#i am mentally going through my fabric stash right now

[chicago-stay-a-machine]

Had to wait over an hour for my connecting train today and got myself one of them sewing magazines that have the patterns in them just as a little treat and it was such a joy to look through it and imagine some future projects i probably wont get to anytime soon

I am just so glad that these things are still around i guess? Tbh i should be on the lookout for them more often, you get many nice patterns for the low low price of a tenner and your sanity trying to figure out which of the millions of lines to trace for the garment you want

anyways im gonna go to bed dreaming about the trenchcoat dress i wanna make :3

[clumsiestgiantess]

Lots of people wanted a continuation to the short I made for @entomolog-t’s prompt, so here you are! I already had ideas for a second part the moment I finished the first one!

(First part here)

I was so tired the night of my disappearing act that I barely made it to the scraps of insulated fabric I call my bed.  Just as my head hit the comfortable fluff, a thud echoed above my head and I dashed to the doorway in seconds, heart racing.  More thuds rumbled over the floorboards as I stood frozen looking fearfully upwards — believing Alice somehow knows where I am, and is trying to pry up the wooden planks to get to me.  Faintly, I can hear her muffled voice.  “Please, I know you’re scared, but hiding isn’t going to do either of us any good!  Just come out; I swear I’m not dangerous!”  

Oh.  She’s probably crawling around on the floor trying to find me.  Well, unless she can crawl beneath it, she’ll have a tough time finding anything but dust!  I sneered at the thought, trying to reassure myself enough to get back in bed.  I’m safe now.  She’s not going to find me here.  However, no matter how many fabric scraps I press over my ears, I can’t drown out enough noise for me to sleep.  Even when I lay on the cold floor with everything over my head until I’m nearly suffocating, I can still feel the vibrations of Alice moving around.  Just go to sleep already!  Thud around all you like in the morning when I leave for the day!  Regardless of my mental harassment of her, the human didn’t give up until it was early morning.

Finally, I have peace and quiet, and I fall asleep in record time.  Come morning, the house is still silent as ever.  I wake up with a gnawing ache in my chest.  Briefly, I think it’s guilt over what I’d done the day before — turns out it was just hunger.  I’d run away before getting to eat yesterday.  Thankfully, I have some provisions that I’ve stored away for emergencies.  I grab a few crackers and glance at the little watch piece that’s fastened to the wall.  Oh, what?!  I slept in!  I usually never sleep in!  My natural alarm wakes me up at almost the exact time every day.  Then again, I’m usually asleep much earlier than last night, too.  

No wonder the floor is so quiet; Alice is probably out of the house by now, or in her room working on human things.  Quickly finishing breakfast, I slip on my bag and head out to the large kitchen.  Now that my emergency stash of food is diminished, I’m a bit anxious to get it stocked again.  I walk the same trek I’d sleepily walked the night before, but stop at the end of the hall where the electrical cover sits.  Maybe I’ll.. go a different way.  

Taking the long way through the walls, I come out inside a cabinet with windowed doors.  Reaching out to push one open, I glance out of it and flinch.  With cautious steps, I slide backward behind some cups.  Alice is in the room.  None of her usual music is playing, she isn’t watching videos on her phone, she isn’t talking to herself or a friend on the phone, either.  She’s just sitting there with what appears to be her breakfast, staring numbly at a wall.  Huh.  Whatever ‘exams’ are, they really seem to be stressing her out.  Usually she’s done with breakfast by now.  

Her strange behavior can’t be because of me.  She had spent less than twelve hours with me, and most of that time she spent ignoring me.  Logically, she wouldn’t be that upset over someone she barely knew, right?  She’d given up her search hours ago when she finally stopped keeping me up all night.

A while later, she leaves.  It’s strange, though.  Alice steps lightly across the room, glancing around the floor before each step.  Maybe she lost something important?  That tends to make humans fairly stressed.  Hell, it makes me stressed.  If a human’s missing something, it might mean I made a bad judgment call on what I could take without being noticed.

My nerves settle when the sound of her footsteps fade off.  Back to business.  My day runs relatively smoothly from there.  Of course, I had to come across a knot or two in my climbing rope mid-scale, which I wasn’t too happy about.  After collecting up some food, I spent a long while getting the knots to untie.  It’s always best to get them out before you make a climb, that way your weight won’t tug them tighter.  It was too late for that lesson to come in handy, though.  

My next chore on the list is borrowing some more thread to stitch winter linings back into my clothes.  The winter weather caught me by surprise.  It had come earlier than I thought, and I’d nearly died because of it.  Briefly, blurry visions of the inside of that knitted hat fade in and out of my consciousness.  I nearly froze to death that night.  If the thing hadn’t been left there accidentally, I wouldn’t have made it long enough to even try to get help.  Blinking away the memories, I realized I was shivering and rubbed my hands over my arms for a bit more warmth, reminding myself that I’m safe here.  The apartment never gets that cold.  Ever.

At my home under the floors that afternoon, I gather up the materials I already collected.  I have the fluffy inner lining that I’d taken from an old coat Alice left in a storage bin — I’ve been using it as bedding — my knife to cut everything to size, and a smaller needle I’d whittled out of a long chunk of wood.  Now all I need is the thread.

Back in my little passages, I head in the opposite direction through the floor.  I slow as I make my way up into the walls towards Alice’s room.  Unfortunately, that’s where the sewing kit is, directly under her bed.  Alice will be there for sure.  Whatever she’s working on this time must be important.  I haven’t heard her leave her room all day since I saw her walk in this morning.  She hasn’t even gotten lunch.  Maybe she has a snack on her desk!  Perhaps when she’s asleep or out of the house I’ll steal some of it.

Sliding out of a crack in the baseboards behind a large bookshelf, I creep up to the very edge of it and scan the room.  Sure enough, Alice is there doing schoolwork, watching a video on something called ‘trigonometry’ that I can barely pronounce — I don’t dare try to imagine what it actually is.  At least she’s not being unnervingly still anymore.  

I dart from my place beneath the bookshelf to beneath her bed.  The sewing kit sits further towards the wall, right beside her desk.  Alice seems distracted enough, scribbling down something while mumbling about things I don’t understand.  She does that often enough that it isn’t as concerning as this morning.  Maybe she’s finally returning to normal.  That’s a relief.  A human on a schedule is a good human to live with.  Memorize it, use it to your advantage, and you’ll practically own the place — at least while they’re not around.

Making my way to the box, I wait for the video to start playing again before popping open the lid — timing it so she doesn’t pick up the noise amidst the other sounds she’s concentrating on.  Sliding a few things around, I manage a clear path to the spool I want.  Rummaging through various different items larger than yourself is no easy task, but I make it look practically effortless.  A shrunken human would never be able to do half the things I do on a daily basis, I think with a smirk.  I yank out the spool of thread and reach for my knife.

“No!  What?  How?!  I used the same formula and everything!”  I flinch as Alice yells, her angry voice edged with dismay.  Cautiously, I tiptoe over to the side of her bedframe and glance up at her.  She’s frantically writing something down, biting at her bottom lip with furrowed brows.  Whatever it is, she isn’t too happy about it.  I’m just about to continue my work when she glances over at the computer screen again.  “What the heck?!”  Furiously, she crumples her paper into a crushed ball, looking ready to throw it across the room in a fit of rage.  I brace myself instinctively, thankful I hadn’t stuck around to anger her.

Suddenly, a sob wrenches out of Alice’s throat, catching me entirely by surprise.  She curls her arms around her head as it falls to the surface of the desk.  The paper ball drops dully to the floor.  Her whole body shakes as she cries onto her desk, and my relief drops into a muted kind of confusion.  “I’m gonna fail,” she whimpers, “I can’t do this.  Why is everything going so wrong?  I just wanted to help him; why’d he run away?  I feel sick.  What if he’s hurt somewhere and can’t call for help?  What if he’s too scared to call for help?”

She.. really is worried about me.  So worried that she’s acting like a complete mess — and not the silly endearing mess I’m fond of her for.  If my disappearance amplifies her worries over these exams…  Well, she didn’t tell me what would happen if she failed them, just that she couldn’t.  I abandon the thread I’m after and rush for the crack in the wall behind the bookshelf.  A plan’s forming in my mind.  It might backfire horribly, but I’m hoping it’ll work.  Alice is much too distracted for me to even bother checking if the coast is clear.  Her light sobs still echo against the surface of her desk.

I slip between the two halves of the wall and take a large calming breath.  Then I start shouting.  “Alice!  It’s ok, I-”  The human sits up so abruptly I stop talking fearfully.  I don’t know how beings as big as her can move so quickly.  She scans the floor of the entire room in only a few seconds.  Of course, I’m smart enough not to be in plain sight.  “Hello?”  Alice’s voice is slightly muffled like her nose is stuffy.  I swallow a lump that formed in my throat.  “It’s.. It’s ok.  It’s me, the ‘little guy’.”  Alice hastily rubs away her tears and stands up.  “You’re… alright?” she asks me, glancing around.  “Yeah.”

“Oh thank god!” Alice gasps, relieved.  “You made me so worried for you!  Are you hungry still?  I- I know you haven’t eaten in a while since you.. ran off when I tried to get something for you.”

The room falls into an awkward silence.  I can’t see much of her from beneath the bookshelf, but I watch Alice nervously shuffle from foot to foot — waiting for my response.  She can’t stay silent for very long, though.  “Look, I’m sorry I scared you off…  I don’t know what happened, but I’m willing to work with you to try and get your memories and your old life back.  I can’t imagine how terrifying it is to suddenly be so small, not even knowing how you got that way-”

“Stop.”  Alice quieted at the single word.  “That’s.. a lie.  I remember everything just fine.”  I want to say that I’m not terrified of being small either, but I can’t bring myself to say it.  Even if I’ve lived my whole life this way, I still have my moments.  Yesterday and that whole escapade with the freezing car was one of the worst of them.  “So.. you just didn’t want to tell me how you shrank?”  I sigh, “No.. Alice, I- I never shrank.  I’ve always been this way.”  She starts and stops talking a few different times — syllables barely leaving her mouth.  “I’m not human, Alice.”

The silence that follows is worse than the last.  It feels almost suffocating.  A gentle thud reverberates over the floorboards and I peer out.  Alice is kneeling on the floor, leaning down to peer under the bookshelf.  Quickly, I duck back behind the wall.  “Is that why you left?”  Her voice softens, tears entirely gone.  “I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”  “You promised the tiny human me that you wouldn’t hurt me.”  I glance out of my hiding spot just as Alice’s gaze wanders, thinking through something.  

“You thought I would go back on my word if I knew you were lying to me?  Or you just.. thought that I wouldn’t care because you’re not human?” she asks me, sounding hurt.  I feel almost chastised.  Her gaze flickers to me.  “I promised you that I wouldn’t hurt you.  You.  No matter who or what you were.  I’m a bit upset you wanted to lie to me about… everything.  But I can’t be mad at you for being scared of me.  I won’t ask you to talk to me anymore if you don’t want to, but just know, I’m glad you’re alright.”

Tears of relief well in my eyes and my throat tightens.  Tentatively, I slide out from within the crack in the wall.  “You- You really mean that?  You don’t care that I’m not one of you?”  A small smile spreads over Alice’s lips.  Of course not, don’t be silly!  You’re safe here, I promise.  I understand if you want to go home, though.  You probably have others of your kind to get back to, and I’ve accidentally trapped you in my house.”  I glance away sheepishly, “Well, about that…  I kind of.. live here.”  “What?!”

I end up telling her every part of the truth — how I really got into her car, where I’d gone to when I ran off — everything.  “I actually did remember my name.  It’s just.. not really a human-sounding one, so I couldn’t exactly give you it.  My name’s Fennel, but I mostly just go by Fen.”  “Fen?” she asks a bit confusedly.  I nod.  “Nice to finally really meet you!” Alice laughs, “How long have you been living here.. with me?”  I think back.  “I moved in after you were already here, but you were still unpacking things, so I don’t think it was very far off from when you moved in, too.”  Alice makes a surprised noise.  “Where were you living before?”  “Eh, another apartment in this building.  The new people were too loud, so I moved out.”  She giggled, “I wish I could just pack up and slip into a new home whenever I have problems with the neighbors.”  I sigh, “It’s harder than it seems; I have to rebuild a livable space for myself every time.”  Alice nods thoughtfully, sitting back up.  Some of her bones crack as she does, and I flinch.

“Hey, if you don’t mind, can you maybe come out from beneath there?  It hurts my back to try to bend all the way to the floor to look at you.”  She won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you.  “Alright.”  With slow deliberate steps I make my way out from beneath the bookshelf.  Alice sits a foot away from me.  I have to crane my neck back vertically to see her face, peering almost all the way downward at me.  She offers me the palm of her hand.  “Can I hold you?  Please?”  My heartbeat thunders so loudly I almost don’t hear what she asks.  Cautiously, I nod and step up onto her hand, raised just a bit higher than a stair.  She won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you.

I’ve never interacted with a human before her, but I’ve seen it happen before.  My brother — well, he wasn’t actually my brother, but we always called eachother that — had been found by a human.  I was there.  It was pitch dark, perfect time for borrowing.  We’d forgotten a light, but Gin scoffed at the idea of going back for one — until he stepped into a mouse trap.  Every once and a while I’ll still hear the awful noise made when the trap snapped closed on him.  The human came running when they heard the gargled shriek, and the last thing he told me was to leave him there.  The metal beam that had crunched around his midsection somehow hadn’t killed him, but his body was far from unharmed.

From a grate in the floor nearby, I watched as the human found him, ensured him things would be alright, and pulled him out of the trap — tearing him in two.  In hindsight, I don’t think the human meant to kill him.  They screamed and dropped the half of him they were holding.  I was too stricken and horrified to process that in the moment, so I just ran.

“Fen?”  I flinched so violently I nearly knocked myself in the face with my hand, instinctively trying to cover my head with my arms.  “Are you ok?  You look sick.  If this makes you uncomfortable, I can put you back down.  You didn’t have to get on.”  It’s just like in the car — her blue-eyed gaze looking me over with genuine concern.  “I- I’m alright.”  She gently shakes her head.  “You aren’t, though.  You’re shaking.”  The gentlest pressure alights on my chest as a soft finger brushes up against it.  “And your heart’s beating really fast.”  Her touch is so soft — incredibly cautious like she’s holding something precious and delicate.  Maybe I am, to her.  It’s nothing like what I had imagined a human would feel like, nothing at all.

In a brief moment of weakness, my eyes tear up and I squeeze her finger closer, pressing my forehead against it.  It is absolutely terrifying thinking about where I am.  I’ve spent all my life believing it’s a place of certain death.  Why is it so comfortable?  All Alice would have to do to hurt me is close her fist and squeeze.  My fate wouldn’t be that much different than Gin’s.  She won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you, she won’t hurt you.

Everything shifts around me and I rush to get out of her grip, immediately fearing that my imagination somehow willed an awful reality.  But Alice brings me up to her chest and holds me gently against it.  She tucks me against her sternum as her head comes to rest behind her hands that hold me.  “It’s alright now.”  I’m not sure if she’s assuring me, or herself, but I accept it and bring myself snugly against her.  It’s blissfully warm there.  While the walls where I live aren’t nearly as freezing as the outdoors, they’re still plenty cold.  The heat is more than welcome.  My wild pulse softens into a much normal rhythm while I listen to Alice’s own heartbeat thrumming beneath her skin.

Things are fuzzy in my mind beyond that moment.  I’ve been up for a full twenty-four hours, and the night before was only worse than the last.  I remember stumbling off her palm onto her desk, watching dazedly as Alice looked around the room for something.  She finds it and places it down for me.  It’s a little blanket folded over so it can be both a mattress and blanket at the same time.  I crawl into it, listening to the sound of pencil scratches on paper for only a few minutes before I fall asleep mumbling a weary ‘thank you’.

[lord-of-the-harvest]

Pleasure, Pain, and Pleasure Chapter 16

Chapter 16 Ren's Rut Day 2&3

Summary: Cont. of Chapters 14, 15 With the second and third day of Ren’s rut, he gets more clingy and aggressive. Day 3’s supposed to be the start of his two day peak, let’s see if Jasmine can survive it.

Contains: CNC, dubcon, somnophilia, hemophilia, abuse, heat/rut, omegaverse, lots of hurt, mental abuse, breeding kink, manipulation, ED (kind of), feederism, piss kink, exhibitionism, bondage, Ren being a creep, Jasmine getting hurt

MDNI

NSFW

Jasmine woke up on her belly, her back sore, and something smacking against her ass. It took her a moment to realize it was Ren fucking her thighs. “Ren? It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” He was breathing heavily and focused on getting himself off. “S-sorry, Pet. I woke up and-mmm just n-needed this…Hey, ah, at least I’m using your-fuck thighs though, r-right?” ‘Using’ my thighs? Fuck I really am just a toy to him! Jasmine wouldn’t let the comment get to her too badly, as he felt too good for her to really care. His cock slid up and down her clit, and she couldn’t help but squeeze her thighs tight around him. The day before had been full of mostly penetration, and she welcomed the attention to her more sensitive areas. This morning he had a steadier rhythm, and didn’t take much time to make them both cum. He pulled away from her and smeared his cum against her slit with his fingers. He muttered something about knotting her later, and Jasmine’s face flushed red. The way he’d look at her body, the way he touched her and claimed her as his own was so much more animalistic than what she was used to. She couldn’t help but lift her ass up and comply with his touch. “Ren? I need to use the restroom again, can I please get up?” She learned from the day before that she needs to ask for his permission. One time he made her beg for it, and made her hold out as long as possible in hopes she would give up. It hadn’t worked yet, but he desperately wanted her to somewhat willingly give in to him. He growled at the idea of her getting up, but took a moment to look around the nest. He had ripped through most of the blankets on it, and knew he had more in his stash. Wrappers and crumbs littered the sheets, and even he was annoyed by them. “Fine, Pet, but don’t take too long! I’m going to clean up a bit while you’re in there.” It was likely the clarity from finally releasing himself that made him allow Jasmine to go by herself. Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to question it, and she scurried off to the restroom. 

Jasmine closed the door behind her and finally got a good look at herself in the mirror. She was fully nude aside from the tail from the day before. The ears had slipped off while sleeping, and now resided somewhere in the sheets of their nest. Her thighs and hips were bandaged, and dry blood speckled her skin. Fuck, I’m such a sight, he better do something big to make up for this. She used the toilet and stood at the sink, washing her tear stained face and debating on changing her bandages herself, yet deciding against it. Ren, meanwhile, was rushing around the room, trying to make it somewhat presentable for Jasmine. Maybe…maybe if I make it better for her she won’t want to leave again. I can do it, I’ll make it so nice she’ll want to stay in it forever. He brought more food, water, and blankets in. He even found her ears, and cleaned them up before setting them on her nightstand. Wanting to get it all done by the time she came back, he almost neglected to feed himself again. He looked in the fridge, grabbed the first thing he saw, and wolfed it down. His stomach hurt and was breathing heavier. Of course, he knew how to deal with it, as this wasn’t his first rut. Eating, sleeping, and fucking were the only things that could make him feel even a little better. He pulled dirty scraps of fabric out of the twisted sheets, and dumped more blankets in. Sure it helped with the smell, but Ren wasn’t happy with it. Still, he refrained himself from urinating in the bed again, in favor of appeasing Jasmine. When she came out, Ren grabbed her by the waist and led her to the nest again, sat her down, and shoved some cereal in her face. “Here, sweetie, eat up! I’ll fix you up while you eat.” He knelt down on the floor and pulled out the first aid kit he used on her the day before. She ate her cereal and winced as he pulled her bandages off as gently as he could. “Sorry, Pet, this’ll hurt…” He stared at her now bare thigh caked in her own dried blood, and Jasmine looked away. Even though it felt good in the heat of the moment, she didn’t like to look at her cuts and scrapes the morning after. To her surprise, and disgust, Ren gripped her calf and licked up her bloody thigh. He had a lustful look in his eyes, and Jasmine felt him press against her leg. For the first time, she placed a hand on his shoulder and firmly pushed him away. “Ren, give me a break, please. I’m wounded and I need you to take care of me.” She had a sad look in her eyes and pleaded in her tone. The grip on his shoulder could have told told Ren she was irritated with him, but instead he looked up at her with sympathy. “Oh…I’m sorry, Pet, I can make you feel better.” His ears pinned back and had an upset look in his eyes as well. Jasmine had heard beastkins can go through a phase in their cycles of being overly protective and doting on their partners. This she quite liked, and wanted to see how far she could push him. She deserved it with how much of Ren’s nonsense she had to put up with,

Ren finished bandaging her legs just as Jasmine finished her cereal. He seemed as though he was about to go for the second round of the day, but was stopped by Jasmine asking for another bowl. “Thank you for fixing me, sweetie, but some more food would make me feel perfect!” He quickly ran to the kitchen as she giggled at his excitement. Taking in the new nest, she buried herself under a blanket in hopes of fending off her crazed lover. Surely, she could only fight off his sexual advances for so long. Ren came back with a breakfast tray featuring the cereal he promised, her favorite juice, and a side of berries. She sat up when he gave her the tray, and he curled up by her feet, watching her take each bite. Jasmine was kind enough to give her servant some bites of her food, as she could hear his stomach rumbling. “Ren, sweetie, I wish you’d eat something too, you don’t look so good.” Ren smiled at her and sat up. “No, Pet, you need to eat! We need to make sure you get enough food for two.” He had what could only be described as a delusional or crazed hope on his face. He looked happy, but had a glint in his eyes, showing how severely out of touch with reality he was. They had discussed family matters in the past, and both even laughed at the idea of starting one together or separately. Jasmine fought off the urge to correct him, and ate her cereal instead, still not wanting to upset him.

Jasmine finished her food, and as Ren was placing the tray on the floor, she asked him to rub her back. It was still sore from waking up on her stomach, and wanted it better before she was put in any more back breaking positions. She flipped over, and Ren obliged. They were both still nude, but Jasmine made sure to keep her lower half covered with her blanket. Ren started with her shoulders and made his way to her lower back, earning little moans from her. He was about to stop and take her right there, but she mentioned how good he was being for her and how much she appreciated it. “I know you’re going through your rut, sweetie, but I love how you still take care of me no matter what.” Ren whimpered and pinned his ears back, but kept rubbing and pressed himself against her ass for an ounce of relief. Eventually he started breathing heavier than Jasmine, and she noticed. “Ren, sweetie, it’s almost better, just a little longer, alright?” His urges were screaming at him to rip the blanket off and knot her, but he still managed to keep control. Care for her, she’s about to go through so much, you need to tend to her. He put his sexual urges to the side in favor of making her happy. A happy Pet is one more likely to take to the mating, she needs to be healthy for the litter. Sure enough, the power she now held over Ren was getting to her as well as the massage. Him pressing against her didn’t help keep her composure, and she could feel herself getting wet and thinking about him fucking her again like the day before. Jasmine reached back and pulled the blanket off her ass. “Ren…I really think you should eat something…” She didn’t have to spell it out for him, and Ren quickly shifted and stuck his face between her thighs. He brought her hips up a bit so he could easily get to her wet heat. His tongue was even hotter on her lips, making Jasmine moan in pleasure. He licked at her folds and could finally rub his cock with a free hand. Being so worked up, he was already closer than Jasmine. He sat up, keeping his pet in place, and kept rubbing himself above her. The smell, and sight, and the pent up energy all combined together making him cum all over her ass. He hugged her from behind, and reached around to rub his cum into her. She loudly squealed and moaned as he quickly fingered her and rubbed his knot against her ass. It felt good, but he felt something missing as he pressed against her. 

After giving Jasmine a quick orgasm of her own, he found the box from the day before and pulled out the realistic fox tail butt plug. He was kind and thoughtful enough to lube it up before forcing its way into her tight hole. “R-Ren! Aah!” Jasmine screamed out in shock and pain, not expecting the sudden foreign object. Although, once she settled, it started to feel good. Ren gently tugged and twisted it, giving her subtle stimulation. He gripped the tail and pulled it up, making Jasmine follow so her ass was high up in the air. This was one of Ren’s favorite positions, as it showed trust and obedience from his Pet’s side. Now with the added degradation of the fox themed plug, he felt even more of a sense of ownership over her. He pressed against her and bent over to reach for her ears again, making her moan at the pressure. He strapped them to her head yet again and positioned himself properly against her. It was hard pushing his way into her, with the size of his knot and butt plug working against him. When he finally pushed past her entrance, Jasmine let out a guttural moan as her walls closed around him. If it had been under any other circumstances, she may have been embarrassed by it, but now, she couldn’t begin to care how she sounded. Ren was heavily panting, and stared down at Jasmine. His Pet, his conquest, his property, his bitch. Her loud moan only added to the satisfaction he felt in knowing she was all his. His to bite, scratch, hold, knot, and breed. He slowly pulled himself away from her, only to ram himself back in, earning another nasty moan from his bitch. She wants it just as much as I do, dirty bitch, she must be in heat too! The thought of her being in a similar state as him only fueled his hunger, and he started slamming into her faster and harder. Jasmine lost track of the amount of times she came, the stimulation was all too much for her to handle. Just as her brain was turning to mush, Ren pulled her up by the back of her hair and brought himself down to her ear. “You wanted this more than I did, I can tell, you filthy bitch. You’re in heat, right? My bitch is caught in her own fucking heat!” Jasmine couldn’t bring the thoughts together to question or debate, and instinctually followed him instead. “Y-Yes Ren, fuck, I needed this, I wanted this, aah~” He kept ramming into her as hard and as far as he could go. “Ren-ah, you’re hitting m-my c-c-cervix! Y-you’re going to bruise m-me!” She tried speaking as best she could, but stuttered along the way. Ren growled and gripped her hair tighter. “I'm going to break through your fucking cervix and knock you up, bitch!” Jasmine screamed in pleasure, getting off to the idea of him breeding her. “P-please, Ren, bruise me, bite me, leave a d-dent in me! Mmmm I wanna f-feel your c-cum in me so ba-aah!” She was screaming again as she came harder than before. Ren shortly followed, cumming deep inside her and knotting her in the process. The pressure hurt, but Jasmine was too horny to care. Neither Ren, nor the tail could be pulled out of her, so she would need to lay there and accept it for the time being. She gained a little composure, and the humiliation of it set in again. Ren hugged her from behind and rolled off of her, while still keeping her close to his chest. Jasmine looked up and saw the two of them in the mirror above. Her tail rested on her thigh, her ears were crooked, and Ren rested his face in the crook of her neck, still inside her. Her cheeks flushed hot in embarrassment at the sight of the two, but that humiliation only served to turn her on even more. Ren could feel it, and lightly rutted into her again from behind. ….

Morning came, and Jasmine roused, not feeling Ren pawing at her for once. In fact, it didn’t even feel like he was in bed with her. She tried sitting up, but quickly realized her arms weren’t just resting above her head, but were in fact tied to the headboard. She twisted around, but couldn’t find Ren or free herself. “R-Ren? Where are you?” Her voice trembled and she felt more vulnerable than ever. She looked at the mirror above her to see her naked and bruised frame as she shrunk in on herself. Suddenly, Ren swung the door open and growled under his breath. Jasmine twisted herself around to look at her very angry owner. His ears pinned back, his tail fluffed up, and he was holding her broken phone. “Ren? What’s wrong? Why am I tied up?” He made his way to the bed and loomed above her. “What’s wrong? What is wrong, Pet?” He held up her phone, displaying a message from Kangaroo from the first night. Jasmine squinted and tried reading the message. “Call me if you need help this week, Fox’s orders.” She was confused, with the excitement of the past few days she hadn’t even thought to check her phone or call for Kangaroo. I know he said his rut would be bad, but I didn’t think it was “call for help” bad. “Ren, I didn’t see that, did you really tell him to send me that?” He threw her phone down again, this time definitely breaking it for good. “Of course not! Why the Hell would I order him to talk to you? Besides, you don’t need help, you’re safe! Here, in the nest, you’re safe with me, right?” His tone fluctuated from furious to an almost desperate mania. As though he was trying to convince even himself the situation was under control. His last sentence ended with a bite, though, and told Jasmine to answer fast. “Right! I’m fine here, in the nest, with you looking after me. I don’t care about Kangaroo, I don’t need him.” Now it was her turn to desperately make herself believe things were under control. Ren sighed with relief. “Good, good… Well, I do need him, so I invited him over.” Jasmine, now concerned and afraid, couldn’t keep her emotions off her face. “Sweetie, you’re fine! We just needed more groceries, and I need to remind him of something…” He bent down and kissed her forehead, Jasmine decided not to question him.

Ren disappeared and came back to give her food and water, but never untied her. He spoon fed her yogurt and granola, obviously enjoying taking care of her. “You’re so sweet like this, I wish I could just keep you here forever...Oh wait, I can!” Ren giggled to himself, and Jasmine tried to laugh along with him. As long as she could keep him happy, she figured there would be a chance he’d untie her. Eventually, the time came where she needed to get up to use the restroom, but weighed her options. I could ask, but I risk making him upset, I don’t think he’s ready to untie me. I could also just…ugh- He had his hand on her thigh and the other in his lap, no doubt subtly rubbing himself. Jasmine couldn’t take it anymore, and felt like she was about to burst. She was tied right in the middle of the bed, and Ren was sitting on the edge to the side of her. She shifted towards him and twisted herself onto her stomach so she wouldn’t have to see herself in the mirrors above. Ren, of course, welcomed the sight and pawed at her ass. Jasmine couldn’t see, but could tell by his deep breathing he was rubbing himself even faster. Again, she ignored it, and relaxed her body. Ren gasped as he watched a puddle form around her heat, and palmed at his aching knot. Jasmine whimpered as she felt him grope at her harder. He bent down and kissed her thighs, whispering about how good she is and how happy he was. Soon the smell and the groping got to him, and Ren came in his sweatpants. He moaned and his hips bucked, while Jasmine’s face flushed with embarrassment and disgust. He’s a fucking creep, but did he really just cum in his pants from this? That’s disgusting, but hopefully he’ll untie me now. Jasmine broke away from Ren’s grip and flipped herself over, but he wasn’t done yet. Ren was panting as he climbed on top of her and sunk down to her lap. She tried keeping her legs shut, but Ren forced them open and shoved his face in between them yet again. He started eating her out like a madman, all too happy to be in between her soiled thighs. It didn’t last long though, as he soon heard a knock at the door.

Ren quickly got up, apologized, and scurried off to meet Kangaroo at the door, leaving Jasmine panting and alone. This was too much whiplash for her, and he was behaving so erratically. She couldn’t wait for his rut to be over and for some kind of peace and routine to be restored in the house. She could hear them talking in the next room over, accompanied by cupboards being opened and closed shut. The wait for Ren to return felt like forever due to her outstretched arms and aching heat. Finally, the bedroom door swung open and Jasmine looked up to see a horrified Kangaroo. Ren was holding him by his jacket collar, forcing him into the bedroom and onto the floor. “Hey! What the-what the fuck are you doing?!” Jasmine twisted and turned, trying to cover herself as best she could. Kangaroo’s jaw dropped as he looked at her scratched hips and soiled bed. “Jasmine! Are you al-” Ren kicked him down again, silencing him. “She’s not your fucking concern, Kangaroo!” Ren shouted at him and slammed the door shut, making his way to the bed. “She’s mine, and you’ll learn that one way or another…” His words trailed off as he cast his sweatpants to the side and climbed on top of her. “Re-uh-Fox? What are you doing?” Jasmine’s voice trembled with fear as her gaze darted from Kangaroo to Fox. “I’m doing what should have been done a long time ago, Pet, I’m setting an example.” He grabbed Jasmine’s legs and lifted them up. Her knees were touching her shoulders as she groaned out in pain, but Fox didn’t seem to notice or care. He was all too concerned with making sure Kangaroo was watching him take what was his. Jasmine shut her eyes tight, expecting a sharp penetration and Ren’s painful knot, but the pain didn’t come. Instead, she felt something hot on her stomach. She opened her eyes to see Fox on his knees, pissing on her stomach and chest. Jasmine screamed in disgust, and tried pulling on her restraints again, but with no luck. Fox had a satisfied and devilish look on his face as he looked from Jasmine’s body back to Kangaroo. She couldn’t see him, but she could tell he was mortified. She was too, the only one enjoying or getting off to their humiliation was Fox, who was now laughing at them. He must have really enjoyed it, as not even a moment after emptying himself onto his bitch he was forcing himself into her. Jasmine screamed again, now repulsed and in pain. Tears pricked her eyes, Fox was saying something but she couldn’t listen. Jasmine turned her face away to hide her shame, but Fox brought it right back. “Darling, you should-unh-be happy to-mmm belong to me, instead of someone so-fuck-spineless!” He turned his attention back to Kangaroo, and shouted more claims of ownership at him. It was hard for her to think, but Jasmine scoured her brain on the best way to diffuse the situation. “Y-yes Fox…I l-love being y-yours!” Fox turned his attention back to her and momentarily paused his thrusting. “I-I want to be all yours! N-no one else’s!” She looked at him with the biggest doe eyes she could muster, made easier with her tears. “Please, Fox, make him leave, I want you to myself~” Her manipulation worked as he threw a plate at Kangaroo, shouting for him to leave. Kangaroo leapt to his feet and rushed out of the room, thankful he sill had his life. He was hesitant on coming over, as for the employee tasked with this during Fox’s last rut, didn’t exactly make it out in one piece. 

Ren turned his attention back to Jasmine, who was still muttering tear filled words of affection. After a particularly rough session that ended in a knotting, Ren untied Jasmine and cuddled her. She asked him to bring her food, but told him not to be gone too long as she would miss him. As soon as he left, Jasmine buried her face in a pillow and sighed. She knew she couldn’t cry, since Ren would be back soon with more food than she was comfortable with eating. What happened to him? He’s usually sweet and level headed, why is he acting this way? When will it be over? Jasmine, of course, knew all the answers to the questions as was asking, but was having a hard time dealing with her reality. Seemingly for the rest of her life, she was going to have to deal with Ren’s ruts each year, and couldn’t do a thing to stop them. Did he really tell Kangaroo to check on her? Did he really not trust himself that much? Did he really forget, or was he just being delusional and possessive? Ren came back shortly, this time with two trays of food in hand. “I kinda forgot to eat yesterday, so I’m making up for it today.” He said, with a slight chuckle to it. Jasmine came out from her pillow and started eating with him. She looked down at her stomach, and almost wretched at the smell. In hindsight, she should have used the time Ren was gone to wash herself, or at least wipe it down. She debated asking him for a shower, but decided against it. This would be the start of his two day long peak.

Notes: Can you guys tell I don’t know a thing about the omegaverse and heat/rut lore? I don’t worry too much about canon things with it, this is just how I see it playing out with Ren. Also, my friend told me they read my entire fic! Mortifying!

Also, is Ren calling Jasmine his “Bitch” cringey? I thought it fit, but felt a bit odd to write, since he usually calls her literally anything else.

Anyways, sorry to kinda cuck Kangaroo on the third day, but I’ve been dying to write some exhibitionism in :)

[xjoonchildx]

snapshot | jhs x reader

summary: after a day at the beach, hoseok has some surprises in store for his longtime love

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: fluff, smut, fluff OH MY GOD SO MUCH FLUFF y'all i apologize

word count: 4.7K

notes: this fic is a commission fic for the lovely @wwilloww as part of the @armyadvocates fundraising initiative to stop hate crimes against AAPI. miss willow asked for an old house, candles and soft smut as well as a mystery box. i did my best to deliver on all counts because willow is amazing and deserves all good things.

thanks go to @hobi-gif @ladyartemesia and @btsarmy9593 for beta reading parts of this story, thanks so much for keeping me on track ladies! a very special shoutout to @sahmfanficbts who helped me come up with a very *key* part of this plot.

warnings: no one dies? no one is in danger of dying? who am i? standard smut, unprotected sex. liberal sunscreen use. low air quality due to paint fumes and sawdust. references to yoongi, who we can assume is cranky offscreen, references to @untaemedqueen first suggestion of what was in the box.

Warm.

Hoseok is so warm right now, inside and out. He stretches his long body out on the length of his beach lounger, enjoying the feeling of the sun beating down on his skin. His buzz is mellow and pleasant. He lets his eyes drift shut, lulled into a lazy calm by the sounds he can hear all around him.

The steady lap of the waves against the shore. Kids laughing as they run around on the sand. Off in the distance, a bluetooth speaker thumps out a song that’s too far away for him to recognize. And after a few minutes, another sound.

Your bright laughter, carried to him on the breeze.

God, he loves that sound.

“You are such a lightweight,” you tease. Hoseok can hear the smile in your voice. “Two beers and you pass out on me.”

He cracks one eye open to find you standing beside his lounger. The early evening sunlight streams through the strands of your dark hair and warms your bronzed skin, bathing you in a kind of golden halo. He gazes up at you, languid and content.

“I’m not passed out,” he argues with a slow grin. “I’m relaxing. Come relax with me.”

Hoseok doesn’t give you a chance to accept his offer, leaning up to grab your hand and pull you down into the narrow space beside him. You laugh when he wraps his arms and legs around you like a starfish, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“I’m just enjoying the perfect day,” he murmurs, nosing at the back of your ear, “With my perfect girl.”

“Flatterer.”

Hoseok can’t see you rolling your eyes, but he knows you’re doing it anyway. Just like he can’t see the way you flush and he knows you’re doing that, too.

“We should eat,” you say after a while, shivering when he strokes the pads of his fingers up the soft skin of one bare leg. “Grab something before we have to take the bikes back.”

Hoseok hums under his breath as he slides his palm up the curve of your thigh, boldly searching for trouble under the hem of your sundress. You bat his hand away and he laughs, hugging you tighter.

“Alright,” he agrees in a whisper, ghosting his lips down the nape of your neck. You jolt in his arms when he sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, nipping playfully. “Just a quick bite.”

There’s not much difference between a sundress and a négligée is there?

Certainly not from where Hoseok is sitting, anyway.

He studies you as he rides close behind, watching the way your hair whips in the breeze as you pedal. One delicate sundress strap slips down your sun-warmed shoulder, exposing just a bit more of your back. Then the wind grabs a hold of your sheer skirt, lifting it just long enough for Hoseok to get a glimpse of the pretty white panties underneath.

God, he loves those panties.

Could stare at them all day, really.

But instead he forces himself to pedal faster and take the lead, grinning when you take note of his advance and glare. It’s for the best because while you think this is just some meandering evening ride, he’s the only one who knows where you’re really headed. For the best because if he falls off his bike and breaks his face because he’s too busy staring at your ass, the entire night will be ruined before it has the chance to start.

It’s quiet on this street just a few blocks from the shore.

Dolmeori Beach is rockier, more wooded than the beaches preferred by most tourists and that’s always suited Hoseok just fine. When he was a kid, he’d steal away when the weather was warm and hop the train here from Gwangju any chance he got.

It’s always felt like his place, his personal piece of sea and sand.

Pine trees loom high over the pavement, canopies so dense they block out much of the waning sunlight streaming down from above. The shade beneath the leaves makes the heat bearable, but it also makes it hard to judge the time. Hoseok steals a quick look at his watch.

Right on schedule. He hopes Yoongi followed his instructions to the letter.

“Hurry up, slowpoke,” he teases over his shoulder, and he chuckles at the sound of frustration you make as you pedal faster to catch up. It takes a few seconds for you to coast into position at his side.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” you fuss, “Wanna clue me in?”

Hoseok turns his head to smile at you, sly like a fox.

“You’ll find out when we get there.”

The realtor had said the place would need a little love.

Turns out, it needs a lot more than a little. But Hoseok was able to see right past the weathered wooden porch and salt air-worn paint right away. When he found this place online, he knew it was the one.

He slows his bike to a stop as the two of you make your approach, taking note of the warm light that glows just behind the frosted glass pane in the front door. Looks like Yoongi came through.

“What is this place?” you ask, skidding to a stop beside him. You stand over your bike on tiptoes as you survey the house, brow knit in confusion.

“It’s a surprise,” Hoseok grins, hopping off his bike. He shoves the kickstand into place and offers you his hand, which you accept with a suspicious smile. “Wanna go in?”

“Yeah sure,” you shrug. “We’ve probably already stolen these bikes. What’s a little breaking and entering on top of that?”

Hoseok laughs, leading the way to the front door.

He cringes when the porch floorboards creak loudly beneath his feet, making a mental note to put that project next on his to-do list. You stand with arms crossed, watching silently as he crouches down to lift the mat at the front door, fingers feeling beneath for the concealed key.

You stop him with fingers wrapped around his forearm when he gets to his feet.

“Wait,” you whisper frantically. “We can’t just walk into someone’s house, Hoseok.”

He chuckles before leaning down to kiss the adorable confusion right off your face. Then he slides his key into the lock and pushes the door wide open.

“Not someone’s house,” he corrects, watching you peer skeptically inside.

You step slowly through the threshold and scan the candle-lit front room before turning to him with wide eyes.

“Our house.”

“You bought a beach house.”

It’s the third time you’ve said it by now, and not once has the hushed observation been directed at Hoseok. You said it when you brushed your fingertips over the freshly-dried spackle on the living room wall, said it again as you passed your hand over the base coat of stain on the mantle over the fireplace.

You say it again as you turn to him, jaw slack with disbelief.

“You bought a beach house.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok admits sheepishly, uncertain of your reaction. He tries to see the room the way you must see it now, candles and tools scattered across the tables, floors covered in drop cloths, cans of paint and plaster stacked up in the corners.

Yoongi had done a decent job of clearing up most of the clutter before he left, but judging by the astonishment on your face, he’s probably been romanticizing the mess in here.

He’d really hoped to have a lot more done the first time he brought you here, but he’s learned the hard way that some home renovation projects don’t go as smoothly in real life as they do on YouTube. The process has been a bit of trial and error, with a lot more error than he’d originally counted on.

“I know it doesn’t look like a whole lot right now,” he says, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, “But it’s going to look great when I’m done. Yoongi helped me sand all week.”

You shake your head like you’re coming out of a daze.

“Oh my god Hoseok, no -- ” you vow with a shaky laugh, “ -- no, this is incredible. This is amazing. I’m in shock.”

“Yeah?” Hoseok grins, relief melting over him. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted -- ”

“ -- Wait,” you interrupt, one brow quirked high as you step closer. “You said… you said something important. You said this was our house.”

“Did I?”

You narrow your dark eyes at him and he chuckles uncomfortably, nerves kicking in for the first time tonight. The feeling -- and the occasion both call for more booze. Which he’s prepared for.

“Are you going to give me a tour?” you ask.

“Later,” he says. “After.”

“After what, Hoseok? You’re killing me slowly with all this suspense.”

“Hang out here for a second,” he instructs, ducking into the small kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

It takes him no time at all to find the bottle of Moet he’s stashed in the fridge and the clean champagne flutes tucked away into the corner of his dutifully-dusted kitchen cabinet. He double-checks the contents of the box on the counter, making sure everything is in place.

Then he takes a deep breath.

Your brows lift in surprise when he walks back into the room with that box in his hands. You watch him set it down on the floor, saying nothing when he turns back to retrieve the champagne and glasses.

When he finally returns, you’re on your knees -- examining the package. Lips pursed thoughtfully as you press your fingers to the gold flecks on the fabric lid.

“Hoseok,” you whisper, flicking your gaze up to find his. “I have so many questions right now.”

You look so damned beautiful in this candlelight -- like you brought your golden glow from the beach indoors. Like you absorbed the sun’s rays and you’re emitting them now like some kind of superpower.

“Have a drink with me,” he murmurs, “And I’ll answer them.”

Something in the room shifts then; the temperature changes. The silly fun of the afternoon evaporates, leaving behind something heavy and heady. Hoseok knows you feel it too, when your half-smile slowly drops and you pull your lower lip between your teeth.

“Okay,” you agree softly, “Let’s have a drink.”

You watch him with those focused dark eyes as he pops the champagne. The drink bubbles over the lip of both flutes as he pours, on account of his haste and shaky hands. Then you take one of the glasses in hand and offer him the other, which he quickly accepts.

“To this surprise housewarming,” you declare, raising your flute for a toast.

Hoseok clinks his glass against yours, taking note of the way you watch him carefully over the lip of your glass as you’re tilting back the flute to take a sip. He decides he can’t keep you -- or himself -- in suspense any longer.

“You know how special you are to me, right?”

You make a face.

“Did you bring me to your new house to break up with me?”

Hoseok’s startled laugh turns into a cough and tears prick his eyes as champagne bubbles blaze a path up his sinuses.

“Yes,” he says dryly, once he’s managed to collect himself. “I figured dumping you by candlelight sounded like the most romantic option.”

You tip your head back when you laugh, light playing off the curve of your neck, your collarbones, the tiny gold pendant that sits in the pretty dip at the base of your throat.

God, he loves your skin.

Hoseok looks at you long and hard before lifting his flute to take a long drink.

“This is for you,” he says quietly, acknowledging the box out loud for the first time.

“What’s in it?”

“A human head,” Hoseok snorts, flinching when you reach over to pinch his leg. “Don’t be a pain. Just open it.”

Your eyes light with excitement as you smooth your hands over the lid and Hoseok can’t help but smile. But your excitement turns into confusion the moment you open the box and find the neat row of plain white envelopes inside.

“What is this?”

“Quit asking me questions,” Hoseok deadpans, pouring himself another drink. He tops off your glass, too. “And start at the front.”

You shake your head with a wry smile as you work the first envelope open, slipping your fingers in between the paper folds to fish out the contents inside. Hoseok sips his champagne as you produce the polaroid photo, head cocked to the side as you study it.

It was cold that day, he remembers that. You’d been bundled up in a pretty scarf and matching belted coat. In the photo, the mid-morning sun flares behind you, illuminating your profile as you squint up at a display of laminated menus.

“This is me,” you murmur, mouth quirking into a disbelieving smile, “At the coffee truck outside of work.”

“Yup.”

“We’d just started dating.”

“Yup.”

“How did you take this without me noticing?”

“Easy,” Hoseok laughs. “You stared at that menu for five minutes straight. I’ve never seen someone take coffee selection so seriously. Thought you were gonna order the most complicated drink in history.”

You roll your eyes but you laugh. So does he.

“Turn it over.”

You flip the polaroid over in your hands, eyes moving over the neat block handwriting on the back.

coolest girl i ever met

“This is the day I knew I liked you,” Hoseok murmurs, “Like, really liked you.”

Your eyes are a bit glassy when you look up at him now, the corner of your mouth tugging into a soft smile.

“You were that sure that fast, huh?” “Yeah,” he admits, scratching self-consciously at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I was.”

You move onto the next envelope, this time prepared when you pull out yet another polaroid picture. This one is harder to place, taken in the dark, mostly black but for a few splashes of vivid light.

“I don’t know this one,” you frown, ghosting your finger across one particularly colorful blur of red and gold. “I can’t make it out.”

You turn the polaroid over, looking once again for Hoseok’s neat block letters.

she’s into me

You laugh out loud.

“That was the lantern festival in Cheonggyecheon,” Hoseok explains. “I’d invited you, but you’d had plans, remember? And I was just going to get Yoongi to go with me but you called me last minute to say you’d decided to come.”

“I remember,” you say with a smile. “Yeri invited me to a movie, but I cancelled on her. I wanted to hang out with you instead.”

“Yeah, well that’s the night I knew you really liked me.”

“Cocky,” you smirk, reaching for another envelope. “But warranted.”

Your eyes light with recognition the moment you pull the next picture out. You’re crouched down at the edge of his mother’s koi pond, one finger making ripples on the surface of the water.

“First time we ever went to Gwangju together,” you muse quietly. “First time I met your parents.”

You flip the polaroid over.

pretty sure my mom loves her more than she loves me

“Okay, this might actually be true,” you tease, taking a sip of your champagne. “Your mom and dad love me.”

“Yeah, well that was the day I decided I loved you, too,” Hoseok chuckles. “The point where I kind of knew there was no turning back.”

You look up from the photograph then, eyes glassy with emotion when they find his. Candlelight flickering across your face as you look at him fondly.

“You still feel that way?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” he laughs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Keep going.”

The next polaroid is a selfie of Hoseok in bed but it’s by no means sexual. There are dark circles under his eyes and his skin has a sallow tint. Next to his pillow, the bedside table is littered with cold medicine and empty cups.

“Is this when you had the flu?” you ask, flipping the polaroid over. The neat block lettering on the back confirms your theory.

she took care of me

“You were so pitiful,” you laugh, shaking your head at the memory. “Wrapped up in your blankets like a burrito. I swear, men have zero tolerance for discomfort.”

“I nearly died,” Hoseok protests dramatically. “But you dropped everything to come take care of me. That’s the day I knew you loved me, too.”

Your smile is brilliant now, open and sweet as you reach for the last remaining envelope. Hoseok takes another swig of champagne, slugging it down as you pull out the polaroid and study the image.

You are wearing your delicate sundress, leaned up against the wooden railing that separates the sand and rocks. Standing just next to your bike, nose in the air as you breathe in the salt carried on the wind.

“This is today,” you murmur, brows knitting together when you flip the picture over and find the back side blank. “And you haven’t written anything here.”

“Yeah, well,” Hoseok starts and stops, clearing his throat. “I haven’t had a chance to write it in yet.”

“Oh.”

“That’s the day I asked you to marry me.”

“Oh.”

You blink. Once, then again. Hoseok can hear the shaky breath you take in when your mouth parts in surprise. He sets his champagne flute down, sufficiently bolstered by the booze.

“So that’s what I’m doing right now. I’m asking you to marry me.”

You’re still mute with shock, eyes wide as they go from Hoseok to the picture and back to Hoseok again.

“But uh, the longer you don’t say anything, the less confident I feel about this entire plan,” he chuckles awkwardly.

You take him off balance when you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and your thighs around his waist. He keeps you both from toppling over with a palm flat to the floor, laughing as you pepper his face with kisses.

“So is that a yes?”

“Yes,” you sigh, pressing your lips to his temple, his neck, his jaw. “Yes. To you and to these amazing pictures and to this beach house. Yes to all of it.”

You pull away from him to grab the champagne, eyes flashing mischievously as you take a drink straight from the bottle. “Yes to champagne, too.”

Hoseok feigns shock. “Naughty.”

You kiss him deeply then, thoroughly, enough for him to feel the remnants of the carbonation on your tongue. You tease him with a barely there roll of your hips and his cock responds instantaneously, at the mercy of the warm friction he can feel straight through the thin material of his board shorts.

“You know what I’m thinking?” you murmur against his mouth.

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah,” Hoseok chuckles, sucking a breath between his teeth when you bite the skin just below his ear.

“We have a lot to celebrate, right?” you reason, tone light. “But we came here for a housewarming.”

You lean back just far enough to pull your sundress over your head, tossing it carelessly aside, leaving you in nothing but those pretty white panties he loves so much.

“So we should warm it.”

Hoseok grins, pulling the champagne bottle out of your grip. He turns it up just like you did, finishing what’s left before setting it back down.

“I like the way you think.”

The only bedroom in this house is buried beneath a two-inch thick layer of sawdust right now.

Not that making it to a bedroom seems high on your list of priorities.

The fact that you’re both sitting on top of a drop cloth on Hoseok’s living room floor isn’t stopping you from threading your fingers into his hair, slipping your tongue into his mouth, grinding against his lap.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” you laugh, pressing your bare breasts to his chest once he’s managed to untangle himself from your limbs long enough to shrug out of his shirt. Your pebbled nipples drag across the lithe planes of his chest and his cock jumps in his shorts.

“Clever.”

“That’s me,” Hoseok murmurs against your lips, deft fingers slipping beneath the damp cotton between your thighs. He slides the pad of one long finger across your wet slit and you gasp, rocking against it.

“Gotta get you out of these panties,” he laments, pulling one nipple into his mouth and working it with his teeth. You shudder in his hold. “Quick.”

“What are you in such a hurry for?” you tease, circling your hips to chase the perfect pressure of his fingertips. “We have all night.”

“We have about three more minutes if you keep grinding on me like this,” Hoseok laughs, shifting your bodies to lean you back onto the floor. “So give me a break because I want to enjoy this.”

You lie back for him dutifully, dark hair spilling onto the drop cloth around you, skin gleaming in the candlelight. Your gold pendant twinkles at the base of your neck.

God, he loves the way you look like this.

Flushed with excitement and anticipation. Like a feast laid out just for him. He rids himself of those pesky board shorts as fast as he can, leaning over you on hands and knees.

“You’re gonna marry me,” he muses, burying his face into the soft skin under your jaw. “You already said yes, can’t take it back now.”

Your laughter is echoing in his ears as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, across the bronzed planes of your shoulder. He can taste the day on your skin; the ocean salt and sunscreen mixed with that flavor that’s so uniquely you.

“I don’t want to take it back,” you sigh, whimpering when Hoseok kisses a path down the velvety skin between your breasts. He travels lower, kissing just below your bellybutton as he starts working your panties off with one hand. “I’m gonna keep you.”

Hoseok chuckles as he tosses your panties away, off to somewhere unimportant. What’s important is the way you take a deep breath and hold it when his mouth hovers coyly over your cunt.

“Look at me,” he directs, peering up at you from beneath heavy eyelids. You open your eyes to meet his gaze, candlelight dancing over your pretty face.

“I love you,” he breathes, lowering his mouth to make contact with your clit. The air leaves your lungs in that moment, a soft exhalation of air that makes the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end.

“I love you too,” you sigh, hips jerking at the contact, fingers digging hard into his hair. “So much.”

He knows you by now, knows how you like to be touched. Your rhythmic panting goes a bit ragged, when he slides two fingers into your cunt, crooking up to stroke you the way you like while his mouth works your clit.

God, he loves this part.

The part where you lose any semblance of control. The desperate sounds you make when you start to come apart beneath his mouth and hands.

“Hoseok -- “ your voice is strangled when you call out, “ -- Hobi, I’m gonna come.”

Something about the way you say his name goes straight to his dick. He grits his teeth when your nails dig almost painfully into his scalp as you start to tremble, shuddering against his mouth.

“That’s it, baby,” he soothes, pinning your hips down with his strong hands, keeping you from pulling away from the pleasure that borders on pain. “That’s it. Sound so good when you come for me.”

Hoseok stays face first in your cunt, nose and tongue pressed against you, until he’s certain the last wave has come and gone. Between his own legs, his cock pulses painfully, leaking pre-come at the thought of finally being inside of you.

Your body twitches with the aftershocks of your release as he slowly kisses his way up your thighs, your mound, your stomach.

“How was that?” he asks with a teasing tilt to his mouth, stealing your ability to answer when he kisses you deeply, fitting his slim hips between your legs. He reaches down to grab his stiff cock, sliding it across your slick entrance. You clamp your thighs together to tighten the drag and he groans at the friction.

“Amazing,” you sigh, dragging your nails over his ass, up the lean muscles of his back. “Perfect. You should let me return the favor.”

His dick practically jumps at the suggestion, stomach contracting hard at the prospect of feeling your pretty mouth wrapped around it. But Hoseok is too worked up, too riled up by the alcohol and the excitement.

“Can’t tonight,” he pants, arousal shooting up his spine when you wrap one hand around his now-wet cock. You pump him lazily, trailing soft bites from his jaw to his shoulder. “Need to be inside of you.”

“Yeah, I’m ready for that too,” you admit, guiding the blunt head of his cock to your entrance.

He surges forward then, pushing past the tight grip of your fingers, groaning as he’s enveloped completely by your warm cunt. You whimper at the stretch, locking your legs around him, gasping when he bottoms out.

He pulls back to the tip only to drive in again, earning another strangled moan. You’re squirming beneath him, breathless and dewy, looking like some kind of wet dream.

“I’ll never get over how good it feels to be inside of you,” Hoseok admits, burying himself as deep as he humanly can into you.

You’re so wet he can feel you spilling out onto the base of his dick and for one fleeting moment he wishes you knew how good this feels for him. How wet and hot and tight you feel around him. How being inside of you like this makes his brain go haywire, reduces him to only instinct and need.

You lift your hips to meet each snap of his, the wet sound of your joining echoing off the walls in this mostly empty house.

He hears you moaning his name in between the other sounds you make, in between the panting and mewling that makes his balls tighten. You grip his forearms as he grinds against you, kissing you in between desperate breaths.

“I think I’m gonna come again,” you gasp against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

“Oh, fuck,” Hoseok groans, pulling back to get to his knees. He hooks one of your legs over the crook of one strong forearm, using his one free hand to press a thumb to your clit. His rhythm falters as he watches himself slide in and out of you, hypnotized by the sight of his body joined to yours.

You lift your ass off the floor, back arching as you chase the pressure of his fingers. Hoseok strokes you desperately, feeling his orgasm looming menacingly at the base of his cock. It takes just a few more strained pumps of his hips to set you off.

The second he feels you clamp down around him, Hoseok folds back over you, arms braced on either side of you as he thrusts through his own orgasm. He shuts his eyes and groans as he empties his cock inside of you, thrusting until he can’t anymore.

He collapses onto you, heart racing as he tries to catch his breath.

“Don’t leave me,” you groan when Hoseok peels his damp skin away from yours to get to his feet.

He strides across the room, completely nude, grinning when you turn onto your side and go up on one elbow to ogle him.

“Just for a second,” he calls out, pulling out every unorganized drawer in the kitchen until he finally comes across a pen. “Gotta finish something.”

He makes a show of holding it in the air as he walks back into the living room, opening the gold-flecked box, and pulling out the last unmarked polaroid photo.

You’re smiling the entire time you watch him pen the last caption on the last photograph.

she said yes

tag list!

@japzalileo @dionysusrage @hey-itsmina @myimaginationsrunningwild @hauntedlilies @spring2787 @suppbeccc @veronawrites @minyoongiboongi @katbonv

[hangovercurse]

Thesis

After a bad day, Colson comes over to take care of you, only to find out about a secret you’ve been keeping from him.

Request: “I was wondering if you could do a Kells fic where he's dating the reader and finds out she is c*tting, and helps her. Its total ok if you aren't comfortable writing this though 🖤”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: discussion and depictions of self-harm, cursing, angst

A/N: Gonna get really serious with this one: If you are struggling with self-harm (in all forms, not just those discussed in this text) or issues with your mental health, please reach out to someone! Family, friends, anyone. I know it’s hard and you may feel like no one cares, but I promise someone does. If you don’t feel comfortable telling someone you know, message me. My page is a safe space and I will never judge you. I promise you, the world is a much better place with you in it and you deserve to take up space, you deserve to be happy.  

On that note, do not read this if you feel it may be triggering to you, please.

Word Count: 2457

 You sighed as you read the email subject Re: Y/L/N Final Thesis Revised 2. Every time your doctoral advisor sent you an email in response to any work on your thesis, it wasn’t good.

Ms. Y/L/N,

I regret to inform you that the corrections that you have made are still not adequate enough for submission to the board. Please read my notes attached for further work to be done.

You didn’t even bother reading the rest of the email, instead choosing to slam your head down against your wooden desk. “Fuck!” You yelled to your empty house.

You had rewritten your doctoral thesis 4 times already and submitted for approval twice, both of which were rejected. Your advisor was trying to be patient with you, but you could tell his tolerance was running low. “What am I doing wrong?” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes as you let your head rest against the wood.

Maybe you’re just not smart enough. That unhelpful voice in your mind chimed in, making you groan. Seriously though, if you were smarter, then you would have been approved already.

Your chest started tightening and you felt nauseous, tears coming to your eyes. You reached around for your phone, hearing Colson’s voice in your mind. “If you have a bad day, text me. You can always talk to me.”

Hey

You texted him, hoping he would respond soon. Your breathing was getting heavier and you just wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t the voice in your head.

Hey, I’m in the studio rn, everything ok?

My thesis got rejected

Again :(

I’m sorry babe

Wanna see you

Colson didn’t answer for a few moments, and you had a feeling he was letting out a frustrated sigh. You hated bothering him at work, it always made you feel like a nuisance to him.

I can’t leave right now

:(

You’ll be okay

It’s just a paper

Now it was your turn to let out a sigh. Colson didn’t exactly understand why this was so important to you. Every time you got upset after it didn’t turn out well, he told you the same thing, “It’s just a paper, you can just rewrite it.”

But it’s not just a paper. It’s currently the only thing standing between you and a doctorate degree. And you’ve rewritten it four times before.

He’s just sick of you whining about it.

You annoy him

He doesn’t care about you

You got up from your desk and made your way to the bathroom, not sure if you were going to throw up or do something worse. The voice kept speaking, her incessant words running through your head.

You know what’ll make you feel better.

And you did. You had been trying to stop, and you were doing pretty good until a few weeks ago. Up until that point it was rare, a few times a month. Now it was 4 times a week; more days than not.

You reached under your bathroom counter, pulling out the small, inconspicuous makeup bag. You brought it over and set it on the edge of the bathtub, sitting on the floor next to it.

The zipper felt familiar under your fingers as you pulled it, the metal coming into view. Your secret stash of hellish paradise.

You pulled one of the razers out, feeling the coolness on your skin. Pulling up the sleeve of your sweater, you placed the sharp edge against the fragile skin on your wrist. You took a deep breath as you slid it across the skin, not even wincing at the pain. The blood rolling out of the wound was beautiful to you, a therapy in itself. You laid the arm over the bathtub, taking another slice at your wrist.

You had to be careful not to go too close to the hand or else the sweaters you wore could ride up and expose you, and you couldn’t make too many cuts or someone would be bound to notice.

Once you had made 4 slits in your skin, you stopped. The razor fell to the edge of the bathtub as you watched the blood drip down your arm, gravity pulling it towards your hand to pool in your palm. As fucked up as it was, you liked the view. The pain barely registered to you anymore.

It felt like all the fears were draining from your body with the blood. You knew it would all come back eventually, but in this moment, you felt peace. Your stomach stopped turning and your chest loosened. And for just a little while, the voices in your head were gone.

You laid there for probably 30 minutes, the peaceful silence engulfing you. Eventually you came back to your senses, realizing the mess you had made. You sighed, standing up and turning the faucet on. You watched the blood that sat in the tub wash away before running your arm under the water. It stung a bit, but the blood disappeared from your arm, leaving you with the visual of 4 dark red cuts.

Once the tub was clean, you moved to the cabinets under the sink again, this time grabbing a package of band-aids and covering the marks that were bleeding slightly after the water pressure opened them up again. You ran the blade under water from the sink to clean it before throwing it back in the bag and hiding it. Satisfied that all evidence of your sins was gone, you pulled down the sleeves of your sweater and made your way to your couch to watch a true crime documentary.

A little over a half hour later Colson texted you.

Picking up your favorite food :)

Be over in 10

You smiled at your phone for a second before guilt crept into your mind. How could you think that he doesn’t care about you? He’s never done anything but love you.

You are the world’s worst girlfriend.

You bit your lip, trying to make the thoughts go away. You didn’t want to be upset when Colson got there, it would spoil his whole night.

It didn’t quite work, but you were able to put on a fake smile when he got to your door. He set the bags of food on your coffee table before flopping on top of you on the couch. His face buried into your neck, pressing soft kisses onto the skin all over. He did this whenever he knew you were sad, it made you laugh.

He sat up, looking down on you, “how’s my girl doing?” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Better now that you’re here.” You mumbled, throwing your clothed arms around his middle and pulling him back against you. He chuckled and flipped you around so his back was against the couch and you were resting on his chest.

You smiled at him, you don’t deserve him, the voice screamed. You ignored it, burying your head into his shirt, the smell of him filling your nose. “What’re we watching?”

Your voice was muffled by the fabric, “The Vanishing of Elisa Lam.”

He looked up, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “of course we are.”

“We can watch something else.” You mumbled. Colson chuckled and sat up, pulling you with him to rest in his lap, your back against his chest.

His long arm reached to grab the food off the table, setting one box in your hands. “Your weird true crime show is fine, babe. You choose tonight.” He kissed your cheek, making you smile and sink further into his chest.

A little while passed and you had both finished your food, placing the empty boxes on the table. Colson’s arms were around your waist and you moved to hold his hands. You had tried wrapped your palm over the back of his hand, but he flipped his hand so his palm encased yours. As the documentary played, he began to rub circles into your skin subconsciously, moving down your wrist slowly.

In his arms you momentarily forgot about your session in the bathroom from earlier, but when his thumb brushed against the bandage on your arm you were shocked back into reality. “What’s that?” He mumbled, chin resting on your shoulder and looking down to the shirt sleeve.

“Nothing, I cut myself doing dishes earlier.” You lied, it being second nature at this point.

Colson’s hand moved to the edge of your sleeve, moving to roll it up. “You’re so clumsy sometimes.”

You yanked your arm out of his hand as you felt the fabric moving up, “what are you doing?” You asked, holding your arm closer to yourself subconsciously.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I was gonna kiss it better.” He mumbled.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to.” You sighed, turning your attention back to the TV. He didn’t like that answer and based off of your reaction, he could tell something was up.

He reached to hold your arm again, and you relaxed into his touch, thinking he would just hold your hand. Instead, he dragged your sleeve up your arm, exposing four band-aids on your wrist and older, exposed scars.

“Colson!” You yelled, standing up and wiggling out of his grasp.

He had a shocked expression on his face that slowly turned into a mixture of concern and hurt. He tried to form words but was struggling. Finally, he got out a whispered “why?”

You bit your tongue, arms wrapped around your body as you faced away from him. Your breathing got heavy and you could feel tears coming to your eyes. He’s definitely gonna leave you now.

When you didn’t respond he stood up slowly, walking towards you and wrapping his arms around you. His lips met the top of your head briefly before replacing them with his chin.

The feeling of his embrace was enough to send your walls crashing down, tears finally falling down your face. You shook in his arms, your knees buckling under you. He whispered as he held you up, “hey hey hey hey, I’m here, baby. I’m right here. You can talk to me.” He led you back to the couch, pulling you back into his lap. You turned towards him and buried your face into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had before.

Your sniffles filled the room, followed by your quiet “I’m sorry.”

Colson shook his head, taking your face in his hand and moving it away from his skin so you were forced to look at him. “You don’t have to be sorry.” You nodded and he slowly wiped the tears from under your eyes. The soft motion made you calm down ever so slightly. After a few minutes of being held, your sobs stopped, tears not falling as hard. “Can we talk about this.”

You sniffled but nodded your head, your eyes not meeting his. “I’m not gonna be upset with you, or angry. I just need you to be honest with me, okay?” He asked, his blue eyes searching your face. You simply nodded again, turning your head all the way down so your nose was parallel to the floor. The top of your head pressed against Colson’s chest.

“How long?” His voice was a whisper, but it held an infinity of emotion.

You mumbled out a response, “a while.” You could feel how fast his heart was beating, “Before I met you. It’s just gotten a lot worse lately.”

He nodded, sucking his lips in. “Why didn’t you talk to me? You know you can always talk to me, darling.”

New tears fell from your eyes. “I tried to.” You whispered, feeling guilty. His hand moved to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

He took a few moments to remember what you were talking about before he sighed. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were so upset. I didn’t know.” He whispered, “But I know now, so from now on you gotta tell me if you feel like doing this to yourself.”

You nodded against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. Don’t be sorry, why are you sorry?” He asked

You shrugged, “sorry you have to deal with me.”

He grabbed your face again, this time forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t ever say that again. Okay? I fucking love you. You’re going through some shit right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop loving you. I don’t want you to ever think that.” As he spoke his harsh tone got softer, quieter.

“I just don’t feel like I’m good enough, for anything.” You slumped into him, your head laying on his shoulder.

His arms pulled you further into him, “Y/N, you are the smartest, most amazing, most beautiful person I’ve ever met. You’re literally about to become a doctor! That’s fucking incredible. I am so proud of you.”

“’m not really gonna be a doctor.” You mumbled, “I can’t get this fucking thesis approved.”

He sighed into your hair, “You are going to get through this. You have worked your ass off to get here, I know you’re not gonna let a stupid paper get in your way.” He pressed a kiss into your hair and you looked up to him, a pout still on your face. “Baby you aren’t just good enough, you’re better. I know it feels shitty right now but you’re gonna get through this. And I’m gonna be right here with you.”

He leaned down and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. It took a second, but you kissed him back. “Thank you.” You whispered when you pulled away, reaching up to wipe your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“I love you.” He whispered, “do you think we could throw your blades away?” He asked softly.

“I might need your help.” You whispered. He nodded, lifting you off his lap and standing up. He grabbed your hand and you led him to your bathroom. You found the bag and handed it to him. “I can’t…” You whispered, trying to stop the tears you felt behind your eyes.

Colson nodded, taking it from you and opening it, frowning at the metal inside. “I don’t want to throw them away here, because you could get them out of the trash later. So, I’m gonna take them back to my house tomorrow and I’ll throw them out there.”

You nodded, hand squeezing his. You moved closer to him, resting your free hand on his shoulder, and pressing your cheek against his chest. “I love you.”

He smiled down at you, wrapping his arm around you, “I love you too.”

[theartofimagining13]

CHAPTER 4: THE CHEATER CHEETAH DRESS.

WRITTEN BY: A.Wölf.

BASED ON: Imagine: After a big discussion with your fiancé Tom…

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: 1 DISENGAGEMENT | 2 THE TALE OF THE OFFENSE | 3 THE WEDDING GUEST

TEASER  |  POSTER    |   CHAPTER POSTER | CHAPTER TEASER

NOTES: First and foremost, I would like to thank @clockgirl94​ because if she hadn’t sent me that Javier gif, this chapter wouldn’t have been born.  ❤︎

I was reluctant to write spanish dialogue translations but then I remembered that spanish is my first language and maybe not everyone else’s lol. 

And also, there’s a subtle POV change.

Enjoy.

Funny how some humans’ defense mechanism works only in retrospect.

You get out of a messy situation, and it is only when you look back that things are crystal clear and you ask yourself why did I not see this before?

I was sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes. After our honeymoon, Tom bought a bigger house in a quieter area of the city for us to move into. As I unpacked my clothes, I found a little summer dress that I hadn’t seen in months and I might as well have used as a noose because, as soon as I saw it, as soon as I touched it, I was out of breath and felt the biggest knot in my throat. There’s violence in the way some memories come back to us with an object or a smell; that seemingly insignificant piece of fabric unleashed in my mind a wild river of memories.

I chuckled at myself.

If I had truly wanted to forget, I would’ve burned the fucking dress but I had only managed to stash it at the bottom of a forgotten drawer, and now it was here. I got up and neatly placed it on the bed and stared at it. I suddenly felt a kiss on my left temple. Tom walked past me afterwards holding another heavy box and I saw the curious face he made once he left it on the floor and noticed the dress.

“You haven’t worn that in a long time.”  

“I know…”

He stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“You should.” He purred in my ear before planting kisses down my neck. “You drive me crazy in it.”

My heart raced when he held me tighter and spun me around. He caught my lips with his and I felt his hands going down my back. This was triggering for me, I had to stop him without being suspicious so I gently pulled away.

“Take me out on a date when we’re done here and I just might wear it.” I lied.

Tom let out a quiet pleasure groan in advance at the mental image perhaps.

“You got yourself a deal, baby.”

He gave me a quick peck on the lips and left to carry on with the move.

I sighed. See, the thing is, Tom wasn’t the only one who that dress drove crazy, and by now, I am pretty sure we’ve established that he and his former best friend, Pedro, liked the same things. As I stared at it again, I let myself go and revisited that particular memory in the forbidden recollections book.

Tom and I were hosting a summer cookout for a few friends and family in our old garden.

It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day in June, and I was wearing the now infamous cheetah print dress with combat boots. Tom had proposed a few days prior, and I hadn’t told Pedro. The thought alone made me nervous because how was I supposed to even form that sentence?

Hello, lover. I just got engaged.

Cringe. Of course not. Which is why I chose not to wear the ring for the occasion.

It didn’t get any easier when I saw Pedro as I walked out into the backyard. He was helping Tom with the grill and the charcoal, with a beer bottle in one hand but looked up at me and stared almost longer than politically correct. And the way he did it, slowly from head to toe and with slightly parted lips which made me feel things I shouldn’t have felt; but that ship had sailed. I kept my distance mingling with others at the party and he stayed there talking to Tom for a while.

I wish I had heard that conversation.

“I asked her to marry me.” Tom said with the biggest grin. “She said yes, mate.”

Pedro tensed up and stared at Tom, he swallowed and washed down a million sour words he could’ve said with the swig of beer he took.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tom chuckled. “I was… terrified.”

“Well, who in their right mind would ever do that?” Pedro half joked.

“You say that now…” Tom said. “But you just wait. I mean, look at her. Can you blame me?”

Pedro tightened his jaw as he glanced at her one more time and spoke through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, I’ve told you a million times that you’re a lucky motherfucker.” He said causing Tom to laugh. “I gotta take a leak.” Pedro announced dryly. “Hey, you got anything stronger than this?” and immediately added, “We’re celebrating, aren’t we?”

“There’s whiskey inside.”

“I’ll get it.”

He started to walk away but stopped to look back at Tom, realizing that he had forgotten something.

“Congratulations, man.” He forced a smile.

When Pedro walked into the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and scowled at himself in the mirror.

I put a big pitcher of lemonade in the fridge before I went upstairs but I stopped midway when I heard the hallway bathroom door opening and closing, and instinctively looked over my shoulder only to find Pedro.

I couldn’t read his expression so I kept walking, hoping that he would follow me, and aching for a moment with just the two of us alone. I faced him when I reached mine and Tom’s bedroom door and leaned against it with my hands behind my back. He got closer and placed his right hand right next to my head, towering over me as he stared into my soul.

“You think you can just walk around in that little dress and get away with it?”

“You like it?” I teased.

He slowly looked down and up again, provokingly.

“It’s driving me crazy.” He confessed in almost a whisper.

I allowed my eyes to wander and make sure that we were completely alone before I leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was cold, empty, so unlike Pedro’s trademark passionate ones, and he was rarely in a bad mood which made it twice as scary when he actually was, but I had no idea if that was the case. I pulled away and furrowed my eyebrows with concern. He cleared his throat and sniffed loudly.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” He inquired with the most serious face and tone.

“What do you mean?”

But he just cocked his head with condescendence and, it took me a minute, but I figured out what he was talking about.

“He told you.” I sighed. “Pedro, I was going to tell you, I just-”

“When were you going to tell me?” He cut me off.

“I-I don’t know, I couldn’t find the right w-”

I ceased talking and flinched when he struck the door with the hand that had been resting next to my head.

“Fuck’s sake…” He cursed and roamed a little with his hands on his waist.

Back then, silly me thought he was jealous, hell, I even liked it a bit. But no. Pedro was worried.

“Now?” He asked with a much more collected tone. “He had to propose now?”

Looking back, this was the only moment Pedro felt a little remorse. He was worried because my engagement had just made things even more complicated. Ironically enough, our affair had only started when this happened; we had been meeting in secret for a few weeks. We could’ve stopped then while Tom hadn’t a clue, could’ve pretended that it never happened and move on. Pedro and Tom’s friendship would’ve remained intact.

Pedro was a hypocrite, we’ve also established that. Somehow, it was okay to fuck his best friend’s girlfriend but once I became his fiancée, Pedro looked like he had finally encountered a line he could not cross.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” He wondered out loud while looking over my shoulder as if he could see Tom in the backyard, through the door and walls.

Truthfully, I was very happy with my diamond ring, so, I also started pondering on my future with Pedro. The fact that our affair had just started had a pro and a con in common; Pro, We had only just begun which would make it easier to cut ties right then and there. Con, we had only just begun which would make it ten times harder to quit right then and there.

I sighed with frustration when I had that moment of honest clarity.

“I guess we could… stop?” I hesitantly asked and hated it to no end.

Pedro’s face fell and he studied me briefly but carefully.

“I mean,” I added. “People might get hurt.”

Pedro blinked several times and slowly began to nod.

“You’re right. We don’t… we don’t want that. We’ve been lucky.”

But I swallowed hard because I could easily tell that he loathed this as much as I did.

“We should just… be friends.”

Again, his brown eyes traveled up and down my body and he gulped.

“Friends.” He echoed.

My heart was racing in the middle of the staring contest we seemed to be having, and I felt as if he could hear it over the silence we shared. He inched closer.

“Is…is that what you want?” He inquired.

At that point, that was the only right thing left to do, and to sort of mend things or prevent them from getting worse. But Pedro understood my silence when I just glued my eyes to his.

“Open the door.” He ordered.

As soon as I did, he followed me inside, closing it behind him and kissed me on the lips in the most urgent way, and I thought my heart would leap out of my chest. I could feel his hands going down my back as he kissed my neck and chest, and I turned around and faced the bed because I knew what we both wanted and needed. He pressed me against his body and cupped my breasts. I could feel him getting hard and it weakened my knees. His hands went underneath my dress and he pulled down my underwear before pulling the skirt up.

The sound of Pedro unbuckling his belt in a rush reverberated in my core. I desperately needed him inside of me, I wanted and needed him to fuck me till we both came. He licked his fingers and touched me, letting out a silent and proud chuckle because I was more than ready for him. Our foreplay had started from the moment he decided to eye fuck me as soon as I showed up in the garden, and our little conversation was the sugar on the rim. He lowered his pants enough to pull out his cock and caressed my entrance with the tip, using his free hand to gently and slightly bend me over the bed.

And he tortured me like this for a few seconds that felt much longer to me, inserting just the tip, slowly going out and in again until I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore and he finally quickened the pace. I wanted more. I needed more. I needed him, all of him, and I moaned when he finally granted me my wish.

“Fuck…” He breathed out and just stayed inside of me while I adjusted to him.

Pedro grabbed me by the hips with a tight grip and started fucking me like I had been silently begging him to; Hard and fast and just making me his. His low grunts and his ragged breath were turning me on even more. One of his hands slid up my back until his fingers got lost in my hair and he grabbed a fistful as he kept pounding into me, but it moved down to my neck, prompting me to stand up straight as he wrapped his arms around my waist and one greedy hand cupped one of my breasts.

“Te gusta? (You like it?)”

I groaned. I loved it when he whispered things in Spanish in my ear, and adding the fact that we had to be as quiet as possible was driving me over the edge.

“Dime. (Tell me).”

“Yes.” I breathed out. “Pedro…”

He chuckled again, knowing what I was implying and begging for, and he nibbled my neck before whispering once more.

“Te quieres venir? (You want to cum?)” He asked even though he knew I was dying to cum. I could even hear his mischievous grin. “Vente, mi amor. (Cum, my love).”

The rhythm of his thrusts increased again and he held me tighter. My whole body tensed up, I could feel it, the tingling sensation slowly taking over until it possessed me whole, mind and soul. Pedro had to cover my mouth as I came undone in his arms, he held onto me for dear life and buried his face in the crook of my neck as he poured himself into me and let out a suffocated moan against my skin.

With relief washing over us, our heart rates began to settle, and our foreheads were covered with a thin layer of sweat.

As I freshened up and washed my face, I stared at myself in the mirror and wondered if that had been the last time for Pedro and I.

Perhaps we had said goodbye in the only way we knew how.

I entered the kitchen and poured myself a much needed glass of ice cold lemonade before I was joined by my fiancé.

“I think we should tell them.” Tom said while taking out a few more meat packages from the fridge.

“What?” I asked in a blissful yet lethargic daze.

“About our engagement.” He placed them on the counter.

He stood in front of me, waiting as if he was asking for permission and looked at my glass of lemonade which he ended up stealing to take a sip.

But when he looked down at my hand, he frowned.

“Where’s your ring?” He asked.

“Oh, I… I took it off when I washed my hands and must’ve left it in the bathroom.” I lied.

“Put it on.” He said.

It was all the same now, Pedro knew. So, I did as I was told for Tom to make the announcement in the garden. I heard the three C’s of celebration; clamoring, cheering, and clapping, but all I could see was Pedro sitting in the back, and when his brown eyes found mine, he just showed a cynical smile and raised his glass of whiskey, at me, the cheeky bastard who had just fucked the fiancée in the cheetah dress.

Or the cheater in the dress.

I was sure that Pedro was just as addicted to me as I was to him. Engagement or not, we just weren’t ready to stop. If anything, he craved me more fiercely than before, and that ring on my finger just turned him on even more.

We had only just begun.

I blinked several times as the arousing memory dissolved and I became aware of my surroundings.

I bit my lip and wondered if Pedro still thought of these encounters of ours. I asked myself if he missed me, if he thought about me, if he touched himself while doing so, if he envisioned me while fucking someone else. Or the possibility of an ugly truth where he had just moved on and I meant nothing, but then I remembered my wedding day and his drunken honesty.

Of course he fucking thought of me.

[25centsoda]

An Unintended Side Effect, Part 2/?

This time when Luke woke up his mind was clear and the Force came readily when he called. He breathed deeply, savoring the clear connection to the energy of the universe for a moment before drawing shields tight around himself, ensuring Vader couldn’t reach him. He sat up, scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, and sighed, looking out over the room.

He really was stuck on the Executor with his father, wasn’t he?

Well. Nothing for it. He would have to find a way to escape, as soon as possible. He had friends and a Rebellion to get back to, after all, and he would not turn to the dark side.

Luke stood and stretched, again noting the lush carpet and wondering just how out of it he’d been the previous day to not have noticed where he was immediately. Now able to actually process things, he took in the room properly. Deep red carpet, grey durasteel walls, no closet that he could see but three doors broke up the monotony of the walls, along with...was that…

Luke crossed the room in wonder, staring open-mouthed at the view of the stars outside his viewport. A viewport, in starship quarters!

After admiring the view for an indeterminate amount of time, Luke mentally shook himself and went to explore the rest of the room. On a small nightstand by the bed he hadn’t noticed before was a chrono, brightly declaring the time and date on its face. Luke grimaced. Two days since he’d seen his friends, what they must be thinking about his disappearance… Had they seen Vader take him? Or did they think something else happened to him?

One of the doors led to ‘fresher, fully stocked with anything he could need, plus water settings in the shower. He looked critically at the long handle on the shower door; could he rip that off and use it as a weapon? Something to come back to later. Maybe the mirror shards would make good improvised weapons as well, if it came to that.

The second door led to the closet he’d been looking for yesterday, but of course instead of Rebel fatigues it was filled with black outfits, both with and without the Imperial cog stitched to a sleeve or breast pocket. From here Luke took a pair of boots - new ones were hard to come by, in the Rebellion, best to take them whenever you can - and a belt with weapons holsters.

The third led into a hallway, which ended in another door. Luke looked back to the door he came from; looked like it could be locked from the outside. Lovely. He tucked that piece of information away, resolving to escape the ship before it became something he had to work around.

The door at the end of the hallway opened as he approached, into a larger room containing a couch and desk, lots of open floor space, and another door with a large keypad next to it, the small light on top glowing firmly red. He couldn’t quite get that open on his own, it was too complex a mechanism to tease open with the Force without knowing anything about how it was supposed to work - likely Vader had deeply considered the place he was going to stash his son - but he could sense the energy of two Stormtroopers just outside it.

Banging on the door, using the Force to make each blow as loud as possible, Luke shouted, “Hey! Please, I need help!”

“Quiet in there,” came the reply.

“Please!”

Luke could only hope Vader had given them instructions to keep him not just alive but well, otherwise this wouldn’t work and he’d have to try something else.

His suspicions were confirmed moments later when the door slid open to show two Stormtroopers as expected. He smiled.

Perfect.

---------

Vader kneeled before a hologram of the Emperor in his private chambers.

“And the boy is cooperative?” the Emperor asked.

“Yes, master. At the very least, he has not yet opposed me.”

“Hmm. Ensure that he does not. Remember that you have already failed to bring him to heel once; I will not be so forgiving of another failure. Next time, the boy will come straight to me, and I will put him to rights.”

Vader strengthened his shields and held himself still, even as Palpatine’s words brought a most unwelcome image to his mind. His anger blazed, and he fed the flames behind his shields, vowing to never let Luke near Palpatine if he could help it. In this the son would not follow the father; he wouldn’t allow it.

“I understand, my master.”

“Good. I’ve allowed you to keep the boy, but you must not neglect your duty to wipe out the rest of that pathetic rebellion.”

“They shall not be a plague on our galaxy for much longer, master.”

“See that they aren’t, Lord Vader. Dismissed.”

The hologram winked out and Vader stood, wincing at the strain holding such a position for long periods of time caused his prosthetics. He ached for the day he could give the empire he’d built to his son, but they were in no position to attack Palpatine yet. That day would have to wait until he could find a way to train his son without the Emperor finding out, for he had no doubt that as soon as they began Palpatine would find an excuse to spirit Luke away from him, preventing them from joining together to defeat him.

Stalking out of his rooms into the hallways of the Executor proper, Vader found Piett and said, “Admiral, report.”

Admiral Piett snapped a salute and fell into step with his commander. “My lord, we will be arriving at Tarra soon to refuel. All aspects of the ship are running smoothly, and after refueling we should be en-route to Coruscant within the cycle.”

“And what of my...guest?”

“The last report I saw some fifteen minutes ago said all was quiet on that front, my lord. He’s not been an issue.”

As soon as Piett finished speaking, the hum of stun shots echoed down the corridor along with aborted screams. Vader threw his awareness out in the Force, seeking his son’s bright energy, but it was like looking at the surface of a lake in the sunlight; the image shimmered and flickered away from him, impossible to make out. He cursed and began moving quickly - not running, Sith Lords did not run - towards the quarters his son was housed in. The boy could hardly have been awake much longer than an hour, how could he already be causing trouble?

By the time Vader arrived at the door outside his son’s quarters, the boy was already gone, leaving both troopers who had been posted outside collapsed on the floor in his wake, presumably the recipients of the stun shots he’d heard. He growled low, the vocoder in his suit picking it up as crackling static, and tried to reach for his son again. This time, he was able to pick up a sense of the boy in the vague direction of the hangars. Of course he would immediately try to reach the ships.

Suddenly Vader remembered the ship was about to dock at a planet, and his heart seized in fear. If Luke was still loose when that happened, he would actually stand a chance of getting off the ship.

“Lock down all hangars, no one will leave this ship until I give the order,” Vader said into his comlink, moving to follow the faint light of his son’s Force signature.

There is no escape, my son, he sent along their fledgling bond. He felt Luke flinch in response, and smiled in satisfaction under his mask. The boy’s shields had slipped just enough in that flinch to give him a better location.

“Send a detachment of troops to Hangar Bay Three, and have them set their weapons to stun. A prisoner is loose; he cannot be allowed to escape.”

Vader strolled into the aforementioned hangar bay, casting his awareness out, scanning the room for his wayward son. The boy’s shields deflected his senses, but it was that refraction of light that gave him away, a distortion in the Force in a corner of the hangar.

“It is no use hiding, young one,” he boomed. “Come out before I am forced to stun you.”

The spot of refracted light in the weave of the Force shifted, drawing tighter about itself, but it was no use. Vader had already located it.

He motioned to a small group of troopers, directing them to surround the crate that Luke was hidden behind, and they took up positions in a loose semi-circle, guns aimed at the crate.

After a moment, Luke emerged, scowling, his hands behind his head. Without a word, two troopers surged forward and none too gently dragged his hands down behind his back, clasping his wrists in binders. He purposefully avoided his father’s gaze as he was marched back to his quarters. Vader watched him go.

----

Luke broke out of his quarters twice more, managing to disable the lock on his door, and after the sickening way the boy’s head hit the durasteel floor collapsing from a stun shot the second time, Vader decided he couldn’t take any more risks.

His son was a lot quieter and easy to contain with a drug tailor-designed for Jedi coursing through his veins, living in Vader’s quarters.

-------

Luke was falling asleep again, leaning against his father on the couch as various Imperial servants flitted about the room taking his measurements, proposing outfit and fabric ideas. He tuned them out. Vader was just going to choose what he felt was best anyway, and Palpatine got final say. Luke had picked out several of the main fabrics. That was enough.

Without realizing it, he had fallen completely asleep. When he woke, it was to Vader gently pulling him into a sitting position and beginning to apply a thick white powder to his face. Luke blearily looked down at the table filled with cosmetics, then tried to lean his head on one hand, but he was prevented from doing so by Vader pushing him back up.

“You’ll smear the Nubian makeup, Luke,” he chided.

Luke made a face at him. “I wouldn’t be so tired if you didn’t keep drugging me, father. Either let me sleep or let me think clearly.”

“It’s this or giving you to Palpatine for training, my son, and neither of us want that for you. Especially in light of your many failed escape attempts.”

Luke made another face, then an effort to sit up straight and stay awake. At least being paraded around as the Imperial Prince sounded like a cushy job…

“Why am I being styled after the Naboo, anyway?” he asked, hoping a conversation would help him stay awake. Vader paused, frozen, and Luke could just pick up the edge of a maelstrom of emotion from his father before the Force slipped from his grasp again and he sighed quietly.

“It was your...mother’s home planet.” Vader said carefully. “As well as Palpatine’s. He believes using the style will serve to endear him to the galaxy, and use you to evoke his own image.”

Luke hummed, closing his eyes for a minute. Vader prodded him gently with a tendril of the Force and as he opened his eyes again Luke thought longingly of being able to do more than passively sense it, himself. He would throw all this finery about the room and steal a ship, return to Han and Leia and Chewie, R2 and 3PO.

Deciding he definitely needed something to focus on to keep himself awake, Luke tried to reach out to the Force himself, clumsily brushing against his father’s signature. He felt the edge of his father’s amusement and Vader reaching back to him in response, like holding their hands up to opposite sides of glass.

“My Lord, you are needed in a meeting about introducing the Imperial Prince,” Piett said, shattering Luke’s meager focus. He sighed and gave up, leaning his head on a hand while Vader too distracted to tell him not to.

“Why?” Vader demanded, standing. “He is to be announced in a few hours, what more is there to discuss?”

“There are some last minute security concerns they want to go over, my Lord.”

Vader scoffed, then looked down at his son for a long moment, thinking. Looking back at Piett, he said, “I leave you in charge of the boy, Admiral. Stay here with him and ensure he does not attempt another escape.” Piett seemed like he very much doubted that would be a concern, but nodded anyway. To Luke, Vader said “I will return as soon as I can and help you finish getting ready, my son.”

“Whatever,” Luke said.

With a sigh, Vader swept out of the room.

[wingardium-letmefuckyou]

Like The Stars Miss The Sun In The Morning Sky (Mitsuhide x MC)

Summary: The irony is that sometimes when you are afraid to lose someone, you lose them exactly because of that...

Words: 1498

Warnings: break up, anxiety, but there is a happy ending

Notes:

These are going to be the longest notes I've ever written at the start of a fic... I had the honour to meet a man who reminded me lot of Ikesen's Mitsuhide. He was a wonderful, intelligent man who lived by his own principles and a delightful tease who could hypnotize me with his voice alone. He was so generous with his affections. He was also someone who worked so hard, who gave everything he had to help others at the expense of himself, his mental and physical health and his freetime. Sounds a lot like Mitsuhide no? I also had the honour to date him for a while and he made my life so much more interesting, wonderful and magical. But we do not live in an otome game and real life is shit sometimes. As if starting to date during a pandemic wasn't hard enough already there is also the fact that we're both damaged humans. I'm not an MC in a game and I have my fears, insecurities and past trauma's and I make mistakes. And neither is he a perfect love interest in a game, he's just as human as I am and he makes mistakes too. So yeah, this is me writing about my own heartbreak, about dealing with the pain and guilt of losing someone you were so afraid to lose. Because it hurts like hell, waking up every morning and realizing you (both) screwed up and someone you hold so dear is no longer part of your life. So if Mitsuhide feels a bit out of character, you know why.

I did give the story a happy ending, because it's a story and while real life doesn't always have a happy ending I felt like the story still deserved one. Let's spread more happiness and love in these horrible times. I hope that one day I get to the point where MC is stronger because of what happened to her, that would be a great happy ending for me. Slowly, step by step I'm getting there. And who knows... maybe... one day...

It was in that moment, when their gazes met and the universe shifted just a little and everything felt right and good and wonderful, that she realized she needed Mitsuhide in her life. And for a while, a blissful while, he was. Until he wasn’t. Neither and both were to blame, although she would blame herself for a very long time, letting the guilt eat at her heart and soul like a slow poison. Never really sure where she stood with Mitsuhide, she had grown insecure and anxious that one day he would leave her, slipping through her fingers. How ironic really, how her fear of losing him had led to exactly that. She had never meant what she said, never meant to sound ungrateful, never meant to blame him for her own insecurities. All she wanted to hear was that they were okay, that the fox was hers just as she was his. Fear can make you a monster, clawing its way out in venomous words while all the monster wants is to be soothed with love and reassurance.

And so she found herself as she was now, sobbing into Hideyoshi’s shoulder, hot tears burning a path on her cheeks. “I... I lost him...,” was all she managed to choke out. Hideyoshi was drawing soothing circles on her back, for once clueless about what to do to make his favourite chatelaine feel better. It was devastating to see her like that, curling up in herself in a futile attempt to keep the shards of her broken heart together.

Days went by and her heart stayed broken. She wanted to explain to Mitsuhide what had happened and make things right again. They could talk this out and continue their story, of that she was sure. If only he would let her. But Mitsuhide was in the middle of an important mission for Nobunaga, barely having hours left to spare to eat or sleep, let alone to listen to a scared and insecure girl. She would have to wait.

And wait she did. She would run into him at the castle from time to time, her eyes meeting his and longing for the familiarity of the way he had looked at her when they had been lovers. One day, she tried to stop him in the hallway, wanting nothing more than to simply ask him how he was doing. The question was well meant, she did still worry for him and his well being but for the first time in her life she saw panic in his eyes while he tried his hardest to get away from her as swiftly as possible. Needles went through her soul. The embers of hopefulness that had been smouldering brightly inside her diminished slowly as time went by and she started to realize that Mitsuhide had no intention of actually giving her a chance. The pieces of her heart that had been salvaged together with the glue of a fool's hope shattered again.

The other warlords did everything they could to distract her and make her happy. Masamune cooked all her favourites, Mitsunari was his sweetest and kindest self, Ieyasu let her pet Wasabi, Sasuke visited her more often and brought little trinkets, Nobunaga even shared his secret stash of konpeito with her. Hideyoshi, her dear best friend, was always there to listen to her and lend her his shoulder. Letting her speak out when her brain was running in circles, letting her cry when the pain was too much to keep inside. She felt like Mitsuhide had taken part of her soul, leaving her incomplete. Oh and she missed him… She longed for his teasing, for the ways he could make her shake with laughter and smile with glee. She yearned to hear him read stories to her like he used to, immersing himself in the act like a true performer. She wished she could tell him about her day and all the mundane things that happened to her and hear him do the same in return. She just wanted to hear his voice, that voice she had grown to love so much.

Time passed by, day by day and somehow she got accustomed to the feeling of constantly drowning. She was tired, so tired, but with the support of her friends she kept paddling, her head barely above the water. Until one day she found that she could swim. Not long or far but for just a moment the movements came easily and she went forward. The next day she tried again and she went forward and then the following day she did the same. Some days were easier than others, the water calm and gentle. Other days she could barely manage, feeling like she was trying to swim through a storm. But she kept trying, day after day. The mornings hurt the most, waking up when her heart and mind were at their most raw and vulnerable and realizing that Mitsuhide was no longer part of her life. But every morning she shouldered through, determined to face the day with courage and grace.

The warlords were relieved to see her ease into herself again, to see her smile and genuinely enjoy her life. Yes, she would indeed never be the same again but while she shone with a different light now, it was just as beautiful as it used to be. Like true kintsugi pottery, the gold that filled the scars in her soul made her who she was. Broken but mended and more stunning than before. She was human and perfectly imperfect.

She has stopped counting how long ago it was that she had last seen or heard Mitsuhide. While a small part of her would always long for him, he was no longer in the forefront of her mind, the pain no longer consuming her every waking moment. She cherishes the peacefulness of being able to concentrate on her hobbies and herself, to feel like she is living again. With utmost concentration she pulls needle and thread through the fabric of the kimono she’s making and almost misses the sound of the door sliding open. It is only when she looks up that she realizes who is standing in her room, her breath hitching in her throat.

 “Mitsuhide…”

 He kneels in front of her and while she used to pray for this moment in the past, she now feels oddly calm. No fear, no anxiety, just the certainty that whatever happens next she can handle.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “I… I miss you.”

 Mitsuhide looks at her, his golden eyes meeting her own. She can spot no lies in them, no deceit or teasing, only honesty and an open vulnerability.

 “You left me alone for a long time. No closure, no chance to work things out.”

 It’s an observation she makes, not an accusation. While it had hurt and cost her a lot to get where she now was, she could never bring herself to hate him or even be angry. That was not her way.

 “I know and I am sorry. I was afraid, afraid of the intensity of your love. Afraid that I could never answer it, that you would always love me more than I love you. Afraid that one day you would realize that and see that you deserved better.”

 The words baffle her. How would one start to measure love anyways?

 “You literally ran away from me when I tried to simply talk to you. Why?”

 She needs answers, needs to ask the questions that kept her mind burning for so long even if they do no longer.

 “Because it was so hard to stay away from you and if I had stopped to talk to you, if I had dared to look at you then I would not have been able to resist you.”

 Mitsuhide looks at his knees, at his trembling hands resting upon his legs. Then he looks at her again and he sees her, sees her for who she truly is. A phoenix risen from the flames.

 “I didn’t realize it at the time. I just thought I was too busy and that you would only give me trouble. I believed I had no time to help you or be what I thought I had to be for you. I was a fool, you never needed my help to begin with. I see now that I was wrong, I know that I wasn’t running from you, I was running from myself.”

 “Oh Mitsuhide... “

 Her hand reaches out tentatively to rest upon his own, the warmth of her skin seeping into his. She is no longer the same woman, no longer the frightened mouse that succumbed to anxiety. She is more, she is stronger. And she finally feels that she is capable of truly loving Mitsuhide, unconditionally and unafraid.

His eyes meet hers again and the universe shifts just a little and everything feels right and good and wonderful.

[ruensroad]

threads of love

For @this-solaris-life, who wanted to see the Sangyu from my Witch and Familiar AU and I couldn’t say no because I love them <3

---

It’d been snowing nonstop since the morning and had been off and on for most of the week. As such, Mo Xuanyu’s orders had turned predictably to warm coats and scarves, mittens, and even boots, beanies, and ear muffs. It had always amused him, somewhat, that the worst of winter came just before the spring, as though reluctant to let go. He enjoyed watching everyone walk all bundled up, like fluffy jellybeans, down Witcher’s Row. So many colors through the fog of white. For being so monochrome by design, it was the most colorful time of the year and Mo Xuanyu loved it.

The New Year always brought an explosion of reds into his shop and he’d yet to fully finish packing what remained away, even with the rest of the rainbow of materials filling the shelves again. The rich, pine greens, most recently, were his new favorite, but still they paled in comparison to his stack of yellows, so unloved, but so delightful and charming when worn by those few that favored it. To be able to work with the bright gold now brought a smile to his face.

His order list was full, but his shop was empty, allowing him some time to relax and focus on his knitting, given his magic was further hard at work building each new garment to desired specification in the flustered chaos of his workroom. It wasn’t a spectacular sort of magical gift, but it was his, and if he could spread even just a little bit a joy through the gloom of winter, it was worth the constant headaches.

Of course, the pain was significantly less than it used to be, thanks to one Nie Huaisang, who’s stubborn will and balancing of his own magic had lessened the mental load. It helped, too, that his familiar was a bit of a diva and loved modeling all of Mo Xuanyu’s designs, no matter how silly they seemed on paper. As such, Mo Xuanyu’s magic and inspiration had started to thrive and the workload far more easier to carry. He liked to think the world had brightened, too, the moment Huaisang had first smiled his way, or gushed over a new fabric. He hadn’t realized how stagnant he’d become until Huaisang had swept him along in a gleeful cascade of color, and now he couldn’t imagine ever going back.

It also helped that the man was a peacock, literally and figuratively, who loved all the attention he got from customers. Naturally charming, Mo Xuanyu knew he had Huaisang to thank for no less than half of his new clientele, who had started bringing snacks or fluffed up perches and other gifts for him to enjoy. As though he needed to be more spoiled than he already was.

Mo Xuanyu smiled to himself and started on the last row of stitches, weaving the gold yarn around a pair of bright pink crochet hooks Huaisang had gifted him with. Honestly, he spoiled Huaisang more than anyone and taking the time to work more just to see him smile proved it.

But with all Huaisang brought into his life, all the joy and laughter, it was worth it. It would always be worth it.

As though summoned by his thoughts, warm hands settled on his shoulders and squeezed lightly, while a chin propped on top of his head. “So, this is the super secret sweater you won’t let me see unfolded?” Huaisang asked, playfully pulling on Mo Xuanyu’s braid. “Is it for a child? Are we having a kid?”

Mo Xuanyu swatted at him, getting a round of sweet giggles. “No,” he huffed, because they’d already had that talk, but that didn’t stop the blush forming across his face.

“For a pet?” Huaisang asked next, fingers starting a slow massage up and down his neck. Mo Xuanyu instantly relaxed into it, not even realizing he’d grown so tense over the hours of work. It was always a relief when Huaisang made him melt.

“I suppose you could say that,” Mo Xuanyu gave him that much, because it was true enough, though the fact Huaisang was calling himself a pet had him bubbling with laughter. “Patience. You’ll see.”

“Can I feel it at least?” Huaisang was pouting now, but it was all in good fun, and Mo Xuanyu allowed him to take the ball of yawn to feel its smooth, silken texture. His surprise was instant. “This is from your special stash, isn’t it?”

Mo Xuanyu smiled wider, but gave him nothing. “Mn.”

“A-Yu,” Huaisang sighed and went back to rubbing his neck. “You are talking to me here. You know I am not patient.”

“You are for the right things,” Mo Xuanyu pointed out, refusing to sway.

“True…” A soft kiss was pressed to the top of his head and Mo Xuanyu shivered to feel it. Even two years being loved and it sometimes still felt new. Brand new. “I waited for you.”

“You did,” Mo Xuanyu looked up at him, turning his face a little, and was rewarded with a kiss between his brows. “So many years… one more minute will not kill you.”

“A-Yu,” Huaisang pouted, tugging on his braid again, and Mo Xuanyu laughed, pleased as he finished the line of stitching. At last, nearly two weeks of work and he was finished.

“Fine, fine, you can see it now.”

Huaisang moved in front of him and Mo Xuanyu did his best not to look nervous as he held up the golden sweater. A warm brown thread had been woven over the front of it in four bold, blocky letters after a hashtag and he hoped it looked good, not tacky.

“Oh my gods, does that say DIVA,” Huaisang gasped and carefully extracted the sweater from his hands. “Holy shit. Who is this for? I want it. Can I have it? I’m keeping it.”

Mo Xuanyu laughed at the idea of his boyfriend and partner stealing someone’s clothes because he liked them, even if they’d never fit. What a surprising thief!

“It’s for you,” he said, shaking his head, and hid the shake in his hands by clasping them in his lap. He hoped, one day, the nerves of giving gifts would not scare him so badly. Hoped that one day, the fear of rejection would never touch him again, especially when Huaisang was already smiling at him like that.

“For my other form?” Huaisang asked, sounding excited, and reverently traced the letters.

Mo Xuanyu smiled, face starting to heat up again, and nodded. “To keep you warm. I noticed you haven’t been strutting around as a bird much lately. Not that I can blame you. It gets cold in here.”

He was kissed for that, a proper, sweet kiss to his lips that left his whole body tingling. His magic sang softly in delight, the way it always did when Huaisang was near, and he melted into it, the fear shoved down to deal with another day.

“Put it on me?” Huaisang asked, handing it back and shifting before he’d even answered. He flapped his iridescent wings excitedly before standing tall and still, waiting.

Mo Xuanyu carefully eased it over his wings and around his body, ever thankful his magic could guide him through perfect measurements every time. It was loose enough Huaisang could move and none of his feathers ruffled the wrong way, but snug enough to be warm, the way it was meant to.

The #DIVA stood out proudly on his chest and Mo Xuanyu couldn’t stop the soft chuckle at how pleased his familiar looked in the shimmering gold.

“Do you like it?” he had to ask and smoothed down the last of the wrinkles.

You made it, of course I love it, was Huaisang’s easy answer, then he was stepping in close and laying his head on Mo Xuanyu’s lap, a soft trill in the motion. Mo Xuanyu smiled in relief and gently smoothed his palm over the silken feathers, scratching lightly under Huaisang’s eye the way he knew his familiar loved most.

“I’m glad,” Mo Xuanyu murmured, truly glad for it, for the acceptance and love and color Huaisang brought to his heart, and when he leaned down to kiss Huaisang’s beak, it was with a song in his soul. Thank you.

[twelveswood]

Title: 27 Dresses Pairing: N’orelle/Estinien Word Count: 2821

She hated this party. It was a beautiful event, all of Ishgard’s elite were there, as well as plenty of lesser houses, her friends, the scions, even those in the Brume were invited. Everyone was celebrating. And they were right to, she supposed. Ishgard had overcome so much - they all finally knew the truth of their history, the Dragonsong War was over. There was peace. In Ishgard at least. There was no denying tensions elsewhere in the world, and Aymeric was quick to pledge himself to that cause. But for now, celebration. She didn’t really feel like she was a part of it though. She sat alone at a table far from the heavily occupied dance floor. She didn’t know how to dance anyway. Not like that. Her long hair was swept back into braids at either side, twisted into a bun with effortless little ringlets dangling down her neck. Her dress sat off her shoulders, tight to her waist loosening at her hips and flowed freely behind her, not that you could tell from the way she was sitting. It was black, or appeared that way until she moved, a shimmering gradient of blue and green shifting with the light becoming apparent. She hated it. She hated the way she felt in it. Not just restricted, movement-wise. But.. something else. Something deeper. It took her to a time not so long ago…                                                                               //////// 

“Why did they send me to help you with this?” N’orelle sighed and shrugged, “They were all busy, I guess. And they said you knew your way around Ishgard. Don’t ask me, I don’t know.” Estinien’s lips pursed into a frown as he looked around the shop. Wall to wall there were dresses of varying style, color, and price as far as the eye could see. His only relief was that N’orelle did not seem enthused about this either. “Do I really have to do this?” she groaned, echoing his thoughts. “I could not care less.” She sighed again, “Yes, but they will all be upset if I don’t go. And Dreyll is so sweet, I can’t disappoint her…” Estinien’s frown only deepened - yes, he knew how that went all too well. Her blindingly bright personality and true belief in the good in everyone made her particularly hard to let down. “I just wish I could wear my own clothes, these all look so difficult to move in! What if we’re attacked! Where will I keep my bow?” He snorted a little, but understood her sentiment. He was the same way after all - being out of his armor and without his lance was… well, he might as well be naked. Which was the state he was in now, in a rarely seen show of casual Ishgardian attire. But the danger had passed, hadn’t it? With Nidhogg slain… Well, there was some part of him that could not believe it was really over. It couldn’t be that simple. He felt it in his gut, but his bad feeling would not sway the minds of everyone else, so desperate to call this a win. “There will be guards, you’ll have no need for it.” “Well I don’t know them so I don’t trust them. I haven’t been unarmed since I was a kit.” “Make up your mind. If you’re not going then we can leave.” “Ugh… I’m going, I’m going.” “A shame.” N’orelle offered him a sideways glance and sighed thrice now. She was sort of cute when she pouted like this. Estinien could not believe his own mind would conjure up such a thought, but there it was. Mentally reeling he reigned himself back in and gestured around them. “Well then pick something.” “It’s not that easy,” she whined, “I’ve never… worn anything like this before.” “Then anything should suffice.” He said, grabbing the closest dress, thrusting it towards her. It was a hideous shade of pink with frills. “Oh no absolutely not.” “Then pick something. I have better things to be doing.” N’orelle rolled her eyes, moving through displays, recoiling at the feel of some fabric. “Yes I’m so sure,” she mocked, pulling one out, frowning a lot, and putting it back. Silence fell between them for a moment as she tried to give this decision earnest thought. Couldn’t be too stiff. Not too showy. Form-fitting was fine so long as her legs had some wiggle room. Did she look better in dark colors or light colors? Most of her wardrobe consisted of shades of brown. That was woefully missing from the array here. Her fourth sigh escaped her as she began to gather up wildly varied dresses in all shades and styles. This would be the easiest way she supposed, try on a little bit of everything. “Here, take these,” she began handing things to him which he took hold of on instinct but his lips curled into a look of soft disgust at being made into her personal clothing rack. His only relief was that this particular shop was sparsely occupied at the time. Once he was beginning to really feel the weight of them all he huffed, “Isn’t that enough for now? I didn’t expect to spend all day here.” “It’ll be quick!” she assured though her expression was grim. As if on cue one of the shop proprietors snuck up on the pair, “Would the lady like a room?” Nearly jumping and dropping her veritable closets worth of dresses she blinked, eyes wide, nodding her head. “Y-yes please.” She turned to follow her and Estinien begrudgingly joined behind when N’orelle waved him along. “Right in there, madam,” she directed her towards a small curtained room, giving Estinien a once over but saying nothing. Estinien merely glowered in response. “O-okay, well, here goes…” she mumbled, moving behind the heavy curtain with an armful of dresses. The other woman took her leave and Estinien stood stiffly, unsure of what to do with himself beyond just… standing there, holding her excessive dresses. There was rustling behind the curtain, sounds of fabric shifting, silence for a long while, then a quiet voice. “.. I don’t think I can do this.” He groaned, leaning his head back. “You can’t be serious.” “No I just mean… I can’t… I can’t get this thing on.” His lips thinned and now it was his turn to sigh. This is why it should have been anyone else. Anyone but him. “Will you come in here?” He froze on the spot at her request. No, of course he wouldn’t, that certainly wouldn’t be appropriate. But the helplessness in her voice gave him such pause for a moment before he snapped back to reality. “What? No! What am I supposed to do?” “Just… there’s these ties on the back part, I don’t know if I was supposed to tie them first… or now… or… I don’t know,” she sounded distressed and it made him shut his eyes tightly and grit his teeth. “If you can’t even manage to put it on, then I suppose that’s not the one you ought to be choosing.” “Please just come in here?” He sucked in a deep breath, setting his extravagant pile aside on a bench. She sounded so pitiful, how was he supposed to refuse? He glanced over his shoulder back into the shop proper, seemed no one was paying any mind. Steeling his resolve he pushed through the curtain. The room was much too small for the two of them combined with all of the stock she’d brought in with her, and the frame of this particular dress jutted out at the hips. Lips pursed he moved in behind her, gaze catching hers in her reflection from the mirror that hung across from her. She had tied all her hair up into a sloppy bun, swimming in yalms of fabric. She looked a little flush and vaguely embarrassed - a look he’d not seen on her before. Again there was a quiet nagging, it was… endearing. Quashing that thought his gaze dodged away from hers and he crossed his arms over his chest. “So, what, you want me to tie this or something?” “Yes… I mean, that is what needs to happen, right? It’s not supposed to be all loose like this, right?” She was holding the front to her chest to keep it from slipping off. With a grunt his hands found the ribbon that laced up the back, pulling it taut to a point she almost jumped, “Well I still need to breathe,” she gasped out, and she couldn’t help but notice the slightly amused look on his face as he remained focused on the task. His fingers incidentally brushed against her spine as he tightened and loosened the ribbon in various places until it was evenly secured all the way up. His hands were kind of cold, she noted, and she blamed that for the brief shiver down her back. “There,” he drew his hands back once he was satisfied - not that he’d done this before, but he understood the logistics. “Mmm…” she hummed thoughtfully, looking at herself in the mirror. Estinien’s gaze moved back to her reflection as well. She looked like an entirely different woman almost. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “Too poofy, I think.” “All that work and it’s ‘too poofy’?” He pinched the bridge of his nose in minor annoyance. “What? I couldn’t tell until it was on right!” she huffed, pouting. “Just.. undo it, okay?” Estinien glanced away once more as his hands set to now loosing the ribbon until it was about the same as when he had entered. “Pray make the rest of them less complicated,” his tone however was not particularly demanding. “Right, okay, you can go now.” She waved her hand towards the curtain and Estinien could not get out of there fast enough to be truthful. She had some… strange effect on him. He was not a fan of it. Time passed and more and more dresses were added to the “not going to happen” pile. So far it had all been a bust with a couple that weren’t as terrible as the rest. Some she strutted out in dramatically, warranting a laugh here and there. He’d only had to go in a couple more times to secure her bodice and each time he felt more and more anxious about it. Each time he noticed more and more of her tanned skin, more exposed than he was used to. Despite her background as a hunter, her skin looked relatively unweathered. He had to imagine it was smooth. But imagine was all he was going to do. Some silence, some rustling about, and then she spoke. “What are you wearing anyway? I mean. Obviously you aren’t required to wear one of these contraptions… but did you have to go out and get something or do you have some secret stash of Ishgardian clothing in some manor somewhere?” “I’m not going,” was all he said. A long pause. “... what do you mean you’re not going?” “It means I’m not going. Why should I?” “Why- why should-,” she stammered and then after a moment her head popped out from behind the curtain. “You are the Azure Dragoon, you were a crucial part in the end of the war, you have to go.” “All the more reason to avoid it. Let the Warrior of Light take the credit. I have no desire for the fame.” She clicked her tongue and furrowed her brow in frustration. Why was he always like this? She popped back behind the curtain and though she said nothing he could feel her fuming. Suddenly she threw wide the curtain and marched out, expression agitated to say the very least. The dress was sleek, black in color, but there was some sort of shine to it. The dressing area was not very well lit, but some beams of sunlight from far away windows made it all the way there, reflecting hues of blue and green. Her hair was absolutely disheveled by this point, and her irritation only added to the look, but… she was beautiful. Unlike anything he’d ever seen before. “That one,” he said abruptly, which caught her off guard. “What?” “That… dress,” he seemed almost faraway as he spoke, though his gaze seemed fully attentive. “You should get that one.” Her expression shifted through several stages - confusion, consideration, once more a blip of annoyance, then finally shyness. Did he like this one? Or… was he just trying to be done with this? The dazed look on his face however said perhaps it was the former. “Fine,” she almost squeaked, her voice not sure how to inflect. She blew some of her bangs out of her face, standing there a moment or two longer, lingering under his gaze. “... right, well, I guess I should uhm. Take it off. And… get dressed, then.” “Right,” he agreed though he seemed to be elsewhere. “Right…” she repeated and finally turned on her heels and disappeared back behind the curtain. Why was her face burning? She surveyed herself in the mirror for a moment, looking this way and that. It wasn’t so bad, she supposed… it wasn’t her style, surely, but none of them were… and this one… He liked this one. Why she cared about that… well. No. She knew why... she just wasn’t ready to come to terms with it yet. After a few minutes she emerged, dressed in her regular clothes, the dress folded neatly over her arm. Whatever anger she had been feeling had clearly melted away and her expression was almost meek. In the time it took her to change Estinien had forced himself back to his senses, but seeing her timid just about did him in again. He liked that she was assertive, that she was stubborn, that she was willful. But that led them to arguments, which he also enjoyed if he was being perfectly honest - which he would not be to anyone out loud. However seeing her shift towards bashfulness… it pulled at his chest and made him almost wish to soothe her. But he did no such thing. Instead he simply stood up from the pile of discarded dresses and cleared his throat. “See… that wasn’t so bad,” she offered with a weak smile. Keeping his gaze anywhere but her he nodded just slightly. “I suppose not. But I’d rather not do it again.” “Me either.” “Good.” She made her way up to the counter and paid, and once they left the store they walked in silence for a ways. Eventually, she glanced over at him and held her gaze there until he noticed, at which point his expression clearly asked ‘what?’. “... so you’re really not going?” His vision slipped back forward and he was quiet for a short while. N’orelle never stopped watching him. “... perhaps something will change my mind before the event is upon us.” Oh. Oh she hoped she could be that something. A smile crossed her face and she said nothing else.                                                                              //////// … but they never made it. Days before the celebration was planned all hell broke loose with the remaining heretics, bent on razing Ishgard. At the time she was fine with that - with missing it, at least, not with everything that happened to prevent it. But now, wearing this dress, having no idea where he was or what he was doing, hell was he even alive? She sure didn’t know. Because he’d left out a damn window without a word. After everything they’d gone through to save him... and he couldn’t even say anything to anyone? To her? “C’mon Nori,” came a familiar voice, drawing her attention up from a particularly riveting speck on the floor. “You’re supposed to be having fun,” the redheaded Viera beamed at her making it almost impossible to keep from smiling back. Dreyll reached her hand out to the other woman, smile remaining intact. “Come dance with me!” “I’ll step on your toes.” “That’s okay!” N’orelle sighed but managed a smile and stood up, letting the Warrior of Light drag her out onto the dance floor. The rest of the evening went smoothly, she laughed and smiled and did all the things she was supposed to do. But it didn’t stop that feeling from lingering. That something was missing.

[miss-tricksy]

Roll to Me

A/N: This is for @cleighwrites ThANGSTgiving Writing Challenge. I chose Dean. My lyric was “And I don’t think I have ever seen a soul so in despair”, Del Amitri, Roll to Me. I was totally struggling with recalling this song by name, but if you look it up, you’ll go ‘duh’ too.

A/N 2: This is my first challenge submission EVER. Please be gentle. Would love to know what you think. There is so much awesome writing on tumblr and it’s a little terrifying to try to even dream of comparing this to any of that.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: mild swearing, mentions of smut, mutual pining

Summary: Demon Dean reaches out to Reader, Dean tries to comes to terms with his feelings.

Your phone screen lit up, showing a picture from some random day six or seven years before. Gorgeous car, gorgeous backdrop, gorgeous guy. You can’t help the smile in your voice, despite your grogginess, “Hey, Dean.”

“Hey, sweetheart. Is that your sex voice I hear?”

“Uh, that’s my you woke me up because it’s,” you glance at the clock on the beautiful wood-like nightstand your hotel room it outfitted with, “two thirty-seven. Thought old guys like you were in bed before the ten o’clock news.”

You hear Dean’s throaty chuckle. “Not really my style, darling. Been spending some time howling at the moon, so to speak.”

You grab at the low hanging fruit, “You guys hunting weres? Thought I might have saw something like that going down in the U.P.”

More with the growly laughing. “Not exactly. Wanted to see if you want to meet up with me?”

“Just wrapped up a situation with some witches near Little Rock.” You do a quick mental calculation. “I can be at the Bunker by tomorrow night. Tell Sam to wash my sheets with the good fabric softener.”

“Not quite what I had in mind, babe.”

Babe? You couldn’t help but wonder about that particular endearment.

“Oh, o-kay….what did you have in mind, then?”

You checked that the phone hadn’t dropped the call. Several seconds passed by before your heard Dean’s voice again. “You can’t even imagine what I want to do to you, Y/N/N. Been thinking about you for weeks now. Can’t get that silver dress you wore in Vegas out of my head.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek, to be sure you weren’t dreaming. Sam Winchester may have known about the HUGE crush you had on his brother. But the elder of the pair had never once hinted that he reciprocated. Before you could ask about the strange behavior, your phone buzzed. Funny enough Sam’s face flashed across your screen.

“Hey, Dean, Sam’s calling. Aren’t you together?”

“What the….you can ignore that sweetheart. Baby bro probably is just geeking out over some book at the bunker. Loser.”

You were used to Dean giving Sam a hard time in person, but usually he was kind of a fan girl when he talked about Sam.

“Hey, sweetheart, you still there?”

“Uh, ya.” Sam would probably call back. The boys were probably fighting and they just needed to vent.

“Good so, how about you meet me in Joplin tomorrow around lunch. You bring the whiskey, and I’ll bring the condoms.”

If you had been taking a sip of the water on your nightstand, you’d have done a spit take.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Don’t be cheap either. I wiped the floor with a couple guys tonight. I’m flush. I’ll pay you back. See you soon, Y/N.”

The phone flashed ‘Call Ended.’ You found yourself muttering as you got up to search for the phone charger that had come unplugged. Dean might have joked and flirted with you over the years, but there had never been such blatant innuendos made. Maybe he had had a few too many tonight. You debated about calling Sam back but figured it could wait until morning. His call earlier had probably been to warn you that Dean was in a mood. Once you had taken a couple swigs of your leftover iced coffee, probably regrettably, you crawled back in to your lumpy bed, trying to shake off the uneasiness that call had left you with.

            **************** 

The next morning you woke feeling surprisingly well-rested. Talking to Dean always gave you a little extra comfort, though the longer you wallowed in the scratchy sheets, the more you wondered about Dean’s remarks the night before. After packing the rest of your things and grabbing a surprisingly not-terrible muffin and coffee at the motel’s ‘lounge,’ you pointed your Jeep north. You shaved about 20 minutes off your GPS’s arrival time as you neared the Kansas border. You were merging in to traffic headed toward Tulsa before you remembered your conversation with Dean. He said to meet him in Joplin. Weird. Once you were back up to cruising speed and traffic had thinned out, you dialed Sam up, figuring Dean would be a bit hungover from the night before.

“Hey Y/N/N, what took you so long to call me back?” Sam sounded irritated.

“I didn’t know it was urgent. I talked to Dean last night, figured he’d let you know what’s up.”

“You what- when- where are you right now, Y/N?”

“Chill Sam. Use your words.”

“Seriously, for your sake and mine, where are you?”

“I’m on my way to the bunker. Left Little Rock first thing this morning. Why would Dean want me to meet him in Joplin?”

“He’s in Joplin?”

“I guess. What’s going on? You guys are being weird.”

“Listen, I need you to not come to the bunker. And definitely don’t head to Joplin. And don’t answer any more calls form my brother.”

“Sam you’re really freaking me out right now.”

“It’s a long story and I have to move on this info. Did you make any arrangements with him about where you’re meeting?”

“No. Just that I’d be there around lunch time.”

“Good. That’s good. I’m going to e-mail you some instructions. Do exactly as I say, please. Keep me posted if Dean contacts you. There’s a safe house we have in Lawrence. I’ll text you the address and security code. Get there as quick as you can, Y/N. I mean it.”

Sam’s little monologue had you totally freaked out. Something big was happening, and as per usual two of your favorite people seemed to be smack in the middle of it. 

       ***************** 

Walking in to the tiny house in Lawrence felt more than strange. It was in a middle-class neighborhood full of families with kids. You couldn’t help but wonder what the neighbors thought of this place. There was a layer of dust over almost everything, but upon inspection the electricity worked and there was hot water. You carried in your laptop and the lunch you had got at some overpriced drive-thru. You had to admit that the sandwich was good but the coffee was not the best. You settled in to the couch with a movie you had seen a million times before, stretching the car ride out of your muscles. You were just comfortable when Sam’s picture popped up on your phone.

“Hey, Sam, care to fill me in on just what crazy crap you guys are tangled up in right now?”

“No. Not really. Listen, I know you just rolled in to Lawrence but any chance you could make yourself scarce. As in get out of the Midwest for a while?”

“Seriously, Sam,” you started, then heard Dean’s muffled voice growling at Sam to take the cuffs off.

“Wait, is that you brother. Why is he cuffed?”

“Um, it’s like I said, long story,” Sam tried to weasel his way out of an explanation.

“Sam what is going on? I talked to Dean last night. Then you tell me I need to get to Kansas, and now I need to get out of Kansas? I’m getting some seriously mixed signals.”

“I know, Y/N/N. Can you just trust me on this?”

“Sam you’re the closest thing to family I have. I would really like to be in the loop here.”

“Okay, give me three days, then head to the bunker. And bring some holy water just in case.”

“Holy wa-,” the line went dead before you could finish your question.

You trusted the Winchesters with your life so you decided you could stay put for a couple days. You spent the rest of the evening washing sheets and towels and all of your clothes. (Only half-charmed by the fact that there was a washer and dryer and your favorite fabric softener stashed in a small laundry room.)

You spent your second day checking in with contacts and following up on a couple leads you had. Turned out the werewolves you thought might be partying in Michigan were actual wolves that some local had over exaggerated. You passed on wind of a coven near Boston to your friend Katie. Forwarded some reports of what you thought might be actual Selkies in the San Francisco Bay area. Your job was really freaking weird sometimes.

By lunchtime on day three you were pretty much bored out of your skull. Everything you had in your possession was cleaned, polished, sharpened, oiled and any other adjective you could come up with. Seriously, even your boots had gotten a nice rub down with some extra gun oil. You figured you had given your favorite brothers time to sort out the mess they were in, or at least make a good start. You decided to give Dean a call, see if he would be a little more forthcoming with details than his younger counterpart. Three numbers and no answers later, you couldn’t help but be a little irritated.

Sam picked up on the fourth ring. He sounded exhausted. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Don’t what’s up me Samuel Toronto Winchester.”

“Toronto?”

“I can never remember. And don’t distract me. I am about five seconds from hopping on the freeway and busting down the door of your Batcave. What is going on?!”

“Dean died.”

Your knees gave out and you sank against the kitchen counter. “He’s gone……and you didn’t call me?”

“I said he died. I didn’t say he’s dead.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve known you for a damn long time Sam or I would think you’ve lost it. Explain.”

“He died. Became a demon. Knight of Hell actually. I’ve been trying to track him down for a while now.”

“That is…still not enough information. Why do you have me on lockdown in Apple Pie Land?”

“I was just trying to keep you safe Y/N. Dean has been sleeping and slicing his way through the Plains like it’s his job. I didn’t know how he would react if he caught up with you.”

“So now what Sam?”

“I got him back to the Bunker, started him on what we think was a demon cure. He seems to be back to himself, for the most part. I would feel better if you stayed in Lawrence a couple more days.”

“Sam I’m going nuts here. How about I take a couple days and check some drop boxes I’ve got that aren’t too far. Could I head to the bunker say, middle of next week?”

“I think that’s doable. Just know that Dean’s really shaken up by this whole thing. He knows he did a lot of shady stuff while he was dark. I don’t know if he’ll be up to company, but you’re always welcome here, you know that.”

“Okay, well. Let me know if anything changes. I’ll see you in a few days. I’ll bring you a case of that beer you like from Texas.”

“Bye Y/N. Be safe.”

                   ************************ 

You spent the next few days being true to your word. You logged way too many interstate miles. Checked every mailbox you had, even one the Winchesters had given you the key to that was kind of out of your way. For some reason it was stuffed full with some cooking magazine, with Y/N Winchester as the subscription holder. You stopped by a couple surplus stores and loaded up on water and non-perishables. You even got a couple packs of t-shirts and socks for your two favorite fellas. Theirs always seemed to be one step away from growing ‘stuff.’

By Tuesday you had circled back around to Lebanon. You dropped in at a cute little bakery the boys favored. Pie for Dean and a mix of cookies that Sam would pretend weren’t on his diet but wouldn’t last two days. You got a few sandwich rolls and a tub of chicken salad that was made there, too. At least you wouldn’t starve at the ultimate bachelor pad. You figured you ought to let the boys know you were incoming.

“Hello?”

“Hey Sam. Just wanted to let you know I’ll be there soon. Got an empty spot in that awesome garage I can park?”

“Sure thing.” He paused like he was getting ready to tell you your puppy died while you were at summer camp. “Just, don’t be surprised if Dean is a little, weird, I guess. He’s been drinking already today and seems to be a real Debbie Downer pretty much all the time. I don’t know what to do with him. Or for him. Just, I know he wouldn’t want you to get here and think it’s your fault he’s depressed or whatever.”

You couldn’t help smiling a little. “Of course not, Sam. I’ll just have to kick his ass a little. Open the garage door for me, I’ll be there in five.”

                     ****************** 

Sam helped you get your Jeep unpacked and your things settled in to the room you had claimed dibs on. And someone had washed your sheets, it smelled pretty good in your room, actually. Sam almost ran you over as you stepped into the hall to head for the shower. The Men of Letters water pressure was to die for and you were convinced that the water heater was enchanted somehow.

“Sorry, Y/N. Hey, listen,” Sam tucked his hair behind his ear, a move you knew was a nervous tic of his. “Would you feel okay here with Dean by yourself? I haven’t left in days just trying to keep an eye on him. I need some fresh air and I don’t even know. Just a break I guess.”

“What are best friends for Sam. I was going to shower real quick. Any chance you guys have some frozen pizzas stashed in one of those enormous freezers?”

Sam couldn’t seem to stifle a grin at you expense, while he swept you into a big hug. He was your second favorite person to hug in the whole world. “I hope you never change, Y/N/N. Pizza’s on the bottom shelf. Call me if something comes up.” He kissed the side of your head and walked off.

You decided to kill two birds with one stone and throw the pizza in while you showered. You cranked the oven, tossed the pizza in and headed down the hall, fiddling with your phone to set a timer. You shrieked when you hit something solid.

“Hey sweetheart, sorry I scared you.”

You breathed out his name. “Dean, hey. I wondered if you were hiding from me.” You couldn’t help but tug the lapels of the robe you had on self-consciously.

“Why would I hide from you? You’re my best girl. I mean best girl friend.” He hiccupped. “Ha, I mean best friend who is a girl.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if the blush on his cheeks was because of the slip-up or the whiskey you could smell on his breath. “Right. Anyway. I have a pizza in the oven and was heading to shower. And I’m down to like,” you glanced at your phone, “seven minutes. You want to share?” Then your own nerves kicked in. “I meant share the pizza, not the um, the shower thing.”

Dean gave you a look you couldn’t decipher. Almost disappointed. “How about you shower, I’ll set us up pizza and whatever in the Dean cave.”

“The what?”

“The Dean Cave™. Three doors down from your room. You’ll love it.”

           ******************* 

Showered and feeling the most relaxed you’d been since leaving Little Rock, you followed your nose to the Dean Cave. When you stepped through the door you couldn’t help but giggle. “You weren’t kidding, were you? This is…perfect for you, De. You pulled out all the stops, huh.” You could tell he was trying not to be too proud of himself, but the big grin he was wearing gave it away. It was one of your favorite smiles in the whole world. He had plates and glasses on a small table between two enormous recliners. Pizza, beer and the pie you thought you had smuggled in were on a side table. You couldn’t help your own smile, while you fixed a plate and got comfy in a big chair. “Mind if I play some music?”

“As long as it’s not the crap you play in your car.”

“What other music is there?” you joked. You liked a lot of stuff, but the country music you had been bombarded with over the last week was getting old. “I made a cool mix. You’ll know some of these songs, they came out when you were in high school.”

“Oh, jeez, the nineties, really. I thought you had better taste than that.”

“Hey punk, there was some good stuff. I didn’t say you had to dance or anything. Just some background music.”

“Fine. Tell me about what you’ve been up to.”

                     *********************

You spent the next hour regaling Dean with some of the more interesting things you had been up to since your last Bunker visit. “And that is pretty much everything since we worked that weird mummy case in Vegas.” You adjusted your legs and missed Dean tensing up. “So, am I allowed to ask about you? Or are we going to keep ignoring the elephant in the room, De?”

Dean tried to glare at you like he wanted to cut this conversation short. You really were one of his favorite people, and he didn’t want to let you down with tales of Demon Dean. “I’m sure Sam gave you the highlights.” He rubbed his hand across his neck, his version of the Winchester tic. You realized he was refusing to meet your eyes.

“I was just. Checking in with you, I guess. Sam said you’ve been, um. Been drinking. More than usual. And the only reason you’re eating with me is because I asked. You would have liked to tap out already.”

“Y/N I love hanging out with you. It’s just. It sounds stupid, but I guess I’m just trying to find a way to atone for my actions. His actions. I don’t know. I did a lot of stupid, horrible things. Nothing I’m proud of. I practically called you up for a booty call. That probably wouldn’t have ended well for you. Guess I couldn’t keep you off my mind even when I was a demon.”

You watched Dean all through his self-deprecating speech. He looked at the hole in the knee of his jeans the entire time. When he finally did glance up, you couldn’t stop yourself, you mouthed along with the song that had started playing “And I don't think I have ever seen a soul so in despair.” That seemed to break something in him, and you noticed the tears start rolling down his cheeks. You reached out to grab his hand, calluses snagging. “You don’t know the half of it sweetheart.”

You tugged on his hand and he sunk to his knees in front of you. He hugged around your waist and you used the edge of your shirt to wipe up some of his tears. You leaned down, tucking his head under your chin. “Actually, I do know the half of it. And in case you didn’t notice I keep coming back.”

“Well, then I guess the other line in that song is about me too.” You leaned back into your seat, giving him a questioning look. “Wrong guy, wrong situation.”

“Ya, no. You are definitely the right guy,” you glanced away shyly, “for someone.”

You felt Dean’s hands slide down your thighs. “I doubt that, sweetheart.”

You took a deep breath and met his eyes. They were watery and red-rimmed, but always a spectacular jade. “You are the other, other guy De. The songs about having someone you can count on.” It was his turn to look away. You grabbed his chin, spinning his face around. “When the engine’s stalled and it won’t stop raining…you are always my first call. When I get a huge win. Or have to lick my wounds. You’ve got my back.” You hoped the smile you gave him wasn’t giving too much away.

“Y/N, I am no good for someone as great as you. I literally called you two weeks ago, because I was a demon. He wanted to sink his teeth into you. And not the fun way.” Dean wiped his eyes, with the back of his hand. “What would I have done, then?”

“Well, we were gonna have booze and condoms. Think I know what we would have been doing.” You seemed to have the bad habit of putting your foot in your mouth around Dean. You leaned over to kiss the top of Dean’s head, trying to make a hasty escape. “See you in the morning, De.”

               *************** 

Dean spent a couple minutes on the floor trying to make sense of your conversation. He worked at gathering up the mess the two of you had made, realizing you hadn’t touched the pie. He always seemed to get distracted when you were around. As he stashed the last of the trash in the bin, he tripped across something rather dazedly. You had agreed to meet him, well the demon version of him, with the intention of hooking up. Maybe you thought he had just been messing around. Huh.

              *************** 

You were just starting to drift off in the awesome mattress you discovered had been replaced since your last visit, when a timid knock caught your attention. You shifted up in the bed, making sure your lack of pants wasn’t obvious, and called, “Come in.”

Dean’s shadow appeared in your doorway, and you squinted to actually see his features in the dim light.

“You were going to meet me in Joplin. Why didn’t you question it?”

“I figured you needed back up on a case or something.”

“You didn’t question the condoms. Then or tonight. Why?”

You could feel yourself flush at the insinuation. “I just figured you were screwing around. You make jokes with me all the time.”

“Not about having sex with you.”

“Well, I know. But other jokes. Flirty things when we go out to a bar. Or things you find online and send me.”

“But I don’t joke about having sex, not with you.”

You weren’t sure what the big deal was. And Dean’s face was still in shadow. “Sorry, I guess. I shouldn’t have joked about it either, won’t happen again,” you apologized.

While you were talking Dean closed the door behind him, plunging you into all but blackness. The bed dipped near your knees, and you suppressed a squeak of surprise. As your eyes adjusted to the near pitch dark, you could see Dean’s shoulders sagging. “Hey,” you nudged him with your leg, hoping he could see your smile, “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I just thought, you know, we joke and kid around and if I crossed a line, I will definitely try to avoid that kind of joke in the future.”

Dean found your hand that was tucked in to your lap. Leave it to him to have cat-like night vision. “I, uh.” Dean cleared his throat and shifted his weight on the bed, squeezing your hand just a little. “I’m not mad, it’s just.” Another cough, and you thought you heard him mumble ‘get it together, man.’

“De, can I turn the light on. Or you turn the light on. I’m just in a t-shirt here.” The light clicked on and your eyes adjusted as Dean sat back down. You grabbed his hand back, loving that little bit of contact. “It’s just you and me here. What’s got you all tongue-tied?”

Dean took another breath. “Sex with you will never be something I joke about, because I can’t possibly imagine anything more serious in my life. I mean. You are so beautiful. And perfect and just thinking about and knowing it would never happen makes it too hard to joke about.”

You were sure he got that out in one exhale. Your buzz from earlier seemed to wear off quite quickly. You made sure Dean was looking you in the eye when you replied, “It would never be a joke to me. It would be, what’s the word?” You hoped Dean was reading your expression loud and clear. “Kind of a dream come true.”

Dean continued to stare at you, like he couldn’t believe his ears. “I….What?”

“I said that would be a dream come true for me. Why do you think I keep coming back around, De? It’s not for the beautiful balcony view. Or the great eats. It’s because it’s where you are.” You tugged on the hand you were still holding bringing Dean’s mouth within inches of your own. “Kiss me, please, tell me I didn’t read this wrong.”

Dean leaned in and between wet presses of his beautiful mouth gasped “Read it….totally….right….I’m an idiot….god you’re gorgeous….taste so good….”

[kittae]

The Last  [ 1 ]

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Angst, Post-Apocalyptic, Zombie!AU, Adventure, Survival, smut in future chapters

Words: 4k

!Warnings! : extremely anxiety inducing situations, body horror, horror, mentions of death, graphic descriptions of death, mass panic, vomiting, mentions of blood, cauterisation, asphyxiation, strong language, etc. Do not read if very sensitive.

summary: When the world’s gone to shit and you’ve taught yourself to stay alive while danger lurks around every corner, the last thing you need is another mouth to feed and extra “dead” weight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to leave another human being behind, and it might as well have been your worst decision ever… or was it the best?

A/N: The first official chapter! I’m not used to writing this genre so i’m still trying to get familiar with it. I hope i managed to get across what i wanted to get across and I’m sorry in advance jfdhdghks.

Chapters: Prologue   |  one

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

As the words leave your mouth, the blade moves before he could object. His flesh simmering against the red hot steel like a seared steak. The piece of wood cracks underneath the force of his teeth, the porcelain touching through the splinters while his eyes roll back in his head. The scorching pain leaves him breathless, his screams stuck in his throat in a strangled noise as he chokes on them. He balls his hands into fists and would hiss at the sting of his nails digging bloody crescents into his palms if he wouldn’t be on the brink of fainting. Every muscle in his body contracts violently before relaxing again when the torture device removes itself after five excruciating seconds, his breath able to leave his lungs in frantic pants and sweat dripping down his neck and forehead.

“You really shouldn’t try to stay conscious right now. Don’t fight it.”

Your unexpected but gently whispered words are convincing enough to let the pain cloak the world in darkness, to stop fighting his body’s urgent need to shut down. He doesn’t have time to assess the level of danger that comes with letting himself be vulnerable at this time and place, entrusting himself in the care of a stranger. His eyes fall shut at the same time he collapses. You catch him in time, your cool fingers like a breeze on his forehead as you lay his head to rest in your lap.

.

.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” His voice cracks as it raises in pitch after spitting out the pulverized wood, saliva dripping down his bottom lip he doesn’t bother to wipe off.

You blink at him blankly. “I prefer the term genius.” Turning the knife around by its long haft, you disinfect the other side of the blade on the stone in the fire. “You were only out for like five minutes or something.”

As you’re talking, he scrambles away from your lap just far enough to get on all fours and start vomiting heavily. You pull a face, making a mental note of how you should clean that up before night falls. You can only imagine how the smell would lure unwelcome visitors.

Yoongi’s weak but visibly seething, the pain never ceasing to attack his every nerve. His vision is still blurry, his eyes repeatedly trying to fall shut again while black spots dance behind them.

“You said you’d count to three, asshole.” He slurs, making a feeble attempt to wipe the spit and vomit still dripping from his chin with the back of his hand.

“I lied.” You shrug.

“Who fucking lies about that?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry? Did you expect a nice massage and some fairy dust to magically heal that gaping hole in your leg?” You tilt your head, eyes squeezed to menacing slits and sarcasm dripping from every word. “Get a fucking grip, Yoongi. You would’ve bled to death or lost your leg with your shitty makeshift tourniquet. Consider yourself lucky i found you and know how to cauterize and maybe be a little more grateful.”

“Counting my fucking blessings.” He bites through gritted teeth, eyeing the ugly singed edges on his thigh, now a mess of painfully throbbing and burnt tissue instead of a bleeding open wound.

You roll your eyes but reach for your first-aid kit anyway. Cauterizing wounds is not an easy task. It’s one thing to stop the bleeding by searing the torn skin, but the danger for infections is almost double as high as before.

“Hey. I never said this was going to be fun or pretty.” You snap as you wetted a sterile cotton pad with disinfecting alcohol. ”You better put that stick back in your mouth, we need to clean this new wound regularly every time it starts staining your bandages— hold on this is gonna sting.”

“No no no no, wai- AHHH!”

His blood-curdling scream makes you grit your teeth in annoyance and leaves you no other choice than to stop trying to clean his wound.

“Stop making so much noise!”

“It’s daytime!” Yoongi spits venomously. “Easy for you to say when you’re not on the receiving end of that fucking cotton pad!”

“No. I’m on the receiving end of a whiny little bitch.”

“Who’s calling who a bi–”

“I am! Me, the idiot who’s wasting her medical facilities on a complete and ungrateful stranger!” You bark, the sarcasm making place for pure and undiluted frustration when you toss the precious with alcohol saturated pad on the ground. A part of the resources you’ve been stashing up carefully since all hell broke loose. You know just dousing the wound in alcohol would go so much faster and would probably be much less torturous, but you really couldn’t afford it.

Yoongi finally shuts his mouth, a guilt-stricken blush creeping up from his ears to his cheeks. He keeps his lips sealed, even for an apology, but the way his eyes avoid yours as they scan the ground for gravel to focus their gaze on says it all.

You said nothing either. You just take his silence as confirmation that you’re right. When you grab another cotton pad, keeping your eyes on him the entire time, he doesn’t object. This time, you remind yourself to wrap the stick in a piece of cloth and shove it in his mouth, to ensure he wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention.

“Try to be quiet this time, alright? I know it hurts, but i’m trying to keep you alive.” You murmur, anger seeping away when you watch his face. He looks scared, hurt, confused. You’ve been taking care of yourself for quite some time now, you forgot there were still people who probably had a hard time adapting to this lifestyle. Even though your new companion had managed to get on every single one of your nerves in the few hours you’d gotten to know him, you obviously take no pleasure in torturing him like this.

Yoongi nods quietly, bracing himself and closing his eyes, knowing you wouldn’t count to give him a heads up anyway. He just lets the pain overwhelm him for the third–and probably not the last–time that day. It’s easier now his teeth don’t collide with bare wood, but instead sink into the fabric of the cloth. Nevertheless, tears keep pouring from the corners of his eyes like a tap that’s been left open, wetting his cheeks as his pained groans and sobs get smothered by the gag in his mouth. He tries listening to your quietly muttered apologies as you scrape the dirt and pus out of the burnt hole in his thigh to distract himself.

He takes it like a champ until you’re done, right up to the ointment you apply at the end after his wound has been made spick and span.

“Bet this feels a lot better already.” You smile as you carefully wrap the bandages around his thigh, proud of your craftsmanship.

“Yeah,” Yoongi admits, the tension on his face ebbing away and softening out for something more timid and thankful while he watches you concentrate on taking care of him. “It does.”

Your lips involuntarily curl up a little upon getting to hear how soft his voice can be. The heat on your cheeks definitely have nothing to do with that, they’re just hot from the fire.

“There’s a creek not far from here, so we can head there tomorrow to wash the bandages and rinse the dirt from your wound again.” You continue as you eye his teared up jeans and dirty clothes. “Maybe you want to wash your clothes, too?”

“You mean what’s left of them?” He hufs, choosing to avert his gaze when you look up to see the expression paired with the soft chuckle that rings as a pleasant bell in your ears. You have a hard time remembering the last time you’d heard anything like it.

“Was that a joke, Min Yoongi? Are we making jokes now?” Your grin widens and you didn’t miss the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth either.

“Whatever.” He grumbles, still having trouble to keep his irritated façade despite the ever very present pain.

A few minutes of comfortable silence ensues between the two of you as you finish cleaning up and Yoongi puts out the fire when the sun starts to set again. You only just realise you won’t be spending this sunset alone for once, and you can’t deny how relieved it makes you feel.

“It’s like a dream.” You hear from behind you, pulling you out of the momentary trance you’d found yourself in watching the big ball of light disappear again. Did the days start getting shorter or was it just your imagination? It only seemed like an hour or two ago when you’d last sat on your watchpost on the rock.

“What?”

“The sunset. Sunrise.” Yoongi elaborates as he limps over to where you were sitting down. “Sometimes, I feel like all there’s left is darkness, you know? After the sun sets, it’s like I’d imagined it all, day after day. When it rises again, I feel so relieved.”

His words take you a little by surprise. It’s like he knows what you were thinking and plucked those thoughts from your mind to recite them to you.

“Never took you for the sappy type.” Murmuring, you cross your arms as you’re feeling weirdly exposed all of a sudden.

He doesn’t say anything but you catch him smirk from the corner of your eye, even when you try to make it look like your gaze is trained on the colorful sky alone.

“How’s your leg?” You try to change the subject.

Yoongi subconsciously goes to touch the wound, but stops himself halfway.

“Much better, actually. That’s some strong stuff you got.” He says, referring to the heavy-duty painkillers you keep in your first-aid kit and have shared with him. You’d snatched them from a pharmacy some time ago.

“Yeah, they’re super addictive but you’ll be fine. The chance we’ll find them again after I run out is practically non-existent, so...”

There’s another silence following your words where you can feel a strange, tense vibe coming from your black-haired companion. He parts his lips a few times, closes them equally as many, then proceeds to heave a deep sigh.

“Hey, listen,” He starts, somewhat hesitant. “Thank you... I wouldn’t be alive right now if it weren’t for you, I guess.”

It’s a pretty shitty thank you but you’ll take it.

“You’re welcome.” Your voice strains a little, not being used to these kinds of awkward interactions anymore. It’s not that you’re not pleased with the fact he finally thanks you, but it just feels so… weird.

“Yeah.”

You watch the sunset together for a little while longer, until the warm glow barely reaches the edges of the forest as it sinks back underneath the horizon like it does every single day. Every day it disappears, and every day you wonder whether you’ll live to see the next one.

“How did it happen, though?” You suddenly ask him.

“Hm?”

“Your leg. What happened?”

He visibly tenses, mulling over his words for a moment. “It’s a long story.”

“We have time, no?” You scoff, gesturing at your quiet and abandoned surroundings.

Yoongi hesitates, reluctance written all over his face. It looks like it’s not something he wants to talk about.

“Hey, forget it,” you ensure with a smile, “I was just curious but you don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t really say much after that while you both enjoyed the last minute of warmth and light.

“We should turn in for the night. I think both of us could use some sleep after the last twenty-four hours.” You propose, already standing back on your feet and reaching your hand out to your injured patient to help him up as well.

“Sounds good.” He says as he lets you lift him to his feet. You suddenly realize you still have the habit of brushing the dirt off your pants after you’d sat down, when you see Yoongi doing it as well. A strange habit to keep at this point, you think. You’ve been thinking a lot since your path crossed Yoongi’s.

You hadn’t been thinking about the fact you’d be sharing a tent with him, though. That thought doesn’t hit you until you’re already inside and he makes himself right at home by nestling himself into your sleeping bag.

“Feeling comfortable?” You ask, brows raised and eyes boring vehemently into his skull as you watch the satisfied expression on his face.

He nods, eyes already shutting as he gets ready for a long and hopefully peaceful slumber. Not on your watch.

“Scoot over, parasite.” You grumble, stuffing yourself inside the sleeping back with a total disregard for Yoongi’s condition and bumping him to the side with your hip.

“Ouch! Be careful, I’m injured!” He whines as if you hadn’t been devoting your entire day to nursing him and despite his bad leg being on the opposite side of your merciless hip-bumping.

“You’re a big baby, that’s what you are.”

“Why are you so mean?” His pouted lips form a strong contrast with how he’s menacingly side-eyeing you.

You think about that for a second. He probably wasn’t really serious about it right now but he wasn’t wrong. You silently acknowledge the fact you haven’t been all that friendly to him from the first second of your encounter.

“Because friendliness won’t get you anywhere in this world.” You whisper, painfully aware of the thoughts that come running through your head. “Not anymore, at least.”

Yoongi frowns, rolling himself on his side to look at you staring at the top of the tent. “Who says?”

You snort. “I mean, look around you. Look at what happened. We can all pretend we care about each other until there’s a crisis and we have to survive, then it’s every man for himself.”

“You’re helping me, though.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“But you did anyway.”

You don’t answer that. You feel sadness starting to creep its way into your heart, making you feel things you thought you’d successfully suppressed. This whole conversation is summoning memories, having them play through your mind on loop like a broken movie.

Yoongi waits for you to say something, but gives up when you don’t. Your eyes are closed and your breathing calm as you pretend to have fallen asleep already.

“That’s right, it’s been a rough day.” He mumbles, a faint smile finding his lips before he lies down more comfortably to finally catch some sleep as well.

.

.

“Excited?” You can’t contain your own joy, a big grin spreading across your face seeing the little girl bounce up and down in anticipation.

She smiles up at you and nods frantically before going back to peer at the stage in hopes of catching a glimpse of her idols, despite the fact it’s still half an hour before the concert actually starts. You chuckle and playfully ruffle your little sister’s hair. She’s already taken off her plastic birthday crown, the reason for that undoubtedly the ginormous number ‘10’ written on the front in a curly font. She probably doesn’t want the boys to see her as a child (if they’d even notice her at all so far up the tribunes but you won’t be the mean older sister and burst her bubble).

“How much longer?” She whines when she keeps looking, but still no good-looking twenty-something guys appear on stage.

You look at your watch. “Only twenty more minutes, baby. They’ll be up soon. Are you sure you’re not thirsty?”

Not waiting for her answer, you’re already rummaging through your backpack that’s stuffed with water, nutritious cookies and and juice packs. You’ve gone to many a concert before this one and know that staying hydrated is extremely important, even when you have assigned seats.

“Here, drink thi– Oh!” A push from the side makes you lose your balance and the uncapped bottle of water fallsl to the ground, splashing the fluid everywhere.

When you turn around to scold the person who pushed you, a million things happen at once. People are screaming, pushing, running, tripping over each other. Attendees from the top of the tribunes are scattering down the stairs, even over the chairs and over one another, not caring who they worked to the ground in the process as long as they could escape. Confusion paralyzes you only for a moment until your survival instinct, too, kicked in and you grab your sister by the hand to follow the crowd of screaming, panic-crazed people.

“___, what’s happening?!!” Your sister cries, bewildered as she looks around her and watches more panic unfold before her eyes. “Where are we going?!”

“I don’t know, Mia, keep running! We have to get to the exit!” You yell, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute as you keep your sister’s hand in a vice like grip while you let yourselves get swallowed by the stream of bodies. “Don’t let go of my hand!”

Your head feels light and empty, like there’s nothing useful in there but a red and buzzing alarm. Sound seems to fade to the background, cries and pleads and screams of others just noise while your heartbeat pounds loudly in your ears. You feel bile rising in your throat, the nausea in your stomach threatening to make you throw it all up when you occasionally trip over obstacles lying in your way and you realise they’re the bodies of people who’ve been trampled to death. You can’t bring yourself to care about them, not now, not when you have to bring your sister and yourself to safety. The only thing that matters right now is to get to the exit, to survive. You see the green light of the emergency exit, yet the doors have not yet been opened. The mass of bodies is piling up, people are getting squished to the walls and between each other as more and more men and women try to force their way to the front to get to the exit first, oblivious to the fact the doors are still closed for whatever damn reason.

“Why isn’t it opening?!”

“Open the fucking doors!!!”

“Let us out!! Let us out!!”

“I can’t breathe! Please stop pushing! Please!”

You hear the cries and screams and it hits you, the fact you’re all trapped in here. The doors aren’t opening and there’s no turning back. You can’t see two metres in front of you, but all around you people are suffocating; faces turning red, then purple and blue until they collapse from asphyxiation, never to wake up again.

Mia. You have to save Mia! You could have her sit in your neck so she’s higher up and not squished.

When you want to lift her up, you find to your horror that your hand’s empty and your sister is nowhere to be seen. The world disappears from underneath your feet, time stopping all the same. You can’t believe you lost her. You can’t believe you’ve let that happen. This can’t be real, this can’t be reality. You refuse to accept this!

“Mia!” You scream at the top of your lungs, frantically spinning around as much as the extremely limited space allows you. You start running back, away from the exit and against the current, pushing people to the side and squeezing yourself through every gap you could find. You keep yelling your sister’s name, trying to look for a red sweater and two braids all the while.

You can’t let yourself lose hope. Staying calm and rational will give you the best chance to find her back. Banishing all worst case scenarios from your thoughts as best as you can, you force your brain to get to work. Now you’re standing in a less crowded spot, you allow yourself to breathe again, looking around to find a solution. Your eyes fall on the empty tribunes. You could climb up and have a better overview from higher up.

Purposely turning a blind eye to the corpses littering the stairs and pretending like they aren’t there, you climb up. You can’t afford to get emotional right now, you can’t break down and lose the adrenaline rush that’s the only thing that keeps you functioning..

A sound startles you out of your concentration. It’s something between a hiss and a bubbling gurgle, making you stop in your tracks. Your head turns to the direction of the disturbing sound and what you find paralyzes you with fear. Someone– no, something is crouched over one of the dead bodies on the tribune stairs and staring right at you with milky eyes. It growls, blood dripping out of its mouth and over its chin before leaving the dead body for what it is in favor of something more fresh. You can’t believe what you’re seeing, although you know it’s real and you know exactly what it is. Now you know what made this mass panic break out in the first place.

“Holy shit…” The breath you take shakes as you whisper, your feet still frozen in place even when the thing approaches.

But then Mia reappears in your mind, giving you the push you need to snap out of your fright and choose flight instead. You don’t think fight would be an option in this situation, so you start running again. There seems to be some movement in the crowd now, the force of the suction of people streaming through the exit doors pulling you in and along. The pressure of the mass must’ve made the doors break open by force. You can’t fight it, so you have no choice but to let yourself get sucked in if you don’t want to meet the same fate as the people lying motionlessly on the floor. There’s still no sign of Mia and you’d be lying if you’d say you’re not starting to get desperate. You didn’t even get a chance to check from above.

“Mia!!” You try again, unable to stop the tears that finally pour out of your eyes, your chest clenching painfully where your heart is still working overtime to process the panic. “Mia!!”

.

.

You startle awake with a gasp tearing from your lips, your body drenched in sweat, face wet with tears and a wide-eyed Yoongi sitting up next to you, a hand resting on your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you need a minute to process your surroundings. You’re not in the concert venue, you’re not getting pushed and pulled by hot bodies. There’s no one screaming. Everything is eerily quiet, but the image of your little sister still swims in your mind. She’s still gone. You still lost her. Nothing changed.

“I– I had to wake you because you s-started screaming in your sleep and...” Yoongi starts, but his voice dies when you burst into tears. You do try to keep it down but the pain that rips through your chest is unbearable. Yoongi says nothing, just pulls you into an embrace, muffling your cries and sobs into his shoulder.

After a full hour of unstoppable heartache, you’ve exhausted yourself so much you’re knocked out asleep again. Yoongi’s still wide awake, though. For the rest of the night, he lies peering at the ceiling of the tent, occasionally at you as a tear escapes from the corner of his eye.

“I’m really sorry.”

[alj4890]

None But You

Chapter 4

A/N Well, we are sadly nowhere near the end. I honestly am having too much fun with this. I am incredibly weak and have very little self control when it comes to regency romances. Shall we continue?

Summary: The gentlemen take the ladies to see Elgin's Marbles and on to Gunter's for some sweet treats. Another member of the ton causes a surprising reaction from Lord Thomas. What will the gossips think after seeing this?

Masterlist

@graceful-popcorn @krsnlove @alleksa16 @hopelessromantic1352 @pixieferry @emceesynonymroll @buzz-bee-buzz @hopefulmoonobject @cora-nova @rainbowsinthestorm @lxaah11 @dr-nancy-house

Chapter 4

Lord Thomas eyed the cloudy sky that was growing more ominous with each passing moment. It was surprising how the weather so perfectly matched his mood.

"Why did I allow Summers to convince me to do this?" He muttered, slapping his gloves against his own leg. 

He knew deep down he could blame his friend only so far. He had for the first time in his life been moved to comfort a lady in tears. Seeing Lady Amanda so hurt by that pompous earl's words at Lady Westford's ball had caused something foreign within him to rise up and make him long to be the man to make her smile once more.

He had never minded either being the cause of a smile or not. The viscount had been suspected to have the occasional affair. There had even been rumors he had a mistress stashed away in a snug little town house somewhere in London. It was all a complete fabrication, yet if he had learned anything of his years with the ton, scandal was the most titillating tale of them all.

He was numb to the whispers about himself now. His frowns and selective company only fueled the fire of gossip about him being a veritable mystery of the ton. The only ones he cared for knew his true nature and the rather quiet life he led away from society's curious eye. It is for this very reason that he knew his sudden, surprising, appearance at events he normally avoided had gained the entire interest of all he knew.

When the carriage rocked to a stop, he stepped out and walked up to the town home that he had visited more times within the last week than any other lady's residence. Thomas had stopped by often in between the ball and this venture Lord Ryan, Lady Millie, and Sir Peter had planned. He told himself that the reasons for his visit were to see for himself that the lady he was considering as a friend had not taken to heart the insults that idiot had uttered. She was far too lovely to ever believe a man could look upon her figure and find fault.

He cleared his throat and mentally shook himself from allowing the image of her to take hold of his thoughts. He rang the bell and waited for Hudson allow him entrance. He was surprised to see Lady Amanda open it and step out, shutting the door behind her.

"Good morning, my lord." She said with a smile. "Isn't it a perfect day to spend deep within the recesses of The British Museum?"

His lips curved at her cheerful demeanor. "Yes, it is." He glanced at her door and offered his arm. "Where is Hudson?"

"It is his morning off. Aunt Lucy has gone to the shops along Bond Street with Lady Westford and I saw no reason to make you come inside for the very purpose of keeping you waiting like all the matrons stress." Her smile grew when he chuckled and turned his dark eyes on her.

"You seem especially cheeky this morning. Am I to expect this behavior the rest of the day?" He placed his other hand at her waist to help her into his carriage.

"I'm afraid Lord Hunt, that this is more how I truly am on a daily basis than what I show at the balls and dinners." She sat down and was grateful to no longer be tempted to lean against him. His arms around her had been something she had dreamed of the other night. He was much too handsome and she needed to become immune to his touch. And voice. And eyes. And mind. I am hopeless, she thought.

He sat down next to her and smiled. "Perhaps, though I suspect you still have a kind heart under all that wit."

Her kind heart was certainly picking up speed with being alone with him. "Are we stopping by for Lady Millie or Lord Ryan?"

"No. Summers insisted we meet at the museum." Thomas explained. "He hinted that Lady Millicient may be the kind of young lady who would not hesitate in being late, so we should begin our tour."

Amanda laughed. "I believe the marquis is very astute."

His smile made her catch her breath. "Now you understand my surprise in finding you not only ready to depart, but also choosing to not make me summon patience to wait on you."

Her smile softened. "I do hate waiting on people. I try to follow the golden rule, "dress quickly so that others will do so for you".

Thomas let out another laugh and gently squeezed her hand. "You, my lady, are going to spoil me for company. How can any of my companions compare against you?"

She laughed and patted his hand over hers. "Have no fear sir. If the unthinkable occurs and you are forced with only my companionship, I shall endeavor to continue to not keep you waiting nor force you into frivolous conversations."

Thomas could not take his eyes off her features animated in humor. His rare smile softened. "I do not believe I would ever see it as unthinkable nor as a forced companionship if you were all I had."

Her laughing smile stilled. "I...thank you."

He made himself look away from her face. "No need to thank me. It was merely the truth."

"Thank--" she bit down on her lip. How did one respond to such a comment? "I'm afraid I do not know what to say."

He shrugged and turned his attention to the passing homes, hoping she would drop the matter. As if she heard his silent wish, she began to question him about the museum. He found his humor returning when she asked for a basic layout of the building and exhibits.

"Lady Amanda, we will be there shortly. Are you incapable of finding it out as you go along?"

She lowered her eyes. "I believe after catching me reading the final chapters of books, it should be obvious that I do not care for surprises."

His eyebrow lifted. "I imagine the London season has been unsettling for you."

She slowly nodded, a pensive expression dimming her excited joy from earlier. "In more ways than one, sir."

The carriage came to a stop and she scrambled out before he could question her further. He followed and took her hand, placing it on his arm. Her hand gently squeezed his forearm in her excitment at finally being at the museum. "I can not begin to tell you how I have looked forward to this moment."

His lips curved once again. "You mean it wasn't the parties and balls that brought you to London? It was seeing antiquities?"

Her eyes twinkled. "You will keep my secret?"

He placed his hand over his heart. "On my honor as the Viscount of Kirkwood."

"Thank you." Her smile glowed when they stepped inside. "Oh Thomas! We are here!" She stepped through the first room and began exploring.

Thomas wondered if she was aware she had used his first name in her excitment. "My lady, do you not wish to wait on Summers and Lady Millie?"

She paused and looked longingly at the statues further down the room. "You are right. As much as it pains me, we should wait."

He waved over to a bench and they sat down together. Her eyes flickered from one thing to another. At one point she leaned against him in the attempt to see into the next room better. He looked down at her when she looked up at him. His eyes settled on her lips, so near to him. "Forgive me." She whispered and quickly sat upright with red cheeks.

He pulled his watch out and wondered where Lord Ryan and Lady Millie were. He did not wish to make frivolous small talk with the lady next to him. He glanced up and stilled. Viktor Montmarte, Duke of Strathearn, had entered. His dark, penetrating gaze passed over Thomas to only settle on Amanda.

The Viscount knew what the Duke saw and his frown darkened. He acted with little thought. "Amanda, come." He stood and grasped her hand, pulling her in his wake on into the museum.

Thomas was grateful that she was not a female to question everything. He would have a difficult time explaining to an innocent why she would need to remain far away from that diabolical deceiver. If even a quarter of what he had heard about the Duke's proclivities concerning innocents new to London were true, then the man deserved to be placed within the bowels of the Tower.

Amanda stumbled and bumped into him. "Forgive me." She said a bit breathlessly.

Thomas slowed his steps taking the hand he had gripped tightly and placed it within the crook of his arm. He nodded toward a statue "Let start here."

As much as she tried to focus on the detailed sculpture in front of her, her attention remained on the gentleman beside her. His sudden action and use of her name had been surprising. She waited patiently on an explanation, believing him not to be a man that acted without reason. Instead of receiving one from him, she was introduced to the Duke of Strathearn.

"Kirkwood!" Viktor drawled. "I was hoping to see you before the next meeting of the House of Lords. But forgive my manners. Who is this charming creature you have the sheer luck of escorting?"

Thomas frowned and made the introductions. Amanda dipped into a proper curtsy. "Your grace."

Viktor kissed her hand, a smile forming. "Lady Bridgerton...I should have recognized you immediately. Your father and uncle served on many committees with me."

Amanda listened to him while keeping an eye on Thomas. He seemed barely able to hide his utter hatred of the Duke.

"How are you enjoying the Season and it's diversions?" He asked.

"I am very much, thank you. Lord Hunt has been kind to escort me to a few of what London has to offer." Amanda said, smiling at Thomas.

He ignored her and kept his eyes on Viktor. The Duke's eyes briefly flared with jealous temper. He wasn't used to a lady of the ton not giving him her complete attention.

"And do you enjoy art, Lady Bridgerton?" The Duke took a step near her other side and walked with them.

"Very much, your grace. I think there would be few who could not enjoy such beauty."

He chuckled. "As one overflowing with the attribute, I will take your word for it."

Lord Ryan entered with a quarrelsome Lady Millie and an inspired by more than the normal number of muses Sir Peter. Millie's mouth shut when she saw who was talking to her friend.

"Lord Ryan, we must intervene." She whispered. The marquis nodded, placed her hand on his arm, and hurried over to their friends.

"Your grace!" Ryan exclaimed in a rare serious tone. "You are just the man I needed to meet with. Forgive me Lady Amanda, but I must speak of Parliamentary matters." He grasped the Duke's arm and talked of an import tax one of the Lords planned on proposing as the others walked away.

Lady Millie took Sir Peter's arm and followed behind the angry Viscount and the confused lady on his arm. As they stopped to admire what was believed to be a sulpture of Dionysus, Amanda squeezed Thomas's arm. "My lord, what is--"

"Lady Bridgerton? I am afraid I must leave your enjoyable presence. Lord Summers was kind to remind me of a matter that must be dealt with at once." He glanced at the sculpture of the nude man and his lips curved slyly. "Perhaps I can get your artistic opinion at the ball I will be hosting in a week's time." He took her hand and placed his lips on her knuckles. "If you enjoy this type of art, I have some etchings I have collected during my travels that I would love to share with you."

"I look forward to--" Her words were cut off by Thomas yanking her out the room. He muttered something to Ryan as he pulled her outside. Millie had her hand over her mouth with eyes wide at the spectacle they were making in front of some notorious gossips.

Thomas nearly ripped the carriage door off its hinges before lifting her into the conveyance. He barked orders to his coachman and climbed in after her. Once they were on their way, he discovered that Lady Amanda's patience had a breaking point.

"Lord Hunt! Have you taken leave of your senses?! What the devil do you think you are doing, pulling me around like an errant child with little to no explanation?" Her hazel eyes narrowed when his frown darkened even more. "Answer me!"

His temper snapped at her demand. "I have NOT taken leave of my senses as you so elegantly phrased it. I was protecting you from that vile libertine!"

"Vile libertine? The Duke did nothing but try and be pleasant. He--"

"He is a lecherous old man that you will stay away from!" Thomas yelled. "I refuse to have you in his company."

"You refuse? You refuse! How dare you! Who has given you the right to refuse me anything?!" She screeched.

"The moment you began to agree to seeing his etchings, I knew I had the right as a gentleman to stop you." Thomas shouted.

"Etchings? You believe etchings give you the right?" Her eyes snapped. "You're mad!"

"I have complete use of all my mental faculties." He gripped the seat to keep from reaching across the carriage and shaking cautious sense into her.

"Clearly." She mocked. "How etchings could cause such anger is beyond me."

Thomas opened his mouth and paused.

"Please." Amanda said bitterly with a flourish of her hand. "You already embarrassed me horribly at the museum. Denied me a chance to see and explore each room. No need to be shy on my account now."

Thomas tried to restrain his temper. "You, Lady Amanda, have no idea what you nearly agreed to. Do you truly believe that just because a man holds a title that he behaves as a gentleman? I can point to many who use that title as a belief that they possess the right to prey on whomever they wish and leave nothing but desolation in their wake."

Amanda's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"The duke is not to be trusted. Not with you." Thomas answered, his voice had reduced in volume yet there was no denying how furious he still was.

Her head tilted in question, one that he did not wish to elaborate. Yet she continued to poke and prod with her question until the words burst out. "Amanda! When a man of his disposition offers to show you his etchings it is actually renderings of men and women in the midst of amorous congress!"

Her cheeks flared with color. "What?" She averted her eyes and bit down on her lip. Tears burned her eyes. What is it about me that gentleman think they can say anything to me, she wondered, tears forming from embarrassment. "You must think I am such a ninny."

His anger softened when he noticed how upset she was becoming. He moved across the carriage to sit next to her and offered his handkerchief when she sniffed. She took it and pressed it to her nose before a sob broke.

"I think nothing of the sort." He said gently taking her hand.

"Yes, you do! You think I am some foolish creature that can not make her way through the ton without a...protective...knight having to step in every few moments."

Thomas took the handkerchief and wiped her tears that were falling steadily. "You must know that those thoughts never crossed my mind." He frowned at her stubborn scoffing at his words. "I knew when we first met that you were highly intelligent. Even with your keen wit, I would not expect any innocent lady to understand the duke's intentions."

She closed her eyes and lowered her head into her hands. "I will be forced to see him again at events."

Thomas placed his hand on her shoulder. "Yes, but I will escort you."

Amanda shook her head. "You can not do that. People will assume we have formed an attachment if you escort me everywhere."

"Very well, I will simply meet you at some events and escort you to others. I will call upon Lord Ryan and Sir Christopher's assistance. They would be more than happy to escort you and Lady Bridgerton during the ones that you decide I should not." He stated in a tone that she knew meant it was no longer up for debate.

"I can not ask that of you." She said softly.

The back of his fingers brushed her cheek before taking her hand. "I will always be at the ready to assist you in whatever capacity you need of me."

The carriage stopped and he tilted her face to wipe away the remaining evidence of her tears. "I promise to make up for ruining your visit to the museum."

"There is no need. I understand and appreciate what you did." She said a bit breathlessly at his hand remaining on her cheek.

His dark eyes met hers and he seemed to be drawing closer. A thump on the door snapped him out of whatever trance he had been under. Sir Peter apologized for startling them as he helped Lady Millie down. Lord Ryan followed glaring at the man's clumsiness.

Thomas forced a pleasant expression and squeezed her hand. "I believe after a morning like this we are in need of ices." He opened the door and helped Amanda descend the carriage steps. They joined the trio inside of Gunter's. Each ordered a different flavor, while Ryan and Millie kept the conversation light. No one brought up what occurred at the museum much to Thomas and Amanda's relief.

"I think we should go riding in Hyde Park in the morning. You haven't had a chance to do so yet." Millie insisted when talk turned to Lord Filmore's latest horse.

Amanda nodded. "I did bring Chestnut along for the purpose of riding along Rotten Row."

Ryan grinned as more plans formed in his mind. "Hunt and I usually ride in the mornings with Winters. We would be more than happy to escort you both." He glanced at Sir Peter and reluctantly asked. "Care to join us?"

The poetic gentleman shook his head. "I find the morning comes too soon after an evening filled with composition."

"Quite so." Ryan replied in relief. He didn't think he could take another round of poetry in the early morning hours. "Well, my ladies? We shall call upon you around eight on the morrow." He promised before Thomas could form an argument.

The group parted and Thomas remained quiet for most of the ride back to Amanda's residence. The lady herself was also deep in thought over what the day had wrought. She could not help but wish to know what he was thinking or thought about her. He seemed to believe she was attractive and he claimed to think she was intelligent. Was it enough though to gain his attentions? His heart?

He helped her down and walked her to her door. With a bow and brief brush of lips to her hand, he took his leave with barely a word about the next morning's ride. Amanda felt a spurt of disappointment watching him walk away and allowed Hudson to shut the door once the viscount climbed into his carriage.

Thomas thought of what today had revealed and wondered if it was wise to continue to be around the lady as often as he had been. His unexpected loss of temper over her had shocked him. He knew his actions and demands were of one who had a claim on Lady Amanda's affections, yet the thought of her becoming ensnared in whatever web the Duke had planned for her was not to be borne. When it came to her, he would be unable to sit idly by and see her with the wrong sort of man.

He would need to find a decent one for her. That would be the only way he could be rid of this position of protector he found himself in. He knew a few gentlemen that were good men in need of a wife. He ignored the roar of denial within him at the thought of seeing her married to another and began to plan.

[tallulahchanel]

“The Rose of Wakanda” Chapter 6

Warnings: Angst.

Words: 2.3k

Tags: @lady-olive-oil @marvelheaux @zaddysqueen7 @ovohanna24 @thegodmother97 @sarcastic-sunshines

Masterlist

November 2, 2016 19:51 My chambers

Dear Diary,

Guess who I finally heard from. Not with a call or a message, but with a….

Let me start from the beginning.

I wanted to get an early start on my day, so I awoke around six to accompany Leo on his morning bathroom break with a light jog in the jungle. Adorned in my pink sports bra with black trimmings and black shorts with pink trimmings, I listened to the energetic drum beats playing from my kimoyo beads. I don’t usually jog, but during my leave of absence, I found it relaxing—minus the sweat of course.

About an hour later, Leo and I returned to the palace, entering the kitchen through the back door, so I can give him his morning steak and shower before making breakfast.

Once inside, I heard the suspicious sounds of shuffling coming from the lower cupboards, an indication that someone was there. Besides Weza and I, no one else in the palace was usually awake and moving around this early.

I inched closer to get a better look, but all I could see was someone squatting and fishing through the junk food stash cabinet. From my view, I could see this person had big Afro-textured hair, sun-kissed mocha skin, and a medium brown dress—intricately woven with furs and complimented by a grass skirt—with a pair of medium-brown fur boots to match.

“Isis!” I addressed her, and she jumped. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t scare me like that, chica,” She responded with a glare towards me, her words laced with a thick Dominican accent.

Isis is a Dominican-Wakandan. She was born a year after me in the Dominican Republic to a Wakandan War Dog and her Dominican lover, who decided to remain unmarried. Unfortunately, an incident, one she hasn't given me the full story on, cost Isis her father and her childhood home, forcing her mother to return to Wakanda to raise her. She and I met in our teens when we both took jobs at the market—she worked the fabric stand while I worked the fruit stand—and have been friends ever since. Of course, T’Challa did have some jealousy about me having another best friend, but I guess chasing after Nakia kept him too occupied to care. Isis now lives in the Jabari mountains as Lord M’Baku’s wife and the mother of their two children--three if you count the little one inside of her now.

“Isis, why are you here?” I asked again.

After grabbing a pack of Oreo's out of the cabinet, she stood and scoffed at me. "You sound like I'm not welcomed."

“I didn't say you weren't," I rebutted while walking to the fridge to find Leo's steak and a bottle of water for myself. "I would've liked it if you called or something before coming over."

I didn't mean to be annoyed with her. After all, it wasn't her fault that I've been jumpy since T'Challa's long-lost cousin attacked the palace. The worse he's ever done to me was grab my wrist after I refused a pass he made at me. Had Ayo not intervened, stating that Weza needed me—which turned out to be the truth—who knows what could've happened to me?

“Hey hermana," she addressed me with her unique nickname for me and put a supportive hand on my shoulder, "what's wrong?"

Heaving a heavy sigh, I closed the fridge and turned to her. “Have you heard from Dakarai?”

It seems that I’m always asking someone that question.

Isis scoffed and rolled her eyes at the mention of his name. “If that idiota knows what’s good for him, he wouldn’t think to contact me.”

“You’re right,” I agreed defeatedly.

“I don’t know why you want to stay with that man after everything he’s put you through.”

All I could do was nod before taking a sip of my water. “I know. I know. It’s just that….” my voice trailed off when Weza entered the kitchen with a sorrowful look on her face, causing me to furrow my brows. “Weza? Is something wrong?”

She reached into her yellow dress pocket and pulled out a pink envelope, holding it out towards me. “This came for you yesterday. I should've given it to you, but you said you wanted to be alone, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

I hesitantly took the envelope from her, and the first thing I noticed was the familiar handwriting. Dakarai's cursive had always been a bit sloppy, but with time, I learned to understand and recognize it. The other thing I noticed was the envelope didn't have a return address, almost as if he didn't want to a return message from me.

“Good morning," T'Challa's cheerful morning voice caught my attention. When we briefly locked eyes, I saw him lift a concerned brow before I shifted my focus back to the envelope.

Biting the bullet, I decided to open it. Inside of it was a white Get Well Soon card, beautifully decorated with red tulips (Dakarai knows that’s my favorite flower). Shaking my head, I made a mental note to scold him for giving me this card of all greeting cards—especially since he knows why I was absent for a month. I, then, opened the card to find a long paragraph, nearly filling the entire card space, of his handwriting.

‘Dearest Rose,’ it read, ‘I hope you won’t take it personal that I chose a Get Well Soon card, but I…’

I wasn’t in the mood for the formalities, so I stopped reading and began skimming over the words, hoping to find something about where he was and why I haven’t spoken to him since I left Wakanda a month ago.

But then, something caught my attention, and I gasped at the words I read, words that smashed my heart into pieces.  As I reread them to make sure that I hadn't imagined them, a lump formed in my throat and a sob escaped my lips.

“Rose?” T’Challa addressed me in concern, gaining my attention. “Yintoni ingxaki?”

Instead of answering him, I turned on my heels and ran out of the back door and towards the jungle, dropping the card in the process.

“Rose!” he called after me, but I kept running, quickening my pace as leaves from the trees slapped my face.

The leaves and my tears blurred my vision, so I didn't notice the root that stuck out of the ground until I tripped over it and fell,  getting dirt on my face and leaves in my hair. Once the shock of what happened wore off, I sat up and winced at the pain in my knee. I looked at it and saw that it was scraped and bleeding from the fall.

“Rose?” I heard T’Challa’s voice, an indication that he caught up to me, killing any chances I had at running from him. Then again, it was stupid of me for trying to run from the Black Panther.

“I'm fine," I tried to keep him from worrying about me, but it was no use.

When he saw me on the ground, he knelt beside me to inspect my knee, causing me to wince at his touch. He scooped me up bridal style and began carrying me away from the area. I assumed he was taking me back to the palace until I saw the path he was taking me on, a path I haven't walked in almost two years.

This path leads to our tree-house that was built for us when we were children. Of course, it looked fancy for a couple of kids to play in, but King T'Chaka always wanted the best for his children. Over the years, it turned from a playroom for two kids, to a teen spot, and now a quiet place for both of us to get away from life's anxieties.

T’Challa carried me inside and set me on one of the chairs before he went to look for something. “Here we are,” he said after a few minutes, returning with a first aid kit—we needed that on many occasions. He knelt in front of me and took an alcohol swab to the wound, evoking a wince out of me. "Sorry." He finished cleaning the wound and placed a band-aid over it.

“Thank you," I told him before he left to put the kit back in its compartment.

A few minutes of silence passed between us before he broke it.

“Rose, we need to talk.”

“About what?!” I snapped, evidently annoyed. I was already emotional from that sorry card Dakarai sent me, so I wasn’t in the mood for whatever ridiculousness he was about to subject me to.

“You told me things were fine between you and Dakarai.”

“They are….were," I corrected myself. "It doesn't matter anymore. Besides, what happened to the you-know-when-I ‘m-lying thing?"

“I knew you were,” he replied. “But I was waiting until you were ready to come to me with the truth.”

Instead of responding verbally, I hugged my knees to my chest and stared at the ground, avoiding eye contact with him.

“What is it that you're not telling me?" He asked, and the concern in his voice caused another lump to form in my throat.

Another silence passed between us before I released a sigh. “He broke up with me.”

T’Challa’s brows furrowed. “When?”

“Just now," I answered as tears fell thick and fast down my cheeks. "He feels that it's in our best interest if we go our separate ways. At least, that's what he said in that card."

I released a small laugh at those words. This wasn't an amused or joyful laugh. This laugh was laced with sadness, anger, pain, despair, and bitterness.

“Can you believe he actually broke off our engagement with a greeting card?” I asked T’Challa, my brown eyes locking with his sympathetic baby-doe eyes. “And of all the cards, he chose a Get Well Soon one.”

One last bitter laugh left my lips before I looked at the floor again, resting my head on my knees and letting the tears fall.

“I am so sorry, intyatyambo.”

I shook my head. "Don't be. I've handled everything else alone, so I guess I'll deal with this alone too."

"Hey now, that's not fair!” He expressed and took a seat in the other chair. “Haven't I always been there for you?"

"You have," I emphasized. "You've been there for me through everything, but you shouldn't have. When I was sick during the early stages of my pregnancy, it shouldn't have been you helping me get through it. It shouldn't have been you that held me after I lost our child or held my hand through the grief. And it shouldn't be you that I run to every time I have a nightmare or a dream about my baba or my son. He should be the one doing those things. Not leaving me to deal with them alone, and certainly not going weeks without speaking to me."

My tears came faster and harder, my body was shaking, and I was struggling to catch my breath. I soon felt T’Challa’s warm arms encircling my small and fragile body as he pulled me out of the chair and into his lap. He began rubbing calming circles on my back while guiding me through a breathing exercise to get it under control. My breathing returned to normal after a while, but the tears were still leaking from my eyes.

“The last time I saw him was when he abandoned me at that mental health center,” I broke the silence between us. “He told me that going there and taking time away from Wakanda would be best for me. Then he left. He never called, never visited. Nothing. Just left me there by myself.”

Silence fell between us again until T’Challa broke it with words that threw me for a loop.

“I know.”

My eyes widen and I sat up to look him deep in his eyes. “You know?”

“I came to visit you one day. You didn't know because you were asleep."

My heart dropped in my stomach and more tears fell from my eyes.

“When I asked the nurse if anyone has checked on you, she said I was the only one.”

“Y...you saw me there?”

“Yes,” he answered with a nod.

I released a small sob before my gaze shifted to the floor in pure shame. "I never wanted you to see me like that. To see me so….so weak."

“Hey, look at me." He lifted my chin, so I could look him in the eyes. "You're one of the strongest persons I know. After everything you've been through, you still manage to fight through it. I've always admired that about you." He cupped my cheeks with his hands and pulled me closer to him, so my head could rest on his. "I know you're going through a tough time right now, but I also have faith that you will fight through it, just like you've done everything else. And you won't do it alone. I promise you that."

“Thank you,” I said softly as T’Challa began wiping my tears with his thumbs.

“Anything for my intyatyambo ekhethekileyo.”

I smiled a bit before wrapping my arms around T’Challa’s neck and snuggling into his warm body. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes contentedly.

“Rose,” he broke the comfortable silence between us.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad that you’re comfortable, but you’re going to have to get up eventually.

I sighed heavily, assuming that he was talking about work. "I don't feel like doing chores today."

He shook his head. "I have no problem with you wanting to take the day off, but you need a shower. You smell like a mixture of sweat and dirt."

I playfully slapped his chest, receiving his loud, but pleasant, laugh in return.

~~~

Translations

Spanish

Hermana - sister Idiota - idiot

Xhosa

Yintoni ingxaki? - What’s the matter? Intyatyambo - flower intyatyambo ekhethekileyo - special flower

[60b3r]

Reminder for Hope: A Speech to the Frontlines

by Albert Yang (60b3r) Greetings to all of you, dear medical professionals friends in the frontlines. I know some of you feel mad, some might feel sorry about why I didn't get to join medical school and be with you in the frontlines. You would think I could have also been busy helping around with the research or simmer down myself inside other field labs, helping you in the specimen and drug testing efforts. I did got asked this very often, and I say thanks for your concern. However, I am so sorry I couldn't be there with you to directly help combating this farce. Honestly I really wish I could do more with my capability, but sadly couldn't. I am not qualified to do things I wish I could do. That you all do now. Yes and no, I did applied for medical school. Yes, I also got accepted in several programs for life sciences last year. But why am I still back home? Is this cowardice? I am no doctor, I am no researcher, I am nobody. I am just a middle-man of history, no purpose or place. Some of us have been raised thinking someday that we would become heroes, but we just can't afford or endure the intense training you received and survived. I would want you to know that my thoughts are always with you. Please keep your spirits high, my lads, 'cause you're the real heroes now. I hope this dark times will be over soon, as the saying goes, when do you find the rainbow: only after rain. Please if I could help you in any way, be it volunteering or mass agitating of some sort, do reach for us back home. Amidst the economic chaos, stock market crash, and the panic hoarding we also experience down here, only hope drives us forward to provide the people with the stuff they require. Also we are all gathering support for your cause, one by one. For few people whom I let them know my mental hardship, you'll know that I sometimes feel worthless each passing day. How hard it is knowing for now I cannot be a doctor nor researcher to take action because of some conditions I have, but never choose to live with? I am no coward, you see. I just can't live up to the expectations of the society. Some of us can't, we are just not enough. Should I hate myself for that? I try not to, at the end, I can't really blame anyone for being born with this condition, right? Here I am hoping to take care our younglings so that they are not to be burdened with such hollow promises. During this self-imposed lockdown, I could still find myself be useful around here. Unfortunately starting from today, I can no longer work to provide my services outside and was told to stay put, be at home. I am fully aware this is a very important thing to do to help curb the infection rates. For this, being a potential asymptomatic super-carriers of the viral pandemic is a very ignorant thing to do. Still, I got super upset cause I can't do anything and need to start living off my emergency fund savings, instead of just having managed paycheck to paycheck lifestyle. You all feel relatable, huh? Truth is, most of the working class people like us are still unable to do the social distancing, a luxury people can't afford. They still go out and work, because people need to eat. They risked themselves out there, roaming the empty roads scrounging through piles of shit to stay alive. Stupid bunch, they are, but I was one of them. I understand it is a hard choice to make. Meanwhile the high elites had been emptying the shelves since a week ago and now had securely holed up inside their mansions, barricaded, and fully stocked with post apocalyptic measures in case your whole line of defenses broke and, god forbid, all hell breaks loose. Also not their fault, considering they are the ones who are at highest risk of contracting and spreading the disease for throwing money around the world and fuck up tourist attractions. It's best for these rich bastards to stay at home rather than carrying these little killing machines and slaughter those who are unable to afford basic healthcare. Left standing in the midst of this chaos are us, the remaining middle class. We are left stranded inside our petty little houses, eating out off our small stash, hoping our food stocks lasts for how long this outbreak's gonna wreak havoc. That is, if it dwindles much quicker than the brewing anarchy people brought when the poor and the stupid finished off theirs and starts demanding answers for high demand and soaring prices. For now, we tend to our small decent businesses with heightened caution. In these uncertain times, the middle class are becoming increasingly nervous comparing themselves to the people above them and also anxious looking down people who are beneath them. Got two-pronged, poor bunch. If only... Ah nevermind. I am speechless with the so called 'democracy'. A failed system, no other living thing in the face of the earth has endured and succeeded through this method. Ah, back to the outbreak. It's been 4 months going. Seeing so little I could do, still we see another mass gathering around religious icons like nothing's gonna go wrong. Bunch of dumbfucks, they are. Maybe, I am starting to get used living like this. I might have seen worse, and I am still indifferent for being on this side of history. Do I lose hope in humanity? Do we just abandon ship and give up? No, we can't, can we? We have been this far down the road of evolution, right? Well, no worries, I am the philosopher here, not you. You do what you do best! Whenever you got your short break, take time to reflect on how much you would do and how far could do to help people in suffering, and be proud and content. You got the opportunity to be sent out there and become the willing face of human's defiance and sheer arrogance against mother nature. Please don't forget to reach us about any updates, your thoughts, or anything else. Let me know what is it like being in the frontlines, dealing with endless waves of slow-paced testing procedures, the huge government insurance policy paperwork, and calming down those frustrated and devastated family of the patients. We need to know, and we would try to spread the word so that people could sympathize and be considerate to the effort. Peace be with you, my fellow comrades. Humans have always been successful in dictating nature. I hope we'll come back to find all is not always fuck-ups and misery. That there is still hope in humanity, which propels us forward in civilization, bending the fabrics of space and time continuum. I wish our hope in humanity will not be lost into this calamity. 21 March 2020 12.58 PM

[fanfic-scribbles]

Home Away From Home

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: You’re not sure who is stealing your clothes but you would like it to stop. Please and thank you.

Prompt: Written for @gabriel-monthly-challenge’s November dialogue prompt: “Hey, I’ve been looking for that! But…why is it here?” [And so tagging mods: @archangelgabriellives, @ttttrickster, @archangel-with-a-shotgun, @warlockwriter, @archangelsanonymous, and @revwinchester.]

Quick facts: Romance – Gabriel/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff; ‘Sugar’ as term of endearment; angel nesting

Words: 1784

A/N: I think over the years I have read through every nesting fic I have found. I have a lot of weirdly specific tropes I really enjoy and this is one of them. Logically yeah angels probably aren’t like birds and their wings probably don’t have feathers and blah blah I don’t really care, I’m just gonna wrap myself up in this conceit like a cozy blanket. Pure self-indulgence, my friends; I am aaaaaall about it. I hope you can enjoy it too, ‘cause this is pretty much what it says on the tin. As for where this takes place in the canon timeline, it would probably be after an alternate S13 ending with no Michael!Dean and the AU!Hunters are settling in elsewhere. Because I am Lazy.

    You have a problem.

You, specifically. As in: only you. No one else has this problem. Not that it’s life-threatening or anything; it’s just…

Your clothes keep going missing.

Nothing that makes it really gross, thankfully, but things that do make it personal, and absolutely nothing that can be explained by a hungry dryer. All your socks are fine. All your favorite shirts, however– the ones that have survived enough hunts to become well-worn– have vanished. That one magical jacket you could wear comfortably in the spring but which also kept you warm in the winter– gone without a trace.

You’re officially fed up when your absolute favorite shirt, the one that’s ridiculously comfortable and the most flattering thing you have ever owned, goes missing.

“I swear I’ve never heard of a creature that eats clothes. You can look it up yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“I will. Also– stop laughing at me.”

Sam, chuckling, shakes his head but goes back to wiping down his gun. Jack, who’s sitting nearby and carefully polishing a knife, stops and frowns. “Could it be a…” He looks uncertainly from you to Sam. “…A ghost?”

“There are no ghosts here, Jack.” Sam smiles at him reassuringly. “This place is warded against just about everything.”

“Besides, I checked.”

Sam gives you a Look. “You checked? For a ghost?”

“I had to do something!” You put down your gun and rag. Any more polishing and you’ll probably put a new hole in it. “This isn’t natural.”

Sam scoffs. “Sometimes the simplest explanation is the correct one.”

“I thought of that, which is why I didn’t say anything for weeks,” you say. “But the whole point of a prank is to get a reaction and nobody has even alluded to it. So no, nobody took them as a joke.”

Sam’s face scrunches. “Okay. That is weird.”

“Right?” Puh-lease; living in the same space as Gabriel and Dean, how could you not first assume it was a joke?

“How would stealing your clothes be a joke?” Jack asks

“Who even knows with this crew,” you say. You can’t help but frown at the bittersweet recollection. “Dean and Gabriel used to love to play jokes. Especially Gabriel.”

There’s a bit of silence (and mental cursing of asshole demons on your part) until Sam clears his throat. “How is Gabriel? I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

More than that; it’s been at least a week since he left. “He took off to do something with Cas. I’m sure they’ll be home soon.”

Sam frowns again. “Cas is with Dean. They met up yesterday and went to check out a possible werewolf thing.”

There’s a bit of panic in you at that– Gabriel is gone and alone– but you shove it down. If that’s the case then it’s only been a day, and Gabriel needs his autonomy. No matter how much you wish you could roll him in a bunch of blankets and keep him close. “Well, he must be fine or Cas would have said something.”

“Right.” Sam clears his throat and goes back to cleaning his weapons. “Now that his grace is back in working order he’s probably just…spreading his wings.”

“Yeah! Yeah.” You throw yourself into that idea. That he hasn’t taken off. Or worse. “He’s used to a different standard. It’s probably weird for him to live underground.”

“Yes.”

“Exactly.”

Jack looks very confused but when your eyes glance over him he nods quickly in solidarity. You smile. Cas and Sam may be the Dads Prime, but the way he’s taken to Gabriel is cute. Well, sometimes family is three jaded hunters and two Heaven-averse angels.

“I think I’m going to go see if I can spruce up his room,” you say and start picking up your things. “Maybe if I clean it up, make it smell nice, put a picture or something…maybe it can feel more like a home.” And less like a cell, you think but don’t add.

Sam looks like he wants to say something, but he just smiles awkwardly and says, “Good luck.”

  Apparently you don’t need it. You thought Sam’s well wishes were warranted– whenever you’ve seen glimpses of Gabriel’s room it’s always looked like utter chaos. Standing in it now with cleaning supplies and some knick-knacks, it’s actually…nice. Chaos maybe, but controlled chaos. The bed in the room is not the original one, but it’s also not opulent enough to hold your attention.

What does catch your eye is the giant pile of fabric on the floor that, from your little glimpses, you had assumed to be a mess of discarded laundry. It’s not. The shape of it is purposeful; sort of square, sort of rounded, and formed by a ton of blankets as well as clothi–

“Hey, I’ve been looking for that!” You fall to your knees on the soft pile and grab your favorite jacket. “But…why is it here?”

And that’s not the only thing stashed in the pile. You find all of your missing shirts, a tan trench coat that looks exactly like what Cas wears day in and day out, and a few other shirts that you can trace back to Jack, Sam, and even Dean.

“Seriously, what the fuck?” But you’re not angry so much as confused. Okay, a little annoyed, but still mostly confused and trying not to judge. If Gabriel was trying to pull a joke, it would’ve come to fruition by now. So why does he have your stuff, and why does it look like he intends to keep it?

“Gabriel,” you say evenly. “When you have a minute, come back to the bunker. We need to talk.”

You ball up the trash bag, dust a little, and light some candles to make the place smell a little less like an underground hideaway. On the dresser, you place a photo of Sam, Dean, Jack, and Cas that you took. Then you sit on the foot of the bed, facing the blanket pile, and wait.

“Please tell me nobody triggered another apocaly–” Gabriel, now next to you, stops so suddenly there might as well be a record scratch. The fact that there isn’t one is telling. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Um, you said I could ‘come by anytime,’” you say, finger-quotes and all. “‘Mi casa es su casa’ and everything. You even amended it to ‘mi habitación.’ Remember?”

“Oh.” Gabriel deflates and looks back and forth between you and the pile. “I really don’t want to have this conversation. Can we not have this conversation?”

You shrug. “I can’t stop you if you’d rather leave, but you should know that if we don’t have this conversation then I am always going to be wondering why you’re sleeping with one of Dean’s shirts.”

Gabriel grimaces. A confirmation if ever you’ve seen one. “So you do sleep in it!” You look from the floor to the bed. The bed which feels very nice. “Why are you sleeping in a pile of clothes instead of your bed?”

Gabriel looks offended. “It’s not just a pile of clothes.”

“Sorry; pile of clothes and blankets.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s a nest.”

You look down at the…nest. You’re sure you don’t know exactly what that means to him, but you can guess at it. “Oh. Is it an…angel thing?”

“Yes,” he says sourly, head ducked down so you can’t see his face. “In heaven you twine grace with your siblings. On earth you have to…adjust. Slightly.”

You take a moment to pick that apart. Siblings; being close. “It’s about family then?” you ask. He nods. He’s lifted his head again but he looks so miserable, you try to make a joke. “Does that make me your favorite then?”

He snaps his head up and looks quizzical. Yeah, a joke at your expense almost always does the trick. You gesture at the sub-collection of your closet. “You have more of my stuff than anyone else.”

Gabriel actually smiles a little at that. “You’ve always been my favorite.”

“Really?” You clamp your hands on your mouth– that was embarrassingly eager. But Gabriel doesn’t seem to care. He’s staring at you, expression calculatingly inscrutable. And yet…

You clear your throat. “So…those are my favorite clothes. What are the chances of me getting them back?”

Gabriel smiles mischievously and folds his arms up to tap his finger to his lip, like he’s thinking very hard about it. You should be worried by that, but it’s such a rare sight these days you’re too happy about it to worry about what’s going to come out of his mouth next. “I’ll think about giving them back.” Gabriel is suddenly lying in the nest like he’s waiting for you to paint him like one of your French girls. He pats the space next to him. “If you help break in the rest of it.”

It’s not quite how you fantasized about him inviting you into bed (which is impressive, considering all the various scenarios you’ve cooked up), but hell, you’ll take it. To offset how you scramble in so enthusiastically you might as well have “Pathetic” tattooed on your forehead, you joke, “Is this a scent thing? Should I roll around?”

“It’s really more of a ‘presence’ thing,” he says as you lie next to him. “But I wouldn’t mind it.”

“What if I roll onto you?”

He stares at you. You cringe. Shit. Touch is, well, a touchy subject ever since Asshole-modeus. “Sorry, I…I guess I shouldn’t say that.”

“Not unless you mean it.”

Hope surges in you. He looks serious, and you try to match it. “What if I do?”

He studies you, like he’s not sure if you're serious. And here you thought you were always pathetically obvious. “Really?” he asks, frowning in a way that makes you want to kiss those creases right off his face. How could he ever doubt?

“I always have been. Just…” You shrug. “What does a hunter, some random human, have to offer someone who dates demigods and can create perfection whole cloth–”

He kisses you. Firmly, and he doesn’t let up until he steals the breath right out of you. When he pulls back you’re left panting but your eyes trail to wet lips curling into a smirk. “Sugar,” he drawls. “I may not like my dad that much but even I have to admit…” His fingers trail up your temple and down behind your ear. “When it comes to workmanship, he’s second to none.”

You duck to hide your ridiculous smile. “Um…” You clear your throat. “This nest is actually really comfortable.”

“It is now,” he says and pulls you in.