#his current one has a train so long id be dragging it on the ground smh boy why are you so tall

[littleplantfreak]

Ume letting you wear his first/second year jacket around so no one bothers you and it’s still his jacket too so he’s extra happy

[13as07]

Shogi Partner #1

(Shikamaru Nara)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to Pixiv Id]

Requested by: Anonymous

Word Count: 3,385

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

Name Calling: Baby Girl, Fawn

Age Gap

Power Imbalance (Teacher/Student)

Borderline Pedophilia

Choking

Titty Play

Cheating

———————————————————————

"Come along," my Father orders, his long fingers waving me forward, trying to beckon me along.

"I don't get why you can't keep training me," I mutter, dragging my feet as much as possible. There's not much stalling to do since Dad is only a few steps away, but that doesn't stop me from trying.

"We've talked about this, Baby Girl," Dad starts his repeated speech, slinging an arm over my shoulders once I'm close enough for him to grab onto. He uses his hold to stop any attempts at escaping and to continue moving me forward. "You just graduated from the academy and despite how amazing of a shinobi I am, I'm not equipped to train you in the things you excel at. Your dear Dad is great at the bronze department, not so much the brains department."

     "So, what? You're going to thrust me into the arms of Uncle Genma?"

     Dad lets out a rippling chuckle, his arm bending upward to ruffle my hair. "Uncle Genma hates all children, besides you. I'm not going to tempt that changing by asking him to train you. Besides, there's a Shinobi five or six years older than you that'll be better fitted as your Sensei. He's got the whole brains thing going for him too. I think you two will be a nice challenge for each other."

     "Whatever you say," I mutter under my breath, not fully believing Dad. Since the end of the war, he's been set on finding the best-fitted Sensei for my 'brains' as he calls them. No one on the lineup has been beneficial enough for my Father.

The few that have passed him have ended up getting shot down by his best friend; Genma, who swears that they're either not smart enough to keep up with my 'growing mind' or give off perv vibes. I'd be more than happy to continue my training under Dad or with one of his friends, but I haven't gotten much of a say in who I train under, the event about to unfold being example one of that.

Our walk falls into a comfortable silence, Dad's body heat fighting off the beginning of the autumn chill that crawls across my skin. My eyes bounce around the landscape, looking over the same scenery I have the whole of my life. At least it's the same scenery until I'm pulled left, cutting through the border lines between Akimichi territory and Nara territory.

     It doesn't take long until official markers of Nara territory filter into my sight, their clan symbols and a million different deer-themed decorations littered all over their property. I stay silent but eye Dad, trying to figure out who exactly he plans to have take over my training.

     Soon enough, the distinct replica of every clan's headquarters filters into the landscape too, seeming like a sore thumb in comparison to the other architecture of the grounds. However, that's the case for almost every clan. Still, I stay silent as Dad leads me into the round building.

The same muddy green and smoky grey coats the Nara Clan Center as it does the rest of their grounds. Unlike the prosperity, the space is decorated with pictures of past Chiefs instead of antlers and artworks featuring the deer population.

"Hello," Dad greets the receptionist, his usual flirty airiness set in his voice that's always present when he's speaking to a woman he finds attractive. The only bigger flirt in the village than him is Uncle Genma. No wonder neither is married.

"Hello," the lady returns drily, unamusement in her tone. "How can I help you?"

"My daughter and I have a meeting with Shikamaru."

"At ten-thirty, yes, you do. It's currently ten-fifteen, Namiashi-San."

Dad shrugs his shoulders, eyes lazily trailing the wall before falling on the blonde again. "Better early than late, right?"

I almost gag at the sight of him checking her out, not an ounce of embarrassment on his face when his eyes lag on her chest. "Dad?"

Instantly, my Father's flirty act ends, his full attention on me. "Baby Girl?" He calls back, his usual gentle grin back on his face.

"You're acting like a pervert."

The color washes out of his face at the same time a satisfied smile crawls onto the lady's. A pout settles in place, enjoyment still swimming in his eyes. Slowly, his smile returns as he opens his mouth, ready to tease me back.

"It's good to see Iwashi isn't the only one keeping Genma and you in line, Raido."

Dad's eyes stay on me for a second, a soft encouraging smile being sent to me before he turns toward the mystery voice. "Ya, my daughter does a pretty good job at keeping my head on my shoulders," his voice rings out, an arm going up before resting on my back when I move to tuck myself into his side again. "Say hello, Baby Girl," he encourages, rubbing my back as he smiles down at me.

"Hello," I obey, slowly lifting my eyes off the ground to look at the person Dad has been talking to. Standing in front of us is a tall man, a few centimeters shorter than my Father, but still tall. He's a slim guy, the sort of beautifully slim that makes my cheeks heat up. Youthfulness is still melted into his expression, aged more than mine but not enough to be more than five or so years older.

     "Hey," he greets, a blank expression on his face, making him seem even more handsome. His skin is pale and flawless, reminding me of freshly fallen snow. The rest of his features counter his skin tone but in a perfectly fitting way. The dark raven color of his hair is a nice contrast, especially paired with his dark-slitted eyes. I wouldn't be surprised if this guy walked straight off a photo shoot.

     "Remember last week when you said you'd do anything for a decent shogi partner?"

     "Ya," the guy carefully answers, slowly turning his focus back to Dad.

     Dad clasps his hands onto my shoulders, gently pushing me toward the young adult. "My daughter has been undefeated for the past few years. Even beat Genma a handful of times."

     "Genma's strategy is sloppy."

     "Come on Shikamaru. Just one game."

     "Why? What do you expect to gain from me playing a game of shogi with your daughter?"

     "Well, I've been looking for someone fitting to take over her training now that she's graduated from the - "

     "No," the man - Shikamaru - interprets, a tad of emotion swirling on his face. Disgust, maybe? Repulsion? "I have enough on my plate. I don't need or want to play teacher."

     "Come on," Dad repeats, pushing me closer to the guy. The scent of pine and cigarette smoke mixes together and melts off him, only adding more heat to my cheeks. "She's smart. So smart. Choza says my Baby Girl reminds him of you at her age. It's a beneficial situation for both of you. One lesson per game of shogi. It really is - "

"If I say yes, will you leave me alone?" Shikamaru butts in again, his fingers pressed to his temples and rub circles into his skin.

"Yes."

"Fine."

                      ————————————

     The Fawn I've been responsible for since... how long have I been playing shogi with Namiashi-Chan? I rest my chin on my folded hands, my eyes glued to the game board as I both wait for her to play her turn and think over how long our agreement has been going on.

     She's been visiting me for lessons and a daily game since she graduated from the academy. My little Fawn graduated on time so she was what? Twelve? I think so. I was twelve when I graduated.

     She just had a birthday three or four months ago. I know she did. Tamari and I took our son to it. How old did my Fawn turn? Sixteen? Seventeen? She's six years younger than me. How old am I? I was nineteen when Shikadai was born and he's four. So... I'm twenty-three, which makes my Fawn eighteen.

     My eyes flicker up to glance at her, taking a quick look at her face. Over the years she's gotten better at hiding her thoughts and feelings during our games, but her eyes still widen and shrink in time with her thoughts and feelings, hence 'fawn'.

     We had to leave early from her party because Shikadai had a meltdown when we told him no more cupcakes. She tried hard to hide her disappointment but it shinned in her eyes.

     My Fawn looks nothing like she did when I left her party. She's empty-faced, her eyes glued to a single spot in another attempt not to give away her plans. During my leave from her party, her eyes were misty, and jumping around to avoid looking at me.

     I'm not dumb or oblivious. I'm aware of my Fawn's feelings for me. She wears them quite openly, especially in recent years. Even now it's written all over her choices and body language. The bright lipstick to pull my attention to her mouth, the loose top and dangly anbu tags to pull my eyes down her shirt.

     The anbu tags are carved with her father's information. The anbu tags worn with age to the point the 'do' in Raido and the 'mai' in Namiashi have started to fade. The anbu tags that had a section of chain replaced last month. The anbu tags that softly rise with my Fawn's breasts every time she breaths.

     Not that I'm paying attention to the easy lust trap my Fawn set up. That would be inappropriate for multiple reasons. She's freshly eighteen. I met her when she was twelve and when I was seventeen. She's my student. I hold multiple layers of power over her; teacher, a village chief, Hokage advisor. I'm married, with a son. Happily married… Very happily married.

     The sound of a playing piece clicking against the board snaps me out of my thoughts. Disgust with myself crawls up my throat as I yank my eyes away from my Fawn's chest. My eyes focus on the board instead, trying to figure out the play she made.

     Now that her turn is over, Namiashi-Chan leans against her propped-up leg, her cheek squishing against her knee as she rests her head. Her lips are pressed tight together, the telltale sign that she found a hole in her strategy. Now, I just need to find it. "You're unusually quiet today," I comment, filling some of the space as I try to see what she sees unfolding on the board.

     "Am I?" Lips back thin, hiding away the red paint lacing them.

     I wonder if she smears her lipstick when she puts it on. Tameri always manages to put it on perfectly and complains when I mess it up. I bet the boys Fawn plays with like her lipstick smeared if there are any boys. I wonder how hot it would be, Namiashi-Chan's lipstick getting ruined because of her lips wrapping around my -

"Yes," I yelp, cutting off my train of thought. "Yes, you've been really quiet today." I think I'm going to be sick.

     My Fawn's head tilts more, eyebrows pushed together as she looks me over. "I'm just thinking," she mutters, concern quickly water-falling over her features. "Are you okay, Sensei? You look like you're going to throw up."

     "I'm fine." I'm just having perverted thoughts about you because of your slutty red lips and wide open top that teases the spilling of your titties. Oh, and your father's anbu tags. I'm sure your dad enjoys the fact men trail over a symbol of his career before looking down your shirt. "Sorry."

     "For what?"

     Calling your lipstick slutty and talking about you like you're a prostitute instead of a high-ranked shinobi. "Being so busy recently. Temari has been anxious about Shikadai starting preschool next week." Technically, not a lie... I think.

     I wouldn't know how Temari is feeling. The last year has been rough for us. Constant fights about my work, about our son's future, about her want to move us to the Sand Village, about both of us refusing to retire to ensure at least one of us will come home alive. I can't just leave my Clan, retiring as a Shinobi and moving out of the village both mean that would have to happen. I refuse to abandon my post as chief. It's not what would be good for my people. It's not what my Father would want.

     "It's alright. When you told me Temari was pregnant I figured your plate would be fuller. Don't worry so much, Sensei," my Fawn tries to comfort me, her lips spread into a smile. It's concerning how red her lips are. It can't just be lipstick.

     My eyes trail over her father's tags again, wondering how plumper her breasts would get if she got pregnant. Temari went up a full cup size. Would my Fawn's boobs grow that much too? How round would her belly get? How adorable would she be waddling around stuffed full with my child? My child... Shikadai. Temari. Fawn... baby deer. A fawn is a baby deer, and Namiashi-Chan is a baby adult.

     Another wave of nausea hits me, the acid of my stomach roaring to try and get out. Why do my thoughts keep wondering? Especially to a place as dark as that? What kind of man thinks about impregnating their student? A girl they've known since before her teen years? A terrible man. I'm a terrible man.

     "Sensei?" Namiashi-Chan whispers, pulling my attention out of my thoughts. Once I'm focused on her again, the perverted dark thoughts come crashing down again. She's leaned across the table, concern forcing her cherry lips into a deep frown, and her hand pressed against my forehead. "Are you sure you're fine? You're really pale and your forehead feels warm."

     Instantly my eyes drop down, investigating the way this position makes her chest look. Her boobs are pressed further up, teasing the neckline of her shirt even more. The thought of sliding my dick between her tits flickers through my mind, making me feel sicker, my disgust with myself only deepening when my dick twitches. "I'm fine."

     "Are you sure? Do you want me to fetch you some medicine? Or water?"

     Her big doe eyes are locked on me, drowning in worry and drowning my penis in a rush of blood. I wonder how her eyes would look while sucking me off. How'd they look while I'm fucking her? Like this? Round, soft, and so full of life? Or would they be more hardened, focused, constantly changing depth like they do while she's concentrating?

Before the head on my shoulders can get a say, I'm leaning forward, trailing my nose across her cheek as I get in position to kiss her. My hand jumps, fingertips sliding under the chain lying across her neck. The second my lips brush against hers, my hand falls into place below her jawline, wrapping around her throat and gently gripping it. Enough for my Fawn to feel the pressure but not enough to cut her breathing short.

A second of shock runs through my Fawn before she's present in the kiss too, her lips still slightly pasty. Something that makes me feel worse about myself but equally good brews in my chest, knowing her lipstick is still wet because she put it on just for me.

My fingers tighten around her throat, testing the waters of her reaction. A small hmph of pleasure spills from her, getting sucked down my throat when I part my lips. My tongue slips out, forcing its way into her mouth, another sound bubbles from my pretty Fawn when I get my way.

Again, the head straining against my pants wins out the command war, my free hand finding its way to her waist. I ball up the material of her shirt, yanking it upward until the hem is sliding against my fingers. My touch slides under Fawn's shirt, slowly trailing across her ribs before tracing the band of her bra.

The sounds overflowing from Namiashi-Chan are as sweet as the taste of her mouth, coated in the flavor of sugar and the lingering mint taste of her toothpaste. "Shikamaru," my name comes out shaky and jumbled as it gets eaten up by our kisses. How long has it been since I've heard my name in such a way? Breathless. Sweet. Needy. Intoxicating.

My fingers squirm their way under her bra, sliding upward to cup her breast. It's warm against my palm and as soft as I'd expect. My Fawn has always looked soft, sweet, and innocent. But, I'm not stupid. I know the stuff teenagers get up to. I wonder what the list of naughty things Namiashi-Chan has done consists of.

A jagged moan jerks out of her lungs when the pads of my fingers find her nipple, twirling it between them before pinching it every few seconds. I pull back from her, less than half an inch to suck a breath into my burning lungs.

I take the time to look her over, picking at the reactions she's having to my attention. Her chest is heaving, lips parted with her tongue threatening to poke out as she pants, and her eyes are half hooded, a perfect mix of the soft doe eyes I enjoy so much and arousal. My little Fawn is a sensual type it seems, getting excited simply from touching. I wonder how excited she'd get if I touched her elsewhere.

Her hand which was resting on my forehead for a fever check is now gripping my shoulder like a lifeline. Like I'll vanish into thin air if she lets me go. "Namiashi-Chan?" Her eyes widen a tad from her name rolling off my tongue, the reaction making my dick ache even more. She's so aware of everything all the time, as perfect of a mini-me as a student could get. I wonder how aware she'd be of my tongue twirling her nipple instead of my fingertips.

My request sticks in my throat, feeling like the only thing holding my sickness down at the moment. What in the world am I doing? I shouldn't have kissed her, I shouldn't be touching her like this, I shouldn't have caused her to look at me like she is right now.

"Go home," I whisper, reluctantly pulling my hands off of her. Instantly they feel chilled without my Fawn's body heat to keep them warm. Her neck looks empty too, without my fingers wrapped around it.

"What?" My chest hurts at the sight of her emotions crashing down.

Her eyes are wider, dewy from my order, but still swirling with lust. The corners of her lips are pointed down, her forehead scrunched with confusion. My poor Fawn, emotionally wrecked and upset because of me. Her chest is still pumping, an attempt to keep her emotions in control and locked down I'm sure. Young girls are so emotional, so easily swayed to tears. That doesn't mean I feel any better about coercing her tears.

"Go home, Namiashi," I repeat, trying to keep my tone even and soft. I'm the adult in this situation, the teacher, the person of power, this is my fault, not hers. Does she know that? I hope she does. "Tell your father to meet with me tomorrow as well. I would like to discuss my replacement as your Sensei."

"What? No," she babbles, her tears winning the inner battle and sliding down her cheeks. I bet they're as sweet as the rest of her.

My chest feels wallow because of the sight, because of what I've done and what I have to do. If I can't control myself, I can't be around her. It's the appropriate response in this situation. It's what's best for my Fawn. It's what's best for my marriage and for my son too. That doesn't mean it hurts any less, having to walk away from her. Knowing I just destroyed Namiashi-Chan's whole world, that I held her heart for less than five minutes before shattering it. Knowing I lost another one of my shogi partners.

"Go home."

———————————————————————

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[ihatebnha]

Omg dumb slut Bakugo... You know he tries to fuck you anywhere and everywhere and probably has an exhibition kink. You're on the train heading home and he's like "babe lemme put two fingers in" like excuse me sir but this is NOT the time smh.

That being said... Dumb slut Bakugo with a humiliation kink who likes being told that he's a dumb slut who can only think with his cock... I'd nut

you literally went off. this shit right here will make you feral. 

id nut too.

oops. 

-

For a guy with such a loud mouth, Bakugo can be pretty quiet when he wants to be. 

It starts off slowly at first, gripping your knee sweetly when you sit down together, running his thumb over the curve of your soft flesh as you rest against him.

But then the slow creeping of his hand becomes more noticeable, his fingers carefully tugging on the skirt of your outfit as if asking you to spread your legs open just a couple inches more and give him free access to your pussy. 

“Katsuki…?” you question, almost in warning as you tilt your chin sideways, pressing your handbag over his arm to hide his curved wrist that is currently the reason for the bunching of your skirt. 

However, he doesn’t speak, doesn’t even shift besides when the train lurches and causes him to lean further into you, his warm shoulder dipping into your body as he uses the opportunity to press his fingers further between your warm thighs. 

Side-eying his profile with a sigh and a frown, his own expression remains rather neutral if not stained with the slightest of blushes and a small pout as he purposely ignores you in response.

His fingers tighten around the soft meat of your thigh, nails barely clipping into your tights, to which you immediately deny his request by squeezing your legs together, trapping his hand between your warm loins and inches away from your (thankfully) clothed cunt. 

You know if you were to let him go, even try to pull his hand out from under you, he’d still find a way to torture you, silently begging you to let him rip the crotch of your tights and finger you in front of everyone on the subway. 

Regardless, he still manages to proceed anyway, wiggling his hand in the space where he’s being held by your thighs, barely managing to skim your damp panties with every stretch and flex of his fingers, and you can only hope to god that no one notices for the rest of your very long ride. 

-

“I’m sick of you, Bakugo.” 

“No, you’re not,” he shoots back instantly, trailing behind you as he lets the door slam shut behind him.

You glare at his nonchalance, at the way he stands by your front door with his hands crossed across his chest and his eyes toward the ground. 

“I really am,” you roll your eyes, storming towards the living room once your shoes are off. “You’re a real fucking slut sometimes.” 

His own boots tossed loudly behind him, he follows you, his own rough voice. “Am I?” 

You continue, throwing your purse down onto the couch as you stalk to the closet, tearing off your jacket with fervor and throwing it somewhere into the dark abyss, the zipper of your skirt and tights already halfway down your thighs as you aggressively tug the restrictive garments off.

“Yes, Katsuki,” you reply, huffing, kicking off the netting. “All you do is think with your cock.”

Unaware Bakugo was following you so closely, in your haste, you turn back around to find yourself face to face with his chest, the muscles of his pectorals flexing as he leans over you with dipped eyebrows and a sharp glare. 

“Say it again,” he demands, backing you up into the nearest wall, hips pressing into yours as he leans his face close to yours, his throaty voice dripping with heat. “Tell me I’m a whore.” 

With his hands now trying to pull off your shirt, you let your own fall to the large tent in his pants. 

-

Once you’re naked, Bakugo barely having been able to part from your lips to do more than pull your shirt over your head, it takes about two seconds for him to drag you to the couch and pull your thighs over his lap. He’s breathless, heaving, and when you cup his jaw in your hands, he can’t help but close his eyes and groan. 

“All you wanna do is fuck your pretty girlfriend, huh?” you berate, sitting up to run your hands down his chest until you’re fumbling with the fly of his pants, Bakugo bucking his hips against yours as you tug down his jeans and boxer-briefs only enough so that his swollen cock hits his stomach. 

Taking him in one hand, you use the other to grab at hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his face back from where it dips towards your chest, his hands already kneading at your breasts, thick fingers bruising.

“Stop teasing, baby,” he slurs, stuttering as you jerk his cock to an uncalculated rhythm, his precum the only lube used to soothe the sweet burn of your hand on his raw skin. “Fuckin’ ride.” 

You smile, tilting your face forward to let a glob of spittle drip past your lips and onto the head of his dick, working the saliva into him as he spits out a growl and a long string of curses.

“Such a dumb little slut...” you groan, finally lifting up your hips and aligning yourself with him, Bakugo’s hands now glued to your waist as he tries to pull you down onto him. “All for me, right?”

You do not give him the chance to nod.

And to say you ride the shit out of Bakugo is an understatement. 

[neonthewrite]

Washed Up Winchesters 6

Our heroes have a perfectly normal chat with a perfectly normal citizen about perfectly normal things. Progress is progress!

Cowritten with @nightmares06, the writer behind the @brothersapart multiverse!

( 1 ) ( 2 ) ( 3 ) ( 4 ) ( 5 ) -6- ( 7 ) ( 8 )

Story Tag

Read Time ~10 minutes

~~~~~

Dean, his natural fear of heights overridden by the obstacle currently in their path, leaned slightly off the edge of Jacob's hand. The perspective gave him a far better view of the authorities compared to normal. Up there, they wouldn't be able to take him into custody unless Jacob handed them over, which helped his bluster.

Taking out his stash of ID cards, Dean chose one at random and waved it in the air. There was no way the cop could see what was on the card, so he didn't bother looking at which one, or which name it was. Not to mention, he hadn’t bothered looking into any Lilliputian forms of ID, so there wasn’t much hope it would pass close scrutiny.

"We're on official business! He has a permit to be in this area, so long as we're with him to supervise."

"Dean," Sam muttered, just loud enough to be heard by the people on Jacob's hand, "that card is only worth shit in Blefuscu, what do you think you're doing?"

"Just play along," Dean whispered out the side of his mouth, keeping the friendly smile on his face and his eyes trained on the cop to avoid arousing suspicions. "This'll work."

Chase grinned. He hadn't missed how many different IDs Dean had hidden away. Monster hunting apparently came with some perks.

Despite Minnie nudging at his shoulder to keep him back, he peered over the side of Jacob's hand as well and waved jovially. "He's right, officer! I'm helping supervise, too!"

From so high up, it was hard to see the cop's expression, but they couldn't miss him shaking his head. He crossed his arms and frowned up at them all, trying to be as unflinching as he could in the shadow of a giant. How that kid could stand to ride around so high up, no one would ever know. "Alright, Lisong, just don't dawdle. And if there's one complaint about property damage ..."

Dean shoved his ID back into his jacket. "That's the least of his worries," he grumbled under his breath, while waving towards the officer with a cheerful, 'nothing-to-see-here' attitude.

"In a few hours, this will hopefully all be behind us, and we'll be out of town," Sam commented back. "You'll never have to deal with these police again."

“That's a nice change."

Jacob pursed his lips, but he couldn’t hope to join the hushed conversation. The cop would hear him no matter how he tried to whisper. He sent the small man a tense smile as the officer stalked to the side of the road, probably grumbling all the while. They might have gained a tag-along in their little escapade, at least until they could figure out where to go next.

Hopefully not further into town; Jacob was self-conscious enough.

He didn’t take a single step until he was sure no one was in front of him. While he could step over people with ease, it was an uncomfortable thought. He arrived at an intersection of two roads, and from there the shop was supposedly just around the corner.

Jacob knelt down in the crossroads instead to give himself room. “I’ll, uh. Wait here. By the lamp post, so you don’t miss me.” He smirked faintly at the thought of them losing track of him somehow.

"Got it!" Dean called over his shoulder, raising a hand to let Jacob know they agreed.

Sam hurried to keep pace with Dean, fidgeting with his own hidden knife to make sure it was ready to be drawn at the drop of a pin. They couldn't be sure of anything with the shapeshifters missing, and creatures like that often took the time to turn anyone that was potentially dangerous. With the guns sodden and out of the equation, they had to rely on the silver knives they both carried.

“You guys have got to hang out at the house and tell me some stories when this is all over,” Chase said.

Minnie hummed skeptically. “Or maybe they should avoid giving you ideas.”

"If you have pie at that place of yours, you've got a deal," Dean said to Chase, focusing on what was, to him, the more important detail.

Chase grinned as he hopped down from Jacob’s hand and followed. As far as bribes went, that wouldn’t be tough to manage at all. “We can probably arrange that,” he mused.

Minnie was already rolling her eyes when he glanced her way. “Neither of us can bake,” she reminded him.

“Well there’s bakeries,” he shot right back.

Their bickering brought the group to the shop front right as a short, stocky man stepped out of it. He was dressed quite a bit nicer than most of the people they’d managed to interview back at the docks. There was a messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and a key in the other hand. As he turned back towards the door, he noticed the four people approaching.

Right after that, he noticed the giant kneeling not even a block away at the street corner. His mouth opened in surprise and the key dropped to the ground with a faint clink.

Sam smoothly stepped up, stooping down to pick up the key. “Careful, you might lose it,” he said as he held it out politely. He didn’t show any unease at the fact that there was a giant nearby, or even act like it was unusual in the slightest. In his experience, people responded best when they thought the situation was under complete control.

Without missing a beat, Dean was right next to Sam, matching his brother’s attitude in professionalism this time. “We’re actually looking for someone around here. You wouldn’t happen to know a Mr. Black, wouldja?”

The man glanced down at the key in Sam’s hand, then up at the brothers, and then past them at where Chase and Minnie waited patiently. As if following everyone’s lead, he didn’t look past them at the giant again, but he was flustered all the same by the oddness of the situation. He sputtered a moment before taking the key, and then squared his shoulders to convey that he, too, was having a very normal chat.

“I hope so,” he answered. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

Sam smiled. It had worked like a charm. "We're actually looking for someone."

"A bunch of someones," Dean interrupted, ignoring the look Sam sent him.

It only took Sam a second to recover from the unexpected interruption. "They came into port today on a ship that you bought, and we were supposed to grab a ride back when they left. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you...?"

Black’s brow furrowed and he sighed tersely. “Afraid you mighta been misled, boys,” he admitted. “I bought a ship that sailed in today, but it won’t be sailing out for at least two weeks yet.”

He groaned thoughtfully. By his fidgeting, he didn’t enjoy giving Sam and Dean apparent bad news. “Pretty sure I heard one of their lot mention checking out some open pasture, maybe for work? If you wanna take it up with them why they sold the ship out from under ya.”

“Open pasture?” Chase chimed in, frowning. “But no one’s hiring new hands right now.”

Black shrugged and his eyes widened in an apologetic expression. “Wish I knew more, kid. I’ve got a lot of things on my end right now. Blefuscan ruffians did a number on that boat, it’s a real mess.”

“Wonder how that could have happened,” Dean said dryly, then winced.

“That’s a darn shame,” Sam lamented, trying to look natural after stomping Dean’s foot into submission. “We won’t have a ride back without them.”

“That said, they still owe us, since we paid up front for it,” Dean said, edging next to Black. “Did you happen to catch where the pasture they were looking at is? We have a lot of catching up to do.”

The merchant’s face scrunched into a thoughtful frown. “Check north of town,” he determined. “I mean, if you’re up for a hike. Heard from some other business owners that the land up there wasn’t selling. Past all the hills and the like, it’s too hard to get there and back quickly.”

Chase grinned, and even Minnie smirked. Without saying anything, he nudged Dean in the side with an elbow.

Dean stifled the rising temptation to elbow Chase back. He risked knocking the kid over. "Right! I don't think that'll be a problem," he said. Unlike the townsfolk, they had a giant that could get them to and from any place outside of the town.

Turning to leave, Dean caught Chase's elbow by a hand, dragging the kid with him.

Sam smiled politely to the businessman. "Thank you for your help," he said, then he had to dash to keep up with the others.

~~~

Back at the street corner, Jacob was almost exactly where they’d left him. At some point during their short interview, the policeman from before had decided he was too close to the sidewalk and had shooed him further into the middle of the road. It didn’t bother Jacob at all, and it seemed to mollify the little guy, so there he waited by the time he noticed the others wandering back towards him.

He grinned at the sight of Chase, dragged along backwards by Dean’s steady guidance. It was anyone’s guess what he might have said, but he’d probably earned it.

“Hope you know where to go next, ‘cause I think I’m overstaying my welcome here,” he greeted, already offering a hand for the tiny group.

"They can deal," Dean said, continuing his inexorable walk dragging Chase along until he reached the center of Jacob's palm to wait for the others. "We've got a new lead to follow."

Sam and Minnie weren't far behind the pair, following along but giving Dean a wide berth until they were sure he was done.

"The directions are out past the hills," Sam informed Jacob. "Sounds like you won't have to worry about any angry townsfolk out there. In fact, it doesn't sound like the area is easily accessible at all."

Chase finally managed to wrench his arm out of Dean’s grasp in time for the others to settle on the giant hand and for the whole surface to shift beneath their feet. He’d gotten so used to hitching a ride on Jacob’s hand that he hardly even swayed as they all rose up steadily. “Won’t be an issue for you, dude. It’s only hidden away for us non-giant types.”

Jacob smirked. His other hand joined the first to offer them all more stability as he lifted them farther and farther from the street below. “Almost had me worried about that for a second,” he teased. “How helpful can I be if I can’t at least getcha where you need to go?”

Chase waved a hand dismissively. “You’re already a hero in this story, don’t worry about that.”

"Maybe you'll get the chance to be a hero next," Sam said reassuringly, giving Chase an encouraging grin.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Dean complained.

"More like the damsel in distress!"

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas : Bad Joke

Also on AO3

TL;DR: 

While it would be accurate to call Izuku the son of the two heroes Ms Joke and Eraserhead, it'd be more accurate to call him the collective child of the Mustutafu hero community.

(to see where this idea - loosely - came from and better (and more depressingly) explored, try Gallows Humour by Nuclear_Equipped_Walking_Battle_Tank)

General Prompt: Izuku is the Biological son of Aizawa Shouta and Fukukado Emi. Lets get into it!

So; Izuku is the product of a one night stand very shortly after graduation. They were both mostly trying to get over other people - it didn’t work, at all. Aizawa and Mic have just moved in together, so Emi joins them. It’s honestly some of the best times of their lives, even if its a mess. Nemuri visits so often she may as well be living there and they plot for the future.

Emi and Nemuri start and on again off again thing that never really dies. Aizawa and Mic finally get over themselves and start dating before Izuku is even born, Emi is very proud Aizawa managed to talk about his feelings for once in his life.

Quirkless Izuku for this one.

The four young adults live together until Izuku is around 3, whereupon they get offers to teach at Ketsubutsu and UA respectively. Their apartment is too far from both schools, so they make the decision to live in different homes from then on. Everyone cries, even though they see each other on the weekends.

It’s one week at Emi’s, one week at Aizawa’s until Izuku starts preschool. He starts preschool near Emi’s house but after she finds out about Bakugo being a little brat, they look for another. The only one with openings is near Aizawa, so that’s where he goes. Ends up being childhood friends with Tenya and Momo.

The three of them are a collection of very smart, very nice children. They all are, however, too heroic for their tiny child bodies and Izuku and Tenya will try and fight anyone they see being a jerk and Momo has perfected the art of distracting the teachers. They are a team to be feared – even If none of them are tall enough to reach a kitchen sink.

Tenya and Momo are both often at fancy parties and they always bring Izuku so it’s a little team of children in suits and fancy dresses all holding hands while Izuku drags them up to every hero and excitedly asks for an autograph and rambles about their quirks. Basically everyone loves them.

I

zuku spends so much time at UA and Ketsubutsu he has his own ID card for each school. The staff love him. Aizawa and Emi tried to keep him away from work, but the moment Izuku saw other pro heroes there was no hope, the kid just looks like you’ve given him the whole world and boy are the two of them weak for their little man.

Nezu ends up making Izuku his little apprentice and teaches the kid stuff above his level in subjects that interest him. Hes not crazy ahead of the curve in general subjects but he’s a sharp kid with a good eye for quirks.

In analysis though hes hard to outclass, even as a child. He just as a knack for putting things together, even without doing it intentionally. After a little training from Nezu he becomes impossible to lie to which is a great skill for a hero, but a really aggravating skill for a 5 year old.

“Can I be a hero?” “Sprout, you could probably be a duck if you put your mind to it, I’m pretty sure no one can stop you doing anything.” “I’ve tried.”

Izuku’s personality is pretty similar to canon, but more like current canon than past. He’s socially awkward, can’t handle a crowd unless he’s in a fight or presentation (same vibe tbh) and easily flustered, but he’s more sure of himself and social. Most of his issues with being quirkless come from society at large rather than the people around him.

He also has a sense of humour! It’s much drier than you’d expect from knowing the kid, but he gets it from Aizawa.

Also, his hair is different because no one can stop me from making minor cosmetic changes. Less true green more iridescent black. Neon green eyes too.

Gets One for All, All Might knew Izuku as a child because if you’re a pro and your kid loves All Might more than oxygen, you abuse your connections to arrange a meetup. All Might falls in love with this tiny good boy, and becomes pretty good friends with Mic, Aizawa and Emi in one of the strangest friendships the world has ever seen.

50% of it is everyone, including Izuku, trying to force All Might to take care of himself. The other 50% is them just doing it for him anyway. Izuku has learnt that if he falls asleep on All Might, the man can not make himself move from that spot until Izuku wakes up. He abuses this.

All Might is just the fun uncle who shows up with presents randomly and you let him in because he’s trying his best.

He actually asks permission from Izuku’s parent’s ab giving him One for All, they basically go with “Nothing was going to stop this kid being a hero but fuck will that make life easier”

This AU basically includes Izuku, his two dads, his two mums, his fun uncles All Might and Nighteye, his weird grandpa Gran Torino and his crazy ??? Nezu. It’s the world’s oddest family.

In an act only Aizawa and Izuku could manage, they kinda,,, forget,,, to tell 1A they are related. Shouto still asks if All Might is Izuku’s dad and he loses his shit laughing for so long  he gets uncomfortable.

Bakugo is aware, he and Izuku were good friends and kids but had a falling out when Izuku’s quirk didn’t come in. Bakugo just assumes he was a late bloomer and while he doesn’t say sorry because hes a brat, hes about as nice as Bakugo gets. He kinda whispers “isn’t,,, that,, your dad” and Izuku just nods. Bakugo says nothing more because its fucking hilarious.

Literally the moment they work it out is when Ketsubusu comes over to see them in the Provisional License exam. Izuku just turns to Aizawa, deadpan “Goodbye Father, I’m leaving you to live with Mother.” “Back Monday like usual?” Izuku and Joke just start wheezing. The whole class is silent and lost and it’s at that moment Izuku and Aizawa realise they maybe kinda forgot to tell 1A. Izuku is just rolling on the ground laughing ,Aizawa has buried his face in his capture weapon to hide his own snickers and Bakugo is fucking wheezing, leaving poor Tenya and Momo the job of explaining exactly what the fuck is happening.

[lovingmyselfcore]

Protect You Chapter IV

Oh my god I did it. I wrote a thing for this thing!! You guys are def getting other writing things from me this week but idk what it'll be bc apparently my brain is god and works in mysterious ways (is that offensive?)

Significant lack of Cardan today and I apologize for that but he will deffo be in the next part (if you've read the end of this then you know)

Chapter IV; Some Attempted Breaking and Entering ft. Nicasia being Nicasia and I hate her :)

“Ow,” I deadpanned.

Oriana looked up at me, mouth pinched at the edges, “Jude.” She had the way of saying my name (always has) that perfectly conveyed her distaste at my existence and scolding me for whatever I had done.

We were in Vivi and I’s apartment, Oriana had me propped on the counter while she adjusted my sling and bandages. Every time she saw the injury she grimaced in disgust, which meant that was her only current expression.

“When Vivi does this it’s much quicker,” I muttered, crossing my ankles and swinging my legs against the counter.

“Well, Vivi has had weeks of doing this for you.” Oriana pulled the bandage tighter and my ‘ow’ wasn’t deadpan anymore.

I didn’t think she was going to speak again but she did, “Training,” She scoffed. “I can’t believe you injured yourself so severely.” She looked up at me, “But at least it wasn’t a gunshot wound. At least your life isn’t as dangerous as that.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. Lying always has been my specialty.

Oriana pressed her lower body into my legs to keep me still against the counter. “Stop banging, you’re going to dent or chip it.”

I rolled my eyes and her grip tightened on my arm before she released me entirely.

“All done.”

I rolled my shoulder as best I could, “Great.”

Oriana stepped back and I hopped off the counter. Grabbing my jacket and slinging it over my available shoulder I called back to Oriana, “I’m going to work, Dain needs me.”

I was two steps from the front door when Oriana caught me by the shoulder. “Tayrn’s engagement party is tomorrow night,” She said it like I hadn’t been thinking about it since it was announced.

“Don’t worry,” I grinned at her, “I’ll be there to make everyone’s life hell.”

~~~~~~~~

“Jude,” Lilliver waved her hand in front of my face. “You’re spacing. Everything good?”

“What? Oh, yeah. It’s just…”

“The party.” Garrett said, matter of factly.

I gave him a look. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well lucky for you, you’ll be spending the whole time on a job,” Garrett said. Van and Lilliver winced.

“What?” I asked, meeting Garrett’s eyes. He didn’t flinch away from the harsh edge to my voice, the undoubtedly even harsher look in my eyes.

“Dain wanted us to tell you,” Van said, raising his voice as the music caught a crescendo.

We were in some day club that was clearly only for rich people. Sitting at a table tucked in a dark corner, watching as Dain mingled amongst the crowd. Shadows in the shadows, I mused. Weirdly appropriate.

I wasn’t sure who it was, but someone had rented the place and filled it with the highly respected, feared, higher-ups. Dain had heard about the event and invited himself, using the situation to make connections, and further the ones he already had.

He’d dragged us with him, of course. It was 11 at night, I was supposed to be curled on the couch with Vivi, eating ice cream out of the tub and watching Criminal Minds or beating up the punching bag in my room until my knuckles had split, even through the bandages and I couldn’t feel my arms. It depended on my mood.

But Lilliver had called me, said Dain needed his shadows, and that Garrett was waiting outside my apartment building. He had been. I have no idea how he got my address, but I’d refused to let him be my ride. He was too unpredictable, I couldn’t give him that blind faith. So I’d yelled to Vivi that my bike was out of gas and I needed hers and I’d pay her back for the miles, took her keys, and trailed behind Garrett’s car. And now, here we were.

I was nursing a glass of whiskey, mostly to calm my nerves as I followed Dain with my eyes, watching everyone who got too close to him.

“You don’t think anybody would try anything?” I’d asked when I got here, sliding in next to Lilliver in the booth.

“Someone’s done it before.” Van had muttered grimly.

I arched a brow, “What happened to them?”

Van just looked at Garrett, who was eyeing everyone and everything like they all had guns and were about to start shooting people.

I got the message and hadn’t inquired further.

“What does he want me to do?” I asked now.

“Locke’s a friend of Cardan’s.”

“I’m aware.”

Garrett rolled his eyes and I glared at him.

Resting my forearms on the table and leaning forward until I was closer to Van I said, “But Dain isn’t worried about Cardan taking the power, is he?”

“No.”

“But,” Lilliver cut in. “Locke has been seen with Madoc and Balekin. Being with Madoc isn’t that weird-”

“Yes, it is.” I interrupted.

“But Locke is going to be Madoc’s son-in-law. How is that weird?” Garrett asked, tearing his gaze from Dain.

“Madoc hates Locke, he isn’t very happy about Taryn marrying him.”

“For what he did to you?” Van asked.

I snorted, “You’re overestimating him. Nah, he just thinks Locke is a stuck-up prick who doesn’t deserve everything he has.”

“Fair,” Lilliver murmured and I nodded my agreement.

“But Balekin?”

I shook my head, “You don’t know Madoc like I do. If he’s talking to Balekin and it’s not about just security stuff? It can’t be good. Throw Locke into the equation and anything could happen.”

“Great,” Van drawled with an exasperated eye roll.

“So, Jude,” Lilliver asked after a moment of silence. “You have a good outfit, right?”

~~~ A few hours later, I was sitting on my couch, crossing and uncrossing my legs, waiting for Vivi to be finished getting ready.

“Viv!” I yelled.

“Patience is a virtue!” She screeched back from the bathroom.

“Anybody that has time for patience is wasting their life,” I muttered to myself, trying to relax back into the couch unsuccessfully.

I was too stiff all over, shoulders tight, leg muscles straining as I dug the soles of my heels into the carpet as if trying to keep myself on the ground. I curled my fingers into the plush cushion of the couch.

I was wearing a gold dress and matching heels, a small handgun strapped to one thigh, a knife on the other. The slits up the legs of my dress would allow me to retrieve them but kept them hidden enough from prying eyes.

Vivi was taking too long. I rose slowly from my place on the couch and walked to the bathroom. Some Taylor Swift was playing from the Bluetooth speaker perched precariously on the windowsill and Vivi swayed to the beat, slivers of dying sunlight curling in through the window to wind around her gold curls. She was touching up her mascara so she didn’t look at me when I entered.

“I know I’m taking forever, but you should be thanking me for not making you go too early.” I rolled my eyes and leaned against the doorway, not saying anything in response.

Suddenly Taylor’s voice cut off as Vivi’s phone rang. “Can you get that?” She asked me, but I was already reaching for it. I had to twist my arm half under her upper body to get to the other side of the countertop but I eventually reached it and glanced at the caller ID.

“Heather,” I said.

Vivi looked away from the mirror to blink at me and I took that as my cue to answer.

“Hey, Heather,” I said.

“Jude?”

“Yeah. Vivi’s busy being narcissistic so you get to talk to me instead.”

Heather’s laugh sounded like a fairy. “That’s alright, you’re not bad to talk to.”

“Thanks for lying to me,” I replied, leaning against the doorway again. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I just knew the engagement party was soon and figured I’d talk to Vi now before she gets too drunk to do anything.” I snorted, “That’s a very fair assessment. We would’ve been at the party already but Vivi is taking forever.” The last word was louder and Vivi stuck her middle finger up at me without even turning to face me.

Vivi finally set down the mascara wand and turned to me with her hands on her hips before making a toddler-esque grabbing motion.

“Well Vivi’s finally done getting ready, but she wants to talk to you.”

Heather snorted, “Nice. Well, have fun at the party, Jude.”

It was my turn to snort.

Heather’s voice got softer, “It’ll all be fine. You don’t have to stay for very long, and maybe you can find something to distract yourself with.” Oh, I have something to do, alright.

“Thanks,” I muttered before handing Vivi the phone. “Hey, baby,” Vivi said immediately and I shook my head. She stuck her tongue out at me before turning away and I took that as my cue to leave the bathroom.

~~~~

I was physically unable to stay still.

Vivi and I didn’t own a real car, so we’d called an Uber, and sitting in the backseat, I was doing everything but stay still. Vivi kept side-eyeing me when she glanced away from her phone, but she hadn’t said anything.

I was bouncing my leg, tapping a rhythm on the door of the car, the seatbelt, the seat below me, my arms.

Vivi paused in her texting, probably to Heather, to clamp a hand on my knee. It didn’t do much to actually stop my movements but it got me to look at her. “Why are you so nervous?”

“I’m not,” I said stiffly and turned away.

Vivi sighed and took her hand off my knee. “You can talk to me, Jude.” She whispered.

I didn’t respond.

~~~

Locke lived in a mansion. I’d been there before but it was still impressive. What took away a bit of that was that I knew he hadn’t worked for it. He was just a rich kid, born and raised. Like all the others that had looked down on me my entire life.

He fit in with Cardan.

Vivi thanked our Uber driver as we stepped out of the car onto the winding stone pathway leading up to the front door.

As the car sped off Vivi linked her arm through mine and yanked me forward to start walking to the door.

“Stop looking at the house like it murdered your cat,” Vivi muttered, her arm tightening briefly around mine.

I tried to school my scowl into something more neutral. It wasn’t easy.

“We’re here for Taryn,” Vivi continued, “You might not even have to see him, or them together at all.”

I nodded mechanically as my eyes drifted to the window on the second floor that I knew belonged to Locke’s bedroom. Would he keep his secrets locked in there? Taryn could get in there, so maybe not, but it was worth a shot.

Some servants pushed open the door to let us inside and Vivi and I froze in the doorway. It looked like some kind of fancy 1800s ball, but with smaller dresses.

“Is that Elowyn?” Vivi whispered. I followed her gaze. It was, indeed, Elowyn Greenbriar in all her glory, perched near a huge window as if preparing to leap out and make a run for it soon. She was eyeing everyone with that look of judgment that seemed to be a Greenbriar birthright, looking more expensive than Locke’s mansion itself.

“I didn’t think she and Locke were that close.”

“It’s not just her,” I realized, as my eyes fell on Cealia, who was worming her way through the crowd of people to reach her sister.

But Vivi had noticed something else. “Nicasia’s here,” She hissed. “And she’s headed this way.”

Vivi and I’s arms were still linked so I tugged lightly and dragged us deeper into the house and crowd of people, effectively disappearing from Nicasia’s line of sight.

I wasn’t ready to deal with her quite yet.

I breathed deeply through my nose and snatched a glass of champagne off a tray nearby, scanning the room.

How could I slip away and snoop without being detected?

“Hey, Jude.” I tightened my grip on my flute of champagne and turned to face Nicasia. Her expression wasn’t pleasant, so I didn’t bother trying to act pleased to see her, either.

“Nicasia,” God. Why did she have to be so pretty, a long, flowing dress that was so many different shades of blue, I couldn’t even count them. It looked like it was tailored to fit her-it probably was, actually. It rippled as she moved, like ocean waves on the shore. Her hair was loose for the most part, aside from a few intricate braids woven in that she had curled around a single finger.

She plucked the champagne from my hand and sipped leisurely. It made my blood boil.

“I figured you’re one of the few people who hates being here as much as I do.”

I grudgingly nodded and her answering grin was sharp.

“Why are the Greenbriars here?” I blurted before I could think better of it.

Nicasia blinked at me before responding. “Because they’re Greenbriars. They do whatever they want when they want.”

It wasn’t a real answer and I had a feeling that she wasn’t just being difficult; she didn’t know, and hated that she didn’t know.

Well, Nicasia and I had something in common.

“Are they all here?” I asked.

She shook her head, “Balekin was here for a total of fifteen minutes before he vanished somewhere,” She gestured vaguely, lips turned down in disgust. “I haven’t seen Dain anywhere, but the girls are here. And Cardan,” She added, pretending like it was an afterthought.

My gaze automatically shot into the crowd, taking note of every face. But none of them were Cardan.

“Do you love Locke?” She asked scornfully.

“Do you?” I shot back, like we were third graders.

She rolled her eyes, “I’d rather crawl naked over glass.”

“Then you have my answer.”

She just looked at me for a beat

Nicasia drained the glass and thrust it back into my hand. She gave me a final judging once over before strutting off in the other direction.

~~~~~~ The next half hour was nothing but mingling; I had to make it clear I was here, that I supported this. After Nicasia had left me alone, I gritted my teeth and dove into the cage of hungry sharks.

I slipped back into the darkness, listened to aristocrats talk to each other, pretending they were all above each other and felt the weight of the gun shifting under my dress; the cold metal pulsed like it was branding me.

I pretended I was one of them; the lies felt warm and comforting on my tongue, honey on a warm summer afternoon.

The realization hit me like a truck: I couldn't entirely blame this on the Shadows' crash course training these past few weeks. I had always had the capacity for this; lying and manipulating and scheming came as effortlessly to me as breathing. I had been born for this. The thought should've been terrifying, but it settled beneath my heart, caged in my ribs with a comforting weight that couldn't be ignored.

“Excuse me,” I murmured and slipped away from the group I’d been attempting to charm.

Balekin hadn’t resurfaced and I wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d left the party entirely so as I slid along the walls of the second floor of Locke’s mansion, I kept my ears and eyes tuned to catch any and all movements.

Locke’s office.

Yes!

I glanced around, feeling like I was in some kind of cliche mafia movie before attempting to turn the door handle. Locked. Okay. Not great. I could work with it though.

Being Madoc’s daughter and Vivienne Duarte’s sister gave me access to an arsenal of weird abilities to use in a pinch.

I reached up to my hair before remembering I didn’t pull it up, so I turned my attention to my clutch, hoping there was a bobby pin or paper clip or something in there.

I’d let my guard down.

I heard his uneven steps coming towards me too late.

“My sweet nemesis,” Cardan slurred. “What do you think you’re doing?” ~~~

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@ladyofbloodandroses @cultofvamps @itsmentalbreakdownhours

[teamlarl]

Chapter - The Ides of March

Word Count: 6,922

Characters: Adrastia Ennius, Ianus Basilius, Ulixes Ovid, Astraea

TW: Death, Gore, Extreme Violence, Mentions of Child Abuse, Gaslighting

“Do we know what’s causing the riots?”

Ianus Basilius, head of the Mistrali Council, sat among the rest of his compatriots. Mere minutes ago, he and the rest of the council members had been shuffled off towards the executive bunker used for such emergencies. In all his time on the council, the bunker had never been used until now. In fact, the last time that he could recall such a threat to the city that would have necessitated such a thing was the Faunus War, all those decades ago.

To think, that the threat originated from inside the ancient city! From the people themselves, doing the Grimm’s job for them! How galling.

In response to his question, the aides of each council member handed the rulers of Mistral a single manila folder each. Ianus’ stormy gray gaze scanned the reports within, jaw clenching and grip tightening the further down he read.

“Astraea!” Ianus hissed, slamming his palm down onto the round table they all sat around. “That masked bitch!”

“This is what happens when you show too much mercy, old friend.” Intoned the grim voice of Ulixes Ovid, general of the Mistrali Self-Defense Forces. His tan and weathered face crinkled in annoyance. “You should have listened to me and arrested her for fermenting dissent among the populace.”

“She hadn’t done anything illegal!” Ianus shot back. “Not that we could prove, anyway. You and I both know that we couldn’t risk arresting such a beloved public figure and turning her into a martyr.”

“Fat lot of good that did.” The third council member, Sophia Choi, snorted. The wizened old lady folded her hands inside of her long and elaborate sleeves, fixing the head of the council with a glare. “It seems as if she’s set the people loose against us anyway. Do we even have the defenses for this sort of thing? These are people, not Grimm. They’ll be clever.”

General Ovid sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Under normal circumstances, yes, we would. However, there’s an… obvious issue. All this negativity is going to attract the Grimm. We don’t have enough guards to deal with the rioters and the Grimm at the same time. Normally, we’d have a contingent of huntsmen for the latter, but…” He tried very hard not to glance in Councilwoman Choi’s direction.

“But we’ve been losing huntsmen in droves, recently.” Choi spat out. “Something we have yet to know the cause for!”

“There’s an investigation ongoing.” Ianus attempted to placate his fellow council member.

“My daughter was murdered!” Choi snapped. Her parchment colored eyes narrowed, glaring at Ianus directly. “And mark my words, there is going to be hell to pay for that.”

Ianus, to his credit, was far from cowed by the blatant threat. “Regardless,” he continued dryly, “we need to handle the Grimm situation.” Biting the inside of his cheek, as was his habit, the head of the Mistrali Council weighed his options. None of which were very good, but something had to be done. A decision had to be made. “…Send the students of Haven Academy to man the city walls.”

The aide to his side nodded and rushed out of the room to transmit the order. To Ianus’ left, General Ovid looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel.

“Are you insane?” Ovid questioned sharply. It was the sort of quiet that hid a raging storm underneath. “They’re just students, Ianus. They’re not ready for something like this.”

“You’re entirely correct, old friend.” Ianus calmly acquiesced. “However, they’re all we have. Whatever the reason,” he glanced sharply at Councilwoman Choi, “which is being investigated, I assure you,” his gray eyes swung back towards the general, “our huntsmen reserves have dwindled. This isn’t a decision I make lightly, but we need bodies. We need something to throw at the Grimm.”

It was at this point that the fourth member of the council, Shiro Abe, decided to speak up. “They’re going to die.” He said simply, doing nothing to hide the bored expression lingering on his face. The career bureaucrat hadn’t even so much as blinked while he discussed death as if he were discussing budgetary numbers.

“Perhaps,” Ianus responded as his lips flattened into a thin line, “or perhaps they’ll surprise you. They’re more capable of the task than old men like us, at any rate. Besides, my son and General Ovid’s daughter are among that number. I have every confidence in their abilities.”

The room fell silent at that proclamation. What could really be said when their leader had just acknowledged sending their child to their potential doom?

It was a silence that did not last long, however.

“Aww, you know, it’s almost kind of sweet how much you believe in me.”

Every person in the secure bunker, aides and council members alike, snapped their heads towards the new voice that had just filled their chamber. A voice that shouldn’t have been there.

Ianus’ stormy eyes widened in shock as he stood up from his seat. What was she doing here? Before he could open his mouth to demand answers, the figure in the doorway cut him off.

“Uncle Ianus, do sit down.” The violet leer of Adrastia Ennius crinkled in undisguised amusement as she met the gaze of the most powerful man in Mistral. Without missing a beat, the raven haired beauty sashayed into the room, hauling a duffel bag over her shoulder and dragging a crumpling mass of a man by the collar behind her. With a heave and a grunt of exertion, she tossed the unconscious form of Councilman Saturn Vasilius onto the grand council table. “Thought I’d deliver your missing member, free of charge. Caught him about to be dismembered by a mob outside his home.”

The rest of the room relaxed a smidge at the news of the rather unorthodox rescue. Ianus let out a sigh of relief and took his seat once more, making no comment of Adrastia’s breach of their roles. He was the one that gave the orders, not her. Though, considering the circumstances, this was neither the time nor the place to lecture her on the decorum he had drilled through her head.

Though the tension in the room gradually melted away, Ulixes Ovid found himself more concerned than ever. As Adrastia took her seat across from him and met his eyes, Ovid knew something was very wrong. The look in his adopted daughter’s eyes… It was-

Ovid’s train of thought was abruptly caught off as the bunker shook around them. Dust was shaken loose from the ceiling and floated down onto the council members and their aides, but that was the least of their worries. With the reflexes of a military man, Ovid slammed down on the intercom in front of him and barked out a demand for a status report.

All he got in response was static.

“Well, that doesn’t sound good.” Adrastia mused as she hauled her duffel bag onto the table in front of her and began to dig through it. A moment passed and she realized that no one had so much as moved a muscle. Sighing, she turned her attention towards one of the aides. “Someone should really go check on that.” Beat. “That means you.”

The aide in question, sweating in their boots from everything that was going on, glanced towards Councilman Basilius, who gave their nod of assent. The aide scampered out of the room without a second thought.

“She could have checked on it herself, you know.” Councilwoman Choi pointed out. “Rather than some wet behind the ears political aide that often merely serves to make my tea. She’s a soldier, after all.”

“Perhaps, councilwoman,” Adrastia drawled as she picked a pencil up from the table and began twirling it in her fingers, “you shouldn’t talk about people as if they aren’t there to hear you.” She stared at Choi as if she were nothing more than a speck of dirt to be picked out of her boots, then turned her attention towards Basilius himself. “Besides, I assume the esteemed head of the council has marching orders for his most effective agent. Isn’t that right, Uncle Ianus?”

That wasn’t right, General Ovid knew. Adrastia never referred to Ianus as such unless she wanted something. A fact that Councilman Basilius himself seemed to overlook, content with her obedience.

“Indeed.” Ianus replied solemnly. “In light of the current riots spreading throughout the city like a wildfire, I’m sending the students of Haven Academy out to the outer walls to protect against the inevitable Grimm incursion. That includes you, Agent Ennius.”

For a brief moment, a flash of worry crossed Adrastia’s cold, violet eyes… but she was nothing if not a professional. Compartmentalization was a gal’s best friend.

“I assume that includes Renatus?” She asked, her voice softening for the first time during this impromptu meeting.

Ianus Basilius shot her a blank stare in return. “…You know as well as I that that boy would never be able to stomach staying behind while the rest of his peers went out to fight, even if I ordered it myself. Yes, he will be going.”

“I see.” Adrastia muttered. “I suppose you’re right. There’s no denying one’s nature.”

“So,” Ianus continued, “if you want to ensure his survival throughout the next twenty four hours, I suggest you hurry along to the outer wall.”

The pencil that Adrastia had been toying with snapped in her palm.

Taking a deep breath, Adrastia Ennius mustered up the fakest, most obedient smile she had ever given. “Of course, sir. I’ll be sure to hurry along right away. There’s… just one thing, you see.”

“Very well, what is it, Adrastia?” Ianus asked impatiently. There really wasn’t time for this, but she had done well tonight.

The young soldier tilted her head and asked the head of the council, “What do you think my nature is?”

Not a word was spoken as Adrastia tipped her palm over and allowed the broken pieces of her pencil fall. They landed on the ground in a clatter, a soft sound that was almost deafening with the hush that had fallen over the secure council chamber.

“…I’m not sure I understand. May you repeat the question?” Ianus finally replied.

Adrastia let out a resigned sigh as she gave the councilman a disappointed look. “Ianus Basilius, what was one of the first things you ever taught me? Do not make you repeat yourself. You heard. You understood. Do not insult my intelligence or your own by implying you did not. Do not make me repeat myself.”

Even now, there was no reply to her query. Councilman Basilius merely stared her down, as if she were still a little girl that could be brought to heel with just a look. Pathetic.

“Alright, perhaps you need an example.” A sly grin crossed Adrastia’s face as she returned the glare Ianus was giving her. It was like a shark staring down an old lion who ventured too close to the sea. “What would you say your nature is, Ianus Basilius? Ah, ah, ah, don’t answer that. It was rhetorical. I’ll tell you anyway.”

Councilman Basilius turned his head to the left and shared a concerned glance with General Ovid, who merely shrugged his shoulders in response.

“You’re the ambitious sort,” Adrastia began, pointing a finger towards the subject of her analysis. “The type who craves power for power’s sake. You are the kind of man that wishes he were immortal, but since you know that is an impossibility, you settle for cementing your legacy in history and legend. Morality doesn’t even factor into the equation. It’s all about your personal glory hidden behind a pretense of supposedly doing what’s best for the people-”

“I am doing what’s best for the people!” Ianus immediately shot back.

“Then why are they out there rioting?” Adrastia calmly countered. “You’ve been on the council for almost twenty years, but what’s really different now compared to before you joined? You’ve certainly got more wealth and prestige than you did before. And don’t get me wrong! Acting in public like you and father over there are opposed by the majority of the council, when in actuality you’re the one calling the shots? When you’re actually consolidating power behind closed doors? Oh, it’s a stroke of brilliance. A political power play. And really, I think it sums up your nature pretty succinctly.”

By now, Councilman Basilius had had enough of this rambling nonsense. “Is there a point to this, Agent Ennius? Or are you merely here to waste more of our precious time?”

Adrastia looked at the esteemed councilman like he’d just grown a second head.

“Waste your time?” She parroted. “Waste your time?” Her chair clattered to the floor as Adrastia abruptly stood up. With a low, sweeping motion, she gave the Mistrali Council a mocking bow. “Excuse me, oh grand and illustrious councilmembers, for wasting your time!” A sound akin to a gunshot echoed out as the young soldier reared back and slammed her palms against the hard wooden table.

“Agent Ennius!” Councilman Abe shouted. “Show some respect! You are going to put a dent in the finish if you carry on-”

With but a glare from the visibly livid soldier, Shiro Abe backed down and fell silent.

“Waste your time…” Adrastia repeated once more, muttering the words under her breath as she did her best to bore a hole through the wood. “Of all the…” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and met her father’s worried stare. Oh, the things she wanted to say to that man, but there were more pressing targets. So she turned her head away and met Councilman Basilius’ arrogant gaze once more. “How about all the time you wasted for me, eh?”

“Excuse me?” Ianus Basilius sneered.

“Yeah, I fucking said it.” Adrastia snarled. “All this talk about wasting your time. Ha! What about my time? What about my entire fucking childhood?! Where do you get off on wasting that!”

“Young lady!” General Ovid roared. “Where do you get off on accusing a council member of such things! Show him the respect he is due as a member of this institution, and show me the respect that I am due as your father!”

With but a flick of her finger, General Ovid was no longer sitting in his seat. He was, instead, pinned to the ceiling, held there by an invisible force controlled by Adrastia.

“Adrastia!” Ovid called out, but his errant daughter ignored his pleas and warnings. She’d heard it all a million times.

Ianus, to his credit, was undeterred by the young lady’s fury and display of power. He simply folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Are you complaining?” He asked bluntly. “This is not an attitude befitting the Spear of Mistral. Are you seriously complaining that you’ve been honed into one of the finest huntresses that this kingdom has ever seen? Have you no gratitude?”

“I never asked to be your damn Spear! I never even had a choice!”

“Any choice that you would have made would’ve been a poor one.” Ianus retorted calmly. “An utter waste of potential. Look at you now, child. Your father and I found you and saved you from a life of mediocrity. We forged you into the asset you are now. By all accounts, you should be thanking us. What was the alternative? Letting you waste away in some remote fishing village, barely scraping by, never knowing anything more? Don’t be so pathetic, Adrastia.”

Silence fell upon the bunker once more. Ianus’ words settled upon Adrastia like a poison sinking under her skin. With that dressing down concluded, she found herself gazing at her navel in lieu of meeting Councilman Basilius’ stormy iron eyes. Councilman Abe and Councilwoman Choi shared a baffled glance, neither having the slightest clue as to what was going on. The silence was not long lived, however, as General Ovid fell from his spot on the ceiling and hit the ground hard. A hiss of pain could be heard as the general stood up, but nevertheless he reached for his pistol… Only for Councilman Basilius to raise his hand. His gaze never once left Adrastia.

“What,” Adrastia repeated herself slowly, “is my nature…?”

Ianus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He sensed that he’d defused the bomb that Adrastia had somehow worked herself up into. “This is a conversation we should have had long ago, child.” He told her softly. “That mistake is my own, and I will forgive this outburst in light of that. It is only natural for a young woman such as yourself to want to explore her role, her destiny, and her very nature in relation to the world around you.”

Adrastia looked up expectantly, curiosity and even a small bit of hope dancing in those violet orbs.

“You, Adrastia Ennius,” Ianus continued, “are a spiteful, selfish little urchin. You do not deserve the power that the gods have seen fit to bestow upon you. Were you given the option, I have no doubt that you would waste it all on frivolous pursuits that benefit only you and you alone. It is indeed fortunate that your father and I took you and made you so much more than you would have otherwise been. We forged you, honed you, crafted you with care. For that is your nature, child. You are a weapon. Mistral’s weapon. My weapon. Is it a pretty truth? No, it is not. But you were not made for beauty, despite your silly attempts to the contrary. You were made to be among the dank and dirty. You were made to be among the shadows, never seen, with a knife in your hand. Everything I have sheltered Renatus from is embodied in you. We have forged you to do what he cannot. He is the pillar that my legacy will stand firmly on, but you must be the one to protect that pillar. Do you understand?”

The girl in question did not answer. Her dark bangs shrouded her pale face in a way that made it impossible to tell what she was thinking. Adrastia stood there, hands clenched into fists, staring into nothing for what felt like hours. In reality, it was only a few minutes before she softly responded, “Yeah… yeah, I understand.”

Without so much as another word, Adrastia bent down and hoisted the duffel bag she had carried in onto the table. She unzipped it and began shuffling through its contents, clearly searching for something in particular. It was a testament to Ianus’ confidence in his manipulation tactics that he did not move to stop her whatsoever.

Finally, Adrastia had finally found what she was searching for. Her gloved hands pulled out simple video camera and a cable, which she connected to her scroll. She fiddled around with the settings for a moment and hummed approvingly once everything was set up to her satisfaction.

“…Agent Ennius, what are you doing?” Councilman Abe questioned.

The violet soldier glanced up towards the councilman in question in blinked, as if they were being ridiculous. “Why, this is for the show, of course.” She answered the question as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“The… show-” Before he could finish questioning their guest, Councilman Abe suddenly found himself completely unable to move. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. It was more like… trying to swim through gelatin. Everything just suddenly felt… so heavy. Abe and the rest of the council slumped over in their seats and face-planted onto the table while the aides in the room collapsed onto the floor. Much to Abe’s horror, even moving his head to look at the obvious culprit was an exercise of herculean effort. It was like someone had just dropped an elephant onto him!

“Girl…!” General Ovid snarled as he glared at his adopted daughter, the only person in the room that was acting like nothing had just happened.

“What’s wrong, daddy?” Adrastia asked oh so innocently. “You’re not looking well. Is old age catching up to you? Should I call a medic?”

“What is the meaning of this?” The hoarse voice of Councilwoman Choi cried out. Sweat began to form on her ancient brow just from the exertion of speaking in this condition.

“I would have thought that the meaning would be plainly obvious.” Adrastia commented dryly. “Then again, it’s not like the council is known for having the best and brightest members.”

It was an insult that Councilman Abe in particular took affront too. “Child, I will have you know that I-!” In what was becoming a bit of a pattern, Abe found himself cut off, albeit this time by the throwing knife that had just soared past his head and nicked his cheek.

“Will I have to gag you?” Adrastia questioned the esteemed councilman, disappointment practically dripping from her lips. “Because I will. I have an entire roll of duct tape right here.”

Wisely, Councilman Abe shut his mouth and did not speak up again.

“Much better,” Adrastia cooed. “Now then, you all must be wondering what this camera is for. Why I’m using my gravity semblance to slowly crush your bodies. Why I’m threatening council members with bodily harm if they don’t shut the fuck up!” She paused, taking their groans of pain as confirmation that they were listening. “The answer is obvious. It’s because, just as Councilman Basilius said, I’m a spiteful, selfish little shit.”

Once more reaching into her duffel bag, Adrastia pulled out three seemingly innocuous items: a large, flowing blonde wig; and a wide-brimmed hat as pale as death itself, topped with several raven’s feathers; and a starkly white, full-faced masquerade mask with black ceramic detailing.

Ianus Basilius’ breath hitched in his throat as he suddenly realized that he’d made a crucial and terrible mistake.

“You’ll have to give me a second, boys.” Adrastia told her captive audience as she began the process of stuffing her dark hair under the blonde wig. “This is always such a hassle… Especially when I have to do it on the fly. But, I suppose all that training you had me do so that I could properly disguise myself is really paying off, eh?” Reaching into her pocket, Adrastia pulled out a small portable mirror, checking her appearance to ensure there were no loose strands of silky black hair showing. “Hmm, stowing it in the bag did the wig no favors, but… it’ll have to do. I’m sure my viewers will forgive me for not looking my best after fighting through all the council’s guards.”

“You…” Ovid groaned, glaring at the woman he had adopted all those years ago.

“Who, me?” Adrastia asked in mock surprise. “Oh, that wasn’t me being facetious. All your guards really are dead. Albeit, I didn’t do it in this wig. Didn’t want any blood on it, you understand. A girl has got to take care of her hair, if nothing else.”

“All this time…” Ianus forced out while pinned to the table. If looks could kill, Adrastia would’ve been dead several times over. “All this time… you’ve been her. Astraea. All this time…” The councilman inhaled a deep, shuddery breath. It hurt so much to talk under all this pressure. This very literal pressure. “…You’ve been turning the people against me.”

“What, like it’s hard?” Adrastia snorted as she carefully placed the rather ostentatious hat on top of her head. “Making the council seem so ineffective might’ve gained you personal power, but it made people resent the hell out of you guys. Didn’t matter who was publicly doing the obstructing. All I had to do was start preaching an ideology that had mass appeal but would be fundamentally opposed by an oligarchic government. It’s amazing how wealth equality and the destruction of social classes really drives the people wild after centuries of neglect.”

Now it was time for the final piece of the ensemble, the final piece of the puzzle that was Astraea. “I don’t particularly care about any of that either way, but…” She picked up her trademark mask and cradled it in her hands. “I wanted a very violent revolution.” The mask was placed on her face, and that was that.

Unless one knew what to look for, Adrastia Ennius ceased to exist, replaced by the lead revolutionary herself, Astraea.

“You.” Astraea intoned, snapping her fingers and releasing one of the political aides from her semblance. “Come hold this camera and point it towards me. And if you say a single word, I swear to the gods that I will gut you like a fish.”

Under such a threat, the aide could only shakily pick themselves up and nod their head obediently. With an obvious terror in their gait, they picked up the camera up from the table and did as they were told.

Astraea nodded in approval. “Good. I’ll handle the controls from my scroll. Now just stand there and try not to shake too much. Especially when things start getting… messy. You’re documenting history, remember that. You’re not going to want to miss a single thing.”

The only response that Astraea got was a single, hesitant nod.  Well, they were a good listener, at least. They’d have to be, if they were basically a glorified servant to this sorry lot of fossils.

“All right, you ready? Doesn’t matter.” Astraea opened up her scroll and tabbed over to the program that her dear partner in crime had supplied for her. “Going live in 3… 2… 1…” The masked revolutionary pressed the big red button on her scroll and turned towards the camera. No one in that room but her realized that she had just hijacked every communications device in the city of Mistral.

“So it has come to this… Greetings, Mistral. As I am sure most of you know by now, I am Astraea.” She paused to really let that sink in. No doubt her followers were cheering at the sight of her face- well, mask, and the sound of her voice. “What a busy night this has been! You have done well, my brothers and sisters. Our moment is here and you have seized it masterfully! You have marched through the streets, taking what is rightfully yours from those that would wish to have you continue to be slaves in all but name! All night, you have been chanting the mantra that has sustained our movement these past few years: NO MORE!”

Astraea raised her fist up in solidarity. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she could hear the frenzied chanting that was reverberating throughout the mountain city.

“No more… I couldn’t agree more, brothers and sisters! I, for one, cannot stomach the stench of this kingdom and its corruption any longer! The moment we have been planning all this time is finally coming to fruition! Some of you not in the know must have been asking, ‘Where is our glorious leader in our time of greatest triumph?’ and ‘Has Astraea abandoned the cause?’ Never! I would never abandon the cause of the Mistrali people! I will never stop fighting for your freedom and equality! While you all were marching in the streets, I was undertaking a far more dangerous task…”

Astraea strode towards the grand council table, the camera dutifully panning to finally reveal a sight that would be burned into the Mistrali consciousness forevermore.

“My brothers and sisters… I present to you the Council of Mistral in all its tepid glory!” Astraea thrust her hand out, giving a sweeping gesture as she showed off her prize. “No, my friends, this is not a joke! This is not a fraud! This is destiny! The council has been subdued! Humiliated! And now it is time… to give them what they deserve.”

Astraea leapt onto the council table, where Saturn Vasilius still laid in blissful unconsciousness. He was never to know the fate that had befallen him. “Councilman Saturn Vasilius!” Astraea declared as she placed her heel on top of his head. “Guilty of nepotism, domestic violence, child abuse, and general incompetence! I sentence you to death.” Using her semblance to augment the weight of her foot, Astraea pushed down and Councilman Vasilius’ skull gave way like a rotten pumpkin in the beginning of November.

One of the aides found the strength to let out a bone chilling scream, but Astraea didn’t miss a beat. She simply moved onto her next target.

“Councilman Shiro Abe…” Astraea intoned like an angel of death. She knelt down on top of the table and grabbed a handful of his graying hair, forcing the councilman to look up into her mask. “Guilty of money laundering, extortion, bribery, and head-in-the-sand policies that have cost far too many people their lives. For all of that, I sentence you to death.”

Councilman Abe’s eyes widened sharply and he valiantly tried to struggle, but it was to no avail. Astraea pulled a knife out of her boot and slit his throat then and there. For a moment, Abe tried to say something, but all that came up was a gurgle of blood. Astraea released his fair and Abe’s face fell onto the table with a dull thud. He did not rise again.

It was time for the old lady. “Councilwoman Sophia Choi. Gods, look at you.” Astraea sneered as she waltzed over. “You’re ancient. You should have retired decades ago. Perhaps you would have been spared this fate. You are guilty of racketeering, profiteering off of the drug trade, and being the best fucking friend of every syndicate and cartel that operates in Mistral.” For that, she gave old Choi a good kick in the face.

Kneeling down as she did with Abe, Astraea grabbed Choi’s face and forced her to meet the implacable gaze of her mask. “You helped to make the Yonghai Syndicate what it was. And what’s more than that, when those old connections stopped proving useful, you and some others plotted to make a little girl an orphan just so you could muscle in on her family business.” Rearing back, Astraea delivered a hell of a blow against Choi’s cheek. A few teeth were clearly knocked loose, with how blood was no spilling from Choi’s mouth. “Perhaps it was karma that you lost your only daughter last year. Too bad that, from where I’m sitting, it’s hardly enough.”

Astraea leaned in and, so quietly that only Councilwoman Choi would hear, whispered, “Which is one of many reasons why I’m the one that murdered her.”

Before Choi could process that sinister revelation, Astraea pulled her pistol out of its holster and placed it inside of the councilwoman’s mouth. The revolutionary cared not for the tears now streaming down the face of the grieving mother, only for her crimes. “I sentence you to death.”

With the flash of a muzzle and a deafening bang, Councilwoman Choi’s brainmatter and blood was sprayed onto the wall behind her. Her body fell onto the floor and was not regarded by Astraea again.

“Then there were two…” Astraea mused as she strolled towards her final two victims. Ianus was glaring at her something fierce. She had never seen him this angry! Gods, it was cathartic. But, it wasn’t his turn yet. Oh, no, no, no. She was saving him for last. So instead she turned to face… her father.

General Ovid did not look as furious as dear Ianus. Oh, the anger was still there, but… Astraea internally winced as she gazed into his eyes. Like Choi at the end, the man was crying, but… she got the sense that it wasn’t for himself. The sheer devastation in his features… Astraea shook her head. No. She needed to focus. She had already come this far, she had already dedicated herself to this. This… had always been unavoidable.

“General Ulixes Ovid…” Astraea began, far more somberly than her previous executions. “I have to admit, you were a tough nut to crack. Your track record is far more squeaky clean than your peers. A dedicated military man, through and through…” A long, shuddery breath escaped her lips. “But that doesn’t excuse the child abuse you were part and party to for the past two decades. That doesn’t excuse you standing idly by and letting such things… happen. You are guilty for being a failure of a man, a failure of a commander, and… a failure of a father.” She paused, and then gave Ovid something she hadn’t given any of her other victims. “…Have you anything to say in your defense?”

Ovid was silent for a long moment… and then his body shuddered. With great effort and exertion, he slowly pushed himself up off the table so that he could sit up straight… so that he could look his daughter in the eyes one last time, even if it was through a mask.

“I’m sorry…” He croaked out. “I am so, so sorry… I am sorry for all the pain I have caused, all the pain that I let happen… But, most of all, I’m sorry for all the pain that this is going to cause you going forward. This won’t bring you the peace that you seek. Trust an old man that has seen more than his fair share of death.”

Slowly reaching forward with a shaking hand, he grasped Astraea’s own bloody palm and squeezed it tightly. “I have a daughter, you know. She’s probably out there on the front lines right now, watching this or fighting against the pack of Grimm that I know in my bones is coming…” Ovid stared into those masked violet orbs knowingly. Even now, even in this situation, he would not give up her identity. He would not rat his baby girl out and doom her more than she was already dooming herself. “I just hope… that she knows her old man loves her. That even with all of my failures, I… I just wanted the best for her. That ever since I picked her up that first time, I knew I would do everything I could to protect her. I’m just… I’m just sorry that I didn’t always succeed.”

Astraea was glad that the aide carrying the camera was at the complete other end of the table. She was glad that she could control the camera through her scroll, so that she could zoom out enough that the video feed wouldn’t see how her body shook like a leaf in the wind. So that it couldn’t hear the sobs that threatened to escape her chest.

“She knows.” Astraea hoarsely whispered. Reaching behind her back, she pulled out the last weapons she had allowed herself to bring, twin tantos with a serrated edge. Weapons she had stolen from one of the many huntsmen she had slaughtered over the past two years. Weapons that couldn’t be traced back to Adrastia Ennius.

She crossed the blades just above the base of Ovid’s throat. “Ulixes Ovid, I sentence you to death…” For a moment, Astraea hesitated. In the next moment, Ovid subtly nodded his head and whispered, “It’ll be okay.” In the moment after that, Ovid’s head fell to the ground, along with the tantos.

They were poison to her now. She could never touch them again. The weapons that had ended her father’s life.

Astraea did not immediately move from her spot like she had with the others. She let herself have this moment. She let herself silently scream over the sin she had just committed.

“You’re a monster…”

At that, Astraea snapped her head to the side to come face to face with Ianus Basilius. The councilman was still pinned to the table, but defiance still shone in those stormy eyes of his. “You’re a monster,” he repeated hoarsely, “and I should have put you down ages ago.”

“Probably…” Astraea responded. “But I’m only what you made me.”

“You’re a fool.” Ianus bluntly told her. “You’ll have your revenge now, but then what? You murder me and this entire kingdom will collapse into chaos. Are you really ready to condemn an untold amount of people to the pyre and to the Grimm just for your personal vendetta? Even you couldn’t be that selfish.”

“You know,” Astraea began slowly, “once upon a time that might have given me pause. But as I have recently been told, my nature is to be destructive, spiteful, and selfish. Do you really expect me to fight against my nature?”

It was now, and only now, that Ianus realized and fully accepted the imminence of his death. There was no escaping this. He would not be let go as he had been oh so long ago. His luck had run out and the bill had come due.

But even in the face of his demise, the councilman’s mind was whirling. It was as the girl had said, it was pointless to fight against one’s nature, and as she had elaborated oh so plainly earlier… his nature was that drive to cement his place in history.

“The people will never follow you now!” Ianus declared, using what remaining strength he had to make his voice project. If he was to die, now was the moment to make himself a legend. “Not after the savagery you’ve displayed here, Astraea! The good people of Mistral deserve better than a monster like you to lead them!”

“Head Councilman Ianus Basilius,” Astraea intoned, completely ignoring Ianus’ prattling, “You are guilty of that which you have always denied.”

“People of Mistral, I am sorry you will have to bear witness to this tragedy and that you will have to weather through the fallout. But stay vigilant!”

“You are guilty of conspiring to overthrow the government.”

“Dark times are ahead, but you must stay strong! You must stay united! For it is unity that is Mistral’s strength!”

“You are guilty of consolidating power in your own hands.”

“I believe in you Mistral. I believe in you, my children.”

“You are guilty of intending to declare yourself Shogun.”

His declaration finished, Ianus glanced up and into the eyeholes of Astraea’s mask. “You too, my child, will have a taste of power.”

“I sentence you to death.”

Grabbing the knife from out of her boot, Astraea rushed forward and stabbed Ianus Basilius, tackling him to the ground. The knife sunk deep into his shoulder and the councilman couldn’t help but let out a hiss of pain. Astraea was not done, however. Pulling the knife back out, she stabbed Ianus once more. Then again. Then again. Each scream of pain, each splatter of blood, was more cathartic than the last. Astraea couldn’t help herself. She had wanted to do this for So! Stab. Damn! Stab. Long!

An unhinged giggle bubbled out of Astraea’s mouth, and before she knew it, she was howling with laughter as she mutilated the corpse of her abuser.

All of this was caught on camera.

All of this was broadcasted.

All of this was being watched by the entire city.

The sheer shock and horror Astraea’s broadcast had produced was enough to lure in every Grimm for a hundred miles.

Not that Astraea cared much. She was too busy stabbing Ianus Basilius over and over and over again. By the time she was finished, she was panting with exertion and breathing heavily. It was done. It was fucking done… And there was no more point of playing pretend.

With the press of a button on her scroll, the broadcast ended. The camera was shut off. Astraea tore off her mask and threw the now bloody wig to the ground, the hat along with it, and became Adrastia once more. She stood up from off the ground, almost stumbling and losing her balance as she did so. After all of that she felt… off-kilter. But the night was still young. There was still so much more left to do.

Adrastia lazily swiveled her head towards the cameraman she had forcibly enlisted. There were tears streaming down their face and they had clearly pissed themselves, but they were still holding the camera steady. Good lad.

“You’re free to go now.” She told them passionlessly. “A promise is a promise. So long as you never tell anyone that Adrastia Ennius was here? You can live the rest of your life in peace.” Beat. “But if you squeal, your death won’t be as quick as some of these assholes got.”

It was probably a testament to how fucking terrified her cameraman was that they immediately dropped the camera onto the ground and sprinted out of the room like she had just cracked a whip at them.

Which left the issue of what to do with the rest of the council’s glorified servants. All of whom had seen her face and knew who she was. She had let one poor soul run away. She wasn’t feeling generous enough to give five or so more the same deal.

Several gunshots later, Adrastia walked out of the bunker and sank to her knees upon seeing the night sky. Half of Mistral was on fire, giving the skyline a flickering orange halo that was… gorgeous. This was it. This was what her life had amounted to. And in that moment, as she watched the embers of falling city float up into the stars above… Adrastia found that it was all worth it.

[creative-frequency]

Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader: Overtime

Word count: 2917 Pairing: Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader Notes: Looks like this is turning into a series and I’m okay with that.

Previous Part

My Writing Masterlist

“There is a package for you.”

The post droid offers the small box forward and your brows scrunch together in thought. “What package?”

“Spare parts designated as ‘2-5-7-K’.”

That kriffing–

It’s the new AC control panel and the connectors that needed changing because the old ones were so worn that the door could break any moment. Your face flushes hot just thinking back to the last time you were near that door. Inquisitor Cal hasn’t been bothering you since – not while awake at least. It’s amazing how gentle scenarios your mind can dream up about someone who freaks you out.

Because you’re a coward, you send a droid to find the Inquisitor and ask him when would be alright to invade his privacy in order to fix the door and the air conditioning. From the bottom of your trembling heart you wish he will be off-planet on a mission during the repairs.

The droid comes back with a breathlessly recorded message. It probably found the Inquisitor in his usual prancing grounds at the dojo.

“Tomorrow morning [sounds of a lightsaber hitting something metallic] should be okay.”

You don’t know if it’s good or extremely bad that you won’t have more time to mentally prepare yourself to enter his quarters. And he didn’t say anything about his own whereabouts, so you’ll just need to assume the worst. Great.

Cal is surprised to hear from you even if it isn’t directly but through a droid. It messes up his rhythm and he breaks the training droid in an attempt at doing two different things at the same time.

Even if you haven’t seen him in the past few days, he has been watching you. It’s painfully evident that you’re not the most aware of your surroundings when working. The uneasy feeling that sometimes overcomes you in the middle of doing something utterly trivial, it’s all his influence: The intense stare tingling in the back of your neck. The sudden cool air current, almost like a breath on your cheek. All of it originates from how his pulse quickens when he sees you.

Cal cannot explain it but it’s not all bothersome. It’s intriguing. He feels something completely new as his eyes trace the shape of your face, the edges of your body under the uniform and the movements of your fingers and steps. You always seem to mind your own business but still are well-respected and over encumbered with work around the Fortress.

His mind tangles from thinking about how to start a conversation. He doesn’t have a reason; he just wants to try to have some kind of social contact with you. He has felt the need for companionship, just someone to talk to, ever since he was appointed an Inquisitor and it became obvious that his brothers and sisters would have nothing to say to him – a former Jedi, the rising star of the Rebellion. The past means nothing to him anymore but some people don’t let go so easily.

Cal doubles his training efforts to have the next day arrive faster.

For you, the morning arrives too soon.

You can barely sleep a wink. The dark liquid in your morning cup drains right into your soul, but the substitute for natural caffeine works like a faulty speeder engine. The jumpstart energy spike never comes and looks like it’s one of those days when you’re going to need to push the proverbial speeder.

Dragging your legs while a happily beeping droid carries the tools and spare parts beside you, you make your way towards the infamous 257K. Each step brings you closer to doom and demise.

Swallowing helps nothing as your heart beats in your throat and your whole body trembles. You hit your knuckles sharply against the metal door, silently praying to every pagan deity you can think of. Seconds feel like hours as you wait for a reply or the door to open, but nothing happens.

You knock again, possibly a bit more lightly, unable to believe your insane luck.

“Looks like no one’s home,” you say to the droid. Stupid relief spreads all the way to the tip of your toes. While humming to yourself, you use the maintenance key card to open the door to the residential quarters.

The rooms the Inquisitors and the Fortress key personnel get are so much larger and fancier than yours. While you have only one room plus bathroom, this one has at least three different rooms, fully furnished and including all sorts of appliances. But then again, you should consider yourself lucky to have your own room instead of sharing quarters like most of the maintenance level staff.

Looking around with interest and criticizing the familiar Imperial-style decorations in your mind, you fail to realize that you’re, in fact, not alone in the room.

The droid next to you beeps. The shape of a ginger bed hair waddles into your field of view – shirtless and yawning.

You’ve never been more certain about a moment becoming your last of existence.

“Relax. You don’t need to be afraid of me,” the Inquisitor says with mirth in his tone and his eyes skim your immobilized frame up and down. His voice his still hoarse from sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, sir,” you peep in a tiny voice, barely forcing any sound outside your throat. There is absolutely no place on the man you can let your gaze befall, not the eyes, not the chest, definitely not on the lower body, so you scour the walls.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Cal assures. He feels something immensely satisfying at looking at you quiver in a mix of fear and respect, but it irks him when you refuse to meet his gaze.

You don’t believe any of his words but can’t help relaxing your shoulders.

“Thanks… I guess.”

Cal grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and settles to stare at you while emptying the drink. Seeing him shirtless doesn’t help to erase the filthy dreams from your memory. In truth, you’re genuinely sure they’ll start having some interesting plot twists from now on.

“So… I’ll switch the AC panel now,” you say aloud, pretending that the room is empty.

“Knock yourself out.”

You turn to eyeball the Inquisitor in bewilderment because of his choice of words.

“That’s what they say, right? It’s a figure of speech.” He sounds uncertain, but you nod slowly.

“Right, sir,” you say and decide to focus back on the job. The sooner it’s done, the sooner you’ll get out of this flytrap.

“You can drop the ‘sir’,” the Inquisitor says and hesitates for a bit. “It sounds weird.”

You try to wrestle your curiosity down but lose the battle. The Inquisitor earns your full attention with arms folded over your chest. Though his bare pecs instantly draw some of it, as well as the thin line of hair leading down into what you assume to be government-issued Inquisitorial pajama pants. They’re Imperial black and not at all complementing to his form. You bite your lip and feel the heat rise up your neck. So much for not staring.

“What should I call you then?” A bold question perhaps, but with each passing moment you feel less like he is going to run you through with a lightsaber.

He chuckles. “I’m Cal.”

You tap the name plate on your chest. “Well, this is me. I guess you would’ve already known that if you’d been interested in my ID last time.”

The mood in the room freezes. Cal looks at you with shock that quickly turns into a hint of a smirk. You wonder how fast he will catch you if you try to run. Learning to keep your big mouth shut in the presence of an Inquisitor would be a beneficial skill. It’s a wonder your career in the Empire is as long as it is.

You suck in a breath and stutter: “I-I didn’t mean–”

“You’re right.” He sits down on a stool by the kitchen nook’s counter and carefully places the almost empty water bottle on the surface.

“I’ll just start working now,” you say quietly and huff out the air in your lungs. Another dodged blaster bolt.

You try not to sneak glances at Cal while you work and he is hovering around in the kitchen and apparently making some breakfast for himself. The smell of real coffee soon fills the room and it’s so delicious that it almost brings tears to your eyes. It must be some really high quality stuff.

Cal miraculously lets you work in peace and the only sounds in the room are your short commands at the maintenance droid. You’re itching to turn and look at what the Inquisitor is doing, but resist the urge. Switching a thermostat unit and a control panel is not really a difficult or time-consuming task and you’re done in record time, eager to get out.

“Done already?” Cal asks as soon as you screw in the last piece.

“Yeah. I’ll take a look at the door next.” You wipe your brow even though the room is cool because of the broken AC. The unit starts immediately blowing warm air.

“Come here first. There’s enough for you too.” Cal taps the stool next to him and you feel the bottom of your stomach drop. You miss the slight shaking of his hand against the dark leather.

“Uh. I, um, can’t. I’m working. Sorry,” you mumble half of the words but the Inquisitor still stares at you with a persistent smile, looking almost like a normal person – a shirtless, strikingly attractive person with the ability to kill you with just his willpower.

He taps the stool again. “C’mon, I know you think it smells delicious. No one needs to know you’re taking an extra break. I’ve got your back, I swear.”

For some wicked, self-destructive reason, you find yourself trusting his words. Or possibly it’s the amazing scent of coffee that lures you slowly to plant your butt on the stool way too close to the half-naked Inquisitor and you don’t know what in the absurd situation makes you the most nervous.

“How do you know that? That I thought it smelled delicious?” you ask quietly as Cal reaches out to grab a cup, fills it and places it in front of you. The coffee is of the perfect mellow dark brown color and just inhaling the scent makes you quiver. “Thanks…”

Cal smiles as you dare a glance at him. “I just felt it.”

He really wants to add the loud flustered feeling you emitted the moment you realized he was in the room, but decides against it. Teasing you too much would be just cruel.

“I see,” you mumble.

“Try it.” Cal nods towards the cup.

You do as he orders and feel the flush of prickling warmth spread from your tongue to every inch of your body.

“It’s amazing.” You gawk at the cup. You’ve never tasted anything so good. The caffeine substitutes can’t even project a light to the real thing. You quite certainly would kill to be able to drink it every day.

“They call you the head of the droid army, right?” Cal asks casually just to make conversation.

You jolt at the comment. In any other situation it would’ve made you laugh.

He continues: “How long’ve you been here to earn a nickname like that?”

You take another sip of the coffee. Delicious. “A bit over two years. I was working on a Star Destroyer before but got transferred here.”

Cal hums in approval. “A promotion, then?”

“Yeah.” Working in a base is likely safer than being on a ship, so in that sense Cal is right. At the time it just didn’t feel like an upgrade to be dragged to a backwater planet like Nur.

You drink the coffee in an uncanny silence for a while and notice that Cal is doing nothing but leaning his elbows against the counter and looking at you. It’s disturbing and makes your already precocious pulse grow even faster. His cup is already empty.

“I’ve seen you train. It’s very impressive,” you say, unsure whether it’s an okay topic.

“Impressive, huh? Nice to know you think that way about me,” Cal teases and gets you flustered, again.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” you reply dejected. Your heart is running a mile a minute and he probably notices it with his stupid senses.

Cal leans towards you with an intense look in his eyes. You lean as far back as you dare without falling off the stool. Your eyes are torn between his freckles, lips and pecs. It’s all making you giddy and nervous.

“W-what?” you manage to splutter out.

“You’re just so… I…” He can’t finish the sentence. Why is he so fixated on you? It makes no sense but he lacks the motive to fight it. Cal’s gaze falls from your eyes to your lips and you’ve seen that look before.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” you ask rather wryly, hoping the tone will mask your inner turmoil.

“Do you want me to?” Cal looks at you intently, hiding his astonishment.

You feel his shallow breaths on your skin as he gets closer and chills run up your spine. The whirlpool of emotions spins faster, making you feel dizzy and surreal. You’re scared and intrigued by the fiery look in his eyes.

“…If you want to.”

This is not actually happening.

“Yes or no?”

Cal takes your chin and you suck in a short breath.

“I’ve got somewhere to be soon, so you need to hurry up.” The words come out sassier than intended and you relish at seeing the smile that spreads to Cal’s face. His eyes flit downwards to your lips and he stops himself from hesitating any longer.

You let out the most obscene sound when his mouth pushes against your slightly open lips and you know it’s bad but you just don’t care. His fingers move up your jaw and touching your hair makes another wave of shivers course through you. You take his free hand and press it onto your waist, which leads to him pulling you up and the stool falls behind you. You hum at feeling the heat of his exposed skin against yours. The kiss deepens and your tongue peeks into his mouth. Cal pushes you against the counter and you’re finally trapped in his clutches.

You’re making out with the one of the most dangerous things in the Fortress, possibly in the whole Empire, and for some reason it’s the best thing that has happened to you on Nur.

“Why mmh–” you try to start when Cal breaks the kiss to draw in a heavy breath, but he doesn’t allow you to finish another word. His cheeks are equally flushed as yours, heart beating loudly in his ears but you both ignore the signs of nervousness and let the craving for being touched overflow.

Cal’s hands wander further down and cup your ass, pulling your hips flush to his. Even if the Imperial pajama pants don’t give much of a show, they certainly allow you to feel it. The want and flustering unease makes your cheeks burn. Cal realizes you can feel his arousal and your pace breaks when he shifts awkwardly.

You pull away from each other, panting and eyes wide. Cal wipes his mouth to the back of his hand and you’ve never seen anyone look so hot.

For a fleeting moment, the fiery, challenging look in his eyes persists and you’re burning to respond to it. Few short breaths dissipate the heavy mood enough to restore some sense into you.

“Wow, I–, that was… um,” your mouth opens and closes, some resemblance of words coming out in jarring patches.

Cal is definitely as equally flustered. The maintenance droid, whose existence you both had already happily forgotten, beeps to signal that it’s almost time for your next task. You’ll be late of schedule because of this.

“Uhh, I should… go.” You motion towards the general direction of the door but can’t take your eyes off the man before you. The man, who you just kissed. Who you don’t know at all. Who is an Imperial Inquisitor.

“Ah kriff, I forgot I’ve got somewhere to be too,” Cal huffs, glances at the chronometer on the wall and runs a hand through his hair. His chest heaves with each breath, trying to pace its rhythm.

You don’t know what to say. Just like that, Cal disappears into the other room and you stand baffled next to counter. Maybe trysts like this aren’t such a big deal to him. There is still some coffee in your cup and it would be a shame to waste it, so you down the liquid in hasty sips.

Before you’re done piling your things onto the droid, Cal emerges from what you assume to be his bedroom in full Inquisitor garb and the sight makes you feel a tingle that’s not altogether shaped by fear anymore.

“I hope you can fix the door before I get back.”

He winks.

The sound of his lightsaber blade erupting straight into the door control panel elicits a short scream out of you.

Before you can recover from the shock and start screaming at Cal, he is already gone with a grin and you’re facing some serious overtime at work.

//

Part 3

[planetjisungie]

jolie- l.mh (part 1)

characters; prince! mark, princess! reader ft. dreamies, yuta and taeyong

summary; when you turn 18, you have to marry the prince of the eastern kingdom to secure an alliance. but what happens when your natural immature and positive personality collides with his cold and negative one.

an; king mark lee needed an au all to himself because this boy deserves the whole world, lets not lie here. also like i love this picture and it sparks big prince energy or like nutcracker ballet energy. also me deciding after 2 days of wallowing in self pity about how i hate having longass posts so im putting it into parts

"y/n! wake up darling!" your mother shook your body awake, causing you to grumble and thrash around. you were just having a dream about this peculiar event of 2 people switching bodies after a handshake. it was rather odd yet entertaining.

"what" you throw your limbs out on the bed in a lazy attempt to stretch and let out a groan. youe mother sighed and stood back. "its your 18th birthday today, the maids have your dress"

ah. there it is. the day youve literally blocked from your mind because of how much you simply detested the idea. it was signed and agreed 6 years ago that you, princess of the southern kingdom, would marry a prince from the eastern kingdom. though you had never met either of the princes, you had heard plenty of rumours and tales, some you believed, some you did not.

you slowly climbed out of bed, staggering a little as you walked towards the maids for your dressing. you didn’t actually need them, unless you were supposed to wear the death trap which is labelled a corset, but your parents insisted on you having them. so, you naturally made friends with them to make it as least of a work space as possible.

"good morning yeonha, nari" you greeted them with a smile which they returned. just because you weren’t necessarily the happiest doesnt mean you should relay the feeling onto the poor maids, and your friends.

"morning princess" nari said, causing you to roll your eyes. yes, they still called you princess out of habit and you hated it. as soon as your brother becomes the king, the first thing you’re doing is making everyone call you by your first name (as your parents refuse to let that happen as of currently).

with a deep sigh, you allowed yourself to be dressed, the constricting corset making you feel like your ribs were about to snap. the dress itself was beautiful though, a long pale blue dress which was off the shoulder, and had mesh sleeved elasticated around your wrists. your h/l hair was naturally curled, and fell around your face delicately as soon as the pin was removed, and one of your maids brushed the tresses. you were lucky in the aspect of hair, it was truly gorgeous and you had never hated it.

the heels were a slightly different case. they pinched your toes and no matter how much training you had to walk in them- they were satans creation. you preferred simple satin slippers, or just any shoe that does not have a stick on the end which could impale someone. a small golden and intricate crown was places atop your head, glittering earrings in and you were finished. you never really needed makeup, your natural beauty was well known in your kingdom though the people saw your kindness shine through more.

the southern kingdom was a very foresty and almost tropical place, with warm breezes and turqouise oceans, yet beautiful green trees and luscious grass, it was practically perfect. the eastern kingdom, was known to be a pretty cold place, not as freezing as the northern kingdom yet not as warm as the southern kingdom. oddly enough, the western kingdom was the hottest, mainly composed of sand and dry stone, one of your best friends lived in the western kingdom, prince jaemin.

huffing again, you left your room, concealing the winces from your feet which were already saw as you walked with quick steps to the throne room, where you would be waiting for the arrival of the eastern royalties. or so you thought. the frown on your face diminished into a look of shock and confusion when you saw the princes already there, turning to your parents who were glowering at you. oops, you were late.

"ah, y/n nice for you to finally join us" your mother said, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to stand next to her, facing the princes who were already bowing to you. there were two of them, one of which looked a little older with dark grey hair, and the other who had pitch black hair (pitch black hair was superior). the boy with grey hair was smiling at you and your curtseyed politely, but the black haired boy... he didnt look like he cared at all. reluctantly, you curtsey quickly before shooting a look at your mother.

"we welcome you warmly, prince taeyong and prince minhyung. we hope you enjoy your stay for the next month, dont hesitate to come to us if anything is not up to standards" your father bowed towards the boys. you stared distatastefully at the ground before looking up with a smile. even if you didnt want to marry yet, you may as well be nice to them as it is inevitable.

"y/n, go and make yourself useful whilst we show taeyong and minhyung their rooms" your mother said, staring into your eyes like a hawk. nodding you spun on your heels and walked out of the room rapidly, letting out a thankful sigh that you got out of that situation. roaming down the halls, you walk around, looking for any staff.

"oh! jeno!" you sped towards the knight in training. lee jeno was the mentoree of your mother’s knight, and soon to become yours.

"y/n!" he grinned and you wrapped your arms around him in a tight, warm hug. if you actually had a choice, you probably wouldve married jeno, seeing as he was your best friend and it wouldve been more of a friendship based marriage.

"how are the princes?" he asked, you locking your arm in his as you both walked down the halls. rolling your eyes you turned to face him.

"you know how i feel about this whole shitty marriage debacle. id rather not marry either- though im sure they’re lovely" that was another thing you did. always giving people the benefit of the doubt. jeno grimaced and nodded, his black hair bouncing softly as he did so.

"yeah i know. but you have a month, so maybe it would be good to try and get close to them at least" his naturally deep voice you had grown accustomed to, and it was hard to deny anything he said as all he spoke was truth. it wasnt like you had a choice anyway, it was all for some alliance. "yup" you muttered. looking outside, you saw sicheng, the gardener, planting new flowers and you gasped, tugging jenos arm. "look! lets go help out winwin" you dashed outside as fast as you could in your death traps for the feet, jeno trailing behind you. he knew how much you loved gardening and the outside.

"winwin~" you plopped next to him, promptly kicking off your heels as you kneeled on the soft grass, dress awkwardly flowing out around you. the gardener turned to you and smiled, pausing from digging out the old flowers and replacing them with newer ones.

"princess, did you need anything?" he asked, his attention now fully on you. nodding, you grab the other two trowels and handed one to jeno, grinning at winwin. "we have come to help" you announced, jeno chuckling at your eagerness to dig into soil. winwin nodded. "i see. well, you know what to do"

that was true. you often did spend time gardening with winwin and jeno, so it was unsurprising that you wanted to help again. digging into the dirt with a smile, you chatted with jeno and sicheng, just having a general good time whilst listening to the birds chirping and the riverstreams around the palace rushing. it was a very peaceful place, and you enjoyed it.

mark, who had finished talking with your parents was walking with his advisor, johnny, just around the castle when he saw your brother, prince yuta, looking out the window with a wide smile on his face. once yuta noticed their presence, he bowed towards them.

"oh, my apologies for not noticing you sooner" he apologised, which mark turned down with a small smile telling him it was okay. "is there something going on outside?" johnny asked, moving next to the window to see if something interesting was happening. following johnny, mark also stood at the window, all three of them now squeezed in as they looked out onto the palace gardens. marks gaze wandered before it landed on the 3 figures on the ground, planting flowers. it wasnt hard to figure out one of them was you, your crown gleaming in the sunlight. "did your parents force her to garden for a punishment?" johnny inquired to yuta who shook his head. "not at all, that doofus of a sister of mine likes doing things and has recently found enjoyment in gardening with sicheng" he answered softly, looking at his sister with adoration.

even from the window, mark could practically feel the waves of happiness radiating off of her. yet, they werent there when they met that morning.

[destiel-love-forever]

Death vs. Destiel

Prompt from @longkissgoodnightbatmanandtwofac : Death falls in love with a boy named Dean the day he comes to collect his mother. Once Dean comes up age Death comes and professes his love. Naturally Dean rejects him before falling in love with Cas and starting a family with him. But Death refuses to accept Dean's rejection starts seducing Dean's family members and works to sabotage Dean's marriage. He makes it very clear that he will stop if Dean accepts his affections.

** Oh boy. I enjoyed writing Death in this FAR TOO MUCH. Don't worry, though. End-game Destiel.

Read below or on AO3: HERE

Death vs. Destiel 

November 2nd, 1983 was colder than usual in Lawrence, Kansas. From the moment Death got out of his red and black 1967 Stingray, the icy air snapping across his face, he knew the spirit he was there to retrieve was killed by something supernatural. Death hoped it wasn't still around. He rarely collects soul anymore - that's what his reapers are for - but this soul is a part of something much bigger, so Death chose to handle it himself. He'll be unimpressed if some lowly being gets in his way just because it wants to stick around to watch all the fun.

As Death approached the burning house, an abandoned soul pinging from inside, he was caught off guard by a tiny human standing on the sidewalk, barefoot and holding a bundle of something in his arms. The boy couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 years of age. He had these wide, innocent green eyes that reflected the flames as he watched his home burn. Death watched as that vulnerable innocence slowly turned to ash, the weight of the world settling on the boy's frail shoulders.

"'S okay, Sammy," the boy whispered, completely unaware that Death was standing in front of them. "I gots you. I keep you safe."

It was endearing, this notion that a small child truly believed he could protect his brother from the sadistic world they lived in. The boy had a strong soul, the thing practically singing out to Death, and that's all it took. He was hooked.

Death rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, the light touch making the child shiver. The boy's soul whispered to him. Dean. His name is Dean.

And his mama says angels watch over him.

A smirk pulls at Death's lips. He supposes it's true. From this point on, the angel of death plans on keeping a very close eye on this Dean Winchester.

Death closed his eyes and marked Dean for eternity. Now no one would doubt who he belonged to. The boy had gasped, most likely feeling something strange as his soul was claimed, but then he went back to watching the house in a trance.

"I will see you soon, little one," Death whispered. His eyes flicked to the bundle in his boy's arms - an infant - and frowned. The infant was tainted. Something about it off and dangerous. Death would allow it to live, for Dean's sake, but he'll have to keep a close eye on it. The second the marred soul becomes too dangerous for his Dean, Death will eradicate it.

Death lit a cigarette, letting it rest between his lips as he shrugged out of his heavy leather jacket. It's not like temperature bothered him, and these children were freezing. Obviously, Dean wouldn’t be able to see the jacket, that would just confuse the poor boy, but Dean could feel it.  He settled it over Dean's body, the thing nearly reaching the boy’s ankles, and watched as Dean's entire body relaxed beneath it. A small sigh of relief fell from the boy’s lips as a stray tear fell down his cheek. Death wiped it away, then stroked the boy's freckled cheek a few more times to send him comfort.

Once Dean's soul was soothed - as much as it could be, considering the night he had - Death took a puff of his cigarette, flicked some ash onto the ground, and headed inside. He had work to do.

----

Death visited Dean Winchester often. He let the boy be - only stepping in when he felt it was necessary, like when Dean was sick with pneumonia that John fucking Winchester didn't get treated soon enough, compromising seven-year-old Dean’s little lungs, or for the car accident Dean got into when he was 16, wrecking his father’s impala so badly that it caught fire. For the first incident, Death healed Dean with a kiss to his forehead and made John Winchester miserable for months on end by fucking with his luck. For the second incident, Death fixed the car to protect Dean from his father’s wrath - and because it’s a gorgeous fucking car - and brought Dean to the motel bed he was currently using as his own. He sat with Dean all night, stroking his hair as he gave him a dream so similar to the accident that when Dean woke up without a scratch, he thought it had all been his imagination.

That’s why Death is so damn excited when Dean Winchester finally turns 18. He wants to interact with Dean. To take him out on dates to faraway places that are nothing like Kansas. To travel the world together. Hell, to travel the universe if Dean’s interested. Death will give Dean Winchester the world. He’ll move mountains and create new oceans. He’ll tell Dean stories of all of the great wars - something he knows Dean is very interested in, considering he’s always watching war movies and documentaries. If Dean wants, he can visit Mary in heaven - God’s been MIA, but Death and Michael get along well so he knows they’d be allowed to enter the kingdom.

Out of all of these plans - fourteen years of plans - Death never considered one thing.

Dean saying no.

----

Dean spends his eighteenth birthday with a fake ID and his best friend Ash. They hit a club in the city nearest to them, a place that just recently opened and gears toward the LGBTQ+ community. They start the night out with a shot of tequila before ordering drinks and hitting the dance floor. Between the booze, the music, and all the sweaty bodies, the night begins to blur. Everything feels light and easy. Dean, for the first time in a long time, feels like he can breathe.

That’s why he’s laughing to himself as he stumbles outside for a cigarette. Ash is still inside, getting awfully friendly with a guy twice his damn size, so Dean is alone. After taking a cigarette out and sticking it between his lips, Dean searches for his lighter. He pats his pockets a few times before realizing Ash took it after their last smoke break.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, even though he’s unable to truly be upset about it. The booze overrides any disappointment in the moment.

A warm, rough voice that sounds like gravel and sex asks, “Need a light?”

Dean turns to find a tall, handsome man with eyes so dark brown he’d think they were black. He’s wearing black jeans, a denim colored casual button-up, and a black leather jacket. The man smirks when Dean fails to speak, digging in the pocket of his open jacket. When he offers the lighter, Dean just stares at it.

“You want me to light it for ya?” the man asks with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh! N - no,” Dean stutters, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I can do it. Thanks.”

Dean takes the lighter, shivering when his fingers brush against the man’s. The touch is achingly familiar.

He laughs softly when he looks down at the thing. It’s black, with white letters etched into it. “The devil made me do it?” Dean asks in amusement.

“Don’t worry. If anything, I’m the one making the devil misbehave.”

Looking up at the stranger as he lights the cigarette, Dean gets a gut feeling that the man isn’t lying. He has danger written all over him. John Winchester would tell him to run away immediately, always trying to get Dean to trust his instincts. Then again, John would be telling him to run because this is a man, not a woman, in front of Dean. That thought is all it takes for Dean to ignore the warning bells in his mind.

John Winchester can screw himself.

The man watching Dean smirks. Dean takes the cigarette out, exhaling smoke. “What?”

“What?” the man repeats.

“What’s the smile for?”

The man’s eyes rake over Dean’s body before settling back on his face. “Just you.”

“Me?” Dean practically squeaks.

He takes another drag to hide how embarrassing that just was. Thankfully, the man doesn’t tease him about it. He just gives Dean a surprisingly warm smile and says quietly, “Yes. You. You’re something very special, Dean.”

In a split-second, Dean goes from blushing and hopeful, to guarded and alert. His training kicks in, helping him stay calm. Still, though, his fingers slightly tremble where they cradle his cigarette.

“Funny,” Dean says in a confident voice that makes him proud. “Don’t remember telling you my name.”

The man’s smile wavers before setting itself firmly back in place. “You got me there. Listen, Dean, before you pull your gun on me, or that silver pocket-knife in your back pocket, or the flask of holy water inside your coat, let me explain myself.”

Dean takes a step back. He put that gun, knife, and flask where they are back at his house. By himself. Alone in his room. So, either this man can see the items on Dean somehow, or he was spying on Dean.

“Dean-”

“You better get the fuck out of here before I gank your ass.” Dean points a finger down the street. “I’m serious. Get out of this town. Out of this fucking state. Never come near me again.”

The man smiles - fucking smiles. “Dean, honey, take a breath.”

He startles. “Honey?”

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

The man steps forward, reaching a hand out to cup Dean’s cheek. Dean slaps it away and stumbles back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“You’ve never been bothered by my touch before.”

“I - you’ve,” Dean shakes his head. “What?”

The man tries to reach for Dean again. When Dean hits the hand coming at him, the man chuckles softly, as if he finds Dean’s reaction adorable.

“I touched you the night of the fire. You were so cold, so afraid. Holding Sammy tight, forcing yourself not to cry, telling him repeatedly that you’d always take care of him.” The man takes a step closer to Dean. Dean forgets to step back. “I touched you when you got pneumonia that winter. Found you laying in the hospital, so sick and frail and scared. I laid with you in that hospital bed all night, stroking your hair and singing softly to you. I touched you again when you were nine. It was the first Christmas that your dad missed, too busy working a job. You went around town doing chores for the elderly to earn some money, toting a quiet Sammy along. That was back when he was obsessed with that stuffed moose. Remember that? And you wanted so badly to buy Sam a Christmas present. There was this lego house set. It had the parts to build a red two-story, with a green roof, and included those little guys that could live inside it. Sam wanted it so bad. He kept telling you it would be like your home. A house that could come with the two of you wherever you went. But it was Christmas Eve, and you were four dollars short. Do you remember what happened that night, Dean?”

Head spinning, Dean leans his back against the building and takes a deep breath. “I put Sammy to bed, and went out looking for a way to make money.”

“You went to a bar looking for money, Dean. A bar.”

There’s a hint of anger in the man’s voice, like he’s upset that Dean had done something so dangerous. It makes Dean flinch. “My dad always came home from the bars with money. I was nine. How the fuck was I supposed to know he was doing it in ways I couldn’t?”

“I know, Dean,” the man says, his voice so much softer now. When Dean chances a look at him, he finds the man with kind, warm eyes, and a sad smile. “That’s why I made sure you never made it.”

“You didn’t stop me,” Dean growls defensively. “I didn’t need to go anymore! That church was giving out presents.”

The man lifts one corner of his mouth in a smirk. “Yes, Dean. That church was giving out presents. Magically. Right there. And you just so happened to get the lego set for Sammy, the exact same one he had been dying to buy. And not only that, but you got yourself a toy too, because the lady asked if you had any siblings, and since you had Sammy, you got to pick two presents.”

Dean blinks once. Twice. “I got the Mattel Electronic Football game.”

“You did.” The man smiles. “Your dad hated that thing.”

On accident, Dean laughs. “He did! It made that annoying beeping noise, and he-” Dean remembers what’s going on here, how fucked up this is. He clamps his mouth shut and pushes off the wall, adding some distance between them again. Surprisingly, the man doesn’t pursue him. He just takes a drag of his cigarette and watches Dean with those dark eyes.

“What are you?”

The man takes a deep breath, nods once like he’s agreeing to something, then answers. “I’m Death.”

Dean stares at him for a moment. “Like, you’re a reaper?”

“No, Dean. They work for me.” The man shrugs a shoulder. “I’m Death.”

“The Death.”

“The Death,” he confirms.  

“What, then, are you here to kill me?”

The man frowns. “Of course not. I’ve been with you since you were four, Dean. Why would I kill you now?”

Dean turns his back to the man, even though that’s the opposite of what his dad would tell him to do. The guy has a point, though. If he’s really been around that long then it wouldn’t make sense for him to hurt Dean right now. If he’s even who he says he is. For all Dean knows, this is just some demon fucking with him.

Or - or - “Dean, if you come with me, I can prove it.”

“How?”

“A man down the street is due for a heart attack in two minutes, seventeen seconds. One of my reapers is on it, but I will handle it if you want to see. If you want me to prove it.”

“You’re crazy if you really think I’m going to leave this place with you.”

The man flicks his eyes up at the club, then back down at Dean. A second later, the building is lit up like a damn Christmas tree, and the music is cut off. There’s a series of groans and boos before people begin to stream out of the place. The man smiles at him again. “Might as well come now. There’s nothing better for you to do.”

For some reason, Dean gives in to that. He nods and begins to walk, allowing the man to lead the way. They travel down the street in silence before stopping in front of another bar. A man is in the alley behind it, hands braced on the brick building in front of him, head hanging low. He’s making little noises that are clearly pained.

“We have to help him!” Dean gasps, starting to run toward him.

The man wraps a strong arm around Dean’s bicep and holds him back. At least he has the decency to look guilty about it as he tells Dean, “There’s nothing we can do. It’s his time.”

Before Dean can argue, a girl with bright pink hair that’s wearing a Star Wars shirt under jean overalls walks past them. She stops short, one foot still out in the direction of the dying man, another turning toward them.

“Sir?” she asks, fear evident in her voice.

“You can go, Kate. I’ll be handling this tonight.”

The girl looks at Dean, and understanding blooms on her face. Her defenses fall and she smiles. “Of course. Have a good night, Sir.”

And then she vanishes. Into thin air. No black smoke. Dean spins around, trying to find her, but she’s truly gone. When he looks at the man for an explanation, he realizes the man is no longer next to him. He’s standing just behind the guy having the heart attack. With one last glance at Dean, he rests a hand on the dying man’s shoulder and blinks. Heart attack guy drops like a ton of bricks.

“Oh my god.” Dean squeezes his hands into fists. “Oh my fucking god.”

“Dean-”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“Dean, I love you. Can’t you see that? I love you.” Dean gets an overwhelming urge to throw up. He puts a hand to his mouth and tries to breathe through his nose. His silence invites Death to speak again. “I’ll give you the world. No more hunting. No more living in motels. No more stealing identities and working dirty jobs for cash.”

Shaking his head, Dean drops his hand and says through gritted teeth, “No.”

“We can travel. Go anywhere you want. Everywhere. Dean, I could show you so much!”

“I don’t want to see anything you have to show me!”

“What about your mom?” Death asks, raising an eyebrow and smiling. “You wanna see her?”

“You - I - oh my fucking god!” Dean stumbles back, tears burning his eyes. “You killed my mom, didn't you? You - you killed her. You’ve been following me since I was four. Since she died. You killed her!”

Death face crumples. “Oh, Dean, no. No, I just reaped her.”

“Same thing!”

“It’s not, Dean. I promise you, it’s not.”

“Could you have saved her?”

“Dean-”

“If you really wanted to, did you have the power to save her?”

All the answer Dean needs is the slight hesitation before Death whispers, “Dean.”

Shaking his head, Dean pulls his gun out and points it at Death. Before the man - the thing - can react, Dean’s unloading his clip into his chest. Each bullet knocks Death back an inch or two. When his gun is empty, the two stare at each other for a moment. It feels like the air gets thick around them.

Dean waits for Death to lash out. To hurt him. Kill him.

Instead, Death nods slowly. “Take your time, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

----

Unfortunately, Death wasn’t lying. Dean starts to see him every few months. He has a feeling he’s around even more than that, but Death can obviously control whether or not he’s visible to Dean, so who knows. Dean’s terrified to do anything. Going to sleep is nearly impossible. Making friends is out of the question. And dating? Even sleeping around? Dean doesn’t even look at anyone attractive anymore. Not when he has a psychotic god-like being that’s in love with him following him around. Who knows what Death would do to anyone he thought Dean was attracted to.

It wouldn’t be good.

That’s why, when Dean meets Castiel Novak, a badass angel with a wry sense of humor and the most beautiful blue eyes ever created, Dean’s relieved. He can look at the angel. Laugh with the angel. Touch the angel.

Because Castiel knows about Death. He knew the first day they met, when he touched a hand to Dean’s face and frowned. “You are marked,” he had told Dean. “Claimed.”

Dean had shaken his head. “I don’t want to be. Not by him.”

And, surprising the hell out of Dean, Castiel had simply smiled and said, “Then we’ll ignore it.”

The first few months, they’re just friends. Dean catches Death watching them on three different occasions, always lurking in the background, but Death never interferes.

Things get a little more awkward after Dean and Castiel’s first kiss. It happens unexpectedly. One second Dean's cleaning shifter blood off of a silver blade, the next second he has lips pressed against his. The kiss goes from hesitant and chaste to frantic and impassioned within seconds. Dean drops the knife to tangle his fingers in Castiel's hair, and Castiel grabs Dean by the waist, hoisting him up and across the small gap between their chairs so Dean is straddling him.

When Dean blinks his eyes open, preparing to ask Castiel if he wants to move the party to the bed - it had been 3 years, 4 months, and 27 days since Dean had sex…. But who's counting… - Dean is distracted. Death is standing just a foot or two away from the back of Castiel's chair, one hand in the pocket of his dark gray suit pants, the other holding an angel blade. Dean gripped Castiel tight and looked up at Death with pleading eyes.

Death left.

Two days later, when Dean is alone in a bar bathroom, Death comes for him. He wraps a strong hand around Dean's throat and shoves him into the wall, holding the hunter in place as he glares at him.

"End it," Death growls.

"No." Dean tries getting away, even though he knows it's pointless. When he sags against the wall in exhaustion, Death's hand still on his throat, Dean asks in a defeated voice, "Can't you just move on? There are billions of people on this planet."

"But they are all insignificant. I want you."

"Well, I don't want you!" Dean's voice cracks, 3 years of exhaustion and pain slamming into him. He cries openly now. "I'm never going to want you."

Death just watches him silently, the thumb of his hand stroking Dean's soft skin. He lets Dean cry himself out. Even holds him when his knees give out on a particularly harsh sob. Cradling Dean's head to his chest, Death whispers, "I'm right here, Dean. Shhh. You're okay. I'm right here."

Dean can't help but think that the words sound much more like a threat than a comfort.

----

Castiel is who comes up with the plan. There are certain deaths important enough to the universe, to God’s plan, that Death has to be the one to reap the soul. These are the only times they can be certain Death isn’t watching them. The only time they can talk. It’s only once or twice a month, unfortunately, but it’s something at least. Between that, and texting under fake names, they get back together.

Whenever Dean catches a glimpse of Death, he ignores him. The monster shows up at bars, gas stations, grocery stores, hunts - he even shows up once to a barbeque Dean goes to with Ash. Every single time this happens, an extra weight is added around Dean’s neck. It never stops.

One night, when Death is gone reaping someone important, Castiel asks Dean to tell him his location. He doesn’t want to, says it’s too dangerous, but Castiel insists. A few seconds later, Castiel is in Dean’s motel room in Lansing, Michigan. It had been so damn long since they saw each other. Touched each other. Dean can’t get to him fast enough.

They’re a clash of hands, lips, tongues, teeth. Dean carefully slides Castiel’s trench coat down his arms, knowing how much the angel loves it. Huffing in impatience, Castiel grabs his own dress shirt and rips it off, buttons flying. He doesn’t even bother to take his tie off. Dean’s hands tremble as they work at Castiel’s pants. When they’re halfway down Castiel’s thighs, Castiel swats Dean’s hands away so he can yank Dean’s henley over his head. He gets Dean naked before Dean wins the power struggle again, shoving Castiel’s jeans and underwear the rest of the way down to his ankles.

Things slow down, then. Their kisses turn soft. Loving. Castiel preps Dean as he whispers things like, “You’re beautiful, Dean,” and “I love you so damn much.”

By the time Castiel is carefully sinking inside of Dean, the human’s eyes are watering from all of the praise and validation. Their lips lock into a kiss as Castiel bottoms out.

Then things go straight from zero to sixty. Fingers tangle in hair, teeth bite at throats and lips, tongues dart out for tastes, lips explore. Castiel pounds into Dean like he’s never experienced before. He feels like Castiel sends him straight to heaven as they climax together.

After, they lay tangled up in the sheets, Dean’s cheek pressed against Castiel’s sweaty chest. Castiel is softly trailing his fingers up and down Dean’s spine.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean asks sleepily.

“I’m about to do something really unromantic, but I want you to know that I mean it. From the bottom of my grace, I mean it, Dean.”

Dean props himself up on an elbow, feeling nervous. “Okay?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” As Castiel says this, he pulls away from Dean enough to reach down and dig in his trench coat pocket. He presents Dean with a black box. Dean takes it with shaking hands, his breath hitching as he opens it. “Will you marry me, Dean Winchester?”

“I - this - Cas.” Dean looks up into blue eyes. Then he laughs. “How is this unromantic.”

“Well,” Castiel winces. “If you marry me, heaven will protect you. It won’t just be me. It’ll be my garrison. I might even be able to put a request in to Michael for archangel protection of some sort. Or for him to at least talk to Death and get him to back off.”

“Oh.” Dean takes the ring out of the box, fiddling with it. Then he grins. “Well, I really don’t care if that’s the reason. Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I’ll marry you.” Dean practically lunges at Castiel, yanking him close.

After another round of heated kisses, the two of them settle on the mattress, tangled together. Dean rests his forehead against Castiel's and sucks in a shaky breath. "I don't think I'd ever survive us not being together. I can't lose you," he confesses.

"That will never happen, Dean Winchester. You are my forever and always."

Dean closes his eyes, letting the promise soothe him as he whispers back, "Forever and always."

They get seventeen more minutes together before Castiel senses Death’s return. He leaves Dean with a final kiss, a ring on his finger, and a promise to return soon.

----

Death hates seeing his boy hurting. Before, it was easier. Dean was hurt because of Yellow Eyes, or his father, or a monster he was hunting. It was never because of Death. But now, the agony in Dean's eyes every time Death checks in on him is Death's fault. He knows it is. And he hates himself for it.

Not as much as he hates Castiel, though.

A fucking angel.

Out of all of the things Dean could have chosen to fall in love with, out of all of the possible competition Death would need to fight to win Dean Winchester's heart, he never thought it'd be an angel. The one thing in the universe that can survive killing him. Sure, Castiel would have to find Death's scythe first, but then he could use it. Any human like Dean or his family would die along with Death, but an angel? An angel could gank Death, turn around, and marry the love of Death’s fucking existence.

And that’s the plan. Death knew it the second he saw that ring on Dean’s finger. His boy was passed out in his motel bed, naked, covered in hickies, smelling of sex and angel grace, wearing a fucking ring on his finger.

They’re planning to get married.

It’s not going to happen.

Not on his watch.

Dean will be sad for a while, yes, but he’ll get over it. Death will never reap Dean. The boy will live forever. That gives him plenty of time to recover.

Still, Death doesn’t want to start a war with the angels, so he’ll have to be tactful. He’ll have to convince Dean to leave Castiel on his own. He’ll have to convince Dean to become his. Exploit Dean’s weaknesses until the boy breaks.

And everyone knows Dean Winchester’s number one weakness.

Sammy.

----

Dean goes a month without seeing Death, not that he believes the monster isn’t around. He and Castiel only manage to see each other in person once, along with a few stray texts and one short phone call. Dean’s life turns into a lonely routine. Hunt. Drink. Miss Castiel. Go to sleep. Wake up. Repeat.

Pretty soon, it’s Sam’s high school graduation. Dean’s so proud he could burst. He purchases a nice suit and a brand-new laptop as a gift for Sam before heading to California. The plan is to go out to eat the night before graduation as a family - Sam, Dean, Bobby, and John. Dean’s thrilled when Sam calls an hour before they meet at the restaurant, all giddy and nervous about this new girlfriend he really wants to introduce to them. Dean says he should bring her to the dinner, and a fifth is added.

Dean’s grinning ear to ear, practically walking on air as he thinks of how happy Sammy is when he enters the restaurant. He’s in such a good place, Dean’s even going to tell his family about his impending marriage. His father will probably have a few choice things to say, but he thinks Bobby and Sam will be happy for him.

Traffic wasn’t the best, so Dean’s the last to arrive. He strolls up to the table where his family is sitting, stumbling mid-step when he sees the person sitting between Sam and an empty chair.

“Dean!” Sam yells, standing up from the table and hurrying over to hug him. Wrapping his arms around his brother, Dean keeps his eyes glued to the person at the table. When the person winks and smiles at him, his gut twists.

Sam pulls away and tugs at Dean to pull him forward. “Come meet Jessica! Oh, you’re gonna love her, Dean. She’s awesome! And she’s going to Stanford too!”

“Oh yeah?” Dean croaks, eyes glued on the person Sam’s pointing at. The person who is most definitely not Jessica. Not even a she. Not even a person, technically.

“I’ve heard so much about you, Dean,” Death says in that low, raspy voice of his as he stands up and extends a hand. “It’s great to meet you.”

Dean stares at the end, then glances at everyone watching them. All smiles and easy postures. They all see a girl. They all see Jessica. Dean’s the only one seeing Death’s true identity. Or, most likely, the identity he uses for Dean. The hot guy with the leather jacket, and slicked back hair, and a grin that could make your damn underwear melt if you didn’t know he killed people as a living.

“Dean,” Sam growls, clearly offended.

Snapping out of it, Dean forces a tense smile and quickly shakes Death’s hand. “Great to meet you, too.”

“Here, Dean, take a seat,” Death says with a smile. He gestures to the empty seat between him and Bobby at the round table. The only available seat. Everyone continues to stare at Dean as he tries to force his feet to move. It takes longer than it should, but he eventually manages to shuffle over to the chair and sink into it. When the waitress comes by to take their orders, Dean orders a double whiskey - no soda, no ice, no food.

When a hand rests on Dean’s knee beneath the table, he swallows a mouthful of bile. The second that whiskey is in front of him, he’s downing half the glass.

“Dean,” John says softly from across the table, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah. Yup. Yes. Fine.”

“Are you sure?” Bobby asks.

“Definitely. Perfectly great, yup. Good.”

Death moves his hand on Dean’s knee, gently stroking the area like he’s trying to soothe him. Does this dude not understand that he’s what’s making Dean so upset?

There’s a familiar pull that Dean feels in his chest. A constant order to be calm, to breathe, to trust. He’s felt it more than once in his life, but it wasn’t until he felt it that night in the bathroom, as Death held him while he broke down, that Dean realized what it was. This is Death pulling at his soul. Soothing him.

Because of that, Dean fights it. He fights it like hell.

----

The second Dean manages to get Death alone, he has him shoved up against the wall. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, ya know, since you picked the wrong guy, I figured I’d settle for the other Winchester.”

“I - what?” Dean’s heart starts pounding in his chest. “I didn’t pick anyone."

“You might have taken that ring off your finger, Dean, but I saw it. The night he proposed, I saw it. And word travels fast. An angel marrying a human?” Death releases a low whistle, shaking his head. “That’s the kind of gossip no amount of sneaking around can hide.”

Dean deflates, letting go of Death so he can stumble back. Tears burn his eyes as reality comes crashing down. He never fooled Death. The monster was just letting him and Castiel play pretend, all the while planning his revenge with Sam.

God, Sam. Dean has to protect Sam. “Please, just - just leave him alone. Leave him out of this.”

“I plan on spending my life with one of the Winchester brothers, Dean.” Death shrugs a shoulder, clearly fighting a smirk. “Not my fault you’re making me choose him.”

----

Castiel has never felt so powerless. He has waged wars. Flattened cities. Conducted miracles. He is one of Michael's chosen. There has never been something he couldn't overcome.

Death will not be the one to take him down. Castiel refuses. He will wreck the son of a bitch, even if he wrecks himself.

"It's not him, Cas. It's me. He came one night when I was upset and comforted me. And - and we, we uh, we got together. And I love him. I wanna - I'm going to be with him, Castiel. I'm sorry."

The words - choked and trembling - play on a loop in Castiel's mind as he rips through the night club Gabriel runs. He passes angels, demons, reapers, and who knows what else. All of them turn as they watch sparks of grace fly off of him. Most move out of his way fast enough. The ones who don't get thrown.

Death is waiting for him when he plows through the door to the VIP section, one hand casually in the pocket of his dress pants, the other cradling a glass of expensive whiskey. All it takes is that initial look at him, and Castiel's rage plumes into a nuclear explosion, just begging to be let loose.

To detonate.

His eyes flick around the room, scanning for Dean. The young man is nearby, sitting in an oversized chair that screams power and luxury, looking as if he'd kill to be anywhere else. Fear flashes in his beautiful green eyes when Castiel locks their gazes. For just a second, everything falls away. They're back in the hotel room, sweaty and naked after just making love. The sheets are tangled in their legs. Dean's still peppering lazy kisses on his chest. Castiel is trying to count Dean's freckles, bitching at the young man go stop squirming around so much. That overwhelming realization that Castiel had finally found it. That thing everyone always tried to explain to him.

Love.

Dean?

Yeah, Cas?

Will you marry me?

"You're not welcome here," Death says in a cocky tone.

Keeping his eyes on Dean, Castiel ignores the being trying to speak to him. Death is nothing right now. Non-existent. Castiel didn't come here for a fight. He came here for Dean. Death will be dealt with later, once he knows the love of his life is safe.

Castiel takes two steps toward Dean, stopping when Death grabs him by the wrist. "He's mine. Get over it."

Still ignoring Death, Castiel gives Dean a reassuring smile. "Are you okay, baby? Are you hurt?"

"I would never hurt him!" Death growls, and that does it. Castiel explodes.

Whipping around, Castiel shoves Death back and screams, "All you've ever done is hurt him!"

“I’ve done what’s best for him!”

“What’s best for him? What’s best for him!? You reaped his mother! You haunted him all his life. You won’t let him be happy! You’re a selfish prick!”

“Stop,” Dean cries, standing up from his seat and trying to walk toward them. “Stop, please!”

Both Death and Castiel ignore him. Before he can get closer, an arm is wrapped around his waist and Dean is being lifted in the air. He panics, kicking out a leg, eyes locked on the two men who supposedly love him more than anything in the world, neither of them aware he’s about to be fucking kidnapped.

Just as Dean’s about to scream, hoping it can be heard over the music and the fighting, a soft voice in his ear says, “It’s Gabriel. You’re safe.”

Dean sags in relief as Castiel’s brother continues to drag him out of the VIP section and into a back hallway. When he’s put back on his own feet, Dean gets the urge to run. To just sprint until his lungs give out. Almost like Gabriel can read his mind, he says, “You can’t outrun him, Dean. Either of ‘em.”

“I just want it to be over.” Dean notices he’s crying, but he can’t get himself to care. It’s the first time he’s been able to confide in someone since Death made him break things off with Castiel. He’s been so lonely. So lost. Just going wherever Death tells him to go, doing whatever Death wants to do. “I need it to be over.”

“It will be. Soon.” Gabriel takes Dean’s hand and gives it a small squeeze. “Do you trust me?”

It takes less than a second for Dean to know the answer to that. Castiel always said Gabe was trustworthy. One of the only people Castiel can confide in. Sure, he messes around a lot, and he owns a pretty controversial club, but Gabriel would lay his life down for Castiel, and Castiel claims not a lot of angels would do the same.

“Yes. I trust you.”

“Okay.” Gabriel brings his free hand to Dean’s forehead and winks. “Bend your knees.”

And then the world drops out from under them, and Dean’s flying.

----

It’s just after Death has gotten a good slice of Castiel’s arm with an angel blade that he senses it. Dean’s gone. At some point, during the yelling, the shoving, and the blades coming out, Dean left. Or was he taken?

Castiel lunges for him and he deflects it. His heart feels like it’s in his throat, which is funny, because he doesn’t have a heart. “Castiel, stop!”

“No! You’ve bee-”

“Dean’s gone!” That gets Castiel to stop. He straightens his posture, lowering his blade just enough where it’s less offensive but still able to protect him if necessary. “Someone took him.”

Castiel arches an eyebrow. “What, you don’t think he’d run on his own?”

“Not with Sammy’s life on the line.”

Rage flashes in Castiel’s blue eyes as they narrow on Death. “I knew it. I knew you were using Sam to get to him.”

“Now is not the time, someone took Dean!”

“Yeah. I know.” Castiel winks at Death, then lunges again. The angel blade pierces straight through Death’s chest. His ears fill with a high-pitched ringing that seems to be coming from the inside. It won’t kill him, only his scythe can kill him, but he’s still an angel in a sense, and the blade is doing some real fucking damage. In fact, it even brings him to his knees.

As Death looks up at Castiel, a drop of blood coming out of his mouth and trailing down his chin, Castiel kneels on one knee and smirks. “I took him.”

----

It’s a shotgun wedding if Dean’s ever seen one. Gabriel officiates it, which is entertaining, to say the least. He even threw in some Elvis impersonator action halfway through the vows, which made even Castiel laugh, the anxiety in his eyes finally disappearing. Unlike a wedding between humans, there’s no marriage license, no legal witness needed. All there needs to be is Michael. He stands ten feet away from the ceremony, hands in the pockets of his pants, watching the whole thing carefully.

It’s the first time in history a human will be marrying an angel. Michael hopes that, wherever his useless father is, he loathes the knowledge that this is happening in his supposedly pure kingdom. That’s half the reason Michael is doing this. To stick it to the ass that left abandoned them.

Then there’s a quarter of the remaining reason dedicated to Castiel. A damn good brother, and an even better soldier.

And that last quarter. That’s a selfish one.

Michael wants to find love someday. He wants to feel what Castiel feels. Wants his grace to sing like Castiel’s does. He wants to shed the straight-laced soldier persona and slip into someone softer. Someone that smiles and laughs. Someone that enjoys the little things. Someone that makes him want to get up in the morning, instead of just needing to in order to fulfill his duties.

The ceremony ends. The few angels in Castiel’s close circle that were allowed to come begin to clap and holler. Castiel cradles Dean’s face, kissing him softly. Slowly. Thoroughly. They pull away and Dean rubs the tip of his nose against Castiel’s, making the angel laugh quietly to himself.

It’s so pure, Michael actually smiles. He doesn’t fight it, either. He lets it remain on his face as he steps forward and takes one hand from each of the two men. The three of them create a circle, and Castiel’s grace flows into Dean at the same time that Michael’s flows into the both of them. Michael doesn’t feel anything but a slight drain in energy, but he can see on Dean’s face that the once human can feel every ounce of grace transforming his cells.

When the ritual is finished, Dean stumbles back with a gasp. He looks up at Castiel, then Michael, with wide green eyes. “What was that?”

“You’re an angel now. Weak. Not pure. But an angel. Enough for immortality. Enough for you to wield Death’s scythe without dying yourself,” Michael explains.

“To - to wield - what - no! I can’t kill him! You guys have to!”

“Dean, you’re the only one who can get him to let his guard down. You’re the only one who has a chance,” Castiel says. “It has to be you.”

“I don’t know where his scythe is! And how will I convince him to believe me?”

Castiel puts a hand to Dean’s cheek, trying to calm him. “We know where the scythe is, Dean. We can get it. And you’ll convince him because you’re going to go running back to him. Terrified. Begging. Telling him you didn’t want to go, that you weren’t in on this plan. Pleading with him not to hurt Sammy. You’ve only been gone an hour or so. He’ll believe you.”

Dean huffs. “No, he won’t. And even if he does, that dude can sense the hell out of everything I feel and think. You honestly believe that he won’t sense I’m a fucking angel now?"

"That's not an issue. You'll tell him Castiel brought you straight to me and begged me to give you this protection. I've given this protection before - only to a very select few humans over my lifetime - but the marriage isn't required for it. He will believe I gave you the protection. Then tell him you panicked and came back to him."

"He won't buy it."

"You'll make him buy it, Dean. He's in love with you. Obsessively so. In his mind, there's no ending other than the one he wants," Michael explains. "You're going to be giving him that ending. He won't want to question it. He's too arrogant. He'll gloat and say something about how he always knew you'd come back."

"I can't. Cas," Dean turns to his now husband, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I can't- don't make me go back to that monster. Please. Don't make me."

"Do it for Sam," Castiel whispers, a tear of his own escaping. "Do it for me. He won't hurt you. Even if he figures you out, he would never hurt you."

"How long until you get the scythe?" Dean asks.

Michael answers this question, giving Dean an encouraging smile. "Just a few hours. You'll only have to be with Death for a few hours."

"How will I get it?"

"Let us handle that. When you see it, grab it. You have to cut his head off. A clean slice."

Dean stares at Michael with his mouth open. He realizes he's trembling when Castiel pulls him in close for a hug.

"You're a hunter, babe," Castiel whispers. "Just pretend you're on a hunt."

"Okay. Yes. A hunt." Dean nods, clinging to Castiel. "I can do that."

"You can, Dean. I know you can. And then, after, we can finally be together. Forever and always."

Dean latches onto the promise Castiel made that night that feels like an entire lifetime ago. He kisses Castiel like it's their last, whispering against his lips, "Forever and always."

---

Death has Dean stripped down to his boxers, hands tangled in Dean's hair as he guides the boy back to the bed. Dean had come back to him an hour ago, sobbing and hysterical. He had clung to Death like a life raft. "I didn't say he could do it! I wasn't in on the plan. I promise! I swear! Please, don't hurt Sammy. Please! I promise. I'm yours. I promise you I'm yours."

And Death wanted to believe him so damn bad, but he needed Dean to prove it. When he told Dean what he'd have to do, part of him expected the boy to run screaming. Instead, Dean had looked thankful. Almost happy even. He was glad to be given the chance to prove himself, and Death has to say, the gorgeous boy has already done an excellent job.

"Hands and knees," Death orders, pushing Dean so he falls back on the bed. The boy scrambles into position, one hand slipping a little. He gets purchase on the sheets beneath the pillow and holds himself up as Death comes up behind him.

Just as he feels Death’s skin touching his, Dean closes his hand around the metal handle of the miniature scythe and swings around. There’s a whirring sound as the thing extends in size, making it the correct size at just the right moment. Dean flinches when the warm blood sprays across his face, but he forces to keep his eyes wide open after, knuckles white where he grips the weapon. He stares at Death’s headless body, panting as he waits for the creature to hop back up. To laugh at Dean, then kill Dean himself.

Instead, there’s the telltale sounds of wings, and Dean looks up a second later to find Castiel and Michael. Dean has no idea he is violently shaking, not until Castiel walks up to him.

“Dean?”

Dean stares straight past him, eyes locked on Death again. His teeth clack together from how hard his body jerks.

“Dean, baby, it’s over now.”

Dean feels Castiel tug at the weapon, trying to take it from him, but he fights the man. He can’t let go. Not yet. Dean knows Death will come back. He just… he knows.

“Dean.” Castiel cups the side of his cheek, hand slipping a bit from the blood there. “Dean, can you look at me?”

Blinking slowly, Dean manages to lift his chin enough to meet Castiel’s eyes. The blue is like a breath of fresh air.

“It’s over, Dean.”

Relief knocks Dean to his knees. Castiel goes down with him, pulling Dean into his arms and cradling him to his chest. “It’s over, Dean,” Castiel says again. “It’s over.”

[jaimistoryteller]

Jaimi’s Update

5/6/19 Update

Hi All

Thank you all for continuing to share Shelk’s GoFundMe, I really appreciate it and it’s been helping. Now on to that update I keep planning and not seeming to get to. 

This is a long post, so I will put it below a cut. 

About Me First

So March and April were both massively long and a more then a little painful, both physically and mentally. I had a depressive spiral because of something someone said, cause even though they hadn’t meant to set one off, their word choice did not help. I got it just about under control and someone else said something that sent it right back down. I finally got it under control again, back in the slow drag of getting out of it. Not that I know for a fact it will work or not. Life is never that easy. 

I spent way too much of the two months on the go, to the point where my body shut down a couple of different times and I was completely useless. At least I accomplished my goals though, even if I paid massively for them. 

I have a new therapist, she’s lovely but it’s frustrating, because I did not want to be changing therapists in the middle of shit going wrong, but alas it was a thing that had to happen since my previous one is officially retired for a variety of reasons (and I hope he enjoys it too!). 

Despite my best efforts, I am a foster fail again, and have a new cat, he is adorable and loveable. I’ve named him Silver for his chest and markings. 

[ID: Silver the cat laying partly on the laptop keyboard]

I’m trying to figure out how to pay my electric, it’s due on the 10th, I should have made a post on it, but I’ve been more focused on making sure my sister doesn’t lose her home. Plus I was under therapist orders not to think of anything money or work related for three days during this last weekend. 

Winston

[ID: Winston the rottweiler service pup laying on my lap while I pet him]

He’s doing perfect on his training, already has two of his tasks completely down, working on getting several more down. 

Unfortunately, there have been several problems with store peeps despite the fact I make sure he has his harness on and his leash on that says he is a service dog. They keep making a fit over the fact he’s a rottweiler, I even had one say it directly to my face. 

So I’ve ordered a bunch of business cards with the ADA online address on them, a copy of the two questions they can legally ask on the front:

Is that a service dog?

What tasks does your service dog perform for you?

On the back I put the four points people keep missing the most, copied directly from the ADA FAQ:

Staff are not allowed to request any documentation for the dog, require the dog demonstrate its task, or inquire about the nature of the person’s disability.

The ADA does not require service animals to wear a vest, ID tag, or specific harness. 

Covered entities may not require documentation, such as proof that the animal has been certified, trained, or licensed as a service animal, as a condition for entry.

Michigan has a voluntary registration program but it is not required.

The last point is from the state ADA, rather then the Federal one. If I had more room, I would have included the fact it’s illegal to try and force a registration, but alas business cards aren’t that big. 

I knew when I got him there was going to be questions because he’s so big, I hadn’t realized how foolish peeps were going to be over his breed. 

Both his leash and harness say Service Dog on them, but because I didn’t go out and buy the specialized one, but a training harness which was a lot cheaper and works for our needs just as well, people like to question it often. To the point where I even had one person tell me to get out of the store because someone else’s dog acted up, so mine couldn’t really be a service dog. Seriously, then she tried to back it with the ADA, while breaking the first three points from the back, and then insisting that the Michigan registry is required. 

Seriously, she’s one of the reasons I made the cards, right after I reported her and her boss, since she was insisting she checked with her boss, and her boss agreed. I even stressed to both the ADA and her company I didn’t want either fired, I wanted them properly trained, it should not be the customer’s job to print off the law and bring it in to make a point, just to keep shopping. 

I refuse to go back to having days I can’t go to the store because others want to have a problem with my awesome boy. If they have a problem with another dog, that’s the other dog’s handlers problem, not mine. To take it out on me is unprofessional. 

Shelk & Lot Rent

All of you peeps who have shared it (particularly you awesome one @noregretsnotearsnoanxieties) are wonderful! I appreciate all of the help. Shelk is flabbergasted and thankful beyond words for all the help. 

Last month we were able to get $555 within the $3,600. The lot owner accepted that, which set the eviction notice back to the 15th of this month. 

Right now we are at $150 this month, which is great as we are trying to get to at least $300, as that would pay at least one month. Currently she owes $3,345 between past and current due. 

A wonderful peep has said they are going to try and do something mid-month after getting paid, so I am rather hopeful, and I will be continuing to share, with updates every time there is a donation. 

Unexpected Meeting Kickstarter

I know I have two digital rewards to finish, I have been working on them, they will be posted by the end of this month. 

I am also going to start ordering the stuff to send out to people, getting the bookmarks, magnets, posters, and other goodies ready while the book is being edited. I can happily report the first few chapters have been looked at, though I have not yet had a chance to check the edits, which is why I haven’t shared snippets yet. 

It didn’t help that one of the rewards got corrupted when my computer updated in the middle of a save. Anyways, I’m excited! So bloody excited! 

Converging Lives

I will hopefully be returning to updating my @converginglives blog this week, I miss being able to post stuff there plus I still have the Spring 2019 A to Z Event to finish. 

I am also working on an actual website for it, which will have pretty much everything from the tumblr blog but in an organized method as I am tired of arguing with tumblr about it when making sure it’s in website format. 

Fanfic

Seeking is DONE - again. This time I emailed myself the file as well as typing it in google docs. Then of course docs didn’t have the problems it had last time. After 18 months of not being able to work on it, my muse finally got on the game. I’m so bloody pleased with that. I posted one chapter tonight, next Monday I will post the last chapter. 

I plan on posting the last chapter of Challenge Accepted on Wednesday as it’s done and I just need post it. 

I’m planning on working on Advent, Playful Stress Relief, Blessed, and Learning to Live. Why those ones? 

Advent is rough drafted out, might as well finish it. Besides, I don’t like the fact my lovely and fluff filled thing is still stuck in limbo. 

Playful Stress Relief is nearly done, I think editing was all I had left on that particular last chapter to finish it, though don’t quote me. It’s been awhile since I checked it. 

Blessed is calling me, though only lightly, and I’m not even sure there are peeps waiting for it, but hey whatevers. 

Learning to Live got a lovely comment which made me smile, in the height of a massive episode. I am updating it for that person, hopefully it will let me get on a roll and finish my oldest fanfic. 

You wanna see one of the other ones updated? Leave a comment on it, not just a “update please” but something you like, or a question, or even a smile face. Update please doesn’t encourage me, but pretty much everything else does. 

Cosmos Market

This is still being worked on, for those who don’t know what the market is, here is a link to the last post made on it. I’ll probably be updating it sometime in the near future, but at this moment that is a pretty good definition of it. 

I want -- need -- to get the market off the ground so I can stop needing to ask for help as I will have at least a small and stable income going. 

I’m not planning on making a lot off of it, just enough to pay my base bills, which will not put me out of the poverty line. I do expect it to be a success, however I plan on putting money into my employees and building instead. My sister being one of those employees in order to help her stop needing to ask for help as well since she’s been struggling to find a job. 

The market isn’t the only thing on the planner for business, it’s just the one I am focused on right this moment, though I have been eyeing my second rather heavily lately too, as it would be a much more passive situation for me to deal with. 

Disability

A lot of you know that I’ve applied for it in the past and was turned down as “disabled but not disabled enough”. I have reapplied for it. Why? Because I am still disabled, and a lot of times, things are worse then they were the last time I applied. 

This time I have been sent to deal with so many new doctors it’s making me want to scream. I don’t deal well with new people. Yet I have to. A lot. It’s frustrating beyond words. Still, if it helps over all, I will do whatever I must. 

It’s seriously my hope to get to the point where I can put it on hold, and only use it when I have a really bad flare up. Yes, things have been closer to stable since I got Winston, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t problems going on. I had a depressive spiral that lasted five bloody weeks. Sometimes I was able to force myself to get stuff done, other times I couldn’t even get out of bed because of my mind. It’s hard to be stable with that situation going on. 

Knowing my bills will be dealt with even if I can’t get out of bed would help a great deal. Far more than I really want to admit. At last, that’s the way it goes. 

Links

Rather then put the links in this mess, I will make a post just for them and then add the link to it here for those who want to share it. Any sharing would be appreciated as it helps more than you would imagine. 

I know a lot of people don’t have money, and while money is needed, that is not what I am asking for, all I am asking for is you take the time to share. Just a few seconds, a couple of clicks, can make a world of difference. 

While a lot of the links are about me, not all of them are as I also put up links to others who have helped me and friends who are in different tight situations. I’m a firm believer in paying it forward in any way possible. 

Link to Links

Previous Updates

5/1/19 & 5/3/19 

4/24/19

3/9/19 & Links

3/1/19

2/14/19

1/24/19

1/16/19

1/5/19

12/27/17 & 12/28/18

12/22/18

12/19/18

12/6/18 & 12/8/18

[mmazzeroo]

Chapter 2: DANY I - How Does She Do That?

@helloimnotawesome - Happy 2nd December <3

Chapter 2:

DANY I - How Does She Do That?

"What a shit day!" she mumbled as she idly ran her finger round the edge of the shots-glass. That lousy piece of shit! It was her third and last glass for the night. He's not worth your tears, Dany, remember that!

She could feel Viserys edging closer. Holding up her hand, she closed her eyes and sighed. "I don't want to talk about it, Vis. Not now."

"Alright sis," he placed his arm across her shoulders, "just say the word if your brothers need to 'wake the dragon' on someone's ass, yeah?"

She nodded and couldn't help the little smile that crossed her lips.

Giving her a tight squeeze and a kiss on the head he whispered, "you know where to find me when you're ready."

Her sweet brother. Always loving and protective. Both of them though she was closer with Vis than Rhae. Could be very funny too, but couldn't think of that now. She could feel the anger coursing through her veins, needing to project it somewhere. She just couldn't deal with it right now.

"And what's with all the fucking elfs and gnomes and lights and relentless singing everywhere?! The noise. Oh the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!", she cried out. Pissed off at Christmas because of an asshole? Good choice Dany, not a cliché at all. At. All! She rolled her eyes at herself.

"'tis the season", replied Tyrion calmly. "So just hakuna your tatas there for a sec 'Grinch'."

"'tis the season", she said mockingly, "yeah season for all the rats to crawl out of the sewer. Hope the turtles are enjoying the peace and quiet. I know I would!" She knew she sounded bitter but she couldn't find it in her heart to care. Not now. "Besides", she continued, "it was Halloween like last week! No reason to break out Santa and the reindeers just yet if you asked me."

"It was Halloween a few weeks ago...and no one asked thus the lovely cheery decorations everywhere", Tyrion said sarcastically. In the background Tormund muttered something about reindeers and farting.

She sighed again staring at the glass in front of her. He's not worth your anger either, Dany. Just drag your ass to bed, sleep it off and start afresh tomorrow. Gently pushing the still full glass away she slid down from the stool. Staggering a bit she blinked a few times trying to gain her balance.

Davos' gentle voice sounded behind her, "I'll have this added to your tab Dany-girl, don't worry."

She gave him a half-hearted thumps-up.

When he stretched his arm over the bar and padded her on the shoulder she reached her own hand up and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. Thanks, Dadvos.

The old sailor had a good heart. He had landed on their shores some 12-13 years ago with a badly infected leg wound. In the end Dr. Stark had to amputate the leg below the knee to save Mr. Seaworth's life. Having lost his own family to war he had dedicated his life to helping others caught in the same kind of chaos. On that fateful night his ship docked in King's Landing he had been dragged into the ER by a shouting Gendry. They'd barely managed to dock before Davos had collapsed. What no one knew at the time was that the ship was loaded with Dothrakhi refugees. Scared, hungry, many wounded, and almost all of them seasick, but what parent wasn't willing to risk almost anything to save the lives of their children? Even crossing the poisoned water if it meant safety.

Gendry, being Gendry, had of course confessed to Dr. Stark after a day or two not knowing what else to do or where else to go. So her mom and Dr. Stark had pulled a few strings and somehow managed to get DA Tyrell (current President Tyrell) to reward Mr. Seaworth with amnesty for his heroic actions instead of being charged with human trafficking. They had showed up at the docks with food, water and meds for the refugees before sending them over to Dragonstone where a Dothrakhi community had long been established.  

Since then the Stark pack, Vis and herself had basically adopted Davos as their uncle, or 'Dadvos' as they lovingly grew to call him. Not entirely trusting his footing with an artificial leg he had given up sailing; not for good but no more rescue missions. Instead he and Tyrion had established a little pub which served as the front end of their 'shelter for cripples, bastards and broken things' as Tyrion proudly referred to it. Hot Pie and Gendry had been the first beneficiaries — Hot Pie had been sent to culinary school and now worked as head-chef at the pub. Overseeing trainees was part of the job description but Gendry and Davos made sure to alway be around. Hot Pie was a good guy, but a few sandwiches short of a picnic so to speak, so some of the kids liked to try to play tricks on him once in a while. Something that did not sit well with Dadvos! Gendry helped work the bar and being a pretty good handyman as well he would fix up whatever needed a brush up here and there. And Tyrion? Well, being a Lannister he obviously provided the cash, and though being trained as a psychologist, he also managed the business side of the pub. Loving every second of it. The heart of the place was Davos himself - always ready to listen, play games, give advise, or simply let people have their space.

Reaching the door, bag in hand she heard Tormund call out to her, "Whatever stupid shit the fucker did, where I'm from his woman would cut off his cock and wear it on a string around her neck as a trophy!"

"A pecker that small could never be anyone's trophy", she replied dryly stepping out in the snow.

Out in the cold she remembered why cold weather and alcohol is such a bad mix. You only feel warm because of the booze, Dany, don't let your body fool you. She could feel her head buzzing. Breathe! Stay focused! Luckily the hospital and thus the Stark and Targaryen residence was just across the street.

Watching the ground as she walked trying to steady her steps in the slippery snow, she didn't notice the man coming towards her. Inevitably they collided in the hospital foyer.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"My apologies, miss!"

With the speed of light a strong arm was wrapped around her back preventing her from falling on her ass. Looking up she saw a familiar face.

"Commander Selmy", she smiled, "what a surprise! Sorry for, literally, bumping into you like this."

"Could say the same to you, Dr. Targaryen." He removed his arm from her back and gently resting his hand on her upper arm. "Was just informed that you weren't expected back until tomorrow or, technically, later today." He smiled back at her.

She cleared her throat. "Yes well, complications arose, ensued, were overcome."

Narrowing his eyes slightly Commander Selmy gave her a long inquisitive look. She did her best to look back at him with as much confidence as she could muster at this hour. Just breathe, Dany. Whatever you do he'll know something's up anyway. Whatever his conclusion he just gave her a tight nod and warm smile.

"Right, I best be on my way now, have something for the lab." He lifted his hand slightly holding up a paper-bag.

"Oh? Has there been any trouble here?" She looked around the foyer for any signs of an altercation of some form, but saw nothing other than the usual few anxious relatives and a couple of nurses sitting behind the reception desk working quietly.

"There was a serious traffic accident earlier in the evening. A family of five was brought in, but no ID's so..." He trailed off. When anyone was admitted to the hospital without any kind of identification fingerprints and blood samples were taken to hopefully verify the individuals' identity that way.

"So standard operating procedure was followed. Got it!" She nodded absentmindedly eyes again scanning her surroundings. "But why you though?" Her head shot up, eyebrows furrowed, giving him a puzzled look. "It's usually something the City Watch handles, but you're Commander of the Gold Cloaks. Must be very high priority." She  tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. What in the Seven Hells is going on?

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes looking over and behind her clearly avoiding direct eye contact. Looking very uncomfortable he cleared his throat and said, "Just a precaution. Wish you a good night Dr. Targaryen." He was out the doors before she could respond. What the fuck was that about?!

As she crossed to the private lift at the back of the foyer she was approached by Margaery.

"Dany! Didn't think you—"

"—you'd be back until tomorrow, yeah I know", she finished exasperated.

Margaery gave her an amused look trying to hide a smile. "Won't ask", she said smiling holding up her hands as if surrendering. "Since you're here though would you be up for doing me a favour?"

"What's up?"

"Grey is currently sitting watch at a dog we got in this evening. The poor thing was in a terrible vehicle accident. Thing is he's beginning to wake up and..." Margaery looked at her expectantly.

"And you'd like me to go have a look to see if I'm going to get my head bit off, is that it?" she asked with a smirk while crossing her arms over her chest.

"Exactly!" Margaery grinned.

"Give me the headlines as we walk." Work! Nothing focuses the mind like work! Maybe that's why I enjoy it so much? Who do you think you're kidding, Dany, that's exactly why you love your job! That and you get to help. Helping does make me feel useful. She could feel the anger from earlier slowly began to subside, her body felt more relaxed. The alcohol had done it's job now it was time for her to do hers, and with a task at hand she quickly felt sober again. Strange how the mind can clear up like that. Damn it Dany, pay attention to Marg now!

"He came in sedated so we had to work quickly. The x-rays only showed a broken front leg. Lots of bumps and bruises though and some burns, but overall just getting away from that alive is a miracle."

"How so?"

"According to Tormund the vehicle took a tumble downhill and burst into flames."

She gasped in shock. Poor guy! "What about the rest of the family?"

Margaery waited as she dropped her bag off by the door to their break-room. She heard Margaery sigh next to her. The normally optimistic woman was clearly hesitant.

"They didn't exactly get away that easily." Another heavy sigh. "The man was patched up by Dr. Lannister and is currently stable and expected to wake up sometime within the next few days. His wife on the other hand..." She trailed off and dropped her eyes to the floor.

Her heart dropped. Oh gods! "She didn't make it." The words came out only as a whisper.

Margaery closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "Sadly no." She lifted her head again and looked at Dany, "but Dr. Martell and Robb were able to save the babies so I guess there's a bit of a silver-lining?"

"Babies? She was pregnant? How far along was she?!" She could feel her eyes grow big in horror. Does this story just keep getting worse?!

"Robb said based on weight and length they estimate she was about 36 weeks, so based on that alone the babies are quite well and safe." Oh thank the Gods, but there's a 'but' there's always a 'but'. "But" Yup, fucking knew it. "because of the rolling, falling and  various hits their mother suffered Dr. Martell wants to keep them under observation for a while just to make sure they're as good as can be. Robb's up there with them now."

"Wow! Can't even imagine what it must be like for him when he wakes up." She couldn't find any words to describe how she felt for that man somehow losing and gaining everything the same night.

They walked in silence until they reached the pens at the back of the vet wing. The smaller animals had cages where they could rest and heal, but the bigger ones had a pen. Basically fences only about 50 cm high as the animals kept there were not in a condition to stand up on their own, and this way also made it easier for the caretakers to check on them, change bandages etc.

In the pen in front of her was a big fluffy ball of white fur with two red eyes squarely fixed on Grey. He's gorgeous! Teeth barred and a low growling.

"Hey there sweetheart", she said tenderly as she carefully stepped in front of Grey. "I know this is scary. Unknown surroundings, unknown humans, and bet that foot of yours hurt too." She was gently guiding Grey away from her and towards Margaery and the door. "I'm sure those wounds on your leg and shoulder is stinging as well." She kept talking in a calm and gentle tone until the dog stopped growling.

"Atta boy, just breathe, I won't let anyone hurt you." She was holding a palm against the fence letting him get a proper sniff.

Glancing towards Margaery she asked, "do we know his name?"

"His name tag said 'Ghost' which by the looks of him is a very fitting name I'd say."

Grey smiled and nodded.

"Ghost", she whispered. The dog looked up. Didn't care when Marg said your name? "Hmm like my voice, do you?" She couldn't help the smile forming on her lips.

She opened the gate of the pen and took a seat in the corner next to the dog's head. A bold move but a necessary one. For a few tense seconds the dog just laid there looking at her. Then, as if he'd made up his mind about something, he put his head in her lap.

She carefully stroked his head and neck. "I'm so sorry this happened to you and your family," she whispered, "and I promise we're all doing everything we can to make you feel better."

She moved a bit lower so that Ghost was resting his head on her stomach. That way she could rest a bit as well.

Last thing she heard before dozing off was Grey's voice, "How does she do that?"

[iammarylastar]

3. Back to the U.S.

I’m dead. After I’ve travelled more than half of the world, I’ve finally reached Washington. So much wasted time which had kept me away from Angie, more than 10 fucking months. It already took me forever to heal from my wounds and be able to walk again. Thanks to the help and good care of Mikomi.

Hope. That’s what her name meant. That’s what she gave me. That’s what helped me to stay alive, what gave me the strength to go on, along with the sweet memories of Angie’s face.

Hope is exactly what left me as I put my feet on the ground. Sacred ground of United States of America. The land that bore me. And Angie. Maybe my child if I’m lucky.

I left Mikomi and her dad, on a fishing boat heading to China. Not really, in those times of war, Japanese and Chinese were like cats and dogs. I’m already lucky I landed on that tiny island where Sensei and his people lived like in the 17th century, they even don’t have electricity. They live in their own world, far from the war.

The ship’s master kicked me out on a Chinese island in the middle of nowhere in the East China Sea, then I sailed from tiny islands to tiny islands until I reached China.

I managed to find a cargo ship heading to America. U.S.A. Read on my lips: U.S.A. My Japanese was quite decent, but my Chinese totally non-existent and I I swear when I found out I’d landed in California, I cried my eyes out. Fucking fate.

My original plan was to land somewhere on the East Coast, then ride a train, a bike or a fucking horse to Washington, where I could gather clues to find out what had happened to Angie. Or Jessie. I was even ready to face Gessepp again if he was back in the Mother land and beg him on my knees, even kiss his bloody ass to know where she lived.

I ’d rather ask the War Department which was supposed to have all the slightest information available about that damn war, all the shit about our base included.

I struggled so much to make myself understood on that Chinese pier, unable to even write U.S.A. with current letters, those damn Chinese hieroglyphs still totally unknown to me. My face lightened at the sweet and weird sound, rolling off that Asian’ s tongue:

“America? Yes, there!” OK, he didn’t really say that, but enthusiastically nodded his head, pointing at a big ship. My tired brain was so relieved and happy that it assumed the boat was heading to the East Coast. Fuck. Me.

San Francisco was beautiful though but I didn’t have time for tourism. I had to survive, find a job to have money, clothes and somewhere to sleep. I did dirty jobs, exhausting physical works; I was alternatively a beggar, a cow boy, a farm hand, a thief, whatever I could do to earn my keep. Keep going. Keep walking. Keep dreaming of Angie and my baby. I made my way across the country, heading East by foot, sometimes hitchhiking, sneaking into a freight train when I was lucky. I never rested, I never stopped, until I finally reached Washington.

Now, I’m losing my nerves at the War Dept, South East Asia sector office, biting my lips bloody as the bitch in front of me repeats her shit for the umpteenth time.

“I’m sorry, but it’s classified as…”

“ I don’t give a fuck about classified! I risked my goddamn life in Japan to save your bloody American ass, I’ve travelled the whole country by foot to be here, so just give me the fucking answer I need! Where is She?? ”

She startles as I slam violently my palm on the desk, marking each word I’m barking so I’m sure she fucking gets the point. I’m aware the whole hall turns silent and feel a thousand sets of eyes stabbing my back but I don’t care. I keep staring at her with a murderous glare, leaning half my upper body over the desk, pointing a threatening forefinger to her face.

I’ve wasted a whole week, getting sent from offices to offices, from stupid to haughty or suspicious secretaries, claiming I had no appointment, no military ID, no reason to be here.

Fuck me I have all the reasons to be here. I have one. I lost the love of my life and my survival, the only chance I get to have her back, depends on you, bitch! But all I’ve earned by now are closed doors and mouths.

Oh, I forgot, one smart ass asked me if I was a deserter, another told me that I could be stamped “fit for duty” if I couldn’t submit any evidence of a “serious injury”. I laughed so hard she almost sent me to an insane asylum.

The truth is there’s nothing to be happy about. Angelina McCarthy just doesn’t exist in their files, all that’s Colonel Gessepp related is marked secret. Mac, Louie, Phil and myself are MIA, assumés KIA, end of story.

“Sir, I’m asking you to step back and calm down or I’ll call the security guards.” The frightened bitch barely whispers, swallowing hard. Jesus I wish she would choke on her spit.

Two shadows appear behind my back and I feel defeated, I know that being thrown to jail is not the best option to get Angie back.

“OK…” I drop my head and lean my hands on the desk for a second, waiting for the weakness in my knees and the bile rising in my throat to pass.

“FUCK!” I grip and pull on my hair as I howl in frustration, kicking out the chair I was supposed to sit on.

I told you I’m dead. This is the end of the road. No hope left. I could knock at every single door across the whole country, asking for Angie, looking for her but I’m so tired. I just want to lie down on the ground, curl up like a baby and sleep for the next 50 years.

“CUP! CUUUP!” A scream. A call. A female voice. I turn around to the sound, terrified by what I’m about to face. Who I am about to face. That’s not Angie’s voice, I’m sure of it, though her voice could have changed, by dint of cries.

My sight is still blurry with tears and rage, but a woman is running towards me, calling my name out loud.

I have no choice but let the hysterical stranger jump on me, kiss my face and hug me, her face widened in shock that I was back from the dead. Which I actually am.

“Oh Jesus, Cup, is it really you?” She asks between cries, patting my cheeks and shoulders.

I know that voice. I know those hands. Stop crying on my chest so I can see your face. I gently pull the woman back to study her face. I lost some parts of my life because of the crash, but not her. Debrah.

“Step back guys. It’s OK. He’s with me.” She orders to the guards who surround us, waving her ID card that proved she works here.

“ Cup, what the fuck happened to you? We all thought you were dead.”

“Yeah, I thought it myself. But I survived. But tell me, please Deb, tell me about Angie. Is she safe? Does she live here in America?”

“Come with me. We need to talk. We need a drink. You need to know.” She states, grabbing my hand and dragging me outside.

It was a long talk. A fucking long disaster. I wish I haven’t survive just to hear this. And the dozen of cups of coffee I downed hasn’t helped me to calm my nerves.

“ We all waited for your plane to come back. Everything was ready for the wedding. Angie has been waiting for you in her wedding dress for hours. All eyes scrutinized the skies until dark. Past midnight, we lost hope. It’s been too long. You were supposed to be back around 5, and for the first hours, it was still OK. You never know how long a mission could last. The crowd started to leave but I stayed with her. And Mac and Phil’s girlfriends. Then it was done. The other pilots stated you should be lost, crashed, that at this time the plane was out of gas anyway.”

“ Two engines died, there was no chance to fly back. I don’t know what happened to the others.” I explain.

“ There must be survivors, the lifeboat was found few days later. Empty. I’m sorry Cup.”

As sad as I feel knowing that my bros were likely dead, there’s only one life I want to hear about.

“Gessepp showed up on the tarmac and dismissed everyone, yelling the party was over. He summoned Angie to go home but she didn’t budge. She has stood up there, clung to her bride’s bouquet for 3 days. She never cried.” “ She broke down the morning of the third day, dissolved in tears. Jessica came to bring her home and she has disappeared for weeks. I tried to visit her, despite my fear of the Colonel, but nobody answered at the door. Marla managed to have some news but they were so bad. As expected, she was devastated. She stopped talking, stopped eating and was just waiting to die of grief.”

As Debrah goes on speaking, I feel my chest tightening, my heart crying as bad as my eyes. Angie, my love letting herself starve, willing to die. No. Please no.

“After a month, the doc forced her to the hospital. That’s where they found out… Oh Cup, how could I tell you?” Debrah wipes her tears and grabs my hands.

“She was pregnant, wasn’t she?” I knew it from the beginning, I knew about my baby girl. Oh fuck, a month of starvation and grief should have killed them both.

“Yes, how do you know about that?” I can’t answer but try a shy smile. I felt it. I knew.

“She was so weak but the baby made it. She decided to live for that. To have your baby, so you would be alive somehow. We were just a few in the secret, she made me swear to never tell anyone.”

My face lightens at the news, but Debrah bursts into more tears and tries to speak between sobs and cries.

“ She resumed eating and gained weight back. It was hard without you but she managed to smile, laughed sometimes. She was on her second trimester when… When…”

“What? Fuck Deb, what happened?” I’m losing my mind. I know it’s bad, I know the story will end with my baby… gone but I need to hear it from her mouth.

She covers her face with her palms, leaving mines naked and cold.

“ She started to show and… Gessepp… he found out she was pregnant. He lost his shit and turned furious. It was Sunday, we were having a picnic after the office. He barged in in the meadow next to the church, totally enraged, calling her a whore and all that shit, saying you lied and fucked her before marriage. He was screaming like a damned maniac, and…” Her cries increase and she has to gasp for air before she’s able to speak again.

“He beat her up, Jesus, he couldn’t stop yelling and kicking her belly. Some guys tried to intervene and protect Angie but he threatened them to death, yelling he was a fucking Colonel and that nobody could get in his way without paying the consequences.”

Tell me about it. That’s exactly what he said to me that day he almost killed Angie at the café. And I cowardly stayed still and denied my love for her. I’m biting my lips so hard I taste my own blood.

“He even told the pastor to go fuck himself. He grasped Angie and dragged her through the meadow, leaving all the church members in shock.”

OK. I got it. Stop it there. I don’t want to hear what’s next. My jaws are clenched, my fist balled so tightly my nails are piercing my palms. But she keeps talking.

“The next day, knowing that Gessepp had a meeting with the Defense Staff, we went to his home. Jess opened the door, she’s been beaten up too. We brought them both to the Army hospital, begging the docs to keep them safe from him. But at night, he arrived, enraged like a bull, hit some nurses and tried to choke Angie. It took 3 docs to snatch Angie from his claws and finally a nurse stabbed a hypo in his thigh which knlcked him out for a while.”

Hearing that motherfucker was out comforts me just a bit. I would have given anything to be there and finish him off. But I’m still worried to death about Angie. And Jessie. And little Abi.

“What happened next nearly blow up the whole base. The case got back to the top of Gessepp’s hierarchy. The docs testified, Angie and Jess testified, we all did. Gessepp couldn’t remain unpunished for what he’s done. He got arrested and impeached for his indecent behaviour, ashamed and kicked out of the Corps of the Army. All of us who testified were held incommunicado and offered a job at home, that’s how I ended up in Washington.”

Jesus. I’ve held my breath for too long. I need a break, I need a drink, but above all I need to know more about Angie. I rub my face vigorously, then scratch my beard, giving Debrah some time to gather herself.

“And the baby?” I whisper.

“Cup, honey, I’m so sorry. I don’t know. Angie and Jess left within the week. Back to the States, but nobody knows where exactly, to keep them safe from Gessepp. All I know is that she had to stay in hospital, she suffered bad bleeding… Oh Cup don’t hate me for telling you all that.”

“The military Court suggested Jessica to ask for divorce and the full custody of Abigail, which she accepted. They provided adequate resources for her and Abi, for damages and official apologizes for letting Gessepp act with complete impunity for too long. Me and the girls at the office made false certificates so Angie could benefit widow’s pension, making sure she would be free for rant.”

Jesus all that shit makes me want to puck out.

“Think Cup, think. I’m sure she’s somewhere waiting for you. You guys are made for each other. We became close friends after you… vanished. She talked to me. She loves you Cup, she’ll never stop, baby or not.”

I shake my head no and drop it between my hands. I’m too devastated to think, too tired to keep hope.

Debrah moves to sit next to me and gently grabs my chin and lifts it up to search my gaze.

“Honey, I know what’s like to be crazy about you. I was not the one for you, but Angie is your soulmate. You know it. Promise me to find her.”

I finally look up at her, we dated for a while when she worked in the base. She was pretty disappointed when I broke up for another chick. I now realize what prick I’d been.

“I’m sorry Deb. Sorry if I hurt you.”

“Nah it’s good. I found a good guy to forget you. I got married last year.” She smiles heartily. “ You deserve to be happy. With her. You know her by heart. If you were her, where would you settle down? Did she have any family? Friends? Relatives?”

“No. Nobody. She had just Jessie and Abi. And me.”

Poor me. I’ve never felt so alone. You know, like the entire world thinks you’re dead and you’re not but you have no chance to spread the news. Debrah is basically the only human being who knows about me. And that’s freaking terrifying. My fingers are fidgeting on their own, rubbing circles on the tattoo on my wrist. Mikomi. Hope. I swore I wouldn’t give up, so think Cup, think.

“Did you plan to live somewhere? I’m pretty sure you talked about what you’d want to do when the war ends.”

I stiffen, yes we did talk about it. Our dreams, on our first date.

She wanted to be a teacher. I planned to go back home, to take over the family business. The farm where I grew up.

Fuck me. I jump out of my chair, ready to sprint my final stretch.

I’m back, Alabama.

@captstefanbrandt @kenzieam @tigpooh67 @red-diary @jaicourtneyseyes @dreamersdreamlife @narfea @nickysurfer28 @jojuarez26 @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @every-jai @smartieblue22 @@bookgirlsthing @athe-krieger-der-elemente @writingismyhappytime @lunaschild2016 @wolfie-132 @bookwarm85 @knittingmad @serride @pauwa85 @onceinamillionlifetimes @sajess98 @carlos8989 @books-and-sin @pathybo

[moodring89]

[Taegi] Espresso Marmalade Ch.3

Pairing: Taehyung / Yoongi (ft. side Jikook) Rated: M / NC-17 Genre: BDSM!AU Tags: Dom!Yoongi, Sub!Tae, Shibari, Master/Slave, Canes, Impact Play       Summary: Jeongguk was more eager to get inside the club, taking long strides to the set of black steel doors. It was the younger’s idea to bring Taehyung to Void. Seoul’s first fetish house, an upscale BDSM parlor that was legally permitted and licensed. Or the one where Tae’s a meek virgin who catches the eye of Void’s most popular dom. Previous chapters: 01 , 02,

*Problem with the layout? Read on ao3 here.

Chapter Three: the Boy Who Lies It was a thirty minute drive to Void, giving Taehyung ample time to self-reflect on his anger, except he wasn’t going to do that. There was no pressing down on the brakes once he’d abandoned Jeongguk, dead set on breaking something precious of Jimin’s, a wrist, his pretty face, anything to placate the rage he felt then. He kept thinking back on that boy, Woozi – continuously, continuously, and continuously. How the audience took him in with some sort of cruel, refined amusement; how Taehyung himself had watched as he was punished, haunted by the fact that he’d liked it. Then he imagined Jeongguk in Woozi’s stead, being tortured in an open room because of his indiscretion. Honestly, he felt more like an overbearing parent than a friend at the moment. Taehyung was always an old soul, too judgmental at times and prone to being annoyingly willful. He wasn’t thinking of how this might hurt Jeongguk, how it might jeopardize whatever bullshit relationship he had with Jimin. It wasn’t real, anyway, right? Taehyung had seen it firsthand, existing in the red, angry lines across Jeongguk’s back. Love wasn’t supposed to be so fucking violent. It was one o’clock in the morning when Taehyung pulled up outside the club. Denizens were pouring in and out the doors. It was a busy night, apparently. He killed the ignition and stepped out into the cold air. He’d been in such a rush to leave the dormitory that he forgot to grab his coat. It hardly mattered with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the anger mixing with raw, nervous energy – warming him through. Taehyung was a storm; one that was ready to be unleashed. Just fucking watch him go. He threw open the doors to Void as if he owned the place. Taehyung was so focused on his current objective that he didn’t question a single, goddamn thing. No – the gentleman wearing a leather dog hood with mittens leashed by a fucking space demon, that – that was all well and dandy. The reception area was swarming with new patrons to one side and the regular check-ins on the other. Luckily, all Taehyung had to do was flash his ID due to his past visit being logged, and he was allowed entry. “Oh, gorgeous,” the woman behind the desk said – it was the same receptionist he’d met on his first night at Void. Tonight she wore a nametag that read, ‘Claire’. She leaned over the desk, her large, full set of breasts spilling over her forearms. “I knew you’d come back for more trouble.” Truer words… “It was hard to stay away,” Taehyung said, lying as easy as breathing when there was partial truth to it. “Can you tell me whether or not a specific scene professional is here right now?” She raised an inquisitive brow, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her pointed nose, “For an appointment or a show?” ‘For an ugly confrontation and an ass beating,’ Taehyung mused quietly to himself. “It’s about a question I have in regards to using a scarf as binding material for an over-arm tie. Do you know if Jimin is still around this evening?” “You drove here just for an inquiry?” Claire teased, tucking a hand beneath her chin, as though that was the most adorable thing to have happened, ever. In any case, she could tell that he was serious. “Jimin finished with his last appointment not too long ago.” The receptionist found it a little bit odd that Taehyung showed up within the same hour that his friend had left. “However, his shift doesn’t end for another twenty minutes. You can usually find him in the lounge area.” Taehyung said nothing else, wordlessly headed for the corridor that would bring him to the main room. Reflecting what he’d seen from outside alone, the club was packed, maybe even more so than it had been last week, except this time he didn’t have anyone with him. He was alone, a small fish swimming in an ocean of sharks. It didn’t matter to him that he was gaining looks, heads turning as he walked by. Then he remembered the unspoken dress code and realized that he was once again, sticking out like a sore thumb. Oh, goddamn it. He was wearing a baggy pair of black pants and one of his night shirts. The collar of it was beyond stretched out, exposing the pretty contours of his collarbones, the white fabric falling off one shoulder. He reached for his scarf and was coming up empty, cursing low when he realized that he’d left it in the car. Fuck it. He could deal with being openly stared at for a short while, his venture too important to abandon for a wardrobe malfunction. This wasn’t going to take long, anyway. All he had to do now was find his target. The lounge was more chaotic at this late hour, scenes unfolding like the first time Taehyung had attended, except they weren’t being performed on stages, but on ground level, and by the guests themselves while being supervised. It might be hopeless to find Jimin at this point, the room considerably less orderly, which meant it was more intimidating for Taehyung. He did a slow turn, taking in all that was around him – fighting not to get distracted while on the lookout for silver hair. The bar was completely full, all stools occupied, save for the black button tufted booths. The area was dimmed, the only light coming from small string lamps that illuminated the center of each table, leaving all else shrouded in darkness. Just when Taehyung was about ready to give in to despair, seated at the furthest booth, was Jimin. He was dressed in a hooded sweatshirt with his hair mostly concealed beneath it, wrapping his spit slickened lips around a glass of water. Alone. How opportunistic…Taehyung was a force that couldn’t be stopped at that point as he pushed his way through the crowd that separated them. All he could think about were the bruises, all deep and prominent across Jeongguk’s body. How glossy eyed and sad the younger had looked while he defended the asshole. Jimin sensed the boy’s presence before he saw him. Violence was a good way to end the night, he supposed, as he calmly placed his water down and out of the way. He knew that in about five seconds that he was going to be placed on top of the table. It was Jeongguk’s ‘bestie’ – the kid who’d already caused him enough grief. Taehyung was headed straight for him with the elder allowing it to happen. Jimin kept his arms at his sides when he was abruptly dragged up to his feet by Taehyung’s large hands twisting in the front of his shirt. The table rattled as he was roughly shoved into it. Taehyung was gorgeous, even while furious. Jimin could understand Yoongi a bit more from this angle, could see the appeal in every line of his devastating features, and he could feel the strength in the intensity of his trembling form. It incited Jimin’s own bout of anger – however, unlike Taehyung, he was able to manage it, “Taehyung-ssi, right? Do you not know how to hold a normal conversation?” “Normal conversations are meant for normal people, not for assholes like you. I’m so sick of hearing how much you care for Jeongguk, when you hurt him on whim. You hurt him because of me,” Taehyung said, voice oddly calm despite how clearly pissed off he was, pressing all of his weight into Jimin. “Wow, you really understand nothing, do you? You’re very wrong and I didn’t hurt him, because of you…although, you certainly didn’t help the case.” Jimin was tired of situations such as these. They happened so often in the form of ex-lovers, concerned family members, friends storming in like they were saviors. Ignorance at its finest, people so quick to judge, growing up with a set of beliefs, protected by their rose-colored glasses. They were sad, deluded people. “I gave Jeongguk exactly what he asked for and you’d know that if you cared enough to listen to him. Truth is, you’ve been a bad influence on my submissive, Taehyung-ssi.” Taehyung wondered what that meant, giving Jeongguk ‘exactly what he asked for’. It was unfathomable that Jeongguk thought this was love. Taehyung leaned in towards the elder, as if closeness served as some sort of dial for anger that he kept steadily cranking up, growing harsh, “Don’t talk about him like he’s some fucking pet of yours, because he isn’t. He’s my best friend, he’s a whole person, and you’re just a piece of shit looking for reasons to inflict pain on others.” “Oh, but Jeongguk is my pet,” Jimin murmured softly, bringing his face a mere inch away from Taehyung’s, invading what little that was left of his personal space as a subtle way of pushing back. “What are you going to do once he moves in with me? Picket outside my loft? He has a ways to go with his training, but it’s inevitable. So long as he wants me, I’m not letting him go. And I also think you owe it to yourself to admit that all of this makes you jealous.” Taehyung’s cheeks flushed at the accusation, actually livid. “It’s not like that with Guk.” “Not all jealousy has to be of the romantic sort,” Jimin said, as he slowly moved his hand to the fist still curled in his shirt, trying to gently coax Taehyung’s fingers open to release him. The boy didn’t budge. “Jeongguk has found himself. He knows what he wants, what he likes, but who are you? What is it that you want, Taehyung-ssi?” “What I want is to hurt you for what you did by breaking each of your fingers, so that you can never touch him again,” Taehyung managed to get out in one shaky, overwhelming breath. He felt himself slipping into that part of himself that he couldn’t control. His weakness was impulse, forever and always. One hand released Jimin in favor of reeling his arm back, imitating the elder’s sweet politeness, “I want to leave my own mark, ‘Jimin-ssi’.” Jimin could tell that the Taehyung’s fit of rage would not be easily settled or assuaged with neither words, nor logic. Right now Taehyung felt justified in raising his fist – Jimin knew that he couldn’t be stopped, at least not without using force. He didn’t need an upset submissive, especially now. Jimin looked him dead in the eye, “That’s an awful lot of greed for one boy. Luckily for you, I like to indulge. Go ahead.” What the hell was his problem? ‘Whatever,’ he thought, ‘open invitation or not, it’s still gonna feel good and right.’ Just as Taehyung came down to strike Jimin, an arm abruptly hooked around his own, preventing him from going any further. The monitor from the other night, Namjoon, had to use most of his strength to pull the boy off of him. Jimin released his white knuckled grip from the table, having been prepared for Taehyung to hit him, “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to show up.” Namjoon gave a healthy roll of his eyes, “Excuse me for having not yet mastered the art of teleportation. And you –” The monitor hadn’t been expecting to catch Taehyung’s fist square in the jaw, staggering back a couple steps. Fuck. Namjoon grunted at the discomfort, but was ready to defend himself, blocking Taehyung’s next swing, before delivering his own. He could hear the howls of laughter coming from his earpiece, Wonshik was rolling, “Ah, man! That was great…Good thing we got it all on film. I thought you were faster than that, hyung-nim, but nope. You suck and there’s comfort to be had there. Anyways, face recognition pulled up a one Kim Taehyung. He’s brand-spankin’ new.” “Not anymore he’s not,” Namjoon said, as he stared down at Taehyung, ignoring the ache in his lower jaw. The boy was sitting up on his elbows, watching the monitor from his spot on the floor where the blow had sent him. Taehyung’s lip was busted open, broad chest rising and falling, still worked up and seething mad. Namjoon didn’t like it – not one fucking bit, as he decided to put an end to it, “Kim Taehyung, I sentence you–” “Wait,” Jimin said, gently placing a hand on Namjoon’s forearm, stopping him before he could make Taehyung’s removal official. Once it was done, there would be no way of reversing it. “Before you do your song and dance, you should know that…” There was only one sure way of overriding a monitor’s power, “…this boy has a master.” It wasn’t the truth, but it was close enough. It might even help the little brat, Yoongi and Taehyung both. ‘Breathe, Jimin,’ Yoongi said, tearing his eyes away from the corridor that Taehyung and his little bunny friend had practically ran to make an escape down. The younger remained silent in the aftermath of Jeongguk’s outright display of disobedience. It’d felt like a slap in the face. He stared holes into the Persian carpet, searching for an explanation as to what had just transpired, since it made no sense at all.   ‘Jeongguk has never…’ Jimin murmured softly, voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t like him to get angry over such things. A dom had to always remain in control, especially of their own emotions. Right now, he was being woefully transparent. ‘He would never behave this way. Who the hell was that kid he was with, this ‘Taehyung’?’ Yoongi was amazed over the fact that Jimin had gone so long without a submissive being a huge fucking brat. He threw out the obvious as a friendly reminder, ‘When a sub acts out, it’s rarely unintentional. They want to see what they can get away with, how far they can push you, since that’s when a dom is most expressive. You should give your bunny what he so desperately wants from you…’ ‘Jeongguk is in love with me. So, he’d want a great deal more than what I’m capable of giving to him,’ Jimin said, unsure of why it hadn’t felt wrong to expose something so intimate to Yoongi. The elder was a seasoned professional, one who’d probably been in the same situation multiple times before. Maybe that was it. ‘I’ve known for a few weeks now, but it’s starting to get intense.’ ‘He’s young and also new to the community.’ Yoongi shoved his hands inside the pockets of his jeans, tired, and freezing in a perfectly warm room. He shrugged with a show of nonchalance, ‘Of course he’s in love with you. Wait–he wasn’t a virgin, was he?’ Jimin was almost offended by the question. He shook his head, much to the elder’s relief, ‘Come now, I’m not that stupid. The only thing with that is, he never enjoyed his past sexual experiences, and he always topped. I guess I’m his first in a different way.’ ‘Christ. Be careful, especially if you don’t plan on reciprocating his feelings. Although, if you ever decide to go there with him I wouldn’t judge you for it, and I’d personally knock the teeth out of anyone who did,’ Yoongi said honestly, having personally been faced with that battle. If Jimin denied how he felt right now, he’d call him a fucking liar. It was obvious that he was taken with his rope bunny. ‘I now fully understand why you stopped taking submissives into your care.’ Jimin hadn’t meant to say that, the regret already settling into a frown on his face. He enjoyed taking care of someone. Jimin also loved being needed by others. He looked over at Yoongi, taking in the hint of amusement there, a faded look of fondness that was usually lost on him. ‘Unless you were rethinking your retirement?’ ‘Taehyung is a boy who’s lost…’ It wasn’t that simple, it hardly ever was. Taehyung was absolutely stunning, a burning flame, the sun personified. After only two seconds of meeting, Yoongi could tell that he was fucking complicated. ‘…he’s a boy who lies to himself.’ Jimin raised a brow, wondering if he should be concerned, or intrigued. ‘It doesn’t sound like you’re all that put off by it.’ ‘That’s probably because I’m not.’ Yoongi peered over at Jimin seriously, taking in his look of surprise. ‘Should Taehyung return, I’ll make him mine.’ “Oh, the fuck I do,” Taehyung spat out venomously, as he started pulling himself up to his feet. He paused to glare at the two hands being extended to help him, Jimin and Namjoon’s both, “Are you kidding me? Look, I don’t know why this duck-looking motherfucker is lying to you, but I belong to no one.” “Such brave talk, but I think we’ve had enough of the heroics for one evening, don’t you?” Jimin was practically glowing with amusement, almost pitying the boy for his next move. He turned towards Namjoon, “Let Sugar know that his little pet is out here causing a scene.” Taehyung felt his blood run cold at the mention of Yoongi’s scene name. There was no way that could be allowed to happen. The implication alone was laughable, that he belonged to – to his professor? He pressed his tongue to the gash at the center of his bottom lip, tasting the thick rivulets of blood there, thinking of a way out of it. Hell, he would’ve contemplated more violence, if not for the odds being stacked so high against him. “I’ll just leave.” “This is odd behavior for a pet,” Namjoon said, ignoring Taehyung’s declaration to raise a skeptical brow at Jimin. “It's also common knowledge that Sugar doesn’t take submissives anymore, and he hasn’t for quite some time.” “This one here is his saving grace,” Jimin insisted, the lie absent in his words, fully believing in his own statement. Call it good intuition. Taehyung had potential, especially if Yoongi was able to see it already. The elder had always been so perceptive, so very good at reading others, knowing exactly what they wanted, what they craved. “Sugar’s exceptional boy…” “Well that’s – that’s fucking cute, but…” Taehyung laughed, without the amusement, taking dangerous strides closer towards the shibari expert. Namjoon was there, pressing a firm hand to the boy’s chest as Jimin lowered his gaze to Taehyung’s mouth, watching his lips form around words – words he’d heard so many times before, it was almost comical, “I’m nobody’s bitch.” It was that particular line that was often disproved, almost like a sentence in of itself. Yoongi was right, Taehyung was fucking lost. From between them, Namjoon gave a heavy sigh. It was obvious to him that Jimin was protecting the kid, but why? He brought the slim, plastic microphone to his mouth, sensing that the situation wasn’t going to deescalate anytime soon. “What’s Sugar’s twenty?” No one seemed to be listening to Taehyung, especially when, “I said I’d leave on my own, so long as duck tales doesn’t say anymore bullshit on my way out.” He really didn’t want to deal with Yoongi right now. The thought of it was enough to set off his anxiety, already too embarrassed about his obvious loss, having accomplished nothing by showing up at Void tonight. He was quick to add, “There’s no need to get that fucking guy here.” “Yeah, especially since ‘that fucking guy’ saw everything,” said the voice from the crowd that had steadily formed around them. Taehyung felt as the dread washed over him, all too familiar with the low, humorless tone of its owner. The younger turned to find Yoongi standing there among dozens, vividly severe in a black fitted blazer and matching slacks. A red silk was tied under his arms and under the lapels of his jacket, coming to settle around his slender waist. The colors were vibrant in contrast to his fair skin, rendering Taehyung into silence. Fuck. “Scratch that, Wonshik,” Namjoon said, dismissing the monitor’s search. He instantly removed his hand from Taehyung out of respect for Yoongi. It was an unexpected outcome to say the least, but it was no longer any of Namjoon’s business, “I take it that you’ll see to his punishment then?” “Most certainly,” Yoongi promised, playing the role to its fullest, as he stepped beside Taehyung. He eyed the split in his bottom lip, tsking with disappointment, “We should get that cleaned up, but first I want you to apologize to Jimin.” Taehyung scoffed at the prospect of doing such a thing, he was so disgusted. “What? No…” Yoongi nodded more to himself, than to anyone else – tacking on Taehyung’s rude behavior onto the growing list of things that would need to be worked on. It was useless when the boy didn’t even understand the point of the apology, didn’t fully realize the offense. Yoongi knew this and yet, he was still hopeful that manners were residing somewhere within that beautiful foundation, but oh well. “My sincerest apologies for Taehyung,” Yoongi said, apologizing on his behalf. He was being careful with his wording, since Taehyung really wasn’t under contract as his submissive, going along with the lie that Jimin started. If Namjoon learned of this, he would end this little exchange, and have Taehyung thrown out. “There was a misunderstanding and he acted impulsively. It won’t happen again.”     “Misunderstanding, my ass,” Taehyung bit out through clenched teeth, when Yoongi sharply turned to regard him, dark eyes daring the boy to open up his mouth again. For whatever reason, certainly not because of the chill he felt running up his spine, Taehyung didn’t make another remark after that, remaining quiet. Jimin was endlessly amused by the whole display, as he smiled crookedly, “Thank you and yes, please see to it that it doesn’t.” The final glance he shot Taehyung was practically oozing with conceit – feeling victorious and not above being petty about it. Jimin turned his back on them, before grabbing for his drink, and leaving for the evening. Namjoon was doing his best to clear up the crowd, encouraging the lingering onlookers to go back to playing, before he too disappeared. Taehyung missed him already.   The elder’s presence wasn’t something that could easily be ignored, especially when Yoongi began to shamelessly roam his eyes across his body, like that’s what he was there for – not much different from a work of art in need of being picked apart for deep interpretation. Taehyung once again reached for the scarf that wasn’t there, forgetting that he didn’t have it with him, making it impossible to hide himself from the open scrutiny. “Follow me,” Yoongi said, voice clipped and glacial, leaving no room for argument. It took a moment for Taehyung’s legs to start moving in an attempt to keep up with Yoongi’s brisk pace, watching how he effortlessly weaved through the swarm of people. He was being led down the corridor, pushing away the anxiety he felt from making so many turns, focusing more on the fact that it was new territory for him. Void was much like the large factory that Taehyung had initially perceived it to be, giving off a clinical atmosphere with rows upon rows of doors, and immaculate marbled tiles. Where the fuck did they stick the Enchanted Forest? Yoongi came to a stop in front of a set of red double doors, pushing them open. It was everything you would expect to see when visiting the school nurse, minus the nurse. Taehyung shuddered to imagine what they would’ve been like, to be greeted by a man or woman dressed from head to toe in latex, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves. “No nurse?” Taehyung asked, unclear on whether or not that was the case. “A majority of scene professionals opt to undergo some form of medical training,” Yoongi said, patting the leather examine table. “Take a seat.”   Taehyung quietly declined by keeping still, “Because what you’re doing is dangerous.” Here and now could work as an educational moment, Yoongi decided, as he walked over towards the cabinets to get what he needed in order to clean Taehyung’s cut. “Everything Jimin did out there was with Jeongguk in mind. For instance, when he told the monitor that you were mine, he was ensuring that Void can still be a place that Jeongguk brings you. It’s a big part of his life, is it not?” Oh, hell, no. Taehyung was not about to allow Yoongi to undo this ugly, confusing web. Not so easily. He shook his head in disbelief, “That’s bullshit…” Yoongi set the tray of supplies down on the table where Taehyung’s ass should have been seated, tamping down his annoyance. “He didn’t lift a finger to you. That was out of respect for Jeongguk.” “Jeongguk’s back looked like a fucking Jackson Pollock painting, except the artist only used shades of red,” Taehyung argued, wondering why Yoongi couldn’t understand him, not even a little bit. “And it was my fault–” “Your friend has been breaking the rules of their contract,” Yoongi said, tersely, as he walked towards the refrigerator behind Taehyung. The boy was on edge the second he neared, eyes following Yoongi’s every move. The energy in the room was high and charged with tension, watching as he removed an ice cube from the freezer, before handing it to him. “One after another. Jeongguk was punished because he wanted to be.” Taehyung pressed the cube to his cut, wincing at the discomfort. The wound was pulsating beneath the pressure. “Why would he want that…?” “People either come here to give pain or to receive it, sometimes even both.” The younger was reminded of Hoseok, when he’d referred to himself as a switch. Yoongi once again patted the table top and was relieved when Taehyung slowly, but surely made his way over to it. Opening a new bottle of ointment, he squeezed a decent-sized dollop onto a cotton swab. Yoongi tried to simplify it as best he could, “Pain can be physical and mental – pleasure or medicine. When it’s controlled, you can understand the benefits, can’t you.” The question was rhetorical and even if it wasn’t, Taehyung wouldn’t have known how to properly answer it anyway – not wanting to agree with Yoongi. He slid himself onto the table, gripping at the leather with one hand, as the other continued running the ice along his swollen lip. The new information was swirling around Taehyung’s stubborn mind, trying to sink in and make sense. He didn’t want to feel another moment of guilt over Jeongguk, and the elder was providing him with enough reason not to feel it, sensing that the comfort was necessary, but also unwanted, which was just too fucking bad. Yoongi’s eyes fell to where Taehyung’s shirt was hanging open, expression visibly darkening as he took in the smooth definition of the younger’s exposed collarbones, “Where is our favorite purple scarf?” “I forgot it in the car,” he answered innocuously, the ice melting between his now cold, numb fingers. What was this soft moment? Taehyung stared back at Yoongi, trying not to dwell on how pale his skin looked against his dark black hair – how much prettier, yet deadlier he looked then, “After tonight, I’m not coming back to Void. It really isn’t for me anyway.” “Oh, really?” Yoongi asked, feigning curiosity when he could’ve easily written the predictable lines flowing from Taehyung’s pretty little mouth. “Which part of it ‘isn’t’ for you?” Right, the reasons that Taehyung seemed to suddenly have in bulk were, “The orders I would have to follow, the pain that could be inflicted, and the punishments. I guess all of it?” The silence that followed was intensely unsettling, Yoongi staring his feline eyes into his own, as though seeking every corner of Taehyung’s mind for the truth. That first night at Void had revealed the boy to him completely – what with his dick hard and straining against his jeans, thick lashes wet with tears of awe as he watched Woozi being degraded, and punished. Yoongi had seen that look before, had recognized it in countless others. Envy was common in an establishment like Void. He approached Taehyung with the swab between his fingers, unable to maintain their polite conversation, when he began haltingly, “I don’t like being lied to, Taehyung. It’s one of those absolutes with me and I won’t tolerate it.” Taehyung was quick to deny it, “But I’m not lying.” It was a pitch too high, perhaps a little too fast. All in all, it was the same outcome, a fucking lie. It was always too easy for Yoongi to decipher when he was being lied to, which was the main reason why he couldn’t stand it. The small, white lies were the worst in his opinion, because they were needless. From a young age, no one could tell him a lie, at least not successfully – not even his own mother. Not even on days where he would prefer being told a lie over the truth. Yoongi admonished the boy for the continuous dishonesty, something cold and feral marring his usually calm features, “You just did it again.” “Believe whatever the fuck you want, it’s not like you can do anything about it,” Taehyung said, the words slipping past his lips before he even had the chance to consider them.   “Oh, sure, I can,” Yoongi said, taking on a sweet lilt to his usually rough voice. “I’ll remember it.” Taehyung snorted, more out of nervousness, than anything else, “For what? My term paper?” “We aren’t to discuss school while we’re here, Taehyung,” Yoongi chided softly, before he started leaning in, intent on lowering Taehyung’s hand away from his mouth, so that the ice wasn’t in the way of the swab. The moment their skin made contact, Taehyung reacted on impulse, slapping the other’s hand away. He’d used enough force to send the ice cube, as well as the swab to the floor. The ice broke immediately upon contact, the glimmering shards sliding across the floor. Yoongi slowly wet his pouty lips, growing more enticed to further test the boy, as he brought his hand up again. Long, delicate fingers were an inch away from skimming the top of Taehyung’s cheekbone – the skin there soft and flushed with a rosy color, when he was met with another slap. It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room then, leaving Taehyung gasping for air, his chest rising and falling heavily. Yoongi stepped in closer to him, tilting his head when Taehyung’s wide, innocent eyes left his own, and it was like being shut out from the sun. Again, he went to caress the side of Taehyung’s face and was automatically swatted away, more angrily and heated than the previous time. The last of Yoongi’s patience snapped, instinct burning up throughout his toes to his fingertips, when he brought his other hand to the front of Taehyung’s throat. It was light pressure, holding him rather than grabbing – just tight enough to get his point across. That this is exactly what Taehyung wanted, but was too stubborn, and ridden by fear to admit. “Our meeting again was either fate or cruelty, but this is, well,” Yoongi mused, lips curling slightly, as he used his grip as leverage to pull the younger off the table, and onto his feet. Even while Taehyung stood at full height and was practically towering over the elder, it was clear who was in control. “This is like a dream,” he murmured, irrevocably drawn to the boy, despite all the cold, garish places inside him that said not to bother. Yoongi was no match for the sun, but he wanted to contest it, “And to think that I was gonna leave you be, angel – but then you showed up dressed like you’re homeless, incurring violence.” Yoongi really shouldn’t have been proud of that. There was nothing impressive or admirable about it, and yet. “You’re full of surprises, Kim Taehyung.”   Taehyung felt as his heart began to race, urging his brain to function long enough to tell Yoongi to stop – to push him away, but his body chose to ignore him, reacting to the fear as though it was something pleasant. Taehyung hated himself for it – hated the fact that his cock was eagerly stirring in response to the thrill of Yoongi’s dominance. He sent a silent prayer to whatever Gods were listening that the elder was too distracted with baiting him to notice it. He closed his fingers into the sleeve of Yoongi’s blazer, deciding to hang on for what was to come. And it was happening so slowly, the precious space between them dwindling by the second – Yoongi’s firm hold around his neck bringing him down, until their faces were so close they were nearly touching. It was just when Taehyung thought he was about to be kissed that the elder purposefully stopped himself short, a wicked smirk tugging at his pink, kittenish lips, “Will you let me taste you?”  

The question alone was enough to paralyze him. Taehyung had been privy to a couple ‘first’ kisses in his lifetime. When he was seven, he knew that the kiss he received from the girl at school was different from the ones his parents would give him. When Taehyung was fifteen, he knew that the kiss he received from the neighbor’s daughter was different from the girl at school. He was now being presented with his first adult kiss, a proper kiss from the same gender, a kiss that scared him shitless. He swallowed thickly, the slightest action obvious to the elder, despite his schooled look of indifference. Yoongi’s grip tightened a fraction, causing his breath to hitch. Taehyung found himself nodding, even though he knew that it wasn’t enough. Yoongi was still waiting. Taehyung closed his eyes just to escape the humiliation, releasing a sharp gasp, “Yes…” “You remembered to use your words for me without having to be asked,” Yoongi husked, voice going lower the closer he was to claiming Taehyung’s lips, “…you’re such a good boy.” The first brush of contact elicited a deep, embarrassing whine from the younger – the sound of it like a punch to the gut, leaving Yoongi hungry and desperate. He slid his other hand around Taehyung’s waist, pulling their bodies flush against each other, greedily needing more without even having his fill yet.     Taehyung whimpered when he felt the elder’s teeth scrape over the broken swell of his bottom lip, where everything felt far too sharp and tender, trapped in a prison of long fingers, and a skilled mouth. The insistent press of Yoongi’s tongue was hot and sinful against Taehyung’s numbed flesh, the ice having left him tingling with sensations steadily returning. He parted his lips, moaning softly when Yoongi delved his tongue in, deepening the kiss. Fifteen was a lifetime ago for Taehyung, unable to remember how to kiss. He was too overly self-aware and clumsy, even as he melted into the warmth of Yoongi’s mouth – he was stilted at first, before his tongue shyly teased back. The response served as a small act of willingness on Taehyung’s part, a green light that had Yoongi chasing after more, more, more. He steered them towards the nearest wall without breaking contact, pinning the boy to its surface. There were questionable things – filthy, unforgivable things that Yoongi wanted to do, say, and promise to him, but he hadn’t done this in a long, long time. There were rules that Yoongi had to abide by as a dom, especially if he wanted Taehyung to become his submissive. It was rare that the elder acted on whim. He never took what he wanted without thinking twice. He never kissed as though he was starved for it, yet there he was with Taehyung as his only form of sustenance. Taehyung, who was helplessly drowning in him, fingers trembling in his jacket, holding onto him like he was a lifeline. It was maddening – Yoongi’s teeth dragging from his top to bottom lip, tasting the blood, knowing that it would be smudged on their skin. Taehyung stopped himself from leaning forward when the elder pulled back far enough to look him in the eye. Not like he would get very far with the hand that was still wrapped around his neck, Yoongi’s thumb running circles over his pulse. “You know what you remind me of?” Yoongi asked, voice all breathy and affected from their kiss. There was a mingled mess of saliva and blood against his pink, pouty lips. It was difficult for Taehyung to look away from it, as he raised hesitant fingers to wipe it from Yoongi’s porcelain skin. His wrist was abruptly caught midway, Yoongi’s charcoal eyes taking in the mirrored smear of crimson across Taehyung’s lips, “A baby tiger, unaware of how strong and fearless it’ll be once it’s fully grown.” Taehyung was sufficiently dead by everything that came out of Yoongi’s mouth. Prepare his death certificate, he was ready to sign. “That’s very poetic of you…are you sure it wasn’t the eyes and orange hair?” Yoongi moved past the sarcasm, leaning so that his words skimmed across the younger’s lips, “I want to put an end to those lies of yours, Taehyung.” A hand slid down the front of Taehyung’s chest, his stomach sinking beneath Yoongi’s touch as he held in his breath. “The ones you keeping telling yourself that you didn’t want this, or me. Not the orders, the pain, or the punishments…” “Please…” Taehyung whispered, less than a second away from Yoongi palming over the thick outline of his hard cock, where he’d be able to confirm just how desperate he was for it. A switch inside him flipped. “I can’t, I can’t! I’m sorry.” Just like the cube had shattered, so did he – Taehyung was fragmented, pieces of himself wanting to give in and allow Yoongi to continue, but then the rest of him was terrified. He’d spent so long protecting himself from the shame of indulging in literally anything. It was his grandmother’s life insurance that was paying for his tuition and instead of studying; he was here, doing this… Yoongi recognized the panic, slowly detaching himself with a step backwards, as to not crowd him. It was obvious that Taehyung was still reeling, as he wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. “This,” he said with a start, a finger gesturing between himself and Yoongi. “…can’t ever happen again.” The elder doesn’t say anything to his statement, the tension climbing. He allowed Taehyung to get as far as two steps, before his hand shot out to grab at his wrist. The boy turned so easily for him, willingly parting his mouth against Yoongi’s with a sigh, as a set of cruel lips sucked on his tongue, seeming to follow a rhythm that had Taehyung’s hips rocking forward to seek more friction. If Taehyung was a tiger, then the blood housed within his veins was roaring. He felt dizzied by the rush of arousal, overly sensitive to every little thing. “Mmm…” Yoongi hummed against his mouth, before once again leaning back to stare into the depths of Taehyung’s eyes. Slowly, the elder raked his teeth along his bottom lip as though he were savoring the taste, “Of course, Taehyung. This can’t ever happen again.” Oh, oh… Using Taehyung’s words against him. Taehyung laughed at the underlying spite, roughly pulling himself free from Yoongi’s grasp. “It’s funny how you told me not to mention school here, when class is still in session, professor.” This fucking guy. With Yoongi, everything was a point to be made or a lesson to be learned. Well, fuck that and fuck him. “You’re a fucking asshole,” Taehyung muttered bitterly, before he shoved the doors open, momentarily contented with leaving Yoongi far behind. He followed the corridor, unable to hear people talking as they passed him. It was like the world was on mute with no words or music to fill in his surroundings with life. The receptionist was already leaned forward, ready to flirt with him as per usual, but he couldn’t hear a single thing. He hadn’t even slowed down, until the winter air hit his skin, reminding him that he was underdressed for the inclement weather. He unlocked the car and sat there with the key in the ignition. The scarf lied there on the passenger seat, looking plenty guilty. He brought the knitted fabric around his neck. Taehyung spared a glance into the rearview mirror, revealing the deep flush of his skin, and his cut shimmering wetly. The lesson to be learned is that Taehyung was a liar. A liar and a coward, because he wanted… He wanted Min Yoongi. --------------------------------------------------------------

Jeongguk was in bed with the lights off, save for the laptop pressed to his stomach. He was hiding in his game – PUBG, grabbing a frying pan during his loot in an abandoned house. It would protect his ass from gunfire, barely, but why not? He found gasoline for the car he stole along the way. He usually hated playing by himself, but he didn’t want the company right now, to which Hoseok wasn’t taking the hint, continuing to message him throughout his match. He was too angry and worried about Taehyung. He’d even left his phone behind, which was extremely unlike his hyung.   An hour ago Jimin had been kind enough to confirm what Jeongguk already suspected, sending him a Snap of Taehyung and Yoongi with a caption that read, ‘You two have much to discuss’. Well, no shit.       It was ten minutes later that the door was busted open with Taehyung’s hip colliding with the wood, cursing the damn thing on his way in. He quietly placed their keys down on top of his desk, trying to be covert. It was a long, horrible night. He couldn’t wait to get inside the shower to rinse it all off. Still considerably dark in the room, Jeongguk managed to close out of the Steam app undetected, before he reached over and turned their bedside lamp on. The sudden flicker of light startled Taehyung, “Shit!” “Where were you?” “Oh, my god, Guk,” he gasped, placing a hand against his chest, willing his racing heart to calm the fuck down, and listen to him for once. “I thought you were sleeping.” “Hyung, you left me. You went on and on about socks in some weird, psychopathic fit and then you left me,” Jeongguk said, throwing the sheets off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I wondered if you were headed out to a department store to buy them for me in bulk. That you would come back here and bury me under a vat of fuzzy assortments.” Taehyung shook his head, because really, “You know I have no money, even if the purchase would totally be worth it. You know, we should have a sock day. That’s not a bad idea.” Jeongguk was officially done with the socks. “I know that you went to Void.” Ah, fuck, Taehyung thought. How did he find out? Duck tales, whoo-ooh!   “Yes, alright, I went to Void and did something stupid,” Taehyung started, unsure of how to proceed without pissing Jeongguk off. Did such avenues exist? “You’re not going to be happy with me, but before you go bat-shit, I need you to hear me out first. I attacked…” Jesus, this was going to sound ridiculous. He tried again, “I attacked…Jimin.” Jeongguk was on his feet then, approaching him at a pace that Taehyung wasn’t at all comfortable with. He was a Jason not a Michael Myers aka he wasn’t above running – dear god. Very carefully, Jeongguk asked him, “You did what now? Taehyung, what the fuck?” “I know that he cares for you in some fucked up way that I clearly don’t understand…yet? Look – I’ve been really close-minded lately. You opened this door, showed me what you were into, and I didn’t even really try to understand it. All I did was judge you, Guk…” “Yeah, you did, but no surprise there. You always fucking do,” Jeongguk said, brows furrowing angrily. Truthfully, he was more disturbed that after an ‘attack’ all Jimin did was send him a photo. He just noticed the gash on Taehyung’s bottom lip, wondering if Jimin had been the one to give it to him. Taehyung felt like a broken record, unable to believe anyone else except Jeongguk. “I still don’t understand, okay? Fuck. I’m trying here. Just tell me that those marks weren’t because of something I did?”   “The marks…?” It dawned on him then, connecting two and two together, which would explain his friend’s absurd bout of recklessness, and sock mania. “Tae – Christ, no, they’re not…they’re because of me. I did things to get myself into trouble. Is that what tonight was all about? Wow…” Taehyung blinked, “Why would you want to get into trouble on purpose?” “I like being good for him, but I wanted to see what it would be like if I was bad for once? You and Hoseok hyung already know how well I can do as a brat,” Jeongguk laughed, slightly embarrassed to be confessing this much, even if they were as close as brothers. “And I liked it, by the way. It was freeing, almost? Jimin is always so gentle with me, always praising me, and making me feel all beautiful, and delicate, like I’m made of glass or something. I just wanted him to be rough with me, well – rougher than usual.” Taehyung sighed, disappointed with himself for acting so irrationally, “Well, I didn’t realize and I’m sorry. I should have let you talk earlier. I felt like such shit for leaving you.” “Yeah, that entire sock rant had me questioning the state of your sanity. Anyways, apology accepted, can we please get back to the part where you attacked Jimin?” “Right, okay, uhm do you want the theatrical version of me riding on horseback to storm the castle or, do you want me to get straight to the…” Jeongguk’s glare was enough of a hint. “I shoved him into a table and just as I was seconds away from hitting him, a monitor showed up. I was so pissed off about being stopped, that I clocked the guy. He turned and caught me right in the mouth. It was a trade.” Taehyung felt bitter, watching as Jeongguk breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry. No harm befell your master, it was just me. He was more than fine, actually, quacking out his jokes, and waddling off on his webbies.” Jeongguk paused, “Did you just – wait, are you referring to Jimin as a duck?” Taehyung shrugged, “If the shoe fits. I mean, everyone gets to be an animal of some sort, right? You’re a bunny, he’s a duck, and I’m a tiger, apparently.” “Yoongi called you a tiger?” Jeongguk asked, curiously. It both surprised and concerned him that out of all doms Taehyung could have attracted, that it was Yoongi who’d been interested in him. There were rumors, stories that had been carried through the grapevine. Aside from that, it was a Yoongi didn’t train submissives anymore. He smiled when Taehyung shyly nodded in response, his skin flushing suddenly. “If Yoongi were an animal, what would he be? You’ve already thought of it, haven’t you?” Being an art history major, Taehyung often found himself comparing people and situations to famous works of art. Lately, he had no problem with gaining access to his mental gallery. The moment he’d watched Yoongi step onto the stage at Void, he knew that he was a Cuthbert Edmund Swan piece, crossing a river at night, and every other panther piece before or after it. Yoongi was as good as midnight, a cat in the wild, as graceful as he was cunning, and predatory. “No,” Taehyung said, lying some more – lying to himself, and to his friends now. “If the typical asshole counted as an animal, then, maybe?” “That kinda works, actually, and Tae,” Jeongguk said, tone growing serious. “Be careful around Yoongi, alright?” “There is no ‘around’ Yoongi, other than at my classes, and believe me, I don’t want to spend more time with him than I have to.” Wow, Taehyung was getting good at this, this whole – denial thing. “Hypothetically though, if I wanted to be near him, what would I have to be careful of?” “For starters, Yoongi doesn’t take subs anymore and even if he did, most doms don’t like to train, uhm…” Jeongguk trailed off, trying to think of a delicate way to put it. Taehyung lowered his head the longer the last syllable dragged on for. “…virgins. Doms don’t like to train virgins.”   “Oh,” Taehyung said, having been disconnected from his friends once or twice due to that topic. Hoseok had a damn field day with it. If what Jeongguk said was true, then Taehyung really had nothing to worry about with Yoongi. Not now or ever, probably, since he was borderline celibate. Then why was he slightly disappointed by that news? “Good to know.” Jeongguk picked up the pillow that had fallen off his bed in his haste earlier. “Also, I got around to seeing Hobi’s photos, and you were right. They’re shit. I hyped him up though, so there’s a high possibility that we might be receiving more tomorrow.” “Oh, goody,” Taehyung said, giving a roll of his eyes. Jeongguk walked up beside him then, large hands gently grabbing at his face, inspecting his wound. “It’ll be better by tomorrow, hyung.” Yeah, maybe. --------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday was always an off day for Taehyung. Actually, any day when he didn’t have class was an odd, confusing day. It was worse when no one was trying to strong arm him into last minute plans. Taehyung had his notes open, eyes skimming over the details of Yoongi’s last lecture. Reading over the words, he swore that he could hear the professor’s voice – hearing his voice, Taehyung could vividly see him. Soon it wasn’t the dorm anymore, but it the medical room at Void. It was difficult when Taehyung could still taste him on his tongue – could still feel him on skin, like a ghost wound. He pressed his fingers to his cut, contemplative. Yoongi wouldn’t want him once he knew that he was a virgin. Taehyung eyed his phone. There was a lot he didn’t understand, within himself, and in general. His text tone went off – this was his reason to grab for his old, shitty Android. The KKT chat was being spammed with photos from Hoseok. He would happily ignore them for now, as he instead clicked into his mail inbox. Firing up his laptop would take too long and wouldn’t be worth it overall. He found the email with Professor Min’s number in it. He really shouldn’t be doing this, even if the email made it sound mandatory. Taehyung knew he had a choice. He could deny the professor, until his dying breath – avoid giving away his number, and never have to speak with him outside of a school setting, ever the fuck again. ‘This can’t ever happen again…��� echoed off the walls of his mind. It was as cruel as Yoongi’s last kiss. If there was one thing he'd learned from Jeongguk's situation, it was to be a fucking brat. He went to add a new number, typing in ‘Prof. M’ as the contact name. To: Prof. M ------------------- It’s Kim Taehyung. You know, the student you want to fuck :D Jeongguk told me some terrific news last night that pertains to our situation. Apparently doms don’t train virgins. So sorry to shatter your dreams of one day owning me. Guess it’ll be someone else’s job :/   Sat. 05, 02:10pm It was less than a minute later that Sent went to Read.

[crown-eater]

Fluoridated Urethane Crisis Kismet

The world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds. Uptake Table of Contents

“--And here, you see?”

‘Choly held out his reader across the coffee shop table from his boyfriend, to show a bad quality photo from a security camera. The scrawny, bespectacled punk retracted it shortly after and huffed, doing a split-screen to pull up a different bad quality photo side to side, and re-offered it. In one photo, a figure in a dull hoodie with the hood drawn glanced behind him with the intent to steal a jug of fabric softener. In the other, a figure in a long dark grey coat lined at every seam with reflective straps had a slicked back undercut and one eye.

“Photo of the Geek in the Level 5 Greeley’s last year. And a still from one of last week’s EPA press conferences. The specialist’s the Geek! No way that isn’t him.”

The typical soft cyan ambiance of charged Wolfram concrete surrounded them at their window table. Cecil shifted in his seat, and looking into his lidless pumpkin spice latte, his tattoo-sleeved arms rested his weight against the tabletop. He pursed his snakebitten lips tight together, and began to rub at his forearms. An observer wouldn’t think the two had a thing in common, down to looking like they came from entirely different decades. ‘Choly was the openly obsessive one, androgynous with long dark bangtails and a dayglow goth-punk sensibility, porting all manner of splints and braces. Cecil had about him a tailored rockabilly vibe, sporting a brassy short pompadour with a roll-cuffed button-down, suspenders, and drainpipe trousers. Just as much, Cecil didn’t want to find correlation in those two photos presented to him. He didn’t like the supposition that this mystery figure was the Supermarket Geek. But, he couldn’t deny shared features.

“I still don’t know how that busted-up six-year-old reader even connects to the Web...”

“Why’re you always raggin’ on it?” ‘Choly unscrewed the handle of his cane beside him and surreptitiously slipped out one of the vials of vodka inside it, to doctor his black coffee. He sipped it down a bit to make more room, then grinned to himself as he put the tippling cane back together. “I told ya before why I hadn’t upgraded. Does everything I need it to. Like show you photographic evidence I’m right.”

Cecil’s brow knitted at the device in front of him, trying to overlook that his date was sneaking alcohol in a place that didn’t serve any.

“You know, I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but...”

“What?” The steam on ‘Choly’s circle-frame glasses vanished as he lurched nearer with a saccharine smile. “Y’know something about that ‘specialist’?”

“Sort of. How do I even put this? A lot of what I do isn’t just working on the equipment and tagging content in the Hub. It’s helping people research stuff. Showing them how to navigate information on the Web. It’s a lot of that, Central has most of the city’s servers. And there was a guy last year, he... came in asking about radiation poisoning. He was real upset, and in the process of trying to determine what kind of information he needed, I said something that made him just blurt out that he’d been in proximity to that... that blob thing. The thing that wrecked that chemical factory last year.”

“That thing was radioactive--!” The awkward nerd clapped a metal-stayed hand to his mouth realizing his volume, worried to disturb the other patrons. “That thing was radioactive? What put the specialist someplace to run into the mutant thing? The,” he mentally lapsed a moment, hung up on the word, viscously phlegmatic, “the larva. It... reminds me of a grub worm.”

“...You are obsessed with insects.”

“I know.” Another sniff, this time more to stifle mental wilding. “...Imagining it as a larva, I’ve always wondered what it-- might have turned into--”

“--Just let me finish.” The exact opposite, Cecil thought to himself, if only you’d let me finish. He leaned in and dropped his voice. “The blob thing had hid after busting up the factory, and as an off-duty cop, the guy trailed it hoping to get the authorities involved if necessary. But it turns out, the blob wasn’t just sentient, it was human. Was. And the way he put it, it was in pain like a lion with a thorn. Lots of thorns. But the swelled up masses started vanishing right in front of this guy. The thing was excreting metal from its skin, but it was having trouble and cried out for the guy to help it pry off the metal. The stuff hardened in sheets. Like a shell, I think he said. Soon the thing wasn’t swollen up anymore, and looked just like it could’ve been a teenager. It wasn’t until it was near-incapacitated afterward, just laying there exhausted, that it told the guy he’d helped it get half a ton of raw technetium out of its body barehanded.”

The librarian sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh, and partook in his coffee while it was still hot. The obvious mental pause drove ‘Choly insane. But after such an info bomb, the dreg’s bursting brain seized up and couldn’t just rattle off every question imaginable--so he gave his date the time to form the punchline to these grotesque descriptions.

“So yeah, ah. Of course the cop went to the doctor about it, but he couldn’t stop insisting in a post-traumatic fugue that it wasn’t the kid’s fault. Wouldn’t elaborate what that meant, but he insisted he knew the kid meant no harm because he’s spoken to him. So this guy’s a cop, and he’s had a few run-ins with the Supermarket Geek on his beat. ...That’s the same kid. And that ‘specialist.’”

‘Choly paled in horror as he adjoined all the facts Cecil had just set out before him. In a ragged mental loop, beneath the table, he pressed and dragged a finger against the copper metallic leggings exposed through the holes in his ripped skinny jeans. He unstuck to grab the reader and open the video of the EPA conference he’d snapped the still from. A woman with dark complexion, in hazmat gear minus the headwear, stood in the middle of a cordoned off and heavily protected street, with a handful of EPA employees behind her.

“E-cycling will not halt during this crisis. There is no threat to human life, so long as appropriate caution is taken. Our remediation efforts for this Super Fund will not impact city life, though it is strongly advised that citizens not sight-see the disaster and respect the quarantine lines. The Agency--”

He skipped forward to where the press had begun asking questions.

“--dition to the dozens of engineers and environmental technicians we have at our employ, we also have a specialist on site.”

“Miss Bensington, is that the specialist there, behind you?”

An assortment of figures stood alongside her, but a few feet behind her stood a small, tailored silhouette which only in spirit felt like one could call it hazmat suiting. The figure visibly recoiled and drew the neon chartreuse hood which did not match the coat, and turned his face away the instant he could tell the live Web footage cameras had zeroed in on him.

“We have the finest on hand for this monumental undertaking. Our methods may prove a bit unorthodox, but the potential for catastrophe demands it.”

He rewound the clip to the half second right before the figure grew too camera-shy. He paused and stared at that face.

“The Geek’s... a meta...”

‘Choly had always struggled to hide his abrupt bouts of sexual heaviness in public settings, and here it escaped him in tone and in the choked exhalation which followed it. Metahumans were no longer some mere tabloid myth, cemented before him in reality by a circumstance of federal proximity. In his own city, where a radiochemical disaster was unfolding right beneath them all. His ragged unsteady breathing stifled him, and his hollow glare remained transfixed upon the reader screen at length.

"--How long have you known? I’ve been goin’ on about the Fulton Mass for months now.”

“I think it was August last year. I told the cop I wouldn’t tell anyone. And now, I don’t know if I like the idea of the EPA employing the Geek, if they’re calling him their specialist.”

Cecil almost shot off that he shouldn’t have said anything, in a playful jab at the reaction he’d elicited, but a woman approached them from behind ‘Choly and beat him to it.

“And just what do you know about the Geek, or the EPA?”

The heavyset Indian woman, wearing lavender makeup and business casual attire, with her bun in snood combs, stood behind ‘Choly with fatigue locking her gaze on Cecil. She held in her hand a frozen green tea. Cecil could see the woman’s federal ID badge clipped to her sweater.

“I don’t understand the question.”

“His name is Galen, you know. Galen Miner. And though he may no longer be human, he’s still a person.” She made a roundabout gesture with her drink before taking a sip. “Do you know why people call him the Geek? Because they think he’s a freak show. But he doesn’t eat chicken heads. He’s not a hybrid.”

“So you have hired him on with the EPA.” At Cecil’s comment, ‘Choly scrambled about face to put the voice to the figure, dumbstruck that this was the woman from the press conference.

“What he does eat is invaluable to us at a time like this.”

Unable to contain himself, 'Choly garnered Bensington’s line of sight.

“You’re feedin’ him the Quarter.”

“Galen’s an unfortunate case, but that’s nothing compared to the others.”

“--Others--” ‘Choly’s voice cracked unbearably, and he forced his legs crossed under the table and glared at Cecil, who glared right back at him, for some sort of mutual mental grounding. “O, others?”

“If you’ve been keeping up with the news about the disaster, you’ll recall how the affected Stalkers that have sought medical provisions keep getting turned away? It wasn’t their lack of documentation that denied them care. Medical training does not currently exist for what is happening to them.”

Fighting how this information affected him dulled his distracted eyes, and he trembled. The last thing he needed was to hear he was right about the chemical leaching at Level 1, but it was absolutely the first thing his degenerate brain begged to hear. He presumed she meant exposure to the chemical had reinvented the Geek. Though he failed at length to form a response, the look on his face said everything.

Cecil asked what he knew ‘Choly couldn’t spit out:

“What’s causing all this?”

Bensington shrugged and did her best to ignore ‘Choly’s demeanor.

“We aren’t entirely certain yet. We just know it’s extensive, and it’s not isolated. ...It’s late. You’re smart, the both of you. Nearly too smart. Putting two and two together, figuring out the correlation. You especially, young man.” She shook a finger at Cecil, then she set down her drink long enough to produce a business card from her cross-body back and scrawl on the back of it. “I could use some civilian input on all this. Until we get a chance to talk more in depth, I can’t have you mentioning this conversation to anyone, not even that it happened. But, if you could call me... Tuesday next week. Ten in the morning or so. Perhaps we could contrast anything Tri-City natives would notice against the Agency’s current comprehension of the situation.”

Cecil stared at the card as she handed it to him and picked her drink back up.

“Sure. Yeah.”

“I truly appreciate it--”

“Cecil.”

“Yes.” She nodded knowingly. “Cecil, I appreciate it. Truly. If you’ll excuse me, though. Ladies and gentlemen, I trust you’ll have a good evening.”

‘Choly sputtered as she left the coffee shop. Her offhand comment regarding his perceived gender had left him stupid. The slight burned almost as badly as not having had the luxury of learning more, and only knowing Cecil would speak to here again, soon, calmed his nerves.

“Sorry about that,” Cecil started.

“You’re sorry?” ‘Choly waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. Every shoe I own would’a been in my mouth by the end of it, if I’d been able to say and ask everything on my mind.” Feeling small, he nursed at his cheater’s black russian and looked up to his boyfriend, who now stared off into the room. “...You really gonna call her? Sounds like she thinks you really know a lot about this.” I really want you to tell me more. Everything you know. You have to.

“Dunno, I should.”

“Probably.” ‘Choly could tell Cecil didn’t want to talk about the Geek anymore at this point. With a detached sniff, he grasped for a momentary change of subject, and dove into the first thing that came to mind. “Cecil. Been tryin’ to build up the nerve to ask about it, bringing up the EPA video earlier. I... need your help. I’m havin’... a bit of trouble.”

Still fidgeting with the business card, Cecil shifted back in his seat, consternation mashing his brows together. From the conversation up to then, it was easy to speculate this kind of trouble might involve the law.

“I’m a librarian, not a magician, Melanochro. What makes you think I could help?”

“It’s money. Sort of. My money, any rate. My landlady’s evicting me if I don’t pay off my back rent by the end of the month. And before you go thinking I’m askin’ you to help me with my bills, that’s not even the thing.”

This offered Cecil no improved reassurance. ‘Choly swallowed, and continued.

“We’ve been... we’ve been going out for what, six months now? As it is, I spend a lotta time at your apartment, n’you at mine. It’d be cool if I...” Suddenly, words didn’t work, and he let his needful glance speak for him.

“Your job hasn’t been paying enough for you to afford the micro-apartment?”

“You say ‘your job’ like bein’ a sorter’s anything consistent.” The dreg laughed in weak anxiety. “By the time I moved out of my dad’s place, I’d started trying to be a little more proactive with my sorter’s skills. Bein’ a sorter doesn’t pay too much, but hacker intel? I’ve always tried to be savvy with what I put my hands on, before I scrapped it down to raw materials. The most recent thing I came across netted me a hundred-fifty, but that was a year ago. The sorter’s scene has been so dry for lucrative component handlin’, and you know my health doesn’t really allow for me resorting to truffling. Seekin’ stuff out on my own... I’m down to my last twenty creds. Last paid my landlady in June.”

“You should have told me sooner you were struggling so bad.” Cecil flopped down the card and looked at him with a square serenity. “I like having you there at my place. I don’t see why not. And you know what...” He trailed off a moment while he assessed logistics. “It wouldn’t be such a physically taxing thing, if you were to get a job at the library. I could pull some strings and get you working in physical copies with me.”

On the one hand, it relieved ‘Choly not to have met objection, but Cecil’s next logical step only served to chew the dreg up. In his mind, he was failing to keep face with this lovely guy he’d been seeing for months. Cecil had thought of ‘Choly as some exciting and mysterious element of danger in his life. ‘Choly admitting all he had, how not on top of everything he really was, it devastated the dreg. And the part that he had to disclose next, he squirmed.

“I, I don’t. I haven’t got papers. No social. Don’t you need that stuff to get a city job?”

“I could... tell Dave I’ve got it all taken care of, just need his clearance. I know you’re good for it. You’re smart, and for how glued to your reader you are, I know you love books--actual books. I’ve been begging him for over a year to find me somebody to help me in physical copies, to be honest.” Cecil smiled. “Somebody as passionate about it as I am.”

“You’d... do that for me?”

“I love you. I want you to be safe... and, well. Ok. I want you to be ok. And from what you’ve told me, you’re not doing ok. I think things will work out great. We’ll get you back on your feet.”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

Entirely true, though multiply-so. In order to have a safe place to live, he’d have to give this job offer a shot. Moving back in with either of his parents simply wasn’t an option.

“Say you’ll let me take you out for lunch tomorrow. We’ll talk about getting your place packed up, storage options, all that. Ice-99 sound good?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Bensington was right.” Cecil glanced at the card again to make sure he’d remembered the name. “It’s getting late. How about we cut out and call it a night? You’re free to crash at my place. You are moving in, after all.”

‘Choly took a hard swig of his black coffee, letting the vodka burn his nerves.

“I was... thinking more that we could go back to my place. Get an idea of what I actually need to bring with me.”

“You know more books always have a place in my apartment. And if you’re talking about that mountain of clothing by your bed, I’m sure we can figure something out.” The two exchanged a laugh, the tension softening as Cecil traced a finger against the back of one of ‘Choly’s wrist-braced hands. “I’m good with that.”

“Let me...” ‘Choly knocked back the last third of his drink. “Let me get a refill, and we can get out of here.”

“Room or no room?” Cecil ribbed as ‘Choly used his cane to get to the counter.

[changseobbing-blog]

Mixology - A Dirty Twist (M)

Monsta X Fanfiction

Pairing: Hyungwon X Reader

Words Count: about 6.5k

Warnings: Smut, Alcohol, Swearing with a dash of SMUT.

Part 1 of the Mixology collab series

Beta services & Moodboard by the amazing & talented: @baebae-goodnight

“Please” your friend Nicole pleads. Trying to convince you to leave the cosy confines of your apartment to go to a club. Everyone is talking about ‘Rush’ -the new hotspot. But you’re instantly suspicious the minute she asks you to go. She hates clubbing as much as you do.

It’s not until you were scrolling through Instagram and realise the hot DJ she has a crush on is now their regular Friday night entertainer. Now it makes sense. She’s spent the good part of this week just trying to convince you to go with her. Tonight was a Friday and Nicole had turned up to your apartment a few hours after you'd finished work with pizza and a renewed determination to win you over to the idea.

“It’s not like you have other plans” she huffed, snatching the last piece of pizza from the box and stuffing it into her mouth while you scoff in offence at her words.

“A Naruto marathon is plans Nicole” you mutter uninterested.

“Bullshit, come out with me”

“You just want me to come out with you so you can drool over Jooheon” you point out.

“What’s your point?” she deadpans.

“You don’t even like clubs Nicole” you sigh exasperatedly.

“We can watch Naruto all day tomorrow with more pizza” she pleads.

You think on this for a moment but decide to stand your ground on your aversion to socialising.

“I’ll pass”

“Ok...” she sighs and sits upright on the sofa to turn to face you. Her face is serious like she's about to negotiate a hostage situation. You mirror her body language with a roll of your eyes and prepare yourself for her next move.

“I’ll pay for your drinks all night”.

Damn, she must really want to go. You let out a long defeated sigh.

“Guess we’re getting sweated on by strangers tonight” you gritted out, clapping your hands together as your fate for the evening is decided.

                                                              ///

A few hours of getting dolled up at Nicole’s apartment with some pre-drinks and a tightly packed train ride later, you are now freezing your ass off in the line outside the club. You had wanted to bring a coat but Nicole had told you to stop acting like a grandma, the alcohol will warm you up. You rub your arm to try and to try and create friction for warmth while tugging down the bottom of your off the shoulder, black bodycon dress. You were a little self-conscious that it was a bit too short but Nicole had encouraged you to buy it a few months ago and this was its debut night. You daydream about the warm fuzzy Pikachu onesie you could be wearing at home right now. Then Nicole gasps, jolting you out of your fantasy and thrusts her phone in front of your face.

“Look how good my man looks tonight” she yells.

She isn’t wrong, Jooheon is definitely attractive. He has a slightly muscular build and deep dimples. His hair is a silver-white pushed back under a snapback. He’s wearing a white sleeveless shirt with dropped armholes, flashing a glimpse of side chest, in a fuckboy kinda way. He completes his look with tight ripped jeans and a long silver chain hanging off his neck. The photo is a candid of him setting up the booth on his Instagram.

You smile and agree with her as she starts typing into his comments section about how fine he is looking tonight, mumbling about his rock hard thighs. He’s definitely attractive but not your type, not that you were even sure what that was these days. You’ve been single for a couple years now. You weren’t actively looking to change that, especially after your cheating ex-boyfriend thought he could fuck one of your (ex) friends and still come home to you every night. You were happier just focusing on yourself and what made you happy.

The line finally moves enough for you to get your ID’s checked by the security and pay the entry fee. Nicole offers to pay but you refuse, telling her to keep her cash for the many shots you plan to get out of her tonight.

The club itself is actually really well decorated. Black mirrored walls throughout, with large marble pillars separating the bar seating and the dancefloor. The bar area was comprised of tall clear tables that glowed under coloured spotlighting that was dotted around the club. Lighting up the floor and seating in vibrant purples to contrast the darkness of the walls. The bar itself was square in shape at the centre. One section was facing the dance floor and the other facing a quieter seating area with some extra booth seating. It was lit in a deep red, probably to catch everyone's attention. On the far corner of the dance floor was the DJ booth. It was raised up on a platform and glowing various colours. You could easily see the whole dancefloor from that view. You squint and are able to make out a figure up in it, probably Jooheon. You're probably arriving at the peak point of the night, the club closes at 3 am and it’s just before midnight.

Nicole's yelling and attempts to drag you to the dance floor is confirmation it is Jooheon but you sink your heels into the floor and point towards the bar. You are definitely going to need alcohol before you attempt to dance. So you start weaving through bodies with Nicole closely behind. As you make your way closer you're able to make out the bar staff, who just happen to all be attractive men. This is a positive at least.

You push yourself into a free space at the counter and lean over to look past the bodies lining it, searching for the nearest bartender. There are two on either side of you. One with bright pink hair wearing a low cut black t-shirt and jeans, he is currently in the middle of juggling liquor bottles for a group of squealing girls and flashes you a greasy smirk when he sees you staring. You internally cringe, deciding to turn your attention to the other end of the bar where a taller man stands.

At first glance, you assume he must be a model rather than a bartender. His well-fitted white t-shirt has the sleeves rolled up over his shoulder. Exposing his biceps and you become a little mesmerised by the way they flex as he jerks the cocktail shaker in his large hands. You lean over a little more to get a better look, the tight black slacks he’s wearing cling to his legs in all the right places. He turns away for a moment and you note he has a great ass too. His large plump lips are pursed together and he’s wearing a serious expression as he serves a group of girls who are stretching themselves over the counter in front of him.

"Wow, those girls aren't being subtle at all" Nicole whispers, reading your mind. "One almost has her nipple pressed against the bar" she deadpans quietly next to you.

You’re unable to stop the loud snort at her words and nod your head in agreement. When you turn back the hot bartender is now looking in your direction. Actually, it looks like he’s glaring. You feel yourself prickle with annoyance at the way he looks you up and down. So you scowl right back and flip your hair to look in another direction.

The pink haired bartender eventually serves you and introduces himself as Kihyun. You don't see why it’s necessary to share an introduction. Nevertheless, Nicole introduces you both back to him. He engages in some weak flirting attempts as he makes your drinks. You share a quick eye roll with Nicole as you lick the salt off your hand and knock two tequila shots back quickly. A familiar warmth spreads across your body, which means you are ready to follow your friend to the dance floor to help her get noticed by her hot guy.

The bass vibrates through your body as you step onto the dancefloor, Nicole is pulling you deeper into the crowd of gyrating strangers until she finds a prime spot at the centre. The strategy is close enough for Jooheon to see and far enough so you aren't under his line of vision. The music playing has a hip-hop feel to it with a twist of R&B.

Nicole decides to go on an all-out attack and sways her hips, focusing her gaze on her target up in the DJ booth. Surely if you stare at someone long enough they'll realise, right?

You laugh and start to move your body enough to pass off as someone who's having a good time. At least watching your friend do her thing keeps you entertained. You are probably dancing for about twenty minutes before he finally takes notice. Nicole challenges you to a mini dance battle, trying to see who can twerk the best to the beat. You're both terrible and are in stitches within minutes. You notice Nicole has frozen on the spot, she’s looking up to the DJ booth. Jooheon is gesturing towards himself in the DJ booth and then pointing back at her!

“Holy shit he wants you to go up there” you shout in excitement, shaking your friends' shoulders to snap her out of her daze.

She turns back to you in a slight panic, her eyes wide. "What should I do?" she mouths. You can barely make out her words but you turn her to face the direction of the DJ booth.

"You get your cute butt up there!" you call over the music, "I'll wait for you at the bar, but if things go really well then just send me a text and I'll make my escape".

Nicole spins around and pulls you into a quick hug "You are honestly the best, just give me like an hour to get his number and I'll be back, I'd never ditch you and I'd never fuck on the first night" and with that she takes a deep breath and pushes through the last few people between her and the DJ Booth.

You decide to head back to the bar before any creepers see you are solo, glad that you’ve come out to support your friend in getting some. You plop yourself down onto an empty stool at the corner of the bar. This way you're able to see the DJ booth from where you’re sat and can faintly make out Nicole giggling at whatever she and Jooheon are talking about.

You pull out your phone from your purse and started scrolling through your social media to try and pass the time. You in the middle of grinning like an idiot at a thread of dogs in dumb costumes when a deep voice in front of you makes you jump.

"If you aren't buying a drink, you can't sit at the bar" You look up from your phone to see it's the grouchy dark-haired bartender from earlier.

"Did you hear me?" He repeats "No.Drink.No.Seat" He enunciates each word slowly.

What’s this dudes issue? You sigh and place your phone on the counter and look up to meet his glare. You haven't even said a word to him and he's talking to you like you're dirt. You definitely aren't going to let him think he can make you leave with that stinky attitude.

"Fine" you reply, resting your chin on your palm as you pretend to think "How about you make me a drink that matches your personality sunshine, cold and a little bit bitter?"

He tenses at your response, seemingly caught off guard by your response. He straightens his shoulders and scoffs then walks away. You resume looking at your phone, assuming he’s just going to leave you alone. He probably wasn’t trying to even serve you, probably thought he could intimidate you enough to leave.

A few moments later you jump at the sound of ice in a glass clinking down in front of you. You bring your hand to your chest and let your eyes follow the hand wrapped around it, finding the grouch staring back down at you with disinterest on his face.

"That'll be $16" he adds, his hand releasing the glass to reach out towards you, palm facing up. You look at the drink and then back to him.

"What is it?" you ask, not making any move to reach for your purse.

He raises a brow. "It's exactly what you asked for, sweetheart".

The deepness of his voice, coupled with the pet name you aren’t expecting sends a shiver down your spine, but you shake it off and continue to stare at him suspiciously.

"Which is?" you press, staring down at the golden liquid.

He sighs, it looks like he's in conflict with himself. He glances over his shoulder where Kihyun the bartender from earlier is watching you both. Kihyun nods firmly after the grump mouths something you can't quite make out and he turns back to face you. He sighs again.

"It's an amaretto sour and it's on the house for being rude earlier" he mutters out like a scolded child and walks away to serve another customer.

You aren't convinced by the apology yet, you are taken aback by the drink he's made. An amaretto sour. Just happens to be your favourite cocktail. You stare down at it curiously, it looks well made. He's even added in chunks of orange and you smirk in amusement realising that this is indeed a cold and bitter drink.

"I didn't spit in it, if that's what you're afraid of" he scoffs, you look over to see he’s watching you. Looking offended as he grabs a liquor bottle from close by.

"Well it didn't actually cross my mind until now, but thanks for the reassurance," you reply sarcastically, picking up the glass and gesturing it to him in thanks as you take a sip.

Damn, it tastes amazing. The sharpness of the lemon juice contrasts with the sweetness of the amaretto liquor perfectly. You also taste a hint of guilt, or maybe you just feel guilty now that he’s apologised. You were a bit harsh.

You observe him more closely as you sit at the bar passing the time. Nicole is still up in the DJ booth. She seems to be getting on with Jooheon really well. The fact their faces are now glued together is a bit of a giveaway. You also discover the dark-haired bartender is a totally different person than your first impression. He greets every customer with a smile and when he smiles, the corners of his mouth tug up and his plumper upper lip presses down into the bottom forming an adorable 'M' shape.

He makes jokes here and there with Kihyun at the cash register, but every time he looks in your direction his demeanour changes and the smile leaves his face. You can't figure out what the look means, it doesn't feel hateful. It's almost like you're an annoyance to him and it makes you feel even more self-conscious. So when you accidentally lock eyes you immediately drop your gaze and fidget with your fingers.

"Do you need a refill" comes the voice you definitely recognise at this point. You look up and decide to just ask him what you've been wondering for the last forty minutes.

"Why an Amaretto Sour?" you blurt out, probably a little louder than you mean to be. He looks at you confused.

"What, who answers a question with a question?" he asks dully.

You cough to recover and repeat the question. "Why did you make me that specific drink?".

His brows furrow for a moment but he decided to appease you with an actual answer this time.

"I don't know, it's the first bitter drink I thought of. One of my favourites I guess...anyway, do you need a refill or not?"

It's his favourite drink too. Why does this fact make him more attractive to you? He’s tuts to regain your attention as you get lost in your thoughts so you just nod your head in response. Knowing he'll start the whole 'no drink no seat' argument and you aren’t quite ready to leave yet.

The strength of the cocktails makes you feel brave so you ask him some random questions when he’s in between serving other customers. You expect him to ignore you or tell you to stop talking but to your surprise he answers every one of them.

"So what's your favourite colour?"..."What?...Black".

"Do you believe in ghosts?"..."Of course not, what kind of question is that?".

"Gin, Vodka or Tequila"..."Gin...actually Rum".

You scoff "That wasn't an option!”.

"Would you rather never have internet access again or never be able to take an airplane again?"

He stops cleaning the glass in his hand to look at you like you're a crazy person, but you can tell he's trying his best not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the questions you're making up on the spot.

"How are you even thinking of these...never have internet I guess" He doesn't sound that sure of his own answer.

"Never have internet!? But then you can't binge stream shows or laugh at photos of dogs in dumb costumes" you argue.

"Dogs in dumb costumes?" he repeats amusedly. The questions seem to break the ice and he engages in actual conversation with you, adding that he likes to scroll through threads of dogs in dumb hats.

You learn his name is Hyungwon and you don't talk about anything, in particular. Just whatever comes to mind and you find yourself warming up to the tall bartender. You compliment the club and mention it's the first time you've actually seen it. He explains that he actually owns the club with Kihyun and that they’re best friends.

He seems surprised you don't know this. "Please don't tell me you're that pretentious" you tease "or is that how you pick up girls on the job?”.

His mouth drops open and he laughs in disbelief at your response but his next words have you choking on your drink.

"You tell me Y/N...is it working?"

Your breath hitches at the sudden forwardness and you splutter, he laughs at your reaction and now it's your mouth that drops open as you try and find words to reply.

He's about to say something else but the nipple girls from earlier call his attention from the other side of the bar, Kihyun has already finished for the night since it’s started to quiet down. Hyungwon tells you to stay right there while he serves them real quick - you didn’t plan to go anywhere else at this point. Nicole has already text you to let you know she intends to leave with Jooheon when his set finishes.

You snort, so much for the 'doesn't fuck on the first encounter' rule of hers but you don't really mind. You saw some cabs outside the club so you don't have to worry about getting home. You text her back to let her know it's fine and to make sure she uses protection. You choke on your drink again when she responds with 'Same to you and Hyungwon ;)' - How the fuck does she know you’re even talking to him?

You put your phone away and notice Hyungwon is still serving the group of girls. You grimace at the sight of them pressing themselves against the bar once more. You can't hear what they're saying but their high pitched giggles have you narrowing your eyes. You sip your drink watching the encounter. They seem to ask something and Hyungwon’s face changes. He tenses up at and shakes his head firmly. Then he quickly takes their payment, dumps their change on the counter and strides back to your side of the bar.

"Do you want to get a drink with me after I close the bar in about 20 minutes?" He asks abruptly.

There’s something in his eyes that you can’t read.

“When are you closing up,” you ask calmly.

He glances over at the dance floor, you follow his gaze and are surprised to find it practically empty. You look at the clock behind the bar and realise it's only just past 2 am at this point. Someone who isn’t Jooheon is packing up at the DJ booth and the music playing in the background must be a playlist.

He reaches underneath the bar and you lean over to look at what he’s doing. There’s a button and when he presses it, Kihyun’s voices chimes out calling last orders. You meet his gaze, except he isn’t looking at your face but at the way your chest presses against the bar. He drags his eyes up to meet your gaze and you feel something begin to wash over you. You push yourself back to your original sitting position, holding his gaze.

“I’d love to join you for that drink” you breathe out. Feeling the effect of his gaze as your heart pounds a little in your chest.

The next 20 minutes are a blur for you as you watch Hyungwon clear away glasses, serve the final few customers and watch everyone remaining in the club file out the door. It just so happens to be Hyungwon’s turn to close down the bar before the cleaners arrive at 6 am. Lucky you.

He’s currently wiping down the bar top. His biceps flexing as he drags a clean cloth across the counter surface. He must feel your eyes on him because he looks up to watch you, watching him with a knowing smirk plastered across his face. Now you're sure he's tensing his arms on purpose as he finishes his current task. The last thing he does is lean over and gently takes the glass out of your hand, brushing his fingertips against yours and placing it in the sink.

"Can I ask you a question Y'N?" he asks carefully, walking out from around the bar to sit on the stool next to you.

The proximity makes your throat feel dry, he’s even more handsome up close. He smells musky but sweet, more than likely residue of the drinks he’s been serving tonight. His knees press against yours and the contact sends a shiver up your spine.

"Shoo?" you answer, leaning forward to rest an elbow against the bar. You flick your hair over one shoulder, not missing the way he swallows at the sight of your bare shoulder.

"Earlier at the bar, I saw you and your friend whispering something about me” He queries “what was it?"

You wrack your brain, what is he talking about? You mentally retrace the night. Froze your ass off in line, Nicole screaming in your ear. You got a drink first at the bar but Hyungwon didn’t serve you, he was serving those other girls, Nicole made a comment and you laughed...Ah. You suddenly nod your head. “I think I remember what that was about” you conclude. He narrows his eyes at your vague response.

"What?" he pushes. You cover your mouth with your hand and try to hold back the laugh building at his outrage, you always laugh in the most serious moments. You can’t help it, he’s cute when he pouts. You've spent the whole night wondering why this guy didn't like you and now you find out it was a total misunderstanding.

"You've got it all wrong" you giggle, unable to hold back anymore.

He leans in closer until your face is inches apart "Go on?" he challenges.

"We were laughing at those girls awful flirting attempts, the same ones you served just before you closed" you finally admit.

His shoulders slump and his eyes shut, like he’s scolding himself internally.

“Well, I’ve been an asshole” he breathes. You feel your skin erupt in goosebumps as the heat of his breath fans your face. He lets out a low chest chuckle and you can’t help but bite your lip and smile at the heavenly sound.

“At least you're an asshole with a cute butt” you flirt shamelessly. You’re not sure where this courage has come from but you’re going to roll with it.

Heat spreads across your thigh when his large palm makes contact with your bare skin. His fingers trace up to settle on your waist. You mirror his actions by running your palm up his forearm, over the taut muscle of his biceps to rest against his firm chest.

You’re on the edge of your stool, between Hyungwon's long muscular thighs which have parted to allow you closer proximity. Time seems to slow as his other hand cups your chin to tilt your head to meet his gaze. His eyes darken as he closes the gap, touching his forehead to yours. He’s looking at you like you're his next meal and you’re itching for him to taste you.

You finally lose patience and make the first move, pressing your lips to his. A move that takes him by surprise and he grips your waist tighter in response. You step onto your feet to press your body tightly against his and his breath hitches. Your free hand moves to grip the back of his neck and you instantly deepen the kiss. Your senses explode at the feel of his soft plump lips moving against yours.

His hands wrap around your back, pulling you even tighter against his body. He slips a hand down your back to cup your ass and you open your mouth to moan. His slips his tongue into your mouth to gain control of the kiss and your body starts to burn. An ache forming between your legs at the depth of his kiss and the way his body feels against yours.

"I've wanted to kiss you since the moment you glared at me" he groans against your mouth and you breathe out a laugh.

"That doesn't even make sense"

You gasp when he drags his fingers along the back of your thighs, pushing up the hem of your dress to grasp a handful of your ass.

“Does it have to make sense? Girls usually only care about the young rich club owners but you didn’t give a shit” he breathes into your ear, planting kisses along your jawline.

“So what would you do if I called you a pretentious asshole?” you tease, tugging on his hair to force him to look at you.

You squeal in surprise when he lifts you up like you're nothing and sets you down on top of the counter. He runs his palms over the tops of your thighs sending tingles up your body. You hold your breath when he slowly parts your legs. You're too shocked by his sudden actions that all you can do is stare. His hand smooths up your waist causing shivers to trickle over your rubs, while the other slides between your legs. His fingertips are rough and he drags them over your clothed slit. Your breath hitches at the sudden contact. Then he steps forward, standing between your legs.

“Does this answer your question” he hums against your throat, sucking a hickey into your skin. Causing you to gasp again. Your arms wrap around his neck and you rock your hips instinctively as his fingers continue to drag over your panties and press against your clit. He moves his fingertips in slow teasing circles and you feel the wetness collect at your centre while an ache builds in your lower abdomen.  

“Shit” you whine when he pushes your panties aside and swipes a long, deft finger through your soaking folds.

“You’re so fucking wet and I’ve hardly touched you” Hyungwon groans. Capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss and tugging your bottom lip between his teeth. He pushes a finger inside you and you shiver at the sensation. It’s a wider stretch compared to your own that you’ve gotten used to. Your back arches in response as he thrusts his fingers at an achingly slow pace. He has you moaning into his mouth and gripping his shoulders as you try and grind into his palm for extra friction.

“Hyungwon” you gasp “I need more”.

You hope he catches on to what you need. He lets you buck against his palm a little longer before he finally adds another finger. You sigh, breath catching in your throat. The sensation of being stretched even further at the mercy of his hands have you squirming in eagerness and you know you’re craving more than just his fingers.

“Look how eagerly your pussy swallows my fingers” he muses “I wonder how well you’d take my cock?”.

You moan louder at his filthy words, clenching down against his fingers in response. He begins to pick up the pace. Plunging both fingers inside you while his calloused thumb presses firmly against your clit. You feel yourself trembling as your climax builds higher and higher. Your panting and gasping against his mouth as he edges you further and further to orgasm.

When he suddenly stops just short of you reaching your peak you cry out in frustration, the loss of his fingers has you feeling empty and you look at him exasperatedly. He pops his fingers into his mouth and sucks, groaning at your taste. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. His lips smack as he pulls his fingers out and he kisses you roughly. Grinding his crotch into yours for the first time, you feel just how rock hard he is for you.

You slip your hand between your bodies to palm his member and you’re pleased with what you feel. He hisses at the contact and grinds against your hand as you continue to rub him over his trousers. You suddenly feel like there is too much fabric between your bodies and you begin with his belt buckle.

He doesn’t make any moves to stop you. Unzipping his pants and reaching into his boxers to make contact with his hard throbbing cock. You feel him twitch in your hand as you pull him free from the material and give it a tentative squeeze, pulling another heavenly groan from his beautiful mouth. You begin to work his shaft in your hand, feeling powerful watching his gorgeous face contort in pleasure.

You stop your actions for a moment to drag your open palm down your tongue, holding his gaze before slipping it back down between your bodies to grip his cock. Your hand now slick with your saliva moves faster this time. You notice his stomach muscles contracting as you squeeze and pump his pulsing length. He suddenly reaches for your wrist to halt your movements, placing open mouth kisses against your collarbone, throat, and lips. He lifts your arms above your head and finally tugs your dress over your head.

“Fuck” he exhales at the sight of your chest pushed up in your lace strapless bra. You internally praise yourself for deciding to wear it, but it doesn't stay on for long. Hyungwon decides the very sight offends him far too much and he rips it off you a minute later. You rid him of his shirt and yank his pants further down his legs. The only thing he has left to rid you of is your soaked panties.

You lean back and grip the edge of the bar behind you to lift your ass up enough allowing him to slowly peel away the final layer. He slides the flimsy material down your legs and hitches them over his shoulders.

“Do you know how fucking good you taste?” he growls, stilling your hips in his grip. His face inches from your swollen cunt. “All I want to do is pound you into this bar, but not before I get a better taste of your pretty little pussy”.

Your walls clench at every filthy word that falls from his mouth. It sounds like art tumbling from his lips and it makes you burn in desire.

“Do you want me to eat you out, baby? Use your words” He teases, nipping at the flesh of your inner thigh. You feel his breath fanning your aching core and you’re too far gone to argue with him.

“Yes Hyungwon, fuck...please eat my pussy” you gasp out. Feeling his hair tickle your thighs as his mouth inches closer to where you want him. You think you hear him whisper ‘good girl’ faintly then his hot wet tongue drags up your dripping slit.

You cry out at the contact and dig your fingers into the edge of the bar, he continues to drag his tongue up and down your folds at an excruciating pace while he laps up all the juices you’ve spilt for him. When his lips enclose around your clit your elbows give out underneath you and you feel him exhale in amusement that he’s causing this reaction under his touch. You retaliate by tugging his hair with enough force to make him hiss. The vibrations against your clit are delicious.

“Please fuck me, fuck me until I can’t walk straight” You cry out as he continues to suck and flick his tongue over your clit. You feel an aching emptiness between your legs since he last edged you with his fingers and you’re desperate to feel his cock inside you.

He comes up for hair, lips glistening and trails sloppy open mouth kisses back up your body. Lips smashing against your own so you’re able to taste yourself against his soft puffy lips.

“My purse” you practically shout “There’s a condom in my purse”.

Hyungwon reaches for the small clutch next to you on the counter, sifting through your belonging until he pulls out the small foil packet. He leans forward and whispers in your ear “Such a dirty girl, you wanted to get fucked tonight didn’t you” his voice dropping an octave. You can only whine in reply.

You close your eyes and try to gain control of your breathing. Your heart is pounding against your chest in anticipation at the sound of the wrapper rustling in Hyungwon’s hands. You prop yourself up onto to your elbow, just in time to watch him roll the rubber down his shaft and align himself against your entrance.

“Look me in the eyes baby, I wanna see that pretty face when I fill you up” he growls, rubbing his tip against your folds, coating himself in your juices.

You obey immediately, but your eyes roll back as he finally pushes inside you. You hardly feel the stretch, not realising just how aroused you must have been to take him so readily. Hyungwon bites his lip as he looks down at you. His eyes drop to where your bodies meet and he allows himself to pull almost out of you, right to the tip of his cock before slamming his hips and filling you to the hilt.

Your elbows buckle under the force and pleasure,  lie back flat and arch your back off the table as he begins to pound into you relentlessly. You know you won’t last long at this rate, he’s teased you too much. The pace he’s setting and the places his cock can reach thanks to the height of the bar has you moaning his name like a broken record. Each thrusts pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder for a deeper angle while groping your breast in the other and you feel overwhelmed. It’s too much, all too much. You want to cum so badly. You must be incoherently whimpering something along those lines out loud because Hyungwon’s hand releases your chest and moves its way down to where your bodies are connecting. His thumb work's rough circles against your clit and he starts whispering praises in your ear to help tip you over the edge.

“There’s a good girl, cum all over me….that’s it, let go baby”

Your vision turns white and you scream his name over and over. An intense orgasm floods your senses and you swear your heart stops for a moment. Hyungwon continues to thrust steadily to bring you through your high. Your body feels weak and your toes have gone numb. A few more thrusts and Hyungwon follows you, climaxing with a loud shout before collapsing on top of you. His warm sweaty cheek pressed against your heaving chest.

Neither of you says a word for what feels like ages but is more than likely a few minutes. Both gasping to catch your breath again. You break the tension by absent-mindedly stroking his hair, causing him to sigh against your touch.  

You feel like you could fall asleep but then a realisation hits you. You remember where you are. In a nightclub, naked on top of a bar counter, underneath the sexiest bartender you’ve ever met.

“Hyungwon” you hum gently. Continuing to run your fingers soothingly through his dark silky locks.

“Yes,” he breathes out sleepily making you giggle at how cute he sounds when he’s half asleep.

“We can’t stay here Hyungwon, aren’t the cleaners meant to be showing up” He seems to grasp what you are saying and turns his head to check the clock.

“We should probably clean up and head to my place” he mumbles into your chest, kissing your skin before making a start to move. He waddles away on shaky legs to find a bin to dump the condom.

You push yourself up to a seated position and look for where your clothes have been chucked. You’re suddenly blinded by a load of fabric being dropped over your head and you realise he’s helping you back into your clothes. No, actually it’s his t-shirt but it’s long enough to be a dress.

“Wait, did you say your place?” you ask, still in a slight haze. He’s in the middle of pulling up his pants and nods with a smirk.

“I still think you’re pretentious” you tease “and you still owe me a drink”.