#like he’s just……… it’s instilled into him. it’s instinct. almost second nature.

[slimslamflimflam]

Did not realize people had ideas for full on deep lore backstories for Ryuunosuke I honestly just thought he had a nice stable home life growing up and genuinely loving parents he’s just like that

[freshie-owo]

(If I’m bothering you please let me know I will stop OANDISJFJ) but hello I’m back quite early and I am still thinking on the abo Zenitsu Uzui au and I was trying to eep and my brain supplied me with the idea of instilled bias against male omegas tengen reaction to his son having a heat in his home.

I’m not sure for you but for me I’ve always worked heats in 2 different ways depending on the context, since Zenitsu probably isn’t mated or courted in this context and he has only platonic bonds cemented, I imagine his heat would be more just like… a cuddle bug, flustered and overheated but almost in a fever-type way, kinda glazed and dopey. But if he were mated or courted it would be sexual.

Anyway back to the matter at hand, I was thinking of Zenitsu alarming his parents to the fact he has a heat coming up or him not even realizing until he’s in pre-heat, and they/tengen just assume he’ll spend it with them and he’s like “…no? I usually go to the butterfly mansion for one of their heat rooms, or I go hom- to my gramps. Or if I don’t have the time Tanjirou looks after me.”

and obviously the moms all feel rejected about this, trying to reassure and push the idea while meaning well onto to Zenitsu that he can/should/will spend the duration of his heat at their home. Meanwhile tengen as “pack alpha” says something and Zenitsu with his inherent need to please agrees to stay, although unhappy about it.

I would just find it interesting for tengen who has this bias he’s trying to work past and also being currently slammed with about 16 years worth of parental instincts, having to come to terms together with the fact his son is alive and his son is an omega AND his son is having a heat so he’s super on fucking edge, guarding Zenitsu’s room without even realizing probably and is like 5 seconds away from ripping something apart from all of his emotions and instincts colliding.

Not to mention the strain it would also put on the wives since all of them would have a respective role as “dam/pack mother”

Another thing I thought of was the lack of nest I think Zenitsu would have, in media omegas generally make nests to make home more homey and comfortable, but since he doesn’t view the uzuis as home initially he’s not making a nest, maybe even recalling his nest at gramps which bugs everyone to various levels of degrees.

I can picture the wives/tengen insistently buying blankets/fabrics and offering items of their own for the nest Zenitsu is not making because he doesn’t view home as home. I think the strain it would place on them all would be fun.

Again this is all just me theorizing and rambling and I hope you don’t mind! I eep now😴

See, and I almost wonder if (due to Tengen's non-existent sex education and the things he would know, if his father had omega spouses) he would ASSUME all heats are the sexual kind. Especially if none of his wives are omegas either!

I feel like there's potential for all four parents to fumble the interaction SO badly because they'd want to be there for Zenitsu, but it would probably be weird for them, too, because even with their instincts it would be a little uncomfortable. And then, after Zenitus has to go through the mortifying ordeal of explaining heats to his parents, they would be received and even excited to take care of Zenitsu, knowing it won't be awkward like they thought.

Zenitsu, naturally, does not want to spend a heat there, like you said. Because it's still SUPER awkward for him either way. But I think he'd feel bad about his moms feeling rejected, and maybe even panicky about Tengen, because he'd obviously be smelling angry and frustrated about Zenitsu not letting them care for him like they should - Zenitsu think it's because the wives are upset - so he caves and agrees to stay.

Meanwhile, Tengen is trying to reconcile this idea of his omega son having a heat, the most "omega" thing an omega can do, and his internal bias, then stacked on top of his instinctual need to care for the pup, and the only pack omega. I think he'd be in turmoil as well, because he is now struggling to understand HOW his father could dismiss omega sons, when Tengen feels such a strong attachment to his own. Which I think would make him more frustrated and protective all at once, which would freak out Zenitsu, too, since his instincts are also keyed up. They'd both be on edge, making what should be a pleasant time of bonding a time of extremely high stress.

I think, on top of your thoughts about Zenitsu not making a nest because the Uzui house doesn't feel like home, that that would.make his heat harder to bear. Because I think he'd dent making the nest for that reason, leaving him without a "safe space." I'm.also.imaginung that the uzuis provide Zenitsu with blankets from their house that smell like them, thinking it will help, but their scents are the scents of strangers to Zenitsu. Because they aren't really a family or a pack, yet, and since he doesn't even like them like he does the butterfly girls and Tanjirou, there's no comfort to be had in blankets from the Uzui's at all!

It would be SO dramatic. The most dramatic. Taking the already strained situation that is dialed up to 10 and turning it up to 20.

I don't mind at all, and I hope you don't mind my theorizing back! I am very much enjoying the scenarios you're coming up with :3

[twst-drabbles]

Leona 13

Summary: Leona rarely slips into deep sleep, but you were lucky enough to witness him do such a thing. Right on your lap of all places. You couldn’t help but take a picture to send to Mr. Falena.

(I have 2 AU’s cooking in my brain, one angsty of course, lot of death and afterlife stuff, and another one that’s fluffy, made to embarrass the ever loving shit out of the boys. When I’ll ever get to them is still a mystery. Have patience please.)

Nowadays, it’s rather rare for you to be sitting in any one place for too long. It can’t be helped, really. With the amount of pets now in your house, you had to follow a strict schedule, both to make the pets as comfortable as possible, but also because of how easy it was for you to take one break and then stretch it to weeks.

It was winter, and as is their nature, the plant nymphs have all entered hibernation for the first time. With nothing to threaten them, their little bodies have finally started following the instincts instilled in them instead of being filled with fear. As such, you finally had your mornings all to yourself.

This also meant that your lap was now the new bed for Leona. He wasn’t so much curled up as much as he was just splayed on your thigh. He had his arms hanging off your leg, gravity drooping his head down as his legs twitched every so often. You dragged a finger over his back, poking his feet a few times just to see him spasm in his sleep. Little grains of sand flecked off and quickly faded.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him sleep this deeply before. He almost looks like he’s melting with how flat he looks.

Another thing was the fact that slowly, Leona was starting to slide off your thigh. Sure, you could’ve adjusted yourself and make sure he stayed in place, but you really didn’t want to. He can pick himself back up anyway.

He did not, in fact, pick himself back up. Gravity eventually won with his instincts failing to do the same. The little pet landed right on face, pressed against the soft, thickly stuffed blankets.

One second passed, then two, then four, and only after fifteen seconds passed did you realize he was going to stay asleep. You felt your belly tense up with the need to laugh, but you had to keep it in. You needed to capture this.

A few quick swipes on your phone and you took a nice number of photos in deliberately unfaltering angles. Picking the one you liked best, you promptly sent one to Mr. Falena, knowing very well he’ll show this to Cheka later.

“Leona’s going to hate me later for this.”

His reply was almost instant, “With the way he’s sleeping, I don’t think he’ll be awake enough to find out!”

[rocorambles]

Lifetime of Love

Pairing: Suga x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Overstimulation, Mythology AU, Demi-God!Suga

Prompt: Mythology

Summary: As the son of Aphrodite, Suga knows more than most when it comes to beauty and love. But knowledge and experience are two very different things. OR Suga finds true love.

A/N: This is my contribution for the HQHQ NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. As always, thanks for beta-ing @sawamooora

Being the son of Aphrodite has its perks. Even as just a demi-god, Suga is borderline ethereal, naturally drawing men and women to him with his dazzling silver hair, enthralling hazel-brown eyes, and coquettish charm. It’s effortless, the way he wakes up looking just as radiant as ever, the way his hair is naturally shaped and styled even after tossing and turning in bed. Clothing is just a technicality, just fabric he wears to not risk indecent exposure. Why waste time and effort thinking of putting an outfit together when he could wear a burlap sack and still have admirers flock to him?

It’s not a bad life and he knows others stare at him with envy, wondering what it’s like to be so beautiful, so loved, so wanted, so desired. Never an off day. Never a hair out of place. And truth be told, maybe more of his mother runs in him than he likes to admit, if the swell of pride and satisfaction he gets from having everything in life handed to him on a silver platter is anything to go by.

Life is easier for beautiful people. It’s a hard pill to swallow for the masses, but a reality that Suga has no qualms taking advantage of. After all, he might as well get some benefit from being a goddess's son, even if his mother and him don’t always see eye to eye.

Suga can appreciate beauty and love. Aphrodite has taught him to have an eye for the finer things in life. He’s not stubborn enough to deny that he enjoys waking up entangled in silk and satin sheets, surrounded by a beautifully decorated apartment, to reject the ecstasy he feels when he has one or more playmates in his bed.

But love of the flesh is different than love of the heart, and he wonders, despite how blasphemous it is to question a deity, if his mother truly understands what love is.

Aphrodite’s love is a seemingly fleeting and fickle thing, a fire that blazes bright and strong, only to burn out just as quickly as it had risen. And he judgmentally watches as she bounces from man to God to man to God again and again, grimacing whenever he meets his “family”, knowing how she’s slept with most of the other gods in Olympus.

He has no doubt that in her own way, she truly has loved each entity she’s slept with. But he wants something different, something less promiscuous, something less shallow. He wants true love, a love rooted in something much deeper than superficial appearances, a love rooted in a connection of souls, a love rooted in the bond of two people truly seeing and knowing each other’s flaws and strengths, yet still determinedly pursuing each other.

So he steadfastly continues on, searching for the one.

There’s no end to the line of people who practically throw themselves at his feet, desperate for a chance to catch his attention. He goes on endless dates, entering and leaving countless relationships. Some attempts are longer than others. Some partners have hope churning inside of him, have hazel-brown eyes sparkling in interest. But in the end, they’re all the same and the flutters of his heart become anchors of disgust inside of him when he sees their leering eyes, the lust driving their actions, the way they never see past his handsome face and attractive body.

No one sees Sugawara Koushi. They only see the body of a man literally blessed by the gods.

Maybe it was naive of him to believe that he knew more about love than the goddess of love herself. Maybe sleeping around with other attractive bodies is all his life will amount to, can amount to. And as he watches the people around him break-up, divorce, chase after some happy ending that seems more and more unattainable, he gives up his rose-colored dream of a fairytale romance.

But life has a funny way of dropping something in your lap just when you’ve given up all hope.

Aphrodite had not been amused when Suga had told her he was going to be a teacher at a local elementary school in the countryside. Children and parental instincts have never been her forte, and he remembers the long winding back and forths they had as she implored for him to rethink his decisions, flaunting modeling and acting opportunities in his face, anything to have his handsome face plastered on televisions and magazines.

But he had remained steadfast in his decision and she had finally relented, shaking her head and letting him know that she’d be ready to help him when he’s done wasting his gifts and time.

“You’re only part-god, Koushi. Your beauty will only last so long.”

He knows there’s no malice behind the words. It’s just a cold hard fact, a reminder. And he simply nods in response, secretly wondering if that would be so bad, letting age take its toll and put him on the same playing field as the rest of the world.

But he has years before he crosses that bridge and he dedicates himself to finding fulfillment in life by caring for and teaching the children in his class. A megawatt smile spreads across his face as he watch them play and excitedly call his name, politely ignoring his fellow teachers who parade themselves in front of him for an ounce of his attention, never entertaining the married mothers of his students who try to lavish him with unnecessarily exuberant gifts and woo him with fluttering lashes.

It’s a tiring never-ending dance, so when he hears about the arrival of a new female colleague, he internally sighs, no doubt in his mind that you’ll be just like the rest. So imagine his surprise when you just casually smile at him when you’re introduced, no interest in your eyes, no lingering gaze, before turning your attention away from him without a second glance back.

He wonders if it’s a fluke, hopes and prays that it isn’t. It’s almost comical, complete insanity, how his heart races, his eyes blow wide, just from your sheer nonchalance. And for the first time, it’s Suga who’s left wistfully staring as his eyes trail after your figure even long after you’ve turned the corner of the hallway.

He’s seen his mother’s work, seen the way humans pursue their love interests with almost fanatical effort. But he had never understood, not until now.

It’s an intoxicating feeling, addictive, the thrill of the chase energizing him in a way he’s never felt before. It’s hard, meticulous work finding reasons to visit your classroom, finding ways to weave himself in conversations you’re a part of. But it’s always worth it when he sees the genuine fondness in your eyes, the way you look and really see him, the way you care about the man underneath the shiny facade, in a way no one ever has before.

And when the two of you go out for a friendly lunch one day, when you order his favorite dish that he’s only briefly mentioned to you once in passing, without even missing a beat, his heart stops. It’s something no other partner has bothered even taking note of, too busy trying to impress him with high-end meals and fine dining. And just like that, he blurts out his confession, heart hammering, fingers nervously twitching as he awaits your response.

For many years to come, the two of you will debate whether or not that lunch counts as your official first date as a couple.

Dating you is everything he’s dreamed of and more. And for once, Suga feels like just another regular man, a normal human being as he holds your hand in his, giggling and sharing stories, feeding each other bites of food, lazing around on his sofa watching TV.

But as a romance movie runs in the background and the main couple kisses after the male lead raves about how stunning his lover is, he turns his attention to you, curiosity nagging at him, a tiny tendril of lingering fear squirming inside of him.

“What do you like about me?”

There’s silence as you owlishly blink and look up at him, surprise and confusion flitting across your face as you try and process where this question is coming from. But when you see the worry, doubt, and insecurity muddling your boyfriend’s eyes, you interlace your fingers with his and cuddle into his side, resting your head on his shoulder as you continue gazing at him.

“I like the way you always insist on getting the highest spice level at every Chinese restaurant we go to that serves mapo tofu, even though you complain about your mouth burning all night long afterwards.”

Suga chuckles, unable to deny the truth of those words.

“I like the way you act like a clueless angel even when you’re wreaking havoc and chaos, you big trouble maker.”

This time Suga does try to plead innocence, although all he can do is sheepishly grin when you start listing off event after event of mischief he had instigated and encouraged, much to Daichi’s and Asahi’s dismay.

“I like how patient and gentle you are with your students and your old underclassmen. I like the way you nurture them, mentor them, encourage them to keep on going, keep on trying even when the going gets tough. And I like how you instill that belief in your own life. If we have children of our own one day, I know you’ll be the father I’ve always wanted for my future kids.”

The weight of your last sentence hangs heavy in the air, the meaning, the hope of a lifetime promise has Suga’s jaw dropping. But when you shyly look away, nervously biting your lip as he just dumbly stares at you, he jolts back to reality and you yelp as lips suddenly crash against yours.

Sex with Suga is always sweet, with a hint of spice when your lover is feeling particularly mischievous. But it’s never been like this, full of desperation, untamed desire, a want so deep that it leaves both your minds in a hazy disarray. You gasp as you’re firmly pushed down, until your back hits the couch and you’re moaning into the mouth pressed against yours, your tongues tangling with each other in an attempt to taste every crevice.

The wet sounds of your lips connecting and disconnecting over and over again, the frantic sounds of fabric being rustled and tossed off, they all mix in a passionate symphony punctuated by breathy declarations of love, by whimpered names.

You throw your head back as a hot wet mouth sensually carves a path down the column of your neck, to the delicate swoop of your collarbone, sighing in bliss as they end in the valley of your breasts, two hands gently tweaking and rolling your nipples. And then fingers are replaced with a tongue, with lips, and your back arches, body writhing, seeking more, more, more as you wildly grind against your lover’s body.

Usually Suga likes to take his time with you, unwrap you piece by piece, unravel the strings that tie you together, coax the prettiest sounds out of you. But today something more carnal, more desperate, more raw spurs him on, and he feels more beast than man as he devours you, plunders you, marks you as his for all eternity.

“Koushi!”

You wail as he wastes no time in quickly snapping his hips, filling your slick walls with his cock. There’s an urgency behind his pace you’ve never felt before and you dig your nails into his shoulders, eyes rolling back in your head, lewd moans echoing in the room as you wrap one leg around his back, the other dangling off the couch.

You’re not sure exactly what the trigger had been for this, but you’re not complaining, pussy walls only clamping down even more when you see the feral hunger in his eyes, the drag of his cock against your insides even more pronounced.

He can feel your end approaching, sees it in the way your head tosses side to side, the way your eyes glaze over, and he brings a hand between your bodies, toying with your clit, circling it, rubbing it, never losing his rhythm as you begin to convulse, body thrashing, nails scratching his skin, a debauched version of his given name rolling of your tongue. Only when you begin to whimper, shaking hands trying to grasp his fingers still playing with your oversensitive nub does he relent, smiling down at you as you entwine your fingers with his as he continues to thrust in and out of you.

Suga’s been told he looks like an angel time and time again, but as he stares down at your completely ravaged and exhausted form, the way your chest heaves up and down, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the after tremors of your body, the duality of how you cling onto his hand despite your wanton state, he thinks you’re the true angel here. Maybe a fallen angel, but an angel nonetheless and he can feel his balls tighten, the last shreds of his endurance ripping apart at the seams as he takes in your breathtaking appearance.

But he needs more than that, needs you, needs you here and with him, and he meets your lips in a bruising kiss, a silent demand for your attention, adjusting his hands until your fingers are interlocked on either side of your head.

“Look at me.”

He patiently waits, peppering your face with butterfly kisses, slowing down the rocking of his hips. You’re so tired, heavy eyelids wanting nothing more than to close, but you’re still in a rocky ocean of pleasure, body still registering and reacting to every touch, every move. And when his soft voice makes its way through the fog, you know you need to listen, you want to listen. So you turn your eyes until they lock with hazel-brown, a weak smile plastered across your face when you see the love and affection pouring down onto you.

“I love you.”

Both of you grin as the three words unanimously exit your mouths, but the smile is wiped off your face as he resumes his pace, tempo beginning to stutter, his own head being thrown back in ecstasy as he approaches his end. Your overstimulated body is barely hanging on by a thread, pathetic mewls dripping from your lips, and you keen when sticky spurts fill you, Suga’s cock buried balls deep inside of you as he breeds you, coating your quivering walls with his essence.

Suga gently lowers his body on yours, capturing your mouth in another kiss, one much gentler as both of you catch your breaths, bodies feeling soft and pliant as post-coital bliss wraps around you like a fluffy blanket.

Beauty is a fleeting thing. His mother’s not wrong about that.

But love? Love isn’t nearly as fickle as beauty, he thinks, as he holds you in his arms. And he smiles, letting himself be lulled to sleep by your rhythmic breathing, dreaming of the long and full life still ahead for both of you.

[09kags]

Happy Haikyuu Day! 

Sorry for the bad quality first off T^T I keep having to resize these so that they’re smaller for Tumblr and it ruins the quality. But more importantly, happy Haikyuu day! (at least it is Japan already!) This edit embodies some of my favorite moments within the series and below, I’ve written some of the thoughts that went into this piece/my feelings on these moments! Manga spoilers ahead (I'm pretty sure I’ve kept them to a minimum but just to be sure, please proceed with caution!), and I hope you enjoy this edit! (Overlays: accio-glow, aulia-chan on dA; PSDs: hurtears, hallyumi, yangyanggg on dA) 1. “Today might finally be the day we get the chance to let our talents bloom… it could be tomorrow. Or maybe next year. Or maybe it’ll finally come when we’re 30. I’m not sure if physique has anything to do with it but I do know for sure that if you don’t believe that day will come, it never will.” This quote is a testament to Oikawa’s growth and is a symbolic representation of Oikawa freeing himself from the shackles of “geniuses” and “prodigies.” So what if your opponent is a genius? So what if they possess more innate talent? As his mentor and inspiration Jose Blanco states, “Are you saying you know what the limits of your abilities are already? Even though you aren’t yet finished growing physically or mentally? Even though you haven’t mastered all the skills you can master? If you’re going to complain that someone with more talent than you will always be better than you… no matter how hard you work, how many tricks you learn and how many great teammates you have… do that only after you’ve given everything the very best effort you have.” There will always be someone better in the world. But to claim that you cannot hope to compare to the likes of them is to resign yourself to a predetermined defeat as well as dismiss both your own efforts and theirs.    There’s no guarantee when your efforts will pay off. As Oikawa declares, it may be today, tomorrow, or even when we’re 30.  But if you don’t believe in yourself first, if you don’t believe that you will bloom in your own time, “that day will never come.”  The flower in the background is the iris. It is known to represent trust, faith, and hope amongst many other ideals. I chose this particular flower because of the manga cap used in this panel. I cannot emphasize how much I love the bond between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, especially this particular moment when Oikawa points at Iwaizumi with such authority and determination as if saying, “This ball, this moment, is meant for you.” Not to mention the pairing with the iconic “Talent is something you make bloom, instinct is something you hone” quote. An absolutely masterful sequence of scenes that always gets my blood rushing. 

2. “Don’t look down! Volleyball is a sport where you’re always looking up!” This moment gives me chills every time. It’s something so fundamental and simple and yet, when Ukai yells this,  it instills that feeling of “You can do it.” It makes my heart flutter and I feel so excited because it’s such a beautiful way of saying “Don’t give up, it’s not over yet.” And even if the ball has dropped for the last time or you have lost this match, there’s always tomorrow. There’s always the next match where you’ll have to look up. This quote gives me the same feeling as when Takeda-sensei says, “For the rest of your lives, you can do anything you set your mind to!” You only truly lose when you stop trying or you give up.  3. “It hurts. I’m tired. This is painful. I don’t want this to ever end.” / “The ball hasn’t dropped yet!” Whenever Haikyuu characters say “Just one more!” or “The ball hasn’t dropped yet!”, the tension and desperation is almost palpable. It’s so incredibly moving to see them strive to save that ball just one more time, to focus purely on what is in front of them. Even if they don’t all pursue volleyball as a professional career, the passion they all have for the sport is real. That sort of passion is beautiful to watch and admire, and I wish I could have that kind of passion for something in my life.  4. “The underhand only uses two hands. The overhand uses 10 fingers. That’s all the more to support your spikers with, which is what it means to be a setter.” / “To cut through the wall that looms before your spikers, that is the purpose of a setter.”  This particular panel depicts the two ideologies of Atsumu and Kageyama respectively, two of my favorite setters and characters in general. Atsumu “may be pretty cocky at times, and overwhelm his teammates with his thirst for victory, but he treats his spikers with more sincerity and selflessness than anyone else.” He may be overbearing and an asshole at times, but his love for the sport and the art of being a setter is second to none. On the other hand, there’s Kageyama who’s so damn cool with his one-liners. Kageyama’s passion and drive to win may blind him to his surroundings and teammates but he truly believes that the setter is the one who clears the path for their spikers. When their spikers feel cornered and the walls are closing in, it is the setter who “cuts through the wall that looms” ahead. The old Kageyama who was a prisoner to speed is no longer, and his growth as a player brings me to tears every time.  5. “Someone once asked me, ‘Do you ever feel bitter over the fact that you’re not a regular on the team, and amongst your juniors there’s a genius to boot?’ I never understood the exact definition of what it was to be a genius to begin with, but upon hearing the question, I understood the general gist of what they were getting at.  Every so often there will be someone who thinks that ‘people like Atsumu’ were ‘good’ from the get-go. But the thing is, if I practiced something from 1-10 every day, then people like Atsumu would have done it from 1-20. Or, they would have done the same 10 but in a more efficient or concentrated manner. They might also ask ‘Instead of doing it 1-10, how about I tried it from A-Z, what would happen then? Now doesn’t that sound interesting?’  They’re the kind of people who think about stuff like that. Even if they fail, even if they are hated and get ostracised by others, no matter whether they’re right or they’re wrong, even if they subvert something the rest of us hold in high regard, they’re the kind of people who can’t sit still without giving it a go. Even if they start coughing up blood from their lungs, they’re the kind of people who want to keep on running, no matter what.  There’s going to be a lot of people in this world who make you go ‘Wow, I’ll never be able to defeat them,’ and it’s only natural that you think they’re amazing people. I think that to be able to keep charging ahead is a talent in and of itself. You can call people like them whatever you like, the term ‘genius’ isn’t exactly an insult. That said, to think they were ‘good from the get go’ is to condemn yourself to a predetermined defeat without even playing a match against them, and I also think it’s very rude.”  This quote, hands down, is one of my favorite quotes of all time. It is not genius or natural talent that makes individuals truly great, but it is grit. Without a doubt, people are not born equal. There will always be someone with more innate talent or latent capabilities. We all begin at different starting lines. But those who truly stand out are those who go the extra mile, like those dubbed to be the Monster Generation (Kageyama, Atsumu, Hinata, Bokuto, Ushijima, Oikawa, etc.). To others they may seem like natural prodigies but behind their flawless technique and precise ball control lies countless hours of training. They trained harder than anyone else, sacrificed in order to hone their abilities, and ran farther than the rest of the pack. They’re the type to fixate on what lies before them without much regard to anything else.They eat, sleep, breathe, and live volleyball with every waking second. They’re always trying new things (Atsumu pulling off the freak duo quick in the middle of the Inarizaki match) and continually looking for ways to improve (“But the thing is, if I practiced something from 1-10 every day, then people like Atsumu would have done it from 1-20. Or, they would have done the same 10 but in a more efficient or concentrated manner. They might also ask ‘Instead of doing it 1-10, how about I tried it from A-Z, what would happen then? Now doesn’t that sound interesting?’ They’re the kind of people who think about stuff like that”; Kageyama keeping a volleyball journal). It is not what they were born with that makes them great; it is their overwhelming desire to win.  6. “‘Yesterday’ has already disappeared behind us. Many, many yesterdays have become a part of our muscles. What shall we do, today?” This quote, chills. There’s no point ruminating about the past or what has already passed; you can’t change it. (In retrospect, I wish I included another quote from Inarizaki in this panel: “One time is enough. We rise to the challenges of today.”) You learn from the mistakes of yesterday and use them as stepping stones for tomorrow. I wish I could eloquently phrase how much I love this quote or my interpretation of it but alas, my writing is fancy Garbage.  7. “But if… just if… that moment comes for you, that will be the moment you really get hooked on volleyball.” If you didn’t get chills when Tsukishima blocks Ushijima, I have no words for you. Tsukishima-it’s-just-a-club Kei, Tsukishima-I’m-the-normal-guy Kei — Tsukishima Kei, who always underestimates his own capabilities and relies on what he can see in front of him, blocking the Ushijima Wakatoshi, one of the top three high school aces nationally. The character development from someone who did the bare minimum (as noted by other players/coaches at one of the training camps) to someone who finally had their moment to get hooked on volleyball is one of my favorite progressions of all time. Seeing him fall in love with volleyball gradually and then all at once is truly heartwarming and beautiful to witness.  8. “No matter what other people may say, we are the protagonists of the world.” This quote is incredibly empowering to me. Even if your days consist of mundane activities, you are the protagonist of your own story every day. You may not be the main character in a shounen manga or an adolescent seeking to usurp the government in a dystopian novel, but this is your story. No one can tell it like you do and no one can replicate your story. It is yours and yours only.  And that concludes my Haikyuu word vomit! I really do wish I could have properly conveyed my pure adoration and love for this series better. I truly do love Haikyuu so very, very much. It will always have a special place in my heart and I will never forget the memories and lessons it has taught me! Thank you, Furudate-sensei, for such a beautiful story. And thank you Haikyuu, for everything. For all the losses and victories we shared. For all the smiles and laughter, and for all the tears we shed. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. 

[a-clockwork-justice]

Everything I Love About Loser Geek Whatever

So, not too long ago, it was the third birthday of Loser Geek Whatever. Yes, I know the single was released on November 30th 2018 and its considered the song’s official birthday, but the 26th July three years ago was the first showing of the 2018 Off-Broadway revival of Be More Chill and the first time Loser Geek Whatever was shown to the world in any capacity. Therefore, I consider that day to be the song’s unoffical birthday and I’ve been waiting to write down everything I love about it so here I am. (This was originally gonna be posted on the 26th July but I can’t make anything concise so it took longer than that).

I’ve gone on and on about what Loser Geek Whatever means to me personally, how a slew of random chance introduce me to it, got me deep into Be More Chill, introduced me to 90% of my current friends, and overall up-ended my whole life, but now it’s time to dissect the song itself and why it’s so great. As much as I adore Loser Geek Whatever, it could’ve easily been any other song that threw me down a rabbit hole and that I could’ve latched onto- no, wait, it couldn’t have been, because Loser Geek Whatever is unique in that way. I did about a year of music at A-Level so I’m gonna delve into some of the technical aspects here too. I’m chronicling this mostly for myself so I am going as deep as I see fit because this song is a treasure hiding yet more treasures. If you happen to love Loser Geek Whatever as much as I do, this’ll be your goldmine.

So, grab a snack my fellow fans, because here’s a comprehensive list of everything to love about Loser Geek Whatever in roughly chronological order. Long post incoming:

The song starts off strong from the first millisecond - I don’t know what instrument(s) they used but just listen to the single version again - that opening chord blares at you like a siren. It calls for your attention, screaming this is incredibly important, and indeed it is. That chord, an F chord, has no indication as to whether it’s major or minor - it’s just the tonic F with its dominant C and another tonic F above it. In other words, it’s unresolved, it hangs in the air. From a narrative standpoint, Jeremy is at a crossroads, torn between giving into the SQUIP or staying loyal to Michael, and the music paints this. It has the same effect on both the single and album versions - I always hold my breath as it holds, it’s the gap in this crucial transition for Jeremy between who he was and him becoming something he isn’t.

To continue the thread of musical painting, the melody line contains the accidental E-flat which doesn’t belong to the key of F major. This once again illustrates Jeremy’s uncertainty, but there’s more - the whole introduction is a slowed-down version of the Apocalypse of the Damned theme from Two Player Game, arguably the point in the show when Michael and Jeremy’s relationship was at its strongest. Jeremy’s recalling everything he had with Michael, but the slowing down of the melody shows hesitancy, along with highlighting the accidental E flat. These latter points of course aren’t unique to Loser Geek Whatever - they’re also in the section of Upgrade that twins with Loser Geek Whatever. I’m just laying out why they work so well. 

I’m glad I waited until after I saw the show in London to finish writing this - I’m something of a Loser Geek Whatever purist, as made clear by my ire at them cutting it in half and tacking the end of Upgrade back on for the London version. I still enjoyed the show in London though and I’m glad I knew about this change ahead of time, because they did change something about the song that I think really worked - they added two notes in the bass to each bar, like heartbeats, which once again signifies Jeremy’s uncertancy and the importance of this major turning point.

It’s been firmly established by this point that Jeremy is a loser and he knows it. He doesn’t want to be a hero, he just wants to survive, but there’s a difference between that and feeling “inconsequential.” Jeremy is basically admitting that, in his eyes, it doesn’t matter to the world or anyone except Michael if he even survives or not. He’s not just a loser, or a geek - he’s a whatever, with no one caring who he is. And he’s felt this way for years - since middle school began. He’s now in his Junior year of high school - that’s five years of being in this state of being unnoticed at best and picked on at worst. He’s “the one who’s left out”. With just one little line, hell, one word, we’re given more layers as to why he so badly wants to change that.

Moving from the first verse to the chorus, we start to see Jeremy’s attitude shift, from being sad to being angry - he’s frustrated, resentful that he’s spent so long in this state (A lot of people have made similar comparisons about Will Roland’s Jeremy as a whole in relation to Will Connolly’s Jeremy and I think this song exemplifies that). He doesn’t deserve to feel this horrible - not now and certainly not for the next two years until he and Michael can be “cool in college.” When you think about it, what options does he really have? He could either give into the SQUIP or reject it and go back to where he was, still miserable and lonely. Yes, he has Michael and Michael is an amazing, kind, loyal best friend, but as many have pointed out, he’s also dismissive of Jeremy’s feelings of inadequacy whether he means to be or not, which only made Jeremy feel more lonely. Should Jeremy just expect to feel better about himself at some point before college? He’s waited for years, why would that happen at any other point?

More layers baby! Second verse, Jeremy rants on about his father’s advice about following his own instincts and how it’s gotten him nowhere he wants to be. Come to think of it, Michael’s advice about staying the same and waiting for their environment to change can be seen as similar - it’s arguably easier for Michael as he has two loving mothers who undoutably give him plenty of positive reinforcement. Meanwhile, Jeremy’s mother has left them, which likely instilled further feelings of not being good enough, and his father has fallen apart to the point where he can’t even put pants on, let alone step up to take care of his son, meaning that Jeremy likely isn’t going to take his advice very seriously, especially after it’s failed him so thoroughly. But to Jeremy, the problem isn’t necessarily the advice itself - it’s that it’s being followed by him. So now he’s going to turn around and put his life and every choice in something else’s hands, even if - no, especially if it goes against his own instincts. It still doesn’t feel quite right, it “feels bizarre”, but it’s getting him somewhere, so it has to be right in the most meaningful capacity, and to Jeremy, the “most meaningful capacity” is any capacity that isn’t his own.

Now the best line - the one about being a “normal, handsome guy”. Let’s get this on the table - Jeremy is trans. Will Roland himself said that he often thinks of the show’s young trans fans when he sings that line. Naturally, societal transphobia plus gender dysphoria would have a pretty catestrophic effect on the self-esteem of any growing teenager, even more so one in Jeremy’s situation for the reasons I’ve just laid out. He’s probably missed out on a lot of things that “normal” guys take for granted, with most girls barely looking in his direction, let alone in any positive manner. Jeremy’s own sexuality aside, it’s mostly society, and the SQUIP by extension, that considers scoring with girls to be a “manly” or masculine activity, and through Brooke treating him as dateable material, Jeremy feels better about fitting into society’s rules of how a man should be and act. This isn’t the only reason he feels good about Brooke finding him attractive, of course, but it’s just another layer that Jeremy sees more value in conforming to how society says he should be rather than in how he actually is.

I know I just said that the last point was about the best line, but honestly, there’s more than one best line in this song. The bridge is where we start to see Jeremy’s language becoming more technologically inclined - “prompt”, “command” and “bandwidth” are all terms used in computing and used to show how Jeremy is likening himself, or his intentions, to a computer, effectivly merging himself and his SQUIP into one entity and Jeremy willingly giving over his own individuality.

And HERE, we get to the kicker. I’ve talked a lot about layers throughout this whole essay, about themes and motifs building on each other. Jeremy is essentially peeling back the layers of his own situation and only finding reason after deeper reason after deeper reason as to why he should follow the SQUIP and not be a loser anymore. Now, he hits the core, the seed, the crux of it all - “The problem has ALWAYS BEEN ME!!” Everything he is, everything that makes Jeremy Heere himself, is and has always been wrong. This line is a gut punch and EVERYONE knows it - the performer always takes a few seconds to let it sink in before continuing.

As an aside, I wanna mention the differences between the single and the album versions of the bridge. The album version starts of quieter after the vocalising of the last chorus, and builds up to the climactic final line, while the single version is loud all the way through but gets even louder and punchier at the end. Both are good, but I personally prefer the single version - the album sounds like Jeremy is broken and desperate and on the verge of tears as he reaches his inevitable but ugly realisation. The single is also desperate, but it’s pleading and all-consuming and a THOUSAND times more powerful, I get chills every time I hear it. (Side note, the London version starts of loud like the single and ends quieter like the album, almost as if Jeremy is reluctant to admit what he truly believes about himself, and it’s easy to see why, it’s a damn harsh condemnation).

“Take a breath and get prepared” - Jeremy sings to both himself and the audience. The first half has been heavy and we need a breather. Yet just before he goes over the brink, he has second thoughts. His conscience, his own voice in his head, breaks through, warning him that his choice will have consequences for other people than himself. People will get hurt - Michael most of all. Not just by Jeremy ditching him; here’s something else - when Jeremy is the “cool dude”, he might end up being a bully to those who are losers just like him, cutting them down just as Rich’s SQUIP made Rich do to him. Who would be the perfect target for Jeremy’s potential future bullying? His former best friend and fellow loser, Michael Mell. It’s pretty damn likely that if the SQUIP hadn’t optic nerve blocked Michael, it would’ve told Jeremy to pick on him, and even though Michael has ostensibly been pretty good at brushing these things off before, the takedowns would hurt a LOT more coming from his former best friend - and we know this because IT ACTUALLY HAPPENS, granted without the SQUIP influencing Jeremy directly (also let’s just clear up that just because the SQUIP wasn’t on doesn’t mean its influence on Jeremy hadn’t disappeared - that’s not how emotional abuse works).

Twelve years of loyal friendship, of borderline unhealthy codependency … can he throw all that away for Christine, a girl he’s thus admired from afar and is only just starting to get to know as a person? Moreover, even if Jeremy gets Christine, what about himself, who he wants to be? He just wants to be something other than himself because he thinks that anything is better but … what? The cool dude, the hero or … whatever. He’ll take anything because he’s that desperate, but what about when he gets it? Will he finally be satisfied? Will it be worth failing his one real friend, an act so scummy that the only way he could possibly stomach it would be to somehow pretend he hadn’t done it?

But none of those questions matter to Jeremy now - he’s fully gaslit into believing that every thought and inclination that comes from himself is wrong and shouldn’t be followed. He needs to sync up with the SQUIP and the rest of the world and mute his own defective inner voice. When you think about it, the relationship between Jeremy and the SQUIP is one of the most intense abusive relationships ever put to fiction - we’ve seen emotional abuse and brainwashing before, but here, Jeremy is literally preventing from THINKING the wrong way because the SQUIP can detect his every thought. See what I mean when I say that doesn’t go away when the SQUIP turns off for a few minutes?!

Throughout all of this is the undercurrent of Jeremy wanting to get better. He’s been trying so hard for so long to have a better life, but nothing has worked. Not listening to his dad, not trying to get closer to Christine through theatre, and certainly not listening to Michael’s advice to wait until college. Why should he resign himself to even more time being miserable with no end in sight? After all, being cool in college isn’t a guarantee. After all he’s been through, it’s his turn to finally be cool, after an eternity of being someone he doesn’t want to be.

Another best line in this song - “I’m Player One.” As mentioned a few times in the show before, like in the Broadway upgrade, Jeremy feels lower even in his friendship with Michael - he’s Player 2 as the more experienced Michael is Player 1. As previously established, Jeremy admits that he’s “not the one who the story’s about.” Now he’s ready to finally take control of his life, be the main character and have good things happen to him, and that means cutting out Michael, the old Player 1. The irony here is that Jeremy is less like Player 1 and more like a video game avatar. In reality, the SQUIP is Player 1, making Jeremy do whatever it demands of him.

More best lines! The slew of insults towards the end serves not just as yet more gut punches for the audience but as a major catharsis for Jeremy - It’s telling that the insults get harsher as his rant goes on, from the “weirdo” to the “weakling freak” to the “failure” to the climactic “please don’t speak”. He’s unloading everything that he’s been carrying over the years, ripping out the bullets that have been embedded in his skin and re-opening all the wounds in the process, but he’s done with the pain and he’ll never ever let himself be hurt like that again, if he follows the SQUIP.

I’ve made a whole post about the significance of the best line “Please Don’t Speak” before so I’ll mostly be repeating a lot of what I said there because it’s been a while since that post and because I want to. Who would’ve said that to Jeremy? Probably not Rich or Chloe, it’s not like them. It had to have come from an adult in a position of authority that could’ve commanded Jeremy not to speak like that - one that apparently did so enough times for him to internalise those words like he did the others. (Even worse if it was more than one adult ...). Out of all of the insults, it’s easy to see how that can easily be the most scarring out of all of them - how would an adult let a child know they’re inadequate? By silencing them. Making it clear that their expression of self not only means nothing, but should be forcibly avoided. Put like that, it makes it much easier to see how and why Jeremy fell under the SQUIP’s influence so easily - telling it was hardly different from authority figures he’s experienced before. In even more sad irony, as Jeremy claims that he’s breaking free and letting go of his past as the “please don’t speak”, he’s just walking right into another, similar trap that he can’t easily escape from. The SQUIP literally vocal cord blocks him during The Play - if that doesn’t say “Please don’t speak,” what does?!

The climax is growing! The music shifts into the relative minor as Jeremy fully gives in to the SQUIP’s evil influence. This is the point of no return, the point where he’s literally being surrounded and overtaken - if you’ve seen this on stage or even just a bootleg, you’ll know what I mean, when the lighting shifts and the circuitry start closing in around him, it’s wonderful. The bass ascends, Jeremy declares once and for all that HE IS NOT THE LOSER, THE GEEK, OR WHATEVER, and he never will be again! As some have pointed out, the sequence of notes on the final “again” is the same as at the end of Be More Chill Part 2, except the last note is different. In BMC part 2, it goes further down by a minor third, but in Loser Geek Whatever, it rises up to the same note it started with. This foreshadows Jeremy’s fate - that he will eventually overcome the SQUIP and that he still has it in him to do so. Man, let me just point out how amazing that last belt is - it lasts for a full 15 seconds in a really high range and takes a LOT of control to bring it back up to the high B without breaking. This song really was written for Will Roland - his voice can pull it off seamlessly, but other actors and understudies have had to find workarounds. No disrespect to them, it’s a damn hard song and it kicks ass all the way through. Scott Folan apparently had trouble with it too, but on the day I happened to see him, he pulled it off without breaking, so props to him!

Overall, Loser Geek Whatever is my favourite song in Be More Chill and not just for its sentimental value to myself. It’s a genuinely deep, complex piece that earned every second of its six minutes. Loser Geek Whatever is definitely the missing piece the show needed - not only is it Jeremy’s solo song, it’s also his “I Want” song and, in a way, his 11 o’clock number all in one, as he’s having a major epiphany after going on a journey, albeit only half of one. It’s easy to see why Joe Iconis dubbed this his anti-Defying Gravity, but it’s also easy to draw parallels to No Good Deed - how both Jeremy and Elphaba vow to become something that society is forcing upon them rather than what they are, even if that society’s will is objectively worse for them. Loser Geek Whatever deserves a thousand times the recognition it has and I still wonder to this day what the fandom reaction would’ve been if it had been in the original soundtrack.

So, that was it. I’m not sorry it was this long.

TL;DR: Loser Geek Whatever is wonderful and anyone who doesn’t think so is wrong.

[yandere-daydreams]

Hello! It would be so lovely if you could write something where Beelzebub manipulates the reader into letting him feed on her. So often times he begs for just a little taste of her blood because human blood is like a junk food feast for him. And gradually his ‘little tastes’ get worse over time and maybe the brothers start to notice all the bite marks on her. That would be so lovely! Tysm for your writing it’s so good 🥺💗

You say ‘manipulating’, but he’s so sweet, he probably would even notice he’s doing it. Beelzebub is one of the few Yanderes I can see never really aiming to hurt his Darling, out of the Obey Me cast, at least… that’s not to say he doesn’t, though.

Title: Bittersweet.

TW: Bruises, Blood, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, and Emotional Manipulation.

~

Satan once told you that demons used to draw strength from human blood.

Used to, he’d said, they used to. It was a warning by way of explanation, a word of caution that came in the form of an impromptu history lesson. Lucifer had used it as a threat, when you’d first arrived, saying he’d throw you to a flock of desperate, lesser creatures if you proved to be less valuable than he’d hoped, and once or twice, you’d heard Leviathan mumble something similar under his breath when you were close to beating him at one of his games, Asmodeus muttering how you should be glad he hadn’t drained you dry yet, when you accidentally spilled his favorite vile of nail polish. It was clearly an outdated practice, if it’d ever really a practice at all, but it served its purpose, intentional or not, and you were able to make it into a piece of reasoning you could use, one you could cut and mold and shape until it fit into the slot you needed it to. Until you could use it to explain why other demons were so quick to bear their claws when you tried to speak to them, until you could shrug off Mammon’s protectiveness and Belphegor’s poorly concealed bloodlust.

Until you could explain why Beelzebub was like that, when he was alone with you.

Instinct, you told yourself, a reflex he just happened to hold on to. He didn’t want to hurt you, he’d never want to hurt you, but if you let yourself, you’d start to believe that he might. In his lap, like this, with his hands on your hips and your form nearly eclipsed by his, you were able to see how a bystander might make that mistake, might assume he was aiming to rip your throat out when his teeth got so close to your jugular vein when he was so careless with where he bit down. It wasn’t his fault the rest of the house was empty, that he’d just so happened to come to your room when the two of you wouldn’t be interrupted, and you couldn’t blame him for how violent the results of his minor lapses in judgment looked, to anyone who only saw the blood and the indents rather than the love behind them. They looked worse than they felt, or, you assumed they looked worse than they felt. They hurt, sure, but they couldn’t have hurt as much as they were supposed to.

Nothing could hurt that much, you were sure.

Besides, even if did, you didn’t know if you’d have the heart to tell him. He’d always been the nicest one, out of the brothers, and it was apparent in everything he did. Even in the quiet anxiety of an empty home, it’d only taken you a few minutes to relax against him, to rest your head and listen to a heartbeat slower than any human being’s should ever be. He wasn’t human, though, and it was easy to let him wrap you in his arms and pull you closer, closer, and as close as you could be, until your posture was a little too straight and there was a little too much pressure on your spine and there was no doubt in your mind that you’d be sore, when he let you go. “You smell really good,” He muttered, absentmindedly, his voice low, but not aggressive. Gruff, but lacking the edge that would’ve made it hostile. “You always do, when the others are away.”

“You’re the only one who can tell the difference.” The words were instilled with a playful jeer, but you didn’t move to push him away, nor did you try to pull back as he tugged you against him, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “It’s only because you’re so clingy.”

“It’s only because you’re so sweet, when they’re not around.” Another retort with an unnecessary addition, but one so tender, you could hardly bring yourself to think of him as jealous, or possessive, or anything but too honest for his own good. You only hummed as his lips brushed over your collarbone, his teeth barely dancing around the idea of biting down. “I like it, I really like it. It makes me hungry.”

You were a little slower to respond, this time, if only by the fraction of a second. If Beelzebub noticed, you couldn’t tell, the only signs of his impatience coming in the form of a prick, a flash of pain, the sensation of hot breath on your skin. “Everything makes you hungry.”

“This is different.” It must’ve been the hundredth time you heard him say that, and yet, it didn’t feel different from his usual state of near-starvation, his usual unignorable, insurmountable cravings. It was something that nagged at you, a mild dread that formed a tight ball in the back of your throat as his hands drifted, one soon splayed over your lower back and the other trailing upward, nimble fingers entangling themselves in your hair, urging you to lean against him. A prick turned into a pinch, a flash to a small spark, and this time, the pain lingered, seeped in, rooted itself into your flesh and refused to lessen, even after Beelzebub had moved on. You didn’t have to look to know there would be a bruise, something blackened and ugly to remind you where he’d been, but he didn’t seem to mind the pitchy noise of discomfort that slipped past your pursed lips. If anything, it only spurred him on, as he found his next target just above the rise of your chest. “I’ve never wanted something, like this, like I want you. I’ve never been this hungry before.” The thought was interrupted by an airy laugh, a fleeting kiss to your cheek as he straightened his back. “I’ve never felt like I could let everyone else starve, if it just means I get to eat.”

His grip tightened, growing oppressive as he dragged himself to his full height, tilting your head to the side and nipping at the space underneath your ear. It was uncomfortable, it was awkward, rigid knots of tension forming the longer he kept you in such a stilted position. It was more of an impulse than anything, the abrupt awareness that he could snap your neck with a flick of his wrist, but before you could stop yourself, you were scrambling to push at his chest, to put just enough space between you and him to get Beelzebub’s attention, to force him to loosen his hold on your hair and let you shy away, even if he was quick to take you by the arm, instead, catching you before you could get too far. Before you could run, like any scared rabbit so close to the jaws of a wolf should. “Please,” You gasped, suddenly overwhelmed, suddenly panicked, suddenly terrified. “Please, I just--- I don’t know if--”

“Take your time,” He encouraged, all the careless fondness drained from his expression, replaced with something concerned, something so, so close to sympathetic. “Breath, (Y/n). You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You could’ve. You might’ve, if his hold on your wrist wasn’t starting to get so crushing. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” You managed, your tone frantic, the sentiment bordering on incoherent. “I’m sorry, Beel, but… it hurts. Your brothers are worried, and the marks are always visible, and I’m not sure if I can handle it anymore. I don’t want to turn you down, but--”

“But, you don’t like me anymore.”

Instantly, you deflated, and Beelzebub wasn’t much better. You could feel his stare burning into you, cold and prying, glazed over with some dark mixture of offence and hurt and pain. The effect was immediate, it was excruciating, like a dagger to your heart that just wouldn’t stop twisting. You moved to soothe him, but Beelzebub was already forcing a smile, jagged and wavering and tortuous. So much worse than anything he could ever do to you. “It’s fine, I promise. I know I can get ahead of myself, Lucifer always says that I can be... that I can be self-centered, when I’m not paying attention.” Another laugh, this one anything but careless. Something fractured and broke inside your rib cage, and you wondered if you’d ever forgive yourself. “I'm almost as bad as Mammon, sometimes.”

“Beel, please.” It was still a plea, still an act of fear, but now, you just wanted him to stop. To stop talking, to stop making you feel so awful. To stop making you feel like you’re at fault, when he’s always the one that goes a little too far. “I’m sorry, I just---”

“No, it’s alright. If anything, I should be the one apologizing.” He paused, kissing your temple, but gesture was barely half-hearted. Really, it made you feel more pitied than comforted. “You probably got tired of me months ago, I was just too selfish to--”

This time, you were the one to interrupt him, to throw yourself against his chest with so much determination, you could hear his back collide with the headboard as he wrapped his arms around your torso, the embrace nearly seccond-nature. You didn’t have to say anything, not when you were holding onto him so tightly, when you were the one who wouldn’t to let go, this time. He didn’t have to speak, either. His grin was genuine, now, overjoyed and so, so forgiving as it pressed against the side of your neck. It eas enough to make you forget your guilt, it was enough to make you not care about the bitemarks or the blood or any of it, not if it made Beelzebub happy.

And for a second, it was enough to block out the pain, as he finally bit down.

[fallen-in-dreams]

Moving On

Also on AO3. Pairing: Sasuke/Hinata. Summary: Everyone was lying to her. Killing her with kindness. Shielding her from the pain they all know is coming. But now it was time for some hard-hitting truths. And from the most unlikely source. SasuHina.Post-war. Prompt: Day 25: The Season of Grief. Rated: T. Words: 7,566. Status: Complete.

Author note: Angst and Hinata POV as she slowly comes to the realisation that she can’t have the life she’d been planning for. The Season of Grief = The Five Stages of Grief. The grief of losing the love she used to have.

Warnings/tags: One-sided SasuSaku. One-sided NaruHina. Naruto/OC. Angst with denial, pining, and romantic existential crisis. But with a happy ending.

Thank-you so much @sasuhinamonth​ for hosting this. I'm later than I’d planned, sorry. Hope that’s okay. :)

“There comes a time when you have to stop crossing oceans for people who wouldn't even jump puddles for you.” – Unknown

.

Denial.

.

Life was a series of choices.

For example, Hinata Hyuuga could choose to accept the arranged marriage her father had planned for her, or she could refuse to sign on the dotted line and hold out for love. She chose the latter. She was sure that fourth cousin her father had in mind for her was a nice man, but she wasn’t interested. And after surviving the war and learning to defend herself better emotionally, the last thing she wanted was to regress into the dutiful daughter who never complained. She was finally in control of her own life.

And she was still waiting on Naruto-kun.

Hinata was tired of the sad looks her clansmen would give her when she rebuffed their advances. Centuries of marrying their third or fourth cousins had instilled it too deeply in them that they couldn’t live any other way. Naruto had taught her she could do better, and she was determined to do so.

All of her choices to move forward were the reason Hanabi had been named Clan Heiress. She was already being prepped for it before the war, but their father’s insistence on an arranged marriage was the final straw. Hinata had been officially removed from the running. She would’ve been concerned about being branded with the Branch’s Curse Seal if Naruto hadn’t been so vocal in his disagreement about the practice. The Leaf hero’s words resonated with the village, and Lord Hokage started negotiations to prevent further sealings. Kakashi had also made motions to have those who currently bore the juinjutsu to be released from it. It would take a few more years to fully circumvent it, as the seal hadn’t been designed to be removed, but it was a step forward for the clan. A hope for a better future.

Everything Neji had wanted.

Hinata couldn’t be happier. She only wished to share in that future with Naruto. He was her hero. And the love of her life. She just needed to be more patient with him. But it was frustrating some days. She tried to talk to him and only succeeded when they were alone. Around friends and in crowds, he was so distracted by everyone. One-on-one he became fidgety, but she just chalked that up to him not being very good with girls. He’d stopped asking Sakura out, and the two were nothing more than friends, and he hadn’t asked anyone out. He was just shy.

Hinata already had a plan in place to ask him out herself. She just needed to work up for her own confidence to do so. Someone had to get this relationship going. In the meantime, she daydreamed about how it was going to go. But her days were lonely right now. Waiting. Patiently. And never quite making that important step forward. She had her family and friends and teammates but wanted more.

Her heart could only take so much.

“I just need to be brave.”

Hinata wasn’t brave, emotionally. In dire moments and with important things and people on the line, she knew how to be brave. Adrenaline and determination got her a long way. But in the aftermath, she found herself succumbing to the fear of rejection and crippling shyness.

“Yes, you do.”

She started, realising she’d said that out loud, in front of her sister. She’d been so lost in her thoughts and forgotten where she was for a moment. Hanabi was sitting across from her, the low serving table between them, ignoring the servants as they poured the tea for her before turning to her older sister. Hinata’s sister was clutching a half-finished kimono to her lap and lazily sewing at the hem of it. For such a skilled fighter, her movements were surprisingly delicate.

This was a weekly thing for them. Every Sunday at lunch, when their father was too busy with clan duties to interrupt or overhear them, they would talk to each other about anything or anyone, and when the Hyuuga servants left, even gossip sometimes. Hanabi had been carrying that kimono around all week, taking her time with building on it. Hinata knew her sister well enough to know it was a project with no defined outcome. She was just adding to it at her own leisure. Who knew what it would look like when she was finally done?

Hinata delicately sipped at her tea as Hanabi continued to ignore her own; her eyes narrowing as she focused intensely on the needle and thread. Her sister had developed a habit of people watching, since the war ended. And her insight was far sharper than anyone that Hinata knew. It made her feel insignificant.

“Spoken to Naruto lately?”

Hinata nodded. It was a silent lie. But she could’ve easily ran into him a few days ago if she wanted to so she didn’t see the point in saying otherwise. He was very busy with missions and handling Sasuke. The Uchiha’s release from jail had come as no surprise, given who was Hokage now. Kakashi had always had unwavering faith that he’d return. Just as Naruto did. Sakura… Hinata had seen her waver. But she was more confident now than ever about their team returning as family. Hinata only hoped that when she started dating Naruto herself, that it didn’t upset their dynamic.

“You’re grieving.”

Hinata raised an eyebrow at that. “What am I grieving?”

Her sister smiled. “Love.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Naruto-kun isn’t the smartest person,” Hanabi said. “And I think you know that.”

“He doesn’t have to be.”

Her sister smiled. Again. A knowing smile that Hinata didn’t appreciate. But she said nothing of it and returned to watching Hanabi’s expert hands as she weaved the thread in and out of the kimono. This was a hobby for the younger sister. They’d both learned how to sew traditional garments as well as fix them, when they were still barely able to fight. It was second nature to them both. But Hanabi found a kind of peace to the process that Hinata never could.

“Father wishes you to marry soon.”

“And you?”

Hanabi shook her head. “A few more years, perhaps. When I’m ready to begin training to take over the clan.”

She was still too young to learn everything. Given that Hiashi was nowhere near retiring, it didn’t serve any purpose to put her through those rigorous trials just yet. But Hinata was surprised their father wasn’t thinking about grandchildren yet. At least not from his heiress.

Hanabi put the kimono down and finally sipped at her tea. “How do you feel about Naruto-kun?”

“I love him?”

It was immediate and instinctive, but it sounded more like a question than a statement. Hanabi didn’t react to the questioning tone of her voice. She just gave her older sister a look that told her she was questioning her for more than just curiosity.

“Are you sure, Oneesan?”

She had convinced herself so thoroughly that it was going to happen. Hinata brushed at the hem of the sleeve of her Yukata. Was she? Did she?

Yes.

She still loved Naruto-kun. Of course, she did. She’d gone through too much to just suddenly stop caring about him. He was in her heart. Just like Neji still was.

Was.

“I asked him out.”

“What did he say?”

“He said ‘let’s go to Ichiraku’.” He also said, “that bum Sasuke can pay for mine this time,” but she didn’t see how that was relevant. It was a date. And only two people could go on a date at the same time.

Right?

“Will the rest of Team Kakashi be there?”

Hinata opened her mouth to answer then shut it, her eye twitching in annoyance. She calmed herself and shook her head. “Of course not.”

She didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Hinata glanced at the clock on the wall. They normally took tea, and then lunch, all awhile talking of friends and goals. It was funny to her that they’d never done this until recently. What exactly was the point before now?

Hanabi placed her tea down, almost finished. “We should have the food brought in, before it gets cold.”

Hinata nodded mechanically and waited for the servants to finish setting the table before disappearing. They could not be overheard in this room by anyone who wasn’t already in it. The jutsu that allowed this privacy had been in place since long before either of them were born.

Hanabi started talking about a jutsu that their father wanted to teach them and Hinata calmly dug into her Udon noodles. Silence eventually fell until they were both done. After the servants retrieved the plates, Hanabi went right back to pressing and hemming the edges of the kimono in her hand.

“Sasuke-kun walked by the compound again this morning.”

“Hm?” Hinata sat up straighter at that.

“He’s been doing that a lot lately,” Hanabi mused. “But not last week when you were staying over Sakura’s.”

For Ino’s surprise party sleepover. Which was Sakura’s idea.

Hinata hadn’t slept in her own bed for two nights. It was a first for her, for a long time.

“Sasuke-kun looks in here too. Like he’s searching for something. It’s a barely noticeable glance, but I’ve been staking out the gates.”

“Do you like him?” Hinata was surprised at her sister as well as the strange clenching of her gut.

Hanabi scoffed. “No. But ever since I first saw him watching you training with your team after he got out of prison, I’ve been noticing he does that with you a lot.”

Hinata scoffed. “Don’t be silly.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s probably just plotting to kill you.” Hanabi ignored her sister’s worried expression. “Or wondering why you always look so sad these days.”

“I’m not sad.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

Hanabi set the unfinished kimono down and stared her sister straight in the eyes. “Do you love him?”

“Who?” Hinata hated how her voice rose a few octaves.

“Naruto-kun.”

“Yes,” she said. “I love him.”

She would wait for Naruto. For him to come to terms with what had happened and realise they were meant to be together. Hinata would be the quiet voice he can’t block out because he loves her so much. No matter that he had already had numerous occasions to prove it to her. Even someone as clueless as him couldn’t not know how she felt. She just needed to give him a push in the right direction.

That’s what I have to do.

And she went right on back to pretending she didn’t see the pitying look on her sister’s face.

  .:.

  Anger.

.

The restaurant was noisy by the time Hinata arrived, dressed up and twisting her fingers nervously. She looked up into the colourful lights that decorated the restaurant of choice. Night-time made this place come alive in a way that surprised patrons that saw it for the first time. This was also one of the newer restaurants that opened after the war. So many things had changed, and so fast and it felt like Konoha was quickly becoming a very different village. Kakashi had authorised integral changes and Hinata could see the village one day becoming as large as a city. She was kind of nervous about that. Their population was steadily growing too, even only a year out.

She sighed and stepped forward in the waiting line. Naruto had said he’d come about seven and it was only a few minutes before. Hinata had spent the last hour already dressed for this date. Her stomach had twisted, making her throw up twice, before that. The line moved again, and she found herself at the head of it faster than her nerves could handle.

It’s finally happening.

“May I help you?”

Hinata cleared her throat. “Party for two. Under the name Hinata Hyuuga.”

The server looked through her list and her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m sorry, we were told that was a party of four.”

“A-are you sure?”

The woman turned the clipboard to show her. When Hinata had asked Naruto to make the arrangement, because she’d been called away by her father, she’d assumed he had made it just for the two of them. It was supposed to be a date… right? When the venue was changed from Ichiraku to The Sannin Sushi House she assumed this was finally going to be more intimate.

Hinata swallowed heavily. “I-I, uh. He must’ve made a mistake.”

The server nodded her head in understanding. “Yes, but unfortunately, we can’t change your table. There aren’t any spare ones tonight.”

The sound of the other patrons hit her then, reminding her of how loud and full the restaurant was. She just nodded and Hinata went along with it, hiding her disappointment. They would just have to do with a larger table between them. A voice in the back of her head scoffed at her.

Who else is coming tonight?

Maybe Naruto had misheard her? She didn’t understand how he could have but it had to have been a mistake. She shook her head, chastising herself for worrying over something so trivial. She was stronger than this.

“Thank-you,” she bowed to the server. “Where is the table?”

Hinata followed the woman and settled into the chair that gave her the best view of the restaurant entrance. She was already on edge, with the change in her plans, and worried that something else might sneak up behind her if she wasn’t careful. All the courage she’d learned from Naruto-kun had boiled off and she needed to get a hold of herself.

“Dining alone, again?”

Hinata gave a start at the familiar voice. “Sasuke-kun,” she said softly.

Why is he here?

Did this mean Naruto had invited him too? No, that didn’t make any sense.

The Uchiha slid into the chair across from her. This was one of the non-self-serve restaurants that had popped up in Konoha in the last twelve months and as a result the space between them, under the table, was minimal. His foot accidentally brushed against hers and she started again.

“A-are you here–”

“Hm. Naruto said he’d pay this time if I turned up early.”

They got dinner together a lot, then? Hinata struggled not to lose the soft smile she’d plastered to her face. It was only natural that Naruto would make time for his former teammate who was also his best friend. This didn’t mean he was avoiding her.

Of course not. Why would I even think such a thing?

“W-where is Sakura-san?”

Sasuke picked up the menu in front of him and lazily perused it, not answering her question. He didn’t look over at her when she repeated the question and began tapping the table with the menu absentmindedly. She wondered what was going through his head. After a few minutes, she’d had enough.

“Why are you here?”

Now, he looked up at her. “There are no more free tables.”

Is he making fun of me?

She assumed he was a joking. He had to be. This was supposed to be just her and Naruto. Sasuke was ruining everything. She didn’t want to burst that out at him, but it did really feel like he was getting in the way deliberately. Hanabi’s words to her the other day about Sasuke following her around popped into her head, but that was ridiculous. Everyone knew he was dating Sakura, just like Hinata hoped to begin dating Naruto. Why else would Sakura be so adamant something was going to happen between them?

“He’s just shy, Hinata,” the pinkette had told her yesterday. “And we’re going out tomorrow night anyway.”

Tomorrow night is tonight, she reminded herself. So where is Sakura?

A waitress sidled up to their table, giving Sasuke a once over with her eyes before asking them for their orders.

“Pork Katsu Curry,” Sasuke said. “With a side of Kani Salad and Green Tea.”

“Certainly, handsome.” The waitress turned to Hinata. “And you, sweetie?”

Hinata felt very uncomfortable under the stare they were both giving her. It felt like she was on a date with Sasuke, not Naruto. She didn’t know how to handle this. It felt like the world had just tipped on its axis. When she was this uncomfortable, Hinata usually just caved to whatever was expected of her. But she didn’t want to keep doing that with the important things in her life. However, this was too public and sensitive a venue for her to start putting her foot down without repercussions. Saying anything about her disappointment and desire to get rid of them both would only make her regret it later.

She blinked heavily. Uh, right. They were still looking at her expectantly. Though Sasuke’s eyes were occasionally drifting off to the side like he was embarrassed, but he still looked more bored than anything.

“Miso Soup,” she said finally, going with something she knew well. Hinata wasn’t hungry enough for a side, but she didn’t want them to think she was angry with them. “And M-Moyashi Salad on the side.” She cleared her throat. “And just some water, please.”

The waitress read their orders back to them then winked. “That’ll be ready in a jiffy. You two lovebirds let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Hinata’s skin flushed crimson and she lowered her gaze to the table, not daring to see Sasuke’s reaction to that.

“How long until Naruto-kun arrives, do you think?”

Sasuke glanced over at her and shrugged, then leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands, now staring at her. It was making her uncomfortable, so she looked back down again. They remained that way, in silence, for a while. Hinata entertained herself by counting the tassels on the edge of the tablecloth. Over and over again.

“You…”

Hinata looked up quickly as Sasuke trailed off, the look on his face suddenly uncertain. Before she could ask him what he was going to say, the waitress returned with their orders. She felt herself turning beet red, realising they’d been sitting like this for at least ten minutes. The waitress was eyeing them curiously, like one would a couple of bugs under a microscope.

“Thank-you,” they both said at the same time.

Hinata sighed deeply as the waitress bowed to them. She was eerily silent this time and moved away quickly.

“I think we unnerve her,” she said softly.

Sasuke glanced at the woman’s retreating back before digging into his food. For him, it was digging in. Hinata had been in many group outings with Team Kakashi since the war ended and Sasuke was allowed free reign of the village. He ate like a nobleman; picky and proper. Not at all like Naruto.

She sighed again and picked up the bowl with her Miso Soup. If he wasn’t going to turn up, she might as well enjoy the night air and good food. They ate in silence and Hinata slowly settled her nerves, finding the quiet between them a comfortable surprise. The loud noises in the restaurant didn’t bother her anymore and she proceeded to escape into her own little world, just thinking about things.

Her father had been asking her about her future lately, instead of telling her what it would entail. She was finally having conversations with him in which taking part meant that she could approach the subject matter honestly. He’d even stopped asking her about her love life. (His attempt at a marriage of convenience notwithstanding.) Hinata put her bowl down and glanced over at Sasuke. It seemed nobody had a handle on their love life lately.

“Are you…” She hesitated when Sasuke put down his spoon and she suddenly had his full attention. “Um. I thought you were coming here with Sakura-san on a date.” He shook his head. “She, uh, said so yesterday.”

Was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was gone a moment later.

“Sakura…” he cocked his head to the side. “She has different ideas on what an invitation out with friends means.”

Hinata understood what he meant but frowned softly. Everyone knew that Sakura was obsessed with Sasuke and saw any attention from him as evidence of their undying love. A simple invitation with Team Kakashi could set her off on a soliloquy about star-crossed love. But that didn’t explain why she wasn’t here. Her absence made even less sense than Naruto’s.

Sasuke sighed, obviously realising she wanted to know more. He sat back in his chair heavily.

“I… told her we were meeting at Ichiraku’s.”

“You…”

He told Sakura the wrong place on purpose. He had no intention of being honest with her. Was it a trick? Or just him being a douche? Hinata narrowed her eyes at Sasuke. A familiar feeling of annoyance rose up inside her and if she’d been paying attention to why this bothered her so much, she’d have realised Sasuke was giving Sakura the same kind of brush off that Naruto had done to Hinata.

But she couldn’t bring herself to yell at him either. She ground her teeth. “Take it from me, Sasuke-kun, you wouldn’t like someone you care about doing that to you.”

“Don’t call me Sasuke-kun.”

He hated honorifics.

“You have no idea.” He said it like he’d come to some kind of existential realisation.

“About what?”

“You’re quiet and shy and sweet to everyone. Always putting yourself down and picking up everyone else.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Sasuke continued, now leaning forward and pointing at her like he was her sensei, and she was a naughty genin who refused to listen.

“Despite having such a powerful dojutsu, you don’t even see what’s happening right in front of you. Naruto has obviously left you in the dirt, but you keep holding out hope he’ll come around.” She fidgeted as he continued to reprimand her. “Face it: he lied to you.”

“He was just trying to spare my feelings.” Her voice sounded hollow, even to her.

Sasuke scoffed. “By dragging the decision out.”

“What are you doing to S-Sakura-san?”

“That’s different,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve told her I’m not interested but she won’t take the hint.”

“Naruto-kun’s–”

“He’s a dobe. And he isn’t going to date you, no matter what you think.”

“How can you call him your friend and speak of him like this? I thought you cared–”

“I never said I cared about him.”

“I suppose you expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not the only one running away from the truth.”

“No, you’re perfect,” she said, spitting out the last word.

He smiled at that. Genuinely. Her frustration seemed to amuse him.

“Why are you saying these things to me?” She asked, clenching her fists and glaring openly at him.

“Because no-one else will,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Least of all the one person who should.”

But why did he have to be so rude about it?

He levelled her with the most intense non-glare stare she’d ever seen from him. “Kindness doesn’t seem to work on you.”

Damn. She’d asked that question out loud. Hinata couldn’t get a handle on the emotions bubbling up inside her. It was too painful. She’s waited for years. Held herself up high and given every inch of herself. But Sasuke knew Naruto better than she did. He said the blond had no intention of doing anything with her. He said that he was just a dobe who wasn’t telling her what she needed to hear. She was so furious now that Hinata couldn’t hear anything other than her own blood rushing in her ears.

How dare he?

“You are a low life.” Hinata could hardly believe the words were out of her mouth as she stood up, her body shaking with anger. Sasuke just stared back at her, not surprised or offended one bit. “Sakura-san could do so much better than you.”

“Tell her that.”

She desperately wanted to throw her untouched water at him. But she reigned in that emotion, not wanting to cause a scene that could get back to her father. She’d already embarrassed herself enough. Instead, Hinata huffed, rifled in her purse and threw down just enough money to only pay for her own food. Naruto had apparently promised to pay for Sasuke, and he wasn’t here to do so. But that didn’t mean that she had to do it in his stead. Feeling quite unlike herself, she scowled at him before storming off.

Hinata didn’t see the genuine curiosity on his face at her actions. The small smile of interest she’d sparked. She could only see red. It would be hours before she could calm down enough to realise, he’d been right.

  .:.

  Bargaining.

.

If only she’d been stronger. And more forceful, like Sakura, then none of this would’ve happened. Her life had spiralled out of control. Before that dinner with Sasuke, Hinata could just go along and pretend that one day Naruto would ask her out for real, or at least take her asking seriously. He wasn’t in a relationship of his own, though – to her chagrin – his fangirls were still as stubborn as ever. And that lack of a relationship had given her hope.

Now she had all kinds of thoughts about what was really going on. And the truth was, that Sasuke was right. Naruto-kun wasn’t interested in her like that. It was still hard to grasp since she’d held onto it for so long and it didn’t feel real. They’d shared a moment during the war, holding hands and promising to be there for each other. She’d taken it as a declaration of love while he’d been talking about friendship. Granted, the kid of friendship you kill and die for, but friendship all the same.

I’m as bad as Sakura.

Or maybe only almost as bad as Sakura, since the pinkette was still talking Sasuke up to everyone. He’d made a scene the day after that dinner date (and she could admit that, although accidental, it had been a date), which should’ve put Sakura in her place. Hinata hadn’t seen either of them since then, so she didn’t know if it worked. But she had bigger fish to fry.

Hinata needed to regain control of this chaos she’d created. Maybe she was still in denial though, and it would explain why she’d deliberately made her way to Ichiraku’s, knowing he’d be there. He always was at lunchtime. Everyone knew that Naruto got up at nine o’clock, had breakfast (sometimes in his apartment and sometimes at Ichiraku’s), headed over to the training grounds where he’d work out (and sometimes spar, if any of his former teammates were available), then practically skip to Ichiraku’s for lunch. He’d spend anywhere from half an hour to an hour there, depending on how hungry he was and how many fangirls slowed him down. Then Naruto would promptly return to the training grounds for a few hours before tracking down his former teammates to see who wasn’t busy and then bug them until they either kicked him out or he got bored. If the sun hadn’t set yet he’d wander through the village, waving at people, being waved at, and stopping to talk to other Konoha Eleven members.

Sometimes he spent the late afternoon with Konohamaru and his friends. Then he’d go back to the training grounds and use the dark to hone his sensory skills. Naruto would go at it until he dropped, then drag his arse back home, eat, bathe, and finally sleep until morning.

His schedule was a little different sometimes, depending on his mood and available friends (Kakashi didn’t send him on many missions because he was too overpowered for most of them) but the lunchtime and when he started night-time training were like clockwork.

When he would find time to do the things he’d always gone on about, she didn’t know. But Hinata knew his current schedule because she was a stalker. It was obvious to her now. Nobody else followed him around like this. She wondered if he’d ever taken the time to notice. She needed to get a hold of this before she wasted her life away.

But Hinata couldn’t stop wondering what could’ve been if she’d approached Naruto right after the war instead of waiting for him to get into a routine of ignoring her. Maybe she’d have shown him just how right they were for each other. And he’d finally listen.

This was why she was walking toward the Ichiraku Ramen stand. It was why she stopped next to a stall of flowers and pretended to be interested in them as she watched the ramen stand in her peripherals. And why she didn’t move away the moment she realised he was on a date. Her stomach clenched, but it was a milder pain than she expected. Even so, it still threatened to bring a fresh bout of tears to her eyes to watch him with this girl.

Naruto was the only member of Team Kakashi at the stall. He stood outside, laughing and joking with someone that Hinata didn’t recognise. The girl was really pretty. With short auburn hair and a petite figure that her clothes highlighted, and her makeup complimented. What made Hinata realise it was a date was not only how the girl was dressed to the nines (Naruto, too, for him anyway), but also how he reciprocated when she ran her hand along his arm. He was blushing and trying to pull of the cool guy act. If this was just another fangirl, he wouldn’t put that much work into it, surely.

They talked and laughed a few minutes more before clasping hands and ducking under the flap to take their respective stools in Ichiraku.

Definitely a date.

Hinata let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and turned away from the flowers. The stall server was disappointed but quickly turned to another customer.

Story of my life.

A sudden flare of chakra had her spinning around and she found herself suddenly face to face with Sasuke Uchiha. Had he seen her stalking his friend? There was nothing but his usual aloof stare on his face as he silently appraised her. But she knew. He knew. And the shame of it made her body shake with both anger and humiliation. So, she did the only thing her body was willing to do in that moment.

Hinata ran away.

She took to the rooftops and pushed herself to her limit, trying to get away from Naruto. From Sasuke. Her tears dried on her face by the time she found herself at Team Eight’s old training ground. She wiped at them then found her favourite oak tree and sat down. Even under the shade, the sun was warm and comforting on her skin. She basked in it, closing her eyes.

This time, Hinata felt him arrive. But she didn’t feel childish enough to tell him to go away. She opened her bleary eyes and looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. He looked radiant, with the curve of the blinding light almost silhouetting him. Sasuke moved forward to better block the rays and she lowered her arm.

“Why are you h-here?”

He moved out of the way of the sun and Hinata shaded her eyes quickly. Sasuke always did have a thing for being dramatic. She turned to look at him as he sat down on the grass next to her. He didn’t answer at first, staring up into the sun like it didn’t bother him at all. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. Finally, he sighed.

“I told you so.”

The floodgates opened. She broke down. Hinata couldn’t stop it. She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged herself, her face in her knees as she cried. She wasn’t upset at him. Only herself. Hinata didn’t react when Sasuke shifted his bum to press his side against her and gave her a one-armed hug. Her head lolled to rest on his shoulder as he pulled her closer to himself, but she didn’t relent on the tears. His hand was large and warm against her, making Hinata cry even more.

Eventually, she stopped shaking and sniffled heavily.

She hated that he could get over their argument so easily and yet she was still plagued with doubts about how she’d acted. How rude he’d been. Hinata gave herself a few silent moments to compose herself before sliding out of his grip and wiping her face. Hinata rose shakily to her feet and gave him a slight bow.

“Thank-you Uchiha-san. I can see myself home now. Good day.”

He watched silently as she walked away solemnly.

  .:.

  Depression.

.

She avoided every member of Team Kakashi for weeks. Hinata couldn’t avoid Kakashi forever however, as the Hokage called her in for a pep talk – his version, rather, which was to ask her if she wanted a mission outside of Konoha. “To get away for a while. You could treat it like a vacation.”

Did everyone know about her problems? Kakashi probably just knew because of the other members of his former team, but it felt like a spotlight was suddenly shining on her and the whole world had gathered to watch her humiliation. She understood his concern. Hinata would think less of him if he hadn’t been. But she couldn’t deal with being this exposed right now.

“No thank-you, Hokage-sama,” she’d said, bowing lower than usual. “I am expected to join father in a mission soon and it would be disrespectful of me to leave Konoha right now.”

He just stared back at her for a moment but eventually nodded his head slowly.

Naruto’s voice interrupted them, suddenly bouncing off the walls as if he was standing right there and making Hinata jumped. But the loud blond was actually just booming down the hall outside.

“Hang on,” Kakashi said, then stood and disappeared out of the room.

Hinata could hear them talking, and Naruto’s whining voice and something about Ichiraku. Naruto yelled out, “woo-hoo!”.

Lord Hokage is trying to get rid of him for me.

But it sounded like he was too excited to get the hint.

Hinata couldn’t stand the pity. The deep, painful feeling that churned in her gut and worked its way up through her body like acid reflux. Hinata stumbled slightly from the physical shock of it. Kakashi meant well and she understood this, but it just made her feel so small.

She couldn’t let people cover for her anymore. Hinata realised that was what people had been doing. Trying to help her by keeping them apart. But all that had done was blind her to the truth. She loved her friends, but this was not the way to moving on. She had to be braver than this. Steeling herself, Hinata pushed her shoulders back and pushed the doors open, leaving the Hokage's office. Kakashi looked surprised to see her come out. His former student went silent upon seeing her, then started fidgeting.

“Hinata…” Naruto trailed off, rubbing the back of his head.

But Hinata ignored him, her chin high and face resolutely forward. She would not give herself the opening to fall back into the comfort of lies. She would not regress. She was stronger than this, damnit! Nobody said anything else as she left the Hokage Tower. When she was out of sight, Hinata finally breathed, shaking her arms to release the tension. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.

“I need to go home,” she said to herself, shivering. A storm was on its way, and she didn’t want to walk home soaking wet. She picked up the pace and quickly entered the front gates of the Hyuuga compound. The rain started pelting down the moment they closed behind her, and she sighed deeply. The guards nodded to her, and she smiled at them with all the warmth she could muster.

The grounds of the Hyuuga compound were beautiful no matter what time of year it was. Even in the moist air they came alive. Hinata walked through the covered walkways between the houses, mulling over what she’d just done.

I ignored Naruto-kun.

She’d never done that before. And she had no idea how to deal with it. A part of her wanted to break down again. The other was feeling light as air. Free. Hinata could feel the emotion building up inside her again so hurried into her room and slid the door closed, before anyone could see her. She carefully placed her sandals on the shoe rack and pulled a coat from her wardrobe. The temperature had plummeted, so she sent out her chakra to get the attention of a servant and had them bring her a hot chocolate. Once she found herself alone, she sat on the window seat of her study and stared out through the glass window at the rain below her, hugging the hot chocolate to herself as she took tentative sips.

She was just daydreaming about figures dancing in the rain when she spotted something.

A figure walking in the rain. It was definitely male, his hands in his pockets and exuding chakra from his body to keep the rain at bay. She could sense it faintly, even from this distance. It reminded her of that mission so long ago when she’d been encased in crystal and would’ve died if she hadn’t expelled chakra from her chakra points. It was an easy thing for a Hyuuga to do, but this person wasn’t a Hyuuga.

They paused and looked up toward her. She couldn’t see his face clearly because of how hard the rain was coming down but Hinata was sure now: it was Sasuke. Hanabi was right. She kept watching as he slowly turned away and continued walking. Had he seen her? Did she want him to? Did it even matter?

Yes. Yes. And emphatic yes.

She had no idea why, but yes. Hinata wanted him to care enough to take the long way home that took him past the Hyuuga gates. He was the only one telling her the things she needed to hear. Even Hanabi’s questions weren’t as blunt as they should be. Sasuke was the only one not pitying her. She found she hated pity. She appreciated him so much in that moment. More than she’d appreciated him before.

Hinata swallowed heavily, palming her hand against the glass windowpane as his figure disappeared into the haze of the heavy rain.

“Sasuke.”

  .:.

  Acceptance.

.

All she felt now was exhaustion. She had just run a marathon and dragged herself through most of it, but eventually the energy would return. Her body would recover, and her mind would follow suit. She hoped. She had put so much of her energy into the life she’d imagined with Naruto.

Hinata was surprised she hadn’t snapped much earlier. Looking back, it was obvious this wasn’t going to happen.

He hadn’t left her for someone else. Because they’d never been an item. Her heart still wrenched at the thought of what might’ve been, but she was finally taking those steps to let him go. She had no business shoving him into her heart anyway. Hanabi told her, “You’re finally accepting your grief” when she told her and gave her the warmest hug she’d ever received. It almost made her break down again.

Then Hanabi asked her about Sasuke.

“Sasuke-kun?”

He looked up as she approached, seemingly surprised that she’d sought him out this time. Normally it was him hounding her. No, that wasn’t the right word. He didn’t hound her. He wasn’t some obsessed fanboy. She smiled at that. No, Sasuke was a good friend. She swallowed heavily at the weird sensation that sentence had induce in her gut.

Friend.

The word didn’t sound right either.

So, she’d tracked him down, only to find him in the Uchiha compound graveyard. She almost turned around and left right then, to give him privacy, but figured if he could interrupt her when she was doing something important then she could do the same.

“Hinata?”

He didn’t complain as she knelt next to him and offered a prayer to the headstone he was sitting in front of. It had his parents name on it. She closed her eyes and silently wished them well in the afterlife, then opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

“I was looking for you.”

“Obviously. Why?”

She smiled. “Why not?”

He scoffed, but she didn’t lose her smile. He stared back at her before finally relenting and offering up his own light smile. They both turned back to the headstone and silence reigned for a while. It was comfortable and companionable.

“I’m leaving Konoha.”

She was surprised. “Where will you go?”

“I have a mission.”

Hinata frowned. “Lord Hokage is letting you on missions outside the village?”

He pulled a face and she almost giggled. “Kakashi has little choice.”

This told Hinata that the mission was international. She was suddenly burning with curiosity, but held back because, likely, it was top-secret. And she wasn’t in the know on top-secret missions. The inner circle of the Hokage was always a tight, handful of people and this Hokage was no different. She had no doubt that the rest of his former team knew what he was going to be doing.

“It’s just politics,” he offered, sitting back on his bum now and pulling mindlessly at the grass. “Nobody but I can do it, apparently.”

He didn’t look happy about it. Hinata was quite enjoying his openness right now.

“And it’s for an indefinite amount of time.”

She nodded but he wasn’t paying her any mind. It wasn’t personal so she didn’t take it to heart. She wondered how long he’d be gone. If Hinata was honest with herself, she was going to miss him. Before he got involved with her problems, she wouldn’t have really cared either way. But things were different now. Every day since that evening, she’d seen him in the rain, she’d sat at her window and watched him walk by. Every time he stopped and looked up at her, she swore she could feel his eyes on her. Like he knew she was watching him too.

“What’s the mission?”

Why did I just ask that?

She’d held back because it wasn’t her place. Was she really this desperate to know all about him?

Sasuke stood slowly and stared down at her. “Agree to come with me first.”

“What?” She scrambled to her feet.

“Agree to come with me and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He was serious. She frowned. “But Hokage-sama–”

“Kakashi already offered you an out. He won’t complain about you finally taking it.”

“I’m not approved for the mission.”

“You don’t have to be.” He stepped closer to her, and she felt rooted to the spot. His eyes were intense on hers and in the back of her mind she realised she was seeing a side to Sasuke that few ever did. It was intense. The way he looked at her would haunt her dreams if she said no.

She shivered. If I take too long to answer, will he beg?

His comment had a “they don’t have to know” vibe. Like they were runaways. Star-crossed lovers. She felt herself flush at the thought of that. The idea of going with him sounded exciting if not terrifying. But the idea of staying here, not knowing when she would see him again, was worse.

“You can return to Konoha anytime you want,” he added, stepping impossibly closer. “To whatever life you think you will have back here. Or you can come with me, do some good for the village without having to deal with all the shit you’ve been going through.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. His verbal acknowledgement of her problems seemed so out of character for him. But she was grateful and offered a small smile, which he quickly returned, also to her surprise.

Who is this man standing in front of me, asking me to basically run away with him?

It would be a huge undertaking and she had no idea what she was getting herself into. But suddenly, the rush of the unknown wasn’t so scary to her. It would be an adventure. One with purpose. And perhaps, she could find a little of herself out there. With him.

Hinata widened her smile and nodded. “Okay.”

He was full of surprises, because the next thing she knew, Sasuke’s hands were cupping her face. Her mouth opened slightly in shock, and he licked his lips before slowly moving in toward her. He was giving her time to pull away and change her mind. Hinata didn’t take it, closing her eyes as his mouth gently pressed against hers.

She should’ve seen this coming. This was why Sasuke had even bothered to give her the time of day. This was what all their little moments had been leading up to. This odd feeling of belonging was reciprocated.

I am so blind.

The taste of salt mixed in with the taste of him as she deepened the kiss. But for once, they were happy tears.

  .:.

[gremlinp0lice]

Night Lovin’ Thing

Prompt: Draco reacting to finding the reader dancing to muggle music. Specifically Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson. Specifically this choreography. https://youtu.be/JavMJziiLjE

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

Word Count: 3253

Rating: Explicit

CW: Smut, language, voyeurism

Draco Malfoy was an enigma. Spoiled, rich, handsome, rude, and smart as a whip—he could even give Granger a run for her money if he applied himself. All that put into one young man (plus a little ‘bad-boy’ reputation) should make him the fantasy of any teenage witch or wizard, and you were no exception. But you knew better than to chase after him because that’s all it was—a fantasy, a crush, a fixation. With half of the castle out to get him, and the rest out to snog him, there was no way you ever stood a fighting chance. You knew that, and you had made your peace with that. You were much more realistic.

Which made it all the more painful that you found yourself lost in a daydream while staring at the back of his head in Potions class. 

“Eyes to yourself,” your desk mate (and roommate), Pansy bloody Parkinson, swats at your arm and gives you a nasty look, “or they might just fall out of your head.” 

Rolling your eyes, you go back to your notes, muttering, “I don’t even know what you see in him, Pans, he’s actually a bit of a prat.” Your words seem to light a fire in her, and her eyes burn with rage for a fleeting moment, and she opens her mouth as if to bite back before closing it just as quickly. 

You smirk to yourself; Pansy was all talk after all, but she could still be bloody scary when the mood suited her (and it usually did). 

You steal another look at Draco, a fleeting glance, really, and see his eyes looking back. He looks almost wounded, as if he had heard what you had said. You turn away, baffled. It must have been a trick of the light, or the fumes from your cauldron—Draco Malfoy would barely give you the time of day, much less be upset over something that you had said. 

The lesson, blessedly, concludes soon after, and you practically skip out of the classroom and head for the dormitories, hoping to get there before Pansy does. All the while, all you can think about is the look on his face.

You have about twelve seconds alone in your room before Pansy bursts in, wand drawn. You know she won’t use it (probably), but you pull your own wand close to you just in case.

“That was extremely rude, you know. He heard you. Didn’t your filthy muggle father teach you any manners?” She’s been angry with you before, but never so mad that she has attacked your family. After all, both Tracey and Millicent were half-bloods as well, and she should know better than to bring blood status into whatever squabble you were having.

“First of all, do not speak about my family like that if you value yours, Parkinson,” you snap, drawing yourself to your full heigh (which wasn’t very tall, but you worked with what you had) “and second, I don’t care. Did I upset your boyfriend? What a pity. What are you going to do about it?” 

“You don’t even know him, so piss off, and besides,” her wand drops to her side and she wilts, “We’re not together. Neither of us want to be tied down at the moment. It’s called being mature, have you heard of it?” 

Clearly, Pansy had not. You also suspect that their arrangement was less than mutual, but you knew how badly Pansy pined over the boy, so you pulled back. You knew how to pick your battles.

“Listen, I may have been out of line in class, and if I see him later, I will apologize, alright?” you offer, and she sniffs, but nods in approval, “But if you ever speak about my father like that again, it’s you who I will have to apologize to, and believe me I will make it count.” 

A look of fear passes across Pansy’s face, but she keeps a stiff upper lip, glowering at you. Whatever, you didn’t need this. It was a nice afternoon, and a Friday to boot, and the castle would soon be empty. 

Taking a deep breath, you collect your thoughts, ignoring Pansy as she leaves the room in a huff. You change into something more comfortable, something with more movement, and pack your bag with the essentials; the old radio that your mother had charmed for you years ago, and a pair of sturdy, strappy black heels… ready for some release.

Dropping your bag gently on the floor of the dusty room, you take a moment to examine the room. It was a tiny old Muggle Studies classroom, more of a large closet really, on the third floor that you had convinced Professor McGonagall to let you use as a dance space in your fourth year. As long as no one needed the room, you didn’t make too much noise, and you kept it clean, you could do whatever you wanted in here. You had put a lot of work into it, managing to craft a barre (with the help of Professor Sprout) and you even got ahold of some old, floor-length mirrors left behind by Lockhart. With plenty of natural light streaming in from the windows, it made for a pretty good studio. It wasn’t much, but it served its purpose well.  

You plop gracelessly to the floor and begin to stretch, feeling that pleasant burning sensation in your hamstring when you lean down so far that your nose touches your knee. As the feeling fades, you feel the stress of your day go along with it; as your body loosens up, so does your mind, until there’s only one thought still stuck in your mind. You roll your shoulders and stand; he’ll go away soon enough when you start to actually move. 

With a wave of your wand, the radio crackles to life, it’s not terribly loud, but it suits your needs. It was tuned in to a muggle station playing Michael Jackson’s greatest hits— perfect. You listened to the King of Pop with your father often enough when you were home, laughing whenever he would try to moonwalk across the kitchen floor. There was something about the singer, though, something in his voice that moved you to move as well, something that made you feel powerful, strong, even a bit seductive (not that you would admit that thought to anyone). This was the perfect thing to get you out of your head and into your body.

With another wave of your wand, the door slams shut, and it’s just you and the music, and that’s just the way you like it. 

She says that’s okay, hey baby do what you want... I’ll be your night-lovin’ thing, I’ll be the freak you can taunt…

You had found your inspiration, a beat that moved you deeper than any magic spell could and had begun refining the movements that your body had come up with. With a wave of your wand, the song starts over and you return to your first position, you just had to get this right. Not that you would ever show anyone this dance, it wasn’t for anyone else to see. 

This was for you. 

Though, you couldn’t deny the raw and enticing confidence that this dance was instilling within you, and that maybe, one day, you would dance like this for someone…

With a flip of your hair and a shrug of your shoulder, you were completely focused.

She likes the boys in the band, she knows when they come to town…

Sometimes it made you nervous, the way you could channel the lyrics, written about people you were nothing like, and turn them into a dance that was, inexplicably, them. 

This one was all about the legs—kicking, bending over, dropping to the ground in a deep split that made you feel so alluring that when you got to your feet you almost expected to be followed by a herd of salivating admirers. You would look over your shoulder, give them a smirk and a wave before moving on… This isn’t about them anyway.

It wasn’t about him anyway.

You still couldn’t get him out of your head. When you dropped to the floor, you imagined him landing on top of you. When you ran your hands down your chest in time with the rhythm, you imagined they were his hands, pulling you close. And that scared you. 

And I don’t care what you say, I want to go too far, I’ll be your everything…

You had never felt like this about him before, never thought about him like this- so obsessively. 

Just keep dancing… Out of your head and into your body… You would forget if you just kept moving… 

Blimey, it’s so hot in here you can barely breath.

She looked me deep in the eyes, she's touchin' me so to start… She says there's no turnin' back, she trapped me in her heart…

Raising one arm above your head, you pull your loose tank top off with a flourish as you strike a pose. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you look… good. The black bralette you’re wearing (the one with the lace, not the flower print) accentuates your modest curves nicely, and you feel good, sexy almost. How could you not, with the music playing like that, and those lyrics—this is not a song you ever listened to with your father. 

Forgoing the choreography that you had been practicing, you decide to let yourself feel the music again, finding a new rhythm for your new confidence.

You had never danced like this before, caressing your body like this, moving your hips like that, shaking your hair out so wildly, so unabashed. 

And it felt good.

Until the song ends. 

Until you hear heavy breathing from the door.

Bollocks.

You whip around, crossing your arms over your chest, to catch a glimpse of your voyeur, frozen in the corridor. Of course.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway; eyes wide, breathless. He’s not moving, he’s not speaking, he doesn’t even have that silly little smirk that seemed to be permanently stuck on his face, he’s just… watching you. Somehow that was worse.

“Malfoy,” you say quietly, voice scantly above a whisper, “what are you doing here?” 

Your voice seems to jolt him out of whatever trance he’s in, and he steps forward into the room, which you realize now is extremely small, and closes the door behind him. You instinctively cross your arms over your chest.

“I- I, uh, I just came to talk to you, I didn’t mean to intrude,” he stumbles over his words, eyes bouncing all around the room before landing back on you, “but I’m glad that I did.” His composure returned, he steps forward, eyes dark, one eyebrow cocked and…

There’s that bloody smirk.

“How did you even know where to find me?” you ask, shivering under his gaze, contemplating whether to hear him out or throw him out. 

“I hear that you can be found here most afternoons,” he says, chuckling softly, running one long finger along the barre. 

“Yes well, you’ve found me,” you start, but you’re not quite sure how to stop. This exact scenario had played out in your head countless times, and you had to take a deep breath to recenter yourself, and not let your imagination run away with you.

“I have, haven’t I?” he looks down at your shoes, dragging his eyes back up your body. Merlin, was he just going to stand here toying with you or do something? “You know, it’s funny. I seem to have completely forgotten what I was going to say. The way you move is a bit hypnotic, I think.” 

He’s so close to you, Merlin he’s close. You had never realized how much bigger he was than you—taller, broader, he could throw you over his shoulder as if you weighed no more than a bowtruckle if he wanted to.

This is your chance, you realize. You can apologize to him for what you said in class, just like you told Pansy you would do. 

Or you could…

“Did you like what you saw?” you ask, voice low, almost husky. You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye yet, you just can’t. 

Draco is quiet for what feels like an eternity, the only sound the crackling or the radio and your breathing. 

“Yeah, I really, really did.” 

Merlin’s beard, this boy was going to kill you. 

“Would you like me to show you some of my moves?” You can hardly believe the words are coming out of your mouth—this is insane, you feel insane! It’s taking everything in you to keep your composure, and you allow yourself to glance up at him.

His grey eyes are dark, cloudy, a few strands of that platinum blond hair falling in his face, and you barely recognize him. 

“Actually,” he murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “I was hoping I could show you some of mine.” 

That’s all it took for you to take him in your arms and kiss him, which was just as well because he was kissing you back. With both hands tangling in his hair, his loop around your waist and pull you even closer. The feeling of his body pressed against yours is intoxicating, and you have to pull away for a moment to breathe. 

“You have no idea,” he mutters between fervent nips at your ear and neck, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You let your head fall back as he lavished you with his lips and tongue, world spinning, as he begins to guide you backwards until your thighs hit the edge of a desk pushed up against the wall. 

Shaking fingers working the buttons of his shirt, you do your best to return his kisses, though it’s hard to maneuver, let along think, when his mouth is doing such beautiful things to your skin.

You can’t explain the magnetism between you two, it’s almost frightening, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It was as if you had known he was watching, as if your dancing was foreplay for whatever was unfolding between you now. You weren’t scared at the thought of him watching you, you liked it, and that scared you more. Or maybe it just turned you on.

“Fuck!” you keened as he sucked hard at your neck, his hands and mouth roaming all over your body, grabbing onto any piece of flesh that they could. 

His fingers tease at your nipples through the lace of your bralette, which was so thin and flimsy you may as well not have been wearing anything. You arch into him at the contact, eyes wide as you realize that his other hand is travelling further down your body. 

“Is this what you want?” he whispers in your ear, rubbing you through your athletic shorts. 

Is this what you wanted, to be fucked by Draco Malfoy in an empty classroom? You never did this sort of thing, not this quickly at least, but there was something about him, about what you felt. Maybe it was the dancing, the music that made you feel like this, maybe it was the fact that he was watching you, or maybe you just really needed a good shag. Whatever the reason, you knew your answer.

“Yes Draco, please,” you choke out, helping him to take off your tiny shorts. You reach down to unlace the heels your wearing, but he grasps your wrist and pulls it away.

“Those stay on,” he says, well, commands, and fuck if you couldn’t come from just his voice alone. You nod and loop your arms around his neck, allowing yourself to be picked up and placed on the desk behind you. 

Draco wastes no time, reaching between your legs and thumbing at your clit in a way that makes you quiver beneath him. You breathe hard against his neck as he works two fingers into your cunt, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin there while wrapping your legs around his waist. Merlin did his fingers feel like heaven, drawing in and out of you, curling against your walls so that your vision went fuzzy. If his fingers felt this good, you mused, his cock has to be divine.

On the cusp of orgasm, you bat his hands away, reaching for the button of his pants. As much as you wanted to come, you wanted it to be on his cock. 

Pushing his slacks and underwear down to his knees, his length bobs free, red and glistening under your touch.

“Ready?” he pumps his cock once, twice, pressing in close to you. Your head is swimming and you can hardly string together a coherent thought, but you are certain of one thing.

“Fuck me.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, his inside you. You yelp—his cock is much bigger than his fingers, but nothing that you can’t handle. You feel full, grinding your hips against his to get more of that delicious friction. 

He mutters a curse under his breath, “You,” he breathes, “are so bloody gorgeous,” he maintains a steady rhythm that is starting to drive you a bit mad, adding to the heat building deep within you, “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted you, and to see you like this now,” he pants, “about to come on my cock… it’s fucking breathtaking.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you, until you’ve wrapped yourself around him, moaning in his ear, and coming, hard. He holds you close, crushing your body into his, fucking you through the aftershocks as you finally come down. 

But then something’s not right.

The door opens and you both freeze, panting.

“Sorry for interrupting your ‘you-time,’ but I wanted to say—”

Pansy. Bloody. Parkinson. 

You shut your eyes tight as you see the look of complete rage you see spreading across your face, and Draco cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of her.

And he starts thrusting into you again.

“We’re a bit busy,” he says breathlessly, hips still rocking against you, “would you mind shutting the door?” 

You hear Pansy sputtering for a moment, before the slam of the door, and you open your eyes.

Draco is gazing intently at you, and bears down harder than before, making your heart race yet again. 

You come again, just before he does, his hips stuttering to a halt as you hold each other, pressed together so tightly you wonder if you will ever separate. 

You do, of course, but not without some effort. In a breathless heap, the two of you slide to the floor, where you find your wand and cast a cleansing charm. Draco has his back against the desk, and you lean against his chest, trying to catch your breath.

It was nice, holding each other like this. He ran his hands up and down your arms, a soothing motion that tempted you to fall asleep right then and there, but there was much to discuss before that.

“Did… did that—”

“Yeah.”

“Merlin’s saggy left—” 

“I know.”

The two of you burst into a fit of laughter for a brief moment, cruelly reveling in Pansy’s subsequent misery. 

“Bloody hell,” you groan, an unfortunate realization striking you, “I have to share a room with her.”

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

PORNSTAR!HARRY WITH THE NEW BEARD (me? wet)

“What d’you think, then?”

Harry scratches absentmindedly at the thick stubble covering the lower half of his face, the coarse, light brown hairs heavily dusting his upper lip and haloing around his mouth and chin.

His eyebrows perk up at Y/N expectantly, awaiting her response as he sits across from her in the break room, laid out on the sofa with his head mounted against the elbowrest. His arms tighten around the maroon velvet cushion he’s hugging to his chest, a certain anxiousness jittering in his veins. He doesn’t know why her opinion matters to him or why the suspense is tearing his stomach to shreds, but it does and he can’t stop it and it’s fucking annoying, to say the least.

In his line of work, Harry had learned not to make severe emotional attachments to his partners. A platonic relationship is fine— he tended to naturally attract people without much effort and he thrives in social settings; friendships were bound to form— and a casual “friends with benefits” type of arrangement isn’t off the table, either. However, the industry had hardened him into being the kind of person who doesn’t care what others think of him. He never put much thought into people’s mundane concerns towards him (like whether his new beard was attractive or not) unless he had started to develop deeper connections, which then leads to him harvesting feelings, which in turn causes him to act like a complete lovesick moron and usually topples him into an actual solid dating situation. And if there’s anything Harry has painstakingly learned through multiple trials and errors is that being an adult entertainer while simultaneously engaging in a serious relationship never mixes well.

Yet here he is, waiting for their assigned filming room to be ready so they can go in and shoot a scene for a new video. Here he is, playing with a loose seam thread on the couch pillow, tugging at it nervously to give himself something to focus on other than the silence suffocating the room— a silence he himself had instilled by asking such a random, pointed question. Here he is, with sparks firing off in the pit of his tummy as the leg hanging off the side of the sofa bounces restlessly on his heel, toes curling in his pastel yellow Vans. He hasn’t felt this like this in so long he thinks he might vomit right onto the coffee table.

Y/N is extended across the loveseat opposite his, her legs draped over the armrest, knees bent and feet swaying back and forth distractedly. Her hands are cradled against her stomach, fingers sifted together as she taps at her knuckles, head snuggled into a throw pillow identical to his.

She had snapped her head to the side at his sudden question, surprised by the low thrum of his voice reaching across the still air since she thought he had fallen into a nap.

She’d run into him earlier as he had hurried inside the building, Nike gym bag slung over his shoulder and thudding against his hip as he made a beeline for his dressing room, itching for a shower. She figured that after exerting himself with a heavy workout and washing away the tension in his muscles with warm water, he’d probably want to get some sleep in before their shoot in order he to be at the top of his game. But evidently, Harry is wide awake, staring at her over the glass table between their makeshift beds, eyebrows raised in curiosity at her thoughts on the facial hair he’s sporting.

Y/N stares at him thoughtfully for a few seconds, eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in this never before seen appearance.

She’d been working for this company for just over two months now and she had never seen Harry with more than just a light bit of stubble. One can imagine her shock when he had waltzed in with a decently thick bushel covering half his face. She almost didn’t recognize him, being so used to his clean, boyish face rather than a hairy, full-fledged man. She hadn’t quite processed the change since their fleeting interaction prior to his bath, but apparently her take on it interested him and for some unknown reason, that notion makes her cheeks sizzle.

The response she blurts out makes her wish she could implode on command.

“You kinda look like Paul Bunyan.”

Harry blinks at her blankly exactly three times, shifting upwards higher against the armrest and cocking his head to the side in awed confusion. “Pardon?”

Y/N parts her lips to speak but her brain can’t seem to find a way to justify the idiotic, nerve-induced comment she’d just made. After a moment of charged silence, she splutters out a semi-acceptable explanation.

“Y’know, Paul Bunyan. The lumberjack guy? With the blue ox?”

Harry continues to stare at her, emerald irises twinkling with a mystified haze and eyebrows scrunched down in bewilderment.

She swallows quickly, feeling heat crawl up the sides of her neck. “He’s this folklore legend that they use to tell us about back in grade school. Disney even made a cute little short film about him.”

He blinks at her again, not sure how to react to her response since he has no fucking clue what she’s going on about. All he knows is that he wants to calm the ragging in his belly and possibly ebb some type of compliment out of her to tide over the craving for her approval.

He takes a wild stab and hopes for the best.

“So he’s a lumberjack, yeah? That must mean he was ripped. Was he hot?”

Y/N bursts into a round of easy laughter, feeling all the tension wash out of her in a huge wave of relief. Leave it to Harry to be a total dolt at the perfect time.

“Yeah, he was, actually. I used to have a crush on him, despite the fact that he was a literal cartoon.”

Harry’s lips break into a cheeky, satisfied grin, his dimples pinching into place. He sits forward, dropping the couch cushion into his lap and leaning back onto the palms of his hands, head lulling on his shoulder as one of his knees bends upwards to rest his heel at the edge of the sofa. He gives his brows a cocky shrug, well aware of how her gaze momentarily flickers to ogle at his widely parted thighs. He’d made the right call to wear his Adidas joggers, the thin polyester material obviously strained by what resides between his legs.

“Guess that means you have a crush on me now, too. By association.”

Y/N’s glazed eyes dart back up to his face and she tries to cover up her little escapade by snorting humorously, shaking her head lightly in amusement. “He was a bit taller than you, though. Makes him sexier.”

His voice comes out slathered with fake pained insult. “That’s no fair, I can’t even control that! How tall was he? Bet I could take him.”

She bites into her lower lip, a small playful grin peeking around her teeth at the ensuing banter. “Well, according to the myth, he’s seven feet tall.”

Harry scoffs dismissively, swinging an arm forward and settling his wrist over his bent knee, hand turning palm upwards for emphasis. “I can take him, no problem. A foot is nothing.”

Y/N props her chin onto her shoulder, maintaining her comfortable position stretched out across the couch, her back supported by the armrest. She sucks at her teeth in disagreement, pursing her lips with exaggerated contemplation. “I dunno, H. A foot is more than you think. What are you gonna do, jump on his back?”

He points at her warningly with his index finger, tone adamant. “I just fucking might!”

She releases another fit of bubbly giggles, cupping her tummy instinctively and for some reason that simple, unintentionally adorable action makes Harry’s pulse flutter in his temples.

He remains quiet for a bundle of heartbeats, just admiring the way her entire face glows when she smiles. He loves how bright she is— how lively and tender and easy-going. Her personality always shines through, no matter the instance. Whether it’s at a restaurant with their friend group, or at a get together at someone’s house, or when they’re sitting in the break room having a random, silly chat, or when he's balls-deep inside her with cameras trained on their every movement and there’s people watching every brush of their swollen lips, every caress of their heated skin, and every desperate plead whimpered onto eager tongues — no matter the tone and texture of the situation, she’s always the most blinding factor in the room. She’s just so golden.

“So you really think I can’t take this Bunyan bloke?” Harry inquires with a joking edge, his two front teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth to keep himself from grinning like an enamored fool.

“He’s a pretty big guy.” Y/N quips matter-of-factly, giving her shoulders a gentle shrug.

The edges of his lips twitch into a sly smirk. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty big, too...and you can attest to that.”

Even from across the room, he can see the way her whole body tightens at his lascivious dig. Her fingers halt the tapping on her knuckles and her eyes can’t seem to break free from his coy gaze, air struggling to expand her lungs.

Harry somehow always manages to make her speechless and she wishes he didn’t have that hold over her. They’re friends and coworkers; this influence on her could end in a real mess if she isn’t careful and the gig she has here at the company is too good to risk it. The porn industry is littered with producers that exploit their workers and women are more susceptible to this abuse than men, but somehow amidst the pile of shitty businesses, she had managed to book a permanent spot at a facility that treats their workers with the respect and dignity they deserve. Harry had been working here way longer than she had— he’d been here before she even knew the company existed. If things went downhill, she would have to be the one to leave.

Technicalities aside, Y/N’s worst fear is ruining her relationship with Harry. He had been the person that had comfortably eased her into the whole world of sexual entertainment and she would forever be thankful to him for making her experience smooth and seamless. They’d developed a decent friendship along the way, their personalities clicking together perfectly from the second they had been introduced, their chemistry practically palpable. Harry had been her partner in almost all of her videos— save a handful she had done with other stars as a way of testing the waters and branching out— and had introduced her to all of the friends she had made here. He’d shot with her for her first ever video in this profession and helped welcome her into something she had been extremely terrified to try. She cherishes him beyond words, which is why the idea of allowing some harmless flirting to grow into something with the potential to end in disaster outright ices her blood.

What she hates the most is that such a simple cocky comment had sent her into a midlife crisis.

She anchors herself back into reality, clearing her throat softly as her lashes flutter. “You’re a moron.”

Harry cracks a self-assured simper, messing with the chunky rings of the hand hanging off his knee. “You’re not denying it, though.”

Y/N huffs offhandedly, finally breaking the intense eye contact he’d pinned onto her, glossy eyes zoning in on tracing the checkered pattern of her worn sneakers. “Your dick is obviously big or else you wouldn’t have a job here.”

The deadpan bluntness behind her tone sends Harry into a round of boyish snickering. “I know, but I just love hearing you say it. Strokes my ego like nothing else.”

Y/N picks at one of the tears of her cosmetically tattered jeans, a strangely contented smile threatening to string across her lips at the idea of him enjoying the way she specifically praises him. “And we both know how much you love having things stroked, now don’t we?”

Harry bites into the inside of his cheek, humming in agreement deep in the back of his throat. He absolutely adores the way she can go toe to toe with his vulgarity. “Touché. Although, if I recall correctly, you never seem to have any complaints about being the one doing it.”

“S’part of the job.”

“I’m pretty sure your kitchen isn’t one of the designated filming rooms.”

“Practice makes perfect.”  

Y/N’s jaw clenches as she feels Harry’s delighted condescending stare boring into the side of her face. He swings his arms out from behind him, slumping into the backrest of the couch, flexing forearms settling across the light blue fabric of the vintage Mickey Mouse t-shirt stretching over his broad chest. The foot resting on the ground braces itself onto the edge of the coffee table, the one on the couch shifting some, his thighs parting open even wider. She has to resist the urge to look, having to make due with the blurry image registering from her peripheral vision. Even out of focus, he looks incredible.

“D’you know what we’re shooting today?”

The change in topic gifts her the chance to recuperate and regroup; work talk is a sanctuary she is more than happy to inhabit.

Y/N cranes her neck to look over at Harry, refusing the impulse to check him out in his new, much more revealing position, meeting his eyes with an indifferent attitude that hides how buzzed he truly has her. “It’s something for a series you’re doing on your channel, right?”

Harry bobs his head in an easy nod, thumbing over the inside of his right elbow— a mindless mannerism. His lips twitch into a goofy grin. “Wanna know what I named it?”

“Something dumb, probably.”

“How Many Licks Does It Take To Make a Cherry Pop?”

Y/N sighs heavily through her nose. “Expected no less. It’s a bit long, though, don’t you think?”

“Maybe a little but the Wow Factor outsells.”

“Whatever you say.” Y/N checks the time on her phone, slipping it back into her rear jean pocket. They’d been sitting here waiting for their call for almost fifteen minutes now. “So from the looks of it, it’s mainly based around eating girls out?”

Harry scratches at the back of his neck casually, playing with the ringlets that curl along the nape of his neck. “Mmhm. Just thirty minutes of me making you cum as many times as I can with my tongue.”

The shells of Y/N’s ears burn. “Sounds like a dream. I’m getting paid just to lay there and I won’t even have to take off all my clothes.”

“Good karma, I suppose.” Harry glances impatiently towards the door of the break room, eager to get started. He doesn’t really know why, but he’s just gained an abrupt hunger to be nose deep between her thighs right this second. “Although, do you think you can pull your shirt up? Y’know how much I love a good view and you just look so fucking good in lace.”

She kinks an eyebrow up in mild shock at his accurate statement, pushing down the way his admiration makes her pulse skip a beat. “How did you know I was wearing lace?”

His tongue sweeps over the front of his teeth teasingly, Cupid’s Bow curving with a hint of perceptive glee. “Because you know it makes my balls ache.”

Y/N’s thighs unintentionally clasp together at his crudeness and she decides to put his insight to the test. “What color am I wearing, then?”

Harry sits forward, interest elating his limbs, forearms flushing against his thighs as he twiddles his thumbs between his separated knees. He takes a second to think it through, tilting his chin up slightly with a confident air. “Pastel peach.”

Her hands slap down against her tummy, the action tainted with disbelieving outrage. “How’d you know?!”

He chews on his bottom lip pensively as if carefully sewing his words together. “Because I complimented you the last time you wore it.”

A rush of white hot energy surges through Y/N’s entire nervous system. “Didn’t think you’d remember since you always compliment everyone.”

Harry shakes his head gently, twisting a metal rose ring around his middle finger. “Always remember you.”

An electrified silence falls between them, zizzing every molecule in the chilled air.

Y/N is well aware of the large number of people Harry’s been with and she had always assumed she would melt into the masses without much of a second thought. But here he was, telling her that she stood out to him enough that he could vividly recall the little odds and ends of flattery he gave her. It probably wasn’t much of anything and he was just being his polite, courteous self, but it made her stomach somersault nonetheless.

Her lips part open as if to speak, but her vocal chords can’t seem to find the pitch of her voice. She just lays there with her mouth agape for a second or so, fishing for a response that her brain has yet to conjure. Harry waits in anticipation, wanting to know her thoughts on small but meaningful confession.

Y/N is saved by a collection of swift hard knocks to the door of the room.

The knob turns and the door cracks open, a familiar face peeking in, bare chest covered in a sheen of short, disheveled hair and a complimentary company robe. Niall— a mutual friend and fellow entertainer— throws up a relaxed wave, icy blue eyes lighting up with the effortless jolliness he’s so well known for.

His voice filters through the heavy atmosphere, his thick Irish accent cutting the tension like a knife. “Oi, Jeff told me to come get you. Room’s set up.”

Harry licks over his lips absently, keeping his muted olive irises glued to Y/N for an extra heartbeat before breaking away, forcing an easy smile for Niall’s sake and matching it with banter. “Couldn’t come get us himself? Lazy prick.”

The sky-eyed young man shrugs his shoulders sloppily, his exorbitant laughter bouncing off the walls. “Was headed for my dressing room to clean up and you guys happened to be a pit stop on the way so it wasn’t much trouble.”

Harry pushes himself onto his feet, stretching out his back and twisting his torso from side to side. “S’about time, too. Been sitting here so long I thought my bones were gonna cement.”

Niall whistles sympathetically. “That’d be real shit for business.”  

The British boy sputters into his next sentence with a flurry of giggles. “Fuck off.”

Y/N speaks up for the first time since before Niall burst in. “Jeff would basically lose all his income. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘World renowned adult entertainer Harry Styles hospitalized, leaving mother company in shambles!’”

“A right Shakespearean tragedy, that is.” Their blonde friend cackles, the suspicious bite marks on his lower lip tinting darker as his skin stretches.

“Lucky for me, I already have experience with Shakespearean tragedies.” Harry quips proudly, walking towards the exit and standing beside Niall with his arms crossed over his stomach nonchalantly.

The fellow pornstar scowls jestingly, reaching forward and tugging at the corner of Harry’s mustache. “Romeo and Juliets: The Four-Crossed Lovers doesn’t count, Obi-Wan.”

“Whatever.” Harry snaps in return, slapping Niall’s fingers out of his facial hair and smothering him with the palm of his hand, shoving the boy out the door. “Go clean the jizz off yourself.”

“Go clean the jizz off yourself.” The shorter man mimics mockingly, backing away from the door with both of his middle fingers prevalent.

Once Niall’s gone, Harry glimpses back at Y/N over his shoulder, coughing awkwardly. “So I guess I’ll see you in there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She gives him a timid, watery smile, barely nodding her head.

“Alright. Show time, Peach Lace.”

The joking nickname eases the pressure of the situation to a bearable level. She repeats his phrase in agreement, shrugging her brows as cool and collected as her churning tummy will allow. “Show time.”

Harry’s messy quiff of curls disappears down the corridor that leads to their designated room and Y/N can properly gulp down air for the first time since he asked her what she thought about his beard.

It’s then that she realizes she never really answered his question directly, but she gets the feeling that he knows where her opinion lies.

[wthtorke]

Honorbound -Oneshot- (Commission)

Life was lonely, as he intended it to be. A worn, wandering warrior with the weight of his battle scars exhausting his soul, stopping from village to village, living from the very soil that his horse trotted on. Little were the things he still had possession of. His horse, his sword, and the very scrape that was left of his honor, each battle and happening seemly chipping away at it, as it did to his will to go on. 

Word got to him in one of the villages that several honored warriors came to an abrupt end in a clearing. Their bloody robes and sometimes sword shards were the only proof that they were defeated by someone. The families grieved and every time, a new warrior would stand up to the challenge, arming up and setting to the very same clearing, only to be found days later by barking dogs and gasping children. 

At first, he wasn’t impressed. Cocky warriors died every day, thinking themselves to be great and undefeatable only to stare in horror as the blade that sealed their fate came down upon them. But something was different this time. No one knew who was behind all the murders. It couldn’t be the foreigners with their guns and powders, there were no holes in the bodies they found, what they found was much worse.

The bodies were often missing the head and the spine and when the head and spine were not taken, the sword was gone, a complete disgrace. Taking a fallen warrior’s sword was asking to be cursed for life.

So he decided to ask around, not like he had anything better to do other than to wait for his death. Coming across a child that swore to see a red demon on a tree close to the clearing. ‘Big’, ‘Ugly’, and ‘With fangs pointing out of its mouth’. Now, he figured most demons probably looked like that, but it was the ‘it mimicked me’ that reminded him of a very old tale, a summer horror story, one his very grandmother told him every time he refused to come inside for the night, saying that old demons would snatch him and carry him off into the darkness, disappearing forever.

It sounded dumb. Stupid, even. To go after the very same place where at least five other warriors had perished. He once had judged himself to be a good warrior, quick moves, fast-thinking, and deadly strikes. Now his shame made him heavy on his feet, the regrets in his chest making it hard to breathe sometimes. He only drew his sword to tend to it, to make sure it was in pristine condition, ironically. 

He thought about turning his back and keeping going with his pointless journey. To once again just leave it behind him. He was no better than any of the warriors that fought and died.

But fate was against him, it seemed. 

On his way out, from up a tree, a glint caught his eye. But it was no ordinary glint.

The light seemed to catch up on whatever magic that demon used, trying to reveal to the world that pure evil was walking on its very ground, unnoticed.

But not by him. 

The child had not lied. The demon was massive from what he could tell from the shifting form. It's eyes flashing a yellow glow before it vanished completely from sight, either jumping to another tree or just disappearing. No shifting, no sound, nothing.

It was taunting. Of course, to kill and to lure yet another imbecile to its trap, sounded every bit like a demon.

Making a decision, he asked the families just where exactly was the clearing.

-

Five tokens of his kills hung on the wall of his ship. Three skulls with their spines perfectly attached to them and two swords. 

At first, his clan didn't really understand his objective here. The will to learn and to adapt going far deeper than just hunting different races of humans. 

Out of every race on this wretched planet, he respected these more. He watched as they taught their children to be honored. To fight with respect and bravery. To know when you're defeated and when to strike. 

Things they had taught them themselves once.

While most motherships hovered above hot countries in the south. Two distinct clans took home in the Orient. Both clans despised each other greatly, going as far as to keep away from one another in order not to harm the still learning human population. His clan chose the islands known to humans as 'Wa', which would later become 'Nippon'. 

It had been centuries, of course. The humans had forgotten them just as they had forgotten the filthy beings that first generated them, who cowered in their home planet. When the clans decided to abandon Earth at once, so did the two clans. Leaving everything behind, only coming back rarely to hunt, forming the only negative memory of being demons to beings some of them actually came to love.

He'd heard everything about humans, he knew other races and even had trophies of some of them. Hunts so boring and forgettable that sometimes he caught himself checking just from where that skull was from. It was ridiculous.

But not here. He was having the time of his life here. And he might be having even more fun soon, it seemed. 

He knew human badbloods existed and were total scum. Waking trash.

But what he did not really see coming was a bad blood that….Wasn't really a bad blood.

He'd been observing when the warrior had come, his horse tiredly walking into the village. He looked out of place. His clothes were old, but not unkept like his beard. Humans had a different kind of 'beard' than yautjas had, and with the time, he could tell the difference between a cared for beard and one that was just a rat's nest on someone's face. 

Disgusting. 

So he did not belong there, or anywhere, it seemed. He carried a sword that he could also tell was in good form. Good. Another match, perhaps.

While badbloods were to be taken out quickly from life, he found himself weirdly curious about this one. He had the same instance and breathing of clan leaders. Tired, exhausted from years of making decisions but still carrying on nonetheless. It was puzzling. Humans did not live that long to live this type of experience. But that one apparently did.

You could say he was angry when after hearing about all the murders and happenings, the human just walked off with his slightly rested horse.

But it wouldn't do. No.

Despite being well over a youngblood's age, he sure acted like he was one. Taunting his prey from up a tree, daring him to come forth and challenge him. 

You could also say he was more than satisfied when it worked. The human walking right back to the widowed women to ask where the battles had supposedly happened.

He practiced harder that night, his blade extra sharp, wielded with much more precision and care than the first time he touched it. His style bettered with each battle, his adaptation proving to be, yet again, perfect. 

Words could not describe would eager he was for his next battle.

-

You may have fought before, many times even. But surely never with a Demon. He had not.

Unsheathing his blade felt bittersweet. Wielding it felt rusty, almost. But the tingling in his fingertips was still there, the rush of the blood in his veins as he breathed in and out, remembering every move, every technique, every battle he had both won and lost.

Sharp as your blade maybe, it won't fight for itself, your mind must be just as sharp and deadly as your weapon, he came to learn. Raw potential was nothing without guidance.

Closing his eyes, the wind hustled the trees around him, going into the general direction where he was told the clearing was. Almost luring him there, to his death, like it had done to the others before him. He was no different, no better. And yet, he'd face the challenge. Fight for people he didn't know, against something that wasn't natural, not from this world.

At dawn, he left his horse in the village, striding into the dense forest, armed with his sword and nothing else.

1400

He walked for what felt like forever, feeling his back burning under someone's gaze. The hairs of his neck stood on end, every instinct in his body told him to leave while he still could, foolish. He had doomed himself the minute he decided to ask about the funerals, the minute he decided to rest at that village. There was no escape. Only forth, only future, whatever might it hold for him.

Reaching the clearing, he knew he was in the belly of the beast when he saw the remnants of the past battles that took place there. The dried blood in the grass, the blade shards here and there along with some bushes cut the way only a speeding katana would slice into. The trees had similar cuts to their barks, scratches that looked like a dragon had nested in this area for years.

His mouth closed again when he heard the growling coming from everywhere and nowhere at all, his hand instantly going to the hilt of his sword, searching the trees as the clicking sound circled him from the shadows, teasing him, trying to instill fear into his heart and soul. He could see past it.

It wasn't long until a loud thud snapped his attention to his front, a few feet ahead, he watched as the Demon decided to show itself. It's skin slowly materializing itself into view as it switched from the astral plane into the mortal one to fight him. 

It was surprisingly as the child described. Big, red and ugly. It's jaws spreading to reveal sets of sharp tusks as it roared, the birds that hid from them flying off in desperation.

Studying it, his eyes fell to something unexpected. A blade that might have looked like his, only it was corrupted by the creature's evilness, twisted into dangerous ridges, made to maul and bleed instead of clean slicing and striking.

Disgraceful.

He scowled, not holding back his disgust at the sight, the Demon snarling right back to him before lifting his blade and getting into battle stance as he did the same.

Long seconds passed as his breathing fell into place with the rhythm he would set when fighting, staring into the creature's eyes, piercing yellow like the fires of the underworld that it would try to drag him into.

But it wouldn't work.

Taking a sharp breath, he lunged forward, his sword aimed at the beast's arm as he went. Said beast roared again, meeting him halfway through the blow, swords locking as he felt the impact of the greater body coming at him, his right foot digging into the dirt with sheer force to keep his balance. 

So close to it, he noticed it wore a necklace made of fabric, braided into loops around its thick neck. He frowned as he pushed back with all he had, the demon grunting as it forced back into him.

Realization downed him when he caught it looking at his sword sheath, the braided cords that tied it to his belt. Eyes snapping back to its necklace, he recognized the pattern in them, the different colored loops belonging to different victims.

Trophies. It collected trophies.

The scream that ripped from his throat was out before he could stop it, forcing the creature to back off as he all but swung his weight on it, their blades sliding free from one another as he lunged again, grunting his effort as he managed to block the Demon's counterattack, missing his eye by an inch, he panted as he felt his arms begin to burn from the sheer force the beast pressed him down with, its muscles bulging as it snarled at him, tusks dangerously close to his face.

He grunted as he turned, sweeping low as the creature's blade whizzed past his head, his own blade finding its calf and slicing it open, bright, green blood painting the grass under them and a perfect line on his sword.

He took the opportunity to jump back and gain space as the Demon roared its pain, eyes set on him as it lunged blindly in rage at him. 

His sore arms not resisting the impact on time, he felt the searing cut as his right shoulder almost gave out under the pain, his face scrunching up as he couldn't afford to close his eyes in pain.

He looked up to see the creature's almost smug expression as it retracted its blade, piercing it forward again, aiming for his chest, for his heart.

He sucked in a gasp as he forced his legs to give out under him, dropping his body to the ground like a rag doll, the blade sinking into the ground dangerously next to his eye. 

The Demon's eyes widened as he tensed to pluck the blade from the ground, the warrior already moving again, his blade slicing the beast into its right side, under its first rib, green blood once again oozing out of it as it struggled to keep its balance, it’s free clawed hand coming to clutch its side while still trying to fight him with the other. 

Still, in the rush, the warrior rolled to the side, feet turning as his legs worked to get him up straight again, robes dirty with green strands from both grass and green blood, his own shoulder tainted red with his own clotting blood. His breathing was heavy as he got in stance again, shoulder squaring, wincing as he felt the wound ripping open again, even more blood coming out of it. But it was either his shoulder or his life and between them, he chose life.

Before the creature could process swinging at him again, he lunged. Face scrunched up in anger, fists firm around the sword's handle as he dived into the beast, blade cutting it through the chest downwards to its belly, the hard spikes it had there being cut off like wood chips out of tree bark.

His blade moving down and out, he spun again, stepping back to have the creature in full view as it finally lost its balance and kneeled, its legs giving out as the green blood soiled more and more of the ground under it.

He could hear the blood rushing through his veins, the ringing in his head crisp and clear as he struggled to control his breathing, eyes never leaving the demon. 

Precious seconds passed before the creature tried getting up again, to no avail. Its arms and legs shook as it tried using its sword as support to get up.

He steadied his hands again and took a step closer to it, not sure of what to do. End it? Spare it? Could demons be spared? Could demons die?

He jerked back slightly as the demon roared at him, clearly angry for being outmatched. He frowned, taking another step forward as the creature bent over again, the thick dreads falling over as it stared at the ground, he pointed the blade at the beast, opening his mouth to speak to it, not really knowing if it understood him or not when its left hand whipped up and gripped his chest, claws sinking in on his robes and all but tearing the skin of his chest apart, leaving hot bloody trails behind as the claws closed in on his robes. He yelled as he was pulled forward, his foot straining against the ground as he refused to buckle. 

Staring into the flaming eyes of the beast, he would not become another string on its necklace. 

The warrior growled as he brought the hilt of the sword up, connecting it to the creature's face three times as its grip loosened on his robes, bringing his knee up the Demons jaws, making its head snap back up, eyes disoriented briefly as it shook its head, looking up to find the warrior already on his feet, his blade ready to sink into his head anytime.

"You have lost." The warrior said, voice firm and unwavering as if his chest wasn't almost ripped open and the gashing wound on his shoulder didn't exist. "Take your leave of this village or perish by my hand." He finished, tone as sharp as the feel of his weapon. 

The demon cackled, taking a few more breaths, wheezy and wobbly as it got up, stumbling slightly as it clutched its right side, blood oozing through its fingers. 

The warrior wasn't sure if it had understood him as it reached for something in the back of its belt, pulling a dagger that was an otherworldly shape. He braced himself for a final attack when the thing laughed again, holding the dagger out in its open hand. 

'..ta'Ke iT', it said, voice raspy and breathy. 

The warrior narrowed his eyes, thinking it to be another trick from the demon, deceiving and dirty. He didn't move, still in battle stance as the beast roared, clearly regretting it as its grip tightened on its side briefly, hand coming up again as it frowned harder.

'Ta'ke', it hissed and the warrior stepped forward, hand cautiously coming to meet the demons own, grabbing the dagger from it, inspecting it quickly, sword still pointed at the creature.

'De' feat' It croaked, its blade retracting as it did. Pointing next to the trees behind him, 'Go', it said, 'Su'mm er, re' turn', it growled, pointing at the warriors head, 'Ta'ke'. 

The warrior merely huffed, "I'll be waiting, now vanish, Demon." He snarled. The Demon chuckling before turning on its heel and walking into the forest, its skin shifting into the forest's skin once again. .

“I’ll be waiting”, he repeated, sheathing his sword.

-

This Oneshot was commissioned and the buyer kindly allowed me to post it! Just an example of the kind of work I can do ;) Hope yall like it!

https://ko-fi.com/wthtorke My ko-fi in case anyones feeling generous and wants to help a broke college student lmao

[tuwam]

the journey.

@urianius [ continued from here. ] [ x. ]

it seems to get quieter, the more they move towards the forest and away from the academy walls. that can’t be right, because they’re closer to the chaos, closer to the smell of soot and burning wood. they move well past where they were sparring, well past where myungsoo had rode off and closer to the outskirts, where they’re not allowed to pass without a guide. 

the eye of the storm must feel like this.

jaejin and jaehyun have only managed a few pieces of armor and it clinks loud and heavy as they move over burned wood and broken arrows. the field is a mess of hooves, charred remains of grass, shields and all the closer they get to a break in the massive fence that surrounds the academy. 

the horn hasn’t sounded for a while and the sound of battle has started to die down. the closer they get, they begin to see why.

jaejin stifles the sound they all want to make, as they move through, junsu giving them to order to hush as he raises his bow. beyond the academy walls lies the fence, brick and brimstone to keep out what no one would think could come close. it’s well protected by gates only drawn open by soldiers and scouts. nothing had made it past, through they being to see what tried. a step through the battered wall shows the fields of it.

the remnants of a battle brutal and bloody. 

the members of the scouting class that didn’t make it back, the teachers that didn’t arrive. 

there’s still fighting, clashing of swords, parries of arrows that fly through the sky. there’s bodies everywhere and bodies of all colors.

minjae had heard stories of these creatures, but he’s never seen them before. a grotesque mix of a frog, a lizard, and a demon. some more lizard, some more frog, some just - demon like. not human in the slightest, but with the height of one, with the strength, the arms, the dexterity of one. teeth like a crocodile, rows that rip through flesh like bottom, wicked smiles like a soul corrupted and eyes the color of hellfire. 

they’ve only seen them in pictures and now they see them running back, scurrying in colors of green, black, grey, purple. they see them all over the field, dismembered, burned to a crisp by magic, or with the final blow still sticking out of their skulls of their chests. arrows, axes, clubs, all sorts of weapons brandished throughout the field. they see the scouting party, the recruits who didn’t make it, with these same wounds, bodies limp and eyes still wide in shock for the faces they saw before death claimed them.

their party moves through the grass, through the mess of a fight as it’s drawn to a close. 

‘they're retreating.’ jaehyun’s words are small but his bow and arrow are still up. in all the running and the scurrying around the field, all the cries for help, for mercy as nurses and competent fighters carry the wounded, no one pays them any mind. minjae tries to block out the cries, everywhere he looks there’s a body, an arm, a leg, there’s death, there’s demons, there’s the war.

he’s almost grateful for the commotion for the ability to push forward.

‘they must’ve been losing.’ comes jaejin’s assessment. he’s pulling himself together, and however small his voice sounds, minjae makes no comment.

‘doesn’t look like they were the ones losing.’ is hyuck’s assessment, and minjae agrees. in fact, it’s very clear that they were outnumbered, however skilled their generals are, the priority must’ve been to protect the recruits, get them to safety, overpowering would’ve been easy.

so why are they running back. as minjae thinks, june responds immediately.

‘they’re not running away.’

they hear the horn again, as figures disappear into the woods. junsu hikes up his horse and they all realize it at once and get moving, towards the sound, towards hope and hell alike.

‘ready yourself.’

it’s all junsu says because as they move into the brush they’re catching up to the herd, the remnants of the attackers. the sound of hooves alerts the creatures immediately and they let out shrill cries like none they’ve ever heard. a high-pitched cackle, that he pushes through. 

jaehyun and jaejin are the first to shoot following the movement of junsu’s sword cutting down the first wave. blood the color of acid sprays, yellow and purple alike. heads roll past them, hoove stomp them into nothingness and minjae knows immediately what his role is.

to fight through, to not hesitate. hyuck’s already begun riding low against his horse, slicing sides and necks as they get too close. and june - june is caught in a spray of blood minjae would’ve never thought were possible. june, who doesn’t even like brandishing his sword, minjae finds it covered in ooze.

the monsters scream, snarl, launch at their cavalry. the arrows are parried by jaejin and jaehyun while minjae and hyuck begin knocking off those who come too close. he lets his instincts take over, his breath ride with the bump of his horse. he looks but he doesn’t look too hard, all he sees is green and then the yellow of those eyes.

junsu calls out directions, hyuck and minjae relay orders. everything that myungsoo and junsu have ever taught them, has naturally become muscle memory. they remember it all, all the times myungsoo has calculated who is better at what, the sharpness of jaejin and jaehyun’s eyes, their ability to ride and their specialty with long range weapons, with accurate weapons. minjae and hyuck, quick and clever with their weapon of choice, and always a foil of one another, june and junsu, always at the forefront.

myungsoo damn near predicted it perfectly. 

the boys don’t slow down, not even once. any horse that strays, comes right back and circles back into formation. they don’t lose sight of one another, always an eye turned to check, always calling to count. there’s not a second to breathe while they still hear the snarls and see the steel and wood flying at them. there’s no time to think, just to fight.

they knew it when they agreed to come along. 

the deeper they go in, it’s the end of the last bit of stragglers. junsu’s signal to slow down is met down the line as they come to a trot. the more they move the quieter they get, the orders have stopped, the arrows have stopped, and the underbrush is alight with burned remains and trees knocked down, split broken by something. something heavy and much bigger than their previous foes.

‘that the last of them?’ minjae’s whisper is cut short by junsu’s face, and the finger to his lips. he makes a symbol, to dismount and they respond without a word. they follow his every move, the silence now broken by the sound of leaves crackling under boots, rustles here and there are fires snuffed out and weapons that snag on branches. they’re coming upon a clearing, and minjae thinks he sees something, jaejin damn near beats him too it. it’s myungsoo’s horse, trotting around not confused but restless against a broken tree where her reigns are stuck.

she's covered in ash, mud, blood staining the coat myungsoo prides himself on. but she’s moving, thank god she’s moving.

before jaejin can even reach her, an arm yanks him back from the clearing, a forearm that’s quick to cover his mouth before he can yell. 

it’s myungsoo. he looks about as beat up as his horse, blood  dripping from several cuts on his body mixing with sweat and dirt and all the ash to tell what hell he’s been through. no one says a word as they take in the look the eldest gives them, eyes wide and confused. his moves are slow and they lower themselves to the ground and out of sight just as he does. there’s a shuffle, there’s the sound of hooves, and when they peek over the bush there’s the biggest boar any of them have ever seen.

massive and standing on two feet. a mixture of pink and purple as if the color were rolled in mud, and eyes glowing red and thirsty for that same color of blood. it’s circling the broken tree where myungsoo’s horse trots, a weighted club with spikes in its hand and patches of armor broken and falling from its body. in the other hoove hand is the source of the noise. it looks to be a horn, one from one of those grotesque creatures no doubt.

it’s their leader, it must be. and myungsoo seems to be battling it. it’s huffing, and from the way myungsoo breathes, minjae can tell they’ve been at it for a minute.

the creature turns around, trying to find the sound of the rustling from earlier, and with no avail it opens it’s mouth to emit its battle cry, a roar that pierces their ears and startles the horses behind them. a challenge. a threat. 

myungsoo turns to them, eyes scanning each of them immediately - obviously searching for injuries before he turns to junsu, a look that minjae already knows. hyuck shakes his head first, scooting up to let the elder know they’re not leaving, jaejin wrestles out the hold, quick and quiet to relay the same sentiment if only with his eyes. no one dares open their mouths or move another muscle, all that can be said is with looks. 

none of them will leave him here, of that much he is sure. they’re stubborn like that, acting like the creature in the clearing doesn’t scare them to shits. acting like seeing myungsoo so worried for them, isn’t enough to instill fear. 

myungsoo looks between them all, to junsu for advice but the elder shrugs. so he looks back out at the creature.

and he starts to signal.

they know it well, they can remember it well enough - all the times they’ve partnered up, practiced.

jaejin and jaehyun climb the trees, hyuck, junsu and minjae flank, myungsoo and june head on. they know the plan. 

executing it takes seconds, and the minute movement is seen, the creature is alert. 

in practice this is easy, but a few steps into the clearing and minjae and hyuck see just how big it is. massive, nearly three times their size and a hide that it’s own club would take a while to beat through. hot air blows from the pig-like nostril on its face and it locks eyes with minjae and hyuck first, the distractions, the quickest on their feet. 

‘do not stop!’ myungsoo screams at them both as he and june charge. minjae swallows and hyuck nods, the both of them running the minute the creature’s attention is taken. arrows from jaehyun and jaejin aim for anywhere it can get, the eyes if possible. myungsoo and june dodge the club that tries to block the arrows from their target. minjae and hyuck slash at the skin around the ankles, ready to immobilize and dodging every stumble and every swing.

the smell of blood and dirt clogs their noses but they keep going, diving into dirt and grass to avoid getting their heads lopped off. for every reminder that this creature could kill them with one swing, is a reminder that june, myungsoo and junsu were ready to face this and bigger without hesitation. for every roll out the way hyuck matches with another attempt at the heels. for every dive into dirt, is minjae or hyuck yelling at the other to duck right before. for every swing that gets too close, there’s june’s sword to parry, there’s myungsoo’s own shield to catch hold as they all dance around. every movement matched and met with the flurry of arrows that jaehyun and jaejin provide, their eyes providing their team with all the directions they’ll need. 

so the boys push on, chipping away at the heels of the monster like their lives depend on it, ignoring sprays of rough pig skin and blood into their face. ignoring the dirt and ash that gets stuck in their throat as they heave for air, or in their eyes each time they roll from a strike or a kick to the face. 

do not stop. even as they hear and see the struggle of june, junsu and myungsoo’s bodies thrown back, thrown around, fighting, even as the snarling is so close they can feel it shudder their very core. even as the shadow of the club the creature wields holds its own weight in fear. they keep moving. they have a job to do just like the others. 

orders and hollers pass by them and they answer with their own resolution.

to come out of this alive rather than just tell a tale.

minjae’s sword lodges in its side, it screams and swings, as they dodge, june takes the boost from myungsoo’s shield and lodges his sword in its neck as hyuck’s final cuts to the heels make it fall forward, deeper into the tip of his sword. blood sprays, the scream is gurgle of an echo that dies down as the final thud against the grass hits their ears. 

once the creature stops moving and blood oozes onto the grass floor, is when breath returns to the boys. minjae yanking his sword out the side first, slumping to the ground until all he feels is hyuck’s hand on his shoulder. and the heaviness of it all return to his body. in the corner he sees jaehyun and jaejin descending from the trees. junsu is busy, chanting low and june yanks his sword out with enough time for the ice to encapsulate the creature as junsu’s spell finishes. 

there’s quiet for a few more seconds, jaejin and jaehyun bringing their horses over and myungsoo tending to his own horse, untying her and calming her down. june stares down the creature, not with the same wonder or disbelief that minjae or hyuck or even the other two who weren’t as close have. it’s freaky, different from how the boy often stares into space. 

‘didn’t know you had it in you.’ minjae’s voice is all rasp and dirt and ash from the air and the yelling, but he tries. if only to snap june back from wherever he is, from whatever hell hole he sees in the death of that creature’s eyes. it doesn’t work and minjae opens his mouth again but myungsoo’s hand is on june’s shoulder. that does the trick, that and a smile that’s got a few cracks in it, blood from minor cuts opening on his head and spilling over his eye.

they all probably look it and they’ll start to feel it if they don’t start moving. but to see myungsoo smile like that, knowing how he might feel. it helps.

‘i thought i told you all to go back to the barracks.’ ‘we did. and then we came to save your ass.’ minjae’s reply is immediate. the laughter that follows after is slow but it picks up. with an eye roll from jaejin and jaehyun bringing june’s horse to him. 

‘can everyone move?’ there are nods, slow but with adrenaline that keeps them going. minjae can start to feel the wind against every open cut on his body.

‘grab a rope, we have to haul this thing back to the academy. they’ll want to know.’ there’s groans but they all listen as junsu hands them each a set of ropes from their saddles.

‘want to know what? why it came and attacked?’ jaehyun’s voice is small but curious, each wrapping the ropes around snags in the ice, junusu’s craftsmanship is something to admire. they’ve barely got the time to admire it when they’re busy hauling the carcass and fastening it to their horses.

finally june speaks, ‘who sent it.’ 

minjae doesn’t like the way that makes him shudder. he sees hyuck and jaejin share a look, and they all look to myungsoo. myungsoo who smiles and hops on his horse, sword shining proudly and filthy on his back.

‘come on, gotta make sure they know we didn’t die.’

they follow with the beast on their heels, myungsoo leading with junsu by his side. minjae and hyuck in conversation about how many hits they had each, jaehyun and jaejin making sure the creature doesn’t fall off and june, well.

there’s more to come it seems. 

[leiascully]

Dandelion Wishes

A little piece looking at how Mulder decided to leave Scully and William at the start of s9 by @agirlcalledNarelle. Angsty. 3256 words. On AO3 here. 

It’s not that everything is different. It’s that everything is just similar enough for him to forget, in the banality of the supermarket, or whilst caught in a hug, only for the realisation to knock him completely off balance. The world tilts with such regularity that he’s concerned whenever his light nausea takes a brief hiatus. He is a time traveller caught between two worlds, and if he still had the X-Files, if he still had a job, he would attempt a joke about it to see if it was just lame enough to make the corners of her mouth twitch.

In the absence of time travel, he occupies a sentry position on her bed. He sits over the covers waiting for the sun’s rays to creep through her blinds like the legs of a spider. Scully sleeps beside him, her hand on the bassinet, which is no accident: she wakes intermittently to place her hand on the baby’s chest, feeling it rise and fall with the quick desperation of the exceptionally young to keep living.

The lights have stayed on since the baby arrived. A running t-shirt over the bedside lamp throws an eerie glow reminiscent of a den made of bile, or of waxy caves containing secrets which can bend the very laws of nature. He hasn’t thought about the Kindred in eight years, but now he understands what it’s like to be reborn, to move through the world with fresh skin, fresh perspective, fresh life, only to find that the vacuum he’d left behind has been filled with other things.

The night used to be his time to fall down a rabbit hole of research or to numb himself via vintage sports games. Now it stretches ahead like a highway, shimmering with his exhaustion, but he can’t risk closing his eyes in case he finds he’s jumped time again. He misses Scully’s pregnancy snores: her thick grunts would crescendo and retreat like the tide. Without them, he attaches himself to William and Scully as they sleep. He is the unknown entity in their equation, the algebraic X.  

Mulder hears the shuffling like a little piggy in its pen and prepares to rise. A thin cry pierces the quiet room, gaining quick momentum. The baby is twelve days old and so indignant in his right to food. His voice is a flare in the dark night of a shipwreck. Mulder lifts the baby while Scully stirs, hoisting herself up delicately. Baby William, named after his father. Or named after her father? He’s not sure why Scully would name their child after his father, who stalked the periphery of a room with blank, shark eyes, his slack mouth full of cigarettes and scotch. A shadow of the Captain who instilled in his children both strength and pride enough to follow their passions.

William’s eyes are closed and he wriggles in Mulder’s grip, brows furrowed in disgust. Mulder’s hands seem too big to hold him safely. He is arrested by the child’s angry, red face and sucks air through his teeth as he suddenly remembers that this baby is his son. His heart swells but his eyes stay dry. The sins of the fathers run through William’s tiny veins: a cocktail of deceit, adultery, blood money, quiet repression and loud rage courses through him. William cries in rebellion, trying to exorcise himself from the weight on his tiny shoulders, and Mulder runs his thumbs over William’s ribcage, feeling little matchsticks bones. The walls of the room are too close. He blinks: scene change. The baby is just hungry. That’s all these cries are.

‘Mulder,’ Scully is grumpy, impatient. ‘Can you hand him to me please?’

Their heads bump as he helps her guide William’s mouth to her breast. All the education between them, their profiler skills, problem solving skills, all the knowledge which has developed over the years like tree branches, sprouting new leaves haphazardly - none of it helps when they need to get their son to eat. Scully inhales sharply as William latches, fusing himself to her.

‘You ok?’ Mulder asks, concerned that the baby is hurting her. She nods slowly, glancing up with a quick smile as pride and relief flicker across her face.

‘Yeah. I think he’s got it.’ She closes her eyes and settles against the pillows. William’s little suckling noises are the pappus of a dandelion seed floating away, carrying their wishes. They kiss Mulder’s ears. He watches Scully in wonder; she is photosynthesis. He has dirt in his lungs and maggots in his intestines. Drink, he thinks to his son, grow.

*

They’d fought earlier that evening. Or rather, he made her cry. She cries a lot at the moment, claiming it’s hormonal, something to do with her milk, but Mulder sees how her shoulders freeze every time there’s a knock at the door and suspects it runs deeper. Rather than returning home after his basketball and beer, he found himself driving out to the conservation area, away from the streetlights, away from people, away, away, away.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ She’d asked, eyes flashing with tears as relief flamed into fury. She had crossed the room as quickly as her recovery allowed. The force of her hug squeezed the air out of him, and his shoulders dropped as responsibility settled across them once more. ‘You can’t do that to me! You can’t just disappear for hours like that!’

How could he tell her? How could he tell her that she hadn’t even crossed his mind as he passed the Georgetown exit? That the trees bowing over the roads in the middle of nowhere felt like arms over his head, shielding him from the vast, clear, threatening sky?

‘I thought…. I thought…’ she’d snuffled against him, her fingers gripping the back of his sweater as she gasped herself back into composure.

‘Shhh, it’s alright,’ he soothed, tracing patterns on her back. They swayed together, the parental urge to soothe through rhythm already so instinctive. They circled the hardwood floor where Missy had taken her last breath.

He couldn’t tell her the ecstasy of that first, bitter sip of beer, or how the ball had felt like fire and he like liquid as they flew around the court together. Or that he noted where the fire doors were in the bar, choosing a table close to the main entrance in case he needed to escape. He had laughed when Theo joked that Mulder had returned from the dead with improved field goal skills. It crashed out of him like an avalanche, and a months-old weight lifted off his chest. It felt good to make light of it, rather than wrap it up into a ball of hushed fear, like he did when he was with her, which they tucked away and never looked at directly.

Theo remembered keenly the early days of parenthood, and Mulder proudly shared how well Scully had taken to it. That her fears of being too pragmatic in her approach were completely unfounded; that she leans into her instincts with every choice.

‘You wouldn’t change it though, would you?’ Theo had asked. ‘Even when you don’t know your ass from your elbow, you wouldn’t change a thing.’ And with the flick of a switch, Mulder’s nausea returned. He didn’t want to think of William anymore, or acknowledge that his answer to Theo’s question was yes. Yes, he would change it. He would change almost every part of it. He would change how easy it seemed for Scully to disregard the burden that William carries in his blood line, and he would change his own inability to focus on anything else. This isn’t a normal reaction to the birth of his child. He blocked out his friend’s voice and focussed on the neck of his beer bottle until his vision stopped swimming. Then he had stood up and left.

*

Scully is asleep holding the baby. In spite of everything they have been through, Scully always succumbs to sleep when it calls for her. He loves it. She sleeps deeply and easily, as if she’s replenishing the shards of life which have been stolen from her by men in masks and malignant tumours.

He takes a stuttered breath as he looks at her with William. There is something about her raised slouch which reminds him of a particular Sunday morning. One of the early ones, maybe her first or second night at his. He’d found her in bed with a newspaper spread out on top of a towel.

‘What’s with the towel?’ He asked her, delighted that he could return home from a coffee run to find her half-dressed and tousle-haired, with her toes making tiny peaks under his covers.

‘These are your sheets.’

‘So?’ He passed her a coffee, which she set on the bedside table to cool. ‘Do you do this at home?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘But these are your sheets.’

‘Scully, I can’t even begin to tell you how little I care about bedsheets… Besides, do they look like the kind of sheets that would mind being inked on?’ He teased. She hugged her knees and looked at him with wide-eyed surprise as if he’d missed the secret. He couldn’t believe this moment was real.

‘Well I don’t know, Mulder,’ she replied slowly, with the faintest arch in her eyebrow. ‘I guess we could find out.’

Heat spread down his torso as she slowly undid the buttons on her pyjama top. He kissed her, taking time to work his way down from her delicate neck, finally arriving at the recently discovered freckles on her inner thighs. It was still early enough that they were quiet, almost polite with each other, as they came. Early enough that the details had stayed crisp.

Afterwards, he spotted a smudge of newsprint on her ass as she sashayed into the bathroom. The sight of that smudge against her skin ignited fireworks in his chest.

Scully twitches and loosens her grasp on William. Sleeping with the baby terrifies her, so Mulder lifts the baby for a cuddle. William’s little mouth is ajar, a trickle of milk running down to his neck; his weight is a touchstone in the present. Mulder runs his lips over his son’s bald, velvet head, and the baby’s warmth spreads through him, seeking out the parts which haven’t yet thawed from his time underground. He stays doubled over his child, inhaling him, trying to stitch himself to William as Scully does so easily. He wants to be indispensable.

The gentle sway of William’s lips reminds Mulder of a line from Plath: ‘all night your moth-breath/flickers among the pink roses.’ William has nibbled moth-holes in the fabric between him and Scully. There are holes in Scully that only the baby can fill. She watches William with hooded eyes. He is her fifth limb. They regard each other through the veil of parenthood now: even when he’s asleep, William sits between them. Scully wraps the trauma of his birth around her like a shawl; he watches her fold in on herself.

The truth we both know Scully had said to him only nine days earlier in this very room. He laughs quietly, but it sounds like a wheezing bark from an old dog. What truth does he know? He, who has already crossed over and found nothing but a black hole? Doubting Thomas was told ‘blessed are they who have not seen yet still believe.’Doubting Mulder slips his little finger into William’s hand and whispers, ‘But that’s no good, little buddy, because what do you do when you’ve seen it and all you learn is how empty it is?’ William grips his finger.

The word consent returns to him over and over again in an unbidden mantra. Mulder didn’t consent to his abduction, nor to the reassignment of the work he’d established over the majority of his career. To being tested on, to being buried, to being brought back to life. The only thing he consented to was loving Scully. And in continuing to love her, did he also consent to William? The swell of her belly when he woke up bruised his heart. The memory burns because he loves his son. He was a participant in IVF, a process which Scully owned, but William is a shared responsibility, a shared joy and a shared fear. He didn’t see Scully’s middle thicken, wasn’t there to sing lullabies to her skin as his son knitted himself together below. He was dropped back in the middle of a path that had already been navigated. His first minutes upon waking are always spent in September 2000, when he and Scully were reaching out toward love, trying to unravel its clues together. Then with a cry from his son - whose head is too big for his body, his little alien child - Mulder snaps back into the present. This is how it is now. He forgets his son and then remembers. The guilt he carries is his albatross.

‘I wonder if you’re safe here,’ Scully had mumbled against his chest that evening. ‘I wonder if they won’t come looking for you.’ Mulder’s stomach had curdled at her words, and with a clenched jaw, he had buried his nose in her hair to find the place where they’d been happy together. The idea of being taken again was intolerable. He stared at her wall calendar which confirmed to him, yet again, that it is May 2001.

He puts William gently back into his bassinet. For the last three months he’s been trying to carve out his own space in this brave new world, but it’s now filling up with quicksand and he can’t keep his head above the surface. He sits beside Scully, who jolts awake with the weight of him, her eyes wide with panic. He grasps her hand as it flies immediately toward the bassinet and kisses it. There’s a sense of urgency; this is the moment when the quicksand either buries him, or he lunges out towards one final shot at life.

‘Scully,’ he murmurs as she catches her breath. ‘I’m going to go see Kersh tomorrow.’

‘Kersh?’ Her voice is thick and low with sleep, her eyelids heavy. Her free hand searches until it settles on William’s chest. ‘What for?’

‘To learn more about this investigation.’ He leans forward to kiss her forehead. She smells slightly stale, with shades of milk and sweat. He thinks of the farm his grandparents owned; of the cold, dewy mornings milking the cows with his grandmother before dawn. He thinks of pancakes and syrup after a run on a Saturday morning with his new girlfriend. She is lighter than his work partner; she loves fresh flowers and is powerless before European cheese. ‘You’re right. We need to know if there’s a threat.’

‘Mulder,’ she starts. Her eyes sharpen and her brows knit together, a copy of William when he’s fussing for food. ‘What if he says yes? What if he confirms it?’

‘Then we need to act appropriately.’

‘No. No,’ she says firmly. Mulder wipes a tear from her cheek. Twice in one night: a new record for him. She winces as she pushes herself to sit up straighter. ‘I just got you back. You just came back.’

‘You said it yourself, Scully. They might come for me. Here. Where you and William are. We should take every precaution.’ Please don’t let them find me. Please don’t make me stay. ‘You know I’m right.’

Her mouth tightens. She inhales deeply through her nose and her hot gaze scalds him.  

‘Is this about William?’ she asks shakily. ‘I know it’s been a difficult adjustment. You missed a lot, and now he’s here and I –‘

‘It’s not about William.’ He kisses her hand again, but the lie sits in his eyes so he still can’t look at her.  ‘Not directly. I just want to make sure that you’re safe, that you don’t have to worry anymore. You’ve been through enough.’

‘Mulder…. We can’t go with you.’

‘No one’s said anything about leaving, Scully.’

‘I know you, Mulder. When have you ever just accepted defeat?’ She works so hard to keep her voice level. She thinks he can’t see the fear bleeding out of her. He sees it because it bleeds from him too. They are Deimos and Phobos.  ‘You must be safe; God knows we need you to be safe. But tomorrow morning if Kersh confirms our worst fears, then I know you’ll chose to continue the fight. And that means removing yourself from the situation so you can work out your next move. It’s what you’ve done before. Scott Ostlehoff.’

Mulder’s cheeks tingle where the six wounds had festered. His teeth grind, and his throat is tight.  He can’t deny her claims. If there’s a threat out there, he will track it down and destroy it. If there’s another piece to the puzzle, he’ll find it and lock it in place. And if it means leaving Scully and William, then he feels it may be for the best, in spite of how much it already hurts. He can’t father this child the way he deserves. He doesn’t want to skulk in the corners of William’s life. This choice, now, will save him in the long run. It will save all of them. Scully waits.

‘You may be right,’ he says quietly, finally looking up to see her eyes hurl accusations at him through unshed tears. She blinks and presses her fingers to her lips. She gulps a breath in and holds it while her eyes clench shut, beating down the cry. His desire to reach out to her and take it all back is stopped only by his fear that he’s not safe anymore.  ‘I’m so sorry Scully. I hope it doesn’t have to be that way.’

‘It doesn’t,’ she says tightly. Her eyes are steady when she opens them again. ‘I need you.’

Her words chime clear like a bell. She won’t ask him to stay. He will choose to leave, and she won’t give her blessing. He will replay this moment over and over in the months to come, wondering if there could have been another outcome, but right now all he knows is that to act on Kersh’s input tomorrow is to choose a life that is more authentically his than the one in which he currently finds himself.

Silence drapes itself over them both, growing thick and oppressive. He rubs her hand with his thumb, focussing on the back and forth motion, while she stares out of the window, occasionally wiping her eyes with her other hand.

‘I need to go to sleep,’ she says finally, with resignation. ‘William will be awake in an hour or so for his next feed. Why don’t you take the couch, so we don’t disturb you?’

The finality of the closing door between them seals his choice. He reclines on her couch, such a contrast to her soft queen size bed, and his shoulders relax against the rigidity. His breathing quickens as he remembers the exact moment that the penny dropped for Scully, but his nausea has settled. He coughs back sobs as the weight of the conversation settles around him; as if William’s pappus breaths had granted his wishes and they land around him now like bricks falling into water.

In the morning he hears William cry. Pins and needles shoot his feet so violently that he can’t rise to reach him.

[19mrs-barnes17]

As Long As I Can Get - Chapter Four: Secrets Spill

Summary: A celebration has arrived and along with it some uncovered secrets that make tensions rise.

Part: 4/5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (AU)

Warnings: arguing, mentions of loss/suffering

Word count: 3,093

A/N: Thanks to @wxntersoldiers​ for beta reading! Enjoy a new chapter!

~

Her heart was racing in her chest. She couldn’t believe what her instincts were telling her to do. She couldn’t kiss him. Not when they had finally begun repairing their friendship, when she was already confused about how to operate within their friendship. No need for any further complication.

And yet she could feel herself leaning in, he was doing the same. Their lips were inches from one another and she was doing everything in her power to reign in the hormones pushing her closer. 

Even worse was that she wasn’t at all trying to stop herself. Not even a little. She really wanted to close the gap but her fear prevented her from being the one to do it. Part of her hoped he had the courage because she was becoming desperate to know the taste of his kiss.

When he suddenly backed away her heart felt like a crack had run through it, but a small part of her was thankful for his restraint. 

“I…” Bucky backed toward the door, panic evident in his features. He was afraid of ruining everything too.

“Buck-”

“I’ll see you at your party.” He was out the door before she could contradict him. She watched as he crossed the street, pausing to look up at her window before ducking into his home. 

Well that was a major disaster. 

Her focus began to intensify after that incident, working extra shifts and avoiding the diner for a few days. She couldn’t quite face his meddling sister after nearly kissing him and knowing full well it wouldn’t have ended there. Going through her daily motions kept her mind off of him and improved her productivity.

Steve helped her move all her things back into her room and took her camera to develop the photo for her. Though she was in an emotional mess she still wanted to have that photo, even if it ended up being the last.

When she received the pictures she bought two frames and wrapped one up before heading to the diner.

“Hey Mama Barnes, I’ve got a present for you.” Her eyes lit up as she grabbed a hold of the paper covered frame.

“Oh sweetheart you shouldn't have.” When she saw the photo inside the frame she became blubbery and covered her mouth as tears slipped down her cheeks. 

“Aw, no. No tears.” Y/N chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around the woman who rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder. 

It was in that moment she noticed that Bucky was sitting at the counter a few stools down, features softened as he gazed at his mother. His eyes became confused as he locked onto her eyes, almost conflicted. As if he had a billion thoughts and emotions rushing through him that he didn’t know how to handle.

“I hate to cut this short but I do have a shift to get to, just wanted to make sure you got that before I forgot.” 

“Of course love, you take care now. We’ll see you Saturday for the party, but don’t be a stranger.” She gave her a hug before heading to the door.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Can’t stay away from the Winnifred Barnes’ cooking for too long or I’ll go through withdrawal.” Bucky smiled softly at this, her eyes lingering on him a moment before walking out. 

~

He watched her make her way to her car, mind screaming at him for pulling away from her again. But fear always seemed to be the winning contender. 

“I could smack you James Buchanan Barnes.” His mother stood across the counter giving him the sternest look he’d seen on her face in a long time. 

“I know. It’s like I can’t win with her. Every time I get close something scares the hell out of me and I run away.” His voice catches in his throat as his eyes begin to tear up, his mother’s features soften.

“C’mon tell your mama about the girl you love.” At this his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“How did you know I was beginning to have feelings for her?” His mother chuckled softly before placing the picture before him and motioning to where his eyeline was focused.

“Because you have been looking at her like that for over a decade. And she had been doing the same.” 

“What?” 

“But that’s for her to explain, not me. Now Tell me what’s the matter with you?” His brow furrowed at her question, unsure how to proceed. “Why aren’t you chasing after her, kissing her, loving her freely?”

“Because I can’t risk letting her suffer like you did.”

~

“Are all these decorations and lights really necessary? Seems like a fire hazard.” Her mother nodded, eyes watching her father string up a banner along the loft.

“Well you try talking your father out of these things, see how far you get.” Y/N chuckled softly as her father lost his end of the banner and used some colorful language.

“Now that is a challenge.” 

“Ah, James dear! It’s good to see you after so long. So glad you made it.” Her mother hugged him tightly before pointing over to where her father was on the ladder. “Would you mind helping him get that banner up? He’s making me nervous up there on that thing.”

“Sure thing. This is for you.” He handed a bag to Y/N before heading toward her father. 

“How sweet.” Her mother smirked as her eyes flickered between the two. “I’m glad you two are repairing things, you had the strongest bond when you were younger.”

It wasn’t long before Steve showed up with a gift and the cake, and you chastised your dad for turning your friends into laborers. To which Bucky countered that his job was already hard labor and this was hardly it. Her dad smiled triumphantly at that and walked off to do a final check before everyone else arrived. 

“Don’t amp up his ego please, the man already thinks he’s the king of parties. We don’t need him thinking he’s always right.” Her mother almost choked on her lemonade before erupting into a fit of laughter.

“Ouch, you may be daddy’s little girl but you definitely have your grandmother in you.” Y/N clutched her chest and gasped, eyes wide in shock.

“Oh you take that back.” 

“She can’t take back what’s true.” Y/N threw one of her flats at Steve who ducked just in time and stuck out his tongue. 

“You met her one time Rogers, we had years of experience.” Y/N almost fell out of her chair at the sight of her oldest brother.

“Nathan!” She had him in a hug within seconds, his laughter vibrating through his chest. “When did you get back?” 

“Last night, I’m here for the party but then I’ve got to get driving to make it for a shift tomorrow.” She made a pout with her lips and he shoved her playfully. “Where did your shoe even go.”

“The ether. Or Steve stole it.” 

“You’re only saying that because you’re holding it behind your chair.” Y/n gasped and Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve before moving to stand and holding the shoe out of reach. 

“What kind of friend are you?” Steve smirked and shrugged while Y/N jumped for her shoe and smack Bucky’s chest.

“The kind that stays it would seem.” Y/N slowly fell back onto her heels, Bucky handing her shoe over before walking toward the other end of the barn where people were beginning to congregate.

“Not cool dad.” Y/N stormed off after him and her brother shook his head.

“If you want her to still show up to Sunday night dinners then you probably shouldn’t ruin the most important relationship to her, on her birthday.” Nathan placed a hand on his dad’s shoulder before heading over to the gift table to drop off his present.

“Especially since you’re part of the reason it ended in the first place. No offense.” Steve made his way to Y/N’s mother and offered his assistance with whatever she needed.

Bucky was hidden amongst hay bales in a corner of the barn, too lost in thought to notice Y/N making her way to him through the hay until she tripped. She fell on top of him, smacking her face into his chest and very nearly kneeing him in the nethers. 

“As graceful as ever.” She smacked his chest and propped herself up, eyes locking onto his. “And just as beautiful.”

“Are you ever gonna tell me why you keep running away?” Bucky sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “The real reason you cut me out?”

“Yes.” She was not expecting that answer and he noticed as much. “But not on your birthday, okay?”

“Then can we talk about how you won’t kiss me?” Her eyes couldn’t make contact as she spoke, but when she finished she locked eyes with him. He looked startled by the question and she instantly regretted asking it. She pushed herself off of him and sat on a hay bale, refusing to make eye contact as he stood up.

“It’s the same reason.” 

“Can’t deal or too scared?” He froze as she met his gaze, and she swore she could see the pain hidden in his eyes.

“Terrified.”

The party was going by in a blur and her focus kept getting stolen by Bucky, she couldn’t help but wonder what had him so afraid that he couldn’t tell her. So terrified to keep her close that he pushed her away. 

While he had stayed in the barn he still kept a bit of distance, hanging around his family once they had arrived. She felt crazy for still wanting him by her side, but she let him have his distance for now. 

~

“Now I really am going to smack you child.” His mother was chastising him about running from facing his fears again. “It breaks my heart to see you so crippled by the fear that man instilled in you when he had no right to do so. You never should have had that on your conscience.”

“It’s too late to change the past ma, I’m just trying to at least keep her in my life to some degree.” 

“You might want to try a little harder.”

“If I try any harder I’m going to fall completely in love with her and drag her down with me. And that’s just selfish.”

Bucky watched her greet every guest, pausing to grab people drinks, all around ensuring everyone was having a good time and taken care of. She wasn’t even trying to fill the role of host, nor was it entirely out of obligation since the party was for her. It was because being kind and taking care of others was in her nature, always had been and always would be. 

Whereas his nature had become so different from his childhood and teenage suave that he hardly recognized himself. He was reserved and closed off, but sometimes this was a blessing in disguise. It let him do exactly what he was doing now, observing. It’s how he knew she was a perfect fit for their trio after her first day in school.

His mother watched as he began to walk off as the cake was being served, her heart heavy at the sight. A sad smile on her lips as she watched Y/N stop him before he made it to the door.

He froze in his tracks when he felt a hand grip, his heart racing when he realized whose it was. Her eyes watched him cautiously as he turned around with a surprised expression, a smile stretching across her face. He was dead certain that if she asked him to do anything he’d be unable to say no to her, he was entranced by her smile and the feeling of their intertwined fingers.

“Where are you going, Barnes? You owe a girl a dance.” She led him with zero resistance to the dance floor where couples had begun to sway along to the music. 

Her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands sat on her waist as they began to sway, his heart refusing to calm with how close she was moving to him. She moved his hands to the small of her back and he couldn’t seem to resist. Everything in him was screaming not to fall, not to be trapped by her presence. But he had no control. 

The moment she shifted to rest her head on his chest he knew he was doomed, the content smile on her face putting a similar one on his as he held her. He was beginning to think dangerously. Beginning to wonder if it didn’t matter about time.

“Sorry about my dad earlier. I don’t know where that came from and it was out of line.” She tilted her head back to look into his eyes. “He’s been weird since he saw the picture in my room.”

“Your room?” 

“Steve had free reign to put it up anywhere but the bathroom.” She chuckled and shook her head as her eyes found him in the room. “He saw it and seemed surprised and then worried. It was strange.”

The song ended and he led her out of the barn, nerves spiking as he put a little distance between them and the party. 

“We need to talk.”

“I am slightly worried by your tone, but proceed.” He took a deep breath and looked her dead in the eye. 

“I know I said I wouldn’t tell you on your birthday but I can’t hold it in any longer or I’m going to burst.” She nodded and he took her hands in his, hoping they gave him the courage he required. “The reason I began to push you out of my life is because I was afraid.”

“I know that.”

“But you don’t know why I was afraid. Am afraid.” Her features were beginning to be overtaken by worry, her head tilting to the side. “Not long after my father died, your dad came to talk to me outside the diner.”

“What?”

“He told me about the disease that killed my dad and how it was passed genetically.”

“Bucky…” Her voice was small and terrified, he cupped her cheek in his hand.

“It isn’t a guarantee, there is a 50/50 shot that I have inherited it and even then the symptoms don’t show until later. Most are diagnosed between the ages 30 to 50.” He wiped a tear from her cheek before continuing, “Your dad warned me to think about you, about the fact that it could be a possibility and should I stay in your life… you would have to watch me slowly wither away like we did with my dad. I remember watching him slowly lose every ability until he could hardly swallow and I thought I would rather lose you than put you through that.”

“What about Steve? And your family? They get to be held close and enjoy the time they have but I get cut short?” She took a step back wiping the tear streaks from her cheeks. 

“That’s why I left entirely, to ease the pain.”

“But you came back and still let them all in, kept contact even if it was minimal.” He took a step toward her and she took another back.

“Because they’ve all lost people. They’ve handled it before. You… you were untouched, not losing anyone before their time. I wanted to save you some of the pain.”

“You broke my heart. How is that any better? At least losing you that way I would have still had you in my life and I could have said goodbye. The way you cut me off? I lost you but I also watched you live your life without me. And it hurt so bad to see that you could live without me and still be happy. I know that’s selfish, but so is deciding what I can handle without consulting me.”

“Y/N... “ He could feel the tear slip down his cheek but he didn’t care, his heart was tearing itself apart from guilt and heartbreak. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to put you in the position my mother was in.”

“What?”

“Remember what I said when you asked why I ran? Why I couldn’t let myself give in and kiss you?” This time when he took a step forward she stayed where she was. “I can’t let myself pull you in when it could end so horribly. I can’t put someone I love through that if I can help it.”

Bucky began to walk away but the sound of her voice halted him in his steps, the shake of her words like a cut.

“Did you ever stop to think that you had no control over that? I’d still be losing you, just from a distance.” She didn’t even wait to watch him walk away, there were only so many times she could stomach that. 

Her dad stood in the doorway waiting with an expression dripping with guilt, but she simply walked past him. She understood why he did what he did, out of fear just like Bucky, but it would take time for her to forgive. Her brother helped her to pack the gifts into her car so that she didn’t have to linger any longer than she had to.

When everything shut down she hugged her brother goodbye and slid into the driver’s seat before pulling away from the most emotional birthday party she’s ever had.

And he never left her mind.

~

When he reached his townhouse her car was parked on the street but her lights were off, either she went to sleep or she went out on foot. Either way she wouldn’t want to talk to him after today, which had already caused him to debate leaving again. Seeing her around town would hurt like hell, but at least then he’d still see her. 

After all he’d lost, the thought of losing her forever was just another weight he’d have to bear on his shoulders. He hardly slept that night, tossing and turning until he couldn’t take it any longer.

Only when his eyes found the North Star did he begin to relax, his father’s voice reminding that he wasn’t alone. Somehow he knew he could make it right.

He wasn’t going to leave her again.

~

Tags: @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @cantnkrusshedevil​ @gstran18​ @just-trying-to-survive-marvel

[heartate-aa]

regarding ahri’s early life and life shortly after.    //   part one of . . . probably two.  maybe three.

as ahri’s life began,  it was not at all how people,  even she,  pictured it.  her origins are dated to be earlier,  though likely not drastically,  than 816 AN,  but she doesn’t recall a childhood,  not truly.  her earliest memories consist of living amongst a pack of ice foxes in ionia who took her in as one of their own,  though ionia’s animals and plants and their spirits likely sensed that she was no mere fox,  either,  that she was of vastayan blood.

as such,  because she was raised by foxes since she was a little kit,  there was quite a good amount of time that ahri spent in the form of an ice fox for the sake of convenience and comfort amongst her little family.  for all of her life,  she had no contact with any human beings or other vastayans,  not of her own ilk nor other vastayan tribes.

ahri doesn’t know where she came from,  or who she belonged to,  but even from her earliest years,  it had been starkly clear that she wasn’t one of them,  that she was different  —  the spirits of nature told her as much,  she could see as much,  and she could feel it.  the power that ran through her veins,  her hunger was something more that wasn’t satiated by the flesh of their kills alone,  her innate ability to charm their prey into their clutches,  to soothe the skittish ones to lull them into her maw,  and most of all,  her ability to shape shift and take the form of a human.  or,  something rather close to one.  she asked and she pleaded,  but none of the ice foxes were able to do any of what she could.  they were simply foxes,  albeit ones with an intimate relationship with the earth of ionia and its magic.  everything is different in ionia.  nature is wilder with its own special gifts,  a power in its core unlike the other lands of runeterra.

to say the least,  having never been in contact with other people like herself,  she knew little of their cultures,  or of her own tribe’s vastayan culture.  despite being alone,  surrounded only by the foxes who had taken her in as one of her own,  raised her,  fed her,  taught her to hunt and helped hone her own powers in the hunts,  she never felt as if she belonged.  she possessed other instincts,  among the innate powers that she wielded,  the wild magic that runs through her blood.  while no one could teach her to use her magic,  other than for her to figure it out on her own terms,  she at least learned to hunt,  and there eventually and finally came a time for ahri to part ways with her pack.

there were the rare moments in time where,  during their hunts or travels,  that ahri had come close enough to human camps or civilizations and was overcome and overwhelmed with a flood of insatiable curiosity to draw closer,  to mingle amongst them and their kind.  it was a strange compulsion,  one she knew at her core that she should fight.  for all of her life with the ice foxes,  she had learned to avoid their kind,  that they were dangerous,  that they would have easily and so willingly taken her life without a second thought,  along with the lives of the foxes.  even knowing that she was not truly one of them,  that she often took the appearance of a being who looked so similar to that of a human,  albeit still otherworldly and that of a beast with the ears atop her head and the magnificent and elegant nine tails that she so proudly possessed,  they still protected her as if she was one of their own.

so when the band of huntsmen camped nearby her home with the foxes,  she watched them curiously,  and from this fateful night,  her life and her perspective upon her own life changed.  she felt the dying spirit drawing out from a hunter’s body,  and out of instinct,  she consumed his essence.  he was the first human she had ever feasted upon,  and the power that that began to run through her veins and coil between her bones was unlike anything she had ever felt before.  every previous hunt was for survival alone and nothing more,  and it had been just enough to fuel her powers in her core,  but it became evident that her powers had been dampened,  not intentionally however,  and that she had not yet fully blossomed into fruition.  the essence of a human life,  some of whom who possessed wonderful magics of their own to fuel her,  were so much more fulfilling to consume.  a being without much of a moral compass and acted solely on the instincts of a hunter,  a beast who sought only her own survival and the survival of her pack.

she drank his essence,  feasting upon the story of his life as his memories flooded into her mind.  she lived his life as he died in her arms,  and she willed his pain to dissipate,  for the agony to be no more,  for him to feel a blanket of peace covering him as he passed,  for him to no longer feel the sorrow or the worry that plagued him in those final moments.  in this moment,  she felt closer to humans than ever before.  drinking the hunter’s life essence awakened a part of her that was buried deep within her,  left forgotten and unknown to the tides of time.  his essence,  his human essence,  awakened the human part within her,  and human words she had never known the meanings to before,  she could now understand with ease.  she felt emotions she had never felt before,  and she didn’t quite understand them,  not fully and not intimately,  but she equated them to similar feelings based on survival whenever she acted in ways that were meant to protect the members of her pack.  now,  she could put words to the emotions,  but she didn’t feel them quite so deeply,  not quite on a human scale.  she never knew what it was that occurred in their minds,  but the hunter offered her an introspective lesson in his final moments,  a valuable one that she would never forget.

it was in this that she decided it was time to leave the foxes behind,  to travel the world,  to learn more of humans,  because for the first time in a long time,  ahri felt something.  she felt excited,  exhilarated  !  it was a rush unlike any other and she wanted to feel it again.  now that she knew the worth of human lives and what they gave to her,  what they had in store to offer her,  simply feeding on animals alone was not enough for her.  the more and more she drank and ate,  the more she learned.  ahri learned quite a bit just traveling as she took in the sights and spoke to the people in the world and observed their lives first hand,  but she learned even more as she killed them and devoured their memories and emotions.  still,  there were some that she did not kill  —  she chanced upon the weak and the sickly in villages and offered them a final outing,  a more peaceful death than the one they were fated to endure.  she soothed them as she drank their essence,  instilling them with a sense of calm and a life without pain that they hadn’t experienced in so long.  ahri found that she preferred the battle  -  worn humans,  the mages,  the ones powerfully skilled with axes and blades.  their power and strength bled into her the most and was greater than any ordinary or frail person was.  she ate and she ate,  and as her emotions grew,  as did her empathy and a battle with her own morality.

with all of the memories that ahri consumes,  she remains lucid throughout it all,  and thereafter.  she can draw the line between her own reality and someone else’s reality and know that it is not her own,  that they were not her experiences,  but the happiness or the anguish that she feels afterwards is still overwhelming.  she feels their joy,  and her own day brightens.  she feels their sorrow,  their pain,  and she weeps.  the pain lingers,  and she feels an anguish for lives she did not live,  memories she was not there to witness.  she learned of other vastaya,  that there were other tribes,  and she wondered if there were others like her,  other fox vastaya.  she had to have come from somewhere,  and she wondered,  how did she end up with the ice foxes  ?  she wondered if something happened to them,  if they were hunted down like animals,  if they were collected for their tails or their magic,  or if she was just simply . . . abandoned.  as powerful as ahri is,  it was hard for her to reconcile with the idea that other vastaya like herself would have been unable to fend for themselves.

ahri traveled endlessly and almost aimlessly,  but kept one goal in mind  —  she was going to find her tribe,  and if she couldn’t,  at least traces of her tribe so that she no longer dwelled in the darkness of the unknown.

she met a countless number of people.  some were kind to her and aided her,  but it helped that her natural charisma and charm made it easy to trust her,  to feel soothed and calm in her presence,  even without her going out of her way to utilize her magic to allow that aura to permeate into the atmosphere.  there were times where she did have to do so in order to get what information she wanted,  but most of the time,  it was a power used in self defense or in her hunts.

i will conclude this post here and continue a discussion of ahri’s weaponization of her charm and beauty,  as well as her concept of beauty,  in a follow up post.  this already got too long.  oops.

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Toshinori/OC piece for the very lovely @evaesis​, featuring her character, Kit, and a *nasty* case of Stockholm Syndrome, even if it presents itself rather sweetly. It’s just nice to write some consensual smut for once, honestly.

Word Count: 3.0k

TW: NSFW, A/B/O Dynamics, Knotting, Delusional Mindsets, Mentions of Kidnapping and Implied Stolkholm Syndrome. 

Kit liked to think it was her natural sense of curiosity.

She didn’t like Toshinori, that much should’ve been common sense. She couldn’t bring herself to hate him, not after spending so much time as his coworker, his confidant, his friend, but she refused to let herself enjoy his company, too. He’d kidnapped her, for fuck’s sake, taken her away from the life she loved, slapped quick-canceling cuffs around her wrists just strong enough to block the more problematic parts of her quirk, and locked her inside of a fortress masquerading as an idyllic, woodsy mansion, too far from the nearest neighbor to be anything but a prison, albeit a comfortable one. When pressed, his only explanation had been his fading power, the last of which was long-gone, by now. She’d pushed him for something more substantial, something logical, but the only thing Kit had to show for it was an unreasonable sense of guilt and a slew of consolation gifts, the latter only working to fuel the former.

She had to resent Toshinori. She needed to resent Toshinori.

What kind of person was she, if she couldn’t even hate her kidnapper?

That was why curiosity had to be the only reason behind her current position - laying on her stomach on the floor of Toshinor’s living room, a computer opened and poised less than an arm’s length away, her eyes never wandering from the screen. It was a modified laptop, made so she could search and browse whatever she wanted, but couldn’t put anything of her own out into it. The kind captured criminals would be given for good behavior. Still, it worked well enough for her intents, the small monitor displaying the shakey, blurry image of All Might in his prime, his brightly colored costume ripped to shreds and something she couldn’t quite make out embedded in his side. A knife, she guessed, or a piece of broken glass. Anything was possible, in the chaos of a real fight.

It was an older video, one taken only a few years after his debut, but Kit couldn’t seem to drag her attention away, not while Toshinori wasn’t home and she had so little to do. She’d seen it before, she must’ve. Everyone had. Everyone knew Toshinori was an idol, a Hero, one who took down all the big, dangerous bad guys less dedicated Pros couldn’t seem to topple. Distantly, she remembered what it’d been like to fight with him, beside Toshinori rather than against him. She’d always been one of the more nervous Heroes, seemingly the only one who could never beat that sense of terror, constant peril, dread. She did her best to be brave, but she wasn’t brave - she wasn’t supposed to be brave. She didn’t have to be. She just had to be heroic.

He was different, though.

Anyone who’d ever been in the same room as him could feel it. He was brave, and valiant and strong, strong enough to pick up the slack whenever she couldn’t dodge a piece of falling debris or reach a civilian in time. She appreciated him, she wasn’t afraid to admit that to herself. He was a good man, beneath all the paranoia and insecurity. He was a Hero.

A protector.

The title stirred something inside her, below her rational disposition and within her omega instincts, giving a voice to a part of her she’d always done her best to suppress. The desire to be protected and the engrained, hereditary guilt that came with rejecting that protection when it’s offered, especially by an alpha, an apex, at that. It wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to, but she couldn’t seem to fight it off, this time, not as the video feed in front of her refocused, All Might and his nameless foe coming into view. Her tails bristled, winding around each other and flicking aimlessly, and her ears flattening against her scalp, but she relaxed as the enemy was quickly subdued, their powers no challenge for Toshinori’s abilities. She wasn’t sure why she’d been worried, no threat was a challenge to him, not in his prime.

He’d retired, though, hadn’t he? She knew he had, she’d watched the fight live. That’d been the first time Kit hugged him, too relieved to do anything but wrap her arms around him and cry silently, if only because he’d come so close to failing, to not being there for her. How long had she’d been nice to him after that? A week, two? How quickly had she’d gone back to being awful, to trying to escape and fighting and hurting him, even if all Toshinori ever did was frown and kiss the top of her head and bandage the wound she’d manage to give herself while attempt to scale the seamless steel wall that surrounded the property. It was a miracle he hadn’t given up on her already, honestly. Leave her behind and chosen an omega who was grateful to have him, an omega who didn’t fight and run and snarl at every opportunity. Crime levels were rising outside, too, villains instilled with a new confidence now that All Might was no longer the one sent to deal with them.

Kit’d never fought in a world without All Might, before. Most Heroes hadn’t.

She didn’t want to fight with a world without All Might.

She pushed herself up, abruptly, gritting her teeth and slamming her laptop shut with so much force, she worried she’d cracked the screen. It took her more pacing than she’d like to admit before she could settle herself, calm her nerves and regain her composure. There was nothing to worry about - she knew what she had to do. If Toshinori would still have her, at least.

He was away, now, tending to one of UA’s scandals and smoothing over the concerns his absence had caused. He’d be back in three days. Four, if she was lucky.

Kit picked up her computer with a sigh, already forming a list in her mind. She had some shopping to do, if she really wanted to earn his forgiveness.

~

She hadn’t expected it to feel this warm.

Kit was an omega, she knew that, she wasn’t naive. This wasn’t her first heat, and she doubted it would be her last, but she’d spent so long under so much stress, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually been affected by her cycle. There were vague memories of teenage hormones, talks of suppressants with doctors who were trying very hard not to blush, but she’d forgotten how hard it was to combat on her own, how sticky the air seemed to turn, how impossible it became to think.

Toshinori on his way - she knew he was. He was already home, the last press conference he was expected to attend having ended earlier that day, but despite his oncoming arrival, she couldn’t seem to sit still, to wait. Her thighs kept clenching, her legs beginning to ache where they were tucked underneath her, mussing up the bed she’d worked so hard to arrange. She’d tried keeping her hands at her sides, but they seemed to want to be anywhere else, fiddling with her hair or tugging at the fingers or crossing over her stomach, where a deep, embedded emptiness had formed, growing more unignorable with each passing second. Her skin was hot to the touch, but she wanted something even warmer to cling to, to rub against and leave her scent on. Her neck throbbed, making her aware of its blankness, how ashamed she should feel for not finding a reason to mar it. She wanted to be held, she wanted to be bitten, she wanted to be bre--

Something pulled her from her thoughts, a smell, a scent. Masculine and husky, so thick she could practically taste it in the air, the scent of an alpha who’d caught an omega in heat. The sound of the bedroom door swinging open was almost secondary, Toshinori’s entrance preceded by something much more enrapturing. Her mind went black, instinct threatening to take over, but she shook it off, focusing instead on Toshinori, or rather, the open-mouthed expression of shock slowly spreading across his features.

She knew what he saw. She hadn’t tried to be subtle, wanting her intentions to come across as blatantly as possible. A smirk pulled at the corners of her lips as she imagined how she must’ve looked, kneeling in front of him, head bowed and dressed head-to-toe in lace, the fabric sheer and thin, nearly translucent everywhere it wasn’t necessary. She’d tried to pick the most tasteful style she could, a respectful baby-doll in a shade of white bright enough to rival the tails winding around each other behind her back. Most importantly, the set was completed by a dainty, decorative collar around her neck, just big enough to draw attention to her mating mark, or lack thereof, rather.

Kit couldn’t help but laugh, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and pushing herself up. Toshinori didn’t move, didn’t speak, stuttering something unintelligible as Kit approached. He was a head taller than her, but Kit wasn’t fazed, wrapping his tie around his first and jerking him down to her height, only letting go to nuzzle against the crook of his neck, her arms soon finding their way to his shoulders. She purred, softly, the sound foreign, even to her. She’d never really tried. She’d never had a mate to purr to.

But, she had a mate, now. And like hell she was going to start resisting her instincts when she’d already come so far.

Toshinori was the first one to break the silence, coming out of his stupor and taking her by the biceps. She would’ve been surprised, if she wasn’t already so far lost in that warm, inviting haze. “This is… This is new,” He stammered, for lack of a better introduction. “Love, did something happen? This isn’t like you.”

“It isn’t,” She agreed, melting into Toshinori. “That’s the problem, right? I was so mean, and so selfish, I couldn’t think about anyone but myself. I thought you were being irrational, but I…” She trailed off, the words still awkward and stiff on her tongue. Luckily, confessions came easily when her lips were pressed against his skin. “I was wrong. I’m sorry about all those awful things I said.” She sighed, silently, moving in closer, seeking more of the warmth under his skin, only glancing towards his expression once she was settled. He made no attempt to hide his skepticism, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his lips. He didn’t quite believe her, not yet. She tried to sound more convincing, although her voice still found a way to tremble. “I’d like to make it up to you, if you’d let me.”

Toshinori opened his mouth, but he didn’t get the chance to speak. Before he could get a word out, something in Kit’s chest pounded, the reverberation running down her spine and shooting straight into her unprepared, unfilled core. She doubled over before she could stop herself, digging her nails into the jacket of his suit and letting out something between a cry and a moan, whatever discomfort she felt multiplying. Again, he moved to express his concern, but she stopped him. “Toshi-” One hand rose to the faux-collar, all-but tearing at the thin fabric. She didn’t want anything in her way, in his way. “Alpha.”

She’d barely finished when what was left of Toshinori’s resolve snapped, dissolved, disappeared. She yelped as an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her off her feet and throwing her onto the bed behind them, leaving her to squirm and writhe, each movement leaving her aware of the fresh slick staining her thighs, the white silk of her panties quickly turning translucent. Meanwhile, Toshinori pulled wildly at his suit, disregarding buttons and knots in favor of ripping at whatever wouldn’t come undone quickly enough. Kit tried to move back, to find something to steady herself with, but Toshinori was faster, standing in front of her one moment and on top of her the next, a hand around her neck, ready to squeeze at the slightest hint of resistance.

“What a daring omega, dressing up like a whore and tempting your alpha,” He muttered, his voice low, rough, almost verging on aggressive. Kit’s lips parted, but all she managed to release was a strangled whine as Toshinori’s free hand ghosted over her chest, brushing against her side before finding its target, cupping her cunt and dragging another pained sound from her throat. A finger traced the length of her covered slit teasingly, what was left of her self-control fading as the urge to be filled by something, anything replaced it. She didn’t want to think, grinding against the pitiful sensation and seeking out any friction she could get, her pride be damned. Toshinori only chuckled, pressing a thumb against her clit and reveling at how quickly her breath hitched in her throat. “How long have you been planning this? That outfit must’ve taken quite a bit of time to find… unless someone’s had this little number in mind since I brought her home.”

“N-No!” The denial was weak, only spurring Toshinori on, her panties soon around her knees, allowing Kit to kick them away. The babydoll didn’t last much longer, soon ripped down the middle and shoved away as his focus shifted, falling towards her chest. In the blink of an eye, a hickey was being sucked into the top of her breast, then its twin to match. His mouth closed around her nipple, suckling and licking until the peak was sensitive and pebbled, but Kit was impatient, her sex swollen and soaked and screaming for attention. Swiftly, she entangled her fingers in his hair, tugging just hard enough to get his attention. “It hurts,” She mumbled, voice barely loud enough for him to hear. As if on cue, something inside of her began to ache, the sensation nearly bringing tears to her eyes. “I want it, Toshi’, I want you. I can’t wait any longer.”

He paused, for a moment, going still. “Darling, I haven’t even--”

“Please.” She was whining, now, pleading with him, even if her eyes were shut as tightly as they could’ve been. “I need to be mated, alpha.

That was all it took. She heard a belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric, and just like that, she got what she wanted, what she’d beg for. A thick cockhead dragged across her entrance, but that was all the warning she got before he was pushing inside her, Kit’s cunt providing as little resistance as it possibly could. He groaned as he sunk, proceeding slowly and letting her adjust, but his self-restraint could only last so long. By the time he was hilted, Toshinori was growling into her neck, searching for something he couldn’t quite reach. Something he wasn’t going to stop looking for until he found.

Kit hardly had time to whimper before he was pulling out, a hand latching onto the base of her tails and wrenching her over, barely giving her time to bend her knees before she was being dropped, forced to support herself as Toshinori slotted himself against her back. He’d lost his delicacy, his caring touch, opting instead to give in to his own instincts, driving his cock into the deepest parts of her and abusing any spot that made her keep and cry and bury her face in the bedsheets. Her yearning was overwhelmed, forced into submission by pleasure, fulfillment. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, something sharp and ruthless embedded itself in her neck, her scent gland, no doubt leaving a string of bruises and puncture marks in its wake.

A mating mark.

Her mating mark.

Instantly, every sensation became white-hot electricity, frying her nerves and exploiting them, turning each touch, each thurst into something euphoric. Her body wrapped around his with a religious devotion, her back arching and moans forcing themselves through her lips unabashedly. Toshinori was no better, any sounds he might’ve made muffled by how snuggly his face was pressed into her shoulder, but the way his uneven pace stuttered and sped up was unignorable, a tell-tale sign to his own reaction. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” He panted, more for himself than for her. “My beautiful omega, my perfect omega. My omega.”

“Alpha…” She mewled, her end approaching too quickly, too suddenly. Without warning, she was clenching around him, the world turning white and her mind going blank as she bucked against his hips, craving anything she could get that would prolong her state of elation. She didn’t have to worry, though. Toshinori steadied himself on the small of her back, taking in a ragged breath before shuddering, forcing something much bigger through her tight entrance. It took her a moment to comprehend what the swell testing the walls of her cunt was, but the realization wasn’t an unpleasant one, not when she figured out what exactly was filling her to the brim.

His knot.

All Might’s knot.

He called out incoherently as he came, his seed claiming her inside and out, painting her walls and seeping out around his cock, dripping over her thighs. Between attempting to catch her breath and Toshinori’s gentle, comforting ministrations, everything else seemed to fade into the background, Kit simply laying bad and letting big, careful hands position her amongst an array of pillows and blankets. She just sought his warm, her arms wrapping around his torso and refusing to let go. She felt him comb through her hair, but he was smiling when she glanced up blearily, the extent of her exhaustion suddenly dawning on her. “My mate,” He whispered, bending down to peck at her lips between words. “My wonderful, beautiful mate. Sleep, sweetheart. Don’t keep yourself awake.”

She didn’t argue, only nodding and burrowing into his chest, listening to his heartbeat as she began to fade out of consciousness.

She’d never felt more protected.