#entire works can be gone in the blink of the eye simply because these greedy corporations own the rights to them

[tariah23]

I’ve never paid for a streaming service or subscription to watch anything before in my entire life. I’ve never paid for music either, eek-

[obae-me]

Hi! It said requests were open so here is one. So pretty much how the brothers would react to an MC who says "I love you" after they had helped them with something. Thats something I do regularly, like someone helps them and they respond with "Oh my gosh I love you, thank you so much!" Cause. Affection. Idk, i just found the idea to be cute.

This is such a cute idea! I hope I pulled it off okay, for some reason Belphie’s is a bit angsty because I like pain I guess, but most of it is fluff! Thank you for your suggestion! 💜

Lucifer

He openly admitted it caught him off guard at first. What he will never admit is how harshly the air escaped from his lungs. Or how quickly his mind went blank at the words. 

He had simply brought MC some tea, noticing how hard they had been studying. Working day and night to try to catch up and understand topics demons themselves had spent decades learning. He was proud of them for working so hard. He settled the tea down by them, watching them beam with appreciation. 

“Is that for me?” 

Their question elicited an amused hum from him. “Is there anyone else in here?” 

They wrapped their fingers around it excitedly, entirely grateful. “Ugh, thank you, I love you, I needed this.” 

He had been lucky he settled the teacup down before they spoke. Had it remained in his hands, he most assuredly would’ve dropped it, or spilt the contents at the very least. He was not prepared at all. They hadn’t been down here nearly long enough to fall in love with him, right? Was he that alluring? He must’ve done something wrong, he was sure he had been focused solely on being intimidating. He didn’t remember doing anything in particular to elicit such a response. He was flattered, but...maybe--surely-- he had heard incorrectly. 

“You…” He blinked a few times as he shoved his emotions into the back of his mind, the silent screaming in his head muffled by his usual calm exterior. “..love me?”

MC covered their mouth with their hands, recognizing his confusion no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “No, no!” 

Well now he was a bit irritated, and secretly disappointed even. Were they playing a joke on him? 

They stammered and turned more in their seat to look at him. “What I mean is, I just kinda use the term ‘I love you’ as a general term, not an…” They blushed, “..intimate one. I say it all the time to people, I’m really sorry for confusing you. I’ll try not to say it as casually.” 

It was a bit unusual to hear something like that thrown around so often, it reminded him of his days in the Celestial Realm, love thrown around at the drop of a hat. The Devildom was a lot less...affectionate. He shook his head, any sign of his surprise now completely gone from view. “Don’t change a harmless habit like that for me, I just wasn’t expecting it. I’ll know now for the future.” 

It takes him quite a while to get used to it, taking every ounce of concentration not to blush whenever MC says that they love him. Once he does get used to it, he’s fond of it and may or may not continually go out of his way to perform some simple gesture to encourage them to say it to him more often. It takes even longer after that for him to finally respond with “I love you too” making them stop dead in their tracks, heart fluttering, mouth ajar, much like he did that first day when he brought them a simple cup of tea. He relished the look on their face.

How such a human stirred up these feelings within him is beyond his understanding. 

Mammon 

He was an open mess when MC first expressed it to him. He’d done what? Just find a pretty rock on the ground? It was shiny and smooth, surely worth a fortune, but when he went to see how much it was worth, it was declared utterly worthless. So he gave it to MC--but only because it was useless okay?! It’s not like he likes MC or anything, that’s not what this is about. Obviously.

He handed it over, acting casual, like it was nothing. Their eyes lit up at it, watching it glint mesmerizing colors in the moonlight, reacting like it might as well have been a diamond. “Whaaat, it’s so cool, I love you, thank you!” 

“Don’t say I never do anything for-” It had taken a few seconds to process, but once he realized the words that had come out of their mouth, he went frozen. Rigid. His other brothers might’ve called it a miracle. His jaw was open, his glasses had somehow slipped to the end of his nose, threatening to fall off. He didn’t even blink.

“I’m sorry, I guess demons aren’t quite used to that huh? I use it as a friendly term, I used to say it to my friends all the time back home.” 

He was still as stone for a good long time, gradually building up the concern in MC’s chest the more he was reactionless. Had they broken him? Once he finally gathered his one erratic brain cell in order, it was like someone hit a sudden unpause. He quickly puffed out his chest with both his hands on his hips. The explanation they gave him went in through one ear and out the other, as he was still focused on the ‘I love you’. 

“Don’t freak me out like that, human, but of- of course if you were to love someone, it’d be me, eh? I don’t blame you, it would be hard to resist the Great Mammon.” 

He’ll get a big head about it, strutting around, bragging to anyone who would listen--not that he gave them a say on the matter--that MC expressed they loved him. Doesn’t matter if there were romantic intentions or not, MC loved him, and he wouldn’t let it go. He’ll ignore the fact that MC will say that to most anyone.

“Yeah, well, when they say that about me, it’s different!” Or he’ll put on an act. “Yeah? Not like I care about some dumb human!” 

The more he takes time to know MC, the more possessive he acts, and he gets a little bent out of shape anytime MC says ‘I love you’ so casually to anyone other than him. Mostly because he’s greedy for it, he wants those words to be his and his alone. He wants MC to be his...and his alone. 

“Oi, MC, you can’t just go saying that to anyone...It’s our thing...you know?” He’ll get endlessly teased about it by everyone in the household, but no matter how much he gets pestered about it, he still wants to hear MC say it.

Only if things get romantic between them, will he be vulnerable with MC. Whenever they’re alone, he’ll get in close, melting against MC’s touch. With MC he can feel these strange and addicting feelings. With his hidden insecurities coming to light, he’ll ask MC the same question every night. “You love me, right? Like...love love me?...I...love love you too.”

Levi 

MC had been convinced they gave the poor boy an actual heart attack. Although, to be perfectly fair, almost anything MC does puts Levi in a tizzy. It’s not their fault, he’s just sensitive. 

They had been playing games together, nothing too unusual. Together, MC and Levi, the Best Friend Duo, battled an intense match against other real players. It had been close, but with both of their talents combined (admittedly Levi doing a lot of impressive carrying) they managed to strike victorious. 

MC felt a rush, their head tingling a bit. They had been on the edge of their seat the whole time, positively exhilarated when they won. “Whoo! That was all thanks to you, Levi! I love you!” 

First, MC heard the controller clatter out of his hands. They turned to look at him, his face went completely red, his eyes flicking back and forth out of control, not focusing on anything in particular. He had a hand clutching over his chest. Then to add on top of that, he completely collapsed. 

“Levi!” MC’s shout was loud enough to bring some of his other brothers to check the commotion. After a short examination, they declared that Levi was fine, just dazed and lightheaded, although the color in his face refused to go away for quite some time. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, I meant it in a friendly way.” 

He’ll end up locking himself in his room for days on end after the event, trying to wrap his head around how ‘I love you’ and ‘friendly’ could ever be even remotely the same. That’s not how it’s supposed to go! It’s supposed to be like...like in fiction where both of the love interests are alone, finally having the chance to meet up under a pretty sky, possibly under strenuous circumstances beyond their control, inevitably forcing them to admit their feelings! 

He’ll get over it, he always does, but when he comes back he finds out MC now deliberately avoids saying ‘I love you’ to him. They meant it for his own safety, truly, but his Envy is now rubbing away at his normal shy personality. 

It'll get to the point where he can’t hold back anymore. “How come you tell everyone else you love them but me!” 

“Because last time...you collapsed, and then went MIA for almost a week! I didn’t want to hurt you anymore. Is this not what you wanted?”

He ends up using his arm to cover his burning face. “I...I...I...I…” After several more consecutive ‘I’s, Levi finally tells MC that he didn’t want to be treated differently, he wanted MC to tell him that they loved him too. “Because I...lo..lo...lov...I appreciate you, MC!” 

MC will chuckle a little, giving him one of his favorite headpats. “I love you too, Levi.” He doesn’t collapse this time, but feels his knees get a little weak. He refuses to remove his arm from his face because now there are fresh tears flooding from his eyes that he doesn’t want MC to see. He loves them too, so much his physical body can’t handle it. Even if he doesn’t have the courage yet to say it, he’ll tell them one day. 

Satan 

He’s quite angry with himself for how he reacted, which isn’t a huge surprise. He does wish he would’ve handled it better, but he had no idea those three words would be sprung on him so suddenly. 

He’s usually quite down to earth, but not even the many romance novels he’s read--and if you tell anyone that he reads gushy romance novels, he will kill you--had prepared him for this. Where was the buildup, the slow rising passion before the eventual confession? Despite occasional temper tantrums and pranking tendencies, he’s truly an old soul. He’s a ‘my dearest, shall we take a stroll, and perhaps, should our shoulders brush, would you permit me a show of boldness, of passion, I dream for the day our fingers intertwine’ kinda guy. So MC’s ‘I love you’ was many chapters early for him. 

He’d crossed paths with MC near the front door to the House of Lamentation. MC had just gotten back from RAD, being kept by Diavolo himself. Every one and a while, after classes, Diavolo personally checks up on them to discuss the program. Meanwhile, the demon of wrath was just on his way out, a full stack of books in his arms. 

“Hey, Satan, where’re you off to?” MC attempted to catch his gaze behind the many tomes stacked against his chest. 

“Ah, off to return these books back to the Library.” Some hair fell before his face, but with the absence of free hands, he utilized a puff of air from his mouth to blow the strands away. 

“I see, be safe then, love you!” 

The words caught him off guard, and with his focus distracted, his foot caught against an unfortunate crack in the pathway. He tumbled, the books in his arms scattering themselves all over the front yard. MC turned and attempted to help, but with Satan’s panicked scramble, he ended up smacking his head against MC’s. 

“My-uh-apologies-I-” He stuttered while he frantically tried picking up the books, only to have some continue to slip from his arms. 

“Here, use my bag,” MC opened the backpack that had been around their shoulders. It was already full of some textbooks and assignments, but it was enough to lessen some of the struggle. He gave them a small thank you as he slung the bag over his shoulder, the remaining stragglers tucked under his arm. He waited till MC went back into the house, and then he angrily tore the front gate off its hinges. He looked like such an idiot just now. 

He knows MC means not much of it other than general affection, once he thinks about it. Alongside Lucifer, anytime MC now says it, he’ll act unaffected by it. The truth is, the never ending rage burning beside him magically subsides anytime those words fall from their lips. 

If he works softly and intelligently enough, perhaps he’ll have forged a tight enough bond where MC can say it for real, and the fire in his soul can find some peace. 

Asmo

Honestly, despite his over dramatizations and flamboyant nature, he’s the least affected out of all the brothers. Trust him, he’s had plenty of demons try to crawl their way back to him after a night of fun, insisting that they’re in love with him. So, he’s heard it a lot, and it’s not his favorite. That being said, he discovered that MC is probably the only one he’ll tolerate the dreaded L word with. 

He’d sat there, working on MC’s nails, giving them one of his—as he calls it—Asmo-tastic manicures. MC appreciates the pampering, even if Asmo uses it mostly as an excuse to hold hands and get close to the human. 

When Asmo was complete, MC looked down at their newly soft hands with beautifully decorated nails, feeling a bit closer to the demons now that they had matching manicures. “It’s beautiful, Asmo, I love you, thanks!”

His chest did flutter a bit, and he let out a stream of giddy giggles as he pressed MC into him for a hug. “MC, you’re so cute, I can’t take it!” 

He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t use the words ‘I love you’ ever, no matter what, but if MC was using it so casually, why can’t he, it didn’t mean much of anything right? He quickly turns a 180 on the idea, and says it as often to MC as he can. 

“Bye, MC, love you, dear! You’re wearing the outfit I gave you? I love you!” But his new form of affection is now not just centered towards the human, it’s now directed towards his brothers as well. No one is safe. “You’re giving me this, Lucifer? I love you! Beel, a snack for me? I love you!” 

He’s such a hype man, and the affection spreading throughout the House of Lamentation by his and MC’s hand is infectious. Even if they don’t mean to, simply Asmo’s added influence has the brothers saying ‘I love you’ to each other more often, which has led to plenty of entertaining moments. Mammon said it once to Lucifer on accident, which admittedly filled the eldest with a bit of pride, especially at seeing Mammon’s mortified face. Beel and Belphie have no problem saying it between themselves, although it leaves them softer than they had been in a while. But perhaps the most shocking of them all was when Lucifer sleepily mumbled it to Satan, who then parroted it back to him without thinking. Both were a bit flustered, but Satan was so angry about it he wanted to tear both Lucifer’s and his own tongue out. The two refuse to talk about it, but they were both a little softer to each other that week. 

But why are we talking about the others? This should be all about Asmo! You know how when someone continually says something out of irony after a while they end up speaking it unironically? That’s what was happening to Asmo, much to his confusion and unfortunately his fear. He had never...loved someone before, not in a romantic way, it was too much commitment, it was too much...emotion. But the more he continued telling MC he loved them...the more he started to believe it. The more he noticed the little things about them that he couldn’t get enough of. So one day, he stopped saying ‘I love you’ altogether.

MC met with him in private, concerned over his new out of character action. “Asmo? What’s wrong, I noticed you’ve been...distant, which isn’t like you.” 

Of course they would notice, they always did. “Oh...MC...I…” For once, he was actually shy, covering up his own beautiful face to hide, an incomprehensible action. He could barely speak, he was so...scared? “MC I think...I...I think I love you.”

Beel 

He was second place in the ‘staying calm’ category when MC said it. He’s a family man, loving those around him is in his nature. So hearing MC say those words, he merely took it as a family thing, and he was all too happy to bring MC into the family. 

He noticed MC had been looking just a bit run down, and so, he shared a single snack with them. They practically glowed, looking up at him with a heart-melting smile. “Thanks Beel, I love you, thank you!” 

Suddenly the food he was eating tasted ten times better, and he had been fully convinced for a while that it was some magic spell MC put on him. He almost ends up crying. Honestly, it’s been such a long time since he’s heard words like those. He didn’t realize how starved he was for affection. He pulls them into a tight hug that lasts for several minutes. He let them go eventually, but only because he needed hands to eat. He continued to scarf down the mouth-watering food, although the ache in his stomach wasn’t as pronounced as it had been. 

He ends up giving MC a little snack anytime they say ‘I love you’, because he finds them adorable, and his way of reciprocating affection is with food. He loves MC immensely, so it’s only natural he shares his favorite things with them. Only, he was unaware that he was more or less training MC and himself by doing this. In fact, it was unbeknownst to everyone save Satan, who is very aware of what Pavlov’s Theory is. Satan doesn’t say anything though, he wants to see how this plays out. 

The more MC says ‘I love you’ the more they get rewarded by Beel, and the demon has now conditioned himself by associating food with MC’s tenderness and endearment. MC steadily increases the time they spend with the demon of gluttony, almost stuck to his side as often as Belphie. MC finds they can’t help but smother him with love and affection, which Beel can’t get enough of since gluttony is his sin. And Beel discovered that he always has some sort of treat on hand that he refuses to touch because it’s MC’s. 

The day MC finally caught on was the day Satan finally intervened. He himself spent some private time with MC, and, much like Beel had for a while now, he gave MC an unsolicited treat. 

They hardly looked at him as they instinctively stated, “I love you!” Then ended up pausing for a long time. Satan teased them mercilessly before he explained, and MC felt their entire body grow hot with embarrassment. However, they took this opportunity to do something for Beel in return. They prepared a big meal for him, texting him to bring him down into the dining room, just for the two of them. His eyes grew wide at the sight of the banquet, but for once, his first instinct wasn’t to eat. He wrapped MC tightly in his arms, tears almost streaming down his face. MC’s presence seemed to satiate him almost as well as a twelve course meal. 

“I love you, MC! I love you so much!” 

Belphie

As shocking as it is, Belphie reacted the most severely. Which if you actually take the time to think about it, probably isn’t that surprising at the end of the day. It was the last thing he expected to hear, especially after everything that happened. 

All he had done was run into MC in the hall. Lucifer had called Light’s Out and anyone who didn’t want to be punished would be heading straight to bed. Since he sleeps all day, he was fairly awake at this hour, not to mention recently he had felt annoyingly restless. Finally free to roam the house like he wished left him wandering and wanting. There was still something he needed, but he wasn’t sure what. MC stepped past him to get to their room, already looking exhausted, a large yawn escaping their lungs. 

“Heading to bed?” They asked him, and he still found it difficult to bring his eyes up to theirs. 

“Maybe soon.” He acted nonchalant. 

MC rubbed their eyes, gently touching his shoulder as they passed. “Okay, love ya, get some good rest.” 

He was grateful MC had immediately walked into their room, because he wasn’t prepared for how extreme his body would react. He found the energy upholding his legs went missing, and he had to lean against the closest wall to keep from crumpling to the ground. He continued to try to trick himself into believing he didn’t care. They were a human, he didn’t care, why would he care? Why should he feel guilty for everything he’d done? He was a demon, a monster, he’d embraced that when he fell, or he thought he did. But...being around MC...it made him feel like he was back in the Celestial Realm, filled with hope, with love, something he was sure he’d never truly feel again. 

He recalled before the inevitable fall what his dear sister had told him before his life had been shattered before his eyes. “Remember Belphie, I love you.” 

He couldn’t hold himself up any longer, clutching his pillow to his chest as the hole in his heart he had filled with sleep and anger crumbled away. He pressed his face deep into the fluff of the cushion as he sobbed. His heart felt like it was stinging like wounds often do when they’re cleaned and healing. It hurt. It threatened to break him. He had tried avoiding feelings. How could MC be so nice to him after everything? What had he done to deserve it? 

Beel, influenced by the magical connected emotions to his twin, left everything he had been eating behind to come get him immediately. The intense pounding in his chest worried him to no end, he needed to find Belphie now. He found the demon of sloth curled up on the floor of the hallway, convulsing and shaking from violently crying. Beel hated seeing his beloved brother like this, but on the inside he was secretly thankful. He knew Belphie couldn’t keep acting like nothing mattered, it wasn’t healthy. He was finally coming to terms with everything, opening the door to finally, after all this time, being able to move on. 

The next time the human sees the youngest brother, they see that he’s a little more aware, maybe not quite awake, but mindful of the people around him. For once, he talks about what he’s going to do in the future, looking forward instead of repeating broken events of the past. He finds that being around MC, if they’ll let him, helps the feeling in his ribs hurt a bit less, that the personality he thought had been locked up was starting to escape. Life itself matters a bit more than it used to. He has to be ready though, because he can’t afford to cry in front of his brothers the next time MC tells him ‘I love you’. Even if they think nothing by it, it means more than the world to him. But as always, he’ll act apathetic about it. 

He’s working on it though, and all because MC showed him a bit of kindness despite his unforgivable actions. All he needed was a bit of love.

[villainousshakespeare]

Bobby’s Playdate Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

The pandemic is keeping Tom idling in London by himself. One positive is that wearing the mask helps him avoid recognition, allowing him to wander in the park with his dog, Bobby. On one of their walks, Bobby becomes smitten with a dog named Lulu and Tom is equally enchanted by her human. Can the Hiddleston men manage to find a way to see the lovely ladies again?

Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Chapter 2 of4

Rated M - Pandemic, Fluff, Quarantine, Masks, Adorable Puppies, Meet Cute, Fourth and Final Part Will Contain Smut

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere, from-hel-i-with-love, @sweetsigyn, @fictiondoesitbetter, @ms-cellanies @evieplease @viviennes-tears @turniptitaness @cynic-spirit @spooky1980 @ghostypau @viviennes-tears @lady-loki-ren @loki-laufeyson965 @ohhhhmarkiloosecontrol @ghostypau @queeftheif @mousee555 @isimpforeveryonee @preferredrealty​

He was being a right arse, and what was worse he knew it.

Tom grimaced as he stirred his bolognaise sauce. So, she knew who he was, and had all along – what did that really change? Why did it make him so uncomfortable that she hadn’t said anything? After all, he had known as well and he certainly hadn’t brought it up. Was he upset that she had known and hadn’t fawned all over him? Could he really be that shallow? He had liked that she was just herself, allowing him to be himself as well. What was it then that was bothering him?

The timer rang for the pasta and he reached over to grab the oven mitt that usually hung by his stove and grimaced. Of course, he had put it away in the closet because it had a big, red Avengers logo on it. All of that running around he had done, stressing out Bobby and working up a sweat, and it had all been entirely pointless. He felt like the biggest idiot of all time.

Which was the problem, of course. Tom was used to being multiple steps ahead of everyone. He wasn’t conceited about it, well, not exactly, but he was quite often the smartest person in the room. He credited his teachers and a topnotch education, as well as his family of course, more than his own keen powers of observation. He had simply been taught from a young age how to think. It was an invaluable tool as an actor. It also meant that he was often left waiting for others to catch up. He was not, decidedly not, used to being the one feeling foolish for being wrong.

Yup. He was a complete and total arse.

Here he had a beautiful woman in his home, when he had begun to despair of such a thing ever being allowed again, much less happening. She was smart, charming, funny, and kind enough to realize that being a celebrity must be exhausting and discussing it could get tedious. And how had he repaid her for her consideration? By running out of the room and leaving her doubtless wondering at his manners, if not his sanity.

Tom dipped a spoon in and tasted the sauce. This had better be the best meal he had ever made if he wanted to make up for the mess he had made of things so far!

“Everything okay in here?” Leia’s voice asked from the kitchen doorway as Tom was using a tea towel to carry the pasta pot to the strainer in the sink.

“Aside from you spending the evening with a complete prat, everything is fine,” he said with a self-depreciating laugh.

“You know, there are things called oven mitts,” she grinned at him. “Maybe we should go online and order you some.”

“I have them,” he sighed. “I put them away for tonight.”

“So you could experiment with first degree burns? Is that research for a role or something?”

“They were… branded.”

“Like a cow?” she blinked at him.

“No… like Marvel. Avengers branded. So, I hid them.”

“Tom,” Leia was obviously trying to hide a grin that tugged at the edges of her mouth, “did you hide all your movie memorabilia before I came over? Is that why your house looks like the display room from an upscale furniture store rather than a lived-in home?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled, face turning red as he looked back at the stove.

“That must have been a lot of work. How long did it take you?”

“Most of the day. What are you doing?” he asked at the strange contortions her face was making.

“Trying to visualize the reverse scavenger hunt. Hold on…” she scrunched up her nose and he could see her picturing his lunacy in her mind. “Okay, that was fun!”

“Glad I could amuse you,” he grumbled.

“As every good host would be!” she grinned at him. “And then Lulu went and ruined it by digging up the Loki toy. Well, leave it to the Trickster God to upset the best laid plans. But really, is it such a big deal that I know?”

Tom closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She really was being sweet about the whole fiasco of his running into the house. Perhaps, if he could regain some of his own composure, it didn’t have to be the biggest fumble in the history of first dates. He just had to take a cue from her and try to find the situation amusing rather than humiliating.

“It is not,” he said at last. “Thank you for taking it all so well. Now, dinner is almost ready, I just need to put it on the plates.”

“My I use the loo then?” she asked.

“Of course. Second door on your right.”

“Thanks. I’ll meet you back outside. Oh, and be careful – Lulu may look innocent, but she will steal any food off your plate if you turn your back on her!”

“Wonderful, then she and Bobby will have even more to bond over,” he remarked, rolling his eyes.

“Between the two of them we’ll be lucky if there’s any food left for us.”

“Good thing I made extra then.”

“Oh, before I go – there are still hand towels in the bathroom, right? They didn’t get squirreled away for having horns on them or something?”

“No, the hand towels are purely Only Lovers Left Alive, and I assumed that was enough of a deep dive to keep any but the most ardent fan in the dark.”

“You’d be surprised, people love a good vampire flick!” she teased, as she headed off down the hall.

Tom took another steadying breath. So, she not only knew of him from the Avengers franchise, and from the London stage, but she had seen at least one of his indie films as well. Which meant, he suddenly realized, that she had seen more of him than he had realized. Squirming a bit, he plated the food and carried it outside. He would be sure not to bring up high rise, he decided. He had heard rumors about people pausing the playback on a certain scene, and he preferred to stay in the dark about her exposure to that.

By the time Leia joined him out at the table, Tom had managed to calm down a bit. He would have needed to tell her about his job eventually any way; at least now he could enjoy the rest of the evening without the fear of her reaction hanging over his head. The food had served up nicely, and he poured a friendly serving of wine into each of their glasses. Bobby and Lulu were already sniffing around at his feet, hoping for clumsy hands to drop offerings to their greedy mouths.

“Back off you two hellions,” he told them good naturedly. “Haven’t you already done enough damage tonight to the possibility of my getting a second date?”

***

Leia froze in the doorway, eyes going large. Had she heard that right? Had Tom just used the word date to describe the evening?

She had hoped it was a date, of course. She had even called it one to herself and her dog as she was getting ready. Still, she had not quite been able to convince herself that it was anything more than what he had sold it as – a playdate opportunity for their canine companions. After all, a handsome, charming, world famous movie star such as him could date anyone. Why would he want to be with her when the entire glamourous world was his for the taking?

Looking down, she realized that her hands were shaking. His befuddlement at the discovery of his identity had been charmingly adorable, and it had the wonderful side affect of allowing her to feel less awkward herself to see him so out to sea. It gave her back a modicum of power. That was gone now with one word from him that she was not even meant to hear.

“Oh, hi!” he smiled, seeing her in the door and standing up like the perfect gentleman he was despite their outside, casual location. “Dinner’s served.”

“It smells divine,” she told him, and rolled her eyes inwardly at the gushing word.

“Well, I am a God you know,” he smirked, and then blushed and looked embarrassed.

What was happening? They had been so comfortable outside in the park! Just two regular adults enjoying each other’s company and the relatively fresh air of suburban London. Now though, now that she knew he meant it as a date, and he knew she knew he was an actor it was all awkward.

“So, do you have any mischief in mind for tonight?” she asked.

“I suppose that depends on how the night goes,” he gave her a devastating wink.

Wait, was he flirting with her now? Ack! She didn’t know what to think, but her body certainly responded to that comment. Wanting a distraction, she shoved a forkful of pasta in her mouth and let out an involuntary moan of pleasure at the delicious taste.

“Is it okay?” he asked, despite her clear approval of his efforts.

“It’s amazing!” she told him, as soon as her mouth was empty. “Jesus Tom, on top of everything else you can cook too?”

“Eh heh heh heh,” he laughed, obviously delighted. “I’m afraid I am full of flaws, but I will do my best to hide them from you for as long as possible. I’m glad you like it.”

“You’ll have to give me the recipe!” she demanded, taking a long drink of the wine that paired perfectly with it.

“Ah no. If I do that, what incentive will there be for you to come back?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” she looked up at him over her wine glass. “After all, Lulu is having such a good time, she would never forgive me if I deprived her of more free time with Bobby.”

“Right. Yes. Lulu and Bobby.”

“It’s why we’re here, after all,” she shrugged, not knowing why she was pushing it so hard.

“Oh, I almost forgot!”

Tom shot out of his chair, startling the dogs who both started yipping in irritation. He jogged into the house, and a moment later came out with a beat’s pill speaker in hand. Placing it on the table, he fiddled with it until music straight out of a café in Venice started crooning out of it.

“The perfect final touch!” he said proudly.

“I can almost see the canal in the distance!” she told him with a laugh.

“I would pole you out, but I’m afraid my boat is not handy.”

He suddenly blushed again, and Leia had a quick flash of where his mind had gone. They both turned crimson and occupied themselves with the food for a few minutes in charged silence.

Leia could feel the tension sparking between them, but she had no idea how to act upon it. She could not think of any time in her past where she had been in a similar situation. How could she have been, when she had never met a man in her life like the one sitting across from her.

The song switched to a slower song, still Italian, and she noticed that Tom was tapping his fork against his plate in rhythm with it. He noticed her gaze and chuckled, eyes twinkling.

“You should see me with spoons,” he told her.

A moment later, he was on his feet again (really, he seemed incapable of sitting still tonight) and placing his napkin on his chair. Holding out one hand to her he raised his eyebrows in question.

“May I have this dance?”

As Leia hesitated, he face fell. Stepping back, Tom put his hands behind his back and dropped his head apologetically.

“I am so sorry,” he rushed to say. “I completely forgot. Of course, we are in the middle of a pandemic. The last thing we should be doing is dancing. Hands touching, standing close together. I am so, so sorry.”

“Tom, Tom!” Leia interrupted his contrition. “Stop apologizing! If I was concerned about catching the virus from you, I wouldn’t be eating the food you cooked! We both got tested, remember?”

“Are you sure, because you didn’t look –“

“I was worried about crushing your feet,” she admitted, stepping towards him. “I am not exactly what you would call graceful.”

“Well, I am hardly Baryshnikov,” he demurred. “But if you’ll allow me…”

He offered his hand again, and this time Leia took it. It was the first time they had touched, and she almost jumped at the spark that passed from his fingers to hers. His grip was firm, and he drew her in so that she was held firm against his chest. His other arm came around to rest his hand on her lower back, and she had to remind herself to breath as she was held in his embrace.

“Look at me,” he said as she obeyed instantly. In part it was because it was what she wanted to do, but it was also a reaction to the note of command in his voice. Even though it was soft, there was a note in it that was to be obeyed. “Good girl.”

As he led her around the little yard in what she realized was a waltz, Leia felt her last bit of restraint melting away. She wanted this man desperately and there was no denying it. His hips moving against her, his hand burning a hole through her dress, his low singing along with the song, it all had her ready to drop to her knees and beg him to take her.

“I love dancing,” he said, stating the obvious. “Especially with the right partner.”

“Sorry you’re missing that,” she tried for humor.

“Quite the contrary,” he didn’t rise to the bait, looking her straight in the eye and keeping his voice serious. “I can think of no one else I would rather be dancing with. You must know that you are all that has made the last month bearable. I look forward to our afternoon walks more than I can say.”

“Me too,” she whispered, tongue swiping over her lips. She saw his eyes flicker to them and then return to hers slightly darker.

Her breath caught and she was certain that he was going to kiss her when a loud crashing noise brought them both up short. Spinning around, they saw Tom’s plate laying on the ground, Lulu and Bobby shamelessly sharing the spoils of their raid like a modern day Lady and Tramp.

“Bobby! Bad dog!” Tom barked, advancing on them.

“Oh, Lulu! You naughty girl!” Leia scolded at the same time.

As Tom advanced on them, the dogs took off in the direction of the tree, trailing sauce in their wake. Tom stomped after them, eyes narrowed while Leia picked up the plate and mopped up some of the mess with his napkin.

“Bobby, stay!” Tom snapped, snapping his fingers.

Bobby dropped to his haunches with a whimper while Lulu headed back towards Leia and the remaining food.

“You too, sit girl!”

He snapped again and Leia, on sheer instinct, set the plate down with a clatter and sat on the chair, hands folding in her lap and eyes looking up towards him, Lulu sitting at her feet.

Tom’s face, facing her, went completely still for one long moment. Leia could feel a nervous energy rise in her stomach until a slow, Cheshire cat smile spread across his face. The dogs forgotten, he looked at her with a sparking intensity that made her weak as he crossed to where she sat.

“Well,” he drawled, “isn’t that interesting.”

[r3volutionary-queen]

Chapter 29 Sneak Peek (unedited)

Steven's head was tilted back, glacier eyes staring up at the night sky.  He didn’t seem to notice Thor’s arrival and the god let him sit in his quiet as he uncapped the salve and set the fresh bandages aside.

Finally, Thor asked curiously, “What is it you search for?”  

Steven didn’t take his gaze away from the velvet blanket hanging overhead and for a moment, he thought the Captain wasn’t going to answer.  He settled in behind the younger man and began to prep his skin by carefully removing his bandages.

“There’s a star…”  Steven murmured at last.  Thor heard him swallow, some deep emotion bleeding through his voice turning it thick as molasses.  “It’s… it’s one that Darcy named.  She’d always sneak up on the roof and find it.  It brought her a lot of comfort.”

Thor’s hands stilled, a glob of the salve sitting on the tips of his fingers as they hovered over Steven’s bare back.   His heart clenched in his chest.

When the god spoke, his words were slow.  “And what did she name it?”

A pause. Then—

“She named it after Bucky.”

Thor could hear the grin in Steve’s voice, and he also laughed.  The sound was nothing more than a silent huff of air, but it felt cleansing in this moment.  Thor began smearing the salve over Steven’s back, a soft smile staying on his lips, because of course his sister by heart, the romantic and idealist that she was, would do such a thing.  

“Tell me, which star is it?”

Lifting his arm, Steven pointed at the shimmer at the bottom right corner of the moon. “There.”

Thor’s eyes tracked it and the star in question twinkled, as if it knew it had their attention and wanted to show off. The God of Thunder smiled in response, privately thinking that it was a cheeky little thing. He didn’t know the Sergeant very well, but he knew this truth: when you named something, you gave it a nature.

“It looks strong,” Thor commented after a long while.

Steven nodded, never taking his eyes from it.  “It is,” he agreed quietly, and then, even softer—“He is.”

Thor said nothing in response, simply continued working on his back, careful not to apply too much pressure but just enough that the salve would be absorbed into the new skin to encourage growth.  It wasn’t a long process and soon he was placing new gauze on the two deeper wounds, satisfied to see no infection or active bleeding.

“Thor?” Steven cleared his throat as he sealed the last bandage securely.  The Captain turned his head to meet Thor’s questioning gaze, his eyes unusually bright. “Thank you, for what you did.  Natasha told me about it.  I owe you and I won’t forget it.”

“You are a good man, Steven.  I have always known this to be true,” Thor paused and chose his next words carefully.  “But I did not do this just for you.”

Steven did not need to ask who Thor meant.  He knew.

“She’s lucky to have you in her corner.”

Dipping his head in quiet acknowledgement, Thor quickly flicked his gaze away and began to busy himself with cleaning up.  “Nay, I am the one who is blessed.  Darcy is a rare gem and she carries a heart that loves without holding back.  She is… precious in every way.”  Thor cleared his throat here and met Steven’s eyes purposefully.  “You would do well to remember that.”

Neither said anything for a long time, and then—

“I love her.”

The god started and stared at his comrade, the man who had led them time and time again into battle, the man he trusted with his life, and he heard the truth in his words.  They lit up inside of Steven, burning beneath his skin, in the cavity of his chest with a pulsing bright light, pure and untainted.

It was so bright and so sudden that it struck the god into silence.

Love was a word that the people of Midgard were overly fond of.  They used it for everything, even the most miniscule of objects, and as such, lost its power.  But this was different.  The light that Thor saw now, unbeknownst to Steven, was a reflection of something far more ancient, a force that held together the foundations of the earth itself. It wasn’t fire but it was warm all the same and he watched as it filled every inch of Steven, from his heart to his fingertips.  

It was a holy thing.  

“Yes,” Thor said softly, and his voice was not quite shaking.  Heat built behind his eyes, precarious piles of bricks threatening to spill over.  “I see it.”

Steven’s lips curled slightly, but there was no humor in it, just understanding.  “I don’t know what Darcy’s told you about the situation—”

“We have spoken of it”

He nodded and spoke his next words slowly, “Then you know that both Bucky and I will do everything in our power to take care of her—to love her.  If she’ll let us.”

The god inhaled deeply, swallowing past the lump in his throat—the desperate, wounded, greedy thing that told him to take that which was his to protect and run. Darcy was his family in every way but blood, and yet… she wasn’t his.  Not wholly. The light in Steven’s words proved it.

“You’ll have to fight her for that right, just so you know,” Thor informed the younger man suddenly, making his voice purposefully light.  “She is quite ferocious in her desire to care for others.”

Steven watched him for a long second and then cracked a grin.  “Not as scary as Jane though.  Darcy always says she’s the one to watch out for.”

And now Thor truly smiled, felt his eyes softening at the mere mention of his beloved. It was amazing, really, how her name alone could bring him to his knees.

“And Darcy is right to warn you of such,” Thor chuckled lowly and stared down into the flames, imagining the way they would reflect and dance in the amber of Jane’s eyes giving them that otherworldly glow.  “My Jane is another creature entirely.”

Steven’s grin grew.  He rolled his shoulders after a moment, as if testing the range of motion.  Thor watched him out of the corner of his eyes, impressed by the way his movements appeared less stiff.

On the horizon, there was a barely noticeable gray line inching its way into the sky.  His chest tightened.  Dawn was nearly here, and with it, war.

“Do you think we’re going to win?”  Steven asked suddenly and Thor blinked, snapping his head to the younger man.  His brows were furrowed deeply, a look that the God of Thunder was all too familiar with.

It was a terrible burden, leadership.  

Pondering Steven’s question, the God of Thunder answered with a firm nod.  “My heart tells me so.”

“He managed to beat us before.”

Images of Stormbreaker splitting the Titan’s chest in half flashed before Thor’s eyes; words that would haunt him for the rest of his life rasping in his ear as though the menace was standing beside him.

You should have gone for the head.

“Some battles must be lost before they can truly be won,” Thor murmured, his voice a million miles away.  Blinking through the flash of horror, the shock of their original loss, the aching hole of grief that threatened to swallow him whole in the days that followed, the god smiled tightly, bitterly.  When he spoke next, he tried to lighten his tone.  “Plus, he’s never fought us twice before.”

[heli0s-writes]

all in the weight (gentle, we fall)

Summary: A stretched night in Wakanda with you, Bucky, and the truth.

A/N: Smut, angst, & soft White Wolf Bucky. 1.8k words.

Written for @the-omni-princess​‘s 1k writing challenge! Congratulations again and thank you so much for hosting!  My prompt was: “The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes — or just by staring into space.” -Marilyn Monroe

The title is a lyric from Justin Nozuka’s All I Need.

It’s these moments that enchant you the most. When your heart quivers, all pumped full-- one single hair of a stretch away from bursting, blood rushing too hard and fast, chest unwilling to compromise with the swell.

Galvanized by him.

His warm right hand and fingertips. His pulse steadying itself in measured breaths. His pretty, pretty, eyes, staring into some unknown expanse.

It's in these moments-- when he’s suspended, weightless and floating with his back against the bed, lost in the sweet drift of a comedown-- that you meet the truth.

Grey-blue casts over his features, allowing you only slivers of piercing eyelashes, cuts of his cheek’s sharp terrain, that blessed dip in his chin, a reprieve. Haloed in a fleeting corona when the light surfaces again and smatters through the curtain, his long shadow falls on you, touched with quiet. You trace his outline with a finger, igniting the silver streak of his body. It stirs him back to you.

“Yes, lover?”

Lover. What a word.

Bucky smiles, lips still slick with impatient kisses, licked just on this side of red and raw. Hungry again and changing course, curving into the way you reflexively press against him. A roguish, lingering look before he asks,

“What do you want of me?”

Your palm pursues a dip of muscle, marble carved into man, unmade and made again at long last. 

“What will you give me?”

A quick and lambent glance of that tepid ocean as he ponders. Playful tides lap each other in delay, lap your feet and ankles, seafoam mist cool and sweet just like him.

“Everything.”

Tidal waves crash upon his admission. Electricity and salt and moonlight breaking on their crests, moment turning quick and hot. Bucky moves into a better position, rocking the mat beneath as he shifts, one leg hooking over you, forearm skimming down your sternum. The two of you slick in a sheen of sweat, skin gliding over skin.

You laugh, a sharp breath of disbelief sheltering unspoken joy, hand swatting uselessly at his head.

“Can’t help it. Want you to have it all,” hastened breath on your bare shoulder followed by caresses from that noble nose at the incline of your collarbone. Then his strong brow, willow-wisps of hair a little damp at the roots in pursuit for more of you—grazing the gradual slope of your breast, kissing a nipple, then lower to where your very heartbeat springs forward to find him, too.

Protests evaporate like ocean spray.

Your hands are back on him when he gets to your belly. Sultry and kiss-bruised lips on fire as he presses them your waist and hips, and it’s a wonder how he still can.

You quake a little, pre-trembling with anticipation when he maps a roadway down your thigh, following veins and silver lines of a stretched surface. He twists from your hold, pushes your hands away until you’re grasping at the bed.  

He loves it like this most. Your whimpers, his attention. Doting. Slow. Stretched.

It’s been midnight all day, feels like. A perpetual polar night, permissive of a time when eternity lies tucked inside the thin cotton sheet currently gathered over his back, dropping low.

Bucky hums between your knees, bristled jaw agonizing sensitive skin and your toes curl tightly at the thought of his tickling fingertips. A shuddering breath takes flight when you whine. So, he relents and rises, blanket falling away completely and the both of you are open in the dim inky blue—chilled, until he brackets you in with his right arm on the other side of your shoulder.

“If you let me,” Raspy and low, whispered into your ear and your very soul trembles with the hanging promise of his words. “I’ll love you, honey,” a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Love you good,” a kiss to your neck where the pulse jumps along, “Love you best.”

A flick of his tongue to the hollow of your collarbones, knee spreading your thighs open. Bucky smiles when he looks at you, “Love you again and again.”

The vibration of his voice tumbles into your ears and down the length of your spine, spinning the weight in your stomach into a typhoon.

Silent permission in the form of your repositioning, facing him fully now, chest to chest on your side, admiring each other with adjusted night vision eyes, kept safe from the world beyond this carapace of his body over yours.

Fingers make their way between your thighs, above his knee, sinking slow and soft into the swollen flesh well-loved many times this morning—afternoon, evening—by him. You’re tender, shuddering, sore. Toeing the edge of breaking completely into pieces.

Soft moans and damp gasps, he works his way into you, fingers first. One, then two, then three because he’s captivated by the way you unravel for him so quickly. Doesn’t even care about himself most times, even though you plead with me, Bucky, come with me. It’s too sweet to simply watch you.

He moves them cleverly-- ring over middle while his pointer gently strokes. Then, they shuffle like tumblers in a lock, spreading and retreating, and your fists clench against his chest, knuckles rapping on his collar.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, “Feel good, honey?”

You do. Oh, you do, and he knows. He knows everything about you. Your eyes ask again for his length—the feeling of him inside of you. The sacred moment when two yield into one and Bucky dissolves you completely.

“This what you want?” He sighs, moving on top now, pushing himself between your legs, his half-knotted hair falling apart and caging your faces together with their soft strands. You lean your cheek against them, bite your lip just a little at him, keep at bay all the words you really want to say.

Strong and velvet, easily slick with wet from how he’s coaxed you open, he slides in. All the way. All the way and you feel it up to your chest. That swell. That hurt. That consummate loving. Water and blood, and the throb of him rubbing, rubbing, rubbing. His voice, quaking just a little bit, simmering low and then broken, shattered with love.

“God. Baby,” he pleads, “Christ. Fuck. Honey,” the ramblings of a man far gone. Hips rolling this way and that, bucking slow but steady, and hard, too, his pelvis flush against yours with each contact. Your fingertips dig gently to anchor yourself inside his sea, raging hot.

You swallow his voice, his rhythm, let the saltwater sear your lungs, still greedy for more because you need him just the same way—open, taken, devastated, crawled inside your ribcage, nesting within your heartbeat, branded onto your soul.

“Take all of me, lover,” Bucky whispers, “Want you to have it all.”

Lover.

And what a lover he is.

As instantaneous as it arrived, there is submergence. Drowning. Unforgiving tides plunging you into the deep—frantic pockets of what’s left of your breath bubbling overhead and encasing his name. He holds fast one final time, kissing your crumbling mouth, quivering, worrying, lips plump and ripe with overwork—red and receptive and ready. All of you and all of him folding in over each other, dashing yourselves onto the rocks of an undoing so complete you burst apart. And then, Bucky plummets, too, shuddering and wrecked and entirely yours just like he wanted.

-

The long spell of interrupted time strikes some unknown hour. Both of you have purposely lost count of the minutes, yet it still chimes an insolent reminder with every exhale he breathes into the dark. Bucky blinks slowly at the ceiling, tallies the reedy scores of thatch and chews on the skin of his lip.

It’s these moment that hurt the most. When he does nothing but exist unwaveringly on the shoreline edge of your reality and fantasy, blue and unhurried. You, enraptured. Him, endless. There is nothing to do but stare, watching his eyes ebb and flow, adrift in the increasingly tangible tomorrow.

“You said I could have everything,” you lament against his cold left side, against that frigid alien metal, flint grey and threaded with gold. Reinforced and strong like how he feels again with its attachment. You wish you could care for it the way he does, but you know its arrival summons his departure. So there is only righteous spite.

Bucky presses his lips to your shoulder before he tugs the curtain aside, letting the evening dusk pour in with cricket song and briny lake mist. Up now, he sits face turned out toward the field, his bare back lined with the imprint of laid-in sheets, creases tracing cracked webbed patterns of peach flesh.

His silence breaks you anew, heavy chest pulsating with terrors only imagination can conjure about the unknown. Rivers flood wide paths down your cheeks, depositing heavy droplets along your jaw, collecting unsaid sorrows.

“Stay with me,” you cry, “Let me keep you.”

He steers the torrent with that horrible left arm, a poor impostor compared to the phantom space you loved even in absence. Bucky tangles his legs with yours, pulls you halfway into his lap, kisses you until your tears find a new home along the generous line of his mouth. He soothes you with his touch, but his eyes are far away.

And it is here where you suffer the truth.

As you’ve always known about him-- ever since first meeting him in the Golden City where the sunlight turned threads of his burnished chestnut hair amber; ever since touching him, tracing the arteries of his pale right arm up to his shoulder like following a pathway home; ever since loving him, engraving a space for him, recovering him from what he believes of himself—the truth, is this:

You don’t care about what he is made of, what he is made for, or what he will be made to do.

But, you are not Bucky, who wants a place carved on the battlefield because he holds onto the notion of repentance and duty. You are not the King, you are not Steve Rogers. You are not the world that broke him or the world that wants him broken again.

And, you know, as you’ve always known.

You cannot keep him.

 “Bucky,” you follow his gaze out into the field beneath a waning moon’s light, “Come back to me.”

Silver beams outline his face as he turns. Lashes so pretty you could trace them one by one. Cheeks holding onto a few final rosy blooms from when he came apart in your arms. Lips parted, chafed by the most desperate love. Eyes in a gentle fall, downwelling with fatigue and the weight of your trembling heart.

He smiles and the entire world could weep.

He knows. He knows everything.

“I will,” Bucky says, calm and endless and blue like the Pacific itself, “I will.”

-

perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity​ @iwannasail @ya-lyublu-tebya @geeksareunique @wildefire @satanxklaus @jhangelface0523 @wkemeup @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​

[mrs-hatake]

i guess i’m just a playdate to you

Pairing: Kakashi x Reader

Genre: angst

Warning: mentions of character deaths, open and ambiguous ending.

Word Count: 2825

A/N: aaaanndd i’m back with more angst! this is inspired by a kakashi edit on tiktok by alyez_ and i LEGIT got all teary eyed after watching so i just HAD to make you guys sad as well lmao.

p.s: Y/E/C = Your/Eye/Color

p.s.s: not proof read

They say that time heals scars but the person who came up with that obviously never lost the person he loved and cherished the most for if they had, then they wouldn’t have said such a careless thing. 

You were strongly reminded by that quote as you stood amongst hundreds of Konoha villagers in anticipation for Kakashi’s coronation as Konohakagure’s sixth Hokage. 

Everyone had been surprised by the news but they were happy to have such a strong and responsible man as a leader, to no longer feel weak and unprotected but safe and even feared by other villages. Everyone was excited for this day.

But not you.

You were saddened by this.

Suddenly, those around you cheered and applauded as loudly as they can as Tsunade, the former Hokage, stepped onto the podium to address the villagers with a formal goodbye.

Your heart squeezed tightly once your eyes spotted Kakashi standing in the distance, face hidden behind his mask but his eye held no emotion in them. 

There was a lump in your throat and you tried to swallow it away but your throat was as dry as sand paper, making it painful for you to swallow. 

Tsunade’s words fell on deaf ears as tears filled the corner of your eyes and, without even knowing it, you were pushing yourself out of the crowed and somewhere far away from the coronation. The last thing you heard was the crowed screaming and cheering as Kakashi stepped onto the podium next to Tsunade.

-

You’ve been walking for hours. How much exactly, you weren’t sure. All that you knew was that your feet were moving for a very long time and soon you found yourself along the outskirts of the Naka River and the sun setting into the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant shades of red and oranges, reminding you of that special day you don’t think you’d ever forget. 

It was the day of Rin’s funeral and everyone had gathered to bid the young Kunoichi goodbye.

Although you were a regular civilain and didn’t understand the severity of the loss or the sacrifice she had made, you understood the tragedy the village was facing, especially your childhood neighbor Hatake Kakashi.  

Kakashi had wandered off towards the end of the funeral and didn’t bother to stick around for the aftermath of the event. 

Knowing how much Kakashi had suffered and the people he had lost in his younger days, you bit your lip in worry as you set off to find him.

Eventually, you found him sitting on a cliff overlooking Konoha, the sun was setting in the distance and it cast the village in an orange hue. 

The young boy had his knees pulled up and pressed to his chest while his chin rested on his arms atop of them. 

You were positive that there were no words that would comfort the boy so you did the next best thing, you sat next to him with your arm around him and listened to Kakashi as he silently cried.

A tear escaped and rolled down your cheek at the memory but you quickly wiped it away and continued in your aimless walk.

There were rustling sounds coming from one of the bushes in the distance that made you stop in your tracks, your heart beating loudly in your ears in anticipation. Holding your breath, you slowly inched forward and was startled when a small white rabbit jumped from within the bushes.

Your shoulders sagged and a shaky exhale escaped your lips. The small white rabbit stared at you in curiosity, it’s small red eyes blinking up at you.

You offered the harmless creature a small smile but it jumped off deeper into the forest. You watched after it and remembered an early morning similar to this encounter.

When Minato and Kushina died, the entirety of Konoha were in mourn. But no one experienced such a great loss like Kakashi. Right when things were finally starting to get normal and Kakashi had the opportunity to experience what having a loving family was like, his parental figures die, one in battle while the other after giving birth. 

Your eyes never wandered off of Kakashi as you followed him through the woods. You knew that Kakashi would run off faster than the speed of light if he wanted to but you were glad that he was allowing you to be close to him. Though, that didn’t mean you didn’t worry over the boy. 

He had just returned from evacuating the villagers into safety after the sudden attack of the Kyuubi when the former Hokage had informed Kakashi of Minato and Kushina’s deaths.

Kakashi had no reaction. His eyes didn’t well up with tears, he didn’t let out a cry of anguish, not even questioning the Hokage. He just accepted their deaths and walked out of the office.

You had run into him as you were helping your father clean up your mini market when the silver haired teenager walked by. Your eyes lit up and you were about to greet him with a bright smile but when you noticed his hunched form and his hands buried deep into his pockets, you knew there was something wrong.

You quickly ran off to catch up with Kakashi and when you were within reach, you griped his shoulder and turned him around to face you. The sight that greeted you shook you to your core. His eyes were filled to the brim with tears and his cheeks flushed a deep red color. His mask was soaking wet at the never ending tears cascading down his cheeks.

“They’re gone.”

Harshly, you rubbed your eyes to will the memory away.

You’ve known Kakashi since you were a little girl and for as long as you’ve known the silver haired man, he had always been stalked by tragedy. Wherever he went, whomever he had cherished and valued, tragedy would clutch its greedy fingers on them and snatch them away from Kakashi. It happened with his biological parents, his best friends and then with his parental figures.

It was too much for the teenager and it made perfect sense why he ended up joining ANBU. 

“You can’t be serious.”

It had been two weeks since Minato and Kushina’s deaths. The village of Konoha continued on with their lives while the third Hokage returned to his rule.

It was early morning and you were manning the cashier at your father’s mini market. It was a slow and boring day with nothing to entertain you other than a trashy Shinobi magazine with a ‘Top 10 list of the Hottest Shinobi in Konoha.” clutched between your fingers.

It was so quiet that you were about to fall asleep when the door opened and the bells signaled the arrival of a new costumer. Your sleepy expression turned into one of joy as Kakashi walked in and stopped in front of you.

“Kakashi!” Your lips turned upwards into a bright smile, “What can I do for you?”

The teenager said nothing, his hands deep in his pockets, as his eyes scanned the shelves of chewing gum and cigarettes behind you.

“I’m joining ANBU.” He said simply. His voice so quiet that you were certain you misheard him.

You were a civilian and you didn’t know much about the Shinobi world but everyone knew of ANBU. Knew the excruciating and intense training Shinobi went through in order to be masterful and be higher in ranks.

Your smile faltered, “I’m sorry?”

Kakashi’s visible brown eye met yours, “Danzo recruited me to join ANBU.”

Before you could say anything else, Kakashi had turned around and exited the market, leaving you in a stunned daze.

Quickly, you snapped out it and followed after Kakashi.

“Oi, Kakashi! Wait!”

But the boy continued on walking.

Angered, you ran up to him and took hold of his shoulder and forced him around to face you, “What are you doing?”

Kakashi avoided eye contact and said nothing. Your angry aura and the hurt in your eyes ineffective to him.

“Are you seriously joining ANBU or are you playing some mean joke because it isn’t funny.”

“I’m serious.” His eye met yours and you were surprised by the harshness in it. Never in your life had Kakashi looked at you that way. It was so sudden and unfamiliar that you dropped your hand from his shoulder and took a step back.

“It’s dangerous.” You whispered and all that Kakashi could do was shrug his shoulders at you.

“I can handle it.” He said in his quiet, monotone voice.

“You could die!” Your voice grew louder, as if it could somehow explain to Kakashi how stupid joining ANBU was.

He said nothing though and slowly blinked at you. 

When you had nothing else to say, Kakashi turned around and walked away.

Tears rapidly filled your eyes before they rolled down your cheeks as you watched Kakashi walk away from you and, possibly, never coming back.

You hadn’t seen nor spoken to Kakashi for the next twelve years after that day. Your entire routine was thrown out of loop as you lost sleep worrying over Kakashi and fearing for his life. You became so depressed that you couldn’t continue working in your father’s mini market and almost dropped out of school had it not been for Gai who visited you one night to inform you about Kakashi’s well-being. You remember breaking down in his arms, relief suffocating you at knowing that Kakashi was alive and well. 

You didn’t get to see Kakashi until your second year as an elementary school teacher for the civilian children of Konoha. It happened by accident really. You were tidying up the class and preparing for the day’s lesson plan when you had spotted the taller and stronger looking man through the window.

His face was still hidden behind his mask and his right eye was still hidden from sight. He was followed by three children who all had different hair colors; one girl had long pink hair while the two other boys had blonde and black hairs respectively.

His appearance stunned you into silence and you would’ve left the classroom to follow after the man had it not been for your students walking in and announcing their presence.

The second time you saw Kakashi was another coincidence. School had been let out early and you didn’t feel like going home just eat. Instead, you went to Ichiraku’s Ramen shop for lunch.

“I’ll be sure to drop by again!” You called over your shoulders, a melodic chuckle escaping your lips, when you suddenly bumped into someone.

Large hands strongly gripped onto your shoulders to balance your footing and to prevent you from falling, “I’m sorry! I should’ve wa-”

Brown eye met Y/E/C in a startled yet dumfounded expression.

“-tch where I’m going.” You trailed off.

Seeing Kakashi up close was messing up with your head and your heart was beating so loud you feared that it would stop. 

“It’s fine.” His voice was deeper but it still had the quietness in it. Vaguely, you remembered Kakashi’s father having a similar tone of voice.

“Hurry up, Kakashi! You’re paying!” The shouts of a blonde boy sitting on the barstool interrupted your thoughts and the two of you jumped back.

“I should go.” Kakashi stated and rubbed the back his neck.

All you could do was nod your head and watch him walk into the ramen shop. Something deep inside of you told you that won’t be the last time you’d run into the most powerful Shinobi and you could feel a small smile crawl its way across your lips in anticipation.

Things between you and Kakashi were great. Your friendship rekindled and your bond grew stronger than ever. However, Kakashi still kept his distance. And, as an adult and having heard of the risks of the Shinobi lifestyle, you understood and accepted Kakashi’s cautions, especially knowing what kind of childhood he suffered.

And when tragedy struck again with one of his students (you eventually learn as Sasuke) took off with a dangerous rouge Shinobi, you were there for Kakashi.

You were even there when Naruto left Konoha to train with his mentor and Sakura interning for Tsunade, and comforted Kakashi during his loneliness.

And right before the beginning of the Fourth Great War where Kakashi had snuck into your apartment and begged for you to stay safe and wait for him, his brown eye wet with unshed tears, you did as your told and sealed the promise with a kiss to the cheek.

So it made no sense for Kakashi to return to apartment one day after the Great War with his expression resembling the very same one when he had told you he was joining ANBU.

You already knew Kakashi was going to say something you weren’t going to like by that expression alone and you were already shaking your head ‘no’ before he could even say anything else.

“Y/N, listen to me-”

“No!” You shut your eyes tight, not wanting for whatever it was Kakashi was going to say to come true. 

You heard him deeply sigh through his nose and soon felt his strong arms wrap around you, “I’m sorry.” He whispered softly into your ears, in hopes to calm you down, “But I’ve been chosen and they need m-”

But you didn’t want to hear what Kakashi was saying so you walked away from his embrace, “I need you!” You spat harshly, tear streaks on your cheeks.

“I was there for you. During everything, not out of obligation but out of love and you left me to join ANBU. That broke my heart, Kakashi, did you know that?”

The silver haired man didn’t. He said nothing as he watched you run your hand through your locks of hair, making it appear messier than its usual kept style.

“I was alone and depressed. I was scared that i would never see you again.” Teary Y/E/C met his briefly before looking away, “And when I finally moved on and things became normal, you’re back in my life as if nothing happened.” You chuckled humorously.

“And I was there for you when your kids left, I was there for you when literally died, even if only for a couple of minutes, and I waited for you during the war. And when it was finally over, when I thought that we’d finally live our lives like everyone else and finally be together, you want to throw all of that to be a Hokage!”

You were panting and your eyebrows furrowed in sorrow. The tears stopped falling but your cheeks were still wet. “I would be fine if you said you’re going to be Hokage and I could be there for you a-as a friend - maybe something even more if you’ve ever felt that way towards me - but you tell me that you can no longer see me.”

It wasn’t meant as a question, though Kakashi answered nonetheless, “To keep you saf-”

“I don’t give a shit!”

Silence met your ears and once you were able to calm down, You had asked Kakashi to leave.

That was a week ago and you haven’t seen Kakashi until earlier today. 

When your feet halted their movements, blood staining the soles of your feet and your toes in pain, you finally stopped walking at the end of Naka river. 

The sun had completely set and the forest was eerily quiet. You weren’t sure how far away from home you were though, you didn’t care. You just wanted to be as far away from the ceremony as possible.

Sitting down on the grass, you wondered how differently your life could’ve been if you had run into Kakashi outside of the ramen shop. Would you have fallen in love with a civilian that you’d eventually marry? You’d probably have at least two of his kids by now running around your tiny little home. Would you have let them join the Academy if they had asked you to? Probably not.

Maybe you and Kakashi were never meant to be. Your love from your childhood well into your adulthood could’ve been one sided after all. Though, there were moments where you believed Kakashi loved you as much as you did. Maybe not during his childhood but you’ve seen it in his adulthood. The way  he’d look at you when you thought you weren’t looking, those brief touches and him always visiting you after returning from a dangerous mission. You were positive that he loved you when Kakashi had been to your apartment and told you to stay safe before the Great War all those months ago.

Exhaustion settled into you and your eyes soon grew droopy. Resting against a tree, you entertained your mind of thoughts of Kakashi retiring from the Shinobi life and spending the rest of his days with you as you welcomed the cold embrace of sleep.

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.6

Holy Wrath

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)       x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 2380

Summary: Things get messier. ‘Natasha Rogers’ is not the only lost soul... and God always works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?

Warnings: mentions of violent deaths and torture, amnesia, swearing, supernatural stuff... and angst with some hope in it ;)

Story masterlist

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Two businessmen faced each other in a shadowy room with unpleasantly sterile lights; an attentive eye would recognize they found themselves in a vault due to the heavy door with a golden wheel opening and the drawers lining the walls. A small army of heavily armed men along said cases created an air of being secure as much as in danger.

Just standing in such room put a weight on one’s chest – especially with the terrifying chair with straps and heavy panels ready to ruin human mind, a tranquilized man trapped in it.

Of course, one of the men facing each other, the older looking one, had no reason to feel threatened. He was simply doing business here and the army was at his side. His wrinkled face was scrunched in a grimace though, deeply discontent as he stared at the other man in no less expensive suit, but with an almost friendly glint in his eyes, a bit goofy face with a beard, framed by curly dark hair.

One would feel pressured in such space to begin with, but now, the two ‘businessmen’ built up an atmosphere nearly suffocating, a tension cuttable with a knife. The suspicious calmness of the goofy man was extremely irritating to the other.

Because clearly, they had made a mistake. A really fucking big one. The blond old man clenched his fists as he continued the rather loud conversation with the man who had showed up out of nowhere, claiming to share his interests and offering a lot of money.

Dammit, he should have known better than take an advice from him!

The mess they were in now!

“You said that killing her will bring a stop to the Avengers, because he was sickeningly in love with her,” the blond strained through his teeth, tone dangerous to cover up his growing fear for their mission. “That he will be grieving so much that he won’t be able to fight! He’s fighting like a madman!”

The dark-haired man only smiled, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Perhaps he reacted differently than we expected him to.”

“PERHAPS!!” echoed in the vault madly, making several people flinch. Not the one who was being parroted mockingly and with rage though. “He’s taking down our facilities. One. By. One!”

“Seems like fate wanted it that way. Or, you know, God’s will-“

“I don’t give a damn about God’s will!” the blond sputtered back.

His business partner made a face, his grimace as if saying ‘ouch’. His tone when he spoke up told the same tale. “Well, I…. I wouldn’t say that if I were you.”

“Why? Because the holy wrath will be set upon me? Please. There’s no God. And if there was, he sure would like me doing what-”

The blond’s bright blue eyes seemed to bulge sickeningly as his fingers reached for his throat, struggling to take a breath all of sudden, unable to finish his sentence. He stumbled back with an accusing and yet bewildered gaze, causing all of the men draw their weapons and aim them at the supposed enemy.

An enemy who only tilted his head, otherwise not doing a thing. Was he even the cause of the older man choking? He couldn’t, right?  How would he?

“Wh-ah-I..?”

With a flick of a hand, all of the soldiers fell to the ground, unconscious.

The men who were sitting at the monitoring would have seen that it happened all over the facility, hidden in one of the biggest bank in Washington, but they didn’t – they lost consciousness as well.

The goofy man gave his partner a tight-lipped smile, almost patronizing.

“Ah. I don’t know. ‘He who lies in His name shall choke on his own false tongue’ feels pretty real now, doesn’t it?” he exclaimed and repeated the motion that had sent all of the armed men to the floor. He pointed at his hand then, grinning like a kid, genuinely excited. “I love to do that for effect. I don’t have to, a thought would be enough, but the dramatics is exceptional.”

He snapped his fingers then, suddenly standing in front the choking man in more comfortable clothes of jeans and lose plaid shirt. He allowed the other man to breathe in so he wouldn’t pass out; yet, he wouldn’t be able to speak just yet.

“If I had let you continue your… master plan without my good advice, you just might have succeeded,” he hummed, strolling through the sea of sleeping men, careful not to step on any. He shook his head, a parent’s disproval, a disappointed Father regretting not raising his sons better. “But humans, like every other creations, no matter how beautiful, are flawed. Money, oh money… why are you, my children so greedy, so trustful to anyone who offers you a coin….”

“Grzhmchr-“ was the only sound leaving the other man’s throat as he fell to his knees, fear flashing in his eyes along with more and more confusion.

“What can I say. Nobody’s perfect. And strings of fate are funny things when played right… they can orchestrate a lovely sound,” the dark-haired man mused, turning to face his former partner fully. “Have a good day, Director Pierce. The Avengers should find you here at their next mission.”

With the last words spoken, Director Pierce’s grip on his own throat eased and his body fell limp to the ground. The other man smiled when he saw his chest rise and fall periodically, assured none of these men were actually dead. That wasn’t the plan, after all. They needed to face a different kind of justice.

He glanced at the electric chair then and the man lying there, breathing shallow, heart-rate alarmingly low for anyone but him and one more person whose cells had been modified to endure almost anything… even an explosion despite running straight into it.

“Ah, such troubled soul…” the powerful man sighed longingly, his face twisting with sympathy no one had provided to the prisoner not only of war, but also his own body. He walked to him slowly, a healing hand hovering over the man’s forehead. “You lived through more than you should have, my friend. You shall start your healing.”

The soft light shone above the pale skin, gently sweeping in, illuminating the veins running over the surface, disappearing in the messy hairline. The lying man blinked his eyes open and quickly backed into the backrest before his training kicked in.

It was just such a confusing wake-up. He felt too lightheaded, his chest less constricted than usual, missing a crushing weight. His thoughts… flowed in an unfamiliar way – a way he forgot that existed. His instincts screamed to reach for the other man’s throat to grab him and interrogate him, because he wasn’t his master, but… at the same time, he didn’t quite want to do that. No one told him to do so. He felt uneasy and bewildered, yes, but not in danger.

Still, he listened to his training and his hand shot up, only to grasp thin air. The man had already moved away, causing the freshly woken up man blink in surprise and break his bonds instinctively to follow.

But the man, who had forced him to wake up after they had sedated him, smiled at him kindly. It scared the shit out of him, not that he would admit it. Kindness scared him – he wasn’t used to it, not really, not anymore. Whenever someone showed some, it came with a price of a human life. Now, his mind flooded with images of empty eyes, accusing him of doing the wrong thing instead of a right one as he had been promised.

And this man was to blame for these overwhelming sensations, perhaps was responsible of the men on the floor too.

Were those… masters of his… unconscious? Dead? No, no dead, their chest was rising and falling. Only not conscious then. Who the hell was this man?

“Who-what-?” he choked out, glaring at the stranger. Why hadn’t he attacked him yet? Didn’t give him an order, said the words that… would they still do that to him? That… that thing when his body wasn’t quite his? Flip the switch?

The switch… it seemed to be missing now. Where the hell had it gone?

“Sergeant Barnes, welcome back.”

“How- what did you-- who are you?” Barnes finally sat up straight, his head swimming unpleasantly. He overcame it and forced himself to stand.

Holy shit, the world was spinning. Also, it wasn’t any making sense, sending one confusing signal after another. Barnes’ mind was a mess. He remembered this was his name, even though lately he had been called that name rather mockingly, more used to being a soldat.

The only other conscious man held out his hand as if in a comforting gesture.

“Easy. I’m not here to hurt you. But unless you want to be found by the Avengers, by heroes who include your best friend, you better go find your peace and meet them when you’re ready.”

Forget about the world not making sense. Now it went entirely crazy.

Best friend. Steve. Could this man talk about Steve? Avengers? Who the hell were the Avengers? So many images flickered through his head, but it didn’t include any… Avengers. Images of the past, tens of years ago, clear and sharp as they shouldn’t be, an angry tiny blond swaying his fists and wishing to take on the world and then suddenly growing several inches, and all of that mingled with fragments of memories not quite his and yet his only. What year was it anyway?

He grasped on the only thing that seemed to comfort him, ground him, the only thing he was sure of.

“My best friend? It’s… is Steve still alive? It’s been about seventy years-“ Right? “-on and off— how do I know that? Shit, what did I do?”

The empty eyes staring at him. Oh god, the empty eyes... life vanishing under his hands – a flesh one and a metal one – hands crimson with blood…

His breathing picked up, his head pounding with an ache unknown and the other man grimaced again at the agony he saw. He didn’t think he should interfere more though – Barnes needed to deal with this on his own terms.

“Calm down, James. None of that was your fault and until you accept that, you’d better off without them. The Avengers,” he explained, but the soldier would have none of it, the horrifying images, feeling so disgustingly wrong as his little soul had been locked in a mind of a dull servant, crying when taking a life.

“I… the things I did, oh my god-”

“You are not to blame for what they forced you to do. I could make you forget, but that would only complicate things,” the bearded man thought out loud, only brining more chaos with his words. He tried his best to sound soothing. “Try to forgive yourself and when the time is right… you’ll see your friend again.”

“He might be dead by then!” Barnes blurted out, suddenly overtaken by panic. Steve was alive. If this man was right and Steve was alive – how did he know that, who was he, how- Steve. That little punk letting the army experiment on him only to- where was he, how was he, what- “He’s like… what year it is exactly?”

“2013,” came the resigned reply.

“He’s ninety-five. Ninety-five! If he’s still l alive, I have to see him!”

The calmer man held out his hand again when the soldier unmistakably headed to the exit. “He’s been met with nearly same fate, James. Do not worry about his vessel. He is well. I mean… kinda. He’s been on edge, lately.”

Barnes wavered. This man had been gentle with him, as if he wanted to help. He knew way too many things, probably not lying so far. It was all kinds of fishy.

“Alright, I’m gonna ask again. Who are you?” the soldier demanded, eyes narrowed.

He didn’t feel the need to actually attack the man and he didn’t know why and he was afraid and confused and everything hurt, his arm felt heavy despite the muscles adapting ages ago and he had to see Steve if he was still freaking alive and- but after everything he had done--

“You’re not asking the right questions. Go, James. Find your place in the world again and learn about what happened to your friend,” the man advised again patiently. He beckoned to the men on the floor; instinctively, Bucky knew they were bad. Rotten even, and not just because he could suddenly see through all their lies. How, by the way? “Leave these men for the Avengers to find. They are not your problem, I’ll take care of them. You’re free now.”

Bucky Barnes looked around, not assured. His heart was racing, almost as fast as his mind. He had messed up the world, hadn’t he? The least he could so was to deliver these men to… what, police? Justice?

“But-“ he started up defensively, but out of blue, he found himself in a dark alley – and the man was still facing him.

What the fuck got him here and was this man some sort of a… was magic a thing? This couldn’t be result of some serum, right?

“You-“

“Go,” the man asked of him kindly, adding a smile that looked even goofy, in a stark contrast to his serious eyes. “What you saw, that’s how the justice will find them.”

Was this guy a friggin’ mind-reader too?!

“What the hell?!” Bucky just choked out, frantically scanning his surroundings.

Where was he anyway? The noise of today’s world was hurting his ears. What was he supposed to do? He only knew mission for the past decades, his will not even his own, how was he supposed to proceed?

Finding peace as the man had told him wasn’t exactly a precise order – and yet it was, the most difficult order he could remember receiving.

“Goodbye,” said the man for a good measure, walking away and leaving the poor soldier dumbstruck in a foreign city, in a foreign life.

Barnes stared after him, unable to say a word, unable to move a single muscle. Then, before disappearing among the people roaming the streets in what could be a very late hour, the mysterious powerful man glanced over his shoulder with a last smile and whispered barely audible – not for supersoldier’s ears though.

“Oh, and Bucky? Name’s Chuck.”

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Part 7

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Alternative chapter title – Let’s Make Things a Bit Messier ;) If you didn’t watch Supernatural, Chuck is… Chuck is a powerful being and you might have figured out who exactly… yes, SPN went there.

One more surprise appearance in the next chapter ;)

Thank you for reading! 

[masked-buffoon]

Chapter 12: Curtain call (Part 5)

Warnings: violence, death

Author notes: although it  may seem like it... It is not the end yet...! There are some things that still need to be done... I’ll let you guess what, and do comment about your thoughts!

I sighed and dropped the empty weapon to the ground. The fight was over, but there was still no trace of Taikin-san nor his son. I ran a hand through my hair and groaned. It was sticky, and I had blood all over my clothes and face. For my last day as a killer, this sure was a massacre… I crouched down next to the corpses and searched them. I wanted an average gun or two, they suited my skills more than submachine guns and were usually more discreet. Nothing. I pouted and let myself slide down, suddenly feeling exhausted. I had fought so many people, following the information the Fox had given me. He would not dare lie to me… Would he…? No, it was impossible, but it seemed my opponents had foreseen my moves. Why, I had been predictable, after all, and had attacked without even a strategy, blinded by anger. I had to calm down and think. Think… Thoughts. My mind was not empty, someone was still around. Although the painful thumping in my head made it hard to distinguish exactly what was being thought, I could still locate the person. I explored the warehouse. It was a single large room, so the only place where someone could be hiding was the containers.

In the back, placed in the middle of other boxes, there was a large one, made of a different material from the others. I placed my hand on it and knocked slightly. It was bulletproof. My eyes were drawn towards the lock closing it. It required a digital code I did not own, and, without guns, I could not even shoot it open. Even with guns, I would have taken the risk to damage it, anyway. Suddenly, my phone rang, again. A different number, but the person had to be the same.

"The code is 1231."

I had given up on determining who the mysterious sender was and simply entered the pin to unlock the container. It worked. The heavy door opened to reveal none other than a crying Sakunosuke-kun, who threw himself in my arms as soon as he saw me, despite all the blood I was covered in. I cracked a smile, and hugged him back, relieved to see him alive.

"Nē-san!" He cried, clinging onto me "Nē-san…!"

"I'm here, Sakunosuke-kun…" I patted his head as gently as possible "It's all over now… Let's get out of here, alright?"

He nodded and I picked him up in my arms. In spite of the danger we could face if I could not fight back, considering how my hands were taken, I judged that child needed warmth more at the moment. The boy nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck as I walked us towards the exit.

A gunshot echoed in the warehouse, and I barely had time to crouch down to dodge it. In the direction of the attack, a single man was standing. He had surely been hiding all this time, and I had not noticed him, too absorbed by my fight. I smirked and put the kid down.

"I'll be back… Scream if anything happens." I told him before turning my attention to the man "I was looking for you everywhere…! I thought you had been killed, Taikin-san…~"

"Too bad, I'm still alive. For a detective serving justice, you really don't hesitate to spill blood…!" He replied with the same tone.

"What are you saying, 'too bad…?" I snorted "I'll have the pleasure of killing you, now…! You disgusting criminal…"

"Then come…! I'm waiting for you!" He invited me over.

I raised an eyebrow.

"You saw what I did… Do you truly think you stand a chance against me?"

"You shouldn't underestimate your opponent… I am a member of a shooting club…!"

"Is that so…? Interesting…"

I crouched down to avoid his next bullet, then sneaked between the containers and made my way towards him while using my surroundings to protect myself against his shots. I had him in my field of view, and he was surely aware that I was there, too. I reached for my guns, but my holsters were empty; I had thrown the useless weapons away, earlier.

"Hoh~? You dare come unprepared?" He chuckled.

My phone vibrated.

"Where are you looking at~?"

Once again, I dodged his attack, and jumped on him to pin him to the ground. It was not enough to neutralise him, however, and he pointed his gun on my forehead. I was utterly defeated...

"I think you lost, this time, detective." He snickered "Meddling in my business…"

"Before you kill me, Taikin-san…" I said "I am curious…"

"I suppose I could answer your question before I kill you, after all… What do you want to know?"

"... How much did you underestimate the Agency to hire us, thinking we would never find out about your schemes…?"

"Huh?"

From a pocket of my jacket, I pulled out a knife and sliced his hand from his arm, before planting the blade into his neck, right into his carotid artery. His last expression was one of pure shock, but I did not mind too much. I left his corpse there and went back to his son, now an orphan. He was sobbing because his loving father had died, but I could hear he was aware of the horrors he had committed. I hoped he would never come to know about his deceased brother… He had never gotten to grow up with him, there was no need to ever tell him about that child…

"It really is over now…" I smiled at him, wiping his tears away with my thumb "Let's get you back to your mother now…"

"Mmh…"

Outside, the sun was falling towards the sea, painting the sky in beautiful crimson shades. Sakunosuke-kun had fallen asleep… The seagulls cried right above our heads, welcoming us out of that morbid place. The case was over… My existence as a criminal was over, but so were my hopes to enter the Agency. I had killed the culprit instead of giving him a fair trial, that was enough to seal my fate. But whatever would happen, I would not kill anymore.

A silhouette was leaning against the wall, visibly waiting for me. I grinned at the person.

"I knew it was you."

"I'm not going to charge you for the extra information I provided you during that… Mess." The Fox crossed his arms "Although you did cost me three burner phones and my sanity… Do you know how hard it was to hide from those guys? They are such brutes…!"

"Why, it wasn't that difficult, seeing how you skillfully hid that knife in my jacket while I was resting, at your place." I conceded.

"I really could have killed you then, right?"

"How would I have known which pocket the knife was in if I wasn't already aware…?" I asked smugly.

"Raaah you…!" He whined "Let me tell you, you're annoying, the worst client I've ever had…!"

"Fox…"

"You're never satisfied and always act so condescending…!" He pointed a wagging finger at me.

"Hey, Fox…"

"It's not my fault you're more witted than me…! Next time, get your information by yourself…!" He exclaimed.

"Fox!"

"What now…?!"

"Thank you." I smiled at him.

"You — Wait, what…?"

"Thank you." I repeated "Without you, I wouldn't have been able to win."

It was impossible to suppress an entire organisation alone, but I had not been by myself. In the shadows, that genius informer had been assisting me. And I was most grateful to him.

"W-Well, you're welcome…" He mumbled "Just did my job… Besides…"

He sighed heavily.

"I received a message from my mentor… He told me to help you whenever you needed, even for free…! I couldn't refuse…"

"Your mentor…?" I blinked.

"I inherited his casino when he stopped his activities. But I can't tell you his name…"

I could not help the laugh which escaped my throat, a real, sincerely amused one, which managed to bring tears to my eyes. I had been outdone, this time…!

"It's Uemura-san, isn't it?" I asked, trying to calm down.

"What…? How did you know even that…!"

"He was an informer for the Port Mafia, after all…" I recalled "And I had gone to him before asking for your services."

"So you didn't even think about me first…?! I'm upset…" He pouted.

"But I truly do not regret working with you." I admitted "You even surpass him, now…"

"So… That means I'll have to assist you more, from now on…?" He grimaced.

"Unfortunately, I didn't keep my words to Uemura-san… I am unable to join the Agency with… That." I showed him the scene "So it's the first and last time…"

"That's too bad…" He muttered "You're an interesting person…"

"I thought I was the worst customer?" He smirked.

"Customer…! But as a… Collaborator, you're not that bad…"

"I'll take that compliment~"

We left each other respectfully and I watched as he walked back to the shadows. As to me… What could I do, now that I had failed the entrance test…? I hoped that, at least, Dazai will keep giving me sleep… What if he refused to see me because I had failed his expectations…? I did not want to think about it and simply carried the boy to the Armed Detective Agency, where they would be able to take care of him.

I gently put him in front of the door and knocked so someone would find him. There was nothing more I could do for that family… The moment I turned around to leave the building, someone called my name.

"Ogawa."

I was embarrassed — no, even worse, I was ashamed. That person had trusted me despite our differences… I did not want to turn around and show him how tainted I truly was, both physically and emotionally. I stayed stunned in the middle of the corridor.

"Are you really going to leave him there? Won't you take him to his mother?" Kuninida asked me.

"... I cannot…" I murmured.

"You know, there is a stain on your pants…" He noted.

My cheeks heated up violently, and I wanted to bury myself in a hole. If only I had left earlier, instead of staring at the peaceful boy's face… I clenched my fists.

"Is that so…?" I did my best so my voice would not sound cracked.

"Well…" I heard him grumble "It's normal, after all… It was such a mess in that warehouse. It's a miracle that the boy survived whereas that shooting occurred. All of that for drugs, can you believe it?"

I glanced over my shoulder slightly.

"What… What did you say…?"

"The group working for Taikin-san suddenly got greedy and wanted to get the drugs for themselves, which resulted in a fight. I thought you knew?" He explained.

I decided, finally, that I would face him. Upon seeing the blood on my clothes, his eyebrows did not even twitch. He was aware of my deeds, and yet… Was it not odd, coming from him…? He had always obsessively respected his ideals. I had killed people while working for the Armed Detective Agency… He could not possibly be covering for me nor accepting my actions…?

"W-Well… I'm not sure…"

"This is the official version, what we will say to Yumiko-san, what the people will know. You were… Outstandingly discreet, I must say…" He readjusted his glasses "There were some losses, and I have a lot to blame you for, but all in all… You kind of… Did a good job. That's the least I can say."

"Kunikida…" My facade of confidence shattered "Thank you… I… I am so sorry… I killed our culprit… I went against the law and your moral… I don't deserve… I don't deserve your words…"

"Why, that's for sure…!" He huffed "While you were away, we found and arrested the bomber, and you know what happened? A man came and stopped us…! He said we had no right to take him away, since a detective had made a deal with him to pay for information…! You ought to explain that, Ogawa…!"

"Where to begin…?" I managed to smile, wiping my tears away "I had no more money…"

"All of that to get us a forged warrant…" He sighed "But thanks to that, we could solve the case… As we're talking, Dazai is arresting Nozaki the Grand for cooperating in Taikin-san's schemes. Once Yumiko-san is freed from hypnosis, she will recover, then will be able to raise Sakunosuke-kun."

"... What about the maid who wanted to sue me…?"

"She will most certainly give up when her teacher gives her name to the police." He shrugged "There is no need to worry about her."

"So it's all over…?"

"All over. Thanks to you, detective." He smiled at me.

"I… What…? Why…?"

"In fact, it is still too soon to call you that but… I gave the director my approval for you to join us. I thought you had to know…"

"But… I brought nothing but troubles… I used illegal means to investigate, let a bomber go, eliminated our culprit… Truly, I didn't do a single right thing…!"

"You did." Kunikida assured me "You dedicated yourself to the case, because you truly wanted to protect the kids… Even if you partly failed… What matters is that you worked with these people's best interests in mind. And it suits the Agency's requirements to enter it."

"I… I was aware it was a test of some sort…" I confessed "It wasn't out of pure… You know… Out of good will…"

"Dazai told me you were aware and I took it into account, don't worry about that. There is always an entrance exam for our new members, to test their values and whether they are able to bear the title of detective. And I, the jury, decided that you passed." He told me.

I knew better than questioning his judgement. He who was so righteous had accepted me in the Agency, as a member… It was not a sweet lie, coming from him… These were words I could trust, and words I wanted to live up to. They made me proud of my person, for the first time in my life, and I wanted to cherish them. From that moment on, I would become a detective, and I would become a better human.

[vvolgarov]

The idea about the specific devilman species I’ve come around to invent came purely out of my own want to have a more ‘ original ‘ depiction with elements that are common or used. Rather treat the devils as some only hunters of ‘ villains / morally horrid people ‘ and rather focus on individual strengths and weaknesses of each devilman. Of course, this idea didn’t EXACTLY come around until I’ve actually decided to work on SEVEN + ONE devilman ( as I’ve hinted prior, Artemis has 7 children and two of them, at this day are available for writing ) when previously I brushed off the idea since I thought It was ‘ cheesy ‘. But aside from whether I considered such idea cheesy and eventually pursued it -- I did like the depiction of a DEVIL being a WOMAN. Sure, you can have a character be nonbinary or generally genderless, I could have done that myself as well because I love and do varied identities and presentations myself -- But I feel like, I just wanted to indulge myself more into a good representation of a female character that’s enjoyable and has a personality that cannot be brushed off. Technically Artemis herself is my FIRST female character in a multi-muse situation and It has been a big deal to give her a personality and appearance that I would be satisfied presenting.

I do like that with the development Artemis, came along the development regarding the devil species ( though Red was the FIRST devil; more development came because of Arti ) and what she does at her current position, what is her main purpose and how as a leader she holds such power and whether that impacts her character in any way. I LOVE the idea of a character not only being the higher hierarchy in the pyramid of societal ranking, but rather wanting to be known as the ideal image of EQUITY / EQUALITY. Her and her children behave as though they are citizens rather royalty ( this applies as well as to Dimitri; his personality may depict otherwise but he does not have ideals of a higher-power greedy person; ) and are accessible for contact with any individual in both their world, and in the human realm. This is why I love the dynamic between my characters Jay and Artemis -- Jay is a, more or less mortal vampiric hybrid who could have been killed on an instant.    Supposedly a SPECIMEN that would be gone at the blink of an eye considering how devilmen hardly DIE out considering their anatomy, but she chooses to befriend him as a great friend. Trusts him dearly, happily meets and befriends his friends and establish friendly dynamics with them as well. I just love presenting such IMMORTAL and POWERFUL species, a species capable of becoming deities when granted such power -- just find themselves equal as mortal people. Respect them in the exact level; understand their traditions and are happy to learn about humans / other species in general. With devilman species alone, I just simply love the idea of how all of them generally obtain powers. Deities are the ones who grant possible abilities in the devilmen when they are born, though the parent is the one behind the decision making on WHEN they can obtain such power. In Reds perspective and because of a tragic event that occurred relevant to him; he is now granted the position of a ‘ soul - ripper ‘ whos’ basis is to reap lost souls that are pestering, harming the citizens in the human realm. With each intense dread or hatred feeling within a hostile spirit, there’s a blue fire-ball item within them that reveals upon when slayed by a specially designed soul-ripping item -- an item that usually can be anything, but scythes are known to be more powerful and convenient at handling these horrid transparent wanderers. The fire - ball presenting item IS their soul now exposed and ‘ edible ‘ to the devilman, to which Red can consume and gradually reach the necessary milestone to obtain a specific power. This situation is what granted him the ability to dimension hop and fully take control of each dimension and Its’ portrayal, the general ability to see alternative worlds when encountering a person -- whether the universe is related with the two or the person alone, or whether It’s related with said person but with an another individual. Even the slightest contact with a stranger can open up an alternative universe. In the scenario of Dimitri, he was originally preoccupied with duties as the right hand man for his mother and more-so worked as a guard for her. At the same time he was dedicated to learn about shapeshifting and how to break through the limitations of the power -- how to obtain such professionalism at the skill without fear of weaknesses halting him from returning to his original form from a mere negative reaction. Whether the reaction means in the format of feelings, emotions or some event occurring for him to be affected. This is where his hangman situation comes to play -- Because his former position as a guard and administrator, he was granted the choice to slay those that come to harm to the Queen / president herself or those that pose genuine threat to citizens of Northern Hell or simply aim to instill potential war among four sides of their Hell. Because of this Dimitri was grown to be desensitized to the process ( though most devils are naturally adjusted to this; though his killing-ordeal was more common than the amount most devils commit) and his methods eventually have grown to be similar to a hangman. Hanging the punished, slaying them with an executioners sword or other, creative-yet-morally wrong methodics’ to punish a person fatally. Because of this, Artemis naturally granted him the position as a hangman to see where this would lead to. There was a possibility that her son would steer his newly granted position as a stomach filler for his sadistic / masochistic tendencies -- AND she was almost proven such fact, although Dimitri managed to genuinely change her assumptions.  You see, -- Even though there was some sexual depravity from his end when given the position as an executioners, he eventually did present that he was collecting the souls ( coming in different shapes and sizes; as they are souls of inhuman kinds living in Hell ) obtained through his field and consumed to empower his shapeshifting power. Using his shapeshifting power not only for when desired or to gain some satisfaction making a mockery of someone who was foolish enough to believe in his imitation skill -- but rather UTILIZE this powerful skill in dire situations such as wars, protests coming from other regions of Hell or obtain information / items when said items and information are taken away from the original owner. It helps the fact that he developed the ability to imitate voices ( voice mimic ) and to be fully convincing when genuinely invested in the role as not to be caught.  It’s a fascinating thing to consider how devilman empower themselves over the spirit / essence of a person once the soul itself cannot originally return to their form. “ What happens when the soul is consumed? “ Because the soul is essentially digested by the devilman, It naturally goes through the process of reincarnation and falls into the Chapel of Judgement ( originally lead by Artemis, though one of her sin-children have taken up the position instead ) where the devilman child-of-Artemis and a few count of deities can discuss about the situation with each arrived soul. -- What will be their purpose in their new life; what branches of important decisions will impact their life and how will they die in their next life.  There is a large count of subjects the members of the chapel discuss, I wouldn’t be able to put it into this post myself to explain the particular themes. But the idea is that, they have a good understanding of what happens to them in the near future as they provided links ( a good numbers of decisions that can impact a future decision; also named as ‘ branches ‘ ) and are aware what can those links lead to. Even when a reborn breaks the branch and forms a new one, THEY will know that. They have the power to observe what their reborn will do THIS time and eventually see the new-forming links and potential fate. Just a good number of subjects to look into about my species of devilman. I could honestly do this all day and still not entirely go through the entire story of such ‘ originally ‘ made species, but the least I could do is bring up some topics regarding them and go into further detail about each point I’ve brought up.

[minjoonalist]

Predilection | Chapter Four

Pairing : Jikook x Reader [Feat. Taehyung]

Words: 1.7k

Genre: Angst, eventual Smut, fluff 

Warnings : explicit wording

Description: you want him, he wants you, but he also wants him, and him wants you- but him hurt you. So You hate him.

+++++

In the middle of a much needed relaxing bath, The sound of the apartment’s front door opening and slamming shut could be heard from the master bathroom. It's been a stressful and yet long day for Jimin, so He didn't bother to peek outside of his view when the presence of his highly flustered and confused boyfriend appears In its doorway. Unknown to him, jungkook walks straight in and takes a moment to stare at the content boy before beginning to strip off his clothing.

A slight shuffle is momentarily heard and jimin whines softly after being lifted forward to make room for him. “Jungkook? What are you doing?” he asks just wanting to be left completely alone. The hot water shifts between the two as jungkook’s hard chest comes into contact with his back and the usually silent male doesn't say a thing, Only wrapping his muscular arms around jimin’s waist to pull him back further.

Dammit...he curses inside his head, unable to resist the light urge of titillation that makes him shiver whenever jungkook touches him. giving in, Jimin then sighs contently and after what seems like 10 blissful minutes of the unexpected, silent embrace “Kookie?” He calls out rather softly.

“...Yeah? ” The boy answers a bit hesitant.

“ what has you so worked up?” Jimin’s eyes slowly flutter open, lazily watching as jungkook’s toes fidget under the water next to his. Even better, because the male’s head laid comfortably onto the other’s chest. He could hear the alarmingly fast pace of Jungkook’s beating heart.

“I'm not worked up. Im relaxed.” Jungkook swallows, now trying to will his body into not being so tense. Jimin then chuckles at him “ sure if relaxed means nervous”. He then moves, his head lifting up so that he could turn to look his boyfriend in his face. Once he does, Jungkook’s eyes switch away immediately, focusing fondly on the small mole that sits at the bottom of jimin’s neck. The smiling boy then slowly pouts at him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? I didn't do anything.” Jungkook says once he notices the change of atmosphere and the way that his boyfriend kept his piercing eyes on him. Jimin however did not appreciate how defensive his boyfriend had suddenly become. He was acting completely out of his character…

“I...didn't say you did…” he says slowly after staring at him for a moment. He then pulls back a bit “Kookie we don't hide secrets from each other right?- I mean, at least that's what I thought before I found out about your previous situation with y/n…” jimin then mumbles and the sound of uncertain disappointment tugs heavily at jungkook’s heart. The boy only then finally bringing his hurt soaked eyes to meet the other’s.

He didn't trust him…Jimin doesn't believe in his word anymore.

“ Jimin-”

“ No... no, Its okay” the silver haired boy quickly interrupts jungkook with a fake giggle, making him snap his mouth shut immediately. Jimin then takes a deep breath, thinking carefully about what to say next.

“ I know I’m just overreacting…” he whispers silently, so low he wished jungkook never heard him say it. Of course, that wasn't the case.

“Its just- y/n, she’s beautiful y’know? and I can't believe I never noticed her back then, and with you?... I feel so guilty, I hurt her before I even knew her.” jimin pauses, staring into space. “You know...I tried to approach her in the library today? And when she didn't notice- I chickened out and pretty much ran away” he confesses bitterly with a scoff, a pitiful feeling settling within his weak stomach. He could remember this exact emotion when he turned away from you earlier, feeling defeated at the thought that you really might not want anything to do with him.

When the hell did the tables turn?

Jungkook could only sit and watch as jimin tries to pull himself together and suddenly stand up from their bath. Inside his mind , he continued to scold himself. Angry at how much of a terrible choice he made years ago, was somehow able to cause such a huge shift within his current relationship.

If you were angry that I kept you from y/n , could you forgive me for indulging in her?

….

a long excruciating silence.

While your feet patted constantly against the hard floors of taehyung’s dorm, he on the other hand sat still as stone on top of his bed. Your arms perched upon your chest, as a hand pulled constantly at your now swollen lips and On your hundredth turn back towards your best friend’s direction. Only then do you find yourself growing tired of his lack of words.

Your eyes suddenly move to him. “So?”

The gesture snaps him from out of his silent thoughts. Taehyung’s arm tightens slightly around the soft pillow, holding it closer towards his chest and he pushes up the square rimmed glasses on his tired face.

“right…” he starts, coming back into reality “ and you’re sure you werent dreaming this? because you know you tend to fall asleep while studying a lot.” He questions rhetorically while squinting his eyes, making you pause in the middle of your pacing. This wasn't the time to be making jokes, and yet you weren't surprised by your best friend’s lack of concentration.

“I think I can tell the difference between reality and being asleep Tae…we were not in some crazy dream.” you frown impatiently, just wanting any kind of help for your current problem. You then try to take in a deep breath, your hands shaking and stomach squeezing itself together at the thought of what had happened earlier. screw your life... What the hell was Jeon thinking , suddenly kissing you in the middle of the library like that?

But more importantly, why do you keep thinking about it?

“well at least you can do that! I can barely tell if seeing two of you is normal...” he starts to grumble under his breath, creating a small pout while rolling his eyes in sleepy irritation. Once again showing you how lightly he was taking all of this.

“ ugh Taehyung!” You suddenly whine out his name before stomping your foot like a child. This makes the man hold up his hands in surrender, not realizing how aggravated you really were becoming. “Alright, alright! ” your best friend exclaims suddenly, interrupting your mini tantrum. He chuckles slightly, watching how your face screws and unscrews from it’s adorable pout- sometimes you really seemed like his cute little sister. your red puffy cheeks and lost puppy eyes. his brow then lifts...Honestly, he wouldn't think passed it if that same cute expression, was the reason that snake suddenly couldn't deny his obvious attraction towards you.

The thought suddenly has the boy glaring... “ y/n, I'm just trying to understand this. Ever since I first met you, you’ve hated Jungkook with a burning passion and now you’re telling me you kissed him-”

“Woah!...Emo boy kissed me , I did not kiss him.” you correct tae immediately, offended that he would even assume you made the first move in the first place. Hell if that weren't insulting enough, then it was definitely the skeptical look he gives you in return to your claim.

The gesture then makes you roll your eyes while letting out a deep sigh. “I didn't kiss him…” you practically plead, the soft words accompanying your tiny voice.

“I believe you.” He nods and you sag in relief.

That being said, While his voice was sincere, the way Taehyung had begun to walk circles around you, told you that you wouldn't be so at ease with where he was leading this conversation.

“Did you kiss him back?” Tae stops, turning towards you.

And you’re not, you’re completely uncomfortable.

“Pardon?” You swallow visibly.

Tae tilts his head while narrowing his eyes, he then crosses his arms together. “did you...kiss him...back?” He repeats the question a bit slower, leaving no possibility for you to not understand what exactly it was that he was asking you. For some reason it catches you completely off guard and Your stomach squeezes itself in even further at the highly fresh memory.

It probably took way longer than normal for your body to realize what was happening at that moment. Your heart had jumped entirely into your stomach and On the table below you, your hands quivered in shock. With your eyes wide open, you stared up into jungkook’s face. Your cheeks flushed, breathing uneven, and an unwilling sigh of pleasure is let loose when...his incredibly soft lips begins to mold cautiously against yours.

Within a matter of seconds, you had gone from screaming out your anger towards him, to the boy himself suddenly stepping around the table to come a bit closer. His tongue then running across your lips , somehow managing to pry it’s way pass your weak attempt to prevent it. Your mind then goes blank With a huge pull of arousal and you allow your eyes slowly slide shut as he dominantly takes your mouth for his.

“Mmm” in moment of carelessness, jungkook hums out his satisfaction of something he’d dreamed of doing many times and as much as you hate to admit it, it sounds pretty damn good. It could've been the drought of sexual activity in your life or simply that you've never experienced anything like this… but you couldn't remember the last time anyone has ever kissed you with so much passion and hunger. But then again, no guy was just as selfish and greedy like jungkook…-wait.

Jungkook??...Jeon Jungkook is kissing you and you’re kissing him back?...oh no.

Immediately your eyes snap open and you abruptly pull away from the unsuspecting boy. Jungkook could barely blink. The dazed raven following your quick movements with his eyes and not long to follow, the harsh sound of your hand connecting with his face could he be heard throughout the entire library. Jungkook’s head violently snaps to the side and as if to process what exactly had just happened he stays that way for a few seconds. Meanwhile all you could do was sputter a handful tasteful curses before somehow grabbing all of your things and dashing down the library’s isles.

Blinking away the scene that played in your head, you find yourself crashing back down into a harsh reality. The realization hitting you like a cold wave, that you in-fact kissed your sworn enemy back. While standing eerily quiet before your best friend, taehyung shifts his head just a bit lower to catch your reaction. His awaiting stare turning into one of surprise once you give him his  long overdue answer.

“Of course not” you lied.

+++

Chapter Four | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Taglist: @rkivemagic @peterrogers15 @sessi03 @brokencrownqueen @cainami

[gallantgautier]

ooc. no idea if my asks went through thanks tumblr hfsjdsd....... i wanted to send a hug meme but i could feasibly send all of them, so...... SURPRISE ME

((Rai says “Surprise me” I say “HOW ABOUT I DO A 5 TIMES + 1 FIC”))

ღ – A hug in greeting

He was so tiny, Sylvain, in all of histhree-year-old wisdom, didn’t know people could be so small. Held securelyin his brother’s arms, Master Fraldarius the younger slept soundly, peacefully.He wonders if Miklan ever held him like that, watched him with such fondnessthat he could warm the entire room.

Larger hands close around his wrists,Rodrigue, kneeling behind him, guiding him to form a cradle with his arms asGlenn settles the babe into them, “Support his head, Sylvain,” he says, quiet,careful not to wake his youngest son.

And Sylvain does, tenderly holding the boyclose to his chest. The infant’s eyes slowly blink open, and he knows enough aboutbabies that they often cry when they wake up, he holds his breath.

But those brown eyes stare up at him,curious, and he breaks into a toothy grin.

“Hi, Felix,” he whispers.

 ❣ –A hug after being separated

It was rare for Sylvain to arrive atGlasagwyn anything less than excitable. Rarer still, for it to be Glenn thatmet him at the gates, only raising his eyes to the older boy at the squeeze athis shoulder.

“He doesn’t know everything,” Glenn says,carefully, leading him away while their fathers conversed in low tones, “youknow how he worries.”

Sylvain nods, subdued. Don’t tell him, hehears, and he doesn’t want to either. The last thing he wants is to make hisbest friend cry.

When they join him in his room, however, hecan’t hold back. He launches himself into Felix’s arms, holding on tight as ifhe’s a lifeline. Felix, clearly confused, pats his shoulder and settles withhim into the pile of blankets Glenn forms into a fort on the floor for them.

He holds on all through the night, fastasleep together, while Glenn keeps vigil.

 ✉ – A hug goodbye

The world has gone to hell, and all he cando is stand and watch.

The Emperor declared war. The professor isgone. Rhea is gone. Dimitri looked to be falling to madness. The Monastery hasfallen. He’s called home.

The journey is the worst part. They alreadyleft Ingrid in Galatea territory, and now, on the border of Fraldarius andGautier, he’s set to make the last leg alone.

“Keep in contact,” Felix tells him, “stayalive.”

Felix.

He doesn’t want to leave him, not now, notafter an entire year at his side, not after everything they went through. Notwhen he’s only just putting a name to the warmth he feels whenever he looks hisway, not when there’s a chance he might never see him again.

He reaches out, grab’s his friend by hisforearm and pulls him into a brief, tight hug.

“Don’t get killed.” Please, please besafe.

✸ – A bear hug

The fifteenth boot shouldn’t be as much ofa surprise as it is.

And it’s not, not really, Felix hasn’tmissed a birthday yet, even after the war broke out, he still found away to have the boot delivered to his home. Some years he got it late, but thatwas always down to his own duties calling him elsewhere, and never for a lapsein his friend’s ability to judge when he should have the package sent.

But this one, the fifteenth, arrives withthe man himself, handed over in person. The last time that had happened, it wasthe fourth one. To say he’s a little overcome is a vast understatement.

And so, he expresses his gratitude in amanner befitting his emotional state, overbearing. He sets the boot downon the table, grabs Felix at his waist and gives no mind to the warning growlhe gets for it and lifts, crushing the other man to his chest as hefills the room with his laughter.

“You’re the best, Felix.”

✢ – An awkward hug

All things considered; Sylvain thinks hissituation is pretty understandable. He’d been carrying this torch for so longthat, now that it’s out in the open, welcomed, even, sort of, he doesn’treally know what to do with it.

And if he doesn’t know, then Felix isutterly hopeless.

Things had been… Weird, since then. That’snot to say he isn’t happy, far from it. At times he thinks back to howFelix had taken his confession and he feels like he’s floating on a cloud. Thisis real. This is happening. That kiss over a week ago had been real. This isall he’s ever wanted. But… Now what?

Felix has never been affectionate, atleast, not in the traditional sense, and he always has been.  Or at least, he was when he was dating anyonewho so much as smiled at him, but this is different, so different, andit has him a little out of sorts.

Thank the Goddess that something about theoverwhelming sense of odd causes Felix to confront him about it, allsharp barbs and biting words, as is his custom. Sylvain wonders what it saysabout him that he finds it endearing.

“I need to know what you want from me.”Sylvain would call it a demand, if it weren’t for the subtle note ofuncertainty underlying his words, the way he doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “Ifwe’re… Agh, I have no experience with this. Look,” when Felix finally doeslook up, he’s predictably scowling, “if you want passionate gestures or amorousletters, you’ll need to look somewhere else.”

He’s infinitely glad he manages to holdback the tiny little laugh that threatens to build in his throat, becauseimagining Felix doing anything of the sort is hilarious.

But this… It clearly took a lot of effortfor Felix, he’s not about to make fun of him for that.

“I don’t want any of that,” Sylvainanswers, “I know that’s not you, and… It’s you I want.”

“Meaning?”

Right. Felix. No experience. No speakingwith implications.

“Well, a hug every now and then would benice.”

“…Oh.” A pause, “That’s all?”

“Well, maybe a kiss or two,” carefulGautier, he tells himself as he steps closer, into Felix’s space, don’tget greedy.

“I see,” Felix says, not moving away, “Thatdoesn’t sound… Terrible.”

Sylvain takes that as permission, he’llfind out pretty quickly if it’s not. He loops his arms around him, gatheringhim close. Felix stiffens for a beat but doesn’t pull away. And that’s fine,Sylvain is more than happy to just hold him, card his fingers through dark hairand allow himself to just have him near.

And when an arm hesitantly curls around hiswaist, he feels like he’s floating again.

 ☄ – A long hug

It’s strange, really. They’ve walked thispath before, said goodbye to Ingrid in the exact same place, stood on this veryborder ready to go their separate ways. And yet, this time is so verydifferent. The war is over, the sense of hopelessness is gone, Fodlan willrecover from her scars much like they will. And yet, once again, Sylvainhesitates.

Now, it’s not fear that has his feet frozenin place. Now, he can’t bear to leave simply because he doesn’t want to.

“You have work to do too, Sylvain.” Felixtells him, exasperated. Sylvain has never been deaf to the fondness underneath.

“Yeah, but…” he shifts his weight from onefoot to the other, shoulder sagging in a sigh, “It’s just, we haven’t beenapart since… And I…” He’s not going to cry. He won’t.

He is. Dammit.

The sound of Felix’s sigh is a familiar onetoo, a frustrated little noise that he’s heard so often that he’s fairly surehe’s dreamt of it once or twice. What isn’t expected is the accompanyingsound of snow crunching under boots, close, and arms curling around him.

“You look pathetic.”

Sylvain laughs through a sniff, it comesout sounding almost like a scoff. He wraps himself around the other man as bestas he’s able, burying his face against his shoulder, warm, safe, the only placehe ever wants to be.

“As soon as I can convince my old man I’mneeded here,” Sylvain begins, half muffled against Felix’s clothing, “as soonas I can, I’ll-”

“I’ll send for you,” Felix cuts him off, “beforeyou do.”

It’s closing in on dark by the time he let’s go, “A race, then.” he laughs into a kiss.

And so began their game of one-upmanship. Itis said that, in their later years, they became so close that they passed awayon the same day, as if conceding that one could not live without the other.

[ladyramora]

Hey Ram! Huge fan of your writing! Could we maybe get ambiguous WoL x Estinien or Aymeric if you've got the time? ♥️

(Yes and yes. Thank you 💞)

.....

....

...

You wake with a splitting headache, but on the softest pillows you’ve ever slept on. You bury your face in them, breathing deep with a groan — and pause as a familiar scent fills your nose.

You crack an eye open blearily, and know at once where you are.

How in the seven hells had Estinien managed to get you back to de Borel manor without waking you?

The door opens and the lord of the manor himself walks through it with a tray in hand, looking far too dazzling and bright-eyed for how early it must surely be.

“…‘stinien?” You slur in sleepy question.

Aymeric smiles, setting the tray down and helping you sit upright, fluffing your pillows gently. “He said he’d return to see you a little later this morning. He had a few errands to run.”

Aymeric hands you a glass of water which you accept gratefully. Then a bit of painkiller is next because, gods, do you need it.

“I admit,” Aymeric says in humor with a little laugh, “that when I sent Estinien off to confess his heart, I did not think you would be drinking so heavily.”

You blink at him, setting your empty glass aside as the minty tasting painkiller instantly sets in to reduce your headache. “That was you?”

Aymeric smiles with a knowing look in his eye, tilting his head. “Did you think Estinien merely took it upon himself to finally admit his interest in more than friendship?”

A grin tugs at your lips. “No, I suppose not.” Estinien had been wearing fancy cologne, after all. Aymeric’s influence, no doubt.

Ayneric hums, smoothing your hair away from your face with an elegant gloved hand.

You eye his outfit, fit more for leisurely house clothes than armor, and pat the bed beside you. “Lay down with me?”

Aymeric chuckles gently, cupping your cheek and smiling warmly as you lean into his hand. “Would that please you, my dearest?”

You nod your head, turning your cheek into his hand to kiss at his palm. “I missed you so much, Aymeric.”

Aymeric looks at you fondly. “And I you.” He moves around the bed, crawling in on the other side to shuffle close to you under the covers.

You smile at him, curling close and ducking under his arm to cuddle to him and breathe in the scent of him.

You nuzzle your nose against him, humming happily. “Mm, you always smell so nice.”

Aymeric chuckles, cupping the back of your head. He dips his chin to press a kiss to your hair, humming softly. “Well, thank you. I am rather fond of your hugs.” His hand tips your chin up, thumb stroking over your lower lip. “And your kisses, of course.”

Your face flushes, headache entirely gone thanks to the painkiller, water, and Aymeric’s own soothing presence. “Kiss me then?” You ask, eyelashes fluttering.

“Me first,” A voice interrupts, and you turn your head in surprise to find Estinien holding a steaming mug of something — coffee, tea? — and a delicate bag that you know contains one or more of your favorite pastries. Your mouth waters on reflex. Though for the pastries, or the even yummier idea of finally kissing Estinien, you know not. Both? Yes, both was good.

Estinien is looking particularly handsome as well, the sod. Unlike you, you surmise, the copious alcohol of the night before hadn’t left him with a raging headache.

“I promised I’d kiss you when you were sober,” Estinien says, kicking the door closed behind him and ignoring the soft grunt of dismay Aymeric makes watching him do it.

“And I’ll not have Aymeric steal your first kiss of the day, and muddle our kiss with the lingering feel of his stupid, full mouth.”

You look to Aymeric in apology, grinning at the raised eyebrow, almost-pleased look on his face at Estinien’s insults, and say, “If I do remember correctly, he did promise that.”

“Ah, well,” Aymeric sighs, and cups your chin to turn your face to press his lips to your cheek.

Estinien looks entirely disgruntled. “Aymeric, I will fight you.”

Aymeric chuckles gently, unrepentant.

You snort a laugh, rolling over into your back with Aymeric tucked against your side and beckon Estinien with a curl of your fingers.

“Come on, then, Azure dragoon,” you say with an impish, flattered smile. “Do you not have something tasty for me?”

Estinien glances down at the cup and bag in his hands, and says, “Aye.”

You smile at him flirtatiously, fluttering your eyelashes, “Well, I was talking about your lips, but that works, too.”

Estinien blinks, stunned, and you’re gifted with the flush of his cheeks and ears in the soft morning light.

Oh, it wasn’t fair. He was too adorable and sexy all at once with his hair all wild and lips no doubt touched up again with a shiny balm against the winter climes. Was he wearing that cologne again, too? You’d have to check, but only if he would come closer already..!

“Come to bed,” You plead, rolling over to reach out for him, and Aymeric follows to mold himself to your back, lips pressing to the back of your neck.

Estinien walks forward, and you blink, suddenly realizing he wore some sort of house slippers on his feet instead of his usual boots.

Aymeric notices where your attentions have gone and says simply, “There are no dragoon boots to be had stomping around and scratching up the floors of House de Borel.”

You smile at that and Estinien both as Aymeric sits upright with you so Estinien could hand you the drink he had brought first, careful not to spill.

It is deliciously warm in your hands, and heaven on your tongue as you take a deep sip. “Mm.” It was perfect. Just how you liked it.

He sets the bag on your lap next, and you hand Aymeric your cup to peek inside. You make a sound of delight, reaching in and snatching up your favorite pastry — one of many in the bag! Gods, you were being spoiled! — and shove it into your mouth with a moan.

“Was this part of the errands you had to run?” Aymeric asks in good humor.

Estinien grunts, watching you eat with a soft look in his eye.

“Estinien,” Aymeric says fondly. “How very sweet. And cheating, besides, I think. Trying to curry favor, hmm?”

Estinien levels him with a grumpy look, and does not deny it.

“You are!” Aymeric laughs.

You chew at the bulge of food in your mouth, taking the cup back from Aymeric to take another large sip. Saying, soft and sweet with a similar look about your face, “I’m feeling very wooed, and favorable besides.”

Aymeric tsks teasingly, “Cheating, really.”

Estinien arches a brow with a taunting grin, “How does one woo a Warrior of Light? Through their stomach seemed a safe enough bet.”

You eat another pastry, silently agreeing, and empty your mug of delicious warm beverage before setting both aside to instead make grabby hands at your favorite Azure dragoon. “Now I want Estinien flavored kisses, please.” You tap your fingers to your lips, “Your lips, ser dragoon, I must have them. Pretty please, with birch syrup on top.”

Estinien ducks his head, smiling bashfully.

“Adorable,” Aymeric comments, tickling the back of your neck with his fingers as he kisses at your shoulder. “Both of you.”

Estinien frowns through his blush, “Shut your ridiculously full mouth. I have a Warrior of Light to kiss.”

Aymeric hums, circling his arms around your waist and hugging you lazily from behind. “Go on, then.”

Estinien clears his throat, shuffling forward on his knees. You smile at him, tipping your chin up as his hands cup your face. You gasp a little with how cold his hands feel on your sleep warmed skin. Oh, his fingers were faintly trembling. Was he nervous, or just cold?

You cup his hand, turning your head to kiss his palm just as you had done with Aymeric half a bell before.

Estinien is gazing at you intensely, blue-grey eyes bright with emotion. You smile at him, and he smiles back.

He leans in, and you clutch at his collar, impatient and drawing him in.

Estinien snorts, glancing down at Aymeric’s arms wound around your hips.

“I suppose I will just have to share,” Estinien says it like it’s grudging, but his smile is pleasant, eyes fond.

“Indeed,” Aymeric murmurs, cheek tucked close to your back. Haha, was he feeling sleepy again?

You nod happily in agreement, tipping your head back, and demand, “Kisses.”

Estinien chuckles, and dips his head to do as you bid.

It was everything you’d hoped it would be and more. Estinien kisses like he fights. Intense, focused. With purpose.

You quickly become lost in the sensation of his kiss. To the taste of the balm on his lips and something dark and sweet lingering on his tongue. Chocolate? Whatever it was, you chase after the taste of it with your own tongue. Estinien gives a rumbling moan, clutching you to him desperately. You kiss for so long that your lips begin to feel sensitive, your head dizzy with him.

Aymeric clears his throat with a soft “ahem” and you both pause, drawing away like you’d forgotten he’d been there.

“So greedy, Estinien. I should also like a turn,” Aymeric says in mild reprimand, and leans in whilst turning your cheek to claim your lips as well. You lean into him helplessly, still dazed from Estinien’s kisses.

Ohh, Aymeric was an accomplished kisser as well. It was good that he reminded you, lest you forget. You give a soft whimper, feeling entirely greedy and far too spoiled.

“I was hardly finished,” Estinien growls at Aymeric, and tips your face back towards him to kiss you again, harder this time.

You drag your fingers through his hair, groaning lowly, and then turn your face without promting to kiss Aymeric as well, cupping the back of his head and twining your fingers through the satin of his dark, gently curling hair.

Estinien makes a sound of disgruntle, and you switch back to him, twisting locks of Aymeric’s hair around your fingers as Aymeric kisses at your neck and shoulder with hot, stupid full lips.

Your lips are buzzing, throbbing with your heartbeat, but you can hardly stop under such decadent attentions. Perhaps you’re greedy, but it was hardly your fault. Mayhap the blame should be placed upon the Gods that made these two far too irresistible.

Or on the powers themselves that wrote your Fate so intertwined with the both of them.

Aymeric claims your attention again, sucking your bottom lip between his own, with wicked blue bedroom eyes under a fan of charcoal dark eyelashes.

Estinien sucks a mark under your jaw, softly growling, “I will not yield to you!”

You shiver, eyelashes fluttering, and foolishly blurt, “Are we... about to have sex?”

Estinien pauses. Aymeric as well.

“You’re right,” Aymeric says, pulling back and swishing aside the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “We might be getting a little carried away, Estinien. This is not a competition, nor a race. We should not push our lover too fast in a bid to show the other up.”

Estinien grunts, and nips you. You give a soft yip, cupping around his ears as Estinien kisses up your jaw to your lips to kiss you firmly one more time.

“Aymeric is right,” Estinien admits, grudgingly. “Forgive us, we were… overzealous.”

You flush, shifting in place. “I’m not complaining. It wasn’t bad, I’m just…” Not ready for both of them that way yet. “We should,” you point your finger between you and Estinien, “first. You know? Before we,” you clear your throat, adding Aymeric to the equation — who was all smiles, but still with intense bedroom eyes. “With all of us, together.”

Estinien nods, smiling hesitantly. “Indeed. I agree with that sentiment. I should like to have your full attention the first time.”

You bob your head, cheeks burning. “Good,” you squeak, then clear your throat. “Good. Um… Can we,” you look between them, smiling and ducking your head sheepishly. “Can we still cuddle, though? And the… the kissing was nice,” you lick at your kiss-bruised lips, “just maybe… slower? Softer?”

Aymeric hugs you from behind, humming gently. “I think we can manage that, my dearest.”

Estinien is nodding, shuffling after you as Aymeric pulls you back to lay down with him.

Estinien inches forward as you hold your arms open for him, and then sinks into your embrace with a soft sigh.

You breathe deep, and chuckle. Estinien was wearing that cologne again, and the combined smell of their mingling scents was quite pleasing indeed.

“Your cologne smells nice,” you say softly, winding locks of Estinien’s hair around your fingers.

Estinien hums, cuddling you close, and dragging his fingers over Aymeric’s side just behind you. “All Aymeric’s doing, actually.”

You smile. “I thought so. He has good taste.”

Aymeric kisses your shoulder, voice sweet as he murmurs, “Why thank you.”

Estinien hums, pulling you forward and shifting you to lay on your back. You blink up at him, and then Aymeric, as they both prop up in their elbows to smile down at you.

“Kisses were included, yes?” asks Aymeric.

You nod, cheeks blushing and lips tingling.

Estinien nods, “Good. Then kisses you shall have.”

[yourdreamscenarios]

When a fan stalks you

∙ Request ♡ ∙ Word count: 2,518

Gazing into his eyes you wondered what he saw when he looked at you like this. With that lazy smile lingering around his lips, the bright flame lighting up his entire face. Blinking slowly you reminded yourself of the fact that you weren’t alone, and that there were several people glancing at you as they passed by your table. Clearing your throat you tried to hide the fact that you were flustered by grabbing your napkin and slightly pressing it against your lips. Yet, the man across of you grinned, and you could tell that he knew. “Would you like some more wine?” He asked politely, being the gentleman he was. Yet, you softly shook your head, sensing the way it caused your hair to bounce around your cheeks. Even though you weren’t one to quickly turn down a sweet drink, you could tell that you’d had enough. “I’m fine. Anything more and you might as well roll me out of here by the time we leave.” You said, hearing the way he chuckled softly because of your comment. Slowly he lifted his hand and combed his fingers through his hair before lowering them towards yours where your hand rested near the middle of the table. “I’m so glad we were able to do this. It’s been way too long.” Jimin stated, his thumb calmly caressing your knuckles, causing your nerves to hum pleasantly. 

He was right, it had been way too long since the two of you had gone on a proper date. With his promotions coming up and your book coming out in less than two weeks, life had been keeping the both of you busy and away from each other. But at last you had found a little space in your crowded agenda and you had been able to plan this little dinner in a cosy restaurant at the edge of the city. When you’d been getting ready a part of you had believed that he would call you with the news he wouldn’t be able to come, that something had popped up and the two of you would have to reschedule. It wouldn’t have been the first time. It seemed as if a small part of you had already prepared itself for disappointment. Yet, here you were, and so far everything was going according to plan. “Well, I guess you can say you made up for it tonight.” You muttered, sending him a soft smile. You hated it when he felt guilty about not being able to spend much time with you, while you were almost just as busy as he was. That was just how he was, always taking the blame, even though sometimes it simply couldn’t be helped. 

While cherishing the way his hand warmed yours you let your eyes scan around the room. You didn’t know these people, but somehow you knew that most of them did know you. And not just because your boyfriend was a member of one of the most popular boybands in the world, but some might actually know you for your own success. When you’d been a child you had loved to write those small little stories about animals that could talk or friends who broke each other’s toys. You’d never imaged that now, as a grown up, you would be able to use your love for writing and storytelling as your own benefit. You still remembered the day you’d brought out your first novel, when you’d thought that all your efforts had been a waste because you’d strongly believed that no one would ever make the time to read the crap you created. Yet, a few years later you had sold millions of copies of your first trilogy and you were about to release another one for the young adult public. To say that you were excited was the least you could say. Yet, you were also scared, afraid that you wouldn’t be able to reach up to the same expectations, that your book wouldn’t be as good as the ones you had previously brought out. 

“I need to use the bathroom for a second. I’ll be right back.” Jimin suddenly muttered, and you batted your lashes at him in surprise as you tried to  get back towards the present. Quickly you shot him a smile and you watched him as he shoved back his chair and stood up. Immediately several heads turned in your direction, but he mastered in ignoring the pointy stared as he marched through the room and went in search for the bathroom. Heaving a deep sigh you leaned back against the back of your chair, gazing at the empty spot he had just left behind. You felt very happy that you were able to be here with a guy like him. Jimin had always treated you like a queen, had always made sure that you felt safe and loved even if he wasn’t around. Somehow it was almost as if he was trying to prove that he loved you more than you would ever be able to love him, but you knew that couldn’t be true. When you had first met him, you hadn’t fallen head over heels for him like everyone thought. It was after he had shown you how much effort and work he was willing to put in your relationship, how much he was willing to do to win your love, that you had started to really like him. 

He’d once told you about how he had finished one of your books in one day, and then he had come to you to tell you all the things he’d liked about it. The thing was that you loved Jimin because of everything he had done for you and all the things he made you feel. Not every single one of your friends believed that your relationship with the idol could succeed and your parents wouldn’t tell but you knew they were scared you would end up getting hurt. But a long time had passed by now, and you were still as happy as you had been when this had all started. Sighing softly you wrapped your fingers around your almost empty glass of wine. Perhaps if the two of you just went home right now the two of you would be able to continue this wonderful night at home. You tried to keep in your mischievous smile as your mind wandered to all of the things the two of you could do together. As soon as the seat in front of you was occupied again you quickly lowered your glass, before pointing your eyes on the person across of you and tempting to share your ideas. Yet, the words died away on top of your tongue as you realized that the man seated in front of you was not Jimin. You tried to keep your facial expressions in check as you thought of what to say. You had never seen this guy before, yet, he stared at you as if he knew evert single little detail of you. There was something about the look on his face that caused all the hairs on top of your arms to stand up straight.

 “Can I help you?” You asked, trying to keep your voice airy and neutral while curling your lips into a polite smile. The last thing you wanted was to make a scene in the middle of a restaurant. You didn’t need the reputation of a woman who wouldn’t at least try to be nice as you came across a stranger, even if it was during a weird situation like this. No one payed any attention to your table. The couples around you were too busy minding their own business and the waiters didn’t seem to have realized that the person sitting in front of you wasn’t the same as before. They were kept busy by the other costumers by being asked to refill wine and water, by bringing several plates of delicious looking foods towards tables all around the room. “I knew you would be here tonight! I thought I might not eve get the chance to talk to you…But it seems like he finally left.” The guy in front of you said, his voice greedy as he planted his elbows on top of the table cloth and leaned his chin inside of his hands. His penetrating stare never left you and you shifted on you chair uncomfortably as you tried to figure out what he meant. The fact that he knew exactly where you would be tonight and who you would be with scared you much worse than you would have thought possible. As an author you weren’t usually one who was followed by paparazzi or tracked by fans. Your fandom usually consisted out of introvert readers and you had never once complained about that before. 

“Put down the knife! I’ve called the police!” A woman suddenly shouted from behind the bar, and even though she didn’t look very brave, she was indeed holding a phone in hand as a prove. Several things seemed to happen at once. Suddenly your eye fell on Jimin, who had apparently just gotten back from the bathroom and who was taking in the scene in front of you. The man in front of you shouted in rage, making you whimper, though he dropped the knife before rushing out of the restaurant. You were just in time to see the last bit of him disappear through the doorway before all of a sudden someone crouched down in front of your chair. “Are you okay?” Jimin asked, looking puzzled but worried as he grabbed hold of your quivering hands. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you, how disheveled you looked. Your heart was still beating fast inside of your chest, and now that the adrenaline seemed to be fading out of your system, everything which had happened finally seemed to sink in. Someone had threatened you, someone had actually pointed a knife at you and had thought about using it on you. 

The only thing you had meant to do by writing your books was give people a place to escape, a story they could get lost in. It seemed as if some took that quite literally. You hadn’t even noticed you had started crying until Jimin quickly got up from his crouched position and hit his arms around you in a tight hug. His hold around you was careful, but strong as he brushed his hand down your hair, trying to calm you. All the plans you had made for tonight had drifted from your mind, you knew there was no way you would ever be able to put yourself over this within the next few hours. “It’s over. I’m so sorry I left you, I had no idea.” He muttered softly, stroking your arms up and down while looking you in the eye. He seemed worried, and sadness was dripping from his expression. Even through all of this, a small smile was able to settle around your lips. None of this was his fault, yet he still apologized. Taking a deep breath you forced yourself to get up and even though your legs were trembling, you managed to push your shoulders back. “I just want to go home.” You muttered, knowing that he would understand. In a matter of seconds he had wrapped his arm around your shoulders and he was guiding you out of the restaurant. You knew as long as he was here nothing would happen to you, and you were safe. 

∙ BTS Masterlist ♡                ∙ Masterlist ♡         ∙ Featuring ♡

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations HAILEY! You’ve been accepted as JANUS.

Hailey, you took Jacksons skeleton and delivered it to us on a silver platter. I’m truly speechless at how you captured their ability to never be the same person twice. “He has never been content with one face, even before his abilities developed.” Who is Jackson deep down, does he even know that? Having them figure out who their are on a personally level and within the grand scheme of things. I also can’t believe you made me choose between two of my fave white boys.

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: Hailey 

PRONOUNS: she / her

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST: I would say around a 5 activity wise. I usually work five days of the week now (but sometimes more) so although my hours are funky I usually have time to reply to dms after or before work, and get replies up during at least two days of the week!

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Jackson Raemers / Janus

GENDER/PRONOUNS: he / they

DETAILS & ANALYSIS:

They are the wind beneath your sails, the bandage over your wound, and the realization that it never meant anything to them.

Jackson may never covet your gilded spotlight but you would be a fool to underestimate him for it. Though he works best from the shadows, obscured by the weight of faces and names that are not his own, it’s his fingerprints that stain the success of all who wield him. He slips effortlessly through cracks others would be constrained by, both unnoticed and undetected, though the impact of his presence are neither of those things. Though you may be unable to place your overlooked hero on the streets, you will never forget how effortlessly he stanched the troubles that bleed from your veins before slipping from your grasp, another unknown stranger in the crowd. Jackson’s someone you’d want on your side, both capable and necessary, but is it because his heart blooms for your cause, or simply because it’s expected of him? So quickly shifting, so carefully adapting, if you were to blink, you might miss him, but is that not his charm? His name will never spill from your lips in adoration, yet it does nothing to still the parts of him that jump to prove himself worthy of such. Both the optimism that manifests when you most need it and the invisible force that gently urges you onward when you’ve lost hope; Jackson prioritizes that which beckons his assistance most urgently with greedy delight, perhaps, in a desperate attempt to fill the void of not knowing yet what it is that they need themselves.

The cut you get on your finger from opening a letter and the blood that stains the white carpet when it drips down.

Jackson, like most others, is a product of their past, though it’s with great strides that they aren’t entirely felled by the memory of their own. Enough has been taken from him that he resents every fragment of himself still coerced into something bitter and unfamiliar; the scars of wounds that will never heal correctly. Though he’s convinced that his purpose in the Jem Family is to spare future mutants from suffering the same fate as him, and his companions, he knows there’s a more sinister, albeit spurned, intent that resides deep within his heart. Is it truly for the betterment of all mutants? Or is there a part of them that selfishly yearns for the violent demise of the humans that hurt him? Jackson battles with his morality, determined not to become the very monster he feared as a child, though he worries what’s left of his purity may already be touched crimson by this bitterness. There are thoughts even Jackson shies away from, scared to grapple with the stranger that resides in the dark crevices of his mind. They’re already fighting one monster, what’s another?

They are the fake label that is stitched onto a shirt then sold for hundreds of dollars, the flake that comes off of a gold bar to reveal that it’s copper, and the cheap paint that washes away when an itchy suspicion turns out to be true.

They are intimately familiar with disappointment. Watching the glimmer in your eye fade after the fraudulence of their fantasies surface. That pang of realization that he is nothing more than a cheap imitation of the person you most want; someone that Jackson, himself, could never be. At times, they too wish to be the greater, more gilded thing, punished by the reminder that it’s just an act, and underneath it all, he still remains himself. His ability is but a taste of more, followed by the wrenching of such from greedy fingers as the curtain falls. With the gift to be anyone in the world, why would you ever want to be yourself? He hardly ever is, the details of his forgotten identity swept under the rug in favor of better, more appealing, traits he’s adopted. Though his ability is mighty, Jackson often wonders what would be left of him without it. Would he ever be enough, if not for the weight of power at his restless fingertips? Years of his life were overshadowed by those abilities, and how deftly he could demonstrate them. But would he carry any value, at all, when stripped of them?

They are your wildest dreams come true, willing to do what it takes to get you to believe in their lies.

Jackson dons a separate mask for every one person; figuratively, though at times, literally. He has never been content with one face, even before his abilities developed. Jackson has been abandoned and overlooked too often not to revel in the warm light of adoration, no matter the cost. He can feel your ease when he seemingly leans in the very direction you hoped he’d go, or the spark of elation when he fulfills muted desires. It’s a drug, that praise, and he longs for its buzz. Perhaps he bends the truth at times to sell the vision; that he’s exactly who you want him to be. But is it such a crime when you’re both getting what you long for most? Even when wearing the face he was born with, Jackson will tug at the details of himself until they smooth to your liking; until you weaken for the portrait he’s painted. His tongue may be as gifted as his mutant abilities, able to angle the truth that lay right in front of your very eyes. But when his pretty lies fail, there is always another identity lying in wait, convincing you to love him, no matter what it takes, no matter how little you truly know the illusion that desperately beckons your worship.

BIO:  TW (ABUSE, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME)

Jackson had often wondered if it was his mother’s eyes, or his father’s, reflected back at him in the mirror. If the chilling sensation that zipped up their vertebrae in the dark was inherited, or simply a product of their own cowardice. How much of him was comprised of people he was not given the chance to remember, and how much had begun with him, and him alone? Having been given up for adoption at birth, Jackson willed his own conclusions. The first foster family he can recall were the Wilsons, and he had just turned six. Even then, he was enthralled with the parents that had abandoned him, devising make believe anecdotes about each that were far more charming and warmhearted than the inferior truth. But Jackson grew, and so did his stories. Childish fibs about how he was the spitting image of his father, or how his mother used to be read him stories every night blossomed into tales of ship crashes and war stories. He longed for the startled admiration of the other children he roomed with; the closest thing to family the boy had ever known. Jackson was lucky, his time in the foster care system had been undeniably better than that of most.

In fact, it was only after his removal that life began its downslide.

He lived in his fourth home, with the Jefferson family, in the two story brick at the end of the street. Jackson was eleven at the time. Then, he was only vaguely familiar with mutants, and of the whispers they elicited among the streets. He had no reason to think he could be one, of course, so it came as quite a shock when a foster sister attempted to tattle on Jackson and they were able to perfectly mimic the girlish whine of her voice in jest. Their flawless recitation had been no parlor trick, nor mundane talent. But the incident slipped away with little interest, having been confined to Jackson and their adolescent witness. Still, the memory of its inhumane nature simmered within him, and he longed to see if he could repeat it; a child experimenting with a new toy. After the others had gone to bed, and the house was blanketed in eerie silence, Jackson pulled the covers over his head with a mirror in one hand and a flashlight in the other. It began with impressions of voices he was familiar with; Allison Jefferon’s shrill, demanding pitch, Peter Jefferson’s gravely grumbling. It was astonishing, how his tongue so effortlessly disguised itself as one right after the other. The boy spent nights grinning ear to ear beneath his sheets, delighted with the newfound ability.

But just as quickly delight bled into panic. One afternoon, in an argument with the same rambunctious sister, Jackson thought it funny to mock her insults. But, rather than the unfamiliar tone they had practiced, they were met with their own voice. Still, shock and fear contorted the girl’s expression, sending her sprinting into the next room despite their nervous pleas for an explanation. Instead they were met with Peter Jefferson, who demanded to know how this was possible while blocking the exit of Jackson’s room. It was only with a side glance at the closet mirror that the boy saw themselves for what they had become; a direct copy of the girl whose reactions they so enjoyed. Though it was their own voice that yelled out in panic, and their own fingers that tore at the skin that did not belong to them, they instead appeared as the same sister that now cowered from them. Try as he might to reverse the sight, Jackson remained a prisoner in his own body, terrified he would be buried as this strange and unusual anomaly.

Many distressed phone calls later and Jackson was removed from the foster home by men he did not recognize, shut into a stranger’s car with no goodbyes or answers. It was with terror that they were confined to a windowless van, their heart frantically galloping in their chest. He choked on questions, and begged for help, but his captors remained silent. When he finally arrived at his destination it mirrored a hospital; sterile, cold, disarming. Jackson thought, briefly, he had been taken somewhere that could right this mistake, and return him to the person he had been before, with those fearful eyes of his lost mother or father. But he would never again be that child, and he quickly discovered the truth of his unwanted fifth home, undeniably less a home than it was a punishment.

There were various testing facilities surrounding the city of Chicago, though at the time Jackson was ignorant to their existence. Now, he was ensnared by one; a child called by a monster’s name. Mutant. He could remember the kids at school, how they had sneered the word. How Allison Jefferson had once called them abominations when the title was mentioned on the six o’clock news. It must be a mistake, he’d assured himself, shaking fingers grasping at the fabric of their allocated uniform. But quickly, and without mercy, what remained of his humanity was stripped. The boy who longed to be more human than all of the others reduced to a guinea pig. They couldn’t find one more cooperative than Jackson though, who would rather suffer through bouts of exhaustion after the abuse of their abilities than deny the facility what they demanded of him. Perhaps it was fear, or the lingering hope that his entrapment served a larger, more benevolent purpose, that pushed him past his hard limits time and time again. There were occasions when he was returned to his room so badly shaken and weary that all he could do was lay on the cold linoleum and consider the people and places from his childhood stories; the heroes he wanted to be, and the exotic lands he longed for.

There were times even Jackson’s impeccable behavior was not enough. Moments when he had proudly displayed a perfect recreation of the photograph they provided only to be struck by someone or jolted with electricity in response. At times the abuse grew so detrimental to their health they wondered what could possibly remain of them when it was all over, if it was ever to be over. Eventually the hope for escape dwindled, and they grew accustomed to the constant beep of monitors, and the purging of all freedom or individuality. Jackson’s childhood had been brutally ripped from him and because of it he expected far more of himself than any normal teenager would. If his abilities were what they wanted most, what stifled the pain, if for only a moment, he would give it to them. He would harness and sharpen his shifting skins until there was nothing left for them to want from him; until he reached the peak of his power and they were, at last, forced to accept his limit.

Jackson’s abilities were his lifeline. From the ashes of his optimism grew determination, and though he focused on his power for the wrong reasons, it was this concentration that spared him long nights of agony. The unrelenting practice redirected his mind, and maintained its sharpness, pinning it instead to a goal that Jackson desperately grasped for. Relief. It was his only outlet behind the guarded walls of the facility, and even with shaking hands he would muster its presence, as much for himself as for the scientists that watched on in scrutiny.  What else did he have? No family, no friends, and no future if this torture was to continue. Only himself, and the identities he nurtured for his own feeble sanity.  

It was by sheer luck his fellow mutants were less easily appeased than Jackson. He can still remember the vivid blare of warning sirens, a red haze painting the nauseating white of the walls. A fire maybe, or a raid. One could only guess what had become of the real world while Jackson withered away behind bars. But it was not flames that licked his cage, or the rumblings of a distant bomb, but another subject. A group, rather, of others like Jackson who had tired of their binds and created a key where there was not one to be found. In a flurry, the door to his confine was opened, and the various boys and girls, both adult and child, fled toward liberation. They were escaping. A plan so harrowing and disillusioned that it had not occurred to Jackson to consider. Had they gotten help? Who had organized it? How had they known he was there, waiting, clueless? He was left to his thoughts, the hall clearing as quickly as it had filled with terrified mutants, bound for freedom. At any moment the guards would surely return, tightening the leashes upon their throats to reel them back to their chambers.

Time had blurred together, minutes languidly blended into one exhausting eternity as Jackson remained curled in a ball against the clinical white of his room. So many unfamiliar faces had passed, restless, wild, in their search for sanctuary, but Jackson was rooted to the floor. His knees trembling against his chest in panic. If the punishment for existing scarred their skin and bruised their bone, what would become of those mutants that greedily chased more? The temptation was so great Jackson vibrated with it, the need aching in his heavy chest, but they had been bitten too many times among these corridors. Maybe it was a test. Perhaps, he would lie in wait, cooperative and meek, and the guards would have mercy on him in the wake of his pristine behavior. He could not fathom the alternative. A life somehow worse than the one that already clung to his weary bones like shackles. Jackson couldn’t, in good conscience, betray himself that carelessly. Ultimately, it was not that fearful boy who made the decision. But rather a fellow mutant, who beckoned him. Who encircled his wrist in their grasp and pulled him loose from his submission. It was the turning point of his world, that day, and yet it crashes on his conscious like roaring waves. A blink of relieved mutants there, a glimpse of determined hands pulling him through the wreckage of the facility, a glance at the gentle expressions that lulled him into a car, much the same as the van he arrived in. The day returned in fragments, then his chest had heaved too rapidly, his head split with far too much tension, to place every minute detail. But since, every relocated shard has surfaced with gratitude.

Jackson had never heard of the Jem Family before his escape. Until they had dusted the ash from him, like a forgotten phoenix who not yet had the strength to rise themselves. In a sense, they were his sixth foster home. The one that finally stuck, resolute and steadfast. In their embrace he found acceptance, unlike that he’d ever known before them. When his fingers shook and his gaze flickered away from contact, they were there. When he resented himself, and the abilities that had slipped the cruel noose around his throat for many years, they were there. The same power that had worked as a desperate distraction now served as a wicked reminder of his time spent in captivity. They felt less like his, as if he had robbed the facility of their cherished work. For a time, Jackson imagined that being ordinary would be easier. Better. He abandoned his talents for those more socially accepted, and after years of grappling with the sickly feeling that blossomed at his mutant traits, enrolled in college. He would find a new talent, one that even the humans that ostracized him could appreciate.

He had been robbed of so much normalcy. He finally had a real family, and still, it was not enough. Selfishly, he wanted more. The job, the house, the wife. The future that had been dangled in front of his eyes, and subsequently, severed while imprisoned. If Jackson could blend in, and escape the mutant brand, perhaps it was not yet lost. The aspirations he had once daydreamed about could be fulfilled, if only he could swallow the half of himself that stood in the way. The half of himself that had already unraveled his hopes once before. But he had far better control now; never again would he look in the mirror and be startled by what he saw. His abilities could only rear their ugly head if he allowed them to, if he summoned them, and then, just entering adulthood, he planned not to. They would suffocate alongside all of the memories he carried of being abnormal.

Perhaps, in a sense, that was Jackson’s teen rebellion. It could have lasted, possibly, had the local news not carried such concerning developments on mutants around the country. Every day they were confronted with horror stories, some far worse than what Jackson himself had endured. The Jem family made it a point not to shield him from every horrific detail, instead swaddling him in positive reinforcement. The trick was not to comply to the country’s social norms, but to demand equal treatment for those who could not meet the impossible standards. They hammered it into his brain. The cause had saved him. Did he not want to do the same for others? Did he not want to be the salvation for some other trembling child, starved of freedom?

The more the surrounding abuse escalated, the more inclined Jackson was to entertain his once banished abilities. It took no shortage of support, and encouragement from the Jem Family. Especially as his eyes glazed over, and his heart squeezed beneath his ribcage; the torment Jackson endured present in every celebrated advancement of his powers. It, at times, hurt. In the same way it might have to break through the steel of unwanted chains. Repression was no light weight, and Jackson, like Atlas, had shouldered far too much for far too long. But in time, he could feel how it sloughed off his shoulders. How he breathed a little easier with the gentle coaxing from those that could truly understand him, and the pain of a past he longed to forget. He was no longer that scared child, fending for itself. He was not alone anymore, a solitary sacrifice to science. He was part of something. Something with claws and razor sharp teeth that could seize back all that had been stolen from Jackson.

He only hopes he was not rescued from one monster, and fated to become another. At times, Jackson carries more humanity than those entirely so. Living with the burden of remaining soft in a world that so often yearned to splinter his edges into something deadly. But how can he shy away from its violence without hiding from those that plead for his help? How can he betray those that are what he, at his core, is himself? A mutant.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

LUCA MENDOZA: Many would never gravitate to Jackson without his illusions and honeyed words, yet when Luca caught him on a bad day they were all ears and, under their willful gaze, he found plenty to say. He knows he’s skirting sharpened edges with Luca, but when they look at Jackson they give him nothing; no hint to mold himself around. All that remains is himself, and the words that fall unbidden at Luca’s presence. Maybe he’s a fool to trust them as he does, baring his heart to someone that would just as surely carve him of it, yet he does in spite of the warnings. Perhaps because Luca’s strength, no matter how off-putting to some, ensnares him like an unsuspecting moth to a flame that fails to find its own. I would love to see as the two develop whether there will come a day where there’s something they can’t agree on or look past and it grows to cause fissures in the wall they’ve built around their relationship. Or if, oppositely, one is driven to do something out of character in order to protect/appease the other and it changes them as a person, and ultimately the dynamic the two share.

NEVE KAPLAN: The first person to ever truly know Jackson, and the first to love him in spite of it. Because it was, no matter how she shies from the emotion, love. How freeing it was to meet someone who could liberate them from their net of lies and niceties, and embrace the less glamorous parts of him. In Neve’s presence they never felt the urge to bite their tongue, or swallow thoughts for her to deem them worthy. During the course of their relationship, he’d tasted the normalcy he so craved as a teenager. The bliss of routine he never thought could belong to someone like himself. Slowly, his veil of shame lifted as Neve demanded to see the presence beyond. Who was he to deny her anything when she’d given him everything? A family, a love, a confidante. But while the girl had filled Jackson’s wanting hands, he had failed to return the favor. More than he, she yearned for retribution. The very desire he often wrestled and longed to suffocate bloomed within Neve effortlessly. As time wore on, it became clear which of the two she held dearer to her heart, despite Jackson’s efforts. She will always be the one that got away, though he fears she will become a stranger to even herself as obsession needles at the parts of her he most adored. Pain festering within her until the person he once loved becomes swallowed whole in its mutiny.

As a child, Jackson’s mind was plagued with selfless heroes and hedonistic adventures. In Neve he sees the bones of those imagined villains, and he fears she will meet the same fate should he not intervene. I can’t wait to see these two interact! Jackson will always carry this unique bond with her and I’d love to see what he’d do to protect it. How will her motivations intersect with his own and those of the Jem Family? Will it one day cause problems for the others he considers family, and will he be forced to decide between the two? Could Neve eventually cross a line even Jackson can’t defend, or will he submerge himself in the same depravity in hopes of pulling her free from it? I think he is hopelessly attached to Neve and I’d love to see the depths he’d go and the sacrifices he’d make to salvage what remains of her.

CAIN DOUGLAS: Jackson is someone who aches to be liked, and Cain seems to enjoy pressing their thumb against the wound. Sure, he may be far too careless or distracted at times but the doctor’s rage is unmatched. He’s not sure of the exact moment he fingered the wrong button on Douglas, but how he yearns to undo it. No matter how he tries to joke and soften their demeanor he’s met with unparalleled annoyance. Still, if Jackson is anything, it’s persistent, and in the wake of Cain’s rejection he finds himself searching for common ground. Usually, he finds more give in the walls he prods, but with the doctor they’ve found disappointingly little. In an attempt to ease their dislike and garner their help, Jackson’s even resorted to offering them bits of information. A secret here, a weighted question there, waiting eagerly for that flicker of interest in their glare. But should it not manifest, Jackson is relieved for the input, no matter how hostile or unhelpful. Though Cain might simmer at the sight of him, Jackson can’t deny the way he lingers on their words and reactions, in careful observation. There’s a lot to learn from someone so seemingly opposite to himself, and if the two are fated to spend so many hours together, he just might take advantage of it. I’m really interested to see how this could progress! Jackson garners respect for Cain despite their differences, and I’d like to see if eventually he could pique their interest, perhaps with something serious or dire that he meant to keep quiet from the others. Or if it’s as simple as Jackson finally proving himself with some unexpected act that meets Cain’s standards. Otherwise, I do love enemies and it’d, oppositely, be super fun to see how Cain’s annoyance could blossom and what it would create within Jackson to be met with such growing aggression when they ache for the opposite.

EXTRA: a pinterest board here (x)

HEADCANONS

Began to collect a lot of house plants aftering dating Neve but her green thumb never rubbed off. It took days of research just to learn how to keep a succulent alive for longer than a week at a time.

Really enjoys reading and, in particular, immersing themselves in stories/poems with heros and travel tales.

Outside of his mutant abilities, Jackson grew to be quite an actor due to his careful observation of those around him. It mainly stemmed from self defense reasons: foster care, and entrapment, but stuck over time. He has no desire to pursue it, but it’s a good party trick for telling stories (that are not always factual) and jokes at parties. It’s only when those pesky feelings interfere that their body betrays them, and their gift falls to the wayside.

Jackson is bisexual/biromantic and awful at dating.

A documentary junkie. Whether it’s something he’s interested in or not, Jackson breezed through the Netflix selections in a week, trying to expand their horizons. They would blame it on general research for facts and details that might be of use while masquerading as someone else, but he really just wants to collect hobbies and knowledge in search of fulfillment.

Very simplistic/minimal taste in both clothes and interior decorating (which means, in so many words, they’re too lazy to venture outside their comfort zone.)

A dog person with no dogs. 10/10 will pet your dog.

Likes being outdoors and feels like he’s suffocating if he doesn’t get out often enough. Outside of needing company and hating to be alone for extended periods, he starts to feel trapped if he doesn’t get fresh air and room to roam after long intervals stuck between four walls.

ANYTHING ELSE: If possible I might prefer an alt fc of Richard Madden but if you’re attached to Jack Lowden no worries!

[sealticge]

[drives up to fanfic window] hey can i get an uhhhhhhh therion and prim being dumb gay best friends pls i will love you forever

did someone order some fuckin, uhhhhhhh, therion being a good & helpful best friend for an extremely powerful lesbian? here u go. 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991028

Prim slid into the booth beside him, pressing herself close against his side. The tiny bells sewn into her dancing silks chimed pleasantly, and Therion lifted his head and raised an eyebrow, sliding a cup over to her smooth as you please. Prim shot him a grateful look and drank deep, and only when she’d downed half the cup did she meet his eyes and flash him the devilish little grin he’d been hoping to see.

“The tavern keep says his daughter can play,” she said, indicating a dusty piano in the corner. “Though I do believe he’s skeptical that my performance will be worth all the bother.” She took another drink, her gaze wandering over to the old stage that dominated one entire wall of the establishment.

“His mistake. How long before showtime?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take. He was a little vague.” Prim’s eyes darted back to his face, and he noticed with some surprise that she was biting her lip the way she did when something had actually managed to rattle her. He tilted his head at her, raising a brow.

“Twenty minutes. Right. You sure your feet won’t freeze to the floor while you’re waiting?”

She blinked at him, and her expression went stormy. “I am not nervous,” she insisted, pulling herself upright with an offended little sniff. “Please. Cold feet are an amateur's concern. I’ve danced for crowds ten times the size of this, you know that.”

Therion shrugged and took a moment to take a drink, himself. Prim watched him with narrowed eyes, daring him to argue the point. “That’s true,” he said instead, surprising her, though if anything her eyes only narrowed further. “But it’s not about the size of the crowd, and we both know it.”

“Oh?” She shrugged one shoulder, elegant and oh so unconcerned. “We both know what, exactly?”

He bit his lip to keep from laughing, hunching forward and pulling his scarf up to hide his face. “Prim,” he said, struggling to keep his voice neutral. “Come on, now.”

“I haven’t any idea what you’re referring to -- and if I’m going to put on a worthwhile show, I’d better go get ready.” She snatched up her glass and downed her drink in several greedy gulps. Therion watched this without comment, grinning into his scarf, his amusement safely concealed. Prim slammed the glass down just a bit harder than necessary, shot him a significant look, and then stood and stretched, bells chiming with her movements. Therion let his eyes sweep over her, considering.

“You look good,” he said, before he could think better of it. Prim paused and turned to quirk an eyebrow at him over her shoulder. Therion waved at her, shaking his head. “Not like -- You know what I mean. You’re a show stopper. I think a certain someone is going to have a real hard time looking away.”

Prim colored slightly, her sun-kissed skin taking on a rosy undertone. “What if she won’t come?” she asked, and her voice wavered just slightly, uncharacteristically small.

“Hey. Are you doubting me?”

She let out her breath in an exasperated puff of air. Crossed her arms. Shook her head. Bells chimed with every motion. “I would never,” she said, and that undercurrent of determination in her words that he always found so strangely inspiring was back in full force. She nodded firmly. “I have utmost faith in you, my dear Master Thief.”

She was teasing, but something about the way she said it sent warmth crawling up through his chest, unexpected -- and worse, unexpectedly pleasant. He ducked his head with a purely performative short shrug. “Great. Are you going to go get ready, or what? I’ve got things to do, myself, so…”

“Right.” Prim took a deep breath, seemed about to say something else, but then snapped her mouth shut with a tiny shake of her head. Therion didn’t press her. “See you shortly,” she said, instead. He nodded, and she flounced off in a chiming whirlwind of crimson silk and golden bells.

Therion watched her go, finished his drink, and made for the exit. He stepped quickly, leaving the tavern and circling around the back, past the stables and at least one couple surreptitiously trysting in the hedges off a side door to the kitchens. They didn’t even notice him. He snickered to himself, following a dusty path from the hitching posts down into a little copse of trees.

Linde found him, first. She slunk out of the greenery just beside the path, falling in beside him, sniffing him curiously. Therion darted a look around to be sure no one saw, then quickly pulled a cloth-wrapped stuffed sausage he’d purloined at dinner out of his pack. Linde accepted the offering eagerly, snapping it up and swallowing it near whole. She then subsequently butted her furry head against him, sniffing for more.

“I see once again thou hast set about bribing Linde whenst thou thinkest I am distracted,” H’aanit said, and he looked up, picking her shape out further into the clearing. Linde gave his things one final sniff, then circled back and trotted to her mistress, her purring an audible rumble. Therion held his hands up, palms out.

“Can you blame me for wanting her on my good side?” He entreated her, blinking innocently. H’aanit simply sighed at him and waved him in to approach. He dropped his hands and hurried over, and H’aanit put her hands on her hips, pinning him with a disapproving stare.

“Didst thou needen something, or is this simply thy newest and most thrilling attempt to vex me, yet?”

“Neither, really,” Therion said. “Look. Okay. I’m not going to mince around this point.”

“Oh? For thou, is such a thing even possible?”

“You’ve been upset since you found that letter.”

A pause. A startled expression, there and then gone. “True,” she said, cautiously. “I will not deny it.”

“Nothing anyone does seems to cheer you up, and I think people are running out of ideas.”

Her brow wrinkled. “This worries the others so?”

“Sure. So, Prim and I made a deal --”

“I doe wish thou wouldst not involve Primrose in thy skullduggery,” H’aanit interrupted him, the crease between her brows deepening.

“-- She’d convince the tavern keep to let her put that old stage of theirs back to work, which as everyone knows, is good for my sort of business --”

“Thou wouldst usen her dance for a distraction, to more easily ply thy trade.”

“Exactly. Guilty. But here’s the thing. She said the dance would happen only if I agreed to talk you back into the common room to see it.” He held up his hands. “So, here I am, upholding my side of the bargain.”

H’aanit studied him suspiciously. “Why wouldst I agree to helpen thou rob the people of this village? I doe not approve of thy plan.”

“Easy. Because Primrose has been working for weeks on a dance specifically for you, and she’ll just be devastated if you aren’t there for her first performance of it.”

Suspicion bloomed into full bewilderment. H’aanit’s eyes went wide in the moonlight. “A dance for -- me? Specifically? Truly?”

It was hard not to laugh, but he managed it. Barely. “Yep. And she’s nervous about it, too. Couldn’t even face you to tell you about it herself, so here I am. See? Not everything I do is self motivated, H’aanit. Have a little faith.”

Her lips twitched and her head tilted, her braid swinging at her back. “I am not convinced this shouldst qualify as a selfless act,” she said. “Or that thou speakest true, even so.”

“That may be, but here’s the thing... I don’t think you’re going to risk missing a dance Prim put together especially for you just because you don’t trust me. Am I right?”

She pursed her lips. “I shall thinken on it,” she said, voice firm.

“Great. Just so you know, you have about, oh, ten minutes to decide.”

“What?!”

“So don’t take too long.” He grinned at her. She glared back. Linde looked between them, eyes shining with uncanny intelligence, and let out a soft little questioning whine. H’aanit turned to soothe her, her face troubled.

She could say it was about his thieving all she liked, but Therion suspected her hesitation had to do with something else entirely. Not that he was stupid enough to push the point. He did intend to clean house tonight, that much was true, and if he pushed her too hard she might refuse to go just to spite him. She had a proud streak a mile wide.

So instead of teasing her any further, he turned back down the dirt path back to the tavern, whistling all the way. Prim was nowhere to be seen, but word of the upcoming performance must have spread somehow, because more tables were filled than had been when he’d gone. A pretty girl in a plain dress had seated herself at the piano bench, and she was warming herself up with short, lively tunes. Up at a table near the stage he recognized several of his companions, all seated close together on one side of the table so as to better see the stage.

He slipped into the shadows at the back of the room and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Prim probably wouldn’t cancel the show now, even if H’aanit didn’t show. For one thing, Ophilia was seated at that table in the front, and he was pretty sure Prim had at least half an eye for her, too. But it was surprising to realize that he’d actually feel a little bad if H’aanit opted to ignore his invitation. Prim was counting on him, and for... whatever reason, he genuinely did not want to disappoint her.

Minutes ticked by. Eventually, the tavern keep appeared on stage and announced Prim and his piano-playing daughter as the evening’s entertainment. The music started up. The threadbare curtains drew back. Prim appeared, beautiful as ever, her wide eyes sweeping the room, and Therion had just started to actually feel a little gutted for her when the door banged open, admitting both H’aanit and Linde into the common room. H’aanit’s face was flushed red with exertion, like she’d decided at the last second and then come running.

Prim’s eyes landed on her, and her subsequent smile was so wide and bright and genuine that it actually made him squirm with secondhand discomfort, but the thing was -- H’aanit looked up and smiled back, tremulously, and -- gods.

They were so fucking stupid. And cute, Therion allowed, begrudgingly. They were definitely that, too.

Prim tossed her hair back, face glowing, suffused with energy she hadn’t had moments before, and began to dance. H’aanit didn’t even bother to find a seat. She just stood there, right in the middle of the tavern commons, while the other patrons all whispered and murmured around her, their eyes darting between her and Prim.

He gave it a few minutes, until most of the eyes had settled rightfully if somewhat uneasily on Prim -- her dancing really was incredible -- and then he lifted himself off the wall with purpose. He skulked around the edges of the room, preparing himself for an extremely profitable jaunt to the front, planning his route as the piano played on.

H’aanit didn’t even notice him, and he fully intended to just let her be. She was another useful distraction, after all.  But halfway through his rounds -- and with considerably heavier pockets -- he let out a self suffering sigh and took her gently by the arm, cutting his planned route short out of sheer pity. Ridiculous. H’aanit jumped, he held a finger over his lips, and she nodded slowly and let him lead her up to the front, where the others had saved seats for them just in case, like they always did.

He sat with his arms crossed and his scarf carefully pulled up around his face, hiding his expression. Beside him, H’aanit put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, eyes like twin moons in her face.

Prim’s movements flowed on a current of silk and song, each step flawless, each twist and turn and seductive sway more captivating than the last. She caught his eyes mid-step, and he wiggled his eyebrows and indicated H’aanit beside him with a lift of his chin. The grin she flashed him was dazzling, and the thank you she mouthed at him filled him with warmth, every bit as intoxicating as the alcohol.

He hunched into his scarf and rolled his eyes like it meant nothing… but he knew perfectly well even as he did it that she knew better. She always did.

In their own way, they were both performers, after all.

[wolfofwinchester]

♛. FIRE

WARNING: Contains body horror and violence.

“Isn’t fire destructive?”

“Oh yes, fire is very destructive,”‌ The Countess responded, fanning the flames with the iron poker. “Much in the twin vein of how an enormous mass of water from a broken dam is hazardous to a house, and how being swallowed up by the Earth is unquestionably dangerous. The wind itself can spin into a roaring cyclone and rip you up faster than you can blink if you are not fast enough to outrun it, and I can tell you this for free,”‌ Her eyes cast over her shoulder, the flames reflecting from mulberry lips faintly twisted upwards. “No one can outrun the wind.”

Goosebumps ridged the taxman’s arms, shoulders instinctively shrinking back. He did not like having to deal with this woman, no one he worked with did.

“Humans are dangerous too, especially when you put them in control.”‌ She tapped the red iron into her velvet gloved palm, strolling from the fireplace to slowly round the couch the man was settled in. He could only watch, brows twisted at the red hot iron meeting palm, yet not seeming to phase the woman. His eyes would only glance wayward when spotting her famed dark hounds scattered about upon cushions, slumbering. People speculated they were the cause for how a woman could be so intimidating, but right now, he felt that theory proven wrong. “They’ll drive the people that keep them alive and well into the ground, squishing them like ants. They’ll persecute the wrong man in favor of the right because he had enough coin to settle his side of justice,” Another tap into her palm. “They can drive entire countries into famine without even blinking, and raise bars so not one soul can come to starving’s aid.”

“I, Ms. Phantomhive – Countess Phantomhive, Countess,”‌ The taxman murmurs nervously in correction, head bowing, eyes staying peeled as her silhouette passed before him. He almost felt like anxiety was wrapping tight fists around his lungs to squeeze out all the oxygen; he was starting to feel on edge simply watching her circle him. It ran his throat dry. “I’m afraid I’m not here to, to talk about politics – I’m here to bring you this month’s due.”‌ His fingers fluttered to the briefcase at his side, only to yelp and thrust back as the red hot poker shot into his face, centimeters from his nose; its red glow illuminated his features, from his brown mustache to his saucer-sized grey eyes.

“My point,”‌ A centimeter closer. “is that if one is to start a fire, they can either contain it, or they can let it spread recklessly. A tamed, roaring danger, or a wild unknown that will consume everything beyond your control. Which is it you prefer, Mr. Taxman?”‌

With his back pressed hard to the couch, said Taxman skids along it with his head tilting in attempt to avoid the iron glow. Worthless endeavor, as the Countess makes no effort to pull it back - his cheek grazes its tip and leaves a nasty, inflaming burn that makes him give a despairing grunt, but he does escape it. He nearly falls to the floor the second he’s out from beneath the poker, and skitters like a cockroach to the waiting mahogany doors, still propped open from twenty minutes ago. He thought it rude the Countess requested her butler to leave them open; this was a private business matter, but of course, he didn’t dare to say a thing.

“My job isn’t to speak of fires and pyro-obsession, my Lady,”‌ The Taxman huffed, pulling at his lapels and quickly grabbing at the edge of the mahogany to swing it all the way open, stopping only to fix his newly disheveled appearance in a mirror just opposite the way. The burn was hideous, but it was a small price to pay. His suitcase remained at the couch. “My job is to collect debts and bring them to where they are owed, that is all. I am no politician, and I am no doctor obsessed with the study of fire-related philosophy.” ‌How ridiculous that sounded, saying it aloud.

“Oho, I’m well aware of that, Mr. Brent.”

He froze.

The mahogany doors slammed suddenly, and off went three of Mr. Brent’s fingers. Jaw locked immediately, and nearly to his chest, he drew in a sharp croak as blood spurted from his clean cut knuckles, shrunken pupils fixated on the little bony stubs that wiggled back at him. He croaked. He couldn’t scream, his mind had gone blind and white, all he could do was breathe and utter weak, short cut whimpers. The only thing stole his attention was the blood-chilling growls behind him, his head turning far too slow before he was knocked to the ground by teeth sunk deep into his calves and dragging him back across the floor to the patient Countess. It was then he could let out a panicked, pain-riddled scream, grabbing at his knees, only to be caged in by four other black hounds who snarled and snapped their teeth at him, successfully corralling him back to the ground.

“I’m very well aware,”‌ Claudia hummed, reclining into the emerald chair mounted right by the roaring fireplace. “and that’s what I wish to talk to you about. Don’t be rude and skitter off on me, I’m not all that forgiving when interrupted.”

Bloodied maws unclamped from Mr. Brent, but the hounds didn’t leave. They kept the man caged in, well alerting to the fact there’d be no skittering away this time. He could only oblige, giving rasped inhales as he rose up and clenched his bleeding hand to his chest, fishing at his pockets for his handkerchief to press to the nubs. “you know my name.”

“Of course‌ I know your name.”‌ The poker points to the suitcase. “Just like I know there is a poisonous gas mechanism in that suitcase that would have killed both you and myself the second you opened it,”‌ Her palm clasps the long snout of one of the looming borzois, voice oozing into a coo. “and my sweet little seven shades of night here.”‌

“how?” Simple words were better. They processed easier than a complex set of questions when his head felt like it was vibrating. He flinched when the Countess tugged a white handkerchief of her own from a hidden pocket and tossed it his way, and instinct sought to grab it and bundle it close to his gaping wounds. His vision was blurring, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the pain, or if it was from the blood loss. He felt sick, he knew that much.

A click of the tongue, and a thoughtful squint at the shadows huddled in the corners of the room, flickering, like they dared to step foot from their space but felt too intimidated to do so. “A pretty black bird flew into my office and whispered you into my ear, boy. Told me everything I‌ ever wanted to know about Terrance J. Brent, from the top about his wife and his three children, and a fourth on the way – congratulations, by the way – and down to the fact he was more than willing to die today for every single one of them. I can respect someone like that.”

Color left Mr. Brent’s face, brows falling slack. Searing pain suddenly became the last thing on his mind. He was sobered up, although stunned silent.

“Lord Cayman hasn’t concern for you, or your brood. He is a greedy man, and you will never crawl out of the debt he’s buried you under, I assure you that he’s seen to that much. No one ever has, and no one ever will. Your families will carry on what you left behind even when you bite the bullet and start swallowing grave dirt. So!”

So?

“I’ll ask you again:‌ Which do you prefer?‌ The contained fire, or the wild one?‌”‌ The Countess’s body leaned forwards, and the burning iron poker rose beneath Terrance Brent’s chin, forcing his head to raise so he hadn’t a place to look else except for her flame-reflected eyes. “The wrong man, or the right, who has plans for your family whether you do this job or not, and see that something quite miserable happens to you so they can do it if you don’t. It’s up to you, Mr. Brent.”

Sweat beaded, but there was nowhere to back up to; all seven of those hounds he thought were sleeping gathered around him. “why would you offer me this?”

A smile spreads, unnerving. It lacked all kindness, yet there was a small, small spark of warmth to it. “Let’s say I have a weak spot for family.”‌