#i am just scared of the meat and bones beneath

[cappurrccino]

augh.

[benkeibear]

⛧°。 ⋆༺ 𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 ༻⋆。 °⛧

𝑆𝘩𝑒'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑡𝑒 - 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑒𝑖𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑟 𝑛𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡

𝐼𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑠𝘩𝑒'𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡. 𝐸𝑖𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑟 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 - 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑒𝑖𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼'𝑚 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑡

༺ synopsis: After getting saved from a, what you assumed to be, cannibal, you are left with no choice but to tag along with your savior and his companions. You might learn their names but their conversations cause more questions to arise... and what do they mean with "you're not a bloodsucker yet"???

༺ characters: Yuuji Itadori, Nanami Kento, Satoru Gojo

༺ reader: female | AFAB

༺ wc: 3050

༺ cw: mentions of cannibalism and vampires, Y/N used once to introduce yourself, broken bones and injuries

༺ notes: chapter 2 is finally here and you get to know your companions that you'll stick with for some time - or at least until you figure out how to get back

MASTERLIST // Taglist

<- Previous Chapter // -> Next chapter (coming soon)

“What are you waiting for? Run!” The blonde man called out to you quite angrily, snapping you out of the shell shock, but your legs barely carried you, letting you stumble away from the scene…

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ————— ༻⋆。 °⛧

It felt like the world around you crumbled apart to dust and the trees slowly fell apart into their singular atoms as you ran, legs numb but carrying you steady so you may escape whatever you just encountered. To be quite honest, you didn't want to have anything to do with it, your head was hurting just thinking about that creep who wanted to quite literally take a bite out of you.

As your mind raced with far too many thoughts, your eyesight betrayed you and the world started to become a haze of blurred colors and black dots clouding your vision. The heavy beating of your heart was once again all you could hear when your ears seemingly shut themselves off to the world around you. Run he said… but where to? What am I supposed to do in the middle of a forest unknown to me? Your thoughts were slowly turning darker and you wondered just where the beautiful lights at the lake and its path disappeared to, making you wonder just where exactly you were.

Just as you were about to bend over to catch a breath, the frantic running straining your stamina, you ran into a figure once again. Your heart stopped beating for a moment when you collided with a warm body, terrified that the creep from before got to you once again.

Before you tumbled to the ground ass first, he caught you by your upper arm. Your eyes were shut tight as you braced yourself for a harsh impact with the ground beneath, but it never came - instead you felt a warm hand holding you by your biceps. The grip was tight, but nowhere near painful and it felt so comfortably warm.

“Now, now, little lady. You should watch where you walk next time. You could have run into trouble headfirst!” He exclaimed amused and made sure you were standing steady before letting go of you again. His white hair seemed to glow underneath the moonlight and his blue eyes were eyeing you like a piece of meat he was about to devour at his dinner table.

“My boyfriend is right behind me! Don't you dare take a bite out of me too, you pervert!” You spat a lie, trying to sound brave, but it only made the man in front of you laugh, earning a disapproving noise from the smaller male standing a little further to the side. You didn't even notice him until then.

“You'll only scare her off! Can't you smell Nanamin on her?” He asked the white haired man and moved a step closer to you, which prompted you to take a step backwards.

The strawberry blonde man held his hands up in defense, his eyes softening when he saw just how frightened you really were - rightfully so. You were in the middle of a forest surrounded by men.

“I won't hurt you… But you should put this on,” he slowly took off his cloak and held it out to you, his arm extended towards you as far as possible so you wouldn't have to get too close.

Cautiously you took one step towards the young man and snatched his cloak as if he would change his mind about the generous offer. It was an, what you would consider oldschool, dark grey cloak made out of felted wool to keep out the wind and rain. With trembling hands you wrapped the piece around your freezing body and relished in the warmth it still kept from being worn by the man in front of you. Only the smell was displeasing - wet dog.

“What were you doing out here anyway? Especially in that… less than appropriate gown?” The white haired man asked as he looked at his friend interacting with you, his head cocked to the side in a curious manner.

“And all by your own,” the strawberry blonde man added, sounding more concerned than accusatory, but you still took offense by it. They were right, though - what were you doing out here anyway?

“I-” you started, but your mouth opened and closed again like a fish on land. Should you tell the truth or try to give them a convincing lie?

“To be quite frank, I don't know what I was doing either,” you mumbled defeated, which caused the younger man's face to fall, looking even more concerned for you now.

“and the gown? If one can even call that…” The white haired man judged your lack of clothes once again. Wearing only an oversized sweater wasn't appropriate nor wise and you knew that, but it's not like you planned on taking a swim or getting chased through the woods by a perverted cannibal.

“We can question her at the village,” a voice from behind startled you, almost causing you to hide behind the man who lent you his cloak.

The blonde man who saved you from said creep was back and despite his clothes having a tear at his arm, soaked with blood, he looked well put together and not even slightly disheveled.

Both men agreed with him, not even questioning him for a single second and he didn't acknowledge you further, only staring you down sternly. His gaze screamed do not argue. You will come with us now and as much as you wanted to tell him to shove it, you decided it's best to tag along for now. After all, he saved you and his two companions were perhaps a little rude, but they were showing no signs of wanting to murder, violate, or eat you, so you deemed them safe - you would still sleep with one eye open, though.

The blonde man walked on without any more words exchanged and the other two followed, expecting you to walk alongside them as well, which you did. Trying your best to keep up, you made sure to stay at least one step behind the small group, out of respect, uncertainty, or whatever told you it's best to keep them at arm's length.

Your position behind the small group gave you enough time to observe them, their features, their clothes and mostly their conversations - which barely made sense to you, so you gave up on that soon. The strawberry blonde haired man, however, caught your eye, one arm carefully cradled to his chest most of the walk until he pointed at something with it once. Without realizing it, a small gasp left your mouth at the sight: His arm was bent at a weird angle, blood sticking to his beige linen shirt that was torn below the elbow, the rest of the sleeve used as a makeshift bandage. Cautiously you walked up to him.

“If you hand me a first aid kit, I could bandage it up until we get to the nearest hospital,” you offer friendly, although carefully. His expression crunches up for a moment as if you're talking a foreign language.

“A first aid what? And we’re not going towards that… Hospital you've mentioned. We go home,” he pointed out, seemingly confused by your sentence. It took you off guard, but you shook your head, refusing to back down.

“A doctor needs to see this… your arm is broken!” You protest and gesture to his arm. Your conversation now caught the attention of the other two men, given that you raised your voice.

“A healer?” The white haired man questioned, which only made you sigh.

“A doctor, a healer. Whatever you call it, but his arm is broken!” You were truly outraged at how they didn't seem to care about it, not even the poor guy himself seemed very fazed.

“Oh that? It's an old wound, it will be healed in no time,” he reassured you, but it only caused more question marks to appear over your head. The wound was old? The blood was freshly dried and it looked no older than two, maybe three, hours.

“He will see a healer once we’re back at our castle. He will be fine soon,” the blonde man said stoically without even looking back to where the three of you were having a heated discussion about seeing a doctor.

The injured man gave you a small smile and nodded, knowing that he had already said too much, but he hoped that the other man's words would help you feel more at ease.

His steps slowed down to match your pace and he studied your face for a moment, your eyes flickering nervously under his intense gaze.

“My name is Yuuji, I don't think I've introduced myself appropriately yet,” he rubbed the back of his neck in a sheepish manner while he gave you a charming grin.

You tried to give the strawberry blonde man a genuine smile, but the corners of your mouth barely managed to move upwards.

“Nice to meet you, Yuuji. I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself, not quite knowing if offering a hand is appropriate given that he's hurt and using his other arm to steady the injured one.

The white haired man repeated your name a few times, giving it a lot of pronunciations and butchering it before rolling it on his tongue a few more times.

“What a beautiful name for such a beautiful lady. My name is Satoru, but I'm sure you'll be screaming it soon,” he winked at you as he walked backwards. Both his arms were up as he rested his hands against the back of his head, but his words made you shudder, unsure if it was with disgust or cringe.

“Don't pay him any mind, he tries to flirt with everything that has a pulse.” Yuuji apologized for his companion, cringing at his words as well.

Satoru gently pushed Yuuji in a playful manner and the two men engaged in playful banter while you tried to catch up with your savior.

“May I ask your name…sir?” You asked quite shy, unsure if you should address him as sir or more casually, but he seemed well respected by the other two.

“Kento. Kento Nanami," he replied cold and looked at you out of the corner of his eye.

“The sir is unnecessary. I’m not that old yet.” He seemed to feel your uncertainty and for a single second, a small smile made its way onto his lips.

You simply nod to the newly acquired information, figuring that he caught your name from the previous conversation since he seemed to follow it in silence.

“Once we’re back, I will make sure the maids dress you properly,” he looked down at you with a certain disdain, the corners of his mouth dropping as if he was disgusted.

“You're dressed even less decently than a lady working at the alehouse,” he added, which caused you to frown, pulling the cloak of Yuuji around you tighter.

“I’m not- I was simply out on a stroll because-” you protested, but he swiftly cut you off before you could try to explain your situation.

“I do not care. All I know is that a woman coming out of this very lake only means trouble,” he shut you down quite harshly, waving his hand in a dismissive manner.

If Nanami was quite honest, he didn't want you anywhere near him or his companions, but he could never live with himself if he wouldn't have helped you. It was almost as natural as breathing to him, putting his own life at risk if it meant being able to save others who were less fortunate than him. It was different with you, though, he considered leaving you to be sucked dry like a raisin after seeing that other man's reaction to you - and now your talks of doctors, kits and hospitals - Nanami was certain that you weren't from around here and that only meant bad news.

“Maybe it's not like that!” Yuuji quipped in unprompted and it made no sense to you - maybe it's not like what?

By now you were as sure as one can be that there's something going on that all three of them are hiding from you and you were unsure if you wanted to know just what it was. Deciding it's best to let them have their secrets for now, you didn't question what exactly the young man meant.

“Then she's your responsibility. Take care of her,” Nanami barked back the order, making you feel like you're some sort of unwanted pet that Yuuji gathered from the street.

“I can take great care of myself, thanks,” you grumbled and fell back again, no longer wanting to have a conversation with the blonde man since you were such a huge bother in his life.

Only a few seconds later, Yuuji was back at your side and gave you a small smile, hoping you're not too hurt by Nanami's words, he can be harsh sometimes, but he means well.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but if anything happens, I won't hesitate to help you, okay?” He asked carefully, gauging your reaction, but when you nodded at him, his smile grew in size.

A comfortable silence fell amongst the four of you as you walked on for what felt like an eternity - and it must have been quite a few hours, given that the sun had begun to rise and illuminated the forest in a soft glow of orange hues, which allowed you to see more clearly. At this point you weren't sure how far you had wandered from the castle, although it slowly dawned on you that returning there anytime soon was not in your cards. Sighing to yourself, you looked back towards the way you came from, silently mourning your old life as you mentally prepared yourself for whatever the path ahead of you had in store - as the unwanted pet, companion, or whatever you were to the three men who saved you from that pesky cannibal just mere hours ago.

At one point your legs were stinging from the cold morning air, the cloak only doing so much to keep the cold out of your drenched clothes and you were able to feel the cold slowly sinking into your skin and deep into your bones. It delicately wrapped itself around each limb, traveling through your entire body like a whisper, slowing your heartbeat and dulling your senses. Your breath looked like a frosty mist with each exhale in front of you, blending into the thin layer of fog that surrounded you and without noticing it, your body became suspended in a tranquil stillness - unable to move much further as it slowed down your system.

“Hey, get up. It's not far anymore." Yuuji’s voice sounded concerned, although distant, as you looked at him with half lidded eyes.

The cold spread through your torso and your lungs felt as if they were cast in a layer of ice, frozen from the inside.

With some strength, you shake your head and look at him, reminding him of a fawn that is yet to take its first steps. Utterly helpless.

“Come here. I'll carry you,” he mumbled and crouched down in front of you, expecting you to climb onto his back.

“Your arm…” Your protest was weak, but he simply dismissed your concern as he hoisted you onto his back himself.

With every step Yuuji took, you melted further into his back, slumping against him as your head rested upon his shoulders. Your limbs went numb and unresponsive, but his body heat provided a great comfort as the first snowflakes started to fall from the gloomy sky, navigating their fall through the few trees that surrounded you - you were almost out of the forest and an open field was ahead of you. The grass wore a thin layer of morning dew that Jack Frost himself must have placed there, every little drop looking like a small diamond as the cold weather slowly froze the world around you.

In the depths of your slumber, you see a woman whose heart was missing as she walks a path that inevitably leads to nothing but flames scorching high enough to reach the horizon above. You can feel the air thicken as she continues her path, but the weight of her love wraps around you like a warm blanket when she smiles softly at a shadowed figure. Who was she?

“Don't follow me,” you hear her voice loud and clear when it was just a whisper as she stepped into the flames that loomed at the end of the path - not a single sign of remorse on her face as her burning body sinks into the arms of the shadowed figure until she is nothing but dust.

When your eyes flutter open, you hope to see your fiancé lying next to you, that all of this was just a bad dream - yet the sorrow of watching this woman turn to ashes clung to your mind as if it's a fresh memory.

Once your eyes adjusted to the light, a pair of bright blue eyes looked right back at you, a grin forming on his lips as well… And were those… fingers in your mouth?

Out of pure shock, you clamp your jaw shut, biting the white haired man in the process, who quickly cradled his now bleeding finger to his chest before licking at the bleeding wound like a hurt kitten.

“Feisty one, aren't ya?” Satoru asked amused as he chuckled. He didn't seem to be mad at you for biting him, surely he would have done the same if the roles were reversed.

“Feisty but not one of them… yet,” he further announced with a huge grin to Nanami, who sat at the table just a few steps away from the quite uncomfortable bed you were laid on.

“Not one of them? Yet?” You questioned worried, your eyes darting back and forth between both men until the door burst open to reveal Yuuji trotting inside with some bread and a glass of water.

“Not a pesky bloodsucker!” He explained thrilled as if this was the most natural thing to announce. Not a... bloodsucker?

Networks: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum

[violetren]

Still tearing my way through Like Wind On a Dry Branch and it's maybe the best straight slow burn romance I have ever read?

The main love interest is the archduke who took in the female lead to save her from being buried alive with the corpse of a man who owed him a great debt.

Everyone in a 10 mile radius is like "my lord you're in love with her, why can't you admit it and ask her to be your wife, she basically runs the manor anyways and you obviously favour her and wish to keep her near." And they have been doing this for most of the story.

In the past few episodes/chapters two very important/interesting developments have occurred. I'm just over 70 chapters in at this point btw.

1. In a low moment where the archduke was absolutely desperate to get some space even if it meant scaring her away all so that he could avoid talking about a trauma he pinned her beneath him and made some lewd comments because he knows she has been pursued and very likely sexually abused by men in positions of power over her multiple times in her life, the last of which lead to the murder of her husband and the selling of her toddler into slavery and her almost death by getting buried alive.

And this woman who used to flinch away from holding hands for a cover story and has very clearly been traumatised just smiled and pointed out that he was obviously not actually trying to assault her and offered to simply bless him (as part of her role as his mage) and leave without pressing for conversation.

She has grown so comfortable and safe with him that even when he actively tried to be threatening in a way specifically tailored to hit her weakness she didn't so much as blink and calmly resolved the situation.

The first thing he did upon seeing her the next morning was apologise for his actions the night before.

2. The archduke's head knight was once again calling him out on being in love with the mage and the archduke finally was like

"ok let's say hypothetically I did harbour feelings for her as you say, I am a man with a position of considerable power over her what kind of feelings do you think that's going to evoke if I were to inform her of this when you yourself have been investigating the abuse she suffered by the hands of two different men who both held considerable power over her at different points of her life? Do you really think it is right that I make someone I am sworn to protect feel unsafe and put her in a position of reliving her traumas by asking her to be mine?"

Which like given part 1 is absolutely wild. My dude you could tell her and even if she didn't feel the same (unclear but leaning towards she does, there's something going on and she either needs the crutch of duty to feel comfortable in expressing her feelings, or she's gonna ruin his life for an undisclosed reason. The writing is good enough that I think theory one may be more likely than the shock factor of theory 2) she would feel safe enough and knows you well enough to believe you'd be chill about getting turned down.

And I just know this story is gonna take SO many more chapters before he even considers that fact. I fucking bet you this idiot is going "I only got away with my I'll considered stunt because she could tell I was lying about wanting her in that context, if she saw truth in me she'd be much more afraid."

It's such a slow burn I worry my meat is gonna fall off my bones before they ever acknowledge their feelings.

[regalia-solvieg]

Motostoke Castle: Dynamics ( Drabble )

The breakfast table was as noisy as ever. 

Ulric sat at the end of the table in his massive chair and had a plate in front of him piled high with meat, eggs, and bread. He was currently chugging from a large, golden goblet - which he then slammed down upon the table with a cheery sigh. His Queen was on the other end of the table and was completely ignoring him. Her face was deep in a book and didn’t even look up at the sudden bang. 

Kida sat one one side of the long, rectangular table and was facing her brother - Prince Youta. The boy was engaged in a conversation with his Father and the two seemed to be eagerly talking about a hunt they planned to go on after the ‘Festival’. She looked down at her plate. She had left for the Empire by now in her ‘original’ timeline. She never witnessed this Festival - or any to be honest. She thought common folk festivals to be beneath her... so this was the first year she had ever paid attention to it. 

Raintree was standing to the right of Ulric and was looking impatient as always. He had been glaring at the two of them from under his heavy brows for minutes now, it it appeared he had lost his patience and cut in, “Excuse me, your Majesties - but we really do need to get a move on and finalize the Guest List and Security for the Ball.” 

This startled the Queen back to attention and she looked up from her book - there was a dazed look on her face that Kida knew all too well - it was the look of someone ripped out of the world of text and trying to return to reality. She blinked a few times and then straightened up, but before she could say anything Ulric blurted out, “Bah!” He waved his hand dismissively, “Do what you will. I couldn’t care less about that.”  “With all due respect, sire-“ Raintree sighed, “You really should. This Festival is the one day a year that the Castle Gates are open to any and all. It will be the one day a year that anyone can enter - including those... unsavory felons. Rovers, Foreigners, and the like.“ He pursed his lips, “Though why you allow this is beyond me.“  “Its a People’s Festival.“ Ulric sounded disinterested as he responded. He picked up a chicken leg from his plate and cleaned it off in one bite before dropping the bone on the table beside him, and then added with his mouth full; “You know that.“ “Sire-“ Raintree started,  But Ulric interrupted him, “Lighten up, Raintree! It’s a festival to celebrate the 11th year anniversary my victory! To celebrate the day the Civil War ended once and for all and Peace returned to Galar! The people have every right to celebrate that too without being scrutinized.” 

The Queen smiled at that and finally injected, “Hand me the plans, Raintree. I will go over the guest list for the ball. As for Guards - place them in front of strategic locations that we do not want the public entering, and raise the amounts of patrols during the festival to keep the peace should anything happen.”  Raintree did not look satisfied, but bowed deeply and scurried around the table to hand the Queen several scrolls. 

For some reason, Kida’s mind had gone blank the moment she had heard the word ‘Rovers’. All she could think of was that boy who had helped her so much in her previous life and the thought scared her. She was determined not to get him involved this time.

“Kida darling-” Her Mother’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Kida looked up and saw the Queen staring at her, “Is everything alright?”  Kida gently placed her napkin on the table, “Yes, Mother. I am just full.” She pushed her chair back, “May I be excused?”  Ulric frowned, “Full? You barely touched your food!” “Not everyone eats like a Hippopotas, dear.” The Queen replied.  “A what?” Ulric asked before he shoved another chicken leg in his mouth.

Kida and her Mother exchanged glances, and both just smirked at each other. Her mother nodded, “You are excused.” 

Kida quickly got up and hurried from the table. She bunched up her skirt to avoid tripping over it and rushed out of the Dining Hall. There was so many things she hadn’t noticed - or cared to notice - during her previous life. At this point her Mother and her had left Galar and returned to the Empire. But her Father had always been so dismissive with anything that did not relate to warfare. Politics and planning were always things he shoved off to the Council of the Queen... so then... how did things function after her and her Mother left? How much power did the Council take control of? 

Kida paused and looked out a window. It suddenly made a lot of sense to her on how Bryce was able to take such complete control of everything. How much power did Bryce already assume to have? Was Bryce the only enemy she had, or would she be facing against her Father’s entire council? Did they all share the same thoughts about her Brother?

“You’re majesty?“ A cold voice snapped her from her thoughts and sent a shiver down her spine. She whirled around and saw herself staring straight at Bryce. For a moment, fear gripped her mind and she stood there frozen. 

Bryce looked her over with his bright gray eyes. He dropped down on one knee and reached out to kiss her hand, “Good morning, Princess.”  Kida wrenched her hand away from him and glared at him with unmasked hatred, “Sir Hubard.” 

A smile spread across his chiseled features. Many viewed Bryce as very attractive - his looks and charisma won him many hearts around the Castle - but to her he looked like a vile Ekans. 

“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that, Princess.“ He said in a soft, smooth voice, “Is there anything I can do to change that?“  Kida took a step back, “You could leave the Council and return to your Manor.” She took a deep breath and stood up as straight as she could as if that would somehow make her feel larger, “Or better yet, you could drop dead.”

Bryce reached towards her, but she took another step back. This caused him to frown and stand back up, “What an ugly thing to say from such a pretty little Lady.” 

Kida wanted to shoot back that it wasn’t as ugly as his lust for power... but her mouth wouldn’t move. She was suddenly shaking. She both hated and was terrified of this man. She wanted to look away from him - to pry her eyes away and look down at the ground... but she couldn’t. The way he was looking at her right now made her entire body freeze.

“Hey Kida? Everything okay?“ 

Kida jumped when she heard a familiar voice behind her and her blood ran cold. She whirled around and saw Youta walking towards her. As usual, he was tailed by his friend and personal bodyguard - Thanion. She could feel the change in Bryce’s demenour behind her without even looking at him as the two approached. 

“Youta.“ Kida replied. She walked over towards him and looped her arm around his, “I wish to be escorted to my room, please.“  “Oookay?“ Youta sounded genuinely confused. He looked up at Bryce, and Kida saw the older man bow indifferently at the Prince.

“If you’ll excuse me then.“ Bryce muttered, and then hurried off down the hall. 

“What was that about?“ Youta asked,  “Ugh.“ Kida sighed. She started walking in the other direction - practically dragging Youta along with her, “I hate that man!“  Youta laughed, “Yeah, me too!” He sped up to match her pace, “When I’m King, the first thing I’m going to do is fire him!”  Kida hugged his arm, “I hope you do!”

[starshipsofstarlord]

Could I request a Jaskier x female reader where the reader is a princess who during daylight, is condemned to be a bear, after being cursed by an evil sorcerer At night she become a human again. Which the curse can only be broken by a man (who would be Jaskier) who pledges his heart solely to the reader (something like true love’s kiss). Please and thank you!!!

Bruin

jaskier x reader

masterlist

Warnings; mentions of witcher killing, mentions of death and angst, curses, nudity, some fluff, implied smut

“G-Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice shivered, as he saw a great mountain of brunette fur, wading through the long grass, heavy breathing exhibiting from its wet snout. “There’s a bear!”

“If you’re that scared, try to speak quieter.” The Witcher’s speech remained monotone, as he continued walking, leaving the bard to catch up with his hardy footsteps. “We need to leave before nightfall, that is when the true monster is unleashed from the bruin vessel.”

“You kill monsters, we’ll be fine.” The bard waved off, though he was terrified, and Geralt was all but convinced with his dismissal. “We will, won’t we Geralt?”

“It’s bad luck to remain out here at night, it’s an old wives tale, however, no one survives the night out here. Not after the disappearance of the princess of Arafell.” Jaskier remembered that tale, he had even seen the princess at a banquet once when they were both young in age.

Neither of them had the opportunity to converse with one another that evening, it was the night she had ran away. and he certainly had regretted never asking her dance. Before that though, they had often strode through the gardens hand in hand, conversing on the beauty of the petals that veiled around the stems, and she, unlike most people, listened to his descriptive forms of poetry. Back then, he had been shy, and not to mention, she was of sought after royal blood. That evening was the last that anyone from the kingdom had ever been seen, after the slumber of eternity wept over their souls. One thing he severely remembered though, was that she loved dandelions.

The princess had ran away, leaving the king and queen in search of someone that could find her, and thus they hired a private sorcerer to complete their wishes. But instead of seeking out the lost girl, the old man took the gold and the lives of old, wallowing the land in distress that clambered into a delving of madness.

A shout bellowed from the bear, and Jaskier found him to “How long will it be til we reach the borders?”

“The bad luck will loom over us Jaskier, we will not make it out of here in the span of the next countless hours. There will be a moon in the sky, but perhaps we’ll be able to seek out cover in the old guard’s tower.”

“Where are we Geralt?” The brown haired poet feared to be met with the answer “What makes you think that we’ll survive the night?!”

“This is what remains of Arafell.” Stated the white haired hunter, as he continued to plod through the thick foliage beneath his dark boots. He stepped on the dull green life form, not encouraged to pursue any further into the depths as he heard the destination that they were travelling through.

“Arafell, great.” Huffed the irritating bard, clutching his lute as he spoke the haunting name. “There’s no need to be afraid, when you’re in the land of torn bodies, because the witcher is by your side. He’ll slash and dice, protect the mice, from the darkness that falls from above. The people are dead, I am filled with dread, in the land of Ar-afellll.”

“Stop singing.” Whenever there was any fault present in their adventures together, Jaskier had a tendency, wallowing similar like a pie without filling to sing. It shrouded Geralt with epitomised frustration, his betrothed follower sure knew how to pull his strings, it was as though he were a moral lute, a practice run of socialisation for the noble’s son.

“Sorry.” Apologised the traveller, with a shrug encompassed by a spark of coldness affecting his posture. There was a breeze, filled with the pinching of icicles in the air, and it clawed through his clothes, clashing with the meat blanketed warmth of his bones. “It’s just- we’re in bloody Arafell, or what remains of it, and you are so calm. Have you maybe perhaps forgotten what happened here?!”

“No. I was here when it queen Ara and her kingdom fell. And that bear has lurked every inch of these demolished castle lands searching for scraps, and if you cannot tell, it is almost night fall, and she has come up sufficiently short of anything, for all these decades.”

The listener frowned, bears did not live so long. It was a curious prospect, it remained loyal to these grounds, although it was empty. There had to be a reason why, a pattern that supposed why it, or she as Geralt had divulged, remained to lurk in the midst of the overgrown forestry. And then another thought (yes, Jaskier had the ability to do that despite what his protective travel mate may have wondered), hit him, like a bolt of lightning.

“Um, Geralt, where is the bear?” He gulped, hearing the rustling of the thick foliage metres behind them. The moon scourged the sky with its global presence, inducing another shot of ambient fear through Jaskier’s veins. “It was-“

“Shut up a moment.” It was almost impossible half the time to silence Jaskier, but this time, he actually obliged the command. Geralt drew his sword, the one that glistened a predominate silver and was made from the compound, clutching the handle in his vice and skilled grip, as his feet took him closer to the imposter that was imbedded within the weeds.

“Oh.” Jaskier covered his eyes, he couldn’t look as Geralt pointed the weapon at the beasts throat; a whimper escaped it as Geralt took a step back, alerting his companion. “Kill it Geralt, it’s a bear, it’s going to kill us.”

“It was a bear.” Geralt elaborated as he watched the beast transform and lose its course coat of brown fur, turning into a less monstrous beast. It was only a girl, with unruly and wild hair that was matted in all directions, her face contorted into fear. “Of whom are you, my lady?”

“A witcher.” It trailed from her lips as a whisper, her tone alerting Jaskier that it indeed was not a bear, rather it was a woman, laid on the forest ground, in nothing but her own layers of skin. His eyes widened for a moment, until he earned an elbow in the rib from his friend for his long and convicted ogling. “I have only heard legends but...

“You speak english?” Jaskier wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, hinting at his subsequent misunderstanding of the situation. “but you were a bear?!” This was all growing more confusion with each passing second, there were too many angles of the world.

“I’m cursed.” It was an easy consequence to admit, for the lady of the worlds already lived through them. “Each day, I am forced to pad about in the brute body of a bruin, a sorcerer brought by darkness himself to this dimension damned me to this abomination, his name was-“

“Lament.” From hearing that name, the woman on the ground was taken aback as the women, trying to prevail some decency, attempted to cover her breasts with her arms, as she crossed her legs over one another. “Your parents sent me to find you, lady. I came up empty handed in my search for you, there was no trail that I managed to find, nothing that would point in your direction. And that night, as I returned with short of nothing of any news of your whereabouts, Lament was there.”

“He killed them all, didn’t he. My family?” The answer didn’t require any verification from Geralt, the solemn, yet usual expression on the Witcher’s face was all the confirmation that she needed. “Of course he did, he’s a poisonous shadow, when he finds something he wants, he takes away its home, so that it can’t run back to the hearth whence it came from. I regret every running away from home...”

“Wait a moment.” This was all beginning to add up in some mind boggling way. Jaskier flitted his gaze aside for a moment as Geralt pulled a fine blanket from his luggage, knowingly seeing the movement out of the corner of his curious eye that she was pulling the material that conducted warmth over her shoulders, and across her sachet of flaunted skin.

"Shut up Jaskier." Instantaneously stated the bard, whom had returned his cerulean gaze back upon the y/h/c woman, depositing a composition of interest to her form.

"You're the princess of Arafell, aren't you. Y/n, it's you, isn't it?" Y/n's expression was one of shock; how did this man know of her identity? She understood how the witcher did, though with considering he was condemned with the duty of finding her. The brunette man was slightly familiar, and so he revealed why that was. “it’s Julian.” Jaskier held his hand to his chest, almost hurt that you didn’t recognise him, but it had been years, so many, none of which had been kind to you. “My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

“Dandelion!” The reprised title spun from y/n's tongue, remembering the nickname that she had given the now gentleman all those years ago, when he was nothing more than a persisting boy that made her flash an unashamed laughter in the midst of poised quality showrooms of noble gatherings. "I remember you." She dwelled on the fact, if she weren't clothed in only a shrill and frayed blanket that was pebbled with small dots of soil, from where it had been laid on the ground, y/n surely would have jumped up and spun her arms around his 'sexy goose' neck.

"You've got to be kidding me, it is just my luck that the pair of you know each other." Geralt crossed his arms, shaking his sleek silver head, being deprived of attention as he spoke. "Is there any way to get yourself out to get you out of this prospected curse of turning into a bear, y/n?"

"To be betrothed to a man, confirmed with a kiss resonating true love, though, nobody with any sense would put themselves in that position for me, there is no wealth to my name anymore, nor is there relevance with my heritage, for there is nothing that remains, as you have confirmed for me. This man must certainly be one of a kind, for he has to pledge his loyalty solely to me, forbidding himself from ever being with another woman again."

The mention of a lack of sense reminded Geralt of one man in particular, and he was stood right beside him. But it couldn't have been Jaskier, of all people, and- Geralt found himself overcome with dread as the bard stepped forward, crunching his shoed feet into the withered grass, closer to the rediscovered princess.

"I have waited my whole life to see you again." Oh god, here he went, Geralt thought. "When we were younger, I was infatuated with you, and here we are, united again in a union. If my betrothal means nothing then you will remain in this shrine of gloom, but to me, it would mean everything to me."

"Y/N come on, have some sense, it-" There was lack of reason for Geralt to continue speaking, as y/n sprung up, the blanket flowing down from her shoulders, baring her body cold to the crisp air, as her hands clasped both sides of Jaskier's face, and pressed her lips to his.

The witcher cringed, turning away as the pair practically ate the other's face, like starved animals that had been distanced for many years, which in their case was true. "Do you know if the curse is broken, is there any indicator if so?"

A hum fell from y/n's mouth as Jaskier's hand traced the curve of her spine, causing Geralt to scoff. That was the only response he earned, and to a high stake, it disgusted him. "I think I'm just gonna let you two have some time to yourselves, I guess we will see in the morning if you're being mawled by a bear you flippant."

And thus he walked away, leaving the two to pursue their primitive instincts, under the blessed moon, and on the routed curfew on the dark and dead land of Arafell.

[nagdabbit]

in honor of this fuck fest of a dynamite, have a teeny a song that will dig into my bones chappy 8 cuz i won’t get it finished tonight

.

Bryan had never actually been in Jon's apartment, not once in the weeks since he'd started hanging around. He supposed he'd never invited the man up, but Bryan usually saw himself out before the idea ever crossed Jon's mind. Like he didn't want to overstay his welcome, always leaving before he could be asked to. Not that Jon ever would, of course. He seemed, finally, to have learned that.

Bryan hadn't looked out of place, standing in Jon's kitchen. He looked like he lived there. Like he could live there. Like he could stay. Jon was kind of starting to want him to. 

Moth and flame, and all that.

He twisted a little in his corner of his ratty couch, rested his cheek against the worn-soft fabric and watched. He had no idea what Bryan was even talking about anymore, the words had turned into gibberish twenty minutes beforehand. He'd asked about the rooftop gardening book Jon had been slowly leafing through in his quiet moments, and had promptly gone off on his own tangent.

Jon didn't mind, though. The TV had been off for awhile, bowls emptied and leftovers put away. Just the two of them in the low light, the sound of Bryan's voice and the quiet rattle of the radiator. 

Jon stifled a yawn and stretched his legs out across the couch, relaxing into the lumpy cushions. He didn't even notice that his eyes had closed until Bryan kicked at his calf. 

He grumbled and blindly kicked him back. "Hey."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Bryan dug a toe into the bend of Jon's knee, making him twitch in surprise, "Am I keeping you from bed?"

"I wasn't asleep," he argued, kicking out again, just to dig a little into the meat of Bryan's thigh. "Keep talkin' about things."

"Uh huh, what was I talking about, then?"

He flipped through the book Bryan was writing in his mind, all the words and stories he'd told over their evening. Tried to recall the specifics, just because he wasn't ready to admit defeat. "Tell me more about raised beds," he murmured, settling his legs on top of Bryan's, like that would do anything to pin him. 

"What?"

"Your garden. You were talking about raised beds." He looked up to find Bryan watching him with a strange look on his face, one he couldn't read. Almost confused, almost scared, almost a lot of things, like even Bryan couldn't decide. "What?"

"You were listening."

"Well, yeah." He frowned a little, "I told you I wasn't asleep."

"But I didn't think you were listening."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because no one ever cares about all this?" He looked—helpless. Like Jon had surprised him, completely.

"Of course I care, dumbass." He gently kicked Bryan again, just for good measure. "Just because I don't understand, doesn't mean I don't wanna listen."

He did that thing that Eddie did, sometimes. Where he was gearing up for something, shoulders tense and rising toward his ears, only to have his expectations dashed. He would deflate a little, shoulders relaxing back into a gentle slope as his hackles lowered.

Bryan sank back against the arm of the couch, his expression clearing into something soft. "Be that as it may, that doesn't change the fact that it's late. Garden talk will keep."

Jon rolled his eyes, "It's not late."

"You're falling asleep."

"I'm basking."

Bryan barked out a laugh he couldn't seem to stop, smile going wide and his eyes crinkling at the corners. Pretty. Glittery. He looked soft, tucked into the corner of Jon's couch like he was, much softer than Jon could ever remember seeing him. With pieces of hair falling free of his hair tie, feet subtly trying to tuck beneath Jon's thigh for a little extra warmth. 

"You gotta get up early, or something?"

"No, but I know you don't know how to sleep in," Bryan murmured, and gave him a look. Mildly admonishing, reluctantly amused, not half as stern as he wanted it to be. Jon didn't think he wanted to know how much he actually had in common with Eddie, how many facial expressions they shared between them. 

"Yeah, I sleep like shit, what's it to ya?" 

"Worrying, honestly," Bryan murmured, expression going a little more troubled. 

"Don't be, just trust me. That's all." He gently kicked Bryan's thigh, like some kind of pinky swear. "I know my limits, I know what I can take, and I know how late I can stay up and not feel like shit tomorrow. So, unless you're in a hurry to leave, you can keep talkin' at me about your garden."

Bryan huffed out a little laugh and ducked his head for a moment. "Can I ask you something, instead?"

"'Course you can, I'm an open book." He bit back a smile, waiting for the telltale twitch of Bryan's jaw that said he was biting back his own laugh at the pun. 

"You're not as funny as you think you are."

[dannys-phantoms]

Two Rings on her Finger

Everlasting Trio (Sam X Danny X Tucker) fic wherein Sam remembers how she got her promise rings. Also available here on ao3.

The first ring on her finger was thin and black, with a row of three small, understated purple gems. Danny had never specified what kind they were, so she was almost certain they were just glass. It didn’t matter to her, not in the slightest – she’d had enough money thrown at her already to last a lifetime, and it had never meant as much to her as this ring did.

He’d given her it right after they graduated Casper High. She’d still been looking at the sky, a stupid grin on her face (that totally messed with her goth girl image) watching the graduation caps tangle in the air and fall down. She’d followed her own along with her eyes until it crashed back into her arms, to see Danny kneeling down on one knee in front of her.

It wasn’t a proposal or anything like that, but the ring was a promise that just because high school had ended didn’t mean they had to. Tucker had noticed before she had, and was screaming through the two hands over his mouth, eyes wider than ever and feet tapping gleefully on the floor, like a crow tempting up worms. She was nodding her head yes before Danny even had to ask anything, then she pulled him up by the front of his gown and kissed him in a way that she’d have rathered her parents hadn’t seen.

She got Danny a ring to match a few days later, not one too much like her own but instead a band of white-gold, one blue diamond inlaid in it that matched the icy cool of his eyes and, she insisted, wasn’t too girly at all. It was from a thrift store, rather than a real jewellers; found and paid for with love rather than riches. Her mother had just rolled her eyes when she found out, but her next visit to the Fenton’s had found her in a bone crushing hug with not only Jack and Maddie, but Jazz too. They’d always been more like her family than the Manson’s, and this was just one step closer to making it official.

Not much changed after that, not really. They had mountains of work to do between job applications and ghost hunting, the former of which found her, Danny and Tucker sprawled on one of their bedroom floors and the latter meaning they were chasing each other through the streets, bad guys on all sides. There wasn’t much time for a proper date, not really, until a few months later when she and Danny had decided to finally try that new pop-up vegan restaurant before it was gone for good.

She let Danny order, because she already knew she’d love everything on the menu, and she liked to see him confused about something normal for a change. He ordered her a meat-free bolognaise and wound up with something spicy and chickpea-based for himself, which she could tell he was surprised to actually enjoy.

He’d entwined their ankles under the table, sending a ripple of goosepimples up her shin, but even so her mind began to wander. She was thinking about Tucker, at home on his own, and what he would make of this place. He’d probably be hating how good this ‘fake food’ actually was, and using all of his willpower not to admit it. Danny had a faraway look in his eye too. She knew they were both feeling the same. That’s why, after they’d paid and thanked the staff, they’d guiltily made their way over to the Foley residence to play a few rounds of Doomed. Tucker’s face lit up when he was talking about video games, and despite how much she rolled her eyes and snarked back at him when the things he was saying were so, so wrong, it was the first time all day when she’d truly felt comfortable enough to relax.

Danny’s unnatural chill seeped through her left side and Tucker’s burning fire warmed up her right, and wedged between the two she felt the perfect temperature. When the sun went down and the computer had entered rest mode, they stayed where they were, laying on each others limbs in a clump on the floor. Her boyfriend was whispering constellations in her ear, and their best friend was running his hands through their hair, until eventually it was morning and they realised they’d all fallen asleep.

Sam’s second ring came a few months later, when the facts had become just too obvious to run from any further. There was no relationship, no living or loving, without Tucker there. He was the light to her darkness, the jokes and laughter to Danny’s doom and gloom. The three of them would walk down the street all hand in hand, crossing over if someone was coming the other way rather than breaking apart to make room. Time apart from Tucker felt like being locked out of her own house, knowing that the keys were just inside the porch but stuck anyway in the biting wind.

She told Danny first, fully prepared for him to say the relationship was over. He’d sat on her bed, teeth worrying his lip, as she wore down her carpet walking circles in her room, even more nervous than she’d been before her first ever slam poetry recital. She couldn’t bear the thought of Danny being hurt, but she hated to think of hurting Tucker either, so she just had to come out and say it.

“I think I’m a little bit in love with Tuck.”

Danny blinked twice, three times, as though he’d just discovered the meaning of life written in the pattern of the carpet. “Huh. You know what? Me too.”

They cuddled in close, laughing at how they could have possibly been so stupid not to have seen it. He kissed each of her knuckles one by one, and when she asked what it all meant for them, he had a simple answer. They’d have to ask Tucker.

Predictably, Tuck was a mess. Yes, maybe they should have waited until morning before knocking on his front door, and yes, maybe they could have confessed to him with a little more grace, but standing in the Foley’s kitchen at 2am seemed like as good a time and place as any.

Her hands were shaking, but so were Danny’s, and knowing they were both scared made it easier to speak.

“Tucker, when me and Danny are together, we...”

Danny squeezed her hand. “We miss you, Tuck.”

“Oh,” Tucker said, scratching the back of his head, dressed in robot-print pyjamas but still looking naked without his hat. “Well, you know where I am.”

Sam sighed. “That’s not the point.”

She cupped his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his cheek, the skin burning up beneath her touch.

Tucker glanced between his friends, his mouth opening and closing as he considered what to say, until Danny stepped forward and kissed him too.

The tips of Tucker’s ears were red and Danny’s knees were shaking, and Sam quickly grabbed the back of his pants when they became intangible and started to fall down. She could tell he’d been wanting to do this for a long time, and so had Tucker, who was pulling him back in for a proper kiss on the lips.

“As I was saying,” Sam smiled, “we’ve missed you, Tuck.”

After another few minutes of talking it out, and a heck of a lot more kissing, Tucker ran up the stairs and came back down with two silver-looking springs.

“They’re from my ruined PDA’s,” he explained, and Sam pulled one onto her finger above the ring from Danny.

It was perfect. Danny followed suit, and now they both had two rings, from the ones they loved the most, but Tucker had none. They each grabbed one of his hands and kissed a cheek, like a Tucker sandwich.

As soon as the shops opened again they would go out and find him something, but it was still the middle of the night and they were practically swaying on their feet.

If Angela Foley was surprised to find her son and his two best friends all piled into the same single bed the next morning, she never let on.

[hellhound-wrangler]

I have made the immensely foolish decision to dip my toes into the “writing fanfic” waters and I’m now regretting all my life choices. I have weird disjointed chunks of a story, some more edited than others. Also I apparently have a masochistic streak, because I’m writing fic for the game that aggravates me on almost every level, instead of one that isn’t actively maddening.

Anyhow, if you, too, have an inexplicable fondness for the garbage fire that is Fallout 3, I bring you a small offering of irradiated trash.

A week later, Charon shoved open the door of the Ninth Circle, a moaning drunk with broken hands draped over his shoulder (“Now take out the trash Charon, there’s a good boy” Azhrukhal had said before turning to the fool’s terrified friend to settle the briefly-disputed bar tab), and a slouching smoothskin leaving Carol’s Place took three long strides and caught the door, holding it open for him without comment. He spared a brief hard stare for the human, who looked back blandly. Unarmored, no visible weapons save a 10mm on their hip, torchlight glinting off their battered glasses, hair and skin and clothing all in unremarkable shades of gray and tan, just another scavver looking for oblivion in the shittiest bar in the end of the world. He wished he could warn the wastelander off before they poured more caps into Azhrukal’s safe and wound up robbed or dead or beaten or sold or whatever sick whim the old rat had in store, but standing orders strangled any warning he could offer in his throat (“Stop scaring off the customers, Charon”). 

When he came back into the bar, he briefly thought that the smoothskin had had an attack of good sense and left, until he realized that the customer deep in conversation with Azhrukhal at the bar was not the injured ghoul’s partner after all. The colorless wasteland clothing was the same, but the line of the shoulders was too relaxed, the body on the barstool too long and slouched and balanced to be the stocky frantic drunk Charon had last seen sitting there, the voice too low and calm to be a strung-out fool trying to spare themself a beating.

He didn’t want to hear whatever trap Azhrukhal was weaving for another stupid tourist, and he concentrates instead on the music of the radio, the morbid calculation of how long it would take until the ceiling fell in, the low burn of a two-day thirst in his throat. Sinking into his misery, he let the sounds of the Ninth Circle wash over him.

“-keeps hackin’ and whackin’ and smackin’-”

“-unfailing, unflinching, until the day - “

“-drinks are foul-”

“-he finally met his fate/ But when they came to pay-”

“-a liability, the dog-catchers are coming-”

“-yesterday...I found one of Patchwork’s fingers-”

“-civilization is a thing for me to see -”

“ - must be kidding-”

“-bottle imp, Azhrukhal, will you be carried-”

“-how they coax him I’ll stay right here - “

“-need just a little bit of jet, I’ve got the shakes-”

“-never see him after tonight-”

“-what I do all year round-”

The sound of caps pouring onto sticky wood seizes the attention of every patron in the bar, and the refocusing of their bodies, rather than the sound itself, pulls Charon back to the present. The smoothskin drops an empty bag like garbage, a long messy pile of caps lying on the bar between them and Azhrukhal. The bartender draws in a single rattling breath and hastily shoves a filthy envelope across the bar to the human, eyes already on the treasure before him.

“Fine. Take your dog and get out.”

The human nods once, slipping their glasses from their face and tucking them into the neckline of their shirt. They stand smoothly, slouch vanishing as they rise. They open the envelope as they walk over to Charon, fishing something out. Their eyes are an eerily pale brown, catching the torchlight like an animal’s as they open their mouth to speak. Abruptly he recognizes them, the height (tall for a wastelander, though not compared to him) and the gleaming eyes - it’s the merc with the mottled armor. Ambush predator, he thinks again.

”Talk to Azhrukhal” Charon snarls, cutting them off. Whatever idiot deal they had entered with the bartender, he wanted as little to do with as possible.

“You are no longer under contract to Azhrukhal.” The smoothskin slides his folded contract from the envelope and extends it for him to see, looking absurdly as though they were offering it to Charon. One corner of their mouth curled up briefly, a snarl or a smile, there and gone again in an instant. “I promised him that tonight was the last time he’d see you.”

“You purchased my contract from Azhrukhal? So, I am no longer in his service. That is good to know. Please, excuse me.”

Dazed, wondering if he’s dreaming, Charon brushes past the smoothskin, closes the distance between him and his former employer, as Azhrukhal sweeps cap after cap into a box he pulled from beneath the bar. The bartender’s head jerks up, glowering, his mouth opening to spit some final insult but Charon’s shotgun is already in his hands. He had meant to confirm his change of employment, hear the old ghoul seal his fate by acknowledging that Charon was no longer bound to him, but suddenly the thought of hearing the bartender’s rotten voice even one time more is unendurable. Before Azhrukhal can speak, the spray of buckshot silences him forever. Charon watches the headless body fall and fires again, blowing apart the chest (head and heart, big boy, a woman’s memory whispers, if you want them to stay down). He considers shooting the corpse again, reducing it to scraps of meat and bone and buckshot until he runs out of shells, but decides that this is sufficient and slips the shotgun back into its sheath.

Over the startled screams that marked the patrons’ reaction to Azhrukhal’s death, his new employer’s voice comes clear and steady. “Do you need anything out of here before we leave?”

Charon snorts, rolls his shoulders to feel the press of the shotgun in its holster across his back, shakes his head. “No.”

[platypanthewriter]

Unless...? (Ch. 8)

Previous | Fic Masterlist

Steve Harrington wants to be best friends with Billy Hargrove.  He wants to marry him–as friends–so they’ll always be together, and he’s going crazy, trying not to be weird about it, and scare Billy off.  Also he’s in a band, and they run a bar.Billy’s buckling under an onslaught of friendly Harrington flirtation.  Also he’s just been hired as the new bartender. For Day 2 of Febuwhump, “I can’t take this anymore.”

In this chapter:  Billy's pretty drunk when he comes back to Steve's hotel room, and he wants to see Steve wear the thongs. 

Billy eventually hauled Steve back out of the bathroom—Steve was content to stand there forever, with Billy’s earnest, alcohol-redolent breath in his face, listening to him proclaim his undying affection—but Billy yanked his arm. “Come on,” he slurred. “Max’s gonna...give up on us.” Steve splashed some water on his hot face, and then trotted after his fiance.

“Did you just bone my brother on the bathroom counter,” Max asked crisply, not looking up from her menu as they approached the table.

“You know it,” Billy said, laughing, and squeezed Steve’s hand.

“Fuck no, that counter’s covered in like ten layers of old hand soap,” Steve said, making a face. “Billy deserves better than old hand soap.”

“Like the alley out back,” Billy muttered, dropping into the booth, and Steve sat too close, elbowing him.

“Like a honeymoon suite,” he countered, and got to hear Max and her brother groan, and watch Billy’s ears turn even redder.

“So I hear Steve has been proposing for like. Months,” she told Billy, who glared at Steve. “You never said a word.”

“He was letting me pine,” Steve said, grabbing the soju away as Billy poured more, and tossing it back.

“Yeah, no more for you,” Max said, grabbing the bottle, and filling her cup. “How come you were still dating that shithead, then?”

“Not enough brain cells,” Billy sighed, and Steve slid an arm around him, then pressed his luck, and a kiss to Billy’s temple, feeling it heat.

“We’re hoping our combined six brain cells are a little smarter,” Steve told Max, and she snorted a laugh—and then smiled a little softer, he thought, watching Billy as he leaned into Steve’s shoulder with a grumbly noise like a drunken bear.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, silently, and Steve flushed. “Be good to him or I’ll kill you,” she added, in a creepily sibilant whisper, and Billy mumbled inquiringly. Steve hugged his head, nodding back at her.

Steve had to half-heft Billy into his hotel room that night, full of barbequed meat and more liquor than was good for either of them, and then help him undress, sliding his hands down Billy’s ass and thighs to get his too-tight jeans off, and crouching between Billy’s knees to pull at his boots. Billy dropped back onto the mattress with a long sigh, and then Steve had to haul him back upright to tug at the buttons on his sleeves, and run his hands over the muscles of Billy’s shoulders to push the shirt off them. He kept pausing to look at Billy’s tattoos, or a couple times because the feel of Billy’s skin was distracting, warm, muscled, a little hairy on his arms and legs, and softer over his stomach and ass. Billy curled away from Steve’s hands on his abs.

“Quit it,” he mumbled. “You don’t care if I do my crunches, right, if I’m not...cut,” and Steve shook his head, running his knuckles over the soft curls that crept out of Billy’s pajama pants toward his bellybutton.

“Nah, you’re perfect,” he said honestly. “You’d be perfect if you turned into that blueberry from the Willy Wonka movie, y’know.”

“...s’weird you don’t give a shit,” Billy sighed, his whole body flushed with alcohol as he watched Steve’s knuckles stroke his side softly.

“If you’re too pretty, people are gonna keep following you home,” Steve told him. “And what if I just like, see you when I’m onstage, and I drop my guitar?”

Billy burst into cackling laughter, his eyes wide. “You think I’m pretty?” he asked breathlessly, and Steve snorted a laugh.

“I have eyes, man,” he told him, and Billy’s smile widened, lazy and delighted.

“You think I’m pretty,” he mumbled, still giggling.

“Of course I do,” Steve told him, reaching up to tuck Billy’s hair behind his ear, and cupping his warm, stubbly cheek to feel him smile. “You’d probably look way better in those thongs,” he sighed. “I look like a moron who forgot to wash his own underwear. Or like, those bastards at the laundromat, you know, that just steal whatever, and you’re like ‘what the hell did you want with one of every sock’.”

“Y-you put them on,” Billy choked out, pushing himself back upright to stare at Steve’s face, and Steve scrambled back, licking his lips. “You wore them?!”

“Uh,” Steve said, his cheeks heating. “I mean, just—just in case you were serious, I wanted it to fit.”

“...I wanna see,” Billy said, drunk and sincere, and Steve couldn’t believe those wide, hazy eyes were lying to him.

He grimaced. “Whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably gonna look more stupid than that.”

“It’s gonna be a religious experience,” Billy said, patting around the bed for his phone, and Steve groaned, rubbing his face.

“Why don’t you wear ‘em,” he tried, “—if you like the damn things so much.”

“You said,” Billy huffed, still slapping the bed for his phone, and pouting, so Steve sighed, grabbed Billy’s phone, slapped it into his outstretched hand, and dropped his pants. Billy made a noise like he’d swallowed a leaking helium balloon, and Steve heard the camera shutter noise.

“You send anybody that picture and I’ll—” break your face, was Steve’s first thought, but then he remembered Billy’s bruises. “—I’ll order pineapple and anchovies on every pizza for the next year.”

“...hurting yourself to hurt me,” Billy huffed.

“I can gag it down,” Steve told him triumphantly, and yanked his briefs off, to another strangled sound from Billy, and more shutter noises. “...I mean it, though, don’t send blackmail pictures to Robin.”

“...blackmail pictures,” Billy said weakly, as Steve set his jaw, closed his eyes, and pulled on the blue thong. His t-shirt partly covered it, thank god, he thought, because his dick was aware there was somebody on his bed even if Billy was a dude, and the friction of the satin was weird, so he had kind of the beginning of a hard-on. He sighed. Billy swallowed, his throat clicking like he needed something to drink. “...take the t-shirt off,” he whispered, and Steve stared back at him.

“Seriously?! You can see how it fits!”

“Come on,” Billy whispered, and Steve groaned, but yanked his t-shirt over his head to more shutter noises. He tried to ignore his stupid cock thinking fancy underwear meant anything on him, and stared past Billy at the ugly 80’s pink and grey motel art. “...you look like somebody’s pulling your teeth,” Billy said.

“...the hell you want,” Steve gritted out. “I look like an idiot.”

“Well, they got me to fucking...agree to marry you, right, you could look like it wasn’t the shittiest day of your life,” Billy said, glowering at his phone, and Steve sighed.

“Okay, what then? Should I like. Pose,” he asked, flexing half-heartedly, and Billy took a weird jerky breath.

“...you really...think you look bad in those,” he rasped out, and Steve snorted a laugh, frowning down.

“I’ve got elastic up my ass,” he said, squirming. “I’m not even sure how I thought they were sexy on women anymore, jesus.”

“You look like a centerfold,” Billy said hoarsely, and Steve—who’d spent nearly a year wondering whether he wanted to be around Billy or just be Billy—felt better instantly.

“...really?!” Steve asked, staring down at his untanned (compared to Billy’s) stomach, and his uninked arms. “...yeah, I’m hot, right?” he asked, laughing with relief. “I know I’m hot, huh, not everybody can look like you.” He twisted his body into a tits-and-ass superheroine pose, pursing his lips at Billy, who made a noise in his throat like he was dying. Steve snickered, and stuck his arm out and up to the side like he was Superman. “Truth, justice, and the American way,” he said, and Billy snorted a high-pitched laugh.

He’d half-covered his face, but he was still snapping pictures, and Steve couldn’t help wanting him to laugh harder, because Billy was cute, pink-cheeked with drink, giggling. Steve spread his arms, hearkening back to a long-ago role in the school production of My Fair Lady. “I have often slept/in this room before,” he began, throwing his arms wide, “—but the carpet always stayed beneath my feet before. All at once am IIIII/several stories hiiiiiigh/knowing I’m in the room where you aaaaare—” he sang, and Billy burst out laughing, letting himself fall backwards on the bed cackling, his hands over his face.

Steve climbed up on the bed again, sitting on Billy’s legs like they were five, and kept going. “AND OHHHHHH, THE TOWERING FEELING,” he belted out, “—JUST TO KNOOOOW/SOMEHOW YOU ARE NEAR—”

Billy shoved at him, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, and turning a little to bury his face in the pillows.

Steve beamed, taking a quick breath. “THE OHHHHVERPOWERING FEELING/THAT ANY SECOND YOU MAY SUDDENLY APPEAR—” he paused, because the neighbors were banging on the walls again, and put his hands on his hips.

“Oh my god,” Billy wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Stop, stop, before they throw us out, jesus christ you fucking loon.”

“Maybe they prefer Elton John,” Steve said thoughtfully, opening his mouth to try some of Your Song, and Billy tackled him to the bed, both hands over Steve’s mouth, which was suddenly kind of awkward, as Steve remembered he was wearing only a thong. He tried to sort of hum that he was disarmed and un-dangerous, but Billy glowered suspiciously, leaning harder to hold his hands over Steve’s mouth, his mouth still quirked as he shook a little with suppressed snickering.

Steve tried not to squirm. Billy’s pajama pants were soft and thin, and Steve could feel thigh muscles through them. Billy’s butt hovered right over his dick, barely bound by the scrap of satin and lace, and it was hard to think of anything but that couple of inches of space between Billy feeling safe as friends, and finding out Steve got idiotically turned on by people thinking he was funny and hot.

Billy was panting, still out of breath from laughing, his chest and abs flexing right before Steve’s eyes, so he closed them, feeling the heat spread over his face. “You gonna behave?” he hissed, and Steve considered shaking his head, so Billy would just...stay on top of him, maybe, maybe fell asleep there, while Steve spent an agonizing night trying not to squirm and Billy breathed contentedly into his neck.

He nodded, instead, and Billy pushed himself up to stretch.

“You’re insane,” he commented.

“Everybody serenades fiances,” Steve said indignantly. “I could read you poetry instead.”

“Holy fuck, no,” Billy hissed, reaching to slap a hand over Steve’s face again, and Steve kissed his hand. He snatched it back like Steve had burned him, swinging his leg off Steve to curl his whole body into the pillows, groaning. “Why are you like this,” he sighed, still laughing.

“You love me,” Steve pointed out, biting his lip uncertainly, and Billy sighed again.

“Yeah.”

Steve dropped down next to him, his shoulder against Billy’s back, and imagined he and Billy in their suits. “We got a fitting tomorrow,” he said softly. “For the suits.”

“...yeah, I know,” Billy said, leaning back against him. “You gonna wear the blue thong? Something borrowed and everything?”

Steve laughed. “Oh. I was thinking white lace. Weddings. Y’know.”

“You...thought about it,” Billy mumbled.

“Dude, I’ve done nothing but think about it,” Steve told him, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I keep thinking you’re gonna say it was all a joke. Thongs, seriously? I’ll wear ‘em every damn day if it keeps you around, man.”

“...bro,” Billy said, laughing into his pillow with kind of a whine.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, grimacing. He swung his legs off the bed, and grabbed his jeans off the floor. “I’m gonna shower,” he told Billy, who was sounding sleepy, and saw what was probably a nod.

In the bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror again, and felt less shitty about being a man in satin and lace, because really, people could just...wear things, he figured, it wasn’t like the fabric cared. Billy’d looked happy as he laughed, and Steve smiled at the thought, and flexed again in the mirror. He was half-tempted to get a little apron or something and make Billy laugh his ass off again.

His dick still hadn’t gotten the message that it wouldn’t be getting any action, and he tried to ignore it fully peeking over the top of the elastic, and the damp spot from his reaction to getting thrown down on a bed. It’d be actually and metaphorically hard to sleep next to Billy without taking care of it, though, and he let himself thumb over the tip, biting back a groan, and trying not to think anything weird about Billy’s weight on him, or the muscles of his forearms as he held Steve down by the face.

He reminded himself of Tommy shoving his hand away, and stalking out of his life, and tried to think about tits as he climbed in the shower, his shoulders hunched.

The feeling wasn’t really the same, he told himself—he knew what he was feeling, watching a woman squeeze into a dress, and thinking about peeling her out of it, but it’d never been clear, as he tried to dress up like Han Solo, what exactly he wanted—to kiss him, or be him, or just be...as cool as him, or maybe just to have a janky spaceship to share with his very best friend.

He peeled out of the thong, his cheeks burning, and stepped into the shower, soaping his hand up. It only took a few yanks before he came over his fingers, thinking annoyingly neither of Billy nor an anonymous woman’s mouth, but ofTommy, how he’d shoved Steve against the doorjamb, and said “Yeah, why shouldn’t I go over to Carol’s again? What you got that’s better than her, huh?”

Steve had been bewildered when Tommy started yanking at his pants, but also drunk, and horny from the porn. The woman onscreen was still panting and begging, her tits jiggling, and it was hot with the heat of an Indiana summer, but their beers were cold. The sound of distant frogs nearly drowned out the grunting on the screen. Tommy’s hands were hot and tight, and at nineteen it didn’t take much. Steve’d woken deep under the surface of a hangover, looking around at his limp, sticky cock half out of his pants, and taken a shower before he even remembered what had happened the night before.

Tommy’d never picked up his calls again.

It hadn’t even been his idea, Steve didn’t think, scrubbing at his hair as his brain went over the familiar ground—Tommy’d yanked at his jeans, while Steve stared like a drunk idiot. He tried to remember—again—whether he’d leaned in too far, or seemed too willing, and growled, sticking his head under the showerhead.

After he towelled off, he slid into bed behind Billy, and slid an arm around him. Billy snorted powerfully, smacking his lips, and rolled over to grapple Steve in closer, smacking a kiss to Steve’s jaw. “...love...babe,” he mumbled, nuzzling his head into Steve’s neck, and tossing a thigh over his legs.

Steve lay motionless, his heart pounding, staring at the ceiling.

In the morning, Billy insisted they couldn’t be fitted together, and see each other before the wedding. Then he drove home.

After the gig the next night, Steve drove home after him. He slowed as he passed Billy’s apartment, but it was four-fifteen in the morning, and he was pretty sure that was grounds for divorce.

He couldn’t stop grinning, and typing text drafts to Billy he didn’t send, and checking the time, so finally he just cleaned—he scrubbed the whole fridge, and pulled all the popsicles and discount steak out to defrost the freezer. If he’d been female, he thought, with kind of a shivery feeling in his stomach, he’d have eaten the popsicles when Billy was over—just sucked them down until he gave himself brain freeze, leaning his head back so Billy could see the muscles working in his cheeks and throat. Steve bit his lips together, sighing, and gripped the counter, wishing the stupid, useless image wasn’t stuck in his head.

The sheets smelled kinda stale, so he washed them, and put another load of laundry in, before checking the time again, seeing it was too early to take Billy any breakfast, and flopping face-first on the couch with a groan.

He awoke to his phone ringing, and answered in a grunted slur of syllables even he couldn’t identify. It was Joyce Byers’ voice, he registered, his brain feeling like its tires were spinning in mud.

“Billy’s sick,” she told him. “He sounds awful. He’s by himself.”

“Enh,” Steve said. “Grungh.”

“...I thought you might be on the road,” she said. “Weren’t you coming back today?”

“M’I’m,” Steve mumbled, and rolled half on his side to prop himself up. “M’here. Drove...las’night.”

“Sorry to wake you, sweetie,” she said, sounding suspiciously like she was laughing. “He’s just as impatient to see you, hon. That’s why I called. He was smiling all night. I had to pinch his pink cheeks.”

“...my pink cheeks,” Steve muttered indignantly, and she laughed again.

“Go take him some cold medicine, okay? Maybe something hot to eat?”

Steve slapped his face a few times to try and get his brain back online, blinked, and frowned worriedly. “Is—is he okay?”

“Sounds like a question for the man himself. We’ve got this, if you don’t want to come in tonight,” she said. “Tell him not to worry about anything, and feel better!”

“O-okay,” Steve said, nodding.

“Make him take a nap too, sweetie,” she said, and hung up. Steve blinked at his phone, and then called Billy.

He didn’t answer.

Steve grimaced, sat down to work on the chords for his nearly-finished song, couldn’t focus, and cleaned the garage. He tried again an hour later, and got no response, so he waited a couple more hours, did all the dishes, and scrubbed the stove.

He kept thinking about being sick, and he started to want soup, so he rummaged through his cupboards, and then pulled out the cookbook Joyce had helped him pick out when he first started living on his own. It had chicken soup in it, and Steve studied the ingredients carefully, jotting them down.

When he got to the part of the recipe that said ‘if using noodles, add them now,’ he stalled out, staring helplessly. He side-eyed the phone, and didn’t call again—Billy was probably asleep, he reminded himself, and there Steve was, waking him up every god damn hour.

He went out and bought sick-person groceries—the soup ingredients, obviously. Kleenex, benadryl, cough syrup, cough drops—and popsicles in case Billy had a sore throat. He got two whole boxes, resolutely not thinking about either of them actually eating them. He got a loaf of bread to slice for thick crunchy toast, and a carton of eggs to soft-boil. He threw some fluffy slippers by the register in, and then circled around again when he remembered tea.

When he knocked on Billy’s door, he kept it fairly quiet, and busied himself setting up a bag with all the things Billy might want—there was no point in giving a sick person the raw carrots for the chicken soup. Just as he was trying to remember whether Billy had a toaster oven, the door opened, and Billy stared down at him, wrapped in a blanket. His nose and lips were red, chapped and peeling.

“Sorry I woke you up, I’ll go away,” Steve told him, standing up, and grabbing both bags of groceries. “But I just need to ask, rice or noodles?”

“Why are you going away,” Billy croaked.

“I, um,” Steve stumbled, uncertain. “But uh, I’m—I’m making chicken soup, so: rice, or noodles?”

“...you’re making me soup?” Billy sighed, leaning against the door jamb. “...what are you doing out here?”

“I brought you stuff,” Steve told him, wincing. “Uh, is it—can I come in?” Billy backed away, tottering over to blow his nose, and Steve came in and kicked the door shut with his feet.

It was both humid and cold, and Steve grimaced into the dim light, watching Billy curl up on the corner of the couch in his jeans and the sweatshirt from their work. He was surrounded by used kleenex. “...I brought…” Steve trailed off, as Billy tried to tuck the blanket over his toes, and not pull it off his head. “...why’s it so cold in here?” he asked, and Billy’s head jerked up.

“It’s fucking cold, right?! I knew the fucking thermostat wasn’t working—” he stopped, sighing.

“Okay, no,” Steve announced. “You’re coming to my place. I promise not to make you sign any, like, prenuptials, come on.”

“...I’m sick,” Billy told him, petulantly, as Steve found his shoes.

“That would be why,” Steve told him, battling to get one arm out of the blanket at a time, and push Billy’s arms into his coat. “You can figure out the thermostat later—I’ll call and fight with them, if you want—but I can see my breath in here.”

Billy submitted to being bundled down the stairs in untied shoes, his coat on, and his blanket wrapped around it, and Steve loaded the groceries back in, handing Billy the box of tissues.

“So,” Steve asked, as he shifted into reverse. “Noodles or rice? I bought both. We could try both, I guess,” he said, considering, and then realized Billy was trying to cover a laugh, which turned into a racking cough. He sounded like the seals at the zoo.

“I don’t give a shit,” he said, finally, when he could talk.

All my Harringrove fic!

[im-whatchamccallit]

You Get Injured During a Performance//ATEEZ

(A/N: I hate that I type the way I talk. I feel like it doesn’t make sense to other people lol)

Hongjoong

You laid on the stage with your arm covering your eyes as the lights were too bright for your liking, shaking and sweating as you struggled to breathe, your senses going into overload from the adrenaline pumping through your body. You were doing a performance for MAMA and obviously wanted your group to stand out, your company deciding an acrobatic-based performance would be the best way to go. Unfortunately, you allowed your hand to slip beneath you during your backflips, landing on your back with an audibly agonizing thud, any attempt at standing causing a bolt of pain to hit you, your body giving up as you remained still.

It took two minutes for everyone to notice you were immobile and still on the ground, the music ending abruptly and lights shutting off as your group members and staff scrambled to your side. You could hear all the concerned commotion, your lips trembling in an attempt to speak and finally mustering up a weak ‘everything hurts’. Your words echoed throughout the blacked out room before the staff hurriedly turned off your mic, not wanting to raise any more concern with the artist waiting in confusion, but their hopes were pretty much ignored as Hongjoong rushed from his seat and towards the stage, ignoring the few people attempting to stop him on his way to you.

It felt like a scene in a movie, but Hongjoong couldn’t tell if it was romance or horror, his eyes widening as someone rushed to place an oxygen mask over your face, informing everyone that she had called for paramedics. There was a strange feeling in Hongjoong’s chest, having seen you bedridden from the flu and your period, but this felt more extreme and the pressure was starting to weigh on him. But watching you cry and wince with each breath made the leader in him take charge, crouching down to your side and grabbing onto your hand, your arm trying to move from your face to see who was beside you.

“It’s okay, (Y/n), it’s me. You’re gonna be okay.”

“J-joong… I can’t breathe.”

“I know, but the paramedics are coming soon and they’ll get you to the hospital and you’ll be better.” He was lying through his teeth, uncertain of how this entire situation would play out. He bit his bottom lip to hold back all the emotions he truly felt when your hand squeezed his, knowing it’d be a matter of time before they spilled out.

“Are you going with me?”

“Of course I am. I’m staying with you until you’re alright.”

“Excuse me!” A female voice called through the commotion, three other people dressed in uniforms approaching before squatting down to your level.

Hongjoong reluctantly released your hand, allowing them to carefully lift you onto the gurney, replacing the studio provided oxygen mask with one of their own, your arm now at your side allowing you to glance around for the one person that said they’d be there with you.

“I’m right behind you, baby, don’t worry.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his cheerful and hopeful tone turned to desperation and fear, his gaze turning to the paramedic closest to him.

“Will it be alright if I ride along with her?”

The woman exchanged a few words with the others assisting you, turning back to him and nodding, Hongjoong not wasting a second to be at your side once more.

Seonghwa

You let out a breath of relief as the staff finally set you into a sofa backstage, adjusting your body so that your ankle was elevated with a pillow beneath it.

You were embarrassed that you tripped during your performance that required you to wear 8 inch stilettos, but applauded yourself for powering through, although your dance break was probably laughable considering you couldn’t put weight on your left foot, your ankle throbbing in agonizing pain before you collapsed just as it was all over.

Unfortunately, your mishap and pain didn’t go unnoticed, Seonghwa practically bursting through the door and rushing to your side, his eyes filled with worry as you tried hard not to roll yours. Seonghwa has a habit of being a bit overdramatic, his behavior making a somewhat minor situation go from manageable to unbearable and, right now, you were praying it’d stay manageable.

“Are you okay, baby? Do you need medicine? Pain killers? Water? Can someone bring her a wate-“

“I’m fine!” You snapped, trying to keep your voice at a low and calm level, glancing to the man sitting next to you that refused to relax his panicked face.

“I’m heading to the hospital soon, they’ll do an x-ray, let me know I’m fine, and I’ll be back in my dorm safe and sound.” You reassured him knowing he needed it more than you.

“Okay... but you should head there now. You know that what feels like a normal sprain could be something much worse?”

“Seonghwa...” You warned, knowing he’ll say something completely out of pocket that’ll make you just as scared as him.

“I think sometimes the bone completely breaks and can damage the nerves and tissue, then your foot will have to be amputated.”

“Seonghwa!” You cried, the idea that the sharp pain you felt was possibly your fragile bones no longer being functional, you attempting to dance on it causing bits and pieces of it to break off and pierce the surrounding meat. That didn’t sound logical or right, but you were a firm believer that anything could happen.

“But we need to stay positive. I’ll be the positivity we both need.” Seonghwa’s once scared demeanor shifted to a comforting, almost nonchalant one, wrapping his arms around you to soothe your now terrified form.

Yunho

Unfortunately, Ateez had to perform at the same awards show as your group, so when you suddenly dropped on stage in pain before your group members rushed to carry you backstage, he wasn’t allowed to aid you. It was even worse when you texted him you were at the hospital, Yunho feeling deflated considering you two were just feet apart as it happened but he couldn’t check on you then and there.

He didn’t even wait until the awards were over, leaving immediately after their stage to be by your side, not sure what to expect once seeing you. He could only picture the kind of distress you’d be in, the pained expression and yell you let out on stage replaying in his mind.

But, upon meeting you, you were sitting in bed with a cup of jello, almost four empty cups of the same snack on a bedside tray as you stared at the television in amusement, finally noticing the frantic boy’s presence.

“You came! Come here!” You said excitedly, Yunho confused as to why you weren’t in tears about your leg that was currently suspended by a sling, but he washed the bewilderment away to smile at you, telling himself that as long as you were alright, there was no need to freak out.

“I’m guessing you’re okay?” He questioned, moving closer to your bed while debating if he should lay next to you, opting to stand and just hold your hand once you placed your spoon and gelatin down.

“Yeah, they said it may just be a meniscus tear. Once they come back with the x-ray, they’ll let me know if I need surgery.”

“S-surgery?” Yunho reminded himself to stay calm, trying to find anything to say to keep the moment lighthearted for your sake.

“Uh.. well, all the best dancers get injured like this, so... good job on being the best.” He said as confidently as he could, mindlessly raising his hand to give you a high five in an attempt to seem normal and hide his concern, your palm meeting his with your usual bright smile as you obviously couldn’t read his emotions.

Yunho mentally slapped himself for making the situation relaxed to almost unimportant, his panic worsening now that you were even more at ease with your condition despite neither of you having any idea what the results would bring.

Yeosang

“I told you not to go out there when you told me you were already in pain, and what do you do?” Yeosang said bitterly, watching as you lied on your stomach in the hospital bed, avoiding his gaze.

“I went out there...” you muttered sadly, trying to turn onto your side to further avoid the obvious anger radiating from his body.

“Stay still.” You immediately stopped at the command, feeling like a child being scolded by their parent at this point.

You had told Yeosang weeks prior that you were having back pain, a stiffness that you relieved with an hour or two of yoga before continuing on to practice, only for the pain to return. It’s been like this for months and you thought it wouldn’t be an issue, that is until you were due to perform and the pain hit you with the intensity of a semi-truck, your body collapsing as you blacked out for almost an hour, awakened in a hospital bed with no real recollection of the previous events.

You knew Yeosang was worried about you and, even if his tone was stern and angry, he was honestly scared. He knew you were a hard worker and always pushed through your pain as if it were no big deal, trusting that you knew your body better than he did, but seeing you groaning that your legs and lower back hurt from the years of strain put on your clearly exhausted body, was the final straw for him.

“You won’t be promoting for the next comeback and maybe even the one after that. You need to rest.” He said in a definite tone, your eyes rolling at the sudden authoritative behavior.

“You know you have no control over that. Besides, we already recorded everything for the album. I won’t make them redo everything because-“

“They have time to re-record everything and you need to take it easy, because your group won’t last if the doctor tells you your spine is still as fucked up as it was last year!”

The once strict voice wasn’t strict anymore, but laced in concern and exhaustion, Yeosang tired of having to pretend you can handle this on your own knowing you were just on the verge of destroying your body. You swallowed hard and tried to ignore the heat rising to your face, slightly embarrassed from the admonishment but also now realizing you were selfishly causing distress to not only your group and yourself but to your boyfriend who could barely concentrate during his own practices because of his anxiety. Besides, a few months off work didn’t seem too bad, right?

“Can you at least tell them I’m sorry?” Your voice was small, head turned away to keep Yeosang from seeing your tear-brimmed eyes, but he slowly places his hand to your head and massaged your scalp gently to soothe you.

“Of course.”

San

They told you the performance would be so cool if you and your members arrived on stage from a rising platform, and it was, until the platform slowly sank back down in the middle of said performance, leaving an open space that caused you to fall down a 3-feet deep trap door and onto your knees, everyone’s eyes widening as they watched you disappear in the blink of an eye.

While the show kept going, everyone slowly starting to wonder what exactly just happened, San was looking to his members in panic, asking them if you’d be okay and if he should check on you. He knew how trap doors worked and how a harsh impact like that, even from a short distance, would hurt, and it only made him freak out more.

Because Ateez’s popularity was at an all time high recently, Hongjoong advised him to stay for the remainder of the show, not wanting to make a bad impression or cause an unnecessary and stupid scandal. So San stayed, taking deep breaths while forcing a smile and his usually hyped behavior for the cameras while his mind kept drifting to you, wondering if you were alright and the fall wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But then, a miracle came, a break for all idols and guest to head to the restroom if needed.

San didn’t waste a second before sprinting out of the area and towards the backstage rooms, not sure of where you were but not bothering to ask any of the staff either. His ears picked up on a familiar voice just next to him, the tone whiny and almost annoyed, the same voice you used whenever you couldn’t have your way.

“I was just trying to get an ice pack!”

“We’ll bring it to you but you can’t move! Your knee is really swollen!” The leader of your group said firmly, your eyes shutting to keep you from rolling them.

Sure, you were in pain since your left knee took most of the impact, but everyone crowding around you made you feel frazzled, almost like you needed to escape. It was unbearable. Your eyes opened to the sound of San’s hurried but gentle greetings to everyone, sitting at your side and carefully moving your legs to lay across his lap, the angle much more comfortable than you sitting upright.

“Are you okay?” San asked, his eyes scanning you before landing on your knee, bright red with yellow and blue undertones, an almost inaudible gasp leaving his lips.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just swollen. But I’m kinda being held prisoner here.” You half-joked, eyeing your leader as she handed you the cold plastic packet, San grabbing it first to apply it to your bruise.

“How about we go back out to watch the rest of the awards? There’ll be enough space for you to breathe.”

“What? She needs to go to the hospital, San!” She said, seeing this all before and not dealing with it again.

“It’s only a swollen knee.” He defended, not listening to her as he scooted you further onto his lap and wrapped his arms around you, preparing to carry you back to the seating area, knowing he’s spent too much time there.

“And it will only get worse if not treated properly. You always give her what she wants when she’s whiny like this but it’s not what she needs.”

San thought over her words. He did always give you what you wanted when you were hurt or sick, knowing it wouldn’t heal you but surely make you feel better. But if he did what was best, you’d probably be upset with him, something he wasn’t very fond of. But he was running out of time and needed to make a choice now, for better or worse.

“Just text me when you guys leave the hospital, okay?”

Your jaw dropped in shock and anger while your leader smirked triumphantly, helping to move you from San so your manager could carry you to his car, your glare never leaving San’s while you left the room and headed in opposite directions. All he could do now was mentally prepare for the attitude you’d give him later.

Mingi

The lightening techs were positive they checked that the light fixtures were secure. They were POSITIVE they were secure. So why did one fall right next to you, hitting your shoulder in the process as it dragged you down? It was a miracle when you managed to get up, gripping your shoulder in pain as you tried to continue performing, looking up at each light and flinching as you stood beneath them, terrified that the next time it fell, you wouldn’t get up at all.

Your professionalism was applauded despite the fact a few staff members were probably getting chewed out for the mishap, your body dragging itself off stage as you ignored the sometimes dull but sometimes noticeably sharp throbbing.

Watching you rebound from that made Mingi believe you were fine, a bit shaken up but not too scarred, but he also watched as you clutched your arm as you hurried off stage, obviously not being as alright as he first thought. Some minutes passed before you were in your regular attire and heading back to your seat just behind and the rest of Ateez, his eyes finding yours as you gave a reassuring smile.

“Is your arm okay?” He asked, turning to give you his full attention as you looked to the exposed side of your one shouldered dress, a large bruise forming on the skin that was originally clear.

“I think it’s okay. Wanna touch it?” You smirked, leaning forward so he could get a better look at it.

You seemed fine but he was hesitant, looking between the purple and yellow blemish to your amused face. What if there was some internal damage and him touching it made it worse? What if a single touch managed to dislocate your shoulder? So many thoughts were running through his mind and you rolled your eyes impatiently.

“I won’t die, Mingi. Just touch it.” You insisted.

The frightened boy finally gave in and gently pressed it with his index finger, an alarmingly loud cry leaving your mouth and drawing the attention of people nearby, his face filling with horror and panic as he apologized repeatedly, a grin breaking out on your face as you laughed loudly, showing that you weren’t sore in anyway, having took pain killers as soon as you were off stage.

Mingi huffed, pouting angrily before turning back to the awards, no longer wanting to be bothered with your pranks. Even with you apologizing and admitting it did kinda hurt, he was unsure of what to believe, opting to not touch you at all.

Wooyoung

It was the most heart wrenching, blood curling noise Wooyoung has ever heard, his body bolting up immediately as you let out the pained screech before collapsing to the ground, hands gripping and clawing at your head, your group members trying so desperately to carry on but everyone was distracted by the scene, none of them sure of what had just occurred.

Your manager quickly rushed on stage to grab you, dragging you away as the others continued, your teeth gritting in pain from the sudden electric shock your earpiece gave. You were set into a chair just off stage, being offered water or anything else to calm you down but you were in shock (no pun intended), unable to concentrate on anyone or anything as your ear rang violently, and all you could do was try to bring yourself back to reality.

And Wooyoung was just the same as you. Your hands moved so fast to throw your earpiece away that no one seemed to notice, their final judgement that you had some breakdown mid-performance, the rumors and allegations already brewing and he could do nothing but sit by and listen. Where was the sympathy? Why was everyone more worried about whether you were crazy than if you were fine and not overworking yourself? It was beginning to piss him off and the boys were the ones to get an earful of his anger.

Instead of waiting to see if you’d be fine, he stormed out of the large atrium and made his way backstage, luckily running into you immediately to see you staring at the ground, your manager and group members at your side while staff occasionally stopped by to make sure you were fine. Wooyoung didn’t hesitate to approach, practically pushing everyone away as he kneeled in front of you, his hands holding onto yours as his concerned eyes bore into your distant ones.

“Baby, are you alright? What happened?” He asked softly, watching your eyes flicker to him and show the first sign of life since you were brought back.

“M-my earpiece malfunctioned and shocked me. I couldn’t really hear for a bit but I’m fine now.” You gave a small smile, hoping to reassure all of them you were fine but it wasn’t fooling anyone, your face dropping once again as you spoke lowly, admitting you thought you were deaf considering the silence lasted for five minutes.

Wooyoung didn’t bother to speak anymore, knowing the last place you’d want to be is here in front of so many people after something scary like that, his hands guiding you to stand with him before informing everyone he’d be taking you home, not waiting on their objections before leading you out, much to your relief.

Jongho

Going solo from your group was a terrifying yet exciting experience, even more so when you were set to perform alone for an awards show. You’ve dreamt of this moment ever since you were a kid, and now it was finally coming true, every thing you trained so hard for coming together. Until one of your back up dancers ruined it.

Considering you typically danced with eight other girls at your side, the eight dancers behind, a good mix of male and female, made up for the obvious absence. But throughout all the rehearsals and times you’ve done this routine with them, one of the men misstepped, the spacing between you and him way too close. You held the mic at an angle to capture your voice perfectly, somewhere between your nose and upper lip, his arms swinging outwards and knocking the mic harshly into your face. The impact was heavy, the shifting of your nose being felt as you stumbled backwards, clutching your face that was now leaking crimson.

Ateez were preparing in the backstage area to perform after the next few awards were given but all preparation stopped as staff and members alike watched as you bled out on the stage from the television hanging in the wall’s upper corner, the dancers rushing to your side to assist you as you tried hard to not cry, instead apologizing into the microphone to the various artist and fans that were in attendance.

You had worked so hard for that stage and it was ruined in a matter of minutes. Jongho’s heart clenched at the thought that you were probably beating yourself up over this, knowing you won’t get a second chance or a redo for something that wasn’t your fault. Everything happened so fast, that they didn’t even realize two MCs came to name the nominees for the awards. Jongho excused himself from the room, knowing he only had a few minutes before he had to go out.

It wasn’t hard for him to find you, following the sound of loud sobs that were just a few feet away, Jongho calmly approaching to see you leaning against a wall with blood stained tissue in both nostrils, your eye makeup running as your tears continued to flow, your already difficult and harsh breathing turning to hiccups. You were a disaster, and it was exactly what Jongho prepared for.

You didn’t realize it was him holding onto you until you looked up, only causing you to sob more, even more disappointed in yourself that he had to see your first award show performance go down in flames.

“I messed up!”

“It wasn’t your fault.” He reassured you, rubbing his hands along your back as you buried your face in his neck, potentially ruining his outfit but that was the least of his concerns.

Jongho slowly lifted your head to look at you. Besides the fact your nose was currently crooked, probably broken from the mic, he still thought you were beautiful. Although the moment didn’t seem appropriate for vain compliments, he knew he had to at least comfort you for the time being and this was just the way to do it.

“Hey, pretty girls shouldn’t cry. It’ll ruin your make up.”

“Why not? Everything else is already ruined...”

“But if it’s like your make up, we can fix it, it’s just gonna take some time.” He spoke softly, your eyes meeting his as he carefully used his thumb as to wipe away a few stray tears.

The sound of heavy footsteps in both directions alarmed the two of you, Seonghwa and Yeosang behind Jongho telling him they needed to hurry and apply their mics and earpieces before they went on, your manager behind you saying his car was ready to take you to the hospital. You looked at Jongho with an expression that silently begged him to stay with you, him being the only person to calm you down from your literal shitshow. But he knew better, wanting to be both a good boyfriend and responsible for his own career simultaneously. Again, he was prepared for this.

“I have to go, but you’ll text me when you get there and I’ll text you when I’m on my way. And no more crying, okay?”

His tone was firm but light. You gave a somewhat confident nod before he pulled you into another snug but gentle embrace, slowly releasing you to allow your manager to guide you out the emergency exit, turning on his own heels to catch up to his hyungs.

Jongho was fairly proud of himself for how he handled the situation, not certain that if the injury were much worse that he’d be as cool, but that was something he hoped he’d never have to face, especially with you.

[kbstories]

impression//expression

"It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone."

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Post-Kamino Arc, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Kiri Has A Dog Because I Said So

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Content warning for anxiety attacks and discussions thereof. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

Kirishima comes to sunlight shining on his face and an armful of Bakugou.

It’s not a sudden jolt of consciousness that alerts him of this. His brain comes online one synapse at a time with how all-around cozy he is, bundled up in comfortably warm covers with Bakugou’s head nestled in the crook of his neck, his arm wrapped loosely around Kirishima’s waist. In actuality, Kirishima slept so well it’s legitimately hard to get himself to wake up beyond lazily squinting an eye against that bright glare.

Which is why his first move is to pull the blanket up higher and snuggle closer to his Bakugou-shaped pillow. Bakugou, for his part, breathes something between a mumble and a sigh and slumbers on.

Out like a light. He’s onto something there, Kirishima muses. For a while, he lets himself drift to the calm two-step beat of Bakugou’s heart keeping time against his chest, the gentle tickle of Bakugou’s hair under his chin. Blissful oblivion nips at the edges of his mind; his body can’t quite get there, though, that pesky bit of awareness clinging to existence despite his best efforts.

Urgh, fine.

Kirishima blinks with a little more purpose behind it. His vision is blurred from overall drowsiness and the murky half-dark the blanket provides. Bakugou is easy to make out regardless, face slack and close enough Kirishima can see the minute shift of blonde lashes as he snoozes. It’s the residue redness around his eyes that nudges Kirishima’s brain to wonder and think and remember–

Blue fire. Unread texts. The hospital, Kamino Ward, All Might. Bakugou.

All at once, the sight of Bakugou passed out in his arms is anything but a peaceful one. It’s intimate in a way Kirishima suddenly feels uncomfortable with, not because he doesn’t like it – in his educated opinion, any day starting with cuddling is good by default – but because Bakugou is the least touch-y person he knows and this is crossing so many lines. All the lines.

Lines drawn by unspoken rules and implicit understandings Kirishima learned by sheer trial and error. All those other times Bakugou let his guard down around him seem like peanuts compared to this.

But… Bakugou is resting. Catching up on untold amounts of missed sleep, looking far more relaxed than Kirishima could’ve hoped for. Perhaps it would’ve been better to ensure he makes it to his own bed instead of sharing the pull-out couch; perhaps Kirishima shouldn’t have pushed when things are so fresh. Kirishima’s hands ache to move from between Bakugou’s shoulders yet letting him go feels wrong, too.

It was far too easy, last time. To sit there and bicker in class while Bakugou faded from view, mere miles away.

The dread roiling within him is familiar, as are the maybes and what-ifs that accompany it. It returns like an old friend, the thought of losing him to people who mistake his violence for villainy, who disregard the good shining at Bakugou’s very core in favor of the hurt his hands can cause. The brightest star in the sky, burning, desperate to be seen, to be acknowledged.

It makes Kirishima restless, this feeling – like the air is growing thin and the ground is about to collapse beneath their feet, and it’s up to Kirishima to get them out of there. His blood thrums with the need to fight tooth and nail to keep whatever is causing it away, to shield Bakugou until the shaking stops and the debris settles.

Kirishima has failed Bakugou once already. Not again, never again–

“Think any harder an’ your brain’s gonna melt.”

Kirishima’s heart nearly stops, then jumps into overdrive. A hesitant glance proves that, yup, that’s Bakugou stirring, right there. Bleary-eyed and still far too soft around the edges but awake. Kirishima isn’t ready for this.

He’s also dead. Super dead. Buried-so-deep-nobody-will-ever-find-his-body dead.

He swallows, any sort of greeting escaping his mind except a quiet, “Oh.”

Bakugou yawns and rubs at his eye, a gesture made clumsy with sleepiness. “Mm?” He props himself up, a hand laid flat on Kirishima’s chest. “Calm down, will ya? Your heart’s goin’ like crazy.”

There are no words to describe how impossible that is right now. “Um”, Kirishima says intelligently, and: “Sorry.” A little sheepish, since he can’t exactly help what his heart does (or his brain, for that matter).

He is on the verge of panicking, Kirishima notes dimly. That realization alone does little to chase away the half-formulated doubts threatening to choke him, that inkling of fear that’s on the brink of spiraling out of control. A moment later, he has to consciously unclench his hardened hands from the back of Bakugou’s shirt, which–

Ah. That’s what woke him up.

“Shit. S-sorry, I–”

There’s a frown on Bakugou’s face as he sits up. “Nothing’s goin’ on”, he tells him, calm where Kirishima can’t be. “’s just my room.” Just as deliberate, the covers are pushed aside to allow cool air to flow into their private niche of the world. Everything’s so bright, so–

“Kiri? Hey. Give me your hands.”

It takes considerable effort to focus on Bakugou’s voice. “Whuh?”

“Your hands. Like this.”

Bakugou holds out his own, palm-up. Kirishima does the same, staring blankly at his trembling, rock-hewn fingers. When Bakugou holds his palm, it’s with a touch Kirishima can barely feel. “Focus on this”, a low murmur followed by pressure to the meat of Kirishima’s thumb, faint despite the bones in Bakugou’s wrist showing from the effort. Bakugou slides it upwards and to the webbing connecting to his index, marginally more giving.

“You’re okay. Just breathe. Focus, right here.”

The touch shifts again, down to his wrist. Kirishima lets him do whatever, watching with a detached sort of fascination as his quirk relents. Bakugou’s thumb brushes over the spot where Kirishima’s veins are becoming visible again, the skin there thin and delicate. He digs in, an inch or two from his hand.

It’s a little rougher than before. Not unpleasant, just unexpected, and Kirishima’s fingers twitch. Bakugou’s lips press together. He does it again, notably gentler. “You with me?”

Kirishima hums. The question registers a moment later and he nods for good measure. “Yeah, I– It helps. This.”

“Mh.” Bakugou gestures for his other arm; he starts from his wrist and goes up to his hand this time, eyes on what he’s doing. “Pressure points are useful shit. You got one here”, a pinch to that spot between thumb and index, “and here”, a tap to his wrist. “Works best if it’s someone else doing it but you can, too.”

That sounds vaguely familiar. Perhaps something that came up the last time he googled it? Panic attacks used to be much more of an thing for Kirishima – before he hair-dyed and bench-pressed Red Riot into something more real, more than a distant daydream. More than a scared kid with shitty self-esteem.

(Life’s been manageable, since. Chaotic and distressing in a host of other ways as it swings back and forth between joy and disaster like fate’s cruelest pendulum and actually, it might be a bit of a miracle it took this long for his anxiety to make a comeback.)

Memorizing any new info is beyond Kirishima right now; he strong-arms his braincells to hold onto the term ‘pressure point’, at least. And if Bakugou is sharing, Kirishima figures it’s only fair to share back.

“The one I know is like, deep breathing? And, um. Talking through it. Counting things you can sense. What you see, hear, smell, and so on. It’s just…”

“Hard to do that by yourself, yeah.”

By this point, Bakugou is just brushing his thumb along the lines on Kirishima’s palm and that feels really nice, too. The image of his hands clawing up worn fabric is hard to shake off, though, making Kirishima’s stomach churn with guilt.

“Sorry, man. For waking you up, I mean. And freaking out on you. I didn’t hurt you, right? You’d tell me if I hurt you.”

It’s meant to come out with confidence, because Kirishima trusts Bakugou. It’s trusting himself that's the problem, sometimes.

A groan, long-suffering. “How many times…” Bakugou gives him a look caught between annoyance and fondness. “Kiri. First off, after yesterday, I have no fucking room to complain when it comes to– That. It happens, it sucks, it’s fine. It’s not your fault or whatever. Secondly–”

Kirishima almost chuckles at how pointed that one word is. He shelves the comment on his tongue for after the Bakugou Lecture he’s being treated to.

“I fell asleep on you. Which, my bad but also fuck you, I was tired and some fucking sap wanted to talk feelings at screw-this-AM. There’re no… scratches or anything, and you make an okay pillow for being a literal rock. So, we’re even.”

Kirishima does laugh at that. “I’m not a rock! Get your facts straight, bro.”

“And thirdly”, Bakugou continues with a smirk, “I just turned your hands into bombs, you dumb fucking rock. Either you let me spark it off you or I’m kicking you out to wash it off before that shit goes boom.”

“Spark off?” Head tilting, Kirishima looks at his hands. He doesn’t see anything but if Bakugou says there’s nitro, there’s definitely nitro. “Wait, is that what you do when you…?”

The gesture Bakugou does to let rapid-fire explosions flicker in his palms is easily copied, Kirishima has seen him do it countless times. The other rolls his eyes.

“Yeah. I got tired of getting it all over the place and wearing gloves twenty-four-seven is uncomfortable as fuck, I tried. Plus, burning shit is fun.”

Huh. Kirishima holds out his hands once more, a swift grin on his lips. “Sounds cool. One sparking off, please!”

Bakugou slaps them away immediately. “Use your quirk, dipshit. Or d’you actually wanna get ‘em blown to pieces?”

“Oh. Right.”

Everything under Kirishima’s elbow hardens in an instant. This time, Bakugou huffs under his breath and takes them between his palms. “Here goes.”

A flash, the familiar crackle of firecracker explosions – Kirishima braced himself for it to hurt a little despite Bakugou’s insane control over his quirk, and he does feel it. It tickles, mostly, the sensation of tiny bursts of heat rolling from his fingertips to his wrist a strangely soothing one.

Bakugou looks over his hands when he’s done, the tightness between his brows easing. Then he glances up to Kirishima’s face and sees the smile that’s broad enough to make his cheeks ache. The frown comes back tenfold.

“No.”

“Dude, yes. Do that again.”

“Nope. Fuck you, Shitty Hair, no.”

“You said it’s fun two seconds ago! Checkmate, I win.”

“Kirishima.”

Kirishima snickers until Bakugou’s palm presses against his cheek. It’s basically second nature to harden in time for the explosion to go by harmlessly and oh, this is so going to become a thing.

“It’s a thing now”, he informs Bakugou. “Can it be like our handshake? We totally need a handshake. What kind of besties are we withou–” A gasp. “Oh, oh, we can do the thing after training, too! I won’t even need to wash my hands. It’s fun and useful.”

Bakugou’s face twists. “What the hell? That’s fucking disgusting.” In one fluid movement, he’s out of their blanket nest and stomping off the couch. It would be intimidating… if not for his wrinkled shirt and sleep-mussed hair making it kind of adorable, instead.

“I’m done talking to you.”

“Aww, bro!”

Kirishima crawls half-way over the armrest only to catch a throw pillow – hah! – to the face. Another thud follows, turning out to be Kirishima’s phone tossed from across the room.

“Even mooched off my charger, ugh. You got a million missed messages. Take care of ‘em before your moms call the cops, bro.”

Bakugou's tone is practically drenched in sarcasm but Kirishima doesn’t care, he beams. Bakugou called him his bro and there’re simply no take-backs allowed on a declaration like that.

*

💪🏻 Kirishima Power 💪🏻

Mama K: Honey, are you awake yet? (received 10:10)

Mama K: Your mom and I are ready to come pick you up whenever. (received 11:20)

Mom: also let us know when we can start hunting your teachers for sport (received 11:22)

Mama K: No murder until our son is back, dear. (received 11:22)

Mom: mhmm sure (received 11:23)

aaaa morning!! (sent 11:38)

oh shit it’s almost noon hhhh (sent 11:38)

Mom: language kiddo (received 11:38)

oh crap** sry (sent 11:38)

Mama K: Welcome back! ❤️ (received 11:39)

hey mama ❤️ (sent 11:39)

ok so picking up is good!! we’re eating breakfast rn (sent 11:42)

well more like lunch 🙈 (sent 11:42)

Mama K: Okay! Now or later? (received 11:43)

ah, mitsuki is saying you two should swing by for tea so maybe in an hour? (sent 11:47)

and that the teachers are actually coming here?? later?? idk why tho (sent 11:48)

aside from, y’know (sent 11:48)

Mama K: Yeah 🙁 (received 11:50)

Mom: how’s katsuki holding up? (received 11:50)

umm ok. kinda. he looks tired as heck tbh and i’m not sure how happy he is about the teacher thing (sent 11:55)

it’s all a bit oof (sent 11:56)

Mom: hmm. anything we can do to help? (received 12:01)

def give him his space (sent 12:03)

and maybe don’t kill aizawa @Mom looking at u haha (sent 12:03)

Mom: bummer (received 12:06)

actually… one more thing? 👀 (sent 12:10)

Mama K: You want us to bring the big guns, huh? (received 12:12)

*

After the hellos and introductions and obligatory fussing over Kirishima – Mama gives him her usual forehead kiss, expertly avoiding his freshly-spiked hair, while Mom wraps him in her patented rib-pulverizing hug – the parents go inside, leaving Bakugou and Kirishima in the yard with…

“Riot.”

Kirishima grins and nods. He heaves the hundred pounds of tail-wagging excitement into a more comfortable position against his chest, big paws coming to rest on his shoulders. “Yeah! Isn’t he the cutest?”

“Your dog is called Riot.”

“Yup!”

Bakugou openly stares at Riot’s drooling smile. After a painfully long pause, he goes: “Okay.”

If all it took to make Bakugou speechless was an Akita with an unexpected (?) name, Kirishima would’ve introduced him to Riot ages ago. As it is, it’s taking all his willpower not to crack up at Bakugou’s expression. It’s like watching one of those ancient Windows computers suffer a system crash so severe even the task manager stops functioning.

Arms full of dog, Kirishima nudges him with his elbow. Reboot initialized. “But?”

Bakugou shakes himself a little. He gestures to Riot, or perhaps to Kirishima, or both? It’s hard to tell. “But… just, like… Why?”

Priceless. Kirishima silently vows to cherish this rarest of blessings in his memories for eternity. It won’t do to rescue Bakugou only to give him an aneurism the very next day. Setting Riot down, Kirishima pats orange-white hair off his borrowed clothes. The Akita immediately trots over to Bakugou to say hi. 

“I got Riot when I was really small, like six-ish? Seven? Something like that.”

Bakugou crouches and holds out his hand for a curious black nose to sniff. Kirishima sits down next to them, watching Riot take a deep whiff and promptly sneeze. Bakugou mutters something about explosives and dumb dog, be careful. Despite the forced casualness on Bakugou’s part, it’s clear he’s not used to being around dogs.

Still, he’s trying. Kirishima’s grin tempers to a soft, close-lipped smile at the sight.

“Back then, I only had a vague idea of who I’d wanna be. As a hero, y’know?” He reaches over to scratch Riot’s favorite spot at the base of his curled tail. It starts wagging immediately. “I was tossing around a few names and somehow Riot stuck. So, I tried it out on him and by the time I realized ‘Yup, that’s the one!’, he didn’t wanna listen to anything else.”

Riot pants at him, mouth wide. Kirishima boops his wet nose. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ about you. Stubborn dog.”

“You’re telling me your hero name got stolen”, Bakugou summarizes drily. “By a dog. When you were six.”

Figures that’s what Bakugou would get out of this. Kirishima snorts and shrugs.

“I guess? Riot – the hero, not the dog – existed way before the whole ‘Red’ stuff came along, ‘cause like… Crimson was out there, I knew he existed, but his philosophy was a bit beyond me. He wasn’t my hero yet, you feel me?”

Bakugou hums. “You weren’t a hero nerd yet. Just a space nerd.”

That startles a laugh out of Kirishima. He knocks his shoulder against Bakugou’s. “Exactly! See, you get me.”

“Shut up, nerd”, comes the predictable reply with a rougher knock back.

Eventually, Bakugou joins him in the grass, his knees propped up and elbows resting on them. Riot makes himself comfortable as well, sprawling on his side with his head resting on Bakugou’s thigh. The full might of pleading canine eyes look upwards. Bakugou squints. “The fuck.”

“He wants scritches”, Kirishima translates readily.

A beat, then Bakugou carefully rubs the knuckles of his index and middle finger in-between the white spots on Riot’s face. Riot huffs a content sigh and melts into the gentle touch.

“Hm. He’s soft.”

“Right? As a puppy, he was the softest and tiniest thing you can imagine. Wait, I might have pics on my phone. Gimme a sec.”

A bit of searching, and Kirishima taps on an old photo of him as a kid, pointy teeth flashed in an impossibly big smile as he hugs a chubby ball of brown fluff close to his face. Mama had dug it up from some dusty family album in a bout of nostalgia after Kirishima broke the news he’d been accepted to U.A.

“Behold: Baby Riot.”

Kirishima shows it to Bakugou. Only after Bakugou’s brows rise does he remember he’s probably never seen him with his natural hair color. Whoops.

Studying the photo for a moment, Bakugou continues to pet the adult version of Riot absent-mindedly. “He looks like a potato.”

“Wha–” Kirishima checks the photo to make sure it’s the same one. “Bakugou. It’s a puppy. It’s like, scientifically proven puppies are the one and only road to world peace. Hello? Nobody hates on a puppy, especially this one.”

Whatever face he’s making has Bakugou smirking, eyes sharp under a brow raised in challenge. “It’s got a weird shape and is brown. Potato.”

Kirishima whines. “Why are you like this? Riot, don’t listen to him, man. You’re the best.”

Riot has fallen asleep, oblivious to the outrageous claims being made in his presence. It’s better that way – the good, old boy deserves better than this slander.

Bakugou is looking down to the snoring dog, too, and something about it must soften even a prickly hedgehog heart like his because he sighs and grumbles: “He’s kinda cool. Maybe.”

Gotcha.

Kirishima pumps his fist in sweet, sweet victory. Nobody, not even the eternally grumpy, can resist the Kirishimas’ secret weapon.

*

On the way back home, Kirishima messes around with his camera until he’s managed a half-decent selfie of himself and Riot sharing the backseat of his parents’ car. A brief moment is spent hovering over his chat with Bakugou.

It’s the first time he’s opened it since– Since.

Baku 💣💥

[riot(s).jpg] (sent 16:58)

thanks for hosting me man 🐶 (sent 16:58)

dorm life, here we come!! (sent 16:59)

The tension in Kirishima’s chest is knocked loose as the ticks turn blue without delay, closing the gap to the ones from the lodge like it never existed. It unwinds entirely when, a handful of minutes later, Bakugou replies.

Baku 💣💥

idiot (received 17:05)

see you soon (received 17:05)

>>Chapter 6

[alinaastarkov]

Funniest moments in the books ? Most disturbing moments ? Touching scenes?

Funniest moments:

Alliser Thorne overheard him. "Lord Snow wants to take my place now." He sneered. "I'd have an easier time teaching a wolf to juggle than you will training this aurochs." "I'll take that wager, Ser Alliser," Jon said. "I'd love to see Ghost juggle." - Jon III, AGOT

Tyrion grinned. "Then I shall scour the Seven Kingdoms for dwarfs and ship them all to you, Lord Mormont." As they laughed, he sucked the meat from a crab leg and reached for another. The crabs had arrived from Eastwatch only this morning, packed in a barrel of snow, and they were succulent. Ser Alliser Thorne was the only man at table who did not so much as crack a smile. "Lannister mocks us." "Only you, Ser Alliser," Tyrion said. This time the laughter round the table had a nervous, uncertain quality to it. Thorne's black eyes fixed on Tyrion with loathing. "You have a bold tongue for someone who is less than half a man. Perhaps you and I should visit the yard together." "Why?" asked Tyrion. "The crabs are here." The remark brought more guffaws from the others. Ser Alliser stood up, his mouth a tight line. "Come and make your japes with steel in your hand." Tyrion looked pointedly at his right hand. "Why, I have steel in my hand, Ser Alliser, although it appears to be a crab fork. Shall we duel?" He hopped up on his chair and began poking at Thorne's chest with the tiny fork. Roars of laughter filled the tower room. Bits of crab flew from the Lord Commander's mouth as he began to gasp and choke. Even his raven joined in, cawing loudly from above the window. "Duel! Duel! Duel!"  Ser Alliser Thorne walked from the room so stiffly it looked as though he had a dagger up his butt. Mormont was still gasping for breath. Tyrion pounded him on the back. "To the victor goes the spoils," he called out. "I claim Thorne's share of the crabs." - Tyrion III, AGOT

She never saw how the skinny man got over the wall, but when he did she fell on him with Gendry and Hot Pie. Gendry's sword shattered on the man's helm, tearing it off his head. Underneath he was bald and scared-looking, with missing teeth and a speckly grey beard, but even as she was feeling sorry for him she was killing him, shouting, "Winterfell! Winterfell!" while Hot Pie screamed "Hot Pie!" beside her as he hacked at the man's scrawny neck. - Arya IV, ACOK

Ser Boros Blount harrumphed. "No man threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard." Tyrion Lannister raised an eyebrow. "I am not threatening the king, ser, I am educating my nephew. Bronn, Timett, the next time Ser Boros opens his mouth, kill him." The dwarf smiled. "Now that was a threat, ser. See the difference?" - Sansa III, ACOK

"I never said that," Jon insisted. Slynt slammed a fist on the table. "I heard you! Ser Alliser had your measure true enough, it seems. You lie through your bastard's teeth. Well, I will not suffer it. I will not! You might have fooled this crippled blacksmith, but not Janos Slynt! Oh, no. Janos Slynt does not swallow lies so easily. Did you think my skull was stuffed with cabbage?" "I don't know what your skull is stuffed with. My lord." - Jon IX, ASOS

Thorne was much the more clever of the two, Jon realized; this had his stink all over it. He was trapped. "I'll go," he said in a clipped, curt voice. "M'lord," Janos Slynt reminded him. "You'll address me—" "I'll go, my lord. But you are making a mistake, my lord. You are sending the wrong man, my lord. Just the sight of me is going to anger Mance. My lord would have a better chance of reaching terms if he sent—" - Jon X, ACOK

These probably aren’t the funniest, just the ones I can think of now. I’m a simple woman and I love sassy Jon. Sue me.

Most disturbing moments:

Just the whole of the Red Wedding chapter from Catelyn’s POV. It’s so sad and disturbing at once cause you can feel her go a bit crazy. From “The Rains of Castemere” playing to... A man in dark armor and a pale pink cloak spotted with blood stepped up to Robb. "Jaime Lannister sends his regards." He thrust his longsword through her son's heart, and twisted. Robb had broken his word, but Catelyn kept hers. She tugged hard on Aegon's hair and sawed at his neck until the blade grated on bone. Blood ran hot over her fingers. His little bells were ringing, ringing, ringing, and the drum went boom doom boom.  Finally someone took the knife away from her. The tears burned like vinegar as they ran down her cheeks. Ten fierce ravens were raking her face with sharp talons and tearing off strips of flesh, leaving deep furrows that ran red with blood. She could taste it on her lips. It hurts so much, she thought. Our children, Ned, all our sweet babes. Rickon, Bran, Arya, Sansa, Robb . . . Robb . . . please, Ned, please, make it stop, make it stop hurting . . . The white tears and the red ones ran together until her face was torn and tattered, the face that Ned had loved. Catelyn Stark raised her hands and watched the blood run down her long fingers, over her wrists, beneath the sleeves of her gown. Slow red worms crawled along her arms and under her clothes. It tickles. That made her laugh until she screamed. "Mad," someone said, "she's lost her wits," and someone else said, "Make an end," and a hand grabbed her scalp just as she'd done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don't, don't cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. - Catelyn VII, ASOS

Brienne's chest was burning, and the storm was behind her eyes, blinding her. Bones ground against each other inside of her. Biter's mouth gaped open, impossibly wide. She saw his teeth, yellow and crooked, filed into points. When they closed on the soft meat of her cheek, she hardly felt it. She could feel herself spiralling down into the dark. I cannot die yet, she told herself, there is something I still need to do. Biter's mouth tore free, full of blood and flesh. He spat, grinned, and sank his pointed teeth into her flesh again. This time he chewed and swallowed. He is eating me, she realized, but she had no strength left to fight him any longer. She felt as if she were floating above herself, watching the horror as if it were happening to some other woman, to some stupid girl who thought she was a knight. It will be finished soon, she told herself. Then it will not matter if he eats me. Biter threw back his head and opened his mouth again, howling, and stuck his tongue out at her. It was sharply pointed, dripping blood, longer than any tongue should be. Sliding from his mouth, out and out and out, red and wet and glistening, it made a hideous sight, obscene. His tongue is a foot long, Brienne thought, just before the darkness took her. Why, it looks almost like a sword. - Brienne VII, AFFC

The whole bit with Theon, Ramsay and Jeyne it’s so gross I’m not gonna post quotes. Any of Ramsay’s actions really but that really got to me.

Most touching moment:

Arya's eyes went wide. Dark eyes, like his. "A sword," she said in a small, hushed breath. The scabbard was soft grey leather, supple as sin. Jon drew out the blade slowly, so she could see the deep blue sheen of the steel. "This is no toy," he told her. "Be careful you don't cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with." "Girls don't shave," Arya said. "Maybe they should. Have you ever seen the septa's legs?" She giggled at him. "It's so skinny." "So are you," Jon told her. "I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won't hack a man's head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you're fast enough." "I can be fast," Arya said."You'll have to work at it every day." He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. "How does it feel? Do you like the balance?" "I think so," Arya said. "First lesson," Jon said. "Stick them with the pointy end." Arya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon found himself grinning like an idiot. "I know which end to use," Arya said. [...] “King's Landing is a true city, a thousand times the size of Winterfell. Until you find a partner, watch how they fight in the yard. Run, and ride, make yourself strong. And whatever you do …" Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together. "… don't … tell … Sansa!" [...] Jon messed up her hair. "I will miss you, little sister." Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. "I wish you were coming with us." "Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?" He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. "I better go. I'll spend my first year on the Wall emptying chamber pots if I keep Uncle Ben waiting any longer." Arya ran to him for a last hug. "Put down the sword first," Jon warned her, laughing. She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses. When he turned back at the door, she was holding it again, trying it for balance. "I almost forgot," he told her. "All the best swords have names." "Like Ice," she said. She looked at the blade in her hand. "Does this have a name? Oh, tell me." "Can't you guess?" Jon teased. "Your very favorite thing." Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together: "Needle!" The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. - Jon II, AGOT

The. Most. Touching. Moment. Period. I don’t make the rules.

Thanks for the ask!

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part eight)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

(yes, there was a title change because i never really liked “Dark Souls”)

Word count: 3718

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

Whenever Katherine closed her eyes, all she saw was that damn bull.

Over and over again, in the darkness behind her eyelids and in the darkness beyond the tree line was the bull staring back at her, his breath puffing from his flaring nostrils, his snout pulled back in a wicked smirk. He was there, presenting his manhood to her like he had in the clearing, taunting her with her precious bow and arrow.

  “Come and get it, flower,” He would rumble.

To him, she was a heifer, ripe and innocent, still not yet taken as a mate. And he wanted her. He wanted her to be a part of his herd so he could breed his filthy calves into her, just like how he had wanted to do with Catalina. Maybe even Joan.

And that made Katherine feel furious.

But what could she do?

It’s been a week since the run-in with Henry’s troops and Katherine and her companions were walking on eggshells. Without their weapons, they couldn’t hunt, so they teetered into the lines of starvation for several days, only living off of a few berries they could forage. Without their supplies, they couldn’t collect or purify water, nor could they even start a fire, so they became thirsty and spent their nights in the cold darkness. Without their belongings, they were lost, and Katherine was starting to fear for the worst.

Once, when she was ten, she had gotten bitten by a venomous spider when she was climbing a tree. At the time, she had thought that was the worst pain anyone could ever go through. But now, nineteen years later, with her stomach feeling like it was eating itself, she would have much preferred the spider.

Katherine had never gone hungry before. Ghent was always full of food, whether it be meat from woodland animals or crops and fruits and nuts. Everyone always got breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so she had never even felt a fraction of what starvation felt like. But if someone had told her it was this awful, then she would have eaten that dead bird they passed a few days ago.

Katherine would have laughed at how pathetic she was being if laughing didn’t pull tightly at the muscles in her empty, cramping stomach. At night, as she gazed listlessly at the stars, she thought she could see another version of herself standing over her, shaking its head. 

  “It’s only been a week,” The other-her would say. “Are you really that hopeless?”

  “Yes,” She would reply, and then she would fade out into the oblivion where the bull prowled.

Honestly, it was kind of sad how she believed her journey was really over. She was so ready to be defeated that she thought the town she saw in the distance was just a mirage made by her own exhaustion.

But then the smell of livestock on the wind wafted under her nose and she did a double take so hard she thought her neck had snapped.

  “A village,” She croaked, the words grating like thorns through her dry throat. “A village!”

Catalina and Joan turned in her direction, equally as tired-looking, and their eyes widened when they saw the houses and wooden fences.

  “Come on!” Katherine beckoned them. She burst into a brisk jog that proved too much of a strain for her weary bones, but she pushed onward anyway, ignoring the way her vision began to swim into murky darkness. Behind her, she heard Joan drag in a deep, desperate breath. 

  “I need to sit for a moment. I can’t breathe!” The little Tiefling bleated.

But Katherine didn’t stop, even when her own hunger pains and lethargy seized her lungs in a painful vice grip. “We don’t have the time, honey. I’m sorry.” 

The town was getting closer and closer with every wobbling step she took, but the ringing in her ears, presided over by the thump, thump, thump of her heart, kept getting louder and louder and louder. But she’s so close, so close… 

Then, her movements falter, and within seconds her body stopped responding, her thoughts growing scattered and illogical as she fell, endlessly backward into oblivion.

------

Katherine awoke in the dark. Her senses told her that this was no ordinary dream, and perhaps it was not a dream at all. There was real danger here. Her breath curled in front of her, and her hands were bitterly numb from cold. She could feel something lingering above her, a monstrous shape. She fled instinctively, fearing the bull.

Trees whipped by as she ran, but she could feel the thing close behind. She knew that it meant to capture her, but she managed to evade it long enough to find a place to hide. Beneath a fallen tree she found a wet, cold burrow she could just fit inside. She rolled in and tried to still her breath.

When enough time passed that she might be safe, Katherine started to inch out of the burrow. Something then grabbed her arm and snatched her out of the hiding spot and into the air.

 “It seems warriors are not so deft in the air. Who knew?” The voice came not from the monster directly, but from around it. The words warbled with a tangible weight.

  “Then again, you are more prey than warrior, aren’t you?”

The enormous creature tightened its claws around her until her limbs ached.

  “Now let us see, Katherine. You have been called upon by fate to do its dirty work. I’m sure that’ll continue to impress it and me, among others.”

The blue-eyed beast shifted, which sent vibrations through its muscles.

  “I must say, I find it odd that you are not...more. You could have so much for yourself if you would but take it. Command it. Out think anyone who covets what you have. But you lack the skills. Unfortunate, but there is still time for you to show us what you really are.”

The sweat beaded up on her skin and ran down between her eyes. The salt stung, and her vision blurred as she searched for a way out. Katherine tried to press the animal panic down in her gut, but everywhere she turned It was there, staring into her face and scratching at her. She whined, then she shouted, and she did not stop shouting until thick, black smoke cut off her airway.

The flames rise around her until all is ash. Katherine woke up abruptly, sweating and scanning for danger, and it took a moment for the flames to register. She searched, again, locked in the same scenario for an exit while the flames rose around her. She coughed and tried to shout, but the smoke again was too much.

Katherine experienced this same terror a half-dozen more times before she truly waked, in her own skin and not of prey’s.

The world was white, and slowly fading to a muddy brown.

Her eyelids weighed a ton, eyeballs stinging and rolling in their sockets as she struggled to consciousness. After a moment of fighting, she thought she could see something. The edges of a dark room, a single light highlighting a single door. A pinch at her shoulder.

Wait.

She could feel again, feel as if through a fuzz of downy blankets. Waves of nausea came next as the pressure on her shoulder increased. She moaned.

Pressure released, and her arms tingled at the increased blood flow as garbled sound came from beside her. Roused by the noise, she finally peeled back her eyelids fully and looked at the bird standing at the bedside.

Even for a Kenku, it was quite small, but a little chubby, evident of good feeding. Its plumage was midnight black with a smock of white feathers over its sinewy, wiry shoulders and down its torso. Its talons were short and stubby, but it had a razor sharp flint dagger strapped to the side of its light blue belted tunic which looked like it could cut down to the bone. When it noticed Katherine awake, it perked up, beady black eyes widening behind a fringe of feathers.

But it didn’t say anything.

Katherine waited for it to ask her something, but it didn’t. It just made soft churring sounds as it bustled around the cramped room, searching for something. After a moment, it grabbed a plate full of chopped vegetables and cheese and a glass of water and brought it over to Katherine, holding it up to her.

Katherine didn’t hesitate to dive into the meal.

The Kenku watched her as she devoured the squash and peppers and tomatoes and goat cheese, the expression on its avian face unreadable because of its beak. But it seemed unbothered by her and went to refill the glass of water after she drank it all in one sitting.

  “Thank you,” Katherine panted, finally taking a moment to breathe.

The Kenku dipped its head.

  “How long have I been out?” Katherine asked.

The Kenku held up one claw.

  “A day?”

It nodded.

  “Damn,” Katherine whispered, running her fingers through her oily hair. She really needed a bath. “Where am I? What’s your name?”

The Kenku began making gestures with its arms, cooing and churring, but Katherine had no idea what it was trying to communicate to her. It stopped after a moment and chuffed, handing Katherine a handkerchief.

  “I see…” Katherine said slowly, not understanding at all.

Before the Kenku could make another one of its birdy gestures, a scream suddenly ripped through the building.

Katherine jumped to her feet instantly, startling the Kenku. The scream sounded a lot like Joan!

The Kenku squawked after her as she ran out of the room and into the wooden hallway of what appeared to be an inn. She stumbled blindly into rooms, being tailed by a pied crow creature cawing its head off, until she threw open a door to see Joan cowering in a bed, pressed frightfully against the wall like she thought she could sink through it and escape, with a giant minotaur looming over her.

Katherine felt angry, then scared, then angry again until her blood pulsed hotly in her veins. How DARE he come back after what he did and torment them some more, especially a child! 

In a flash of fury, Katherine grabbed a nearby vase of flowers, smashed it on the wardrobe, and drove the points into Mannox’s side. 

The glass didn’t sink into his tough hide like she was hoping, but it did seem to prick him and he let out a startled yelp of pain, which was good enough for her. Mannox whirled around, golden brown eyes wide, and that was when Katherine faltered.

Mannox didn’t have golden brown eyes. His eyes had been dark brown.

This wasn’t Mannox at all!

The minotaur was huge like Mannox was, but this one was female. Instead of mud brown fur, her fur was a rich russet red color with undertones of cinnamon and umber. She was powerfully built, each of her limbs rippling with muscles, and her horns were broad like a longhorn’s. A teardrop-shaped ruby earring dangled from her left ear, and she wore only some baggy cotton pants, not afraid to flaunt her bare barrel chest, not that much was able to be seen beneath her shag of thick hide. She looked down at Katherine, rubbing the area where she had been stabbed.

  “Ouch,” She hissed. “That was a little rude, don’t you think?” Her voice was jovial, but warm, and had an accent that Katherine didn’t recognize.

  “I am so sorry!” Katherine stammered, dropping the makeshift weapon, causing the rest of it to shatter across the floor. She was wary as to not step on any of the shards with her bare feet. “I thought you were someone else.”

The minotaur flicked her ears up. “Oh?” She said. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

She turned around slowly, being mindful in the small space she was in, and Katherine noticed that the tips of her horns scraped the ceiling slightly. Her tail whipped back and forth as she peered down at the frightened little Tiefling in the bed.

  “Hey, kid,” She said softly, and Katherine was surprised to hear such a gentle voice come out of such a big creature. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Katherine heard Joan whimper, and she quickly darted over to the bed, nearly trodding right over the minefield of broken glass. When Joan noticed her, she shot into her arms instantly, quaking with fear. Katherine held her securely against her. The minotaur stepped back respectfully.

  “It’s good to see you both awake, at least,” The minotaur said. “I was starting to get worried. Oh, I’m Anna, by the way. But I prefer it if you call me Cleves. And this is Bessie.”

  “Moo!” Cried the Kenku that had been tending to Katherine, throwing its arms up joyfully. So ‘it’ was actually a ‘she’, then.

Cleves chuckled. “I’m unsure if that’s her actual name,” She told Katherine and Joan. “But I think she chose it because she LOVES cows, and ‘Bessie’ tends to be a cow name.” The Kenky clambered up her body like a ladder and sat on her shoulder. “I think that’s why she likes me so much.”

Katherine cracked a small smile. “I’m Katherine. This is Joan.”

Cleves nodded, then frowned at the little Tiefling still buried in Katherine’s chest. “Is she alright?” She asked worriedly.

  “I think so,” Katherine answered, stroking Joan’s hair. “She just--went through some stuff. That’s all. She’s still a little shaken.”

  “Ah,” Cleves nodded. “I see.” She looked at Joan and dipped her head to try and seem smaller and less intimidating. “I hope you feel better, kid.”

Joan peeked out from Katherine’s chest, then gave a tiny nod before hiding her face again. Katherine massaged behind one of her big ears, hoping to comfort her.

  “Do you know where the other woman who was with us is?” Katherine asked.

A grave look suddenly overtook Cleves’ face, and Katherine felt worry jolt through her veins.

Cleves took her to a larger room further into the room where Catalina was. Katherine instantly noticed the tear stains on her cheeks and the stricken expression on her face. She rushed over to her, and Catalina gave her a glazed look.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Katherine took one of her hands, rubbing her thumb over the knuckles. “Talk to me.”

  “It’s the baby,” Catalina said hoarsely, her voice rough from crying. 

A spear of ice jammed into Katherine’s gut. “What’s wrong?”

Catalina sniffled, then said, “I-I haven’t felt them kick since Mannox found us. H-he hit me, remember? Wh-what if something happened? What if they’re--” She buried her face into her hands and began to sob.

Katherine threw her arms around Catalina and held her tightly, rocking her back and forth in a vain effort to comfort her. She set a hand on the Aasimar’s belly, rubbing it softly in a few places, but felt no kicks and no flutters of life.

  “Did you say Mannox?”

Katherine turned her head to Cleves, and was surprised to see the minotaur’s friendly face contorted into an expression of pure hatred. Even Bessie on her shoulder had her feathers ruffled in rage.

  “Yeah,” Katherine nodded. “We ran into him a week ago. He surrounded us with his troops and tormented us for a while, but let us go after taking all of our stuff.”

  “That sounds like him,” Cleves said gruffly. She stamped one of her hooves, and Katherine could feel the vibrations throbbing through the floorboards. “So he must have been the minotaur you mistook me for. No wonder that little Tiefling was so scared.”

  “You know him?” Katherine asked.

  “He was in my herd growing up,” Cleves explained. “He was always causing issues. When Bessie showed up,” She raised a large hand and the Kenku nuzzled her beak into it with happy chirps, “he was constantly trying to hurt her, but wrote it off as him just ‘playing’ with her. Bessie and I have been trying to track him down for a while under the orders of the queen.”

Katherine’s ears perked up. “The queen?”

  “Shiny, shiny, shiny!” Bessie chirped helpfully.

  “Queen Jane Seymour,” Cleves said.

Katherine’s heart lifted. “You work for her?”

  “One of her best knights,” Cleves said proudly. Bessie nipped at her ear and she chuckled. “And Bessie is my squire, basically. I don’t go anywhere without her.”

The Kenku nuzzled lovingly against Cleves’ neck, cooing.

  “We were actually needing to see the queen,” Katherine said. “Can we go with you whenever you leave?”

  “Your story with Mannox could be useful,” Cleves said, rubbing her chin. “That can be arranged.”

Katherine brightened. “Thank you.”

There was a tug at her sleeve, and Katherine was soon brought back to the terrifying reality that she had momentarily been distracted by. She turned to Catalina, shaking and crying, and wrapped her back up into her arms.

  “Is there a doctor in this village?” She asked Cleves and Bessie.

But before either of them could answer, Catalina choked out, “Sh-she already saw me. Sh-she said there was n-nothing she c-could do.” She made an anguished noise that ripped mercilessly into Katherine’s heart. “I don’t wanna lose my baby, Kat! I can’t!”

  “Shh, shh,” Katherine murmured, rubbing Catalina’s back. She could feel the wetness of tears running against her neck, warm and miserable. “It’s going to be okay, Lina. I promise.”

Catalina babbled something wet and grief stricken in response, but Katherine couldn’t understand her from where she was buried in her chest.

In the doorway, Cleves frowned deeply. “I am terribly sorry for you.” She said to Catalina. Then, attempting to lighten the mood, she said, “There’s a small festival tonight. You can come if you’d like. We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, so make sure to get some rest. We’ll get you some more food and water.”

Vegetables and cheese, soup, bread, and glasses of water were brought to the room Catalina was in. Joan ended up joining them inside, sitting at the foot of the bed with her tail wrapped around Catalina’s ankle in a form of comfort. Catalina stopped crying eventually, and Katherine got her to drink some water and eat a few pieces of food, but her expression never lifted.

The three of them attempted to go and enjoy the festival, but it quickly proved to be too much for them. Katherine was consumed with far too much worry to think about anything other than the wellbeing of her companions and the journey to the Unbreakable City, Catalina was completely distracted in her depression, and Joan was badly shaken. The music and many people overwhelmed all of them, and they soon had to return to the inn to calm down and rest.

In the middle of the night, Katherine woke up to crying. Instantly, she knew who it was, and she got up to go to Catalina’s bed, climbing in next to the trembling Aasimar.

  “Come on, honey,” Katherine murmured to her, grabbing the glass of water on the nightstand and easing it to Catalina’s lips. “Drink. Slow sips.” The poor thing was going to dehydrate herself with how much she was crying.

Catalina obeyed her, drinking a few sips of water, but then quickly dissolved back into tears. Katherine barely had enough time to set the cup down before Catalina collapsed against her, weeping uncontrollably.

  “My baby,” The Aasimar moaned. “I-I can’t lose my baby! I can’t, I can’t!”

She was completely hysterical, and Katherine didn’t blame her. To lose her child after everything she’s been through… It must have been heartwrenching. 

  “Oh, Lina,” Katherine hugged her against her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Oh, my dear Lina… It’s going to be okay. Your baby is strong, just like you are.”

  “Why can’t I feel them?” Catalina beseeched. “Why-- why aren’t they--” She began to make concerning gasping noises, and Katherine quickly lifted her chin to make eye contact with her.

  “Honey, look at me.” Katherine said. “You’re okay. It’s all going to be okay. Just try to breathe. Can you do that? Follow me if you need to.” She took deep breaths to demonstrate, and Catalina copied her. She stroked her hair back, cooing. “Good girl. Just like that.”

Catalina whimpered, her rich brown eyes shiny with tears in the moonlight slipping through the curtains. Katherine kissed her forehead, and she folded deeper into her warmth.

  “I’m right here, my darling Lina,” Katherine murmured, easing Catalina back into a lying position. “I’m right here.”

  “W-will you stay with me?” Catalina sniffled.

  “Of course,” Katherine said. She felt Catalina press close against her with her nose buried in her neck, still whimpering softly, but now slightly calmer. Katherine slid a hand onto her belly and rubbed it gently, hoping to provide some comfort as they both slowly drifted back off into sleep.

And then--

A kick.

Katherine and Catalina both sat up straight. They looked at each other with wide eyes, then both set their hands on Catalina’s stomach, waiting.

There was a kick. And then another. And then another.

Catalina burst into tears all over again, but this time they were tears of joy.

  “They’re alive,” She whispered.

Katherine grinned brightly. “I told you, Lina. They’re a little fighter.”

  “They’re alive!” Catalina exclaimed again. She threw her arms around Katherine and hugged her tightly. Katherine laughed, and was able to feel the fluttering of the baby from Catalina’s stomach pressed against her. Catalina suddenly groaned and leaned back. “Great, now they’re moving a bunch.” She poked her belly. “Hey, jerk! You think that was funny? You nearly scared me half to death! Ow! Don’t hit me! I am your mother!”

Katherine was unable to smother her laughter. “Little Mary is a trickster, huh?”

Catalina grinned. “Or Hal.”

  “What’s going on?” Joan sat up from the bed she was in, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Why’s it so noisy?”

Katherine and Catalina both laughed.

  “You’re going to be a big sister, Joan!” Catalina told her, beaming. She rested her head against Katherine’s shoulder, unable to stop smiling. “They’re still here…”

  “I told you, honey,” Katherine said. “They’re strong. Just like their mama.”

[submissivekillers]

Frisky February Day 7 - Cockwarming

“marko thelostboys is trans and gets pegged,” i say into the mic. 

the crowd boos. i begin to leave when a voice commands silence from the room. 

“they’re right.” i look for the owner of the voice. in the crowd: alex winter himself.

gotta be real: first of all the formatting on Tumblr editor is completely fucked up rn, and also as I write this (and I finished writing this while) I am absolutely smashed lmao

Marko is soft until he’s not, sharp in unexpected places: the shadows of his hipbones, the callouses padding each knuckle, the knobs of vertebrae you feel under your fingers as you draw soothing circles on his back. He’s tense, trembling, narrow hips grinding down on you achingly slow, and technically he’s supposed to be keeping still but it’s hard to complain when he’s like this, wrapped around you and making broken, breathless noises in your ear. You’ve barely touched his cock but already it stands out flushed and swollen, brushing the leather of your harness on every forward rock. 

You nudge the strap of his tattered undershirt off his shoulder with your nose, too engrossed in the taste of his skin in your teeth to bother lifting your head. Marko shudders, breath whistling through his teeth in a long whine, and you feel talons prick the space between your shoulder blades, clawing helplessly for a moment before he comes back to himself. 

 His eyes are already flickering between winter blue and predatory red, pupils huge and dark; you can see his lips curling back, starting to make way for teeth longer and sharper than a human mouth is made to fit. You want more. 

Your hands find purchase on his hips, tracing the juts of bone carefully with your palms before you squeeze, gentle, suggestive pressure. He makes a wrecked noise, heels digging into the small of your back, but lets you hold him steady, the head of your cock pressing into something that makes his jaw hang slack. His face shifts before your eyes, flickering like a broken movie reel. You kiss him and feel razors on your lips.

“Feel good?” You gasp - sounding much less composed than you’d like, but Marko nods frantically like he doesn’t quite trust himself to speak, so you figure you still have some advantage. “Show me how good it is, babe, you know I’m not scared.”

His eyes are barely open, glazed with the sheen of overstimulated tears, but you catch the shadow passing across his face. They’re still hesitant to break out the game faces around you, and to be fair you understand why; it’s basically engineered to tap into the fear instinct in humans, turn them to quivering, brainless prey. You’ve just got enough signals crossed that it makes you quiver in a much more enjoyable way. 

You have to fumble a bit to squeeze an arm between your bodies but you manage to get two fingers on his cock and rub slow, tight circles around him, feeling him twitch desperately at your touch. Red eclipses blue and then disappears under dilated pupils, Marko’s head flung back as fangs gnash at the air. You sink your hand into his curls and guide him back: cup his cheeks, kiss the ridge of his browbone, murmuring against his cool skin yes, good, so good, so handsome, Marko, love you love you love - 

Marko groans, timbre dipping just below the edge of human, and sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder as he comes.

You hold him down as he writhes, keep holding until the expression on his face threatens to cross the line from agonized pleasure into genuine pain, and then slide out of him with a slick sound that makes him moan quietly into the mattress. Your shoulder is sore (and the contortions you have to go through to wriggle out of the harness don’t help), but soon you’re sprawled next to him, kissing your blood from his mouth, relishing his softness and rubbing your thighs together at the thought of what lies beneath.

[elvendara]

Mysme Fictober Oct 21st

For @mysme-fictober 2020 

Day 21: Immortals

My name is Yoosung Kim. I died when I was 18 years old. Walking home from school I ran into a classmate who had been bullying me since grade school. I knew he was going to hurt me, I was ready for it, resigned to it. Sure enough he dragged me into an alley and started punching me. I dropped to the ground and tried to protect my head. This only made him angrier and he started stomping on it. I felt my eardrum burst; it was the most excruciating pain I’d ever felt. Then everything stopped. It wasn’t gradual, I didn’t see my entire life flash before my eyes. Suddenly, there was nothing. Like someone turned a switch from on to off. It was over.

Until it wasn’t. I woke up hours later, still splayed out in a dirty alleyway. I waited to feel the pain of my body but it never came. I sat up and held my head, but although there was dried blood in my hair, there didn’t seem to be any wounds. None. I checked myself as much as I could. My clothes were dirty and ripped, but the skin beneath was smooth, unbroken. I stood hesitantly, but my legs worked just fine. I felt fine. In fact, I felt better than I had ever felt in my life. I walked home, unaware of anything or anyone around me, trying to get my head around the fact that I had died. Was this the afterlife? Was I a ghost? But no, people reacted to me, walking around me, grumbling when I didn’t move out of their way. Someone even bumped into me. I was alive, by some miracle.

I went back home and continued to live my life. The bully wasn’t at school the next day, or the day after that, he didn’t show up until almost two weeks later and when he saw me, his face went pale. He left and I never saw him again. I tried to pretend everything was normal, but I was no longer me. There was me before death, and me after death. I experimented. I cut myself, superficially at first and watched in fascination as the skin knit itself back together almost instantly. I cut deeper and deeper, eventually getting to the bone. I healed from all of it. The deeper the cut, the longer it took to heal, but it was still fast. I wondered if I would heal from a broken bone. I still feel pain, and I have never been able to actually try that.

I started to feel alone. I had this big secret that even if I shared it, wouldn’t be believed. I wasn’t sure I believed it either. A month after death I began to notice a van following me. It wasn’t subtle. Bright orange with blacked out windows. I should have been scared, but I’d already died, and it didn’t stick, what else could anyone do to me? They finally stopped and a tall skinny boy about 20 years old stepped out of the back and walked towards me.

He waved at me but said nothing. The driver got out and joined us. He was shorter but still taller than me, with a little more meat on his bones. I was poised to turn and run if I felt I needed to but I’m glad I stayed. I learned a lot. I learned I wasn’t alone. The tall skinny boy is Bart, he is capable of talking, but hasn’t since his own death. Barney is the other boy, and he talks enough for them both. They explained what had happened to me. There is a dormant gene within some people that most never know is there. If however they die during adolescence, the gene is activated and makes them immortal. This is what happened to me. I wondered how they knew about me. I learned that day that sometimes people gain abilities because of this gene. Bart was telepathic and Barney could sense when someone with the gene was close to death, though he had to be close. He had felt my death and they had made their way towards me but I was already gone by the time they got there.

He could no longer feel me since I had died already, so they began to investigate the area and figured out I had been the one.

It’s been three years. I have entered University and am trying to become a doctor so I can study this gene. At the one year anniversary of my death I finally manifested an ability. I can see disease, and I can remove it. Which as a doctor I can certainly utilize, but I have yet to figure out how to do it without anyone finding out. It’s draining however, and I cannot use it indefinitely. I’ve tried to heal regular wounds, cuts, scrapes, headaches, but I am unable to do so. Cancer however, I can eradicate in a few minutes.

Since meeting Bart and Barney, we have unfortunately inducted one more immortal. MC. She was only 17 when she was killed in a much more brutal way than I was. The boy she loved raped her. Then murdered her without even realizing it. She dies slowly and in pain as he satisfied himself in her, letting his two other friends take a turn as well. We found her in the alley, covered in garbage. She is still recovering, unwilling to go back home. The trauma is going to take her a long time to heal through. And there is the question of what should we do about her attackers? We will take our queues from her, once she is able to think more clearly.

There is one other thing of note. I have met someone. Someone who is hard on the surface but soft underneath. I hadn’t meant to fall for anyone, but I tripped and fell hard. He makes me smile, and he makes me happy. But how do I tell him what I am? Will I lose him if I do? I can prove it now. Show him how different I am. I can’t continue with him if I am unwilling to let him know. It’s a huge secret. I will tell him. Because I am in love with Saeran Choi.

[random-imagines-blog]

Feral Roots {M Shadows One Shot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3387 Summary: The Full Moon is coming up, and the leader of your wolf pack needs some stress relief. Notes: Smut, Breeding kink.

The full moon was only three days away, and all of the pack were beginning to get antsy. Tension was brewing beneath the surface, and even a hint of sarcasm was enough to send the men biting at each others necks. Your own body felt like it was starting to betray you, giving into urges that were not all that convenient. It didn’t help that the Alpha of the pack, M, had his dark eyes on you most of the time these days. It was those eyes that made you feel detached from your own will, and want to submit fully to his. However, you didn’t like to give in too easily. He liked a challenge, and you enjoyed giving him one.

You were one of the young women who worked mostly on cooking duty. Roasting big pieces of meat, and adding in some vegetables because you were all still partly human, took up a big portion of the day. Wolves needed their protein - especially with the stressful change coming up. You had a full pig roasting on a spit, and you were making sure that it was being turned properly. “What’s cookin, good lookin?” One of the main pack came over to you, the smell tempting his nostrils.

“Don’t you know a pig when you see one, Syn?” You asked the long haired man. He snorted with laughter and took a seat on the grass to really take in the view. “You never come out here while we’re cooking, what’s up?”

“Shads is in a mood,” He rolled his eyes. “You know what he’s like this time around. He needs to get fucking laid. Why don’t you go help him out, you are his favorite.”

“Cooking duty,” You said, smiling slightly at being called the favorite. It gave you certain advantages - like you could get away with more things. As a woman in the pack, you were pretty respected. You could carry on the line. You protected. You took care of everyone. But you still liked to get up to some mischief at times. “Why don’t you give it a try? You’re rather pretty yourself with those cheekbones. Most of them women here envy you.”

You normally wouldn’t have been able to get away with saying something like that.

Syn, or Brian as was his true name, glared at you, then went back to looking at the meat. You could almost see the drool coming out of his mouth. “It’s going to be another couple of hours,” You told him. “I mean, if you’re willing to help out with peeling the potatoes, I can make sure that you get a prime piece.”

“I’m in,” He said. You got him situated with a bucket of potatoes and a knife to peel them with, then went back to your post of turning meat. It was the slow roast that helped the meat taste so good - perfectly juicy, just the way that the werewolves liked it.

-

Being part of a pack meant living in a very communal sort of place. It was more like a trailer park than anything else that you  could describe, just inside a large privately-owned forest. There was a rather large house on the property, which the strongest of the pack shared, while the rest lived in rather luxurious trailers dotted around the land. It helped you all to feel closer to nature. And it made it easier for the nights when you were doomed to shift.

This meant that all of you ate together.

Picnic tables were strewn around, some with umbrellas to stay in the shade, but most without. The strongest of the pack, the main five, sat together at the biggest one, and their plates were often piled high. Syn seemed to be relishing this meal more than usual, probably because he had a hand in making it. You sat with some of the other women at a shaded table, your plate still full of food but not nearly as much as the men’s. You ate what you needed and left what you didn’t for the others, such as the kids who were running around playing after eating. People were talking, it was a wonderful day until...

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” M yelled, throwing his plate on the ground, half eaten chunks of food flying across the grass.

“M!” You shouted, getting to your feet. The whole pack went quiet, staring at the large man who had stood up and was glaring at Zacky, who was one of his best friends. You left the picnic table behind to go to his, and pick up the plate which had surprisingly not shattered. “Go and take a shower and cool off,” You said, looking up at him, setting the plate on the table.

“Don’t think you can tell me what to do-” M started, but you growled at him before he could call you a name.

“You’re scaring the pups,” You said, motioning your head to one of the younger kids who ran to hide behind his mom at the yelling. Tempers may fly but swearing wasn’t something that happened around the young ones. “Now go inside while I clean your mess up.”

“Fine,” M said, slamming his hand on top of the table, sending all of the cutlery flying up into the air. He stepped out from the picnic table and stormed towards the house, clearly in a bad mood. Were this a cartoon, you’d be seeing steam coming from his ears, or a black swirl atop his head.

“Now why did you have to go and antagonize him like that?” You snapped at the raven-haired man.

“What, I’m not allowed to speak?” Zacky asked, his anger still bubbling beneath the surface.

“You knew what you said was going to get a reaction,” Syn chimed in, wiping his mouth with his napkin as if the tantrum hadn’t happened. “It’s your own fault, dumbass.”

“Let’s go take a swim, cool you down,” Johnny said, getting onto his feet, pulling the dark haired man towards the lake that was in the forest that you all often used for bathing and exercise. You got back down to the ground and started to pick up the bits of food so you could properly dispose of it in the compost, shaking your head and muttering about what idiots men were.

“You shouldn’t have to clean up after him,” Brooks said, bending down to help you out.

“You’re right, it should be Zacky cleaning this,” You sighed, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand once everything was back on the table. “But we all  know he won’t lift a finger.”

“You should go see M,” Syn said, back to eating the meat off the bone. “He’s pissed.”

“Well now I am too. I hate when you guys scare the pups. Seriously, it’s a hard time for everyone right now. No need to act like children.”

“I hate to say it but he has a good reason to be mad this time,” Syn told you, making your curiosity peak.

“I don’t care if he gets mad or not, he has to keep his temper in front of the kids,” You said, not backing down. Syn put up his hands in innocence, throwing in the towel on the conversation. “I am going to go check on him though, and make sure that he’s alright.”

You didn’t miss the sexual motion that Syn made to Brooks, but you decided to say nothing about it this time. The last thing that pack needed was another argument during dinner. You just gave him the finger, then walked up to the house, slipping in through the back door. Other than M, it should be empty.

You followed the sounds of grunting to the built-in gym. Most of the pack just used the woods - strong branches for pull-ups, balance training, logs for strength etc - but M seemed to like punching bags over bark. He was working up a sweat, clad only in his shorts, hands not wrapped or anything, going to town on the bag.

“Do you want me to get you a picture of Zacky’s face? I have one on my dartboard,” You joked, coming up behind and held the bag steady. He kept hitting it, but his eyes averted to you and he was a little more careful. “You should at least put something on your hands, you’re going to make them raw.”

One good punch sent the bag out of your hands and it flew a dozen feet and landed on the mats. “He’s an asshole.”

“I know - but why in particular today, hmm?” You took an ice pack out of the freezer that was above a fridge that held energy drinks and water bottles, and lightly pressed it onto M’s knuckles. The discarded bag could wait.

“He says that it’s about time that you get bred,” M said, anger coming through in his voice. You were a bit surprised by how defensive he had gotten over that topic. You bit down on your lower lip in thought as you nursed M’s hand, attempting to stop the swelling before it started.

“I mean, he has a point,” You said, gingerly. “I would love to have a pup or two of my own by now. And you’re the reason that I don’t, M. I know we have our thing going on but you gotta drop me as a favorite eventually and let me find a mate.”

“Don’t you fucking start,” M said, tearing his hand away from you. “I’m not going to let you go and be some stupid mutt’s mate. You’re too good for everyone here.”

“As true as that is,” You started, attempting to lighten the mood, “-that’s my fate here. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner I can get on with it. And I think the only reason you’re mad is because Zacky wants to be the one to do it.”

“He’ll never have you, y/n. We both know that you could never love him.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone else in the pack who could be good to me. I deserve a mate, M.”

“And you never stopped to fucking consider me, did you?” M said, his voice going softer than it had before. You squeezed your hand around the ice pack in an attempt to keep you grounded. You never had this conversation with him before although you had always hoped... He never gave any sort of indication that he wanted you for anything other than sex.

“You’re just feeling the full moon coming, that’s what is making you say that,” You said, your voice going just as soft as his had. You tossed the pack onto the table, then approached the muscular man, putting your cold hands on his chest. He hissed slightly at the sensation but didn’t back away. “But if that’s how you really feel, we’ll talk about it after, okay?”

“It’s not the moon fever,” He insisted, grabbing you roughly around your waist before you could depart. “I may be jealous because of what that shithead said, but you’re both right. You need a mate and it’s time that you’re bred.”

“Are you asking me, or are you telling me?”

“I’m saying that I want you as my mate, for the rest of my life, and I want to put my baby in your stomach.”

“You can’t take that back, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Matt said, smirking, his bad mood seemingly to have dissipated. Roughly, he dragged you to bench where he often lifted weights, got you onto your knees and bent you over it. His hand went through your hair, then grabbed it and held it at the base of your neck. “I can smell you,” He said, sighing happily.

And it was probably true. He had very keen senses and from the moment he hinted at wanting to be your mate, you had felt yourself becoming aroused. He lifted up the skirt of your dress, resting it on your back, and pulled your panties down to be around your knees. The cool air conditioning hit your skin and caused goosebumps up and down your thighs.

“Are you going to keep it slow or are you going to make me scream?” You asked, smiling though he couldn’t see your face. It was pressed against the bench, cheek down. He pulled at your hair harder, causing your head to jerk up.

You don’t know when he had the time to push his sweatpants down and get onto his own knees, but he had - and he started to thrust into you roughly from behind. His one hand was still tangled up in your hair while the other was holding your dress onto your back, keeping you steady. Your mouth opened unwillingly at the sheer force and suddenness of it all, but it certainly wasn’t to complain. You moaned loud enough to feel the bench rumble beneath you. He kept pushing your head up so that he could hear you louder. He loved the sounds that you made. He craved them. He yanked your arms behind your back for more leverage, went quicker and quicker - and then began to slow down. This wasn’t supposed to be just some quick fuck. Five minutes isn’t enough for stress release.

You took in deep breaths of air as he slowed, all of the jostling around had made all of your breath leave your lungs. He let go of your hair so you rested back down against the cool bench. Beadlets of sweat were already resting on top of the leather from your forehead.  He left you for a moment, and you felt bare. Empty. Cold. But when he came back after only thirty seconds, he had a jump rope and started to tie it around your wrists. You trusted him entirely. You were still in euphoria from being asked to be his mate. That combined with the knowledge that he was going to give you a child made you entirely pliable in his hands.

He grabbed hold of your shoulders and entered himself again, making you cry out. There was never any foreplay with M. It was a lucky thing that you were always aroused while around him. He lightly slapped your cheek, then shoved his index and middle fingers into your mouth. You started to suck on them immediately, knowing what he wanted. You relaxed against him, feeling safe, feeling loved.

“Oh my God,”  You cried out, raising your ass as high as it could go.

“Yes,” M hissed. “You’re mine. I’m going to breed you like the bitch you are.”

After another couple minutes of rough thrusting on the bench, he pulled out again, and helped you up to your feet, holding onto your binded wrists as if they were handcuffs. He paraded - yes, paraded - you in front of the windows and over to the sofa. You weren’t ashamed at all. Nudity was perfectly normal among the pack, since it was a natural way of being. You were nude when you transformed into a wolf, and nude when you came back. It was rarely considered to be a sexual thing, though it felt like it now, with the way that M was holding onto you. The way that he threw you down onto the couch. He didn’t go straight back into you, but rather, rubbed your ass and took in the sight of your pussy on display. He spanked each cheek, then grabbed them roughly.

You were on your stomach once again, a position that you were finding yourself in quite a bit today. M spread your legs then went back in with a satisfied groan. You were whimpering into the couch cushions as he entered you at a slight angle, riding you hard. He lowered himself, his weight on you, his hand covering your mouth making it a bit harder for you to breathe. He liked that. He enjoyed the struggle. It was rough, it was crushing. It was enough to take you out of your head.

M was groaning and moaning, as his face was turning red from the exertion. He wanted to make sure to give you the best and the strongest seed. He slid off, the sweat between your bodies turning it into a slip and slide, and flipped you around so you were on your back. Your hands were still tied up behind you and it was extremely uncomfortable, but the strain just added more to the experience. You gasped as you saw M’s face looming over you, his body between your spread legs. Goddamn, he was so fucking beautiful.

There was no doubt about the fact that there would be evidence on your body of this for days to come. His fingertips pressed into your neck, the binding on your wrists causing chafing. You might not be able to cross your legs for a few days with how hard he was going on you. But oh, how blissful it was in this moment.

“Cum in me, M, give me a baby,” You moaned, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. Or even over his muscles. The sheen of sweat over his muscles gave him an otherworldly glow. There was a reason why he was the Alpha and why everyone put their complete trust in him. He had a silent power hidden behind those eyes that were staring into yours right now. This wasn’t just a rough fuck, though he was squeezing your neck tighter than before.

Your head was hanging off of the side of the sofa as he continued to plunge in and then pull out. You saw love and respect in his eyes. You were his mate now - the bond was formed, and it would be cemented once his sperm was inside of you.

“Take it, make our baby strong,” M said, throwing his hand back. He let go of your throat, which brought color back to your vision, to play with your clit as he got closer to his climax. As your own came, overpowering you with white waves from head to toe, M’s hit him. He shuddered, releasing himself inside of you with a beastial growl worthy of a bear rather than a wolf.

You struggled to get your breath back, laying limp against the sofa. You would have to disinfect it before the rest of the guys came in, but th sex was worth it. Your chest was heaving when M slowly pulled out, taking his time to make sure that his cum didn’t seep out of you. “Do you feel better now?” You asked, bringing your head up onto the couch to be a little more comfortable. Your eyes caught onto the sight of his cock, still mostly stiff but starting to soften. He was still so big, it was no wonder why you were so sore and unable to move. “Enough stress release?”

“I meant what I said,” M said, finally moving and helped you adjust so your whole body was on the couch, and untied your hands. He knew modesty wasn’t an issue, but he draped a throw blanket over top of you. “I want you to be my mate.”

You snuggled into the couch, taking your arms out from beneath the blanket to hold his hand. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

M chuckled, looking away from you to the windows, seeing the cleaning going on outside. It was an after dinner ritual. “Both.”

“Silly man,” You shook your head. “Go get something to eat. You’re going to need your strength back after that.”

“Taking care of me already?” M asked, getting to his feet.

“Uhh - I’ve been doing it for ages, thanks for noticing.”

“That’s my girl.”