#i always ask for a permission before taking a gentle hold of his paw

[felixfellowish]

I am so proud of myself and my dog, because shiba inus are often described as aggressive on social media, but I myself have patiently taught my dog ​​to tolerate nail clipping and, for example, removing ticks. 💖

[ink-n-shadow]

I would love to hear more of your ideas on the ABO!141 AU Glad you're feeling better, hope that your day is way better tomorrow <3

thank you love ♥ this was just a lil idea i had about kyle as the only beta in the pack bc i genuinely believe it’d be a little bit stressful and chaotic and he’d just need a break every so often

(also this is an old(ish) work that i've had in my drafts! i'm still kinda on a writing break until next monday, but enjoy <3)

kyle’s kind of the designated caretaker of the home and base. you can always find him straightening the pillows or folding up blankets, sometimes sweeping the dust bunnies from the floors or vacuuming the couch cushions. it’s a way for him to kind of reset himself and get time to himself. as the only beta in the group, it’s sometimes overwhelming to be caught in the middle all of the time, somewhat of a constant push and pull. so when any of you see kyle tidying up, you know to give him his space.

the only one who can really pull kyle out of his routine is john, who strides calmly up behind him as he folds up a blanket to drape along the back of the couch. he’s jostled from his dissociation by the feeling of two giant paws rubbing up his back slowly before resting on his shoulders, giving a soft squeeze that has kyle humming.

“thought you were doin’ paperwork,” kyle mumbles softly as he glanced over his shoulder at the alpha, eyes fluttering when he notices the soft look in them. “y’ need me for somethin’, cap?”

and it’s john’s turn to hum, bringing kyle’s attention back to the blanket with a gentle nudge of his nose against the back of his neck. “need you to take a break—y’know how long you’ve been cleanin’?”

kyle’s silence is enough of an answer, and he finally accepts defeat when john takes the blanket from him and drapes it across the back of the couch half folded, letting the alpha spin him around to face him. kyle instinctively tilts his head to the side, baring his neck for john when the alpha shakes his head gently, tilting kyle’s head back down with a couple fingers on his chin.

“why don’t you go to that one cafe y’like down the street, yeah? take some time for y’self, sweetheart,” john coos softly and lets his hands come up to kyle’s jaw, holding his cheeks in the palms of his hands. before kyle even has the chance to ask the question, john’s answering it. “don’t worry ‘bout the ‘megas—simon ‘nd i got it under control.”

and kyle can’t help but lurch forward to bury his face into john’s neck, arms wrapping around his body and hugging him tight against his body. he lets out a muffled “thanks cap,” which earns him a gentle head rub and a kiss to the temple.

“bring me back some tea, ‘lright? ‘nd grab those croissant things johnny likes. use my card too.”

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you to @lost-immortality​ for commissioning this Death God Sans x Reader (plus a special guest~) piece! This was a joy to write!

The Mouth of the Underworld was legendary, to say the least.

It made sense that you’d want to see it, even just one time. When you entered and left the Underworld, it was through Sans’ ability to instantly bring himself anywhere he wanted, not via the Gates that separated the mortal world from that of the dead. Sans had been somewhat confused as to why you wanted to visit it (“not much to see, my love, it’s just a cave.”) but he’d been willing to take you. 

He was... concerned, however. If that was the right word for it. Because of what was guarding the Gates.

Cerberus.

Sans had raised the issue that it may not be a good idea to come to the Gates while the legendarily foul-tempered hellhound was present. He mentioned that Cerberus, while at the place he had unfailingly guarded for thousands of years, tended to become aggressive and overzealous; dangerous to be around, even for deities who normally had nothing to fear. Cerberus didn’t quite strike as much fear into the hearts of Gods and mortals as Sans... but that wasn’t a particularly high bar to cross- and it didn’t mean the creature was exactly beloved either. 

He was the reason Souls without Sans’ permission never made it out of the depths.

“Come on, it’ll be fine. I know you’re nervous but there’s no danger. I’m certain I’ll be safe if you’re with me, Sans...”

“you aren’t subtle. i know you’re trying to manipulate me.”

“It’s working.”

“yes, it is.” He stood from his desk, cloak manifesting from the silver brooches at his shoulders and flowing down his back like wine from a goblet. “we should go now, if we want to arrive before mortal sunset.”

...

It was an absolutely beautiful cavern. A cathedral-like white cave, pillars and signs of worship carved into the stone, sun beaming in from the cavern mouth... great ancient boughs of wisteria wound up the walls and ceiling, hanging thick grapelike bunches of violet and lilac flowers that filled the air with a sweet floral scent and carpeted the ground in soft purplish petals.

... And there he was. Cerberus... asleep as far as you could tell (thank the stars). Far, FAR larger than you’d expected- big enough to be mistaken for some kind of titan or hydra, enough to easily swallow unfortunate men whole. A looming skeletal dog; three great crowned heads, skulls bearing terrifying sword-teeth, the length of his body decorated with scars from years of defending the mouth to freedom. He was laying with his body blocking the mouth of the cave... you briefly wondered how many people had this silhouetted image as the last thing they saw before being violently sent back to the depths of the Underworld.

...

One of his heads, the middle one, opened a socket. Not asleep anymore. You flinched back- Sans placed a steadying touch on your shoulder, no doubt used to people fearing the Guardian. Cerberus had lights in his deep void eyesockets, like his master; observant and sharp as they rolled to land on you. How many Souls had he seen come and go? A single breath from one head sent up a cloud of petals.

Something new... 

... As if the central head had whispered to the others, the other two lifted and glared across the cave at you... you were safe with Sans, right? Right. You backed into him even more and he moved his hand to your forearm. Part of you wanted to ask a thousand questions, is this normal, are we fine? but the other parts of you didn’t dare speak in case it agitated the monster.

... Cerberus fully raised all three heads, dragged his clawed feet underneath him, he’s standing? The sound of bone scraping against rock filled the seemingly endless chamber, petals tumbled down from his shoulders and off his back, he must’ve been there for years... he turned...

...

... And leapt toward you. 

You were certain for a moment that he intended to crush you under one humongous paw but, to your shock, as he moved through the air he shrank. When he jumped he was a beast with teeth as big as your head...

... And when he landed in a light shower of petals, just before you, he was merely the height of a lion, his shoulder perhaps at your waist height. The guardian of the gates stood before you...

... Then barked, play bowed, and rolled onto his back.

...

You immediately gasped, dropping onto your knees out of Sans’ hold, rubbing the exposed ribcage like you were ruffling fur. Cerberus’ first head stuck out a glowing blue tongue, and the middle one barked again, skeletal tail thudding against the ground fast enough to resemble a heartbeat.

“Oh my goodness, you’re just... so fearsome, aren’t you?” You cooed, scratching his ribs. “The stories were right, I’m terrified! Are you the scariest beast in all three realms? Yes you are, yes you are...”

Cerberus eventually rolled back over again, jumping up, pushing his middle head against your face- you couldn’t help but laugh, enthusiastically petting him, and the first head insistently pressed against you too to the point where you would’ve gotten bowled over if you hadn’t quickly readjusted your footing to dole out attention to both.

... Sans chuckled. You were hardly paying attention to him. The third head, apparently a little calmer than the other two fussing you, lifted to greet Sans at your side.

“first you steal my heart,” Sans said, giving Cerberus’ greeting head a small, affectionate scratch on the jaw. “then a place in my bed. and now you steal my hellhound... honestly, when are you going to let me rest?”

“Never.” You wrapped your arms around the two close heads. “This is my puppy now, I’ll fight for him.”

“no need. you seem to be his favourite.”

As if to confirm Sans’ observation, you were gifted the blessing of a very gross lick on the side of your face by the head that’d just returned from greeting his master. 

... You soon realised a predicament- something that was, perhaps, the greatest tragedy that could befall you. It made your heart drop. You turned, looking up at your betrothed, rubbing one of the insistent noses that pressed against your cheek. 

“Sans. You can curse people, right?”

... He raised a curious brow. “... yes.”

“Find whichever horrible monster decided I could only have two arms, and give them the worst curse you have.” Two arms, three heads... injustice. “They need to suffer unendingly for their cruelty.”

“i’ll see to getting that done for you, love.” He teased. “until then... cerberus is one being, so i’m sure he won’t mind your predicament. he seems happy to receive the attention, regardless of the head.”

“You’re really going to look at this adorable creature and tell me you don’t want to pet every head at once?”

Sans laughed, seemingly unable to help himself, a beautiful dark sound. You weren’t sure if it was your adamancy to bestow love on Cerberus, or your declaration that he was ‘adorable’ that apparently entertained him so much... but it always felt nice to make Sans laugh.

“... Hey. Now that I think about it... looks big and scary, is feared through both heaven and earth, but is secretly adorable and gentle... you two are more alike than I thought you’d be!”

“come now. you can’t be saying things like that.” He smirked. “i have a reputation to uphold.”

You held Cerberus’ most affectionate head, the first, and pressed a kiss to his skeletal muzzle as revenge for his gross lick.

“... I know you said he comes and goes from the palace as he pleases... but I really hope he follows us. Otherwise I’m going to have to come here every single day.”

... You were half joking, in your dedication to return to see your new dog. But luckily for you, you didn’t need to make the journey- Cerberus, the ‘untamable’ monstrous hound, wouldn’t leave your side for a moment and loyally followed you and Sans all the way back to the palace, barking and wagging his tail the whole time.

...

Well. Now that made two ancient underworld-dwelling skeletal godmonsters that developed an instantaneous affection for you. Maybe you had a knack?

[blueprint-han]

plushies — bang chan.

pairing — chan x (fem) reader

genre — fluff.

word count — 2 K

warnings — reader is obsessed with plushies <3

note — this idea is credited to @orphic-chan !! I have her permission to use it, so mei I hope you like this :"( and that I did it justice <333 🥺 I'm fond of this blurb xkxjxjjdjdjdjdjd

“Hey look!”

Your face lights up with the pure joy of a child as you run towards the store, gazing through the glass with heightened excitement. Your husband grins at you, walking to where you’re standing and staring at the display case. 

“What is it, princess?”

You ignore the blush that creeps up to your cheeks when you hear that nickname, focusing on the cute wolf plushie that’s sitting neatly on the case. It’s tiny paws hold a heart, although you don’t need to focus on those details — you were sold the moment you’d seen the plushie from far away.

“Can we get that, please please please please please-” You pout with pleading eyes, jumping in your place from excitement. Chan laughs, reaching out to ruffle your hair before shaking his head.

“Don’t you have to wolfchan plushie already?”

“Yeah but… look at this — there can never be enough plushies that can remind me of you, you know.”

“But at this rate, our whole bedroom’s gonna be filled with plushies.” Chan gives you a thoughtful smile. “How many do you have right now — twelve?”

“Fourteen.” You frown sarcastically. “But that’s not the point! It’s so cute, I want it, pleaseeeeee…”

“Y/N, how many plushies, out of the fourteen, do you actually sleep with?”

Your expression droops down, as you’re hit with realisation. You’ve had an obsession for plushies ever since you were little, and that attraction had surely carried into adulthood as well. You couldn’t help it. They were so soft and comfortable to cuddle with — you’d bought most of the fourteen plushies when Chan was away slaving at JYP, and you missed his cuddles dearly. A little Versace Eros and a wolf chan plushie did wonders to your cuddle-deprived soul, to be honest.

It hasn’t even been a year since you and Chan had tied the knot and made it official — but nevertheless, you’ve been enjoying your marriage. Calling Bang Chan your “husband” surely induced a feeling of butterflies fluttering around in your gut — it didn’t help when Chan would call you his wife, his princess, and all those cute nicknames from time to time either. 

“Hey, but why do I need a plushie when I have the actual wolf chan beside me, am I right?” You lean in as though to whisper a secret into his ear, and Chan does the same, though he’s internally giggling at how cute you’re being right now. “Plus, don’t tell wolfchan, but your cuddles are better.” you whisper softly, as though not wanting the wolf plushie to hear you.

Chan bursts into a fit of giggles at that, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and squeezing you into a protective hug. “You’re so precious.”

“So can we get the plushie now? Chan squints at your insistence, shaking his head before leaning down to lift you into his arms bridal style — invoking a squeal from you. You tightly grip onto his jacket, eyes going wide as you scan the crowd around you. Thankfully, no one seems to be bothered by Chan’s public display of affection and he starts walking with you clinging onto him.

“I- Are… are you gonna carry me all the way home?” You feel flustered, even though such incidents are more than common in the many years you’ve been with Chan. He was pretty outward and outgoing, never really shying away from doing something to show you just how much he cherished you. He also secretly loves seeing you get surprised and flustered when he did something like what he’s doing right now.

“As long as my hands can take it.” Chan shrugs, shooting you a gentle, pretty smile that takes your breath away before walking home with you in his arms.

The next week, you pull him out of his studio for a break after missing him for too long, and he readily obliges, following in pursuit as you take him to your favorite diner.

“It’s been a while since we’ve eaten here.” Chan says.

“Yeah, can’t wait to eat those waffles again.” You chirp, before turning towards him and putting on a mockingly serious expression. “And you mister husband, are going to eat as much as you can — and no coffee.”

Chan frowns and pouts at you. “But princess-”

“No- no princess. Look at you. You have such dark eyebags again, and you’ve gotten so pale.”

Chan sighs, feeling a warm feeling flow up his chest when you quiz his hand you’re holding in yours gently. “Okay, fine. As long as you’re happy.” 

“Hey!” You slap his arm playfully, and Chan’s jaw drops as he giggles along with you. “What was that for?” he asks.

“I didn’t let you be this adorable and sweet right now.”

“I don’t need any permission, remember? I’m your husband, I can make you shy whenever I want.”

You make a defeated face at him, opting to grab the menu cards to hide the heat that’s spreading all over your face. 

“By the way, isn’t that my hoodie?”

“It’s my hoodie.” you say as a matter-of-fact, flipping through the pages to see what you could order. The pasta looked delicious—

Chan sighs, reaching over to hold your hand before lifting it up, pointing at the way the sleeves reached up to your knuckles and covered your hand almost completely. You simply smirk at his implication.

“Really?” He asks.

“Well, it was your hoodie. It’s mine now.” You say, sipping some water before realising what you meant. “Uh, um.. Only if you’re comfortable though-”

“Hey, hey.” Chan beams at you, the grip on your hand growing tighter. “I really don’t mind. Plus, you look really cute. But I have to admit, I thought the whole stealing-my-boyfriend’s-hoodies-phase would be over once we were married.”

“Well, it will never, for you. Your hoodies are cozy, plus, they smell like you.”

“Gosh, you’re so adorable.”

“No you are! Look at you — your beautiful brown eyes, your perfect face, your beauty, your smile that always makes me melt, your-”

Chan giggles and covers his face with his palms at the sudden overdose of compliments, feeling his skin burn red. You smile cheekily in victory, pulling his hands away from his face to look at how pretty he was when he was complimented. It was truly a sight to cherish.

“See, I was right. You’re so adorable.”

“Nooooo…” Chan speaks in his tiny voice — the voice that usually comes out when he’s extremely flustered, and only comes out around you. He pats his cheeks to feel how warm they’ve gotten and huffs, glaring at you frivolously. It’s his turn to grab the menu card placed on the side of the table, using it to cover his blush.

“Awhhh, you’re so cuteeee.” You squeal silently, feeling your heart jump out of your chest at the sight in front of you. Your husband being this way was rare, considering his busy schedule most of the time, but whenever he got like this, you always felt like you’d faint from how cute he really was.

“Stoppp,” He dreamily twinkles at the back of the menu card, trying to keep a straight face when you force him to put it down, but failing miserably.

“I’m gonna do this a lot more often if this is the result.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Why don’t you order, hm? I’m hungry.”

“Changing the subject… I wouldn’t allow it usually but since you said you’re hungry I’ll let you get away with it- but hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s that bag for?”

Chan hums, turning to finally remind himself of the bag that sits beside him. “You’ll see.” He winks at you, and you squint, letting it brush off before calling for the waiter to order. Was it a gift for you? You’re delving too deep into it, if he told you that you’d see, than you trust your husband enough to know that you would.

Once your dinner is completely done, you groan in satisfaction. “That pasta was so good.”

“So was that piccata. It’s been a long time since I’ve had something other than packaged ramen and rice. Thank you for bringing me here my love, I really appreciate it.”

“Awh, don’t thank me. I’m here to remind you to take breaks from time to time, you know.” You smile sweetly, cupping his cheek from across the table, and if it weren't for the table obstructing you, you’d have placed a delicate kiss on his lips too. The bustling noise of the diner is fairly irrelevant to you — but that’s the beauty of being with your husband. When he’s there, you seem to be caged in another reality, another dimension where only the two of you exist, and only the two of you enjoy each other’s company.

“I have to. You take such good care of me.” He turns his head to place a soft, lingering kiss onto your palm, and you can’t help but smile brighter (if that’s even possible). 

“I only do what I have to, and want to, love. You’ll never have to thank me, because I love you.”

Chan can feel himself blushing again and that, and you coo at the way he averts his eyes down to hide his flustered expression. “Hey, you’re doing that again.”

“Well, didn’t we already finish eating?”

“Yeah, but…” Chan can’t stop smiling, and his heart can’t stop feeling like it’s gonna disintegrate into a thousand butterflies any second. He then looks around, trying to avoid your eyesight and almost certain that you’d be looking at him with that i-made-you-shy-smirk, and his eyes land on the bag beside him. “Hey, I have something for you.”

“For me?” You clutch your chest at the gesture, feeling your insides warm up at the thought of him getting you something for his meet with you after many days. “Awh, you didn’t have to, love.”

Chan chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you. “Pretty sure you’re gonna take that back once you see what’s inside.” He says that to build your excitement, and then hands you the bag, which you happily accept. You close your eyes for a split second to take in how happy, and how calm you feel right now, like everything is in place — and then open the bag to see what’s inside.

And when you see it, everything inside you short circuits. 

“Omo, nooo, are you serious?” You pull out the tiny wolf plushie out of the bag. It’s the same as the one you’d seen on your last date (and the one Chan had refused to buy you), except smaller, and therefore, cuter. You gently place your index finger on the wolf’s nose, cooing at how adorable it looked. “Tinie… it’s so small oh lord.” 

Chan can’t help but twinkle at how excited you are, especially with such a small gift. Really, he just reminded himself to wake up early and go to the shop the day after that date, and enquired to see if there was a smaller version available. Just that small gift having the ability to induce so much happiness in you, and just one smile from you having the capability to throw him off the edge and make his stomach flutter with a thousand butterflies, at that point, Chan knows he loves you.

“B-but, didn’t you not want to buy this?”

“You seemed to really like it, and besides, who am I to deny spoiling my wife?”

You make a cringy pout at him, and successfully make Chan laugh from your expression. “Hey, now you’re doing that thing where you make me blush.” You cuddle the plushie close to your chest, rocking it back and forth and relishing how small yet soft it felt against you. You then pull away to tug at the heart it holds in front of it. “Wolf Chan has all of my heart.” You say, smiling to yourself in pure bliss.

“All of it?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay fine, my cute husband has most of it.”

“Hey, I wanted to be the one to have your heart!” He frowns and mimics your pout.

You snort at that, leaning forward as though to whisper something to your husband, and just like the last date, Chan leans in to listen to you.

“Well, don’t tell wolfchan… but you have all of my heart.”

And after that, your whole room is filled with tiny plushies that your husband spoils you with every time he takes you out on a date.

networks: @inkidz​​ @kpopscape​​ @kdiarynet​​ @fluffyskzclub​​ @destinyverse​​ @skzwritersclub​​ @kwritersworld​​ @lovesick-net​​

taglist: @cafejjunie​​ @sleepylixie​​ ​ @coco-riki​​ ​ @stayndays​​ ​ @yutassecretheaven​​ ​ @lost-midnight-flower​​ ​ @p2q3r4​​ @anskiie​​ ​ @happiestgirlontheeastcoast @cuddlychrisbang @orphic-chan​

[echo-of-sounds]

daddy dom

Headcanons on the types of Daddy Dom Aizawa, Gang Orca, and Hound Dog are. 

I was going to include all six guys in this but it got so much longer than I initially planned. Toshi, Hizashi, and Fatgum are coming tomorrow!

Warnings: Daddy Dom relationship, (the rest is only mentioned, there’s no real detail) punishments, choking, slapping, spanking, spitting, hair pulling, and rough sex

Aizawa Shouta

Shouta had an inkling he was interested in dominance when he started having sex. The Daddy Dom surfaced after a one-night stand happened to moan ‘Daddy.’ He enjoyed it, looked into the subject deeper, and realized that’s exactly what he wanted, needed. However, he hasn’t had a relationship where he’s felt comfortable enough or been in one long enough to practice it. 

As your relationship develops, it is something he brings up because he isn’t shy about it. He wants to be your Daddy. He wants to be his girl’s protector and her anchor. He praises you when you’re doing well. He says how proud he is. He loves and cuddles you on your bad days. When you’re crying and scared, he’s right beside you, huddling you to his chest, protecting you from whatever you fear. 

Pet names are a rarity. On the odd occasion a good girl slips out, it’s a telltale sign he’s in a highly dominant mood. You’re expected to listen, do what you’re told, and say, ‘please and thank you.’ To make you feel fluttery and happy, he’ll call himself Daddy as he’s helping you.

Kitten is even more limited. He uses it when you dress up in the pink lingerie he bought you. It has a little collar with a bell, a cat-eared headband, garter bands, and cute, frilly panties and bra. There’s also a cat tail butt plug you can play with. But there’s a catch- there’s depreciation. If you use it too much, he isn’t as excited and it’s clear to see. You need to keep the lingerie away until you’re in dire need of your Daddy and a good fucking.

He takes pride and joy in seeing your smile at a new, fancy bracelet or an adorable teddy bear. But he’s uncertain when buying. He knows what you like, yet he just can’t decide on which dress you’d prefer. Despite his self-doubts, his presents are usually excellent, especially any soft, thigh-high stockings or cute, striped panties he brings home.

Though you won’t ever be able to tell, sometimes it is hard for Shouta to discipline you. He enjoys your bratty moods and how you ignore his commands to sit still. Your whimpers and whines and facial expression are incredibly cute. But at the end of the day, he is your Daddy and it’s his responsibility to keep you on track and provide stability. His go-to punishment is no orgasming… for a long time. You can’t touch yourself or grind on a pillow. If you beg, it’ll only extend the punishment. Occasionally, spanking is also used, particularly when you’re riding him and not listening.

Highly dominant doesn’t always mean rough. Yes, he is that most of the time. But he has periodic moods where he won’t use discipline. It’s when he’s in a coddling mood. Daddy becomes gentle, erotic, intent, and intimate. Don’t hold back your moans. Please, whine and whimper and fuss and mewl. Your soft cries and little wriggles please him so. 

When he is rough, you’ll be leaving red streaks down his back. He loves seeing them in the mirror the next morning, so he strives to get you that aroused and pleasured every time. And nothing is truly off the books for him. Whatever you wish, he’ll command: slapping, spanking, choking, hair pulling, and spitting.

Shouta is more of a nonverbal Daddy. Both of you know he’s dominant and it’s your job to behave, so he doesn’t feel the need to command you as much as others may. He just yanks your body around as he pleases, slaps and chokes you when you don’t listen or get off-topic, and spits on your tongue to get you to quiet down. Now that doesn’t mean he won’t talk. At your misdoings, his steeled voice is gruff and guttural, commanding, punishing, and asking what you did wrong. 

Daddy gets even more domineering when you cum without permission. That’s the one rule you should never break. If he’s feeling charitable (which is rarer than a blue moon), he’ll let you cum. Other times, he’s deepthroating you, cumming down your throat, and making you swallow it. And that’s all you’ll get. Again, don’t beg. That’ll worsen the punishment. All you can do is be a good girl and hope he lets you cum in the next few days.

Gang Orca

Kugo never considered himself a Daddy or any sort of dominant man in general. The few times he’s had sex, he was more on the submissive side, letting his partner lead and ride him as they wished. His fear of hurting his partner really held him back. However, the instant he hears you softly, weakly whine Daddy, gently pawing his chest, pining for him to make you feel good, the switch is flicked and there’s no going back.

Before he fully engages in the Daddy Dom relationship, he does a lot of reading and asks you question after question. If he ever hurt you or pushed past your limits, he’d all but die inside. You need to ease into it. Let him become accustomed to the power dynamics, the dirty talking, what’s expected from him, and the lifestyle.

In the beginning, he’s as sweet as can be. You’re his little one whom he loves to spoil. He buys you dainty panties, comfy sweaters, and dresses for every occasion. You should always model clothing for Daddy. He’ll appreciate your appreciation. As you turn around in a cute, lace nightgown, his fingers flow up your thighs, caressing between them, gently brushing along your new panties, making sure everything fits perfectly. 

He gradually leans into the discipline aspect as the relationship grows. Once comfortable with himself and you, the punishments come frequently. They depend on the severity of your bad behavior. If you don't listen, you don’t get sweets. If you didn’t listen twice, you have extra chores to do. If you didn’t listen three times, no sexual gratification of any kind for however long Daddy deems necessary. 

In spite of that, he is a weak Daddy when it comes to his little one. Your puppy-dog eyes burrow into his heart. Your wiggling thighs get him heated. Your little mewls for your Daddy’s attention haunt him. But he doesn’t give in all the time. He still has structure, stability, and dominance to uphold.

Kugo is truly a safe Daddy. He’s your secret place where your every thought, desire, emotion, and fear will always be heard, understood, and respected. Whatever you tell Daddy when you’re curled up on his chest, snuggled in his arms, stays with Daddy. He guides you through the crowded mall, nurses the cuts on your legs, acts as an anchor through depression and anxiety, and protects you from the rumbling thunder. And by God, is he protective. 

Protectiveness is his main characteristic. He wants you to wear his T-shirt and sweatshirts. When he cums, he seats himself fully insides, letting him empty out completely. His hands rub your lower stomach like he’s feeling his property. Even as he falls flaccid, he stays inside. He needs to make sure everything has drained. If he could, he’d keep you filled with his seed forever.

Tender, slow sex involves you riding Daddy. He squeezes your thighs and tummy as you bounce. He praises every movement, every part, every itty-bitty sound. Your passion is so important to him. Seeing your body seek out its pleasure and rapture in the safety of your own little world fills his heart with love.

Dominant Daddy is less common yet so fulfilling. His thick, wet tongue washes deep. Fingers spread you wide. His erection spreads you further. You’ll be thrown on the bed, stuck under him for multiple beautiful orgasms. As you cum, moan ‘thank you’ again and again. Your gratitude encourages him. He’ll keep you moaning into the morning. 

Hound Dog

The second Ryo entered that seriously horny stage of puberty, he knew his dominance. As he started having sex, it only flourished. He’s rough, fast, controlling, and one-hundred percent, hands down a brat tamer. Your whines and protests are cute, but he always wins. Hearing his rasping, growling voice is enough to get you to concede to his demands.

Aftercare and any delicate aspects will take time and learning on his part. He wants to be so gentle, caring, and sweet with you. His natural rough nature gets in the way. As any good Daddy is patient with his little girl, a good girl needs to be patient with him. And when he gets there, he gets there. You’ll be swaddled in a warm blanket, given candy and drinks, and your favorite bed-time Tv will play while you wind down. His warm, smooth tongue laps over bruises and scratches.

There’s one big thing about this Daddy: God, he just loves to watch you suck: him (specifically his foreskin), his fingers, your fingers, a lollipop, a pacifier, whatever. Lay on his chest, wrapped in a blanket, and nurse on a binkie as you fall asleep. The most common way sex starts is with a blowjob. It commonly ends that way as well. He either makes you finish him with no pleasure for you or, after you’re finished, he lays you down and deepthroats you.

Right off the bat, punishments are a main part. There’s a written list on the fridge you must obey. Though he doesn’t spank. You might act up just to get spanked, and he won’t have that. The discipline always matches the offense. Are you back talking? You’re eating something you don’t like. Is your temper too hot? You’re taking an ice-cold shower for five minutes. Are you ignoring him? Daddy’s going to rile you up then leave you hanging and whining, showing you what it’s like to be neglected.

After the punishment is complete, Ryo transitions right into aftercare. Daddy loves you enough to punish you. That love is strengthened after by his licks and kisses. Besides, Daddies who don’t show their little girl compassion and care afterward, aren’t good Daddies. He loves and respects you and wants you to know, see, and feel that.

And the punishments never push past your boundaries. You’re never put in danger. In any way. The safe word is always available. He won’t give you food you truly can’t handle for whatever reason. He’s right beside you as you shower just in case something goes wrong. The moment the water’s shut off, you’re immediately swathed in a cozy towel.

During one of his more… inflamed moods, you’re fastened in a collar. It’s pink with little flowers. The heart decoration on the front is a padlock. Only he has the key. It has ‘Daddy’s Girl’ inscribed on the back. It goes on as soon as you get home. And it stays on until you leave. There is a leash he’ll use if you aren’t behaving, holding, leading, and controlling all your movements.

There are times when he goes into (sort of) a heat. It could be a quirk side effect. It could just be him. Either way, you’re going to get completely dominated. Your hair will be pulled. Your throat will be choked and fucked. Your cheeks, both sets, will be red and raw. Scratch marks and dark bruises will stain your neck, legs, and back.

His favorite is any doggy-style position. It’s carnal and crude. Daddy has total authority since his weight bears down, caging you to the bed. Use your voice. Let him hear every gasp and cry. Beg for him. Plead for more. Pray for just one more orgasm as your hair’s tugged and clit’s smack sore. The harder you crave, the harder he thrusts.

Sweet sex is a rare time when he kisses and cuddles. Heat surrounds you. Muscled thighs and callused hands direct your weak, longing body. His tongue never leaves your mouth, licking over yours, causing drivel to drip down your chin. It may not be rough, but the sincerity and intimacy provide more than enough pleasure for an amazing orgasm. And Daddy passionately walks you through it.

[nationalharryleague]

Dog Days Are Over

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers AU

Word count: 4.8K

A/N: Hi all! This is something I’ve been working on for a little while now and I’m really proud of it! As usual, a massive thank you to Miss Lu (@meetmymouth​) for being the best and beta reading. You can read more of my work in my masterlist and please please please send feedback to my ask! Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!! 

***

Jagger was a good boy. He was a massive Great Dane with a shiny black coat and goofy wide eyes that softened his overall intimidating appearance. Great Danes had been bread as guarding and hunting dogs, but the gentle giant was nothing like his ancestors. He trapesed around the park every morning with his clumsy oversized paws and a tail that never seemed to stop wagging. A sunshiny yellow collar sat around his neck with a leash connecting him to his owner, a curly headed man with kind eyes.

She had built a rapport with Jagger over time, always willing to spare a few of the treats she kept in her pocket for her own dogs, Annie and Hallie. The pair of speckled Dalmations always looked up to give her a disappointed look that seemed to ask “Why are you giving our cookies away, Mom?” when she offered the chicken flavored morsels to the charming brute. She would lean down (not very far due to his massive size),  give him two cookies, a scratch behind the ear, and a kiss to his forehead every morning, murmuring a “Good morning buddy.”

While she greeted Jagger, the man would always give her spotted ladies the attention they loved and a couple treats of his own, earning a few thankful and loving licks from the dogs. After the affectionate moment with the dog of a perfect stranger (she didn't even know his name), the pair would always give each other a smile and move on with their days.

This was their routine for months, meeting briefly every morning through falling leaves of a New York autumn that eventually gave out to the first snowy mornings and the charm of winter in Central Park. They never spoke more than a friendly morning greeting, occasionally commenting on the weather, but always taking a few moments to say hello to the endearing animals that accompanied them.

Her favorite coffee shop was especially busy one morning when they accidentally brought her two hot coffees with cream and sugar, instead of just one. When she had tried to return it, her favorite barista, a girl with golden skin and eyes to match, told her to take it anyway because it would just be thrown out. After the barista herself declined to keep the drink with a light chuckle, Y/N was sent on her way, each hand holding a coffee and both her wrists each looped through a leash.

Y/N, Annie, and Hallie made their way into Central Park, a surprisingly difficult task on his specific morning.  She struggled to maintain control over the hot liquid and the two strong dogs with strong opinions of where they wanted to walk. Inevitably and like clock work, they ran into Jagger and the man with the kind eyes, Y/N slowing to a stop to greet her giant furry friend. It wasn’t long before her K-9 balancing act gave her an idea.

“Do you drink coffee?” she quickly questioned, the words leaving her mouth without permission and directly addressing the man with the kind eyes about something other than the weather or their dogs for the first time since they had known each other. Jagger bumped his oafish head gently into her hip, seeming to ask for her attention back, just as surprised as she was with her uncharacteristic interaction with his dad.

“Uh, yeah,” the man answered, eyes locking with hers and seeming to be just as shocked that she spoke to him as she was. His deep and velvety voice was a sharp contrast to the sweet and fairly high pitched tone he usually used with Annie and Hallie.

“Well, the cafe gave me two instead of just one by accident. Do you want it?” She offered the cup to him with a hopeful shrug and a smile spread across her face when he took it.

They continued on with their routine of saying hello to each other’s animals without another word, the man with the kind eyes taking a sip of the coffee to test it out. She was pressing the usual kiss to Jagger’s massive head when she watched a ring clad hand offering itself towards her in the peripheral of her vision. “My name is Harry, by the way,” he said with a friendly close lipped smile playing across his lips. “We never really did introduce ourselves, did we?”

“I don’t think we ever did,” she said with a chuckle, reaching her hand out and connecting it with his. His hands were soft, but felt strong like he worked with his hands and his palms felt hot despite the freezing temperatures from where he had been clutching the coffee. “Y/N.”

“It's nice to formally meet you, Y/N. I usually just think of you as Annie and Hallie’s Mom.” His lips saying her name made it sound like it was sung by a million angels and she just couldn’t get over the idea of him thinking about her outside of the park. Of course she thought of him, a British beautiful man with kind eyes who loves her dogs was like finding a unicorn, but it had never crossed her mind that the thoughts could be mutual.

Before she had a chance to respond, Jagger began to walk forward, ready to take on the rest of his walk. “I guess it’s time for you to go,” she joked looking down as the giant animal who began to pull Harry forward.

“I guess so,” he agreed, jerking forward as he tried to slow Jagger down. “Thank you again for the coffee.”

“No problem!”

“Next time,” he said over his shoulder, a teasing smirk on his face, after Jagger had led him a considerable distance from her. “I take my coffee black!”

***

She thought about him all day after the park. She couldn’t believe that the tiny conversation had with him was all it took for him to occupy her every thought. She wondered if he enjoyed the rest of the coffee, if she would ever run into him at the cafe that had its logo drawn across the side of the drink she had gifted him, or if his girlfriend was suspicious when he came home holding a coffee order that definitely wasn’t his. What if he thought what she had done was weird? Would he change Jagger’s walking schedule? Or maybe change his route completely to avoid her?

Y/N ignored every one of those thoughts the next morning when she attended her usual coffee shop; and especially when she ordered one hot coffee with cream and sugar, and one without. She even asked her favorite barista with the golden eyes to write a little ‘H’ on the black coffee so she wouldn’t get them mixed up.

“To make up for all the treats you’ve given to Annie and Hallie over these last few months,” she lied when she handed the coffee over to him, relishing slightly in how his fingertips brushed hers when he took the drink from her hands. She knew that she didn’t get him the coffee for the treats; she got it because she had a crush.

“Oh, thank you so much!  You didn’t have to do this,” he insisted as he took a sip. “You even had a little ‘H’ put on it for me?” His eyes lit up at the possibility and from that second forward Y/N pledged to herself that she would do anything she could to see his eyes sparkle like that again.

“I just wanted to make sure they didn’t get mixed up.”

“H is what all of my friends call me.” She watched his plump pink lips move as he spoke, his warm breath creating a small steamy cloud in the frosty air.

“That’s really sweet,” she said smiling like a fool, endeared by the nickname.

“You can call me H, ya know?” he spoke and her heart just about stopped. “I think if our dogs are friends,” he said, gesturing to their dogs as their dogs played amongst themselves, “we can be friends too.”

She knew she would be unable to contain herself as soon as she got out of his line of sight in a few moments. She might bust out into a happy dance, or maybe even let out a small squeal;  but for the moment she just nodded her head. “I think I would really like that, H.”

“So,” he began with the smirk she had already begun to fall in love with, “friends don’t let friends buy them coffee two days in a row without returning the favor. Tomorrow is on me.”

“Sounds good, H,” she said as the pair of dalmations began to pull her forward. “I take my coffee with cream and sugar!” she shouted over her shoulder, shooting him a wink as she went on with her walk.

“I know.”

She was unable to contain herself and did, in fact, do a little wiggle when she was out of his sight.

***

Of all places she thought she could end up this Saturday morning, she didn’t think it would be in Harry’s apartment.

She had casually mentioned that morning when they met up in the park, more to make conversation than anything else, that the heat in her apartment was out but she had never expected him to invite her and the girls back to his place to warm up.

They had fallen into a delightful rhythm of bringing each other coffee over the past few weeks, taking turns and spending a few fleeting moments speaking to each other before one of their pets decided it was time to move on with their walk. She had learned that he was a physical therapist and that he had rescued Jagger from a puppy mill when he was a baby, but to be completely honest, she didn’t know much about him beyond that. They could only learn so much about each other  in 5 minute bursts before the dogs got bored and pulled them apart once again.

What she did know about him for sure was that his eyes didn’t lie when they said he was kind. He never missed a day getting her coffee and he always profusely thanked her when she brought him his. He always asked about how her day was going, and seemed to be genuinely interested in when she spoke about her work, hobbies, or whatever else ended up being the topic of their short conversations.

While she wouldn’t go as far as saying he cared about her, she knew that she cared about him.

“It’s not much,” Harry said, opening the door for Y/N and her dogs to pass into his home, “but it’s mine.”

As most New York City apartments were, it was a tiny shoe box of a living space; but it felt cozy, and most of all, warm. It was a small studio, with all the essentials packed in tight. His sofa sat up against the right wall of exposed brick, mirrored by a small kitchen on the left. She had to admit it was well styled; dark woods and stainless steel decorated the apartment and various posters and framed pictures on the walls made it his own.

The most breathtaking feature was a massive bay window that sat above his bed on the far back wall. The window directly overlooked Central Park and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sentimentality because that’s where they had met. His bed was perfectly made with dark charcoal grey sheets all she could imagine was being wrapped up in them with Harry.

Walking through the door, she was intoxicated by the most delicious smell that she could only assume was Harry’s cologne, but she was brought back to reality when he asked for her coat. Their hands met as she handed it over to him and a flash of concern immediately flashed through his face, bushy eyebrows furrowing. “You’re absolutely freezing, love.”

Once again, her heart began to burst with joy. Just that little word, the little pet name and term of endearment. It made her feel like a kid on Christmas, like she was ready to burst.

“Oh, I’m okay,” she managed to get out, still overwhelmed by his words.

“We’re gonna get you and the ladies all warmed up, okay?” She watched from her spot by the front door as he began to run around the apartment with one goal: to warm his friend up. He moved gracefully from the thermostat to a chest of drawers, making a small triumphant noise when he pulled out two dog sweaters that were Jagger’s. “They’re a little big, but I think they will work,” he said with a helpful smile.

She watched as he knelt down in front of Annie and Hallie, asking for their paws. Both of them quickly responded, clearly trusting the curly man in front of them as much as she did. He delicately slipped the knit over both of the dogs, and with anything he did, Y/N’s heart swooned.

To her, those dogs were her everything. She had moved to the city completely alone and had rescued the pair of sisters from a kill shelter only a week after arriving. She named them after the twins from The Parent Trap, her favorite movie growing up. She felt it was symbolic; like she and the dogs had been brought together by some twist of fate but had known each other in a past life. Those dogs were her everything and watching them interact with Harry ignited a fuzzy warmth within her; a sharp contrast to her still frozen nose.

“You next,” he teased, beckoning her over from her spot at the front door. She took careful steps over to him, trying her best to stay respectful of his space, already feeling intrusive for being there. She met him in the middle of the room, where he had grabbed a blanket off the couch, placing it over her shoulders and enveloping her in soft warm fabric and the smell of him. Shocks were sent up her arms as he rubbed them in an attempt to generate more heat. It was the first time he had ever really touched her other than light brushing of their fingertips, and she had never felt like anything was more right in the world than the way she felt in his arms.

She watched his face closely as he held the blanket tight around her frame. He had a light stubble peppering his strong jaw and his eyes were the most vibrant yet soft shade of green she had ever seen. His brows were still slightly knitted together in care for her, trying his best to accomplish his goal of warming the woman who had become his friend. Her eyes narrowed in on his plush pink lips and it took everything in her not to learn forward and press her lips to his; but she wouldn’t. They were casual friends; nothing more, nothing less, and her school girl crush didn’t change any of that.

His hands on her arms slowed and their eyes finally met, the deep green feeling like it had penetrated her soul. “I have soup in the fridge,” he said softly, eyes narrowing in on her still cold nose, “let me heat it up for you.” And as soon as the moment had happened, it was gone, him walking away from her in a flurry and starting his next task of making her soup.

“H, I promise I’m okay,” she said with a light chuckle. “I will warm up, eventually. Don’t worry yourself over it.”

“You have been in a frozen apartment for four days. You’re going to get sick,” he said, head still stuck in the fridge out of her line of sight.

“What do you care if I get sick?” she teased. “Won’t get your coffee?”

“No,” he said in an exasperated tone, popping back out from behind the fridge door to connect his eyes with hers, “because then I won’t get to see you.”

Despite the chill still present in her bones, she felt her cheeks heat with his words. “Oh, okay,” was all she could muster before he returned back to his search for the soup.

He did eventually find the soup and nearly force fed her the hot liquid, insisting that “you’re not getting pneumonia on my watch.” And while she kept up the act that she was totally fine and didn’t need him to fuss over her, it felt so good to be cared for like this. She had been on her own for so long now, lacking the care and affection that came with an overbearing mother-hen-esque friend, and she was honestly loving it.

It was later that day, while they were sat watching a movie on his couch, Y/N still wrapped up tight like a burrito in the flannel blanket that smelled like him, when he informed her that she wasn’t allowed to go back to her apartment until the heat was fixed. “H,” she had playfully groaned, “I am a big girl and will survive a little chill.”

“There’s a cold snap coming,” he justified his demands. “Saw it on the news this morning.”

“H, this is all too much. All of this has been so kind and the dogs and I appreciate it from the bottom of our hearts, but I can’t let you put your life on pause because I might get a little cold.”

“Please stay,” he began gently, almost pleading with her in a deeper and softer voice than he had ever used with her before, “for Annie and Hallie,” he finished. Her heart sank, reminding herself that the pair were just friends. He was just doing a favor for her out of the goodness of his heart; nothing more, nothing less.

“Maybe,” she murmured. “I’ll have to see if it gets fixed tonight.”

It didn’t get fixed. Apparently, New York City landlords, especially the one that owned her very tiny, and very shitty, apartment didn’t care much about their tenants turning to icicles. Around 10 PM, she finally gave up hope of anything getting fixed today, much to Harry’s delight.

She had accepted the sweats Harry had offered for her to sleep in, enveloped by soft worn fabric that spelled like him. A dark blue crew neck with ‘Holmes Chapel Comprehensive School’ written across the front swallowed her frame and Harry laughed at her when she had to roll up the legs of the sweatpants so she wouldn’t trip on them. “It’s not my fault you’re a giant,” she giggled, poking him in the chest and sticking her tongue out at him like a child.

“You’re lucky you look cute in those or I would be taking them back after a comment like that.” Her cheeks reddened for what felt like the millionth time since she had entered his space this morning. They had fallen into a charming banter, a rhythm of teasing jokes and kind words intertwined with each other that made her heart sing. While she still felt like she was intruding on his space, there was a growing part of her that was glad her heat wasn’t back yet. She didn’t want to leave his warmth and light just yet.

When a yawn left her lips later that night, Harry decided it was time for bed. “We’re in the middle of the episode,” she had argued through another yawn, “we haven’t even seen who wins the technical challenge yet.” They had watched almost an entire season of Bake Off over the course of the day, both of them curled up on the couch under a pile of blankets and dogs.

“We have to be up for our walk in the morning,” he smiled as he lifted Jagger’s massive head off his lap to get up. “I’ll even buy the coffee.”

“Okay, I guess so,” she agreed gently. “Can I just borrow a pillow?” she asked as she adjusted herself and the dogs on the couch under the blankets.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a confused face.

“Getting ready to go to sleep?” she responded with an equally questioning tone.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch. Come on, get into my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“No.”

“Why not? You’re my guest.”

“Harry,” she spoke gently but was met with a lift of his eyebrow like using his full name was an insult. “H,” she began again, “I’m not going to come into your home, inconvenience your entire day, steal your clothes, eat your food, and then make you sleep on the couch.”

“Please, just let me sleep on the couch, Y/N,” he nearly begged.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” she repeated with a stern tone.

“Then neither are you.” Her breath caught in her chest and her eyes flashed to the dark charcoal sheets she had imagined being wrapped up in with him when she first entered the apartment. “It’s a big comfy bed and I want you to actually sleep well. I’m perfectly okay with it if you are.”

While her heart was beating out of her chest at the opportunity of being that close to him, all she said was “sounds good,” unable to come up with anything more than that in the moment.

She reverted back to her careful steps and bated breath as she left the couch and made her way over to the bed, suddenly so aware of the respectful boundaries she had created for herself when she first arrived. She lifted back his heavy comforter and slid herself inside, pulling the blanket to her chin as she watched, mesmerized, as the man walked around the apartment getting ready for bed.

He walked around the apartment on the pads of his bare feet almost silently, turning off lights and pouring them both a glass of water before refilling the dog bowls on the ground. He led Jagger to his giant dog bed and invited Annie and Hallie up onto his couch to sleep, gently coaxing them onto the cushions and laying the blanket Y/N had been wrapped in for most of the day over the speckled sisters.

There was only the light coming off the street lights streaming through the window above her head to illuminate the silent apartment and she watched as Harry made his way to the tall chest of drawers on his side of the bed. He lifted his sweater over his head to expose his muscular back and elaborately tattooed arms, and she prayed he didn’t hear the small gasp that left her lips. As quickly as his back and torso were revealed to her, they were hidden once again when he slipped a large tshirt back over his body. She had only ever known him in the colder months, always wrapped up in a sweater or a coat; she had never expected the beautiful illustrations that decorated his body or his broad muscular shoulders that stayed hidden under layers of clothing.

“Stop staring, ya perv,” his deep velvety voice joked with a laugh and she felt her cheeks burn worse than they had all day. “I’m only kidding, love,” he spoke softly when he turned around and connected their eyes.

“I was just looking at your tattoos,” she stammered while she watched him slip into the bed next to her, trying to wipe the adoring look from her face. “I like them a lot.”

“Thank you.” He settled into the bed, far enough to be respectful but still close enough for her to feel the warmth off his skin. He brought his arm out from underneath the covers, allowing her to get a closer look at the ink that illustrated his skin and she rolled herself on her side to face him. She carefully traced the veins of the anatomical heart on this bicep with her finger tips. “Your fingers finally warmed up,” he said barely loud enough for her to hear.

Her eyes flashed up to meet his eyes in the darkness, his irises still seeming to glow in the limited light. She felt his warm minty breath fall over her face and the sweet smell of him that had been enveloping her since she entered his space intensified with her proximity to him. He smelled of sandalwood and vanilla, mixed with the smell of clean linen coming from his bed sheets.

“I guess they did,” she said under her breath, like if she spoke too loudly the moment would be scared away. “We should get some sleep,” she said regretfully, remembering the respectful rules she had set for herself. She withdrew her hand away from his arm and rolled back to her previous position to stare at the ceiling until she fell asleep. If she hadn’t been so tired and if it wasn’t so dark, she would have thought she saw disappointment on his face before she dozed off.

When she began to wake the next morning, she was warm. Not a sweaty or sticky warm, a cozy warm that makes you want to curl up and spend an entire day in bed, seeking respite from the cold air that lives outside the cocoon of blankets you’ve created. She snuggled further into the warmth, and further into the arms that held her close. Her consciousness was blurred with sleep as she buried her face deeper into the warmth between someone’s shoulder and neck. She wouldn’t have woken up if she didn’t feel the body holding her release a light chuckle at her sleepy huffs.

Coming back to life, she lifted her head and opened her eyes to the strong jaw peppered with stubble that she had studied so intensely for months now. A gasp left her throat and she tried to pull herself away, wracked with guilt for passing a boundary she had set. But her movements were stopped when the pair of arms around her waist only pulled her closer, a deep gravelly voice next to her mumbling “don’t go.”

For the first time, she let herself occupy the thought that her fascination with Harry may be mutual. He had gone above and beyond for her and had always been kind and accommodating, always ready to take care of her any need or want. He had let her stay in his house for god sake, let her stay in his bed, and was now holding on to her like if he let go the little world they had created together would fall apart.

“Okay,” she whispered softly into his neck, melting back into his warmth once again. Her drowsiness must have clouded her judgement when she pressed a gentle and soft kiss over his pulse point.

It was Harry’s turn to pull back, a drowsy chuckle leaving his lips as he made eye contact with her still half closed eyes. “Did you just kiss me?” he asked incredulously.

“No, definitely not.” She buried her face in her hands, blushing uncontrollably and feeling her whole face heat up.

“You liar,” he grinned. “Come here.” He pressed his hands to either side of her face and pulled her mouth to meet his. It was a soft kiss, both of them unable to control their smiling lips. Her heart raced and so did his. Their lips moved together in a rhythm that was occasionally interrupted by excited giggles, and Harry pulled her closer to him than she ever had been before.

They stayed in that bliss for as long as they could; cheeks hurting from smiles, gentle laughter released often, and enjoying the warm cocoon they had created together. It was only a matter of time before they were interrupted, both of them letting out loud laughter when all three of their animals joined them on the bed. It was only then Y/N peaked out the window above them to discover Central Park covered in a bright white blanket of snow, flurries continuing to fall outside.

“I have been obsessed with you from the first day I saw you walking the girls,” he confessed as the dogs curled up around them both. “I thought you were so special and beautiful. I about lost it the day you offered me that coffee. I couldn’t believe you were actually talking to me and not my dog for once.”

“Let’s be honest, I fell in love with Jagger first,” she teased. “His hot dad was just a bonus,” she giggled against his lips as he pressed their faces together once again, bodies held apart by the dogs that had wiggled between them.

This moment felt like a fairytale. She wasn’t sure how long it would last or what would come from it but she knew that this was what pure joy felt like, and she would hold onto it for as long as she could.

They only had the dogs to thank.

Thank you so much for reading!! Reblogs/feedback mean to the world!!! 

[glowingbadger]

You may have a little Lorenz Prompt as promised. As a treat. Here goes~

Lorenz taking thorough notes to surprise his s/o (is it the blog owner? the reader? some random character? It doesn't matter~!) with the most lovely, romantic date imaginable based around everything they like. He wouldn't put in this much effort to TRULY impress someone, but you're worth every step and more.

Enjoy where this takes your thoughts~!

(and pls don't eat it, Tumblr)

Y'know what, I've had a shitty day and I just finished writing some darker content- so I am going to ~indulge~. Normally I try to make my Reader character as broadly relatable as possible, but today we're going with MY preferences and interests because I WANT A NICE DATE WITH LORENZ GODDAMNIT

Lorenz (FE3H) x GN Reader - perfect date

Fluff - SFW

Today simply has to be flawless- the Gloucester heir will not accept any less. Not when it comes to you. Of course, Lorenz holds himself to high standards in all things, but the thought of providing anything less than perfection for you is one that pains him to even consider. Especially now that he'd finally gotten the courage- or, rather, found the right and proper time to ask you to spend the day with him.

You approach him at the Monastery gates not long after noon that day, and find your pace slowing as you eye him before he's noticed you. Without his usual elegant set of armor, you can appreciate the way constant marching and training has toned his slender frame- and appreciate it, you most certainly do. Though he soon turns to face you, and your eyes dart back up from a rather ignoble place to meet his instead.

"You're as radiant as ever, I see," he says with a warm smile. He offers you an arm and you take it, replying with a grin,

"You've already got me for the day, Lorenz, there's no need for flattery."

"'Flattery' implies a measure of falsehood," he says with confidence, leading you towards town, "and I could never bring myself to lie to one so lovely."

As your time together proceeds, you can't help but feel that, some way, somehow, Lorenz has some kind of psychic insight into your preferences. Everywhere you turn, whatever your heart could desire is immediately available and set before you with hardly any negotiation at play. At the first flower stall you find, Lorenz takes a moment to exchange words with the owner while you admire the sprawling array of colorful blooms; and by the time he's returned, he's holding a woven crown of delicate little white flowers. With an admiring smile, he carefully places it on your head, a hand trailing down a lock of your hair as he pulls away to observe you.

With a shy grin, you perform an exaggerated curtsy, prompting Lorenz to laugh fondly and take you by the hand. He twirls you slowly under his arm, watching you all the while, then says,

"They suit you every bit as wonderfully as I'd thought."

"They're my favorites," you reply.

"I know- erm, that is- I know of a superb bakery down the block this way," Lorenz seems a bit red in the face, but you chalk that up to nerves.

He's not wrong though- this bakery is something else. The selection and quality of ingredients is on an entirely new level compared to the Monastery's dining hall, and you find yourself overwhelmed even reading down the list of items posted to the wall. By your third pass over the full range of options, the words are starting to dance in your eyes- but a warm touch at your arm shakes your focus. Lorenz leans close to be heard over the rapidly growing crowd at the bakery's counter,

"Might I make a recommendation?" you nod, and he goes on, "I happen to have it on good authority that there's an item not included on this menu that you may like. It incorporates three different treatments of Brigid cocoa, if that is of any interest to you."

Your eyes light up and you can practically feel the rich sweetness across your tongue already.

"That sounds incredible," you reply, enraptured by the very thought. When you start to ask how he'd heard of such a thing, Lorenz has already turned to speak to the worker taking orders, and your words drown among the crowd of customers. The speed at which he acquires this mythical pastry only fills your mind with more questions. How did he manage to purchase an off-menu item so quickly? Wouldn't the cost of something requiring those many luxurious imported ingredients be astronomical?

But then, Lorenz returns to your side and guides you out of the crowded shop, and the sight of the delectable chocolatey treat in his hands dashes all other thoughts from your mind. He hands it to you wrapped in a handkerchief, and you can't help but immediately plunge in for a bite.

"Mmmm-!" you wear an expression of pure bliss as your mouth fills with sweet, savory chocolate, "Oh- Lorenz, it's so good!"

When you glance up at him, he's watching you with a strangely heavy expression. Once more, his fair complexion is painted a light red. You tilt your head curiously, and he seems to resurface from whatever thoughts had taken him for the moment.

"Here- you should try some," you break off a piece and hold it up to him.

"Are- are you certain? I had intended for you to enjoy it to your heart's content," he stammers out, evidently still a bit flushed.

"I want you to get to have some too. Please?" You hate to resort to puppy eyes with him, but it's hard to argue with the results. He leans forward and accepts the piece of pastry from your hand. You don't shy away from him in the slightest, and so a brief brush of his lower lip along the tip of your finger simply can't be avoided. Lorenz does his best to move past this without acknowledgement, and you two enjoy your treat together as you take in the bustle of the town around you.

The day continues in kind, with Lorenz apparently having painstakingly arranged every element of this date from start to finish. At a local seller of antiques and luxury goods, he secures permission to view and explore rare and dazzling paintings from around the world. Here, he's rather uncharacteristically reserved. Wandering the storage area like your own personal art museum, he watches you with evident warmth as you exclaim at the rich and varied pigments, the innovative expressions of human form, and so on.

After this, he brings you to a tavern at the far end of town, where he's reserved the second floor exclusively for you two to enjoy a quiet, intimate meal together. By this point, you've finally gotten around to considering just how much gold must have gone into this singular date.

"Lorenz," you say cautiously, "are you sure it's okay to go through all of this and spend so much just for-"

He raises a hand to cut you off, then replies,

"I assure you that it is," he takes your hand in his, holding it warmly from across your private table, "wealth has no value that we ourselves do not assign to it, and I have chosen to spend it on your pleasure. I can think of no greater use for a bit of coin."

The rest of the early evening is filled with pleasant chat and the occasional subtle sweet-talk. As you discuss everything you've seen and experienced that day, Lorenz engages you with surprisingly astute comments and observations. He's always at his best when he feels permitted to simply talk with you, as one person to another, free of the pressures and expectations of his birthright that he shoulders without a thought.

The sun is steadily lowering behind the hills and walls of the surrounding town by the time you make your way back together. As you walk hand in hand watching the Monastery gates rise ahead of you, Lorenz clears his throat abruptly and says,

"If I may steal you away for just a little while longer, there was... actually someone I thought you'd like to meet."

"Oh? What an honor," you say with a smile, "Do I get any hints?"

Lorenz gives a good-natured chuckle and says,

"Only that I think you'll get along splendidly."

And of all places throughout Garreg Mach's grounds, you begin to recognize that he is leading you towards the stables. You've met Lorenz's horse before- a lovely mare with a calm and agreeable temperment. If not her, then...

"Eloise?" Lorenz calls out in a gentle voice, "Eloise, come say hello- Ellie? Come now, don't tell me you've chosen tonight to become bashful..." at his call, a svelte black cat with delicate little white paws comes trotting out to meet you. Your heart positively aches and melts at the sight of her eagerly approaching Lorenz with clear comfort and familiarity.

"Lorenz, you... have a cat?" You say with obvious disbelief.

"She's one of the Monastery's strays, to be clear," he says, "She helps with the mice in the stables. Evidently, she had become quite fond of my preferred horse- and so eventually became fond of me as well."

Fond seems an understatement- she very clearly adores him. With a chorus of happy little mews, she circles his legs and rubs against him until he crouches down to offer her his hand. As he does, a shred of parchment flutters from his pocket onto the ground. Eloise targets it like a seasoned warrior and pounces at it with gusto. With a laugh, you kneel down to retrieve whatever this paper she's captured might be.

"Now Eloise, none of that- you must behave genteel-like with guests."

As he firmly lectures the cat, you glance at the paper in your hand. Nearly every inch of it is covered in an elegant, curling script that you imagine must belong to Lorenz. It looks like a... list of some kind. As your eyes scan down the page, you begin to recognize a pattern. Your favorite flowers, favorite desserts, favorite types of books and places around town- plus, to the side, the word "cats?" underlined several times. For a moment, you simply cover your mouth to hold in a snort of laughter. Then, you come to kneel beside Lorenz as he's failing to convince his feline friend to stop swatting at his hair.

"So- you've been taking very thorough notes lately." you say, nudging his arm playfully. He turns to face you with an immediate look of panic. Lavender eyes widen and glance down to the parchment in your hand, then back to you. He visibly deflates and says,

"Goddess- you must find me such a fool-"

You press your lips firmly to his before he can say another word. With a soft noise of surprise, his eyes flutter shut and he leans into your kiss. His lips are wonderfully soft, and the subtle scent of his cologne surrounds your senses as you tilt your head to seal your lips to his more firmly. You're not certain how long you remain like this, but only the dull ache of kneeling on the dirt and the incessant sound of Eloise bapping her paw against the paper in your hand bring you back to your surroundings. When you part from him, you brush aside the silky curtain of his hair to run your hand along his face, and say,

"I had a wonderful time today, Lorenz- and it means the world to me that you put so much thought into this. But next time, you don't have to study so hard, okay?"

For a moment, he seems speechless. Then, he gives a shy chuckle.

"You have bested me yet again, it would seem. How can I ever hope to become a man worthy of you when you are ever more lovely with each passing day?"

Eloise gives an insistent chirp and rubs once more against his leg, evidently tired of distractions from the attention she feels she's owed. Your smile widens, and you scratch her ear fondly.

"I think there's at least two of us who like you just as you are, Lorenz."

[curious-menace]

Riddler hug/cuddling Headcanons

so like. no excuse for this, its pure self indulgence but tbh id kinda like a hug so im imagining how these nerds might give me one.

warning, i got very carried away with writing. 

Arkham !Riddler

oh boy arkham riddler REALLY needs a hug. he is probably the most touch starved of all the riddlers, definitely the most clingy. he is too afraid of being hurt, physically or emotionally, to be the one to initiate the hug and if you come to him he will absolutely fight it. at the start anyway.

he’s going to cry if you give him a decent hug. he’s been so high strung for so long that a simple touch like that is going to send him overboard.

it starts off with him a stiff as a board, tense incase he needs to run away. but once he realises you wont hurt him he’ll start to relax a little, he usually crosses his arms across your back, under your arms rather than over. he also likes to rest his head in the crook of your neck.

like i said, he’ll probably cry at some point, so he becomes tense again as his shoulders shake, he starts to dig his hands into your back for fear you’ll let go. he keeps burying his head into your neck/shoulder so you cant see how red his face and eyes have gotten. he’s embarrassed to be like this over a hug, especially around you.

after that he will always be in your space. he’ll want to lie across you on the sofa, sit in his lap/ him sit in your lap while he works on his computer and he literally cannot sleep at night unless you have at least one arm draped across his back ( but preferably let him curl up in your arms completely )

he’s quite boney tbh. when you hug him you can feel his ribs and spine, he really likes to press his entire body to yours. He also hugs quite hard so don't be surprised if you lose your balance when he runs to you.

Blacklight! Riddler

blacklight riddler used to be like arkham riddler, he was touch starved and desperate for affection. But unlike arkham riddler, he actually receives hugs on a regular basis. 

He’s around 5ft8 so he is a great height for giving and receiving hugs. if you are smaller than him he likes to rest his head on top of your head , maybe give optional head smooches while hes at it. if you're taller than him he likes to press his face into your chest/neck, especially if this is a comforting hug. Your scent is calming to him 

he hugs kinda weird. its always one arm over your shoulder and one under your arm. He also likes to sneak up on you, rest his chin on your shoulder while he’s hugging you. strange but at least they're warm and soft.

i've mentioned before he likes to sleep in people's laps, but he enjoys being big spoon just as much as little spoon. he likes having people sit between his legs but he is very fidgety, don't expect it to last for long. 

he’s not clingy persay, but he does love sharing space with people. hes a “give them an inch and they’ll take a mile” kind of person when it comes to personal space.

the only time he doesn't like hugs (rare as that is) is when he’s having a meltdown/implosion. SOMETIMES he likes deep pressure to calm himself but it should really come from something like a T-jacket or a weighted blanket. if you touch him when he’s like that it’ll just stress him out more. just use your words and give him some space. Later, when hes calm or if he’s feeling embarrassed about having a meltdown/implosion somewhere people can see him, that's the time he’ll want comfort. 

BTAS! Riddler

this riddler is a bit touch adversed. he usually tolerates hugs in a social setting but just about. other people touching him, particularly people he doesn't know well , sets his teeth on edge. 

its different with people he knows, however. he’s very casual with his hugs, and very happy to have You in his personal bubble. even if its just tossing an arm around your waist or shoulder as you walk, its nice to be near a comforting presence like you are to him. he’s fond of hugs that don't close you both in, even though he can usually see over the top of you, it makes him feel claustrophobic 

hes pretty tall, you’d be hard pressed to be level with him so he usually hugs by putting his arms around your shoulders, maybe crossing his wrists at the back of your neck. as he is so tall, most peoples hugs on him will probably be around the waist. don't be surprised if he bends down to give you a quick peck or head bump while you're hugging him.

Its sometimes hard for him to spoon given he is quite tall, but he doesn't really mind what position you maneuver into to give him cuddles. he likes to rest against people while sitting on a sofa or lie with his head on your shoulder in bed

He gives good comforting hugs, he’s naturally very warm both in personality and temperature . lots of “oh darling dry those eyes” or “there there my love” with head pats and soft cooing . he wont even complain if you mess up his suit by balling your hands in the fabric or crying all over his sleeves. and he REALLY likes his suits. 

can be a little patronising with the head pats but honestly, he is a gentle giant type guy, he doesn't mean to be rude, everyone is just so small compared to him he cant help but treat them like kids sometimes. 

Original!Riddler

another tall lad, but he’s like one of those big dogs who doesn't know he’s big. He is friend shaped, gives excellent hugs that are very warm and all encompassing. you would feel very safe getting a hug from this riddler

the only danger is being squished a little. sometimes he doesn't quite know his own strength when it comes to hugs.he’s particularly bad at this while cuddling in bed. if he’s half asleep and you try to move away, he might reflexively latch on and inadvertently hurt you in the process. the utter horror of thinking he’s hurt you is enough to make him not want to be near you for a few days while he apologises profusely .

he is very lanky, his hugs can wrap all the way around you until his arms are nearly touching him on the other side. only a small risk of being suffocated. 

he likes it when his partner jumps for him, into a hug so he can catch them and spin them in his arms. no idea why, guess he’s just a dramatic dance kid at heart. he also prefers to be little spoon with a special fondness for partners who completely wrap themselves around him like a warm, scenintient backpack 

likes lying under a blanket on the sofa, his face pressed into your tummy with his arms around your back. you can use him as a table if you like, he wont mind. His back is always sore ( probably because he lies like this a lot) so he appreciates back rubs while hugging .

mooves around in his sleep too much to be constrained by cuddling. if you try and hold onto him it’ll either be like riding a bucking bull or trying to get out of quicksand, no inbetween. he sleeps like a dead man too so good luck waking him if you’re uncomfortable.

telltale! Riddler

hugs are few and far between. doesnt hug much, even at home. He likes to use hugs to show off or rather, show you off. he likes having some one pretty on his arm for casual, public cuddling as a power move. 

has occasional nightmares about what SANTUS did to him and as a side effect of the LOTUS. this is one of the rare times he’ll tolerate and even expect to be held and cuddled by you. he needs something like the pressure from a good ,long hug to ground him back in reality, in the here and now. 

in public he’s most likely to throw his arm around your waist or shoulder, quite possessive if i'm honest. he can be a little rough at times, gripping your shoulder or waist a little too hard when someone is pissing him off or making a move on you. he has left bruises but its never intentional. he’s a lot stronger than the average man and sometimes he forgets that. 

in private he’s a little more relaxed. sometime he just likes to share space, like having your legs over him on the sofa. sometimes hes more demanding and wants you to sit in his lap with your arms draped over him.

He demands a lot of you, but never physical contact. if he wanted a hug he would simply stand and wait for you to initiate it. likewise, he’ll always ask for your permission before he comes into your space. 

He likes to hug from behind and often picks you up off the ground, whatever way he’s hugging you. He likes to show off how strong he is despite being one of the shorter riddlers. 

Zero year!Riddler

his idea of cuddling is resting a body part on you. he might stretch his legs over yours, intertwine them while sleeping or use you as a pillow while he reads. Hes not great at being big spoon tbh; if you want him to do much more than just chilling there and letting you do the work, youll need to tell him.

like btas riddler, he’s a human furnace. he just radiates heat all times of the year. good for warming up in the winter, bad for not sticking to one another in the summer. He’s basically a big cat. cuddles on his terms, paws at you when he wants something and pushes you away when he doesn't.

thinks he’s a smooth mfer when it comes to cuddling and spooning. has 100% done that old yawn, stretch and slide an arm around you thing that all teenagers think is the height of sophisticated moves.  it only works sometimes though, more often than not he’ll simply huff and drag you towards him from the other side of the bed or sofa and demand hugs.

hes another tall riddler. he likes to use his height to his advantage by hugging you around your head so you cant escape. he also likes to have a hand on your head and one on your shoulder, sort of like he’s shielding you from something. it can be nice but sometimes, you do need to see where you're going. 

he likes to press his face into your chest/breasts just for badness. he has large hands so he can almost wrap them around your sides and back at the same time for maximum squish. he doesn't often press his entire body into you while you hug but when he does, oh boy i hope you don't have plans. you wont be leaving for a while.

he likes to cuddle in weird places. like you might be riding the subway and he’ll sneakily link his arm with yours and rest his head on your shoulder. maybe you're eating dinner and he’s trying to twist your legs together with his. maybe you're minding your own business on the sofa, he’ll try to slip between you and the cushions so you're practically sitting on him instead. 

OH BOY THIS TOOK MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT. WOOPS THERE GOES THE ENTIRE DAY.

lmao i had fun so i guess it was time well spent.

got anymore headcanons you want to talk about? wana ask me something specific about riddler? hmu with an ask, im always happy to talk about our favorite curious menace💜💚

[imaginativewriter23]

Gundham Tanaka x Reader - Decisions

Warning(s): Spoilers for Danganronpa 2 Chapter 4, angst w/ some fluff, implication of death, sadness.

Note: Please finish Chapter 4 of Danganronpa 2 in order to understand this short story.

© 2021 imaginativewriter23 All rights reserved, do not modify. Reblogs are appreciated! If you'd like to repost on a separate platform please ask for permission!

You laid in the twin bed with your lover. The sound of the ventilation vibrated against the walls, the Dark Devas of Destruction pitter-pattered against their ‘natural habitat’ as Gundham would say.

The funhouse was never fun, you lost count of how many days it had been. Everyone was tired, everyone was hungry. Someone was going to die soon, you could feel it.

The metal rings scratched against the back of your head as Gundham’s rough colossal hands petted your (H/C) hair. You gripped his black trench coat a little tighter, pressing your face against his chest to push away the hunger.

"Gundham?" You whispered.

He hushed you gently.

"Do not fret, my love. There is no demon of higher power than me that can defeat us. Not even the serpent that mortal's call hunger."

You lifted your head to look into his bi-coloured eyes. Your eyes swollen and red from your sobs of fear.

"What if someone dies?"

Grasping your chin, he tilted his forehead against yours. He paused for a moment, examining your facial features.

He remembered the first day he saw you on this island. How mesmerized he was with your kind heart and gorgeous personality.

He remembered the shy flustered look in your face when he confessed to you.

How you would always cuddle into his warmth for protection when the killings started.

Now, here you both were. Fearful of death's door, awaiting for something to happen. The smile you had before slowly etched into gloomy sobs.

You were afraid of what would happen next, so was he. Yet only Gundham knew what was to come.

He couldn't help but reminisce about the past, how fast his immortal heart beat when he met you.

"You were… the first mortal to touch my poisonous skin and not reduce ashes."

You blinked, waiting for him to continue.

"I remember... rehearsing my proposal to crown you as my empress in front of the Dark Devas of Destruction."

You let out a shy laugh. "Yeah, you were so nervous when you asked me. You kept on hiding your face in your scarf, it was cute."

Gundham quickly released your chin and leaned back, a look of horror on his face with a tint of red.

"C-cute?! One does not call the Supreme Overlord of Ice 'cute'! I am a demon that has been scorched by Satan himself! I shall bring death to this world!"

You giggled and wrapped your hands behind his neck to bring him closer to you again.

"I know, I know. Then let's bring death to this world together."

Gundham pulled his purple scarf to his face, covering half of his face.

"I-If it is my goddess who wishes to title me as 'cute' then I suppose I shall allow it. Feel thankful my love! Anyone else who would call me such hideous names would have faced the witch’s stake."

A pleasing look rested upon your face. You lightly pinched his scarf and tugged at it, insinuating for him to pull it down.

“I want to see your handsome face” You whispered.

He grunted, the heat of his body spreading across his face. He pulled his scarf down and darted his eyes away from you.

You buried your face into his chest once again, unable to contain yourself from cuddling your lover after his adorable actions. Gundham wrapped his arms around you in response, resting the side of his head atop of yours.

Closing his eyes, wanting to be in this moment with you. Not wanting to ever let you go.

Cham-P used his tiny paw to tap against the plastic tunnel he was in three times. Gundham noticed immediately, staring longingly at his Dark Devas. That was the signal, it was time. He didn't move from his position for a moment, but he knew he had to go.

Gundham pressed his lips against your temple, allowing the kiss to linger longer than he expected. He felt his anxiety build up into his chest, no. He must not back down. The Supreme Overlord of Ice never backs down.

He pulled away from you, arms still wrapped around your figure despite the small distance between you two. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, turning his hands and rubbing his knuckles against your cheek.

The sullen look in his eyes grew more sorrowful, he studied your facial features. Making sure there wasn’t a detail he missed, preparing for this moment to be the last time he’ll ever see you. If Mechamaru won, he wanted to be prepared.

“Gundham?” You called out to him.

A small smile etched into his lips, he tilted his head a bit as he looked down at you. As he looked down at what he thought was an angel, despite your claims to be a dark queen.

His dark queen.

He sat up, pulling your arms to bring you with him. He shifted his body to sit across from you, dangling one of his legs over the edge of the bed. Gundham cupped your face gently.

“My empress, I must leave now. The Devas mustn’t stay in the forgery habitat I have created for them for long. They are beasts that cannot be contained.”

You nodded. “I’ll go too, we can have a family walk together”

Gundham shook his head. “My love, you must rest here. Save your energy, I shall assure that the Dark Devas are kept tamed.”

“But-”

“Please.”

Gundham leaned forward, touching his forehead against yours with his eyes closed. “Rest here. For me, please”

Your eyes wandered at Gundham's sudden attitude. The aura around the room felt heavy and… melancholy.

You reciprocated his actions and leaned into his forehead. Placing your hands on top of his while he continued to hold your face.

"Okay, I'll stay here.” You muttered.

He lifted his head to peck your forehead, pulling back to have one last glimpse of your figure. Intertwining his hands with yours, he gave them a tight squeeze. He didn’t want to let you go, but he had to.

Raising himself from the bed, he trotted over to the Dark Devas. Opening the cage door to allow them to crawl into his scarf. Once the Devas got snugged enough, he closed the cage. Creating a small clanking sound as the two pieces of metal bumped into one another.

You quietly walked over to where Gundham stood, pulling onto the sleeve of his jacket to get his attention. He turned his head towards you, curious as to why you got up. You pointed at your lips and said one small word.

“Kiss?”

How could he forget? He turned his body to face you, leaning down slowly until both of your noses were touching. His lips hovered over yours, eyes wandered around your face until he finally shut them. Closing the tiny gap between the two of you, he molded his thin lips over yours.

You stretched your neck further to press into the kiss more, but Gundham pulled away soon after. If he allowed himself to let that kiss go any further, he would never leave.

Rubbing both of your shoulders, he ordered you back to bed with a gentle tone. “Go back to bed, my goddess.”

You crawled back into the soft mattress, Gundham stood by the bed to tuck you in. He grasped the smooth blanket and pulled it up to your chest, kissing your forehead one last time before walking towards the door.

He grabbed the cold doorknob, turning it ever so slightly. Then, he paused.

Did he want to do this? Did he want to sacrifice himself… when you were here waiting for him? Did he want to leave you behind? No. Of course not. He wanted to stay by your side forever.

He could find someone else to fight Mechamaru. That’s it. He just needed to find someone else to take his place.

There was no way. He couldn’t, he didn’t want to leave you. He wanted to live a life with you beyond this island. He just needed to convince someone, anyone else to-

“Gundham.”

He made a quiet gasp through his nose, the doorknob grew warm from his hand. His muscles were stiff like a rock, he slowly turned around to look at you with watery eyes. He didn’t speak, he knew he’d start crying if he tried to.

You laid in the same position as before, only this time you had the most gentle smile ever. The only smile he ever wanted to lay eyes upon.

“I love you.” You told him.

Gripping the doorknob a little tighter, he gritted his teeth to hold back his tears. Turning around to face the door again, he looked at his hand that held the knob.

That was all he needed to make his decision.

“I love you too.” He whispered loud enough for you to hear.

With that, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, closing it behind him. He began to walk towards the grape tower. It was a hard decision for him to make, but you made it so much easier for him.

He was always torn with the decision in front of him, but when those three words slipped from your mouth. He made the final call.

It was easy now.

Your life, over his.

That was his final decision.

[xomarauders]

posted this on ao3 awhile back and had a hard time getting tumblr to upload it, but it finally worked so here you go

content warning for referenced child abuse

~

The warmth of summer filtered through the window, casting rays of sunshine across the floor of James Potter’s bedroom carpet where Remus was splayed out, tracing patterns into the ridiculously soft material. He was sure that James charmed it to keep it so fluffy, otherwise it would not have survived the footfalls of four, rowdy boys that found refuge here during the summer. It used to be only the three of them—James, Remus, and Peter, that is—until Sirius was able to join permanently halfway through the summer season. His parents had never allowed for him to visit the Potter’s while he was still living under their roof, but now that the raven-haired boy had run away and was officially disowned, well, Remus was sure the carpet would have wilted under Padfoot’s grubby paws by now.

Either way, Remus was sure that there was nothing better than laying on James’ charmed carpet with his three best friends, listening to music from the record player—that had also been charmed to work without electricity—and chatting about whatever came to their minds. They were all sat on the floor aside from Sirius, who was perched in the window, smoking, and watching as the birds flew around outside. Remus smirked—the boy really was such a dog.

“It’s our last years at Hogwarts, boys,” James announced as he pushed his glasses further up his nose, “what are we going to do once it’s all over?”

It was a question that held a lot of weight, depending on how you looked at it. What were they going to do as far as it came to pranks and leaving their legacy at Hogwarts or what were they going to do as soon as they graduated. Maybe get jobs, possibly go to university, more likely join the Order to fight a war they didn’t start. Remus didn’t care to think about any of these things. His future had been something he considered to be doomed since he was four years old and suddenly had to share his mind with a beast that tore apart his body every month. He had never even planned on having the life he had gotten—the chance to go to Hogwarts, to make friends…to fall in love.

He cast glance toward Sirius, whose own gray eyes were already looking to Remus, a thoughtful expression on his face. Remus grinned at him, tilting his head so that his curls fell into his eyes. Sirius smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He’d been smiling like that a lot, lately. Remus made a mental note to ask him about it later that night.

“I don’t know about you lot, but I have no idea what I’m going to do without all of you around,” Peter said.

“Don’t worry, mate,” James said, patting Peter on the shoulder, “you can’t get rid of us that easy! Marauders till the end, right?”

There was a certain admiration that Remus held for James Potter, the savior of the cursed and the damned. He had banded them all together; the timid boy, the broken werewolf, and the wayward heir to make a family. Remus would never be able to repay James for the unconditional love he’d shown him, but he was willing to try everyday for the rest of his life.

“Marauders till the end,’ Sirius repeated, extracting himself from the window as he put out his cigarette. He joined them on the floor, laying down next to Remus and pressing himself tightly against the other boy. Remus wrapped his arm around Sirius, partially out of habit and partially because it was what Sirius needed, something he was starved of. Touch had been something of a guessing game between the two of them ever since they started their relationship. Neither of them were quite used to being touched in such casual ways until they became friends with James—who was constantly giving out hugs like they were candy—and starting a relationship had made the concept even more confusing. Not only did they have to think about what sort of casual touching was okay for each of them, but now they had to factor in intimate contact. Kissing was okay, just as long as they were alone in the safety of Remus’ four poster bed or hidden in one of the various alcoves they had discovered while creating the Marauders Map. Remus thought it might even be okay here, in James’ bedroom, to sweetly kiss his boyfriend without fear of judgment or ridicule. Still, he let Sirius make those decisions, allowed him to initiate any sort of contact between them because while Remus’ aversion to touch stemmed from not being able to trust himself, Sirius’ came from not being able to trust others. He was easily spooked by any sort of sudden movement that came his way, a side effect of Walburga Black’s outstanding parenting skills, and no amount of James’ casual hugs or Remus’ gentle caresses have seemed to break him of this habit.

“What are you thinking about, Moons?” Sirius whispered. James and Peter were too busy arguing over which record to play next to notice their other two friends.

“You,” Remus said easily. Sirius blushed—an image Remus would never tire of seeing—and reached up with his slender fingers to brush away the curls that had fallen in Remus’ eyes.

“Me,” Sirius said, a hint of astonishment in his voice.

Remus wished Sirius wouldn’t sound so surprised at the idea of someone thinking of him. It hurt to know that Sirius did not quite value himself the same way Remus, James and Peter did and it was times like these where Remus wanted to meet Walburga and Orion Black in person just so he could give them a piece of his mind.

“Lads,” James said, throwing himself on top of them unceremoniously, “let’s head on downstairs. I think mum’s made dinner.”

The four of them trailed down the stairs, Sirius holding Remus’ hand while James raced ahead to slide down the railing. Fleamont was in the parlor, reading the newspaper and looking up as the boys made their presence known. He greeted them all, and asked James in a calm tone to perhaps not ride the staircase like a broomstick. James at least had the decency to turn red before assuring his dad it would never happen again (everyone knew it would). Euphemia was in the kitchen, apron tied around her waist and her gray hair up in a knot on her head. Sirius leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, and she gently reached out to him, not quite taking his face in her hands until she saw the smallest nod of permission.

“My darling,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears, “you look well.”

Remus knew what Euphemia was thinking about as she took in Sirius’ appearance. It was the same thing he had thought of over and over again as he laid in bed at night, his arms wrapped tightly around his boyfriend in attempt to keep him safe from the nightmares that occupied his mind. The frail and beaten Sirius that had collapsed on the Potter’s doorstep those few weeks ago had been nursed back to health by the healing powers and carefulness of Euphemia Potter. Still, it was hard to get that image of Sirius lying half dead out of Remus’ mind. He could hardly imagine what it was like for Euphemia who had seen the worst of his injuries after shoving everyone else out of the room in order to heal him. James, Remus, and Peter had stayed up all night, waiting outside the spare bedroom door where they could hear Euphemia sobbing over Sirius’ sleeping form. Remus would rather have faced the full moon a hundred times instead of waiting those long three days for Sirius to wake up.

“Thanks, mum,” Sirius said. The four boys crowded around the kitchen table, eagerly reaching toward the various dishes Euphemia had spread about. Fleamont had joined them, sitting between his wife and Sirius. James immediately went for his mother’s main dish, filling his plate full before passing it to Peter, who was already nibbling on some naan. Remus loved Euphemia’s cooking. It was different than that of his mother’s—not that he would ever pass up his mam’s wonderful Sunday dinners—and he was happy to able to enjoy the different flavors offered whenever he visited. Euphemia always made far too much, making sure that everyone got their fill as well as some leftovers. She was an angel, truly.

Sirius did not fill his plate as full as the others. He was still very thin, with his jaw looking more pronounced and Remus knew his hipbones were a bit more jutted out. Punishments at Grimmauld Place were harsh and Sirius had been starved well into the first few months of summer. It was still a process, trying to get him to eat without getting sick, but they were managing best they could. Remus watched as Sirius poked at his food, looking a bit scared of it before setting his fork down and letting out a frustrated sigh. James looked up from his own plate, regarding Sirius with a look of concern from across the table.

“You okay there, Padfoot?” He asked, keeping his tone light but Remus could see the worry in his dark eyes. Sirius nodded, picking up his utensils once more.

“Yeah. I’m fine, just…” He trailed off, looking down at the table and not daring to meet anyone’s eye. Remus felt a sudden need to shield Sirius away from everyone else’s intense gaze, the wolf within him becoming quite territorial. He pushed those feeling away, not permitting the wolf access to its most basic instincts in the fear that the wolf might be visible on the surface. Still, even his human mind seemed to want to take Sirius away from the scrutiny.

“Darling,” Euphemia said, “you don’t have to eat it all. Just a few bites of naan if you can bear it. Just to keep up your strength.”

Sirius smiled tightly at her but did not move to eat. The rest of them reluctantly picked at their own food, trying to keep things as normal as possible. Fleamont engaged his son in conversation about Quidditch, asking after the Gryffindor team and what he thought their chances were this upcoming school year. Peter politely asked after the herbs Euphemia was growing in her kitchen—he had a thing for herbology—and she answered each question with detail. Remus turned his attention to Sirius, his hand coming to rest on the older boy’s knee. Sirius flinched slightly and then blinked as he realized it was only Remus.

“Do you want to go on a walk?” Remus asked quietly, rubbing circles with his thumb into Sirius’ thigh. The other boy nodded, standing quickly, and exiting the kitchen. The conversations happening came to an abrupt halt and Remus could feel James’ gaze turn towards him. He looked to his friend, a silent conversation passing between them.

Is he okay?

No, but he will be.

Remus walked out, trailing through the living room and out the back door which lead to the Potter’s spacious garden. When Remus had first visited the Potter’s home when he was thirteen, he had the startling realization that James Potter was very well off. It was a bit daunting, especially since Remus’ whole house could probably fit within one room of the mansion and he had been a bit nervous to even touch anything in fear of breaking it. Of course, Fleamont and Euphemia were no stranger to rough-housing, having known exactly what they were getting into with their own son, and Remus’ worries were quickly put to ease when Euphemia simply waved her wand at a vase that had tragically fallen to the floor amidst their game of dog-pile on Peter. Young Remus had almost forgotten that magic existed outside of Hogwarts, and he was in awe at seeing performed in such a domestic setting.

His favorite part of James’ home though was the garden. It was so big! There were wonderful trees that provided much needed shade on hot summer days, and pools of water run by magic to keep the vegetation alive. There were many times the boys pretended to be magizoologists searching for creatures in a jungle, or highly trained aurors on the hunt for evil wizards and—Remus’ personal favorite—pirates looking for treasure. It was a place filled with joy and adventure and even as the boys got older, it remained their sanctuary. Sirius had spent a lot of time in the garden since he arrived, sitting by himself beneath the starlit sky, crying out for his brother and the family that had hurt him. Remus had watched in privately, not daring to intrude on such moments, but wanting to be within reach just in case.

Sirius sat there now, next to a bed of deep red roses, softly running his fingers across the petals. Remus walked up, careful not spook him, and sat down beside him. He flickered his eyes in Sirius’ direction and noticed the other boy had started crying, but he did not pry. Now was not the time for that. Instead, he let his fingers trail through the grass beneath him and let his words fall lazily off his tongue.

“I read a new book at the beginning of summer,” Remus began, his tone light. “Mrs. Dalloway. It was a quick read. The entire novel takes place over the course of one day, how interesting is that? It’s become one of my favorites I think. Woolf is a great author—Virginia Woolf, she’s the one who wrote it.”

Sirius seemed to perk up at this. “Woolf? Could you be anymore ironic, Moony?”

A light laugh escaped Remus. “Believe me, I know. Mum was worried about that when she got it for me.”

The tension snapped back into Sirius as quickly as Remus realized his mistake. Hope Lupin was a generous woman, young and vibrant with a taste for progressive ideologies and love for everyone she met. She adored her son and kept him safe, never shying away from him despite his affliction with lycanthropy and Remus sometimes forgot how lucky he was to have her in his life until he was sat next to Sirius and realized that the Hope Lupin’s and Euphemia Potter’s of the world were unfortunately not the norm for everyone.

“They hate me,” Sirius says abruptly. “They hate that I don’t agree with them. That I don’t want to fucking pledge my allegiance to some dark lord who wants to kill all my friends and I—” he chokes off, a sob escaping him, “I don’t want to care, Remus. I don’t want to be bothered by the fact that my mother would rather curse me instead of hug me and that my father would rather have me dead instead of tarnishing his precious family name. But I do. I do care because they should care. I’m their son, I am their fucking flesh and blood and if blood is all that matters to them then why don’t they care about me?”

There were tears in his eyes as he looked at Remus, tears that Sirius had been holding back ever since he was eleven years old and discovered that parents were not supposed to punish their children for wanting to be loved, the pain and anguish of that realization that had built up over time finally reaching a breaking point. Remus’ own heart was breaking as he stared helplessly, not knowing what to do. These were not problems children were supposed to have. They were supposed to be young, careless, and dreaming up pranks to pull once they got back to school. Instead, they had to contend with a looming war and parents who were cruel and a curse that transformed you into a monster. This was their life, and it would never be easy, Remus thought, not for them.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered, “there are no words I can say to express to you how sorry I am that you’ve had to deal with any of this. Your parents…they’re wrong. They are so fucking wrong and they are so fucking blind for not being able to love you. You are the most loveable human being. You’re generous and caring and you…you take notes for me. When I miss class. And you always make sure my pillows are nice and fluffy after the moon and you rub those soothing salves on my skin at night. And you make me that special tea whenever I’m sick and you read to me when I can’t sleep. You kiss me like it’s the first time every time and you love me like it’s the only thing you’re meant to do. You clean James’ glasses for him and you make sure his Quidditch gear is ready to go on game day. You help Peter study and you let him go on and on about divination with you despite it being your least favorite subject. You’re the first one up to dance with Marlene at the parties and you braid Lily’s hair whenever she’s feeling upset over her sister. You are one of a kind, Sirius Black. You are a good friend and a good brother and you are the love of my life. Believe me when I tell you that you are loved.”

Sirius stared at him, the tears falling from his eyes leaving trails across his cheeks. He reached out for Remus, pulling the taller boy closer to close the distance between them. Sirius’ lips met Remus’, a tender kiss filled with gratitude and love and the promise of forever. When Sirius pulled away, his eyes were still shining, but there was new fervor there, a look of life that Remus had not seen reflected in those silver orbs for a long time.

“I love you so much,” Sirius said. And he smiled genuinely for the first time in months.

Remus smiled back. “I love you, too.”

“Come on,” Sirius said, standing up and offering his hand. “Let’s head back in.”

[disastermages]

okay but like, meetcute where nie mingjue’s cat gets out one day and jiang yanli finds her.

--

There were still a handful of moving boxes littering the apartment, filled with odds and ends Jiang Yanli hadn’t been able to put away yet, but most of them had been dealt with the night before, when she’d still had her brothers to help her.

Last night had been loud, with Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian bickering like they always did, but the apartment was much quieter now, or it should have been.

It’s the crying and light knocking at her window that draws Jiang Yanli to the fire escape, worry settling into amusement as she comes to kneel in front of it. “Aren’t you a pretty kitty.” She smiles and the cat stands on its hind legs to try and sniff her through the window. The cat cries and paws at the window again before pacing back and forth, and Jiang Yanli laughs and opens the window, welcoming the cat inside.

“Did your family live here before me, Miss Baxia? Did they forget you, or did you run away from them and come back here?” She hadn’t had any cat food to offer, so she makes scrambled and unseasoned eggs, taking the opportunity to scratch between Baxia’s ears with one hand and read the name on her collar with the other while the cat ate.

There was neither an address nor phone number on the tag, and it makes Jiang Yanli frown. Baxia was obviously an indoor cat, and well cared for from the looks of it. There were no mats in her thick fur, nor was there any indication that she’d gone particularly hungry. “I bet whoever you live with is looking for you.” She can’t help but scold the cat, even as she looks up at her and licks her teeth clean. 

The sound of loud purring fills the apartment now, with Baxia wandering from room to room and jumping into boxes while Jiang Yanli continues her mission of unpacking. She’d left the fire escape window open in case Baxia got bored with her and decided to leave, but the cat had no such notion, instead she’d chosen to chase the balls of packing paper Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian had thrown at each other last night.

Jiang Yanli lets herself be distracted more than once just watching Baxia run from room to room, laughing whenever she comes to a skittering stop in front of her. “I’ll have to put down some rugs for you, won’t I?” Jiang Yanli picks up the paper ball Baxia had been chasing after and throws it across the room, laughing loud enough that her voice echoes when the cat pounces on it. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have more toys for you, Miss Baxia, but I haven’t had a cat in a very long time, I hope you can forgive me.” Jiang Yanli tells Baxia while they eat lunch together. She lets Baxia sit on the table across from her and smiles to herself as she thinks about how horrified her mother would be if she could see it. Baxia says nothing until she’s offered something else from Jiang Yanli’s plate. 

Baxia falls asleep on Jiang Yanli’s new couch after lunch and doesn’t move again until the sun has begun to set, but it’s the same noise that makes both Jiang Yanli and the cat stop what they’re doing, a quiet noise escaping from Baxia before she jumps off the couch and goes over to the door, pawing at it just like she’d done at Jiang Yanli’s window this morning. 

Jiang Yanli follows her over, but doesn’t open the door right away, not until she’s sure of what she hears. “Is that your person, Baxia?” She asks with a smile before she squats down and picks the cat up with a sound of effort. No, Baxia had most definitely not gone hungry. 

“Baxia! Baxia!” The booming voice is closer to Jiang Yanli’s door now and Baxia wiggles against her. Jiang Yanli’s arms tighten instinctively and she scratches underneath the cat’s chin, talking in a soothing voice before she shifts Baxia’s weight to one arm.

When she leans out of her door, Jiang Yanli sees nothing and no one, the hallway is empty, and Baxia has started purring again, her tail swishing against Jiang Yanli’s stomach. 

“Baxia!” The voice calls again, and this time, Baxia meows, but makes no move to escape from Jiang Yanli’s arms. A tall, muscled man rounds the corner a few seconds later, his eyes flicking between Jiang Yanli and Baxia as he walks briskly over.

“She was on my fire escape this morning,” Jiang Yanli explains, craning her neck to look up at the man as she sets Baxia in his arms, her purring louder than ever as she digs her claws into his arms, her back legs kicking. 

“She probably slipped out after I left for work.” The man grumbles, trying and failing to untangle his arm from Baxia’s clutches, though there’s a familiar gentleness to it that makes Jiang Yanli smile, he doesn’t even shout when she bites into one of his fingers. “I hope she wasn’t any trouble.” He studies Jiang Yanli for a moment, his eyes dropping down to her scratch free arms, and then back up to her face as she shakes her head. 

“Miss Baxia was such a good girl, she wasn’t any trouble at all.” Jiang Yanli praises, scratching the cat between her ears again. It’s enough for Baxia to give up her attack and shove her face into Jiang Yanli’s hand instead.

There’s an odd look of amusement on Baxia’s person’s face when Jiang Yanli looks up at him again, “She never likes new people this much, who are you and what have you done to my cat?” Jiang Yanli laughs louder than she means to, her smile becoming a little more real as she scratches underneath Baxia’s chin.

“My name is Jiang Yanli,” She answers, inclining her head and finding that she likes the man’s smile just a little too much, “I just moved in yesterday.” They’re still standing outside of her door, and she turns halfway around as if he might have trouble seeing it behind her.

The man has to shift all of Baxia into one arm to extend his hand, “Nie Mingjue, I’m two doors down from you.” His hand is much larger than her own, and much warmer, but Jiang Yanli tries not to let it distract her, looking over when he tilts his head towards his own door. Baxia hadn’t walked far by herself, then.

“It was nice to meet you both,” Jiang Yanli says, still smiling, even as she takes her hand away from Baxia. She doesn’t stop herself from chuckling when the cat makes to grab her hand back, “You can come see me again, but only if you have permission, Miss Baxia.” She taps her finger against Baxia’s nose and smiles bigger when both of Baxia’s big paws come up to hold her finger in place. 

Nie Mingjue is watching her instead of Baxia when Jiang Yanli pulls away, one side of his mouth tilted up in a grin. He’s scratching Baxia between the ears now.

They only stay in the hallway long enough for Nie Mingjue to thank Jiang Yanli for letting Baxia in and looking after her while he was gone, and then they’re walking into their own apartments.

Baxia is watching her from over Nie Mingjue’s shoulder when Jiang Yanli looks back.

[iloveyou3thousand]

alpha wolf tony is in a feral rut and chases peter until he knots him

I got a little carried away with this I have to admit so I hope you enjoy. Heed the tags!

CW: ABO dynamics with Alpha!Tony and Omega!Peter, werewolf anatomy/biology, knotting, mild dubcon between two otherwise consenting partners because of Tony’s rut, mild angst with a happy ending

—————————————————————————————

Peter had never seen Tony go into rut before, and he always assumed that it was because of his age. It wasn’t a bad thing, nor was it meant to be insulting in any way – it was just the truth. There came a certain age for both Alphas and Omegas where some natural, biological bodily functions either slowed down, or stopped entirely. Omegas’ fertility decreased and their heats stopped, and Alphas’ ruts disappeared.

It was different for every person. Some Omegas stopped experiencing heats in their forties, while some continued to have them well into their sixties, although they did usually decrease in intensity and duration.

So Peter used to think it was because of Tony’s age. It wouldn’t have surprised him if it had been.

Little did he know that Tony’s ruts were few and far in between, and the most intense he’d ever see.

He first started noticing that something was different with Tony about a week before the full moon was due. They were planning their monthly outing with the team when Peter joked about something, and Steve went to slap a hand on his shoulder as he passed behind him, but Tony, who was sitting next to Peter, suddenly snatched Steve’s hand out of the air before it could even land on the Omega’s shoulder. Tony then held it for a moment as the room fell quiet, and Steve slowly retreated, holding both hands up in silent bargaining.

A second later, it was as if nothing had ever happened, and Tony seemed perfectly normal again.

Peter was able to brush it off then, but that wasn’t all.

Tony grew progressively more possessive of Peter over the few days leading up to their full moon trip. To the point where Peter was actually starting to wonder if maybe he was pregnant, and Tony could smell it on him before anyone else could. Peter was showing no symptoms though, and he had been on birth control throughout his last heat.

Tony would growl at people who touched Peter, glared at those who came too close, and he’d scent Peter in front of everyone. It felt similar to the time surrounding Peter’s heats, when Tony would get a little extra protective of him – but he’d never displayed anything like this before.

Full moon came around, and the team got ready to leave. They were going to drive down to a nice patch of land they hadn’t been to before, explore some new areas and sniff out some new scents. It was basically enrichment. They’d gotten permission from the pack whose territory it was, and they were all excited.

All except for Peter. Because Peter knew that there was something wrong with Tony.

Everyone had seemed to notice, and yet no one had said anything about it. Peter couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Only Nat had commented on it once, and all she’d said was that running around new territory would do him good, that he just needed to get some pent up energy out of his system and he’d be good as gold.

Peter couldn’t stop worrying. Tonight was especially bad, because Tony was tense all around, stuck so close to Peter that the Omega might as well have been permanently glued into his lap. He held Peter more firmly than before, kissed him less, always seemed to be keeping an eye on the people around them.

Peter hoped that Natasha was right and that Tony needed to get some energy out. The full moon usually did good things for their kind.

As they arrived, tensions grew, but not just in Tony. Everyone was excited, the moon rising in the sky, making them all feel some type of way. They couldn’t wait to shed their skin and run. It was no surprise that when they got to their destination, everyone was pouring out of the cars before they had even come to a full stop, if only to take deep breaths of the air around them, new and unfamiliar.

They didn’t have a plan beyond this. They were just going to run. That was the whole plan.

Peter kept a close eye on Tony while everyone was getting undressed as much as they were comfortable with, chatting among themselves and waiting for the full effect of the moon to kick in to make the shift more comfortable.

Some couldn’t wait and shifted right on the spot.

Peter wasn’t one of those.

He undressed and went to wrap his arms around Tony, who had also gotten naked, but Tony wouldn’t even look at him.

Out of all the things that had been concerning in the past couple of days, that was definitely the most worrying one.

The moon appeared high up in the sky from behind some clouds, and the rest of the pack became restless. Shifts were starting. Peter could feel it, too. The itch beneath his skin, the urge to dig his hands into the mud, to sniff the nearest tree, to run and hunt and be. He gave in when he could see that Tony was about to, too, and within seconds he fell to all fours, stretching out leisurely to shake off the remainder of that uncomfortable feeling pre-shift.

Beside him, Tony dropped. Peter looked at him hopefully. When Tony gave him a gentle nudge with his nose, he thought that things were okay. Maybe this was what he’d needed after all.

But it was short-lived.

Once everyone had shifted, they ran. The large pack divided into smaller groups, which encouraged them to put their senses to good use and find each other in the middle of the forest. It enabled them to play games, like faux hunting each other, and following trails.

Relieved that Tony seemed to be doing fine, Peter stopped paying so much attention to him, and focused instead on enjoying himself while the full moon lasted. He wanted to get all of his energy out, and this was the perfect way to do it, surrounded by the sound of heavy paws hitting the damp ground, and leaves rustling from bodies that passed through the underbrush quickly in the night. He lived for this. For the wind in his fur and the feeling of the moon shining down on his back, giving him renewed energy.

He was so caught up in that deliberating feeling that he didn’t notice Tony got left behind, and he didn’t notice until he was already miles away.

Peter stopped and looked over his shoulder. The rest of his group kept going, oblivious to the two members they had lost along the way, and within seconds Peter was completely alone.

It was eerie, once alone. Sure, Peter had heightened senses, which meant that he was able to pick up on much more than he would have if he’d been in his human form, and yet… That was actually what made it scarier. He could hear the breeze pass by every leaf around him, every mouse scuttering under the forest bedding, every squirrel breathing softly in their nest.

And yet he couldn’t hear the wolf sneaking up on him nearby until it was almost too late.

Peter’s nails dug in the dirt to push himself off into a quick sprint when suddenly he realized he was about to get jumped. He was off in a matter of seconds, heart beating wildly as he ducked under branches and hopped over loose logs, trying to make an escape from whoever was following him. Like this, he couldn’t smell them, so he couldn’t identify them, and it didn’t feel like play hunting.

They weren’t this stealthy when they played. They always gave each other some kind of forewarning, or a headstart, or they stopped immediately after they had successfully spooked each other.

Whoever was chasing Peter, was chasing him with a purpose. And it was terrifying.

Peter was young and agile and he had energy for days, but even he was quickly running out of breath. Whoever was coming after him had a kind of stamina he had never seen in another wolf before. They had to be young.

They had to be from another pack.

Peter made the mistake of trying to look over his shoulder while he sprinted. He startled when he saw the snarl on the other wolf’s face and lost his footing, sending him tumbling through forest bedding, struggling to put his legs back under him and keep going.

It didn’t matter anyway. The wolf was on him in the blink of an eye, teeth harsh around Peter’s neck. If he’d gotten hold of his throat Peter was sure he would have been dead in an instant.

He let out a distressed sound, and for a second, just a split second, it was as if the other wolf paused, as if he had a moment of clarity wherein he realized what he was doing. Peter took it as an opportunity to scramble to his feet and keep going, pushing away from the other wolf and picking up his pace once more.

They played their cat and mouse game once again until Peter was starting to run out of breath. He knew his feet wouldn’t carry him much farther, and in his panic he’d only brought himself further away from his pack. The other wolf was almost upon him again, and Peter was starting to realize that the only way out of this was to fight. Defend himself. Injure the other, if he had to. He just had to do something.

So Peter stopped dead in his tracks and tackled the other wolf, sending him flying. It gave him the opportunity to look at him for a second while they were both getting up again, and when he laid eyes on the other properly for the first time since the chase had begun, Peter felt a ridiculous wave of relief wash over him.

Tony.

It was Tony.

Peter was about to snap at him for scaring him like that, when he realized that Tony wasn’t easing up. His shoulders were still tense, back arched, feet apart, head low – ready to pounce. His lip pulled back in a warning snarl and Peter found himself slowly backing away, his blood running cold.

What was going on?

Why was Tony acting that way?

If only he could have communicated with him properly, he would have been able to ask. But as it were, he could only give him a questioning look, which Tony responded to with a low, feral growl that sent a shiver up Peter’s spine.

With every step Tony took forward, Peter took one backward, the tension between them growing until one of them would inevitably burst the bubble and snap.

Peter could smell him now. The wind blew Tony’s scent in his direction, affirming that he was who Peter thought he was, and also that something was…afoot. Not wrong, necessarily. But something was definitely happening. Tony’s scent was stronger, more overwhelming, pouring out like he was trying to impress someone, lure them in.

Maybe that someone was Peter?

It was slowly starting to dawn on Peter that maybe this was a rut. What else could it possibly be? He sure couldn’t find an answer to that question. So it had to be a rut. Which meant that Tony’s only objective right now was so fight, or to fuck.

Peter desperately hoped that he wasn’t here to fight.

Surely he’d recognize that it was Peter who was standing in front of him?

Peter gave a soft whimper in the hopes that if Tony wasn’t seeing through his rut-induced haze, he could break through it a little bit, and help him realize that he was looking at Peter, not just any other wolf. He was looking at his soon-to-be-mate. They had spent a few of Peter’s heats together already. They had been together for a while. They had even talked about bonding.

Tony seemed to blink for a moment, and his snarl faded when he paused in his tracks for just a second. He didn’t stop entirely though, but when he took another step forward, this time he didn’t look as threatening as before. Now, he just looked like he was about to pounce, and not in a way that would result in Peter’s throat potentially getting ripped out.

Peter made to turn and make a run for it again when Tony launched himself, and Peter was caught before he could make a clean escape. He was wrestled to the ground, Tony’s teeth snapping, trying to get a hold of Peter’s neck so that he would submit.

Peter could struggle all he wanted but when Tony’s jaw clamped down on the back of his neck the right way, hard but not too hard, he almost immediately went spineless, panting heavily while Tony readjusted his grip to keep him pinned in place.

Not like Peter would think of going anywhere else. He knew the two ways that an Alpha could get through their rut, and this was much preferable to the mere thought of Tony hurting others in their pack, and others hurting his Tony. Besides… He’d never seen Tony liked this. And the way he grabbed him made Peter feel particularly weak in the knees, his body already preparing for what he had now realized was awaiting him.

Tony positioned himself, chest along Peter’s back, hips already thrusting as he tried to line up. He held Peter still as he sought out his entrance with the pointed tip of his cock where it slid out of its sheath. Peter whined when Tony found a nice, warm place to bury his cock, shoving its full length into Peter’s pliant, waiting body. Tony’s hips thrust faster the second he’d bottomed out, paws framing Peter’s hips for leverage as he forced their bodies together again and again.

Tony growled lowly behind Peter, as if he was daring non-existent surrounding wolves to come near his mate. Not that Peter knew what was happening around him. He was too caught up in the feeling of Tony forcing his cock into him again and again, and the beginnings of his knot at the base, catching on his tight rim every time Tony rocked his hips.

It didn’t last long, but it didn’t have to. Tony let go of his neck and howled sharply when he popped his knot into Peter before it could expand too far. It grew until it firmly locked them together, and Peter could feel how Tony released inside of him, pumping him full of his cum until Peter practically saw stars, his own cock unsheathed and dripping weakly to the forest bedding below.

But that wasn’t all. When Tony’s howl echoed through the forest and Peter was about to give a howl of his own in return to the answering ones that could be heard in the distance, he didn’t even get the chance to. Tony snuffled at the back of his neck as if he was in search for something, something deep in between Peter’s fur, and when he found it he bit down. Hard.

Peter yelped when he could feel Tony’s teeth dig so deep that they drew blood.

Suddenly, the most overwhelming feeling of belonging washed over him, overshadowing the pain of the bite and making it seem like it was absolutely nothing in comparison. He felt love, adoration, disbelief, wonder – it all came crashing down on him, all at the same time, and all directed right at Tony.

They were mating.

Bonding.

Tony had marked him for life.

Their bond solidified when Tony’s jaw loosened up and he started nuzzling and grooming Peter, lapping up the blood that came free, cleaning his fur of the stains it had created while Peter himself was still struggling to get through everything he felt at that moment and process it all. They were still locked together, and now they were unified in another way, as well.

It had all happened so quickly that Peter’s head was spinning with it.

Thankfully, in the thirty minutes that it took for Tony’s knot to go down, he had some time to process everything. By the time Tony sheepishly stepped away and cleaned himself up, leaving Peter in the grass for a moment, Peter was exhausted. First the running, then the knotting, and then the mating – it had taken all of the energy out of him. It was a miracle that Tony still had enough in him to stay in his feet.

Tony joined him on the ground, wrapped around him protectively like one would do to their mate, and started grooming him again. Like this, it almost felt as if Tony hadn’t just been rut-crazed, as if he hadn’t taken Peter and hadn’t given in to that constant urge of mark, claim, bite, take, mine.

Peter buried his muzzle into Tony’s fur, and allowed his eyes to close.

It was too much. Everything was too much. He would deal with it tomorrow.

.

Peter woke up to the underside of Tony’s very human jaw, contrasting a clear orange sky above them. He blinked slowly, and tucked his face a little further into the crook of Tony’s neck to avoid the early morning sunlight as best as he could, yawning.

He realized a couple of things in quick succession. He was sore was the first thing – and in many places at that. He was naked was the second. And Tony was carrying him was the third.

Peter wrapped his arms a little tighter around Tony’s neck and curled up a little closer. Tony knew he was awake because he looked down at Peter for a second, and Peter absently thought that he would have enjoyed a soft little good morning kiss on the head, but maybe it wasn’t that kind of morning.

Peter kept his eyes closed the rest of the way, relishing in the warmth radiating off Tony’s body, though he could hear it when they were nearing the cars. The others were already up, probably getting dressed if they hadn’t already done so, getting ready to head back home. The full moon was over, and the next one wouldn’t be for another month.

As they neared the group, Peter could hear they went quiet.

“What happened?” He heard Natasha ask.

Tony’s silence on the matter was concerning, and it had Peter crack open an eye.

“Is he okay?” Someone else asked – that might have been Rhodey.

“He’s fine!” Tony growled, in a tone of voice that startled Peter fully awake. He opened his eyes and looked around to see the rest of their pack staring at them as Tony continued to carry him toward one of the cars.

Once in the backseat, Tony kept Peter in his lap, held him close firmly, almost as if he was afraid of letting him go. He draped one end of a blanket around the younger man’s shoulders and wrapped the other end around his legs, before he pulled him against his chest again.

“Tony?” Peter asked softly, cautiously, “Are you okay?”

“I said—” Tony started in the same tone as before, something low and threatening and scary, until their eyes met and he seemed to realize who he was talking to. Tony swallowed visibly, and took a deep breath, before he pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “I’m sorry, baby,” he apologized when he’d noticed Peter’s spooked look, “You’ll be fine. I promise. Everything is okay.”

It wasn’t an answer to Peter’s question, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask again.

.

Nobody said another word to them as they drove home, and Peter was too uncomfortable in the tense silence to say anything, so it was quiet in the car all the way back. Even though Peter suggested he could walk by himself once back at the compound, Tony insisted that he carry him, and Peter didn’t feel like it was his place to say no for some reason.

Bruce intercepted them while they were on their way to the quarters they shared together, offering medical assistance, which Tony coldly brushed off.

It was odd. Peter didn’t feel any pain, and he was pretty sure that if Tony had been injured, he wouldn’t have been able to carry Peter like this. Why did everyone seem to think that something was wrong?

When they got upstairs, Tony silently took Peter into the shower. They stood together under the warm water, and Peter felt strangely floaty while Tony touched him so reverently, washing the dirt off his skin and out of his hair for him. He was being so careful, so gentle. Peter loved it, enjoyed it thoroughly, happy to just go along with everything that Tony wordlessly suggested they do.

Peter only paused in his tracks when he passed by the bathroom mirror on his way out.

Something caught his eye, and he stepped back to check his reflection again. It was only then that he realized there was a large, fresh bitemark on the back of his neck. It was clean now, from the shower, but Peter could imagine that if it was as new as it looked, that had to mean that it had looked far, far worse before the shower.

Peter’s breath hitched in his throat, and Tony was by his side in a second.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, and Peter realized that he was crying. He’d probably watched him, watched the way Peter had looked at himself in the mirror and reached up to tentatively touch one of the punctures in his skin. “Petey, baby, I am so sorry.”

Peter looked at Tony with concern in his expression and slowly wrapped his arms around him.

“Hey,” he murmured, “It’s okay. I don’t—Why are you crying? Tony?”

The Alpha buried his face into the crook of Peter’s neck and kissed at his skin, over and over again, around the wound, careful to skim along the edges.

“I lost control,” Tony confessed, “I was in rut. And I lost control. And I bit you. I should never have allowed myself to do that.”

Peter shushed him gently and ran his hands through Tony’s damp hair, kissing at whatever skin he could reach when the memory of last night came rushing back to him. The fear of being chased, then the realization that it was Tony, that he was in rut, the knotting, and finally the biting. The bonding.

“You mated me,” Peter breathed out in a rush, and held Tony that little bit tighter, “I’m really yours now. All yours. Your Omega.”

His tone of voice had Tony look up in confusion, frowning through his tears. Peter sounded happy. He sounded ecstatic.

“Isn’t this fantastic?” Peter beamed, eyes brimming with wonder, “I’m your mate!”

Tony searched his face for a moment, blinking away the wetness in his eyes and taking a shuddery breath.

“I bit you without your consent,” he argued, “Why aren’t you mad at me?”

Peter gave a sympathetic smile, and kissed the corner of Tony’s mouth, “Because I’ve wanted this for ages. And yeah, I didn’t explicitly say that you could do it at that moment. But haven’t we discussed this before? And hasn’t it been clear that this is something that we both want? Weren’t we just looking for the right opportunity?”

“But that wasn’t the right opportunity.”

“It was an opportunity. And you took it. And frankly, once I got over the crippling fear that I was about to die before I realized that it was you chasing me, it was…kind of hot. I mean I enjoyed it.” Peter gave a sheepish smile.

Tony looked at him like he was crazy.

“Tony,” Peter said, pulling him closer with both hands on either side of the older man’s neck, “I love you. And you love me. And these gaping holes in the back of my neck? They’re just proof of that.”

Tony didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t protest. He just sighed.

“Still,” he said, “I’m sorry I scared you, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Well,” Peter replied simply, “Apology accepted. Now, I’m starving, and I’m pretty sure you are too, so how about we get something to eat?”

Tony could only agree. After all, he had to take care of his mate.

“Your wish is my command, my Omega,” he teased softly.

Peter smiled.

“I sure hope so, Alpha.”

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Inspired by a conversation with @theimpossiblescheme​, have some purely self indulgent demelonzostrap fluff with just a touch of Munkustrap angst. 

Munkustrap crept carefully into his little den, conscious of the dreadfully late hour and the suffocating silence of the dark, cramped space. Another day nearly over with the next morning fast on its heels, mostly uneventful, seemingly gone so quickly that he'd hardly processed the hours ticking by at all. Why did it always seem as though there was never enough time? And hadn't he promised that he would have been sleeping by now? That he was going to, at least, be home at a reasonable time tonight?

So much for that.

The persistent twinge of exhaustion stung behind the tom's eyes, dry and burning, and was soon to settle itself into the usual headache. Unpleasant, but he was used to it. It always came about around this time - not much he could do. All he really needed, he mused, was to curl away and sleep for a day or two, but he stubbornly pushed the thought down, and instead pacified himself with the knowledge that an undisturbed few hours were better than nothing; that it was good enough. That was at least one thing of benefit in the wee hours of the morning - Munkustrap could hold the tentative hope that the world could turn without him. That no one expected anything of him until the sun rose. That he could trust his other protectors to pick up the slack he left behind.

Whether that was enough to get him to actually sleep was another story entirely. He was still getting used to the idea in practice, after all.

Munkustrap paused momentarily before the cloth separating his bed from the rest of the space. He willed for his mind to settle and calm a moment - "leaving his troubles at the door," as Jenny would say - before pushing through, taking another second to allow his eyes to adjust to the even dimmer light.

The first thing he noticed was Demeter curled on her side in the middle of the blanket, fast asleep. A moment more, and he could make out the lap her cheek was pressed against, attached to the profile of a very much awake Alonzo, sitting hunched above her. From the preliminary glance, the other tom looked to be deep in thought, staring off into space somewhere and absentmindedly petting Demeter's shoulder. 

Speaking of things he was still getting used to. A wholly welcome thing, this one, but it still managed to catch him by surprise.

It was always a treat, Munkustrap thought briefly, to catch the two cats at their most relaxed, seeing how gentle Alonzo could be behind closed doors, how happily Demeter could sing to herself when she thought no one could hear her. How the two of them could just...exist beyond any pre-weighted notion of behaviour or assumption.

There was something very humbling about it. 

When Munkustrap took a cautious step forward, letting the cloth fall behind him, Alonzo's ears and tail perked up, suddenly motionless and on full alert. When he sharply turned his head towards the other tom, there was a reflection of something…unfamiliar in his eyes. An instinct flared to life at the sight, Munkustrap feeling his stomach sink at having been "caught" (in his own den, no less). But before he crouched too far on the defense, feeling his fur bristle through no control of his own, he stopped to remind himself where he was and who was in front of him. 

It felt like forever, but the tense stare-down was over in seconds. Munkustrap saw Alonzo's eyes flash with recognition and his posture immediately relaxed.

"Hey." Simple as it was, the greeting was low and warm, sending a soft tingle down Munkustrap's spine. "All through?" 

The silver tabby hummed affirmatively. "Socrates took over. I decided to take one last loop around - thought I ran into something concerning, but I figured it out."

Alonzo continued to study his face in the low light, absorbing the information given, expression unreadable. Munkustrap resisted the urge to hold his breath as he was scrutinized.

"You smell weird," Alonzo finally murmured, lowering his tail. "Almost didn't recognize you. You been rolling around in the dirt?"

Munkustrap left the observation and not-quite-question (playful or serious he couldn't quite tell) alone, smoothing the fur on his neck back down. "What were you doing?" he whispered instead, mindful of Demeter's sleeping form as he sat across from them. 

Alonzo glanced down at the queen. "She tried waiting up for you. You said you planned on coming back here tonight instead of the high-rise." Alonzo barely hid his look of distaste at the mention of Munkustrap's human home. It was no secret that the former alley cat didn't particularly like humans of any variety, even the nice ones with cats of their own, unless they were feeding them. And even then he gave them a wide berth, especially the young ones with their grabbing hands. Still, though, being involved with a housecat meant he'd had to start tolerating Emily at the very least. That was still very much a work in progress.

"I told her that you probably wouldn't be done until late," he continued, resuming the gentle petting of her shoulder. "And she knew, but she insisted. Didn't quite make it, and I wasn't about to wake her up."

"Oh," Munkustrap muttered, feeling a sudden confused warmth bloom to life in his belly, tampered very slightly by guilt. As if on queue, Demeter sighed  - a soft, airy thing - and turned her head. The queen's profile was lit in the relief of slivers of moonlight leaking into the den, her whiskers twitching as she slept. She looked so young then, so unbothered, and so different from the usual heavy furrow of her brow. She had always been lovely, but there was something particularly remarkable about her right at that moment.

Munkustrap reached to gently touch her ears, but thought better of it and pulled his paw away. Alonzo was right - the last thing he wanted was to wake her from a much deserved sleep. Unsure of what to say, he looked back up at the patched tom, who was still studying him intently. "I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't…" Munkustrap flicked his gaze around, suddenly noticing an absence. "Where's Jemima?

"Ideally with Jenny and Jelly, and most likely also still awake," Alonzo calmly explained, as though he were reiterating a morning report. Munkustrap looked at him blankly. "Sleepover, remember? Etcetera practically knocked your wall in this morning."

Munkustrap nodded slowly, the memory of being so violently startled shifting to the forefront of his mind. Right. Now that he thought of it, he did vaguely remember the two queenkits looking up at him, wide eyed and pleading for his permission - and the round robin of having them ask Demeter, who told them to ask Jenny, who'd been unavailable, so they'd asked Jelly instead, who told them to ask him again, and so on and so forth. Poor things. But they hadn't seemed at all bothered. The two of them together were nothing if not determined.

Munkustrap felt another abrupt and inexplicable wave of guilt over such a small thing. He'd known all that, hadn't he? He'd been the one to give them permission. Had he really let that slip his mind? Been that distracted? Everlasting help him, the day had been blurrier than he thought.

"Don't worry," Alonzo whispered, as though he’d heard him. "She told us to: 'give daddy a hug when he comes home', because she missed you, and that she promises she'll be back tomorrow, in case you missed her."

Munkustrap sat back on his haunches, feeling a great big...something inside of himself. What had he ever done, he wondered distantly, to deserve such a little light as Jemima? He’d have to make good on that in the morning. Well, in the daylight anyhow. It was already morning. 

"I'll let her give you her own hug," the other tom continued, yawning, tail twitching. "Don't think it'd mean the same thing coming from me. I'm just the messenger."

Munkustrap had to admit that the image he conjured up for that one was more than a little amusing. Still, though, his racing mind continued ticking away, processing and reprocessing. "So, if not for that, why are you still up? You should be sleeping, too."

At this, Alonzo finally fully smiled. It was a frail and distantly sleepy thing, so different from his usual cock-sure grin. "I was also waiting up for you."

"Oh," Munkustrap repeated, the noise dying halfway in his throat (Oh, how eloquent he really was when it came down to it). Were he a lesser cat, he would have started wringing his tail. Third strike and he was out. "Why?"

"Why?" Alonzo echoed, incredulous. "Why, he asks. Haven’t you been listening?"

Munkustrap blinked, feeling for a moment as though he were missing out on a joke. It wouldn’t have been the first time. The question had been a genuine one, and the reasoning genuinely confusing. Something wasn’t quite adding up, though the numbers were all clearly in front of him.

Alonzo’s smile faltered slightly, tilting his head. "You're really going to make me say it, huh?"

“Apparently.”

There was a moment, flashing so faintly in the dark that he could have convinced himself he’d seen things, that Alonzo’s expression turned to one of understanding and sympathy, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. His next statement was gentle and firm:

"Because I missed you, too."

Munkustrap finally looked down to his lap, staring at his paws and he struggled to get the sudden stinging behind his eyes under control. This time around, though, it had nothing to do with his exhaustion headache. How tired was he really, that something so simple was affecting him so strongly? Alonzo had said it so casually, as though it were an obvious thing that he should have known. Demeter had struggled to wait up for him, because it had seemed obvious for her to do so. Even Jemima had taken the time to let him know that she would miss him, in her flighty kittenish way. It was so much. Didn’t they deserve more than he was able to give them? Weren’t they aware of this?

“Hey, are you okay?” Alonzo sounded startled. “You look like you’re about to short circuit.”

He looked back up at him. What a surreal feeling it was, truly, to be missed. To be certain, if only for a moment, that his presence was wanted, when he had struggled so long with thinking it wasn’t. It was overwhelming. Hadn’t he spent all that time convincing himself that no one would ever want to wait up for him at night, or miss him in the mornings? That it would be too difficult to content themselves with marrying the weight of the responsibility he carried on his shoulders? That he would never want to put another cat through that? That he wasn’t truly worth a second look and could content himself with giving all the love he could, while taking none for himself?

How times had truly changed, and how quickly.

“I...I’m sorry. For making you wait up.”

Alonzo definitely looked sympathetic now, reaching to grab his shoulder. “You didn’t make us do anything, Munkustrap. I’m a grown-up and so is Demeter. I like to think we can be trusted to make our own decisions. Maybe her more than me.”

Munkustrap nodded, leaning his face so he felt the gentle brush of his paw against his whiskers.

“You really are tired, huh? Demeter’s going to give you an earful tomorrow.”

For the first time that evening, Munkustrap felt a genuine chuckle bubble up his throat.

"Come here." Alonzo pulled him insistently to the ground, leaving no room for protest. It took a moment of maneuvering at an awkward angle, but he managed to lay opposite Demeter, whose head had been carefully shifted from Alonzo’s lap to the blankets beneath her. Heart suddenly fuller than he thought possible, his headache near forgotten, he curled an arm around the queen, exhaling when she curved to meet him halfway, as though she’d been waiting for him the entire time. 

Munkustrap looked up at Alonzo, still sitting, with the softest of halos in the moonlight. Funny, wasn’t it, how often he and Demeter matched in spite of how different they were. “What about you? Won't you be tired?”

Alonzo snorted, shrugging. “I've survived on less.”

“But -”

“Go to sleep, Munk,” Alonzo said firmly, touching the back of his paw to his temple. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

And perhaps, with Demeter curled against his belly and Alonzo’s shadow looming over them both, he would sleep well for his precious few hours, no matter how little time it seemed to be. Perhaps it was more than good enough. 

Perhaps he was more than good enough.

[dzamie-oc]

03 - Steampunk

I’ll admit, this is a bit reductionist for a punk story, but gimme a break, I wrote this in only a few hours :P

Length: 2200 words Rating: T (mild description of blood and death) Summary: A factory worker makes a dragon. They grow up together and eventually enact a little bit of class warfare and a little bit of revenge.

-----

Finn’s desk was half covered in a pile of assorted junk - gears, pipes,twisted bits of scrap metal, keys for long-dead springs, and so much more, almost all tarnished, covered in coal soot, or both. However, his attention was focused on the other half, a carefully cleared space with only a few mechanical pieces strewn about, all polished to perfection. Most importantly, in the middle, sat a small, mechanical device of his own creation. Its body was unfinished, exposing much of its inner workings to the naked eye - and the elements, if he let it get that far. A head like a mix of a lizard and a dog, a long, flexible neck, a body that one might mistake for a large, metallic rat’s, and a slender tail which ended in a thin, metal cone. The young teen, with a degree of care unusual to someone with such a rat’s nest of hair, delicately positioned his creation to lay on its back, curled its legs in, and gently inserted a brass key into a particular, well-shaped hole in its chest. Once, twice... three times he turned, for luck.

Through the background din of machinery, he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps and froze. Reflexively, his free hand flew to the ignored pile of scraps, then slowly dragged one over, taking just long enough for him to listen to the footsteps pass by and once more out of earshot. Finn let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, furtively glanced left and right, just in case, and removed the wound key.

Gears and wheels began to spin with a soft whirr, and a look of wonderment spread across Finn’s face as the mechanical legs twitched, then cycled in the air. Its head lifted, letting him stare into its dark eyes, no longer as lifeless as they’d always seemed to be.

“Hey, little guy,” the boy said, “welcome to the world. I’m Finn. I almost hate to dump this on you, but... look, in case I can’t, keep wound, and keep hidden. I wish I could show everyone how cool you clearly are, but-”

Suddenly, more footsteps. Footsteps he recognized, and recognized well. Finn hissed an apology to the dragon and quickly covered it with the nearby metal bowl he’d kept its parts in, then grabbed a part from the pile and set about rubbing it with a rag nearly as filthy as the part. A valve, he realized after his first pass of rubbing - after so many years, his hands knew how to move without thinking, or even realizing what was in them. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and Finn scrubbed at the metal. With a sigh, he wondered if he’d just gotten it dirtier. He went to pass it ahead into a bucket of valves, when-

“Finnegan Shine!” came the shrill voice of a woman who thought herself far more cultured than she knew she could even aspire to. “Just what are you doing with that thing?”

Finn’s “good afternoon, Ms. Springwarden” was cut off by her question, so he looked at the metal in his hand. “I’m... putting it with the other valves after cleaning it?”

Ms. Springwarden harrumphed. “Cleaning it! Just what HAS that first-shift supervisor been teaching you?” She looked at the valve - and at Finn - with a sneer. Finn always thought that, if disdain was an Olympic sport, Ms. Springwarden would have enough gold to live somewhere nice and stop tormenting him - although, he had to admit, perhaps she would still torment him for the fun of it. “Why, I can barely tell it apart from that filthy pile!”

The boy put on a puzzled expression. “Really? But I’ve been going at it with my cleanest rag for a solid minute,” he lied. Of all the people in Alma Vera, she was the last person he ever wanted to even consider the existence of his hidden project. Still, he held up three more well-used cloths, to show her that at least part of his claim had been true.

Another harrumph. “And not once did you think that, just maybe, you ought to trade them for washed cleaning equipment?”

“But Ms. Springwarden, I thought I wasn’t allowed to leave my chair during my shift?”

“Foolish child,” the woman replied, and brought her hand towards his forehead, finger primed to flick. At the last second, however, Finn saw a look of disgust, and she withdrew so as not to touch his, charitably, under-washed face. “Rise and follow me. But don’t let me catch you out of your seat without my permission!”

“Yes, Ms. Springwarden!” Finn said, and stood. The four dirty rags were exchanged for four clean ones, or at least as clean as would pass at his work. Thus equipped, Finn was returned to his seat - the bowl still overturned, to his relief.

Ms. Springwarden crossed her arms and said, “who knows how many valuable components you’ve ruined with your folly. You do remember our motto, do you not?”

Finn nodded. “Quality and quantity, Ms. Springwarden.”

The woman harrumphed yet again, and picked up two of the buckets he had sorted parts into, and dumped them into the assorted pile. “Well, let us now remedy your mistake. You will have to clean each of these now befouled pieces once again, and be quick about it!” She glared at him. “Your work ends when your pile is gone, and not a second, nor a part, sooner.”

“Yes, Ms. Springwarden.”

Finn returned to his task, and after a few seconds, he heard one last derisive snort, and then footsteps trailing away. The boy dramatically picked up his pace once she was gone, and before long, he had undone the damage to his progress she had inflicted on him. Another look left and right, and he placed his hands on the bowl, praying that the dragon truly was still there.

“Hey, it’s me,” he whispered, so the dragon wouldn’t try to hide. When he revealed the metallic creature, it had its forepaw in its chest, twisting the mechanism inside. Once finished, it looked up at him and swished its tail, accompanied by the soft, metallic whirring of gears. “That was Ms. Springwarden. They say that, somewhere out there, at least three people are unable to make that ‘hmph’ sound, because she’s using all of theirs.” The dragon leaned its head down, opened its jaws, and picked up a twisted bit of scrap metal, then shook it around a bit, which got a chuckle out of Finn. “It’s too bad you’re not as big as the dragons I’ve heard the people who live on airships have. You could just eat her, then. Although, I wouldn’t have been able to hide you while I built you.”

The clockwork creature flicked its head and sent the scrap flying through the air, to land in the discard bucket. “Fast learner,” Finn remarked. “So, you need a name. I think... Eve.” He paused. “It’s not weird to name you after an elementary school crush, is it?”

Eve responded by tossing another bit of scrap into the bucket, then wiping her mouth on his hand.

-----

Finn prowled through the dense pipework of the underground, eyes peeled for the rats he was supposed to exterminate. In one hand, he held a bag full of rodent corpses - his proof for payment. The other hand gripped what might charitably be called a tiny harpoon launcher. It looked similar to a certain toy gun, popular among the children of wealthy families, and that was no accident - although he would have the kid he stole it from think otherwise. With a bit of tinkering, a wire to save on ammunition, and a much better spring, Finn considered himself the second best at this sort of job, something that led people to avoid asking too much about the improvised tool.

A squeak cut short, then rapid metal-on-metal clanking heralded the arrival of the first best at this sort of job. Eve trotted up to him, two dead rats in her mechanical jaws. Over the past five years or so, Finn had found or fashioned bigger replacement parts for his dragon until she stood nearly at his waist. Long since unable to hide her under a bowl, of course, the story now was that she was a defective mechanical dog he had scored for a pittance. Regardless, Eve stood attentively next to him, waiting for him to open the bag for her. When he did, one rat fell into the pile of its brethren, and as for the other...

Eve tossed and flicked her head until the rodent’s body aligned with her jaws. A new whirring noise kicked in as sets of wheels dragged it down her metal throat, and then a sickening grinding sound bounced around the pipes and fixtures. The dragon opened her mouth again and wiped it on his pants leg, to his mild dismay.

“You’re gonna have to drop that habit, or I’ll put you back on winding-only.”

Eve went still for a few seconds, but the gentle whirring of her insides picked up. When she moved again, she brought one upturned forepaw in front of the other, then cycled them around each other, and finally tapped her throat.

“Break a habit for a voice?” Finn asked. “Eve, voices are hard to come by. You know I would’ve gotten you one by now if I could.”

The sound of a much smaller creature skittering along the metal ground caught both of their attentions. Finn spun, aimed, and pulled the trigger, and a barbed, pointed pole flew from the tip of his weapon, with metal wire following shortly after. The rat screamed a squeaky scream, then fell quiet, and Finn reeled in his shot and prize.

Eve pressed her paw against his leg for his attention. She pointed her muzzle at the gun, then curled back at her own chest, and then she once again tapped her paw to her neck with an insistent clank-clank-clank. Finn furrowed his brow. “I’m pretty sure voice boxes are in a league of their own...” he started, then smiled broadly at her. “Then again, so am I. Mind giving up more than half your rats from now on, so we can go shopping for anything we can’t find?”

The dragon’s metal plating rattled against itself as she wiggled in anticipation, then bounded off to massacre more vermin.

-----

It was a glorious ceremony. Everyone sported their most elaborate suits and dresses, all in a modest brown. Some of the more adventurous gentlemen had constantly-turning gears on the hats they politely kept in their laps, but no longer were they nor their headwear the center of attention. Ms. Springwarden, soon to lose that name, stood in a beautiful, ornate, white dress, and stared adoringly at the man standing in front of her, who-

BOOM!

A shout rose up from the crowd as what used to be a wall was replaced by a hole and a dragon. The elaborate mechanical creature’s outer plating was a mismatch of bronze, iron, and steel, as though it had been dressed in a junkyard. And perched on its back was a man with a daring grin, who Ms. Springwarden found strangely familiar...

“Well! Ms. Springwarden, aren’t you moving up! The big boss himself, I wonder if you’ll outlast  his last four wives!” Finn shouted as he dismounted the dragon, landing with a roll and ending up right next to the bride-to-be.

Without opening her mouth, Eve spoke. “I am confident he will be her husband for the rest of his life,” she said. Her voice was unnatural, amateurish, and it sounded like it belonged in some sterile, form-over-function research lab, rather than a well-tuned dragon. Before anyone could react, she opened her jaws and snapped up the stunned man, soon feeding him to the wheels hidden behind her neck plating.

“Aw! Eve! I had planned this whole quip about how his factories have a great quantity of people and I’m about to increase the average quality!”

“So lie in your memoir.”

Many of the guests had fled the scene, with only a few hiding behind the benches, and Ms. Springwarden herself remained frozen to the spot. “Wh- who...?”

Finn swept into a deep bow, mockingly low. “Finnegan Shine, Ms. Springwarden. My friends call me Finn, but of course you never did. You may not remember me, and I sorely wish I could say the same. But now then...” He stepped backwards towards Eve, who lowered her head and opened her jaws. Finn leaned against her neck, feeling the whirr of the wheels making up her throat thrumming through her metal body. “They say marriage is for better or worse, right? What say you join your hubby in the ‘worse?’”

Eve’s distorted voice joined in once more, saying, “I remember you. That he is offering you a refusal is far more than I would have.”

The woman - having found a worse fate than being left at the altar - took a step back, shaking her head. “No... no. Please, no.”

To everyone’s surprise, the dragon snapped her mouth shut with a loud crash of metal, and Finn clambered back up onto her back. “Then it’s a damn lucky thing I’m not you, miss,” the man said, before the pair of them escaped through the dragon-sized hole in the wall.

Finn hugged Eve’s neck tight. One down, an unfortunate number to go. He just hoped his friends were having as much fun as he was.

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

Author’s Notes:

You’ve reached the final chapter. To avoid spoilers, I won't be using CWs for this chapter. Disturbing and potentially triggering content are untagged. Readers have been warned.

XIII

cut through this razor wire | and dine on your heart | mine 'til the end

Lying on the floor and bleeding, Yamaneko calls out to Sunohara once again.

“Help me.”

The doctor springs into action, taking off her pristine white coat to press it against Yamaneko’s bleeding stomach. Then, she turns to the street artist. “You’re Hinata, right?”

Shaking and crying at the same time, the street artist nods. “Hinata, please apply pressure for me. I have to administer the antivenom. Can you do that?” Sunohara asks, brows furrowed in concentration.

The tan-skinned girl nods rapidly, crawling over to do as she’s told. As Sunohara excises the venom from Yamaneko’s hand with a scalpel, the militant turns to Hinata with a wry smile. “Well, welcome to the world of Heart games. It’s brutal as hell.”

“Would you please shut up? You’ve been bitten by a deadly snake and stabbed in the stomach. Please save your strength,” Hinata blurts, tears spilling from her eyes uncontrollably.

“You’re not my mother. Then again, I never really listened to her in the first place.” She tilts her head towards Mr. Yamane’s corpse. “Or him, for that matter.”

“You’re bleeding out but you still have the energy to joke?! You’re something else...”

“It’s how I coped with that bastard’s bullshit all these years, newbie.”

Needle sinking into her arm, Yamaneko didn’t flinch, unable to feel the pain at that point. As the last drop of the life-saving medicine leaves the syringe, the synthetic voice crackles from their phones’ speakers. “Game cleared. Congratulations!”

Yamaneko chuckles, which comes out as a garbled sob. “Congratulations, my ass. I don’t think I’ll make it.”

“Don’t say that. We’ll bring you back to the Beach for medical attention, okay?” Sunohara reassures her, bandaging her arm with a roll of gauze from the first aid kit that she always carries with her to the games.

“Let’s not fool ourselves,” Yamaneko slurs, head spinning. “Do you have anything I can write on?”

Hinata and Sunohara look at each other, then at Yamaneko. “I just need to leave a letter for my lover… in case I don’t survive this.”

With reluctance, Sunohara plucks her pen from the pocket of her bloodied doctor’s coat, while Hinata offers a notepad full of sketches, turning to a blank page and holding it for the wounded woman. Hand shaking, Yamaneko pens a hasty letter, tears the page from the notepad, and tucks it in her jacket.

“Let’s go.”

Palms cold and wet, Takatora waits outside Tokyo Zoo. His clothes are soaked with sweat, and his katana is soaked with blood, but there is barely a scratch on him. Tonight’s game has been a cakewalk for him.

He’s hoping the same for his lover.

Anxiety is radiating off of him, his face twitching every now and then from the subdued agitation he’s feeling.

“It’s too cold to be out,” Aguni calls out from the inside of the car, but Last Boss ignores him, opting to wait outside and greet Yamaneko once she emerges from the game venue.

Tapping his fingers against the dashboard, Aguni couldn’t help but be anxious too. “Yamaneko will be fine. She knows what she’s doing,” he mutters. Last Boss didn’t respond once again, but deep down, he hopes the chief is right.

So when Yamaneko emerges from the shadows, being dragged by two of her fellow players, he regrets not forcing her to adapt to his methods.

Long legs taking him as fast as they could to her, Last Boss catches Yamaneko in his arms, while Aguni near-smacks the car door off its hinges as he gets out of the car to look.

“Yamaneko.” There was a slight crack in Last Boss’ voice as he uttered his lover’s moniker. A bloody, swollen hand reaches out to touch his face. “Tora. My plan worked… but I think I should’ve gone with yours. I’m sorry. I was too stubborn.”

“Stop talking,” he hushes her, and carries her to the car.

Upon seeing the militants, Hinata panics. “Her father stabbed her, he wanted the antidote and she’s bleeding I-” she stammers, but Last Boss ignores her, laying his lover down.

“Explain later,” Aguni tells her, brusquely opening the door to the driver’s seat and twisting the car key into place. “You,” he addresses Sunohara. “Get in the backseat with them and help.”

The doctor nods, hopping in the car, and as soon as Hinata gets in the passenger seat, Aguni speeds off.

In the backseat, Yamaneko lies on Last Boss’ lap, while Sunohara presses her damn hardest on her stab wound. Despite the doctor’s best efforts and the vial of antidote, the combined injury and the effect of the venom on her blood is far too much. Blood painted the leather of the car seat, Sunohara’s hands, and Last Boss’ clothes.

“Hang in there,” the doctor near-cries. Her eyes meet with the tattooed militants’, and she gulps. “Don’t worry, once we get to the Beach, she’ll be fine-”

“Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”

There is a subtle anguish hiding behind the militant’s deep voice. One large hand is cradling his lover’s head, while the other is gripping his katana, knuckles white from the tension.

A weak, broken chuckle escapes Yamaneko’s lips, and Last Boss turns his full attention to her.

“She’s just trying to make you feel better,” she croaks.

Glassy, bloodshot eyes met his, and when she opened her mouth to speak again, her teeth were stained with her blood. Last Boss couldn’t say a word, eyes wide and wet as he watched Yamaneko struggle to speak. Her tiny hand disappears into the pocket of her jacket, and she presses a folded slip of paper to her lover’s chest.

With cold, sweating hands, he takes it from hers, pockets it, and he goes back to cradling her. Shallow breaths kissed his cheek, and the wildcat’s eyes fluttered shut, which were heavy with fatigue.

“Yamaneko?” the tattooed militant mumbles, lips twitching. He leans in to hear if she’s still breathing, and she whispers something.

Then, he hears it; death rattles, a telltale sign that she’s slipping away. The rest of the ride is filled with solemn silence.

It’s too late for her when they arrived at the Beach.

The speakers didn’t need to be toppled over for the music to stop. There were no shouts that instructed the sea of people to get out of the way. Conversations died to whispers as people saw one of the most dangerous members of the Beach with a woman curled in his arms.

“Shit, is she dead?”

“There’s so much blood…”

“Wasn’t she his girlfriend or something?”

“Did he kill her?”

“I bet he stabbed her. That guy’s a psycho!”

“That’s what you get for hanging around with those militants…”

The whispers didn’t bother Last Boss anymore, who disappeared into the building with the others.

All the color from Yamaneko’s face is gone, and it’s her turn to lie on a gurney in the makeshift morgue, the harsh lights making her look ghostlike. Members of the executive board and the people who were present during her death surrounded her.

“Did she carry out her task, at least?” the Hatter asks, his usual jovial air gone.

“She succeeded,” Aguni responds, eyes flicking from his dead underling’s body to the women she played her last game with. “On the way here, those two said that before his death, her father admitted to committing the murders.”

“It’s a shame it has come to this,” Ann laments, crossing her arms. “She was becoming an important asset to the Beach, despite her allegiance to the military sect.”

Mira tuts. “And a promising Heart player too.”

“Great. We’ll have to find a replacement for her now,” Niragi sighs, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

“Is that all you view her as? Someone who you can use to bring you game cards?” Hinata speaks up, fists clenched. Niragi shoots a sour look in her direction. “People die every day on the Beach. What makes her any different? You barely even know her. Everyone here barely even knows her.”

“Yeah? What about him, huh?” Hinata retorts, pointing to Last Boss.

Silence had befallen the room, and all eyes were on the tattooed militant. The corner of his mouth twitching, knuckles white, Last Boss gives Yamaneko’s corpse a long, hard look. A cold, large hand caresses her even colder forehead, and brushes her bangs off of her face.

“I’ll burn her body once you’re done cutting her open.”

Then, he turns around, leaving the room without saying another word.

“See?” Niragi chuckles. “He just left like he didn’t stick his dick in her just hours before.”

This time, the normally calm and gentle Sunohara snaps. “Don’t make assumptions about how people process grief. You don’t know how he feels, none of us do.”

Before an argument can erupt in the morgue, Hatter raises an open palm. “What anyone feels about her death is irrelevant now. What was certain is she died a loyal member of the Beach. Ann, carry on with your autopsy.” Then, he turns to Aguni. “You’re her chief. Give her a proper send-off after Ann’s procedures, if you want.”

One by one, people left the room, leaving only Ann and Sunohara inside. However, before Hinata departs, she walks over to the taller women, biting her lip.

“Hey. I think there’s something you need to know about her. I think her boyfriend should know too.”

Later that night, heavy boots thumped against the hotel’s carpeted floor. Aguni opens the door to an exclusive suite, where the Hatter is waiting, with no bodyguards present. Just the two of them.

Takeru pours his friend a shot of strong whiskey, and the leader of the militants downs it in one gulp. The shot glass makes a clinking sound as Morizono slams it down the coffee table.

“Mori,” Takeru calls his attention. “How are you holding up?”

With a weary sigh, he turns to his oldest friend. “I feel like shit. I shouldn’t have given her permission to carry out her plan alone. I thought putting her together with the doctor is enough to keep her safe.”

Drinking a shot of his own, Takeru moves closer to him. “Do you feel responsible for her death?”

“She’s my underling. It’s only normal.”

“I know you better than that, Mori.”

Aguni turns to his best friend, eyes bloodshot and wet, but the tears didn’t spill. “Like you said before, she’s a stabilizing element. Hell, somehow, she managed to make Niragi back off from that new girl, and Last Boss is calmer around her. To think I planned to train her so she can help me keep the others under control in the future…”

“That’s the most I’ve heard from you in a while. You cared about her, didn’t you?” Takeru asks, taking a fat stick of cigar and lighting it. Afterwards, he pours his friend another shot of liquor.

A single tear falls from the normally stoic, brusque man’s eye. “Those eyes of hers when she looks at her father… I saw the same eyes in the mirror years ago.”

He pauses, and gives Takeru a soft laugh. “A part of me wanted to be the father she never had. Huh, am I even old enough for that?”

Patting Morizono’s back, Takeru blows smoke out of his mouth.

“There’s the Mori I know, a softie underneath that hard exterior.”

Meanwhile, the door to Takatora and Yamaneko’s shared room creaks open. On the table is the vintage sewing machine Yamaneko took from the antique store in Shimokitazawa, along with the other things they’ve brought back.

Takatora runs his fingers across the smooth finish of the Singer, then he picks it up and throws it against the wall. Various items got flung across the room, from the knick knacks they gathered together, to the hotel’s heavy furniture.

“You should’ve listened to me,” he says to no one in particular.

“Yamaneko, you should’ve listened to me! You should’ve just killed him,” he rasps as he picks up a lamp and throws it to the ground, shattering it into pieces.

By the end of the night, the room is in ruins. The wallpaper is shredded, the bathroom sink is in pieces, and the tattooed man sits panting on the floor, eyes frenzied. As his breathing evens out, he remembers the folded piece of paper his lover gave him, and with trembling hands, he retrieves it from his pocket.

Unfolding it, he starts reading the contents.

“Tora, if you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. I’m sorry. Remember the day I asked you to kiss me? What you said to me that day was beautiful, so I lived by it. I’m thankful for this world. I’m thankful for you. Please continue living free in this world without me. You never told me if you believed in an afterlife, but if there is one, I’ll come looking for you after you’ve returned to the soil. I’m yours forever.”

Then he reads it, the same words she uttered with her dying breath.

“I love you.”

Takatora screams, head between his hands.

After some time, he passes out on the floor, curled over pillows he grabbed from the bed. They still smelled like her.

The next afternoon, he awakens to someone knocking. After rubbing the sleep off of his eyes, Last Boss picks up his katana, and opens the door. Aguni stands on the other side, a neutral expression on his face. The chief’s eyes wander around the room and sees its disheveled state, and clears his throat.

“Patrol with me. Now.”

Not bothering to close the door behind him, the tattooed man follows, head hung low.

Truth be told, Aguni didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what the other man was thinking about, but judging the state of his room, he’s not handling Yamaneko’s passing well. People whispered about Last Boss as they walked through the halls, and Aguni grits his teeth at the inane gossip.

“He’s terrifying.”

“Maybe she tried to leave him and he wouldn’t let her go.”

“From what I heard, she said no to him and it made him angry.”

“What did she even see in him?”

To avoid the risk of Last Boss snapping, Aguni moves on from that place, leading him away from prying eyes. As they rounded a corner, they came face to face with Doctor Sunohara, whose lips trembled as she pressed a clipboard against her chest.

“O-oh. Hey. I’ve been meaning to look for you. Last Boss, was it?”

With a blank stare, he nods, and Sunohara takes a sharp inhale. “Our autopsy just finished. I think there’s something you should know as Miss Yamane’s partner.” The doctor turns to Aguni. ‘If you don’t mind…”

“I’m Yamaneko’s chief. I’m responsible for her.”

“I see. Well, there’s no use beating around the bush.” Turning to the tattooed militant, Sunohara presses her lips in a tight line.

“Your partner… she was pregnant at her time of death.”

Neither of the two men didn’t know what to say, and just glared at the doctor with their tongues tied.

“Are you sure about this?” Aguni asks, folding his arms.

“To be fair, I was skeptical too. It’s been more than two weeks since I prescribed her emergency pills and birth control, so she should’ve been protected. Before she passed away, she bled from her privates. I thought it was just that time of the month or some spotting, but I found out that she neglected taking her medications. The girl you two were with also told me about her symptoms. So Ann and I tested her… and, well, the results returned positive.”

Last Boss blinks a few times, knuckles turning white as he balled up his fists.

“...show me the baby,” the quiet man finally speaks up.

“At this stage, there isn’t a baby yet. There’s not even a fetus.”

“Then how are you sure that she was pregnant?”

The doctor fishes something out of her pocket, and hands it to the tall, quiet man. “It’s a pregnancy test. Look here,” she points to the two lines. “Two lines means positive.”

This time, Aguni expresses his skepticism. “But she was dead by the time you took this test. How do we know this is accurate?”

With a patient gaze, Sunohara continues explaining. “I was an obstetrician-gynecologist before I came here. The pregnancy hormone hCG can remain in a patient’s system from one to nine weeks after a miscarriage. From the levels we got from her urine, she’s been pregnant for about two weeks.”

Neither of them asked any more questions after that. The tattooed militant’s gaze is fixated on the positive test, mouth agape from disbelief.

Sunohara clears her throat. “I’m sorry. I… I’m sorry for your loss. When you’re ready, you can come pick her body up later. Excuse me, I need a smoke.”

Sunohara walks away, leaving the militants stunned at the revelation.

Both are at a loss for words. Aguni is trying to come up with something to say, while Last Boss’ thoughts are racing a mile a minute.

What would’ve happened if Yamaneko survived, and found out about her pregnancy? Takatora never even thought of having children, but he wonders what their child would look like. Would that child take after its mother, inheriting her dreamy eyes, small nose, and short height? Or would it take after him, and get his long limbs, pronounced nose, and sullen gaze?

But Niragi had touched her before he did. Did he use protection? Is it his seed that impregnated her instead? A twisted, selfish, and possessive part of him wanted it to be his, just like how he wanted Yamaneko to be his. The same twisted, selfish, and possessive part of him knew that Yamaneko would be terrified to have this child, but having it would help stake his claim on her.

Thinking about it seems so pointless now that she’s gone. Last Boss shakes the thoughts off, and focuses on his deceased lover’s last words, instead.

He’ll live free in this world without her.

Feet taking him back to his room, he gathered what’s left of Yamaneko’s belongings that hadn't been destroyed in his frenzy, and packed them in a rugged sack. That afternoon, he informs Aguni that he’ll be excusing himself from patrols, and the games. He must tend to Yamaneko’s body.

“Where will you bury her?” Aguni asks him.

“I won’t. I’ll burn her, near the place where I found her.”

“I’ll drive you there,” Aguni offers.

Wordlessly, he nods.

As the night falls, they load Yamaneko’s body in the back of the car, and Aguni drives. In the trunk are various pieces of wood, gasoline, and the rest of Yamaneko’s things. The chief raises an eyebrow as they stop outside a laser tag arcade.

It’s the place where it all began.

Retrieving the items from the trunk, Takatora builds his lover a pyre. Aguni watches from the inside of the car, allowing him to grieve by himself. Then, Last Boss walks back to the car to retrieve his dead lover’s body, wrapped in a makeshift body bag.

With uncharacteristic gentleness, he lays her down, and unwraps her. Just a day before, she was alive and full of enthusiasm as she made love to him in the antique store; seeing her lifeless and cold makes Takatora’s breath constrict in his throat.

It’s been more than twelve hours since her death; her limbs are relaxed now. Yamaneko’s body had been cut open and sewn back shut, stitches lining her body. Her skin is cold to the touch, all of its color gone. The tiger crouches beside his wildcat, and presses his warm, trembling lips against her cold ones.

Then, he pulls away, and douses her with gasoline.

Reaching in his pocket, he retrieves a lighter, and sets her ablaze.

The flames lick her skin, and he watches. One by one, he throws in the rest of Yamaneko’s possessions; fragments of the sewing machine, her sewing kit containing all her threads and needles, assorted pieces of stationery, various makeup, the positive pregnancy stick, and finally, her beloved jacket. Before he throws the last item in, he presses it against his face, taking in her scent one last time.

After those had been tossed in the flame, he reaches inside his pocket again, and takes out all the photographs he took of her just the day before.

Takatora has no need for the obscene pictures Yamaneko allowed him to take; it’ll only remind his body of what he had lost. They burned to a crisp as the flames touched them.

Then, he gets to the last two photographs. His favorites.

The enigmatic militant didn’t even notice the warm tear that landed on the picture of his lover’s smiling face.

Takatora adds that to the burning pile, as well.

Lastly, he takes out Yamaneko’s letter to him, and reads it again one last time, this time doing so out loud.

Smoke rose to the heavens, and the fire roared into the night, drowning out his voice.

Last Boss only got worse after that night. He killed with no remorse, and faced the game with no fear of dying, staying true to who he is, and to Yamaneko’s final words to him.

Some days later, the unthinkable happened.

With the Hatter dead, the Beach is falling apart. Aguni takes the helm, and the last numbered Heart game finally commences within the Beach grounds. As the announcement blares over the hotel’s speakers, Last Boss goes to the table to pick up a phone, which lights up and recognizes his face. The lobby is getting crowded, anxious players passing each other phones to prepare for the biggest, deadliest game yet.

It’s a witch-hunt of some sort. Burn the witch that killed the dead girl lying on the lobby floor.

As the people babbled about their theories about the witch, Last Boss grew impatient.

His past experiences proved again and again that the best solution is the most straightforward one.

So when one girl points her finger to the militant sect, Last Boss comes behind her, and plunges his katana through her chest. Several bystanders jumped away from the scene, mortified. The tattooed militant withdraws his blade, and opens his mouth to speak, a mad glint in his eye.

“How troublesome. Let’s just burn everyone we find.”

Across him, Niragi’s newest toy, some girl that arrived at the Beach days ago, looks at him with a horrified expression. The murmurs quiet down as the chief approaches, addressing the crowd. Last Boss didn’t even pay attention to what he said. The moment Niragi fires his gun, he joins the fray, killing anyone who got in the way.

Chaos erupts in the Beach. People ran, some hid like rats in their rooms. They need to be lured out, and Last Boss knows just how to do it. Niragi speaks to him through a walkie-talkie while he dragged canisters of fuel and kicked them over the storage room’s floor.

Flames erupt as he tosses his lit lighter to the floor. In the fire, he sees Yamaneko; her cold, dead body to be exact. He pulls his hood down, blinks a few times, and ultimately chooses to turn around and continue the witch hunt.

That night, he didn’t know that he’d be meeting her again so soon.

Last Boss woke up from a dazed state in a burning room, inhaling thick black smoke. He recalls the moments before he lost consciousness, and remembers going against a formidable foe; a woman trained in martial arts who managed to defeat him, and render him unconscious. Silently, he thanked that woman for paving the way for him. Thanks to her, he’s one step closer to finally facing death.

Ordinary people wouldn’t understand people like Last Boss, who embraced it. To him, this world is the one in its true form, without the illusions of civilization. Not even his own mother would have understood his philosophy.

But Yamaneko did.

And as the carbon monoxide-laden smoke continues to fill his lungs, Takatora sees her walking towards him, healthy and hale with her pretty smile, just like in the photograph he had burned weeks ago. There’s a slight bulge on her belly, made obvious in her usual Beach outfit.

“I didn’t expect you to follow so soon,” she greets him, sitting next to him in the burning building. “I’ve missed you so much, Tora.” His lover pats her belly. “We were waiting for you.”

“Yamaneko.”

Even in the foul smoke, he can smell her scent, and even in the blazing heat, her warmth is greater.

“Are you afraid?” she asks him, holding his hand.”

“No. I’ll embrace death.”

“Did you get to live freely?”

“Yes. I’m freer than I ever was.”

“Are you ready?” Yamaneko asks as she leans her head against his shoulder.

“I’m ready.”

Kissing him gently, Yamaneko sits in his lap. “Return to the soil with me, Tora.”

“I’ll be happy to.”

“I love you,” Yamaneko whispers, before closing her eyes.

Takatora closes his eyes, grateful for all the experiences he had in this beautiful world.

“I love you.”

Author’s Notes 2: Well, writing this was a journey. Hopefully I did the canon characters some justice, especially Last Boss. Imagining a character like him having a love interest is challenging, and this was fun to write. The last two chapters were taxing to write due to the research I put in about poisons, venomous snakes, and other medical stuff, but it was worth it!

I've debated for months on whether I should give them a happy ending... but in the end, the angst won out. Thank you for reading, and thank you for sticking with our dormouse-turned-wildcat anti villain protagonist till the end.

[sophi-s]

After three days. Three freaking days.

It is finished.

A kiss to die for

By: sophi-s (me)

Words: 4,531

Franchise: Darksiders video games

Characters: Fallen!Astarte, Abaddon

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, near death experience, angst, necromancy, I changed the storyline just a tiny bit for the purposes of this, Abaddon gets his ass handed to him by his ex :P.

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

Eden. The first gift from the Creator himself to the Humanity. A home for the First Ones. Once, an indescribably beautiful place full of grand trees and fresh, soft grass, flowing with cool, crystal clear waters. Colorful fruits growing in the trees, a delight to eye and tongue. Within, no danger could reach Humanity's ancestors. Truly a paradise the first humans rightfully called it. But now, after a great war that took place here, seemingly not that long ago, the great garden was left scarred and burning. Made into a tomb for those who sought to claim it. Bodies of Nephilim were left to burn and decay, forgotten and abandoned.

However, something has changed. A dark shadow passed over the sacred graveyard, leaving only madness and corruption in its wake. Those who perished picked themselves up from the ground and lashed out at Eden's guardians. Surprised and unable to respond with a coordinated defensive, the Faneguard had to call for retreat after their leader, Malahidael fell to the blades and arrows of the living dead. Amongst the scattered angels was the general of Heaven's Legions. Trying his best to keep his brethren focused and plan a tactical escape.

At least that's what he was trying before. Before he saw the cause of this nightmare. Now, outstretched on the ground in the dust, he forced himself up onto his elbow as he crawled towards his discarded blade, clutching at his chest that felt as though it had been caved in after a charging monstrosity trampled him in full speed.

How could this happen?

Fighting with his chaotic thoughts, he finally got a hold of the hilt but when he turned around, it was already too late. A large paw armed with razor-sharp claws landed on him, pinning him down and successfully immobilizing his lower half. And then his own blue eyes stared up into a pair of white ones, the same eyes that doomed him from the moment he met their gaze for the first time. The eyes that occupied his thoughts when he was awake and his dreams while he slept. Eyes of Astarte.

But what stood above him… this thing, this monster was Astarte no longer. From the waist up, the woman was stunningly beautiful as she always was, with her pale white eyes and long flowing, platinum blonde hair. But her legs have been replaced by a body of a feline beast with wings coated in blackness of corruption, feathers shimmering with red glyphs. A wicked smile was twisting her petal like lips and wherever her clawed paws fell, the dead bodies shivered and rose, called back into the accursed unlife. Utter insanity shone in her eyes.. Keeping his stone façade was no longer possible as inwardly he was falling apart. Astarte. The same Astarte who would kill and die for him, the same who he trusted more than anyone. The same Astarte he dared to love. Her smirk grew wider as she chuckled.

"Who do we have here? The great general of Heaven's Legions Abaddon himself!"

The unfamiliar taunting tone of her voice sent a shiver down his spine, as did the way she bared her teeth in a disturbing grin. Giving the large paw a tug to try and wriggle free, quickly realising it's pointless as the damned thing didn't even budge, Abaddon took a struggling breath, pretty sure his sternum was damaged if not broken.

"Astarte…"

His voice came out as a broken, pleading whisper. He still couldn't… or maybe he didn't want to… cope with what he was seeing clearly like on the palm of his hand. Astarte, his most formidable soldier, the strongest of them all, and the only woman in the Universe he felt something special for… Fallen into the vice-like grip of Lucifer's corrupting influence. Gone was the gentle smile that crawled its way up onto her face whenever she spotted him. Abaddon swallowed thickly when he noticed the spear in her hand poised to strike and carve his broken heart out from his chest. Astarte would never harm him…

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

She scoffed and used her other paw to press his right arm to the ground should he try to take a swipe at her. But they both knew far too well that he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. Astarte leaning over him was still the one his heart yearned for, still beautiful just… in a different, more horrifying way. Through the ringing in his ears after his head cracked against a rock, he could hear someone call out to him but whoever it was, they were successfully pushed back by the horde of undead Nephilim.

"Astarte, don't do it.."

He quietly begged, even though he never begs. Seeing her like this, twisted and bestial, did something to him he couldn't quite comprehend. Touched that part of his soul he didn't even know about. Strangely enough, even in her madness, Astarte must've sensed something in him that gave her a pause as she curiously tilted her head to one side. All the moments, even the shortest ones, he'd spent with Astarte in the past were flashing before his eyes. Every time they had one another's back in battle, every time one saved the other's life, every time they spoke about the things they would never tell anyone else whenever they were alone. And that memorable moment when they stood together, away from the prying eyes that moonlit night. Abaddon was listening to her as she asked him if what she feels is right, if there's any possible way he feels that way as well. He almost laughed at her obliviousness and the fact that his love was there before she even realised her own. Of course.. He took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes, absolutely mesmerized, waiting for permission to finally grant her the proof of his love and devotion, one which she silently gave him with a nod and a smile.

"I would walk through the fire of Nine Hells for you."

He said before leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her lips. A kiss, stolen kiss he was dying to receive. It was very brief but still felt like his first flight over the White City. Liberating, wonderful and equally as intoxicating. Those were the most beautiful memories he'd ever made but now they were like a parasite buried deeply into his brain, one that refused to leave his head, reminding him of better times and cackling maniacally at him as the present was coming undone before his very eyes. He wanted those memories to go. But there was no escape. Neither from them nor from Astarte herself.

"Look at me.."

"I am."

"Please, come to your senses. It's not you.. You need to fight it, I know you have it in you. Don't leave me like this… Don't you remember everything I'd done for you? Everything you'd done for me ?"

For a second, Astarte's grin fell, making place for a thoughtful expression and for this short second Abaddon dared to hope that there's still light in her. That he somehow managed to get to her. But all these hopes were taken away when she shook her head and looked at him… not with anger. It was pity, plain and simple as she spoke in a condescending tone.

"Fool. So loyal and righteous. Look around! The war had ended long ago, yet we remain stranded in this forsaken tomb! We've been abandoned and no one will set us free if we don't do so ourselves! Don't tell me you cannot see it."

He couldn't believe his ears. It wasn't the honorable and just angel he used to know. The Astarte he knew was gone. This was a twisted monster bearing the visage of his dearest, taunting him with her beauty that was always keeping his hand paralyzed whenever he tried to strike her even though his life depended from it.

"I have chosen my path, Abaddon. And you can walk it with me.."

Abaddon eyed her hand warily as she stretched it out to him, offering him help in standing up. He was torn. On the one hand, he so, so wanted to accept and be with Astarte as he used to. No one would take her from him ever again. But taking her hand would also mean slipping into the hateful darkness. Welcoming the sullying blackness inside and succumbing to madness. Straying from the light and forsaking his duty in favor of the same accursed power that destroyed her.

It was a dangerous thing, this love.. Pushing even the most reasonable people to do unthinkable and dangerous things in the name of it. More often than not at costs that rarely make it worth it. Lucifer knew this. And he used it as a weapon against Abaddon by turning Astarte. He knew not what the Dark Prince offered her but it must've been worth losing oneself. Astarte was now Lucifer's servant, not the love of Abaddon's eternal life. He couldn't… he couldn't end up like her. His already bleeding heart screamed out with anguish when he finally gathered himself to speak.. and refused.

"I… can't do this, Astarte. Not even for you…"

"That's a pity…"

Abaddon grunted in pain when the pressure on his wrist increased to the point when he could feel his bones beginning to crack. And then as suddenly as it appeared, the crushing weight was gone, both from his arm and his chest. But he wasn't free. His breath was abruptly cut off when Astarte's slender fingers, which often fiddled with his hair when he had a moment to lie down and rest after a hard day, looking up at her sitting beside his head, before all this, mercilessly curled around his throat and lifted him up to her eye level until his toes could no longer reach the ground. She was strong. Stronger than he remembered. His left hand grasped Astarte's wrist as he tried to struggle free while he raised his sword to attack. But… looking deep into her eyes, at her face, mouth curved in a poisonous sweet smile, the silken skin of her cheeks… His hand trembled. Once again he proved her and himself he doesn't have it in him to do this. Damn it all. This one, seemingly harmless emotion was what ultimately led him to his own doom. If he'd never fallen for Astarte he wouldn't be here, flapping his wings madly in an attempt to wriggle out of her hold. But he couldn't command his heart. It would not listen to him.. Abaddon couldn't simply stop loving Astarte. Her eyebrows furrowed in a gentle frown and he felt the tip of her gilded spear press insistently against his abdomen, right under his ribs. Cold sweat began to bead around his brow. Oh Creator…

"Fret not, love.."

Astarte purred, making him finally stop beating his wings and look her in the eye again only to see an unsettling spark in there. Despite the obvious danger, hearing her call him her "love" in this deceivingly sweet voice still made his racing heart skip a beat.

"It won't be long.. And when you die, you'll be forever at my side. Just as you desired."

As a monster, not unlike her. A living corpse that defiled the natural order by its existence itself. He didn't want to go like this. What an end it is for a general of Heaven? Killed by his own lieutenant and brought back to life as a shambling husk of what he used to be? Preposterous. Cold lump of fear settled into the pit of his stomach. He could only count seconds. One.. two… it didn't even come to three when the blade sunk deeply into his flesh, piercing the armor as though it wasn't even there in the first place and running him through. After all, the spear was created specifically to fight armored opponents… Abaddon wanted to scream out in pain but the wail of agony was cut short by the firm grasp on his throat that stopped the air escaping his lungs. Pain clouded his vision but did not silence his racing thoughts. He was weak. He couldn't strike Astarte down as his enemy, denying her the well deserved rest and falling to her blade like a fool he felt like. He struggled to breathe and keep his eyes opened when he felt Astarte loosen her ironclad grip on his neck and move her hand to his face, oh so gently pulling the strands of his hair, matted with sweat, to the side and behind his ear before placing the same hand on the back of his neck to keep his head still. He gasped for air through his opened mouth as blood was beginning to well up in his throat and dribble down his chin. And then Astarte unexpectedly leaned in and decisively captured his lips with her own, granting him the final kiss for a farewell.

Abaddon's eyes widened in fear and shock but even though the pain of the spear through his side, he found himself going slack in Astarte's arms. His ornate blade clattered to the ground when his fingers unfurled and let it slip out. No strength remained within him to even try and respond to Astarte's lips, even if he wanted to. But what he hoped to be his last comfort turned out to be nothing more than a cruel torment with how cold and meaningless the kiss felt. It was nothing like the one back in the White City. Hollow seconds ticked by. It tasted only of the blood flooding his tongue and the bitter defeat. No love, no passion and no feelings remained in her black heart. Only the empty void and tasteless ashes… Monster. Astarte no longer… She would never hurt him…

Astarte knew him and all of his weak spots all too well. She knew how and where to strike to make it hurt. And this last kiss was only a tool to her. There wasn't any physical pain anymore when she finally pulled away with his blood painting her lips in deep crimson and let his body slip down the spear to collapse onto the shriveled grass. The last thing Abaddon saw before numbing darkness swallowed him was Astarte delightedly licking his scarlet life essence on her mouth and teeth before she hummed contentedly

"Farewell, my love. I'll see you again soon enough…"

She stood close, gazing at the distant stars shimmering in the black sky.

"The night sure is beautiful."

"It is. Even more so with you around."

"Tsk. Sweet-talker…"

In the impenetrable black, Abaddon heard nothing, saw nothing and felt nothing aside from the dull ache within his chest. Betrayal… Every beat of his heart was a torture. He couldn't even tell if it was really beating or not anymore. It bled ceaselessly. Craving for the lost love. Crying out to Astarte as something started to tug at the strings of his very soul. Trying to pull him free from his still body that refused to move no matter how much he wished to stand or at least sit up. Memories were passing all too quickly through his head. Eyes shining with uncertainty, a relieved smile as he staggered upright with a pained grimace that was supposed to be a comforting smile..

" Are you certain everything is alright? For a moment there I was afraid you were gone.."

"Never, my light. I would never leave you."

He wasn't going to the Kingdom of the Dead, he was certain. Astarte would make sure of it.. Curse Lucifer.. curse this wretched feeling still coiled in his chest, like a festering plague. Warriors of Heaven are people of unbreakable steel. Calm and collected beings of logic. But when it comes to honest feelings, there's nothing in between. They either don't care or love to the death. And when they love and it all falls apart, their hearts break like no one else's. No, they don't even break… they shatter to a million pieces like a frozen flower. And even if they are ever put back together, they're never the same. Those scars run too deep to ever disappear. Curse everything… Soft hair he tangled his fingers in, a heartbeat right beside his… warm presence next to him and a misleadingly delicate cheek pressed to the skin on top of his chest..

"What happens now then?"

"Doesn't matter. As long as we stay together."

"We will, Abaddon…"

He tasted the copper tinge of blood again as Astarte's voice echoed in his head when she swore to him. When he believed her..

I  P R O M I S E .

Those two words… They meant a world to him. Even after he saw what Astarte had become… Abaddon desperately clung to those words like a drowning man holds onto the final breath until the very last second. And that was his downfall. She promised me…

The last memory of Astarte before all this chaos wormed its way into his mind. A less pleasant one. He could see there was something wrong with her back then. This was the first time they had a true falling out. Well.. can this really be called a falling out if it was just him being yelled at? Astarte was changed already. Something happened to her after the Nephilim slaughter. Something he had foolishly overlooked. Maybe he was just too preoccupied with his own grief? Blood tumbled down from her wound, painting both her and his armor in vibrant red from where a crude spear met her body… 

It didn't take long for the last of the Nephilim to fall when this happened. She held onto life tightly as he led her deeper into the garden where healers would take care of her. Abaddon waited outside the tent, pacing back and forth until Azrael, who'd been tending to Astarte himself, walked out. A slender hand fell onto his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks and making him look at his old friend bearing a sullen expression. He'd never been so terrified in his life like in this short moment when he waited for Azrael to inevitably tell him that it was too late to help her but he merely asked Abaddon to come with him inside. Somehow, it was even worse. He saw her sitting on the edge of a cot, face pale, lips pressed into a thin line, staring at nothing. Eyes of other angels were on the three of them as the two archangels walked in. It was a relief to see her alive but there was no doubt that something was wrong. The patches of fresh crimson staining her trousers on her inner thighs only confirmed his suspicions. And Azrael didn't keep him waiting for an explanation.

"She was with child.."

The news hit him like a slug to the face. With a sack of bricks no less. Astarte, his beloved, bearing his blood in her womb. By all means he should feel ecstatic. He should rejoice. But this one word, this tiny word filled him with absolute dread. Was.

"The blade went deep.. There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry."

Who knows how long he stood there like a wooden stake? There was nothing I could do. Azrael was inarguably the best healer in the White City. He knew what he was saying. And yet… Abaddon found it difficult to believe his words. A child. His child. Died before they even had a chance to live.. It hurt more than any wound he'd ever received. When he finally could move, he approached Astarte and sat beside her, reaching for her hand to give her something to hold on to. But her violent reaction caught him off guard. She jerked away, her words dripped like acid.

"It's your fault. Get away from me!"

"Astarte, listen.."

"No! It never should've happened! Why would you do this to me?!"

This was the first time she called him per "you" in the presence of other angels. He knew not what she was truly going through but if his own sorrow was any indication, it must've been a nightmare. They'd lost something they didn't even know they had and it felt like the end of the world they'd built together. In a way, it was... Abaddon tried reaching out again but Astarte batted his hand away and leaped up to her feet despite the pain.

"Don't touch me! Do not speak to me, get off!"

"Astarte!"

He managed to call out before she stormed out of the tent, wrapping her wings around herself as a barrier that could protect her from the world around. Were it not for a firm grip on his arm, he would've gone after her. It was Nathaniel who stopped him. Abaddon looked at his friend, the right side of his face wrapped up in bandages just like his side he was keeping his hand over.

"It's not going to help. Let her go for now."

It's been a long time since he felt this lonely. He left the tent without another word, ignoring whatever it was Azrael was saying, and walked away from the camp like a wandering spectre who lost its way to the Well. And when he was far enough, he found himself collapsing on the ground, angrily hitting it with his fist as though it was the culprit here. They died without so much of a name.. Abaddon knew that what Astarte said wasn't true. He had no idea, it can't have been his fault… and yet this thought kept bothering him.

I should've protected you better. I have failed you.. both of you…

It took a couple of shaky breaths to collect his thoughts. Unable to do anything else, he pulled himself to his knees, clasped his hands together and started to whisper a prayer, seeking compassion in the Creator and his silent presence.

Astarte was already slipping after that and the prolonged stay in Eden only made it worse. She became distant and irritable, constantly itching for a fight, be it with words or blades. He thought she needed time to grieve. But this was something else. Something more sinister. Perhaps if he noticed it earlier.. done something… If only…

The odd tugging suddenly ceased and moments later a wave of comforting warmth washed all over him, gathering in his side where he was impaled. Deep within his chest, he felt his heart quiver, desperately fighting to keep beating. At first he thought he was merely waiting for Astarte to pull him back into the land of the living as a detestable abomination but no.. He yet lived. His thoughts were abruptly dispersed when he heard voices, very familiar and concerned voices, break through, the buzzing in his head.

"Did that do it?"

"Is he even alive ?"

"Hard to tell. It doesn't look good.."

"No, it doesn't.. Do you think we got to him on time?"

"I do not know. I'm not even sure if- Wait, I think he moved."

Abaddon indeed stirred, prying his eyes open with no small effort, immediately regretting his choice after a far too bright light intruded underneath his eyelids, and descending into a fit of uncontrollable coughs, spitting out all the blood that remained within as soon as he took a deeper breath. Pain. Horrible, excruciating pain filled his chest. He had been right. His sternum was definitely broken.

Damn all of it. Damn Lucifer, damn the Nephilim and damn the blasted air that hurt his lungs with every breath. Mist eventually fell from his sights, revealing to him familiar, tired faces of angelic soldiers leaning over him with distressed looks. His men. The Faneguard. They survived. Some of them at least… Malahidael wasn't so lucky.. One of them, Fariel if his memory doesn't deceive him, was holding up Abaddon's hand in his, and held between his curled fingers, Abaddon noticed an emptied crystal, a used up healing shard glimmering in the sunlight as the energy that was channelled into his body began to close the torn blood vessels.

"Lord Abaddon. Can you hear me?"

Gasping for another bit of air, horribly weakened but still very much alive and likely to stay that way, Abaddon gurgled out a disturbing sound that was supposed to be a miserable chuckle. In honesty, it sounded more like a dying demon than a laugh.. It only served to agitate them even further until he breathed out with relief and nodded as no coherent word could form in his mouth. What happened to Astarte when he was on death's door, he could only guess. But one thing he was sure of. She was still out there. Raving mad and dangerous to all who step into Eden. The law was clear. Astarte had fallen into darkness, defiled the dead and raised her weapon against her brethren. This was not an easy decision but after what he'd seen and lived through, Abaddon was certain now. He tried to bring her back, save her from the hate that grew within her like a malicious weed. But she was clearly too far gone. He couldn't help her.. Too late. As always, he was too late. Whether Abaddon likes it or not, Astarte needs to die. There was nothing more he could do for her. But he won't be the one to play the executioner and the hand of justice. He knew he couldn't. He'd failed twice already.. It will be done, just… not now.

Perhaps another time… They were safe for now. And he needed to think… Abaddon lifted his free hand to his mouth. It was still there, this horrid sensation.. and he knew it won't go away for a long, long time. Resting his head against the ground, he exhaled heavily as blessed unconsciousness started to take a hold on him once more. He needed to rest. They all did…

Even as he was falling into the dark again, he could still feel Astarte's venomous kiss upon his lips. Burning like fire and sinking cruel claws into his chest. Would he ever forgive her for tearing his heart apart? Probably. It wasn't her fault after all. It can't be, can it? Would he ever forget, though? Unlikely.. Abaddon couldn't help but wonder… if it was all his fault? He couldn't command his feelings and order them to leave him. But still, he felt guilty. Not even for Astarte's fall anymore but for ever letting this infatuation control him. That's where this love had gotten him so far. It left him weak and vulnerable. It was beautiful while it lasted but now? Only suffering remained.

No wonder Heaven has such a disdain for love. It causes naught but misery and ruin. A dire thought invaded his hazy mind. It matters not what Astarte had done. He still loved her. Soon, she will be put to rest. And him? Well.. Every, even the greatest warrior has to fall in battle. Eventually… And when that day comes, he will be ready to embrace his end. When that day comes.. they will meet again. Maybe... But until then… His heart hastened even still as he took another breath and silently told himself…

…Never again…

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It.. it was supposed to be short? I did say short fic, didn't I? Uhh.. Whoops 😓

Also, Gimp 2 has nearly succeed in driving me nuts. In Poland we say "stand on eyelashes and clap one's ears" when something is nigh impossible. Yeah. That was that.

Btw, I take back everything I said about Abaddon's shoulder pads , they're mf'ing gorgeous 👌