#everyone thinking its impossible except for your friends. who encourage you so much and are neurodivergent as well. like AGHHHHHH /POS

[sunbedo]

Hey guys, just finished Fantasy High Junior Year. Crying and screaming forever first of all. I take everything back abt Squeem, Squeem is great. I take back nothing abt Porter he still sucks severely. Gorgug Thistlespring you will always be famous and i love you with all my heart. Very glad the Rat Grinders got revived they have so much potential as characters and i honestly kinda love them, and it wasn't explicitly stated if Kipperlilly was or not but i hope she's getting some therapy from someone other than Jawbone. I love you so so much forever the Bad Kids

Hey guys. Started to watch Fantasy High Junior Year. First thought was: who the fuck is Squeem. Next thought, cause I'm on episode 3, Porter sucks and I want to punch him

[bluiex]

I heard 'Mumbo getting tired of the war with Mycelium' and "Scar wants both the mayor and his assistant' and my mind took off.

~~~~

"What happened to all that vigor you had, Mr. Mayor? Has your body finally given up on you?"

He doesn't bother to move as he gets pulled back against someone's chest, not even trying to grip on the grass in a feeble attempt to prevent it. He's just...done. He's over it all. Everything that happen was a show of how he would do as mayor...

And he failed. Horribly.

He couldn't do anything to prevent the mycelium continuing its spread across the server. He couldn't find anything that could put a stop to it for good, only using what the others discovered and meager temporary fixes that only slowed the progression of the problem.

He's lost friends to that fungus's influence. Those who believed in him, encouraged him to keep going...Who he wanted to protect more than anything. They were all lost to the infection, minds changed to enjoy accept it moving through their veins and taking over their bodies. All the times he so futilely tried to bring people back, having to look at their smiling face and hear how they didn't want to be saved...It's only a matter of time before one get so defeated.

And even now, when the infection continues to spread through the server, he's off somewhere hiding instead of helping. He's left this impossible problem in the hand of those who are still unafflicted, the remaining hermits who have managed to escape 'Father' Spore's grasp for this long.

He can only imagine what the remaining survivors hermits are saying...Maybe things about they show still have hope, that he'll figure out something and everything will get better? Or the more reasonable answer of they should have never elected him to be mayor, that all has been lost because of his leadership failures.

"What, got nothing to say?" Scar Father Spore asks, hands moving to his shoulders. "No more about how you'll win? How'll you'll defeat me and my resistance? That you'll find a cure and save all who fallen under the mycelium's control?"

"What do you want..." He asks in a quiet and low voice. "You've won. Shouldn't you be celebrating you win as you track down the remaining uninfected? What more do you get out of plain talk with me?"

"Because, my dear Mumbo, there's still something important we have to do."

He huffs quietly. Of course...What else is there for them to do. Why else would they come to him themselves instead of sending their lackeys pawns?

A hand travels up his shoulder and throat to his chin, tugging his head back for him to look them in the eye. Them, who uses the body of the first friend he lost, using their face to trick and deceive all who fell under its control. Using their mouth and voice to promise safety and lying that the infection wasn't as bad as everyone thought.

"Go on then," He murmurs. "Solidify your win. Crush the hopes of all who still survive. Declare it for the entire server to see."

"Just what do you think I'm going to do?" They scold him, like he's all but a misguided child.

"You're here to kill me...Why else would you be here."

Scar They stay quiet for a few moments before chuckling like he's said something funny, which makes the quiet rage build up in his chest. Oh good, he can't even get death without being mocked by them...

"Oh Mumby...Is that what you thought this all was about? Power over the server? My little sporeling, things would have gone much differently if that was all I wanted."

"...What more is there for you to get? Everything you could possibly want, everyone you wanted, is within an arms reach. What else is there?"

They chuckle some more. "Everyone, hmm? You think so?"

His breath hitches as their other hand moves down his chest, slowly caressing the area through his shirt. He tries to look down, but his head gets moved back up when he does.

"What-What are you-"

"Everyone, huh? How about everyone except this rather stubborn little mayor who I also wanted at my side?"

"You're lying..."

He lets out a shocked noise when his thigh gets squeezed, and he holds back a different noise when his leg gets moved to the side, spreading him out.

"Am I, darling? Do you really think that?"

"It's-That's-You-"

They gently shush him. "Focus on what you want to say, Mumbo. We have time. We have a lot of time..."

His head gets tilted up more, and they start to lean down. He tried to reach a hand up, to stop them maybe, but quickly uses it grab at the wrist of the hand that was over his crotch now.

"I don't understand..." He says weakly. "You...You took...You have Grian. You paraded him around the server as yours. You...Why...How..."

"Maybe I'm greedy, selfish even, but I promise since the start of all this...I wanted you both with me. One of you was just more difficult to get than the other."

Their thumb gently rubs his jaw, and he can feel their hand move up to rest on his stomach.

They're so close to him. Their lips are practically ghosting over his...

"I didn't mean to hurt you..." They Scar says softly. "Honest. I wanted...I hoped you would come to us by yourself, and then we could talk without anyone saying I was tricking you...I guess I'm just a tab dumb at expressing my feelings."

He hmphs. "A tad? More like a lot, mate...A little heads up would have been nice."

"I know."

"I could feel you sometimes...Trying to poke in at the edges of my mind. I always thought it was because you thought it to be easier to take over the mayor than to go through a whole war..."

Scar presses their lips against his in a quick and chaste kiss. Though their lips didn't touch for a long amount of time, it was enough to leave a light coating of whatever substance is on their lips.

They quickly wipe it off.

"Sorry, forgot about that..."

"It's fine. Lips are a little numb now, but it's fine."

"Too used to kissing someone with the same problem, I guess...Can I take you home? Make it up to you somehow? Me and Gri can show you the spot we left for you in our bed..."

"You two saved a space for me?"

"Of course, Mumbo. Always."

Scar's hand gently pets his cheek, and they rest their head against his. Something in the back of his mind tells him its another trick, to smell for any sort of scent that seems off, but...He can't find any deception in their face. He can't smell anything that should set him off. They're just...here. With him. Loving him.

Why shouldn't he trust this?

"Yeah...Okay. Let's...Let's go home. I-I missed you two..."

"And we missed you. Grian lets me know all the time how much he misses you."

"Yeah, I bet he does."

HHNNGNGNH AWWW ough Mumbo.. I love this ty ty

Aaaaah you guys are so good

[atlabeth]

everything happens for a reason part 7 - zuko x fem!reader

I think my ways are wearing me down

part 6 | masterlist | part 8

a/n: as said very astutely in my outline, "y/n just keeps taking L's"

i actually had to take breaks while writing the final scene and watching the episode LMAo i forgot how fucking sad this scene was!!

warning(s): you know what happens in this chapter. its siege of the north part 2. its so much more angst like SO MUCH ANGST. im so sorry i got so sad while writing this

wc: 4.0k

chapter title comes from brand new city by mitski!

Y/N adjusted her hold on the basket of clothes as she knocked on the door with her free hand, pushing it open after waiting a few moments.

“Prince Zuko?” she called in a whisper. They had gotten past the point of formalities, but it was a precaution she opted to take when they met like this. She spotted him sitting on his bed and he gave her a thumbs up, a sign she took to mean they were in the clear. Y/N closed the door behind her and bounded over, then set the basket on his bed.

“Alright. I brought you the book that you wanted to borrow.” She unearthed the novel from the pile of clothes with caution, taking care to not ruin the hard work that went into folding all of them. “I had to hide it so I could get in here — no one thinks anything of a servant bringing clothes around, but books are a little more suspicious. But here you go! My very own edition of ‘Keiko and the Koalaotter’.”

“Thank you!” The prince grinned as he took the book and examined the cover. “I’ve always been curious about Water Tribe culture, even more after you started teaching me about it. They don’t really tell us about it in our classes.”

“It’s not really accurate to actual Water Tribe stuff, but it is cute,” she laughed. “I remember begging my parents for a koalaotter for weeks after I finished it. They told me that there was no way to get one all the way in the Earth Kingdom, but I never listened to them.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” His eyes lit up as he ran over to the windowsill. “I got you a gift too!”

“Zuko, really? You shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I did. So don’t even think about not accepting it,” he joked. He picked something up from a vase and bounded back over, doing as good a job of hiding the flowers behind his back as his excited grin.

“What is it?” she questioned.

“They’re silver wisterias!” he exclaimed as he presented the bouquet. “They grow in the palace gardens. They’re really pretty, and so are you, and I know how much you love the gardens, so I thought you’d like it.”

She felt her cheeks heat up when she accepted the gift, twirling the stem in her fingers as she inhaled its sweet scent with a smile. “That’s really thoughtful of you, Zuko. Thank you.”

“Of course! You could wear one in your hair, pin one onto your uniform, put them in your room, whatever you want.”

As she carefully ran her fingers over the petals, she couldn���t stop the nagging question at the back of her mind from escaping.

“Why are you so nice to me?” she blurted out, causing Zuko’s brows to furrow in confusion.

“Because you’re my friend. Friends are nice to each other.”

“I know, but why are we friends?” she pushed. “You know that you could get in trouble for talking to me like this, but you still do it. Why?”

He pondered the question for a moment before he answered. “Well.. you don’t treat me like everyone else. I’m the prince, so everyone here has to do what I want and be nice to me. But you’re not like that. When it’s just the two of us, you treat me like anyone else, and I like that — I know that you always mean what you say, so when you’re nice to me I know it’s because you like me, not because you have to be. Why do you do that?” the prince asked as he turned the tables. “You know that you could get in trouble for talking to me like this, but you still do it. Why?”

She punched him playfully on the shoulder and giggled. “Someone’s gotta keep you humble.”

His cheeks flushed a bright red as he rubbed his arm shyly. “I’m really glad we’re friends. Sometimes it feels like you’re my only one in this whole nation.”

“So am I,” she beamed. “Always and forever, right?”

“Right.”

-

Y/N’s eyes snapped open and she gasped, immediately whipping her head around frantically to see if the Avatar was still there, but Katara shook her head.

“He’s gone,” Katara said miserably, confirming her suspicions. “I woke up a few minutes before you and I checked everywhere.”

“Great,” she muttered. She rubbed the back of her head and winced — she had a feeling she would be plagued by headaches for at least the next couple of days.

“So…” Katara began. “You and Zuko both recognized each other. He— he said he thought that you were dead.”

Y/N pursed her lips, wondering how to start that story, when Sokka and Yue burst into the oasis on Appa.

“What happened?” he questioned. “Where’s Zuko?”

“He took Aang,” Katara mourned. “He took him right out from under me.”

“It’s not your fault, Katara,” Y/N insisted. “It really looks like he’s improved since… since last time.”

“‘Last time’?” Sokka asked, prompting a sigh from Y/N. She looked to Yue for help, and the princess nodded supportively.

“We have… history.” She looked at her hands for a moment before continuing. “I’m not from the Northern Water Tribe. My mother is, but I was born in a small village in the Earth Kingdom. I told you that my village was invaded, Katara, but after it, my mother and I were captured for being waterbenders, and they took us to the Fire Nation to work as healers and servants in the palace.”

“I became friends with Zuko there. He was nothing like you saw today, or like anything you know from the past. He was kind, and caring, and passionate, and he made my dismal life a little bit brighter. And… we ended up falling for each other.”

“We went too far, the Fire Lord found out, and— well, he was going to kill me. My mother managed to get me out, but she stayed behind, and I haven’t seen her since that night. I haven’t seen Zuko since that night. I always held hope that I would find my way back and see them both again, but now that Zuko is like… like that?” She bit down on her lip and shook her head.

“Now I don’t know what to think. He’s completely different than anything I knew, than the boy that I fell in love with. And I can’t help but think about what happened to my mother if that is what happened to Zuko.” And I can’t help but think that it’s my fault for not being there for him.

A collective silence hung in the air for just a moment before Sokka broke it. “You had a thing with Zuko?”

Y/N let out a surprised laugh as Katara hit him on the shoulder. “Sokka, now is not the time!”

“No,” she chuckled. “No, it’s alright. It’s a lot, I know. It’s just… impossible. That the Zuko I knew turned into someone like this. I mean, you saw, Katara— he didn’t even hesitate to try and hurt me.”

Katara pulled her into a warm embrace before separating and looking her in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Y/N, for all that you’ve been through. And I know that fighting against Zuko hurts, so if you can’t come after Aang with us then I completely understand—”

“No,” she said once more, something hardening in her eyes. “I’ll help you find Aang, it’s the least I can do. Besides, I… I have to see him again. I have to see him again to know that this is actually real, that— that this is actually who he is now.”

Katara nodded solemnly; Sokka had already started walking back to Appa with Yue. “Well, Zuko couldn’t have gotten far. We’ll find him — Aang’s gonna be fine.”

Katara looked back hopefully at Y/N and she met her eyes with a smile, though slightly strained, as she jogged to catch up with them. But as she climbed onto Appa with her fellow waterbender, the anger in his eyes was all she could see.

The boy she fought might’ve been the Fire Prince, but it was not her Zuko.

-

Cold.

That was all Zuko seemed to know as he trekked through the frozen tundra, the blizzard around him threatening to end him at any moment. No more had he despised the Water Tribes than he did in this moment, but the weight of the Avatar on his back and the promise of his honor was enough to push him onwards.

The only thing on his mind that he couldn’t shake was her.

Zuko thought she was dead, honestly and truly. Few were lucky enough to escape his father’s wrath once it was incurred upon them — Zuko himself wasn’t even an exception — and though he wanted nothing more than for her to be one of the few, he knew that she was dead. There was no other explanation.

For years, the waterbender had been a staple in his mind — a memory of a childhood love, of a better time. He thought about her when he fought against his soldiers on slow evenings on the ship, her words of encouragement and joking retorts echoing through his ears as he went through every form. He thought about her when he talked to his uncle, his attitude often mirroring hers. The morning of the Agni Kai, he almost turned to her for reassurance before remembering.

Spirits, Zuko thought about her every time he looked at the water. And even all these years after her disappearance, he was still plagued by nightmares of her fate.

He had resigned himself to mourning her. Zuko truly thought she was dead.

But there she was, in the flesh, with the Avatar and his friends. Breathing. Alive. His enemy.

How the fuck was he supposed to deal with that?

She was even more beautiful than he remembered, but it was obvious the years since her escape had weathered her. He noticed a certain emptiness in her eyes, the brightness from their childhood a distant memory. It was obvious she had grown — she carried a certain elegance that he didn’t remember, and her skill in waterbending had improved so much since the days of their sparring sessions.

It felt like he had betrayed her. The expression she wore after his first blast was like a physical weight, the guilt of broken promises heavy over his head when he struck the final blow. So familiar to their friendly fights, yet such a far cry.

But they weren’t kids anymore. She had changed, and so had he.

It had been years. Any feelings he still harbored for her didn’t matter anymore.

Zuko had a mission, and he was going to complete it no matter what.

-

The tundra was treacherous, the blizzard making it difficult to see anything at all. Y/N had taken to holding Yue’s hand, something the princess had offered when she had seen how restless her friend was, as well as gnawing on the bottom of her lip. She feared for both Zuko and Aang, and she could only hope that they would be able to find them before something happened to either of them.

“Don’t worry,” the princess reassured. “Prince Zuko can’t be getting too far in this weather.”

“I’m not worried they’ll get away in the blizzard,” Katara murmured. “I’m worried that they won’t.”

“They’re not gonna die in this blizzard,” Sokka said as he gripped the reins tighter. “If we know anything, it’s that Zuko never gives up.”

Y/N chuckled softly and nodded. “You’ve got that right.”

Yue gave her hand a squeeze and a small smile, a sentiment that Y/N returned as Sokka continued. “They’ll survive, and we’ll find them.”

It took a few more minutes of riding and searching, but eventually a bright blue light streaked through the air. Katara gasped and pointed up. “Look!” she exclaimed. “That’s gotta be Aang! Yip yip!”

Appa groaned once more and Sokka turned to follow the light — it had stopped in a small cove before glowing brilliantly then disappearing — and sure enough, Zuko and Aang were down in the snow.

“Appa!” he cheered as they landed, causing Zuko’s eyes to flick up too. Y/N met his gaze for just a moment before he broke it, throwing Aang to the side and easing into a bending stance as Katara slid off of Appa’s back.

“Here for a rematch?” Zuko challenged, the undeserved confidence he spoke with a glimpse of the past.

“Trust me, Zuko,” Katara countered as she raised her hands, “It’s not going to be much of a match.”

She blocked his fire blast then sent a current of snow at him, launching him up into the air on a frozen column before letting him fall to the ground and knocking him out. Y/N couldn’t help but wince, and as Sokka jumped down to free Aang, she slid down as well.

She ran over the pile of snow and bent it off of Zuko, then knelt down next to him and pulled off her glove. She put two fingers on his neck and confirmed what she already thought, but it was still a relief. He was alive, but he wouldn’t be for much longer if he stayed out here.

“What are you doing?” she heard Sokka yell. Y/N turned to find everyone back on Appa already, staring expectantly at her.

“We can’t leave him!” Y/N protested.

“Sure we can!” he countered. “Now come on, let’s go!”

“No,” she insisted, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. It was ice cold. “If we leave him, he’ll die!”

“She’s right.” Aang airbended himself off of Appa and helped her pick up Zuko; Aang bringing himself and the prince back onto the bison with his element and Y/N climbing back up with a hand from Katara.

Sokka rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Yeah, this makes a lot of sense. Let’s bring the guy who’s constantly trying to kill us.”

Y/N ignored the remark and met Aang’s eyes, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’. He smiled and nodded, then grabbed the reins and took off.

As they flew through the sky, Y/N glanced down at Zuko. He looked so much more peaceful now than a few moments ago, his features relaxed rather than tense. It was strange seeing him like this after all these years; angry, scarred, changed. Nothing like the reunion she had imagined.

She bent some of the snow falling down into water and molded it over the cuts on his face, the element taking on a slight glow as she started to heal him.

“Oh, Zuko,” she murmured. “What happened in those four years?”

As if her concentration had broken, the water previously under her control lost both its shape and glow as it pooled on his face. She frowned and attempted to bend it off, but none of the usual power she felt at night was flowing through her veins.

It was at that moment that Y/N looked up and noticed her surroundings.

Everything was cloaked in a veil of red, a crimson moon their backdrop as they continued through the air. “My bending isn’t working,” Y/N muttered, earning a curious look from Katara.

And to make matters worse, Yue winced and held her head, Aang doing the same.

“Are you okay?” Sokka questioned as he reached out to comfort her.

“I feel faint,” she muttered, the effort it took not lost on Y/N.

“I feel it too.” Aang pressed his palm against the side of his head and grimaced as his gaze shifted upwards. “The Moon Spirit is in trouble.”

Y/N’s eyes widened immediately as they flicked towards Yue, the princess choosing not to meet them as she began to tell them all the story of her birth and how she owed the Moon Spirit her life. By the time she was done the Water Tribe siblings were staring at her with disbelief, but there was no time for questions as they flew into the Spirit Oasis.

The sight that awaited them shocked Y/N to her core. A Fire Nation admiral — one she recognized from all the years ago, yet unable to place a name — held a bag with one clenched fist, the other posing the unsaid threat.

“Don’t bother,” he spat in response to their fighting stances, the two words overflowing with unearned confidence. But as cocky as he may have been, it worked — he knew that they were rendered helpless when he held the possibility of a dying spirit against them.

“Zhao, don’t.” Aang dropped his staff and held his hands up in surrender, an action Y/N and the others mirrored.

Everything after that happened unbelievably quickly. After General Iroh — a man she knew as both the ruthless general that laid siege to Ba Sing Se for six hundred long days and Zuko’s surprisingly kind uncle — threatened the admiral with his own firebending, Y/N foolishly believed it to be the end once he let the fish back into the pond.

But any hopes of peace were dashed with the slice of firebending the admiral sent at Tui, plunging the world back into shades of grey just as quickly as it had returned.

“NO!”

A bloodcurdling scream rang in the air; Y/N thought whoever produced it must’ve been insane. It took her a moment to realize the strangled sound had come from her, and that Sokka’s grip on her arms was the only thing stopping her from foolishly throwing herself into the raging battle that had started.

Did the admiral not understand what he had just done? To attack any spirit was to inflict the rage of many others, to kill a spirit was to sign not only one's own death warrant, but those around him as well.

To kill the Moon Spirit meant to destroy waterbending as the world knew it. To kill the Moon Spirit meant to disrupt the balance of the world. To kill the Moon Spirit meant to kill Yue.

The admiral should’ve considered himself very lucky that her waterbending was gone. With it, Y/N knew she would’ve done something she would regret.

As soon as the flames of Iroh’s onslaught disappeared, Sokka’s grip loosened on her arms and she all but sprinted over to the pond. A choked sob fell from her lips when she saw the dead fish in the water, palpable horror in the air as the rest of the group joined her.

Not even Aang’s feat of merging with the Ocean Spirit could help — it might’ve saved the tribe from the attack on the Fire Nation, but it could do nothing for the dead spirit. Y/N watched on mournfully as Iroh placed Tui back into the pond, the mortal body of the fish laying there unmoving.

“It’s too late,” Katara lamented. “It’s dead.”

Iroh looked up and met Y/N’s eyes, recognition flashing through them for just a moment before they moved to Yue’s. The blue hues of her irises were even more striking than usual — they were the only sign of color in the world around them.

His own widened with surprise as he gestured at her. “You have been touched by the Moon Spirit. Some of its life is in you.”

Yue seemed to understand what he was saying as she raised her head, her features taking on a mask of stoicism. “Yes, you’re right. It gave me life… maybe I can give it back.”

It was as if lightning had struck Y/N, the way that fear was jolted into her heart. “No!” she cried at the same time as Sokka, a reprise of her earlier plea. “Yue, you can’t!”

“You don’t have to do that!” Sokka reached out for her hand but she wrenched it out of his grasp — nothing they could say was going to change her mind.

“It’s my duty.” The princess stated it so plainly, carving the letters on her headstone herself.

“I won’t let you!” Sokka insisted. “Your father told me to protect you.”

“Yue, your duty isn’t to die for your tribe!” Y/N cried. She couldn’t think, spirits she could barely breathe. She couldn’t go through this again. She couldn’t go through this again. “Please, there has to be another way!”

She smiled sadly at Y/N and shook her head. “This was what I was born to do.” The princess glanced at the pond then took a step forward, wrapping Y/N in the tightest hug she could muster. She pressed her lips against Y/N’s cheek in a feather light kiss before she pulled away and continued forward and placed her hands against the koi fish.

The fish began to glow, Yue closed her eyes, she collapsed into Sokka’s arms.

And that was it.

The color returned to the world, but Y/N was frozen in place. She couldn’t do anything to save her friend, the girl that she was pretty sure she loved, as she died in front of her. Her cheek was still burning from where Yue’s lips had touched, and she wanted to bottle that warmth because she knew that was the last time she would ever feel it.

The first tear to fall snapped her out of her paralysis as she fell to her knees next to Sokka, her body cradled in his arms as he mourned for a lost love. Y/N wanted to scream, she wanted to sob, she wanted to do anything to get this anger and sadness out but she could do nothing but stare, eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears.

Her body slowly faded away, and Y/N could’ve laughed at the irony. Yue gave her life for the spirits and all they could leave them with was the fleeting memory.

The fish in Iroh’s hands began to glow and he placed it back in the water, and almost immediately it returned to its natural rhythm. The oasis took on the glow of the fish and it formed the cruelest joke of them all.

Princess Yue. She was ethereal, both her hair and white dress flowing down her back and a peaceful expression on her face. She was more beautiful than ever, and her voice echoed through the oasis as she spoke.

“I will always be with you, Y/N. Thank you for making me feel alive.” A small smile, much like the one she gave her just moments ago, played on her lips. “I love you.”

Y/N could do nothing but stare, awestruck and heartbroken, as she whispered something to Sokka and kissed him.

And then she was gone.

Her gaze was trained forward, tears spouting and falling down her cheeks, some dim part of her still hoping that it was just a cruel joke by the spirits. She couldn’t go through this again.

How could they do this to her again? How could they introduce a light into her life and make her fall in love, then wrench it away from her grasp? She felt selfish for only caring about herself. She couldn’t go through this again.

Yue was gone.

She couldn’t go through this again.

Another strangled sob fell from her lips and Katara pulled her into a hug. That simple motion seemed to open to the floodgates, and suddenly she was choking on her own tears. Katara’s arms around her were the only tether she had to the world right now, she had to focus on it or else she would lose herself to the grief.

It felt like the minutes were hours with how long it took until Y/N was finally able to walk out of the oasis, but Katara and Sokka stayed by her side the entire time. When they finally stumbled out into the real world, Y/N felt weaker than ever. The constant go go go of the siege had finally caught up to her, and she was so damn tired.

“Always and forever.”

“You’re stuck with me.”

She was losing hope in promises.

-

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ehfar: @chandies-sideblog @persica27 @anzanity @randomthingssss @escapingthoughtsandsecrets @shanksfav @shephard17895 @ilovespideyyy @carisi-sonny

atla: @marianne1806

[javier-pena]

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna​ who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

masterlist | join the tag list

The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao​, @filthybookworm​, @frannyzooey​, @khalysa​, @leannawithacapitala​, @mothandpidgeon​, @mrsparknuts​, @mxsamwilson​, @piscespussybabe​, @something-tofightfor​

[39472034658449305249465224devils]

i think its a good thing to have questions in your head, i do all the time even though i know strongly who i am. your answers may change after all, nothing is permanent.

do i stifle myself out of fear of what my loved ones will think?

are the parts of you that you hide worth the pain of hiding?

are the people you are hiding from actually likely to be cruel if you say it ?

are they worth loving that closely if they will use that closeness to hurt you?

are you loyal to yourself?

if you imagine yourself in its truest form, what does that look like?

if you could make a autobigoraphy animated, with yourself represented by whatever you think communicates 'you' the most in your heart, what is that?

can you imagine yourself in the future? can you imagine yourself doing daily things? can you imagine someone else as you? what does it look like? who is 'you'?

if you could make yourself from scratch with no rules, like if all people were put into a virtual world, able to fully customize their model they are viewed as just once, what would you make yours as? everyone else doing it, you dont need to worry about what others want yours to be, and there are no social taboos. what would you choose?

what parts of yourself leave you with road blocks on your goals? what can you do to be mindful of this and avoid it in the future?

what parts of yourself lead you to issues socially often? what can you do to be mindful of this in the future and avoid it in the future?

what parts of yourself do you see as your strong suits? do you congratulate yourself on it as much as you deserve and would tell a friend they deserve?

do you hold yourself to a cruel standard separate from others?

do you hold others to a cruel standard separate from yourself?

what kind of things can you tell yourself when you notice you are feeling upset? what are ways that you can explore that help you to navigate the emotion and process it?

do you act in ways you admire?

do you live a life you can look back at and not regret? if you feel stagnant, what can you do to start moving?

do you encourage truthful and kind communication with the people in your life?

do you treat other people like full people? do you need to stop and recognize them as people with full lives for a moment? do you need to be more mindful more often?

do you surround yourself with sadness and despair or kindness and hopefulness?

do you recognize the people close to you as individuals or as a audience and crowd?

how close to you hold your values? how do you work them into your life?

avoiding truthfulness with yourself, suppressing your own heart, lacking mindfulness in how you see others, letting yourself be ruled by fear and helplessness, seeing everything as helpless, and suppressing your self and truths will never lead to happiness. depression and hopelessness thrives in lying, fear, cruelty to the self and exalted obsession with the other. it plants itself in the "exception". it makes depression feel comfortable, it makes action feel impossible. if you celebrate no victories, you dont let yourself notice when you win anything.

check with yourself often. "who am i living for? what am i letting rule me? compassion, love, respect and truth? cruelty, hate, fear and lies? do i know myself? could i write a segment about myself truthfully how i feel inside, and be proud of it? do i fill any circles on a sheet about myself and feel my stomach drop? why dont i let myself recognize what feels wrong? do i treat other people fairly? do i treat myself the same way? have i fallen into the trap of becoming so distant i forget that other people have their own active lives? do i treat them like an activity or like a individual? do i treat myself like an activity?"

i dont know. its a good time to ask questions kindly. who is this serving? why do i carry that secret around? you are worth saying it from the roof tops. you are worth kindness and truth without fear. you are worth fellowship and understanding and strength.

the new year is a also a good time to ask yourself things about yourself. if year of the snake symbolizes transformation and wisdom...

[spinster-sisters]

Precious. JYN

restaurant worker! au (idk its just gengeral slice of life)

TW: size kink (this is yunho we are talking about) boob stuff (this is me we are talking about, praise, dom! yunho, sub! reader. there is some unwanted inappropriate touching done by an older guy but it doesnt last long.

WC: 5k

-

The very first thing you noticed about the restaurant you now worked at was how hot the manager interviewing you was. Yeah, you had worked with conventionally attractive people before, but most of them found a way to make themselves unappealing through words or actions. Not Yunho however, a month into working as a waitress you had to simply conclude that there was nothing not to love about him. Of course, he was dashing, that much was obvious, but it was so much more than that, he was unbelievably considerate of others and fiercely protective of his crew, he had a million-dollar smile and could charm his way out of any problem with a customer. Not to mention he was built like a God with both the height and muscles to make your mouth water. Yunho was lucky, and things just seemed to fall into place around him.

Of course, you were aware of this, as he made it impossible to forget.

As time progressed you became more accustomed to your coworkers and better at your job, soon you found a place in the tight-knit group of friends that worked together so work was usually fun.

Except for today. You have been at this job for 6 months now and somehow, with the exception of Yunho, you found yourself on a shift solely staffed by newbies without a clue. And it was a very busy night. You had lost count of the number of times one of your fellow waiters had to call you over to answer a guest question or how many times it was you who had to apologize to them for their server's mistake but it was starting to get to you.

You had a brief moment right in the middle of dinner service where all of your tables were eating happily and you would have a moment to rest. You knew that if you stood there for a moment longer you would be called over by one of the other waiters so you quickly made your way over to the bar where Yunho stood at the POS system. You used his size as an advantage and literally hid behind him. Of course, people could still see you, but at least you weren't standing directly in front of the waiter's station where you would surely be bothered.

You heard the man laugh quietly, and though you couldn't see his face you bet he was hiding a smile.

"Rough night?" He questioned, talking in a way as not to draw attention to you.

"Of course I would get stuck on a shift like this. Not a single person on the crew tonight knows what they're doing! I'm surprised you're even here, I thought the gods of the universe loved you too much" you finished your mini-rant in a mumbling tone, rubbing your eyes before looking out into the dining room just in time to watch the newest crew member, a thin gangly boy named Trevor, spill a glass of water all down the front of an older woman, and you groaned.

Yunho chose to laugh quietly again before speaking up, knowing that now that there was a new disaster your conversation would be cut short once the newbie found you.

"Don't be so hard on them, you were that stupid when you first started," he joked before looking back down at his screen.

"No, I was not!" You cried, "besides why is everyone bothering me? You're the manager shouldn't you be dealing with angry customers? That is above my pay grade." You finish as soon as the young waiter spotted you and began to make his way over.

"Because I told them to," Yunhi replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And why would you do that?" You asked thoroughly annoyed. Coming out from behind the man as Trevor was about halfway across the dining room.

Yunho laughed his brightest laugh. The one that made your stomach swirl with butterflies. He turned finally and looked directly at you, just before the waiter was in earshot he spoke,

"Because you're cute when you're grumpy,"

And that is another thing about Yunho that was impossibly unfair. The man was a relentless flirt. And that wasn't just to you, anytime he made eye contact with anyone it's like he can't hold back the wink.

Finally, your peak time was over. After the incident with the water, the rest of the rush seemed to pass without a problem. There were only about two more hours till you could crawl back into the warmth of your bed and give your feet a real rest.

You had just finish bussing a table when the door chimed again. You could hear the host talking from where you were standing, and her words made your heart sink.

"Well of course Mr. Miller! You want your regular table I'm guessing,"

And then the reply in a groveling tone,

"She better be here tonight, I am starting to think she avoiding me,"

The "she" in question was you. And yes you were. Mr. Miller was a middle-aged sleazy man who came in close to close every Friday night demanding that you serve him. For the past few weeks you have asked Yunho if you could have Fridays off like he did, but due to some call-outs both of you had to come in.

You highly considered running to the back and feigning illness to go home, but it was too late.

"There she is!" The gargley voice called out. Admitting defeated you finally turned to look at him, and with the biggest fakes smile, you could muster you replied.

"Hey, Mr. Miller,"

From the moment he sat down he was already laying it on thick.

"Well, aren't you looking as nice as ever? Some might think you trying something," he winked at you. You had to hold back your vomit. The man was and had been since the moment he first sat at your table 6 months ago that you were his alone, if you spent too much time at another table instead of entering him he would throw a fit. If you didn't laugh at one of his jokes about your body he would throw some line like "come on, give me a smile." If you didn't fully play into the delusion that you were interested in him he would push even harder. And he didn't even tip.

So you played along "Well you know me, I always gotta look my best for you," you said trying to be friendly to appease him, but already knowing damn well that tonight he was going to be insufferable.

You took his drink order and escaped from him as quickly as you could. The other thing you hated about him was how long he stayed. Well after he finished his meal he would stick around for a while watching you. So you weren't even surprised when you felt his eyes on your body as you walked away.

Yunho was observing this interaction from afar completely confused. Friday was one of Yunho's days off every week so he had never seen this before, and he must have looked confused because the host had walked over to him to explain.

"It's weird, right? A child could see how much she hates him but every Friday he comes absolutely convinced that it's her favorite day of the week."

It was getting late, and there were barely any customers left in the dining room when you finally took his empty dinner plate from his table. Not that he was ready to leave yet.

"You know, I've been thinking" he starts before you can walk away, "how does someone as pretty as you end up working at a place like this?" He asks peering at you from over his glass of water.

"Well a girls gotta pay rent," you reply with the fakest giggle ever.

"If I had you, you wouldn't have to work a day in your life," he said, "what do you say, honey, you could quit this place for good," he asked setting his water down and grinning at you dangerously. This scared you. You couldn't help but let your smile falter for a moment, this you couldn't encourage.

"I don't know," was all you could say trying your hardest to make it all seem like a joke. You instinctively step back from the table. In a brief moment, you noticed his hand moving twords your body but it was too late, he had already put his bent fingers on your leg and gripped it.

"Come on, you know I could treat you right."

You physically recoiled but his grip was strong. You were legitimately terrified. He had suggested on a few occasions before that he would wait for you in his car after you close and watched you, he knew which car was yours and could easily follow you. It was clear he didn't take no for an answer.

You didn't know what to do, you simply stood there petrified with the man's grimy hand moving up your leg. Just when it was going to reach the hem of your uniform skirt you were pulled away behind the familiar height of Jung Yunho.

"Sir if you touch any of my employees again I will have you kicked out." Gone was the playful tone that permeated Yunhos normal speech. Instead, he was icy and cold no room for negotiation in his voice. But that didn't stop Mr. Miller from trying.

"Calm down son, me and my favorite girl were just having a polite conversation." He said looking at where you were peeking out from behind Yunho, clearly expecting you to back him up. Instead, you looked anywhere but at him.

"No sir, you were visibly harassing one of my waitresses. it is inappropriate to talk to anyone that way much less if they are working and unable to walk away. If you leave now there will be no further issue." He said, still trying to speak civilly despite his growing agitation. In your desperation to not look at the man you glanced around the room. All eyes, both employe, and patron were staring directly at you. This made it so much worse and chose to look directly at Yunho's side profile.

"Who are you to tell me what to do! I am a paying customer and a loyal patron. I will talk to whom I please!" The older man's voice began to rise clearly not liking the way this conversation was going.

"That girl behind you has been my waitresses for 6 months and if I want to touch her I will!" You heard a fist slam on the table. You jumped and Yunho pulled you farther behind himself. You couldn't help but fist the back of his shirt in terror when you heard the scrape of a chair on the floor. Mr. Miller was now standing, trying his hardest to get in Yunho's face despite how the younger man towered over him.

"If you don't walk away right now ill beat your ass boy!" Miller screamed, getting as close as possible to Yunho. You practically cowered into Yunho's back, still clinging onto the fabric of his black dress shirt like you would physically unravel if you let go.

Yunho stood stoic while the man yelled. Afterward, he took a pause, before speaking.

"Trevor, call the police and tell them we have a customer harassing our staff and threatening violence." He spoke with a defining certainty, no room for an argument from Trevor or Mr. Miller.

Yunho's gentle hand took hold of your upper arm to lead you away from the man. He turned you away from where he stood dumbfounded, and lead you back into the office, and locked the door.

Yunho lead you to one of the two chairs in the cramped room fumbled around for a bit with the water cooler, bringing you a small paper cup to drink from before finally taking a seat himself. The room was small, from the way you were sitting and Yunho's long limb his knees brushed against your own.

You stared and him and he did the same to you, neither saying a word. The man before you looked remarkably calm for the ordeal he just faced but based on the concern in his eyes you looked shaken. You hadn't realized you were crying till the drops landed on the shaky hand still grasping the paper cup for fear of life.

"Please don't cry" was all he said at first. He was silent for a moment but your tears didn't stop. He shifted a bit and the knee touching your own brushed the outermost part of your thigh. He sighed.

"Why didn't you tell anyone how bad he was? Why didn't you tell me?" He spoke calmly. He didn't sound mad in the slightest but his words brought a dry sob from your lips. He looked almost scared for a second before correcting himself in a pleading tone.

"Please don't think I blame you in the slightest. What happened was not your fault," one large hand came to rest almost timidly on your leg.

"I just wish I could have stopped this before it happened."

-

It has been a few weeks since the incident. News of what had happened had spread around the staff quickly and although Mr. Miller had fled the restaurant before the police arrived, everyone on the crew knew that he was not allowed on the premises and if his car so much as pulled into the parking lot the police assured us that he would be escorted off the property for trespassing.

Yunho had insisted that you take the next 5 days off afterward and even when you returned everyone was walking on eggshells around you, not wanting to do anything to upset you.

The closest circle of team members made it a point to have outings every so often as many of you were quite close outside of work, and although some of them (with your best interest at heart) didn't think you should come out, it was once again Yunho who advocated that spending time alone in your apartment would do you no good. So here you were at approximately 9 o'clock outside a small bar/club getting excited about your first night of relaxation since that day.

Once you found your way into the building it wasn't hard to spot your group. Many of them were already drunk from pre-gaming and the rest of them were well on the way. It brought a fond smile to your face. When you joined the group there were cries of excitement and soon you all fell into the groove of the evening.

You had noticed Yunho the moment you walked in because he seemed to be the only sober one of the bunch. Of course, he knew how to party better than anyone, but tonight he seemed satisfied to just watch the rowdiness unfold.

You weren't drinking cuz of the practical reason that you drove yourself here today. After making your rounds talking with every one of your friends you found yourself gravitating to Yunho as you always seemed to do. He was sitting in a circular booth so it was easy to slide in next to him.

"Not drinking tonight?" You asked.

"No. Someones gotta keep an eye on these crazy people" he replied as jovial as always, instead taking a sip of what appeared to be coke.

"Well I guess I will have to help you then"

After a few hours of talking happily with Yunho while also keeping a close eye on your friends, you found yourself, once again knee to knee with Yunho. Except this time instead of sitting in front of him, you were almost sitting on top of him. You honestly had no clue how this happened, but he didn't seem to mind. Actually, Yunho himself was now sitting with his long arm wrapped across your shoulders pulling you even closer to his side.

"YUNHO" one of your fellow waiters fell into the space beside you, but with their lack of coordination they ended up bumping into you enough that if Yunho hadn't pulled you fully into his lap you would have toppled onto the floor underneath the table. But once the crowd of crewmembers was alerted of your guys' presence they all simultaneously pushed into the booth so there was no room to sit back in your spot.

You were blushing now, thankful that your friends were too drunk to notice how Yunho's arm was wrapped around your waist keeping you securely in place. As the talking resumed Yunho leaned down to whisper into your ear,

"This is all right? I can get them to move if you want," though it was probably unintentional Yunhos breath was sending shivers down your spine, which only got stronger when you finally came to realize how much larger he was then you, effortlessly keeping your body snugly against his chest tight enough to feel each breath he took, the hand wrapped on your waist was large enough to palm your whole thigh if he wanted to. And that thought was exciting.

"No, I'm fine," though you sounded a bit shaky you snuggled yourself even further back onto his lap to show your appreciation. He chuckled lowly in your ear before returning to the conversation. But your mind could not be further from it. You had never realized before how incredibly safe you felt with Yunho or more specifically in his arms and chose to instead focus on the weight of his hand on you, the subtle shifting of his thighs underneath your own as he spoke, and the deep rumble that moved your body with his own every time he laughed.

When it came time for everyone to go home you didn't want to. You didn't like the idea of removing yourself from Yunho's lap at all. But alas, it had to be done.

As the two sober friends, you two were talked with calling cabs and making sure everyone got home safely. Until finally the two of you stood alone on the pavement. You felt the need to say something.

"I don't think I ever thanked you," you said turning to face the man in the cold air. He turned his body twords you as well.

"You don't need to thank me for sitting on my lap, trust me the pleasure was all mine," he joked, and you couldn't help but chuckle along with him.

"You know that's not what I meant," you said in a small voice.

"You don't need to thank me for that either, trust me," his big smile turning smaller but sweeter. This confused you.

"What do you mean?"

Yunho sighed with a smile.

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet," was all he said. But your confused face brought more words out of him. He took a step closer to you leaning down and speaking in a quiet voice he said,

"You, have always been very precious to me, and that day was no different. I would go to much greater lengths to keep you safe if I had to,"

His words, although spoken in the softest tone struck you straight through the heart. You had always dreamed of being with Yunho but you had never imagined he felt the same way. He took another step, leaving almost no room between you.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, bringing a hand up to the back of your head. Words weren't forming so you chose to nod instead.

It only took a beat longer for him to lean down and press his plush lips into your own. Yunho wasn't one to beat around the bush and put all of his passion into the kiss, leading your lips with his own guiding your mouth to respond exactly as he wished.

You put your hands on his firm chest as his other arm circled your waist bringing you in even closer. Your mouths were so intertwined neither of you dared to break the kiss for quite a while, simply enjoy the feeling, but soon the need for oxygen won out. You pulled apart gasping, but still holding each other close.

-

You're not quite sure how exactly you ended up back at your apartment but that was unimportant, what mattered was keeping your mouth on Yunho's. You two had barely gotten through the door before your back was pressed against it in a quick motion.

Along with his considerable height, Yunho also had considerable strength, so when leaning down for you became uncomfortable he chose to instead wrap your legs around his waist and lift you.

In this new position, you were at the perfect height to move his lips to your neck. He found the perfect spot on it before sucking a dark purple mark into the skin, nibbling it a bit before licking it soothingly. The wet feeling of his tongue pulled a new sound from your lips,

"Yunho!" You whined into his ear.

He seemed overjoyed at this reaction and desperate to recreate it he rolled his hips into yours. You could feel his hard length pressing oh so perfectly into your clothed slit you desperate cry could probably be heard three doors down. The man was big.

"You sound so cute" Yunho giggled into your jaw, before pressing a sweet kiss into the skin.

One of his large hands slipped below the hem of your shirt and moved up to the cup of your bra. His long fingers groped your plush breast, holding the whole thing in his hand. The warmth of his fingers and the pleasant squeeze had you whining once again.

"Your so sensitive baby," he remarked, giving your breast another squeeze. In an attempt to keep your noises contained you reached out and pulled his head to meet your lips again. This kiss was much more desperate than the others both of your lips moving so fast it was hard to keep up, your teeth clacking together in the process. Yunho rolled his hips into yours again and you squealed into his lips.

Keeping you as firmly planted on the kiss as possible Yunho's hand fell from your chest back to your hips before pulling you completely off the wall and your arms instinctively clung to his broad shoulders.

Your apartment was only one bedroom so Yunho had bo problem blindly navigating the way to your bedroom. As soon as the door was open you were practically flung backward onto your bed. In an instant Yunho found his way onto your bed, once his back was pressed into the headboard Yunho took hold of your body and manhandled you onto his lap facing him, you were once again faced with just how big Yunho was. Both of his arms wrapped around your body pulling you close and positioning your heat directly over his dick, where an impressive tent in his jeans rubbed directly into you. The loose skirt you were wearing did nothing to cover your panties. You kneed into him finally taking the initiative to grind down repeatedly onto him.

"Awe, baby you look so cute like this, all flustered and needy. Look you're making a mess on me." You hadn't noticed how wet you were until this point but he was right, you were completely soaked through the thin material of your underwear, and with each roll of your hips, you were dampening his jeans.

"Yunho," you begged "please touch me,"

"But you look so good like this. I could watch this all day. Sitting pretty on my lap, just waiting for me to fuck you."

"Please?" You cried still desperately chasing the friction his jeans were giving your clit. He flashed his million-dollar smile before giving in, slipping one veiny hand into your panties cupping your whole heats in his hand for a moment, wetting his fingers before sliding two long digits into you. You showed your appreciation in a moan and clung to his broad shoulders again.

"Please Yunho! I want more. Please fuck me." You begged.

"Not yet, baby, I gotta open you up first. Don't want to hurt you do I." As he spoke he speaks the pace of his fingers scissoring them open inside of you stretching you wider. You bucked into his hand.

"My little baby is fucking herself into my hand. How cute," your exhaled loudly then dropped your head onto his shoulder tugging at his shirt begging him to remove it. Yunho chose to first use his free hand to slide your own top of your body before taking hold of your neck and pulling your upper body away from his. With your help eventually, his shirt was pulled from him leaving your view of his beautiful chest and bulging muscles open to admire.

You almost forgot about the hand moving inside of you while you ran your own up and down the Yunho's chest, trying to feel every bump and ridge there was. Your eyes were glazing over in wonder, but you were soon brought back to reality when another finger pushed inside of you, joining the others in your pulsing pussy. Your head rolled back in a moan.

"Like what you see baby? Because I am really enjoying this view." You were sitting so pretty on his lap your skirt had been pushed up and your soaked lacy panties matched your bra perfectly. In all the movement your chest was starting to spill out of your bra.

"Baby you look so fucked out and small right now and I haven't even done anything yet, are you sure you need me to fuck you?" He asked teasingly.

"Yunho, please," your nails began dragging down his golden skin leaving a trail of red lines, "please, please fuck me." Spewed past your lips. A wicked smile graced his lips.

"You want me to fuck you into the mattress?" He asked.

"Yes! Please!" This was almost embarrassing but if anything your flushed tone only made him happier.

"No, I don't think I will." He said pulling his finger out of you.

You whined.

Yunho undid his belt pushing his pants down just enough to pull his expressive length out of his boxers. You watched with bated breath as he stroked himself a few times before meeting your eyes.

"How about you ride me instead?"

You nodded eagerly almost lunging forward. Yunho helped support your body as you hovered over him, before lining you up and pulling your body down onto him. The stretch was painful at first, you could feel him deeper than anyone else had ever reached but you clenched down on him appreciatively. You took a moment to gather yourself, half expecting him to thrust into you, but he stayed perfectly still. You meet his eyes with your own going wide and he giggled.

"I'm not moving baby if you want to get fucked you have to do it yourself." As he spoke he pulled both hands off you, resting them on his thighs.

You sat breathless for a second longer, unable to form a coherent thought, but the sudden twitch of his dick inside you brought you back to the task at hand. Slowly but surely you began moving, lifting yourself till only his tip was inside you before falling back down. You both groaned satisfied but it only lasted a second before you repeated the action, and then again, and again, slowly building speed each time and realizing quite moans every time he filled you up completely.

You had now set a fast pace, you were unsure how long you could keep it but the growing pleasure filling your abdomen kept you moving. Yunho's eyes were trained on you, switching from your blessed out face, to your bouncing tits, to where his long dick was disappeared into your cunt each time it reappeared coated in your juries.

"Baby, if only you could see yourself right now," he spoke over the sounds of skin slapping and pretty moans, "honestly you look good enough to eat sweetheart"

His words of praise-filled your ears and encouraged you to move faster, desperately clenching on his dick feeling it twitch return along with his deep rumbling groan. Your hands were still firmly planted on his chest and you used this grip for support trying once again to increase your pace. Your thighs were beginning to burn but it felt too good to stop, not when you were this close.

"Yunho, please help me," you whined, your legs faltering in their attempt to keep moving.

"Oh? But you're doing so well baby," he said with an adoring smile watching your face.

"Please Yunho?" you asked running your palms down the ridges of his chest once again. Your building pleasure had started to plateau as you couldn't keep up the pace, your thighs starting to burn even harder. You were so close but you couldn't put yourself over the edge and if growing moans from the man in front of you were anything to go by then he was right there with you.

He seemed to consider this for a moment before chuckling.

"I guess my baby is just not strong enough to make herself cum. I suppose I could help with that."

You only had time to breathe a sigh of relief before you were thrown back onto the covers. Yunho's large frame loomed over you with a sinister smirk. You barely registered the anticipation in your body before he slammed his entire length back into you. Setting a brutal pace. You cried out instantly and your voice rang through the walls of the apartment like a symphony.

Each time Yunho's hips connected with your own he hit that perfect spot inside of you bringing more noises from you. One of his hands came down onto the mattress beside your head and the other took hold of your thigh using it to maneuver you into the exact position he wanted.

Now Yunho was grunting along with you trying hurtling both of your twords your orgasms at an incredible pace. Just as you were about to be thrown over the edge Yunho connected your lips again swallowing your moans. It only took one more perfectly timed thrust before you came toppling over the edge. Although your lips were still connected, it didn't do much to help the lewd sounds spilling out of you. The pleasure came from your core in waves, arching your back and making your legs twitch violently.

Not long after you came down from the high your body began pulling away from Yunho's thrust but he held you in place.

"Just a little longer baby, I promise."

And just when the buzzing pain of overstimulation subsided, Yunho filled pulled out of you and spilled his sticky cum across your body. He stood above you for a moment, you both were panting but you were clearly the more worn out of the two.

Yunho's eyes moved across your whole body once before meeting your own eyes.

"Your precious"

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

interlude ii ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 2.4k

warnings: none really! just an impending, pervasive sense of doom.

rating: m/t

notes: so happy to have finally gotten this little interlude edited and pieced together! just more soft moments because they deserve it considering what's going to be coming up. thank you everyone who has been reading/interacting with this little love project of mine; it took a minute to get myself dug out of the trenches and posting bite-sized chapters because this is a short-fic is definitely doing something to me (lmao) but we're here!

as always you can find translations on ao3, where it's easier to store them in a place that doesn't get in the way.

There is very little time between when Santino cooks her dinner and when he moves her into his apartment. It happens without much acknowledgment from her; she finds herself swallowed up in moments of casual intimacy that break her down to nothing except a girl in love.

Santino wakes her up by kissing her neck and pulling her against his chest; she makes him dinner barefoot in the kitchen, all of the recipes that her mother taught her, and he drags his hand along her hip to reach over her into the cupboard; he stands still and obedient while Euphemia slides his tie into place, and when he zips her dress for her, he peppers her shoulder with kisses. He tolerates taking a walk through the park, even in the chilliness of late Fall or Winter, because Euphie can’t stand to not get some fresh air once a day. When one of her friends asks why he lets her bully him into the cold weather, he wraps his arms around Euphie with a sly smile and says, “How could I not, when I am the one who gets to warm her up after?”

He is an exceptionally tactile man. There is always a reason for him to touch her, trace each line of her, put his lips against her skin. Santi isn’t a man who loves; he covets. And Euphemia shouldn’t like it as much as she does, but she does. Her therapist says that it isn’t uncommon for a girl who grows up without touching to crave it, desperately, like an addiction.

So, she finds herself living in his loft to feed that addiction—which becomes their loft—and teaching him words in French, and feeding him olives while sauce simmers (and does not boil), and kissing the red-wine taste from his lips. It’s all very romantic and greatly overshadows the moments where Santino comes home raging mad, or when his bad mood takes over their conversation and stirs a fight between them. They’re both hot-headed—her more so than he—and he knows all of the ways to diffuse her while she knows none about him.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end; because Santino always kisses her, and always says, Mi dispiace, cara mi, ti amo, ti amo, ti amo, lip-locking between each break in words until her lungs ache.

Euphie has never wanted to be loved sensibly, anyway.

Making money stops becoming an issue. Santino might have been fine letting her wrap up her loose ends, so to speak, encourages her, even—“You should never leave business undone, my Euphie,”—but he’d never tolerate her continuing to skim out of the pockets of his associates. Not out of respect for them, of course, but because Santino is more than happy to provide.

“I have to do something,” Euphie insists, often. But Santino clicks his tongue and shakes his head, inspiring indignation in her. “That money goes to my mother, Santi.”

“Princesa, what are you worrying for?” He replies every time. In this instance, he is reading over some documents, his voice casual, simple, effective at bringing her to heel. “If your mama needs money, she’ll get it. Tutto quello che vuoi è tuo.”

Euphemia used to think that he was doing it to be generous, but as time goes on, she knows that isn’t the case. If Santino didn’t think he was benefitting from sending her mother money every month, he wouldn’t do it: but he does. Euphemia stops playing at arm candy for other powerful men; he endears himself to her by taking care of her mother; he endears himself to her mother; he’s afforded a sense of control. There is no facet of it where he isn’t getting something out of it. And she thinks, too, that maybe Santino likes it like this, where she is completely reliant on him for everything.

She doesn’t mind so much.

She would, if Santino didn’t drench her in his longing, if he didn’t make her feel, every day, that he is desperate to treasure her. She has always heard about this kind of love—and it is love—and never thought she would have it for herself.

But she does now, and she doesn’t want to let it go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Tea or coffee, mama?”

Santino is busying himself in the kitchen. They’ve been together for a little over a year now, and they’re on a tour of Italy—not for fun, necessarily, but for integration. They have just spent the last week with Santino’s father and sister, and now they will spend the next two days in the Tuscan countryside with her mother.

Two days for her mother, instead of the week that they gave Santino’s father and sister, in part because his father deserves more time and in part because Euphemia doesn’t think she can tolerate her mother in much more than two-day increments.

“Coffee, please,” her mother says, very charmed by Santino.

“Tea,” Euphemia interjects. She looks at her mother—her face is tired, and older than she really is. Euphie knows that this is a side effect of heavy, abusive drinking and years spent in emotional terror, not the passage of time. Still, she finds it hard to drum up anything except distant pity in her heart. “You don’t need the caffeine.”

“Oh, you always ruin my fun.”

Santino re-enters the room with a small cup—it’s an espresso cup, but he’s poured it with regular coffee.

“A compromise,” Santi explains, handing the cup to her mother, smiling handsomely. “To make both of my girls happy.”

Her mother preens, glows under the affection. “You are so sweet, Santi. A perfect son-in-law.”

He has always called her and her mother his girls. His own mother had passed since before Euphemia; and while he knows that Euphie’s relationship with her mother is strained at best, he does what he can to ease it. Because it makes her happy, he says, and if she’s happy, he’s happy.

“Not yet a son-in-law,” Euphie corrects, and Santino flashes her a quick, amused little smile.

“You see how cruel she is to me, madonna? I have asked her to marry me, you know.”

“Santi,” Euphemia sighs, but it has had its desired effect; her mother looks scandalized, mortified at her daughter’s resistance to marrying a man as good and handsome and charming as Santino.

“Effie, tell me that you haven’t been bullying Santino like this?”

“Mama, there is no reason—he is just teasing. Ascoltami, you don’t need to look so horrified.”

“I do not know where I went wrong with you, Euphemia Sancia.” Her mother clicks her tongue, muttering something under her breath and taking a drink of the coffee Santi made her, and Euphemia can’t bring herself to say that not everything she has done wrong in her life is a slight against her mother’s parenting skills.

Santino smiles and leans across to Euphie, bringing her hand up to kiss it.

“Don’t worry,” he says to her mother, his voice blooming with practiced warmth. “I will ask her as many times as it takes for her to say yes.”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest. She knows that he means it; he’s suggested it to her three times, now. It seems to be the only thing he doesn’t mind asking more than once.

“She’s always been fussy, my Euphemia,” her mother says, breaking the magic of Santino’s eyes on her. “Never happy with what she has, just like her father. Except for you, Santi—you are the only thing she holds onto.”

Exasperation and disgust flood over her. Both the mention of the man considered to be her father and any similarities they might share has her mood souring. “Mama—”

But Santino is sweeping in, like he always does when he can tell Euphie is getting tired of her mother, coming to a stand and asking her, “We should get started on dinner, cara mia, don’t you think?”

Just like that, he’s taken control of the conversation again. He sees her flailing and steadies her. Euphemia is certain that he doesn’t love her mother—that he doesn’t even like her—but that he can spend his time tolerating her with charm and grace despite knowing what her mother allowed to go on under their roof is indicative of the man that Santino is.

“Yes,” she replies, standing as well. “You look tired, mama. Take a rest while Santi and I make dinner.”

She wanders into the kitchen with Santino trailing after her. As soon as they’re alone, he winds his arms around her waist and kisses the juncture between her shoulder and neck.

“Is it true?” he asks coyly. “That you don’t hold on to anything except for me?”

She doesn’t want to tell him very much, because he knows already, and because to say it out loud will give it legs. A year together, and she still doesn’t want her feelings for him to have legs. Santino splays his fingers against her sternum and kisses her jaw.

“You know that it is,” she says at last, her voice a little unsteady. She can feel Santi smiling against her skin.

“Euphie,” he purrs, “marry me.”

Yes, she wants to say, as her eyes flutter shut. Yes, I’ll marry you, Santi. Anything that you ask. I’ll do anything for you, if you would just keep saying my name like that.

She wants to say it but the words won't come out. There is nothing quite like the feeling of Santino peeling back each individual layer of her defenses, piece by piece; so close, she knows, he is so close, but not quite. Not yet. She is most comfortable keeping him at arm’s length as much as possible—to kiss and to fuck and to let someone hold you at night is one thing. To let someone in past the barbed-wire of defenses is yet another, impossibly reckless. To be seen feeling anything deranges you, as the poets like to say.

“Sancia, hm?” he continues instead, when she can’t bring herself to answer, as the words stick in her throat. It’s one of those things where Santino seems to exercise a surprising amount of patience, this whole ordeal of to marry or not to marry; later, Euphemia will come to understand that it is because Santino believes their life together to be inevitable, that she will always say yes to him, one way or another.

For now, she turns in his arms, cocking a brow at him. He continues, “It means sacred.”

Euphemia nods sagely and props herself up on the counter. “Buon ascolto, my love. I suppose that means you should work very hard to worship me well.”

Santino laughs. He leans in, trapping her against the counter—though it isn’t much of a trap if she’s a willing participant—and noses the slope of her jaw.

“Yes,” he murmurs, “I suppose that it does.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the last leg of their tour of families, Santino insists that they spend a few days in Rome by themselves.

The days are used mostly for doing a lot of nothing; neither of them are particularly interested in sight-seeing, but rather interested in seeing each other, a thing which they don’t seem to tire of particularly quickly. Instead, they shop, or lay in bed together until the afternoon, or go out to eat when street lights kick on and the city takes on a life of its own.

“You are much happier, Euphie,” Santino says one evening, smoothing out his napkin on the table absently, “when you are not around your mother.”

It’s not a question, per se, though she knows that he expects an answer. But she is still young and a little petulant, and she likes to push his buttons and make him say exactly what it is he means, so she takes a sip of her wine and replies, “Yes.”

He arches a brow at her. He looks particularly handsome like this, she thinks—not around his family, just eating dinner in a streetside restaurant in Rome, illuminated in warm candlelight and the glow of the streetlights outside.

“Are you going to tell me why?” he asks, amusedly.

“If you ask.” Euphemia sets her wine glass down on the table, and when Santino reaches for her hand, she lets him take it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But it is so boring, Santi, to talk about my mother. Why don’t you ask me about something else?”

The brunette’s mouth is curving in a little smile. “Like…?”

“Like…” Euphie gestures with her free hand, like she has to really think about it. “Euphie, how did I get so lucky to have a woman like you? That is a good place to start. Or, what will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel? Or, Euphie, will I ever be so fortunate as to call you my wife?”

Santino laughs, leaning into their conversation, bringing her fingers up to kiss them. He has long lashes; soft, and dark, and they brush the tops of his cheekbones when his eyes close. Santino glances from her fingers up to her, that boyish grin on his face.

“I already know the answers to the first and last question,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal, but he’s grinning wickedly at her when he says it. She scoffs.

“Dimme poi,” Euphie insists. “I am dying to know, Santi.”

His expression is very sage, very wise, and he nods his head. “Il destino,” he says, winding their fingers together, “e tra un anno.”

There is something very heart-stopping about the way Santino articulates il destino, as though it is fact, as though there is something undeniable about their coming together.

“How do you know?” she asks. “In a year?”

“Because if you do not want to marry me by then,” Santino replies matter-of-factly, “then I am certainly not suited for marriage at all.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a drink of her wine and savoring the way his eyes trail over her, admiring, drinking her in.

“Well?” he prompts. She looks at him expectantly, and he reiterates, his gaze set on her, “What will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel, belladonna?”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest when he looks at her like that; like she is the only person in the entire universe, like she has become the sun that snags him in her planetary pull, like he will never, ever grow tired of looking at her. It sweeps the breath out of her.

“Anything, mio amato,” she murmurs. “Anything you want, if you promise to never stop looking at me like that.”

[solcheeky]

our secret

summary: fratboy!donghyuck turns paperboy! when he needs some extra money for college stuff like textbooks. he thinks delivering way outside of campus will save face from being a measly paperboy, but little does he know, the front yard light he hits (and breaks) belongs to his significantly well off classmate... (3k)

warnings: strong language here and there genre: enemies to ..friends? a/n: I’ve merged these two requests together! meaning I have and haven’t included aspects of each, hope that’s okay! (2021 edit: hi I found this in my drafts from last year and idk why I never posted it so yeah, here we go)

“You’re late.” Your professor calls out as Donghyuck fails to sneak into lecture hall unnoticed

You sigh, you’d think he’d at least look ashamed to step foot into class at such a late time

You suppose with Lee Donghyuck, things were always different

The boy winces comically, inhaling between his teeth brazenly, and students stifle their laughter

Then with a simple raise of his hand, he gestures a flimsy ‘my bad’ and a ‘continue, continue’ before charmingly wiping the sweat off his brow and sitting in the empty seat saved by his friends

The professor frowns, “you’re late.” He repeats as if to encourage the young rebel to at least say something

“I’m Haechan,” the rebel says under his breath, flopping his backpack onto the desk, “not ‘late’” a sarcastic smile stretching his lips as his friends snicker at his dumb joke

You roll your eyes, he was unbelievable.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” The professor claps his hands. “And Mr. Late,” he emphasizes, “don’t think you’re getting away with anything.”

So he drops it on him like a bomb: “For the rest of this week, meet me in the office an hour before classes start.”

The grin on Donghyuck’s face immediately wipes off his face and his heart drops to his stomach

“Prof!” He whines back

Karma, you think. That’s what he gets for being so up his own ass

It wouldn’t kill him to wake up a little bit earlier. He relied so much on his ‘so loveable’ personality and popularity, you couldn’t stand it

If you even attempted to do half the things he got away with, you’d be expelled by now

You drop your pen and lean back into your seat with a sigh, you had no choice but to sit back and watch him waste valuable lesson time over this insolence

“You can’t do that!” Seriously, Donghyuck would do anything else other than doing extra hours in the morning

“And you can’t be late to my lectures all the time. What are you not getting here Mr. Late?”

“But I can’t.” Donghyuck immediately regrets saying that out loud like that; the vulnerability in his voice a little too close to home

“And, why not?” Your professor bounces back thankfully brushing past the genuine desperation in his students voice

The reason why not was something ‘Lee Haechan’ couldn’t say out loud. If he did, he’d lose everything

So instead, he sticks with his usual tongue-in-cheek mannerism, “because I don’t want to.”—A sneaky beat around the bush on his part because, little did everyone know, Lee Haechan, the star player and everyone’s favorite goofball, was a measly paperboy

Why?

Because he was dumb broke.

It was a job that required him waking up extra early to race around neighborhoods on his bike, something he had to do regardless rain or sun just tossing as many papers onto people's front porches,

Something he already was finding so much of a difficulty doing: racing to class and acting as if his muscles weren’t burning or the fabric under is backpack wasn’t drenched in sweat

But now this ‘meet me in the office an hour earlier than classes start’ bullshit

That would mean he’d have to wake up even earlier than he already did!

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t want to, you’re going to.” Is the last thing your professor says on that topic before swiftly moving on.

Oh to be born with a silver spoon in his mouth, is what he always thinks as he cycles his rounds in the wealthy neighborhood

If there was one thing he didn’t have, it was this. 

He looks at the blaringly affluent homes that surrounded him and heaves another sigh, the same road he rides every morning (and now this extra early morning) effortlessly reminding him of how absolutely poor his ass was

Grumbling under his breath in a tantrum about his professor in his head, he angrily hurls newspapers onto doorsteps

It was the fact that he had to deal with this at ungodly hours in the morning—as if this job wasn’t already enough

Donghyuck frustratedly hurls another newspaper, but this time around, it shoots straight into someone's front garden post light, knocking it over and completely disrupting the perfect order in which the other trail of foot lights were set in

What the heck?

Immediately, he hits the breaks, his tires screeching loudly in the quietness of the early morning

Profanities frantically leave his lips as he hurriedly drops his bike onto the sidewalk in a clatter, and runs ahead to see the damage he’s made

The lamp was perfectly struck to its side.

Well, that’s just great—he can’t afford college textbooks let alone the broken path lamp on some rich persons lawn

So, his first thoughts are to pull it back into the place, completely irrational, but it’s the only thing that runs through his mind when he’s on a time crunch to get off private property

Except, the damn thing is stuck; literally cemented into this lopsided tilt

Man, Donghyuck swears he could tug all day and it wouldn’t get back into place

It was like the universe was having fun being against him

You, on the other hand, were watching this boy struggle to fix your light back into place from the comfort of your window.

He looked ridiculously cute trying to tug that lamp back into place, curled almost into a ball in the middle of your lawn, his eyebrows sewn into a line of frustration and lips pursed

You knew he was your paperboy from the start of his laborious cycling trips, but did Donghyuck know he was delivering papers to his very own classmate every morning?

You guess not.

...Until now

You knock three times from behind the glass, successfully capturing the boy's attention before mouthing, “what are you doing?”

The agitation on his features drops and immediately his eyes widen at your familiar face

Except, he isn’t given much time to reply before the lamp between his fingers gives in to his weight and recoils back smacking him right in the nose

“Holy shit!” You forget you’re only in socks when you open your front door and race towards him

Donghyuck automatically drops the (now broken) piece of your lawn to cup his bruising face

“Ah- Fucking shit- Ow!” He bends forwards on his knees into the grass, forehead pressing into your lawn before he rocks back up again to scrunch a deep frown up towards the sky. “Jesus-”

“Are you okay?!” Dropping to your knees, you place a cautious hand to his back

“Yes.” He groans into his palms, rocking back down towards the grass again

He definitely wasn’t.

But he needed to get out of there quick; there’s no way he’d let you recognize him

Yeah, you weren’t that stupid.

“Let me see,” you carefully bring him up by his shoulders, your head leaning down towards his to see the damage

“No- Ow! Crap-”

“You’re bleeding!” You try to pry at his wrists but he rips away from your hands

That’s when Donghyuck finally looks up to scowl at you; a frown stitched hard into into his forehead, eyes watering, hair all ruffled, but most alarmingly—a scarlet ribbon of blood running down his wrists

“I’m okay.” He muffles into his hands.

And wow did he look like an idiot.

“Sorry about your-” 

“Jesus Hyuck, you’re not fooling anyone.”

The boy visibly stiffens at your choice of his name

“Haechan.” You quickly correct yourself

He gulps

You glance away

“Let’s just put an ice-pack on that.” Then you’re dragging him into your house

“Quit moving!” You dab a wet cloth across the cut above Donghyuck’s lip

“Well, it hurts.” He tries to complain without moving his mouth too much

You purse your lips and Donghyuck attempts to adjust the ice pack on his nose despite your warning

With a sigh, you take his wrist and bring his arm down to his lap, “Hyuck, if you keep-” you feel him stiffen under your touch. “Haechan.” You keep doing that. “Sorry.”

He just diverts his eyes elsewhere and mumbles, “It’s whatever.” under his breath

So, you bring your attention back to cleaning his cut, your cheeks heating up at the thought of how much of a creep you probably were by calling him by his old name

“I’m-”

“Y/n.” His voice was a little clearer this time, a soft frown on his face, “I remember.”

He kind of wished you didn’t though. This was so embarrassing.

You pull the cloth away from his reddening cheeks, that annoyed flustered look on his face pulling at the nostalgia in you

It was only natural to call him ‘Hyuck’ because you had been going to the same school as him for years

Ever since you were kids, through highschool and now somehow, still impossibly in college, you’ve been with him

You almost had every class with the loud idiot back when he was still ‘Donghyuck’

For as long as you could remember, he had always been the center of gravity in every class, his punchy personality and almost too friendly way of speaking easily giving him the ‘popular’ tag 

It made you have a bit of a crush on him when you were younger, but who didn’t? 

Now, you found him irritating. 

The only thought you had about him consisted of wishing he’d stop using his status to his advantage and just come to class right instead of wasting your lesson time

“Can I ask you something?” He dodges your hand for a second, eyes looking down as if to hide away his embarrassment 

“Sure,” you naturally reach forward again to dab his cut, but he stops you at the wrist

“Can you,” you lift your focus away from his lip to the slight grimace on his face, “not tell anyone about this?”

You blink at him, and a muscle works in his jaw

“Seriously, people can’t know about this.” 

But you simply pull your wrist out of his grip and go back to tending to his wound

You hadn’t told anyone since you’d found he was your paperboy, and that was weeks ago. So why was he so worked up?

Hadn’t the situation already called for it anyway? Who in their right mind would tell anyone after this? For you, it was obviously common courtesy

But before you can reply, he tilts his face into your line of vision. “Are you listening to me?” The frown on his face deepens and he instantly brings the ice pack in this hand over his face at the sudden pain through his nose

That attitude of his easily drove you crazy.

“That was a stupid question.” You give up on cleaning the blood on his lip and push the ice-pack deeper into his face, “if you used that stupid, egotistical brain of yours-”

“Ah! Ow- Ooow-”

“Maybe you’d realize I’ve never told anyone about your paper rounds before.”

“Ow!” He wrenches away from your frustrated grip, the look on his face just as annoyed as you. “You’re going to break my nose!” 

“You broke my yard lamp!”

He looks at you with a huff; a slight puff to his reddened cheeks, furrowed brows and tears ever so slightly brimming his eyes

If that lamp didn’t cost about five times the price of his bike he’d say something back.

You easily read that off his expression

“You don’t have to pay for it.” You start to pack up the first-aid kit you’d opened up on your coffee table just to not look at him in the eyes when you say that

As much as he irritated you, you weren’t that petty

“Really?” The genuine doubt in his face relaxing the annoyance in you a little

“Yeah.” Money wasn’t a problem for you, it was his attitude

But the casualness Donghyuck catches in your tone reminds him of the starkly different worlds you live in

So he musters it up within himself to at least show some kind of gratitude, “...Thanks.” 

And it’s almost inaudible when he says it under his breath like that

But you catch it as you pull a bandaid out of the box before you close it

“On one condition.” You turn to look at him dead in the eyes.

One of his brows slightly quirk up in interest

“Hand.”

He opens his palm to you and you purposely slap the bandaid into it.

“Stop coming late to class, you’re wasting everyone's time.”

Instantly, his jaw goes slack. 

Unable to say anything he stares as you rise from your seat in content, first aid kit in hand, before walking behind the sofa towards the kitchen

You didn’t have to say it like that.

He swings an elbow over the back of the couch, “Sorry for bringing you the paper every morning!” Maybe he was a little offended

You turn on your heels to face him, noticing the bandaid now crushed in the fist of the hand he had over the couch and ice-pack abandoned on the coffee table (the full glory of his bruising nose and cut lip on show)

“I said ‘don’t be late’ not ‘don’t bring me the paper’.” Then you disappear into the kitchen.

Donghyuck has to close his eyes for a second, exhaling a frustrated sigh before standing up in a huff and following your footsteps.

How could you say something so insensitive? Yeah, maybe he broke your lamp or whatever, but he tried to fix it!

And sure, he was sort of bleeding over your couch and used your ice pack, but he totally said thanks

“That’s just- You’re so,” He’s standing at the doorway by the time you’re done, bandaid still stuck in the frustrated grip of his hand

“So what, Hyuck?”

Seeing the all star, team favorite class clown crumble at the simple play of his old nickname made something in your stirr

“Insufferable.” 

You? Your lips turn up in amusement. He was the insufferable one, you almost scoff

“You and your big house, fancy first aid kit, stupid lamps on your lawn,” he takes a bold step forward at every reason until he’s one step to being chest to chest, “I’m just trying to do my job, and go to class.”

You look at him straight in the eyes. “Well, you’re hardly succeeding at either of those.”  

You...

Donghyuck runs his tongue across his inner cheek before biting down on his bottom lip in a brazen attempt to act unfazed by that fatal side comment

A coppery, metal taste pricks his tongue, and he realizes he’s reopened up the cut on his lip again

But that was the least of his worries. You had no idea what it was like being broke. If there was anything he didn’t have, it was everything you did. You probably couldn’t even fathom the type of shit he’s had to go through and even more so: hide.

The way you acted as if his biggest problem in life was as easy as brushing the dust of his shoulder just pissed him off.

“Have you ever thought of waking up earlier?” 

Ah, there it was again, Donghyuck wants to roll his eyes

“I sleep late.” He says dryly.

“Then sleep earlier.”

“I have other shit to do, like study.” 

“Then, manage your time better.” If he really wanted to ‘do his job’ and ‘get to class’, he could’ve done it by now.

He was always messing about with friends and organizing parties, stories spread around like wildfire on campus about the things he occupied himself with other than ‘having shit to do like studying’, you weren’t stupid

It was by the end of high school, when you began to see him as a person who valued himself with the amount of friends knew or the amount of partying he did

And at first you were mad that he had the things you never did, but seeing him easily get washed up by it all made you think maybe you didn’t need what he had

Now you figure his ego was so far up his ass he couldn’t even sit right—that’s probably why he couldn’t cycle to class on time

“And don’t use your bike, you’re clearly slow on it.” You tack on.

“I don’t even have a car!” He snaps back

He made you want to pull out your own hair. “Jeez, first this, then that, god Hyuck, you keep-”

“You say that as if it were so easy,” his words overlapping yours as you continue

“-making up so much bullshit because the only thing you really put effort into is your image,” Your words running over his too.

“-if I could get a car, don’t you think I’d have one already?”

“Then I’ll just take you!” That puts both of you to a stop.

“So, quit giving me stupid excuses to ruin my lectures every day.” If the things money could buy were what he needed, you had it

You snatch the bandaid out of his fist, rip it open and harshly stick it across his bottom lip. It was annoying to see him ignore it like that.

“You usually finish an hour before class right?” You frown up at him

Donghyuck opens his mouth then closes it again.

“Because if you reroute and make me the last house, I’ll take you with me by car.”

“What?” He manages to say. What the hell just happened?

a/n: okay so there was a lot more to the story and character development but it ran too long I had to cut it off bc I cba to edit lmao 

also I seemed to have gone way out of the request lines near the end my bad my bad, but I at least hope you’ve enjoyed it! thoughts???? a part 2?

[herenortherenearnorfar]

This Tornado Tolerates And Respects You

A little story about Gothmog and orcs that I’ll probably put on other sites later. But for now, a tumblr exclusive! CW for the terrible reproductive politics of evil (implied reproductive coercion, forced childbearing, light eugenics), orc awfulness, disdain for incarnates, radiation poisoning, chemical weapons, Fingon’s fate, mentions of cannibalism, malnourishment, ear cropping, and all of the above with the implied harm to children.

Orcs, Lord Melkor’s special pet project, a blasphemy first and a strategic asset second, didn’t make the best troops. They could swarm over a target in a useful mass of bodies but they lacked skill and drive. For the Captain of Angband’s own force of fire and shadow, spirits sprung free from the tyranny of the Valar, orcs were a sea of troublesome bodies, cluttering up the field of battle. More flesh to whip through, barbed wire quick, more lungs to choke with lime gas. An annoyance, not an ally.

He didn’t have very high expectations of them as a source of soldiers and there were very few individual orcs who he respected. Gorfaunt was one of those rare exceptions.

They’d fought on the same battlefield under the taunting stars, in those blissful days before the heavens changed, and he’d been impressed by the orc commanders ability to marshal troops. Very few in that division ended up trampled beneath Balrog feet. Even the retreat was prompt, almost orderly, without sacrificing that wild spirit which was one of the orcs’ few redeeming qualities.

When it came time to capture the stripling-king of the elves he’d requested Gorfaunt’s orcs in particular. Once again they’d proven their mettle and the commander had become of of the Captain’s favorites. If orcs had to be stationed next to their betters it was preferable that it be Gorfaunt’s orcs, who knew how to comport themselves and could fight near Balrogs without dying in droves.

Now with the latest glorious battle (and another successful collaboration, the Captain still glowed at the memory of the Noldor’s latest king cracking open to spill his red insides over his silver banner) behind them and Lord Melkor demanding Nargothrond and Gondolin, they met once a month to strategize, share intelligence, and complain about everyone else. To an outsider they might have passed as friends. There was less formality between the two of them than another high general of the iron fortress might have demanded, they sat at the same table and spoke freely.

(The Lieutenant still asked commanders to bow before him; that was why even his own troops called him Sauron behind his back. Gothmog was a superior appellation, less insulting, more fearful, but he still didn’t hasten to encourage its use.)

Despite their surface level amicability and the handful of tried-and-true inside jokes—mostly having to do with how enemies had died— they could bat at each other, they knew very little about each other’s lives. Meat and smoke only mixed when making a brisket, trying to relate two such different ways of being seemed impossible.

But when he saw Gorfaunt waddling into their monthly kvetch with a belly round and swollen like a tick’s, the Captain felt driven to say something. He was the marshal of Angband, he couldn’t let his king’s forces go to seed.

“Are you ill? Cursed?”

Gorfaunt managed to pull out a chair, made for a Balrog three times the size of an orc, and hoist themselves into it with rangy arms. “No? Just five months with a baby kicking around in my insides. The little bugger’s finally starting to show itself.”

That took a second to decipher. “You’re having a baby?”

Of course the Captain knew the basics of how incarnates made more of themselves. It was a topic of great fascination in the old days, when Yavanna was first figuring the system out, and of course the Lieutenant would prattle on about warg breeding to anyone who’d listen. They had sex— another thing that did not come naturally to beings of spirits, though some Maiar had made astounding progress in the field, for pleasure was pleasure and even Nienna’s acolytes sought catharsis and comfort—then there was lots of squishy biology on a level invisible to the incarnates themselves, then a little parasite was somehow blessed with Erú’s fire, to be nurtured until it could nurture itself.

He also knew that orcs, like elves and dwarves, had little distinction between men and womenfolk. Useful when it meant you could channel your entire adult population to battle. Startling when you realized that a key ally had been quietly pregnant for months without you, a greater being able to perceive stalactites growing and the scales on insect wings, noticing.

In truth he’d been doing a lot less noticing of late. His senses were dulling. Perhaps it was the light of the cursed gems, which painted everything in blinding, indistinguishable holiness. Or he was just losing his touch.

If he focused now he could see it. It was easiest to sense on the plane of wraiths. There was Gorfaunt, a guttering candle; wheezing, weak. All orcs had that fire, however dim. No one had managed to fully extinguish it though it had been much suppressed. Tucked against her, nearly imperceptible, was a little spark. Not much yet but given tinder and carefully fanned it could grow. “You’re having a baby,” he marveled.

Gorfaunt’s face was… orcs were hard to read at the best of times, bubbling over with noisy pain and anger that obscured their true emotions, prone to skin diseases and horrendous eye infections that muddled their expressions. She didn’t wear her gas mask around him anymore, though most were quick to cover up around any Maia of Morgoth. It helped little, her face was still opaque as the mountain itself. “Yep, Captain.”

“Good?” You congratulated an ally on a new weapon, a new bond, a promotion. Which one was an infant classified as? What was the correct form?

“Hopefully it’ll be over and the little goblin will be in the caves with the old’uns by the time we find either of the cities.” Gorfaunt provided, only barely contextualizing his felicitations. She was chewing on the inside on her cheek; sometimes she would gnaw until she spat black blood. “Terrible time for it. Terrible time. But the high ups are worried about reinforcements down the line, I suppose.”

Orcs came from orcs. It was a fact so simple it barely bore considering. Another department handled it. The new ones just showed up, springy and long limbed, faces still soft and unmarred. “Goblins” he’d heard older orcs call those fresh pale creatures. Barely even monsters, more like stunted, crepuscular versions of the elves and dwarves they fought.

“How much longer?” They had a few good leads on Nargothrond, a promising word about Túrin Turambar. The Captain could not sack that city himself, the honor had already been promised to the sulfurous worm. Apparently they wanted to test the mettle of these dragons. But Gothmog could assign a few good orc commanders to supervise, make sure the worm was not overstepping his bounds.

Dark blood trickled out of the corner of Gorfaunt’s mouth. “Five months, I’m told. Could be more, could be less. Then I have to wait until the thing is independent enough to leave alone, that’s another few months.” She was probably counting months as the orcs had started to, by the moon. Wretched traitor, Tilion, who’d laughed with them at the idea of running away then turned his face when the time came to flee for freedom. They hated it as much as everyone else but in their hatred they were aware of its cycles. They rejoiced when it went dark.

“You’ll still be able to manage your underlings?” Orcs, and freed Maiar, were fractious. They did not respect a leader who lacked the strength to force them to obey. It could be exhausting. And Gorfaunt was already so round. The Captain did not wish to lose her support over one orcling.

“I think so. So far… in old days you’d den up somewhere for a year, avoid everyone prowling for blood, but I don’t want to fight my way up the ranks again. I’ve got an ax and I’m using it.” Despite that she sounded tired.

Long heartbeats stretched between them, that exquisite embarrassment of two coworkers suddenly forced to talk about private affairs.

“This is your first,” the Captain didn’t reach the tone of a question with that one.

“Yes. The recruiters were getting growly so I grabbed a fellow. I’ve been avoiding it for too long.”

“You don’t want a child.” Again, not quite a question. He was feeling it out as he goes along. This is the longest conversation about orc reproduction he’s ever paid attention to, for the Lieutenants diatribes we’re always dull.

It was no matter to him, except that this was the only orc commander he could tolerate working with and she was chewing through her own cheek in discomfort.

“They take something from you,” Gorfaunt admitted. “Dame and sire both, but worse for the dame since she has to carry the clot. You go… stretchy. Bleached like old bone. I’ve seen soldiers and after twenty children they’re not good for anything but shoving onto a line of pikes. Raw meat for the wargs.”

That didn’t make sense to him, but he was never a scholar of flesh or spirit. He knew how a skull split and how a soul fled, how this matter-sprung life withered, how it died. That was all that counted. He also knew how to value a resource.

“There won’t be any after this,” he said firmly. “Not if you don’t want them.” If need be he’d escalate to Lord Melkor, frame it as sapping strength from their command structure and propose making officers off limits from breeding programmes.

“As you command, Captain,” she said with a bowed head, but she looked gratifyingly relieved, and their conversation could finally move on to the latest stories of occupied territories and the search for the hidden cities.

The next few months Gorfaunt somehow managed to get bigger and bigger, until she was no longer able to swing herself into a chair and had to take their meeting standing. Her leather armor no longer fit and with just a thin layer of rags over her distended stomach it was easy to see the squirming creature inside.

Ferocious little animal. It would go so still and then kick out again, as if it could burst free of its creator by force of will alone. The kernel of its mind was forming too, a hazy bubble of sensation and half formed emotion. He could see what had the Lieutenant fascinated. It wasn’t his field but it was morbidly interesting, seeing the shape of something new and moldable come together right in front of you.

But he had not been made a sculptor or a craftsman. He’d been born a wild thing, a tornado, a volcano, every disaster meant to fell cities, and though he had not known the words yet he’d sensed in his core, seen in glimpses in the song, that he was a creature of war. Like many other wild things—Ossë, the simpering coward tied up in Uinen’s tresses, excluded— he’d found his way to Melkor in the end. Oh, he’d idled for a time with Vána, heard Námo’s dolorous call, but it was Melkor who he came back to and Melkor who he picked in the end.

Melkor taught him so many more ways to be. The smoke, the blood, the screaming not in sorrow but in anger. He taught the others who came to him as well. In the Captain’s little squad alone there was one who learned the slaver’s whip and the threat of fire, one who learned the ooze of pus and malodorous air, one who came to appreciate the ravenings of rabid beasts. From the dragons in the treasure-caves to the cat in the kitchen to the vampires in the highest towers, they were all Melkor’s creations.

Gorfaunt, born and raised here in the shadow of his ancient power, was even more Melkor’s than most. This was how the Captain rationalized his continuing fondness for her as she weakened, his interest in her spawn. Works of the same maker might gravitate together. They could see parts of themselves in each other, the way he could once see himself in other Ëalar born of the same bit of song.

When Gorfaunt came in four months after their revelatory meeting with a sagging belly and a bundle nestled against her chest he was excited to finally see what had been made.

It took a bit of coaxing to get her to show him the baby but no orc would outright refuse an order from anyone stronger than them, they knew better than that. The newborn was dutifully unwrapped and presented, though Gorfaunt’s expression suggested that she considered this all a silly waste of time.

It was a rumpled wet creature; mostly skin and bones, with a cranium as big as its rounded torso. Small too, barely bigger than Gorfaunt’s hand, and Gorfaunt was smaller than all elves and many humans; based on overheard complaints failure to grow was an ongoing issue with their kind. When it was unswaddled sticklike limbs flailed out and began batting at the air ineffectually. Despite this wriggling its face remained in a sleepy scowl. It wasn’t until Gothmog moved one cherry-hot finger closer to it that it opened its hazy grey eyes and tried to focus on him. Even then the dismayed frown stayed put.

An unscarred orc was always an interesting sight; for it revealed the scale of their reworking. How much orcishness was self-replicating, as the Lieutenant liked to claim, and how much had to be beaten in? This one had a droopy brow bone and already peeling corpse-grey skin but it did not look much like an orc besides that. It even had hair, which most orcs lacked (aside from a few lank patches). The fine red down covered its whole body, thickest on the head and face and arms.

“It’s supposed to fall out,” Gorfaunt said, “Everyone says it’ll fall out soon. Even the prisoners lose their hair after a while, especially in the deep mines.”

That was probably because of the miasma of decay that emanated from the ores of Angband. Not macro-decay, of skin and bone (that came later) but the infitesimal decay. Every piece of metal— every piece of existence, when you got down to it— was made of little stars. There was a gaseous center of energy and little orbiting specks around that, spinning in probabilistic loops. Like stars some were bigger and some were smaller and some were ready to collapse. Ilmarë loved to speak of supernovas. The yellow and blue metals below the mountain were full of little stars collapsing, reforming, giving off energy in great sums as they did so.

The Captain had noted the negative effects of this energetic output on incarnates some time ago. Elves sickened and humans just died— Lord Melkor had moved the man he hoped would give him the location of Gondolin far from those mines for a reason. A few of the spirits with natures inclined towards metal, salt, and industry had already incorporated the burning energy into their signatures. The Lieutenant doubtless had some wicked little experiment running with it. It was a part of life here, that background hum of a trillion crumbling particles, and the Captain never thought of the effect on orcs, though they were exposed from birth.

Now that he focused he could see the little crumbs of decay glancing off the baby.

Hmm.

It would probably be fine.

It was already rubbing its eyes and going back to sleep, one hand curled next to a crumpled, not-yet-cropped ear.

“Are you recovered?” he asked Gorfaunt.

“I’m fit enough to fight,” she said shortly, defensively, as if afraid he’d snatch her command from her. “I’ll be better soon when this thing is gone.”

The Captain’s huge palm hovered over her infant. He knew better than to touch; his ability to change forms was not what it once was, he could not stop being a bipedal avalanche, to strong, too close, too dangerous. Even just containing the noxious gases— the pustulent yellow and choking green— simmering inside this war shaped body was difficult. If he kept a few feet distance the chaotic heat of his skin faded into the air and the baby wriggled contentedly in the ambient glow, like a little lizard.

“And how long will that be?”

Gorfaunt’s hand twitched. Another few months, till it can manage worm meal and listen to the grands.”

It seemed impossible that anything could be big enough to leave alone in such a short time; but incarnation was not the Captain’s specialty. “And that’s the accepted practice?”

“A little young, but safe now that the master put a stop to the baby eating problem.”

“I wouldn’t want it to be a concern,” the Captain said very seriously, even though his fingers curled slightly around the baby’s limp body. “We can make modifications if the child must stay longer.”

Gorfaunt glanced down at her sprawled offspring. “I don’t— I don’t want this to last any longer. I’d rather have my life go back to normal.”

That, at least, he could understand. It has been a rather troubling experience overall. Revelations are not always useful and though he’s gained some knowledge it’s not very practical stuff.

“One more question, commander, then I’ll drop the matter. What is it named??”

That nascent mind bubble had sharpened with time and experience but was still comprised mostly of sensation. He could not even grasp at a basic sense of self. The child’s mother should know what if calls itself, if anyone did.

(He wanted to remember the name, for forty years from now, when he needed more good orcs. All those rants about the fundamentals of inheritance left him with some ideas about how incarnates develop traits. Another Gorfaunt would be a helpful tool to have on hand.)

The question left Gorfaunt unimpressed. “It doesn’t name itself anything yet, it hasn’t got the common sense. And no one’s given it a name because it hasn’t done anything interesting.”

“It has an interesting look” the Captain pointed out, “Tell them to call it Red Cap,” he slipped into the elf tongue, which had better color words than the one the Lieutenant devised, and in the process accidentally named the child after a former king of the Noldor. “Or something like that.”

Gorfaunt apparently had a better memory for politics than he gave her credit for, or perhaps just a distaste for the elf cant, because she quickly translated it back into Angband’s crackly tongue . “Rotbint.”

“Yes.” A Balrog, even the chief of Balrogs, could not give much to something so soft and incarnadine. A name, incorporeal, existing in the plane the Captain knew best, was the only thing he could offer. “Now, to business?”

Gorfaunt wrapped the little creature away— it woke halfway through the rolling to stare at them once more— then tucked it against her chest.

The Captain was sad to see it go, though he couldn’t say why.

He remembered that he had come to this physical world for a reason once. He had wanted to see all there was to see, to feel and taste everything, chew chunks of Arda up and spit it out new. Disasters hungered as much as anyone. Yet all he’d had lately was war fare; blood-soaked mud and rage-tinged fear.

Deprived of fresh experiences, he clung to the potential, the novelty, of new life.

Perhaps Gondolin would see him out of his funk, he thought. It couldn’t hide forever.

“We’ll find it, Captain,” Gorfaunt assured him stubbornly. “And we’ll tear it down brick by brick, raze their gardens, fill their streets with blood.”

Even with a baby trying to gum her collarbone her firm tone allowed no questions.

Orcs were, as a rule, bothersome, unruly, walking corpses. Fractious, ugly, difficult, bothersome, recklessly stupid. The Maiar serving under the Captain were sometimes stereotyped as simpleminded brutes but at least they were able to perceive the world around them, even if few bothered to use that perception. In comparison orcs were stumbling around in the dark. They were inefficient as well, you needed three of them to take down any decent enemy. But when they were well made they were well made. Those were the ones that made it all worth it.

It had to be worth it. This was freedom, after all.

[donutloverxo]

Pink lady

Note - For the lovely @lielullabyes 500 followers challenge! Congrats babe🥰🥰

And for @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18s challenge and birthday! I'm sorry I'm a bit late! Hope y'all like it❤❤

Summary - You try to convince your professor to give you a better grade.

Warnings - smut, age gap, professor/student relationship, deep throating, cock warming.

Prompts - professor!character x student!reader for snow

Gif prompt + your professor has a different kind of extra credit in mind for navy and siri

Pairing - Andy Barber x reader

Word count - almost 4k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You closed your eyes rubbing them to sooth the dryness. You had a long day and getting anything through your thick skull was turning out to be a challenge.

Of course it would. You were never an amazing student. You just studied the night before the exam and cramped whatever you could, writing what you remember on the test the next day. And yeah it wasn’t the most ideal way to study but it had worked so far for you. You got by alright.

It was more of all the shitty professors you’ve ever had than your fault. None of them could ever get you really interested in their subjects. They either didn’t care enough or only knew how to abuse their power.

But then he walked into your class. He was pretty enough to be a model or an actor. You just assumed he was someone famous. You felt as if you’ve met him before, as if you’ve known him your whole life. You were shocked to hear he was your new criminology professor, along with being a DA. Which has to be a demanding job.

It was impossible to not listen to him when he spoke, his voice so smooth like honey, carrying hints of a Boston accent he let slip whenever he got too passionate, which was quiet often.

He had broad shoulders and thick biceps he hit under those expensive suits and dress shirts. But it was more than that. He acted as if he cared. About his students, about the things he was teaching you. He always encouraged questions and helped everyone with their doubts. He had you on the edge of your seat with every word he said.

He even knew all the students by their names. Well... everyone except you.

You never interacted much in your classes, too afraid to make a fool of yourself in front of your dream man. So you had decided to buckle down and study as much as you can so you can finally raise your hand when he asked a question. How amazing it would be to hear him say ‘Good job' to you.

Maybe it isn’t classy to harbor such sinful thoughts about your professor. But the way his pants stretched over his round butt, hugging his long legs and creasing as he leaned against the edge of his table, his thick dark beard framing his face so perfectly, was just so mesmerizing. He was sex on legs. Were you really to blame here?

You had made sure to get to class ten minutes early so you could sit on the first bench. To get a close up look at the show. He was talking about something, you couldn’t really focus on. Your eyes stuck to his crotch, and how you could clearly see the imprint of his...

“Shit” You whispered as you heard him call out your surname, suddenly realising that he had his eyes on you.

“What do you think?” He asked.

“Wh – I – don’t really think a lot.” You stammered “I’m sorry what was the question?” You cringed at yourself.

“Try to pay attention next time.” He scolded you as you cowered under his intense gaze, his lips set in a hard line as he went back to addressing the whole class and resuming his lecture.

He didn’t even spare a look at you the rest of the class. You had to keep your tears at bay. It would’ve been better if you were invisible to him. Anything would be better than being publicly humiliated like that.

You decided then and there that you don’t like him. Sure you weren’t paying attention but how dare he point that out? He would never do that to anyone else. What the fuck did he have against you.

Nope. You were going to hate him now and bear him till the end of the semester. But then, all your resolve went out the window as soon as he turned around to write something on the board, giving everyone a nice view of his 'cute bubble butt'. At least that’s what you heard someone else call it. Although the kind of feelings it gave you were anything but cute.

After two long torturous hours the class was dismissed. You scrambled to pack up your bag. You were about to leave your, but body stopped of its own accord when you heard him call out your surname again. Sending shivers down your spine. You took a deep breathe turning around to look at him, your mouth suddenly dry and your hands clammy and sweaty.

“Yes professor Barber?” You asked as you stood a few feet away from him, staring at his shoes as if they were the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. You could not look at his face. You would melt on spot and make an idiot of yourself, again.

You cursed as he walked towards you standing just in front. You had never been so close to him before, you could smell his musky cologne, feel his hot breath on your forehead.

“Don’t you think it’s rude to not look at your professor when speaking to him?” He asked cocking his head.

He couldn’t but feel proud and satisfied as you complied so easily, looking up at him. The tip of your tongue peaked out to lick your lip before your lower lip was caught in your teeth as you chewed harshly on it. A very distracting habit of yours. He really had to resist the urge to groan.

He wondered if you knew you were so cruelly teasing him or if you were as oblivious as you seemed to be.

He was excited when he was offered a position to be a teacher, a chance to shape young minds. To make a larger difference in the world. He stayed up all night preparing for his first lecture. He was always thorough with his work. He had made up his mind to do his best and be a good teacher.

But he knew he was ruined as soon as his eyes landed on you.

He wasn’t one for making friends. Always having trouble trusting people. Especially in his profession. It wasn’t that he was shy. He hated small talk and just didn’t have a lot to say, unless he was in a courtroom, even if he did he wasn’t always sure how he should say it.

But when he and his colleagues had a win on a particularly hard case, bringing down a huge mob after working tirelessly for over 3 months, he agreed to go out for drinks to celebrate. He did need to wind down a bit. When he wasn’t at the office he was at home either working or sleeping.

He was sitting on the bar stool with Henry the paralegal he had come to like the guy. He had been a huge help with the case. Henry was going on about his daughters biology project when Andy felt a tap on his shoulder he looked over his shoulder before turning around to get a proper you.

There you stood, leaning against the bar with a dopey grin on your face. He couldn’t help but do you a once over, looking you up and down, you were wearing a hot pink dress that hugged your waist before flaring over your hips. He smiled at your cute kitten heels with small white bows on them. You looked so beautiful, your hair tied up in a high ponytail as curls framed your sweet face.

“Hello mister businessman mister!” You giggled before covering your mouth as you let out a hiccup. “Oops excuse me.”

“I’m not a businessman.” He smiled shaking his head.

“Well you sure do look like one!” you laughed weakly punching his bicep “Oh my gosh” You gulped pressing his bicep in your palm “You must work out.”

“I dabble here and there.” He said waving it off as if it wasn’t a big deal “Can I buy you a drink? Are you old enough to be here?” He wondered.

“I’ll have you know I’m more than old enough” You said proudly. Normally, he would never even consider flirting with someone who looked so young, but for some reason he just couldn’t stop. “Yes I will have a drink. Wait no! No I won’t!” You gasped.

“That’s probably a good idea. You seemed to have had plenty. How about a coffee?” He offered.

“Nope I’m fine. I’m here for my friend Stacey. She likes you.” You drawled out moving your hips side to side dancing to a tune stuck in your head.

“And you don’t like me?” He pouted.

“Noooo” You whined cupping his beard in your hands. He kept pouting to milk some more sympathy from you but was completely taken aback when you pressed your soft cushiony lips over his. You pulled back staring into his eyes and said “I like you a lot! But sisters before misters you know. I couldn’t do that to my friend.” And now you were the one pouting.

He heard Henry clear his throat behind him “I’ll just go on home then. See you tomorrow man.” Andy couldn’t be bothered to turn around to say goodbye, his eyes completely focused on you.

“Oh no your friend left. Whatever you’re going home with Stacey anyway.” You looked around for your friend “Where is she? Oh no! She’s not here.”

Andy frowned looking around the bar with you “Don’t worry she must be in the bathroom or something. Why don’t you try calling her?”

You whipped out your phone from your bag. Your lips starting quivering and eyes turned glossy as you looked at it. “Hey what happened?” His instincts screaming at him to sooth your panic state. He just ran his hand up and down your forearm, there wasn’t much else he could do without seeming like a creep.

“My friend left! She said she went home with a wall street guy. Left me all alone.”

He frowned at that. “Your friend doesn’t deserve you.” He stated as if he knew you. He didn’t but he knew how loyal you were to your friend when you turned him down. Who would abandon such a sweet thing like you?

“And we were gonna go to dinner and everything.” You sniffled “I’ll have to walk home now.”

“No you won’t.” He blurted clenching his jaw. He knew just how bad men could be. He would never let a clearly inebriated woman go home alone.

Sure in any other case he would’ve called or even paid for an taxi. But he couldn’t say goodbye to you just yet. So he offered to take you home. And with some convincing you agreed.

He secured you into the passenger seat before putting your address in the GPS. He found himself laughing more than he ever had at your incoherent drunken ramblings.

“Do you believe in aliens?” Before he could even answer you continued “What if this is all just a simulation. By aliens. Like what if we’re in a tv show. That’d be awesome.” You leaned against the window, closing your eyes.

“Are you this funny when you’re sober?” He wanted to know. Although he had an inkling that you definitely would be.

“Yes I am! But my friends tell me I talk too much.” You said scrunching up your nose.

“I could listen to you talk all night. But I think we’re here.” He said parking across a building. “is this it?”

“Yeah” You nodded. “You’re right dude. They don’t deserve me.”

“Don’t call me dude.” He grumbled. You call your friends ‘dude’. And he had no intentions of being just a friend to you.

“Fine dude” You chuckled. “Do you have a pen?” You asked.

“Uh I think” He felt his pockets and then pulled out a fountain pen he always carried around with him.

You took it from him and shook your head. “You business men and your pens” You snatched his arm and started writing something on his palm.

“I keep telling you I’m not a business man.” He argued.

His heart swelled with giddiness as he saw you write down numbers on his open palm.

“Call me if you wanna hear me talk some more, ‘night.” You struggled to open the door before stumbling out. He made sure you got inside your building safely before he entered your number in his phone. He didn’t ask your name, too caught up in your rant about women’s jeans not having pockets. So he just saved it as ‘pink lady’.

He was so excited to hear from you again that he called you the next morning. Only you had given him the wrong number. He didn’t know if it was a mistake or if you had just lead him on. He considered maybe ‘accidentally’ bumping into you near your apartment. But then he saw you. In his class, as his student.

You didn’t seem to remember him but obviously had a crush on him. You weren’t such a confident talker without the influence of alcohol, the one time he asked you what your name was you just replied with ‘I’ve never had one.’ Which was adorable but also infuriating.

Was he so damn forgettable? How did you manage to do such a number on him, so much so that you haunted his wet dreams, but you had completely forgotten about him and the whole encounter. Going about your merry life, your mind not plagued with such unprofessional and unethical thoughts.

He wanted to know you. To hear you ramble some more or be awkward. Literally anything but the cold shoulder you were giving him. So he did a bad thing. He called you out when you were clearly too busy ogling him. He revelled in the sick pleasure he got from embarrassing you.

“Why don’t we go talk in my office?” He suggested and collected his books without waiting for your answer. You both made your way over to his office, you following a few steps behind him. “After you.” He said as he held the door open for you.

He locked the little latch as he closed the door, instructing you to take a seat. He wasn’t sure why he had called you over. It wasn’t like he could actually act on his feelings. Or ask you if you remembered him at all. It would be out of the question. He would get fired from the university, his reputation would be tarnished.

He took a seat at his desk shuffling through the papers in his drawer and brought one out on the desk.

He felt his cock twitch in his pants as he took in your demure state. How you had made yourself so small across him. He decided then. He couldn’t possibly not do anything about his feelings. Once his mind was set on something he HAS to have it.

Every fibre of his being was screaming at him to simply bend you over the desk and take you in the most primal way possible. But he could wait. In just a few months you would graduate and he would ask you out. There was a possibility that you would turn him down. Again. But he’d take his chances and get what he wanted. He always did.

“Your grades aren’t doing so well Miss L/N” He said passing the paper over to you. “It’s a C. You barely passed. If you don’t get a B or up in your next exam you won’t pass my class.” As much as he loved seeing you everyday he needed you to graduate so he could have his way with you.

“Oh” You let out as you looked at the test.

“That’s all you have to say? What’s wrong? Do you not understand my teaching?” To which you shook your head no “Maybe you should focus on your studies before going to clubs and getting drunk.” He spit leaning back in his chair. He knew he was being harsh, but he also knew that you needed some tough love.

“I – clubs?” You looked up at him and frowned “I don’t go to clubs! How would you know anyway?”

“Oh so you don’t remember.” He sneered not taking too kindly to being forgotten so easily. “January’s last Thursday. You were wearing a pink dress.”

You looked as if you were in deep thought before your eyes widened almost popping out of their sockets. “Oh my god! You’re that business man!” You gasped.

“Listen closely. Because I won’t say it again. I’m not a business man. I’m a district attorney and your professor.” He said sternly as he threw his head back loosening his tie so frustrated with you. He’d have to be patient. Something he very obviously wasn’t. It’s alright. You were worth waiting for.

“Sorry” You mumbled half heartedly. You knew you remembered him from somewhere. You thought you had dreamt of meeting a handsome and charming business man. Apparently you were wrong. “Why am I here professor Barber?” You asked.

“I told you. You need to get your grades up.”

“Yeah but I’m sure many other students must’ve gotten a C or lower as well. Why are you so concerned with me? What’s so special about me?” You spit with an accusatory tone.

“I care about all my students.” It wasn’t a lie. He did. He just cared about you a little bit more.

“Uh – huh. Then why did you lock the door?”

“I didn’t want anyone to disturb us.” He cleared his throat as he sat up straight in his seat.

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“Why? What are you gonna do about it?” You asked before exaggeratedly rolling them again.

He scoffed “You’re such a brat.” He shook his head. “I’ll have you straightened up in less than a week when you’re mine.”

You hummed at that. “In your dreams old man.”

“You’ll see sweetheart. I just have to wait till June.”

“Well how about you can have a little taste now? I can give you something if you can change my grade.” You offered biting your lips again.

He groaned at the tempting offer and sight “There’s nothing you can give me that will change my mind.”

“Isn’t there?” You got up and walked around the desk to him, exaggeratedly swaying your hips.

He moved in his chair to look at you kneeling between his legs. Rubbing your hands on his thighs.

“I’m sure I can change your mind.” You said confidently as you undid his buckle and pulled down his zipper.

“I doubt it.” A thought of maybe stopping you as you took his hard cock out of his briefs came to him. But then you looked at his length with such awe, as if you were admiring it.

“You like it?” He smirked.

You could only nod your head and try your best to not drool. “It’s the most beautiful dick I’ve ever seen.” You admitted. It was also the biggest, his rosy mushroom head slippery with precum, couple of blue veins adorning his thick shaft. You could wait to suck the life out of him.

“How many dicks have you seen?” He frowned. He didn’t really liking you thinking about anyone else’s dick, not when his was right in front of you. “Never mind. Finish what you started.” His impatience took over him as he pushed your head down, forcing you to open your mouth and swallow him whole. He moaned at the feeling of your warm wet mouth wrapped around him. “Relax your throat.” He ordered as he pushed deeper into you.

Sighing deeply as his tip hit the back of your throat, groaning as you choked around him before swallowing. “That’s it good girl.” He praised caressing your jaw. Rubbing away the tears cascading down your cheeks.

He pulled some papers out of his bag as your raised your brows at him. “I need to get some work done sweetheart.” He shifted his hips to sit back on his chair. “How about you keep me warm till then?” He said as you whined “What? Do you have other plans?”

You shook your head as he muttered a “Good” And started going through his paperwork. “You can swallow honey. But that’s all you can do. Don’t you dare move.” He warned.

It was proving to be quiet a task. He couldn’t really focus on anything but your mouth and how he wanted to just fuck it and you stupid. But he was teaching you a lesson. He had to wait a while before he came down your throat. Besides this would give him an opportunity to really savor the feel of you.

You laid your head on his thigh as he flipped through his papers for the next half an hour. Suckling here and there to not mess up his pants. When you realised that he might be interested in you, even just a little. You hoped he would just take you, make your dreams come true. You had no idea what the fuck this shit about waiting was. But you were too afraid to say no to him.

He haphazardly put down his pen. Releasing a shaky breath he finally took hold of your head. Rolling his hips a little, he pulled his length out and pushed it back in. Setting a slow and steady pace, knowing that he’d come all too soon.

You moaned as his hand went down to cup your breast fondling it so gently. He lost it as he felt the little vibrations “Do it again” He demanded as you moaned around his length. He held onto the back of your throat driving his hips up a couple of times before spilling in your throat. “Swallow it all.” He ordered as he pulled out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’.

He groaned as he as your throat swallow a gulp “Clean me up. I have to go to work.” He pushed his tip against your lips as your tongue peaked out and licked what you couldn’t swallow and your spit off of him. You gave his tip a last kiss before tucking him back in his pants.

You stood up on wobbly feet, straightening the wrinkles in your dress. You went over to your chair cleaning your mouth up with a hanky Professor offered. “So you’ll change my grade now?” You pushed your test towards him.

He laughed “We never agreed to that sweetheart.”

“But I – but we – but I just!”

He shushed you putting his papers back in his bag “That would be unethical. You’ll be coming to my house for lessons. We have to make sure you graduate. Are you free tonight?” He looked up as you nodded “Good. Then we’ll decide if you’re worthy of a reward.” He pulled his laptop bag over his shoulder as he walked towards the door, unlatching it and holding it open for you. “I’ll see you tonight sweetheart.”

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm. Comments and feedback are appreciated! ❤❤

Beautiful dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

[magicman111]

A Moth to a Flame - Chapter Two

One month later

Sasha joylessly toyed with the Music Box, opening its lid like a yawning mouth.

Who’d have thunk it? She wondered to herself. This tacky little thing could cause so much calamity?

How ludicrously out of place she looked curled up on King Andrias’ enormous throne, almost like the little girl playing pretend in the driver’s seat of her parents’ car. You’d be forgiven for not knowing she’d just led the swiftest, easiest toppling of a government in this world’s history.

Big blue dummy locked up? Check. The city’s army surrendered? Check. Their toad army less than an hour away? Check. Dimension-skipping Macguffin firmly in their position? Double Check.

Not a bad day’s work for a 13-year-old.

Marcy’s oversized sparrow was tethered to the armrest by his leg. A prize she’d taken for herself so she could cruise around her new kingdom in style. She saw to it he wasn’t under any duress, and the fact he was neck deep in an industrial sized bag of bird feed told her he was plenty comfortable.

Sasha managed a tiny smile as she reached out to run her fingers through the thickness of his coat. She dunked her hand in the bag and offered him an open palm of seeds; he eyed for a moment or two before gingerly pecking at the mound.

Thank Frog no one was around to hear the ‘d’aww’ escape her lips.

Her grandmother was the one she had to thank for her secret admiration of birds. Old lady had been a birdwatcher who ‘treated’ her to regular weekend trips into the forest when she was younger. This was long before her discovery of malls and arcades. Sasha wouldn’t dare admit it to even herself back then, but the ones they spotted together on those dewy spring mornings were beautiful to behold in their natural habitat.

Herons may now be forever ruined for her, but Joe—she thought that was his name—was a mighty impressive specimen. Poor guy somehow found the strength to carry all seven of them to Newtopia, only to nosedive into the moat at the end of the flight.

Definitely had nothing to do with her asking Marcy if she could take the reins in the last stretch. She and Anne were kind enough not to draw attention to it, same as they did the day at summer camp when they discovered her crying into her pillow. They were awesome enough to go along with her story that it was only allergies. She knew she had a true pair of girlfriends that morning.

Thinking about them only soured her mood afresh. She sprinkled the rest of the feed back into the bag and slumped against the backrest, arms petulantly crossed.

Here she was in the crowning moment of her young life and she couldn’t have been more miserable.

Maybe because her friends should have been here to share in this, but no, they had to go and act all noble. What else should she have expected? She always was the only one in the group with the guts. Anne had to be dragged kicking and screaming to ditch school and join her and Marcy in celebrating her birthday. Was it any wonder she had to keep taking control of the situation?

More likely... it was because deep down she knew she didn’t really want this. She certainly believed she did after they dropped that gloryhound newt general down a waterfall and when they successfully rallied the Toad Lords after retrieving Barrel’s Warhammer. Things only started getting complicated when they needed free tickets into Newtopia in the form of her friends.

She hadn’t counted on realising just how much she missed her clumsy, klutzy Marcy. Neither how effectively she and Anne were still able to work together as a team in spite of all the unpleasantness that had transpired between them during their time here, of which there was plenty. The fact that Anne actively encouraged her in taking down that molten toad monster was the rancid cherry atop the sludge sundae. For a while back there, it looked like they might really turn a corner and start afresh. All three of them could have gone home like none of this ever happened. Except by then it was already too late.

What recourse did she have when the Plantars invited them for the world’s most awkward dinner party or when they brought the house down at the Battle of the Bands? Tell Grime and all the toads who’d invested their manpower and futures in her that sorry, she was getting cold feet? There was only one grizzly way that would end both for her and Grime and the best scenario she could imagine involved heads on pikes.

... It didn’t matter anymore. Her friends had picked their path, she’d picked hers. As her mom always said, ‘You make your bed, you lie in it’. Funny how in her short life, she’d heard that line far too many times already.

Once she figured out how the Box worked, she’d send both Anne and Marcy on their merry way and they’d never have to see each other ever again.

Everyone would get what they want.

Good thing then she’d sent her soldiers to ransack Marcy’s room for all her research about Anne’s fateful birthday gift. Girl was a pack rat. She kept notes for every exam and project they were assigned back home. The less said about her laptop jammed with files of anime fanfiction and theories the better.

Plus, it was a good way to try and distract herself.

They came back into the throne room hauling burlap sacks full of parchments and emptied their contents at Sasha’s feet.

Daaang, girl, you've been in the zone.

She scattered them over her lap and the ample free space on the seat. They actually weren’t that hard to follow; colour coordinated with plenty of cutesy kawaii diagrams. Trademark Marbles.

Apparently, it worked a lot like those puzzle boxes Marcy got as gifts from relatives in Hong Kong. All it took was knowing the right sequence of buttons and zip! You can go wherever you want in the cosmos. Just a matter of finding the code for Earth.

‘I’m done listening to you!

I’m done trusting you!’

Sasha scowled, trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind where they belonged. She shuffled through a couple more pages until she found the one titled in glittery green and blue lettering, ‘HOME’.

Bingo.

‘You’re a horrible person!’

Ignore. Ignore.

Now all she had to do was jot it down on her palm and—

‘AND I AM DONE. BEING. FRIENDS WITH YOU!!’

She stopped. Her shoulders drooped. Then she just threw the page down on the floor and sunk into her seat further than she thought physically possible.

She normally didn’t consider herself that thin skinned a person, but man, that one hurt.

Traces of bitter tears creeped into her eyes.

What am I even doing anymore?

The sound of footsteps on crumpling paper and someone clearing their throat snapped her out of her self-pitying torpor. She fluttered her eyes dry to see Grime standing there awkwardly among the discarded parchments.

The diminutive, one-eyed former Toad Lord was hiding something behind his back. He actually looked pretty embarrassed about it too, which for a battle hardened war vet like Grime was actually kinda adorable in Sasha’s eyes.

“I, uhh, got you something,” he said, whipping out a long rectangular present wrapped in green paper and topped with a luscious red bow. “Had it made especially for this day.”

Now if there was one thing Sasha Waybright couldn’t say no to, it was a gift, especially from a trusted friend. They were the ultimate distraction from the blues and she couldn’t have been sitting upright and tearing into this one any quicker.

“Whaaat? Grimesy, you didn’t!” What she had pulled from the ravaged packaging wielded aloft her head made her gasp. “How’d you know I wanted to duel wield?!”

It was a brand new heron sword. An exquisite green second shortsword that would compliment Ol’ Pink perfectly.

She stared proudly into the smooth steel surface, admiring the craftsmanship. When she noticed the girl staring right back at her, however, her smirk vanished in an instant. The captain of the cheerleaders, the scarred swordswoman, the conqueror of Newtopia, whatever angle she looked at it, she didn’t like what she saw. Unbelievable as it may sound, even the joy of an awesome gift like this was not enough to make everything better.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it? Oh dang it!” Grime slammed his forehead. “I didn’t get a gift receipt!”

“No no, it’s just...” Sasha weighed the blade against her ungloved palm. Talking about these kinds of things was never easy for her. “What if Anne’s right? What if I am a horrible person?”

Grime popped up like a whack-a-mole behind the armrest. “Who cares what she thinks?” he scoffed. “You and I are in charge now, and we get to do whatever we want!”

“That’s the thing... I’m not sure what I want anymore,” she admitted wearily.

For all his years of training at the finest academies, his brutal combat in the colosseum and tactical expertise earned through a lifetime of military service as his forebears before him, this one had Grime stumped. Needless to say, talking about one’s emotions wasn't exactly encouraged during their upbringing in toad culture, so naturally it wasn’t one of his strong suits. Just one of the many things he and Sasha had in common.

“Huh.”

Still, he was a pretty fast thinker and came up with a fairly good idea on the spot.

“Why don’t you help me redecorate this place?” he suggested, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Take your mind off it. Cuz this right here...” He gestured to the cluttered mess in which she’d surrounded herself. “This is definitely not—I’m sorry, can I help you?!”

Both of them turned their heads when it became impossible to ignore Joe’s cone-shaped beak lightly nipping at Grime’s cheek.

“He probably thinks your warts are seeds.”

“For the love of—I knew he was eyeing me up on the ride here! There! Get lost!” Grime scooped up a fistful of feed and flung it over the marble floor, but the winged beast persisted with pecking his face. “Stop it! MY HEAD IS NOT A FEEDER!!”

It took an exceptional effort of willpower for Sasha not to laugh at the sight of her old man being preyed upon by the family pet.

Wow, she thought. Her old man? Was that how she saw Grimesy now? Seriously?

Perhaps up to a point. Okay, considering the options she had for parental figures back home, it wasn’t exactly the highest bar to pass, but it still meant something. Anything.

Who would have guessed this would be how they’d end up, especially given how they started off with her as his prisoner? Sure, it may have taken her helping him and the whole tower not getting turned into heron feed for her to be upgraded to his lieutenant, but they really had come a long way since then. There was a lot more honor and heart to the cranky old toad than she first thought, back when she wrote him off just as another blowhard with power. Now he genuinely considered her his equal both as a friend and comrade in arms. For Sasha, the feeling was mutual. A first for her.

When all was said and done, who else did she have left besides him and vice versa?

What the heck? Let’s tear this place up.

Untethering Joe, she whistled a tweet-tweet and gave the rope a gentle tug to encourage him to follow on their ‘indoor walkies’.

A cursory surveillance of the throne room told her there was a lot of work to be done. If this toad regime was to last a thousand years, the correct decor was an important first step. Thankfully for them, she knew a thing or two about fashion. For starters, there were way too many soft blues and purples. Rust red from top to bottom! She preferred keeping the stained glass windows, but they’d need entirely new designs. Hers truly would naturally feature in most of them, one showcasing her and Grime caving that narwhal worm’s head in with the Warhammer being an absolute must. The snakes coiling the stone pillars weren’t a bad touch, if just a bit too elegant for the whole ‘proud warrior race’ vibe they were going for, but she could still work with them. Now as for the throne, they were gonna have to replace it with something much more imposing. There was that super violent dragon show she and her parents used to watch that had the huge throne made out of swords. She was sure she had a picture somewhere on her phone to use as a reference.

“I’m sorry, what the heck is this?!”

Sasha could only denounce what they were gawking at as the single biggest affrontement to tasteful decorating known to man or amphibian. Yes, worse than inflatable furniture, carpeted bathrooms, beaded curtains, glass block bathroom windows, ‘live, laugh, love’ quotes on walls, rustic hearts, mason jars and nautical accessories all combined under the same inland roof.

Tapestries had their rightful place in a palace’s interior design, but the one sweeping across a section of wall depicting a gentle hearted Andrias sitting down by a lake, surrounded by flowers and lilypads was nothing short of vomit-inducing. Gathered at his feet and scooped up in his protective arms were his wide-eyed, childlike subjects. Even the fish and a lobster were surfacing to bask in their king’s magnanimity. Here the oversized salamander was truly the loving patriarch of everything the light touched. The mawkish display could only be topped off with a rainbow streaking across the sky.

Grime felt his stomach roile. If he ever needed an example to demonstrate the difference between kitschy and downright tacky, this was it.

“Y-y-y-yikes!” he gagged. “This thing’s gotta go!”

Sasha didn’t need a second invite. Besides, what else was Joe going to use to line his nest?

A joint effort tore the offensive piece from its place and it tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Dead silence fell over the room.

Hidden beneath the tapestry was... a mural. Including such a decoration in a throne room was hardly surprising, yet it was what it contained that shocked both the human and toad, so much so that they had to take a moment to recover.

“Woah,” they gasped at once, before starting to analyse what they saw.

The mural was a chaotic collection of nightmarish images painted on a night blue wall. Wild red flames spewing out hordes of beasts and the wreckage of buildings. Mountains of skulls and bones belonging to frogs, toads and newts alike. A flying... spaceship? A castle? Whatever it was meant to be, it firied a white beam up at what was unmistakably the Music Box. Pink, green and blue lightning bolts crackled out of the Box. Mesmerising orange gemstones or, more terrifyingly, eyes leaped off the wall and burned themselves into their minds. The frightening focal point of this one-way ticket to the school therapist’s office? Rising out of the middle of the inferno was the silhouette of a red-eyed, goliath-sized beast, its claws reaching up covetously towards the Box that hung right above its crowned head.

It may as well have been lifted straight from the tattered dream journal of a madfrog.

Any ideas of redecorating the throne room were long gone. Even the revolution they were spearheading suddenly seemed millions of miles away in the face of what they’d just stumbled upon.

Peering her eyes slightly, Sasha was the first to put a face to the shadowy leviathan, and when she did, she had to swallow her heart back down into her chest.

“Is that the king?” she asked, mystified. “With the music box?”

Sweat ran down the side of Grime’s nonplussed face. “If it is… it’s a really good thing we stopped him.”

Neither of them said it aloud, but both understood the situation at once. All this time they thought they’d been playing flipwart while the king played bog jump. Oh, how wrong they’d been. It was beyond anything that even the Toad Lords discussed. They knew that they had to reconvene with them as soon as the armies had reached the gate.

She took a couple steps closer to reexamine the mural more thoroughly, missed details emerging now that the initial shock began to wear off. Circuit board markings—the same inside her dad’s outdated computer when she foolishly dared Marcy if she could take it apart—worked their way around the images, serving as some type of frame. Odd choice for a world that didn’t even have steam engines yet. She also picked up the three small geometric figures standing atop the Box’s lid. An artist she was not, but they looked pretty human-like in design.

But humans did not exist in Amphibia. The three of them were the first of their kind to ever set foot in this dimension.

Weren’t they?

Alarm bells were ringing louder than ever before. This Andrias guy had been playing Anne and Marcy for his own ends this whole time, all to get his mitts on the Music Box! What did he plan to do with it? Right now, she still couldn’t say, but it was all bad. Outside of a kickin’ rock band, fire and skulls together were never a good thing!

Even Joe’s feathers were puffing up anxiously against her back. Not turning away from the mural, she raised her hand and patted his risen crest.

“I know, big guy. I don’t like it either.”

Grime’s voice rang urgently in her ears, “Lieutenant! Get over here, quick!!”

Sasha had spun on her heels and sprinted down the room to find Grime standing the wreckage of what used to be a display of armour. He’d evidently acted on a hunch while she’d been preoccupied. Judging by his thunderstruck expression, he’d just discovered something far worse.

“What is iooooh boy!”

This new second mural reminded Sasha a lot of Egyptian hieroglyphs. If there was any room for doubt about the technicolor stick guys, there was none here. Standing tall against an indigo backdrop in a neat row were the outlines of human beings; long gangly appendages, stumpy noses and everything. Some were wearing hooded capes, others were decked out in suits of armour. The couple in the middle looked particularly regal. No prizes for guessing the little wooden box they were holding in their hands, cementing their authority as if it were the globus cruciger.

Faded inscriptions were engraved along the bottom. They were written in a more archaic amphibian dialect, but being a toad of higher education, Grime was able to give translating them a decent shot.

These great beings of magic and might

Travelled from beyond to serve the night

Bow before these children of man

Or know the wrath of the—

“... Wu Clan?” He cocked his one good eye up at her. “Iiiii’m not getting it.”

There it was. Floodlights flashed in Sasha’s head. All colour drained from her face. A million and one thoughts were now firing across her brain at once, threatening to send her into cerebral shutdown.

It was at that moment she knew she’d been played. They all had. She didn’t know whether to be absolutely furious, betrayed or impressed.

Why that conniving, devious little—

That's when they heard the BOOM outside the window.

[ladyeliot]

Do it.

Request: @imerdwarf​  : Hi my dear friend ❤️ I was wondering if I could send in a small request? 🥺 a friends to lovers with Bucky - reader has loved him for a long time but he’s always with other girls and just feels like he doesn’t like her that way but it isn’t until she starts crying he learns the truth? 🥺 your writing is amazing and I’m glad to have found your blog ❤️

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader (40s)

Warning: Fluff, fluff, fluff and maybe sad.

Word count: 2243

Notes:  Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

New York City, 1943

The clarity with which you heard the words that came out of the radio distressed you. There wasn't much good news coming from across the ocean, but you knew that's where you wanted to be. The courage of the many soldiers who passed through your hands encouraged and comforted you, they had hope, everything that was needed in those times. Your main task was to vaccinate and check that each and every soldier who went to war was in good physical condition. There were many times when you had to refuse their permission, and you watched as frustration set in.

But things changed when a loved one came before you to give your approval of their good physical health. Bucky Barnes was more than a Sergeant in the United States Army, he was your friend and confidant for a couple of years when Bucky showed up at the medical centre after becoming the third YMCA welterweight boxing champion. From that moment on you both discovered that you had many things in common, and perhaps it was because of that and the constant casual coincidences you had over the next few months that you became good friends.

"Done," the curtain that separated your cubicle from another nurse's cubicle opened, letting a smiling Bucky through.

You jumped up suddenly when you saw how he had snuck into that place, and the soldier you were poking at the top of his buttock was surprised too. But Bucky didn't seem to mind.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, offering the soldier cotton wool with alcohol.

"I've just had my destiny confirmed" Bucky picked up a series of confidential papers, which he shouldn't show you.

The soldier you were vaccinating reluctantly left by pulling up his trousers, and Bucky took the seat he had left on the stretcher. You took the papers he was offering you and discovered that first thing tomorrow morning he would be leaving for Europe. His departure took you somewhat by surprise, as you at least expected him not to leave until September, but he was determined. He was leaving tomorrow and you still hadn't received your assignment orders, even though your application had been sent for months.

"So you're leaving first thing tomorrow morning for London," you confirm by looking at the documents.

With every gesture on his face, Bucky showed that happiness and pride you were used to seeing in each of your patients. It was clear that there was nothing better than news like that to cheer up the American people, their courageous men and women fighting for their country.

"Well, what do you plan to do on your last night of freedom, Sergeant?" Your question had a specific purpose, to discover Bucky's priorities, among which you clearly knew was his best friend, Steve Rogers.

James took the papers again from your hands and got up from the stretcher practically in one jump.

"Enjoy this wonderful city and its pleasures," he said cheerfully. "Tonight I have a double date with Steve, we'll take Connie and Bonnie to Stark Expo and then dance.

You arched one eyebrow smiling at the plan he had just proposed, the smile was not really the best expression to show your feelings, but it was perfect to hide them. You were not prone to show your affection in front of the people you loved, maybe that's why you accepted to dedicate yourself to nursing, you preferred to show your affection with strangers. That and running away from your small town.

"So, a double date? That sounds wonderful."

As Bucky played with the papers in his hands you wondered whether you should say goodbye to him now, whether that would be the last time you would see him before he left first thing the next day, and whether you would not see him again until the war was over and everyone returned home, if he survived.

"So... is this goodbye?" you asked with a sour smile.

Just as Bucky was about to take the step and respond, the white curtain opened showing a young private waiting to be vaccinated. Bucky showing his stripes informed him to wait a moment.

"Of course, Sergeant."

Just as the private had disappeared again, Bucky resumed the conversation.

"I think so, this is goodbye," Bucky kept the papers. "Goodbyes... I'm not very good at them."

"Don't worry, Sergeant," you said, looking at his blue eyes as you leaned on the stretcher. "You just focus on being good at what matters, and come back safe and sound."

"Of course ma'am," Bucky gave you one last smile before disappearing through the curtain and informing the soldier that he could pass.

The rest of tomorrow you functioned as if you were part of an assembly line, soldiers and vaccines, vaccines and soldiers, your mind was lost elsewhere, wandering between various thoughts. Practically all your friendships were thousands of miles away from you, you only knew about them through a few lines that came to you with every correspondence at the beginning of the month. Your life was becoming a nuisance, and now he was leaving too. You wanted to be there, in the front line if necessary, to help, even if you regretted it every day later. That situation was frustrating.

With the sunset you started to pick up your belongings, there was nothing more you could do for today, just take off your uniform and go home to sit on the couch while you kept your mind distracted listening to the radio. The girls were going out that night to dance with a lieutenant and his mates, but you just needed a bit of calm.

The number five bus soon passed, and after crossing the Manhattan bridge you were on your way back to Brooklyn. You were living in a small rented flat in North Brooklyn, and every night when you arrived Mrs. Ferris would come over to say good night to you, although you knew that she just wanted to check that you didn't have a companion, as the rental contract forbade it.

"Good evening, Mrs. Ferris," you said as you walked up the stairs to the first floor. "Have a nice evening."

After having said your farewell, as always, you went into the house and prepared to open the window of the living room, just to listen to the atmosphere of the neighbourhood and to discover that you were not alone in that place. The radio news had finished and a Harry James song "I've Heard That Song Before" began to play, a song that made you think of Bucky and that at that very moment he would be dancing with Connie or Bonnie, or maybe both. You couldn't blame him for anything, in the first place he didn't know your feelings, and secondly first thing tomorrow morning he would be going off on the most dangerous adventure of his life, surely if you were in his position you would have done the same.

You stood silently by the window frame, listening to the sweet melody coming from the radio and contemplating all the windows lit in the buildings opposite. It took you longer than usual to realize that someone on the pavement, just below your window, was calling your attention, because you were transfixed by the Brooklyn night.

"What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?" The tone of surprise came in your words, but it was so faint that I probably wouldn't have heard you.

Bucky pointed to the front door of the building, emphasizing that he wanted you to let him in. You shook your head quickly, it was impossible for Bucky to get up to your house without Mrs. Ferris noticing. Your friend made a nagging gesture, but quickly indicated that you should go down to the street, where he was. With a charming smile he waited for your answer, and you no doubt pleased him by coming down quickly.

"I hope you're not late, Miss Y/S/N," Mrs. Ferris quickly opened the door. "And if you do, take off your shoes to go up the stairs."

"Of course, Mrs. Ferris, enjoy the evening."

With a little chuckle you opened the front door of the building and found Sergeant Barnes waiting for you at the entrance.

"What are you doing here?" you said with a scowl. "I thought you were in some bar in Queens dancing until dawn before a ship takes you to England."

"Well, let's say Steve has left and it's my turn to take care of the two ladies," he said, taking off his cap.

"Can't Sergeant Barnes handle two ladies?" Your mischief came out, if Mrs. Ferris had heard such a comment she would have kicked you to the curb, but Bucky was used to it.

Bucky did not respond, he just smiled and put his cap back on completing his uniform again.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" you asked when you realized that the conversation was limited.

"Please," he said, raising his hand to get you started.

You knew that neighbourhood perfectly, you had lived there since you moved to New York, and you had walked those streets day after day. As if you were taking an exam, you were trying to answer the question: Why did Bucky suddenly appear that night? Maybe it was true, Steve had left and didn't want to be with two young ladies. "Really?" you thought to yourself, it was James Barnes, he would have been thrilled with that situation.

"Have you received the answer to the relocation request today?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Not yet," you said with regret in your voice. "I hope to receive it next week, I wouldn't like to stay another month in New York.

The lampposts opened past you on your night out, there was practically no one there except those groups of young people who were returning to their homes.

"You're looking forward to going to the frontline," he said, placing his hands behind him and looking ahead.

"Aren’t you?" you smiled melancholyly, staring at him. "It's not me who's leaving tomorrow."

Bucky kept walking as he looked straight ahead.

"You know," you started. "Maybe it's stupid, but I feel like my work here is useless. I became a nurse three years ago to escape that Missouri town and see the world, and I enlisted in the army nursing corps to serve my country and do something worthwhile in my life. But I've been doing medical examinations on soldiers and giving injections for three years.”

You did not know at what moment you stopped, but you were in the middle of an alleyway illuminated only by a pair of street lights. Bucky was watching you carefully as you let your thoughts flow. 

"Practically everyone I know is struggling somewhere in the remote world, and I feel like I'm stuck and can't do anything to help," your mind went fast as your hands tried to express how you felt. "And tomorrow you're going thousands of miles away too and I'll still be here, getting up like I do every morning and giving medical check-ups to people who may not be with us for months.”

Your eyes became watery as you spoke. Finally you looked up from the floor and discovered that Bucky was looking serious as he listened to you, his expression made you nervous.

"I know, it's stupid," you quickly wiped away the tear that was going to fall down your throat by looking away and biting your tongue hard.

"No," Bucky denied with his face removing his cap. "Nothing you just said is stupid."

At the time you were a little embarrassed to have exposed how you felt, but your companion's reaction made you realise that he had hidden feelings too, and was not very likely to expose them either. Bucky raised his hand slowly, as if afraid of scaring you, and stroked your cheek. His caress made you shudder; it was so delicate that you closed your eyes to enjoy the time it lasted.

"You're looking forward to war," he whispered, staring into your eyes. "And I'm wishing you wouldn't."

You felt those words inside you too, they were a clear reflection of what you wanted, you didn't want him to go to the front tomorrow either.

"I'd kiss you right now," he whispered, focusing his gaze on your lips.

"Do it."

As if it were an order from a superior, Bucky accepted it and quickly shortened the distance between your lips. You had wanted to live that moment so many times and now it was happening, a few hours before his departure, and that was reflected in the need for that kiss. Your lips were opening up to each other, causing a more agitated breathing. It did not matter to you if someone was passing by or a curious person was watching through a window, it was your moment.

It was not until you parted that you discovered the fear you both felt within yourselves, the fear of not seeing each other again, and this was present in the kisses you gave each other until dawn.

MAIN MASTERLIST

FAQs

Tag list: @imerdwarf​ @mycosmicparadise

send me an ask to be added or removed from a taglist

[honeyandbloodpoetry]

Gender Thoughts Pt 1 and 2

The first time I put a binder on, a little under a week ago, I felt euphoric. Ever since I hit puberty very early on, I felt uncomfortable with my breasts. They never felt right on me, and even though I’ve come to love them sometimes, they still don’t always feel like they match up. I hated how people always looked at them, pointed out how much they showed in low cut shirts when I never even noticed they were--or even wanted them to. They were just there. I liked the way low cut shirts feel and look on me, I just can’t help these giant sacks of flesh that sit on my chest. 

Except...now I can! I ran my hands over my smooth chest, feeling bright. I looked into the mirror, and felt something warm wash over me. I put on my new masculine clothes, letting my partner clip on my new suspenders. I realized that I was shaking as I looked at myself again… I looked like a boy. I felt like a boy. Like a man. And I liked it. I wanted it. Admitting that to myself was like coming home. 

I remember being in sixth grade, walking around the track for my civil air patrol class. I had been slotted in with the rest of the girls, the boys walking ahead of us. I remember feeling uncomfortable being shoved in with only girls, and looking at the gaggle of boys ahead. The exact thought that whispered in my brain was “I wish I was a boy. I want to be like them, with them.” I never forgot that moment, and how strange it made me feel. How it was easier to shake that thought away, and dismiss those feelings. Except they never really left, did they? 

I remember sitting on my bed, crying with my best friend kneeling in front of me. I remember telling her how I didn’t like feeling like a woman all the time. That I wished I could be a black shadow, monstrous, androdynous. Specifically like Venom. She took my hand, did my makeup all in black and helped me pick out the perfect black outfit to achieve that dark, gothic look. I was so incredibly happy and validated. But I still felt like something was missing. 

I remember going into an Adam and Eve for laugh, not expecting much since I am an asexual with a low libido. I remember seeing packers and feeling my chest tighten. I never liked my genitalia--I had wished for a cloaca or something akin to that, but since that was biologically impossible for a human… I sometimes wished I had the opposite of a vagina. I frequently imagined what it would be like to have a penis. I frequently lamented the fact that I didn’t have one. I took the box up to the counter to ask some questions, my dress swishing as I went. The cashier told me it was for trans people only, and a girl like me couldn’t have it. She didn’t know what asexuality was, and had tried polyamory once but decided it was bad when her girlfriend kissed her boyfriend. I was upset, disheartened, and left the store empty handed feeling frustrated and lost.

I remember finally cutting the long, curly locks that had frustrated and imprisoned me for so long. Seeing all of my hair fall to the floor, staring into the mirror as the barber buzzed the back of my head… It made me want to cry tears of joy. It was the first time in my entire life that I had looked at my hair and was happy. The first time I could look in the mirror and feel like myself. Then I remember wanting to go shorter, and my barber encouraging me to keep it a little longer so I didn’t look manly, so I could still be soft and feminine. The way my stomach dropped and the sick feeling in my chest only increased when he began to make fun of the gay men who came down the street near his favorite restaurant. I never saw that barber again. I instead found a nice local place down the road from my apartment, where the kind lady cut it all off without question, other than “Why?” and accepted my warm “It makes me happy. It makes me feel beautiful.” 

But wearing that binder for the first time? It was as if a beam of light had funneled its way directly into my heart. I felt like a handsome man, with just a little bit of striking man boob, and it felt so right. My partner called me a dashing boy and my heart began to race. I still feel his hand tracing my jawline as he called me handsome, and the butterflies it sent up through my belly, even after more than eleven years. 

I love my partner--he identifies as agender and primarily masculine, and has been on the lookout for a good pair of size thirteen shoes to wear with a dress. They also wear joggers and flip flops and graphic tees and can’t seem to stop talking about the ocean and outer space. They’re probably one of my biggest inspirations for finding myself, and being authentically me. 

I’m not super sure who or what I am right now. I’m still figuring that out, but I’m pretty sure I’m somewhere between agender and genderfluid. I feel like me more than anything else, but all pronouns make me feel good. I feel like all of them and none of them at once, but I swing between wanting to be feminine and masculine pretty strongly, though I enjoy being masculine most of all--even when I’m wearing dresses and pink. I feel like a beautiful person in a dress or a button down, no matter what gender I feel like today or tomorrow. 

I am me. And I am one dashing boy, and one beautiful girl. 

4 July 2021

XXX

Since first writing this little essay, I’ve been doing a lot more examination of my gender. I have come to the conclusion that I am transmasc and nonbinary, and am shaky on the title of genderfluid. I am feeling less and less like a woman--if anything, occasionally adjacent to a woman rather than actually being one. I love feeling like and presenting as a man. I have my first appointment with a gender services doctor at my local community clinic for consultation on starting hrt testosterone. I am planning to start with low dose first, and see how I feel. 

I am still unsure of my exact identity, but I have found great euphoria with being and presenting as a man. I love being a man and everything that entails. I have loved myself like never before. Being with my partner is amazing, and he has been endlessly supportive--even recounting little things they had noticed throughout the years. One of the funniest being that I only ever referred to my body parts--my belly, hands, hair, genitalia--with masculine pronouns. I always seemed to see my body as male even if I had a certain sort of dissonance from it. 

Coming out has been difficult. I have had both positive and negative experiences from it. I have been told going on testosterone would be self harm, and that I can’t be something I’m not. I’ve had coworkers I trusted out me without my permission. But I have also had positive affirmation, polite questions, and discussions. I am terrified to tell my mother and her boyfriend--I have no idea how they will react and am terrified that I will be disrespected and disowned. 

But I am prepared to do whatever it takes to be my happiest and most authentic self. 

I have been binding a lot more often, wearing sports bras for long shifts at work, and occasionally going without either when I feel like letting my man boobs hang free. I’ve had the delightful experience of going to a men’s big and tall store and finally wearing pants. I grew up as a fat girl and felt as if I had to perform high femininity to be taken seriously and be treated well--and had been told by someone I trusted that I was too fat to wear pants, which I heavily internalized. So I had completely cast them away in favor of dresses and skirts, bows and gaudy jewelry. Realizing that I could wear pants was...totally wild. That I could be comfortable and look good in pants and shorts, and that it didn’t matter what people did or thought of me was life changing. Maybe I’ll feel like being feminine again someday, but right now this masculinity and masculine clothing, with perhaps the added spice of funky earrings, feels like home. 

I also grew up autistic and with PCOS, both which I think have affected my gender identity. Being autistic, I truly struggled to connect to others socially, and especially to understand societal norms. Being a proper woman felt like I was making up for everything else I was lacking--I may have been awkward, semi-verbal and weird with no friends, but at least I was cute and girlish. I never connected to womanhood though, and always felt out of place no matter how hard I tried. With PCOS, I had heightened testosterone, which meant wider breasts and shoulders, a lack of periods, and excessive body hair. I recall the endocrinologist asking high school age me if I had excessive body hair around my stomach, breasts, etc. and my mother jumping to say no I didn’t...even though I did. I remember suddenly feeling very self aware and ashamed of something completely natural, and even something I started to enjoy. I started shaving my entire body then. 

I even remember being in middle school, and thinking nothing of my hairy legs. In fact, I loved my body hair and how it felt. A rude girl began making fun of me though, tutting her tongue as she cooed, “Aw, does your mommy not let you shave?” Among other things, all throughout many years of severe bullying and abuse. I remember feeling ashamed, but not knowing why, and immediately shaving my legs, covering them in nicks from my shaky and unsteady hands, that same night. 

So many things set me back in my gender expression. So many things contributed to me willful ignorance and denial. I remember wanting to be butch, and everyone in my life laughing at me and saying I was too soft for that. That sweet, sharp ache in my chest. I remember going to a salad bar with my mother, wearing a button up and telling her I wanted to wear some more boyish clothes around that same time--I had already told her that I was bi sometime earlier. I remember her lip curling, looking uncomfortable, and telling me that I better not become one of those boy girls. My late father was very vocal in denouncing homosexuality and specifically men loving men--something which always sat horribly wrong with me on a deeper level. 

I think I might ending up being a trans man. I am still unsure and figuring myself out, but I struggle greatly with the autistic need for sameness vs. the trans need for change. My sapphic love of women has always been very important to me, and fully becoming a man rather than genderfluid is scary for that very reason. I am still navigating my identity and what it means to me and my reality--but no matter what, being a man, being masculine is integral to who I am. 

I was called a “sir” at a job interview for the first time the other day, and nearly began to bawl from sheer joy. The gender euphoria from that and so many moments is worth so much more to me than the years of suffering and ignorance and my ongoing struggles with dysphoria. I finally got a packer and have had help from my partner in learning to position it properly--I am thinking of cutting my hair even shorter. I have almost perfected a pretty basic tie tying skill. Okay, not really, but I’m getting there. I feel deep inside that even though my father loved me, he would not like who and what I am. Still, I wear the last watch he ever wore, and hope to be a good man like him--and to learn from the toxic parts of him to be an even better man. 

I am very excited to start hrt. I am terrified of hair loss and vaginal atrophy, but I look forward to so much more. I cannot wait for bottom growth and body hair, for the voice drop that will hopefully get me misgendered less. I have always felt disconnected from my voice and look forward to getting to know it better as it changes with me. I look forward to meeting with new facial hair. Working out and growing muscle. I just look forward to my second puberty and becoming more like myself. I look forward to navigating and exploring my gender even further, both with loved ones, support groups, and myself. 

More than anything, I am just happy to be me. 

25 August 2021

[avengerscompound]

Until the End of the World - 15

Until the End of the World: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  1767

Rating:  E

Warnings: pregnancy, canon typical violence, mentions of torture and human experimentation

Synopsis: Four years after Steve and Bucky got to the bottom of the HYDRA conspiracy that had led to you and your son being hunted for the first three years of his life, you, Bucky, and Steve have carved out a nice life together.  Things are calm and you feel like a family unit.  When Geo starts calling Bucky and Steve ‘dad’, a decision is made to try and add to your family.

Things aren’t as calm as they seem.  When your pregnancy hits the papers, HYDRA rears its head once again, and Steve and Bucky need to track you down to protect the family they had created.

Chapter 15

The line between unconscious and conscious was hazy.  You couldn’t quite hold on to reality but you knew you needed to wake up.  There were flashes.  Being bumped around in the back of a van.  You remembered the smell of antiseptic and cool steel and lights burning bright in your eyes.  There had been needles and people talking, sometimes not in English.

As you slowly pulled yourself back to consciousness, the only clear memory you had was being dragged out of your car kicking and screaming by men in green uniforms.

The morning hadn’t been so strange.  Chaotic sure, but that was all as expected for a family of four expecting another child.  You’d ridden in the back of the town car with Geo, on the way to drop him at school.  It hadn’t even felt strange when the car had been diverted down that alley.  It was New York, shit happening that required traffic to be diverted was hardly unusual.  When the van had blocked the road and those men had piled out, it had been a shock.  You’d reacted quickly, locking your doors and getting you and Geo on the floor.  It didn’t help.  Even with the bulletproof glass and casing on the car, they’d quickly ripped the doors off.  They had zero preservation skills and were willing to take the bullets from the driver so that the people behind them could take him out.

You’d had Geo ripped from your arms and a needle shoved into your neck.  That had been it.

You forced your eyes open, though everything was blurry and seemed to move in slow motion.  You couldn’t quite absorb what you were seeing.  The room was completely white and chrome.  You were on a bed that was bare except for a thin mattress, but thankfully lying on your side.  You tried very hard to focus, but the more aware you were of how bare everything was around you, the more panic started to set in.

You tried to push yourself up, but the mixture of drugs in your system and the shackles around your wrists and ankles made that impossible.

“Geo…”  You had meant the sound to be a scream, but instead, it came out as a faint croak.  You struggled and blinked your eyes, trying to break out of the drugged-up fog that was holding you down, but you couldn’t seem to be able to do it.

There was a series of sharp beeps and the hiss of an automatic door.  You turned your head to see a tall woman with long black hair and deep green eyes stepped into the room.  She seemed familiar but the drugs were stopping the connections in your mind from being made and you couldn’t seem to place her.  You knew it was bad but for some reason, you couldn’t think of why.

“Ahh good,” she said, in a thick Hungarian accent.  “You’re awake.”

“Where’s Geo?”  You croaked.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she said, standing back as a couple of what you could only assume were doctors came and looked you over.  “Your boy is safe.  After your lover destroyed all our stocks of IGH we need him to start from scratch again.  That little boy is the key to that.”

“No,” you choked, as everything clicked into place.  This was Ophelia Sarkissian - Viper.  The woman who had been running HYDRA.  The one who had been ordering people to hunt you and Geo down.  You had sat at her trial and given evidence to make sure she’d get put away for life.  You had no idea how she could be out now.  “No, you can’t.”

“You evaded us for a long time,” Viper said as she looked you over.  “I applaud you.  I must say that when your precious Captain America tore apart our warehouses and stripped me of my crown, it was a little bit of a setback.  But he made three rather large mistakes.  The first was, he made it very clear that you specifically were off the table.  We weren’t allowed to hurt you.  That made me believe that you were special in ways that weren’t just about the test IGH had run on you.  You were special to Steve Rogers.  That was confirmed while I was locked up and the tabloids started showing pictures of you together.  Don’t you just love tabloids?  Always invading people’s privacy and spreading all over the place for everyone to see?  You’d think that would be illegal?  But no… it’s encouraged even.”

She took a few steps closer to you and had a look at the chart one of the doctors handed her.  “The next was, he seemed to think that HYDRA was just the palace in Madripoor and a few warehouses.  That was the basis for all our IGH manufacturing and distribution, I’ll give him that, but HYDRA is so much bigger than that.  He was successfully able to scrub all references to you from our files, but there was his last mistake.”  She moved in close, so her face was right up in yours.  “He didn’t erase me.”

“He’s going to kill you,” you rasped.

She laughed and stood up straight.  “While I’ve been locked up I’ve been running things behind the scenes.  Getting a place prepared for you and your little technopath.  It is cut off from communications down this deep.  He won’t be able to send for help.  And they won’t be able to find you.  But don’t worry.  We have some of the friends from the experiment we ran on you.  You see, now we know that when two of you breed you get something special, we thought we’d run our own little breeding program with some of the others.  And won’t you believe our luck?  You’ve been running your own with a super-soldier no less.”  She tapped your baby belly and you started shaking your head.

“No, no, no, no no,” you groaned.  “You can’t have them.”

“We already have them.  You’re due any day now, correct?”  She taunted.  “You’ll be delivering here, and then we’ll see what happens if you mix IGH with Super-Serum.”

You shook your head, still feeling completely out of it and unable to process what was happening to you.  There was a loud and painful part of you that couldn’t see any way out of this.  If they had kidnapped other people and no one had noticed - if you were really cut off from any computers, then this was hopeless.  They’d never find you.  Yet a smaller part of you didn’t seem willing to give up hope that the men you had chosen to make a family with would ever stop looking for you.

“I want to see Geo,” you whispered.

“We’ll see.  If you’re very good for us and do exactly as we say we might let you see him,” she said.  “Thought we might reprogram him, much like we did with your friend the Winter Soldier.  Having Geo so young and with such a useful power, he could be quite the asset for us.”

“No,” you said and jerked feebly against your bonds.  “Don’t hurt him.”

“Now, now,” Viper taunted.  “That’s not behaving yourself.  You don’t want to get all worked up and hurt your baby, do you?  Where will that leave us?”

You started crying and Viper smirked and handed the files back to the doctors.  “You can unfasten her bonds and let her drugs wear off.  She was always the runner, never the fighter.  I think given we have her boy she’ll behave herself for us.”

She left the room and the doctors unfastened the bindings on your wrists and ankles.   They left you there alone in the bright white room.  As the drugs began to wear off more you sat up.  Your mouth was dry and tacky and you wanted a drink.  You slowly surveyed the room.  It was more of a cell than a room.  The wall that had the automatic door looked to be a thick one-way glass.  There was a shower head, toilet, and sink on the far side of the room.  You were worried about getting up yet, but you really needed a drink.

You carefully got up, leaning on the bed while you judged whether or not your legs could hold you.  When you felt confident that they would, you made your way over and drank as much as you could before using the toilet and washing up.  You took a moment to check how well-sealed the door was and when it wouldn’t budge at all, you made your way back to your bed.  It was hopeless.  After all these years they’d finally caught you and this was it.  All the things you’d done to protect your son had been for nothing.

Part of you wished you’d never met Steve or Bucky, but even thinking that made your heartbreak and you’d start crying again.  This wasn’t their fault and trying to pin it on them was putting the blame in the wrong place.  This was Viper’s doing and no one else's.  She’d hunted you and Geo.  And she used Steve’s fame to finally catch you when you were at your most vulnerable.

You lay down and curled up.  There were no blankets and no pillows, but you were able to doze lightly.  The lights dimmed, and just as you were on the brink of a really deep sleep, the doors hissed open again.

You sat up quickly expecting the worse.  Of all the people you had thought would walk through the door, your seven-year-old son was right at the bottom of the list.  “Mommy?  I’m scared,” he whispered.

You jumped down off the bed and rushed to him, crouching down as best you could in your heavily pregnant state and pulling him out of the doorway.  “Geo?  How did you get here?”

“Where are my dads?”  He whispered.  “I wanna go home, mommy.”

“G, I need you to listen, bud.  We’re in trouble.  I need to know how you got out?”  You asked.

“Mommy, the machines helped me,” he said.  “They always do.”

You nearly laughed at how stupid you’d been.  Of course, he’d be able to get out of the cell.  It was locked electronically.  They must have found out that Geo was a technopath and thought that meant computers only, when in fact, if there was any sort of processing system, even if it was just to open and close doors it would do what he’d say.

“G, listen to me very carefully,” you said.  “I need you to do something really important.”

// NEXT

[matbarzyy]

Impossible

A/N: If you follow me on main you might know I’ve been obsessed with Impossible by Nothing But Thieves, so I tried to use it to write a fic. It definitely deserves a listen if you wanna have that playing in the background while you read. This is a best friends to lovers fic starting off a lil angsty but it ends well.

Word count: 4358

.

Love it stings, and then it laughs

At every beat of my battered heart

.

Something was wrong.

You couldn’t tell what it was just yet, but the way Mat was texting you wasn’t normal. He wanted to talk, he tried to keep the conversation going, but the texts were empty of content. It was so unlike Mat that you didn’t realise how worried you were until you tasted blood in your mouth from the way you bit your lip.

He was a ray of sunshine and a dork, always throwing jokes around and acting like an idiot. Seeing Mat sad was a rare occurrence.

You didn’t know what put him in that state but you guessed he needed something to distract himself, so you decided to call him.

“Alright, what’s up with you?” You spoke as soon as Mat picked up the phone. There was a sigh on the other end of the line and a ruffling noise before you heard him.

“Nothing,” He replied weakly, trying to hide a sniffle by putting the phone away from his face. You picked up on it anyway.

“Mat?” Your voice softened and your heart squeezed. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” He admitted, unable to give you a better answer as he lay on his bed without moving, tears streaming down his cheeks.

You took it as a clear no. The only times Mat ever called you to cry were after hockey games he lost, and that was only if he was too far for you to be with him. Whenever he played at home you came to see him and stayed to celebrate or cheer him up depending on the outcome.

“Where are you?” There was no need to ask if he needed you, the answer was obvious, you just had to ask where you had to go.

“Home,”

“I’m coming over, hold on, okay?” You slid into your sneakers as quick as you could, too rushed to undo the laces and put them on properly.

“Okay,” He whispered so low you barely heard him.

He went quiet on the phone and you hung up after promising him you’d be there in no time. You lived close enough to him that you could walk, driving was pointless unless you had a lot to carry. Mat had made you pick this apartment on purpose when you moved to New York, he argued that he’d be close if you ever needed anything, and you had never been more glad to be there.

He was your best friend in school when times were simpler, and he somehow remained your best friend when his hockey career began. Things were different with the distance, but you were the little bit of home he could stay attached to. He had been ecstatic to find out you were joining him in New York after your degree so that you could work on a masters.

Anthony had quickly become one of your best friends too, and you all got along well with Mat’s girlfriend. Lena wasn’t as part of the group as you thought she would be when you first met her, but you didn’t mind it too much. You liked spending time with just Mat and Tito, she was nice but always calm and calculated. It didn’t fit with the spontaneous crackhead energy you shared with the boys.

You often wondered why Mat always reached out to you rather than her. You could understand when he went to Tito, he understood him when it came to hockey and guy things you couldn’t wrap your head around, but you spent endless nights questioning where you fit in the middle of that. Mat never let you feel left out, no matter how invested he was in his relationship he always made time for you.

“I’m here,” You called out when you unlocked the door. You had a spare key from the moment you arrived, officially because he needed someone to have it in case he got locked out, unofficially because he wanted you to be able to come over whenever you wanted. “Hey,” You found him in his bedroom, dried tears on his cheeks as he looked at you with heartbreak written all over his face. “What happened?”

“Lena’s been cheating on me for four months,” Mat whispered, his eyes falling shut as he dug his teeth into his lip to stop himself from crying again. He had been rehearsing the words in his head since you called so that he could tell you, but they still tore at his heart.

“Oh my god,” You sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to engulf him in a hug. That at least explained why he called you. He needed comfort, and as sweet as Tito was he was also fiercely protective, you knew he’d go rip her apart if he found out now. Mat’s chest shook with small sobs while one of his arms wrapped around you, clinging to you for dear life. “Shit Mat, I’m so sorry,”

“I was- I was just going to surprise her,” He cried against your shoulder, tears beginning to soak your shirt. “And I found them,”

“Come here,” You breathed out as you slid onto the bed more comfortably, letting Mat curl himself against you. You had held him while he cried before, but you had never seen him look that small. “You deserve so much better,”

“I just-” He hiccuped. “I can’t believe she’s been doing this for so long,”

“I know… I don’t even know what to say,”

“Four years,” His words were so choked you barely understood them. He was the most broken you had ever seen him and your heart fell apart for him. No one should have to go through that, but it angered you more than anything that someone as sweet as Mat had to be the one to suffer from it. “I trusted her,”

“I know you did,” You nodded, gently running your fingers through his hair in a way you hoped would soothe him. On some particularly quiet nights at home when you were drunk with no one but him and Tito he liked to rest his head in your lap to make you play with his hair. It wasn’t something Lena really did for him, he had told you one day, but he never let himself be that close to you when people were around in case pictures circulated and she became unbelievably jealous again.

They had a fight about it once, and you wished you realised how horrible she was back then. She played it off on insecurities when it was pure misplaced jealousy, and you could now add hypocrisy to that. Mat was a good boyfriend, reassuring her and talking to you about it to make sure you’d know not to be too touchy when she was around.

It should have clicked in your head that she didn’t belong with him at all when he was forced to hide his affection for you and any other woman in his life. Tito might have been a bit smarter than you about it, he never even tried to take a liking to her while you made efforts to get along with her for Mat’s sake.

“I don’t want to fall in love ever again.” He sniffled against your shoulder, only calming down for a second before his sobs became louder.

There was nothing you could do except hold him through the rest of the night.

.

Somebody told me and I think they’re right

There is a change on its way tonight

.

It took a few months for Mat to feel better. He kept blaming himself, trying to find where he went wrong, and it took many pep talks from you to remind him that he was worth more than that. None of it was his fault, Lena was a heartless liar using him, and she didn’t deserve all of the tears he shed over her.

Tito helped too, joining your efforts as soon as he found out. Between the both of you Mat got plenty of encouragement and love, it was at least enough for him to appear fine to everyone else around him. Only you and Tito got his late night phone calls and texts when he got in his head and began blaming himself for everything that ever went wrong in his life.

Girls were still flirting with him, some of them asking him out on dates, but he turned them all away without a care. You thought he might get into a bit of a fuckboy phase to take his mind off things, but even that didn’t happen.

Neither you or Tito pushed it, he needed patience.

“You’re in love with him,” Tito accused you one night. He was the only one still sitting at the table you had secured in the bar for the rest of the team and their significant others. There was enough space that everyone was standing and mingling around the room. You were practically filling the whole bar anyway, there weren’t many other customers.

“That obvious, uh?” You gave him a weak smile, glancing in Mat’s direction.

“You’ve only been giving him all of your time and attention for the past year,” He shrugged. “I figured it out after I saw you turn down three dates the first month you were here,”

“Nice catch, I barely had it figured out for myself then,” You admitted, taking a weight off your shoulders. You had never been able to confess your feelings for Mat to anyone before. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Tito was the one to figure it out. “I just don’t want him to know yet,”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s too scared to fall for anyone again, or I would have told him already,” You saw him down the rest of his drink and laugh loudly at something one of his friends said, and that sound alone made a smile appear on your lips.

“He trusts you though,” Tito brought you back to the conversation. He had spent enough time with you to know, and he wished the two of you could see things as clearly as he did.

“Not to let himself love me as more than just a friend,” You sighed, your heart squeezing at the thought. “I know what he’s going through, well, not to that extent, but yeah, I know the kind of trust issues that come with it,” You had spent a long time getting over an ex who only cheated with a kiss, and you had barely been with him for six months back then. You could only imagine what it did to Mat to find out his girlfriend of four years lied to his face for four months straight.

“I honestly believe he already has feelings for you, he just won’t act on them just yet,”

“Maybe… Either way, all I can do is wait until he notices,” You could still give him time. You didn’t blame him for keeping his distance, as much as it hurt you had seen the damage his last relationship had done to him and you were willing to wait. You couldn’t see yourself falling for anyone else, Mat was the only one in your heart.

“Mat might act like an idiot all the time but he pays attention to people, he knows how much you care about him,” Tito assured you. You didn’t see it, but Mat was always looking at you and turning to you for everything. You were more than just his best friend and it was painfully obvious.

Mat wasn’t doing it subconsciously either. He was all too aware of your feelings for him, and he fought with himself trying to repress his own for a long time.

You were his best friend back home, but ever since you came to New York you had become so much more than that. Even when his relationship still held up you were the person he shared everything with. You and Tito were his favorite people, he constantly hung out with you without realising what you truly meant to him. Tito was like a brother but it was different with you.

Accepting his feelings for you while getting over his ex was a lot to handle, but he eventually got there. There was only so much patience you could have, he was scared it would wear off before he grew the balls to jump in and tell you the truth.

He could see you sitting with Tito while he was out there drinking, and he couldn’t help but walk over. There was no way for him to enjoy his night unless you did too.

“Come on, you’re missing out on all the fun,” He cheerfully grabbed your hand and pulled you up from the table, motioning for Tito to join.

“Someone’s drunk,” You chuckled when he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his chest. Drunk Mat was always extra needy.

“Only a little,” He grinned down at you.

His loud laugh echoed through the room when you took the opportunity to tickle his sides, and he jumped away from you with a squeal. It was the most beautiful sound, one you had missed for a whole month when he never let himself be truly carefree.

“See! This is why I can never bring you to work related stuff!” He tried to retaliate but you blocked his hands, wriggling around until he gave up and put his arm around your waist.

“Why, because I always make sure we have a good time when we’re out?” You laughed at the memories of all the stupid things you had done together when he was supposed to act professional. Granted, trying to see which one of you could catch the most olives in their mouth while the other threw them hadn’t been your smartest idea, but that dinner had been boring and the backlash had been worth it.

“More like because he can’t focus on shit if you’re around,” Tito muttered and you bit your lip in response, wondering if that was really the case. Mat was just Mat around you, but was he different when you weren’t there?

“Something like that,” The brown haired giant remained oblivious to his best friend’s words, too drunk and excited to notice. “But now you need a drink!”

“I’m driving you home, dumbass,” You laughed and resisted his grip while he tried to drag you towards the bar.

“We can uber!” Mat’s face lit up like the idea made him a genius, and you had a hard time not turning into a puddle at the sight. He was so cute it was unfair.

“And leave my car here? I don’t think so,”

“Tito, help me,” Mat looked to his friend, puppy eyes at their finest, to convince him.

“I only had one beer, I can drive,” The man sighed, rolling his eyes at Mat’s behaviour. It was the best compromise so that you wouldn’t have to leave your car and Mat could get his way.

If he could anything that might finally get you two together he’d do it. He was sick of watching you like this when you should obviously be a couple. As stupid as it was, he hoped the alcohol would help you loosen up and get closer. Mat hadn’t been with anyone in a long time and he was obviously lonely, there was a solid chance you’d at least be cuddling by the end of the night.

“You don’t have to,” You tried to ignore the hand that tugged on your arm, making sure Tito was okay with not drinking for the rest of the night. You promised you’d drive, you didn’t want to ruin his fun.

“I don’t really want to drink more, you’re good, go,” He gave you a gentle push, and a second later you were stumbling after Mat because he often forgot how strong his grip was.

“Two shots of tequila and a rum and coke please,” He asked a little louder than he needed to, but the bartender clearly didn’t mind. The guys tipped well when they were out, and since the whole team was filling the bar you knew the whole staff was happily making more money than on regular nights.

“You really think you should be drinking tequila?” You laughed at his state, knowing he was only about to get worse. You didn’t mind it, he was always closer when drunk, clinging to you like a baby, and there was nothing you craved more than his hugs.

“Nope, that’s all for you,” He handed a bill to the bartender to pay for the drinks. “You need to catch up,”

“You’re going to be the reason I die one of these days,”

“Promise I’ll make sure you get home in one piece,” His lips pressed against your temple and you melted into him. He’d always make sure you were safe.

You didn’t know what to do with the mixed signals you got from him. Tito was right, you were almost sure he had feelings for you, but you wondered if he would ever act on them or if he would only want to keep you as a friend. You could only have your hopes up for so long.

The shots were placed down in front of you before you could let yourself overthink things more, and you took both with a grimace under Mat’s stare.

He was trying his best not to let himself ruin a potential relationship with you. He knew he loved you, but getting with you before he was ready would be a mistake. You were more than a rebound and you deserved to be treated right. Mat couldn’t be the one for you until he fixed himself, but knowing that gave him the energy to be better. He let himself slip into the depth of the love he felt for you, allowing himself to fall a little further every day until he was so in love with you he knew he could never go back.

The night ended as predicted, you and Mat were so drunk you laughed constantly and could barely walk, Tito tried his best to be patient as he helped you both to the car.

“Guys,” He groaned as you stopped once again, doubling over into a fit of laughter at something he didn’t understand. He was mostly amused but had to act serious for either of you to listen to him. “Come on, hop in,”

“Thanks Tito,” You gave him a big hug while Mat opened the car’s door.

“Yeah yeah,” He rubbed your back with a chuckle. “Get in there and hug Mat,” He guided you to the backseat where Mat already was, leaving the passenger seat empty.

“Tito said I should hug you,” You leaned over to him and rested your head on his shoulder as you did so.

He only hummed in response, wrapping his arms around you while Tito started the car. It would be a short drive to Mat’s place, and the three of you knew there’d be no need to drive to yours. Tito’s car was at Mat’s because you had picked them up there to come to the bar, so he’d be able to drive home and leave your car where you’d spend the night.

Getting up to Mat’s apartment was surprisingly easy. Your energy had died down in the car and you were both just dying to get in bed. Tito had to fight a little to get you both to drink water while you complained you were hungry, so he promised to make you food if you both just went to bed.

“Alright, everyone comfy?” Tito had to stop himself from rolling his eyes when he found you settled under the covers together. Mat was shirtless and you were in one of his t-shirts, you couldn’t look more like a couple. “Here,” He let you both sit up against the headboard before handing you plates.

“You’re ‘e ‘est” Mat dug in and spoke with his mouth half full of his sandwich. You nodded after him, looking up at the blue eyed man.

“Drink some more water before you fall asleep, okay?” He chuckled as he thought that soon enough all of your nights would look like this. You might have thought that Mat needed more time but Tito could see he didn’t, he had already let himself fall for you, you just had to let it happen.

.

I could drown myself in someone like you

I could dive so deep I never come out

.

Dinner at Mat’s was common, but a homemade dinner at Mat’s wasn’t. You didn’t hide your surprise when you smelled chocolate brownies baking in the oven as you walked in on a Friday night. Mat rarely went through the trouble of making food himself when he could get it cooked by someone else who would know how to prepare it right.

He had texted you to come over early during the week, so you knew he had this planned and it wasn’t just another spontaneous night you’d spend together.

“You cooked?” You took a look at what was in the oven while he stood by the stove.

“Um, yeah,” He scratched the back of his head nervously, moving a pan off the heat while you smiled.

“It smells good,” You reassured him and earned a relieved sigh. You had teased him about his cooking skills hundreds of times, but he really had tried tonight.

You sat with him like everything was normal although the dinner and bottle of red on the table told you it wasn’t. Mat was a nervous wreck, glancing at the candles he had left unlit on a shelf because he knew it’d be too much to add them to the table.

You carried the conversation easily through the beginning of the meal, giving him some more time to say what he needed to. You could see he had something to get off his chest, but you didn’t try to push it until dessert. You could barely believe he was serving you a homemade brownie with freshly cut strawberries and your favorite brand of vanilla ice cream.

He was slowly turning quiet, obviously thinking too hard.

“What is it?” You bumped your foot into his to get his attention.

Mat finally looked up from his dessert, taking a deep breath in before letting the words flow out.

“I’ve fallen for you so damn hard,” He put his spoon down, looking at you with a slightly awkward smile. Mat was rarely shy around you, but there he was, knee bouncing under the table and running his hand through his hair too many times.

“The feeling’s mutual,” You abandoned the rest of your dessert to focus on him with a soft smile. You thought you’d feel butterflies or excitement when it finally happened, but Mat’s confession only brought warmth to you. It made you feel like everything was finally falling into place.

“I know,” He breathed out, reaching for your hand across the table. It wasn’t the first time he held it, but it was the first time he let himself get amazed by how small it was in his. “I just… I thought it was impossible, I didn’t want that again. But you’ve got more patience than anyone else I know and… and you made it all possible,”

“I knew you’d need time to come around,” You ran your thumb over the back of his hand, looking straight into his eyes. Mat felt his heart melt at the sight, it was like you had known this would happen all along while he wondered if he was meant to be single for the rest of his life.

“I didn’t think I would,” He honestly answered, knowing he could voice his insecurities around you without fear of being judged. You had been his rock this whole time, his steady while he was a mess. “And I probably wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for you. You’ve pulled me out of my head so many times, so thank you,”

“Come here,” You pushed your chair back and got up while Mat mirrored your movements.

He pulled you into a tight hug almost instantly, placing a soft kiss on top of your head while you rubbed soothing circles on his back. There wasn’t a lot you needed to say once you were there, holding each other.

“I love you,” He gave you a gentle squeeze, the words floating in the air for less than a second before you replied.

“I love you too,” You pulled away to look at him, cupping his cheek and feeling him lean into your touch. “And I know how much it takes for you to say that, so thank you, for trusting me,”

“I’ve always trusted you,”

The tip of his nose touched yours and you both smiled, letting your eyes fall shut before your lips finally met.

In all of the years you had known Mat you had never exchanged a kiss, not even during a dumb drinking game. You had only imagined this moment a million times, and now that it was finally happening you could barely think.

His lips were soft, the stubble growing on his face tickled your skin, and it all felt like perfection. Nothing could have ever prepared you for what it’d be like to kiss the person you were in love with.

“Wow,” Mat whispered as he pulled away, his hands trembling slightly.

“Yeah,” You chuckled before a frown appeared in your face. “Hey,” You got him to look at you rather than his feet. “What are you so nervous for? It’s just me,”

“Sorry, I’m, uh, all out of practice when it comes to that stuff,” He admitted, his hands coming to your waist to hold you.

“How about we clean up and get on the couch so you can get practice again, mmh?” You kissed his cheek and instantly got a smile back on his face.

“That sounds perfect.”

.

Please reblog guys! Feedback and comments are always super encouraging and help me write more

[mmmonie]

Hi my other post? Got notes? And I already had this basically ready to go so………….? Here it is I guess! Also I’m so sorry for how long this is LOL…..I am incapable of shutting up once I get going so it’s under the read more for you…….(also?? thank you? for the followers uhm cheesed to meet you? 😳 lol)

This is basically what I imagine the manifestation of a demon's powers to be like??? I called it the “juvenile phase” in my other post so thats what im going with lol

Here’s some things I said in my first post that are relevant here, slightly edited. (I elaborate more on the different ways demons are born in that post and I think they’re pretty self explanatory, but u might wanna go read it just in case it’s not clear enough 😔 sorry): (link to first post)

* Demons have multiple forms, not just the two shown in game. All in all the brothers have 5, each becoming less and less humanoid. (Most demons only have 4) 

* Half/human born demons are more likely to have both a tail and wings in their first demonic form. Stronger demons like the brothers are merely showing off the strongest of the two, but everyone has both. (Again bc I think they’re sick as fuck lol) This is why the stereotypical devil in our world has both wings and a tail. 

*a demon's features can be influenced by what sin they are, but it’s not a hard or fast rule.**

***this does not apply to little Ds whose look is entirely dependent on their sin. They are an entirely separate conversation 😈 (I elaborate on this briefly at the very end LOL) 

* half/human born demons can have two sins assigned to them, though this makes them less powerful in both. Usually there is a more prominent sin. 

*It should also be noted fallen angels do not have a juvenile phase. While the powers they develop after the Fall are different, they already come prepared, having had intense restraint implemented in their training in the celestial realm. The only things they develop are tails and horns, which happens very quickly during the Fall. They still have the same instincts as demons lol they are just much better at maintaining control. 

*another note: I’m gonna use acronyms for our different types of demons after a while to save me some headache. They’re pretty self explanatory (Ex: half demon = HD) 

With that let’s begin, shall we? 

~~~

*All demons are born with innate magical abilities, the juvenile phase is just the manifestation of their sins and some of their power. Some powers do not come into fruition until much later in a demon's lifespan. (Will elaborate later) 

*They won’t have a complete hold on their powers after this either, it’s just like. The bare minimum of getting a grip so they don’t cause immediate damage LOL they have many years to get into the nuances. Magic to demons is about as easy as breathing, but it still comes with its own challenges. 

*Many of the powers that manifest are shaped by what kind of sin(s) they display. I’m gonna say the sin(s) developed depend on the individual rather than it being hereditary. Though there are powers that are inherent to all demons. (i.e. hypnotizing humans like in lesson 11-14)

*The beginning of the juvenile phase starts when a demon develops their horns, wings, claws and tails. 

*For almost every demon, the juvenile phase lasts about two or three weeks. A human born’s phase will immediately kick in the day after their ceremony. Because of a half demon’s heritage, their transition is delayed and will usually happen around “middle school” age. (However many thousands of years that is lol. Also imagine going through puberty AND growing a bunch of extra shit.........smh.) 

*Natural demons have it slightly easier, they go through this phase very early (around toddler age). They develop the nubs of their horns, wings and tail a while after they’re born. 

*However this is NOT easier for whoever is taking care of them. Demons that develop later are mostly self-sufficient, meaning you can leave them to rest a bit. Can't leave a baby alone for very long though, can you? Especially not when they’re hurtling objects around with their mind, or causing things to spontaneously combust. (Also imagine a regular baby during their teething phase……….now imagine a baby’s teething phase being ten times more itchy AND manifesting new powers. Congratulations on your very cranky and powerful baby, best of luck to you.)

*Parents take this in stride as it’s just how demon babies are. It is all very Addams family esque…. like awwww, our baby just tried to induce horrific hallucinations of our own deaths!!! 🥺🥰🤧 they grow up so fast!!!!

*HB and HD wings and things grow in very quickly. The nubs will sprout from the skin and then mature into wings and horns in just a few days. ND transitions are much more drawn out, taking about a week to complete. All the growth is very itchy for everyone though. 

*You know when you have an itch that just won’t quit or that you can’t reach, so you have to use some outside force to get some relief? Same concept here. Much like deer and their antlers, demons rub their horns and wings up against things to get to those spots they can’t get to themselves. It also has the added effect of encouraging growth and getting excess skin/keratin off them. Family members often help with preening and scratching. 

*There are special concoctions/spells to make the process easier and to help ease the itchiness. As well as products made for specific purposes, like to get at that space where your wings meet your shoulders lol 

*There are also things to pad horns. Having your baby demon impale your shins is no fun. Neither is having your best friend accidentally get stuck in the cabinet because their horns went through the shelf. 

*The first week and a half is usually when a demon is most active. They are encouraged to play fight, stretch their new wings and become familiar with their new instincts. 

•Play fighting is a way to help learn to readjust to their new strength. (and thank god demons are near impossible to kill lol they can get VERY rough.) It’s also considered a bonding activity. 

*Hunting instincts also come into play so it’s not uncommon to see a demon in their juvenile phase playing a really fucked up game of hide and seek with their loved ones (no one gets hurt. Probably <3) 

*These two skills also help with learning how to fly. A game of fucked up hide and seek in the forest is both fun and educational. 

*This is very much like when puppies' paws are too big for they got damn them, except y'know. with horns and claws. So expect some accidental scrapes and

*This is also usually the time where their sin(s) will manifest, along with their new powers. At this point this is where family comes in, as a newly developing demon is reliant on everyone around them to help them learn how to control their strength/powers. Taking care of a demon in their juvenile phase is a family bonding activity, and even those who are prone to being cold are a bit softer during this time. (A reminder that family can be anyone, not just blood related.) 

*The second half of their transition is more about conserving energy for the introduction of their final form.  

*Nesting instincts kick in and are important here, because any nest created will be that demon's home for a period of time. They won’t stray very far from wherever they’ve chosen to stay. Nearly all demons will just choose a comfortable place in their home to nest, however, some demons (i.e. demons like Levi) need a special place because of their final forms. They will be drawn there instinctively.

*A nest is just composed of soft material and sometimes extra objects. For example a greed demon might want shiny or precious objects around their nest. 

*This will also be the home of the loved one(s) taking care of their demon. They will go out and find anything the other one might need or want. A demon will only choose one or two others to take care of them at this time. Other family members are allowed to visit, but the chosen demon(s) stay with their struggling one for nearly the entire last half of this period. 

*It’s considered an honor to be chosen and it is a bragging point, especially if you have been chosen multiple times. 

*Despite what you might think, parental/domestic skills are very important to demons. They live a very long time, and it be a waste to treat their spawn poorly. They’re stuck with them for nearly an eternity, so you might as well try to do your best with them. Being able to showcase being chosen to whomever your courting is, how you say.............a little sexy. So being chosen multiple times? “Wow you’d be a great parent? Tell me more…..😳” 

*Demons will slowly spend more and more time in their nest as they approach the end of their phase. Growing extra things takes a lot of energy! Many demons end up mostly sleeping for the last couple days in preparation for the end. 

*Since they are so sleepy, this is the most outwardly cuddly most demons will be. Close family members are encouraged to come stay in the same space for a while. The demon will often be asleep, but waking up and playing games with them is a great way to bond. If you’re REALLY special you might end up being allowed to sleep in their nest for a bit. 

*The juvenile phase culminates when the demon reaches their final form (usually the fourth one.) Over this last half, they slowly grow more monstrous features. Scales, fur, claws, eyes, teeth, spines.........the whole lot! Anything and everything you can imagine. Each demon's final form is unique, though they do not get a decision as to what features they have. Final forms tend to be very large. 

*This is where they are taught how to use their glamor and how to piece themselves back into a form that’s easier to maneuver. Think of it like starting from the top and working your way down. 

*There are demons whose job it is to go mark down the details of every single final form. Things like what powers manifested, to how tall they are, their overall physical strength and what sin(s) they portray, etc. They are all recorded in the royal archives. It’s a bit like a right of passage, especially for younger demons and their parents. 

*Going back to the very top, some powers won’t manifest until after the juvenile phase. Some won’t even manifest until the demon has hit sexual maturity (which takes a MUCH longer time for demons.) This is true of almost every power that Lust develops except for perhaps an increase in their charisma/ability to charm. Demons who are assigned Lust are considered the late bloomers of the demonic world, as almost all other sins manifest more power right away. 

*Also relating to the top of this post: the reason Little Ds looks are biased on what sin they are is because they are pure concentrated forms of sin given life. They’re extracted from the souls of humans who committed sin, and used for grunt work/errand running. They develop their own personalities as they go, but it takes a bit so they’re kind of a blank slate until then.

~~~

I was gonna be like oh treat for you here’s how the brothers dealt with Satan and his juvenile phase but this is long as FUCK already so I will make…...a separate post. Edit: SURPRISE! treat for u! heres the link if u want

Thanks for reading! Until next time ig?