#did while under the control of the absolute is blood that stains her hands is such an interesting perspective imo.

[anderfels]

i was finally able to get around to recruiting minthara and i'm going to say this: i do not get the obsession with other characters when minthara is right there.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 12)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 4.6 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - threats, mentions of violence, swearing, morally gray decision making, smoking

Summary: Rory and Price get their chance to interrogate Zorokov

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

October 21, 2017 07:36 - Safehouse

The awkward tension between them was thick. Murky and deep. A confused jumble of emotions that neither had made a concerted effort of facing. Rory decided to fall back on her old trick of sweeping it all under the rug, ignoring the uncomfortable gnawing inside by turning her attention to her mission. Focusing on what she could control, burying herself neck deep in what she had power over rather than feeling like she was stuck in a current leading her astray. While Price, on the other hand, seemed to remain set on the idea of keeping her under his protection. Unwavering and absolute as he was with all decisions he made. He knew what was best, even if she wasn’t willing to recognize that for herself – yet . The elephant in the room had only doubled in size, each having spilled their guts as best they could at the other's feet. Painfully aware of where they each stood on the issue. A brief hiatus put on the debate as they tried to go about their day as normal, despite being trapped in a hotel room together. 

While the sound of shower water battered the stall in the bathroom, Rory did her best to maintain professional distance in the bedroom. Cleaning her weapon while sitting on her double bed, meticulous as she slid each section of the gun apart and swabbed and wiped it down. The cigarette dangled from the corner of her lip, smoke trailing along the side of her face as a section of dark hair hung in front of her eyes, her gun oil stained fingertips drifting through the strands to brush it back behind her ear. Tapping her cigarette into the ashtray sat beside her on the bed, her fingers shook, the hand they belonged to absentmindedly drifting to her neck, rubbing at the tender bruising that circled it – covering them with makeup, burying them below the collar of her sweater – she did everything possible not to look at the discolored patches of skin where the blood had bloomed under the surface. 

It was all still too raw, too real. 

Her thoughts went to dark places as the constant stream of shower water helped provide the white noise to slip into a state of near hypnosis. She knew she was still in the safehouse even as the burning sensation of cold marble crept over her back, the smell of leather furniture filling her nostrils and then the bleach…Her nails dug at her chest, feeling her breath catch in her throat. She had always wondered how long she could hold her breath for – it was certainly never one of her strengths before, especially not as a smoker – but she supposed she had received her answer: Two minutes . Two excruciating, long minutes. 

Deep in her work and in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed her mobile had begun vibrating on the nightstand, having returned to dragging the wiry cleaning brush through the barrel of her pistol, pulling it back and forth, scraping out the old flakes of debris that had accumulated. She wasn’t aware the shower water had stopped either. Deaf to the world around her, numb to it, as if it had become entirely dull and grayed out just like it had been that morning. Lackluster, just like she felt. 

The loud buzzing of her phone finally grabbed her attention as her eyes rose to meet the bathroom door opening. Price entered the room with just a towel wrapped around his waist, hair lying flat and damp, the freckles and body hair of his torso on show as his hard muscle flexed under the soft flesh that covered it, feet padding in full strides across the carpet. She still hadn’t entirely left the confines of her head even as their gaze locked, his piercing stare narrowing beneath his furrowed brow the longer he looked at her. Saying nothing, he glanced over at her phone on the table, and then back at her. His jaw flexed, a little tic slipping through the cracks of the stoic soldier’s wall. There was no heat to the look he gave her, more a survey of her reactions, realizing something wasn’t adding up. 

Rory quickly gave him a sheepish grin, pretending she was perfectly alright despite knowing he had already read her like a book. Putting her tools down and grabbing her cigarette, she placed it back to her lips. No longer stuck in the act of repetition, broken free of the cycle, the spiral pulled taut once more. Reaching behind her and collecting the still ringing phone from the table, the call display informed her it was Andrew. She placed the phone on the bed and returned to cleaning her gun. “Andy, you’re on speaker.”

“Oh, thank Christ. It’s a miracle hearing your voice, Sinclair. Do you know how bloody worried I've been?”

She rubbed at her brow, her finger gently trailing over the scabbed over gash that cut through it. “Enough to not call until now?”

Price gave a low chuckle on the other side of the room, a smirk pulling at his lips as he cinched the waist of his pants together to button it. She gave him a sideways look, taking a drag from her cigarette and a brief moment to appreciate the captain’s form. He shook his head, rubbing the towel through his hair to dry it, leaving his short hair haphazard before he’d return the beanie to its place on top of his head.

“Oi, be nice. I come bearing news.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Smoke streamed past her lips as she spoke, starting to slot her gun back together. 

The smile in Andrew’s voice faded as he continued, "Thought  you should know, Zorokov’s lucid. Have him under guard detail at HSCT Centre hospital. I know it's no interrogation room, but if you want to get your answers, now’s the time to do it.”

Heart rate increasing, a cold sweat made Rory’s hands instantly clammy. She knew she would have to face him down eventually, look him in those cold, dark eyes once again, but there was no denying it was likely too soon. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to steel herself as she took another long drag of her cigarette.

“What room?” Price’s low, gravelly voice near her ear caused her to open her eyes and find his hand coming to press to the back of her neck, squeezing it softly. She wasn’t alone. He wasn’t going to leave her alone. 

-----

October 21, 2017 – HSCT Centre Hospital, Moscow

“I thought Laswell didn't want us starting a war?” Rory muttered as the heavy metal lift doors opened and she followed Price through the halls of the hospital, carrying their weapon for the negotiation – the laptop – under her arm. Boots thumped against the waxed linoleum floors as she kept pace with the Captain throughout the medical facility, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat as they passed by nurses and doctors, trying to appear as though they were merely any other set of visitors. 

“We won't,” he spoke in a hoarse whisper, his gaze kept forward. Focused . “Leave it to me.”

“John -”

The rasping sigh he tried to let slip past did not go undetected and when he finally bothered to look at her, she could see the quick little curl of his top lip into a sneer. “Your mate got us the in. No point lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth, yeah?”

She pushed her fists deeper into the pockets of her coat, twisting the bits of fluff in between her fingertips, kneading them into miniature stress balls. “So we march in there and do what exactly? Are we actually questioning him, getting answers that we need , or is this just an excuse for you to make him suffer like you wanted to last night?”

“Gonna give ‘im a reason to talk.”

“And what's that supposed to mean, eh?”

With John Price that could be left entirely open to interpretation. From what she had gleaned in their conversations and the things he had done already, he had a moral code, but it was a loose one. One that bent and bowed with whatever came his way, whatever got him to the endgame the fastest with the least amount of resistance. He had been a soldier for longer than her, moved further up through the ranks, had more lives under his command, leading them deeper into the machine that ground up and spat most of them back out just as broken as she was, if not more so. He was drenched in the military’s wanton use of ‘the ends justifying the means'. There was no telling where the cut off was for what he was willing to do, how far he would go.  She knew that. She also knew it wasn’t a way of life most could thrive in, but he had, allowing himself to be morphed by it. It made him dangerous; it made him a threat – it made her happy he was an ally and not someone to face down herself. 

Turning to look at her once more, his slight smirk spread over his features. “It means Laswell’s helping us hit ’im where it hurts.”

Lifting her brow, she realized what he was implying. “We’re going for the jugular?”

He gave her a curt nod and continued forward. “He’s a sittin’ duck and we aren’t wastin’ this opportunity. Not when he's right there. Not after what he did. He’s going nowhere.” He paused and glanced over at her once more. “I told you, you gave us our in.”

Even if she had to bite his face off to do it. 

“Right. Well then…” she shrugged her shoulders and softly sighed. “Let's get this show on the road, eh?”

“Sure you’ll be alright goin’ in there?” The scowl reappeared on his face. Giving her the out once again. He seemed to want to give her every excuse available to turn tail and run or hide.  “I can do it on my own.”

Grabbing his arm and stopping him in his tracks, her fingers delved into the thick material of his coat, eyes boring into him, reminding him just how deadly serious she was. “I want to see what I did to him… I need to see the state I left him in.”

Tipping his head to the side, he looked at her with a cocked brow. “You’re a tough little bird, aren’t you, my girl?”

Rolling her eyes, she let go of his arm. “Christ almighty, would you stop calling me that.”

“What?”

“ Your girl.”

Price smirked as she started walking away quickly with her agitation. “Wouldn’t bother you so much if you didn’t at least partially agree with it, darlin’.”

Rory scoffed and looked over her shoulder back at him. “I swear to god, you just might be one of the most arrogant bastards I’ve ever met.” 

His lips downturned as she said it, tilting his head from side to side, cocking his brow, seemingly debating this fact in his head. 

“Oh, piss off.” She couldn’t help but laugh now, her footsteps slowing as she turned around to face him. “You don’t get to act like this is the first time you’ve ever heard that.”

“What if it is?” His eyes twinkled with just a hint of mischief as he looked at her. Bright and blue under the harsh fluorescent lights and darkened by his brow. 

Taking a short step forward, she gazed up at him, neck craning. “Shame on everyone else who was too scared to say it then.”

Chuckling quietly, his eyes narrowed at her. “You know why, right?”

What would be a motion that would normally put most on edge, an intimidation technique she had seen Price use several times already – his patented death glare – had little effect on her. “Because you’re the big, scary SAS captain that strikes the fear of God into people. I’m well aware, John,” she said, lifting her eyes to the ceiling.

He closed the distance between them, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned forward. “And yet here you are calling me out on it, no fear at all.”

What reason did she have to be scared? Sure he was abrasive, stern, ready to tear someone a new arsehole when needed – but he was still just a man. Willing to make the hard decisions others couldn’t at a moment’s notice, but a man, nonetheless. A man who had already clearly made his intentions known about wanting to keep her safe. Surely she could talk back a little, get a rise out of the highly decorated captain, a man well respected for his accomplishments, carrying the weight of the world and the immensity of his actions on his shoulders. In her eyes, he was more than what the military expected of him even if that was all he wanted to regard himself as. He wasn’t just the ruthless soldier he insisted on portraying. He might have been dangerous, but she had already won him over. 

“Because I still remember you as the clean-shaven Lieutenant.”

Looking down at her through his brow, his head lowered towards her. “Haven’t been him in a long time, darlin’,” he rasped.

“Did he get left behind in the stall of that loo with me?” Rory teased, her smile shifting into an incredibly self-assured smirk.

Price sighed, a little growl slipping from him with frustration.

Patting his forearm, the grin faded from her face and she returned to her professional form, readjusting the laptop under her arm. “Let’s get back to the mission, shall we?” 

------

Reaching the door to the room Zorokov was being kept in to recuperate, they were met by the guard detail organized by MI6 – definitely not police with the way they were dressed, and the assault rifles they carried, afforded the privilege of appearing frightening as hell. With the quick nod of heads, the door was opened, and Price and Rory were granted access to the room where their slumbering target awaited them.  

With the lights dimmed in the room, they moved forward, not caring one way or the other if they woke him up in the process. The thin, pale blue curtain that circled the hospital bed rustled slightly, a breeze shifting the material as the two soldiers passed by it, their shadows sweeping across with what little light there was. Price was quick to grab the two edges of the material in his fists and toss the sections open, damn near tearing the curtains right off the rings that held them. As they parted, splitting open with force, the soldiers came face to face with the Russian, now cuffed to the hospital bed, his lip sewn back together with thick black sutures, face bruised and swollen, mouth stuffed with cotton, hooked up to an IV drip for pain management. 

Rory bit down on the inside of her cheek, she hated just how lightly he seemed to come out of their struggle. Grimacing at the cold hard truth that a marred face was nothing that money couldn’t fix with plastic surgeries. Free from pain, able to sleep as though nothing at all had happened. She wished she’d left more of an indelible mark against him. Taken an eye, cut out his tongue, something to truly remember her by. 

Price couldn’t help the lopsided grin that twisted cruelly at his mouth, his hands pressed to either side of Zorokov’s feet at the end of the bed, hunching over like a guard dog ready to attack, head lowered to stare at the man in a predatory fashion. “Well, take a look at you, sunshine.” The vehement, venomous hate he held for the oligarch – for what he had done – burned behind his eyes as he maintained the cool, calm, collected demeanor of the military captain. 

Heavy eyes surrounded in puce fluttered open and locked on the mutton chopped man, widening at the sight of Rory standing in the corner, showing no sign of cowering in fear of the man who had attacked her only hours ago and in much better shape than he was. 

Stare darkening further, Price barked a command in the husky tone of a man who was used to shouting out orders on a battlefield, “Keep your eyes on me.” 

Zorokov flinched, shifting carefully in his bed. His normally well-coiffed blonde hair left greasy and unkempt. There was no fancy suit to protect him now, no air of dignity or power. He was left strung up like bait for the wolves at the door, and they were prowling. He did as he was told, his attention maintained on the brusque man at the foot of his bed. 

“You know why we’re here. So let’s not play any games, yeah?”

“What are you going to do, Captain Price ?” He emphasized the name in an attempt to regain some power, reminding the two soldiers that this wasn’t one sided, he knew them as well. “Threaten my life?” He nodded his head in Rory’s direction. “Sic your wild dog on me?”

The cold, threatening tone of the captain barely covered the growl that threatened to slip from him. “Oh, I think she had every right to do what she did to you.”

“She ripped off my fucking lip,” the Russian yelled as he shot forward, manic with fury. The IV stand nearly tipping over with the flailing movement of his arm.

“And you tried to kill her!” Price thrusted his pointed finger at Zorokov before moving around the hospital bed with a snarl, grabbing the IV tubing that connected to the Russian’s arm and tore it from the bag. “You deserved everythin’ you got and more.”

“Captain –” 

Her calm voice cut through the chaos. His hand tensed into a fist at his side. The constant stream of liquid dripping onto the floor causing everyone’s teeth in the room to grind. 

“Sir, isn’t there someone else who’s meant to be part of this conversation?”

He shifted his jaw just enough to expose his annoyance, and then flexed his shoulders, letting the broad stretch of them sit tight. Anger flared in his eyes as he tried to remain controlled, staring down at the man who he had wanted to tear asunder. 

“Price…” Rory held out the laptop towards him, trying to reel him back in. 

Glancing over his shoulder with a swallowed sigh, his nose scrunching along with a grimace as if he was swallowing back bile, he took the computer from her and continued his interrogation of the Russian. “Went to a lot of trouble to get this. Did a lot of diggin’ in your dirt. All the shit you’ve been buryin’, tryin’ to hide. But we’ve had our eyes on you for a while. Now it’s all paid off,” Price muttered, seething just being in the company of the Russian. 

“You can’t do anything to me. I’m protected.”

“You might have a lot of powerful friends. So do I. And they’ve all been looking for ways to gut you like a bloody fish.”

“Do what you will, Captain.” The Russian exuded smugness as he leaned back against his pillows, adjusting them as he settled. “I won’t see prison. I won’t be punished. There are too many hands involved and none of them want to get dirty.”

“But you’re happy to, aren’t you?” Price leaned in, gripping the side rail of the hospital bed with white knuckles.

“I’m merely a middleman. Connecting people to things they need. I’m not the villain here.”

“Oh, I think you are.” Price’s eyes narrowed, the crow’s feet by his eyes crinkling without any of the mirth that came with one of his trademark smirks. “You’re certainly not above violence, eh?”

“She seems just fine to me.” Zorokov hummed, his dark eyes landing on Rory, taking in the cuts on her face he’d left behind.

“What did I say?” Price rasped, his tone a clear threat as he gritted his teeth.

His glare returned to the captain. “So what? You have info on my business ventures? Means nothing. They’re all owned by shell companies. Nothing’ll lead back. Do you think I’m new to this?”

Price clenched his jaw once more, the tendons ready to break with the force his molars clamped down on each other, held tight like a steel trap. Opening the laptop, files and logs had been opened, unencrypted, he tossed it onto Zorokov’s lap. “CIA’s been lookin’ into your exploits. Have a whole list o’ your friends. We know exactly how you filter your dirty money. So…” His head tilted the way a canines would before it bared its teeth. “Wanna tell me how a trafficker hops into bed with terrorists?”

The Russian remained entirely self-satisfied, hardly put off by the threat he was currently under being delivered by the two soldiers. “Exploiting the market. These are countries that don’t have GDP – just war. They want freedom, their peace? Need to pay for it somehow,” he said with a shrug.

Rory’s lip curled at just the thought. The lack of humanity in taking advantage of a situation like that. Seeing human lives as a commodity. Her rage steadily boiled inside her, the blood rushing in her ears. Trying so hard to swallow it and keep her resolve. “Christ, you have no conscience at all, do you?”

A low chuckle filled the room, and her blood ran cold at the sound. “Business isn’t about conscience. It's about profit.”

Her hand curled into a fist, her nails carving crescents into the palm of her hand. “So, money’s all that matters to you then?” The anger had all faded from her voice, there was a cold defiance to it instead. Resolute in her next actions. “You must have Swiss bank accounts just spilling with rubles. Shell corporations won’t do so well without an influx of funds. A plug in the system would certainly make things difficult for you and your ilk, wouldn’t it?”

“Something like that would take you months�� years to make happen.”

“Unless it's already been in the works.” Price’s smirk grew as he stood up tall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Known, suspected, and likely targets…and based on what we  know about you, well , you were pushed up that list.” He slipped the phone from his pocket and tapped on the laptop. “I suggest you keep your eyes on that screen.”

With a darkened stare, Zorokov straightened himself to sit up square in his bed. His attention turned to the computer sitting on his lap. 

Getting in contact with Laswell, Price had the phone to his ear as she answered his call. 

“ John. ” 

“In a meeting with Zorokov. You’ve got his financials available, yeah?”

“ I do .”

“Bleed the shell accounts first.”

The banking information on the laptop screen showed the drain on the account as fund blockages were accepted and transfers put on hold. 

“I have a feeling your comrades might not like that their money’s tied up with you for much longer. Might not be so safe after all. Men like that don’t take too kindly to being fucked around, eh? You’re about to owe a lot to some dangerous people. Would be a real shame if you didn’t have the funds to keep yourself alive, wouldn’t it?”

Zorokov’s eye began to twitch, his lip curling into a snarl.  “Threaten me all you want, it doesn’t change anything. War still goes on and there are those of us who will prosper.”

“Fundin’ both sides certainly helps, doesn’t it?”

“You think I’m the first to do so? Look at your precious America, Britain…you think they aren’t complicit in the same fucking thing? CIA, MI6, FSB – they are all the same. Manufacturing conflict for their own ends. War is good business.”

“And Al Ghulam…” Rory stepped into the light, looking him dead in the eye. “What’s the tie to him?” 

“Never heard of him.” Glancing away from her, his body gave her all the telltale signs of a lie. The heavy swallow, shortening of breath, the sweat on the brow. He was breaking down. And an incredibly shitty liar when he wasn’t the one in control. He had grown lazy, complacent with all that money at his fingertips. 

He stood no chance against her.

“Bullshit,” she growled. “I was the one to get him to talk. I know he was working with a European PMC group when it came to transferring human lives across from Iraq in trade for weapons, a group that was working with ISIS.” She drew closer, coming within reach of the oligarch, her eyes flaring. “Why do I get the feeling you were behind that group?”

Rory and Zorokov locked eyes, like a bull seeing red she was ready to charge and attack. Ready to gore the bastard for what he had done, for the acts he was complicit in. Striking at the jugular just as Price agreed they would. 

She decided to play chicken with the man.

Her stare never wavering, she waited for him to talk. Waiting for the lack of pain medication flowing into his system to have its desired effect. Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper as she leaned over, crowding him. “Tell me I’m right.”

Zorokov flinched first.

“You hear that?” Price spoke into his phone, giving Laswell another weak spot to exploit. “Come across any ties to PMCs in the records?”

“A few…” Laswell replied.

“How many working in Syria or Iraq?”

“ Just one. Based out of Kastovia, they’ve been in and out of the middle east region for years . Recently there was an influx of funds from a Saudi oil shell.”

“Saudis, eh?” Price’s eyes lifted to meet Rory’s across from him. “You ready for a change of scenery, Sergeant?”

They were heading to the desert, back to the sand and the beaming hot heat. It was still odd to think that she had only been back in England for the last six months, put on desk duty with the SRR, and now here she was headed back into the chaos she had been given a reprieve from. Tying up loose ends that she never thought she would get the chance to. Healing old wounds after opening them up again on this mission. However, one glaring problem still existed, sitting in the hospital bed before them.

“And him?” Rory tipped her head towards the Russian in their midst.

“He's not out of the woods yet. Intelligence is going to love to get their hooks in ‘im.”

She scowled, her fixed stare burning a hole between Zorokov’s eyes. “Protection. Really ?” Her gaze shifted back to the captain; jaw clenched tight. It felt like a punch to the gut, another of these bastards being given the last thing they deserved. A slap on the wrist and then every transgression hidden from sight once more. 

“For now. Come on, Sergeant. We got what we needed.” Price closed the laptop and scooped it under his arm. “Let's move.”

She snarled, giving the Russian one last glaring look before leaving the room. Shoving her way past the security detail, fury coiled inside her. The mission wasn’t about stopping Zorokov, nor cutting off one of the heads of the hydra. It was about his ties to the greater threat, the terrorists. It was about weapons. War . The machine she was very much a part of. Women and children be damned, it was never about them.

[aeghina]

Vampire AU

So this is my brain, going back to create a vampire au after I prompt my brother sent me.

CW: blood (because vampires), mentions of death

--- "I need two tickets to this movie."

The person at the cashier looked to the young man who requested the tickets. Then to the little kid besides him who couldn't be more than ten. For an adult movie, full of gore and a lot of explicit parts that were absolutely forbidden for kids. At midnight.

"I'm sorry but children aren't..." The child hissed, the adult put a hand on his hair and the hiss turned to him.

"Yes they are as long as they have adult supervision. I'm an adult. I need two tickets."

"If you're going to fuck up the mind of a child don't blame me." They get the ticket along a resigned sigh from the other. 

"The movie is overrated." Mask comments, straw hanging on his mouth before he takes a longer gulp, pale lips stained red 

"Agreed." He drinks his own blood, still warm from their latest victim. Mask really should control his temper, not the poor employee's fault that he looked like a kid. They were turned at the same time, both were thousand years old, Wars was just lucky to be turned on his twentieth birthday while Mask on his tenth. And it's always a pain to hide the bodies now with all the cameras and new technology to watch for. Oh well, that's life, they’d learn how to deal with this new tech just as they had learned with the others. In the screen a woman screeches when the movie's monster attack her neck

"What a waste of blood." Mask shakes his head "Can't believe that's what people think about us nowadays. Either a sparkly romanticized idiot or a brainless blood sucking bat monster" he shakes the bottle, finding it empty and eyed his "Give me more."

"We shared evenly." Warriors replied, not taking his eyes of the screen. He had to admit, it was as offensive for their kind as it was good CGI. Wind would love it. 

"I'm in my growing phase!"

"That excuse stopped working when you were a hundred years old." The other vampire tsked and crossed his arms with a pout. The door under the screen opened and one man with a lantern pointed to them. The smile on Mask' face was pointed and dangerous, eyes glowing red for a moment before settling back on sky blue.

"Oh sorry, I thought it was empty." The man apologized and was going to close the door when Mask got up

"Mister, can you show me the bathroom?" He asked in the most innocent voice his small body could muster and the man stopped, the door still partially open

"Of course."

"Don't make a mess." Mask waved him off

"I'll be back before the movie ends."

He didn't. Wars should know honestly, but sighed even so and got up. Outside, two fresh corpses and no sign of Mask. He went further inside, hiding his presence in the shadows, following the scent of blood and found his roommate being held by a woman, she rubbed his back 

"It's okay, no need to be afraid. I already called the police."

"You did?" He asked with a small voice

"Yes. Don't worry, they will catch whoev-" The woman stopped when the kid moved back, body falling slacks and eyes glazed as she was entranced. Warriors stepped out of the shadows before the other could bring his mouth to her neck

"Honestly Mask?"

"I saved her for you." He nuzzled the neck of the woman "She is so warm"

Well, he was not passing a snack and they had a long way back to drive to their current house.

[cryopathiic-a]

[ comfort ] sender tries to comfort receiver

bonus points for combining :

He sits by the stained futon without expression; save for the tenderness harbored under pale fingers as they comb through messy dark hair. His other hand dabs some of the sweat away with a cloth. His touch rests on the cursed mark. And then he sits back, on his knees, and watches the fallen samurai breathe for a moment; in that even pace, that's almost oddly reassuring. Because it might be slow and ragged. But he's still breathing.

A hard gulp; the Lord Founder wets his dried out throat before reaching over the sash of his kimono — inside, there's two objects stashed away safely. A silver dagger; a gift of mercy. Because it could be used, to put one out of their misery. And as for the other—

If you give this to a human, it will... change them.

Slowly, he retrieves the glass vial. The room's artificial light won't harm it. But she warned him, that woman with the hazy eyes, she warned him about bringing it into the light — into the sun. Prismatic eyes squint over the crimson liquid pooling within. Blood.

First, their skin will begin to look very pale, as if they're drained of all color. And then, they will fall asleep, in a corpse-like state.

And after some time they re-awaken. But they're not the same anymore.

They're not human anymore.

And they will be under his control. Like I am. So I have to give you this vial, but...

Please, I am putting my own life in danger to tell you this.

A grumble snaps him out of the recollection. He looks down where Michi has begun to shift and stir in his sleep, no doubt coming to after another nightmare. Wasn't this thing leeching off of his life essence enough? Did it have to torment him in his sleep as well? So that Dōma can only sit back and watch him suffer — and pray for him.

And what happens when you pray for a while?

Absolutely nothing.

❝ Michi? Heeeey, hey easy now. Shhh, relax, relax, I'm right here. ❞ A cool hand sicks out the boney fingers of that dying man. Only the calluses on his knuckles remain from his glory days as a warrior. He's turned into a husk of the man he once was. And he hates himself for it. The young priest gets to witness it every day, during the few hours his beloved can manage to stay away, that this has eaten his soul to the core by that point. Soon, there will be nothing of the Michikatsu he loved left. Hell, there already isn't.

So he's faced with a choice.

Do not feed this blood to anyone.

He reaches for the cloth again, dunks it into the ice bucket left nearby. And then he dabs it over the other's forehead, to cool off the fever. No doubt, it's coming up again. He can feel the heat coming from him. Just like he can feel the beat of his own heart when he remembers that strange woman's face.

The fear in her eyes and the way she spoke so quietly, with her head lowered, terrified that man might overhear. While giving him the supposed miracle cure, she had parted her lips to show him — thinking that if she could convince the temple's Founder to abstain, she would help these people. And maybe in that way atone for what she had become.

His eyes fall on Michi's hand, patting the space around him. His dwindling vision must be the cause. A shift closer; and then the younger lies down beside him. Without a care for the sweat, or the horrid smell or the knowledge that he is fatally sick with an illness they have yet to understand — Dōma moves to rest his head atop his barely heaving chest and there listen to the faint sound of a heart beating within.

It's the only place in the world he can find some solace, though.

It's just not fair for him to be denied that.

No matter how many people will have to die for it.

Especially when he has lived his life so benevolently and tried to help all these people...

❝ Shh— it's just me. Don't worry, my blood. I've brought you something, okay? Something that might make you feel a little better. Hush, hush now. ❞ His palm brushes over the other's eyes to close them again. And then rubs a small circle over his chest.

Anyone who ingests even a drop of it, will change...

He sits up slowly. The vial's lid comes off too easy. His fingers slowly trace over the mark of death staining his beloved's features; then roll to his lips. A subtle push down is all it takes to part them a little, frail as Michikatsu is. And then — a drop of blood.

... and transform into a man-eating demon that will devour everything in its path.

[rand0-user]

I watched the new episode.. hoooo boy.

MAJOR UNDERVERSE 0.8 PART 1 SPOLIERS

————

LOOK GUYS!!! ITS XPAPYRUS!!! XPAPYRUS XPAPYRUS I LOVE XPAPYRUS!!

WE FINALLY GOT TO SEE HIM ANIMATED!!! AFTER LIKE TWO YEARS!! YES!!!!!

ANYWAYS. Papyrus appreciation aside, the new underverse episode was pretty good!! The animation had very noticeable improvements, and the soundtrack mare this episode so much more enjoyable.

I can’t bear to keep my mouth shut, so here’s some of my personal favourite scenes in the episode!

————

1. X!TORIEL’S NEW POWERS ARE SOOOOO INTERESTING TO ME. I absolutely loved watching this part auuuugh….

“THE CLOSER TO HER SORROW, THE STRONGER THE ILLUSION HOLDS.”

The fact that she can shape and manipulate the world around her really shows the impact that the loss of her family and her universe has had on her. As a motherly figure to not only her children, but towards the royal guards, she clearly feels a deep remorse over realizing that her loved ones could possibly never feel the joy and innocence of their childhood again.

As stated by X!Toriel herself:

“The sorrow of a mother is one of the hardest feelings to purge from the soul.”

She’d obviously feel compelled to gift just a fragment of that happiness to her family even if it meant creating a purely false reality, because that’s what she believes what her role is as a parent.

As said in the episode, she was compelled by those few good memories from all of the timelines from XTALE, and she chose to keep her eyes closed and to attempt to dissociate herself from the dilemma of her universe and of the present events.

While she is still overwritten by X!Gaster, her instincts as a Queen and her overpowering companion still prevent her from killing others.

And possibly because she views the citizens in this universe as her own from XTALE..

YOUR HONOUR, SHE DOESN’T DESERVE THIS. 💔💔💔💔

2. THIS scene.

I love that Jakei continues to show to us that Cross hasn’t forgotten his duties as a royal guard and that he probably never will. BUTTT I’m not entirely sure if Cross kneeled on his own or if Asgore was controlling him to do so, but I personally think that Cross just did it by himself.

Otherwise, still an awesome scene.

3. FINALLY. MY FAVOURITE. BROTHERLY ANGST!!!!

Oooouh man….

To me, I feel like X!Papyrus had to have been SOMEWHAT present here, even under X!Gaster’s control. Yes, this technically all still a part of the illusion, but, like many of the XTALE characters, X!Papyrus must still have a fraction of his mentality that he’s able to control.

But, like, it’s right here that I think that X!Papyrus shows a trace of legitimate remorse from unknowingly hurting his brother. I love it, but man it hurts.

CONTINUING ON:

GODDDDDD. I CANT. Cross clearly still cares so much for all of his family, especially his brother, considering that he literally erased his entire universe and was trapped in isolation for who knows how long. He’s had to come to terms with his failure as a protector and an older sibling, to remind himself of the blood that stains his hands. EVEN after murdering hundreds of monsters and storing his hollow soul full of hostility, he can’t abide to witness his younger brother conceive in the same acts sinful as him.

ITS JUST HISVUEVUSBINSUSVUNS I WANT TO DIEEEEE (this shot is awesome though)

Ranting aside, very cool episode. It’s probably my favourite one out of season 2 just from the animation alone. I do have a few very very very minor nitpicks, but it won’t stop me from rewatching this again. After this, Jakei definitely deserves the long break that she’s getting, and I’m hoping to see more interactions between the xbros in the future!!!

ALSO, be aware that I’m obviously not a professional analyst, so I’m very sorry if my interpretations on certain scenes feel completely wrong or confusing. I wrote all of this at 2am and I don’t feel like spending any more time on writing this than I already havee..

Okay if I don’t see a bunch of fan art of the papyrus fight after underverse 0.8 I’m actually gonna throw a tantrum. /hj

LIKE. LOOK AT HOW COOL THEY LOOK????

LOOK AT HOW AWESOME XPAPYRUS LOOKS IN THIS SHOT??? AND YOU’RE TELLING ME HE HAS A SPECK OF DUST AS HIS FANBASE??? COME ON!!!! LOOK AT HIM. LOOK.

[minsyal]

The Fugitive (Finding Home), Pt. 1

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

Backpacking through Eastern Europe was not a top priority on your “to do” list. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Being one to preplan everything, you were completely caught off guard when your roommate sprung the idea of the trip out of the blue. You roommate, Jezebel Haine, was your first and only roommate from college onward. All legs, she was one of the stars of the track team but was most certainly not one of the brightest shining ones. She was considerably dim-witted, fanatical, and had a booming over-the-top personality that scared every potential boyfriend who had the disservice of meeting her. There were times, though, that she was rather endearing. Her childlike sense of self and emotional drivers consistently put her at a crossroads between what everyone else was doing and what she should be doing; she was, and always will be, a follower.

After four years of becoming “the bestest of friends,” you had a hard time imagining such a hard shift either into another roommate or living alone. Plus, her parents funded most everything she did and, in turn, funded the apartment the two of you shared.

“It’s an amazing opportunity!” She insisted, waving her hands in a simple manner as she rose from the condensed cushion of the leather-clad couch. “Think about it.” Gathering your hands in hers like a 20’s actress who had just met the man of her dreams, she pulled the bundle to her chest. “We frolic through the European countryside, it’s golden hour. My skin looks absolutely gorgeous… yours too, of course. The sun is just about to set, but alas!” She let out a dramatic gasp, removing one of her hands to cover her mouth. “It’s growing dark out!”

“That’s what happens when the sun sets.” You noted, causing her to drop the act for a moment only to immediately go back into character.

“We hear the crunching of leaves and twigs all around us as if something…” she drew close and lowered her voice to a whisper, “sinister is coming. Out of no where we’re ambushed! By what, I’m not sure. Then,” her eyes became glassy as she lay a delicate hand to her forehead, “two absolute studs… and I’m talking big bulging muscles, gorgeous trendy hair, captivating eyes… really everything a simple girl could ask for… seemingly drop from the sky! We’re saved!” She throws your hands into the air as if they’d fall like confetti. Drawing both her arms in, she sways back and forth in a waltz of one. “We’d be married by the next day! Hell, maybe we’d even end up as princesses.”

Oh, how utterly wrong she was.

“I told you this was a stupid idea.” You groaned, haughtily holding your chin up while feeling your spirits low. A few miles back, on an asphalt road that quickly turned to dirt, sat the dingy red rental truck with a blown out engine and a deflating tire. With no cell service and the last town being over 100 miles back, your only choice was to walk.

“Don’t blame me!” Jezebel stopped walking, feet falling flat to the ground as she stomped her foot in a childish manner. “I,” her lip quivered as all the anger held in her body dissipated, “I just wanted to have a fun time with you.” Big tears flowed from her eyes quickly after finishing her proclamation, leaving smearing black lines down her face from the eyeliner she insisted was necessary in the Romanian countryside. God, if her parents weren’t funding this trip, you’d throw a fit for your money back.

“Jess, just,” reaching backward, you fished a rag from your backpack, “don’t cry. That’s not going to make this better.” Sniffling, she accepted the rag and wiped her eyes, further smearing black all over her face. You couldn’t help but feel a shred of sympathy for her. “Let’s just keep going. No use in wasting daylight. I really don’t want to get caught out here in the dark.”

“Where are we supposed to go, then?”

“I’m sure the next town will have some sort of inn or hotel. At the very least, they’ll have directions to the nearest city.”

After another five miles of walking, the sun was beginning to set and no gorgeous studs were waiting to save you. The blazing yellow ball inched slowly beyond the horizon. Its warming rays that had kept the snow from freezing the two of you in the day crept down below the snow peaked mountains that were nestled in the distance. Shadows began dancing between the trees, sending the forest into a theater of silent performers. The dirt road that was once large enough for two cars was now only a walking path so slim that Jezebel had to follow on your heels. Every now and again you were reeled back by the piece of rope that she had attached to your backpack that was firmly gripped in her hand. She claimed it made her feel safer.

“You think those two hunks are going to come save us now?” You joked, attempting to make light of this dark situation.

“I wish.” She huffed, frustration evading her voice as exhaustion took center stage.

Flickering light caught your eye. Hues of yellow and red mingled together in the distance, the outlines of rooftops and smoke-filled chimneys littered the ground below. “I think that’s a village.”

Another mile of downhill travel was all it took to reach the place where the once distant flickering of torches and lanterns grew into the quiet streets of a cluttered settlement. There was no clear indication of movement once you stepped foot in the village; the only evidence of any life came in the form of fresh boot prints, livestock, and the ever-blazing lanterns. Jezebel was all to happy to release your makeshift leash from her fingers, trotting mindlessly by to examine the street corners and homes. Your eyes continued wandering up the rooftops, finally landing upon the eerie looming castle situated on the mountainside above.

From around the bend, you heard Jezebel screech.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You threw caution to the wind, quickly rounding the corner to scold her like a parent would to a misbehaving child. “You don’t know if these people are violent or not. We can’t just go parading ourselves into the town center.”

“I think they’re violent.” She mustered the shaky words. Her hands covered her eyes and the majority of her face as she backed away from whatever had caused her distress.

“What?” The unpleasant squelch of snow beneath your feet caused your attention to draw downward. Dark snow surrounded your boot, an unnatural red hue stained the pure white. Gaze moving upward, your chest restricted feeling as if it had crushed inward on itself. The putrid smell finally fell upon your nostrils as you backed away from the scene. Severed animal heads hung lazily above you, their tongues flopping from their opened mouths.

“I want to go home.” Jezebel sobbed, rasping her cries into her cupped hand. Shaking her head as if to knock this moment from her brain, her short-lived façade of curiosity gave way to her immediate feeling of impending dread.

“That’s what I’m trying to do right now, Jess. Just, calm down.”

A low grumble had you standing further on edge, if that was possible at this point. The sound was clear as day and was anything but human. You weren’t even sure a human could get to an octave so low without the help of technology. Eyes darting upward once more, a chill ran from your shoulders to your toes.

Hauntingly yellowed eyes lingered upon the two of you. The beast-like figure was silhouetted by the moonlight, outlined like a ghost. It looked to be a man, but also anything but a man in the same sense. Its mouth was parted, baring old rotted teeth that looked to have dried blood caked between its gums. Its hands were bloodied as well, small cuts were painted across its forearms only hidden by the rags that clung to its chest.

Before you could process the situation, Jezebel let out another yelp. In an instant, the beast lunged down from its perch, landing with a ground shaking thud nearly five feet before you. “No!” Jezebel’s open palm collided with the space between your shoulder blades as she pushed you toward the monster. The last thing you saw was her backpack falling to the ground as she began running toward one of the homes. You landed face-first in the snow, groaning as all the air in your lungs were forced out. The beast snarled, once again showing its teeth as it hunched down to your level. This was, most certainly, not the way you envisioned dying. Things like this weren’t supposed to exist; this is myth, this isn’t real. It all felt like bad dream gone worse that you couldn’t wake from.

“Pesky creatures, aren’t they?” A new voice called out as the horrendous sound of metal crushing bone and muscle slithered through your ears. The disgusting feeling of gore instantly trickled down your hands. “Please,” the voice continued, “feel free to thank me anytime.”

A moment later, the stranger let out a scoff with the squishy suction of whatever he had used to quiet the monster. The tap of a boot on your elbow finally prompted you to uncover your eyes. “Or don’t.”

“I,” you started, opening and closing your mouth multiple times unable to find the right words, “thank you.”

“Oh.” He tiled the stiff rim of his frayed hat back, exposing a pair of circular sunglasses perched upon his nose. “Foreigners, eh?”

“Yeah, um.” You gathered yourself, finally pushing up to stand on your feet. “We got lost.”

“And ended up here, no doubt.” A stifled chuckle left his lips as he tilted his hat back in place and swung whatever he used to kill the beast over his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here.”

Without another word, the stranger sauntered off with a backward wave of his hand. “Oh, and have someone clean this mess up.”

“Y/n!” Jezebel’s shrill voice called as she returned with a rather confused villager. He held a shotgun with both of his hands, Jezebel shone a flashlight in your eyes.

“Are you okay?” The villager moved forward with extreme caution after peering around you dumbfoundedly seeing the crumpled body.

“I’m fine, no thanks to her.” You spat, anger swelling in your throat causing a particular acidity to your words.

“All of you! Inside this instant.” A matronly holler came from behind Jezebel and the villager. “You know Miranda’s protection only runs so far as we grow closer to this time.”

Who is Miranda and, more importantly, who was the man who saved you?

The home you were ushered into was on the outskirts of town. It was one of the larger estates given the fact that some people seemed to live in one-room shacks. Upon entering, you were greeted with the warm glow of yellow light trickling in from what looked to be a formal living room. The sweet aromas of honeyed tea wafted through the air, drawing further in as the woman led the three of you deeper into the home. What was worse? You pondered. Being killed by that beast or potentially being murdered by the inhabitants of this home? You couldn’t decide. Thus far, the two gave no indication of malice.

“Please, sit.” The woman pulled out two of the chairs at her table, the wood scratching against the floor. “I’ll fetch the tea.”

Jezebel was so brainless. She smiled at you as if she hadn’t just offered you up as a midnight snack. Surely there was no hamster running on that squeaky track that powered her.

“What was that thing?” You turned to the man who was now seated to your right. “The monster.”

The man ignored your question, instead grabbing a piece of rounded bread from the plate at the center of table. Slathering butter on it, he looked to you. “How’d you kill it?”

“I didn’t.” You frowned, recalling the mysterious man who saved your life without even dropping his name. The villager raised his brows and kicked his foot up on the table. He was waiting for more information. “Some man came out of nowhere. He had some hammer-like weapon.”

As soon as he processed the words, his foot fell from the table and he leaned forward, uncomfortably close. You could smell the distinguishable bite of alcohol percolate from his lips. “Did he wear glasses? A hat?”

“He did.” The words slowly drifted from your mouth. “Hair to about here.” You motioned to the halfway point of your neck.

“Adelina,” the man called, presumably to the woman who guided you inside. He got up quickly, rushing to the other room leaving you and Jezebel alone.

“What the hell is going on here?” You whispered in a harsh tone, leaning forward to get closer to her. “Is this not weird at all to you?”

“I think they’re nice people.” Jezebel responded at full volume without a second of thought.

“That’s coming from someone who tried to feed their supposed best friend to a monster.”

“I was buying us time to get help.”

“Help? I almost died!”

“But you didn’t.”

“When we get back to the U.S. I never want to speak to you again.” You seethed. How could she be this bad? You knew there were a few… a considerable amount of screws missing from Jezebel, but how in God’s green earth does she justify her actions at this point? The thought of it accompanied by her dazed and empty stare only fueled the fire of anger more.

“Dear,” the woman, who you now knew was Adelina, reentered the room accompanied by the man with a tray of cups and a kettle in her hands. She set a delicate china glass in front of you, softly filling it with a reddish colored liquid that she assured you was Celestial Seasonings, a tea imported from Africa. “I hear that you’ve met Lord Heisenberg.” Placing a hand over her heart, she gave a warm smile that only sent another wave of dread through your body. There was something so alluring about this woman, yet so sinister.

“Lord, who?”

Adelina stiffened, craning her neck to the side as she plastered a forced smile upon her lips once more. You had upset her, that much was obvious. “One of the four Lords that rule here alongside our dear Mother Miranda.” She explained, pushing the cup of tea closer to your body. Jezebel had already finished her first glass. Warily, you lifted the cup in your hand and allowed the warm water to heat your frozen body. An elongated finger pointed to the framed painting that hung to the wall. “Mother Miranda protects us here.”

Mother Miranda. You could only focus on the image of the woman silhouetted by six black wings and a halo outlining her head. Her eyes were indistinguishable behind the raven-like mask that clung to her face. Adorned in a black garb, she looked to be a holy figure in this town. But like Adelina, something just wasn’t right with Miranda.

The unsettling reverb of crickets and cicadas chirping grew louder and louder with each passing hour. You counted the seconds between waves of mass chorus; so far, it was roughly thirty seconds between each bleating scream of their nightly tune. You couldn’t sleep. Despite the somewhat comforting, but entirely unsettling welcome given by Adelina and Marion, you couldn’t help but feel like a caged animal in the tiny cupboard room they had given you. A curious thought tickled the back of your mind, willing you to remain as alert as possible after an exhausting day of hiking; where had they put Jezebel? Not that you particularly cared at this point. After the attack she had done a 180, dropping all suspicion of malice in this village. She simply flushed the pictures of hanging heads and wild beasts from her memory. You sometimes envied her lackadaisical memory accompanied by a fanatical view of the world. Living blissfully ignorant, especially in a situation like this, seemed to serve her best.

After a small dinner of fish that smelled of ammonia, of which you politely picked at, Adelina insisted the two of you stay the night. “The beasts will return!” She exclaimed, holding a firm hand over the intricately carved wood of the doorframe. “Early tomorrow we can arrange for a car to pick you up from the next town over.” Hushed murmurs climbing up from the cracked floors pulled you from your thought. The voices spoke in an incomprehensible argument.

“I’d quite like to keep...” the words faded in and out.

“No, no, no. Don’t be ridiculous...”

“What if....”

The floor spoke a soft squeak from beneath your feet as you shifted to get closer to the voices. Their conversation stopped, and you waited with bated breath for it to continue.

“We have to offer someone up tomorrow.” It was Adelina.

“I know, I know.” Marion sounded frustrated. “But you know Mother Miranda prefers only the purest. How are we supposed to know if either of them are-”?

The words faded once more as the two moved from room to room. Walking on the sides of your feet, you followed. Peeking around the corner, your eyes landed on Adelina and Marion illuminated by a flickering fire. They stood close to one another, keeping their tones low.

“Clearly, we offer the frumpy one. Take a look at her. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s unexperienced.” Adelina snickered, taking a seat on the worn couch with her back to you. “She wouldn’t fit in here anyway.”

“The dumb one would get along nicely with our son.”

“I agree.”

A knock at the front door sent a shiver of adrenaline down your spine. Quickly scrambling to hide, you took in a deep breath as Marion passed by with his shotgun in hand. From the parted door, you could see the sun barely peeking over the horizon. Had it really been that long already?

“Are you sure she’s pure?” The new man stood in the doorway rushed past Marion, looking in the direction of the room they had put you in.

“I suppose we could check.” Adelina called, rising to join the others. “The both of them had that tea. They shouldn’t wake until the ceremony later today.”

“Is she in there?”

“Yes, the other one is upstairs.”

“Let’s check this one first.”

With heavy footsteps falling upon the rotting floorboards of the somewhat dilapidated home, you slunk further into the shadows of the room behind you. The glint of something metal caught your attention; a small handgun sat perfectly on a dresser as if set there intentionally for you to find. Holding your breath, you crept forward to it. You’d never shot a gun in your life, but you knew the basics... both hands, check for ammo, rack the slide, pull the trigger. At least, that’s what the movies told you.

“Out of bed so soon, are we?” The soft voice turned malevolent as Adelina appeared in the doorway of the room. “I wouldn’t use that if I were you.” She motioned to the gun that was aimed rather unskillfully for her chest.

“What the fuck is going on in this village?” You spoke with purpose now, tone wavering slightly as Marion stepped behind his wife.

“You don’t understand things around here, girl.” Adelina spat, moving aside as Marion began charging into the room. The loud blast of the gun echoed from the walls of the home followed by a harsh curse and the sound of a body crumpling to the floor. You had shot Marion in the leg; he’d live.

“No,” you started, re-racking the slide as Adelina’s other friend approached wielding a similar gun to your own. Adrenaline washed over your nervous system, your hands shook violently, but you attempted to remain composed. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. This isn’t normal! Tell me what’s going on now or,” your eyes trailed down to Marion who was attempting to control the flow of blood from his wound.

“You wouldn’t.” She laughed bitterly.

“Like hell, I wouldn’t.” You exclaimed, training the gun onto her. “Now tell me, what’s happening here.”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” Adelina’s friend’s words were the last thing you heard before your ears rang and the sting of a bullet burnt white hot in your shoulder. You weren’t sure if your gun ever went off again.

Despite being tied, bathed, dressed, and currently sitting on a freezing alter-of-sorts, you still hadn’t the slightest clue as to what was going on. A crowd of villagers surrounded from the south, all carrying on with a rumble of conversation. Adelina shot daggers at you, Marion as well, from a small, inclined hill at the edge of the crowd. The clothes you wore were your own, she had fished through your backpack claiming that it was of no use to waste a nice dress on “someone like her.” Jezebel was likely still fast asleep at their house.

A woman with the likeness of the framed photo you had seen appeared out of nowhere. So, this was the famous Mother Miranda that everyone regarded so deeply. She stood before you as the crowd’s voices hushed and their eyes became hazed with looks of admiration and devoted appreciation. Surely, she was a human, deities and gods didn’t exist in a physical form, you assured yourself.

Without a word, Miranda moved gracefully as if flowing across the ground to stand before Adelina. Taking her face between her hands, she whispered what you assumed to be praise as Adelina’s lips moved rapidly thanking Miranda. She then moved to Marion and grazed her hand against the wound on his thigh, speaking of how his steadfast devotion would quickly heal any injuries of cruelty spread by evil. When her attention finally fell back to you, she frowned. Stalking around you in circles, Miranda’s imposing figure made you want to shrivel to nothingness.

“Thank you.” She turned to the villagers as if to dismiss them. “When the time comes, I will return for another.”

The black wings you had seen in the photo sprouted from her back, shielding your sight of the villagers as they retreated to their homes. Hopeful cries and shouted blessings to Miranda echoed from the crowd as the village gate slammed. The only evidence of them once populating this empty square were flowers and offerings of fruit and grain left for the supposed goddess.

The world swiftly darkened once more.

Part 2 - Paths Meet

I promise there's more Heisenberg in the next part..

Feedback is always appreciated

[evita-shelby]

Between the Shadow and the Soul

Chapter 23

tw: mentions of child sexual abuse

“You went on strike today, cost me a lot of money, love.” Tommy never gets cross with her when she pulls stunts like this. Turns him on more than her, surprising him in his London office with only her coat and stockings on.

“We need better working conditions, Mr. Shelby.” So, what if she likes to call him Mr. Shelby when they fuck in his office.

“Is that so, Mrs. Shelby.” One hand is on her knee, creeping up her skirt, the other traces her bottom lip and tilts her chin up. He reeks of smoke and the Russian tramp’s perfume, but she doesn’t care. Thomas Shelby would never be anyone else’s while she lives.

 “Moss said you and Polly threatened violence, took the spotlight off Jessie Eden, whoever that is.”

“The only way I know how to get rights is taking them by force, besides, it was your aunt who threatened to burn down city hall.” She takes his hand from his tantalizing and slow trek up her thighs and takes it right to the edge of her knickers.

He moves it back down, determined to have her begging for him to fuck her.

“No more politics, Eva, can’t let them have a reason to look into you.” He commands as if she’d listen.

“They won’t find anything, you know that. Not even the Americans have proof I helped bust people out of their prisons and raided their precious King Ranch.” her fingers played with the buttons of his vest and absolutely hated the turn of the conversation.

“You already took a risk in telling Michael and giving the notebook to Tatiana---” he begins, and she interrupts, jealous.

“Oh, you’re on a first name basis with her already.”  Eva was hardly jealous, but pregnancy made the green-eyed monster rear its ugly head.

“I’m not going to fuck her, and I won’t let you fuck her either.” He says irritated at her lack of trust around women chasing after him.

“Tatiana isn’t my type, she’s into very weird shit, or so Tiago has told me. But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” She changes the topic. “The ladies want in on the Russian robbery, Arthur told Linda, Linda shared with the class.”

“So, Arthur tells Linda everything, eh?” He’s never trusted Linda and hates how much Arthur defers to her better judgment. His hand on her thigh remains there, but the one that used to be under her chin tilting her face up for a kiss that did not happen falls away and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What’s wrong with that, you tell me everything.” That’s a topic they’ve never agreed on, in the entire family only Eva likes Linda despite her annoying religious ways.

“I tell you everything because you find out either way, Arthur has a big mouth. I’m running out of people to trust, love.” The tension is back, and Eva knows whatever plans they that for tonight have disappeared into thin air. “Can’t trust the Russians or the army, can’t trust Michael not to tell his mother things and I can’t trust Esme.”

“So, Polly knows, huh. After all I did, Michael just goes and tells his mother. Fucking great!” she grumbles and leans on her head on his shoulder. “If she knows, then the Priest knows about the trap.”

If the priest knows about the trap, then her husband will need an ambulance and emergency brain surgery, or he might end up as dead as Jesus Christ on Easter.

If that happens then Aman will have to be a good shot.

---

Tommy fights her when she forces him into a hospital, and she goes in his stead to the dinner where the fucking priest expects him to grovel at his feet.

She wears rubies, red as the blood stain Tommy left on her dress before he went to Ada’s to meet with the Soviets.

“I apologize for being late, there was scheduling conflict and my husband will not be available tonight.” she greets them with her façade of woman with everything under control.  

“Uncle, Aunt, let me introduce to you Mrs. Eva Shelby, Mr. Shelby’s wife.” Tatiana smirks, they will never get along, but no one said they had to be allies.

“Eva Shelby, a shame we could not meet in better circumstances, but c'est la vie.” She is sat between the priest and Tatiana’s uncle, very improper, but who cares about social etiquette when they bend over backwards for a rapist priest.

“You speak French, madam?” the MP, what’s his face asks as if he expected a savage. They always do, his type never think people can have a good education in countries like hers.

“Someone had to read a disgraced president’s letters to his French allies after stealing them from his office, besides all my cosmetics are French, all the best operas are Italian, and all the best Ballets are in Russian. I think you are the only person at the table who can’t speak anything else, but English, Mr. Jarvis.” she says with faux innocence.  

“Do you drink, Mrs. Shelby?” she loathes things like him, the priest, she wants to be the one to pull the trigger, but that will be Michael’s revenge. The MP will be her treat, Eva needs Churchill to owe her something.

“No, I find alcohol brings out the revolutionary in me, last time I drank I overthrew three presidents.” she says it with humor. “But enough about that, you asked my husband here to apologize and since he cannot do that in person, I’ll do it for him.”

“You know, it was drink that caused half this trouble, brought up an absurd allegation against me that was false.”

“Did it, then perhaps you should follow my example and quit drinking, father.” she says almost mockingly. Pregnancy had the side effect of making her reckless and moody and brought up those times she railed against people who wish to humiliate her for entertainment.

“When a child in my care commits a sin, first of all, he confesses, as you just did. And then, I instruct him to perform penance in a manner of my choosing. As a child, you went to church?” he comes close, almost saying it in her ear. She feels sickened by the man.

His favorite thing was to have a child say the act of contrition as he forced himself on them. It wouldn’t take much to get the fork and drive it through his eye and then stab him repeatedly with the knife on her garter.

“Of course, everyone and their dog is Catholic in Mexico, although I do have to apologize, I only know the words to prayers in Spanish and Latin, never liked the way they sounded in English I’m afraid.” She acts like the eccentric ditzy foreigner because so far it has yet to fail her.  “Shall I begin, Deus Meus---”

“Instead of “God,” say my name. Since it was me you and your husband offended with your false allegations.” He smirks and she grits her teeth.

“Sir do you want an apology we all know I don’t mean, or do you want the plan to happen as it should? I may be Catholic, but I am still a witch.” She smiles through gritted teeth.

“Is that why your enemies never caught you, Eva?” Tatiana butts in remembering their conversation.

“Yes, if you know beforehand what’s going to happen you prevent mistakes.” Eva’s dark eyes never leave Hughes and stares him down like the vermin he is. “For example, my husband and I knew you’d see through our trap, that you would ask for an unnecessary apology and that your whole double-crossing act is just that.” She explains and then adds, “Would you rather waste everyone's time and have me fluff your ego with the Acts of Contrition, or would you rather talk business?”

It will cost them something priceless, but he will never get to enjoy that will he?

“If we had known you would be this direct, perhaps we should have contacted you instead of your husband.” the Russian Grand Duke says, happy that they don’t have to go through the priest’s bullshit. Gets so tiring to have a man you see as less than human keep inflating his own self-importance.

“The job will happen at this time.” She hands the Grand Duke a piece of stationery with the date noted down to the minute. “It’s the only time I can guarantee it will happen as it should, if it does not happen at the exact hour and minute I have written down, it will fail.”

“Shall we order food?” the priest interjects wishing to turn all the attention back to him.

“You may, but I have much better things to do.” she takes her leave respectfully from the Russians and barely pays any attention to the other two men. 

She can’t wait for this job to be over.

[daughter0fslaughter]

There it is.

Any shred of power or lick of control daring to spark within the palm of her clawed hand was to be immediately snuffed out. Threats of impending violence, doom, agony and pain sprouting from the ground as thorny black vines towering far above her head. They coiled and twisted with a rancid odour splitting from their flesh and staining against Orin’s speckled skin. A scent that found familiar space with the changeling. Within the Dragonborn’s eyes she saw, of course, Bhaal. How couldn’t she? Formed from the very flesh of the Murder Lord himself and imbued with his ravenous fury, it glimmered across each scale and burned beneath his iris’. And beneath Bhaal, Sarevok. A recent revelation, granted, but one all the same. Nobody else had managed to make Orin feel so painfully insignificant and small, all the while existing too loudly and taking up too much space. Not like Sarevok, and not like Druj. Was this still part of the test? Was it ever a test to begin with? Had she squandered a chance of freedom, and if so, how dare she view it as such?

…

…….

It did not matter.

The inevitability of Orin being trodden beneath at least one of the two was clear.

As he went on and on and on and on, Orin stood scowling. Her shoulders shrunk into her small frame and any semblance of wicked joy or even enthusiasm had swiftly wilted behind her pale eyes. Venomous words dulled before hitting her divided mind, making no dent nor impact against the vibrating dome. A choice had to be made. To obey or to rebel. Obeying one would be to disobey another. Orin didn’t want to obey anyone other than herself. For once, Orin preferred to avoid violence. Though her rotted soul and blackened heart yearned to snap bones and pierce flesh, her brain thought better of it, and in a deathly situation such as this one, she had to rely on her smarts above all else. Her consciousness and sanity was deeply flawed and broken after years of struggling, but in times of need they pulled her through. They always had done. They always will. Without them, what did she have? How different would she be to the mindless lemmings that slaughtered with little rhyme or reason and absolutely no beauty?

And here… well.

Sarevok was as good as dead. She knew that. He knew that. Druj knew that. Everybody under the damn temple knew that the moment Orin booted him to the sidelines and eradicated almost all sense of power that beast held over her. Her own ambition for the beauty of the slaughter was the sole reason for his lungs still burning oxygen, and his ginormous rancid heart pumping blood. Orin had plans.

She had plans and no choice. The word “freedom” was certainly being thrown around rather liberally. And, quite frankly, this little display of a powertrip was yet again ironic coming from someone left rotting at the bottom of a tower with a worm squirming around. Any fear momentarily inflicted into her had fizzled away into nothingness, leaving that blunt, hollow and cold ache in its place. Did she even believe he was capable of those things? No, not really. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

Neuroticism flickered a brief smile at the corners of her mouth. A twitch of her left, tearful eye. A high pitched giggle slipping out. She couldn’t help that.

What choice did she have?

A cloud of red mist appeared in front of her now raised right hand, manifesting her Bloodthirst dagger. A new, neat little trick, gifted upon her by that of an overly helpful pixie. As she tilted and twisted it, the netherstone embedded within the gilded centre sparkled beneath the candlelight.

“You are nothing to me.” A breath. In and out through the nose. Perhaps one of exhaustion or even frustration. Regardless of what it stemmed from, it was a brief moment of regulation. Truthfully, she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going with this. An old urge of hers to live exclusively for herself kicked up dust that choked at her lungs and squeezed Orin’s words out. Perhaps the idea of being bottlenecked between picking some faux promise of “freedom” or allegedly being chewed out from the inside had flipped a switch at the back of her skull. Why should she allow this annoyance to provide a senseless, self-serving ultimatum? If she was to die within this room, let it be of her choice, and her choice alone.

“You do not frighten me. You cannot do any of those things to me.” Another pause, her grip tightening around her beloved blade.

“I have bested you before and I will not hesitate to do so again - you would be wise to fold your peacock feathers behind your waxy scales, and know your place.” Her breathing picked up and her face twisted into a pained frown, struggling to decide between utter sadness or absolute rage. Was this her roundabout way of giving him yet another chance to live? Or to at least to walk away without a fight? Did she even care about the netherstone and the Absolute, or was it all just for a lick of praise that this spawn was showered in? Why didn’t she just kill him all that time ago? At least one answer was clear.

A moment of hesitation. Panic, even. She said all of those things for herself true enough but had any of it been for Him? No. No! Curled fists now at her sides and her eyes flickering around. This is what she had worked so hard for? To be bickering with an underling over her rightful place in his embrace? What a joke. But she was not laughing; The realisation of having and knowing absolutely nothing other than Bhaal repeatedly had hit her like a boulder over the course her life and it melted through her innards as she spoke.

“I deserve this!”

What?

B-

Blasphemy, within her bedroom walls, beneath her father?

Whatever sadistic joy stained Orin's face had quickly vanished, leaving an even paler complexion instead. Milky eyes widened, black lips dropped to a gawp, and instead of twitching around, Orin remained deathly still. A petrified apparition of herself; Utterly gobsmacked at the mere proposition and complete tripe that slipped his crusty lips.

...

A test.

It must be. Of course.

"Had I known the worm was to chew at every inch of your brain matter, I'd have slaughtered you in His honour the moment my sweet blade pierced bone." Orin spat the words to the floor, eyebrows furrowed and anxiety lacing her voice. Had she been taken off-guard for too long? In that split second of her mind desperately attempting to process his proposition, did it come across as if she considered it? Surely not. Surely not.

The last time she hesitated - the last time she dared to resist - she suffered an eternity of agony. Ragged from the mortal realm and plunged into a crimson darkness. Thick, molten sludge burning at each inch of her spectral body, a thousand blades sticking through her fragile form and her screams stifled by the oozing, coagulated blood leaking down her throat. How she called for his forgiveness, begging, eyes burning under acidic tears, and ears ringing in the silence that followed. He was there true enough, but he was not there to comfort. She had been unwaveringly loyal to him all fifteen years of her life, until that one moment of weakness. A desire to live outside of the temple, to slaughter in her own name and to do as she wished whenever she wanted to. A fitting punishment for a selfish child. She was returned to the mortal realm, to her own vessel, inside of a box. A tight box no longer than a metre in width and forty centimetres in height. Locked from the outside. Three holes cut through the top for air, for water, for whatever was to be shoved in there with her. Orin was no stranger to torturous punishments even at the age of fifteen years, but this cut into her far deeper than any blade.

Ever since then, Orin changed significantly. Not a single thought away from Bhaal and his absent love. She didn't dare do otherwise.

Orin could hardly believe this brain-rotted fool that stood ahead of her. Not only the ridiculous arrogance and pride that encouraged him to slither back into her presence, but to spit untruths to her and to act as though they were in anyway similar?

"You lie."

Festering rage bubbling at the back of her throat. Those stifled adolescent screams kicking at her rib cage. An accusatory index finger pointed towards him, trembling with increasing frustration.

"How dare you speak of his name to me, when it is I and I alone who shall spill his crimson across the Murder Lord's stones. I have earned the right. I am his daughter, and he worshiped ME." As she spoke, her words cracked and wobbled. A temper fit to burst and a tantrum inches from being had. Her brain raced around within her scarred skull and screamed screamed SCREAMED to vanish away. But where to? They are in her bedroom, under his watchful gaze. She could not flee - that would be shameful. She is not a little girl anymore, as if she was ever allowed to be.

"WE didn't share anything. What you thought was OUR childhood, was actually you having kills, blood, flesh, bones, praise served to you on a stained platter - Bhaal's blood addled beloved. Never struggled. Do not dare speak on what we "were" when you are blinded and swaddled in sinews."

Suffered in belief that she was to be the chosen, suffered to stand in their scarlet shadow and to be nothing more than a bloodied footnote.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Red

Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3680

Warnings: Kink and trauma. You know, in case you forgot whose blog you were on! Night terrors. Non-graphic flashbacks to violence, very graphic smut. Bucky’s head is just not a very fun place? References to brainwashing and torture. Kink discovery, including some hitting/slapping during sex and some power/control fantasies, all within the context of a very happy relationship. It goes down dark but there’s a distinctly soft aftertaste. 

A/N: For @cockslut-padalecki and her Decade Under The Influence challenge. My prompt was “The Crimson” by Atreyu. Thanks for always hosting the absolute best challenges, and congrats on the milestone! 

Pre-reads by @thoughtslikeaminefield @mskathywriteswords and @fangirlxwritesx67​. Inspiration from that scene where Sebastian Stan gets slapped. You know the one I mean. 

The companion fic to this will be coming soon! It’s significantly darker and way outside my wheelhouse, but please let me know if you want a tag. 

The Soldier stalks silently down the hallway to the bedroom, scanning the shadows. 

The closet. 

Something itches, deep under the ice: knowledge that closets are for hiding — 

— a small girl, giggling in the back corner of the closet — 

— ready or not, here I come — 

— but those frozen things don’t belong to the Soldier. 

He opens the door and finds the woman on the floor, trying to hide in the darkness. He picks her up by the throat. Moonlight from the open window glints off her wide eyes and the Soldier’s metal hand. She fights back, clawing at his arm uselessly. 

He waits for her to stop struggling. They always do. 

Bucky opens his eyes and bolts upright, gritting his teeth against the sweaty, shivery wave of nausea. 

It takes a moment for the numbing chill of the Soldier’s memory to fade. 

He knows it’s a memory. He lost so many things in the deep emptiness of cryo-sleep, but he couldn’t bury them forever, and now they claw their way out while he dreams. The darkness gives him back his life, one nightmare at a time. 

Sometimes he wakes up screaming. Sometimes he wakes up convinced that the bed under him is soaked with blood, and it takes a few awful seconds to realize that he just sweated through the sheets. Other times he’s paralyzed in the darkness, convinced he’s back in the cryo chamber, and he wants to punch and claw and fight his way out, wants to see the sun again, but he tried that one too many times — he learned his lesson about wanting things. 

At least he didn’t wake her this time. She makes a breathy sound as she stirs, but she’s still sound asleep, and when he inspects his hands in the glow of her night light, there’s no trace of red. 

She got the light about two months ago, when he started sleeping over. She didn’t ask him, didn’t mention it — he would’ve been embarrassed, if she asked, but it helps. She helps. 

He’s goddamn crazy about her. It hasn’t been long, but he knows this is it for him. 

Bucky curls up facing her. Her hair is a mess, and there’s a damp patch of drool on the pillow under her slack mouth, and she’s beautiful. It’s amazing that she trusts him enough to fall asleep next to him. 

He closes his eyes. This time he doesn’t dream.

The end credits of the movie start to scroll down the screen, and she makes a grumbling noise that means she doesn’t want to get up and turn the TV off. Her little apartment is full of the rich smell of whatever she’s got in the oven, and the day has been so sweetly domestic that Bucky wonders when everything will start to twist and distort and go bloody. He must be hallucinating. 

But the hallucinations always had a sort of airbrushed quality to them when they started, an inhuman perfection that felt easy, like he was floating. Right now his stomach is growling, and when she shifts, her elbow digs into his side, and she’s a heavy comforting warmth on top of him. 

The hallucinations were the product of his own brain, which might be why they came back all too quickly when he started to recover his memories. Even when he couldn’t remember his sisters’ faces, he remembered the drug-fueled torture that took place behind his closed eyelids, scenes that started like fantasies and ended like nightmares. 

Most memories from before the fall are weak and hazy, sepia-toned afterimages that overlay the living world like ghosts. Other things bleed through the decades, making it hard to keep track of whose memories he’s seeing. The Soldier’s memories are always sharp and cold, and they’re the hardest to shake off. Sometimes they’re triggered by the present, and it’s always a surprise; he’s stepping into a crosswalk and the past is washing over him like — 

The water from the hose is freezing cold as the handler rinses off the blood — 

— and he’s still staring down at the slushy puddle, but — 

— the Soldier keeps his eyes down, clenching his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering, watching the red swirl over the cold cracked tile and disappear down the drain, and — 

Bucky has to fight to hold on to the honking taxis and the Brooklyn stink, because the cryo chamber is quiet like a coffin in the last few seconds before he’s frozen into unconsciousness, and — 

— and sometimes he feels frozen even when the dreams dissolve, even when he knows they’re only dreams. 

The frigid paralysis was mental more than physical, for the Soldier, and that’s a hard thing to shake. The raw human parts of him iced over, head and heart numb while his body carried on following orders. 

She sits up and stretches, making her shirt ride up, and he notices bruises on her hips, wrapping around the side. 

“Did I do that?” he asks, voice thin. 

She looks down like she didn’t notice. “Probably.” 

He tugs the waistband of her yoga pants down a little and finds the shape of a handprint, stained purple. She twists to show him a matching set on the other side. They’re more defined on the side he was gripping with his metal hand last night. He feels cold all over. 

“Sorry.” 

“No biggie.” 

He’s too scared to meet her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” 

“What if I asked you to?” she tosses back, playful and easy. 

Bucky doesn’t know how to react to that. He can’t let her see how badly he wants that, so he just freezes like a deer in headlights, forcing himself to go still, to shut down, to say nothing.  

“Whoa, hey, don’t do that,” she says, and she moves into his space slowly, deliberately, giving him time to tell her to stop. He blinks at her, and she smiles, soothing. 

He spent the first month of their relationship waiting for her to turn and run. It’s gotten better, but… 

“Why the hell do you trust me?” he blurts out. 

She frowns, and hesitates, and he wants to reach up and smooth out the little frown line that forms between her eyebrows, but he doesn’t. She curls up against him and kisses his jaw. 

“Would you ever choose to hurt me?” she asks. 

“No.” 

“There you go.” He feels the movement when she shrugs, as if it’s that easy. “You control your choices. That’s it.” 

“But I —” 

“No buts,” she interrupts, and her voice is firm. “I choose to trust you and you don’t get to talk me out of it.” 

Bucky lets out a huff of not-quite-laughter at that. She’s stubborn as hell when she wants to be, and he knows better than to argue. 

“Okay,” he says, and wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. She settles closer, her breath a warm damp tickle against the side of his neck. 

His body used to be a weapon. 

“You can’t blame yourself for things that are out of your control,” she mumbles, as if she heard him. 

He takes a deep breath and says it again: “Okay.” 

He can see her reflection in the mirror; she bites her lip, teeth white against her bright red lipstick, trying to hold back, but the whimpers are getting louder by the second as he fucks her harder. She’s bracing herself with her forearms on the sink, her entire body shaking with each sharp thrust. 

“Shhhh,” Bucky says, half-laughing, but he doesn’t slow down. 

He’s pretty sure this was her plan all along. They barely made it an hour into the party before she tugged him into the bathroom, and usually he would protest, but he’s been half-hard since he first saw her in that damn outfit. 

She opened the door earlier looking like a pinup, complete with glossy curls and red lips and this dress: flared skirt, nipped-in waist, curves threatening to spill over the scooped-low neckline. He had just stuttered for a few seconds as a wisp of memory cast a sepia glow over her pleased smile. 

He used to have a dog-eared print of one of those calendar girls, and it was tame compared to some that were carried to war, but there was something warm in her smile that made him hold onto it. He used to daydream about her waiting at home, welcoming him at the door, when everything else was heavy and grey. He used to look at her smile when he couldn’t bear to close his eyes, knowing he’d only see blood. They took it when he was captured, of course, but he used to imagine — 

— this, he used to imagine this, the way the skirt is rucked up around her hips and she’s bent at the waist, the way she stretches open around the shiny-wet length of his cock. 

He has a flash of certainty that this is just a fantasy, something he’s imagining desperately as he fucks his own fist and tries not to make a sound, pressing his other palm to his mouth to muffle his labored breathing. He’s picturing this so vividly that when he opens his eyes and sees the stars, framed by the caved-in ceiling of another bombed-out shell of a building, he’ll have to fight back tears of disappointment. 

The sight of her face in the mirror is utterly pornographic, threatening to send him over the edge too soon, but when he looks down, he can see the way her ass bounces and jiggles as she shoves herself back to meet each thrust, and that’s goddamn obscene too. Bucky’s imagination has never been this good. 

She’s so close, too close to stay silent, and just as she lets out a high-pitched, keening moan, there are footsteps right outside the door. 

He reacts instinctively, before he can think better of it; he slaps his hand over her mouth, muffling the sound against his palm — the metal one, he realizes, a split-second too late. 

Their eyes meet in the mirror for one wild heartbeat. Her skin looks dangerously soft under silver fingers that could so easily break the fragile jawbone they grip. 

Then her eyes roll back in her head, and her orgasm blindsides both of them with its intensity. If he wasn’t silencing her, she would’ve shouted, he’s pretty sure; she spasms violently against his grip, writhing like she’s trying to shake him off, and — 

— he imagines her struggling, fighting back, until he pins her against the wall and — 

— it hits him like a gut-punch. He doubles over, curling himself around her as he comes with a rough shocked grunt, and the white-out lightning-bolt electroshock feel of it is so incredible he forgets, for a few seconds; he just buries his face in those curls and kisses the nape of her neck. 

He straightens up and realizes her lipstick is smeared over the metal hand, deep crimson red. 

“God, we’re a mess,” she laughs breathlessly. She turns to kiss him, eyes sparkling, and then they have to clean up, put themselves back together, and he brushes it off. 

It was probably a memory, a ghost whose features he confused with hers in one fevered second. Unwanted memories — 

— dreams — flashbacks — fantasies — hallucinations — 

— invade his reality every day. 

It didn’t feel like a memory, though. 

She smiles, and there’s no doubt in his mind that the smile is real, so Bucky swallows his guilt and smiles back. Her hand is warm in his. 

There’s a knife in his hand and blood on the floor. 

It’s messy, but those were his orders. Easier to frame the mistress this way. At least the carving knife was sharp. Red drips down the blade onto the metal fingers.  

He’s about to place it next to the corpse when he hears the gasp. The mistress had been asleep four minutes ago, but people are unpredictable that way. 

Messy. 

The Soldier pivots, finds her standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She’s paralyzed by fear, like a deer in headlights as he stalks closer. Usually they run. Sometimes they fight back. This one just stares. 

“I won’t say anything,” she whispers. “I didn’t see —” He grabs her wrist, and she shrieks, trying to twist away, until he pins her against the wall and holds her in place. Tears start to roll down her cheeks. “No, please, I’ll do anything you want — just don’t kill me! You can — anything, I promise, I won’t struggle! Do you want —” 

“Want” is buried deep under the ice. “Want” is for bodies that are warm and soft and human. The Soldier is a weapon.

He presses the knife into her hand and forces her fingers to close around the handle. She was supposed to be asleep. 

She’ll be blamed, one way or another, but maybe it’s better this way. Cleaner. 

No witnesses. It’s an order. 

Bucky wakes up. He’s trembling, sitting up with his hands twisted in the sheets, but it’s not as bad as it could be. She’s sitting up next to him, one gentle hand on his chest as she watches with wide sad eyes. 

“Sorry,” he chokes out. “Fuck, I hate waking you up.” 

“Almost time anyway,” she says, which is when he realizes that it’s morning. Sunlight is streaming in through the sheer curtains. He settles back against the headboard, taking it in. They’re both naked, with her big downy comforter around their waists, and the residual chill of memory thaws immediately in the cozy warmth of her bed. 

She leans in hesitantly and brushes her lips against his. He can read the worry plain on her face — she doesn’t know what he needs right now — but he tugs her onto his lap, tilts his head back, mouth opening easily under hers for slow lazy kisses that stretch like taffy and then turn deep and dirty. She swears like a sailor as she sinks down slowly onto his cock. 

Christ, she’s gorgeous. 

It must be real. He could never hallucinate something so flawed and incredible as the way she looks naked, the stretch marks under his palms, the calluses on her fingers when she cups his jaw, the way she moans when he plants his feet on the bed and fucks up into her. 

She’s flushed and dewy with sweat, moaning in the sharp bitten-off way that means he found just the right angle, and her thighs are shaking hard enough that he has to grip her hips and hold her steady. He can feel her starting to get close, clenching and flooded around him, when her alarm goes off. 

“Cocksucking motherfucker,” she snarls. 

They both look helplessly at the phone, just out of easy reach on the nightstand. Bucky’s tempted to just ignore it, but she’s already leaning over. She twists at the waist but doesn’t stop rocking her hips down against him, squeezing in little pulses like she can’t help herself, so he settles her more firmly on his lap, holding her weight and anchoring her as she reaches for it. He works his right hand down between them, an awkward angle that’s totally worth it when he can rub her clit with the pad of his thumb and feel her spasm around his cock. 

“Five more minutes,” he suggests breathlessly. 

“Not gonna need that long if you keep doing that.” She trembles and almost collapses before finally grabbing the phone, and she hits the snooze button immediately. 

He’s already rolling his hips, grinding in deep, and he must hit something just right at the same moment she starts to straighten up; it makes her twitch, jerking uncontrollably against him as she moves, and her elbow cracks across his jaw, snapping his head to the side hard enough to rattle his teeth. 

“Shit!” she hisses, and then: “I’m so sorry, I — are you —” 

But the rough throb of pain hit like a swell of heat in Bucky’s gut, making him jerk up into her and shudder with pleasure. He lets his head loll, taking a deep heaving breath and letting it out as a moan. 

It’s not until he tilts his head back to look at her stunned face that he realizes what just happened. His cheeks burn but she doesn’t look disgusted; her eyes go all heavy-lidded and she bites her lip as she starts to ride him again, swiveling her hips. 

He’s opening his mouth to make some excuse, to deny it, when she leans in for a bruising kiss: teeth scraping his lower lip, a whimper rough in her throat, cunt silky-hot and soaked, so good his head is spinning. 

Then she asks raggedly, “Do you want me to do that again?” 

Without even thinking about it, he blurts out, “Yes.” 

Her palm connects with his cheek, a sharp sting that draws a guttural sound from deep in his chest. He moves on pure primal instinct, gripping her hips to slam her down on his cock. 

From there it’s rough and frantic and desperate. He’s only dimly aware of the way she moans, bucking against him, the way they’re moving against each other like animals, the way she bites his lip so hard he tastes copper and then he’s gone, coming so hard his vision goes white with the first intense pulses of it. She shudders as she follows him, riding out the shocks of pleasure with her forehead pressed to his and her hands in his hair. 

He shivers against her, breath hitching as reality washes in like ice water. 

“I can feel you freaking out,” she mumbles. “What, they didn’t have kink in the thirties?”

It surprises Bucky enough that he lets out a huff of laughter. “No. Not exactly.” 

“Why is this freaking you out?” 

He stutters for a second before he manages, “What’s wrong with me?” 

She sits up and looks at him intently. “Fucking nothing.” 

“That should be the last thing I want,” Bucky mutters, cheeks burning. 

“That’s not how it works,” she snaps. “Sex isn’t — it doesn’t always make sense. It’s messy.” 

“I’ve had enough of hurting people for a fuckin’ lifetime.” 

There’s something vulnerable in her sheepish half-smile. “Sometimes your body likes shit it shouldn’t. You can’t control what gets you off. Believe me, sweetheart.” 

He blinks, ready to question that, and she leans in for a quick kiss. As if on cue, her alarm goes off again. 

“Fuck.” 

“I gotta go,” she says reluctantly. “But later — later we’re going to talk about some things. Okay?” 

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he thinks it very clearly in that moment: I love you. 

“Okay.” 

The Soldier pins her brutally against the wall, one hand around her wrists, the other around her throat. He doesn’t squeeze, not yet, just holds her there and savors the thrill; she’s writhing and lashing out at him like a caged animal, but he’s got her and she knows it. 

It’s beautiful, the way she snarls and tries to struggle. 

He wants —

 — so this must be a normal dream, not a memory, but — 

— he wants to fuck her just like this, up against the wall, and —

— his hips jerk and his cock throbs, and — 

— fuck, he wants her. 

“Baby?” Her voice comes out as a sleep-slurred moan. 

He tries to blink away the dream, but instead he’s rolling over and pinning her, rocking his hips down before he can stop himself. She sucks in a breath, spreading her legs to meet the next slow thrust, and she blinks dazedly up at him, mouth dropping open as they rut against each other. 

“What was it?” she asks, raspy and heated. 

He lets out a pained sound and drops his head, hunching to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He’s so goddamn hard, so close, all over a fucked-up dream, and — 

“I was holding you — up against the wall. Your wrists.” 

“Yeah?” she says, voice smoky and eager. “Remember what we talked about?” 

“Traffic lights. Red if you want me to stop.” 

“Do it.”  

Oh. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Fuck yes.” 

He snatches her wrists and crosses them over her head, watching the way her lashes flutter at the touch of metal, the way she bites her lip. She shifts under him, squirming until the length of him is slotted up against her slickness and her legs are up around his hips. 

He slides in slow, relishing every inch, her body welcoming him with living dripping heat. She arches up, and he adjusts his grip on her wrists, squeezing slightly as he braces himself. All he wants in the entire damn universe is to drive into her, piston his hips until she’s screaming, but he starts to fuck her with steady even thrusts, holding back, trying to let go of the last lingering doubts. 

“Doesn’t this scare you?” Bucky asks hoarsely. “That you’re trapped.” 

She lets out a moan that sure as hell doesn’t sound like fear. This isn’t a dream any more, but it still feels surreal. 

“Yellow,” she says.  

“Shit. What’s wrong?” He tries to pull away, but she’s got her ankles hooked, keeping him in place with her legs. He lets go of her wrists, at least, and hauls in a deep breath, trying to make sense of that fierce expression on her face. 

“Nothing. I just wanted you to see that you’re in control. You chose to stop.” 

He swallows hard. “Yeah. I did.” 

“Stop punishing your body for wanting this,” she says. 

His breath catches, and for a moment all he can do is stare. She gives him a smile so soft it threatens to rip him open.

Then he curls his fingers around her wrists again — they’re still crossed, right where he left them. He waits for her nod. 

“Green.” 

Companion fic is here. 

[lepusrufus]

Double edged scalpel ch. 2

Ch. 1

Summary: Cassanda Awkward Asshole Dimitrescu

---

After a couple weeks of doing normal maid chores, Nicole was not expecting to see the dungeons again. Not after Cassandra’s little “failed experiment”. But all good things must come to an end eventually, don’t they? And to an end they came when a faint buzzing reached her ears mid-mopping the floor in one of the main halls.

 Two gloved hands were placed on her hips, pinning her in place, while Cassandra's chin came to rest on her shoulder. She inhaled deeply before finally speaking. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" 

Yes you very much are. 

"Of course not, my lady." 

"Good good. Sadly my study is quite a mess again and I was wondering…" one hand came to teasingly caress Nicole’s cheek. “You aren’t busy tomorrow, are you?”

She wasn’t. In fact, tomorrow was Nicole’s day off, something that she would bet on a lifetime supply of coffee that Cassandra was well aware of. It took every ounce of self control not to let a groan accompany her next words.

“I am not.” Asshole.

She felt herself being spun around, Cassandra’s face uncomfortably close to hers. “Be there by ten then.” And, with the sickle now under Nicole’s chin, “Don’t be late.”

And just as easily as she appeared, Cassandra dissipated into a cloud of flies and made her leave. A sigh of relief got caught in Nicole’s throat when she noticed the other two sisters standing in the doorframe opposite from the one Cassandra flew out of. They both gave her an amused look, seeing the faint blush on Nicle’s cheeks and, to her dread, they both approached her. Bela was the first to speak, thankfully keeping her distance.

“So what exactly is your deal? Immune to all the blood and gore, hm,” she hummed, eyes inquisitive .

“It’s been a while since Cassie was so dead set on scaring someone,” Daniela chirped in from behind and Nicole had to force herself not to snort at the nickname.

So that’s what this was about. Lil’ old Cassie was throwing a hissy fit because one person in this castle wasn’t cowering and bowing at her feet the moment they saw some blood splattered on her otherwise beautiful face. If she had to work in this hellhole of a village, then at the very least she could get some mild satisfaction out of annoying the family sadist. With the other sisters however, there was no point in hiding what her “deal” was. 

“I worked as a medical examiner.” At a raised blonde eyebrow she specified, “I used to examine dead bodies. Autopsies and all that.”

Bela’s face turned from mild shock to amusement, her eyes darting to the younger sister who straight up started laughing while the eldest, at least trying to keep her composure, chuckled. 

“Oh this is gonna be interesting,” the redhead said through giggles.

---

Nicole really had hoped that Cassandra meant 10 pm, with how the Dimitrescus were nowhere to be found during the early day, and she would still have the day to herself until night came. That idea went completely out the tinted windows when, at nine thirty, the head chambermaid came to remind her of the change in schedule. She quickly downed the remaining coffee from her cup while mentally cursing and bolted to her room to change into proper attire, then out the door she went. 

Where was she even supposed to meet the brunette? The doors to the dungeons were bolted shut and she doubted Cassandra would oh so graciously escort her this time. Then again, Lady Dimitrescu did say that she had to be supervised. She got her answer when the doors opened with a click and a drawn out groan from the heavy wood. Cassandra was standing there, eyes scrutinizing as ever while giving Nicole a once over. Then she pulled out a pocket watch that looked at least a century old.

“You’re…” eyes narrowed at the small silver object. “Seven minutes early. Oh you’re as annoying about being on time as Bela aren’t you?”

Well you did make it a point to tell me to be on time, you absolute hypocrite. Instead of voicing her opinions though, Nicole settled for following the other girl deep into the castle’s undergrounds, through damp and oddly warm corridors. The giddiness was back into Cassandra’s demeanor, golden eyes occasionally turning to the small redhead walking behind her with an expression of barely concealed glee. This was definitely not good news. 

It took about .5 seconds to notice what got the brunette so happy when they entered her study. The room was definitely cleaner than the first time, only a handful of devices were dirty and the floor needed some mopping. The tables however... One was covered in fresh blood and the other had a dead body sprawled on it, partially covered by a stained sheet. Oh the irony.

While Nicole was cleaning the unoccupied table, she was facing the brunette, somehow trusting her even less with a scalpel in hand than with a sickle. Not that watching her absolutely botch an autopsy was much better mind you. 

Has nobody taught you about the Y incision?!

That's too dee- congrats you’re making a mess.

That cut needs to go lower. What, are you afraid of some balls?

Oh my god are you trying to take the heart out before even taking care of the guts-

“What is it?” Cassandra’s voice came with a low growl, then a slight cock of the head. “You’re staring.”

“N-nothing,” Nicole stumbled over her reply, realizing too late that her hand had stilled on the rag she was using to clean the blood.

“One thing that I hate more than being disrespected is being lied to.” The warning was clear in her tone. “So I’ll ask again: what is it?”

Nicole was sure that being criticized was something she would hate even more, so she made the split second decision to go with a white lie.

“I just...find autopsies quite fascinating.” Well, in a way she did.

“...You do?” Golden eyes widened in what was probably the first truly genuine emotion Nicole has ever seen on Cassandra’s face: surprise, and a hint of curiosity. 

When Nicole reaffirmed her reply, the brunette’s eyes stayed on her for a few long seconds, trying to find the traces of a lie. When she found none, she just dismissed the other girl with an awkward cough and a “Those knives won’t clean themselves.” 

A tense silence fell on the room, only disturbed by the occasional clink of metal tools or the sloshing of organs being handled by the brunette. After the table was wiped to a reflective surface, Nicole moved on to mopping the blood trails on the floor. She was grateful for the chance to step away from Cassandra, if only for a bit. After the floor too was clean, it was time to wipe the few dirty blades, thankfully not as many as last time. She took a dagger from its holster on the wall and carefully ran a piece of cloth over the blade, washing away dried crimson clots. 

As much as it was probably a bad idea, she couldn't help throwing a subtle glance behind her at Cassandra. A few organs were placed on the table at the body’s feet, and she was taking notes in a leatherbound notebook that looked well used. The idea that she had any interest in the bodies beyond being food gave Nicole an oddly nostalgic feeling. It sent her right back in high school, when one of her friends who took art history classes was telling her all about how da Vinci used real dead bodies in order to study anatomy. Yeah, da Vinci but the more attractive versio- fuck.

She hissed and retracted her hand as she felt the sharp blade cut her wrist and almost dropped the dagger. The effort to conceal the pain was there, but useless as Cassandra was by her side in mere seconds. 

"Oh did you cut yourself?" She asked with feign concern, and grabbed her hand. "Here let me help you with that." 

"Oh no I'm okay really no nee-" 

Nicole's words died in her throat when Cassandra stuck out her tongue and dragged it, slowly, across the cut, collecting every last drop of blood. To top it off, she let out a low moan and gave the soft skin there a small nip, successfully making the redhead’s breath hitch. Now any normal and sane person would think I still have a knife in my hand, I should use it, but Nicole would be lying to everyone and then herself if she said she didn’t have a thing for danger. And it doesn’t get much more dangerous than this, now does it.

“Mm...you taste wonderful.” 

Was she supposed to thank her?

“You’re lucky you intrigue me, otherwise you would make for some fine wine.” She finished with her trademark cackle.

Oh she was definitely not getting a thanks now. Nicole rolled her eyes slightly, tugging her hand away. She was half expecting Cassandra not to release her, but instead she let go of her wrist and, with a giggle, she returned to her work without another word.

---

That night, Nicole made damn sure to wash the cut until her skin felt like it would have a permanent sensation of pins and needles. Once a bandage was securely wrapped around her wrist she sat down with a cup of tea, not quite ready to sleep yet. How ironic would it be if she died of an infection while living in a castle where people are literally turned into food and wine.

Although in all honesty, she was quite certain her death would be far more entertaining.

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Touch it for Real, Part 9

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Angst / (Eventual) Smut 18+

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / idiots to lovers / unresolved sexual tension

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

A/N: DO NOT YELL AT ME! It is going to be okay. 

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8  , Part 9 , Part 10

You had a secret.

For such an abstract and shapeless thing you could sure feel it sitting in there.

It was pulsing.

Your secret felt like a splinter lodged just under a single taste bud that sat in the center of your tongue. You could feel your white blood cells attacking it, trying their best to push it up and push it out, but still it clung tight with its sharp barbs lodged within your cell walls. You brushed your tongue against your teeth.

The secret did not budge.

What you knew about them though, was that secrets did not like to stay hidden forever.

Your fork slipped and clanked noisily against the ceramic plate and the bright orange carrot ball rolled across the smooth white surface nearly sliding over the edge onto the white linen. Whoever decided that your steamed vegetables needed to be shaped into spheres simply for aesthetics should be forced to come out here and explain how you were supposed to spear one of these things while also avoiding the risk of it shooting across the table and hitting your date in the face.

Ben turned out to be very nice. If you were into tall, handsome, clean-looking, and responsible guys who drove their own cars and also had things like health insurance and retirement plans. When you first saw him, you were struck by the firmness you felt when he shook your hand and smiled brightly at you. He had all of his teeth and a head full of hair. He was definitely walking around on his real legs too. He looked like the kind of guy who didn’t let the clean laundry sit in the dryer for longer than a day and changed out his toothbrush every three months. You couldn't see a single fault.

You were trying your best to make a good first impression.

Really, you were.

Well, while also keeping an eye on Baekhyun who sat beside you with his focus down on his plate as he sliced his food into bite sized bits. His control of the fork and knife felt so careful and so exacting, it neared obsession. He had not ordered the steamed vegetables. None of his food rolled.

Across from him, looking just as cute in person as her online dating profile pictures conveyed, was Mia.

Mia was fine.

She was fine.

You didn't want to get into it.

Her clothes were fine. They were exactly the kinds of clothes you had expected she would wear.

Her hair was fine.

She actually had a hairstyle that reminded you of one of the characters in an anime you watched with Baekhyun once and you wondered about the upkeep costs of that particular shade of blue that streaked through her hair. You wondered if she had to switch to blue towels and blue pillow cases or if everything in her house was just stained forever.

Baekhyun’s cheeks blushed when he shook her hand and his smile was bashful, if not a bit tight when she complimented his glasses. Your mind briefly considered the plush, expensive white towels you both owned at home and a flash of horror overcame you for a split second when you imagined those towels streaked with a blue stain from the shower.

He bought those glasses at a store. Anyone can go to the store and buy glasses. Did such a superficial compliment really warrant such a deep shade of pink on his cheeks?

You took a sip of your glass of wine and the sweet, cool liquid had a tart aftertaste that lingered on your taste buds long after you swallowed and you stabbed roughly at the runaway carrot again, impaling it with the prongs of your fork.

Finally.

“I got it,” you said out loud to yourself with a wide smile and you held your prize up in front of your face for a second. Long enough for your eyes to drift across your table to meet Ben’s and you caught the soft amused chuckle that puffed from his nose.

You’d already gotten through the backstory. Starting with the curious question from Mia about how you and Baekhyun got to know each other and you took a quick glance toward Ben as Baekhyun explained that you and he had been roommates for a couple of years. You caught the slight smile on Ben’s lips as he looked down into his water glass and you wondered if he was pleased that he already knew the answer to this question as you had been quick to tell him this important detail about your life as you chatted with him during the last week or so.

Mia on the other hand simply let her eyes drift over from Baekhyun’s face to land on yours for a moment and you offered a disarming smile by way of explanation. Not that either of you had any explaining to do. You could live with whoever you wanted to live with. It took her ten seconds to return your smile, although you didn't quite believe it, or believe that she was done with her curiosities about this topic.

You couldn't really blame her although you’d given her nothing to be suspicious about. Not in the last 20 minutes since you’d all arrived and nibbled on shared appetizers, at least.

Hell, you hadn’t even touched him all day. From before you both arrived at this fancy restaurant and just relinquished your coats to some stranger simply because she held a hand out and sported a severe enough hairdo and manic look in her eyes that was too frightening to question. From the morning when you woke up and wandered into your kitchen to make toast for one and you ignored the sound of his feet shuffling in, half-asleep to grab a yogurt from the fridge. You hadn’t even helped him style his hair; which looked stunning, by the way, with the waves and the faded brown color that absolutely looked like something the perfect boyfriend would let you play with as he laid on your lap. He hadn’t even asked for your help picking out his outfit. He’d simply done it all on his own and waited for you by the front door wearing those jeans and smelling like that familiar scent that he bought for your date with him weeks back.

When had this all become so awkward? You’d never been afraid to touch Baekhyun before but now, well, the touches hadn’t ever concealed quite so much meaning before.

By the time the entrees arrived the conversations had moved on to hobbies and interests.

Ben was a movie buff, and his favorites were mostly mainstream blockbusters of the Marvel Superhero variety. He enjoyed many of the genres of films you’d mostly seen just the previews of. His top ten contained a bit more horror than you were comfortable with. One in particular, a prolific film based on a Steven King novel, had been the kind of psychologically terrifying film that made your chest rattle and you had spent most of the second half of that movie with your face buried in Baekhyun’s arm begging him to just describe to you what was happening and to tell you when the scary parts were over.

When he asked you what your favorite movie was you hesitated for a moment before pulling the movie Forrest Gump out of basically thin air. Yes you had enjoyed the movie. Yes it was something you’d seen more than once and if it was on television right now you would sit down and watch it from start to finish and you would enjoy it. It was a respectable favorite to have. It was the kind of favorite movie you would not be embarrassed to show to your grandmother.

But it wasn’t actually your favorite and you could feel the burden of Baekhyun’s eyes as he turned his head to look at your face when you said it.

Something about naming, out loud with your own lips — the light and fun, mindless guilty pleasure of the film that was actually your favorite movie that you’d watched hundreds of times and returned to watch again and again every time you felt even a little bit upset; something about saying it out loud to this table of people with countless of hours of media consumption under their belts and opinions about things like prolific directors, production companies, hefty CGI budgets, and overused, tired tropes that absolutely should be dropped in 2021, well it just felt too vulnerable for you to say out loud.

You swallowed a sip of your wine and refused to turn your head to look at Baekhyun until you heard the sound of his throat swallowing the ice water he sipped.

When Mia changed the topic to Anime you felt Baekhyun come alive beside you and Ben slinked back in his seat a little as the two of them got to talking about something that was highly anticipated and was slated to be released next year. Rumors about artists and directors with names you could not know flew easily from their lips and Mia mentioned the name of one previous work that you recognized.

In fact you had watched the entire thing last year with Baekhyun and you remembered talking excitedly about it with Mia during one of your early text conversations.

Your face lit up and you happily joined in, excited to finally know what in the world they were talking about when you accidentally let something slip when you reminded her of what she had said about the anime before. Luckily you stopped yourself before you could admit that you had actually been the one she had been chatting with at the time.

Still, she caught it. She was very quick and sharp and you watched her face as she registered that you’d referenced something that only Baekhyun should know about. Had you just fucked up?

“Ahh, we,” you raised your index finger and waved it lightly toward where Baekhyun had stiffened up in his seat beside you, “he told me about what you said.”

There was a moment when her eyes widened and she looked at Baekhyun briefly before returning her focus to you.

“He...told you about me?” She lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, straightened her back and leaned forward with her forearms rested in front of her plate on the table. Her off-the-shoulders number dipped when she leaned in and you caught a bit of black lace and the bunch up of her impressive bosom.

She smiled a coy smile aimed across the table.

You followed the smile and your eyes reached Baekhyun. He’d been hit with the smile and had been too stunned to return it. Instead, he lifted a hand and rubbed it over the back of his neck twice before reaching the same hand forward to grab the ice water he’d been sipping all night as he pulled in a mouthful and puffed his cheeks before covering his lips with his flattened palm and swallowing noisily.

“I also mentioned you to my friend,” Mia said not quietly enough for it to be just for him and you dropped your eyes down to the half finished chicken on your plate.

She was fine. Mia was fine. She’d done absolutely nothing wrong. She was nice and she was probably a good person, but you kind of wanted her to die.

“So,” Ben interjected suddenly and you looked across the table at him as you tried to conceal the surprise on your face to find him sitting there.

You noticed he was done with his food and his plate had already been cleared away by the super attentive waitstaff.

The negligence of your own date weighed heavily on you and you angled your chest forward to face him directly for whatever questions he had for you.

He was pointing toward Baekhyun and Mia with his extended finger and raised eyebrows.

“You two work in computers?” It was a work question. He’d gathered this much from the brief introductions everyone had given and while you had failed to offer any insight as to what you did for a living, Baekhyun and Mia had both mentioned computers.

“He’s a software engineer, and I’m a programmer. Similar but not the same,” Mia explained. You weren't sure of any of the details or of how they were different. You hadn’t really put much thought into it. You knew Baekhyun worked the magic with the keyboard and could fix anything that you happened to break.

“I’m in advertising. Just got scouted by Comma Entertainment and I’ve accepted.” Ben had a hand raised to his chest and his eyebrows were up. This seemed important to him and you let your lips form into an impressed O shape as you raised your eyebrows. His tone and the way he said the name of his new employer seemed to warrant the excited reaction.

You weren't familiar at all with his industry but you knew how to react like you knew what he was talking about. He certainly seemed impressed by himself. Who were you to discourage his enthusiasm.

“You’ve heard of it?” You sold it too well. Baekhyun had leaned close to you and whispered an aside question and you shot him a tense look with your eyes as a warning, but you quickly pushed your smile wide for Ben who was, deservedly, very excited about his new position.

“Of course, who doesn’t know Comma for advertising. That’s a very big deal. Is that why you were so busy last week? We hardly got to talk.”

Your subject change was so slick. If you hadn’t been the one to do it, you’d have been impressed by it. The disappointed pout on your face sold it well.

“Actually I was at the bank a lot last week. It was so weird. I had a few accounts that seemed to be hacked but then it turned out to be nothing. Had to change all my passwords though, so that was annoying.”

“That sucks. They didn't take anything did they?” Mia spoke up from beside Ben; concern written all over her face.

“No. Whoever did it just seemed to access purchase histories mostly. Some loser of a hacker. Didn't even get any money.” Ben’s lips pulled wide and he was laughing with his head thrown back at his perceived victory over the hacker that had been messing around in his bank records.

“You can learn a remarkable amount of information about a person’s bad habits from their bank history, Ben. Sure utilities and rent; that’s boring. You can find out how often someone gets hammered at bars. How many of those bars are also strip clubs. How many maxed out credit cards they make minimum payments on each month just to keep their head above water. Their gambling losses and the motel rooms they book in the bad part of town…”

Baekhyun was speaking up beside you. You turned and you looked at his profile as he spoke so candidly and with what you could only describe as a certain smugness on his voice.

The only reason he’d stopped talking was to catch his breath. It was the most he had spoken all night and you honestly felt taken aback by the suddenness of his words and more, the topic he spoke on. It felt weirdly pointed. It just felt so detailed; almost accusatory.

“What?” You hissed the question; focused it hard and as under your breath as possible to the man seated beside you.

His lips closed up before his eyes turned to look at you and you caught a quick blink of his eyes that preceded a softening of his features that had no business looking that confrontational in the first place.

“I’m not saying any of that stuff applies to Ben.” Baekhyun lifted a slim dismissive hand to wave toward your date. “It’s just an example. For all we know Ben’s only weakness is eating fried chicken every day.”

Ben’s lips were pulled into a thin line on his face and his jaw unclenched when you looked back at him. Then he was smiling at you and it was bright and convincing. You smiled back at him and shook your head at your wacky roommate’s antics.

“Actually it’s pizza. You caught me buddy, I’m a hardcore pizza addict. Every night.”

“Well, not tonight.” Baekhyun shrugged with an odd smile landing on his lips.

Ben’s tight smile flattened and the two men seemed to be staring at each other for longer than you thought was polite for a shared first double-date.

“So what is it that you do?” It was Mia who ultimately broke the tension and you looked across the table into her eyes. She had a pleasant smile on her face and was still chewing on a piece of bread, clearly unbothered by the strange standoff that had just been going on between the two men at this table.

Surely you weren't the only one to notice how odd it had been. Had you just imagined the tightness in Baekhyun’s fist that laid over his thigh and the hard glare in Ben’s eyes?

With Mia’s question though, you felt your own lips pull closed and your eyes danced around the table to the other curious parties who also were now looking at you to answer the question.

You’d prepared well for this date. You’d made sure Baekhyun had the detailed first date topics, questions and answers for perfect small talk, even the section on table etiquette. You’d made sure he knew you’d be here to steer the conversations toward topics he was comfortable discussing and you’d even set up a safety signal he would use if he wanted to bail and just go home.

You’d planned it all out, down to the detailed progression of the evening and how at the end someone might even suggest going together for drinks. And should one of the dates wish to split off, it would be completely okay as long as the corresponding person felt comfortable. You’d even promised that under no circumstances would you abandon Baekhyun to do this on his own if he didn't want to. Not even at the behest of Ben, your date.

They were looking at you and you'd gone quiet. You’d been so busy preparing for this date that it never occurred to you that you were also actively involved and that someone might possibly ask a question about you and your work.

Your work. Well…

“Uhh...I don't really do anything worth mentioning.”

You felt it. It was a warmth that had pooled in the skin around your nose. Your cheeks felt warm and you felt just insignificant enough for it to take your undeserved confidence and throw it out the window.

Ben and Mia were watching you. You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth and bit down on the dry chapped skin on the surface.

“Nothing?” Ben said and his eyes were wide with a look of confusion on his face.

“Well, not nothing.” You were not completely unemployed. You had been quite impressive before. You’d been working with the best publicists of an entertainment company and had been in charge of crafting and perfecting the asset sheets of many of your company's highest profile artists. You’d been the best at it and at one time had been highly sought out for your expertise. You had a way with it. You could work some real magic. You could make a dud of a raw potato sound like a five star course in a Michelin star restaurant. Losing your position in the spring of 2020 had really been a huge blow to your confidence. You looked back at how far you had fallen. Boring data entry jobs to make ends meet. Taking on weird side gigs so you could afford tiny luxuries like your favorite scented lotion or the name brand tampons instead of the store brand.

“I do have a job.” You added lamely. “It’s just not at all interesting.”

Ben dropped his eyes from yours and Mia shrugged her shoulders and stabbed a carrot ball expertly on the first try.

“Yeah but what is it?” Mia said as she chewed daintily. The heat in your cheeks spread and you let your eyes wander away from hers over the various dinner items that covered this table.

Beside you, Baekhyun’s movement caught your eye and you turned to see him place an elbow on the table in front of him and he leaned forward.

“She’s a dating coach. She’s really good at it, but much too modest when she talks about herself.”

Oh no. He wasn't about to spill the beans was he? This was definitely not something in the approved list of first date dinner topics. Wasn't this topic too incriminating? Wouldn't Mia put two and two together and figure out that you had been coaching Baekhyun all along? Also, wasn't this new profession of yours too brand new to start talking about so freely like this? What the hell was he doing?

“A dating coach? What’s that?”

Strangely, Mia didn't seem to be looking at Baekhyun with wheels turning and sirens blaring. She was looking at you with her mouth empty and hung open with a look of genuine interest in her eyes.

“Do you like, feed them what to say in an earpiece?” Ben was speaking up from the other side of Mia and you laughed at the absurdity of such a silly rom-com movie cliche.

“Well no. I’m not a pickup artist. I am a dating coach. Think about it like a sports coach. I am teaching my clients the skills to play the game. Skills to overcome dating anxiety, or I’m teaching them to identity and move away from self-sabotaging behaviors, limiting beliefs, or preconceptions that are detrimental to a healthy relationship.

I have clients that don't even know where to begin. My goal is to strategize with them and place them effectively within the dating scene so they stand the best chance. It’s incredibly hard to be objective about your own love life, but I provide an outside viewpoint. I step in and intervene when I see something that isn't in line with their relationship goals or the vision they have for dating.

I’m not teaching manipulation or just telling them what to say. There are no love spells to make someone fall in love with you. I’m changing the way they believe in themselves so they can present themselves to someone else in the absolute best way to begin a real relationship with someone.”

You’d been leaning in as you spoke animatedly with your hands. You felt the genuine excitement building with your words. You were surprised at how much of your previous profession’s language applied to this new exciting endeavor you were embarking on, but there really were tons of overlapping similarities between the two fields. The explanations just poured out of you.

You hadn’t said any of this out loud before to anyone but the more you talked about it, the more elated you felt about what you were doing with your life. With how much you had been helping Baekhyun and how much progress you had seen in just one day of helping your clients — Baekhyun’s friends Minseok and Sehun. Sehun had finally, finally sent you his first selfie that wasn’t taken from his lap after you’d sent him many examples of good selfies taken from different angles. Minseok was already halfway through the materials you’d sent him to study and had been working hard on identifying and changing the self-defeating language he’d used in his rough draft dating profile.

“She has an app.” Baekhyun piped up from beside you. He’d leaned back in his chair as you spoke.

Both Ben and Mia’s faces mirrored each other’s. Their eyes were wide and their mouths hung in amazement and you quickly closed up your own mouth and grabbed anxiously at your wine glass, feeling a little bit embarrassed about having talked so much. You couldn't resist the chance to smash their misconceptions about what your goals actually were with helping your clients. None of these people were unlovable. They were all worthy of finding someone and you were going to give it your all to help them see their own value.

“Not at all interesting?” Mia spoke up, “that’s super interesting. That’s really, really cool. Can—Can I have your contact info? I have a friend that would be interested in your services.”

“You have an app too? This is something we could advertise online. It would do extremely well on certain kinds of reddit forums and definitely in most online gaming communities.” Even Ben sounded excited, if not a bit overly judgmental, and you heard a quiet, but hostile scoff next to you.

You ticked your head toward the sound but did not turn to look at him. You knew that scoff well enough to hear the annoyance in his voice at whatever he thought Ben might be insinuating about online gamers and the connection to the incels that haunted the forums of reddit.

“I think it’s a bit premature to think about online advertising. I’m still only one person.”

Ben smiled and shrugged off your quick dismissal of his idea to partner up and advertise your business to the desperately lonely and pathetic gamers of the world. Hell, the more you thought about it, the less inappropriate Baekhyun’s annoyance was. Ben could use some coaching on choosing less insulting words.

Thankfully the dinner was over and the check had been taken care of. You looked away from the palpable awkwardness that slapped you across the face when Baekhyun waved away Ben’s card and paid for the entire bill with his own.

“You can get me next time, buddy.” He definitely said this word sarcastically. It was out of line and you simply could not find the right moment to pinch his leg under the table to get him to behave himself in a discrete enough way that would not get you caught by the other two people at this table.

You let it slide simply because you had no way to stop it. He was ignoring the way you waved your finger frantically at him down by your calf. You knew he could see you in his peripherals.

No, Baekhyun. Stop that. Be nice. Your hand was saying. He wouldn't even look at it.

The dinner was over and the movie was starting soon. You’d picked a restaurant that was close enough to the theatre that you could walk.

You paired off. It was far from natural. You actually caught Baekhyun’s eyes as you stepped quickly and walked ahead of him, falling into step beside Ben and you left behind Baekhyun and Mia to bring up the rear. It took every ounce of self control not to turn around and look behind you to see how closely they walked to each other. To see if Baekhyun kept his hands shoved securely in his pockets or if he swung his arms at his side as he walked, inching a hand closer and closer to Mia’s swinging hand in the hopes of a back of the hand brush of his warm skin against hers.

Your steps must have stalled. You’d reached the theatre and you looked up to locate Ben, only to find him at the box office purchasing four tickets for the movie you’d all agreed to watch days ago. For the life of you, you couldn't remember what you were seeing. You merely followed where you were led and found yourself seated in a center row of a movie house sandwiched between Ben and Baekhyun. You noticed the center armrests had been lifted when you arrived and simply did not bother to lower them since everyone was too full from dinner for any movie snacks or drinks.

The house was mostly empty and then lights dimmed as the movie began. You searched your brain and nearly pulled out your phone to check your chat logs for the name of the film but decided against shining a tiny bright light in a dark room.

The movie began and you were quickly drawn into the narrative. It was a dark film and as the soundtrack began to take on more sinister sounding tones you recognized that your heart was racing and you were feeling the tension all over your body. It was not a gorey horror film, but it was leaning more toward the psychological suspense thriller genre. Not really something you watched much of.

To your left, Ben sat completely still; focused only on the movie screen. He looked so calm and nearly unaffected by the terrifying things happening on the screen. He occasionally shifted in his seat but did not react to the jump scare that flashed before your eyes and made you flinch hard in your seat. You’d reached the point in the film when the main characters were in genuine danger and you began to wonder if anyone would make it out of this movie alive. Was this one of those films where everyone was doomed?

It happened again, another jump, another loud shocking sound and another noise startled you and you dove to your right, hiding your face in the warm shoulder of the man sitting beside you.

The realization was instantaneous. The second you felt the warmth of his arm, and the smell of him hit your nose, you pulled your head up and you straightened out your spine, mumbling a quiet apology to Baekhyun for using his arm to hide behind as you removed any and all contact points you had with his body. You angled your hips and your knees away from him and even went so far as to stick your hands well under your own thighs and keep them there so you didn't grab for him again. You had been doing so well by not touching him at all today. Why did it have to be a scary movie?

Things grew more frantic on the screen. You held your breath and tried your best to keep from reacting as much as you could. How long was this movie? How much longer did you have to endure this? You should have paid more attention to the details of this part of the date. This was your own fault. You were acting like a big baby because you couldn't handle a little frightening scenes in a movie.

It was coming again. You could feel it building. You closed your eyes and terrible sounds were erupting all over. You would just not look. You could make it through if you just didn't look. With your eyes closed the sounds felt louder than ever and when you thought you couldn't take it anymore you considered committing the enormous sin of getting up during the climax of the movie to use the bathroom just so you didn't have to sit through this anymore.

There was a shift beside you then. You felt warm fingers inching down your forearm, traveling the path your hand took that led below your thigh and someone was reaching for your hand and pulling it out from where you’d been sitting on it. Someone to your right was gripping your hand with his own warm hand and you opened your eyes to look down between the hidden space between your hip and Baekhyun’s hip. There, you saw the grip of his hand that wrapped securely around yours.

He squeezed down once and you followed the length of him up to catch a glimpse of the side of his face. He was looking up at the screen. His eyes were open and he did not flinch at all. He was so still aside from the occasional movement of his lips when he moistened them with his tongue.

You could handle this if he lent you a little bit of his strength like this. Your eyes returned to the screen but your mind wandered back down to the secure comfort you felt in his hand.

You felt your own secret throb.

It made you flinch just a little bit and Baekhyun’s hand shifted then. He moved, lifting the tight grip for a moment and you wondered if he was done, would he take his hand back and leave you cold and afraid again? The lift was for the shift of his fingers and you felt the push of each digit between yours. He pushed his fingers between yours; interlocking your hands together with his and his thumb moved lightly over your own thumb, brushing comforting strokes again and again through the loud and scary and shocking scenes that played over that screen.

This time the racing you felt in your chest had nothing to do with the scary movie. He was touching you. He was holding your hand in secret. It felt forbidden with his date sitting right beside him like she was and with your date seated right beside you like he was. All of your attention was down on the slow pressure you felt from his thumb as it traced the shape of your own thumb down from the very bottom up to the tip, around again. The simple up and down had a slow and sensual rhythm to it. When he lifted his hand his thumb moved and you held your breath to feel that same very slow touching trace the outline of the palm of your hand again and again. He drew absentminded shapes into your skin with the pointed tip of his thumb and your eyes drifted closed as the longing grew within you. He followed the paths of the creases in your skin like a palm reader. He did not even need light to see them, he simply felt them and traced along the paths.

You let him.

You felt bewitched.

You loved him.

The credits rolled on the screen and the lights switched on. The change was abrupt. You were taken by surprise and shocked by it like you were from the jump scares in the film.

His warmth left you. His wandering light touch, his deliberate and careful exploration of the lines that made up the palm of your hand vanished.

Everyone was standing and everyone was walking out of the theatre house and your mind felt clouded and dazed but you followed where their steps led and you found yourself standing outside of the exit doors with the three other people who you entered with.

Baekhyun stood beside Mia and Ben occupied the space of the sidewalk square that you also stood inside.

It was the end of a night. You felt an overwhelming urge for this evening to be done so you could go home and shower and maybe eat something sweet and distracting and maybe made out of chocolate.

“Well this was fun,” it was your own voice that ultimately called it.

Mia had been looking at Baekhyun who had been looking down at his own feet as he lightly tapped his foot on the concrete below. Three taps.

Tap, tap, tap.

You felt a jolt of realization. Baekhyun had just tapped his foot thrice on the floor below him well within your sight and you recognized what that meant. He was feeling done. He was done with all of this exhausting socializing and being out in public with so many people around and he wanted to go home now. This was him asking you for help now as he wasn't sure how to end the date but wanted it to be over.

“What about...grabbing some drinks, maybe...” Mia was talking only to Baekhyun as she looked at him, “if you aren't too tired.”

“Hey Baek, isn’t your grandmother coming over early tomorrow? Do you still have to get ready for that?” You interjected suddenly and Baekhyun looked up into your face with his mouth open and you watched his eyes move slowly over your face as he recognized what you were doing. You were giving him an out. Mia had asked him to go for drinks and you were giving him an excuse, should he need it.

You both knew his grandma came every other Sunday. You both vividly remembered the wonderful visit you had at the beginning of the week with her and she wasn’t due to arrive again until next Sunday.

He could simply correct you if he really did want to go with her. He could call you a dummy and tell you that you had the wrong week again and playfully tap you on the head to jog your brain back into functioning the right way as he often did when you got something mixed up.

“Oh, yeah she is,” Baekhyun grabbed your convenient reminder from the air and smiled a rueful smile directed at Mia. His smile widened with the wince on his face, “that’s too bad.” He added and Mia took it well.

She smiled and nodded her head and there were well wishes for a safe trip home all around as you all parted ways.

Ben said he would text you later. Baekhyun told Mia the same and you waited until they both walked away to follow Baekhyun back to his car for the quiet ride home.

The silence was heavy, but it was comfortable.

Baekhyun didn't speak at all and you could tell by the way he carried himself that he was tired. He wasn’t normally an extroverted person and found it very draining to carry on a full conversation with friends he knew well. Strangers like he had been with tonight, well, you could see the fatigue in his movements and you knew he needed something warm to drink and maybe some comfort with a familiar favorite tv show to zone out in front of.

You handled it better. You were used to having to go out of your home occasionally and you even enjoyed socializing with your coworkers on the few days you went in to the office for work. You felt a bit drained but mostly you were preoccupied with watching how he was handling it and you were also burning with curiosity to know how Baekhyun felt about the whole thing.

He’d wandered into the living room and he found the sofa. You followed him close behind and grabbed the remote, flipping to a familiar and funny cartoon that you often saw him playing in the background as he worked on things. He didn't usually watch it that closely but it was comforting enough to stay on and keep his mind occupied for a while.

You didn't speak. Everything you had to ask him could wait. Even the scolding you had for him about how he acted toward Ben could also wait. You’d let the man breathe a little first.

You busied yourself in the kitchen making two cups of hot tea and when you returned you found his head leaning against the back of the couch with his eyes still glued to the screen. He had a passive smile on his face and he reacted positively to the wacky scenarios the characters found themselves in. He would occasionally speak out loud, speaking along with a funny line he knew by heart and you found it impossible to resist saying the follow up joke. You knew this show as well as he did.

He accepted the tea with a smile and had a few sips and you set your mug on the coffee table in favorable of the comfortable side of the sofa, the side with the pillows that allowed you to rest your head comfortably as you watched the big tv.

You were feeling pretty good. Baekhyun had now officially gone on his first date with a real girl who wasn’t you and he’d had a nice time. You could see from where you laid your head down how relaxed his face was as he giggled at the show.

You stretched and you felt his warm thigh with your foot. This sofa was long enough for you to stretch out completely and you only barely reached where he sat at the other side. You wiggled your toes, unable to resist the light messing with him that you often gave in to and his hand reached down to grab ahold of your foot, which he held in place as he paid attention to the tv.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you sat up a little bit to pull it out.

You saw a text message from Ben.

From the preview you got the idea of what kind of text message the man would be sending you an hour after your first, and apparently your last date with him.

-Hey you seem like a super cool girl, but...

The preview showed you enough to know that he was dumping you before you’d even gotten anything started with him.

You opened the text. Your curiosity outweighed your sense of self preservation.

-...but whatever’s going on between you and your roommate, well it doesn’t really seem like there’s much room for me. I just don't think I can start something knowing I’ve already lost. Thanks for inviting me tonight. The movie was fun. Good luck with everything. - Ben

You felt the sting.

You couldn't help it. You’d spent all evening watching Baekhyun interact with Mia with every ounce of your self control devoted to not letting your jealousy show at all. At one point you’d been so damn engrossed in them that you forgot Ben was even there. What an unfair and shitty situation to have put him in. You quickly keyed out an apology for your crappy date etiquette and thanked him for going out with you tonight.

You couldn't even blame him for anything. He had been sweet and he had tried his best to be the perfect gentleman. What had you expected?

You sent the last message you would ever send to Ben and tossed your phone roughly toward the coffee table. It bounced but landed in the middle.

The racket called Baekhyun’s attention and he turned to look at you with his eyebrows raised in question.

“Ben just rejected me.”

Somehow saying this out loud to Baekhyun felt better than hiding it from him. It felt less miserable than keeping it inside of yourself and letting yourself suffer the sting of the rejection alone.

Baekhyun’s lips pulled into a small frown and he took out his cell phone from his pocket and tossed it roughly on the coffee table beside yours. It took a similar bounce and your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden gesture.

“No way, not Mia too,” you said in genuine fear and Baekhyun shook his head with his shrug still well in place.

“Nah, I just can't lay down with my phone in my pocket,” he said as he wiggled on the sofa trying to get comfortable, “though in hindsight I can see how you would think that, sorry. Mia hasn’t texted yet.”

He was wiggling, finding no comfort in all the positions he tried and you caught his wandering eyes for a second as you lightly tapped a hand over your belly.

This…

This would be fine. This was something you both did sometimes. Baekhyun said your belly was warm and comfy and made the best noises and he liked to use you as a pillow when he was just too tired to go to his own bed.

He moved right away at your invitation and you let your legs part around his chest as he laid his head down right on top of you. He turned his head to face the tv and didn't even squirm too much before he sighed out loud. His arms laid on either side of your waist and you felt the constriction as he lightly squeezed around you.

You really hadn’t gotten to touch him all day. Your fingers found their way into his hair and you felt a low moan from the back of his throat travel though your body as you raked your nails down the back of his head to his nape.

“Peanut,” you said softly, feeling every little bit of the annoying little tickle of that stupid secret sitting inside of you.

You could feel the heaviness of his body as he gave in and relaxed his muscles on you. You felt every breath he took and they seemed to be changing as you played with his hair and he gave in to the relaxing comfort you offered him.

“Hmm?” He replied after a long while. You angled your face and could see that his eyes were closed.

“How was the date? Was it nice?”

You had so many hopes for him. You were trying your best to ignore the pangs of your own selfish jealousy and get past it all to get to something good for him. Something that would make him understand how incredible he was. How beautiful he was inside and out and how precious of a human being he was.

“Mhmm, I liked it.” He said softly and he shifted and you felt him tighten his hold around your waist briefly before he relaxed again.

“Did you really? Do you think you liked Mia?” You kept your voice strong. You did not allow your fears to overcome your voice. You were okay with this if he was okay.

He did not answer right away. You’d stopped playing with his hair and you kept your hand rested over his head. He was so warm. He was so lovely.

“Do you want me to like Mia?”

No.

Mia would be so good to him.

You did not answer. Your answer would have been no. It would have been selfish. You’d just been dumped by your date, how dare his date have gone so well. You’d both been on the same date. You could still see the way she looked at him. She found him just as lovely as you did.

You felt a thickness at the back of your throat and you swallowed it down.

“I’m trying, Bug. She’s very nice to talk to. Do you think I should like her?”

Was this because of his mistrust of people? Was this his shyness about letting someone he didn't know very well in close?

You couldn't respond. You did not trust yourself to do the right thing.

“You should go rest if you’re sleepy,” you said, you know, like a coward.

It took him a few minutes of laying on top of you before he realized that you were right and he would be much more comfortable in his own bed. He nodded and pushed up with his arms, and his eyes stayed closed and his head stayed hung down as his feet shuffled and he made his way into his bedroom, leaving his door open you merely heard the loud sound of him plopping down on his bed.

You were stuck where he left you.

Stuck in about as crappy a mood as you’d ever found yourself.

You hated everything about this. You hated how much you loved him and you hated how receptive he was to the idea of dating Mia. You hated how she looked at him and giggled at his small jokes and you hated HATED the way his cheeks blushed and the shy smiles he gave her when she talked to him.

You laid there and you stewed in your mood for longer than was good for you and the only thing that made your it up was the simultaneous buzzing that brought both of your cell phones to life on the coffee table.

You reached for yours. It’s as your dating coach app. Baekhyun had received a new message from Mia. The feelings that surged through you were taking over your sense of what was good and what was right and what was proper behavior for someone like you to participate in.

You swiped to read the message.

-Hi Baekhyun. Sorry I couldn't wait until tomorrow to text you. I had an amazing time tonight and I was wondering if you would like to meet up tomorrow after your Grandmother’s visit for coffee? I have something I’d like to ask you.

You felt as if your body was on fire.

You could feel it deep inside your chest, deeper still inside your belly where his head had been resting moments before. You felt it in the palm of your hand where his thumb had traced the patterns of lines there. You felt it in your lips that he had kissed and in your tongue ached inside of your mouth from your stupid secret.

You reached for your phone. You opened the app for the power he’d given only to you and you responded to her message as if you were Baekhyun.

-Hi, Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll meet you at 1pm.

Your hands moved on their own. You moved to the internal commands of your app and you deleted both of the messages from the chat history. When you picked up his phone you saw the notification for Mia’s message vanish before your eyes and when you unlocked it and accessed his chat log, there was no sign of the unimaginable and unforgivable sin you had just committed against him.

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7 , Part 8  , Part 9 , Part 10

Tag list: @j-pping  @blahblahblah-boo  @his-mochi-cheeks  @amyeonzing@littleflowercrown13  @baekinmylife  @insta1010  @nana-banana  @f4ncyvelvet@bbhbeth  @totallynerdstuff  @byunbabybaek @maijinki @bbyunz@theclawofaraven @kingkushdealer  @uhobob @baekswifey​ @punchmebaekhyun @xlxbaekhyuneex

[moonlightwritesdisney]

DREAM COME TRUE. -- WYATT LYKENSEN.

Paring: Wyatt Lykensen X FEMALE! READER

Requested: Yes / No

Warnings: foul language. nudity. graphic descriptions of blood and cannibalism. sexual activity. 

Summary: Weeks after your old elementary friend had finally vanished from all existence everything seems to finally go back to normal. Standing in a coffee shop you met him. And all hell breaks loose.

SEQUEL TO ‘YOU’.

PREVIOUSLY . . .

You were fashioned in the bathroom taking a warm cloth and bringing it towards your face wiping off the dried blood. You sucked in a breathe the sound of your beating heart filling your ears. You didn’t feel at all ashamed for what you had done. That bastard human deserved it.

The overbearing of your anxiety flared, you were worried you might get in huge trouble, since unfortunately, the human is never to blame. You had gone to bed that night in hopes for a better day the next morning -- the only problem was, he saw everything. 

THE DIRT BELOW HIS BROWN BOOTS became sore while he had previously been peering into your small window for the past five minutes watching you. Your brown pale skin covered in the blood that wasn’t your own. Your face dry and lips cracked from the crying you had done, you felt numb. Your heat besting rapidly in anxiety.

The mirror reflected your bruised image. The bags under your eyes were a dark purple, your eyes a dark brown with widened pupils ( a side effect of a broken Z-band which usually wears off after twelve hours ). Your sink water turned a bright pink as the last of his blood washed down the drain. Disappearing into the drain pipes.

Your mascara smeared down your cheeks, your nose and cheeks red and your eyes puffy. ‘Your going to kill him’. A selfish voice spat in his head, his sharp claws dug into the untouched flesh of his tan palm. He was furious.

How could someone so shameful have the power of destroying someone who was so innocent? She was a ray of pure sunshine. His sunshine. The pondering question he already knew the answer to racked the Alpha wolf’s brain. He couldn’t understand it.

You were so innocent. Baby like. His baby. He felt guilt.

A page pant of sadness washed over him. He had wished it was him, who could comfort you from what had just happened. ‘Shh baby it’s okay I’m here now, your safe, completely safe, I won’t let anyone ever harm you again, ever, never again. I am so sorry.

So sorry. So sorry.’ He had imagined you sobbing desperately in his chest the ache of your body he felt against his own skin, he’d stroke your arm softly and whisper sweet nothing in your ear.

He’d reassure you constantly, be their for you when having to deal with the gained trauma even after the act. He’d give you anything you needed. Leave you loving encouraging notes in your belongings. Hold you every night as you slept. Lock every door and window in the house.

He’d lay bare with you in bed for hours just to make sure his babygirl was okay. Although he couldn’t help blame himself. He knew that he couldn’t just burst into your house and save you from your attacker, even after the matter.

‘oh uhm yeah, I’ve totally been watching you for months, that includes changing, and showering, and well... pleasing yourself too.

I’ve seen it all, and uhm I’m kinda in love with you too so I mean that’s a plus, uhm I know literally everything about you, how you are very persistent in organization and you hate cheesy romantic comedies.

How you’d just want to stay up until three a.m. reading a book about truce crime. How you can girl over the most underrated music artists and how you hate a guy that plays dumb in the most basic way. I know you absolutely hate roses anything I’m missing?’

He chuckled at the image of you stunned. He knew more about you than you knew yourself. How you’d jump into his arms, the feeling of your skin against his. Your soft lips brushing against his neck. He’d want it all.

That would immensely creep you out. His intention would to never make you uncomfortable. So the pain only grew worse. Not being able to call you by your name. Hold you. Take in the surreal beauty that was Y/N.

His white fangs pressed against his bottom teeth. His blood boiled to the brim. He wanted to make that disgusting human pay for what he did. His stomach twirled in mixed emotion.

He so badly wanted to hold you in his chest and comfort you, but some things have complicated consequences.

In the low midst of the night he kept a sharp eye on the human who groggily made his way down the deserted dirt road, stalking the weak being beneath the depths of the dark forest.

Small boots could be heard from miles stretched along the black canvas of the open air, the human male scanning his surroundings for some place to rest or.. a possible shortcut that could lead him home.

Wyatt licked his dry lips breathing out slowly watching the human stand in the clearing with curiosity. ‘Kill him’. ‘He deserves to suffer for what he did’. ‘Y/N’. ‘Think of Y/N’. ‘Gut him’.

The imploding thoughts trying to take control of him. His pupils shrunk and turned a bright yellow his fangs grew from the K-9’s in his mouth. He breathed heavily and beast like trying to regain his composure. Sure, he thought of you.

How you would’ve told him ‘this is dangerous and could get you caught by wolf patrol don’t’. But, the monster side of her would’ve agreed with him. Could’ve given into the impulses.

Could’ve joined in on the eccentric thrill of gutting a human to their bones watching as blood came spitting out of their body, falling limp to the ground and squirming like a dead rabbit, until their last breath leaves the closure of their lungs.

But he bit down on the inside of his cheek hard and shoved the impulsive thoughts aside. He caught attention of the human stepping through the clearing, Wyatt swiftly disappeared behind a tree. (Thank his wolf stealth.)

He watching closely behind the large oak as the midnight sky lit up with thousands of glowing stars the bright moon floating still. His feet crunched under the small wood chips and loose dirt, which made Wyatt’s right ear twitch occasionally. 

The human was lost, he had reached up to a large clearing in the middle of the forest ‘maybe this will be a quicker way home’. He thought to himself as he squeezed his way through the thick pine trees that scratched his face and dark leather. Little did he know he wouldn’t be going home.

An owl called in the distance alarming the human. Shrugging it off he walked a few more feet bonfire stopping in the middle of the clearing an eerie feeling began to set it and shake throughout his body. Wyatt quickly ran behind the large oak tree causing the bushes to rustle.

The human quickly threw his head around to the source of the sound, Wyatt felt his heart pace quickly , quicker as each second passed.

The moonstone laid on Wyatt’s chest grew a bright blue his sharp K-9s’ growing to a slick point and his eyes glowing a bright deeming yellow.

A low growl erupted from his stomach the animalistic nature taking grasp of his human side. The human caught sight of a dark shadow peeking out from behind the tree. He bolted the other direction.

His breathing paced as his nimble legs carried him the south west end of the dark dreary forest. Mud crushed under his boots his lungs burning and heaving out of exhaustion. Wyatt was faster. He dodged past trees and bushes running at almost fifty miles.

His leg got caught on a sharp tree ranch nearby he knew that whatever was out to kill him was going to make it quick. He was scared. He pulled with force which caused the branch to cut into the soft flesh of his leg, blood seeped through the blue denim and into Wyatt’s nostrils.

Jumping over large rocks and the bushes he caught up to the human quickly grabbing him by his jacket he pushed to human to the ground and used the force of his arms to hold him in a pin.

The human breathed heavily his eyes widened in fear “please .... don’t hurt me”. He spoke weak like it was an excuse to let him go. Wyatt’s eyes glowed his lips formed a deep snarl.

“Let you go? And what, you continue raping other innocent women”. He whispered a deeply distorted voice replacing Wyatt’s usual calm manner. The monster had completely taken over. The human whimpered and squirmed like a dead animal.

A scream left the human’s mouth and soared above the trees as Wyatt bite deeply into the salty flesh. The blood was warm a large chunk of his skin hung off of Wyatt’s mouth before he spit it out discarding it.

The human grunted and moaned in pain shooting out lines of foul words. Wyatt smirked as he straddled the humans hips in place allowing him to not move.

In panic the human began to wail his arms, the young wolf felt his heart erupt in his chest. The watched as the human wailed in half death, he felt evincible.

The blood squirted and poured out of the human’s uncared wound. The blood tasted sweet in his mouth, a true delicacy.

About fifteen minutes after he threw the discarded bones into a six feet deep ditch he had dug after killing the human.

His mouth, arms, and clothes all drenched in the human’s bodily fluids and chunks of his flesh on his chest.

He smelt foul. He knew he did. He wanted to make sure you were okay but couldn’t come to you smelling like this.

He had walked the path he knew like the back of his hand spotting the small watering hole, he stood at the shore of the small lake the moon glowing brightly over him.

Taking off his fur coat he stripped himself of his purple hoodie before slowly bringing up his white tank top over his head revealing his broad v line, toned abs and chest stained with blood.

Unclasping his jeans he slide them down towards his knees kicking off his boots and white socks. Then came his boxers.

He engulfed himself in the lake slowly, it was freezing cold but was used to it. The water has risen up to the middle of his waist, he began to vigorously rub off the dried blood splashing cold water in his face and arms.

Dipping himself under the cold lake he rushed up and breathed out coughing. Moving his wet hair out of his face he caught sight of a dark shadowed figure that stood at the shore. He could’ve sworn it was you. Your pale skin glimmered beautifully under the moonlight.

He didn’t move a muscle, yet he waited to see what your next intention was. A robe you were wearing slowly feel to the ground as you now stood naked your gaze kept on his, you slowly entered the water.

Your figure made your way through the cold water, his eyes never leaving yours he was absolutely stunned. This had to be surreal.

Your hips moved in the water causing ripples to shift outwards, your brown eyes fluttered innocently. He stood in front of you awestricken, you were gorgeous.

He was scared that maybe if he had made one wrong move you’d leave, so there he stood motionless waiting for you to respond.

You were now in front of him, your naked glory he kept his eyes on you out of full curiosity. Your face inches away from his you guided his hands towards your side his warm arms wrapped securely around your waist.

The tension was lingering, his heart was pacing at an irregular pace questions swirling around in his mind but nonetheless, he wouldn’t change a thing.

The two of your lips met in pure bliss, moving in synchronization your fingernails traveling up the back of his neck and into his soft curls his hands gripping your hips lightly not wanting to hurt you without permission.

His lips trailed from your jaw and to your neck where he softly bite and sucked gaining small moans from you in response.

Heavy breathing and moans began to fall from your lips as he held you in his arms his nails digging into the sides of your hips causing you to squirm, the fingers of his right hand gently sliding over your folds.

Unfortunately for Wyatt, he awoke in a panic, his head was spinning and he was covered in blood. His brown eyes scanned his surroundings, the green trees a dim green and the woods ground wet and sloshy from the rain the night before.

It was a dream.

Fuck. It was a dream.

Shivers shot down his spine and throughout his body as he remembered the horny dream he had. God he wished it where real. He observed his clothing. He was drenched in blood. His whole body.

He pondered to himself in confusion then it clicked. After killing the human he had retreated back to the clearing and fell asleep after ... Waking up he knew aside from the perks of his wolf powers one downside was that wolves couldn’t remember events that happen after they detach from their human form.

He licked his chapped numb lips while his ears perked up, sirens could be heard from miles away, holy shit. The police had found his body. Quickly, he stood up and ran left towards large similar oaks trees, lucky for him he knew the woods so it was easy for him. 

Suddenly while his head was turned behind him making sure he wasn’t seen he quickly looked forward and collided with anther body a loud grunt slipped passed his lips as he fell on the hard soil, groaning. 

[lemons3ason]

The Asakura Twins Loving the Same Person Headcannons

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-You grew up with Yoh, you come from a powerful line of Shamans and since you were both the same age your families thought it would be good for you to be his protector from Hao.

-That plan was a failure since both of you were equally lazy and only enjoyed the simple things in life like music and food.

-You were the two little kids that made the promise to marry each other when you were older and his parents openly called you a couple until Yoh met Anna.

-With Anna’s strict training you both became surprisingly strong Shamans but you left about three years before the official Shaman tournament.

-While you were traveling and enhancing your powers you met Hao. Though the whole meeting left you heartbroken and alone something about you made him want you more. The tearless enraged (e/c) orbs that complimented your blood stained face made him fall head over heels for you.

-Though with what little energy you had left you escaped him easily but he never could find you again.

-Neither of them see you again until during the Shaman Fights and Yoh absolutely tackles the hell out of you.

-“(Y/n)! You’re here I can’t believe it! Well of course I can believe it this is you we’re talking about but (Y/n)!”, Yoh screams hugging you tight.

-You’re both babbling away at each other like Nala and Simba were when they reunited and everyone is quick to notice the huge smile that drew over Yoh’s face as you spoke to him and embraced him.

-When you all have your encounter with Hao in Patch Village, Yoh is immediately protective of you stepping between you and Hao since he dared to walk up to you.

-That’s when everyone finds out you already know who Hao is since you’ve shared a fight with him.

-He killed your Mother and in return your left him a noticeable scar against the side of his neck, He’s been tracking you down ever since.

-Hao loves you because you’re strong, you don’t fear him, you hate him. He wants to keep you all to himself and since he’s surprisingly good at flirting your forced to blush on several occasions.

-Hao changes when you’re around, he’s almost so convincingly calm and gentle that you wouldn’t be able to tell that he was a mass murderer.

-Hao becomes a constant bother to you until you start getting used to his presence but you’d never tell him you enjoy having him around since he is still evil.

-“Such a pretty shade of red, did I make your heart race?”, Hao will ask cupping your cheek tenderly as he admires your red glow.

-You’ll slap his hand away and scoot closer to Yoh who will grin and stick his tongue out at his older brother.

-Each fight they’ll hope to hear or see you in the stands rooting for them, showing off just to impress you.

-Likewise they both do the same for you, Hao watches from afar but when you win he’ll make his Spirit of Fire create small heart shaped flames in front of you to show that he was watching. Yoh jumps from his spot in the stands and raced to hug you and congratulate you on a job well done.

-One night just before the pre-finals start both brothers find you and have something important to ask of you. Hao is much more calm and collected a soft smile on his face as he nervously plays with the ends of his hair. Yoh on the other hand, is a blushing mess nervously playing with his fingers as he calls out your name.

-“(Y-y/n)...I-I...”

-“(Y/n), we love you but we understand you can only love one of us back. Please choose who you want to care for your heart.”, Hao spoke with so much confidence on the matter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Yoh’s Route*

-You smiled at their sudden confession but since childhood you knew that Yoh was the only one for you.

-“Hao I’m sorry but I don’t love you. I’ve loved Yoh for so long now but he had Anna so I never tried confessing to him.”, you admitted softly watching Yoh’s face explode into a blush.

-Hao was deeply upset by your decision, but he respected you enough to leave it as it was. Now he could focus on destroying you and becoming shaman king without hesitation.

-Yoh was so excited that you had accepted his feelings that he lunged into your arms and placed a sweet kiss to your lips

-“Heehee I’m so glad you feel the same. I love you (Y/n).”, Yoh cheers in a soft voice pecking your lips again just to be sure it wasn’t a dream.

-Somehow you snuck into Yoh’s room with the boys and everyone woke up the next day to see you balled up at Yoh’s side, the goofiest grin plastered over his face.

-Horohoro was quick to notice the small love bite on the side of his neck neck and snickered, seems like you were the dominant and possessive one in the relationship.

-Anna is a bit heartbroken at first but you promised to still let her whip you and Yoh into shape if you ever slacked off to much.

-She accepted and in the end she got her dream of becoming Wife of the Shaman king since Hao had confessed his adoration for her about a month later, he won the shaman fights in the end so he did become king.

-You and Yoh were happy, a peaceful couple in a wild world surrounded by the people you loved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Hao’s Route*

-You were left speechless by Hao’s blunt confession and it made you sad knowing that you had already made your choice.

-You flashed a sad smile to Yoh and hugged him much to his heart break but with a few simple words of encouragement he seemed okay being friend zoned, in the end it would be the best for both of you. He was happy with Anna by his side and you didn’t want to get between them when you knew they were meant for each other.

-Once you had pulled away from Yoh, Hao scooped you up in his arms and you both vanished. Having returned to his camp you stared at him in wonder to what he was going to do next.

-“To think that you would have actually grown to love me. I still can’t believe you actually do but I’m happy... absolutely happy. My little star.”, he hummed embracing tenderly as if you’d break if he held you to hard.

-You were nervous about your decision, thoughts overfilled your mind about how crazy you were for falling for your mother’s murderer, Hao could sense it so he washed away your insecurities with a soft peck to the cheek.

-“I’ll make sure you never regret your choice, even if I have to start from square one. I love you (Y/n), you don’t have to worry about anything by my side.”, He’ll whisper in your ears hugging you tight.

-Unsurprisingly he’s very touched starve so he’s always seeking you out for physical affection, be it a kiss or just holding your hand.

-Super romantic, you do have to keep him under control since he’s a bit protective and possessive but with a good scold you’re able to get him to respect your personal space and consider your feelings towards his behavior.

-Openly marks you with love bites and hickies even if you complain about them being to dark or to visible to others.

-You become his Shaman Queen *but only after making him promise to bring back everyone that he killed during the Shaman Fights since his new powers granted him that ability* and he loves you deeply with each passing day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Self Route*

-You were shocked having been confessed to by the twins, you did love them but not like they loved you.

-You smiled at both of them and hugged them tight before stepping back and explaining that to them.

-It hurt, it was obvious by their expressions but you didn’t need a partner by your side at least not now.

-Yoh respected that much about you, Hao was a bit petty about your decision but he just left you alone after that night.

-You fought alongside Yoh for the rest of the shaman fights and helped defeat Hao even though he took the crown of Shaman King.

-Life made sense due to your decision. With Hao being a god it was rare to see him but as years went by you and Yoh and quickly outgrown him and you made fun of him for it every time you saw him.

-You own an orange cat and named him Hao Jr.

-You’re the first to hold little Hana Asakura once he’s born since Yoh had fainted during the birthing process, Anna literally only trusts you with her baby.

-Your the crazy aunt that carries little Hana around in a baby chest carrier, both of you wearing black shades as you walk around flexing that you are the proud aunt of a handsome little orange boy!

-Yoh is super happy to find out that you end up engaged to Horohoro but does give him the talk about cherishing you and killing you if he hurts you.

-Yoh and Hao become your honorary brothers and they don’t let anyone mess with you even if you’re old enough to protect yourself.

[hxwks-gf]

» 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖊

𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖎 𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢. 𝚠𝚑𝚘'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐?

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚠𝚌: 𝟸.𝟼

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 & 𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

That familiar stench of thick, viscous blood stretched far across the open field in which you stood, breathing heavily with your fingers gripped tightly around the hilts of your swords. They, along with half of your face, were stained red with it. 

You were so tired. Every muscle in your body ached with exhaustion. But no matter how many Titans you viciously cut down, more and more seemed to take their place. Fighting them in an open field put you and the rest of the squad at an enormous disadvantage, and now you were paying the price. 

You clicked the bottom triggers and listened to the empty space within the gas canister. You had maybe one or two good forward pushes before you were completely out. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, sheathing the swords and wiping the blood out of your eyes. Looking around, you could see no one else nearby. You were completely alone after you had been separated on your horse by a handful of Abnormals. And as soon as you had vaulted from your horse’s back to attack, it got in the way of the onslaught of Titans and was ultimately crushed beneath one of their enormous feet. 

Their blood had evaporated, leaving behind only your own from a wound at your hairline. Your eyes were getting heavier and heavier by the second, and the soft patch of grass underneath a lone tree nearby was suddenly calling your name. Dying in comfort didn’t seem like a bad way to go….at least it wasn’t getting eaten alive. 

But the sun was already setting, slashing the sky with vibrant reds, oranges, and purples. You couldn’t remember what phase the moon was in tonight; all you could do was pray it didn’t give too much light for the Titans to walk around after the sun disappeared. 

No food, no gas, no back-up. In the middle of Titan country. No matter how you looked at it, you were fucked. The fields stretched on and on as far as the eye could see—the rest of the squad could be miles and miles away by now, having absolutely no idea where you were. 

You decided to at least take a rest under the tree while you figured out how much longer you had left, and what you would do with that limited time. You leaned back against the trunk and stretched your legs out in front of you, watching the sun sink lower and lower behind the mountains that loomed in the distance. 

It was strangely beautiful, you thought to yourself as you rested your heavy head against the tree and stared at the sunset through half-lidded eyes. The winds whispered through the grass and brought with it the scent of the forest, extinguishing the putrid odor of Titan blood that had lingered behind. If these were your last moments on earth, you weren’t complaining too much. It was as close to peace you would ever get.

Movement out of the corner of your eye made you sit up abruptly, nostrils flaring with alert. 

“Shit,” you muttered, seeing the gangly limbs of a ten-meter ambling across the field. You could feel each of its footsteps reverberating through the earth. 

It was the only one you could see, and you could take it down easily enough. But that would use up the last of your precious gas and leave you truly helpless if a more pressing matter arose in the future. 

You tapped your finger against the trigger of your sword in thought, weighing your options. The Titan hadn’t seen you yet, but if you moved, it most definitely would. If you sat still for long enough it just might pass you without noticing. 

Decisions, decisions. 

What would Levi do? 

“Tch,” you scoffed, glaring toward the Titan. You knew Levi never would’ve gotten himself stuck in this situation to begin with. And you could already hear the earful he would give you if by some stroke of luck they found you alive. You’d be stuck scrubbing the floors for months. 

You raised your eyes to the sun that had sunk behind the mountains, casting the valley below into hues of dark blue and black. The moon was nowhere in sight. Could you have been fortunate enough to have a moonless night? 

The Titan in the distance still meandered about languidly as the last few remaining rays of the sun stretched over the mountains. Just a few minutes more and you would test Hange’s theory about the Titans’ inability to move without a light source. 

It was getting harder and harder to see with each passing second, and soon enough your vision of the wandering Titan became just a dark speck on the horizon. The air was still and quiet, save for the whispering breeze that ruffled your hair and your green cloak. As you slowly got to your feet, your eyes scanned your surroundings to the best of your human ability and saw that you were completely alone again. 

Trost was east of you. You wondered how far you would get before the sun rose again or you collapsed from exhaustion. The wound along your hairline had stopped bleeding, but it was giving you an excruciating headache. 

“Just get as far as you can,” you commanded yourself, leaving behind the comfort of your tree as you started walking east. Your footsteps were silenced by the soft grass. “Push as hard as you can, and we’ll figure out the rest from there.” 

You could hear Levi’s voice in your mind. “Don’t give up on me, cadet,” he’d say. “Come back to me.” 

“It’d be easier if you came to me,” you argued with his voice aloud as you picked your way across the open field. “You’re the one with the horse.” 

No one answered except the crickets chirping in the grass. The stars twinkled overhead, as if trying to keep you company while you walked on foot in the most dangerous part of the country—alone, with scarcely enough to defend yourself, and no food to give you energy. 

If you were fucked, at least your last thoughts would be about Levi. 

“There’s still no sign of her,” Jean called down from atop the abandoned farmhouse. “I can’t see anything without the moon.” 

Levi tried his best to keep himself under control. Goddammit, why did she have to be the one to get separated from the group? He looked up at Jean and nodded stiffly. “Keep looking.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He paced the length of the farmhouse with his hands folded tightly behind his back. He had half a mind to go out and look for her himself, but Jean was right. Without the light of the moon, he wouldn’t be able to see much of anything. And he couldn’t risk overexerting his poor horse. 

Levi felt a hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and sighed, wishing he could tell the rest of his squad not to bother him until they had any useful information regarding [Y/N]’s whereabouts. 

“She’s resourceful,” Hange said softly, and Levi let his shoulders relax. “And she’s smart. Too smart for her own good, to be honest.” 

“I know we should have made for Trost hours ago,” Levi muttered, kicking a rock with his boot. “I’m putting everyone at risk for making us stay behind and look for her.” 

“We take risks every day. What’s one more?” 

“You’re the only one who knows why I took this risk.” He glanced over at them. “You’re the only one who knows what she means to me.”

Hange smiled knowingly and patted his shoulder. “We’ll find her, Levi. I know it.” 

You lost track of how many hours had passed, and you could no longer feel your feet. Your legs felt like jelly. You could barely see straight. At some point during the journey, your wound had split open and dripped fresh blood down your face. 

You were so tired. Every inch of your body ached. 

Come back to me. 

“I can’t!” you sobbed into the open air, feeling salty tears spill from your eyes and mix with the blood on your face. “I can’t do it!” 

As you cried out in anguish, your knees buckled with exhaustion and you fell to the ground with a pained grunt. The grass felt so soft against your cheeks as you pressed your face into it, sobbing uncontrollably into the dirt. Pretty soon the sun would rise again, and the Titans would wake to hear your cries. You knew for a fact you had no strength left to fight them. 

Come back to me.

You sniffled, wiping the snot and blood from your nose with your sleeve. Levi would be disgusted by the state of you, but the thought of his repulsion made you crack a smile.  

With some effort, you rose into a kneeling position and tilted your face towards the sky. You could hear birds beginning to chirp, and the glow from the rising sun in the distance slowly started to illuminate your surroundings. 

You closed your eyes and exhaled softly, feeling the cool morning air on your bloodied cheeks. Mornings have always been your favorite time of day. It was quiet, still and peaceful, before everyone else in the world had a chance to wake up. You wondered if this would be the last early morning you would ever get to see. 

You opened your eyes and looked forward again, expecting to see Titans milling about. But to your fortune, there were none in sight. 

But what was in sight was a cluster of old, abandoned houses. A village. 

Shelter. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed, struggling to get to your feet. It wasn’t Trost, but it might as well have been a chest of treasure waiting for you. There would be rations hidden somewhere, and maybe a bed to sleep on. Protection from Titans. Maybe you would live to see another day. 

Each step forward was agonizing, but you ground your teeth so hard you thought your jaw would fall off to keep yourself from faltering. A hundred yards. Fifty yards. Twenty—

“Captain!” you heard someone shout. You froze in your tracks and tried to find the source of the voice, and your eyes landed on a familiar face standing on top of the one of the houses. It was Jean. You had found them. 

He slid from the roof and landed not-so-gracefully in the grass, running full speed towards you. 

“Jean,” you said weakly, reaching out a hand to him. He caught you right before you could collapse to the ground again, hefting you up in his arms and carrying you towards the village. Your head lolled to the side and fell against his warm shoulder. You couldn’t stay awake any longer. The last thing you saw was the rest of the squad running towards Jean carrying you, but the only face you could focus on was Levi’s. 

Levi rescinded his normal post at the head of the squad to sit beside [Y/N] in one of the wagons as they began their journey back to Trost. He still couldn’t believe it. She had survived a night alone, with no food, barely enough gas for one launch, and blades that were one strike away from snapping. If she had been anyone else, she would be dead. 

The others had said nothing when he held her hand the entire time Hange stitched up the wound that had split open along her hairline. They said nothing when he ran his fingers along her jawline and over her parted lips as she slept. It was as if they had known the entire time. 

Levi watched [Y/N] carefully in the back of the wagon, his grey eyes never once leaving her face. She hadn’t woken up yet, not since she had passed out in Jean’s arms after he found her in the field. He was concerned her head injury had forced her to slip into a coma, but Hange dismissed it. 

He vowed that once [Y/N] awoke, he would tell her how he truly felt. 

White light filtered in through an unseen window, and you were certain you were dead. This was what came after. Eternal blankness. 

But pretty soon your surroundings came into clearer view. You were in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed. Sunlight was trickling through an open window nearby, and the sounds of a city spilled over the sill. 

You blinked your groggy eyes and groaned in pain. God, everything hurt. With a weak hand, you reached up and felt the coarse bandage that was wrapped around your forehead. 

You had survived. 

“You shouldn’t touch your bandages,” a voice said beside you. “You’ll get them dirty.” 

You slowly turned your head and focused on Levi sitting next to you, a book in his lap. The dark circles underneath his eyes were harsh against his skin, as if he hadn’t slept in days. 

“How long have I been asleep?” you croaked, wincing at your voice. 

“Two and a half days,” he replied, closing the book and setting it aside. 

“Shit,” you muttered. You shut your eyes and swallowed painfully. “I thought I had died.” 

He was quiet for a moment before scooting his chair closer to your bed. You cracked an eye open and watched his furrowed brow and concerned expression as he folded his hands atop the sheets. Something was bothering him. 

“What is it?” you asked.

Levi didn’t look at you, but his eyes narrowed while he studied his folded hands. “Everyone I’ve ever cared about has been lost,” he spoke, and you could hear the emotion hidden behind the words. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “But you—you’re the first one to come back.” 

You were stunned into silence and the only thing you found you could do was stare at him in shock. Levi...cared about you? “What are you talking about?” 

“I...I thought I had lost you,” he said tightly, still not meeting your eyes. “I was willing to force the entire squad to stay behind and look for you, even if it put them at risk. I couldn’t leave you behind, not knowing if you were alive or not. I just...couldn’t do it.” He looked up at you then, his face hardened with determination. “[Y/N], I can’t bring myself to say the words because I’m convinced I’ve been cursed and you’ll be taken away from me again if I do, but…” he trailed off and focused on his hands again. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” you said softly. “When I was out there, all alone and trying to find the strength and courage not to die in some forgotten field, you were the voice in my head telling me to get up and move. You told me to come back to you.” 

Levi’s jaw twitched again, and his dark hair fell into his eyes as he bowed his head to his folded hands. 

“And I did,” you murmured. “Because I knew you would kick my ass if I disobeyed an order.” 

A flicker of a smile passed across his face, so fleeting you almost missed it. He stood up and tenderly placed a hand on top of your head, ruffling your hair. His thumb stretched to gently caress your bandaged forehead as he watched you with those tired eyes. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, picking up his book. “Get some more rest.” 

You nodded and he turned towards the door. 

“Levi?” you found yourself saying. 

He glanced at you over his shoulder with his hand resting on the doorknob. “Yes?” 

Your lower lip trembled as you looked at him with glistening eyes. “You’re not going to make me scrub out the mess hall for being reckless, are you?” 

Levi arched an eyebrow. “We’ll find out.” 

Before you could sputter out an answer, he was already gone. You settled back against your pillow with a happy sigh and felt the exhaustion sneaking back into your bones. Another nap sounded nice. As you slowly closed your eyes and slipped away to the dreaming world, your last thoughts were of Levi. 

They would always be of Levi. 

[sukiglycerin]

birds (not) of a feather || keigo takami.

* pairing: hawks x fem pro-hero!reader

* genre: canonverse(???), terribly indulgent smut, pwp, enemies w benefits

* words: 3,111

* warnings: i just packed a shitload of kinks into this, dom!hawks, sub!reader, daddy kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex (a bathroom), quirk play aka feather play (not tickling), reader is kiNda a brat, fingering, orgasm denial, cum eating, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (pls.,., wrap it before you tap it irl), degradation, breeding kink, humiliation, dumbification, creampie, aftercare (duh), i’m so sorry for this i’ll finish my sfw angst thing now

* a/n: inspired by this text post... oh god, this is filthy. apologies for the slightly late update, but here it finally is!! @toishi is an absolute angel for proofreading this at like 1 in the morning. i hope you enjoy this! if you liked this, feel free to request anything you’d like to see from me <3

there was something about hawks that was infuriating. you couldn't tell exactly what was the breaking point; his messy hair, his plush smirk, or his eyes. his eyes, typically glazed over with a mixture of cockiness and devil-may-care hawtiness, were perhaps the most charming part to him, if you asked any fangirl. the markings around them only made him prettier, but infuriatingly so; and when you put together the entire package of 'hawks,' you got an extremely punchable person. 

yet sometimes, during extremely rare instances - perhaps when the light hits him just right or when one of his feathers is placed just perfectly - the word 'punchable' is replaced with 'fuckable.' and when you say fuckable, you mean him fucking you. it only aggravates you more.

you can't recall exactly when you started hating him or exactly when you became fuckbuddies (well, more like fuckenemies), but what you can recall is that the closets at hawks' agency are unreasonably large. not that they can't be used to your advantage, on multiple occasions (especially when hawks ruts). you're sitting next to hawks as some entrepreneur attempts to sell his ideas to market heroes and gain more profit. none of the pro-heroes sitting in the room seem particularly engaged. you're practically falling asleep; hawks' doodles on your notepad keeping you awake. you can't exactly complain, though the doodles take up space on an otherwise blank page, it's entertaining. you're far past gone being alert, however; your eyelids droop one last time before you see an oddly phallic shaped doodle behind your eyelashes. goddamn hawks.

"really?" you hiss at him, pushing his hand away.

he shrugged, lazily smiling. "you like it."

"like what? lewd imagery in my work notepad?"

"no." his voice drops an octave, fatally gravelly, "my cock."

you flush at his obscene language. "don't-" you whisper, but you're cut off by hawks' muffled giggles as he points to another one of his doodles. a rooster. you purse your lips. ever-so immature, hawks.

"yeah, but i bet you like the first one a lot more, don'tcha, chickadee?" his pet name has your brain stuttering. "you like my cock so much, hm?"

"fuck you, hawks," you breathe.

"you can try, feather." his voice is dripping with cockiness. "i bet, even in professional times like these, you think about my cock. in business meetings, you look so professional, so serious, but little does everyone know - you're dreaming about my cock stretching your tight little cunt out, making you scream my goddamn name. i bet you salivate just thinking about my cock fucking you good, hm? isn't that right, chickadee?"

you huff, not meeting his eyes as you search for a witty comeback. your silence gives hawks' ego a boost; he smirks wider.

"you know it's true, huh?" he purrs. "you think of me wherever you go. in public, filing paperwork, when you touch yourself in bed... you just like it so much, you're my slut. who knew the nation's favorite pro-hero would drop to her knees to the sight of anyone's cock?"

"yeah, i touch myself whenever i think of you," you mutter saltily under your breath. you ignore the growing arousal in your panties at his provocative words. hawks goes quiet, eyes wide.

"more specifically, i rub my temples because i get a headache because you're so damn awful."

"well fuck, dove," he chuckles. he leans in close to your ear. "maybe i'll give you something to think about."

a shiver curls itself down your spine. "hawks-"

he hushes you, jotting something in your notepad. he excuses himself from the room, leaving a feather laying on his seat in place of him. you read the note. "women's bathroom, down the hall to the left. no one uses it."

a pump of adrenaline fills you; your heart skips a beat.

once you slip out, your heart plays a game of jump rope, the rhythm filling your ears. down the hall, to the left... you wonder what hawks has in store for you. your brain recreates images of past escapades you engaged in with the man; a quickie in his office, another in an alley, and once, him fucking you just before a meeting. your panties grow damper, unable to mask the anticipation you feel within yourself.

"hi, sweetpea," hawks cooes as soon as you enter the restroom. "fancy seeing you here."

"you invited-"

"hush, i didn't give you permission to speak, did i?" he snaps. "good girls who behave are rewarded."

a whimper slips out of you, and you nod.

"safeword, birdie?"

"sunflower."

"good girl." he hums. "so obedient, once disciplined... maybe i should do this more. i bet you'd like that... being such a slut when anyone could walk in." "hawks..." you start, but he doesn't have it.

the hero stalks toward you. if eyes could kill, you'd be murdered within seconds; his irises are dark, pupils blown, and a shadow has fallen over his face. he looks predatory like this - truly living up to his name. it's graceful, the self-control he assumes whence walking toward you. 

said self-control is completely abandoned as soon as your bodies meet. you're completely enraptured in his shadow as the man loomed over you, his wings contributing greatly to the effect. he's the predator, and you're the prey. 

his arm separates your neck from the wall, his hand clutching the back of your head. the free hand moves itself to caress your jaw in a strangely gentle manner, while his knee pushes its way in between your legs, making your upper thighs into a home. his hand nudges your head forward towards his, and then you're kissing him with such ferocity it's animalistic. tongues clash and you're no longer sure whose spit is whose; it dribbles down your chin the way blood drips from the thirsty lips of a vampire.

hawks growls - he actually growls - while he hastily unbuttons your top and slips his tongue into your mouth. you shamelessly grind down against his clothed pant leg, careless that your wetness will leave a stain. 

he pulls away, a string of saliva snapping between you and leaving you two gasping for breath. 

"fuck, fuck, baby bird," hawks wipes his mouth with his sleeve. his lips are swollen, their colour resembling a cherry lollipop with a sheen of gloss. damn, he's pretty. you never realized how good-looking a guy in a suit could be. his eyes are darker than a raven's, and it looks as though he'll devour you whole. 

"come." hawks gestures for you, walking towards the sinks and large mirror above them. as soon as you near a foot from hawks, he grabs you, one hand on your waist and the other on your throat. 

"look at you..." he tsks, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. you're completely disheveled, hair a mess and eyes blown dark. your top is wrinkled slightly, your breasts peaking out through the unbuttoned gap and your skirt pushed up.

"so messy already..." the hand on your waist moves up and squeezes your breast, tweaking a nipple through your bra.

"you just fucking melt for me, like a good whore," he says.

oh, how you hate how easily hawks can win you over.

"fuck you," you scoff half-heartedly. "are you gonna fuck me, or not? we don't have all day."

"won't be a problem, lovebird," he says breezily. "judging by how much you fucking soaked my pant leg, i could have you coming undone without my cock even touching your dirty cunt.

you glance at his thigh, which has a blatant dark spot on it, and feel your heart race in humiliation. you can only stay silent, knowing he's right. the sensation in your core is painfully obvious to you, as if taunting you more.

"obeying now?" he teases, a wicked smile gracing his face. "bend over the counter, sweetpea."

you huff, obliging. hawks deftly moves his fingers, unbuttoning your shirt. you shiver, your hot skin colliding with the cold, unforgiving marble. 

"spread your legs - good, good, like that..." his breath tickles your ear, "you like how the air touches your sopping pussy? how exposed you fucking feel, all spread out for me when anyone could walk in? me, the number 2 pro-hero..." god, he was so cocky it was infuriating.

"shut up," you grumble.

"what?" his voice is sharp, cutting clean through the air. "is that anyway to treat your daddy?"

you fucking hate the title. you hate how hawks harnesses it as his own, how he so personifies the word - how good it fits him, sounding like sugar off his lips.

two of his fingers meet your clothed folds. "answer me, birdie."

"n-no," you squeak out. 

"no, who?" he spits.

"no, daddy." 

you inch your head up to look in the mirror, and hawks is smiling. 

"what to do with you, what to do with you..." he sounds gleeful, sadistic undertones tinting his words with a faded rose red. so pretty, yet so painful. your head goes back down onto the counter, your cheek pressed against it.

"naughty birds deserve punishment, don'tcha think?" 

you can't find it in yourself to form a coherent word; instead, a clumsy moan falls from your lips. hawks' fingers press harder against your cunt; you're sure they've gotten at least a little damp.

compromised in such a position, your senses make you suddenly aware of your surroundings; the way the counter digs into your hips, how the coolness is starting to fade under your body. you're aware of your every breath, the fluttering in your stomach every time hawks presses your clit. you're aware of the inherent eroticism of your acts, and how you don't really hate hawks; no, no, no - how he just infuriates you.

he's the ideal hero, in your eyes - laidback, charming, and yet so skilled at his work. it amazes you. one can only strive to be so multifaceted, and it explains his status as number 2 hero. you work so hard, yet he can achieve all the things you dream in half a heartbeat.

"let's get these out of the way." hawks, hooking a digit into the band of your panties, forces them down in an instant. you instinctively clench at the air which meets your nether lips, your juices leaking out of them like a honeyed nectar.

"so messy," hawks comments. "can't even control yourself without your panties. you like being such a slut for daddy, huh?"

you grumble in protest.

"huh?" his index and ring finger plunge into your pussy, making a loud squelching sound.

"d-daddy," you blurt a moan out, falling apart on his fingers.

"that's more like it, feather." hawks sets a moderate pace on your pussy, curling to hit your sweet spot. the noises from your cunt and mouth fail to cease, and you throw a hand over the latter to muffle your whimpers.

you start to feel a burning sensation rise in your stomach; a toe-curling, warm feeling like sunlight shining in the morning.

"daddy, daddy, hngg- i'm so close."

you're so close to the sunlight, to being showered in the blissful heat. just one more stroke and-

you're suddenly empty, and the light starts to slowly recede.

"daddy!" you complain, shifting your legs and rubbing your thighs together. "bad birds get punishment," he shrugs. "though i must say... you like it when i bend you over the counter, huh? your little pussy is dripping all over it for me, and i've barely touched you... i bet you're getting off to this right now; when anyone could walk in, huh? filthy slut. you're already begging for more... hm, maybe i should make you lick up the mess you've made..."

"d-addy, no, i've taken my punishment, please let me cum..."

hawks sounded indifferent, as if he were merely studying his nails. "beg for it."

"wh-" you clench your hands in your skirt. you do not particularly enjoy begging - for anything or anyone. despite the pulsing in your cunt, and how hard it is not to give in, you don't want to give hawks the satisfaction of winning. "p-psh, didn't really need your cock anyway..." you grumble. you exhale quietly, calming the adrenaline pumping in your blood from the loss of your orgasm.

something in him changes, and a scarlet feather tickles your lips. you're confused; what does hawks want you to do?

"suck."

you exhale in confusion, blowing the feather away. "suck?"

you crane your neck up at the mirror to catch a glimpse of hawks. he looks deadly - there's no other way to put it. his eyes are sharply trained on you, his wings buff and towering over him. you think you see a bulge in his pants, straining for freedom.

"well?" the feather dusts your lips once again, teasing you to trap it in between your lips. your head drops, falling against the counter. you open your mouth, and the tip of the feather rests on your tongue. your lips close around it, and you hesitantly suck. you're not sure what you were expecting; it's a feather, soft and flimsy in your mouth.

you jolt at an indistinct tickling feeling against your clit. you look back, feather hanging out of your mouth, to see hawks leaning back on a stall. he's not within reach to touch you, so...

"hng!" the foreign object presses your clit. the pressure strengthens against your tight bundle of nerves, and you can feel your slick drip out of you even more. a feather; though hawks made the consistency a bit more solid. the feather pushes against your pussy like a seesaw, making you reach for your high. you shut your eyes tight, lost in the feeling and desperate for release. the feather drags up and down your cunt, eliciting lewd noises, while your lips are clamped shut around the feather in your mouth. saliva pools in your mouth the more the feather teases your wet sex, and the familiar build of tension starts in your stomach. you yearn for the heat returned in full, to be so fulfilled in pleasure, and you rut against the feather in an attempt to reach your climax faster. the stimulation is suddenly gone, leaving you crying out.

"look at this," hawks sneers. a single, wet feather, dripping in a substance far thicker than water hovers in front of you. "open your mouth."

the feather slips out, and is replaced with a salty tasting one.

the taste of your arousal fills your tongue, and before you're given time to dwell on it, you feel warmth pressing against the back of your thighs. there's a clanking of metal, a shuffle of fabric, and you feel the tip of hawks' cock pressing against you.

"look at you, baby, so desperate for a fuckin' feather," he rasps in your ear. "should i show you how much better my cock is? hmm?"

you nod dumbly, the feather bobbing with you. 

"fuck," he groans, pushing himself into your depths. "so wet, so- slick- goddamn baby bird, you like it when i stuff you full of this cock?"

you hum a noise against the feather in your mouth, agreeing. he slipped into your pussy smoothly, lubricated by the abundance of your slick. once in, snuggled in deep, something in the man's composure snaps; he thrusts mercilessly, pounding deep in you. his fingers hold your hips, bruising them, you're sure - and the pain is sweet, a sick lolly against your tongue. 

"fuck, fuck, daddy's gonna fuck his babies into you, betcha'd like that, huh?"  you can't articulate your words properly with the feather in your mouth, but you attempt to agree. he doesn't care, continuing with his degradation.

"you're gonna give me my chicks, huh? be my bitch," he pants heavily. god, you can just imagine how he looks; hair falling onto his sweat-matted forehead, his eyes completely lascivious. a wanton moan spills from your mouth, and the feather falls, but hawks doesn't make notice of this. he continues to slam into you, pace unforgiving, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. squelching noises fill the bathroom, echoing off the walls.

you can only moan and clench around him unintelligently. 

"look at you... all fuckin' stupid and obedient, all for daddy, hm? so willing to let daddy use you as a cumdump, daddy's personal- fucking- cumslut- but you like that, huh? your pretty pussy's clenching around me. you like being talked down to, don'tcha? such a dirty slut. look at that, you're drooling."

two of hawks' fingers shove themselves into your mouth, and you salivate around them. it's messy, you know, and spit trails down your chin.

"look at me, chickadee," he commands. you crane your neck to look at him, eyes wide. "fuck, so slutty," he grunts. "you really like this, don't you? fuck- exposing your fucking cunt to every guy, huh? being used as nothing but a filthy fucktoy?"

you shake your head rapidly in disagreement, cheeks heating up. 

"no?" he chuckles darkly. "just my fucktoy, then?"

you reluctantly nod. 

"my stupid lil baby... so pretty with daddy's fingers shoved in her mouth..." he coos, and a surprising, fuzzy feeling emerges from the praise.

his unoccupied hand reaches down in between your thighs to stimulate your clit, rubbing fast circles against the bud. warmth pools and ties a knot in your stomach. the sugared indulgence of release that you'd so craved comes into view; the knot tightening and tightening and you feel fit to burst.

"c-cum for me, baby bird, cum for me, y/n," he stutters, making a guttural sound in the back of his throat. the fingers in your mouth pull out, falling onto your hips. the tight knot bursts into violent fireworks of ecstasy; your cunt gushes around hawks' cock, convulsing madly. the pleasure shatters you, and everything becomes a haze. you go limp against the counter, thighs shaking. you're not sure how much time has passed - hawks had been fucking you through orgasm, and, at one point, came as well.

"hey, feather," he whispers gently to you. "you did so well for me..." he strokes your back, making a plethora of calming coos and humming sounds

"did so well," you mumble. 

"don't worry about anything, dove, i've got it all handled."

your thoughts are all fog, and you allow yourself to lean into hawks. this is one of the rare times you're vulnerable completely to him; at his mercy, after a particularly hard session. rather, it's one of the rare moments that your true feelings are revealed; how your hatred is baseless, built on jealousy and attraction you deny.

not that you'll admit it.

[ephemerlskies]

constant craving | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: drabble series, angst, unrequited love, idiot!jungkook, idiot!oc, basically everyone's an idiot

⇢ word count: 1.7k

⇢ warnings: unreciprocated pining, explicit language, themes of hopeless romanticism (!!), (slightly) unedited

⇢ summary: your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. you tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

♪ playlist: constant craving - k.d. lang, bad religion - frank ocean, misunderstood - lucky daye, neu roses - daniel caesar ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 (final)

a/n: hello my little loves!! this was definitely ;) not ;) an impulse write and release ;) ;) sorry for being so inactive lately. i've been focusing on myself (i know how cliche that sounds but it's true). anyway, enjoy this incredibly angsts fic i wrote at 2 am for absolutely no reason at all other than i'm an emotional sadist and a masochist. love u!!!! <3

part one: control

He was coming over for the third time this week. Third time. Three times is two more times than he'd gone over his girlfriend's house, but you did everything in your power to convince your inconvincible heart that it meant nothing. Friends see each other more than their girlfriends, right?

It was making a racket in your chest, that muscle that strained much harder for a man who had his pumping for the girl of his dreams.

But, he was coming over for the third time this week.

The first time he said this visit ranked, in his words, 'out of the question' on the degree of necessary that he come over and show you Star Wars. You played a good game of reluctance when asking if it was the entire series or just one movie, and in your head, you hoped to God it was the entire series. For him, you'd watch the series four times over if it meant you sat through this outrageously nerdy movie next to the even more outrageously nerdy love of your life.

The second time was particularly funny to you. He called while you were cooking dinner, almost as if he was in stride with you in a way that was an ounce too synchronized to be platonic, and asked if you were whipping up a delicious meal that he could mooch off of. Knowing he was a terrible cook, plus the fact that when he begged so politely you felt your posture unbind into to a puddle, you more than happily obliged.

This time, the circumstances made it harder to say yes, but not yet impossible. And it was a second or two before you heard that knock on the front door that had your once pounding heart come to a complete halt. It was still, waiting for you to make a decision.

Since it was Jungkook, of course, you'd say yes. And your heart would continue beating. Beating, as in sending sharp jabs that stained the inside of your chest with bruises. Beating, as in when the time came, the final blow of your constantly craving heart would devastate your entire being.

"Thank you so much, ___. God, I'm such an idiot." He walked in with all the confidence of someone who was a bit too familiar with your company. Jungkook's feet reintroducing themselves to your floors in the same manner as he would the night before, and the night before that, and the countless nights you kept secured in your collection of memories. As if he belonged there; as if he was coming home.

"An idiot with a great friend." That last word nearly withdrew the bile you had been ever so gracefully holding in.

"Yeah yeah." And he was comfortable with that same word, 'friend', that deepened your bruises into scars. He had absolutely no clue. Idiot. "I can't believe I broke up with her. I was so angry and acted on that instead of logic. Fuck, why would I do that to myself? I love her."

"Well, you never know. Maybe..." You hated yourself for not resisting the selfish temptation that was about to fall from your lips. The words you've been internally screaming to him to leave her and fall in love with you instead were diluted to something much more tame when your tongue formed them into sound.

"Maybe it was for the best. Maybe you guys are better off apart? To, um, grow or whatever."

"No." He said that with too much certainty and too little hesitance and just enough conviction to sink another wound in the organ exhausting itself in your chest. "She's the one. I know it"

"Jungkook."

He looked at you with all the earnestness of a man who carved his utmost and unchanging dedication to her. A look that any love-induced sap would kill for. A look he would never direct towards you.

Your eyes weren't under your control as of now. The glue that held them to his eyes, his lips, his hair, and every other part of him you dreamed of was more than a marathoned yearning. It was an adhesive twelve years in the making, not showing the slightest sign of wearing away.

"The way you love is something to die for..." And then he smiled at you, but still not for you.

You were utterly crushed.

"She'll take you back in a heartbeat. I mean, she has a brain, so of course, she will. Anyone would."

I would.

"I hope you're right." The couch was four feet wide at most, but there was an impressively vast space between you and the man who was sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what to say? You know I suck with words."

"Uh... Yeah. Of course. Anything."

If breaking hearts were a crime, then Jungkook would have much to atone for. You'd be convicted as a willing accomplice for holding on this long. Up until this point, you've let every small glance, every shy smile he sent your way, every eyebrow twitch conveying a meaning only you knew well enough to retrieve him from whatever awkward situation he needed rescuing from, every accidentally brush of his hand against yours, every purposeful embrace that lasted so long your tears stained his right shoulder string you into a knot of miserable, unrequited love.

And up until this point, you had hope he would choose you.

Each ring of his phone worked in tandem to reduce your undying devotion to Jungkook into a compressed seed of denial.

I don't love him. He's just my best friend.

Your pulse pronounced itself loudly in your ears, as a not-so-gentle reminder of how much you hated him for loving him. Somehow, your heart beat faster. Then again, anything was possible when it came to him. Anything except the miraculous event of him hanging up, declaring his love for you, and living in the land of happily ever after that only existed in your deluded imagination.

"Hey Irene! I'm so fucking glad you picked up."

He gave you that look. With the arched eyebrow, his widened doe eyes, and the slightly hung jaw, you read each feature better than words and nodded to signal you knew exactly what he needed.

"I'm sorry about what happened." You said, in a whisper, though the deflated volume of your words carried no implication of the unbridled sincerity sealed in them.

"I'm sorry about what happened." He repeated, laying down that same Irene-contrived smile on you that fostered a smile of your own, knowing fully it surfaced as a reflex from hearing her voice.

"It might be crazy to try this, because I don't know how you feel."

If the thing people say about your life flashing before your eyes during encounters with death, then you were sure your heart was about to consume its last pulse of blood. The scenes of you and Jungkook spending your Friday nights when you were a ripe city dweller in your shoebox apartment doing everything and nothing at all had convinced you that you were certainly about to go into cardiac arrest.

"It might be crazy to say this, because I don't know how you feel." Jungkook was so many things, however emotionally perceptive was not one of them.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you." Those words tasted sweet despite fermenting in a chamber of your heart you kept preserved since, as you said, the very moment you met him.

"But I love you. I have loved you since the moment I met you."

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

He repeated your words, but dehydrated all of your sentiment from them. You were left with the remnants of the feelings, and none of the words from him you were so desperately starved of. He took them right from your throat, along with the very breath that seemed to keep returning because of Jungkook, molded them into his own, into a sequence of sounds that were meant for Irene. You were left hungry, breathless, and forever wanting.

"No matter what, I'd choose you. It doesn't matter how mad I am or how annoyed I am, I will choose you because if I know anything in this damn, cruel, punishing world, then I know that I'd rather be angry, annoyed, or anything else with you than without you."

Irene must have been smiling right about now. Who wouldn't smile hearing those things from someone like Jungkook?

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Then, you began to ask yourself another question.

If you make me complete, Jungkook, will my story ever end?

You knew the answer to that. You swore your heart beat in a morse code that told you everything you needed to know.

"Because with you, I'm complete. My story can't end if I'm incomplete. Please, choose me back. Complete me. That's all I ask."

Jungkook looked to you, before Irene could form the proper response, and smiled. It was the third time he smiled at you today because of course, you were keeping track. You knew it was his own physically linguistic version of a 'thank you' or a 'you're a life saver' but somehow, to you, it translated to something similar to a 'goodbye'.

Your legs miraculously rose and carried you to the back porch. The sun was just beginning to dip in the horizon, proliferating a warm orange that was about to subside to an indistinguishable and unpredictable dusk. Whatever color came after the sunset, you were ready to accept it, to memorize how it reflected against a world without the possibility of him. And even though the night will always embody undertones of orange, it was time to focus on the colors around it.

It was time to let go.

a/n: i might make this into a drabble series!!! if anyone would be interested in that please let me know :)) thank you for readinggggg <3