#gnawing on the inside of my own brain this morning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peachesofteal · 9 months ago

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The Acheron

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 10.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Modern retelling - Greek mythology AU. Hades and Persephone. Two Kings of the Underworld. Abuse (by reader's mother). Bad BDSM etiquette. Dom Simon Riley. Switch John MacTavish. Impact play, spanking. Ichor (blood) play. Non-con voyeurism. Kidnapping. Submissive reader. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Alcohol. Praise kink. Biting. Anal play. Subspace. Dubious consent. First they're sour, then they're sweet, then... they're sour. Tags are for your health, not mine. .A meeting, a trick, a meal.

Hebe’s is humming.

You nod to her through the crowd, a gaggle of mortals waiting at the counter, the line of them moving swiftly as they order their pastry-coffee duo for this dreary, rain slogged morning.

Her perpetually young face lights with exuberance once she spots you, and you can’t help the smile that fights into place at the sight of her. Hebe is a cherub. Soft, curved for ages, like she had been sculpted by her father himself. Today, she’s dolled up in tones of pink; pink lipstick, fuchsia stained cheeks, magenta streaks in her otherwise dark, tightly coiled hair that sits at her shoulders.

For a while, before you were brazenly corrected, you wondered if maybe your mother wanted Hebe as a daughter, instead of you. A perfect picture of untouched purity and power, an eternal cupbearer, worshipped as the goddess of Mercy. She was sweet, like her famous Portokalopita, orange syrup cake that drew a group of wanting mortals at the door every morning. She’s a stunner. A mountain of sunshine, a ray of positivity.

Sometimes, you hate her for it, even if she is one of your best friends.

Something about her cheerful demeanor can dig at you, scrape along the sticky matter of your brain, gnaw at the soft bits that you’re still trying to protect, tender pieces that match your heart.

You follow the hall to the back room, where bookshelves taper off and large floor to ceiling windows flank the east and west sides to allow as much light in as possible. There are others here, a few mortals curled in overstuffed armchairs, books and cappuccinos in hand, light jazz soothing the atmosphere through a few hidden speakers. Healthy clematis blooms along the stair rail, purple blossoms disappearing into the second floor, where more reading rooms wait, books and plants boundless inside Hebe’s.

A place for everyone.

You feed the clematis a little spark of magic, enough that the vine stretches, shivering and sprouting more flowers. “Aren’t you stunning this morning?” The plant curls around your fingers eagerly, imbued with the essence of power, drinking up the magic drops you encourage into its cell structure. “So healthy and strong, you’ve recovered so well.”

“Good morning.” A wraith of a voice whispers, and you catch the iridescent flicker of a cloud, of Nephele. The clematis will need pruning soon, probably next week, or maybe you can make time in the next few days, you don’t really have too much going on, just your birthday, and that delivery to Hera-

Ghostly fingers stroke the inside of your elbow, and the cloud nymph regards you with an insightful expression. “Earth to Seph.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is meek, and she shrugs.

“I asked what you’re doing tonight?” Oh.

“Dinner… with my mom.” She nods, and says nothing, jaw clenching, apologetic grimace lining her lips.

“And Friday… Aselgeia?” The club. Your muscles tighten. It’s been over a year since you’ve been to Aselgeia, the club of many vices, the ones where mortals and creatures and gods all mix interchangeably, chasing their own pleasure. The memory of last time heats your spine: A private room. A black chair. A stranger swinging a paddle towards your bare-

Nephele coughs.

“Yeah, definitely.” You put the box down that you’re carrying, twelve small pots containing strings of pearls, all crossbred to produce different colors, emboldened by their proximity to you in the Greenhouse for these past few months. They’ll sell well, you have no doubt. “I’ve got a few more boxes to bring inside. Don’t supposed you could do something about this slag weather we’re having?” You gesture, and she snorts.

“Hebe says they’re fighting. Probably looking at weeks of storms.”

“They’re always fighting.” You whisper it, even though most know the truth. Zeus and Hera were explosive. Tumultuous. Which is fine, you suppose, for a private life. A public life, however, one that belongs to the Golden King and Queen, should probably be a bit more… restrained.

After all, why should you and everyone else have to suffer because Hebe’s mom and dad can’t get along?

“I’ve got a lot of cataloging to do, so I’ll catch you around. Text me after dinner tonight, if you need to talk.” She finishes quietly, kindly, but without encroaching, and you squeeze her hand with affection.

“Thanks, Nell.”

The final two boxes stack comfortably for your dash inside. You're eager to get all the plants settled so you can get back to the Greenhouse, slink away to your personal temple, your place of refuge, somewhere quiet to prepare for your dreaded birthday dinner in peace.

“Hello.” A male voice calls, accented so strangely it’s impossible to place. He waves, trying to flag you down.

“Hello?” You turn, nearly stumbling back at the sight of him.

Who is this?

He’s stunning. Brilliant blue eyes study you from a mountaintop, taller than you by more than a head or two. His hair is short on the sides, but long in the middle, a fashion of mohawk you’re unfamiliar with except for in Hoplites, warriors who sacrifice themselves for the sanctity of the state. He’s broad, built like there’s a Herculean amount of muscle underneath his immaculately tailored midnight black suit, and his cheekbones complement the razor edge of his jaw, framing a full set of dark, plush lips.

He looks like a dream you’ve never had. A fantasy that failed fruition.

Fairer than Adonis. Brighter than Apollo.

Butterflies kick up a fluttering frenzied in your belly.

“Sorry to bother ye, I’m looking for Hebe’s?” Ah. You smile.

“You’ve found it. This is just the backside. Front door is around the walk to the left.” He steps closer, and you’re about to introduce yourself when you hear the whinny of a screech owl’s tremolo, a tinned melody that whistles past your ears.

Olympus tilts. Axis trembles. And so do you.

The stranger is keen, and glances around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I um… it’s just that owl, I swear I saw the same one a few days ago… I didn’t think they were too common around here.”

“Dinnae think they are.” His eyes twinkle, celestial light that has you drifting, floating through time and space into starlit irises. The air turns heavy, hot- fresh fired bricks weighing down your chest, and everything spins, day turning to night, night molting black, deep hues of purple and blues streaking past your vision, spinning like moon, twisting you up until your balance is faltering, and you sway. “Whoa, hey.” Fingers fold over your arm, surprisingly cool, chilled, and it pulls you back into your body, spine uncurling, brow smoothing.

“Sorry, I…”

“Ye alright?” He’s still holding your arm, directing you to a bench, relieving you of your box in a swift motion.

“Yeah, sorry… I… I skipped breakfast.” There’s no other explanation, right? The handsome stranger tsks.

“Can I get ye somethin’? Maybe from inside?”

“No!” You blurt, horrified. Hebe would have a cow if she thought you were feeling faint or had skipped a meal. She takes caring for her loved ones far too seriously. “No, I’m almost done, and then I’ll be on my way home. I’ll eat there.” He raises an eyebrow, completely skeptical. “I swear.”

“Alright then. Let me help ye with the rest at least?” He’s standing with a hand extended, and you track the veins on the inside of his wrist until they disappear beneath his t-shirt, golden, tawny skin just barely allowing them to be seen. You wonder if it’s mortal blood that catapults through his body, or the rich, golden ichor that also spills from yours.

“Sure.” He lifts the box, gesturing for you to grab the other.

“I’m John, by the way.” John. It simmers in the front of your mind, stitching itself into the fabric of your magic.

“Persephone. My friends call me Seph.” Bold. Too bold.

“Ye’re Demeter’s daughter.” He comments, and you blink, fresh wave of regret curdling the sourness of your stomach.

“Yes.” Fool. Give your name to a stranger, and this is what will come. “Do you know-“

“Only in passing, dinnae worry.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“Ye wear yer emotions plainly.” Your cheeks burn, embarrassed at the blatancy of his statement. “It’s refreshing. So many of us, we play too many games, hide our true selves.” Us. Golden ones. Gods.

“You’re Cloaking.” You intend it to be a statement, an observation, but with a tight jaw and frowning brow, it’s an accusation.

“Aye. Wouldnae want to scare ye away, would I?” What? Your steps slow, gait pausing in concern. “Sorry, ah. Bad joke.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” He carries the boxes to the door, setting them down carefully, and then rising back to his full height. You swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Well, John,” you say it with a hint of sarcasm, and it conveys your doubt. That’s not your real name, is it? “It was nice to meet you.” You extend your hand, expecting a shake, but he holds it with both of his, back bowing, lips softly pressing the skin of your knuckles, tender touch making your knees weak, your heart swooping and swooning.

“The pleasure was mine, Persephone.”

“Have you given anymore thought to your role in the coming year? Your presence at harvest, or planting, would do-”

“I haven’t.” The wine is too oaky, so earthy it takes like dirt, the opus of your mother’s existence, and you swallow it down in silence.

“Persephone.” She chides, like she has a million times before. “If you just tried, a little harder-“

“I am Spring, mother. Life. Rebirth. Fertility.” You ignore her wince. “But that doesn’t mean I’m well suited for crops, and grain, and harvests.”

“It means exactly that. Otherwise, the Greenhouse would not exist.” Her knife slices into a bloody piece of meat, red dripping down the sterling to her fingertips. “Why must you fight your destiny?” Your mind wanders to your visitors the other day, the sisters. The Moirai. Does she know? Is that why she’s saying this? Did she send them? “You spend so much time actively trying to deny me, holed up with your flowers and silly little house plants-“

“It is you who denied me.” Her eyes narrow. “You who didn’t want me to become a fertility goddess, who wanted me to be some weapon of green light, to be the spitting image of you. You raised me to be a threat!”

“Is it so wrong, that I did not wish for my daughter to become a common whore? That I had hoped to prevent her becoming such a failure? That I dreamed of her becoming so much more than… what sits before me now?” The words do not shock you anymore. You’ve grown to expect them.

That does not mean they do not sting.

“It is wrong that you kept me locked in this house, away from the world, until I was too strong for you to control.” You spit, fork clattering against your plate. Rage sears white at the edge of your vision, overflowing bouquet of flowers in the center of the table blooming into massive blossoms, edges of petals beginning to curl inward.

“Control yourself.” She warns. “Or I will do it for you.” Your pulse thunders. The air in the dining room crackles.

You do not relent. Rationally, you know you should. You know this will only end one way, that this will sever another tie to your past, to your mother, one you won’t be able to repair… but you can’t stop. The magic itches under your skin, screaming.

The ivy that covers the outside brick shatters a windowpane above her head, springing through the opening like a virus seeking a host, sticking to the inside wall. Glass falls to the floor, rain pelts the roof.

“Persephone.” Shining silver spools, churning across the table, through the air until it takes form-

The Whip.

Your mother’s favorite.

It licks your skin, your fingertips, your knuckles. A different touch, from the reverent kiss you received only hours ago. It cracks through the air like the lightning.

“That’s enough.” She vows.

You will not cry. You won’t. You won’t let her get to you like this anymore. You’re a woman now. An adult. You’re not a child, you’re not, you’re not-

She sighs. Your fingers clench the stem of the wine glass so firmly you think it might shatter.

You finish your meal in stiff silence. Its heaviness droops all around you, blanketing the entire table, your fork, the distance between you and your own mother. It’s an eon. A millisecond. Never enough because you always crave more. More space. More time. More distance. Her eyes spark, anger burning hot behind them, but she says nothing.

When she’s finished, she rises from the table without another word, disappearing down the hall.

Happy Birthday, you guess.

In the middle of the night, the Greenhouse is quiet.

Even the plants slumber, most of the daylight seekers, pistils, stamens, all covered by their petals, lying in wait. In the back, you pad along the floor of moss, allowing the tiny tendrils of green to skim along your bare skin, pulling opulent, indulgent specks of power into themselves. Wisteria lines the walls, tiny blooms of purple and white falling like curtains of stars, only parting for the archway that leads to the spring, a small freshwater lagoon that spills from the crust of the earth as hot as tea, bubbling eternally, waiting for you.

Tonight, the water is ethereal. Steam rises from the pool, slicking its stone home, and you bask in it, muscle and bone turning languid, supple in the roiling spring. It’s nearly sublime, almost perfect.

Your mother’s voice still echoes. Even now, hours later, you can hear her.

A failure. A disappointment.

Your knuckles sting from the salt of the Whip, the silver crust that slices so effortlessly, just as it has since you were a child.

You cried a lot, then.

Now, it’s few and far between. You’ve grown, rebelled, retaliated. You’ve become a lost cause.

Ungovernable Persephone.

The pain still sits so heavily in the bottom of your soul, a wretched, tangible thing that sprouts blackened vine from the earth and a whole manner of other things.

You eye the marble encasement, the walls that harbor the spring. They too, are black. Born from your rage, your sorrow. Your uncontrollable, ungovernable power that grew from the depths of your despair and built you a temple.

The Greenhouse. Your home.

Everyone called it a wonder. A feat, proof of your power. Trees and vines and branches all twisted together, building a harbor, solidifying your presence, your Golden light.

You took your first offering in this place, the glass for the windows and the roof, the final piece of your shelter from the storm, the first stake of your life as a goddess, your life of freedom.

You left your mother’s house that day, only returning now on occasions. You never looked back.

Though, you can still feel the Whip, can still hear it whirl through the wind against your supine form. Can still feel the ridges of scar tissue that never fully healed.

You could have called Nell. Or Hebe. Or Melia. Anyone of them would be here for you. Would listen. Understand.

Outside the window, an owl hoots.

You sink beneath the water line, magma rushing over every inch of your body, washing you clean of her, of the Whip, of the wounds on your knuckles.

A trembling fawn. Still to this day.

A wicked daughter to have, they tell her. A vengeful soul. Rotted to the core.

Ungovernable Persephone.

Olympus is buzzing, even on its ninth day of rain. It’s a vibration that all manner of beings can feel, creatures, gods, even humans. The ground rattles like there’s a lightning bolt shoved into the center of the rail system, electrifying the wires and tracks, zinging from pole to pole between the buildings and above the streets where cars putter alongside those who walk to their destinations.

When you were a child, the name of the city was almost dirty. It made your mother’s nose turn skyward, disgust and disdain clear as the day on her delicate features. “The golden city is anything but.” She promised, on her knees before you, gentle hand at your back. “Those who live there are heathens, and naught else. They would seek to destroy you if they knew the truth.”

For many, many years, you never step foot here.

Not until University. Once you graduated, the rope around your neck, the bit in your mouth began to loosen, and you had already lost your taste for the expanse of metropolis, more interested in your own space outside city limits where you could feel your connection to the earth, where you could indulge your power in privacy.

“It’s not the city she fears.” Melia told you one night. “But Aphrodite. Demeter’s worried ‘Di will knock you right off the whole bloody planet.” She peered over your shoulder, catching the gleam of Apollo, his bright eyes tracking her from across a crowded bar. “Trust me. She’s a jealous bitch.”

Tonight, the city is waterlogged, soaked to the bone, raindrops splashing as you slide from the car to the black door tucked inside a black wall, a soft faced Harpy standing in front of the passage.

“Hebe. Persephone.” She greets, turning to your other companions. “Nephelle. Melia.” You pull your power through the earth that sits beneath cracked concrete and heavy asphalt, spinning your Cloak up and over your body, adjusting your appearance just so. Your mask slips into place, obscuring nearly all your face, both Nell and Melia pulling together something similar.

“Ocypete.” Hebe pauses. “Is there a riddle tonight?” The Harpy grins, flashing rows of too sharp teeth, fine points that can cut the flesh from bone in a clean bite.

“No riddle.” The door creaks wide, and she steps aside. “Enjoy your evening.”

You don’t notice the way her eyes linger after you’ve passed.

Aselegia is one of the safest places in the Olympus. Here, Golden ones must be Cloaked, mortals must be masked, and creatures must go to great lengths to hide their identity. All intermingle with one another, safe in the anonymity. Gods and Goddesses usually choose to mask as well, a practice, you believe, stemming from common occurrences of violent jealousy, an effort to prevent becoming the target of one’s wrath.

The club itself is big enough to get lost in. The first floor houses the lobby, and a set of elevators. The walls are covered in shiny waxed mahogany, red wine rich carpet covering the floor, and it smells different, sweet and smoky, cigars and finely spun sugar. Intoxicating.

The elevators will take you anywhere you have access, and most can visit three floors. There’s a dancefloor on the main level, with a giant bar, private rooms in the wings, bottle service, tables. Very standard. Other floors have gambling tables, quieter music, even a dimly lit pool and sauna.

It isn’t until you get above level three that things change. Endorsements or sponsors are required. Waivers need to be signed. Negotiations begin.

Pick your poison.

You start on the main level tonight. Melia insists, and you agree, grateful to the Oceanid for suggesting starting slow, the low rumble of nerves still present in your magic, your body. The music thumps, high to low song and symphony synthesized into something electronic, and it draws you into a sway, shoulders against shoulders, hips moving in time with the melody.

“Shots?” Hebe brightens, waving over a cocktail waitress, a pretty thing who eagerly does her bidding, enraptured with the way she moves in the skintight, cornflower blue dress. Her Cloak has disguised her well enough that no one would know who she is, but she does not ever manipulate her body. A cherished rule of her own, you’ve learned.

“You’re beautiful.” The girl coos, and Hebe nods, singing over the explosion of Nephelle’s laughter.

“I know, sweetheart.”

A slick sheen of sweat coats the space between Melia’s breasts. You’re both on the dancefloor, moving with the music, Melia perfectly in time, like she was born to it, and you pull her close, slinging an arm over her neck to whisper in her ear.

“He’s here.” A god’s dark eyes glint in the night, between the passages of writing bodies. He wears a white mask, stitched with the threads of glowing sun, but his obsessive gaze gives him away. He’s transfixed, focused solely on the Oceanid in the middle of the dance floor, and she giggles, turning so that her ass is pressed against your pelvis, her head tipped back on your shoulder.

Her hand extends, an invitation. A request.

He’s by her side within a second.

“Apollo.” You nod, and he barely spares you a glance, too busy cradling his Oceanid’s face.

“You have been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” He tenses.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Of course, I am.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re here for Sephy’s birthday, not this.” He peeks towards you, sliver of regret flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, Persephone.” You wave him off, not wanting to be in the middle of… this.

“It’s fine, we’re just… out. It’s not for anything special.” You look away from them, casually glancing around. You look, but you do not see. Not until…

There’s a male, wearing a pitch-black suit. A god? A mortal? He’s taller than anyone else in the room, broadest shoulders and proud posture, everything about him drawing you in, like blood in the water.

The room stands still. Silent. Empty, save for two.

Tempered water like glass, undisturbed. An undertow vicious beneath the surface, unknown to all.

“Hello.” The pitch of his voice is familiar, almost dreamlike, something that’s never been real, yet startling all the same.

“H-hi.” You stammer. His hand reaches, a magnetic force pulling yours from where it’s clawed against your thigh, and he grasps it like he’s cupping a dahlia bloom, a fragile collection of so many petals that make up an entire beautiful blossom, a universe unto itself.

Black leather caresses your skin. Clear, golden-brown eyes pin you in place, anthracite spiking around his pupils in a halo. You cannot see his face, or his skin, only what’s barely visible of his eyelids and dark spun lashes.

Still…

His beauty is terror. It’s the throat of a lamb, freshly cut. The mutilated carcass of a doe, feeding a forest. Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

It drags you out into a river, where your feet no longer touch the bottom. It sings to you from the depths.

You cannot tear yourself away.

He does not let go. Even when that same voice fills your mind.

“My darling. You shall rule all that lives and moves, you shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.” *

Warmth slips from your hand, sand flitting through your fingers, a fleeting touch of comfort and confusion fading into the night.

My darling.

My darling…

When the light comes back to you, the male is nowhere to be found. Only Apollo and Melia stand to your side, still in their own world.

“Will you let me take you upstairs then?” He croons, and your heart dances, nerves and anticipation all spiraling together like a sailor’s knot. You know what comes next.

“Only if the girls can come.”

You try to forget the strange encounter on the main level and focus on your needs instead; you’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it, and you say the same to Hebe, too, when she disappears with a male who seemed much too large to not be the son of a giant, leaving you alone on a small, velvet couch, Nell and Melia already long gone. Your second martini sits untouched, and you keep yourself from looking at any one being too closely, lest you get caught staring.

That’s when you see him.

Light blue eyes. Handsomely styled mohawk. Even with a Cloak and mask, he’s hard to forget.

John.

His mask is a red skull, covering nearly all his face, the sculpted brow severe, almost angry.

His eyes glow behind it, locked on yours.

Oh. Shit. You vibrate like a live wire, hanging onto yourself for dear life.

“Hello.” Your mouth doesn’t work. “I’m Soap.” He extends his hand, and you blink. Oh, right. The alias. Because what is the point in all this, if you give your real name?

“K-kore.” You manage to stammer, and the corner of his eyes crease.

“Why are ye here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are ye looking for, little goddess?” He still has not dropped your gaze, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, feel him in your mind, your body.

Myself.

Your teeth dig downward, pressing hard before you whisper the truth.

“Pain.” His eyes flash, and then he tugs.

John- Soap, takes you to a private room. You follow, numbly, shivering with a million emotions, stumbling through the chances, the possibilities of seeing him twice, when before he was a stranger.

A coincidence, you decide, putting it out of your mind. You’re dwelling on it too much, picking it apart, riling yourself up… over nothing. Over a handsome god, existing in the Golden city? Like you’ve never seen those before… like it’s so unbelievable.

“Are ye alright?” He murmurs, stepping up to your back. You can feel the heat of him, his warmth bleeding from beneath the suit to your exposed skin, the dress you chose wholly exposing your spine, your skin.

Your nipples tighten. Your heart races, and your thighs press together inadvertently.

“Yes.”

“Dinnae lie.” He’s gentle in the reminder, and you fill your lungs.

“I’m just… nervous.”

“Ye’ve done this before?” He’s assuming. You nod, quickly, and he motions to a very comfortable looking lounge chair, where you perch on the edge of the cushion. “What would make ye happy tonight?” Anxiety unsettles your posture, and you choke down the embarrassment that tries to claw its way up your throat.

“A… a spanking.” You whisper, pushing flimsy confidence forward. Far away, a piece of your mind, your magic, pleads. It cries, it begs for release. It urges you forward, and you lift your face to his, seeking approval. Comfort.

Reassurance.

The cold hand of doubt rears. It snickers at you. It laughs.

Reassurance from someone, anyone but yourself? Comfort?

No.

“Do ye-“

“My safe word is flower.” You spit, motioning to the stool that waits between you.

It’s an act. A song and a dance, something fake and forced. But he doesn’t know that.

He freezes. Thick tension runs the gamut, heavy and exhausting, and you smother yourself, your emotions, your reactions to this very moment.

Pain. The desire burns. It pushes you to the zenith, until you’re down on your knees, folding yourself forward.

Pain, to turn it off. Pain, to make it all stop.

Pain, to release you into yourself.

What matter of creature are you, that you can only feel whole, when parts of you are carved away?

“Up.” John commands, and you lean back, confused. “Ye’ll do this over my knee.” He bends you, with grace, back towards the soft cushion, laying comfortably, your palms flat.

A hand coasts over the swell of your ass.

“Ye’ll count.” His voice has shifted. Gone is the feather’s edge, now replaced by steel. His accent still rings true, but there’s a firmness to it, a finality. Dominance.

“Yes.”

“Ye’ll tell me yer name, and today’s date, when asked. If ye cannae answer, we’ll stop. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“I need a yes.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go to ten, then.” We.

“I can take more.”

“We’ll decide what ye can take, when we get there.” You acquiesce, fingers digging down into the cushion before forcibly relaxing. “Big breath.” He coaches, and then-

The first slap stuns you. Only with his hand, and yet still so much stronger than last time with a paddle. It punches air from your lungs, the noise that rockets out of your throat a mix between a scream and a moan.

“F-fuck.” You croak. “One.” He doesn’t hesitate and rains the next one down on your opposite cheek. Again, it robs you of oxygen. “Two.”

“Good girl.” The praise is very small flame at the bottom of the darkest well. It barely lights the path ahead, desperately trying to catch, to grow, but it’s too easily snuffed out. His palm rubs the base of your spine to the tops of your thighs.

Crack.

The sting sizzles outward from impact, and you gasp. “Three-“ Another, same cheek. “Four!” The whistle of the swing alerts you a second before the next, and when you shout “Five!” it sounds off kilter.

“What’s yer name?”

“Seph-Persephone.” Raw warmth simmers beneath your dress and underwear, and the fire at the bottom of the well starts to rage, growing larger, eating what it’s been given, hungry, seeking, trying to build momentum. He asks you the date, satisfied at the lack of delay, and swings so high, you can see the shine of his palm from the corner of his eye. Your toes curl.

Whack. Two, too quickly.

“Six!” A choked cry. “Seven.” Your face is wet, saltwater tracing the plush swell towards your mouth and chin. You sniffle.

“I know, I know. Ye poor thing.” He bunches the fabric of your dress, scratching it across your scorched cheeks. “Ye’re doin’ so well, almost there.” The words barely register, only the sentiment cuts through the haze. Your thighs are pressed so tightly together, slick dripping from your cunt, the aching throb of your clit rubbing against your panties. You’re desperate… to be touched, to be hurt, to be whole. You need it. Crave it more than anything else.

He delivers two more strong, healthy, swift blows. Eight. Nine. They enflame you completely, fire burning in the pit of your soul, encasing you in a coffin where no one can hear you, or see you. Safe and tucked away, floating into a dark cocoon of eternal night.

At the tenth, the room changes. The air grows colder, nearly frigid, shadows clinging to the walls, and you barely register being moved, held like a child, tucked into a chest. There’s talking, somewhere, in your mind or maybe behind you, two pitches at war, a dance of wills.

“Beautifully done, darling.” Somewhere far, far away, in the last sliver of your sane mind, you realize it’s a different voice, a voice echoed in gemstones, ruby and emerald and pearl, before that too, slips into space, and you drift deeper inside the luxurious praise. A warm bath. A sunlit meadow with thousands of Narcissus dotting the hill, soaking up every ray. A golden fawn, taking her first steps to freedom.

John’s face looms into your line of sight, maskless, no Cloak.

“We need a yes.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Persephone.”

“Hmmm?”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.” The words don’t match. They don’t click, they catch, they bump against each other, trying to lock into place, failing over and over.

“Supposed to go… home with my friends but-“ Your tongue is heavy, weighted beneath a giant sequoia, and you shiver. The chest that your head bobbles on catches, an arm securing you in place. It’s warm, and firm, heavier than a tree. Who…

“Little goddess.” He prompts, and you sigh, already wistfully unaware.

“’kay, yeah. Yes.”

You’re already slipping away when the world goes dark.

Your eyes open to a strange place.

You don’t recognize any of it, from the massive four poster bed with lithe, gauzy curtains drawn closed on three sides, to a fireplace the size of a giant, roaring, sizzling flame burning endlessly in its hearth. You don’t recognize the room, the black marble floors, polished to a brilliant gleam, one that you can nearly see your reflection in, or the vanity, dark oak housing a hand carved mirror. You’ve never seen the ornate stained glass window before, stretching from floor to ceiling, the size of ten men. You don’t know the bed, sized for a king, emerald silk sheets and a matching duvet, with a million pillows that were just cradling your head. The robe you’re wearing matches, the green only a shade lighter, and you tuck it tight across your body, realizing you’re fully nude.

The fire pops. It pushes a gasp from you, caught off guard, and at the sound, another being in the room stirs from the plush rug just beneath the bed.

A three headed dog.

It, they, stare at you, tongues wagging, eyes wide. Jet black fur, darker than midnight, white teeth so sharp they could rip your throat free in an instant.

You’ve seen this dog before… in pictures. Schoolbooks. You know their name.

Cerberus.

Panic races through your veins, ratcheting your heart rate higher and higher, your body and mind separating, all synapses dizzy with fear.

Oh gods. Where… where are you? What happened? You were just… you were just having some fun, at Aselegia, with John… weren’t you? Where…

Are you dead?

You reach for your power, digging deep, trying to drag as much as you could to the surface-

Nothing.

You bleat, a scared lamb, in panic. It’s a cry. A scream. An awful sound. You need your rage now, but all you find is fear. You cannot reach your power. There is a blackened lock around it, a casing that holds it away from you, out of reach.

Cerberus whines. They hold their position, tail swishing back and forth, and you scramble towards the middle of the bed. Your ass protests, skin warm and tender against silk. Your knees tuck to your chest, and you force your eyes closed, trying to take long, measured breaths without success.

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re-

The door clicks. John appears, two palms out, hesitant, and cautious. Your voice shakes, no matter how hard you try to reinforce it with iron will. “G-get away from me.”

“Ye’re alright, Persephone. We’d never hurt ye.” We?

“We need a yes.”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.”

Something flickers behind him. A figure, a shape of shadow, shifting.

Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

The male from the dance floor. He wears no mask now, but the feel of him, the threat of his power, is unmistakable… and familiar. You sputter on it, choking on him and John, the threat of their power combined looming, suffocating. “Oh gods.” You clutch the robe tighter. “Wh-where am I?”

“You know where you are, darling.” The other one says, and you moan.

“N-no. I… I can’t be. I can’t dead. I can’t be here… I-“

“You’re not dead, Persephone.” He cautions. “You’re very much alive.” And shaking, alive and trembling so vigorously you can hear your teeth chattering, chest heaving up and down, desperately trying to suck air inward. Cerberus whines again, and he rubs a thumb behind one of their ears. “Easy, Cerberus. She’s alright.”

“I ca-can’t be here. I have to… I have to go home.” The room seems wet, dollops of tears falling from your lashes, sticking to your skin and the sheets. Reality slams forward, rushing right up against your nonsensical mind.

It takes one gentle pulse of their power, to realize the truth.

Hades. They’re… Hades. They’re Hades and you’re… you’re in the Underworld.

Beg. Beg them for mercy. Whatever it is you’ve done, you must try.

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what I did but I swear, I’m sorry, I-“ John tries to reach, seeking your hand, but you curl up into a tighter ball.

“Shhh. Ye hae nae done anythin’ wrong, sweet Persephone. Ye’re alright. Ye’re safe.” Safe? Safe in the Underworld? With them?

Oh gods. You let Hades spank you.

“You… you tricked me.” You whisper, raw betrayal and pain weeping profoundly in your heart. You trusted him and…

You are a fool.

“We did what was necessary.” The wolf-like one says solemnly, gaze heavy.

“Necessary?” You squeak. “What’s… necessary about this?”

“We will explain everything, after we’ve eaten. Or maybe had some more rest? It’s the middle of the night, for you.” What?

“No… I can’t… I can’t stay here. I have to-“

“Go home? So, you can hide away in your temple, kept company only by your plants and the occasional friend you let inside?” You blink, stunned, mouth dropping open.

“How do you... have you been watching me?” The stained-glass window on the far side of the room shifts, drawing your attention, morphing slowly from a tawny blur to a… screech owl.

“Oh, my gods. Oh…” The room shudders. “You can’t keep me here, I have to go…” Wolves circle, flanking where you sit, precarious and hopeless, a hand in front of your body like it will save you. “Please.”

“It’s alright, darling.” The dark one moves, blurred in shadow, magic blanketing you in a warm, comforting hold, heating your bones, encouraging your eyes to slowly shut.

The last thing you see is the ceiling, your body cradled in the embrace of a stranger.

Morning comes slow.

At first, you don’t open your eyes, even though you’ve been long awake.

If you open them, your fear will be real. It will be valid.

So, you keep them closed. Keep them shut long enough you drift in and out of twilight, until someone clears their throat.

Fuck.

“Are you going to open your eyes?” His voice is ruby and velvet. You shudder.

“Hades.”

“Technically. One half of a whole, but my loved ones call me Simon.” Your brow flexes at that, and there’s a soft chuckle in response. “Will you wake? It’s well past morning now.”

“Are you going to render me unconscious again?” you hiss, cracking an eyelid. He’s sitting in a posh armchair, oiled black leather beneath his black suit, eyes steady on yours. His face is a map of scars, but instead of seeming rough, or out of place, they naturally suit him, complementing his broad jaw, severe expression, perfectly sculpted bone structure. His nose is crooked, like it had been smashed and rearranged once or twice, but still sits as if it was meant to be, and you wonder how anyone could do anything of the like to Hades.

He's handsome, in a way you expect to die from.

“Only if you cannot behave.”

“Perhaps I could show you how I behave.” You smile with a full set of teeth, words ending in a snarl, and he huffs another gentle laugh.

“I have seen the victims of your wrath, Persephone. I have no doubt you’d strike me down if you could.” You swallow the nausea in your stomach. Your magic.

“I want my magic back.” You blurt the demand, not even pausing to consider a more tactful way.

“We did not take it, only… bound it, for the time being. It’s still within you, we would never separate you from your power.” He sighs, a golden pearl rocking in his palm, glinting in the fireplace’s gleam. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not a monster.”

“Then let me go home, if you’re not as they say you are.” His eyes harden, face twisting sour, and then… sad.

“I’ll give you some privacy. There are clothes in the closet. Johnny and I expect you for breakfast, and then a tour… if you’re good. Cerberus will show you the way when you’re ready.”

If you’re good.

Cerberus leads you through a maze of decadent marble and arches.

You follow behind them hesitantly, cautious, and they mind you, slowing when you’ve lagged too far behind.

You can’t help it. You’re mystified.

You expected the Underworld to be dark, and dingy. And while maybe it is on the dark side, with glossy, polished marble, giant onyx columns that blot of the sky, and black stone everywhere… when you peek out the windows, you’re gob smacked.

Beneath wherever you are, which you’re beginning to suspect is Hades’ palace, is lush greenery. A verdant, fertile field lays to the south and the east, wrapping around to the edge of a forest, where you can just barely make out a large variety of deciduous trees. To the North, a river winds, separating the palace from a large meadow and… a town? You shake your head, as if to clear your addled mind and cloudy vision. Is that truly… a town?

“Asphodel Meadows.” Someone says from behind you, nearly jumping you from your skin.

“Fuck.” You gasp, hand clutching your chest. It’s a man, not John, or Simon, but a stranger, clad in all black.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s… okay. I- what did you say?”

“The town. It’s Asphodel Meadows. A place for mortal’s souls.” He bows. “I’m Thanatos.”

“I’m… Persephone.” He smiles, just slightly.

“I know who you are, my lady.” My lady?

“What do you…” words nearly fail as you grapple. “What do you do here?”

“I am a child of Nyx. The god of Death.”

“I thought Hades…”

“They are the Kings of the Underworld. I am the personification, the embodiment of Death.” Oh.

“You reap.” You whisper. His jaw tightens, and then smooths.

“Your escort is impatient. I think he’s probably ready for his bacon.” He eyes Cerberus, who whines, tapdancing on slick marble.

“Bacon?”

“Yes. He’s very spoiled. Eats better than the Kings themselves.” He motions down the hall. “It’s just that way. Lovely to meet you, my lady.” He gives you another bow, and then turns down a corridor, one that had not been there before, leaving you and Cerberus alone in the empty hall.

“I- you too.”

The Kings, as Thanatos called them, are both seated when you push the incredibly heavy door open. At the sound, John rises, Simon behind him, and the three of you stare at one another for a minute, until Cerberus barks.

“Please, sit.” John motions to the only other place set, a third chair between them. You swallow.

“Uh…”

“We don’t bite.”

“Not unless ye want us to.” John smiles, sinfully handsome in the morning light. It streams into the surprisingly cozy dining room through a group of five windows, all facing east, capturing the light of… a sun?

“Is that a sun?”

“It’s a sun of sorts.” Simon offers. “We have a sky, weather. A sun, a moon. Clouds. Everything that exists in Olympus.”

“Are ye hungry?” You hesitantly lower yourself into the chair, surprised at the array of food displayed. “We ah, weren’t sure what ye liked so, got a bit of everything.” Meats, yogurts, sweets, cereal, fruit, anything you could want laid out in front of you, but it’s something so near to your heart that catches your eye. Portokalopita.

“They are Hebe’s.” Simon murmurs.

This is a trick. They kidnapped you. They’re holding you hostage. You have to convince them to let you go. The warning resounds, and your stomach thrashes.

“I want to go home.” You push the plate of orange cakes away, disappointment flickering across John’s face, exasperation on Simon’s. “Please. I… I appreciate your hospitality and you… you bringing me home for… aftercare,” you grit the word, shame rocketing up your spine. This is what happens when you trust. You let Hades spank you, for fucks sake. And then they abducted you. “but I need to go home. The plants, they need me. My friends-“

“Your friends are used to going days on end without contact from you.” Simon cuts you off, and the blood drains from your face. “Are they not?”

“N-no. They’ll know I’m missing, they will.” Lie. He knows. You know they both know, just by the way the regard you. Half pity. Half amusement. It makes your blood boil. “Fuck you.” You hiss, shooting up in the chair.

“Seph-“ John tries to soothe you, calm you, using your nickname like he knows you, and it only makes you more irate.

“Don’t call me that.” You whirl on him. “I trusted you! I don’t even know you and I let you-“

“That is the nature of Aselegia, is it not?” He counters, cutting you off. You gape like a fish. “The anonymity. Dinnae turn it on me now.” His tone melts from ice to warmth, sympathy bleeding from his irises. “I assure ye, we are more than trustworthy. We would never, ever hurt ye. We would never let anythin’ happen to ye. Ye’ll see.”

“Then let me go home.” He shakes his head sadly but says nothing, and rage snaps in your heart like the drawback of a rubber band, stinging and sharp. “What do you want from me?” John opens his mouth, and then abruptly closing it, deferring to Simon.

“You are our guest. We’d like to get to know you. I promise, just as before, you will not be harmed in our care. We will never hurt you."

"How do I know that?" You’re incredulous. “You expect me to take you at your word?”

“Let us strike a deal then.” He declares, and John nods supportively.

Don’t, your good sense screams. Don’t be an idiot.

“What kind of deal?”

“You will stay here for two days, forty-eight hours exactly. We will show you this realm and get to know one another in that time, and at the end, we will reveal the doorway that leads back to Olympus.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Two days? And then I can go home?”

“Two days.” John echoes. Sapphire eyes gleam, and you carefully, quickly, try to pick apart every word in the proposal.

“My magic.” You demand, and they both answer immediately with a resounding,

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Your power is wild, Persephone.” Simon tells you, not unkindly. “We do not know how the Underworld will react to it, and we must think of our residents, all the souls we care for here. We cannot let something upset the balance that is so delicate.” Your mouth goes a little dry. You were expecting more of an answer about control, domineering you, your magic, keeping you contained. Not… care for souls.

“Yer mother raised ye to be her weapon.” John says softly, kneeling before the chair where you sit. His hand rests on the cushion, and you wonder if he means to touch you. “We dinnae regard ye as such, but until we understand ye better, we need to protect-“

“I understand.” You cut him off. You don’t need some forced sympathy, pity, thrust upon you by Hades, of all gods. They exchange a long glance, one that gives you a small peek into their lives, layers on layers of words and sentiment, communicated with a single glance.

Simon reaches for John, pulling him to his feet and into his body, chest to back.

“Do you agree?” Two days. Two days and you can leave. You can do two days of anything. You certainly cannot fight them, or your way out. What choice do you have?

“Sure.”

“We need a yes, darling.” Darling. The pet name makes your toes curl. You take a big breath.

“Yes.”

The valley outside of Asphodel Meadows is one of the most stunning places you’ve ever been. It’s lush and lively, covered in Narcissus and Asphodelus, like a meadow one could only dream of. You're not sure why it feels so familiar, like the cusp of another life, or a nightmare, but it takes root inside you. You lay in the field of flowers, letting them cover your body, wishing so desperately to touch your magic, so you could truly feel them, the grass and the dirt and the stems here, all things that seem like they’re so full of life, so opposite your expectations of the Underworld.

“Shall we continue?” Cerberus perks up at the sound of their master’s voice, head popping over the flowers to spot both Kings standing on the path, a good distance away. They peek at you, heads tilted, and you sigh. It seems you’ve been assigned a minder, in the form of a three headed dog.

You join them on the road before long, walking silently, sullenly, John sneaking glances at you nearly every chance he gets, and you can pinpoint the heat of his gaze every time, the throbbing intensity of his focused power nearly bowling you over.

“So, there are two of you?” What are you supposed to talk to the Kings of the Underworld about, anyway?

“Aye. It’s a little-known secret. One realm, two gods to rule.” You frown, perplexed.

“But… you haven’t always been that way?”

“No.” Simon answers. “We were once Golden brothers in battle, long before your time, before becoming this. When we fell in love, our souls split. They merged with our magic, tied us together eternally. Now, we rule as one.”

“So, you’re married.” You deduce.

“In the most permanent way you can think of.” They stop short of a bridge, one that crests high over a roaring river, and Simon gestures broadly. “Persephone, this is the Acheron.”

The Underworld is a place of rivers, you learn. Waterways that hold power, that possess the ability to cleanse you, free you, burn you, punish you. There is a river of fire, a river of weeping, a river to forget.

The Acheron is the river of woe.

Fitting, you think, standing on the bridge. Below, bright turquoise water rushes by, crashing into rock and boulder, each sound more akin to a scream than the thunder of a tributary. Mouths, long and full of despair, wail beneath the current, wraith like creatures with bone white skin and eyes skimming along the top.

You get lost in them. Lost in the irreversible cycle of woe, desolation creeping up inside your own self as you peer down into the depths. Are you not like them? Despondent. Bleak. Isolated. Is that not what you’ve made with your life, what was chosen for you? Hidden away, sharpened like an axe never to be used. Are you not alone, like them? Trapped, like them?

You don’t even realize you’re leaning forward until pressure rests at your back. “Easy. Dinnae want ye fallin’ in.” John murmurs, stepping away the edge, bringing you with him. Your limbs feel shaky, and you wonder if it’s because you just almost went over… or because you didn’t eat earlier.

“Sorry. I uh-“ you don’t know how to explain it, that feeling. The agony that bubbles up in the back of your throat.

“We know.” Simon regards you with empathy, understanding, and you shake the attention loose, pushing ahead of them, down the bridge and into town, into Asphodel Meadows itself, eager to leave the river and its woe behind.

In town, the Kings are well received. It surprises you, to watch them in the street, welcomed by the souls who live there. They take you on a tour, introducing you to residents, explaining the structure, the magic and the infrastructure that makes it all work. Souls take their preferred form in Asphodel Meadows, allowed to choose for themselves, whatever they feel most comfortable in, and you’re shocked that such benevolence would be bestowed upon anyone in the Underworld.

Why are they showing you this? Why go to such great lengths? What is the purpose?

“Hi.” A small voice breaks you from your confusion, and you find a small girl at your feet, bouquet of Narcissus clutched in her tiny hands. You crouch.

“Hello.”

“I’m Phoebe.” She giggles, cheeks round and rosy.

“I’m Persephone.” You incline your head. “Phoebe is a beautiful name.” Your heart pangs. She’s so small, so… fragile. How did she die? Where is her family? Is she here alone?

“Thank you, my lady.” She tries to bow, and you rush to stop her, stilling her with a hand.

“Are those for me?”

“They are. Johnny said they’re your favorites.” Johnny? You glance over to where they stand, both turned your way, something unreadable in their reflections.

“Well, thank you. They’re lovely.” She wishes you well, skipping off in another direction, and you meander across the street, unable to hide your quizzical expression.

“Johnny? Not Hades?”

“Ach. The kids they’re… they’re usually a wee bit scared, first thing. It’s better for them, if we’re friends.” He shrugs, but Simon watches him in reverence, pure love and light beaming from his gaze, adoration in every slow blink.

Your heart skips.

Fuck.

“Are you not hungry?” Simon muses, walking beside you and John in the castle. Your shoes tap along the way, echoing, and Cerberus barks. John glares at them.

“I… I am afraid to eat here.” They both stop short.

“Why?”

“I have always heard… a myth. That if you somehow find yourself here and you eat, you’ll become trapped, stuck here forever.” Simon chuckles, dry and warm.

“No, darling. Please, we do not wish for you to starve.”

“The legend isnae true. Only by eating whole pomegranate seeds that ye pluck from the flesh of the fruit yerself, can ye become bound to the land. And we dinnae serve those.” He winks, stepping a little closer. “Ye can eat, little goddess. Please. Join us for dinner, we insist.”

“Okay.”

Simon is not at dinner.

John makes no mention of it, and only when you’re halfway done does he offer an explanation, something important that needed to be tended to.

“Ye look stunning.” He hums, and you have half the decency to smile. You chose a dress from the never-ending closet, black to match their suits, for fun. Its back is open, and the front offers a generous view of your breasts, but not quite enough.

You felt like sin. Johnny has been staring like you are. And maybe, you didn’t want sex, but you did want to punish them for their treachery. If only a little bit.

For making you a fool.

“So, no Simon?” He swallows a mouthful of red wine.

“He apologizes. Somethin’ came up.”

“That’s alright.” You shift, legs crossing. The transition is unintentional, but it draws Johnny’s eyes to your knees, and up. You lift your glass, the largest goblet of red wine you’ve seen, and allow a small river of red to run from the corner of your mouth to your neck. It traces the valley between your breasts, and Johnny growls.

“Persephone.”

“What?” You ask, innocently.

“Ye’re playing with fire.” He grits, the gleam in his eyes one of a predator.

“I’m not playing with anything,” you hiss, slamming the glass down. It shatters, it sloshes, it spills onto the table and into your lap. “You’re the ones playing with me. Kidnapping me, holding me hostage.” Your anger builds, overflowing inside your soul, clawing at the locked box of your magic. Cerberus whines, galloping across the floor and out the main door, but you hardly notice, too focused on spitting as much fire and venom at your captor as you can. “Touring me around the Underworld, making yourselves look like some benevolent, beloved rulers when really all you are… are gods of death and decay.” John stares at you, wild eyed. Your chair clatters to the ground as you stand, fury rocketing through every vein in your body, ichor pulsing beneath your skin. You’re so, so close to your power; you can taste it. Can feel the way it screams, how it howls to you, churning in the depths of your being, rattling the cage it’s trapped inside.

Trapped. You’re trapped. Like always.

Your vision blurs, and you take a step towards John. It all happens so fast, so lightning quick that it doesn’t even register until your hand is swinging through the air and across his face.

He does nothing. You feel the rumble of his power, pushing and pulling at the seams of your very being, waiting to tear your apart, but he holds himself at bay.

Only watches you with cold, wrathful eyes.

The air chills.

“That’s enough.” Simon stands between your bodies. Power, so potent, so strong, wraps tight, shoving your wrists together, Golden cuffs immobilizing you, holding you still. “You want to be a disobedient little brat, is that it?”

“YOU STOLE ME!” You scream it, raw and agonized. It tries to burst through your skin. Tries to explode your vessels. Your very heart. Your chest heaves, eyes wide, and John flanks you, coming closer and closer until you can feel his heat against your side.

He’s hard.

“What did ye think ye were doin, sweet Persephone? Did ye really think you could strike me?”

You don’t have an answer. Words die on your tongue. Guilt burns. Did you want to hurt him?

Did you?

The cuffs yank you forward. They singe your skin, dragging you to the table. “What’re you doing?” They drag you across the food until you're climbing on top, until your whole body is prone, feet dangling above the floor, bent at the waist.

“Is this what you wanted?” Simon mocks. Hands grip your hips, and your traitorous body clenches. “This what you need, little goddess? Need to be punished?” Your dress is shoved up around your waist, exposing your skin to the frigid air, and you force away a small moan. “You need your pain, darling?” Yes. Fingers pinch the back of your neck. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You snap, darting daggers with your eyes over your shoulder. His answer is a chuckle.

“Turn your head.” He hisses, hand on the back of your skull. When you do, you come face to face with Johnny’s hips, the length of his cock freed from his suit pants and bobbing right in front of your mouth.

Oh, gods.

He strokes it slowly, the pink- nearly red tip oozing pre-cum, long and thick in his fist, his size enough to make your thighs press together, cunt throbbing with delight. Traitor.

“Open, darling.” He smears it against your lips. You tuck them in tight, trying to keep them closed, and he looks over, to the god who stands at the curve of your ass.

Simon takes a handful each of your cheeks, spreading you wide. He kicks your feet too, knocking your legs into an A-frame, fully exposing your weeping cunt.

“She’s dripping.” He announces, a finger sliding through your folds, body jolting with his touch. He circles your clit, barely, not enough, and you whine indignantly. It’s enough to loosen your lips, enough for Johnny to grasp your jaw, shove the tip of his thumb between your teeth, and then pry you open.

Once he gets the tip of his cock against your tongue, it’s over. Salt and earth dab along your tastebuds, and you drool on the table, trying to breathe through his rhythm, trying to focus as Simon tucks a finger into your hole, slowly pumping in and out, occasionally pulling free to swirl it around your untouched rim.

One finger inside you is enough to burn, heat rising through your belly, walls clenching tight, and John groans, pressing into the back of your throat, cutting off your airway.

“So good, all day.” Simon grits, stroking your clit in tiny circles. “Sweet Persephone, and now,” he’s building you closer, so close to the precipice, to the top of the mountain where you’ll hope he’ll throw you off.

But it’s not enough.

“I know darling, don’t worry. I’ll give you your pain.” He croons. John thrusts hard, drives into you vigorously, head thrown back. There’s a sheen of sweat on his neck, and you watch a slow rivulet dip beneath his collar. He’s so… they’re so…

A hand cracks across the tender skin of your ass, rippling out like a shockwave. You choke.

You clench. The tide rises.

“Fuck. There you go.” Light dances in front of your eyes, small pinpricks of stars, and you gurgle on the dick that shoves down your throat. Another strike, the same side, and you cry out, gasping for air. The tip of his finger gently pushes against your rim, and then it’s replaced with a mouth, a hot, intrepid tongue, swirling around as your hips buck and he plays with your clit.

You’re going to die. You’re going to explode. You need more.

You try to tell him, try to choke it out around John’s shaft, but it’s like he knows, like he’s reading your mind, and he pulls away to dig his teeth into the plump swell of your ass, biting down so hard you think you’re bleeding.

No. You are.

You scream.

Rivers of ichor paint your skin. The next spank comes directly over the puncture wounds, and instead of screaming in pain, you moan in pleasure, head held in Johnny’s hands, your face a tool for him to fuck, your pussy squeezing down around the single finger stroking in and out of your body. He swings again, and again, fire lighting behind your eyes, explosions going off one by one, your orgasm cresting, rising in the swell of an enormous wave, and just as you’re about to come, Simon plunges a finger deep into your ass, shoving you off the mountain.

To where they catch you below.

The rest is a blur. John finishes down your throat, salt and sweat and tears all mixing in your mouth, and he moans your name as he gives you a belly full of seed.

You’re limp, floating, drifting higher and farther than you ever have before, not in your body, not even in your own mind. Hardly cognizant when you’re picked up, tucked away in the shelter of a chest and carried down the hall. You close your eyes.

You come back a little bit when you’re placed in shallow hot water, a steaming, rocky pool, your face settled in Johnny’s neck. Cloth and deft fingers rub your shoulders, your waist, anywhere you might feel sore, even the bottoms of your feet.

All the while, they talk.

It starts simply, sweet words that fills you up until you can’t take anymore. “Did so well, darling. So good for us.” John murmurs in hushed tones as Simon shifts you, turning you on your belly to run the cloth between your legs and over your ass. It stings, and you hiss, but you’re soothed with an apology, gentle kisses down your spine, each one pressed with praise.

It’s not long before you’re tucked into bed, turned over on your side, some sort of magic and salve being applied to the bite in your skin. You’re gone now, barely aware, barely awake, but with it enough to catch the little bits here and there.

“-talk about it tomorrow.”

“If they’re from Demeter, I’ll-“ No. Not this. Anything but this. Distress catches in your chest, and fingers stroke your cheek.

“Shhh, sweet one. Rest now.” There’s a little touch of magic, a barely there pulse of power, and you let it take you into the soft comfort of sleep, bedded down like a fawn, cradled between two Kings.

*Hymn 2 to Demeter, line 347

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghost x soap #soap x reader x ghost #AIV #ghost x reader #hades and persephone #AIV(OFK)#modern retelling

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ronearoundblindly · 4 months ago

Text

The Right Partner (2/3)

Steve Rogers x lab tech!Reader

Take My Whole Life, Too, Part One (see previous or series)

Summary: Your honeymoon with Steve Rogers begins.

Warnings for vague smut (don't worry, I make up for it in pt2), cuteass!Steeb being extra, unrealistic adorable sh*t, and my complete lack of shame about it. MINORS DNI. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist instead, but this one isn't for you! WC 3.1k

It’s bright and loud.

Well, there is light—a pale blue that gnaws at your heavy eyelids—and the song of birds.

The birds are, frankly, irrationally aggressive even for late morning.

You groan and turn over toward the inside of the tent, hoping for an hour more of darkness, maybe two.

Dehydrated. That’s what this heavy, sluggish feeling is. You should have had twice the water you managed to drink yesterday. No one would fault you for having other priorities on your wedding day though.

Your fingers branch out to find the bed empty.

From your exposed shoulder beyond the comforter, you gauge it is quite chilly here wherever you are. You didn’t even ask Steve if he found out what state (or country) you two landed in. Who cares? You burrow deeper, peeking over the thick quilted seam to see—

“What are you doing?”

Steve’s back is to you when you hear a metallic clatter in the utility sink. He whips around in just his boxers, raising a hand to cover his mouth and garble out “nothing.”

You’re prone and below eye level to the countertop, so you sit up to look while Steve poorly hides his sin by leaning over the surface.

He swallows heavily.

“You want some tea,” he rushes to ask in a failingly casual tone. “I’ve got water heating.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” you jump up to stand on the mattress, knocking your head against the springy ceiling, and step down. “Are you eating our wedding cake without me?”

“You wouldn’t even give me some yesterday,” he whines, placing himself protectively between your approach and the confection. His guilty brows raise with sincerity.

“Oh, please! You got cake, and then you—” you poke his bare chest, glancing at the now quarter-demolished top tier “—you complained it wasn’t your flavor!”

“But…” Steve simply points. No other words come to mind based on his still-stunned expression.

“Fine,” you chuckle, relaxing to stretch your large sweater over your chilled hands and thighs, “I won’t tell anyone you’re nothing but a little sweets-thief. Hot tea sounds lovely though.”

“Allow me,” he smiles and leans in for a kiss, tasting of sugar and lemon like the night you got engaged, the night you first…oof. After just one reminder, the sweater is suddenly plenty warm.

“Thank you.”

The flood of mental images rushes from your brain, down your body, to your full bladder.

Next stop: the bathroom.

While he sorts out your morning boost, you chug a bottle of water to help with the rough, sluggish feeling weighing on you. No soreness though, which is good.

Steve returns triumphant with a camping mug and steeping, steaming wakeup juice, and you give him your own soft peck on his cheek.

No doubt he continues his dessert for breakfast the instant you step out to use the facilities aboard the jet. Good, he deserves all the cake, as much as he wants, whenever he wants.

The tiny mirror isn’t as scary as you thought it would be, but you do have to rummage around for a few straggling hairpins. A splash of cool water on your face just before you emerge is more refreshing than expected, too. The day is fresh, you are fresh, and your marriage is fresh.

You cradle the mug in your palms, making to leave, when your gown catches your eye hanging at the locker closest to the ramp, right beside Steve’s uniform.

Yesterday feels like the most wonderful, blinding blur.

All the military men (and women) wore their first uniforms, and you have to admit it created a sharp-looking bunch. Geeta’s uniform was only from nine years ago, Wilson’s just over fifteen, Rhodes’s nearly thirty, and of course, Steve and Bucky’s come in at eighty years old. Not shockingly, their uniforms were replicas, but the boys were very picky about the details.

Gracie, Natasha, Ro, Pepper, Tony and Bruce all kept their fancy dress within the same neutral palette. Morgan and Felicity were flower (leaf) girls. Standing at the alter as a bride, a groom, and their ‘besties,’ you amassed a punk, a jerk, a nerd, and a Booboo.

Your subdued red, white, and blue gown made the boldest statement of the day.

You were so worried yesterday morning. You thought the statement would read as if you were devoting yourself to an ideal, harping that you are in some ways ‘Misses America,’ but it’s more than that. You didn’t want to walk down that aisle and sign over who you are, to belong to someone else, even someone as magnificent as Steve Rogers.

Then you saw his face.

That man belongs to you as much as you belong to him. The look of pure, undiluted, delighted adoration nearly knocked you over. You’re lucky you made it through your vows. You melted inside to help your poor, fumbling Sketch with his own speech. Bucky winked once you finally got his buddy to the important bit.

Then that kiss.

Gosh, all this time you thought maybe the desperate heat of your first kiss in an evacuated AvIn hallway couldn’t be recreated—much less topped—but you were wrong. The boning in your bodice is the real hero, that’s for sure. Girl’s gotta have good support when it counts.

Speaking of being weak for a man, you think, sipping at hot tea, better get back in there. That, plus your legs are freezing.

A polaroid snaps the instant you cross the zip-up threshold, along with praises of your beauty. You blink rapidly but smile.

“What’s that?”

“Your wedding present,” Steve beams. He fakes a frown at your following ‘we weren’t doing presents’ look. “Not big ones. They’re just for fun.”

He picks up another Canon film camera, a hefty black and silver thing from his hard-sided suitcase, and hands it to you.

“Thought they’d be nice for the trip.”

You weigh it in your hands, eye the Polaroid, then switch with Steve.

“That one’s more of an artsy-fartsy Sketch thing,” you say, stepping around him with your new toy, rushing to grab toasty sweatpants from your own bag.

As you bend over to pull out the garment though, you hear a mechanical click and whip around.

Steve still faces away from you, but his head is slightly turned and he softly whistles, so of course, you lift your Polaroid and snap a picture of his ass, too. He wrinkles his nose, looking over his shoulder with an unhidden smile. You shake out the photo card provocatively while he suits up for the fireside in a sweater and jeans.

He glances at the developed shot and, seeming satisfied, plants one more kiss on your forehead.

He hums as he holds up his picture of you entering the tent, thumb tracing the line of your hip exposed like it was on the glossy magazine pages after your bear debacle.

“Yes, ‘m out there distracting all the wild animals,” you joke.

“It’s working,” he mutters. “Hungry, Misses Rogers?”

Yeah, you think, but you’ll need fewer clothes again. Instead, your stomach gurgles in response.

“Why? Do I finally get some cake?”

“Just a taste.” He kisses your lips, which you lick immediately after. “But I was thinking more like eggs. The fire’s ready.”

Your stomach growls louder. “Shhh, peanut gallery.”

Steve puts a hand over your stomach, chuckling. “At least she’s honest.”

The light pressure of his wide palm lingers even when he steps out to the camp ground. It triggers a potent flash of life with him.

You’ve spoken about kids and it will happen (or at least you’ll try) in due course, but he’s come home from missions with doubts about bringing children up in this world. What matters to both of you is having each other, and you know he’d be enough good and love for your lifetime. Even though you can always revisit the issue, that deep flutter ravages your gut while you watch him cook breakfast.

With another hunger pang, you remember how your stomach voicing her opinion is one of the reasons you’re together. One, solitary growl started the first real night of hanging out with Steve. Without it, he wouldn’t have shared a leftover meal (and cake—hint, hint, buddy), he wouldn’t have let you in his apartment, he wouldn’t have driven you and your car home the next morning, and he wouldn’t have given you some of his own clothes to wear.

You pull the sleeves of his sweater over your chilling hands and bury your nose in the fabric, inhaling deeply.

You wonder which one of those incidental, accidental moments was the tipping point, whether removing just one experience of you would have stopped Steve from seeing you, stopped him from loving you.

After a while, you pick up the polaroid. You can see his ease through the lens. Steve is in his element, chatting away while preparing a meal, planning what you two can do together next, complimenting how you look in his sweatpants and meaning it so profusely that his eyes light up whenever he looks your way.

You thought you caught it on camera, all of him, all of his happiness, but the shot isn’t close enough to do it justice. Your heart will just have to remember.

Yes, Steve Rogers on his own is more than enough. He is the gift. He’s your treasure.

You can’t decide what you want to do next, but a strong shiver running through you gives a hint: get warm.

Eggs are a good start.

When the food is done, Steve refills your tea and makes his own.

You snuggle up into the covers of the bed again, leaning your head into the dip of Steve’s sternum, using your furnace husband to full effect. The birds aren’t so annoying now. The air is so crisp and refreshing, laced with the smell of Steve’s skin. The rise and fall of his chest is so soothing as you sip and ponder the future.

Steve fiddles with the dials on the vintage camera above you. That’s the last thing you remember before waking up again, this time wrapped in his warm, toasty arms.

For once, he hasn’t woken up yet. He’s stretched, out-cold and perfectly content, unmoving as you wiggle out of the covers.

He never rests in the middle of the day, so you have to capture his sleepy form, eyes still tucked beneath the comforter, keeping the light out for just a little longer. He’s so beautiful.

Your husband is so beautiful.

Steve desperately wants to take the wedding presents for a spin out in the woods, so the afternoon is entirely consumed by a hike.

The Polaroid makes too much noise for wildlife and can’t focus on the tinier details among the branches and leaves, so you settle for jotting down some fanciful descriptions that come to mind and watch him sneak closer to birds, bugs, and color-changing foliage.

He gets so distracted with excitement that you two walk much farther than intended. Steve insists on carrying you the last few miles of your return, and you spend the entire piggyback ride with your chin tucked over his shoulder, your cheek against his neck, quietly discussing what you’d like to change in your lives now that you’re officially married.

Nothing. The answer is nothing.

Nothing needs to change because you two are the exact same people as forty-eight hours ago. Perhaps the rings on your fingers mean more for your life, but they just transmuted the love already in existence to matter.

Steve’s bright blue eyes go dreamy with philosophizing.

Your husband is beautiful, smelling of fresh air and optimism.

Steve refuses to miss another sunset, so you two lay in the hammock before lighting your evening fire.

You snuggle and chat, teasing each other, telling stories. You watch the Milky Way bloom to life above you.

Something Steve never figured out was how the Team knew about his plan to propose. He’s been going over it and over it, but he can’t see where he gave himself away. Steve says, when he asked Bucky yesterday in the men’s ready room, Bucky smirked.

Apparently, Steve, only once while you two dated, told his friend “there’s an order to these things,” and that was enough. Buck knew Steve’s intentions immediately, watching for the signs, the clues. Everyone understands that for a long time now Steve has resented his birthday is a holiday—not in a disrespectful way, but it annoys him that the day is already a big, loud affair,—and the whole group guessed (correctly) Steve would rather replace the symbolism with his own meaning.

“And hey,” Steve rumbles, faking Tony’s nonchalance as he quotes the billionaire playboy, “if you chickened out, fireworks are fireworks.”

His added shrug for effect shifts you and rocks the dangling net.

“Almost did, didn’t you?” you chuckle. “Chicken out?”

Your husband’s whole body tweaks harshly.

“You know I was scared shitless, Keeps! Almost fainted.”

“Or at least fell off your one knee…”

His hands fly up to scrub at his stubbled face, pinning you. “Oh! It was so bad,” he groans.

You sit up carefully in the wobbly fabric of the hammock, barely suppressing more laughter, and pound a flat palm at his chest. “It’s ok, soldier. You got the job done. We got there in the end.”

Steve’s hand covers yours, his peaceful smile glowing in the soft starlight.

He reaches to cradle your cheek, sweeping a delicately callused thumb over your skin.

“I almost can’t believe it,” Steve says quietly.

“Believe what?”

He could mean the beauty of the sky, or that Tony knocked it out of the park with your escape of a honeymoon, or that he didn’t croak instead of getting through all those mental and physical hurtles to be with you. You’re just not sure. Personally, you’ve ‘almost not believed it’ since the Captain America started talking to you, so it’s hard to judge.

Steve doesn’t answer right away. His voice grows even softer. “Happy. That’s all.”

Your heart breaks and mends in an instant.

“You can’t believe you’re happy?”

He goes shy, ducking then raising his gaze even higher towards the treetops. He clears his throat before admitting, “I lead…an unusual life. Not many would want this.”

“I dunno. Seems pretty nice to me,” you giggle.

“Yes, but—“ he pulls you into his chest and squeezes “—I get no guarantees. Not like others. We couldn’t even set a date. We could have been waiting years to get married.”

It’s your turn to shrug.

“You got something else to do?”

“No,” he sighs, “just more of this.” He nudges your body closer and closer to his, until all your arms and legs are tangled together. “As much as possible. I only meant…I love you.

“I love you, and I don’t think I had any faith left that I would find you.”

You. Not someone like you. Not someone for him.

You.

Even without a fire, even without sunlight, even without shelter surrounding you, Steve provides everything you could ever need: heat, comfort, safety. He provides, and it’s only right that he should have the favor returned.

Happiness. That’s what this is. Happiness that wasn’t guaranteed. Happiness that wasn’t expected. Happiness that was hard-earned.

Your muscles shiver and your skin tingles, all with need of him. “Sweetheart,” you whisper, clawing at his sweater.

He knows. He sees. He feels it, too.

When Steve lunges to kiss you though, the hammock swings with your combined weight and tries to topple you.

You giggle and squeal, flipping out and onto the ground with zero grace, and he follows.

Steve crawls over you, starlight and the glow from the tent painting his face in primary colors.

“Here, Mrs. Rogers?” He fakes shock. “In the dirt?”

“You fucked me on that picnic table just last night,” you joke, a dark, taunting edge to your voice which he matches.

Steve leans in again. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

He holds your gaze, his focus flickering to your lips while the crickets’ song roars around you.

It sounds silly after all you’ve done to get Steve out of his shell, but what you crave most in this moment is the familiar, traditional love-making that he offers best. His tenderness leads you on a merry dance not unlike long wilderness walks. He’s consumed by discovery and attention to how you feel in that very second. To him, you change as frequently as the landscape. He yearns to explore what’s the same, what’s new.

Steve never phones-in sex. He never just goes through the motions. Somehow, he makes an art of reevaluating your body, your pleasure, each and every time. He’s the proof vanilla is an infinite flavor.

But…

That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the chase.

Steve is leaning in to kiss you when your knee raises to his chest, halting his progress. You bite your lip and scramble to the ‘door’ of the tent. Obviously, he lets you win because he could easily have snatched you into his grasp.

Steve’s laugh stays close, but he follows all the way to the bed.

There’s something to be said about a good ol’ fashioned undressing, garment by garment, that dance of who leads and how much they touch the other as each piece of clothing falls away. Steve’s become a very good dancer.

Nothing is rushed. Nothing is missed.

He doesn’t combine the acts of maneuvering you and dragging open mouth kisses along your skin. He moves you, and then he lingers.

Time spent mapping you is time well spent to Steve Rogers.

You’re drunk on him. High on him. It’s an out-of-body experience that has you watching his broad back curve sharply while he thrusts and traces your collarbone with his tongue, noticing your toes seize up from force of your first orgasm, and admiring how fine his ringed finger looks laced in with yours and pinned over your head.

No one leaves the tent. The evening fire never gets started.

After a long and sweaty fuck in the bed, you’re filthy, gathering food for Steve who’s hungry, following you around with wipes. It’s comical how thoroughly you try to take care of each other.

No. Sit still. No. Let me just grab this. No. Fine. Together?

You two finish the top tier of cake after cleaning off…because Steve Rogers is the most stubborn, beautiful, and optimistic husband.

[Next Part]

[Main Masterlist; Fools Rush In Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#fools rush in series #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x wife!reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fic #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fluff #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers x you #sketch and keeps

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kitten4sannie · 1 year ago

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Kitten hybrid sannie with red fluffy ears and a red fluffy tail and all he wants is to breed you and have his kittens :(((((((((

my hard hours are closed but i’ll do it for you, you heathennn 🫵🏼 plus i can’t say no to desperate kitten sannie :((( i wrote this in such a frenzy fhdkdh i hope you enjoy <3

(warnings: subby kitty hybrid! san, mommy kink, breeding kink, bulge kink, unprotected sex, creampies)

“gonna fill you up again, mommy, so you’ll be nice and full of my kittens,” san informed in between gasps of air, his mouth hanging open, his tiny tongue splayed out and leaking drool down onto your face, ramming his throbbing cock into your already cum-filled cunt, sloppily but with clear intent to impregnate you, his previous loads dripping down your slit and onto the stained sheets below.

the thing about san was that he was a ball of energy, always capable of giving into the zoomies at any time of the day, but he was also the biggest hornball you’ve ever come across, humping his precious plushies out of sheer desperation by day and pumping you full of his cum by night — so mix those two together and what do you get? a pussy full of cum, a sore body, and tiny teeth marks left all over your neck and collarbone when you got up the next morning for work. it was worth it in the end. you loved your cute little kitty companion.

“mommy wants kitty’s milk, right?” san asked, his bright red ears lowering slightly, his pretty lips forming a small pout.

“yes, baby,” you reassured, gazing up at him with glossy, half-closed eyes, caressing his sweaty, flushed face. “now be a good boy and cum so you can make me a real mommy.”

short circuiting from your words, san looked down at the bulge his cock continuously made inside your lower stomach, only having to graze his fingers over it and think about all of the cum he most definitely pumped inside your womb. “cumming…!” the kitty hybrid cried out, slamming his cock so deep inside you that it made you yelp, keeping his body still and pressed tightly onto yours as ropes of milky liquid coated your plush inner walls for the nth time.

“h-how many times was that, sannie?” you asked softly, your thighs trembling against his, your lower half almost numb from how many times you had reached your own end, joined by a dull throbbing that was due to being fucked dumb for so long.

“not enough, mommy, need to fuck you full,” san whined, his tail flicking back and forth raipidly behind him, using his canines to gingerly gnaw on your neck, licking over the bite marks with his sandpaper tongue. “gotta keep fucking you, gotta make sure you’ll have sannie’s kittens.”

“o-okay, baby,” you nodded weakly, running your fingers through his damp red hair, occasionally rubbing at his ears, encouraging a series of deep, reverberating purrs to emanate from san’s throat.

“thank you, mommy,” san purred, moving upwards to lick into your mouth and taste you, before he sat up and back on his heels. he slowly pulled out just to watch a few beads of pre-cum to leak out of his reddened cockhead, before shoving himself back into you, your sopping wet hole sucking him back in to his delight, a small pleased trill exiting his drooling mouth.

and just like that, he was hunched over you again, hands pressed firmly onto the mattress near either side of your head, bucking his hips into yours like he hadn’t been going at it for what seemed like hours. he’d probably go a couple more too, and you’d probably wake up with dark circles and a fuzzy feeling in your brain, but it was worth it. you loved your sannie.

#ask #for jenna 🦋#ateez #ateez smut #choi san #san x reader #san smut #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours

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clumsiestgiantess · 9 months ago

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Part — what is this.. four of the ‘tiny in the cold’ story! (wow that’s a lot more than the oneshot I intended it to be; thanks for the support!) @entomolog-t it’s back!

[Alice’s pov]

My alarm clock buzzes obnoxiously to my left, but for once I’m not annoyed by it. I need to get up; it’s exam day. The exam starts… NOW! “What?! I- Oh my god, I set the alarm for the time I needed to be there! I’m going to be so late!” Dashing through the house, I shove a blueberry muffin into my mouth, throw my coat on, grab my bag, and speed out the door. Jabbing the elevator button every half a second, I practically pounce into the empty space once the doors open. Thank goodness there was no one in here. From the moment I step into the lobby, the rest of the trip is a blur.

My brain only finally starts working about a half-hour into testing. Miraculously, they made an exception and let me in. I’d blamed my lateness on the slick ice lining a few of the roads instead of my own confusion, and the proctor believed me. I mean, technically it is the truth. I was a bit slower coming here because of the ice, though not by much.

Thankfully, this is one of my easier exams. Even with my grogginess, I have extra time to look through — and redo — the parts I’d done in my half-asleep mind. I finish the edits with a mere minute to spare. There are a few quick celebrations between me and a few of my friends who were also taking it, then I head back home. One final down, four more to go.

My schedule from then on would be to rinse and repeat over the next few days — eat a meal, study, eat another meal, study, maybe sleep, then go back for another test. When I go to bed that night, I double check that I changed the alarm to give me some time to actually get up.

That next morning, I have enough time to eat breakfast and glance over my notes before heading back out to yet another exam. It had snowed overnight, and I hurriedly brushed it off the windshield before heading out. I actually made it here a bit early! Maybe I can go see if Terri-

“Wait!” I flinch. Who’s voice is that? “Please! I-” The strange voice stops as abruptly as it started speaking. Immediately, I turn in my seat, scanning the back for any sign of another person in here with me. A tiny-sounding whine directs me to the floor. “What the hell?” There’s.. a small.. thing moving around down there, halfway tucked inside a beanie that I’d lost a while back. “Am.. Am I hallucinating? I can’t!” I yelp suddenly, remembering where I am, “I have exams; I can’t be hallucinating during exams!” The little — very humanlike — thing collapses to the floor. I knew I should’ve gone to bed earlier. This isn’t real, right? That’s a palm-sized person on the floor. I rub a hand tiredly over my face and look again. They’re still there. “Holy shit. You’re.. real.”

Leaning down over the console of the car, I twist myself around so I can see them better. They’re shaking so badly. “Are you alright?” I ask, worry beginning to gnaw at my stomach. “How long have you been in my car? You must be freezing!” Their little head nods very slightly. “Are you another person?” They flinch, and I regret my last question. Of course they’re a person. They just spoke to me. Quietly, their voice rasps out, barely audible. “I’m a person. Please don’t leave me out here again. I- I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive this time.”

My stomach sinks horribly in my chest. How long has he been stuck out here in the cold? He’s so small; he’ll freeze so easily. “O- Of course, yes; I won’t leave you in here to freeze!” I gasp. “Do you mind if I.. umm.. pick you up?” I don’t have time to try to warm him where he is on the floor. I doubt he really needs the extra fright of me trying to handle him, especially because he already seems so desperate, but if I don’t leave soon, I’m going to be late twice in a row. One time I can get away with, but twice and I’ll probably get in trouble, or worse, kicked out.

A tiny head shake — no, he wouldn’t mind it. I let out a relieved breath. I honestly have no idea what I would’ve done if he’d refused. Leave him here? Out of the question. Pick him up anyway? That would be horrible of me. Give him the choice to either come with me or be left here? That just sounds like a threat. Thankfully he’s either willing enough — or desperate enough — to trust me.

Carefully, I reach down for him, sliding my fingers gently beneath him and guiding his tiny body into my hand. He squirms against me as I tighten my grip slightly in order to lift him. My heart skips a beat; his hands grip my finger tightly — shaking and icy cold. Poor thing. I wish I had more time to help you. I lift him upright and slide back into my seat slowly so I don’t jostle him. Hesitantly, he chances a glance up at me. “I’m gonna keep you in my pocket, ok?” I ask, though I know it’s more like telling him what I’ll do with him than actually asking. It hurts my heart in a strange way, recognizing that. “I.. really don’t have time to deal with this right now, but you’ll be plenty warm there. I’m so sorry, but I have to go.” A quick apology will have to suffice until later.

Lowering him into my pocket and dropping him carefully onto the bottom, I reach for the door handle. However, I flinch away from it as a cry tears through the car. “It’s ok; you’re alright! I’m not gonna-” “It’s too hot! I need something colder! Please! It burns!” His cries get louder and more pained. In an instant, I reach in to pull him out and he rushes for my fingers, clinging tightly to them. I freeze, unsure if I should move with him so close. “Th- Thank you,” I hear him gasp. Still, I’m frozen. What do I do if I can’t leave him in there? He’s shaking so awfully against me. His little body is almost drenched in sweat from struggling with the pain for so long. Will he be alright?

“You’re.. you’re ok now? Like that?” I ask worriedly. He nods, face nearly pressed against my palm. “Ok. Try not to yell like that anymore unless it’s an emergency. I don’t need to be kicked out of the testing room and searched. Who knows what the punishment is for sneaking a tiny guy into the room, or what they’ll do with you for that matter.” Now is really not the time to find a tiny person struggling for life, but I’ll do my best to help him. If that means leaving the testing room on account of some fake ‘emergency’ to help him, then so be it. I’d rather keep him alive over anything else.

Once I’m sure he’s comfortable, I step outside. Every single movement I make becomes calculated with him in my pocket. What if I walk too fast and hit him accidentally? What if I sit down and crush him? Did I put lotion on my hands this morning? He’s sitting tucked right against my palm. It would feel so cute if it wasn’t a literal tiny human sitting there. My hands are peeling from the cold; is that the one with the torn skin or is that- No, it’s this one. My worries just start to fade as testing time officially starts and I focus on the questions in front of me instead of the ones in my head.

However, about an hour later, I feel light pressing against my fingers. The tiny person’s hands shove at me until I move away. Confused and worried, I take my hand out of my pocket and inconspicuously glance down. His little face peers up at me and nods slightly, assuring me I’d done nothing wrong. Oh, he’s probably warmed all the way up by now! Returning to my work, I try not to dwell on anything. Still, relief floods my system knowing that I’d saved him from what might’ve been the end of him. He’ll be alright now.

Finishing the exam, I’m one of the first people out the door. Finally, I can talk to my tiny stowaway. Once I’m in the car again, I gently pull him out of my pocket and hold him out in the palm of my hand to get a good look at him. As soon as I unfurl my fingers, he tucks himself into a tight ball — his heavy frightened breaths press against my palm. “Hey, little guy? I’m sorry about basically ignoring you earlier. Finals are this week and I really need them to go well,” I try to explain. “Are you alright? You’re warmer than before; that’s good! I hope my pocket wasn’t too claustrophobic for you.”

In small hesitant movements he gets up from his fetal position and sits on his knees on my palm, staring up at me with wide eyes. It’s strange — his clothes seem to be hand-stitched — his hair mussed and tangled. Bringing him just a little closer, I can count at least two different scars by just glancing over him. How long has he been small for? Did he shrink, or is he just.. something else entirely?

My thoughts are interrupted by his voice. It’s much stronger now, and a lot clearer with him held up closer to my head. There’s still a strange smallness about it that makes goosebumps dash along my arms. “I- I’m ok,” he answers me. I exhale in relief, and become entirely conscious of how the single breath ruffles his hair like a slight breeze. “Thank goodness; I really hoped you weren’t beyond saving. You were super cold when I found you, barely moving. Speaking of which, why were you in my car to begin with? And how in the world did you manage to shrink?” Compared with his few words and tiny voice, I feel almost like I’m speaking over him talking so much, though it doesn’t seem like he has much to say. The guy’s probably stunned enough by the scale of everything.

I watch his brows furrow in deep thought, and for a moment I believe he’ll tell me he didn’t even shrink. Perhaps he was magic. But if he is, wouldn’t he have been able to save himself? “I.. don’t remember. I can’t remember what happened before I shrank, but I’m definitely a human. Just smaller.” Oh. Oh! Oh no, poor thing. He’s probably been stuck so small for so long because he doesn’t even know where he is! No memories, stuck small, freezing weather — no wonder he was desperate for help. And now he’s begging me just to see him as a fellow human.

“Of course you’re still human! Being smaller won’t change that!” I assure him, inadvertently cupping my hand a bit closer around him. “I promise I don’t mean you any harm; I just want to make sure you’re ok. Come on, I’ll take you back to my place — get you something to eat.” I reach to put him away, but pause. “Oh, I’m Alice, by the way. Do you.. remember your name?” He looks frightened for a moment. “I don’t really remember much.” That’s horrifying! Not even your own name? I don’t say that, though. He probably already knows. “I can try to help you remember it, but if you can’t, I guess you can try out a new one for the time being.” He nods, relief settling some of his features. Placing him down in the cupholder beside me, I head for home.

The drive is horribly silent — which I can’t stand. I know my little companion probably needs time to think through some things now that I’ve finally noticed him. Why haven’t I noticed him before? Has he been in my car for a while? Realization dawned on me that he’d really have to be an excellent climber to be able to get in. He’s so small that the space between the edge of the car door and the ground must be over twice his height.

“Soo..” I begin awkwardly, “I do have a question you might know the answer to.” The little guy looks up at me, seemingly startled out of thought. “How did you get in my car?” His face pales, and he looks.. frightened? “I.. I snuck in yesterday morning.” “You climbed up all the way into my car? Why?” He turns guilty away from me, like I caught him in a lie. But why would he lie about how he got in here? “Uhh.. it was cold outside. Your car was warmer.. at the time.” Is he just embarrassed that he got stuck in here? It must’ve been rather freezing when it snowed yesterday. He.. could’ve died in here — alone! I’d have found his body whenever I next went to clean out my car.

“Oh! I locked you in here and then everything froze last night! Poor thing! I’m so sorry! I wouldn’t have left you here like that if I’d known you were in the car!” I feel so awful for believing he was trying to lie. Poor little guy was probably just having a hard time talking about it. The thought of his near-death while I wasn’t even there just occurred to me now, but he’d actually experienced the bitter cold that had likely come close to killing him. Of course he’d be nervous thinking about it.

Trying to change the subject, I begin ranting about finals. It’s the next thing on my mind I can think to talk about. I make it all the way back to my apartment, then turn to my tiny passenger. Flattening out my hand, I leave it gently on the center console right beside the cupholder he’s sitting in. “Here, hop on and I’ll bring you inside,” I tell him, “Would you like something to eat?” He nods, climbing up and sliding slowly and hesitantly into my palm. Even if he’s been tiny for quite a while, getting picked up by someone so much bigger than you must be a crazy terrifying experience. I slip him in my pocket as I step outside. I can’t risk someone seeing him, it just.. feels wrong to flaunt him around in the open for people to ogle at. He probably doesn’t want the attention drawn to himself anyway.

I let him out again when we’re safely behind the closed door of my apartment. Gently, I set him on the counter by taking off my whole jacket and putting it down. He’d been so frightened when I’d plucked him out of my pocket earlier, and I didn’t want to frighten him again. Patiently, I wait for him to come out to the countertop. “What would you like?” I ask kindly. He glances around the room, then points to the pantry. “What do you have in there?” Shrugging, I wander over and peer in. “Well, let’s see.. we have soup crackers, some cheese puffs, popcorn, mac and cheese — but I’d have to cook it first, obviously. “Oh! But I think you’ll like- ” Glancing back at the counter to see if he was interested in any of it, I find that he’s disappeared from view.

“Hey, umm.. little guy? Where’d you go?” I ask, stepping around the counter to the other side. He’s not there, either. I lift up my coat, but he’s still not there. “Where- Where’d you go?! This isn’t funny! You can’t just disappear!” Unless… I gasp and quickly scan the floor. Please don’t tell me he fell off. I- If he fell… “Hey! Please come back! I- I’m not that scary, am I? Why’d you leave? I don’t-” I don’t understand; there’s not a trace of him on the floor or the counter. “Come back! Whatever it is you’re frightened of, I’ll change it! Please don’t run off and get hurt somewhere! If you want to take care of yourself, that’s fine! Just.. please let me know so I don’t think something happened to you!”

Hours tick by as I scour the floor and countertops, searching for my little missing guest. All the while I call out various comforting things, trying to convince him to at the very least let me know that he’s alive. Still nothing. I can’t find him, and something tells me he doesn’t want to be found. By 4:00 in the morning, there’s still no answer, and I go to bed without one. I try to go to sleep, but all I can do is lay down and stare at the ceiling trying to listen for the sounds of something small moving around. Only at about 6:00 in the morning do I finally fall asleep for a good two hours before my alarm startles me awake. At least I don’t have an exam today. I just have to study.

I trudge down the hall to the kitchen and freeze. He could still be on the floor somewhere. Continuing my trek with much more caution than before, I make a bowl of cereal and sit down numbly. I stare out at nothing in particular; thoughts jumble in my head. My lack of sleep and my severe rise in anxiety combined to cause an awful feeling in my head. My stomach also started to feel the effects, and I left the kitchen only a few spoonfuls of food fuller than I had when I walked in.

Studying didn’t help my mood much, but every time I took a break from it, my mind would wander back to the tiny person potentially wandering around my home, too scared to ask for help when he likely needed it. Lunchtime came and went — I wasn’t hungry. I tried studying again by watching a few videos my professor posted. Those didn’t seem to make sense to me, and my anxiousness morphed into an ugly frustrated anger. “No! What? How?! I used the same formula and everything! What the heck?!” Crumpling my paper in a messy ball, I can already feel an angry scream building in my throat.

As quickly as my anger emerges, however; it fizzes out. My scream comes out as a sob and I fall against my desk. Nothing had gone right for me. Finals week is the absolute worst week for my luck to run out. “I’m gonna fail,” I whisper, “I can’t do this. Why is everything going so wrong? I just wanted to help him; why’d he run away? I feel sick. What if he’s hurt somewhere and can’t call for help? What if he’s too scared to call for help?” Tears fall down my face and sobs wrench out of my throat in gasps. My empty stomach roils painfully as I cry.

“Alice! It’s ok, I-” At the sound of a voice too small to have come from any normal person, I whirl around in my seat, furiously rubbing my eyes so I could see through my tears. I can’t find him on the floor, just like the night before, but I know I heard the tiny person I’d rescued. “Hello?” I call into the seemingly empty room. A voice responds. “It’s.. It’s ok. It’s me, the ‘little guy’.” I gasp a relieved breath, then stand, peering around the room for where he might be. His voice is so small I can’t tell where it’s coming from. “You’re… alright?” There’s a long silence, then: “Yeah.”

“Oh thank god!” I breathe fully for what feels like the first time in days. “You made me so worried for you! Are you hungry still? I- I know you haven’t eaten in a while since you.. ran off when I tried to get something for you.” I myself felt like I was starving. I could only imagine what he might be feeling. I’m kept waiting for a long time — so long that I’m afraid he’ll leave if I don’t say something. Steadying my voice with another deep breath, I offer an apology. “Look, I’m sorry I scared you off… I don’t know what happened, but I’m willing to work with you to try and get your memories and your old life back. I can’t imagine how terrifying it is to suddenly be so small, not even knowing how you got that way-” “Stop.”

I do, though I’m scared of how hollow his voice sounds. “That’s.. a lie. I remember everything just fine.” Has he given up on finding a way back to normal? Does he remember something awful that he hasn’t told me? No wonder it felt like he was lying to me. “So.. you just didn’t want to tell me how you shrank?” I ask, a bit confused. “No.. Alice, I- I never shrank. I’ve always been this way.” My mind goes blank for a moment. “Y- Wh- H-” I stutter, only half-words forming on my tongue. “I’m not human, Alice.”

He’s… He’s what? Slowly, I approach the bookshelf in front of me — where I can hear his voice now that he’s spoken enough for me to locate it. Kneeling on the floor, I gently bend down to peer beneath it. I’d already checked all the shelves to no avail. There’s a small crack in the baseboard of the wall behind the shelf. “Is that why you left?” I ask softly, “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.” His voice becomes a bit harsher. “You promised the tiny human me that you wouldn’t hurt me,” he corrects. I blink confusedly, slowly connecting the dots. “You thought I would go back on my word if I knew you were lying to me? Or you just.. thought that I wouldn’t care because you’re not human?”

But that’s awful! Does he really think I would do that? My distracted gaze flits back to the crack in the wall. He’s there — standing in a position like he’s ready to flee at any sign of aggression, but he’s there. “I promised you that I wouldn’t hurt you. You. No matter who or what you were.” His expression shifts guiltily, and he glances away from me. “I’m a bit upset you wanted to lie to me about… everything. But I can’t be mad at you for being scared of me. I won’t ask you to talk to me anymore if you don’t want to, but just know, I’m glad you’re alright.”

A small smile edges along his face as he turns back to me. Carefully, the little.. person steps out of his hiding place. “You- You really mean that?” He asks, “You don’t care that I’m not one of you?” I exhale a tiny laugh and shake my head. “Of course not, don’t be silly! You’re safe here, I promise. I understand if you want to go home, though. You probably have others of your kind to get back to, and I’ve accidentally trapped you in my house.” His steps falter and guilt briefly dashes across his face again. “Well, about that… I kind of.. live here.”

Do I know anything about you? As he relayed what really happened, it turns out I really don’t. The only thing I do know about him that’s correct is the fact that he can fit in the palm of my hand, and of course the fact that he’d been freezing to death when I found him. Beyond that, it’s like a whole new world just opened up to me. I guess that makes sense, though. He is an entirely different species, which is insane to think about. I always thought we’d find human-intelligent beings on another planet before we ever found it here again.

“I actually did remember my name,” the little being — he told me he’s a borrower — confesses after talking to me about his life beneath my floors. “It’s just.. not really a human-sounding one, so I couldn’t exactly give you it. My name’s Fennel, but I mostly just go by Fen.” “Fen?” I ask. Well, it certainly isn’t a human-sounding name. I offer Fen a bright smile. “Nice to finally really meet you! How long have you been living here.. with me?” His eyes trail off in thought, “I moved in after you were already here, but you were still unpacking things, so I don’t think it was very far off from when you moved in, too.” So we’ve been living here together the whole time?!

“Where were you living before?” Fen shrugs, “Eh, another apartment in this building. The new people were too loud, so I moved out.” Wow, I wish I could’ve done that in my last apartment. I had to wait for the lease to expire. “I wish I could just pack up and slip into a new home whenever I have problems with the neighbors,” I tell him, mind already wandering to what I would do at his size, with his freedom.

“It’s harder than it seems,” Fen sighs, “I have to rebuild a livable space for myself every time.” Oh, right. Maybe I wouldn’t want to be a borrower after all. I sit back upright and my back cracks loudly as I do. “Hey, if you don’t mind, can you maybe come out from beneath there?” I ask, “It hurts my back to try to bend all the way to the floor to look at you.”

He’s hesitant, but Fen slowly makes his way over to the edge of the bookshelf. When he finally steps out from beneath it, I gently lay my hand in front of him palm-up, like I had in the car when I took him inside. “Can I hold you? Please?” This feels like a dream. Did I even find you, or did I fall asleep trying to study? To my relief, he gives me a slight nod. I watch in awe as he climbs up onto my palm — hands and feet no bigger than a fingernail. With Fen safely in my palm, I slowly and carefully lift him up to my face to ensure I’m really awake.

Concern crunches my eyebrows together. He has an empty fearful look, staring blankly through me with tensed muscles. “Fen?” His hands dart to his head, ducking beneath them for a tiny bit of safety. “Are you ok?” I ask softly, “You look sick. If this makes you uncomfortable, I can put you back down. You didn’t have to get on.” I can hear him breathing hard, but he stammers: “I- I’m alright.” Shaking my head, I cup my other hand around him gently. “You aren’t, though. You’re shaking.” With all the caution l can muster, I lower the pad of my finger against his chest. Just as I thought, his breaths rise and fall heavily against my finger — even his heartbeat thunders rapidly against it. He’s so.. delicate. Sitting in my hand like that, I just can’t describe the feeling in any way besides tiny and fragile and alive.

My eyes water in a sudden rush of relief, and I gently bring him to my chest, hugging his tiny form the best I can without crushing him. I finally feel relieved for the first time that week. “It’s alright now,” I exhale. Holding him there, I can feel his breathing slow and he relaxes in my light grip. Guiding him out in front of me again, I watch him curl up sleepily in my palm. His back presses softly into my cupped fingers as he blearily looks up at me. Awww, why does he have to look so cute like that? I’m sure he’s exhausted.

Glancing around the room, I notice that one of the smaller blankets on my bed had fallen to the floor. I scoop it up and place Fen down on my desk. He stumbles off, and I have to quickly grab him and lower him down before he falls face-first on the wooden surface. I bundle up the blanket so it’s reminiscent of a little mattress and pillow, then place it in the corner of my desk. Fen sleepily trudges over and slides into it. Checking to make sure he wouldn’t fall over the edge of my desk by blocking off the side with a book, I settle down and begin re-working the math problem that had gotten me so worked up earlier. Just as I finish it, Fen rolls over in his makeshift bed and mumbles something quietly. Get some sleep little guy; goodness knows you need it. I need it too, but more than that, I need to eat. After checking the problem against the key — I’d solved it correctly that time — I snuck off to the kitchen to make myself a quick meal before returning to my work. With Fen sleeping on my desk, I had to plug in my headphones to listen to the videos, but that didn’t bother me much. I had to stop yelling so much to avoid waking him, but I needed to calm myself down anyway. It wasn’t long after finishing the worksheet that I fell asleep right there against my desk, with my tiny roommate sleeping soundly beside me.

#originally planned to post this for the size-swap prompt for GtWAC #unfortunately it was definitely not going to be ready by then #But here it is now!#g/t #giant/tiny

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philistiniphagottini · 1 month ago

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Hiii I heard you're looking for requests. Can I request a One-Shot of Dennis and Fem! Reader going furniture shopping because they moved in together, please?

On my hands and knees anon, thanking you for allowing me to write more Dennis content. Thank you, this was a cute idea I had a lot of fun writing it. Hope you enjoy~

cw. fluff, female reader, chubby reader

A soft sigh breezed past your parted lips as your eyes slipped down to the piece of paper you held in your hand. You idly tapped your pen against the list as you read it, each line more daunting than the next. You swallowed thickly, shoving the end of the pen between the seam of your lips and chewing on it as you read each word printed in bleeding ink over and over again until it felt like your head was going to start spinning. You stared in mild disbelief until your vision blurred.

You hadn’t anticipated that when you moved in with your boyfriend, you still needed so many things to furnish your humble little apartment. Wardrobes, coffee tables, chairs, cabinets, a washing machine, a dryer if you were being generous and you didn’t want to even get started on the kitchen. Just how many damn utensils did you need? You shoved the end of the pen further into your mouth until you could swear you could taste traces of ink as you gnawed on the cheap plastic. You were about to have a mental breakdown in the middle of a furniture store and it wasn’t even lunch time yet. You quietly sulked. At least it looked like Dennis was having much more fun than you.

A bright and beaming smile lit up his face as his eyes shone with wonder. His hand curled around your wrist as he started dragging you in some random direction around the store, brimming with excitement as he found yet another thing to fawn over.

“Hey, hey, look at that lamp” Dennis exclaimed with excitement, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he dragged you towards the lighting section. “Won’t that look really nice in the living room?”

An exasperated sigh fell from your mouth as your eyes followed the direction his finger pointed. He let go of your hand as he approached the tall lamp that had caught his interest, waltzing around it as he inspected it from every angle. He looked back at you expectantly, vibrating in anticipation as he awaited your approval. You sighed again, a heavy puff of air expelled from your lungs.

“Dennis, honey, we still haven’t decided what couch we’re getting first” you replied, voice reflecting how utterly tired and dead inside you were. “We haven’t even checked off half this list yet.”

Dennis nodded along to your words, fingers tapping against his chin in thought as he pondered. “Ahh, I see. We can put a pin in it and come back!”

You honestly didn’t know where he kept getting all this boundless energy from as he trotted back over to you, took your hand in his and started dragging you off towards your next destination. You begrudgingly followed after him, your feet aching after hours of browsing various shops to gather everything you needed. You still lamented that you had been woefully prepared for moving in together with Dennis.

“Can you slow down a bit?” you grumbled.

You almost tripped over your own feet as Dennis suddenly tugged you forward, spinning around so he could catch you in his waiting arms. A small grunt rumbled in your chest as you collided with him, his arms securely wrapped around your plump waist as he held you firm. A flush of warmth dusted your cheeks as you peeked up at him beneath long lashes, only to be greeted by his charming smile and dazzling gaze.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been grumpy all morning” Dennis mentioned. “What’s got you down, sugarplum?”

Your face burned until the tips of your ears felt hot. He was laying it on so cloyingly sweet that your brain malfunctioned for a few, brief seconds. Embarrassment curled in the pit of your stomach as your nervous gaze flitted about, briefly terrified that you had caught the gaze of some unfortunate bystanders. PDA came naturally to Dennis, his showman and street performer side shining with confidence as he hugged you in the middle of the furniture showroom. God you really hoped the staff didn’t kick you out for this. You gently tried to pry yourself from his grip, the pen that had been trapped between your lips becoming unstuck as you jabbed the pointy end against his chest.

“Let me go” you mumbled, half heartedly trying to twist out of his grip.

Dennis hummed as he entertained the idea before he shook his head, his arms tight around your plump figure. “Nope. Not until I see that award winning smile. Come on, smile.”

“Don’t wanna” you bit back.

“What?” Dennis whined. “Not even for little ol’ me?”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged on your lips at his theatrics. And it didn’t go unnoticed by Dennis as he pressed forward. His nose squished into the soft pudge of your cheek, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin as he gave your chubby sides a firm squeeze.

“I see you smiling~” Dennis cooed, fingers rubbing along your ribs until you snorted with laughter.

“Dennis, we’re in public” you complained.

“Don’t care~”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost disappeared into the back of your head. But there was a smile plastered across your face and you couldn’t fight it no matter how hard you tried. You shook your head, long tresses of hair ruffled against your clothes as you poked Dennis in the chest with your pen.

“How are you staying so positive with this nightmare?” you inquired. “Why are you so happy?”

“Why wouldn’t I be happy?” Dennis countered. “I get to move in with my best friend and the love of my life.” He squeezed your soft waist again as he started to spin you both in a circle, until your head felt pleasantly dizzy and his giddy mood started to rub off on you. “We get to pick furniture together and decorate the apartment how we want it together. So many firsts together!”

Dennis stopped spinning the both of you and a soft bout of giggles tickled the back of your throat. When you looked at it from his perspective, you started to realise why he had been buzzing all morning with excitement. It eased your nerves a little when you started to think more positively like Dennis was and your little list of tasks didn’t seem so daunting as they once did. You eagerly hugged Dennis back, happily reciprocating his affections despite still being in a public space. You didn’t care. They could cope and seethe at you pair of love sick birds. Dennis’ hug only got tighter when you completely relaxed in his warm embrace, a bright smile touching your lips as you stared up at him.

“There’s my favourite smile” he chimed.

You giggled as he leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose. A hum stirred in the back of his throat as an idea suddenly sparked in his head.

“I know, how about I treat you to lunch?” Dennis mused. “We’ll take a break, get you filled up and get right back to it.”

You started to nod along to his words. “I think I like that idea.”

“Great!”

He eagerly took your hands and spun in the direction of the cafeteria. “I spied a great spot earlier that we must check out. I’ll treat you to some crepes for dessert” he chimed and gave you a small wink.

#my writing #request #anon #yugioh #yugioh arc v #ygo fluff #yugioh x reader #dennis macfield #dennis macfield x reader #x reader #x chubby reader #fem!reader

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hirokari · 2 years ago

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give 'em back, please?

wc: 0.8k words | g: fluff, christmas!!!. college!au, gn!reader | w: none! | a/n: nyehehehehehe it's christmas time its fluffy fluffy donghyuck time heeheheheheh this one is for sunny's little christmas loving butt

Lee Donghyuck is many things to you. Another student attending literature lectures at 9 in the morning— though, he doesn’t seem to indulge in it as much as you like to—, the boy who you’d mouth answers to when he’s asked to recite something back to the lecturer, the boy who’d stolen your pens just for the sole purpose of lending a pen to you when you’d asked for it, the silly, silly boy who’d “accidentally” stepped on your shoes, sticking his tongue out as he gives you a half-assed apology and snickering when you attempt to get back at him.

Though, today, he’s a missing student.

You’re a little disappointed, you must admit. He’d been an extra ray of sunshine in the morning, and you’d considered you’d especially needed it this morning, because it’s finals week. You figured you’d see him today since he’s supposed to join this exam, but you conclude the opposite with a small frown.

Bottom lip caught in between the gnawing of your teeth, you can’t help but feel a little spiritless as you start the exam. A pen twirls in between your fingers as you read the first question, scribbling an answer against the hard surface with your pen.

Ten minutes pass. ‘It’s fine,’ You think. ‘This isn’t too hard.’ You’re not about to rely your grade point average on some sunshine boy.

You’re about to scribble another answer to your paper when you jump at the sudden sound of a thump against the glass to your right. Your fellow classmates had been taken aback by it too, attention casted to the window.

Stupid Lee Donghyuck holds a paper against the glass of the window that reads ‘YOU GOT THIS, Y/N!!!’ in a bright red ink– which you recognize to be the very color of the pen you’d coincidentally lost a week earlier. You’ll make sure to talk to him about that.

Cheeks dusting red, you raise a little in your seat, struggling to stifle the laugh bubbling in your throat when Donghyuck does a little dance when he meets eyes with you, knees bouncing up and down in a childish manner.

“I- don’t. Know him. I swear.” You say in response to the curious glances your classmates give you.

The lecturer hurries outside in a rush after his attempts at shooing the boy away from inside the hall had failed, and you watch as Donghyuck bickers with the adult in a comedic behavior, obviously putting effort into amusing you. It worked.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” You mumble meekly when he returns, though he doesn’t acknowledge your apology, holding a slight grudge against your disturbance.

The chilly winter air creeps under the thick layers of your clothes and still manages to bite and nip at your skin, eliciting a yelp and goosebumps from you. Your nose had grown red– you don’t know if it’s from the scratchy crappy Christmas scarf Donghyuck had gotten you earlier that month or if it was the winter, but you don’t like it either way.

“Lee Donghyuck,” You grumble once you spot the boy rushing up to you. “Hi!” He greets you, cheeks rosy as he grabs your hands with his own gloved ones. He notices your undressed hands almost immediately, acting quick to slide his gloves off his own hands and fitting your hands into them instead.

You couldn’t help but freeze. The feeling of his cold, slender fingers touching the skin of yours as the warmth of his gloves welcome your hands had quite literally numbed your brain.

“How’d you do? How was the exam?”

It’s cruel, you think, that he expects you to give a genuine, well articulated answer after what he’d done.

“Ah- uh, it went… well. Though, it’d probably have gone better if we didn’t have a little bear banging at our windows.”

“I wasn’t banging on them!”

“Hey, I knew you wrote on that paper with my pen. Please, I beg you, return it. It’s Christmas.”

Donghyuck lets out a scoff, “Are you really pulling the Christmas card right now?” You roll your eyes, pulling his bare hands into your gloved ones and shoving them into his pockets, “Obviously. Give ‘em back, please?”

You’re convinced it’s the cold that causes Donghyuck’s skin to bloom redder as he presses his body closer against yours, grinning. “Well, only since you asked so nicely,” He gushes, brushing his nose against yours, mouth tickling against the scarf he’d gotten you.

“Are these hand warmers?”

“Mhm.”

“You don’t need my gloves! Give ‘em back, please?”

You can’t help but blush when he repeats what you’d said in a similar tone. “Nu-uh! I’m keeping these.” Though, Donghyuck doesn’t seem to mind that you want his stuff. A stupid lovesick grin plasters on his stupid face as he stupidly laughs into your scarf, “Okay. Keep it.”

#NCT #NCT DREAM #lee donghyuck #nct imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream reactions #haechan x reader #nct dream blurbs #nct dream drabbles #lee donghyuck imagines #lee donghyuck x reader #lee donghyuck drabbles #haechan drabbles #haechan imagines #donghyuck imagines #donghyuck scenarios #donghyuck drabbles #donghyuck fluff

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guardian-of-fandoms · 6 months ago

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so a little over a year ago, i wrote my fanfic "Prodigal Son" for watpad, which focused on an AU of the last episode where Cody was successfully abducted and brainwashed by the AI Morocco.

i decided to reread my fic, and was left disappointed by what i feel is SUPPOSED to be one of the most important a chapters, chapter 10.

going back it, i'm just left dissatisfied. It lacks the tension, depth, weight, and HEARTBREAK i intended it to have, and i just feel like i could do better.

so i will!

the following is my rewrite of Chapter 10, just for my own satisfaction, and i'm feeling MUCH better about how this turned out compared to the original. This exists purely so i can stop beating myself up over how poorly the original chapter turned out, and I hope you enjoy!

Kade cracked his neck, letting a deep yawn escape him.

it was nearly three in the morning as he made his way towards the firehouse, and he could feel his exhaustion clawing at him.

He'd been avoiding sleep, and he knew it.

That anxiety he'd felt since all this began was gnawing at him, but he tried to stifle it.

He made his way up the driveway, stepping around the equipment sprawled around, and snorting at the sight of Agent Fowler slumped over one of the Tables, a deep snore escaping the man.

Kade shook his head, then made his way inside.

He needed sleep.

He hadn't been able to go upstairs.

He couldn't go into the house, he couldn't see the hasty patch applied to where the Moor-Bot had smashed through the floor, raw destruction still visible.

He made his way down to the bunker, and stumbled over the couch, collapsing onto it with a small thump.

Operations had mostly come to a close for the night, but as he lay on the couch, Kade felt his brain still churning, that aching dread still gouging at him, that need to be READY, the terror of being caught off guard again.

He shifted himself on the couch, sighing as he raked a hand through his red locks, feeling the grease and sweat left from days of desperate effort.

..... He couldn't remember a time he'd felt more terror.

His eyes ached, dry and sore from the hours staring at the screens, combing through grainy CCTV and security footage from all over Maine, desperate for even a glimpse of Cody.

That stint of his, leaving such a clear trail headed back to Griffin Rock, it was only something Cody could've come up with.

And that was what scared him.

.... How much of whatever plan the two had was Cody's doing?

Would they even be prepared for whatever was coming?

Kade groaned, rubbing his eyes.

He really wasn't doing himself any favors here.

"C'mon, Kade... just.... pull yourself together..."

That exhaustion was seeping into his bones, his eyelids demanding to close, but he forced himself back up, shifting himself into a sitting position as he tugged his phone from his pocket, and pulled up the photo gallery.

His breath hitched as he landed on the photo he was looking for.

His own face twisted into a ridiculous expression, being shoved halfway out of frame by a a beaming, upside-down Cody, Heatwave's hand on his legs just barely visible.

Kade felt that bitter tightness in his chest, the burning in his eyes forcing him to blink.

".... Not letting you down again, Cody. Not... again.... I promise..."

He laid the phone aside, a choked breath escaping him.

".... I promise...."

He flopped back down, stretching out.

Now, he could pass out, try getting some sleep.

His eyes drifted shut,

but just as the call of darkness started to beckon to him,

he heard it.

"Kade."

Kade bolted upright, gasping.

The voice seemed echoed, distorted.

But he'd recognize it anywhere.

Kade stood up, grabbing his phone as he turned a slow circle, before his eyes landed on the entrance to the tunnels.

He barely registered his legs dragging him over, the motion almost mechanical to him.

His breath was tightened, his heart pounding as he stared out into the dark expanses of the tunnels.

He waited, his ears straining, but were only met with silence.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he pinched his brow.

"... You're slipping.... You're slipping."

"Kade!"

Kade snapped to attention, and without an ounce of hesitation, charged into the tunnels, turning his phone's flashlight on.

"CODY?! CODY, ARE YOU DOWN HERE!?!?"

His own heaving breaths and thundering footsteps seemed to drown out any noise, bile rising in his throat as he gasped for breath.

The phone's light did little to brighten up the dark tunnels, the winding expanses seeming to taunt him, consume the little light reflecting around.

Kade halted to a stop, the breath heaving in his chest causing him to double over, trying to bite back the sour taste of vomit in his throat.

He gasped, weakly waving his phone around, trying to pinpoint where he even was.

He'd never seemed to get the hang of navigating the tunnels, the shadowy labyrinth serving to confuse him since childhood.

And as he scanned the area, hearing nothing but his own lungs, he felt the sting of failure, the ache he'd tried so hard to stifle.

".... You lost it, Kade, you've totally lost it."

"Oh, you've lost it."

Those sharp needles of terror stabbed at him, as he heard the footsteps echoing from around him.

Kade turned a slow circle, his phone outstretched.

"Cody?! Cody, please, you have to listen to me. Come out, I just want to talk."

A low, bitter chuckle was his only reply, seeming to twist and reverberate around him from every direction.

"Sure, now you want to talk."

"Cody, please. I just want to help you, alright?"

"And what makes you think I want whatever help you think you can give me?"

His voice sent chills down Kade's spine, the low tone dripping with a malice he'd never imagined coming from Cody before.

"You don't get it, do you? I didn't come here to beg you save me, I came here to make you realize how little control you have right now."

"Cody, whatever you're trying to do right now, I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"

There was a beat of silence, before Kade heard a low growl from the darkness, followed by the sound of thudding footsteps.

"IT'S TOO LATE FOR THAT."

The footsteps seemed to echo from every direction, before suddenly, they abruptly stopped.

Kade turned, feeling sweat bead down his forehead.

".... Cody?"

A purple glow from behind caught his attention, and before he could turn, a strong draft of air blew past him, a strong hit to his chest nearly knocking over.

he staggered for balance, as the source of the draft sharply came into focus.

He felt frozen in place as the pounding within his chest became worse, those icy needles of terror stabbing away.

Perched atop a hoverboard snapping with wild purple electricity, stood a figure perched in black and red armor, Morocco's emblem etched onto one of the shoulders.

A red and black helmet concealed his face, but it quickly pulled away, and Kade could only gasp.

Even in the dim lighting, Kade could see the dark bags framing Cody's eyes.

His cheerful features were twisted into a deep scowl, his eyes narrowed at Kade, seeming to drill into his soul.

"God.... What did he do to you?"

A humorless chuckle escaped Cody.

"What did he do to me? He did the one thing NOBODY ever would, he made me feel WANTED."

"Cody-"

"No. No, whatever heartfelt plea you're about to make, save it. SAVE IT. You. Don't. Get it."

"THEN HELP ME."

Kade took a cautious step forward, his arms outstretched.

"Help me get it, Cody! Let me in, let me help!"

Cody only glowered at him, his eyes narrowed as the hoverboard started turning a slow circle around Kade.

"You really think you can fix what you broke? No.... You have no idea the pain i've felt... what it's like to be pushed aside, to be forgotten. Despite EVERYTHING i've ever done for the team, it was NEVER ENOUGH FOR YOU. So now... I'm done. My Partner has given me... new eyes. Instead of helping this team, I won't stop until i BURN YOU ALL DOWN."

"HE'S USING YOU, CODY!"

Kade tried to swallow his terror, using his free hand to reach out.

"You think he really cares about you?! Cody, he KIDNAPPED you! He's got you brainwashed! Cody, right now we're all tearing ourselves apart trying to help you!! And... We know, okay? We know we screwed up. I... I know i screwed up."

Cody watched him, his scowl only growing.

"... I know I haven't been a great brother. I know... i've really hurt you, haven't I? Being a Bonehead, being stubborn.... Cody.... I'm... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry...."

It was then that something changed in Cody's expression.

That jaded scowl seemed to break, his eyes widening in shock.

It wasn't lost on Kade, who took a deep breath.

"... I love you, Cody. Right now, everyone is so worried about you... We just want you home... We can end this right now, just hand me the Phone, let me destroy it, and this can all be over."

A hissed breath escaped Cody, and he stared at Kade.

His breathing was Shallow, his eyes wide with confusion.

"... What... Am I.... doing..."

Suddenly, Cody yelled in pain, a hand going to the back of his neck.

"Cody, Cody what's happening?"

That raw panic came searing through his veins once again, and Kade felt fresh bile raise in his throat as he watched glowing purple veins creep up Cody's neck.

Cody's agonized yells warped and reverberated around the tunnel, as he staggered back, the hoverboard flipping around, his head bowing out of Kade's sight.

Kade raised his phone, but cursed as he realized he couldn't get a signal.

He tried for his Comn, but froze, realizing it was gone.

Of course...

Cody's anguished yells suddenly stopped, and Kade gingerly took a step forward.

"... Cody? Cody, are you-"

"I'm fine now."

Kade tensed.

That voice...

It had that same Malice as before, but this time... there was something different.... a distinct sense of... calm.

"Cody, what was that?!"

"Nothing to worry about... I just needed some... clarity."

Something clicked in Kade's mind, a horrifying revelation.

".... You're not being controlled with the phone anymore, are you?"

"You were always slow on the uptake, weren't you Kade?"

Cody shifted himself, now standing upright, his back still facing Kade.

"You're still in the dark, when I know everything I need to."

"What are you-"

"What team are you on? The team to restrain me, or the team to destroy my partner?"

Kade felt his heart leap into his throat.

".... How.... how did you-"

A low, dark chuckle escaped Cody.

"You REALLY aren't getting it, are you? Tell me, all these years, who's been listening in, who's been a key player in the planning? Who here has been at the front of every strategy, every victory?"

Kade took a step back, filled with the sinking realization that he'd stepped into a trap.

"There's no plan you can come up with that I wouldn't guess, because you're all trying to think like I would."

He slowly turned, and Kade felt sick at the sight of Cody's eyes glowing a vibrant purple.

"For as much as EVERYONE pushed me to the side, you NEEDED me. So now, right when you need me more than ever, you're at my mercy. I know every move you could ever make, i know all of you inside and out, you can NEVER pull one over on me. So tell me, Kade, when you're going to WAKE. UP. AND REALIZE YOU'RE NOT IN CONTROL ANYMORE."

Kade was unprepared for Cody to suddenly surge forward, ramming into him at full speed.

Kade gasped, crying out as he slammed his face against the rock wall, a sticky crimson trail streaming down his nose and temple.

his phone flew from his grip, the flashlight dying out as it clattered to the floor.

Kade struggled to catch his breath, as Cody loomed above, the wild sparks of the hoverboard starting to grow in intensity.

Cody met his eyes, that piercingly empty stare drilling once more into Kade's eyes.

".... My partner tells me i should eliminate unpredictable variables. That loose ends only leave room for chaos down the line."

Kade stared up at him, feeling that pounding in his heart as he registered Cody's words, and what he was implying.

Then, slowly, he smiled, a tear trailing from his eyes.

"I'm not going to fight you, Cody. Do what you feel you need to."

Cody paused.

The purple glow flickered in his eyes.

"No, fight back! You always fight back, you-"

"Always act like a Bonehead?"

Kade's smile dropped, but the softness in his eyes remained.

"You said it yourself, you're in control. This is your choice. Do whatever you feel you need to do."

".... Then i will."

The glowing energy from the hoverboard sparked and flared, and Kade closed his eyes, trying to brace himself.

Then Cody paused.

The purple glow in his eyes flickered once more, as he stared at kade, slumped against the wall, his forehead streaming with a crimson trail.

The hoverboard's energy suddenly dimmed.

Kade opened his eyes, as Cody grabbed his neck, wincing with pain, a hissed breath escaping him.

The purple glow flashing, Cody met his eyes, glowering at him.

".... No... It would be.... more beneficial to my partner if I were to leave you alive."

The purple glow faded, and Cody nodded, seemingly to himself.

"Yeah... Yeah... You... You can deliver a message to the others."

The stern resolve returned to his face, and he glared at Kade, his breath still tight and shallow.

"I want you to go crawling back to the others, tell them that my Partner and I are here, and we will not be stopped. We aim to finish this, once and for all."

The hoverboard slowly pulled back, and Cody held out a hand, Kade's Comn clutched in his grip.

Any sense of adrenaline had worn off, and kade felt darkness fuzzing at the edges of his vision.

Cody turned around, his head bowed low.

"I won't spare you again. Consider this mercy."

"Co... Dy.."

Kade's breath was wheezing, the claws of darkness beckoning to him now.

"Cody.... Please..."

Cody paused, glancing back.

With a sigh, he raised the stolen Comn, and pressed the button, activating the emergency beacon before throwing it aside.

With that, Cody's helmet reformed around his face, and he took off, the fading glow of the hoverboard leaving Kade in darkness.

Kade sighed, and the darkness seemed to swallow him, before he slumped back, his exhaustion finally claiming him.

as he succumbed to the darkness calling him, the discarded Comn began to beep.

"Kade, Kade? Kade, do you read us?"

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO HIM?!"

Dani paced around the firehouse, on the verge of tearing her hair out.

Graham sighed, fiddling with his tablet.

"Dani, Dani, take breath."

Dani let out a low growl in response, causing Graham to visibly flinch.

Dani clenched her fists, her eyes squeezed shut.

".... Aren't we broken enough? Isn't losing one brother enough?"

"Dani."

Graham grabbed her shoulder, a sigh escaping him.

"... We'll ask him what happened, but right now, we can't afford to drop our guard."

"Don't you think I know that?!"

Dani threw her hands out, her face bright red.

"I KNOW!!"

Graham tensed again and drew back, and she sighed.

"... Sorry, sorry... I.. I just..."

"I know."

Dani slumped over, leaning her forehead against a wall.

".... What's next?"

"... I don't know."

"Any second now the world could fall apart again... and we just have to keep going. This isn't rolling with the punches, it's having a piano dropped on your head!"

Graham couldn't resist a dry laugh.

"Isn't that normal, for us? Getting no room to breath before the next hit?"

Dani paused, then sighed.

"... That's the problem, huh?"

"Seems like it."

The sound of footsteps echoing from the tunnel caught their attention, and both rushed to the tunnel entrance.

Charlie and Heatwave made their way out of the tunnel, Kade clutched gently between Heatwave's hands.

Dani instantly grabbed for a first aid kit, graham clutching a hand over his mouth at the sight of the dried blood on Kade's face.

Charlie had a haunted expression, Heatwave's optics narrowed as he clutched his partner.

Heatwave gently and silently stomped through the bunker, moving to deposit Kade on the couch.

Charlie was wringing his hands together, his face contorted from shock.

"No clue what happened, or even who triggered Kade's Comn. we found it several feet away from him."

Dani started gingerly wiping the blood off his forehead, trying to get a read of the injuries.

"Head wounds bleed a lot, but it's shallow. I don't think he has a concussion, but we'll need to wait for him to wake up to be sure."

Charlie started pacing, his hands trembling as he glanced over at Kade.

".... God.... What happened down there..."

Heatwave leaned against the wall, a hollow, anger twinged expression on his face.

"... I have a good guess. It's started."

Charlie sighed, then glanced over at Graham.

"Call Doc. Tell him to activate the Dome, Griffin Rock is officially on Lockdown."

The first hints of the morning sun started peeking through the clouds as Cody wove through the trees, unable to shake the weight from his core.

"Ah, there you are!"

Cody snapped to attention, as the Moor-Bot stood before him.

"Dear Boy, how did it go?"

"All according to plan."

The moor-bot shifted back to it's vehicle form, and Cody dismounted the hoverboard, retracting the device.

"I left Kade alive, so he can send a message to the others. But he was easily dispatched, didn't even fight back."

"Hmm... I must say i am surprised. It seems rather unexpected."

"yeah..."

Cody climbed into the seat, a low, broken breath escaping him, as a single tear escaped him.

"... I was confused too..."

#transformers rescue bots #cody burns #kade burns #au #dani burns #graham burns #charlie burns

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rosepetalgold · 2 years ago

Text

all the silver stolen (will one day turn to gold) 5

Summary: Roman offers an explanation and Janus finds himself facing a life-changing choice.

Warnings: One suggestive joke courtesy of Remus, fear of abandonment

Word Count: 5557

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

start - previous - you’re here! - next

“Roman claims he wasn’t responsible for any of it,” Remus declares without preamble the next morning as they all pile around the table for breakfast, Virgil only half awake and Remus clearly not having slept a wink. “The traitor guards, the attack, me being left for dead, any of it.”

Janus scoffs, rolling his eyes, but Remus plows on without waiting for him to snark a comment about Roman’s trustworthiness or decided lack thereof.

“He claims the whole thing was part of a larger coup attempt by a group of power-hungry courtiers who wanted me out of the way so they could put Roman on the throne and use him as a puppet king they could manipulate to further their own agenda. Apparently they orchestrated a concurrent attack on the castle from the inside to try and get rid of as many loyal advisors as possible, then insisted they were only acting in self-defense and that I was the one responsible for inciting all the chaos and carnage, that I was the one trying to get Roman out of the way. They showed him all these falsified documents ‘proving’ my involvement and how I’d committed the highest of treason, told him I’d been killed in the insurgency and that my body was unable to be recovered, gave him my royal ring as proof of my death, and he just—believed it. He says he has all the original documentation and letters and whatnot that back up his story back at the palace, but in his letter he lays out all the details of why he trusted them and how he learned what they really did and the ways he’s made sure they’re all out of the palace now, and it all sounds legit. He swears up and down that he didn't have anything to do with me being attacked and that he started looking for me as soon as he heard the first rumor that I might not really be dead.”

“And you believe him?” Virgil asks blearily, a spoonful of gruel paused halfway to his mouth.

“I don’t know,” Remus replies, frustration clear in his voice. “He wants me to meet with him in person to talk and answer any questions.”

Janus laughs, and Remus casts him an odd look.

“Obviously you’re not falling for that.”

Silence, and Janus sits up in his chair, staring Remus down across the table.

“You’re not falling for that, right?”

Remus shrugs, which is definitely not the correct answer.

“I want to hear him defend himself in person, and if I can catch him in a lie then we’ll know his whole story is bullshit.”

Janus doesn’t know what happened after he fell asleep, but apparently it has involved something gnawing on Remus’ brain, because he knows Remus can’t be this naive.

“No,” he says flatly. “This is the perfect setup for some kind of trap. You can’t seriously be entertaining the idea of actually meeting him.”

“I am,” Remus says, a challenge clear in his voice, and Janus bristles.

“What, a week ago you were ready to kill him and now you want to have a friendly chat? Should I whip up some hors d’oeuvres for you to take with you?”

“I’m not committing to anything,” Remus argues right back without missing a beat. “I just want to hear what he has to say in person and see if it aligns with what’s in his ridiculously long letter. It’s not like I’m falling all over myself to be all buddy-buddy with him again.”

“That’s sure as hell not what it sounds like!”

“I’m going,” Remus says decidedly, and there’s a stubborn, flinty look in his eyes that Janus knows from experience means he isn’t going to change his mind. “You can either stay here with your delicate little pantaloons all in a twist or you and Virgil can come with me just in case things go sideways.”

Right, because he and Virgil would surely be excellent bodyguards given their respective injuries. He doesn’t trust that even the two of them together would be able to take down Roman, let alone Logan if the king was smart enough to bring the mage along with him.

“Virgil?” Janus questions, turning his gaze on the other man, who has been unusually quiet through Janus’ and Remus’ back-and-forth. Virgil shrugs, playing with spoonfuls of his breakfast for a moment in a clear excuse to not meet Janus’ gaze.

“We can’t let him go alone,” he finally says. “That idiot is sure to get himself killed without some supervision.”

Betrayed by his own family. Whoever had raised Virgil clearly hadn’t done a good enough job.

(Janus is going to squarely ignore the fact that he himself had been the one to raise Virgil for a good portion of his adolescence. That was entirely irrelevant.)

“Jan?” Remus asks quietly.

“This is a terrible idea,” Janus snaps. “Absolutely horrendous. Truly dredged from the deepest swamps of your brain. But—”

He blows out a sharp breath, hardly believing he’s about to agree to this hare-brained plan, but staying at home while Remus and Virgil put themselves in harm’s way is simply not an option, even if it means walking headfirst into a trap.

“But I will go as long as you promise me that if any of us have so much as a tingle of a bad feeling, we’ll leave immediately.”

“Deal,” Remus agrees at once.

“Pinkie promise,” Janus insists, holding out his hand, and Remus wraps his finger around Janus’ without hesitation.

“You too,” Janus orders Virgil, who heaves a sigh and rolls his eyes but obligingly latches his pinkie around Janus’ other hand.

“Do you even have to ask?” he grumbles. “Like I wouldn’t be the first to haul both of your asses out of there if anyone starts thinking of any funny business.”

The reassurance does little to calm Janus’ nerves, his stomach twisting with trepidation any time he thinks about the astronomical potential for things to go wrong at their little rendezvous, but he manages to take the slightest bit of comfort in knowing that at any point over the past week Roman could have sent an entire unit of guards to their house and taken the three of them into custody, or just killed all of them outright, but he hasn’t.

A sign of good faith, or simply part of some sinister plan that requires them alive for now?

Janus delivers Remus’ return letter with their proposed meeting spot to Patton that afternoon, slipping it under the door so that he doesn’t have to deal with the bubbly healer, and sure enough, when he stops by again the next morning, there’s a crisp rectangle of parchment that must be Roman’s reply propped neatly against the back door.

Janus can’t help but feel a bit put out at being treated like a damn messenger boy, but it keeps Virgil and Remus out of things a little while longer, so he’ll grit his teeth and put up with tramping over half the city with letters in tow.

To all of their surprise, Roman agrees to Remus’ place and time for the meeting without a counterproposal. Remus seems pleased with such a development. Janus is anything but, the other man’s easy acquiescence only adding to the unsettled feeling humming in his chest. Shouldn’t the king try to gain as much of a strategic advantage as possible? Was he truly stupid enough to not question whether such a meeting may be an ambush, or was he so confident in his ability to overpower Remus that he simply didn’t care?

By the time the three of them head out to scout the location well ahead of their meeting time, Janus feels about ready to vibrate out of his skin, and Virgil is hardly any better, clearly having picked up on Janus’ nervous energy. Remus, at least, seems a bit calmer, but he pauses as they file out of the house, cocking his head like he’s hearing something the two of them can’t.

“Interesting,” he mutters, which is not one of Janus’ favorite words to hear from Remus considering it normally precipitated some experiment going horribly wrong.

“Care to share?” he questions, unable to keep the edge out of his tone, and Remus shakes his head, hurrying to catch up to them.

“There’s a spell on the house.”

Fucking stars. Janus just couldn’t get a damn break.

“I knew that mage would do something, that little—”

“Wardings,” Remus interrupts him.

“Now is not the time for making up words for the hell of it, Re.”

“No, the spell on the house. It’s a warding, a fancy protection spell. It’s not malicious or dangerous at all, except maybe if you were a robber and then it might tangle up your intestines from the inside or something.”

Of course, because that made perfect sense. Who better for Logan to protect than the thief who’d tried to steal his coin purse and the man who’d nearly killed his king?

“Wardings,” Remus mumbles to himself, eyes unfocused like he’s lost in thought.

“This meeting is a bad idea,” Janus implores one last time, clinging to the feeble hope that this latest development might be enough for Remus to see some sense, but the other man doesn’t even seem to hear him, just shoves his hands into his pockets and sets off down the street.

One day Janus’ family would actually listen to him. Clearly not today.

“Most of our ideas are,” Virgil quips, grabbing one of Janus’ elbows and tugging him forward. “Come on, we gotta make sure Remus doesn’t get himself killed.”

~~~

It’s a long time they scout the abandoned building Remus has chosen for their meeting spot, watching for signs of anything amiss or the guards Remus had told his brother not to bring. For once, Janus almost wishes they would appear, just so he could have an excuse to drag Remus and Virgil out of such an utterly foolish situation.

But it’s just Roman who shows up, right on time, Logan and Patton in tow. Evenly matched, then, by numbers if not ability of force.

Patton seems more subdued than usual, undoubtedly remembering how things went the last time all six of them were in one room, although he still smiles and waves at them like they’re old friends. Logan is expressionless, not giving anything away, but there’s an unmistakable tension in the lines of his body and his silver gaze is sharp as ever as he appraises the three of them. And Roman looks like he’s caught somewhere between cheering and bursting into tears, staring at Remus like he’s never seen him before and never will again.

“Start explaining,” Remus says shortly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Everything, from the beginning.”

“Can we, um—can we sit?” Roman asks uncertainly, gesturing to the dusty crates scattered across the floor, and after a moment’s hesitation Remus nods, perching on the edge of one of the boxes, although Janus doesn’t miss the way his hand stays casually resting atop the hilt of his sword.

The king settles onto his own makeshift seat, beginning to talk, something about the coup and forged documents and traitors, but despite the curiosity flickering at the edges of his mind, Janus hardly hears it. It’s Remus’ job to listen; Janus’ is to keep the three of them alive.

Logan and Patton have stepped up behind Roman, flanking him on either side, mirroring Janus’ and Virgil’s own position behind Remus, and Janus takes a moment to evaluate them more thoroughly. Neither have any visible weapons, although considering the fact that Janus has no fewer than three blades hidden on his person, he doesn’t doubt that they have something stashed under their clothes.

It’s not like they even need knives, though, not really, not when they have Logan. It’s not a comforting thought. Janus knows from painfully personal experience how to defend himself in a knife fight, but he’s pretty sure even his dirtiest fighting tricks aren’t going to help him against a bolt of magic burning him from the inside out.

Not that any of them need to know that he’s concerned, of course. He edges back enough to lounge against one of the wooden support pillars, crossing his arms over his chest in his best attempt at nonchalance, and stares down Logan, willing every fiber of his being to communicate I’m not threatened by you despite that he is, in fact, very threatened by the other man.

Logan returns the favor, those eerie silver eyes occasionally flickering to Remus or Virgil or Roman but always returning to meet Janus’ stare, his spine perfectly straight and hands tucked neatly behind his back, meeting Janus’ gaze like it’s a challenge he already knows he’s going to win. The mage is unnervingly impassive, but Janus isn’t stupid enough to let his guard down even a fraction; the scratches on Logan’s face may have healed, but he’s sure the other man hasn’t forgotten who gave them to him.

He’s so focused on making sure none of them will be smote into dust without warning, watching for the slightest twitch of Logan’s face or turn of his shoulder to indicate some imminent spell, that he all but tunes out the conversation between the twins, which isn’t ideal, but then again ideal isn’t a word that has ever been used to describe Janus’ life, so he’ll just grit his teeth and suffer through the hand he’s been dealt.

But even though Remus’ tone verges into blaming or even outright hostile at times, Roman’s never does, so Janus figures things can’t be going too badly, and he trusts that Virgil will alert him if things begin to go sideways without him noticing.

Until then, he’ll continue to stare Logan down. Dangerous work, but someone had to do it.

The meeting drags on late enough into the evening that shadows begin to enshroud them, which is simply wonderful for Janus’ nerves, and by the time they finally part ways a chill has settled into the night air and the first hints of moonlight have begun to paint the streets in pale softness. It’s nothing short of surreal that they’ve all survived the meeting without incurring so much as a scratch, and Janus can’t help but glance over his shoulder every other step as they make their way home, sure at any moment Roman or Logan is going to emerge from the darkness and attack.

But aside from the occasional critter skittering away from their footfalls, the roads remain deserted.

“Congratulations,” Virgil declares dryly as they filter back into the house and he latches the door behind them. “We all made it back in one piece.”

“Barely,” Janus grumbles into a pillow from where he’s collapsed face-first into the mattress. Being on high alert for so long was utterly exhausting. “Did you see the way that mage was looking at all of us? He was plotting something, I could just tell. And those eyes—no one should have silver eyes. That’s just unnatural.”

“So, do you believe him?” Virgil asks, and Janus snorts.

“I wouldn’t believe that man if he told me the grass is green.”

“Not you, you moron,” Virgil chides, kicking lightly at Janus’ legs. “Remus. Do you believe Roman?”

“Kind of.”

Apparently Janus should have been paying less attention to the existential threat posed by Logan and more attention to whatever the hell had been coming out of Roman’s mouth if Remus is falling for whatever bullshit story he’s been fed.

He shoves himself upright, staring at Remus where he’s rummaging through their food stash for something for dinner.

“That’s not a funny joke, Remus.”

“That’s good, because it’s not a joke at all, Janny.”

“You actually trust him?”

“I didn’t say I trusted him. I just said I kind of believe what he’s claiming about there being more to the story than I’d thought. I mean, his version of things sounds reasonable and everything he said checks out as far as I can tell. And he’s my brother.” He punctuates the sentence with a clatter of dishes on the table. “Sure, he was always a royal pain in my ass and ridiculously overdramatic and an insufferable goody two-shoes, but … he’s my brother.”

Janus isn’t entirely sure that counts for anything, given that some shared blood was hardly going to make Remus immune to a sword in the stomach or a blast of mage’s fire, but Remus is still going before he can get a word in edgewise.

“I don’t think he’s lying, for what it’s worth, but then again, he did always like acting and that’s just lying in another form, so maybe he’s just gotten scarily good at making up shit since we were seventeen. What’s your verdict on what my brother dearest had to say?”

“Sounded fine to me, I guess,” Virgil replies, shrugging. “Would have been better if he had stuck to the facts instead of adding in all the embellishing details about himself, but I didn’t hear any major holes in his story.”

“Janus?” Remus questions. “You’re the brains of the group. Thoughts?”

Shit.

Janus clears his throat, smoothing his hands over the blankets.

“I may not have been listening.”

Virgil and Remus both stare at him.

“You went on and on about how convinced you were that this was some kind of trap and then you got there and just decided to zone out?” Virgil asks incredulously, and Janus bristles.

“I would hardly call making sure you weren’t incinerated by a mage ‘zoning out,’ darling.”

“Don’t call me ‘darling’.”

“Okay, sweetie.”

“You little—”

“Don’t fight,” Remus interrupts. “Bloodstains are fun and all, but not when I have to get them out of the sheets. I’ll catch you up before tomorrow night, Jan.”

That, at least, Janus had heard—Roman asking them to meet again the next day, at the same time and place, to continue their discussion, and Remus, unbelievably, agreeing.

“Here,” Remus says, handing them two bowls and mugs of tea before settling on the mattress with Janus, Virgil perching on the edge of the table. “And I have a favor to ask you.”

“You know how much I adore favors.”

“Next time, do more than stare at the hot mage?”

Janus chokes on his tea, spluttering as he socks Remus in the arm, which only sets him to cackling, and Virgil snorts in amusement into his dinner.

“That is not—”

“Come on, you’re telling me you stared down Mr. Silver and Serious all night and you didn’t once wonder what he could do with those magic hands in bed?”

“I swear to the stars—”

“Relax, snakey. I just wanted to know if you would actually participate, since you’re the one with all the brain cells. If any of us can catch Roman in a lie, it’s you.”

Clearly he was the one with the brain cells, if Remus thought he’d been checking out the walking death threat that was Logan.

“I will do whatever you want as long as you swear to never refer to Logan as ‘the hot mage’ ever again.”

Remus grins, all sharp teeth and sparkling eyes.

“You really want me to make a promise just so I can break it?”

“Insufferable,” Janus grumbles, but he can’t help but agree to Remus’ request. If he can find something off in Roman’s story, it’ll send the whole thing crumbling down and they’ll finally have proof not to trust the king, and Janus wants nothing more than to put this whole thing behind them.

The three of them are up late into the night, first while Remus reads the entirety of Roman’s letter aloud so that Janus can hear it, stopping occasionally to add his own perspective or notes about various things, then while he and Virgil recount everything they can remember from the meeting. Over and over again, both in writing and in person, Roman has sworn that he had nothing to do with Remus being attacked, that the real culprits had been those who’d staged the coup as an internal power grab, that he’d been trying to make things right ever since he’d learned the truth. And as loath as Janus is to admit it, Remus is right: It does all sound convincing, and even picking Roman’s story apart from every angle he can think of, he can only come up with a few potential holes.

Not that the lack of evidence of Roman lying means that Janus is convinced of his claims, nor that he’s going to let the king off easy. Despite being so exhausted that he’s running on nerves and spite alone, he joins Remus the next evening in grilling Roman on everything imaginable at their second meeting, trying to corner him into contradicting himself, but although the royal clearly doesn’t appreciate being interrogated by Janus, his story doesn’t waver.

If the people involved in the coup had truly wanted power, why hadn’t they tried to kill Roman as well and taken the throne for themselves? They’d wanted control and influence without having to deal with the burden of royal responsibilities, and they surely hadn’t wanted to go through the messy process of determining the rightful heir, especially when it wouldn’t have been any of them, so a puppet king was their best option.

Why had Roman believed Remus was a traitor? He hadn’t at first, but everyone around him—people he’d known for years, people he’d trusted—had been unwavering in their insistence Remus had been plotting treason, and they’d provided substantial proof of their claims in the form of forged documents and falsified testimony.

Why hadn’t he realized he was being manipulated sooner? He hadn’t been used to being the one officially in charge and had immediately found himself struggling to deal with the massive power shift resulting from the coup, not to mention the fact that he’d been blinded with grief thinking Remus was dead, all of which rendered him simply too overwhelmed to untangle the web of lies he’d been fed.

Each and every one of Janus’ questions and accusations, readily met with a plausible explanation by the king.

A truly phenomenal turn of events. Janus is just so glad that Roman’s story is holding up and all of them are entangled in this mess a little longer.

Equally concerning is the gradual shift in Remus’ and Virgil’s attitude towards the others. Patton begins sneaking sweets to Virgil when he thinks Janus isn’t looking, and Virgil—the traitor—readily accepts them. By the third meeting the twins’ conversation branches out beyond coups and conspiracies, and by the fourth Remus actually snorts with laughter when Roman cracks a joke.

The four of them clearly aren’t quite comfortable around each other, but their interactions have lost the edge of wariness and distrust that still plague Logan and Janus, who still spend most of their time together eying the other like he’s about to go after the others with murderous intent.

Ironic how the two of them were the only ones with any sense.

Given the amicable air that has fallen over the rest of the group, perhaps Janus shouldn’t be surprised when at the end of their fourth meeting Roman has the audacity to catch Remus’ arm in his grip as they’re leaving. Janus hisses through his teeth, fingers already on his knife hilt, but Virgil sets a hand on his arm, a silent request to stand down.

“Have you thought about my question?” Roman asks, and Remus hesitates a moment before nodding, gaze cutting to Janus and Virgil.

“I’m still deciding.”

Question? What question?

“Just think about it,” Roman says. “The offer still stands.”

Oh, fuck no. Anything that involved Roman and an offer of any kind was bad news.

But Remus just nods again, clapping his brother on the shoulder before striding back to Janus and Virgil, throwing an arm around both of them and shepherding them out the door.

“Come on, let’s go home.”

Janus scowls, squirming out from under Remus’ arm as they emerge into the evening.

“What was that about?”

Remus hesitates, and for a moment Janus thinks he isn’t going to reply at all.

“He asked if I would go back to the castle with him. In his original letter. He said I could do whatever I want there, whether it’s taking back the throne or co-ruling with him or just living the high life at some fancy summer estate.”

Well, Remus had certainly forgotten to include that when he’d been reading it to Janus.

“Good riddance to him, then,” Janus snorts, but Remus doesn’t respond, just kicks a rock down the street, the other man uncharacteristically quiet the whole way back to their house.

Hopefully his silence meant he was doing a bit of overdue reflecting on the whole Roman situation and realizing how absurd it all was.

“Go back with him,” Janus scoffs later that evening, prodding at the smoldering logs in the fireplace from where he’s sitting on the floor. He doesn’t believe Roman’s proclaimed good intentions for a moment. Long-lost brothers did not simply show up out of the blue with the sole intention of escorting their twin and his street urchin friends back to a life of opulence and ease just for the hell of it. “Does he honestly think you’re that naive? There’s no way Roman is offering to take you back, let alone give up his throne for you, without some major catch. This whole thing stinks of a trap, and obviously he has to have some kind of ulterior motive—”

“Maybe there’s not.”

Janus pauses, arching an eyebrow at Virgil.

“Excuse me?”

“Maybe there’s not some nefarious plan,” Virgil says, tone creeping towards defensive even as he crosses his arms and levels a look just shy of a glare at Janus. “Roman hasn’t hurt us. He left us those gold coins so we could actually have enough to eat for once. He had Logan put those protection spells around the house. He’s conceded to all our requests for the meetings. He’s explained everything to Remus. Why would he do any of that if he just wanted to hurt us?”

“Yes, of course you’re smart enough to be able to detect any sophisticated scheming, Virgil. I’m sure there’s no way a literal king could outsmart you.”

Virgil’s look descends fully into a glare.

“Just because you’re so jaded that you can’t see any good in people doesn’t mean it’s not there. You’re not always right, Janus.”

“Me being jaded is precisely the reason the three of us are still alive, but I’m so sorry it’s turned out to be such a terrible inconvenience for you.”

“Would you get off your high horse for once in your fucking life? It’s not even your decision what to do, it’s Remus’.”

That, at least, was true, and Janus turns to the other man.

“Re?”

Silence for a long moment, Remus refusing to meet his gaze, and Janus’ stomach twists. Come on, Remus, don’t make me knock some sense into your skull.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, voice unusually quiet. “I don’t think he has anything up his sleeve. I mean, I still don’t trust him like when we were kids, but Virgil’s right. He hasn’t done anything to harm any of us, and why would he bother explaining everything if this is all some trick? He would never have the patience for a long con like that, anyway.”

Stars above. His two roommates might be idiots half the time, but they were certainly smarter than this.

“Remus—”

“I want to go back with him,” Remus bursts out, only to bite his lip like he hadn’t meant to say it, but when he speaks again his tone has an unmistakable edge of defiance in it. “I am going back with him. I’ve already decided.”

No.

Cold fear snaps at Janus’ blood, almost strong enough to eclipse the shock of Remus’ words. This can’t be happening, it can’t—

“You’re just going to leave us behind?”

“What? No, Jan, of course not. I’m only going on the condition that you two can come with me, and there’s no way Roman can say no to that. He has a lot to feel guilty about, and I’m certainly not above leveraging that guilt into a good life for all of us. You’re both free to make your own choice about going, of course—free will and all that jazz—but come on. You’ve wanted something more than this life for forever, and here’s your chance! Do you really want to keep stealing for the rest of your life until you inevitably get caught again and have a hot date with the gallows, or would you rather live in the lap of luxury with anything you could ever want right at your fingertips? ”

“No, I just—I want—”

I want the three of us to stay here. I want us all to stick together. I want to go back in time and never try to steal from Logan and I want Roman to have stayed home and I want to wake up and have all of this just be one terrible nightmare.

But for once his silver tongue fails him and he can’t get the words out as panic drags icy fingers down his spine, images of himself struggling to support Virgil flashing through his head, the two of them slowly starving with their trio reduced to a duo.

Remus can’t leave.

He turns to Virgil, desperate for some support, but the other man just shrugs.

“This life fucking sucks. I’m tired of living in poverty and stealing to get by and worrying all the time that one of us is going to be caught or killed. Roman might be a bit full of himself and Logan may be a little intimidating, but they don’t seem dangerous, and Patton is nice enough. What’s the worst that could happen? If Remus is going, I’m in.”

No. No, no, no. Janus has already lost his first family. He can’t lose his second one too.

Remus must read something on his face, a hint of the fear and panic and betrayal churning in his gut, because he reaches out for him, defiant expression crumpling.

“Jan—”

Janus jerks away from his touch, staggering upright and stumbling backwards.

“No. No! You can’t just leave. What am I supposed to do here by myself?”

“I don’t want you to be alone, that’s why I’m asking you to come with us—”

“This is absolutely ridiculous. What, you’re both fully ready to drop everything, completely abandon the life we’ve built here, all for the unproven promises of someone Remus was ready to kill a fortnight ago? Why don’t you ever listen to me when I say something is off about this?”

“Please, Janus.” Remus’ voice is hoarse, breaking ever so slightly on the words, face distraught as he stares up at him from the floor. “I don’t want to leave you behind, but I can't stay here either. Please just trust me.”

“I can’t, I can’t—”

He can’t speak, can’t think, can’t breathe around the lump in his throat, and he needs to get out.

He snatches his cloak from beside the door, evading Virgil’s hand as he swears and makes a grab for him.

“Don’t follow me,” he rasps, and flees into the night.

~~~

It’s late-verging-into-early when he finally makes his way back home after wandering the streets, exhausted from struggling to work through the convoluted knot of emotions that has woven tightly between his ribs and taken up a stranglehold on his heart.

He’s made marginal progress, he concludes as he slides down the front of the house, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, even if the sting of betrayal still lingers. At least he can actually think again.

He hasn’t wavered from his conviction that leaving with Roman is a terrible idea, that there are malicious motives underpinning the king’s desire for his twin to return to Sidera, despite both Remus and Virgil insisting otherwise. Fairy tale endings where everyone lived happily ever after simply didn’t happen in real life, and they especially didn’t happen to Janus, even if an outcast prince being reunited with his long-lost brother was something straight out of a fanciful legend.

Please just trust me.

Trusting Remus isn’t the problem. Trusting Roman is another matter entirely, and it’s not something Janus is remotely prepared to risk.

But—

—but Remus and Virgil are his family. Where they go, he goes, even if it’s into the lion’s den.

He blows out a long breath, tipping his head back to stare up at the stars shimmering over the city, their light slowly being eclipsed by the dull beginnings of dawn.

He’s going to regret this.

He stands, dusting himself off, and pulls the door open with fingers that have long since gone numb from the chill. Virgil and Remus are both still up, sitting in silence by the fire with two steaming mugs in front of them, and Remus stands as Janus comes in, looking like he’s bracing for the worst.

Janus nudges the door shut behind him, shrugging off his cloak and folding it neatly over one arm as he meets Remus’ gaze.

“When do we leave?”

---

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!): @joylessnightsky

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braxiatel · 2 years ago

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Hi hello hi I just caught up on equinox and it's making me insane I have so many thoughts I'm just going to throw all of them at you beloved mutual. Also I listened to the Hades ost while reading this and I think it rewired my brain chemistry. Also Equinox spoilers below dear readers.

QUITE FRANKLY I do not know enough about Ancient Greek myths because it was never an area of interest for me but never the less I have been GRIPPED. Atherix was like "I hate cheating stories and I am Making An Exception for this one" so of course i had to read it and now I am simply perched like a bird staring down at this it is fantastic. Oh my god I cannot wait for everything to run through the fan here.

Scar and Grian are SUCH a mess and it is a DELIGHT. You have truly captured the Vibes here my lord. The fact that Scar remains loyal for SO LONG after Grian stops paying attention to him and keeps a shrine to his husband and grian is just. GOING BEHIND HIS BACK. AUGH. MY HEART CANT TAKE THIS. and then SCAR being like "you know what i deserve it" far be it from me to cheer on someone cheating on their spouse but FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS MAN YES YOU DO. ESPECIALLY considering how Grian vs Scar's cheating parallel each other like Grian is LYING to himself and hurting both himself AND bigb in the process whereas Scar is FINALLY happy with Mumbo while S T I L L feeling the pull back to Grian and the way ALL of it parallels double life and how Grian and Scar see alliances and contracts as completely different and play the game different can anyone HEAR me I am SCREAMING

GOD I WANT TO SHAKE THEM ALL IN A JAR!!!!

And the fact that Mumbo is Etho's son [I think. I think I understand this dynamic correctly] is going to make me GNAW MY OWN ARM OFF ETHO MY BELOVED!!!!! AUGH HIS CHARACTERIZATION IS SO GOOD IM GONNA GO INSANE. I AM THROWING MYSELF OVER A FAINTING COUCH.

AND THEN BIGB'S NYMPH...TIE. BRANCH. THING BEING INSIDE GRIAN'S GARDEN BUT THE ONLY PRE-RELATIONSHIP THATS TAGGED IN MUMSCARIAN!!!! I AM SO SCARED FOR BIGB OH GOD

Oh my god and the way redstone works here has my heart. Delicate devicess that can blow up and be made big and complex its just so. Mwah. Mwah mwah mwah. I love redstone so much.

AND THEN ALL THE SOFT REDSCAPE WHERE MUMBO IS WORRIED BECAUSE HES A DEMIGOD THIS POOR MAN IS GONNA HAVE LIKE. 3 IDENTITY CRISIES TO GET TO THAT MUMSCARIAN TAG HUH. "I hate the gods I am a demi god i love a god I love two gods oh god[s]". My poor mumbo jumbo. Whump on him some more I love it.

AND JUST THE DESCRIPTION OF THE UNDERWORLD AUGH ITS SO!!!! The way you describe it is so vivid and yet also like ever shifting in my mind which tbf is how I would picture the actual underworld anyway and I just DLKFHSAFHKLADFKLHA I AM GOING MAD

AND CUB!!!! CUB MY BELOVED OH YOU HAVE CAPTURED HIS 'WAY TOO CHILL' ATTITUDE SO WELL GOOOOOOOOOOOOD. The scene between cub and grian i was just like GET HIS ASS!!!! GET HIS ASS!!!!!!!!!!!

AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH THE FACT THAT IM OUT OF EQUINOX STUFF TO READ NOW. SOB. I CANT WAIT FOR ME

Hello beloved mutual Stitch <3 Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts, I spent all morning being excited about this ask!

Thank you, yes! Double Life was the first life series I got to watch live, and I am just. I'm not over any of it tbh? at least 1% of my psyche is at all times devoted to screaming about this canon soulmate AU.

And honestly? I feel the same about cheating stories. But then cc!Grian said "I want to hang out with my bestie, so I'm gonna make my little guy be into his little guy" in double life and was then like tragedy! pain! despair! and I ate that shit right up.

Scar really did go "I can have a little gay summer flirt for myself, as a treat :)" and then turned around and fell Hard for Mumbo. Way harder than I think he thought he'd be able to with a mortal. Not that that's something he thinks about much, of course. Mumbo is just Mumbo to him, he doesn't care about what he is. Scar you really should tell him you're a god. You really should do that my dude.

Yes Mumbo is Etho's son and it was entirely accidental 😂 I was like "Well this is who Mumbo is in the AU and then a couple of days later "Oh I know who Etho is" and then it took me like an hour from there before I made the connection.

Top 1 reason I need mumscarian to become canon in this au soon, btw:

[ID in alt]

me in fic: redstone is so cool I love it so much redstoners my beloved me in mincraft: *sobbing, weeping, wailing as I rebuild an item sorter for the third time*

Honestly? Yes. Mumbo is just here trying to live his life meanwhile a tidal wave of god politics is building in the background. He's gonna have A Day when everything gets brought into the light. I'm sure he'll be Fine about his boyfriend of many years being something he's terrified of, though... right?

I am looking very hard at Cub's current lore, because that could be relevant for a future equinox thing and I badly want an excuse to bring him back.

Thank you < 3 I wrote a sentence on my WIP just now, just for you.

[ID: she grins, teeth like jagged shards of iron]

#ty :D #ask #mumscarian #hermitshipping #hermitcraft #equinox au #writing

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atherix · 2 years ago

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Dear Midnight readers,

We are gathered hear today to mourn the loss of Atherix after she was brutally murdered by both gnawing and shaking at the hands of Stitch.

Atherix was a lovely writer in their time, produce for us two quality chapters in a matter of hours and she will be missed.

The burial service will be on thee plot B at Fuck You Cemetery at Midnight Tonight.

I AM GOING TO SHAKE YOU SO MUCH. YOU ARE LIKE A SNOW GLOBE AND I AM AN OVERENTHUASTIC CHILD IM. I DON'T HAVE COHERENT THOUGHTS BC I READ THE FIRST CHAPTER WHILE INCOHERENT AND THE SECOND CHAPTER RIGHT AS I WOKE UP THIS MORNING. HOW FUCKING DARE YOU, FIRST OF ALL???????

GOD the glyph disappearing. The faCT THAT I KNOW WHY YOU FUCKING BROUGHT IT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM TORMENTED WITH KNOWLEDGE.

The comb, the memory sharing, the vulnerability as Scar puts it I am in LOVE

ALSO THEY SAID THE TITLE. I don't care that midnight is super common in the story it makes me happy anyway.

And Grian not getting the whole shadows are light but not thing is so funny. oh my god.

'the magic the gods hold' SHAKES YOU. SHAKING YOU. SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE.

OH AND THEN THE DREAM AT THE END THERE??? EXCUSE ME!!! I mean. I knew it would come back up. But the fact that its there is making me INSANE

and then the fucking. the ALLEY. 'Its been a few years' HOW MANY IS A FEW, GRIAN. I NEED TO KNOW, GRIAN. ARE YOU FUCKING SURE SIR???????? Listen. Listen. I didn't even think that maybe grian was in stasis or some shit til everyone else was like 'is grian actually like centuries old and doesnt know' BECAUSE NOW. I AM THINKING ABOUT IT. I AM CONNECTING DOTS. I AM FUCKING GNAWING ON SHIT. THE FACT THAT HE SPEAKS ANCIENT. THE FACT THAT SCAR'S TOME HAS ADDED LINES THAT WERENT IN HIS BOOK. THE STATE OF THE ALLEY. The crack was narrows but now theres a giant hole in the ceiling. Other creatures have taken up residency in the alley. Grian's constant 'hes a little confused but hes got the spirit' vibes about everything. MY GEARS ARE FUCKING SPINNING.

God the fact that Grian just goes in. That grian keeps gettingb pulled out of his own head by his mates. The fact that Mumbo pulls Scar and tubbo down because its definitely not safe for them to just stay outside the mountain oh my god but then. Then.

Why DO the Watchers want the Tome hidden in a city full of Observants is my fucking question that I still haven't cracked. This is like one of those geodes full of water - thunderegg? I think they're called??? But I have theories okay. If the watchers are supposedly all seeing but the Palace had them wandering around AND they were walking around in a physical enough form for Grian to kill THREE of them right. Right. And theres the whole - the watchers Grian remembers werent following the stuff inside the tome right. WHAT IF. WHAT THE FUCK IF. [I feel like im talking to like. a twitch chat bc I know you arent gonna say shit about it] BUT OKAY THESE WATCHERS ARE LIKE. DEVIANT. THEYVE STRAYED. AND THEYVE MADE A BREAK OFF WITH THE ALLEY. AND THEY MAKE PEOPLE HIDE THEIR TOMES TO HIDE THEM FROM THE EYES OF THE OTHER WATCHERS, WHO SEE THAT THE ONES WHOVE TAKEN FORM ARENT FOLLOWING THE RULES. IDK. LISTEN. I READ THIS HALF DELIRIOUSLY.

Why do I recognize the Magical Menagerie. And WHY does Grian take his Tome if he already has Scars unless theirs some like godling part of his brain thats just like, dragon hoarding all the tomes. What is going on. What the fuck.

I dont fucking know if I believe that grian's only been gone for five years at this point. Relatively recent abandonment my ass, Scar. Tubbo and Mumbo have already called it, I'm believing your anons, Grian is OLD. WHERE ARE THE REMAINS. 5 YEARS IS NOT LONG ENOUGH FOR BODIES TO DECAY COMPLETELY AWATY. ABSOLUTELY NOT. THIS PLACE IS OLD AS BALLS.

And the way Grian just FLIES off when he hears Tilly's bark and the fact that I fucking TRUSTED YOU!!!! THE PALACE LOOKED LIVED IN AND THEN YOU TORMENT ME WITH THEIR DEAD LOVED ONES?? YOU MAKE MUMBO WATCH AS ONE OF HIS MATES AND HIS COVEN CHILD HIT THE APPARITIONS OF HIS DEAD WIFE AND DAUGHTER????? EXCUSE ME HOW FUCKING DARE YOU????????

the watchers eat pets im calling it now. This is a completely baseless accusation. they eat the pets.

'They prey on your emotions and then consume everything you are' HEY UH. HEY THERE TUBBO. TUB TUB. HEY BESTIE. ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY YOUR PARENTS ARE ACTIVELY BEING CONSUMED??????

AND THEN THE FALLING. AND THE FACT THAT THEY ARE ALL SO FUCKED UP. I AM SHAKING YOU. YOU ARE A CHEW TOY TO ME RN.

Oh man, looks like I need to get fitted for the casket real fast hjkfgdhskg-

OKAY BUT THAT ENTIRE INTRO TO THIS MADE ME CACKLE LIKE A HYENA COME ON-

... Am I at least a pretty snowglobe- KHFSJKFHSJKFKSJ OKAY BUT I CACKLED MYSELF TO SLEEP LAST NIGHT JUST IMAGINING YOU WAKING UP AND LOOKING AT YOUR PHONE AND SEEING MY "YOU'RE GONNA KILL ME" AND THE UPDATE NOTIF AND IT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT <3

HEHEHEHE :) KNOWLEDGE YOU CAN NEVER SHARE WITH ANOTHER READER HEHEHEHE. Idk if it'll be catharsis when it comes up again but HFKSHFKJSK :)

He's trying to be better for them <3 Trying to be more open and honest and let them in more <3 And the memory sharing- it means so much more this time because last time he shared his memories with them they were asking questions, but this time he volunteered the info himself- invited them to see it, and I am so khfdshgkjdfshgkjfd I am so NORMAL about them <3

I LOVE A GOOD TITLE DROP <3 And hey. Midnight is very significant in the Midnight series :) Cough cough a midnight sun.... the Midnight Alley........ a midnight Eclipse.................. :)

Grian over here like "LIGHT IS LIGHT AND SHADOW IS SHADOW" lmaaoooo I love him, magic is a conundrum to him.

🙂 Hehe~

LOOK. LOOK IT WAS A PERFECT CHANCE. HOW COULD I RESIST :)

Hey. Hey Stitch. Looks like there are some surprises I haven't mentioned to you yet LMAO <3 I will neither confirm nor deny anything, and I shall explain nothing <3 I will say this, though.... for someone running away, Grian sure hasn't met anyone looking for him, has he. :)

Grian is just. So. Stubborn. If he didn't have Mumbo and Scar to reel him in this would have gone So Bad hjfdkjk but also the fact that he LETS them help him I am just so hjkfdskkfds

You are speaking to a chat, yes, because I can answer literally NONE of those :'D And these are questions I will not answer in private either <3 I need to leave SOME mysteries for you <3

You know, if the last page of the Tome is different, I wonder what else might be. Just. Just saying. :) As for why you recognize Magical Menagerie, it was mentioned in Midnight Melody, so <3

*cough*alsostalactiteswhereglassusedtobe*cough* Sorry sorry got something stuck in my throat, but :) It's an interesting idea isn't it, my dear Stitch and readers~

Haha the Palace IS lived in :) :) TRUST ME. IT'S OKAY TO TRUST ME HAHA <3 Okay but also Scar having that split moment of like "oh shit what do I do I know it's not his dead wife but it LOOKS like her" and just hjfdhsjkghdskj BUT I FUCKING DARE <3

HFSJUKHFKJS LMAO baseless accusation but you know what, they don't deserve the benefit of the doubt.

:) Hehehe

WHERE WILL THEY LAND I WONDER? HEY STITCH. STITCH DO YOU REMEMBER. I MENTIONED IT BEFORE. :) But. But hehehe <3

#Ask #Midnight Series #One of the fun parts about telling a friend some of your twists is that they have no clue the OTHERS are coming #so while they're waiting for That Twist you slam them with This One out of left field LMAO <3 #Long Post

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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years ago

Text

What’s Yours Isn’t Mine, But What is Mine?

Yes, I do love me some young rage baby Satan, and that’s what you’re getting tonight. Little Satan is going through some stuff, and Lucifer tries his best to comfort him.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst (nothing too severe)

Warnings: Mentions of chronic pain, minor self deprecation (sort of)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Satan.”

The little wrath demon did not reply. He sat scrunched up in one of the library couches, his nose buried in a book. Lucifer tsked under his breath. It was well past two in the morning and Satan knew damn well he shouldn’t be up so late.

“Satan.” Lucifer said again, leaving the doorway of his study and clasping Satan’s shoulder from behind the couch. The child sat bolt upright and whirled around, his eyes were wide with momentary terror, then his face melted into a tired scowl.

Upon seeing the expression, the bags under the child’s eyes, the slight tremble in his lip, Lucifer had to refrain from wincing. “What was it this time?”

Satan gnawed on the inside of his cheek, he sharply turned back to the book he was reading, holding it up to his face to obscure Lucifer’s view.

“I’m sending you back to bed if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” Lucifer said, his voice holding that clipped parental tone that Belphie and Mammon had taken to teasing him for. Satan loudly sniffled, then snapped the book shut.

“She fell again.”

No matter how many times Lucifer had to hear those words, it never didn’t feel like a punch hammered into his gut. His entire body tensed as what felt like all the air was squeezed out of his lungs.

“A-ah.” Lucifer stiffened as he tried to take a proper breath. “I… I see.”

“You jumped after her… you didn’t catch her… Diavolo showed up and-”

“And what?!”

Satan flinched at the harsh snarl that escaped Lucifer’s throat. As Lucifer registered Satan’s panicked stare, Lucifer forced his hackles to smooth.

My… how the mighty hath fallen. The great Lucifer Morningstar, desperately praying for someone no more than a child to not know his greatest shame.

“Sorry, Satan.” Lucifer sighed, he moved to the front of the couch and sat next to the young Avatar of Wrath. The boy stiffened, his blue eyes narrowed and Lucifer subjected himself to the child’s analytical glare. “I’m just tired. I’m not angry.”

Satan held his glare for a moment longer, before sighing and nodding. He rubbed his eyes and seemed to almost fold in on himself. Normally, Lucifer would lecture him on poor posture, but at this point, the Avatar of Pride was sure his own posture was no better.

“I don’t remember anything after that… it’s too fuzzy…”

Lucifer let out an involuntary sigh of relief, which thankfully, Satan didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s so weird…”

“Hm?”

“It’s weird, Lucifer.” Satan began, his fingers slightly twitching as he spoke. “I see these dreams… These memories… they’re you, but it feels like it’s me.”

The silence that hung in the air was as thick and suffocating as molasses. Lucifer felt himself tense again as he dug his nails into his legs.

“I’m an Angel… but I’m not an Angel. I’m you, but I’m not… I’m me…” Satan looked up at Lucifer, then tilted his head. Like looking in a god damned mirror… “We were a really high ranking Angel, huh?”

Pride twisted Lucifer’s gut into knots as he digested the question. We? Oh no, there was no we.

“I was a high ranking Angel, Satan. Not you.”

The hint of a growl on the end of Lucifer’s voice was enough to make Satan lightly growl back. He bared his tiny fangs and narrowed his eyes again.

“How can you be so sure? How much of me is me and how much is… how much is just you? I was a part of you first, wasn’t I?!”

“Yes.” Lucifer said through gritted teeth as he felt his chest tighten like a python was wrapped around his torso, slowly squeezing any air out of him. Nearly every part of Lucifer’s brain screamed for him to lash out. Your achievements are not his. How dare he ride on your coattails? Were you the best and brightest of your father’s angels? Are you the greatest and most powerful fallen Angel? Or are both of you?

“You were born of my wrath, but you are not me.”

Satan leapt of the couch, pointing an accusatory finger at Lucifer. His eyes shone a brilliant and dangerous green as his fangs began to sharpen and grow.

“Then why do I feel sad about her?!”

The two demons stared at each other. Lucifer watched as Satan’s face went from defiant, to almost… grief stricken. The child’s vision seemed to gradually turn glassy and unfocused, his lower lip went from curling into a snarl to trembling. It was an expression Lucifer knew all too well. The expression his brothers had worn for years after their fall.

“Why do I… why do I miss her..?”

Lucifer watched as tears began to well in Satan’s eyes before the dam broke. Heavy sobs wracked his tiny frame as his clawed hands flew to his face to wipe away the onslaught of tears. Through the hiccups, Satan repeated the question, over and over.

“Why does my back hurt from things that didn’t happen to me?! Why do my hands begin to shake when I see those stupid angels?!” Satan dug his palms into his eyes and attempted a weak glare at Lucifer. “Why do… Why do I feel like I couldn’t save her..? Why do I feel like I ruined everything everyone had?! Why do I feel like such a stupid failure?!”

Before he could even think, Lucifer lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the little Avatar of Wrath and holding him close. After a moment’s hesitation, Satan’s shaking arms wrapped around Lucifer, clinging to him like if he let go, Lucifer would vanish.

“These feelings aren’t entirely your’s, Satan.” Lucifer said quietly as Satan’s sobs dissolved into quiet sniffles. “They’re mine. I’m sorry you have to feel them too. If it were my choice, they’d be only my burden to carry.”

Lucifer gently pulled away, and placed his hands on Satan’s shoulders. He willed the child to look him in the eyes as he spoke. “You aren’t me, Satan. We are very similar, yes. We share memories and pain sometimes, yes. But we are not the same. You make your own achievements, you’ll make your own mark on the worlds.”

Satan stared at Lucifer, his body occasionally jolting with a hiccup, before shakily nodding. Lucifer tilted his head and sighed.

“You’ve already done so much on your own,” Lucifer began, attempting to make his tone more gentle. “I’m not the one who tore apart Asmo’s sweaters, we both know full well it wasn’t Cerberus.”

A sudden bout of shakey laughter replaced Satan’s sobs as the child wiped the last of his tears from his face. “Are you ever going to let that go..?”

Satan let out a yawn, and Lucifer took that as his cue to scoop him up and carry him back to his room.

“No, I don’t think I’m going to just let that little piece of information go, Satan.” Lucifer teased as he quietly walked down the hallway and up the stairs. “After all, I was the one who got yelled at for it, and had to pay for the replacements.”

The Avatar of Wrath covered his mouth and giggled, his big blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, I know that you threw a wooden sword at Michael and blamed it on Raphael~!”

“Let’s… keep that a secret between us.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Satan was his own demon, he made damn well sure everyone knew that.

As the years flew by, any comparisons to Lucifer went from being met with bashful thanks, to tantrums, to near-homicidal rage. The Avatar of Wrath was not Lucifer, and the Avatar of Wrath was going through a 300 year long rebellious phase.

Any similarities in interest the two had shared and even bonded over were shoved into the dark corners of Satan’s mind as he carved out his own path in the world. At first this was met with a measure of pride. Ah, what a strong willed independent demon Lucifer had managed to raise. Oh what a good job he had done.

But when Lucifer’s precious bundle of rage turned his rebellion on him was when the Avatar of Pride took issue.

Satan was his own demon, now. Any offers of help or guidance was met with a death glare.

Anyone with a brain could tell Satan wasn’t the only one to blame for this, as Asmodeus and Levi were oh-so fond of pointing out.

“You smothered him.”

“You tried to raise a miniature you, and now he’s pissed about it.”

Lucifer knew they were right, but oh how he loathed to admit his mistakes.

These were the thoughts that plagued Lucifer’s mind as he sat at his desk one particular evening. He absent mindedly clicked his pen open and shut as the soreness in his lower back began to spread. He shut his eyes and gripped his pen tightly.

Oh father, why now..?

Pain like he had been stabbed in the back exploded from the base of where his lower wings once were. Old injuries like that weren’t easy to heal…

Lucifer clenched his pen in a white knuckled grip until he felt the thing snap and fall apart. Ink spurted from both ends of the pen, bleeding onto the papers scattered across his desk, and eventually seeping into the wood. Barely able to conceal a snarl of pain and frustration, Lucifer shakily got to his feet. He needed a hot drink to deal with this…

As he made his way to the kitchen, he heard the shriek of the tea kettle. Lucifer couldn’t help but scowl as nausea creeped into his gut. Whoever was boiling water was going to have to boil more because he was-

He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Satan, clenching the ends of the counter in a vice grip, his face twisted in sharp discomfort.

“…Satan?”

The Avatar of Wrath’s eyes snapped open, he shot an ice cold glare at Lucifer as he poured the boiling water into two mugs, then dropped in the tea bags.

Fast as lightning, Satan shot one of the mugs skidding down the counter towards Lucifer, who shot out his arm to catch it.

Lucifer and Satan stood at opposite ends of the room, eyes locked to the other. No one dared move a muscle.

Satan’s face twisted into a snarl as he grabbed his mug and stormed out of the kitchen.

“Fuck you, Lucifer.” He hissed under his breath as he stormed upstairs.

Bewildered, Lucifer looked down at his mug, a familiar aroma made its way into his nostrils. A hint of peppermint, but not too strong…

Satan didn’t like this kind of tea…

A smile creeped across Lucifer’s lips as he took a sip of his drink.

As different as they were… they were still as tightly woven together as they were all those years ago…

——————————

Author’s Note

Ah, child Satan my beloved… I just have a lot of feelings… okay????

I went into this not fully knowing what I wanted it to be, but I think I hit my stride ;) enjoy, you angst hungry little devils!

#obey me #Obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date?#obey me Lucifer #Obey me Satan #Obey me Baby Satan #Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Satan #Obey me fic #Obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #obey me! fic #obey me! fanfic #obey me! fanfiction #obey me angst #obey me hurt/comfort

436 notes · View notes

lemonjoonah · 4 years ago

Text

The Garden Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Word Count: 9.3K Genre: Hybrid AU, romance/drama/comedy, enemies to lovers Warnings: Unprotected sex, oral sex (fem. rec.), they get down and dirty outside but no one else is there to see them, cum play? (just a little), there’s also a bit of mud (sorry, but also not sorry, they’re outside what do you want from me?!?!), referenced hybrid neglect and oppression (hybrids are wrongfully deemed as pets by law and the majority of society).

Summary: Your beloved vegetable patch has once again been victimized by a hungry thief in the night. The prime suspect? Jeon Jungkook, your neighbour's rabbit hybrid. But when you finally confront him, he pleads innocent, and proposes a plan to clear his name.

A/N: I wrote this fic’s premise and opening scene for the ‘A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Game’ that I played oh so long ago and now I’ve finally finished the tale!

...

“Oh for fuck’s sake, not again!” You swear upon seeing the leafy green remains of several carrots lying in your garden, inches from where they used to be buried. This maddening mystery of the vanishing vegetables has been playing out all summer. You’ve set out deterrents for every possible garden pest, rolling out chicken wire and spraying natural remedies to repel anything from bugs to small rodents. Yet you still wake to find that your garden has been robbed in the night. The only possible suspect you haven’t been able to protect against resides just next door, in fact—

You squint up at the boarded fence, spotting a pair of long dark ears peeking out over the posts. “Jungkook, is that you?”

The ears immediately disappear, ducking down behind the barrier. The sound of his hurried footsteps trailing away are followed only by the slamming of a door.

You rush into and through your own house carrying the wilted carrot greens. Exiting out the front, and over to the house next to yours, where you repeatedly press the bell.

The entry whips open on the fourth ring to reveal Jungkook. His face is flushed, beads of sweat racing down his brow, and a shirt that one would normally use to cover their chest, is instead thrown over his shoulder. “Something wrong neighbour?” He asks with a carrot stick in hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he taunts you with a bite and crooked grin.

“Is-is your caretaker home?” You stutter trying your best to swallow your nerves. Concentrating hard on his face, you plead with your eyes not to wander down. That’s exactly what he wants, a reason to put you off your mission, to make you so flustered that you have to walk away. He’s always trying to use his allure against you, and you hate how often he succeeds doing just that...

“No, he’s at work.”

“When will he be back?”

“Not sure, maybe a week, or two? He’s on a business trip.”

Your gaze falters in it’s determination for a brief second as a drop of sweat descends from his neck to his chest. Holding your breath you watch it’s path, tracing the valleys between his muscles. When Jungkook finally wipes it away your brain catches up and scolds you for your weakness. “And he left you here, alone?” You ask, while trying to recollect your dignity, reminding yourself of how much grief he has put you through.

“Of course.” Jungkook’s smile grows. “I’m not just some common pet. I know how to behave myself.”

The statement makes your brow twitch, enraging you enough to overcome his tactics. “I know you haven’t been here long, but you should know, people typically don’t like it when someone steals from their yard.” You lecture him, waving the carrot tops in front of his face. “So stop treating my garden like your own personal snack bar!”

“Now why would I take from you? I have plenty of food here, even got another delivery this morning.” The hybrid kicks at a box next him filled with a vibrant collection of fresh produce and grains.

“I don’t know why. I just know it was you.”

“Prove it.” He prods, while taking the last bite of the vegetable from his hand.

The loud crunching gnaws on your composure, stripping you of any patience you may have had for the hybrid. “This all started when you moved in, and I’ve ruled everything else out!” You shout, but as good as it might feel to finally vent your anger, you feel as though you’re somehow playing into his hand.

“That doesn’t seem like very good evidence. It’s circumstantial at best. If you want to find out who the real culprit is you should have a stake out.”

“A stake out?”

“Yeah, you know, watch over the garden for the night, catch the criminal in the act. I could even help if you’d like.”

You scoff at the ridiculous notion. “You really think I should invite you over to guard my crops?”

“I do, so I’ll come over tonight? Say around seven?” You open your mouth to object, but the rabbit hybrid jumps from one statement to the next casually inviting himself into your own home. “Perfect. See you then.”

“I didn’t-no wait, that was sar-” The door closes between you before you can finish. Leaving you baffled and alone on the doorstep. You ready to knock but stop just before your knuckles hit the wood. Trying again right now is a lost cause, it’ll just play into his game. So why waste your breath when you know it’ll just end the same way? Tonight then, as he suggested, that’s when you’ll be ready to hit him with some hard evidence that he won’t be able to refute.

Admitting defeat for now, you retreat back to your garden to pick the surviving vegetables and contemplate the encounter. You wish your could have just spoken to Jungkook’s caretaker—fuck what was his name again? You’ve only seen the man a couple times since they took the house, but at least he doesn't give you a nervous knot in your stomach, or leave you confused and speechless like his hybrid does.

It’s been three months since they moved in. You were excited at first, to have new neighbours in your almost vacant cul-de-sac. Buyers don’t seem to be interested in the old houses with large lots in your area. Too much work to maintain, and not enough good job prospects to go around. So when you saw the sold sign go up you were beyond thrilled. Greeting the new residents with a fruit basket and a smile.

The rabbit hybrid you now know as Jungkook appeared rather shy at first, you did your best to welcome him. Always greeting him when he was outside, trying to engage him in small chat, but the first time you caught him during his workout everything changed. Until that point you had not considered him as anything but a prospective friend. You were stunned to see him in such a confident state, throwing around his weights like they were nothing. In that moment, with you too nervous to admit that you found him attractive, you became the anxious and blubbering fool in his presence, and he, unfortunately, took note. The once quiet and cute rabbit, became a flirtatious and bratty bunny.

And since then, whenever you would work in your garden he’d be on the other side of the fence grunting and panting. Staying close to the gap in the divider, a missing panel you had yet to replace. On days like today you would often look up from your radishes and accidentally lock eyes with the hybrid, drenched in sweat and showing off his skills.

Out of respect and self preservation you tried your best to not to pay attention, to keep your nose buried in your garden, but as the weeks went by the vegetables under your care started to disappear. The ample crops you tended to in the evening, lessened by morning, with only the refuse remaining to indicate it’s former presence. You didn’t want to point fingers immediately, but today was the final straw, and tonight no matter how hard he tries to distract you, you will find him guilty.

After harvesting the choice crops for the day and watering the rest. You dust yourself off, settling inside and in front of your computer; opening the visitors page for your place of work, the city's greenhouse conservatory. To help promote the centre in the community the staff all take turns writing articles revolving around their own projects or home gardens, and you’re up next in the rotation. You stare at the blank document for several minutes trying your best to concentrate on the task, but you are unable to think of anything other than the mischievous hybrid next door.

Embracing the topic of your aggravation, you start the post off with a title sure to catch the eye of any reader, ‘Garden Thieves.’

‘We’ve all been there, finding a tomato just about to reach its peak ripeness. We give it another day to grow into perfection, only to find it missing later on. In your absence something else has taken it into its own clutches. I myself have been dealing with a vegetable thief for several weeks, so if you are struggling like I am, here are a few things that might help. ’

You proceed to outline several garden pests uploading photos of their damage, along with quick remedies to deter their presence. Netting to block the sparrows, raised beds and fences to keep out most rodents or mammals, and a caffeine solution to stave off slugs.

‘I hope this may help you all in your efforts to keep your plants safe, but I must add a disclaimer. Unfortunately nothing here is completely foolproof. Even if you do follow all of these steps you still might lose some of your crops to a crafty critter. But I wish you the best of luck on all of your backyard battles. I myself plan to face off with my own long-eared menace tonight.’

You finish your post with a smile. Sending it off to your coworker Namjoon to get his approval before you make it public.

He calls a few minutes later, his laughter carrying through the speaker. “That was easily the best article you’ve written all year. You should definitely post it.”

“Thanks.” You chuckle, hitting the submit button. At the very least feeling a bit relieved to have one less task weighing on your mind. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I take it you’re still having trouble with that hybrid neighbour of yours?”

“Yeah,” you groan. You’ve complained to Namjoon about the issue several times in the past month. It must have been all too easy for him to read between the lines and see what set you off to create this specific entry. “But he refuses to admit it was him. It’s like he’s trying to make me question my skills as a gardener and I hate it! I went over to talk to his caretaker but he’s away on business for a couple weeks.”

“He left him alone for that long? What about food?”

“He’s been getting deliveries. By the looks of it, he has a healthier diet than I do.”

Namjoon pauses on the line giving you only a simple, “Huh...” in a long break.

“What?”

“Well it’s just-” A loud buzzing sound erupts through the phone line cutting off his answer. A noise you know to indicate someone is at the back door. “That’s weird. I didn’t think we were supposed to get anything delivered today. No one else is here.... did you have anything scheduled to come in?”

“No.” You double check the calendar sitting on your desk. “I shouldn’t have anything until next Monday.”

Namjoon puts you on hold while he checks on the reason for the interruption, returning only a minute later. “It’s a delivery all right, but are you sure these aren’t yours? I’m seeing a lot of tropical species on the invoice. Combretum rotundifolium, Heliconia angusta, Myrciaria dubia-”

You mouth a swear as Namjoon carries on with his list. It’s obvious they are indeed the specimens of your expected batch. You're in the process of redesigning one of the tropical habitats. The lead director was adamant that the conservatory host a butterfly exhibition in the next coming year, and in order to support the grandiose endeavour you are required to introduce a vast amount of new flowering species over the next few months. “How many in total?”

“About two dozen. Looking pretty rough from the journey too.”

You’re not surprised by their current state. This summer is already one of the hottest and driest on record, and all the stock you had received this season was excessively wilted and near death because of it. “Do we have any holding houses with humidifiers available?”

“Not at the moment,” There’s a clatter in the background as Namjoon sorts through what must be the slack of clipboards. “But I’ve got the inspection chart here and your last delivery did just finish it’s quarantine. No signs of pests or illness, so they’re clear to plant. That should free up some space for you.”

“That’ll have to do. Thanks for checking.” Standing up from your desk with a sorrowful sigh. You mourn the loss or your afternoon off as you start to dress for a day of hard labour. Throwing on your work-issued overalls over your t-shirt and shorts. Unfortunately you can’t just leave the new stock to sit out under the beating sun. With little humidity outside and no protection they’ll be burnt to a crisp if you delay too long. But the worst part is that your planting staff isn’t scheduled until later in the week, and that volume of work will put you well into the middle of the night before you complete it. “I’ll be in soon to deal with it.”

“That’s a lot of planting to do on your own. I can help if you-”

“I can’t take you away from your trees, isn’t there a bonsai exhibition next week you have to prepare them for?” He’s been agonizing over this showcase for so long you couldn’t possibly inconvenience him now with your own troubles. “It’s fine, really. I’ll call to see if anyone else is willing to come in today.” You hang up letting Namjoon return to his tasks, and work your way down the contacts for the gardening staff as you prepare yourself to leave. Though as expected, all of those who answer have prior commitments and won’t be able to assist.

Grabbing your badge and plans for the updates to the garden you slip back out into the noon-day sun, so strong it’s turned your car into an oven on wheels. You’re just about to pull it into reverse when you spot the blinds shift in your neighbour’s window. Prompting you to recall the plans he had made for tonight.

With all the work you have, it’s doubtful you’ll be back home for seven. You return to Jungkook’s door to give him the news. He has it open before you can even knock, his usual smirk crawling across his face as he greets you.

“About tonight... something has come up at work and I really don’t know how late I’ll be.”

His ears perk up. “You’re going into the conservatory?”

“Yeah,” you respond, somewhat shocked that he remembered where you work. It’s been a couple months since you mentioned it while introducing yourself to him and his caretaker. “An order came in earlier than expected. I’ll likely be planting all day and night.”

“I can help,” he offers, already stepping out to join you, and locking the door behind him.

“You want to help?”

“Of course, isn’t that the neighbourly thing to do?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t want it or expect it from someone who terrorizes my own garden.”

“Allegedly,” Jungkook corrects. “And wouldn’t you rather have me with you, under your supervision, than here, all alone with only a measly fence between me and your impressive bell pepper harvest?”

“Stay away from my peppers!” You scold, pointing your finger at him. “Even if I wanted to take you, what about your caretaker? Don’t you need his permission to leave and work?”

“He’s never paid attention to my whereabouts before, and it’s not work if you don’t pay me. I’ll just be a volunteer. You have people volunteer all the time right?”

“Yes but-”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright, fine.” You finally agree though with a heavy dose of reluctance. Namjoon often brings his own hybrid in so it shouldn’t be a problem. “But if I see you nibble on even a single leaf, you’re coming straight back here.”

“Deal.” He rushes past you straight to your passenger seat and buckles himself in. Practically bouncing with excitement beside you as you pull out and head towards the conservatory.

The minutes pass and you try your best to focus on the road but you’ve never been so close to Jungkook in such a small space. And with his built frame taking up most of the car, he’s hard for you to ignore. His ears folded against the roof and his shoulders so wide they brush repeatedly against yours.

“Ever been to the conservatory before?” You ask, trying to divert your mind from the battle which builds inside you. A wavering war between frustration and attraction, with the former trying it’s best to pin down the latter, a move which only arouses the latter more...

“No, I’ve wanted to go ever since you mentioned it but my caretaker hasn’t had the time.”

“Oh.” A sense of pity joins the ranks of your emotions, nudging at you as you pull into the lot. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Why are you sorry?” Jungkook asks in a low whisper, snapping back to his flirtatious behaviours. His mouth turns up at the corner as he leans into you, so close that his drooping ears graze the top of your head. “Would you have taken me earlier if I had mentioned it?”

“N-no,” you choke out. Placing your hand on his solid chest, you push him back and away. As tempting as his advance might be to accept, you know his forwardness to be nothing more than an act to make a fool of you. Why else would he try to both seduce you, and steal from right under your nose? “You’re only here today because I am in desperate need of help, and I can’t trust you to be alone.”

...

You lead him through the unoccupied greenhouses. The conservation is closed to the public today (as it is every Monday and Tuesday); which usually allows for some time off, but at least now it’ll give you a chance to work unimpeded by visitors. Your own curated section is located in the most humid of all the houses, set in such a way to mimic the tropical environment you are attempting to represent.

The first stop is the holding house where the carts of new stock wait just outside. Grabbing an empty trolly you enter and start to load up those that are ready to plant. Jungkook following your actions does the same, easily lifting the heavy planters that you yourself struggle with. “Thanks,” you whisper as he relieves you of a particularly burdensome tree. To which he smiles in return.

After making the switch, by placing the recent delivery in the house for it’s quarantine, you lead him to the supply closet. Where you collect a couple shovels, trowels, and two pairs of gloves. As you continue to scan for anything else you might require, Jungkook pops in behind looking at the shelves with a sense of curiosity. He reaches up and over you to a spray bottle labeled ‘slug repellent.’

“We won’t need that, it’s for the outdoor gardens,” You explain. “It’s just a mixture of ca-”

“Caffeine and water?”

You snap your gaze to him. “How do you know that?”

He bites his lip as a snicker starts to escape. “Just a bit of morning reading. I found an interesting article with that particular tidbit. One which also happened to reference the exploits of a long-eared menace.”

“Y-you read the conservatory blog? You read my post? No one reads that, there can’t have been more than ten views!”

“Which is such a shame.” He goads you. “I’ve found your work to be both informative and comical. You really have me rooting for you in your quest to catch your thief.”

You groan in utter fury. “Why must you be so-so-”

“Handsome? Funny? Caring?”

“Antagonizing!”

“Because you seem to take more notice when I am.” Jungkook answers, with a turn of his heel, his tail poking out from under his shirt as he starts to walk away with the cart. “And I like seeing that perplexed look of yours. Your nose is cute when you scrunch it up like that.”

You remain in the shed, your traitorous heart beating erratically over the fact that he called a part of you cute. While your more sensible side grabs your nose and smooths out the wrinkles he referenced.

“Should we get to work?” He calls out after you. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go home and expose that bandit of yours.”

You roll your eyes and follow him out, before taking the lead to your tropical glasshouse. The air sticks to your skin the moment you enter. Jungkook lets out a long exhale behind you tugging on the collar of his shirt. “Is it always like this in here?”

“It’s a bit warmer today, but not by much. Are you already regretting your decision to help?” You tease him.

“Nope,” he answers, slinging a shovel over his shoulder. “Show me where to dig, and I’ll get to it.”

Pulling out your plans for the new exhibit arrangement, you select a couple species placing them on the empty plots of garden as directed, careful to allow for future growth. Jungkook follows behind digging out their new homes faster than at least three of your staff members combined.

You stare at him for a second, unable to believe the pace at which he’s going. “Something wrong?” He asks, pausing to lock eyes with you.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d be so quick at digging.”

“I’m part rabbit, what did you expect?” Jungkook boasts with a chuckle and a raised brow. “I share their strengths. Especially when it comes to burrowing and fu-”

His words are cut short when a fresh breeze from the outside washes over the both of you, a sure sign that someone must have entered the greenhouse. Your neighbour goes rigid, his nose lifts into the air and his ears fall back flat against his head. “Jungkook what’s-” Leaping up he closes the gap and grabs you. Tucking you into him with his chin resting on your head, where a warm and earthy scent envelopes you. His breaths are quick and deep, causing his chest to rapidly rise and fall against your back.

Namjoon’s voice calls out to you. “... are you in here?”

“Over here!” You yell out in reply, before turning back to the hybrid who still has you locked in his clutches. “What the hell Jungkook? Let me go! Now’s not the time for your games.” Sure it might feel nice to be wrapped in his arms, to get lost amidst his aroma. At any other time you might even consider taking a moment before chastising his boldness. But here? Now? And with Namjoon coming to greet you? No, this is too much.

You try to push him away like you have before, but this time it’s as if he’s set in stone, and not registering you at all. He focuses only on the direction your coworker's voice hailed from. “That scent, he smells like-”

“There you are.” Namjoon interrupts stepping around a flowering bush and into view, looking surprised by your guest. “Oh, hello there.”

The point of Jungkook's chin rubs against your head as he grips you even tighter. Embarrassed and confused by the hybrids embrace. “Jungkook, this is Namjoon.” You introduce your coworker while delivering an elbow to Jungkook’s gut. He finally snaps out of his trace and lets you go though he continues to hover behind. “He works with the bonsai of the conservatory.”

“You must be the neighbour I’ve heard so much about, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Namjoon extends his hand to the hybrid, but Jungkook ignores the gesture, choosing to glare instead, with his nostrils flared and his ears pinned back.

“Jungkook?” You whisper trying to chase him from his mood.

Namjoon gives him a nervous smile. “You probably smell my hybrid, on me don’t you?”

“A hybrid?” Jungkook confirms, his eyes narrowed at Namjoon.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t intend to scare you. I’m sure the scent of a predator, especially a tiger, is a bit of a shock. He’s harmless, I promise.”

“Is Taehyung here?” You ask, hoping to see his affectionate part-feline companion.

“Nah, he’s with a friend today. I needed to get some work done and he’d be more of a distraction than a help... but it would seem that didn’t stop him from scenting my shirt before I left.” Namjoon explains, and then turns to your neighbour again. “Jungkook would you mind if I borrow her for a second? I need help with one of my tropical species.”

Jungkook gives a solemn nod. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks frightened, and somewhat hesitant to release you over to your coworker.

Worried by his current disposition, you reassure him with a squeeze on his arm. “Just keep digging where I’ve placed those pots and I’ll be right back.”

Namjoon leads you into the adjacent greenhouse where you can continue to keep watch of Jungkook through the pains of glass. But the instant the doors close between you, Namjoon starts bombarding you with questions. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long has it been going on? ”

You take a step back having been caught off guard. “Tell you what?”

“About you and Jungkook! Is the feuding neighbours just a cover story?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide and hopeful as he carries on, not letting you fit a single word in. “Don’t worry, I won’t inform anyone you're together. I know it’s not easy having a human-hybrid relationship out in the open. But I think you should be careful about going out into public because he’s far too obvious about it.”

“We’re not- we’re not a couple. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because the way held you, he looked like he was marking you with his own scent. That’s what rabbits do isn’t it? They rub their chins on what they want to claim as their own.”

“They do what?” You ask, stunned by the possibility, before the realism settles back in. It must just be Jungkook’s idea of a joke. “No, that’s not what he’s doing, our connection is nothing remotely like that. Don’t get me wrong he’s very attractive, and he knows it.” You mutter the last part under your breath. “But-”

“But you really are having trouble with him. It's not a cover?”

“You think I would keep something like that from you?” Namjoon over the years has come to be your closest confidant. A good friend and coworker, you would never dream of hiding something like that from him.

“I suppose not.”

“Is that why you brought me back here, to question my relationship status?”

“Not entirely.” Namjoon shakes his head with a small dimpled smile and changes the subject. “I do actually want to get your help with one of my new acquisitions.” He points out an unusual tree on his work bench, much too big for the pot it’s currently situated in. It’s extensive roots spill out over the top and threaten to swallow the pot whole. “A Ficus microcarpa, far from the most sought after species when it comes to reputable bonsai, but I couldn’t pass this one up. It has such good character.”

“What made it grow in such a way?” You examine the plant and it’s container with care, prying between the roots and taking note of cracks starting to form in the terracotta.

“The last owner neglected it for far too long. It sat hidden in the back of a commercial greenhouse, still under the watering and fertilizing system, but since it was confined to such a small space it tried to root it’s way out. If I were to guess, it probably hasn’t seen a new pot for at least five years.”

“It’s a miracle it survived.” You nod impressed by the tree’s determination. “What’s your plan for it?”

“Give it what it wants, let it leach out. I doubt I would be able to pry it out entirely without causing significant damage to the roots that are gripping the sides, so instead I want to put another bellow to catch it and give it the fresh soil and room it needs.” Namjoon lays the tree and pot down on the table, and asks you to hold and support the trunk, while he taps and pokes at the bottom of the vessel with a metal trowel. Enlarging the cracks, but not breaking the pot fully. It’s a tedious process. The small chunks of clay are removed piece by piece, giving him access to see and free some of the tightly bound roots inside.

While your coworker continues his task, your eyes are free to wonder. You check on Jungkook through the glass, as he kneels in front of the garden bed digging even faster than before.

Namjoon appears to notice your distracted state. “How's he doing?”

“Fine I guess.” You whisper. “He’s acting stranger than usual today though. He stole from my garden again. Invited himself over to my house, then here, and you saw what he did back there.”

“Huh...” Namjoon mutters, trailing off the same way he did on the phone.

“What is this ‘huh’ you keep giving me? You know I don’t like games Namjoon. If you have something you want to say, say it.”

“It’s about what you said earlier, how his caretaker leaves for extended periods of time. Usually if an animal is alone for too long they look for ways to stimulate themselves and resort to their natural instincts, scavenging and such. But he’s a hybrid and therefore part human, so if you were isolated and restricted to your house what would you do?”

“Probably look for the closest person I could find. So he’s acting out in my garden and teasing me, because he’s lonely?”

“I think so.” Namjoon responds as he extracts another root, freeing it from its confines.

“But why?” You ask, worried for the answer to come. “Why wouldn’t he just say something?”

“There could be a number of reasons. He might not understand what he’s doing on a conscious level, or he might be afraid to show any sign of weakness to you or anyone else. Jungkook is part prey animal, and humans are all too often predators.”

“If that’s the case...” You curse yourself for not realizing it sooner. The fury you held for him slowly fades away as you replay every encounter in your mind. He was literally jumping at the chance to spend time with you, to help you with your work, and you were to blind to see it. Your anger over your missing vegetables is so trivial in comparison to what he must have been going through. The loneliness he must have felt, and the inability to admit it, you can’t imagine how he suffered through it alone. “What can I do to help him? I have no legal claim to him Namjoon. What can I do within such limitations?”

He looks down at his work in progress. “The way I see it you and he, like this small tree, have three options. You could maintain the status quo, leave him be, but how long will he be able to survive like he is? Creeping over the edge but grasping on to nothingness?”

You shake your head vehemently rejecting the idea while Namjoon continues.

“You could report his caretaker for neglect, breaking the container entirely, but that too could be very damaging to him, tearing him away entirely could put him in a state of shock, and in a home that is no better for him, while the legal battle is decided. Or...” Namjoon grabs another container, slightly wider than the one in which the plant is seated. Filling it with substrate he takes the tree clinging to it’s partial pot and places it on top. Pressing the newly freed roots down into the soil.

“You could support him, give him a better home just outside of his own where he can be himself and access what he needs. I personally think it’s your safest option for now.” Namjoon leads over inspecting the bonsai and lowers his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Until the day, when it is possible to fully cast the pot aside.”

You nod, though now left to grapple with what you could possibly have to offer the hybrid. “I’m not sure I would be the best person to care for him.”

“I think Jungkook would disagree. He was already trying to scent you. That to me, implies his desire for something more in the realm of an intimate relationship.” You choke on your breath as Namjoon comes to an additional conclusion. Upon seeing your distress he makes a suggestion. “Of course you could keep it strictly to friendship between the two of you and I’m sure that will improve his situation, but his other needs will need to be met for him to feel completely at home...”

“His other needs? You think he wants to be with me? Intimately?! No! Surely he would have acted differently if that was his intent! He’s done nothing but tease me when he catches me even remotely looking in his direction.”

“So you have been looking at him!” Namjoon taunts you with a massive grin. Apologizing a second later when you proceed to glare at him. “But to answer your question, no, not necessarily. You have to remember most of society deems him a lesser being. He could be feeling a lot of guilt and pressure not to engage with you in that way. Though he might not outright say it, I bet his instincts will continue to shine through. I’ll even prove it to you.” Namjoon takes off a glove and rubs your head. “I bet this rabbit of yours will take less than a minute before he tries to replace the smell of my hand with his own again... trust me.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I should probably get back to him.” You are just about to step away when your thoughts return to the long neglected plant. “Where do you plan to house that when you’re finished? Ficuses naturally belong in a more tropical location don’t they?”

“They do, especially if I want to give it a better chance. It’s going to need a place far more humid than this space.”

“Was this all your calculated way of guilting me to store it in my greenhouse too?”

“The thought might have crossed my mind.” Namjoon gives you a sly grin. “But my logic is still sound in regards to Jungkook. He needs someone, he needs a better home... and it would seem he’s chosen you.”

...

You wander back to your greenhouse, still full of doubt. Finding Jungkook to have finished most of the required digging.

“Sorry for leaving you.”

“You-you okay?” He asks, upon seeing the dazed look on your face and then scowling in the direction that Namjoon led you.

“Fine, he just needed help with one of his plants. Sorry about earlier, I didn’t think you’d be affected by the scent of his hybrid, Taehyung is rather sweet though, you’d like him.”

“You trust him then?” Jungkook grumbles as he pierces his shovel into the ground. “You trust Namjoon and his hybrid?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it wasn’t just a tiger that I smelled. He’s been around a lot of hybrids. Every scent on him told me to run, all of them put there by dangerous predators.”

“Oh,” you shoot back in surprise. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Taehyung is rather popular, he has a lot of friends and Namjoon often caters them at his place. You don’t need to worry, you're safe here.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about.”

Jungkook inches closer as you crouch to place the plants in the holes he dug. His nose twitches as he takes a deep breath, his eyes watching while you bury the root ball in the warm soil, firmly securing the trunk of the young tree.

While you are leaning down, Jungkook reaches across to the other side of you. Grabbing the trowel to your right despite the fact that the same tool can be found on his left. The bottom of his chin grazes the top of your head and lingers for a spell. Your heart stops in that moment while questioning his motives. Though Namjoon said he’d do just this, you still can’t be entirely sure that it proves him correct; Jungkook might just not have seen the other option available to him, and he’s never bothered about invading your space. This could be nothing, though there’s a small growing part of you that wants it more and more to be something.

“He’s a good guy,” you promise, returning to the conversation so as to not dwell on his actions. “He even suggested that I should bring you along more often, if you’re interested in spending some of your days here.”

“He did?”

You nod. A small white lie, but not entirely incorrect, and if it gets him to accept Namjoon easier you’ll all be better for it. “I wouldn’t expect you to work, but you're more than welcome to just hang around. The staff here could always use some company and I’m sure it would beat staying at home alone all day.”

“I would like that. I would like that a lot, but would you want me to keep you company too?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“No, I need to know if that’s what you want.” He looks over to you pinning you down in his line of sight.

“I suppose I would....” You answer and turn your head, unable to bear the nerves that his gaze brings. The both of you fall quiet. Knowing what you know now, being free of your anger for him leaves you vulnerable, open to his persuasion, and now you are no longer certain of how to act. So you start to rely on what has made him comfortable in the past, and interject with a new condition to bring an end to the awkward silence. “As long as you treat this garden better than mine back home.”

Jungkook lets out a long laugh. “I have nothing but the highest respect for your garden.”

...

When planting is finished your clothes are entirely saturated in sweat and your muscles aching from use. It’s hard to believe how much you’ve both done in such a short amount of time. While carting up the supplies, Jungkook’s eyes catch on something behind you. You look around spotting the newly potted bonsai on a back table. Namjoon must have dropped it off while you both were busy.

Looking at it now you can’t help but notice how even the shape of its leaves remind you of the hybrid’s ears, long, pointed, and reaching up to the sky. You consider your friend's words one more time and while Jungkook leans over to inspect the tree. Reaching out to his back, your hand shakes with hesitation before setting down on a spot just below his shoulder. He softens under your touch, a low hum leaving his lips. His attention turns from the plant to you. With your hand still in place, your arm is now wrapped around him, leaving only an inch between the two of you. You stand there fixed and unmoving, but content in the knowledge, that you seem to have left him speechless this time. His eyes darting away from yours, to your lips, your neck, and finally the hand you place upon his chest.

Only to have the moment broken when you can hear and feel the rumble from his stomach. His nervous laugh follows as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear.

“Hungry?”

He nods in response, his eyes wide as he remains unusually silent.

“Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.” You offer as you turn him around to head to the car.

...

You both settle on a take out spot, and return home to wash up and eat.

After finishing your meal and tearing off your overalls, you both settle down on the hammock in your yard. With Jungkook’s legs long enough to touch the ground, he slowly rocks the seat back and forth. He’s been near silent since that close moment together. He’s never had a problem with banter and flirtation, but now you’ve come to notice that any attention which can’t be passed off as a joke causes him to flounder.

Laying back in the hammock, both full and content, your eyes threaten to close after the long day as Jungkook continues to sit beside you. The sound of crickets lulling you to sleep. “Keep an eye out for that thief of mine will you?” You may not like games but if it makes him comfortable, and keeps him talking, you’ll continue to play this ruse with him.

“You trust me to keep watch without your supervision?”

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?”

“No, it��s just a lot more credit than you usually give me.”

“I think you’ve earned it.” You whisper as you finally drift off.

It feels like only a few minutes of rest before the sun sets and the air turns cool. Jungkook’s chin comes to rest on the top of your head like it did back in the greenhouse. He shifts his weight, burrowing his arms around and behind to cover you as he takes deep breaths. You lean into him seeking the warmth of his chest. No longer restricted by your childish anger to enjoy his company is a welcome relief, you only wish you could relinquish him of any of his own troubles and doubts. And then, you feel it, a drop of cold rain hitting your neck. The hammock moves again as he adjusts, the back of his fingers running across the damp spot. Another finds your cheek and he wipes that away too, your skin shivering in response.

But when a speck lands your mouth he stops. You wait, a second, then two. Your anticipation grows with face heating up and your chest tightening as you continue to crave his touch. You want him to wipe it away, to touch you, to act on whatever desires he might be keeping. You part your lips with the desperate hope that he will take the hint. Rejoicing when the warm pad of his thumb spreads the drop across the delicate skin.

He comes down on to you, his mouth catching any and all remains of the droplet as he encases your lips. Jungkook places a hand on your neck while the other grabs the ropes of the hammock, his legs straddle your hips. The scattered rain turns to a downpour as he remains fixed to your mouth, even his form isn’t enough to shield you from the current washing down from the sky.

As your hands reach up to his own damp and curling locks entwining your fingers in the strands he moans and nips. But as quickly as it started, so too does it end. When Jungkook snaps up as though jolted from a dream. His ears point back as an apology flows from him. “I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Jungkook,” you call out to him but he ignores you as he tries to detangle himself. When one foot hits the ground. You grab his waist and try again. “Jungkook, you don’t have to be sorry.” But instead of stopping he merely pulls you off and along with him, sending you both to the muddy ground, but this time with you on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks the loud pouring of the rain forcing him to raise the volume of his voice.

You chuckle at his concern considering he’s the one flat on his back. “I think I should be asking you that question instead.” You pause as he mirrors your grin. “Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He looks up at you, his brow furrowing. “You did nothing wrong. It was me. I was the one acting on my instincts. I shouldn’t have done that when I know how much you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you...” You explain, trying your best not to be drowned out by the water cascading down. “The things you did might have annoyed me, but I get it now. I’m just sorry it took me so long to notice.”

“Notice what?”

“How fucked up your situation is. For not realizing how alone you must have been. How caged you must have felt. I’ve been so focused on my own little world that I didn’t realize what was happening or why you were acting the way you were. I like you, a lot, but I was too wrapped up in my frustration to say how I felt...”

“It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head. “I am not innocent in this. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Then pay attention to me now.” He begs with his round eyes shining up at you.

“But in what way? As a neighbour, as a friend, or maybe something more?" Your voice cracks in desperation, trying to find his needs while also hoping they are the same as yours. “Is that why you were always teasing me the way you did? You wanted something more?”

“You really want to know?” Jungkook’s tone is low as it grips on to his every word. “I did it because it was the only thing that could distract me from my incessant need for you. Seeing your reactions and having your attention kept me in check. I’m very different from you and I’m aware it could cause a problem. I wasn’t sure if you could ever fully want me because of that.” He reaches to rub around the base of his ears. “But every day that I looked over I wanted to hold you, to claim you, to take you right here on this very spot. So often I dreamed of jumping the fence and coming for you instead of...”

You smile down at him, noting his near admission. “Instead of?”

“Instead of watching from a distance.” He smirks, catching and narrowly fixing his statement. Pleading guilty only to his longing for you.

“Then do it.” You demand of him.

He groans from his position beneath you. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m not. You weren’t the only one peeking through the fence Jungkook.” Reaching up to your collar you tug off your shirt. He follows your lead with his own to reveal his sculpted chest he’s taunted you with so many times. “I don’t care if we’re different from each other. I don’t care if it causes a problem.” You shift back on his body traveling from your seat near his stomach down to his hips, his clothed dick firm and pressing against you. A moan escapes his lips, confirming that you’ve made your point. “There’s no one else nearby, so if you want me so much that you’re willing to fuck me out here, in the rain and mud-”

His hands come to grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you off, maneuvering out from underneath, to fall into place behind you. From there he pushes you down to your hands and knees, his body bent over yours. “You have no idea how much I want to.” He whispers with a kiss to your bare shoulder damp from the rain that continues to pour.

He takes off your bra before his face moves down your back, nose trailing against your skin and pausing at your shorts. Unfastening the button he pulls them down, freeing you of your underwear too before they are both cast aside. “I want to smell you, and taste you.” Jungkook takes in a deep breath, wrapping an arm around your legs, and barring your thighs. He buries his face between your legs, his tongue reaching out to deliver a long lick to your folds pausing after every lap.

Your palms dig into the ground, the cool mud coming to the surface to meet them. You buck against his tongue but the forearm holding you remains firm, sending your squirming downward to bury your elbows in the soggy grass too.

Jungkook chuckles as you inadvertently give him a better angle. From behind you can hear the zipper of his own shorts. Rubbing the head of his cock against your damp folds, he covers it with the slick of your slit, and with a long groan he eases it inside. He’s slow at first, letting you savor the girth and warmth of him. So you start to edge back and forward on his cock. Taking the time to enjoy every inch, along with the sounds that leave him. But when he returns to take control, the first thrust is so powerful, his thighs hit your ass with a loud clap, and every jolt of his hips after, drives you further down each time.

A stuttering groan escapes him as he fills you. Thinking he’s finished you lean forwards and until his cock pulls out, but in response he grabs your waist. Turning you over, back to the ground on top of the discarded clothes and facing him.

He lowers himself pressing his chest against yours. His fingers reach to grab your chin and take a kiss. His cock, despite having come only moments before, is hard once more and poised to enter once again.

“How are you-” You manage to squeeze a few words in the gaps between his kisses as he draws breath. “Ready for more-” Another pass of his tongue. “Already?”

“You have my hybrid traits to thank for that.” He moves to nibble on the side of your throat. “I have more to give you, if you want it.”

You nod unable to emit any noise other than a gasp as his mouth finds a sensitive spot on your neck. His dick forges in again, your slick and his cum dripping out of you as he fills you with himself instead.

You’ve avoided touching him with your own hands as they are patched with mud, but as his thrusts grow more powerful than even before, you’re forced to grab on his arms and chest. Leaving behind streaks of dirt which display the path of your grip. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact looks rather encouraged by your touch, and the marks you leave him.

“What a dirty woman you are, and getting me all messy too.” He scoffs while admiring your handiwork. “Can I return the favour?”

“Help me come first and you can do whatever the fuck you want.” You gasp on the brink of your climax.

His ears perk up and a grin streaks across his face. “Close are you?” He grabs your calf and wraps your leg around his back, the other follows suit and his hand comes to rest on your lower back pushing you up and into him effectively grinding your mount against him.

You gasp and flinch with the sudden pressure, but he holds you firm as your back arches to meet him.

His hips beat on at a rapid pace, a small whimper escapes him as you reach the peak, tipping you over the edge. The chilling rain can in no way can douse the searing heat that spreads through you. You're still gasping when his jaw clamps down hard, his teeth poised upon your skin. The first pulse of his cock comes inside, but on the second he pulls out to splatter your chest and stomach with the rest. His hand comes to clutch his shaft, spilling more out and on to you with each stroke.

After every remaining drop has been cast on you he smiles, dragging his fingers across the rain drenched mess of mud and cum on your skin. “Never thought I’d ever see you so thoroughly soiled.”

You giggle at his remarks through your deep breaths. “And now that you do, what do you think?”

“I think it suits you, the dirt, the rain, and me...” He lowers himself down onto you, with his head now resting upon your shoulder. “It’s too bad though. Now I just want more, but we’re both far too filthy to carry on like this.”

You turn to whisper at the base of his ear. “Who says we can’t continue in the shower...”

...

You wake early the next morning with the sun spilling into the room, lighting up your bed, and the hybrid sleeping next to you. His ears and nose twitching as he continues to rest. Slipping out from the covers, and into a set of clean gardening clothes, you exit the room with as little sound as possible.

On the tile floor of your hall, muddy footprints trail from your backdoor to your bathroom. A smile pulls at your lips as you recall the events which brought them there. Jungkook had been so excited to keep going he picked you up and rushed you inside.

The feeling from the warm water and hands in contrast to the cool rain was enough to bring back the waves of pleasure. He was so thorough in washing you down, you might have to ask him to join you for another this morning and repay the favour.

Outside in the garden you find all your harvest from the day before present and untouched. You’re pleased by this new development, but it’s not the fact that your crops are intact which makes you happy, it’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook didn’t feel the need to take them.

A few minutes later the hybrid in question comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist pulling with him a blanket he took from the bed to cover the both of you. “Morning.” He mumbles, as his nose finds the crook of your neck where he exhales with a deep and relaxed sigh.

“Morning.” You respond, enjoying the tickle of his breath before you turn around to better see him. “It seems the thief didn’t strike last night. ”

“I guess they found a new garden to plunder and devour?” Jungkook suggests, giving you a sly grin, before he opens his mouth again. It’s easy to see that he’s getting ready to confess, his face shifts to a stern expression as he looks down at the ground, the guilt weighing heavily upon his brow. Placing your index to his lips you stop him. No longer needing to hear those words of admission, you offer a new proposal instead.

“Maybe, but that was just one night. The thief might still come back. So if it’s alright with you I would like you to stay here. Until we can be sure they won’t return.”

Jungkook lets out a satisfied chuckle, pushing aside your finger and pulling you tighter into his warm embrace. “You’re right, I suppose it would be safer if I stayed.” His lips plant a kiss on the top of your head where he then rests his chin. “A temptation as enticing as this, shouldn’t be left alone and unattended.”

...

#jungkook smut #hybrid jungkook #bts hybrid au #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts the garden thief #bts smut #jungkook x reader

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apocalypticgargoyle · 4 years ago

Note

I read the edgy!karl, I’ve just finished reading the alt!dream, WHEN IS GEORGE GONNA BE NEXT 😩😩

*cracks knuckles* the hcs that everyone has provided me with has hella prepped me and I'm ready. this is dedicated to 🍭 anon, whose fanart always steals my entire heart. i love u babe

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ᶤ 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐠𝐧𝐟

± pairings: punk!Georgenotfound x fm!reader

± word count: ~3300

± warnings: smut (18+), language, tattoo work, sadism, pain kink (if you squint), domination, mentions of needles, asphyxiation

song recommendation: Cent Fois by Alice et Moi

George’s mind wandered to his curiosity of the shop across from his tattoo parlor; bright neon signs advertising the local psychic. It was a stark contrast to the dark, wet city housing the businesses. Each night he locked up, he found himself standing on the other edge of the street, staring at the signs and draperies peeking from behind the glass windows and considering shedding his skeptical nature just for one night.

While your business was alluring in and of itself, his true draw to the place came after he had spotted you moving into the apartments above. Your clean appearance completely juxtaposed the business you ran. In his opinion, all natural healers and psychics were born scam artists only focused on the quickest way to pinch a penny.

Yet day after day, he found himself having to tear his eyes from your business just to get home or he would actually venture inside. He was rather subtle about his fascination when it came to his co-workers and regular customers, but each day he prayed you would wander in, requesting some kind of tattoo in a place hidden from outside eyes.

A place he’d like to see again in a less professional setting.

You flipped the textbook page after finishing your paragraph, highlighting a date you were looking for before leaning towards your notebook and scribbling down the fact. You gnawed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly, positive you still didn’t know what your professor had been rattling off about in class a few hours prior. Your sights drifted up to the incense burning across the store from you, the stick on its last few centimeters of wood as the smoke went stale.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, debating if you should light another or wait until morning. You capped your marker and stretched your back, the bell over the door letting out a telling chime as a man peeked in.

You leaned over the counter, closing your books. “Good evening! Welcome to After Life. Can I help you find anything?” You rambled, your mind flashing to the sheet of paper tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror so you didn’t forget the basics of customer service.

The man stepped further into your view, stuffing his fists in his jean pockets as he walked closer in a cautious motion. His dark t-shirt advertised a band you had vaguely heard of, but couldn’t think of a song even if your life depended on it. What really drew your attention were his tattooed arms; branches from a grand tree twisting every which direction to peek out from beneath his sleeves; bright floral designs and litters of birds decorating the dark wood limbs. You bit back a smile at the small mushroom tattoo near his wrist that seemed to be out of place.

The laces of his Chuck Taylors grazed the floor before he was standing in the middle of your store, looking around briefly. “I actually co-own the parlor across the street. I realized I never welcomed you officially,” he stated, hints of nervousness reflecting in his tone. His accent was calming and husky from the season change.

At the mention of the tattooist across the street, your memory flashed to the various walks of life that found themselves in your store after getting work done. You also thought of the fact that you had seen the man before you break up fights in the street stretching between your properties. The tall muscular people seemed to have no effect on him as he’d pull them apart like school children on the playground.

You pushed your books further to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right! I should have come over and introduced myself, so don’t worry about it,” you eased, swatting the air of his comment.

He chuckled softly before reality seemed to snap into his head, making him step forward and extend a hand to you. “I’m George, by the way,” he introduced. You took his hand, muttering your own name and hoping your attention span would hold for long enough that he would be entered into your long-term memory.

His hand was calloused in yours, something that you wondered came with the job or if he was some kind of carpenter in a past life of his. You gently pulled his hand closer to you, slipping your hold out of his to look at his palm. He tittered nervously, peering at the flesh with you. Your finger traced along the mounts in his hand, finding Jupiter to be the most prominent. “That checks out,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding softly.

His eyebrows perked up. “What? Am… Am I gonna meet a tall dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?” He joked, making you smile as you looked at his Sun line.

“I didn’t peg you as an Outlander fan,” you chided.

His brows flattened for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip and playing with his snake bite piercings. You found it hard to look away from him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. A girl I was fooling around with really liked it. I don’t know…” he trailed off, making you giggle.

Your nail grazed along his heart line. “You guys were just fooling around?” You quirked, eyes meeting his. His expression narrowed smugly as if urging you to continue. “Your heart line begins below your index finger. You’re not the fooling around type.” He let out a snort. “You fall in love easily too.”

He sighed with a slight sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if he was amazed or mocking you again. “Well, yeah. That’s…” He paused with a swallow, biting back a grin as if he was uncomfortable, but didn’t retract his hand from you. “... That’s why we’re not anymore,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the counter as you sat in your chair. “What else does it say?”

Your lips curled into a soft smirk, his curious eyes trailing over your face as if to watch your brain work. “You have a fire element hand which indicates that you’re confident and passionate. Maybe a bit cocky sometimes,” you teased, making him chuckle with you. You could feel his eyes on you, sending heat to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on the mount of Venus under your touch.

You wanted to ask him about his sexual indulgences, mainly because of the prevalence of Venus in his palm. “You have a mount in Jupiter, which means you’re a natural leader, and rather dominant.” You looked up at him again, watching as he bit back a smirk, seemingly understanding the subtle innuendos behind your statements.

George seemed to have some kind of effect on you, your thoughts clouding with the idea of what his snake bites would feel like against your lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but there was no discoloration to his skin to suggest he was the one smoking. He watched you through the hair threatening to dangle over his eyes, his gaze hinting at an attraction he had for you below his collected form. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft and wispy as the space between the two of you seemed to warm.

You made a conscious effort to keep your sultry thoughts at bay as your thumb brushed over the area you had been avoiding telling him about. “You’re driven by desire,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… very in touch with your sexuality and you thrive on your indulgences.”

You couldn’t help but meet his eyes, the dark irises swimming with some kind of cocky smugness at what you had just told him. He pulled away from you, gently standing up. Part of you wished the counter between the two of you would vanish just so you could be pressed up against George at the mercy of his driven mind. “I feel it's only fair I tattoo you now,” he quipped, making your eyebrows raise. Your confidence shriveled yet you swore you wouldn’t let him know that fact.

You chewed on your lip, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion. “Oh, I’ve never been tattooed,” you avowed, voice carrying the slightest bit of your coaxing nature.

He smirked. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cajoled, teeth playing at his piercings again as you were sure he was already undressing you with his eyes. “You read me, I’d like to do the same.”

And how could you refuse such an appealing offer?

You leaned back on your elbows, your skin sticking to the leather chair beneath you as you watched him pull back his hair, elastic band dangling from his white teeth. Despite securing back his locks, bits of his bangs still hung over his forehead. You liked the interior of his parlor, maybe because it was only the two of you.

George began to fill small caps of dark ink. “I think you should get some crystals in here,” you teased, making him smirk. “I could hook you up.”

“What, like a salt lamp?” He joked, pulling on a pair of dark plastic gloves.

You snorted, lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “It might be good. Lighten the place up a bit.” George swiveled his chair closer to you muttering some kind of line about only getting them from you, but his words fell silent on your ears as his hand pushed up your shirt. You were silently thanking whatever divine force above for swaying you towards slinkier lingerie earlier that morning.

You knew he could see the lacy edges of your bra by the way his eyes nonchalantly flashed up to you before laying out his template on your ribs. You could feel hints of his warm breath against your skin as he studied it. “You can look at it if you want,” he stated.

You shook your head, wanting him close to you as long as he could be. “I trust you,” you muttered, your eyes meeting his again. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he struggled not to smile at your statement. He had promised to cover a small scar for you and by the way he explained it, you were ready to be in his hands. You wet your lips as he adjusted the speed on his tattoo gun. “Will this hurt?” You asked, tucking one of your arms behind your head.

The look of unadulterated lust that he gave you made your toes want to curl. “Probably a bit. It feels good sometimes, though,” he answered. He came closer to you, resting his forearm on your stomach to angle himself in the right position. At the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, you swore your body was on fire. It took everything in your power not to moan. It could have been the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, but his soft breath and the anticipation of the needle made you feel like a junky. “I’ll be gentle, darling,” he leered, his accent muddy and low. He let the needles drag against your skin and you bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain. His eyes met yours. “See, not bad.”

You let out a breathy wheeze. “Shut up, you sadist,” you quipped, his chuckle coming out rather roguish as he focused on the work in front of him. Your nerves were more focused on the way George’s hands were barely caressing your body as if teasing and hinting at what he could do to you.

You drew in a sharp breath as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Shhh shh. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed, his voice sending goosebumps spreading across your body as his lips tugged into a light smirk. By your palm reading, you knew he was enjoying having this much control over you.

Part of you found it almost torture when George would look at you with soft and lusty eyes for merely a second before his gaze jutted back down to his work, murmuring soft praises about how well you were taking the pain. You would go under the needle anytime he asked, just to receive the sultry treatment he gave.

He was so close, you could have driven your fingers into his dark hair if you wanted. “How did you get this scar?” He asked, cleaning off some of the ink before continuing.

“A knife fight,” you answered without missing a beat, making him scoff. “Actually, I fell into my grandma’s glass table one time. My cousin was teaching me the Electric Slide,” you corrected, making him laugh, shaking his head slightly as he filled in a spot.

He let his tongue dart across his lips. “That’s so cute. Did you ever get it figured out?” To this you shook your head, the both of you laughing. You let out a groan as the needle dug into another area on your ribs, the sound making his eyes dart up to you. He leaned off of you, slipping one of his gloves off. “Wanna hold my hand, sweetheart?” He joked, but you took his offer, squeezing his hand in yours when it got painful enough. You held it close to your chest, hoping he would feel your heartbeat quicken each time he looked at you.

As he finished up his work, his thumb brushed against your hand absent-mindedly. You could tell by the way he gripped your hand as well that he enjoyed that the tattoo hurt you. Most of your mind was excited by how easily he was stirred up by you, while the rest was completely unsurprised and even threatened to bite out that he was a cliché.

When he was finally satisfied, he cleaned you up and stuck on a SecondSkin, biting back a grin at his work as he pulled you up by the hand he was holding onto you with. You couldn’t help but smile at how excited you were to see, swinging your legs over the side of his hair and walking towards his mirror. You held your shirt up, chewing on your bottom lip as you grinned at the ink. George rested a hand beside the mirror, watching you beam at his work.

All of his lines were flawless, your scar completely disappearing within his shading. You’d pitched the idea of an ode to the Creation of Adam. While it was cliche, what better to fit in the space below your breast and give George the impression that you were cultured. Yet you told him he could do whatever he wanted to it, resulting in one of the hands resembling a skeleton and the other holding a sucker. As you praised him, he shrugged off your comments, murmuring about it being his pleasure. He reached out his free hand, letting his thumb smooth over one of the edges of this bandage, which brought you closer to him.

Your cheeks warmed at the close proximity to him as his eyes grazed over your body before meeting your own. His hand moved from the bandage to your back. You leaned on your toes, pressing your lips to his. The tension between the two of you dissipated as he hungrily reacted, pulling you against him and savoring your moans as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

George’s hands moved down your body, swiftly hooking around your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you back to his chair. Your hands moved into his hair, letting it loose and wrapping the band around your wrist. The leather was cold as your back pressed to it. George leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing more of the tree painting the expanses of his skin.

If you weren’t so eager to be touched by him, you’d be studying the work of art.

As his lips met yours again, you ground your hips against his, eliciting a moan to vibrate through his chest. You raked your nails down his back, trying to further draw out reactions from him as his hands attentively played with the lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the skin pressing against the cups.

His lips left yours only to travel the length of your jaw and inch his way toward your waistband. Your pants were discarded with a swift tug from him before he pulled your thighs flush against his, grinding his hips against yours, hands gripping onto your sides to keep you in place. You tilted your head back, relishing in the friction as your body screamed to finally feel him take advantage of you.

You reached between the two of you, tugging at his zipper as your hunger for him escalated. His tongue flattened against your collarbone before his teeth pressed into your skin. You could feel his arousal through his jeans at the sound of your whimpering.

He pumped himself in his hand before pressing into you, the feeling of him inside of you making your head spin as if you were on some kind of ecstasy. Your moan came out needy and desperate as he thrust into you, gripping the edge of the leather seat as his breath hummed against your skin. Your fingers threaded into his hair, raking your nails down his neck as he groaned in your ear at the feeling.

One of his hands grasped your wrists together, pinning them above your head while the other wrapped around your throat. His eyes burned into yours as he leaned back, leaning his weight on your wrists and squeezing your throat, the lack of oxygen making each of your senses more heightened as he pounded into you.

Your moans of George’s name were grated as they slipped through your mouth, his relentless pace and intense hold nearly making you drool from the stimulation. By the practice of his actions, you wondered how long he had been stewing on demolishing you in this way.

He loosened his grip on your neck, leaning down to press his lips against yours, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip just to hear you groan from the rough action. You rolled your hips against his, letting him slow his pace to reach deeper within you. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he rubbed a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the makeup smudging around your eyes from his antics and the heat between the two of you.

He pressed his lips to your neck, wrapping his hand around the edge of the chair again to drive himself into you, the new angle muddling your mind and vision as your body ached to come undone. You sank your nails into his back, earning his low, raspy whispers of your name.

At his praises, you came, tugging on his hair as he bit into your shoulder again, basking in the feeling of you clenching around him.

The next day, George stretched his shoulders, peering through the front window of his shop. His mind sparked with the feeling of your legs around his waist and the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He could practically hear you whimpering his name in his ears as he went back to touching up a fading tattoo on his friend’s arm.

“OW, George,” Clay rumbled, thigh flinching at the jab from George.

George snorted, his mind still on the high he got from your pure trust in him as you laid out on his chair. “I’ll give you something to bitch about,” George grumbled, releasing just how gentle he was during your tattoo. The way your voice got soft and quiet when he rolled over a spot that was rather tender already would most definitely be a guilty pleasure of his.

Clay barked at him again as George jerked his hand, fulfilling his promise. “I’VE BEEN NICE TO YOU ALL MORNING.”

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