#i think my urge to run is tied to being burnt out.

[karda]

hi hi hi hi how are you. im doing life things (finally got a therapy appointment for next week after putting it off for months) and im struggling thru my classes but otherwise im doing okay. a bunch of spring flowers are popping up all over the place and they make me happy :)

im doing alright! little fragile honestly lol. feel like im minutes from an anxiety attack over absolutely nothing. but its ok >_< the spring flowers make me happy too

[val-of-the-north]

The "Hornsent deserved it" sentiments make me lose my goddamn mind

Short answer: No they didn't.

Long answer: Oh my gooooooooooood can we NOT do this shit, please???

There are two underlying sentiments to this line of thinking.

The Hornsent hurt Marika's people, thus Marika did nothing wrong, therefore they deserved to die badly

The Hornsent hurt Marika's people + Midra and some others, Marika is still evil, but the Hornsent deserved to be destroyed

Both may even come to the extreme of "Messmer wasn't cruel enough" or some other nonsense in the same vein.

-

Number 1

To tackle number one, we need to remember a little thing called Elden Ring's base game. The Hornsent's jar ritual is undoubtedly abhorrent, that much is true. But I urge you to remember the things that happened during Marika's reign. She:

Murdered all of the Fire Giants but one, subjecting him to a fate similar to hers but worse, forced into labor confined on the mountain among the remains of his people and culture. She mocked him, to boot. All of this because they might have burnt the Erdtree.

Enslaved the Misbegotten from birth "or worse" because their species just so happened to have made contact with the Crucible.

Rewarded her own loyal Crucible Knights with scorn because of it too, as they didn't fit her current society that they fought to establish.

Made sure the Albinaurics were seen as lesser just because they were graceless, which influenced the way they were treated. She even had her Inquisition, run by Rykard, torture them in needlessly cruel manners, as they appear to be their main victims.

Just in general, she allowed Rykard to run a sadistic Inquisition to torture heretics to the Golden Order in the first place, and she saw nothing wrong with it or their practices.

She entombed the entire Great Caravan over a false rumor, which is the sole reason why the Flame of Frenzy was even a problem during her reign. This has also scarred the remainder of their people greatly.

Made the lives of all Omen a living hell either by cutting their horns just as they were born which often kills them, hunting them down in as cruel a way as possible by using their trauma and body parts against them, or throwing them in a sewer to fester with evil spirits hidden from view. She also used to shackle them, including her two children, just to make extra sure they wouldn't crawl out.

Shunned anyone who saw a vision of the Erdtree burning, regardless of who it was, and chased them away from their homes.

Literally allowed the belief that shorter people are somehow lesser, for apparently no reason at all (her most random discrimination decision tbh). This forces them to band together and take up honorless jobs just to get by, and in turn, people start to spread rumors of their inhuman practices, which are likely all untrue.

Had people literally work as slaves for the nobility just by virtue of "being born into obscurity", whatever that means. As well as other accounts of slavery like the Fallen Hawks (likely tied to the defeated soldiers of ancient Stormveil).

Likely endorsed viewing anyone without Grace as inferior beings, which includes the Tarnished that only exist because she divested them of it. She has done nothing to ease their discrimination (despite potentially seeing them as a future asset of sorts), as even the members of the Crusade are more than ready to kill us, like Fire Knight Queelign.

All of this was done in service to HER religion and order. Killing all the Fire Giants and burying the Nomadic Merchants alive? Oh, they could have ruined her age with those pesky flames of theirs.

Systematically oppressing Omen, Misbegotten, Albinaurics and the likes? Oh, they are impure creatures, unlike her people, blessed with the Grace of Gold, elevated from the rest. (Which is the exact same line of thinking as the Hornsent and their horns for crying out loud).

"Oh but the Hornsent stuffed her people into jars" yeah, and I am not arguing the contrary! It was a cruel, deranged practice, born of simple superstition that their victims would be reborn as "good people". But Marika's answer if you don't fit her vision of the world is to either get rid of you and your people through extermination, by literally hounding you from your rightful home, or by enslaving you.

Both sides are genuinely awful... but there's only one side that people are justifying, and it sure as hell isn't the Hornsent.

Marika's backstory is meant to make her less a god, which is all we have ever known her to be before the DLC, and more a human, which is what she once was. It gives her complexity as a character, it's meant to be the catalyst from which we learn why she took the path that she took. It is absolutely not meant to make us go "holy shit guys, Marika was the good guy all along???", because what she brought upon this world through her burning desire for vengeance has ruined it irreparably, and ruined the lives of most of the creatures who inhabit it.

This includes her ruthless, honorless, pointless Crusade against the Hornsent. Sure, it was her own son that started it, but it was for her sake. It was her who allowed him to wage it, he had her full support... until the thing turned to such a slaughter-fest that even she could not associate with it anymore due to how appalling it all was. And what better way to do that than to seal her own son away to wage war endlessly? And not just because his actions made her look bad, but also for the same crippling fear and prejudice that saw her kill all Fire Giants but one and scar the Great Caravan.

Gratuitous violence across the board, and for what?

(I want to make it absolutely clear that I don't mean you can't like Marika now. In fact, I'd say the DLC made her much more of an interesting character to me as well. I just cannot fathom seeing the entirety of Elden Ring and coming out thinking "wow Marika was the good guy" because she isn't. Heck, coming out thinking that she'd be disgusted with what her grandson Godrick is doing with grafting as if she isn't the queen of having zero empathy for those who are graceless or aren't her family, which the Tarnished he grafts are neither. She'd probably be very proud if anything. Marika is a monster. She became one the moment she obtained godhood, because no milestone would quell her. She did all the wrongs, so take this whole section as a refresher in case you had forgotten)

-

Number 2

Now, to tackle number 2... this one seemingly has more nuance, but falls for the tried and true pitfall of "the many must pay for the crimes of the few" which is exactly where it rots and collapses onto itself.

Apparently, because of the perpetrators of the Jar Rituals, ALL Hornsent, INDISCRIMINATELY, deserve to be destroyed. They all, each and every single one, deserve the Crusade and the absolute pointless ruin that it brought them. From the children, to the ones who were friends with people with no horns, to the ones who found their own practices grotesque, to the ones that weren't even tied to the Tower's religion and were just simply living their lives.

They ALL, EQUALLY deserve to be burned, to have their cities destroyed, to have their lives ruined. All of them. Ok.

Number 2 works with the assumption that the Hornsent are some sort of hive mind. Some sort of all-encompassing religious order who believes in their superiority. But that's just the Tower's religion. Hornsent are a people. And people are individuals, with their own opinions, their own lives. In fact, from the perspective of the average Hornsent citizen, they were attacked out of nowhere as they were living in peace, which likely means they weren't even at war with Marika before this event.

People also have the assumption that all of the Hornsent were benefiting from their society, which is blatantly false. In fact, outside the treatment of the Shamans, the people that we know the Hornsent have hurt the most are their fellow Hornsent. We know of quite a few of them suffering at the hands of their kin BECAUSE of their religious and cultural practices.

Being Hornsent isn't a "free from mistreatment" card. If anything, the large Gaols where they were imprisoned were built specifically to house them. The main prisoners we find in large numbers are commoners, the same types as the ones scavenging the ruins of their ravaged towns. They are often seen eating maggots off the floor and cowering in fear. All of them were Hornsent too, locked away for who knows what crime. Could have been big and important, small and insignificant, or even just a failure to do something properly (there's precedent), point is, it's clear the Hornsent weren't having a good time in there.

The jar rituals were used mainly as punishment for the imprisoned Hornsent themselves, as a way to have them become "good people". This was just as horrifying for the Hornsent prisoners as it was for the Shamans I assume. Look how terrified this Hornsent seemed at the prospect of sharing that fate. This is the reason why they chopped up Shamans in the first place, as ritual ingredients for a punishment meant primarily for their kin.

And there were more Hornsent who suffered because of the leading ideology. Curseblades were once shunned because they failed to become tutelary deities, and so they were thrown in the Jar Gaols. They were only let out so they could use their expertise and flowing movements to defend their homeland when Messmer invaded, otherwise they'd be rotting with the Innard Shamans and the other Hornsent prisoners the way Labirith is.

It's also worth pointing out that Midra's Mense was filled with Hornsent attendants who sided with their sagely master regardless of his lack of horns and what the Inquisition believed of him. If we were to operate with reasoning number 2, they too would deserve to be murdered in the Crusade because they just so happened to be Hornsent. Because ALL Hornsent deserve extermination for what happened to the Shamans.

And we also know that the Hornsent can find what happens in Bonny Village revolting. In fact, we know that from someone who was born and raised there.

This sounds nothing like someone who thought any of that was ok. So who is to say other Hornsent weren't like this too, especially those who DIDN'T live in Bonny Village? Those who risked being stuffed into those same jars themselves? We make waaaay too many assumptions about an entire race, and that in itself is foolish enough.

If there's someone to blame, it's the Tower's Inquisition. They are the religious order that governs the Hornsent. They have all the power in their society... and yet, would you look at that? Enir-Ilim, their sanctum, the one place where those calling the shots reside, is completely untouched. And what about Bonny, the most structurally fine Hornsent settlement, when you'd expect it to be a black stain of char by now. But nope, no sign of Messmer activity and the Greater Potentates are just running around naked, doing their thing as usual.

The Crusade isn't even a good tool of vengeance, the only ones suffering are the civilians who were likely the ones with a higher risk of ritual jar punishment anyway. If this isn't proof enough that the Crusade is a completely petty, useless revenge war that accomplishes nothing I don't know what else to say. I'll just leave with what the people taking part in it were taking pride in doing.

These are people who, without a shadow of a doubt, would have chopped up most of the oppressed groups described earlier and stuffed them into jars if Marika had told them to do so. (Heck, something like this was being done to the Albinaurics already, as we have seen previously...)

They have zero moral superiority, their deranged zealotry is the only reason they act in the first place. Not to mention that they have no connection to Marika's struggles or past, nor were they informed of them I bet. It's likely only Messmer truly knows the reason for the Crusade, and that's only because he is her child and shoulders all the blame onto himself.

"Those stripped of the Grace of Gold shall all meet death" is LITERALLY their motto. Do you really think they stopped at the Hornsent? They were just their main target, but judging by the way all of Messmer's soldiers, including Queelign and the other Fire Knights, and even HE HIMSELF, attack us on sight for the simple fact we are Tarnished and lack Grace in our eyes, I have no doubt in my mind these people were just rounding up and killing anyone who didn't conform with the Golden Order.

THESE are the people who should be allowed to play judge, jury and executioner with the entire Hornsent race. And people will genuinely, with a straight face, tell you "That's right".

-

To conclude... I think I actually hate reasoning 2 more than reasoning 1 lol, despite not liking either at all. At least 1 is understandable. Marika is a very interesting character, one that we have known for a few years now. We have an attachment to her, heck, sentiments of her being some sort of misunderstood/rebellious figure were already there before the DLC. In that regard, I understand the emotional response, even though I still think it's a wrong mindset to have. I have at least some hope that it is purely in the realm of fiction because it's a beloved character, nothing more...

Reasoning 2, on the other hand, attempts to be nuanced, or at least pretends to be. In reality, all it peddles is the "an eye for an eye" mentality which is much too common irl as well. Not only that, but it deals in monoliths. All people belonging to a group or race are equally responsible for stuff they didn't even commit, stuff that could have even harmed them, because their leaders decided to commit crimes against another set of people. And don't get me wrong, there will be even commoners from that group or race that will agree with and celebrate that bad deed, but just as many will not, but will be either scared, powerless, already being punished for speaking up through physical violence or elaborate shunning, or currently protesting and doing something to hopefully ignite a change.

But that reasoning only exists to perpetuate cycles; of war, violence, and hate for the most part. And sadly, this mindset is very prevalent, a lot of people fail to see the issue with wanton violence as long as it's to stroke that lust for vengeance. And vengeance is a theme that Elden Ring criticizes multiple times in a row, even beyond the obvious horror of the Crusade.

[theharrowing]

Collateral 🗡️ 9: Museum, ice cream, narcotics shakedown date

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon

🗡️ word count: 11.5k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 

🗡️ warnings: graphic depictions of violent torture (striking and breaking bones, shocking with a baton/stun gun), some blood, pants pissing, threatening with a gun, flirting & pining, yoongi’s giant balls in khaki pants, daddy kink, almost smut

🗡️ mc has a fun ice cream and museum date with...Namjoon...??? 

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin​ 

🗡️ posted aug 2022 | read on ao3

"I feel cooped up," you admit with your hands on your hips. "I want to go to the city and...I don't know...walk around, eat ice cream. Anything."

Yoongi sighs and throws a stack of papers onto the table before him. It is eight in the morning, and you stand in the main hall in a black silk robe tied over a short sleep dress. Black fuzzy slippers cover your feet, and you tap one toe impatiently with your head cocked to the side. Hoseok and Namjoon glance between the two of you while the others stare straight ahead as if nothing is happening. 

"Why all of a sudden?" Yoongi asks. "Why not once I am finished meeting with my men?"

It is your time to sigh. "You are always meeting with your men."

"I don't know if you have forgotten what I do, darling, but I happen to be a very busy—"

"I am well aware of what you do, Yoongi," you interrupt, mimicking the bite in his tone when he said darling, "but I am fucking bored."

Yoongi's jaw sets, and there is a fire in his eyes resembling that which you saw as he sliced the man's fingers off in the basement of House of Cards. You know you are playing a dangerous game, but you are restless. And you are not afraid of Min Yoongi. 

With a huff, Yoongi stands. He looks devastatingly pretty in a plain black tee and black slacks. You are not sure why he is dressed down today, but you are grateful for the hint of collarbone peeking from the stretched neck of the shirt, and you fight the urge to wrap your arms around him and suck pretty marks into his pale skin. 

You do not budge. Yoongi may be taller and, by all accounts, scarier, but you stare at him with the same fury and raise your eyebrows in a challenge. 

"Darling," Yoongi drawls in a tone that is heavy as iron and burnt along the edges. 

"Yes, baby?" you respond oh, so sweetly. 

As the seconds pass, it becomes more and more difficult to hold a straight face; something about this showdown feels strangely entertaining. You can tell a part of Yoongi wants to explode and make an example of you for interrupting his precious meeting, but he does not because it is you. 

A crooked smirk tugs at Yoongi's mouth, and he lets out a humorless scoff. "You have a lot of fucking nerve, you know that?"

You punctuate each word, emphasizing each syllable as you say, "I'm...bored." 

Yoongi grits his teeth, spitting through them as if he is trying not to be overheard despite the distance between you making it impossible for the others to not listen. 

"I do not have the fucking time to take you out on a shopping spree."

Namjoon clears his throat and raises his hand. 

"I'll take her," he says, matter-of-factly, with his gaze on Yoongi. 

Yoongi scoffs once more, this time more animated than the last, and turns his attention to Namjoon, who continues.

"I have to run downtown and make some personal calls. There is a great ice cream shop near one of my spots, which is also driving distance to Seoul Museum of Art." 

Namjoon turns to you with a wide smile. "Do you enjoy art?"

"I love art," you respond without thinking twice, eyes still firmly on Yoongi. 

You do enjoy art, but going to art museums has never been something you have been able to prioritize, and you have no idea what to expect. Nobody here needs to know that.

"Boss?" Namjoon asks, looking back at Yoongi.

Yoongi appears dumbfounded, gazing between you and Namjoon. Then, with a sigh and a dismissive flick of the wrist, he says, "Fine, take her. Go on a fucking museum, ice cream, narcotics shakedown date. Why not? Make a whole day of it."

You grin and bow your head to Namjoon, muttering, "I’ll go get ready," before running off to your room to get dressed.

Behind you, Jeongguk snidely says, "I was supposed to go on the narcotics shakedown date," and you can't help but wonder if there is a hint of playfulness to his tone. You hope he is actually jealous to be replaced. 

There is a gentle knock on your bedroom door, and you look away from your vanity mirror, stand straight and push your hands down your olive green sundress. The spaghetti straps and cinched bust leave very little to the imagination, and you had intended on grabbing a jacket to throw over you before meeting with Namjoon, but the guys seem to have ended their meeting sooner than expected.

As you open the door and find Namjoon standing in waiting, you notice his gaze quickly rove your figure before he corrects himself and looks into your eyes, doing his best to pretend his cheeks are not turning a pretty dark shade of pink. 

"Just checking in on you, but please don't rush," Namjoon says quietly, running a hand over his chestnut brown hair. His black short-sleeve dress shirt is tucked into black slacks, as always, and his muscles strain against the fabric as his arm flexes and relaxes.

"I just need to grab a jacket and slip into some shoes, and I'll be ready to go," you respond with a grin, and Namjoon nods and turns, giving you privacy to finish.

"Cute," you mutter to yourself as you turn and make your way to your walk-in closet. You grab a denim jacket and white Keds and check yourself in the mirror once more. 

Your hair is down and pinned back on the sides behind your ears, and you have applied just enough makeup to make your eyes pop. Although you have opted for a dressed-down look, you chose to don your favorite gold link necklace, which sits high on your collarbone. 

"Ready?" you ask, peeking into the hallway. 

Namjoon has his back to you, and he turns once more and smiles softly, bowing his head and motioning for you to walk ahead. You make your way down the stairs, immediately noticing that the rest of the men are still on the couch but seem more relaxed. Jeongguk has his foot up, elbow resting against his knee with a joint dangling between two fingers. He looks over his shoulder as you approach and rolls his eyes. 

Yoongi stands from his chair, rounds the table, and stops you in your tracks. His hair is disheveled like he has been running his hands through it a little too much, and there is a tired smile on his face, complimenting his dopey, bloodshot eyes. 

"Stunning as ever, darling," Yoongi mutters as he reaches out and grabs the pockets of your jacket, tugging you close. 

"Now you are happy to see me," you respond snidely, failing to hold back a smile as you wrap your arms around Yo12swxongi's shoulders and nuzzle your face against his neck, getting a whiff of smoke, musk, and sweat. 

"I'm always happy to see you," Yoongi groans against your temple. "I just hate to be interrupted, you know that." 

You giggle. "You looked like you wanted to rip my head off and drink my blood."

Yoongi backs out of the hug enough to look you in the eye, face tilted and brows knitted. "Blood drinking is barbaric, darling."

You hum and cock an eyebrow. "Last I checked, you were into barbarics."

"Me, darling?" Yoongi pulls you close, lips grazing over your earlobe, "You were the one bending over the barstool, begging to be fucked."

"Alright," you respond loudly, turning your head to the side and pushing Yoongi away at the shoulders. "As much fun as this has been, Namjoon and I have a date, so if you will excuse us."

Yoongi chuckles, smiling widely at you. You attempt to back out of his hold, but he pulls you closer and places a soft kiss on your forehead. 

"Take good care of my Joonie, and do not let him out of your sight. He gets very excited in art exhibits; I cannot have one of my best men getting lost."

You imagine Namjoon running around like an excitable puppy and grin. "I'll take good care of your Joonie. Anything else?"

"Just that I hope you two have fun," Yoongi says, releasing you from his hold. You take a step back and watch as his smile falls. "Actually, one more thing. If you join Namjoon on the house calls, make sure you are strapped and wear a vest. Can you shoot? We should start taking you down to the range with us."

"She will be fine," Namjoon cuts in, stepping around you to grab onto Yoongi's shoulder and give it an assuring squeeze. "Kyun already has the men at the warehouse; we won't be knocking on any doors, after all."

Yoongi's eyebrows raise, and he nods. "That is great news. Alright, have fun, you too. Knock some skulls."

Much of the information turns into static as you attempt to parse it, and you follow Namjoon out the door to a very sleek black Porsche. As you get into the passenger side and buckle up, he slides into the driver's seat. 

"Did that conversation freak you out at all?" Namjoon asks with one hand on the wheel as he twists his body to face you.

"No," you answer simply and honestly. "I mean, I don't care for gunfire, but I am not afraid to go into a situation that may require it, as long as we are prepared." Sheepishly, you add, "I probably should start going to the shooting range, though."

Okay, so maybe you are not fully telling the truth about not being freaked out, but you were fairly adept with a firearm in the past and had gotten used to the weight of it in your hands, despite never being formally trained. You just happen to prefer blades to guns. 

"As I said, our boy Kyun—er, Changkyun as you may know him—already has the men in his care, and they won't be in any state to draw weapons on us, so that reduces the threat. You may just have to watch me rough them up a bit, but if you would like, you can help."

There is a glimmer in Namjoon's eye that you would miss if you were not watching him so intently, and it sends a shiver through you. You know he must be thinking about how turned on you became after they killed that man, and you wonder just how much they have discussed it since it seems to be on everyone's mind this morning. 

Namjoon continues. "Since Kyun made the house calls, that saves us a couple of steps, clearing up more of our schedule, but it also means we will not be going toward the ice cream shop or the art museum."

You study Namjoon's face and wait for him to continue, but when he says nothing, you pout slightly and lament the news. He must have been hoping for that exact response, and he smiles, showing off those precious dimples as he says, "But we can make a special trip, just for you."

"Where are we?" you ask, taking in encampments of tents, tarps, and trash. 

Namjoon keeps his eyes forward until you arrive to a warehouse on the outskirts of...wherever you are. Even in your time of living on the streets, you never saw a place so truly abandoned by the rest of the city. You scrunch your nose in distaste at the high-rises looming in the near distance. 

"This is where people come to disappear," Namjoon simply states as he puts the car into park. He reaches over you and opens the glove compartment, muttering, "Pardon me," as his knuckles brush against your knee, and you sit back against the seat as if you could possibly give him more room as he pulls out a handgun. 

"Would you like one, just in case?" Namjoon asks. 

"That depends. Got a thigh strap for that boy?" you ask teasingly, turning to find Namjoon leaning just a little too close as he waits for your response. He grins, and you decidedly pull your gaze away from his dimples and back to the gun.

"Shucks, I forgot my thigh straps at home," Namjoon sighs, ghosting warm breath over your cheek and neck. 

You hum and shrug, mock-groaning, "Bummer," as you stare out the window attempting to wrap your mind around how flirtatious this man is.

"Suit yourself," Namjoon says, closing the compartment with his fist, which is wrapped tightly around the glock. 

Namjoon sits back to check the clip for bullets, you assume, and you let out the breath you had been holding in, doing your best to push down the flustered feeling that overwhelms you. 

You have your suspicions that there may be something more between Yoongi and Namjoon, and you wonder if there is something unspoken there that may extend to you. Yoongi was pretty snarky about this outing being a date, but what if you and Namjoon really were to go on a date? Would that be okay with Yoongi? 

And even if it were okay, is that something you want? Namjoon is handsome and kind to you, but how would that complicate things within the family or pose a potential threat to Yoongi if his opposition found out?

You feel silly letting your mind wander to such places after less than an hour of alone time with the man. Are you really so pent up in the mansion that you are suddenly imagining a poly scenario between Yoongi and one of his men? 

"Ready?" Namjoon asks, and you flinch, feeling yanked from your thoughts. 

You scoff in an attempt to cover the fact that you were so wrapped up in your own head about Namjoon that the man's presence startled you, and you nod. 

"Ready when you are."

It is a short walk from the car to the warehouse, and the area is so desolate that each sound—from the car doors closing and locking to the gravel beneath your feet—seems loud, as if every little noise is echoing off things unseen. Namjoon punches a code into a box next to a large metal door, and it clicks loudly, granting you access. You realize only now that he has a small black duffle bag slung over his shoulder, which he must have grabbed while you were spiraling. 

The warehouse is a cement rectangle that reeks of damp metal, piss, and blood. You watch your step, avoiding shallow puddles, and glance around the dimly lit space for a source of water, not finding a source for much of anything. 

In the center of the room, two men are tied to chairs with duct tape over their eyes and mouths, and Changkyun—one of the men who guarded you during the time Yoongi and his men left you to the mansion alone—stands in front of them with his arms folded over his chest. His face is all sharp edges, with jet black hair that is about the same length as Yoongi’s. You imagine that if he wore anything but a snarl, he might be quite handsome. 

"You brought the lamb," Changkyun mutters, nodding his chin to you. 

You are a couple paces behind Namjoon, who shakes his head. "Wolf in lamb’s clothing."

Changkyun tongues the inside of his mouth, slowly roving his eyes down to your feet and back up, then turns to the captives. "Alright, boys, time to talk," he announces as he reaches forward and rips the tape from their mouths. 

The man on the left groans and shakes his head, seemingly unhappy with his present circumstances, while the man on the right just opens his mouth and shifts his jaw around, appearing minorly inconvenienced. Namjoon approaches the one on the right first, squatting to the side of him with his hands hanging limply between his knees, gun dangling from his fingers. 

"An entire shipment of pills disappeared on your watch. Care to explain?"

The man spits in the direction he thinks Namjoon is talking from, which is luckily off by a few inches. Namjoon cocks his head to the side, scratching it with the butt of his gun despite the man being unable to see him, then he cocks the hammer back with a loud click that makes the man on the left begin to panic. 

"I could skip the charade and blow your fucking brains out right here," Namjoon offers. 

The only sound he is met with is a grunt from the man on the right.

"Alright. If you want to act like an animal, I'll treat you like one," Namjoon growls in a tone that makes every little hair on your body stand. 

The duffle bag over his shoulder slides down to the floor, making a loud clang of metal and hard plastic against cement. 

"Hey, sweetheart," Namjoon calls, turning his gaze to you, "would you be a dear and grab something out of the bag for me? Any tool will do; ladies' choice."

In an instant, your cheeks warm, and your heart begins to pound. You do your best to swallow down whatever feelings begin to arise from Namjoon's cheeky little nickname, and instead, cock an eyebrow and play along.

"Of course, Joonie," you respond sweetly as you approach the bag and squat before it. You drag the zipper slowly, letting the small click of each metal tooth resound as it opens, echoing through the empty space. Then you pull the bag wide and assess the range of tools. 

With a hum, you pull out a large wrench, then drop it back into the bag, making it clang loudly against the concrete, barely muffled by the thin material of the duffle. You gaze up to find Namjoon grinning, seemingly delighted by your little performance. Then, when you pull out a stun baton, Namjoon's smile darkens. 

"Great choice, sweetheart," Namjoon beams as he reaches one large hand toward you. 

You hand him the tool—a long, thick black baton with metal prods at the top end. Namjoon twirls it in his wrist, then flicks on a switch on the butt end. When he pushes a button on the handle, and the prods buzz to life with a loud electric pop, the man on the left jumps and whimpers while the one on the right shifts in his seat uncomfortably. 

Namjoon stands, and you follow suit and take a step back; if the man starts spitting again, you do not want to get any of it on you. With another twirl of the baton, Namjoon brings it down onto the kneecap of the man on the right, filling the room with an impressive sound of bone crushing under metal and the man's scream quickly fading into a breathless gasp.

"Where are the pills?" Namjoon asks calmly.

"Fuck you," the man whimpers as his head droops forward.

Namjoon scoffs, digs the baton into the man's ribs, and shocks him, shouting, "What was that?"

"Fuck you!" the man screams, shaking in his chair as if trying to get away from the tool. 

The smell of piss permeates the air before you hear the trickling of liquid coming from the man on the left, who shakes like a scared little dog. The man on the right trembles but keeps his mouth in a straight line and his body stiff as if to will himself to stop being scared. 

"Fuck me, huh?" Namjoon mutters, leaning close to the man, who flinches from the proximity of his voice. "You already have fucked me. You fucked me and the strongest family in Seoul. Now, tell me where those pills are, or I will crush every bone in your legs and send you back home crawling on your fucking elbows."

You find yourself taking another step back, creating more distance between you and the men. Changkyun, who stoically watches the scene before him, turns and cocks an eyebrow. You cross your arms over your chest and watch for Namjoon's next move. It is obvious that Changkyun is unimpressed by your uneasiness, but frankly, you do not care. 

Despite your uncouth response to watching a man get tortured and killed, and your willingness to play along with Namjoon today, there is a large part of you that does not find this scene entertaining. Showing weakness, however, is not an option, and you hold in your trepidation as best as you can. 

Hoseok's voice plays in your mind, "You need to know the life you have signed up for." 

Seokjin's voice follows suit, "You need to know the punishments that come to those who betray us."

A scream breaks you from your thoughts, and you flinch as Namjoon lifts the baton from the man on the right's knee—the same one he hit before. Beside him, the man on the left whimpers and cries. 

You glance around the space as Namjoon and the man continue to go back and forth. Above where you stand is a single lightbulb on a string, the switch for which, you assume, is near the door. There are no windows at eye level, only smaller ones far above, near the ceiling. Pillars of cement are dispersed throughout, and otherwise, the space is empty.

When your eyes land on the scene before you, Namjoon raises the baton to the underside of the man's chin and holds down the button, sending shockwave after shockwave through him. The stench of burning flesh hits your nostrils, followed by a stronger scent of piss. The man squeals like tortured livestock, but the sounds are drowned out by the zap and pop of electricity. 

The man falls limp the second Namjoon pulls the tool away. His wound bleeds but not heavily, and you wonder if it has been partially cauterized by the heat—if that is even possible. Namjoon sighs.

"I don't have all fucking day. Tell me what happened, or I'm shoving my gun into your wound and painting the floor with your brain."

"I di—I didn't—" the man whimpers.

Another heavy sigh leaves Namjoon's chest, and he cocks the hammer of his gun once more, driving the barrel straight into the wound on the man's chin. The man on the left starts screaming. 

"It wasn't us! It was a low-life Jeongguk hired from the docks!"

Namjoon holds the gun in place as he leans over the man on the right and says, "Go on." 

"H-he goes by Jae. J-Jeongguk knows him."

"And what makes you think this Jae has something to do with the missing pills?"

The man on the left grits his teeth, twisting his head around as if it pains him to speak. "He b-b-brags about it."

At this, Namjoon pulls the gun from the man on the right, steps around him, and approaches the man on the left. He bends and gets in the man's face, and although now is certainly not the time, you cannot help but notice how snug Namjoon’s pants are around very muscular thighs. 

"He brags, does he?"

The man squeals a response and nods his head. Namjoon stands, turns to toss the baton into his open duffle bag, and says to Changkyun. "Can you believe this Jae guy's been bragging about fucking us, and this guy here kept that information to himself?"

"H-hey, I'm not a snitch, man!" the man on the left whimpers defensively. 

Namjoon chuckles. "I'll find out who Jae is; we'll pay him a visit. In the meantime, cut this asshole's tongue out as a reward for holding it and letting us get fucked over."

"And that one?" Changkyun asks, nodding toward the man on the right and Namjoon shrugs. 

"Kill him, leave him here to die or crawl his way out...I don't give a fuck." 

Namjoon pats Changkyun on the back, picks up his unzipped bag, and slings it over his shoulder. Changkyun pulls leather gloves from his pants pocket and slides his hands into them. In a flash, his switchblade snaps open, and he approaches the man on the left, who begins screaming uncontrollably as his mouth is forced open. Namjoon wraps an arm around your shoulders and spins you away from the scene and toward the exit.

As soon as Namjoon opens the door and you walk out onto gravel, you take a deep breath of fresh air. The sound of screaming dies as the door slams shut behind you, leaving you in silence. 

Your body relaxes as you exhale, and you turn your face toward the sky, breathing through an intense urge to curl in on yourself and cry and vomit, squinting your eyes nearly shut. Namjoon gives your shoulder a squeeze and pulls you into a side hug, and you lean into him and allow yourself to be comforted. 

"You're stronger than you look, little wolf," he says softly, warm breath fanning against your head.

You are unsure what to say, so you say nothing as you break away from Namjoon's hold and walk toward the car. A beep resonates, telling you it has been unlocked, and you round the hood and get into the passenger side. Namjoon opens the trunk, and you stare out the window at the vast landscape of poverty and things forgotten, doing your best to focus on any detail to get what you just saw and heard out of your mind.

When Namjoon returns, he is wearing a white short-sleeve button-up. He has only managed to fasten the bottom two buttons before opening his door and joining you, and you glance over to find an expanse of golden skin and hints of black ink. You look away quickly and let out an exasperated sigh. 

"A little warning next time," you mutter.

Namjoon chuckles. It is a deep, pretty sound that makes you want to turn and slap him across the mouth. 

"Oh, sweetheart, don't tell me a little skin flusters you so easily."

"Are you this starved for attention," you respond, turning to glare at Namjoon. His fingers seem to falter before they continue their task, and he cocks his head. "I'm sure there are plenty of people who would be more than happy to have you lean too close to them and make flirty jokes. Someone who is not fucking your boss, for starters."

Namjoon hums and predictably leans too close, getting eye level. 

"Is that all you're doing? Fucking my boss?"

"Namjoon," you groan, tired of his bullshit.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

You stare at him, taking in the full lips pulled into a smirk and the pointed gaze of his dark, sharp eyes. Namjoon is handsome. Far too handsome to be flirting with you after he has just tortured a man. 

"I want ice cream," you say, watching his smirk soften. "That experience was traumatic, and you owe me ice cream. Stop fucking around and drive. Now, please."

Namjoon's voice is deep and low, sending a shiver through you as he grins and says, "Your wish is my command."

You pull up to the boutique Yoongi brought you to weeks ago in the middle of the night, and glance between Namjoon and the building, looking for the promised ice cream shop and finding nothing of the sort.

"We smell like piss and rust," Namjoon states simply. "I'll get some new slacks while you get a new outfit. Unless you want to go to the museum in torture clothes?"

"No, no," you concede, raising a hand to shut him up. "We will change fast. I mean it, though. This had better be fast. I am getting hangry."

Namjoon reaches up and pinches your cheek, and you quickly swat him away. "Awe, but you're so cute when you're hangry."

"And you are exhausting," you mutter as you unfasten your seatbelt and open the door, already scooting away from Namjoon before you are able to exit. 

"What was that?" Namjoon calls, and you close the door without responding. 

You round the car and quickly cross the deserted street. Namjoon's door closes, and he jogs to your side and reaches for the door before you can get to it, holding it open high above your head with an obnoxious smile, which you pretend not to notice. Two women behind a counter approach quickly, one taking Namjoon off to the left while the other locks the front door and leads you to the right. 

It does not take you long to pick out a similar green dress. The skirt flares slightly at the waist and stops just above your knees, and the top is halter cut with spaghetti straps. This dress makes it more obvious that you opted not to wear a bra today, and you choose to ignore the possibility of Namjoon noticing. 

You pick out a denim jacket that resembles the one you walked in wearing, despite the weather warming in the afternoon sun, and a pair of white low-top sneakers with more arch support than the Keds. The lady helping you hands you a glass of champagne while she bags your old clothes, and you return to the entrance to find Namjoon waiting.

Namjoon chose charcoal slim-fit slacks and deep blue suede loafers, showing off his ankles. His hair is pushed off his forehead, and now that you are facing him, you can faintly make out tattoo ink on his chest and stomach just beneath his white shirt.

"Ready?" Namjoon asks, smiling sharply as he brings his glass to his lips and drains the remainder of his champagne.

You empty your glass and nod as you exchange it for the bag of clothes. The two of you thank the ladies while one unlocks the door and holds it open for you to exit, and you return to the car in silence. Once your seatbelt clicks, Namjoon starts the engine and drives. 

It is not long until he is pulling up to another curb, and as soon as you get out, the sweet smell of chocolate and vanilla greets you, wafting from an open door. You prance excitedly to the entrance, leaving Namjoon to catch up once more, and take in the colorful display of flavors with a child-like excitement you have not felt in so long, the joy feels almost foreign.

Namjoon gets a cup of various fruity sorbets, and you choose a cup of vanilla topped with hazelnut syrup and cocoa balls. While Namjoon pays, you walk to a small pastel blue metal table and matching chairs and have a seat. Namjoon joins you moments later, taking the seat across from yours. His knees bend at an upward angle, too tall for the chair, and you giggle as you have a spoonful of your frozen treat. 

Outside, people walk by, buried in their phones, laughing and arguing with who you imagine are their partners or friends, and doing a myriad of mundane things. You watch wistfully, suddenly feeling the weight of your present situation and how abnormal everything is.

You are unsure how long you have been living in the mansion, nor how long it has been since the concept of time has mattered to you at all. Despite fighting to keep your old job, you never bothered to take the steps needed to return to work, allowing the outside world to cease existing. Now that you are out of the house and enjoying something as simple as ice cream, all of the small things you have been missing out on feel enormous. 

"Everything alright?" Namjoon asks.

As you pull from your thoughts, you realize you had been letting your ice cream melt. You meet Namjoon's gaze and nod, then look back to your cup and begin to scoop at the firmer mass in the center. Namjoon leaves his seat with a groan and sits in one to your left. He does not get in your space the way you expect him to as you turn your face away from him to watch passersby, but he is close enough to be audible at a low volume.

"Do you miss having a normal life?" he asks softly.

You shake your head but all at once, tears well, and you squeeze your eyes closed, willing them not to pour over. Namjoon places a hand on your shoulder and gives it a squeeze. The kindness in his action pushes you over, and a tear runs down your right cheek. With a shrug, you face Namjoon, whose hand stays on your shoulder. 

"How do you miss something you've never had?"

Namjoon's mouth falls gently into a frown, and although he does not respond, you can see it in his eyes: pity. Namjoon's hand moves to the center of your back and rubs in slow circles. You take another bite of your ice cream, decide it is suddenly too sweet and set it on the table, away from you. 

"I don't know everything, but from what I have gathered, your life hasn't always been easy," Namjoon says. You stare at the melting ice cream and feel your blood run cold, numbing you of all feeling. "Most of the men Yoongi employs are in a similar boat. You're not alone."

Your shoulders slouch forward as if pulling away from Namjoon's touch, and he hovers his hand lightly against your jacket before dropping it to his side. Namjoon places his cup on the table, empty of all contents save for a sticky sheen on the cardboard, and he leans a little closer. 

"What can I do?" he asks.

"What can anyone do?" you respond, turning to face him. 

Suddenly you feel guilt. Guilt for bringing the mood down, guilt for not finishing your ice cream, guilt for imagining how much simpler life might be without the man who does a lot for you. 

"Yoongi cares a lot about you," Namjoon tries, and you roll your eyes, nod your head and say, "Yes. I know."

"I know things are strange under his roof, but you are protected. And all of us are happy to know you and take care of you."

Your shoulders curl even further from the ghost of Namjoon's touch. 

"I don't want to be taken care of," you respond bitterly, voice nearly a whisper. 

Namjoon sighs. It is more of a defeated sound than an exasperated one, and he shifts beside you as if changing his posture. 

"What do you want, then?" he asks. His voice is soft, asking a genuine question, and you let it settle before considering how to respond.

"Things are fine as they are as long as I slowly gain more freedom and trust," you respond, turning to Namjoon. He is relaxed in the small blue chair, looking like a giant with his right leg crossed over his left. "It's not that I am lamenting the life I had before I met Yoongi. No part of it was anything worth hanging onto; I know that I am better off living in the mansion. That doesn't change the fact that I wish I had a family, a childhood, friends...I still long for something I will never have, and it sucks."

Namjoon nods, watching you attentively. "It's a shame Jeongguk is such a prick. You two have a lot in common."

A chuckle rocks through you before you can stop it, and you find yourself relaxing back into your chair. You are grateful for Namjoon making it easy to open up and feel without being ashamed of your mood swings, small as they may be. 

"Sorry," you mutter under your breath. "I don't mean to bring the mood down; I just...I don't know. Sometimes the depression is hard to hold at bay, you know?"

"Can I touch you?" Namjoon asks with a hand raised in the air.

"Now you ask?" you tease. 

Namjoon chuckles and leans closer. "I know. I'm sorry I'm not the best at respecting personal space."

"You suck, actually."

"I do," Namjoon concedes with a grin, dimples on display. 

He raises his eyebrows, so you nod, and as Namjoon's hand caresses your back from one shoulder to the other, you relax a little into the touch. 

"You don't need to apologize for how you feel. None of us who live and play under Yoongi's roof have had it easy, aside from the most spoiled among us."

You raise an eyebrow, "Spoiled?"

"Seokjin and Hoseok. Double Seok is double trouble; never cross either of them. They grew up learning that with enough money, you could hold the world in your palm and crush it into dust if you so choose. Yoongi loves them, but sometimes I wonder if it's a keep-your-enemies-closer type of situation." He winks and mutters, "But you didn't hear that from me."

You pantomime locking your lips and throwing away the key, and Namjoon sits forward and pulls you into a side hug as he asks, "Museum?"

"I've never actually been to an art museum," you admit, watching as Namjoon's mouth falls open. "I mean, I've been to events at galleries on the hips of rich men, but I've never, like, enjoyed the experience or the art."

Namjoon stands, sending the tiny blue chair scraping across the tile floor, and you laugh at his sudden urgency as you stand slowly. He grabs your melted ice cream and angles it toward you as if to ask if you are finished. You hold a hand up and shake your head, and he stacks it into his empty cup and tosses them out. Then, Namjoon reaches for your jacket sleeve and tugs you out of the ice cream parlor and onto the sidewalk, to the car.

It is warmer outside than before, and you shrug out of your jacket before sitting in the car. Namjoon turns on the radio, rolls down the windows, and gives you a soft smile before driving to the museum, and you feel the warmth of that smile spread throughout you, starting from the center of your chest. 

Your museum date with Namjoon is daunting but in a way that feels heavy and weightless all at once. From the moment you arrive, Namjoon takes you by the hand and leads you from room to room, explaining the period of each piece and its significance, sometimes giving you insight into the artist's life. He rarely reads the information provided with each artwork, and you wonder just how many times he has walked through these rooms. 

Although you retain so little of what Namjoon tells you, it is nice listening to someone talk so excitedly about anything for an hour. Yoongi expressing how excitable he becomes was truly an understatement, and Namjoon explains each detail patiently and happily, never making you feel badly about how little you know.

And despite it being information overload, the time flies. You are surprised when you reach the exit and nearly ask if he wants to go to another museum, but his phone rings, and he drops your hand, holds up a finger to tell you he will be a minute, and walks away. 

Outside the museum are concrete steps with short concrete platforms beside them, and you walk down the steps and sit on the edge of one of the platforms. Namjoon stands several feet away, watching you as he speaks, then he hangs up and makes his way over.

"Hungry?" Namjoon asks. 

Faced with the question, you realize you are quite hungry, and you nibble on your lip as you nod. You wonder what kind of food Namjoon might like—what kind of a place he would take you to. You feel excited by the prospect and accept Namjoon's outstretched hand as you stand, smoothing the back of your dress with your free hand. 

"Hubby wants to take us to ramen. Sound good?"

"Hub—you mean Yoongi?" you ask. 

Namjoon gives your hand a squeeze. "Who else?" 

You are overcome with the sudden urge to create space between Namjoon and yourself and slide your hand from his grasp. Namjoon does not react and begins walking toward the parking lot. 

"I could eat," you say as you step in line with him. 

The walk is short and silent, and you slide into the passenger seat, suddenly feeling a ripple of anxiety wash over you. You do not think you have done anything to cross any lines, but Namjoon has been flirtatious and touchy-feely, and you are not so sure how Yoongi would feel about that. You feel guilty for allowing yourself to enjoy those moments, obnoxious as some may have been, and sink into the seat with your arms folded over your chest. 

It is not long before you are near the river, pulling up to a valet booth. The building entrance looks far too nice for how you are dressed, and you feel self-conscious as Namjoon leads you through the tall gold doors into the lobby of what is clearly a five-star hotel. 

Everything is light marble, gold, and crystal, and you can feel the eyes of folks around you, wondering who came in off the street in Nikes to mingle with the likes of them. 

Then Yoongi stands from a black velvet chair in the center of the lobby, dressed down in a black henley shirt with the sleeves rolled up, untucked over khaki pants. As he approaches, all eyes are on you for another reason. 

"There is my favorite girl," Yoongi says as he gently takes you by the jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. Yoongi's lips are as soft and sweet as ever, and the heavy warmth of Namjoon's hand does not leave your back the entire time. 

"And there is my favorite boy," Yoongi adds with a wink to Namjoon before leading the way through the lobby of the hotel to a set of gold elevators. You expect the elevator to take you to the top floor for a lavish view of the river, but you are brought to a basement level instead. 

The elevator doors open to a lobby that is much different from the last. Rich, dark wood makes up the décor, with sconces giving off dim lighting. In the center of the space is a partition wall about four feet wide with a waterfall installation that opens into a small pond. Lily Pads float on the surface, and small koi fish swim below. The sound of water trickling from the ceiling, over various protruding rocks, and landing gently into the small pond helps to settle your nerves, and you bump into Yoongi when he stops at the hostess counter, distracted by the sight.

Yoongi greets the hostess, who simply bows as you continue through the restaurant. He guides you around the waterfall, through the dining space, to a round booth in the far right corner. Yoongi sits and slides in, and you follow, scooting in toward the center. Namjoon enters and scoots in beside you, and you reach for a glass of water to busy yourself and quiet your tumultuous thoughts. 

You do not have to ask to know that this table was set with the expectation of Yoongi and two guests to come. It would not surprise you if this booth stays on reserve just for him, as old gangster films depict. To your left, Namjoon lifts his arm and rests it on the back of the booth, and to your right, Yoongi's fingers begin tracing circles on your knee. 

"Did you two have fun?" Yoongi asks softly, close to your ear. 

Your eyelids flutter closed at the proximity of bodies—Yoongi so close, his warmth radiates, so close his cologne tickles your senses—and Namjoon, not quite as near, but whose hand you can sense right behind your head. There is a tension in the air that hangs heavily, anchoring you in place. 

"Yes," you respond, opening your eyes and turning to find Yoongi's dark, curious gaze on you. "I don't remember a single thing Namjoon told me, but he was very excited and explained everything in great detail. It was...cute."

Yoongi raises an eyebrow and straightens his posture to look over you. 

"Cute, hmm?"

"What can I say, hyung," Namjoon responds with a chuckle, "I am quite adorable."

"Oh, I am well aware," Yoongi mutters. "And the shakeup? I hope it wasn't too..."

"Traumatic," you provide, and Yoongi hums in response. "It was, but I made it out alive. And with a new fit!"

"I see that," Yoongi says, eyes falling to the curve of your breasts before his gaze meets yours with a wink. "You look great."

Warmth floods your cheeks, and you turn back to your glass of water, taking a nice big gulp, feeling the cold spread through you. Your nipples harden beneath the fabric of your dress, and as Yoongi's fingers slowly dance along your inner thigh, arousal tingles between your legs. 

A server comes with edamame and a plate of gyoza, and you thank your lucky stars for the distraction. Yoongi's hand does not leave your leg, but Namjoon straightens out and uses his right hand to pick up a soybean pod to bring to his lips. Whether real or imaginary, you can sense the air behind your head is suddenly lighter, colder without Namjoon’s presence—like the gravity has shifted ever so slightly. 

You order a bowl of hakata ramen with plenty of additional toppings, and the men follow suit and get three bottles of sake and a pitcher of beer for the three of you. Once the server is finished taking your order, she reaches for a curtain at the far left side of the booth, tucked in beside the wall, and pulls it until it fully encloses you in red fabric, rich wood, and red leather. 

Surprised by the sudden privacy that has been granted, you turn to Yoongi with wide eyes, and he gently grabs you by the chin and pulls you into a deep kiss. You squeak in surprise and lean back, slamming into Namjoon from the motion, wondering if he had always been so close. Has Namjoon’s body shifted behind you? Are his hands and lips as close as you imagine they are?

Yoongi chuckles against your lips and groans, "Don’t want to leave Joonie out, hmm?"

Namjoon's fingers graze down your arm, shoulder to elbow, and you shiver as you use your palms to push Yoongi off, just enough to partially straighten out. Heat pools between your thighs and your skin burns in the wake of Namjoon's light caress. 

"What are you doing?" you ask in a huff.

"Sorry darling," Yoongi rasps, leaning to connect your lips once more. "I missed you."

You turn your face away in an attempt to maintain some level of decency, but Yoongi's eager lips find your cheek, your chin, your neck. The caress of his lips is featherlight and dizzying, and you muster all the strength you have to gently shove him away. 

"Namjoon doesn't mind," Yoongi rasps as he sits up. His fingers tug on your chin, softly forcing you to look at him. You search his eyes, expecting him to say more, but he watches patiently and quietly for your response. 

"And if I mind?" you mutter unconvincingly. 

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow and tugs his lips into a crooked smirk. "Do you mind?"

No, you think. 

Your pulse resounds in your ears, and the gentle tingle of arousal between your thighs graduates to a throb. You wonder what Yoongi could be asking of you, exactly. You wonder what the ramifications could be if you are honest with him. Your gut tells you that whatever is happening is not a trick, but you cannot help but feel cornered. 

"What are you asking me?" you press, voice barely above a whisper. 

As if on cue, there is a knock on the side of the booth. Yoongi responds, telling them to enter, and the server pulls the curtain away to reveal three steaming bowls of ramen and a tray full of alcohol. You are tempted to ask the server to keep the curtain open, but there's a thrill to…whatever the fuck is happening…and you think you want to continue to see it through. Perhaps sake and beer will be just the ticket to get Yoongi's soft, devious lips to come out and say what is on his mind. 

You are grateful for the distraction brought by the ramen and delight in the quiet sounds of slurping and the occasional satisfied groan. This truly is a meal worth savoring, and you stir in each topping, filling your spoon with as much variety as you can with each bite. 

Namjoon is the first to push his bowl away with a sigh that borders a moan. Next is Yoongi, and he makes quick work of filling everyone's sake cups, urging everyone to drink, and filling them once more. You scrape the bottom of your bowl for remnants of chashu, veggie, and noodle before conceding and pushing a bowl of broth away, feeling too full to drink the rest. 

The sake and beer work perhaps a little too well. With the food out of the way, liquid flows, and soon everyone is tipsy and touchy, and Yoongi is back on topic. Both men have an arm slung over the booth behind you, and you wonder if they are touching each other. Rather than look, you turn to Yoongi, bringing one bent leg onto the seat, and run your hand over his chest. 

Yoongi turns, brings a leg up onto the seat so he can face you, and your eyes rove down the expanse of his chest, to his tummy, and down to his crotch. Then, with a warmth rising to your cheeks, you gasp quietly and force yourself to look back at Yoongi's face. Yoongi squints and cocks his head, and you shake your head and look away, wide-eyed and, frankly, impressed. 

"Yes, dear?"

You clear your throat and cover your face with your hands; you are not sure you want to voice what is ricocheting around in your intoxicated head. Yoongi grabs one of your wrists and gives you another questioning look, and with your other hand covering you, you mutter, "Your...your balls look so big in these pants."

Yoongi laughs, a deep full-belly sound as he releases your wrist and gently grabs the back of your head. 

"Is that so?" he groans.

With a shy nod, you drop your hand and let your eyes fall back to his crotch, and...good lord, suddenly, you have the urge to touch and lick and beg Yoongi to sit on your face. Everything is so prominently on display in these pants, and your eyes trace each khaki curve, making note of every shadow. 

What is it about the sight that makes you absolutely feral? You imagine how heavy they must feel, filling your hands. You remember the way they slap against your clit when Yoongi fucks you from behind and clench every muscle between your legs, desperate for friction of any kind. 

"I can't believe the effect my balls have on you, darling," Yoongi chides.

"Shut up," you whimper, licking your lips. 

Namjoon clears his throat and playfully whines, "I'm still here, you know."

Without missing a beat, Yoongi responds, "Yes, Joonie, you have nice big balls too, don't worry."

"How do you know?" you ask, allowing all of the suspicions you've had finally pour out. 

Yoongi grins, pulls your lips to his, and says, "How do you think I know?"

You breathe in Yoongi's breath—sticky and hot and scented with spicy broth and sake. 

With a shattered breath, you whisper, "Because you two were...or are...intimate?"

A hand gently pushes your hair to the side, and warm breath ghosts the back of your neck, sending a chill through you that has your head craning to the side. 

"Does that bother you?" Namjoon asks.

Your eyes fall closed, and you lean back into Namjoon's touch as you whisper, "No."

"Would you like Namjoon to play with us, darling?" Yoongi all but growls against your mouth. 

Your lungs fill with air, and you tremble at the thought. 

"Yes," you gasp. 

Namjoon's lips connect with your neck, gently sucking wet marks into your skin, and Yoongi nibbles on your bottom lip. You moan as quietly as you can and reach back with one hand over your head to thread your fingers into Namjoon's hair and pull him close, then reach forward with the other to tangle in Yoongi's hair. 

Arms wrap and tug, fingers search and graze and dig, each touch sending sparks through you, threatening to start a blaze and consume every inch of you. Hands paw and discover, squeezing your breasts and gripping onto your thighs. 

The leather booth squeaks as Namjoon scoots closer, and you remember you are still in the restaurant and that you cannot get too carried away. Your head spins, heart pounds, and you feel the desperate urge to go home and fall into bed with both of these men—eager to let them do with you whatever they wish. 

"Please," you whimper.

"What is it you desire, sweetheart?"

"Tell me what you want, darling."

"You. Both of you. All of you." You feel frantic from need. "Let's get out of here. Let's go home."

Yoongi releases his hold on you and slams the rest of his sake. When he pulls you in for a deep, sloppy kiss, the sweetness from the drink coats your tongue, and you let out a soft moan that he swallows whole. Namjoon's teeth tease your earlobe, pulling a gasp from your lips that tumbles into Yoongi's mouth. 

"Please," you beg again. 

Namjoon is the first to back off. "I'll call for a car and let valet know we will be keeping ours here overnight."

Yoongi groans and releases your kiss, filling everyone's glasses with more dizzying clear liquid. You sip at yours and straighten your posture, sitting back with a deep exhale. You are certainly past the point of tipsy, but there is no question that everything happening right now is something you want. 

In a blur, you slam the rest of your drink with the men and scoot out of the booth. Yoongi brags that there is no bill to pay because he owns the entire hotel as he leaves a generous tip for the staff, and the three of you hobble haphazardly through the restaurant. 

You ride the elevator to the first floor with one hand in Yoongi's grasp and the other in Namjoon's. Yoongi tugs you along through a winding hallway and out one of the side entrances. It is not long before Hoseok pulls up in an SUV, and the three of you clamber into the backseat. 

"Have fun?" Hoseok asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you in the rearview mirror. 

You nod and send Hoseok a soft smile, remembering Namjoon's earlier warning about Hoseok's ferocity. Two hands rub your legs, teasing you just under the hem of your skirt, and you rest your head against the seat and close your eyes, allowing yourself to be consumed by the quiet yet persistent presence of the men beside you. 

The drive home feels short, and you are surprised when you open your eyes and find yourself just outside the mansion gates. Hoseok pulls up to the front steps, wishes you a good night, and as soon as the car doors are closed, he leaves the property, appearing to go back the way he came. 

Yoongi approaches the front door, punches the passcode, and goes through more steps to gain access. Namjoon surprises you by spinning you around to face him, wrapping his arms behind your thighs, and lifting you. You squeal and wrap yourself around him as he walks up the small set of marble steps leading into the mansion. 

Namjoon steps out of his shoes in cautious movements, leaning into the wall for stability, then he removes your sneakers and tosses them to the pile. It is jarring how quiet the mansion is as Namjoon carries you through the main hall to the steps. 

Yoongi teases him about not tripping with you in his arms, and you hold on tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. Namjoon's neck smells like a spring morning, fresh and bright with a hint of something floral—a scent you would like to commit to memory. 

At the top of the stairs, your heart begins to pound just as hard as it had in the restaurant when Namjoon's lips first touched your skin. Butterflies take flight in your tummy; you cannot believe any of this is happening.

"How should we do this?" Yoongi asks. 

You turn to find him tugging his shirt over his head, turning his hair into a wild, pretty mess. Pale skin littered with scars greets you, and you trace each line down, down, to Yoongi's long fingers undoing his fly and down, down to the crotch of his pants and his prominent bulge.

Namjoon sets you on the bed but stays close, and you keep your thighs hooked around the back of his legs as he begins unbuttoning his shirt. Yoongi gets onto the bed in tight blue briefs and crawls around you, urging you to scoot back from the edge of the bed. You reluctantly obey, releasing Namjoon from your hold as you crawl backward until your back hits Yoongi's chest, and you relax in his hold. Yoongi's hands travel down your body and begin to gather the bottom of your dress and pull it up around your hips. 

You do not take your eyes off Namjoon as his chest and abdomen are exposed, and he does not take his eyes off you as Yoongi reveals your black lace panties and pulls the dress up, past your bare breasts, and over your head. A black dragon tattoo snakes from Namjoon's right pec down the expanse of his tummy, and you study the lines curiously, not missing the curves of muscle beneath the ink. 

Namjoon quickly removes his belt and slacks, stepping out of each pant leg and crawling between your legs onto the bed in tight black briefs. You lean back into Yoongi, feeling the bulge of his cock against your back, and Namjoon cages you in with his hands beside Yoongi's hips as he leans forward, grazing his clothed cock against your core as he kisses Yoongi over you. The gentle touch of Namjoon between your legs sends a shiver through you, and you whimper and roll your hips, desperate for more, but he keeps himself just out of reach. 

Yoongi lifts a hand to pull Namjoon close, moaning into his lips as if he has longed for this moment for some time. You kiss anywhere your lips can touch, along Namjoon's clavicle and across his pec, and flick your tongue out to tease his nipple. Namjoon groans as his hips twitch and his cock dances across your pussy, pushing a moan from your throat.

"You never answered me, darling," Yoongi groans behind you. 

Namjoon shifts his weight, and before you can respond to Yoongi or process Namjoon's new position, his lips are on yours, pulling you into the soft, deep kiss you both have so clearly been in need of. You gasp as Namjoon licks over your lips and glides his tongue over yours, licking greedily into your mouth. 

You attempt to keep up with Namjoon's tongue, twisting and tasting and teasing as he moans deep, delicious sounds into your throat. Yoongi gently pinches one of your nipples, and your back arches, breaking your kiss and encouraging Namjoon's eager mouth to travel down. Namjoon kisses and nips at your skin, covering your neck and throat in little wet marks—kisses and nips across your collarbone, pulling whimpers and shivers through you. 

Namjoon's hands grab your hips and squeeze as he crawls further down and flicks his tongue over your nipple. You moan and crane your neck, desperate to taste Yoongi, and Yoongi licks and sucks your bottom lip as Namjoon laps his tongue over your nipple in slow, perfect circles. Every inch of you is ablaze, and you fight the urge to beg for more.

"Do you like how Joonie makes you feel?" Yoongi asks against your lips. 

"Yes, sir," you whimper. 

Namjoon releases your nipple with a pop. "Oh fuck, you have her calling you sir? That's hot."

Yoongi hums and smiles, "I do."

"So would that make both of you my baby, then?" Namjoon asks, and you turn to look at him, unsure what he means.

Namjoon smirks as Yoongi's lips graze over your ear. "Joonie likes it when I call him daddy."

"Oh," you respond, letting the information settle. You imagine Yoongi lying below Namjoon, mewling and begging and calling him daddy in a soft, broken voice, and you blurt, "Wait, really?"

"We can ease you into it," Namjoon says with a wink as he dives back down to kiss your abdomen with his spit-slick lips.

"I'm into it," you respond mindlessly as Namjoon travels lower, down to your hip. You spread your legs further, desperate for Namjoon to touch you, but he stays at your hip, nipping and sucking and tickling. Daddy kink is not something you have explored before, but you are in the right mind to let go of your inhibitions a little.

"Please, daddy," you whine, testing the waters. Namjoon's teeth sink a little deeper, and you hiss. "Please touch me. I need you."

Namjoon growls against your skin and gazes at you with a heat in his eyes that gives you goosebumps. 

"Since baby asked so nicely," he responds and scoots lower. 

Yoongi backs up, causing you to slide out of his grasp, then he grabs you by the armpits and tugs you backward, giving Namjoon more room to settle on his elbows between your legs. 

"Is that where you want daddy to touch you?" Yoongi asks in a dark, teasing tone.

"Yes, sir," you whine. 

Namjoon kisses and sucks on your inner thigh, slowly getting lower. Yoongi's hands are still under your armpits, and he anchors your arms in place, preventing you from reaching out to touch Namjoon. 

With a teasing puff of hot air against your clothed pussy, you tense up and cry out, desperate for more—for anything. You roll your hips in hopes of rubbing yourself against Namjoon's face, and he grabs your thighs with both hands, holding you firmly in place. Namjoon nudges his nose gently over your clit, sending a spark of pleasure through you. 

"Please, daddy," you moan, "please give me more."

"Does my pretty baby deserve more?" Namjoon teases, pressing his nose against you once more. 

"Yes!" you cry out, "yes, I helped you pick out a weapon, and I listened to you talk for an entire hour about art. I'm a good girl; so good for you!"

Namjoon hums in thought, then says, "It's true you have been very good for me today."

"What's this about a weapon," Yoongi asks.

Namjoon's fingers dance over the waistband of your panties, then dip below the fabric and slowly begin to tug. 

"I picked the stun baton for Namjoon to torture the guy with," you whimper, sinking further into pleasure as Namjoon tugs your panties down agonizingly low. 

"What a good girl," Yoongi praises sweetly.

Namjoon's hands still and release your panties with a soft snap of elastic against your skin, making you jump. "You have been a good girl, but I think I want to make you beg a little more."

"Please," you cry, feeling petulant, "please, daddy. Please, I want you so badly. I need you, daddy."

Namjoon rubs a finger down across your clothed slit. The feeling is heavenly, and your back arches as a moan cuts through your throat. 

"So wet," Namjoon muses. "Is this all for me, baby?"

"Yes, daddy."

"I bet you taste so sweet, baby," Namjoon groans, pressing his finger against you, up the expanse of your slit, and back to your entrance. 

"Taste me," you beg, "I'm all yours, daddy."

Namjoon tugs your panties aside in a swift movement, and at the same time, the front door to the mansion slams open. With a quiet gasp, Namjoon sits up, and Yoongi releases your arms and scrambles out from beneath you, causing you to crash back against the comforter. From downstairs, a deep voice calls something inaudible, and Yoongi grabs a black silk robe from a hook on his bathroom door and wraps it around himself as he makes his way to the bedroom door.

As soon as the door is opened, the deep voice can be heard more clearly. "Boss! Are you home!"

"Be right there, Tae!" Yoongi shouts as he leaves. 

Namjoon stands and looks down at you as if he is attempting to commit the sight to memory, then turns and enters Yoongi's walk-in closet. He returns a moment later in black joggers a size too small while pulling a black tee over his head. 

"Namjoon!" Yoongi shouts from the bottom of the steps. "We need you!"

Namjoon is out the door, leaving it open, and you sit up and listen. 

"What happened to you?" Namjoon shouts as his feet crash heavily down each step. 

"He was attacked by a client at Paradise," Taehyung responds. 

"Jimin," you mutter under your breath as you jump out of bed and run to Yoongi's closet for joggers and a tee, punching each limb through the correct holes. It may be precarious for you and Namjoon to be in Yoongi's matching clothes, but you do not care; you need to make sure Jimin is okay. 

As you run down the stairs, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Taehyung turn to you in shock. You ignore everyone's gaze and run to Jimin, who sits on the end of the couch, falling to your knees in front of him. One of his eyes is already bruising, and his lip is split. There is bruising on his neck, and he is wrapped in a thick, pastel pink fuzzy robe, shivering. 

"What do you need, sweetie," you ask softly. "Water?" 

Jimin nods shallowly, and you stand, making your way to the kitchen, but Yoongi grabs your arm and stops you in your tracks. You try to pull from his grasp, but he holds you tightly.

"Are you sure you can handle this? We don't know what happened, but it could be triggering."

"Yes," you respond without a second thought. "I want to help."

"Alright." Yoongi releases you from his grasp and smiles softly.

"Was the assault sexual?" Namjoon asks, and you pause. That is what Yoongi meant, though deep down, you already knew. 

"No," Taehyung responds on Jimin's behalf. "It never had a chance to become sexual. The client showed up and immediately attacked."

You run to the kitchen, thankful for the movement sensors that flicker the lights to life, and open two cabinets before finding the one holding cups. You grab a large, clear plastic cup and fill it in the sink, careful to turn the filter on.

When you return, Namjoon's fists are balled, and he is red in the face. You drop to your knees before Jimin and hold the water steady while he slowly reaches for it.

"Thank you, dove," Jimin rasps so weakly it brings tears to your eyes. 

"Drink up, sweetie," you respond, gently rubbing the sides of his knees with your hands over his fuzzy robe. 

"I'm gonna fucking kill him," Namjoon growls behind you. "And then we are driving to Busan and delivering his head to Shin in person."

Yoongi sighs and rounds the table, sitting in his gaudy blue chair. Taehyung sits beside him at the end of the equally gaudy blue couch, and Namjoon squats to your left and reaches to hold Jimin's free hand. 

"Alright, let's form a plan," Yoongi announces. 

As if on cue, the front door opens. You turn to find Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jeongguk standing in the entrance. 

"Get dressed, Boss," Jeongguk says. He sounds out of breath. "There's a snake in my trunk."

Jimin stiffens and looks up with a gasp, asking, "You got him?"

"I got him," Jeongguk confirms. "Lets teach this fuck a lesson."

Yoongi is on his feet, making his way to the front door, clothing be damned, apparently, as he slides his feet into a pair of fur-lined loafers. Namjoon shakes his head and then touches your wrist gently to get your attention. 

"Take Jimin upstairs. Let him bathe and change into something warm. We will be back within the hour."

You nod and turn to Jimin, who nods. 

"Okay," you say, first to Namjoon, then to Jimin. "Okay, sweetie. Let's head up."

In a whirlwind, the men are gone. Jimin scoots to the edge of the couch, sets his cup on the table, then collapses in on himself in tears. 

"It's okay, Jimin," you promise, running a hand through his soft, silver hair. "Let's get you into a warm bath. Everything is going to be okay."

I'm not sure what I'm doing Give me some direction I miss you, think I'm drunk, pour it more

Goddamn it, I like it Pretty good, can't be shaken, yeah I don't need you, need you, need you, need you

🎵 visit the playlist

sorry the updates have been so spread out. i hope to have another chapter out next week so you won't have to wait so long after this update. stay hydrated! love you! 

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Collateral is copyright 2022 theharrowing, all rights reserved.

[thebigqueer]

"Fellas, Is It Gay to Perform Necromancy on Your Ex-Crush?" - Valgrace (1/2)

Summary: Nico decides to help Leo reach out to Jason.

Notes: This is a 2-part story because I made it too long lol. Also it's technically valgrace but it features nico & leo more (for this first chapter).

Read on AO3

The firelight flickers over Leo’s features as he sticks his marshmallow stick into it. Despite the warm company of flames, goosebumps still rise against his bare arms as a gust of wind pushes through the evening air.

He sighs. Piper’s been gone for too long, and he’s getting lonely on his own. He could easily move across to the other side of the amphitheater and sit with his siblings, but right now, Leo really just wants to be with his best friend. He hasn’t seen her in a long while and it’s been nice catching up with her.

The marshmallow’s lightness gives way to darkness as it chars in the fire. Leo considers bringing it closer again, but he figures it might be better to let it continue roasting. He likes the taste of burnt marshmallows.

So did Jason, Leo thinks wistfully. Then he scolds himself for even thinking about the late demigod.

It’s been months since he’s has died. Leo should be over it by now; he should have moved past it. But he hasn’t.

It’s hard to forget when every time he thinks about Jason, he can only remember the secrets he kept from him.

Leo scrubs a tired hand across his face. He needs to stop thinking about him. Jason’s in the past, and in front of Leo is only the future. He can’t keep himself tied to what could have been, but instead focus his attention on what can be.

Besides, Nico’s already sent in those holograms that Leo made Jason while he was trying to find his way back to the real world. That alone has released the demigod of some of his guilt; at least Jason’s going to finally know how he feels.

But it’s not enough. Leo needs to talk to Jason. He needs to let go of him for once and for all.

The marshmallow in the fire blazes. Its whiteness bubbles and boils in the flames, then hardens into black crust. Leo almost laughs. How metaphorical.

The crunch of footsteps snaps the demigod’s attention, and he turns to the sound of it. Expecting it to be Piper, Leo offers a false grin to the approacher and gears up a joke to exclaim. Upon closer inspection, however, his eyebrows jump in surprise and anxiety - as well as a little bewilderment - hum in his blood.

A teenage demigod stalks towards him, his dark, feathery hair fluttering in the cool air. Silver tips gleam in the firelight at the ends of it. Abysmal obsidian eyes bear into Leo’s own, and a knowing, embarrassed smile cracks against the hero’s face.

“Nico,” Leo murmurs into the quiet. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he responds. His deep, glass-like voice resonates in the air and pierces into Leo’s ears. “Mind if I sit?”

Leo scoots over to make room for him, offering a confused but nonetheless welcoming look. “Sure. Cool hair, by the way.”

Nico smiles. “Thanks. I did it after a mental breakdown.”

“Sounds ideal.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Oh.”

After an uncomfortable pause, in which Leo turns back to his marshmallow in embarrassment and Nico picks on his jeans, the son of Hephaestus asks, “What brings you here?”

“I live at camp,” the demigod says blandly.

Leo rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant.”

Nico’s dark eyes glimmer with amusement. Despite Leo’s melancholic state just seconds before, a flutter of relief overcomes his heart. He and Nico haven’t talked much since he’s gotten back, but he’s glad to see that the demigod looks a lot more… comfortable here, for lack of a better word. He looks like he’s found his place.

“I know,” Nico says. “I’m actually here to talk to you.”

Leo nods. He’s been expecting this. “About the holograms I asked you to send Jason?”

The other demigod shrugs. “I’m a curious person. I’m just wondering what’s up with that. Totally fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though. But, you know, seeing how you asked me to travel to the Underworld specifically just to do that… Can’t help but be a little anxious about whatever it is that I gave him.”

Leo nods again, but this time a trickle of anxiety runs down his back. His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

“I don’t mind talking about it,” he says. Leo turns his gaze to Nico and offers him a pointed stare. “Besides, I think more than anyone, you might know what I’m talking about.”

If Nico understands what he means, he doesn’t show it. He remains still and patient, unsurprised, as if he’s expecting whatever Leo’s about to say before he even says it.

The son of Hephaestus sighs. He pulls his marshmallow stick back from the fire, but he doesn’t make a move to take the sweet substance off. His mind wanders back to so many nights ago, when he, Jason, and Piper had been sitting in this exact place, telling each other scary campfire stories and laughing when any of them cracked a joke.

It’s amazing how much has changed within a year.

“Listen, Nico,” Leo begins, his voice strangling itself, “I just want to start by saying that… I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you on the ship. I wish I could have been a better person to you then. But I guess I was dealing with my own stuff, and I was kinda blinded by my own issues to see that others around me were having troubles too. So I’m sorry about being inconsiderate to you.”

Nico waves his hand by way of dismissing the apology. “It’s fine. I understand that. My problems didn’t need to be of your concern, and I’m sure there were things that I could have helped you with that I hadn’t. Don’t feel sorry, Leo. You were dealing with your own issues.”

Leo shakes his head. “But it’s… I…” He groans and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s more than just me being sorry. I just wish I’d let you know you weren’t entirely alone. In terms of being, like, confused about your… identity, I mean.” His heart flutters in his chest as he turns again to Nico, anticipating the demigod’s reaction to his admittance. He’s not sure if he’s come off as direct as he needs to be.

Nico frowns. “You mean, like, me being gay? What does that have to do with this?” he asks defensively.

Leo notes the way his voice hitches at the word “gay,” like he’s still trying to taste the way it feels around his mouth. Nico shifts the tiniest bit away from him, as if he’s fleeing from judgment. The sight of it creates a crack against Leo’s heart; he doesn’t want Nico to feel like he’s being criticized.

“What I’m trying to say,” Leo says in what he hopes is a calming voice, “is that… I know what it was like. I mean, I don’t know what it was like to be you specifically, but I get that anxiety over your sexuality. I… I went through something similar.”

For a moment, it seems as though Nico doesn’t fully understand. His eyebrows curve into the center as he absorbs Leo’s words. Confusion sparks against his eyes. But after a moment - a moment in which Leo’s eyes bear deeper into Nico’s, begging him to comprehend - understanding flashes against the son of Hades’ features. “Oh,” he murmurs. “So… Are you saying…”

Leo nods. “I’m… queer. I know you and I haven’t had the same experiences with our sexualities, or even in general, but just know that… I wish I could have done more to reach out to you.” He shrugs. “Maybe we could have helped each other out.”

Nico offers a hesitant smile. “Yeah. I guess so. Wish I’d known, too. But… I’m honored you told me. Admitting this kind of stuff can take a lot of courage, as I’m sure you know. I’m glad you’ve come to some kind of conclusion about yourself.”

“You too, man,” Leo says. “I’m glad that you’ve found a way to move on from your fears of yourself. I’m not sure where you stand in terms of your confidence, but just know that we’re all proud of you. We all support you.”

Nico’s smile widens, just a bit, and that’s enough to make Leo’s heart skip a beat. He’s never seen Nico look so sure of himself, but the sight of it makes Leo excited, too. It gives him hope that maybe someday, he’ll be able to reach that level of assurance.

Not today. But someday.

Nico rolls his eyes. “Enough of this cheesy stuff. What does this have to do with those holograms?”

Leo shifts in his seat, contemplating what to say and how to say it. His chest thrums with a sudden burst of anxiety at the very prospect of admitting to Nico something that took him so long to do to himself. How will Nico even take the news? Would he make fun of Leo? Would he tell him Leo’s feelings are a mere joke?

Will he understand?

Leo’s chest expands as he takes a deep breath. He knows he’ll feel better when he tells someone about why he’s done what he’s done. He’s kept this in for too long.

The son of Hephaestus plays with his fingers in his lap, if only to get a distraction from the world around him. “I… I really… I liked Jason,” he murmurs. “I spent a lot of time pining for him. But I also spent a lot of time hating myself for liking him.”

Nico’s eyebrows lower and he offers a considerate, empathetic nod. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Leo turns his gaze to the son of Hades. Sincerity sparkles in Nico’s eyes, and an urging look covers his features. Leo’s anxiety lulls itself as he sees the understanding; at least the son of Hades isn’t judging him.

“Yeah,” Leo murmurs, “so that happened. It’s kind of why I decided to date Calypso. I just wanted to… forget about my feelings for him, you know? But that wasn’t fair to her or me, because in a way I kind of used her. We’re broken up now, though, which I think is better for both of us. Still good friends.”

Nico offers a polite nod.

“Anyway,” continues Leo, “I was getting tired of keeping that secret in. So you know how I sent that hologram to you?” When Nico nods again, Leo takes that as a sign to go on. “Yeah, so I tried doing something similar to Jason. Except for him, I kind of just kept all those holograms for myself. They were mostly used for therapeutic purposes, just so I could get a better understanding of myself.” Leo sighs and runs a shaky hand through his hair. His hollow chest thrums with guilt at the thought of the holograms; they contained so many secrets that he couldn’t give up, not even to the person they were intended to be given to. “I meant to give it to Jason,” he promises, “but he…”

In a quick second, memories of Jason sear Leo’s mind. His gleaming hair, his awkward smile. The way his laugh would echo around Leo and envelop him in happiness.

He was perfect. He was everything Leo wished he could be.

He was everything Leo wished he could have.

Leo bites his bottom lip. A surge of hot tears crash against his eyes, and it takes all his strength to prevent them from pouring out.

Nico shifts his body so that he’s closer to Leo. Not close enough to make either of them uncomfortable, but enough so that Leo knows he’s not alone. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “I get it now.”

Leo nods. Despite his efforts to keep his emotions in check, a tear still manages to slip out. It flashes in the orange firelight and drips from his face, bursting onto the green grass below.

Through a choked voice, he whispers, “I just… needed him to have those holograms. I needed him to know the truth. I didn’t want him to leave this world without… without knowing that there was someone who loved him in that way.”

“You needed to let go of your ghost,” Nico murmurs in understanding. “You needed to move on.”

Leo nods.

“Did it work, at least?” asks Nico. “Do you feel better now that you’ve given it to him?”

The son of Hephaestus opens his mouth to speak, but silence strangles his voice. Taking a deep breath, he whispers, “It’s not enough. I need… I need more. I need to actually confront him.”

Leo turns his head to Nico, a pleading look in his eyes. He hopes Nico understands what he’s asking.

The child of Hades’ eyes widen in surprise. “Are you asking me to take you to the Underworld?” he asks. “Look, Leo, I’m not sure-”

Leo shakes his head and waves his hands dismissively. “No, no, I’m too exhausted for adventures. I just want some time without all that excitement. But I just… I’m wondering if maybe there’s a way that I can contact him. And knowing that you’re a ghost whisperer…”

Nico’s eyes darken in the firelight. A cold, icy film covers them, and he fixes Leo with a stern look. “I can’t bring him back, Leo,” he says. “That’s not fair.”

Leo raises his palms defensively. “Hey, no, that’s not-”

“I’m not finished, though,” says Nico. An air of hesitance lingers in his words, and when he turns his dark eyes away from Leo, the latter’s heart skips a beat in anticipation. Excitement and anxiety roar in Leo’s ears. Will he agree to help?

Nico turns his face into the firelight, but he looks right through it. His mind wanders to some other place, some other world where Leo can’t reach him. The son of Hades’ olive fingers twitch in the glow of the flames.

Nico looks around, and as he does so, the silver tips of his hair flash in the firelight. A stern, anxious look pulls on his features.

“What is it?” Leo asks. “What were you going to say?”

Nico turns back to him. His dark eyes burn brightly in the firelight, flaming with excitement. In a hushed, hurried voice, he whispers, “Meet me in the woods tonight, right after the sing-along. Don’t worry about curfew, because I can shadow travel the two of us out. Don’t tell anyone you’re going there. I have a plan to help you.”

At Nico’s words, a gust of wind brushes between the two and chills Leo down to his core. His skin prickles with goosebumps once more, but he’s not sure if that’s because of the chilly air or because of Nico.

With one final skeptical look, the son of Hades stands to leave. But before he can, Leo asks, “Wait, what are you doing? What am I going to walk into?”

Nico pauses in his steps. His body freezes and he goes rigid, almost as if Leo’s question has shocked him.

Then he turns and, in the flicker of the firelight, a ghost of a smile haunts his lips. “You deserve to see him one last time, Leo. And you need to learn to let him go, because the more you keep holding onto his memory… the more you become a ghost of yourself. I can’t bear to see another friend go. Consider this a gift from me to you.” His hand lingers at his side, almost as if reaching for a sword that isn’t there. “Consider this a gift from one friend to another. That is, if you consider us friends.”

A ripple of surprise thrums in Leo’s blood. If there’s anything he didn’t expect tonight, it was to hear that Nico di Angelo considered him a friend.

But nonetheless, a relieved, grateful smile gleams against Leo’s mouth.

“Friends,” he promises. “I owe you one.”

Nico laughs. “Yeah, you do. I’ll see you in a bit.”

And with that, the demigod rushes off into the darkness, leaving Leo alone with only the flames for company.

[bookstantrash]

A/N: Just saw that I hit 200 followers! I didn’t expect that even in my wildest dreams, so thank you so much for those of you who follow me, like/retweet my posts!! 🥰

Thanks aside, enjoy this chapter! I ended up not making it as angst as I intended it to be, so lucky you!

In which she makes a friend, Part Eight

Cassian’s headache was going to kill him.

The past week had been exhausting. Azriel had left only a day ago, leaving Cassian with more work and more troubled thoughts regarding the advance of the rebels.

At least now he had something to occupy his time during his sleepless nights, preferring to work instead of simply staring at his bedroom’s wall until the first rays of sunrise appeared.

Cassian was also worried about Kaelin. The young Illyrian had dismissed Nesta’s worried look, simply stating that his hair had been bothering him and that a few bruises were common. He had only been unfortunate enough to receive most of the blows on his face.

Both Cassian and Azriel had confirmed Kaelin’s words, but he had caught Nesta whispering with the young Illyrian when they thought nobody was looking, and Cassian was starting to get worried that Kaelin was hiding something.

Nesta also occupied his thoughts. Now more than ever.

Although she had actually sided with Azriel, both messing with him non stop — Azriel’s dark humour having surprisingly matched perfectly with Nesta’s ironic one — Cassian would see how she sometimes appeared to be lost in thought, becoming a little quieter once in a while, no doubt with her mind busy with Kaelin.

Cassian had to discover what was happening. He had to make sure that Nesta’s rare and easy smiles — even the way her stormy blue eyes softened more than less nowadays — would not disappear. She deserved all the happiness in the world. As did Kaelin.

But first, he had to rid himself of the nasty headache that had been bothering him all day.

“Now I know why Azriel rubs his temple so often” Cassian thought as he made his way for the healers tents, rubbing his own temple in a vain attempt to ease the pounding inside his head.

As he walked further into the tent, the smell of different herbs assaulted him, and Cassian took a deep breath, an expecting scent he could not name laying a blanket of calmness over him, easing his pain.

“Somebody give me some salt! An evil spirit has arrived!” Cassian heard a familiar grumpy voice shout.

“I missed you too Esmée” he said, stopping near the table where the matron of the healers appeared to be making a complicate looking potion.

“Bah, missed me! You missed coming here and charming my healers to give you extra bandages to wrap your fists, that’s what happened” Esmée replied, snorting.

“You usually need to wrap your hands or else they’ll get hurt even more. Am I wrong ladies?” Cassian playfully said, winking at one of the healers, who blushed.

“Hurt hands!! As if!” Esmée indignantly exclaimed “You are one vain warrior who does it for the aesthetics in four out of five cases!”

“And stop flirting with my healers! You’re distracting them!” she added, hitting him on the head with the small wooden stick she used to grind the herbs.

Cassian gave a surprised yelp, earning giggles from the healers.

“Great, now I’ll have a pump in the morning along with a headache” he thought, massaging his head.

“Esmée” Cassian charmingly tried, giving the old female his best puppy eyes “Uyara of the healers”

“Flattery will not get you anywhere kunumim” she huffed, but Cassian could see her eyes shining with secret delight.

Uyara meant Lady, owner and even dominant in the Illyrian tong. And Cassian may use flattery, but he was no liar while doing it. Esmée was the best healer the Illyrians had. She knew secrets long lost, passed only from matron to matron of camp. And her abilities were just as legendary. She truly was the Lady of the Healers.

“This time I did not come here to ask for bandages” Cassian said “I was wondering if you had any herbs for headaches. Mine is killing me”

Esmée surprised Cassian by raising her hands and cupping his cheeks, bringing his face down so she could inspect it.

“You have dark shadows under your eyes. Your eyes are tired, and you are a little anaemic” the old healer’s voice got unusually soft, maternal concern lacing it “You work too much. Have you been having trouble sleeping kunumim?”

Cassian felt his chest tighten a bit at Esmée’s words.

It had been a long time since someone had noticed how tired he felt beneath his happy facade. Since someone had cared to stop and really look at him.

Cassian loved his family. But even around them he felt the need to keep up the appearances.

He had to be the funny one. The one always there to make sure everyone was happy and comfortable.

Cassian sometimes wanted to scream. Wanted to cry and complain.

Wanted someone to hug him and let him slip his mask off.

Wanted someone who loved him enough to hear his troubles.

But Cassian could not afford to be selfish right now.

He had a camp to take care of.

“I’m fine Uyara” smiling weakly, Cassian gently took her hands off his face, squeezing them in reassurance.

Esmée clicked her tong in annoyance, her mean and grumpy attitude back in an instant, as if she was not worried at all about him.

“Lucky for you,” Esmée said, motioning for him to follow her to the back of the tent “we have recently made some painkiller tonics”

Her next words, however, got lost when Cassian smelled that calming scent again.

Closer now, he could clearly smell lavender and vanilla, a familiar scent.

And that’s when he saw her.

Nesta, an apron tied over her dark green dress, her sleeves pushed back — Cassian caught himself staring at her bare forearms and resisting the urge to run his fingertips softly against her milky skin — and brows knotted in concentration while she filled some vials.

“Nesta, grab two of those vials and pack them for this headstrong Commander”

At Esmée’s words, Nesta raised her head and looked in their direction, stormy blue eyes widening slightly when she spotted Cassian beside the healer.

“So this is where she disappears to everyday after lunch”

Nesta quickly recomposed herself, effortlessly filling the small glass flasks and placing them in a little pouch, Cassian not taking his eyes off of her for a single moment.

Esmée huffed in approval, but when Nesta tried to hand it to her, the healer refused it.

“You also need to rest. You think I did not see you dozing off? Or the way you were blinking heavily while mixing the herbs?”

Cassian’s attention peaked at that, and he noticed the shadows underneath Nesta’s eyes. They were faint, fainter than his, but they were still there.

“I’m fine Esmée” Nesta strongly argued, not backing off.

“You’re off duties until you’ve had some sleep and that’s final” the matron replied “What’s the problem with you two and not sleeping? It’s not as if you don’t have a bed”

And before they even knew what had happened, Esmée had ripped the apron from around Nesta’s waist, threw her coat and banned them from the tent.

“If that overexcited pitanga appears I’ll let him know that you already left with the Commander” with this last warning, Esmée left them outside, both a little lost.

Nesta was the first one to recompose herself. She wore her coat and started walking back to the cabin, not waiting to see if Cassian was following her.

Which he obviously was, effortlessly catching up to her given his long strides.

“You seem to be very fond of walking” he tried, casting her a side glance.

“I have no wings” she snorted “How else am I supposed to get anywhere then?

“Is that an invitation to fly with me Ness?” Cassian said, half joking and half expectant of her answer.

He would not lie and say the opportunity to hold her close to him did not tempt him. And he would not lie further by saying he had not been dying to show her how beautiful Illyria could be from above.

“No” she swiftly cut his offer down, staring straight ahead.

“It’ll be fun” he tried again.

“What’s so fun about making someone sick?” Nesta snapped, and Cassian remembered the last time she had flown.

How Rhysand had purposely flew faster than she could possibly stomach, no doubt a petty move from his side.

“I would fly very slowly” he tentatively said “And not even that high”

Cassian only received silence in answer, but he could tell from the way Nesta was pursing her lips that she was tempted to say yes.

“It is faster this way” Cassian added.

“Fine,” Nesta finally answered, a hint of annoyance in her voice “but one smart trick from you and you’ll wake up with burnt eyebrows tomorrow”

“I wouldn’t dare and try to make Your Highness uncomfortable”

They stopped walking, Cassian hesitating to take the first step and embrace Nesta.

The same could not be said about her, however, who boldly got close to him.

“So? Are we going or not?”

“Eager aren’t we sweetheart” Cassian gathered her on his arms, Nesta lacing her own around his shoulders “If I knew you were so desperate to hold me I would have brought this ideia up sooner”

Before she could throw a barbed reply his way, Cassian opened his wings and shot to the sky, feeling Nesta tighten her hold and bury her head on his shoulder.

Siphons flashing, Cassian pulled a shield over them, the air that high up being colder, specially when autumn was nearing its end.

He may or may not have taken the opportunity to discreetly take a better look at Nesta.

At the way the few strands of her hair had escaped her braid, tickling his cheek as they were blew by the wind.

At the way she got braver and raised her head a little, her blue eyes the colour of the cloud free sky and sparkling with wonder.

“It’s beautiful” and Nesta’s voice was so soft, so full of wonder, that Cassian imagined if that was how she had been before the war. When she was human and all she wanted was to keep Elain happy and travel the world.

“It is”

But he was not looking at the view.

Was not looking at how the sun sparkled against the shiny peeks of the mountains, how the vast green forest beneath them looked like a gigantic carpet laid over Illyria.

Cassian was looking at the female on his arms, savouring every precious second of the moment and thanking the gods he had promised to fly slowly, just so he could hold Nesta longer.

Letting her go once they were back on the ground was one of the hardest things he had ever done, missing her warmth and her jasmine and vanilla scent as if he was missing one of his own limbs.

He hoped he affected her the same way she affected him.

Hoped she felt even a minuscule fragment of what he felt for her.

Hoped he had not misunderstood the way she too seemed to regret letting him go.

~•~

Cassian didn’t even have to take the medicine for his headache, that annoying pounding having disappeared mid flight.

Nesta Archeron, he decided, was the best medicine he could have.

And it seemed that luck was finally on his side, for when they had arrived and Cassian asked her if she’d like to eat something, Nesta surprisingly said yes, going as far as to put the kettle on the stove to boil some water for tea.

Feeling bashful and enjoying his luck, Cassian attempted to make some small talk with Nesta, asking her about her day, what she liked about learning to be a healer, what she thought about Esmée.

He had been scared she’d shut him out, but she answered his questions with no problem, asking him some in return.

Cassian’s day had started awful but seemed to be walking towards being the best he’d ever had, specially when he appeared in living room after a warm bath and spotted Nesta, once again sitting comfortably on the couch — one of her new books laid on her lap — hair in a simple braid and wearing that mouth watering leggings, combined with a white tunic that drew attention to her eyes.

The fireplace was, as usual, empty.

Cassian could not understand how Nesta managed to make do with only fur blankets, specially now that winter was fast approaching.

“The fireplace.... why don’t you like to light it?”

That caught Nesta’s attention, and he saw how she flinched.

Dangerous. It was a dangerous ground that he was walking on.

They had only talked about futilities so far. But to ask her something so personal, something he suspected was related to the war and her traumas...

He didn’t want to see her back to the dark and empty place she used to go when she had first arrived, eyes faraway and empty.

“You don’t have to answer that if you’re not comfortable, but I’m... worried” Cassian flapped his wings a little, an evident sign of his anxiousness “Winter in Illyria is ruthless”

“It was no different from when I was human” Nesta snapped, but her voice had a slight tremble to it.

“It is. And you...we won’t be able to go through it if we don’t have a fire burning” he walked towards the sofa, daring to sit down beside Nesta, but holding himself back from touching her hand, which clutched the hardcover of the book “Even the wards and walls here are not enough to keep the cold away. Winter at Illyria won’t be like winter in the human land. Or in Velaris”

Nesta only stared and stared at the fireplace, as if it would light up any minute. After some time, she spoke, her voice almost a whisper.

“The sound that the fire makes...when it burns...it reminds me of bones” she shuddered “Of bones breaking”

Her father’s neck.

Maybe even his wings.

He hadn’t known.

Hadn’t known and last solstice she had stayed all night, without complaining about the noise. Without asking to diminish the fire or even make it soundless — Cassian knew that Rhysand, Amren or even Mor would be able to do it. But she had not asked to. Had not wanted to appear weak. To most probably not worry Feyre.

Nesta had been suffering all this time.

Alone.

“I... I have no magic. At least not any apart from the killing power every Illyrian has. So I’m not able to make the fire soundless”

“But you could do it” he added softly “If you lit the fire with your powers... I think you’d be able to turn the sound of the wood snapping off. The fire would be yours to tame. To control”

“You think it would work?” she asked, and Cassian felt a sliver of hope in her tone.

Control. It was all about control. And if Nesta felt like she was in control of the situation, she would be able to support a burning fireplace, sound or not.

“I think you are able to do whatever you wish to, but the first step is to try”

“Grab the wood then” Nesta said.

And Cassian did. He piled the wood neatly, and Nesta moved to stand in front of the fireplace, standing her hands in front of her.

“Just like we practiced” Cassian softly said, moving behind her, his front only a couple of inches from her back “Reach deep within you for it, and then redirect it to the wood”

He could picture Nesta knotting her eyebrows in concentration, and her silver flames soon appeared on her hands.

“Good, now project them towards the fire” Cassian’s voice took the tone he usually used during training, a way to ground her.

Nesta’s flames got brighter and with a little push of arms they flew towards the wood, burning it.

It started small, but soon the fire was roaring, the crack crack of wood filling the air.

“Now turn it off Nesta”

“I-I can’t” she said, her whole body starting to tremble “I don’t know how”

“You can. And you will” he placed a hand on her lower back, like he had once done a lifetime ago in a war tent “You’re the one in control. The flames obey you and no else”

Nesta’s breath was coming in pants now, but the cracking of the fire gradually began to get quieter.

“Just like that Ness” he encouraged, daring to get a little closer, until his front almost touched her back “You’re doing amazing xe nhia”

With a grunt, the sound of the burning wood died out completely, and Nesta staggered back into Cassian’s chest, the flames around her fists also disappearing.

He held her against him, filled with awe and proud of her for meeting her fear head on.

Nesta straightened herself, turning to face Cassian, her blue-gray eyes shining with some hidden emotion.

“Thank you” she whispered, and Cassian swore he had never heard more precious words.

“It was all you” he shrugged “You don’t have to thank me sweetheart”

“I wouldn’t have tried it if it weren’t for you” she stubbornly replied “So accept my thanks and stop being so headstrong”

“Me? Headstrong?” Cassian chuckled, his arms tightening around her “Aren’t you talking about yourself Nessie?”

Nesta snorted, placing her hands on his chest and Cassian prayed to the gods that she wouldn’t notice how fast his heart was beating.

Being so close to Nesta did things to his heart.

And to other parts of him.

“Go make dinner you stupid bat” she said, pushing him away “Kaelin should be arriving, and I bet he’ll be starving after training”

As if on cue, the door opened and the Illyrian walked in.

“Hey...” Kaelin greeted weakly, and Cassian noticed fresh bruises on the kid’s face, the older ones barely healed.

“Kaelin!” Nesta exclaimed, practically running towards the young Illyrian “What happened?”

“Oh this is nothing” he shrugged, wincing slightly “Just lost at an one on one spar today”

“Kaelin...” Nesta tried to touch him, but the kid swiftly backed off, avoiding her.

Cassian saw the look of hurt flashing on Nesta’s face before she concealed it beneath a mask of coolness.

“I’ll just wash up and then help with dinner” saying that, Kaelin quickly left the room.

It seemed that Cassian’s luck could only go so far, for his worries about Kaelin seemed to have doubled.

•

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[amethystpath-writes]

Maybe a Civillian whose been kidnapped by the Villain as leverage or whatever, and is being held as his place? Only to find out that villain has a little girl living with him. His daughter. She’s all giggles and smiles, and asking to play with Civillian!

Civilians hands are a bit tied (literally) scared of upsetting villain by getting too close to his daughter. Little does Civillian know that he actually adores how good you look holding his little girl

Tumblr f'd up so you might get this answered twice, or three times. Either way, I made this gay so I hope you don't mind.

******

"Have a seat." Villain gestured to the dinner table.

As Civilian stood frozen, eyes buggy and wide, Villain came over, placing a hand on his new captive's back, urging him forward.

"Maybe I was too harsh. Welcome to my humble abode. Take your jacket off and stay a while."

Still, Civilian said nothing, only breathed quick and harshly as he was guided to the table. He wasn't sure what he thought was going to happen at the table. Maybe the wood would turn metal and he'd be flipped on his stomach while Villain dug at his spine with just his bare fingers.

"Just sit right there while I make dinner." The villain's voice was cold and lazy. He seemed tired, which scared Civilian even more. Being tired meant being careless, and why wouldn't Villain already be careless with a captive? This was bad. This was really, really bad. And this was why Civilian let himself be pushed down into a chair. If he was cooperative, he'd be okay. Right?

The sound of fast feet sounded and Civilian's attention snapped to a hallway up and to his left. A little girl emerged from the dark.

"Daddyyyyy!" she yelled and promptly ran to...to Villain. Civilian nearly choked on nothing but his own shock. There was absolutely no way Villain had a daughter. No way. Kidnappers couldn't be parents. Bombers of cities couldn't be parents. Criminals like Villain weren't parents. It didn't make sense.

But the sight was right in front of Civilian as he silently watched from the table. The girl squeezed Villain's legs together while he fried something in a pan.

Villain said, "Honey, you need to step back. The grease pops and I don't want you getting burnt, alright?"

The girl giggled and hung on as if it was a challenge. Civilian didn't understand. Villain had a daughter, one who clearly looked up to him right now, and was...was happy living under the roof of a man who caused chaos seemingly just because he liked it.

A spatula clunked against the skillet. Villain turned, grabbing his supposed daughter's shoulders. Here it is, Civilian thought, and he nearly stood- despite his fear- to defend the young girl. Before he could even push his chair back, though, Villain took a step forward, forcing the girl back. "No getting hurt. Go sit at the table, alright? I'll bring you the food and some fruit punch when I'm done."

"Hawaiian punch?"

"That's fruit punch, isn't it? Did I get the wrong thing?" Villain seemed genuinely confused, which made Civilian even more so. This was wrong. It was all so wrong. Villain couldn't be a parent, much less a good one.

Villain shook his head. "I got you red juice. Now go sit down before I burn all of our potatoes."

This time, the little girl didn't argue or try to hug Villain's legs again. Instead, she came running over to a wide eyed Civilian, and it didn't take her long to notice him.

"Hello!" She gave a toothy smile and waved wildly at Civilian as he was sat across from her.

Civilian stole a glance at Villain who moved very, very slowly as he stirred. He was listening.

"Helloooo. Person?"

He said nothing. Surely, interacting with the Villain's daughter wouldn't bode well with his captor. Surely, it would lead to Civilian being split open with dull blades. Or- or maybe Villain would-

"Go on, Civilian. Introduce yourself, nicely."

Civilian coughed, fingers clenching into fists behind his back. "I- uh- I'm...I'm Civilian."

"And?" Villain piped from the kitchen, scraping the spatula against the skillet before flipping the diced potatoes he was cooking.

And? And what? He gave the kid his name. What else was there to say, to give? "And I'm a friend of Villain's- of your dad's." Civilian watched the villain nod.

"You're Daddy's friend?"

Civilian nodded at her with a discreet swallow.

"Will you be my friend, too? Oo! We can play stuff. Daddy bought me legos. Will you play with those?"

"I don't think- um..." Civilian's hands were wild behind his back, unable to separate as Villain tied them together so long ago, but to squirming with anxiety.

Footsteps sounded. This time they weren't soft and quick like when the little girl ran out. These steps were slow and heavy. Villain. Villain was coming closer. Did he not like how Civilian was talking to his daughter? But hadn't he just told him to elaborate? Oh god, what was Civilian supposed to do?

Villain walked behind him, and Civilian's eyes widened as he felt a cold plane lay up against one of his arms. There was an edge to it, too. "Of course he'll be your friend, darling. You want to play legos, Civilian? She's been working on the Millennium Falcon. Maybe you can help her out while I finish our meal."

That wall of cold disappeared and Villain began cutting at the rope. "Um, yeah. Yeah, I'll help you build that- that...what was it?" Civilian chuckled falsely in his panic. "The- the Star Wars thing. I'll help you build it. That sounds like fun. Fun."

There was a breath of warmth on Civilian's ears. His breathing picked up speed as Villain whispered, "Take a deep breath." Civilian didn't understand it was supposed to be soothing. He took it as a threat and braced himself for Villain cutting into his wrists.

But that time didn't come. Instead, the rope fell from Civilian's hands and he sighed in relief. Villain whispered again. "Now go play."

And so Civilian did.

***

"I'm done now." The kid stood from the floor, stepping out of the chaotic mess she and Civilian made.

This was just in time for Villain to call out from the kitchen that food was ready.

As Civilian began to stand up, Villain's daughter came running back and nearly knocked him over. "Up," she said. "Pick me up."

"Oh. I- That's- Maybe I shouldn't."

"Pleaaaaaase."

He stood up all the way, the girl clinging to his shirt. Civilian glanced down at the end of the hall, where, to the right, he would see Villain pouring potatoes into bowls or on plates.

This was a bad idea. He couldn't hold Villain's daughter. He told Civilian to play legos with the girl, not bond with her and hold her like Villain should be doing.

"Pleaaaaaase? Please please please. Pleaaaase."

Civilian could hear the way she was about to cry, and wouldn't crying be worse than just giving in and picking her up? Crying would imply that he hurt Villain's daughter or something. That would be worse. It would be way worse and Villain might kill him.

"Okay. Okay, okay." Civilian held his arms out and the little girl squealed, lifting her arms up so that Civilian could grab her pits and lift her up.

He walked her out of the room, stopping just before they could exit the hallway.

"Um," the kid said, "the table's right there. Can we go there?"

Civilian didn't hear her. He was too afraid of walking out there, knowing Villain would see him holding his daughter.

"Daughter, Civilian! Food's getting co- oh." Villain stepped into the dining room, visible from the hallway- which also meant Villain now saw Civilian. "You're right there. Come sit down."

"I'm sorry," Civilian spewed, setting the girl down. "She wanted up and I wasn't going to, but then she started begging and I could tell she was about to cry and I was afraid you'd-"

Villain walked to the fridge and pulled out a ranch bottle, while interrupting Civilian by saying, "It's fine. Go sit down. I'm getting ranch and vinegar- do you want cheese? I have sharp and mild."

Civilian might have read into Villain's words too far, noticing how he said sharp before mild. It was a warning, Civilian thought. "No cheese," he said, "but thank you." Thank you for not killing me when you saw me holding your daughter.

***

Dinner was eaten, and almost immediately after, Villain's daughter wanted Civilian to pick her up again- just to carry her around and see things from a different perspective.

When she told Civilian that she wanted to be taller than him, but not taller than her dad, Civilian flustered, nearly putting her down right away.

But Villain didn't mind, not at all. In fact, it was cute- the way Civilian blushed when Daughter asked for something, anything. The way, when he thought Villain wasn't looking, he smiled. Or he laughed when he thought Villain was too occupied to hear. The way he loved a villain's daughter like she was just some kid off the street. All of it.

The best, exactly, was when Civilian held Villain's daughter. Because it was then that he really became...something. Villain couldn't say what 'it' was. It wasn't attraction. It couldn't possibly be attraction. Civilian was here as a prisoner...but still. Civilian was pretty, and he was great with kids. He pointed at various objects and laughed as he held Daughter. She certainly enjoyed it.

Still, Civilian's light always dimmed when he realized Villain was watching- admiring- what all he did. Civilian didn't know it was admiration, though, and Villain couldn't tell him that it was. Why? Because Civilian was supposed to be leverage against Hero. If Villain ever admitted it wasn't scornful and threatening looks directed at Civilian, word would get out, and suddenly he'd become leverage against Villain, not Hero.

[aweecrush]

Prologue

Tuesday, October 16th 2007

“Jesus, I can’t believe you’re actually in the fucking plane - took you long enough! If I had known it took a wedding to get your arse back home, I would have had a couple by now, for God’s sake .”

“Michelle, you promised you wouldn’t start! ” Clare’s reproachful voice rose.

“Aye, first, I didn’t promise shit, and second, I told you, she’s not chickening out so chill out - right Erin?”

Despite the culpability and shame pricking at her skin, her heart warmed at their traditional bickering she wished she’d hear more often. At their voices. And, most of all, at knowing that in a few hours, she’d get to hear them for real.

Feck, she’d missed these eejits.

“Well, I’m not actually in the plane yet, we’re waiting to board. And then I still have that stupid long flight, and then the stupid long wait at stupid London, so don’t wait up - but yes, I’m definitely on my way,” she promised, earning herself an earful of high pitched cackles and happy swears.

Her heart welled up.

“So, how is the bride doing? She wasn’t home when I called earlier, and all Mammy could talk about was how the caterer was driving her crazy and how aunt Sarah almost set her own hair on fire trying a new hairdo she’d like to nail for the ceremony.”

Michelle snorted. “ Yeah, hilarious so it was. You should have seen your dad’s face, mental. ”

“It was terrifying,” Clare corrected, apparently still shaken.

Then, perked up. “Orla’s going to look so cute though - I can’t wait for you to see the dress!” Erin tried to ignore the sting of not having been there for such an important moment.

“We’re still trying to convince her out of drawing anything on it, but I’m not sure we’ll win this one, to be honest. Also, we’ve got everything almost ready to go for the bachelorette party, although I do need you to help me stop Michelle from bringing the tons of drugs she wants to, because - ”

“For feck’s sake Clare, Orla would love it! The girl is tying the knot, she deserves to get properly shit faced.”

“She said she wanted something small!”

“She said she would have liked to have a little something with just the five of us the night before. She never said anything about the actual bachelorette party being small - or fucking boring for that matter!”

“Just the five of us?”

The words spilled out before she could stop them, stupid that she was. At the other end of the line, the girls went uncharastically silent, and Erin cursed herself.

Feck.

“I mean, that’s grand. It’s cool, I thought it was just going to be one big night for the bachelorette party before the big day, but - I mean, that’s even better! Grand - cool.”

Christ on a bike, that was pathetic. She was.

“Yeah...The thing is, Orla wanted a wee night with just us Derry girls the night before the bachelorette party, hanging at the bar and stuff you know, because - Well, just because.” Poor Clare was rambling now, in a typical panicked Clare kind of way. “And we thought - Well, then we thought about it, and it turns out it’s not going to work, just timing-wise and stuff, so - “

“So the point is we dropped it.”

“Right. Yep.”

Again, silence, only betrayed by the hammering in her chest that she hoped her friends wouldn’t hear over her cellphone.

“Oh okay, well - that’s a shame.” Her casual slash over the top fake disappointment tone did nothing to help convince anyone, of course, herself included. She winced.

She promised herself it wasn’t going to be like this, though. She wasn’t going to ruin this for anyone - not a chance.

For God’s sake, catch yourself on Erin.

Pushing all dangerous thoughts aside, Erin took a deep breath. “In any case, I’m sure it’ll all be fine - really fine.”

There were another few seconds of silence, and she could just picture the worried look they were sharing - probably very similar to the one they had that particular, fateful day. To the one they had again when she told them she was moving away. Then -

“You bet it’ll be fine - feck, it will be absolutely brilliant is what it is! Wait til you see my dress, Erin - my tits look amazing in it.”

*

As it turned out, running all over the city for work for the past ten days and dangerously flirting with the limits of sleep deprivation did have a perk: her whole, eight hours flight, Erin slept like a log.

(Truth was, she could have done without the look of contempt and the ‘Miss? You have drool on your face’ from that stupid flight attendant who woke her up when they landed, but still - all in all, it went well.)

The wait at Stansted airport, however, was pure hell.

Because of the jitters, mostly.

Growing up, despite how much she loved to complain about them, Erin had never actually considered living away from her family. Well, not that far, at least - she’d always known she would leave Derry after high school, which they did, and it was glorious. War or not, she had a pretty nice life as a child and then a teenager, but those college years and the first ones that had followed - they were the best of her life.

Still, it was only Belfast at the time, and Belfast was a two hours drive from home. Erin knew that at some point, she wanted to go out in the world, maybe live abroad for a while, but this - New-York, all on her own, away for so long? She hadn’t planned that. Didn’t, really - it all went so fast, in the end.

It was a good thing too, because if she had stopped and thought about it for too long, she wasn’t sure she would have gone through with it.

(Then again, what else could she have done?)

Despite her dreams, and her need for independence, and her eagerness to see the world, Erin had never thought that she’d leave her family for that far, for that long. Orla had come to see her once, thank goodness, but Jesus -

On the last picture her Ma had sent her, Anna had grown so much, she almost looked like a wee woman. She’d forgotten the exact colour of that lipstick aunt Sarah wore all the time, she couldn’t remember each wrinkle on Granda’s beautiful face like she used to, and sometimes, she was afraid she was forgetting her Da’s smell and what her Ma’s voice sounded like in real life. She’d missed them so much, it hurt (a lot, often).

She just couldn’t wait any longer to get back to that crazy bunch, and those last, endless few hours? Torture so it was.

She was half considering starting to work on her next article to pass the time when across from her, Erin spotted a young couple bickering, their luggages next to their seats. She was a beautiful thing, red hair tied in a messy bun, and his brown curls fell above his forehead, all messed up.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could make out their accents. He looked like he was trying to make her smile, leaning over so he could kiss her, and she was doing everything she could not to laugh, weakly trying to escape his arms around hers, her pretense wavering with every second.

They were probably in their early twenties, just out of uni or something. They looked happy.

Her chest tightened, and suddenly, Erin felt the urge to cry.

Well, that was quick.

Shite. Shite shite shite.

It was okay, though - it was all fine. She knew herself by now - she was emotional as heck most days of the year (crazy, her Ma would say), but the day of her returning back home, with accumulated fatigue and an Atlantic crossing flight in her feet? Of course she'd get misty eyed at the first occasion. At anything, this just happened to be what, because they were very cute and - it was a coincidence, nothing more.

It was nothing.

The girl laughed, though, giving him a small slap over the head before she let him nuzzle his face in the crook of her neck. She brushed his forehead with her lips, a soft smile on them, and kept talking.

It was difficult, then, not to think about another time, another long wait, at the Bali airport this time. It was difficult, not to think about another English fella with wild, brown curls.

It was impossible, really, not to think about him.

Memories of a perfect trip came flooding back, of burnt skin and drunken smiles, of blue waters and green eyes. The tickles of the sun, the softness of his fingers over her exposed neck, her naked arms. Sweaty bodies pressed together during hot nights, slow breathes, so many new sights discovered, fingers intertwined.

Sometimes, the memory of his face hidden against her neck was so vivid, she could almost feel it. Just like she did now.

Her breath caught.

Sweet suffering Jesus.

Experience had taught her that she had to stop now - needed to, really, before her mind wandered to anything more. To everything else, every little thing that could, and would, make her heart ache even more than it already did.

(That’s another thing she’d found out: as it happened, the expression “heartbreak” wasn’t, in fact, an overly dramatic turn of words. Quite accurately descriptive it was, actually.

She often wondered when hers would stop feeling like it had been ripped into a million little pieces, but she was starting to lose faith that it ever would.)

Of course, she should have seen it coming, she knew that. She had, in fact. True to herself, she’d tried to ignore it, but she knew full well that with her coming back home, it would come back.

This painful, sneaky way every little thing seemed to remind her of before - of a life that felt so far away now.

Over the months, the many months since she’d been gone, she’d gotten it almost under control. Everyday life brought its distractions, particularly in a city like New-York: running between brunches and dinners, partying with her cool American friends, writing for a newspaper in the Big Apple, it was easy, forgetting what you wanted to, if only for so long. She was becoming a real life city girl, a full time one, and that was exactly what her busy brain - her treacherous heart - needed.

With time, every sight, every sound, every smell no longer reminded her of home - the place, the person. With time, she’d moved on.

Yes, sometimes - often - she’d wavered, but that was normal: having been close to someone meant that they lived with you forever, she couldn’t help that. At some point, it would just die down enough that she’d just be able to call it the past without her insides hurting.

(She thought it would, with Matt. Maybe not with the others before him, they were just passing through - but with him, she thought it would. She couldn’t really explain how it all made the permanent weight on her chest even heavier instead, somehow.)

But it hadn’t died down yet, and even though it was normal and okay and to be expected, six weeks ago, Erin had booked her tickets, and six weeks ago, she had lost the grip over the carefully built barriers she’d made sure to rise in the meantime for - well, self-preservation, really.

It started small. The song that had played this one special night, resonating through Starbucks as she waited for her drink. That sweatshirt her colleague bought one day that reminded her of another one. That scarf in the store that looked so much like Doctor Who’s.

But then...Then, it was every day, every damn day, just like the beginning - even worse, if she was being honest. Up until yesterday, when she boarded that damn plane.

Up until now, in this stupid airport where she didn’t want to cry.

Arms tightened around her own chest, Erin willed herself not to, even though it was becoming evident that there was no ignoring the memories and the aching now. Even though, just like she feared, it was becoming perfectly clear that there was no escaping anymore, no pretending that she wasn’t the worst person in this Goddamn country, that the worst hadn’t happened.

Even though she could feel the fear mixed with longing and excitement and dread and a million other emotions that had painfully, permanently taken residence in her stomach now that she was home.

(That had taken roots there ever since the day she left, so it did.)

Shite.

Sitting back up, Erin shook herself. No, no, no, no - she could do this.

She’d grown, she’d prepared herself. She’d even planned what to say if...She was ready. Responsable, mature, and ready. And she won’t have to face this alone.

In a few hours, she was going to see the people who raised her. In a couple of days, wee Orla was getting married. She’d come up with excuses after excuses not to come home, even for Christmas - babbling something about being overloaded with work even though it made her heart ache to know she’ll be alone for the holidays for the first time in her life. Even though she knew full well her Ma didn’t buy a single word, very aware of the real reason she was staying away. She didn’t say a single word, though, and Erin was grateful.

No more, though.

For months and months, Erin had found reasons to stay away for the exact reasons that were chipping away at her heart more and more by the second, but now her baby cousin was getting married, and she’d see her family, and they’ll hold her close, and she’ll find a way to bury all the stuff that was so, so much more difficult to ignore now that she was coming home.

Maybe - maybe it will be difficult, but they’ll be here to help her through it. She’ll be there for her family, and they’ll be here for her.

Fighting the urge to reach out for the folded photograph in her wallet (the one that brought so much comfort and so much else she’d rather avoid at the same time, the one she clinged to but pretended she didn’t), Erin just breathed, and moved to change seats.

Everything would be fine, in the end. It will be grand.

*

Except her family didn’t come.

No one did.

It was eight thirty in the morning, and, her cellphone penibly stuck between her ear and shoulder as she struggled to zip her jacket to protect herself from the freezing cold, Erin tried to swallow her disappointment.

“Aye I’m sorry love, it looks like you’re going to have to get a cab,” her Ma announced before yelling something at her Granda in the distance.

Erin couldn’t help but notice the fact that she didn’t seem that sorry, not at all in fact. “Your Da was going to come get you, but there’s a problem of some kind where the reception is, and he had to take Orla.”

Erin nodded, even though her Ma couldn’t see her. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just - ”

“We’ll give you the money back for the cab when you arrive. Alright, I gotta go love, we’re checking the hair accessories for the big day - see you in a bit.” And with that, she hung up.

Well.

Here went her big welcome home, eh.

Again, it was nothing, though, she reasoned. She was a grown up now, of course she understood that something had come up, and that this all delayed their big reunion from only an hour, tops. So really, there was no reason to get upset.

None.

She wished she wasn’t getting upset.

From what she told her, Clare would be putting together gift bags now, and there was absolutely no doubt that Michelle was still snoring. Pocketing her cell as best as she could, Erin bit the inside of her cheek and started looking for the only plan B she had left, ignoring the burning in her eyes. It really was nothing - she’ll be fine.

It didn’t matter that she took forever to get a cab, for some reason, or that her luggage fell over her foot when they tried to put it in the truck, or that her handbag crashed on the floor and spilled everywhere.

Erin did know she tended to be over dramatic - and yes, maybe borderline crazy, Ma wasn't completely wrong - but she was more mature now, so instead of getting riled up, instead of being crushed by the fact that her family didn’t seem to have missed her as much as she did them, and that the land she grew up on was sending her sign after sign that she wasn’t welcomed back, Erin breathed.

Instead of being violently overwhelmed by memories at every corner of the place she’d grown up in, the place where they met and it all began, she did - she tried to breathe, slowly, carefully, squeezing her scarf in her hand a little too tight.

(That was another thing about your close ones not coming to get you at the airport after you left your country to run away: there wasn’t much to distract you from the memories you were running away from.)

She wouldn’t cry. She was just tired, and being stupid, and she wasn’t coming home with puffy red eyes - no way.

They passed the mall they all used to hang out at, and her throat tightened so much, it felt like the air had left the inside of the car. She saw the movie theater he was always so eager to bring her to in the distance, and a familiar pang of missing shot through her chest. Her heart twisted that particular way when they drove by the hiding spot of their early days, but even though she wondered how she was still holding her tears, she did.

After what felt like an eternity, the car finally pulled up her street, and Erin hadn’t shed one silly tear. She’d done it. She could do it.

By the time she pushed their small barrier and started for the couple of stairs, all Erin wanted was to collapse into bed and black out. Orla and Da wouldn’t be home, Ana would probably still be asleep, and given the day and time, Grandda would have gone for his walk. She’d give a big hug to Ma and Aunt Sarah, pretext a headache, and go lie down.

As she struggled to get her bags through the door while keeping the damn thing open, Erin shouted, cursing herself at how strangled her voice sounded. “I’m home!”

Finally managing to get everything and herself inside, she collapsed on the wall behind her, only now taking in the wallpaper, the coat hangers, the shoes by the entry.

Damn - she was home.

The emotion was so striking, she didn’t quite have the time to stop the tears from welling up in her yes, taken by surprise.

She moved before it all became too much and shrugged off her coat, feeling her insides warm at the familiar surroundings, and yet her heart ache at not having the usual voices that went with it, the faces that she wanted so much to see. She shouted again, but there was still no response.

Ma and aunt Sarah must have had something to do, then. It was fine, she thought as she pushed the living door open. It was, she’d just grab a glass of water and -

“SURPRISE!”

And just like that, Saturday Night started playing from somewhere, overcoming the shouting and the party whistles that had broken the silence so suddenly, Erin had jumped out, her back hitting doorframe behind her. There was colours and and noise and arms waving in every direction, and Erin vaguely realized that she was covered in confetti that matched the balloons and the hats.

Somehow, she noticed that they all had one: Michelle, up on the sofa, Clare, jumping in place at the other side of the room, Orla and the giant teddy bear she was holding. Anna, her pink one stuck on top of her mass of blond hair. Aunt Sarah and Grandda, both holding hands and arboring the same green one. Her Ma, her Da, tears in their eyes, huge grins on their faces, red and yellow ones falling over.

Her brain had stopped functionning, so she couldn't be sure, but Erin thought that her legs were giving out.

Before they did, though, both her parents closed the distance and hugged her close, whispering things she couldn't quite make sense of just yet. Their voices in her ear, their smell surrounding her, Erin broke her promise to herself, and finally let the tears come flooding as she held them back as close as she could.

She was home.

[soft-for-them]

Shrapnel ♡ Mission Impossible x reader

Anon 🐛: Hello! If possible, I’d like to request a platonic IMF team x fem reader, where reader gets injured somehow on a mission and the team tries to help patch her up but she’s extremely self-conscious and keeps refusing to let them remove an item of clothing for better access to the wound or something (eventually giving in, of course). Hope you have a great day! :)

I’m going for the ethan, benji, luther and ilsa team because they are my favourite IMF team so I guess this is set after fall out. Female reader. injury mentioned.

Proof read, edited and remastered on 20.10.2021

The mission was supposed to be a small one but all of the team had gotten injured somehow making the small job a lot harder. 

Sure, the gang you and the team were tasked to take down weren’t a threat to the whole wide world like the Syndicate and August Walker, which was your first ever field mission with the IMF, a mission that cemented you as a permanent member of the team. However, now you, Benji and Ilsa stand out of breath and waiting for either Luther to drive up in the get away car or for Ethan to somehow ‘save the day’ like he always seems to do.

The IMF team has successfully defeated the rouge gang but in the process the building behind you in burning up like fireplace from the explosion that was caused moments ago.

Benji and Ethan were closest to the impact of the bomb without being in direct contact with the flames but you had pulled Benji out the way of a window that had shattered from the fire causing a slight pain in your torso.

The both of you have assumed that Ethan had survived like he always does so all you need to do now is wait.

“Hurry up, hurry up.” Benji mutters to himself as Ilsa tries to treat a gash on his arm and the scratches adorned his face. The blonde man winces as she ties his arm up with the remnants of non burnt bits of his jacket.

“You’re lucky that (y/n) pulled you away when she did.” both Ilsa and Benji give you a thankful smile, “You could have been pierced in the gut by some shrapnel or be burnt alive but the fire.”

“I should have stayed at my desk job.” You chuckle at the two agents as Benji starts swatting Ilsa’s hands away from his arm.

“Same here!” Benji jokes for he knows what it’s like to be pulled from your desk job to an action packed agent life.

You laugh some more but not because you find it particularly funny, you do always joke with Benji about stuff like that but you’re not laughing because of that. No, you’re laughing for you feel a stinging pain in your side and you’re trying to hide your pain.

When you had pulled Benji from the explosion you had gotten hit too. Sure, you thought it was just some cuts and lots of inhaling of black smoke but as you hunch down further you realise that the shrapnel might of hit you instead of Benji.

All the adrenaline and the fact that you haven’t looked down at your now bleeding side means that the pain isn’t as bad as it will become.

“(Y/n) are you ok?” the concerned voice of Benji calls out to you, the sweet man’s concern for you making you look up with a small smile.

“I just-“ what do you say to him? Do you lie to them both? Can you even lie to them? “I’m still out of breath from all the running and smoke Benji.”

Your voice is hoarse from the smoke and you’re face looks fine but not convinced by your act Ilsa gets up to check over you.

 Thankfully for you she is interrupted by Luther pulling up in a four door green family car one a mother would driver her kid into school.

“Where’s Ethan!?!” he shouts concern in his voice.

A mixture of Benji, Ilsa and you answering is heard, all saying around about the same thing of ‘he got away!’ satisfies the hat wearing agent for now.

Ilsa tries to help you up to the car but you brush her off and make her go to Benji who is wobbling around like a newborn deer. With a prolonged inhale of now clean air you shuffled to the car, opening one of the side doors to clamber into.

Ilsa and Benji take the seats furthers to the back of the six seater car and you flop across the middle seats, leaving Luther on his own in the front of the car.

“Ahhhh!” you exhale with a small scream like sound which gets everyone’s attention on you.

“You’re not ok (L/n)!” Ilsa shouts about to climb over into the middle seats.

“I’m fine my lungs just hurt from the smoke!” technically that’s a half truth but really the pain is from wound trickling blood down your side.

Ilsa is interrupted once more by a small flash of Ethan Hunt running up near the family car windows.

Such a small man can run too fast.

With all your strength you lean up and open the sliding door for Ethan to jump in. The small man catapults himself next to you in the little space you’ve left. His hair is singed by the fire and his face is covered in sweat and ash but he climbs over into the passenger seat next to Luther just fine.

“Of course you survived!” Benji calls out half jokingly half in relief. 

The blur of Ethan and Luther talking lulls you into a sleepy state, the pain of your side almost disappearing. However, you’re snapped out of your sleepy trance but the ever so slightly frantic voice of Ilsa. 

“Luther drive quicker!” She frantically says as she finally scales over the seat to you.

You’re too out of it to move your legs so the woman basically lifts them up like you’re a child hogging the sofa. With worry she looks at your side which is less dark blur from you coat but more rich purple from the blood imbedding into the fabric.

“Damn, she was hit by the blast hard!” Ilsa sounds panicked as your try to keep your eyes open.

It’s all a blur but you see Benji pass the medical kit to her and you feel Luther picking up speed in the small minivan. 

”Why didn’t you tell me?” Ilsa says as she tries to lift up your coat and shirt.

“No.” you push her away, “It isn’t bad.”

“Have you looked at it (y/n)?” Benji asks which you reply with a shake of the head.

“I was- I was runnin-“ you start to disconnect with the world, slurring your words as your eyes begin to close.

“Stay with me (L/n).” Ilsa says as she tries to lift your shirt.

“Nooooo, you’ll see my body.” you whine in your out of it state self, the words turning into nothing as you drift away.

You look over to your dear friend Benji, who you always joke with your blurry eyes seeing a man near to crying.

“Benji. Imma ok, I don’t feel it that much.”

Ilsa tries again to lift your shirt which by any rate will be most blood if you don’t let her lift it soon.

“Ilsa no… I don’t want you to see my body, I hate it…” you gasp.

In any given time you wouldn’t of been so truthful but maybe the lack of blood or the humming feeling of tiredness has turned off you thinking.

“You are beautiful but you will be less beautiful if you bleed to death.” With her normally stoic facade down she starts to plea with you, “Please (y/n), let me help!”

“…Huh, uh, as long as the men in this vehicle look away.” you slur as the pain starts to get slightly worse.

All of the men look away from you; Benji sitting back down in his seat, Ethan fiddling with hidsen gun and Luther looking back to the road.

Ilsa takes your top layers off showing the bit of glass digging out of your side blood making you (colour) skin deep red. You look down to see just how bad the injury is only to feel a huge wave of pain drown you and the urge to pass out.

“Looking at it makes it worse.” Ilsa says as she applies pressure to wound without taking the large bit of glass out.

“We’re almost here!” Luther calls as he magically slides the car under a closing garage door, he carries on driving to a lower level where he stops the car and he immediately gets out to help you along with the rest of the IMF.

“No looking at my bra!” you whine as Luther slides open the door closets to your head, Ilsa making sure you don’t fall backwards.

“We’re looking at that thing in your side (y/n) not you boobs!” Benji jabbers is in a flurry as he tries and help with you.

Ilsa and Luther get you out and lead you to a door, which Benji opens, Ethan not far behind talking to someone on the phone.

“We have an agent who need urgent medical treatment!” he urges as you hobble with Luther and Ilsa inside.

.

.

It has now been a month since your injury and the ragged piece of glass than had scared your side in now displayed on your desk, a reminder that you’re lucky that you aren’t dead.

For the last most since then Benji has been acting like an overprotective best friend telling you that you shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are along with some dad jokes sprinkled in to make you smile.

Luther and Ethan have been more concerned about your health and healing but you still got a talking to from the men about how the IMF don’t judge anyone for what they look like. (That conversion was mostly from Ethan and Luther nodding his head in the background.)

You’re still in shock about how much Ilsa had cares for you. She had called you by your first name and she had also called you beautiful, a thing she had never done before that day.

Even now in-between missions as you sit behind a desk you’ll get a short and sweet text from her asking how your are.

You stretch out in you spinny chair with a relieved sigh. 

There’s still a long way to go with excepting your body but with all that had happened to you feel more comfortable with yourself and the IMF team.

.

.

.

Edit: Proof reading may still be off because I’m tired, still love Benji and Ilsa.

Old description:

Did i write this right after i got the request? yes, but i don’t know how good this is. it’s too late for all this writing but i did it!

also i want to write an ilsa x plus size reader and/or a benji x plus size reader because i love them both! (i get gay panic for ilsa and i just find benji adorable!)

[leviiattacks]

Two Faced | Chapter Four

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 3k author note ::  you should also check out my ao3 and wattpad my username is LEVIATTACKS on both platforms. ao3 usually gets to see my updates first, feel free to leave any comments you have i appreciate all feedback ^___^ → next part is here!!

"Refer to me with that name once more and I'll see to it that your neck is snapped in two. Fucking Brat." His voice curls into a low hiss.

He rises from the bed making you jolt, if he's moving towards his dagger everything will be over in a matter of seconds. The tension between the two of you is foggy and uncertain.

Your line of vision is cloudy, bleary tears seize it. You should have tried harder whilst researching, found a way to make Lev stay, it hits you like a sack of bricks - you didn't try hard enough, was that the issue, was that the mistake you made this time? Mind full of harsh expletives you continue to curse yourself. Of course he left, of course he fucking did. Your life was one large cyclical narrative of earning the love of others and ultimately losing it along the way some how.

The world conditioned you to become independent, to not rely on others for affection, earn what you must on your own. Making your own way through life is all you know yet here you are. On the verge of tears because this damn fool won't remember you. Happiness is a privilege.

Staring into the distance you don't see the way your husband's glare thins out, neither do you notice how he leans forward invading your personal space.

"Care to explain how we got into this situation?" Breath fanning across your face exactly the same way it had months ago you gulp and realise he's staring at your lacy nightgown in sheer distaste. Oh no, He's got the wrong idea completely.

You jerk your head up to explain and only then is the close proximity between the two of you evident, you nearly knock your head against his as if you're inebriated. "No, no. We've never done that. I promise we haven't. I wouldn't take advantage of you." You're sputtering and are all over the place trying to hold some sort of ground in this conversation.

"I see that you saw no issue with taking advantage of me in other ways. You scheming money hungry roach."

You want to clear your name and tell him you really haven't touched any of his money. None of it at all to the point it's shameful to admit, especially considering the fact that everyone else sees you as Duchess Ackerman.

"I have not spent any of your money I swe-".

A deafening bang resounds through the room - in his fit of rage he kicks one of the solid oak drawers at the side of your bed to the floor.

A squeaky gasp falls out of your mouth and you flinch away as you cover your chest defensively. Your arms aren't the best armour but they work for now. If he's to stab you your worst fear is him piercing through your heart. What you fear most is him ripping the vital organ out of the confines of your chest. If he laughs hysterically and watches it bleed out you'll never forgive him. Your worries and doubts are internally eating away at you as you witness the darkness seeping into the corners of his vision.

It's quiet and dark and with him as well as a heavy silence looming over you, the pressure on your shoulders is quite literally immense.

He takes a hold of your chin and obnoxiously squishes your rosy cheeks together, dark tundra eyes never falter from yours, that is until they abruptly sink south and he catches drift of the way your night gown has ridden up. Thighs on full display you want to pull the edges of the material down but are too afraid to move under his deathly stare.

"Do you know how long I was stuck inside of my own body? Having to act like a fool on the daily."

"What?" You shakily reply through parted lips.

He was able to see everything he did under the spell? This changes the dynamic significantly. Cheeks flaring up in embarrassment you recall how you ate up all the sweet nothings he whispered into your ears, the scarlet blush creeps to the back of your ears when you think back to how you fervently kissed him goodbye whenever he was sent to venture outside the walls. The sanguine tint only intensifies when you think about the night where you accidentally let his bare hands venture a little too far.

"Naive little thing," he grunts. "You will never be my wife." He scowls sniffing at you in pure repulsion.

Whiskey, cigarette fumes and strong sweat infused cologne revoltingly is what you're reminded of when you hear those words leave his mouth. The stench isn't present but nevertheless you feel your throat constrict, never expecting to see any sort of parallel form between Levi and that man. The one time you stood your ground against Father it led to you being dragged away from the palace grounds, beat until you were unresponsive and left for dead. He left you there with the intention of extermination, his final words as he bid you goodbye that night had been - "You will never be my daughter."

You have no words left to offer, you're tongue tied. Expressionless whilst he gauges your reaction, the both of you don't register how Levi's grip on your cheeks loosens, that is until the look in his hooded eyes changes. They're inky now smoldering with resentment, he lets go of the hold he has on your face completely.

The separation between your face and his palm is stony.

All you want at that moment is for Lev to come back and wake you up from all of this. You've had enough of this sick and twisted nightmare where he doesn't look at you the way he normally does. The way he manhandles you irks you and lights a dangerous fire in your stomach.

Blinking your tears away you finally speak after your long silence "I know that My Lord." taking what may be one of your final breaths you announce the unthinkable "Feel free to finish what you were unable to last time."

"No begging?" he chastises you pulling you by the back of your ear.

"Would you spare me if I did?" The close ended question you respond with leaves him stiff.

Snatching your forearm you note that even when he's not under the constraint of the spell physical touch is consistently one of his ways of getting a point across. He jerks your tired form forward. "Who do you work for?"

Blood running cold you know he won't kill you now. He thinks you've come here with a purpose, a motive, a reason. Hell, all you did was ask to be loved, to experience something before the candle which was your life burnt out.

"No one. You said you were conscious in your mind whilst it all happened, correct?"

He nods albeit begrudgingly.

"Then you must have seen how I tried."

His right eyebrow cocks upwards ever so slightly. "Tried?"

Now it's your turn to be frustrated. "Tried to keep my distance, tried to ignore your advances, tried to refuse your gifts, tried to maintain a level of respect so the both of us would have some dignity remaining if you were to return some day. When I realised you would not stop with your persistence I accepted." You fumed - the fretful irritation you feel only increases by the second.

"Cut the crap." He snarls at you.

You want to snarl back with just as much impatience but you bite your tongue.

Maybe it's because it's late at night, maybe it's because you're fatigued or maybe it's because you already felt feverish and emotional - Honestly, any other reason apart from your husband turning his back on you and announcing you're a mongrel. Feeling light headed you clutch at your scalp harshly trying to control yourself, even Levi's firm hand which until recently held your left arm recoils away.

Falling to your knees you feel the way the floor grates against your bare legs. Your urge to pass out is nearly met but then you hear him.

"Honey???" The concern in his voice which had made you fall in love with him now repulses you.

Fists balling at your knees you silently sob, pitifully shaking your head.

This can't be your reality.

It can't be.

You won't let it be.

That night you find out nightmares can happen in real life.

Levi Ackerman being a prime example.

After the bitter encounter you leave the room and order Lev to not come after you, you need your own space and as much as you want him to return to his sweet, loving self it's pathetic to seek any comfort in him. That tyrant is bound to make another appearance soon enough and mock you for falling into his trap again, but really can you blame the man? Is this his fault or your own?

Whoever is at fault there will still come a time where the Levi you love won't come back and call you his Love. You'll have to get used to that bleak desolate reality. Assuming he doesn't kill you before you have to.

Day has now broken and the brisk morning air bites at you, scantily clad in your nightgown, It's abnormal, you think to yourself. The position you're in is one you imagined countless times but you never really thought you'd end up this way. You're about to drift off to sleep right there in the middle of the Estate's field of hydrangeas, too tired to actually care anymore when you hear a rustle from one of the surrounding bushes.

"Duchess?" Your head turns when you hear Mikasa's soft voice emerge from the hedges, she steps through them and you both stare at each other. Mouth open, gaping in shock she takes in your appearance. You can only imagine how you look right now. Dark eye bags, you aren't wearing your usual noble attire not to mention Levi has accidentally left a bruise on one of your arms. It's faint because it is accidental (you hope) it does not go unnoticed by Mikasa.

Her gaze hardens and she approaches your disheveled form kneeling in front of you.

"What happened?" She whispers, the panic is evident in her voice and you awkwardly chuckle in response.

"I had a horrible nightmare. That's all, honest."

"And it's Y/N need I remind you again?" Mikasa is big on respect and sure, it is cute but you want to remind her it really is okay to call you by your first name. After all you would consider her a friend, you hope she sees you the same way.

Giving you a look of disbelief she takes the hint that you don't want to talk about it but much to your delight she does take the advice regarding your name. She sounds hesitant but that's how she usually is, she'll get used to it in no time at all.

"Well...Y/N, Breakfast has been prepared." You can see the way she eyes your unkempt hair and shivering form. "Would you like to eat with me and Sasha?" this is her way of comforting you.

Your lips quirk up into a smile for the first time in a while.

"I would love that."

Twenty minutes and a change of clothes later you've all relocated to your tea room, Sasha doesn't ask questions about your hair or odd choice of clothing earlier this morning. The shadows Levi's fingers left on your arm are now carefully hidden by the sleeves of your baby blue dress. "Oh! Viscount Kirstein me and Y/N saw him yesterday. He's just like the rumours." Sasha exclaims as she stuffs her face with a croissant.

Mikasa takes a short sip from her tea cup. "And the rumours would be?"

You pick a cinnamon roll from the center of the table."Undeniably handsome. I mean he's not my type though."

Sasha looks momentarily confused. "He was drop dead gorgeous what do you mean?"

You laugh a bit at the disbelief on her face, Mikasa chooses to not intervene - she's obviously yet to come to her own conclusions about him.

"Yeah but you said it yourself he fucks anything in a skirt." Sasha, is wide eyed at first and chokes on part of her buttered croissant, you have never been so vulgar before. You guess the argument has left you more likely to voice your reckless thoughts. Snorting you try to keep your laugh in, the ghost of a smile makes its way to Mikasa's face and eventually she too dissolves into a puddle of laughter. The three of you laughing together genuinely eases the recent burden on your soul.

Just as you're about to crack another joke the door to your tea room rumbles.

BANG!  You seem to always be cut off when you're here because Eren Jaeger has burst inside perhaps for the seventh time this month. It's the same routine as usual, he's panting and catching his breathe before he speaks. You're in no mood to hear what he has to say.

"If the Duke has sent you please leave."

Mikasa gives him a "You better not ask any questions and take the damn hint" kind of look but bless Eren for he is completely and utterly clueless.

"It's urgent."

"Still rejecting." You hotly reply.

Mikasa icily interjects "Eren, would you stop being so bothersome?"

He looks between you and Mikasa helplessly. "The Duke says he expects your refusal but I can't return empty handed, I'll be given a punishment and it'll be worse than being made to clean the stables." He gives you a pleading look and he's so much younger than you, it makes you feel like he's your responsibility. Eren has a charming way of making himself feel like everyone else's annoying younger brother. You accept that he can't suffer because of your selfish denial.

Sighing deeply you take a final bite of your roll, if you're going to die you may as well do so on a full stomach. Before you depart you awkwardly get to your feet dusting your dress to buy some time as you bid Mikasa and Sasha goodbye.

You're now following Eren through the halls of the estate. Deep down inside, you know you aren't fearful. He won't kill you, not yet at least, he thinks you're a useful source of information relating to his external enemies, he would be stupid to overlook that detail. You'll exploit it for now, your key is survival, it always has and always will be that way.

Bumping into Eren's back you apologize for being absent minded, you swear the walk to Levi's office has always been much longer. He spares you a worried glance and looks as if he's about to offer you words of support but he stops himself before he opens the heavy door to Duke Ackerman's office. Perhaps he doesn't find it appropriate. Good, you think to yourself. You don't wish to hear motivation from anyone right now, it's nothing personal, it's that nothing can possibly be of motivation right now.

The door opens ever so slowly, your brain races making everything move at a sedated pace. Then you find yourself jolting upright in surprise. You soon realise expecting Levi to be the only person there was naive on your part. Eyes tensely land on the blonde in one of the cushioned caramel chairs. It's the Commander of the Empire's entire battalion — Erwin Smith.

Levi has ratted you out for sure, you spare a glance towards him and see the way he's trying to hide his feelings of amusement. You want to lunge over his desk and wipe that smug smirk off his face. The playful lilt in his usual unreadable expression is driving you mad. Next to Erwin is respected and high ranking Squad Leader Hange Zoe, you're quite well accustomed with them you've exchanged your fair share of words together and Hange has never failed to bring a smile to your face. The amusing air around them lights up any room they're in... Apart from this one that is.

Eren closes the door behind you and you're silent not really knowing what to do.

"Take a seat my beloved." Levi drawls. This isn't Lev you know that much, he's always enthusiastically jumping to his feet when he greets you.

Awkwardly sitting in the chair next to your husband you shake Hange's hand first then move to shake Erwin's. His warm palms envelope yours and he places a hand on your left shoulder. It's not at all similar to the way Levi held you earlier in the morning, the feeling is genuine. He has no ill intentions, all he seems to want to do is open a conversation.

"Y/N, we may not have much time but." He stops, unsure if it's for dramatics but you still intently listen.

The sea that is his blue eyes draws you in, you've only ever seen him from afar. If honesty and gentleness were a person it would be him no doubt about it.

He pats your shoulder and you snap out of your day dream. "Y/N. Thank you for your sacrifice and commitment to this Empire." His warm yet serious smile which follows simply confuses you, in fact this entire situation is doing that.

Jaw slacking you're dazed and bewildered, your thoughts are diverting in all sorts of direction now.

Whatever does he mean by sacrifice?

[itstittycitybaby]

Let’s Go wlw! (Lin Beifong x fem! reader)

 A/N: I promise this story is more serious than the title makes it out to be lmao. Re watching LOK and seeing Lin and her character makes me go awooga. This is my first LOK fic and I hope you guys enjoy it!

Warnings: some sad thoughts but it gets fluffy!

The light hurt. Its rays blinded you as you fell. The warmth kissed your skin but it sunk its teeth and that’s when it burned. When you dreamt of flying, this wasn’t what you had in mind. A flightless bird soaring through the clouds was the idea. Hell, that’s what everyone thought right? Smoke flew after you; the tendrils leaving your pure white dress. Your hair was burnt as you fell from the sky. You wondered if this was a punishment. Fate and the gods had to be laughing as their angel plummeted to her death. It was a cruel way to die, but it’s what you deserved right?

Katara had tried to help recover your memories. Once you recovered from crashing into the water and almost drowning, you had been brought to her. Apparently the sky had opened up and spat you out. The white dress you wore had been scavenged and hung on the wall next to your hospital bed. It looked weightless; it was strapless and every time you walked it flowed after you. A symbol was embroidered on it. A symbol from the heavens. Though, you couldn’t remember a single thing. Just what was I sent here for?

The fire crackled around the group. Korra and her friends set marshmallows over sticks, cooking them with its flames. The flames felt familiar somehow. Tenzin and his family were there, too. Tonight was a celebration. Amon had escaped but at least the city was safe. For now, anyway. There was a bad feeling in your gut, one you couldn’t shake away. Chief Beifong sat next to you. She looked pleased as she sat there with the rest of you. Her bending was back again thanks to Korra. Chief Beifong wasn’t one to seem pleased let alone happy, but tonight she seemed contempt. The thought made you chuckle. Her gray brow raised in your direction almost as if she were prompting you to speak your mind. For once, she seemed at peace. With herself and the people around you. A vast difference from the first time you met her. 

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” The room you sat in was cold and dark. The table was metal and your wrists were cuffed to it. An older woman stood before you. Her hair was gray and her face strong. Her green eyes were cold as her gaze sharpened into you. There were two small scars on the side of her face. God, she was pretty. Next to her was a man. He was peculiar;a light blue arrow facing downward on his forehead and a brown pointy beard on his chin. He wore orange robes with a red looking shaw pinned over it. He was bald and at first glance looked pretty scary. But compared to the woman’s cold eyes and hard demeanor, there was a soft gaze in his eyes. Patience and kindness radiated from him. “I-I don’t know,” you sputtered, trying not to shrink away from her gaze. You felt like an animal being prodded and examined at. The woman sighed and her lips set into a frown. She seemed tired from the dark circles around her eyes and the paleness of her skin. You had the urge to reach out and touch her. The urge was strong but you didn’t understand. You didn’t know this woman. “I’ll ask again and one more time,” she hissed. You jumped as her palms slammed down onto the table. The woman’s green eyes turned into slits as she glared at you. “Who are you?” You weren’t sure how long you’d been in this dangy dark room. For the past few days you’d been in a hospital bed scared out of your mind. The looks of disgust and the distrustful glares sent your way hurt. Your eyesight started to go blurry. A tear fell from your eye and you sniffled. Lip quivered and the lump in your throat wanted to claw its way out. “Chief Beifong,” a voice said softly. The man beside her finally spoke. The woman’s gaze seemed to soften ever so slightly at your distress. Only for a second before her face turned blank. It was better than a death glare though. “I-I don’t know who I am,” you replied softly. “I’m sorry if I hurt anyone. I don’t remember anything at all. Just t-the light.” They stared at you. The man seemed more concerned while the woman mulled over your answer. “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?” The man’s voice was careful, almost like he was afraid you’d break. You shook your head. Your fists clenched and unclenched as you tried steading yourself. “I think I was supposed to die.”

You felt like an outcast. Tenzin had his family, Korra had Tenzin and her friends. Bolin had Mako and Mako had Asami. It was a circle of one big family, one you didn’t feel a part of. Tenzin tried to make you feel welcome as you worked to recover your memories. You could only gather bits and pieces but never the full picture. Everytime you tried you’d hear chanting and this big bright light. One time, you did see thousands of eyes all different shapes and sizes staring back at you. You woke up in Tenzin’s arms with light shooting out of your body. You stopped trying after that.

Bolin and the kids had sticky marshmallow pieces on their lips. Chief Beifong looked disgusted at the sight. You quietly giggled to yourself. A ghost of a smirk was on her lips at your amusement. Chief Beifong was known for being stern and harsh. Her cold demeanor had struck you at first. After the interrogation, you stayed out of her way. Though, she seemed softer with you than the others. Sure, she was still cold and distant but the little things Chief Beifong did for you didn’t go unnoticed. The soft gazes and the patience she held for you spoke louder. Even though she wasn’t chief anymore it still felt wrong to address her by her first name. You felt like you hadn’t earned it yet. Names have power, especially Chief Beifong’s. Being a respected figure and a good bender helped with the power she held. But it was the way she stayed strong throughout the bad and the good that made you admire her. Chief Beifong didn’t take shit from anybody, not even Tenzin. But, she still cared. She still cared about the city and its people. The past few months had been insane because of Amon but you and Chief Beifong’s relationship seemed stronger. “A budding friendship,” Tenzin remarked one night after the kids were asleep. It was raining that night; you couldn’t sleep from the visions of eyes peering down at you. The both of you shared a pot of tea. If it was a friendship, then what were these new feelings?

Everyone was asleep. The grass crunched softly underneath your sandals as you stood outside. Korra threw a concerned glance at you before she went to bed. You were always timid and well reserved, but she could tell there was something going on. You shook her off and gave her a reassuring smile before you snuck out. The grass felt soft as you sat in it. Your white dress pooled around you and the gold arm bracelets on both of your arms glimmered in the moon. The quiet night felt peaceful and comforting. The feelings you had for the older woman seemed to be getting stronger. Your heart fluttered and your tongue became tied every time you saw Chief Beifong. Sometimes the two of you would run into each other and have a morning chat. But lately, you have been avoiding her. She didn’t seem to care;if she did you knew she would’ve said something by now. “I take it you couldn’t sleep.” Speak of the devil. Chief Beifong stood behind you. She looked tired; the dark bags under her eyes were more prominent now. She wore a white tank top and some black harem pants. It was weird to see Chief Beifong in something so casual. “Something like that,” you replied, softly. The grass spot beside you flattened as she sat down next to you. The pace of your heart quickened. She was sitting so close that her warmth radiated off of her. “Are you alright, Chief Beifong?” She scoffed, “How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Lin.” You froze; she sounded annoyed with you. Dread tore at your gut at the thought of her being upset with you. “Sorry L-lin,” you whispered, eyes down trying to avert her gaze. The woman beside you let out a sigh. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have sounded so harsh.” Looking up at her, you tilted your head.

 The sight made your heart flutter. The moon’s soft ray’s shone lightly on her skin. Her green eyes twinkled as she sat there. You began to love the moon and its presence more than the sun and under it, Lin looked beautiful. Her eyes moved to the corner of her eye. Your cheeks flushed once she caught you staring. The corner of Lin’s lips quivered a bit, almost as if she were fighting a smile. “It’s alright,” you replied softly. Your hands were folded into your lap. Lin thought the dress always looked great on you but now did you look like an angel. It billowed and laid around you as you kneeled there. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Ch-, Lin,” you said sternly, correcting yourself. “It wasn’t my intention. I felt like I hadn’t earned the sentiment of calling you by your first name.” Lin’s brow arched, out of interest of surprise, she didn’t know. After everything the both of you and the rest of the group had been through, she had thought you knew. You were always soft spoken and rather timid, but she realized now you felt like an outcast. Even with Tenzin, who treated you like his own daughter. Lin had always appreciated your soft nature and your respect to everyone around you. But now, Lin finally understood. You felt just like her. An outcast, the black sheep.“Don’t apologize,” Lin said after collecting your thoughts, “You meant no harm. I appreciate the thought.” Your heart warmed at her words. Lin was a strong woman. She was confrontational which scared the shit out of you but you also admired her for her bravery. Her courage to protect those she cared about. Even now Lin still cared about Tenzin and his family after they split up. The tips of your brows furrowed in irritation and a surge of anger spread through you. The snide looks and sometimes remarks Pema gave Lin had always stood out to you. Lin seemed to brush them off with a stone cold look but you wondered if even she had her breaking points. Even shields break.

“Can I ask you something,” Lin asked as the two of you stared at the moon together. Normally people didn’t come to you for advice or ask anything personal about you but you agreed nonetheless. You were a bit surprised, in fact. “Every time someone asks about your past or the things that you know you dodge the question. You isolate yourself from the rest of the group and put everyone’s weight on your shoulders. Why?” Silence. Lin watched you from her peripheral view. Your brows furrowed together as you mulled over her question. Why? “I’m not sure,” you whispered. The sadness and the loss you felt was evident in your tone. “I don’t know who I am. I still don’t. I have hints and clues but...they’re not a solid answer.” Lin hummed, “So you’ve given up?” Her questions were ones you asked yourself. They taunted you at every corner and their laughter was loud. Sometimes it was too much. The silence. It felt like you had sunken into the depths of the cold water around Republic city again. Every answer tried to scream at you but they were muffled by the water. The slowness of it all made you tired as you tried dragging yourself out of it. “In a way I suppose. Last time I tried I almost hurt Tenzin,” you muttered. “After that I didn’t feel useful anymore. I can’t do anything but put up a force field. The least I can do is try to take on the weight others can’t carry.” 

Your brightness reminded Lin of an angel. Even with her harshness and her steel cutting words you always treated her kindly. An angel sent from heaven. She looked over when she heard you steady yourself from the ground. The tall and strong stance you held never wavered. “It was nice talking to you Lin,” you smiled softly at her. “I hope you can rest soon.” The underlying message made Lin feel calm. Even if she wasn’t strong enough to pull herself out of the powerful tides of her mind you’d be there watching over her. Just like a guardian angel. The thought made her chuckle. Her eyes widened at the soft feeling of your lips on her cheek. Lin’s pale cheeks turned pink and her heart pounded wildly. You smelt like roses and your hand was soft as you steadied yourself on her shoulder. A wave of disappointment washed over her once your soft lips pulled away from her cold cheek. The loving warmth you gave left her quickly and the cold swept over her instead. As quickly as you came, all your warmth left with it. She was up on her feet quickly. Before she could stop herself, her hands encircled your wrist. Lin’s hand tugged, making your figure turn to her. The concern in your eyes wavered as you looked into her strong gaze. The vulnerability in them was bare. You liked her. God, how did she not notice. Lin was sharp and observant but for some reason you fell through the cracks. You had hidden yourself from her view; the shadows of your affections were clever. They hid will and stayed that way. You shifted your feet at her stare. She snapped out of it and pulled you to her. The tips of your ears and cheeks burned red as her chest brushed against yours. Lin felt something she didn’t think she’d feel again. A want, the need to be surrounded by your presence. She ached for your comfort and your love. She wanted you. 

You gulped nervously. Lin’s piercing green eyes searched for something. But what was she searching for? Weren’t your intentions obvious? A little squeak left your lips as her pink ones touched yours. A huff of laughter escaped her lips. Lin was soft; her hands calloused from years of work and bending. You liked them. They were a bit tough but still soft like her. Your eyes fluttered shut as you placed her hands on your shoulder lightly. Lin’s hands were gentle as they cradled your face. Both of your hearts were pounding fast. You sighed, allowing Lin to swipe her tongue gently across yours. A soft smack left both of your lips once she pulled away. Lin smelt like leather and earth. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Lin pulled away quickly. You swallowed nervously and your heart sank. Did I do something wrong? As if reading your thoughts, Lin reached her hand to stroke your cheek. Her thumb brushed across it gently. You nuzzled her palm and gave it a soft kiss. She hummed. “Make sure to be ready by nine,” Lin said, a rare smile gracing her lips. Your brows furrowed, confusion evident on your face. “Do we have a mission?” She chuckled, “No we don’t. Tomorrow I’m taking you out to breakfast.” You lit up, a grin stretched across your face. “Alright,” you responded enthusiastically. Lin laughed, intertwining her hand with yours. Things started to look better. Finally, she had you.

[shigarakis-fifth-hand]

Mha Smut Scenarios

Anonymous said:

hey there, can i request for alpha ilda, kirishima, and shinsou (separately please) and omega!reader (female) who is desperate during her heat so she begs them to go rough and knot her? can you make it as nsfw as you can? thanks mate

Hiiii! I can only do Iida and Kiri because it took forever for me to do this one bc sis isn’t feeling very horny or motivated so sorryyyyy. If you really want Shinso, maybe I could do an entire series about an x reader for him bc I feel so baddd! If I ever go into a Shinso fangirl phase, I will totally do a series! <3 Thanks for requesting!!

Iida

You two had started dating two years ago, immediately falling for one another as you couldn’t separate from each other after smelling each other. You fell in love with how cute he liked with his hair messy, how he was soft to you only, and how he smelled woodsy and like nature.

He had fallen in love with how breathtakingly gorgeous you are, putting a blush on every single guy in the classroom. At first he didn’t think that he stood a chance, until you had kissed him while cuddling up to him during a movie night. That’s when you fell into a routine, snuggling into his lap and falling asleep on him while he watched a movie with the rest of the class, ignoring the glances of the other jealous alphas.

Iida knew that they all could smell you, and how you smelled like addicting cherry blossoms and raw sugar. But you were all his, and that made him love you just a little bit more, especially when he saw Denki and all of the other Alphas be a little bit too friendly with you on Movie Night... like Bakugo was doing right now.

As Iida and Todoroki made popcorn in the kitchen, Iida couldn’t help but look over to see you and Bakugo laughing about a joke he had said, him resting against your small body with his arm over your shoulder and his other hand on your thigh. Like usual, you were oblivious to any of his obvious intentions that were anything but friendly, and kept laughing, trying to catch your breath as you smiled. 

In that moment, Iida slammed the bowl down, ran over to you, and growled at Bakugo, gripping you in his arms and bringing you back to the kitchen with him. “Iida! What are you doing?” You asked as he plopped you on the counter and resumed the popcorn.

“I do not want you hanging out with Bakugo anymore. He has nothing but bad intentions with you, trust me.” He looked you straight in the eyes, his crystal blue ones meeting your e/c gems. “Iida... that’s not-” You stopped talking as Iida went back to the popcorn, trying his best to ignore you. Suddenly, you jumped from your spot next to him and ran to the stairs, closing the door behind you and running to your room.

“Wha- Is she okay?” Mina asked from the couch, looking worryingly at Iida. “Um, I’m not s-” Iida stopped talking as he smelled your lingering scent, burnt sugar and the smell like you walked right out of a Bath and Body Works. “I’m going to go check on her.” Iida growled, his Alpha instincts kicking in. You were in your heat, and he had gotten a smell of you. He needed to help you.

Unlike today, you usually started your heats during the week, and then boarded yourself up in the room with Lysol everywhere and heat suppressants. But those didn’t work for hours, and honestly, Iida wanted more of your smell. He needed a taste of you.

“Y/n, it’s me. Please open the door.” Iida exclaimed through the door, knowing that you were on the other side. Even from the other side, he could smell you ever so slightly. You were just so addicting, he could never have enough of you. “Iida, I don’t think it’s a good idea if you-” Iida slammed his fist into your door, letting the Alpha inside of him take control.

“Omega, open this door right now. That’s an order.”

Inhaling slowly, you opened the door to reveal yourself to Iida. You were in a sports bra and panties, your hair tied back, and your loud fan was on. You were trying to cool down, and help suppress your heat. “Oh Omega... you look so pitiful.” That was right before you fell into his arms, your legs limp. “Alpha, please help me.”

Your eyes were full of tears, and your lips were plump. Iida picked you up in his arms, closed the door behind him, and carried you to the bed, laying you down. “Alpha... please.” You begged, closing your eyes and squeezing the sheets with your fists. 

“W-what do you mean-” Not acting like your usual self, you grabbed his uniform shirt and tugged him towards you, your lips inches apart. “Please knot me Alpha. I need you. It feels like I’m dying inside.” A single tear rolled down your cheek, pushing Iida to his limit. He ripped over his shirt, a single button falling off as he began to strip himself of his belt and pants, leaving his top and legs bare. 

As Iida removed your shirt, and then the bralette you wore, and finally your skirt and panties, he couldn’t help but stare at you. So breath-taking, and such a goddess, especially in that school uniform. He crawled over you, bending down and sucking your neck tenderly, sucking as hard as he could as his hands wrapped around your waist, pinning you down harshly. 

“Iida...” You moaned constantly, only feeding his sex drive and his urges. He wanted you, and your smell was driving him crazy. His thoughts weren’t working, his erection was harder than ever, and all he wanted to do was fuck you until you were screaming. You had let him do whatever he wanted to you during his rut, and now, he was going to please you better than any of your alpha friends could ever imagine of doing.

Iida began to remove his boxers while pinching your nipples, smiling as you moaned and squirmed under him. He loved every bit of it. When he was finally naked, he picked you up and bent you over, positioning you up perfectly. “What’s our safe word Baby?” He asked as you panted, more than ready. “Stop.” You repeated like usual as he nodded, you feeling his gentle hands position your back side as you tried to prepare yourself. 

3... 2... 1...

“Iida!” You screamed out as he entered you, squeezing the sheets in your fists as he pushed himself inside of you. Immediately your horny aches went away, and were replaced with the best feelings of pleasure bundling up inside the pit of your stomach. In and out, in and out., in and out. 

“Iida... please do it.” You begged as he nodded, understanding what you wanted. You wanted him to knot you, which ended an Omega’s heat for good for nine months, even if you weren’t pregnant. When Iida pulled out, you fell into his arms, weak and unable to move your sore body.

He laid you on the bed, put the light blanket on you, tucked you in, and then sat on your desk chair, reading one of the books he had left over at your place last time he came over. Sure he was tired, but you, he could only imagine what you were going through. Tired, aching, and still you were such a perfect goddess for him. Nothing but perfection and love.

His mother had always told him that he was going to meet a nice omega one day, but never had he imagined someone like you.

Kirishima

Kirishima was at the gym with his dudes when you called him. “Dude, wait up! Y/n’s calling me!” He yelled out to Denki and Sero who teased him, but also understood. They were really just jealous, they didn’t have an Omega like you, nor a s/o who was as chill and bro-like as you, with your long handshakes and the cool way you dyed your hair.

“Hey babe, what’s-” He was met by a tingle in his mind, telling him something was up with you. Alphas instinct. “Kiri... p-p-please come b-back-” Kirishima hung up the phone and grabbed his stuff quickly, slipping his hair out of the man bun. “Sorry guys! I gotta run!” Kirishima exclaimed, grabbing his bag and his adidas sandals. “Dude, you haven’t even started yet! Bros before... female bros?” Denki tried to convince him, but Kirishima refused.

You were in your heat, and he wasn’t there for you. You had told him how hard your heat was, curling up in a ball in your nest, the only thing helping was your Alpha. “No can do Bro! I’ll see y’all in 3-5 days!” Kirishma waved and ran out to his car, leaving the two confused. “3-5 days? What does that even-” Sero stopped as the two looked at each other, remembering something from sex ed class back in high school.

“He’s one lucky bastard...” Denki murmured, thinking of you before Sero punched him in the chest. “Don’t be creepy Bro. Come on, let’s get ripped. Then maybe we can find you a cute omega too!”

Kirishima drove as fast as he could, almost making marks on the street as he pulled into the parking lot of the condo complex that you guys lived in. Being a pro hero had its benefits, and having enough money to buy one of the cutest apartments in the world was one of them. He ran to the elevator, before realizing it was too slow and then zooming up the stairs to your condo.

He entered the key into the lock, twisted it, opened the door, and gasped. The smell of freshly baked cookies filled the room, except Kirishima knew it wasn’t cookies. He ran down the hall, turned the corner into the living room, and then into the bedroom to see you, staring at the wall in your hero uniform while laying on the bed. “Aww, baby.” Kirishima ran to your side as you looked up, your eyes in tears from how needy you were.

“P-please Kiri. My insides feel like I’m going to die. I can barely move.” You begged, your voice weak and pitiful, torture to his ears. He took a hair elastic from your dresser and tied your hair into a loose bun before sitting you up and unzipping your outfit. It was a simple suit that hugged your curves and showed off your legs, with many buttons and zippers in case something slipped.

When you were finally undressed, leaving you in just your panties and bra, Kirishima couldn’t help but look at you in amazement. You panted, relived to be not as hot. Through five and a half years of dating, Kirishima couldn’t get enough of your body, not to mention your scent hormones driving you crazy.

“P-please hurry.” You wrapped your arms around his neck tightly as he kissed your neck, running his hands all over your body, his alpha hormones corrupting all of your senses. He was all you could think about, and your body was begging for him to make you feel better.

He pushed you down on the bed, stripping himself of any clothes, leaving his long cock free for you to stare at. You moved your hand down to touch yourself before he stopped you, smirking playfully as he pinned your hands above your head. “Tell me when you need me to stop, okay?” Kirishima looked at you as you nodded, shutting your eyes and preparing yourself for impact. He looked down at your entrance, his mouth watering as he aimed himself up.

Interlocking his fingers with yours, he slowly pushed himself into you, watching you gasp and arch your back in response. Eventually, he began to ram himself into you faster and faster, watching the desperation in your expression disappear as you began to breathe more.

Minutes passed before he finally pulled out, rolling over and allowing you to cuddle against him. “I love you Alpha.” You whispered in his ear, purring happily as you gripped tightly to his muscled arm. “I love you more Omega.” You both fell asleep in each other arms.

[aliypop]

Blood Lust

Word count :  2,105

Warning: Language

A/N : Some more Tiffany and the boys in the past! I did it I wanna dedicate this 2 days of writing this fic to  @whatisgoingonpaul the source for the lost boys prequel as well as @a-supernatural-writer and @pitiful-anonymous-vampire

Near the dark, damp, humid Santa Carla bluffs sat several outlaws around a campfire. Tiffany and Stewart waited behind a few trees, her fangs sharp and ready to rip into the first ounce of flesh that she could get into. "Did ya hear somethin..." the two men who looked like bandits asked each other. The sounds of waves crashed against the rocks from below as the trees rustled. Darkness spreads across the bluff as Stewart blew out the fire. "Wh...Who's there..." one of the men says, feeling a deathly still presence from behind him. The cold hands of death touch the man's neck-snapping it in half as the mark of a lover's kiss is left on the corpse. 

"Well, boys, don't just sit there..." Tiffany turned to face the freshly turned vampires and their sire Max. Standing like statues, the boys only looked at Tiffany and Stewart. Who were both covered in blood,

 "Don't tell me you didn't ..." Tiffany glared at Max, who had the grin of a conman on his face. 

" Didn't what Ms." 

"How dare you turn these boys into vampires and yet have them figure it out themselves!" Tiffany shouted, her hands close to ripping her hair out. "First of all, little girl..." his hand underneath her chin. Tiffany nearly snapped at his finger, "I will rip you apart from where you stand..." she growled at him, hearing his already sickening laughter. 

"Is everything okay..." David asked, his reddish-blonde hair poking up from behind Max. 

"Not to worry... someones just being disrespectful, isn't she..." 

"If Camilla hears about this... she'll make you wish you never were born... " Tiffany laughed as she then saw a long-haired blond pounced on top of a body, "Paul use your hands first and then teeth!" she smirked, her dark blue gown trailing behind her. Flesh ripping apart was the only sound that Max and Tiffany heard as the two sat by a fire admiring the skill that "his" boys were learning. "Jasper!" Max shouted at the younger boy, his hair almost as long as his older brothers. 

"Yes..." 

"Try harder, will ya..." Max said, a bit disappointed in the boy. Jasper only sighed as he continued trying to find the right vein to feed on; Max only watched as Jasper struggled, almost as if he got a kick out of seeing the young boy starve to death. Stewart shook his head, taking his nail to the wrist of the soon-to-be corpse splitting it open. 

"Thanks..."

"Don't mention it, kid." he ruffled up his hair, getting a glare from Dwayne. The vampires had begun to travel further into the woods, trying to find the perfect place to make camp. Horses trotted in the woods, 

Stewart, whose hands were around Marko's waist, rested his tired body against his back and turned to look at Paul, who only rolled his eyes at him and kept riding past. "I'm just saying, Tiffany, you'd make a great..." 

"A great what..." she turned to face Max, her horse catching up to his.

 "I would say mother, but you can't even side-saddle..." Max mumbled, taking note of the way she rode. "And to think you've trained to be a lady... " Tiffany only laughed as she shook her head, " I am no lady..." taking the reins of her horse galloping in the wind past Max, "I suggest we trot faster if you want to live." she sang from afar. Marko, Stewart, and Paul had taken camp together. The three wrapped tightly in a blanket. Tiffany stood in her tent, her locket an ice blue amulet in hand, memories of a life she wanted to leave behind. Tiffany could feel a cold touch reach up to her back, her skin crawling as the hand reached up to her shoulder. 

"Poor little girl ... still waiting for happily ever afters, huh..." 

"Leave me alone..." 

"Or what you'll cry..." he laughed, "Lestat was right about you... You're easy too, eager," Tiffany wrapped her hands around his neck, urging her to squeeze him harder. Her vamping out only grew pale while Max nicked her with his nails.

"Hey, anyone seen my cigarettes ..." Dwayne poked his head in; The smell of her blood luring both him and David, Max, had only excused himself as both David and Dwayne invited themselves in, Tiffany began to back away from the two. Her eyes were now yellow and red from tears that wouldn't come.

 "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay..." David took her hand, 

"Look at me..." Dwayne said, his eyes trailing back to her wrist. Tiffany faced the two vampires as she took a deep breath.

 "I'm so sorry I wish you didn't have to..." 

"You're bleeding, dear..." David pointed out as Dwayne's eyes followed suit. Adjusting her wrist out, she watched as he hesitantly bit down on the already semi-healing skin. 

"Wanna tell us what the hell that was about..." David pried. 

"Just vampire stuff..." She shrugged, watching as Dwayne glared at her. 

"I promise you two it's nothing... I need to rest and..." 

"Tell us what's going on, Monroe." Dwayne pulled away from the wound, his hand firmly holding onto her hand,

 "I'm not that important ..." she mumbled as the two boys looked at her, 

"Max only wants me around you guys like a mother figure..." she laughed, removing her skirt, 

" So what do you want to be..." David turned away, letting her undress. "Well, I want to be myself... " she bit her lips feeling hands ghost over her corset. 

"And who would that be," Dwayne asked, glancing at the whalebone marks on her skin, "You tied this yourself..." 

"Mhmm, what's wrong with it..."

"It's shit." he laughed, 

"I beg your pardon!" she gasped, "It's perfect. "

"Yeah, if you don't wanna breathe." David turned his head, "You know Anastasia taught me how to lace up a corset."

"Here we go..." 

"No, no, let him speak..." Tiffany suggested as she sat down in the grass, 

"But if you can tie nautical knots, you can lace a fucking corset." David looked at the woman as she laughed. There was a sadness behind his eyes every time he mentioned the name Anastasia, but she must have meant so much to him. The colors of orange, pink, and blue began to crack amongst the dark sky as both David and Dwayne were asleep in her tent. Sitting out in the Dawn were Tiffany and Stewart watching daybreak hatch. 

" I think it time I change a new leaf..." she huffed, the warm rays on her skin, 

"What do you mean ..." 

"It's a new era, and I can't keep being what everyone wants me to be... I can only be who I'm supposed to be." she looked back as she saw Jasper, who was getting a peek of what would be his last sunrise over California.  

Sitting in the lobby of the Santa Carla resort was Tiffany, her thoughts heavy and her mind scrambling around. Looking down at her engagement ring, she admired every detail that Dracula had put into it. But she knew that none of it was hers: instead, it was just another way for her to become a trophy in his collection of wives. Max had then sat next to her, his hand on top of hers. 

" Go away..." She grumbled. 

"Or what..." Max smirked, tilting her head up with his chin, 

"I'll take everything you've ever loved away from you..." she growled, "Including the boys..." 

"You wouldn't..." His control over the other vampire fading, "You wouldn't know the first thing about raising boys..." Tiffany laughed as she broke from his grip, walking away from the power-hungry sire,

 "You know something, Maxi..." 

"What..." 

"You've no power over me... nor does Dracula..."

"You sure about that..." 

"Highly sure ... now if you excuse me, I've made arrangements with Paul and Jasper to go pickpocke-" she stopped talking as the ground under her began to shake, the infamous earthquake of 1906, the residence of the hotel had all rushed to the door,

 the chandelier had started crumbling down from the lobby ceiling. As a few people got caught from underneath it, Tiffany looked back to see Jasper, who was reaching out for his brother's hand, Dwayne looking at Tiffany, while Marko Paul and Stewart tried to help.

"You stay awake, do you hear me ?! don't you dare close your eyes."

 "Leave them, Tiffany..." Max said, watching as Tiffany tried to run from his hypnotic grasp,

 "I gotta do something..." she tried to pull away as he only beckoned for her to follow as well as the rest of the boys.

"Who has the power over who now..." he mumbled, the once ever so astounding resort torched with flames and burnt memories; faded into the night sky, leaving the sound of silence and howls of wolves in the background. "I'm sorry about your brother I-" Dwayne kept looking ahead as the two kept walking, 

"Don't worry about it, snookums, Dwayne, gets like that when he's upset..." Paul mentioned as Tiffany giggled, "Snookums eh... What god awful human did you learn that from."

"Some guy named Walter Emerson..." he looked at the pocket watch that he stole. He then looked back at Marko and Stewart, the two chatting away, while Tiffany looked at David, who had lost the love of his mortal life. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but his eyes looking towards the North Star said differently. 

Tiffany sighed as she kept walking, her boots getting stuck in the mud while her hair begun to stick from sweat to her face. " Can't we just fucking rest for the night... " The young woman groaned, 

"I mean David's fucking out of it, Stewart and Marko ate two rats, and Dwayne he's practically falling asleep, and Paul..." she looked back, "Holy Hell, where's Paul!" Tiffany turned to see the blond ripping the neck off a wolf open. Max grumbled both by his and her actions. He was irritated, but the nagging and the tiredness reminded him why he hated dealing with such newly turned vampires. 

"My Feet hurt..." Marko grumbled, 

"It's too hot..." David groaned. 

"FINE WE'LL STOP." Max turned towards the boys, his teeth out and ready to rip into anyone else who so had a complaint. They found a campsite with fire, a few tents, and what seemed to be a few drunk soldiers. 

"Tiffany, get rid of them." Max pointed in the direction of the men, "See boys: When you're more experienced, you'll also be able to cause as much bloodshed just like that..." he turned back to see limbs discarded amongst the ground, the perfect meal for a vampire feeding their young. "The place is all yours, boys..." 

As the boys went to rest, Tiffany did as well. Dressed in her nightgown, laying on the cot, she could feel a hand stroking her hair as it kept singing her name.  

Tiffany 

Tiffany

Tiffany 

She tossed and turned on the couch from up under her, teased out hair drenched in a cold sweat. "It's happening again..." Marko sighed, dabbing away beads of sweat from her forehead. Paul rushed over, holding her hand feeling, the odd heat radiating off her skin. 

 "Tiffany, sweetheart, I want you to drink this..." David said, trying to get her to look at him. It was the third time this month that Tiffany hadn't been so lucky when it came to feeding. She had caught a case of Blotoisis better, known as Vampiritis, a flu-like sickness that happens when a vampire consumes blood from a sick human. 

"I ... I don't wanna..." she shivered, her eyes closed from the lighting of the fire barrels, "You gotta toots..." Marko kissed her forehead. Dwayne rolled his eyes, placing another cold towel on her forehead, noticing Angelica, who had been holding hands with Sam, and someone else who he presumed to be a friend of hers that she met. 

" Babycakes..." Tiffany reached out to Dwayne, "Je ne me sens pas bien je veux des câlins." she pouted as Dwayne held her hand, "No cuddles until you feel better."

"I want you all to meet my friend..." Angelica said, walking further into the cave holding a can of chicken noodle soup. 

"Not now, kiddo..." David shooed her away. 

"But..."

"Tiff's sick..." Dwayne shrugged

"Will ya stop shooing away my girlfriend for one second," Jasper smirked, standing to the side, his dark hair almost as long as his brothers, 

"Jasper..." the boys said, turning to face him.

"Sheesh, love what you did to the place..."  

"I must be hallucinating ..."

[hayden-thefuck-whywouldyoudothis]

HAYDEN LORE

for @thatoneao3writer because i am too lazy to send an ask rn

not the happiest with how this turned out, but i believe it will suffice for now.

So, you know the hc that Glatt would haunt Michael on the Dream SMP? Well, guess what? I am obligated to traumatise a child as the Dream Kinnie of the discord, and so, I will be taking the place of Glatt.

The murderer replaces the dictator.

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

Silence.

It always starts with silence, doesn’t it?

And for good reason.

It’s pure.

A clean slate.

Always was, always will be.

Right?

“No.” He shakes his head, “No, it’s not right. Listen, listen to me, Tubbo.” Ranboo grabs Tubbo by the shoulders, the optimal way to get the teen to listen, especially when he’s being stubborn. “You have to let him move through grief on his own. You can’t force it. You- you can’t-” Ranboo’s voice breaks, and Tubbo’s face softens, giving the taller a firm hug.

“Boo? Bo? Is everything okay?” Michael had snuck up on them. Tubbo and Ranboo share a look, before Ranboo forces a chuckle, picking his ‘son’ up to give him a hug.

“Hey Bub. Everythings just fine.” Ranboo assures the child, giving him a tight hug. Michael feels tears on his dad’s face, and pulls away from the hug. He watches his fathers face, contemplating. He giggles all of a sudden, putting his small hands on Ranboo’s cheeks, feeling him give a small smile, tears still streaming down his face.

“Dad!” Michael smiles. “I love you.” Ranboo smiles, pulling all three into a hug. After a beat, they separate, and Ranboo let's Michael down on the floor, urging him to go play and let the other two talk.

The tears are still there.

He does a good job of hiding the pain.

…

Michael listens.

What else would he do?

The two most important people in his life were distraught and trying so hard to hide it.

The more he listened, the more he learned. ‘Their close friend Tommy was grieving. They had all lost a friend. Their friend named Wilbur. He was a bad man, but he had been a good friend. He killed people. He-’

“So did I. Doesn’t make anyone special.” Someone says from behind where Michael is sitting. He looks around.

“Wh- who- who said th- that?” He manages to force out, There is a chuckle to his left, the voice sending shivers up his spine. There was something not right about it, it was off. Something moves, and a humanoid becomes visible. They are transparent, but their hands are burnt black, covered in ashes.

“Michael, right?” They ask, floating closer, eerily. Michael nods, recoiling when they offer a handshake. “Hmm,” They look Michael up and down, evaluating, analyzing. “You know, it feels good to be back.” Michael takes another good look. At first glance, they seem completely normal, at least before they speak. But then you look closer. You see the burn marks, and the ash, and the blood.

‘Why is there so much blood?’

“Well that has an easy answer! You should really be asking harder questions, Michael.” They laugh. It’s terrifying. “The blood is from the veins of the bodies dead at my feet, piling higher and higher. The blood of innocent people always was sweeter than that of the guilty.” And that's when the person moves, floating towards Ranboo and Tubbo. They don’t seem to notice. Michael gasps, and they look back at him, tilting their head and giving a smile. Without warning there is a dagger in each hand, at his parents' necks.

They don’t seem to mind.

Without thinking, Michael screams. It’s loud and heart-shattering. It’s like he was witnessing murder. Ranboo and Tubbo stop talking, running over to comfort the child. The person doesn’t move, just smiles.

“It was nice to meet me, right Michael? I would say the same in your own regard, but I’ve been watching for a long time. See you soon.”

And they disappear.

That was only the beginning.

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

The next time they showed up, Michael was all alone. Ranboo and Tubbo had to leave, had ‘something to do’. Tommy had come and collected them late at night, right as Michael had gone to bed, this being one of the nights that Michael was staying in the Tower. Bad had helped him get ready for bed, making sure he had his chicken plush before saying goodnight and leaving, promising that Tubbo and Ranboo would be back by morning.

Michael knew the truth, that the two people who meant the most to him were most likely in danger at that very moment. He might be young, but he wasn’t stupid. In fact, he was turning 6 soon!!! Hopefully Tubbo and Ranboo would be back soon, Michael desperately wanted to go to the park tomorrow.

“Can’t go to the park if they're dead.”

Michael pales at the voice. It’s back. ‘Why is it back?’ A bone-chilling laugh.

“Why Michael, your fear summoned me. There really is quite a lot of it. Fear of abandonment, fear of death, fear of losing a loved one, fear of being alone.” They chuckle, picking up one of Michaels toys, tossing it around as a form of entertainment, as if scaring a child wasn’t enough. “I really just saved you from that one, huh? No matter, you’re terrified of me, and that gives me all the power I could want, not that that’s what I’m after.” Michael looks at them, thinking.

‘Who is this? How did they get in here? Where are Boo and Bo? I really want them now, so I can have a hug and a brownie from the Titans kitchen. I want-’

“Hmmmm, that really is a very specific request Michael. But, you did ask one good question. Who am I? Who do you think I am Michael?”

He freezes, trying to think of what to call the person floating in front of him. After a moment, he gives up saying,

“You’re a scary man.” The person laughs.

“Well not quite, Michael, but close. I am Hayden Eyens. A hunter, a ghost, a storyteller, a prisoner, a witch, and, above all, a murderer. As for how I got in here, I can get to wherever I want or need to be.” Michael curls up against the headboard of the bed, not completely understanding everything that the person- no, Hayden- had said. But he did understand one thing.

Murderer.

It’s what everyone calls Wilbur.

“Let that sit with you Michael. I hope we talk again soon.” Hayden fades away, laughing maniacally.

Michael doesn’t sleep that night.

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

It doesn’t end there.

Hayden shows up at the worst times, feeding off of the fear that Michael hates so much. Every once in a while, Hayden’s visits are nice, and they just talk, and Michael learns, listening to the stories told so colourfully that it was like looking at a painting. He learns about how Hayden had grown up, having a similar start in life to Michael. Loving parents who were no longer there for one reason or another, eventually leading to the ghosts' untimely demise at the hands of the village they had grown up in. Michael listens to Hayden talk about manipulation and murder. It’s not very nice to listen to, but it is preferable to the bad days.

The bad days are the days where Hayden manipulates him, messing with his mind and his sense of right and wrong. The days when Hayden possesses him, trapping his conscious inside of himself, making him claustrophobic and terrified of possession.

It makes him think of the accident. What had happened when Michael had gotten very hurt by a bad man, and he had been stuck where he couldn’t get away, couldn’t escape. Once, Hayden had explained how the possession worked.

“Your conscious is the lesser one, of course. My mind pokes and prods and searches until it finds a way in. And when it does-” They smile. “When it does, my mind takes control. And it forces your mind into a tiny, tiny box. It is so refreshing. An escape from my own guilt.” Before Michael could even ask what they felt guilty for, Hayden was gone again, sure to return soon enough.

It went on for a long time, day in and day out, never subsiding long enough for a true break or recovery. The manipulation and the fear and the claustrophobia grow worse, almost to the point where Michael often couldn’t be left alone in some rooms in Bo’s house, Uncle Tommy’s house, or even the Titan’s Tower.

And one day, out of the blue, Hayden disappeared. The most peculiar thing happened as well, for right before Hayden had disappeared, Bo and Boo had seen them. They had flown at the trio at the Bee n’ Boo late one night, and they had freaked out. That was why Michael freaked out as well. Not because a ghost had flown at him, for he was used to that already, but seeing his favourite people freak out.

Later, Michael heard Ranboo and Tubbo talking. Apparently, there were more people like Hayden, though they weren’t all bad. Tanboo and Tubbo had met them. To repeat what Tubbo had said, it had ‘scared the shit out of them’, whatever that meant.

And that was the end of it.

Or so he believed.

Once a killer, always a killer.

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

HELLO

Quick and easy, here is some info about this:

1)This is tied to my fic and that will become somewhat evident in the next update.

2)This takes place during the aftermath of Wilbur's death, before the Askers were introduced to the Titans and the HIVE and such.

3)This was kinda difficult to write, ngl. Michael is very young in this AU, so it is difficult to use complicated themes. Therefore, my solution is that(sticking with what is already canon) Michael was left with Tubbo when he was 3. By the time this takes place, Michael is almost 6. I’d like to think that Tubbo was about 15 or so when he “adopted” Michael, making him 17 or so at this point.

4) I know that the trauma was not super apparent in this, but I feel it is important to establish Michaels trauma and fear of ghosts and Wilbur for my next fic update.

Alright, I am off to work on the next update.

Talk soon,

Hayden <3

o7

[honeym4rk]

station (jjh)

college! jaehyun x reader word count: 3.0k summary: four times you find yourself alone with jaehyun at a bus station.

There is comfort in the silence.

With every step you take, there is a crunch of fallen, juniper leaves at your feet. Your canvas tote bag is looped around your shoulder, your fingers clinging to the straps like it would shield you from the awkwardness of the current circumstances.

He’s got his hands hidden in the cavity of his hoodie. His knuckle cracking is sporadic, and you cringe at just how many times they’ve made an encore in the past two minutes.

You really should have begged Mark to tag along and leave the shindig so that this wouldn’t have happened- but alas, the boy was still hooked by the prospect of winning the next round of Mario Kart against Donghyuck. ‘It does some good to my self-esteem,’ he’d said. 

So here you are, sauntering bashfully to the bus stop with Jaehyun.

“So, uh- what bus are you taking?” You muster up the courage to speak up after a few minutes of painful reticence. 

“I’d have to take 922 or 153 from the opposite stop to get back to hall,” he sighs. It’s clear that he reciprocates the weird, distinctive tension here.

“And you?” He faces you with his raised eyebrows and you’re baffled by the sudden eye contact made. Your eyes dart elsewhere.

“Oh, I’m taking 922 from here.” You nod your head imperceptibly at the bus stop ahead of you.

A few metres away, there’s a zebra crossing, and you thank your lucky stars that you’re finally about to part ways. Oh, you’re sure Jaehyun is a nice person and all, but that doesn’t change the fact that the unspoken, kind enmity in the air is capable of being taut so hard around your neck that you asphyxiate. 

Ten more steps. Come on.

Five steps. 

Three steps.

“I’ll see you next ti-” 

Yet he doesn’t stop at the crossing. Instead, he continues his stride in tandem with yours towards the station. You stop in your tracks, slowly gesturing towards the beaconing street light with the hand you raised to bid adieu. 

“Aren’t you going to, you know..?” Eyes hinting at the yellow streaks of light, at the bus stop across the road, anywhere away from his own. Jaehyun notices your halt and follows suit.

“Well, I mean, Mark did ask me to see that you got home safe....”

You immediately wrack your brain for an appropriate response to his chivalry. It’s unclear how you should react; he really caught you by surprise. And from the way he’s gnawing at his inner lip and raising a hand to scratch the nape of his neck, you infer that he’s abashed too. All you manage is a small, “Oh,” as more silence ensues, before you start to blabber,

“No, no, thanks, Jaehyun, but it’s really fine, you don’t have to.”

His lips are taut into a firm, straight line and he lets out a surreptitious hum.

“Let me just wait ‘til you board your bus. Is that okay? It’s getting pretty late.”

You want to vehemently object. 

And you’re about to, but you let out a consenting “Yeah, alright.”

He’s invading your desiderated solace- yet something about his offer seems so genuine and saccharine that you comply out of curiosity. You’d heard things about Jaehyun around in school before, good things, especially seeing that he was well acquainted with your friends like Mark, but you’d never really encountered him until tonight, thanks to Donghyuck’s birthday celebration. Being a Linguistics student, fate hadn’t really presented many opportunities for him to meet someone majoring in Pharmacy. 

Therefore- you think to yourself- it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s unlikely that you’ll actually talk to him again, since you’ll probably never be within a radius of at least ten metres from him again. It’s alright, it’s okay. You decide to let him be a gentleman.

So you bask in the quietude shrouding the two of you, as you sit on the metal form, awaiting the arrival of a yearned 922. 

After all, there is the slightest hint of comfort in the silence.

There is also comfort in the familiarity.

You’re sure there’s a sense of déjà vu. It’s a similar scene to what had ensued a few weeks ago, at least, and you’re definitely surprised to be here again, with him . However, you’ve both abandoned the multi-layered cake of unease. It’s almost been completely devoured now. Fortunately.

Jaehyun’s chuckling relentlessly- nearly doubled over laughing- as you recount the earlier occurrences of the Friday night. 

“Yeah, no, but I’d give anything to see the look on Donghyuck’s face again.” His eyes crinkle into small crescents as he runs a hand through his silver hair.

“He looked so confident that it was going to work and I’d already told him otherwise, but I really don’t know what he expected.” 

Tonight, there had been an effort to study in Donghyuck’s apartment; considering the looming exam season. This purpose was indeed fulfilled, to some extent. 

Then Donghyuck, feeling rather ravenous, decided that he wanted to indulge in a quick and easy two-ingredient Oreo mug cake. The video tutorial truly looked too good to be true- you’d seen multiple YouTubers debunk the content-farm produced recipes. 

The wide-eyed boy was too desperate, however, as he credulously decided to fill his mug with crushed oreos and milk to the brim. He swore that it looked and sounded promising until a loud Pop! reverberated in the kitchen 30 seconds into heating.

Everyone gathered around to watch Donghyuck cry over his spilt milk, literally, as his appliance perpetually emitted smoke, its glass door burst open. Burnt mounds of moist black and white cookies were thrown at the white, metal walls of the microwave. Donghyuck fanned the plumes of smoke hastily.

“It looks like a volcano erupted.” Mark added, coughing, as he tried to swallow the chuckle bubbling at the back of his throat.

“Dude- I don’t want to say I told you so but,” You began to implore, before Donghyuck interjected.

“Maybe I should just try again, I think the microwave setting just wasn’t right.” 

And so he did- but to no avail.

The two of you approach the tiny station side by side, and you relish the warm, fuzzy feeling establishing in your stomach. Not quite butterflies, but maybe more like a tiny sprout popping out of the ground.

“To be fair, though, it didn’t taste half as bad as it looked.”

You snort. “Sure, because it’s literally sugar and milk with a dash of hidden carcinogens.” 

He lets out a low chortle. Jaehyun nails the bellowing dad laugh right down to a T, and some part of you finds this endearing.

A flash of bright light emerges as you look up from your feet. 922 has arrived and you’re rummaging through your bag for your bus card. 

“I feel like I left my card at Donghyuck’s, shit,”

The bus halts. 

“Here, use mine, I’ve got a spare.” Jaehyun offers without a second thought, pulling his card from the pocket of his denim jeans. 

“Go on, the bus driver’s waiting.”

You would have thought this through for a little while longer, but he was right. A scowl that said ‘Stop wasting my damn time,’ is plastered on the driver’s face, and it urges you to carefully pick the card slotted between his fingers. 

“Thanks so much- I’ll return it tomorrow, or something.” Your eyebrows furrow together and you clench your teeth together in a grimace.

“Yeah! Yeah, whenever. Good night, Y/N. Get home safe,”

“You too, thanks again!”

Boarding the bus hastily, you wave at him through the glass door as the bus sets off. He doesn’t leave until you’re out of sight.

You can’t help but grin as you examine the portrait on his student pass. He’s handsome, skin clear and glossy, hair parted such that there are a bunch of strands obstructing his forehead. It’s black in this image. You wonder how many colours it's been dyed. His dimples replicate the poked slime in the myriad of videos you’ve seen, and his cheekbones are incredibly prominent. 

It dawns on you that you don’t have his number, or follow him on Instagram, or have any means to contact him at all. You guess that you’ll have to fish something from Mark, but Jaehyun seems to beat you to it.

Unknown, [2340]: hey this is jaehyun lol hope you get back safe :-)

A sudden flash of the many possible outcomes this could entail breezes past your mind. You’re quite uncertain about how this will play out, and you unlock your phone to reply.

Y/N, [2341]: hii hahah thanks again! i can return your card tomorrow, just lmk where i can drop by

Jaehyun, [2341]: yeah sure, i think i’ll be cooped up in starbucks doing work w my friends lol 

Jaehyun, [2341]: u can join if ud like :o

There is comfort in the unknown.

There is comfort in the noise.

Your whole herd of boisterous friends are walking uphill from yet another study session at Donghyuck’s- there’s been quite a number of them since the first. You’re honestly amused by how many people can fit in his apartment. The study group has expanded from a mere four to a whopping seven people in total.

Thankfully, there haven’t been any microwave oven explosions since then, but you’ve had your good share of fun and company, and more importantly, productivity. 

The pack of young adults currently divulging the extensive, latest gossip and hall horror stories, you and Jaehyun stray further behind. You’re trying to listen in and pick apart information, but you’ve joined the conversation a bit too late for context. 

“Oh my god, Lia, you’re going to hate hearing this, but…” Jungwoo begins, his voice entering a decrescendo.

“But Jeno has a girlfriend? Yeah, I figured.” Lia wails. “I saw them together in the library the other day, being all cute and shit. My heart shattered .” She emphasises this by hitting Jungwoo’s shoulder out of pure frustration. 

“How long have they been together, though?” Ryujin quips, to which she gets a reply, but you try to drown out the rest of their conversation.

You tug at the arm of Jaehyun’s sweatshirt, and he leans closer to you as you query, “Who’s Jeno, again?”

“Cute dude that she keeps bumping into at hall, I think,” he mumbles. His words are semi-intelligible, because of the commotion right in front of you.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.” The infinite frequencies are hard to tune out, and it gets increasingly arduous to do so when Ryujin gasps.

“Oh shit, the bus is here!” Your friends are immediately ready to break into a sprint, but Jaehyun’s feet seem heavy as he continues to meander with you. 

“Jae, aren’t you coming? The next one’s in thirty minutes!” Jungwoo shouts as they begin to dash across the road.

“It’s fine, go on! I’m just a little lazy. See you!” Jaehyun dismisses him with the wave of his extended hand, and receives an incredulous look. The lame excuse confuses you, bamboozles you, but you wave goodbye to your friends anyway.

It’s been long since you’ve been caught alone here at the bus stop with Jaehyun- you usually head home with Mark every Friday. He’s not here, though. He’s crashed at Donghyuck’s for tonight.

“Uhm, what was that ?” You chuckle nervously, the little sprout in your belly magically reappearing. Truth be told, after the many lighthearted, late-night messages exchanged over the past few weeks, and after unravelling Jaehyun bit by bit, the sprout has grown into a pocket-sized garden. It brings its own butterflies, but you don’t quite have the audacity to admit this. There’s a different kind of trickiness lingering in the air tonight.

“Well, you know- Mark…and it’s- it’s getting late, kinda.” He’s timorous tonight. Under the luminescence of the bus station’s lamps, you see the pink tint land on the tips of his ears, something you’ve learnt happens when he’s rather shy. 

“I wanted to ask you something, too, though.”

“Okay, shoot.” You take a seat. He sits a modest distance away from you, cracking his knuckles instinctively.

“Well, I uhm, I’m not quite sure how you’ll react to this but,” he licks his lips.

“But?” You encourage him to carry on, staring as you await his continuation.

He looks as if he’s got the words at the tip of his tongue, the sea of sentences about to overflow from his mouth, and they’re spilling when he starts speaking again.

“Would you-” You listen intently, attempting to read his lips. However, he’s cut off by the booming wails of a velocious ambulance. You whip your head around to watch the vehicle pass by. 

Jaehyun breathes sharply, exhaling in frustration. The cries subside, so he tries again. 

“Y/N,” he clears his throat, and you face him once more.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“I was wondering if-” 

A fire truck zooms past the bus stop, and your attention is grabbed by the monotonous siren that raids your ears. Jaehyun notices your bus approaching, and he panics. The air-raid isn’t becoming distant; the truck’s obstructed by the imposing red-light flashing. There’s only so much time left to ask what he’s been dying to- and he can’t believe he’s getting cockblocked by the emergency services right now. 

You’re hearing Jaehyun spill a string of words but they’re incoherent- all you can seem to comprehend is the blaring repetitions that are relentless.

“What?!” You shout, fighting past the cacophony. “I can’t hear you!” You’re signing this to him, pointing to your ear and shaking your hand vigorously.

Your bus halts before you. Jaehyun’s in an absolute frenzy now. He doesn’t want to do this online. Something about hiding behind his screen sounds so ingenuine to him, and you’re already standing, shit, but he can’t win against the absolute pandemonium and doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the small crowd that’s alighted the bus, but he’s also not sure when he’ll get to talk to you in private like this again, 

So he clamours.

“Do You! Want To Go Out! With Me!” He’s cupping his large hands around his mouth, screaming into the makeshift amplifier with all his might, as you walk towards the front doors of the bus.

You look like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide open in disbelief as you gawk at the boy who’s sheepishly glancing at everyone and using his hand to defend himself from their stares. The butterflies that have erupted in you are merciless.

And then you burst into a fit of laughter- Jaehyun curses the sirens for piercing through such a pleasant sound- and you nod profusely, one foot already boarding the bus.

The glass doors shut close, and you’re enthusiastically gesturing to your handphone, waving at him. The bus whizzes away.

He’s shell-shocked, and he’s unable to will his hands in drawing his phone from his pocket. The sudden series of vibrations brings him back to his senses.

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝),[2257]: WAIT ask me again

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2257]: idk if i heard u right

Jaehyun, [2258]: k

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2258]: dude come back </3

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2258]: YES lol

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2257]: yeeeeeeees

It heavily hinders Jaehyun that night, but there is comfort in the noise.

There is comfort in the isolation.

It’s only the blinding fluorescent lights and the cool breeze presenting company at the bus stop- you’re grateful that the occasional cars speeding by are helping you break down the very last walls of tension between the two of you, if there are any.

Whoosh. 

“I really enjoyed today.” He smiles and steals a quick glance at you. You’re at a different bus stop now- a month later and you’re amazed that you’ve gone out with Jaehyun at least three times now.

You catch the slight twinkle in his eyes as he scoots a whole foot nearer towards you on the cool metal bench. The distance between the two of you is closing slowly yet your heart rate is augmenting. It’s accelerating now- faster than any of the rambunctious vehicles that race down the road, their engines revving dirtily.

Whoosh. A black BMW zooms past you both and you take the opportunity to reciprocate the cheeky glimpse.

“Me too.”

There’s fumbling of fingers and twiddling of your thumbs before you notice the sudden influx of light and buzzing and realise that your bus has arrived. Pure languish rushes through every vein in your body- you don’t want this night to end.

Jaehyun begins to stand and shoots a quizzical expression when you don’t follow suit. 

“Let’s wait for the next one,” you grin, your legs swinging back and forth as you continue to glue yourself on the elevated seat.

The sound of his chuckle envelopes you into a warm hug- it’s deep, and strong, yet soft at the same time- and then you’re pulled to your feet by your wrists before he embraces you with confident hesitation too.

“Is this- it’s okay, right?” He just wants to be sure.

“Yeah- very.” You breathe, and his boyish smell fills your lungs. There is difficulty in naming what scented cologne he’s used today; but you devote no more attention. You just wallow in the tangy, mellow fragrance that has permeated your senses.

He’s got his arms coiled around your waist, his palm extended to press your back closer to him. You’re playing with the sharp, freshly cut hairs on the back of his neck. You run your fingers through them and he dives his head further into the crook of your neck. Jaehyun’s muffled voice is tickling your shoulder-

“Your hair smells really nice.” The corners of your lips edge upwards into an unrelenting grin.

“Thank God.”

There is comfort in Jaehyun.

[writingat-night]

tagged by my lovely mutual @tauremornalome in the first line game!

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns. choose your favourite opening line.

tagging: @plotdesigner @shuttymcshutfuck and anyone else who wants to! (feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged next time i do one of these writing tag games — i honestly just don’t know which of you write)

okay. so the thing about my writing is that i never fucking finish it, and a lot of my wips are just a jumble of unconnected scenes. technically, i have more than 20 (unfinished) stories, but i’ll only be posting the ones that a) actually Have A First Line, and b) i hope to finish at some point in the distant future.

1. blue seas to mulberry fields (the untamed, nhs-centric, the only half decent fic i’ve ever published)

Jin Guangyao is dead.

He’s dead, run through by Lan Xichen’s sword, crushed under a hundred tonnes of rubble and debris. He is gone.

Nie Huaisang knows this. He does. But one man’s death is nothing compared to a lifetime. Compared to years of shouting for Meng Yao when he needed help. Compared to years of calling him San-ge. Compared to a decade of planning revenge.

2. theon greyjoy and the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day(s) (working title) (game of thrones/asoiaf, theon-centric)

Theon doesn’t know when, exactly, his status in Winterfell changes from prisoner to ward.

The first time he is a prisoner is during the Siege of Pyke. He isn’t a prisoner of Winterfell, not yet. But a prisoner is a prisoner is a prisoner all the same, regardless of if he’s locked in a cell or trapped in his own home.

3. take a chance, remake the world (game of thrones/asoiaf, starks-centric)

Two years, four months, and seventeen days after his coronation, King Brandon Stark, Bran the Broken, first of his name, wakes with a purpose. His first true purpose in a long time. He must go today.

4. your place in the family of things (game of thrones/asoiaf, sansa and theon-centric)

Sansa has always prided herself on her composure. When she was a child, she had spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting her curtsy and her posture and her politest smile. She always says please and thank you and she knows her manners better than any of her siblings ever did. She does all her homework and raises her hand in class when she knows the answer (which is almost always) and earns A-stars in almost every test. She never loses her temper or complains about her workload. Her parents spent a lot of time and money to get her and her sister into this school. She knows that, and she’s grateful for it.

She’s certainly not the kind of girl who breaks down sobbing over her French notes. And yet.

5. untitled whisper of the heart au (the untamed, sangcheng and nie bros-centric)

Nie Huaisang would like to say, for the record, that he has the worst brother in the world.

Objectively, he is aware that worse people exist. Meng Yao, for one. Jin Guangshan definitely makes the cut. Jin Zixun– well, Huaisang hasn’t talked to him since the time he punched him in the face in junior middle school, but he’s sure he’s still an asshole. Maybe Jins just suck, like, as a rule. (Excluding Zixuan. Except, actually, he is kind of a dick. He’s working on it, though, so Huaisang will cut him some slack.)

But as a brother? Mingjue is the worst.

6. bastards anonymous (working title, obviously) (game of thrones/asoiaf, baratheon bastards-centric)

Gendry should have known that Secret Santa with Arya was a bad idea. It’s their first time including her in the present-giving, and they were very clear about the five pound limit. Not a one of them earns above minimum wage, except Arya. She doesn’t have a job, but her allowance is more than Gendry gets paid in a month.

7. the todorokis gtfo (working title) (bnha, todorokis and hawks-centric)

Fuyumi is not a good daughter.

She is not like Shouto. She is not the prodigy, the golden child, the future hero. She doesn’t have a quirk so strong it nearly burnt down the house when it first manifested, a quirk so perfectly balanced that even his appearance reflects it. She doesn’t have a destiny laid out in front of her, ready to be followed like a gold-paved road.

She isn’t a bad child, either, she hopes. Not like Natsuo. They might both be the middle children, in a way (although she’s technically tied for eldest with Touya, she is six minutes younger than him), both the failures, both invisible, but she’s content with that. Natsuo isn’t. She tries to balance out his anger at their father, to get him to just keep his head down and do as he’s told, but the more time he spends with Touya, the more rebellious he becomes.

But, then, she supposes it makes sense, given his circumstances. After all, Fuyumi might not have the unbeatable quirk their father dreamed of, but at least she has one.

8. show me where my armour ends (bnha, dabihawks, because i refuse to let go of this ship and i hate canon)

If there’s a better end to a day of hero work than a shower hot enough to turn his skin as bright red as his wings, Hawks hasn’t found it yet. Being a hero might be hard, but it’s damn worth it for the feeling of washing away grit and blood under scalding water, if for nothing else. After the day he’s had, he’s more than earned it.

9. untitled modern au (game of thrones/asoiaf, theon and the starks centric)

For all that his children seem to believe otherwise, Ned Stark is not an idiot. He has five kids, a sixth on the way, and he has learned something about being a parent in the past eight years.

He is not fooled when Robb comes down for dinner five minutes early, smiling brightly, and says, “Hi, Daddy! Do you want me to set the table?”

Robb had stopped calling him and Cat Mummy and Daddy at the start of the school year, because no-one calls their parents that anymore, Dad, come on, I’m in Primary Four now. He only uses it now when he wants something. And he never offers to set the table.

10. houses out of cardboard boxes (voltron (i know, i know, i’m sorry), adashi)

Adam isn’t nervous, per se. Adam Wadekar doesn’t do nervous. It’s just that this is his first time at a new school since he started teaching, so he may be a little out of practise

(Also, he’s back in California for the first time in years, after vowing to never return. But, whatever. Not the point.)

11. untitled character study (pjo, will solace-centric)

As a rule, Will is nonviolent. Between a staunchly pacifist mom, a complete lack of athletic ability, and a pathological urge to please people, he doesn’t think he could hurt another person if he tried.

But when you walk into your kitchen to see a man with goat legs and two teenagers holding swords, all common sense sort of goes out the window.

hmm. i feel like all of them have a similar.... vibe, but i can’t pin down a pattern, per se. i tend to open with a fact about a character and then some kind of contradiction, a lot of the time. i think my favourites are probably blue seas to mulberry fields, your place in the family of things, the todorokis gtfo, and the will solace one. (mainly blue seas, though. i will fucking finish that fic if it Kills Me)

[johaerys-writes]

For my beloved bean @solas-disapproves​ , and @dadrunkwriting! Please enjoy my poor attempts at writing bawdy tavern songs, making things rhyme is HARD but at least I made myself laugh.

Pairing: Dorian Pavus/Tristan Trevelyan

Read here or on AO3!

******

“I don’t like this place.”

Trevelyan’s voice came muffled from within his mug, his eyes scanning the room as he took a long draught of ale. The inn they had stopped at on their way to Val Royeaux was humble, to say the least; rustic, even. A shithole, if Dorian was being honest about it. The scent of cheap ale wafted from every corner, crass jokes followed by raucous laughter and fists banging on tables mingled with the minstrel’s tune, that was barely audible now. Which was probably fortunate, since the man’s lute was out of tune, his voice even more so. Really, a goose squawking and flapping its wings would be far preferable to this. At least the animal might come close to something resembling a rhythm.

“Come on, Boss, it’s not so bad,” Iron Bull said, sipping on his ale. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Dorian replied with a roll of his eyes. He still couldn’t understand why they were there to begin with. Sister Leliana had received an anonymous tip from someone claiming they had inside information about Duke Gaspard and the movements of his army in the Dales. They had specified the time and place they were to meet, and it just so happened to be this disaster of a tavern they were now sitting in. Leliana had assured them that her agents had found no suspicious movements, that it was unlikely to be a trap. “Even if it is,” she’d said with a small smile, “you’re more than capable of taking care of it.”

Dorian set his cup down, clearing his throat that had been half burnt by the acidic brew they called wine around those parts. At that point, he almost wished it was a trap. Anything that would save him from staying in that Maker forsaken place for one more minute.

“Right,” Trevelyan said, slapping his palms on the table and pushing himself up, “I’m going out for some fresh air.”

“What’s wrong with the air here? Not enough feckin’ roses for his Inquisitorial-ness?” Sera cackled, downing her drink.

“A couple roses never hurt anybody,” Trevelyan muttered petulantly before turning around and pushing his way to the door. It wasn’t long before Dorian went after him, dusting his robes.

“If you’re in need of roses, I think I might be able to procure a few,” he said teasingly, sauntering towards him. “But it might cost you.”

Full, rosy coloured lips widened in a smirk. Trevelyan’s hands wound around his waist, pulling Dorian close. “Is that so?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“And what will it cost me, exactly?”

“Let’s see,” Dorian hummed, tilting his head up as Trevelyan placed a kiss under his jaw, one tender enough to make Dorian’s hair stand on end. “A decent room, for a start. With a decent bed that’s not infested with lice. Oh, and I believe a tub instead of a barrel isn’t too much to ask for. And how about some wine that doesn’t taste like last year’s vinegar?”

Trevelyan scoffed, a little puff of air that warmed Dorian’s neck. “In this place we’re in, you might as well be asking for a miracle.”

“You’re the Herald of Andraste. I’m sure you could whip something up,” he grinned.

The rough sound of boots on gravel and a pained yelp made them both jolt. Dorian blinked in surprise when he saw Bull dragging a scrawny man by the collar, his lip already bleeding from where the Qunari had hit him, Sera in tow.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Trevelyan demanded, pushing himself upright.

“Saw this one creeping after you,” he said, tossing the sorry wretch on the ground before their feet.

Dorian tilted his head to the side, studying the man. “Could it be the informant?”

“An informant with a drawn dagger, skulking in the shadows like a thief? Don’t think so, Boss.”

“What are these- these ludicrous accusations? I was only trying to defend myself!” the man protested in a thick Orlesian accent. “I’m no informant, nor was I about to attack anyone! Not before your beast attacked me,” he spat.

Trevelyan narrowed his eyes, folding his arms before his chest. “You’re not making your position any better.”

The man cowered, glancing away and back. “I didn’t mean to scare you, messer, I swear it. On my honour! On my life!” he mumbled. “I-I just came out for some air, and-”

“Who are you?” Trevelyan asked, cutting him short. “Why are you here?”

“Bardeaux,” he said quickly. “Vincent Bardeaux. I’m a minstrel. Just a minstrel. Looking for work. Heard this place might need someone to play a song or two and came to check. I was just about to leave before-”

“If you’re a minstrel,” Sera said, perching herself atop a barrel, “where’s your lute?”

“I-” The supposed minstrel paled. “It broke. In a brawl, last night.”

“How convenient,” Dorian said with a sweet smile.

“I swear it! Find me a lute and I’ll play any tune you like.”

Bull lifted a brow, glancing at Sera. Grinning, she kicked off the barrel, sneaking inside the tavern. A few minutes later, she re-appeared with a small lute and a mug of ale she had managed to swipe off a table in passing.

“There you go, fancy pants,” she told the man, handing him the lute. “Now play us a song.”

Bardeaux cleared his throat, wincing when he plucked the strings and a jarring, discordant sound escaped. He tuned the lute and straightened, clearing his throat again, more loudly this time. “ O lovely rose, my sweet soul-”

“Does this look like a Chantry gathering?” Bull smirked leaned against the wall. “You must know something better than that.”

“I know… some songs,” the man said, squinting. “But I would hardly call them appropriate. If you catch my drift.”

“That’s the kind we like,” Sera said with a wicked grin. “What are you waiting for? Get on with it, mate, ain’t got all day!”

“I… suppose I shall.” Bardeaux prepared to start again, when Bull stopped him once more.

“Wait! You must know some about him too, right?” he nodded to Trevelyan, his eye glittering with mischief. “About the Herald of Andraste?”

“The Herald of Andraste?” The minstrel’s cheeks were bright red as he looked from Trevelyan to Bull and back. “I suppose… I do know some songs. Just a few, mind you.”

Trevelyan rolled his eyes and huffed. “Bull, no.”  

“Come on, Boss, it’ll be fun! You never get to hear any of the good stuff in the Herald’s Rest. Might as well hear it now, right?”

Dorian placed his hand on Trevelyan’s back, leaning close to his ear. “Bull is right. I think it’ll be interesting. We could see what the people say about you in this part of the world, too, hm?”

Trevelyan shot him a sideways look before his scowl broke, his lips pursing only slightly. “...fine.”

“Right!” Sera leaned back against the wall, sipping on her beer. “Crack on, then, what are you waiting for?”

“Ah… alright.” The minstrel slanted a nervous glance at Trevelyan before his fingers started running deftly down the strings.

“The Herald fancied a dark-haired lad,

With sharp eyes and a sharper tongue,

A magician he was, of great renown,

People gathered when he came to town,

He played with fire, tamed the storms,

He juggled balls and swallowed swords-”

“I’m not that kind of magician,” Dorian grumbled, already regretting having urged Trevelyan to listen to the dratted song. “That makes it sound like I go around performing petty parlour tricks!”

“I think he’s talking about a different kind of tricks, Vint,” Bull chuckled, before Sera shushed them both sharply.

“'Such skill,” cried the Herald, “such finesse!

My love to him I must confess.”

He knelt before the mage’s feet,

And took his mighty hand in his,

“There are no eyes, no lips like thine,

Your silken hair, your form divine,

I want thee with a throbbing need,

‘Tis a matter of urgency indeed,

You hold the key to my heart’s lock,

I shall not rest until I’ve had your-'"

“For the Maker’s sake,” Dorian rolled his eyes as Bull howled with laughter. “Do we really have to listen to this?” He yelped when Sera punched him on the arm.

“Oi!” She glared at both of them, waving her mug in the air and spilling beer in every direction. “He was just getting to the good part, ye daft tits!”

Trevelyan chuckled, the blade of his dagger catching the light as he twirled it around his fingers. “You seem a decent fellow,” he told the minstrel. “I hate to kill you.”

The man’s face, who had lit up momentarily with hope, twisted in a grimace of despair. “R-rock! I was going to say rock!” He bit his lip, wringing his hands. “I implore you, messer. I meant no harm! I’m just a minstrel-” He paused, gaping when Trevelyan’s blade pressed against his neck.

“You tell me who sent you now,” he hissed, his expression turning stony, “or you won’t sing another song about ‘rocks’ again. Yes?”

The minstrel, pale as a sheet, nodded with a whimper.

~

“So he was an assassin after all,” Dorian said, lying on the soft bed of their new room; the largest one the tavern possessed. It was warm and comfortable, all things considered, yet he still had to make due with an old wine barrel full of tepid water instead of a tub for his bath that night. Dratted South, he reflected acidly. “Who would have thought.”

“I did.” Trevelyan kicked off his boots and flopped on the mattress beside him. “And you. And Bull. I believe Sera knew before any of us did. Plain as day, really.”

“Hmm. I believe Leliana is getting rusty.”

“So am I.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “That was more than enough excitement for a day, thank you very much.”

“Are you quite sure about that? You do, after all, have a certain reputation to keep.” Dorian wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, propping himself on his elbow.

Trevelyan cracked his eyes open to peek at him, his lips widening in a smirk. “I do?”

“Oh, yes. Remind me where the minstrel left off…? Something about rocks and locks, was it? Or perhaps-” Dorian chuckled when a suddenly very energetic Trevelyan rolled on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head.

“How odd. I can’t remember. I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me.” He flashed him a wry grin. “Or show me.”

Dorian hummed in amusement, a shiver running down his spine when Trevelyan's plush lips closed softly over his own. “Gladly,” he whispered.