#if i could channel how my body feels after being touch starved for so many fucking years you'd cripple to the floor.

[snekdood]

nah its bc yall think being negatively psychologically effected by something is somehow less bad than physically effected by something. clearly you dont know how bad it can get mentally.

[youryanderedaddy]

Best Friends Forever

 Summary: Your best friend finally has you back after all these years, tied up on his bed and ready to learn your lesson.

Tw: nsfw, non-con, slight mention of blood, threats, choking, slight degradation, dirty talk, cursing, infantilization, possessive behavior, patronizing behavior, overuse of petnames, slight dom vibezz 

You knew your boyfriend was a lost cause, an addict so gone he would have done anything for a fix, but you never expected him to stoop so fucking low. 

 You had woken up in a suspiciously familiar place, laying on sheets oh so soft, puffy and white you simply couldn’t mistake the bed you were on. The walls were painted in black and blue, a combination so deeply engraved in your mind you couldn’t shake off the feeling you weren’t trully conscious, but dreaming of a happy yet distant memory of the past. It took you less than a second to realize you were in his room - the one where you had spent so many joyfull sleepless nights back in your youth. The relief was short - lived, though, because the moment you tried to move around, you became aware of the tight rope keeping your sore limbs tied to the wooden bed frame. After a while of twisting and thrashing around while screaming at the top of your lungs for help you finally heard the door open. You hoped you would at last be able to go home now, still desperate to believe this was merely a prank, a way for your junkie of a boyfriend to scare you into giving him money.

 “There is no use trying to escape the bonds, my little love.” His voice emited through the small room, low, smooth as butter and softer than ever. You tried to lift your head and catch a glipse of the person talking, just to make sure you weren’t imagining things or going insane. And there he was in all his glory, the boy, no, the man you knew well looking so different from how you remembered him, but still it felt impossible not to see the many similarities - from the unruly dark curls to the warm gray eyes that used to be your only guide during times of misery and pain. This was none other than your childhood best friend and you had absolutely no idea why you were tied to his bed. “Oliver, why on earth am I here?” You asked as soon as the initial shock had worn off, completely forgetting to address the weird petname the student had called you.

 He smirked slightly before crossing the distance keeping him away from you, and carefully sat down by your left side. He reached out to stroke your cheek in an affectionate way, his fingers lingering for a moment too long for it to be considered a mere platonic gesture. You tried to turn your head away from the warm touch since it made you feel uncomfortable and left you with so many new questions. “I missed you so much, precious.” Oliver took a deep breath and smiled at you, gently moving your jawline so you had no choice but to face him once again. “I was so happy when that disgusting piece of shit you call a boyfriend offered you to me.” The man bent to your shoulder-level and whispered in your ear, his tone so full of sick satisfaction you could swear there was honey dripping from his mouth. “I paid a lot of money to have you back, sweetheart.” He licked his lips in an obscene, suggestive way and you had to supress the sudden urge to vomit as you finally remembered exaclty why you had stopped contacting your best friend once you had started college. The boy used to be clingy, obsessive even, but you could have never guessed it was that bad.

 “Oliver, please untie me, you are scaring me.” You pleaded in a tiny voice, hoping to summon what was left of the goodness he had tucked away deep in his heart. In response the male only chuckled and shook his head as he placed a small kiss against your neck, causing you to shiver in discomfort and disgust while you were mentally debating whether you wanted to kill him or your ex boyfriend first. Soon your spiteful thoughts were replaced by panic when your captor brought his hand to your t-shirt and started unclasping the small buttons one by one. You couldn’t help but turn red from embarassment the moment you felt your nipples harden under his palm and you became painfully aware you weren’t wearing a bra underneath. Your former friend had your tender breasts exposed to the cold air in a matter of seconds, his terrible fingers already pinching and pulling at the erect tips. “You have such pretty tits, darling.” He said huskily while squeezing your boobs, licking and biting the stretched skin. You hissed in pain and squirmed in a desperate attempt to move away but the rope was holding you in place, tightening around your sore injured wrists even more. 

 “I have wanted you for so long, angel.” The student admitted quietly, his stormy eyes fixed on yours, his stare so intense it could burn a hole through you. “Tonight I will make you mine.” Oliver declared with a clear sense of confidence and claimed your lips in a quick rough manner, muffling your pitiful whimpers like a man starved and hungry for flesh. The forced kiss and his deranged words made your stomach turn but something in his longing gaze told you there was a lot more in store. The guess, much to your horror, was soon confirmed when the dark - haired male reached down between your parted legs and easily slipped your panties down to your ankles. With your last bit of protection gone you felt awfully vulnerable, literally naked in front of the beast too keen on the past to see how much he was hurting you right now, in the present. You wanted to scream the second his fat grabby fingers pried your folds open, but choking on your desperate sobs proved easier at that moment.

 “Aww, don’t cry, angel.” Oliver growled playfully and slid his index into your tight entrance, quickly adding a second one before you had the time to adjust properly. “I have to prepare you, baby, otherwise my cock may just tear you apart.” He remarked in low sickening voice, the excuse too crude and vulgar to be an act of caring. You whined as your walls clenched down tight now that there were three fingers stretching your hole, and you berely managed to utter “too full” before your friend pulled you for a deep kiss again, his tongue devouring your mouth, leaving you breathless and queit while sucking in the sweet pained moans. “You can take it, babygirl.” The man groaned against your swollen red lips and grabbed your hips in a strong hold - you were sure there would be purple bruises there tomorrow.

  Eventually, after half an hour of pushing his fingers in and out of your channel, lapping at your neck and leaving wet love marks all over your collarbone, the student was satisfied with his work. He had turned you into a whimpering mess and was ready to thoroughly enjoy the fruits of his labor, whether you liked it or not. “I am going to put it in now, precious.” Oliver pecked you on the cheek just to lick the salty trace of tears off your puffy skin. “I will force my whole length in your perfect little pussy.” Your captor bit your sensitive earlobe and you broke down in tears like a kid, the threat ringing in your ears like the gospel. “This might hurt a bit so I advise you to stay still and relax, baby.” The way the man continued casually, almost cheerfully, as if he wasn’t about to brutally rape you, made your skin crawl, but there was nothing you could do. You were all tied up, powerless to stop him. Suddenly, without any warning, his hard thick member entered you, piercing pain spreading through your whole body. The student panted in pleasure as soon as he thrust his manhood into your heat, the way it sucked him in leaving him high and blissful. You let a few miserable whimpers, the ache too much to bear, his moves too harsh, sudden and deep. 

  “Don’t give me such a-agh tormented expression, my love.” Oliver quickly shushed you by putting his hand over your mouth and pressing down to prevent any noise that might have escaped. His gaze was lustful, insane, but also loving in a twisted, perverse way. “Fuck, I love you so much.” He muttered, his voice gentle for a split second before going back to being taunting and mocking. “I used to be so angry each and every time you dated another guy, another asshole who was only after your body.” The man was rambling now, his face turning red at his own vicious thoughts, his growing anger reflecting in his cloudy pupils and his painful thrusts. “You always chose them over me like a stupid little bitch ...” He whispered dangerously and lifted your body towards his own so you could take his hits even deeper, so deep that you could feel the tip of his member kissing your cervix. “Well, now you don’t have a choice, angel. I have claimed you and I will keep you here forever.” You were crying out in agony, your pussy clamping down around the enormous length slapping again and again against your core. It burned so bad you wished you could dissapear somewhere far away just so you could have a moment of relief. “Oh, sweetheart, I know it hurts, but it’s almost over, you can take it for me, right?” The male cooed at you, switching back to that disgusting, infantilizing baby voice you had already grown to despise. When you failed to respond he gripped your throat, squeezing so tightly blood rushed to your cheeks and you inhaled sharply though your mouth only to feel the suffocation cut your breath short. “Answer me.” He barked through gritted teeth and you nodded frantically, desperate to gasp for air and cling onto dear life. 

 “Good girl.” Your former friend purred, pleased with your obedience, and let go of your neck, grabbing your hips instead. You coughed and drooled pathetically until you managed to resume your breathing, but the man, still buried deep inside you, seemed too caught up in chasing his own pleasure to notice how badly he had hurt you. Fortunately for you Oliver was really close, that much was obvious by his furious shoves at your abused cervix and his low growls each time he lowered his head to kiss you. Soon he came with a loud moan, painting your walls white, your ruined hole dripping with his seed and your blood. 

 Your captor seemed satisfied afterwards, peaceful in a way - there was a small smile adorining his cold lips as he wiped the tears off your face and squished your bruised body against his strong frame in a tight hug. You bit your tongue to stop the tears from overflowing once again, but to no avail. He let you sob in his arms until there wasn’t liquid left in your red, puffy eyes. 

 “You did very well, my love. I am really proud of you.” Oliver kissed your temple gently, resisting the temptation to graze you all over again with his lips, tongue and fingers. “I will help you clean up, then I will fix you some nice dinner.” He murmured in your ear, tickling the heirs on the back of your neck with his warm breath. “Doesn’t this sound good, baby?”

 You closed your eyes and nodded slowly.

[seiyasabi]

ブン-ブン

(Here’s my Yandere Bunny Polnareff x Female Reader story :)) 

Sorry if this is too OOC or too fast paced! I tried my best, but I’m unhappy with the result. 

TW: !Noncon!, Pol is a hybrid!, breeding kink!, cumflation!, !!!HOMIE PISSES ON YOU (this is not really a kink, just animal instinct)!!!!, alludes to cat violence (Not you)!!, marking (rubs his scent glands on you)!, overstim!, etc..)

Please proceed with caution!!)

Hearing a loud yowl from your backyard, you hurry towards your back doors. It seems your tabby cat, Garfield, has gotten himself into some trouble. 

Clicking your tongue to gain his attention, you unlock the French doors, flinging them open.  

You only allowed the fatass outside for a few minutes! How is he already into something he shouldn’t be in? 

Stepping outside, your eyes are immediately drawn to a mass of white and orange. Your cat is currently wrestling with the biggest rabbit you’ve ever seen. 

It’s the same size as your fatass cat, hell, maybe it’s bigger! Its head alone is larger than your fist! 

Its ears are currently being gnawed on by your feline son, specks of red dripping from the bun’s white coat. Garfield is nailed in the side with a powerful kick, causing him to yowl once more. Seeing this, you snap out of your shock, immediately hauling it towards the fighting duo. 

“Garfield, stop it! Leave that bunny alone!” They pretend they can’t hear you, and continue to brawl. Once by the two, you yoink them up from the lush grass, separating them by holding them in opposite hands. You’re grabbing them by the scruff of their necks, frowning at them, “Alright, break it up!”

Your cat takes a couple swipes at the rabbit, the rabbit tries kicking at your cat, both of them ultimately missing one another. 

“Would you two stop it?” You huff, pouting cutely. The bunny is a lot heavier than you originally thought, forcing you to readjust your hold on it, “Do you see how dumb you look? You’re both fighting the air!” 

Garfield hisses in response, causing you to roll your eyes. At least the rabbit has better manners than him. 

“Fine, whatever. We’re going inside now, so I can patch you hooligans up. You both better both behave.” 

Turning on your heel, you stomp inside, wounded animals cradled to your (bountiful/small) chest. Both of them calm once in the crook of your arm, allowing you to have a moment of peace. 

Great. Now you have to patch up your asshole cat and his rabbit friend. 

Bringing them into your master bathroom, you set them on opposite sides of your two sink vanity. Opening the vanity’s middle drawer, you quickly grab your first aid kit, and lay it between the two annoyed animals. 

“Alright you two, if you can’t get along, don’t go near one another. Stay on opposite sides of the sink, okay?” You keep talking to them as if they know what you’re saying, and unbeknownst to you, a certain rabbit finds it endearing. 

Popping open the box, you withdraw white wrappings, q-tips, and hydrogen peroxide. Twisting the cap open on the peroxide, you set it on the countertop, before pouring a capful of peroxide into it. Grabbing your cat’s shampoo from underneath the sink, you turn on your sink’s tap, filling it with warm water. Once done, you slowly approach the nervous bun. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, but I need to bandage your wounds,” Its nose twitches, seemingly sniffing out if you’re a threat. After a tense moment of silence, it makes itself look as small as possible, showing submission. 

Giggling quietly, you pick it up, and place him in the water. Its head and ears are above the water, keeping them from becoming wet. Dipping your hands into the water, you smooth down its fur, slightly wetting the top of its head. Once done with that, you pour soap into your palm, rubbing your hands together. 

Now that your hands are sudsy, you start to bathe the calm bun. Its blood quickly washes off, cleaning its wounds. 

Once clean, you pick it up, placing it on a hand towel you got from beneath the sink. You dry the bunny off, making sure his ears are completely dry, before dipping a q-top into the peroxide, and cleaning out his wounds completely. 

After seeing his wounds, you realise he doesn’t need any wrappings, thus leaving you to set him on an old t-shirt that’s sitting on your tub’s ledge. 

“There you go, Bun Bun. Sit there until I finish with Garfield,” You unplug the sink on the bun’s side, and move towards your seething cat. Drawing him his own bath, you clean out his wounds, and give him many kisses, “Good boy, Gar. I’m proud of you for not scratching me.”

He meows in response, allowing you to dry him and fix his wounds. 

Now that the two animals are clean and no longer have raw, open wounds, you pick them up, and move towards your living room. 

Setting Garfield on the left side of the couch, you move towards your back door. 

“Okie dokie, now that you’re all clean, you can go home now! I’m sorry that Garfield was mean to you.”

Opening your back door, you gently place the bunny on the ground, before going inside, and locking the door behind you. 

Little did you know that that bunny wasn’t truly a bunny at all, but a man who’s severely touch starved. 

And, is a man who’s completely, totally in love with you.

-

When Polnareff returned to his burrow, he was practically shaking with excitement. He’d found his mate! 

Once laying down, he could hear his leg thumping with happiness. He can’t wait until you go into heat! 

Then, the two of you can have cute kits! He just knows that they’ll be beautiful, just like their mother… 

Oh yes, once you go into heat, he’ll be there to keep you satiated. 

He just needs to make sure that fat cat stays out of his way. 

-

Garfield lays on your tummy, practically smothering you with his weight. Looking down at him from your lying position, you roll your eyes, “You’re so heavy! Move off of me!” 

He ignores your whining, nuzzling against the area above your uterus. Huffing in annoyance, you pick up the snoozing cat, and walk towards the kitchen. The little shit wouldn’t let you move for hours, and you’ve become rather hungry. 

Once in the kitchen, you set him on the counter. He stretches dramatically, before rubbing against you like a madman. His hackles are raised, yellow eyes transfixed on something outside.

Looking out at your backyard, you see a certain giant rabbit. Sighing, you choose to ignore your pet’s dick measuring contest with the bunny outside. 

Pulling out (microwavable food), you quickly open its packaging, and chuck it into the microwave. Pressing in the time, you rest against the counter your cat is standing on, petting down his raised hair. 

“Garfield, you’re honestly acting ridiculous. The rabbit isn’t scary-” The orange fiend jumps into your arms, furiously rubbing himself onto you. He’s cuddling you like a good boy, stopping you from scolding him, “Awe, you’re so cute when you’re clingy and not biting my shirt sleeves.” 

He lets out a small hiss, but stays in your arms willingly. 

His yellow eyes are trained on the bunny, practically taunting the other male. 

Polnareff is seething. How dare that undeserving feline take his rightful place? How dare that fucking cat scent you during your heat? 

It takes everything in him to not crash through the window and beat the cat into the ground. But, he knows his nightly bathroom break outside will be soon, and that’s when he can strike. 

The blue eyed man watches you eat, happy that you’re preparing for your upcoming heat. Ignoring your pet, Jean feels happiness overtake him. You must know that he’s watching, if you’re eating such fatty foods. 

Little does he know, that’s just the normal way of human life. 

You continue to chow down on your yummy food, a smile on your pretty face, none the wiser to your hybrid stalker. 

Once finished, you let Garfield out into the backyard, “Don’t cause trouble with that rabbit, Garfield.” He didn’t listen to you, and ran in the direction of that damn white rabbit. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance, but do nothing. If he wants to fight with it, that’s on him at this point. 

Sitting on your couch, you turn on your TV, flipping channels until you land on a forensic science TV show. Leaning back, you recline yourself into a comfortable position. 

You sit in that position for about an hour, before you realise your cat never came inside. Shooting to your feet, you rush outside, turning on your phone’s flashlight. 

“Garfield? Garfield?” You call out, searching through the bushes, and clicking your tongue to grab his attention. 

He doesn’t come, causing you to panic. Garfield and you grew up together, and you can’t remember the last time you went without him. 

“Gar-Gar? Please, please come home!” Tears well up in your eyes, as a sob escapes your throat. 

As the first tear falls, you feel someone grab you from behind, “Why are you crying, Mademoiselle?” 

You jump a mile off of the ground, and stumble, almost falling face first into the grass. Whipping around, you come face to chest with a very naked, very large man. 

“Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my backyard?” Your scent is thick with fear, and your voice trembles. A saddened feeling pools in Jean’s heart; he didn’t wish to scare you or hurt you in any way!

“Do not fear me, My Love. I am Jean Pierre Polnareff, your future mate!” Blanching at his statement, you finally notice the very apparent white bunny ears on the top of his head. 

“What. The. Fuck.” 

With that, you turn, and haul ass into your house. His heavy footsteps are heard behind you, same with a few pleading words for you to come back. 

Once inside, you slam your French doors closed, and use your body weight to hold them shut, as you try to lock them. His built frame slams into the doors behind you, using all of his strength to bust inside. 

“There’s no need to be afraid! Just open the doors, My Heart! I’ll treat you well!” Your nimble fingers try to turn the lock, but the constant shaking of the opening makes it very hard to do so. 

“Leave me alone! Did you do something to my cat? Because the moment you showed up, he disappeared!” Immediately, the doors stop shaking, allowing you to lock them. 

A long beat of silence follows, before he speaks again, “Oh, I didn’t realise you found him.” 

You gasp, feeling as though your heart was ripped from your chest. He really did something to Garfield! 

“Get the fuck off of my property! I'll-I'll Call the police!” Tears Pool in your eyes, before dripping down your face. Whoever this bunny man is, he must be dangerous if he goes around killing things for no reason. 

“My heart, how you wound me,” You peek through the curtains, only to see him looking back at you with an intimidating gaze. His ice blue eyes seem to be staring into your soul, “This… Garfield of yours was challenging me. He may have had you first, yes, but the rules of the animal kingdom say that if we find our mates, the new found mate must be left alone. But, that feline of yours blatantly disrespected our relationship, My Heart, so I had to teach him a lesson.” 

You gape at him in horror, backing away from the doors, “Stay away from me! I’m not your mate, I’m not your anything! How do you even know me?” 

You hear him laugh through the door, as he lands a swift kick towards the door handle, “You bathed me just the other week, don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten?” 

Running towards the kitchen, you grab a small knife that is easy to use. Did you seriously help a hybrid? 

You hear him kick a few more times, before the doors come crashing down. His heavy footsteps echo across your hardwood floors, as he makes his way to you. Looking around for an exit, you quickly move towards the kitchen window. 

Unlocking it with ease, you slide it open, making quick work of the screen keeping the bugs out. You hoist yourself onto the counter, shimmying towards the opening, only to be yanked back by two strong hands. In your (dominant Hand) is the knife you grabbed, allowing you to slash at the large man. 

“Get away from me! Don’t fucking touch me!” He releases you for a moment, dodging your erratic movements. A saddened look crossed his handsome face, as he man handled the knife out of your sweaty hands. Once disarmed, he forces you against his chest, chucking the knife into the sink. His now free hands grip your wrists, stopping you from fighting against him. 

“Shh, calm yourself. There’s no need to be so erratic-“ 

“Fuck you! You killed my cat and broke into my house, there’s plenty of reasons for me to be erratic!” You try kicking at his strong legs, but he doesn’t even flinch. 

“I understand that your heat is making you irrational-“ 

“What the fuck are you talking about?! I’m not an animal, I don’t fucking have heats!” Thrashing with your entire body weight, you try to bring him to the ground, but he’s too sturdy for you to do so. 

Instead of answering, he brings his head into the crook of your neck, sniffing the area loudly. You don’t see it, but a look of disgust is apparent. 

“We need to fix this awful smell. Hold still and I’ll scent you-“ You head butt the large male, knocking him back and off of you. 

He stumbles back, and you make a run for the open window. You get halfway out of it once more, before you’re dragged back inside by your waist. 

You’re thrown to the floor in an instant, shoulder hitting the wood harshly. A yelp leaves your lips, as more tears drip down your face. 

“Don’t be difficult, Love. I don’t want to hurt you. Just let me scent you, and I can help you through your heat. You just have to trust me,” 

You shake your head, “No, just leave me alone!” 

He frowns, but nods, “It’s ok if you’re difficult, I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine.” 

Without warning, Jean grabs his half hard cock, aiming it towards your crumpled form. 

“What the fu-“ A stream of clear piss hits you straight in the mouth, causing you to gag and splutter in disgust. You wipe at your tongue, a wretched sob wracking your form. 

The stream hits your neck next, before traveling down your entire body. You’re absolutely covered in piss, all whilst crying your eyes out. You try to scramble away, but end up skipping in the acrid liquid. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the-why the fuck would you do that?” He fries. to approach you, a small smile quirking at his lips, but you kick at him, trying to keep him away from you, “Get the fuck away from me! Don’t fucking touch me! You just fucking pissed on me like a-like wild fucking animal!” 

He grabs you in his arms as you slap, punch, and scratch, quickly bringing you to your bedroom. He tosses you onto your mattress, effectively sullying your new sheets. You try to scramble off of your bed, but his large frame suddenly dwarfs yours, trapping you to it. 

“I didn’t want to do it, My Heart, but you left me no choice. You wouldn’t let me scent you, and I couldn’t let you wear another male’s scent-“ 

“You don’t own me! We don’t even know each other!” You smack at his well toned chest, as you cry. He kisses you on your piss covered forehead, nuzzling into your slightly damp hair. 

“But we will. We’re mates, after all,” With those words, he starts to strip you. “All you need to know is that I know what’s best for you. Right now, you need a big, strong mate to breed your in heat womb, and I’m the right one for the job! So, just lay back and let me help you!” 

Your top half is exposed to him, breasts bouncing as he tears your clothes to shreds. Your hits have no effect on him, as he is stares down at your naked body hungrily. 

“Why are you doing this to me? I’m not a hybrid, it doesn’t make any sense-“ 

“Nature doesn’t need to make sense. Nature decided that we’re made for one another, and the sooner you realise this, the sooner you’ll realise that I’m good for you,” He hoists your thighs over his broad, muscular shoulder, a teasing grin on his face, “But right now, I’m going to make you cum as many times as I can.” 

He attaches his mouth to your unprotected pussy, lips sucking at your clit, whilst his tongue enters your unprepared opening. A loud yelp leaves your lips at the feeling. 

His veiny hands grip the fat of your thighs, as he moves your hips to rub against his face. At first, you’re really uncomfortable, but after a few moments, you’re having to restrain yourself from moaning lamely. Jean is paying special attention to your clit, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. 

A particularly hard suck has you gushing with arousal, and although it wasn’t an orgasm, it was enough to make your thighs shake pathetically. You can feel him grin against your slit, as he inches a hand down to your cunny, and slips a thick finger inside of you. A loud mewl echoes through your chest, as your once slapping hands cover your face in shame. 

“Are you feeling good, Heart?” His airy voice would be suave if it weren't for the fact that you’re being assaulted, and you’re covered in a strange man’s piss. 

“Nu-no!” He chuckles at your weak attempt of denying him, and dives back into your weeping pussy. Polnareff rubs his finger against you g-spot with ease, not struggling to find it at all. 

That, coupled with the intense suckling on your clit, sends you over the edge. Your juices shoot out onto the white haired man’s face, coating him with your essence. 

“That was a strong orgasm, My Love. Are you sure you’re not enjoying yourself?” The teasing lilt in his voice makes you want to punch him in the face, so that’s exactly what you do. 

He grunts in pain, and in a moment of anger, flips you onto your stomach, hands held firmly in his grasp. Your back is arched just right to be in the prime breeding position, causing his cock to throb in need. Jean always liked a head-strong woman. 

“There’s no need for violence. If you wanted me to make love to you that bad, you could’ve just told me,” He didn’t wait to hear your response, instead choosing to sink his massive cock into your tight walls. Gods, you’re so tight. 

The rabbit couldn’t help bun moan at the feeling of your spasming cunny. It’s almost like you’re trying to draw him in! 

If that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll receive. 

Jean starts a rapid pace, his hips slamming into yours harshly. His heavy balls smack against your clit with every thrust, causing you to scream in both pleasure and pain. 

Within moments, you’re creaming and gushing around his length. Moaning in unison with you, he speeds up his ministrations, quickly cumming inside of you. His hips stutter, before stopping, allowing him to cum what seemed like buckets. Your body sags, signifying your belief that he was finished, when in all actuality, he’s far from it. 

He immediately restarts his jack hammer pace, his free hand gripping your hip, “You’re perfect! A perfect pussy that squeezes me so good, a perfect personality, and a perfect body. I’m going to knock you up with many kits!” You sob into your pillow, trying to block out his voice, cock, and smell of piss. 

You cum again and again, being filled with liters of virile cum. His hand that once held your hip cups your bloated tummy, a dopey smile covering his handsome features. 

Jean can practically feel you becoming pregnant, and it satisfied him greatly. 

Noticing your lack of movements, he realises that you’ve passed out.

Oh well, when you wake up, he’ll be sure to attend to you once more. 

[gojology]

Lovebirds.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 |  omg this is my first request. ilysm anon, im now feelin super cool. also, i just realized i put recc (as in recommended) instead of requests. i’m super stupid LOL. anyways, im touch starved too dw bby, i’m servin u up a long one since i rlly like this request and after all u r my first! 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Gojo x Wife! Reader 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 2307 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | None! 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | Coming home from a long mission in America, precisely 1 year, you’re excited to catch up on Gojo’s students, Nanami, and just Gojo in general.   Leaning out of the car window, resting your arm against your purse, you sighed. A humid wind brushed against your skin, tickling you. It had been quite a while since you had been in Japan, spending almost a year on a huge mission in America. You had killed a battalion worthy amount of special grades.   You spent most of your time in America in mostly horribly rundown places, equally as infested with curses. Although you found yourself enjoying America’s natural beauty, further away from the city life that many of the Americans found themselves enjoying, you much preferred Japan. after all, it was your home, and where you met Gojo Satoru. It would be another day until you could return, and you had gone through hundreds of scenarios of finally being in his arms again, but nonetheless, you were ecstatic at the thought of your husband’s touch.   Your phone’s notification chimed loudly, you threw your phone onto the other seat, heart jumping up to a high rate. It was a recording of Satoru loudly yelling, “OPEN YOUR FUCKING PHONE!” with a flurry of giggles afterwards.    Ijichi jumped, turning left and right. Whispering under his breath, he let out an exasperated sigh, switching the music channel.    The recording was mostly because of the time you had to ghost him due to work. Gojo had snuck on and recorded it, doing some magical tech stuff and giving you the custom notification sound. You had kept it that way ever since, since secretly, you enjoyed that you were so badly wanted by Gojo, that, and you had no idea how to change it back.    But the custom notification was sweet as well.   You smiled to yourself every time you heard it, a familiar twinge of pain flashing inside of you whenever you realized you wouldn’t be able to see him for a while.   Well, today, and the days after that would be different. You’d be able to finally see Gojo again, and his new students that he always frantically texted you about. Nanami, an old friend of Gojo, and also an old friend of yours, would also be there to welcome you back, you found yourself reminiscing about them.   You had heard so much about them, one of the kids being Sukuna’s vessel, you wondered how Gojo could contain such a fear, being around the kid at all times, he always told you about how the kid was actually energetic and happy and an overall great kid, you had heard about Nanami, finally coming back into the jujutsu sorcerer field of work, even though you always found that he still had a thing for finances.   You shook your head, “Save that shit for later, (Y/N).” muttering to yourself, you didn’t want to think of anything but Gojo, after all, it had been one fucking year of being deprived of the man you loved most. You were practically starving for the guy, in more ways than one.   Ijichi gulped, facing towards you, one hand on his steering wheel, “Forgive me Mrs. Satoru, but um.. Forgive me if I misheard, but I think I heard your phones notification go off.. Due to the ah- incredibly loud profanity.”   Now just realizing that you had completely forgotten about the phone notification, you nodded your thanks to Ijichi, a warmth rushing to your cheeks before opening up your phone.    In the small, rounded box containing Gojo’s message, he wrote in all caps, “SUGAR, MY BELOVED, MY QUEEN, HOW CLOSE ARE YOU? I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT I’M LITERALLY BOUNCING UP AND DOWN IN OUR BED.”   Smiling to yourself, you furiously texted back, “Calm down honeybun, I’ll be there in like, 24 hours, I’m not even fucking close.”   You almost instantly got a DM back, making you jump a bit in your seat. Even with the 5 years of friendship, and the 3 years of relationship, and the 2 years of marriage, he still almost always texted you back as quickly as possible.   “God I can’t fucking wait for you to meet the kids! We’ll keep it a surprise, yeah? We have a bunch of treats, and we also got the kids to get some gifts for you! How thoughtful aren’t they? They’re MY offspring by the way, so like, you know, whenever you want a kid, it’s your call ;)”   You snorted to yourself, smiling. He genuinely seemed so excited, and it was all shining through even though it was from a screen.    “Maybe in a few years, I don’t even wanna imagine a little you.”   Despite the excited, bubbling feeling brewing bigger and bigger in your stomach, you figured it’d be best to sleep before the chaos. Happily sighing, you laid down, using your purse as a pillow, drifting into a blissful sleep.  ‧₊˚✩彡.   You awoke to a sudden halt, Looking around your surroundings, you figured you were home. Ijichi looked like he was damn near about to fall asleep on the steering wheel.   Well, maybe that’s what 24 hours of constant driving did to you. You fished around in your purse, silently cursing looking for a water bottle.   “Here, Ijichi, looks like you ran a marathon.” you grinned, handing the slightly crumped water bottle to him.   He beamed as if a guardian angel had descended down and gave him a trillion dollars.   “Mrs. Satoru! You really mean it? The ride was nothing, I was merely instructed to do so and I would’ve done it happily regardless.”   You waved your hand, as a dismissal of the conversation. “You overwork yourself Ijichi, go catch a break, on me. If Gojo tears you apart, tell him he won’t be getting any pussy from me for another year.”   Ichiji nodded vigorously, before dashing off, probably towards a massage center, God that guy needed it. ‧₊˚✩彡.    Gojo frantically hopped up and down, it had been a day, now he was just waiting for you to bust through the door in your wild hair, his legs sprawled onto the whole of a couch, he stared at the ceiling, a dopey smile spread across his face.     “Satoru. (Y/N) will not even want to be associated with you, looking at your current state.” he remarked, staring at the sorcerer with his strikingly dead eyes.     “Nanami, how the fuck am I supposed to act calm?! I’ve waited for this moment for ONE YEAR! Does my hair look normal?!”    “Your hair looks just like an albino porcupine, just as usual.” Flipping the page of his newspaper, he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I will never understand how someone like (Y/N) would be.. Interested in you, Satoru.”     Gojo paid no attention to the insult Nanami had so clearly made, his ears were perked up, eavesdropping on a distant conversation coming closer and closer.     “Gojo-Senpai was telling me about this movie while training my cursed energy! He basically spoiled the whole thing but he told me that the main character was super annoying but apparently she dies in the end in the most gruesome way possible! It’s worth the watch, your soul will feel cleansed as soon as you see her lifeless body!”     “Yuuji, you literally spoiled the whole thing to me just now.” Fushiguro calmly stated, looking bored out of his mind.     “Oh, oops.” Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck. He smiled coyly, tightly hugging his present.    “What’s with the decorations, Gojo-Sensei?” inquired Nobara, stroking her warm toned brown hair. She had figured it was something about the presents that Gojo had forced the trio to get, but he never told them who it was for.    The room had been decorated with various balloons and confetti, scattered about, on the table and the ground. A cake box wrapped with a gigantic bow limply guarded whoever was brave enough to get their hands on something that Gojo seemed to be protecting with his life.    A pink table cover with a crudely drawn Gojo and what would seem to be a girl, a heart in the middle of the pair. In a horrible font with an even awfuller text, the text on top and at the bottom of the drawing proudly stated:    “WELCOME BACK QT”    “-YOU’RE HUSBAND AND THE CREW”    Nobara stood in distaste, trying to disguise the face she made. The drawing, the misused you’re, and the overall poor design choice was enough to almost make her vomit.     Nobara, about to make her distasteful statements about the whole mess, was suddenly shut up as Gojo started hopping up and down, looking directly at his phone.   “SHE’S COMING! SHE’S COMING! EVERYONE IN YOUR PLACES!”    Now, seeing Gojo freak out wasn’t outside of the ordinary, but it was to see him freak out to this extent. He was hopping up and down, blabbering about a certain woman named (Y/N). Nobara was pretty sure that if a curse attacked right now, even a special grade comparable to the one with the uncomplete domain could completely crush Gojo, the guy seemed completely unaware of the example he was setting to the kids. Even Yuuji stood in disbelief, and he had seen multiple tantrums by Gojo.   Nanami, however, licked his finger and flipped the newspaper page. A face of boredom obviously displayed.     Nobara, preparing herself to chew Gojo out about how utterly stupid and embarrassing he made the whole class of jujutsu sorcerers look like, stopped wide eyed as she looked at the doors slide wide open. ‧₊˚✩彡.    You stood, shyly, looking at the ground. Gojo dove headfirst into your arms, laughing like a maniac and digging his face into your shoulder. You breathed in his scent, scanning the room.     Three teens, sat wide-eyed, backs straight as they looked at you with eyes you couldn’t quite read. All three of them held presents.     The one with eyelids underneath his eyes (which you assumed was Yuuji, the vessel of Sukuna) eyed you curiously, his eye twitched.     The other boy, one with wild black-blue hair, sat mouth agape, before closing it. He looked like he was about to say something, before stopping entirely and hugging his present closer to his chest.    The warm haired girl darted her eyes between you two, seemingly trying to put the puzzle together.     Nanami put the newspaper down, glancing over to you two.    “This is obviously Gojo-Senpai’s wife. He hasn’t seen her in many months, and as you can see, really really misses her.” he paused, a small smile spreading on his face, a rare sight.     “I don’t even know why myself, but what can you do with lovebirds?” he thought aloud, his attention now focused to the two of you furiously making out, hands in places Yuuji and the crew didn’t need to see.    “Satoru, (Y/N), leave the kissing for later. Don’t you see the kids?”     You detached yourself from his mouth, panting for breath. The air being exhaled out of his nose fanned over your face, you had just now realized the kids again.     “Satoru, lets sit down. I bet the kids are surprised. “ you motioned to the couch. Gojo whined.     “What? They’re not that dumb, they can tell you’re my wife or at least, you’re my girlfriend, just by the way we kiss right? Isn’t this telling enough?”     “You didn’t tell them about me, ever did you?”     He sighed in defeat, holding tightly onto your arm as you dragged him over and sat down on the comfortable couch, opposite of Yuuji and the crew. Nanami scooched over, before finally getting up to pull another chair from somewhere else. Grunting, he excused himself from the room.     “YOU HAD A GIRLFRIEND, GOJO-SENPAI? AND DIDN’T TELL US?” Yuuji questioned, looking like he was about to faint.    Gojo laughed, snuggling deeper onto you, almost like a koala.     “She’s my wife, aren’t you, sugar? Did you even pay attention to anything Nanami said? He literally said she was my wife.”     Megumi made an obvious gagging sound, but even he didn’t seem as bored as he was usually. He actually looked intrigued.     “Why didn’t you tell us, Gojo-Senpai?” the girl nagged, slamming her fist down on the table.     Gojo smiled, “Uh, well, I wanted it to be a surprise when she came back.”     “Couldn’t you have told us that you had a wife or something?” Megumi butt in.    The door slid open, Nanami coming in with a wooden stool.     “Knowing Gojo-Senpai, that probably went over his head.” grunting as he placed the wooden stool down and sat, he opened his newspaper again.     “Where do you guys know eachother?”    “Was Gojo-Senpai handsome back in highschool too?”    “Do you know what lipgloss Gojo-Senpai wears?”    “Gojo-Senpai, how did you know you loved her?”     “Gojo-Senpai, can we eat now?”     “Do you know why Gojo has such a horrible sweet tooth?”      Before you could even respond, Nanami put his hand up.     “Now, now, lets let the happy couple settle down.” he cleard his throat, not even making eye contact with anyone but the newspaper.     An audible chorus of groans sounded, “What do you expect us to do? We literally just met her!” moaned Yuuji.    “Weren’t you the one that literally asked if we could eat yet?”    Yuuji immediately shut up afterwards.     “Yuuji, she just came back from a 1 day trip. She should be laying down comfortably with Gojo-Senpai and they should be catching up. You’ll have the opportunity to talk to her and learn about her later. Right now she needs space.”    “But-” Nobara whined, clasping her hands together.    Nanami turned to Fushiguro, but even he had his mind set. “I didn’t even begin to think that Gojo had a wife. I really want to know more about her, if you think about it, this is all Gojo-Sensei’s fault.”    Nanami rubbed his temples, staring at the two of you for backup, realizing that you two were making out again.    Nanami sighed, 10 years later and you two were still the same.    

[shes-ghostface]

Nice can we get some spicy Harry Warden spending his first Valentines day with his s/o? (Preferably fem)

I’ve never written quite a strong NSFW before so I’m sorry if it’s a bit weird or lame 😂 I hope by spicy you did mean nsfw, if not I’m so sorry! 😂 I feel like I took too long to actually get to the spicy bits 😂 so if you get bored skip down about 14 paragraphs, that’s when it gets to the nsfw! 🤍

Harry Warden x Fem s/o (very NSFW)

February 14th, the day you know Harry isn’t fond of, had finally came around. You and Harry had been together for a few months now. He wasn’t much of a celebrator when it came to any holiday, but you know Valentines Day was a bit of a trigger for him. You didn’t exactly know what to expect as this was your first one together, and you hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.

You have your own apartment not too far from the mines, Harry stays at your place a lot though. He likes to know you’re safe and be able to watch over you. Plus he gets a nice view of the town from your window as your apartment is pretty high up. But he prefers to pick his next victim from there rather than look at the scenery.

You do go to the mines with him sometimes, but you prefer not to as it is really cold and damp, sometimes Harry leaves dead bodies lying around too which is quite stomach churning. Once he realises your discomfort though, he moves them instantly and throws them down the mining chute. You can’t even imagine how many bodies are down there.

Harry tries to make you feel at home when you’re there by filling his furnace up with wood to make sure you’re warm, he puts the radio on to give you some noise to listen to, as he doesn’t talk much. But you don’t mind, just his company is enough to keep you happy. It always plays classic 80s music, it’s the only music he will listen to, so don’t ever try to change the channel.

Harry was very shy at first, you only really knew you had started dating him when he began to bring crystals from the mines to your door along with small notes covered in soot, usually they only consisted of him telling you how nice you looked today, or that he’d be coming by later. He wouldn’t be there when you opened the door at first. He would just leave the crystals along with a note outside your door in a pouch for you to pick up, you knew he would be watching you read his notes from somewhere though. Another thing he did, is he would watch you as you worked and if anyone flirted with you, they wouldn’t be in the next day, or any days after that. You didn’t want to know exactly what happened to them, but you had an idea. Once he got more confident though, he would knock at your door and before you could even open it fully he would barge it all the way open, knocking you back. Of course he caught you before you fell every time though, and he would yank you into him for hugs, getting soot and blood all over you and your clothes.

Once he was comfortable, he definitely made himself at home, he would immediately plonk his sooty ass on your couch and drop his pickaxe at his feet, then motion you to come sit in his lap. Oh you don’t want your clothes getting dirty with the soot? Tough shit, he would get up and drag you to the couch and place you in his lap himself. Harry is VERY touch starved, so any chance he got he was touching you or pulling you into him so he could feel you against him. You could be cooking and he would be behind you instantly, hands wrapped around your waist, watching over your shoulder, rattling your ears with his heavy breathing under the gas mask. Of course you liked that though. When it came to bedtime, if he was staying over, he would be in the bed first. You didn’t want soot and half dried blood all over your bedding? Oh well, guess you’re washing it in the morning, because there’s no shifting this heavy bastard. Soon as you walked into your bedroom he would already be sitting up waiting for you, he would pat your side of the bed, telling you to get in. He didn’t move much through the night, he just held your hand in his leather gloved one. The whole night that is, if you tried to move he would grip your hand tighter.

It was getting darker by the minute as you were getting ready for your night shift, but you couldn’t really focus on anything due to wondering where Harry was. You thought he would have woken you up if stayed over last night but when you woke and looked to his side of the bed, all you seen was the sooty outline of his body. He must have kept quiet, which was strange for him. He usually barges in and the sound of his dense, blood coated pickaxe hitting the floor usually wakes you.

You were getting your bag ready for the night shift but you got knocked out of your thoughts by the banging on your apartments door, you sighed as you placed your bag on the kitchen counter before making your way to answer it. You were hoping it was Harry, you wanted to see if he was doing okay, today of all days, but as you opened the door, to your disappointment, it was just your neighbour from across the corridor. She asked if you knew what all the soot in the hallway was as it came to and from your apartment. You just shook your head and closed the door in her face, you couldn’t be bothered dealing with anyone’s shit right now. You had 30 minutes to get to work and you wanted to fill Harry’s Valentines card out before you left, just in case he came by. You didn’t know how he would react to receiving a card, but you hoped it would be a positive reaction.

You finished writing his card just in time before having to set off to work, you reread it just to double check it sounded okay.

“To my Harry, Happy Valentines Day. It’s our first one together, so I wasn’t sure on getting you a card but I couldn’t resist! Looking forward to seeing you once I’m done with work, lots of love.”

That should do, you thought. You didn’t want to overdo it as it was your first Valentines with him and you weren’t even sure if he wanted to celebrate it in the first place. You sealed the red envelope and left it on the kitchen counter so he would see it as soon as he walked through the door.

You grabbed your bag and hoisted it onto your shoulder as you walked towards your door, as you pulled it open and went to walk out, you were met with those black, sooty overalls. His musky scent filling your senses, you looked up and were met with that gas mask of his, followed by his heavy breathing. “Oh- hey Harry, I was just on my way to work, I got you a card. It’s on the counter if you want it.” You said nervously, as you fidgeted with your bag strap on your shoulder. Harry looked up from your face, leaning slightly to the side to look over your shoulder into the apartment, noticing the red envelope. He looked down to you suddenly, causing your breath to hitch. “I need t-“ before you could even get your sentence out, Harry abruptly swung his left hand from behind his back, you flinched, closing your eyes preparing for the worst. Nothing happened.. as you opened your eyes back up, he was holding out a red, heart shaped box. You were shocked to say the least, you weren’t expecting anything from Harry as you knew he wasn’t fond of Valentines Day. “You- you got me something?” You asked. He nodded, holding the box out closer to you, urging you to take it. “Thank you Harry!” You gushed, taking the box from his gloved hand. You were a bit apprehensive to open it as you had heard the stories of Harry leaving human hearts in chocolate boxes, but as you opened it, you were surprised to see it was actually full of chocolates. A smile lit up your face, which made Harry perk up and fidget a little. “I can’t wait to share these with you later! Thank you so much!” You exclaimed as you wrapped your arms around the top of his shoulders, he returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you tightly to him. You did feel some dampness as you held him though, and that familiar smell of blood filled your nose, it definitely hadn’t been long since his recent kill.

As gross as it was, you still loved being held by him, but unfortunately, the hug had to end so that you could go to work. “I have to get to work, but I’ll see you later and we can have a nice late night together if you’d like?” You asked. Harry pulled away, looking down at you, he didn’t move for a few seconds, then he shook his head. “No? You don’t want to spend time together tonight?” He nodded, “You do want to? Then what are you saying no to?” He didn’t respond straight away, but then you heard that husky, deep voice you hardly ever hear, “Work.” He edged himself closer to you, causing you to slightly step back. His body stood in the doorframe, taking up the entirety of it, blocking you from leaving. “Harry, I have to go I could get fir-“ He pushed you back into your apartment, causing you to stumble backwards. He slammed the door behind him, dragging his bloody pickaxe and placing it under the door handle, preventing anyone from coming in, he then turned to you. “No.” You felt his voice rattle through you, his tone callous. He wasn’t messing around, you weren’t going to work it seemed. “Okay, well I’ll have to call them and say I can’t make it Harry. I can’t just not turn up.” He stood there, breathing heavily, watching every step you took as you walked to place your bag on the kitchen counter and take your phone out to call your boss. Luckily your boss picked up the phone instantly, you told her you couldn’t make it today as something just came up. She wasn’t happy due to the late notice, but she just told you to make up for it by coming in earlier tomorrow.

As you put the phone down Harry’s frame loosened, he edged closer to the red envelope on the counter. “Go ahead, open it.” You told him. He grabbed it, causing black soot to coat over most of it. He took the card out, staring at the front of it, which had a silhouette of a couple kissing and a banner saying Happy Valentines. He stared for a few seconds, you had never actually kissed Harry. He never takes his mask off in front of you, which bothered you a little bit as it would be nice to feel his lips against yours, and to actually see his eyes instead of those blacked out, glass frames on his gas mask once in a while. He opened it, reading the contents silently. He stayed quiet for a while, before looking up at you, staring at you whilst stroking the card slightly with his gloved thumb. “Do you like it?” You ask, eagerly awaiting his response. He doesn’t say anything, he just places the card back on the counter and starts walking towards you swiftly, you had no idea what he was doing. He had never came at you so aggressively.

Harry was barely even an inch in front of you when he stopped abruptly, towering over your frame, you could feel his gaze burning into you. You were nervous to look up, you didn’t know if this was a good reaction or a bad one. You felt his right hand tug at the hem of your jeans, causing you to stumble even closer into his large frame. “Harry what are yo-“ he put his left gloved hand over your mouth, as you looked up at the glassed eyes of his mask, all you heard was his deep, stern voice “Quiet.” You had no idea what was going on, he had never been this forward before. You nodded, agreeing to not ask questions. He brought both of his hands to the buttons of your jeans, undoing them frantically. He is touch starved after all, he had wanted to touch your body for a long time now, but he was waiting for this day. Considering everyone says it’s the day of love and all that. You didn’t resist, because you wanted this just as much as he did.

He pressed forward, forcing you to move with him, he lowered you onto the couch, giving him the ability to pull your jeans off of your legs, you couldn’t help but blush. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks, Harry noticed this, he loved seeing you so flustered. Knowing he had this power over you, it got him even more excited. His member was hardening with each second that passed. He needed you, and you knew how much you needed him. Your jeans were ripped completely off at this point, you felt the cold air hit your bare legs. Harry traced his gloved hand over your white, lace panties, leaving a slight trail of black soot mixed with blood from his finger. His breathing started to get heavier, you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Harry got to you in ways no one else ever had, just him looking at you made you weak, never mind all of this. Your t shirt didn’t stay on for long, he yanked that off, nearly causing it to rip from the force. You were left in your white lace bra and panties, the cold air nipping at your skin as his gaze burned into every inch of your being. He was fascinated by your body, so soft, so small, compared to his.

Harry got up suddenly, you had no idea what he was doing, but you were aching for him. He can’t strip you and get you all flustered to just leave. “Where are you going?!” You yelled, to which there was no reply, all you seen was the room go black. He had switched the light off. “Harry?” Nothing. No response, until you heard heavy footsteps inching closer to you, along with leaden breathing. His mask was still on, that’s for sure. You didn’t say anything as you felt his presence approach you, the heavy footsteps from his boots stopping abruptly, inches in front of the couch where you were left waiting for him. “Take them off.” He commanded, causing you to blush and become flustered. “What?” You asked nervously, “You know what. Take them off, or I will.” He growled, causing your whole body to shudder. You shifted in your seat, not sure what to expect next, you put your thumb under the hem of your panties to begin pulling them down, but Harry was impatient. Do you not realise how long he has been waiting to make you his? He lets out a frustrated sigh, emphasised by his mask. All you felt was his gloved hands brushing against your thighs as he pulled your panties down, dropping them to the floor, beside his boots. He could see pretty well in the dark as he had grown accustomed to making his way around down in the dark mines, but you could barely even make out his silhouette, you could only just see his body heaving up and down from his breathing, but you knew he was staring at you. “Mine.” He growled to himself, just loud enough for you to hear, causing even more heat to rush to your core.

The tension between the two of you was agonising, he just stood there taking the sight of you in, making you wait. Was he doing this on purpose? Did he know how much this was affecting you? You heard him move ever so slightly, from what you could make out in the dark, he had lowered himself onto one knee. His gas mask level with your face, before you could react, you felt his leather gloved hands push your legs open, causing you to lose balance and slide down the couch slightly, you gasped and stabilised yourself with your hands either side of you. Harry was brushing his right hand up your right thigh, causing a streak of blood and soot to trail up your leg. He loved seeing blood on your skin, it was like art to him. Knowing his most recent kill was marked on you, this made him start breathing rather erratically. He found it so hot. He couldn’t resist, you felt one of his gloved fingers enter your heat, moving it in and out ever so slowly at first, causing you to melt into his touch as he put a second finger in. You hadn’t been touched there in so long, you had forgotten how it felt. You didn’t even care that he left his bloodstained, soot covered glove on as his fingers eased in and out of you, making your breathing heavy and your body feel waves of pleasure. Harry was fascinated by how wet you were for him, your fluids mixing with the small amount of blood made him throb from excitement. He couldn’t wait to be inside you, to feel your warm, sticky core taking his cock. He couldn’t resist it any longer, his fingers left you, making you feel empty. You heard him get up from the floor, he was stood upright now, looking down at you. You heard the zip to his black, mining coveralls coming undone. You were yearning for him, you wanted him inside of you so bad. Every second felt like a minute, but this is Harry. You won’t be getting what you want just yet, he made you feel good just now, time to return the favour. “Sit up.” He ordered, you did as you were told, you couldn’t see as it was still pitch black in the room, but Harry’s length was solid, and of course, the only thing that could ease it was you. Your mouth was at the perfect height to take his cock, and you better believe he is going to take advantage of your pretty little mouth. You felt his gloved hand stroke your cheek, then his thumb tracing your lips. “Open up for me.” He growled, you obliged, opening your mouth, all the while still aching to feel him inside you. You felt the tip of his cock brush past your lips, onto your tongue, filling your mouth, causing your tastebuds to twang. You were expecting him to taste dirty, considering he hadn’t showered in a few days, but he didn’t. You didn’t know what soot tasted like, but you do now. The chalky substance soon watered down once Harry started gently thrusting his cock in and out of your slick mouth, brushing his hands through your hair, “Good girl, yes. That’s my good girl.” He muttered over and over every time you took the full length of him inside your mouth and down your throat, causing you to slightly gag. Harry wasn’t exactly small, you had never had someone this size. He was both girthy and long, perfectly evened out. This was a slight concern though, you kept thinking about how much smaller than him you were, hopefully he wouldn’t go too rough when he is inside you. Or hopefully he will.

Harry’s breathing was slower and heavier. You tasted his pre-cum overtake your tongue just before he slowly pulled out of your mouth, “Good girl, now stand up.” He commanded. You wiped the slight mix of saliva and Harry’s pre-cum from your lips with your hand as you lifted yourself up off of the couch. “Why?” You asked, eagerly awaiting his response. To which he never gave you an answer, he leant down, grabbing the backs of your thighs with his gloved hands, one with some of the fingers still wet from being inside of you. He lifted up against him, you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he lead you both towards the bedroom. This caused your heart to feel like it was beating out of your chest, all you could hear was his heavy breathing from under his mask and the heavy footsteps of his boots leading you to the bed. He booted the door to the bedroom open with ease, rushing inside, placing you down onto the bed. He leant down, arms reaching around your back to undo your bra. He unclipped it with such ease, tossing it to the side, “Lay down.” He instructed. You laid back, anticipating his next move, you were craving his body against yours, every time he touched you it was like a fiery blaze rushed through your entire being. It was darker in the bedroom than it was out in the living room and kitchen area, so you couldn’t really see Harry at all. You heard the sound of metal unclipping, followed by the sound of a rush of air coming out of his mask. He’d taken it off, for the first time he was maskless, right in front of you. You wanted to see his face so bad but you knew to respect his privacy, if he wanted to show you his face, he would in his own time. The sound of him unlacing his boots and stepping out of his coveralls came next, you now knew he was completely naked. He doesn’t wear anything under his mining gear, which made your stomach flutter with excitement. You felt the bed lower as he got onto it, moving towards you. You felt him leaning over your body, peering down at you. “Don’t turn a light on, or you’ll know about it.” He growled, “I won’t” you replied, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. “Good girl. Now lay still.” His voice was so deep even without the gas mask, you couldn’t help but bite your lip in anticipation. He lowered himself so that he was inches away from your face, you heard him inhale through his nose, taking in your scent. He hadn’t smelt you without the gas mask before, and your scent drove him crazy. He pressed his surprisingly soft lips against yours, caressing your face with his bare hand as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. “So- precious.” He whispered between the kisses, his lips sent you into some kind of frenzy, you couldn’t get enough of him, it was so nice to finally feel his lips and skin against yours for once, instead of his leather gloves and rough coveralls.

Harry began to lower his hands, caressing your breasts as he buried his face into your neck, kissing it unrelentingly. He craved every inch of you, he couldn’t help himself, his hands started to feel up and down your waist and hips, his teeth sinking into your skin with teasing bites, causing you to wince and moan at the painful pleasure. Harry is gentle, but once his animalistic side gets the better of him, his dominance shows. He pushed himself up, parting your legs and readying his cock at your entrance. You didn’t have time to prepare as he slid himself into you, he stretched you out so fast, you felt your walls clenching around his length, causing you to gasp and moan with the pleasurable shock. He was relentless, he didn’t give you a chance to adjust to his size before pounding into you, his right hand reaching down to your throat and gripping with force, causing your breathing to hitch. He loved seeing you so helpless, taking his cock like a good girl whilst the hands he has used to kill so many were on you, he could kill you right now if he wanted to, whilst fucking you senseless. This sent him into a frenzy, he lowered both of his hands to your hips, gripping them to give him the stability to pound every inch of himself into you. You didn’t even have time to catch your breath from him choking you before he made you breathless again, his cock reaching parts of your core you didn’t even know were reachable. You couldn’t focus on anything but the pleasure rising with every stroke of his member thrusting deeply into your heat, you were so close to cumming that you had to grab onto him forearms to keep yourself stable, you were surprised you hadn’t both fallen off of the bed from the sheer force he was ramming into you. Your body feeling jolts of pleasure throughout it every time Harry thrusted himself all the way into you, hitting the spot just right. Harry was nearing his edge too, he couldn’t get over how tight you were and how well you fit around his cock. His little angel looked so dirty with the soot and bloodstains from his hands all over your body and throat, causing him to buck into you with every ounce of energy he had left, making you hit your climax as he railed into the deepest part of you, whilst hitting your clit just right, “Oh god- Harry yes, YES.” You whined euphorically, hearing you moan his name drove Harry wild, knowing he made you feel so good with his cock, it made him pound into you mercilessly, feeling your tight, wet walls engulf every inch of him, he gripped your throat once again, just to see you at his mercy as he unloads himself into your heat. “Yes, yes. Good girl, su- such a good girl for me.” He moaned, whilst tightening his grip on your throat, making your vision blur. All you could feel was his cock throbbing against your walls as his cum oozed into you. His breathing erratic, he lowered himself back down to you, easing his grip around your neck, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Mine.” He whispered, rolling off of you. He had claimed you as his. You couldn’t believe what you had just experienced, you knew your first time with Harry would be amazing, but you couldn’t even think straight because of how much he had just devoured you.

You heard Harry get up off of the bed, and begin to get dressed again. You heard his coveralls zip up, then his mask click back into place and his breathing become rattled and heavy again. He switched the light back on once he was his ‘normal self’. He just stood, staring at you, his chest heaving in and out. “I’m going to get in the shower, you can come in with me if you like?” You asked, hoping he would agree because he definitely needed one after that. He shook his head and replied, “After.” To which you gathered was because he still wasn’t ready for you to see his face just yet. As you went into the bathroom, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had just happened. He usually hates this day, but this was the best day he’d had in a long time. He won’t ever tell you that though. He went out into the kitchen, heading towards the door to get his pickaxe, but before he reached it, the card you had gotten him caught his attention. He was staring at the couple kissing on the front of it, it had been so long since he had kissed someone. Feeling your lips against his made him feel something he hasn’t felt in a long time, he never thought he’d feel love on Valentine’s Day ever again. But you proved him wrong. He shook himself out of his thoughts, Harry was an old fashioned man. He didn’t think dwelling on feelings was necessary. So he put the card into his coverall chest pocket, and headed to his pickaxe.

You stepped into the hot shower, the beads of water caressing and cleaning your recently devoured body. You didn’t know, but Harry was watching you from the slight crack in the door. What you weren’t expecting, was five minutes into your shower, to feel his presence right behind you. As you looked to the floor of the shower, you seen the black, soot filled water running down the drain. You froze for a minute, not knowing whether to turn around, but you couldn’t resist. You really wanted to see his face. As you turned, you seen his chest first, which had dark brown hairs and scars scattered across it, you lifted your hands to brush over them, he has been through so much. You knew not all of these scars were just from his victims fighting back, some of them were from when the mine collapsed. It hurt knowing how alone he must have been for so many years. You looked up and were met with his dark, icy blue eyes, they were gorgeous. His hair was a dark brown and his skin pale, which was no surprise because how on earth would this guy get any sun wearing that mining get up everyday. You couldn’t help but stare, he was so handsome. Your gaze made him look away, no one had seen his face in so many years and he wasn’t used to getting looked upon for so long. You lifted your hand to his face, turning his head, making him face you again. “Thank you, Harry.” He looked down at you, before suddenly getting out of the shower and tugging the shower curtain back over, you could hear him putting his coveralls and mask back on from the other side. You stalled for a minute, giving him some space, then you went to open the curtain but he beat you to it. You were met with the blacked out glass frames of his mask, “Happy Valentine’s Day, angel.” He whispered, as he backed up and lowered himself onto the chair in the corner of the bathroom, leaning forward, his legs slightly apart, resting his arms on them while spinning his pickaxe in his hands as he watched you finish cleaning up the body he had just claimed.

I’m sorry it’s so long and it took a while to release! I thought it would be good to release it on Valentine’s Day 😂 but I hope you like it! 🤍🤍

[renjiokumura]

Love?

Min Yoongi x Plus size reader

Disclaimer: Anything I write is purely fiction.

Tags: Angst, Established Relationship, and cursing.

Summary: Everyone has there limits and Y/N just found Yoongi’s. 

A/N: I write the reader pretty undescriptive. I tend to use female pronouns, so you’ll probably have to specifically ask me for something with male pronouns or gender neutral. But the reader can be any race you are and be related to the characters through adoption or whatever helps you move the story along. I want everyone to feel like they can read my writing.

The lights were flashing, blood was bumping, and the noises were deafening. There was a thin layer of sweat coating your body, and mixed with the hot lights shining upon you, you glowed. With poise, precision, and wild abandon, you hit every dance move and wreaked the stage. You commanded the stage with your wild energy and your fans loved it. You never thought in a million years you would be preforming as a musical artist, let a lone at MAMA as the opening act. But here you were rapping and singing your songs for your fans. Your new style was a diamond in the rough theme, with flashy accents here, grungy tones there, and punk black filling everywhere else. You are probably wondering how you got here, well it all started a little less than a year ago.

It had been two years into your relationship and on your end, it seemed like everything was going wonderfully in it, but you were very wrong.

You were a sweet doting girlfriend. Ever since you were a child you loved to care and help people as much as you could. That was sweet and all, but some people found that overbearing, that’s why you didn’t have too many friends growing up. You got better at reining it in enough to get a friend, but you still had your moments.

“Y/N, you know he’s busy, so give him some space. The boys will be there for him if something happens so calm down.” Your friend sighed, exasperated with you for staring at your phone instead of enjoying each other’s presence at your favorite café.

“I know, I know. But I still get worried and he hasn’t texted back for about a day and the longest he has ever not responded was an hour.” You looked up at you friend with pleading eyes, “He’s been doing this for a while now and I don’t know why.”

F/N abruptly stood up and snatched your phone out of your hand. “I’m doing this for your own good.” You were staring at her in complete shook as she sped walked out of the café.

“WAIT!” you said running after her. When you finally caught up with her you confronted her actions. “Why did you steal my phone and where are we going?” you asked out of breath.

She smirked looking at you, “Somewhere you can relax,” and looked forwards again walking with a purpose.

Back at the BTS dorm there was tension flowing rampantly. Yoongi had turned his phone off yesterday and it has been off since then. He was already irritated from the soon approaching comeback, and it would only get worst if he turned his phone back on.

It was a known fact that Yoongi was a patient, caring, and overall nice person. Don’t get me wrong, he did have a cold aura but underneath that was a very nice man. But everyone had their limits, and Yoongi was getting close to his.

He genuinely loved his girlfriend and was nothing but grateful of her caring and supporting nature, but it was driving him crazy at the moment.

Currently he was stressing over finishing the last track of their new album, when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said not caring who it was.

Jimin poked his head in the door cautiously knowing that his hyung was in no mood for any unnecessary distractions. “Hyung,” he called out nervously, “There has been a change in the schedule today and they need us right now at the dance studio.”

The growl that came from the rapper after did not ease the unfortunate messenger of the bad news from his nervousness. Taking a few calming breaths Yoongi respond to Jimin.

“Ok. Tell them I’ll be ready in 10 minutes, okay?” he said tiredly to his dongsaeng.

Jimin gave him a faint smile and nod then left as quietly as he came.

Thinking this would be a good way to let out some tension he got ready to go to the dance studio, unfortunately it was everything but. On the drive to the studio, he was under the impression that they would make slight adjustments to the dance routines. Instead, when the boys arrived at the dance studio they found out that the choreographer changed about half of the whole dance.

And that isn’t even the worst of it. Yoongi was messing up almost all of the new moves, which resulted in them staying longer. It wasn’t until 4 hours later that the new dance was perfected. The boys left the dance studio at about 9:30 PM and they were exhausted, more stressed then before they got there, and starving. On the drive home some of them took a nap and some were too restless to even let their consciousness slip away and obviously Yoongi was one not taking a nap.

As the boys were making their way back, you were finishing up getting food for the guys, knowing they aren’t taking care of themselves because of the comeback. Not to long ago, you and F/N split ways after leaving a cool new karaoke place you had been dying to go to. On the short walk to the dorms, you were bubbling with excitement to see the boys, especially your boyfriend.

You truly did love him. He was your rock and you were his marshmallow. He made you feel so good about yourself when you were down about your weight and you made sure to be there for him when he needed some help. You guys just worked so well together.

The boys got back to the dorms a few minutes before you, and that was enough time for the storm to start and wreak havoc. As the boys left the car slightly dazed and confused, Yoongi left his phone in the car, but Jungkook noticed and got it.

“Yoongi-hyung,” he called as he walked in the house last.

Yoongi turned around wondering what the maknae wanted but froze a little seeing the younger boy turning on his phone.

“Here you know our higher ups don’t like us having our phones off. Be careful.” He playfully scolded with his bunny smile not knowing what he had truly done.

As soon as the phone was in Suga’s hand, it started blowing up with multiple texts, missed calls, and voicemail notifications. And that is when Min Yoongi finally reached his limit. Shouting curses, he threw his phone lucky missing any of the members and or walls in his anger driven actions.

“I’m sick and fucking tired of her bullshit!” he was pacing at this point wanting to break something but trying to channel his anger in to just shouting. All the other boys were a little terrified at the out burst and didn’t know what to do or what it was about.

“Fuck!” he was stopped facing the boys and unaware of the person who snuck in after Jungkook.

“I mean fucking hell! I can’t do anything without her worrying me with her worrying about me for 5 secs. She’s over bearing, overly sensitive, and just plain annoying. She has been blowing up my phone with constant texts and I’m reaching my wits end with Y/N.” He finally finished his anger fueled confession, not knowing that the last person he wanted to hear it heard every word.

You couldn’t believe you ears. During his whole outburst, you were in the kitchen.  You were about to fix him a plate of food from the dinner you had brought him and the boys but were stopped by the loud volume of his voice. You knew you could be a little much and you came to terms with that even tried to fix it but hearing that the love of your life couldn’t even handle you really hurt.

Your body was visibly shaking with all the emotions running through you, but the most overpowering emotion was heartbreak. Silent tears fell from your eyes and they wouldn’t stop coming. Amazingly you were able to quietly make your way out of the house without being notice. As soon as you were out in the cold with only yourself and your thoughts, you cried hysterically and ran all the way home, running like you never have before.

Meanwhile back at the dorm, Taehyung had caught a waft, during Yoongi’s explosion of angry words, of delicious food. When Yoongi had settled down a little, the vocalist went to find out what the source of the smell was and left towards the kitchen. With Tae’s sudden movement, everyone broke from their stunned states noticing the smell of food and were soon following in behind him, even Yoongi.

Upon arriving to the kitchen, the boys found a big feast packed in multiple containers filled with their favorite foods. They all were confused on where it had come from. On closer inspection they noticed a uncomplete plate filled with some of Yoongi’s favorite foods and all came to the same realization.

“Fuck,” the oldest rapper cursed under his breath. Before anyone could make a move, in the silence, a single text notification was heard that made Yoongi’s blood run cold. Slowly grabbing his phone like it would bite him if he touched it. He unlocked it and saw the last text he would get from her for a long time.

My Love: Enjoy the food. I hope you guys have an amazing comeback. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a bother. I promise I won’t anymore.

A/N: I might add more to this but I’m not sure. I just want to get some of my WIPs out there.

[spooky-activity]

Just a little update on Cassandratopia 2: Electric Boogaloo (Or as it stands in my Google Docs folder rn, A Helping Hand). I’ll put it under the cut cuz it’s kinda long. 

I just wanted to say that I’m still planning on actually doing it, despite all evidence to the contrary lol 

I did Cassandratopia in a haze of graduating from college(where I was studying animation) and just having ended my first dnd campaign as a dungeon master (which went 3 years!). I was fishing around for internships, but since the pandemic had just kicked off I wasn’t having much luck. So I had a lot of creative energy that wasn’t getting channeled anywhere, and a lot of free time when I wasn’t applying to places. Which is how I did 4 pages a day several times per week. Which was insane. 

As it stands, I’m running 2 dnd campaigns(one meets weekly, the other every other week or so), and just scored a full-time internship at a video game company! The campaigns I’m running are a homebrew open world, which, for those of you who aren’t too familiar with dnd, is a metric fuckton of work to prep for each session because I have no idea what my insane friends and siblings are going to try and do every time we play. 

Anyways all this to say that my storytelling itch is kinda. Sufficiently getting scratched atm and I have a lot less free time. I’m still plucking away at the setting/refining the story of A Helping Hand, but it’s largely on the backburner. Cassandratopia was also, uh, like the first story I’ve ever told in any sort of format besides the give-and-take of dnd, so... I’m not used to having so much control over the narrative. Oddly. I’ve never thought of myself as much of a writer of stories; my main focus is character animation, so someone else is usually writing the stories I’m telling anyways, which is super cool with me. Honestly I’m surprising myself with how much I want to tell this story, which is why I’m still sure I’m doing it. Just. Slower. Than Cassandratopia got done. 

But I’ll share a bit of the lore I’ve been cooking up! Specifically about Zhan Tiri and The Drops. The story will be told in an extremely dnd type setting, because that’s the kind of narrative I’ve told before and am comfortable telling: hard magic rules, neat fights, scary monsters, a dash of eldritch horror, and huge emphasis being put on magical artifacts(kinda like in the show!). Here’s some stuff that’s basically locked-in. 

Zhan Tiri

Zhan Tiri is one of the many Demon Lords of the Abyss. She’s kind of a mashup of two of my favorite Demon Lords, Zuggtmoy, the Lady of Rot and Decay, and Pale Night, the Mother of Demons and Queen of the Night(with just a dash of Hannibal Lecter because who doesn’t like helpful, polite, manipulative-ass bitches lksjflkja;fj). Her domain sits almost exactly between the Sundrop and Moonstone, largely being the new growth that comes from death, and the endless cycle of life and death. Places where her influence is strongest includes the cracks in... Well anywhere really, from society to the planet’s shell, where metaphorical or physical rot could grow; musty, mostly ignored places where something could fester. Iconography related to her would include endless mazes, fungi, grasping skeletal hands, and rotting/blooming corpses. Her spores can animate corpses, which she likes to use as mindless minions when she doesn’t feel like sending one of her Acolytes. She shares a scrap of her power with those few mortals she likes. She appreciates ambition and the desire to Grow to be bigger than what you were to start with, as those are qualities she herself possesses. 

Incredibly intelligent and merciless to those she deems her enemies, her main thing is pulling the strings from the shadows and seeing just how far she can push people to act with as little prompting from her as possible. She does, however, have the power to kinda bulldoze her way through things if she needs to, but she doesn’t like to because where’s the fun in that? 

She first gained interest in the Material Plane when a Wizard with too much hubris from said Material Plane(Named Demanitus) contacted her trying to figure out more information about The Drops and how to control them. After indulging him for a bit, she started preparing to make a summer home on the Material Plane because it’s New and Fun here and Wow These Mortals are Really Fun to Mess With! And some of them she even genuinely liked! Demanitus then realized his mistake and locked her away in Pandemonium for what he hoped was forever, but turned out to be only around 1,000 years, due to the efforts of her followers. Her little stint in Pandemonium magnified the more... Chaotic aspects of her personality, so now she wants to cover the Material Plane in blooming mazes of fungal crops that she can break people with at her leisure. 

The Drops

The drops are two semi-sentient pieces of one original artifact, whose original purpose was to be a tool of creation for the gods. Which, through some great calamity(still deciding that one), got sundered and settled into the two basic aspects of creation: the nearly unlimited well of life-energy which organizes stardust into planets, cabbages, and kings, and the “you gotta crack a few eggs to get an omlette” destructive force which breaks down what the sundrop makes so that it can make more. 

The main goal of the drops is to reunite. I would want to as well if I was ripped in half! This manifests as a... General tug in the direction of the other drop. A desire in the host to Go That Way. It can be resisted, and even ignored for a bit, but it’s always there. Like being hungry if starving wasn’t a danger. Just a bit uncomfortable if you aren’t going That Way, but ignorable. 

Both drops generally try to be as helpful to their wielder as possible, as originally they were a tool of creation to the gods. They are innately obliging. They’re also REALLY UNSAFE FOR MORTALS TO BE MESSING WITH. The Sundrop is a little safer because the most it can do is kinda. Overcharge you into something distinctly not human but still alive, and King Fredrick was lucky he made the Sundrop into soup before giving it to Arianna. But King Edmund got his wholeass arm blasted off for touching the Moonstone. 

The Sundrop

Best I could whittle it down, the Sundrop has power over life energy, like the sun’s light. It also has power over the energy derived from geothermal activities, so deep sea creatures Are Not Immune To The Sundrop, which was a funny thought that crossed my mind that they could be, but that will likely never come up anyways salkdjf;ljsf It is, in its basest form, Growth and Progress. 

It’s a little sentient, but very much entrenches itself into whoever is holding it at the time. Like another mind looking through your eyes and seeing what you see/feeling what you feel while still retaining a bit of individuality from the host. It’s not... Parasitic because it’s in its nature to give, but it’s generally pretty firmly attached to whoever is holding it until they die( which isn’t usually for a WHILE. It ’infects’ a new host when one dies, usually a plant near their grave...) or until a solar eclipse. It wants what they want, but it’s very fussy so they have to ask it for power exactly correctly(like singing an incantation every time you want to heal someone, or doing a Ritual involving lots of very specific ingredients, Celestial Alignments, and Secret Words) or it won’t listen, like an orchid dying if the ph balance is off in the soil by a little bit. But it’s generally pretty intuitive to use, because it wants what you want and (as long as you ask right) is willing to help. 

Anyways basically under the influence of the Sundrop you get a few things: 

Basically limitless energy coursing through your body while you’re in a place with sunlight, which equates to rapid healing, mostly, because every cell in your body is being supercharged with free energy. Never getting exhausted in direct sunlight. (If Rapunzel lived in a place that was sunny 24/7 like near one of the poles she wouldn’t have to sleep like. until it started to get dark in the opposite half of the year. Then she’d have to sleep like a regular human being)

You stay at your prime, or if you are past it, revert to your prime. Someone who is holding the Sundrop, or who has regular access to the Sundrop’s magic can’t die of old age or illness. They have to be hurt beyond the Sundrop’s ability to heal or have it taken away from them. 

The ability to share this rapid healing with others (if you ask right)

The ability to freely draw on the raw, near-limitless energy of the sun to shape into things like cool-looking energy blasts (only if you ask right) 

The Moonstone

The moonstone has powers over varying levels of destruction: from destroying things by ripping them apart/ to Not Letting Things Be Destroyed(also known as protecting) by freezing them in indestructible rock. Like the moon, it can ‘reflect’ a bit of the sundrop’s power, so it can kinda provide energy, albeit a lot less than the sundrop can provide. It’s the inevitable march of The End of All Things, fertilizing the fields of time with the ashes of the old so the new can take root. 

The Moonstone is a bit more in the dark(pun intended hehe) when it comes to bonding with someone, it can only try to figure out what is going on based off the emotions of its wielder, and through anything directly touching the Black Rocks. Because of this it’s... Kinda dumb? It tries to do things to help(Like shooting red fear-rocks to try and scare away whatever must be scaring its wielder so badly) but often fails spectacularly at helping. 

Under the influence of the Moonstone you get: 

Mortals get Neat Body Armor that’s actually just you being turned into a rock! They are very fragile! They need to be protected! The best the Moonstone can do to try and preserve you is to Stop All Destruction by.. Pausing all bodily functions indefinitely. Rocks don’t need to eat, sleep, or breathe, and almost nothing can destroy you if you’re solid Black Rock. The weak reflection of the Sundrop’s energy keeps the host animated, but they’re not exactly alive anymore. Like cryostasis. Wounds (if any) acquired in this state won’t be a problem because they’re not messing anything up, because nothing is technically working in the first place, but they will be a problem when you’re not protected in this way anymore. It’s a cosmic ‘I’ll deal with that later’ button, essentially. 

Like the moon, the Moonstone can reflect the light of the sun. It uses its rock crystals to do so, which can even split the sun’s power into different shades, like a prism. Essentially, different colored rocks can mean new and exciting power sets. 

Blue Lightning! The Moonstone can reflect the Sundrop’s power, so it also has access to pure bursts of energy, even if it is weaker and colder. 

The Moonstone is very helpful, but usually has no idea what you want. ‘Asking’ the Moonstone for more control over its power in the same way you would Ask the Sundrop for more power reminds it of the perfect bond it used to share. The Moonstone’s incantation deepens the bond between wielder and Moonstone in such a way that it actually knows what you want from it, giving you near perfect control of its powers.

*This is kind of just a side note of the Drops: While the Moonstone is weaker than the Sundrop in an head-on fight, it could hold its own if it were on the defensive. Redirecting the power instead of trying to overpower and such.

** Cass made of rocks means I get to draw her skeleton :) not in every picture that would be fucking nuts and way too much work alskjdf;lkjs;fv

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Californian Dream (Pt. 04 of 11)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: Being part of one of the richest families of California doesn't mean you're happy. Your life is boring, and you're surrounded by meaningless people and their meaningless talk. Even during Summer, with the break you have from college, there's nothing good going on. Nothing but the new pool guy, Billy, the most handsome man you ever saw. You were successfully avoiding him, not wanting to act like an idiot in front of the guy until Billy accepts to be your date for a fancy gala you're forced to attend. The night was going well, even better when he sneaked you out to go to the beach. But a gang of criminals breaks into the party, kidnapping the heirs to the wealthiest families, which includes you. So, for your safety, your parents want you to stay with Billy, living in his apartment until the criminals are caught. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.

Warnings: Light violence

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{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

×

Distance

In the morning, you tiptoe to the living room, but everything you find of Billy is a small note left on the kitchen table. He's at work and must be back by 5 or 6 pm. He said you can make something for lunch, and that he'll bring dinner. So, now that you're alone, you can't help but think. The names of those who died to keep playing back, and Gisele's is the one that comes louder. You feel bad for all the times you were mean to her, when you left her talking alone, storming away. But it's useless to feel this way now. It won't bring her back.

You're pacing around the living room, the news channel on, as they repeat the same things over and over. When you put both hands on your head, out of desperation, you feel as Billy's shirt lifts a little, exposing your thighs. And you realize you'll need clothes. And all your personal stuff. “Ame.” You mutter, going to the phone and calling home. As usual, it's Amelia who answers, and she squeals, happy to know you're fine. After telling her everything that happened and where you'll be staying, you start giving the instructions. Well, she's the one to point out what you'll need and how to cover up who you are.

The goal is to remain hidden, but you won't be stuck inside the apartment. So you need to look different, and for that, Amelia advises you to buy new clothes, normal clothes, instead of using the ones you have. And she kindly offers to buy everything you'll need and bring them over later today. She'll also bring all of your personal stuff. And money. Amelia tells you to keep some money with you, in case you need it. You're not sure what for, but you agree.

She gets here after lunch, with three huge pieces of baggage, and she helps you drag them to Billy's bedroom. Then, after you change out of Billy's shirt, she shows off the last part of her plan. Amelia wants to dye your hair and cut off a few inches. You don't think it's necessary, but she's worried about the situation, and for the sake of the woman who raised you, you let her do it. Once she's done, she helps you clean the bathroom before leaving, giving you a tight hug and asking you to keep in touch and be careful.

Then the rest of the day is pretty boring. You do give some trips to the bathroom, just to check the hair. It's nice having your natural color back, but you never thought it would be in these circumstances.

You're watching the news again, seating on the couch, when the door opens. Turning your head, you give Billy a small smile. When his eyes find you, he furrows his eyebrows. It takes a while for you to understand why the confused expression.

“Oh! It was Amelia.” Quickly, you explain, standing on your feet and noticing the pizza he brought. “I called her and she helped me get some stuff done and well...” You gesture at your hair. “I've been bleaching it since Elementary school so I bet nobody will recognize me now. Amelia is probably the only one who remembers my natural color but... This is it.” You're speaking too much, and maybe a little too fast, but you're not sure why. “What do you think?”

He squints his eyes, moving to put the pizza on the table. “I think you're already planning on going out.” Well, obviously. He can't possibly expect you to stay locked up in here.

“I was talking about the hair, but ok.” Shrugging your shoulders, you gesture at the pizza. “Can I eat it?”

“Yeah. I'll take a shower.”

“I'll wait for you then.”

“Alright.” Billy stands there for a few seconds, awkwardly, before walking to the bedroom. “The hair is good, by the way.”

“Thanks.” You mutter, smiling a little.

“(Y/N)!” He calls out suddenly, startling you. “Why is there a bag full of money on my bed?”

“Oh!” Rushing to his bedroom, you find a very confused Billy. You left the dark blue bag on the edge of the bed, and you completely forgot about it. “Amelia said I should have money with me, just in case I need it.” Running a hand through your hair, you sigh. “But, uhm, if you need or want to buy something, you can, I mean... It's fifty-seven thousand dollars.” Reaching out inside that bag, you take one of the many piles. “Every pile has one thousand... So if I fall and break a bone you can use it to pay the hospital.

“Break a bone? Should I worry about that?”

“Just trying to light up the mood.” Giggling, you glance at him. “I won't jump from the window or anything. And those are my things.” You gesture, at the pieces of luggage. “Amelia got me new clothes. Normal clothes, not the expensive ones my mother makes me buy.”

“Amelia has everything figured out.”

“She does... I'll let you do your stuff.” Nodding to yourself, you walk away. You can't help but feel a little weird with all this, and the sensation of being nothing but a bother to Billy is starting to kick in.

You patiently wait for him, watching the news again. And the content of the tape was finally made known. And it's not good. Everyone was expecting a normal rescue. They'd say how much they want, get paid, and let the kids go. But apparently, that's not how it'll be.

“(Y/N).” The mention of your name startles you, your heart skipping a beat, and that's when you notice how focused you were. “Everything alright?”

“No.” You breathe out as Billy turns the TV off. “They have thirteen kids, right? It means they want thirteen parts. They'll let the media know how much, and when they get paid, they'll release one. Whoever they want. It doesn't mean that the Whaylands will get James out if they pay up.”

“These guys know what they're doing.” Billy looks down, thoughtful. “This will create chaos between the families.”

“Yeah... I'm even glad I'm stuck here because I wouldn't want to be anywhere near that mess.” Standing from the couch, you move to the kitchen table. “Can I?”

“Sure.”

Drumming your fingers on the table, you sit down, thinking about everyone they got. Alice, James, Daniel. Melissa, Candace. Michael, Antony, and Ryan. There are more... But you can't remember. Where are they now? Are they hungry? Are they being treated nicely? You doubt it. By the violence those men showed, they're not being nice. It could've been you, who knows where now, maybe starving, terrified... They're not your friends. They're just people you know, but still, you want them all back, alive and well. You want to hug them, to talk to them again, even if it means being part of their superficial conversations. You just want to have the chance to.

“Hey,” Billy calls, and you snap out of your thoughts, noticing you were biting your lip too harshly. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” Muttering, you take a slice of pizza, taking a bite.

“What did you have for lunch?” The question comes in a careful tone. Low and steady. He knows what you're thinking about.

But you can't answer it. It only hits you now that you haven't eaten anything all day, and the pain in your stomach is only surrendering because you're eating now. So you clear your throat, giving Billy a look. “Uhm... I haven't.”

“What?” He puts his slice down, a serious face on. “Couldn't you find anything you like?”

“That's not it I... I was watching the news all day and the police did next to nothing.” Gesturing at the TV, you sigh. “And I just can't understand how those big ass vans just disappeared into the night. It's just... One of the three people who were in the hospital died. Five of those working in the kitchens died in the explosion. They found the bodies today, and I just... I just wasn't hungry...” Maybe you should just say the last part. Billy doesn't need to know how desperate you feel.

“(Y/N), you gotta eat. What would your father say if he knew–”

“Billy, I need you to stop thinking about my father.” Cutting him off, you push some of your hair back, out of your face. He has to stop doing that. You don't want to be a job, you don't want him to see you as someone he has to look after. “What? Do you think I'll give him daily reports on my routine?” Making a pause, you take another bite, now a little annoyed. When you swallow it down, you stare at Billy again. “Day one. I woke up in Billy's bed, wearing one of his shirts. He left a cute note. I spent the whole day watching the news, freaking out a little, crying a little. Them Billy came back and brought me pizza.” You make sure to sound as annoyed as you feel. “Day two...”

“Maybe you should do that.” He says, those blue eyes locked on yours. Why is he staring at you like that, so intensely? Is he doing that thing again, trying to understand you? Because he always succeeds.

“Maybe you're crazy.” Shaking your head, you focus on the pizza again, silently finishing your slice. It might be so weird for him. Billy doesn't bring girls here, and here you are, invading his private life, stealing his bed. “The bed is yours today.”

“Alright.”

“Yeah...” As you take a second slice, you remember the gala. From the moment he picked you up until right before the explosion. It was easy talking to Billy, you didn't have to think before speaking. It was... Good. Effortless. You couldn't stop smiling, and you did wish you could hang out with him more. You felt free from all the rules and regulations, finally able to be someone genuine. Not the fake version you present to people.

But now... It's weird, uncomfortable. You did expect it to change as the days go by, but it didn't.

You started to count, obviously. Day three, day four... And it only got worse, if that's even possible. He always brings something to dinner, and you eat silently on the kitchen table, only to sit on the couch for a while, as far from the other as possible, and watch TV in silence. It's like two strangers sharing a roof, and you slowly give up the idea of this being something good. It isn't. Billy doesn't want you here, that's pretty clear. And it got even more obvious after the weekend. You told him he could go out if he wanted to, but he didn't. And it was just the same. Few words were spoken, a cold distance kept. He's like someone else entirely, not the same Billy from the beach.

And on the eighth day, you had enough. So you wait for Billy to go to bed, since it's his turn, and wait an hour before tiptoeing to the phone. Amelia is the only one you can talk to, whose advice you trust. So you call the private line she keeps in her bedroom, nervously biting your lip as you wait for her to pick up.

“Hello. Who's this?”

“Ame. It's me.” You whisper, giving the hall a look before turning around, leaning against the wall. “I'm sorry to call so late but I needed to talk.”

“Of course, honey. You know you can call me whenever you need.” When you were at the house, you used to bug her even late at night when you needed help, or just to rant about something. She was always there. “What's going on?”

“Uhm... Ame, this... This isn't working. Living with Billy is... Complicated.”

“Why?” You hear something in the back, maybe a glass being put down. “I remember you were getting along just fine since the day he saved you from drowning.” She giggles. “I saw you going around with him, laughing and chatting.”

Sighing, you shake your head a little. It was different back then. You don't know how, but you know it was. “Yeah, but he just... It just...” Damn it. Of all people you know, if you had to pick someone to do this, as crazy and insane as it is, you'd pick Billy. In any other house, those mansions, you'd have to act on your best behavior, participate in those formal rites for every meal, be always polite and kind. Here, you thought it would be better. You thought you'd have fun, as you used to on those days, with funny comments and quick remarks. Now... You don't know. “Billy doesn't want me here.” You burst out, keeping your voice low.

“Why do you think that?”

“He's just... Distant. Cold.” Why does it bother you so much? The Billy you met before was the one treating you as his boss. One of the owners of one of the houses he works on. What did you think? That he'd keep the act? “I'm an inconvenience. He's just doing that because my father will pay him in the end and no, I have no idea why it bothers me so much, but I just... I thought it'd at least be nice, but it isn't so...”

“(Y/N), Billy is a guy. I'm sure he's just making sure you don't feel uncomfortable.” She speaks slow, and you start bouncing your leg nervously.

“Amelia, I don't want him to fall in love with me, ok? I just thought we'd become friends or something like that.” The words come out fast, and you're a little pissed. “Billy doesn't want me here.” You repeat.

“Why does it bother you so much?”

“Because I had a nice time with him.” You burst out, throwing your free hand in the air. “He's so different from the idiots I'm surrounded by. I don't have to fake it, I can just say the stupid things that come to my head and I never had anyone I could be myself with. And God, I was so stupid to think this would be fun, or...” Taking a deep breath, your voice fades as you collect your thoughts. Moving from the wall, you start pacing around. “I'll just look for some apartment to rent, Ame. I don't want to be–” The sentence is cut short when you see a figure standing by the end of the table. Your eyes go wide, a hand on your heart as you recognize Billy, arms crossed, his eyes on you. “Ame, I'll have to go. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Alright, honey. Try talking to Billy before making any decisions.”

“Ok. Good night.” You mumble before hanging up. Swallowing hard, you step back, leaning against the countertop. “Did you... Hear anything?” That's a stupid question, of course he did. He wouldn't be looking so pissed if he didn't. But it doesn't matter. This gotta be over soon, so you both will feel better.

“From the very beginning.” He says, tilting his head at the phone. “Heard you talking to someone and decided to check.”

“Ok.” Nodding to yourself, you look down at your feet. “I was thinking and I believe it will better if I look for some place I can rent around here. But don't worry, I won't tell my father so you'll still be paid.” As you speak, you make your way back to the couch, but Billy grabs your arm, forcing you to stop.

“So you think I don't want you here,” Billy mutters, his face lit up by the bluish light coming from the TV. He's gorgeous, so gorgeous that it's hard to say something to his face.

“That's crystal clear, Billy.” Giving your arm a pull, he let it go. “You said it yourself, you don't bring girls to your place and you were forced into having me here and I totally get that you don't like it.” Turning your back at him, you sit on the couch, eyes on the TV, but not paying any attention.

“You got it wrong.”

“I don't think so.”

“I just...” He makes a pause, so long it makes you look up at him. “I'm trying to give you some space.”

“Well, you gave me so much space it actually feels like I'm living alone.” Angrily, you move to lie down, fixing the blanket on your legs. “It'll better if I just move out.”

“Listen, I know you don't like this place.” Billy turns the TV off, and if it wasn't for the dim light coming from the street, you'd be in complete darkness. “It's tiny, your bedroom is bigger than this apartment.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Remember when the railing of your balcony was broken by a storm? I fixed it.”

You remember it. There was a huge summer storm, and a branch was ripped from a nearby tree, knocking down half of your railing. When you came back home on the next day, it was fixed. But you'd never guess it was Billy. “Thanks.”

“You don't have to thank me for doing my job.”

“Goddamn it, Billy.” Kicking the blankets away, you stand up. “Stop treating me like some rich chick! Stop putting words in my mouth and stop saying I can't thank you for doing something!” You're yelling, despite the late hour. The neighbors won't like it. “You never asked me what I think about your place so you can't possibly know if I like it or not. And yes, thank you for fixing my railing, thank you for keeping my pool clean, for cleaning the leaves, for... Hell, for sheltering me! But it's getting tiring. I thought you'd treat me like a normal girl like you did on the beach, but I get it now that it was just an act so I'll just leave.” That said, you're already in motion, not sure why. But you're unlocking the door and storming out, furious, easily finding the stairs and rushing down.

“(Y/N)!” Ignoring Billy, you don't stop, wiping some tears that escaped when you push the building doors open, the fresh night air making your breath in deeply.

You're overwhelmed. There's nothing new about the kidnappings. The criminals asked two million dollars for the first kid, but that was it. The police can't seem to get any closer to finding them, and the same goes to the many private investigators on the case. And the only good thing that came out of this shit, being with the only person on Earth with who you felt like you could be yourself, backfired. You feel stupid, deceived. Walking down the sidewalk, you roll your eyes when you hear the building doors banging, quickening your pace.

“(Y/N).”

“You wanted to give me space. Then give me some freaking space.” Your voice is cracking, which only makes you feel more like an idiot.

“Alright. I'm sorry, ok?” He raises his voice, and soon enough he's grabbing your arm. But you push him away until he let it go. “I shouldn't assume you would turn out to be like the other girls. You're not like any of the rich kids I met.”

“You don't have to do it now. You made everything very clear.”

“Would you listen?” Billy furrows his eyebrows, stepping back, a hand on his head. “I have this habit of expecting the worse, it always kept me from being caught with the guard down. But I'll admit I was wrong about you.” Avoiding his gaze, you pace around, not sure if you want to believe it. “I had a nice time with you too. That was the worst party I've ever been to, but it was good to know there's someone from their world who isn't completely rotten on the inside.”

You don't know why but the insult makes you giggle. But it's only because he's right. The fact that they're being held hostage doesn't change how some of those people are mean and rude. Their situation doesn't change who they are. And, being born into what Billy called ‘their world’, made you see the worst side of everyone. Money corrupts weak minds, you've seen it. The more they have, the more they want.

“Fine then...” Finally turning to face him, you sigh. “What now?”

Billy reaches out his hand, and you look at it, not moving yet. “First, let's get inside. You're in pajamas in the middle of the sidewalk.”

That makes you laugh, looking down and taking in the leggings and the baggy shirt you're wearing which leaves one of your shoulders exposed. “My mother would literally squeal if she saw me now.”

“She doesn't have to know.” That makes you smile even more, and you feel like you just got a glimpse of the Billy you were with at the beach. So you take his hand, breathing in, and letting him guide you back inside.

×

@multific @dontxfearxthereaper @nope-thanks @nikkixostan @shinydixon @clockworkballerina @infinitelycharmed23

[freedom-shamrock]

Speaking on My Behalf

Also over on AO3

<<< Go back to Chapter One

@saijspellhart allowed me to take this delightful idea and run with it, so here we are.  Go team!

Chapter Two

Had Plagg been anyone else, Marinette would have laughed off his words, probably turned the shade of a Braeburn and moved on. She was used to being teased about Adrien and her completely hopeless attraction to him. Their friends were terribly mean about it, to be honest.

But Plagg, for all his shenanigans, didn't tease her this way. He was a painfully direct and honest individual, always keen to cut to the point of a matter so he could move on to something more interesting, usually involving cheese or snuggles. She could also see the exact moment Adrien's brain went all blue screen of death on him, cutting out the barely audible squeal of protest that his vocal cords managed to create. And then it was clear his brain had rebooted as his face that went the color of her supersuit and his eyes goggled in horror. Frankly it was quite the look. Not something you'd see in one of his photo shoots, to be sure, but he somehow managed to not look any less attractive. Ugh. Stupid adorable boys. Still, she felt a little bad for him. She knew that feeling all too well.

She sniffed and tossed her head, channeling her best Chloe impersonation to send her hair flying. "Tsk." She spun, playing with how the skirting whirled to show off one leg after the other. "Put your eyeballs back in your head, Kitty," she said airily. "It's not like you haven't seen sexy dresses."

Plagg circled back to land on Adrien's head, fluffing his hair nest further. "Pfft, yeah," Plagg agreed. "We've seen more than a few." He smirked. "But none were on you… Buggaboo," he drawled

Adrien slapped his hand down on Plagg, pressing the being of destruction to his scalp, until said being decided to phase through his holder's hand.

"He doesn't like it when I use his nicknames, even if I'm speaking for him," Plagg noted with a shrug. "It's a territorial cat thing. Just don't mind our little hissy fits."

She shook her head at their antics. "My supersuit is like a second skin and I run around in just that all the time." Fortunately she'd already been comfortable with the suit by the time she realized how little it concealed despite its full coverage. "You know what I look like."

"Eh, there's something very different about seeing your actual skin," Plagg pointed out, earning another swat from Adrien. "I gotta say, I don't get it, but I know that's a thing. A very human… thing." He smirked in a way no real cat ever had.

"All right," Marinette said. It was time to let up on her partner. "I'm going to go change and then I'll get dinner started." She reached out and tapped Adrien's nose. "And no you may not help, I'm taking care of you, remember? But you can pick a movie for us."

"Already got one in mind," Plagg assured her, and Adrien's expression backed that statement up.

"Got any requests for the menu tonight?" she asked as she turned toward her room.

"Four cheese ravioli with a parmesan cream sauce," Plagg suggested.

There was no way Adrien wanted that. He liked cheese a normal amount, unlike his kwami.

"Oooh!" Plagg cried. "Do you think you could make broccoli cheese soup with limberger?"

⁂

Adrien felt absolutely spoiled.  He'd managed to shove aside the earlier embarrassment over Plagg's entirely too honest commentary; his father had taught him how to compartmentalize like it was an olympic sport. It was probably not healthy, but it was definitely helpful in this situation. Regardless, he managed to pretend it hadn't happened while Marinette made dinner, setting things up so he could stay on the couch rather than eating at the table. She wouldn't even let him help set up the living room, adjusting the furniture while he was in the loo.

Fortunately she'd caved to Plagg's suggestion that they sit together on the couch. Nothing made him feel better than having her nearby. Ladybug and Chat Noir were pretty tactile, it came from the need to toss and catch each other off and over the tallest buildings and bizarre monsters of Paris. It also gave them that little reassurance that they weren't alone when things got really ugly. Outside of the suits they were close friends, often mistaken for a couple, and in the privacy of their apartment they could ignore the social rules that said they had to behave a certain way. Around age sixteen he'd learned that he had classic symptoms, and the perfect home set up, for being touch starved. His friends had been happy to help with that, and no one snuggled quite like Marinette. Except Ladybug, of course, who was still Marinette even if he was the only one who knew that.

After dinner, he put his plate on the side table and slouched down, leaning against his best friend's shoulder. It wasn't too much longer before she set aside her dishes and wrapped her arm around him. Her fingers slipped into his hair, gliding over his scalp in that way they'd both learned he loved. He smiled, utterly content as he felt his body relax fully against her. He didn't even pretend to fight the low rumble in his chest. His purr was barely audible with his laryngitis, but he knew she could feel the vibration when she gave him a little extra squeeze. She loved his purr, and had been quick to squash any embarrassment it caused him. Plagg seemed to think she went out of her way to make him feel comfortable and appreciated for who he was, but Adrien suspected she'd do the same for anyone. She was just that sweet.

Slowly, to avoid disrupting her fingers, he rubbed his face against her shoulder in exactly the way a cat would nuzzle up against someone they liked. He felt her giggle more than he heard it, and it only encouraged him. He scootched a little closer, burrowing his face into her neck and embracing the emotional warmth elicited by the touch of her skin on his.

"Does my kitty need cuddles?" she asked, her low soft voice inspiring goosebumps down his back and arms.

Regular hugs and cuddles, whenever he needed them, were one of his favorite parts of living with Marinette. She was willing to set aside anything to give him a hug, even if it was quick with a more enduring follow up when she was done with whatever he'd interrupted. And she seemed to know when he needed the physical contact almost better than he did. He slipped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck again.

She let out a happy sounding hum. "I know it's been a rough day for you Adrien." The hand that wasn't in his hair gathered him closer, overlapping her body with his. "But now that my dress for La Fleur is done, I'm totally free tomorrow. We can have a little home spa treatment, play some video games together, and if you're feeling up to it we can go out for a run.  Sound good?"

"That sounds perfect," Plagg replied from his perch on the back of the couch.

Adrien couldn't possibly agree more. Spending the whole day with her, just relaxing and having fun, it was his favorite way to spend time. She'd given him so many happy moments and memories to counter the unhappiness and loneliness his father had instilled in him. He gave her a gentle squeeze, loving the way it felt to hold her. In a moment of cat inspired insanity, he stretched up to rub his jaw against hers. His scent mingled with hers on her skin, and he had no idea why he loved that, but he really really did.

"Speaking for the Kid, here," Plagg said, calling Adrien back from his moment of bliss where he'd lost all awareness beyond Marinette. "So, can we make out now?"

[culturedsociety]

Culture Talks with Carolyn Blackmon

Carolyn, in English meaning Joy and Song of Happiness.

Over the last decade she’s been on a journey of healing and transformation. It’s been Incredible to look back and see how beauty does actually flourish through the ashes. What happened in her life; most definitely was birthed out of struggles, hardships, loss, depression, despair, and hopelessness. Looking back at her experiences and being In complete awe because of it. Her faith and belief in God changed when she realized that “the Creator Is ultimately in control and has the ability to take what Is broken and make It brand new.”

Her life verse Is Isaiah 61:1-3 “The spirit of the sovereign Lord Is upon me because the Lord has appointed me to provide for those who grieve, to bestow on them a crown of beauty Instead of ashes, the oil of gladness Instead of mourning, and a garment of praise Instead a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the lord for the display of his splendor.”

In her early twenties, she was extremely lost. Battling a severe eating disorder, alcoholism, depression, and sadness. She worked and pursued many things to distract herself from reality and to try to fill voids. The more destruction that she caused to her body, mind, and spirit’ the harder life became. One day after a big awakening, she had to make the choice and ask herself the hard question “Carolyn Do you want to live?” She knew at that very moment; she was not living, she was just surviving. 

She made the bold decision to pack her car and move alone from WI to AZ. The land of the sun became a place of healing for her. She found yoga there. She began her vegan plant based eating, and learned to nourish her body again after starving it for so long of vital nutrients it needed to thrive. She found joy through volunteering and serving. She found god again and was re-baptized. But most importantly, found her self again.

Reflecting back to Fall of 2015 when she lost her best friend and mother to Cancer. It was as though her entire world and perspective changed about the value and gift that each day offers. She started to travel more and continued doing mission work that her mother supported the few years before she passed. She began seeking more and wanting more lead to healing the parts of her that were still broken.

In 2017, she traveled to Hawaii for her first yoga teacher training; which led her to step into a more passion and purposed filled path. This became a daily mission and allowed her the ability to circulate her gifts more responsibly. Her hope is to bless lives and help others heal, love, grow, and live their best life. To inspire them to live a life that brings an Abundance of joy, fulfillment, and higher purpose.

Take a deep dive into Carolyn’s mind:

RM: What is your Life’s Philosophy? CB: (Philosophy is an overall vision or attitude toward life and the purpose of it. Human activities are limited by time and death). I believe that we were all created in the image of God and we are each placed on Earth with our own individual and unique purpose. We are here to connect with nature, humans, animals, and to enjoy all of what God has created. We are here to not only soak in the beauty and light and spread it to others but to also use the darkness (whether it be our own struggles, lessons learned, trails, pain, suffering, etc) and use it to Glorify God? What does that mean? To use the wisdom gained, lessons learned, and the power of our testimony and story to shine the light of awareness upon all giving birth to Hope and helping others receive the healing power of Forgiveness.

RM: How has that philosophy evolved over the years? CB: Yes. I tell people that there was a line I drew that separated my old life and my new life. My old life included a long season of walking down the wrong path that ultimately was leading me down into hole. When I fell on my knees and surrendered and “woke” up. It hit me that I wasn’t living the life God planned for me. I was doing many things that I do believe helped me grow and get educated and led me to where I am today. I was drowning in depression, shame, low self esteem, and I didn’t practice self love.

Moving to AZ was the acceleration I needed to begin my rebirth process. I began serving others and finding joy in giving back for it made me realize that others had it harder than myself. I had a lot to be grateful for that I took for granted. Fast forward a few more years and I lost my Beloved Mother to Cancer. It made me realize that there is no time to waste. We are not promised tomorrow. We have a responsibility. Going through that loss changed my perspective on life and our time here on Earth.

I felt urgency. I felt my calling knocking on the door. I had to loose to gain so much more. I feel that my philosophy included being a good person, and working for what you want was so general….but over the years it’s evolved and things have been added and my life’s philosophy has gotten so complex. Creation. Calling. Service. Travel. Community. Collaboration. Healing. Purpose Filled Life

RM: How has your upbringing and circle of influence impacted the way you live and think about life today? CB: I grew up in a loving Christian home. My family members on both sides had good morals in their and the way they lived their lives was simple and consistent. I spent a lot of time in the Church. My parents Marketing business taught me so much as a young adult and I really absorbed a lot of it. My Grandpa Bood was my giver of Wisdom.

My circle of influence has really shifted in the last few years to be non-family members. Those that are where I want to be and who are doing what I am doing in their own way with their own talents. My circle of influence has been students, strangers, people I have met on travels, social media, and those that are in my tribe. It’s interesting to see how my relationships have changed and the type of people I have attracted and also been gravitated towards has changed as I have evolved and transformed and grown. My inner work has changed the way I function in relationships and I am still exploring how to have healthy boundaries as one who tends to be naïve, vulnerable, and who pours her heart and soul into everything.

RM: Do you believe that your line of work infects our society with positivity? How so? CB: When I am doing my work as a yoga instructor I try my best to step into the spaces where I am Leading classes and spread good energy that is uplifting and positive but I also know that people arrive on their mat with all different things that they are struggling with and going through and I never want to diminish that. I try to share themes that are relevant and helpful and inspiring because I really want everyone who interacts with me to leave with something that they can take with them. When they gain and grow and are blessed then so am I.

When I nanny and work with kids they give me an abundance of Joy and so I always try to pour back into the parents and thank them for the opportunity to enter into their home and spend time with them. I’ve worked jobs where felt like at the end of the day I was complaining about what I had to deal with or contend with and then I would wake up in a bad mood and that’s really a horrible cycle. I am thankful grateful that I am now an Independent Contractor and get to choose who I work with so that makes it easier but aside from that we all have a choice to make in regards to our attitude!

RM: How do you stay relevant, unique, and true to who you are as a person? CB: Let go of Comparison. It’s interesting because over the years as I became more at rest and confident in who I was and accepting of who God created me to be it made it easier to accept my path which is a lot different than many as well as accept my timeline which was not what I anticipated. I have started to become more of my own person….my tendencies and quirks have come to the surface unapologetically. Yes I am still Single…Yes I get excited over the Big Bowl Of Greens I eat everyday. My music selection changes drastically with my Mood. I could care less about TV and Material items….and I could go on and on.

The morning ritual I do sets the tone for my day. I tap into a passage or quote and scripture that I need to tell myself it’s like a treasure hunt and I get my coffee fix and take the time I need for myself and that way I’m more grounded and not shaken up or swayed or torn up by whatever may come at me and I feel that has given me the opportunity to respond better and hold my ground and keep healthy boundaries. I use to operate on not enough sleep and being stressed and hurried and then I would cave in to many things that ultimately didn’t serve myself or others well.

RM: Do you believe that the work you do everyday is aligned with your calling and higher purpose? CB: Absolutely and I want more and I am committed to continue to learn and grow and gain a deeper understanding and have more knowledge in the realm of yoga. The more spaces and places I enter and the more people that I connect and collaborate with the more lives I can touch and the more inspired I will be. This last year I started to share my content on a podcast and that was something I never imagined I would do and for a girl that use to be incredibly shy I never thought I would be on the stages I am on. It blows my mind and I am soooo appreciative.

What practices do you implement to stay grounded and divinely connected to self? CB: Guided Meditation. Yoga Nidra. Yoga. Nature. Travel. Writing. Music. Sharing wisdom with the world. Dancing. Music. Balance Healthy Clean Eating. Sharing Feelings and openly communicating with my support system. Spending a lot of time alone, while remaining connected with others.

Connect with Carolyn: Facebook Instagram

Collaboratively Written by: Carolyn Blackmon and Rebecca Muñoz

Grow this Channel & Circulate the energy of LOVE by donating: Paypal Cash app Venmo

[the-darklings]

—WE WERE A FIRE WITH NO SMOKE;

pairing: santino x reader (V) x (+john)

wc: 1.4k+

an: HAPPY NEW YEARS YA FILTHY ANIMALS!!! A little surprise something-something to tide you all over and flex my writing muscles to see how I’m getting on after 4-day detox from writing. I’m honestly exhausted and short on sleep which made me half-delirious and this little drabble wayyy too h*rny but here we are. Also, the title/lyrics for this piece comes from Troye Sivan’s “DKLA” and I highly recommend you listen to it while reading. 

warnings: some bad words and a lot of sexual tension 👀

timeline: post chapter 1 of COA, pre-Tokyo (not their first meeting). 

Santino D’Antonio does not know nor understand subtlety.

No—that’s not quite right. His “business” instincts are sharper than most of your blades and that’s just facts. He can effortlessly weave between disarming charm and rage that spills blood in a blink of an eye. He’s a good mobster. Truly Italy’s—Camorra’s—finest. But he’s irritatingly arrogant in his insistence that the world revolves around him and his needs alone. Even quicker in betraying those he doesn’t like and cutting loose ends with people who so much as question his authority.

Egoistical. Inpatient. Spoiled. Bloodthirsty. Willing to step over anyone to get his way.

There isn’t much to like. Certainly nothing worthy of trust.

But he pays good money. And—despite what he may think—he’s easy to read. He wants what everyone in the underworld wants. More power, more pleasure, more money. But most importantly, to be the next Camorra head.

He’s powerful. And not the kind of powerful you need as your enemy so it’s easier to play nice. You know that the reason you got off as easy as you did with that threat to his life was simply because he wants to sleep with you. Because he sees you as a challenge, a conquest, something interesting and out of his immediate reach.

He’s handsome, that much is true. He’s beyond rich and has influence everywhere because he’s Camorra. Because he’s a D’Antonio. He’s all sly, seductive suggestions and eyes so bright they devour.

There’s only one problem.

He’s not John.

John who is a comforting shadow for you to curl into. Who is a steady, ever-present by your side. John is—

John is the only person you trust—the only one you could ever trust in this world of liars and backstabbers. Your mind drifts towards him constantly and never more so then when you work with D’Antonio. They’re as different as day and night.

John is a comforting embrace of the dark, quiet and patient. Deadly and terrifying to others but never you.

Santino D’Antonio is an open flame. He devours, he burns, and rages. He leaves only blood and damage in his wake.  

John you love.

D’Antonio on the other hand…

“Target has his eyes on us,” you speak directly into his ear over the sound of blaring music, and tighten your arms around his neck. Noting the way you’re being watched, you hiss a soft, “Pull me closer.”

He doesn’t need to be told again.

His already wandering, lingering, greedy hands and eyes explore further. Your eyes meet for a moment; his hungry and hooded, while his fingers sink into the swell of your hip, massaging the skin there before pushing your hips together. You sway with him, pressing against him—into him—one hand snaking up the hot skin of his neck and into his hair. The styled curls crumble under your unyielding grip and you pull him even closer, your foreheads almost touching and breaths mingling.

Wrapped my thoughts around your mind

Wrapped your body around mine.

You have to be convincing, you remind yourself.

You have to appear as nothing more than another whore on D’Antonio’s arm.

You have to be a nobody, a shadow, a shell without purpose other than this man’s pleasure.  

You think about John with every press and brush of your skin.

Think of John’s hands on you and John’s obsidian eyes caressing you like you’re lovers moments away from kissing each other.

You take my breath away, you know I'm bound to choke

When I close my eyes. I still see your ghost.

But Santino D’Antonio doesn’t touch you like John does.

He caresses, and claims, and consumes with a startling amount of intensity. You feel that fire of his singeing your edges, dangerous and seductive in its overpowering heat.

His fingers are sunk into you, not enough to hurt but enough to feel held, guided, desired and the music becomes nothing more than a pulse.

His hot, wet breath burns against the hollow of your throat and you feel him mumbling something into your skin. It could be a prayer or damnation or both but all you know is that it sears into your skin. A mark, a show, of his raw desire for you. It tingles and tickles, kicking your heartbeat up a notch and your grip on his curls constricts; a warning, a question—

You don’t even like him. In fact, you only tolerate him because he’s willing to throw money at you for jobs that can help you get your freedom from Tarasov faster.

But human bodies are so simple. The draw on a purely physical level is there despite your lacklustre opinion of the man himself.

He doesn’t make it any easier when his eyes lift to you, his stare almost a physical weight of heated want. A man starved; a man who is staring at your mouth like it’s the only thing that can save him right now. Like he needs it, craves it, above everything else.

If half the stories about his sexual exploits are true, then it’s a look many have crumbled under. Truth be told, looking at him right now, you can’t blame them. There is, admittedly, something so raw about Santino D’Antonio that you can’t help but wonder what kind of lover he is.  

So what do I do now?

I don't keep love around.

But Santino D’Antonio is nothing in your heart. Your heart is John’s in its awful, worn entirety and you won’t trade that in for meaningless sex no matter how good D’Antonio might be.

The tempo of the song changes again and he tugs you closer, his hand coming to rest against the curve of your neck. His cool Camorra ring grazes your skin lightly, and your head tilts to the side exposing your neck to him. He leans into it, his lips ghosting over your pulse, hungry and eager as he inhales deeply over the thrum of music. But across the sturdy line of his shoulder, you watch your mark intently.

“D’Antonio, he’s moving—”

“Santino,” he breathes hotly into your ear, his arm around your waist tightening. “Call me Santino.”

It stills something inside you for a second.

The heavy, naked need that lowers and wrecks his voice just so.

It’s an honour. An heir allowing you to address them by their first name, considering that you hold no real power or title of your own. But something about how he asks for it leaves you cold, caught completely off guard.

It feels like too much.

There is a boundary you will never step over with him.

Some arrogant Italian princeling who only wants your body for quick gratification.

“Should I pursue?”

He stills. His breath still fans against your neck but his expression is serious when his head lifts. His fingers trace up your bare arm, slow and sensual, and he grins slightly, coolly. Neon lights dance over his features and wonder what you both look like, tangled in each other and suddenly still in a sea of movement.

“Bring him to me.”

You do.

No loose ends.

The man you only know as Flynn Hill dies with your poison eroding his veins from inside out. In the darkness of the alleyway, Santino D’Antonio looms over him, smiling and satisfied, his appearance once again immaculate.

“Everything has a price,” he says coldly in Italian with a clinical tilt of his head and a small scoff when the man stills. “Pathetic.”

He turns dismissively, shrugs on his overcoat, and glances towards you. His eyes sweep over you, up and down, unhurried and hungry as always.

“Coming, cara mia?”

Cara mia?

You turn to face him, and repeat his earlier gesture by looking him up and down. His gaze sharpens at the challenge, and you don’t miss the way he straightens slightly.

Just like you thought—he doesn’t know subtlety. It could smack him in the face and he still won’t know it.

“The drinks are on you and I’m not cheap,” you hesitate for a beat, considering the man in front of you as well as his pack of guards scattered around you. “Santino.”

You sidestep him, heading back towards the club but hear the man chuckle in delight behind you.

“Everything has a price,” he repeats softly as he falls to your side promptly. Close, a bit too close. “But it’s one I am happy to pay in this instance, cara mia.”

You bite back an irritated sigh. Let him have this. He no doubt thinks this is a victory.

That night is the first time he uses those words and that nickname.

It’s far from last.  

. . .

an: well this literally had one read through as an edit so if this is awful and full of mistakes.....guess that’s tomorrow kat’s problem lol. just wanted to see how I get on with writing again (and surprise you lot <33 thank you for supporting this series so much oh god oof). 

This piece dips back a bit more into my old style (description heavy and more internal) but writing V who is like “this man clearly wants to bang but it’s a no from me, thanks” is so funny. If I wasn’t half dead I would have tried to write this as more snarky (as V indeed was back in Chapter 1-2) but that actually requires brainpower and wit so nahhhh.

also, let’s make 2020 ours. no more putting up with anything!!! let’s go!!!! this year we all channel V and become stronger and fight through our problems no matter how long it takes us.  

[multifandomfanficreclist]

James Bond Mass Fic Post

These are all 00Q unless otherwise stated.

**

The Courtship of Mr. Bond

In which Bond is a retired naval commander with too much house, Q is a mechanical engineer with too many sisters, and they have lengthy conversations about decorum, bonnet-ribbons and philosophy in Regency England.

~

“I just thought you might go pay a visit," his mother suggested.

“Me?” Q asked, aghast. “Pay a visit?”

“He must be starved for proper gentleman company, now that he’s settled in so far from London--”

“I am far from proper gentleman company.”

“--and perhaps if you befriended him he could introduce you to some nice heiresses.”

“Heiresses?” Q repeated, baffled and horrified. “What in the world would I do with heiresses?”

***

Offline

Bond isn't sure what to think of the new Quartermaster, of the high tech gear and the way the man is always in his ear thanks to mandatory ear pieces for all agents. The old Q hadn't required those things after all, and everything had worked fine. But Bond is a risk now, after Vesper, seeming to kill without noticing, without caring, and there are quiet rumors that he wont seduce his targets anymore, and that his drinking is out of control, so Q is told to keep a sharp eye on him and his mental health. Bond is irritated with the constant presence of Q, but somehow their traded insults turn into teasing jabs, and then genuine affection, and eventually they move from talking via earpiece on missions to texting every day, with messages growing more and more explicit as time goes on. But Q is nothing less than professional whenever Bond is around, and the agent has a hard time reconciling the aloof Quartermaster with the teasing devil that has him bringing himself off desperately at night to the naughty texts. Q is a man connected to his tech, and Bond is a man living in the field, and the only way to be together is offline somewhere. But which one is going to take the first step?

**

Sweet As

It’s not—the word has so much damned stigma, really.  He’s not stupid.   He likes it all: the slow, sweet drag of something thick and lovely inside his body and the fast, beating pulse that comes from fucking himself so hard and fast his wrist cramps up.  He just hasn’t seen fit to add anyone to it.  To sex.  With him.  So sure, he’s a—well, technically.

***

A Harsh and Dreadful Thing

And the first thing James asked was: "Why does my head hurt?"

And Q answered: "You got shot in the eye."

Bond blinked with his good eye. "Well, shit."

**

By No Ordinary Means of Communication

Q can’t help but wonder how, exactly, his life has come to this.

(The one where Bond discovers post-it notes, Q discovers how not to talk about feelings, and together, they fight crime make things far more complicated than necessary.)

***

Prowl

Because there's nothing Bond likes better than getting someone by the back of the neck.

"He tried not to think of guns or knives or straight razors, of explosives or blood or the soft throats of women. He tried for a moment not to think at all.

...he was being touched by the most dangerous man he knew, and the hazard of it snared him like a bird."

**

Smash and Grab

Sometimes Bond found suave wasn’t entirely the most reliable option. Sometimes the smash and grab approach was far, far better.

***

Where You Are

An Omega unable to create life is a creature to be pitied, or at least, that is what society says. Q is fine with it, really. He had never wanted children anyway...and settling down with a mate never truly sounded appealing. So he’s fine with it: being alone, bearing no children. It’s fine.

Until it isn’t.

**

Adjust as Needed

This was part of a pile of 00Q disability-and-kink fics I just found randomly sitting in my Google Drive. Enjoy a Q that is both badass and realistic about his energy needs.

CW: Brief unsolicited groping by an intoxicated stranger.

***

Yours, J.

Bond sends letters. Q is vexed. Q-branch starts a betting pool. There are an appalling amount of sweets. Also, 002 is a bit of an arse.

**

Redamancy

If you write something on your skin, then it will show up on your soulmate's skin as well.

James doesn't quite fall in love over physics discussions and cheeky book quotes scrawled over his heart, coding and riddles inked onto his skin, but he comes close. He does.

And then he actually meets Q.

***

Curtains

Indulgent domesticity. No real plot to speak of, just Bond and Q moving in together as friends after Q is targeted and his place burnt down, and slowly progressing to being a couple.

**

Lay it Down

Bond and Q agreed: their relationship was nothing more than physical. Until it suddenly isn't.

(Or alternatively: The one in which Q gets sick, Bond takes care of him, and the truth comes out.)

***

Skyfall Lodge

After Silva's escape from MI6 custody, Alec Trevelyan drags MI6's new, brilliant Quartermaster to the safest place he knows: Skyfall Lodge, home of reclusive ex-soldier, James Bond.

Grudgingly, Q accepts the technological isolation as necessary for his own safety, and he begins to regard Bond as a possible diversion to pass the time until Silva is eliminated and it's safe for Q to return to London. He never expects Bond to become so much more.

**

Blue Eyed Monster

Yes, this version of 007 was a terrifyingly smart agent, and M wondered long and often whether it had been a good idea to promote him to the position.  Usually, the title was the dangerous part - being 007 meant deadliness - but this time, M feared that a certain man with ice-blue eyes and scruffy blonde hair had dragged in more danger to the title than it had previously possessed

Enter MI6's new Quartermaster: an unassuming, bespectacled genius with no mind for subterfuge but plenty of genius behind a dry smile.   Curious 00-agents and young boffins don't always mix in predictable ways...

***

Quriosity

COMPLETE!  Bond finds himself increasingly curious about his enigmatic Quartermaster.

Excerpt:

"Your prior hotel is no longer secure, I will direct you to a new location. Your luggage has already been transferred. A field agent and medic from the Diréction Générale de la Sécurité d'État will be waiting at the side entrance. I have cleared them both personally." In contrast to his crisp dry English, Q's pronunciation of the French words was fluid and flawless, the throaty tone of the fricatives sending a surprising jolt of awareness straight to Bond's cock — all the more remarkable given his degree of blood loss.

"You're wasted on Q-branch, you have the voice for a phone-sex call-in line." The words slipped out of Bond's mouth without forethought, although he had plenty of time to think in the sudden pause that came afterward and stretched on for endless moments. Bond hadn't realized until now how Q was always there, with an immediate reply. In all their banter Q had never before been at a loss for words. Ever.

**

The Haunting of Skyfall Lodge

All his life, Q has seen ghosts. For years, he's searched for scientific proof to back up what he knows to be true. Finally, he starts a YouTube channel to chronicle his adventures of exploring haunted sites.

His latest location: Skyfall Lodge.

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: viii

(M (for now!)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2  ||   chapter 3   ||  chapter 4   ||   chapter 5   ||  chapter 6   ||  chapter 7  ||  chapter 9  ||

masterlist

word count: ~4.7k

realities, huh. 

warnings: descriptions of blood and bodily injury, post-traumatic symptoms, panic/anxiety attacks 

----

oof. wow. here it is, part one of the BIG boy chapter. please mind the warnings on this one!! trauma and post-traumatic symptoms are a big theme in this chapter and the next. 

as an author, these have been some of the harder, more vulnerable chapters to create and i hope that the writing shows this  :’’’^) all that said, enjoy :’^) 

|||||||||||||||

Keigo was fucked up.

Or he had fucked up.

It was hard to tell the specifics of his predicament, considering how hard he’d hit his head.

 ‘Hawks’ was known for his speed, his skill, and his ability to finish fights off before they even had a chance to truly start. He prided himself on his prowess, the product of his own diligence and meticulous training. Normally, Keigo kept to these high standards without fail and with faltering. 

On the rare occasion he did get injured, it was usually simple scrapes or bruises.

Except, sometimes time, his shortcomings created much more than scratches. 

 His left arm was twisted the wrong way, wrenched from its socket. His skull ached, hair sticking to the back of his neck and cold.

Keigo blinked slowly, vision tilting and blurry against the asphalt he’d crashed onto. He’d sent his feathers to finish off what was left of the fight, knowing that he was, bodily, down for the count.

It hadn’t started as a large fight, notably. It shouldn’t have gotten so bad. The first alert he’d received just made it seem like petty burglary. Quickly after arriving on the scene, it escalated into an entire firefight spanning several blocks. 

He’d been one of the first heroes there, naturally. It wasn’t hard to disarm and pin most of the villains down, but quickly, things got out of hand. Figures forming from the afternoon’s shadows, quickly turning the simple de-escalation into an all-out brawl. 

Keigo pushed himself from the filthy ground, coughing up spittle and blood on the blacktop below. It wasn’t from an internal injury, he knew, just a bitten tongue and cheek that made the drippings of his mouth pink and cloudy. 

He sat up, forcing himself to his feet as more heroes arrived, finishing the job out of sheer numbers. Mentally, he cursed his mistakes and his stupor. The media circus and bureaucratic bullshit he was undoubtedly going to have to deal with made him audibly groan. Keigo could handle pain without question, but his least favorite parts of his job were the nuts and bolts of it all.

 Maybe it was the head trauma or the fact he’d just gotten sloppy lately, but Keigo didn’t even notice the oddly large amount of shattered glass at the scene or the shadows that loomed and weaved without rest nearby, though they never moved to the offensive. 

...

You sat on your couch, boot propped up (as usual), and a pillow hugged in your arms. 

Typically, you weren’t one to watch the news, but the moment you’d seen the alert from your phone about ‘large scale villain attack- Hawks and Miruko on the scene!, you’d rushed to turn on any channel that had coverage.

Which, creating a sense of dread in your gut, was most of them.

You watched the varying camera angles of the fight, squeezing the pillow tightly in your arms like the pressure would comfort you.

 The fear and terror was such a contrast to the absolute bliss of the first couple of weeks of you and Keigo’s relationship.

During that time, your text-based communication hardly changed, still ambiently throughout the day and including the exchange of many memes and well-placed photographs and selfies. 

The messages had changed, somewhat, truth be told. There was a sweetness to it, soft, warm, and new. The bantering never stopped, but woven within each of your words were small, tender lines that were new to you both.

Wonderfully new.

You found that Keigo was particularly affectionate over text, but it was nothing compared to him in-person.

You hadn’t really expected him to be clingy. Not based on the way he texted and talked previously and how he was generally portrayed by the public.

But god, was he.

He came over several other nights, always bearing food, drinks, and a bright smile. He wouldn’t even think of settling for the evening in the comfort of your couch (or bed) until you’d been showered in kisses and teasing touches, always seeming hungry, maybe even starved. 

He was careful, however, to never go too far or touch too much. 

When you two would finally settle on the couch, usually finding yourself strewn over each other in some way, Keigo would continue heaping on affection in any way he could, subtle or otherwise. You returned the gestures, giving your own too.

You craved the heat of his body in the same way he hungered for yours. 

You found that, as the nights would wear on, he tended to slip his rough hands under any top you might be wearing, settling his grip on your sides or back. He’d either press and massage, or just ambiently draw shapes. At first, you thought it was some sort of sexual preamble, expecting his touch to drift higher and hungrier.

 It took you a night or two of it to realize it wasn’t like that at all— 

Keigo just craved contact.

It all made sense, though your revelation surprised you a bi at first. 

One night, with his head in your lap, you had simply hummed out, “I never thought you’d be touch-starved.”

Keigo hummed as you ran your nails around the shell of his ear, “Mind elaborating on that one?”

“You’re always touching me when we’re together,” You replied simply, heart squeezing at the little twinges of anxiety you could see forming around Keigo’s eyes. “Not that it's a bad thing— I really love all of it, it’s just sweet. I didn’t think you’d be so affectionate and touchy. I would dare to say, it's cute.”

That comment turned Keigo’s cheeks bright red, though you hardly got much of a chance to tease him about it before he was on you with another wave of soft kisses and squeezes.

Maybe, you were a little touch-starved yourself.

And definitely, surely, falling into each other simply and sweetly felt like heaven. 

 ...

 But all of that syrupy goodness was gone, the flavor of it stale and rotten.

All you could focus on was your TV screen as Hawks was being pulled from an alleyway. The camera angle was poor, the quality shaky, but the picture was clear as day to you.

Keigo was walking, barely, most of his weight bared into Miruko’s side. He looked half-dead when he first emerged, limbs twisted painfully and face downcast.

He brightened up a moment later. You weren’t even sure that anyone would’ve caught the change in his expression if they didn’t know him as intimately as you did.

 Your chest tightened painfully when he gave his most dashing smile, pearly white teeth stained with blood that was rushing from a wide cut on his forehead. The juxtaposition of him being purely fucked up mixed with the shining expressions he was flashing at the media made your stomach churn with dread.

He’s hurt.

And it seems bad.

You chewed your bottom lip until it ached. 

The newscast kept playing, showing the wreckage of the scene, all of the hurt civilians— it was a few cities over, but you swore you could hear the sirens just outside of your window.

You dug around for your phone, typing out a message to Keigo, fingers shaking as you did.

 [you]: hey i saw about the attack? how are you doing?

 Texting him was the bare minimum, wasn’t it? If you could, you’d call. But based on the way he was reported to have been taken to a nearby hospital, he wouldn’t be answering his phone any time soon. 

It didn’t feel like enough, but what more could you do?

You felt uncomfortably powerless.

A very lucid, perhaps cruel part of your mind rang out amid your quiet panic:

Get used to it.

 You fell back into the cushions, unable to turn off the screen, though unable to do anything other than watch and churn. 

 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Keigo didn’t have a great recollection of the day's events after sustaining his fairly significant head injury, not to mention the shattering of the bones in his right arm and a few in his left leg. Not to mention his sorely dislocated shoulder. 

Pain blotted things out memory, he knew.

Hospital trips were few and far between for Keigo, but in the unfortunate circumstance he was stuck and strung up with wires and IV tubes, he was more than well taken care of. 

He was aware, somewhat, of the Commission’s hold on the scruff of his neck, though complacent in it. His good attitude and impeccable, nearly-perfect performance earned him the best medical care they could provide. 

Some sweet girl, a student from the west, was brought in to heal his wounds. Healing quirks of any significance were rare, so it was always interesting to see how they worked and manifested.

The girl’s quirk came at the price of any energy his body had, but he was completely patched up in a number of minutes. Fatigue be damned, he was happy to be quickly and easily put back together. He made sure to put on his best camera-ready smile as the girl traced symbols on the backs of his hands, fingers shaking and shyly smiling.

She was probably starstruck, all things considered. Meanwhile, Keigo was exhausted and out of it.

All through it, all of it, the actual fight and subsequent medical nightmare, he had slipped into a far different mindset than the one he’d been occupying for the last couple of weeks. 

Consequently, he hadn’t thought of you at all. 

You didn’t even cross his mind. 

Keigo could’ve blamed it on hitting his head, but that wouldn’t be entirely fair or truthful. 

All the same, the absence would burn later. 

...

Keigo flashed a dopey smile to the door of his hospital room when he spotted a familiar puff of bright yellow hair. 

Despite his stupor, familiarity still resonated. Besides, his PA stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the greyscale scrubs and antiseptic. 

“Akane! I knew you’d never be far in my time of need,” Keigo relaxed against the hospital bed he was still resigned to. He was to be discharged as soon as possible for the bevy of press reports he would had to complete. Not to mention the mountains of paperwork he’d probably have to file and sign. 

Akane kept a stern but humored expression as she shooed a nurse out of Keigo’s room. She was shorter than most, face cut with sharp angles and high ridges. They were dressed immaculately as always, a well-tailored black suit with crisp-looking dress shoes. All professionalism, trained and honed by the Commission in a similar way to Keigo, though it was implicitly recognized. 

“You’ve got a press conference in thirty with Miruko,” Akane didn’t answer his greeting, though Keigo could tell by their quick nod that it was at least acknowledged. They rolled a small suitcase next to the bed. “Extra hero costume in there. I called your normal hair and makeup, they’ll be in a few minutes after I leave. It’s been a while since you’ve been this injured in a fight, so put on a good show for everyone, won’t you?”

Akane’s sarcasm always brought a smile to his face, contrasting so starkly with their well-pressed hems and seams. 

Keigo quickly sat up, dropping his feet to the cold linoleum below, “Always a show.”

He quickly began to re-robe into his new garments, tired mind returning to its trained roots. 

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 You had been watching the newscast for hours, probably (definitely) against your best interest.

You’d have plenty of time to kick yourself for it later.

You couldn’t stop watching the repetitive footage and bland media, despite the report that ‘Hawks’ was safe, well and receiving treatment. 

Until you saw him, you couldn’t rest—- Or that’s what it felt like, anyway.

The image of him bloodied felt painfully etched into the forefront of your mind. The contours and highlights of Keigo’s wounds were uncomfortably bright and hot, nestled next to swirling images of your own. Uncomfortably vivid sensations and colors of your own stitched-up wounds that once wept blood themselves.

If you steeped in it all too deeply or for too long, your breathing would quicken, memories unbridled in the way they sucked down.

Sweat dripping down your brow, you willed your breath even and slowly despite how you definitely were having trouble handling what you were experiencing. 

As the evening wore into night, you remained wired.

You convinced yourself, despite the thorns that ran deep, you would be able to rest once you saw Keigo well. 

Eventually, there was an announcement for a late press conference, a conclusion to the media frenzy.

You knew you’d stay up for it, no matter how long it took to air. You knew he was fine, it had been confirmed over and over throughout the coverage, but it wasn’t enough.

You just need to see him.

Then you’ll be fine.  

Keigo is fine.

No amount of reassurance comforted you. You were sinking too deeply in your throes, ungrounded and crackling within your own fragile mind. 

The memories of blood and gore and hot, white fear rolled over you, suffocatingly close to how you’d felt less than a month prior. 

On the cold cement floor of the tea shop, you had Keigo’s feather, the knowingness that he would be there.

Yet, now?

You were alone in your dim apartment. 

No Keigo.

No villains.

Just you and your skull. 

 You had to pull yourself back when you felt your quirk begin to activate with your adrenaline, thankful for the low stimulation of your apartment, and the pillow in your arms being exchanged for the plushie Keigo had gifted you. You forced yourself to ground, counting your breaths, and holding yourself together. 

(Maybe the trauma of your own run-in was deeper than you wanted to acknowledge.)

You pushed the thought aside as the live footage of the press conference began. It was better to compartmentalize it all, wasn’t it? Why not shove it back where it was easier to not deal with? You’d get a therapist or something.

If Keigo is okay, you’ll be okay. 

The press conference decor was coated with the diamond insignia of the Public Safety Hero Commission, along with a few sponsors and nearby police departments. Local heroes and police officers sat around microphones with plastic waterbottles, ringing around the focal points of the events:

Keigo and Miruko. 

Seeing him, perfectly in uniform and switched-on didn’t make you feel better.

If anything, it made you feel worse. 

Before everything, when he was just your regular you pined after, you saw and heard of him doing heroic duties all the time.

But, it was different when Keigo was your partner, yet living an entirely different reality from yours. In the safety of your apartment, and formerly the teashop, that line of difference was somewhat blurred, or, it at least appeared to be.

But while Keigo was shiny and dazzling, charismatic and blunt as ever on the stage of the conference, the contrast turned polar. 

As there was a jeer of laughter, Keigo grinning as Miruko clapped a hand on his back, your stomach rolled. 

Seeing him fine and good-as-new wasn’t soothing.

It was like pouring moonshine on a brush fire. 

Every moment of the conference highlighted the separation between the two of you, the feeling of fear and now loss so strongly in your mind, it started to taste like the tannin of a rotten wine . 

The concoction was made even viler as the memories of injuries didn’t fade or falter.

Your chest ached.

 The press conference droned on in front of you, but none of the content of it registered. It was all sickly background noise to your own pains

You pressed the plushie against your stomach, ignoring the phantom stabs of rancid-yellow that traced up your leg from your booted foot. 

...

“From what we can surmise, there’s activity of several different villain groups in this area that are connected. This incident is related.”

...

You were getting to yourself, you had been all evening. The problem was you couldn’t climb out— 

Not if you weren’t honest and self-aware.

Too bad you were actively spiraling away from anything even close to the latter and former. 

...

“There is much we don’t know at this time, but it is clear there must be further investigation into the roots of the attack.”

...

You recognized, even then, that Keigo was going to be in harm's way because of his job, constantly. He was always in danger.

It just felt different, having to see it play out in front of you, isolated from him in all ways except the glimmer he showed the cameras and the gore he bore prior. 

The absences burned. 

 Your gaze moved to your phone, the device still dormant. 

With a thick, sticky swallow, you resigned yourself to sitting back into the cushions of your couch, spiraling and numbing as you had been hours. 

 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Following the press conference, Keigo had one priority— 

Sleep.

Despite Akane’s nagging that they ‘really needed to talk to him’, Keigo was exhausted after being healed and wanted nothing more than to go home and rest for as long as he could make himself lay still. 

Maybe, he could’ve handled a patrol (if he had had anything significant of his wings left), but he could not stand the idea of dealing with bureaucratic bullshit in his wrung-out state. 

At this admission, Akane sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Fine, but you need to come to the office as soon as possible,” Akane seemed exasperated after such a long evening (now night), of dealing with the attack. “Seriously, or your publicist is going to kick both of our asses.”

Keigo didn’t ponder too far into the topic of whatever Akane needed him for. Far too mentally wiped-out to bother with what was undoubtedly bureaucratic bullshit. 

He rolled his eyes, sending a feather forward to trigger the automatic doors ahead, “I’ll be sure to come in— It’s not like I don’t have a backlog of paperwork to finish.”

“That too,” Akane sighed, pausing outside of the doors, just dimly lit under the lip of the entrance of the building. “Feel better, quick. And please, stay safe.”

Keigo raised an eyebrow, “You know I always am. I’ll see you around tomorrow, bright and early.”

Keigo flew away so quickly, he didn't notice Akane’s pinched expression and set jaw and she waved goodbye. 

 ...

Nearly featherless and on the edge of total exhaustion, Keigo dragged himself back to his penthouse. His mind and body ached, his thoughts messy and disorganized. 

It wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar state, though he didn’t get to it often. 

He had ample training to not get like this. The fuzziness he was clouded by should’ve been tossed aside easily; he blamed his own overcast on the healing he received.

(And, not that he, perhaps, had more on his mind as of late) 

More on his mind meant more to forget. 

It wasn’t until he toweled off from a quick shower that he even looked at his phone. 

It wasn’t until he saw your single text that you even came to his mind.

Keigo called you nearly instantly, jaw going tight.

It made sense that he’d forget, he rationalized. 

The portion of his psyche that was trained to be a hero was the same part that struggled the most with his feelings for you. All of the affection, validation, and deep admiration (and perhaps more) was slowly but surely allowing long-dormant parts of him to awaken— 

Yet, all of the new roots and growth aside, he’d forgotten about you in the chaos of the day. 

Maybe a passing, subconscious twinge in his gut, but otherwise? Nothing. 

A bit of guilt chewed him as the line began to ring. 

 You laid across your couch, curled up with the plushie in your arms. The news reports played like white noise, your mind long having gone to gum and static. You alternated between different horrors of memory and sensation. 

The buzzing and shrill sound of your ringtone made your jump, pulling you from your stupor.

 [birdboy <3] calling...

 You immediately picked up the call.

“Keigo?” You asked, trying to ignore the continual light shaking of your hands. 

“Hey, dove,” His voice was cool and calm. “Sorry, I just saw your message now. I figure you saw all the news, but I’m all good, no worries! How are you?”

Oh.

Was it that easy?

The gears in your skull turned far slower than you wanted them to.

He’s fine, (Y/N).

He’s so unbothered. 

Everything is fine.

You tried to comfort yourself, taking a few methodical breaths.

“Dove? Are you there?”

Get your shit together.

“Yeah, I am.” You shook your head. “I was worried, that’s all. My bad. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“The news really plays things up, huh?” Keigo laughed with a sigh, scratchy from the speaker. “Sorry about the media circus. They like the drama.”

“Uh-huh.” You replied, feeling yourself begin to spin all over again.

Drama.

Dramatics.

...

Calm down.

It wasn’t that simple.

“Hey, dove, are you alright?” Keigo spoke casually from the line. Maybe there was some concern in his tone (or you just wanted there to be). You couldn’t fully tell.

You sank back into the couch, bending your good leg into your chest, “I was just worried, is all. I freaked myself out.”

“I’m sorry about that, angel,” Keigo clicked from the phone. “I don’t get banged up too often. Besides, they always stitch me back together quickly! It’s just like this sometimes.”

“‘It’s just like this sometimes’,” You repeat mechanically, processing so slowly it was painful. Your voice sounded far off— 

You felt like you were drowning.

Why couldn’t you handle seeing him hurt?

It’s part of his job. 

Why does this all feel so bad?

 “Can you come over?” You asked, praying that he’d say yes, and maybe, maybe, you could have your fears be assuaged with some contact. Some support— 

“Sorry, dove, the healer they got for me really drained me,” Keigo yawned from the other side of the line. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay. But, tomorrow is just an office day for me, so I can come by after?”

Your heart sank in your chest, faster and harder than you could try to make yield.

“That works,” You replied, despite how rotten you felt. “Take care, okay? Get some rest.”

You hung up abruptly, not waiting for his reply, and lowering your head.

Tears drip from your eyes, soaking the plushie in your arms as you finally let out the sobs you had been holding back for hours.

 ...

 Despite Keigo’s exhaustion, he knew that the entire phone call was so off. You’d never hung up that quickly before, and you sounded a bit off.

None of it sat right. 

He shot off a kind text or two before knocking out for the night, nodding off just after sending them.

 ...

 You hardly slept. 

You felt like you were being eaten alive as the night wore on and the moon remained high.

It was all metastasized, unchecked. Breathing exercises had stopped cutting it at some point, your own thoughts and methodical actions lost in the soup of it all. 

You ‘rationalized’. 

He’s a fucking hero, he’s going to get hurt. It’s part of the job and you need to get over it.

That doesn’t matter! It’s still terrifying to see someone you care about super injured!

You knew all of that though.

None of it was new.

What was new, and harder to understand, was the storm that had buried itself like a barbed arrow between the two halves of your brain.

The rest of it.

The complex miasma of feelings that were only set off by the events and subsequent feelings you tried to rationalize. 

The mental thunder-cracks kept you tossing and turning, any sleep light and flighty. Your eyes burned and dripped through the entire night, soaking your pillowcase. 

By the time morning light began to shift in from the heavy curtains of your bedroom, you might’ve felt worse than you did the night prior.

Your mouth was dry, tongue tacky, and swollen in your mouth. You forced yourself out of bed, methodically showering despite all of the energy it took with your leg still recovering. 

You felt hazy beyond belief, fatigued, and purely awful.

Quickly, you nested for the day, still damp from your shower and sore from your lack of sleep. Tucking into the couch, you covered yourself with blankets and held the plushie to your chest, not even bothering to turn on the TV.

 Keigo, meanwhile, prepped for his office day. Since his wings were sparse, he made an extra effort for his face. Bit of concealer to brighten his dark circles and smooth out the finer lines around his brow and under his eyes.

It seemed pertinent to cover more, wipe away his anxieties as his gaze flickered to his phone on the countertop of his bathroom.

You’d never responded the night before. You hadn’t said anything— not even giving an indication that you’d seen the message.

Truthfully, now that the drum of the press and his de-facto role had died down, your lack of contact filled him with burning anxiety. 

You two had a habit of texting each other in the mornings, little sweet greetings and the occasional messy selfie that the other adored. Keigo typically woke up earlier than you, but still. 

He gave you a call.

 You robotically picked up on the second ring, hardly looking at your phone and its caller as you held it to your ear, “Hello?”

“Hey, angel!” Keigo’s voice seemed too chipper from the other side of the line. “I just wanted to call and check-in. You just sounded a bit off last night, is all. Are you doing okay?”

“Oh,” You sounded hollow, far-off, and sticky. 

There was a pause, your numbed out psyche far-too slow and miswired to say anything else.

“(Y/N)?” Keigo asked. “Are you there?”

Your name shoved you a bit closer to reality. 

 “Yeah, I am.” You blinked, your name making you twitch, “Sorry, I’m just not feeling well.”

“Awww, since last night too?” Keigo’s wings beat in the background of the call. “Is that why you wanted me to come over?”

Sort of, not really.

Your voice shook as you quickly were losing the will to keep it even, “U-um—”

How do you even explain?

Your quirk spun alive, the feeling of shrapnel and rusted nails running jagged lines down your spine.

You need to be honest.

“I j-just,” You sniffled back tears, though fruitlessly. “I just got really scared.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, holding the phone away from your mouth and praying that Keigo couldn’t hear the muffled sobs you forced to stay in your throat.

 “It’s alright, I’m okay!” He tried to assure you, tensing at the doorway to his balcony. “Everything is totally fine, there’s no reason to be scared.”

You went quiet on the other side of the receiver, all sound muffled and mixed. It made Keigo chew his lip, tightening his grip on the phone.

“I know.” Your voice broke at the same moment as Keigo’s chest tightened. You sounded so hurt. 

It pricked those seldom-used parts of his brain alive. 

It was those weird tingles and shooting bits of cortisol that screamed ‘protect them’. They screamed to life at your distress, hot and bright.

“Dove, are you alright? Are you crying?” Panic seeped into his tone as his feathers rippled from soft to razor-sharp in his instinctual rise. 

“I just got so f-fucking scared,” You choked, voice fizzling on the line. “Keigo, I’m sorry, I just— “

Your voice broke into tears, sobs echoing from the phone.

Keigo’s grip tightened, heart-pounding and feathers vibrating.

He acted before thinking too hard about it. 

“(Y/N), I’m gonna come over, okay? I’ll be there soon,” Keigo assured you, and himself, truthfully as he tore open his balcony door and launched into the sky

 You sputtering out an affirmative as wind-whipped into the receiver. 

Burying your face in your hands, you felt dread weigh you down from the inside out. 

 ||||||||||||||||||||

 ko-fi

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taglist: @thepandapopo @hawksexual @sinclairsamess  @darcia22 @inhalingsoysauce @yee-fxcking-haw @aproperthottie @seasalttrioforever @msgrungie @mia--merc @a-monsters-love @peach-buns-unicorns@amethyst-rose-17 @mega-bastard @an-untamed-rose @ravioliplease @keigosangel @gobestupidelsewhere

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[bang-tan-bitches]

Title: Immortals - pt 7 Word Count: 4.8k+ Rating: M Genre: Drama, smut, dark fantasy Warnings: mild sexual content, language Pairings: BTS x Reader/OT7 x reader Summary: Sometimes, you find your destiny. And sometimes, your destiny does whatever it takes to keep you. Written By: A & B

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

“So.”

You look up from your phone at your boyfriend's single word. It’s the first thing he’s said to you since he got home. You can feel the weight of all his questions in that single so, but you don’t have any answers. You’ve been wracking your brain all morning since you’d woken up to see pictures of you in the hot tub with BTS. And not just sitting in the hot tub either. There were pictures of you touching their chests. Sitting in their laps. Kissing Jin…

“I don’t… I know you won’t believe me,” you start. Because why would he? If you had seen him in such a compromising position, you weren’t sure you’d still be here. Not that you had anywhere else to go, but still. “But I don’t remember any of this.”

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue.

“I- I was really drunk. I don’t remember anything that happened after I got into the hot tub.” You confess, face warm as you stare at the pictures once more. Something seems to be missing from them, but you can’t place it.

“You were drinking in the hot tub?” He rubs a hand down his face, obviously exasperated, “You know how dangerous that is.”

You nod, feeling your face heat more. You did know it could be dangerous. But you had been flustered, out of your element, like you always were with them. And the alcohol had helped you relax. A bit too much apparently.

“Did you have sex with him?”

“With who? Jin?” You bite your lip and shake your head, “No. I swear I didn't have sex with him or any of them.”

“How do you know?” Your boyfriend reaches out and grabs your hand, “how do you know if you can't remember anything?”

“I..” You hesitate because you don't remember anything, but you know that you didn't. They wouldn't do that to you. “They wouldn't take advantage of me like that. I trust them.”

“Really? You trust them?” You can hear the disbelief in his voice, “They got you drunk in a hot tub. You were making out with one of them. How do you know they didn't pass you around?”

You feel a bubble of dread in your stomach. You really can't dispute his words, but you know, you know, they didn't do anything to take advantage of you, but you also know your boyfriend won't believe your gut feeling on the matter.

“I just… I guess… I guess I don't know.”

“They are international superstars. Do you really think you're the first girl they've done this to?” Your boyfriend gives you a sympathetic look, “This is probably a very common thing with them. This is just the first time they've gotten caught.”

“They wouldn't do that.”

“Pretty girl, if they wouldn't do that we wouldn't be having this conversation at all.”

You swallow at his words and you know he's right. BTS probably has numerous encounters with many fans and the only reason they are so concerned with you is because of the negative press.

“So… what now?”

Your boyfriend gives you a serious look, his hand squeezes yours briefly before letting go, “Is there anything else I should know?”

Your mind briefly flashes to your first private encounter with BTS and the pictures on your phone. While not particularly scandalous under ordinary circumstances, these new photos in the hot tub combined with the pictures from your phone make everything seem much more salacious. You make a mental note to delete the pictures. You don't need another reminder of what an awful person you are. You think about telling him your werewolf theory for less than a second before pushing it aside. You didn’t need him worrying about you anymore than he already was.

“No. There's nothing else.”

“Are you sure?” The look your boyfriend gives you is undecipherable, “We haven't been intimate in awhile. I was afraid the pictures were true and…” He trails off, but you know what he doesn't say. He thought you weren’t having sex with him because you were having sex with them. You feel incredibly guilty that the thought of having sex with them excites you. Your mind flashes to the dreams and you hide your shiver.

“I just have been feeling out of sorts lately.”

His gaze turns concerned, “are you okay? I know it's only been a year since the incident-”

“This has nothing to do with that.” Your voice is cutting, and you can tell your boyfriend is taken aback by your tone, “I'm fine.”

“Are you? You were in a bad place before and you started acting out. I thought a new place far away from everything would help, but I don't know anymore.”

“I don't want to talk about that.”

“Maybe you need to talk about it.”

“Funny,” you mock, “I didn't know you were a psychiatrist.”

Neither of you say anything for a moment. You can feel the tears building behind your eyes and you just feel so defeated. You were tired, you were stressed, and you didn't know what to do. Your boyfriend was always so patient and understanding with you and you treated him horribly.

“I'm sorry,” you whisper softly, “I don't know what came over me.”

Your boyfriend gives a heavy sigh before standing up, “I don't know what to do anymore.”

“Are you..,” you pause and wet your lips, trying to prepare yourself, “are you breaking up with me?”

“No pretty girl. I’m not breaking up with you. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I want to be able to trust you too.”

Your eyes widen at his words, but you don’t say anything.

“I forgive you.” He says, surprising you further, “But I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

He gives you a serious look, “I want you to promise me that you’re not going to see them again.”

You swallow and can feel your heart splinter in your chest. You didn't want to give them up, you couldn't imagine not seeing them anymore… But this is what you wanted. You told Namjoon that you were done, that it was over. You told him goodbye.

“I promise.” The words feel hollow, but the blinding smile he gives you in return cements your decision. You love your boyfriend and he loves you. He's helped you with so much and if all he's asking is for you to cut off all contact with BTS. You could do that.

Everything will be better now, right?

-0-0-0-

It’s been 5 days since you’ve last seen BTS or had anything to do with them.

Sure, you’re still ignore calls from them since the last pictures came out. And no, you haven't signed a new agreement, but you hadn’t been found by fans either. Your boyfriend was happy, and you were… well, almost happy. Enough that you could pretend to be. For him. And every night you took your sleeping pills to keep the dreams away and pretended like you didn’t think about flushing them all down the toilet just so you could see their faces.

So, overall, you considered it a win.

You were scrolling through tv channels, never settling on one for more than a few seconds, when someone knocks on your door. Instantly, you go still. When they knock again, you look over at the clock, it’s just past 6pm.

“Fuck” you whisper to yourself, sure you already know who’s at the door. You debate just waiting them out, after all, they don’t know you are home, right?

“I can hear the television. We need to talk to you Y/N.”

“Fuck” You curse again. Caught by your own television. It was your fault for having it turned up so loud, but you thought the noise would drown out your thoughts. “Go away!” You shout louder.

“Y/N this really is important. I can come back with the police.”

You sigh, resigned to the fact that you’ll at least have to see her long enough to sign the new disclosure agreement. That wasn’t breaking the rules. You weren’t seeing any of the guys, you were only seeing their weird contract lady. You roll off the couch, dragging your feet all the way to the door. As much as you don’t want to see her, you can’t deny that part of you does want to see her. Because seeing her is almost like seeing them. It’s a connection you can’t have anymore, and you were starving for any sort of connection. Even one as unpleasant as this.

The door is barely open when she tells you that you have to come with them. Four men were with her again, making you pause.

“Don’t you just need me to sign the paper?”

“We do.”

“Then why do I need to go anywhere?” You ask, eying the bodyguards with her. You were positive the men were the same ones as before. You wonder if they are there for her protection, or yours.

“You need to sign with our lawyers present.” she sounds exasperated. The cheer completely gone from her voice, and you can’t blame her. You weren’t exactly being cooperative.

“Will the guys be there?” You blurt out, unable to stop yourself from asking. You’re not sure what answer you’re looking for, but you know you’re asking for trouble either way.

She smiles then. It’s the too wide one that you hate. The one that has featured in a very real nightmare before. “They won’t be. They have business to attend elsewhere. Should I tell them you asked after them?”

She smiles wider and you shiver. You’re not sure how she’s talking through her teeth like that, but it’s unsettling.

“No. No. I just- it doesn’t matter. Let me get my shoes on. Once I sign this, I’ll be done, right?”  She nods, and steps to the side, letting you out of the apartment. You look down at your phone and think about texting your boyfriend, letting him know what’s happening. But then… you don’t. He’d be working late anyways. He didn’t have to know about this. You would go, sign their agreement, then come home. No harm no foul.

The drive to BigHit is uncomfortable. Partially because you’re sitting between two large men who are doing their obvious best not to touch you, and partially, because your stomach is twisting into tighter and tighter knots the closer you get. You know they won’t be there. Or, at least she said they wouldn’t be. But that doesn’t stop you from anticipating seeing them again. Your body craves theirs. Their touches, their kisses, them.

The car comes to a stop and one of the men - I should really learn their names - holds the car door open as you slide out. You nod in thanks and he nods back. When the woman tries to grab your elbow, you quickly snatch it away, “I can walk on my own, thanks.”

The man ducks his head at your words, but not before you catch the corner of his lip lift in a smile. That small display of emotion makes you feel better. Like maybe they were on your side, even if she wasn’t.

By the time you make it to the conference room from before, you’re sure they aren’t in the building. There is no familiar buzz against your skin and you swallow your disappointment.

“Wait here. The lawyers will only be a moment.” the woman tells you, indicating you should sit in one of the chairs before exiting the room, closing the doors behind her.

Fifteen minutes pass and you start to shift in your seat. Half an hour and you’re pacing around the table. An hour passes and you find yourself wiggling the door handle to make sure you’re not locked in before opening it. The men from before are stationed outside the room, but the woman is nowhere in sight.

“Do you know when the lawyer is going to be here? She said it would ‘just be a minute’ over an hour ago.”

The one who held the door and smiled shrugs but doesn’t offer anything else.

“Ugh. If you see someone, please remind them that I have a life to get back to. I don’t want to be here forever.”

He nods and you retreat into the room, pulling out your phone once more. You should text your boyfriend. Let him know. But every time you think about clicking on his name, something stops you. Things were going good with him right now. You didn’t want to mess that up. He wouldn't be home for hours still. You had time. It would be fine.

Another hour passes and you’re sure the guards are getting annoyed with your constant checking, but you can’t help it. Finally, the door opens and you let out a sigh of relief when you recognize the attorneys that walk in. They apologize and one of them holds his hand out to you. Behind you, someone coughs, drawing your attention to the four men who have been outside the door. You don’t know which one coughed, but by the time you turn back, the attorneys are both seated.  You hum, but don’t say anything. When they push the paper across the table to you, it only takes you a moment to look it over before you're signing it.

“Right. Okay. We’re done now right?” You ask as you push it back at them, “Like, I won’t be seeing you again?”

“We’re done miss.”

You can’t help but smile. When you stand to leave, a guard holds the door open for you and you thank him quietly before skipping out the door. The lady isn’t there, and for that, you’re grateful. You start your walk to the elevator with your shadows. When you cross a hall, the air around you starts to hum and you stop, already turning toward them without making the conscious choice to do so.

They shuffle past, not even looking up. Even from a distance, you can see they look upset. It’s in the way their shoulders are hunched and faces hard. You open your mouth to call out but close it again just as quickly. They are almost gone from your sight when Jungkook’s head lifts suddenly and turns toward you. His eyes widen when you lock gazes, but then he takes another step and he’s gone, breaking the connection. Before you can give into the urge to chase after them, you turn away and get on the elevator.

You had made a promise, and you intended to keep it.

Sort of.

-0-0-0-

The ride home is quiet and seems longer than normal. You check your phone and see that you have no missed calls or messages. Not that you really expected any with your boyfriend still at work and the things with BigHit all taken care of now. The clock on your phone shows that it's a little past 9 pm. Your boyfriend shouldn't be home for another few hours.

When the car stops in front of your building, you feel equal parts relief and sadness. This entire craziness with BTS was over for good and now it was time to get back to the real world. And that was a good thing. Or, that’s what you were telling yourself. Never mind that being with BTS made you feel more alive than you had since… you shake your head once to get rid of the thoughts. You hadn’t thought about that day, and the countless ones that followed, in a long time. You wouldn’t have even thought about it if your boyfriend hadn’t brought it up the other day.

You exit the car and wave for the driver to leave, but they don't move. You knock on the window and wait for him to roll it down. His face is stoic, waiting for you to speak.

“You don't have to stay. You can leave now.”

“I'm sorry miss. I have strict instructions to wait until you're safely inside your apartment.” His voice is monotone, the words sounding rehearsed or recorded.

“Okay, but the door to my building is right there. You can leave once I get inside the building.”

“I'm sorry miss. I have strict instructions to wait until you're safely inside your apartment.”

You frown, but you can't fault the man for doing his job. BigHit seemed weirdly concerned with your safety after the pictures were released. You suppose it would look bad on them if something happened to you after all of that. Even if the media still didn’t know who you were. Shrugging, you turn and quickly make your way inside the building and onto the elevator.

You know you should probably tell your boyfriend about this, but you didn't technically break the promise you made. You spent hours in a room alone only for the attorneys to take fifteen minutes of your time to sign paperwork. And yes, you did see the guys from a distance, but you didn't talk to them. So, alright, you saw them, and the promise was to never see them again, but it was more the spirit of the thing. You hadn’t talked to them, and that was the important thing.

The elevator doors open and you step out only to stop dead in your tracks. There, littering the hallway outside of your apartment door, are large brown boxes. Eerily familiar boxes. Boxes you haven’t seen in months. Moving boxes.

You swallow as you get closer. One of the boxes isn't closed properly and you pull back the flap to reveal clothes. Your clothes. You quickly open another box and find more of your possessions. Books, movies, jewelry, stuffed animals. Your mind is racing. You don't understand what is going on. Were you both moving? Maybe he had gotten another job offer and this stuff was out here waiting for a moving company, so the apartment wasn’t a mess. Looking over the few boxes, you spot something taped to one of them. You snatch it off, almost tearing the paper, and you feel your breath hitch when you see what it is.

A photograph. A photograph of you entering the BigHit studios time-stamped from this evening.

He knew.

You scramble to pull out your phone, almost dropping it in your haste and dial your boyfriend. It goes straight to voicemail. You try again. Voicemail. You try again and again, leaving messages each time. Each message more desperate than the last. Soon, you’re begging him to let you explain only to be met with continued silence.

Phone still in hand, you realize you missed the obvious. Your hands are trembling as you dig into your purse searching for your keys. This is a mistake, you tell yourself, this is a misunderstanding. He wouldn't do this to you. He loves you. He said he wanted to spend forever together. This was a mistake.

You have to calm your nerves when you finally find your keys. It takes you two tries before you can get your hands to stop shaking enough to get the key in the lock. It sticks, and you force it in. Taking a steadying breath, you twist the key. Only the key doesn't turn. Your heart stops. You gulp and try again, putting more effort into it. Still, the key doesn’t turn. You’re getting desperate now and try harder, but after trying to force it to move, you’re worried you’ll actually break the key off in the lock.

It takes you a few minutes to realize what this means. He changed the locks. Keys hanging from the door knob, you try calling him again. He doesn't answer, going straight to voicemail once more. You don't know you're crying until your vision is too blurry to see the door in front of you. You try and leave another voicemail, but it just comes out as a strangled sob and you hang up before you can completely break down. You couldn't afford to break down. Not now.

He changed the locks.

You look at the boxes littered on the floor. This was your entire life and here it was, packed away as if it meant nothing. You were in a foreign country you had only recently started calling home and the only person you knew had kicked you out and changed the locks. You wipe your face and take a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to break down in the hallway of your apartment building. He obviously was too upset to talk. This probably wasn’t permanent. You just needed a plan for tonight, and tomorrow you would regroup, and it would be fine.

You nod to yourself and look over the boxes regretfully. You had no way to move them right now, but the complex you lived in was a decent one, your stuff would probably still be there in the morning. You open the box with your clothes and grab a few things, regretfully not finding any underthings, and shove them in your purse. Within 5 minutes of walking out of the elevator, you’re walking back in. Once you walk out the front doors, you pull out your phone again, this time to call a taxi, only to see the driver you had left earlier still parked in the exact same spot. Plans to call a cab currently forgotten, you approach him, “What are you still doing here?”

“My orders were to wait until you were safely in your apartment.”

You snort, “Yeah, about that. I won’t be getting in there tonight. So. You can- can go.” Your voice catches a bit and you turn your face away from him, “Thank you for waiting. But you should go.”

He’s silent but doesn’t start the car or drive away like you expect him to. When you look back, he’s staring at you. As if he was waiting for your attention, he starts to speak again, “In that case I will see you safely to your new destination.”

“Oh. Um. I mean, thank you. But I uh, I don’t have a new destination just yet. Crap, I need to call a hotel,” you ramble, “and I can call a cab.” when he doesn’t say anything, you continue, “You must have other priorities. I’ll be fine. Just go.”

“You are my priority, miss.” He tells you, obviously serious. “What do you need?”

His no nonsense attitude surprises you into telling him what’s wrong, “Well, I need a hotel for the night. And to find a way to get all my stuff moved tonight. Or in the morning. Do you know a moving company?”

“I’ll get it taken care of.” He assures you before opening his door, forcing you to take a step back. You’re not entirely sure why, but you trust him. So, when he opens the rear door and tilts his head, indicating you should get in, you obey without a second thought.

-0-0-0-

The hotel bar is sparsely populated, and you’re the only one actually seated at the bar top, kicking your feet back and forth on the high stool. You had been nursing your drink for most of the night, and you should really go to your room, but you just couldn’t do it. Weren’t ready to be so alone. At least if you were in the bar, it meant there was still a chance you wouldn’t be staying overnight in a hotel because you had been kicked out. If you just stayed at the bar, maybe he would call and maybe you could go home.

“Hey princess.”

You turn a little too quickly at the sound of Jin’s voice, almost toppling the stool. His hands land on your shoulders keeping you steady. When he’s sure you’re not going to fall, he sits down next to you.

“Jin.” you say, feeling warmth spread through you at the sight of him. You hadn’t even realized how cold you were. “What are you doing here?” You blurt out, “Oh I see. The driver?”

He nods and you huff. When the driver said he would take care of it, you should have known he would tell them something.

“What’s wrong?” Jin asks, his fingers running lightly across your tense shoulders.  His touch makes the skin beneath it buzz pleasantly, hardly noticeable amongst everything else you’re feeling, but comforting, nonetheless.

“Oh. It’s- it’s nothing.” You say with a laugh, planning to stop there. He doesn’t need to know about your personal problems. Silently, you salute the driver, he hadn’t told them everything. Then again, you hadn’t told him everything either. Jin’s fingers continue their journey as you both sit silently. He doesn’t press and the longer you sit next to him, the warmer you feel. Something deep inside urges you continue. To lay out your problems for him to see. You laugh humorlessly and stare into your watered-down drink, “Unless you count being homeless as something wrong.”

His fingers still and he stiffens next to you, “What?” His voice is quiet, so quiet…

“It’s nothing,” you’re quick to assure him, “I’ll figure it out.”

You try and smile, but you can feel the corners of your lips turn down.

“Why are you homeless?”

You lick your lips, debating telling him the whole story. He’s gripping your shoulder tightly now and something in his tone tells you he won’t let you brush this off. You decide to only give him some of the details.

“I, uh, broke up with my boyfriend. Or. He broke up with me. And- and it’s his apartment.” You tell him, planning to stop there, really, but now that you’re talking, you can’t seem to stop, “It was my fault, really. It’s just, I still kind of can’t believe it. One day everything was perfect, he-he was even talking about ‘forever’ and now-” you sigh, “Now I’m alone. Because I just couldn’t stay away.”

You were so absorbed in telling your side of the story, you don’t notice his tightening grip or the way he goes completely still beside you. Almost as if he’s made from ice.

“So, he just, kicks me out. We’re done. Instead of talking it through like adults. I went home and found my stuff outside our door with no explanation. Nothing.” You sigh, purposefully not telling him about the picture you found with the boxes. “And now we’re back to me being homeless.”

A glass shatters, startling you. “Oh! Jin! Are you okay!”

The bar top below his clenched fist is littered with shards of glass. You hadn’t even seen him order a drink and now it was a growing puddle on the bar. The spreading liquid and broken glass seems familiar somehow. The image tickling the back of your mind as you’re overcome with a sense of deja vu…

“I’m okay princess. Just dropped the glass. It’s nothing, see?” He opens his hand to show you his unmarked palm while the bartender wipes up the mess without a word. “Homeless, can’t you stay with your parents for a bit? Or maybe a friend? Just until you can find your own place?”

“I-I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

You turn away from him, closing your eyes as you do so. Scenes from the accident play against the backs of your eyelids and your breath hitches. You were past it, really, but sometimes…

“I just moved here recently. Well, it’s been almost a year, but I don’t um, have anyone.” You drag your finger against the wood, swirling the condensation ring your glass has left behind.  

“Come live with us.”

You look up at Jin in shock, “I’m sorry? What?”

“Stay with us.” He amends, “Just until you can find your own place. We have room.”

“I couldn't.”

“Why not?” Jin's voice is warm and comforting, “you don't know anyone else here. We can keep you safe. You can save your money until you find a place of your own.”

It’s too much. It really is. Your thoughts are buzzing around your head and colliding in a confusing mess. You can’t stay with them. It’s partially their fault you were in this mess. Well, okay, that was unfair. It was your fault because you couldn’t control yourself around them. Then again… “Are you, sure?”

“Of course.” He smiles and you feel as if a weight has been lifted, your spirits suddenly lighter, “I wouldn't have offered if it was going to be a problem.”

“Thank you Jin,” you can't stop yourself from hugging him, he smells so good and your skin tingles at his touch, “I really can't thank you enough.”

“What are friends for?”

“Friends.” You murmur, before smiling widely, “I suppose we are friends.”

“Yes, princess,” his dark eyes glitter as he stares at you, his smile sharp and filled with something you can't quite understand, “the best of friends.”

- pt 8 -

[riveliciousx]

@toxiicpop @25daysofchrismuts @sanromatrix  //  read it on AO3 

My contribution to the 25 days of chrismuts

Tags: Rolleigns, Sexting, Phone sex, Video chat sex, Dom/sub undertones, Implied relationships, Masturbation, prolly got more plot than it should but it isn’t really explored at all haha

Making do

Christmas not falling on a Monday or a Friday was fortunate —it was indeed good they didn’t have to work on the 24th nor the 25th, particularly for those really looking forward to spend the holidays at home, or wherever, in company of their families; but hapless Seth couldn’t count himself among the lucky people that had managed to, at least, get home.

Deep down, he would have preferred to be busy, putting on a show and flumping on bed after eating to his heart’s content in the name of Christmas Eve, then move on the next day as if it was any other week. He hadn’t made plans for anything in particular anyways, and maybe that was what bothered him the most. It was like a regular day in between cities, except here nature had called the shots to have his flight delayed —and then cancelled—, leaving him with a sensation of being stranded while the rest of the world kept on with its celebrations.

Wasting time in a hotel room wasn’t exactly worse than staying at home feeling awkward about not feeling quite jolly..., although it wasn’t better either, and it was driving him out of his mind. Seth had already zapped through the channels and ordered something to drink before giving up and deciding to lay down, staring at the ceiling for who knows how long until his phone buzzed on the night stand.

The low hum of the phone vibrating on the nightstand startled him, pulling him out of his trivial misery.

Seth reached for it, settling on his side and unlocking the screen: a text message, from Roman no less.

Sup, having fun?

He sighed. “Yeah, lotta fun,” Seth said to himself as he typed a reply.

As much as I can have in a hotel room

Roman took a while to get back to him. Seth looked at his phone every so often, unlocking and locking the screen several times, giddiness nesting in his stomach while his fingertips tingled in anticipation.

A few texts came in a haste just when he was about to give up and call it a night. Reading them one by one with care, imagining Roman’s voice in his head and how he’d speak those words to him, caused the whirl inside him become all the more intense, even though there was nothing suggestive in them. He closed his eyes and pictured Roman behind him, embracing him and whispering his concerns against Seth’s ear.

Sorry, I was helping in the kitchen, you know my mom

What do you mean a hotel room

Didn’t you get home

Seth bit his bottom lip, the earlier exasperation of spending the night trapped in a small room replaced by the warmth of lust spreading through his body.

What are you wearing?

You gotta wine and dine me first

He rolled his eyes and huffed annoyed. It wasn’t like they hadn’t done that kind of thing before; actually, it wasn’t like they wasted the chance to rekindle physicality in every occasion they could, so Seth didn’t see harm in acting on his lowest impulses without hesitation.

As he started to tap on the screen’s keyboard, an imaged was delivered to his device. Roman sported a long sleeve t-shirt that squeezed against his torso, leaving Seth’s mouth to water at the thought of feeling Roman’s pecs and sides; he could only assume how good his back looked too, broad and strong, and his hands trembled remembering the many, many times he clung to him, dragging his nails down on it.

Your turn

Seth propped himself back to take a picture. He angled his phone after undoing his pants and lifting his shirt enough to show his abs and leaning on one arm so Roman could get a peek of his happy trail along with the edge of his underwear’s elastic. He hoped his more risqué photo would egg Roman to follow Seth’s example and show more skin, because Seth wouldn’t be satisfied with an innocent and nonchalant selfie, let alone one only showing Roman’s clothed upper body.

The answer to his provocations came almost instantly, a curt damn read on his screen, and Seth typed fast, disappointed not to receive a reply in kind.

Like what you see?

No answer. Three, five, ten, fifteen minutes passed and Seth threw his phone to the opposite side of the bed; frustration recoiled in his stomach, replacing the arousal he had felt earlier. Now he was in a bad mood for real, wishing Roman hadn’t contacted him in the first place; it was better to be idle and bored than frustrated in Seth’s book, and the mere idea of getting off, angrily at that, didn’t appeal him at all.

He rolled on the bed and groaned. High strung as he was, he didn’t want to dwell too much on it, so what if he had been not so subtly turned down or ignored? He’d sleep it off and, hopefully, he’d be home the next day if the weather had mercy on him.

With a sigh, Seth got up to change and, when he had gotten off his tee, his phone buzzed once again. He stared at it for a moment, unsure of whether he wanted the night to continue or just get in bed. The screen announced an incoming videocall.

“Took your sweet time to pick up, huh?” Roman said when he saw Seth on his screen.

Seth just swallowed hard. Roman, like him, was shirtless, and Seth could tell he wasn’t at his parents’ anymore thanks to the quiet and calmness in the background.

“Didn’t want to risk it sending pics back and forth,” Roman explained. “You’re really something, teasing me while I’m with my family.”

Roman’s chuckle was like a purr in his ears, coaxing the tension off his body with its low and soft rumble.

“What can I say,” Seth finally spoke. “I know what gets my guy going.”

Another chuckle from Roman didn’t distract Seth from the fiery glow in his eyes. All of a sudden it felt like the sun was blazing outside, and Seth had to lick his lips as his mind slipped into a comfortable and warm daze. He had missed that, the way Roman knew how to give him what he wanted, what he needed ; he missed having Roman near, at hand’s reach for whatever selfish whim Seth had.

“Been missing me?” The question had a frantic nod for answer, and Roman gave him a crooked half smile that made Seth’s heart skip a beat. “Get all your clothes off. I wanna see you strip for me.”

Seth placed his phone against the base of the small lamp on the night stand and walked back a few steps so Roman could get a good view of him. He wriggled to help himself push his jeans down and pulled them off each leg slowly, then his underwear came off and he stood there, exposed and vulnerable, basking in Roman’s hungry stare.

A hum of approval filled Seth with pride while the anticipation had him fidgeting, antsy and desperate. He most definitely wanted to feel Roman all over his body, but having him spewing orders instead wasn’t too shabby; the imperative need to carry out what he was going to be told had his hands trembling a bit, and his head, his thoughts, got murkier and spaced out.

“What do you want?”

The words tugged at Seth’s most sensitive places and, gasping before being able to find the words he wanted to say, his body didn’t respond. His focus was one hundred percent on Roman, his expressions, his voice, the glint in his eyes, the way his tongue poked out of his lips to lick them.

Roman leaned forward, his face front and center in the phone’s screen. “Are you pent up? Feeling a little frustrated and needy?” The whine that escaped Seth’s lips was music to Roman’s ears, though he needed Seth to use words. “Hm? I want to hear you, Seth. Remember you gotta talk to me.”

Suddenly it was hard for Seth to speak, even his breathing had hitched up, the air in the hotel room so dense he felt he was drowning.

“Yes,” he managed to gasp. “I’m just so- I want you. I miss you, I’m on edge all the time and I have to put up this front, and you’re not there to take care of me. I need you.”

The desperate words flowed smoothly out of his mouth, and Roman stared at him for a moment. “Get in bed, baby. I want you to touch yourself like I would. I want you to do yourself and tell me what you’re doing.”

Seth went to his luggage first to retrieve the lube and then climbed on the bed. He was dizzy, his senses alight with the idea of Roman watching and hearing him; this time he was baring himself naked in a different level, opening his heart and spilling the many desires that had been piling for a long time, and yet it felt right.

He stroked himself with a lazy pace and opened his mouth, the rush of emotion making his eyes tear up a little. “I just want you,” he said. “I don’t care how, I want you to do with me whatever you want.”

“But what do you want right now?”

It was an interesting question, because Seth could think of a lot of positions he wanted Roman to fuck him in, nevertheless, what he was starved for was the contact of Roman’s skin, the way he enveloped Seth in a safe and warm cocoon away from the world, guarding off the bad thoughts and insecurities, loving him without restraint.

“I want to feel you.”

“Okay.” Now Roman nodded. “Touch yourself. Think it’s me, I’m here, I’m watching.”

Seth relaxed and closed his eyes, letting his hands wander on his body. A shiver shook his body when he reached the spots that Roman loved to tease: his nipples, his waist, his happy trail. He traced his muscles the way Roman’s fingertips would, and he eased to lean back while his hand kept going south.

“You look so good. I wish I was there.”

He gasped, encouraged to be bolder and more self-complacent.

Squirting a generous amount of lube on himself, Seth began jerking himself fast, moans escaping him in every exhale and he couldn’t hold back anymore. He utters his greedy itches, panting and gasping, goaded by Roman to go on and further; and Seth did, he went as deep as his heart and his body allowed, admitting how much he missed to be pounded against every surface in hotel rooms, in rental cars, in hallways backstage.

Seth fingered himself too, showed the corners of his body like an offering, even though he was unable to really give himself to Roman, and he did his best to make up for it with honesty, mumbling and moaning and shuddering, confessing all the unfashionable things he thought and felt. And Roman took it in, all of it, his eyes fixated on Seth the whole time, praising and cooing him the same he would if Seth was in his arms, and Seth swore it was the most intense orgasm he ever experienced when Roman told him how missed and needed and desired he was.

The peak of pleasure made his toes curl and his legs tense to the point of pain, and he was still shivering and shaking well after the hot spurts of completion had stopped.

“God, I wish you were here.” Seth croaked, holding the phone against the pillow, and Roman gave him a smile when his eyes started to close.

“You should come over for New Year’s.”

Seth muttered a weak yes as his eyelids get heavier and, the next thing he knows, it’s morning.

He sat up on the bed with the sudden realization, his body droopy and kind of sore, but he was sated and content, like he hadn’t felt in a while. A second realization hit him, because his stomach dropped remembering the night before; he didn’t take consideration of Roman, collapsing after coming and falling asleep while still videocalling with him.

“Oh, no.” He lamented and held his head in his hands. Roman wouldn’t reproach him, but he would sure tease and make fun of him, so Seth reached for his phone to apologize and promise to make it up to him the next time they were in the same proximity. “Guess I gotta-“

He froze in place, though; he had received a few messages after the videocall ended.

There was a picture of Roman —his face out of frame, thankfully—holding his dick, hard as rock, precome beading at the tip; then another, of the aftermath, Roman’s stomach covered with his release, his half hard dick in the forefront, although a bit out of focus. A Happy Christmas text underneath, along with a reminder of the invitation extended the previous night: Come over for New Year’s. 

[wistfulcynic]

The Very Witching Time (5 / 6)

SO I would like to begin by sharing a snippet of conversation I had with @thisonesatellite when I first told her my plans for this fic. I don’t remember all the details but here’s the gist: 

Me: *tells* 

Me: “It’ll be four chapters, about 20,000 words.” 

Her: “It’s so cute that you think you can write that in 20,000 words.” 

Me: “20k. Max.”

HAHAHAHAHAHA so obviously I WAS WRONG. I tragically underestimated the number of words I would need to tell this story. So now there are six chapters. AND THAT WILL BE ALL. 

Ahem. ANYWAY. 

In this chapter Emma and Killian deal with the aftermath of the curse breaking, there is some bonding and some sexy times and a library that will make you DROOL. 

Thanks as always to @cssns for the brilliant event and @gingerchangeling for the gorgeous art. 

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a hereditary witch, last in a long line of wise women who for centuries have guarded the coast of Maine and the small village of Storybrooke with their homemade cures and their ancient magic. She holds the delicate balance between magic and mundane, but now that balance is threatened by a new foe, one capable of bringing an end to everything Emma is and everything she loves. To defeat it she will need all her power, help from her friends and neighbours, and the loyalty of a very unusual dog who answers to the name of Killian.  

RATING: M

AO3 | Tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4

TAGGING: @thisonesatellite, @stahlop, @mariakov81, @kmomof4, @snowbellewells, @jennjenn615, @resident-of-storybrooke, @teamhook, @thejollyroger-writer, @winterbaby89, @darkcolinodonorgasm, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd @shireness-says @scientificapricot @tiganasummertree

(if you’d like a tag, please let me know!)

Chapter 5: 

Emma was never quite certain how she got home that morning. A soft haze obscured her recollections of the journey, like the delicate lace of frost on a winter windowpane or a particularly tedious Instagram filter. On top of the woozy exhaustion that always plagued her after intense magic use there was also the discovery of Killian’s true nature, the visions with their troubling revelations about Cora and his past, plus breaking a freaking curse, and if that weren’t already more than enough to make her head spin, that kiss… the soft, wet warmth of Killian’s mouth on hers would render her dizzy and faint even if she hadn’t channeled immense amounts of magic mere hours before. 

It is therefore, as you will surely agree, unsurprising that all she could ever remember of making her way back to her house was the radiant sunshine dappled by late autumn leaves, the sharp bite of frost the air, and Killian’s hand warm in her own, his arm around her shoulders and his body solid and reassuring as she leaned against him, her head tucked against his shoulder, breathing in the spicy scent of his skin. 

He guided her straight upstairs to her bedroom, helping her out of her wrinkled and leaf-strewn gown and into her pajamas before tucking her under her quilt. His fingers traced her cheek with the gentlest touch and she caught his hand, sensing his intent. 

“Don’t go,” she murmured. “Stay with me.” 

“Are you sure, love?” 

Such a simple phrase but she could hear every shade of meaning in the tone of his voice, Emma marvelled. The desire not to leave her warring with hesitation, uncertainty over what exactly his place was in her life now that he no longer wore the guise of a dog. She understood, and she knew there were important conversations they needed to have, but also she was desperate for sleep and certain she wouldn’t manage a wink without him there beside her. She squeezed his hand. “Stay.” 

He smiled and nodded and removed his own rumpled shirt and trousers before sliding into bed behind her, snuggling close and wrapping her securely in his arms. Emma sighed and was asleep in an instant. 

She awoke in the late afternoon just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, its bending rays bathing the sky in fiery blaze orange and softer coral, shot with streaks of heliotrope and brilliant rose. Only a sunset could make those colours go together, she thought with a smile, but in it they were breathtaking. 

Killian was still behind her, the protective curl of his body around hers so achingly familiar despite his altered form. From the cadence of his breathing she knew he was awake, though his only movement was his fingers twisting absently through the ends of her hair.

She turned in his arms and was met by his smile, brighter and more brilliant than any sunset, flooding her racing heart with a wave of warmth and sparks born of a different sort of magic. “How are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Better.” She smiled back at him. “Good. Wonderful, in fact. Starving.” 

He laughed. “Shall we have some dinner?” He moved to slide from the bed, halting on a sharp inhale when she laid her hand flat against his bare chest. 

“I’m not just hungry for food, Killian,” she said. The tingle in her blood was making her dizzy again but the day of restful sleep had restored her strength and she was buzzing and energised and ravenous. 

He caught her meaning instantly and his eyes widened, glazing with answering hunger and heat and a trace of doubt. “Are you—” 

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” she cut him off. “I am, completely. I’m still not certain how we broke your curse or shared my magic or what any of this is or what it means, but I know that I’ve never felt anything like this connection between us and I really, really want to make it physical. I need to. Is that okay?”

“You will definitely not hear any argument from me, love.” 

He gave her another of his impossibly familiar grins and she took a moment to marvel at just how much of the man had been present in the dog without her even noticing and then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

In common with many witches Emma’s beliefs, in the abstract, were very open about sex. Far from being considered sinful it was seen as a natural and integral part of life, elemental as water and air, earth and fire. 

In the abstract. Practically speaking Emma was a shopkeeper in a small town where everyone knew everyone else and people talked. Where the local witch taking up with anyone would be a point of extreme interest to far too many people and there would be expectations and pressure and questions, and all things considered Emma had always found that celibacy was simply easier. 

Meaning it had been some considerable time since she’d been touched. And she had never, never used her magic during sex. 

Yet when Killian’s mouth opened under hers and his hand caressed her bare skin she found herself overcome, helpless against the rush of power that thrummed through her. Not her power, though. His. 

“How…” she gasped when they broke apart for air, unable to form any more complex words but certain he would understand. 

He did. “It’s in my hand, I think,” he said. “The magic that healed it. There was so much of it and not all got used. It’s— part of me now.” He stroked her cheek with his left hand and she could feel the vibrations of the magic it held. “And what’s part of me is part of you,” he whispered. “That’s how you feel it too. I think.” 

She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. It’s— I mean, it shouldn’t—” 

“Emma.” His hand slid from her cheek to her hair, his eyes soft and amused and desperate. “I’m sure there’s a fascinating explanation but right now I do not care. Do you?” 

“No.” She pulled him back down to her, surrendering completely to the energy that sparked wherever their skin met, and the intensely arousing sensation of someone else’s magic flowing through her. 

Why the fuck not? she thought. Nothing about Killian had ever been what she expected, why should sex with him be any different? 

He took the lead and she let him, another new departure for her, let him slip the clothing from her body with an infuriating lack of haste as his hands and mouth unerringly sought out every spot that yearned for their touch, heightening her pleasure layer upon layer, higher and higher, impossibly high, until she was sobbing and clawing at him and prepared to beg. 

And when he finally —finally— slid inside her, joining their bodies in tandem with their hearts, the magic was an inferno, consuming them as they clung to each other, as they moved together in a rhythm both ancient and uniquely their own until the waves of magic turned to ecstasy and they fell apart, in pieces and more whole than they had ever been. 

Emma had no idea how long they lay together, entwined and still joined, but by the time she felt capable of thought and movement the last rays of the sun had faded and the light through her bedroom window was the glow of the pale moon above the treetops. 

“Gods, I’m starving,” she said. 

“Again? Give a man a chance to recover, love, after you wring him dry like an old flannel.”

She laughed. “This time I’m talking about food.” 

“Well thank fuck for that. I could definitely do with some nourishment.”

~~ 🌕 ~~

They raided the kitchen and feasted on whatever they could find that required no cooking: roasted corn and squash left over from the Samhain bonfire that seemed so much more than just a day ago, bread spread thick with butter and honey or generous slices of cheese, apples and slightly stale soul cakes and very hot tea. 

Emma was so hungry she’d have eaten anything and cared little for the taste but it was all delicious, spiced by the magic still sparking in the air and the pleasure of eating with Killian, properly this time, with him sitting next to her at the table rather than under it. 

“So,” said Emma, once the most demanding of their hunger pangs were quieted. “It feels really weird asking you this, after… well, after everything, but your last name is Jones, right? I remember from the vision.” 

“It is.”

Emma’s brow creased as she tried to kick her sluggish brain into gear. “Killian Jones,” she mused. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“I’ve no idea. I spent most of my life on the sea or in England, though I have lived in Boston for the past few years—” 

“Boston,” she interrupted, as faint bells began to chime in her memory. “Harvard University Press. Was it a book cover? Did you write a book?”

“Aye.” 

A very inelegant snort of laughter burst from her.  

“What?” Killian grinned at her mirth but his eyes were puzzled. 

“Sorry.” She held up her hand as another wave of giggles overcame her. “Sorry. I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear you say that without remembering how you used to bark it.” She laughed again and this time he joined her, blue eyes twinkling. 

“You might want to get over that,” he teased. “I say ‘aye’ rather a lot. It’s a navy thing.” 

“I’ll do my best.” She wiped her eyes and breathed deeply to stifle the giggles. “Anyway, you were saying you wrote a book.”  

“Ay— er, yes, I did. A history of the traditions of witchcraft from England to North America.” 

“That’s it!” She snapped her fingers triumphantly as the pieces fell into place, then waved her hand in a circular motion ending with it palm up in front of her.  Nothing happened. She frowned and waved it again, with more of a flourish this time but the same lack of result. Killian watched her curiously as she stared dumbfounded at her empty hand then rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m an idiot,” she said. “I forgot I’m so low on magic. It’s practically zinging through the air but none of it is the kind I can use. It’s a weird feeling. Anyway, I was trying to summon your book from my library but it looks like that’s not happening so I guess we’ll just have to get it the mundane way.” She looked at him, mischief glinting in her eye. “You’re a history professor, right?” 

“Ay— I am.” 

She grinned. “You’re going to love this.” 

Grabbing his hand she pulled him up from the table and along behind her out of the kitchen and through the living room to a door that he had never seen opened for the whole of the time he had lived in her house. Emma opened it and guided him up a narrow and winding set of worn stone stairs, her movements quick and certain despite the darkness. 

“Sorry there’s no light,” she said. “I’d put some on, but, you know, no magic.” 

“It’s okay—” began Killian and then they arrived at the top of the stairs and the words died in his throat as his mouth fell open and his eyes widened and he gaped with an expression of mute stupefaction that he would have known was comical even if Emma hadn’t burst out laughing at the sight of it. 

“Pretty great, huh?” she said. 

Killian had been in many extraordinary libraries in his time, from the stately magnificence of the Bodleian at Oxford to the hushed gravity of the Reading Room at the British Museum, from the sprawling glory of the New York Public Library to the actual Vatican Archives, where he hadn’t even been able to enjoy himself for fear of breathing improperly and getting kicked out. 

But none of them had prepared him for Emma’s library. 

Every inch of the walls was lined with carved wooden shelves, precisely fitted to the graceful curves of the circular room and broken only by the door they’d used to enter and another on the other side, and randomly placed windows of varying sizes and shapes through which pearly moonlight slanted, illuminating the round and sturdy oak table at the centre of the room and the rows upon rows upon rows upon rows of books. These rows curved around and around in the endless arc of a helix, twisting up much farther than his eye could see to the very top of the sharply pointed tower. 

Killian swallowed hard and with immense effort found his voice. “Why did we never come in here before?” he croaked. 

Emma shrugged. “I usually just summon the books I need. It’s kind of a pain to dig through them by hand so I came up with a spell that sorts them based on the criteria I give it.” 

Killian turned his astonished gaze on her. “You have a librarian spell?”  

“Yeah.” Emma frowned at him as he began to laugh. “Why is that funny?”

He shook his head. “It’s just my friend Belle would not be happy if she knew that was a thing. You could put her out of a job.” He looked around again, struggling to grasp the extent of her collection. There must be thousands of books, he thought. Hundreds of thousands. “You really have my book in here?” he asked her, ridiculously flattered at the idea. 

“Yep.” The room shifted with no apparent motion and a tall, rectangular window that Killian felt certain had been a good ten feet above their heads moments before was right where they stood. Emma pulled a book from the shelf beside it. “Here it is.” She held the book up in the shaft of moonlight from the window so he could see its familiar cover. “I enjoyed it.” 

“You read it?”

“Of course. I read everything written about witchcraft. It’s important to know what’s going on in people’s minds. Your book was better than most, though of course there’s a lot missing.” 

“Missing?” 

“Uh huh. Oh, don’t worry, it’s not your fault,” she hurried to add when she caught his disgruntled look. “Most of the stuff you left out I’d’ve been worried if you’d included. We keep it hidden for a reason.” 

“That… makes a lot of sense, actually,” acknowledged Killian, somewhat mollified. 

“Mmmm,” agreed Emma. “Um. Can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“What made you want to study the history of witchcraft?”

His expression shifted and he gave her an odd look, wondering and tinged with awe. “You did,” he said softly.  

“Me?” 

“Aye. I didn’t know it was you at the time, of course. I just wanted to find out more about the witch Cora was looking for.” 

“But why was she looking for a witch?” asked Emma, voicing the question that had been niggling at her for some time. “For me, I guess?”

Killian blew out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Now that is a tale,” he said. “Do you mind if we sit, love, and I’ll tell you all I know?”

“Sure.” Emma returned his book to her shelf and they sat together at the table, in large and ornately carved chairs that were far more comfortable than they looked. 

Killian took her hand in his, absently, caressing her knuckles with his thumb as he began his tale. “Cora has practiced witchcraft all her life, taught by her mother as I believe most witches are,” he said, looking to Emma for confirmation. She nodded, and he went on. “She was always fascinated by the High Magic and by the stories of ancient witches who had great power, and she spent quite a lot of time studying those things. During the course of her studies she found a prophecy—” Emma made a disgusted noise “— just fragments of it but it enthralled her to the point of obsession, and from then on she pursued it single-mindedly. Over the years she pieced together more and more of it until she believed what she had was nearly complete.” 

“And what exactly was in this prophecy?” spat Emma. 

Killian looked startled at her tone but replied easily. “It speaks of a day when dark magic would be driven from this world for good. Of a witch descended from centuries of those who did not have to hide their gifts, with distilled power of her ancestors who would seal the breach. It... speaks also of that witch’s true love, whose aid she would require to complete the task. A man who could be her saving or her undoing.” He lowered his eyes, the flush on his cheekbones obvious even in the moonlight. When Emma remained silent he looked up to see her staring at him in disbelief and building fury, and his embarrassment became consternation. 

“What is it?” he asked.  

“That’s what this has all been about?” she hissed. “Nearly tearing open the barrier, nearly killing you? All because of that old thing?”

Killian frowned. “What old thing?”

Emma pushed her chair back and stood as the room shifted again. She stomped —there was no other word for it— over to a bookshelf and grabbed a leather-bound book as large as a dinner tray and thick as a club sandwich, then stomped back to the table and dropped it in front of Killian with an echoing thud. Killian’s eyes widened as he caught the title: Viarum Finis Omnium. The end of all roads. 

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. 

Emma hefted the book open and began ruffling through its pages. “Hmmm?” she said absently. 

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” Killian waved his hand in an exaggerated gesture, though she wasn’t looking at him. “It’s just when I was doing my dissertation I’d’ve given my left nut to read this book.”

“Oh.” Emma paused, frowning at the book like she couldn’t fathom why anyone might find it important. “Well, you can read it now if you’d like. But I’ve got others that are loads better.” 

“Others…” said Killian faintly as she turned another page and found what she was looking for. 

“Here it is,” she said triumphantly, it being apparently the wrinkled and faded and folded piece of parchment she snatched from the book, handling it with a casual indifference that made the historian in Killian want to cry. She snapped it unfolded with an angry flourish and held it out to him. 

“Is this the prophecy you mean?” 

He took the parchment from her gently, touching only the edges. “This is it!” he exclaimed. “This is the whole thing. But… have you always known it was about you?”

“It’s not about me.”

“What?” He looked up at her and she scowled. 

“I mean, it’s not necessarily about me. It could be about anyone in my family. It could be about no one. It could —and I’m gonna be honest, this is my take— be complete bullshit.” 

He managed not to roll his eyes. “I know you don’t think much of foretelling, love—” 

“That’s the truth.” 

“But are you sure there’s never been anything to suggest that this is about you? Cora is not nearly as clever as she thinks she is but she did devote her life to figuring out this prophecy and she did identify us both… and if you and I aren’t the witch and the man it refers to then that leaves rather a lot of odd things unexplained.” 

Emma folded her arms across her chest, her expression that of a child who won’t admit it’s bedtime. “Such as?”

“Well, there’s your garden magic,” said Killian. “For a start.” 

“What about my garden magic?”

“It recognised me. The first time I stepped into the garden the magic there knew me. It welcomed me like an old friend, and warned me that danger was coming. It told me to protect you.” 

“Hmmm,” said Emma, still scowling.  

“And your own magic, love,” continued Killian, gentle but relentless. “You shared it with me.” 

“I did do that,” Emma unfolded her arms and sighed. “Which shouldn’t be possible. Witches can link their power but to share magic with someone who has never practiced, and so easily… Well, it basically can’t be done.” 

“And yet it was done.”

“But not because of a stupid prophecy—” 

“And how can you explain my hand?” He held it up. “How did I get my whole hand back, and with added magic?”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t know. You’re right. There’s a lot that’s weird about all of this, though I’m just never going to believe that any of it can be explained by a prophecy. There’s gotta be more to it.” 

She took his left hand in hers, examining it closely. “Why did Cora take your hand in the first place? I’m assuming she arranged for it to be damaged.” 

“Aye, and then she amputated it with magic. I’m not certain why exactly but I imagine she was Shown something that told her you would need it, or need something I could do with it.” 

 “Shown,” echoed Emma grimly. “Which means she has the gift of sight,”

“Sight, aye,” Killian agreed, “but interestingly not perception. She found the prophecy but she couldn’t fully understand it, so she turned to her Sight for answers. Which it provided. But I’ve always suspected she misinterprets the things she Sees.”

“And that is why the Sight is next to useless,” scoffed Emma. 

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that Cora’s Sight what drives her. She asks to be Shown things and then acts decisively on what she Sees. She asked to be Shown the witch from the prophecy but her Sight couldn’t conjure you, so she asked to See the man instead. And was Shown me. This was years ago, when I had just joined the navy. It took her about two years to track me down after that.”

“The first vision,” said Emma. “She— did she really destroy your whole ship?”

“Aye,” said Killian grimly. “A few well-placed blasts of magic and the whole thing went under. It was the worst disaster in modern British naval history, and there was no logical explanation for it. And I was the only survivor.” His hand clenched into a fist on the tabletop. “It was declared an Act of God and afterwards the navy gently suggested that perhaps I wasn’t best suited to a career with them. Gave me an honourable discharge and no option of appeal.” 

“Oh, Killian.” Emma covered his fist with her hand and he unclenched it to grip her fingers tightly. “What did you do?” she asked. 

“Well, I had no family and no employment and no place to go. And a rash deal with Cora that left me in her debt, which is of course exactly where she wanted me. She came to me in what she claimed was generosity and offered me a job doing her dirty work and I thought why the fuck not? How much worse could my life get? Only it turned out that my life could get considerably worse. Cora was in search of any information she could find about the prophecy, and she, as you saw, did not hesitate to use her magic, and me, as weapons to obtain it.”

“But you stayed with her.” 

“Aye, because I felt I had no other option. Exactly as she knew I would. I believe her aim was to corrupt me to the point where I could be used to destroy you. ‘The man can be her undoing,’ remember. Cora interpreted that literally to mean I would be able kill you as she couldn’t.” 

“But what stopped her from killing me? Or at least trying to, I’m actually  not that easy to kill.” 

He chuckled, as she’d hoped he would, and shifted his hold on her hand so their fingers were linked. “Her Sight told her it would be disastrous to attempt it. I can only assume it Showed her the same thing about me.” 

“Which is why she cursed you instead of just killing you.” 

“Indeed. It was a bit of a gamble, my challenging her like that, but I figured what else could I do? It was either run with my theory that the Sight had instructed her not to kill me or die anyway, either of starvation or wolves.”

Her hand tightened on his, her mouth thinning as she thought of how she had nearly lost him before they’d even met. 

“What was on that paper you found? That you threw in the fireplace?”

His mouth twisted wryly. “It said ‘Killian Jones is the man in the prophecy.’ Not much, I grant you, but once I knew that, and realised that she knew it and had likely known it since the beginning, a lot of things that had always struck me as peculiar suddenly fell into place. Like why she needed me, why she would go to so much trouble to get me in her control.” 

“But do you think she showed you that deliberately?”

“I do. She must have, she’s not careless enough to leave anything lying around unless she intended me to find it.” 

“But why?”

His thumb rubbed absent patterns on the back of her hand as he thought. “This is all just conjecture,” he said after a short pause, “but I believe she realised that I wasn’t fully on board with what she was doing. As awful as the things I did for her were, as much as they ate away at my soul, some small part of me always resisted, found little ways to thwart her. And she needed me fully committed. I believe she thought that if she let me go I would be lost again as I had been after I was discharged from the navy. That I would eventually come back to her of my own volition and then she would have me.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t go back.” 

“No. I was determined not to, no matter what it took. I knew I had to find a way to stop her, and the first step would be to learn as much as I could about that prophecy, and about witchcraft, and about the particular witch she sought.” He smiled at her. “About you. So I became a historian, specialising in the history of witchcraft and the occult.” 

“And Cora kept waiting for you to come crawling back,” said Emma, an edge of deep satisfaction in her voice. “But you never did, so she had to come to you. And she found you a successful college professor.” 

Killian chuckled. “Aye. She must have hated that.” 

Emma thought about everything he’d been through, all he had suffered, and how he had still come through it all and beaten Cora at her own game. Love for him surged in her chest. “You’re amazing,” she sighed. 

He flushed bright pink and rubbed at a spot behind his ear, exactly the spot, Emma noted, where he had loved to be scratched when he was a dog. “Ah, I don’t know about that,” he muttered. 

“I do.” Emma wanted to crawl into his lap and have her way with him right there in her library, but she suspected he would be horrified by the prospect of fucking anywhere near ancient books so she settled for leaning across the table and kissing him gently. 

He returned the kiss but when they broke apart he shook his head. “I’ve done some awful things, Emma. You don’t know—” 

“I don’t need to,” she interrupted. “I’ve seen you, Killian, the essence of you. You’re a good man.” 

“I’m not—” 

“You are. And I love you. All of you.” 

“Gods, Emma,” he whispered, leaning close to her again, resting his forehead against hers. “I don’t deserve— I’m not— ah, I love you so much.” He kissed her and she sighed, snuggling as close as she could get. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured against her lips.

“Why not stay here?” She couldn’t resist teasing him. “We could—”

“On the books?” He pulled back to gape at her, his eyes as horrified as she’d known they would be. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Love, I don’t think you fully realise just how valuable, how important these books are—” 

“I was kidding,” she soothed him. “We’ll go to bed. And afterwards, I’ll tell you all about my plan for giving Cora what’s coming to her.” 

“Mmmm,” he growled. “That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

~~ 🌕 ~~

The next morning they went to the shop together, almost as they always had except that the forest was as warmly welcoming as a frosty collection of trees can be and they walked along the path side by side and hand-in-hand. When they reached the edge of the village Emma could feel Killian tense, but they strolled unimpeded down the streets and no one they encountered reacted in any way to the sight of Emma holding hands with a strange man or stopped to ask her where her dog had gone. 

“Hmmm,” said Killian, frowning as Leroy went past them with a gruff nod and no hint of surprise. 

When they reached the shop door he kissed her and squeezed her hand before releasing it. “I think I’ll go see if I can find some new clothes, love,” he said. “And discover if my credit cards still work after I’ve been missing for several months. And I really should contact someone and let them know what happened. Er, as much of it as I can tell them, at least.” 

Emma nodded. “You can use the computer in the back room if you need to. And there’s a shop at the corner of Main and Oak that sells men’s clothes.” 

“Aye, I think I remember it. I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her again, then headed off towards Oak Street. Emma watched him go and tried not to feel bereft. 

“Don’t be an idiot, he’s only going two blocks away,” she told herself firmly. But after nearly three months of Killian being constantly at her side even a short separation felt weird, and the shop empty and echoey without him. 

Fortunately he returned in less than an hour, dressed in new jeans and a soft blue sweater that brought out his eyes. “This is nice,” she murmured as she snuggled into his chest and rubbed her cheek against it. “Almost as soft as your fur used to be.” 

He chuckled. “I thought you’d like it.” 

The shop door opened and Mary Margaret entered. 

“Hey, Emma,” she said, not looking at them as she rummaged in her bag. “ I have to get to school but I just wanted to be sure you were okay, since you were closed yesterday. And yes I know you’re usually really tired after Samhain but I thought I’d check in anyway. Aha, there they are. Classroom keys, thought I’d left them at home.” She looked up, grinning. “Oh, hey Killian.”  

Emma and Killian exchanged a glance and waited. 

Mary Margaret’s eyes darted from Emma to Killian and back again and her bright smile began to fade. She opened her mouth then closed it again. Her forehead wrinkled. She began to blink rapidly and pointed at Killian with a shaking finger. 

“What… you’re… who…” she stuttered. “You are Killian… aren’t you?” 

“Aye,” he replied, short and sharp like a bark, and Mary Margaret’s eyes bugged.  

“Oh my god,” said Emma, elbowing him in the ribs. “Do you have to?” 

Mary Margaret’s eyes were so wide Emma was afraid she’d lose them. “But you’re… how… what… WHAT?”

Emma took pity on her. “Killian was cursed,” she said. 

“Cursed,” repeated Mary Margaret. 

“Yep. By Cora, actually.” 

“Cora— wait, my stepmother Cora?”

“Mmm hmm. Remember I told you I thought she might be a practitioner.” 

“I—” Mary Margaret swayed slightly and Emma darted over to catch her before she could fall. “This is a lot to take in,” she gasped. 

“I get it,” said Emma. “Really I do.” She rubbed her friend’s back in a soothing motion as Mary Margaret concentrated on breathing. “And I hate to put pressure on you,” Emma continued, “but actually I’m glad you’re here because Killian and I could really use your help.”

“Well, I mean, of course I’ll help you if I can,” said Mary Margaret, once her shock had passed. “What do you need?”

“Do you think you and David could come to my house tonight?” asked Emma. “We’ll give you dinner. Killian’s promised to cook.”

“Come to your house,” repeated Mary Margaret, eyes bugging again.  

“Yep.” 

“Your house?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Your house where I’ve never once been because you never invite people there, even though I’ve been your best friend for ten years?”

“Ah. Yes, that’s the one.” 

“And you want us to walk there, I suppose?” Mary Margaret had gone into full teacher mode, hands on her hips and eyes shooting daggers. Emma had to make a conscious effort not to squirm, and not to hex Killian who was leaning against the apothecary counter, trying without much success to stifle his laughter. 

“You’ll have to really,” she told Mary Margaret. “There’s no road.”  

“So you want David and me to walk through the forest? After dark?”

“Yeah, well the forest right now isn’t as scary as it used to be,” began Emma, trailing off when Mary Margaret fixed her with the Look she gave her students when they refused to share their coloured pencils.“But Killian and I will walk with you if it makes you nervous,” she hastened to add.  

Mary Margaret took a deep breath, then another. Then she nodded. “I think… we’d like that. The company and the dinner.”

“Great.” Emma sighed in relief and sent a fervent prayer to the goddess that she would never have to see Mary Margaret’s teacher face again. “How about you meet us back here at about six?” 

“Okay.” 

“And don’t tell Dave about me,” Killian added, with a wicked grin. “I’d like it to be a surprise.” 

~~ 🌕 ~~

At ten minutes to six that evening the streets of downtown Storybrooke were largely deserted, which is unfortunate as anyone who had been on them would have been treated to the sight of the town sheriff being dragged down Main Street by the hand, ruthlessly and at breakneck speed, by the fifth grade teacher. 

“What is all this about?” David grumbled. “I know you’ve always wanted to see Emma’s house but this is a bit extreme.” 

“It’s not about the house,” said Mary Margaret impatiently, then amended. “Well, it is a little bit about the house. But mostly it’s about something I’ve been dying to tell you all day but I promised I wouldn’t and you know how I am with secrets, David, I’ve deleted at least ten texts to you spilling the whole thing and I can’t take it anymore. Would you hurry, we’re nearly there.” 

Seconds later she flung open the shop door and pulled him inside, to where Emma was just finishing counting the register. 

“Hey, I’m nearly done,” she said, carefully ignoring the buzzing excitement that was emanating from Mary Margaret in almost visible waves. 

David looked around, trying to figure out what had his wife in such a tizzy. He didn’t blink when Killian sauntered out of the back room, though he did scowl, as he had every time he’d seen that dog.

Hold up, thought David.  

“Mary Margaret,” Killian said, kissing her cheek. “Lovely to see you again.” He nodded at David. “Dave.” 

David stared for a moment then his face took on the deeply satisfied expression of one who had guessed right all along. “Well at least you didn’t lick her face,” he said. 

“Not anymore, mate,” said Killian. 

“KillianwascursedandCoradiditbutEmmabrokehiscursebykissinghimcanyoubelieveit?” said Mary Margaret, all in one breath. 

“I always knew there was something off about you,” said David, then his eyes narrowed. “Where did you get those clothes?” 

“Shop down the road,” replied Killian. “Thank goodness no one thought to cancel my credit cards.” 

“And what exactly were you wearing before you went to the shop down the road?”

“I was dressed when I was cursed and still dressed when I became uncursed,” said Killian with a smirk. “Good bloody thing too as I wouldn’t have fancied a stroll through the forest of a frosty November morning tackle out, as it were.” 

David opened his mouth again but Emma interrupted. “Stop interrogating him, David, you’re off duty. And anyway, we’ll tell you the whole story over dinner,” she said. “Let’s get going.” 

But Mary Margaret couldn’t wait and she peppered Killian with questions as they walked, and by the time Emma was speaking the words to allow her and David past the garden wards she had pried the entire story from him. 

“I just can’t believe it,” she said for the millionth time as she sat with Emma and David on the sofa while Killian prepared dinner. “I mean, I can believe Cora is evil and I can believe Killian has been a man all this time. He wasn’t really that convincing as a dog, was he? Now that I really think about it, I mean.” 

“I always suspected,” said David smugly.

“You always suspected he was really a history professor cursed by your stepmother-in-law as part of her attempt to flood this world with dark magic?” said Emma, with admirably restrained sarcasm. “That’s some killer detective work right there.” 

David had the grace to look chastened. “Okay, point taken, but I did always think he wasn’t quite right as a dog.” 

“Me too,” said Mary Margaret decidedly.

“Well don’t tell him that,” laughed Emma, “He’s very proud of his dog cosplay.”

Killian called to them that dinner was nearly ready, and Emma led her friends into the kitchen where the large table was set for five. 

“Are you expecting someone else?” asked David. 

“Yeah, I am,” said Emma, looking slightly shifty. “And I’m gonna need you guys to trust me.” 

“Trust you?” 

“Yeah.” The wards around the garden sounded an alarm, and Emma and Killian exchanged glances. “That’ll be her,” said Emma. “I’ll be right back.” 

She returned a few moments later, accompanied by Regina. 

David and Mary Margaret gaped. 

“Regina is here by my invitation,” said Emma, before they could speak. “She’s going to help us.” 

“Help us… how?” asked Mary Margaret.

“Against my mother,” Regina replied. “Miss Swan—” she took a deep breath and started again. “Emma has asked for my assistance in defeating her.” 

“I feel like I’m way behind here. Why does she need to be defeated?” asked David. “Didn’t you take care of that on Samhain?”

“We’ll explain everything over dinner,” said Emma. “And our plan. But first, Regina has something else she’d like to say to you.” 

She gave Regina an expectant look and the dark haired woman grimaced slightly before turning to Mary Margaret. “I want to apologise,” she said. 

“A— what?” said Mary Margaret faintly. 

Emma wondered if she should feel guilty for piling yet another shock on Mary Margaret, who had already had quite the day. But she needed her friend to trust Regina. 

“For the way I treated you,” Regina elaborated. “When we were growing up, and—” she swallowed hard. “—just before your wedding. I owe you an apology for that as well,” she said, turning to David. “I could make excuses, but I won’t. I was awful, and the reasons why don’t matter. I just— I wanted to say I’m truly sorry, and I am going to do better. In the future.” 

The room was dead silent for an uncomfortable moment, the only sound the hissing and bubbling of the food on the stove. Then Mary Margaret stood and approached Regina. Tentatively she put her arms around her stepsister, ignoring the other woman’s flinch. “I accept your apology,” she said. 

Regina’s shoulders slumped as the tension drained from her body, and she actually patted Mary Margaret’s back. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

Emma smiled and Killian put his arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple. “Well done, love,” he murmured in her ear. “I think the food’s all ready, now. Shall we eat?”

“Yeah. Let’s eat.”