#i’m gonna behave fawk

[obetrolncocktails]

Ignition | Danny Wagner X f!Reader X Jake Kiszka | Part 5

Have you read Part 4?

Warnings: Minors ABSOLUTELY DNI! (18+), SOAKED PANTIES/ UNDERWEAR ALERT, intense sexual tension, unprotected sex, oral f. receiving, teasing, foreplay, fingering, fluff, brief mentions of feelings of inadequacy, graphic descriptions of sex. (YOU AND DANNY FINALLY FAWK).

Word Count: 9,741K

A/N: This might be some of my favorite writing I've done in a while, ESPECIALLY the smut. I tried my best to make this smut seem as realistic as possible to how I think Danny would behave...take that as you will. 😈

Here’s a link to the song mentioned in the fic: Mr. Forgettable—David Kushner

Here’s a link to the Spotify Ignition Playlist: Ignition

“Kenn, I think we might…you know–” you told one of your close friends through facetime.

“Oh?” She asked, taking a sip of her iced latte through the camera. “This is Danny, right? Not Jake?”

“Definitely not Jake,” you insisted. “We haven’t really been talking lately.”

“Oh. What happened?” She asked disappointedly, having been left out of the loop since the last phone call. 

“Well, I finally told him how I felt, and things didn’t really go well. He completely ghosted me for like two weeks until I confronted him at rehearsal, and even now things are really weird. I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to blow off the hurt that you most definitely still felt. “We haven’t talked,” you shrugged.

“Wait, so you told him you liked him, and he just disappeared?” She asked, slurping loudly through her straw. 

“Yeah,” you said simply, plopping your head down into your covers before lifting it again. 

“Maybe it freaked him out,” Kenn replied. “I don’t know. But that’s weird that he acted like that. Did he tell you if he had feelings or not?”

“He said he didn’t love me like that. He said he’d always be there for me and then literally disappeared off the face of the planet.”

“Damn,” she sighed. “I’m really sorry, Y/n,” She apologized gently. “I really wish I could be there with you. We’d have a sleepover and we’d do the whole ‘eat Ben & Jerry’s and cry’ thing.”

You shrugged, chuckling softly. “Honestly, I think I’m past all that. Danny and I are kind of a thing, now,” you explained. “I don’t know where it’s gonna go, and things are still new, but he’s such a good guy, and he makes me feel–I don’t know,” you blushed. 

“Sexy? Like you’re floating?” She asked, grinning widely. 

“All of the above. And more,” You answered. “Jake will come around eventually, and if he doesn’t, I’ll be sad, but I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?” Kenn asked. “You guys are so close, Y/n. I can’t imagine you and Jake just not being a package deal, you know?” 

Her bringing up the obvious made you uncomfortable. She’d asked the questions you’d avoided for weeks. “I miss him, and I’m fucking angry. I never thought he’d act like this, even if he didn’t like me–and now, I just don’t get it.” 

“He hasn’t tried to talk to you? Not at all?” 

You shook your head. “Nope. I yelled at him at rehearsal last week though,” you explained. Kenn snorted. 

“Oh my God. Hell hath no fury like Y/n when she’s pissed off,” She continued. “What did you say?”

“He kept giving me all of these excuses as to why he couldn’t or wouldn’t reach out to me first…that I should have been the first one to reach back out to him knowing I had already put myself out there and got rejected by him. Who does that to their best friend?” 

Kenn shook her head. “A jackass. But like–remember when we were talking, and all the signs were adding up? I swore that he had feelings,” she explained with a confused expression. “Jake wasn’t hard for me to read at all. Every single thing that you told me sounded like he had feelings.” She took another sip of her beverage before shaking the empty cup of ice.  “I had no doubt.”

“Ugh, why are boys so fucking difficult to figure out?!” You groaned, covering your face with your pillow. “Like why did God make me straight? This is sick!”

Kenn chuckled. “All men, I swear, have rocks in their heads.” 

“You’re telling me!” You agreed, your attention moving elsewhere when you felt your phone vibrate as you began receiving a call. It was Danny. 

“Speaking of men, I’ve got a good one calling.”

“I love you, bestie. Keep me updated on Danny. Let me know if I need to kick his ass, too, and I’ll make the trip ASAP.”

“I will, I promise.” 

You hung up with her promptly before switching over the call. 

“Hi,” you said with a smile. 

“Hi gorgeous,” he said through the phone with a delightful tone. “What are you up to?” He asked. 

“Nothing really, just got off the phone with Kenn.” 

“That’s nice, did you guys have a good call?” You nodded, though he couldn’t see you. 

“Yeah, we only get to talk like once or twice a month, so it was nice to catch up.” 

He was quiet for a moment. “Are you in bed yet?” He asked, hope laced into the question. 

“Not even close,” you told him. “Why?” 

“If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone,” he said flirtatiously. 

“I’m sworn to secrecy. Signed by a notary,” you answered playfully. 

“Wow, that’s really official. Truth be told, I have a craving.” 

“A craving?” You asked, grinning. 

“Yup. I figured I’d ask you if you had a craving too, and then, if you would like to possibly fix that craving, maybe perhaps we could carpool to a convenience store…” he said, obviously beating around the bush. 

“Let me see,” you replied. “Oh yeah, you know, I could totally go for a Reese’s right now. I’m fresh out.”

“Oh man, that sucks! But, guess what? I just so happen to have a car!”

“Danny, you know I have a car, too, right?” You chuckled. 

“I had no idea women could drive!” He joked. 

“You deserve to be punched for that,” you told him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Be careful, I like women who are hands on.”

“You’re a loser,” You answered, getting up from the bed, smoothing out your clothes. 

“Your loser, I hope,” he suggested. 

“My loser,” you agreed. 

“I’ll be over in ten then, loser,” he replied quickly, hanging up before you could protest. Soon, you heard his car pull up, his engine purring loudly outside of your window.

“You were just looking for an excuse to see me, weren’t you?” You asked him as you stepped down your front stairs, being careful to not trip over them in the dark. 

“No, of course not! I was just craving some sweet chili Doritos, but was scared to go to the store alone,” he answered, feigning innocence. “Figured I’d call up a buddy.”

“Is that what I am to you, Daniel Wagner?” You asked, ducking down to peer at him through his passenger window. You crossed your arms across your chest. “I’m your buddy?” You lifted your eyebrows skeptically with the question. 

“I have a secret,” he said quietly, pulling his finger upward in a ‘come here’ gesture. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Get in and I'll tell you,” he said with a grin. You eyed him with suspicion, but opened the car door, sinking down into the seat beside him. As soon as you were settled inside, he lifted his hand to tilt your face, leaning his body over the center console to deliver a breathtaking kiss, his fingertips caressing your jaw and the curve of your neck just like before. This kiss was different though, because now, his touch was comfortable and confident. His fingertips knitted into your hair, and yours lifted upward to rest on his shoulder and chest, bunching his shirt in your hands as you deepened the kiss. Adjusting in your seat, you turned your body to him, moving as best you could in such a small space. “Why’d you have to kiss me like that in this tiny fucking car?” You asked breathlessly. 

“Because I like the challenge,” Danny said, licking his lips as he sat back in his seat, his chest heaving. “Plus I’m a glutton for punishment. Oh and I lied about what I was craving,” he added, looking over at you, a glimmer in his eye. 

“Oh?” You answered simply. 

“Yeah. You just fixed it.” At that, your cheeks flamed embarrassingly pink, your skin heating up to the point of almost being feverish.  

“Where did you learn to be so fucking smooth?” You chuckled. He grinned like he had just won something. 

“I’ve got quick wit, Y/n,” he said cleverly. “Also I had to put a lot of practice into impressing you,” he said, flashing his white teeth in a broad smile. 

“You’re such a dork ,” you grinned widely, still feeling the pressure of his lips against yours. Really, you wanted him to go even further, testing your boundaries. 

“Stay over tonight,” you said, laying your head back against the headrest, turning to look at him. “Stay with me,” you told him again, relaxing your expression into one of seriousness. “Please,” you added, placing your opened palm on the center console, waiting for his answer. 

“How’d you feel coming over to my place?” He asked you. “Since we’re still parked in your driveway,” he grinned, looking outside and then back at you. “No pressure, of course.”

“I think I’d like that,” You agreed. “Still up for snacks?” You asked him.

“Nah, not really. It was all a ploy to get you here with me,” he grinned. 

“You know you could have just asked to hang out like a normal person.” You told him with an enthused expression. 

“What would be the fun in that, though? I like to keep you on your toes.” 

You rolled your eyes and reached for the door handle. “Give me five minutes to grab some things,” you told him. The smile that you got in return from him filled you with eagerness and excitement. You practically skipped up the stairs inside your house to pack an overnight bag, a smile embedded in your expression the entire time. 

***

It’s interesting how ceiling fans always become one of the most cliché details in sad, miserable stories,  Jake thought, repetitively tossing one of Danny’s GVF golf balls in the air. He had spent most of the evening lying in place, still dressed in the clothes he wore earlier that day. As he lay, his mind wandered to the image of you and Danny kissing at your house. Once he let himself reimagine it, he’d inserted himself into your arms, imagining if it was him kissing you, him laughing with you, and him sharing his feelings with you. He’d fucked it all up so severely that it was too late to go back now. If he wanted you, he’d have to make a mess, and though Jake hadn’t been one to start drama, losing you wasn’t something he was willing to do. 

“Are you gonna get up and actually do something?” Josh asked, stepping into the room, turning on the light. 

“Ugh!” Jake groaned, rolling over in bed. “Why the fuck are you in my house?” He asked. 

“Because you won’t answer my texts and calls, and quite frankly, it hurt my feelings,” Josh said mostly out of sarcasm. “What’s the problem?”

Jake looked over at his brother, considering if he had the energy to pour out his heart to Josh. Instead, he sighed and looked back up at the spinning fan and continued to toss the ball into the air. 

“Come on,” Josh said. “I can only handle so much brooding before I begin to get jealous from you stealing the limelight.” Jake scoffed with a small grin. 

“You’re an asshat,” he said. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Tell me what’s going on. I know who it’s about, at least,” Josh admitted. 

“What do you mean?” Jake said, catching the ball one last time, turning to face his brother. 

“Oh give me a break,” Josh said, coming to sit in the deep papasan chair in Jake’s room, leaning back in it and folding his legs underneath his body. “It’s Y/n. Everyone knows, Jake.” 

“What exactly do they know?” Jake said, reaching his hand back with the ball, spurring Josh to open his hands in preparation to catch the ball. Carefully they tossed it back and forth as they spoke. 

“That you’re an idiot,” Josh began. “Why did you tell her you didn’t have feelings for her? Like, what kind of bullshit was that?” He continued. “You and I both know you’ve been crazy about her since you met her.”

Jake caught the ball and sighed deeply before tossing it back. “I don’t know. I panicked in the moment,” he said. “Nothing ever ends well for me. She’s my best friend. Everyone says don’t fall in love with your best friend, and when she told me she had feelings for me, I just wanted to run away, I–” He shook his head, fumbling for the ball and missing it, watching as it hit the wall with a loud thwack. 

“Shit,” He said, inspecting the wall for damage. 

“Come in the kitchen for shots,” Josh suggested. “I’ll steal your casamigos,” he grinned. “Let’s talk.” 

“I don’t feel like talking,” Jake argued. 

“Well, that’s what you’ve been doing, Jackass. Now get off your ass and talk to me, or I’ll become your worst nightmare.”

“You’ve been that way since we were born,” Jake grinned slightly, rolling off of his bed. 

“And I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon, either,” Josh finished. “Come on.” 

***

“Got everything you need?” Danny asked as you placed your bag on the floor board. He reached his hand over to squeeze your thigh. You nodded with a gentle smile. 

“I think so,” You said, buckling your seatbelt, and offering Danny a gentle smile.   

“Still feel like coming over?” He asked you. “No pressure.”

“Danny, I promise. I want to,” you assured him, reaching over and kissing him on the lips. “I want to stay with you.” 

“Okay,” he said in a low murmur, grinning softly. “Okay.” 

The drive to his house was quiet, but content, his right hand clasped with yours as you rested it on your thigh. You looked out at the night lights as Danny’s music played softly through the car. Danny lived on the other side of town, but much closer to downtown than you’d remembered. Since the boys moved to Nashville, you hadn’t really spent time at his house. Usually, band meetings, rehearsals and get-togethers would take place at Jake’s or Josh’s depending on who was feeling like hosting at the time. Coming here to Danny’s felt like an exciting new adventure. 

“You’re quiet over there,” he said after a while, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Oh, I was just thinking,” You told him, squeezing his hand and offering him a small smile. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, stealing quick glances at you. 

“Yeah, It’s just–I can’t remember when I was at your house last. I don’t know if I’ve even been inside,” you said honestly. 

“Well, I can guarantee you, it looks just like a house on the inside,” He winked at you. “I’ve got a couch, a fridge–ooh and even a bed, if that surprises you,” he winked, turning into his neighborhood. 

“You better watch it,” You told him. “I’ll start holding it against you,” you grinned. “And you don’t want me to do that.”

“I don’t?” He grinned, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly would my punishment entail?” Danny asked. 

“I’ll spank you,” you warned him, narrowing your eyes with determination. 

“You’re gonna spank me?” He asked through a chuckle, pulling into his driveway. 

“Don’t tempt me, Wagner. Your height, stature and masculinity means nothing to me.”

“Be careful what you say in tight spaces, sweetheart.”

“Why’s that?” You asked, feigning innocence. 

“Because you just might get more than you bargained for.”

“Is that a challenge?” You asked, reaching for the door handle. 

“It’s a promise,” he said, stepping out of his car and coming around to you, swiftly reaching up underneath you, pulling you upward.

“Danny!” You practically squealed. 

“Up you go!” He said playfully, letting you dangle over his shoulder. Figuring you needed to even the score, you reached back and slapped his ass as hard as you could as he marched up his driveway. 

“Ow!” he yelped, stepping up to his porch. 

“And eye for an eye!” You told him with a chuckle. 

After the playful moment, he carefully swung you back down on your feet and reached for his keys in his pocket, unlocking the door, and opening it for you. “Come on in,” he said, letting you walk past him into the dimly lit foyer of the house. It was decorated with modern taste, with beautiful wood floors installed throughout the entire house. It was an open concept, breathing life into the space, with thoughtful decorations that were most definitely hand picked by Danny throughout the time of being in Nashville. 

In the corner, you saw his golf bag, the clubs sticking out of it at different angles, like he had recently played. 

“I should take you some time,” he grinned, following your gaze. “I’d love to see your form,” He said. “Think you could keep up?” 

“No, I’d be absolutely awful at it,” you admitted, looking up at him. “But, you know what I would be really good at?”

“Mm, what’s that?” He asked. 

“I’d be wonderful at sitting on the golf cart, giving you a big ol’ clap when you make a good shot, and then handing you a fresh beer every now and then.” 

“That’s because you’re dependable, sweetheart,” He said, bending to kiss you on the top of your head. The flirtatious conversation had left you fighting a swarm of butterflies, the pet names making your heart practically swell in your chest. 

“Are we gonna spend the entire evening doing this?” You asked, the corner of your mouth quirking up with playfulness. 

“Doing what?” He asked, stepping into the kitchen and reaching into his refrigerator for a cold bottle of wine. You watched his arms muscles flex as he reached up into the cabinets to retrieve two wine glasses. 

“Flirting with me constantly with no end in sight?” You asked, stepping toward him.

“Is it a crime to flirt with a beautiful woman?” He asked, pouring a glass of wine.

“It is when it drives me fucking crazy,” you said matter of factly, watching as he casually shook the curls from his head. 

“Well in that case,” he said, setting down the full glass, pushing it back on the counter. “Let me make it worse,” he said as he took the last step forward, his hands finding their way to your hips. His face hovering just above yours, and his eyes floated over the curve of your lips, his nose resting perfectly alongside yours. “How about now?” He asked again, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I think you should kiss me, Danny Wagner,” you told him. “Now.” 

“I like it when you get annoyed with me. This is new,” he grinned. Leaning in slowly, he placed his lips on yours and delivered a delicate kiss, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more of him. You pressed yourself firmly against him, feeling him reciprocate with stronger urgency, his lips folding in time with yours as you inhaled his scent, knotting your fingers into his curls and tugging. He groaned softly into the kiss, his hands moving downward to grab at your ass as he turned around with you, walking you back against the counter. You felt his hot breath expel against your skin, his slick lips beginning to wander from your mouth, down to the hollow of your neck. He took your earlobe in between his teeth and pressed down, pulling away just enough to elicit a soft hiss from you. He chuckled sexily, his curls tickling your face as he leaned into the crook of your neck, touching his lips to what he thought was the perfect spot. You felt his teeth, then felt the vacuum from him sucking on your skin, leaving a hickey for the next day. “So everyone knows that you belong to someone. To me.” It was bliss to be wrapped up with Danny, and he ensured that you’d feel like the only woman he could see. You felt the small welt pulse 

“Danny, take me to bed,” you whispered as he kissed you. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, pulling away from you to look into your eyes. 

“Let’s just lay together,” you decided to say, knowing you most definitely wanted more, but not sure if it was the right moment or not. 

“Okay,” he said gently with a smile, reaching for your hand. You walked through the house as he led you to his bedroom, having completely forgotten about the wine. He would need no liquid courage tonight. He was already becoming drunk off of you. 

***

“Show me your favorites,” Danny asked in bed with you cuddling him, your head resting on his chest. He’d been swiping through several of his Spotify playlists, playing snippets of several different songs, but never fully committing to playing the whole song through—you’d assume he’d tried to avoid the opportunity for awkwardness. It was amusing to you how he could be so effortlessly effervescent one moment, and then so reserved and bashful the next.

“Play me a full song that you love,” you redirected. “One that you know I won’t know,” you said, turning your head to look up at him. “I just wanna listen. Can be anything.” His fingertips paused. 

“Alright,” he agreed softly, scrolling through his music before stopping at one song called ‘Mr. Forgettable,’ by David Kushner. You watched his thumb hover over the song, hesitating before swiping away. 

“No wait,” you stopped him by touching his arm. “Play me that one.”

“Oh. Okay,” he said, his tone rising lightly with hesitation. You watched as he pressed play, sitting the phone on his belly and laying back. In the low light of his bedroom, you closed your eyes and listened. 

I know that you're waiting for me like a dog But have some patience for the part of me that's lost There's been a hundred times When I don't recognize Any of you that love me I try to memorize and identify But it's all getting foggy My head is in the clouds right now Just pray I come around, around Hello, hello, are you lonely? I'm sorry, it's just the chemicals Hello, hello, do you know me? I'm called Mr. Forgettable  Mr. Forgettable

You listened quietly as you rested on his chest, finding it just so that his heart thumped to the beat of the song. Every now and then, you’d feel a vibration against your ear as he hummed his favorite parts. It was a sad song with a cheerful beat, which you found quite ironic considering its content. Once it was over, you let the silence linger for a few moments before tilting your head to look up at him. 

“Do you feel like that?” You asked him softly, your throat aching. His eyes drifted from the phone screen to your eyes, then your lips and then back up again. He swallowed once.

“Sometimes,” he answered honestly. 

“You feel like you’re forgettable?” You pushed further, propping yourself up on your elbow. 

“It’s okay, really,” he said with a gentle smile, though he wouldn’t look you in the eye. “I’ve felt like that most of my life,” he sighed.

“Danny…” you started, watching as his cheeks pinkened with embarrassment. “You’ll never be forgettable to me.” You placed your hand on his chest and his eyes softened as he looked down at you, his lips pulling into a flat line as his expression grew more serious. “Let me prove to you that you’re becoming everything to me,” You said, lifting your hand to his cheek, watching as his eyes lowered to your mouth. You moved closer to him, your bodies fitting together perfectly as he rolled into you, kissing you tentatively at first, as if testing your boundaries. “It’s okay,” you whispered into the space between you. 

Danny moved to press himself against you, his weight adding a welcome sense of comfort as his hands moved around your body, his fingertips pressing into your skin. “More,” you huffed against his lips. “I trust you.” 

“You do?” He asked, pausing for just a moment.

 “I want more of you, Danny. Please.” His hands move reflexively for the hem of your shirt, and you lifted your arms over your head as he pulled it off of you, tossing it to the side. His hand snaked up your bare skin, his fingertips dipping under the cup of your bra as he kissed you. You felt his touch as he moved his hand around your body, his teeth nipping and tugging at your bottom lip as his tongue danced expertly with yours. Slowly, he released his nervous and patient apprehension, gladly appeasing your request. You reached your hand down where he had paused, pulling his hand upward to hold your breast, guiding him with your hand on top of his. His grip tightened around your breast, his thumb grazing your swelling nipple, a soft, breathy chuckle escaping from his nose as he moved over the bud again, igniting a layer of goosebumps all over your body. Softly, you moaned into his mouth, reaching your hands down to cup his clothed cock, finally realizing how well-endowed he was. You walked your fingertips upward and unzipped his pants, nimbly unfastening the button closure with two fingers, reaching just inside and immediately felt the heat emanating from him. 

Slowly, you walked your fingers down his lower belly and smoothed them over his bulge. His length hardened beneath your touch, and you could feel him tense and then release. You felt his grip tighten around your breast in response as he moved to flip you so that you were on top of him. Rising from him, you moved your hair out of the way to one side and lowered yourself back down, kissing him deeply. Closing your eyes, you intentionally ground your hips against his firm cock, feeling your own muscles begin to contract and release as they silently begged for his attention. 

“You’re such a tease,” he breathed through a sexy smirk, reaching up to unclasp your bra. 

“I’ve said it before, Danny. I’m full of surprises,” you murmured under your breath, your tone heavy with desire. “I’m not always the innocent girl you think I am,” you told him. 

“Then drag me to hell.” He let your bra slip off of your skin, falling onto his belly. He tossed it to the end of the bed before bringing his eyes up to your chest. 

“Jesus,” he groaned again, and you smirked down at him, watching as his eyes widened for a moment before slipping into a lustful expression, his hands moving to squeeze them firmly in his hands, his thumbs moving instantly to rub over your nipples, biting at his bottom lip when they swelled to their full, aroused state. 

“Like what you see?” You asked him, resting your hands on his sides. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/n. How could you not know how incredibly gorgeous you are?” He asked, moving his fingertips to smooth over your bare sides and belly. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” you admitted. “I’ve wanted you for a while, Danny.”

“I’ve wanted you for years,” he added. “I have to admit,” he started, but paused. 

“What?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. 

“I’ve imagined what it would be like to be with you,” he explained. You watched as his cheeks flushed. 

“You have?” You asked him, beginning to grind your hips against him slowly as he spoke. You watched his expression shift slightly as you felt his cock press against your ass through his unzipped pants. 

“So many times,” he admitted quietly, reaching his hands to your hips. He pulled you down further against himself, lifting his hips to grind against your ass. 

“You’ve definitely been on my mind too,” you told him. 

“Oh?” He asked. 

“Mmhmm. Usually late at night when I can’t sleep,” you continued. “My thoughts wander…”

“And what do they come up with?” He asked, whispering his fingertips over your belly, making you shiver from his ghosting touch. 

“Usually they’re thoughts of you,” you explained. “Naked.” 

“And what exactly am I doing in these thoughts?” He asked, the corner of his mouth tilting with interest. 

“You’re with me,” you answered, echoing his touch, walking your fingertips up his belly, taking note of the dark wisps of hair that adorned his chest. Not too much, not too little, just right. He was masculine, but sensitive and understanding, and that duality had the power to drive you absolutely insane. 

“Why’s it so hard for you to say, Y/n?” Danny asked, bringing his hand down to meet yours, interlacing your fingers together. “What were we doing?” His confidence, though so understated and reserved before now settled into a presence that was simultaneously charming and incredibly sexy.

“We were—you know,” you responded sheepishly, looking up into his eyes. 

“Fucking?” He asked quietly, his brown dilating with interest. You nodded yes, but the images in your mind were racing: you bouncing on his cock, your hair falling loose and wild over your breasts, your mouth dropped open in ecstasy as he railed into you. “You’re imagining it right now, aren’t you?” He asked, his lips drawing upward in a crooked line. 

You didn’t answer him. The heat in your face and averted gaze told him everything you needed to know. He chuckled softly, “look at me,” he commanded, and you did, turning your gaze downward. “I would be lying if I said I haven’t imagined the same thing,” he admitted. 

The space between you and him was thick with need and anticipation. “Danny…” you said after a moment. “Are we moving too fast?” You asked him. 

“Do you think we are?” He turned the question around. “Listen,” he said gently. “ I’ve waited for you for over two years. I can wait as long as you need.” You smiled down at him, biting your bottom lip as you took notice of how sexy it felt to have a man so considerate and understanding as your own. Slowly, you moved off of his lap, laying down and cuddling against him, lying in the crook of his arm. 

“I really, really like you Danny. 

“And I really, really, really like you, Y/n,” he responded with a smirk, looking down at you as you tilted to look up at him. 

You echoed his expression. “Kiss me,” you told him. With his free hand, he tilted your head upward by your chin and leaned slightly to place his supple lips on your own. He was so gentle and tender, taking his time as he kissed you. “Let’s slow things down a bit,” he said, smiling against your lips. “Hm?”

“Mmhmm,” you breathed against his kiss, lifting your hand to rest on his cheek, your fingertips dancing upon the curls that dance upon the curve of his ear. His tongue looped around yours, hot puffs of breath exchanging between your mouths. You kicked at the sheets and covers bunched around your legs, and wrapped one around Danny as you lay with him. In his arms, you felt infinitely beautiful, and more importantly, you felt important and valuable. 

***

“Thank you,” you said after a long while. 

“For what?” He chuckled softly. 

“Just for being you. For being just…incredible,” you told him, feeling your pulse thumping through your chest. “For being my person.” 

“You’re my person,” he said, taking your hand in his, kissing it. “And I have a question for you,” he continued. 

“What is it?” 

You watched his Adam's apple bob up and down for a moment before he finally spoke. “Will you be my girlfriend?” He asked, squeezing your hand softly. 

You paused for a moment, a bright smirk growing on your face. “Do you think you can handle me full-time?” You asked him expectantly. 

“Honey, I crave it,” he told you. “All of you. Every day. The silly things, the important things…the happiest things and the saddest ones too. So yes, I think I can handle you. Should I ask you the same question?” 

“Danny, you’re probably the lowest-maintenance man I’ve ever dated,” you explained with a soft grin. “You’re just so– easy.” you landed on the word, and it felt right because it was true. “I don’t think I’ll ever have to worry about what you’re thinking or feeling. So yes, Danny. I think I can definitely handle you. I want you–full time,” you smirked. 

 ***

You’d both let the evening settle, resting on Danny’s chest until, when it became too hot, you’d turned in the other direction, fluffing Danny’s pillows and settling yourself back to sleep. You’d been restless, tossing and turning in bed. It wasn’t Danny’s fault; ever since you were young, you were plagued with being a hot sleeper, ending up kicking off the tangle of sheets and covers toward the end of the bed. Once you’d fallen asleep, images of Danny filled your mind, just like they had before, of him touching you and making love to you after you’d given your body to him completely. In your drowsiness, you’d grown increasingly annoyed with the layer of sweat that had begun to stick to your body, pasting the bottom sheet to your underside. As you rolled around, you uttered sleepy ‘sorries’ to Danny, who moved sleepily to touch you and kiss you before turning over again. You drifted between dreams for the next few hours until you’d roused yourself fully awake again, unable to coax yourself back to sleep. Rubbing at your burning eyes, you rolled out of bed as quietly as possible, trying your best to not bother Danny asleep beside you. He lay fast asleep as you watched him for a moment, tiptoeing around the bed as you moved toward the door. 

The house was dark, save for a small lamp in the living room and the recessed LEDs underneath the cabinets in the kitchen. Opening the cabinets, you searched for the glasses, finding one and stepping toward the fridge, using the water dispenser to fill up the cup. You moved to ice next, hoping that it wouldn’t create much noise, but you were so wrong. Several pieces of ice tumbled out, hitting the sides of your glass and knocking out of the freezer tumbling to the floor.

“Shit,” you said to yourself, bending to pick up the ice cubes, kicking the few strays that you couldn’t reach under the freezer, smiling to yourself while imagining Danny’s grin if you had confessed that you were one of those people. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

You jolted, almost dropping your glass of water when you heard his voice. Turning around, you saw Danny stepping into the kitchen, his eyes heavy-lidded, dressed in nothing but thin, black boxers. God-fucking-damn, you thought to yourself, feeling your core activate with need. You squeezed your thighs closer together, clearing your throat.

“Oh,” you began. “Yeah, sorry. I got really hot and couldn’t sleep.” Danny stepped closer to you, his bare chest and shoulders illuminated in the low light as he stopped to lean against the counter beside you, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Don’t apologize,” he said softly. “Truth be told, I couldn’t sleep, either.”

“You’re such a liar,” you said with a grin. “You were gone when I got up. Didn’t even move.”

“That’s because I was pretending,” he grinned. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, looking at him skeptically. 

“I was thinking about you,” he admitted.

You could have cursed him for having such a sultry gaze in the moment, coming up with something smart or clever to say in response, but this time he had entranced you, moving you to silence. He watched you for a long moment as you swallowed and set down your glass of water. 

“You okay?” He asked you. 

“I’m fine,” you answered him, deciding in the moment that you wanted him in every meaning of the word. You stepped closer to him. “Danny.”

“Y/n.” He answered, his hands uncrossing to fall at your sides, caressing your hips as you stepped into his space. “I think,” you began, mustering the courage and honesty to finally say “I want you to take me to bed–and I don’t mean to sleep.”

He paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows, nodding slowly. “Are you sure?” he asked. 

“I’m sure,” you answered, reaching down for his hands. “Please. I want to know every part of you,” you alluded. “Take me to bed, Danny.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said quietly, leaning forward to place one delicate, but tender kiss on your lips. Squatting slightly, his hands moved behind you, reaching behind your knees to hike you up easily, carrying you silently through the house and into his bedroom. With your arms around him, you felt safe and secure. The moment filled you with excitement and nervousness too, and you no longer felt the insecurities from earlier in the evening. As he moved with you through the threshold of the bedroom, Danny skillfully swung the door shut with his foot and stepped toward the end of the bed where the covers lay unkempt and tangled. Holding you securely with one hand, he pulled the sheets and comforter off of the bed, letting it fall to the floor. Gently, he leaned forward and laid you on your back, staying close for a moment. “If at any time,” he murmured gently, “you feel uncomfortable or you want to stop, you tell me, okay?” You watched as his gaze swept between your eyes, waiting for you to respond. “It’s just us, together. I want it to be perfect,” he explained, bringing his thumb upward to caress your cheek. 

“Me too,” you nodded. “Danny please,” you continued. You appreciated how sweet he was, but the heat and stimulation in between your thighs was starting to become unbearable. 

“Don’t worry,” he said with a flirtatious wink before lowering off of you, reaching underneath your oversized sleep shirt to pull at the waistband of your panties, rolling them down off of you. You watched as his head lowered, and his dark curls swept over your lower belly, tickling your skin. Gently, he placed a soft, velvety kiss on the lines from the waistband that had dug impressions into your skin. Glancing up at you through dark lashes with an eager grin, he rolled your underwear down further, exposing your last vestige of privacy–and yet, beneath his heavy gaze, you felt inexplicably radiant. He looked at you like exquisite, cherished art–like something to behold and to protect–or like how a well-learned sculptor gazes at a monolithe of marble, his mind chipping away the extra pieces to reveal the masterpiece beneath it all. 

“I’ll never get tired of that,” you smiled down at him. 

“Of what?” He asked. 

“The way you look at me.” 

He smiled gently, the apples of his cheeks rising. His arms moved to hook around your legs as he repositioned you, spreading them slightly so he could place more soft kisses on your tender, warm skin. 

“Danny,” you half-whined, feeling restless as he continued to litter your skin with tender kisses. 

“I will,” he answered, predicting your thoughts. “It may be three A.M., but I’m perfectly fine with taking my time with you.” With that, he shut you up and you laid back tossing your hair around you as you watched him take charge below. 

“Just relax,” he told you, adjusting himself between your legs one last time before unhooking one of his hands from around you to part your folds. You should have been embarrassed by the mess you’d already made. You should have fought to keep your legs closed so that he didn’t see how wet you were, but you didn’t. You lifted your head slightly to watch him, his eyes brightening with lust as he saw your open pussy for the first time. “Oh my God,” he murmured almost inaudibly, sliding his thumb into your slick, applying soft pressure to your skin as he touched you for the first time. You felt yourself humming softly, perhaps to break the slight awkwardness you felt, but you stopped as soon as he moved to your clit, pressing the meat of his thumb over the rise, puffing a soft chuckle through his nose in response to your body’s reaction. His fingers had to have been dripping from how turned on he’d made you, yet he made no mention of it. He was silent and focused as his fingers rubbed into you. 

“Still good?” He asked you quietly, and you nodded down at him. 

“More,” you huffed through a whisper, and you watched with great anticipation as he answered your request by ducking his head down, introducing the wet warmth of his tongue as he tasted you for the first time. You felt the gentle puffs of his breath against your thighs, adding to the heat against your skin. And there he was, all over you at once, his tongue lapping at your folds with learner’s curiosity as he traveled the expanse of your pussy, the flat of his tongue dragging along your most sensitive areas just once before moving elsewhere. “Fuck,” you murmured softly, bringing your hands to your breasts, squeezing them through the thin cotton of your tshirt. In response, Danny pressed his face firmly against you, the curvature of his nose pressing into your skin, igniting even more pleasure. Moments later, he began to shake his head back and forth, creating a feeling of undulation against your swollen clit. “Fuck me–oh my god, Danny,” you groaned, reaching down to take a fistful of his hair, pulling him against you and then away when you became overstimulated. Coming up for air with a heavy gasp, you caught a glimpse of his face in the low light of the room, pinkened with exertion and friction. “Come here,” you commanded breathlessly. 

He rose from in between your legs and laid down on top of you, dropping one of his hands back down to your pussy as he leaned in to kiss you, his lips and tongue laced with your own taste. The kiss was fiery and passionate, his lips pressing and pulling at your own as you moaned in response to the movement of his fingers. His face was slick, both with your slick and his perspiration. You could feel his hardness against your belly, your core thumping with anticipation for what was to come. 

“Let’s get this thing off of you,” he grinned, pulling away to tug at the hem of your shirt, lifting his body long enough to slip it off over your head and toss it in the room. He returned to your naked body, his hands smoothing over your breasts and erect nipples. As if he couldn’t resist, he lowered his head, lolling his tongue in loose, wet circles around each swollen bud, suckling and pulling on them. You lifted your hands to his bare shoulders, running your fingertips over the expanse of his back. His skin was so soft, yet his muscles so incredibly strong. 

“Please,” you groaned louder, lifting his face with your hands. “Danny please,” you looked into his deep, chocolate eyes. 

“Please what?” He had the nerve to tease, his breath wisping against your face. “Please what, Y/n?” He asked, his tone looping sugar-sweet into your ears. 

“Please–fuck me,” you finally begged, telling him the words he wanted to hear. “I need you inside of me, now. I need you–” he placed his pointer finger against your lips. 

“You won’t ever have to beg me to fuck you,” he murmured, pulling stray pieces of hair from your face and setting them to the side. In the darkness of the room, his features were cast in a natural blue hue, the sharp lines of his face exaggerated in the contrasting, dark shadows of the evening. He began to move, placing more kisses on each breast, down your sternum and belly before moving off of you. “Do you want to take these off?” Danny asked quietly, standing from the bed. As you sat up, you saw how obvious his erection had become through the crotch of his boxers. 

“Do I turn you on, Danny?” You asked him, looking up from below. He didn’t respond, only gazed down at you with an intensity that needed no further explanation. Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his underwear, you rolled them down slowly, taking notice of his prominent happy trail, which led lower and lower as you revealed more of him. Exhilaration rippled over your body as his skin grew paler, another sign of private vanity that you were becoming introduced to. Slowly, you pulled his boxers down, revealing inch by inch his length, springing free. You let his underwear drop to the ground and let him step out of them, kicking them to the side. Taking his cock in your hand, you felt his incredible warmth as you began to stroke it slowly. He heaved a relieved sigh, blood rushing downward as he swelled to full erectness.

“I’ve imagined this for so long,” he murmured. “But this is so much better,” he chuckled softly. You grinned up at him and began to move faster, stroking up and down along the length of his cock, enjoying when he tilted his hips forward in response, silently asking for more. He didn’t indulge, though. “Let me take care of you,” he said quietly, taking his cock in his own hand, backing away from you. “Lay down, sweetheart.” 

You moved toward the end of the bed, resuming a similar position as before, and waited for him to take over. You felt the mattress depress gently as he crawled onto the bed, his hands lifting to spread your legs once more. Reaching up over your head, he grabbed a pillow. “Lift up,” he said gently, and when you did, he slid a pillow under your head. 

“You’re literally perfect,” you chuckled. He smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Far from it,” he admitted. “But I wanted this to be,” he finished. Somehow he always knew what to say that would send you further into arousal. He parted your legs again and walked on his knees as he positioned himself just in front of your heat. You looped one of your legs around him as he stroked himself firm once more before guiding his hips forward, pressing his pink tip against your pussy with his tumblr, sliding his length against your clit by rocking his hips slowly back and forth. His hardness felt incredible, stimulating your body to respond by lurching your hips upward in an effort to take more pleasure from him. He did this for a few more passes before pausing to collect your wetness on the tip of his cock. “Are you ready?” he asked in a quiet, sultry tone. 

You nodded quickly, widening your legs. “Yes, Danny please.” Placing his right hand on the mattress at your side to ground himself, he used his dominant hand to guide himself into your entrance, pressing his hips forward to penetrate you for the first time. You gasped quietly, biting down on your bottom lip as your brows furrowed from the slight discomfort of adjusting to his girth. “Fuck,” he uttered, shaking the messy curls out of his face, pressing himself deeper inside of you. You squeezed your core muscles on him, beginning to enjoy the feeling of him filling you up and stretching you further. 

“Come here,” you murmured, reaching for his arms to pull him down. His face had slackened, his features working through a variety of sensations. He moved lower, snaking his arms underneath you as he pulled you in for a passionate kiss, rocking his hips back and forth as he slid deeper inside. His breath was heavy, expelling into your open mouth as you closed your eyes and let your head fall back against the pillow. Your hands reached for his shoulders, squeezing them before smoothing down his back. You pressed your fingertips into his skin, mimicking the rhythm he’d assumed before. Though the sensations felt wonderful, you needed him to go faster. “Faster,” you whispered. He looked down at you unblinking as he repositioned himself for a moment before quickening his pace, your breasts bouncing freely as your body popped off of his thighs. After a moment, he walked himself off of you and sat up, taking hold of your hips. With this angle, he’d have the leverage to give you exactly what you had asked for. Using your weight, he pulled your hips forward and popped himself forward, jutting his cock deep inside of you, causing a breathless moan to escape from your lips, your eyes rolling back involuntarily as your body ignited inside and out. “Oh my God,” you groaned deeply, taking hold of your breasts and squeezing them while he continued to buck himself into you, listening to the rhythmic clap of your thighs making contact over and over. 

“Better than I could have ever,” he breathed, reaching up to wipe at his sweaty face, “ever imagined.” His smile was infectious, his gaze fully attentive and loving. You reached up to touch his face, your thumb caressing his cheek in the darkness. He tilted his head to kiss your palm, walking his hand down in between your thighs, fingering your clit. “Oh–shit!” you practically shouted, arching your back off of the bed, squeezing as tightly as you could on his cock. “Danny!” 

His slammed himself into you in response to your moans, hot beads of sweat rolling down his face, nose and down his chest. “You’re perfect, Y/n,” he mewled, reaching forward to squeeze your breast. “Perfect tits, perfect ass, perfect fucking pussy,” he grunted, tweaking and pulling on your nipple as he slowed his thrust momentarily, backing himself almost all the way out of you before letting his weight send him back forward again, filling you up completely. “I feel you all around me, baby,” he said in a low, lustful tone. You responded by tensing around him once more, getting closer and closer to climax with each successive thrust. 

“Danny, I’m getting close–” you told him, your voice rising higher and higher, heavy with exertion.

“I know you are, sweetheart,” he responded. “Come here,” he said, reaching for your hands. He pulled you upward and wrapped his arms around you so that you were now in his lap with your legs wrapped around him. “I want you to bounce,” he explained. “And I want to feel you cum all over my cock,” he whispered into the curve of your ear. “Don’t be afraid to lose control. I’m here with you. We’re together, just like we should be.” His skin stuck to yours as you began to move. In any other circumstance you would have been miserable being this hot, but in this case, you welcomed it, wanting to be covered in Danny in any and every way imaginable. You wanted to be his in word and in action. As you worked on his cock, his hands moved to your ass, kneading and spreading it as he pulled you flush against his cock, his entire length buried deep inside of you. Disembodied moans and grunts escaped from your throat as your muscles trembled around him. You threw your hands around him, your fingertips combing through his dark ringlets, tugging at them, while your other hand moved along the expanse of his back, your fingers digging carelessly into his perfect skin. 

He hissed in reaction, tilting his head downward to see if he could find the hickey he had left earlier in the evening. When he couldn’t find it in the darkness, he decided he didn’t care to leave only one. He sucked harshly into your skin, his teeth nipping and pulling as he fucked himself up into you, the room thickening with the entrancing odor of sex. 

“Ah!” you yelped loudly, throwing your head upward. He took the narrow, well-timed moment to strike his cock into you as deep as he could. Before you could control yourself, a blast of white light fielded your vision, pulling you upright in a rigid stasis, your floor muscles tightening around him as firmly as you could. Your body quivered intensely as you seized for several silent, agonizing seconds. His arms pulled around you as he left himself anchored inside of you, his hips swinging slowly back and forth. His length pushed against the furthest boundary between ecstasy and agony, sending your hips whipping forward unconsciously. He was rock-hard inside of you, though you could hear him breathing erratically against you. 

“Let go, Y/n. Let go completely,” he urged you, tilting your head to the side so he could kiss you. “I’m not afraid of messes,” he said casually. “We’ll handle it later in the shower,” he said, pressing his lips to yours. “So, let go.” You closed your eyes and relaxed, letting him slowly begin to fuck into you again. This time, he strokes were excruciatingly slow, unsheathing himself almost completely before sending himself forward. “Do it again. Cum with me,” he spoke after a few moments, his voice shifting into one of more urgency. “Let’s cum together.” 

You nodded quickly. “Fuck me hard, Danny. Please.” Your whimpers filled the quiet room, and he obeyed immediately, lifting you up by your hips and slamming  you back down on his cock as he used what little leverage he had to pop himself up into you. 

“Squeeze,” he ordered, firmly slapping your ass. You moaned from the sharp pain, but sank further into ecstasy as you followed his command, tightening your core muscles around his length and resisted from letting go. 

“Fuck!” he groaned. “That’s fucking perfect,” he grunted. “I’m so close,” he told you. You nodded and moved with him. But decided to change positions slightly, pushing on his chest. 

“Lay back,” you told him, and he did, letting go of you. He laid back against the bed, and rested with his hands behind his head. Holding on to his sides, you moved to rest on your knees, undulating your hips against his, swiveling them and dragging yourself up and down against his length. 

“Oh my fucking God,” he groaned, watching you as you worked on him, feeling the all-too-familiar sensation swelling in your core. You would have grinned down at him, but your body reserved all resources to focus on the frenzy that claimed your body. 

“Danny,” you moaned his name, pressing down on his belly as you ground your hips against him. 

“I know, baby,” he spoke. “Come here,” he said, reaching for your hands. You lay on top of him, prepared to continue your movement, but he gave one last direction. “Squat on my cock, and lay your head on my shoulder.”

“I’m not that flexible,” you told him in the moment. 

“Just trust me,” he said, moving his hands to your sides, bending your legs. You moved to appease his request, situating yourself into a squat, and then laid your upper body back down, resting your head on his shoulder. You knew that your thighs would burn as a consequence, but he felt so good that it was all worth it. Before you could question further, Danny used the spring of the mattress and his strong hands on your hips to drive his cock into you as quickly as possible, gaining more depth with the open space between himself and your opening. “Take it,” he grunted. “Take all of it.” His voice was clipped, heavy with exhaustion, and you knew he was close. Your inner thighs quivered from the proximity of the incoming orgasm. 

Your jaw fell slack, opening as you began to let yourself finally lose control again. Danny’s face was streaked with perspiration as he began to lapse in momentum. “I’m close–” he blurted after a few moments. “I’m gonna cum,” he said again, increasing his pace. You squeezed and squeezed harder, unsure if you were going to be able to reach orgasm again. In the last moment of insecurity, your body got you there, sending heat exploding through your body. “I’m gonna–” he repeated again and again like a vigil before finally, himself, letting go, moaning loudly and hissing through his teeth as the same agonizing pleasure ripped through his own body. You lowered yourself to him as your core exploded, and pressed your body to his, wrapping your arms and legs around him as he pumped his hot seed into you, his hot breath looping around your ears and down your neck as you tensed around him for the last few times. 

You lay there with him, your chests heaving simultaneously. He kissed you deeply, his tongue folding softly with yours as he held you, still mounted inside of you. After a moment, you lifted your head to look at him, and he did the same. You couldn’t help the grin that grew at the corners of your lips. A belly laugh escaped your mouth as you laid back down beside him. 

“What?” He asked with a smirk, rolling on his side. 

“That was fucking incredible,” you admitted. “I never realized that when people talked about witching hour, they meant this…” you grinned, plopping against the pillows. 

“Witching hour doesn’t exist. Those moans everyone talks about? Those aren’t witches. They’re people fucking,” Danny grinned, his white teeth glowing in the darkness. 

“Agh, shut up!” You laughed, reaching for a pillow and slamming it into him. 

“I’m just telling the truth!” he teased, stealing the pillow. 

Stepping off of the bed, he reached his hand downward silently toward you. You looked at it then back up at him. 

“What?” You asked. 

“Let me take care of you. Properly,” he said, wiggling his fingers. “You deserve to go to bed squeaky clean and comfy.” 

You smiled, reaching to take his hand, except you pulled him back down to bed. “No,” you answered decisively. “I don’t want to wash you off,” you admitted, looking him in the eye. “I want to feel like this, to smell like you, to be full of you,” you told him. “So come to bed.” 

You watched as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple rising and falling before he finally answered. “Gladly.”

--

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[noahschnappinfs]

i love your account, i'm glad to see there's more people out there coming out of the shadows and showing noah some love yasss

i've been also lurking on twt as well and i've seen he has some shooters defending him 24/7 there which makes me think..hmm yea people started to get over it.. even with all these viral hate posts it's getting to a point where they're just starting to bore people more and more.. and twt usually works like that..they pretend to care about a topic and then drop it for something else more interesting

and all this heat will prob just make people question if he even deserves all that heat in the first place

interesting how social media works isn't? in a few years idk how these people will even gonna be able to justify why they hate him.. cause the thing is, they don't really hate him..they're just following what other people say..anyways

imo things are def getting better even with all these homophobic comments he still get from time to time, i do have a feeling people have started to wake up lately and say FAWK THIS.. like zamn.. finallyy so thnkz for creating this account ur cool as hell

thank you so much!! you know this is my first time in a very long time making a fan acc and i just felt it was needed for noah after everything so im very happy people are liking my work here!

i’ve also seen ppl starting to defend noah on twitter but apart from them, yesterday night made me feel very hopeful because it was a reality check that people aren’t chronically wishing for his death in real life. i still fear for his safety for obvious reasons but it was nice to see people cramming to meet him and take a picture with him. it’s also show how people are just following the crowd online to fit in and joined the hate wave but they would never have the balls to say anything like that to his face, it really shows how social media becomes a cesspool of hate due to anonymity but yeah things are indeed getting better.

at end of the day, obviously he will receive hate no matter what because that’s how the internet works and it’s a sad reality for him as a gay man to receive those kind of comments but i’m also feeling like we’ll get there when ppl behave normally with him and will start calling out how weird ppl are towards him.

again thank you!! i’m really feeling the love ♥️

[gothsuguru]

ari………. when i tell you my jaw fucking DROPPED i mean it like you’re ACTUALLY insane for this i’m feeling FERAL (^ also reader to suguru every single moment in this fic)

OKAY FIRST OF ALL………. i know i do this everytime i do a long rb but i can’t help it okay your writing is SO visually and emotionally evocative… besides the fact that i can envision it all clearly like a little horror movie playing in my head, the legitimate VISCERAL emotions you tore out of me needs to be studied……. my heart raced when suguru finally caught up to reader and pounced, my heart dropped when reader realized there was no way out, and the end my heart raced AGAIN when reader realized that there IS a way out… like you’re genuinely INSANE!!!!!!!!! this was so fucking captivating from start to finish i’m so happy you took the time to write & polish the story because WOW… & HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🤭🎃 MWAH!

ALSO I HAVE TO KNOW… where is the title from because it painted a fucking PICTURE in my brain i think has to be one of my favorite titles i’ve ever seen for a fic omfg :O OKAY ON TO THE RB ENOUGH RAMBLING AND TIME TO START *RAMBLING* :3

everything smells wet, fresh, the heavy scent of leaves and dirt — the end of autumn. everything bursting and blooming and decaying all at once. 

- firstly saying “the sun is stuck in vitro.” is the most craziest iconic fascinating way to start a story i have ever seen and i’ve said this before and i’ll say it again but you are the MASTER of hooking people in. and the descriptions right after were SO vivid it felt like i was LOOKING at a storybook — wine, and apricots, and slices of cake. (ari and their love for apricot mentions… the Signifier of Youth) AND THEN ONTO THE SENTENCE RIGHT BEFORE THE BREAK. you captured the scent and vibes of autumn PERFECTLY — it’s heavy with earth & petrichor and this is one of my favorite lines you’ve written -> “everything bursting and blooming and decaying all at once.” JUST LIKE LITTLE RED’S EMOTIONS THROUGH THIS FIC……… RAHHHHHHH

“and where are you headed, little one?" his voice is deep. steady, sturdy, seeps into your spine. but tailored with silk all the same; a pleasantly raspy undertone. he's speaking softly, and your heartbeat slows down, grows quiet as a mouse.

moaned loud as FAWK that’s my bad… i’m sorry but suguru calling me “little one” would cure me and make me purr in incomprehensible ways… need him to stroke my hair as i lay in his lap… N E WAYZ. deep, steady, and sturdy is 100% how i imagine him to be — he’s like an oaktree <3 but also disarmingly beautiful/enchanting so he wraps you up in pretty little silk… GOD. ALSO MOUSE MENTION MOUSE MENTION MOUSE MENTION ‼️

^ found this on twt & saved it bc it reminds me of you :3

".. how very well-behaved," // "a little thing like you.." // "i'd like to rectify that."

respectfully in a respectful way that’s not respectful at all i need your yandere wolf!suguru in ways that none of us can understand. god there’s something about his obsession with docility and infantilization makes me 😵‍💫 and it’s okay if you fight back because he knows how to whip you back into shape <3 you need him, you need to listen to him, & he knows best… mother knows best </3

the wind whooshes, sharpens its claws against the windows behind you. the sky still dark, rain drizzling down, nothing a cluster of trees can't shelter you from. the hunter stands up, to his full height. // "... i don't think that's a very good idea." // a twitch of his brow. covered up by a smile. for the first time since meeting him this morning — you catch a flicker of distaste dance inside his pupils.

you created such an imposing suguru… i’m not gonna lie I felt the tiniest twinge of fear when i read that he stands up to his full height… there’s just something off and intimidating about him and i LOVE this version of him. i love when he’s a little bit scary i think it’s a facet of his being that’s very enticing… to ME. also i LOOOOOVE the little twitch of his brow… putting up a façade by smiling, but you caught the distaste in his eyes… he’s like a disgruntled parent to me in a lot of ways </3 he’s crazy

(when he opens his mouth, you swear his teeth look just a little sharper than they should.) // a warm voice, and a warm home, the crackling of a warm fire behind you. it should feel peaceful - yet you can't help but gaze out the windows, nervously, watching the faraway trees sway. if you squint you could almost make out those golden, piercing eyes, the black fur of a beast in a bush; unease settles in the base of your gut and gnaws at your flesh.

- SHARP TEETH SHARP CANINES FANGS FANGS FANGS RAHHHHHHHH I LOVE TEETH <333 love when you realize that man is more animal than man <333 and i love the juxtaposition of physical warmth in the home compared to icy desolation/fear reader feels emotionally … little red almost being able to make out golden piercing eyes… i love unsettling/disturbing/off-putting vibes so i LOVED this line. love that it settles in their gut and GNAWS at their flesh. your buzzwords itch my brain SO GOOD omfg

*ALSO DURING THE TEA SCENE YOU MENTIONED CHAMOMILE & EARL GREY… REAL #ARITRUTHERS KNOW THOSE WERE MENTIONED IN “if i fell through the floor i would keep falling” <- kairo’s beloved <333 ALSO THE “MAW” MENTIONS IN THIS FIC 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 the way they actually work perfect in this fic too nfnfnfnfnfn

also jesus christ this whole next section had me on the edge of my fucking seat you damn near made me bring out my inhaler like GUARDDDDDDDDDDS!!!!!!!! COLLECT THIS MAN!!!!!!!!!! (don’t worry reader i’ll take him off your hands… he’s not safe from me in the slightest 🤭🤭🤭)

"you're too small to know what's good for you." — there's that bite. it sneaks up on him and grows teeth. he pats your head, with a calloused hand, and you relent. // "you aren't listening, little one."

- obsessed with the fact that he acts like an all-knowing maternal figure… it’s not even that red is young it’s also the fact that they’re SMALL. too small to act too small to think too small to know what’s good for them so suguru has to decide all of that for you — and he’s fine w that, in fact he PREFERS it. revels in it even — “little one” i love that he babies reader to hell and back… it sounds both endearing yet so unbelievably infantilizing. unfortunately it WOULD work on me :/

he gives you a smile, to ease your nerves, honey-slicked and sweet; but something rotten settles in your gut. bile at the base of your throat, sour. it feels constricting, to be held so close, to be forced to inhale the scent of oakwood and musk on his skin. he's warm. squeezing you firmly, and you're sure it's meant as a comforting gesture, but all you can think is burly arms, solid muscles, the crack of a bone. all you can think is that you're well and truly powerless.

- THE DICHOTOMY OF IT ALL… he smiles but there’s still something so off that it puts reader off-kilter. also i love the words you used in the story pertaining to rot, decay, & carcasses (my fav things currently bc i’m in a horror phase) and i love that him squeezing is supposed to be a form of comfort but it’s also a warning that at the end of the day — he’s a man and he’s a wolf. he’s strong and burly and can wield power in dangerous ways especially physically if he’s not doing emotionally. like i know he would never hurt reader physically like That but i think just having that baseline fear is more than enough

^^^ THIS ENTIRE SCENE WAS FUCKING CRAZY YOU WRITE TENSION SO WELL??? OH MY GOD??? he’s sick in the head i’m in love with him… he’s awful in the way that he desires you to surrender to him and he reprimands you like a parent would a child… KISSING YOUR NECK OH MY GODNDNDNDNDNNDN . he’s so GIDDY…… lock his ass up but throw me in there too… 👀

it always starts small. small, decaying pieces, molding together and creating something bigger, more rotten. more than just a carcass. it's a corpse. (and he's inside it. playing hide-and-seek.)

- this line itched my brain so good god i love the idea also of dirt and earth being mentioned throughout the fic bc through there is where we see decomposition of life as well… decay and mold and carcasses and rot and corpses. i just love it so much it REALLY paints a vivid picture that’s almost gothic in nature

always a wolf. never a man. // you make no move to protest, when suguru pulls you into his lap. holds you close and kisses your wounds until you're all warmed up, his honeycombed eyes never leaving your face, lit like a slowly sinking sunset. like a man who finally has what he wants. // by the end of the first week, a pit has opened up inside your gut. it smells of a freshly doused fire.

- suguru geto is proof in this story that you gotta watch out for both wolf AND man. GOD HE IS SOOOOOOO OTHERWORLDLY IN THIS he’s suffocating beyond belief i’m loving how much of his infantilization/adoration of reader you make sure that we see! he holds them close and kisses and lingers… “honeycombed eyes” gorgeous by the way… “sinking sunset” he’s so sunset coded to me ari you have no idea… suguru is a man who will stop at NOTHING to get what he wants. AND THE LAST LINE STRUCK MY HEART: “by the end of the first week, a pit has opened up inside your gut. it smells of a freshly doused fire.” THAT’S CRAZY!!!!!! likening their dread to a fire pit is FUCKING INSANE… YOUR MIND!!!!!

he asks, his voice thick with anger, though you're unsure as to who it's aimed at. his eyes burn with something devastating, something that smells of a forest fire and wails like a bleeding dog. // suddenly, he's standing up from his armchair. rising to his full height, towering over you, lifting a hand up to caress the apple of your cheek. it makes you flinch, and his lip twitches, and suddenly his fingers are trailing down to the very base of your throat. // and his eyes burn you to cinders.

- he’s actually so fucking terrifying now that i think about it… i think it’s one thing bc he loves and is obsessed with reader but to be on the receiving end of his ire must be devastating… like it’s one thing to be reprimanded but to anger him/disappoint him??? i feel like my heart would drop to my stomach omg… AND ALSO. i love “smells of a forest fire and wails like a bleeding dog.” you just have the best metaphors (??? baby idk the name for it </3 american public schools failed me or whatever) and WOW. him towering over reader like that’s one big bitch… i can’t even blame reader for flinching like he’s kinda scary omfg. HIS EYES BURN YOU TO CINDERS… ari i need a look inside your brain i need to put it in a jar… death painting style <333 like the way you concoct up visions needs to be fucking STUDIED

^^^ LIKE HE’S INTIMIDATING ASF I DON’T EVER WANNA BE ON HIS BAD SIDE… EVER. you write YANDERE SOOOOOO WELL!!!!!! esp bc reading your writing makes all the words come to life and you can feel the emotion that reader is feeling like why’s my heart racing with my heart in my stomach rn… WOW

a barely audible growl rumbles in his throat, you feel it against the back of your head, let out an involuntary whimper that has something growing hard behind you but you refuse to acknowledge it, refuse to think about it, you'd rather die.

- not he got a hard-on… GUARDS! I’M CALLING ANIMAL CONTROL AS WE SPEAK. (i need him 😞😞😞)

ALSO READER WATCHING SUGURU CANNIBALIZE THAT GUY WAS SOOOOOO SICKENING (POSITIVE) I LOOOOOOVE THAT TINGE OF HORROR SO MUCH <3

^^^ this passage specifically was also crazy it felt like i was reading a storybook… READER NAMING OFF ALL HIS WOLFISH QUALITIES AND SUGURU BEING CAUGHT OFF GUARD??? THE ANGER AND KILLING-INTENT THAT READER HAS. him kissing their palm in the grand scheme of things means nothing… they want to kill their captor & kidnapper at the end of the day. AND I SUPPORT IT!!!!!! KILL THAT BITCH!!!!!!!!! RAHHHHHHHH i support violence :3 hehe :3

ARI THE ENDING SCENES WERE FUCKING PHENOMENAL WHEN I TELL YOU I FELT MY HEART PHYSICALLY RACE??? THE CALL BACK TO THE SUN BEING IN VITRO… “TEA, HONEY?” HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT’S COMING AND HE WON’T KNOW WHAT HIT HIM! THIS ENTIRE SCENE HAD ME GAGGED I WAS JAW-DROPPED LIKE WTF??? THE STARK DIFFERENCE IN READER AND THEIR CONVICTION??? HE BROUGHT THIS INTO HIS HOME AND NOW HE’LL REAP THE CONSEQUENCES. THE END. BRAVO BRAVO BRAVO (IMAGINE ME CLAPPING IN A MASSIVE THEATER)

this was such a FANTASTIC story from start to finish like it doesn’t even feel like a “fic” i can’t believe we are all so lucky to be able to read something like this & it be readily accessible to us like i need a movie made out of this STAT! THIS WAS INCREDIBLE you’re such an amazing writer and such an amazing STORYTELLER from the way you describe and set scenes to your stellar prose and imagery and the way you EVOKE emotions with visual storytelling in literature… i’m so thankful to be able to read something like this and i am KISSING your brain :3 i’m so proud of you headmouse please give yourself a pat on the back, you worked SO hard and you deserve a treat for this PLEASE know you’re my favorite writer ever and i love you so much and WAHHHHHHH . i just love you <3

AND GOOD RIDDANCE TO THAT HOT WOLFMAN… yes he’s dead but pleek tell him to call me FANK yew :3 kenjaku is wearing a cloak and rubbing his fingers together about how to continue the chaos hehe :> BUT SERIOUSLY YOU DID AMAZING AND PLEASE MAKE SURE TO REST YOUR FINGERS + STAY HYDRATED + EAT (MORE) SUSHI + BUY SUGUMERCH :3 ILYYYYYYY

^ me when wolfguru talks to me in his little cabin but change mansplains to momsplains <3 like rip to him and rip to meemaw and rip to grandmeemaw and rip to random guy but . i’m Different 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

I’LL MAKE A HOUSE INSIDE OF YOU, I’LL GO IN THROUGH THE MOUTH ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; what awaits you by the entrance to the woods is not a wolf, but a man. he thinks your grandmother can wait.

word count; 14.7k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader (’girl’ is used only in allusion to the actual fairy tale), fairy tale au, hunter/wolf!suguru x little red riding hood!reader, yan!sugu, captivity, forced caretaking, infantilization, excessive use of ’little one’, hints of stockholm syndrome, slightly suggestive in one part (suguru gets a hard-on, blink and you’ll miss it), noncon kissing but that’s the worst it gets, instances of gore (ie; descriptions of a corpse, horror-inspired imagery), depiction of cannibalism (not involving reader), violent undertones, suguru never physically harms you but it’s mentioned that he could. open ended + almost entirely from reader’s pov. meta narrative.

a/n; happy halloween <3 (i’m late)(it’s 2025) this au has been haunting me since last year so i’m happy to finally have it out …. i don’t dabble in yan!sugu v often but it’s . so so sooo easy to turn him into one just by tweaking him a little bit … if nothing else i hope he ended up awful & hot 🫡 + biggest shoutout in the world to my beloved mickey (@teddybeartoji) for all your help and encouragement w this fic :’< also my belovedest dilly for doing the same and supporting me always … i love u……

[ once upon a time, there was a dear little girl... ]

the sun is stuck in vitro. 

a glance up at the sky, in tune with your rapid steps. you’re threading through a meadow, red hood over your head, a basket hanging off your arm; wine and apricots and slices of cake, covered by a crocheted blanket your mother made. the sky you see when you tilt your head is painted gray, a bottomless pit, cotton clouds sticking together like the light layer of mist laying its legs across the landscape. dewdrops stick to your bare ankles as you wade through tall grass.

everything smells wet, fresh, the heavy scent of leaves and dirt — the end of autumn. everything bursting and blooming and decaying all at once. 

and you’re all alone. threading through the grass and flowers, nearing the edge of the familiar woods, on your way to see your sick grandmother. it’s a force of habit; from the basket hanging off your arm to the pep in your step, a feeling like that of a page being turned. all of it familiar. this story is your home, you live within its walls. you know your lines, you always have. you know how it begins, how it ends, what it feels like to be swallowed whole — you know your steps will lead you right into the belly of the beast.

you know this story.

(you should know this story.)

only this time, it is not a wolf that awaits you by the entrance to the woods. it’s a hunter.

it’s a man, of tall stature, a shotgun slung over his broad shoulder and secured by a thin leather strap. poignant, a threat and a reassurance all at once, barrel pointing at the sky like a maw wanting to open wide. the first thing you notice. his hair is tied up into a bun, neat and tidy, charcoal strands tousled by the morning breeze, bangs swaying almost hypnotizingly under the hunter’s hat he’s wearing; your eyes drink him in, from head to toe. a dark-furred vest, engulfed by a coat that does nothing to hide the outline of his meaty biceps. his boots are stained with mud. 

it’s nothing new.

(but he isn’t supposed to be here.)

before you can look around, make sure you didn’t take a wrong turn, leave your mother’s cabin on the wrong clock-tick — the hunter turns to look at you. eyes like the bark of a tree, smudged at the corners with flecks of rusted gold, their warmth beckoning you forward. the jingle of a bell chime. and only then do you spot a splotch of red in his calloused hands, cradled closely, a poppy. young crimson petals.

he’s caressing them, and he’s smiling.

like he knew you’d be here.

molten, rainy clouds stick together in the sky, allowing no flicker of sunshine to seep through the gaps. once you step inside the woods, the mist will only thicken. a ceiling made of tree-leaves to obscure the world around you. it’s straight ahead, the main road that leads into their depths — the one you’re meant to follow. from where you’re standing, you can spot bugs on the mossy rocks, shimmering beetles, hear the buzzing of a lonely little bee busying itself with a honeyed tree trunk. shadows upon shadows. you’re right at the edge of the second act, but there is no wolf to be seen. no monster to fall into. 

only a man, parting his lips.

”and where are you headed, little one?”

his voice is deep. steady, sturdy, seeps into your spine. but tailored with silk all the same; a pleasantly raspy undertone. he’s speaking softly, and your heartbeat slows down, grows quiet as a mouse.

it’s only him, after all. 

(the ever reliable hunter.)

”… to my grandmother,” you answer, hands gripping onto the handle of your basket, a smile gracing your features. still confused, but polite, even sweet. he’s weak to it, you’re well aware. ”she’s sick, you see…”

he nods along, smile never changing shape — hand only briefly reaching down to his waist, slipping the poppy into his pocket. you wonder why he doesn’t just throw it away, but there’s no time to ponder on the smaller things; he speaks before you can try.

”i see,” he hums, a low buzzing in the back of his throat. ”and on such a lovely morning…”

the irony in his tone is evident, ripe like a peach. smiling along, you let out what could almost be considered a chuckle — it’s a little out of breath, your lungs constricting in wake of the mist-ridden air. 

”mm… it’s alright. i don’t mind.”

that makes him pause, for a moment. ”how kind of you.” it’s praise, sweetened by a roll of his tongue — the hunter tilts his head, honeyed eyes ripe for plucking. ”i’m sure your grandmother will be thrilled.”

”… i hope so,” you hum, blinking through the dew. ”it’s the least i could do, really…”

golden eyes seep through the gaps between his lower lashes, gazing down at you. a piercing stare. you wonder if he can tell you’re lying. a moment passes, and then he’s speaking again, with a click of his tongue— that same pleasing lull to his voice.

”and where does your grandmother live, hm? not too far off, i’d hope…”

”it’s… still a bit to walk,” you chuckle, adjusting your hood, picking at a piece of lint dangling off the fabric. ”her house is just under the three large oak-trees, with the nut-trees below… you surely must know it?”

”… that i do.” for a moment, his smiles laces itself with sticky nostalgia; something warm.

then, suddenly, he’s taking a step forward. boots crunching against the ground, clicking against the gravel underneath his feet. like he’s walking on a frosted lake. aside from the low buzzing of tired bugs, and solemn whooshing of the morning breeze, it’s all you can hear. when he gets close enough for you to see the mole just below his jaw, he’s towering above you — shielding you from the wind, broad shoulders obscuring your view of anything but him. his eyes, his smile, the shotgun over his shoulder.

and he parts his pretty lips.

”would you do me a favour, little dear?”

a tug at your heartstrings. your eyes gaze up at his, wide with curiosity, rising up like bubbling foam in the sea of your iris. a request, something to do; it’s hard for you to ignore its call. always has been. 

so you speak before you think.

”sure.”

a pleased hum. ”… i’m on the hunt for wolves, you see.” his eyelids flutter, but you don’t think he misses the way your smile evens out, your grip on the basket growing tighter. ”i know your grandmother needs you… but would you let me treat you to a cup of tea?” 

”… tea?”

your baffled inquiry pulls a soft bout of laughter from the depths of his throat.

”tea,” he nods. ”any kind you’d like. i couldn’t sleep at night, knowing i’d left you all alone here with those beasts roaming around… and my home is close by.”

a pause. you inhale the earthy air, taste it on your tongue. a sense of delirious foreboding settles into your veins, a call from deep within your gut. 

your mother told you not to let anything distract you.

(… then again, when have you ever been the type to do as you’re told?)

”i don’t know… i’m not really supposed to,” you try to convince yourself, fidgeting with the strings of your cape. you can feel the hunter’s gaze, heavy in a comforting sense; like a mother wolf gazing at her cub, making sure no harm befalls it. intimidating in the sense that you don’t know what he’s thinking.

”… how very well-behaved,” is all he says, adjusting the strap of his shotgun. he sounds like he wants to say something else, but he takes a moment too long to speak. then; ”you seem a little out of breath.”

and you are. your breathing is all out of sorts, your throat shivering under the force of your chilly inhales. it’s cold, and your legs feel sore. the fabric of your cape is too thin to shield you from the chilly autumn breeze, and your bones yearn for some respite. 

your mind, however, yearns for something different. something new. a different story, another chapter.

(… you shouldn’t, but…)

”it was awfully reckless of your mother to send you off alone,” he mutters, a low click of his tongue, voice slipping down an octave— something rough gnawing at his vocal chords. ”a little thing like you…”

(… he shouldn’t be here at all.)

”i’d like to rectify that.”

there’s a stability to his words, something self-assured. he personifies a security you’ve never had, an absent smile that warms your numbed-out hands; there’s a warmth to it you couldn’t find in the woods, in the dark and gritty path carved out before you. it makes you think a cup of tea wouldn’t be so bad. 

(maybe two wrongs do make a right.)

you stop to think, for a moment.

you could walk into the woods, down the main road, like you supposed to. one step after the other, right until you reach your grandmother — or a hungry wolf. you could wait by the flower meadow, and pick poppies until your hands grow weary, until you have enough to bring home to your mother. alternatively, just until the beast remembers his curtain call.

… or, you could follow the hunter. follow him, like a pliant lamb, until you reach his cabin.

(ultimately, only one of the choices entices you.)

”… alright, then,” your breath turns into white smoke. ”i’d be glad to. sorry for the trouble, though…”

his eyes gleam, suddenly; a honeyed whisper on his tongue. a sense of contentment in the sigh that slips past his lips, the sway of his bangs when he shakes his head. ”believe me — it’s no trouble at all.”

two sparrows take off from a branch ahead of you. 

a breeze brushes past your cheek. he holds his arm out, ever the gentleman; waiting for your fingers to curl around his bicep, cling to it for stability. and you do, if only just to please him, because you know the hunter needs to be needed in the same way your grandmother needs pie and wine. the same way the wolf needs something soft to sink his teeth into.

his eyes crinkle, like autumn leaves on golden trees. pats your arm, once, then twice, and says;

”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

and you follow his lead.

you know this man. that’s why you aren’t afraid. why you can’t help but match his step, as he guides you away from the road you’re meant to take, slowing down his strides just so you can keep up. the sun is still obscured, a slob of amber in the middle of the sky, engulfed by sticky clouds. the woods sway in a solemn waltz, bugs scatter away like ravens from the moss-ridden rocks, and when you pass the bushes on your far left you swear you catch a whiff of iron. 

before you know it, he’s led you away from the woods — across a field of poppies, beyond the bridge of a river, down to a cabin with a freshly-painted fence.

his home is as warm as his smile.

the moment you step over the threshold, a scent of sandalwood invades your lungs — thick like you just fell into a bag of sawdust. it seeps into your nostrils and burrows itself deep inside your chest, curls up and sleeps there. rich, earthy, firewood and basil from the living room and kitchen, liquid comfort in your veins. warmth, peace; even with the butterflies pinned to the walls, gleaming behind glass. a deer mount watches you from across the hall, its antlers curled up proudly, eyes dumb and dead and animal. 

all you can think is respite. rubbing your chilly, frostbitten hands together, blowing hot air on the interior of your palms. the hunter leads you inside, hangs his coat and puts away his shotgun, takes off his hat and steps out of his heavy boots — waits for you to do the same. you leave your crimson coat as is. gently, he takes hold of your basket, gives your shoulder a break. it comes to him naturally, this sense of service; a perpetual motion machine.

you think him a dog, finely trained. it puts your heart at ease. 

”make yourself at home,” he smiles. 

an absent nod. you’re still busy glancing around, following just behind him as he moves towards the living room. it looks cozy. knitted blankets thrown over chairs, books gathering dust on the shelves, a lit candle by the windowsill. there are carnations in vases, all smelling of spring, the same colour as the eager fire crackling by the chimney — sparks of ember against freshly cut wood, fireworks for only you to see. an axe catches their angry flicker of light with its dull edge, where it lays against a pile of logs, leather sheath curled around it; serpentesque.

already, your eyes have strayed too long. he doesn’t seem to mind. when you raise your head he’s looking at you, standing by the threshold to the kitchen and waiting, lips curled into a soft, ikebana-like smile.

a flicker of amusement passes through his low-lidded eyes. and then he’s turning on his heel.

you follow him. 

”take a seat,” he hums, dragging out a wooden chair for you to sit on; and you do so without putting up a fuss, absently scanning the walls and shelves, jars of honey and jam and spices, cloves of garlic hanging in a happy row. a kettle rests idly on the stove, white little petals soaking in a bowl of sweetened water right next to it, reminds you of a bleeding bride. the kitchen table is small, just big enough for two. cozy.

”thank you, mister hunter,” you offer him a smile.

”— suguru.” he pushes the chair forward again, makes sure you’re all sorted, and then steps away. ”just suguru is fine. no need to be formal, little red…”

his voice comes out as something like a purr, interwoven with a morning residue of smoke, fatigue. you can hear it, though, the tender hint of happiness beneath it. he faces the stove, lifts his large hands to open the cupboards above him, and you spot a vast assortment of tea bags; dried yellow leaves, petals and stalks, silken bags and paper wrappings, an earthy scent that pervades the air. cuts into it, forces its way through the thin gap. you inhale, deeply, and feel it take root in your kidneys — no exhale makes the feeling go away. chamomile, rooibos, earl gray…

a cacophony of remedies pulsing in your ribs.

as he busies himself with boiled water and strainers, you gaze out through the window to your left. all you’re privy to seeing is a field, speckled with ghostly pale flowers — barely visible under the shadow of a sky yet to be broken through. in the distance is your destination, the murky woods, tall pinewood trees and willows and clusters of dried up leaves. you wonder if your grandmother will worry if you linger here for too long, if your mother will be disappointed. if they’ll even notice. the basket of goodies you brought rests on the kitchen counter, unassuming. 

”here you are,” suguru hums, setting down a mug for you. pure white ceramic. he slips in a teaspoon’s worth of honey, and fills it up with water from the kettle, piping hot, orange in colour, tiny calendula buds swimming like fish in the sea. ”drink up, little one,” he croons. ”we don’t want you catching a cold.”

when you reach out to touch the rim of the cup, you’re stung by the warmth — it sparks against the tips of your fingers, spreads throughout your veins. gives way to a soft smile. ”thank you, suguru.”

his eyes gleam under the dim lights. 

”have a sip,” he encourages. ”tell me how it is.”

and you do. you bring the mug to your lips, feel the warmth of the tea seep through the ceramic, steam rising from it and tickling your skin. when you drink it’s an assault on your senses, like the flowers snuck inside your throat and bloomed along your windpipe. hot enough to burn your tongue, rich and sweet. 

a sigh leaves your lips. laced with contentment.

”it’s delicious,” you compliment, still feeling the sting on the tip of your tongue. putting the cup back on the table, just to hear the clink against wood.

a warm smile.

”i’m glad.” seamlessly, casually, he leans forward; curling his fingers around the handle, bringing it to his own lips. you watch, owlishly, as he blows on the tea — quick to slide it back towards you. ”… there.”

he must notice your bewilderment, at his familiarity. but he only exhales a soft breath; grazing the surface of a chuckle. resting his jaw on the heel of his palm.

”… go on. have as much as you’d like.”

he doesn’t pour himself a cup until you’ve finished your first. watching you, from across the table, eyes melted into something fond, glimmering faintly.

enamored.

(in every version of this story, the hunter is in love with you.)

that’s why you aren’t worried. that’s why you can’t help but tune out everything except the faint glow of his kitchen, the budding warmth of his home, the tea he keeps on pouring you, cup after cup. the feeling of something deliriously new. listening to the purr of his voice, allowing time to slip you by — sinking into a state of dizzying comfort, slick with safety.

before you know it, he’s shown you around the house, told you all about the lilac-coloured flowers growing in his backyard, coaxed you into warming yourself by the fireplace — he insists. it’s already well past the time you would have made it back home after your outing. your grandmother’s basket is still resting on the counter, untouched, wine and pie and peeled apricots that have probably begun to grow stale. she won’t tell the difference, but you will.

with decision, you rise from the armchair you’re seated on, closing the book he lent you. feeling the stir of a pep in your step, like the kick of a rabbit.

a shallow breath — ’duty calls,’ you muse.

(perhaps it’s for the best; you were beginning to bore of the silence, anyhow.)

suguru makes a low noise, in the back of his throat, seated on the armchair to your right. sleeves rolled up; a light patch of dark hair running from his wrist to his elbow, muscles embraced by the flame-slicked shadows of the fireplace. he gazes at you, silently.

”thank you for letting me stay,” you smile, picture perfect, easy and polite; curling your fingers together as if praying. ”but i really should get going, now.”

the wind whooshes, sharpens its claws against the windows behind you. the sky still dark, rain drizzling down, nothing a cluster of trees can’t shelter you from. the hunter stands up, to his full height.

”… i don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

a twitch of his brow. covered up by a smile. for the first time since meeting him this morning — you catch a flicker of distaste dance inside his pupils. 

you aren’t sure what to say.

it doesn’t matter, either way. he parts his lips to speak. ”it’s dangerous… and it’s already getting late. surely, your grandmother can wait until tomorrow?”

”i’m… not sure i should,” you try, fingers idly slipping into the pockets of your red coat. mustering a cheery voice. ”besides, i wouldn’t want to trouble you!”

”i insist.”

…

crackle, crackle, wood splintering into ash. the silence is deafening, thick like a slab of butter on bread. it makes a lump form in your throat, hard to swallow, though you aren’t sure why.

”… tomorrow,” he continues. smile a little stale. ”wolves roam around in the evening. it’s not safe.”

something in his tone tells you he’s already made up his mind. something staggeringly aware — like he’s stating a fact, something unquestionable. 

it’s not safe out there. 

(he’s right, of course, but…)

(when he opens his mouth, you swear his teeth look just a little sharper than they should.)

a kick to your heart makes you cough up a response, a string of jumbled words. it comes to you almost like an instinct, an unsteady voice. ”if it’s really okay…”

he perks up, at that. 

”of course,” he smiles, a little wider. ”of course it is.”

a warm voice, and a warm home, the crackling of a warm fire behind you. it should feel peaceful — yet you can’t help but gaze out the windows, nervously, watching the faraway trees sway. if you squint you could almost make out those golden, piercing eyes, the black fur of a beast in a bush; unease settles in the base of your gut and gnaws at your flesh. 

just until tomorrow, you think.

his cabin is a safe zone, of sorts. you’re well aware of that. nothing can get to you, as long as you’re here, with his shotgun close by. suguru is tall, reliable, the only one you can trust — at least he should be. even if he isn’t where he should be at the moment.

it’s in his nature. he looks out for you.

he loves you.

(it’ll be fine.)

”it’s about time for dinner, isn’t it?” he breaks the shaky silence, stretching his arms out, craning his neck with a quiet crack. a clean break of bone. his gaze is kind, attentive. ”time flies… let me make something for you. what would you like?”

”… anything is fine.”

”anything…” a low chuckle. ”what would you say to some warm stew, then? is that alright?”

it is. after a nod, and a moment’s pause, you sit back down; just to feel the soft fabric sink beneath your weight. suguru hums, pleased, makes his way over to the kitchen. the axe gleams under the glow of the fire, and the deer on the wall watches your every move. the butterflies, too. wings for eyes.

(just for the night, you repeat to yourself.)

a hearty dinner, a warm bed to sleep in, and tea with honey in the morning — it doesn’t sound so bad at all. your mother probably won’t be worried, and your grandmother probably won’t die. no repercussions, the script already broke. staying one more day is fine.

… except he doesn’t let you leave, the morning after.

it starts out small. it always does. 

(creeps up on you like a bug in a carcass.)

“it’s too early.”

“it’s too cold, you’ll get sick.”

“don’t you want to stay for dinner?”

a warm smile, a smooth voice, a face with sharp lines and soft skin; tailor-made to put you at ease. suguru is beautiful, familiar, eerie in a sense that only makes you feel at home. he’s always been stubborn, you recall. some part of your body remembers.

but never like this. never, ever like this. 

never as suffocating.

“you’re too small to know what’s good for you.”

— there’s that bite. it sneaks up on him and grows teeth. he pats your head, with a calloused hand, and you relent. only gnaw at your bottom lip, jutted out into a frown you hope won’t rouse his anger. you’re still not sure he can even get angry, but he’s scary enough when he makes these choices for you; makes you think you have control over your own actions, all the while stealing it from underneath your feet.

(soon, he’s outright denying you.)

“i— i really need to leave,” you try, almost pleading, on the third night. your lungs are constricting, from the heavy scent of peppermint in the kitchen air, and he’s watching you like you’re nothing but a child demanding candy before bed. “please.”

a sigh, and a shake of his head.

“you aren’t listening, little one.” he turns around, clinks a teaspoon against the edge of a porcelain cup. “it’s safer here. your grandmother can wait.” 

nails paint crescents on your inner palms.

“… she’s waited long enough.”

frustration sneaks into your tone. bubbles up into your words like venomous pores. you think he must notice, because his smile is especially gentle when he turns to face you again, all lips and no teeth, still as composed as ever. he steps forward, curls an arm around your waist; he’s starting to lose all pretense of caring about your personal space, of not appearing too familiar. pulling you close. steady, steady, steady.

so much stronger than you. 

even when you stir, he doesn’t budge an inch. only lets out another mellow sigh, that fans against the side of your face. you think it sounds a bit amused.

“she’ll be okay,” is all he says. “she doesn’t need you.���

…

“she needs you to be safe.” he must have noticed the crestfallen look on your face. “as do i. you’re staying here, for the time being — it’s no trouble at all.”

he gives you a smile, to ease your nerves, honey-slicked and sweet; but something rotten settles in your gut. bile at the base of your throat, sour. it feels constricting, to be held so close, to be forced to inhale the scent of oakwood and musk on his skin. he’s warm. squeezing you firmly, and you’re sure it’s meant as a comforting gesture, but all you can think is burly arms, solid muscles, the crack of a bone. all you can think is that you’re well and truly powerless.

”believe me.”

when he lets you go, lets you scamper upstairs, you feel as though you can finally breathe again. leaning against the door to the guest room — gazing out through the window at the end of the hall, finding comfort in the swaying of the jade-dyed curtains.

something is very, very wrong. wrong with the hunter, the story, wrong with the home you’re in.

(you think you’re beginning to realize what.)

the hunter’s name is suguru. he appeared right by the edge of the woods, seven pages too early — or four, depending on the edition. he hasn’t let you leave his home, despite his initial offer to shelter you for no more than a day. his voice is deep and smooth, gravelly in the mornings or late at night, like an axe dragged through rugged grounds; or the bark of a tree yet to be cut in half. rough. the pieces dig a grave inside your brain, start to reek of decay.

the hunter is trustworthy.

in the story you call home, this is code of law; a black-and-white truth.

(but hunters don’t smell like wolves.)

hunters don’t watch your every move, or keep you locked against their chests, or make you sneak out in the middle of the night when everything is silent. hunters don’t will you to run away.

but on the fifth night, that’s exactly what you do.

once you’re almost certain he’s asleep in his own room, just two doors down from across the hall, you crack your eyes open and slip out from underneath the covers. shivering, shielded only by the flimsy nightgown suguru lent you to sleep in, sheltering you from the cold seeping in through the windowpane. it’s big on you. every step you take is slow and calculated, soft enough not to make any noise; you hold your breath as you crouch down to pick your coat up, lying in a pile on the floor, stretching your arms out through the gaps and pulling it over your head. then you walk to the door, the window behind you leaking in the faintest strings of moonlight. 

the sky is dark, the room you’re in cocooned by its shadow. you can barely even see your own hands when you reach for the doorknob and twist.

no noise. no creak.

a soft sigh slips from your lips, just under your breath. your fingers pull it open, and you step out into the hall— not bothering to close the door behind you. paintings line the walls on the second floor, all depicting landscapes, fields of poppies, sheep in circles, a house on top of a windy hill. watercolour on canvas. you wonder if he painted them by hand.

out of the corner of your eye, you gaze at his bedroom door — you can’t help it. under the light of the moon, it gleams like an omen. sealed tightly shut.

your heart strings together a tale of worry.

(it’ll be fine, you tell yourself. he’s asleep.)

and so you venture down the stairs. placing one foot in front of the other, gripping onto the handrail with all your might, trying not to put too much weight into your steps. heart stuck in your throat. one steps, two steps. you can see the fireplace from here, though the flames have long been stifled. pieces of coal gleam under the light streaming in through the windows, blue flickers that disappear when clouds devour the moon. red carnations painted indigo.

eight steps. nine steps.

when your foot meets the rug on the living room floor, soft under your bare soles, a pang of relief squeezes your veins; a moment where you allow yourself to simply breathe. inhale, exhale, because the hardest part is over. almost there, almost free.

your next couple steps are hungry. burning with delight, moving towards the front door, still careful not to stumble over or into anything — but really, all you can think is that the crispy midnight air is just beyond your grasp. it’s all you can think when you fumble for your shoes in the dark, glance up towards the top of the staircase every other second. anxious, despite your excitement. it all bleeds together.

it’s all you think when you pull up the rug by the front door, grab the key you knew would lie beneath it. all you think as you stick it into the keyhole and twist.

freedom. that’s what the air smells like, as it floods your starving veins — as you move your feet to cross the threshold. floods your lungs, as you gaze up at the moon, smiling in the sky like nothing’s wrong. welcoming you back to the narrative. the wind feels cold on your cheeks, streaming into his house when you push the door open, wild and untethered; swaying the field of flowers just beyond his fence. 

freedom. freedom. freedom.

you take a decisive step, leaving the boundary of his home — 

and the door slams shut behind you.

(a betrayal of the wind.)

it rings in your ears. you stay frozen in place.

the light flickers on, behind the window right above you. casts a glow on the frosted landscape, on your figure — and you know he’s watching. you feel it.

so you run.

it’s sudden, the spike of pure adrenaline rushing through your veins, completely flooding your senses and numbing your legs — you do not feel the cold of the air, barely see the way your breaths turn into mist as you inhale and exhale. you only think to leap towards the fence, fumbling with the lock, your shaky fingers pushing and pulling until you finally decide to simply climb over — placing the sole of your shoe on the picket and tearing your nightgown on the way down, tripping over your own feet and landing on your palms, scrambling to get back up again. the bruising doesn’t ache, the drag of your skin against gravel — you don’t even hear the tear of fabric. you only hear the pounding of your own heartbeat, feel it crawling up your throat like a snake suffocating on the rabbit it just swallowed whole. 

it pitters and patters, against your windpipe, and you run. sprint. everything in front of you is dark, mist thick enough to drown in, clouds devouring the moon again — you don’t really know which way you’re going, only that it’s away from here. 

your lungs feel on fire, the air gasoline.

and you hear the door slam shut behind you. 

(— the hunter begins his chase.)

tall grass melts around your ankles, ice-cold drops of dew and frosted flowers whipping your bare skin, but you don’t feel it, only feel the fear in your heartbeat as it threatens to make your ribcage burst. fear, fear, the primal kind. everything ahead of you is dark but it doesn’t matter, you’re only focused on running as far as your legs can take you — you’ve never felt a rush like this before. never felt so much like an animal being pursued. the wind tugs your hood away.

distant woods beckon you closer, closer still, swaying and waltzing on a moonlit night. you think yourself mad, to follow that shimmer, but you’ve never been quite right in the head, never really. frost, mist, harsh nips at your skin. the sky above is wide and vast, and everything is silent. everything except for you — a litany of frightened whines tugging at your tongue. 

you don’t need to look to know he’s after you. yet you still cast a glance over your shoulder, shuddering suddenly, a gasp pushing past your lips —

he’s stares back at you. 

golden eyes, sharpened in the night.

you’re knocked off your feet. thrown forward, with an almost brutal lunge, your body hitting the ground of the flowered field beneath you — it knocks the air from out your lungs, and for a moment you can’t breathe, can only feel the wet earth under your cheek and the sickening weight upon you. he’s pressing you down, with all his body weight, and he’s panting into your ear. holding your wrist so tightly you’re scared it’ll break. the fight doesn’t leave you. the rush is still there. but it has nowhere to go, with your legs stuck, it’s just wasted blood sugar. 

you can do nothing but wriggle like a worm. fruitlessly. feeling his hair tickle your neck, hot breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, you want to cry, the fear is coursing through every narrow of your bones and you’re completely out of breath. you trash and trash, a sparrow with broken wings, but it’s futile. 

(he caught you. he caught you. he caught you.)

”i caught you,” he finally pants, like a wounded dog, collapsed on top of you. but you hear his smile, that sickening sound of relief. ”silly, silly little thing.”

it hurts. he’s heavy. your knee is pressing into the soil, uncomfortably, you feel the moisture seeping through the fabric of your nightgown, his pulsing heartbeat against your spine. now the adrenaline is leaving you, sinking out of your body, leaving you boneless. like an animal about to be devoured. 

resigned. surrender.

suguru presses a kiss against the side of your neck, teeth just barely grazing your pulsepoint— and the fear inside you spikes like the snap of a mousetrap.

”what were you thinking, hm?”

he doesn’t sound upset, only a little reprimanding. fondly exasperated. somehow, that scares you even more — the shift, the dichotomy, his voice a soothing thunderstorm as he keeps you pinned against the flowerbed. his overwhelming strength, in contrast to how relaxed he sounds. like this is nothing but the natural consequence of your actions.

”… you never change.”

the vice grip on your wrist begins to loosen, as he lifts himself up, no longer crushing you. it’s easier to breathe, but you’re still too rattled to try. still playing dead at your instinct’s demand, eyes pried open as you stare into the eyes of bugs above your nose. you can’t do anything but go limp, as he scoops you up, holds you against his chest, stands up straight. one heavy hand on your head and the other on your back. 

he turns around, begins to walk back to his house, and your stomach fills with dread.

”n-no…” is all you can muster, too exhausted to make anything other than a quiet whimper, a weak weep of a protest. but he hears you, and he croons.

“shhh,” he soothes, as you whine into his neck, panting softly. rubbing your back. as if shushing a child that just had a temper tantrum. “you’re okay. i wouldn’t hurt you, little one, you know that.”

but you don’t.

(you don’t know anything anymore.)

”you’re my baby,” he continues, another sickening coo, giddy, and it sounds like a death sentence. horror. he leans down to kiss your throat and you can only think of his teeth. ”only mine. my silly baby.”

a final glance at the sky, before he’s closing the door behind you. you see darkness, only darkness, a page being sewn shut. worms crawling out of the moon. 

your skin itches from the burning cold. 

suguru wastes no time in seating you by the fireplace, cocooning you with knitted blankets, murmuring something else about how you worried him sick, doing something so reckless. you barely hear him, there’s still blood on your palms and bruising static in your ears, everything stings and you’re still shaking from the rough fall.

he apologizes for that, too.

”i’m sorry i scared you,” he smiles, cupping your chilled skin, the slightest tufts of hair running down the tops of his fingers. ”but you needed the lesson.”

maybe you did.

he can hurt you. he’s capable of it.

you’re sure of that, now, no matter how much he’d insists he wouldn’t — no matter what he says. he’s fractured any dream of a cohesive narrative.

the tea he brings you smells of cinnamon, hot and sweet, but you make no move to drink it. just kind of sit there, as he tries to comfort you, rub salve into your bruised skin, assure you that he isn’t mad. you vacantly stare at the butterflies pinned to the wall, until he says something that catches your attention.

“once i’ve found the wolf, you can leave.” he promises, rubbing your shoulders, your already aching muscles. as if it’ll soothe you, as if telling the truth. “it’ll be okay… just let me handle everything.”

you raise your head to look at him, to meet the river of gold inside his eyes, weaving webs of silk. holy grails are always hoaxes, that’s how the stories go.

”… do you mean it?”

his lips curl up, just a bit, at the sound of your raspy voice, at the sight of you taking shaky sips from the cup. and he nods, silky, only slightly tousled hair swaying tenderly with the lull of his voice. ”i do.”

when he kills the wolf, you can leave.

if only it were that easy.

this is what you know; the hunter’s name is suguru. he appeared right by the edge of the woods, seven pages too early — or four, depending on the edition, give or take. he won’t let you leave his home, never runs out of tea to pour you, his voice turns raspy when it’s late and his arms are hairier than they were yesterday. this past week, you haven’t heard a howl echo from the woods at night even once.

it always starts small. small, decaying pieces, molding together and creating something bigger, more rotten. more than just a carcass.

it’s a corpse.

(and he’s inside it. playing hide-and-seek.)

he’s still smiling at you, making his hands useful, throwing wood into the fireplace when the angry flicker begins to sputter out. you recall your mother’s words, her many warnings. wolves are dangerous. wolves only want to do you harm. wolves don’t know how to love, they only ever show it with their teeth. always the same old stories, the same monsters at the end of every book. wolves, wolves, wolves.

always a wolf, never a man.

when you glance up at the hunter, his ever so softly parted lips, his keen eyes — you think to yourself that you can scarcely tell the difference. that even if you could, it wouldn’t matter. rot is rot, it still decays. you’re still at the mercy of it, of him.

(you’re beginning to think that’s all there is to it.)

you make no move to protest, when suguru pulls you into his lap. holds you close and kisses your wounds until you’re all warmed up, his honeycombed eyes never leaving your face, lit like a slowly sinking sunset. like a man who finally has what he wants. 

by the end of the first week, a pit has opened up inside your gut. it smells of a freshly doused fire.

the more time passes, the worse he gets. 

the more comfortable. 

(he must have taken your resignation as an invitation.)

every morning, when you walk into the kitchen, he pulls you in for a kiss — always just his lips, no tongue, as if he’s afraid of what he’d do to you if he parted them. his big hands squeeze your hips and even if you struggle, try to push him away, he brings you back in, keeps your wrists locked in a steady grip if you’re really putting up a fuss. purse your lips and he’ll pry them open, as simple as peeling an orange.

he’s sweet, about it. gentle.

”let me say hi, little one.”

all you can do is turn limp. just give in, let him take what he wants — which usually isn’t a lot. a kiss, and he’s satisfied, a kiss and he beams like nothing about this is wrong even in the slightest. a kiss, and then he’ll make you tea, and then he’ll watch you drink it.

it’s been just shy of a month since he lured you into his home. you know what he expects of you, by now, you’ve settled into some semblance of routine; one that mostly consists of you being doted on, coddled. suffocated by his presence. he makes you tea every morning, every night, homemade meals of chestnuts and berries and meat. right now, he’s making lemon tea; slicing them with the blade of his knife, dipping them in honey, coating them in sticky-sweet residue. it does nothing to get rid of the sour essence, bitter on your tongue — only makes it bearable.

there’s a gentle smile on his face when he fills a tiny cup and hands it to you, watches you gaze into it. watches as you put your lips against the porcelain and sip, sip, sip. he doesn’t look away until there’s nothing left, his stare like a dagger to your throat.

it’s rare that he lets you out of his sight.

during the day, you’re free to do as you please — anything that doesn’t involve leaving his home, which isn’t a lot. you spend most of your time reading through the books on his shelves, tracing their spines, writing stories on the walls with sharp marker, painting animals and forests on the canvases he lends you. there’s joy to be found in captivity; you think of the rabbits your mother used to own when you were little. anyone can find comfort in a cage.

and it’s not like he never lets you push the bars a little. you may not be allowed to step anywhere near the woods, or outside his field of vision, but he’s taken to letting you play in his garden when he deems the moment right. just to give you some fresh air, as much sunlight as this time of year offers. of course, even then, he has his eyes on you — watching from the window, cutting wood just beyond the fence, each swing of the axe ringing in your ears like the drop of a guillotine. steady hands, toned muscles and arms, broad shoulders and those sharp eyes, sharp like his teeth when he smiles too wide on accident. you can always feel his gaze, and it keeps you from running away, even though the animal inside your chest screams at you to do it already.

but you’re sure you’d fail again. 

and were he to catch you — you’re sure he’d no longer be able to resist. the temptation would be too much for him to bear. you were lucky, last time.

(lucky that he still hasn’t realized what he is.)

you’re stuck here, for now. forever. stuck with a man who seems convinced that what he feels for you is love, and not possession, something to hang up on his wall. love like hunters have for headless deer. 

or a wolf for a stack of bones.

anyone can find comfort in a cage. it’s true, it’s true, you repeat it to yourself every night, try to find the silver lining in the home he’s made you. he does make it comfortable for you — a soft bed and fluffy pillows, warm food that settles nicely in your stomach, arts and craft to keep you happy. silken bags that never seem to run out. there are always more dried petals to pour into boiling water, a flavour you haven’t yet tried. he always expects you to drink it all. then, when the moon hangs itself in the air, and you’ve tired yourself out — he tucks you into bed. gentle, doting, his voice like a lullaby when he drags the covers up and sits by your bedside, or curls up beside you and reads you bedtime stories until you’re fast asleep. like you’re his grandchild. it’s never easy to relax with his hands on you, but the stories help. 

that’s typically when it happens. when you’re lying in bed, when he’s unguarded, his own mind beginning to drift into slumber. he flips through the pages of a dusty fable, smooths your hair down with a steady hand, and his voice loses an octave; a noise that curls around the base of his throat, rumbles through his chest. deep, raspy, gravelly. just shy of a growl. it comes suddenly, reverberates through you, makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

suguru clears his throat, and you pretend not to have noticed it. he rewards you with another page or two.

that’s how he is, you’re well aware. what he does best. he tells you things without opening his mouth, shows you his teeth without letting you see them. he knows you know they’re there, and he rewards you for pretending otherwise. keeping him content is in your best interest — he hasn’t hurt you, doesn’t seem like he wants to, but you know that he will. 

no one can fight against their nature, and he has one set of teeth too many.

for now, playing into the part he’s made for you is your safest bet. the fire inside your eyes has dwindled, he’s suffocated it, and the rabbit in your chest is pretending to be dead. every morning, you drink the tea he makes you, go pliant as he kisses you, and every night you let him lull you to sleep. 

a comfortable cage is exactly right. 

(but the temptation to rebel never truly leaves you.)

it’s already been a month. a whole moonspin. that thirst for freedom is lingering, festering, pushing up against the walls of your throat. makes you nauseous, makes the thin thread of your patience tear at the edges. you yearn for the woods, the flower meadows, the squirrels and bugs of the forest grounds. willows and chestnuts and silky splotches of sunshine, fumbling fawns. your grandmother’s sickly stench, your mother’s striking hand. anything but this stasis. 

you miss feeling alive. 

(you’d cut your skin open to feel it again.)

you know running blindly would prove futile, but that doesn’t halt the desire. you’re trapped, one foot in a bearclaw, and you want out. he’s stronger than you, faster— and he’s always, always watching. you can’t outrun him, he’s always making sure you’re near.

the only advantage you have is this:

suguru believes himself to love you. 

maybe, if you just beg enough — beg again, when the moment is right… he’ll let you go. maybe he’ll take pity on the pitiful, defenseless baby he caught.

(maybe if you hide your contempt, but show your desperation— you can win.)

the pot boils over with the stench of rotten apricots.

they’re still in the basket you brought with you, under the knitted tablecloth, discarded in a storage room linked to the kitchen. you just wanted a quiet place to read, but now you feel too sick. sick with the stench of rotting fruit-flesh. you can smell it even without removing the cloth, and you know what you’ll see if you do — a bottle of wine, molded slices of cake, and sticky, sickly-sweet decay. dirt-brown in colour.

you’re reminded of the day you came. reminded of how long it’s been, who these apricots were for.

and suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

(no one can fight against their nature. that includes you, too.)

with a start, you stand up straight, and leave the rotting basket behind you; opening the door of the storage and making your way to the living room. a wreath of bluebells is hung above the fireplace, crackling and sputtering, snowflakes falling softly from the skies beyond the windowpane. suguru is right where you knew he’d be, seated on an armchair and knitting a sweater, looping two needles through thick thread. his hair is down, and his eyes are closed in pure contentment; formed into thin crescents. 

the air smells of chestnuts and incense.

you inhale it, walk up to him with a plea on your tongue — your voice a desperate push of air.

”please let me leave.”

his smile falls. before he even has a chance to open up his eyes, caramel spilling out through slits, before he can usher you into his lap and knead his hands into your body, ’warm you up’ the way he likes.

it’s rare, to see him without it. it makes him look naked.

(it makes him look unsettling.)

but he’s still gentle, when he breathes out a sigh, places the needles on the wooden table to his left. 

”… this, again?” he clicks his tongue, sounding disappointed in a way you don’t like, a quiet lull. ”and i here i thought you’d finally decided to behave.”

his tone makes you shiver. something about it feels final, like you’ve pushed too far, reached some kind of dead end he’d been keeping concealed until now. there’s a barely noticeable crease between his brows, and his jaw is tense, lips formed into a tight line. not rough enough to be truly reprimanding, but it’s close. you’re suddenly aware of how small you feel, like this.

how powerless you are against him.

but you push through.

”… i just —” you try, gnawing at your bottom lip even though he’s told you not to bruise it. ”i’m just tired. i don’t want this, i — i’m not happy.”

a slip of your tongue, and a twitch of his jaw.

(his lips curl into a scowl.)

”you are,” he exhales, strained, like you just struck a narrow nerve. ”you’re happy. i take care of you.”

a shuddering breath. you inhale, shallow, trying to stay your ground, trying not to falter after snapping on the twig of his patience. you know what sleeps inside him, and you’re afraid of it. terrified. the hunter is one thing, the wolf is another. but there’s a line between the two, and you can tread it through — 

tread it through and through and through. 

”… you take care of me,” you concede, watching as the muscle of his jaw slacks, softens, ever so slightly. ”but i’m still not… i’m not happy. i want to leave.”

the fire crackles behind you, logs of wood splintering and snapping, budding heat easing the tension in your bones. silence settles over the scene, stretches out and lays itself to rest there like a wounded animal. suguru just watches you, with smothering eyes, like he knows something you don’t; gaze focused, expression set in stone. knitting your features into his mind with a broken needle.

and then a grating sigh. 

”… how many times have we repeated this, little red?” he asks, his voice thick with anger, though you’re unsure as to who it’s aimed at. his eyes burn with something devastating, something that smells of a forest fire and wails like a bleeding dog. ”how many times will you make me go through this?”

suddenly, he’s standing up from his armchair. rising to his full height, towering over you, lifting a hand up to caress the apple of your cheek. it makes you flinch, and his lip twitches, and suddenly his fingers are trailing down to the very base of your throat. as gentle as if he were handling one of the butterflies on his wall. you’re worried he’s going to squeeze down, but he never does, just keeps a hand there like all he wants is to feel the rapid thumping of your pulse.

and his eyes burn you to cinders. 

”how many times have i had to watch you be swallowed down… by someone other than myself?”

the question hangs in the air like a noose. grates your ears, heavy with an anguish you couldn’t hope to understand. a skip of your heartbeat — except it feels more like a crash. his fingers never move and your body turns to ice, accepts the hand that feeds it, if only because he looks like he could swallow you whole and still not feel satisfied.

”… far too many,” he seethes. palm finally moving from your throat to cup your cheek, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ”you’re too frail, too — naive. i can’t trust you to be good.”

a gasp pushes past your lip, when his other arm curls around your waist and tugs you closer, keeps a possessive hold on your hip. his body heat is suffocating, it only makes your heartbeat sputter. 

”… you can’t keep me here forever,” you murmur, the words laced with fear. spoken carelessly.

(and this time, you can practically hear the snap.)

a dangerous flicker, through his earthen eyes. it’s there and then it’s gone, and it’s enough of a warning on its own, a spark of fury that has you biting your tongue, squirming where you’re held against his steady frame. his grip around your waist morphs into something almost painful, just a pinch away, not quite enough for you to get away with pulling back.

you hear the words before he says them. they rattle against the back of your teeth.

”i can.”

spoken in a whisper, through gritted teeth, an echo from deep within his stomach— he practically spits them out, eyes burning into yours, an overwhelming density in how he carries himself. the words are heavy like lead, and you can tell he believes them. 

he can keep you here. 

(forever, and ever, and ever.)

a shiver claws against your spine, drags its nails down your back, and you think he can tell, that he feels you shudder against him. like a frightened fawn in front of a headlight. it’s enough to have his pupils dilating, his fingers loosening their grip, a breath of shaky air escaping his lips— like he’s finding it hard to keep his composure. to be tender and merciful. 

once the silence has stretched on for a beat too long, and your breathing still hasn’t mellowed— he speaks. 

”don’t you think it hurts me?” he asks, just above a tender whisper, brushing a thumb against your cheekbone. just barely grazing your lower lashline, streaks of black hair framing his burdened eyes. ”watching you be deceived, again and again…”

suguru exhales a bated breath, chest moving in tandem, pressed flush against your own. for a moment, you think he looks rather sad.

”… i’m tired,” he admits. ”i’m tired of having to cut you out of his stomach. you did this to yourself.”

…

when you empty your thoughts, you can still feel it. the warm embrace of succulent flesh.

(you never asked to be devoured.)

”you can’t protect yourself,” he tells you, with the same tone that he always has, the tone that tells you he knows best. ”so i will do it for you.”

a twitch of his fingertips. you feel it, as his hand slides down the expanse of your face, tips your head up with a finger underneath your chin. you’ve gone pliant, again. he leans in, until you can’t tell who the breaths you’re exhaling are coming from.

”do you understand?”

every bone in your body wants to move, pull away, but you’re worried his nails will sink into your skin if you dare to try. he’s positively suffocating, like this. demanding a response. you want to flee, you want to fight, you want to grab the axe behind you and drive it into his skull. you’re terrified of him. you loved him, once. the hands that are keeping you locked away are the same that dug through blood and guts to drag you out of your grave. he’s never letting you go.

never again. 

no matter how much you beg. 

you can see it in his eyes, the trail of ash they leave behind when he blinks. the carnal desperation in his voice. there is no ’leaving’ him — the fire that burns in him is brighter than yours, far more damning. 

so there’s no point.

his lips are inches away from your own. golden eyes peeled open, palm covering the expanse of your jaw, arm like a bear trap around your waist — snapped shut. suguru awaits your response, and you give it to him with a voice that barely sounds like your own.

”… i understand.”

(obedience and ignorance, you echo inside your mind. obedience and ignorance is all he asks.)

a moment passes, and his muscles finally go lax, eyes softening like melted snow; a sigh slipping past his lips. closing in, claiming your own. you can taste what he’s feeling, but it’s too much to bear. 

”… good,” he smiles, against your lips. ”good baby.”

the praise does nothing to soothe the pit inside your stomach, but it doesn’t matter. he’s not angry, anymore, and that’s as good as anything. you let him kiss you and it doesn’t even make you want to vomit.

it doesn’t make you feel a thing. 

”if you just stay here, you’ll be fine,” he continues, breathing you in and out again. ”you’ll be safer.”

safer tucked between his ribs, or lodged inside his throat. so much safer playing dead all year.

(you think of rotten apricots, and bile rises in your throat.)

a moment’s hesitance. you find the will to speak. ”just… my grandma,” you murmur, pulling away from the kiss by a hair, not that he’d let you go if you tried. you look up into his eyes with a pleading gaze, voice a little broken. ”can you at least… give her the wine?”

suguru pauses. 

then sighs, a rock from out his heavy chest. pulling back and giving you space to breathe, cradling a lock of your hair with greedy fingers. ”you don’t have to worry about her, anymore,” is all he says. ”believe me.” he’s smiling, just barely, voice meant to soothe you out of making a fuss. but there’s really no need. 

you’re well aware of what he means.

(and that’s the end of that.)

”… okay,” you answer, the words pulled out of your throat by an invisible string. ”i won’t, then.”

the smile you muster is strained at best, but suguru glows in its light. looks proud, eyes crinkled at the edges, burning pages of paper on an open fire.

a coo on his tongue that he wants to let out.

”sweet thing,” he purrs, sweltering. ”you were just feeling a little cranky, hm…? must be hungry.”

his hand caresses your stomach, rubbing the skin just beneath your navel, and you feel the beginnings of nausea swell up in the very back of your throat. but you stifle it, lean into it, you have no choice.

you nod, and he smiles.

”i was meaning to use that wine for something, anyway…” he lets out a hum, thinking for a moment. ”coq a vin, perhaps? would you like that, little dear?”

”… mhm.”

he seems content, with that response. 

the snow outside the window mocks you with its shimmer.

time continues to pass. the cycle repeats, the same as always.

you think you’re finally starting to get used to it.

suguru grows more wolfish by the day. there’s more hair on his arms and chest, his teeth are longer, when he kisses you he sometimes starts to drool. his voice is deep, his meals taste about the same, he still never runs out of lullabies or bags of tea. wolfsbane, lupine, ipomoea alba — he tastes them on your tongue, drinks them from out your mouth. you’re beginning to forget who you were before him. every day, he tells you that he loves you. you think you could believe it if you tried. maybe, you could even love him back.

if only you didn’t know the truth.

it’s more than a suspicion, now. no longer an if, but a when, a question you don’t dare ask — but there’s no need to. when the hunter falls asleep, the wolf makes tea in the kitchen. you live with them both. they’re a duo, a pair of lovers; never one without the other. 

(one of these days, you’re sure they’ll eat you.)

the book you’re reading feels weighty in your hands. you’ve already read it before; you’ve read nearly all of them, fingers far too familiar with the dusty shelves. suguru promised to go get more, though you have no idea from where. you’re not sure knowing would do you any good. he’s upstairs, in your room, scrubbing at the walls to get rid of all your scribbles. it’s bound to take a while — if you dashed out the door now, maybe he wouldn’t notice. but the key is in his pocket, and he’d hear the crack of window glass.

it’s nothing more than a temporary comfort— something to indulge in, roll around and around in your head until you realize how silly you’re being.

you’re broken down, plain and simple, and winter is gnawing itself into the world. ice-cold teeth sinking into the ground beneath your feet, and eating the baby hares buried there. suguru chops wood for the fireplace every single day, just to keep you warm, made a sweater for you that smells too much like him. you sneak a glance out the window, admiring the heavy blanket of pure-white snow draped around the woods; a red fox scurries across your vision, yipping joyeously, skeletal trees shimmering faintly in the distance. a whole world just without you.

it’s comforting. the air smells slightly toasted and your feet are warm, clad in fuzzy socks. you haven’t been outside in some time; suguru’s been reluctant since you sprained your ankle on a sheet of ice in the backyard. you wish you’d hit your head instead. 

(you miss the cold sting of the wind.)

each turn of a new page drags you deeper into your own subconscious, sinking into a fragile illusion of peace. paper-thin, falling upon your thumb, your eyes scanning the inked letters tiredly. stories aren’t worth reading more than once, you think, the magic fades away eventually. you can barely taste the citrus the protagonist eats, fingers dipping between the ridges, teeth sinking into the tender flesh. rinse and repeat. boring, boring, you want something new — a thriller, a romance, even something like —

a noise, echoing from the hallway.

rap, tap, tap. 

(knuckles against wood.)

it rings in your ears. rattles down your spine. two seconds, eight, ten — all thoughts disappear from your brain and leave only misty foam behind them. a blank slate. rap tap tap, curling inside your ear canal. 

when you come to, your heart is pulsing.

a moment of silence. the house is quiet, so very quiet, you’re afraid suguru will hear your breathing from the second floor. everything feels frozen solid and suddenly you want to hurl, get the sickness out of your gut — watch it spill out all over the floor. but you remain planted in front of the fireplace, watching flames flicker and lick a stripe from coal to wood, waiting for something to happen. 

(it already has.)

another knock.

this time, you shoot up to your feet — like your mind just realized it wasn’t an auditory hallucination, another mass of hysteria seething in your frontal lobe — your hands clammy as they try to find solace in the fabric of your clothing. gripping onto the wool.

on shaky legs, you move forward. making your way towards the hall, slow and steady, soles against soft flooring. eyes blown wide, skittishly peeking around, out the windows and towards the stairs. suguru. you picture him on his knees, tail wagging behind him, dragging wet cloth against faded tapestry, salvaging his ruined walls so you can ruin them again. you picture him hearing the knock, rushing down, pinning you against the floor until your knees ache. 

you picture him none the wiser, and inhale the air like you haven’t in days — gathering courage, dragging your feet towards the source of the noise. 

pitter, patter, pitter, patter. 

your heart throbs inside your chest, flexes its legs until it knocks against your ribs, makes you jolt — your lungs holding onto every breath you take with shaky fingers. the deer mount on the wall gazes at you, antlers pointing towards the front door, and when your eyes land on the handle you swear you can feel it. the presence of a living, breathing thing.

just behind the door.

and you can do nothing but stare. unblinking, heart still crammed at the base of your throat, scraping at the walls like a squirming bug. you feel like a deer trapped in headlights. your mind crackles, halts, comes to life again, the pages coming undone from their bindings and spilling out over the floor — smudged with ink, a seven-letter word.

freedom. freedom. freedom?

(hope.)

a third knock, more curt. it sends a tingle down your spine, down your bones, makes your hand twitch, as if eager to twist the doorknob. finally, someone is here. someone came to get you. no one forgot. 

no one forgot about you. 

you move your leg, and — 

”keep still.”

… a breath brushes against your neck.

(ba-dump. ba-dump.)

only stillness. only silence, strangling you. there’s someone behind you and you didn’t even notice, there’s a hand on your hip to keep you in place, another latching itself onto your mouth to keep you from making any noise. your heartbeat spikes, collapses in on itself, but he is there to catch you.

he’s always there to catch you.

suguru has you enveloped, his scent like a heavy pelt tossed over your shoulders, familiar tones of earth and musk polluting your senses. you’re wrapped up in it. you feel so small, small enough to disappear into the dip between his chest and stomach, right between his ribs. he’s keeping you so still you barely remember to breathe, can only pant shallowly against his big hand and pray he isn’t angry at you.

too frightened to do anything else, you gaze at him out of the corner of your eye.

and ah, there it is. black hair, golden eyes, a silent quiver of his jaw; like he’s trying not to snap it, trying not to bare his teeth. they’re sharp. when he kissed you this morning you felt them nip at your skin.

(you think he was trying to control himself.)

his pupils are sharpened, eyes blown open, staring straight ahead. he’s making no noise, no sound, only the most subtle of breathing patterns — like a hunter in waiting, like he’s got one finger on the trigger. 

yet another knock, impatient, and his grip around your waist grows tighter. a barely audible growl rumbles in his throat, you feel it against the back of your head, let out an involuntary whimper that has something growing hard behind you but you refuse to acknowledge it, refuse to think about it, you’d rather die. he’s immobile and you’re just as paralyzed, only able to watch the door, watch your salvation slip away. again. again and again and again.

one, two, six, nine. the seconds tick on in time with your mismatched heartbeats, and nothing happens. 

then, the sound of boots against gravel. 

moving farther, and farther away. 

(they’re leaving, they’re leaving, they’re leaving.)

”… there,” he rasps, finally, lethally deep, as if culling a calm to your nerves. it doesn’t work, only makes your heartbeat pick up in speed, another tiny whimper muffled against his hairy palm— 

you swallow down a sniffle.

and he loosens his grip, sharp eyes melting into liquored honey. a coo, as he spots the beginnings of tears at your lashline, glistening like morning dew. 

(you can’t take this, anymore.)

”… my poor baby,” comes a croon, a voice thick with fondness; shushing you softly, brushing a stray tear away with his thumb. ”poor little thing.”

you’re still pressed against him, chest to back, he’s warm and suffocating and you’re reliant on his thrumming heartbeat just to find your own breathing. he’s cradling you like a mother to her child, and it makes you feel anything but safe— makes you feel like a bird in the maw of a rottweiler, like your clothes are soggy and dragging you underwater. your chest is caving in, hot tears burning at your eyes, and god, you’re just so fucking tired.

you’re tired of this. tired of him, tired of the story you’re in. tired of having to hope again and again.

(no one’s coming to rescue you. no one at all.)

”must have been so scary,” he continues, rubbing his cheek against your head, leaning down to smear a kiss against the side of your neck, ”’m sorry. i’ll handle everything, you hear me? don’t be afraid.”

another sniffle, you can’t help it. you bite down on your lip to stop it but all it does is make you taste iron, hot and heavy, a burning sting. your voice feels wobbly, forcing it into shape feels like trying to turn water into ice with your bare fingers; yet you try.

it comes out pitiful. 

a broken, battered whisper.

”… i wanna go home…”

more of a whimper than a sentence, it pulls a sigh from out his lips. ”you are home,” he tells you, softly.

you struggle to withhold a bubbling sob, one you know will have you stuck in his arms for the rest of the night. your limbs feel limp but you still dig your teeth into your bottom lip and wipe at your eyes with frustrated humiliation, refusing to let him see you crumble. suguru stays still, just watching, waiting for the ripe moment to pluck your tears and comfort you, but he won’t get it. you won’t give it to him.

when he noses at your pulsepoint, something like an animal whine rips from your throat, scratchy and dry. you squirm, scratch at his forearms where they’re wrapped around you — panicked, feral — and he lets go. he lets you glare at him, through eyes wet with freshly spilled tears, only gives you a look you know means he’s feeling sorry for you. something like a silent oh, look how you’re trembling, look how much you need me, poor thing. it’s demeaning, but all you care about is pushing him away, storming up to your room. for once, he lets you. must think it’s best you deal with your little tantrum on your own for now.

you’re sure he’ll come knocking when it’s time for your bedtime story, but for now you’re alone. free to close the door behind you, collapse against it.

a weak, gurgling sob.

home. this is home.

(if you accepted that — would it hurt any less?)

all you can muster is the strength to smush your snotty face against your elbows, knees against your chest, curling in on yourself. choking out hitched little breaths, all broken and bruised and wrecked into bits. a marble bashed against concrete, over and over and over again, there’s nothing there but glass-splatter. you’re glad he isn’t here to see it. glad he can’t force you to seek out his body warmth, his steadying heartbeat, that you won’t have to hear him coo out reminders that you aren’t needed out there. 

(nobody out there needs you. not your mother, or your grandmother, not the story you’re in.)

(you’re a lousy protagonist. better off in the ground.)

if only you could bring yourself to believe it. if only you were capable of swallowing down hope without spitting it back out again. if only you knew better than to trust a wolf, or a hunter, or anyone at all. 

if only you weren’t you — 

maybe this wouldn’t have happened. 

broken, broken, a crack in the middle of your heart.

suguru comes knocking at your door, eventually. there is no lock, you have to let him in, but by then you’re fast asleep. faded into a dreamless slumber.

(you won’t feel it, won’t see it, won’t have to kiss him back. he’ll tuck you into bed without waking you.)

it happens, at last. a long overdue curtain call.

but not to you.

the smell of rot sticks to the walls, bleeds out against the carpet and wails like a dog. the stench of flesh, suffocating ever narrow of your cells, the marrow of your bones. he probably thought you’d be asleep. he probably doesn’t know how thin the walls are.

you stand by the threshold to the kitchen, and peek in through the gap left by the storage room’s open door.

pale moonlight spills in through the window, casts a dim-lit blue across the floorboards and shatters on suguru’s back. illuminates him, where he lays, hunched over like a dog. eating something.

someone.

(a man with a shotgun over his shoulder.)

you can barely make it out, seeing only shadows and shapes. hell on earth, hell permeating the world and forcing it down your throat. you can’t see his face, only his ears, his tail, beautiful blood pooled underneath his knees and glistening in the light. can only hear the noises of him chewing, the sickening crack of a bone being split, gnarls and growls like he’s having trouble fitting it all into his mouth, taking too-big bites all at once. they make you nauseous, make your stomach twist with panic and disgust. desperate to quell your terror-struck breaths, you keep a hand clasped over your mouth— willing your guts to stay unspilled. you’d rather not have him clean it up; rather not owe him any favours at all.

rather not interrupt him in the middle of his meal. 

the stench is excruciating. iron and molding meat, damp clothes and patches of wet fur. thick. it makes tears sting behind your eyelids, burn at your lashline, your entire body shaking, skeleton rattling under your skin— panic wailing in your shuddering veins.

it’s happening. it’s happening, but not to you.

(and isn’t that a blessing? to play the role he always has. always just watching everything go wrong.)

(maybe you’ve always hated him. maybe you just couldn’t tell.)

it takes effort to keep yourself upright, to force your knees not to buckle. you’re scared, you’re scared, whatever rabbit made a nest inside your heart is trying to gnaw its way out and it hurts. you’re cold and hot all at once. you think you might pass out, like this; clutching onto the wall with unsteady fingers. 

suguru seems to be enjoying himself, feasting on god knows who, tearing through veins and muscle tissue, carving a path that reeks of rotten fruit and guts. it’s horror incarnate. you pray it’s all a dream, a nightmare. you pray you’ll wake up soon. but you’re still frozen when you squeeze your eyes shut, and he’s still hunched over in the storage room when you open them. shallow breaths scrape against your throat, and you swallow down the bile building up at its base. taking a wobbly, wobbly step back.

you thank your lucky stars he does not peek over his shoulder. tip-toeing towards the stairs, leaving the blood and the grit behind before he spots you. you are gone by the time he’s finished, gone by the time he licks the entrails from between his teeth and cranes his head to look behind him.

golden eyes violating the dark.

when you crawl back into bed, fruitlessly trying to gain control over your trembling limbs, wipe the sight from your mind — you are sure of only one thing.

this is the tipping point. this is where the cup runs over. it has to, or it’ll break into pieces, bleed open. you’re never going to forget this; the buzzing of fleas, the smell of rotten apricots. the smell of death, hot and heavy, iron seeping into the back of your tongue and tearing out your teeth. warm, hot blood. gurgling up at the base of your throat with steady thumps.

(your story wasn’t supposed to be like this, a voice echoes in your head. not like this.)

terror. terror. desperation, a silent crack in the night. something in your gut settles, right when you feel so faint you’re sure you’ll pass out — a cold calm.

suddenly, you know what you have to do. you know exactly what the story is about to demand.

(keep that fire burning. even if you burst aflame.)

you stare at the ceiling until dusk turns to day.

a tentative sip.

you hold onto the rim of the cup with steady fingers, warm skin against cold porcelain, and drink slowly; one gulp after another. it tastes good. mellow and vibrant, makes a home on the roof of your mouth, sticks to the back of your teeth. there’s a nutty aftertaste that you can’t help but savour.

he’s trying out something new, today; a bundle of golden leaves, simmering in the liquor-like water, a trail of sweet-smelling steam wafting up into the air. beautiful, if nothing else. flickering softly.

it’s a wonder you still haven’t grown tired of tea. a wonder he keeps finding new ones for you to try.

(he’s fond of flowers, you’re well aware. fond of plucking them by hand, while they’re young and pretty, robbing them from the ground, putting them in hot water and vases and paintings on the wall.)

(yesterday, he asked if he could do your portrait.)

it’s time for your bedtime story. you’re curled up in bed, on freshly washed silken sheets, buried under a fluffy blanket with suguru to your right, sitting on a wooden chair with a fable in his lap. paintings of rabbits and foxes, girls and goats. they’ve grown more childlike, over time, the books he reads to you aloud; the ones he keeps on his shelves. he doesn’t like it when you indulge in anything too graphic.

a nightlight keeps you company, shines a light on the pages in the dark of your room. a small comfort.

in tandem with his words, the curtains sway, tender as the lull of his tongue— window barricaded just behind them. he’s wearing a blouse, with puffy sleeves that barely reach down to his elbows anymore. he’s gotten bigger. there’s a rasp in his throat when he speaks but the softness is still present, the silent turning of another page, he holds them in between his fingers before letting them fall. looks at peace. it’s raining outside, a quiet drizzle, warming up the earth from the frost and snow — a gentle pitter patter against the windowpane. you can almost smell the damp earth, the moss and worms, content to imagine it as tea trickles down your throat, pumps its way into your heartbeat.

content to watch your captor playing house.

(soon, this’ll all be over.)

(soon.)

”… your arms are hairy, suguru.”

your words cut into the silence, shatters the illusion of peace and quiet, spill into the open air. the wolf by your bedside looks surprised, for a moment; a silent series of blinks, raven lashes taking flight. usually, you’d be nothing but silent during this routine. 

”do you not like it?” he asks, letting the page flutter shut, fall over his thumb. ”i can shave.”

you pay no mind to his response. only push yourself up on your elbows, sluggishly, reach your fingers out to curl around his roughed up knuckles.

”and your hands are big…”

a flicker, in his ashen eyes. he lets you trace along his hands, dip your fingertips down the valleys and across the bumps, the callouses and scars. 

(and oh, he knows what you’re doing now.)

so he plays along.

”… the better to hold you with,” he whispers, low and sweet — bringing your hand to his lips, smearing a kiss against the inside of your palm. you feel the curve of his smile cut into your skin.

a beat. your hand slips away from his touch, travels down to his jaw, tips it up with a thumb beneath his chin. suguru eyes you. hungrily, your instincts tell you. he’s pliant, though, a domesticated thing — doesn’t bat an eye when your fingers tug at his upper lip and expose a row of white teeth. pink gums.

a silent intake of breath.

”… and your teeth are sharp.”

silence. you can see your own reflection in the gleam of his canines, watch it waver like great tides in the sea. you look nothing like you remember.

and suguru looks conflicted.

”the better to…” he whispers, latches onto your wrist and cups your palm— keeps it in place as he nuzzles against it, closing his mouth. ”protect you with.”

something in your chest tightens and coils, at that. he smiles, almost sheepish, and you want to kill him, want to drag his own axe through his stomach, hear the clanking of metal against the bone of a rib.

a voice like no other rings in your ears.

(at least have the gall to say it out loud.)

the fwhip of a book being shut. his thumb slips out from between the pages, comes to rest against the spine, and you know it’s time for bed. you feel a tentative lick, against the skin of your palm, before he’s letting go of your wrist. it makes you shudder, and his eyes crinkle like you just did something cute. 

(it’s nearly over. it’s nearly over.)

you feel as if you might throw up.

”… goodnight, sweet thing.”

his voice curls into your mind, around your neck, wriggles like a worm inside your ear. you don’t say it back. you stay silent, as he pulls away. 

the nightlight flickers off.

once upon a time, you’re sure your story had an ending.

it’s a distant memory, at this point. a bundle of blurry memories, a sense of knowledge about what goes where. but you can still recall the catharsis.

at its core, little red riding hood is a tale about foolishness. a tale about girls who stay snug in the bellies of beasts, curl up close to their intestines and wait patiently to be rescued. this is no surprise to you. you’ve been devoured thousands of times, it’s in your nature, what you were born to do— there is no version of the story where you aren’t tangled up in meat thread or being swallowed whole. no version where you aren’t a victim, born to wait your turn.

you’re well beyond accepting that.

all children must exit the womb, and all little reds must escape the wolf’s stomach. neither cage was meant to keep you, even if he’d disagree.

but now you really are trapped.

(trapped in the cage he made you, a bookmark glued to paper-skin.)

you sit in his armchair, and gaze into the fireplace. waiting for a cue. suguru is in the kitchen, as always, the sound of a whistling kettle seeping through the air, chattering with steam. gusts of wind claw against the windows, wail and whine against the glass. the woods sway in the distance, mocking shades of green shimmering faintly; beckoning you closer, closer still, into their depths. winter is about to end. 

the sun is stuck in vitro.

the deer mount on the wall looks at you with dead, glazed-over eyes. dead like the pinned-up butterflies, dead like every single thing in his home. dead tea leaves, dead men in storage rooms, dead little reds.

the axe glimmers by the fireplace. 

an inhale, inflating your lungs. it has to end. the story hungers for it — there has to be some way to reach it.

(everything’s already broken, anyway.)

crackling, splintering, wood on fire. ash gathers at the bottom of the hearth, tears itself into pieces and crumbles into a lifeless heap. your eyes watch the flames lick into each other’s mouths, make a home there. they’re consuming each other. getting their fill. you think of his tongue, his teeth, his voice— you think of the shotgun over his shoulder and the glint in his eye, his greedy hands squeezing at your midriff. you think of the axe, just resting there, leather sheath snug around the steel. waiting, waiting, waiting.

”the tea is ready, honey.”

— and you stand up.

his voice carries across the living room, a jumbled growl of syllables — you scarcely hear them, eyes fixated on the gleaming steel in front of you. fingers hungry for contact, eager to rip the sheath right off. 

it’s time to choose an ending. 

you could live in his belly, if you wanted, just like this. forevermore. could tuck yourself between his teeth and grow comfortable there. that, or you could cut your way out — stain the last page red yourself, before he gets the chance to. lick the excess off your wrist and tear the binding in half. it’s all or nothing, this or that; an axe in his stomach, his teeth in your neck. your choice, yes, but it’s time to make it.

you know which one you want.

(”and little red riding hood reached for the axe.”)

— it feels right, in your hand. feels right to hold, have it weigh you down, become part of your skeletal structure. everything finally feels just right.

an inhale. your breathing turns more shallow, quiet breaths seeping from out your throat, lips parting silently. a flicker, your gaze darting in the direction of the kitchen, zeroing in on the shadow cast across the threshold. heart, liver, lungs. you can feel them all, count them all. they’re all clambering up your esophagus. worms in your throat, under rocks.

(now. now. do it now.)

hunger. hunger. hunger.

you don’t care what the consequences are, anymore.

a moment of silence. you hear not the whooshing of the wind, the whistling of the kettle, or the sound of tea being poured into cups. you hear neither his voice nor your own footsteps — only the steady beating of your own heart, a bunny about to break into sprint. one step forward. two. his back is visible, the hair at his nape, he’s pouring tea into porcelain cups. he’ll never know what hit him, what he brought into his home. ba-dump. ba-dump. the floorboards split apart, and the binding comes undone.

his guts will spill out just the same.

[ … and ▇▇ ▇ne did ▇▇▇ing t▇ harm h▇▇, ▇ver again. ]

you creep up behind him, stealthy as a fox —

and swing.

[harrysweasleys]

seven years // h.p

 Summary: Hey! I want to request a harry potter x reader in which the reader is friends with the golden trio since first year (they are the golden quartet) and harry and the reader are in love with each other and during the battle of howarts harry finds time to confess his feelings and finally kiss her passionately. (In a kinda dramatic scenario if it's possible? Somewhat like the romione kiss?) I would love it so much if you write it! Send you a virtual hug! Bye!

Warnings: blood, violence, mentions of death

Word Count: 3k

A/N: this one was fun to write. there isn’t enough harry content out there.

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FIRST YEAR

Meeting Harry on the train had been an accident. A happy one, yes, but an accident nonetheless. You had tumbled into his compartment, hair disheveled and eyes wide, hoping to find a hiding place from the two red haired boys who were playing pranks on unsuspecting first years.

When you noticed two boys were already sitting there, you made your way to leave, when the dark-haired one called out to you.

“Wait, are you trying to hide?” he had asked, taking in your distressed state.

“Yes,” you nodded, “There are twins, I think they’re twins, throwing little smoke bombs everywhere. I got hit.”

The ginger haired boy sitting across from him groaned, “Oh, those are my brothers.” He smiled apologetically at you and you nodded back.

“You can hide in here, if you want,” the dark haired boy spoke to you again. His eyes were kind, light, and within moments of knowing him, you felt like you could trust him. It was oddly unsettling, but you figured what eleven year old could do any harm?

So you nodded, “Okay.”

And that’s how you got to meet Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, eventually meeting Hermione Granger not long after. The four of you had a strange start to your friendship, defeating a troll to save Hermione, pegging Snape to be a psychopath, and destroying the Philosopher’s Stone.

And that was only your first year.

SECOND YEAR

When the year had started up again, you were practically bubbling with excitement. The three friends you had made in the previous year had been your only source of sanity, really, so getting back to Hogwarts could not come sooner.

When Harry and Ron didn’t arrive on the train, you sat the whole way with Hermione worrying about where they could possibly be. Had they missed it? Were they sitting alone because you had done something wrong?

But, alas, your questions were answered when the two arrived at Hogwarts, looking anxious and exhilarated.

“We took a flying car,” Harry muttered to you once he took his seat next to you in the Great Hall, “Ron’s dad’s car.”

“You — what? A flying car? Were you spotted?” you couldn’t hide the worry you were feeling. If they had been spotted, they could get thrown out of school.

“We got detention,” Harry ignored your question, his body still very tense, “For a month.”

Across the table, you noticed Ron explaining to Hermione the same things Harry was telling you, her face contorting into shock and disbelief as he told his side of the story.

As if the start of the year hadn’t been adventurous enough, students were beginning to drop like flies all around the school with no real explanation.

So, naturally, people suspected Harry.

“I believe you,” you had told him one night after he vented to you about definitely not being involved, “Harry, you know I’ll always believe you. I’m here to help.”

He stopped his blubbering, “Really?”

You grinned at him, “Of course. What are friends for?”

And, true to your word, you stuck by him as you maneuvered the case of the Chamber of Secrets. You had even entered the Chamber with him, helping him escape the Basilisk and saving Ginny’s life.

“You’re the best, y’know?” Harry had asked once Fawkes saved him, his eyelids becoming heavy and his voice slightly slurred, “Thanks for everything.”

“Don’t thank me for being a friend, Harry,” you helped him up, “Now, c’mon, let’s get you to safety.”

THIRD YEAR

Third year was when you realized you were beginning to fall for your best friend. It started on the train, the moment Harry jumped in front of you and took the Dementor head on, unfortunately passing out but luckily getting saved by the new professor.

For weeks, you couldn’t look at him the same. He had been so selfless, so brave, and yet, you knew he was as terrified as the rest of you.

He had grown a lot over the summer too. His hair was longer, messier, and you had to admit, you liked the look.

But only when Harry plummeted nearly a hundred feet off of his broom in a messy Quidditch match did you realize that, yes, indeed, you were falling fast.

“You scared the bloody hell out of me, Harry,” you ran to his bedside once he woke up, his eyes having trouble adjusting to the brightness of the room, “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, brilliant,” he replied, his voice coarse, “Best I’ve ever felt.”

You couldn’t help the laughter that escaped your lips, “Well, you look fantastic.”

He grinned up at you, flashing his teeth, “Thanks for being here, Y/N. Where are the others? Ron and Hermione?”

In truth, Hermione knew about how you had begun to feel towards Harry, so she diverted Ron in order to give you some private time. But you couldn’t tell him that.

“She’s helping him with homework,” you lied casually.

He nodded, “Oh, alright.”

You stood up and sat on the edge of his bed, linking his hand with yours, “I’ll keep you company, though.”

And so you did. While Harry was dealing with the traumatic aftermath of finding Sirius Black, you were by his side, helping him deal with the news that his godfather was actually the good guy. It took him a while to process it, and you were there for him the whole time.

FOURTH YEAR

As if realizing you had feelings for your best friend wasn’t hard enough, in your fourth year, you had to watch Harry fall for another girl. Cho Chang, the talented dark-haired Ravenclaw, had caught his attention on the train and it was clear he had feelings for her.

Hermione had comforted you, making your realize that she didn’t compare to you at all, but it didn’t help how you had felt that entire year.

When Harry and Ron fought, you were by Harry’s side.

“I believe you, I know you didn’t put your name in,” you told him one night when Harry had been feeling particularly low.

“Thanks,” he had responded, “You’re the best.”

But, no matter how much advice you have him, nor how much help you provided, he didn’t see you as more than a friend. So, you figured getting over your feelings would be the way to go.

Hermione had helped you distance yourself from him. When Harry asked about you, she’d change the subject. When Ron asked about you, she told him the truth. You had watched from afar when Hermione and Ron were picked to be the victims in the Second Task, wondering if Harry would ever see you as anything more than his friend.

By the end of the year, Harry found himself deeply missing your presence. It wasn’t the same without you, and Hermione and Ron felt it too.

You approached Harry one night in the hospital wing after the third task, “I’m sorry you had to go through that. To see something so horrible.”

Harry, bloodied and emotionally bruised on the hospital bed, smiled at you, “I’ve missed you.”

You smiled sadly, taking a seat, “I’m sorry about that too. But I’ve never stopped being proud of you, y’know? Always have been and always will be.”

Harry looked at you for a long time, both of you unsure of what to say next, until he spoke up again, “Hermione said you were dealing with something. D’you mind sharing? It’ll help take my mind off of what just happened.”

Feeling incredibly guilty, you tore your eyes away from him, “I’ll tell you one day. This isn’t the time.”

He seemed to accept your answer, but truth be told, he was thankful to have you by his side again and he didn’t want to push you away by pressing you even more.

“I think I’m gonna head back to my dorm, but I’ll be back in the morning, yeah?” you smiled at him, standing up off of your chair and looking towards the door.

“No — can you, uh, can you stay?” his voice was quiet, almost pleading, “I just really need someone here.”

Who were you to deny him that? He had just been through a traumatizing experience — witnessed someone dying in front of him. So, you sucked up your pride and your annoying feelings and sat back down, reaching over and linking his hand with yours.

Your touch seemed to sooth him, his eyes fluttered shut and he smiled softly, “Thank you.”

So you sat by his side, talking through the night and part of the next morning. It was safe to say your feelings weren’t going away any time soon.

FIFTH YEAR

Coming into the year, Harry had been conflicted. Half the people at school believed him, and the other half didn’t.

What he found especially strange, though, was that he didn’t care what anyone though, as long as you were on his side.

“Of course, why would you lie about that?” you had said casually one evening in the common room, “Whoever doesn’t believe you will just have a horrible shock when he shows himself. Can’t say we didn’t warn them.”

Harry grinned at you, “You’re the best.”

“I know,” you grinned back.

You had noticed throughout the year how he had been behaving differently. He always asked your opinion, he hung around with you after DA practices were over, and the two of you even went to Hogsmeade alone one afternoon, sharing a laugh over a butterbeer and reminiscing about the simpler days when your only problem was an escaped Basilisk.

Hermione had tried telling you his change in attitude was because he was falling for you too, but you had found it hard to believe. There was no proof and you didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“He hasn’t been asking us how we think he’s doing,” Ron told you, raising his eyebrows, “I have to agree with Hermione here.”

“See, even Ronald agrees,” Hermione smirked.

You wanted to believe them, you really did. But it became hard when Harry hid his feelings and emotions so well.

Which is why, one night when you were finishing up another DA meeting and you had stayed behind to clean up the mess, you had been frozen in place by Harry’s lips lightly pressing against yours.

You had kissed him back, naturally, but it was hard to tell whether this was a ‘I’m feeling lonely’ kiss or a ‘I really like you’ kiss. Both of you had pulled away immediately, staring at each other wide-eyed until you laughed it off.

Neither of you mentioned it to Ron or Hermione, but being intuitive as ever, they were both able to tell something had happened between the two of you.

And that something stayed on your mind all summer. Despite the loss of Sirius, despite the threat of the looming war, all you could think about was Harry and how delicately he had kissed you that night.

You were done for.

SIXTH YEAR

Friendship with Harry had changed drastically. Every time you were together now, you shared lingering touches and playful flirting.

There was still a heavy feeling in the air, none of you guys wanting to address it, but you had fun spending the year flirting and teasing him.

You had cheered him on during Quidditch, gotten close to him during parties, sat next to him during meals, and even classes. He seemed to have eyes only for you, and you for him.

“Told you he liked you back,” Hermione boasted about her prediction, “I’m always right.”

“Chill it,” you chuckled, “He hasn’t said anything about liking me back, exactly. We’ll see.”

Luckily for you, Harry had completely ignored most of the girls who now showed interest in him, his eyes focused on you and only you. It was almost too much for you to handle. He had been so caring, so gentle and kind, you often forgot he was still just a friend.

When he won the Felix Felicis in Potions one afternoon, you wondered if he’d use it to ask you out. He didn’t, but you felt lucky enough having him throw compliments at you and get you flustered. 

It was no question to you that after Dumbledore died, you would follow Harry until the ends of the Earth to hunt down the Horcruxes and defeat the Dark Lord.

Honestly, you’d follow him to the ends of the Earth even if the fate of the Wizarding World wasn’t at stake. He was Harry, your Harry, and there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. 

SEVENTH YEAR

The decision to not return to Hogwarts had been unanimous between you, Harry, Ron and Hermione. None of you thought it was a good decision, nor did any of you want to sit back and let Harry deal with this himself. You spent the summer at the Burrow, finally getting to see Harry again after an eventful Polyjuice Potion filled night. 

“We’re always going to be with you, Harry,” you pulled him in for a hug the evening of the wedding as the two of you swayed slowly on the dance floor, “Always.”

“That means so much to me,” he mumbled into your hair, sending shivers down your spine, “Couldn’t do this without you.”

And that’s how you ended up here, months later, fighting on the school grounds. Bodies had been scattered across the grand corridors, the same corridors that you had called home for six years. Bodies of students that you shared classes with, bodies of students you had seen in the Great Hall.

You weren’t sure how this had happened, how this war had become so devastating and crumbling, but you knew there was no way you’d back out. This wasn’t just Harry’s fight, it was yours too.

You ran through the halls, spells bouncing off of walls and screams echoing through the stone walls, your mind set on Harry.

You bumped into Ron on the way, who had his arms wrapped tightly around Hermione, both of them looking pale and bloodied. They seemed worse for wear, but both smiled upon seeing you safe and uninjured.

“Have you guys seen Harry?” your voice was shaky, wand gripped tightly between your fingers.

Ron shook his head, “Not in a while.”

Your heart dropped, “Where could he be?”

“Dunno,” Ron shrugged, scanning his eyes over Hermione once more to make sure she wasn’t seriously injured.

“Well, let’s go find him, then!” you glared at the two of them, not understanding how they could be so nonchalant about the whole situation. They seemed more focused on each other. Which wasn’t a major surprise, you knew they’d end up together, but this wasn’t the time.

As you darted down the main corridor, Hermione and Ron also keeping their eyes peeled, you came to a stop in front of the marble staircase, students screaming and rushing by you going unnoticed.

Harry stood ar the top of the stairs, looking down at you all, his face both grateful and exhausted.

“Harry,” you signed, nudging Hermione and Ron to look over. Both their faces broke out into massive grins as they looked at him, relieved.

Before anyone could do or say anything, you took off up the stairs, stopping only when you reached Harry. He smiled at you, face covered in dirt and blood, but his charming smile was enough to get your heart fluttering.

“Hey,” you breathed out, placing your arms around him and pulling him into a bone crushing hug. You seriously hoped he hadn’t injured any ribs or he’d be in even more pain.

“Y/N,” he sighed in relief, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you just as tightly, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“As am I,” you grinned, pulling away and scanning him, “I was so worried about you. We can’t stay separated from now on, it’s too risky—,”

He cut you off by placing his hands on the back of your neck and pulling you in for a kiss. You were stunned, glued to the spot, but you leaned into his touch and kissed back, lips moulding against his. He tasted slightly like blood, but you pushed past it and reeled in the feeling of his touch. Your heart was soaring, your knees threatening to buckle under you as he poured all his feelings into the gesture.

He ran his tongue against your bottom lip before pulling away, eyes clouded and a lazy grin on his lips, “Y/N, I’m in love with you. And I know this isn’t a great time to do this but I just... I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I’ve been crazy about you for two years now.”

“I’ve been crazy about you since third year,” you pressed your forehead against his, letting your eyes flutter shut, “Can’t beat that. I wanted to tell you so long ago but I was worried you wouldn’t feel the same.”

He lifted his forehead away from yours and pressed his lips quickly to yours once more. For someone who had just been through a war, his kiss was surprisingly soft. His hands gripped your waist and yours found their way into his hair.

After the kiss ended, you looked down to Ron and Hermione who were both grinning broadly and shooting you both a thumbs up. Harry chuckled, pulling you in close to him and resting his head against yours. The war surrounding you seemed distant, forgotten even, as you focused on solely him.

“We’ll make it out of this together, yeah?” he asked softly so only you could hear him.

“Yeah, we will.”

And you were right. After the war ended, you and Harry continued your relationship and it blossomed quickly. He had promised to love you, and he did exactly that. He was the most caring, generous and loving person you had ever met and you felt like the luckiest person alive to have him by your side.

You were absolutely smitten for Harry Potter and there was nothing that could possibly be done to change that.

[cocos-cocoapuffsarenotforsale]

His Little Witch~~Part 9

MASTERLIST

Part 8

Main Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Background Pairings: Harry Potter x Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley x Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood x Neville Longbottom, James Potter x Lily Potter, Draco Malfoy x Pansy Parkinson

Tags: Swearing, Controlling!Tom Riddle, Controlling Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Possessive Tom Riddle, Soulmates, AU, CANON DIVERGENCE, Minister of Magic Tom Riddle, Out of Character Tom Riddle, nice Tom Riddle, Dumbledore and Tom get along, sane Tom Riddle

Taglist: @chewymoustachio, @peachsnyder138, @marvelous-glims, @ingeniouscollectionthing, @thedarkshiningknight

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“Little Witch! Are you ready yet?” Tom calls from his study.

“In a minute babe!” You call back, peeking your head out of your bedroom.

“Love, we need to get going, it’s the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. The Minister of Magic cannot be late.” He repeats for what had to be the tenth time that morning as he walks back into your bedroom, where you’re finishing getting ready.

“Tommy relax. They aren’t going to start without you. And anyway it’s not even 10:30 yet, the task doesn’t start until noon.” You remind him gently. He was already stressed out about baby Grindelwald and it was the morning of the first task of a tournament that hadn’t been held in 20 years. 

But to be honest you think that he is more worried about you being out in public with Grindelwald on the loose. You hadn’t left the house in a week and you were going stir crazy. You had to beg Tom to let you go with to the first task and he finally relented after your incessant teasing last night. 

“You’re right, sorry, I’m just nervous.” He apologizes, pacing back and forth in front of the bed, running his hands down his face.

“It’s all going to be fine babe,” you say softly standing up and stepping in front of him, taking his hands in yours.

“You don’t know that. A million things could go wrong a student could be injured, Grindelwald could show up, you could be hurt-“ he started rambling.

“Babe, it’s going to be ok. Just breathe,” you try to soothe him but you know it’s hopeless. No matter what you say or do he will still be a bundle of nerves. 

“You’re right love, of course, you’re right,” he says after taking a deep breath, he forces a small smile trying to ease your concern for him. But you know it’s fake, Tom is still panicking no matter how much he tries to hide it from you.

“Hey, I love you, Riddle,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He reciprocates, finally letting his shields down a little.

“I love you too my Little Witch,” he replies after you break apart. “Are you ready yet?” He asks, causing you to chuckle.

“Yes my love, we can go now, though we are going to be incredibly early.” You tease taking his hand in yours as the two of you walk to his study. 

“Better to be early than late. I am the Minister of Magic, after all, I do have a reputation to uphold,” he says as the two of you step into the fireplace together and Tom grabs a handful of Floo powder before shouting, “Dumbledore’s office!”

The fire flares up around you and sucks the two of you in before quickly depositing you in Dumbledore’s fireplace. The headmaster glances up from his position behind the desk, and a small smile creeping upon his face.

“Ahhh, Tom, Ms. Y/l/n, lovely to see the two of you again. Excited for the first task?” Dumbledore asks as the two of you step out of the fireplace and dust off your robes.

“Very! I am so excited to see Harry compete today! Though not as much as James and Sirius I’m sure.” You reply, your smile stretching from ear to ear. There was a small part of you that was worried about Harry’s safety but you knew that with Tom, Sirius, James, and Dumbledore there he wasn’t in any real danger. 

“Yes, I’m sure James and Sirius are thrilled about Harry competing. And you Tom? Are you excited?” Dumbledore asks carefully, his eyes twinkling with concern.

“Oh yes, I’m so thrilled that we are hosting a deadly tournament with barely legal wizards competing in. It’s not like this isn’t an international incident waiting to happen or anything,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t mind him, Professor. He’s just a worrier, deep down I’m sure he’s excited.” You cut in, shooting Tom a look that says behave. 

“I completely understand Ms. Y/l/n, Tom has always been one to worry. Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman shall be arriving shortly and then we can discuss final details about the tournament and the tasks.” Dumbledore says and you take that as your cue to leave. But of course, Tom refuses to relinquish his hold on you. His arm stays firmly in place around your shoulders and he shoots you a confused look.

“Where do you think you’re going Little Witch?” He asks, worry clouding his features.

“I was going to give you all some privacy to discuss tournament matters and find my friends. I wanted to wish Harry good luck.” You explained, patiently. You should have known he would question you. Tom was ridiculously overprotective and he hated not having you by his side.

“Alright, but I want James and Sirius to escort you. Albus, could you send them a message?” He asks, still keeping you tucked into his side.

“Of course Tom,” Dumbledore replied indulgently. He quickly summons his patronus and asks it to find James and Sirius and tell them to come to his office. While the three of you are waiting Dumbledore makes up some phony excuse about needing to check up on Fawkes, in order to give you and Tom some privacy. Dumbledore quickly shuffles off into his private chambers, just off of his office, as soon as the door closes Tom crushes you against him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Tom, it’s only for a little while, I’ll see you at the task.” You try to reassure him, though you know it’s pointless.

“I know love, but with Grindelwald out there I’m on high alert. This is the perfect opportunity for him to attack and I can’t have you caught in the crossfire. Promise me you will stay with James and Sirius until I come and collect you for the tournament?” 

“Ohh, I get to sit with the Minister of Magic?” You tease and he just glares at you waiting for you to answer his question.

“Of course love,” you promise knowing there is no point in arguing. Especially considering all the begging you had to do to even be allowed to come today.

“Thank you Little Witch,” he replies before capturing your mouth in a hard, possessive kiss. Only a few moments later however you are interrupted by a knock on the door that causes the two of you to pull apart. Sirius and James walk in with big smirks on their faces, Merlin will those two ever grow up?

“Hope we weren’t interrupting anything,” Sirius teases with a giant smirk on his face. 

“Sod off Black,” Tom growls in response.

“Touchy, touchy,” James tutts.

“Do you two want to be unemployed?” Tom hisses, his face turning slightly pink at their teasing. 

“Let’s go guys before you get yourselves fired.” You say, giving Tom’s hand a quick squeeze before heading for the door.

“You two keep her safe,” Tom commands as the three of you walk towards the door.

“Yes Minister,” they both reply, any tone of teasing gone from their voices. 

The three of you walk down in relative silence, feeling slightly awkward due to the lack of conversation you ask the one question that’s been on your mind all morning.

“How’s Lily doing?”

“She’s ready to lock Harry in a tower and throw away the key,” James replies, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I can’t believe she hasn’t done it yet,” Sirius says.

“What about you two?” You asked you knew that no matter how crazy and chill these two might appear, they were secretly just as overprotective as Tom.

“I’m excited for him, but part of me just wants to put my foot down and tell him he can’t compete. I know it’s important to him but this tournament...it’s so dangerous.” James answers, his face hardening at the thought of his son in danger.

“Yeah, I know he’s a great wizard but to me, he’s still just a chubby, clumsy baby.” Sirius jokes, but you can see the tension behind his forced smile.

“He’s gonna do great guys,” you try to reassure them, they both offer you smiles but you can tell they are still freaking out on the inside.

Once you reach the Quidditch Pitch which had been altered to accommodate a dragon’s nest, you rush over to Harry and the others. James and Sirius stay back to give you guys some time on your own, though they stay close enough to keep an eye on you and to protect you if the need should arise.

“Hey, guys!” You greet them with a smile and pull Harry into a big hug. “Good luck out there Harry. You’re gonna do great.” 

Once you break away from Harry you take in the looks on everyone’s faces. Harry looks slightly nervous but mostly excited, Ginny looks like she’s going to be sick, Ron looks enthusiastic yet slightly jealous, and Hermione looks disgusted at the prospect of students fighting dragons. 

“Thanks, Y/n/n,” he says with a soft smile. He puts an arm around Ginny who was shaking like a leaf to try and steady her. 

“It’s gonna be fine Gin,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Champions to the tent please!” McGonagall’s voice announces over the loudspeakers. Harry gives you all one last wave before heading over to the champions’ tent.

“He’s gonna be alright Ginny,” you try to reassure her as you place an arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah, Harry’s a great wizard sis, he’ll be fine.” Ron agrees, trying to quell his sister’s worries.

“Y/n, I think someone is looking for you,” Hermione remarks, pointing over to where Tom is searching the crowd with a concerned expression.

“Oh, thanks ‘Mione. I’ll see you guys later,” you say before rushing over to his side.

“There you are Little Witch,” he greets you and you can see the tension fade from his face. Damn this man needs some calming drought, you think to yourself. He gives James and Sirius a nod, dismissing them from babysitting duty, at least for now.

“Hi Tom, how was the meeting?” You ask curiously. He wraps his arm around you and the two of you walk over to the teacher’s box. 

“Boring, it was just tying up some loose ends and making sure the French and Bulgarian Ministries were part of the task development process. We need to cover our bases and ensure a fair competition.” He explains as the two of you enter the teacher’s box and he guides you to your seats. You were sitting in the front row next to Dumbledore and the other headmasters. It was a little awkward being with all the teachers, instead of the other students. But you were just going to have to get used to it, being the Minister’s mate and all.

The task was incredibly high pace and very interesting to watch. Though it was also slightly terrifying to see your fellow students go up against a dragon and try to capture their egg. Harry ended up scoring the highest and getting to his egg the fastest, which placed him in the lead. He made sure to use his natural skills to his advantage, summoning his broomstick and then getting the dragon to fly after him in order to get it away from the egg so he could then swoop in and grab it. 

“I’m gonna go congratulate Harry,” you whisper to Tom right as he was being bombarded by reporters, all asking questions about the tournament. You knew he would be furious at you for wandering off on your own but you would deal with that later.

“Congratulations Harry!” You shouted giving him a big hug. His mom and Ginny were smiling but you could see the terror in their eyes. Sirius and James were off collecting money from their bets and Remus had his arm wrapped around Lily’s shoulder stabilizing her. Ron was going on and on about how incredible Harry was and Hermione was ranting to anyone who would listen about how absolutely barbaric the tournament was.

“Hey, guys party in the common room after dinner!” Seamus shouted, he and Dean both had faces full of Gryffindor colored face paint.

“Sweet!” Ron exclaims, he was always ready to party.

“Are you coming Y/n?” Hermione asks quietly.

“I wish, there is no way Tom will let me go without him and I don’t think it would be a ton of fun with the Minister of Magic chaperoning us.” You grumble slightly annoyed. You loved Tom but sometimes it sucked not being able to just hang out or party with your friends.

“There you are Little Witch,” Tom growled, looking absolutely furious with your little disappearing act.

“Hey babe,” you greet shyly, nervous for his reaction. 

“Ready to go home?” He phrases it like a question but you know better. Fuck, you were in so much trouble when you got home.

“Sure, bye guys!” You call over your shoulder as Tom leads you back to the castle. The entire trip back to Dumbledore’s office is silent and you decide it’s best to keep it that way until you get home. Once you are in Dumbledore’s office the two of you walk straight to the fireplace and Tom grabs a handful of Floo powder before shouting, “Riddle Manor!” The fire swirls around the two of you again before depositing you both in the fireplace in Tom’s study. Tom marches you towards your room before he slams the door closed and turns to give you his signature glare.

“Care to explain Little Witch?” He asks, the fury practically dripping from his voice.

Fuck, you were in trouble now.

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Part 10

[sp00kworm]

Hello my love! Can I see how Junkrat would behave with s/o who is like really sassy and confident about itself? Love your fucking work! And love ya!

Pairing: Junkrat/Jamison Fawkes x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: I am absolutely rubbish at writing for the junkers but I tried as much as I could. Hope you enjoy!

Requests are open!

----

A Heist

“Oi! Mako!?” Jamison knew exactly how to be obnoxious as early as possible in the morning. You dared to peel your eyes open after a minute telling yourself it wouldn’t be painful to look at the time. With one eye open, you groggily looked from the bed at the old ticking clock and felt like howling.

“Yeah?” Mako’s reply was softer and more considerate of the hour and you heard him cough as he inhaled the drugs that stopped his lungs collapsing, “Early for this.” He complained as you pushed the sheets away and got to your feet, shoving your feet into your old slippers as you trundled to the ladder to get down from the elevated platform all your beds were on.

“I know mate, but I have the most genius plan.” Jamison babbled as he rattled around in the small kitchen, tugging pans around as he searched for the frying pan, “And I don’t think there’s a single way it could go wrong! The Queen won’t know what bloody hit her!” He laughed as he waved a frying pan around in the air, thwapping it towards Mako as the elder hummed.

“I don’t think anything…is going to work while they’re celebrating…” Mako offered around heavy breaths as he took the pan from Jamison.

“Which is exactly why we should strike now!” Jamison rubbed his hands together as Mako reached for the old fridge handle, pulling a carton of eggs free as he ignored the other’s ramblings.

 With a grumble you knocked on the doorframe and watched Jamison jump, wild blond hair whipping over his head as he peaked over his shoulder.

“What’s this about another heist?” You crossed your arms as you leaned against the wooden frame, glaring at the two men stood in the kitchen.

Jamison rubbed the back of his neck with his metal hand, “Well…I just thought…”

“Yeah…You thought.” You sighed and glared at the coffee pot as you moved to pour yourself some caffeine, “You’re not doing it again. You almost died last time!” You thrust your finger into his chest and watched Jamison straighten his back, the man towering over you with a sour look on his face as you jabbed at his skin. Thankfully, he was still clean, having not yet set to work fixing things and getting covered in grease, soot, and black powder.

“Sweetie.” He cooed before pouting at your glare, “Come on! It’s the perfect opportunity to get our mits on that bitch’s treasure!” Jamison declared with a stomp of his peg leg, “It’s the perfect opportunity!”

After taking a large gulp of coffee you pointed, “Last time she almost strung you both up! I say this out of love Jamison, but please just give it up.” You snapped before sighing and moving away from the man, intending to go cool off on the porch before you really upset him.

 Mako watched you leave through the lenses of his mask and watched Jamison afterwards, eyeing the displeased twist to his lips.

“I’m gonna go fix the truck.” Jamison grumbled, snatching his egg sandwich from the side.

“They’re right…” Mako muttered as he fried a few more eggs for himself over the gas stove.

Jamison glared at Mako, “And what? We’ve been sat in this bunker with fingers up our asses for yearly six months! I’m bored. You’re bored. It seemed perfectly reasonable!” He defended himself around a mouthful of bread and egg.

Mako huffed through his mask and rolled his huge shoulders in some non-committal movement as he made his own breakfast.

“Just doesn’t get it, that’s all!” Jamison declared before looking at the front door of the shelter where you had just stormed out of, “Maybe a bit tired too.”

“Just stay home.” Mako answered as he moved oil in the pan and ignored Jamison.

“Some help you are!” Jamison declared before walking towards the door, crouched in case you were still furious with him.

 “Jamison. I can hear you sneaking by the door.” You sighed as you sat on the small porch swing, cupping the coffee in your hands, “You’re not quiet with that peg leg sweetie.” You teased gently as he poked his head out of the door and smiled awkwardly.

“Not my fault!” He laughed before stepping outside and sighing, sandwich looking floppy in his hand, “I won’t…go…if you don’t want me to.” Jamison moved to perch on the porch swing next to you with wide, apologetic eyes.

“I just think…” You sighed and smiled, “Its silly, Jamison. You’ll get yourself into trouble! I know I come across as overbearing and I don’t want to seen as your enemy sweetheart…”

Jamison sucked his teeth before replying, “I wanted us all to get out. I know you hate being cooped up as much as me and I thought it might be fun. But I know you…yeah.”

You smiled at his awkward explanation, “Its alright. I was sharp. Its early, I’m tired and I just feel like its an unnecessary risk.”

“I’m sorry. How about we fix some bombs instead?” Jamison asked with a smile as you drank the rest of your coffee.

“I think that would be lovely.”

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Special Delivery- Chapter 4

“Sooooo, can we? It’s all working out just how I planned! This is heaps good!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Darl, you’re killin’ me here! Just give it a chance!”

“I am not going to give it any sort of chance.”

“Fockin’ hell, woman! All you gotta do is sit there for a while, while I do all the hard stuff. You get some sort of sick delight in makin’ things more difficult than they gotta be?!”

Mei narrowed her eyes at him behind her glasses. “You are actually asking for my permission to keep me captive? And you expect me to give it to you?”

“Well when you put it like that, of course it’s gonna sound a bit off,” Rat grumbled, bony shoulders hunching as he folded his arms in his most petulant manner. “So let me put it in a much better way for you. You’ve got blokes what are still looking for you, the kind who want to kill me and Hog and take you to the Big Boss who wanted you in the first place. Now, neither of us want that to happen, do we? Of course we don’t! So why don’t you just sit tight here at Junkrat’s Bed and Breakfast for just a while longer, and once the air’s cleared a bit and there aren’t so many eyes trying to find you, we’ll sneak you out somewhere safer. We’ll get you to a city, and you show up as pretty as you are right now, and then you go on your merry whilst yours truly collects the reward! Easy peasy!”

“There is nothing easy or peasy about that!” Mei shot back, pointing to the chain still shackled to her leg. “And what were you talking about before? What other junkers? What’s a Big Boss?”

He scratched at his sparsely-haired head, and she tried not to wince when his locks actually crunched under his fingertips. They must have been so filthy with soot and dirty that they stood almost straight out. With a shrug, he leaned back on both arms and regarded her curiously. “You mean you really dunno? You can’t remember anything?”

She hugged herself again. “No. I remember being on a side street in Sydney and realizing someone was following me. I don’t know how many there were, because I turned around to face them, but there was another one, and then I must have blacked out. I think they drugged me? And then I wake up here with a chain around my leg and…I thought you…”

Junkrat sucked on a tooth, giving her a look that resembled pity, or at least the most pity that was to be had from a junker. “Well no wonder you’ve been nattering nonsense, then! Poor little pookie, had no idea what was going on. Lookit, sometimes the higher-ups in Junkertown get a taste for something fancy. So they’ll send out some boys to hit the cities for whatever they want. Sounds to me like the Big Boss decided he wanted himself a certain type of lady. And I know the bloke you were meant for, darl. Not someone who would’ve done you any good, none at all!”

“You mean they would have-”

“Uh huh.”

She averted her gaze, pulling her blanket tighter around herself. “How did you find me?”

“Let’s just call that a ‘happy accident’, yeah? I just happened to intercept the caravan what was carrying their special delivery. Didn’t know the delivery was you, of course. Was ransacking the lorries and found you tied up in the trunk. Completely in the nuddy, crammed in there like a wrapped up parcel. Might have seen a bit of red when I realized what was going on. So me and Hog took care of them all, right then and there. Like I said, killed them all to the last man.” His strange eyes swerved back to her expectantly, clearly wanting praise again.

Mei thinned her lips, unsure whether to be happy with that news or not. Generally she abhorred killing of any sort. But it was hard to get  upset over the deaths of men who would do such heinous things. She just nodded meekly and let him talk. He seemed to like talking.

“Knew the Big Boss would be out scouring every corner of the Outback, looking for you and looking for the ones what killed his boys and took everything from him. Left him a false trail, and then Hog and I went roundabout and took you to my home sweet home. Tried to get you some pants, honest I did. But--” he gestured to his exceedingly scrawny waist, wrapping both hands around it so his fingers touched— “nothing doing, measurements wise. Work in progress, no worries. I’ll get you something comfy.”

“And you’re sure the chain was really necessary?”

“I should bloody well say so, since the first thing you did when you slipped it was to run off and near kill yourself. After all the trouble I went through? Too dangerous for you to go scampering about. Maybe if you behave, we can talk about your Casa de Junkrat privileges. But until then, you can only go on walkies when I’m with you. Can’t let the other junkers spy you out.”

She gave him a dirty look, but took a deep breath and remained calm. This new information changed things. “Listen, Junkrat. I believe you when you say you rescued me from those men. I’m thankful. I really am. But if you can just get me a communication signal, I can contact my, um…associates? If I can’t, you’re going to have a lot more complicated things to deal with than just other junkers.”

“Oi, that a threat? Really?”

“No! I’m not trying to threaten you. I’m just saying, I have friends who might get the wrong impression if they’re able to track me down and find me chained to a wall in whatever this place is. And I don’t want you to get hurt if things go bad.”

His eyes went gooey again, leaning towards her. “Ya do care!”

“I don’t want you or anyone to get hurt, is what I meant!” she clarified quickly, setting her jaw and scooting away. “This is all just a big misunderstanding. So, if you just let me call them, I can just have them pick me up.”

“Now now now, what about the money? They’re not the ones offering the reward for your return, are they?”

“Money? I’m not sure they can… I mean, I can ask them when I call--”

“AH HA!” He pointed at her suddenly with a screaming laugh, his filthy finger almost in her face and making her reel back so hard that she nearly fell over. “Trying to give ol’ Junkrat the slip, are we? Well I’m onto you. ‘Not sure’ if they got the money or not. And if they don’t, they’re gonna come here and rescue you and blow my cover. And then I’m left with no reward and a Big Boss and his Boys after my hide! Hard pass, darl. Hard pass.”

“Junkrat, you can’t just--”

“Nope! Sorry, love, but seeing as I’m the brains of our special little trio here, we’re going to do things my way. Don’t fret your beautiful little head, Mei. You’ll still be getting out, and I’ll still be getting a fat stack of credits for your safe return. I mean, that is, unless you decide you want to stay here.” He leaned towards her and clasped his hands together, metal digits clicking on his mechanical one. “We can skip the whole thing, if you want. If you wanna stay.”

There was that wounded and lovesick puppy expression on his face again, but she turned him away as primly as she had before. “Listen, Mr. Rat-”

“Heh! Hehehehe! Mr. Rat! I like that! You’re funny, Mei. I like ‘em funny. Junkrat’s just my esteemed moniker. Real name’s Jamison Fawkes, the Third, Esquire, Junior, and some other things I forgot. You like it?” He crammed himself closer to her again.

Savior or not, she was getting very close to physically shoving him about now. Trying to rein in her temper, Mei took a deep breath and held up a hand to keep him at bay. “Okay. Mr. Fawkes. If you would please stop interrupting me every other — ”

"Word? See! We’re finishing each other’s sentences already!”

“Mr. Fawk— ”

“You can call me Jamison! Or Jamie. Or Mr. Fawkes. Or Junkrat. Or Mr. Rat. Or you can make up any ol’ pet name for me that you like.” 

“Mr.—”

“How about Pooky Bear?”

Mei just put her face in her hands and gave up, sighing through her fingers.

She couldn’t tell someone like him about Overwatch. Winston had offered her a place among them, but Overwatch as an entity had been made illegal and the world had changed so much in nine years that it felt like she was starting all over again. She’d taken it upon herself to head back out into a world that had left her behind, trying to catch up on everything she had missed. The environment summit in Sydney was supposed to be the start of her getting her career back on track. And like everything else in her life, it had gone completely off the rails.

At least one of theme seemed excited about this whole mess. Junkrat picked up her dirty meal tray, scraping a stray piece of egg away with his fingers and sucking them clean. It looked like he also sucked a healthy amount of dirt off the tips of them, and they came away slightly less gray than before. Mei wrinkled her nose at him, and he grinned back at her.

“Now I can understand that you got concerns, but it won’t be all bad. You can watch the telly whenever you like, I’ll get you some of Hog’s books, get you something proper to wear, and whatever else you want. Think of it as an impromptu vacation?” His long spine creaked as he leapt up off the ground, tossing the dirty tray into the dry basin of his makeshift sink. “Or a junker style sleepover! S’gonna get dark soon. You know, you’re lucky you’re not in with Roadhog. The sounds he makes when he snores, you’d think he was dyin’. You don’t snore, do you?”

“No. I don’t snore.” Mei glumly propped her chin atop her knees. She couldn’t be too terse with a man who, though annoying, seemed to have at least decent intentions towards her. She would still need to press the issue about getting a call out to her friends, but maybe one night would satisfy Junkrat’s savior complex and she could talk some sense into him later.

Maybe.

***

He’d talked her into it! The poor little not-doctor had just been confused this whole time, that was all. She’d been afraid that he was one of the blokes out to do her harm. But now she finally understood that he was the furthest thing from it, and a proper gent. Probably was still a bit shellshocked from it all, but he’d convinced her to see things his way for now. Still needed to keep an eye on her while she settled in, of course. She probably still thought she might get a signal out to someone, and unwittingly bring ruin upon them both. But he could talk some sense into her later.

Junkrat was sure of it.

What poor Mei needed now was to relax and de-stress. Frankly, he could use a de-stresser himself. It had been a hell of a day for them both. At least his balls had stopped aching, although his throat was going to be in a state for a while yet. But she’d just been scared and hadn’t meant it, so he could forgive her, of course.

He thought that maybe offering her a massage was the ticket, because nothing was more soothing than being all rubbed up on by someone who didn’t want to kill you. But for reasons he didn’t entirely understand, she still looked a little upset. At least she still wasn’t cringing away from him like before, but even though she was safe and she was fed and had a place to rest, she looked unhappy. Maybe it was just some sort of fancy lady problems that men like him would never understand. He would just have to try harder.

“Junkrat?” she said.

His heart had grown little wings which fluttered every time she said his name. Even when she called him ‘Mr. Rat’, which was still hilarious, he still loved any way she addressed him. Anything that fell out of those soft little pink lips could be nothing less than perfection.

Until she finished with “I’d like to be alone, please. Sorry.”

Scratch that. That was less than perfection, right there. He felt his heart sink, but quickly reminded himself that of course she was still all mixed up and scared. Fancy ladies were delicate things, after all, and she needed time to acclimate. Probably best to nix the massage and give her some space. So he brightened and nodded. “Of course, of course! Sure you got a lot on your mind, heh. Promise you, it’ll all look brighter in the morning. Gotta go talk shop with Hog anyway, but I’ll be back soon. Uh…You need anything?”

“No, thank you. I just…I just need to think. Sorry.”

Frowning, he rubbed awkwardly at one arm and suddenly wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He eventually settled on shoving them into his torn pockets and nodding as he slouched on out the door. “Arright, arright. Guess it’s not much good for thinking if I’m yammering away. I’ll be back soon, though. So you just…think? Uh…Yeah.”

There was no answer and she wasn’t looking at him, and he couldn’t help feeling disheartened as he shut the door and locked her in.

Traipsing across the dusty yard, kicking an empty tin can along the way, he made his way to Roadhog’s side of the compound, in the much larger garage and farmhouse that the old bikie called home. Rapping loudly on the door beforehand, he took the liberty to invite himself in as he always did. Roadhog had given up on breaking him of that habit ages ago.

Hog was bereft of his mask, though somehow the dim lighting always seemed the conceal the man’s face anyway. He stood before his cookstove, the blue and red flames throwing odd shadows across features marred with scar tissue and the bristles of a white beard. The smell of something frying was heavy in the air, and Junkrat’s stomach promptly forgot that he had just eaten and growled for more.

“Oi, Roadie.” Rat scraped a chair out from the table, slumping down onto it. Sighing dramatically for attention, he leaned back and propped both peg and boot up onto the table.

“Guess she didn’t manage to kill you, then.” Hog remained on-task, not bothering to look his way.

“Nah, mate! Me and her, we had a real sit down together, talked it out, explained the rules to her. Uh…updates to that whole situation, actually. Did ya know she’s someone important?” Rat said, balancing his chair carefully on two legs just to keep himself busy.

Roadhog just grunted, giving his cookpan a shake.

Rat still jittered with nervous energy, continuing on. “Her name’s Mei, by the by. Mei-Ling Zhou. She’s a doctor, but not the right type of one so it don’t really matter. She’s got really pretty eyes. I know because that’s where I’ve been looking instead of her tits. See, I know how to be a gent. And it turns out she’s worth money, Roadie.”

“How much money?” Hog sprinkled sesame seeds onto the saucy chicken and fried noodles. Grumbling to himself, he pulled a smaller plate from the shelf nearby, slopping some of the cooking onto it before dumping the rest into a large mixing bowl, bringing both to the table and sliding the small portion over to his employer. Then he promptly shoved the younger man’s legs off his table and sent him tumbling onto the floor.

Rat landed with a crashing yelp and a rattle of spare parts and metal limbs. Leaping back upright and brushing himself off in a very offended way, he shot Hog a very brief glare before sitting at the table in the right way. Grabbing up a fork and shoveling noodles into his mouth, he spoke around his food. “Forget, but there was plenty of zeroes in it. There’s a reward for her return, see? I’ve already laid it out for her, and she’s game. We just got to keep her safe and quiet for a bit while the heat’s still on, and then we break for Sydney and come back with stacks of credits, and nobody in town the wiser.”

“All right,” Hog said, opening scarred lips to nibble with more delicate precision at a sliced chicken breast.

“So no splattering her pretty bits out on the sand!” Rat snapped, spraying soy sauce from his mouth in his haste. “She’s a fancy thing, really soft and delicate-like. Ya gotta be real gentle, can’t accidentally kill her or anything.”

“Hmm.”

“You got a lot of experience with fancy ladies, mate?”

“Hmm?”

“What do I gotta do to impress a fancy lady type? You know, to get her to like me?”

“…You?” Hog paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, looking his younger cohort up and down. Then he began laughing so hard that his entire body shoot, immense belly wobbling against the table. “Bwwwwrrahaaa-ha-ha-haaa!”

“Fuck you Hog! Fuck you!” Rat shrilled, hurling his fork and an empty cup at him. They bounced harmlessly off his gut. “You don’t know nothing about nothing! I can figure it out on my own!”

Hog reined in his laughter with a wet snort. “Warned you not to get attached to your new pet. Last time I saw you two, she’d choked you out in the shit heap and busted your balls open.”

“That was just a misunderstanding, an accident. That’s all. She didn’t mean it. She might still give it a go with me! You dunno anything!”

“Calm down, Rat. That’s the first thing you gotta do.”

Junkrat perked up both ears, leaning forward eagerly. Unfortunately, Hog took his time and devoured several more mouthfuls of noodles and chicken before saying anything more. Grumbling, Rat rapped his knuckles on the table. “Okay! Yeah! Calm down, that makes sense. Fancy ladies are easily spooked. Like a horse or one of those faintin’ goats on the videos. S’hilarious. You ever see a goat faint, Hog? Or a—”

“Don’t compare them to horses or goats.”

“Right, right, right! Okay, what else? Give me something good. We aren’t exactly startin’ off on a great foot here to begin with. Uh, she’s not too fond of me chaining her to a wall, and having no pants on, and some of the finer details.”

Roadhog uttered a massive sigh. “Why bother? Just turn her in for the money.”

Looking conflicted, Rat busied himself by shoving the last of his noodle slop into his bottomless stomach before wiping at his stained chin with one arm. “I dunno. I mean, I know we’re gonna put her up for the reward. But s’just…ya know? We got some time until then. And she’s not a junker so…I dunno. Maybe she don’t know who I am yet, so she won’t laugh me off right away? Like maybe there’s still a tiny chance. I’m still at least half a blue-blooded bloke, I still got the parts what matter. Maybe she won’t notice the bad bits? Maybe she… I dunno.”

Hog eyed him a little more carefully, frowning at something he must have said. “Hm. Rat—”

“And have you seen her tits? Fucking amazing. She’s an absolute beaut.”

“Other shoe always drops,” Hog sighed. “First, get her something to wear. Make her comfortable. And try not to overwhelm the girl with…you.”

“Okay, yeah! Pants first. I mean, she’s gotta wear pants before I can get in them, ya know what I’m saaaayin’?” Rat leaned to the side, jabbing his mate in the side with one uncomfortably pointy elbow. “Ya hear?”

Hog just sighed again.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just reel myself in maybe a little bit. Make sure she’s comfy while she’s here. Make sure those bludgers don’t come and try to get her back. Rip ‘em to shreds if they do, every last one of ‘em.”

“They better not even know she’s here,” Roadhog rumbled dangerously. “Keep her quiet. Can’t fight a whole army.”

“Quiet as a mouse, promise. Pile on those creature comforts until she’s happy here. Oh! Right, uh, you got any broccoli?”

“…Broccoli?”

“She said she won’t eat meat. Fuckin’ weirdest thing I’ve heard all day, but arright. Vegetarian. Vegetarians love broccoli, don’t they?”

“…You’re trying. I’ll get something.”

“Thanks, mate!”

Rat chattered away the hours while Hog mostly ignored him and focused on other things, and interrupted him only to point out that the sun was down and he had a guest to tend to. Scrambling back out the door with a wave and a renewed sense of hope, Junkrat went strutting back to his own side of the yard, sliding his keys into the proper locks in the proper order. He just had to keep his head, that was all. Keep things under control, and impress her, and she’d be begging for kisses and more by the end of the week.

Flinging open the door, he barreled through happily, crowing aloud. “I’m hooome! Mei? Mei! What’re you— OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

[rileyomalley]

Curiosity Kills (A JunkHop Fic)

Chapter 1 cont! Previous Entries: [x] [x] Word Count: 4228 Rating: General (theres just a bunch of BOOMS in this part) Pairings; Roadhog/Mako Rutledge x Junkrat/Jamison Fawkes x Overwatch OC

So as it stands, Hopper found herself in quite the situation. Despite how desperate she was to pull some stunt and escape mid ride, she couldn’t help but be focused on the pain in her wrist…and she hadn’t much experience with jumping out of high speed vehicles.

There was only one time…and it was not pretty.

So now she was faced with being an infamous duos captive, lord knows what that would entail. At the very least she found some relief knowing who they were now and how to potentially use that to her advantage later.

For now though…she was being stared at by the two of them. It wasn't long before they'd arrived at this supposed hideout and Hopper and been sat down for questioning. She idly looked between the two of them before speaking up.

“…you just gonna sit there or…” not that she wanted to question what plots they had in store for her, but Junkrat spoke promptly after.

He looked to be scheming…real hard as he looked her over.

“Since we got you now, we have a few questions and ground rules. Gotta make most of keeping you captive. Seemed reeaalll important considerin.” might be able to strike a deal with her as bait. A trade perhaps for loot or some nice upgraded tech.

There was a lot going on in that head of his, which only left that grin to curl all the more. An important agent, a spy of sorts, a tracker maybe? Whoever she was…she may be their ticket to all they need.

His companion on the other hand thought otherwise. His arms crossed before his chest looking over Hopper.

Small. Only potentially an issue in terms of fighting, more than anything he saw her as a liability. He wouldn’t admit out loud that he agreed there was potential there for their own gain, but last they needed was someone making their operations all the more difficult.

Junkrat did that enough on his own.

Before Hopper could say much else Junkrat pointed a prosthetic finger right in her face.

“Alright sheila, who you work for?”

Hopper pushed the finger out of her face.

“That is unfortunately classified. As much as I would love to tell you…I really cant.”

Roadhog gave a grunt. Junkrat furrowed his brow. “And why not? Could always get it out of ya by different means…”

“A waste of time…” Roadhog chimed in. Hopper just quirked a brow at the large man before shirking away at Junkrat close vicinity to her now.

“Ah..well I mean, I cant mostly because its potential breach of my contract. By doing so that leaves me with uh…the possibility of being stuck out on my own. No contact.”

Well better late than never to start lying about you and your employers. Maybe shed be able to get on their good side before finding a way to separate from them. Lie out your ass, girl.

Junkrat was still staring.

“…not only that there’s a hiiigh possibility that if they learn where I am, they’ll find you and it’ll be more if an issue than uh…a fruitful solution, yeah? So..”

The agent started to fiddle a bit. Why did he have to BE SO CLOSE? She almost felt claustrophobic.

Actually, it was legitimately making her nervous.

“SO UH – I guess it all depends what you're looking for?? I mean...” She cleared her throat. Don't lose your cool girl. Think of something.

Junkrat gave a hum, rubbing at his chin almost exaggeratedly looking Hopper up and down. The way he was looking at her did not make her any more comfortable. She leaned away as best she could until she nearly fell off that chair. “Look-I have to apologize. I've only been in so many of these situations with brilliant criminals like yourself and...well. I'm rusty. So...I guess what I'm getting at is-maybe we can come to some middle ground? You don't do anything to me, I don't do anything to you, and maybe I can put in a good word for you as...long lost colleagues? I mean...d-don't think I wasn't seeing you eyeing this tech.”

Okay. Seemed to be catching their attention. Or at least Junkrat's.

“I mean...sure I could have tried my best to get out of here once you guys gave me an inch but...I'd rather not go a mile into death and destruction, at least for a little while.” She tried to give her best grin, hopeful that they'd consider the offer. First chance if she saw it she could get out of this joint.

The Junkers sat, Junkrat tapping his peg leg and Roadhog just idly watching Hopper. It was one thing for Junkrat to be eyeing her as much as he did practically BORING holes into her skull, but...not being able to see the face behind Roadhog's mask, or even a semblance of eyes was...unnerving. He didn't speak up much either, and when he did it sounded like a stance of indifference.

Junkrat sat up in his seat. “Alright sheila, we'll be considering this deal. You're lucky you got what you do, otherwise we might not. Me and the hog will have to discuss it further. You got a pretty good way of wagerin' in all. Now...” The lanky fellow stood from his seat, pacing back and forth before stopping near his companion. “We got a set of ground rules you'll be followin' while we have you here.”

Roadhog sat forward resting on his forearm.

With a flourish of that prosthetic hand, Junkrat begun. “Rule numbah 1, you gotta behave and follow what we tell you. You will be taken care of here in our hideout but that doesn't give you full reign of everything.”

Roadhog raised a large finger. “Two, don't even think of escaping unless you want a death sentence.

“I've got all sorts of surprises around here, sheila!

So chipper about it, wasn't he....she just grimaced.

“Rule numbah three! While we have you here, you gotta make your way in helpin' us score some loot. Not getting off scott free just cuz yer captive here.” Wait...how? “-which is why we'll be putting your tech to good use on heists!!”

UM.

Even if they were running over any others cockamamie rules they had, Hopper was stuck in her mind thinking of what exactly they were planning on using her for. She was in more than what she thought. Hoo boy.

Hopper just took a deep breath. “Alright. Fair enough. As long as you're fine with giving space I can follow these rules.” As screwy as some may be to her, fair or not. Junkrat moved over with a quirky grin. “Good! Glad to have you aboard then! We'll be setting out in the next couple days. Got some good word about a rather rich place we can hit up next! Eehehehe~”

That laugh was going to be the end of her. God give her strength.

After everything was settled the whole group stood, Roadhog making his way off in one direction without a word, Junkrat doing the same until Hopper piped up. “Ah...not to ask too much but...you guys got a shower? All that travelin' out in the desert got me sweating like a mother.” She was to the point of waving out her pits. Junkrat perked looking over his shoulder at her.

“Oh sure. Just over there to the right, can't miss it. Will warn you though, don't take long. Last we need is ol big Hog mad cuz of low water reserves.”

Hopper just nodded watching as he made his way out. Must have been with the larger man for some time now. Probably got on his bad side more than once himself but...that was fair. Last she wanted was to be caught up in this and screw it up right off the bat. She would try to keep any thoughts on escaping to the back of her mind. For the time being she had to play captive and follow what they said no matter how ridiculous it might be. The only things she'd deny was them looking at her tech.

That was her own and she was going to fight tooth and nail for it.

One thing Hopper had to be thankful for was showers. It was one of the most relieving luxuries human kind had and she wasn't sure where she would be without them. Even when she had to bath under a waterfall, it still felt refreshing. A renewed sense of self washing away the days dirt and grime. Keeping it as short as she could running through that long, long hair of hers she finished up and made her way out. Her clothes were still a little sticky, but she had to deal since she didn't have any way of washing them immediately.

Donning her casual wear she made her way out, hair up in a towel and prosthetic legs hooked back on, she decided to wander a little through their hideout. At least to the main areas she felt were safer than say, a workshop or potential bedroom. Might as well familiarize herself 

Despite the messy look of this shabby shack, there was an odd bit of charm and a lived in feeling that could only fit those two men. It wasn't overly cluttered, but enough to show they'd really been around and had probably scavenged for a long while. She wondered how much making way to the kitchen to see what their food reserves were like.

Surprise surprise. Probably the worst judge in the world, it looked to be they'd done pretty good for themselves out here, considering the amount of canned foods, baking products and various snacks that lined the cupboards. Even the fridge looked to have plenty to drink with a good stock of water. She bit her lip—would it be too soon to play to her captor's stomachs? She wasn't particularly hungry herself, but a good gesture was always nice, albeit fishy looking depending who you ask.

Before she could consider reaching for a few items Hopper was halted by the sound of heavy footsteps making their way to the kitchen, the gentle jingle echoing through the air. She looked a might silly with the cupboards still open upon looking, yet her eyes looked straight to Roadhog.

Crap.

“What are you doing...?”

Hopper was thin lipped and wide eyed, moving to close the cupboards and step back a bit. It was ridiculous but she couldn't help in feeling like she was being stared at by a wild animal. Having to tred carefully both in her movements and next choice of words.

“Just looking mostly. Curious. Wasn't gonna take anything. Considered maybe making you guys something if you were hungry.” Her words were a little shaky, stepping out of the way when Roadhog moved over towards the counters. He gave her a silent look, a low rumble in his throat before looking through the cupboards himself. She kept her hands behind her back, idly watching him.

“...that is a way I can help around here. If you guys don't mind.”

“I usually cook. Don't let Junkrat near the kitchen.”

That was understandable on so many degrees. She shifted from small foot to small foot.

Roadhog looked to be pondering over that food, she wasn't sure if he was getting a snack or if he was starting up already.

“...do you need any help?”

“Go sit down, metal legs.” He muttered in a low tone. Hopper just sighed, not fighting it for now and moving over to the table to take a seat. “Alriiiight...you're call, big guy.” Roadhog just snorted in response. She wasn't gonna push it but hey, can't say she didn't try.

This however did leave her fidgety waiting patiently. She wasn't really sure if she could just get up and walk out for a moment before returning when it was done.

“Guess you got exiled from the kitchen too, eh?” Junkrat's voice called out making way to the kitchen. Hopper looked behind her chair and settled back when he came over.

“Seems like it. Offered to help but guessin' he's the head honcho in this regard?” Pointing a finger at Roadhog, Junkrat just snickered plopping down.

“He doesn't like anyone else fussin' about the kitchen, so he does all the cookin' himself. Barely let's me do anything even if I keep tellin' him otherwise.” Well duh, idiot. She knew why. She pretty much resonated with the large man in that regard as if that was the only wavelength the two of them had.

They both knew Junkrat was a hot mess.

“Last you need to do is make a mess of the kitchen, for all he knows you'll probably set anything aflame.” Junkrat just squinted at her with a small frown. The two of them went on like that for a while.

Roadhog grunted. “That's enough out of the two of you.” He'd throw you both out if he felt like it. He not only had one headache, but two to deal with .

Junkrat just shrugged in his chair before idling by, watching Hog move over with the food he'd been making all the while. He couldn't help but look at Hopper curiously, the woman as calm as ever. Most captives weren't like that...

“So how come you ain't scared about all this, eh? You get captured a lot before?” Hopper just rolled her eyes crossing her arms over her chest. She just shrugged.

“Either I'm desensitized enough by situations like this or my training actually did me some good. I know when and when not to do something stupid and I mean- sure if you guys really wanted to do something bad, you'd have done it by now?” Don't let her calm and cool attitude fool you – of COURSE she was scared. She was plenty nervous about the next few steps from here on out, and whether or not her disappearance would be picked up by her employers. It was all part of the job, unexpected. It didn't deter the scary aspects of it however.

A soft thank you came from her at the last disbursement of food receiving a 'hmm'. Everyone finally settled in to eat their food. Most of what kept her from doing the wrong things was being as observant as she was. The two settled right in on their meals, so of course she followed. She took it slow, poking at the strips of what looked to be steak and soft potatoes, melted butter dancing about the fluffy texture. There was a bowl of rolls but she'd be careful not to get too greedy.

She was more wary over Roadhog than Junkrat.

Dinner was fairly quiet, dishes being picked up and taken to the sink. Between the two men she piped up that she could take care of the load if they have business elsewhere. Surprisingly enough she at least got to do that without much hassle, as much as she had goddamn eyes at staring at her from just about everywhere it felt. Nonetheless, she was being cooperative, that's all that mattered.

Get on their good side.

Now was the matter of where exactly she was gonna be staying for the night. Seemed Junkrat saw the confusion on her face. “You'll be stayin' right there on the couch. S'not great but it'll do for now until we can get you set up with something better.”

Set up with something..better? Did you assume she was going to stay here for a vacation?? The expression on her face only made him laugh.

“Wot? We're not gonna throw you into some cage or nothin' like that! Least we can do while we keep you here. Can't have you bent out of shape.” It was surprising, she had to give him that. A nod in response thanking him, she looked over to the couch.

It obviously had seen better days...but if she was to compare it to anything worse, it was better than laying in that cave. She had a napsack she could fashion over it if need be. So far this wasn't too bad. Unexpected, a little weird, maybe awkward....but not bad.

She takes it back, it's actually worse.

By the time evening came Hopper hit the hay early uncertain of what she was going to face tomorrow. Better to bed early than to be thrust into madness at a moment's tired notice. Probably was going to happen anyway but hey, no harm in preparing for the worst.

The unfortunate circumstance however, was that no matter how she tried to rearrange that couch or her items, it was still uncomfortable as HELL. She found herself more kinked than she was last, tossing limbs here and there to the point she fell off the damn thing. Luckily it wasn't too loud or she'd probably be agitating the others in their room.

Sleep to no avail, Hopper sat up and looked around the low lit hideout. It was never easy for her to get to sleep easily. By the looks of it there wasn't any other potential spots she could try, unless she wanted to curl up in the sidecar of the motorcycle. That brought on worrisome thoughts so she pushed it from her mind. A loud huff she stood and popped the kinks out of her body. Looking around again she saw a top level window or...door? Maybe gazing up at the stars would help. ..

Making her way up their quietly, and carefully remembering what Junkrat had said about 'surprises', she looked out the glass windows at the night sky. She was able to see the moon just a ways up, bright as ever can be.

There was a pang in her chest suddenly, resting her forehead against the glass. She'd been cool up to this point, but Hopper couldn't deny that she was going to miss her own bed. Her safe place, seeing the faces of her coworkers and....she had to keep it together.

It wasn't long that she was up there before she returned to the couch and found before her was a slightly larger nest of her napsack, pillow, blanket and...pillows...and...more blankets?? That...was unexpected. She looked about to see if anyone else was awake, with no sign of either of the Junkers. She could only assume they heard her flopping, so they decided to help make it a bit better?

Either way Hopper was going to make use of this nest. She had a big day ahead of her, and after that was....

A heist.

The day prior seemed only a bit of preparation for the Junkers and Hopper and surprisingly they hadn't looked much into what Hopper had. Other than the obvious she mentioned she'd done a couple sneaking missions, intel search and may or may not have some skill into hacking. It wasn't her expertise but in the last resort she had to do so to prevent becoming swiss cheese in heavily armed locations.

Turrets were a fucking bitch.

The place they were heading to however by what Junkrat told Hopper, was a heavily barricaded and locked bank of sorts. Obviously not a local reserve, but apparently it was owned by some big wig who lived just some miles away in the desert lands. None she knew of since that wasn't part of her database, as far as she knew anyway – they had been hoarding quite a bit of their economy hidden out where most wouldn't dare to travel.

Most weren't as dangerous. Or stupid. Or a little mix of the two.

She wasn't entirely sure how this was going to go, but it seemed they wanted her to sneak in to give them the general parameters of the area. See about shutting down any security that she could to make it easier on them to get inside and get out fairly quickly. Hopper questioned why they didn't want to just take an abrupt and obviously explosive resort, to which Roadhog chimed in about subtly. As much as Junkrat ENJOYED making a scene, they actually needed to lay low. They also needed money.

In her mind she knew this was wrong of her to do, but in retrospect if this person was as potentially sleezy, high stakes and narcissistic...it couldn't be that bad of a job, right? Sure it wasn't what she was hired to do in her original line of work. She technically was freelance,-

Hopper are you seriously trying to rationalize this entire situation as okay? Girl has the sun melted your brain?

She just shook it off with a grimace, reassuring Junkrat that she was fine when he gave her a rather quizzical look. A couple hours passed...and she found herself in a situation that was quite a tricky one. She wasn't trained to sneak in and break in to places like this—but she had to keep up the cooperative facade until she could either relay a message to her employers, or escape.

Hell she even tried to do so in the middle of hacking a couple of the reserves' networks before being interrupted by the agitating australian's voice. Goddamn he didn't have to SPEAK SO LOUD. She was starting to regret making the suggestion of communicators. Hopper just sighed, making her way through

Everything had been going to plan with a few tricky moments, but Hopper seemed to be keeping up her end of the bargain. She'd get brownie points as far as the Junkers went and...admittedly she was learning a little more in terms of her skills. Who's to say she couldn't apply it to better things than, oh, you know, breaking and entering into someone's personal bank??

She really hoped this person was as bad as they were or else she'd feel a heaping helping of guilt right about now. There was unfortunately no time for that right now. Her eyes widening when she finished relaying her location to the Junkers, there was a faint humming coming from behind her. Her body tensed, eyes wide as she slowly turned around. Through her orange visor she saw a large quadrupedal robot, pointing it's red LED sensors right at her. It was warming up to shoot what she could only assume was going to be-

CRASH! A second longer and Hopper would have been vaporized, nothing but a splatter left on that metal ground. She was dashing and bouncing as quickly as she could, screaming as she tried to escape it's line of sight. Because of this she was coming over the communicator which alerted the Junkers to plan B.

Completely obliterate any entryways and head to the core!

This place once filled with silence and calm now was being utterly THRASHED by robots, guards, and Junkers alike. Bombs and explosions as far as the eye could see and hardly any survivors lest they ran for their lives with their tails between their legs. It wasn't a problem for either of the men, especially not Junkrat who seemed to have an endless supply of bombs and tricks. Roadhog was a master with knocking heads, tossing and snatching with that hook, cackling as he was causing just enough carnage.

It took some time but they finally made it to the core of the bank reserve where the commotion originate from and Junkrat began to call out to Hopper. She seemed nowhere in sight.

“Hoppah! HEY HOPPAH! WHERE YOU AT?!” Was she taken out? Damn, that would be a shame since she had done so well getting them this far...despite the sudden change of plans but hey, he couldn't complain when he got a hand in on it apart from breaking into the vault.

Once the two rounded the corner they saw the massive robot Hopper had been screaming about, the area around the vault completely and utterly messed up with laser lines, cracks in the ground from it's stomping weight...the two readied themselves to take it on and make way, sure the woman had been taken out. The robot screeched and rattled in a way that was agonizing to the ears, still together despite what shitty condition it looked to be in. That armor was pretty much on it's last limbs yet the thing kept on, targeting the Junkers and readying it's beams for a heavy fire.

Within a flash something came falling from the tall ceiling out of the shadows, a loud scream to follow.  Before Roadhog and Junkrat saw a fierce look in the eyes of the familiar tiny woman, now wielding rather LARGE robotic gauntlet that thrust themselves with a near erupting force, the sheer power flying off them as they made impact with the robot's head. Those red lights flickered frantically as it's entire body shuddered. That was the last blow it needed it would seem as the large robot nearly crumbled underneath her.

The Junkers, safe to say, were absolutely gobsmacked.

Hopper stood on the now defeated robot breathing heavily, covered with scuffs, cuts and her own bruises, brushing back her hair with a large gauntlet hand. She looked over at the Junkers with a wheezed attempt at a chuckle.

“...you guys gonna need help with the...the vault?”

[goodknightz]

Get to know me better! :D

Rules:  Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people 

Requested by:@mewringo13​

Uh... I dont really have anyone to tag... so I’m tagging the majority of my followers x) : @dancemuffndance @kyushaenigma @cpurubyheart @katelynfeliciano @camspazz @goblinneko @angeldrinksgreentea-blog @forsythefrontier @megan-elith @raygirlforeverbe @mxduki @sky-aniu @winterwholocks-superchildren

Ready? Set? Go!

THE LAST: 1. Drink: Iced Tea. 2. Phone call: Chinese Take Out x) 3. Text message: My boss asking me to go in early Dx 4. Song you listened to: Schmoyoho’s Love is Like Drugs 5. Time you cried: Umm... I legit can’t remember. I think last time I really cried hard was when my old dog passed away. HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: No 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: Nope 8. Been cheated on: Not really 9. Lost someone special: Too many ;~; 10. Been depressed : An unbelievable amount of times 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Only once. I drank way too much when I was venting with my brother. I think I drank half a bottle of tequila by myself. x(((

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12-14: Blood Red, Royal Blue, Electric Green IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: I’ve made a couple 16. Fallen out of love: Yeah Dx. But it was my fault for falling in love so easy to begin with. 17. Laughed until you cried: Hmm, I tend to do that a lot when watching videos with friends xD. 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Many times at work. They think they’re being so quiet >.> 19. Met someone who changed you : For sure. Any new friend I make changes me, if just a bit ♥ 20. Found out who your friends are: I’ve always known who my friends are. Anyone who i feel is just playing me I just stop talking to. I don’t play around. 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Yeah, just one 

GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: The majority of my list. I usually dont add people I dont know unless they know my family or friends to begin with. 23. Do you have any pets: A 1 year old Shi-Tzu and a 30+ year old land Turtle. 24. Do you want to change your name: No. Personally I feel your parents gave your original name out of love. Its disrespectful to want to change it. 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: My family took me out to eat at a buffet, then bought me an ice cream cake. Aside from that just chilled in my room talking to friends online. It was a blast. 26. What time did you wake up: Oh boi... I went to sleep late so I woke up at 1:00pm xD 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Talking with a friend and watching videos. 28. Name something you can’t wait for: I’m looking forward to getting the items I bought off amazon. Silver Hair Wax that changes your hair color to silver (easily washes off), Charcoal Toothpaste that apparently whitens your teeth a lot faster than other whitening toothpastes, and a Hario Technica Coffee Syphon x) 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: Today, like 5 mins ago 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: Hmm, I used to be extremely shy, so if anything I’d just like to have come out of my shell a bit faster :). 31. What are you listening to right now: Shinedown’s Album The Sound of Madness. 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Umm... in real life I actually don’t think so o~o. However I’ve talked to a youtuber called Tom Fawkes Online x). 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: People at work are constantly getting on my nerves. Wish there was less drama in the world. 34. Most visited website: Probably Youtube. 35. Mole/s: I’m actually infested with moles xD. None really big, but I do have bunch all over my body, not even I know how many I have xD. 36. Mark/s: Quite a bit of marks. Stretchmarks on my arms and legs from when I used to do weights in highschool. Strethmarks on my stomach from getting tubby. Scars on my arms, legs, and chest from work, soccer, and football. As well as bite marks from when a family dog attacked me. 37. Childhood dream: I wanted to be a dad. Always thought it was rude that my family laughed at it. But when I matured I understood why they thought it was funny hehe x). 38. Hair color: Brown, although it looks black when wet. I’m starting to grow a couple white hairs though x-x... stress plz... 39. Long or short hair: I like my hair short and tidy :) 40. Do you have a crush on someone: I do, but I don’t know how she feels about me >.< 41. What do you like about yourself: I’m open minded, rational, caring, and straightforward.  42. Piercings: None 43. Blood type: A+ 44. Nickname: I’ve had many o.o. My family called me teddy bear when I was a kid. When I was in elementary other kids called me Chili since I was from mexico. During my edgy phase on highschool I wanted to be called Zero or Dragon. Nowadays all my friends just call me Bro. xD 45. Relationship status: Single ;~; 46. Zodiac: Leo (leader of the Zodiacs :> hehe) 47. Pronouns: To describe me? He/Him Himself/Myself Someone/Somebody 48. Favorite TV Show(s): Oh god way too many. As far as anime goes I’ve rewatched Slayers like 4 times. As far as actual TV shows, I watched a lot of X-Files and Bones growing up. 49. Tattoos: None. I think they’re very cool. Might get one myself one of these days. Whenever I stop being terrified of needles. 50. Right or left hand: I’m right handed. 51. Surgery: I think I’ve never had surgery for anything. Unless Dental Work counts. I had work done of my front top 2 teeth. 52. Hair dyed in different color: Hmm when I was younger there was a hair gel I was using that would change your hair color to blonde over time xD. Aside form that I kind of wanna dye the front part of my hair red. Felt inspired by Markiplier’s many color changes xD 53. Sport: As a kid I played a lot of Soccer and American Football. Aside from that I really loved swimming. 54. ??? This number was missing so... let me invent one. Random interesting fact about yourself, go!: I never studied much in high school and still passed as an AB student. xD   55. Vacation: The last real vacation I had was going to San Diego a year ago to visit a friend and go to Warped Tour x) 56. Pair of trainers: I actually had no idea what this meant so I had to look it up Dx. My favorite type of running shoes have been my Puma Reverbs

MORE GENERAL : 57. Eating: Cookies 58. Drinking: Still Iced Tea xD 59. I’m about to: Go get ready and go out to eat some Ramen and Sushi x) 61. Waiting for: 5 o clock so that Nama Ramen Opens  62. Want: To win the lottery so I don’t have to worry and enjoy life as it was meant to... But more realistically I want a better job so I can afford to do different things. 63. Get married: For sure. I want to make someone very happy x). 64. Career: I work as a shift manager at a pizzeria. However, I want to move up and find something better with the experience I’ve gained working with people. Eventually I want to go back to school to finish my degree on computer programming.

WHICH IS BETTER:  65. Hugs or kisses: Hugs are nice, but kisses are much more intimate ;3 66. Lips or eyes: Eyes for sure. 67. Shorter or taller: Shorter  68. Older or younger: I prefer younger x)  70. Nice arms or nice stomach: Hmm... I’d have to say stomach. 71. Sensitive or loud: Sensitive for sure 72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship duh. Hook ups are for people who aren’t serious about each other. 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Not actually sure. I think hesitant is better over someone that just makes trouble for fun. HAVE YOU EVER : 74. Kissed a Stranger: No 75. Drank hard liquor: Yes, prefer it over beer. 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: Don’t own either... but I might have to get glasses soon. 77. Turned someone down: Yeah, twice. I didnt feel good about myself for doing it, but I didnt see myself with those people. 78. Sex on the first date: Not likely. But who knows, might be a hell of a date xD. 79. Broken someone’s heart: Hopefully not. 80. Had your heart broken: Oh yeah, multiple times. At this point I’ve just adopted the mentality of doing my best and having no regrets when asking someone out. 81. Been arrested: Never, but I was stopped once for speeding. (a whole 5 miles per hour more... thanks rando sheriff, I thought it was BS but I wasnt gonna argue with the cop) 82. Cried when someone died: Yes and No actually. Theres been so many deaths around me that hearing about someone I knew dying doesnt affect me as much. Its just part of life. I’m sad that they’re not around anymore, and I’ll miss them very much. But its just a part of living. 83. Fallen for a friend: Yeah... x3 DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: Yeah, if I dont believe in myself who will. 85. Miracles: Depends on what is meant by miracle. I believe in multiple efforts made by everyone to make something happen, over something like divine intervention. But regardless yes, I do believe miracles can happen. 86. Love at first sight: Although its very rare and not likely to work out, I do like to believe that it can happen between people that live in the moment. 87. Santa Claus: Of course! Not in the concept of the old man spreading gifts across the world in those who believe in him, but more on the idea that if you’re good and behave all year long, a day where you get rewarded for all that effort exists. 88. Kiss on the first date: If the date went well and the mood is right, I dont see a problem with receiving/giving a kiss. But its not something that should be expected as a standard.

OTHER : 90. Current best friend name: My friends JusticeRider and Grayfox07, because they’re always there for me. Honorable mentions are Fiona and Hannah :) 91. Eye color: Milk Chocolate :3 92. Favorite movie: Thats a good question. If we go by whatever movie I’ve rewatched the most, It’d have to be Space Jam since I watched it a lot as a kid. However, the latest movie I watched and enjoyed was Gantz: O. Had a lot of fun watching it with my friend Grayfox xD.

[lesbrarians]

Junkrat/Roadhog:: Origins Ch. 14

Title: Origins

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary: The origins of Junkrat and Roadhog. Junkrat finds a mysterious treasure in the nuclear wasteland of the Australian Outback and quickly finds himself a target. When a hitman is sent to kill him, he convinces the man to become his personal bodyguard in exchange for half the spoils. Their ensuing crime spree could be legendary – if they can get over the initial bad blood between them. Can also be found on AO3 if you prefer reading it there!

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen

---

His first night in prison wasn’t a particularly restful one. He didn’t mind Thatcher’s snoring, used to the sounds of Roadhog’s mask at night. He did mind being woken by the sound of another inmate screaming bloody murder, and half of the block yelling at the offender to shut up.

He hung his head off the edge of his bed to look at Thatcher upside-down. “Does that happen often?” he blearily asked.

“You get used to it.”

Junkrat groaned and flopped back down on his bed. He was exhausted by the time breakfast rolled around, two trays of unidentifiable brown slop labeled “oatmeal” pushed through the slot in their cell door. He asked the CO if he could get a commissary request form and was told, “Maybe, if I don’t have to print more out.”

He went back to bed. There wasn’t much else to do if he didn’t have anything to tinker around with, and Thatcher was loathe to relinquish his TV -- he did offer his books, but Junkrat wasn’t the biggest fan of reading. It was difficult for him to keep the words in his head, and if it didn’t have to do with mechanical engineering, he wasn’t interested enough to put in the effort. His recreational enjoyment of books was limited to using them for target practice.

He was beyond relieved when their recreational hour rolled around, and he was the first to sprint out when the cell doors slid open with a shout of “Roadhog!”

Maynard growled at him as he passed, and Junkrat lowered his voice. He’d gotten a good look at the prisoner who had taken an immediate dislike to him, as his solitary hour outside his cell was directly prior to that of the rest of the block. He’d opted to spend it watching TV, which he presumably didn’t have in his own cell due to revoked privileges, and four guards had marched him past Junkrat’s cell. Maynard looked like a man who belonged in prison, roughly Junkrat’s height but at least twice his weight in solid muscle, with a scarred face twisted in a permanent scowl. Junkrat made a mental note to try and stay on his good side.

His face lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw Roadhog. He liked to think that Roadhog was just as happy to see him and have the ability to talk unobstructed.

“They let ya keep yer gas mask!” Junkrat exclaimed, looking Roadhog up and down. He had shrugged off the upper half of his jumpsuit to reveal the white t-shirt underneath, tying the loose arms of the coveralls around his waist. The shirt rode up slightly around his belly, showing a sliver of his intricate tattoo.

“It’s for health purposes. I said I’d sue them if they took it from me. Still had to take it off to be searched, though.”

“Better than havin’ to take it off permanently, though,” Junkrat reasoned. “Oh, y’have no idea how happy I am to see ya, mate -- yer a good kinda bloke, not like the rest of these prison wankers.”

This got the attention of some of the nearby prisoners, who bristled, but Junkrat was oblivious to them.

Roadhog exhaled, the sound wheezing through his gas mask. “Watch what you say around here. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t make yourself a target.”

“When have I ever done anything stupid?”

“You fired a grenade in a bottle-o.”

Junkrat paused. “Good point.” So maybe he didn’t always think things through before he did them. “Okay, I’ll watch me mouth.” They looked for a place to sit where they could talk freely. The TV area was taken over by the rest of the inmates, tensions high over who had control of the remote. While one prisoner was touting the merits of soap operas, another was making a strong case for the food network.

They decided to steer clear of that particular shitshow and found a corner to loiter in outside of the entrance to the shower area.

“Request to have Ava put on your list for phone calls and visitors,” Roadhog said when they were alone. “I am. But it doesn’t hurt to have backup. She can wire us our money.”

“Brill,” Junkrat said. “I need supplies, and Thatcher says there’s electronics in the commissary. Which, y’know me, is roight up my alley.”

“I know,” Roadhog said, a hint of a smirk in his voice.

“Anyways,” Junkrat said. “How ya coping with solitary? I’m goin’ stir crazy bein’ locked up, and I have a cellmate! Don’t know how yer dealin’.”

“I’m used to it,” Roadhog replied. Junkrat’s first thought was that’s sad, then that’s me.

“Well, not anymore! You and me, we had a pretty nice non-solitary thing going there. Too bad that got all stuffed up. I miss havin’ ya around, ya big lug.”

Roadhog didn’t echo the sentiment and simply said, “Whose fault is that?”

“Mine,” Junkrat admitted. “Shouldn’t’ve raided the bottle-o. Shouldn’t’ve let ya get caught. Shouldn’t’ve fucked up the rescue bit.”

“Shouldn’t’ve pleaded guilty.”

“That again? Come on, ya know it was the roight thing to do! There were what, five eyewitnesses? Who were all cops. If we pleaded not guilty, it’d have been months of a trial that would have ended with us as lifers anyway.”

Roadhog sighed heavily. “You’re right.”

“I’m always roight!”

Roadhog shoved him, and they were promptly reprimanded by the lingering CO for violent behavior.

Their hour together went by too fast, and Junkrat was disappointed to return back to his cell. He submitted the visitor request form the next time the CO came around and was informed that any phone calls he wanted to make would have to come out of his recreation hour. If he got his social privileges taken away, his phone privileges would similarly be revoked.

It was good motivation to behave.

Junkrat wasn’t sure what the exact timeline was for phone numbers being approved, but he hoped that within a few days, he and Roadhog would be able to call Ava and get some funds in their accounts. He didn’t know what, exactly, he would have access to in the commissary, but at least he could start dreaming up potential devices. He was skilled at working with salvaged parts; he could absolutely weaponise anything he could dismantle. He pulled out a handful of paper towels from the dispenser by their cell’s sink and used the blunt tip of his borrowed pencil to start sketching.

He was distracted by a scraping sound and looked up to find Thatcher working a brick out of the masonry of the wall. He took out a battered pack of cigarettes, which Junkrat was almost certain was not available in the commissary.

"What?" Thatcher said when he caught his eye, tone accusatory. "Don't go dobbing on me, or I’m gonna fucking well make you pay."

“What, ya think I’m gonna tell the screws?” Junkrat touched his heart, offended at the mere insinuation that he would snitch. “I’m no cobber dobber. I won’t if you don’t if I go doin’ anythin’ ‘illegal’ later.”

“Deal.” Thatcher slipped a cigarette into his pocket, put the package back into its hidey hole, and sealed the brick back up with a caulk of toothpaste mixed with supplement powder to avoid detection.

That night, Junkrat woke up around 7:00 at the screeching sound of a cell door opening. Curious, he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes, strapped on his peg leg, and hopped out of bed. He pressed up against the window of their cell and watched as one of the inmates on their block, a meaty kind of man of average height, was escorted past.

“Where's he goin’?” Junkrat asked Thatcher.

Thatcher rolled over in his bunk. “Work. That lucky sonovabitch has a job, he gets to leave Mondays and Fridays to go to the workshop. He gets some privileges what the gen pop has, 'cause he's been here so long and has 'turned a new leaf.’” Thatcher’s tone was disdainful; he clearly didn’t believe that there was any possible way for a convicted felon, himself included, to turn over a new leaf.

At breakfast, Junkrat asked again about the phone list.

“Fer chrissakes, Fawkes, you gave it to me last night!”

“I know, but I need to call my mate and get cash in my account for the commissary! What, ya think I can survive off this shit yer feedin’ us?” Too late, he realised that it might not be the best idea to insult the food that the officer was handing him if he wanted his paperwork to be processed speedily.

Luckily, the CO seemed aware that the prison-grade food was barely edible, but he didn’t find Junkrat’s tone endearing. “Watch your fucking tongue, Fawkes, you’re on thin ice. Commissary, phone calls? Privileges. Privileges you convicts are lucky to have with the things you’ve done.”

“Sorry, sir," Junkrat said, placing extra emphasis on the syllable. He had intended it to be droll, but the sarcasm flew right over the officer’s head, who only heard the term of respect and used it to fuel his inflated ego.

“I’ll look at it today,” the CO said.

Junkrat grinned. “Ta!”

He busied himself with drawing a map of what he remembered of the prison layout that he traversed through the previous day. Thatcher helped him fill in the blanks where his brain failed him.

"Been put in the slot more than once," he said. "I've got a pretty good idea." He pointed out the various guard stations, and Junkrat marked them with angry smiley faces. "What's the point of this, anyway?"

Junkrat shrugged. "S'just good to know." He evaded the question. "I like knowin' my surroundings."

Thatcher didn't press further. Junkrat had the impression that he just thought he was a weird kook with no explanation for half the things he did, which wasn't exactly an inaccurate assessment.

He could tell that they were nearing their recreation hour when one of the inmates at the end of the catwalk shouted, "Po-lice!" A handful of correctional officers used their IDs to buzz into the block and approached Maynard's cell.

"Alright, Maynard," one of the guards said. The footsteps stopped, the four officers standing outside of the cell with Maynard's shackles clinking in their hands. "Hands out. Let's get a move on."

Junkrat couldn't see exactly what happened from the view of his cell; he just knew that after Maynard’s cell door slid open, someone was yelling, "Shank! He's got a shank!" and there was a massive flurry of activity.

The block was split into factions: half of the inmates were shouting encouragement to Maynard and egging him on, while the rest of the inmates were quiet, trying to get a better look at what was happening.

“Why don’t they just shoot him?” Junkrat whispered to Thatcher.

“COs don’t carry firearms,” Thatcher replied. “There’s been too many incidents, it’s easy to get your hands on your CO’s gun if you try hard enough.”

Junkrat filed away this tidbit of information for later.

In a matter of minutes, Maynard was brutally subdued and restrained so tightly that he could barely walk, his shiv confiscated. "Take him to Seg," one of the COs instructed, reaching for his radio to report the disturbance. "See if there's a way we can get an opening in Supermax, I've had it up to here with this asshole. Fucking menace to us all."

A murmur of discontent rippled throughout the unit when the door to the block shut behind Maynard and the guards. "I was hoping he would have at least wounded one of them," Junkrat overheard one of the inmates saying.

"The bloody bastard goes to all the trouble of making a shank, then he can't even get a stab in? Fucking useless."

The staff seemed reluctant to give the rest of the block their recreational hour after the incident with Maynard, but they finally acquiesced after much complaining and wheedling from the various inmates who were itching to get out of the confined space they called home. It was possible that they were concerned about inciting a riot if they denied a group of tensed up convicts their daily routine. Junkrat and Roadhog wandered into the living area, where Junkrat flopped down on the worn sofa.

He was seated for all of two seconds before someone -- the man who screamed in the dead of night, Junkrat thought -- growled at him, "You're in my spot."

Junkrat quickly stood up, not wanting to cause another disturbance, but he couldn't help but point out, "How can it be yer spot? This is communal, mate! I have just as much a roight to this couch as you do, and I'll be damned if I don't fight ya for it--"

Roadhog steered him away before he got too fired up. "Let it go. You’re rustling feathers."

Junkrat huffed and shrugged Roadhog's hand off his shoulder. "Fine. But I'm sitting on that couch tomorrow, mark my words." He found a seat at the chess table instead, which was missing too many pieces to be considered truly functional. Some of the remaining pieces were replaced by hunks of soap that had been carved by some illegal sharp object. You had to admire the ingenuity. "Anyways. Good lunch? I can't even tell what's meat or not, I dunno how yer copin' with it."

"It's hard. I miss making my own breakfast." Roadhog sighed.

"I miss me tire." Junkrat stared off into the distance, emotion welling up in his eyes. "I've gotta get it back, Roadhog.

"We'll get you a new tire when we get out of here," Roadhog told him.

"No." Junkrat shook his head vigorously. "I need that one!"

Roadhog exhaled, and Junkrat had the impression that he thought he was just being petulant. "Ya don't understand, mate! I got things in there. Important things." He lowered his voice to a hush, so that Roadhog had to lean in to hear him. "Me treasure, Roadhog. It's in the tire."

Roadhog stared at him for a long, silent moment. "You kept your treasure," he finally said, "in your tire. That is a motorised bomb."

"Yeah!"

"Do you even think before you do these things?"

"No," Junkrat admitted. "But it wasn't a bad idea! I always have it on me, so I'm not gonna lose it, like I could if I buried it somewhere. I get to guard it, and I'm the only one I can trust to keep it safe. Minus you," he added. "But really, yer keepin' me safe, not the treasure."

"It was a stupid idea, and you couldn't keep it safe, because it's probably in an evidence locker somewhere now. How is it not destroyed yet?"

Junkrat tapped his temple. "That's the beauty of it, innit? Got it encased in an old mine, tucked away nice and tight and sealed with high grade rubber. I've tested it out and everythin'. The bomb doesn't blow up the tire, and I've taken protective measures with it. It's ingenious."

"Insane, more like. What is it?"

Junkrat waved the question away with one airy hand. "Details, details. It don't matter if I don't have it anyway. That's our first order of business when we get out. Get me tire back, then catch meself a nice dinner, because I can find better food than whoever cooks this shit."

When dinner was brought around, the CO who slid the tray of mystery meat and withered vegetables through the slot informed Junkrat that he had approved his phone list, it was processing through the director, and that he should be able to make a collect call within a day or two.

---

Junkrat didn’t have the luxury of privacy when making his phone call. He made a beeline for the phone as soon as he received confirmation that he could make phone calls and was released from his cell for the recreation hour, but a guard stood by his side the whole while.

“Do ya really gotta stand here?” he asked after a message played informing him that this call will be recorded. “It’s not like I can hide anythin’ from you, this shit’s bein’ recorded.”

“Shut up and make your call,” the guard replied. "You have eight minutes."

"Ava!" Junkrat exclaimed when his call was picked up. "Oh, am I glad to hear yer voice, doc."

"Junkrat? I heard about you and Roadhog getting sentenced -- pretty stupid thing you guys did. How you holding up behind bars?"

Junkrat's eyes darted over to the correctional officer looming next to him. "Eh, can't complain. But listen, I wanna make use of this commissary they've got goin' on in here. My cellie won't share his TV, and I could use some basic creature comforts, y'know. Any way ya can wire over some cash to me? And Roadhog, I dunno if he'll be able to call ya, but I'm sure the big lug could use some commissary food."

"Yeah, I can't imagine he's doing too well on a prison diet," Ava mused. "I bet it's mostly meat based, isn't it?"

Junkrat laughed. "If ya can call it meat, yeah."

"Well hey, sure, I'll send you both some funds! I'll give the prison a ring, see how I can get that shit transferred to your accounts. And listen, I want to visit, if you have visitation rights."

Junkrat was touched. "Can't say it wouldn't be nice to have the company of someone who's not a convicted criminal. Give it a few weeks, let us get settled in, then swing by when ya get a chance?"

"Sure thing. Take it easy, Junkrat, and give Roadhog my best. Tell him to ring me when he can, yeah?"

"Gotcha." Junkrat hung up and turned to the guard. "There. Get yer jollies listening in?" He shook his head and slunk off to join Roadhog. "Ava says hi," he informed him. "She's gonna send us some cash soon as she can, says y'should call her."

There was a frown to Roadhog's voice. "I can't. Haven't been approved yet."

Junkrat's eyebrows shot up. "Really? That's a puzzler, I thought if I got mine processed, you'd have too. S'probably 'cause CO Smith moved the process along roight quick when I asked. He likes me."

"I can't imagine why."

"Oi! Watch it, I'm a fine specimen of nature, mate -- everyone likes me!"

"I don't," one of the inmates passing by said. "You're a real piece of work."

"Everyone except that bloke!" Junkrat said, modifying his answer. “And no one cares about his opinion!”

Roadhog shook his head. "This is why people don't like you."

"Ah, but you do, dontcha, 'Hog?" Junkrat elbowed Roadhog.

"Don't know why I do. I ask myself that question every day."

Junkrat grinned from ear to ear. All slights aside, Roadhog admitted to liking him, and that was all it took to make his day.

[carterthornton]

The Third Wave | Chapter Eleven: Mark Development Class

        "Arrghh, damn..." Aiko cringed as Dr. Baxter plunged a needle into her forearm, sapping blood from her veins. "What's this for?"

       "I'm trying to determine whether you're a Productorem-type," Dr. Baxter replied, removing the needle from Aiko's flesh. "From the genetic material I've gathered from Yuko, I've identified an unknown energy in her tissue."

       "Tissue?" Yuko remarked, standing behind Dr. Baxter and watching the procedure. "I have-?"

       "Whatever energy is within you has somehow reconstructed the molecular makeup of the metal that comprises your body into a sort of synthetic tissue that acts and behaves similar to human tissue." Dr. Baxter elaborated, walking over to a very complex machine in the corner of the room. "I'm trying to determine whether it is you or Aiko that radiates said energy."

       "What's that?" Aiko inquired as she got up from her seat, traversing the equipment in Dr. Baxter's intricate, private lab to examine the large device he was tinkering with.

       Dr. Baxter unscrewed the sharpened point from his needle, taking care not to contaminate the sample, then he did the same with Yuko's syringe; it was filled with her liquid metal blood, and it was just as viscous as Aiko's. He plugged both syringes into two of four injection valves in the large machine, and it sucked the samples in immediately, processing them. Dr. Baxter moved over to the terminal attached to the machine, feeding the computer unknown algorithms through the keyboard. After finishing this, Dr. Baxter pressed a red button right beside his keyboard, activating the test. The contraption whirred and buzzed, running the samples through a series of tests, eventually slowing to a soft hum as it spat out the results onscreen.

       "Hmm... intriguing," Dr. Baxter scratched his chin at the data presented. "It seems you are in fact a Productorem after all— a new Subclass of the Energy Class."

       "Really?! So... what now?" Aiko wondered as Dr. Baxter continued to examine the results.

       "I catalogue the Mark, and then name the newly identified Subclass," Dr. Baxter replied as he grabbed the piece of paper that the machine spat out of a slot just below the keyboard. "Firstly, I shall name this newly identified Subclass. Perhaps... the Channel Subclass? Yes, that sounds like an appropriate name." Dr. Baxter nodded, writing the name down on a nearby piece of paper. "Next, I'll leave the Mark naming up to you. So, what'll you call your Mark?"

       "Um... gee..." Aiko shrugged her shoulders, deliberating over the hefty responsibility.

       Aiko wanted the name to mean something, to both her and to Yuko. Thinking back to all that Yuko has done so far, Aiko focused in on the memory of her holding the butterfly. Yuko's purity and curiosity rekindled Aiko's passion, and she was grateful for that gift, but she just couldn't extrapolate a name from any situation they've been in so far. Aiko dug deeper, eventually coming across a single, simple word. It didn't mean much to Aiko when she heard her mother say it long ago, but now it somehow felt important, like it needed to be said aloud.

       "Musubi..." Aiko muttered, envisioning her mother on the cottage balcony, breathing in the brisk morning air as the gentle wind tossed her hair about. "We'll call it the Musubi Mark."

      "And what does that mean?" Dr. Baxter raised an eyebrow at the odd name.

      "I'm not sure yet..." Aiko shrugged her shoulders, the image of her mother imprinted in her mind. "It just feels right."

       "Okay then..." Dr. Baxter tried his best to hide his skepticism, but it bled out from his expression profusely. Sighing to himself, he shooed Aiko and Yuko towards the door. "Now, off with you. I have a class to get back to."

       "I, um-... thanks for helping us, Dr. Baxter, but you didn't answer the question I had asked earlier..." Aiko reminded him.

       "Oh? What's that?" Dr. Baxter said, grabbing the mug full of coffee off a desk by the machine.

       "What is Yuko, exactly?" Aiko asked; she knew those words were on the tip of Yuko's tongue, but she didn't yet have the courage to say them aloud to anyone other than her. "And when will Yuko stop transforming?"

       "Yuko will cease her metamorphosis once the material in her body is as close to real human tissue as possible. She won't become organic, but she'll be very close." Dr. Baxter answered, taking a sip of his coffee. "Oh, and according to the test results, Yuko has a DNA structure quite similar to yours."

       "Wait, what are you saying...?" Aiko took a moment to digest his words.

       "It appears Yuko is your sister, Ms. Schmitt," Dr. Baxter clarified.

       "S-sister...?" Yuko turned to Aiko, pondering over the word for a moment. Then, suddenly, she threw herself at Aiko, hugging her with vice grip arms. "Your my sister, Aiko!"

       "What?!" Aiko's head shook violently in Yuko's grasp as they both twirled around. "My sister?"

       "I know who I am now!" Yuko giggled as she held Aiko tighter.

       "Th-thanks, sis..." Aiko wheezed as Yuko kept a firm grip on the small of her back. "Can you put me down? You're-... ugh... oxygen..." Aiko's face rapidly turned purple in the clutches of her giant metal companion.

       "Oh! Sorry!" Yuko blushed as she placed Aiko back on the ground, dusting her off politely.

       "It's okay," Aiko insisted as she caught her breath, looking up at the clock. "The period's almost over! We should head back to let Ms. Wendell know we're alright; she's probably worried sick."

       "Yeah!" Yuko nodded; her tone was fresh, bubbly, but it didn't seem as innocent and childish as before. Regardless, it warmed Aiko's heart to see her newfound sister so content.

       With Yuko by her side, Aiko opened up the door leading into the hallway, giving Dr. Baxter a wave before leaving. "Thanks, Dr. Baxter! See you next period!"

       Dr. Baxter sighed as the door closed behind them, and he slowly sipped his coffee, sitting down on a stool nearby. "Yeah."

       Aiko remained silent for quite a while as they walked through the mazelike school, turning corners and climbing stairs to reach the gymnasium; they only had five minutes left in the period, but it wouldn't have been right to just leave Ms. Wendell guessing and not inform her of their return. As they turned down the last hallway leading to the gym, Aiko slowed her pace, sighing heavily as she stared down at the floor. Yuko kept as slow a pace as Aiko, remaining beside her at all times.

       "Is something wrong, Aiko?" Yuko asked her sister, who simply glared at the ground in silence.

       "Um... yeah," Aiko nodded as she ceased walking entirely, lifting her head to meet eye to eye with Yuko. "I want to apologize, Yuko."

       "Apologize? For what?" Yuko wondered, raising an eyebrow as she moved closer to her companion.

       "Treating you like an object. I'm sure I didn't realize it before, but-... I do now," Aiko shook her head, breaking eye contact with her sister. "You aren't just some thing. You're just as human as I am."

       "Aiko, you don't-... I'm not-," Yuko cut herself off a couple times, letting her head hang as she remained silent. "Aiko, I may look like a person, but-."

       "Don't," Aiko interrupted her, sick of hearing her self-loathing attitude. "Even if you still believe that, I'll defend you anyways. You're no golem, you're my friend (and evidently my sister). And no matter what others might think of you, you'll still be the same Yuko to me."

       Yuko's body had changed dramatically within the period. Although her transformation was nearly complete by the beginning of Fitness Class, Yuko's hair hadn't been completely fibrous. In the end, her silver hair was as sleek and as realistic as a normal woman's head of hair; it was no longer tied into a pony tail, instead, it cascaded freely like a waterfall. To boot, Yuko's build had also shifted. Her proportions had evened out entirely, and she no longer appeared like a bodybuilder, but an athletic young woman. Although she still had extremely prominent muscle showing in her gym attire, she wasn't as swollen as before.

       "Aiko..." Yuko's heart tightened as Aiko's words flowed into her, and she embraced her sister, letting her curtain of metal locks fall forward over Aiko's shoulder. "Thank you."

       "Yuko... crushing me again..." Aiko coughed as Yuko squeezed tighter.

       "Oh, sorry!" Yuko blushed as she broke away, running into the nearby women's washroom. "I'll go change! Tell Ms. Wendell I'm alright!"

       "No prob," Aiko nodded as she entered the gymnasium. "Meet out here once you're done." She stopped for a moment, going over the period's events in her head; the sheer absurdity of every new dilemma baffled her. "My sister, huh...?"

****

       Aiko and Yuko followed the first-year students into the training grounds, and they lined up their neat rows in front of the main teaching staff, who stood at the other end; leading them was Northstar, who awaited the students with a wide grin on her face. Without any of the second or senior year students, Aiko's class was dwindled down to no more than forty.

       "Hello, you fine young recruits!" Northstar's voice was booming and heroic. "Welcome to Mark Development Class! Here you'll be taught by our core teachers— The Big Four! I'm sure you've already gotten to know them pretty well!" Northstar stood aside, letting Dr. Baxter, Ms. Steele, Ms. Wendell, and Ms. Fawkes bask in the applause from the students. "For all you fast-tracked newbies, Mark Development Class is a course where we help you unlock the limitless potential of your Marks! It's high-octane, action-packed, and it's all about teamwork!"

       "She should be the voiceover for action movie trailers." Carlo joked, giving Aiko a nudge.

       "Yeah, she certainly knows how to work a crowd," Aiko nodded. "I assume that comes with her job, no doubt."

       "Please, group together into your respective teams! Class shall begin shortly!" Northstar shouted as she turned to the teachers, planning with them carefully.

       "So, what's gonna happen now?" Aiko asked her fellow team members, adjusting the same uncomfortable jumpsuit from combat training as it rode up her bottom.

       "There are some options— around four: Gauntlet, Race, Dueling, or Rescue are some I can think of," Carlo answered.

       "Quiet! Northstar is about to speak!" Maeve hushed Carlo, to which he stuck his tongue out at her as she turned away.

       "She seems awful serious... more so than usual..." Aiko whispered to Yuko.

       "Maeve sort of scares me," Yuko said, feeling the heat that Maeve gave off.

       "She always gets this way during MD Class. It's best not to get in her way, or she might make a scene," Jace added to their conversation. "For all of us, don't piss her off. You seem like the type of person who doesn't roll over easy, and she hates that type of person most of all."

       "Why this class?" Aiko wondered.

       "Her father, Delvin MacDonnell, is the police chief of the Greater Victoria Detachment— the highest ranking in the country. She's got a reputation to uphold. And to add to the anxiety, footage captured in this course has the potential of being viewed by some of Canada's most elite teams," Carlo explained, directing Aiko eyes over to the two swiveling cameras on either side of the training area. "If they like what they see, they may favor a student for the recruiting process once they're out of the academy."

       "So it looks like we'll have to bring our a-game then, huh?" Aiko said as she looked over to Yuko, who gave her a smile and a thumbs up.

       "Students! We have come to a consensus! Today's training session shall be... Dueling! And not just plain old bouts between teams! In order to learn and grow as a team, you have to understand a fellow teammate's abilities and strengths, so that's why today's class will be focused around dueling amongst fellow teammates! Now, activate the rings!" Suddenly, four separate plots of the training ground— around twenty by twenty foot —rose from the ground, forming large dueling rings.

       "What the-? We never did this last semester!" Carlo began to hyperventilate. "What the hell's going on?!"

       "Relax, Carlo, there's forty-five of us first year's. There's a chance we won't get placed in a ring," Jace attempted to calm the neurotic, green-haired man, but he couldn't help it.

       Admittedly, Aiko couldn't help but feel a little on edge a well, what with all the glares from Mura and Maeve, who both seemed eager to test her mettle. In her mind Aiko prayed for mercy, but upon hearing Northstar call the names of the first teams to fight, her heart sank.

       "In ring number one, Team Number Twelve!" Northstar announced with all the gravitas and charisma of a wrestling announcer. "Please, go to your ring and hear what your judge has to say."

       "Oh no, no, no, no..." Carlo began to chew on his nails unconsciously as they made their way to the ring on their far left. "Please, have mercy."

       Luckily, their judge was Ms. Wendell, but that didn't make their situation any easier to digest. They each lined up outside the ring, waiting for Ms. Wendell's first pick of the bunch.

       "Okie dokie, artichokies! Let's have some good fights!" Ms. Wendell raised her hand, deciding which two combatants to pick first. "I'll have... Mura and Jace!"

       "Son of a..." Jace's face went totally blank as he crawled into the ring with Mura.

       As the two fighters took their place on either side of the ring, Ms. Wendell began to recite the rules of the bout. "Okay! This fight will end once the opponent is pushed out of the ring! The time limit is three minute, and if the time expires before one of you is ejected from the ring, the match will be declared a draw. Does that sound fair?"

       "Yes," Mura nodded, bowing to Jace before going down into a ready position that only a martial artist would know, a dragon stance. "Good luck."

       "You too..." Jace sighed, cursing his big mouth for being so optimistic earlier.

       "This'll be good. Mura and Jace both have Marks capable of trumping the other," Carlo began to calm down once the intensity of the fight pulled him in. "I'm excited to see what Mura can do."

       "You mean you haven't seen Mura fight before?" Aiko asked Carlo, watching as the two fighters prepared themselves.

       "Well, not exactly. She just never exerts herself too much. Mura is pretty reserved; she never uses any more power than she has to. Out of all of us, there's no doubt she's the smarter fighter." Carlo calculated.

       "Ready? I'd like a clean match, you two. No use of excessive force to the head or chest, please. I'd like to not fill Ms. Fawkes' office today." Ms Wendell stepped back to the very edge of the ring, leaving space for the fighters to spar. "Three... two... one... fight!"

       Neither fighter moved an inch once Ms Wendell began her timer; they simply stood there, waiting for the other to make a move. Eventually, Mura saw a twitch in Jace's expression, and she dashed to the side, catching him off guard. Mura formed bubbles of white energy around her feet, pushing her at incredible speeds around the area; they even allowed her to push off the air itself, ricocheting like a bullet. Jace braced up, raising his arms to guard.

      "Mura's fast, but Jace has a pretty sturdy defence when he uses his Mark; it'll be hard for Mura to press him back," Carlo commented as Mura used her energy on Jace's chest, trying to blast him away. However, this barely moved him an inch.

      "If Mura is as smart a fighter as you claim her to be, she might have something else up her sleeve," Aiko pointed out, paying close attention to Mura's face; she was running the numbers on Jace carefully before attacking again. "She's trying to figure him out."

       Jace realized what Mura was trying to do, and he charged her before she got the chance to figure out a strategy. Alas, in his heavier state, Jace lacked any measure of speed or agility, and the ring cracked beneath his hefty feet as he ran. Although surprised by Jace's initiative, Mura wasn't even grazed by Jace's offensive, and she leapt over him, countering his rush with a burst of her energy to his back. The counterattack drove Jace forward, disturbing his control over his own momentum, and he neared the edge of the ring. However, just before he fell off, Jace put extra weight into his arms, anchoring him to the ground before he could advance any further.

       Wheezing, Jace lifted his extremely heavy limbs, taking his place back in the center of the ring. He waited for Mura to make a move, but she gave him nothing; she simply glared at him with her visible eye that wasn't hidden by a wall of hair. He grimaced as he heaved his arms around with all his strength, and as he took a step, his stamina began to wane more and more.

       "That Mark of his is powerful, but it also has major drawbacks. His body may not be affected by the pressure, but he has severely hampered mobility under the weight of his limbs," Aiko pointed out to Carlo, who nodded in response.

       "You're pretty good at this. How do you know so much?" Carlo asked.

       "I'm kinda a nerd for this stuff," Aiko chuckled, her eyes still glued to the fight. "Let's see what she does."

       Mura ducked, sweeping her leg across the ground in Jace's direction. Jace avoided the white streak of energy released from the bubble around Aiko's foot, jumping over it. However, just as he lifted himself in the air, Mura went in for another blast; her first attack was just the set-up.

       "Foolish..." Maeve scoffed at Jace as she watched Mura push against his forearms with a burst of her energy, causing the weighty limbs to pull him out of the ring.

       "Arrggh!" Jace scowled as he fell onto his back, Ms. Wendell rushing over to him.

       "Jace, are you alright?" Ms. Wendell asked as Jace's ability wore off, prompting her to help him back on his feet.

       "I'm fine..." Jace coughed as Mura approached him, putting out her hand.

       "Then the winner is Mura!" Ms. Wendell proclaimed. "That was great, you two!"

       "Good fight." Mura said with a blank expression as Jace sighed, shaking her hand politely.

       "Yeah, you're pretty good..." Jace nodded, a little disappointed that he couldn't keep up with his opponent.

       "And to think she's still holding back..." Aiko muttered half to herself as she watched Mura exit the arena.

       "Okay! That was a good first fight, but we've still got a few more to go!" Ms. Wendell cheered, raising her hand once more to select the next two fighters. "And our next combatants are..."

       "Please no, please no, please no..." Carlo crossed his fingers.

       "Maeve and Aiko!" Ms. Wendell said excitedly, to which made her way into the ring immediately.

       "Maeve and-..." Aiko's face flushed white as Maeve passed by, sending a cold air her way as she locked eyes with Aiko. "Oh... oh no."

[oliversjourney-blog]

1 month and 28 days later..

So after being born by emcs and spending many weeks at LRI NNU, Ollie was moved from LRI to the general at the beginning of the month as after numerous trips back to ITU for antibiotics and CPAP. He has settled well, eventually, had a rough couple of days post transfer but two weeks on and he is doing great, he is in 0.02l/min of 02 via nasal prongs he is having 3 hrly NG/bottle with topups which he is tolerating, seen by Dr Fawke updated by myself, who said he is growing and gaining weight but isn’t a giant yet 😂I learnt some amazing techniques from Vanessa his nurse today which minimised the grumpiness that I get from Ollie due to his tummy with some baby massage and some reflexology, within 5 mins my constipated child pooped lots and then smiled and played for a short while before settling to sleep no upset no straining and no crying (from him or me!) So a good day overall, and hoping for continued progress. Next week is last retinopathy screening so keeping my fingers crossed for that, and then the dreaded immunisations. I am hoping he will behave and not react, we are doing so well and I hope he won’t do what some of the babies have done and needed ITU. But I am feeling positive and I’ve told him he has to be a good boy. We are so close to home now I can almost touch it! Let’s see what this week brings. He now weighs 2.225kg (4lb 14oz) lets see if we can get the 5lb mark on Monday! #fingerscrossed :) I’ll write again soon :) tomorrow I’m gonna try and get his bouncer back as it’s gone to another room and he really likes it!

[elliepearcefcp-blog]

Something to be aware of: Ethical issues that come along with Hip-Hop

Especially as this exhibition will be held at a museum as successful as the Guggenheim, It is important that any content wouldn't easily offend. This would be the case for any exhibition however Hip-Hop culture does attract some issues. 

The first thing that could cause offence or problems is the lyrics within Rap and Hip-Hop music. These lyrics would be played throughout the exhibition, within the playlist as well as just holding a negative on the culture. This also follows on to Celebrity Endorsement and how celebrities behaving badly can often go wrong, depending on a large bunch of people to represent an event can be difficult. Especially when a lot of these celebrities have already been arrested for multiple crimes. 

Source: Buzzfeed.com

Examples of lyrics of which could be considered racist: 

 Iggy Azalea, Titles D.R.U.G.S... bad enough, nope... look at the lyrics “Tire marks, tire marks, finish line with the fire marks/When the relay starts I’m a runaway slave…master”

  LL Cool J “If you don’t judge my gold chains/I’ll forget the iron chains”

Examples of Lyrics regarding nation pride, events and law: 

Lupe Fiasco, Words I Never Said “I really think the war on terror is a bunch of bullshit/Just a poor excuse for you to use up all your bullets/How much money does it take to really make a full clip?/9/11, building 7, did they really pull it?” 

Soulja Boy, Let’s Be Real “Fuckk the F.B.I. and fuck all the Army troops/Fighting for what, bitch? Be your own man” 

Ice-T, “Cop Killer” “I’m ’bout to dust some cops off/cop killer, better you than me/cop killer, fawk police brutality”

Ice Cube, “Fawk The Police” “A young n*gga on the warpath/And when I’m finished, it’s gonna be a bloodbath/Of cops, dying in L.A.” 

Lupe Fiasco - “Words i never said” “Limbaugh is a racist, Glenn Beck is a racist/Gaza strip was getting bombed, Obama didn’t say shit/That's why I ain't vote for him, next one either”

Rick Ross, “U.O.E.N.O” “Put molly all in her champagne/She ain’t even know it/ I took her home and I enjoyed that/She ain’t even know it”  - yes, he's talking about rape... 

Lyrics concerning Sexuality:  Eminem, Rap God “Little gay-looking boy / So gay I can barely say it with a straight face-looking boy / You witnessing massacre like you watching a church gathering taking place-looking boy”

A$AP Rocky, Better Things “I swear that bitch Rita Ora got a big mouth/ Next time I see her might curse the bitch out/ Kicked the bitch out once cause she bitched out/ Spit my kids out, jizzed up all in her mouth and made the bitch bounce.” 

Mark Sexx "Cause I'm a pump you up, cold split your clit/Then let you cum in my mouth while you suck my dick/Then I'm a turn you over, belly up bitch/And lick that ass right where you shit" 

Lil Wayne "Almost drowned in her pussy so I swam to her butt" 

Earl "Play a song, invade a thong, my dick is havin' guts for lunch/As well as supper; then I'll rummage through her ruptured cunt" 

This exhibition is about streetwear fashion. How hip-hop fashion has influenced fashion and not directly about the culture or celebrity lives within the bubble. Yet there is no escaping that these factors will have to be tackled, all fashion is influenced from a number of different things and there will a large amount of different people featured within the exhibition. 

Worst comes to worst.. any press is good press right? if news, social media or any people were to have a problem with some of the things held within the museum it could attract more people and would certainly get the name Fresh Dressed known.