physical prowess, we make up for our incredible emotional strength. So, I believe that, at least in these times of war and bloodshed, a man's role is to protect the physical body of the woman, while the woman's role is to protect her man's heart and soul. Without balance, there is no future and no happiness, wouldn't you agree? If we don't make the best out of this life, and look at the beauty of the world...Then have we even lived at all?" there was wisdom in the words that Kazan deemed rather naive, and yet...What she said wasn't wrong, per se. In fact, it was true. He was well aware that, with his body, the best he could do was protect her, but he would never be able to sooth her broken heart the same way she does to him...And likewise, he remembered the mirthful laugh he let out when she tried lifting his weapon from the ground.

However, he wasn't going to say anything out loud, and decided that, instead of voicing his opinions, he'd rather grunt and close his eyes, letting sleep take over him, his head still resting on her soft thighs.

Maybe having a wife wasn't as bad as he once thought...

But times change fast - Years pass, lives pass, the river passes...And yet, only one thing doesn't pass, and that is Yamaoka Kazan's rage, which only grew stronger and stronger with each day, and each time he heard himself getting called "The Oni".

He was desperately angry, and not even Y/N's loving touch or sweet voice could save his soul, so much, that in fear of accidentally hurting her, he decided to stay out and train or go on and kill more and more samurai impersonators, hoping to somehow release all his anger and be able to return home.

He knew Y/N would be worrying for him, but she needn't do such a thing, it would only hurt her heart, and that was the last thing he wanted. He was strong, and feared - Who would dare go against Yamaoka Kazan, anyway?

The days away from home multiplied, and he was away for a stupefying month...Y/N must be crying, worried sick. He wasn't afraid of anything physical in this world, yet the thought of her doe eyes shedding tears...It was something he was terrified of, especially if he was the cause of that.

But on the way home, he found a pink lotus flower, and he thought she would love it, so he gently took it with him back home. It was raining, and an ominous feeling crept into Kazan's heart, and he realised there seemed to be an almost dark aura around his home.

It wasn't yet sleeping time, so why were there no candles lit? There was no sign of any living being there? Where were the servants? Where was his beloved Y/N, waiting for him on the porch, playing the flute the way she always did?

Something was not right...

The man rushed inside the house, and as soon as he slammed open the sliding door, he was met with nothing that he expected - Pools of blood on the floor, while the otherwise neutral-coloured walls were splattered with the red liquid, and the corpses of the servants were brutally mangled and thrown around as if they were defect ragdolls.

It wasn't the horrifying sight that scared him, but the fate of his wife - So he made haste and ran to their shared room...And there she was.

In more pieces than she should be in.

Her hair was a mess, her kimono was a mess, her make up was a mess...And she had been tortured, from the way her wounds, slashes and cuts looked on her body.

Who...? Who could do something so...So...Disgusting...To a defenseless woman who had no means of fighting back? Where was the honour in defeating a weak civilian, such as her? What was the purpose of this massacre?! Was it to anger him? To bring out the Ogre from him? Is it what they all wanted? To see The Oni they feared and hated so much? They got revenge on a small woman, just to get to him?!

"Ah, Kazan, finally. Took you quite a while to return home...I thought her body would rot away and get swarmed with maggots by the time you'd return. And what's that in your hand? A flower? Did you want to apologise to her with a stupid flower? You have caused my daughter immense distress, and yet, she loved you to the very end. You should have seen her cry out your name, praying for you to come back home and save her...But, alas, the Ogre is never home! He is so busy killing, that he didn't realise he killed his own wife! Hahaha! Yamaoka Kazan, you are a pathetic excuse of a man, you could never come close to her strength! I tried everything to get her to tell me your secrets...But she didn't say a word. She ignored me. In the end, she came to hate me, her own father, who cared and loved her since she was born...And she loved you, some spineless monster who knows nothing but carnage!" what...? What was this man saying...? Is he truly implying that he tortured his own daughter to death, for...Information...On him...? "What...Did you do...?!" red was the only thing he could see, as he couldn't help but stare deep into her dead eyes that still held the fright and agony they last felt when she was still alive. "I KILLED HER! I KILLED MY OWN DAUGHTER, Y/N! This whole marriage was meant to bring down your stupid family of brutes and uncontrollable monsters! It was meant to kill YOU! But she was stupid! Nothing more than a sentimental woman! She LOVED you, a monster who knows only bloodlust! It's YOUR fault that she is dead, Kazan! YOU killed her! YOU!" her father yelled at him only meaningless gibberish.

In fact, Kazan couldn't comprehend words anymore. Instead, he could only hear whispers - They were soft and feminine...They sounded like Y/N...Could her ghost be talking to him? Was she trying to calm him down one more time, from beyond this world?

Yes, you were a saint, truly...It was a pity you had to meet him...If you hadn't, you'd have still been alive...And your beautiful flute song would still resound around the forest, along with the thrill of the birds.

"I am sorry, Y/N" was the last thing Kazan thought...

As The Oni took over completely, and went on the greatest blood shed known to mankind at that time...

------

What am I doing here...? What is this strange place...? It looks nothing like the beautiful flower garden Kazan made for me...So where am I?

The girl looked around like a confused meerkat, asking herself a limitless amount of questions, only to look down and realise her beautiful pink kimono was dirty with mud, and she gasped in shock. How could she let that happen! She can't let Kazan see her like this, what would he think?!

Ah, yes, that's it, just look around for Kazan, he'll surely know what's going on!

However, instead of finding her strong samurai, she saw three other people, all looking of a different race than her, and wearing such strange clothes...

Was she behind fashion, and she had no idea? She was sure she was buying only the best kimonos there were...!

"What are you just standing around for?! Run! We have to repair the generators!" a girl with unnatural coloured hair yelled at her before she sprinted the hell out of there.

Generators...? What are...Generators...? And why is this place so creepy...?

Hold up...This paper wall maze...This was from her home! Yes, that means she was close to home!

She ran through the little maze with a smile on her face, only to see one of the man working very focused on some kind of contraption, and he urged her to help him out. She sheepishly crouched opposite of him, frightened, but she carefully tried to do something, but instead, a loud noise and sparks came out, and she shrieked in fear, shielding her face as she fell on her back.

"What kind of sorcery is this?!" she cried out, her eyes watering. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you want to die that badly?! Get a grip and do something useful for once!" the man screamed in her face, before running the hell out of there.

Why were they all so rude to her...?

She was so used to her family, her servants, friends and Kazan to be nice with her, that she didn't realise people like these existed too.

A bit shaky, Y/N got up, trying to pat away the dust from her dirty kimono, and continued to look the estate...Only to find her home...But why was it in such a deplorable state...? Surely, she wouldn't allow her beloved home to end up like this...!

As Y/N made her way inside the home, she noticed the scary amount of blood splattered all over the place...Almost as if there was more red than colours of walls an the floor. It was so frightening...And confusing.

Who died here? And how in the world...I mean...She was sleeping, and then...

Oh.

Oh.

No.

She wasn't sleeping...

As soon as she stepped into her room, she didn't notice the blood on the floor, but the discarded pink lotus that laid on her pillow. As she crouched to take the flower in her room, she got a sudden flashback of her memories from the night she died...

She waited for Kazan, and the elderly servant woman was comforting her, pouring her tea and patting her back, as she played the same flute song she did when she first met beloved.

But then, her father paid her a visit...And a true hell was unleashed...

Her own father did something so atrocious...Such a betrayal was nothing she could ever phantom in her own life, and yet, her life was ended not by a stranger, but by her own kin.

As silent tears escaped her eyes and streamed down her delicate cheeks, a loud roar shook the whole estate, and the brusque blurting in the room of a huge man was enough to fright her to fall on the ground with a startled yelp.

And yet...

The raised weapon, the samurai garments he wore...And that Oni mask... There was only one person in the world who could look like this.

"Kazan...?" her voice came out weaker than a whisper, and she wasn't sure if he even heard her calling out his name. For a split second, she was terrified of the thought of that horribly enormous weapon striking her down where she stood, in her own bed, for the second time...And yet...

The monstrously big man dropped his weapon and slowly crouched in front of her, picking up the flower and putting it in her hair, pinning it away from her gorgeous face.

"Y/N...It really is you..." his voice came out as a dark grunt, in fact, in very much sounded like a demon, and yet, his moves and actions seemed more delicate than even this lotus flower.

The girl started laughing from happiness, allowing more tears to escape her eyes, being reunited with the love of her life, and she threw herself in her arms, feeling safer than she ever did in her life.

"I missed you so much, my dear Kazan...I missed you so...I can't believe such things happened to us...And yet, here we are, together again, even in death, even in hell." as she said that, she slowly took away his mask, and revealing his rugged face, obviously one of a man seasoned in war and tortured to death - She put her hand on his cheek, just as he used to do with her, and caressing him, she leaned in to plant a kiss on his forehead.

It was meant not only as a lucky charm, but as a 'home sweet home' as well, for there was no home without Kazan's arms wrapped around her protectively...

And there was no home without the petite body of his beloved S/O in his strong embrace, watching her fall asleep.

"I promise you never leave you again, my beloved cherry blossom." he said so, and yet, having been in this Hell longer than her, he knew of the atrocities she, as a Survivor, would have to endure, and the hell the Entity would put on the both of them.

And yet...

If anyone even dares to look at her the wrong way, The Oni would make sure that, no matter how immortal the Killer might be, he would bring an end to them.

He already lost her once, and he's not going to let a tragedy befall her ever again.

[sweettodo]

best friends dad.

levi ackerman x freader.

includes : dub con - [ age gap ] , smut, swearing, daddy kink, squirting. pretty much porn with no plot.

wc : 2,7k

a/n, thank you for 600 followers !!! <33 i love every single one of you.

••

She's your best friend, your closest ally, your soul sister.

She has been there with you through thick and thin, since youth, you two took showers together as children, ate off the same plate, went on countless vacations, share the same clothes. What would your life be without her?

Your behavior prevails to be horrendous.

It catches you when you're alone, or when there's nothing to distract you. Creeping up, lingering around your soul- guilt- quite the foe.

You lay on your bed, shame depleting you the more you remained in silence, left alone with your thoughts. Staring at the soft white ceiling, the sun scarcely pouring through the cracks of the shades, rendering it impossible to fall back asleep.

It was eating you alive, it was driving you nuts, you were so selfish. It was too late to go back on this.

And this isn't even the worst part of it all...

Your fathers are best friends, also close since childhood. Being neighbors, your mothers were close too, you all were practically family.

Hence, it boils down to one thing- one simple, and easy question.

That being, why was your 'second father' mere inches away from you, naked, barely covered by a sheet, and sleeping in your bed?

Yet, as disgusted as you are with yourself, you're turning to face the sleeping man, placing a small kiss below his ear, his arms instantaneously fastening around your frame, pulling you closer to his body, he loves when you wake him up like this, you're both accustomed to this routine.

After all, you did sleep in the same bed more often than you'd like the admit.

Living alone in your apartment made it easier for the both of you to be with each other, though your best friend resided here, she was at college, living in a dorm out of state for extended periods.

He told his wife and other children the ridiculous excuse, 'I'll be back in a week or so, on business' and he'd come straight to you. Always. With take-out dinner, a duffle over his shoulder, and a plethora of condoms in his pocket.

Call it disturbing, but it's almost perverse to give his wife kudos, 'no wonder you tied the knot.' because shit, you wish you could.

No one knows about the infidelity, so it was fun to sneak around; since becoming an adult, that's when family dinners with the neighbors took a turn, your body filled with a mix of excitement and angst almost every Friday.

He always sits next to you, to your right, hand secretly placed on your thigh under the tablecloth. He finds himself unable to resist your body.

The second you turned eighteen he was ready to pounce, he couldn't take his eyes off you.

He's so good at what he does, he knows how to sneak around, he always plays his cards right, he knew you couldn't resist the temptation; the temptation of your best friend's father.

•

How it started was almost too cliché.

•

"Hey, is y/f/n home? We're supposed to be getting ready to go out, she's not answering my texts."

"She's not home, likely caught up at work."

You nod, "how about you come in and wait?" he allows you in, "what's the occasion?" he laughs, plopping down on the couch, you sit on the other side, placing your dress, makeup bag, and shoes on the floor beside your feet.

"A friend's birthday dinner, she just turned eighteen." He smiles, looking back at the television, "she's always making us late." You chuckle, your phone going off at the same time, Levi watching your thumbs frantically respond to the disappointing message.

"She won't be off for another few hours." Levi sighs, "I'll just hang out in her room until then."

"You can stay down here, you're not in my way." He quickly replies, you accept his offer and slip off your shoes.

"How's your mom?" he changes the topic, standing and walking out of the room towards the direction of the kitchen, "and your dad."

"Both good, how about you and-"

"Good." he interrupts, returning with a glass in his hands, likely a glass of whiskey, that was his go-to.

Oddly enough, you felt unsettled being alone with him, something inside of you remained nervous, but not necessarily a bad sentiment.

You didn't spend much time with Levi alone, most of the time it was with your father and y/f/n, so you sat quietly, both watching the screen mounted on the wall in front of you.

Little did you know, he was feeling the same way, awkward and nervy.

"Do you need to get ready at any particular time?" he cuts the silence.

"Uhm, I didn't expect to wait, because I have to shower."

He hums in agreement, "you can shower here if you want." You didn't even bat an eye, standing and saying 'okay', trotting upstairs towards your best friend's room, dropping all your belongings on the floor.

Leaving the room, you're opening the linen closet to retrieve a towel and head straight for the bathroom.

This was your second home, why leave the bathroom door locked while you showered?

His leg tapped in anticipation, he knew now was such a perfect time, he had to do something about how he was feeling.

Levi told himself that this feeling would pass, he was disgusted in himself.

The first time he found himself with his hand wrapped around his cock, making himself cum to the thought of his daughter's best friend.

He had never thought about you sexually, it was almost like a switch was flipped when you came home, stumbling drunk with his daughter the night of your birthday to avoid your own parents, you were now an adult, and that's when things changed.

He thought about you in so many twisted ways, and the fetish only grew- it grew day by day, month by month.

Now, you were only a few months shy of nineteen, in college, in your own living space, independent, he loved it; and every day, he prayed to God he'd stop feeling so guilty about his vices.

But he was trapped, stewing on his thoughts before he went to bed at night, on the way to work, waking up in the morning- he only thought about you. He needed to do something.

He found his feet quickly moving up the stairs, entering his bedroom, and pacing, this was sure as hell a tough dilemma, but he knew he could get you to see it too.

"Levi, I- uh, need some help."

Like it was a blessing, a foot in the door, he's now knocking before you allow him in, you stand there only in a towel, hair wet and your body dripping with water, "the thing won't turn off, I'm sorry."

He could barely swallow, "I'll fix it."

The hot steam made him overwhelmed, the fresh smell of the strawberry-scented body wash that you had after your shower was sending him into a frenzy.

You stood there, watching him turn the hot water off, you acknowledged how close you were to him, naked except for the towel, he was so close to your legs, your wet body.

He stood straight after fixing the faucet, wiping his hands on his shirt, "thanks."

You step around him, down the hall, and towards your friend's room, "y/n," turning, Levi's there, in the hallway, a few feet behind you, "I need to talk to you."

He knew now was the only time he could fix this disgusting fixation he has on you.

You pursued him, you followed him straight to his bedroom, you allowed him to close the door behind you; you felt his hands grab your own, pinning them above your head against the wall.

You allowed him to kiss you, you kissed him back, and you savored the taste of him. It was almost like you didn't allow your mind to register what you were doing.

"I've been meaning to do this." He breathes, catching up on his lack of oxygen.

You didn't say anything, your towel was coming loose, his free hand encircling around the small of your back, pulling you against him, "Levi." You uttered, his head dips down, kissing your lips as he's whisking you off your feet and onto his shared bed with his wife.

Your legs wrap around his waist, his elbows propped up beside your head, his tongue swiping across your lip, you do the same, what the fuck were you doing?

You pull away from him, "Levi- this is bad." Hand pressing against his shoulder, pushing him off of you gently, "this is so bad."

He moves his hand through his hair, "no one has to know."

"I gotta' go get dressed," yet your legs don't move, "fuck- fuck this is bad, she's gonna hate me."

"No, no she won't," he objects, pushing you onto your back, "you want it, don't you?"

Your stomach was doing backflips, nauseated almost. You saw his tight body, you've always loved it- like a father.

You felt his cock between your legs instants earlier, you didn't comprehend just how willing you were; how wet you were between your legs.

"Let me show you," throwing off his shirt, "don't worry, no ones gonna know,"

He sees the look on your face, stunned.

"Don't you trust me?" your head was spinning.

"I do."

Your head is pushed onto his pillow, making sure he doesn't strip you of your towel just yet.

The feeling of performing something so bad, so disturbing, so sinful, it was driving you nuts, your stomach twisted, filled with butterflies as you saw the man strip in front of you. This was really happening.

"Open."

Your legs open, but you hold your towel down, feeling his eyes bore into you, "you can show me."

His hands open your legs, gasping, he's kissing you again, laying between your legs with just his boxers severing the direct touch.

"God, this fucking body."

The towel slipping down your chest, his hands instantly cupping your tits, the now, cold droplets of water from your shower making your nipples twice as hard, he smiles, "you've always been so beautiful- so innocent too, you know that?" his hands trail down your sides, feeling your flesh in his palms, up to your thighs.

You felt so dirty, you wanted more, you wanted him to touch every inch of your body, you wanted to feel secure and full, "you want me to touch you don't you. You want it?" he sees your pleading eyes, he sees how hungry you looked, he brings his hand to your beck, squeezing your jugular, "say it, use your words.”

“I do, but y/f/n, Levi.” Your words meant one thing, but your actions were proving another. You didn't know how much you needed this- how much you longed to be touched by a man who helped raise you.

It made you sick, but fuck, it felt so good, “you want it, just as I do,” he pulls back, taking his hand and forcing open your mouth, “here.”

He wet his fingers with your saliva, ripping the towel that barely covered your lower half. “Look at how pretty, so wet too.”

You hiss, his finger pressing down against your clit, your thigh spasming from the harsh pressure against your nerves, “I’m gonna make you cum, you want that, right?”

“Yes, please make me cum.” You plead, his thumb still pressing hard against your bud, “f-fuck!” your legs slamming around his arm.

“Open those legs, I didn't say you could close them.” He commands, getting a better look at your pussy, his hand moving down the threads of his boxers with his free hand, cock springing from his constraints.

“Spit.” He steals more alive from your tongue, using it to lubricate his cock; he was thick, girthy with few veins decorating up the bottom to right below the tip. His chest heaving, hands pinning up your thighs, your legs wide open for him to see.

You whined, his throbbing tip teasing you by soaking up your slick, he was so painfully hard- the way he knocked against the tight hole in front of him.

“You want my cock? You want your other daddy to fuck you, huh?” You nod, eyes begging with every ounce of your entity.

You nod desperately, “please- fuck me.”

He obeys, gripping your thighs, pressing them upwards as he’s leaning down towards you, slowly sliding past your entrance.

Splitting you open, immense pressure brings you to screams, your eyes screwed shut as you spit out the man's name.

“Can barely fit- fuck.” His shoulders lax, cock seeping deeper into your pussy.

He pushes back and forth into you, the sound of your pussy juicing around his cock filled the room as you two take in the feeling of each other's touch.

“S’big- so big, Levi.” Your tongue lols out, he takes it as a welcome to capture your lips, sucking on your tongue as you mewl against his mouth.

He pulls away from you, “say my name,” he groans, “say it, what's my name?” his cock filling you so well, you could say many things; tears brimming your eyes as he's stabbing your cervix with his tip.

You wail, gasping for air, “daddy- please harder!”

His hips piston into you, slamming against yours as he's speeding up, cock ramming into you senselessly, harder thrusts when he hears you call him by his name, fucking you stupid.

“Go on and cum all over my cock, you're so close- fuck- you keep squeezing me-” he can barely contain himself.

But he keeps pace, the sweet spot in the depths of your pussy being abused, pussy squelching with every rut of his wide hips.

You're so close, inching closer towards release, a mantra of his name rolling out of your mouth, you feel so full, packed to the fucking brim.

The weight of his body on top of yours, cock reaching impossible lengths inside of you, sweat dripping down his forehead, chest glistening with sweat, “so good, creaming all over my dick, yeah? You love it.” He boasts, you whined, mouth agape.

“So close- daddy- so close.”

“Do it, you're so tight- fuck, can't get over it.”

The coil in your stomach tightening, your body going numb as he rips an incredible orgasm out of your weak body, “that's right, squirt all over my cock, God this pussy s’ fuckin’ amazing.”

He slowed down, bearing his high, watching as your cum drips down your pussy, his thighs and stomach soaked with your essence as it drips down his thighs. Amazed at the sight, he continues to steadily fuck into your convulsing walls, you're body shaking from the debilitating orgasm.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your eyes surrounded by a starry white, wet noises driving Levi closer to climax, the sheets below the both of you soaked, “open those eyes.” He commands.

You open your eyes, legs squeezing tighter around his sides, “you’re gonna swallow my cum, right baby?” he sees you nod your head, needy to taste him down your throat.

He provides you with a few strong thrusts, before slowly pulling out of you, your hand quickly wrapping around the base of his cock, rolling out your tongue like a whore.

You take his tip on the pad of your tongue, swirling around, his eyebrows scrunching from the sensitive touch, “fuck, so fuckin’ perfect,” hand coming down to caress your head before dipping his fingers between the- still wet hair from your shower.

He twitches, releasing his load in your mouth, the salty taste tainting your tastebuds, he watches it coat your tongue, catching his breath as he's seeing you swallow every drop of cum, his thumb strokes across your bottom lip, smirking.

“Look at the mess you made, now I have to clean these sheets.” Gripping your hair between his digits, he's pushing your head down to look at the damp sheets, you gnaw on your bottom lip.

He pushes you back down on the bed, sloppily kissing your red and swollen lips once more.

“That cunt is just as good as I thought it was.”

[lupically]

#FEF5F1 | DILUC RAGNVINDR.

genre | fluff

word count | 1825

warning | none

note | i finally wrote something for my top husbando :’)

it came to you as a surprise that diluc, at all, sleeps.

there has always been this fantasy version of him in your head, a fantasy that lacked the great ideals and bright adventures most fantasy novels you have read consisted of. in contrast, your fantasy of him was insulting and otherworldly at best—someone restricted to the rules, a personality as plain as a dull purple doormat, a total stick in the mud that kills joy at the mere sight of it, an emotionless robot that has no use for human necessity such as the bathing and sleeping.

does diluc even need to consume food? you have literally never seen him eat or drink anything before. has he ever taken off his gloves to pick up a hamburger—oh, archons, you just realized now that you have never seen the skin of his hands before. he always has gloves on! was it to hide something?

"oh, wow," you exclaimed lowly to yourself as you leaned forward to examine the hands of the very annoyed red-haired man before you. your long-term question was finally answered. "fascinating... so you do have hands!"

diluc spared not even a glance toward the limb you were so interestedly staring at. he kept quiet for a moment and peered down at you from his bed, one leg propped up and the other stretched out—a rather awkward position he had no time to get out of after he almost burned you alive for sneaking into his bedroom in the winery.

"what drunk wind blew your incompetent self here?" he asked, ignoring your remarks about his lack of real and human hands. whatever you meant by that? you were always spilling weird things out of your mouth, you might even be worse than venti, he reckoned. 

you glared up at him after hearing his mindless insult. you were only fifty percent sure (which was already a lot in your book!) diluc never actually meant those hurtful words, that they simply fly out of his mouth due to his weird need to make sure everyone around him knew that he leaves no room for unnecessary sentiment. 

being kind blatantly was not his thing, and he has no intention of being applauded for being a decent person. why that was, you couldn't be sure. you had your assumptions, but kaeya turned out far too different than diluc that you weren’t sure if you should put your finger on the assumption. you also didn't dare dive deeper into it because (a) you just weren’t invested enough, and (b) by then, it would be a family business you would hate to indulge yourself with.

"kaeya dared me to take a picture of your sleeping face in exchange for some wine. our good friend, the honorary knight's smaller friend also wanted it as a possible blackmail souvenir," you told him honestly.

diluc immediately murmured something you couldn't quite hear, but he looked more confused than annoyed when he glared down at the mattress of his bed. he grumbled something along the lines of how the roles were definitely reversed. you didn't press further about that.

"if that is what you came here for, your best bet is to leave the way you came," he said after a moment, pointing a cold hand toward his bedroom window. "you're not taking any pictures of me."

you snorted, holding up your kamera and tapping the lenses. “uh, i think i came pretty close to taking a picture of you sleeping, diluc.”

“i had woken up the second you walked through my bedroom door. you could never,” he said.

you hummed under your breath, eyeing him suspiciously. he was probably telling the truth. he barely struggled in surprise when he grabbed your hands in the dark; was it pure luck that he perfectly found where your kamera was on the first try or does diluc secretly has night vision? your guess was as good as the unknown. 

not to mention, he looked normal, just like someone who may be in the know of your intrusion. he appeared grumpy but that was just his normal state. you could barely get him out of a frown even if you pay him, mainly because he wouldn’t need your money, but also because he was stubbornly against smiling, it appeared. 

"you know, i was surprised at first. i didn't know you sleep at all! i always thought you kind of just shut down, or maybe you have stayed awake all your life," you said with a shrug, and when he deadpanned at you, you defensively waved your kamera around. "i'm sorry! i just–you don't strike me as a person who sleeps!"

"so dead, then?" diluc asked calmly, although there was very little calmness in his facial expressions, especially those judgemental eyes of his.

"not dead! just... not really human–" you paused and pressed your lips together, thinking back to what you said to him and realizing that he might have a point. then you turned to him. "you also eat, right?"

“are you leaving or not?” he asked, a hint of flare in his voice that if you looked closely, you may see fire emerging from his body.

being stubborn as ever, and knowing that diluc would never really hurt anybody he knew to be good people, you feigned thoughtfulness for a second. tapping your finger against your chin, you scrunched your nose and shook your head. setting the kamera lumine forcefully had to borrow you between your crossed legs, you flashed him a mischievous grin. 

“no,” you said. “i am getting that picture out of you!”

“like i said,” he said, “you will never.”

“fine! then i guess i will just have to sit here and wait for you to fall asleep on me,” you said, slapping your hand down on his soft mattress. “don’t try to force me out of here! i will make it way worse for you!”

diluc furrowed his brows, wondering if you meant what you said. when his questioning gaze couldn’t get even an ounce of budge from you, he could only sigh in frustration. if you planned to sit on his bed until he doze off, then you would definitely make it worse if he tries to dump you out of his bedroom through whatever means you could.

he may be a skilled swordsman and a vision bearer, but unfortunately, he was not immune to bullshits from the likes of you.

diluc closed his eyes to savor the tiniest bit of sleep he managed to get before he heard your extra loud footsteps creeping around his room. he was supposed to get a good night's sleep, which was something he hasn't had in a while because of all the business schedules and his side vigilante job.

he was supposed to rest tonight, and there came you.

there always comes you.

dilly-dally, unpredictable, the epitomie of 'knights of favonius... always so inefficient,' letting klee out of solitary confinement and causing a ruckus amongst the responsible adults kind of irresponsible, has paid for his wine at least a zero number of time kind of broke, and was just always here to ruin his mood at the tavern every single day. 

most of the time, diluc thought about you in a negative light, much like he did with everyone around him and the entirety of the knights of favonius. but there was a version of you in his head that painted you as somebody different—somebody respectful, somebody worth keeping around...

somebody he likes, perhaps.

after all, joy was never prevalent in his life. it used to be, but that was a past he has long forgotten the details of. even if he wanted to remember them now, he could only remember snippets that wouldn’t guarantee him a good nostalgia. he may just end up feeling worse at the end. the only constant influx of distraction he has now seemed to be either you or venti, and with the godly bard as his other option, he would much rather choose you. 

but it was not because that venti was too hard to confine in. you were just as hard to talk about problems with considering your optimism and fickle attitude. 

what diluc wanted was permanence; a train that never stops, a bottle of wine that continuously refills, dandelions that do not stop flying even after it reaches celestia. and venti was too understanding and abstract to be one. as interesting of a character he may be, venti knew when to leave people alone. or, occasionally, he just cared too little. after all the city of mondstadt didn’t lack a god because he was responsible. 

you, though. diluc could never pinpoint if you were as dense as you appeared to be, or if you did know how to read the room and simply chose to ignore it, but you never leave people alone. you never left him alone; you unknowingly pick a petty one-sided argument with him all the time, you get drunk at the tavern and somehow has never let anybody take you home but him, you barge into his bedroom in the middle of the night because of some stupid dare his brother made you do and you still refuse to leave despite being sleepy.

you give him a way out, whether he likes it or not.

arms crossed in front of his chest, he deadpanned as he watched your head drop lower and lower to the mattress. soon enough, you were snoring away on his bed with the gadget discarded by your feet. he watched you in silence, your cheek smushed against the surface and the intensity you always radiated lessening from your body. you looked normal now; not energetic, not talkative. just sleeping peacefully, the way he always made sure you were after carrying you home. 

diluc’s heart was finally softening under the knowledge that nobody was watching him anymore. the pessimistic monster that often emerges from him was still here, but in the face of you, it has painted itself pink and it has forgotten vengeance and retribution. in the face of you, it has been dragged out from the death it once laid and became forgiven. 

carefully laying your head down on the pillow, diluc draped the blanket over your shoulder to tuck you into his bed. after making sure you were fine and well, he placed the kamera on the desk in the room, somewhere visible you could find once you wake up, and he left for one of the guest rooms in the mansion. 

tonight was the first time in a while when he has forgotten about all the problems he’s had. something that wasn’t about wine, the family business, or the abyss order. it wasn’t the rest he wanted, perhaps it was hardly any rest at all, but he was glad he got to think about something else.

of course, diluc would never tell you that.

[neonlights92]

RUN: CHAPTER VI

Jeon Jungkook hops from bed to bed, sleeping with as many beautiful, rich women as he can possibly find time for.  He’s young and attractive, with a silver tongue that gets him practically anything he wants.  So when his friend and boss, Kim Taehyung, tells him it’s time to settle down, Jungkook takes it pretty badly.  And when he finds out that the woman he’s destined to marry is, in fact, his little sister’s best friend, he is less than impressed.

You have spent your entire life trying to forget the way you feel about Jeon Jungkook.   So when you find out that Jungkook is to be your husband - and that he is anything but pleased about it - your world is thrown into chaos.  How can you survive a loveless marriage with the man you are hopelessly in love with?

WARNINGS: Language, some violence and smut

A/N: Final chapter friends!! Hope you enjoy it.  We’ve still got the epilogue to go and then onto Joonie!

When you woke up with a start it was on a cold, stone floor.

Your body felt like it had been run over by a truck.

You could barely see anything - but you could smell burning - and you tasted ash.

Where the fuck were you?

“Hello?”  You tried to move around and realised your hands were held together with what felt like rope, “Is anyone there?” Panic settled in your chest as you realised the situation you were in.  It wasn’t looking hopeful.

Your mind drew back to the car crash - the men who’d pulled you and Namjoon out of the wreck - 

Namjoon.

Your heart felt like it might very well fall out of your ribcage.  Was Namjoon okay?

The last you could remember he’d seemed very much unconscious.  You winced.

Shit.

What the hell was going on?

Before you could try to even begin to answer that question - the door to the room you were in swung open and light flooded your surroundings.  You realised quickly you were in some kind of storage room - and you had been chained to some pipes sticking out of the wall.

“Seems our guest is awake.” Your blood ran cold at the voice.

You’d heard it only once before - but you’d never forget it.

Violetta.

“Y/N was it?”  She took a step towards you and flipped a switch - lighting the room up. 

Your chest tightened at the look on her face.  

Unfiltered anger.

“What are you doing?” Your voice sounded like sandpaper, “What’s going on?”

“Surely you’ve seen enough movies to know what a kidnapping is.”  She smirked - cold and cruel, “Or do I need to talk you through it?”

You coughed then, feeling bile climb up your throat.

“Jungkook will kill you -” “When he finds out.”  She rolled her eyes, coming to crouch in front of you, “Yes.  I’ve heard it all before.” Her eyes flickered across your face.

“Not even beautiful,” She scoffed, “What’s the point?”

You felt something akin to fear shiver down your spine.

“What are you going to do with me?” “Oh.  I’m not going to do anything, darling.  I don’t call the shots here.  I just called in… A tip.”

“Jungkook will kill you.”

She pulled a face then - of mock pity. 

“Oh you poor thing.  You think he cares about you?”  She rose a dark brow, “God.  You really are smitten.” Maybe before - when you were insecure, when you weren’t sure what Jungkook felt for Violetta… You might have let her words move you.  You might have even believed her.

Believed that Jungkook didn’t care about you.  That you were disposable to him - a toy.

But you knew better. 

You’d heard the relief in his voice when you called him.  You remembered the things he had said - how he wanted to protect you and keep you safe.

Namjoon was right.  Jungkook was a dickhead, but he cared about you.

“Anyway.  I can’t tell you what they’re going to do,” She shrugged carelessly, “You weren’t the real target.  Namjoon was.  What a blessing you were with him though.”

Her eyes narrowed and you noticed for the first time how cold they were… Lifeless almost.

“Why would you call in a tip about Namjoon?  What has he ever done to you?” “I just needed to get Jungkook’s attention.  Thought this might work,”  She flipped her hair across her pale shoulders, and stood, “He’ll definitely know I had something to do with it.” Your mind was racing - was Namjoon alright?  You were hit with sickening dread as you considered the possibility that your friend might be hurt… Or worse, dead.

“What have you done with him?” You asked, throat dry, “You know Jungkook will never forgive you if something happens to him.” She shrugged and inspected the bed of her nails, as though you were boring her.

“I don’t much care for what he thinks about me now,” She licked her teeth and shot you a cold glare, “I just wanted to hurt him back in kind.”

And without another word, she stalked away from you - hovering in the doorway for a moment before turning back to give you something like a smile.

“I know you think you love him,” She said to you - voice cutting straight through your core, “But he’ll never love anymore more than himself.” She looked almost like she felt sorry for you.

“I hope you know that.” And then she slammed the door shut, and you were left alone.

It was hours before anyone came back to see you.  First it was a guard with some food and water.  He was stoic and unresponsive as you asked time and time again who he worked for - what they wanted from you.

You had been crying for hours by the time Namjoon was thrown in beside you.  He crumpled on the floor in agony, and you noticed immediately how much he was building.

The man who had pushed him stood snarling in the doorway and you felt your heart freeze in your chest at the condition your friend was in.  You couldn’t even help him - chained to the pipe as you were - and so all you could do was watch helplessly as he writhed in pain.

“Simmer in your wounds for a little while,” The guard grunted, “Let’s see if you feel like talking when the pain sets in.” His eyes flickered to yours and you felt sick from what you saw in them.  Pure hatred.

The door slammed shut and you were alone with Namjoon.

He still hadn’t sat up - he was clutching his stomach in pain - and his head was bleeding.  You couldn’t assess how bad the situation was - and you felt bile rise to your throat at the look on your friend’s face.

He looked like he was dying of pain.

“Namjoon!  Namjoon.  Please it’s me, Y/N.  Can you talk?” “Y/N,” He rasped, eyes cracking open as he stared back at you - your heart turned in your chest at the way he was looking at you, “I can’t feel my fingers.”

Your gaze snapped down to his hands and you realised he hadn’t been clutching his stomach - he’d been shielding his fingers.  They were mangled and broken and this time when the bile rose to your throat you couldn’t stop it.

When you were finished throwing up Namjoon smirked tiredly, “That bad huh?” “Joon…”  You were crying now. 

The situation was dire wasn’t it?  Was there any hope you’d come out of this alive - in one piece?

Namjoon had pushed himself up against the wall, cradling his broken hand, and staring mindlessly at the ceiling.

“It’s Byun Baekhyun’s sister.” Your eyes snapped to Namjoon’s.

“What?” “The person who’s doing all this,” He added voice shaking with pain, “It’s Baekhyun’s sister.  She wants retribution for her brother’s death.  For the demise of EXO.  Seems she was able to string together some EXO loyalists and, of course, Violetta.”

“What does she want then?” You asked, watching as Namjoon placed his broken hand on the floor, “Is she going to kill us?” “She wants information.  To take down Bangtan. I suppose she thinks she’ll be able to break me, eventually.”  He shrugged and cringed at the pain, “I don’t know.” “Are you going to be okay?”  You were so concerned - so scared, “Your hand…” “It’s you I’m worried about,” He replied honestly, and his eyes searched your own carefully, “Whatever they do Y/N… Don’t give up anything.  The moment they think they have what they need from you, your dead, okay?” Your heart thundered against your chest.

No, no, no.  You weren’t a warrior.  You couldn’t do this.

Why was this happening to you? You felt dizzy - the world was spinning - would you faint?  Your eyes struggled to focus.

“Y/N.  Listen to me.”  Namjoon’s voice centred you.  You looked up, “I know you can do this okay.  Trust yourself.  Do this for Jungkook.”

The door swung open and the same guard from earlier glared down at you.

“Boss wants to see you, Princess.”  His voice sounded like nails scratching across a chalkboard.  Your  chest tightened, but you fought against the panic.

You couldn’t let him see you were scared.

You set your face like stone as he untied you, eyes moving to meet with Namjoon’s frantically.  He gave you a small smile - a vote of confidence - and you pushed past the fear.

You could do this.

You could do this.

“So you're Jeon’s wife, huh?”  The guard pushed you out into the hallway and grabbed you by the shoulders, “Does he fuck you like he has half of Seoul?” You supposed this was some kind of psychological torture - intended to further break you down.

Why would you stay loyal to a man who treated you like a mistress? But you knew who you married.  You knew whose bed you shared.

And whether he could admit it to himself or not - you knew Jungkook loved you too.

You said nothing.  You set your  jaw.  You locked your eyes on the door at the very end of the long, winding corridor.

You ignored the brush of his beard against the bare skin of your cheek as you walked.

He reeked of beer.

Of course he did.

“I think he even fucked a few EXO girls if I’m honest,” He sounded drunk - slurring, “Rumour has it he’s got a massive cock.  Care to confirm?” You pressed your lips tighter together.  

“Cat got your tongue lovely?”  He chuckled darkly, “Well.  We’ll see how long that lasts.” He opened a door to your left and pushed you inside, and your eyes moved to meet with the glare of a woman sat behind a metal desk.

“Please.  Sit.”

You didn’t have a choice, obviously.  You were forced into the seat roughly, and you winced when the bone of your elbow snapped as the man handling you handcuffed you to the chair.

“Thank you Taeil,” The woman looked up at the guard and smiled briefly, “That will be all.” He bowed and shot you another smirk, before disappearing.  When the door clicked closed, the woman sighed heavily.

“I’m sure Namjoon has told you who I am.”  Her voice was business-like, “But in case he hasn’t.  My name is Sana.” Her eyes cut through you like glass.  You shifted.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You pinched the skin of your thigh - forcing yourself not to give in to the anxiety rushing through your veins.  She couldn’t know how you felt.

“You broke his hand,” Your voice was bolder than you thought it would be, “He’s in so much pain.” “I admit.  Taeil can be a brute.”  Her eyes gave nothing away, “But he won’t die from it.” “He might lose his hand.” “A price we pay to live in a world like this,” She shrugged, “I’m sure you’re aware that Kim Taehyung killed my brother.  He’s the only person  I care about hurting, or killing.  If you help me find him, I’ll let you both go.”

Your ears were roaring, “Bangtan is my family.  What makes you think I would ever dishonour them like that?” “Because you must be sick and tired of being treated like shit,” Sana’s face was like stone - you had to admit a small part of you was impressed.  How did she keep it so well hidden?

“What are you talking about?” “Jungkook.  Your husband.  His infidelities.”

Once upon a time those words would have sent you in a tailspin.  Now you forced yourself to stay calm.

“You won’t get me to betray them,” You answered honestly, “You’re wasting your time.”

She considered you for a moment - eyes raking you carefully, slowly, like she was coming to some kind of a decision.  Afterwards, she clasped her hands in front of her and sighed heavily.

“Remember I tried to be kind.”  She told you, as she stood, making her way to the front door and knocking once, “Taeil.”

The portal opened and Taeil was stood grinning drunkenly, “Yes ma’am?” “She’s all yours.”  Her eyes flicked to yours, once and she shrugged, “I don’t think it will take long.” Taeil’s eyes lit up with glee and you felt your stomach drop with a sickening thud. He was carrying a suitcase.  You knew what that meant.

What kind of horrors suitcases like that, held.

 He stepped inside the room and your anxiety rose once again, feeling like it might overwhelm you.

When the two of you were alone, he made his way towards you and you found your heart rising to your throat.  You were panicking from the look in his eyes.

You’d seen that look before.  Like a predator stalking his prey.

Like he was going to eat you up.

“Stay away from me,” You warned, voice cracking, “My husband will kill you -” He slapped you, once, across the face.  Your chair screeched back from the force of the hit and when you turned to look at him you found your eyes couldn’t focus.

He’d disorientated you.

“God.”  He growled, cracking his knuckles, “I can already tell this is gonna be fun.”

You shook your head, feeling tears come to your eyes as he grabbed you by the hair and yanked your hair backwards.

“Open up princess,” He grunted, shoving his fingers into your mouth and prying your lips open, “I’m just going to take this for good luck, okay?” He tapped your incisor and your eyes widened in horror, as he pulled a wrench out of the leather suitcase he’d brought inside with him.

“No, no please,” You begged, feeling your heart thud angrily against your chest, “Please…” But he didn’t pay you any mind as he placed the tooth between the mouth of the wrench, and twisted, popping out your incisor as pain shot through your entire being.  You felt blood fill your mouth, and your eyes flashed with blinding light.

“Oh god…” You were sobbing as he stepped away, inspecting the incisor, “Oh god…” “Pretty.”  He murmured smiling at you, “Wanna see?”

It would be the last thing he ever said.

Suddenly a thunderous bang resonated throughout the entire building you were in, and what sounded like a rain of bullets came showering down.

You could hear shouting outside - and your heart expanded - was that Bangtan?

The door to the room you were in swung open, and before you could blink, a bullet shot through the air and into the back of Taeil’s head.  Within seconds he was dead, slumping over.

You screamed, your chest tightening like a balloon.  God, god, god.  Were you going to be next.  You struggled against your restraints before your eyes met the woman standing in the doorway.

It was Park Jimin’s wife.

Switchblade.

She rushed towards you quickly, her eyes worried as she evaluated your condition.

“Are you okay Y/N?”  She asked quickly, rooting around Taeil’s dead body for the keys to the handcuffs that were keeping you from being able to run, “God.  He’s sick.” “It looks worse than it is,” You told her, spitting out more blood as it trickled down the side of your mouth, “Just get me out of here.”

She finally found the keys, and fiddled around with the lock, eventually freeing you.

“Can you walk on your own?” “Yes.”  You stood quickly, eyes meeting her own, “What about Namjoon?” “Hoseok’s gone to get him,” She grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the door, “He’s going to fine.  C’mon.  We have got to get out of here.”

The corridor was filled with chaos, and you felt your chest tighten.  Members of Bangtan threw open doors, pulling out their adversaries and throwing them to the ground.

“Ignore it,” Switchblade told you sternly, “Follow me.  And you’ll be fine.” You tried to listen to her.

Tried to ignore the cries of pain - the way members of EXO begged for their lives - the way only moments ago that had been you.

You watched the back of Switchblade’s head, followed her down the winding hallway.

You had to get out.  You had to get out.

Someone to her left tried to knock the gun out of her hand, and Switchblade reacted in less than half a second - bullet through his ears.

Your chest tightened.  You felt sick.  You felt euphoric.

You were going to live, weren’t you?

Just as you reached the end of the hallway - just as Switchblade turned to give you a triumphant smile - somebody stood right in front of you both, blocking the way.

Immediately, Switchblade’s body language changed.  She froze.

Because staring back at her was someone you knew she’d known her entire life.

Sana.

And she was pointing a gun at her.

“Switchblade,” Her voice was so calm, it scared you, “Nice to see you again.  It’s been a while hasn’t it?” The polite tone in her voice belied the anger she felt.  You could see the fire in her eyes.

“I suppose you’ll want to kill me now.”  Switchblade answered coldly, “For Baekhyun’s honour?” “How could you betray EXO like that?”  Sana seemed genuinely hurt for a moment - it flickered across her face - before it was replaced with that same look of cold contempt, “I thought you loved my brother.” “I did.”  Switchblade’s fingers flexed as she pointed her own gun back at her old friend, “But they left me no choice.”

“As you’ve left me no choice.  I hope you understand why I orchestrated all of this.” Switchblade nodded once, sharply, “I understand, Sana.”

“So?”  She cocked her head to the side, “We’re at a deadlock.  Neither of us can shoot.” You heard the regret in Switchblade’s voice, “You always did underestimate me, Sana.  Not just you.  But all of you.  EXO.” And in the blink of an eye, Switchblade had slashed a knife she’d kept hidden behind her back across Sana’s throat.  She was dead before her body reached the ground.

You worried you might vomit again.

“C’mon.”  She turned to you - a look of regret on her face, “It’s over now.” As the front door swung open and sunlight flooded your eyes, you felt like you might very well break down in tears.

Switchblade led you over to the white van that she assured you would take you back home to Jungkook.  Jimin sat behind the driver’s wheel, with Jin in the passenger seat.

You and Switchblade took the backseats.

“He loves you, y’know.”  She told you as she climbed in beside you, “Jungkook I mean.  We all see it.” There was a long moment of silence.  You leaned your head back against the headrest and sighed heavily. 

Then you finally admitted what you’d always hoped, always wanted.  Always dreamed.

Your eyes met her and you nodded.

“Yeah,” You whispered, “I know.”

And then finally, you gave in and fell asleep.

//

You woke up hours later, in darkness.

Your throat was closed tight as your hands clutched for something - anything that might anchor you.

Where were you?  Where were you? Sana’s dead body…

Namjoon’s mangled fingers…

Violetta’s cruel smile….

Taeil’s eyes…

“Oh god, oh god, oh god…” You were sobbing now, body wracking with the force of it, and before you knew it a light had switched on and two warm, strong arms were wrapped around you.

“Y/N.  Oh my sweet baby.  Oh Angel.  I’m so sorry, so sorry…”

You knew that voice.  You recognised that warmth.

As you pulled away, you found yourself staring into the beautiful eyes of your husband, Jungkook.  He relaxed his hold on you but kept one arm around you, pushing hair away from your face and kissing away the tears.

“I’m so sorry Y/N,” You realised suddenly, that he was crying too, “My darling Angel.  I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t know what he was apologising for, but you didn’t care.  Instead you buried yourself further into the warmth of his chest, and breathed in deeply.

It was him.  Jungkook.  You were home.  You were safe.

After a few moments of holding each other, you finally pulled away enough that you could look into his eyes.  He was staring back at you like you might disappear into smoke right in front of him.

“Jungkook…” The word sounded foreign, even to your own ears.

Had it been so long since you’d said it?

“I’m so sorry Y/N.  So sorry.  About everything.” He brought a hand up to cup your cheek and you leaned into his touch.  The smile that graced his lips caught your chest, “God.  When they found Namjoon’s car - Jesus.  I thought I might lose my mind.  Y/N.  My baby.  My sweet, sweet baby.”

He kissed you then, softly, gently, like he was trying to take everything in.  You let him take whatever he wanted from you - you gave him your heart, your soul, your mind freely.

You always had.

“How did you find me?” You asked after he’d pulled away to press kisses against your cheeks - your chin - your eyelids.

“Yoongi.”  He murmured, pushing his forehead against yours and staring into your eyes like he might lose you any moment, “He was tracking Violetta.  We knew she was behind this.”

“Is she…” Jungkook’s eyes hardened, “Yes.  I made sure of it.”

You felt sick again.

She was cruel, awful… But did she deserve death? “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Switchblade found you,” He ran his hands through your hair, bringing you closer, “But Taehyung wouldn’t let me go.  He said I was too emotionally attached to you.  It was too dangerous.”

You laughed a little, feeling a big, fat tear fall down the dip of your nose, “And are you?” “Am I what, darling?” 

The softness, the affection.. The warmth.  It was overwhelming.  But you took everything he gave you.

“Are you emotionally attached to me?”

He paused for a moment, eyes searching your face fervently.  Looking for something - something you knew he’d already found.

“God Y/N of course I am.  Jesus.  I am so attached - I can’t… I couldn’t go on without you,” He grabbed your face gently and brought your lips to his, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth.  His eyes were closed as he pulled away after a moment.

“Even though I’m missing a tooth?” You made a feeble attempt at a joke, smiling to display the gap where your incisor should’ve been.

You’d meant for it to be funny, but instead Jungkook’s eyes snapped open - dark and angry - like two swirling orbs of obsidian black.

“I wish I could bring him back so I could take out every single one of his teeth.  And then some.”  His eyes softened and he pressed another kiss to your mouth, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” You touched your fingers to his lips, and shook your head.

“I know you did your best, Jungkook.”  Your body was flushed with warmth at the way he was holding you, “Please don’t hold yourself accountable for this.”

“But -” “No.  This is the risk we take.  The risk I take as a member of Bangtan.  As your wife,” You pressed your cheek against his naked chest, “And it’s worth it.”

Jungkook squeezed you tighter at your words.

After a moment, you kissed the space in his chest where his heart beat.

“I love you,” You whispered against the skin, running your nose through his soft hair, “I love you so much it consumes me, sometimes.”

He paused.  Then he pulled you away and tears misted his eyes again.

“God.  I don’t deserve it.  Don’t deserve you Angel.”  He kissed you again, “But I love you too.” The words - though you’d known they were true - filled your heart with an indescribable sense of fullness.

“Say it again.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, “God.  Love you so much I can’t even think straight sometimes.”  He ran his hand through your hair, “Love you, Angel.  Love you.” The words set fire to your heart.

That night, when you made love, Jungkook told you again and again and again how much he loved you.  How you completed him.  Made him whole.

You returned the sentiments.

And then when you were both spent, lying in bed together, staring at each other in adoration - like two lovesick teenagers - he breathed out a sigh of relief.  Like something he’d been holding in for years.

“I’ve been running for my feelings for you for years, Y/N.”  He told you as he pressed his nose against yours gently, “That’s what Taehyung told me when he said he wanted us to get married.”

Your heart turned, “He did?” Jungkook nodded slowly.

“Was he right?” You whispered, fresh tears coming to the surface.

Jungkook pressed a kiss against your mouth that felt like a vow.  

When his eyes were boring into your own again, he cupped your cheek and stroked your brow.

“Of course he was,” He laughed softly, “ A Capo is always right about these things.” And the truth was…

You couldn’t really argue with that.

//

FIN

[forcefully-awoken]

this was commissioned by @bokutobabie who is apparently me as we share the same kinks and tiktok fyps

wc 1.6k

cw for uhhh lovey doves things, cream pies, dilf zeke pls just tell me

Zeke takes pride in all the ways he’s better than his father.

He was never abusive to his children, always kind and doting. He can’t even find it in himself to be angry at how things didn’t work out with their mother. It led him to needing a babysitter for all the long nights he finds himself away, or simply locked up in his study. He might be distant, a little too wrapped up in his work, but he’s still better than Grisha. It’s all he could have ever really wanted in life.

That is, until he meets you.

You’re the babysitter, and fuck if that cliche doesn’t burn in his chest sometimes. He’s tried so hard his whole life to be a better man, to be the best man he can be. And then you saunter into his life, all wide-eyed and innocent, practically begging to be corrupted by him. It’s like something out of a dream, out of some terribly cliche porn. Worse yet is when he does finally get you into bed, it doesn’t scrub the need for you from his system. He finds himself craving you more, inviting you over for whole weekends while the kids are away.

It’s how he wakes up one morning, to see you laying in bed next to him, and realizes he’s in love.

The realization overwhelms him, creeps up into his chest, and makes a home there. It crashes into him, one beat after another until he gives in to the urge to wrap himself around you. Even in your sleep, you move with him, wrapping your arms around him as he settles his head onto your chest. He inhales your scent, loses himself in it. You’re so warm underneath him, so malleable, with curves he can (and had) gotten lost in.

“I think I love you,” He mumbles the words into your skin, hoping his confession goes unnoticed. His hopes die when he hears your sharp inhale of breath, and when you tense under him he begins the plan to move out of the country just to avoid you.

“Well,” You start, voice coming out breathy, but your body begins to relax, “That’s good. Because I know I love you.”

He’s on you in less than a heartbeat.

“Say it again,” He insists between kisses, “Please.” You laugh, and he wonders if this is how Icarus felt flying close to the sun.

“I love you,” You repeat, taking his face between your hands to lock eyes with him.

“Fuck,” He breathes the blasphemous word into the heaven you’ve created, “Please let me fuck you.” You don’t respond verbally, but your legs spread just enough for him to settle in between them. Your eyes dart away when he tries to tug your shirt up, his heart stops and then shatters inside his chest.

“Let me see you,” It’s a plea, he’s begging already, but it’s worth it for the way he can feel your skin heat up beneath him. You meet his eyes briefly, before your shirt is pulled over your head and tossed to the side. He takes a selfish moment to stare at you, though he knows he makes you uncomfortable. He can’t get used to seeing you spread out for him; it makes him wonder what he did in a past life to get so lucky.

He only takes that moment though, before descending on you.

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, large hand coming up to cup your breast as he does. It’s hard for him to tell you how he feels, hard for you to hear it sometimes. He’s ravenous for you, consumed with the need to prove his words with actions. His teeth come forward to catch the bud in between them, rolling it around until you’re whining under him. He repeats the motion on your other, he wants you desperate, he wants you needy.

He wants you to beg.

“Please!” Your resolve folds like a chair, as soon as his fingers ghost over the apex of your thighs, “I need it!” Zeke chuckles against your chest, leaving behind another sore spot as he sucks at it.

“And what, exactly, does my little girl need?” His voice is low, full of heat, a promise flirting around the edges of it. “Use your words now, I know you can.”

“I want your- your tongue on me,” Your voice is little more than a whisper but it’s music to his ears. His body slides further down, settling himself between your already shaking legs. He taps your hip to wiggle your underwear off of you and then his mouth is on you. You’re already wet, the slightly tangy taste of you flooding his mouth. His tongue circles your clit just to hear you gasp and he thinks-

I could get used to this.

He doesn’t have long to ruminate on the thought, not when your fingers tangle in his hair and he can hear your whispered pleas for more, right there, more Daddy, please. Zeke feels his own hips grind down into the bed, desperately seeking out any friction they can find. His fingers prod at your entrance, sliding in with little resistance with how wet you are. God, it never ceases to amaze him how much you want him, how plainly attracted you are to him. He moans against your cunt, the vibrations making you cry out.

Zeke always been good with his hands, and this is no different. He finds your sweet spot with practiced ease, targets it with sure and steady finger tips. He can hear you babbling above him now, the mix of stimulation between his confession and his fingers driving you steadily mad.

“Zeke!” Your fingers tighten painfully in his hair when you cum, but it’s worth it. Your cunt gushes for him, practically blossoming in front of his eyes and he thinks that if he doesn’t get inside of you in the next few seconds he might actually die. He guides you down from your first high and sheds his pants as quickly as he can without getting tangled in them.

His hands curl around your ankles now, pulling them up up up until they’re around his neck. Zeke wishes he had a camera to take a picture of you like this. You already look well and truly fucked, despite his cock simply rubbing up against your folds now.

“Don’t tease me,” He thinks your voice might hold some annoyance if not for the way your hips are canting upwards, trying to get him to slide into you. “It’s not very nice for a man of your advanced age.” Brat.

“Little girls like you shouldn’t speak out of turn,” His voice is teasing, the tip of his cock already pressing into you. One sharp jerk of his hips and he’s bottomed out, your hands scrambling to grab at the sheets. “That’s my girl, hm? So sweet for me.”

“Only for you,” You parrot back, eyes shining with tears. It makes his heart swell in his chest and he manages to lean forward, pressing your knees further down and his cock somehow deeper just to capture your lips in a surprisingly sweet kiss. Only once he feels you relax completely does he pull away, settling back so he can watch where your bodies are connected.

“My perfect little girl,” Zeke coos out, delighting in the way you come alive under the praise, “You take me so well, make me feel so good.” He can see your mouth open and close, struggling to form a reply when his hand drops down to rub a circle around your clit with his thumb. He barely touches it, leaving little glancing blows but it’s enough to have you tightening around him so much he can hardly move.

His hips never stop the slow and steady pace he’s started though. He may not be able to pound away at you like he wants to, like he used to be able to do when he was younger but this, he’s found, is better. He gets to stroke his cock through you, slowly building up the pleasure he knows grows like a knot in your stomach just to unravel it with a few simple moves of his fingers. Zeke loves the way he gets to enjoy this, enjoy you, and he can’t help but tell you so.

“You’re squeezing my cock so tightly, am I really that good to you?” A rhetorical question laced with only the barest hint of his latent anxieties. You can’t find your voice to respond, too lost in moaning for him but your pussy flutters around him and he thinks that’s answer enough. “You know I love you, don’t you sweet girl?”

This, it seems, is too much to handle for you. Your back arches off the bed as your mouth drops open into a perfect circle. He does have to stop moving now, settling for pressing deep inside of you just to feel the contractions of your pussy. The feeling of it is what pushes him over the edge, spilling his cum deep within you. He holds himself there for as long as he can, content to simply watch the return to normal. When his cock is too soft to stay inside of you only then does he pull out. Both of you hiss as the sensitivity but soon enough he finds you in his arms again, pressed as tightly as you can.

“Did you mean it?” He almost wants to laugh at your question- it’s a bit late now to worry over his words isn’t it?

“Of course I meant it,” He comforts you nonetheless, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I love you.” You're silent for a few moments, and he swears he can actually hear you thinking before-

“You should meet my parents then.”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone’s Symphony | Prologue | Hades

Hey lovelies— this will either be a long fic or a short series, depending on how it best plays out. I decided to upload a sneak peak— let me know what y’all think and do enjoy!!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 2.5k (and counting)

Next

Master List

“Barnes, you’re on protection detail.”

He must be dreaming— he must have fallen asleep with the tv on again. That’s been happening a lot lately; he’s trying to catch up on normal life. On all the shows and movies and music he’s missed throughout the years. He’s trying to catch up. Or maybe he’s just trying to drown out the silence. It doesn’t matter why, to be honest, all that matters is that he is asleep and what he is hearing and seeing are the workings of a bad dream. There was a marathon last night. Yeah, there was. Movies— a few of them. Something about bodyguards. He’s just dreaming about the movies.

Right?

Wrong.

“You’re to make sure she is secured at all times during the next three days— do not leave Miss Y/l/n’s side under any circumstances. Understood?”

Bucky blinks twice, his brows creasing as he stares down his commander, a stubby, burly man with beady eyes. It’s a trial run— he can’t say no. He wants to, he just can’t afford to. Not if he wants a job. Still, he sees no reason for this to be on him. He’s a soldier— a good one. A dangerous one. Watching over little girls isn’t in his job description. He’s a fighter— a monster.

“I need an affirmative, Barnes.”

He bites back a scowl. He’s not trying to get demoted, he knows he’s on thin ice. But, like, isn’t there anyone else? Hell— Wilson is right next to him! Surely he’s better. He’s charming, at least. A flirt. He would be perfect! Wilson would keep her safe. So would he— maybe. Definitely from the threat. From himself, though— well, three days is a long time to avoid sleeping. Even for him.

“Barnes!”

Damnit.

“Understood, sir.”

Wilson’s amused chuckles sound from beside him, his hand landing like a ton of bricks on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky contemplates the repercussions of punching the smug bastard in the middle of a briefing. It can’t be more than a pay dock. He isn’t making that much anyway, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. It would be worth it to wipe that grin off his face. But, no, he can’t. He’ll have to do it later.

“Someone’s on babysitting duty.” Wilson snickers, pressing his fist to his mouth to hide his goading from the commander. “Remember Barnes; no candy after seven.”

“Shut up, Wilson.” He grunts back, just barely stopping his metal arm from flying out and smacking him— from squashing him like the bug he is.

“Think she has a bedtime?”

“Think you could shut up?”

Wilson flexes his fingers, holding them up slightly. Just enough as to not get caught ignoring the briefing but also enough to make sure Bucky notices. “Woah—” he says under his breath, that stupid smirk still heavy in his tone— “someone’s touchy today.”

“It’s a bad decision and you know it.” He says it simply— gruffly— it is the truth after all. He’s dangerous.

Wilson’s face softens, the glee filtering from his tone. “You’ll be fine, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, he just clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want to have another conversation about this. You’re a good person. You didn’t mean to do it. It’s not your fault. It might not be his fault but he still did it. He still feels it. That makes him bad— if not morally than at least physically. He’s a liability.

“Y/n Y/l/n—” Bucky focuses back on the commander; he may as well learn what he needs to do— “the twenty-five year old heir to the biggest communications technology manufacturing companies in the world. They do dealings with a range of chief institutions including our own White House—”

If Bucky’s teeth weren’t pressed together hard enough to make him wonder if they’re going to disintegrate, then his jaw would be on the floor right now. She’s the what? Did he just say twenty-five? He can’t even remember what he was doing at twenty-five— whatever he was doing it certainly wasn’t that. Granted, he probably doesn’t really want to remember what he was doing. Soldier things. Dangerous things. He shakes his head, huffing out a breath of air.

“Her immediate family have all turned up dead within the last six months—”

Bucky flinches— this time his jaw does drop.

“Holy shit.” Wilson mutters from next to him— Bucky can only nod. No more jokes about babysitting then.

Some pictures appear on the screen behind the commander, each one more gruesome than the last. It is nothing overtly sinister— nothing he hasn’t seen before— nothing worse than anything he’s seen before. Or worse than what he, himself, has done. He shivers, staring at the photos. Two men and a woman, each with a scarlet circle blown through their foreheads. What the fuck.

“Other executives have been found dead as well—” more pictures, more bullet holes— “She is the last one. We don’t know who or why— our mission is to find out, execute, and above all keep Miss Y/l/n alive—”

The pictures change, finally showing the woman who is to be in the soldier’s care, and his heart stops. Not for any normal reason, though— not because of how obscenely beautiful she is or because of the way her eyes pierce through the junky projector as though she were actually in the room with him. Not because of how soft she looks or how he can see the pink sheen of her lip gloss or the way those glossy lips are curved into an open mouth smile— like the picture had been taken mid laugh. No. His heart stops because of how god damn fragile she looks.

In the picture she seems to be at a University with some friends of hers. They’re backed against a brick facade, shoulder to shoulder like some sort of preppy mugshot. It’s probably supposed to be comical— Wilson lets out a hmph next to him, clearly seeing it as well— but Bucky can’t find it in himself to laugh. Not given the circumstances. Regardless though the picture gives him the information he needs to know; that she is a head shorter than the males in the picture. That seems normal— a head isn’t much in the scheme of things. The size difference is nothing.

Nothing unless, of course, you’re a giant super soldier whose genetically modified to be larger, stronger, and faster than the average man. Deadlier than the average man. He won’t be just a head taller than her— he’ll be at least two. Maybe more. And that’s just the height— he doesn’t even want to think about the rest. He is going to be stuck for three days, in what will most likely be a cramped safe house, with a girl who he could potentially break by bumping into her too hard. He can see it now: he takes the corner too fast and the next thing he knows she’s sprawled at his feet, her limbs bent at grotesque angles and her glossy lips flattened. All because he didn’t think to check.

This is going to be a long three days.

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

As it turns out, there are no safe houses— not legitimate ones at least. What there is, however, is the Wilson’s old family home in Delacroix, Louisiana— a semi falling apart, two-story build with robin's egg blue, fading paint. It is nestled deep into the bayou, hidden meticulously between towering trees. It is miles from any main roads and on the bank of a mostly dead river. Foot traffic is scarce and boats rarely pass on sunny days, let alone during the rainy season— the season it just so happens to be. Perfect.

Well, the location is perfect. The rest is a god damn shit show.

“You ready?” Sam doesn’t look at him— he knows better than that, opting instead to continue staring out at the bayou from behind the wheel.

Bucky, hunched over in the passenger seat, eyes also locked on the blue home, shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Sam sighs and Bucky tries not to tense at the sound. Please, not another lecture— not right now. He tries to ignore the man, gaze pouring over what he assumes is supposed to be a charming porch. Under a dim but sturdy awning there waits a white swing with a long bench seat and some floral pillows. Across from it are two rocking chairs swaying softly in the Louisiana breeze. One has a matching blanket draped over the back. It is supposed to look cozy— he knows it’s supposed to and he is sure to everyone but him that it is cozy. To him, though, it looks like everything he doesn’t have. Like warmth and sunny days and peace. Things he wants and things that make his skin crawl because of how foreign they are to him.

“You’re not going to hurt her.” Sam taps his hand on the wheel, sounding out a pattern that plays more like bullets ricocheting through the cab of the truck than whatever melody it actually is.

Bucky grinds his teeth together. Now he’s looking at the window beside the porch. Is it a kitchen? A mudroom? A den? He isn’t sure, there’s a white curtain pulled across the frame, blocking his vision from whatever waits for him on the inside. Blocking his vision from her. For a moment he thinks he sees the curtain move— a shadow of a hand passing along the edge. He turns away— he doesn’t want to scare her if she’s trying to size him up before they meet. It’s the least he can do. God only knows how terrified she already is.

His stare lands on Sam— an invitation for the soldier to finally look away from the bayou. “But I could, right? That’s what matters here— I could hurt her.”

“No, Buck, you couldn’t— you wouldn’t. You aren’t evil or whatever it is you think you are.” Sam raises a brow and Bucky scowls— it always feels like he’s in his head.

Of course he would never tell Sam Wilson that— like a dog left to fend for himself, he would rather fight.

“Don’t pretend like you have any idea what I think.” He can’t find it in himself to feel guilty for snapping— isn’t that what wild animals do?

Ever the patient animal rescuer, Sam rolls his eyes at the bite. “You’re a good man, Barnes.”

Bucky stares back for a minute, not sure how to even broach an answer, before breaking, snapping his gaze back to the inviting home— his kennel for the next three days. He clenches his jaw, trying not to slam his head against the dashboard for being an idiot. Even Bucky understands that it’s bad when he breaks the stare first— he’s been told before that he has a staring problem. He just doesn’t want to look Wilson in his eyes and explain to him exactly why he’s wrong. Maybe it’s just easier to let him think what he wants.

“Whatever.”

Maybe he wants just one person to truly believe that he isn’t the bad guy— even if he doesn’t believe it himself.

“I thought old people were supposed to be mature.”

Bucky flashes him a forced grin, one that tastes like the three hours of sleep he got last night and the five hours of self-loathing, shoving open his door and following it with his foot. “That’s me— the mature one.”

Sam barks out a laugh; either Bucky’s grimace— grin— worked or Sam is choosing to ignore it. “You’re old, not mature— there’s a difference, pal.”

“Hmph.” Bucky jumps out of the truck, yanking the duffle bag over his shoulder as his boots sink into the spongy grass.

His skin dampens immediately, a combination of the marshy climate and the grey clouds hanging above his head. A few droplets fall against his face and he slings a hand over his brows, turning towards his fate for the next three days. Without the barrier of the truck between him and the house, he almost feels like a normal man again. The weak, destructible kind. Theoretically, if the house were to fall on top of him right now he would survive. He would be pinned under the rubble, yes, but alive. It just doesn’t feel like it— it feels like he would be crushed. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end— his hackles rising as he tries not to bare his teeth— or fangs— at this new kind of threat. If only people could see him now; The White Wolf afraid of a charming, bayou home.

What a joke.

He shakes his head, pushing the passenger door shut with a sharp clang. Of course he isn’t afraid of a house— then he really would be an idiot. No, he is afraid of something else entirely— something much more sinister. Bucky is afraid of suburbia; of normalcy. What, with a metal arm and a brain hardwired to kill— it only makes sense he would also be programmed to steer clear of anything half-way decent. Especially pretty, fragile girls with glossy lips. Fuck. He squeezes his eyes closed, his vibranium fingers clenching around the strap of his bag. What is he even doing here?

A familiar, mechanical buzz fills the air and he cracks an eye back open in time to see Wilson leaning his head out of the passenger window. “Look, man— it’s three days. The fridge is full, the wifi is on, and it’ll rain so much she’ll probably nap the entire time. Pretend you’re at home doing whatever it is you would normally do. You’ll be fine.”

Bucky nods, sticking to his guns and letting the soldier believe what he wants. He tells himself again that it is because it is easier that way. “I gotta go, Wilson.”

With that he pushes his way to the door. His feet sink further into the grass with every step, curling around his ankles as though trying to warn him against entering the house— or trying to save the poor girl inside. He can’t decide. Warning or trap. Both. A warning for her— the princess; the little girl in the forest— and a trap for him— the rabid wolf. He steps onto the porch, his boots echoing off the concrete. To him it’s booming. He doesn’t want to think about what it must sound like to her, especially with everything the commander said she’s been through. A giant coming to kill her is his guess. Movement to the left catches his eye, the curtains shifting again, and his neck flushes.

“Hey Buck?”

He sighs— again— and turns over his shoulder for what he hopes is the last time— he just wants to get this over with. “What, Wilson?”

He knows before the man speaks that the cheshire grin on his face can mean nothing good— still he waits for the answer.

“Remember to tiptoe.”

[morganaspendragonss]

so so many thanks to everyone who read even one of these stories. i am forever grateful for all the support i've received; every comment, every kudos, every reblog, every like - they all mean so much. i'm overwhelmed, honestly, but in the very best way. ily all 🥰

day one: against all odds (we're still here) for @trkstrnd

Carlos will hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused on his task that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

*

a simple trip to the grocery store quickly turns to disaster for tk and carlos

day two: out, damned spot for anon

TK wakes up gasping, choking on air. The sheets are suffocating him and, when he tries to free himself, they only seem to get tighter. The hands reaching out for him, trying to calm him, are the final straw; TK throws himself from bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him as he collapses against the sink.

On some level, he is aware that the hands were Carlos’s, that the sheets were theirs, that his hands are clean, and that the dream was just a dream.

But they weren't always that way.

day three: the meetings for those in my wake for @freddieholic

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news, and almost always about their son. Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas, which is why she thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Gwyn, it’s TK. He's... They think we should say goodbye."

day four: a friend in me for 📍 anon

Carlos has come to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But, right now, as she sits hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, he's never seen her look so small.

or

the story of how nancy and carlos become the new champions of 126 games nights

day five: truth is heavier than fiction for anon

Carlos pauses with his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to prepare himself before going inside. TK’s shift finished an hour ago and he’d texted to let Carlos know he was home, which means Carlos is going to be walking right into a conversation he’d rather avoid.

Not that he’d have much choice either way; he might be able to cover his cracked and bruised ribs for a little while, but the arm in a sling will tell on him as soon as the door opens. Carlos doesn’t want to hide his injuries—they’ve had enough conversations in reverse on that theme to make him a hypocrite if he did—but he may have made some choices that he doesn’t particularly want to go into right now. Not while he’s tired and aching and just wants to cuddle with his boyfriend.

He blows out a breath, then opens the door, bracing himself for TK’s reaction.

“Hey— Shit!”

day six: slowly, and then all at once for @pragmaticoptimist34

The realisation that he loves Carlos hits him like a bolt out of the blue.

And at the worst possible moment.

We are getting updates on the active shooter situation at the Four Seasons Hotel. Austin Police Department have closed off the area and officers are currently preparing to enter the building to detain the suspect. It is as yet unknown if there have been any civilian casualties, but—

“Paul, turn the damn TV back on.”

“No.”

*

five times tk can't admit his feelings about carlos, and one time he finally does

day seven: the promise of tomorrow for anon

Up until five minutes ago, Carlos had been terrified of never having TK in his arms again. Now, the thought of letting him go scares him just as much, and TK seems to feel the same, if the way he’s clutching at Carlos’s jacket and pulling it tight across his back is any indication.

Carlos hugs him close, sinking down to his knees as TK falls into the chair behind him, letting the rest of the room fade away to nothing as he realises that they weren’t too late—that TK is here, with him, alive and mostly whole.

day eight: we'll hold each other soon for @221bsunsettowers

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away.

It's the last good memory Carlos has, and he's going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he's going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK's smile.

day nine: now i am just but the wayward man for anon

Ben is glaring at him again.

Klaus is very familiar with this specific glare—it’s the one Ben breaks out when Klaus is being ‘stubborn’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘a fucking asshole junkie with no self-respect who only cares about the next high and, really, it’s a fucking miracle you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet, Klaus’.

He has to hand it to him. Ben really does have him down to a tee.

*

winter is approaching and klaus has nowhere to go. his siblings are his only option—meaning he effectively has no options.

day ten: i can't imagine my life without you for 📍 anon

It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

*

nobody likes to be asked 'trouble in paradise?', particularly when the answer is yes.

day eleven: start again from the beginning for anon

Owen trusts his son. He’s watched TK fight his addiction and stay sober for the last six years, and he has faith that he can handle himself.

But when TK doesn’t show up for work the night after proposing to Alex, Owen knows that something is wrong. After all, they've been here before.

day twelve: let me love you when your heart is tired for anon

TK knows it’s going to be a bad day from the moment he opens his eyes. Slowly, slowly, each twitch like he’s moving mountains, he inches his hand blindly across the bed to reach out for Carlos. If he can just feel his boyfriend, if he can just see him—

But, of course. Carlos has a shift today. TK has a vague recollection of him getting out of bed at five this morning, rousing him with a shift to the mattress and a gentle kiss on the forehead.

If this were a normal day, he might smile at the memory.

day thirteen: couldn't utter my love when it counted for 📍 anon

TK takes his time in the bathroom, stopping to stare at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes and trying to talk himself down from any more-than-friendly feelings towards Carlos.

Later, they’ll tell him that this saved his life.

But that won’t be for a long time, until after the smoke has cleared and the dead have been counted and the statements have been taken. For now, TK steels his resolve and nods at himself, then turns to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle.

That’s when the explosion rips through the building.

*

after the boba date, tk lets carlos go. they're friends, which is working just fine, until a horrific accident threatens to take even that away from them.

day fourteen: if i walk out the door (a thousand eyes) for anon

TK gets this feeling sometimes, a sort of prickling at his back, like someone’s behind him, breathing down his neck. At first, it was only a once-in-a-while situation, so he thinks nothing of it; when it becomes an everyday occurrence, he starts to wonder, but he’s probably just being paranoid. The shooting, kidnapping, firehouse explosion, and the fire at his and Carlos’s house had all taken their toll, and TK’s just generally more on edge these days.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the feeling, not even Carlos. There’s no reason to fuck up everyone else’s peace with something so stupid. It’ll go away eventually; TK’s sure of it.

That is, until one of the lots just down from the firehouse gets occupied.

day fifteen: find you here inside the dark for @fanfic-corner

Yaz has walked this room too many times to count now; she’s traced her fingertips over the walls, searching for any cracks or crevices to indicate where there might be a door.

If the Doctor were here, she’d have her sonic out by now, spitting out words, only half of which Yaz could understand. She’d find a way out in no time. Or, if not, at least she’d be here. Talking a mile a minute, probably annoying the hell out of their captors. Yaz can almost hear her now—

Wait.

She can hear her now.

day sixteen: accidents happen for @ilovemosss

So, Jason reflects, it may not have been the best idea to take Pythagoras out training while they’re all suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Being the more logical of them, Pythagoras, to his credit, had attempted to talk him out of it, but Jason ignored him.

He very much regrets that decision now.

day seventeen: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team) for @laelipoo

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the little blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

day eighteen: in perfect harmony for @anyotherheartwilldo

Here’s the thing—Carlos doesn’t believe in signs. He used to when he was younger, raised on his abuela’s stories, but as he’d gotten older his father had taught him that what mattered was the choices he made. He’s the only one who has a say in the way his life turns out, and if he wants something, he has to put in the work to get it.

But there comes a point—namely, after his fifth thwarted attempt to propose to TK—when he begins to wonder if the universe really does have something against him.

*

proposing to tk proves far more complicated than carlos had first thought.

day nineteen: whatever here that's left of me (is yours) for anon

“Are you…” TK leans closer, peering at the hoodie Carlos is wearing, and—yep. “Why are you wearing my hoodie? Was there nothing in your size from the crew? You should have said something. We can fix this, you don’t need to be uncomfortable.”

There’s a beat, and then Carlos, studiously avoiding TK’s gaze, clears his throat. “It smells like you.”

*

post-2.12, carlos finds comfort in tk's hoodies.

day twenty: can't smile without you for anon

Carlos would be lying to himself if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before. He has always worried for TK’s safety, and the knowledge that a serial killer is on the loose in Austin has sent that worry skyrocketing. Especially because he’s the lead detective on the case; he’s spent hours poring over horrific crime scenes, examining all the facts until they’re burned into his brain.

Admittedly, the killers seem to be mostly indiscriminate in who they take, meaning the chances of it being TK are slim.

But there’s still a chance.

*

a before, during, and after of tk's kidnapping in a hole where your memory goes

day twenty-one: lately you've been searching for a darker place to hide for @freddieholic

“Can I ask you something else?”

TK stiffens at the sound of Mateo’s voice, a nervous note to it that wasn’t there last time. Something tells him he knows exactly what Mateo wants to ask; still, he turns to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as casually as he can manage. “Sure.”

“Are you…” Mateo trails off, biting his lip and avoiding TK’s gaze. “I mean, do you… I mean—”

“You can say it, you know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “If you want to know if I’m thinking about heading out and getting high, then just ask.”

*

five times tk turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms when he wants to use + one time he finally asks for help

day twenty-two: know me crazy, soothe me daily for anon

It had freaked Carlos out the first time it happened.

“It was a seizure,” TK explained, after Carlos had finished telling him about it. TK had been disoriented and confused for about ten minutes after, and couldn’t even remember half of their earlier conversation. “I… It’s because of the drugs. They fucked something up in my brain, especially after my first overdose, and now I get seizures occasionally."

*

in which carlos gets a little over-protective and tk is mildly exasperated

day twenty-three: lover, be good to me for anon

Carlos holds his arms out, and TK comes willingly, setting what Carlos now recognises as a tray of food carefully on the bed. “What’s this?”

TK stares as if it’s obvious. “Date night.”

“What?”

TK pauses, then gasps. “You’re right.” He pats himself down frantically, then pulls an object out of his pocket with a dramatic flourish. It’s a little electric tea light—real candles long since banned from the bedroom—and Carlos watches in bemusement as TK flicks it on and sets it down on the tray. “Now it’s date night.”

*

his fiancé being bed-bound isn't going to keep tk from date night

day twenty-four: bring you in from the cold for anon

As a cop, Carlos has always been uncomfortably aware of his own mortality. He’s considered his own death more than is probably healthy, but when you’re facing down the barrel of a gun almost every single day, it’s kind of forced on you.

He’s imagined himself being shot, stabbed, strangled, and everything in between.

But he’s not sure he ever pictured dying in a walk-in freezer after getting trapped there by mistake.

day twenty-five: heaving through corrupted lungs for anon

TK is itching to go home and check on Carlos, to make sure he’s still breathing and actually resting like he’s supposed to be. On the other hand, Carlos would probably kill him if he left work, illness be damned. It’s just… Carlos had looked so ill that morning, skin ashen and voice all but gone, and it had taken a lot of convincing for TK to still go to his own shift. He’d insisted on making sure Carlos had all the blankets and water and snacks and anything else he could possibly want, but even so, he’s still uneasy.

His gut is telling him that something’s wrong, and TK doesn’t think he can ignore it for much longer.

*

when carlos falls ill, they think it's just a bad cold. but when tk goes to check on him, he's in for a nasty shock.

day twenty-six: slowly becoming lovers for @pragmaticoptimist34

Things don’t get fixed overnight. They agree to give them a shot, but that doesn’t change the fact that TK is still reeling from his break-up and overdose, nor that Carlos is still hesitant and afraid of pushing too hard at once.

But, slowly, they get to know each other. And, slowly, they start to fall in love.

*

tk and carlos, getting to know each other and falling in love

day twenty-seven: and curse the gods for @girlwhowasntthere

Jason knows what it is to be cursed.

day twenty-eight: ignoring every warning for @moviegeek03

TK is fine.

He is absolutely, 100% fine.

And, sure, maybe he’s not supposed to be at work right now, and maybe his hand hasn’t fully healed yet, but it’s nothing. His doctor cleared him to go back to work, which means it’s healed enough, and TK is certainly not going to admit defeat no matter how much he's hurting.

day twenty-nine: can you beat back the night? for @girlwhowasntthere

He misses the bard. Geralt won’t admit it, not even to Roach, but he misses him. After months—years—of Jaskier’s constant chatter and the sound of his lute, the silence, once valued above all else, is too much.

It’s been months since the dragon, since Geralt lost both Yennefer and Jaskier in one fell swoop. He’s cursed himself many times over for the words he said—to both of them—and cursed himself more for the mistakes he made to get in this position in the first place.

*

this is the lot of witchers, to be alone.

day thirty: ease my mind for @silvarafael

Briefly, Carlos considers calling TK and telling him about the accident. But… He only broke two of his fingers and it barely even classifies as a minor injury in his book, so there’s really no reason to bother his fiancé while he’s still on shift himself. He pockets his phone then looks around to figure out where the exit is.

Only, an all-too familiar laugh distracts him from his task, drawing his attention to the nurses station.

Where TK is standing, smiling as a nurse swats at him for stealing one of their lollipops.

Carlos is, beyond doubt, fucked.

day thirty-one: scars turn to memories for anon

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then, he remembers.

Carlos was off shift tonight. He was here. Alone.

[pascalpanic]

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Seven / Decaf

W/C: 4k

Warnings: language, dirty thoughts, all of the dirty thoughts because Javi is a horndog, male masturbation... general spice. pining that could make a pine cone tremble.

A/N: welcome to pining central, enjoy your stay :) (ps when Steve says “Javier Peña” I need you to read that in the voice of Anthony Mackie going “SEBASTIAN STAN”)

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ordinary coffee that has had most of its caffeine removed from it before the beans are roasted.

You are a goddamn test on Javier’s self control. He feels like those biblical stories of men fighting back against temptation to prove themselves to God, except the only thing he has to prove is to himself. To you.

He’s always been enraptured by you, captivated by your smile and laugh but since you went ice skating, he hasn’t been able to get your body out of his mind. The way you fell asleep on him last night, nuzzled in like it was the safest place on earth. He could feel your breasts press into his skin, the warmth of your thigh hiked across his abdomen. If the past week has been some caffeine-induced fever dream, it’s becoming real now. You, a figment of his imagination before, maybe, are all flesh and blood and God, is he desperate for it.

Javier hangs around your apartment when you’re gone at work. He doesn’t have much else to do, considering you’re gone and he knows hardly anything about the city. He watches the daytime television on your couch, usually meanders to the coffee shop for a drink, spends some time there, and returns to the apartment.

He feels like he’s couch-surfing, like he did for a summer in his college years. He feels guilty occupying the space in your home, especially without payment. As he walks to the bathroom, he takes a long glance into your bedroom. The queen-sized bed is mussed, unmade before you left for work. The fitted sheet is pooled in the middle beneath where you sleep, the various blankets tossed about. It looks like the coziest damn thing he’s ever seen, especially after a couple of nights on a couch.

Javier almost thinks about giving in, waiting for you to ask him to sleep in your bed tonight then jumping at the chance. Maybe he will, if he’s tired enough. Maybe he won’t, but maybe he will. He can think of nothing better than the endless whir of the radiator as your perpetually-cold body nuzzles against him, brushes your nose against his bare chest.

It’s been a long time since Javi has fucked anyone, and he’s starting to feel it. He’s a little antsy, and the image of your body, your ass as you ice skate past him, haunts him like a bad dream- or rather some illicit fantasy he knows he shouldn’t be having.

Would you want him yet? You’ve told him you love him, but that was an accident. When he kisses you, you kiss back harder. Hell, you initiated the first kiss. You seem like you’ve been all-in on this relationship, taking things at a rushed pace that Javier certainly doesn’t mind. He spends a lot of the day contemplating that, standing on the tiny balcony of your apartment and smoking a couple of cigarettes.

At this point, he needs a distraction or he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands, quite literally. What better to kill the horny buzz making his head spin than to call Murphy?

The phone is in your bedroom, on the nightstand. Javier dares to sit on the edge of your bed, and actually moans aloud at the plush comfort, the way his ass sinks into it. Goddamn, he’ll have to get one of these. He wants nothing more than to lay back and fall into the bed, wait for you to get home and pound you into the comfortable mattress. But he doesn’t. He stays strong and picks up the phone, dialing the new Murphy residence in Miami.

After a couple of rings, a familiar voice answers. “Murphy’s.”

“Hey, bastard,” Javier chuckles, and he can hear the blonde man’s laughter from across the receiver.

“Javier Peña,” Steve drawls, dragging out the name. “Good to hear your voice, man. You finally come out of a ten-day celebratory drunkenness?”

“Don’t talk to me about binges,” Javier teases, but he smiles a little. He’s missed the man. He’s glad neither of them got in any trouble over the entire Los Pepes situation- God, that feels like ages ago now. It’s hard to believe he’s only been in D.C. what, eleven days? If Steve’s math is right, yeah. “No. I’m in D.C. still, if you can believe it. Just… bored.”

“Oh really?” the man scoffs, leaning against his kitchen counter in Miami with Olivia on his hip. “And why’s that? What are you still doin’ up there anyway? Thought you were goin’ to visit the old man.”

Javier shakes his head. “Plans changed. There’s, uh… there’s a girl.”

Steve lets out a wolf whistle, laughing. “And how much does she charge a night?”

“Not one of those. She works at a coffee shop around here,” he informs him. “She’s… she’s really something. Nothing I ever thought I’d be into. She’s gorgeous, man, and so energetic all the damn time. Seems like she has an IV of coffee from her shop,” he chuckles, looking off into space. He takes a pause. Steve doesn’t speak. “I wanna be with her Steve. I don’t… I don’t know if I can go back.”

He’s silent a little longer. “This is some kind of practical joke, right?” Steve says after a beat, barely holding back a laugh. Never has Javier been so sincere, so real and honest and open. And more specifically, he’s never been like this over a girl. Almost… mushy. Soft. “Tell me more,” he says, hoping the joke will give up.

Javier talks about you, describing every little detail with a grin on his face. He tells Steve about Tie Guy and ice skating and your piece of shit car, how you can spin in circles on the ice and how you remind him of a busy little bee, fluttering about the coffee shop.

Steve is genuinely rendered speechless; a hard thing to do. He blinks down at Olivia then straight ahead at the refrigerator, covered in photos and magnets and drawings. He can’t imagine Javier ever wanting something like this, like what he and Connie have, but he sure sounds like it. “That’s… something. Good for you, Javi,” Steve chuckles, resigning to sincerity. “I’m happy for you.”

Javier grumbles back. “Don’t get too happy. I have to go back to Calí in three weeks. She doesn’t want me to leave… I don’t know what to do, Murph. I can’t bring her with, you know that, but I can’t just leave her here. And I sure as hell can’t quit.”

“You could quit.”

“I’m not going to, how’s that?” Javier huffs and crosses his arms, annoyed by Steve and his goddamn wording loopholes. “I just… fuck. I’m gonna go think about it before she gets back.”

“She comin’ to your hotel? You sure you aren’t paying per night?” He smirks.

Javier’s quiet and Steve isn’t sure what it means until he talks. “I’m, uh, staying at her place. She insisted.”

Steve whistles again. “Damn. You’re whipped, Peña. Well, I’ll let you go. Call again soon. I miss ya, bud,” he tells Javier in a moment of earnesty then hangs the phone back on the receiver, bringing Olivia to her nursery to change her diaper.

Javi sighs and falls backwards on the bed, admiring the way the mattress holds his body compared to the couch. Yeah, he’ll definitely need to sleep in here tonight or he’s going to crack his spine.

The issue will be you. He could handle it on the couch; it was like a soft, adolescent form of love, innocent and warm. Of course, it could still be the same in your bed. But would it? Is there not a different set of implications that come with the two of you sharing a bed?

Snuggling with you on the couch was nice. Wonderful, perfect even. Javier loves falling asleep with you in his arms. But in your bed, arms curled around him, maybe even being his little spoon… that perfect body pressed flush to his own, your soft ass against his groin, your breathing pushing back into his chest… that would be an entirely different thing. And he wants it, he really does, but he isn’t sure he’ll be able to control himself.

He slept like shit the last night, to be honest. You on top of him prevented him from moving, and Javier is an active sleeper. His neck was at an odd angle and his back twisted. His body feels like it did after that fight with Tie Guy. He can’t- wouldn’t- invade your privacy of your bed without you home to give him the go ahead, but he’s so damn tired. Not even the coffee helps.

So Javier indulges in one of life’s little pleasures he rarely gets to experience: a nap. Curled up on his side on the couch, blankets pulled snug around his fetal-positioned body, Javier drifts off to the sound of the noon news on the television.

That’s how you find him when you come home. He’s peacefully asleep, his lips parted and mustache moving with his exhales. Well, he’s clearly alive. That’s good.

You’re not sure how long he’s been asleep, so you leave him, making yourself something to eat in the kitchen. You avoid the living room as you get settled in, changing out of your espresso-stained clothing and into something more comfortable.

When you’re all comfy, makeup removed and a warm sweater on, you sit at the other end of the couch. Javier’s curled into a ball, his feet just inches away from your legs. You hope when he moves, he’ll feel you there and wake. If not, oh well. He deserves the rest.

It’s gray and cloudy outside, and you snuggle into the corner of the couch while reading your worn copy of The Great Gatsby. It’s the one you’ve been re-reading recently, what you were reading that first day Javi wandered into your coffee shop and subsequently your life.

Javi wakes not long later, maybe half an hour, to the sound of your book crinkling. The paperback’s spine crunches with wear, and his eyes flutter open to see you tucked against a pillow. God, you look like an angel, the light from the cloudy day filtering in and illuminating you from the back. Your face is calm and peaceful, focused as your eyes trace the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald. “Hi,” Javier mumbles groggily.

Your expression turns to a smile and you set down the book. “Hey.” You take his legs and drape them across your lap, tracing your fingers across them. “How’d you sleep?”

He groans. “Okay. Neck hurts.”

“That wouldn’t be an issue if you’d just sleep with me,” you sing-song to him, stroking his legs through the comfortable pants he wears. “My bed is super cozy.”

God, does Javier know it. It felt like your love itself when he laid down and the warmth of it swallowed him, practically whole. “Maybe I’ll give in,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “How was work? Sorry I didn’t visit.”

“Boring as always,” you chuckle. “What did you do today?”

Javi frowns as he thinks about it, his brain fogged with sleep. “Not much. Called Murphy, talked a while. He’s doing good.”

“Good,” you nod and smile. “When will I get to meet this elusive Steve?” You ask, softly kneading at his legs through the blanket and frowning as you realize he’s wearing… jeans. “Wait, pause. Are you seriously wearing jeans?” you ask him and laugh, lifting the blanket to confirm what you already suspected.

He frowns defensively, crossing his arms. “Maybe.”

“Why the fuck would you take a nap in jeans, Javi?” You laugh.

Javier looks away, frowning. The stubbornness shows. “I don’t own many comfortable clothes besides what I wear to work, if you haven’t noticed,” he retorts, but you can’t help but giggle. “Plus I thought I’d only be here to get fired.”

You smile at him lovingly and cup his face. “You sweet, stupid workaholic. Let’s go shopping later, get you some cozy stuff.”

Javier warms against your touch but maintains a pout. “I like jeans.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a laugh. “Would a pair of sweatpants be detrimental to your wardrobe, Javier?”

“Stop using big words,” he groans. “I’m barely awake.”

-

The large mall is annoying to Javier, full to the brim with last-minute (or maybe prepared, he never holiday-purchases) shoppers. He holds your hand, shooting feisty glares at anyone that dares to bump against his or, god forbid, your side. “Relax,” you tease and squeeze his free hand. The other carries a bag containing two hoodies, three t-shirts, and two pairs of sweatpants. “You’re not on a mission, and you certainly don’t have the knuckles to pitch another fight.”

He looks at his hands and scowls. You’re right. They’re no longer black and blue but faded yellows and greens, a spare bit of purple over the bones. The fight wasn’t that long ago, really, even though it feels like an eternity.

You drag Javier into a favorite shop of yours. He follows you around like a lost puppy while you search through clothes. He even hands you one or two tops he thinks you’d look nice in. You kiss him on the cheek and he dares to smile for a moment before returning to his stone-faced annoyance at such a packed area.

The dressing rooms are nicer, much more spaced out and offering places to rest. Javier sits in a chair across from your little cubby as you try things on. Every time you find something, you come out and model it for him. He comments, always positively, gives a little applause and smiles at the twirl you give in the big trifold mirror.

There’s one pair of leggings that hug your ass tight. Javier nearly salivates at them. “I like those,” he comments. “They look comfortable.” The same follows with a pair of jeans, even more flattering. He crosses his legs and nods, giving you similar comments.

Then come the dresses and tops. They’re all low-cut, not the wintery clothing Javier’s always seen you in. They show off your cleavage, and one scarlet colored blouse with a low neckline and fluffy sleeves makes Javier’s eyes simultaneously light up and darken. “How’s this one?” You ask, tugging at the sleeves.

“How much is it?” He asks, leaning back and looking at you through lidded eyes.

“Uh…” you tell him the cost and look back up at him, expecting a comment. “Why?”

“I’m buying that for you myself,” he smirks up at you, eyeing you up and down in a way that makes your skin feel intensely hot. The sight is stunning to him, and your flustered smile makes the smirk a little more devilish.

Javier does end up buying you the shirt, and you purchase a few other things you liked. But that scarlet shirt is stuck on Javier’s mind in replay: the subtle valley between your tits, how they filled out the shirt just perfectly and tugged at the cloth covering them, the way they look painfully soft to the touch, especially through that soft fabric. He wonders if you were wearing a bra under it. Then he has to stop himself.

You eat dinner late, chatting mindlessly over everything and nothing. Javier has no work to speak of now, so he tells you tall tales of the hunt for Escobar, some exaggerated and some underplayed. He mainly listens to you, asks about your past and your future, your family and your job. He could never tire of your voice, the soothing lull that warms him from the inside out, just like your skin flushed in that goddamn red top.

He drives the both of you home, humming softly to the songs on the radio. He’s beginning to recognize more and more of the top-40 hits on a certain preset station, songs he’d never listen to on his own. He glances over at you, gazing out of the window, and feels his body warm again- not just in his heart, but his stomach and lower too. He dares to steal a glance down, at the soft swell of your tits in that sweater. God, he wants to get you naked.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what you want and he’s too afraid to ask, too afraid to shatter this blissful phase of adoration without the sexual attraction. He wonders if you feel it too, if your clothes suddenly feel too restricting and too warm when you run a hand down his bare back.

The nightly routine ensues: you shower. Javier changes, this time into a new hoodie but leaves his legs bare, wearing only boxers on the bottom. He waits on the couch, and when you exit the bathroom, he takes his turn. He returns and sits next to you on the couch.

Tonight, when you ask him to share your bed with you, he doesn’t say no. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything, just yawns softly and stands, taking your hand.

It’s a sacred space, your bed. Javier knows it. He rarely fucks women in his; whether it’s for his own privacy or fear they’ll fall asleep there, he can’t say. But your bed is such an intimate expression of you, and he can see it. He can see the divot in the mattress where you sleep, the way you arrange the pillows just right for your own head. It is a queen size, but it’s single-occupancy: until now, that is, and Javier feels honored you’re willing to share this holiness with him.

He gets into the bed on the other side of you, the warm blankets enveloping him, and he nearly lets out a moan at the comfort. Compared to the hotel bed and the couch, this is sleeping on a literal cloud from the heavens. He lies still, waiting to see what you do first. Not wanting to overstep anything.

His prayers are answered when you snuggle into his side. You rest your head on his chest, kissing his sternum through the soft material of the hoodie. A hand rests on the other side of your face, and your legs both encircle one of his. Javier smiles, wrapping an arm around you. He presses a kiss into your hair and murmurs a goodnight, letting his head fall back. He has no time to worry about this situation before he falls asleep.

He falls asleep almost immediately, which makes you chuckle through your half-conscious state. He seems to always radiate heat, Javier. Your layers of blankets upon blankets suddenly feel unnecessary when a heat source the strength of the summer sun fills your bed. His chest is strong and firm beneath you. The rise and fall of his chest is like a boat rocking on the ocean, putting you at ease and allowing you to rest.

-

Fuck. He knew this was a bad idea. Why did he do this?

The clock reads 1:48 and Javier is wide awake, staring at your popcorn-stucco-whatever the fuck it is ceiling. He wasn’t able to process this before sleep overtook him, before his consciousness was wiped and with it, his inhibitions.

Your body is pressed to his so perfectly. You sleep without a bra, and Javier can feel his arm being slightly sandwiched between your breasts, the way they press further into it every time you inhale. Your thighs are warm with sleep, and he can feel your core pressed against his hip, even while you sleep and even through the layers of clothing.

Javier feels like the embodiment of slime. You’re asleep and all he can think about is how fucking hot your body is, how much he wants to press you into this mattress and wake you with an orgasm. He wants to palm your tits and make your nipples harden through that flimsy shirt, to slide his fingers beneath your pajama bottoms and-

He can’t take it. He feels so wrong, the smell of you surrounding him and choking him like a thick perfume, even in its subtlety. He does not deserve to sleep next to you, innocently, like someone you love, when all he can think about is his own carnal desires.

Pushing back the covers, Javier gets out of bed before any more blood can flow to his slowly hardening dick. This is all wrong. He should not be doing this, thinking these things without knowing you feel the same.

But the guilt is as strong as his arousal. He watches you for a moment, torn between his options, before meandering through the darkened bedroom and finding his way into the bathroom. He turns on the bright lights and forces himself to stare at the bulbs, to make his pupils shrink from their blown state of sleep mixed with desperation. He’s fully awake now.

He needs to get the hardened length down. He can’t do this, can’t allow himself this suffering while you sleep in the next room.

The sink. Cold water. He gasps silently at the splash of the ice-cold water against his face, dampening the edges of his hoodie. It doesn’t work enough. Again. Nothing. He feels like a teenager, unable to control himself. The cold water is a good idea, though.

Javier strips down, trying to avoid the urge to take himself in hand and fix this here and now. Turning the water as cold as it can go, Javier turns on the shower and steps in.

Agony is the best term he has. It makes him want to squeal like a fucking pig as he shudders from the cold. It doesn’t work to force his erection down, but what use is it when it’s not something physical but mental stimulating him? The cold shock didn’t do shit. Javier’s still achingly hard. He turns the water warmer and sighs as it gradually turns to a tolerable temperature, one that he can relax under and allow himself to let out a deep sigh.

He has no other options, unless he wants to wait it out. Leaning against the wall, Javier strokes himself, biting his lip and hoping the water pressure will cancel any soft moans he can’t avoid. It doesn’t take long when he’s this aroused, when he knows exactly what the fantasy in his head would feel like.

Javier is panting and sweating, from the effort and the growing heat of the water. He feels disgusting but it feels so good, and he can’t help imagining you doing this to him, you spreading your legs and feeding the fire between his own.

It only takes a few minutes. He gasps as he cums, with a force he’s never brought forth with his own hand. He bites his lip so hard he’s sure he might cut it off, not allowing the desperate sounds to reach a level you could hear. When he’s done, he groans and cracks his neck. “Oh, little bee,” he whispers, agonized as he lets the water wash the evidence of his sins down the drain.

When he’s done, Javier walks into your bedroom, silently, in the dark. His previous boxers were stained with a patch of his precum; he can’t put those back on. He drops the towel and puts on different boxers.

After he’s changed, he looks at your bed longingly for a moment. The soft sheets, soft mattress, the soft body between them. But in Javier’s head, he’s forsaken his right to the warmth, the comfort.

When you wake in the morning, hours after you thought you heard the shower running, you find Javier is not in your bed. There isn’t even a warm spot where he lay, just your body shifted further from your normal sleeping position. When you wander out to make your morning coffee, you find him. He spent the night on the couch again.

-

taglist:

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[bumblesimagines]

Green Thumb

Part 16

Request: Yes or No

This first half is for you anon! Excuse my inability to write drunk characters lmao

~

"What the hell are you doing?" You blinked, looking up at Tony. You stumbled back slightly, gaze flickering around the room.

"Uhm.." A small snort left you, holding onto the counter and raising the bottle of whiskey.

"This?" You answered, head tilting as you smiled widely. Tony raised his brows, eyeing you with a disapproving gaze.

"So what? You drink now?"

"Clint would know if I- Oh, fuck." You caught yourself before you could fall, a small laugh leaving you. "If I touched his beers."

"Barton's drinking too? What a great influence you have, kid." Tony frowned, shaking his head.

"This isn't my first time." You muttered, huffing softly as your eyes narrowed. Tony raised a brow, taking in a deep breath.

"Could've fooled me."

"Sam was pretty sneaky." You giggled softly, putting the bottle down before you could drop it. You didn't notice the way Tony flinched when you put it down a little too hard.

"Drinking isn't the answer to what you're feeling." Tony called, taking a step towards you. You scowled, shaking your head.

"You're a stupidly lucky bastard, Stark." You muttered, taking a step forward. Your hands quickly caught the island, ice covering the area you touched.

"Okay, kid, let's get you to bed before you set this place on fire." Tony said, reaching out towards you. You scoffed, smacking his hands away.

"Don't touch me, asshole." You snapped, hands heating up and turning the ice to water. Tony didn't want you to have an outburst and make a sinkhole swallow the facility.

"It's been two years. Two years since everyone just.. Poof! Gone! What did you lose, huh? A kid you barely knew? Your pride?" You raised your brows, staring at him. His face was fuzzy and the room was slightly spinning.

"What did you lose? Your parents were already dead, your bestie is alive, your wife is alive, you're expecting a kid! You lost nothing." You sneered, glaring at him with glossy eyes.

"Everyone I love is gone but you get to start a new life with Ms. Pans or whatever her fucking name is. You get to have a family while I have to live without mine.. Clint.. Clint doesn't even come home half the time!" Your brows lowered, body trembling as you tried fighting back tears.

"I think we should talk about something." Tony said softly. You scoffed, rolling your eyes and licking your lips.

"Yeah? What? Gonna tell me I'm immature again?" You asked, letting out a small fake laugh. You looked away from him when tears began to slip down your cheeks.

"Why do I keep losing everyone?" You sobbed, taking in short breaths. Tony's gaze softened, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder.

"It's not your fault, (Y/N)." He said softly, frowning. Tony had never seen you vulnerable. You were usually snappy and feisty with him.

"I d-didn't try hard enough." You breathed out, a quiet whimper escaping you.

"All of us could've tried harder. All of us wish we did. Don't you think Thor feels the way way you do? He's just angry instead of sad. No clue where he flew off but.." Tony sighed, eyes shutting as he thought of things to say that wouldn't piss you off. You turned and stared at him for a moment before reaching out and grabbing the back of his head, leaning forward. Your lips met his though your mind didn't process that you were kissing a married man with a baby on the way. You pulled away from the stunned billionaire, patting his chest.

"You suck." You whispered, eyes becoming droopy before you collapsed. Tony quickly caught you before you could hit the ground, clearing his throat.

"Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y? Could you contact Rhodey? I need some assistance." Tony dragged your body towards one of the couches nearby, laying you on your side in case you had to vomit. Tony stared down at you, taking in your flushed, tear stained cheeks. He raised a hand to his lips, gently touching them. He shook his head, looking down at his ring with a heavy sigh.

"What's up, Tony?" Rhodes asked, gaze immediately dropping onto you.

"Could I charge him for underage drinking?" Tony asked, looking at him. Rhodes shook his head, chuckling.

"He turned 23 last month. Sent him a birthday card and a small cactus plant." Rhodes told him, approaching the couch.

"How come I'm never told of his birthdays?"

"Cause he doesn't like you." Rhodes answered simply, grabbing your legs as Tony hooked his arms under your armpits. They got you to your old bedroom in the facility, thought it took them a while. Tony propped up a pillow under your head, placing a trash can beside the bed.

"What would a kid like him want on their birthday?" Tony asked, looking at Rhodes as he put his hands on his hips.

"His boyfriend back." Rhodes muttered. Tony blinked, turning his head to look at him with wide eyes.

"Boyfriend?"

"Yeah, Barnes. I found out when we went to Wakanda. They were all over each other. Never thought he'd have a thing for older guys but.. I gotta admit, Barnes is an attractive dude." Rhodes shrugged, gently bringing the covere up over your shoulders. He gently rubbed your shoulder, sighing.

"He's a good kid. I guess I gotta lock up whenever he comes over. I'm surprised he even still bothers being here. Thor's nowhere to be found, you're barely even here.. God knows where Clint is. He hasn't visited yet."

"I'm gonna retire." Tony announced, looking at Rhodes. Rhodes raised his brows, looking at him.

"I wanna give Morgan a good life. One where she sees her father every day." Tony explained. They both turned to you when they heard you groan and gag, throwing up into the trash can and almost falling off the bed.

"I'll go get him a water bottle and painkillers." Rhodes mumbled, turning around and leaving the room. Tony nodded, licking his lipd and sighing softly.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" You asked in hoarse voice, slowly getting up. You sluggishly walked towards the bathroom, washing your mouth.

"I wouldn't bother. You're probably gonna throw up-" Tony cringed, hearing you throw the toilet seat up and vomit again. Rhodes entered the room, placing the pill bottle down and glancing into the bathroom.

"Should I contact Clint?" Rhodes asked, looking at Tony.

"He can come here when he realizes his son isn't home." Tony replied, glancing at Rhodes before turning around and leaving the room. Rhodes nodded, walking towards the bathroom and placing a hand on the doorway.

"Need help?" He asked, head tilting. You shook your head, grabbing toilet paper and using it to blow your nose. Rhodes hummed, leaving the room as well. You pushed yourself off the floor, walking to the sink and washing your mouth again. Your throat burned and you could taste what you had for dinner. With a heavy sigh, you approached the bed, collapsing onto it. Your arms wrapped around one of the pillows, nuzzling into it. You turned your head when someone entered the room.

"Read this when you have a clear head." Tony said quietly, placing a file on the nightstand. You furrowed your brows, a frown tugging at your lips. You were tempted to look at the file but your body desperately needed sleep.

The next morning, you woke up with a raging headache. Your mind and body were still tired but you weren't sure if what you needed was sleep or actual therapy. You noticed the trash can you had thrown up in was gone as you pulled your legs over the edge of the bed. The yellow file caught your eye again. You sighed, deciding to use the bathroom before anything else. You picked up the pill bottle, taking two tablets and pushing them down with some water. You licked your lips, putting the water bottle down and taking a seat on the bed. You picked up the file, placing it on your lap. You stared at the writing on the front in sharpie.

(Y/N) BARTON

"Is this.. My file?" You blinked, flipping it open and seeing your picture in the top right corner followed by your information.

"Why would I need this?" You flipped to the next page, seeing a picture of an unknown woman.

Florine De Meyers (Could be a false name) is believed to be (Y/N) Bartons' aunt from his fathers side.

Your mouth went dry as you reread the sentence over and over again. After almost six to seven years with the Avengers, you had never been told about your family. It was always your parents being unknown yet here was a piece of information stating you had a relative. You closed the file, standing up and leaving the room. You made your way to Tonys' office, tossing the file on his desk. Tony looked up from the box in his hands, glancing between you and the file.

"What the hell is this?" You questioned, arms crossing. Tony carefully placed the box down, clearing his throat.

"Your file."

"Yeah, I know that, dipshit." You sneered, earning a pointed look from him. Tony sighed, picking the file up and going to the second page.

"You-"

"Shut up and sit down." Tony ordered. You glared at him, sitting down on one of the chairs.

"Florine De Meyers is a 47 year old woman from Lasne, Belgium. It's unknown if Florine De Meyers is her real name since not much is known about her. It's stated that she had a brother but no information came up about him. We, well more like F.R.I.D.A.Y, went through your blood test and searched for any relatives. She's the closest living relative you have." Tony said, putting the file down. Your leg bounced as you tried to stay calm, taking in soft deep breaths.

"So, all this time I could've been learning about my family? Why didn't you tell me sooner?! She might've been snapped away too!"

"Quite frankly, you seemed happy with Barton and his family. Plus, I forgot about it while trying to save the world a few times." Tony answered, picking up trophies and medals, putting them in the box.

"Does Clint know?" You asked softly.

"Nope. Romanoff doesn't know, Banner doesn't know, Thor doesn't know, Rogers... Well, as far as I know, he's unaware but he very well could." Tony shrugged, closed the box and taping it.

"She lives in Belgium?"

"That's what I said. Though, you might not be from Belgium. We think she's your fathers half sister. So, your father and her share a parent. It's why we had some difficulty finding anyone. Your parents made sure nobody could make any connections. Whether it was protect you or to protect themselves, we'll never know. Florine might know though. F.R.I.D.A.Y, what's the most recent security footage of Florine De Meyers?"

"Florine De Meyers was seen in a supermarket last thursday." F.R.I.D.A.Y answered, making a picture of a security footage appear. You stared at the picture, sighing softly.

"Where's Nat?" You asked.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y?"

"Contacting Agent Romanoff." You stood up, pulling the file towards yourself and looking down at the picture as Tony spoke with Natasha. Florine seemed to have a permanet frown on her face, eyes hard and icy.

"Romanoff is on her way. She can accompany you to Lanse." Tony said, watching you with a small frown.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." You looked up at him in surprise. Tony was never one for apologies.

"I thought that if.. Your parents wanted to desperately protect you, I should respect their wishes and do the same. You're a big boy now. It's up to you to decide what you want to do now." Tony said, placing the box down and looking at you with a gentle gaze. You swallowed, nodding as you rubbed your arm.

"Uhm... I'm sorry for being a dick and insulting you." You apologized as well, choosing to ease the tension between you and Tony.

"What's up?" You turned to look at Natasha, picking up the file and closing it.

"I need a ride to Belgium."

[relaxxattack]

hi! I'm the anon that asked about sending in the fic. apologies if this is the wrong place to send it, I wasn't sure what was most appropriate. feel free to ignore it btw. apologies for plot holes and mischaracterisation I wrote this while very tired.

When he’s not trying to solve the mystery of kidnapped children or plotting ways to kill a man, Ran likes to walk the halls of the castle.

In the End everything is so similar, the cities, the bridges, the ground, the sky – it all goes on forever, repeating itself over and over again, never anything new.

In the Overworld however, no two cities he’s been to have ever been the same. They bustle under one sky with their own clouds each day and their own constellations each night. They have been built by different minds for different purposes and different people and he loves to study it.

So when he wanders the halls he take notes in his journal of the art and the architecture. Of the style and the purpose and the history.

He’s definitely not hoping to bump into someone. He would never do that.

One night when he’s unable to sleep he decides to go for another walk. At this point he’s sure he’s seen everything so it’s more to clear his head than anything else.

Unlike the other times he’s been out at night, the castle is not silent. There’s a low hum emanating from somewhere, quiet enough that he reckons he’s the only one that can hear it.

He walks towards it and the sound grows louder and more distinguishable.

It’s music.

They don’t have music in the End, not really. However, it had been one of the few things in the Overworld he never had to learn to understand. The second he heard it he got it. He felt it in his bones, the way that the rhythm would drum through his heart and tell him a story. A story just for him. The way that the melody would make him understand things he could never put into words, even if only for a moment.

He follows the sound, or rather it lures him to it. Through a corridor and up a set of stairs. Open a door, shut the door, up another flight, along another corridor. He thinks he’s running now, sprinting to find where the music is coming from, but he stops dead when he sees the source.

It’s him.

At the end of the hallway, facing away from him, Jackie sits in front of a piano.

Ran doesn’t think he’s ever been to this part of the palace before. The ceilings are lower, the walls bare, the windows foggy. Nobody has been here in a long time; he wouldn’t be surprised if Jackie was the only one that knew about it.

He stands stock still at the door to the hallway, not wanting to move, not wanting to shut the door for fear it might disturb him, for fear it might make him stop.

He’s never heard this song before, which is odd because he likes to think he can recognise most Overworld music by now. The same songs are played at all the gatherings he goes to, through all the streets he walks. He had never considered that there would be more.

This one sounds sad, not sad like crying but sad like stillness. It feels like trailing your hand through a river as it flows by, or when you learn as a child that you can’t sleep on clouds, or when you wake up from a nightmare calling for someone only to realise you are alone.

It feels like everything he’s never been able to put into words all at once, it feels like it’s for him but not just for him, like a hand reaching out and saying I feel like that too.

He’s so caught up in all the feelings that he can only think one thing, and that is that he doesn’t want Jackie to stop.

Ran should know by now that when it comes to Jackie, he never gets what he wants.

The last note Jackie plays sounds less like a conclusion and more like a promise. I will be back tomorrow. I still have stories to tell you.

Ran wonders that if he returns at the right time he might be able to listen to him again.

And then kill him when he’s distracted, a voice in his head adds on.

Sure, that too.

Jackie hasn’t moved since he stopped playing but Ran knows that won’t last for long and decides to slip out the door while he’s still unnoticed.

“Whoever’s waiting outside the door better stop and hope to God I’m feeling merciful tonight,” a voice commands. It is not one he recognises. It’s definitely Jackie, but it’s low and tired. It hurts Ran and he doesn’t know why.

Ran’s only halfway out the door and he figures his best bet at staying alive is to reveal himself. He’s done his research. He knows that unlike him, Jackie doesn’t have assassination attempts, only assassinations. A long list of names with him as the last face they saw.

There are worse ways to go, he thinks.

He turns around to go back through the door again.

“Ran?” Jackie says, confused. “What’re you doing here?”

What is he doing here? If the Council knew of this, Ran in a dark room with his target, alone in a hidden in a part of the castle where no one goes, not trying to kill him but instead afraid of him, instead just watching him, instead wishing that he would turn around and continue to play - well - he’d be dead probably.

Definitely.

Oh, he’s so dead.

For once in his life Ran has lost all ability to lie, or tell the truth, or say anything remotely useful.

That’s been happening a lot recently.

“I- um, I was just- I was uh-”

Jackie looks less confused now, instead just annoyed.

“You were what?” he asks.

“I was listening.”

His face seems to fall, like a realisation that drains all irritation from it. His harsh brow fades away and his eyes soften. Here in the moonlight Ran think Jackie looks the youngest he’s ever seen him.

“Did you like it?” His voice is different but in a good way this time, it’s sweet, almost naïve and it strikes Ran once again how strange it is that this kid has enough red in his ledger to anger herds of bulls.

It doesn’t occur to Ran that it’s strange that he does too.

“I did,” Ran replies, and he doesn’t mean to. He really didn’t mean to say that. Why did he say that? Why did-

Jackie smiles and all trains of thought stop. “Good.”

Jackie gets up from the stool and walks down the corridor towards him. Closer and closer. Ran’s heart is getting faster and he has to remind himself that Jackie doesn’t know. He’s not going to kill him.

It doesn’t help.

When Jackie reaches him he stops for a second and seems unsure what to do. Eventually he pats Ran’s shoulder and meets his eye. “G’night, Ran.”

He walks past him and through the door, not expecting a reply, not expecting anything at all.

When Ran falls asleep that night he tries not to think about a life in the future. About a life far away from here. With grassy fields and trees and lakes. With blue skies and a house in the middle of nowhere. Far from everything he’s ever known. Untouchable. Undisturbed. Answering to no one.

He tries not to think about sitting in that house – it’s more a cottage really – simply furnished with the windows wide open, resting in an armchair and listening to music played by a boy with blue in his eyes and red in his ledger. With blonde hair and a laugh that sounds like if seagulls could sing. The most beautiful music he’s ever heard.

He tries really, really hard.

i'm going to cry this is so so lovely holy shit. this is my new favorite thing in the whole world now. i am going to treasure this forever.

it feels so weird to see ran and jackie written by someone else, but, like, you've taken them and made them better... they feel so alive here. they really come off the page.

my writing normally feels grounded and dry, which is intentional, but i absolutely love how yours feels glittery and flowy (like a stream). oh my god.

thank you so much for sharing this!! if you ever want to like put it on ao3, please do!!!

[sockablock]

(TW for panic attacks and discussions about trauma)

— — —

The thing is, Beau's friends are shit fighters.

To be clear—she's not saying that they're bad at fighting, gods know Veth's a force of nature with her crossbow and all of the spell-slingers can kill with a word—it's just that when it comes to fighting, actual fighting, that down-and-dirty fist-on-flesh shit, her friends suck. Most of 'em just run, or they’d sweet-talk a surrender, or go back to slinging spells.

Beau would never admit she misses the Soul, but at least those people knew how to block. At least Dairon would make her work for it, wouldn't tell her to please, gods, Beau, stop punching me, I give!

Fjord's better these days, but not good enough.

Which is why, on their third morning back in Nicodranas, when Beau opens the door to see Yasha looking restless, she knows exactly what's up.

"Should I get my staff?"

Yasha shrugs. She usually does.

"I'll grab it. Down in five."

Beau considers grabbing some toast too, but she remembers how antsy Yasha seemed and figures she should try to avoid puking in Marion’s yard.

Yasha is stretching when she gets there. The gate swings behind her with a gentle clunk, and she kicks her shoes off, curls her toes in the grass. The sun is barely broken above rooftops and towers, and the first chime of church bells ring out overhead.

Beau yawns a little, but it’s just for flavor. Mind games. She’s not actually sleepy.

“We do not have to—” 

She quickly waves her hand. “It’ll wake me up. You know, get the blood pumping.”

Yasha smiles a little at that. It’s always such a small one, but it’s getting to be familiar.

“I got up early. I couldn’t sleep. Er...sorry.”

Beau doubles her effort to be dismissive. “Don’t apologize to me, Yasha. C’mon. You think I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to?”

This seems to be a winning argument. Yasha nods, like she can’t imagine Beau doing anything she doesn’t want.

Maybe it’s the crisp ocean breeze, maybe it’s the way they circle each other in the yard. Maybe it’s the fresh brush of gauze on her fists.

Beau wants to win.

She dives in, pulls low, uses her quick movement to catch Yasha off-guard and get in as closely as she can. Yasha’s tall, broad, strong as an ox, and even holding back, she could wind Beau with a punch. She presses even closer, limiting Yasha’s motions, sweeps out a leg and cuts up when Yasha moves. The two of them duck and weave and push, neither allowing the other an inch, fists flying, blows being blocked and sweat beginning to pour down their backs. Beau lands a hit that leaves Yasha grunting, then stumbles when a wild haymaker knocks her back. It’s clear that Yasha was never taught any form, just scraped it all together by surviving on the moors and her chaotic movement, high endurance, and reckless confidence just make her deadlier.

Beau tries to close in again, but a lucky kick forces her a pace too far. Her knuckles are bruising in that numb, seething way, and so she darts to the side, grabs her staff, vaults up and then arcs her foot to Yasha’s face—

The dance starts again, this time hardwood hitting forearms and on anyone else, Beau might even feel guilty about it. But Yasha barely seems to register the thwack, her teeth bared in a sideways grin, her eyes hard and excited and alive. Beau’s probably wearing the same expression. She hears herself laughing, and knows that she is. Up-swing, down-swing, slide left, throw a punch, block one, dart back, duck and then—

Yasha’s fist catches her right in the gut, sends Beau lurching flat into the dirt. She chokes her own breath, coughs up dust, barely gets an elbow up with Yasha leaning over her, blotting out the sun, raising Beau’s staff for a finishing strike—

Halts.

It’s like watching a tower fall. Yasha staggers back. She drops the staff. She lifts her hands and stares at her palms and Beau hears a mangled breath. Her knees give. She collapses on herself.

Beau scrambles up, aching limbs forgotten.

“Yasha?” she says. “Yasha? Are you—is—what’s wrong?”

Yasha sucks in more air, but that just seems to make things worse. Her shoulders tremble and her lungs sound ragged.

“Aw, shit,” says Beau, “I mean—fuck—uh—”

She half-runs, half-crawls, ‘til she’s at Yasha’s side. She wants to put her hand on Yasha’s arm, thinks better of it, panics a little more. She wishes she were Jester. She wishes she were Cad. They’d know what to do, they’d be better at this than her, anyone, hell, Marius would be better at this than her—

But it’s her, and everyone’s still in the house, so she shakes her head and stamps the fear down. 

“Yasha, I...aw, fuck, I’m—I’m here, it’s okay, nothing’s wrong—” clearly something is wrong, idiot, “—I mean, um, you’re safe here, okay? It’ll be alright. I’m here, and I’ll stay if that’s what you want, okay? I won’t go anywhere, if you don’t want. Uh...can you shake your head if you want me to go? Is that...possible, can you—”

A frantic shake.

“Oh good, okay, thank fuck, then I’m here. I’m right here, Yash. I’m not going anywhere.” She tries to pitch her voice calm, takes deep, long breaths, and continues to murmur as reassuringly as she can until after...seconds? Minutes? Yasha’s trembling slows. 

There’s a pause. Yasha inhales and lets it go. It’s shaky, but apparently good enough because finally, eventually, she turns and looks back at Beau.

“I’m...okay. I am okay.”

Beau sinks back into the grass. Then she lies down. “Oh, cool. I’m, uh, glad.”

“I’m so—”

She holds up a hand. “Nope. C’mon.” She pats the ground beside her.

“Er...what?”

She pats it again, emphatic. “Lie down. C’mon. I think we’ve earned a break.”

She stares up at the sky while Yasha shifts around, and eventually there’s a gentle thud as she lies down. Seagulls cry in the distance and clouds drift slowly past their heads.

Beau swears, but mentally. A private thing.

“So, uh...do we...want to talk about it, or...?”

Yasha is quiet for a moment. That’s not surprising. Then:

“It...reminded me of when I killed you.”

“What? Oh—” 

“Almost killed you,” Yasha amended. “Both times.”

“Right,” says Beau. “That’s...right.”

She thinks about saying—almost. You only almost killed me, so really it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. And you kill people all the time anyway, right?

She blinks. “Wait, you kill people all the time, Yasha. Is it always that bad? Shit, does it always...does it always make you feel like this? Only...I don’t think I’ve ever seen you...break like that...”

She regrets the words immediately. Stupid, Beau, that’s a stupid thing to say. 

But Yasha answers the question earnestly. “It’s usually different,” she says to the sky. “It usually...doesn’t matter. Er...no, not that it doesn’t matter, it just...”

“Doesn’t matter,” Beau sighs. “No, I...sort of get it. Man, that might be fucked up. Of us.”

Yasha shrugs, which rustles the grass. “It’s how it has always been for me. That is just what life is like.”

“I’m sure Jester would disagree.”

“Jester is...nice. I am not. I...have hurt a lot of people. And not just people who were fighting me, or trying to hurt me, but people who were innocent, who did not need not to be hurt, people who care about me, and, and people who I...”

She trails off. Beau can’t see her face, but right now, selfishly, she is glad for it. She feels anger bubbling up in her stomach.

“You were being controlled,” she says fiercely. “You didn’t do it. Someone made you do it.”

“But...part of that...part of it was still me. Since...since you all freed me, I...I remember parts of it. I remember doing it. Those were my hands.” 

Beau can practically hear Yasha’s fist tighten. She definitely feels it when Yasha hits the ground.

“If I was better, or if I was stronger, if I had broken free faster, none of that would have happened, I could have stopped him sooner—”

This time, Beau doesn’t hold back. They’re lying down, so it’s incredibly awkward, but the first thing she can think of is to grab Yasha’s hand.

She sits up, and waves it over Yasha’s face.

“But you didn’t,” she says, then falters, then wants to smack herself. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is...” Then she stops. “No, you know what? Fuck it. You didn’t break out faster. And that’s because it was a miracle you managed it in the first place. Yasha, you were being controlled by a devil. You were being controlled by the Chained Oblivion. The fact that you were even a person the first time we met—and you were a person, you were funny, you charged me money to, to, well, you charged me five gold, remember that?”

Yasha blinks. Her wrist is slack in Beau’s grip.

“I...do, yes, I remember that.”

“Right. The fact that you were a person then meant that they couldn’t keep their claws in you. Because you were strong. You were better. Better than everything they tried to make you. You kept breaking free.”

Yasha does not try to squirm away, only stays there.

“But...I needed help every time that I did escape. I never managed it on my own. First it was...it was Kord, and then you all—”

“Of course!” Beau throws her other arm into the air. “Who the fuck could do it on their own?! All that means is that when you had a chance, the second you had a chance, you were outta there. In your heart, you knew what was right. You knew it, and held onto it, even when I’m sure it would’ve been so easy to stay there, to stay in that hell and just go through the motions and lose yourself in...in grief, and loss and...and all that. But you didn’t. And now look at you.”

She cracks a goofy smile, all desperation to make what she’s trying to say heard.

“You’re an angel, Yasha. Remember?”

Yasha slowly sits up too. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, black turning white, with little blades of grass.

Beau is made painfully aware of the fact that she’s still holding Yasha’s hand. She lets go. Then she swears again, and hopes that Yasha doesn’t think it’s because of anything s—

“I am, aren’t I?”

Her gaze shoots up and Yasha's wearing a goofy smile too. Small, a bit nervous, but real and warm.

It’s getting to be familiar.

Beau snorts. She snorts so loud that it might dislodge something in her chest. She hits Yasha gently on the arm.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t, uh, don’t let it go to your head.”

She can see Yasha nodding in the corner of her eye.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then, after a brief battle over whether or not to bring it up, “I don’t...I don’t...for the record, I’m not mad about you stabbing me. Or whatever.”

Yasha looks stricken, and Beau regrets it instantly. “Shit, should I not have reminded you of—”

“No,” Yasha sighs, and her face softens. “No. I am...glad that you are not mad at me.”

“Should we, like...go to a cleric about this?” Beau asks. “Is this going to be something that happens in, like...fights? Because if it does, it might put you in danger. Also, it’s...it probably sucks for you. Right?”

Fjord would probably have something to say about the way she’s handling this conversation. He’s not here now.

“I...don’t know,” Yasha says eventually. “It hasn’t happened before. It was only...just now. And...just with you. It...hurting you reminded me of being controlled. It...brought me back to all the times that my mind was not my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau says, because she’s not sure what else to say.

“No,” says Yasha. Beau looks up, surprised by the weight in her words. “If I am not allowed to be sorry to you, you cannot be sorry to me.”

“Ah,” says Beau. She feels a grin pulling. “In that case...I’m not sorry.”

Yasha nods, like this is sacred, and Beau can’t help but snort again. 

“C’mon,” she says. “We can...work this shit out later. Or start to. With a cleric if you want, or not, if you don’t. But I just got my ass kicked, and I’m thirsty. What do you say to some drinks? I think there’s juice. Do you like juice?”

She stands up, and sticks out a hand. 

Yasha takes it.

“Okay. I like juice.”

— — — 

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[bakugosbratx]

Hi love💜 Can I request a smutty dark Eren x reader???

NSFW 18+ Broken Pieces— Eren Jeager x Fem! Reader

Warning: 18+ Content. Everyone is age up and consenting. Smut, sexual encounters, cursing, degrading, some power play, unprotected sex, angst, etc.

Click here to see my other works

A/N: Thank you so much for your request. I hope it met your idea. I am only on season 3 of AOT so if anything seems uncanny I apologize. I hope you enjoy.

Words: 1,865

Loving Eren Jeager was not an easy task it seems. He is a soldier after all. You would await for him to arrive home after long missions with the military in hopes he will still be in one piece, but each time the soldiers marched back, the pit in your stomach grew with anticipation. Especially when Eren was nowhere to be seen.

“Captain Levi,” you huff, walking beside him as a row of soldiers follow him, “where the hell is Eren?”

“Hello to you too, brat.” Levi responds, not even looking down from on top of his horse. He is used to you doing this by now.

“With all due respect, sir, now is not the time for your smartass remarks. Where is Eren?” You snap, keeping a fast pace to keep up with the group. You and Levi have built an understanding over the years. He knows you are concerned about Eren and he cannot fault you for that.

“Eren decided he was going to play hero and injured himself in combat.” Levi sighed, mumbling “what an idiot” under his breath shortly after. You gasped, furrowing your eyebrows while glaring up at the Captain.

“Please tell me he isn’t dead..” You stammered.

“Like I would let Jeager die.” He scoffed. “He is in the wagon with Mikasa.”

“Okay, thank you, sir.” You nod, standing still so the line can keep moving. Once the wagon that is holding Eren came along, you hopped on. Your man laid on his back, Mikasa right by his side. You kneel on the other side of him.

“Please,” you softly whimper as you meet Mikasa’s emotionless eyes, “tell me he is alright.”

She nodded.

“He is in-and-out of consciousness, but he should be fine.” Mikasa reassured. You let out a sigh of relief.

Softly cupping his scratched up face, you release tears filled with stress, sadness, and even glee. “Oh, Eren. Whatever will I do with you?” You chuckled, softly.

You sat beside Eren’s bedside all evening. Mikasa kept you company. You and her have grown close over the years. She can see how much you truly love and care for Eren which he needs. This does relieve some stress off of her when she cannot be around to protect or scold him from acting on impulse.

Silence filled the room as you both stared at bandaged up Eren. The doctor said he does have a concussion, but should be alright. This calmed both of you.

“How do you do it?” Mikasa finally asks after more minutes pass. You raise an eyebrow, gazing in her direction. She refuses to meet your orbs.

“What do you mean?”

“How do you still willingly love Eren?” She rephrased, her hands finding refuge in her red scarf Eren gave her years ago. You are aware of their history, but your brain cannot seem to compute her question.

“I’m not understanding—“

“Eren is not,” she paused to find the right word, “normal. He comes with a lot of risk. He is a loose cannon. He will more than likely die in battle from his impulsive nature. Why put yourself through that?”

You hesitate to answer. Mikasa is not wrong, unfortunately. Everyday is a worry when it comes to Eren’s wellbeing along with your own. You will never dream of stopping Eren from chasing his aspirations. That wouldn’t be right, but you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t wish he was not a military man. He would be home every night with you. So many lonely evenings and deafening sobs.

“I don’t know,” You spoke honestly. Mikasa finally looked at you. “Eren is worth the risk.”

Before Mikasa could pester you any further, Eren stirred in his slumber. His eyes soon awaken and gaze over at you two. You and Mikasa let out a small gasp.

“Eren..” is said in unison by you both.

“Where,” he swallows and places a hand on his forehead, “where am I?”

“You are in recovery. You injured yourself in battle.” You explained to your significant other. Eren nods and starts to sit up, but Mikasa pushes him back down.

“You need to rest.” Mikasa scolds.

“So do you.” Eren argued.

“He’s not wrong, Mikasa.” You concur, placing your hand on her shoulder. “Go rest. I got Eren.”

Usually, Mikasa would protest, but she is exhausted. Her aching body is craving sleep. She also knows that Eren will be in good hands with you around. So, she let out a small sigh and headed out the door. You and Eren are now completely alone.

“You need to rest too, y’know?” Eren states.

“Hard to rest when you are getting injured all of the time.” You countered. Eren rolled his eyes in response.

“You knew this going in, Y/N. It’s my job to keep you safe.“

“You can only keep me safe if you stay alive, Eren.” You snap.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

You looked at your twiddling thumbs, not meeting his intense gaze. You did not want him to see the tears in your eyes. What use would it do? Eren will always choose the army over you. That’s just the facts. You know this is his life purpose. You cannot stand in the way of that.

“Barely.” You finally utter out, still not looking at the man before you. Eren’s breath turns noticeably shaken.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Y/N?” He interrogated, his voice not coming out as tough as he would appreciate.

“We can discuss things a different time, Eren.” You stand up from your chair and start heading towards the door as tears fall. “You need rest.”

Your hand goes to turn the door knob, but Eren’s is quick to land on-top of yours. You spin around to face your significant other.

“Eren, what the—“ Your question was cut off by Eren’s hunger filled lips. His hands cup your face as all his passion is poured into your dry mouth. You missed these kinds of kisses. You missed the drive this man used to overflow you with. He is making up for it now.

Eren slowly pulls away, keeping his lips inches close to yours as he still holds your face. “Don’t you dare leave me.”He dominantly whispers.

“Like I would.” You mutter out.

A small smile appears on Eren’s face before he proceeds to kiss you. Only this time he forces you against the door. One hand finds their way to your breast while the other still holds your face. His index and middle finger ever so gently play with your nipple as the palm of his hand squeezes your areola. He’s torturing you at this point, but who are you to protest? You missed Eren. You missed his not-so-gentle touch and his way of words.

You missed him.

Eren’s lips left yours to suck and nibble on your earlobe. Soft moans escaped your mouth as you begged for more.

“Better be quiet, princess. Don’t want anyone to hear you.” He scornfully chuckled into your ear.

“I don’t care if anyone hears me. Just fuck me, Eren.” You breathe out. Your sexual drive could not be contained anymore. You need Eren in more ways than one.

Your lips never disconnected as you made your way towards the bed, both of your clothes being discarded within the process. You laid on your back as Eren climbed on top. Your lips finally disconnected. The moonlight lit up the dark room through the window. It laid perfectly on Eren’s features. His muscular form hovered over your naked body. One hand trailed every line of his abs while you moved some of his long brown hair out of his beautiful face.

“This isn’t resting.” You scold, playfully. He rolls his eyes with a smirk.

“Shut up and just take my cock, will ya?”

You both snicker at his remark and begin kissing again. There will never be enough make out sessions to fix what is broken, but it is sure one hell of a start. The skin on skin contact is well perceived. You both just can’t seem to get enough of each other.

Eren pulls away to sit up. He pushes your knees towards your breast, revealing more of your begging cunt. You keep your legs in place with your arms as he aligns his cock with your entrance. You’re already dripping from the anticipation. It has been far too long since you two had sexual intercourse.

“Already a soaking mess, huh?” Eren teases. You did not even have time to make a remark back as his length enters your soaked pussy. Immediate moans escaped your lips as he thrust himself in-and-out. Your tight walls hug his girth and length perfectly.

“God damn, you’re still so fucking tight, babe.” Eren groans as he continues diving every single inch into you. “I need to fuck you more often.”

“Eren—“ You cry. His hips keep colliding with your exposed ass as he hits all the right spots. His hand finds a way to your throat, choking you as he wrecks your precious pussy. Your legs eventually wrap around his waist to keep him from leaving you for too long. His other hand gives occasional hard slaps to your outer thigh. All you can do is moan in pleasure.

Your walls clenched around Eren’s member. His smug smirk grew wider as he felt your cunt’s walls beg him not to leave you hollow for the tiniest of seconds. His blue orbs meet yours.

“HA! Such a cock hungry slut. Already wanna cum again.” Eren cheekily remarks. You feel flustered, but you cannot help that your body betrays you.

“Please let me cum, Eren.” You begged. He always did love playing dominant in the bedroom. He finally let go of your throat so you can provide oxygen to your lungs. His rhythm increased to a higher speed, almost making it impossible to wait for permission.

“Have to beg better than that.”

Tears prickled in your eyes. He really was not going to let you just have this. Your pussy was not going to last much longer. If you want him to continue providing you dick tonight, you need to give this your all and make it count.

“Please Eren. Please let me cum. I’m begging you. I’m,” you gasp as you almost lose control, “not going to last much longer.”

Eren waited a moment to answer. He loved seeing you in agony because of his cock. Feeling your cunt not being able to last much longer as well as him, he nods. “Go ‘head and cum.”

He hardly could get the words out as your pussy released on to Eren. He was sure to follow shortly after as the veins in his member twitch. Cum flowed from the head of his dick into the depths of your cunt. You whimper softly as he milks every drop into you.

He lays next to you once he’s done, holding you close. You both pant, sweat droplets formed at the top of your foreheads. The room was musky, but still. For right now, everything is alright until he leaves once again.

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