#i have to stare at the ceiling just to process how many sound there are in that part

[cloned-sheep97]

"Are you high????" no im just litsening to the end part of Sánchez, gurú del overlock

[nanaslutt]

Not so sneaky sex (pt.2)

ʚ synopsis: after Geto catches you and Gojo fucking, you both let him join

ʚ cont: fem reader, eiffel tower position, throat fucking, dacryphilia, dirty talk, unprotected sex, cum eating, multiple orgasms, rough sex

ʚ note: this can be read as a stand alone, but pt. 1 is here

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ ࿔

"S-satoru fuck, Satoru let her breathe-" Suguru groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as he wrapped his hand around Satoru's wrist, weakly pulling at it to get him to back off a bit for your sake. "She can take it, can't you pretty girl?" All you could do was moan around Suguru's cock in response as Gojo ruthlessly fucked you into his best friend's pelvis, your throat forced to open up for Geto's cock as he pressed your head down on him.

Geto choked at the feeling of you moaning around him, the sound going straight to his balls. Tears were long streaming down your face from Gojo's mean thrusts. Your nails dug into the bed and Geto's waist as you gripped him for dear life, his much larger hand cupped over your own and weakly tangled with yours as he tried his best to comfort you through taking his dick down your throat.

"Tell me how good her throat feels, haven't fucked it in a while." You whined when Gojo gripped your waist with both hands and fucked into you harder, his balls slapping against your now overstimulated clit. You could feel another orgasm creeping up on you already, and you weren't sure how many more you could take before you finally collapsed.

"Fuck-" Geto groaned, his large hand leaving the back of Gojo's on his head to caress your cheek as he looked down at you lovingly, adoring how good your lips looked wrapped around his cock. You did your best to look up at him, but the tears of overstimulation were making your vision blurry, causing you to blink rapidly. Geto groaned at the view of you staring at him with furrowed eyebrows nonetheless.

"Just how long have you two been fucking?" Geto asked, his lips pressing together just as you felt his cock twitch in your throat, making you cough around him. Gojo laughed at his question as he stopped his hips flush against yours, rolling them in circles as he rubbed your sweet spot deep inside you, making you see stars. "Hmm… I don't know." He said, pretending to think by rubbing at his chin and looking at the ceiling as he continued rolling his hips against your ass in excruciating bliss.

You reached up and grabbed Gojo's hand that was pressing your mouth down on Geto's cock, silently asking him to let you go. "Oh? Wanna say something, baby?" He asked, relenting and letting you take a breath, all the while keeping his pace against you. You had nothing to say, you just let your orgasm wash over you as the top half of your body collapsed against the sheets, your nails digging into Geto's throat as you held onto him like an anchor as your orgasm assaulted your body.

Gojo cursed, a strangled laugh leaving his lips when he felt your cunt strangling his cock like you were trying to milk him for all he was worth. He started up a pace again, fucking your orgasm from your body and prolonging your pleasure in the process. "Shit…" Geto cursed, covering his mouth with his hand as he watched you unravel on his beat friend's cock, his other hand leaving your own to wrap around his throbbing cock, stroking it as he watched you.

"She was gonna choke if she came while my cock was down her throat," Geto groaned, "You need to be more careful, Satoru." he chastized, making his best friend swat his hand at him in retaliation. "Nahh, she doesn't like when I'm careful, that's why she fucks me." You almost blacked out when Gojo wrapped his hand under your body and found your clit, rubbing it in circles and effectively turning your brain to mush as your head repeatedly knocked into Geto's thigh from his rough thrusts.

"Is that true, pretty girl?" Geto asked, cupping your face while leaning down a bit, never slowing down his thrusts as he fucked his own hand. You were slow to respond, nodding limply for a while while whines and curses left your lips before you found your words. "He's so- fucking mean," you cried, making Geto pout for you, but you didn't fail to notice the way the corner of his lip curled up a bit at that.

"But you like when I'm mean, don't try to get sympathy." Gojo pouted, rubbing your clit faster while adding more pressure. "Suck him off again pretty, I wanna watch him when he cums down your throat." You looked up at Geto and noticed he was sharing what looked like a heated look at Satoru, one that made you clench harder around his cock.

"I'll be gentle," Suguru whispered, looking back down at you as he helped you regain your balance and sit the front half of your body up. Your mouth was watering as you focused on the way Suguru was jerking off just in front of your lips, a heavy bead of precum pearling in his pretty slit before dripping onto the sheets below you. You leaned forward and took him into your throat easily since you had him in your throat before.

The groan that left Geto's lips sent electricity shocking down your body, threatening to push you over the edge again. You wanted to whine when Gojo pulled out abruptly, heavy pants leaving his lips. You couldn't hear any slick sounds from behind you that were telling you he was jerking off, so you were confused as to why he pulled out like that. You just focused on breathing through Geto's deep thrusts into your throat.

"What's wrong Satoru? Did you almost finish again?" Geto teased, running his nails across your scalp. The action was calming, making your lids flutter before they fell as he relaxed your body. You so badly wanted to bed for Gojo to put his cock back in, but you were enjoying this little break. "Yeah, almost came when you put it back in her throat." He said, making you furrow your eyebrows together. You almost did too when you heard Geto groan. Is that why he almost came?

Geto was stupidly hot and had the voice of a god, you weren't shocked his deep voice almost made him finish too. Your back arched and you held your breath when Gojo started slipping his cock back inside you, the stretch of him feeling so satisfying, like he was meant to be inside you. "Wait for me." Geto said, his cock throbbing inside your mouth, "I'm not gonna last like this anyways."

"You never told me how it feels. C'mon, don't be greedy." Satoru pushed, thrusting into you at a steady pace again, not as hard and fast as before, but it still felt good especially when he started slowly rubbing your clit in circles again, almost soothingly. "It's so tight, and warm." Geto started, looking down at you as you looked up at him, meeting his beautiful slightly purple eyes. "Yeah?" Gojo asked, his thrusts growing almost sloppy and a little faster.

"Yeah, she's sucking me in when I pull back too, it's like she doesn't want me to leave." Gojo wasn't the only one getting off on his words in that slightly raspier voice than normal, from sleepiness and arousal. You squeezed around his cock, your lashes fluttering every time you took him to the back of your throat. "Fuck, keep talking." You would have cracked a smile if you could, Gojo was fucking loving this.

"Every time she moans I can feel it in my fucking stomach, Satoru." He groaned, petting your cheek as he shook his head at you while looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You whined around him, making him shiver, his long eyelashes fluttering before he tipped his head back. "I'm gonna cum." He groaned, his nails against your scalp raking a bit harder as he got closer and closer to his high.

"Me too." Gojo groaned, his hand digging into your hip as he brought you back on his cock, your ass slapping against his pelvis lewdly with each thrust. "Cum with me baby, cum all over my cock, I need to feel it you know I do." Gojo cooed at you, his hand that was grabbing your hip moving to caress down your spine, making goosebumps break over your skin. You whined harder around Geto's cock when he started rubbing your little clit faster, trying to force your orgasm out of your body, not that it needed much coaxing.

Geto's breathing picked up, as did his sloppy thrusts right before he pulled out. He grabbed your chin with his large hand, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb. Your moans instantly fell freely from your lips, only making both the men fall faster into their highs. "Open your mouth, baby, I wanna cum on your tongue." You groaned at his words before you let your jaw open, your tongue peeking out between your lips as you looked up at him expectantly, gripping his hip harshly as he stroked himself off at a furious pace.

"Oh shit," Gojo whined, you could feel how bad he was shaking behind you, obviously trying to hold out until you and Geto came so he could watch the show before he was fucked out beyond his mind and unable to comprehend anything as he came. He could tell it was about to be a hard one. Just as you felt yourself tip over the edge, Geto's body went rigid, his breath reaching a halt before he broke.

You flinched when the first spurt of his cum landed on your cheek. He groaned long and loud as he released all over your face and tongue, his head falling back in bliss as he shakily jerked himself through his orgasm, making an absolute mess of you. You cried out when you felt Gojo cum inside you right when you came. The moan that fell from his lips made your stomach do summersaults as your orgasm wracked through your body.

"Fuck- fuck- f-fuck." Gojo repeated the curse over and over as he thrust against your ass each time he came. His body was shaking violently, his abs tensing and unsensing against your lower back as he curled over you, his body weak and spent as his half-hard cock kept twitching while he was buried deep inside you. Suguru sat down on the shitty motel bed, one leg straight, the other curled as you laid your head on his thigh with Gojo's body crushing yours as he caught his breath.

"Holy shit." Geto groaned, wiping his dirty hand on the bed before he ran it through his hair, getting the strays out of his flushed face. "You're telling me," Gojo replied, his voice weak and muffled from his cheek being squished against your back. You were going to let him keep crushing your body until you swear you felt him drool on you. "Close your mouth Satoru, yuck," you complained, weakly lifting your arm to swat him away. He only tangled your fingers together and pressed your conjoined hands against the sheets.

"Shhh…" He replied, sounding like he was seconds away from falling asleep. You were relieved when Geto started running his hand over your scalp, his fingers tickling the back of your neck when he caressed there. "You have to pull out Satoru unless you want her to kick your ass when you give her an STI." He joked, reaching down your back to flick his sweaty forehead.

Gojo groaned, lifting his head slightly to pout at his friend. "I'm giving her aftercare, 5 more minutes." He replied, his heavy head slapping against your back once more. "I don't know how laying on me with your entire weight is aftercare…" You added, rolling your eyes at his antics. You closed your sleepy eyes when you felt Geto place a soft kiss against your forehead as he started to get up from the bed. "I'll run a bath, when I'm done if he's not off of you, I'll take care of him." You smiled at him sweetly, reaching for his hand and pressing a kiss to the back of his hand in thanks before he walked off to the bathroom to run you a much-needed bath.

[girlgenius1111]

mami v mama

getting your daughter to sleep through the night proves difficult... mostly for alexia. little mila blurb :) brief mention of anxiety, no other warnings!

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It wasn’t even the baby crying that woke you up. It was the quiet sniffles and whimpers from next to you in bed that really woke up. You were expecting Mila to cry; sleep training her was going… rather roughly. It was difficult, because sometimes there would be long stretches where she would sleep through the night, and other times there would be weeks on end that she’d wake up throughout the night. The baby was going through a sleep regression at the moment, though, which restarted the conversation about sleep training. She was already 8 months, and well past ready for it, but you’d been met with resistance. Not just from Mila, but also from Alexia. 

You knew it went against every single one of your wife’s instincts to let Mila cry it out. It felt that way for you, too, but you were a much heavier sleeper, and for some reason, much more convinced that sleep training was the way to go. Alexia had many hesitations. The biggest of which was that if her baby cried for her, she was going to comfort her. 

So, waking up to crying wasn’t new. Waking up to Alexia crying, though? That was new. 

“Love?” You asked groggily, rolling over to face your wife, who was staring up at the ceiling with tears streaming down her face. You didn’t really process the crying coming from the baby monitor, much too concerned with why your stoic wife was in pieces next to you, in the middle of the night. Alexia only let out a soft cry in response, one not unlike the sound your daughter made. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” you cooed, allowing Alexia to roll into you and sob roughly into your chest. She shook her head, not giving you an answer. “Tell me, what is it?” You pressed. 

“She sounds so sad,” Alexia cried. Realization washed over you, and you shut your eyes tightly for a minute, not proud of the annoyance that washed over you. This process could have been done already if it hadn’t been for Alexia’s insistence to bring Mila to sleep in your bed any time she cried.

“I know, Ale. She’s okay, though. She’ll fall back asleep soon.” You soothed, carding your fingers through her hair in a manor you hoped was comforting.  

“No, she needs me.” Alexia complained, looking up at you with a pout that, again, really resembled your daughter’s. You fought back a smile at the sight, stroking her cheek delicately. 

“She’s fine. She’s old enough for this, Alexia. She has to learn how to self-soothe.” 

Alexia frowned at you. “She doesn’t. It’s unnecessary, I will always be there to soothe my baby.” Alexia knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. All the little cries radiating from the baby monitor were making her feel like she was being stabbed repeatedly. 

“Alexia,” you sighed. Maybe it was the hour of the night, or maybe it was the emotions your wife was feeling, but your words sounded condescending to her. She didn’t appreciate that. Being so emotional was new to her, and she was still self conscious about it, and this felt like you were making fun of her for it. She rolled off of you, refusing to meet your gaze. 

“I do not understand how this is so easy for you.” Alexia said accusingly. 

And maybe because you were exhausted, you took that in a worse way than Alexia intended. “Yes, Alexia, it is SO easy for me to hear my baby cry for me, and not go to her. Don’t be ridiculous.” You bit back.

“Well, it seems easier.” Alexia scoffed. 

“It seems easier because one of us has to put their foot down about this, and it’s clearly not going to be you. I’m doing what’s best for Mila.” 

“And I am not. You are the perfect mother, with all the right opinions, and I am wrong about everything.” Alexia exaggerated, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. It was a low blow; Alexia knew that you felt like far from the perfect mother, and it felt like she was throwing that in your face. 

A few tears stung your eyes, and you shook your head, moving to slide out of the bed. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.” You mumbled startling slightly when a large arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back. 

“No, no please stay. I am sorry, so sorry. I am just upset, I did not mean any of that. Please, please stay.” Alexia pleaded, and something in her tone, something more than sincerity, had you turning around and looking carefully at your wife. You should have seen it before, that she wasn’t just upset about this. In your defense, she had promised to be better about telling you. 

“What’s going on?” You asked, although you knew, placing a gentle hand on Ale’s cheek. 

She breathed deeply for a few seconds before she spoke. “I am anxious.” She admitted, voice barely audible. “I cannot fall asleep, and it just gets worse and worse every time she wakes up and cries, I feel like I am going to throw up.”

“Ale,” you sighed, seeing for the first time how pale your wife looked, how unsteady. “Are you going to be sick?” It wouldn’t be the first time. Alexia hadn't ever experienced anxiety like this in her life, and was horrified the first time it happened. The first time Mila got a little cold, and Alexia worked herself up so much that she made herself sick. She was so embarrassed, even as you reassured her that it was a completely normal symptom of anxiety. It had only happened a few times since, but Alexia always got so teary and emotional when it happened. 

She shook her head though, taking another deep breath. “¿Puedo tener un abrazo, por favor?”

“Of course you can.” You told her, sliding off the bed and standing with your arms open on the side of it, knowing it was Alexia’s favorite way to hug you. It made her feel smaller than you, made her feel protected and safe. Alexia scooted over right away, wrapping her arms tightly around you, her head pressed against your chest. “Mila is okay, baby. She’s fine, she’s getting quieter, sí?” 

That didn’t seem to make Alexia feel better, though, her breathing picking up again as she tilted her head up, and rested her chin on your chest. 

“Can I please go check on her?” Alexia asked shakily. You didn’t want it to be like this; good cop bad cop. Alexia asking you permission to do things. She was just as much her mother as you were, and if Alexia needed to check on her, that was always going to be okay. You knew your wife wouldn’t relax until she saw that the baby was okay. 

“Go get her, bring her back here.” You said, smiling to yourself when Alexia practically ran from the room. You heard her over the monitor entering the room, and you melted a little at how soft she sounded. 

“Hola mi princesa, estás bien, estás bien. Te tengo mi bebe, te tengo.” Alexia cooed. You could hear the moment she picked Mila up, the baby’s cries instantly quieting as she snuggled close to her mami. “Te amo, te amo, te amo, te amo,” Alexia repeated, her voice fading from the monitor as she walked back towards the bedroom.��

Mila was practically already asleep when Alexia walked back into the room with her, and you resisted the urge to point out that she was probably only a few minutes away from falling asleep herself. Alexia didn't need that right now. 

Your wife slid back onto the bed, laying Mila on her chest, fixing you with a sheepish smile as she did so. 

“Do you feel better?” You asked. Alexia nodded, though she avoided your eyes and her face burned red. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have been so harsh earlier. I know this is hard for you, I should have been more understanding. I’m sorry this makes you so nervous.”

“I am sorry too. I was not kind to you, I was just very upset.” Alexia explained, absentmindedly rubbing one large hand over Mila’s back. The baby was wearing a onesie with footballs all over it, and she looked so snuggly and adorable laid on your wife, it was hard to focus on Alexia’s words. “I do not want to be a… helicopter parent. Sometimes I get so scared, though, I just need to know she is okay.” 

“That makes sense, Ale, that’s okay. I just need to know when you’re anxious and you need to see her, and when you’re just upset that she’s upset.” 

“I can do that.” Alexia said. “I just… I love her so much. Look at her, amor. She is so perfect.” 

You both looked down at the baby, who was sitting up under the gaze of you both. She slid off Alexia, plopping down in between the two of you, a gummy smile on her face. 

“Hi my baby,” you cooed, completely and utterly distracted from the conversation you’d been having with your wife. Mila sighed, flopping down until her head was resting on your pillow, though her face was turned towards Alexia. “You see your Mami?” You asked, not really expecting any kind of response.

Alexia turned on her side, grinning at her daughter. “Hola Milabear,” she whispered, booping the baby on her nose. Mila giggled, a sound that made you both melt into a puddle. Alexia reached out and grabbed her, easily lifting the baby up into the air and flying her around, making airplane sounds. 

“Alexia, it is supposed to be bedtime.” You admonished, though you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face as Mila continued to giggle, and your wife continued to look so light and happy. 

“We are having Mila and Mami time, amor, I cannot interrupt.” Alexia said, bringing the baby down to kiss her nose every few seconds. “Mila and Mami.” She whispered again, finally laying Mila back down on her chest. Her hand stroked over the back of the baby’s head, trying to calm the now very awake child down. 

“Mmmm,” Mila hummed, squirming around in Alexia's grasp until she was sat up on top of your wife, staring down at her.  “Mmmm. Mami.” She babbled, catching one of Alexia’s fingers and trying to drag it into her mouth. 

“What?” Alexia said, her face completely stricken with surprise. 

“Maaaami,” Mila sang again, giggling at the silly look on her Mami’s face. 

“Amor!” Alexia shouted, glancing ecstatically at you while sitting up suddenly and holding Mila up so the baby was at eye level with her. Evidently, the abrupt action startled Mila, and she immediately burst into tears. “No, no no no. I am sorry mi niña, I did not mean to scare you.” Alexia soothed, pulling Mila in and rocking her back and forth soothingly. 

“Mami,” Mila whimpered sadly, hiding her face in your wife’s shirt. Alexia was in tears, too, but had the biggest smile you’d ever seen on her face, staring at you in wonder. 

“She said my name.” She murmured, almost looking confirmation that she wasn’t having some kind of auditory hallucination. 

“She did.” You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers through Mila’s short curls. 

“I can’t believe she said my name first.” Alexia continued, holding the baby to her in a way that made you doubt whether she would ever let go. 

“Me neither. I carry her for 9 months, get my body cut open so she can be born, and this is how she repays me?” You joked, not really caring at all that Mila had chosen Alexia’s name to be her first word. 

“I’m sorry, amor. We’ve been practicing, but we practice your name too, I promise.” Alexia said worriedly, her eyes scanning your face for any hint that you were being serious. 

You laughed at how concerned she was, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’m kidding, Ale. You are a great Mami, and Mila is very lucky to have you. Which I think she knows.” You nodded your head to where the baby had fisted Alexia’s sleep shirts in her tiny hands, her eyes sliding shut as she nuzzled in close to Ale’s chest 

Alexia blushed hard, her face turning bright red. “I am more lucky to have her and you both.” She mumbled, somehow allergic to taking compliments when it came to being a good mother. You shook your head, laying back down on the bed and pulling Alexia to join you. Only when you were both resting against your pillows, Mila passed out in between you, did you reply.

Pressing your forehead to your wifes, you poured all your love and admiration into your words. “We are the most lucky to have you, Alexia. You are the best wife, and the best Mami, and I love you very much.” 

If possible, Alexia blushed even harder, nudging her face into the crook of your neck. “I love you.” Her words were muffled, but you could feel her sincerity. 

You sighed happily, thinking that you’d be content to stay right here, with both your girls, forever. 

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this won the poll after like an hour and i was too impatient to wait any longer so i hope this doesn't disappoint :)

[almost-blondee]

Sleepless Night

Sunday x Reader

Sfw, Just my thoughts,

word count: 873

There will be PART 2

A/N: I was just feeling like writing about Sunday, This has no interaction between Sunday and reader, Sorry. But….There will be a PART 2 Where they interact. So hopefully you stay tuned. Hopefully he isn’t to ooc, i. tried my best. And again sorry for any grammar mistakes

———————————————————————————

It’s been sometime since Sunday had joined the astral express temporarily, and within that time he had begun having some unnecessary feelings flare up in the process. Worthlessness…Incompetence… These feelings are honestly nothing new to Sunday, however he is now burdened with the heaviness of silence. Being the head of the Oak family, left him a busy man, no time to just sit idle and get lost in thoughts. Now, on the contrary, he has all the time in the world to get sucked in to the spiral of emotions.

He is very grateful to the Nameless for letting him take refuge in the express, understanding that they have limited space on the train. So for the time being Sunday would sleep in the party car. This worked quite well, having everyone on the express in the living corridor, he might as well have the whole car to himself… Unfortunately for him, he has let his thoughts consume him, How come i have to sleep on this couch, why don’t i get a room to myself, Do they even want me on the express with them, they must still be wary of me, no body really wants me here… and so on. Although he knows that these are selfish thoughts, the mind has a way of thinking on its own. These thoughts plaguing him whenever silence would take over. March was not complaining to Dan Heng about him ‘cheating’ in their chess match’s , You were not talking his ear off about who knows what, you could ramble on for hours… Not a soul to be found in the party car. Sunday, lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. How many times has he done this, He needs sound… Something to free his mind from these convictions.

He sits up swinging his leg gently so they meet the ground, slowly walking toward a case that’s lying by the wall. Thankfully before leaving penecony Sunday had chosen to bring his violin with him. He relished in the sound, it soothed his soul. How could he not bring it. He knows that he’s not the best musician, but it would always help him relax. Open the case and taking out the stringed instrument, he lifted it to just under his chin and started playing. He would usually know better then to make loud noises during the night, and maybe this would make the Nameless hate him even more… But in this moment he needed to hear something other than the devil on his shoulder. Swaying with the violin in hand, slowly moving in a pattern that almost looked like he was dancing, he was content. Forcing out all his feelings onto this wooden instrument, using it as a form of therapy, he was lost in the sound. So lost that he hadn’t noticed you coming down the stairs, moving slowly so he would not notice.

You had been in the living space above the party car. tossing and turning, you were having trouble sleeping. Stopping to stare at the ceiling hoping that if you just closed your eyes you would be accompanied by sleep, wishful thinking. Just when you think all is lost, you hear a beautiful melody… it’s sounds like a violin. The melody was full of sorrow, you could feel the emotions that drove the performance. You had felt lured to check who was playing this beautiful tune. you slowly made your way down the stairs catching a glimpse of a silver haired man swaying to the tempo of his playing, dancing around the car, enthralling you, he had looked like an angel. You could feel your cheeks begin to burn, while you watched this man so deep in his performance. You had never really thought about Sunday in a romantic way. But for some reason watching the display in front of you made you feel something. If this were a movie the audience would think he was a charmer and you were the snake following his lead. You feel as if you have been shot with cupids arrow, even drank a love potion… Seeing this man and watching him produce this beautiful song, made you fall in love, you know deep down this feeling didn’t just come from no where he is a very kind man, generous and willing to change for the better, it was inevitable not to fall in love. You had just never seen him in this light. As you are now frozen still sitting on the stairs, which must have happened a while ago, your face so hot that it might leave burns. Sunday finished up his song slowing the melody to a soft humming, he on the other hand felt relaxed. He had cooled down, almost putting himself to sleep with his lullaby. He sluggishly walked back over to the wall to put the instrument away. *Clank* His head snapped over to where he thought the noise came from. The stairs.

He Scoured the stairs faintly lit by the bar lights, only to see nothing. It must have been his imagination. Soon after he was snuggled into the couch, nodding off into a deep slumber.

You in the other hand… Are definitely not sleeping tonight.

almost-blondee

[jaylleoo14]

"Can I kiss you?"

Octavinelle x gn!reader

A/N: Simple. The sea trio has corrupted my mind and so here I am writing this at 1:03 AM and finishing this up two days later LOL. I actually took forever because I kept squealing and getting off track during the writing process. "I NEED TO DRAW THIS" I would say to myself haha. I wrote them without much consideration on how long each might be so one of them may be shorter compare to the others or it may be longer, but please do enjoy^^ (May or may not do the other dorms, unless...)

[Disclaimer] TOO MUCH FLUFF

[characters] Floyd, Azul, Jade

Azul

3:24 PM - The Mostro Lounge sits under blue and silver burnished lighting as the sound of music fills the air. Accompanied by voices and the clinks of dishes, there you sat in the more private area of what adds to Octavinelle - Azuls office.

Something you both have learned to get accustomed to was to just do work alongside each other without the need of having to talk. It was just work. Nothing more. Of course some small talk here and there, asking opinions or maybe asking for help- though it was usually you who asked for it and less of Azul- but regardless it was back off to work. It's quite simple really, Azul is a busy and hard working person so he'd naturally have a lot to manage with. You had to keep up with your studies and try to manage how to handle your money and savings accordingly, along with planning events into your calendar for upcoming school occasions.

You and Azul have been dating for about half a year now, and although not all the time, most of the time you spend your free time here doing your work accompanying Azul as he does his. You both simply enjoy each other's presence, the silence between you two which is filled with the scritches and scratches of his fish-bone felt tip pen and your pencil against the many pages of papers were not at all awkward. It showed a sense of comfortability and familiarity, a tranquil silence in the room. Though of course, like almost any couple you begin to crave some attention from your dearly beloved.

3:27 PM - Placing your pencil down, it now rolling off to the side a little due to the momentum, you lean back onto the back cushions of Azuls couch placed in the middle of his office. Working for about 15 minutes now you decided you needed a break, stretching your arms back as you release your breath through your nostrils.

"Going to take a break Angelfish?" Without even having to look up, the sound of you leaning into his leather cushion and your stretched out groan already tells him enough information that you're ready to just try and relax and rejuvenate yourself.

"Mmmh yea, I think 15 minutes of work is good enough for now. I'll go back to it once I rest up," is all you say in response as you lean your body over to lay on the couch. He only lets out a hum to let you acknowledge that he was listening. Now that you weren't focused on your own work, you can hear him writing with a rich shink-like noise and papers constantly flipped and turned every 30 seconds.

I wonder what he's working on, you think to yourself as you stare up at the dark blue arched ceiling. You prop yourself up with your elbows, pushing yourself up as you move your legs off the couch. Springing off, you head on over to where Azul was working around behind the desk and peered over towards him. "Whatcha working on?" Voice soft and curious, an undertone of boredom.

"Just some useful material intended to aid students," he says in a gentle manner, his eyes still glued onto the papers. "Oh yea? How much longer till you finish up with those study guides?" You lean over a bit closer as you stand next to him, his handwriting as intricate and beautifully cursive as ever; yet still eligible for those who have a harder time understanding.

He lets out a little inquisitive hum as if trying to accurately calculate when he'd be finished by. "About in an hour or so," he says finally after seconds worth of time. "I'd say make that an hour-thirty to two from now" you say with a little soft laugh escaping your lips.

3:30 - Standing next to Azul as he preps material, you slowly come to look at Azul himself instead of what Azul was working on. Being able to see the sight of his silver crowned locks of hair that curls into beautiful waves. Only after making your comment does he stop his hand and turn to look up at you from where he sat.

After finally not being able to properly see Azul's face the entire time you were working, seeing his face was a sort of refreshment to your heart and the soft smile on your face shows that. "And what prompts you to assume such a thing my dear?" He can only be met with a giggly response, his serious and quizzical face only prompting you to let out more chains of giggles.

"Tell me what you are suddenly finding so funny? I certainly am positive that I haven't done anything humorous." You tilt your head a little to the side, your grin getting slowly bigger as you clasped your hands behind your back. Azul can already pick up that you're trying to whip something up.

"You know Azul, when was the last time you kissed me?"

And there he goes, short circuiting as the sudden change of mood drifts him like the ocean currents. "I-Is this what you're on about?" He certainly has picked up by what you meant with your earlier comment now that you've voiced your question. "Oh dear, do you perhaps feel neglected since i've been working so much Angelfish?"

"Don't try to act smug. Answer my question, when was the last time you kissed me?" You immediately shoot down his question as you direct it back to yours and it sends his cheeks a pigmented red while he tries to keep his cool. He understands that you wont stop asking him this question and so he answers away.

"I recall it to be a few weeks back."

"And where did you kiss me?"

"I-I don't see how that- hah, on the cheek. Seriously (y/n) what is the relevancy in asking such- "

"Ah! Hold it! So you're telling me you've been giving me kisses and I've been giving you kisses but we've never actually kissed at the same time?"

3:33 - Here you are facing Azul as you look at his tinted red face, picking up where your suggestion leads. What awaits is permission to boldly take your relationship to the next level.

"Can I kiss you Azul? And not on the hands or on the cheek like we usually do." You give him a soft pleading look, your cheeks also decorated in a lovely shade of red as you wait for his response patiently. Clearing his throat and having the need to suddenly fix his not crooked glasses, he gives you a very shy yet still doing his best to be serious look. Before answering, he quickly resolves himself and a more confident smirk is plastered on his face. As he pushes himself up from his chair he closes in the distance and comes in close towards you, wrapping an arm around your back.

"Ask and you shall receive, a small kiss is worth the price of my time for you my Angelfish," he says it ever so calmly and confidently. Though the redness of his cheeks give away that he was otherwise and it makes your heart squeeze and beat crazy because of how cute he was being right now.

"You're being so cute right now you know that? You don't have to force yourself, you know." Your voice is gentle and smooth as if it were raw honey. Bringing a hand to tuck the longer piece of hair that made up his hairstyle, you give him the most adored stricken smile ever and he can only feel his heart beating out of his chest.

"No no, it's about time we started to get more intimate considering how long we've been together now. Thank you for going at my preferred pace, I'd like to give you an honorarium payment." You let out an amused chuckle and let him prepare himself, closing your eyes as you wait for him to go in at his own pace. Though you least expect it when he suddenly goes in very quickly. His lips are stiffly pressed against yours for a couple of seconds and it has you opening your eyes in surprise. You're met with a red faced Azul -which can be compared to a steamed and cooked octopus- looking flustered and a little awkward as he seemed to have a little dissatisfactory expression on his face. "That... Did not go as well as I had hoped it to be."

A jovial and convivial laughter fills up the room in your sound and it only makes Azul shrivel in embarrassment. You can practically see the steam coming from his head as well. "Well that was a little anticlimactic don't you think?" Wrapping your arms around his neck he can only let out an embarrassed groan at your little comment. "What do you expect from someone who's inexperienced with committing such an act? I'm positive however that with enough practice I can redeem myself and satisfy you." He tries to sound all the more reasoning, which only prompts you to laugh even more.

"You want to kiss more?" Saying through slips of giggles. You feel his hold on your back tighten a bit more, still applying gentle and reaffirming pressure as he presses you both together. "How else do you suggest I be better then?" You turn and motion your body over to the desk, leaning your lower back against it as Azul follows along. "Hmm, I'm absolutely positive that it'll take you two hours to finish those study guides now." You pull a little amused laugh out of him as he slowly goes in once again, tilting his head to the side and his eyes looking to align with yours. "Mmm perhaps. I guess we'll have to see just how long it'll take for me to get better then." And in he goes, the kiss feeling much more natural and a mark of showing a deeper significance in your ongoing relationship.

Jade

The nights on campus here were unusually less disturbed and a lot colder now, which makes sense considering that it is now winter break. The students here at Night Raven College had all gone home to reunite with their families after departing to pursue and complete their highschool education. However a certain group of individuals tend to stay during this time period, and that being the dorm leader of Octavinelle, the vice dorm leader, and the vice dorm leader's twin brother.

Like a lot of teenagers, its normal to come across at least 10 students at night since many are nocturnal people and they share the hobby of walking around. Especially when the sky is dark. You are one of those people. Someone who indulges themselves into the canvas of black paint littered with shining splatter of stars. Regardless of what the weather is like, you willingly go out of your way to enjoy the peacefulness of the night, watching it as it goes through the different seasons. Walking around in the winter's night air you can see your breath whenever you huff out, a shiver going through your shoulders. A little reminder that its the cold season now.

The chilly weather seems to be getting to you so you turn back from where you presently are and walk back to your good ol' home, Ramshackle dorm. As you make your way back from the main road you can make out a tall dark figure up ahead, prompting you to slow down and start to get wary. Upon getting closer and squinting your eyes a little, you can see teal hair shining a bit under the orange light which was radiating off a nearby light pole. Oh, it's Jade! You remember Jade mentioning that he liked to also go out late at night, though this is your first time ever encountering him on your usual walks. Perhaps he too is taking advantage of the quieter nights.

You and Jade have been a little on and off. You cant quite describe it, its complicated really. Sometimes you feel like you cant understand Jade because he's always making things open-ended, leaving them up to your interpretations. You like him, that much is obvious. But there are plenty of times where he's shown interest in you, and other times where it may not feel as so and it throws you off. Its frustrating not knowing how he feels about you, as if its some sort of game you two play. Regardless of his little plays though, you continue to enjoy yourself in the game.

A slight breeze hits your figure and it causes you to shiver, rubbing your arms to enforce friction in hopes of warming you up. You figured it may be best to leave Jade alone so he can enjoy himself in peace doing whatever he was doing. And off you go, turning on your heel and continuing your venture.

The sky is so pretty, you think to yourself. It has you arching your neck up and leaning your head back as you stare at the night sky, continuing your walk. You cant help but look at how pretty the stars are knitted together in a beautiful cluster, zoning out a bit as you continue forward.

Suddenly a hand is placed on your shoulder and it causes you to jolt up like a scared cat, making you break out of your trance. A yell is ushered out of you as you quickly turn around to see who this person could be, and you're only met facing Jade.

"Oh dear, I do apologize for my sudden notice. But your voice sounds lovely even when out of fear fufu"

Your heart is still pounding and your eyes are opened widely, staring at him with disbelief and shock. "J-Jade! What are you doing?! God you freaking scared me oh my gosh." Your little scared moment certainly has him entertained as he lets out another chuckle.

"You seem to be so infatuated with the sky that you failed to notice your surroundings. I was only doing my part in trying to help you realize that."

"What do you me-?" As you turn around your quickly met with a lamp pole right in front of your face and it causes you to flinch back a bit. "Oh." Turning around to face him again you feel yourself feeling a bit embarrassed that he caught you about to do something embarrassing. "Thanks Jade... What are you doing out so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I was just taking advantage of the quiet night and looking at the nature of the trees." He looks over you, a genuine smile on his face plastered as what you can assume to be looking at the area around us. "However I stayed aware of my surroundings despite having my own infatuations." His little snarky yet calm remark causes you to let out a groan, a pout slightly forming on your lips.

"I was also taking advantage of tonight as well thank you very much." Straightening your back, you cross your arms and give him a slight frown as if trying to regain back your little pride. Then quite suddenly a gust of wind howls a bit in your direction, causing you to shiver and quiver a bit. "Tonight is quite cold I must say." His slight remark makes you shiver even more as you are reminded of the cold.

"Yea, no kidding. I didn't prepare well enough so I'm going to head back." Your face is cold to the touch and your nose and cheeks can be seen slightly red under the pale moonlight. "Oh I see, perhaps I can accompany you then." He offers yet you turn him down in a polite manner. Your reasons? It's obvious you like Jade. You really like him, though because of all these mixed signals you can't help but feel like you need to stop. It already frustrates you enough and so you need to let these feelings die down even though sometimes you really do get a kick from the things he does.

"You seem to be quite cold indeed (y/n), if I can't accompany you back then please allow me to warm you up for your trip."

His words seem to catch you off guard and you look up at him quizzically. He doesn't seem to be wearing any sort of jacket, how can he offer you warmth? He chuckles a bit, amused to see your confused scrunched face. Gently bringing a hand to your cheeks your eyes can't seem to help but widen in shock a little from the sudden gentle advancement, your brain going blank.

"Can I kiss you, Prefect?" He says it ever so softly, his voice wrapping you up like a soft blanket. Did Jade really just ask to kiss you? What's going on, is this even real right now? Are you dreaming? Is this another one of his games? You feel your face starting to heat up and your heart is starting to race.

"W-Wait, what? Did I hear that right?" You say in disbelief, but he knows you heard it correctly because of your red face. His hands cupping your face causes you to freeze in the moment and all you can hear is the loud drums of your heart. Leaning down a bit more you can see his eyes perfectly now, his heterochromia jewel like eyes shimmering. "I must admit i'm a little hurt to see you trying to avoid me recently Prefect. I apologize for beating around the bush for so long, I hope you can take this kiss as a form of acceptance for my feelings and my apology."

This eel.... THIS EEL! He knows what he's doing, he knows! You're left stammering a bit before you could answer, the feeling of your head spinning. "I...accept your apology." And with that he goes down in one smooth motion, his lips in contact with yours with a perfect fit. Once he leans back, your eyes are met and he lets out a content hum. "I'm glad to see you're quite warmed up now. And if I must add, happier too." A big goofy smile is placed on your face as if you just won the lottery, your face all red and heated. "You know, I actually wouldn't mind if you were to accompany me back now. Who knows what might be out here."

You seem to be in a giddy mood, no longer holding back. Finally, you can understand Jade's true feelings for you now. It makes you overjoyed, a feeling of happiness now that you understand. And with a smile on his face he agrees, playing along with your little game of words. The feeling of warmth and fluffy happiness fills you up, and the cold cant compare with that as you make your way back with Jade, his little darling Pearl.

Floyd

"WHAT THE HELL FLOYD?!"

Crash!

Ah yes, just another regular day. You, Floyd, your phone in his hand, breathless, a cheeky and amused grin on his face, and just constantly trying to snag your phone back in the spacious long hallway. Call this a regular day occurrence considering how many times he's come to bother and mess with you now.

"Floyd, give me back my pho- STOP SCROLLING THROUGH MY CAMERA ROLL!" Running up and trying to snatch it away by jumping, only to fail because he's now outstretching his arms away and tip-toeing to refrain from you reclaiming back your item.

"Haaah? Your camera roll is so boring, just full of pictures of the sky. We see that everyday, you should take more pictures of other interesting things!" You really were running out of breath here and he seems to take great amusement with it since he's still here messing with you.

The sun shined brightly against the two of you, the open wall of the hall letting the air roam freely.

"Ahaha! What a funny picture of Crabby-chan! Oh, and you got one of little Mackerel too." Floyds not listening to your words, enjoying himself as he indulges in your camera roll. You let out a tired and heavy sigh, heaving a bit as you try to catch your breath. "F-Floyd, why are you doing this? Argh, I swear you've been bothering me so much lately." He only give you a little "hm?" in response as his smile now fades, turning to something more neutral and casual as he continues to indulge himself in your selective memories.

"Ya have soooo many pictures of other people lil' shrimpy. Ah! You even have a picture of Jade and Azul! No fairrrr!" Letting out a whine, you can see his prominent pout as he pinches his fingers on your screen to zoom in on you which was in between Azul and Jade. His eyes stick to the screen as he stares at the picture of your sweet smile looking as if you just finished some heavy and tiring labor just before.

"That was when we went camping during Vargas's stupid camping trip. Of course you weren't there!" You huffed out as you wipe a sweat off your neck, placing your free arm on your hip while you just watch him on your phone. At this point you just gave up and let him do what he wanted on there, of course as long as he's in the camera roll and nowhere else.

"But i'm here now aren't I? And you were even there when I went camping, jus excuses." His slightly upset voice makes you feel a bit guilty yourself, but you try to find a way to dispute his words anyways.

"Not true! If you keep scrolling more you'll see yourself in one of the pictures I took with Ace!" A huff escapes your mouth as you try to stay strong on your claim and he only lets out a disappointed groan. "I'm in the background Shrimpy, and you cant even see my face properly. Ya dont wanna have people mixin' me with my brother now dontcha?" His eyes look over towards you now as he drapes his arm down, just very offended with the lack of pictures you have available of him.

"It's not like i'm gonna show anyone Floyd. No one's gonna know its you except for me." You try to reassure him but he still isn't satisfied at all with your response. The sun shines in as its rays changes its direction and hits Floyd in the eyes, causing his already sour mood to worsen and he lets out an annoyed huff. The shadow of the pillars drapes over you like a veil and the sun hits him like a beam, so he then places his hand over his forehead to block the sun out while walking closer to you in venture for refuge. The light reflects into the phone causing a gleam hitting your own eyes and so you step back, squinting your eyes away. For a moment you actually forgot he had your phone if not for the reminder the gleam gave you.

"Floyd, could you please hand me back my phone now?" You say in a more gentle voice in consideration to his sour mood. His droopy eyes meet yours as a slight pout forms on his face which then looks over at your phone in his hand. Suddenly, his pouty face lifts up into a gleeful smile, his toothy lop-sided smirk giving you unease as if he's planning something not so great.

"Ya know, why not jus' take some pics right now? Say cheese~!" Suddenly, with his longer legs he quickly makes his way over next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling close.

"Wha-? Hey-!" Before you could even ready yourself though, he brings the phone above you two, angling the camera as he tilts his head against yours and maneuvers his thumb over the camera shutter button, pulling your bodies together.

Click! Click! Click!

"Hey stop taking so much! You're going to take up my storage!" Quickly swiping up your phone you press on the little square in the corner to open up the pictures. His arm continues to drape on your shoulder as he looks over at the pictures with a happy hum. Floyd looked as photogenic as ever when he wants to be, his silky skin reflecting in the pictures as his smile radiates and shine while his cheeks being a dusty pink. You on the other hand....Not so much. You were even blinking in one of them, most of the pictures of you looking off and funny.

"I wasn't ready Floyd." A stern look is scrunched on your face as you swipe and look at the pictures with a judgmental stare. A giggle can be heard right next to you as Floyd also looks over you in the pictures, a tinted pink running on his cheeks and a soft look in his eyes; his heart speeding up just slightly as he continues the close and intimate proximity.

"I think you look cute anyways." He says it ever so casually and in a gentle voice, causing you to look over at him. Upon turning your head to face him, its only then did you realize just how close he was. How intimate you two were being right now. His side profile looking perfect as ever, his olive colored eye locked on the screen staring only at you, his arm draped over your shoulders, your bodies practically meshing together right now as his pecks touch your back. You feel your cheeks starting to heat up, your heart begins to speed up as if you are starting a morning run the more you begin to get conscious. His eyes suddenly dart to look at you and you flinch back, jumping a little due to being startled; however his arm keeps you in place from moving any further.

"Seriously, you've been messing with me too much..." You grumbled out as you turn your face back to look at the now black screen. It shut off due to the lack of inactivity, and in the reflection you can see your furrowed brows and tightlipped frown. Though from the side Floyd can only give a bigger grin upon seeing your velvet cheeks.

"Cus' I like ya, aint it obvious?" The speed to which you flip your head can be compared to one of a bullet train and your jaw drops, mouth wide open and agape as you're left with no words. "HUH?!" Your whole face is now a full on red, your eyes filled with shock as if he just dropped the most jaw dropping information ever. Well, technically he did.

Tilting his head to the side a little, his face also grows a darker shade of red, though he lets out a giddy chain of giggles to your reaction. "Eh? You're quite bold Shrimpy, movin' kinda fast there huh?"

"W-What?" He can practically see question marks floating around your red beet face, his toothy smug face still apparent as he wraps another arm in front of you. He's basically giving you a side hug right now -a sweet and tender one.

"Hehe, nothin,'" smiling as if its something only he knows makes you a bit bothered and curious, but then he suddenly swings himself in front of you now. The sun hits the back of Floyd, making him radiate ever so brightly. "How bout' we start off a bit slower hmm? Whats it to ya Shrimpy, do ya like me back?" His soft and droopy slanted eyes adoringly stare into yours and you cant help but feel your heart turn into a big wet sopping pillow. Adverting your eyes down, you can only give a little nod. "Well i mean, I don't hate you. So yea, I.... I do in fact, Like you too."

Honestly, Floyds been nothing but smiles now and its as if he found the most pretty set of flowers ever on a grassy field. "Is that so? Ya really like me huh?"

My hearts beating so fast right now.

"Yea, I really like you."

"Shall I give you a kiss then Shrimpy?"

Tilting your head back up at him you can only give him a shy and flustered face. But with the silly state you're in right now, you let out a slip of a tongue response.

"C-Can I kiss you?" Totally unexpected to Floyd, his eyes widen for only a moment till he's flinging his head back with laughter and squeezing you into his chest.

"Hahaha! Will you kiss me?" Calming himself down a bit he looks back at you with you in his arms now, the suns rays slowly shifting over.

"Will I kiss you?" saying almost in a smug manner now, feeling yourself succumbing into his giggly state of self as you yourself now start to get giddy with your red cheeks.

"You will" He says it with a reciprocal teasing tone as he leans forward, the comfort in his lean arms making you feel as if you've been lovers forever.

"I will?"

"I will" And with that he softly goes in to press a kiss on your lips, the sun shining and hitting the both of you and its as if you two were getting the spotlight of a movie.

Click!

Huh? As you turn to slowly pull back from the kiss, slowly opening your closed eyes you see Floyds phone out. His arm is outstretched and propped in the middle of you two from the side to capture the kiss perfectly and you can only let out a gasp.

"A picture for me hehe~"

"FLOYD-"

[moon-buggg]

1 for the micro story!

don't go

You were... probably not doing the best of jobs hiding how sore your ankle was. But, you had refused to be carried, so for the sake of your ego you hobbled on, a not insignificant portion of your weight leaning on Moon as you two slowly but surely make your way through the winding back halls of the haunted house.

Moon is utterly silent, though you can feel the heavy weight of his unyielding stare as he no doubt searches for any trace of pain on your face. You're doing your best not to let him see any, but... it isn't exactly easy. The trek to the break room for ice is made twice as long by the slow pace Moon sets. He refuses to go any faster, not even acknowledging you when you try and hurry him up.

It's probably for the best. As much as you don't want to admit it, the sprain feels pretty bad.

You just hope Moon isn't feeling too guilty.

It wasn't his fault. But good luck trying to convince him that.

You hadn't been in your usual spot for his scene, the one where he grabs you and drags you out of the room. You couldn't have been. Not with how he knocked into you instead of grabbing you. Neither of the two animatronics had ever been off point like this before. You do not blame him.

It was an accident. One you've already forgiven, as you'd assured him many times over by now.

When you finally make it to the break room, you wave Moon away from helping you sit down and instead ask him to grab some ice from the fridge. He doesn't have to move much, the room is small, barely enough go contain his massive form. His long limbs make quick work of grabbing the ice and a ziploc to put it in with stilted, understated movements. Nothing at all like the Moon you know.

He hands you the bag, still as silent as he has been since he whispered a barely audible apology, and turns to leave.

"Hey, wait!" You say, dropping the ice in the process of reaching out for him. Moon jolts, his head nearly hitting the ceiling as he turns around to stare at you. You continue, "don't- don't go."

He doesn't move. The quiet hum of the fridge the only sound in the room. Your ankle aches.

You refuse to whither under his blank, smiling stare. After far too long, he finally responds. "...why?" He sounds genuinely confused, like he cannot possibly fathom you actually wanting him in the room.

"Because you're-" you hesitate for just a moment, easily written off as a stutter, "because you're my friend, Moon. Why would I want you to leave?" For as much as 'friend' feels woefully inaccurate, it's what you say.

He looks away from you at that, his faceplate shifting down towards the ground as he considers your words. Just when you're about to say something, he sags down into a low crouch. Making himself smaller in a room not built for his height.

"I hurt you," he says, like that was all the convincing you would need to realize your mistake and change your mind. You ignore the dull throbbing ache. The ice starts to melt on the break room floor.

"Moon, did you mean to hurt me?" You ask bluntly and get a nearly franktic shake of the head in return. "Then it was an accident. I'm not mad, my ankle will heal. It's ok."

He doesn't seem to believe you, remaining hunched over on the opposite side of the room from you. You sigh, glancing down at the ice you dropped. "Would you mind picking that up for me?" You ask, sounding more tired than you mean to.

It takes a minute, but slowly, hesitantly, Moon creeps towards you. You watch with a small smile that grows when he gingerly hands you the bag. You let your hand linger on his claws as you take it, offering soft 'thank you' as you do. His long arm snakes back away from you, but he seems a little less tense as you finally get the ice on your ankle.

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[Graphic Description of Gore]

[6.1k words] 🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼 Chapter 3 "The Vault"

The flickering ceiling lamps only exacerbated the grim atmosphere, but they did slightly help with finding your way. They also hid the majority of the massacre, but you weren’t blind to the horrific scenes of vault dwellers strewn up and skinned and prepared for processing. You’d wretched and convulsed at the sight, clutching at the wall for support and fighting back tears of terror, and if it hadn’t been for your empty stomach you would have most likely thrown up all over the ghoul’s boots. There was so much food around and the raiders still chose their twisted ways and treated the corpses of their victims, human beings, as cattle in need of rationing and preparation. It was engraved in them, you guessed, after living so long in an apocalyptic, hellish world, eating people was as natural to them as breathing. You tried to justify their actions even if they made no sense, but after seeing cut-open bellies and spilled intestines and dribbling blood as the corpses were hung to drain, you couldn’t.

No matter how difficult a life, nothing could pardon such barbaric actions, not when the cans of cram and sacks of tatoes were right there. The raiders didn’t kill and butcher out of need, they did it out of pleasure, they drew with blood on the walls, bludgeoned flesh and bone to a pulp, stripped skin bare, and let bodies dangle like slaughtered pigs.

The more gore was presented to you on a rusty platter, the smaller your pool of empathy became until there was nothing but the screaming aftermath of gunshots sounding right above your head. You still jittered, but didn’t flinch anymore, he had you, you were safe with him. His boots echoed with menace through the corridors, beckoning the raiders to their end, while your delicate bare feet glided over grime and glass and chaos.

He used you as bait once the raiders were close enough to spot you, your history with them causing a sudden urge in them to let go of their logic and self-preservation and charge headfirst into a shotgun barrel. You would have minded, but he was death incarnate with a weapon, and you were so set on restoring the sanctity of your vault, your home, that you were ready to do just about anything. He killed until there was nobody else with a heartbeat except you and him. He killed so casually, that you almost believed it to be normal.

Once his end of the bargain was done, you started searching, straining both mind and vision for that particular room with a false bookcase. You guided him past the vegetable field, through the cafeteria, and rushed past the school because there were too many bodies piled up for you to stomach. He followed with minor protests, but mostly kept quiet and alert, acting as a guard hound while you pursued the location of the emergency storage. It was only when you ended up in the residential wing with a confused noise that he spoke up.

“You’re lost, Darlin’, admit it.”

You shot him an angsty look over your shoulder, arm outstretched in front of you as the white flashlight installed in the Pip-boy illuminated the vault hallway. When you enter the first home, just the structure of it is enough to tell that you’ve got the wrong place, you scowl, but trudge further inside anyway.

“I’m not lost.” you retort, refusing to let his remarks leave a stain on your photographic memory, and pace around the tiny complex. “It should be in this wing, I just need to find the right room.”

“Whatever you say…” he hums in mock and purses his lips, then opens the metal door wider before stepping in after you. He lets you explore, his eyes skimming with disinterest over the homey aesthetic he was so alienated from that it didn’t even ring a bell of nostalgia. His sights lock on the fridge and his feet react faster than he’d thought possible. Bingo.

The self-powered beacons perched over the whey field creep through the windows and it’s enough light to scarcely brighten the complex. It would have been a haunting sight if the ghoul wasn’t with you and a timid part of your consciousness tapped at you, reminding you that he wasn’t going to be present for much longer. You hadn’t planned on dwelling on such a thought for long, but you had no clue what to do once he was gone. Left alone to fend for your life with no skills or experience aside from dry theory accumulated from years of reading, there wasn’t much you could do except live off the remnants of the vault and try to keep the garden alive.

How would you be rid of all the corpses though?

It would take years to restore everything, or at least the parts that were salvageable, you’d never be able to swap the broken windows or replace the shattered light bulbs.

You scurried off the nasty reality of your future and proceeded to kneel in front of a shoe cabinet. Your feet were irritably sore and in desperate need of protection so you sunk your arms to the elbows in the darkness, the flashlight distorting under the pile of slippers and sandals.

“You’re not mad, Mister?” you ask and turn back to find the ghoul waist-deep in the refrigerator, rummaging as a cacophony of clinking bottles and stuttering plates soundtrack his rampage. He looked almost domestic and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Cuz I haven’t found the storage yet?”

He resurfaces at your question, a bowl of mashed tatoes and a platter of grilled cram cradled in his embrace, traces of soy milk stained his lips. He wiped his mouth on his shoulder and tossed the food on the kitchen counter before resting on his elbows while flicking his tongue.

“Plenty of Pip-boys layin’ around.” he shrugs simply and rips his glove off before sticking two thick fingers in the tatoes. “Can make a small fortune outta those.” he offers you a toothy grin before licking his fingers clean.

“Please use a fork, Sir.” you grimace at his tasteless display before turning back to your task at hand.

“Mind your business, Smooth-skin.” he grunts and sinks his teeth in a thick slice of cram, scarfing it down as if he’d not eaten in days. He scoffs at your faint giggle and waves you off, too high on the idea of a proper meal to care for your coquettish snip.

You continue to dig through the assortment of old shoes, relishing his vocal satisfaction as he feasts. He chews hastily, taking breaks every few bites to wash down the food with whatever juice or milk he blindly pawed at on the fridge door. After tossing away a pair of white fluffy slippers and jamming your hand against a leathery surface, you pull out a left-footed cargo boot. It’s stuck, tied by the laces to something crammed deeper in the cabinet and you feel your way until you find its twin. Once freed, you look them over with a tilted chin and a contemplative look.

They seemed remotely your size, with a pair of thick socks they’d probably fit perfectly and they were preserved and sturdy enough to withstand some broken glass.

“You think they’ll miss these?” you raise the boots in display and ask before thinking about how stupid your question was.

The boiled corn cob pauses just shy of his parted lips and he stares at you like you’d grown a second head. The silence that befalls is one of realization with a twinge of melancholy and you avert your eyes as your mouth twitches into a small frown. The shoes are lowered to your chest and you hold them close in wordless mourning, face dimming, shoulders lowering.

“Oh right…frick.”

“They’re dead, Sweetheart.” he speaks softly, a hint of pity hidden beneath the layer of rasp. “Don’t think they’ll miss anythin’ anymore.”

In truth, you didn’t mourn the rest of the vault dwellers. They were strangers who’d shared the same living facility as you, there was no attachment there except for baseline human empathy. What you grieved over was your sanity, the solitude you’d be subjugated to and you’d grown accustomed to being alone, but after knowing the atrocities that had occurred and the reasoning for your lonesome existence, you doubted things would go well. You’d be forced to fend for yourself and there was no guarantee that another wave of intruders wouldn’t end up on your doorstep.

You picked at the soles of the boots absentmindedly, ignorant to the sympathetic stare targeting the back of your head.

You weren’t accustomed to caring for your needs, having been coercively babied all your life and lacking basic skills. The only bond you’d ever had was with your father and the knowledge that you’d eventually stumble upon his corpse riddled you in goosebumps. You dreaded that sight, eyes dampening at just the thought and mind failing to even picture such a sickening image.

You drag an arm over your drippy nose, sniffle and stand.

“Need socks.” was all you managed before hurrying to the bedside closet at the other end of the complex, hiding behind a wall and out of the ghoul’s prying gaze.

This was fine. You’d figure it out as you went. There was no point in worrying over things that haven’t happened yet, right?

You shone your flashlight into the closet's depths after flinging it open, searching for a ball of stretchy material, anything that remotely resembled a pair of socks. Shuffling came from the kitchen area, a throaty grunt, a few clanks, and the shattering of porcelain. Paying no mind to the ghoul’s ruckus, you sift through the clothing hangers, stopping only when an intricate floral pattern catches your eye. You tug at the cloth, pulling it off the bar and hooking a finger around the clothing hanger before straightening it out.

A dress, pretty and frilly at the bottom, littered with small hand-sewn red blooms, sparkling white and in pristine condition. It reminisced of better times when people reigned over a peaceful and bountiful land, when radiation existed only in the confines of nuclear factories and cannibalism was scarce and very taboo. Your dull expression softens with a doting smile as you coo over your new fit before tossing it on the bed.

Your search continues shortly after, rummaging and scanning, digging deeper until you find a small raft overflowing with undergarments. A pair of black tights and heavy woolen socks later, you pass an anxious glance at the edge of the wall separating you from your overly grumpy bodyguard before tugging the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing in there!?”

“I’m changing!” you rush to answer, shimmying out of your dirty, torn attire before sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling the socks over your feet. After taking note of the now gooey gash on your ankle, you decide to postpone wearing tights until it’s been cleaned and bandaged. You swallow back a lump of anxiety and make disinfecting the wound your top priority…once you find the storage unit that is.

“Hurry up!”

Once the boots were secured, you neatly tied them up and scurried to slip on the new dress in case the ghoul decided he’d had enough of waiting and barged over in his typical unruly fashion. It fit you so well, but there was no time to enjoy yourself, you tossed the tights over the junction of your elbow and patted down the frilly edges grazing your knees.

The world came crashing when the zipper got stuck.

“Freaking fiddle sticks…”

You tried and failed to resolve the dilemma, patting blindly at your upper back, reaching over your shoulder, and coiling an arm behind your waist. Even when your fingers did manage to find the zipper again, it was jammed and no amount of vigorous tugging helped and you didn’t want to apply more force lest you cause a tear. A small whine, dainty and annoyed, bubbled in your throat and you hung your head back and stared up at the ceiling in despair. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a jut at you for daring to find a sliver of happiness.

“Uh…Mister?” you call out, weak with embarrassment as you slowly succumb to the walk of shame. You round the corner slowly, apprehension in every step and boring a shameful visage. “I need help…please.”

Your lovely bounty hunter had sprawled out on the counter, his hands resting on his now full belly, one perched up knee swaying nonchalantly as his other leg kicked dangled leisurely in the air. His hat rested over his face, obscuring his vision as he breathed slowly, in utter bliss for the first time in a long while. The shotgun once secured on his back was tucked under his neck. The empty plates were carelessly chucked to the floor when he’d made room to lie down and now you knew what all that ruckus had been caused by.

It would have been quite the heartwarming sight if you weren’t currently wallowing in self-pity.

He rouses at your beckon, sitting up and readjusting his hat and giving you his best acid scowl for disrupting his peace. Then he notices your pained expression and skittish shifting and quirks a nonexistent brow.

“The hell’d you do?”

Ah yes, the sardonic question a parent would ask their misbehaved child after yet another minor disaster. That’s exactly what you need at the moment.

“I – ” your teeth grit, jaw tightening in discomfort. A sad puppy-eyed stare plastered on your droopy features as you stand next to the counter before reluctantly turning around and brushing your hair out of the way to expose your back. “ – It’s stuck…”

A snort of laughter fills the dim complex and you shrink in utter humiliation, fussing at his reaction like the wimpy thing you’ve been demoted to. He turns in his spot and his knees encase your frame as he slopes closer.

“Can’t even dress right.” his berating smirk nips at the back of your neck and earns a sigh of defeat.

Cooper Howard wasn’t a man to regret many things and he’d done enough awful deeds to have him kicked out of a church if he ever dared set foot in one. Not putting his glove back on, however, would be one of those regrets. When his disfigured fingers dipped beneath the hem of your dress to hold it steady as he worked the zipper free, he brushed against your skin and it was so soft that he nearly missed the feeling altogether. A pang of something awfully warm wrapped around his ribcage like a vine and he was so shaken to the core that he forgot he needed to breathe.

You felt like the past, all lovely and nice and tender, as if ripped from a time he struggled to recollect and let go of both, and you were thrust in his hands and he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do with you. All charming smiles and sugary words and naivety that had him torn between hatred and incessant thirst for more of whatever it was you did to him. So addictive yet so detrimental.

He chalked it up to lust, a guttural craving any normal man would feel when presented with a cute little thing like you. But it wasn’t that at all. It had nothing to do with any carnal human craving.

You were a gateway to what he used to have, a walking memory of who he used to be.

It made sense if your story was true. Being tended to all your life while locked in a lab orchestrated to be your private room, it would leave anyone silk-skinned, bright-minded, and burden-free. But that didn’t ease him, it didn’t falter him from feeling like he was drowning.

You were the even tune of midnight jazz, a slice of hot apple pie, and a fresh cup of Joe on a Sunday afternoon; a little piece of heaven he’d never asked for and a cruel incarnation of damnation he’d always feared would catch up to him.

“Is it fixed?” you peep, saving him from the jaws of his mind, and look back, happily unaware of his self-destructive internal dialogue. The darkness hides the strain hovering over his distant gaze. “Did you manage?”

“ ‘Course I did.” he barks and is back to normal in an instant, pulling the zipper up before letting you go. “Done.”

He makes sure to secure his glove back on and cusses out the invasive thoughts.

“Thank you so much!” you grin with glee and throttle away like a victorious toddler. “How do I look?” you twirl with pizazz, then remember the tights dangling off your arm and bunch them up in one hand in case they took away from your dashing performance. “Don’t mind those.”

The ghoul scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief at how stupidly charming you are, and slides from the counter before reaching for his shotgun. You take his reaction as a good sign, satisfied with your new, clean look, and brush down the dress with the back of your hand.

“Les go.” he clicks his tongue at you, motioning with his head before fiddling to load his weapon. “Can gawk at yourself plenty when I’m gone.”

His remark receives no pushback. You follow suit, back into the benevolent corridor with hanging dead lamps, stepping carefully next to him with Pip-boy pointed straight ahead. It felt good to not have to constantly worry over a stray piece of debris catching on your feet anymore. Now your footsteps sang in tandem with your bounty hunter’s albeit much lighter and more frequent. With eyes darting from wall to wall, you peeked into each adjacent living complex. The sting in your ankle continued, snapping at your every move and your grip on the tights hardened. Your nails sank into the material for purchase as impatience nibbled at your nerves.

Apartment after apartment. Nothing even remotely resembled the room you were looking for, but it had to be here somewhere. The vault plans didn’t lie and neither did your memory.

You nearly tripped over a stray cable while ogling a bright pink suite layered with fuzzy rugs.

“You sure you ain’t just sendin’ us on a wild goose chase?” the ghoul asks while cracking open another steel door for you to inspect, then dips his hat and lilts “Ain’t gonna shoot you, Sweetheart. Don’t need to lie anymore.”

“I wasn’t lying, Mister.” you look up at him with hurt and he keens, blinking slowly at you and deciding to leave it at that.

Whether it was due to exhaustion or that look, he wasn’t sure.

If you were this set on proving to him there was a storage full of medical supplies and provisions he wasn’t going to stop you. There was plenty of food and drink to stay a while and his current bounty wasn’t notorious enough to top a fresh bed and a full meal. The caps weren’t worth it compared to what you’d offered him and he had enough vials to last him a while before any feral symptoms started poking through.

“It’s somewhere here, I know it is, these are just the wrong rooms. But the map showed it was in the living quarters to the north. It has to be a bigger space and with a bookcase in – ”

A hand clasped gently over your mouth, cutting your ramble short.

The ghoul grips your arm and shines the Pip-boy at the end of the hallway, the tense look on his face making your stomach knot. He takes one step forward, leaving you to linger behind him and you would’ve liked to believe it was to protect you, but it was most likely to get you out of the way.

You hear his gloved hold tighten around his shotgun and bite back the need to ask him what he’d picked up that you hadn’t. You never noticed the almost silent steps that had slowly crept closer and yelped when you were roughly tossed behind him as he spun around. The shot nearly left you deaf and the bloodied kukri barely missed your shoulder, having been a hair away from the strap of your dress.

You shriek along with the gargled gasp, latching onto the bounty hunter’s coat. The loud thump that followed made you duck and wrinkle your nose.

“Oh my jeez. Oh my God!” you glimpse from behind him reluctantly, forcing your tightly shut eyes open.

The raider twitched, clutching his blown-to-bits shoulder as a puddle of blood formed beneath him. He choked for air, coughing out a storm of crimson and it made your knees weak. The smell of gunpowder was sharp and overwhelming and your head spun with a nauseating speed.

“Guess I missed one.” the bounty hunter leers and the absolute insouciance at his actions sent a chill up your spine. He unclasps the hunting knife strapped to his belt and twirls it between his fingers, then tosses you a warning glance. “Look away, Sweetheart. Ain’t wastin’ another bullet on this shit.”

The heels of his boots clinked closer to the raider convulsing on the floor and with a shaky sniffle, you forced your legs to move. The pleas of a desperate man rendered defenseless and feeble, the churring taunts of his merciless killer who squatted over his prey with blade readied. A sickening noise punched you right in the gut, so raw and revolting that you covered your ears the moment you stumbled into another suite and slid down behind the front door. Clutching at the sides of your head, fingers curled and nails delved into your scalp to ground you, you died a little inside.

The reality of your existence, the consequences for being alive hit you full force, ripping you out of the tranquility that had befallen both you and the ghoul. Peace never lasted, and neither did joy, not in a world bathed in chaos and destruction.

The two curt knocks on the door made you flinch.

“Come on out, Scaredy cat.”

“I’ll – ” with a twisted tongue and a clenched throat, you murmur out words to keep him away because you didn’t want to see the blood he was wiping off his knife. “ – I’ll be right there. Just looking…for a false latch or something.”

What a horrible excuse…but he didn’t question it and you were so thankful.

His steps crinkle over broken glass and pieces of discarded metal plates. The tension lifts off your shoulders when he leaves with a grunt. You rub at your face with a timid breath, jaw easing as your lips part to accommodate your forceful inhales. The gloom of the apartment embraced you in your self-indulgent grovel.

To imagine someone lived here only a day ago was to concede to hysteria.

He saved your life again. And still, you were left shaken and bothered and speechless and burdened by what would have happened if he hadn’t been there to rip you away from death’s claws. The possibility of there being more raiders skulking about hadn’t been a thing until this one nearly chopped your arm off. Your arm was still there though, intact and function. All because of him. A dilapidated, volatile guardian angel that looked like a grilled chicken and sounded like a fizzled-out radio station and he meant more to you than anything ever had in your short, secluded life. What were you supposed to do without him when he finally left and you were sealed into a blood-soaked, corpse-ridden underground bunker with just your thoughts as company?

You slapped at your puffed-out cheeks ferociously.

This was fine.

It wasn’t fine, but there was nothing to be done, you’d work with what you had, you’d manage somehow. You had to.

The ghoul whistled you over, loud and clear enough for you to hear even while tucked away safely in your corner. Enough spiraling. You stood and with a determined huff, exited the complex only to see him standing in front of an open door with crossed arms and a tilted head. He noticed you from the corner of his eye and nudged his chin.

“This it?”

You poke your nose inside the spacious room.

It was the vault president’s office, completely untouched and eerily still, made to resemble the quarters of high-ranking officials from the olden days. Thin sheets of wood were plastered over the walls and the floor was carpeted and clean, the large windows overlooked the fields and dining area. An elegant leather chair was neatly set behind the paper-ridden desk in the center of the room, and yellowing files peak from every single drawer and bookcase. Everything seemed organized in spotless order, even the mugs on the coffee table were arranged corresponding to their color. There were so many paintings strewn about, past vault presidents, men and women in distinct white coats, same as the one your dad had always worn, supposedly scientists.

He leaned against the doorframe as you barged inside, watching your newfound zeal with a half-smile.

You pressed the tip of your middle finger to the wall and slowly extended your other arm at a precise angle, then moved it barely to the left. With a calculative spark imbued in your eyes, you take deliberate steps and move your stiff arms mechanically as you work out the location of the hidden storage. It looked ridiculous and you were well aware as you maneuvered about like a possessed puppet, but without any tools to point the way this was your only crutch.

“Three feet to the left, diagonal to the glass case with the cat sculpture. One step back and turn to what should be west. North should be to the right, then. And…”

“There.” you state once your hand points at a particularly overdecorated bookcase. “That’s it. Has to be.” you step towards it with determination, throwing away documents and an old plastic globe until there was enough space to grab at the shelves. It creaks when you give it a solid tug to test its stability. You bite your lip in contemplation before turning back to the ghoul. “Think you can move this, Mister?”

“You better be right, Sweetheart.” he tutted, but complied, pushing himself off the doorframe before joining you. He towers over you and rests his hands against the polished wood. “Move.”

You did as told and gave him some room.

He managed to slide his fingers against the back of the bookcase and spread out his legs before letting go of a throaty groan and pulling with all his strength. Your knee jittered with the need to step in and help, but you hesitated, succumbing to your manners and letting him do the heavy lifting. The last thing you wanted was to insult his capabilities or hurt his man-pride.

The case toppled with a thunderous crash and its contents spilled over the carpet, some trinkets bounced off your boot and rolled under the desk. The wooden planks that had been hidden behind it were slightly caved in compared to the rest. A thick carving resembling a door was engraved in them along with a small rectangular shape just a few inches to the side.

This was it.

“Hallelujah.” he chuckles and kneads his shoulder while flexing it, brows raised and eyes settled on the hidden entrance and glistening with wonder. “Guess you weren’t lyin’ after all.”

You clumsily step over the mountain of books and smashed wood, arms extended for balance until you’re close enough to press down on the rectangle. With a whirling hiss, the wood slides to the side and a hole perfectly shaped like a Pip-boy appears. You stuck your hand in without a second thought, beyond impatient and on the verge of crying because your ankle was burning so intensely you wanted to just rip it off.

The door gave way with a few audible clicks and the storage lit up instantly, you guessed the lamps didn’t depend on the vault’s fusion cores, another little trickery to keep this place hidden. The power management engineers would have most likely noticed the excess electricity being used for a room that wasn’t supposed to exist. A smart move and also for nothing, everyone was dead.

The cynic in you cackled.

You were quick to rip your hand free and enter, spotting the hefty array of medical supplies gathered over a metal cart, driven by pain and discomfort and lacking the self-control to keep it a secret any longer.

“Well, I’ll be…” the ghoul gapes at the overflowing storage, pleasantly surprised and nodding to himself. “Consider your debt repaid, Missy.” he plunges his knife into a sack of tatoes and promptly empties it.

His arm swipes over a metal shelf of stimpaks, greedily bunching them up and into the sack as he licks his teeth at the upcoming profit.

When you don’t reply to his remark he finally takes his gaze off the mounds of supplies and medicine and looks to you.

You’re a mussing mess, abrupt jitters causing bottles of pills and packages of bandages to pile at your feet as you scour for something specific. Initially, he opts to leave you be and focus on his own task, but when a disheartened noise slips past you he caves.

“The hell’s got you scramblin’ about like a cornered rat?”

You wince and turn back with a trembling frown. Your search had come out fruitless, the plan was spoiled at the absence of any antibiotics and you internally cursed for not stopping by the med-bay earlier and checking there first. Then again, you needed a key card and you weren’t fond of checking the pockets of decapitated vault residents just for that. But your open wound didn’t care for your antics. Now your ankle was probably red, still oozing and by how it rubbed against your sock, it was even more irritated and sickeningly sticky.

His stern look was relentless and you sucked in a breath before speaking.

“I can’t find any antibiotics…for my ankle.” you swallow a sob like a child caught red-handed trying to sneak past a broken vase. “The cockroaches – One of them bit me or cut me I think and… And it was fine at first, but then it started getting infected and I thought I’d find something here to help, but I don’t think only spirit will help so I thought antibiotics, but I can’t find any and it hurts so bad now – ”

You halted when his jaw stiffed and did nothing when he stomped close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. The sack was slumped by you and as he glared you simply averted your eyes to the floor.

“Sit.” he commands in a rigid tone, forcing you on your rump as the coldness of the tile floor seeps through your dress. “ ‘N take it off.” the tip of his boot nudges your foot before he tugs his pants up and squats in front of you with elbows resting on his thighs.

It’s only after you slip off your now-ruined sock that he cringes in annoyance and grabs your calf to turn it for a better view. Angry red outlined the open gash and the dead skin that still clung to it was soaked in colorless stickiness. He pressed on the side of the wound, shooting down your attempt at escaping with a scalding look, and more goo was excreted.

Radroaches were clean creatures, he’d seen them grooming themselves more than hunting for food. However, being mutated by radiation did tend to add some spice to their bites and you trudging around barefoot for a good full day had only added to the accelerated decay. Nasty little cut that was.

“Stupid git.” he hisses and stuffs a hand in the sack. “Nothen’ a lil stimpak can’t fix though. And lucky for you, we hit a goldmine.” the large syringe glints under the blaring white lights and he pushes at the base to snuff out any air bubbles before lowering it to your calf. “Now hold still.”

The sight of the needle makes you stiffen, a plethora of memories flashing past your widened eyes, and you’re overtaken by such a raw desire to get away that you nearly kick him off balance in your struggle.

Too many years stuffed full of constant medications and transfusions and scalpels and cuts and taking blood samples and fucking needles. All your life you’d suffered through nothing but medical treatments and the first day spent away from such hell had you realized just how traumatizing it had all been. Obligated to just take it because there was no alternative, you were never given a choice in the matter. You weren’t ready for this again, seeing that stupid needle so close to your skin made your heart drop in your stomach.

“Wait. Mister, wait. Wait!” you grab onto the metal bars of the cart as his grip on your calf tightens painfully.

“Quit fussin’!” he all but growls and pulls you back in place once you’d made some progress in slipping away. His tolerance for your display vaporizes when you land another inadvertent kick to his knee. He lets your calf go and reaches for the back of your head, grabbing onto a fistful of your hair and jostling you still. He’s right in your face and spitting acid. “What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

“The needle.” you hiccup and wrap your sweet little fingers around his forearm. Tears swell in your eyes from both pain and fear and it does something to him again, but he doesn’t relent. “The needle…I can’t – ” you whimper and plead, crumbling in his hold. “Please don’t, Mister…”

He’s taken aback. The menace drains from his gaunt features, baring snarl gone, and his grip on your hair loosens.

“You’re kiddin’ me.” his eyes roll from you to the stimpak as if you’d said the most mind-blowing bullshit he’d ever heard. He dangles the wretched thing in front of you, watching you follow it incessantly, not even blinking. “You’re scared o’ this?”

You make a noise of displeasure and avert your face when he brings the stimpak closer. For once his mocking laugh isn’t welcomed. When he’s assured you’re not just being a brat and actually hold a crippling distaste for the needle, the ghoul pulls away with a scoff.

He thinks, rubbing his knuckles against his jaw while you sit between his knees, immobilized by his grip.

“Well shit...” he lets you go and you bonelessly slump back into the cart.

He’s not one for comfort, doesn’t know what words to use to help you overcome your dilemma; he can’t just jam the stimpak in and risk striking a bone, can’t slide it in gently because you’ll go into another fit. He could just leave…

“Look at me.” he beckoned and snapped his fingers at you. When that didn’t work, he grabbed your face and squished your cheeks, forcing you to obey by giving you a sharp jerk. He leans close enough for you to feel his breath hit your nostrils and of course, it smells like cram. “I said look. At. Me.”

Your eyes go from dazed to bulging when you feel the needle press back against your calf. A pathetic ensemble of bleats accompanies your heaving chest and you hold onto his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping you from dying on the spot.

“Shhhh – shhhh – shhh, ‘s okay Sweetheart.” he hushes you with peculiar softness, stifling your meek complaints and scolding your eyes back to his own when he sees your attention dart down to your leg. You wince briefly at the prickle and his pinkie and ring finger leave your cheek and settle at the edge of your jaw, pressing down and rubbing ever so lightly. With an even push of his thumb, the syringe is emptied. “There you go…” he gives your cheek a good pat and leans away, resting on his knees. The pack of gauze you’d carelessly tossed away in your rampage was picked up and ripped open. “The good news is, you don’t need no stitches…but how d’ you intend to survive if you can’t even use a stimpak?”

“I’ll…” you smile in pain and it’s so crooked it rivals his. “I’ll figure it out.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 4 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

Tag list: @bountydroid @judgementdays-girl

[locsandletters]

ᯓ first of many; j.musiala

──one shot

pairing ➜ jamal x fem!reader

word count ➜ 1.7k

warnings/notes ➜ none

summary ➜ after years of just being friends, you and jamal are finally spending your first valentine’s day as a couple. naturally, nothing goes as planned. dating your best friend 101.

it starts the night before.

like, technically, it’s not valentine’s day yet, but jamal’s been on one all day, walking around like a little kid with a secret, smirking to himself, pursing his lips together like he’s dying to spill but won’t. he’s been weird about his phone, too. tilting it away from you. ignoring messages. biting back a grin every time it lights up.

“who you texting?” you ask, sprawled across his bed, watching him from the pillow.

“don’t worry about it,” he says, tucking his phone under his arm and flopping down beside you. he kisses your cheek—one of those lazy, half-missed kisses that lands more on your jaw than anything—but you’re still side-eyeing him, suspicious.

“you’re acting real sneaky, jamal.”

“am i?” he asks, grinning into your skin.

yes. he is. but whatever. you let it go. you don’t even think about it again until the next morning, when you wake up to the sound of something loud and chaotic crashing in his kitchen. it’s early. too early. the kind of early that makes your brain slow, like it’s loading in real-time, like you need at least 15 minutes to process.

there’s another crash. a curse. a chair scraping.

then, suspiciously: silence.

“… jamal?” your voice is all groggy and muffled, and it takes an embarrassing amount of effort to pry your eyes open. you reach across the bed, patting the empty space where he should be. it’s cold.

more silence. then, like a jump scare, his voice: “don’t come out here!”

what.

you blink at the ceiling, confused as hell, still groggy, trying to decide if you just hallucinated that. but no, the sound of drawers opening—slamming shut—confirms it.

“why?” you call, throat scratchy.

pause. like he wasn’t expecting a follow-up question. then, weakly: “just don’t.”

now, see. if he had just acted normal, maybe you would’ve left it alone. but he’s being weird. so you drag yourself up, rub your eyes, stumble toward the door.

“babe,” he calls, panicked. “i mean it.”

but it’s too late. you’re already there, stepping into the kitchen, and—

oh.

oh, it’s bad.

it looks like a crime scene. a breakfast massacre. there’s flour everywhere, like he was just throwing handfuls of it for fun. a whisk on the floor. a bowl of what looks like pancake batter, except it’s an objectively illegal colour. burnt toast. eggs that never made it to the pan.

jamal is standing in the middle of it all, barefoot, covered in flour, holding a plate with what can only be described as the saddest excuse for a pancake you’ve ever seen. and he looks… guilty. like a dog who just got caught eating the couch cushions.

“what the hell,” you say, staring.

“breakfast in bed,” he mutters, looking down at the plate in his hands, like he’s just now realising how bad it looks.

a pause.

“babe,” you say, trying so hard not to laugh.

“yeah,” he sighs, nodding. “i know.”

he sounds so resigned. so disappointed in himself. it’s actually kind of cute.

“what was the plan here?” you ask, stepping over a suspiciously large flour pile to get closer.

he groans, shoving the plate toward you. “pancakes.”

you take it. and it’s so heavy. like, heavier than a pancake should be. you poke it with your fork, and it barely moves.

“is it… supposed to feel like this?” you ask, laughing.

“don’t make me talk about it.”

he’s surprisingly genuinely embarrassed. ducking his head, rubbing at his jaw. and when you take a bite—because obviously, you have to—he’s watching you so closely. so serious.

and it’s awful. so, so awful.

but when you look up, his face is hopeful, expectant, and—ugh. you can’t ruin this for him.

so you chew, swallow, try your best not to gag. “it’s… wow. so unique.”

his whole face brightens. “yeah?”

“so creative.”

“i knew you’d like it,” he says, smug, taking the plate back. he grabs his own fork, ready to dig in.

“wait—”

too late. he takes a bite. and immediately spits it out.

“… oh, that’s fucking disgusting.”

you can’t even help it. you laugh at him. hunched over, wheezing, tears in your eyes. and he’s looking at the pancake like it personally wronged him.

“i don’t get it,” he says, looking genuinely betrayed. “i followed the recipe and everything.”

“be honest,” you say, wiping at your eyes, still laughing. “did you really?”

he hesitates. then, sheepishly: “no.”

and that sends you right back into a fit of giggles.

—

the rest of the day is just as chaotic.

there are roses. but too many. like, you turn around for one second, and suddenly, the entire apartment looks like a flower shop. then, out of nowhere, he pulls out matching t-shirts that say i love my girlfriend and i love my boyfriend in obnoxious, bold letters. insists you take pictures in them, which he very proudly posts on his close friends—alphonso is not shy to let you both know that he thinks that shit is cringe.

you later end up at some overpriced, aggressively romantic restaurant in the city, where everything is quite literally heart-shaped. you hate that you love it. jamal even gets you one of those giant stuffed bears that takes up half the car, just to be extra.

“where the hell am i gonna put this?” you ask, squished into the passenger seat, trying to push the bear off of you.

“our bed,” he says, like it’s obvious.

he’s joking. he has to be.

except, when you get back to his place, he throws it straight onto the bed and pats its head like a pet.

“what’s his name?” he asks.

you blink. “why does he need a name?”

jamal gives you a look. “he’s part of the family now, babe.”

you stare at him. he stares back. dead serious.

“… barry.”

“barry?” he repeats, making a face. “nah. try again.”

you roll your eyes, climbing onto the bed, throwing yourself against the pillows. “okay, fine. what about… reginald?”

jamal hums, considering. “reginald. reggie.” he nods, satisfied. “yeah. that’s hard.”

it’s not. but that’s how the bear becomes reggie.

it’s been a dumb, ridiculous, unserious day. and that dumb, ridiculous, unserious day stretches into an equally unserious night, because jamal isn’t done yet. of course he isn’t.

there’s dinner next. not an actual dinner, because you’re both still full from the aggressively heart-shaped meal earlier, but a ‘snack dinner,’ as he calls it. which just means eating a bunch of random shit in bed like kids at a sleepover.

“okay,” he says, serious as hell, setting the bag between you. “don’t look. just pick.”

you squint. “… pick what?”

he just raises a brow. motions to the bag.

you sigh, reaching in, grabbing the first thing your fingers touch. when you pull it out, it’s—oh. it’s one of those valentine’s candy hearts, the kind that taste like chalk.

you make a face. “oh, hell no.”

“no take-back,” he says, snatching the bag away before you can try again.

you sigh dramatically, flipping the little heart over in your hand. it says kiss me in faded pink letters. you show him.

jamal grins. “well,” he says, leaning in, all smug, all close, all warm. “you heard the candy.”

he’s such a loser. but, ugh. he’s cute, too. so you let him kiss you. and then another. and then one more, because why not.

after that, it’s movie time. jamal insists on watching something “romantic for the holiday.”

which, for some reason, means shrek 2.

“this is not a romance movie,” you say, staring at the tv.

“are you kidding?” he says, looking at you like you just disrespected his whole family. “it’s literally a love story.”

“… how?”

“shrek and fiona,” he says, like it’s obvious. “real love. no conditions. no standards. no judgment.” he gestures to the screen, suddenly so deeply invested in this conversation. “you don’t get it. she could’ve stayed a human. she could’ve left him, married some pretty boy, had a normal life. but she didn’t. she wanted her man. ogre and all.”

he leans back, shaking his head. “real love.”

you snort. “are you about to cry?”

“fuck off,” he mutters, shoving popcorn into his mouth.

—

the movie finishes. you think maybe, finally, he’s done being ridiculous for the night. maybe now, you can just curl up, relax, do regular couple things.

but then, he rolls over. stretches. looks at you. “we should make a fort.”

you blink. “what?”

“a fort,” he repeats. “like we used to do as kids. with pillows and blankets and shit.”

“jamal.”

“c’mon,” he says, sitting up. “you can’t tell me that doesn’t sound fun.”

it does. it really does. but you have to act unbothered for the sake of your pride.

“hmm,” you say, pretending to think. “i dunno.”

he narrows his eyes. “you’re lying.”

you are.

so, yeah. now you’re building a fort. or, more accurately, jamal is building a fort while you watch, offering absolutely zero help.

“you’re actually useless,” he says, balancing two pillows against a chair.

you shrug, popping another chocolate in your mouth. he mutters something under his breath.

you raise a brow. “what was that?”

“nothing,” he says, then turns to the fort, hands on his hips, nodding, pleased with himself. “done.”

and honestly? it’s actually good. like, he really put his whole heart into it. it’s got layers. multiple blankets. strategically placed pillows. fairy lights draped across the top.

he crawls in first, patting the space beside him. “c’mon.”

you sigh, all dramatic, but crawl in anyway. and, ugh. okay. it’s actually kind of perfect. warm. cozy. kind of romantic, in a way that doesn’t try too hard.

“happy?” you ask.

he hums, tilting his head against the pillow, looking at you. “yeah.”

and then, finally, you’re just there. under the blankets, wrapped up in each other, warm and full and tired in the best way. jamal’s fingers trace lazy circles into your skin, and you just breathe.

you sigh, content. “this was nice.”

“yeah?” he asks, voice soft.

“yeah,” you admit.

he’s quiet for a second. then: “you’re stuck with me now, you know.”

you smile, half-asleep, pressing your face into his chest. “i know.”

and that’s your first valentine’s day together. stupid. unserious. but somehow, perfect. just right.

[animeloverskylarmoon]

Ulquiorra Cifer (Bleach) - Oneshot

“I’ll enjoy killing you reaper.”

The hand around your throat felt final. With your zanpakuto a good distance away, you really couldn’t see how this would end in your favor. In actuality, you should have known it was an ambush. Those two previous hollows had been taken down way too easily.

All it took was one viciously charged punch to your gut and you’d been knocked down. Now with its hand squeezing against your windpipe, you just prayed that it would be over quickly.

Your vision was becoming blurry, you could feel your consciousness slipping.

“Release her.”

There was a weight to those words, and your shaky gaze moved to the source of the order. All your mind seems to process are those emotionless green eyes. The hollow turned, still holding you off the ground. All you could offer was another grunt of pain.

“You would kill your own kind to protect a reaper.”

The hollow sounded almost disgusted.

“You are not my kind.”

Your savior lifted his hand, and the beam that shot out blasted the hollow’s head clean off. Your breath hitched, because the grip loosened almost immediately and your body was falling. You didn’t even have the strength to brace for the fall. You were caught, and your gaze shifted in his direction, trying to make sense of what little your brain could process before you finally gave in.

The next time your eyes opened, you were staring at a familiar ceiling. You blinked and when you turned your head, Unohana offered a smile.

“You’re awake.”

She looked altogether pleased that you were now conscious, and you had so many questions. Like how did you get there? What happened, who was the reaper that saved you?”

“It seems Ulquiorra-san made it just in time. I’m relieved that you’re alright.” Unohana wore a gentle look and you were happy, but the sentence seemed to play over in your head and that’s why you registered who had saved you.

“U-Ulquiorra-san?”

She nodded, turning her head as she gestured to someone. When she walked away, you weren’t expecting the former Espada to be your rescuer.

“You..saved me?”

“Yes.”

His tone was blank, his expression the very same.

While the alliance with them was solidified, it was still strange. Nel was easy to adjust to, after all she had been on your side from the beginning, but Grimmjow, even Harribel, it was weird. But obviously appreciated.

Now with all the wars done, they were as much a part of the Gotei 13 as any other reaper. So it shouldn’t be crazy that he would help. It was just the fact that you knew his personality. Before that moment, you wouldn’t have thought that he cared at all for you, much less your safety.

Suddenly you’re aware of how inadequate you are as a reaper.

“I guess it should be expected, I’m weak and useless.”

You laughed, but it was only to cover up your own inadequacies.

“You are weak.”

A bead of sweat ran down the side of your head at his very calm tone.

“Geez, he could have at least lied to me.”

It shouldn’t even be a surprise.

“But you are not useless.”

That made you turn. There was still a detachment to his gaze, but he was looking right at you.

“Everything in this world has a use, I have found mine. You will find yours.”

There was a sincerity in those words, even if he couldn’t display it on his face.

In that moment, you truly felt like you would indeed find your purpose.

Maybe that’s when your perspective on him started to change. After your recovery, you were back taking missions.

Your most recent one was with Shinji. While the assignment didn’t truly require a captain, you got the feeling that he just wanted to visit the Karakura. After all, he’d spent a few decades in the town. Now in casual clothing, the first place he stopped by was at Kisuke’s. Hiyori, Orihime, Ichigo and to your surprise Ulquiorra were all there sitting around the table. Ichigo was bantering with Hiyori, Orihime was just laughing happily at their antics and Ulquiorra stayed planted, almost blending into the background.

“Hey baldy you’re back.”

The nickname earned a yell.

“Stop calling me that you loudmouth shrimp!!”

She then persisted to grab him into a chokehold. At that point you realized how obvious it was that he missed his other home. A smile made its way on your face.

“(Y/N)-san, do you mind getting some more rice cakes? The store down the street sells the best ones. Kurosaki-kun ate all the rest.”

“I-I did not!”

His cheeks were burning and you were smiling.

“Hai, I’ll grab some more.”

“I will accompany you.”

Ulquiorra’s declaration earned looks from everyone in the room but Orihime. She was still wearing a bright smile.

“Really?”

Ichigo asked.

“Yes, she is weak. She needs someone to look after her.”

Shinji laughed and you puffed your cheeks that were now flushed.

“Y-You don’t have to keep saying it.” You grumble.

Ulquiorra was unfazed and you sighed.

“Let’s just go.”

In a matter of seconds you were out the door. You knew he wasn’t intentionally trying to be hurtful, he’s just very blunt.

“You have fully recovered.”

The statement drew your attention, and your cheeks heated when you realized he was looking at you. From the stare he must have been doing so the entire time you were walking.

“I-I’m okay.”

You stammered out.

“That’s good.”

That was all he said before he turned his gaze forward. In truth, you couldn’t read him. He gave so little away. You weren’t sure if he was being nice or simply making an inquiry just for some kind of confirmation. That’s why you felt you had to ask.

“Before..you said that you found a purpose, a use, what is it?”

His eyes were still directed ahead.

“To help other souls, the way that Orihime-san has helped me.”

For just a moment, you can hear just a spec of emotion and it’s possibly the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen, because a single act of kindness seems to have changed the views of someone who felt so far gone.

It was at that point that you realized that you truly did admire not just Orihime, but also Ulquiorra. Maybe that’s why you always felt so warm whenever he would even look in your direction.

Each encounter felt different, you grew closer.

“You’re weaker than all those fourth squad members.”

A few other reapers laughed at the statement and you gritted your teeth, clenching your fist.

Getting jumped by members in the eleventh squad was never ideal. They still thought they were the best of the best, and despite your clear irritation at the three men standing in front of you laughing, they were right.

You’re weak.

That’s why they always pushed you around. All you had done was drop off some papers when you caught them messing with a reaper from squad four. Of course you intervened, but now you’re backed into a wall and you’re certain you can’t take three of them, not all at once.

One of them cracked their knuckles and you flash stepped. You knew he assumed you were running away, that’s why when you reappeared, delivering a harsh kick to his face, his friends looked startled. He was down for the count in seconds, and you dropped low, taking another one down. His body hit the floor with a harsh thud, grunting at the pain.

For a while you were sure you had the upper hand. After all, one was unconscious and the other was at least rattled. The next attack you planned to deliver didn’t land. The last one moved quicker and you were grabbed by the back of your head as he slammed your face into the concrete. He grinned, adding pressure and you yelled out in pain.

“Serves you right.”

His hand moved to the back of your robes and he flung you. You expected to hit a wall, or at the very least the roof of a building, but someone caught you, slowing you down. Your feet skidded midair to a stop and when you looked over your shoulder, those green eyes seemed like recognition enough.

“Shit!! It’s Ulquiorra, I’m out of here!!”

The reaper who had been pummeling you dashed off and his conscious friend picked up the passed out one, running just as quickly. You huffed, face and ego bruised. They stepped on you like dirt, but one look at Ulquiorra had them booking it into next week. It was irritating, the reminder of your difference in power, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad at him. This was the second time he’d come to your rescue.

“Your abilities would be better dispensed if you weren’t afraid to utilize your zanpakuto.”

Your brows knitted and this time you turned to him fully. It dawned on you that he must have seen a part of the fight to make such a comment.

“You saw?”

“Yes.”

Yet he hadn’t jumped right in. You weren’t sure why that made you feel a bit better. You know he thinks you're weak, but he didn’t immediately assume you wouldn’t be able to handle yourself. Despite your swollen cheek, you smiled.

“A-Arigatou!”

You couldn’t seem to wipe the happy expression off your face and he looked a bit confused.

“You are happy I let them attack you?”

“Hai!”

“Do you enjoy getting hurt?”

You just laughed, because it was funny how little he understood but still made an effort to try.

Time and time again he just seemed to be there.

His stare still the same, but his actions a reflection of someone who wanted to learn, to understand what it meant to protect, to care. After all he’d done, it felt right to treat him. That’s why you were now sitting in your quarters with a bowl of ramen placed in front of him.

“Eat up, there’s plenty!”

He just gave a nod, and you took a seat, chin in your palm as you watched him eat silently. You’ve realized for a while now that there was something underlyingly elegant about Ulquiorra. The way he spoke, carried himself, even ate. He just emits a certain type of energy.

You must have just been staring at him for a while, because he placed the chopsticks down and you blinked.

“I am done. It was delicious.”

You weren’t sure how such a monotone voice could sound so endearing.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

You took the empty bowl, heading over to your sink to clean the dish. Humming happily, you were barely paying mind to much but learning more about him. When the dish was cleaned, you placed it down, turning back to Ulquiorra who was not standing and just looking at you.

You blushed.

“I-Is something wrong?”

“No.”

You laughed a bit awkwardly, inching out of the kitchen.

“T-Then why are you staring at me?”

“Because you are beautiful.”

If you weren’t red before, you sure as hell were now. You looked away with a nervous smile.

“You really need to work on your skills Ulquiorra-san.”

He may have been oblivious about every single thing, but the one thing that’s guaranteed is that you always felt safe with him. That’s why those little meetings continued. After a mission or even a tough day, you would decompress by inviting him over and just offering a meal, or conversation.

Regardless of how battered you got or what you went through, you always felt a bit better when you saw him. Those green eyes that were still so void of emotion, they felt like everything you needed. What others were put off by drew you in. That’s why when the most recent rumor, well it felt somewhat crippling.

“Did you hear, Ulquiorra-san was injured in battle?”

For a second you staggered, and you rushed over to the group.

“Did you say he was hurt!!”

They looked a bit startled.

“Y-Yes, apparently there was an encounter with a powerful enemy in the world of the living. I heard he’s in squad four be-”

You didn’t wait for the rest, you were dashing off to squad four. Your feet were moving briskly, and the second you landed in the barracks, you were rushing through the halls, almost running into a few reapers.

“Ulquiorra!!”

Your yell echoed and you made another sharp turn. The moment you entered the room, you saw those green eyes. You didn’t even wait for him to say anything, you basically jumped into his arms. He took a step back, eyes widening slightly at the contact as you clutched unto him desperately.

“You’re okay…”

You were sobbing, and he looked down, still fairly confused.

“Why is she crying?”

He couldn’t understand.

You pulled back slowly, staring at him. For a second you were searching for injury. As you fully took in his state, you couldn’t truly see any bruises, or at the very least a wound.

“Y-You’re not hurt..?”

“No. Zaraki-san made an unsanctioned trip to the world of the living to chase after Kurosaki Ichigo. The Head Captain asked me to follow to ensure the damage was at a minimum. Unfortunately he got to Kurosaki before I arrived."

Ulquiorra stepped to the side and Ichigo’s twitching form was laying on the bed. You sweatdropped.

It just goes to show how unreliable gossip is. 

You sighed, wiping your cheeks as you sniffled. You felt like a fool making a scene for nothing. Now thoroughly embarrassed, you just turned.

“W-Well I’m glad you’re okay!”

With that you were hightailing it in the opposite direction.

It was clear that just the thought of anything happening to him would be devastating to you. Before you knew it you’d become attached, that’s why with every little meeting at your barracks you felt a little more awkward. The moment you became aware of your feelings, you felt like he had too.

“(Y/N)-san.”

“Hai!!”

You jumped, and from his expression it’s clear he wanted to know why you were acting like a skittish cat. You swallowed, looking away, playing it off with a laugh. Suddenly being in your space with him alone felt like too much. It’s not like you could stop the visits altogether. Surely he would know something is up.

Also..you didn’t really want them to stop. The more you thought about it the more flustered you became.

“W-We should probably call it a night. L-Let me see you out.”

You jumped to your feet to do just that, but your legs chose that very moment to stop working. Your legs caught with each other and you tumble right into his chest with a grunt.

His hands came down to steady you, and when you looked up, you couldn’t move, almost stopped breathing. That emerald gaze was fixated on you and every fiber in your body just froze. You weren’t sure how to react, what to say. Your eyes shook and before you could stop yourself, you were pushing up on your toes as you pressed your lips to his. His eyes grew a fraction bigger, and yours stayed shut, terrified of rejection, or worse, disgust.

After a few moments, you pulled back with a shaky breath. Your lips quivered and your heart was beating aggressively against your rib cage. Ulquiorra still seemed to be collecting himself, and when he licked his lower lip and stared down at you, the next words were the last thing you were expecting.

“Be my wife.”

Your face flamed up.

“A-AFTER JUST ONE KISS!!”

“Yes.”

You felt like you were going to overheat. You meant to say something, reason with him, but this time his head lowered and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your awaiting lips. Your brows knitted, and the gentle way his hands held your shoulders made you want to melt on the spot. With your eyes closed, you could hear your heart more clearly.

When he pulled you closer, you felt something thumping and it became apparent that the noise wasn’t your heart rate beating harshly, but it was his. You all but melted. He took one step, and you moaned the second you realized he’s used his flash step, pressing you to the door.

The sound echoed in the room, the noises of your desperate kisses felt near sinful. Your lips were meeting and joining with a sense of urgency. You had no idea Ulquiorra could kiss so well. You were barely keeping yourself upright.

Your fingers gripped tighter into his robes, and when he pulled back, you were fighting to regain your breath. When you looked at him, it was the first time you could see his emotions clearly. He was breathing pretty calmly for someone who had just stolen not just your oxygen, but also your heart.

“You taste sweet.”

That confession was almost too much. You wanted to say just that, but he kissed you again and you whimpered, now very aware that there was no escape.

He had too much power.

For once, you could admit that you were indeed weak.

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

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

Chapter Twelve

I lay in bed, tangled in the sheets, staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling as my thoughts spiraled. No matter how many times I turned over, pulled the blanket tighter, or buried my face in the pillow, I couldn’t shut my brain off. It wasn’t just the events of the day that had left me restless—it was the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right.

Jungkook’s behavior lingered in my mind like a stubborn echo. His words, his actions, the way he looked at me—it all seemed deliberate, like he was testing me, pushing me toward some invisible edge.

And then there was Damian’s warning.

Damian was always the calm, level-headed one. He was the person I trusted most, but now, even he seemed to be holding something back. The way he’d looked at Jungkook yesterday—tense, almost protective—had thrown me off balance.

I shifted again, staring at my phone sitting on the nightstand. Maybe I should text him and ask for clarification, even if it meant sounding desperate.

But before I could convince myself to reach for the phone, the screen lit up. My heart jumped. I grabbed it quickly, but when I saw that it wasn’t his name, my excitement faded away and turned into something heavier.

Jungkook: I’ve got important matters to take care of abroad. I won’t be around for a few days.

I frowned at the screen, rereading the words as though they might change if I stared long enough. Abroad? What kind of urgent matter could he have overseas?

I started typing out a reply, but before I could hit send, another text came through.

Jungkook: Don’t call or text. I’ll be busy.

I froze, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Busy? He didn’t seem busy when he was sprawled on my couch earlier today, practically purring compliments at me like had no care in the world.

Me: Okay. Let me know when you’re back.

The message sent, but no reply came. The dots never appeared. I set the phone down and flopped back against the pillow, exhaling sharply. What the hell was going on?

My mind replayed every interaction we’d had since I first met him—the insults about my dream, the sudden offer to hire me, the endless flirting that seemed to cross the line into something more. And now this abrupt distance?

Was this the universe trying to warn me?

Maybe Damian was right, and I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. But no—there had to be more to this.

I rolled over and pulled the blanket up to my chin, forcing my eyes shut. Tomorrow, I’d get answers. Whether from Damian or Jungkook, someone was going to give me the truth.

The sharp smell of smoke yanked me out of sleep.

I shot up, coughing as I sniffed the air. My heart hammered as I threw the blanket off and stumbled toward the kitchen, half-expecting to see flames engulfing my stove.

But everything was fine. The appliances were off. The countertops were clear.

It took me a second to realize the smoke wasn’t coming from inside my apartment—it was coming through the front door. I rushed over, yanked it open, and immediately saw the source. Damian’s apartment.

My stomach dropped.

I ran across the hall, pounding on his door.

“Damian! Open up! Are you okay?”

No answer. I banged harder, panic twisting in my chest.

“Damian!”

The door finally creaked open, and there he was—disheveled, his face and shirt covered in white powder.

I blinked. “What the hell?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, managing an almost sheepish smile. “I’m fine.”

I stared at him, still trying to process the sight. “Fine? You look like you just survived an explosion.”

His smile widened. “More like a baking disaster.”

I blinked again, and then it hit me. “You were baking?”

“I was trying to bake.”

The tension snapped, and I burst out laughing. “Are you serious? I thought your apartment was burning down, and you’re in here baking cakes?”

“Not cakes,” he corrected, stepping aside to let me see the mess inside. “Just one cake. And it didn’t exactly go as planned.”

I peeked past him and immediately saw the aftermath—flour covering the counters, a tipped-over mixing bowl, and what looked like a charred baking pan sitting in the sink.

“Oh my God.” I covered my mouth to stifle another laugh.

Damian crossed his arms, pretending to be offended. “Glad you’re enjoying this.”

“I can’t help it. This is hilarious.”

“I’ll have you know I’m actually a good cook,” he said, trying to sound defensive. “Baking’s just…not my thing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

He smirked, then stepped back and gestured toward the couch. “Do you want to come in? I’ll make up for it with something that won’t set off the fire alarm.”

I hesitated for a second before stepping inside. Maybe I could get the answers I was looking for.

Damian’s apartment was nothing like I’d imagined. It had a warm, rustic feel, with deep green walls and shelves packed with books, vinyl records, and plants that gave it a cozy vibe. The hardwood floors gleamed under the soft glow of hanging pendant lights, and the furniture—a mix of modern and vintage pieces—looked inviting.

“Wow,” I said, looking around. “Your place is really nice.”

“Thanks.”

He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two glasses of cranberry juice.

I took one, settling onto the couch. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered before.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, sitting beside me. “This was a one-time disaster.”

“Sure it was.” I smirked, but the humor faded as the tension from yesterday returned.

I set my glass down. “So…”

Damian must have sensed it too because he cut me off. “You’re wondering about what I said yesterday.”

“Wow is it that obvious.”

“When you look like that yeah it is that obvious”

“What do you mean with how I look?”

“Nothing I just meant that you look really lost in thought”

“Well are you going to explain why you said that.”

“Are you that eager to know?”

“Yes.” I leaned closer. “I was up all night thinking about it.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, but I’m not talking about it. You need to ask Jungkook.”

I sat back, frustrated. “Are you serious? Why would you even bring it up if you weren’t going to explain?”

“Because I was angry when I saw him and it just slipped.”

“Seriously”

“I know it sounds stupid but—“

“Yeah it does, why the hell were you angry do you know him or what?”

“I—“

“Be honest I’ve honestly had enough of being in the dark.”

He hesitated. “Well it’s because—”

“Because what?”

“Because I don’t trust him,” Damian finally admitted. “And I don’t think you should either.”

“Then why can’t you just tell me why?”

“Because I can’t.”

I shook my head and stood up, there was no point of entertaining him any longer. If he wasn’t going to tell me the truth I would just be wasting my time sitting here. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be leaving now.”

“AJ—”

I paused at the sound of my name coming out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

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

The weight of the day pressed down on me as I stepped into my apartment and shut the door behind me. I leaned against it for a moment, letting my head rest against the wood as I exhaled slowly.

I pushed myself off the door and tossed my phone onto the kitchen counter, trying to shake off the frustration bubbling inside me. My eyes landed on my laptop, sitting closed on the small desk in the corner of my living room. I figured burying myself in work might distract me from the emotional storm swirling in my head.

I walked over, flipping the lid open and waiting as the screen came to life. The faint hum of the fan filled the quiet apartment, grounding me just enough to focus.

I checked my inbox, scrolling through the usual pile of spam and newsletters I hadn’t bothered to unsubscribe from, until my eyes landed on an email from the manufacturing team.

The subject line read: “Production Update: Exciting Progress on Your Design"

My heart skipped a beat as I clicked it open, the words practically jumping off the screen.

Dear Miss Banks,

We wanted to take a moment to update you on the progress of the prototype. After a productive session today, the team is thrilled with how well the early stages of assembly are coming together. Your designs have translated beautifully into real components, and we’re all genuinely excited to see how the final product turns out.

We’ve scheduled additional sessions over the next two weeks to ensure we stay on track. The parts for the interior design have already begun production, and we’re finalising the custom fittings that you so carefully planned out.

We’d also like to extend an invitation for you to be present at key checkpoints throughout the process. Seeing your designs come to life in person has been an inspiration to the team, and we know your feedback will help ensure everything meets your vision.

Feel free to reach out anytime with thoughts, suggestions, or concerns. We’re here to make sure this is as close to perfect as possible. Thank you for trusting us with your work. We won’t let you down.

Best regards,

The Manufacturing Team

I sat back in my chair, staring at the screen as a mix of emotions flooded through me. Pride. Excitement. Anxiety. My designs were actually coming to life.

Not just sketches on paper. Not just concepts floating around in my head. Real, tangible pieces of a car that people would touch, admire, and—hopefully—love.

I let out a shaky breath, the corners of my lips tugging into a smile despite the tangled mess of feelings I’d been wrestling with all day.

I reread the email, soaking in every word, and then leaned forward to type out a quick reply.

Dear Manufacturing Team,

Thank you so much for the update! I’m thrilled to hear that everything is coming together so well. I can’t tell you how much it means to know that my vision is in such capable hands.

I’d absolutely love to be present for the key checkpoints you mentioned, and will be present for today’s session. I’m looking forward to seeing the next steps unfold. Thank you all again for your hard work and dedication.

Best of wishes,

AJ Banks

I hit send and leaned back in my chair, letting the satisfaction of progress settle in my chest. I set the phone down, staring at the screen as the words blurred together.

Everything I’d worked for was finally happening. My career was taking off. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was standing on unstable ground, one wrong move away from everything crumbling beneath me.

I reached for the glass of water I’d left on the coffee table, taking a slow sip as I tried to push Jungkook out of my head. I’d go back to the company. I’d focus on my work and keep my distance from Jungkook.

No more getting caught up in his games. No more letting his mixed signals mess with my head. I had bigger things to focus on now. At least, that’s what I told myself as I lay down on the couch and closed my eyes.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. Not when Jungkook had already gotten under my skin in ways I didn’t want to admit.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur until I arrived at the design company.

The receptionist, the same one I’d met during my first visit here, greeted me with a bright smile as soon as I walked through the front doors of the manufacturing facility.

“You must be here to oversee the manufacturing process,” she said, her tone warm and professional.

I returned her smile, even as my nerves churned in the pit of my stomach. “That’s right. I just wanted to make sure everything’s going smoothly.”

“Of course! We’ve all been excited to start working on your designs.” She stood, gesturing for me to follow. “Come with me—I’ll take you straight to the workshop.”

I trailed behind her, clutching my bag tightly as we walked down the long, sterile hallway. The faint hum of machinery grew louder with each step, and I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of impression I was about to make. This wasn’t just about proving myself anymore—it was about showing that I belonged here, that I deserved this opportunity despite all the doubts Jungkook and others had thrown at me.

When we reached the door to the workshop, the receptionist paused and turned to me.

“They’re expecting you,” she said. “You can go right in. Good luck!”

I nodded, offering another polite smile as she walked away. But as soon as I turned back to the door, my nerves spiked. What if they didn’t like my designs after all? What if there was some mistake or flaw I’d overlooked?

No. I shook off the doubts, inhaled deeply, and pushed the door open.

Inside, the room buzzed with activity. Several engineers and technicians hovered over workstations, blueprints pinned up on boards, and parts laid out on long metal tables. The smell of metal, oil, and fresh paint filled the air, grounding me in the reality of it all.

The conversations hushed when I stepped inside, and every pair of eyes turned toward me.

I swallowed hard but forced myself to smile. “Hi, everyone.”

A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a grease-streaked uniform stepped forward, extending his hand.

“You must be AJ,” he said, his grip firm but welcoming. “I’m Greg, the lead engineer here. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, relieved by his friendly tone. “I’m really excited to see the process up close.”

“And we’re excited to show you.” He gestured toward the others, who began to gather around. “This is the team that’ll be bringing your designs to life. Everyone, introduce yourselves.”

One by one, they stepped forward—a mix of men and women of different ages and backgrounds. There was Clara, the detail-oriented machinist who specialized in precision cutting; Luis, the soft-spoken fabricator with years of experience in metalwork; and Emma, the bubbly assembly technician who immediately started asking questions about my design inspirations.

“So,” Emma said, her eyes bright with curiosity, “how’d you even come up with something like this? It’s not every day we get a design that feels this…bold.”

I smiled, feeling a bit more at ease as the group leaned in, genuinely interested. “Honestly? It started as a sketch I made in college. I was always obsessed with aerodynamics and futuristic lines, so I wanted to create something that looked like it was already moving, even when it was standing still.”

“I can definitely see that,” Greg said, nodding approvingly. “It’s sleek, aggressive—exactly what a high-performance car should be.”

“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks warming at the praise.

“But,” Clara added, her expression shifting to something more serious, “I’ll admit I was a little worried when I saw some of the curves and angles in the design. Those kinds of shapes aren’t easy to produce, especially not on this scale.”

I nodded, grateful for her honesty. “I get it. That’s actually one of the things I wanted to check in on. If there are any areas that seem too complicated, I’m more than willing to tweak the design to make things easier for production.”

Clara exchanged a look with Greg, who stepped in.

“We’ve already done some test runs with the materials, and so far, we haven’t hit any major snags,” he said. “There are a few sections we’ll need to weld in stages instead of all at once, but that’s manageable. It just means we’ll need to take extra care during assembly.”

“That’s a relief,” I said, exhaling slowly. “I was worried it might be too complicated.”

“It’s ambitious,” Luis chimed in, “but that’s a good thing. We like a challenge.”

The others murmured in agreement, and for the first time all morning, I felt the tension in my chest start to loosen.

“So,” Emma said, her grin returning, “how’s it feel to see your work finally being built?”

“Honestly?” I laughed. “Terrifying—but also amazing.”

“It should feel amazing,” Greg said. “This isn’t just another project for us. It’s something different, something people are going to notice. And we’re honoured to be part of it.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, and I had to blink a few times to keep my emotions in check.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “I mean it. I couldn’t ask for a better team to make this happen.”

The group broke into smiles, and for a moment, it felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

But then I was met with the uneasy feeling of eyes burning into the side of my face.

I turned ever so slightly to my right to see the source of my unease, hoping it would go away. But what I didn’t expect was that my eyes would be met with the same ones that had looked at me so intently just yesterday. It was Jungkook. And he wasn’t alone.

He stood near the back of the workshop, leaning casually against a table with one arm draped around the blonde woman I’d seen before.

She was practically glued to his side, her fingers tracing patterns along his chest as she whispered something in his ear. He didn’t respond, but his gaze was locked on me—unreadable.

I forced myself to look away, pretending not to notice as I focused back on Greg and the others.

“Do you want us to walk you through the schedule?” Greg asked, pulling me back to the conversation.

“Yes, please.”

For the next twenty minutes, they explained the entire manufacturing process in painstaking detail—from cutting the raw materials and shaping the panels to assembling the chassis and installing the engine. I asked questions where I could, jotting down notes in my sketchbook and occasionally sneaking glances at Jungkook.

Every time I did, he was still watching me.

And so was she.

By the time the team called for a break, I was more than ready to escape the workshop.

“Want to grab some food with us?” Emma asked as the others started to file out.

I nodded quickly, grateful for the distraction. “Definitely.”

We made our way to the canteen, where trays of steaming food were laid out buffet-style. The options ranged from pasta and grilled chicken to fresh salads and soups. Everything smelled amazing, and for the first time all day, my appetite kicked in.

As we filled our trays and sat down together, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

But then my phone buzzed.

Jungkook: Room B4.

I stared at the screen, my stomach sinking.

I ignored it not wanting to entertain him any further.

But it seemed as if he anticipated my response because a minute later another text came through.

Jungkook: Don’t make me ask again.

I set my fork down, my appetite vanishing as frustration bubbled up inside me.

“I’m going to take a quick bathroom break,” I told the team, standing quickly. “I’ll be back soon.”

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

As I walked down the hall toward Room B4, I tried to push down the nerves twisting in my gut. Whatever Jungkook wanted, it wasn’t going to end well.

And deep down, I already knew it.

I stood outside the room, my hand hovering over the doorknob as a thousand thoughts ran through my head. Why had he lied about leaving the country? And what did he want from me now?

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and pushed the door open.

Jungkook was standing near the window, his broad back facing me. His posture was tense, and even though he wasn’t looking at me, I could feel the weight of his presence filling the room.

I closed the door softly behind me, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent space.

“What do you want, Jungkook?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady even though my heart was pounding.

He didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, he stayed where he was, staring out the window like he was avoiding something—me.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally, his voice low but sharp.

I blinked, momentarily thrown off by his tone. “Excuse me?”

Now he turned, and the intensity in his eyes made me take a small step back. “I said you shouldn’t be here,” he repeated, slower this time but no less firm.

I crossed my arms, refusing to let him intimidate me. “I designed this car, Jungkook. I was invited to oversee the manufacturing process. So why exactly shouldn’t I be here?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to dodge the question. But then he stepped closer, closing the distance between us in an instant.

"You need to remind yourself of your place," Jungkook said, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

I blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in tone. "My place?" I repeated, my voice trembling with disbelief.

He smirked, though there was no humor in it. "Yes. You’re my designer. Nothing more, nothing less. And I think it’s time you start acting like it. Stick to doing what you're told—be the obedient little girl that you are—and maybe you’ll actually make it through this without making a mess of things.”

I stared at him, the words sinking in like ice through my veins. Obedient little girl? Who the hell did he think he was talking to?

Anger flared up inside me, burning through the initial shock. I took a step closer, tilting my chin up so I could meet his gaze head-on.

"You think you can talk to me like that?" I hissed, my voice shaking now—not with fear, but with fury. "You think you can stand there and belittle me after everything I’ve done to get here?"

He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. "I think you need to stop letting your emotions get the better of you before you lose sight of why you’re here in the first place."

"No," I snapped. "You don’t get to decide that for me. I worked my ass off to get to this point, Jungkook! I spent years pouring my heart into my designs, building a name for myself in an industry that constantly told me I wasn’t good enough. And now I’m finally here—and I’ll be damned if I let you of all people make me feel like I don’t deserve it."

His eyes narrowed, but I could see something flicker behind them—hesitation, maybe even guilt. Still, his tone remained cold. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before stepping even closer.

"It’s about knowing when to stay in your lane, because right now you’re heading out of bounds." he said, his voice low and intense.

"Out of bounds?" I echoed, my voice rising again. "Why is it so odd for me to want to understand why the hell the person who hired me is suddenly treating me like I don’t belong here?"

"You don’t need to understand," he snapped.

"I do if it affects me!" I shot back. "You can’t pull me into your world and then act like I’m a nuisance when I’m just trying to do my job. You don’t get to control how this works, Jungkook. Not with me."

His eyes darkened, and for a second, I thought he might actually yell. But instead, he straightened, his expression turning colder.

"Go back to work," he said, turning away. "And next time? Think twice before showing up here without my permission."

His words stung, but I refused to let him see it. Instead, I straightened my shoulders and walked out, slamming the door behind me.

And yet, as I stood in the hallway, trying to catch my breath, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Jungkook’s warning than he was letting on.

Next

[bloody-bee-tea]

You're welcome here

Hitoshi stares at the ceiling. The mattress underneath him is firm in a way that makes him think not many people have slept on it yet and that alone makes his eyes burn with tears.

He's used to lumpy mattresses, sometimes even mouldy ones; ones that have been around for almost as long as he is old and to be allowed to lay on one that's clearly new—or at least newer—makes him feel all choked up.

It's been like that ever since Hitoshi showed up to training with a black eye and bruised ribs. Aizawa had taken one look at him and whisked him away to recovery girl before he called a detective and then Hitoshi's case worker and it was all done with so much care that Hitoshi feels like crying just remembering it.

Aizawa took him home after the detective was done with him, introduced him to Present Mic as Yamada, as his husband, and then showed him to his room. A room that was all made up and ready and either Aizawa and Yamada have enough guests to warrant a fully made up guest room or—or they were waiting for him.

Aizawa had mentioned that he has had his suspicions in the past, had let it slip that he made sure his foster license was up to date almost as soon as he learned that Hitoshi was in foster care and it makes something warm and soft unfurl in Hitoshi's chest.

He's not sure of his place here yet, things are still being processed and paperwork is slow, even for pro heroes, and he didn't have much chance to interact with Yamada outside of school, outside of his Present Mic persona but Hitoshi finds himself thinking that maybe staying here wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe this could be a home for him.

Hitoshi allows himself to daydream about that for a moment, before he notices the sounds coming from the kitchen. Aizawa mentioned that Yamada does most of the cooking, citing he's too annoyed to do it himself, and maybe this can be a way to get to know Yamada better?

If he goes out there and offers his help, instead of slinking around the house and waiting for a punishment that's not about to come, it could be a good starting point, Hitoshi thinks, and pushes himself off the bed.

He still hesitates in his doorway, can't stop himself from scanning the hallways, as if Aizawa is laying in wait for him, ready to strike, even with no provocation and it's a hard thought to shake off even though Aizawa has been nothing but kind to him.

But of course he's not there, and after a tense moment Hitoshi forces himself to move. His steps are silent, years of having to mask his presence as best as he can kicking in and even though Aizawa told him it would come in handy for his hero work, Hitoshi can't help but to dwell on the fact on how fucked up it is.

How fucked up his childhood has been.

It's not a thought he allows himself often, because it's not as if he could change it in the past, it's not as if giving in to despair or even anger would have changed anything about his situation but it's surprising to see how quickly all of it crumbles after three days in a home where no one raised a hand at him.

Hell, Aizawa and Yamada didn't even so much as raise their voices at him, or tell him to shut up and it's all still so novel that Hitoshi has a hard time believing he could get this lucky.

But maybe, just maybe, he suffered enough to deserve a break now.

Hitoshi takes a deep breath, tries to center himself, before he walks into the kitchen, ready to make this a real home, by offering to participate with the chores, rather than being told to shoulder all of them.

He expected to find Yamada hard at work, moving around the kitchen, maybe even singing to the music that was playing from somewhere but what he finds is Yamada frozen at the counter, knife in his hand, but unmoving and staring off into space.

Hitoshi gives him a moment to notice his presence but when it becomes abundantly clear that he won't, Hitoshi clears his throat.

"Yamada? I was wondering if there's anything I can help with?" Hitoshi asks, careful to not startle Yamada too badly but it clearly was a futile endeavour because Yamada startles badly enough to drop the knife.

And then it feels as if someone ripped the floor right out from under Hitoshi's feet because Yamada whirls around, fear in his eyes and his hand tightly clasped over his mouth.

Hitoshi stumbles back because he knows what it looks like when people are afraid of him and this is so much worse and then he whirls around and flees.

He closes his door with shaking hands, but he's still careful to not slam it, because he nees to be quiet, quiet, and then he sinks to the floor when his legs no longer want to carry his weight. His eyes burn with tears again, but this time there's no accompanying warm, soft feeling, it's all horror and fear and desperation and beneath it all the ever present of course.

Of course it was too good to be true. Of course by now Hitoshi should know better than to hope for anything. Of course he's not going to get a break. Of course he's not welcome.

Of course he doesn't deserve a home.

Hitoshi knows that the look of abject terror in Yamada's eyes will haunt him in his dreams for months to come and he bites his lips in an effort not to sob.

He should have known; Aizawa might have brought him into this house, but it's now abundantly clear that he never cleared that with Yamada and now it makes sense why Hitoshi had seen so little of the other man for the past few days.

Yamada had been avoiding him because Hitoshi is not welcome and now he ruined everything.

"Shinsou?"

Hitoshi startles badly when Yamada's shaky voice comes through the door and he scoots away from it, as if some physical distance could put Yamada at ease, could make what comes next hurt less.

He didn't lock his door, Hitoshi remembers with a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he braces himself for when Yamada barges in, eyes burning with anger, fists raised and maybe even with his quirk at the ready.

Hitoshi has always found Yamada's quirk just as fascinating as Aizawa's and he's read up on it. And even though no one dared to quite put it into writing, Hitoshi knows his mechanics and his acoustics. He knows what vibrations and sound can do and he wonders if Yamada will deafen him as punishment, or if something worse is in his future.

It's probably something worse, knowing Hitoshi's luck.

He gets yanked out of his thoughts when there's a knock on his door and Hitoshi wonders for how long he spaced out if Aizawa is already back.

"Shinsou? I'm sorry, I—can you come out so we can talk?" Yamada's voice reaches him and Hitoshi frowns.

Why wouldn't he just come in and punish Hitoshi already?

There's an awfully long silence before Hitoshi hears Yamada sigh.

"Alright, I understand. I'm in the kitchen, okay, so when you're ready, please, just—let's talk."

Hitoshi hears him shuffle off, and he's beyond confused because Yamada didn't even try to come into his room, he didn't yell, he didn't even threaten Hitoshi.

But his confusion is overwritten by the image seared into his brain, Yamada's hand going white he's clutching his mouth shut so desperately and Hitoshi takes his phone out with shaky hands.

I need you to come pick me up, he types out to his case worker and he stares at the phone until three dots pop up.

I thought this was a good home?

Hitoshi bites back some tears, because he thought so too, but it's not the first time he was mistaken.

I can't stay here. Please.

I'll be there in half an hour.

Half an hour. Okay, Hitoshi can deal for that long. He gives himself five minutes to just breathe, until his hands no longer shake and his legs feel steady enough to carry his weight again and then he gets to packing.

Aizawa and Yamada promised him to go shopping sometime next week, to fill up his wardrobe and get whatever else he wants for his room, but now Hitoshi is glad they didn't get to that yet. Makes it easier to pack his life away again, he bitterly thinks, as he stashes his meagre belongings into the duffle bag he came with.

But having so few things means he's done not even five minutes later and that leaves Hitoshi with way too much time left, so he gingerly sits on the bed and tries to just breathe.

Yamada doesn't try to talk to him again, but at one point Hitoshi hears the front door and then the indistinct murmur of a conversation between Aizawa and Yamada and Hitoshi half fears that Aizawa will be at his door only moments later but he's saved by the ringing of the doorbell.

It's ten minutes earlier than his case worker said it would be but Hitoshi thinks she might have thought him to be in danger. He'll have to apologise to her later. Hitoshi picks up his duffle bag and carefully makes his way out of his room, half expecting an ambush at any time.

"Okuda-san? What are you doing here?" he hears Aizawa ask from the door and Hitoshi moves past the entrance of the kitchen, pressed to the opposite side of the hallway.

"She's here for me," Hitoshi says, and Aizawa's head flies around to him, his eyes almost immediately falling onto the duffle bag clutched in his hand.

"What's going on?" Aizawa wants to know and his eyes move past Hitoshi, clearly searching out Yamada.

Knowing the other man is in his back has Hitoshi shrinking in on himself, as if he has to protect himself from a punch and the frown on Aiazwa's face only gets more pronounced.

"Shinsou," Yamada starts with a shaky voice and Hitoshi ducks his head.

"I'm ready to go, Okuda-san," he mutters, shuffling past Aizawa who seems frozen in shock.

"What is going on, Shinsou?" Okuda asks him, slightly angled away from Aizawa in a futile bit to make it seem as if they have some privacy but Hitoshi only shrugs.

"Can we just go?"

"Not until I understand what's going on here," Okuda gently but firmly tells him. "It seems as if your guardians have no idea either?"

"It doesn't matter," Hitoshi furiously whispers. "I'm not welcome here, so why does it matter if they know something or not?"

"Not welcome?" Aizawa parrots and he sounds as caught off guard as Hitoshi has ever heard him. "Hitoshi, what the hell happened?"

"It's my fault," Yamada speaks up and Hitoshi tries to make himself look smaller, even as he firmly keeps his mouth shut. "It's my fault and I didn't get to explain yet."

"There's no reason to explain, Yamada-san. I understand," Hitoshi says, because Yamada is hardly the first person to be terrified of him.

He guess he can count himself lucky that Yamada didn't immediately try to lash out at him.

"Do you? Do you understand that my reaction had nothing to do with you and everything with me being terribly afraid of getting punished for speaking?" Yamada shoots back and now that brings Hitoshi up short.

"Ah," Aizawa breathes out and then turns towards Okuda. "Okuda-san, why don't we treat this as an unannounced home inspection and I'll show you to Shinsou's room?"

Okuda hesitates for a moment, looking between Hitoshi and Yamada before she nods at Aizawa.

"Sure, lead the way," she says and then she simply leaves Hitoshi alone with Yamada.

"Would you—come here?" Yamada asks and nods towards the kitchen.

It's not as if Hitoshi has a lot of choices, so he gives a jerky nod and then only walks past the threshold before he stops again. Yamada moved to the far end of the kitchen and going by the look on his face Hitoshi can tell that he's not too happy but he doesn't comment on it.

Hitoshi takes a moment to regard the kitchen and he's surprised to see that Yamada didn't actually finish preparing dinner and he wonders just how scared Yamada really is.

"My reaction had nothing to do with you," Yamada starts with, again, and it still makes no sense to Hitoshi.

"Yeah, sure," Hitoshi unconvincingly says and Yamada's lips briefly twitch up in a smile.

"I know we didn't have much time to talk yet, which is my fault, because I wanted to give you time to settle in and get used to a new environment before you also had to deal with a new person, but part of it was because I was afraid."

"Of me," Hitoshi says with a nod because what else could it be but Yamada shakes his head.

"No, not of you," he denies. "I don't know if Shouta mentioned this to you but we were given copies of your files. The ones from CPS but also from the police."

So Yamada knows exactly what kind of abuse Hitoshi went through in his life, that's just great. Wonderful.

"And there was—in your file—" Yamada brokenly gets out and his eyes go distant again as he lifts a hand to trail over the bridge of his nose in a move that is so painfully familiar it's a wonder it still takes Hitoshi a moment to place it.

"A muzzle," he breathes out and Yamada flinches before he forces a smile on his face.

"I was in foster care, too. Until I was eight," he says and Hitoshi gets it. He gets it.

"You were muzzled as well."

"Muzzled, silenced, beaten—I think you could copy your file directly onto mine," he tries to joke but it falls flat. "I thought I was over it; it's been so long and I've been through therapy and all that good stuff," he says as he waves a hand. "But having to read that you went through the same shit I had to, it just—"

"It brought everything back," Hitoshi mutters and he thinks he starts to understand now.

"I was having a flashback when you came into the kitchen. I wasn't afraid of you; I wasn't even thinking clearly enough to recognise you. I was seven again, with my worst family yet, and I was so deathly afraid to even accidentally make a sound that I mostly tried to clamp my own mouth shut so that they wouldn't have to bring out the muzzle again. Or worse."

"I—I'm sorry," Hitoshi whispers, not quite sure what he's supposed to say because he's never met anyone who went through the same shit he did and it's not actually easier because he knows what Yamada had to endure.

Maybe it all makes it harder.

"You don't have to be sorry, Shinsou. I'm just saying that so you understand that this has nothing to do with you. I'm not afraid of you. And you are welcome here. I'm sorry you thought you weren't. That's my fault, because I wanted to give you some space and because I was so caught up in my mind, but of course you are welcome here."

Hitoshi can barely believe that last part and it must show on his face because Yamada huffs out a laugh.

"You think Shouta would have remembered to update his foster license to include high-risk kids? You think he has enough energy to furnish or decorate a room? I love him, but he's not about that life. If he had his way we'd have a mini-fridge, two phone chargers and a sleeping bag each and that's it."

"I resent that statement," Aizawa says as he walks into the kitchen, brushing his shoulder against Hitoshi's as he walks past. "Everything okay here?"

Yamada doesn't say anything and just looks at Hitoshi, who feels horribly put on the spot.

"Where's Okuda?" he asks to give himself some time to process everything Yamada just said

"Writing up the report about the home visit," Aizawa says. "She's borrowing your desk."

"I see," Hitoshi whispers and then doesn't know what else to say so he stares at the ground as silence settles over the kitchen until Aizawa sighs.

"Hitoshi, do you want to stay?"

It's blunt and direct, in that way Aizawa has and Hitoshi ducks his head.

"It'll make things harder for Yamada, right?" he wants to know, because it doesn't matter what he wants if his mere presence makes one of his guardians uncomfortable, no matter the reason why.

"No," Yamada says. "Sure, it's not easy to know what you went through, and for how long, but having you here reassures me, because nothing can happen to you here. We would never let you get hurt like that again."

"But—you just said you had a flashback because of me!"

"I have flashbacks because the system is shit, and CPS can't do their job to save their miserable lives and because voice-based quirks are being discriminated against. Yes, your file brought my own trauma back, but ask Shou here, I have flashbacks like twice a year, still. I still can't have someone touch my neck, I still can't have something covering my mouth. That's just how it is, and I've learned to live with that. You're not at fault for any of that."

Hitoshi mulls that over for a moment because he knows what he wants to say to Aizawa's question, but he can't, not if it means Yamada will suffer because of it.

"Do you want me to stay?" he weakly asks and watches how Aizawa and Yamada share a look.

"That's not fair, Shou asked you first," Yamada finally says and now that's just mean.

"I—I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Hitoshi finally admits and watches how Yamada's face goes soft.

"You're not supposed to do anything. Just tell us the truth. Do you want to stay with us, yes or no?"

Hitoshi desperately tries to blink away some tears because how can anyone ever think that is a real choice before he chokes out "Yes, but not—"

"Alright," Yamada cuts him off and then comes up to him with the clear intention of pulling him into a hug.

Hitoshi has been training with Aizawa for long enough to be able to duck out of it should he want to but he stays frozen to the spot until Yamada's arms come up around him, softly pulling him into an embrace.

"We want you to stay, too," he softly whispers then and Hitoshi allows himself to lean into him.

"Even though I cause you pain?"

"You're not causing me pain, kiddo," Yamada replies and there was no hesitation in his answer and it doesn't sound like a lie, despite everything.

"I guess I'm not taking you with me today," Okuda suddenly says from the doorway where she's stashing away some papers. "Yamada-san, Aizawa-san, it was good meeting you again. Expect me to be by in the next two months, that room is horribly bare."

"Shopping is on the agenda for Saturday," Aizawa informs her and it pulls a smile out of Hitoshi.

"We're still doing that then?" he asks and Yamada makes an affronted noise.

"Kiddo, your entire possessions fit into that horrible duffle bag of yours, that's just not acceptable. I know you're like a carbon copy of teenage-Shou, but he didn't get away with his minimalism and neither will you."

It should probably sound like a threat, but it only warms Hitoshi down to the bones, even as he untangles himself from Yamada.

"Okay," he softly agrees and leans into Yamada's hand when it comes up to ruffle his hair.

"Shinsou, remember, you can always contact me, but maybe next time give your guardians time to explain things, mh?" Okuda gently reprimands him and Hitoshi can feel himself flush in embarrassment, because he realises he might have jumped to conclusions all on his own.

"I will," he promises, as much to her as to Aizawa and Yamada and just like that it's only the three of them again.

"Are you good?" Aizawa asks, his entire attention fixed on Hitoshi and it used to be too much, when Hitoshi was still trying to hide things from him, but now it almost feels comfortable.

"I am," he answers honestly and then turns to Yamada. "I'm sorry I didn't let you explain. I'm so used to people being afraid of me that it didn't even occur to me that you could have other reasons."

"And that is perfectly understandable. I should have tried to talk to you about this before, or be more insistent on you letting me explain. But, no harm done, right?"

He ruffles Hitoshi's hair again and it makes Hitoshi feel like a little kid. He should hate it, but he has to admit that he might love it.

"Is there something I can still help you with?" he asks as he leans around Yamada, staring at the mess in the kitchen but Aizawa shakes his head.

"Absolutely not, we're getting take-out today. You two, living-room, do some bonding or whatever and leave this mess to me," he decides, pushing up his sleeves and Yamada laughs.

"Alright, alright, message received," he chuckles and pushes Hitoshi towards the living-room before he leans closer to Hitoshi. "That's his way of admitting he might have fucked up in letting me give you space and now he's trying to correct it."

"Lies and slander!" Aizawa shouts from the kitchen. "Because I don't care!"

"Sure, you don't," Yamada shouts back. "I love you, too!"

Hitoshi hears Aizawa grumble in the kitchen, but there's no underlying anger in his tone and Yamada only chuckles again, clearly not concerned in the slightest.

"But he's right. I gave you too much space, so let's correct that now, okay?"

"Bonding?"

"Bonding," Yamada decisively says and then grins at Hitoshi. "How about you tell me about that book you were oh so stealthily reading under your table last week?" he then asks and Hitoshi flushes a brilliant red.

"I—"

"It must have been a real attention catcher if it managed to be more interesting than my lesson," Yamada says with a wink as he pushes Hitoshi down on the couch.

"The book is written in English!" Hitoshi blurts out and now that seems to surprise Yamada though the glint in his eyes only gets more pronounced.

"Oh? Tell me everything," he says and Hitoshi feels stupid and he stutters through the first five minutes but he does.

By the time Aizawa brings their take-out to them they are in an animated discussion, most of it in English and the house already feels more like a home than anywhere else Hitoshi has ever lived.

It seems as if for once, he should get lucky.

[blossom-hwa]

manège | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x gender neutral!reader genre:  fluff, a little angst and comfort, ballet dancer!taehyun and pianist!reader warnings: n/a word count: 1.4k notes: — this pairing's been on my mind for a good year or so, so I'm very happy to have finally written something for them :) please note that I've only been doing ballet for a couple years now, so if I've used any terms incorrectly, I'm very sorry! — for some clarification, mc and taehyun go to an arts school, and mc volunteers as one of the pianists for the ballet studio Taehyun finds his way back to you, again.  

TXT Masterlist

manège: a classical ballet term for “circular,” which describes a series of steps done in a circular pattern around the stage

. . . . .

"...Taehyun?"

The question of his name is quiet enough that if he hadn't noticed the opening of the door in the corner of the mirror, he would have missed it. As it stands, his mind barely processes your voice emerging from behind the door, and it takes a moment to shake off the double tours and pirouettes before he can even recognize the face appearing in the mirror. He blinks sweat away from his eyes. "Y/N?"

"It's late," you say, stepping into the empty studio. "You're still practicing?"

As one, you both look at the clock hanging on the wall. It's long past eight, when Taehyun initially told himself he'd stop—long past nine, even.

Suddenly all of the exhaustion of the day seems to hit him at once. His muscles ache, sweat keeps dripping down his face no matter how much he wipes away, and there's a small but consistent flare of pain in his calf that he should really stop and massage out. Really, he wants nothing more than to just sit down against the wall, or maybe even flop onto the floor and stare at the ceiling while seeing nothing at all. He's been here since eight in the morning and his body clearly knows it.

"Yeah," is all he says in lieu of articulating all of this, though, because his throat feels gravelly and words are hard. "What are you doing here?" he asks instead. It's at least as fair of a question for you as yours was for him.

"I had class," you say. Taehyun takes in your leggings, the loose T-shirt almost covering your shorts, and remembers yes, there was a lower-level class held almost immediately after you got off your shift. "I stayed after to practice."

He frowns. "For almost five hours?" You were playing the piano for his company class until it ended at three. Your adult beginner class ends at four thirty, and it's past nine.

"Not ballet." You shift the weight of several books in your arms, and only then does Taehyun see their worn paper bindings, the music markings on the covers, and remember that people practice things besides dance. "Evaluations coming up. There was a free piano in one of the empty studios."

Ah. Taehyun nods. And then the room falls into silence again, broken only by the sounds of your breathing.

"So." You walk to the empty piano in the room, placing your books on the top before looking at him expectantly. "What are you working on?"

It takes him a moment to register your words, to understand that you're not telling him to leave or go home or get some rest. All of which he should do, but the looming specter of the showcase next week won't let him. "You're not going to tell me to go home and rest?" he asks regardless, and even though his throat squeaks a bit after spending so many hours in silence, you don't laugh. Not at that, anyway.

"Well, would you have gone home if I'd said you should?" you reply, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head and a smile curves his lips when you give a little laugh. "See?"

"Point taken," he says, and when you laugh again he laughs too. "Grand Pas Classique," he answers your original question. "For the showcase. Next week."

Your mouth parts in a little 'o'. "This one?" you ask, playing out a short melody. He nods. "Can I see?"

He should. He shouldn't. He at once wants to but doesn't, wants to let the melody sing in his blood as he double tours and entrechats around the room, spinning and leaping across the floor, but he also knows that you're here. And if Taehyun is his own harshest critic, he becomes even harsher when someone else is in the room.

You look at him, though, and he looks at you, and he knows that you see him for himself. See the sweaty hair matted into clumps, see the muscles aching behind his skin, see the work put into every effortlessly pointed toe and graceful finger as he takes his beginning position in front of the mirror. And when the music begins to play, the melody spilling into his ears and then into his blood, he looks into the mirror and smiles not because he has to, but because your watchful eyes will never hold judgment. Will never hold disappointment. Will only ever see him, see Taehyun Kang the person and not Taehyun Kang the dancer, and will cherish him for it.

When he's done, the applause of one person cuts through the labored silence of his breathing, and it's enough to keep the smile on his face, to let his muscles finally relax, to wipe the sweat from his brow and sit down. Or—not really. He's still a little too wired to sit, but he leans against the wall of the studio and gestures to where you sit at the piano like it's the most natural position in the world, ready to play but not. "Show me something," he says when he has enough breath to speak. "What are you working on?"

There's a moment when you're flipping through your books, skimming pages filled with music and your careful notes, where Taehyun loses himself, for a moment, in you. When you squint at a few pages, then put the book back on top of the piano, then position yourself at the keys. The preparation—the careful placement of your fingers just as deliberate as his pointed toes and graceful hands—the moment where time holds still, before you give in to the song in your mind and your heart and allow the music to flow through your veins.

It all comes back to you, Taehyun thinks as your fingers waltz and whirl across the keys, dance in enchanting patterns of black and white. From him, to you, back to him and then to you again—in manège, arabesques and jetés leaping about the stage, coming away from the center only to reach it again the way everything always returns to you. Your voice, your music, always there. Always constant. Pulling him back to earth when he threatens to topple over the edge, never once wavering in your strength or patience even when you see the worst parts of him over and over.

He's sitting down by the time you stop playing, fingers gentle yet unyielding against the piano, coaxing a last, wavering echo from its depths before your hands rise, suspended in the air, then fall to your lap. When you look up, the fluorescent studio lights seem to burn your figure into his vision, like the afterimage of a lightning strike behind his eyes. "That was beautiful," he says, and he means it in more ways than one.

And you accept the praise in more ways than one, in the smile on your lips, in the twinkle in your eyes, in the moment where you sit down next to him, back against the wall, and let him lean his sweaty head on your shoulder with no complaint about how gross it must feel. "Thank you," you say, and when you do, the melody racing through his veins finally calms.

It's almost ten, now, the clock still ticking away on the wall. But you make no move to get up and neither does Taehyun, even when you murmur "Home?" in a voice that only makes him lean further into you, even when he makes a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. In the end, it takes nearly twenty minutes for you to finally pat his knee and say get up, Taehyun. And then he disappears to change and wash up and collect his things, and maybe in the shower he can feel himself beginning to fade away again, but then you're standing right outside the locker room and when he slips his hand into yours, he comes back to earth. Manège. Circling you, always. Leaving. Returning. Orbiting. Joining.

Music dancing through his blood and yours, a song that he will always be able to follow back home.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 16 - Show Me Yours

The rogue has a plan.

TW for self sexual coercion (thwarted).

On AO3.

The blanket carries Eleanor’s scent. A little musty from travel, perhaps in need of a wash, but still her beneath all that. Astarion allows that to fill his thoughts. It’s a very basic blanket. The kind one would find in any cheap flophouse. Nothing luxurious about it at all. Yet it’s soft on his bare skin as he climbs the stairs behind his leader, the wood smooth and worn beneath his naked feet.

It’s not the first time he’s followed a mark up the stairs. Usually, though, he’s in the lead. Usually—but not always—he’s clothed. Occasionally in the process of losing said clothing as he goes, as he’s snatched and grabbed and fumbled.

It happened so quickly. A snap of the fingers and he wasn’t in control of his own body again, a thing to be displayed at the whims of someone more powerful—

“I think it’s this one?” Eleanor says.

She doesn’t reach for him. Walks quietly. Subdued, even. It digs under his skin and skitters along underneath.

Not the script. Not her role.

His jaw aches. He unclenches his teeth.

The room is bare, save for the single table and decrepit wardrobe nearly collapsing in on itself. The bed is barely any better. An errant bounce might finally be its death knell. But the mattress itself looks freshly stuffed and the linens don’t smell soiled. There’s no trace of vermin.

An improvement from many beds he’s led someone to.

At least the stripping will be easy, this time. Drop the blanket and he’s ready.

Except…that isn’t why he’s here. This isn’t the Gate. This isn’t a flophouse. And his companion isn’t…well, she is. But also not.

He doesn’t know.

Then he looks to the bed again (laying back cold and drifting far away) but there’s something on it. A pack. His pack.

“It seems our infernal friend won’t be adding robbery to his list of charms,” Astarion says.

Eleanor says nothing. Still holds hate in her eyes. He’s not sure why. She doesn’t usually display her own irritation unless someone does something egregious. But Raphael only told her not to pout. She’s usually above petty insults. This one, however small, seems to have gotten to her. Ah well, they’ve had quite a day. She’s likely tired.

“I still don’t see how nobody takes a bath around here,” she says. Seems intent on scouring the room, as if the solution will drop from the ceiling for her.

There’s no bathing tub in this room. The “inn” probably only has one or two by this point, and it’s in a different room, currently. Empty, if they’re lucky, which he never is.

“We’ll have to summon the staff to fetch one,” he says. Reconsiders. “Except I doubt they have any staff. I suppose we’ll have to go and find it and possibly fill it ourselves.”

His leader makes a thoughtful sound. Side-eyes him.

She’s been doing that. Trying not to let him catch her, poor dear, but clearly watching him.

Well. They’re relatively safe for now. More alone than they’ve been since the Underdark. This is an excellent time to draw her in. Bind her more tightly to him. Especially since his abysmal showing last night.

He lets the blanket slide down one shoulder as he walks over to the bed. Just enough to remind her of what’s underneath. Bends down in a way that he knows accentuates his form as he drags his pack to the edge.

She looks. They always do.

She doesn’t admit it, but he can smell the way her blood changes when she’s aroused, which is more and more whenever he’s near. A kind of musky sweetness on her skin that usually means her body is readying itself.

He stares at her until she glances back. She all but flinches.

“Did you like what you finally saw?” he says. Smirks and straightens slowly, the blanket sliding down another inch. She’s new at this. He needs to move slowly. Coax her in. He pulls the components of his face into a heavy-lidded smile, a puppeteer tugging at the various strings to move his body around to entice her.

“Sorry,” she says.

Still playing coy. Or shy. Until she reminds him she can be strikingly bold.

No matter. This, too, is familiar.

“Don’t be,” he says, padding across the floor towards her. Color rises in her cheeks. “I can’t blame you, you know. Perhaps now that you know what’s on offer…?”

Another slide of the blanket. Enough to show the top of a nipple, and her gaze darts hungrily to it. He saw that in her, when he entered her memories. She rather likes those.

Perhaps she’ll let him play with her own. He’s willing to stake all his ill-gotten gold that she’s been craving it. Her breasts are heavy and warm and so soft the once he tasted them.

That thought is almost enough to pierce the cold numbness flowing down his skin. Almost.

But she takes a step back. Sucks in a gasp.

“No, no,” she says. “That’s not. Um.”

He takes another step, matching her. His proximity excites her. Her body knows what’s on offer, even if the rest of her is still too shy to take him up on it.

“Why else get us alone together?” he says. He’s almost within reaching distance. He could trace along her cheek, slip around the back of her neck, he could draw her in. Even the hesitant ones melt once he gets his lips on them. “All but announcing it to everyone? Quite forward of you, darling. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

She makes an odd face. Something of a frown colors it. “That’s not why. I thought you might want, uh, privacy. After, after all this. Space to yourself. We can get you a bath and I can leave and, y’know, see if Wyll needs any help finding wine.”

She might as well have thrown a knife at him. It hits, skimming along his ribs and drawing a trickle of blood. Too close. Too sharp.

Stripped bare in a ballroom for the guests to take pleasure in him. Eyes on him, hands on him, naked and alone in his own skin trying to go far away in his mind, so far away.

He shoves the tightness in his chest down. Paints on a pout. “Why would I need that? I’ve nothing to hide from you, pet.”

But she stares at him. Stares in a way that makes him fidget. Her eyes are so dark, so piercing. As if she can see through his false smile and empty flattery. As if she can feel the way he squirms inside, trying to claw out of his own flesh.

Through the numb, something burns. Something that turns his tongue sharp. “I’m not some fresh-faced boy in need of coddling, my dear. Look at me; I’m exquisite. You’re all lucky I choose to cover this up lest my beauty drive everyone around me to madness. It’s happened before, you know.”

Too sharp; he needs to slow down. He mustn’t spook her. Mustn’t show this. He’s to be pliable, eager, willing. Always.

Reel her in. Tempt her back to him. This one doesn’t respond to overt seduction. He has to play a different hand.

“I,” he says. Turns his face away. Sighs and runs a hand down his face. “I could use a bit of a distraction, if I’m being honest, darling. It’s been a long day.”

A glance to catch her soften. That’s it. Pity can work in place of lust, though that one tends to sour faster. It’s oddly easier when they’re on him, hungry and demanding. Even when they get rough. Even when it hurts.

Because he knows how it will end. How it always ends. And when they come at him soft and sweet…

“Astarion,” his leader says. Bites her lip.

So close. All she needs to do is take the bait. Stop looking at him like that and take the godsdamned bait. Move in, and he can pull her close, bring his face to her neck. Pretend at comfort and start mouthing at her. Let it turn warmer. Slide his lips lower. Guide her to the bed and detach himself from his body as he lays back and pulls her over him.

Let her pant and moan over him, as they all do. Touch him and take him, as they all do. All he has to do is say the right words, move the right way. He doesn’t have to think. Doesn’t have to feel. He can get on his back and drift off and once it’s over, he can pretend it all away. Do his best to forget it entirely.

All she needs to do is move in and he’ll begin this old dance, the rotten steps so familiar he could do it in a trance.

“Your scars,” she says.

Gods damn it all. She can never do the easy thing. The predictable thing. Always has to jam her thick, clumsy fingers into the threads he works with and knot them to the hells.

He has a plan, by the gods. But every time he thinks her safely confined within it, she does this. She pushes through and mangles it. He hates it. He hates her.

“What about them?” he says, voice smooth, smile still perfectly in place.

He can salvage this. He can.

She’ll want to know about the horror on his back. Some of his marks noticed it, of course. A few asked. Some of them became more interested, more enthusiastic as he described the pain of it. But others, they touched him softly. Spoke to him gently.

Fools. They all died screaming in the end. Every, single one.

Astarion lets his chin fall. Looks at her through the corner of his eye. Lets the smile drop from his lips.

He drops the blanket to his hips and turns. Gives her a full view. Stands in silence as her heartbeat thunders.

He misses holding the scent of that blanket so close—

He’ll tell her of the torture. How he had to keep still. Mention how his screams got too loud and that bastard had to start over again with his needle. He’ll be able to light a tinder with the anger burning off of her by the time he’s done.

Which will sour the mood. But he’s sure he can swing it back again. She likes comforting people. He can show her how much he appreciates her care and concern. How gentle she is with him. How brave she was standing between him and that devil. Make her feel important. Needed. Take her anger, turn that to pity and then to self-righteousness. Then to comfort. And naturally, to pleasure.

He’s learning her patterns.

“Is that something we can remove?” she says before he can do any of that. Before he can breathe in and open his mouth to spin his new web.

“What?” he says.

“Them scars. If you don’t want them? Could Shadowheart or Halsin do something? Get rid of them. Or Gale, maybe.”

Get rid of them. Remove them.

Undo them.

That. That isn’t how this goes. It’s not supposed to…no one says that. How dare she keep doing that.

She’s an alien. Strange and broken and unlearned. A naive fool. She can’t go around and, and ask things like that. As if it were somehow normal. As if it could just occur to her when it hadn’t to anyone else.

(Why hadn’t anyone else ever asked that why does it hurt.)

Somehow, he’s able to keep his voice level. “Oh, I doubt it. We don’t normally scar, you see. Undead flesh just reverts to the way it was. It’s not healing so much as preserving, from what I’ve gathered. But that bastard made sure this stuck. Our devil friend said it was important. It won’t be so easily removed, I’m afraid.”

The thing is, he’s not even sure if it’s true. It comes out of him, and becomes a certainty. Because no one has asked him that before.

She makes that nasally grunt she does when she’s going to complain about Toril. And he wonders, for a moment, if her world would be able to undo it. Erase the scars. Erase all of it. The last two hundred years.

But no. She’s wounded in her own way, and her people couldn’t change that. This Ey-arth is not some miracle realm. She’s simply an idealist. A dreamer.

(Does that mean she dreams for him.)

Seduction. That’s why he’s here (the only reason he’s here, what he was made for). It’s why she’s here. He just needs to remind her. Needs to perform his function. A spawn, a slave, a whore.

He turns back, bare-chested now. And she looks, in spite of herself, because they all look. He let the blanket fall quite low. Enough to show the lines following down along his hips. Enough to remind her of what hangs just out of sight, a scant few inches further down.

She doesn’t ask any more about his scars. How they came to be. Why. And he finds himself glad of it. He doesn’t have to dwell on it, or remember the horrid, hot sting of his flesh slicing apart. Cool, scant drops of his own blood—mostly rat—dripping along his spine and over his sides as he knelt, and how there was such little of it because he was so empty, his skin and tissues so dry already.

He doesn’t have to remember the thin voice sliding in his ears, “Be still, boy.”

Time to steer this errant ship back on course and stop his leader’s horrible questions.

He advances. She looks away, but he reaches out with a finger on her chin and guides her back to facing him.

“Enough of the past,” he says. “I’d rather focus on the present, my sweet.”

She licks her lips. Her pupils are wide, now that he’s close enough to tell. That’s it. He can still secure this, can still finish this night as he ought to.

He leans in close. Angles his lips to hers. They never stop once he touches them. He’ll guide her along to the final act, this time, and she’ll be—

“You wanna see mine?” she blurts right into his mouth.

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Always an Angel, Never the God Pt 5

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Runaway!Reader

Words: 4637

In the real world, you get one chance and that’s it. Maybe, the real world is wrong. Or maybe Hiccup should stop being so annoying.

Tags: Runaway Reader, Angst, bitter reader, suggestive, requited love, healing, conflicting emotions, httyd3

<Previous - Full

It was over.

As he flew away on Toothless, becoming nothing but a pinprick in your periphery before finally disappearing up the cavern entrance, you fell back down onto your knees. 

You weren’t sure what to do anymore. The most important decision of your life was made with his ghost nipping at your heels. Truly, he haunted you. Whether he was with you or not, he always haunted you.

But the dragons here, untouched by the outside world, were kind. And curious. Once the threat was gone and the commotion was over, many came over to examine the newcomers, sniffing and prodding at you and your things.

They were welcoming enough. So you set up shop.

Hiccup laid flat against his bed, staring at the ceiling of his childhood home. He felt torn in every single direction all at once.

He’d left when his people needed him. When his father had needed him. Drago had attacked while he’d been gone, and all that was left of the sanctuary now was rubble. Then he’d gone after Berk. Hiccup had only just gotten there in time.

His father was fine, his mother… alive. After twenty years. Everyone was accounted for, but what if they hadn’t been? If he’d been there, maybe there would have been less damage, less people hurt.

But he wouldn’t have found you if he’d stayed. Finally, after all this time. He'd realized how long it truly had been since you left, lost to him even before you’d actually run off on your… the, nadder.

The floorboards creaked as someone made their way up the stairs to the loft, the front door swinging shut behind him. Hiccup didn’t move, just glancing to the side to see who it was that came to get him this time.

“Astrid,” He sighed. The two of them were distant and had been for a long while, despite the fact that they were supposed to be in a relationship. He’d been off a lot for that whole long while, which she hadn’t much minded as she’d found herself more interested in other things. And… he’d found his heart had a new owner.

“It’s been a month, Hiccup,” She rolled her head back, exhausted, as if reciting a tired script that she’d been reading off for ages, one that no one wanted to listen to anymore,  “Everyone is fine. You don’t have to hole up so often. I don’t know why you did it, but no one is mad you left, you know. You couldn’t have known.”

“Yeah…” Hiccup sighed, “Yeah, I know.”

“You need to get out,” She looked around his room, which was very much a mess of parts and papers, and ran her hand down a large map, laid flat over the only remotely clear space he had, his desk, “if you don’t next thing you know, a month’ll be four.”

“Why are you so obsessed with this place? … Does it have anything to do with the time you spent missing?” Astrid questioned. Hiccup propped himself up, turning over alarmed as he heard the sound of skin on paper. It had been freshly inked.

“No,” He’d guessed at where the two of you had ended up. He was sure that he’d be able to find it again, given the chance. He would. After he worked up the courage.

After all, you’d… You didn’t want to be found.

“Hey, wait, that’s-” He scrambled onto his one leg, kicking aside his prosthetic and jamming his toe in the process.

 “Ah, ow, ow, don’t touch that, please,” Astrid rolled her eyes and tossed the cylinder to his bed and he picked it up, examining it thoroughly as she sauntered off.

You weren’t sure why, but he kept coming back

“Hi,” He said awkwardly, shifting from foot to peg nervously. This was the first time he’d caught you. The first time he’d spotted you was the last but you’d made off that time before he could see you.

“Why are you here?” You stared at him, blank faced. Why didn’t you leave, curse it.

Your dragon waved its tail playful from the side, waiting for Hiccup to go. The other ones wouldn’t come out while he was here.  It felt good in a vindictive sort of way, because dragons had always been this thing, except this time you were the one with the secret dragon knowledge. And the upper hand. Sort of. They didn’t hide from you.

“I like… “ He flushed, “I like hearing you talk?”

“Sure,” You suggested, turning and starting off again, basket under arm and over rock as you began unsteadily making your way back up to home cave. You liked it there because you didn’t have to leave much for anything.

“Wait, wait, wait wait,” Hiccup stuttered. As you had your arms over a particularly steep ledge, your legs waved nonsensically and scrambled against the side as you searched for a foot grip, “Just, uh, let me-”

“Come back tomorrow,” You grunted after you managed to finally get one leg up the side. You’d probably figure out what to say by then.

You felt better here, like maybe you weren’t meant for people. Not for dragons either, not really.  The dragons here didn’t need defending or anything, it’s not like there was anyone down here to defend against besides other dragons. The most you’d had to go out for was food, and even that was made or stolen easily enough.

Being here gave you enough time to make you think that maybe you were meant just for yourself. 

You sat by the spray by the falls, enjoying the mist as it sprayed onto your face and the echoing sounds of the water hitting gray stone. 

“Toothless, come on- Just please, I know you don’t want- but-” Your eyes shot open, the distant voice of Hiccup bounced around the empty cavern, your moment ruined.

You looked around for the pair, trying to figure out which direction you should be running before. Suddenly, it felt like you’d been drenched by a whole lot more than a mist as Toothless landed messily behind you.

“What are you doing here?” You were careful to keep your balance as you shuffled further inland, looking a lot like a drenched cat as you came face-to-face with an also sopping wet Hiccup

You would never be rid of him.

“You said to come back tomorrow?” He asked, twisting his fingers and very purposefully refusing to look you in the eye.

Of course, you hadn’t figured out what to say.

You blew a raspberry as you adjusted the stolen, waterlogged basket which you had, again, under your arm. You needed more than two pairs of clothes.

“...Come back later,” You grumbled, “Later than tomorrow.”

You’d been free for a week. You’d been hoping for maybe two, to be frank.

“Please, I just-” Hiccup huffed, traveling by foot while you rode your dragon. Toothless followed behind, grumbling and gurgling at Hiccup judgmentally. Clearly whatever good will you’d built up with him before you ran left had been more than lost.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” You stare straight ahead, over the encroaching cliff, ducking round and under ledges as your dragon trotted onwards.

“I want to get to know you, again.”

Eventually, the cave dragons had warmed up to Hiccup and he was able to work his magic on them. Now they watched through stalagmites and stalactites with impassive eyes as he made chase.

“Uh huh,” You scoffed as you reached the edge of the ledge. You turned around and stuck out your tongue as your dragon took a violent leap into the open air. As the wind whistled around you, you pinwheeled your arms in an effort to try and keep balance.

“Come on, Toothless, bud,” Hiccup complained from way behind. You saw Toothless very decidedly sit down, refusing to move even as Hiccup tried to push him towards the cliff with his whole upper body, “Let’s go.”

“So,” Hiccup started, “You haven’t gone any deeper.”

The both of you stared out into the vast, glowing sea of  towers and gigantic glowing mushrooms extending out of their jagged rock faces. In the distance you could spot gigantic crystals, protruding from the ground the same way the sanctuary did. 

Seas of dragons crowed and chirped, bright patterns shifting and growing under hard muscle. It was very dizzying, if you were going to be honest.

“No,” You replied, “No, I haven’t. Not this far, but now I… I might.”

You hadn’t traveled too far into the cavern, deciding not to push your luck with the locals. You always figured there was some sort of nest farther in. Turns out there was, and a whole lot more locals than you expected, and a lot more to this small world besides the cold, empty cavern. At least you didn’t have to worry about flooding anymore. Or sea salt in your hair.

You swore to yourself that you were going to move further in, caught off guard and most definitely embarrassed at the fact that so much open space had been hiding right under your nose. 

Free for three days.

“There has to be more. There’s no way- It doesn’t make sense how all these different kinds of dragons can live in the same environment. There’s- there’s so much here that-Gods, I have to map it,” Hiccup rambled, smiling gawkily.

He’d been here for a week.

You felt a pressure to supervise him as he ran rampant in your new home, unsure of when he’d become such a cartographer. Your dragons had gone missing a while ago, leaving you two to be babysat by the hands of the general public.

You watched as he painstakingly mapped each pillar, occasionally chiming in with your own advice, looking the same way he did the day he discovered honey when you were kids. It was almost pleasant.

The two of you had fallen off the edge of a pillar after being knocked down during a spat between two touchy Crimson Goregutters, which no Hiccup magic or dragon secret could stop. After an event with a vine, dangling over certain death and panic, you two had managed to swing your way onto a large glowing mushroom. 

The downside to that was that now, you were stuck, owed to the fact that apparently, what made some of these mushrooms glow was very viscous and… sticky. 

Hiccup’s arms were glued to the space on both sides of your head, and your hands were gripping his arms which were visibly shivering, because you two had been stuck like this for a while. You’d been tugged, prodded at and licked by various different dragons. Nothing helped and you were starting to think that maybe this was how you were going to die. 

Well, you knew you weren't going to go to Valhalla. It was kind of really hard to die in battle if you spent most of your time avoiding people. But this just sucked.

“What's up with your pathological need to map everything?” You asked belligerently. To be honest, it didn’t really bother you. Hiccup’s rambling had never bothered you, because you were prone to rambling in the same exact way. Currently though you were hard pressed to find anyone else to hear it. 

“I thought your thing was the forge? You spent half of my childhood there.”

“Well, yeah, I…” He rested his forehead against yours, eyes shut as his neck finally gave out, you weren’t too pleased as you felt his sweat drip onto your face, squirming rebelliously.

 “Wasn’t sure if you’d want to hear it. I-I could talk about that instead?” No talking at all would be great.

 “Yeah,” You gave in, closing your eyes and going limp against the slimy fungi, “That would be better.”

Lips pursed, then grimaced as he’d opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out, though. He just stared above your head, unmoving. You tried to see what he was looking at, but only got an eyeful of his scruff.

Next thing you know, you’re being smothered by a plushy pink tongue, then just licked and nosed a little bit. The spit of this dragon doing something odd to dissolve the slime trapping the two of you, fizzing as it touched shiny goo. When you finally had the facilities to move, you flipped your head back and your eyes widened slightly.

It looked like the two of you had just found Toothless a girlfriend.

Three months, two days and five visits- no, seven. Nine? Eleven? Seventeen?

“I don’t actually have a problem… with the mapping. Talking about it.”

You two were nestled between a rock and another rock, though this time whether it was a result of purpose or chance remained uncertain. You couldn’t remember. You were after something… There was barely any space between the two of you. You had been talking.

There was barely any green to Hiccup’s eyes, most of his iris consumed by large pupils as he mouthed around works that looked suspiciously like, “Can I…?”

Instead, he leaned forwards and your foreheads touched, the same way they did when you were trapped before. His eyes were clenched shut as he uttered, “I love you.”

 You had a hard time believing that.

You turned your head to the side. 

“I wonder how Astrid feels about her boyfriend flying off and doing who knows what.”

Some of the wild dragons lay in front of you, licking at the dying fire by your feet. A terror lay in the middle of it. You’d lined it with stones which were now giving off a pleasant warmth.

“I doubt she’d mind. We’re not really… together anymore. I don’t think so. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to be.”

“Right,” You raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. 

“Not since a little while after you left, actually.”

You found that hard to believe too, as you shook the burnt slice of fish off your knife onto your burnt slice of bread. You weren’t much better than Valka at cooking, but you were getting better. It was something about that sanctuary, or maybe something about that woman that just made you worse at cooking.

Hiccup wrinkled his nose over on the other side of your log as he shook his head at you.

It was a petty, but bitter sort of revenge. 

Your first kiss had been lost to a fair bloke- his words, not yours- in the middle-of-nowhere inn. It had been a long time since you’d been out, but you were sure you’d easily be able to find somewhere similar to lose some other things. Hiccup had your heart but you’d never give him the opportunity to take any of your firsts.

Two months.

You were angry at him for playing with your heart again.

“There was a crisis-Berk…” His voice cracked.

 You looked disinterestedly out over uncanny black waters. “Yeah, It’s fine.”

Seven days, seven visits. He might have been camping aboveground.

The two of you were between two large red fungi, settled on a mossy rock overlooking a new, larger, unmapped maze of rock pillars and black water rushing below. Dragons, glowing and colorful, mingled together off in the distance. Toothless was probably one, gone off to frolic with his new lady love.

“You never wanted me. As a friend, as a- …battle buddy, or as anything else. You would never have chosen me for anything. And I just… I didn’t want to be just what you settled for,” You mumbled into your knees, “You spent so long searching for better, and then you found it, and it just really hurt to realize that I wasn’t a part of that.” 

You spilt your heart out as you faced the cliffside. Hiccup was facing you. You didn’t care what he heard. None of this was real anyways.

“I’m sorry,” Hiccup repeated, clenching his eyes shut as he buried his nose into your shoulder, barely there though he had to crane his head forwards, due to the uncomfortable angle. 

What he had with Astrid these past few years, that was real. That was history. This thing between the two of you was just a mess of pain and turmoil and a little bit of childhood fantasy. An old infatuation rearing its head as you got everything nasty out of your system.

“It hurt to think that-That… the one person- Like everyone else did, you didn’t think I was good enough either.”

“I’m sorry.” You felt his arms come around your sides awkwardly before he squeezed.

“Me too. I…”

He’d remember that he didn’t want-need- you again soon enough.

“I haven’t told anyone. About you, or this place.”

“You haven’t?” You’d actually expected otherwise. It was nice to know you weren’t at risk of getting dropped in on.

Two months, thirty two visits.

You might be coming around to him.

“You’ve already-?” He asked, a little startled. You still felt a little silly about it but after you’d done it, you figured it wasn’t that big of a deal. It wasn’t like you’d planned to marry or anything anyways, so his reaction was kind of funny.

“Yeah, I was pretty mad. So I went out, and… you know. It was a while ago, though.” 

He looked a little disheartened at the idea, but he just scoffed, waving his hand off in your direction.

“What? You and Astrid kissed, yeah, but you haven’t done- anything? Not even before you ‘totally broke up,’” You didn’t have to specify what they hadn’t done, the innuendo was already pretty obvious.

“Nah.” Hiccup said, hair wiped out of his face, matched squares of parchment. Map pieces were strewn out in front of him as he made himself busy trying to create a complete chart of the underground, matching up the landscape he saw with the islands above it.

 Unfortunately, the caverns seemed to stretch on forever and the islands only covered so much.

Three months, one day, thirty two hours. 

You straddled him, crinkling some of the many, many blueprints scattered across the moss surface. You wiggled one out from under him, looking down as he looked up. It felt good, being the one in charge for once.

You leaned down, pressing your noses together. Just before, you’d been going over his things. His blueprints. Swapping ideas. Sharing minds. Like you used to, every single day. Like you’d been doing, almost every single day.

“Do you love me?” You asked.

Every day you’d been together. Your knees touched, shoulders pressed close together.

You had to know. And if he did… He had to mean it. 

You played games, shared stories. You’d grappled and curled, not the way vikings could, but the way two hiccups did, a long, long time ago. 

If he didn’t, well… You had all the time in the world to leave, to start again. But you didn’t think you could. You could go weeks without seeing him, and then sometimes it would be every other day. 

This was it.

“I do love you,” He choked out, wheezing as you adjusted, your weight pressing against his chest. He glanced back at you, crumbling a little bit. 

He spent a lot of time here, now. A lot more than before. With the time spent traveling in between, as he said it, it was a wonder he got anything done there at all. Most of his time was spent above mapping the islands or down here with you.

You read what his body language told you; he was insecure. 

“... Do you love me?”

“I do.” Hesitantly, you nodded, “I do.” Was that even a question?

You trusted him. You didn’t trust him. You had no way to know if he stabbed you in the back again. Went back to Astrid. You didn’t really have a way to know if that’s what he did, every time he left. 

You loved him, didn’t you?

He didn’t know that? Maybe not always and not all at once, since you left. You hadn’t done a very good job of making him know it. You hadn’t a lot of reason to. 

Did you love him now?

You marveled at how easy it was to be around him, with him. It wasn’t the same as it was before, but it was still good. It could almost be better. You, against everything, wanted it. You wanted it so bad.

“I’d leave it all behind, for you,” Hiccup said.

You would make him know it.

“You would?” You asked, “Would you?”

You laid your heart bare to him, stitched and spiked. And you, as he said it, implied it, maybe you held his. 

“Do you want me to?” He asked. He tugged lightly on one of the draws to your tunic, faking interest in it as he worried the inside of his cheek. You didn’t want his home, or his family. 

“I don’t want anything,” You scoffed dismissively. You wanted his honesty. You wanted to know that he was yours. Yours truly. That was it.

Prove it. You urged him on, Prove it to me. 

He smiled that goofy, awkward smile, half teeth and all closed at the edges. You could tell he was trying hard not to falter. You hadn’t seen that smile in such a long time.

Know me, You asked.

“So… Do you? Do you love me?” He asked again, offering his hand up to your face. His fingers were scabbed, and dirty and you leaned into his palm, pushing it down as he tangled his fingers clumsily into the roots of your hair. You pressed your lips together, again, again and over again until neither of you could breathe. 

Have me, You pleaded.

“I do,” You gasped into his mouth, “I really, really do.” You offered no resistance. Not this time.

Love me. 

There was no coming back.

(Deep in your mind, you wondered if maybe, possibly, he already did.)

Twelve months. Twelve months since he’d found you.

Hiccup stood at the edge of Berk, armor packed away in favor of a lighter tunic. He often wondered what it would have been like, if he’d really run away with you like he’d intended.

If things would have ended up the same. 

Would he have seen you in time? In time for what he had now? For this? 

No. no, probably not. 

…

His father would notice. His mother might.

His father was fine. And now he had his mother. They were old, but they were tough. They could have a new kid. Or maybe they’d convince Snotlout or Astrid to take the mantle. 

They’d-everyone-would be fine without him.Who was he kidding? He’d spent so long working so hard and they didn’t need him at all. And if he was honest, He didn’t need them. 

He didn’t really care. Not anymore. He let go.

Life would go on just fine without him, just as it did before him and just as it would long after his name was lost to time. His distance only proved it. He spent so long away he’d been practically excommunicated again.

After a little bit of irritation, his travels became just another one of his quirks. 

‘Oh, look, there’s Hiccup. Oh, well, he’s off again.’ He was barely missed. And rightly so. It was by his own doing, really. That was fine by him. In fact, It worked in his favor.

It was borderline hysterical how, the moment they found more furies, and his new paramour, Toothless went from devil’s advocate to his most eager accomplice. 

The Sand Wraiths were especially cool… It cost him a lot less fish to get there now. To you.

Sometimes he had to wonder why he’d been so attached to Berk. Working for things that ultimately, he didn’t care about. Everything that kept him here, he also had with you. When he was here, all he wanted was to go back out.

A pebble-sized ball of guilt coil in his stomach. It used to be worse. But, he’d talked to you about it. The engagement.

The engagement with Astrid. The one that was basically moot at this point, anyways. She might even slap him if he brought it up, to expect anything after he’d left her for so long. Truly, officially. all he’d had to do was end it. He left a letter nearby her family home; they would find it if they bothered to search for him.

A scummy trick, yes. Was he a coward for doing it? Maybe. But he was a smart coward. He wasn’t lying when he’d told you that no one knew.

Hiccup exhaled, bouncing up and down on his heel and peg, as if to psych himself up. To dispel all of his nervous, excited energy.

It was a clear day, no risk of a storm. He strapped his saddle pack to Toothless. It was only slightly larger than usual, so as not to arouse suspicion, of course, but it held all of his essentials. Leatherworking tools, metalworking tools, more tools, his armor, spare armor, spare foot, spare charcoal. The small plush his mother had made for him as a child. His viking helmet, for memory’s sake.

Slung over his shoulder was a smaller pack with just his compass and his coin. 

As the two of you grew closer and closer, it only made his decision more and more certain.

He wasn’t meant to be Chief. He wasn’t cut out for this life at all. He didn’t want this life. He wanted you. 

As far as anyone else was concerned, you’d long since disappeared and now he had the feeling it was time for him to do the same.

He took a deep breath, one that pushed his lungs to his ribs. Then like his bag, he flung himself over Toothless’ saddle before he took off from Berk for the last time, closing his eyes. He’d left his helmet off this time so he felt the beating wind rip through his hair.

The two of you were there, half hidden from view under a large red plume. It was wasm, and your perspiring skin was trapped under hollow armor, same as his. 

You gasped, hot air mingling every time his breath hit your face. The two of you huffed and panted as he pushed you unto the dirt and you pushed back, feeling the moss tickle your face and the backs of your hand. 

Not your back, though. Just hands. 

Gripped, interlaced fingers pressed firmly down by your head, sweaty palms melded to his. He’d been the one in charge, today.

He was hunched over you, his trousers unbuckled and unlaced as he pressed downwards, forwards, gently and not.

A line of sweat ran down your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered. His breath caught.

Men shouted their battle cries into the dark, never ending sky as Berk was set in flames. A skull, still fresh with blood and exposed brain, broke with a sickening, wet crunch as Stoick ground his head into it, bringing mercy to the poor, damaged creature.

“There is no fury here,” He bellowed as he towered menacingly against the hulking wall of flames by his door. Three Deathgrippers and their tails lay cut, prone and slain around him. 

“We’ll see about that,” Grimmel crooned, standing tall with his hands linked behind his back, looking down on him with two more dragons hissing and spitting by his sides.

Sharp talons dug into the wood of the rafters, Cloudjumper’s head turning steering around as he hung by her feet. Valka, masked and fully covered, crouched down from where she was, nestled at the bend of his tail. She pulled her arms back, getting her hook, sharp and serrated, ready for a wicked swing.

Yes, he would see. She’d make sure of it.

[floweryvibes]

Puppet Darling - Part 6

Credit: Inspired by @wallflowers-in-the-wind’s post here.

Warning: Rhysand being as asshole, again. Also, mind meddling.

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

Rhysand wasn’t sure how many liquor glasses he had already destroyed, but he was sure it was many. He slumped in his office chair, staring up at the ceiling.

She ran.

He still couldn’t actually believe it.

She ran, and got away with it.

He felt a small laugh escape him.

I mean, I shouldn’t really be this surprised. Feyre had always been quick on her feet - when permitted.

A knock sounded on his office door.

Definitely Cassian, he’s the only one that makes me think the door will fly off the hinges.

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, “Come in.”

His brother peered inside the office, a ginger smile spreading over his rough features upon seeing the office’s demolished state. A tuft of blonde hair appeared for a second behind the Illyrian warrior.

Ah, Morrigan too. Wonderful.

Rhysand smiled, “Are you going to just hangout at the doorway or actually step in?”

Cassian obeyed, followed by Mor, whose eyes immediately narrowed as she took in the office’s state.

“Don’t you think you went a little hard on the whiskey?” Cassian tried to lighten the mood, walking over to the liquor cabinet, “I mean what has the bourbon done to you?”

Rhysand gave him the obligatory laugh.

Morrigan tensed, uncomfortable.

“Rhysand…why did Nesta leave?” Cassian’s voice was quiet.

Rhysand smiled, “You know Nesta, Cassian. She’s always been like this. An unreliable bitch.”

His brother’s hand tightened into a fist, but didn’t call him out.

Rhysand couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at his lips.

It was honestly adorable watching his dear brother try to process this.

No wonder Eris kept so many of his around: endless entertainment.

Cassian shook his head, “But what of Feyre? Rhysand, it doesn’t make sense. Why would Feyre run?”

Rhysand had been mulling over what lies to feed them the past several days.

“Me and Feyre got into an argument.”

True, albeit it was a perpetual one, but still, true.

“We…I in particular, said some things I shouldn’t have said.”

Displace blame onto myself to seem like a responsible party.

Rhysand smiled remorsefully, “I apologized of course, but she said she wanted some space. So, I am respecting her choice.”

Cassian nodded, somewhat satisfied by the response, “But why did she bring Nesta with her?”

“Nesta comforted Feyre after the argument took place, so she and Elain decided to bring their sister along.”

“Nesta? Comfort? Never thought I would hear those words in the same sentence.” Amren leaned against the doorway, black jewelry adorning her neck, “I highly doubt she has the capacity for empathy.”

Cassian’s knuckles turned white, but once again didn’t say anything.

Rhysand gently probed his brother’s, checking if the subtle ‘suggestions’ he had planted still held their root.

Not that he was speaking out, but his discomfort unnerved him.

You shouldn’t even be concerned when something of that sort is said regarding her.

‘She’s spiteful.’

‘She’s Illyrian.’

‘She’s hurtful.’

‘She’s dangerous.’

‘She’s a threat.’’

‘She’s strong.’

‘She’s empathetic.’

Rhys frowned.

‘I love her.’

Rhysand did a double take on the last thought, quickly pushing it beneath the ‘she let Feyre hunt.’

A mating bond truly was a force of nature.

Rhys had already placed many subtle thoughts into Cassian’s mind. Little reminders that perhaps Nesta wasn’t as amazing as he had thought. Perhaps she was just a little too rambunctious. Too hard to control

“What was the argument about?” Cassian asked.

Rhysand glanced through his brother’s thoughts and memories once more, retreating with a mental sigh.

Editing this mess of a brain now would only worsen the situation.

Rhysand, despite everything, didn’t particularly want to break Cass’s mind.

He wouldn’t be Cass anymore if I did that.

“I think it best for me to tell my side of the story only once Feyre returns, I don’t wish to be too biased.”

Mor didn’t say anything, choosing to stare at a destroyed cabinet.

Nothing to say dear cousin?

Mor restrained a flinch at his voice in her mind.

‘No Rhys.’

You look tense.

‘I am fine Rhys.’

Rhys rolled his eyes at the blatant lie, trying to reach down the mating bond once more, giving it a firm tug, but to no avail; Feyre didn’t tug back.

I will give her time, if she wants it.

Rhys traced the rim of his glass.

She’d eventually see that the Night Court was the best place for her.

Azriel’s shadows made their presence known before he himself appeared, startling Mor as a result. 

What a flighty female.

An apologetic look flashed across the male’s face as the blonde shifted away from him.

This time Rhysand didn’t tug on the bond, simply feeling, trying to gauge as much as he could of Feyre’s well-being. 

Calm. Happy? Calm. Nervous. Worried. Happy?

The bond prattled off, jumping from place to place within minutes.

Well, at least she wasn’t hurt.

Rhys took comfort in that, but the positive feelings stabbing at him down the bond made him scowl.

When was the last time she was that relaxed around him?

“I have tracked down Elain.”

The room froze, Rhysand’s fingers drumming against the desk thoughtfully.

“Where?”

“Spring Court.”

“Ha…” Rhysand restrained the urge to throw the table against the wall. 

“Spring? Bold.” Amren mused.

Rhysand shot the fae a glare, only to be met by her steel expression.

“Why would they go to Spring?” Cassian stared at Azriel in confusion, his wings flaring slightly, “Tamlin abused Feyre! She fled from there!”

“Perhaps he kidnapped them?” Amren suggested coyly.

The thought made Azriel and Cassian growl but Rhys’s mind was elsewhere.

She ran to him. She trusts him over me.

“Azriel. Mor. You two will go to retrieve Elain and Feyre respectively.”

I’d go myself but that would mean war.

Rhysand was a patient man. He could wait a little bit before seeing his darling once more.

“What about Nesta?” Cassian pipped in.

“Mor will get Nesta too.”

Guess we can’t forget about her either.

“I can get her.” Cassian offered.

“No, Morrigan will go.”

Considering that my power isn’t enough for you right now Cass, I’d prefer to not stage any experiments.

“Use violence if necessary.” Rhys ordered.

“Rhys…” Cassian muttered.

Azriel nodded, his shadows slipping away from their hiding spots near Rhysand and returning to him, his eyes gleaming anew at the prospect of violence.

Mor remained neutral. 

“When I give an order, I expect it to be done now.” Rhysand smiled, annoyed that they hadn’t taken their leave yet.

“It may take some time to bring them back.” Mor finally spoke up, “Tamlin has most likely hidden them somewhere in his court that is concealed to outsiders.”

Rhysand’s hand twitched into a fist before relaxing upon hearing his name.

“I understand  but I am sure you two, powerful, competent faeries, are up for the task, no?” he held Mor’s gaze, “Or am I mistaken?”

Are you useless now?

Azriel slipped away into his shadows and Mor quickly winnowed away.

Rhysand looked over to an amused Amren and a concerned Cassian. 

“Go. I wish to be alone right now.”

“Rhys, are you sure-” Cassian tried.

“Go.”

Rhysand waited for their footsteps to disappear behind the closed office door, before flicking the table before him into the wall, causing it to break into millions of splinters. 

She dares to run from me? To go back to him after everything I gave her? 

Rhysand took a deep breath but it did little to soothe his anger.

I made her into a queen.

He stood up, stepping over the debris covering his office. He’d need to summon the servants to clean it up.

Is this what you do Feyre? Make a male fall head over heels for you and then waltz away to whatever new eye candy captures your interest?

He knew it was immature when he grabbed at the mating bond, giving it an extra painful tug. 

Rhys felt Feyre shudder, but the walls she had put up remained. 

Whatever was happening on the other end clearly soothed Feyre quickly, as the bond’s  trembles subsided, replaced by a calm feeling, instead of the usual nervousness his meddling brought.

Rhysand laughed. A cold, dark sound filling the room and echoing off its walls.

It seems that I have been too lenient with my favorite toys.

The calm continued to be present on Feyre’s side of the bond, only growing stronger.

Treasure this feeling while you can darling. You won’t get to have it for much longer.

Next: Part 7

Masterlist

Tag list: @rcarbo1, @planet-faerie, @fox-in-flowers, @bookishfeylin

If you want to be added to a tag list let me know :D

[jennarations]

Happy Osctober! 🎃

Thank you @pumpkennpie for putting together this lovely event <3 I have one measly contribution to make, so hopefully yall like it! It’s for Day 5, Teacher AU!

Also I don’t have the brain capacity to figure out ao3 rn so the drabble will just remain here for the time being :)

It starts, as most things do, with budget cuts.

Problems with too many enrolled students, not enough seats in rooms that already feel claustrophobic, teachers that have to start working during preps for pennies on the dollar.

This is how Oscar finds himself trying to teach English Lit in a shabby closet space that shares a room divider with the art room.

It’s not like he really cares all that much about the room itself, after all he’s here for the students, not this shitty school building. Through the divider Oscar listens for the sound of pottery wheels whirring away, and an excitable voice guiding the ceramic process.

“Mr. Piastri?” Stephanie pipes up from her makeshift desk that she shares with Thomas.

Oscar clears his throat and pulls his eyes away from the loud noises from behind the divider.

“Yes, sorry, Stephanie. What’s the problem?” Oscar pushes himself off of his own desk.

“Did you want me to keep reading the passage?” Stephanie squeaks out.

Shit, Oscar was supposed to be paying attention to the passage to make sure his comprehension questions were presented at each checkpoint. Whoops.

Oscar smiles and scrubs a hand through the bit of hair that never seems to stay off his forehead no matter how much gel he uses. “Um. No, that’s fine. What did we learn about the character in this paragraph?”

Oscar tries to push thoughts of boisterous laughter and golden skin, marred with clay and paint from his head.

He fails miserably. He’ll have to go over these comprehension questions again next week for sure.

—

“Osc?”

Oscar peeks up from his corner of the room, placing his pen down on the mound of ungraded quizzes in front of him.

He knows who’s looking for him. Only one person in this school calls him something other than Mr. Piastri or Oscar.

“Seems you guys got a bit out of hand today it sounded like.” Oscar says with a small smirk.

The man emerges fully from behind the room divider, sheepishly rubbing at his neck. There’s glaze on his left elbow.

“Yeah, well. My foot slipped on the wheel while I was pulling the form up and it sent some clay straight to the ceiling.”

Oscar snorts, “Is that why one of my students was staring at the ceiling for the rest of the period?”

Lando wanders over to his desk, skimming his fingers along the edge of it. “Could be. Or maybe they just found it more interesting than whatever you were teaching.”

Oscar feels a warm feeling settle in the pit of his stomach and a smile worm its way out. “Oh yeah? Well at least I had a lesson plan for today.”

Oscar leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows that action makes his button down flex around his arms just the slightest bit.

Lando slides himself along the desk, fingers exploring the mismatched pencils and pens in Oscar’s Okayest Teacher Ever mug. A flush is starting to crawl up from underneath his henley, Oscar notes.

Lando flicks his eyes from his ministrations with the pens to Oscar’s face.

“Better be careful leaning back in that chair Mr. Piastri, I watched a substitute topple it backwards last week.”

Oscar hums in acknowledgment and promptly pulls himself up from the chair in one fluid motion. Lando doesn’t even have time to react before Oscar is crowding his space against the desk, running his thumbs over Lando’s hipbones in an instant.

Then Oscar is all hot breath against Lando’s ear whispering quickly, “I wonder why there was even a substitute here in the first place, hm?”

Lando shivers and bites down on a whimper. His hands come up around Oscar’s neck instinctively.

“Y’know, I can’t quite remember. I think it might’ve had something to do with the normal teacher being fucked into next week.” Lando mumbles.

Oscar pulls back the slightest bit and notices the shit-eating grin plastered on Lando’s face.

In response he grips Lando’s hips and pulls him flush against his body.

Lando gasps at the sudden contact, shivering in Oscar’s hold.

“Could have had something to do with it. I heard he just had a stomach bug though.” Oscar says in a low tone into Lando’s neck.

Lando ghosts his hand up into Oscar’s gelled hair, immediately crunching the locks in between his fingers.

“Well at least the substitute didn’t have this awful gelled hairdo.” Lando mouths into Oscar’s neck, peppering it with small kisses annunciating each word.

Oscar breathes out through his nose, hard, and squeezes Lando’s hips.

Lando thinks he may have won this battle until Oscar is hoisting him up onto the desk and pressing the heels of his hands into the round of his ass.

Lando lets out the tiniest little gasp as Oscar grunts out, “Well I know how much you enjoy fucking it up. Now say, thank you Oscar.”

Lando pushes both hands into Oscar’s hair and grips, feeling the gel break apart in his palms.

Oscar continues, “That is, unless you’re thinking of replacing me with the clumsy substitute?”

Lando is trying to roll his hips forward from his perch on the desk, but his stupid apron is getting in the way. Frustrated, he breathes out, “Never, baby.”

Oscar groans at the pet name that rarely leaves Lando’s lips unless he’s really bothered and pulls him so close it’s getting harder to tell where he stops and Lando begins.

Oscar pulls his head back and launches an attack on Lando’s mouth. Lando gasps into it and returns with the same fervor.

The sound of a key in the door of their shared room breaks the reverie and Oscar is falling backwards into his rolly chair while Lando is shooting up off the desk.

And it would have been fine, really. It was just Jon, the school’s custodian, coming to sweep under the desks.

Nothing would have seemed out of the ordinary for two teachers to be chatting in a classroom after hours.

But in Oscar’s haste to resume his rolly chair position, he seemed to have miscalculated the necessary energy for the task, and all he hears is Lando squawking as he hits the floor.

So much for being better than the clumsy substitute after all.