#how to find out if you were really given free reign of your attraction or not: set up a free movie night with a rival company's movies.

[notmuchtoconceal]

I say this with love, but...I really have no clue who some of your most upset-sounding rants are directed to. It seems like it's a different person every time. Do people really wrong you that often? Are they not really directed at a specific person at all, but really just part of an artistic performance? Are they designed to be deliberately ambiguous? Is it wrong for me to make assumptions about you? Is it too arrogant? Is it too close-minded?

One thing that helped me get better (and I still have relapses, as you are well aware) was to outline a set of principles for myself as a means to eliminate ambiguities. And then just stick to them. And it feels rigid and stifling at first. It feels like you're sacrificing complexity. But you learn to find the complexities within those principles. They don't have to be absolute. They don't have to be dogma. But they help people understand how to approach you, because you've made very clear what you want from them.

You're taking a personal grievance you've had with some...Wisconsin otter...somebody with Republican value...somebody who believes they're too poor...whatever...and you've placed them in public. And thankfully you've given hints that these are specific people, but other times these hints are noticeably absent in your work, which makes it less obvious who you're speaking to, or if you're speaking to anyone at all, or if it's a fantasy sequence you're envisioning as part of the art.

Which makes me wonder if you're actually trying to disguise your personal grievances as something ambiguous so that they can be whatever they need to be in any given moment. Call me dogmatic, but I think those worlds should have a thicker line drawn between them.

If I tell you my personal opinion about you, it's not necessarily some cooing diagnosis about how clearly you're in great pain. And to me, you are, but also you've developed a striking and uniquely attractive shape because of it? It's not some manipulative way to make you doubt yourself. I don't even operate on the assumption that I'm correct about you. I'm simply telling you what I think, as an outsider, with no access to your mind. This is how normal humans operate. And if I'm wrong about you (and you have often been wrong about me), it's not meant as a personal attack. If I tell you who I think you are, and I'm doing this fully with the knowledge I could be wrong about you, that's kind of the whole point of conversation.

I wasn't insulted when you laid out your diagnosis of me. I loved you more for it. Even though it was so very, very wrong. But also I think I should adjust myself a bit and reign in my demons more, because you are also right. In other words, you are correct about how I should approach people and you were correct about what the solution is, but wrong about who I am. The slap in the face you gave me was much needed, though. Thank you for that. Please make sure to do it again, if I get out of hand.

I have work to do. You already know that.

The point about principles, which I interpret as being about lack of focus, is the primary reason I wish to both diversify and simplify my approach with additional pages. To cultivate more ambiguity within context.

While I do enjoy the chaotic, free-flowing approach, I feel there are moments where it becomes too overwhelming, too fragmentary, too utterly divorced from anything tangible or rooted in the fleshy and bawdily sensible, or even circumambulatorily coherent.

Mostly I want to narrow my primary account to within acceptable and delineable parameters, and I'm figuring out what those are by just doing it. Sometimes it still surprises me how messy shit can look.

I don't need to tell you about who I'm addressing with these posts. I don't particularly care if people who've been following me for years know who I'm addressing with these posts. Some most likely do, most likely don't.

The person I'm addressing, aside from all the ways in which he is uniquely complicated and special, embodied a plurality of ideologies in lieu of crafting a pragmatic and singular approach to life, hence I feel many of his follies, in isolation, are worth picking over for general consumption without needing to sully things too much with personal details, but yes -- you've caught me. This man I loathe may be your envy.

Every once in a while, for the sake of personal catharsis, I let things become a one man show for a one man audience, and just lance the shit out of the festering boil which keeps trying to pop back up on my ass.

I know he's watching. I'll bring up very specific things this one crazy person said to me a year and six months ago -- respond to insinuations. Pull apart arguments. Put projections back in their rightful context. I'm realizing this is the shit I used to do with all the other assholes I never dated. The long recovery process. All those arguments in your own head, months and sometimes years later, when you realize when the chip went it and you rip that fucker out. Aw, yeah. Can even feel your brain snap.

It's happening again. This time, though? I know the fucker's watching.

I know he's watching me and hating himself and watching me get better and attracting better versions of him who I can love instead.

This time that fucker gets to see how much of a loser he is.

Maybe when you bros get into the really long nasty shit, you can put yourself in my place, adopt that perspective. Really revel in the joys of your piece of shit not-exes clamoring to hear all the shit you're sayin about em cause you're a stud with a page people can't get enough of.

See, there you go.

Now the fantasy is readily at your disposal. Enjoy, bro.

Good things happen when you ask questions.

[inviouswriting]

Family with you

Simeon x fem!reader

Some light smuts mixed in, but mostly fluff. Nothing graphic but enough to be cut.

If mc was already a mother when arriving to Devildom with their child. Needed something for myself too. 

TW: for reasoning behind the father figure not in as a result of them leaving, or uninterested. Abandoning mc. 

When you had first arrived at Devildom, the others were surprised to the child with you. Looking no older than between five to seven and hiding behind you. Lucifer was first to be taken aback by this exchange, and Diavolo immediately is dropping down to say hello.

Things progressed as they normally did afterwards. You had a stronger backbone when it came to threats and reminded the demons that you’ll have their horns and wings if anything happened to your child. 

You are single, and comforted your child as best as you can in a world full of demons. Diavolo set up a special way for your child to be cared for while you attended RAD. Spending time with Barbatos, to learn from him rather than be around all the chaos.

When you met Simeon, it was like something clicked between you two. Barbatos had brought your child to you at the end of the day, and Simeon is already enamored by them. His eyes shined at seeing them, and you feel trusting of the angel. Luke sees a potential friend, close in age, able to relax, though he felt more like an older brother figure. 

“Why not visit us a little more?” Simeon offers, and you take him up on the offer for any peace and quiet from House of Lamentations. A steady relationship bloomed between you and Simeon. Alot of the time spent guiding both Luke and your child in the right directions.

When Simeon asked how your child came to be, you felt your face hot at mentioning everything prior to Devildom, whether a joyful one or a unpleasant. Your child was someone you never regretted, even out of wedlock. 

Simeon understood the question he asked was personal, and remembered how it sounded from an angel.

“I mean genuinely, I am not asking you or putting you under a confessional. I am just curious, do you have anyone in your life... in the human world?” You see the dusting of pink on his face, and it clicks for you.

“No, they’re not in the picture anymore.” At your words Simeon takes your hands into his own, realizing he has a full chance. 

“Would you go on some dates with me then?” You are surprised at this, and want to say yes, but your eyes drift to your child playing a game with Luke. 

“I’d love to, but who would watch them?” You haven’t quite trusted the brothers, the closest one you feel you could is Beelzebub, and Asmodeus. 

“I think Barbatos can, he does enjoy both Luke and your child. I’m sure it would be fine to escape for an evening.” He offers solutions, and you agree to a date.  Agreeing was easier than the actual planning.

The night arrived, and you are dressed nicer than you normally are. Asmodeus being supportive and helped with an outfit that accents a Ristorante Six date. Simeon took care of arranging Luke and your child to be with Barbatos to learn how to cook some things together.

All that was needed was you, so Simeon met you at the restaurant. When he first saw you, he thought you really are an angel in disguise. Once inside, you talk about your life prior to Devildom, him learning more about the things you’ve gone through to raise this child, the hardships you’ve faced and he feels more protective of the idea of being with you.

Simeon walked with you for hours afterwards, you went back to House of Lamentations to drop off food you had leftovers from to Beelzebub. Promising him at least a dessert. The rest of the evening was spent walking through the city portion with Simeon. Getting to know him, his ranking as an angel, how he is raising Luke almost as a child of his own.

“More like grandson.” He amuses aloud, and you gently poke his sides. A moment is stilled between you and he takes his first kiss with you overlooking the Devildom.

After that first date, many more were had, till you are sure you are inseparable to Simeon as much as your child is so fond of Luke. 

When you became so entangled in your angels life and him in yours. You find yourself yearning for the love you two have made. Seeing him fall head over heels with your child, you laugh at moments when he is tender and gentle teaching them different ways. 

There have been only a few fights, only when it came to how you chose to raise your child. A little more firmness than Simeon letting Luke have free reign to learn from his own mistakes. You still had a role as a mother, and reminded Simeon that it works for him, but not for you in some aspects. You reminded your child of boundaries whenever Luke showed discomfort in sharing something.

After an evening of sharing insecurities with Simeon, explaining how hard it has been being alone. He runs his hands through your hair to remind you, you are not alone anymore. You question if he finds you attractive, the hour late, and you both knew Luke and your child sound asleep.

Simeon expresses his desires in you, even when you shyly bared yourself to him, he graciously kissed any marks left on your body from carrying those years ago. Didn’t care of your breasts were a little uneven, or what others have said as a “mom” body. Whether you were skinny or you never lost the weight, belly that sagged or didn’t look right to yourself.

“This is the result of the miracle you have brought into the world. And you are far more beautiful than you realize.” Simeon looks over every spot of you, blue eyes curious to the scars he may see, whether you had a rough pregnancy, or the scars left to save you both. He leaves no spot unkissed, letting you feel truly seen and loved more than the first time a man took interest only to leave later on.

Simeon sees the faint hurt in your eyes when it is reflected after kissing a spot that flared a memory. He replaces that memory with his own touch, reminding you that he loves you even as he loves you till you are clutching his bedsheets or pillows.

In the morning you feel wonderful, renewed and shy as those dark arms are wound around you possessively. Simeon not wanting to let go of you yet, your eyes being greeted to his face first thing, blue eyes meeting yours. 

You tease each other, tease long enough that Simeon coaxes you into a softer session with him in the shower together. Where he holds you up against the wall and any of those smut novels never compared to the things an angel has done to you.

When you broke the news to both Luke and your child about your relationship, Luke is surprised and almost unsure, questioning Simeon about whether he wants to risk his job as an angel. Simeon refutes this with.

“There are no risks involved, I’m in love.” You realize he could lose his wings.. you don’t want to make him choose. Your child on the other hand looks at Simeon with love in them. That an angel could literally be their father.

“Does this mean you’ll get married?” The thought crosses your mind with Simeon glancing to you, perhaps hopeful of your thoughts on the idea.

“It might mean that, if he wants to be.” You feel a squeeze in your hand from Simeon, and you catch his gaze. He is successful in the things he does, and he shines unique as an angel.

“I would love that. To have a family with you. Perhaps once we are in the human world?” Simeon asks, and you nod to make that a goal. 

The path to marriage was longer, going through so much, that the evening when Simeon actually asks you to marry him, you thought he was joking. It was on his birthday, and you had spent the day with him. Luke and your child set up a pleasant surprise for you both, getting Barbatos and Diavolo in on this unique exchange.

“Of course!” You are happy to no end and Simeon is relieved. The ceremony is held on the spot, as a more private exchange. The brothers agreed once you had chosen Simeon solely.

It isn’t until you were given a honeymoon to Diavolo’s private island that the need for your angel was truly awakened. Spending almost every day with him and night finding out just how much Simeon wanted you more than you realized. You wondered how much he held back from the first time you were together. 

Soon you settle into a routine with the new life with Simeon. That it surprised you when you found out you are pregnant again. Fear rises in you, as this was the scenario you had the first time. Perfectly happy, then it came crashing down when the other half didn’t want to be involved.

So you hide it from Simeon, for now. You wanted to wait before you told him, to see if your body could handle another. It isn’t until you are lying down fatigued that Simeon catches on. His fingers are tender as they touch your stomach to sense life, giving you a firm stare for not telling him sooner.

“My love, how long have you known?” He questions, he is already pressing his face to say hi to the life forming. 

“Only a few weeks... I wanted to be sure that this one will stay.” Simeon looks up smiling, the intensity in his eyes fades.

“My lamb... how could you keep this wonderful secret from me.” Your hands card through dark brown hair, bright blue eyes peek up more framed by dark skin. He is over the moon and nuzzles his face into your belly. 

You smile and feel a little guilty he found out this way. You wanted to tell him, and see him full of joy instead of concern. Though his happy expression keeps you from spoiling him too much. You learn him and his ways of showing love, but this side of him. 

You are amazed at how much he dotes and loves you. Seeing the blush on his face realizing all those sleepless nights resulted in a life that is of you and him. That this brings you two closer than ever.

When Simeon looks up he sees your eyes brimming with tears and he freaks wondering if he did something wrong.

“Please don’t leave me...” You plead him, and he remembers that years ago that a child is the reason your first doesn’t have a father. Whether by them leaving, vanishing, or expressing unwanted. He sees the pain return to your eyes, the wound that he had spent so many times trying to mend to heal your heart.

Simeon moves to sit with you and cups your face into his hands as he presses loving kiss after kiss.

“Never will leave you. Not now, not ever.” You tremble in sobs at the shock still going through you of the fear settling in, that it “could” happen. He could grow tired, just like before. When things got tough and they just left. 

Simeon sees the hurt still, and it takes coaxing from him to get you to curl up into his side. His colder hands pressed to your forehead as a nausea wave hits you and you let go of all your fears and tell him you are afraid he will leave you.

He assures you, he is there permanently, he won’t leave, not unless you chase him out yourself. And that breaks you of your spell, the fear of pushing a literal angel away overwhelms you and you raise up to kiss him like you haven’t before.

You still had hours before Luke and your child would be home, you spend the next few hours entangled together. You and Simeon on the floor of the house you call home. His hands going over every speck of you, and kissing away your worries. He is surprised when you take initiative to ride him, and your love making with the angel is truly felt through every nerve that you hold onto each other tight.

When you woke up much later, Simeon is next to you in the bed you share, just watching your face serenely. Foreheads pressed together.

“What time is it?” You question him, and start to raise to look at a clock and Simeon guides you to lie down.

“Almost time to make dinner. We still have time before they’re back. Let me spend this time with you?” You look at him and lay your head back down next to his. He seeks out your left hand to rub at your wedding band, while his other hand presses over your belly. He’s more loving here than what he did hours ago, touches you with such tenderness that you feel your heart thudding in your chest.

You indulge Simeon as he presses loving kisses and you both discuss the possible baby names. Simeon ever grateful you choose to be with him and love him.

[palbabor-writes]

OK so please consider typical Shig/reader where theres unspoken mutual attraction and they're not quite together but it's Post-kamino Shig, like IMMEDIATE post-kamino where he's still processing and incredibly vulnerable from just losing his sensei. I've had this in my head for a while but IDK how it would go and I think you'd do it justice (just ignore this if u don't wanna i just needed to put it out there 😌)

ugh, i loved this idea. where do you find them lydia? they just live in your mind rent free and i want to go to there. gosh, thank you for the ask.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SMUT, NSFW/18+ only, mild angst, pivotal life moments, TW: drinking/drug use, masturbation, blow jobs, face fucking, spanking/mild pain play, vaginal fingering, cunniliginus, overstimulation, switching, dirty talk, loss of virginity (if you squint), dominance, vaginal sex     

Word Count: 11,800

Notes: oh man. so, if the word count didn’t give it away, this is plot, with a hefty dose of porn. in my mind, this is all part of the grieving process for shigaraki and he’s having a rough time coming to terms with what he’s needing to do. yeah, AFO supported him and enabled him to build a following, but he also hid all of the major pieces from him (i.e. the doctor & gigantomachia) so i can see him mourning for AFO as a teacher & as a psudo loved one, after all, at the end of that chapter he’s clutching those hands to him like he’ll fall apart without them. 

Edited by the lovely Lydia: @kugutsuu. she is the best and if you’re not reading her works, all I have to say is: YOU SHOULD BE. 

Mise en Place

/mē-ˌzäⁿ-ˈpläs/ noun or verb  a French culinary phrase which means "putting in place" or "everything in its place.”

This has got to be the strangest, hole in the wall, bar you’ve ever worked at. 

The patrons are touchy and most seem downright dangerous. The whole lot of them are more like mid level criminals than the usual haggard, overworked, regular, citizens you find in local watering holes.  Meanwhile, the gentleman who runs the day to day operations shares more similarities with a will o’ the wisp than a man, and the bar itself is smack dab in one of the seediest parts of town. 

The liquor selection, however, is top of the line. Some of the labels you haven’t seen outside of posh hotels or high class country clubs, and many of the older bottles are rarities. Honestly, there are so many of the high brow bottles that you’re not sure who to ask about the rail selection. There’s no real order to the place and it’s the most free reign you’ve ever been given with your mixology experiments. There’s not even a listing of drinks to go off of. But, if the disgruntled evening crowd is happy, then so is the upper management. All they ask is that you lock up before you leave.

No, nothing about this place makes sense. But, it does pay well and, right now, that’s the only thing you need to worry about.

There’s one other barkeep, a stogy man named Akio. He usually works the day shift, but late yesterday afternoon, he’d given you a call and asked if the two of you could swap for the duration of next week. At first, you’d balked, worried you’d need to schmooze with an unfamiliar bunch of regulars, who’d then decline to tip simply because you were new. But, Akio had sweetened the pot with the promise of $20,000 yen, so, you’d agreed. 

“It’s fairly quiet in the afternoon,” Akio reassured you. “It’s really just putting away shipment and serving the odd customer who happens to pass by. The only thing...well, I’m sure you’ve met him. You’ve been working there for over a month, no way you could miss him.” 

“Who?” you ask, twirling your spoon in your mid-morning coffee, curious, but not wanting to seem overly eager in your questioning. You like your night shift and you’re not wanting this to become a regular swap. You detest having to lug heavy boxes to and fro, pulling liquor and checking lot numbers, ick. Plus, if it really is that slow in the afternoons, it would only be a matter of time before Kurogiri would come after you with a duster and ask you to clean the upper shelves. Yeah, no, thanks. This would be a one week deal, ONLY.

“His name is Shigaraki. He’s, er, different. I suppose you’ll meet him soon, if you haven’t already.”

“Shigaraki? No, that name doesn’t ring a bell. Is he--”

“I have to go, my son is here. Thanks again for the swap and talk soon, (Y/N).”

The line clicks and you let your phone fall from your ear, clattering the metal and plastic along your kitchen table. Shigaraki, you think, taking a scalding sip of your coffee, no, that’s not a name you’ve heard before. Wonder what it is about him that has Akio so on edge. It’s not like him to give you, er, whatever that strange heads-up had been. Either way, it would take more than a vague descriptor like different, to spook you off. 

******

Akio was right, on all counts, about the haze of monotony that permeated the afternoon shift at the bar. 

Well, right on everything except a sighting of that elusive Shigaraki guy. No, the whole afternoon it’s just been you, Kurogiri, and one, rather sloshed old man, who you’ve long since cut off, and propped at the far end of the bartop. It’s been a dull, slow, day. Thank God you’d taken that extra cash from Akio, or this might not even turn out to be worth your while. 

You’re slipping another bottle of whiskey on the lower shelf when you hear a barstool scrape back. You turn at the sound, your head already lifted and a small, friendly, smile lingering on your lips. There’s a lanky guy, dressed all in black with a mop of wavy white hair, working himself onto the small seat. His head is lowered and he hasn’t bothered to look up at you, not yet, anyway. He looks, not really young, but you can’t tell and you’re not about to let some underaged kid worm his way in here. You’ve had enough of those punks sneaking in in the evening, thank you. 

“Gimme a shot of scotch,” the man says, his voice low, with a quiet rasp racing along the tone. It’s a strange timbre and it makes you pause, your eyes scanning those pearlescent strands of hair that are hiding his face from view.

“Hmph,” you snort, arching a brow at his attempts at concealment. He must be underage, who comes up to a barkeep with a ducked head and demands a scotch? 

“Let me give you a piece of advice, don’t come into a bar and immediately refuse to make eye contact with the bartender. We’re like animals at the zoo, we startle easily and don’t like surprises. And, with your face tucked like that, I can’t gauge your age. So, before I get you that unnamed and unbranded scotch, I’m gonna to need to see some ID.”

The man lifts his head at your preamble and you feel your breath catch at the raw annoyance that’s etched across his scarred and cracked face. His eyes are a rich red, closer to ruby and they latch onto yours, insistent and sharp. It’s a deeply intense stare and you can’t seem to pull yourself away, your brow furrowing at his sudden shift in demeanor. 

“I don’t have an ID,” he snaps, his lips lifting into a snarl, showing you the vivid whiteness of his teeth. 

You lick your lips and his gaze follows the motion, eyes lowering, freeing you from that uneasy imprisonment he’d abruptly ensnared you in.

Your heart is beating rapidly against your throat and you shake your head, refocusing your bewildering reaction to this guy's presence. “I-I haven’t heard that one before,” you say, taking a few steadying breaths and tossing a dirty glass in the dishwasher, looking for any task that will let you step away from this strange interaction. 

“You must be new,” he says, leaning back and hunching those dark shoulders. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and shut the dishwasher door, hitting the button to run a cycle. 

“Nope,” you correct him, pulling out two fresh glasses and lining them up on the bartop, reaching for the rail scotch. “I’ve worked here for over a month.”

“Never seen you before.”

“That makes two of us,” you reply, flipping the bottle up and filling both glasses with four counts of the dark liquor. You press one to him and lift the other for yourself. The man narrows his eyes at you and looks pointedly at the glass in your hands. 

“You supposed to drink on the clock?”

You laugh and he shifts back at the sound, his head bowing forward, another scowl lifting his lips. Realizing you must have made him uncomfortable, you step toward him and clumsily clink your glass against his, tilting your head at the surrealness of this whole conversation. “They don’t really care what I do. Come on, stranger who has no ID, bottoms up.”

He looks from you to the shot a few times before finally relenting and taking the vessel in a strange four fingered grip, his middle finger arched carefully away. Once you’re sure he’s actually going to toast with you, you sling your shot back, enjoying the sharp burn of the rich liquor. 

You’re about to ask your new drinking companion another question when you hear his chair scrape back. By the time you’re stepping toward him, he’s already pacing down a back hallway, blending into the darkness and disappearing from your sight.

“Um! You can’t...I don’t think you can go back there. And you gotta pay, dude! Hey--”

“He doesn’t need to pay.” 

You always hear Kurogiri before you see him and today is no exception. He’s standing at the entrance to the back of the bartop and he’s watching the path the strange young man took, his shifting face turned from you. You cock your head at his assertion and swiftly place your empty glass into the soapy water of the filled sink. He likely saw you take the shot, but you’re not about to leave evidence behind. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, watching as the wisp like man turns and steps toward you, his amber slits watchful. It’s like he’s sizing you up and you shift on your feet, uncomfortable at the frank, open, assessment.  

“He’s Tomura Shigaraki, and he owns this bar.”

******     

You’re off for the next two days and the wait, the silence, is abjectly harrowing. You can’t sit down, can’t relax, can’t focus. The one time you decide to get overly familiar, of fucking course, it would be with the owner. But no one has called, and no one has sent you any messages. The empty static of your job's reticence doesn’t alleviate your nerves. 

Who knows, they might want to act out the sick power play of having you show up for your shift, only be fired as soon as you darken the doorway.

The next afternoon, you take a familiar route to the bar, your feet tapping hollowly along the steps and alleyways that wind to the rusty entrance. You come in the front, blinking against the darkness, and lock the door behind you. Everything is quiet. But, in forty minutes, the open sign will switch on and you need to get your bar set up, plus slap on a little bit of makeup. You’re so lost in thought that you’re almost to the long bartop when you spot him.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki. He’s sitting at the same bar stool and his head turns as you approach, those unearthly red eyes lingering over you. It’s a different look, very, very removed from that harsh glare he’d given you the other day. He looks less hostile and more, well, curious. 

You give him a cursory nod and pad behind the high counter, taking the final glasses out of the dishwasher and removing the stoppers from all the open liquor bottles. He’s still watching you and you can feel his gaze as it bores into your back, your side, your front. You attempt to ignore him, but the constant threat of those insistent red eyes is beginning to frustrate you. Finally, once you’ve replaced the cash drawer, you lift your gaze to his. 

“What is it?” Your voice sounds waspish, but you don’t care.

“Nothing,” he replies, leaning forward and propping his chin on his palm, not breaking that unsettling leer. 

“So stop staring at me,” you bristle, unsure why your heart is starting to beat a rapid tattoo against your ribs. You don’t know this guy. Sure, he’s mysterious and almost handsome, in a dark horse kinda way, but there’s no reason for him to give you this odd staredown. You’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant this attention, well, besides drinking on the job, but he could just fire you for that, if it was so troublesome. Either way, he should either speak up, or knock it off. 

He smirks at your impudence and murmurs a raspy, “No,” back, his head tilting, waiting for your next move. 

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” You scoff, crossing your arms and jutting your chin defiantly. 

“Whatever you say,” he breathes, that smile of his deepening, making his vermillion eyes shine. And, just like that, the two of you wander into a stilted game of give and take. 

For the first few days, he makes sure he’s there before you arrive for the last of your afternoon shifts, his dark back already perched over the bartop as you shut the door behind you. Then, when you transition back to the evening shifts, he’s there too, sitting at that familiar perch, his eyes always, always watching, observing. You continue to ignore him and he seems to relish your agitated silence, flashing you dark smirks and quiet laughs.

Finally, two weeks into this stagnated stalemate, you make a point to strike up a real conversation with him. He’s obviously taken aback by your first few questions, his eyes wide and jaw tense, but he plays along. 

Over time, the two of you carefully erect a haphazard friendship. And that chair of his? That center barstool? He used to not mind if another person was sitting in it when he arrived late, but recently that’s all changed. Now he guards it ferociously. Snapping and glaring at anyone who is stupid enough to drift into it. 

Along with the lingering looks and burgeoning, almost flirty, dialogue you’ve pushed him into, he’s also gotten very demanding of your attention. If you spend too much time talking with another customer, or with Kurogiri, he pouts and darkens until you return, his tense form losing that sharpness.  It's almost like he’s got a crush on you, but he’s not sure what to do with the newfound sensation, lost and confounded by your teases and grins. 

Most people, you notice, give him a wide berth, but not you. No, you like his keen wit and heated musings. He’s fascinating and you want to see more. And in his flustered confusion, he lets you lean in, blinking and wide eyed at your open, flagrant interest in him.

******   

As the weeks drift into summer, things start to change at the bar. 

There’s some atypical deposit of power that’s been bestowed upon the place. People you’ve never seen before, begin to frequent the premises, sharing videos and whispered conversations about that man, Chizome Akaguro, better known to the general public as the Hero Killer. 

Tomura flits between several, dark moods, clutching his newly injured shoulder and murmuring complaints about hero society, All Might and the Hero Killer. Apparently, there had been an altercation between the two of them and Tomura didn’t hide his ire, his agitation from you. No, he would vent to you, his voice gravel and ash as he snarled his rage.  

Then, as if things couldn’t get any stranger, one evening a young girl begins to hang around, pestering you for a soda and prattling on and on about blood. Another new guy slips in a few hours later, his skin marred by thick, ragged burns and staples. He’s quiet, rudely demanding a shot and nursing it in a corner, his bright blue eyes flashing as he stares vacantly out at the crowd by the well. 

A quiet man, called Spinner, asks you for a water, and you acquiesce, watching as his green hands wrap around the glass, downing the liquid in a quick gulp. Later, there’s a robust, loud, clearly confused guy, wearing a skin tight black bodysuit loitering by your bartop. He keeps entreating you for a drink, then tells you to buzz off seconds later. Exasperated, you plunk a whole bottle down beside his glass and continue on with your work, ignoring his chatter. 

Finally, a man in a white mask and a top hat rounds out the strange posse and the group gathers together, hovering around Tomura, asking questions and listening to his rasping answers. 

Thankfully, the rag-tag group leaves soon after closing, all of them shouldering their way back out into the night. You shake your head as the door closes behind them, gathering the collection of dirty glasses they left in their wake. Only Tomura remains, sipping meditatively on his drink, his red eyes foggy and unfocused. You know from experience that it’s not a good time to ask him questions, so you continue with your closing duties, keeping your eyes down.

Something is going on, that much is clear. But, unless you could worm the information out of Tomura, you’d likely never fully know all of the details. Part of you warns that it’s likely dangerous. Many of the people who haunt the bar are low level villains or brokers, not a winning combination if you’re wanting to stay out of the fray, and on the right side of the law. 

You finish wiping everything down and return to Tomura, asking him softly if you can wash his empty glass. His eyes lift to yours and the expression that greets you almost makes you want to reach out and cup his cheek. He looks tired, worn thin and so, so needy. You’ve never seen him like this. It almost feels like he’s showing you something he’s never revealed to anyone else, a vulnerability that only you can see. He’s giving you access to a quiet secret that can hang between the two of you, safe in the knowledge that he can trust you with it. That urge to stroke a finger down his roughed brow rises again, but you shove the impulse away, rattled by your sudden, visceral, reaction to him. 

To distract yourself, you snatch up his glass, and turn from the intensity of his stare, a slow prickle of gooseflesh trembling along your skin. As you run hot water and soap over the vessel, you feel your heart begin to pound and you chance another peek at Tomura’s quiet form. As usual, he’s watching you, but he looks unfocused again, that broken vulnerability tucked away. You want to ask him if he’s ok, but before you can croak the words out, he pushes his stool back and paces down the dark hallway, leaving you alone and bewildered. 

******

A few days later, you ask Kurogiri if you can sneak away for a minute, you need a break. The bar has been packed since nine and you could use a quick breather. It’s the first night Tomura hasn’t stopped by and his absence has bothered you. You missed his grumpy quips and his persistent glances. All this time, you’d thought it was just him that was catching any kind of feelings, but it looks like he’s somehow managed to nag his way into your psyche, too. 

You take the back stairs quietly and let yourself out onto the alleyway balcony, climbing the rickety fire escape to the rooftop. You’d found the access to the roof your second week and it’s still your favorite place in the whole bar. On a clear night, you can see all the way to downtown Tokyo. It’s always quiet this high up, tranquil and serene. You brace yourself against the concrete wall and watch the lights of the city glimmer, like distant jewels, in the darkness.

You pull a small joint from your pant pocket and flick your lighter on, setting the edge of the rolling paper alight and taking a slow drag. The inhale fills your lungs with a light pressure and you savor the feeling before blowing a thin line of smoke into the night. You get a few more hits in before you hear the fire escape stairs rattle, signaling that someone is coming your way. You debate dampening your roach, but you don’t want to waste it, so you tuck the smoldering paper in your other hand, maneuvering it out of sight. 

The white shine of his hair always gives him away. 

Tomura hops over the ledge and his eyes are already lifting, searching for yours as he stands. You arch an eyebrow at his tense stance and you can’t help your giddy smile. “Everything ok?” 

“Kurogiri said you were taking a break,” he replies, dipping his long fingers into his pockets and sauntering over to the patch of concrete you’re braced against. 

“Yeah,” you confirm, waiting until he’s closer to lift the joint back to your lips, taking a steadying pull and scooting over, so he can fit beside you on the wall. “It’s busy, and I’ve been slinging drinks all night. Just wanted to decompress for a bit.”

Tomura doesn’t reply, but he does slot himself close, the warmth of his broad shoulder radiating against yours. The two of you drift into a companionable silence, and the only sounds that greet you is the quiet hush of traffic below and your inhales and exhales of smoke. 

“You got another meeting?” you ask, crossing your arms and pressing minutely closer, enjoying the distant shiver Tomura gifts you. 

“No,” he murmurs, his voice low. You think that might be the end of the conversation but he continues a few seconds later, his head tilting toward yours, those red eyes scanning your upturned face. “They’re on a mission. I’m not able to participate. It will need to be like a SIM game. They are the pieces that I’ll move over the board, they’ll act to my battle plan.”

You turn to him, your eyes wide. “So, they’re just...pawns? Little NPC’s that don’t matter?”

Tomura laughs and his teeth gleam in the moonlight and distant shine of the neon lights. “Of course not. Do I look that heartless? No, they’re valuable players and if this goes right, we’ll be able to take on the next level with a decided edge.” 

You let that last comment hover, pausing to take another huff, your eyes lowered, brooding over his words. “So, you’re their vanguard leader?”

“Sure,” Tomura nods, “We can’t keep grinding each mission, hoping to pick up any XP these heroes happen to drop. We need to make waves of our own.”

“Oh? Like the Hero Killer?”

“No,” Tomura snarls, his arm tensing beside yours, a hand rising to scritch at his scarred neck agitatedly. “Nothing like him. We’re looking past him. He was too short sighted, so busy following his own code of justice that he didn’t notice he was breeding more heroes, not putting them down.”

“Hmm,” you sigh, thumping your head lightly against the concrete behind you. “That is true. But, you can’t deny he’s brought up some serious divisions. It’s funny, really. It makes me think of this little hero toy I had when I was younger. 

It was of an older hero, he prolly died long ago, but I loved that toy when I was a kid. Then, as I got older, it stopped mattering and one day, without me even realizing it, it lost its importance entirely. I wonder if hero society will ever shift to that. With the fractures that have been seen at UA and all over Japan, it could be a matter of time before real change starts to happen. Anyway, I wasn’t meaning to grill you on your, uh, projects. I was--”

“What toy?” 

His question nonpluses you and you cock your head, blinking up at his peripheral stare. “Um, I think it was of that fast hero, O’clock. It was my older brothers originally, but he passed it down to me. No idea where it is now. It likely got lost in a move or accidentally left behind.”

Tomura lifts his eyes from yours, his jaw clenching and a slow gulp echoing down his lean throat. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, fascinated by the movement. That urge to touch him is back and you have to clench your fingers into your palms to quiet it. 

You’re so distracted by your primal reaction to him, that you miss his question and he has to repeat it, his eyes slipping back to yours, the red dark. 

“What?” you ask, blinking against the acuteness of his gaze. 

“Can I take a hit of that?”

“Of what...oh.” You lift the half smoked joint and chuckle at yourself, pressing the smoldering paper toward him. “Sure. You had one before?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, carefully taking the white roach from you and raising it to his chapped lips.

“Go slow,” you warn as he begins to inhale, his eyes drifting to a half mast, concentrating.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles, pulling a tentative, but heavy, drag into his lungs.

“Fine,” you scoff playfully, “do what you want. But don’t blame me when you’re coughing up a lung.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t heed your advice and, seconds later, he’s clutching at his throat, dropping the joint onto the broken gravel and concrete as he heaves. Instinctively, you thump him on his back and run your palm soothingly over his lean shoulder blades, surprised by the corded muscle that greets you. For a relatively thin guy, he’s certainly packing some strength under that unassuming form of his. 

Tomura startles at your touch and he yanks himself away from you, his head ducked, eyes fastening onto yours, the irises accusatory and bright, burning with some underlying emotion that you’re too nervous to name right now. 

“Uh,” you begin, aghast that you’ve upset him, “m-my bad…”

But, he’s already leaving, his head firmly turned from you, clambering over the edge and back onto the fire escape, leaving you alone in the darkness. 

******                

After that night, you can’t slip him out of your mind. Even when you sleep, you can see those red eyes of his, gleaming and hungry. One evening, you’d even woken with your fingers firmly pressed to your throbbing clit, stumbling and gasping, shaking free of a dream of him. He’d felt so real, so in focus and you can’t catch your breath, fingers still rubbing a tight circle over your quivering bundle of nerves. You pant as you break yourself, sukling in the whites and reds that haze over your vision. Yeah, that crush of his definitely isn’t a one sided thing.

The next shift you work, he’s waiting for you, perched in his familiar seat, his shoulders curved and tight. You give him a glance, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. His hands are lowered, fiddling with something under the bartop. You begin to open your bar, trying to quiet your wandering thoughts, not wanting to perturb him again. You’re uncorking a red wine when he presses something across the mahogany wood of the bar, toward you.

It’s small, with dark colors and a tiny, familiar, upper half mask. You let the bottle of wine thud against the counter, abandoning the half opened bottle to move closer. It’s...it’s your-- No. It can’t be yours, but it is the same toy, the one you’d mentioned on the roof the other night. How did he?

You gulp and look up at him, your heart pulsing wildly against your ribs. For the first time, he looks away from you first, his white hair pillowing across his brow. His lips start to rise in an all too habitual scowl and his raspy voice lifts to your ears. “If you don’t want it,” he grouses, one hand pulling away from the offered toy, clearly flustered by your wondering gaze. Without thinking, you slip your fingertips over the top of his hand, prolonging the touch, sulking in the warmth of him. 

His fingers curl, some unconscious tremor racing along his digits. He almost yanks himself away, but then he stops, sighing as his eyes lift to yours. For a long moment, the two of you watch the other. You can hear his breathing speed up and you can almost smell the shift in the air. All it would take is one, tiny push to break that delicious tension. 

Tomura’s nostrils flare as you start to lean closer, your body curving toward his, fingers still pressing into his skin. Your tongue dips out, wetting your lower lip and pulling it into your mouth, sucking on the plush flesh. His eyelids have lowered and he’s mirroring your motions, his elbows assisting his lift, his face upturning, seeking, reaching.

With a bang, the front door is flung open and it breaks the spell that’s fallen over the two of you. Tomura leans away first, his eyes narrowed in agitation, sliding from your open face to the darkness of the entryway. You exhale a shaking breath and follow Tomura’s gaze. It’s that masked man, the one with the top hat and he’s already striding confidently forward, peppering Tomura with a series of questions. 

Snagging up his gift to you, you walk back to your bottle of wine. 

******    

You don’t have a chance to see Tomura again until he tells you, one evening, that the bar is going to be closed for the next few days. Then, over his shoulder, you spot the blonde boy, strapped and bound into a stiff chair and you blanch, stunned, too overwrought to give him more than a one word acknowledgement before stumbling back outside. In all of your talks, he’d never mentioned anything like this. That boy looked like a kid, barely past middle school, his eyes wild and defiant, but also so, so frightened. 

No, you think, pacing your apartment, it’s impossible to come to terms with this. You can’t stay there, can’t work there. It’s too dangerous, too close to a real criminal den for comfort. You have to look out for yourself, no matter your feelings for the man who’s wandering down some long, lost pathway, toward a future you can’t even comprehend, let alone see.

So, you hand in your written resignation. 

Kurogiri is behind the bar when you bring it in, and you’re hoping that the early morning conversation will spare you from having to see him. The wispy, purple hand of Kurogiri is just about to take your letter when Tomura barges down the hallway. His eyes immediately land on you and he steps forward, a dark look passing over his palled features. 

“Why?” he growls, fingers snatching the paper from Kurogiri and crumbling the parchment to bits, his quirk rendering your typed words to nothingness. 

“I don’t want to be a part of any kidnapping. It…” you pause, looking toward Kurogiri and, to your surprise, he nods to Tomura and moves away, leaving the two of you alone in the vacant bar. Tomura is still glaring at you, but he’s waiting for you to finish your thought, his jaw grinding quietly. 

“This doesn’t feel like you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tomura scoffs, his chin jutting at the assertion. 

“This doesn’t change society. This is just some petty attempt to get back at the UA staff. It’s like...It’s like you’re asking for trouble to seek you out. You’re smarter than this. Besides, what are you going to do with him?” you smart, crossing your arms and balling your fingers into your fists. 

“What do you know about anything? That kid’s been oppressed by hero society, literally muzzled and bound--”

“As if you’re doing any better! He’s still muzzled and bound, Tomura! He’s just in a different location. This is insanity. Who put you up to doing--”

“That doesn’t matter. This conversation has nothing to do with that. You can’t leave,” Tomura snaps, his head lowering, soft white hair falling over his face. “Give it a few more days.”

“What? I can’t stay if the bar is raided and it’s prolly gonna be if you keep that kid. Besides, that’s not--”

“Just...just give me a few more days. I don’t want to beg you, I shouldn’t fucking need to beg you. It’s not an impossible request (Y/N). Just--”

“Fine,” you sigh, uncrossing your arms and watching him. He looks on edge, haggard and angry. Those emotions aren’t projected at you, you know that. Nevertheless, it doesn’t lessen the danger he’s asking you to stand with him in. But, you can give him a few days and you tell him so, trying to ignore the pattering of your heart when he looks at you and smiles.

******

Then, Kamino happens. 

You weren’t there, thank God. But he was, and now, no matter what he’d asked of you, no matter what he’d hoped for, everything shifts apart. Days linger into weeks and you’re trying your best to reason that he’d made it out in one piece. Surely, you would have heard something. The capture of the leader of the League of Villains would have been a morsel that the media would have wanted to crow about, especially after the loss of All Might. 

Late one evening, your phone rings. 

It’s an unknown, blacked out number, but something tells you to answer, so you pick it up. You almost gasp when you hear that familiar rasp and you listen to what he tells you. You can’t get over how brittle and cracked his voice sounds but you write down the address he gives you. He cloaks his true motivations with a lie. Apparently, he has your last paycheck. Like that even matters to you. Honestly, you’re just glad he’s safe and whole. But, he’s gone to all this effort to build a bridge back to him, so of course you’re going to go.

You check and double check the directions, carefully maneuvering and weaving through bus stops and back streets. Somehow, you make it and find yourself pressing open a dilapidated door and stepping into a small room. Only darkness greets you, even though the bright midday sun is shining outside. The place he’s brought you to is on a dock, on the outskirts of town, close to the salty edge of a bay. You can hear the mournful cries of a seagull as you close the door behind you, sealing yourself inside and blinking into the gloom.

It takes you a minute to catch sight of him.

He’s lingering along the edges but you can make out the glow of his eyes, red and fierce. He looks different. It’s only been a few weeks, but it looks like the weight of years has crushed him under its unfeeling grind in that short amount of time. No, Kamino has changed him, rendering him unhinged and dangerous, drifting along the peripheral of your vision. Still, you haven’t come here to witness him falling to bits at your feet. No, you’d come here with another, darker motive. 

Now, to work.

“What happened?” you ask, keeping your back firmly against the door. Watching him move closer, those red shoes of his glinting over the dark wooden floors.

“Sensei is...gone,” he replies, his voice hollow and faint. He’s mentioned his Sensei before and you’d heard the man’s strange voice echoing from that back television, like some distant, terrifying specter. But, you knew he was important to Tomura, more like a father than a teacher. However, you’d seen the news. You knew he was beaten to a pulp and captured, locked away and out of Tomura’s reach. Now, he can’t ask his Sensei for advice or support, not anymore. Even knowing what little you’ve gleaned about the strange man, Tomura must be devastated by his loss.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, genuine in your sympathy.

Tomura nods and fishes for something in the pocket of his trench coat, lifting a thin slip of paper out and showing it to you. “Here,” he sighs, still not meeting your eyes directly. 

“Oh,” you say, moving away from the door and taking a few steps toward him. “You really did ask me here for the check, huh?”

“What else did you want?” he grumbles, his voice regaining a small slice of that familiar rasping. The question lingers and you feel your pulse speed up, your palms itching at your sides. “Or, did you want to scold me again?” Tomura continues disgruntled, and you can see a grimace pass over his face.

“You deserved it,” you confirm, taking another step, only wavering when you’re a few feet from him. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn't kidnapped that UA student. Now, the kid, and your Sensei are gone and you’re stuck here. Wherever here is”

“Look at you, quite the oracle aren’t you? So, you did come here to berate me.” Tomura snaps, dropping your pay stub to the dusty floor. 

“No,” you shake your head, not wanting this to spiral out of your control, not wanting him to simply shut you out, alone on that pier, left with all of your what ifs. “No, I didn’t come here to do that. I-I...it’s just that...well...that wasn’t you. That whole plan...it still doesn’t make sense”

“How the fuck would you know what is, or isn’t, me? You said that that morning, too. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now,” Tomura bristles, closing the distance and bowing up to you. You can feel the sheer heat of him radiating against your shirt and you shiver at the sensation. If you lift your hand you could touch him, you think distantly. He’s so close...He’s so... 

You gulp, trying to quell your rising emotions. “I guess, I don’t know then.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you say, biting your lip.

“Fine,” he repeats, no doubt thinking that will be the end of it, but you’re not finished.

“You’re better than this you know,” you tell him, eyes searching for his, not relenting your glare until he finally meets you halfway, his red eyes flashing.

“Better than what? Better than you? A half baked woman, slumming her way from mid range bar, to mid range bar. Hoping you’ll catch the eye of the right person, someone who can pluck you from all the muck and grime that you lift that pretty little nose of yours at.”

“What?” you breathe, a snarl of your own etching across your face.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. Fucking leading me on like that--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You thought I’d be your ticket out, or you could wager me later for a better piece, something stronger, someone that could do something for you.” Tomura is seething, his chest bumping against yours, the red of his eyes burning as he glowers at you. 

“Tomura- I don’t know what you’re talk--”

“Stop saying that. You stupid, or something? And stop saying my name like that. Like it fucking matters. You could have had anything, you know? But...but you took it all for granted. You had the world...and then it...it’s...it’s just gone.”

He’s not talking about you anymore. Even though he’s growling and spitting rage at you, he’s not talking about you. “Shigaraki,” you begin, trying to see some way to reason with him. To bring him back to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” he groans, his head dipping, almost resting against your shoulder. “I haven’t earned...that’s not me.” 

“Alright. What am I supposed to call you?” you whisper, overwhelmed and trying to resist that urge to pull him into your arms. You’ve never seen him like this, and you don’t know, you don’t…

“There you go again, acting like you care.” Tomura scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“I do care, you ass,” you bite, turning your head toward him and letting your voice fall beside his ear. He snarls at the assertion and presses impossibly closer, trying his best to put on a show of wavering strength, knowing you might still be bullied into backing down, into denying him. But it’s not working, no you’ve come this far and you don’t want to leave him, not like this. 

“I care,” you repeat, still murmuring next to his cheek, so near you can hear, and feel, his ragged breaths, hot against your skin.

“About what?” he grunts, moving his head from you, determined to not let you win.

“About, well, you.”

“Liar,” he spits, but his voice wavers, showing you a tiny, tiny sliver of hope.

“Am not,” you counter and watch as he leans back, those vermillion eyes searching for yours. One of his hands lifts and he ghosts the digits over the top of your shoulder, watching as you shift toward the distant touch, pulled to him, like a magnet.

“Such a liar,” he posits, fingers hovering beside your neck, twitching with want. 

“No, I’m not,” you gasp, your voice so faint, you’re worried he might not hear it. But he does and he dips his head toward you, inches from your face, lips already parted and waiting. 

“Prove it,” he challenges, his voice deepening, losing that sharpened edge at long last.

So, you shove him. 

You’re not sure why that’s your first, instinctive reaction, but it’s too late to question your motives and it sparks a crazed response from the man in front of you, snapping him out of his head and refocusing him. 

He fumbles backwards, caught off guard, his red shoes catching as he lumbers, trying to not fall. His eyes flash at you and he instantly rights himself, moving back to you. Through it all, you can hear yourself saying something. It sounds like it might have been another taunt, but you can’t focus, not when he’s pressing himself against you, his fingers finally, finally touching you. 

Tomura can’t seem to settle now that he’s gotten ahold of you, his fingers tracing over your neck, your shoulders, your face, your sides. He’s panting and gasping, his fevered exhales fanning over your prickling skin.

“Get off me,” you moan, batting at his wandering hands.

“No,” he sighs, cupping your jaw and dragging you to his shaking lips. His kiss is clumsy, almost childlike. He lifts and leans, pressing halting smacks against you, grunting when you twist from him, fighting his hold.

“You don’t deserve it,” you tell him, wanting to lance that boil that’s festering in his mind, knowing he needs the pain before he can handle the sweetness of the pleasure. The last thing he needs is love. No, not right now. Hopefully, there will be time for that later. But for now, he needs something raw and shattered, something that will let him see that it’s not impossible to pick up the pieces, that he can be whole again, he just needs to try.

He drags his rough lips over yours and you lower your fingers into his snowy hair, pulling him closer, demanding that he give you more. He gasps at the sudden shift and you slip your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his and yanking stammering moans from him. Your lips are slick now and you use the extra lubrication to slip down his neck, leaving him trembling above you. 

You dip into each and every scar, laving over all those old hurts until he’s snarling. You leave a bruising bite against his pulse and he snatches your face between his palms, dragging you back to his lips. 

“Stop squirming,” he complains, his forehead bumping against yours, trying to keep up with your rapid fire laps and sucks. 

“No,” you laugh, fingers lacing into the lapels of his trench coat and using the leverage to drag your breasts over his hardened pectorals. He grunts at the sensation, one arm wrapping around your lower back, pinning you to him. When he finally manages to work his way free of your frantic presses, he lowers his lips to your neck, mimicking the same path you’d taken with him, his teeth nipping and pulling until your humming, giving him a thin cry of encouragement that spurs him on. 

Tomura drags a canine over your pulse and you shiver, folding into his crumpled embrace. He’s almost having to hold you upright and he growls when you slip from his arms, annoyed you’re making this so fucking difficult. 

“I said, keep still,” he reminds you, heaving you back up, lean forearms bracing you to him. You smile and lace your arms around his neck, wanting his lips again. He allows the pull, loving the contrast of your plush skin against his. He’s a fast learner and this time, it’s his tongue taps and maneuvers for entrance, swallowing down your needy pants. His nose presses into your cheek and you cup at his jaw, stroking the warm skin until he slows his frantic pace, meeting you halfway, and lingering in your wet softness.

Then, just as he’s getting comfortable, you dig your teeth into his lower lip, pulling until you bleed out a little taste of copper. He snarls and shoves you away, lifting the side of his hand to his injured mouth. 

“What was that for?” He snaps, tapping his fingers against the wound, watching as they come back red. “The fuck is wrong with…” His ire stutters to a halt when he catches sight of you. 

You’ve already slipped your shirt over your head and now your fingers are twisting until you unclasp your bra, sliding the lace down your arms. The cool air makes your nipples tighten but you don’t attempt to cover yourself from him. Instead, you arch an eyebrow at his abashed expression and begin to unbutton your pants, your fingers teasingly lingering over the button and zipper, before lowering the denim down the curve of your hips. 

You don’t even hear him approach. No, you’re too distracted by your little show to notice him until you feel those warm fingers tracing over the newly bared swells of your skin. You lift your head and your eyes catch his, smiling at the hazy hunger that’s blazing out at you. His touch is tentative and you roll your eyes openly at him, lifting your own hands over his, pressing him until he’s digging those four digits into your sumptuous flesh. 

His thumb rubs over your pebbled nipple and you reward him with a low moan, your eyes slipping behind your heavy eyelids. He cups at your other breast and lifts the weight of you into his palm, openly marveling at the feel of you. Still, it’s not enough and if you’re going to get your point across, you need him to give you more than these lazy strokes. 

“Take off your jacket,” you tell him, stepping away from him, quaking minutely in the loss of his warmth. 

“What?” he asks, clearly too overwrought to hear you. So, you help him along. Your fingers snatch the shoulders of his trench and you yank it off him, tossing the fabric down to the gritty floors. Then, you shove at him again. He isn’t as taken aback this time and he rallies immediately, snatching at you and dragging you against him, making you gasp at the harsh sensation of his dark clothes against your bare front. 

“What do you want?” you ask him, licking your tongue along the underside of his jaw, listening to his shuddering breaths. “What do you want to do to me, Tomura? Come on, I know you’ve got some idea. Fucking show me. Don’t let me boss you around, unless that’s what you’re wanting today to be about. I can take those reigns from you. I’m better at this after all. Less...flustered,” you pause, sucking and nipping at his neck, enjoying the indecisive flex of his fingers on your upper arms.

He allows you one more bite and then he’s tossing you down, not caring where you land. Thankfully, you sprawl over his discarded jacket, the fabric sparing you from the neglected wooden floor. You’re trying to regain your bearings when you hear his belt clatter to the floor. You look up at him, watching as he flings that dark shirt away, showing you the lean muscles that you’ve wondered about for so long. God, for someone so lanky, he looks fucking good. 

Tomura smirks at your expression and swiftly yanks his pants and boxers away too, revealing something even more mouthwatering. Fuck, fuck, you think, an involuntary gasp leaving your lips. His cock is thick, pulsing and absolutely dripping with his precum. The tip is a lovely pink, curving toward that chiseled stomach of his and damn, you want to suck on it until he’s putty in your hands. 

As if he can read your mind, Tomura steps closer, giving himself a few tugs as he peers down on you, imperious and almost perfectly in control. “You want it?” He asks, trying to hide that sudden shift in his voice, wanting to show you that he understands what you’re expecting from him. You nod and bite your lip, looking up at him from feathery eyelashes. 

“Come here,” he requests, slowing those pulls and letting his precum slip from his fist to the floor, tempting you with those tiny droplets of arousal. Obediently, you rise to your knees, fingers tracing up his thighs, smiling at the light buckling he gives you, his calves twitching and shaking. 

You tease your way to the apex of his hips and pause, lingering along that dip of his stomach. “Can I taste you?” you question coquettishly and you adore the moan that falls from his lips. 

Taking that as a yes, you slowly lower your mouth to him, ghosting the tip of him over you. Rubbing him back and forth, painting that thick precum over your lips until they’re glistening. Tiring of this little game, his fingers dip into your hair and he grips you, hard. With one pull, he’s burying that velvet heat of his length past the ring of your lips and into the sweet cavern of your mouth. His cock swells and throbs as you lap ravenous at the hefty weight of him.

He’s salty and earthy and you let your tongue swirl over his slit, lapping into that leaking gap until he’s murmuring nonsense over you. He’s almost too big for you to take, so one of your hands lifts and wraps around his base, easing your sucks and ensuring that none of him is left out of this gift of mind numbing ecstasy you’re bestowing upon him. 

There are several veins, racing along the side of his cock and you tickle along each of them, pressing until you can feel the beat of his heart, frantic and fluttering. Soon, he begins to silently ask you for more, rutting his hips against your face, scraping himself along the back of your throat. When you heave around him he lets out a loud, elongated moan and digs in again, lingering until you’re nearly choking. 

You chance a peek up at him and are surprised to see him gazing right back, those red eyes of his clouded and muddled. His hand keeps an insistent pressure against the back of your head, demanding that you keep going. So, you pick up the pace, lapping and sucking, hollowing your cheeks until a thin line of your drool begins to trickle along your chin, dripping onto your knees.

“Can...can I…” he begins, fingers starting to tremble, his knees buckling. No, that’s not what you want from him. You shake free of his hand, letting him slip from your mouth, and he stammers and sputters at the loss, his eyes narrowed and dark, glaring at you with a raw frustration. 

“No,” you tell him, keeping one hand on him, stroking him, maintaining that steady pressure until he’s grunting, his hips instinctively canting into the tantalizing motion. “No, you don’t ask me for anything. Yeah, I can finish you off, if you need me to take control, but it’s not going to be on your terms. If you’re wanting something Tomura, you better fucking take it. Stop asking me for permission. I’m not-- mmph--”

He rips your hand off of his dick and his fingers curl beside your ears, forcing your mouth back, and impaling you on his length, immediately gagging you on his heady thrusts. You inhale sharply, your breath catching, failing as he keeps railing into you. More saliva slides out of your lips and you falter, a weak whimper echoing around him. 

“Mmm,” he growls, holding your face as he presses against the back of your throat loving the clenching and mewls you give him. “That feels fucking good, (Y/N). Taking all of my cock, ah- fucking choking on it. You’re so fucking greedy. Don’t worry, I’ll give you more. Let’s see, what would make this even better, oh, I know. Saw it in a porn once. Put your hands behind your back and don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Immediately, you clasp your fingers together, letting them rest against your lower back. The suspension knocks you off kilter, but Tomura braces your head with his other hand, pinning you between his palms. His dick is still lancing in and out of your mouth, scraping against your tonsils, making you swallow and open, trying to push yourself past that oppressive gagging sensation.

“Ahhh, such a good girl, now spread your legs and lift up, just a little bit, yes- right there. Better keep those hands still,” he taunts, pulling his cock out until it hangs against your lower lip, glimmering with the sheen of your ministrations. Then, he dives back in, thrusting and grinding until his balls are papping against your soaking chin. Your legs tremble as you hold yourself up and you can feel your own arousal, slipping down your inner thighs, splattering onto that dark trench coat of his. 

You’re heaving under him, grunting and slobbering trying to not fucking choke on the girth that’s being pistoned into you. He’s gasping praise at you, his white head thrown back, and his lower abdomen is rippling, letting you know he’s so, so close to spilling down your abused throat. He bows over you as he cums, spewing thick ropes of his release into you. You gulp at him, determined to let every last drop slither down your waiting throat, longing to savor everything that he’s giving you. 

True to your promise, you keep your hands clasped and you nearly topple over when he tugs free of your lips. Tomura takes pity on your wilted form and lowers himself to his knees, wrapping one hand around you and tapping twice on your shaking digits, letting you know you can relax your grip. You fall forward, and he waits above you, watching you with a mounting fascination. Once you catch your breath, you look up at him, not caring that you’re still covered in a mix of tears, spit and his cum. He smirks at your dishevelment, pleased by your open display of your wanton lust for him. 

“See? It’s not hard to take what you want, to do what you want,” you pant, still trying to gulp down a few more rough intakes of air.

Tomura sucks his teeth at your bravado, but you notice he’s having a little bit of trouble steading his own breathing and his hands are twitching as they reach for you. You hum when he cups at your dips and curves, lingering over spots that make you moan for him. As he plucks at one of your puckered nipples his eyes lift to yours and he leans close, pressing a wet line of kisses against your collarbone.

“Lay back,” he rumbles, still sucking at the hollow of your throat. You do as he says, propping yourself on your elbows, curious and waiting. He’s slowed down now that he’s slaked that first brush of pent up aggression, but he’s still got a little more to burn. You can see it, lingering behind his vermillion eyes, gleaming under the carnal intrigue. 

His fingers, so dangerous and deadly, race down your sides, falling to the juncture of your legs and dipping into the slick that he finds. He parts your folds, bracing himself over you, his lips sucking bruises into your skin. The gossamer threads of your leaking cunt run down his fingers and onto his open palm and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose to your skin and inhaling, deeply. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice scraping, like sandpaper, hoarse and undone along your heated cheek. Ok, you think, arching as he dips one digit into you, you can let him have that one question, especially when your mind is fogging over like this, unable to think of anything but that ache that’s pounding through your core. You roll your hips again, urging that finger to slip further and he hisses as you pull him in, your walls trembling at the intrusion. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lifting himself to look down at you, his eyes wide with an awed marvel. “You’re so…”

“Mmm, so what?” you ask, wanting him to keep talking to you, loving rasp of his tone as it tells you such sinful things.

“So soft and warm and...God...so wet,” he replies, adding another finger, watching as you whine for him, your lower lips parting and welcoming him. He pumps the digits, in and out, at a steady rate, waiting for each quiver and ripple, trying to feel his way along, wanting to please you. 

“Can--” he stops himself, flushing as your eyes open and snap to his, a rough displeasure written over your face. He tears his gaze from yours and scowls, letting his fingers press a rougher rhythm into you, sucking his teeth at his unspoken inexperience. 

“This feels good,” you reassure him, not wanting to completely leave him adrift, knowing that he does need a little piece of guidance, for this part, at least. “Why don’t you get a closer look?” 

Tomura looks back to you and nods before sliding down your body, lowering himself until he’s face to face with his prize. His mouth drops and he licks at his chapped lips, painting a few, warm, exhales against your sensitive folds. You squirm at the sensation and he grins, leaning closer, his free hand spreading you for his inspection. 

“Is this…” his voice trails off and you can feel him wandering his way to just the right spot. When he lifts the fleshy hood of your clit and thumbs the distended pearl you gasp and shiver, your head falling back against his jacket, thumping against the floor. 

He laughs and you can feel him getting ready to swipe at you again, his thumb already slippery and near, the heat of it radiating against that sensitive bundle. “You like that,” he crows, repeating the motion until you’re writhing. “But—” he ponders, moving so his lips are pressed against you, resting on those sopping folds, waiting for you to look up at him. Once your head lifts and your eyes meet his, he lowers his mouth, sliding his tongue over you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your hands automatically lifting and curling into his hair, threading the white tendrils along your palms. His tongue is rough and bumpy as it glides along, pausing to lap at some of your arousal. He smacks his lips at the taste, savoring the flavor before voraciously pressing back into you for more. When he pauses his explorations to give your clit a soft suck, you can’t help but flail, your back bowing and thighs tightening around his head. 

Tomura grunts at the rough treatment, prying your legs apart but not letting up on that suction, pleased he’s found something that makes you tremble to pieces in his hands. He’s always liked working you up, so it makes sense that, in this instance, he’s no different. 

His long digits are scraping into you, dragging along your quivering walls and spreading your cunt apart, leaking your arousal all over his jacket and onto his chin. He’s not satisfied yet, you’re not satisfied yet, so he keeps going, listening and watching, catching on to what makes you cry out his name, learning and adapting at an alarming speed. 

“T-Tomura,” you keen, your hips lifting, grinding yourself against his face, begging him to not stop. You feel a smirk lift his lips and his tongue begins to circle and lick over your clit, maintaining a steady pressure. Meanwhile, his fingers have latched onto something delicate and spongy within your pussy, repeating an arched gesture, curling and uncurling as they stroke your budding flames higher. 

“So good…” you murmur, hardly able to form the words as you feel that all encompassing tingle race along your bloodstream. “You’re doing so f-fucking good.” 

In response, he begins to suckle on your clit, lightly tracing a canine over the pulsing bundle and that’s all that it takes. Your head dips back, pressing into the floor so hard that your neck arches with your back and your legs wrap around him, holding him to you as you quiver and shake under him. You can feel your heartbeat as you return to yourself, thumping a rapid beat over your breastbone and radiating out to your fingers and toes. 

Tomura, for his part, hadn’t stopped lapping at you, his tongue replacing his fingers as he pushes the wet appendage into you, soaking up each wave of your release. Even when you’d dropped your death grip, your legs and arms flopping away from him, boneless and shaking, he’d kept on. After a few minutes of this, his lips suddenly feel a little too ragged, the chapped skin scratching against your sensitive, overstimulated, flushed lower lips. You do your best to wriggle away, but he stills your movements, not quite finished. 

“Ah- that...it’s starting to hurt,” you grouse, pushing a hand against his bowed head. That declaration seems to get through and, finally placated, he gives you one last lick and lifts his head, his eyes glinting down on you, dark and mischievous. 

“I want to fuck you,” he tells you, wiping a hand across his mouth, dragging the last of your essence away. You tilt your head and grin up at him. “So fuck me,” you reply, spreading your legs again, making room for his trim hips.

“Not like this,” he qualifies, his eyes hooded as he runs a hand along your leg, enjoying your skin, warm and pliant under his palm.

“Then how?” you ask, a little bewildered by this shift in attitude. Tomura leans up, resting on his haunches, leering at your nakedness, another smirk lifting his lips, arching that scar.

“Stand up,” he instructs. 

You pull your legs away and slowly rise to your feet, waiting for him to do the same. Once the two of you are eye level again, he tugs you to him, his lips pulling and nipping at yours. You can’t help but melt into his persistent touch and when he feels you slacken against him, he starts to push you backwards. He walks you slowly, carefully, but once your back touches the cold wall, his caresses become rougher, more insistent. 

He’s lifting your chin and his teeth are doing more biting than nipping, pulling at your lips until you’re gasping and swollen. He begins to lift away and you protest the movement, but his hand presses into your chest, shoving you back to the wall. You freeze at the forceful treatment, your eyes opening and fastening onto his. Waiting for his next move.

Tomura’s regained that wild look, his eyes hardening, sharpening like ruby slips of flint as they linger over you. “Turn around and brace your hands against the wall,” he commands and, for an instant, you debate pushing back, challenging his order, but that’s not what you’re here for. No, you’d come here with one thought in mind. 

To see if you could show him what choices, what strong inner drive, wholly independent of his Sensei, he did have. 

You’d watched that kidnapping debacle and all you could think about was how much better, how much stronger he’d be if he could just get out from under the thumb of that man, that voice on the tv. Even with this informal exercise of your own, Tomura had taken to your carnal lessons like a fish to water. He had always been a natural born leader, someone who cultivated and demanded change, he just needs a chance to try. A chance to prove that he didn’t need to ask permission, to ask questions. No, he only needed to act and he could make his aspirations a reality. 

So, you turn, splaying your fingers against the wall and waiting for his next move, tilting your head, wanting to see him. He runs a calloused hand over the plush swell of your ass, kneading the skin and stepping closer. Once his hips are flush with your posterior, he ruts his newly re-hardened cock against you, his ever copious precum aiding his motion, letting him glide between your cheeks, easing into that cleft. You groan and press back, wordlessly asking for him to keep going. 

Suddenly, his palm smacks against your ass, stinging the flesh and sending a sharp crack around the barren room. “I said, push out more. How am I supposed to fuck you when you’re plastered to the wall like that?” Tomura questions, his voice deep and guttural. You brace your hands against the peeling wallpaper and jut your ass out, presenting yourself to him, quietly hoping he’ll reward you with another spank. Pleased, Tomura does just that, his other hand lifting and smarting against your other, neglected cheek, imprinting his mark on you, even if it’s only for a brief moment, and his fingers linger on the warmth he’s raised from your skin. 

“Good girl,” he groans, taking his cock in his hand and searching for that weeping entrance to your waiting pussy. You aid him as best as you can, arching your hips until he finally, finally slips into you. Tomura lets out a deep sigh as your cunt devours his cock, slicking him into the heat of your rippling channel. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, pressing until his hips are flush with your ass, grinding his bony hipbone into your supple softness.

He gives you a brief second to adjust before he bows his head over your shoulder, panting and grunting. “Hold on,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then ramming his straining cock back into you. You mewl at the sudden ferocity of his thrusts, your head dipping against the steady weight of the wall. 

He offers you no reprieve as he pounds into you, his teeth latching onto your skin, sucking and drooling, losing himself in you. His balls tap against your swelled ass and you moan when he traces one hand around you, his fingers seeking your clit and pinching at the nub. 

Your teeth begin to chatter, but he doesn’t let up, maintaining that mind numbing pace, pressing and grinding until you can’t fucking think straight. He’s completely untethered and he slakes out all of those pent up questions, feelings, hurts and wants against you. After a time, he begins to murmur things to you, finally sucking up his loose tongue and resting his chin on the mess he’s left on your skin.

He’s worried he can’t do it. 

He’s never been alone, not like this. 

Sure, he has the others, he has Kurogiri, but it’s not the fucking same. 

He needs to see this through. 

He wants to, he has to.

Where do you go, when there’s no one else to turn to?

It’s like a confessional, this rutting he’s doing and it’s bleeding all of those thoughts away, letting them pool against the front of his mind and then, pop, they shift away. 

Oh this helps, he thinks, loving how you’re fucking taking him, how much you fucking need him. He can’t let you go. He can’t, he won’t. You’re all he has left. After all this, he can’t lose anything else. No, you were right, he’s gotta start taking things, snatching up pieces until he becomes this unstoppable force, greater than his Sensei, greater than All Might, greater than all of them. Yes, yes, yes, when he has you like this, everything else feels so fucking simple. 

He’s slowing, his hips beginning to stutter and press erratically against you. There’s no need to worry about you cumming for him, not when you’ve already broken around him so many times in the last few minutes. No, the second he started panting all of those thoughts against you, you were lost, your cunt gripping him so tightly you were worried it might never let go. 

Finally, with one last thrust, Tomura grinds his hips against you, his cock swelling and pulsing as he spills himself into you. The sensation of his cum splashing against your walls hurtles you over that edge one last time and you almost collapse, your legs shaking so badly you can't support your own weight. The only thing that prevents you from falling is Tomura. His arms snake around your waist and he holds you to him, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder, sticking to your skin. 

After a long beat, Tomura pulls himself out of you, grunting at the loss of your warmth and sinks to the floor, dragging you with him. Naked and gasping, the two of you cling to the other, waiting for the world to stop spinning as you come back to yourselves. Tomura recovers first, tugging you to his chest and wrapping himself around you, his chin perched on the familiar slope of your shoulder.

“You didn’t...you didn’t need to do this, but...” Tomura halts, his voice soft as his lips press rough kisses to your skin, silently saying what he really means, what you mean to him.

“That’s not true,” you counter, turning your head toward him. “You deserve to make a choice for yourself. You’re your own boss now. Now all you have to do is act like it. Don’t make those mistakes again. You call the shots, not your Sensei, not anyone else in the League, just you. You’ll have other choices soon, so don’t doubt yourself, it’s not like you.”

He huffs out a laugh and buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent as he licks at a rising bruise. “I don’t think you’ll like my next choice,” he rumbles, one hand drifting over your side and cupping the soft mound of your breast.

“That depends on what it is,” you smile, your eyes closing at the tempting touch.

“Mmm, do me a favor,” he begins, nipping at your earlobe. “Get on your knees and open your mouth. You looked so fucking pretty when you were sucking on my cock, I wanna see it, one more time.”

“What?” you question, absolutely incredulous, “again?”

“Do as I say (Y/N),” he replies, rubbing his rising length along your ass.

“God,” you gasp, bucking at the sensation, “what have I done? At this rate, I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“You’ll like it,” Tomura promises, his voice dark, “I’ll make sure that you do.”

Notes: never have i ever liked that kidnapping bullshit. i guess it lets AFO face off with All Might, but for Tomura’s development? it makes no sense and he’s never done anything like that again, in canon. so, uh, yeah. booo kidnapping scheme. 

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

[solastia]

Say You Won’t Let Go | 5

Pairing: Namjoon x Jimin x Seokjin

Word Count: 6,721

Warnings: Violence, referenced omega abuse, minor character death

Author Note: My lack of battle knowledge shows, I'm afraid. I kinda rushed through it because I couldn't figure out how to make it sound interesting lmao. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter of a story that is taking way too long to write! I'll try to get the next one out faster, especially since I know y'all just want to see what goes down during Jimin's heat.

PLEASE don't fill up my comments with nothing but, "OH MY GOD YOU UPDATED!" Y'all guilt trip me worse than my mama

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

A light mist showered over the training grounds, making the ground beneath them soggy. He knew if anyone would slip in the mud it would be him, so he watched the ground with careful eyes as he walked around assessing his troop’s progress.

Namjoon cracked his neck as he silently watched his villagers learning to defend themselves. He knew that if this really turned into a war they would be at a disadvantage, as they’d admittedly gone a bit soft. It had been nearly a hundred years since the last big tribe war, and they’d focused on advancing their village rather than fighting for more land.

He turned towards the direction that would take him home, sniffing in vain for some hint of his mate. He knew he wouldn’t be able to smell him this far away, but it didn’t stop him from wishing.

When his thoughts weren’t taken over by worries, they were occupied by thoughts of his sweet little mate. His Jimin, who was no doubt at home going crazy with worry and stress. He had no doubt that Jimin would do his best to protect their people, he just hoped someone was looking out for him. He’d try to do everything himself if someone didn’t force him to delegate.

He probably should have made some sort of arrangements for Seokjin as well, he thought sheepishly. He hoped the man would be doing alright in a village where he knew literally no one. He was also relieved when he realized his thoughts of the man no longer felt influenced by alpha instincts or needs of any kind. His claim was settled and he was free to consider the man with a rational frame of mind.

Truthfully, there was nothing much for him to consider. The omega seemed nice enough, and sure he was attractive, but Namjoon felt nothing when he tried to picture the man naked to assess his reaction. Well, nothing beyond the guilt that he felt knowing what another omega looked like underneath him. He’d always been a one-person man and it just wasn’t in him to consider even trying to force himself to think of Seokjin romantically. Friends, maybe. Sure.

Besides, his Jiminie was a needy little thing and wrung every drop of affection that was in Namjoon to give.

He smiled again, his thoughts once more on his mate. How he adored the man. He had been perfectly content to live out his days without pups and pass on his title to one of his nephews. Sadly, it appeared as though his mate had been correct in thinking that their childless state posed a challenge that others couldn’t pass up.

Theirs was a fertile land that they’d been cultivating for several generations now. It was almost unheard of for packs to truly settle in one spot, but they had been lucky enough to find such a lush land to call their own. Good soil, healthy and plentiful game, clean rivers and lakes - even their huge mountain was worthy of envy, as it provided so much protection and resources. The friendly human village that was always happy to trade with them was something to go to war for all by itself.

He sighed and turned his attention back to his men, observing their progress. Yoongi was a brutal trainer - merciless and always seeking perfection. Normally, he wouldn’t have given him such free reign but he’d decided that his right hand’s brand of tough love was what they needed the most at the moment. They didn’t have the luxury of time.

He’d sent a messenger to the Kim’s tribe, figuring him marrying into them should provide reason enough for them to send him more warriors. He had no faith that a message to get there and forces sent in enough time to help them with a battle if it came to that - it was rather a backup plan. In case they should fall, perhaps the sent warriors could at the very least save the pack they’d left behind.

The sound of feet running through puddles reached his ear and he swirled around to catch one of his scouts rushing towards him. The man was running so fast he couldn’t stop in time to prevent him from slipping into the damp ground. Namjoon reached out a hand and hauled the man up, narrowing his eyes as they met the frantic ones of his best scout.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“They’re here!” The man panted. “They didn’t go through the western forest as we thought. We suspect they went downriver instead. They’re already here, Alpha.”

Namjoons’ heart dropped right to his stomach. They weren’t ready. They weren’t…

Gentle hands pried his fingers from his hair and Yoongi’s sharp eyes bored into him. “Joon?”

“They’re already here. They’re…” He turned to his scout. “Where exactly are they, Yuen?”

“I spotted them setting up camp next to the cliffs.”

“Shit,” Yoongi hissed. “That’s only a twenty-minute walk from here.”

Namjoon hung his head, reaching up to rub his suddenly aching eyes.

“We have no choice but to be ready. Yoongi, Round up the men. Collect three of your best to be added to our personal party. We move out the moment you’re ready.”

Yoongi nods briskly and turns to roar orders. Namjoon spots Jungkook and waves him over. The younger alpha jogs to him and Namjoon grabs his shoulders.

“You are not going to like this, but…”

Jungkook interrupts him, “I’m not staying behind.”

“You are ,” he nods firmly, Jungkook’s mouth opening again to argue. He shakes his head, effectively shutting him up.

“I’m not going to make you stay right here, just in the back of the men. If things go south, I need you to be ready to run back to the village immediately. I’m not saying this because you’re weak - in fact, if I could I would have you up there with me and Yoongi because you’re better than both of us. It’s because I trust that you would be able to reach the village before any of our enemies could get there and save our people. Save our mates.”

Jungkook bows his head and softly asks, “You really think it’s going to go that way?”

Namjoon shrugs. “Dunno, Gukkie. I’ve certainly never dealt with this any more than the rest of us have. I just figured our best chance of survival is to expect the worst and hope for the best.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’ll stay back there?”

Jungkook nods then shakes his overly long hair with a grin. “Besides, your other option is probably Yoongi and it would take him two years to power walk back to the village.”

“Brat,” Namjoon chuckles fondly, pushing the man away from him. “Help him get everyone going.”

Jungkook nods and runs off, plowing into Yoongi’s back instead of stopping properly. Namjoon shakes his head and turns to sniff the air again in vain. He missed Jimin fiercely.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Once assembled, their party made good time reaching the cliffs. Namjoon decided their best course of action was to simply walk up to the outsider’s camp and demand answers. In fact, their leader most likely expected that since Namjoon would be well within his rights to do so. They were “visitors” on his land, after all.

Once their camp came into view, Namjoon paled, momentarily stunned. They had brought so many warriors, all of them painted and well-armed. This was definitely no negotiation party.

He forced himself to calm and pulled his shoulders back, bringing himself to full height and allowing his scent to permeate the air around him until even his own men were gritting their teeth against the blatant demand for submission. He gathered Yoongi and several of the warriors that he’d picked to surround him and strode forward.

He noticed several scouts and lookouts stand to attention but they made no move to stop him, nor to run back to their camp to inform their leader. Either they were in too much shock or…

“Ah, there you are, pup.”

A man stood in the center of their camp surrounded by several burly warriors with axes strapped to their backs. The man himself was armed with a massive club strapped to his hip and a bow on his back. He was stocky, not in very good shape, and was probably around the same age as his father. His scent indicated he was Pack Alpha, but it was sour, tinged with age and some sickness underneath.

“You are the Yang Alpha, I presume,” he inquired with as much politeness as he could manage.

“Indeed, my boy. Come join me by the fire. I’ve come for a little…chat.”

“You will speak to him with respect,” Yoongi growled, his hand tightening on a dagger strapped to his thigh.

The Yang Alpha chuckled, waving them forward. “What a loyal little beta you have there.”

Namjoon simply nodded and waved Yoongi down. He could tell what sort of man this was already. Nothing he said was going to have much of a difference. He already thought he was superior to them simply because of his age - and perhaps his warriors who have no doubt seen many battles.

He followed behind the Yang guards as they led them to their central fire and sat on the offered log. Yoongi stayed standing at his right and his other guards gathered behind him.

The Alpha proceeds to act like they weren’t even there, picking up his meal that he must have set aside earlier and tearing into a chicken leg. Namjoon startles at that for a moment, trying not to let his worry show. Unless this man’s war party traveled with a bunch of chickens, they had been in Namjoon’s village. Someone had snuck in and spied on them, and now he was eating the stolen chicken right in front of him like a taunt.

Namjoon clears his throat, willing his body to appear unbothered.

“I’m sure you are aware of why I’m here. State your business on my lands.”

The Alpha belches and licks his fingers clean, smacking his lips with satisfaction. He tosses the bone into the fire and only then does he see fit to look at Namjoon in the eyes.

He raises an eyebrow, his lips curling in a mocking smile.

“Ah, pup. No need for aggression. I’m simply here to look out for my neighbors,” the man shrugs nonchalantly. “I’d heard of your… troubles even across in my land so I thought I should come and lend a hand.”

“And what kind of hand do you think we need?” Namjoon asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his tone.

“Ah, well. At first, I thought I’d give you one of my daughters. I have far too many of them anyway and their mothers were all certainly fertile as rabbits,” he smacks his tongue against his teeth and sighs. “Then I got a real good look at this land. Fertile soil, steady water supply, a village full of hard little workers.”

Namjoon’s jaw clenches as he waits for the inevitable. “Uh-huh…”

The alpha shrugs again and drawls, “And then I thought the best hand I could lend is my own. You’re a young pup and I’m sure you’re trying your best, but with a land like this to protect and your line unsecured, well…” he waves around. “Half of these warriors are my own sons. My line will be secure for hundreds of years. Figured I’d do your people a favor.”

Namjoon grits his teeth, wiling his alpha down. He desperately wanted to just lunge and tear the man’s throat out, but he knew he needed to be smarter than that.

The other Alpha snaps his fingers and bellows for wine. A moment later the scent of omega hit Namjoon’s unsuspecting nose. Why would the man have omegas in his war party?

The omega was male and jogged towards the Alpha with a full cup of sour-scented wine, and somehow doesn’t trip despite his eyes never leaving the ground beneath him. Namjoon felt his anger somehow grow further when he took in the state of the omega - the way his ribs poked out as though it had been far too long since he’d seen a good meal, the bruises that mottled his skin from head to toe, the state of his wrapping that barely covered him and was hardly in good enough shape to be considered a cleaning rag. The omegas scent was muted, as though the body was trying its best to protect itself. However, it was still enough for Namjoon to catch the hint of bright citrus hiding behind the muted emotions. He’s never seen an omega treated in such a way. They were to be protected and cherished, not treated as though they were even lower than the chubby dogs sitting on either side of the Alpha leader.

Suddenly, he noticed that Yoongi had gone deathly still at his side and he glanced up, noting the stricken expression on his second’s face. He knew full well that Yoongi hid a bleeding heart underneath all his gruffness, but he didn’t think this was what that was. Yoongi began to growl and he watched in disbelief as the omega’s nose twitched and he slowly glanced up to stare at Yoongi in wonder.

“I see your beta has his eye on my bitch. Reaching a bit far there, eh? Even a male omega is  too high above a beta ,” he laughed cruelly, spitting out the designation like a slur.

Namjoon observed the pair curiously then turned back to the alpha. He figured his best bet for getting out of here safely was to distract the man from what he thought was happening.

“What are your terms for leaving without a fight?”

The man guffawed, a bit of spittle flying in the air. “No fight? Impossible, my boy. Unless you were willing to sit there and let me end you here and now, of course.”

Yoongi managed to tear his gaze from the omega long enough to growl at the man. The alpha simply sneers and grabs the omega by his hair and tugs him down to his knees in front of him. He runs his hands through the tangled auburn locks, silently mocking Yoongi.

“What, have you imprinted on him? Is he your precious little mate? Too bad. He’s mine. In fact, I’ve been thinking about breeding him since my last bitch is about to burst. Gotta give the new pup a friend, eh?”

Yoongi’s hand tightened around his dagger and pulled it halfway out of its sheath before Namjoon was able to place a restraining hand on his arm. He shakes his head and Yoongi lowers his hand, near-silent growls vibrating his whole body.

“I can see that there is no peaceful solution to be had with you, therefore I’m issuing you an official challenge. I will give you this evening to pack up and leave. If not, we will meet you at dawn and it will be a fight.”

Namjoon stood and placed a comforting hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, squeezing gently to urge him to fight his instincts. The man may have been a beta, but he was more alpha than many born to it.

He observed helplessly as the omega watched them leave, first soft whimpers then omega keening the further they got. The sound broke even his heart - he could only imagine how Yoongi felt.

They left the camp with Yoongi ahead of him and guards surrounding them both. He stared at his best friends overly straight back as he marched forward - no sign of the normal casual slouch that he was practically known for.

“Hyung, I doubt they are going to leave. There’s going to be a battle and I promise you that we’ll get him out. Do you trust me?”

Yoongi’s shoulders release the tiniest bit of tension, though not enough. “I hear you, Joon. I just…I can’t believe I finally found them. I found my mate and they…Joon. Did you fucking see him? He’s so beautiful but they…they hurt him. And he’s so scared. I’m a fucking beta and I could smell how terrified he was, that’s how bad it was. Who does that to an omega? A fucking monster, that’s who. You shoulda let me gut him, Joon. I coulda fixed it all right there.”

“And then his entire war party would have descended on us immediately and we would have been wiped out.”

Yoongi grunts and hangs his head.

“Hey, Joon?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you scent him?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, it was a bit muted cuz he’s been traumatized I think. Can happen when a body is trying to protect it…but underneath it all, he kinda smelled like those oranges you always carry in your pockets.”

Yoongi snapped his head up to stare at him in wonder. “Really?”

“Yeah. If I can smell it that well even though his body is trying to mute it, it’s probably going to be strong enough for even you to scent when we get him well again.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi was smiling like a dope, and Namjoon chuckled silently. It was a new look for his friend but it suited him. Yoongi finally finding his mate was at least one good thing to come out of all this madness. The man had long ago resigned himself to living without one despite everyone assuring him that it would happen eventually.

Namjoon sighed and watched the sun lower itself on the horizon. The symphony of oranges, reds and blues usually brought a smile to his lips, but this night it merely made him anxious.

“Yoongi, make sure every man we have is alert tonight. Lookouts especially, but I don’t think anyone should sleep tonight.”

“You think they are bastards enough to attack in the middle of the night…” he pauses and curses, answering his own question. “Of course they are. I’ll let everyone know.”

Namjoon nods and faces the horizon again.

They’d make it through this - they had to.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

They’d put out the fires hours ago and simply waited. Many of the men that weren’t as proficient with weapons had shifted already, preferring to rely on their wolves in battle instead. Namjoon had chosen not to. He wanted to be standing tall and meet the old bastard face to face when he cut him down for threatening his people and upsetting his mate. Because of pathetic Alphas like this one, his mate had felt worthless enough to demand they add another to their home - to his bed - just to protect their village. He was furious that Jimin had been proven right.

Yoongi silently stalked towards the large rock that Namjoon perched on, his black form blending into the dark of the night perfectly. He jumped up and settled next to him, his ears standing tall and following every sound. He slightly bumped against Namjoon, a familiar motion that made him sigh.

“I’m good, just...angry. We haven’t bothered anyone in at least a hundred years. We have no desire to go around stealing land and killing people. Yet, just because we haven’t been able to have a pup we are suddenly deemed weak and unworthy? It’s so old-fashioned and just...barbaric. Because of this way of thinking I had to hurt three people - myself fucking included - by adding another person to my marriage just for his potential ability to breed. What happens if he can’t have pups either? What the hell am I expected to do then?”

His breathing is growing more erratic the more upset he gets and he clenches his fists tightening, whispering all of his hurts into the night.

“I...Yoongi...this has been so hard for me too. I know that everyone feels bad for Jimin and like, he’s been trying to keep it together in front of me, but I’m hurting too. I’ve never wanted anyone besides him. I’ve known since I was a kid that he was the love of my life. And like, every time we got pregnant I was both elated and terrified because it hurt me to lose the pups....but I was always afraid of losing him more. It just got worse and worse every time he lost them. That last time when I got home...he was laying on the ground surrounded by blood...I thought that was it. And if he died, I would follow him, Yoongi. Pack or not.”

The beta whines quietly and rubs his nose against Namjoon’s shoulder.

“Having Seokjin around is hard now, too. I’d forgotten about how strong the alpha instinct is to mark when you complete the ceremony. I had this idea that I’d...I don’t know. Hand him a cup full of jizz or something and let him take it from there,” he laughs self-deprecatingly. “I don’t feel anything for him besides curiosity and I hope that we’ll be able to be friends at least. I just...I feel so bad and guilty. And I just…” Namjoon sniffled and wiped at his dampening eyes. “I don’t even know if I’m making sense right now, hyung. Everything is so scrambled up there and now I have this...fucking war shit. I’m tired and I just want to go home and nest with Jimin.”

A tiny lick on Namjoon’s cheek was his only answer, but it was enough for now. He laughs softly, wiping another stray tear.

“Thanks, Yoon. Love you too.”

He sighs and leans back, staring up at the stars above him. He really was emotionally exhausted. When all of this was over - if he even survived it - he was making his father take over for a while while he took a nice vacation. He decided the least his village could do for him after everything he’d sacrificed recently was not bother him while he got his life with his mate back on track.

Yoongi suddenly stiffened next to him, bringing him to attention. He heard it next - a rustle of leaves and the occasional crunch of someone stepping on an acorn or some other debris.

They were here.

He could see them now, the red and gold eyes of the shifted warriors stalking through the trees. He sniffed the air, waiting for the leader to make himself known. Even as his own men threw themselves in front of him, effectively blocking any foolish enough to attack him directly, he waited…and waited.

He wasn’t showing up.

Namjoon lowly growled at the cowardice of the man. He was brave enough to trek across the land and try to steal from his pack, but fighting his own battles was asking far too much, apparently.

At his signal, his men leap forward and attacked the foreign warriors. There was no need for frills and banners - he simply wanted them gone. Yoongi was still sticking close to him, but his nose too was searching the air for the absent leader.

Namjoon bellowed his rage as he watched some of his people fall, the enemy ruthless with their kills. Hundreds of warriors fought in the makeshift battlefield, the ferocious growls and pained cries imprinting themselves into Namjoon’s nightmares for years to come. Jungkook was thankfully following instructions and staying as far from the front line as possible, but still managed to make a few kills. Trusting that the boy was safe for now, he throws himself further into the fray, his skills with a sword untried and rusty but enough to fight off shifted warriors for now.

Suddenly, Yoongi howls and leaps away from him, running forward at a speed that Namjoon didn’t even know he had in him. He cursed and shifted to follow behind, fearing that Yoongi had seen Jungkook in trouble or something equally horrifying. His confusion grew as Yoongi sailed right past the battlefield and kept going towards the enemy camp. He tried to bark orders to stop so he could get an explanation, but Yoongi either didn’t hear him or refused to obey because he only went impossibly faster, his sleeker form streaking through the trees and making it difficult for Namjoon’s wolf to keep up. While he was the biggest wolf the village had seen in years, he lacked any sort of agileness or grace. Usually, it wasn’t that much of a problem, but Yoongi charging into an enemy camp without backup would be.

When the cliffside camp finally came into view, Yoongi went charging past the guards and Namjoon was still a few leagues behind, having already tripped three times and leaving dirt and twigs clinging to his platinum-hued fur.

Nearly panting with effort, he too ignored the threats of the guards and trotted to where Yoongi stood growling at the Yang Alpha. The man had the omega they’d seen earlier held to the dirt-packed ground with a foot on his back, the rotting wrap that had been his only piece of clothing nowhere to be seen. There was a group of leering men standing around in a circle around the scene like it was simply entertainment. The rest of the pack continued with their duties all around the camp like this was a usual occurrence. Namjoon averted his eyes to give the omega some respect, keeping them glued to the offending alpha instead as he and Yoongi slowly shifted forms.

He unfurled and looked down his nose at the flabby alpha, towering over the now raging man. His fetid breath swirled in the air as he cursed Namjoon and Yoongi for their interruption.

Namjoon rumbled and stalked closer, uncaring of his nakedness as he postured. He had nothing to be ashamed of after all - especially next to this failure of a man. This man who bullied and abused omegas, who attacked peaceful packs unprovoked, who didn’t even have the balls to join the fight he had started.

“I was waiting for you, Yang. You were nowhere to be found. You aren’t backing out, are you?” Namjoon asked in a mocking tone, drawing the alpha’s attention to him and away from the beta who was now guarding the omega from view.

“Hardly,” the old man guffawed, vile spittle flying. “I thought instead it would be amusing to breed my bitch while his mate was being gutted. Poetic.”

Namjoon felt his growl rise to the surface like molten lava. “Instead, you are going to die.”

“Sorry, pup. Not this day.”

The old alpha waved at the group of warriors that had been standing around like spectators and they quickly shoved the man behind them and faced Namjoon.

There was nothing pretty about the way he fought his way through them. He simply forced his way through to the alpha with a brutal viciousness he didn’t even know he possessed. Two of the men were bashed together with so much force he was almost certain he broke them. Several others were shredded with half-extended claws and his canines. Before he knew it the ground around him was littered with bodies and only one remained between him and his prey.

“Please,” the man - no, he was practically a boy. No more than fifteen he thought. “He told me to watch. I didn’t want to. I didn’t even want to come here. He’s…”

“Shut up, you sniveling whelp,” the alpha grunted and shoved a dagger into the boy’s heart from behind.

Namjoon reached forward and caught the boy as he fell, staring into the bewildered eyes of the youth as he died in his arms. He lay him gently on the ground next to the other men and stared at the alpha with disgust.

“He was your own son , you monster!”

Namjoon’s eyes whirled to meet the hate-filled ones of the omega, who was now free of his bindings and glaring at the Yang alpha like he was a maggot he’d just found in his meal.

“He was weak,” the Yang alpha grunted derisively. “Was always telling me he didn’t want to fight or breed. Useless whelp wanted to be a healer like his bitch of a mother.”

The man seemed to suddenly realize he was out of shields when he peeked over at Namjoon then ran straight for the omega. Yoongi had begun to leap forward to block him, instead, the omega pushed him away and let the alpha grab him.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi’s voice was filled with hurt and confusion, and Namjoon didn’t blame him one bit. They were trying to save him - save everyone. Why would he let the crazed alpha have him?

“It’s alright. I belong to him. Don’t I, alpha?” the omega crooned, his voice like liquid honey.

“That’s right. You and everything we see are mine. It’s all mine,” the alpha nearly whispers as he pulls the omega’s back to his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Namjoon could see it now. The madness lurking behind the alpha’s near-crazed frantic eyes. There was something wrong with the man, and he suddenly remembers the sour scent when he’d first met him.

The omega releases a loud purr and allows the alpha to bury his face into the crook of his neck, his scent suddenly pouring out as if he’d just popped off the cap. Namjoon observes with trepidation as the omega seems to be slowly making the Yang alpha walk backward, his eyes locked with Yoongi’s as he allows his scent to fill the air for the first time in what must have been years.

“Omega, what are you doing?” Yoongi asks pleadingly, his hands out towards the man even as tears begin to fall from his eyes. Namjoon knows his friend must be overwhelmed right now - he was just able to fully scent his mate for the first time, as well as any alpha or omega would have.

“It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay,” he croons soothingly, petting the alpha still buried against his neck. “I’m going to make it all better.”

Namjoon has a horrible feeling in his gut as he finally notices how close they are getting to the edge of the cliff. There was nothing on the other side but a rocky ravine and if they should fall…

“Omega, come to me now,” he growled, trying to infuse as much alpha voice as he could into the command.

The man’s eyes glazed over slightly, but he squared his shoulders and shook his head. Namjoon was amazed at the man’s strength.

“I’m going to end this now.”

The omega suddenly turned in the alpha’s grip and placed both of his hands on the man’s chest.

“This is for my mother, for me, and for every other life you’ve terrorized.”

With a firm push, he sends the alpha tumbling off the cliff edge. The garbled yell as the scent-drunk man finally realizes what is happening to him reaches their ears, but neither Namjoon nor Yoongi go to watch the scene. Namjoon certainly didn’t want to have that image in his mind. The omega, however, stands there staring in silence, until a final thud signals the alpha’s fate.

He turns and faces the remaining members of the Yang pack as they all stare with expressions varying between horror and satisfaction.

“According to your own rules that state anyone who defeats pack alpha takes control, I am now leader of the pack. My first and only orders will be that anyone who wishes to leave the pack may do so now without fear of retribution. Everyone else will go back to the main village and stay there, never to come this way again. And finally, I am stepping down as leader immediately and leaving it to Kwon Jiyong.”

A quiet mild-smelling alpha that Namjoon had hardly noticed before glanced up sharply at the claim.

“Me?”

“Yes,” the omega nodded decisively. “You are one of the few that actually treats everyone well and has been strong against the corruption of this pack. You did what you could to help even when you were one man against hundreds. I don’t know how many times you’ve tended my wounds when alpha said to let them fester or snuck us food when we were being punished yet again. No one else here is more worthy of the title than you.”

“I…” the alpha gulped, staring nervously at all the gazes now on him. “I’ll do my best.”

The omega nodded and strode through the crowd with as much grace as a king of old, and seemingly uncaring of his nudeness or the battered state of his body. He walks right up to Yoongi and places his hands on his hips, cocking his head as he studies the beta.

“I’m Jung Hoseok,” he finally says with a tiny smile.

“I’m Min Yoongi,” he murmurs back, unable to tear his eyes from the omega.

The omega’s smile grows and his scent is once again swirling around them so strongly Namjoon is almost embarrassed. At least the man smelled good - mostly like the little oranges that Yoongi always ate, but with a few deeper notes that brought to mind a bright summer’s day. It was so strong that it was a good thing the man seemed to have a handle on muting it when he needed to, but he knew that it was a blessing for Yoongi. He could actually scent his mate - something he’d never believed he could do. He would be able to scent his mate’s emotions and health, bond properly...Namjoon nearly wanted to cry he was so happy for his friend.

Yoongi snaps his eyes away from the omega and suddenly starts to look around, frantically searching for something.

A tall beta quietly walks up to them and tears off his long crimson tunic, standing in nothing but worn leather wrappings. He offers it to the omega with a shy quirk of his lips.  

“It’s clean and has no scent, so it should last you until you find something better.”

The omega seems to gladly accept it and throws it on immediately, the fabric nearly reaching his shins.

“Thank you, Seunghyun,” Hoseok grins and the beta slinks back away as quiet as before.

“He’s not one of the ones that hurt you?” Yoongi grunted.

“No,” Hoseok shakes his head, sighing. “He’s a craftsman - makes and repairs our weapons. Jiyong will probably make him his right-hand man.”

The three of them stand there awkwardly for a moment as the remaining members of the war party seem to ignore them for the most part and begin preparations to leave.

“So,” Namjoon clears his throat. “Are you coming with us or staying with them?”

“Oh,” the omega blushes, glancing at Yoongi. “I was waiting to see what he wanted. Do you...want me to come with you?”

“YES!” Yoongi blurted, then cleared his throat and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I mean, sure. If you want. Whatever.”

“Great! Let’s go!” Hoseok laced his arm with Yoongi’s and tugged him along, leaving Namjoon - their pack alpha, mind you - trailing behind. Namjoon snorts to himself, thinking that his friend was about to have his life turned around more than he’d ever thought possible.

“Wow, you smell so good,” Hoseok suddenly purred, making Namjoon wish he could be anywhere else.

“Uh, that’s nice of you to say, but I’m beta. I don’t…”

“I can smell you, and I’m pretty sure you’re aware we’re mates so it’s probably because of that,” Hoseok chuckles, leaning down to take an exaggerated sniff of Yoongi’s neck.

The beta glanced up at him warily. “Yeah? What does it smell like?”

“Mmm, like fall.”

“What?” Yoongi scrunched his nose and even Namjoon leaned closer curiously to hear the explanation. He’d certainly never been able to scent Yoongi, and he’d known him all his life.

“Yeah, like...cinnamon and pine and maybe a hint of something else. It’s nice. Comforting.”

Yoongi’s shoulders went rigid and he fell silent. Years of studying his best friend gave him that the knowledge that the man was trying not to cry. He wanted to stop and hug him, but he also really wanted to hurry back to their own camp and put on some clothes.

Jungkook came running through the trees to meet them, thankfully bearing a bag full of clothing they always kept around for after a shift.

“Hyungs! Someone from the Yang side came through and stopped all the fighting. Said their alpha was dead and pulled everyone out. What happened?”

“Jung Hoseok here saved us all,” Namjoon reached up and grasped the omega’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Hoseok dropped his head shyly and blushed at the claim.

“Really? How?”

“Pushed the fucker right off a cliff,” Yoongi grunted with amusement. Hoseok squawks in dismay.

“Shit, that’s so cool. Are you coming back with us? My mate is a badass omega too - he’ll love you.”

“Yes,” Namjoon answered for the pair as they remained silent. “Hoseok and Yoongi are true mates. We need to get them back to the camp before their instincts take over. I’d also like to have a nice big meal for the evening to celebrate our victory and get some meat on his bones. Have a few of the men head out to hunt, please Gukkie?”

“On it, alpha!” Without another word he ran back the way he’d come, leaving Yoongi and Namjoon to quickly dress and continue their trek at a slower pace.

After a few more minutes of walking, Namjoon glanced over at Hoseok, studying him curiously.

“You know,” he finally says after a while. “You seem to be taking everything pretty well right now…” Namjoon was genuinely amazed at how strong this omega seemed to be. He’d just killed someone, left who knows how many years of abuse behind, has to be starving and cold - and yet he’s just grinning as he walks with Yoongi, swinging their linked arms like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Oh, believe me,” Hoseok chuckles. “I will be having a panic attack later, I can promise you that. There will be tears and crying and I probably will keep myself behind doors for a while,” he shrugs and glances over at Yoong with a fond smile. “I think I’m mostly alright at the moment because my omega is thrilled our mate is here. Kinda running high on pheromones and hormones right now.”

“Gotcha,” Namjoon shakes his head. “We’ll plan on the two of you...bonding...tonight, but we’ll have to pack up and head home tomorrow. It’s going to take a lot of work to get the village running smoothly again.”

The moment the camp is in sight Namjoon breathes a sigh of relief. If he was being brutally honest, he hadn’t thought he’d see it again. Hadn’t thought he’d get to go home. But here he was and he was just so ready to get to his mate again.

“Alpha.”

“Ah, Jackson. Good to see you’re alright,” Namjoon smiled brightly at a favored member of his inner circle.

“Thank you, alpha. Good to see you lot make it out alright too. Just wanted to update you before you found your bed.”

“Great. You two go on ahead,” Namjoon gives Yoongi a friendly tap on the back. “Get your mate fed and seen to by our healers before you do anything.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi mumbles, his cheeks nearly scarlet. Still, he grabs the omega’s hand and tugs him towards the central fire where the men are already prepping food for the evening meal.

He turns back to Jackson. “Report.”

“We have twenty-three men wounded, ten were killed. Arrangements have already been made to send the bodies home and we are doing what we can with the wounded. Most of their injuries can wait to be dealt with until we can take them home to healer Lily. A warrior came from the enemy encampment and informed everyone that the Yang alpha was dead and called the men back before we lost too many of our own.”

Namjoon sighs and thanks whoever would listen. He nods, “Thank you, Jackson. Go find your own rest. We pack up and head home tomorrow.”

Jackson grins and spins around, running back towards his personal group of friends. Namjoon sighs wearily and makes his way towards the tantalizing scent of roasting meat. He’d barely sat on a log before someone is shoving a bowl of food into his hands and he begins to eat automatically, just wanting the chore to be done so he could go to sleep. He stares at his friend Yoongi talking softly with his new mate while they fed each other bits of food like the disgusting saps he’d always suspected his friend would be.

One more night and he could start the journey home.

I’m almost there, Jiminie. I’m actually coming home to you, love.

[avintagekiss24]

heavy is the head that wears the crown; and the heart > bucky barnes

|| pairing: romanian!king!bucky barnes x black!queen!reader

|| word count: 3,273

|| warnings: language words

|| challenge: @marvelmaree‘s birthday challenge: royalty au + “i’ve dreamt about leaving so many times.” “that’s the problem with most people. they dream about what they want to do instead of really doing it.”

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ SSB2020 N1: modern royalty au

|| square filled: @buckybarnesbingo​ Y1: “i regret nothing.”

|| summary: there are many decisions to make as queen; some of the heart, some of the mind.

|| link: ao3

|| note: this is really late for maree’s birthday challenge! i’m so sorry babe, but i hope you like it! i hope it’s okay that i made it a modern royalty au instead of a traditional royalty au!

so, for this to make sense, we have to pretend that after the south seceded from the united states in 1860, they never rejoined the union and the civil war never happened. we also need to pretend that the united states had kings and queens instead of presidents, lol. we also have a cameo by a real life duke and duchess :) also, sis does not play in this.

hope you guys enjoy, and happy juneteenth!

You walk slowly through the trees, the tips of your fingers grazing over the bloomed flowers. The bottom of your dress is caked in dirt as it drags behind you, your black Converse shoes leaving soft imprints in the soft earth. You don’t care - you never have - but your mother surely will. Another dress ruined! My God, when are you going to learn some etiquette! You are thirty one years old, girl!  You smile and chuckle slightly as her words swirl through your head. Dinner will be fun tonight. 

You stop and bend slightly to pluck a rose from it’s bush. You bring it to your face and inhale deeply, letting the natural, earthy scent fill your nose. You close your eyes and hum a little as you exhale slowly, letting your eyes flutter back open. 

“I knew I’d find you out here.”

You laugh as his voice fills your ears. You don’t turn to face him. Instead, you do just the opposite. You turn away from him and keep on your leisurely stroll as you continue to sniff at your pretty red rose, “I’m not a hard person to figure out, Mr. Barnes.”

“That you’re not. That’s what I like about you.”

You scoff but laugh again, shaking your head softly. You take a few more steps before you shriek when two long arms wrap around your middle. He lifts you off your feet, twirling you around as you laugh wildly. He sits you back down, facing him this time, and crashes his lips to yours - stealing every ounce of breath out of your lungs. He squeezes you to him as you moan lightly and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Hi,” he says softly after he frees your lips.

You giggle as he rests his forehead to yours, his eyes still closed from the kiss, “Hi there,” you whisper, “You are awfully brave for pulling this little stunt with my mother being right inside.”

“I don’t care about your mother,” he shrugs, “Do you?”

You send your eyes towards the sky, pretending to give it some thought, “Not really, no.” 

He finally opens his eyes and they almost take your breath away. You’ve been staring into those blues since you were kids, but the deepness of them - the emotions that swirl in them at any given time - surprises you every time. You cup his cheek, a dark beard blooming across his skin and rub your thumb underneath his right eye as a dreamy smile covers your lips.

“You’re so pretty.” You say softly, watching as the smile broadens on his face.

You send your eyes down to his chest, finding him in a crisp white button up shirt and a black velvet sport coat and pants, complete with a pair of off white, studded loafers, “You broke out the Tom Ford just to see me?”

“Not this time, darling.” He smiles, throwing his arm over your shoulder as the two of you begin to walk again, “I had an engagement with Prince Harry and the Duchess Megan this afternoon.”

“Ah yes, I remember now. I was supposed to be there.” You laugh, shrugging. 

He laughs at your nonchalance, “You were certainly missed. To be perfectly honest though, Harry and I had bet going that you’d blow it off.”

You nod, shooting him a quick finger gun, “Both of you are very smart men.” You giggle, “It’s just one more thing for my mom to be mad at me about. Whatever, I’ll text Harry and Megan my apologies.”

The two of you walk slowly through the vast garden until you are no longer visible from the main house. You wave at the horse handlers as they work your champion thoroughbreds off in the distance. You swallow and let out a breath as your mind starts to wander again, your stomach twisting a little. 

“I’ve dreamt about leaving so many times.” You say softly, dropping your eyes to the rose still in your fingers. 

You hear Bucky sigh, “That’s the problem with most people. They dream about what they want to do instead of really doing it.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile cracks your face, “Don’t be a smart ass, Barnes.”

“I’m not,” he smiles, threading his fingers with yours, “I mean it. You can do whatever you want to do. You don’t have to marry him.” He stops moving as you continue to step ahead of him, your arms spreading out between the two of you as he continues to hold your hand, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You answer firmly, “I’m listening, I know.”

“You don’t love him.”

“I don’t. I love you.”

“Then marry me. Come back to Romania with me, be my queen.”

“And denounce my country? Just leave them behind with no heir? I can’t do that.”

“Your cousin could be Queen.”

“She’s an idiot!” You laugh, “We’d be in a world war within months.” You drop his hand and step away from him further, spinning on your heels suddenly to face him again, “You could move here.”

He nods slowly, “I could.”

You scoff, “Stop it.”

“I could - I would. If you really wanted me to.”

You shake your head, “You’re too idealistic.”

“And you’re too cynical.” He rebukes, keeping his gaze on you firmly, “We could make this work, you know we can.”

“How can you run a country if you’re thousands of miles away from it?” You sigh, “You’re a King, you need to be there.”

He scratches his head as he closes his left eye, tilting his head towards the sky, “Um, have you heard of the internet? FaceTime, email - Zoom - I hear that’s great.”

You roll your eyes again as you groan loudly, turning away from him. You slump your shoulders as you throw your head back , closing your eyes as the sun beats down on you. You wish this was easier. You wish you had the guts to tell your mother to just piss off so you could run off to Romania and spend the rest of your life in his arms, but then there’s the other side of your heart. Half of you doesn’t want to leave. You want to take your rightful throne. You want to be Queen. You’ve prepared for it your whole life, it’s your destiny - and you’d be good at it. 

How could Bucky not be a part of that destiny? That’s the real question you have. That’s what keeps you up at night these days as your calling draws nearer and nearer. He’d throw it all away for you, but you can’t do the same for him - and that makes you feel guilty; and sad.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” You ask, not turning around.

“That,” he says in a way that you know he’s smiling, “Don’t feel guilty.”

“How do you know I feel guilty? I’m just standing here.”

You hear his feet in the grass as he moves towards you, and then feel his warm breath on the back of your neck as he sweeps your braids over your shoulder, “Because I know you.” He whispers into your ear before he pushes away again, stepping out in front of you. 

You open your eyes and watch as he spins in the grass, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to give this up for me,” he continues, “It’s 2020, not 1940 - you don’t have to give up everything you’ve worked so hard for just for some dude.”

“I’m glad we agree on that.”

“Just,” his voice trails off as he takes a deep breath,  “Please don’t marry him.” He says gently, his voice barely above a whisper. 

The him he speaks of is Scott Lang, the appointed King of the South, né Atlanta. He’s a nice man; kind, funny, sweet - and he adores you, but he’s boring. He’s predictable, and your mother loves him. That alone makes you want to scream and run for the hills. It’s bigger than you though, the marriage. It’s not one out of convenience or even one bred from a matchmaker. Your marriage will unite the South back with the rest of the United States. Scott will ultimately relinquish his throne, and you’ll be the first Queen to reign over an intact America in over a hundred years. 

But that isn’t what you want - not with him.

Bucky is slightly irrational at times - incalculable almost every time. He has a subtle boldness that’s attracted you to him since you were kids. You remember it like it were yesterday, the first time the two of you met. The annual meeting of the Royal families, this time held in Britain. You were seven, Bucky was nine. Your fathers introduced the two of you in the middle of the great library, telling you both to run along, don’t make a mess. Without knowing each other for a full minute, he grabbed your hand and dragged you through the library, reaching out and tipping random books off the shelves as you ran between the aisles.

You loved him right then and there, and every minute since. 

“I’m not going to marry him,” you finally answer, “I just have to find the right time to tell them. There’s a lot riding on this.”

He nods slowly, “I know. The merger is… big.”

“I’ll make it happen.” You shrug, “I always do. The South was stupid to secede in the first place and now they’re reaping what they sowed. A few more years of this and they’ll be destitute, they know it.”

Silence drops over the two of you as you look at each other, just blinking randomly and breathing. He tilts his head and smiles at you slowly, watching you as your mind turns. He knows that in three months time, on your thirty second birthday, you’ll be made Queen. He knows you’re ready, he knows you’re capable; but he also knows you’re scared. Uncertain of what’s to come for yourself, your country; and for the two of you.

He holds out his hand to you, not saying a word, just extending it - waiting for you. You move forward without hesitation, sliding your hand into his and letting him press you to his chest. His large hands sweep around your sides and slide up and down your back as you wrap your arms around his middle. You flatten your hands on his broad back and nuzzle into his sport coat, shielding your face from everything and everyone. You close your eyes when he runs his hand over your hair and presses kisses to the top of your head. 

“I’ll be right here,” he whispers softly, “I’ll always be here for you, sweet girl. No matter if you are mine or not. I promise you that.” 

“I know you will,” you sniffle as tears start to fall, “I want to be yours forever.”

He hugs you to him again, rocking your bodies back and forth softly, “Just say the word and I’ll pack my bags.” 

You squeeze him tighter.

You twist your hands within one another as you stand behind the two great doors. You can hear the muffled commencement speech taking place on the other side, people cheering and clapping. You swallow hard. You let out a focused breath through your teeth. You lower your head and unfold the balled up paper in your hands. 

I love you. Always.

Bucky

It’s simple - not even on his official letterhead. It’s just a blank sheet of paper confessing his adoration of and for you. You take another breath and force it out between your teeth as you ball it up again and lift your head. You run your gloved hands down your red and gold military jacket, rolling your shoulders before craning your head back and forth. Your medals clink softly from the disturbance of them, but to you, the sound is deafening as everything else blurs into the background. The doors open and the military men and women before you begin their procession into the Great Hall. 

Time to go.

Trumpets start to sound when you make your entrance into the room. Tv cameras zoom in on you as the audience in attendance stand to their feet. You focus forward as you move, painfully aware of all the eyes on you. The room is full of Royal families from all over the world, the press, and your extended family - all ready to watch the transfer of power. You blink, diverting your eyes quickly to your left, catching a quick smile and a secret wave from the Duchess of Sussex. The Duke of Sussex tips his head towards you and you return the gesture, winking playfully at Megan as she bounces baby Archie in her hands. 

You blink again and there they are; those ice blue eyes. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, dressed in his military uniform. A white satin embroidered jacket, complete with the numerous gold medals he’s earned along the way. A white and gold sash crosses over his chest as the artificial lights glint off of the gold and silver pins and buttons littered across his jacket. 

His hair is trimmed - shorter than you like it, to be frank - his dark beard neatly manicured. He’s a sight - a vision, and if you had any doubt at all, it’s all thrown out the window now. Just with a glance of him. 

You walk to the steps where your parents stand, a diamond encrusted crown in your mother’s hands. You kneel on the small red pillow on the top step and drop your head as the speaker begins again. 

“Here, on the first of July, in the year twenty twenty and on her thirty second birthday, we honor the change of power from Queen Johana to its rightful heir, her only daughter, our royal Princess. Queen Johana, please remove the Princess tiara and replace it with the crown.”

Your mother bends, plucking the precious tiara you’ve adorned for so long from your head. You close your eyes and focus on your breathing as the official crown, her crown, is rested atop your head. She slips her index finger to your chin and lifts your head so your eyes can meet hers for the first time as Queen. You note the water that builds in her eyes as she smiles at you. You smile back, knowing in the depths of your heart that no matter how much the two of you fight, no matter how different your politics are - you are her only daughter - and her love for you knows no bounds. 

“I’m so proud of you.” She whispers.

“Thank you, mama.” 

When your mother stands again, the speaker announces, “Queen, please rise and address your court.” 

You stand and turn, holding your head high as the room erupts with claps and cheers. Your parents step into the background as you nod and wave, mouthing your thank you’s before you cross your arm over your chest to cover your heart with your hand. Picture cameras click loudly in every direction as the television crews zoom in on you again.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the speaker announces, “Your Queen.”

“I have something I want to say, if that’s okay.” You say, turning towards the commencement speaker. 

You move to the podium and clear your throat, waiting for the applause to die down before you start to speak, “I know this is unconventional to address you this quickly, but you all have always known me to be this way, and I do not intend to change. I am very proud and humble to be named your Queen today. This is a long time coming and I thank each and every citizen for supporting me up to this point and beyond.”

You take another breath, “As you know, I am to marry the King of Atlanta, Scott Lang, to unify this great United States of America again at the end of this month.” You lift your eyes and stare straight into the television cameras in front of you, “I have no intention of going through with the marriage.”

Gasps of shock ring through the room, the loudest coming from your mother. You throw your eyes over to Bucky as he blinks back at you, his lips parted, his face flushing red at your impromptu announcement. He runs his hand through his hair in complete disbelief and shrugs at you as he shakes his head, mouthing what are you doing? at you.

You smile, “The King of Romania, James Buchanan Barnes, and I are in love, and have been since we were children. I plan, if he’ll still have me, to marry him on the twenty fifth of July, here in New York. On the twenty sixth of July, I will issue an executive order demanding that the South rejoin the United States within thirty days, and that all members of their parliament dissolve immediately. King Lang will be acclimated into my court and will serve as an advisor to help oversee this merger. If there is any resistance, or the order is not signed by the end of the thirty days, I will have no choice but to find the South and Mr. Lang, guilty of treason, and will send in our military to take control.” 

“I realize this sounds harsh, but I’m giving plenty of time for both regimes to come together and iron this out peacefully. But I must warn, do not take my kindness or my generous time frame as weakness. If I have to take control the hard way, I will. We are only strong when we are together, and I fully intend to right the wrongs of the decisions made before me.” 

You glance to your right, finding Scott’s dark eyes on you, his mouth set in a hard line as anger washes through him, “I am not my mother,” you begin again, speaking directly to him, “I am not my grandmother, or any woman who has come before them. I will not let the South perish because of stubborn minds and brash, pompous attitudes. I will not continue to turn a blind eye to this situation, but I’ll need your help, Mr. Lang, to make this as easy as possible.” He takes a breath and lowers his gaze from yours, already realizing just who he is up against, “Please, do what is best for all of us.”

You turn, facing your parents, “If I learned anything from my parents, it’s to stand up for what I believe in. I believe in love. I believe in peace. I want to thank you all again, and please know that I look forward to serving you and this great country of ours. Thank you.”

Without another word, you step away from the podium and move down the steps as the room goes haywire, every media outlet shouting and screaming questions at you. You stop in front of Bucky, extending your gloved hand to his. He takes it without hesitation, without fear, and hand in hand, the two of you walk down the center aisle as all hell breaks loose around you.

“It’s been all of five seconds, do you regret this yet?” You ask, laughing a little as cameramen scramble to get pictures of the two of you.

“You know me, babe,” he says easily, shrugging as the two of you push through the doors, “I regret nothing.” 

Neither do you.

“Oh, hey!” You smile, “I forgot to ask you, will you marry me in like three weeks?”

He throws his head back, laughing, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

[huntergatherercreator]

Take Me Back

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Warnings: Smut, mention of cheating and alcohol abuse, break-up angst

Note: Have I really just written something not mob!tom related? I’m as shocked as you are. This is my first time posting something that contains sexual content on this level, it’s kinda nerve wracking so any feedback would be appreciated! Also, let me know if I’ve missed any warnings I should have added.

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2,032 words

The bar wasn’t your usual scene. You preferred local, intimate places not clubs like this. Despite being underground the mirrored ceiling made it feel twice as open. You looked out over the dance floor from the mezzanine at the entrance door searching for your friends. Rhythmic lighting spilled over the space. It was almost filled to capacity with bodies dancing to bass so loud it reverberated through the soles of your new shoes.

An exaggerated wave from the middle of the bar caught your attention and you smiled as your friend signalled you over. Gripping the handrail of the metal steps you took a breath before descending. You still weren’t completely comfortable with the outfit you’d been talked into wearing but judging by the looks you were getting as you cut across the floor it wasn’t as bad as you’d initially feared.

“Damn, Y/N! You look incredible!” Your friend gushed pulling you in beside her at the bar. Signalling to the bartender she had them pour out two shots. Turning to you with a devilish grin she offered you a lime wedge.

“No way. I just got here,” you refused. As much as you enjoyed drinking the past three months had been filled with nights spent at the bottom of a bottle. You were slowly getting back control. Reigning yourself in after the worst breakup you’d ever experienced but it was a slow process.

A lot of your recovery had to do with the guy you’d met a few weeks ago. Tonight was the first night he’d meet your best friend, the one whose opinion could make or break the possible relationship.

With a sulky pout she downed her own. “So, when will this mystery man of yours get here?”

“He should be here soon.” Your friend leaned her back against the bar, eyes scanning the room.

“Hmm...is it him?” she mused pointing to a guy with too much hair product. “No,” she shook her head, “it’s got to be him.” You followed her finger and snorted a laugh as you watched a guy dancing awkwardly in the corner.  

“Stop it. You’ll know him when you see him,” you promised. Turning back to the bar to order a beer you heard her gasp even over the loud music. In the mirrors lining the glass shelves you could see him approaching and couldn’t stop a smile. Your friend not so subtly nudged you.

“Is this real? Is he coming over? My god, he’s gorgeous” she babbled. You took a long sip of your beer and decided to let her work it out on her own.

“He looks like he works out so much. Those jeans, that t-shirt...” You could practically hear her drooling before she quickly spun to face you. “Shit, he’s actually coming over, what do we..”

“Hey, Y/N.” Settling your beer on a napkin you watched your friends eyes widen, mouth agape. With a laugh you finally faced him. His smile faltered as he took you in, a faint blush creeping up his face.

“You look amazing.” Leaning into you his hand rested on your hip as he kissed your cheek.

Just as your friend had said, Adam was gorgeous. Standing a good foot above you with tousled blonde hair and classic baby blues he wasn’t your normal type, which is exactly why you’d gone for him. After the last failed relationship it was clear what you were attracted to and what you needed were two different things. Adam was your clean slate. Your fresh start.

It was different with him. There hadn’t been an instant attraction but the more you got to know him the more relaxed you felt. Sure there was still no flutter when he kissed you, no spark, but given enough time you were sure that would grow.

You introduced your friend who was still having a hard time closing her mouth all the way, then using Adam’s height to your advantage you got him to find a free table at the edge of the room. Sliding into the booth between them you settled in for the interrogation. He didn’t seem phased. He linked his warm fingers with yours and answered as honestly as possible. Watching him you couldn’t help but smile as he devoutly tried to stop his gaze from wandering to the low cut of your dress and the way his cheek flushed when he failed.

Beer finished you excused yourself to grab a new round for the table. The queue at the bar was steadily getting busier as the night went on. You tried to work your way further down to a quieter spot, keeping your head down and gently elbowing your way through the groups. A gap opened up and you rushed to move into the space only to collide with someone. Your foot slipped on a spilled drink and a strong hand caught your waist to steady you. Cheeks heating from embarrassment you internally cursed your shoes. Gathering some courage you glanced up to thank your saviour and the words died in your throat.

Soft chestnut eyes stared down at you intently. You’re heart hammered under their gaze, sweat starting to make your hands clammy. You’d thought you’d never see him again. You’d hoped you wouldn’t. But here he was, looking immaculate in an all black suit and even better than you remembered. The heat of his hand against your waist seemed to sear through your dress and you tried to step back out of his reach but he only pulled you closer.

“Y/N.” The room seemed to still, the music dimming. All you could hear was his voice. The rough edge it held when he said your name had your body reacting as if the last few months hadn’t happened. You clenched your fists hating how with one word he could get under your skin again after all this time.

“Let me go.” You barely managed to whisper out the words but you knew he’d heard. He downed what was left in his glass and brushed against you as he placed it on the bar. The scent of him wrapped around you triggering memories that you’d tried to suppress.

Leaning in his lips brushed your ear as he spoke. “We need to talk.” Irritation flared. Who did he think he was? It had been months and now he wanted to talk? Steeling yourself you shoved his hand away.

“I have nothing to say to you, Tom.”

“Then listen.” You made the mistake of meeting his eyes and the intensity radiating from them dried up your protest.

“The guy you’re with is no good.” You jerked back away from him and he had the gall to look surprised.

Anger snaking through you, you felt your lip curl. “He’s none of your business. I’m none of your business.” Elbowing past him you fought the crowd blindly. You had to get away from him.

Reaching the back wall you slipped into a side hallway marked private. The music dimmed to a muted thump and you let out a ragged breath. As your adrenaline started to dip you started shaking. Wrapping your arms around yourself you tried to calm down.

“Y/N.” You cursed as you sensed him approach but refused to turn. Seeing him, seeing how little he’d changed and knowing how readily you still reacted to him was too much.

“Leave me alone.”

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be with him.” He’d stopped behind you, his breath ruffling your hair as he spoke.

You couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. “You’re just saying that because you can’t stand to see me with someone else.” The beat of silence that followed had a chill creeping over your skin. Don’t look at him, don’t do it. Your fingers tightened into fists as you fought against yourself. God you wanted to turn around. You wanted to run your fingers through his soft curls, you wanted to breathe in the indescribable scent that was Tom as he held you and...

Hands skimming over your waist he closed the gap. His chest against your back you shivered at the warmth he radiated. You held back a soft moan as his lips ghosted over your throat.

“He’s not right for you,” he breathed. Your mind conjured an image of Adam and the realisation of what you were doing doused you like ice water. You spun out of Tom’s grip, palm pressed against the wall to steady yourself.

“You walked away from me, remember?” Your voice shook with effort as you tried to fight back tears. Tom grimaced, eyes lowering. Your heart ached at his expression but anger chased it off. “You don’t get to act the martyr, Tom, and you certainly don’t get to have a say in my love life.”

Gaze flashing up to you his shoulders set, jaw working for a long second before he spoke.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?” you snapped.  

“Do you love him?” Taken aback your mouth fell open. When you didn’t answer he took a step forward. He searched your face, gaze dipping to your lips hungrily. Your stomach dipped traitorously as heat pooled through you.

“Tom,” you warned, voice barely a whisper. He was too far gone to listen.

Hands cupping your face his lips brushed against yours, feather light and testing your reaction. Your body lit up at his touch. Nerve endings that had been dormant firing to life. Despite everything your body craved his touch, needed him on a deeper level than you understood.

Fingers drifting to caressed your neck, he pushed you back against the wall. You gasped at the cold, arching against Tom’s chest to escape it and he mistook your movements as encouragement. Gripping your hip to pull you even closer he deepened the kiss. You could feel his excitement as he pressed against you and it broke your last reserve of control.

Lips parting you relinquished to him. Tongue flicking out to claim your mouth the familiar taste of sweet whisky brushed over your taste buds. His fingers drifted from your neck. Following the low V of your dress he traced the channel between your breasts before slipping them under the fabric. He let out a low groan as he realised you weren’t wearing a bra. Teeth nipping at your bottom lip his fingers massaged you, thumb circling your nipple drawing out whimpers.

Your hands wound into his hair, tugging at the curls. Lifting a leg to wrap around his waist you gasped as he rutted his hips against you. The soft fabric covering his erection brushed against you teasingly. Hiking your other leg around his waist he held you firmly against the wall, fingers digging into your ass. He dipped his head to kiss your neck, biting and suckling at the sensitive spot above your collar bone until you could barely think. Your underwear was ruined.

Slipping a hand between your bodies you traced the outline of his bulge slowly, intent on dragging it out like you’d imagined on long nights without him. When he bucked against your hand with a needy moan you knew you’d never be able to keep it up.

“Y/N?” The distant voice broke you from your trance. You tried to break away from Tom but he held you tight.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll let you go back to him.” The ragged edge to his voice had you shivering.

“Tom,” you pleaded, heart breaking all over again as he watched you with tormented eyes.

“I made a mistake. I should never have let you go.” His lips ghosted over yours. “Tell me you’ll take me back,” he begged.

The sound of Adam calling for you started to grow louder but here in Tom’s arms the guilt and regret you should be feeling was kept at bay. All you wanted was him. Even if it was only temporary, even if it was only for tonight.

“I want you, Tom.” He relaxed, relief flooding his expression before he caught you in another heady kiss.

“Let’s get out of here.” The grin you’d missed so much lit his face as he gently put you down and guided you towards the emergency exit.

[babbushka]

First Glimpse, Last Looks

007!Reader x Bond Villain!Kylo Ren

3.7k ; N S F W (casual sex/one night stand with a stranger, praise kink, mirror sex), teasing and playful banter, shameless flirtation, hidden identity

                                                    --------------

You smile at your reflection in the hotel mirror, all dolled up for a night downstairs. 

You look good, damn good, if you do say so yourself. Your thigh holster is well concealed by the evening gown, the knife in the back of your heel looks like a pretty decorative element no one would suspect. And no one should suspect it, there’s not supposed to be any trouble tonight.

Well, you think as you apply lipstick in your favorite shade, aside from one man, the man you were sent here to study.

His name is Kylo Ren, a moniker if you’ve ever heard one. One of the most dangerous criminals in the entire world, and certainly one of the richest. It’s no wonder that you’re to find him here, at one of the world’s most famous casinos. It seems that the best only liked to be with the best, not that you minded. As far as missions went, you were glad to be whisked off to exotic places and put up in the nicest hotel rooms.

You leave said nice hotel room now, saying goodbye to the panorama views and big soft bed for the time being. Surveillance is the name of the game for the evening, and you’re given free reign from M to enjoy yourself. You’ve got to blend in after all, have to be unsuspecting. That shouldn’t be too hard, you think as you make your way down to the casino, your heels clicking pleasantly on the polished marble flooring, your dress accentuating your body beautifully.

The casino is a high end place, there’s a live band playing smooth jazz up on a little stage, and everyone around you is dressed to the nines, which you’re pleased to see. Pleased because at least it means this criminal has good taste, refined taste. But then again, how could a renowned jewelry designer not be dripping in luxury?

You walk around the casino, blinking away the cigarette and cigar smoke which wafts up from the tables as rich men entertain pretty women with games of craps. You can’t help but smile at the winners and feel poorly for the poor suckers who lose, but that’s the way the money rolls, isn’t it. And what money too – bets starting at ten thousand dollars and only ever climbing, you’re impressed.

You’ve got a good chunk of chips yourself, provided so that you might infiltrate the place a little better, but you’re not in the mood to make a spectacle of yourself, not tonight anyway. Mr. Ren’s reservation was supposedly lasting through the weekend, and as it’s only Friday night, you’re sure that you’ll be here for a little while.

Speaking of Mr. Ren, you begin subtly trying to pick him out from the crowd. You know he’s a big spender, a high roller, he’s always got to have attention on him, eyes on him. Unusual, for someone under suspicion of smuggling gold across foreign soil, but then again, not at all. You’d been given the brief on what he looks like, but unfortunately there are no photographs of him – they all seem to magically disappear from any and all databases. All you know is that he’s hulking, tall and wide and has a twisted mangled facial deformity – shouldn’t be too difficult to spot, you smile to yourself.

You make a little show of weaving through all the people, down towards a beautiful bar in art deco style. It’s the perfect vantage point for all the tables, and you strike up a cigarette to pass the time.

“Can I get you anything, ma’am?” The bartender asks as he wipes down an impeccably clean glass.

“No thank you, I’m meeting someone here.” You say easily, and the bartender smiles in understanding.

“If you change your mind, just give me a nod.” He says, going on his way, off to deal with another customer.  

You flick your ash in the crystal dish nearby on the bar counter and simply watch, enjoying the spectacle of it all – when you can’t help but hear the gentle applause coming from one of the cards tables. It seems that someone has just won a game of baccarat, which you find impressive, for the game is notoriously high stakes and oh how the dealers hate to lose.

You cast your gaze over to the gentleman who is quietly yet absolutely pleased as he pulls all the chips over to his pile, as if the money means nothing to him. You’re sure it probably doesn’t, if he’s playing and betting baccarat to begin with.

But what strikes you more than anything else, is how handsome the gentleman is. He’s got glossy black hair and proud shoulders, wrapped in a deliciously tailored tuxedo. You’re pretty sure that’s a rolex on his wrist, and while all that is well and good, you’re drawn to the irregularity of his facial features. His nose seems to be a bit too large for his face, but it’s in an endearing way, a way that you can see yourself playfully touching with the tip of your finger before asking for a kiss.

What a dangerous thought.

Even more dangerous, is that he’s looking right at you, giving you a smile. There are worse men to find you attractive, you think, as you turn away from him and give your neck a little stretch, flick your ash, knowing that he’ll take the hint and come over. M did say to have fun, didn’t she?

You feel his presence before anything else, the way he smells so wonderfully of a spiced cologne – not too much, just the right amount to get you interested. He’s warm, radiates a warmth that’s got you wondering how good it must feel to be tucked up against him.

“I couldn’t help but notice you all alone.” His voice is deep, a rich baritone that you feel down in your bones as you seductively look over your shoulder, cigarette delicately held between your fingers.

“You couldn’t? Seems like everyone else could.” You raise an eyebrow, and he smiles. It’s more of a half smirk than anything else, but you’re hung up on his dimples, on how he’s got the most darling beauty marks all across his face, a little constellation of freckles.

“Pity for them.” He leans up against the bar top, and you turn towards him, an invitation. He takes it. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“You can buy me two.” You reply, and he smiles wider at that, at the way you’re allowing him in. He’s so handsome, you think that if this Kylo Ren won’t show up tonight, at least you can still make the effort to look nice worthwhile.

“What do you like?” The charming man asks, signaling for the bartender to come back over.

“I’m not picky, as long as it’s in a martini glass.” You wink, and the man chuckles.

“Two vesper martinis please.” He asks of the bartender, who immediately sets to work.

“Shaken, not stirred.” You say, giving the bartender a kind smile when they nod in acknowledgement.

“I love a woman who’s particular.” The man doesn’t sit down next to you, instead he’s got one long leg crossed over the other as he leans against the counter, striking up a cigarette of his own. There’s something awfully delicious about the way it looks between his plush lips, and you’re drawn to them, to the way he flicks the match and lights it with ease.

“Really? That’s quite a modern attitude.” You tease. It’s 1964 after all, too many men are busy hating their wives, living out some white picket dream that you never had any time for.

“I’ll have you know, I’m a very modern man.” He smirks with a wink of his own, and you have to look down and away, lest you start getting too obvious too fast. You’re obvious of course, but you want to seem a little aloof, want to keep him interested.

“I believe congratulations are in order, I saw you win back there.” You say, fiddling with the little napkin that the bartender lays out before you while the drinks are nearly finished.

“Oh that? It was nothing, the game’s easy, it’s all just odds and good luck, like anything else.” He shrugs, and you smirk right back at him, he’s good at this.

“Do you think you have good luck?” You ask, as the bartender places the martini glasses in front of you.

“I think I’m about to find out.” The man picks up one glass and hands it to you, takes the second one all for himself, and it’s your turn to let out a pleased little laugh, happy for the opportunity to flirt.

“Very smooth, Mr. Modern.” You concede, “Very smooth.”

“Well, I like to do some things the old-fashioned way.” The man is particularly chuffed that he’s managed to impress you – and he should, you didn’t get impressed by many men. He licks his lips and holds up his drink, preparing a toast. “You’re stunning.”

“I know.” You say, and he laughs at that, making you duck your head once again before winking, “You’re quite the looker yourself. To good luck?”

“To good luck.” He clinks his glass gently against yours, and the two of you take a sip.

The martini is pleasant in your mouth, although you have no real plans to drink enough that you might become impaired in any sense of the word. You spare a glance around the room once again for Kylo Ren, for the big hulking criminal you’re supposed to be there for, and you can’t help but let out a disappointed sigh. You knew there was an off chance he wouldn’t be at the casino tonight, possibly off at a business dinner or something along those lines, but still.

“You know, I was supposed to meet someone here, but it would seem as though they haven’t shown up.” You tell this man who’s very very gently skimming his knuckles against the back of your arm. You’re happy to see no sign of a wedding ring, and no tan-line for one either.

“How anyone could leave a woman like you out to dry is beyond me.” He says, and for a minute, you can’t help but believe that this is something more than just a flirtation for a one-night stand, that perhaps you two could really get to know each other.

“And just what kind of woman do you think I am?” You ask playfully, already having made up your mind to sleep with him. Attachments were not something afforded in your line of work, you know this, but at least bodily pleasure was available where you could take it.

“I don’t know, but I would sure love to find out, if you’d let me.” The man chews the inside of his cheek for a moment, a nervous habit that you find quite endearing, before asking softly, “I’ve got a suite at the hotel just across the way, spectacular views, even better food. Would you care to accompany me for any or all of it?”

“I’m starving.” You reply, and a hopeful smile lights up his face.

 The moment the door to the hotel room closes behind you, you’re kissing. He’s so skilled, so good at it, you can’t help but gasp under his touch. His palms are warm and they span across your back with ease, already working at undoing your dress zipper. You suddenly remember your gun that’s strapped to your thigh, and you pull away from him for a minute, looking at his handsomely disheveled state in the low light of his suite.

“Do you have a condom?” You ask outright, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Shit, no, I don’t – I must confess this isn’t something I do often. Or at all.” He’s nervous, and you can’t help but feel warm towards him, affection as you card through his locks. They’re every bit as silken as they look, and you kiss him again.

“That’s quite alright, call down for some.” You say.

He eagerly goes over to the phone, and while he’s distracted you take the opportunity to slip the small gun into your clutch purse, the perfect size for such a thing. He’s not gone for long, and you’re pleased to hear that when he asks for the condoms, he requests the largest size they carry.

“They’ll be up soon, but in the meantime, is it alright if I kiss you? You know, I’m a right sucker for lipstick prints.” The man blushes beautifully when he returns. Your hands immediately work on getting him out of his tuxedo, and he helps you out of your dress, admires the way your lingerie hugs your body.

“You’re much gentler than I thought you’d be, with hands so big as these.” You say as he carefully carefully carefully unhooks your bra, hands cradling your breasts.

“If you like it rough, I’d be more than happy to oblige.” He gives you an experimental pinch, and you huff out a laugh, slinking your arms around his neck.

“Kiss me first and we’ll see where the night takes us.” You say as you stand up on your tip toes now that your heels are kicked off, pressing your lips against his.

It’s not long before someone is knocking at the door with the condoms, and then it’s as if the gates have been opened. The man scoops you up into your arms and you laugh all the way over to the bed, where he plops you down sweetly, climbs over you and rolls the rubber onto his hard cock.

The largest size looks like it just barely fits him, and your mouth waters as he kisses you, hands caressing your body, peeling away your stockings, the garter. He doesn’t suspect anything, he only kisses the inside of your thigh, and your hands grasp at the silken sheets in anticipation.

“Are you sure?” He looks up at you from between your legs and you nod, one hand grabbing at his shoulders and pulling him back up your body, wanting that cock in you.

“Please, I just know you can make me feel good.” You nod again and again, until he’s positioning himself right at your entrance and thrusting slowly so that your pussy can accommodate and stretch to his girth.

He groans out softly in your ear and thrusts a little further in, again and again until he’s sinking all the way into your cunt, cock huge and filling you up better than anyone you’ve ever slept with.

“Ah – yes!” You sigh out happily as he kisses at your neck where his face is shoved against your throat, “Oh yes, that’s it.”

There’s a mirror on the ceiling, and you moan at the way his body moves above you as he begins to build up a proper rhythm, a steady pace that has your legs winding around his hips. 

You wish you knew his name so you’d know what to call out, but names were dangerous, and so was sentiment, and it was easier this way, easier to just have great sex and move on, leave him always thinking about you and your pussy.

You roll him over onto his back, the both of you grinning as you straddle his lap. Your hands brace themselves on his huge chest, muscular but not in that dehydrated body builder kind of way, and you bounce on his cock, give him a good ride.

“Oh god – god damn.” He breathes out, his hands coming to grope up at your breasts, sliding across your stomach and bruising your hips.

“Your cock feels so fucking good.” You admit, because it does, and that does wonders to his ego, “Fuck! Oh – oh yes, yes yes yes!”

He bends his knees to plant his feet on the mattress and he bucks his hips up into you, thick cock so hard and long, so wide, you can feel the way it nudges against your cervix, can feel the way it teases your gspot with every thrust. You’re drunk off the feel of it, your head falls back and your jaw drops open, just from the sheer fullness of it all.

“Ah – ah come on, come on faster, I can – ohhhh shit – I can take it.” You lick your lips as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, and he listens, follows directions beautifully, does as he’s told and you can’t help but drop, “Good boy, oh you’re so good.”

The praise seems to do something for him, and suddenly you’re being fucked in earnest, riding him and getting as good as you give him. Your pussy drools and drips all over his cock, you can feel the white hot bubble of pleasure as it rises up from your cunt into your stomach, up up up your spine in a way that’s got you moaning loud, moaning so loud that you almost want this man to cover your mouth about it.

You stay like that for quite some time, he’s content to let you make the moves, content to let you be on top, in charge, and you appreciate that. Mr. Modern indeed, you think – or you would think, if you had any room in your head to think at all, gasping and groaning out a litany of please please please more more more yes yes yes!

He comes with a grunt, and a long groan, and your hand moves down to your clit to quickly rub one out before his cock grows soft inside you, but you find that he’s quick to beat you to it, eager to fuck you through his orgasm and make sure you get off too. You’re grateful, especially as the rough pad of his thumb swirls your slick over your clit and makes pleasure spark behind your eyes, trembling atop him as you come hard.

You gasp and pant and he kisses at the corner of your mouth, licks across your teeth and suckles on your lower lip, and you get off of his lap, collapsing on your back next to him. You both look up at the mirror and groan, laugh a little with how much of a mess you’ve made – bruises and lipstick and scratches from nails littering your bodies.

You watch him turn to you in the reflection of the mirror, and you turn to face him too, his peaceful serene, blissed out post-orgasm glow making him look radiant. He’s quiet though, and this is always the uncomfortable part, isn’t it? The walk of shame where you part ways, never to see one another again.

“Shall I…I can go. If you’d prefer.” You whisper, although for the first time in your entire career, you don’t want to.

“No, no stay with me, let’s have that dinner we talked about.” He surprises you, gathering you up in his arms and tucking you against his chest. He rubs sweetly at your back, and you let yourself be held as he convinces you further with, “They’ll bring it right to us.”

“You enjoyed yourself that much, hm?” You tease, and he laughs, making your own ego preen as he nods.

“I like your company, I’d love it if you perhaps delighted me in spending the weekend together.” The man licks his lips and tilts your chin up to meet him, “If your friend won’t mind.”

“My friend?” You frown for a second, confused.

“The person you were meeting.” He reminds you and you blink, grinning and shrugging to play it off. Damn, you think, his cock really was something special, to make you forget why you were even here.

“Oh right, well I think they’ll be okay with it, I just hope they show up at some point this weekend. Otherwise this trip will have been for nothing.” You mutter, but then, then you look up at him and let yourself feel wanted, “Or maybe, maybe it won’t.”

The man smiles at you, a great big pleased smile, and you somehow get the feeling that like you, he understands what it’s like, to be lonely at the top.

 After hours of conversation and room service, champagne and strawberries, a delicious set of entrees and desserts, you find yourself content to spend the night in this man’s bed. Your suite will be there tomorrow after all, and you can’t help but fall asleep smiling, thinking that perhaps tomorrow night, you can take this man back to yours and return the hospitality.

But when you wake up in the morning, it is to an empty bed, no sign of the man. The mattress is cool next to you, he must have left during the night. The sun peeks through the curtains and illuminates the silver of a room service cart, he was at least kind enough to order you breakfast.

Smiling, you get up and walk naked over to the cart, where a little hand written note is resting atop one of the cloches. You pick it up and unfold it – and immediately feel like you’ve just been run over with a truck, when the words hit your brain:

 My deepest apologies for disappearing on you like this, but when duty calls, one must answer as I’m sure you know.

We’ll meet again, 007.

Yours truly,

Kylo Ren.

 You stand there, shocked and in disbelief – both at how he knew who you were, and how wrong you had been in your idea of him. He wasn’t some hulking terrifying thing, he didn’t have any major deformities or disfigurement – although, now that you think about it, perhaps he did have something of a scar on his eyebrow and cheek, but you passed it off as a trick of the light.

“I’ll be damned.” You say, sighing and sitting back down on the mattress, flicking the card against your palm with an incredulous smile. “Kylo Ren.”

Of all the people, you think as you dig into the eggs benedict and waffles that would pain you if they went to waste, you just had to go and pick him to fuck, didn’t you? You chuckle and sigh, knowing that this was the start of a very strange, frustrating, and beautiful relationship. What that relationship was, you weren’t sure, but one thing was for certain – M was going to have a fucking field day.  

                                                       ----------------

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[buckyjustbelikethat]

The Fiction of Fairytales: Prologue

Title: The Fiction of Fairytales: Prologue

Characters: (eventual) Stucky x Reader

Summary: (a/b/o au that is non-cannon compliant) After being captured and forced to live as Brock Rumlow’s mate for years you are kidnapped by the Avengers. They plan to interrogate you for information on Hydra and Rumlow, but after Steve and Bucky realize they are your true mates, they realize that their kidnapping was more of an unexpected rescue. 

Warnings: Mentions of assault, kidnapping, and abuse.

Word Count: approx. 1400

A/N: Why is it becoming a trend in my multipart series that the first chapter takes place between tony and the reader. Anyways, this part is very angsty and not fun, but there will definitely be fluff and romance coming in the future. I hope you guys like the beginning! 💕

As a kid you dreamed of finding your mate one day. Your parents had a beautiful relationship, you grew up watching the adoration in their eyes when they looked at each other and you wanted that. They seemed the most relaxed and at peace when you all were together. You didn’t know much about what your parents did, and to this day you still don’t, but at the age of 16, you learned that whatever it was that they did, they had made themselves an enemy of Hydra. You were having a movie night, all three of you watching the most recent released Disney movie. You sometimes imagine yourself there in the days that followed, praying that your mind could conjure those moments in the present rather than remain cruelly unreachable memories. But they are gone now, and you weren’t sure if you would ever know true peace again.

Hydra had invaded your home, and killed your parents. This is when you had begun to wish you never were an omega. Maybe if you weren’t, you never would have been taken that day. You would have gone with your parents, and your life would have stayed blissful up until the moment of your death. Unfortunately, when the Alphas that had invaded smelled you they decided to take you. The head of the group that attacked you was Brock Rumlow. He had decided you would be his before any of the other Alpha’s could get their hands on you. Though that didnt mean he had stopped them in the future.

For the past 8 years you were Brock’s omega, not by your own choice. You had tried to escape him a few times and soon you realized the pain when they caught you again was worse than staying. It was pointless to try and leave. Brock had all of the resources of Hydra and you had nothing, and since your parents died, you had no one.

The faith that you previously had in love that was demonstrated and proclaimed by your parents seemed like a fairytale. Most importantly a fictional reality you were not given the privilege of having in your own life. You only knew pain from alphas, not just your bonded mate Brock, but his alpha friends he would invite over to your place.

In the beginning Brock kept you locked in the cold basement, chained up most of the time due to your many escape attempts. But at some point he had broken you physically and emotionally, and he knew it. That was his goal, to not be able to see beyond the life he had given you. You were expected to please him in all aspects. You were his to command in any way imaginable, he had convinced you over the years that he only asked what was expected of every omega, convincing you that even if you left you would never be safe from your presentation. You were now able to sleep with him in his bed, though that was probably the last place you would want to be. You were given free reign of the home, mostly so you could keep it to his expectations and serve him. He even allowed you to go to the grocery store, though you knew he was watching you at all times, he would know when you left and if you didn’t make it back within what he considered a reasonable time or you talked to too many people you were punished. You were punished for just about everything, and sometimes just because it was what he felt like doing at the time.

Most people in hydra knew about you. Brock took you to all of the public events, and he would often make sure to not harm you in any visible places leading up to whatever event he wanted to show you off at. Not that anyone at the party would care about his abuse, hell most of them had, at some point, had a part in it, he just wanted you to look more attractive. Though he never complimented you, too focused on making you feel worthless, you knew from others that your scent and appearance was enticing, and you wished that it wasn’t the case.

Brock was having people over tonight, and you were expected to go to the grocery store. He didn’t give you the luxury of knowing who it was, you only wished to know what to expect, whether or not Brock would expect you to please whatever company it was. But like normal you were left in the dark, you only knew how he expected you to prepare and what food to make. Over the years you felt like you had gotten really good at cooking, though you weren’t allowed to have much of the food you made, he would tell you it was too good for you. He would either give you scraps or make you prepare something bland to eat for dinner.

You were picking up the ingredients as quick as you could at the store, despite the pain you were in from the morning. Brock had gotten mad at you for something minimal, you had looked at him in the eyes on accident, which was one of his least favorite things, and he had beaten you. Though you were sure you had a few broken bones, you were used to continuing on through the pain, he did not tolerate anything else. You thankfully had gotten used to the layout of the store since it was the only one he would allow you to go to, so you were able to make your trip as short as possible. It was the closest one to your house, and you imagined that at some point he had someone hack into the cameras.

After you loaded the bags into your car, you got into the drivers side only to scream when you saw a figure behind you.

“Hello, I’m sure you know of me, at this point everyone does, and you’re going to listen to my directions.” It was Iron Man, and though you weren’t too familiar with him, you had heard of him enough to know that he was an enemy of hydra, or that hydra was an enemy of him, you didn’t know which one was more appropriate. He almost didn’t need to point his weapon at you, he was wearing his whole suit as if he imagined you were some kind of threat, and you wouldn’t stand a chance even if he wasn’t wearing it, especially with the kind of pain you were in. Based on his threatening position in your back seat, and the fact that he smelled very much like an alpha, you assumed this was no rescue. Whatever it was, you hoped it would even be the slightest bit better than how Brock treated you. Maybe he would even give you the gift of killing you, then all of this would be over.

You looked at the cameras and noticed that in his position the car next to you blocked them from being able to see him.

“Don’t even bother looking, your mate isn’t going to save you. You’re going to put the car in drive and follow my instructions.”

You were too fearful to argue with him calling Brock your mate. Sure he technically was, but you had no choice in any of it. You originally had dreams of only bonding with your true mate, but that’s all it was, just dreams.

You didn’t respond. You had learned over the years to only speak when necessary, and you had a feeling Stark wasn’t going to listen to anything you had to say anyway. So you put the car in drive and followed Stark’s instructions. “You know you need to get out more, we’ve been following you for a while and you only go to the grocery store if you aren’t with your mate. I gotta say, that’s a little weird.” You didn’t know what to say, unsure if an honest reply would really get you anywhere.

“So, you aren’t much of a talker either I’m guessing, that’s fine, as long as you answer our questions when we get to the tower, I don’t care how much you talk.”

So, that’s why they wanted you. They thought you could give them information on Brock, or hydra. Maybe when he realized you were of no use to him he really would kill you.

Next Chapter

[sweetbyte]

Guilty 

BakuMomo - Rated M 

Chapter One | AO3  

Loathe he was to admit it, UA taught him a great deal of things. He wasn’t generous enough to credit that to the instructors, no they all pretty much fucking sucked...as well as the other students and his classmates, hell everyone fucking sucked. However, it was definitely a learning experience. Constantly on the brink of mortal peril and all.

Firstly, he learned that he genuinely, truly, hated just about everyone. Secondly, he learned that he was shockingly lacking emotionally. This was an issue because apparently being a hero required one to show some degree of empathy and support to the general public as if saving their petty lives wasn’t enough. Thirdly, he learned how to tone himself down, so to speak. Mistakes were made, specifically, he made mistakes; he wasn’t perfect. Which ultimately taught him not to judge a book by its cover. Yeah, the spineless annoying Deku was not all weak and worthless as Bakugou claimed. Yeah, he probably owed a lot of his own personal growth to boy. Did that mean he would admit that out loud and apologize to the kid, not a chance in hell. Bakugou still had his damned pride and even though that in itself was another flaw, it was a rather slow work in progress.

When he finally graduated he was brutally honest about not giving a rats ass about any of his classmates’ futures. They were about as one dimensional as the line he struck through the class survey box indicating he would rather not keep in touch with anyone from UA or receive any type of reunion correspondence, thanks. He’d worked with some and caught glimpses of others and although couple were quite persistent to keep his camaraderie, cough Kirishima cough ,it was safe to say that they weren’t in his orbit and that was fine by him.

Fast forward to present day and he finds all that he’s supposedly learned is being challenged by a single unsuspecting walking threat.

Momo Yaoyorozu.

He never had a strong opinion of her, if he was quite frank. She wasn’t completely useless in UA but she wasn’t remarkable either, which he found to be a pity given her quirk. She was the obnoxious type of self-sacrificing sweet that made his teeth rot and left a disgusting aftertaste in his mouth that needed two rinses with listerine, or perhaps alcohol. Whichever was closest on hand.

She’s active when they graduate, that much he knows, but they never cross paths. She apparently specializes in hostage negotiations and emergency relief response and he strictly fights and beats the shit out of anything he’s given permission to. So outside of each other’s orbit and yet they still end up in a frame together of individuals who have been named employee of the year in their respective branch.

Is he surprised? Not really.

She, however, is and its clearly reflected on her face that he resists and urge to sneer at her for old time sakes but, again, he’s learned so he settles for a cold stoic expression. She quickly schools herself as well and offers a small smile but its meaningless to him. They just have to take a photo and he can continue on with his stale Champaign and equally stale career.

Except she’s grown tenacious and is unrelenting in forcing her unsought presence on him, sticking to him like that goopy monstrous wretch he fought so, so many years ago. She’s clearly learned a thing or two working with negotiations and showers him with pricey quality alcohol, an upgrade from the complementary stale bullshit that was being served. He remembers her prestigious background, i.e. fat wallet, and isn’t above admitting that he definitely stayed for the drinks. He figured that it was the least she could do after attracting an absurdly amount of unwanted attention. She’s a hot commodity and even his glower isn’t enough to keep her admirers away. Just to be clear, he wasn’t keeping them away from her, but away from himself. He has enough to deal with just her.

After he’s had his fill in liquor, the startling revelation that Yaoyorozu has indeed become a master strategist is the last clear thing he remembers before his mind and consciousness muffles and thus its also the first thought he has when he wakes up on a strange but very comfortable, velvet maybe, sofa with a groan.

“There’s a glass of water next to you, when you’re ready.” He’d roll his eyes if they weren’t closed.

“Do you usually resort to intoxicating some unsuspecting idiot to use as an excuse to excuse yourself from celebratory functions or am I just special?” His eyes open in time to see her flush guilty, reclined on the arm of the sofa opposite to where his head was resting.

“It’s not as if you truly wanted to be there as well.” She mutters glancing away, determined not to stare at him, her victim. He scoffs.

“Don’t act like you did this for me.”

“I’m not acting, but you cannot solely blame me. It’s not like you chose to keep my company because of my bubbling personality.” She sniffs with destain almost daintily and he jerks up with a sneer.

“I didn’t choose to keep your fucking company, you wouldn’t leave me alone!”

“If you wanted me gone, you definitely could have managed it.” She retorts and raises an eyebrow tauntingly. “It’s not like you’re shy, or are you?” Undiscouraged by his threatening glare she continues. “The fact of the matter is that you choose to stay around me because of the liquor. I did not make you do anything, it was a mere incentive.”

“Of course, to endure your sparkling personality.” He bites scathingly and it makes her face scrunch up like she’s swallowed something bitter. “Right.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence that is only broken by her tired sigh.

“I’m not sure how you are at handling alcohol and I don’t want to assume, but there’s ibuprofen and water right next to you on the coffee table. You’re also welcome to anything in the kitchen.”  She stands and stretches, still dressed up from the party,  and he definitely does not notice the sleekness of her neck as she rolls it or the lift of her assets the dress accentuates. The fucking audacity.

“What, no change of clothes?”

She freezes and blinks. “Oh. That can be arranged if needed.” Her flush has faded and its almost as if she’s already forgotten about him. As if she is counting on him to just be out of her hair as quickly as he can.

“You’re just going to give me free reign of your house out of guilt?”

“I don’t think I’m guilty of-“ He stands with a sudden swiftness that stuns her quiet and he’s walking through her house with sure steps as she sputters after him. “What are you doing?”

“I decided that you can sleep on the couch and I’ll take the bed.”  He declares checking the doors for the bedroom.

“Excuse me?!”

“Think of it as your penance. You know, if our roles would have been reversed, this would have been a very controversial situation.” He states matter-of-factly leaning against the jamb of her room and her flush deepens.

“There was never any ill intent and you know it!” Her newly disheveled and agitated appearance sends a jolt of satisfaction through him.

“Do I?” He promptly shuts the door before she can react locking her out. She knocks on the door frantically and yells.  “Bakugou! This isn’t funny!” Then after a moment, “I don’t have a change of clothes!”

He makes a show of slamming some closet and drawer doors to make her panic. They both know she has the power to get into her room and he wonders if he’ll force her to break her own door down.

She soon quiets and huffs away and while she’s left him in peace he takes the opportunity let the last couple of moments sink in. Her room is, well, grand yet minimal. It’s fitting for her. It’s oddly still yet cozy. He decides to take her spacious chaise by the window, she can think he slept in her bed all she wants, he knows a thing or two about boundaries and he’d rather not cross that one.

She doesn’t return and he’s not all that surprised, she was never one for a fight.

Despite himself Bakugou lets out a laugh. He laughs because he can picture her in that expensive uncomfortable dress, flushed and irate on her velvet couch all because of him.

He laughs because he rather likes the sight of such a pristine individual like Yaoyorozu, pink and breathless, because of him and if that isn’t the funniest joke of the century he doesn’t know what was. 

AN:  I feel guilty for not updating anything in years, don’t judge me.

[megalodon-writes]

Misunderstandings

Pairing - Akaashi Keiji x F!Reader

Word Count - 1.5k - Part I

Warnings - slight unwanted physical contact 

Synopsis - The reader sees a couple strange men at her work.

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

a/n: I have worked really hard on this fic for about 6 days now. I had the idea while watching Finding Nemo (along with some akaashi fics) and this story is very close to me. thanks to @/dorkyama , @/spicyness , @/thicchaikyuuboys , Arnold, and Victor for helping me with questions/concerns/editing. I’m not gonna apologize for all the fish facts in this series bc high key im a slut for aquatic life

“Did you guys know that otters hold each other's hands when sleeping in the water to avoid drifting away from each other?” You said into the mic, watching the few otters swim around playfully. A couple little girls' mouths flew open and they sighed wistfully. You chuckled with how sweet they were. “Otterly adorable, if I do say so myself.” Usually, when you said some sort of pun, you got a groan from others. But you started giggling when you heard ugly laughter in the back from a guy who looked like an owl.

“That was not funny.” A little boy said seriously, crossing his arms. You looked at him and smiled sweetly.

“I thought it was hilarious.” A man said, standing behind the boy. His hair was spiked up and it looked like he had forgotten to re-dye his hair for a long time. The boy carefully turned around and his eyes grew wide.

“Whoa! You’re.. You’re…!” The kid stuttered. You raised an eyebrow and looked at the guy, trying to remember if you had seen him somewhere before. The man that was standing behind him piqued your interest. He was attractive, his messy black hair framed his stoic face nicely.

“Hey kid.” The guy who looked like an owl grinned. He stuck his hand out and shook the kids hand vigorously. The boy looked excitedly at his palm, before running off to his parents.

“Are you a celebrity or something?” You asked the man. You didn’t mean for it to come across rude, but you would have thought you shattered his world from how he looked at you. “Oh, I didn’t reali-”

“He’s fine.” The dark haired guy said. “Bokuto plays on a professional volleyball team.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t watch.” You said. Just then a little kid came up and tugged on your shirt.

“Hi, um, what are the otters named?” She said, her voice reminding you of songbirds. You bent down so you could look her in the eyes and smiled.

“Hey sweetie. That one is Jasper, and the other is Kegin.” You pointed out the two cuddling and the girl's eyes lit up. “The other three are Daya, Sunshine, and Moon.”

“Akaashi! Touch pool!” The volleyball player yelled, grabbing the other guy's hand and dragging him over to the stingrays. 

You stood up after the girl ran off and you glanced over at the two guys. The one named Akaashi was standing there barely leaning over the edge while Bokuto had his whole arm in. You thought it was adorable when Akaashi made a face as he grabbed Bokuto's sleeve to pull it out of the water. You quickly looked away when his blue green eyes met your gaze. Turning back towards the otters, you gave several more facts into the microphone, hoping the guy didn’t notice you staring. Once the time came, you switched headsets with your replacement and hurried to your other station. As soon as you arrived, you gave several quick facts out and took a nice, deep breath, pondering if you would see that cute guy and his chaotic friend again. The way the fish moved in the water was so calming that you watched the sharks for longer than you probably should have.

“That one has a gnarly bite outta it!” A blonde haired teenager said to his date, knocking you out of your trance. “Look!” He pointed to one of the reef sharks that had a large circular scar on it’s side. You smiled and scanned the crowd, but your heart stopped when you saw Tozen walk in. He grinned and sauntered up to place a hand on your shoulder. You cringed slightly and mentally kicked yourself from forgetting you were going to have to present with him.

“Hey.” His smile made your toes curl. “I’m glad we get to be partnered up.” He let his hand fall away, but not without brushing down your entire arm. It wasn’t drawn out, but it still sent chills up your spine and you looked at the ground. 

“Yeah.” You mumbled. 

“What’s up guys?” He said excitedly into his mic. “I’m Tozen and this lovely woman is Y/N. We’re going to be giving you a small presentation about sharks so if you have any questions, remember them for the end of it!” You took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus on everything except him. 

“Please sit on the benches and if there’s room then scoot closer.” You smiled and looked at the people. The two guys from earlier walked in and your heart lifted as Bokuto waved happily. You threw your hand up in a small response before they snagged seats in the front row. 

“By raising your hand, how many of you like sharks?” You asked. Bokuto's hand shot up followed by Akaashi and several others. One little boy turned to his mother and not so quietly whispered how much he loved them. “Me too! So what we have in here are some reef sharks, a couple sandbar sharks, and a few guitar fish!”

“Don’t forget the sea turtle and the other aquatics.” Tozen laughed. Honestly, you preferred when he presented because it didn’t give him as much of a chance to do things that made you uncomfortable. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding and got wrapped up in the presentation. Your favorite thing was that every time you gave a fact or some form of fish trivia, Bokuto looked like a kid given free reign in a sweets store. You kept letting your eyes drift to Akaashi, and everytime you met his gaze you felt the butterflies in your stomach become more alive. You opened the floor up for questions and several peoples hands were raised, including Bokutos. You chose a kind looking boy with a red baseball cap on.

“Hi sweetie, what’s your name?”

“I’m Nen.”

“Hi Nen! What’s your question?”

“Why is that one shark hurt?” He asked, worry laced in his voice. Bokutos hand dropped and he leaned forward intently. 

“She actually healed up nicely so she doesn’t hurt anymore!” You said, making Nen give a small smile. “Sometimes sharks bite others to establish dominance or-”

“That specific one is a female and sometimes the mating process of sharks can be a bit rough.” Tozen said, looking at you. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from giving a reaction that would probably be best described as gagging. His comment caught you so off guard that you felt like you had been thrown into a hot pan. Akaashi’s eyebrows furrowed when you looked at him.

“Usually, they get playing around and sometimes just bite each other. That’s what happened to our sweet Miyako here.” You took a couple steps farther away from Tozen and continued answering questions until no one else raised their hands.

“Alright, thank you guys for coming! Go ahead and check out our other shows for the day! We’ve got a seahorse feeding, penguin talk, and others!” He grinned and waved to everyone. “Not to mention if you buy our stingray package, you get a small plushie and some food to feed them right out of your hand!” A few people said thanks as they left to find out about the stingrays and others went to marvel at the sharks.

“We have to do that, Akaashi.” Bokuto said. “I want to feed the stingrays. I bonded with them.” You snickered under your breath and suddenly the two men were standing next to you. “Hey, you’re really smart!” He said happily. You laughed and switched the mic off, sliding it into your back pocket.

“Thanks for being so excited. Honestly, it made my day that you were ecstatic.” 

“You know a lot about sharks.” Akaashi said simply.

“I’m currently studying to be a marine biologist. Plus, they’re my favorite animal. It’s the whole reason I decided to work here.” You smiled sweetly but your heart sank as you felt Tozens arm snake around your shoulders.

“We’re glad to have her. She’s quite brilliant.” He smiled down at you. You stood there, rooted to the spot and clenched your fist. “I’m Tozen.” He moved his arm off of your shoulders and stuck his hand out. Bokuto shook it quickly but when it was Akaashis turn he folded his arms. “Okay. Well, I’ve got to go to another presentation so it was nice to meet you guys.” He gave you one last look before leaving the room. Your entire body relaxed and you blinked several times.

“You’re not giving any other presentations today, right?” Akaashi asked, watching where Tozen had disappeared. You raised an eyebrow at him and shook your head.

“No, this was the last one.”

“Ah man.” Bokuto complained. “You’re really fun to listen to.” You were touched by the small compliment. Grinning, you pulled out your phone to look at your schedule.

“Well, you guys are welcome to come back again. I have more presentations over the next couple of days.”

“We also could just hang out outside of your work.” Akaashi suggested, making Bokuto's face light up.

“Yeah!”

[lencir]

( NADIA HILKER, 254, SHE/HER ) We opened the gates to the seelie court for GENEVIEVE LENOIR and we are curious to see how the VAMPIRE, that is often described as the tempest, will contribute to the new era ━ are they the hunter, or are they the prey? We will find our answers in due time and until then, we hope that they can keep their little secret from getting exposed. It could be dangerous if everyone knew what we know…

FULL NAME: genevieve lenoir

AGE: 25 (apparent), 254 (actual)

SPECIES: vampire

SEXUALITY: bisexual

BIRTH DATE: dec. 1, 1766

GENDER: cis female

PRONOUNS: she/her

HEIGHT: 5'8″

MBTI: entj, the commander

From what she can recall, Genevieve had an unremarkable childhood. Her father Henri, a French soldier, died from tuberculosis when she was twelve, and her mother, a German midwife named Syele, never remarried. She adored her brother, Félix — a boy nine years her minor with curls so much like her own. Together, they lived in an unassuming cottage in Château-Chalon, a small commune in Eastern France.

Her uncle, a hunter by trade, would visit often, feeding her love for the wilderness. From an early age, she was taught how to listen for animals, anticipate their movements, and, most importantly, shoot. By the time she was fourteen, she could easily outshoot her uncle with the beautiful red oak crossbow he’d made for her. She had the patience of an experienced hunter too, a valued asset when hunting season came around and the town required the thinning of rabbit populations. But, for Genevieve, there was more to life than killing.

It might surprise people to know that she wasn’t always the gruff, stoic figure she is today. She wanted to practice medicine with every fiber of her being and would often stay up at night practicing her stitches. Her mother would often call on Gen’s help, teaching her the skills necessary for a successful midwife. That all ended the night Syele uncharacteristically arranged for one of her patients to deliver in the Lenoir family home.

It was a difficult delivery for both mother and baby, and Syele sent Gen to fetch the village’s other midwife to aid in the delivery. She was only gone for a few minutes, having run the entire way, but she returned to a massacre. The front door had been kicked in, furniture overturned, and amongst the wreckage lay the drained bodies of the two people she loved the most. For years, there had been rumors of vampyre killings throughout Europe. Neighbors would return from travels claiming sightings and strange disappearances. It was out of curiosity-laced shock that she bothered to check… only to find small puncture wounds in the necks of each of the bodies.

Something broke in Genevieve that night. She gave herself the night to mourn and by sunrise, she abandoned her home with only a crossbow and the family’s stallion. Medicine was no longer an option.

She met her mortal end a year later at the hands of nomad clan who had caught her scent just outside of Écrille. They ambushed her horse, slipping a sack over her head and dragging her into the night. For four agonizing nights and five balmy days, Genevieve found herself locked in a cellar. The vampires’ sadistic goal was simple: to punish her. And they dealt the final blow in the form of dripping blood into a just barely conscious Genevieve’s mouth.

She tried to resist her thirst, fought against the temptation to drain the innocent they brought in to tempt her. It almost worked, until the opening of the door blew the fragrant scent she’d longed for into her nostrils.

When she awoke into her new life, the house was empty with only blood-splattered curtains to show for the temporary vampiric guests. Alone and forced to teach herself, Gen stole away to the mountains. She remained in isolation for five months, coming to grips with her newfound immortality while feeding solely on hunters who strayed too far from the village. The adjustment period was difficult and filled with bloodshed. Needless to say, her attackers didn’t survive her vigilante justice once she found them. Killing her sire was painful, but what he had taken from her was worse. She gave their followers a choice: die or join her.

The newly formed clan —named Lamoura for the lake where Gen spent her first months of vampirism— made its way through the French countryside with sights set on Paris. After all, 1792 was a great year to be a vampire, and the violence of the revolution blurred with her own reign of terror; no one had the time to notice all the missing people. She made a name for herself across Europe, becoming known as la femme sanguinaire des boucles.

Neutrality suited Gen best, so the Lamoura would never pick a side in any of the battles they joined. As a result, she attracted the most ruthless members of her kind and had no choice but to enforce order. Those were the bloodiest years, constant challenges of her authority driving her to take more lives than she would have liked. Her form of justice was strict but fair; loyalty was rewarded and betrayal of any sort was unacceptable. The ultimate betrayal being the killing of families. A husband at war? Fine. Following someone home to where they lived with their spouse and child? Banishment or worse. The latter became a less likely punishment as her reputation came to precede her.

The same is true today, which has made her stay at court… manageable. The years have certainly hardened Genevieve, shaping her into the blunt, battle-worn woman she is today. She’s indifferent to anyone she meets until proven otherwise, existing in a moral gray area. She can recognize that she has done things that others might deem distasteful but in the name of survival, who can judge?

Her sense of humor is sarcastic, her form imposing, and she generally does little to discredit assumptions made about her. She’s passionate about the causes she believes in and is willing to give anyone a chance — one chance.

It’s a misconception that she makes rash decisions, especially given her past. On the contrary, she carefully thinks through all of her moves. It’s key to how she’s been able to maintain leadership for over two centuries.

Restlessness is something that has never sat well with Gen, and it shows the longer she stays at court. Where once she was keen to bide her time, she is now coiled and ready to seize any opportunity to escape. She has always been sure in her aims, confident in her, at times, brutally selfish way of life. Like a poison seeping into her pores, the court is slowly starting to change that, and she wants out.

THE GREAT ESCAPE x someone who’s part of her clan – esp. a. someone she’s trying to recruit (she is careful about every aspect of her life, especially who she puts in her inner circle. now that she’s established, she doesn’t want any threats to her authority) b. someone who’s been in her clan for years (either a positive or begrudging relationship) ❛ This rage will lead us through the burning plains. No matter what they say, we're heroes. ❜

AIN’T NO REST FOR THE WICKED x someone with whom she crossed paths during her “bloody” period. she didn’t use much discretion at this time so anyone who knew her then l i k e l y would’ve perceived her as a strong cold bitch ❛ There ain't nothing in this world for free. Oh no, I can't slow down, I can't hold back. Though you know, I wish I could. ❜

VENUS x gen doesn’t have many longterm ties outside of those she believes can help her down the road. that said, this is someone she seriously considered changing her rule for. she has a heart??? ❛ At first I thought you were a constellation. I made a map of your stars, then I had a revelation. ❜

BANG BANG YOU’RE DEAD x she hates this person’s guts. do with it what you may, but this is someone who really makes her wish she was as vicious as the stories say. ❛ I knew all along but I was loathe to believe. There was nothing but spite, fury, and lies in the words that you weave. ❜

hey guys! i’m taylor and i’m super hype to write with all of you :) this is my sarcastic asshole gen –  feel free to like this and i’ll hit you up for plots

[joopiterjoon]

Boy Meets Evil- MiniMoni

Pairing: Namjoon x Jimin

Genre: PG-13, Strangers/enemies-kind-of to lovers?

Warnings/Tags: Kittygang!Jimin, Professor!Namjoon, swearing, mentions of gangs and gang violence, minor threats, bad art history knowledge

Wordcount: 3k

a/n: this started as a short drabble but now I have 3 parts so I think Imma turn it into a series maybe? and thanks as usual to @megahwn​​ for betareading and reminding me I don’t suck at writing~~~

Part of ficswithluv’s #FWLBingo! 

Namjoon rakes back his tawny hair with frustrated fingers. He scratches in bafflement as he circles another misspelling of Da Vinci. When he started teaching Art History, he never thought he’d have to teach spelling, too.

He doesn’t realize how far he’s sunk into his chair, now scribbling away on Renaissance essays with his nose only inches from the table, until someone bumps into his chair. He hurriedly corrects himself and takes the moment to have a break from reading about the same exact art piece again. He’d given his students free reign of the entire Renaissance to choose art from, yet they all chose from the first five google results.

One of those students sat across the cafe. He glanced up as Namjoon spotted him and gave a small smile of acknowledgment. Namjoon tried to give the same, but knew his distress was evident if not on his face then definitely by his haywire hair. He shakes his head, adjusting his glasses.

Jungkook. A good kid, trying to get a minor in Digital Art. Namjoon knows a lot of students have to take his class as a requirement, and he’s come to appreciate the quiet yet studious students like Jungkook. He may not speak in class, but he submits decent work on time. Even now, while several pairs of probable-students sit in the cafe off campus chatting and laughing, Jungkook has his laptop open and camera plugged in.

Seeing a student working hard motivates Namjoon to plow through the last three essays he has. 

Before his red pen starts scribbling again, his attention is swept away by a man entering the cafe.

Art.

Namjoon loves art. It’s captured his attention since he was young. He read books on woodwork while his friends read Haikyuu! He took every art elective his senior year instead of taking early dismissal. He managed to get a degree in architecture to appease his parents just so he could also get a minor in art history. He finds art in everyday life. He appreciates unique design and complex color palettes. Art is not only his passion but the way he interprets the world.

The man who just walked through the cafe doors is art.

Soft, pink dusted hair smooths back as the man raises his sunglasses into his hair with a ring-clad hand only to reveal large, almost black eyes. His plush lips are pursed while he clearly looks for something, licking them in impatience. And as he weaves between tables, Namjoon has a clear view of a tight ass in tighter jeans, thick thighs bulging above the slits in the knees. As he rounds on a specific table in the back, Namjoon catches a glimpse of slim, delicate shoulders as the man’s jacket slides to his forearms. Namjoon glances down at the purple feathers lining the shoulder pads, trying to make out the words as the man bends over to place his hands on the table before him.

Kitty Gang

Namjoon’s throat dries. Kitty Gang, a notorious group of gangsters and good for nothings that wreak havoc as they please. Always pushing the law but never quite breaking it, at least, for the activities they get blamed for. Namjoon hadn’t heard that they were also so attractive. Maybe that was part of the man’s aura that drew Namjoon in to stare so long. Just like art, the deeper meaning of a person can shine through how they present themselves. And this man caused people to turn away, to scoot their chairs farther in, to gasp as his boot stomped on the floor.

Why is someone from Kitty Gang inside a student cafe? Namjoon heard about them on the edges of the college town. Were they here to cause an issue? Namjoon glanced around, trying to see if there were any other adults around. If not, he had a duty as a teacher. Especially since one of his students is here.

Namjoon does a double-take. His student, Jungkook, is who the member is talking to. Doing his best not to draw attention to himself, Namjoon tries to switch chairs. He’s not the only one, several girls craning their head to get a look at that powerful, attractive stranger. Namjoon’s not sure what he should do. If Jungkook catches his eye, maybe he’ll give him some kind of signal to help.

But when he catches sight of Jungkook, Namjoon’s surprised, to say the least. The boy is leaning back in his chair, laughing with the man. He seems completely at ease as he points to his screen. The pink-haired man steps around, putting a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder as he leans into his space to watch the screen together. They talk in hushed voices, a dangerous grin growing on the man’s face that regrettably makes Namjoon’s stomach warm, something causing him to squirm in his seat.

Then, the man grabs Jungkook’s jaw, holding him close as he plants a sloppy kiss on Jungkook’s cheek. That warming feeling in Namjoon’s gut grows, his heart racing. He tries to shake it off, adjusting in his seat. He’s always been drawn to the ghastly, to things eccentric that stand out. That’s art. That’s just what’s happening here. Of course he knows this is a dangerous situation that he might need to handle.

Jungkook shoves the man away. Namjoon’s jaw drops. Jungkook said no more than 5 words in class all semester. He always kept to himself, gentle smiles as he left the classroom, and here he is shoving at a… a gangster.

Oh, this is bad. He shouldn’t feel comfortable in this situation. He shouldn’t be locking forearms with the man as he shrugs his jacket back on, closing his computer and following the man out of the cafe. Namjoon watches, dumbfounded.

A feeling of protectiveness wells up in Namjoon, replacing the strange feeling from before. He has to do something as a professor and as an adult. Jungkook can’t go down this path.

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As the lecture hall empties after Namjoon’s lecture, he watches Jungkook make his way out of class. On time as always, attentive as always, and a soft smile as he makes his exit as always.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon says in a hushed voice. “Please wait a minute.”

Jungkook looks puzzled but pauses obediently, nodding as the others pass. Once the room is empty, he adjusts his backpack and asks, “What’s wrong, Namjoon?”

Namjoon feels a bit relieved for the difficult conversation ahead. He’d offered to all the students that they could use his first name. It helped level the hierarchy of the classroom, and it definitely made conversations like this seem more informal.

“I saw you at the cafe the other day,” Namjoon starts, setting down his paper and walking in front of the table that lines the Smartboard behind him.

Jungkook smiles a bit wider, “I know! It’s always funny seeing teachers outside of class.”

Namjoon chuckles. He remembers being like that, too. Wait, that’s not what this is about. “I also saw your friend.”

Jungkook tilts his head, eyes turned to the ceiling as he processes the information. “My friend?”

Namjoon narrows his gaze, not sure if Jungkook is playing dumb or really isn’t grasping it. If it’s the latter, it’s a good thing Namjoon stepped in because the boy is more naive than he expected. “Your friend with the pink hair.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap back to Namjoon. His cheeks turn a bit pink as he shrugs his shoulders. “Ah, him. That’s, yeah, that’s my friend.”

Namjoon straightens his glasses and tries to hold his shoulders back. When he practiced in the mirror, this pose looked relaxed yet strong. “Jungkook, you’re a college student, but you’re still young. You have many possibilities ahead of you. Some of them might seem more exciting than others, but you need to think about how what you do or who you associate yourself with now might affect your future. I try not to individualize praise or show favoritism, but you’re a good student. I can tell you’re hard-working. I just want you to think seriously about who you are getting involved with and make the best choices for yourself.”

Namjoon wants to pat Jungkook on the shoulder as the boy sinks in a bit more at Namjoon’s speech, but he refrains. Jungkook fluffs the back of his bedhead, not looking at Namjoon. “Ah, yeah, I appreciate your advice. Especially about me being a hard worker.”

Namjoon nods, giving a sympathetic smile. He was a junior in college once. Very recently in fact. He knows that there is a lot going on and a lot of tough choices.

“But Jimin isn’t as bad as people make him seem!” Jungkook suddenly blurts out. He seems surprised as Namjoon that he just said it, taking a step back like Namjoon might physically reprimand him.

“Who?” Namjoon asks.

“Jimin, my friend,” Jungkook says. Ah, the pink-haired man is named Jimin. It rings a bell in Namjoon’s skull, maybe having seen it in an article or two about Kitty Gang. But the real concern is Jungkook’s deeper than he thought, defending these people.

But there’s really nothing more he can do, Namjoon thinks as he sighs. He’s just a concerned teacher. He has no proof, and the only preemptive precaution he can do is send a notice to the university of potential care. That might be sent to Jungkook’s parents, and Namjoon doesn’t want to get all that involved.

“Look,” Namjoon tries, seeing Jungkook get more and more uncomfortable. “Just know I’m here if you need someone to talk to, okay? And if things get bad, you can reach out to me.”

“Things couldn’t get worse,” Jungkook says to the floor, where his eyes are now glued. 

Jungkook’s word choice confuses Namjoon. He tries to lean into Jungkook’s field of vision. “Has something already happened?”

Jungkook lips part before he’s vigorously shaking his head no. Namjoon takes a deep breath through his nose and heads to the door, letting Jungkook know he can leave now. He can’t press this anymore or it might turn around on him.

“But if they do,” he adds kindly, just so Jungkook knows he’s here. Jungkook nods, cheeks a little red, and heads down the hall at a brisk pace.

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Again, Namjoon finds himself in awe of how his students manage to study the material but not really pay attention to the details. Three students in a row wrote 7100s instead of 1700s. Is this the power of test anxiety?

Shaking his head, he makes note of the error just so the students are aware, but continues to read through the passages to check the content. He’s starting to think he may need to change cafes soon. This one is starting to fill with negative energy, too many times he’s been here frustrated, tired, and underpaid.

It’s midterms, so the place is also brimming with the anxiety of students. The chatter that boomed weeks before is now filled with grumbling, complaints, and unspoken stress that somehow rings the loudest in the large cafe. Students mill in and out, some stopping by for distractions or to cheer on friends, so Namjoon just hunkers down and tries to focus on the fourteenth response to how Michelangelo Caravaggio influenced other Baroque painters.

So it’s no surprise that he doesn’t look up when the door opens. Doesn’t bother when he hears hushed whispers and girls giggling. Doesn’t glance when someone walks past his table. He only looks up when the chair across from his squeaks against the floor and someone plops down, elbows on the table and leather jacket fringe spilling onto his essays.

“Heard you’re interested in me,” a voice practically purrs. Namjoon frowns, wondering who would interrupt his work.

When he looks up, he decides he really needs to change cafes.

Soft, plush lips spread so wide across a face that almost looks cherub-like as eyes crinkle from the power of the grin, a head propped by ringed-fingers tilting this way and that. Newly dyed pink hair brushes back and forth over dark eyebrows.

Jimin.

Namjoon’s pen drops from his hand. He watches the barista stare him down in shock, a previous student who must know who Jimin is. Shit shit shit. Namjoon closes his eyes to process, then immediately opens them, not sure what will happen if he takes his eyes off the man.

“Not exactly interested,” Namjoon quips.

“Oh?” Jimin’s lips pull together to pout. Namjoon’s terrified that his first thought is cute. “But Jungkookie said you even pulled him aside to chat about me.”

Namjoon blanches at the man.

“It’s okay,” Jimin sighs, lifting his head to turn in the chair, crossing his legs casually. When he tosses his head over his shoulder and winks at Namjoon, Namjoon balls his fists against the flutter in his chest. He’s not attractive, he’s dangerous. The reminder is right there on his jacket, the edge of a sparkly “K” visible in the creases of leather. “Everyone is interested in me these days. Has to be my cute face. Don’t you agree?”

Namjoon chokes on air. The man laughs at that, doubling over. The sound is similar to glass tinkling in a sink, the sound soft but not quite shattering, but it rings louder than anything else in the cafe to Namjoon. He’s not the only one, several others turning in irritation then immediately going back to their work when they see who it is.

Jimin must be a notable figure in the gang, Namjoon assumes. Even the kids here know who he is.

“I am not interested in you,” Namjoon finally musters when the man’s laughs die down. “I’m interested in Jungkook having a-”

“Oh my god,” Jimin clasps his hands over his mouth before he’s bracing on the table to lean in close. Namjoon gasps at the sudden intrusion of personal space, and the smell of oil and something fruity fills his lungs. “Teacher, you’re interested in one of your students?”

“What? No!” Namjoon hisses, eyes darting this way and that for anyone who might have heard. But the one place he can’t look is in the sharp eyes boring into him, an eyebrow quirked in his peripheral. He coughs and adds, “Mind your distance.”

Jimin snorts. As he leans back, a smirk spreads on his face. He tips the chair back, balancing on the back two legs. Namjoon wishes they would slip on the floor. “No, sir, I think you should mind your distance. Moreover, mind your business.”

Namjoon gives the man his attention again, only to settle him with a cold look.

“Jungkookie is one of mine, you see. He’s like family. Don’t go giving him silly ideas like backing away from me,” Jimin drops the chair to the ground, and Namjoon curses the fact that he jumps at the thud. “He can’t leave me. You hear? So butt out of your students’ lives and mind your own business.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks heat at that, immediately pissed off by this, this punk trying to tell him what to do. But before he can even continue, Jimin’s hand is on his. It’s gentle at first, sliding up, until he’s sitting on the pulse point of Namjoon’s wrist. Namjoon looks down, Jimin’s hand surprisingly small and warm, but the rings feel cold against his palm.

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, now would we?”

Namjoon feels the words shock him. Like a bolt of electricity running from where Jimin’s thumb pinches his pressure point up into the back of his skull. He cringes, not sure if Jimin’s actually doing something or if it’s the mere weight of his insinuation making him uncomfortable. He glares at him, but Jimin’s just smiling pleasantly at where Namjoon’s pulse races beneath his thumb.

“Looks like you got the message,” he hums, turning Namjoon’s wrist over. He places the pen back in his hand and pats it lightly. “You should focus on your actual work, teacher. Help all those students fulfill their dreams of working in cafes or an office or something.”

Jimin shrugs lightly as he stands. Namjoon, on the other hand, feels frozen. He even finds himself nodding when Jimin tilts his head in search of a response. When he does, the man smiles brightly and claps a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder. Much the way Namjoon wanted to do it to Jungkook to get his point across, the sincerity of his words.

And Jimin’s words had been Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, now would we?

When Jimin’s hand leaves him, the spot somehow feels warmer. His pulse is still racing not only in his wrists but in his ears. He can’t help but turn to watch the man leave, noting the way everyone else watches, too. And damn it all, he’s reminded of how good he looks from behind. More so than the toned figure visible in his loose clothes, it’s the air he exudes. Reckless and brazen.

And even worse, something in Namjoon wants to know what would happen. What that anything could be from a man like Jimin.

This is part 1. Click here for part 2!

[sparkkeyper]

Whumptober Day 11: Defiance

Aka "Crowley is furious at God". Whoops, it's sad. I've had this in my head for a while now, and well...

Warnings: child death, animal death, Old Testament-typical mass death (it's the Plagues of Egypt, folks, it's not pretty)

***

An angel and a demon stood on top of a rocky outcrop as the wailing and the screams rose up from the city. The angel's expression was very carefully blank. The demon's was most definitely not.

"Proud of yourssself, are you?" Crawly's voice dripped with disgust, his mouth twisted with horror and rage. Yellow filled his eyes to their edges and his nails dug into his palms until they drew blood.

Aziraphale flinched. "I told you before, nobody consults me on things like this." He was trying so very hard to set his face into a look of determination but the wringing of his hands betrayed him. "I didn't have a hand in any of it, not this time. All of this came directly from the Almighty."

Crawly's gaze roamed over the ravaged streets. Animal carcasses lay scattered, attracting flies by the thousands. Locusts flitted about, mingling with the occasional frog. Grief-stricken parents sobbed and clung to each other, ironically in every doorway where the blood wasn't.

"She promised she wouldn't do it again," he hissed. "She promised."

"She promised not to send another flood."

"But every other kind of extinction is fair game, is it? Sounds exactly like the sort of fine print She'd employ."

"Now, it's...it's hardly extinction..."

Crawly turned his anger onto the shrinking angel beside him. "They have no harvest! No livestock! What are they to eat next season?"

"Pharaoh had every chance to make the right choice..." Aziraphale's mumble trailed off weakly but the demon rounded on him anyway.

"They have no future! No children!"

"I didn't call down any plagues, Crawly!" The angel stumbled backwards, hands up in surrender. "All I was told was that this was punishment for Pharaoh-"

"Then punish Pharaoh!" Crawly screamed, sweeping his arm wide across the city. "Not the children! They didn't do anything! She was five!" He stabbed a finger at a house below them, then at another. "He was three! Just because he had the bad luck to be born first, that makes him the scapegoat for the Almighty's games?!"

"I didn't choose this!" A horn blew off to the east, where a great crowd of people were beginning to move at the city's edge. Aziraphale bit his lip hard. "Look, I've got to leave-"

"Not even going to stick around for the aftermath? Not going to help bury the dead or heal the sick or try to revive the ruined crops? How good of you."

"I have my orders, Crawly! I'm to go with the Hebrews, Michael was very clear on that point."

"Where will they go?"

"Nobody knows really. The general consensus is anywhere is better than here. They're taking it on faith."

"Faith!" Crawly spat on the ground at his feet. "Faith that the Almighty won't kill them after watching Her rain every kind of destruction down on innocents here? They'll starve, Aziraphale. There's no harvest left for anyone anywhere, no game. You'll watch them die out in the desert."

The horn sounded again and Aziraphale turned to leave, glancing back for a moment like he wanted to say more, but ultimately finding no words.

Crawly seethed, watching him turn his back on the destruction of the city. But it wasn't Aziraphale's fault - it was Hers. She who claimed to love Her creations and then set fire and death and pain upon them if they didn't bow to Her every changing whim, if they interpreted Her signs wrong, if they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time! She coddled one blameless child and struck down another all according to Her fucking ineffable mood and it made his blood boil like the sulfur pools. Why should Her game be allowed to play out the way She wanted it to? Why should all of Egypt have to roll over and cede the world to Her special pets?

Crawly was running through the streets with fire in his eyes. Every dead animal he passed, every vagrant covered in sores, every weeping mother only made it burn hotter. It took him no time at all to reach the palace grounds and no one stopped him as he burst into the inner chambers with the force of thunder.

"Pharaoh!"

Ramses was knelt over the body of his son, so similar to all the other fathers in the streets. Guards turned to the newcomer but Crawly had no patience for them. A demonic miracle held them in place as he stormed up to the king, grabbing onto all the threads of grief and pain that spilled from the human and twisting them into hatred.

"Your brother has turned on you and you'll let him get away with no consequence?" The demon slammed his hands down on the marble bier that held the dead prince. "Avenge your child! The God of the Hebrews has cursed your land, your people, to devastation, and you're just going to take it? Get up, Pharaoh, and show them that they can't bring such horror here and escape unscathed! Remind them who is lord of this kingdom! Make the rivers run red yourself with their blood this time!"

Ramses surged to his feet and Crawly knew he had him. Revenge pulsed through the human's soul, and through the demon's as well. The hold on the guards released as their pharaoh began bellowing orders and within moments the whole of the palace was in a frenzy, marshaling what soldiers remained into a force bent on slaughter.

Crawly rode with them, commandeering the biggest, blackest stallion from the royal stables despite his usual hatred of the animals. He hated a lot of things today, and horses were now down at the bottom of his list. Death and bloodlust were not part of his traditional repertoire but She had pushed him too far with this and he was not going to let Her get away with it, he was not!

By the time the remnants of the pharaoh's army had mustered and given chase, the Hebrews had reached the shore of the sea. As Crawly watched, the distant water split in half and the Almighty's pets began to cross the dry riverbed. He snarled out loud, knowing such a miracle was far too great for one angel. This was God Herself, of course it was. He gripped the reigns of his stallion harder. Aziraphale would be fine in the chaos, he had miracles on hand to make sure of that. But he couldn't say the same for the rest of the throng.

Four hundred foot soldiers, riders, and charioteers surged onto the seabed as the Hebrews climbed out on the opposite back. Only a few minutes more and the army would be upon them.

A horrible roar echoed from behind them and Crawly looked back just in time to see a wall of water as tall as the palace itself crumbling inward towards him. Screams assaulted his ears but he didn't even have time to open his mouth before the wall struck him with the force of an avalanche, tearing him from his horse and smashing him into the ground.

There was a terrible stretch of time where Crawly couldn't make sense of anything. He was pummeled from all sides by water, stone, bodies, armour. All air was forced out of his lungs and seawater took its place. He had no idea which way was up, and after the roar subsidied a deep oppressive silence filled his ears.

If Crawly had been human, he would be dead. But he was a demon, and the broken bones and crushed sternum could be reversed with a series of miracles. His chest rebelled against the water that filled it, but he didn't truly need to breathe so he could bear the ache.

Eventually the churning ocean around him settled down enough for him to realize he was pinned to the sea floor by a chariot wheel. It took some wriggling - during which a normal human would have certainly drowned three times over - but he managed to free himself. The water around him was full of debris and bodies as he swam for the light above.

Crawly burst to the surface with a gasp that lost itself in gurgling. He dragged himself half onto a nearby rock and doubled over, choking up seawater and trying to clear his lungs enough to breathe.

On the opposite bank, the last of the Hebrews were disappearing over the hill.

He screamed the moment he had the breath for it, a sound of betrayal and failure and impotent rage, directed solely at the heavens. Dead men and dead horses filled the water around him. Dead crops and dead children filled the kingdom behind. Death and pain were always the clearest signs of Her interference. And now She waltzed away from him like always, leaving him powerless. Caring nothing for the ruin in her wake.

He wouldn't face any punishment from Downstairs, he knew. Four hundred souls dead while steeped in the throes of Wrath was quite a consolation prize. More than enough to keep Hell happy and off his back.

But it was no consolation to Crawly.

He screamed until his throat was sore, then collapsed alone on the rock in the sea and wept with Egypt.

[soft-ris]

HI FRIEND, FOR THE CP: (such a cute idea btw!!!) let me see if i get this right...i cut it short but i have curly hair, dark dark brown but with some really cool natural blonde highlights. i have bluish-silver eyes and i think nice lips, and am around 5'7" (174 cm i think?). i am a WRITER to the core, super creative, ideas hit me 24/7. i really love history and would love to visit ruins someday. movie junkie. i'm sarcastic but like to think to think i'm also funny! I'LL BE 🐄 I HAVE ONE MORE 😫

OKAY ITS 🐄 AGAIN. as i said i really love making people laugh and writing poetry for people. i'm very selfless but often to a major fault lol, not very good at taking care of myself a lot. self esteem? DON'T KNOW HER. but hey, i kinda enjoy cooking, and i really love reading!! (IS THIS OVERSHARING) since we only have jojo in common my top 3 are risotto🖤, DIO⚰ and Jonathan🗡 :^) thank you AGAIN an i hope you have an absolutely wonderful day my dood

———————————————————————

Cupid’s Pick for your match made in heaven is...

...Jonathan!

———————————————————————

I'm very selfless but often to a major fault lol. Not very good at taking care of myself a lot. Self-esteem? DON'T KNOW HER.

The MAIN reason I chose Jonathan was because of this. Jonathan’s a whole gentleman (I mean he basically strived to be one). Kind and sweet and positive and has a heart bigger than both his boobs and ass cheeks combined. He would be the best match up for you because his affirmations and positive attitude and sweetness would be like to honey to your tea, the sugar to your coffee, the whipped cream to your strawberry. He’s the best (out of the characters you’ve given me) in reassuring you. And because of his personality and disposition, you’d be well taken care of (physically especially). Your self-esteem would also flourish because there’s no doubt that he loves you and only you (romantically), and he’d remind and show you for as long as he’s with you. He’d also appreciate your selflessness the most because he’s always out there being selfless, so having it be done to him is just a big uwu for him. I feel like that’s how he shows his devotion and love, and so your selflessness is just top notch in catching his heart. But when you take it too far, he will reign you back in. He may scold you, but you’ll know it’s because he means well and he doesn’t want to see you hurt or exhausted. He’s sincere in that sense, and because of that, you know he means it when he tells you he loves you, when he calls you beautiful, when he says you own his heart and soul because you actually do. In the long-term, I see his personality just helping you improve your self-esteem and self-care and selflessness naturally.

While I was tempted to match you up with Risotto, Jonathan ultimately won out because I do not see him (Ris) doing as well with this aspect of yours (compared to big boy Jonathan).  He can translate your selflessness to either being a pushover (when you bend yourself backwards for others, and he’s disapproving of that because he believes you should respect yourself more and may even take you under his wing instead of his bedsheets lol) OR he can interpret this as either your loyalty to him (when you bend yourself backwards for him). With the latter, he may end up taking advantage of it sometimes. This is because I believe he’s so used to having things taken away from him or not having enough of something, so he may subconsciously demand more of you in some manifestation of greed. So you’d end up giving more, he’d end up taking more, and it’s just not a good balance. ESPECIALLY if you say you’re not good at taking care of yourself. I’m not saying he won’t take care of you if you two are dating, but I also think he needs someone who can essentially function well without him (since he’s so busy and has a lot on his plate and can’t always be there for you; I’m not saying you’re a burden bc you’re not, I’m just saying Ris has a lot going on and he doesn’t want to be the reason for your decline in health and mental state if y’all were dating bc he wasn’t there and he will beat himself up over it).

The biggest reason I didn’t pair you up with DIO specifically is because I feel like he would 1000000000000000000000% take advantage of this. He’s not above that and he most likely will not feel remorse for that. Hell, he would 100% enjoy utilizing your disposition to his advantage, and in the long-term (hell, even in short-term), that’s not good for you and your health at all. As shown countless times before, he relishes in power and does not enjoy it when people are of equal or higher standing than him. And because of that, I feel like he would not hesitate to use your low self-esteem and selflessness to further his ego and complex. DIO’s also surrounded by gorgeous people every day, and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash if you were to voice your insecurities to him. Although, he may end up also using sweet reassuring words to you just so you fall under his spell harder (which means it would be easier to manipulate u and ur selflessness) OR he may exploit it and make you feel more insecure but also manipulate you to be more mindlessly devoted to him (it’s easier to use that forehead bug thing but that’s removable). All in all, it would just breed an extremely dependent and toxic relationship between the 2 of you because you would never be his equal, even in a relationship with him. He’s not the antagonist for nothing lol (I’m well aware of his past and the implications/effects it has, but we’ve all seen how he has acted throughout his life and his thought process). 0/10 recommend.

I am a WRITER to the core, super creative, ideas hit me 24/7.

Jonathan would be supportive all around and would love to help you in any way he could. He’d want to read everything you produce too! Overall, extremely proud of your creativity and if you publish a book, he will throw a party, make Speedwagon buy a copy too, and cherishes the first copy you give him.

Risotto would gift you things to help you with this, like books, stationaries, & etc. Would help you out with proofreading and editing too if he has the time. He’s supportive like that and he’s attracted to how you’re so creative and can draw inspiration at all times.

DIO thinks your creativity is admirable. He would also love to read what you write, but is very critical. He’s read so many books, and while preference is subjective, he knows what good writing is (based on genre, style, & etc.). So if it’s not good, you’ll know why from A to Z. And if you get disheartened by him, he will look down on you and call your passion weak.

I really love history and would love to visit ruins someday.

Jonathan seems like he likes travelling in general, so he would love to visit with you too! Might not be super into history, but well, anything will interest this big puppy if you tell him passionately enough.

Risotto looks like he doesn’t mind? Not super interested, not super disinterested either, but will travel with you if he’s able to free up his schedule.

DIO can only go at night, but he looks like he enjoys history and ruins.

Movie junkie.

Jonathan and you would set up a weekly movie night date thing, and he’ll let you pick whenever because he just loves to spend time with youwu. He has some favourites, but if the movie doesn’t interest him, he’ll still sit through it but his attention would be on cuddling you.

Risotto? Kinda depends on the genre? But he looks like the kind to not have enough time to be a movie lover or sit through one for you, so not the best match.

DIO prefers books so he won’t indulge in this love of yours, but if it’s an adaptation from a book he would watch it. But he’ll be a raging bitch if doesn’t match up to the books. Honestly, if he’s uninterested, he won’t be watching it.

I’m sarcastic but like to think to think I’m also funny!

I see Jonathan as someone who enjoys it when his partner can quip back, so while he may not find sarcasm funny most of the time (when aimed at him), he does find it attractive. If you’re sarcastic to the people who give him a hard time, he would kiss you passionately afterwards and who knows… you might even get dicked down after oho. If you’re sarcastic to the people he cares about, he won’t mind if no one’s feelings are hurt.

DIO won’t tolerate being disrespected in any form, even if it’s a joke. I just can’t see him allowing that with that God complex of his lol, but he does find it amusing when you’re sarcastic to other people.

Risotto loves sarcasm, but he has an image to keep. So as long as you don’t undermine or disrespect him (you have to have a 6th sense with the boundaries), he’s more than happy to sass you back or chuckle at it.

I really love making people laugh.

Jonathan and Risotto appreciates this the most. Finds it lovely. Jonathan especially because he finds it so sweet that you want to bring laughter to others. Risotto enjoys a partner who would love to bring more joy into his life. But I see the shit Risotto laughs at as dry or dark or when its real stupid or boomer/dad-like, anything else he’s a little like ‘ok’. Jonathan appreciates the effort alone and would tease you a little if it’s a really bad joke (all in good nature of course).

DIO…he laughs mostly at other people’s demise or stupidity or cluelessness. That’s all I’m gonna say.

I really love writing poetry for people.

Jonathan would SWOOOOOOOOOOOOOON SO hard. He would show it off to Speedwagon and then keep it tucked somewhere safe so he can read it whenever he wants to.

God he’s just so in love with you and he thinks it’s just so romantic of you. He absolutely loves it. Hell, even if it’s not for him, he’s so proud and awestruck because poetry is hard and he’s just so proud whenever he brags about this skill/hobby of yours. He also thinks it’s so sweet of you to write poetry for others and love doing it. Man just has heart eyes all around and I can’t blame him.

DIO would be smug about it for all the same reasons but in a more…condescending way? Like ‘HA. Do you peasants see that? Their talent? You could never lmao’. But would get pissy if you write for others more than you write for him because he should be your #1.

Risotto would say thank you and give you a kiss. Outwardly he won’t show as much (unless you look hard enough and notice the way his eyes soften more, like the way he would smile too, and his cheeks might even have a touch of pink), but he will forever treasure the poem. He also keeps his favorite on him all the time, like a little good luck charm. He doesn’t brag about your talent, but he’ll proudly agree if someone brings it up. Of course, you wouldn’t know all this though (unless you accidentally find out).

I kinda enjoy cooking.

Johnathan has a refined palate because of his upbringing, but he also looks like he’d eat whatever you cook solely because you made it just for him. He’s a gentleman and a sap with a big heart, if he doesn’t like it, he’ll eat it. He might tell you what can be tweaked, but never in a way that makes you feel bad or inadequate. He also looks like he can’t cook for shit lmao, so teach him!! He’s always down to do anything if it means spending time with the love of his life uwu

Risotto and DIO would tell you straight up if they don’t like what you’ve made. The difference is, DIO (if he ain’t a vampire yet) wouldn’t even touch it (anymore after the first bite) lmao, Risotto too but he’d end up cooking with you to teach you how to improve the dish. Of course, he doesn’t do it to shit on you. He appreciates the sentiment, but he’s not going to subject himself to something he doesn’t enjoy if he can help it. Also would turn it into a cooking date with you. DIO would just take over the kitchen and make you watch LOL

I really love reading!!

DIO too! I see Risotto enjoying it as well, but not as much and probably prefers music related hobbies. As for Jonathan, he doesn’t mind it? He’s not the biggest fan of it, but if you read it to him, he’d happily perch his head on your lap and listen to you like an audio book sent from the heavens (but somewhere along the way he will fall asleep KSKSKSK)

DIO would engage in conversations with you on the books (also thoroughly enjoys if you can keep it interesting), Risotto would if he knew the book (but would then just listen and ask questions if he didn’t), Jonathan is just happy to have your attention on him, but would read the book and talk about it with you if you want that.

Your physical appearance description.

Jonathan would just love to play with and admire your hair 24/7, and if his attention isn’t on your hair, then it’d be on your lips. Kissing, brushing his tongue or fingers or **** against your lips, just absolutely loving the shape and feel of it.

And because you’re also tall(-er than average?), kisses are SO much more easier to access and that’s such a plus uwu. I mean regardless of height, he can always just lift you, but he also doesn’t have to bend too far when plopping his head on the crown of ur head too. And if u wear heels or shoes that give u extra height? Power couple goals😩🤘🏼💫

[hydrangeasimagination]

Does Mitsu have any admires??

Oh, most definitely!

But since Mitsu is quite different from Mochi, there is only two(?) that remained the same.

Prophet and I talked about possibilities and I worked out some explanations! There’s 7 of them because I wanted to cut down on the amount a bit?

We also wanted to give the underappreciated babs some love!

Ya’ll already know about how the brothers feel about said two so I’ll just link that post here if you haven’t read it!

~ Dari

Mitsu’s Admirers and Approval Rates

The Dudes

Ojiro Mashirao

Though there's not a lot about him, I do love him lots! He doesn't get to spend a lot of time with you, but the both of you just enjoy relaxing away from the more rambunctious members of your class. The two of you talk about pretty mundane things but find peace with each other. His crush really blossoms after you comforted him being brainwashed by Shinsou at the sports festival and that it was an honorable thing for him to do. It starts off rather small actually but grows slowly between the moments they get to spend with each other.

Your pops thinks the kid is strong and righteous, if not a little faint-hearted. Smite doesn’t have the most positive opinion of a lot of people but respects him, especially from what you’ve told him

Katsu doesn’t know to much about him since the guy really doesn’t stand out at all. He’s pretty neutral, borderline indifferent to him.

Zuku did research on those who spend the most time with you and feels he’s pretty standard. The two of them admire one another’s skills in fighting in their respective fields. Though he thinks Mashirao could stand to be more confident.

Shou doesn’t really have an opinion on him but admires his strong, calm sense of dignity as well as his work ethic. He respects him, though they don’t know each other well

Sero Hanta

With how he gets along with Shouto, it's sort of a given he'd get closer to them as well. He's felt inadequate against Todoroki as being in the face of overwhelming power was hard as an "average" person. You think he's great though and often voice it to him. He thinks his feats are nothing special and like he was riding on someone else's shoulders to get wins sometimes... People tell him to just accept it and be happy with it. But with you, he doesn't feel that. No judgement, no telling him  that he was over-reacting, that he should be grateful. Just encouragements that he's capable and strong to carve his own path... His heart is swayed pretty easily.

Smite likes the kid, actually finding him and his jokey attitude is something that you need as he and your brothers can be... Cynical. You, Katsuki, and Shouto spend a lot of time with him so of course he knows one or two things about him, having even met him in his small form.

Being one of his friends, Katsuki thinks he’s one of, if not the best choice for you. But that’s him being biased. But he thinks Hanta’s laid back demeanor would the best to help sooth you in situations they can’t.

Izuku is also a bit biased as the two of them work well together and are rather good friends, even though he spends more time with your other two brothers.

... Shouto is also biased. The three of you read and trade manga in your free time! He knows Sero’s slight show-boaty sort of part of him is because he wants to be acknowledged and he thinks that he shouldn’t need to do that. The both of you share the same opinion; that he’s a great hero!

Shinsou Hitoshi

He remains a love interest as I'm sure he vibes with Mitsu. The both of you are super chill and you still think he'd be a great hero, also being incredibly amazed by his quirk. Hitoshi and you understand one another, having apparently villainous quirks and being forced into boxes in your earlier years.

Smite is a little weary of him as his quirk would allow for him to find information on you but quickly learns that the boy would never do that. His drive to become a hero earns him your father’s respect.

Tokoyami Fumikage

Bird boy doesn't get enough love and despite how broody and gloomy he is, he's a gentleman and you, quite frankly; think he's cute as hell. You care little for physical appearances and he certainly doesn't expect your boldness. As you straight up told him, "Dude, you're like... Really handsome". He's flustered... And terribly charmed.

Pops thinks he’s a little unusual. The two of you get along rather well and the kid seems well behaved over all, his strength and skill was also high... He really doesn’t have much of an opinion.

Katsuki trusts him to protect you. You’re still prone to attracting weirdos and trouble so he can never be too careful. Is actually soothed most of your admirers are pretty normal but reasoned it’s because you don’t stand out.

Izuku is good friends with him, having teamed up with him before. He thinks Fumi is one of the better choices, finding him capable and strong! His seriousness is also something Zuku admires.

The two of them are similar and respect one another and their respective skills. Shouto also finds him to be one of the best candidates! They don’t really talk but seem to have a mutual understanding.

The Gals!!

Jirou Kyoka

Your chill, intimidating vibes really appeal to her for whatever reason. You like fighting and kick serious ass and she admires your strength. The two of you have a similar sort of aesthetic and also bond over your shared love of alternative/grunge fashion and American music. Her crush blooms when you both start swapping CDs and playlists after the dorms were established.

Your father knows very well she’s intimidated by him, thinks she’s absolutely hilarious. Sarcastic humor is something he’s passed off on you so it’s understandable you both get along so well.

Katsuki likes her music choices, they argue over which bands/songs are better. He thinks she’s chill as fuck.

Zuku and Shou are actually rather indifferent towards her. None of them really having moments where she really stood out to them

Kendo Itsuka

She's a mf badass queen and you admire the hell out of her intelligence, strength, and patience. Itsuka gets super flattered that you hold such high opinion of her, even though in her eyes you were ranked above her. She finds herself charmed by, though having to reign in, your often abrasive behavior. You don't point it towards her though, which she learns is out of respect... Her heart is swayed a little.

Smite praises her for everything you had. Thinks she’s one of, if not the best choice since he knows sometimes you can sort of get wily. She can keep calm with you if it came down to it.

Again, your brothers only know her as Monoma’s handler and is grateful to her for doing so... Even more so when they watch her rein you in after you lost your temper. They don’t know much about her to form an opinion just yet.

Toga Himiko

She is also remaining on the list since you did fight back and fight back hard, hard enough to get you beat up a bit. She also finds your nickname utterly adorable... Also interested in seeing what’s behind that mask of your’s. Though again, really hard to see her as a love interest when she’s obsessed with you and trying to get it in with your brother too.

Dad Smite doesn’t care that she’s taken out your stalkers since she was one of them. The LOV is also on his shitlist for kidnapping you and Bakugo anyhow.

[jenomark]

Can you talk about the image nct members were/are supposed to have vs how they actually are? I’d love to hear your view on all of that (I think the topic’s super interesting). You can be as vague or detailed as you want 😬☺️

+As always, these are my opinions / thoughts/ observations & are meant to be taken very lightly. It’s not that deep. 💚

Taeil: I don’t think he was given an obvious set image. The oldest member always has their own role to fulfill within a group dynamic, and I think Taeil is doing a great job. I kind of think SM knew he would be teased, especially because he’s an easygoing man. They let him handle all of that by letting the chemistry with his members happen naturally. It makes the group feel a little bit like a family that you’re a part of, in my opinion, and he’s the reason for it. In the beginning, they asked him a lot about his life before he was an idol, almost as if they were trying to put him in the role of an academic who chose to live out his passions instead. It’s definitely an admirable thing to follow your dreams and is bound to inspire a lot of people out there. Also, it looks good for SM as a company. As for Taeil’s personality, I definitely think we’re seeing mostly all of it. I want to say that I don’t see him as someone who has anything to hide, but music is important to him and there is no telling how passion can sometimes rule over people. Other than that, to me, he seems really simple and free in his interests. 

Johnny: I can’t tell if Johnny has an image, or not. I think his confidence plays a big part of how he wants to appear, but I also think that is partly his choice. He’s always been really friendly and extroverted according to his pre-debut stuff. He’s an interesting man, I will say that. He’s trained longer than the others, working himself the hardest, and yet he did not quit. His strength is unimaginable, and to be honest, it takes someone really patient and in love with what they do to be able to withstand all of that. I think, because of that, a lot of the members look up to him. Even though he’s the second oldest, I’ve noticed that he has become the pillar for a lot of members. He’s got a very fatherly way about him, but the kind of dad that will only give you half of the advice and tell you to go and figure out the rest for yourself. 

Taeyong: He’s something of an enigma, to me. You can clearly see his role as a leader as his main image. I think it’s something he takes very seriously. He’s trained well for it, because I doubt pre-debut Taeyong could even lead himself. He’s a very emotional and complicated person, and I think he can get very scatter-brained if he doesn’t reign himself in. We have the cool image, the leader, the main rapper, with the attractive face. Everyone’s eyes always go to him first, myself included, and I definitely think it’s a part of the man SM created. The real Taeyong, as you know, is so different from his on-stage persona. Like, I can’t figure out how one man has that much charisma when he’s performing, but then when he leaves the stage, it’s like he shrinks back into himself. I’ve rarely seen any idol like him (but they do exist!). He’s so incredibly soft and child-like when he’s just being who he is. Also, he’s like really weird in the most endearing way. He’s definitely the dorky kid that suddenly got popular, but who hasn’t forgotten his heart. He still leads really well, but there are moments where I can see how other members push him forward to be the man he wants to be. 

Yuta: I think he fits the “Foreign Member” mold pretty well. I know the main reason NCT exists is to showcase how music transcends culture, but I always feel like SM has a foreign member quota to fill just so they can make more money in other countries. I know they have a history of not treating their foreign members as fairly if they don’t find value in them. So far, Yuta is the only Japanese member. His culture is not and will never be an image to him, and I think he takes that very seriously. He’s very proud of where he comes from, and it shows so beautifully in everything he does. Other than that, I don’t think he has an image. I think Yuta is exactly who he says he is. I think he performs really well as a strong member, both visually and vocally, and I think it is something that comes naturally. The only thing that ever throws me off about him is his “Resting Bitch Face” but I know that doesn’t give any indication of how he is feeling. To me, his personality is really sweet and very considerate of others. He also has a really feminine way about him, and I’m sure it’s attributed to his mother somehow. I see him as someone that is very caring and really takes the time out to listen to how his members are feeling. He’s a good man and an even better friend.

Kun: His image was given to him by the NCT members, mostly the younger ones. They gave him the role of the mother because he cooks, takes care of people, and is mature in the sense that he takes his job very seriously. He resists that image a lot, even though I believe it’s partly true. Kun’s need to be seen as a strong male figure is interesting and I think that’s because he’s taken on a lot of pressure over the years to be what he thinks his idea of cool is. I do think he finds enjoyment in the younger members poking fun at him, because he has a lot of leader-like qualities and poking fun of a leader makes them feel wanted. Eventually, he’ll stop resisting and accept that he’s always going to be a bit more rigid than the others. I think the more he ages and gets experience, he’ll use the motherly role to his advantage. Kun has a lot of power inside of him that hasn’t had the chance to be seen, or heard. I would watch out for him. If leaders were two sides of a coin, Taeyong would be one side, Kun the other.

Doyoung: The real Doyoung is his image. I feel like SM let him be himself, knowing that a lot of fans would respond well to him because of how relatable he is. He’s not the strongest dancer and he lets people know that, and by letting people know that, it works in his favor. I definitely don’t think that was the original plan, but seeing Doyoung in the first season of NCT Life probably made SM realize that they can’t stifle someone like him.  His character is quite unique and we’re always graced with the way he is feeling: annoyance at something Taeyong has said, the way he hates being made fun of but eventually gives in to the laughter, and how he chooses Jeno as his favorite, because Jeno is the only one that listens to him. He’s got serious younger brother syndrome, to be honest. I know a lot of people might not like how overbearing he can be, but it’s why he works so well within the group. Doyoung is another pillar, like Johnny, but in a more emotional way. He keeps everything together and running smoothly.

Ten: I’m sure the original plan for Ten was to make him this cool rapper. When I watch The 7th Sense MV, I often forget I’m looking at Ten. The way his hair is and the way he’s dressed are so far removed from the Ten we know today. Those things felt more like a costume he was trying on. I am so glad SM let him release his own stations and explore different sides of himself. WayV aside, Ten seems so much happier making the music he wants to make. Like, he shines a hell of a lot brighter when he’s doing his own thing. I see him as someone who has always known what he wants. I think there are periods in everyone’s life where they challenge who they are with who they want to be, and I think that’s something he went through. I can sense a lot of pain in his transformation and acceptance of self, but the happiness that came out of it makes all of that worth it. I think he’s lightened up a lot over the years. He’s a lot less emo than he used to be.

Jaehyun: I mentioned that he plays the part of the boyfriend you wish you had. He’s meant to make you fall in love with him because of how good looking and soft he is. He’s the man you have a crush on for years but can’t tell him because you believe he is out of your league. SM loves to create this fantasy because they know it will push fans to try and attain him. In a way, they’re selling a product and you are buying it every time. He’s probably one of the only members who have kept up the charade for a really long time. I don’t think he’s entirely invested in his image, because we do see pieces of him here and there, but I think he follows the rules well and doesn’t like to disappoint people. In reality, I think he’s not as perfect (which is normal). I think he can be unintentionally abrasive and probably super pessimistic. He definitely seems like someone who lets things get to him too easily, and he probably beats himself up a lot. I can see him as someone who has slightly strange interests, as well. I also think he’s probably really fun to talk to.

WinWin: His image seems like a mixed bag: he’s foreign, he’s flexible, he is a dancer, and he is as cute as a button. Also, he was born ridiculously handsome, which plays a part in his popularity. I think SM tried to make him appear “cool” at one point, but it was WinWin’s real reactions to things that won fans over. It’s no surprise that a lot of people gravitate to him, either. He has a lot of good energy surrounding him, and you can see it in how the members act around him. I don’t think SM gives Sicheng enough any credit for all of the fans he’s pulled in over the years, as well as all of the work he’s put in since he debuted. All of that aside, I think WinWin’s personality runs a lot deeper than what we’ve seen. I think he definitely hides a lot of his truth from the cameras. He’s more of a thinker than a talker, but he wants his opinions to be heard. I think he’s really stern when he needs to be, and is definitely not as aloof as people perceive him to be. I think he’s aware of what he deserves and he’s just waiting for his time to strike back. 

Jungwoo: His image was created by fans. In the beginning, everyone called him soft because of how he handled his emotions. They ran with the idea that Jungwoo was Junguwu, and didn’t stop to think that my man’s edges are all razor sharp. Sensitivity doesn’t always create someone timid, you know? I think people are getting to see the real Jungwoo gradually. I’ve seen a lot of people be shocked that he’s so forward and a little wild. He’s so free in the way he moves, how he speaks, and the way he touches people. I’m not sure if SM ever gave him a specific image, but Jungwoo would have shattered it by now. He’s very good at making people uncomfortable, in my observations. He likes the attention, and for people to underestimate his character. He’s intelligent and needs to be stimulated at all times. Also, he’s another member that is weird as hell. I know he is always overrun with emotions, but I think there is so much strength in that. 

Lucas: He is who he is. SM can make him appear as handsome and as cool as they want, but he’s still going to pull the ugliest faces and say the dumbest shit. You can’t tame someone like that. Lucas glows when he’s being himself, and the moment the company realized that, they just kind of let him do his own thing. If he wants to move his titty on national television? Let him. He’ll bring in more people for being himself than he would for having a typical image. When he debuted, a lot of fans assumed he was a fuckboi because of the way he acted, but it ended up not being true. Honestly, a lot of people treated him really badly just because of a few characterizations through social media. When I look at Lucas, I see someone really vulnerable and kind. He has the biggest and warmest heart of any of the members. I think he’s a little senseless sometimes, but it wears so well on him. I know everyone has their own definition of innocent, but when I look at him, I see someone so honest in self that it’s beautiful.

Mark: Ahhh, the golden boy. I don’t even think Mark knows how powerful he is. I don’t think SM had an image for him. I think they saw that little Canadian boy, saw that potential deep inside of him, and I think they groomed the fuck out of him. The rest of Mark’s image comes from his real personality. Around the time he debuted, he seemed a lot less comfortable being himself. Mark, to me, has always been a very good boy. He listens well, he checks all the boxes, and he does the best he can do. Now that Mark is growing up, I think he’s finally coming into his own and finding his rhythm. I can see it in the way he writes his lyrics, the way he responds to fans these days, and how positive he remains, even when he’s overworked. Honestly, I love his personality most of all. He’s really naive, but in such a captivating way. He definitely does not think before he speaks. He’s very introverted but steps outside of that just to make other people feel comfortable. You can tell when someone just has a really good soul, and Mark Lee is one of them.

Xiaojun: I don’t think he has an image, but he’s definitely got the soft guitar boy thing going for him. It really works for him because I think it’s his truth. Music is his world and he would probably play for anyone that would want to hear him, stage of street corner. We don’t know a lot about him. My observation of him is generally positive. I think he bites his tongue a lot and I do sense a bit of leadership in him, also stubbornness, but for the most part, he’s just nice. I think he’s really accepting and inquisitive. He’s type of person that supports you, but has to make fun of you first as a means of acceptance and love. He shows love in a really weird way, I bet. 

Hendery: I’ve read a lot about him being handsome and I was wondering if that is what SM wanted people to focus on. He is handsome, but I get the feeling that he thinks he looks goofy, and that the other members are better looking than him. He’s never going to stick with the good-looking image because it isn’t what he cares about. Again, he is someone we don’t know as well, but I get a feel for him the most. He’s very funny, the type of person who will throw himself into the fire just for a joke. Those kinds of people are always the best because they will do anything to make the people they love happy. He’s a little self-sacrificial, but he’s probably working on it.

Renjun: You’ll have to pry the “Pure Boy” image from his cold, dead hands. He respects other people, so he’ll stay with the image SM created for him, even though I can see it’s wearing him out. When it comes to Renjun, I think an image is doing him more harm than good. It is a joke to him, at this point, but there’s nothing sadder than not letting someone like him live out their full potential. It’s not that deep, but he’s always seemed really impressionable to me. He denies parts of his real self (his interests) in favor of something more “sexy” or “adult”. Well, that isn’t totally true. He engages his interests whenever fans want him to, which really goes to show how thoughtful he is. Also, he’s so damn clever. Renjun is going to be someone that breaks the glass ceiling whether his company wants him to or not. I can’t wait for that day, tbh.

Jeno: I think the image he has is of someone older than his years. I know this might be controversial, but it always seemed like Jeno was being prepared for older fans. I don’t know if anyone understands what I’m saying, but I could never shake that feeling, especially when he was being compared to older males from other SM groups. I know the fans see him as a really sweet, soft, and introverted boy. He likes cats, he’s polite, and he giggles a lot. I do think that Nctzens are right about that. He’s definitely that boy-next-door. I’ve  always seen him as a really strong, unwavering presence. I think he’s really ambitious and will stop at nothing to get what he wants, and he definitely knows what he wants. Though I think we do get parts of the real Jeno on camera- especially the person he is around his friends- I would be very interested to see how he acts when he has to take charge. I have a sneaking suspicion he would make a fabulous leader.

Haechan: No one had to give him an image. Young Donghyuck, I think, really filled all of SM’s expectations for an idol. I think his personality was a large part of why it was him who was put in 127, and not anyone else. I don’t think it would have worked any other way, if I’m being honest. When he’s absent, everything feels so strange. I do think Haechan plays up the mischievous part of himself when he’s in front of cameras because he knows how much his fans like it, and he would do anything for his fans. That boy has a really big heart, too. In my eyes, Haechan is so much more than whatever adjective people want to use to describe him : loud, annoying, hilarious, cute, crazy. He’s an independent person, one with his own thoughts and opinions. I like how, when he’s serious, he listens to his elders out of respect, but then comes back with his own ideas. He wants to be treated as an equal, wants to be seen as an adult. I do think he’s a little goofball, but I think that part of himself is less interesting than the man he’s becoming every day.

Jaemin: I know people like to call his love for Nctzens a part of his job, or his image. I do think it started off that way. Jaemin was probably told to be the boyfriend, the best friend, the model son. However, I think his love and over exaggeration of that love has become a very real part of his identity . He’s used to playing up his cuteness all of the time, but I think the reaction from fans really surprised him and touched him deeply. He’ll gladly continue showering fans with love without really caring about how it makes him appear.I believe the real Jaemin is a little less obvious with his  love than he appears on camera. I can see him being a little more modest and calm, without losing the silly way he communicates that love to his friends. I think he has a very good head on his shoulders, and is probably always five steps ahead of everyone else. Other than that, I think we get most of the real Jaemin.

YangYang: In WayV, his dynamic is that of the younger brother. I don’t think it’s an act for him to always tease the older members, or to bounce around with so much energy. I think, if there was an image put on him, he would listen well to the company, but end up tweaking it to his liking. YangYang, to me, seems very individualistic. I know he loves his team, but there is something about him that aches to creatively fill some kind of void he has. I think he has a lot going on inside of his head at all times, all of these ideas swimming around that he’ll hopefully put to good use when he gets older. 

Chenle: He has the image of a child prodigy. Chenle didn’t train very long compared to the others. Even if it wasn’t intentional, that alone creates the image that he’s valued a whole lot within SM’s vision. Fans know he comes from a pretty well-off family, so I think that piles onto the positive image he has surrounding him. However, you wouldn’t expect him to be as down-to-earth, or as caring as he is. I think Chenle absolutely defies every definition of what someone like that could be. Like, he’s kind of rewritten his own image, which is pretty admirable for someone so young. I think he’s very pure of heart, and probably fulfills Renjun’s “Pure Boy” image more than anyone. I’ve only ever thought Chenle was just really friendly and extremely kind. I think he’s the type of person to treat everyone the same, no matter where they’ve come from or what they look like.

Jisung: For now, he has the image of the youngest member. He fits well into it because he’s still a child and because of the way everyone babies him. There are times I look at Jisung and can see how introspective and insightful he is. I do think those parts are stored away for the time being. I can see this unexpected maturity he has just waiting to claw its way out, tbh. I’m pretty sure he’s low key more intelligent than a lot of the other members, even some of the older ones. I don’t think he has had a chance to show case any of that to us  yet, but I look forward to seeing it someday. Professionally, I think he’s going to do so well for himself in the future. Honestly, the reality of Jisung is that he’s growing and changing every day. He’s still trying to understand who he is and what kind of things he wants to show to the world.