#look its you! new hands new throat new living tissue

[cidade-tempero]

lifetime achievement award

[tadpolesonalgae]

Helion x Reader: New Mechanisms[*]

A/N: HAHAHAHA I LOVE HIM

Warnings: Helion being a fun and kinky husband.

You could smell the wine before you even opened the door leading his chambers—top floor of the palace.

He’s already sprawled across a chaise, adored in a cotton robe threaded with gold, the usual arm band fashioned to a snake sitting comfortably around his bicep. His eyes slide to your figure, sharpening with a predatory gleam as he raises the bottle to his mouth, drinking deeply.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” you drawl, shutting the double doors behind you, moving across the open space of the living room.

It’s cavernous, almost. The wards are down today, allowing a breeze to sweep through, a pleasant refresher to the stuffiness of your work place. The light wind swishes the hem of your light dress which ends just above your ankles, feet adorned in low heels, cream leather with golden thread accenting the laces that wrap up your calves. Perhaps fashioned to match your husband. He does so enjoy it when you look the part of a happy couple.

You shuck off the uniform blazer of your work place: a thin, tuscan red, cashmere jacket that’s lined with viscose on its interior. Light, and breathable enough for you not to swelter in the heat of the Day Court.

“I have a day off tomorrow, wife.” That gleam in his eye promises nothing but divine pleasure, and it’s taken you years to master the art of not crumbling when he gives you that look. Instead, you set your bag down on one of the sandstone counters, already reaching to free your hair from its relatively neat restraint.

“I’m sure you’ll be happy to spend it resting then, husband.” You emphasis, setting down on one of the hand carved wooden stools surrounding the counter as you begin untying your heels, exposing the length of your leg.

“I will do no such thing,” he drawls, popping a grape into his mouth, tipping his head back to catch it, exposing the strong column of his throat. The dark skin you want to taste. The skin beneath those robes, too.

His eyes gleam, catching your glance, smirking at you.

You merely roll your eyes, allowing one shoe to drop to the floor while you start on the other. “Wine and cooled grapes? My, my, Helion. So decadent.”

“You should see what I’m planning to have tonight. She puts decadent to shame.”

You raise a brow, peering at him from your seat, “such a shameless flirt. Honestly, one would think you’d be satiated by now.”

A deep, rich laugh rumbles from his chest, and warmth ignites in your chest from the sound alone. “Me? Tire of you?” You roll your eyes again, but that’s indeed a smile that’s lifting the edges of your mouth. He never fails to make you feel divine. Delectable. As if you’re the most mouth-watering creature he’s ever come across.

You reach for the bag once you’ve removed your final heel. “I may have gotten a little present for my hard-working High Lord,” you croon, a teasing smile playing on your lips. His hand stills on the way to his mouth, the grape moments away from being devoured.

His attention narrows onto your figure as you collect the bag, bare feet slapping against the cool, stone panels as you make your way over to him. You push his long legs off the chaise, as if you’re making to sit beside him. Except you slide into his lap, seating yourself atop one of his muscled thighs, pushing the bag to him.

“Are you going to make me guess this time? Or am I free to open it and see the wonders inside?” He teases, but you can tell he’s interested in its contents. You lean forward, a hand wrapping around his wrist as you steal the grape from his fingers, lips grazing their pads before you pull away, grinning.

“You’re free to open it,” you say, delighting in the refreshingly cool juice of the fruit.

From inside, he pulls out an object wrapped in aquamarine tissue paper. He recognises the signature card that accompanies it instantly.

His eyes snap to you, voice low and rough as he drawls, “where’s this from?” You offer another grin at the husky baritone, settling your hand on the window of dark skin his robe reveals at the top of his broad chest. “Just something I’ve recently finalised from work,” you grin wickedly.

A growl resounds in his chest, “you didn’t mention you were nearing the end of your…project.”

“Would you like me to take it back? Technically this is a prototype, so I shouldn’t even be showing it to you, High Lord.” You reach for the tissue but he pulls it out of your reach, chuckling. His free hand wraps around your waist, pulling you against him, “here you are, stealing things from work,” he drawls, hand lowering to your hip, “yet every believes you to be the sweet, innocent one.”

You raise a single brow in challenge, “are you saying you’re the sweet, innocent one?” He looks like he’s about to reply, but you shift in his lap, “open it.”

“Impatient.” He mutters, but follows your order, removing the tissue paper to reveal the object. His brow scrunches as he studies the toy. You laugh at his expression, “you’re looking as if you expected to know what it was.”

His eyes slide to you, “it’s entirely new?” You offer him a sultry smile, “I might have made a few modifications for it to…fit.”

He swallows. “How does it work?”

The grin on your mouth turns feline, “want me to show you?”

————

He’d nodded, and when you had moved to walk to the bedroom, he’d simply snuck his large palms beneath your ass, and scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his hips. You startled, but quickly settled into him, thighs squeezing him as you felt the very obvious sign of his arousal.

You’d wound against him teasingly, to which he’d let out a rough laugh before seating himself at the edge of the bed, keeping you spread out over his lap.

Your dress has hiked up to your thighs from having him between them, but you make no move to pull it down.

“Want to at least explain what you’re about to put me through, honey?” He drawls, enjoying how your hands deftly begin unfastening the clasps at his broad shoulders, ridding him of the offending cotton. Your eyes flick to his with a sultry glint, “hell.”

His mouth twists into a divine grin of blissful resignation. “I would expect no less from my wife.” You practically purr at that. Even after all these years, it does something to you. When he calls you his wife. A shiver runs down your spine as you allow Helion to remove the rest of his robes as your hands drop to your dress. You lift onto your knees to help him, until you’re both naked.

“You mentioned some modifications?” He drawls, gripping your hips, rolling you gently over his thighs, so you’re pressed tight to his abdomen.

You reach for the invention of yours: it’s a thick, hollow circle, wrapped in what looks like rubber but’s much softer, has more give. It’s cream coloured, with golden dusted edges where the seams would be. At one end is a swell of that rubbery material that’s softly serrated. Tiny, neat ridges ingrained as they are on the interior of the ring.

“I had to make it a little…larger. To accommodate you, comfortably,” you reply, and you feel pleasure warm you cheeks at the mention of his generous…size. A purely male grin lifts his lips at that, and you can feel the pride radiating from the cocky male.

“You and that cock of yours,” you drawl, incredulously.

He shoots you a grin that, were you standing, would’ve had you on your knees in an instant. “I thought you liked this cock of mine,” he smirks, shifting his hips so you can feel the size of him against your tummy.

You look him in the eyes as you settle your hands on his shoulders, raising to your knees, “more than you know, husband.” His hands brace your hips, “no prep?” He’s frowning at you—disapprovingly. You flush, and look away shyly for a moment, an embarrassed smile on your lips. “The testers today… I might have volunteered to try another prototype, one that isn’t fully ready yet…”

He groans, cupping your cheeks, staring up at you from your raised position, “is that what the tug was? That wave of happiness I felt earlier today, hm?” Your hands overlap his, nodding, and he moans at the mental image. “Tell me what happened.”

He grips himself, free hand resting on your hip, guiding you downward, slowly. “I…It’s the twin to the one I brought home a few months ago…” you manage. A contented sigh leaves your lips as you take the first two inches of him, and you struggle for words. He just grins, smugly. Helion raises you to his tip, only to encourage you further down, and the pads of your fingers dig into the muscle of his shoulders. “keep going,” he drawls, and you can’t tell if he’s talking about your daytime adventures or sinking down onto his cock.

“It’s…got similar mechanisms as this one…” you breathe, lifting your hips, then taking more of him. “Making it…more advanced…” you manage, panting as you take as much of him as you can.

His hands snake up your front, thumbing your nipples, attaching his mouth to your own as moans are exchanged between you. You keep still for a while, catching your breath while Helion lays his lips over your neck, nipping and biting as you pant, feeling full. “You’re taking me so well, honey.” He kisses your throat, “I know it’s a big stretch for you.”

Smug bastard.

You can practically feel his cocky grin as you try to keep from losing your head just having him pressing so tight against you. It’s so good.

You pull at his onyx hair, pulling his devilish mouth from your skin, “we’ll see who’s struggling after this, shall we?” The spark in his eyes shows he accepts your challenge. “Maybe hold your horses until you won’t pass out from the slightest movement,” he drawls, making you scowl.

He sees you opening your mouth, but grips your hips, rolling you down. You gasp, slumping forward, head resting on his shoulder as he chuckles, stroking your hair. “I know, I know,” he soothes, “it’s a lot to take, isn’t it?” You can barely manage to scowl at his conceited words disguised as comfort.

He’s right, though.

With more strength than should be necessary, you manage to lift yourself from his lap, settling back onto his thighs. You reach for the toy, sliding it over the head of his cock. Helion shivers as you gently slide it down, like how you had done with yourself—making sure the rubbery contraption is slicked well, moving it with ease.

It settles at his base, where you struggle to reach—with your cunt or your mouth.

Shakily, you raise up again, perching at his tip. You might honestly pass out from pleasure this time. You can feel the aroused heat bubbling beneath your skin, and can practically taste his own in the air.

Helion help as you sink down onto him, grasping you by the hips until that swell at the front of the toy is pressing over your clit. You shiver in anticipation and he twitches in response. It seems both of you are desperate for that first release—which will inevitably lead to a number more following.

Your thighs are trembling, but you manage to reach around, finding the finger-tip sized invert in the mechanism. “I’m honestly not sure if I’ll be able to move once this turns on,” you warn gently. He gives you a devious smile. “What do you think all these muscles are for?” You tighten around him as his grip intensifies over your hips. The thought of him slamming you down is enough to have your own strength giving out.

His eyes gleam as if he’s read the thought in your mind.

“Why don’t you start it up, huh?” He drawls softly, pressing a kiss to your nose. You swallow, but tap the divot twice, and the vibrations start.

You gasp, sucking in a breath as the sensations swell over your clit, sending tiny ricochets bound up your body. Helion groans in response, and you know he’s feeling it too—the rapid, quick-fire pulses squeezing his cock in fast succession. Your back curves, pressing down, driving him deeper until he’s touching that spot inside of you that makes you weep when he abuses it.

“Fuck, honey…” Helion moans, gripping you tight. “What a wicked mind you have.” You only manage a soft whine in response, that turns into a whimper when he lifts you up—just as he promised, and—

Oh gods—

—slams you down.

Your eyes roll, nails biting into him as pleasure doubles…triples within you, rapidly dividing over and over until you’re made of euphoria. You can’t manage words, they’re beyond you. Just met with endless waves of pleasure as he continues raising your hips then roughly sliding you back down. Making sure his cock kisses that spot inside you every damn time.

It’s so much, so much that you can feel the high building already, gathering with enough force to promise to send you reeling, melting into him. And you’re entirely right.

The high knocks you off your feet, and you slump into your husband, collapsing as your mouth opens over his shoulder. You bite down lightly, a gentle scrape of your teeth over his dark skin as you moan from the intensity.

You think you scream as he keeps up the pace, making you gush, release spurting from you when it can, splashing down him as he growls with male pleasure.

One large palm scoops beneath you, his middle and forefinger fitting either side of his cock as he helps you bounce up and down, soaking them in the process. You can feel him spilling into you in response to your fluttering cunt, and you moan, crying out at the pleasure.

Helion grips your jaw lightly, pulling you back gently and your brows curve with the effort. Heat engulfs your body as he raises those soaked fingers to his mouth, lapping at your flavour while he watches you hungrily.

The moment his mouth is free, you’re opening your lips over him, kissing him deeply as you take in the taste. Moans and groans fill the room, arousal twining in the air.

The High Lord doesn’t give you a moment’s rest, laying back on the bed, a pillow beneath his head so he can watch.

Watch as he grips your hips firmly, and begins all over again.

The air is kicked from your lungs, a strained whimper dragging from your throat as he bucks upward. The swell of rubber presses flush against your clit, still sending those rapid, sporadic pulses and you mewl.

“Mother—fuck, Helion!” You gasp as he rolls his hips against yours, already pounding into you, making you bounce. He hardly needs a second of recovery time. You grit your teeth as he slams into you, panting, jerking slightly every time those vibrations wash upon the apex of your thighs.

“Come on,” he groans, thumbs rubbing over your hips, “you can do another. I know you can.”

All your muscles tighten with the overstimulation. Your thighs flexing, stomach clenching with pleasure as tears brim at the edges of your lashes. “Helion…” you whimper.

It was the wrong thing to do. It’s only ever spurred him on.

He grips you firmly, bands of light contracting around your waist as he pulls your down on his cock. That damned swell on the toy overlapping your clit, sending those tight, intense pulses.

You scream, your palms smacking against his hard stomach, pressing against the muscle as your mouth drops open. “What did you say earlier?” He drawls, keeping you flush to the mechanism. “Seeing who would be struggling more?” He laughs, and it’s deep and rich, a shiver running down your spine.

Another high is already building from the insane stimulation and you roll your hips against Helion’s. He jerks and groans deeply but forces his hands away, allowing you to pleasure him.

You settle your hands on his stomach and raise your hips before slamming down.

Helion snarls with pleasure, growling at the back of his throat as he feels how tightly you’re hugging him, how eagerly you’re riding him.

“Helion…” you moan. It’s sweet enough he brings his hands to your hips, and helps you along. Grinding against you. Bucking up. Slamming you down.

Your nails bite into him but neither of you care. Honestly, you think Helion likes that edge. Knowing how good he’s making you feel.

It’s not much longer before you’re both spiralling again, and you’re fully aware of how loud you scream.

“Gracious, honey,” Helion remarks roughly, that deep drawl that drags from his throat sending mindless pleasure spinning beneath your skin. He follows behind you, your own release setting his off as euphoria spills down the bond, flooding his mind as he continues slamming you down until you’re putty in his hands.

Your shoulders slump, and this time you reach round and double tap the divot in the toy, bringing to a standstill. You gasp, gulping down air as you pant. Helion’s hands wrap over your shoulders, pulling you down against him, the bands of light removing themselves. You go very willingly, melting into the strong warmth of him.

“I think you’re little invention worked a bit too well, honey,” he drawls, rubbing your back soothingly, feeling how drained you already are.

“It’s not little at all,” you grumble, half slurring your words through fatigue.

He laughs in response, but moves to sit upright.

“Dear gods, don’t—” A whine spills from your lips as his cock shifts inside of you and your back arches from sensitivity, nipples scraping over his chest. “You can either get off, or we can go another round,” Helion taunts, bucking his hips slightly.

You release a garbled sound that makes him smirk—smug. So smug.

You scramble off him, thighs trembling as you collapse onto the bed. Helion discards the too good toy, removing it to the bathroom where it would be washed—later.

He’s already tucking you in beside him despite the sun still just about the horizon. “What skilled hands you have, wife,” he mocks, softly, pressing kisses to your forehead as he plasters you against his chest. “I think my mouth’s a little better, husband,” you shoot back, making him nip at the tip of your ear. “Don’t tempt me.”

You huff a laugh, tipping your head to look at him, “you and your libido.”

“Insatiable. I know,” he gives you a grin that tells you he’s not at all ashamed of it. You kiss him, letting him know you agree.

“One day,” you murmur, wearily. “One day, I’m going to ware you out.”

He just laughs merrily, holding you tight, “keep dreaming, wife.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[interstellarflare]

Don’t Blame Me || Homelander

-PART ONE-

Warnings: Gore, violence, course language, angst, mature themes, 18+.

Summary: After several long and uneventful months since John’s abrupt departure, Vought’s plan to present the Cerberus project to the public as a superhuman taskforce roughly forces you back into working with The Boys. This time, things will be more difficult as new threats arise, and former friends turn against each other. And all for what? Love makes people crazy, and John will stop at nothing to protect you.

Authors Note: SEQUEL SERIES TO BEND AND BREAK. Here it is! The long awaited sequel to Bend and Break. I am so excited to be writing this, I have so many surprises in store that you guys simply aren’t ready for. If time permits with university starting back up again, I plan for this series to be a little longer than its predecessor. Unfortunately the update schedule will remain the same as I will be very busy, but any spare minute I have will be dedicated to getting this series out there. So please enjoy Don’t Blame Me. A tag list is currently open for anyone wishing to be notified for future parts. Gif by @linusbenjamin

John was staring down at you with an expression you couldn’t read. No one had ever looked at you like that before, with such emotion, with such - 

Pain...there was so much pain.

The air was taken from your lungs as John flinched. Blood splattered the front of his uniform, tiny horrifying droplets coating his skin. A strange warmth suddenly spread over your chest, a deep rumbling cough caused the pain in your chest to increase. Blood dribbled from your mouth. Your blood.

The ringing in your ears became louder and louder, drowning out the terror-filled shouts from downstairs, and John’s frantic cries.

The last thing you saw was his furious expression. His blue eyes glowing a bright red in rage, hatred, and pure madness.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as you sat upright in bed, awaking in a cold sweat and panting heavily.

Your eyes darted around the room as your hands clutched at your chest, your fingertips grazing the scarred tissue of the bullet wound below your collar bone. As the ringing in your ears began to subside, and the echo of the gunshot stopped bouncing off the walls, you released a long and shaky sigh. You buried your head in your hands, trying to dispell the sick feeling forming in your stomach as you sat there motionless, breathing deeply through the nausea.

Over the last month, this had become a regular occurance. The nighmares of your accident had begun to haunt your dreams, and it was something that you couldn’t seem to escape. You didn’t understand why this was happening now. It had been several quiet months since you had been shot, and it was now that your trauma from that moment had decided to come back and bite you in the ass.

Great. Just what you needed.

The nausea had somewhat eased, enough for you to now lift your head from your hands and turn your gaze towards your bedroom window. A single beam of light flowed through the curtains, creating a bright line along the carpeted floor. You sighed heavily, rubbing your eyes with small yawn. The sound of a gentle knock coming from your apartment door caused an annoyed groan to escape your lips. You were tempted to just lie back down and bury your head under the covers, had it not been for the knock getting louder and harsher.

“Y/n? Are you awake? I made some breakfast and wanted to know if you were interested. Max is already inside and he’s about to eat everything if you don’t hurry up”.

You chuckled lightly as Ben’s voice travelled through your apartment, rolling your eyes as you forced yourself out of your bed. Throwing on an old sweater over your pyjamas, you trudged through the hallway into your living room and over to the door, opening it with a half-sleepy smile. You were met with those soft piercing green hues, peering down at you with a gentle grin. “Good morning...” You spoke roughly, clearing your throat with an awkward huff “was Max out here when you came over to ask me?”

“Oh no, he had been knocking on your door for about ten minutes before I let him in” Ben replied, chuckling loudly as you buried your head in your hands out of embarressment. You peeked up at him through your fingers, giggling softly as you shook your head. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear him at all-”

“Don’t worry about it, honestly...” Ben interrupted, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned against your doorframe “the kid is adorable. I’ve got a soft spot for him.”

“Doesn’t everyone” You replied saracstically, giving him a teasing glare as Ben rolled his eyes. Stepping away from your doorframe, he motioned his head towards his open apartment door across the hall “Get inside”.

You laughed, moving past him with a small smile as you entered his apartment. It was nowhere as neat as yours, but it had its own, slightly messy charm that you didn’t seem to mind. It more disorganised than messy, with a few things out of place, and a random jacket or shirt tossed somewhere obsurely in the room. As you lifted your gaze towards the kitchen, you shook your head with a laugh as you spotted your nephew, mouth full of pancakes with cheeks full like a chipmunk. He grinned up at you through his food, speaking a muffed “Good moring!” as he continued to shovel in more.

“Okay, why don’t you slow down. You’re going to make yourself sick” you scolded, making your way over to your nephew’s side and peering over his shouler to give his temple a quick kiss in greeting. Max swallowed, spinning to face you as you made your way over towards the kettle “Hey! I was standing outside your apartment for hours! I’m starving-”

“It wasn’t hours...” Ben interrupted, walking over and placing his hand atop Max’s head, ruffling his hair “don’t lie to your aunt”. You laughed, rolling your eyes as you disappeared into the kitchen, deciding to prepare some toast for yourself. You decided that something simple was best, since your stomach was still feeling a litte uneasy. You could feel Ben’s presence behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he placed his head on your shoulder.

“You had another nightmare again, didn’t you?” he asked quietly, pressing a featherlight kiss to the sensetive spot behind your ear. You shivered and sighed, shaking your head with a small groan. “How did you know?”

“I can hear your heartbeat, it’s beating like crazy. Although that could be because of me-”

“It’s not because of you...” You replied shortly, slyly slipping out of his grasp and turning to face him with an annoyed expression, “You can stop pretending you’re interested in me, I know Butcher had you move in here to protect me.”

“You don’t know that” Ben chuckled, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the countertop, “you’re a very attractive wom-”

“You’re also the father of my ex-boyfriend...” You spoke blatantly, choking back laughter at the shocked expression that formed on Ben’s face. His eyes widened, a deer in headlights as his lips parted as he struggled to find a retort. Grinning victoriously, your eyes narrowed into a playful glare as you turned to face the kitchen dooray, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“Watch yourself, Soldier Boy. You lay a hand on me that way, and Butcher will have your head.”

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Ben held his hands up defensively, before his form disappeared from your view as you made your way back over to your nephew. With his eyes wide and beaming, his cheeks stained with syrup and cream, you laughed with a small shake of your head. “Come on you, let’s get you to school...” You sighed, ushering him out of his chair and towards the door, “just give me a minute to go change, and then we’ll get going, okay? Go sit in my living room.”

With a loud enthusiastic ‘goodbye!’, Max raced out of Ben’s apartment and into yours, grabbing his bag on the way. As you walked across the hall and into your apartment, you paused in the doorway and turned back towards’s Ben’s. He was standing in the living room, his eyes meeting yours as he gave you a small but respectful smile. “When did you figure it out?” He asked quietly, his head tilting slightly in confusion as he waited for your reply.

You rolled your eyes with a knowing smile, “Which part? That Butcher put you here, or that you’re my ex-boyfriend’s dad?”

“Both...” He replied awkwardly, “the second part isn’t exactly public knowledge.”

You hummed in thought, before replying honestly. “I had my suspicions, but truthfully...I just asked Hughie.”

“Jesus woman-”

“Aw, you thought I was smart.”

“I know you are, that’s what scares me.”

You stuck out your tongue in reply, stepping into your apartment and closing the door harshly. Now in the privacy of your own home, a huge weight began to settle in your chest. That sick feeling in your stomach began to come back as you moved to rest your forehead against the door. You knew that Butcher meant well, by placing Ben in the apartment across from yours. But it still felt strange, especially knowing what you knew now.

With a long and heavy sigh, you pushed away that aching feeling in your chest and turned around to be met with Max’s questioning expression, his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he examined your form. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking you over completely for any signes of distress. Nodding your head, you shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m alright buddy, I’ll get changed and we’ll go okay” you replied, giving your nephew a small assuring wink before disappearing into your bedroom. Changing into a pair of worn shorts, an old t-shirt and an old black sweater you blieved belonged to an old supe friend, you emerged from your bedroom and grabbed your car keys from the kitchen counter. “You ready bud?”

“Fuck yeah, let’s go!” Max cheered, jumping up from the couch whilst slinging his backpack over his shoulders. Your eyes widened and a shocked gasp escaped your lips. “MAX! No swearing!” You scolded, glaring down at the young boy with your mouth open in disbelief. Your nephew folded his arms over his chest, pouting as he moved to follow you back out into the hall. “Billy let’s me swear-”

“Billy is not a role model!” You shrieked, shoving your nephew through the door and laughing loudly whilst Max giggled evilly. 

Tag List: @motionless-friction @apollonshootafar @bronze-metal @laceyauandromedus @escritora-de-imagines @life-is-a-cruel-game @sabrinaselina55 @madamestarlight @quixscentsposts @hc-official @bluemarsuniverse @naxxsstuff @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @liajiah @mystical-wonderland-of-me @madhatter2727 @thexhostess @staplerrrr @how-am-i-serpose-to-know @gingerwrites @prurose @the-number7 @miss-puregotti @marcshonda @kahelis @ddeandracnight @morven-aranea @dawnwriterimagines @lost-redstart @firelonewolf @soft-damergrove @clean-soap @coloursunlimited @cynthianokamaria @shilsvampsinger @freshmakertaco @starlight-boo @lauraaan182 @tardis-23 @freshmakertaco @shilsvampsinger @cynthianokamaria @delicatetimetravelarcade @coloursunlimited @clean-soap @themarch-oftheblackqueen @soft-hargreeves @kennedywxlsh @itskatrinahere @morven-aranea @sublimebearalienhuman @unlikelyllamanerd @charmed-asylum @nati-epic-jelly @micksschumi @transformers-insanity @sam-quinn @lover1307​ @nerdytif​ @jinnieats​ 

[jolapeno]

the day frankie came home

frankie morales x f!reader

he’s been gone for ten days, and don’t you both know it.

wordcount: 3.2k themes: smut. p in v. fingering. cunnilingus. mirror sex. frankie talking dirty. an: this is in the same world as resurrected chances, but you don't need to read it. it does follow on from long distance - but again can be read without.

written for the #hauntedhoedown kink: mirror sex. be kind, i do not write smut, but this idea was ✨

Restfulness has become your new friend.

It encasing its hands around you, sliding its long fingers up and over your shoulders as soon as your eyes had opened. It tightening its hold when you had sipped your morning coffee—the bitterness mixing with the sweetness of your excitement.

Because he‘s on his way.

Your eyes landing on the boots you hadn’t had the heart to move.

The ones abandoned, him having promised to put them away the night he’d been packing. You purposefully choosing to leave them there, allowing yourself to live a fantasy that he hadn’t gone anywhere to begin with.

Those boots, and the hat he left behind, making you feel less lonely, even if he called, texted.

You’re just grateful that soon you wouldn’t need to play pretend.

Sweeping your eyes over the place, you gnaw at your bottom lip. Weight shifting from leg to leg, toes curling against the wooden flooring. Your heart hammering, knocking on your ribs and vibrating through your body—

Then you hear it—the sound of soon arriving.

The noticeable grumble of his vehicle, headlights splaying light through the partially opened blinds and curtains, shimmering light over the life the two of you had begun building.

It flutters through you, that excited apprehension—all quickly, more forcibly. Beating into your bones as your fingers twitch at your side—thighs pressing together—dancing the tips of your nails over the new lace and silk bought for his return.

You hadn’t known how quiet your home could be without him, until you slid open the tissue paper that housed the lingerie you’d chosen with him in mind. The purchase you’d kept a secret, burning a hole in your chest when he’d asked about your day—voice dripping, husky and sultry, down the phone as the surprise curled furiously on your tongue. Even more so when he slid the intensity up on the app—your moan falling with so much ease, you’re sure he could have made you confess to things you’d never even done. Asking you in a low whisper, have you been a good girl?

The sound of his door slamming shut makes you move—not quite a jump, but it isn’t a flinch either. Your throat is dry, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. Your body.

Do you pose?

Do you lean on the sofa for him to come into the house?

It was new, this—it all foreign.

Previously, Frankie had only ever been gone a few days since the two of you had bought the house. Even then, there had been little point (or time) in building up his return with whispered phone calls and long-distance apps that turn your knickers from something practical to something that makes your thighs shake, and your toes curl.

“Bet you look as pretty as you sound, baby.” “Can’t wait for you to see for yourself, Frankie.”

You’ve dreamt of him. Waking up, hand stretched out, greeted only by cold and ensnared in disappointment. A temptation, a need—one you ignore if only to keep your promise.

But now he’s here.

Your eyes spot him, noticing the outline of his broad shoulders and loose curls in the glass of the front door. His key sliding in, catching, your heart all set to thump out your chest, tongue heavy, thick—

Then you’re swallowed by his eyes. Brown and soft—before shifting into something instantly devoured by lust as his duffel meets the ground with a thump, the door shutting with a slam.

“Fuck.”

Shifting on the spot, your fingers brush against the top of your thigh. “You like, baby?”

From the smashed photo frame, (likely) chipped key bowl and takeout menus scattered across the entryway floor, Frankie likes you in this lingerie.

His mouth is hot, slanting over yours as the roughness of the sideboard scratches against your skin.

You don’t complain—you’d never complain. Demanding him closer, desperate to have him flush against your body; wishing to feel every inch of him, against every part of you. All the things you’ve missed, the laughter, the body heat, slams into the desire that’s ebbed and flowed since he’d left.

He must be thinking the same. His pulse quick, racing—fluttering against your palm as your legs wrap around him. Fixing him here, keeping him in place. Words such as ‘Don’t leave me, don’t go anywhere ever again’ wanting to fall. Instead, they’re spilt behind his teeth, never heard by his ears.

Frankie answers you in the way he knows how.

His mouth descending, tongue swirling and sliding over lace, silk and cloth, until he’s staring up at you from his knees. Mouth latching over the fabric which covers your pussy—hungry, desperate, needy.

With a movement and a tug, he brings your legs over his shoulders. Your underwear being slid to the side, already soaked—ruined.

His eagerness fuels you, making you arch, finding leverage on the wood as you grip the edge—feeling his fingers slide the lace from your skin before he licks a long stripe up your seam. But it isn’t that which makes your toes curl, but the noise he emits when he does.

The air thinning, tightening—warmth pooling in your stomach as something loosely ties, begins to knot. You gasp, fingers finding refuge in his hair, clutching his curls as he spells something against your core.

One thing you’ve learnt, is when his tongue is on you, he can move it like it’s made of liquid. Frankie rolls and flicks—lapping up all he can as he silently begs you for more. Each movement done with the aim to crack you open—all desperate to find the prize hidden inside of you.

The one Frankie always finds.

His lips latching to your clit, sucking, fingers slipping in—spreading you as you moan.

He’s determined like that, made from grit and shaped by orders and missions. Something to prove ever on his mind. They’re set by him, expected by him—aiding and guiding—to drive him as he replaces his fingers by plunging his tongue inside you. Your head flips back, eyes open—staring at the light fixture he’d been so proud to fit, canting your hips, riding his face—

“Shit, Frankie—fuck, there, please.”

He knows.

You know he does. It’s why he’s being relentless. It’s a reward, and a thank you—both for waiting and reminding him he’s something worth waiting for.

It’s why you’re sure you can feel him smiling against you, it broadening when your vision goes white—spots in the corners, throat spraying his name against the entrance hall of your home.

You also suspect it’s why he doesn’t remove his face for several seconds, seeing what more he can coax from you.

A breather is barely given before you’re being led—more dragged—from the hallway to your bedroom.

He’s wearing a grin, all mischievous and hungry.

If you didn’t want to have him inside of you, you’d ask why. What it was he’s thinking of, let him draw it out—map it, so the two of you can make it a reality. Instead, you decide to allow him to show it to you. Let suspense build where restfulness has carved a hole in you.

You are not someone who likes the unknown, but with him, you surrender. All trusting without question, something he knows, sees. Enjoys.

A thing he’s whispered against your skin plenty of times when the two of you have caught your breaths, limbs tangled and peppered in sweat.

I love that you trust me, querida.

It's a dance now. One the two of you excel at, forever performing at the top of your game. You know to leave your need for control at the door—surrendering it to him; he knows to take the baton handed to him proudly—brow cocked and smirk evident—as he guides you to where he needs you.

He created words, pinned them to the corner of your brain—a place never blown away by pleasure or need. Just in case, he had said, mouth brushing over your neck. Want you to always feel safe, Cariño.

The word had only been whispered once—a while ago. You’d watched how his act went, dissolved, vanished, pulling you close and providing you all the comfort he could give as you apologised and provided whispered explanations.

It’s why it was easy to give him control, you knew you could trust him—with your heart, body and soul.

He pulls you back, demanding your entire attention—likely realising he’s lost you to your come-down and your thoughts. His fingers under your chin, forehead pressing to yours. “Te he extrañado, baby.”

“Missed you more, Frankie.”

If it sounds childish, you don’t care. Lips catching him, ghosting over his, wearing a giddy smirk as the back of your knees press against the mattress, folding with all the ease he needs.

There’s a dull ache blooming—even after your orgasm. It weaves with the warmth still thrumming in your thighs from his antics in the living room. This time, you’re admiring him from below him. How his hand grasps the back of his t-shirt before it’s rid from his body in one swift movement, revealing him, displaying how broad he is—all soft, toned, golden and carved.

You steal his earlier sentiment, letting ‘fuck’ roll from your swollen lips in a sharp puff—watching his lips slide into his cheek, burying itself in dimples and cockiness.

Then he’s following you down, encasing you, locking you between his forearms as his mouth slants over yours. The taste of you is evident, all sweet on his tongue as you reach for him, palm against his hardened cock, earning a groan, a vibration that travels through your tongue to your soul.

Frankie is all heat, the weight pressing down on you in a way you hadn’t known you’d craved until it was heavy on you. Pinned, nowhere to go—not wanting to be anywhere but here, anyway.

That is, until your hand shifts, rising up, sliding to the place that keeps him from you freely. You’ve become a seasoned pro at belts, one-handed—able to free him with relative ease when he isn’t able to aid you. When opportunities have forced you to be discreet and quick, those stolen moments that have prepared you for moments such as this.

He’s taking pity on you today—all desperate and hungry in his movements to shove his jeans down, before you feel him against your thigh. His fingers lift your chin to his face.

“I’ve got an idea, baby.”

His voice honey, dripping. Sultry.

“I wanna see you. All of you.”

Your brows lift, eyes widening—mouth finding him as he captures and steals any momentary protests. As if you’d have any.

Least of all, when he’s rocking his hips against you, alleviating pressure, so hard against you that you want to wrap your fingers around him. Let him fuck your fist, spill against your stomach and forearm—coat you in him, leave you sticky and content.

Frankie has other ideas.

Seemingly having tuned in, radioed into your mind—he takes your wrists, pulling them up, pinning them with one of his.

“Thought we can show that mirror you bought a thing or two,” he continues, dropping his mouth, latching it to your jaw, your fingers curling. “The one from Amazon—can put it at the bottom of the bed.”

Your response is embedded in a depraved noise, his weight having shifted, his hips rolling—the head of his cock rubbing against the lace between your thighs.

He’s waiting, staring. Nervousness set to bloom across his features, ridden only by your smirk, doused by your nod.

“Go fetch it, Frankie.”

He makes you stand before it as soon as it’s in place. Your eyes try not to linger or fixate—not wanting to lose the confidence you mustered to welcome him the way you did.

Because a part of you wants to hide, curl away, now that you’re bare.

Your underwear is lost, discarded in some darkened corner of the bedroom. Frankie hadn’t ripped it from you, he’d slid it from you. Unwrapped you from head to toe like you were a gift—carefully peeling, delicately removing, kissing along your exposed skin before throwing it to the side.

“Look how pretty you are, baby.”

You don’t look at yourself, even under his praise. You look at him. Watch how he drags his eyes up and down your frame, drinking you, hungrily swallowing the view he had in front of him.

His mouth latches to your neck, before his cheek is next to yours. “Gonna fuck you with my fingers, and you’re gonna watch, aren’t you, baby?”

It’s hard not to hold his stare, silently accepting. Your hand moves, grasping for him, only to feel one of his slide down your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake, as he moves, shifts, until your palm is on the wall next to the mirror.

“Eyes on your face or your pussy, baby. Your choice.”

You opt for the latter. Watching, yet feeling, his arm snaking, sliding, before he teases two of his calloused pads over your slick folds. Teasing, taunting. Teeth nipping at your neck as he buries them in you.

His name falls, slicing through the air as your eyes lift to his face. The look of bliss smothered across every inch of it. Before you drop your gaze again—wanting to be good, needing to be. His fingers fucking into you–soaking them, him, his palm collecting your slick.

“Keep your eyes open.” Flipping your lashes up, you swallow. Finding purpose on his face. “There she is, fucking look at the mess you’re making, baby.”

“Frankie…”

“I know,” he croons, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Such a good girl letting me fuck her with my fingers.”

You shudder as his thumb catches your clit, eyes struggling to remain open—fixed, watching him as he observes you. The corners of your sight blurring, engulfing in tears that threaten to spill from how good he treats you, how kind he is, how—

“Want you to fuck me, Frankie.”

He groans, hard and low, all deep. Vibrating through his chest—through your back—as a hand remains on your hip.

“Want you to fill me, baby,” you whine, latching your eyes onto him. “Need you. Please.”

For a moment, you don’t think he hears you. But then he stops. Suddenly empty, his tongue swirling over his fingers before his mouth is on yours, lips consuming you, tongue kissing the back of your teeth. Leading you, moving you, until he’s nudging your legs up, fabric grazing skin, until you’re on your knees at the foot of your bed.

The mattress groans as he joins you—placed right behind you, leaning back on his knees. He envelops you from behind, looking every bit like he’s been crafted from an imagination.

His hair is all wild, skin all flushed—all of him looking as handsome as ever, his eyes sweeping up and down you through the mirror.

Your eyes drop to your waist, finding his fingers—long and stretched—over your hip. Can see it, the evidence of your earlier spend glistening between your thighs—the low light from the hallway casting a glow, all amber and delicate over the two of you.

“Anyone tell you that you’re beautiful,” he whispers smoothly.

Guiding you to tilt at the hips, before rubbing the head of his cock through your folds.

“You—mainly.”

He smiles, all drowsy and heart-stuttering. “Let me tell you again,” he says, lining himself, lifting his hips. “You’re beautiful.”

You sink down on the last syllable. Taking him inch by inch—doing it so well—right to the hilt. It’s all you’ve thought about—him filling you. Him being buried so deep inside of you that you feel him for days. You crave m bruises and soreness, just so in the brief moment between sleep and awake you knew he was really here, home.

Because you imagine tonight you’re going to sleep well.

His teeth running along your shoulder, nipping at your skin. Frankie grunts as you lift, a drawn-out hiss greeting your ear as you sink back down, taking all of him again.

You like how your name sounds falling from his lips, how he presses it into your skin, stamping it there. A needier murmur of your name, a silent plea.

Then he begins to move.

Rocking into you, dragging his cock in and out as a strangled cry leaves your mouth. Because it wasn’t a plea, it was an announcement—a courteous heads up.

You meet his stare in the mirror, heat flooding over you, before you drop your eyes to where you’re connected.

It’s a sight to watch. Because Frankie is big, thick. He has always made you feel full, stuffed—practically spaceless—just like he is now. Clutching you close, skin rippling as he fucks into you and steals the air from your lungs as he picks up his pace, finding a new rhythm.

“Frankie—fuck, baby.”

He makes more of your hisses and whimpers fall, each one painting the room, dousing it in what he’s doing to you—how good he’s making you feel. His hand rising, fingers spreading. Calloused pads dancing right across your abdomen, likely feeling your muscles contract under his palm as you meet him with all you have.

Then, your attention is drawn to his other hand. The one which cups your breast, and pinches your nipple between index and thumb—making you cry out his name. Only to be rewarded by the sight of his lips having spread into his cheek, hungrily staring at you—before his palm finds a home on the base of your neck.

“Made for me. Dios mío, your pussy is tight, querida. So perfect. Fuck.”

Your lashes flutter, squeezing him as he finds that spongy spot that makes your knees feel unsteady, and licks heat up your spine.

“Y’look so good takin’ me. Don’t you? You see it?”

You do, you see. Nodding dumbly. All uncoordinated as your arm loops around the back of his neck, hips trying to maintain his rhythm as he whispers more into your ear. His eyes on you, staring like you’re a gift from the heavens. His eyes all blown and pupils swallowed by his irises—and you’re not sure he’s ever looked so good.

“So full, Frankie.”

His eyes lift from where the two of you are conjoined to your face, finger brushing, removing the tear from your cheek—the one caused by him and how good he fucks you.

“I lo–, fuck, ‘love you,” you cry.

Shifting his hips, you’re suddenly breathless, fingers tightening ever so slightly on the base of your neck. Just enough to make your lungs burn from how much you’re gasping at the new angle—whimpers falling like glitter, all shimmering—as your hand grips the one over your abdomen. Nails bedding down, half-moons left in his skin.

Because you need to come. Need to crash or fall, descend or ascend.

“Please, baby. There, right—there. Please, ple—“

You’re not sure if the last plea escapes. It’s muffled. Robbed. It rips through you, slowly—torturously. It beginning somewhere deep, snarling and fuelled with white-hot flames before it splits through barrier after barrier, curling toes and making you tremble before your body is even aware of the intensity of it.

It’s liquid. You’re liquid. All bursting, nerves sparking, all-electric and gasoline as your pleasure engulfs you—sound gone, sight gone. Senses ticked off one by one as your skin goes hot, feeling him still, all overstimulated and trembling against him as you hear murmurs of him begging, pleading against your skin.

The first thing your eyes are able to decipher between the spots is him. Mouth parted in a silent moan, brows furrowed, body sheened with sweat as his muscles flex as he grips you tight. Then you hear it—the way your name curls from his tongue, greets your ear with both a kiss and a punch, his hips stuttering, white ropes coating your walls as you feel yourself become boneless—weightless.

Time slows, barely ticks. Blinking, seeing—for the smallest of moments—what it was he was seeing in the mirror as you stare at him, watching him lose himself. All because of you.

Then, the moment shifts—finding yourself slowly being laid down, face turned, finding him—finding soft brown eyes and his sloped nose. That kind smile and flushed skin, and you break a bit differently than moments before when his lips lazily brush over yours—little sniffles, eyes filling with tears as you watch his eyes widen.

Because he’s here, he’s home.

No waiting for a phone call, no need to make do with a toy he can control. He’s just here, staring at you, body so close you can feel the heat rolling from him.

More so, when a tear escapes. Him grasping, pulling you close—an answer needed, it hanging on the tip of his tongue, but you answer before he says it:

“I really love you, Frankie.”

“Oh, querida,” he whispers into your hairline, your arms wrapping around his back as best as you can. “I love you too.”

as always, thank you to G for telling me I can do this. to A for telling me how hot this is and to @psychedelic-ink for giving me a mini-pep talk that I can totally do this - and here we have it 🧡

[theanimekid]

Betrayal/ The Veil of Shadow found the new ruler

Synopsis: Love is not eternal, betrayal; cuts deeper than a scar. Now you'll be harmed no longer. You'll be loved once more. Embrace destiny, walk the veil, and rule as a Dark Queen.

Warnings: Monster, angst, sci-fi, blood, betrayal, heartbreak, death,

Shadow owes its birth to light- John Gay

“Love isn’t soft like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close.” ― Stephen King, The Body

A/n: This will be about two or three chapters long, so grab some coffee, a blanket, and a couple of tissues, make that a couple boxes of tissue

Chapter 1: The Beginning and End

You will never feel pain again. You'll never feel hurt or suffering. You… will never experience betrayal… for now it was the last time… the last straw.

The Strom fumed in spikes of crimson and light-blue lighting. The chaos of thunderstorms rumbled the sky, buildings of merged flesh and bone carved into each like a deathly art, screams were heard for miles, screeching of the bats not living nor dead. As their dark sparks waved into the night. You stood, outside of your castle, watching the depths below, your body shrouded in mystery and despair. Your veil flew with the wind, eyes cold-hearted, broken no more, vengeance craving for suffering. Skin darker than a shade of navy blue. The might of the doors opened slowly, and a black substance moved within. It was quick and swift. Faster than the human eyes can catch.

It soon emerged with its fingertips skimming fingertips. Its purple hood covered its top face. He spoke in a canny yet diabolical fashion. "My Empress... the time has come," It said, As it played with its fingertips rhythmically. You turned to look at your advisor, your eyes sharpened, lowly. " Already?" You asked in a heartache and pitied tone. " I'm afraid yes, a newcomer has been seen in the human world, young and frail as he is, yet more fearful than the rest." The hand movement swayed and urged as his words, Walked away from the highland view. past your blackened throne so lonely and purposeless. Your advisor walked with you down the very, elongated hallway. Your soldiers lined up and bowed to you. "They're the same as always, Urmas."

"They live to benefit you, my beloved empress, as they will always be." He replied in assurance. The two walked for what seemed like a while and reached the end of the hallway. You stopped. Urmas stopped with you. His expression spread with little concern for his queen. " Is there something the matter, my sovereign?" You still stood there staring blankly at the door. " I-I- feel like I've been here before."

Urmas Cleared his throat. " Can you recall, my sovereign?" You shook your head, " I don't know, but yet at the same time, it feels as though." You turned to your advisor, offering your hand to him. Urmas instantly clutched it and held it to his hand. You beamed maliciously, teeth in all, "let's go raise bloodstained nightmare on humanity and make a world for my own." He smiled back." As you wish, my sovereign." The doors opened to a giant glass sphere, spiraling out of different stirs and harmonies. The two of you walked hand in hand. As you got closer to your glass sphere, lightly grazing the outer layer. Urmas walked on the other side of the figure.

The sphere's outer layer moved fluidly, liquifying. Your hand sunk into the glass sphere. Your eyes dilated, turning into a purplish pink. Your vision became severed as you gaze upon the human world into the brightness of the city. Your eyes searched and looked unnoticed. Til you found a little boy with glasses wandering down a dark alley. Frightened and alone, tight where you wanted him. 

You planted his fear into his mind, it took only mere moments before he was nothing more than paste. And a small portal of flesh emerged from the brick wall, pulsating quietly like a heartbeat for an ear to listen. His body remained dismembered and fractured. His eyes plucked out of their sockets. Your eyes blurred again, returning to normalcy. With a sigh of satisfaction, you removed your hand from the sphere. Urmas clapped his hands in applause. " Another astounding work my sovereign," He feted. You walked away from the sphere and headed towards the door. You tumbled to the floor, holding both sides of your head, Your head began to hurt. Screaming in pain as your advisor tried to assist you. Your vision contradicted with light, a picnic on the hill, a man standing next to you with a loving gaze, his hand reaching out to you, calling to you…

You gasped as you raised your head. Your body trembling, your advisor slowly got you back on your feet. "My empress, are you all right?" He questioned. You sighed, bobbing your head left and right. " I-I'm fine... I just, need to rest my eyes." 

*Back on Earth*

One of his shadow soldiers, sat on top of a nearby building, looking down upon its people and others. The shadow sighed in questionable purpose. It's been the fifth time this past year. The visions He saw, his queen in danger, screaming and sobbing for help, it's like an unending loop. Constantly, she was reaching out to him, calling to him...

His master emerged from the wall, Beru and Igris followed soon after, and his black coast got longer and ragged. He stopped at the edge. Sung turned his gaze toward his summon. " Is there a reason why you're not doing your patrol?" The soldier got up and kneeled before his master. " Forgive me, my king... but it feels like something has been bothering me." He didn't even bother looking upon his master. Thinking he will not believe him." And what has been bothering you?" Sung asked. He collected himself and explained clearly and carefully, not to anger him, " Lately, since the past year, I have been seeing visions... visions that I wish I could ignore, but it just couldn't." Sung knelt to his soldier's eyes. " Look at me, and tell me what you saw." The shadow soldier took a deep breath and looked dead into his king's eyes. " I saw... a woman in white, she was surrounded by black waters, she was slowly drowning, but no end. I was going to save her, but she started to cry, sobbing, calling out your name, and others. She turned to look at me, her face was recognizable... my king... I believe... that our queen is alive and needs your help."

Sung's eyes slowly widened, and he can feel his heart wailing out of his chest. She can't be... he watched her... if she is then why...

Beru and Igris can feel the energy around him growing. With his body trembling, he gripped his soldier's shoulders. " Are you... you 100 certain that's..." He nodded in response. Sung can feel his whole world collapse around him. You were alive, alive and alone, scared. " Did you anything else from your visions? Or where she could be? Did she tell you where to find her?" He started asking a million questions. But his soldier only gave him one and a solution. " She said to locate the portal where no man or light can find. The opposite of all worlds... Find the seer. And that's all I can remember." 

The search for the seer begins.

Part 2 in the making👍

[gabsforjustyuris]

Helping you sleep.

You're depressed but she's there for you.

Angst/comfort

On the Stellaron hunters' large ship, things seemed cold and quiet. External stars followed the path in absolute silence, and life happened without giving any signs, although you knew their judgment.

Sometimes it was scary. Elio didn't interact with anyone who wasn't necessary, his silence was the same as not knowing what to eat tomorrow; and thinking about the future, partially alone and distressed, somehow didn't add anything. The hunters didn't seem to care about that, they had their own matters to deal with, leaving their rooms frequently or even locking themselves in them until the time came.

Time passed slowly. It was as if you had been in your room for a month, when in fact it had been a week since the last mission took place. Your sore back leaving trails of blood bathed in warm water, which burned, however, emphasizing a deserved pain. The loss that was slowly occurring in the mind of an unknown feeling. A hole barely filled.

Breathe, inhale.

Your nightmares, the war, the blood, the fire and the tears were relieved every night since everything happened. Your eyes refused to fall asleep because of that, maybe that... I mean, it was definitely what made your performance drop drastically. Kafka had to be aware of your flaws, how spaced out and exhausted you seemed, after all, she was the one who had offered you a spot on the team.

From time to time you think about it. Not that you care.

The celestial bodies are subject to being the only ones to judge. Aeos, they really don't care, if they did, what do they think about life being so unfair to good hearts? Living beings without forgiveness, mercy, pity, die cowardly, rot without having a chance.

You had nothing to lose at that point. The nights were lonely, the bed seemed so long, your thoughts eat you alive at every opportunity and that sucked all your spirits.

Breathe, inhale.

__

Your throat seemed to cut off the air, making your mouth open to gasp as that burning sensation came over your body. Your eyes blinked slowly, a little blurry. You felt slightly dizzy, disoriented, with wet and shaking fingers trying to support yourself on the edge of the bathtub.

Breathe in and out.

Your pink face pulsed with a scratch that ran a trail of blood, a scratch made by a stray bullet that had passed through the tissue of your cheek in a second; and it still burned, affected and marked its presence in a painful way, like a physical manifestation of a small mistake. But you didn't care about that, did you?

With a touch of boldness, your calloused fingers raised towards the wound, passing over the entire design as if it were nothing, just to feel that pain in silence.

Your closed eyes savored the sensation that ran through your body. Feeling your back tortured in agony with the open wounds. You refused to show up at the clinics, maybe you liked that? The scars that sprouted in new regions. Seeing all the mistakes you had ever made and touching them, seeing them affect you and making you feel a different sensation with each contact. You were the type who sought perfection, and touching your own mistakes irritated you so much, but it was also so addictive.

Your swords were sharp to tear apart, your icy spirits or your long-standing cultural skills of a notorious assassin warrior were pushed to the limit in every test. The missions were experienced as fragmented stories, moments that didn't seem to connect to reality in any way, because you looked at that reflection in the lenses, their transparency, at what was behind dilating, fixing your eyes back on yours with that loose magenta hair and the smile on your face and wished it would never stop, until everything went back to how it was before, to being empty.

And then everything was white, breathing returned with a long sigh. The warm water ran down your face and your hands ran over your body.

Shit.

You thought, combing your hair and opening your eyes again. Your head wandered around the narrow bathroom. The white light hanging from the ceiling lamp was so artificial, kind of dull compared to the rays of the sun that woke your home planet every morning. The window next to it gave way to white dots in the vast darkness that was space. The time was always uncertain, but this time you knew it was very late.

The white bathtub evaporated the warm water forming mists around the room, blurring your vision and warming your body just the right amount. It was shitty to get out of it; your body felt chills, making you wrap the towel around it as you went out to your room, which had a double bed, a lamp, empty shelves and a small closet.

You went towards him, roaming your fingers through the clothes given to you by the hunters, until you chose a pair of loose pajamas so as not to bother your new bruises. Combining your hair with a brush until she sat on the bed, where she found herself hypnotized by the lamp, sinking into her daydreams once again, until…

*Knock, knock.*

Of course, you knew very well who would come to your room at this hour. Your eyes landed on the door for a moment before your legs took erratic steps towards it, and then when you opened it, it was what you had already expected.

– You didn’t go to the clinic. – That typical smile came from your lips, your tied hair seems looser, still with that coat covering your shoulders.

– I didn’t go. – You stated, without blinking or taking your eyes off her.

– And you’re more distracted during the missions. – Your tone was soft, but you knew very well what was behind it.

– Did you come to charge me too? – You frowned, looking away so as not to hesitate and threatening to close the door.

Seeing this, the woman was quick to act accordingly, putting her hand up to stop it. Staring at you, without removing the serene expression on her face, despite the fact that…

– No, that’s not why. – Her tone was firmer now. – Aren’t you going to let me in?

– Do you know what time it is?

– Yes, I know.

– Then why are you still dressed? – Your question made the woman stop for a moment to admire your eyes in silence.

– Are you suspicious of me, seriously? – She let out a snort of laughter. – You’re delirious, sweetie.

– I don’t need your sermons, thank you.

– Come on, I just want to talk. – She tilted her head with that amused expression on her face that, honestly, irritated you sometimes.

– Kafka, I need to sleep.

– A little bird told me you haven’t been sleeping well.

– And talking to you will make me sleep?

– Yes.

– …. – You roll your eyes. – Are you that confident?”

– You can't judge before you try, huh? – She winked, raising a confident smile.

She was so insistent about this that she couldn't help but catch your attention. For a moment you were curious to know where all this was going. What Kafka wanted with all this.

– Okay, just don't think about doing anything to me while I'm sleeping.

– You have my word. – And then after that all you could hear was her heels clicking against the floor, what was left of her perfume filling the air and her eyes wandering all over the room, admiring the little things.

Your room didn't have many decorations or was a great example to be followed. But there was something, some unknown beauty that she seemed to have seen in it, humming a song that you weren't sure about during your simple inspection.

And while this was happening you closed the door and then walked towards the bed, sinking your body into the mattress with your back up, feeling the weight of tiredness and lack of sleep devour your feelings. All you wanted now was to sleep in peace, but you hadn't had that in a long time.

– hmm... – Kafka continued his exploration with his peaceful songs.

She analyzed the few books you had on that empty shelf and appreciated a picture frame that you had kept all this time, because unfortunately it was the only thing you managed to take with you to remember your old planet, which was now nothing more than ashes and loose pieces of earth wandering through space.

And of course, the woman with magenta hair didn't dare to touch your things. Doing something like that wasn't exactly her style, but just your strange curiosity about objects already gave you reasons to question her actions if it weren't for exhaustion. Your eyes only followed her blurred silhouette, little by little your breathing became slow.

– Look at you, you're so quiet. – She said, calling your attention, forcing yourself to open your heavy eyes to watch whatever she wanted to do.

You didn't even notice that she had removed the small high-top boots or the coat that had previously covered her shoulders. The woman came towards you and sat against the headboard. Turning her face towards you, she looked into your eyes with a not very tender smile.

– This mission made it seem like the mattresses here are from another world. – You mumbled into the pillow, bringing out another discreet laugh from her.

– It wasn't all that either.

– It's easy for you to say, you're already used to it...

– Hmm. – She hummed again, taking advantage of your eyes that closed again to observe your body, until she fixed herself on the stains that came out of the stuck to your back. – It really wasn't difficult, but... maybe you weren't ready yet.

– I am.

– Your back tells me otherwise.

– ... – You sigh deeply, softening your expression. And then you slowly stand up, resting your elbows against the sheet, looking down, covering your face with your hair so that she couldn't see you. – That’s not the problem.

– And what is the problem? – She asked, looking into space.

– I don’t know.

– You don’t know? – You don’t say anything. Her question echoes through the air without purpose.

You could feel the cloth sticking against her open scars. Bringing the typical burning sensation of other days ago, reminding you once again that you made mistakes several times, and it hurts, it hurts so much…

This burden, this insomnia, this silent suffering. Was all of this still mourning or are you stuck with it forever?

Kafka sighed in her place, keeping his eyes away from you, content with the silence next to you.

– You know, if you keep going like this… – He said suddenly, his head tilted, as did the rest of his body, looking at the ceiling with his tired eyes and his voice slurred. – You’ll end up dying. Is that what you want?

The corners of your eyes burned, feeling a tightness in your chest as they fought to stay open, terrified by a blink that took them back to cruel memories. Your arms trembled weakly and you didn’t have the courage to look her in the eyes to affirm.

Maybe that was it. Blade had a curse for the rest of his eternal life, he would never be satisfied. His flesh would not give up fighting, continuing and resisting, no matter how much he had for a while.

On the other hand, there was you, someone who had lost everything and was withering, falling apart and letting the chaos inside you take shape. It was you who was giving up and this time your body was not strong enough to give you a lecture. Your head was infested with regrets, your own back was dripping with anguish, melancholy, none of this was for nothing, and you did not want to end it all at once because you were too selfish, too weak for such an act. Instead, you decided to take the slower path, and after all, didn't you deserve this?

You couldn't save anyone, your family, friends, partners, were all killed by the catastrophe, captured, sold, enslaved and here you are sleeping on a mattress, traveling the galaxy and adventuring alongside a mysterious woman who awakened a confusing feeling inside you whenever you saw her by your side.

– Sweetie. – You felt her hand rest on your head as a gentle gesture, pushing away all intrusive thoughts for a moment. – Eyes on me.

You raised your eyes, turning your head under the guidance of her gloveless hand, soon feeling the same fingers come over your skin gently, feeling their texture. Traveling between your slightly red eyes, tracing the path of your tears with great patience. Eyes on yours, glazed, going through those lenses to reach you, seeking to delve deeper into yours, see through you, try to understand what you feel.

Her lips curved, although she was stuck in a necessary seriousness, seeing you up close, not with the mask, but in a different way, something that awakened pangs in her heart, twisting her belly and causing itching, arching her toes.

– You’re too young to die. – She murmured softly so that only you could hear, maintaining contact with your face with a caress never seen before. – Too adorable.

She rested her palm on your cheek, silently enjoying the way your head curved over her. Half-closed her eyebrows slightly in a sad smile, leading to another hearty sigh.

– I wish I could forget things.

– I know. It would be easier if it were like that, wouldn’t it? –She let out a laugh to relax, eventually bringing a small smile to her lips. – So many more interesting ways, and that’s how you want to be remembered?

– Maybe that’s what I deserve.

– Well, I would reevaluate the options if I were you. There are so many possibilities out there, so much to do… – He laid his head on the pillow next to you, looking at the ceiling again. – Sometimes it’s hard to think about what would be right.

You contemplate her thoughtful expression, getting involved in the same reflection, admiring her features, her mannerisms, her empty pink irises…

So close and yet so far away.

That is until they come again, filling something inexplicable, bringing forth an endless hypnosis, as if everything else had been left behind and the space around disintegrates like matter sucked into a black hole, passing through its golden edges. Cautiously approaching your hands and slowly intertwining your fingers before pulling towards her.

– Come here. – Kafka commands and you obey, moving with the woman’s help until your bodies collide, parking your hand on her torso and holding your breath on her neck.

Her perfume was nothing compared to the ones from the missions. She liked to have a nice freshness around her before it turned to blood. She liked things light but with tasty experiences and whenever she passed by, she would hit some kind of intoxicant in her brain when the smell rose. But now he was so meticulous that you would have to concentrate to find it between the citrus soap and the shampoo in her hair; and despite that, it was still addictive to try to discover it, to feel it together with the warmer temperature.

that exuded from the woman's body against yours. Feeling your heartbeat through the hand resting on your collarbone, your slow breathing, your fingers drawing themselves through the strands of your hair, making gentle caresses.

You stayed like that for a long time. Your heavy eyes refused to waver due to your brain's orders, but the overwhelming sleep was inevitable, although the fear of nightmares was greater. At some point you would have to give in to it, be dominated by the tranquility of the position, too involved in how strangely good it felt to you.

Kafka, in turn, remained quiet, looking beyond, expressionless. His mind wandered in hidden thoughts, patiently waiting until he heard your peaceful breathing on her neck, taking a peek from the corner to see your figure faint on top of her. Her pupils focused on you for long minutes, letting time pass without worrying about the time, starting to feel her own eyes exhausted.

He took a deep breath and when he saw that you were coping well for a long period of time, he took precautions to take actions that did not bother you, gradually letting go and wrapping his arms around your being to lift you in his arms, and finally taking you to the clinic.

[shintin]

Forget Me Not: Chapter 37 (Knock, knock, knock)

↳ Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Description: Having fallen into this world, you were forced to shed blood to survive. But what about when you get tired, when you think the blood on your hands won’t wash off and give up because you have nothing to lose?

Yep, you were there, at rock bottom, rolling in the deep.

Then, there came a day when life gave you a new chance to live, laugh, and love, or so she thought.

Genre: heavy angst, sad love story, maybe tragedy, violence, lonely hearts, broken souls, +18.

Tags/Warnings: nothing but angst.

Song Recommendation: Mitski - I Bet on Losing Dogs

Chapter index -> Next Chapter

Year: 2019

Y/N lay on her side of the bed, quietly watching him. Unaware of her presence, he blinked, trying to pinpoint when she had entered the room. Suddenly, he noticed she was utterly motionless, a kind of stillness that was distinctly hers. The realization struck him, and he took a breath, fully aware of the impossibility of this moment.

Yet, despite his awareness, a delightful sensation of blooming flowers filled his stomach, their soft petals caressing every inch of his nervous system. It felt like he had been granted three wishes: to see, feel, and have her once more. It was the most peculiar phenomenon—an extraordinary, joyous impossibility delicately wrapped in tissue paper, tied with a bow, and safely tucked away in his heart.

Everything felt incredibly authentic, to the point where he could even sense the fragrance of lemons and the scent of the sea enveloping her.

Satoru nervously swallowed, slowly raising his hand. His eyes widened in surprise as his finger touched her face's smooth skin. She went still as he gently cupped her cheek, which felt as soft as velvet petals. His fingers then traced along the curve of her neck and explored the scars on her shoulders.

She didn't say a word, but her eyes remained on him.

As his gaze returned to her face, he was taken aback by the way she looked at him. Her eyes carried a weight that worried him, yet her expression remained tender, focused, and brimming with emotion that he found it difficult to look away, captivated by her presence.

She closed her eyes, and he couldn't help but observe even the simplest actions she took: adjusting her weight, her hair sliding across the pillow, and the subtle trembling of her lips. All six of his eyes followed every movement of her body. This moment with her felt incredibly strange, causing his chest to tighten and his heart to race. She had a way of making him long to remain trapped in this dream indefinitely.

Then, she came closer and closer and closer.

Reluctant to disturb the enchantment of the moment, he reached out silently and held her hand as if she were a lonely, fluffy cloud in the sky, destined to vanish with the northern winds. He brought her palm to his lips, planting a gentle kiss upon it, desperately hoping it would dispel the emptiness in her eyes. But alas, the stubborn void remained steadfast. He managed a melancholic smile as she pressed her cheek against his palm, and he delicately brushed strands of hair away from her face. Something stirred within him, a surge of warmth accompanying the movement of her head. Leaning closer, she gently pressed her forehead against his, her breath caressing his nose like a gentle breeze.

"Please stay," Satoru whispered, tightly closing his eyes.

Expecting her to leave him again, he was caught off guard when her lips brushed against his chin. In response, a raw cry escaped his throat, resonating with longing. His mouth parted, and the warmth of her sweetened throat flowed into him. At that moment, he was incapable of thought or action, consumed only by the exquisite experience of savoring her presence. Each breath she took, every gentle movement of her lips, felt like a miraculous gift after weeks of separation.

He drew her near and kissed her, kissing her with such intensity that time seemed to lose its grip. In that fleeting moment, he momentarily forgot the misery of his life without her.

The bliss was limitless, but she broke the kiss, and her leg brushed against his. Opening his eyes, he found her smiling—a small, secretive smile that conveyed so many unspoken sentiments, the kind that no one else could ever say to him.

Was it possible to hold onto her, to make her stay? He kissed her gently on the forehead, the curve of her nose, and the corner of her lips. Under his touch, she seemed to swell, to grow more vibrant.

"Satoru?" she spoke, breaking her silence for the first time.

"Yes?"

She shifted sideways, and he willingly made space for her by his side. She seamlessly filled the emptiness, nuzzling her face into his neck. It felt reminiscent of the old days, the days before she had vanished into oblivion. With closed eyes, he embraced the moment as if in prayer, and his heart sprang back to life.

Her hand let go of his beneath the sheets, only to settle on his waist and gently glide down his thigh. The touch nearly caused him to lose his composure, but then she planted a light kiss on his pure white hair. He gulped hard, suppressing the reminders of reality that threatened to flood his mind.

"I miss you," she uttered in a faint whisper he almost failed to catch.

"I'm here," he reassured, softly caressing her cheek. "Right here, Y/N."

But she shook her head, defying his attempt to draw her closer until she dissipated into thin air.

He blinked, his breath ragged and gasping as it moved in and out of his mouth in quick intervals. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing so loud it resembled the sound of someone who had been running for a long time. And then, the familiar white walls of the room released their hold on him. He made a silent vow to himself that he would love to forget how to wake up one day.

Drenched in sweat, Satoru sighed and leaned against the headboard, taking deep breaths. He needed a moment, so he tightly shut his eyes until her face carved itself in his mind. These dreams were his only opportunity to be with her. Although he willingly let her go, he searched for her in the following days, not to bring her back but to ensure her safety.

Yet, it felt like the ground had opened up and swallowed her whole. She had returned to being the ghost she once was as if she had never existed, as if the echoes of her laughter hadn't filled this room just a few months ago, as if his body didn't still carry her scent. He ran his hand over his eyes and rested it on his neck.

Honestly, he had been considering the idea that Y/N might be a product of his imagination. Perhaps it was because he couldn't fathom how someone with a personality like hers could survive in this harsh world. Moreover, he struggled to comprehend why someone like her would show any interest in a heartless, self-centered person like him.

Yet, through the bond they shared, he could feel her existence. She was tangible, alive, moving forward without him. Yeah, that's the thing. The most challenging aspect wasn't letting her go; it was coming to terms with the fact that she didn't wish to remain, and that realization caused even greater pain.

Satoru berated himself and pushed the covers away, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and burying his head in his hand. He had hours of work ahead of him, yet her face continued to intrude into his thoughts, and he realized that a small part of him didn't want to dismiss the thoughts of her. Some part of him found solace in the torment it brought.

She was destroying him, the strongest.

He covered his mouth with his hand, realizing he was losing his sanity. Shaking his head, he collapsed onto the bed, placed a hand over his forehead, and then dragged it down his face in frustration. If only his stupid brain hadn't betrayed him, he would never have abandoned her at the wedding. Because, since that day, every decision he made seemed to be a regrettable mistake.

He turned his head and looked at the sheets.

He turned his gaze towards the sheets. She slept here, he thought. She had shared his bed, waking up beside him. In this bed, she had smiled, dreamed, moaned, laughed, and cried—all next to him. But now, her warmth was a distant memory. She had been here, and he had allowed her to slip away.

He had lost her.

What could he do now?

She despised him.

She despised him, and the chance of ever seeing her again was uncertain. It was entirely his fault. When he had acted foolishly, he should have anticipated the consequences.

These dreams and memories might be all he had remaining of her.

His hand lingered over the sheets, attempting to conjure her presence beside him, even if only in his imagination, even if only for a fleeting moment within the confines of his mind.

The prospect of a negative outcome filled him with terror. What if he never had the chance to see her again? The thought weighed heavily on his mind, causing him to grip the sheets tightly, and in frustration, he forcefully slammed his fist against the bed.

It's funny how quickly he grew accustomed to her presence in this place. It brought him an odd sense of comfort, knowing they would share the same roof and sleep in the same bed.

Her presence in the school changed everything for him. The months she spent here marked the first time in years that he truly savored living in these dorms since his teenage days. He looked forward to her smiles, tantrums, and even absurd arguments.

Now, Satoru longed for her to be here, to shout at him. He would have congratulated her if she had ever slapped him across the face.

But she never did. She packed her anger and disappointment and left.

Oh, God! He wished he could sink into the ground. The proof of her presence was so vivid and real that it made it unbearable for him to remain in this place. He couldn't seek refuge in missions, as he was obligated to stay in the school for the investigation regarding Y/N's flee.

Higher-ups didn't know he was the one who planned her escape. Even if they knew, that wouldn't change anything in his end. He had no reprieve from the consequences of his actions.

After all, he was consumed by a profound sense of hopelessness.

The clock had ticked past five in the morning, and it felt like he hadn't slept in days. However, he could scarcely bear to shut his eyes. He couldn't bear the solitude with his thoughts or confront the vulnerabilities within himself. He felt broken, held together solely by obligation. He had unsuccessfully attempted to express the jumble of emotions clouding his mind, but to whom? Who would comprehend him? Who would believe that what he was experiencing surpassed a mere binding vow?

Kento Nanami and Shoko Ieiri? Not quite. Their relationship never quite clicked for them. They couldn't comprehend how someone like Satoru, with his diverse preferences in partners, could be an emotional match for anyone, especially someone like Y/N: a girl who ate, slept, and breathed emotion. They always believed that Y/N gave him too much credit and that she tolerated too much of his nonsense.

They were correct in their assessment, but her appearance or the sense of being desired didn't make him fall in love with her. It was the trust they shared and the comforting sensation of finding a home. He had never experienced it before, as he had always felt alone. When he was held in her embrace, he felt warmth for the first time. Y/N was his home.

Indeed, Satoru was engulfed in his misery, isolated and without companionship.

His loneliness was a vicious creature. It sneaked up on him silently, sitting by his side in the darkness, gently caressing his hair as he stared off. It wrapped around his very bones, constricting so tightly that he struggled to catch his breath. It planted falsehoods in his heart, lying beside him at night, draining the light from every corner. Loneliness became a constant companion without her, holding his hand only to pull him down when he tried to rise.

Even when he was prepared to let it go, break free, and start anew, loneliness remained an old acquaintance standing beside him in the mirror, challenging him to try and live without it. He couldn't find the words to resist himself, to battle against the inner voices screaming for her return—wanting her back, wanting her back, wanting her back, and knowing deep down it wasn't possible.

Loneliness was a bitter, wrenching companion.

"Is this what you felt all along, Y/N?" he whispered into the empty room. He tried to convince himself that it was merely a meaningless dream, but he was deceiving himself. The truth was, witnessing her sadness carved into his unconsciousness became too overwhelming, and the thought of her suffering inflicted unbearable agony upon him. Knowing that she had endured all these pains.

He had thrown her into this situation, causing her to be discarded and harmed. Guilt drowned him, immersing him in a world where he unexpectedly delved into feeling her pain so deeply.

It was killing him.

He stood up and began pacing back and forth in his bedroom until he mustered the courage to keep his shits together.

The room carried the fragrance of morning rain, saturated with traces of her presence. The air was dim and infused with an earthy scent. He inhaled deeply and approached the window, pressing his fingers against the chilly glass. His breath began to fog up. He closed his eyes, listening to the gentle patter of rain rushing in the wind. Right now, raindrops served as a reminder that clouds possessed a pulse, as did he.

When he was a child—of course, with no friend— he often pondered the nature of raindrops. He marveled at how they descended, stumbling over their feet, breaking their legs, and forsaking their parachutes as they trembled from the sky toward an uncertain fate. It seemed someone was emptying their pockets over the Earth, indifferent to where the contents would land. They didn't seem to mind that the raindrops would burst upon hitting the ground, or that they would shatter upon reaching the floor, or that people would resent the days when the drops dared to tap on their doors.

Now that he thought, he realized that Y/N was like a raindrop. Despite enduring hit after hit, bruise after bruise, tear after tear, she persevered and moved forward, facing her fears. Yet, when their paths intersected, he emptied himself of her presence and left her to evaporate, utterly alone.

How could he be such a monstrous person?

He pressed his forehead against the glass pane, feeling the familiar embrace of the cold against his skin. He couldn't continue living in constant pain every minute of the day, as it was unsustainable. On the other hand, if the pain ceased, she would be gone, and he couldn't bear that either.

He took a sharp breath to clear his mind, clenching and unclenching his fist, when his attention was drawn to the scar on his palm. It served as a poignant reminder. He was about to trace his fingers along its jagged edges when a knock sounded at the door.

Knock, knock, knock! The door swung open, revealing Satoru with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a sly grin on his face. "Hey, Granny! Got any spare ice for your lovely neighbor?" he asked, leaning casually against the door frame and peering at her through his shades.

"No," Y/N replied curtly, her annoyance evident as she tried to close the door. But Satoru held it firmly, her surprised gaze bouncing between his hand and his oddly pleased expression. What kind of power play was this that the infamous Satoru Gojo had initiated? She kept her distance, ready with a hidden knife up her sleeve, just in case.

"Don't you want to know why I need the ice?" Satoru inquired, his gaze fixed on where her hand and knife were concealed behind the door.

"No," she replied tersely.

"It's for my Scotch!" Satoru exclaimed, throwing his arms up in mock excitement.

"You don't drink," she retorted, her grip on the door tightening, fully aware that this flimsy door wouldn't stand a chance if Satoru had any intentions.

"Awww," Satoru pouted, winking at her over his glasses. "You sure know a lot about me." His grin widened. "But did you know that my six eyes can see your little knife?" He pointed directly at the spot where she had hidden her blade.

She took a deep breath, lips pressed together tightly. "Good night!" she declared, slamming the door in his face with frustration and determination.

 *

Knock, knock, knock! The door creaked open, revealing Satoru. Again. "Hello, my favorite coffin dodger! I'm in desperate need of bobby pins!"

With an exasperated sigh, she leaned her head against the door frame, rolling her eyes. "Do I even want to know why?"

Satoru's smile grew wider as if this was all part of his grand plan. He pointed at the stray hairs falling over his forehead. "Ever since you ripped off my blindfold, these stubborn hairs keep getting stuck in my night cream!" To emphasize the point, he raised an eyebrow and shook his head, demonstrating that his hair was not moving an inch.

Her eyes remained fixed on his forehead, surprise evident in her gaze. "You use facial creams?"

Satoru struggled to contain his laughter. Despite her reputation as a skilled murderer, her emotions were easy to read, which amused him greatly. "You don't?" He covered his mouth with his hand as if sharing scandalous news. "No wonder you look like grandmothers!"

Her eyes quickly snapped back to his face, her furrowed brows and deathly glares revealing her annoyance and anger. It must have been a mistake. How could someone like her, infamous for being a monster, have such a vulnerable side? Was she the same angel of death he had encountered years ago on his deathbed, or had he completely misjudged her all this time? Damn it, ever since she touched him, his instincts couldn't be trusted. There was an enigmatic pull towards her that he couldn't quite pinpoint.

Lost in his thoughts, he heard her sharp retort, "Go to hell, you asshole!" followed by the slamming of the door.

 *

Knock, knock, knock. The door reluctantly opened, revealing a woman irritated by the late hour. "For God's sake, it's 3 in the morning—" Her eyes widened in disbelief at the absurd sight before her. "What the fuck?!"

Satoru had his t-shirt folded up to his stomach, using it like a kangaroo pouch to carry random stuff. What a clown! But despite her best efforts, her eyes couldn't resist sneaking glances at his abs and the fine white hairs under his navel. Is that his happy trail?

Y/N never had time for these kinds of games in her straightforward life. Maybe that's why she always fell into the white fox's trap, or perhaps she was just a bunny who enjoyed being hunted by this hunter who found any excuse to occasionally knock on her door and play with his prey. But no matter what, he always managed to surprise her.

"Hey! Pervert!" he exclaimed, waving his hand. "My face is up here!"

Her eyes slowly and somewhat reluctantly made their way back up, her blush becoming more pronounced with every passing second. And boy, if it were any other time, he would have grinned with victory at this triumph. But for now, he kept a neutral expression. "I need you to hide these sweets!"

She bit her lower lip as he casually took her hands and pulled her in closer, way too close for comfort. He emptied all the chocolates from his t-shirt into her hands, her fingers brushing against his chiseled body for a fleeting moment, sending a warmth surging through her that felt completely foreign. She lowered her head, desperately wishing her hair would cover her face and hide her embarrassment. What the fuck was wrong with her?

But of course, Satoru didn't stop there. He then took her shoulders and guided her back to her room, leaving her completely dazed. "If I knock on your door in an hour asking for sweets, don't open it for me. Got it?"

Was he going to show up again in an hour? This was too much to handle; she knew it. But her brain was short-circuiting, so she simply nodded, still keeping her head down.

"Don't trust me, even if I try to trick you," he warned, gently brushing her hair away from her face and locking his gaze with hers. "Okay, Y/N?"

She gulped, not daring to question her own sanity or the bizarre nature of this encounter. "Okay," she managed to utter.

Satoru grinned in satisfaction, stepped back, and closed the door with a smile, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, utterly confused, with a bunch of chocolates in her hands.

 *

Knock, knock, knock. He anxiously watched as the door swung open, revealing the hallway's darkness. " Do you like Kento?" The words slipped out of his mouth quicker than he intended. Desperate for her answer, he gripped the door frame.

"What?" She stood before him, dressed in red, aware that she was merely a plaything to entertain his boredom, but he was someone she desired more than anything in her life.

"Are you in love with Kento? Just tell me. Yes or no, Y/N?"

The urgency in Satoru's voice and the concern in his eyes made her lift her head and meet his gaze. What kind of game was he playing this time? Regardless, she was too weary to care anymore. "No," she whispered, looking away.

His wishes came true for once, and he got what he had longed for. He promised himself he wouldn't mess it up this time. He vowed to do whatever it took to protect this treasure. He took a step into the room, and Y/N instinctively stepped back, her last attempt to escape the fate that would shadow her life.

Counting down from ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...and one. Her back met the wall, and Satoru's lips found hers. There was no liberation in this love, so she closed her eyes and surrendered. His kiss deepened, and he promised her everything, everything she desired, as men in love often do. And despite herself, she trusted him, as women in love often do.

*

Knock, knock, knock. Satoru opened the door to find Y/N standing there, wearing a partially wet top and a sweatshirt that couldn't conceal her sweat. He wondered why she had come to his doorstep in such a rush. Despite the surprise, he didn't mind at all and actually enjoyed the sight of her. Observing her during her preparations, training, stretches, and even afterward became his new favorite meal of his six eyes.

With one hand on her side, she gestured towards the likely location of the training grounds. "I just saw Panda tossing Nobara around! Why aren't you supervising? What kind of sensei are you?"

Satoru casually shifted his gaze from her damp collarbones to her face. His half-opened eyes had a certain quality that his faint smile couldn't conceal. "What kind of sensei do you want me to be?" he asked, his voice husky as if he had just woken up. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame, shamelessly letting his eyes wander over her parted lips.

"I don't know!" She shrugged. "How about a responsible one?" she suggested, hoping he would take action and head to the training grounds upon hearing the news. However, he had no intention of doing so.

"Perhaps you could teach me," he proposed, his hand reaching for the hem of her waist, gently toying with the edge of her top. "During a private session," he added, his gaze locked onto hers.

"What the heck?" were the only words that came to her mind as he didn't wait for her response. He swiftly pulled her into the room and closed the door with a smooth kick. Her mind was filled with disbelief as Satoru stepped forward, cornering her. Their chests rose and fell with each deep breath as if they had just run for miles. There was a lingering desire in the air, an unspoken plea for vulnerability. Despite the years she had spent learning to defend herself, in that moment, she realized she wanted to be defenseless in front of him. There was an undeniable trust, a growing soft spot within her, certain that he would never harm her and she would be safe in his arms. He was the missing piece she had been searching for in her life.

She felt his warm delight as he called out her name. The tenderness in his voice returned, a tone he reserved for their private moments. He drew her closer, his hands enveloping her as if afraid she might vanish if he let go.

She softly whispered "Satoru" into the crook of his neck, and she could feel his hand sliding down her waist. He was her home, so she let him surround her.

He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. "You don't know what you do to me," he murmured, his voice gentle, smooth, and unhurried. She had never realized until now just how enticing his voice was.

His hand tenderly held hers as he leaned in, brushing his nose against the nape of her neck, causing her to stifle a moan. No one had ever touched her with such delicacy, treating her like a fragile cherry blossom. His lips lightly grazed her skin, and she couldn't help but whimper.

 He smiled. He was the reason for her racing heartbeat. He was responsible for those tears of happiness she tried to hide. He was enough for her, just as he was, without needing any proof or change to keep her by his side. As his hands explored her body, feeling and memorizing every curve, he kissed the top of her shoulder blade, gently tracing over her scars.

She rested her hands on his chest, causing him to open his eyes. Gently, he lifted her chin slightly. "I'll be a good sensei," he whispered. "I'll be good to you," he murmured, stroking her cheek and gently kissing her forehead. "I'll be good to anyone you wish."

She stared into his eyes, which seemed to hold a vast heart like the oceans and skies. Rising on her toes, she kissed him with hunger, desperation, and a longing to explore and savor him. He tasted like cotton candy with a hint of vanilla in his scent. Within moments, Satoru responded with an intense kiss, his hands encircling her neck while she attempted to remove his oversized T-shirt with her fingers.

They moved with a sense of urgency, driven by their desires. Satoru firmly grasped her hips, his hands exploring her body. His arms enveloped her with strength while his lips remained gentle. Her head spun with longing. His lips found their way to her neck, savoring her essence, consuming her completely.

She grabbed the waistband of his pants, not realizing how much it would excite him. In response, he lifted her by the waist, pressing her against the wall. His hands held her firmly, supporting her backside, causing her to wrap her legs around him instinctively.

As she tightly gripped his hair, their lips met again, intensifying the connection. His hands slid under her top, and both of them were breathing heavily. The tension grew as his pants tightened around his arousal while she clung to his T-shirt, driven by desperation.

"I'm telling you, I saw Y/N heading to her room. Why isn't she responding?" Yuji's voice echoed.

"Maybe she's taking a shower. It's a normal thing to do after training, you know," Nobara replied, her tone filled with righteousness.

"Maybe Gojo sensei knows where she is!"

"Can't we just leave everyone in this dorm wing alone?" Megumi suggested, feeling trapped.

Satoru let out a heavy breath, closed his eyes, and loosened his hold, allowing Y/N's feet to touch the floor, yet he didn't release her completely. She gently held his face in her hands and softly kissed the tip of his nose. "They'll go away if we stay quiet," he whispered, brushing his cheek against her damp, sweaty hair.

"They won't, and you know it," she whispered, leaning against his chest. She could feel the rhythm of his heartbeats, as well as the bulge pressed against her belly, causing her to blush and hide her face in his embrace.

"How about tonight, after 10?" she proposed, running her fingers through his hair, futilely attempting to neaten the tousled strands.

He drew back, his eyes widening as he gazed at her. "Tonight, after 10," he whispered, a wide grin spreading. He lightly brushed his thumb against her lower lip, only to be surprised when she kissed his palm and smiled as if this was a usual occurrence between two people who shared physical attraction. But there was something more, wasn't there? The soft pink hue on her cheeks and the way she smiled stirred something within him. What was this feeling that enveloped him whenever she was near?

Rubbing the back of his head, he walked back and cleared his throat, observing Y/N hastily fixing her hair, trying to conceal any signs of mischief like a naughty child.

"It's moments like these that make me question my morals. Can't we all peacefully share Y/N?" he declared, opening the door to his room.

A gentle nudge on Satoru's arm and Y/N appeared before the door. "What do you all need?"

Nobara and Yuji immediately started discussing urgent matters with Y/N, seemingly oblivious to the time constraints. Meanwhile, Megumi noticed how their sensei looked at her with a broad, nostalgic smile he hadn't seen in years. Oh, boy.

 *

Knock, knock, knock. The door opened instantly. Satoru had returned from a mission. "Sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to — "

Before he could finish his sentence, her arms tightly wrapped around his waist. She trembled with cold, her eyes red and wet from another nightmare. Without hesitation, he pulled her close, resting her head against his chest, disregarding the dirt on his uniform.

"It was just a bad dream, Y/N. Only a dream," he reassured her. Yet, her sobs persisted. Holding her hand gently, he pressed a kiss on it. "Look," he urged, encouraging her to open her tightly shut eyes. "There is no blood on your hand." He tenderly stroked her hair and kissed her temple.

She stared at her hand, almost disbelieving that the blood had vanished upon his arrival. Sniffling, she remained silent for a while.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" he asked with concern.

She raised her head from his chest and remained silent.

"What's wrong?" He gently wiped away her tears with his thumb. He was the strongest, yet something about this formidable woman brought out his weaknesses.

"Oh, nothing," she replied, a faint smile appearing on her lips as she lowered her head.

"What's amusing?" He grasped her chin and lifted it. Her eyes were still red, but the sadness seemed to have dissipated. Nevertheless, being with her made him feel complete, and for the first time in a long while, he experienced genuine happiness. Was he falling in love with her?

"It's just..." Her words snapped him back to reality. "...this is the first time someone has asked me that," she paused. "It caught me off guard." Balancing on her tiptoes, she hugged him, humming softly. "Yeah, I think I'll be okay. Thank you for asking," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Y/N." His arms tightened around her, assuring her he would never let go. He would hold her like this indefinitely if it would mend her broken pieces. Because she was the missing piece he had longed for in his life: she and her pure heart.

 *

Knock, knock, knock . Y/N rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. Knock, knock, knock. Silence greeted her. Trying again, she hit once more. Still no response. Her hand dropped to her side in the dimly lit hallway as Y/N leaned her forehead against the door. She had just arrived from Okinawa and Utahime's wedding, and despite her exhaustion, frustration, and the ache in her heart, she was determined to address the unspoken issue between them. She refused to accept that Satoru could be the person her eyes had seen that day. He couldn't be because what would that leave her to believe?

Knock, knock, knock. No answer.

It appeared that he was nowhere to be found.

*

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. "Where the hell are you, Satoru?" Y/N's voice was raspy, and her arms and the side of her face bore bruises. She shouldn't have been out of bed.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as her fist continued pounding on the door while her other hand clutched her stomach. "We need you, Satoru. Where are you?" She turned and scanned her surroundings. Why had she hoped that Satoru would sense her pain and return? Collapsing onto the cold floor of the hallway, her back sliding against the door, silent tears stained her cheeks.

"Y/N? What brings you here?"

She raised her head from her knees and faced Shoko. She shrugged her shoulders. "I couldn't sleep." An obvious lie.

Shoko glanced at the door and then at her tear-streaked face, concern evident in her eyes. "Why don't you tell me exactly how you managed to defeat all those Gojo jerks?" she suggested, settling down beside her. Nights like these were better endured with a companion so the darkness wouldn't win over the dawn.

*

"I think he might be sleeping, or he's not in his room," Megumi's whisper came from behind the door.

Ignoring the explanation he had just heard, Yuji knocked on the door again. "He can't leave the school. Once he's cleared from the investigations, they'll assign him as Y/N's executioner again," Yuji commented without bothering to lower his voice. "And if he's sleeping, well, he's a teacher. How about being responsible for once?"

"What if he's also feeling sad? I mean, I know she was a part of your family, but I believe she was his family too," Megumi whispered, the words not concealed behind the door and reaching Satoru's ears.

"What?" Yuji exclaimed. "Are you saying he's miserable? Did someone inform you about something?"

Megumi began mumbling once more. "Didn't you want to witness him in pain? I thought that was the entire purpose of us being here."

Yuji let out a sigh. "That doesn't mean I want to see him messed up. I'm still angry at him, but I must talk to him!"

"You know Y/N didn't leave because of him, right?"

"I know," Yuji replied. He fell silent for a moment before speaking again. "But I haven't forgotten his significant role. If he hadn't broken her heart—"

"He did what he did to protect her. It wasn't healthy for her to be around him, Yuji."

"Fine," Yuji scoffed. "Stop defending your stepfather!"

"Ugh, Yuji. You need to—"

Megumi's sentence was abruptly cut off by the sudden swing of the door, revealing their sensei standing in the doorway with messy hair. The sight of their sensei caught them off guard, but it was Satoru who seemed particularly affected. He instinctively lowered his head, his hand reaching for his sunglasses in an attempt to hide his red-rimmed eyes behind the dark lenses. Although he tried to conceal it, Satoru couldn't shake off the feeling that Yuji had caught a glimpse of the dark circles beneath his eyes. This suspicion was confirmed by the noticeable softening of Yuji's previously furrowed expression as if he understood the silent struggles Satoru was going through.

Satoru abandoned the effort it took to punish himself. Maybe he deserved to have a companion in these hard days. Talking to a real human being might make things a little easier. He practiced using his voice, shaping his lips around the familiar words unfamiliar to his mouth.

Satoru, amidst his inner turmoil, finally reached a point of surrender. The weight of self-punishment became too heavy, and he realized he deserved to have someone by his side, especially during these challenging times. The notion of connecting with another person and engaging in a conversation started to stir within him as a glimmer of relief.

Pretending not to hear Yuji and Megumi's earlier talks, Satoru spoke, "How can I help you, kids?" However, his voice felt strange, unrecognizable even to himself. The usual playfulness and goofiness that accompanied his conversations with students were absent.

Megumi's gaze shifted between the two of them.

"I have a favor to ask of you," Yuji said, deliberately avoiding making direct eye contact with his sensei.

Satoru fully opened the door and stepped aside. "Then come on in," he invited Yuji, his tone welcoming. He then turned to Megumi with a grateful smile. Megumi's defense of him in front of Yuji held great significance. "And what about you, Megumi? Care to join us inside?"

The boy with black hair scratched the back of his neck. "No, thanks. I have to join Maki," he replied. "She's waiting for me at the training grounds," he added, glancing at Yuji one last time and nodding before turning away and walking off.

As Satoru gently closed the door behind him, his gaze fell upon Yuji, who was already seated at the table and waiting quietly. He understood that this discussion would be far from easy, as it required delving into painful truths and facing the consequences of his actions.

Satoru had to face the fact that, in a way, he was responsible for his brothers' deaths, too. It was a bitter pill to swallow, acknowledging his role in their tragic fate. Yet, amidst the confusion and lingering questions, he found himself grappling with the perplexing connection between Y/N and Yuji. The circumstances surrounding their relationship remained shrouded in uncertainty, leaving Satoru with a sense of unease.

Summoning a deep breath, Satoru released a heartfelt sigh. Bracing himself, he approached Yuji, the atmosphere between them charged with unspoken emotions. He pulled out another chair, sat down, and positioned himself before Yuji, prepared to navigate the difficult interaction ahead.

Yuji's gaze remained fixed on the table as he abruptly began speaking. "I need you to locate her and assist her in finding our brother before the higher-ups intervene."

Well, Yuji was straightforward so that Satoru could respond with the same honesty. "I can't," Satoru said, running his hand over his face and pausing it at his mouth.

"What do you mean you can't? You must! You always said you did everything for her well-being, and now you're saying you can't? Is it because of the assignment the higher-ups will give you? You're Satoru Gojo. You can do whatever you please! You never conform to the rules!"

"Yuji," Satoru called out, and finally, Yuji looked at him. The white-haired man's smile was tinged with bitterness. "There are things even I cannot do," he said, glancing at the hair tie on the table. It belonged to Y/N. He reached out and pulled it around his wrist. "Y/N is skilled at hiding. You won't find her unless she chooses to be found."

"Why did you allow her to leave?" Yuji's anger flared.

"Don't ask about things you already know the answer to," Satoru replied, leaning back in his chair. "Staying here would have cost her life. She's better off without me and the Jujutsu Society."

With a trembling voice, Yuji accused, "You destroyed her life." Satoru didn't need to look at the pink-haired boy's face to understand that tears were streaming down it, but he maintained his composure and remained silent, allowing Yuji to express whatever was weighing on his heart. "You weren't there when she needed you. You weren't there when your own family tried to harm her and her child. You weren't there when that powerful curse emerged during the Exchange Event. You only show up now to find an excuse to kill our brothers because that's who you are. I don't even know what I expected from a man who murdered his friend in the name of following orders."

Upon hearing the final sentence, Satoru jerked his head and met Yuji's piercing gaze. Every word Yuji spoke was undeniably true, and that truth cut deep. Satoru couldn't argue against it. The pain he felt was a deserved consequence. Yuji had every right to harbor such intense hatred toward him. After all, what kind of father fails to protect his daughter and her mother? What kind of man disappoints the love of his life and, as a supposed apology, ends the lives of her brothers?

Yet, just because something is true doesn't mean he was prepared to hear it.

He was unaware of the true magnificence of the world, but when Y/N entered his life, she shattered his perception. She revealed the hidden beauty in everything, and now that she was gone, all the beauty in the world seemed to vanish along with her. He had also lost her, which caused him pain, even though he knew he was the primary cause of it all.

The truth broke him.

His voice faltered. His back bowed. His knees weakened. His face crumbled.

He gripped the table's edge tightly to prevent himself from collapsing out of the chair.

"Did you love her?" Yuji asked, breaking the silence. His face was averted as he gazed at the rain through the window.

"I wanted to marry her."

"What?" Yuji turned his head, his eyes widening as he looked at his sensei.

"I have numerous enemies, and I knew they would never let my family be safe. However, while she was building sandcastles with a child in Okinawa, a moment of fear struck me. At that instant, I realized that I wanted it. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I wanted to create a future together. I wanted to grow old with her. I wanted to marry her."

"Did you get her a ring?"

"No."

"What? What do you mean, no?" Yuji paused. "Did you at least do something, like light a candle or make her dinner?"

"No."

"Buy her chocolates? Get down on one knee?"

"No."

"No? You didn't do any of those things? None of them?" His whispers escalated into whispered yells. "You're the absolute worst, you know? The worst. You don't deserve her."

Satoru sighed. "I thought that was already clear."

"Damn." Yuji slammed his hand down. "You two were engaged, and none of us had a clue?"

Satoru's gaze was fixed on the floor, his thumb caressing the hair tie. He appeared composed, but when he whispered, "No," the sadness in his voice cut through Yuji's heart like a knife.

"You never proposed to her, did you?"

Satoru glanced at Yuji's face and shook his head. "No, I never did."

"Good," Yuji replied, tightening his fists. "She didn't need another heartbreak. I know how much she desired a family."

Satoru nodded, unable to find the right words to say. The sound of raindrops tapping against the window filled the room.

After a while, Yuji broke the silence. "You won't kill her when you see her, right?"

"You think I don't love her, right? You think it was easy for me to watch her leave. You think it wasn't painful to see her run away from me? Well, maybe you never truly understood who I am," Satoru retorted. "Because if you did, none of these thoughts would even cross your mind. I understand that labeling me as the devil makes it easier for you to accept her absence, to move forward, to cope. But if you truly knew me, you would understand that since she left, my love for her hasn't wavered, not for a single moment. So, no. Not only will I not kill her, but I will also stand up against anyone who wishes to harm her."

Have you thought about glue?

No one bothers to ask about how the glue is doing, whether it's tired of bonding things, concerned about coming undone, or even wondering how it's managed to survive through the weeks.

Satoru was somewhat similar.

He was like glue. He did his utmost to hold things together and safeguard those he could, yet nobody stopped thinking how he was faring.

Now that Yuji was paying attention, he likely noticed the fatigue in Satoru's eyes, the burden weighing on his forehead, and the tension in his shoulders. Perhaps it was time for Yuji to contemplate what Satoru was experiencing, what he wasn't revealing. Because, just maybe, throughout all these days, nobody had asked about how he was holding up. Because nobody ever anticipated the strongest person to be anything but fine.

Yuji gently pulled on Satoru's shoulder. "Megumi was right. You're not okay, are you?" Yuji whispered.

Satoru's eyes softened instantly, displaying weariness and faint amusement. It took him a moment to realize he hadn't answered the question. Only when he looked away did he eventually nod and say, "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"It's okay, Yuji. I'm not feeling sad. I should have expected this from the start. It seems that anything I don't want to lose always ends up slipping away. That's just how things have always been for me. The moment I obtain something worth wanting, it becomes lost."

Yuji started playing with his fingers. "I'm still angry, but I understand you made her happy like no one else ever did. So, I want to believe that you'll find a way to be together in the end. I know a bit about her binding vow to you, but deep down, I don't think it all happened solely because of that. Hence, get a ring and be prepared for the next time you see her," Yuji said, offering a smile for the first time in months.

Satoru's eyes briefly showed surprise before he averted his gaze, running a hand along his neck to soothe the tense muscle. After a moment, he shifted his focus to the window. "The weather sucks," he remarked.

Yuji understood it as a code for "Thank you."

"Yeah," Yuji replied. "Does it always rain on your birthdays, Sensei?"

Tag list: @hecateria @whattowritewhattonot @@readxeer00 @sunamew @yoongi-holland @sanokana @soft--grunge--burrito @move-in-mysterious-ways @tanu003097 @spookytreeeagle @wonderlandjthedaydreamer @littlecarrot06 @kurooyy @angeliccutie007 @misaki17 @yungliddysyx @nanamiswh0r3 @smokeyfuzz @sumii @zukisbabe @geidly @evalynanne @antheialy

[sopebubbles]

Chapter twelve coming Thursday August 3rd, 6am CT/8pm kst

Chapter summary: yoongi takes you on a date

Warnings: slight angst (mostly talking about her past), mentions of past abuse, homelessness, fear of abandonment

Honestly yall its a lot of yoongi and oc being freakin soft 😩

Teaser below the cut

Once you got settled in the front seat, Yoongi cleared his throat before he started the engine. "This is for you," he said as he handed you a brand new Samsung phone.

"Oh, I–"

"Before you say you don't need it, just consider that it's for me. I want you to make sure that you have it with you and it's on all the time. I told you that it's important for me to know where you are, so I can keep you safe, so you need a phone. And don't worry, it's not like the newest model or anything. Besides, remember you're agreed to let me provide for you. So just accept it. It has all of the pack's numbers saved already, in case you ever need one of them, and they all have your number already. I'm your emergency contact," he rambled.

Instead of offering any protest you smiled softly and unbuckled your seat belt to lean over and kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you, alpha," you said before you leaned back into your spot. You may have wanted to refuse, but he was right, it was for him and not you, not really. If he needed you to carry this thing around in order to feel more secure, that shouldn't be hard for you.

You weren't prepared for more gifts when you got to the drive-in. When you found a spot to park, Yoongi told you to wait while he got out of the car and went to the trunk. You looked anxiously through the back window, but couldn't see anything that gave away what he was doing. Eventually he pushed a large gift bag and picnic basket through his open car door before he joined you again.

"What's all this?" You wondered, looking at the tissue paper sticking out of the huge bag at your eye level.

"Why don't you open it and see?" He teased.

You narrowed your eyes at him as you got up on your knees to be able to look over the bag, but your scrutiny only made him smile. Pulling out the paper piece by piece revealed two soft round pillows inside, one lavender and one orange.

"I figured you needed some pillows for your nest. I thought these could remind you of me and Jiminie."

Your cheeks and your eyes burned as you pulled out the two pillows, almost ball-like except for how plush they were. They squeezed nicely in your arms when you held them to your chest.

"Do you think they'll be okay?" Yoongi asked, beginning to feel nervous when you didn't say anything.

You buried your head in them to hide your wet eyes. "They're perfect." Your words were muffled, but they still warmed Yoongi's heart. When you collected yourself, you placed the pillows safely back in the bag and set it aside. "What's in the basket?"

"Oh, I asked Hobi to put together some snacks for us. But if there are any other treats you want, I'll go get something from the concession stand." Yoongi opened the top of the basket and you both reached for the box of raisinets at the same time. You whispered an apology while Yoongi plucked them out. He opened the box and handed it to you. "I'm going to go get some popcorn. Do you have a drink preference?"

You shook your head and he got out once again to go get more snacks. You shoved a few raisinets into your mouth and put the rest away. Then you pulled out the soft orange pillow from the gift bag at your feet and held it close again. You wondered if he'd already scented it, or if it was your imagination that applied the orange aroma.

The longer he was gone, your mind began to wander. It was hard not to think about all the first things you were experiencing lately. Your very first completely safe, self-made nest, your first drive-in movie, your first date. It had felt like you'd been living for years in the most raw way possible, but maybe all you'd done was survive, and only barely. These new things seemed so small and insignificant to you when they were only abstract ideas, things you would live without because you didn't need them to survive, but now they felt monumentally important as each one carved a memory in your heart. And each one was available to you only because of Yoongi.

[lieslab]

Enamored Remedy

Summary: Han turns himself into a magician to cheer you up while you struggle with the common cold.

Pairing: Han X gn reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.8K

_ _ _

You took breathing through your nose for granted. The common cold caught you when you least expected it. Two days ago, you woke up with a stuffy nose, a pounding headache, and intense sinus pressure. No matter what you did, nothing seemed to work. 

Honey glazed cough drops quieted your cough for a few hours until it came back stronger than ever. The cold medicine you continued to take only provided comfort by causing you to get sleepy and drift off to sleep. The saline nose spray, the one you purchased out of pure desperation, cleared up your sinuses for twenty minutes, before they became plugged again. 

You were miserable and Han knew it. You pressed through the annoyance of it all and continued to go to work. You didn’t have a choice. You only received a handful of sick days throughout the year and you already used a few. Unless you wanted to use the rest, or get fired, you were forced to suck it up. 

On the third day, you came home and threw yourself on the couch. Pockets filled with snotty tissues and a red nose from where you kept blowing it, you were exhausted. Working while in this state was starting to take a heavy toll on you. 

You weren’t sleeping properly due to coughing so much. Your throat was sore and it hurt to swallow. You kept trying to sip tea with honey because that’s what Google recommended, but you hated tea. No matter what kind it was, you dislike the taste. 

At your wits end, you just wanted to fall asleep and reawaken when your body decided to come to its senses and work properly. Unfortunately, you couldn’t because that’s not how life worked. You were miserable and a snotty mess. Not to mention, you kept Han Jisung at an arm’s length away at all times. 

You dodged his puckered kisses and wiggled free from his hugs. He was working on a new batch of songs and the last thing you wanted to do was share your cold with him. He hated when you were sick because you were as stubborn as a mule. 

He could pout and whine and beg, but you’d never budge. You’d avoid physical touch like the plague until you were better. You let him make you tea and you’d let him pour your medicine, but that was it. No comforting hugs, no soft kisses, none of that. 

A round of mucus-filled coughs left your throat and you groaned while flopping over onto the side of the couch. At this point, you were starting to pray for a miracle. Something to take your mind off the sickly ache that clung onto you. Something to ease the throb of the headache behind your eyes. You shut your eyes and let out a sigh. 

Five minutes later, your miracle showed up in the form of your boyfriend. Han Jisung flung through your front door with a pep in his step. He glanced around the corner of the living room. His eyes glittered with excitement once he spotted you on the couch. 

“Baby?” He called out wondering if you were awake. 

“Hmm?” You responded without opening your eyes. 

This was far better than he expected. He slipped around the corner and made his way into the middle of the living room. “I have a surprise for you! Open your eyes!” 

You opened your eyes and blinked in shock. Han stood in an eggshell white button-down shirt with a black suit coat over it. Black dress pants adorned his legs and a bright ruby-red bow-tie was secured around his neck. 

A matching pair of white gloves covered his hands. A comically large top hat perched on the top of his head with a thin line of red lining the bottom. A shiny red cape fluttered behind him and followed his movements. To complete the look, there was a black wand in his hand with a white tip. 

“What the fu-” 

“Welcome, welcome to Han Jisung’s one man traveling magic show!” He waved the wand. A toothy grin sat on his face as his chipmunk cheeks puffed up from smiling. 

You couldn’t help, but laugh at how excited he looked. “The one man traveling magic show?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“And you just decided to stop in my apartment today?” 

“I had a special request put in by someone.” 

“Your secret admirer.” 

“And who might that be?” 

You chuckled and sat up on the couch. “So what kind of tricks can you do?” 

“All sorts of them. Watch this!” Han took a few steps back. He placed his wand on the fireplace mantle behind him and held up a thumb. “I can make my thumb disappear.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Take a good hard look at it and watch it carefully.” He moved his thumb around and wiggled it. He even tugged on it to prove it was real. He held it up, cupped his other hand over the front, and looked at you with wide eyes. “Are you ready to make it disappear?” 

You nodded while watching with amusement. 

“Go ahead and say the magic words.” 

“Abracadabra.” 

His face fell as he looked back at you. “Is that all the enthusiasm you’re going to give to me? I came all the way here from the JYP Building.” 

“Abracadabra,” you tried again a little louder.

Han’s eyes narrowed.

“Abracadabra!” Your voice raised. You coughed into your elbow, but kept your eyes on Han. 

He suddenly pulled back his cupped hand to reveal his thumb gone. “Ta-dah!” He grinned again. “Look at that, it’s gone. Where did it go?” 

“Is it hidden behind your cupped hand?” 

“Pft, no.” 

“Prove it.” 

Han quickly placed his other hand back over the other and pulled it away to reveal his thumb again. “Would you look at that! I brought it back! Now onto my next trick.” 

A smile began to tug at the corners of your lips. Han pulled out a coin from his pocket. “I can make this coin disappear and reappear from behind your ear.” 

“Wow.” 

“Uh-huh. Watch this.” With a snap on one hand, he caused the coin to disappear in the other. “Isn’t that crazy, baby?” 

You suppressed a laugh. “Where did it go?” 

He bent down and dug in his pockets. “Well, it’s certainly not there.” His eyes scanned the floor as he looked around. “Do you feel anything near your ear, sweetheart?” 

“I don’t think I do.” 

Han walked closer, his dark eyes looked into yours. He bent down, so your faces were only a few inches apart. He reached out towards your ear, placed his hand behind it, and pulled it back. Your eyes never left his. 

“Would you look at that?” He moved back and pulled his hand with it. When he opened his hand, the missing coin laid in the bottom of his empty palm. “It really was behind your ear.” 

“Are you sure it wasn’t just sleight of hand?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

You shook your head and continued to watch him. Your mind had been pulled away from your stuffy nose and sore throat. Your focus was completely on Han now. 

“And for my next trick,” Han said. He slipped the coin into his bottom pocket. He reached into the front pocket of his suit coat and tugged out a piece of orange fabric. He pulled on it until a yellow one appeared tied onto the end of it. 

He let out a sigh, “where is it?” He continued pulling on the handkerchiefs. You bit down on your lip to stop yourself from laughing. He continued to pull on the yellow fabric and a red one came out. 

“Did I seriously lose it?” He frowned and continued tugging at the fabric. One-by-one, different colored fabrics came out of the pocket. He pulled and pulled and pulled but the string of tied fabrics never seemed to end. 

You shoved a hand over your mouth. The pile had begun to create a small mound on the floor. The frustration plastered onto Han’s face was priceless. He tugged and tugged and tugged until he reached the end. A green handkerchief sat in his hand and he dropped it to the ground. The pile covered the tops of his black dress shoes. 

“Well that didn’t work, moving on. Let me try another one.” He reached into his pocket and a loud horn sounded. 

It caught both of you off guard. Your eyes widened and Han nearly jumped ten feet in the air. He jerked a small metal horn out of his pocket. A black rubber covering sat on the back of it. He grimaced and dropped it onto the floor where it landed on the rubber section and let out another small toot. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, you erupted into a fit of giggles. Common cold be damned, you couldn’t help it. Your body shook with laughter. Han stared at you for a moment with his lips pressed together. He tried to keep his own laughter inside, but when the two of you made eye contact, he burst. 

Falling to his knees, he leaned forward with laughter. The top hat fell off his head and rolled over the handkerchiefs. You clutched your stomach trying to properly breathe. After a few moments, tears pricked in the corners of your eyes. 

“I-I thought,” you sucked in a deep breath, “horns were for clowns.” 

“The party store only had so many objects and I was trying my best!”

You fell into another fit of laughter. Every time you remembered the look on Han’s face, it sent you spiraling. The wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and jaw dropped in shock, it was the funniest thing you had seen in a while. 

Han finally pulled himself up and dragged himself across the floor to you. He threw himself over your lap and began to silently laugh again. You ran a hand through his hair. “You’re such a goofball.” 

“I’m sorry, I really wanted to cheer you up, but I-” Laughter bubbled up inside him again. 

It took a while for the two of you to finally gain your bearings back. You wiped tears out of your eyes. “That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I love you so much. Did you mean for it to play out like this?” 

“No! I was trying to make you laugh, but I had different tricks picked out.” Han picked himself up off your lap to look at you. “I love you too, but I do have one more trick for you.” 

“You think you can do it?” 

“I can’t mess this one up.” He flicked his wrist and within seconds, a fake bouquet of flowers appeared in his hand. He pushed the fabric flowers towards you.

“Woah,” you glanced down in shock. This trick caught you off guard completely. “How did you do this one?” 

He grinned, “a magician never reveals his secrets, baby.”

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Taglist: @fairytaleskiess

Requests are open.

[vincess-princess]

trying to write original small-form works ended up in this. not exactly small, but it's finished, and that's something considered i haven't finished a thing since 2020

Genres: sci-fi, dystopia, a dash of cyberpunk Word count: 10 228 words Summary: The research facility personnel doesn't like Dex much. Not a single one of them hadn't suffered from one of his meltdowns, be that a bruise or a broken limb. But they aren't getting rid of him. They can't, really. He is the reason the research facility has been built. The military that sponsored it are very interested in a mysterious virus in his body. And Dex? Dex is interested in putting as many spokes in their wheels as he can. Warnings: not spoiling it to you but on AO3 this would have gotten a "creator chose not to warn" tag.

Dex could feel them burrow through his flesh, weaving complex tunnel systems underneath his skin that looked like intricate red webs from the outside. The tunnels healed fast, and the next day the webs would look completely different, each time unique, like a snowflake. All this healing and tearing produced so much scar tissue his skin was growing bumpy and uneven - but at least dead flesh didn’t ache.  

But so far there was still nearly not enough of it in his body to not ache, so much that constant pain fogged his mind, slowed his thoughts and jumbled his perception of reality. It was not so bad, really; pain could hardly break through the veil of fog, and only an occasional sharp spike of acuteness tore through it – but just for a moment, and then everything went thick and bland again.

The medassistant above his head detected Dex’s heartbeat change and awoke with a buzz. Its flexible tendril with a needle at the end began unwinding, aiming at his left arm where constant blood-taking left ugly bruises on the inner side of his elbow. This tendril was considerably faster than the previous three, but not enough that he couldn’t break it too if he wanted. But he didn’t. Not right now, at least.

The needle dug into Dex’s inner elbow and began filling a little vial with coppery blood. The more of them there were, the stronger was the color. His was the brightest in the lab fridge, more so considering that activity in other samples ceased long ago – they couldn’t live outside the host for more than 24 hours.

The tendril drank its due and withdrew. Next to the bed a drawer moved out of the wall. There were two small white capsules inside. Breakfast.

Dex sighed and pushed himself up on the bed. Lowered his bare feet onto the cold floor. Shivers ran up his calves. Would it really hurt the budget to put a rug in here? Anything, really, just to brighten the austere, sterile containment cell, dilute the grey and white with some color.

But the management didn’t like him enough to fulfil his wishes. They didn’t like him at all, to be frank. It was probably all the equipment they had to replace and the new workers they had to hire after yet another of his meltdowns.

Through great effort Dex rose to his feet and shuffled over to the sink in the other corner of the cell. When he waved his hand before the sensor, water poured into his mug – thankfully, he had no restriction on it, because the infection made him really thirsty.

He washed tasteless pills down with water, then climbed back to bed in hope of catching some more shut-eye. The rough fabric of the bedsheet grinded against his skin, inflaming his sharp senses. His brain, flooded with signals of distress, instantly jumped into overwhelm, forcing a groan out of his throat. This was the worst of his illness: lights too bright, sounds too loud, surfaces too uneven, smells too strong. Doctors tried to reduce the sensory input – with limited success: Dex still had at least one meltdown on a biweekly basis. At least not every other day like in the beginning, though.

Just as he wrapped himself in a thin blanket, he heard the elevator on the other end of the hall open and familiar heavy steps approach. The man was limping slightly – seemed like his leg was still healing. Was the management really so short-staffed as to call Mike from his sick leave early? Modern medicine could heal broken bones very fast, of course, but for fuck’s sake, give the poor guy some rest.

Because Dex surely wasn’t gonna do that. As steps grew closer, he stood up and grabbed his mug from the sink, and when the door opened, flung the mug into the figure looming in the doorframe. A thump, an indignant yell and the clatter of the mug rolling across the floor that followed were music to his ears.

“You motherfucker!” Mike yelled. His stubbly face reddened – he was always quick to anger. “I’m so sick of you, you chinch-infested asshole. Can’t wait for them to eat you alive.”

“I’m happy to see you too, Mike. How’s the leg?”

“One day I will get to kick your corpse with it. And I’ll do it. I’ll be the first in line.” Mike promised, kicking the mug with such ferocity it could as well be the aforementioned corpse.

“I sure hope your leg heals by that time. So you can give it your all.”

“It better does.” Mike walked inside, grabbed him by the arm and tugged at it. “C’mon. You’ve got some tests to do.”

“Can’t wait.”

They walked down the hall. It was squeaky-clean, as always – a government research facility had to meet the standards – but there were still crumbs and dust that stuck to Dex’s sensitive feet. Walking everywhere barefoot didn’t help much when that “everywhere” was the lab, the gym and the shower.

Mike led him to the elevator and towards the lab. Dr. Forester waited for them at the door.

“Good morning, Dex,” he said.

Dex ignored him. Dr. Forester didn’t look too upset about it.

“Come in, come in. Mike, I’ll call you when it’s time to escort Dex to the gym.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Mike said to Dex acidly.

“Thanks, I will.”

The guard left. Dex listened to his steps getting quieter until Dr. Forester closed the door.

“Sit down.” He waived at the chair in the center of the lab. “A chair” was not nearly enough to do it justice, though. It was a throne of woe – for the sickest and the damnedest, with cuffs on the handles and at the footrest, a collar where the neck should go and a crown of a neuroscanner above the head. Too much time had he spent on his throne of woe – more than anyone else, as far as he was aware. The longest any other infected lasted at the facility before Dex was four months and eighteen days.

Dex was here for over a year already. He wasn’t sure how much exactly – as time passed, things began to blur. Now his life before the facility seemed a distant memory, a splash of color among the monotony of black and white.

No. He won’t drag those memories to the surface. Burying them again would be too much work.

“I’d really prefer not having to strip you into this.” Dr. Forester patted the throne handle. “That’d do good both to the research and to your well-being. You agree?”

Dex ignored him again. They’ve been through that countless times, and Dr. Forester was right – it hurt no one else but Dex.

Still, he would do it again, and again, and again, until they had to take his body apart limb by limb, but not today. Today the pain was worse than usual, and he didn’t have it in him today. One day wouldn’t change anything anyway.

“Seems like you are. We’ll see, though.” And Dr. Forester picked up a tonometer.

The usual tests followed. Blood pressure, glucose, urine sample, weight, height (Dex added half an inch over his stay at the facility), blood oxygen, ECG, brain scan and he forgot what else. His blood analysis had been completed by that point, and one of Dr. Forester’s assistants – Turner, if Dex remembered correctly – was putting the data into the database.

“Hm. The ironphage concentration is higher than usual today. Another growth period?” Dr. Forester mused at the chart of Dex’s ironphage concentration in the blood. It spawned the entirety of his imprisonment at the facility and grew in spurts: a period of fast growth, a plateau, growth, plateau. Every time Dex hoped a yet another spurt would be the last one, and every time it wasn’t. And it seemed now that another spurt was coming. Not good news for Dex and doctors both.

“It is within acceptable fluctuation, though…” Dr. Forester kept talking, but the sound of his voice faded into the background as another one pushed its way ahead. It was Turner banging on his keyboard like it was his mortal enemy, and the repetitive, annoying clicking rang in Dex’s ears, overpowering everything else. Though not exactly loud to anyone else, it rumbled through Dex’s body, making his muscles tense up and his head hurt. He barely suppressed an urge to cover his ears and instead clenched the handles of his throne so hard his knuckles went white.

“What is it?” Dr. Forester frowned. Damn, he noticed. “Dex, I sure hope you’re not scheming something up. We both know that tranquilizers aggravate your sensitivity.”

“Make it stop,” Dex exhaled. Words came out through great effort. Please, not another meltdown. Triggered by keyboard clicking would be the new low for him to hit.

“Stop what?”

“The banging. Keyboard.”

“Keyboard? Turner!” Dr. Forester quickly identified the culprit. “Tone down that clicking! Or better put it off until Dex leaves. The data won’t go anywhere.”

“Yes, doctor,” Turner said, shooting Dex an unfriendly gaze. Considering that once Dex threw a tonometer at him, leaving a sizeable bruise, Dex understood why.

“Is that better?”

Dex nodded.

“Good. Now, we’re done here. Off to the gym you go.”

Mike and Turner walked him down the hall to another door. There was a corner right behind it, but Dex didn’t know what was there. He never went farther than the gym.

A massive steel door, like that of a bunker, was controlled by a fingerprint lock, and, as Dr. Forester warned Dex, did not react to fingers that were for some reason separated from the body. Not that Dex ever tried, but the warning did change a couple of his plans. All the weapons in the gym were, of course, just training versions of real ones, and couldn’t kill a man, or so he was told – but they were still weapons.

Inside the gym was brightly lit, as always – they never listened to Dex’s requests to tone down the brightness. The rubber-covered floors were squeaky clean – not a trace of blood left from the last time. He’s gotta ask Mike about Trevor – they should have sewn his arm back on already.

The door behind Dex slammed shut. He looked around. The broadaxe he used the last time was missing, and toned plexiglass separating the gym from the observation room replaced. Pity they took away the broadaxe, even a training version. It was heavy enough to leave a good dent and crush a couple of bones.

A robotic voice began reading instructions from a speaker by the ceiling. They were the same from Dex’s first day in the facility, and he could recite them by memory now. The damn white coats kept putting them on every time he came to the gym.

“Shut up!” he yelled at the ceiling. The voice kept reading monotonously. Dex stopped listening.

He headed to the weapon rack and picked up his favorite rifle. It lay heavily in his arms, warm to the touch, like it had just been shot out of. A precise replica of a real-life SVD-X1 shooting rubber bullets. The bullets were real at first, but after the doctors saw enough of Dex’s temperament they replaced all the weapons with their training versions. Still, even the training version of SVD-X1 was light, portable, quick and precise, and reliable like a Swiss watch.

It's been a while since he held Glasha in his arms, and it felt like being reunited with an old friend. It did exactly what Dex wanted from it, didn’t manhandle him and perform tests and experiments on him – what’s more to ask?

Yeah, a bitter thought flashed through Dex’s mind, the facility had really lowered his standards.

The observer – Turner, most likely – must have seen him cradle the rifle and seized the chance. The robotic voice changed its tune mid-word and launched a “precision check”. On the opposite sides of the gym, a good 300 feet away, three targets were lowered from the ceiling. One was about 20 inches wide, the other – 7, and the smallest one – barely 2.

Oh, so they returned to the basics. Out of caution, probably – they didn’t expect him to show his top results after a week of solitary confinement – but Dex could already feel boredom wash over him. He hit those targets during his first month in the facility, why go back to it?

He took his earmuffs off the weapon rack – the gunshots deafened him for good five minutes otherwise – returned to the position and raised the rifle to his shoulder. He felt Glasha’s buttstock nest comfortably against his shoulder, leveled the scope against his eye. He closed his eyes, inhaled and called to the ironphages. Here’s a job for you.

The red webs on his hands filled up and reddened. Adrenaline rushed through his body, overwhelmed his mind with unexplainable confidence, almost like Dex had already seen everything happen. His fingers grew stronger, his hold – more even, Glasha seemed weightless. He narrowed his eyes.

Bang, bang, bang – the three targets fell back and rose ashamedly to the ceiling.

“Boring!” he yelled to the plexiglass, rubbing his shoulder where the recoil hit. SVD-X1 was nearly not as bad as, say, Barrett M72-V1 (not to say lighter), but it was still a sniper rifle. Precision and strike strength came with a price.

Turner must have been annoyed at his expression of boredom: the targets began moving, then doubled in numbers, then sped up. Dex kept shooting methodically, almost without thinking: ironphages didn’t need him to. They granted his arms balance and strength, kept up with the speed, postponed muscle fatigue. Dex reveled in this thoughtlessness, this utter concentration on one thing only: it gave him relief from his thoughts and even lessened the pain.

When the routine was over, Dex was almost disappointed. But then Turner launched the next program – melee. Dex liked it less than precision shooting, but he took what he could get.

He went to the weapon rack, took off the earmuffs and picked a nylon knife. He weighed it in his hand, reminding the ironphages of the weight, the shape of the handle, the point of balance – and then he heard a voice.

Dex was going to brush it off - Turner was speaking on the intercom, probably, - but then another voice joined in. It was low, booming. Then spoke one more person – a woman, judging by the higher pitch. Dex couldn’t make out the words, but could distinguish the intonation quite well.

And it was very telling: both unfamiliar voices were measured, authoritative, commanding. Soldiers spoke like that.

Oh, come on. Dex told them numerous times he would rather die than work with the military, and they never listened. His fingers clenched the handle of the knife. His answer was gonna be the same, and he would show them that.

The knife collided with the glass and bounced off it so hard it landed far behind Dex. It left a shallow dent – they may have reinforced the glass specifically for this kind of Dex’s tantrums, but his growing strength eventually outgrew it, and they couldn’t afford to replace it every couple weeks.

“I ain’t joining the army!” he yelled. His voice echoed all over the gym, rumbled in his ears. Dex winced, but continued.

“Fuck your army and fuck you!” He picked up a heavier knife and flung it at the glass. This dent was noticeably deeper. The ironphages clearly banded up in there to help him convey his point.

The voices behind the glass went quiet for a moment and then began gabbering with growing intensity. The male voice boomed, the female sizzled. Turner could barely be heard – these two must have completely overpowered him. Dex felt no pity for him.

“Fuck! You! Fuck! You!” Dex chanted as he grabbed Barrett M72-V1 off the weapon rack and fired the whole magazine into the glass.

The recoil was so powerful his shoulder exploded with pain, making him drop the rifle with a groan. But it was worth it – the bullets, though rubber, dove deep into the glass and nestled there snugly, framed by snowflake-like halos of cracks.

The glass didn’t break, but his demonstration of discontent sure had an effect on the observers.

“Stop that right now!” Turner’s trembling voice demanded over the loudspeaker.

“Or what?”

“You don’t wanna know.” Turner tried to be ominous, but sounded desperate instead.

“You for real? I’m supposed to be afraid of something I don’t even know about? You’re a horrible negotiator.” Dex picked up another knife and twirled it between his fingers.

“It’s gonna be worse than anything you’ve had before.”

“Really? Now I’m interested. Roll out your new punishment.” Dex flung the knife at the glass again. Turner’s breath audibly faltered at the collision.

“You don’t wanna go through it. Just stop that and you won’t get it,” Turner tried one last time. But Dex was unimpressed.

“Come on! How many guards is that gonna be this time? Ten? Twenty?”

Turner emitted a short laugh. “None.”

Then a hiss came from somewhere above. Dex’s sensitive nose caught a whiff of something bitter and acrid. Then a yellowish gas began blowing into the room, painting everything in vomit-colored residue.

They were sedating him!

Dex couldn’t not agree that this was something new. He’d rather have ten guards. At least those were breakable. He couldn’t break a gas’s leg, try as he might.

“Cowards!” he yelled to the glass, hoping to provoke Turner, but no more sounds came from the loudspeaker. Dex kicked the weapon rack with frustration, but it hurt his toes, so he left it alone. He sat by the wall, coughing as more gas entered his lungs. His head felt heavy and foggy; ironphages, detecting something fishy in the system, rushed to remove the harmful molecules, but they were soon overpowered. The gas was so dense by that point Dex couldn’t see the opposite wall of the gym. It was the first time Dex wished there were more of the phages.

He succumbed to the sedative a couple minutes later. The blissful darkness came abrupt and quick like a hammer to the head.

***

Dex didn’t know how much time he slept – his cell had no windows – but when he woke up, the lights were out. Must be nighttime then.

A headache so bad the hammer might as well have been real kicked in. Moving also didn’t bring much relief: the ironphages were hard at work cleaning his body of toxins and were more active than usual. Combined the pain was so bad Dex could barely move a hand.

He needed to pee, but not badly enough to attempt getting up, so he turned to the other side, pulled up his blanket and fell asleep again.

The next couple days were the same, except he did force himself to pee at some point: they wouldn’t change his sheets with him still in the cell, and he didn’t want to sleep in a wet bed. Dex was thankful for the residual sleepiness that helped him fall asleep hard and fast every time. He wouldn’t be able to bear all that pain while awake.

Aside from the medassistant taking his blood samples, nobody bothered him, or he slept right through it. He was undoubtedly watched – Dr. Forester would never leave his test subject unobserved while on a new drug, because the ironphages’ reaction was unpredictable. They rejected the mildest painkillers with such ferocity Dex thought his insides were burning and limbs torn off piece by piece. Then they healed his broken arm in a matter of days. If at first Dex confidently labeled them parasites, now he was not so sure.

He did wish he never got them, though. As miserable as his life was before the facility, it was still life. This was just existence.

He finally awoke at night, his throat parched and his eyes dry, but the headache was gone and the phages calmed down a bit. He let medassistant take his blood and, looking at the coppery liquid in the vial, realised how hungry he was.

There were six breakfast capsules in his little drawer. So he missed three mornings.

He didn’t have to wait long for someone to remember about him. Mike thumped loudly down the hall and unlocked the door.

“I did not miss you,” he announced from the doorframe.

“C’mon, you’re glad to see me alive and well.” Dex highlighted the last word, smiling.

“The only time I’d be glad to see you is when I get to see your dead body.”

“You’re so rude. Did your mama not teach you manners?”

“Shut up and walk.”

Mike escorted Dex to the lab and handed him over to Dr. Forester, who seemed unusually invigorated. Got another questionable medicine to test on him?

“Dex! How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Dex grumbled. He didn’t like talking to Dr. Forester, but he had a request to make. “What was that crap you made me breathe? Could at least tell me beforehand.”

“A new sedative the QC came up with. For larger groups of enemies designated for capture. Our intel has got ahold of its composition, so we recreated it to see it in action.”

“Bet you tested it on regular humans already.”

“That’s right.” Dr. Forester seemed neither surprised nor indignant. He talked about the subject with his usual ease, which did not, in turn, instill ease in Dex at all.

“And?”

“Let me say… the QC chemists have got a load more brainstorming to do if they want a healthy labor force.” Dr. Forester smiled. “Just another proof of our superior technology. Now, as you’re the only remaining test subject,” – Dex winced, - “would you mind describing what inhaling the gas felt like?”

“I might,” Dex began carefully, “if you fulfill my request.”

“Taking advantage of me, huh?” Dr. Forester said light-heartedly. “You’ve got your charm, I’ve got to admit. Ask away – within reason.”

“I want new clothes, these have been worn to bits. And a rug in my cell.”

“Your room, you mean?” Dr. Forester politely corrected him. Dex grimaced. God, who all that farce was for? “Well, that can be done. What color?”

“Pink. And fluffy.”

“I’ll put in an order. Say it’s for science purposes.” Dr. Forester winked at Dex, and he felt like a bucket of sewer water had been upended over him. “Now, let us proceed to our usual tests, and you can tell me about your experience with the gas along the way.”

That day was shower day, and after gym (the plexiglass had already been replaced, as if Dex never shot at it) Dex got to wash off all that sticky, smelly residue of the gas off his body and change into new clean clothes – simple white T-shirt and pants again, but at least without holes between the thighs. No shoes, though – the management believed it could somehow stop him should he make up his mind to escape. Dex could tell them that he would walk on white-hot nails barefoot if it would get him out of the facility, but he knew how paranoid the management was by that point. They could easily make him walk around naked for all he cared.

He sat down on his bed, combing through his hair with his fingers. It had already grown to reach his shoulders, and he didn’t care enough to ask to have it cut. Dex hadn’t seen himself in a mirror in a long while, but he was sure he now looked just like Luke in his rockstar phase, only without that stupid heart tattoo. The girl dumped Luke three weeks after he had it done. Oh how Dex laughed at him.

He missed him. He missed him so much it hurt.

***

The next day he woke up from the pain. It hadn’t happened in a while: as the phages began multiplying and pain increased, so did his body’s adaptability. He cried and screamed on day one and slept soundly on day twenty. This seemed to be day one of another growth spurt, as Dr. Forester predicted.

Every time they believed a spurt would be the last one – a human body simply couldn’t host that many phages – and every time they were wrong.

When Mike came, Dex threw his hand over his forehead in a “dying Victorian maiden” style.

“You’re gonna have to carry me. Bridal style, please.”

“No the fuck I ain’t.” Mike bared his teeth in a smile. “Get up, princess.”

He dragged Dex out of the bed by his leg, forcing him to get on his feet. Then they headed to the lab – five minutes late because they had to fix Dex’s bedsheets that he dragged with him to the floor.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dex told him as the door closed. “See, you can be a very nice guy when you want to.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Mike replied almost endearingly.

He had been working here since the beginning, and stayed as some left and others came. He stayed even after Dex broke his leg – on accident, of course. He didn’t want that chair to hit the guard.

“A bad day?” Dr. Forester greeted him sympathetically as Dex climbed onto his throne of woe. “Your blood tests show a spike in ironphage activity. We will, of course, conduct other analyses, but it’s pretty damning evidence that we’re having a growth period upon us.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Dex said.

“Your analyses have shown a slight spike in activity even before the gas, but today it’s much steeper than usual. Could it be prompted by the gas?” Dr. Forester mused over the chart. “If it could… we could force ironphages to replicate by making the host breathe the QC gas. Or- no, I don’t think it’s the gas in particular. We could try other intense experiences and see how they react.”

Of course they could. And who was the only available test subject?..

“Don’t look so grim.” Dr. Forester must have noticed Dex’s face change. “There is nothing the ironphages can’t fix. Or rather,” he added reluctantly, “there has been – so far.”

“This is not a consolation.”

“That’s the only one I can offer you,” Dr. Forester shrugged. Oh how Dex wanted to claw his eyes out.

But Dr. Forester was the head of the research department. Whatever he saw fit to do, he did. The high-ranking military assholes that sponsored him gave him a “freedom of research”, since he was the first one to keep an infected person alive for more than a few months. It wasn’t really his achievement, but who cared what Dex had to say about it?

“Relax,” Dr. Forester told him. “It’s just a hypothesis, and the one I do not intend to test any time soon. Today we have something else to try.”

“Oh, come on,” Dex groaned.

“No-no, it’s not as bad as you think.” Dr. Forester took a small pill box from a table and opened it. A lone red capsule lay inside. It didn’t look remarkable in any way, but the doctor and both his assistants looked at it… almost reverently.

“We’ve been working on a new kind of painkiller for you – the one that would not trigger ironphages – and I have a reason to believe we’ve been rather successful this time. At least your blood samples didn’t react as violently as they did during earlier trials. They didn’t react at all, in fact.”

“Wait, so you got a reaction off my blood tests to all the previous pills and you gave them to me anyway?”

“Of course. Blood tests are not a be-all-end-all. The body might react completely differently. This time, however, we harbor hope for a much better result.” And he handed Dex the pill box.

Dex hesitated for a moment, thinking of throwing it in Dr. Forester’s face. What was that, the sixth painkiller they told him would totally help him?

They would force him to take it anyway, though. Strip him down to the chair and shove it down his throat, or sedate him with the gas and inject it, whatever.

The box cracked in half in his hands – Dex clutched it too tight without even noticing. Then he heard buzzing coming from Dr. Forester’s hand. He was branding his favorite shocker that Dex had become too well-acquainted with for his own liking.

“Don’t make me tase you, Dex,” he warned. His pleasant demeanor slipped off like a mask. A mask it was, in fact. “Just be a good boy and take the pill. I promise you, it’s not worth it.”

Dex knew that. He had learned that resistance it pointless long ago. It never stopped him before, but now… he was tired. Tired from the pain, the brain fog, the constant sensory overload. And this – this was a potential relief, feeble as it could be.

“Fine,” Dex said grimly. “But if it’s another blow-“

“It’s not.” Dr. Forester was growing impatient. “Need water?”

Dex threw the pill into his mouth and swallowed it in a big gulp. It slid down his throat effortlessly.

“Very well.” Dr. Forester looked relieved. “It should take effect in about half an hour, and then you’ll do a regular training routine at the gym. We need to ensure that the pill doesn’t affect your performance.”

Dex did not reply. He listened to his body, and even ironphages seemed to slow down in anticipation: what did this idiot take this time? Should we show him it’s bad to take meds from shady scientists?

Dex waited for more pain to come. He waited. He waited. He waited. The scientists around him returned to their business, paying no attention to him at all. Only Dr. Forester cast an occasional look in his direction – to catch the moment when Dex falls to the floor and starts thrashing and screaming, probably. At least that’s how it went the previous five times.

Then the pain began to fade.

No way, Dex thought. No way had they finally made a drug that could help him. It was impossible. Nothing could help him, least of all these white-coated rats. He had already learned to live with it, in a way. And now in half an hour a little red pill crushed the wall of his indifference he spent a year erecting around his pain and misery.

“Dex? What is it?” Dr. Forester, an observant asshole, noticed his face change and approached. “Do you feel something?”

“No. Yes. No. Not sure,” Dex said hoarsely. “Gimme some time.”

“Alright.” Dr. Forester returned to his work, but Dex could see he was mostly watching him instead of his papers.

And Dex waited, and the pain decreased until only a sore aftertaste of it was left in his muscles.

He forgot how it felt. He stretched his legs, tilted his head, waved his arms. Nothing.

“Well?” Dr. Forester practically ran towards him. At any other time Dex would laugh. “Any effects?”

“It’s gone,” Dex said. “The pain. It’s gone.” His voice came out so much clearer he could barely believe it was his. “What the hell is it?”

“We call it “The Soother”,” Dr. Forester said, smiling. “The best minds of the Federation worked on it for months. All so that you could feel better, Dex.”

“The military paid them,” Dex huffed, but he couldn’t remain skeptical when he could think and feel clearly for the first time in more than a year.

“That too,” Dr. Forester agreed lightly. “A little financial incentive never hurts, you know. Now, we’ve got to take some more tests and you’re off to the gym.”

Dex reveled in sharp pain from the needle in his skin – it didn’t just add to his main pain now, no, it highlighted the contrast between then and now. Then he went to the gym. With a decrease in ironphage activity his reflexes and strength were lacking, but his mind was clearer than ever, and that evened out his performance a bit. Overall, he did pretty good, even though the military rats behind the plexiglass were not quite as satisfied.

Of course, he could hear them – they didn’t particularly try to be quiet. In fact, they were discussing something – not hard to guess what exactly – with great fervor.

The pill worked really well. And Dex really didn’t want to be sedated again. But he hated the military more. So he lay down on the floor, crossed his arms on his chest the way dead people about to be cremated had their arms positioned and closed his eyes.

“Dex?” Dr. Forester said into the dynamic. “What are you doing?”

“Resting.”

“Please continue your training routine.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I ain’t a monkey in a circus.”

“Dex.” Dr. Forester heaved a heavy sigh. “They are our sponsors. They have to see the results of our work.”

“You’ve got your tests. Show them those and leave me alone.”

“You know I can’t.” Dr. Forester’s voice hardened. “You like the effect of the pill, right? Must be nice to not be in pain all the time. Well, it takes money to produce. A lot, in fact. And unless our sponsors see the results, we won’t make any more of it.”

Dex sighed and dove deeper into the feeling of his body. Felt every ironphage, traced every little tunnel they burrowed, tasted the metallic copper of the blood the little tunnels filled with. The phages moved like in slow motion, like they were poisoned roaches that were at the brink of death and didn’t react to humans’ presence anymore. The drug lulled them into sleep, instilled the sense of calm in them, weakened the connection to the hivemind. They still moved, driven by the energy from his blood and fat cells, but now just barely.

Yes, no pain felt good, almost too good to be true. But the relief came from the people he hated most, and it was nauseating.

He got up and continued the routine with cold, slimy shame coiled up in his stomach.

***

“It slows the phages down.”

“That’s right.”

“Ain’t that counterproductive? They won’t help in battle.”

“Oh, the drug isn’t supposed to be taken less than two hours before any intense action. But a couple hours of pain in exchange for a painless rest of the day – isn’t it better than nothing?” Dr. Forester scribbled something on his tablet. “Of course we still have to test for side effects. But what we have now is already promising.”

“And of course I’ll be the test subject.”

“Of course. You have something against it?”

“I…” Dex hesitated. Sure, they ain’t doing it out of the kindness of their hearts, but no pain is no pain. And it’s not like they wouldn’t just make him take the pill by force if he refused. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.” Dr. Forester made a surprised face. He didn’t really pull it off. “Except the usual tests and daily accounts of your well-being.”

“And how long is that gonna last?”

“Of course, it would be best to conduct a long-term research of five plus years… but we don’t have that time. So, a month.”

A month. It was nearly not enough, but Dex would have time to think.

“Alright. I agree.”

Dr. Forester smiled triumphantly.

“I knew you’d come to the right decision, Dex.”

***

The next month was simultaneously the best and the worst month of Dex’s life. The pain was now present only a couple hours a day, when he was training. His stats did lower, but were still way above those of an average human’s. But now he didn’t have to endure constant pain to get there.

And the military didn’t even try to hide now. The guy with a booming voice was often studying Dex’s tests in the lab with Dr. Forester, and the woman spoke loudly on the phone behind the plexiglass in the gym, perfectly aware that Dex could hear her.

He didn’t do a thing to them, They were the ones paying for his meds that kept the pain at bay. No compliance – pain. The funding had already shrunk by that point – the military didn’t like that it was taking so long. The drug was a breakthrough, though, and now Dr. Forester sported new eye implants and Turner had his crooked – not without Dex’s fault – nose fixed. The activity in the lab picked up, new guards appeared in the corridors (though Dex still interacted primarily with Mike), and the equipment was massively getting replaced with newer one.

“You’ve been on particularly good behavior,” Dr. Forester told him once. “Do you want something?”

“Beer,” Dex said. “And a smoke.”

Dr. Forester frowned. “We don’t know how the ironphages would react to that, and we can’t have a flare-up right now. Anything else?”

“A burrito. With jalapeno.”

That evening Dex was choking on his burrito, his mouth burning. A once adored taste was now unbearable. Maybe it was the phages reacting… but Dex was on the pill. And now that he could feel his inner processes much more acutely, he couldn’t blame ironphages for everything anymore.

He flushed the burrito down the toilet and ended up flooding his cell. He had to spend the night in a different one, on the other end of the hall, and the pillow still retained the smell of a previous resident. Weird – the last time Dex saw another infected was half a year ago. But maybe that were just his sharpened senses.

The medassistant was now drawing three vials of blood a day, and by the end of the first week Dex was feeling weak and dizzy. The ironphages rushed to replenish the blood loss during training hours, and it worsened the pain so much taking a pill after it was like breaking a cold turkey withdrawal. Dex grew even more dependent on it, and despised himself for it. But he couldn’t go back to a 24/7 pain. He just couldn’t.

Then one night he heard an unfamiliar voice. It was crying. “Please stop it. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Please-“

The voice was cut short, but it imprinted on Dex’s brain and didn’t let him go. He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew Dr. Forester was capable of anything in the name of “science”.

He was infecting others with Dex’s blood. Ironphages could be transmitted only through blood contamination, which is why the disease was rare. But once infected, the body couldn’t adapt to their activity and the infected was dying a slow, excruciating death over the course of months. Infection could only be transmitted through fresh blood. So that’s why they needed so much of it.

In the morning Dex broke the medassistant. Its details were scattered all over the cell when the guards arrived. Dex spent the night in another cell while the medassistant was being replaced. He didn’t get a pill that day. If anyone was somewhere near, he couldn’t hear them over his own screaming and wailing.

The new medassistant was sturdier than the previous one, but Dex didn’t test it anymore. The next day in the lab he told Dr. Forester outright:

“You infect other people with my blood.”

Dr. Forester didn’t seem surprised. “You’ve always been quick on the uptake, Dex.”

“Why?”

The doctor looked at him tiredly. All that money he was now getting obviously couldn’t buy him some rest: he had dark circles under his eyes and always held onto a cup of caffeine stimulant.

“Dex, you’re a smart boy. You can figure it out yourself.”

Dr. Forester was right. Dex knew it for a long time, just couldn’t bring himself to believe it. “You’re trying to find suitable hosts. Hosts like me.”

“See? You got it already.” Dr. Forester took a sip from the cup. “We still haven’t figured out what it is that makes you so unique. There’s nothing abnormal about your body that can explain your resistance to ironphages. So we decided it’s time to move one from studying your body to finding someone with similar characteristics. The more subjects, the easier to figure it out.”

“Found anything?”

Dr. Forester’s frustrated face was a clear enough answer. Dex always wanted to be special – who didn’t? – but fate was cruel to him: he never imagined what would make him unique.

“Where are all those people coming from?”

“Volunteers.” Dr. Forester shrugged.

“Bullshit. Nobody would agree to that.”

“Some people are desperate, Dex. And the money is good.”

“Why’d walking corpses need money?”

“Well,” Dr. Forester smiled his uncanny smile, “they don’t know they’re walking corpses.”

That was pretty in line with the military – promise lots of money, sign an NDA, and then the person disappears, never to be seen again. Everyone knew the biochemical companies they hired did human testing. Yet there were still fools hoping to get rich quick. Or provide for their families, who the money was automatically directed to once the person “disappeared”.

Dr. Forester was not in the mood to answer more questions that day, and the lack of answers kept Dex awake all night. How many have already been infected? Why did he never see a single one of other test subjects? On early stages the infection was almost unnoticeable – until one day you woke up with your entire body hurting like hell. But months had to pass before that. He couldn’t forget the voice he heard one night. How could the symptoms surface so soon?

Then he remembered Dr. Forester’s offhanded remark about the QC gas triggering growth periods. They used the gas to speed up the process. They used everything they could get out of Dex to infect more and more people.

But they helped him. They soothed his pain, banished the brain fog, dampened his too-sharp senses. He could think and feel clearly again. One considers it a given, something not worth to be grateful for. Not Dex – not anymore.

Days passed. The side effects of the pills turned out to be dry mouth and occasional mild diarrhea. Dr. Forester was content. As it turned out, the pill also slowed down growth periods. The always steep lines on the chart went down. The white coats could now both speed up and slow down the progression of the illness. Only a reversal hadn’t been yet developed. Dr. Forester said they were working on it, but he was lying through his teeth. Dex didn’t expose him. Let him think Dex believed him.

“The pills seem to be working well,” Dr. Forester said casually a few days later. “You look fresher already.”

Dex shrugged.

“We are thinking of extending the trial run for you. But the bosses are not so eager to provide funds, and the pill is expensive to produce.”

“Maybe if you didn’t waste so much money infecting people you would have enough funds for it,” Dex said sharply.

Dr. Forester laughed.

“Oh, son. Those projects they are ready to sponsor. The pill is produced exclusively for you, though.”

“I feel so special.”

“You think you’re joking, but you are, Dex. You are. The sponsors care greatly for you.”

“Well, I don’t care for them.”

“And that’s a shame. There will be no training today. Tomorrow is an important day for us and you both. You better rest, clear your head.”

“What? What day?” Dex pricked up, but Dr. Forester said no more, just made an impatient gesture. Mike led Dex back to the cell.

“All these new guys are absolute dickheads,” the guard complained on the way. “They don’t know nothing yet they think they’re hot shit. Who do they think they are? They imagine the military academy made them all high n’ mighty. Well, a bit of work here will take them down a peg or two. You gotta show them, Dex. Treat them like you treated me. Make them go through hell and high water.”

“Yeah, about that,” Dex heard himself saying. “Sorry, dude. For breaking your leg. You didn’t do me no bad thing. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Eh,” Mike waived him off light-heartedly, “the past is in the past. It healed fast anyway. The BIS treats its workers well - I didn’t pay a single byte for it. Got to spend some time with my family for once, too.”

Yet again Dex spent the night wide awake. He knew what was going to happen tomorrow. Another attempt to recruit him, make him join the army. The army that murdered Luke in cold blood.

All the previous times his refusal was firm and confident, decision made without a second thought. But this time was different. Now he had a major weakness. And they would surely exploit it.

In the morning Mike escorted him to the interrogation room – Dr. Forester called it “negotiation room”, but he couldn’t fool anyone with it. It looked exactly like those interrogation room in cop movies, handcuffs included. They were added after Dex tried to hit an officer. This time, though, he wasn’t cuffed.

“Good luck, buddy.” Mike patted him on the shoulder. Dex smiled weakly.

He had to wait quite a bit for the officer to arrive. She was a tall, strict-looking woman with a perfect bun on her head and cold gray eyes. She was escorted by two Special Forces agents with their fingers on the triggers of their assault rifles. One wrong movement – and they’d season Dex with lead.

The woman sat on the other side of the table and looked Dex right in the eyes. Goosebumps ran down his spine. This one will be hard to deal with.

“Hello, Dex. My name is major Wright.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. Cut to the chase." Dex tried to sound firm, but a bit of a tremble did leak into his voice.

“As you wish,” said the major. “You probably know why I’m here. My colleagues have contacted you with our proposition earlier.”

“I do. And they have.” Dex felt that if he looked the woman in the eyes, he would eventually fall for her hypnosis, so he stared at the table.

“Let me repeat it in case you forgot some details. We in Special Forces are always in search of new candidates-“

“Turnover rate too high?”

“It’s actually lower than in other units. That’s because we only work with professionals.”

“I’m no professional.”

“Who are you fooling, Dex? I’ve seen you in action. The best SF snipers could only dream of your skill.”

“That’s not my achievement. Before the infection I couldn’t throw a bottle into the trash can three feet away.”

“What was before the infection doesn’t matter,” major Wright said harshly. “Forget that part of your life. It’s here and now that matters.”

“For you, maybe.”

“For you too. It’s never coming back. You are never coming back.”

Dex knew that already, but at these words something cold turned in his stomach anyway.

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“You need to accept this, Dex. The ironphage infection is incurable. You will live with it for the rest of your life.”

“Which, as you might know, may end soon.”

“Maybe – or in a couple decades. Dr. Forester has no prognosis on this. But you’ve survived four times longer than any other infected, and that says something.”

“That just says that I’m lucky. Or unlucky. Depends on the point of view.” Dex clutched his fists under the table. The major poked into his every vulnerable spot.

“Sometimes one lucky soldier draws luck to the entire unit.” The major was disgustingly upbeat. She spoke friendly, but not familiarly. Previous recruiters all pretended to be Dex’s best friend, and it was nauseating. Not this time.

“I’m no soldier. Will never be. I’m just not built this way.”

“No one is born a soldier. But with enough discipline, everyone can become one.”

“You mean – everyone can be brainwashed into killing innocent people for the corpos’ gain?”

The major smiled. “That’s a rather… exaggerated way to put it. Corporations are valuable allies, but they’re not the beneficiaries of this war. The regular people are.”

Dex laughed in her face. It turned out too strained to sound plausible, but did convey his point anyway.

“Regular people are never beneficiaries of the war. They either get recruited, are promised riches and die like cattle on front lines while officers sit in their headquarters strategizing, or they get bombed and killed or displaced. There’s no other option.”

“They can go through the war, come out of it with several medals and not know poverty until the rest of their lives,” the major said. “Get free healthcare, a monthly pension, social benefits, free education for their children. That happens more often than you think.”

“And are all those soldiers in the room with us right now?” Dex said acidly.

“Funny.” The major smiled dryly. “Did you consider that maybe you just mix in with the wrong people?”

“The only wrong people I mix in with are you and the likes of you.”

The major rolled her eyes. “You truly are as stubborn as I heard.”

“My pleasure.”

“Then why do you think so many people enlist? If the army was that bad, people would avoid it like the plague, wouldn’t they?”

“They are idiots,” Dex said sharply.

The major smiled. “So your brother was an idiot, too?”

Dex’s stomach sank. They never mentioned Luke before, though he didn’t doubt a bit knew all about him. Maybe they thought it was too sensitive a subject. Regardless, that changed. And this woman, this soldier, would undoubtedly use him to their advantage.

“Yes. He should have never enlisted.”

“But he dragged you out of poverty. He sent your family quite big sums of money for a while, didn’t he?”

That was true. When Luke enlisted, the family finally had food on the table and paid bills. They even managed to move out of a communal roach-infested room to a small but cozy two-room flat. All while Luke was risking his life on the front lines.

“He should have never enlisted,” Dex repeated.

“It was going well, wasn’t it? His contract was almost over, and he even thought of prolonging it. His squadmates liked him, his commander praised him.”

“That praise was worth nothing.”

“In the ranks it is worth quite a bit. He could have been promoted within a year.”

“He could have been killed a thousand times over that year.”

“But he wasn’t, right? The enemy didn’t kill him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dex hissed, his anger rising in his chest – anger mixed with grief, as he could feel tears well up in his eyes as well, and the last thing he wanted right now was cry in front of the woman tearing his heart to bits. “War would have killed him sooner or later.”

“You’re rather pessimistic. Do you know that only 15% of active duty personnel die within first two years of service?”

“And how many die later?”

The major smiled a tight-lipped smile. “They have more experience, so even less. But that doesn’t matter – your brother didn’t plan to stay for much longer anyway. He could have waited for the end of his contract instead of going AWOL, though.”

“All the senseless violence must have gotten to him.”

“By that time soldiers are already pretty desensitized to it.”

“Not Luke. He was always… compassionate. Too much, even.” Dex remembered Luke’s calls from the army. When parents could see him, he was always smiling, but when he was left alone with Dex, his face always turned grey and tired.

The major smiled. “You’d be surprised at how quickly “compassionate” people forget about it on the battlefield. It’s you or the enemy, and no one chooses the latter… except your brother.”

“You’re talking bullshit. He didn’t defect. I know he just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Whatever the reasons, he was found on an enemy territory alone – so, a defector. And we do not stand them in our ranks. Dex, it takes a lot to sentence the soldier to death. We don’t kill our people left and right with no rhyme or reason. But what Luke did was not a simple misbehavior – it was treason.”

“It’s just a convenient excuse to punish those not in line with your views,” Dex croaked. His throat was dry – from medication, surely.

“It’s the army,” Wright said harshly. “Soldiers who act out of line disrupt the service of whole squads. We cannot let that happen.”

“So Luke was just a scapegoat to scare others into obedience.”

“The “scapegoats”, as you call them, eventually reveal themselves with their own actions. Thinking differently is not a sin. Sawing unrest between others is.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care.” Dex shook his head. “You killed my brother. Whatever he did, he didn’t deserve death.” Dex was growing tired of this senseless talk. Whatever he said, major Wright always found a reasonable counterargument. He knew she was wrong, but he couldn’t prove it to her – and he feared soon he wouldn’t be able to prove it to himself.

“If you fear the same fate, Dex – you needn’t to,” Wright said unexpectedly softly. “He was an average soldier. You – you are special.”

Dex hated how often he heard that. He never chose a body that could resist a mysterious, 100%-lethal infection that also happened to turn people into supersoldiers. He never wanted that.

“So you will just imprison me for the rest of my life instead of killing?”

“What, are you planning something bad already?” The major smiled dryly. “Just hear me out, alright? And then make up your mind. No pressure.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dex murmured skeptically, but the major didn’t hear him – or pretended to.

“Here’s what we can offer you. Free food and lodging at one of the SF outposts – with personal rooms for every agent, each with a bathroom. Medical and life insurance – any injury, we’ll pay for treatment in full. Your family members are included in the insurance. In case you die, they are paid a significant sum of money. You will keep receiving treatment for your infection – a pill three times a day except before ground operations. And, of course, your salary… starting wage is 50 000 bytes a month.”

Dex couldn’t hold back a surprised gasp. This was more than his family earned in a year. This could pay for 50 of their monthly rent.

The major clearly enjoyed his reaction.

“Sounds compelling?” she said.

Dex ignored her, ashamed that he let his astonishment through. Now she knew how much the sum shook him.

“What about the phages?” he asked after a minute of stunned silence.

“We will keep working on a treatment,” said the major. “But we’ve got no guarantees that we’ll find it – if it’s even possible to create.”

Of course. They were interested in keeping the infection going – to get more supersoldiers into the SF. No matter that they would only last a few months – if someone would be as unlucky as Dex, maybe a year, - they would milk them dry and then silence the family with a fat check and a postcard with condolences.

He could feel the cold touch of her gaze on his skin. She was waiting, convinced of her success.

“I need to think about it,” he finally said – almost whispered.

She didn’t betray her satisfaction by a single gesture, but Dex could see more than other people. She won. Or so she thought.

“Of course,” Wright said. “I will come back tomorrow to hear your answer.”

She got up, waved to the guards and headed to the door. “See you tomorrow, Dex.”

Mike soon came to pick him up.

“How’d it go? You don’t seem too excited.”

“As usual.” Dex shrugged.

“You refused again?”

“Said I’ll think about it.”

“Wow, really?” Mike grinned. “That’s progress. What changed your mind?”

“I didn’t say it changed.”

“Alright, alright, you secretive motherfucker. I’ll find out everything eventually. You know, as much as Dr. Forester tries to stop it, everyone here knows everything about you. All the news spread fast.”

“You are all filthy gossips.”

“And you are our favorite subject to discuss. Now live with it.”

Dex rolled his eyes. “I feel like a micro-celebrity already.”

When they neared the cell, Mike’s face grew serious.

“If you didn’t just say that so they’d leave you alone… give it some thought, really. Being in the army is not as bad as it seems. Pays well too.”

“Indeed it does,” Dex murmured as the cell door closed behind him.

He shuffled over to the bed and lay down on his side facing the wall. He already knew what he had to do. He just needed to wait till night.

***

Eventually he fell asleep, but then awoke abruptly, as if someone yelled in his ear. The lights were out, and only faint light from the hall seeped through the small window in the door, a smidge of white on black tile.

Dex opened the pill drawer and took out the Soother. Swallowed the pill and lay back on the bed, waiting for it to take effect.

This time the phages resisted longer than usual, as if their little brains sensed something. They couldn’t read Dex’s thoughts – he checked – but they knew his body’s reactions to them. Didn’t matter, though – the pill overpowered them at any rate. Eventually their rushing slowed down to bare crawling, and the buzz of their nanomotors grew almost silent.

Time to act. This was his last pill on the trial – whether he would get a refill tomorrow depended on his answer.

He grabbed his mug from the sink, poured water in it and drank anxiously. Cold water slid down his throat and into the stomach. Every cell on its way reveled in its blissful coolness and smoothness. The true pleasures of this world were simple, really.

The mug was ceramic – a gross oversight on the management’s part. It survived multiple collisions with Mike and the ground, so they were kinda justified in not taking it into account. Dex kept it for a vague “occasion” on purpose. And the occasion was now.

He flung it into the floor with all his might. The mug cracked audibly. Then Dex jumped on it. Ceramic broke into large, sharp shards under his bare feet. Pain spiked up his calves, but the Soother quickly blended it in with the rest of the pain it was keeping at bay.

Dex picked up one of the pieces and placed it on the sink, then swept the rest under the bed. He raised his gaze and looked over the silent medassistant hanging over his head.

“Time we check your durability, pal.”

The tendril did not give up easily. When Dex finally tore off the needle, his face was sweaty and his arms hurt. The cruelly dismembered medassistant hung over the bed disapprovingly.

The needle was good three inches long. Just enough for Dex’s plan.

When he picked up the shard again, his hands were shaking. But the phages, sleepy as they were, came to his rescue even now, giving his fingers much needed strength. He pressed the sharp end to his inner arm and unflinchingly dragged it down, tearing the skin.

The gash quickly swelled with blood. Dex licked some off, tasting the copper. The infection changed even the taste of his body. It changed everything in him. There was no real Dex left. Just a host carrying around the most precious virus on earth.

And the military wasn’t gonna get it. At least from Dex.

There were other hosts, of course. The white coats would continue their work using their blood. But it would no longer be Dex’s. His phages will die after 24 hours, and their lifeless bodies would not infect anyone else. Nor will the doctors be able to learn what made Dex so different. No learning – no replicating. No replicating – no long-lasting supersoldiers. And with such a high turnover rate, the SF will dump the idea soon enough.

He sighed and dragged the shard across his right inner arm. The blood from the left arm already stained his clothes. Were Luke here, he would have made a stupid menstruation joke.

Luke wasn’t here, though.

Dex bit his lip, watching the blood run down his arms onto the floor. He waited for a small puddle to gather at his feet. The phages tried to make up for it, of course, but they were slow and sleepy like flies in the hot summer sun. They couldn’t do much about it.

Leveling the shard against his neck, Dex inhaled sharply. He was scared, of course. He never died before. (���You only die once, stupid!” said Luke in his head). Well, everything must happen for the first time.

He pressed the shard into the skin until he felt blood trickle down his neck. This was deep enough, then.

With a sharp, precise movement he cut his own throat.

His mouth filled with the taste of copper, blood streamed down his neck. He could no longer speak; he could barely see, his vision darkening.

But he had to make sure the phages wouldn’t bring him back to life.

With one last desperate move he drove the needle of the medassistant through his eye straight into his brain.

[skellymom]

Chapter 2

The BAD BATCH Mini Series HALLOWEEN Fan Fic

To read Chapter 1:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/731338076301000704/the-tale-of-the-dathomir-witch?source=share

"The Tale of the Dathomir Witch" 

All Ages: Sadness, mentions of canon Star Wars Empire badness, crying, and some sweet revenge at the end of this tale (you will have to wait until Chapter 3)! (I did change some of Old Daka's canon lore to write this. She really doesn't have too much of a story, decided to give her some more.)

Warning: Some of you might want tissues handy. This fic features lots of crying.

Word Count: 2K

“Crawl” by Unsecret x Bryar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zZ6CQKj-wkY&list=RDMMLsgO5OTUsRU&index=17

The Batch waited on pins and needles for Old Daka to arrive. Tech brewed another full pot of Caf. He was sucking down caffeine like mad. Restless legs wiggling as he sat. Wrecker broke out his hidden stash of Mantell Mix and snacks to the group but ate the lion’s share. Echo pulled out his “special occasion” Spotchka bottle from his footlocker and shared sips with Hunter. Omega, unaware of the full gravity of this mission, was full of energy and excitement to meet “Gran-Momma Daka.” 

She arrived halfway into one Imperial rotation. The ship that landed next to the Marauder was a stolen Republic shuttle, repainted with scrawling anti-Empire graffiti. Its name written in red Aurebesh: The Anarchy. The gangplank lowered and Old Daka emerged carrying a bandolier strap case. She was accompanied by a white armored clone also painted with graffiti: His chest emblazoned with an A inside a circle and the initials RR on his helmet, all spray painted in blazing red Aurebesh. 

The clone removed his helmet to reveal a shiny Reg clone sporting long red ponytailed hair with sides shaved. He saluted Hunter. “Sergeant, Private Riffraff, Sir. Requesting permission for Grandmother Daka to board the Marauder, Sir.” 

“No need for formality, Shiny.” Hunter scoffed. 

“Riffraff???” Echo called out.  

“Echo!” Riffraff beamed. He shook like a happy puppy, then quickly looked at Old Daka and Hunter for permission. They both nodded, and he took off like a shot, embracing Echo. Echo returned the hug, smacking his back enthusiastically. 

Wrecker, Tech, and Omega smiled at the clone reunion. They just gained another new brother. 

“Stars it’s good to see YOU!” Echo beamed. He pulled Riff back to get a better look. “Custom painted armor I see. Giving a good one to The Empire!!!” 

“I barely survived Order 66, Vod. Kriffin’ crazy time. Thanks to Granny Daka for saving my butt.” He beamed at the old woman, who returned a small warm grin. 

Hunter cleared his throat loudly. “Shall we go inside and discuss our POSSIBLE mission?” 

“OH! Yes...carry on.” Riff let go of Echo and stood at attention by his ship. His contented smirk never wavered as the crew climbed aboard the Marauder. 

************************************************************************

“Fight For Survival” by Klergy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Epak9TqrKLs&list=PLTsJd3M7E5yeGJaZsh3pgYUAQdsnbgyBD&index=128

They exchanged introductions then settled in and Daka rehashed the Force conversation she had with Omega and Hunter openly with everyone aboard. She then dropped the bandolier bag in front of them and opened the top. It was chock full to the top with credits.  

“I am paying you all in full ahead of the mission...whether we succeed or not. The bottom line is that I require transport and cover to face Darth Sidious and destroy him forever. This is your role. However, participating in this will markedly change each one of your lives forever.” Daka advised. 

“Oh, how so?” Tech scrutinized the old woman. 

Daka grabbed Tech’s hand and looked deeply into his eyes. He shrank from her severe gaze. 

Echo spoke up. “He doesn’t like to be touched...or stared at!” 

She ignored him. 

“Look at me, Clever Boy! I bring news of your possible future.” 

Tech cowered but managed to look at Daka. 

“Listen to me. I am imprinting your mind with the coordinates of a blue-green planet. You will tell Hazard you seek Phee Genoa. And will take your little brother with you.” She grabbed Wreckers hand and put it in Tech’s. “NO ONE ELSE! You hear me??? Your other brothers and sister have their own path to walk.” 

“We understand Gramma Daka.” Wrecker answered reverently. He did not question her authority. 

Old Daka addressed Wrecker. “Good Strong Boy. You must take care of your older brother. Defend him from harm. Hazard is waiting for YOU, even though he doesn’t know it yet.” 

“YOU, The Unbroken!” She swung around to Echo. He gave her an annoyed look. “The time to emancipate your brothers has arrived. You spoke to Hunter about aiding a growing Rebellion. Now Rebellion is calling for you.” Daka eyed him. 

Echo threw up both arms and rolled his eyes. While he agreed with her message, he didn’t like her bossy attitude.  

Old Daka knelt to Omega. “I’m sorry, Sun Child. You cannot stay with your brothers.” 

Omega, somehow suspecting Daka was right, began to cry. “Why???” 

“Because some things are bigger than love for your kindred. Bigger than the desire for comfort in times of strife.  There is a darkness that threatens to devour everything in the galaxy. You all will play a part in stopping that darkness.” 

Old Daka glanced up at Hunter. “I have a Shaman among the Tuskan Raiders who will take Omega in. The Tribe will raise her as their own. Protect, teach, nurture her. If we succeed on this mission, she will seek out the Son of Vader. If we fail, she is to stay with the Sand People until Vader’s Son seeks her out. Omega will be safe there.” 

Hunter was thrown totally off balance by the news. “Now, wait. Leaving Omega with total strangers on Tatooine...” 

“I have seen Shatterpoints in all your futures. My own, even. This is the most favorable path for the galaxy.” 

“Shatterpoints??? Lady, no disrespect, but what are you going on about? Omega and my brothers are staying...” 

Old Daka stood with difficulty and faced Hunter. She stared him down...all 6 feet of her strong presence. 

Tech finally found his voice. “I think Daka is referring to her Force ability to sense a significant event and key moments where actions could change events.” 

Everyone turned to stare at him. 

“I...don’t claim to understand The Force. It’s not something I can quantify or calculate, being elusive. But I comprehend Daka’s logic of preventing Palpa...Darth Sidious’ pogrom of growing power. Although, I may be in the minority here?” 

“Seems that she isn’t asking of us something some of us wouldn’t already do.” Echo added. 

“As long as Omega's safe...” Wrecker looked so sad. 

Old Daka threw back her head and cackled with glee. “THEY get it!” 

Hunter shook his head, cutting eyes at the old woman. He wasn’t convinced. 

“Keen Man!” Daka snapped her fingers at Hunter. “What does it take to understand? I came to you in your dreams. You sense things others cannot...to a strong degree. Things you cannot quantify. Yet you struggle to understand while your brother who quantifies like the act of breathing understands.” She pointed at Tech. 

“No...” Hunter backed up. Put his hands up while shaking his head. 

“You FEAR! I smell it.” Old Daka slowly advanced at him, pointing her bony finger. 

The back of Hunter’s legs hit the front of The Marauders chair; he fell into the seat with a defeated look on his face. Then he put his face in his hands. He was going to lose everyone he loved. 

“The galaxy...possibly the universe hangs in the balance. You have had your brothers most of your short life. Omega was with you before you even were aware of her existence while on Kamino. She helped birth and raise you and your brothers. This is the life you have. Countless others didn’t or won’t even have that. If you sacrifice now, Omega will have a chance of a future. If you don’t, she will have NOTHING.” 

Old Daka’s words broke Hunter. Sobs shook him. 

Echo and tech hid their emotion and watched their brother struggle. Wrecker hugged Omega close while tears ran down both their faces. 

 

She softened her next words. “YOU will live out the rest of your life with your estranged brother. He will care for you.” 

Hunter looked up from his hands, tears streaking his face. “Crosshair???” 

“Yes, Crosshair.” 

Everyone in the Marauder was quiet. You could hear a pin drop. 

Eventually, Hunter composed himself. “Let me discuss this with my family. We’ll give you our answer then.” 

Old Daka nodded. Before exiting the Marauder, she turned to look at Echo. “Oh...Fives has a message for you: ‘For Hevy’. Whatever THAT means.”  

Echo’s eyes widened in shock...then he too started to cry.  

She left the Marauder, found a large rock to sit on, and settled in to wait. 

************************************************************************

“Wolves of The Revolution” by The Arcadian Wild: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VXkFO0h75w 

Old Daka sat for some time. She watched the shadows on Ord Mantell grow long as the sun began to set.  

Riffraff still stood at perfect attention. “You think they’ll help us?”  

“Only The Force knows, Red Boy. We wait and see.” 

The shadows deepened before Hunter, looking tired and defeated, emerged from the Marauder. 

“We’ll do it. When do we leave?” 

“Tomorrow. But Omega must leave immediately. She will go back to Tatooine with Red Boy” she motioned to Riffraff. “He will take good care of your Sun Child.” 

Riff nodded to Hunter “I promise, Sergeant. Lay my very life on it.” 

“We’ll never see her again? Ever???” 

“I’m sorry...no.” 

Hunter hung his head. Clenched his fists. Then he turned and stalked quickly back to the Marauder. 

Ten minutes later he emerged with Omega in tow. She wailed and dragged her feet. Wrecker, Echo, and Tech following behind. None of them had a dry eye. 

“NOOOOOOO! I want to go on this mission with you!!!” She struggled fruitlessly in Hunter’s grasp. 

He stopped in front of Riff, tried to hand her over, she almost narrowly escaped back to the Marauder. Hunter snatched her up under her arms and hefted Omega off her feet lifting her to face him. 

“DON’T DO THIS! YOU SAID I COULD STAY WITH YOU!!!” She cried out, hammered her fists on his arms, kicked at him. 

Hunter shook her firmly, “OMEGA!!!” 

She went limp in his grasp. Then he embraced her tightly and held on. “I’m sorry. Never anticipated something like this happening. I didn’t know...what I didn’t know.” She embraced him, putting her head in the crook of his neck sobbing. Hunter pulled his bandana off. “Omega.” She leaned back and he placed it on her head. It was a little big and fell around her neck. “Take it. I’ll always be with you.” He embraced her again, kissing her head, inhaling the scent of her hair. “If you have any chance of a happy future, this is the right path.”  

After a few minutes Hunter handed her to Echo. She clung to him, and he hugged her back. “Come now, Meg. You’re doing a great thing for the galaxy. I know it hurts now...and will probably hurt for a very long time. But it’s a very noble sacrifice. We clones are strong. We were built to fight.” She nodded silently in the crook of his neck. He pulled off his kama and wrapped it around her.

Tech approached Echo and held his arms out. He was clearly NOT a hugger, but this time was different. Echo, mildly surprised, handed Omega to Tech. She clutched him tightly. “You were my best student.   There is no doubt you will do great things. Wherever you are, remember I am very proud of you, Omega.” Tech pulled something off his belt and handed it to her. It was an extra set of goggles with a recording device. “Our memories recorded, for you to watch any time.” Omega sniffled and nodded. 

Wrecker took Omega next and hugged her hard. “I’m gonna miss you! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH OMEGA!!!” He started bawling. She held his large face in her hands and kissed his cheek. “I’m givin’ ya Lula to keep. She’ll keep ya company when you're lonely. Maybe one day you’ll bring her back to me?” Wrecker tucked Lula into Omega’s arms and set her down in front of Riffraff. 

“I don’t want to go...I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!” She sobbed, taking one long last look of her brothers. 

Her brothers stood silently looking back. 

“Come, Miss Omega. We must go.” Riff held out his hand. She took it and they both boarded The Anarchy. 

“May The Force be with you, Child.” Old Daka blessed Omega with her words. Omega didn’t respond. 

The Anarchy took off from Ord Mantell. The Batch and Old Daka watched it ascend into the sky. Wrecker fell to his knees crying hysterically. Tech, unsure how to feel, stood there frozen, numbly watching the ship disappear from sight. Echo wiped away his tears, grateful Omega would be safe with his Reg brother Riffraff. Hunter walked away, refusing to watch the ship leave. He ran past the Marauder into the city and kept running with no known destination.  

Old Daka watched them all. There was a pain in her heart, too. She refused to show it. These men needed a strong presence now. They needed time to mourn before embarking on the most important mission of their lives. 

Aboard the Anarchy Omega lay upon the floor crying hysterically. A little girl wrapped in an oversized kama, wearing a red bandanna, clutching goggles, and a stuffed Tooka. If this was another type of situation, Riff would’ve found it comical. But it wasn’t and Riff’s heart went out to Omega. He had lost siblings too.  

He let her have her moment there on the floor until the ship settled into hyperspace. 

“Miss Omega? Hey...”  

A huge Purrgil floated up to the ship peering inside the windscreen. Its mournful song caught Omega’s attention. She got up and wandered over to Riff. He held out his arms. Omega climbed into his lap, and they watched the Purrgil together as the stars floated past. 

************************************************************************

Chapter 3

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/732696093237870592/the-bad-batch-mini-series-halloween-fan-fic?source=share

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

IF YOU WISH TO BE ADDED OR DROPPED FROM MY TAG LIST, PLEASE MESSAGE ME! Don't just comment as I might miss it. Thanks!!! <3

@marymunchkiin @starqueensthings @talesfrommedinastation @giganonyx @genericficerblog @random-chaotic-bitch @fionajames @wild-karrde @wings-and-beskar @ex0genmultifandom @mistress-of-the-empire @cloneloverrrrr @gonky-kong @arcsimper5 @freesia-writes @lucifidious @janellestudies @mandos-mind-trick @amorfista @purgetrooper77 @lizartgurl @echo-lover @notavalidusername @scarelitt @spacemagicandlaserswords @phantom-of-the-keurig @the-hexfiles @tink1221 @thecoffeelorian @inthemiddle0feverywhere @someonetbr @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @irenedracobunny @idoubleswearimawriter @mellowvisions15 @jules-1999 @littlebluebatbrat @gun-roswell @greatshieldmaiden14 @floraseasbee @carpinchootaku @megmca @verygoateebeard @

[legendzjagz]

Okay so I saw art on here the other day of Deku leaning over a casket with bakugou in it, in his hero uniform. And it inspired this fic. I wrote this in like an hour - it’s not edited, sorry.

FOUND THE ART - beautiful bkdk art by Bleedingivorydraws

You can also blame @z-mizcellaneous-z because we had a quick little idea abt a super angsty fic so they put me in the mood. *no worries bestie! I’m just joking around. I love you! /plat and I’m kinda thankful for getting this out!

Also, please get tissues ready when reading this cuz I fucking was sobbing writing it.

Still The Wonder Duo

“Remember when we were little and we had planned to become heroes together? We would play heroes all day long. You’d always wanna be All Might and you would let me be All Might too. It was nice when we would switch who was All Might. But even on days when I was All Might I still looked at you; still followed your lead. You were my hero even then. You were so overwhelming to watch, but I could never look away.

“I remember when we got our All Might trading cards too. I was so happy we’d gotten the same one. I knew we’d be together forever because that’s how little kids' brains work. We got the same card at the same time and it proved that destiny was real.”

Izuku sniffles and eyes shift to the card currently laying visible under black and orange gloved hands. Izuku’s own hands cover a majority of them and he can barely see the blood on the corner.

“Destiny is a bitch.” He whispers to himself and shakes his head trying to quell the still steady flowing tears down his cheeks. “You think you’ll get All Might to sign it wherever you both go? You know he will.”

Deku swallows tightly, lump in his throat, but he refuses to start sobbing. He needs to have clear enough eyes right now. Needs to keep soaking in blonde hair, the angles of pale skin, the new scar covering the right side of a face he’s known since they were children. Take in the sharp point of a nose and the curve of lips he’s only recently discovered the taste of; he reaches to cradle the cool sharp jaw of his childhood best friend in his palm. His other hand grips tightly to black and orange gloves, placed over a nonmoving stomach.

“We didn’t even get to go on a date yet.” He wishes red eyes would snap open at this confession and Kacchan would glare at him tightly and grumble: “all the good places got destroyed, shitty nerd. But let’s ditch these fuckers and i’lll make something back at the dorms before the extras show up and ruin it”.

Izuku would have laughed and used OFA to get them back to the dorms. They’d get to the kitchen and Kacchan would have him start cutting vegetables for whatever meal he’d make for him. And then yell at Deku when he didn’t like the cuts he’d make. He imagines Kacchan would wrap his arms around him, hands placed over his own to guide him in a demonstration of proper cutting and chopping techniques. And once Izuku would have completed his task he’d have sat on the counter next to the stove while Kacchan cooked for them - stealing as many kisses as he could. Then they’d move to eat at the island, ankles wrapped around the other. He’d try to steal Kacchan’s food, and they’d argue that it was the same food in each bowl. But Izuku would want Kacchan’s because Kacchan’s food was always better. He’d have those wonderful, bright, red eyes on him again. He’d have been happy just to see the intensity of Kacchan’s eyes bare into his soul for one last time. He would have -

“Kacchan - ” Izuku chokes on his next breath, because its a vision of a life they won’t have anymore. One he’ll never have again. Because the person he’s supposed to share his life with is lying before him in a casket. For someone so lively in life it's terrifying and wrong to see him so still. “Kacchan - “ He chokes again, chest tight and constricting. The tears are coming in stronger.

He rests his chin on his bicep. It’s an awkward angle, but he needs to be able to breathe in the caramel, smoke and sweat of Kacchan’s orange jacket without moving his eyes away from his face.

Izuku had been sitting outside the dorms with Kacchan, enjoying one of the last nights before they were sent out to fight. The late may nighttime air had turned chilly and Izuku had just about to suggest they head inside when Kacchan shucked off his favorite orange jacket and draped it over Izuku’s visibly shivering shoulders.

“But what about you?” He’d asked.

Kacchan had shrugged, “I run hot,”

Izuku hid a smile into the collar and breathed in deep. “Kacchan gave me his jacket.”

“Yeah, well,” He’d rolled his eyes, like it didn’t matter but Izuku could just make out a blush across Kacchan’s cheeks, “Don’t expect it everytime, Deku.”

“Okay.” He giggled into the coat.

Kacchan had rolled his eyes again, then lifted his nearest arm. Deku had taken the invitation and scooted the half a foot over to curl up into Kacchan’s chest.

“After all this is over, I’m going to date you so damn hard.”

“You can’t make dating into a competition, Kacchan?”

“Fucking watch me.”

“I already do.”

Kacchan had huffed in embarrassment, but Izuku knew he liked it. He shifted up in his hold and kissed what he could reach - the edge of Kacchan’s jaw. Kacchan of course didn’t think that was enough and had turned his head to press his lips firmly to Izuku’s. Izuku had felt like he was in heaven; the happiest he’d felt in a long time.

Now he’s struggling to find those kernels of happiness as the body under his hands remains cold.

“I wish giving you your jacket back would make you warm again. But I know your pride won’t let you take it back.”

Izuku stares at Katsuki Bakugou and studies his features till his breathing has returned to a relatively normal pace and the tears are no longer destroying his image of victory.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there.

But he knows it’s not long enough.

“Izuku,” A hand appears on his shoulder and Deku jumps and turns to look into a grey and blue eye. Shoto. Next to him stands Kirishima, his own red eyes - not the red that Izuku is desperate to see though - are filled with unshed tears. “It’s time to go, Izuku.”

Fear rises up quickly in his chest and he chokes once more on his breath, “What?” He turns to look at Kacchan, waiting to see an eyes roll and for him to tell them both to ‘fuck off’ till he was ready. But all that remains is a peacefully blank expression. “But… but…” He can feel the panic rise, “It hasn’t been long enough. We only just got here… we can’t…”

“Izuku,” Shoto squeezes his shoulder, “It’s been 5 hours.”

“NO.” Izuku shakes his head. He can’t look away from Kacchan. He has to be with him. Screw Kacchan’s pride, Izuku will walk with him till they get to his resting place. “No, it’s not time. I can’t leave him.”

“We have to go, Midobro.” Kirishima sniffles. “They have to take him back.”

“They can’t have him,” He growls and shoots his friends a glare so sharp he sees them take a tentative step back. Good. His eyes go back to Kacchan.

He hears shifting next to him, Shoto’s hands leave his shoulders; but he doesn’t look away. Trying to memorize blonde hair and how it sits just so, the way it felt to hold Kacchan’s cheek, the arch of eyebrows when doing something stupid, the way pink would tinge across his nose when Izuku would stare too long. He wants to see it now.

“Midoriya, It’s time to go.” A new voice says.

“No.”

“Midoriya, I will lift you out of here. Let’s not make a scene.”

“I don’t care. I can’t just leave him. He promised.”

“Promised what?”

Izuku can feel the tears welling up again, throat tightening and his words are voiced just above a whisper, “That we’d do this together. Side by side. He promised.”

“Okay, okay.” The new voice soothes, “He will always be with you. No matter what. He’ still with you, tied to your soul. So it’s okay to leave; because he has never left you.”

Izuku is surprised at the words and turns to look to his left to see Aizawa-sensei squatting near his knee. His eyes are red and not from quirk use. They shine like he just put eye drops in. “Sensei,” Izuku whispers.

“Come on, Midoriya. One more goodbye.”

Izuku gasps and turns back to Kacchan. Goodbye? No. no no no no no. he can’t say goodbye. It’s not time yet. They stil have so much they need to do.

He didn’t realize he was shaking his head and muttering until Aizawa places a hand on his knee, “You have to. It’s time.”

“NO!” He shouts. He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t -

“We can do this the hard way or you can walk out of here on your own.”

He doesn’t remember what he answers, just tries to touch Kacchan one more time. Maybe he tried to wake him? Maybe he tried to kiss ice cold lips one last time. Tries to run his fingers through golden hair onc last time. But one second he’s sitting and the other he’s benign held tight to Aizawa’s chest and carried away from Kacchan.

“Kacchan!!” He screeches, tyring to see past Aizawa’s shoulder. “NO! No you can’t make me leave him! He can’t leave yet!!”

He tries to push away, but he’d been pretty week from the fighting and hadn’t been eating much since the final battle. He was weak. Kacchan would be so mad at him. Well he’s mad at him too.

“YOU PROMISED!” He yells, tears are flowing freely now, blurring his vision, “You fucking promised we do this together! You’re not allowed to leave me! You hear me! Please!!”

They’re getting further away, kacchan drifting farther away from him. He can make out other people on the edge of his peripheral; but they don’t matter. No else matter right now..

“Take me back! You can’t leave me! Kacchan please! Please please please! You’re mine they can’t have you!”

He cries and tries to escape Aizawa’s hold but his hold is too tight. Izuku gets one last glance at Kacchan’s bright blonde hair and fitted in his hero suit - looking as gorgeous as ever. As beautiful as he should be as Izuku’s symbol of victory. And then they turn a corner and he’s gone.

“NO!” He screeches once more, “Kacchan! Kacchan Kacchan Kacchan - “ He cries. He sobs. He can’t do this without him. It hurts without him. They were supposed to do this together.

“It’s going to be okay, Midoriya. It’s going to be okay.” Aizawa tries to soothe him.

“Kacchan - “ Izuku sobs into his Sensei’s shoulder. He can only say the name of his future. He thinks of what could have been. Sobs for the person who should be holding him currently. Sobs for his closest person. Sobs for a boy who was gone too soon; for a boy who was only just coming into himself.

Izuku passes out against Aizawa’s shoulder, Kacchan’s name on his lips.

[gatheringfiki]

The following ficlet was written by @starstruckcrossainteggslime based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, T

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

Christmas Blues

---

Fili reached for another tissue, rubbing his raw nose and sniffling. Tears started leaking out of the corners of his eyes. He was miserable, and Kili wasn’t able to cuddle him and make it better.

His cold had started almost immediately after Kili left for his business trip to the states. He had taken Kili to the airport four days ago, not happy that Thorin had asked Kili to make this trip so close to Christmas but holding his tongue trying to be supportive.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” Kili said at the gate, snuggling his earmuffs down more securely.

“Sure, yeah I know.” Fili said. “It’ll be fine. I just…I miss you when you’re gone. We haven’t even gotten the tree up yet.”

Kili grabbed his face, rubbing their noses together. “I’ll see you in a week.” He called back over his shoulder as he made his way onto the plane.

As soon as Fili got home he started to feel the tickle in the back of his throat. He tried to ignore it, pulling out all of the decorations and boxes into the living room and setting up the tree. He wouldn’t put a single ornament on until they could do it together though.

That had been Saturday. By Wednesday morning he was flat out on the couch, shivering under a comforter and trying not to think of Kili who wouldn’t be home for another three days. He wouldn’t be so miserable he thought if he only had something to snuggle with. He grabbed Kili’s pillow but it wasn’t the same. His lower lip stuck out as he started to pout, which he would ordinarily never allow himself to do but who cares? He was alone in the house anyway. Just then he heard the noise of the front door opening.

“Hey babe, I’m home! And I’ve got a surprise for you!” Kili called, rounding the corner with a big box in his hands, covered in bight Christmas wrapping paper. He took in the sight before him, Fili surrounded by used tissues and nose bright red.

“Oh babe, why don’t you call me?” Kili said, sitting on the couch and drawing Fili into his arms.

Fili sniffled. “ I missed you. I don’t like it when you’re away, it gets so lonely.” Kili smiled down at him gently. “I know love. That’s why I got you an early Christmas gift. Why don’t you open it. Don’t shake it though.” He said picking the package up carefully and handing it to Fili.

Fili took the package which was surprisingly light. It felt like something was shifting inside. He carefully lifted the lid off, getting ready to look inside when up popped an adorable kitten, grey and brown with white patches on its chest and paws, looking at him with bright eyes, letting out a small meow in way of greeting.

“Merry Christmas love. Do you like him?”

Fili took the kitten in his arms, listening to it start to purr. “ I love him.”

“I thought you might. Ready to watch me decorate the tree while you rest and get to know our new addition?”

Fili smiled up at him through his tears. “Sounds perfect. Merry Christmas Kili.”

He was starting to feel better already, as he watched the snow out the window. It was going to be a good Christmas after all.

[vireserein]

TL;DR: Obvious amputee struggles, hidden hEDS hijinks, failed attempt at mooning church ladies with my sexy yoga talents.

Invisible disabilities are still disabilities, and even if people can't outwardly see what you struggle with, you have the right to look "unsightly" or "inappropriate" in public to take care of yourself. This is taking medications, this is sitting down, this is doing whatever you need to do to keep your body happy and healthy. I'm used to being very obviously different with a congenital forearm amputation that doesn't really get in the way of my life besides the occasional inconveniently short microwave handles (can't get my residual joints behind them) or the way strangers and family often treat me in public for it (very poorly; this is my main struggle and I'd go so far as to say social separation is my main lifestyle difference. I am always unsightly in public.) . . . But the less notable side of my body, which is a progressively worsening diagnosis of hEDS that I've been dealing with for half of my life, is something I am still getting used to accepting and managing. With or without a lot of physical therapy, supplements, rest, and preventative care, I have issues that won't go away. Lately, this means that I can't sit up straight or stand for long periods of time, and very often need to do strange little jigs to get my ribs back into their parking spots in my poorly-oiled upper back— essentially, I can't look proper in quiet spaces. As a woman attending a tri-city snooty-suburb church primarily composed of prim-and-proper older ladies and their equally judgy sheltered tweenagers who would have a conniption at the idea our planet Earth being over 6,000 years old or, God literally forbid, people being themselves, I have at least one personal worst place to have three ribs twist themselves out of me so suddenly while mid- un-pretzelifying my body (to avoid back pain on a shitty pew) (also read: standing up like I'm an overburdened robot). That said, I love my community for the things they do correctly, and I love and prefer the church I attend while at my university for being much kinder, more open-minded, science-loving people.

So anyway, you do what you have to do, even if this means gasping like a fish with a harmonica stuck in its throat, squeezing past 10 of those people very forcefully, and lumpily skittering out of the room (picture a constipated armadillo. I'm fond of my parenthetical similes if you can't tell) to the aghast spite of plenty to put your rebellious skeleton back together in the bathroom, hands covered in napkins and ass directly to the door like this:

(I was taught this funny hot banana-pyramid pose by some very good friends of mine. It saves lives.)

Some people will still love you when they see your nice ass at church, and others will be offended over silly things, and even more will have the right intentions but a terrible mindset. . . But you matter most in this context, unless you're bowling over 95-year old grandfathers for bonus points.

And no, I didn't get caught. And, as a final addition, I think this whole connective tissue disorder thing has helped me to start accepting the visible part of me more. As I've mentioned before, I was raised to stamp out the idea that I was different, and to ignore my own support needs to convince others. Those needs were much easier to believe for something new and fresh that I could demand regular appointments for, and the wacky things I have to get up to to avoid pain have helped me to give less of a shit about others, even if it's hard to.

[stesierra]

Find the Word tag!

@serenanymph tagged me with the words pattern, develop, protest and express! I'm drawing from School of Souls.

Trigger warning: dead guy and monsters

Pattern

When the trees opened up, revealing a long stretch of lakeshore, I staggered a few more yards and threw myself down on a big flat rock. I sat there, feeling like death. The coffee I’d gulped down at breakfast barely kept my eyes open. I felt both jittery and exhausted, an awful combination, and my head throbbed.

Declan stood over me, hands on his hips. “Don’t you want to see the lake, Juniper?”

“Go look at it yourself,” I said dully. “I live on this rock now.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll be right back.”

I watched him diminish down the shore and closed my eyes. I couldn’t sleep, but the darkness behind my eyelids helped my headache a little.

Some instinct warned me a few minutes later. I opened my eyes. Standing just beyond the treeline, a monster stared at me from yellow eyes.

It had been a puma once. Its head was still a big cat’s head, its legs upright and strong, its enormous paws still tipped with claws. But diamond-patterned snake skin had replaced tawny fur, and some heal-transformer had molded its body and tail into a Komodo dragon’s.

Its ears were back, and it made no move to leave. I sat frozen, as if I could fend off an attack just by pretending to be a statue.

“You’re excellent bait,” Declan said from down by the shore. “How should I kill it? Should I burn it alive?”

“Leave it alone,” I said. “Please.” The words surprised me, but they felt right. Yes, this was a monster, but it had been an innocent animal before the students of the Seramia Boarding School got at it. It didn’t deserve to die for that. And it hadn’t attacked me.

Declan snorted. “You realize one of the major ways we practice being sorcerers is dealing with monsters.”

“Or making new ones,” I said bitterly.

He crossed his arms. “Well, I don’t. I’m an entroper.”

The snake-lion apparently decided we were off the menu. It walked away into the trees, off to hunt for easier prey. Declan watched it go with a crestfallen expression.

“Thank you,” I said as the monster vanished.

“You’re too soft,” he said. “Are all vegetarians crazy enough to spare a man-eater?”

I crossed my arms. “You don’t know that it ate anyone.”

He grew a funny little smile. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Slowly, I heaved myself off my rock and followed him down onto the shore. We hadn’t gone far when the first body appeared, sprawled on its back, feet in the water. A man with gray in his hair and a fishing pole lying snapped nearby. The monster had ripped open his plaid shirt and loose jeans and eaten out his intestines and stomach and liver and kidneys. His body cavity was dark and red, blood pooled at the back. More splattered the shore, turning the sand to mud. Flies already buzzed around the corpse, settling on his torn tissue.

Develop

Kye said, “I think one of us should take zolpidem every day. Just enough to see the ghosts and know if they’re doing anything weird.”

My throat cramped up. “I don’t want you guys to get addicted. It’s really awful.”

“Will we get addicted if we just take a tiny amount?” Valentina asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“We’ll take turns,” Kye said. “So nobody takes it every day. I bet you can’t get addicted if it’s just occasional.”

Valentina nodded. “Whose turn will it be tomorrow?”

“Mine,” I said hollowly. “You’ve both already done it this week. But I’m scared. I just got off it, and backsliding is a risk. I don’t want to start withdrawal all over again.”

“Then you don’t get a turn,” she said. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“I’m not letting you two take all the risk. It’s my turn tomorrow. But I’ll just take a fourth, like you.” Even I was doubtful. I’d developed a tolerance to zolpidem over the last year. Would a quarter of a pill even be enough to let me see the ghosts? Tomorrow I would find out.

Protest- I couldn't find this one, but I found "object."

“Well, she won't bother us again.”

“Why?”

He grinned unpleasantly. “I snuck up on her and burned her tongue out. Even if she finds a heal-transformer willing to grow her a new one, I think she's learned her lesson. And until then, she can't say a single spell to screw anybody's mind.”

I stared at him. “That's gruesome.”

“She tried to kill you twice. Should we have let her do it a third time?”

“I didn't say I objected. It's just gruesome.” I hugged my knees to my chest.

Express

Ember swirled her hands and said, “Yo contacto Beatrix Seramia.” And a picture swelled in the air in front of her. At first, just a woman’s narrow face appeared, pale with blood-red lipstick and heavy brows. Then the image expanded, following the woman’s thin black hair where it fell over her bony shoulders. By the time the image stabilized, I could see her whole body, clad in a purple pantsuit and Birkenstocks with socks.

She pursed thin lips and said, “Well, well. Is this the new class, Ember? They look a bit rubbish, don’t they?” To us, she said, “I’m Beatrix Seramia. This is my school, and you are my new students.”

“Rubbish?” Astrid said, her voice like ice. “What are you, British? And at least we don’t wear socks and sandals.”

Beatrix’s gray eyes swept over us. “You will meet here every morning, so that I can observe your progress. And after that, you will split up and attend the rest of your classes.”

My hallucination tightened its hands on my shoulders. And then it lunged forward and sat in my chair, at my desk. Its transparent body overlapped mine. My skin plunged into ice water, and my hands and feet tingled and fell asleep. I yelped and jumped up from my chair.

All the other freshmen stared at me. The hallucinations that had stood behind them all sat in their chairs, overlapping the real kids like two photo negatives laid on top of each other. My hallucination stayed sitting, but it stared at me with the most perturbed expression.

Beatrix said, “Oh, bother. What’s wrong with that one? Sit down, girl. I’m not done with the announcements.”

I sat. Right there on the floor. I wasn’t sharing a seat with a hallucination that felt like a blizzard in human form.

“You’re an odd fish, I see,” the woman said sourly. “Fine. Get your bum covered with dirt. Now listen up, you lot. There are rules around here...”

Tag list for everything

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@macabremoons

@the-dragon-chronicler

@teacupsandstarlight

@vorskra

@wrenofthewords

@amostdelectablescribbler

@savvy-minnow

@mysticstarlightduck

@phantommill

@gracewritesbooks

@aziz-reads

@owlsandwich

@symbioticsimplicity

@squarebracket-trick

@fishythewriter

@koala2all

@rmgrey-author

@atomatowriter

Just chapters and snippets

@da-na-hae

[lolitastories]

BLACK AND BLOOD

Y/N L/N is the daughter of the Great Khal Drogo although she was raised by the king of the unknown lands. After finding out he died she travels and finds the one who caused his death. Along this adventure she meets the mother of dragons. Jon Snow. Night walkers. We will see if she really has the Dothraki blood flowing through her veins.

Chapter 7:

After the fight I stood victorious. I look down at the man and I am kind of glad he face planted right on the floor. I can see and feel the anger from some people around the arena. “I will say this once!.” I look around. “We are not the enemy. For years my family has allowed you to live the savages life you wanted, that is until you came here to attack us in out own home”

“You led our people through the posion water!” one screams

“I didn’t put a knife to their throat!” not like I did this guy on the floor. “They choose to follow me under the loyalty they had to Khal Drogo. And as you can see, I have no problem doing it the Dothraki way to earn yours!” Silence fills the room. I look over to the man who I saw standing next to their old Khal. “I will not ask you to follow me, but I will ask you to leave my home if you decide not to” The man walks slowly to me. He drops his weapon and walks past me. The breath I was holding in release.

“All is fair!” I turn to the man screaming at the Dothraki. “Rones did it his way and most of us didn’t agree. What she says is true. They allowed us to live beyond their walls and now we came and invaded their homes.” He turns to me speaking loud and clear. “You beat the Khal and now as our tradition states you are our new one!” Dothraki scream. I don’t know if it's cheer or if they are unhappy. “I will ride with you. And people who choose to join us will too until our last breath. That is when I heard the Dothraki scream. The scream that I heard years ago when Khal Drogo was made Khal. Up in my room I looked over to the distant lands. The light of their fire could be seen from miles. The loud scream sounded more like a roar. The screams were kept quiet when a real roar caught our ears. In the air you saw Drogon flying over us.

“Stand down!” I screamed as the Dothraki pulled out their weapons to my family's guards. Throught the main entrance came my father walking with my brother walking next to him. The dothralo soldier who pleadge himself to me first stepped aside on my command. My father, tall and proud, stood before me and took out his knife.

“There are many things I could say right now.” My head moves to look down at the floor. “Like how stupid you are for moving across the sea and for trusting these people who not even a day ago were planning to kill us!” That made my eyes shoot up towards him. I move forward only to be met with his knife to my ribs. “How you decide to bleed for them when your family bled when they shouldn’t have because you weren’t here” His sharp knife pierce my clothing and the cold steel touches my skin. He moved his face closer but I know it was hard for him to talk.

“Do it. I will bleed for my mistakes” his hand moved fast and didn’t feel the sting until he had walked away from me.

“Oh dear sister” I lay myself against Grisill. “Let's get you inside” When I made it inside I had two things in my mind. Daenerys and the Dothraki. “I have never seen father this angry,” He says, starting to clean up my wound.

“He has never lost a wife and a daughter before. Its grief.”

“Did you come back to stay?” I hear the hopefulness in his voice.

“I think I should let father be alone and heal without me here” He wasn’t a man with many words but in his eyes I knew he wanted to say many things.

“This wound has been opened plenty of times. You already have bad tissues so how about you let it heal completely this time” I hiss as he pats my cut over the wrap he had just finished.

“Yes sir.” I got up to thank him. “I am leaving before I cause more damage” I open the door and at the end of the hall I see Jon standing there.

“They came and set us free from the dungeons' ' I turned to my brother, shocked. “The mother of dragons and father has been introduced but it wasn’t as pleasant as you think” I laugh knowing he was just being sarcastic.

“Wouldn’t think any different.” My smile fades and it's like I forgot how to let words form.

“They are okay. I sent them once we got the word that the Dothraki were close. We didn’t think it was a civil meeting they wanted.” I nod. I give him a quick hug before saying goodbye. “Come back soon. The wedding can’t start without you!” I wave him off as I catch up to Jon.

“Came here to try to redeem yourself?” I smiled but he was kind of awkward. His long cold gaze could be felt even if I wasn’t looking at him. I kept walking waiting for him to say something but nothing came out of his lips. “We have more Dothraki to take to Winterfell. We have ships so there will be no problem on taking them.” We come to the open common area of the castle and I see the Dothraki, Daenerys, Davos, and Jorah standing there waiting. I turn to Jon who at once glance he is walking down the stairs. I shake my head ignoring his actions. I walk down telling Daenerys everything and we start the departure.

“You had us worried Princess,” Davos says, coming up to me on the ship. I watched the castle disappear into a small spectacle until I couldn’t see it any longer. “When we met up to the Dothraki and didn’t see you there, everyone thought the worst” I look over at his point of view seeing Jon going into his cabin.

“It was short notice. I told Greyworm to inform you on my whereabouts''

“Yes. He spoke to Daenery and she thought it best to not tell anyone but once Jon and I found out we couldn’t just not do something” I see what he was saying but there was no need for that. “Stragic wise, the unsullied and dothraki follow your lead and yes you put Greyworm to command but what if he was killed? Who would they follow then?”

“My people are loyal. They would follow who I follow” I look over to Daenerys at the dock.

“Yes. But do remember the person you follow values your stance here, they would have helped you in your cause” With a smile he walks away. I hate this feeling. Like I was just lecsured by a parent. Like my choices weren’t the right ones. Like if I needed their validation for protection who I love. Like if my death would cause a dark hole in their hearts. I turn myself towards the cabin to walk in without knocking.

“You don’t get to judge me with your eyes! I did what my heart told me. My famil-” I didn’t see Jons shocked face. I was the shock one right now. I didn’t see his dark eyes staring at me fiercely because my eyes were closed. The only sense I was focusing on was touch. The way one of his hands pulled me in close by the waist and the other grasped my neck. The way his fur coat and leather armour felt through my fingers as they grabbed onto his chest. But the thing that I didn’t know would feel like this was his lips. The kiss wasn’t rough but they felt demanding. Not filled with desire but with a soft touch. How can something so simple as just two pairs of lips meeting have a person's mind explode? I pulled back once my head got out of his warmth. I open my eyes and still wrapped in his arms I pull him closer. “I don’t apologise for what I did. You had a war to fight and I knew I could win mine alone” He pulls back from the hug but only enough for us to come face to face again.

“But you are not alone anymore.” I shake my head smiling. I move my hands towards his face and pull him in.

“I know.” but it's not easy. All my life I have been alone. Yes, surrounded by family and friends but alone. Too stubborn to trust someone with my family's safety. Too skeptical to think that if I took the chance to put them in harm's way they would get harmed. I couldn’t let this much mind help me try to save them because they might mess up something, I prefer being the only one responsible for anything if something happened. “Don’t make me promise anything” He closed his eyes with a smile. When he reopened them he pulled me in for a quick kiss. His eyes blew open and stepped back.

“I'm so sorry.” he turned around looking everywhere but me. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I should have known-I mean I just saw you two together-”

“Should have known what? Saw who together?” I walked up to him, taking a hold of his hand so he would turn to look at me.

“The man you said goodbye” I wanted to laugh so bad but my curiosity won. I wanted to know what he was thinking.

“What about the man?” he looked shock at me

“He said something about a wedding, arent you two to be wed?” I shrug letting him go.

“Not anymore” I kept my blank face not wanting him to catch up on me. “You know back home a kiss is not only a kiss” I turn and take a seat on the end of the bed. “It's an engagement” I look up towards his face. “We are practically married since you took my first kiss” A small smile could have been missed on his face but I knew he was spectacle of my response. He didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. I let out a sigh. “I am lying, your grace.” I laughed getting up to walk out the door but he grabbed my hand, pulling me towards him.

“You didn’t tell me who the man was” I laugh

“My brother, Grisill.” he let out a small oh. My head moves a little to the right admiring him from upclose again. He was beautiful.

“Was that really your first kiss, or were you lying about that too?” I could feel the heat in my cheek as I nodded.

“Yes. and don’t you dare say anything” I was nervous when he kissed me. I didn’t have any experience before him. I didn’t know if I did it right or not.

“I wasn’t going to” he laughs as I playfully hit his chest. “But you know what I was going to say?” I look up to see a grin on his face. “We can keep practicing”