#meets violent hostility

[selamat-linting]

y/n reader fantasies are a little embarrassing. i admit it. but, my fantasy of becoming tony montana's personal enemy that he always beats up by hand but never kill despite us being opposites in ideology and career is different i swear!!!

[luckyladylily]

So a few months ago there was the discourse about would you rather meet a man or a bear in the woods. I didn't want to touch it while the discourse was hot and everyone dug in hard because those are not good conditions for nuance, but I waited until today, June 1st, for a specific reason.

I'm not going to take a position in the bear vs man debate because I don't think it matters. What is really being asked here is how afraid are you of men? Specifically, unexpected men who are, perhaps, strange.

People have a lot of very real fear of men that comes from a lot of very real places. Back when I was first transitioning in 2015 and 2016, I decided to start presenting as a woman in public even though I did not pass in the slightest.

I live in a red state. I knew other trans women who had been attacked by men, raped by men. I knew I was taking a risk by putting myself out there. I was the only visibly trans person in the area of campus I frequented, and people made sure I never forgot that. Most were harmless enough and the worst I got from them was curious stares. Others were more aggressive, even the occasional threat. I had to avoid public bathrooms, of course, and always be aware of my surroundings.

I know how frightening it is to be alone at night while a pair of men are following behind you and not knowing if they are just going in the same direction or if they want to start something - made all the worse for the constant low level threat I had been living under for over a year by just being visibly trans in a place where many are openly hostile to queer people. You have to remember, this was at the height of the first wave of bathroom law discussions, a lot of people were very angry about trans women in particular. My daily life was terrifying at times. I was never the subject of direct violence, but I knew trans women who had been.

I want you to keep all that in mind.

So man or bear is really the question "how afraid of men are you?", and the question that logically follows is "What if there was a strange man at night in a deserted parking lot?" or "What if you were alone in an elevator with a man?" or "What if you met a strange man in the woman's bathroom?"

My state recently passed an anti trans bathroom bill. The rhetoric they used was about protecting women and children from "strange men", aka trans women.

Conservatives hijack fear for their bigoted agenda.

When I first started presenting as a woman the campus apartment complex was designed for young families. The buildings were in a large square with playgrounds in the center, and there were often children playing. I quickly noticed that when I took my daughter out to play, often several children would immediately stop what they were doing and run back inside. It didn't take me long to confirm that the parents were so afraid of "the strange man who wears skirts" that their children were under strict instructions to literally run away as soon as they saw me.

"How afraid are you of a strange man being near your children?"

I mentioned above that I had to avoid public bathrooms. This was not because of men. It was because of women who were so afraid of random men that they might get violent or call someone like the police to be violent for them if I ever accidentally presented myself in a way that could be interpreted as threatening, when my mere presence could be seen as a threat. If I was in the library studying and I realized that it was just me and one other woman I would get up and leave because she might decide that stranger danger was happening.

Your fear is real. Your fear might even come from lived experiences. None of that prevents the fact that your fear can be violent. Women's fear of men is one of the driving forces of transmisogyny because it is so easy to hijack. And it isn't just trans women. Other trans people experience this, and other queer people too. Racial minorities, homeless people, neurodivergent people, disabled people.

When you uncritically engage with questions like man or bear, when you uncritically validate a culture of reactive fear, you are paving the way for conservatives and bigots to push their agenda. And that is why I waited until pride month. You cannot engage and contribute to the culture of reactive fear without contributing to queerphobia of all varieties. The sensationalist culture of reactive fear is a serious queer issue, and everyone just forgot that for a week as they argued over man or bear. I'm not saying that "man" is the right answer. I am saying that uncritically engaging with such obvious click bait trading on reactive fear is a problem. Everyone fucked up.

It is not a moral failing to experience fear, but it is a moral responsibility to keep a handle on that fear and know how it might harm others.

[withbriefthanksgiving]

The director of the New York Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights of the UN (UN OHCHR), Craig Mokhiber, has resigned in a letter dated 28 October 2023

the resignation letter can be found embedded in this tweet by Rami Atari (@.Raminho) dated 31 October 2023.

The letters are here:

Transcription:

United Nations | Nations Unies

HEADQUARTERS I SIEGE I NEW YORK, NY 10017

28 October 2023

Dear High Commissioner,

This will be my last official communication to you as Director of the New York Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights.

I write at a moment of great anguish for the world, including for many of our colleagues. Once again, we are seeing a genocide unfolding before our eyes, and the Organization that we serve appears powerless to stop it. As someone who has investigated human rights in Palestine since the 1980s, lived in Gaza as a UN human rights advisor in the 1990s, and carried out several human rights missions to the country before and since, this is deeply personal to me.

I also worked in these halls through the genocides against the Tutsis, Bosnian Muslims, the Yazidi, and the Rohingya. In each case, when the dust settled on the horrors that had been perpetrated against defenseless civilian populations, it became painfully clear that we had failed in our duty to meet the imperatives of prevention of mass atrocites, of protection of the vulnerable, and of accountability for perpetrators. And so it has been with successive waves of murder and persecution against the Palestinians throughout the entire life of the UN.

High Commissioner, we are failing again.

As a human rights lawyer with more than three decades of experience in the field, I know well that the concept of genocide has often been subject to political abuse. But the current wholesale slaughter of the Palestinian people, rooted in an ethno-nationalist settler colonial ideology, in continuation of decades of their systematic persecution and purging, based entirely upon their status as Arabs, and coupled with explicit statements of intent by leaders in the Israeli government and military, leaves no room for doubt or debate. In Gaza, civilian homes, schools, churches, mosques, and medical institutions are wantonly attacked as thousands of civilians are massacred. In the West Bank, including occupied Jerusalem, homes are seized and reassigned based entirely on race, and violent settler pogroms are accompanied by Israeli military units. Across the land, Apartheid rules.

This is a text-book case of genocide. The European, ethno-nationalist, settler colonial project in Palestine has entered its final phase, toward the expedited destruction of the last remnants of indigenous Palestinian life in Palestine. What's more, the governments of the United States, the United Kingdom, and much of Europe, are wholly complicit in the horrific assault. Not only are these governments refusing to meet their treaty obligations "to ensure respect" for the Geneva Conventions, but they are in fact actively arming the assault, providing economic and intelligence support, and giving political and diplomatic cover for Israel's atrocities.

Volker Turk, High Commissioner for Human Rights Palais Wilson, Geneva

In concert with this, western corporate media, increasingly captured and state-adjacent, are in open breach of Article 20 of the ICCPR, continuously dehumanizing Palestinians to facilitate the genocide, and broadcasting propaganda for war and advocacy of national, racial, or religious hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility, and violence. US-based social media companies are suppressing the voices of human rights defenders while amplifying pro-Israel propaganda. Israel lobby online-trolls and GONGOS are harassing and smearing human rights defenders, and western universities and employers are collaborating with them to punish those who dare to speak out against the atrocities. In the wake of this genocide, there must be an accounting for these actors as well, just as there was for radio Mules Collins in Rwanda.

In such circumstances, the demands on our organization for principled and effective action are greater than ever. But we phave not met the challenge. The protective enforcement power Security Council has again been blocked by US intransigence, the SG [UN Secretary General] is under assault for the mildest of protestations, and our human rights mechanisms are under sustained slanderous attack by an organized, online impunity network.

Decades of distraction by the illusory and largely disingenuous promises of Oslo have diverted the Organization from its core duty to defend international law, international human rights, and the Charter itself. The mantra of the "two-state solution" has become an open joke in the corridors of the UN, both for its utter impossibility in fact, and for its total failure to account for the inalienable human rights of the Palestinian people. The so-called "Quartet" has become nothing more than a fig leaf for inaction and for subservience to a brutal status quo. The (US-scripted) deference to "agreements between the parties themselves" (in place of international law) was always a transparent slight-of-hand, designed to reinforce the power of Israel over the rights of the occupied and dispossessed Palestinians.

High Commissioner, I came to this Organization first in the 1980s, because I found in it a principled, norm-based institution that was squarely on the side of human rights, including in cases where the powerful US, UK, and Europe were not on our side. While my own government, its subsidiarity institutions, and much of the US media were still supporting or justifying South African apartheid, Israeli oppression, and Central American death squads, the UN was standing up for the oppressed peoples of those lands. We had international law on our side. We had human rights on our side. We had principle on our side. Our authority was rooted in our integrity. But no more.

In recent decades, key parts of the UN have surrendered to the power of the US, and to fear of the Israel Lobby, to abandon these principles, and to retreat from international law itself. We have lost a lot in this abandonment, not least our own global credibility. But the Palestinian people have sustained the biggest losses as a result of our failures. It is a stunning historic irony that the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was adopted in the same year that the Nakba was perpetrated against the Palestinian people. As we commemorate the 75th Anniversary of the UDHR, we would do well to abandon the old cliché that the UDHR was born out of the atrocities that proceeded it, and to admit that it was born alongside one of the most atrocious genocides of the 20th Century, that of the destruction of Palestine. In some sense, the framers were promising human rights to everyone, except the Palestinian people. And let us remember as well, that the UN itself carries the original sin of helping to facilitate the dispossession of the Palestinian people by ratifying the European settler colonial project that seized Palestinian land and turned it over to the colonists. We have much for which to atone.

But the path to atonement is clear. We have much to learn from the principled stance taken in cities around the world in recent days, as masses of people stand up against the genocide, even at risk of beatings and arrest. Palestinians and their allies, human rights defenders of every stripe, Christian and Muslim organizations, and progressive Jewish voices saying "not in our name", are all leading the way. All we have to do is to follow them.

Yesterday, just a few blocks from here, New York's Grand Central Station was completely taken over by thousands of Jewish human rights defenders standing in solidarity with the Palestinian people and demanding an end to Israeli tyranny (many risking arrest, in the process). In doing so, they stripped away in an instant the Israeli hasbara propaganda point (and old antisemitic trope) that Israel somehow represents the Jewish people. It does not. And, as such, Israel is solely responsible for its crimes. On this point, it bears repeating, in spite of Israel lobby smears to the contrary, that criticism of Israel's human rights violations is not antisemitic, any more than criticism of Saudi violations is Islamophobic, criticism of Myanmar violations is anti-Buddhist, or criticism of Indian violations is anti-Hindu. When they seek to silence us with smears, we must raise our voice, not lower it. I trust you will agree, High Commissioner, that this is what speaking truth to power is all about.

But I also find hope in those parts of the UN that have refused to compromise the Organization's human rights principles in spite of enormous pressures to do so. Our independent special rapporteurs, commissions of enquiry, and treaty body experts, alongside most of our staff, have continued to stand up for the human rights of the Palestinian people, even as other parts of the UN (even at the highest levels) have shamefully bowed their heads to power. As the custodians of the human rights norms and standards, OHCHR. has a particular duty to defend those standards. Our job, I believe, is to make our voice heard, from the Secretary-General to the newest UN recruit, and horizontally across the wider UN system, incisting that the human rights of the Palestinian people are not up for debate, negotiation, or compromise anywhere under the blue flag.

What, then, would a UN-norm-based position look like? For what would we work if we were true to our rhetorical admonitions about human rights and equality for all, accountability for perpetrators, redress for victims, protection of the vulnerable, and empowerment for rights-holders, all under the rule of law? The answer, I believe, is simple—if we have the clarity to see beyond the propagandistic smokescreens that distort the vision of justice to which we are sworn, the courage to abandon fear and deference to powerful states, and the will to truly take up the banner of human rights and peace. To be sure, this is a long-term project and a steep climb. But we must begin now or surrender to unspeakable horror. I see ten essential points:

Legitimate action: First, we in the UN must abandon the failed (and largely disingenuous) Oslo paradigm, its illusory two-state solution, its impotent and complicit Quartet, and its subjugation of international law to the dictates of presumed political expediency. Our positions must be unapologetically based on international human rights and international law.

Clarity of Vision: We must stop the pretense that this is simply a conflict over land or religion between two warring parties and admit the reality of the situation in which a disproportionately powerful state is colonizing, persecuting, and dispossessing an indigenous population on the basis of their ethnicity.

One State based on human rights: We must support the establishment of a single, democratic, secular state in all of historic Palestine, with equal rights for Christians, Muslims, and Jews, and, therefore, the dicmantling of the deeply racist, settler-colonial project and an end to apartheid across the land.

Fighting Apartheid: We must redirect all UN efforts and resources to the struggle against apartheid, just as we did for South Africa in the 1970s, 80s, and early 90s.

Return and Compensation: We must reaffirm and insist on the right to return and full compensation for all Palestinians and their families currently living in the occupied territories, in Lebanon, Jordan, Syria, and in the diaspora across the globe.

Truth and Justice: We must call for a transitional justice process, making full use of decades of accumulated UN investigations, enquiries, and reports, to document the truth, and to ensure accountability for all perpetrators, redress for all victims, and remedies for documented injustices.

Protection: We must press for the deployment of a well-resourced and strongly mandated UN protection force with a sustained mandate to protect civilians from the river to the sea.

Disarmament: We must advocate for the removal and destruction of Israel's massive stockpiles of nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons, lest the conflict lead to the total destruction of the region and, possibly, beyond.

Mediation: We must recognize that the US and other western powers are in fact not credible mediators, but rather actual parties to the conflict who are complicit with Israel in the violation of Palestinian rights, and we must engage them as such.

Solidarity: We must open our doors (and the doors of the SG) wide to the legions of Palestinian, Israeli, Jewish, Muslim, and Christian human rights defenders who are standing in solidarity with the people of Palestine and their human rights and stop the unconstrained flow of Israel lobbyists to the offices of UN leaders, where they advocate for continued war, persecution, apartheid, and impunity, and smear our human rights defenders for their principled defense of Palestinian rights.

This will take years to achieve, and western powers will fight us every step of the way, so we must be steadfast. In the immediate term, we must work for an immediate ceasefire and an end to the longstanding siege on Gaza, stand up against the ethnic cleansing of Gaza, Jerusalem, and the West Bank (and elsewhere), document the genocidal assault in Gaza, help to bring massive humanitarian aid and reconstruction to the Palestinians, take care of our traumatized colleagues and their families, and fight like hell for a principled approach in the UN's political offices.

The UN's failure in Palestine thus far is not a reason for us to withdraw. Rather it should give us the courage to abandon the failed paradigm of the past, and fully embrace a more principled course. Let us, as OHCHR, boldly and proudly join the anti-apartheid movement that is growing all around the world, adding our logo to the banner of equality and human rights for the Palestinian people. The world is watching. We will all be accountable for where we stood at this crucial moment in history. Let us stand on the side of justice.

I thank you, High Commissioner, Volker, for hearing this final appeal from my desk. I will leave the Office in a few days for the last time, after more than three decades of service. But please do not hesitate to reach out if I can be of assistance in the future.

Sincerely,

Craig Mokhiber

End of transcription.

Emphasis (bolding) is my own. I have added links, where relevant, to explanations of concepts the former Director refers to.

[yovrnewromantic]

YOU BELONG TO ME

Pairings: Humanity-less stefan x reader

“Ugh, would you just leave me alone already?”

It’s bold of you to talk to him like that. Stupid too, especially in the state he’s in.

Your boyfriend was someone you would describe as a saint. Kind, cute, caring. But without his humanity, he was the opposite. He was hostile to everyone, getting on your nerves, especially when he shoved Matt to the floor when he tried to give you your homework back. He caused a scene in the hallway, practically threatening to rip out Matt’s throat if he so much as looked at you again.

Ripper Stefan was violent and territorial. You didn’t know what that meant for you.

Stefan’s hand found your shoulder, pulling you to turn and look at him. He lowered his head, making fiery eye contact to get his point across.

“Let’s get one thing straight, you belong to me.”

Stefan’s words send a chill down your spine, your soft, cuddle boyfriend, who used to sing along to You Belong With Me, is nowhere to be found and you’re left with this possessive shell of him.

Right now, he didn’t love you, he just knew that he wanted you and he was damn sure he was gonna have you.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you sneer. “I don’t belong to you, Stefan, so do me a favor and fuck off.”

You felt brave turning away from him, as if your words would sink into him, maybe make him feel something and switch a flip inside of him. Your words did flip a switch in him, just not the one you were hoping for.

Stefan’s large hand grasps as your arm. With an easy, singular tug, he pulls you back under him, forcing your back into the lockers behind you. They slam against your back, the sound overpowering your scared gasp.

“No, no. Don’t talk to me like that.” Stefan tsks, caging you between his arms. “You’re not in control here.”

Left defenseless, your eyes shoot around the halls, looking for someone, anyone, but the hall is empty.

Harshly, Stefan grips your chin. “Don’t do that,” he demands, tauntingly. “It’s just me and you, baby.”

The pet name falls off his lip in mockery. It makes you feel pathetic and despite what you tell yourself, you’re afraid. Stefan grins. “I can hear your heart racing.”

“Maybe because I’m fucking terrified,” you snap, voice low, trying to calm yourself. Stefan reaches out for a lock of your hair, twisting it around his finger before he lets it fall back into place.

“Good,” he whispers, an inch from your face. His eyes flicker over your lips for a split second his eyes meet yours and his lips twitch into a smirk as he fits his face into the crook of your neck. He inhales softly, and your foot bounces against the floor anxiously.

Stefan kisses at your neck with fake innocence, moving up to your jaw before focusing on your pulse point. His teeth scrap against your skin gently. Against your will, your eyes gloss over. You whimper. “Please don’t.”

“Do what, sugar?” he asks, “Bite you?” He jumps toward with his last remark, relishing in how you flinch.

You nod, fearfully, looking down at the floor rather than your scary boyfriend.

Stefan’s head cocks to the side ever so lightly, his eyes searching for your own. When they meet, you can see the familiar lustful haze in your boyfriend’s green eyes, but they’re darker than usual. For reasons unbeknownst to you, you refused to look away. Glaring at him through your eyebrows, Stefan cherishes your attention, licking his lips with excitement.

“Mr. Salvatore,” a voice calls from behind Stefan’s mean silhouette. “I think it’s time you get to class.”

You sigh with relief, your head falling back against the locker. “Ric.”

Stefan hardly looks away from you, barely sparing Alaric a glance as he eagerly tries to engage your intense eye contact. “In a minute.”

“No, now.”

“We’ll finish this later,” Stefan whispers in your ear, nipping at it as a threat disguised with playfulness as he pulls away.

If looks could kill, Alaric would be dead the second Stefan turned away from you, bumping his shoulder as he headed to class.

“Thank you,” you gush, hiding your face in your hands, desperate not to cry.

Alaric looks at you with sympathy. “Get to class,” he says. “We’ll deal with him after.”

in my tvd phase 🫀🫀

unedited

[moonshine-nightlight]

Voluntary Sacrifice

inspired by this prompt/setup by @snowkissedmonsters as well as their art

The local werebear is in heat and its become a town concern. You, who's always been fascinated by him and doesn't much to lose reputationally, volunteer to help him through it.

If only he believed you were doing so voluntarily, instead of being forced by the council.

Can you convince him of your sincerity before the full moon rises?

Male werebear x human reader, Heat, NSFW

Status: Complete (One-shot)

Length: 12k

AO3: Voluntary Sacrifice

Prompt:

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

/

“Good luck!”

You stare after Anton, the liaison officer, as he rides away, at a complete loss of what to do now. You’ve felt a headrush of sorts, like sliding down a hill in winter, since you first resolved to volunteer to help Temar and his slamming of the door in your face was an abrupt stop before you even reached the bottom. You cross your arms, telling yourself its because of the mild chill, not out of anxiety or embarrassment.

But you are, so so embarrassed. You don’t know exactly what you thought his reaction to you might be, but stonewalled indifference and complete refusal to even entertain the idea of mating with you wasn’t one of them. Heat licks at your cheeks from the way he’d looked at you, his lip curled in a snarl, something more than even just annoyance in his eyes. You’d felt the urge to shrink right then and there and only surprise kept you frozen upright.

You know you weren’t as young as the other unaffiliated women in town, weren’t as pretty, weren’t as agreeable, but surely he couldn’t smell your infertility or whatever made you feel so out of place with everyone else. What about you had been so offputting he’d not even considered you for a mate? You’d almost hoped that whatever made you so unappealing as a human mate might make you more appealing to a werebear. So much for that.

You’re not one for much dignity as it is, no one to stand on high graces, and you try not to let others’ opinions bother you, beyond where they interfere with your own ability to make your living. But even you can’t bring yourself to try to convince him to mate with you when he so clearly has absolutely no interest. Did you sacrifice what little standing you did have a reasonable and respectable person by volunteering for this only to not even be able to manage it? Was it for nothing?

You had only found the courage to approach him because of the surface-level reason of slaughtered livestock and fear for a person’s injury, but now, now you felt almost responsible for not being able to prevent such an occurrence. All because Temar found you unappealing.

You can’t leave without even saying more than a hasty word to him though. Maybe there’s some other way you can help. You’ve wanted an excuse to get to know him better for years, since you first saw him. Even before that, when someone stopped by your shop with some of the pelts they’d bought from him.

Beyond his attractive appearance being more than enough to draw your attention, he’s lived such an interesting life. The liaison was liberal with his stories and his own accomplishments in the war, but he never short-changed his friend. You also found the stories of people who have crossed him or questioned him entertaining more than scary. His refusal to play along with the petty etiquette of the town was funny, as were people’s puffed up reactions. Perhaps you should have expected this reaction after all, maybe he just doesn’t like humans.

The thought against brings embarrassed heat to your face once more as you remember how he’d looked in the doorway. His beard and mustache, short but full, the scar across his nose, those dark brown eyes. His hair was shaved on both sides, but long in the middle, pulled back into a loose bun and peppered with gray like his beard. Tall as you remember, but stockier—his frame particularly broad in the narrow doorway. You’d always found him especially handsome. There was no question what sort of were he was.

Before today, the closest you’d been was at the general store, behind him line for some flour, putting to rest the rumors that werecreatures only ate meat. His presence had fascinated you, large but contained. Wild but settled. Immovable, but not aggressive. Deliberate. You’d found your mind drifting to thoughts of him that night. Your mind liked to turn the idea of him over, half speculation, half pieced together clues from overheard gossip. When you were particularly lonely or even just particularly cold, it was comforting to know he was on his own too. He seemed to prefer it even. You preferred your solitude most of the time as well—half caught between feeling like an outsider for the inclination, half relieved since that’s where you ended up. You wouldn’t mind another friend who felt so, a bit of company you didn’t need to perform in front of. And it would be nice, to be useful to someone else who had no one.

You know he needs help now, more than ever. The liaison had assured them at the meeting that Temar was making every attempt to contain himself. Which reassured you that you’d not missed a callous trend in his nature, but also made you want to help more—not help with the abstract problem, but help him. The next best solution that had been discussed—and would likely need to be implemented now that it turned out you’d failed, you realize with a sinking heart—was to institute a town wide curfew until this ran its course. But maybe there is still some way you can aid him, even if not by soothing his heat directly.

You stand up straight, pushing off the railing you’d been leaning against, and resolve to at least try to talk to him. After all, you understood his continued solitude, but it felt silly during the meeting, that he wasn’t there to lend his own input. Surely he had the most insight into his situation. He must know what he needed. You raise you hand to knock on the door when it opens before you even get the chance.

“If you ain’t gonna have the sense leave, then get in,” a gruff voice orders.

Your feet are moving before you fully register the words. Relief floods your veins. Well, that was easier than you expected. Perhaps things were turning around.

/

They were not. Any hope you had for some softening of his attitude was quickly dashed.

It had seemed promising: the smell of cooking food, the heat that filled the main room from the large fire, the sound of crackling logs. All ease some of the tension in your bones immediately—not to mention that same deliberate air Temar had, the one that made you feel steady and safe. Safe enough to want what you want, without your usual instinct to hide such thoughts and feelings until you were alone lest others use them to hurt you.

You try to focus on the room itself, from the handmade furniture—you’d have recognized Ben’s work if it was—to the scant decoration. The cabin was simple, unadorned, but solid. It suited him. It made the few personal items he had stick out all the more. The large blanket and rug to make the room feel lived in. The well-cared for hunting gear in the corner. The collection of copper kitchenware, clearly used often.

Nearly as soon as you finished your preliminary survey of his home, he makes it very clear he still did not want you. “No notion of what’s going on in that fool Anton’s head, leaving you on my porch like bottles of milk,” he sighs, looking disgruntled and you fight the urge to apologize. He tucks a strand of hair that escaped his bun behind his ear and your fingers itch to do the same. You clench them tighter behind you, upset at how wild your thoughts are in the face of his rejection. “Fess up, what did they tell you? I don’t know what those old fearmongers at the counsel did to make you come here, but I’ll not hold it against you—only them.”

You tilt your head as you watch him pace over the fire, trying to keep your eyes on his head, not how well he fills out his trousers. You realize belatedly that you must still need to clarify. “There was a town meeting, but I volunteered, like Anton said,” you reply tentatively. He’d heard what his friend said. Right? Maybe that was why he’d refused? Not because he found you so abhorrent.

Temar scoffs. “Anton wouldn’t recognize subtle coercion if it stabbed him the back.”

You frown, starting to get a little frustrated with his seeming inability to hear you properly. “Be that as it may, I can. It’s the truth.”

Temar raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Right,” he says flatly. “Just like five years ago, when I moved here and Miss Ketevan was left on my doorstop around harvest time. She just wanted to offer some apples before high tailing it out of there once her grandfather was out-of-sight. Must have been crying and yelling for some other reason.”

Your frown deepens. The last of your family had died around then and you’d not joined a town meeting for a full year, plenty busy with grief and figuring out how to run the dye shop without any guidance. Keti was a younger than you but had a reputation as a troublemaker so she had been in the gossip plenty. Her grandfather, Carlos, was on the counsel and had seemed to consider her something of an embarrassment.

You thought she’d run off with the milkmaid, not because she was a failed sacrifice to the new werebear neighbor. It does throw into relief some other statements at the meeting. Like Anton’s emphasis on volunteers as he’d stared Carlos’ down, which had led to no one but you speaking up—not even the brothel workers. They’d not said but you knew they feared clients shunning whoever they sent, let alone however they felt about the stigma and fear associated with werecreatures.

 “I have no idea what did or did not happen five years ago, I wasn’t at any of those meetings nor at your house,” you say with a shrug. “Keti’s moved to the other side of the river, according to her sister, and is quite satisfied there. None of which was brought up at the meeting today.”

“What do they have on you?” Temar asks, squatting to stoke the fire, as if you just didn’t want to tell the truth his face. Ignoring everything you were saying while still trying to get answers from you. You liked tell about how stubborn he was in gossip. You liked it less at this moment. “If I can aid you and you can go on home, you’re welcome to ask.”

“They don’t have anything on me,” you reply slowly, trying to match his even tone so he doesn’t think your lying. The embarrassment that comes with volunteering so plainly to mate with him comes and goes in waves, but having to repeat it to him is a different flavor all together. “I am here of my own free will.”

Temar scoffs and huffs. “If you don’t want to tell me then fine.” He heaves himself back to his feet and peers out the window. “Sun’s going down. You can stay here for dinner and for the night. That better satisfy them, because you’re leaving first light in the morning.”

You turn away from his back, staring blindly at the countertop covered in ingredients for dinner. The one you interrupted with this piss-poor intrusion. He was likely just trying to give you an out, an excuse to save some dignity. You should’ve known you’d have no skill at seduction, not that you’d believed you’d need it. You’d hoped he be satisfied enough, in need enough that you’d suffice by being willing and not unattractive. Or so you thought. How pathetic. “I just wanted to help,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

You sigh before walking over to the counter and picking up a knife. “Thank you for your hospitality,” you manage, your voice stiff with discomfort, but unwilling to completely give up yet. “Allow me to assist with the food.”

Dinner preparation is tense, quiet, but a relatively smooth affair. Temar’s already got the chicken dumplings nearly done so you leave that to him and handle the rest.

He only speaks to point you toward where things are when you ask. You’re happy he’s letting you do this much as you’ve more than got the message he’d prefer to do it all alone. You try to concentrate hard enough not to think about anything else.

“These dumplings are delicious,” you say belatedly, after you’ve already scarfed down two of them. They really are, hot and flavorful.

Temar grunts in response and you can’t help but pout, wondering if he thinks everything you say is a lie. You try at some other small talk, but nothing gets more than a yes or no out of him—after the first few, he just makes some vague noise of acknowledgment as he steadily eats through three times the portion of food you got, which had been more than generous. You’d been skeptical of how much he was making until you’d seen how much he was eating.

Did he also have to eat more before winter, like a normal bear? Was he going to sleep through it too? You swear he still came in with pelts, but you don’t really know. You’re more than aware that he’s not likely to give a straight answer if you ask. You ask anyway.

He gives you a look like you’re touched in the head. “No, I don’t hibernate. I stay in more, sleep more since its dark more, but I’m not actually a bear.”

“I know!” you protest, blushing, “but I’ve heard there’s overlap of some kind, forgive me for not being an expert. You’re the only werebear I know by name.”

“You know nothing,” he retorts, words finally bursting from him in a fit of frustration. You’re taken aback, but eager for any information given his recent impression of a clam. “You say you volunteer and yet you don’t know the first thing about werebears, let alone heats. You expect me to think you know what you’re saying you got yourself into when its clear no one explained anything.”

“Well, then you tell me,” you bat back, fed up by now with being treated as a criminal for even entertaining the notion you might be a suitable mate for him. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t have called me a liar even if I’d written a book on werebears and their heats.”

As his way seems to be, he ignores you to keep focus on whatever incorrect train of thought he has stuck in his head. “Even if you’re ignorant, didn’t your family object? Doesn’t someone have sense or self-preservation?”

You glare. Of all the—. “No—” you reply hotly before he cuts in.

“I thought that was something y’all paid attention to,” he drawls, waving with his fork. “ Fraternizing with the werecreatures is still a no-no right?” He leans forward, eyes bright, like a predator finally spotting their prey. “Is it them that the council is leaning on?”

Unfortunately for him, its a false sighting. “Don’t have any,” you reply bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. “They died. About five years ago.”

You wonder if he’ll make the connection and to your surprise, he seems to as his brow furrows. “I see.” He leans back in his chair as if surrpised to notice he’d moved at all.

“Besides, I’m grown,” you’re annoyed you even have to remind him. He’s treating you like a child, ignoring you, calling you ignorant, making you out as a liar. Like a fool. You’ve long resolved not to let anyone treat you like a fool. “I make my own choices.”

He scoffs in that same manner that’s truly getting under your skin. “Right. How could I forget.”

“I don’t know,” your voice is sharper than its been all evening. “Seeing as I keep reminding you.”

Discomfort creeps into his frame and he looks down at his plate to mutter, “What even made them come up with this plan? Was this Anton’s idea?” He warms up to this new wrong idea—it was Jessaly on the council who had mentioned “heat soothers” seconded by Carlos. Anton only stepped in to mention volunteers. “Because if so, I’ll be having words with him next chance I get, strong words. I anticipated an order to leave town or to be taken to jail or a fight. I’m surprised the council even risked the chance for cubs.”

That last part completely derails you from your planned support for Anton. “Oh,” you can dismiss that concern easy, so you don’t hesitate to, “I can’t have children.”

That stops him completely, freezes him in his chair. “What?”

His reaction surprises you. “I thought…” You thought he could smell the infertility on you. You thought that was part of why he’d refused, like the others. If he couldn’t tell, you still didn’t think he’d have a reaction like this, like everyone else. “I can’t. My monthlies stopped only a few years in and a doctor confirmed the nature of the issue. It’s noted in the records because my engagement to—” You don’t even want to say his name, for all you don’t blame your former fiance. You hadn’t even been that excited about the marriage, but the reality of no marriage ever, well, that had been more of blow the coming years dealt to you. You manage a shaky smile. “No risk of children with me.”

You meet his eyes valiantly and he stares back. You hope you’re right when you don’t see any blooming realization that you’re broken, that you’re any more undesirable, but you’ve long given up trying to tell. Still his focus makes you babble, “I don’t want children anyway.” That at least is the truth and the reminder steadies you. You thought you’d gotten over the worst of this self-recrimination years ago. You were happy not to have that burden, that expectation, that danger in your life. You just want Temar to think well of you, and this always changes how people perceive you, no matter how much you wish it didn’t. That is what truly gets under your skin. Your shoulders drop some tension as your smile softens, becomes more genuine. “Better me than someone who did. It worked out for the best that way.”

If only it meant no partner, no chance for sex beyond work at the brothel—which you were not interested in despite them asking—or  visiting one, which you have in years past. Or the affairs some of the less reputable had tried for in the past. They always made it clear in the end, even if you were alright with the infidelity—it was only because you were ‘safe’ that they wanted you.

“Neither do I,” he says, causing you to look up at him. His expression turns defensive as he clarifies, “That doesn’t mean anything anyways. Still the most foolish idea I ever heard.” He stands up abruptly to refill his plate with a fourth helping.

You eat the remainder of the meal in silence.

Finally, your plate is clean and your belly is full. You manage to take Temar by surprise by snatching up his plate in addition to yours, bringing them over to the wash basin before he could do some himself. You’re determined to do something useful while you’re here and he’s feeding you.

Maybe all lack of eye contact was for him and not you. Maybe you’ll have better luck staring at the water. “So, is there anything you’ll actually let me do to help?”

Another huff, almost a growl of frustration, and Temar replies, grit in his tone, “I told you I ain’t taking a mate just because the town’s made my heat their business this year.”

You don’t even bother arguing the point again and consider his words. You hadn’t thought about other years. There’d never been notice of it so you assumed it wasn’t actually an annual event. What made this year so different? Instead of asking, you return his own volley. “I heard you. I didn’t mean that, though I must mention that the town is only involved because it has become their business this year.”

Temar doesn’t answer, but you can feel his gaze on your back. Being the focus of his attention is electrifying. “Other than having a mate,” you remind yourself outloud. “Are there other things that I can help with? Measures to be taken, information to be shared. Anything?”

There’s silence behind you before he stands up from the table, the scrape of his chair loud. You hope to the gods he’s actually doing something, thought of something in response to your question rather than just leaving. Although technically, you suppose, that would also be a response to your question.

You methodically scrub the dishes while you listen to him move about the main room of the cabin. He sits back down at the table, bringing something with him. You can’t dry this tankard any more thoroughly so you turn around to see if he’s simply ignoring you or not.

He’s bent over something on the table, a piece of paper? You frown and walk over to get a closer look. As if he can sense you, once you’re close enough he points one thick finger at the paper. “Who’s land is this?”

You frown as you study what you realize is a map of the town. Unlike most you’ve seen, it doesn’t have roads or even real buildings on it. Abstract symbols represent structures—you think—and the town center and main street buildings are one big marker. Nothing indicated for individual stores. It takes another minute to realize the outlined shapes covering the map are the property lines, not buildings, roads, or rivers, though some overlap with where you know those to be. Leave it to a werebear to have a map of the town by territory.

“If you don’t know—” he says, huffing per usual.

“Apologies if I need more than a minute,” you huff back, more than fed up and far more assured after the time spent with him that he has no plans to kick you out tonight. “I’ve never seen a map like this.”

He quiets down and you manage to follow your memory of the road out to… “The Meskal’s Farm, Evanna and Leon.” You also manage to make the connection, although you’re not sure he meant for you to. They’d been the most recent farm that had suffered from slaughtered livestock.

Temar brings over a slate with some notes in chalk already written out. He’s got shorthand notes, similar to those on the map, but all unlike any you’ve seen before. He jots down what must be their name above some already existing notes. You squint, trying to make sense of the letters and numbers. “Two ewes and one lamb,” you correct, hoping you decoded right.

He freezes and you hold your breath for annoyance or anger, but instead he merely erases one number and writes in another. “I assume this was discussed with the council?”

“Yeah,” you see no reason to beat around the bush. As you continue to squint at his notes, leaning over his broad shoulder to see better. “The Oche’s steer had to be put down, but they salvaged the meat. Anton reassured them it was edible and bought some himself so the rest of the town followed suit.”

“Still, I’ll be paying my debt, it just might take some time,” Temar replies gravely. “I’ll not have anyone say I don’t pay what I owe or think I don’t owe it, like some uncivilized beast.”

“I can pass that along,” you offer, still reaching for some way to contribute, to help. His integrity touches your heart, makes that urge to give aid stronger. Anton had something vague to the affect, but the town had little confidence in Anton’s assurances. You have confidence in Temar’s.

“I would appreciate that,” he sounds a little belligerent, a little abashed.

You smile, happy to have found anything useful to do and lean in again, to study his map more closely. You mentally map out the other families who had damage and notice they’re all in a line from his property west and against the forest. He does seem to be attempting to keep to limited area. How much control does he have? Could you help corral him somehow?

You reach to point. “Is this the river or—” You start to lose you balance from the awkward angle you’re at. Your other hand reaches for the next closest thing to steady yourself—Temar’s shoulder.

Next thing you know you’re knocking into the table and he’s standing several feet away, a snarl on his face. “Don’t.”

You’re stricken by the vehemence from a such a small, almost-touch of his person. It had been too easy to forget he disliked you so, is so offended by your very presence. “I’m sorry!” It’s as if he thinks you were attempting to trick him. You hasten to clarify, hands raised in surrender. “I wasn’t trying—”

Temar leaves the room before you even finish speaking.

/

Temar braces himself before he goes back in the main room, his forehead pressed against the solid wood of his walls.

He’s hoping he’s gotten used to your scent, built up a tolerance, but knows it’ll only have gotten stronger for each moment you’ve been here. Gods know he’s only become more susceptible to it. How anyone in all his life has such a bewitching scent, he’ll never know.

The second he’d opened his front door, he’d wanted to drag you inside and never let you out. The beast inside instantly proclaiming Mine. Only mine. He’d barely heard anything Anton said over the roaring in his ears. The slam of his door had been as much panic defensiveness as it had been frustrated aggression.

The line between those two does seem to blur most during heat.

You stayed out there, looking so lost and somber on the porch, lip caught between your teeth as you thought. He’d had to get you to stop before he took over the task for you. An early sign of heat madness surely because of fucking course it was far worse having you in his home. Where his beast said you belonged. Where you could say all the words he was salivating to hear as truth even though he knew them to be false.

Those council assholes would pay for putting him through this torture. Temar knew he was a werebeast and yet this was inhumane even for his kind. He tried to find a proper target for his aggression, but you’d given him nothing to work with, persistent in your tale. As if a kind, quick-witted, pretty thing like you would ever subject yourself to a beast like him unless you felt you had no other option.

Distractions haven’t been helping, trying to keep his eyes off you was impossible to sustain, and stonewalling didn’t ever seem to deter you for long. It’s as if you were perfectly designed to get past all of his defenses. There are still so many hours until sunrise—if Temar’s even going to last that long, even be able to let you go at that point. After you’d seeped into his home, his life. You seem to fit so well.

You play at being kind like a master actor and he hopes that’s not all a front. You’re smart, independent, but oh so willing to help. Duress, he reminds himself, you’re here under duress. The fuckers in town must have forced you here somehow. He can’t believe how low they’ve stooped, taking advantage of your lack of family, of your infertility to make you into a sacrifice. The perfect sacrifice.

His beast still wants to try to breed you, undeterred by logic, but it’s his human head that’s unfairly tempted by the knowledge. When he’s in his rational mind, he stands by what he said. The risk of children, others with his condition, his ostracization from society is something he’d never condemn an innocent soul to suffer. Not mention he likes his solitude, likes only being responsible for himself and only answerable to himself. It’s why the council involving itself is so frustrating. Its why the idea you might be here of your own free will is so appealing. Lack of such a child-bearing risk is even more appealing, more alluring than he’d ever realized it would be. Than it had any right to be. Why are you so damn perfect for him?

Clearly distance was not helping. Perhaps it was even making his beast stronger, without you to look at him and, for all your knowledge of his nature, expect a rationale man to look back.

Temar walks back into the main room, feeling like a man condemned, only to immediately regret his choice as he rigidly locks every muscle he can to prevent his beast from pouncing. He’d thought you’d stopped trying to seduce him with your faux willingness and pretty eyes. Your soft, steady kindness…

Even he’d admitted to himself once alone that you likely hadn’t meant anything by hovering so close, by trying to steady yourself on him. Your fall onto the table, not to mention the complete startlement on your face from his reaction. But what the fuck is this?

“What are you doing?” he asks through clenched teeth, hoping the beast inside isn’t giving away the feral lust coursing through his veins.

“What?” You look up, surprised he’s back, but there’s no embarrassment in your face. If anything, your expression smooths back to usual faster than he feels it has a right to. “Oh, I hadn’t realized how wet my apron had gotten from the dishes, sorry about the wasted water.”

“Why have you removed it?” Temar’s voice was strangled as the words passed through his lips. Ordinarily, he knows it would barely register with him, but you removing any article of clothing has his beast pulling at the chains he’s trying to use to keep it inside where it belongs.

“Well, I didn’t know how else to dry off,” you reply, brow furrowing in confusion as you dab at yourself with part of the folded-up apron. Temar can see the damp stains where the water had soaked through the light green fabric underneath. “Besides, I don’t want to catch anything, sitting around in wet clothes. It’ll be dry by morning if I leave it by the fire.”

Temar’s mind is already overrun by the reminder he’d invited you, like the numbskull he is, to stay the night. You’re unlikely to sleep fully dressed. You’ll take more than just your apron off in his home. You’ll strip down to your chemise. He can see the edges of it under your dress—white cotton poking out. Nothing more under that except soft skin—skin he isn’t allowed to touch.

Temar tries to combat the pleasing images of you splayed naked in his bed with images of your bruised and bloody from his claws, his strength, his carelessness. They’re impossible to sustain with you so hale and unbothered in front of him. The comfort of his den discourages such violence from his thoughts, his heat poisoning his mind against him. You aren’t here by choice, he reminds himself.

It’s hard to believe when you cross his room with self-assured confidence, bending down to arrange your apron by his fire, acting as if you’ve no fears to worry you. Your hair is ruffled from either the dishes or taking off your apron and you pat at it absentmindedly. Temar wants it spread across his sheets, his pillow, mussed and messed by his hands while he claims you for himself. The town clearly doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t value you what they have. He’d treat you right. He’d make sure you loved being his.

With a shake of his head, he blinks and the image before him resolves to you seated on a chair, delicately rebraiding your hair. He can’t keep his eyes off the swift movements of your fingers. Temar imagines what it would feel like if you did the same to him, this simple careful, everyday task. You look up at him from under your full eyelashes, looking perfectly innocent and not a creature pulled from his greatest nightmares and most sincere dreams. “So do you have a plan for managing however many days are left? Have you gone into heat in previous years? How did you manage then?”

The flush that blooms on your face is endearing and attractive. Temar wants desperately to know what you’re thinking when you say ‘heat’. You’ve avoided saying the word nearly the entire time you’ve been heard. Temar knows the rumors that fly about the human population about werebeasts, about heats, he’s overheard it all. From eating human mates to potent fertility and everything in between. Which ones have you heard? Which do you believe in? Likely none of the violent ones or you’d find the prospect far more intimidating than whatever bullshit the council is using to coerce you.

“Temar?”

“You’re right, I’ve already managed to work out a solution on my own, making you presence doubly wasteful.” You flinch at his words and every instinct screams at him to sooth you, to take it back—whatever is needed to make his mate stay. Temar turns rather than continue to watch your reactions to his harsh words. Despite knowing its necessary, it hurts to see your hurt and only encourages the beast to want to soothe, to steal your mind from any hurt by drowning it out with lust and heat. “Follow me.”

“You’ll sleep here,” Temar points out, continuing to refuse to look back at you or his bed for that matter.

His control would surely shatter if he saw you so close to it. He imagines how easily he could push you down on the furs and sheets until he had you spread out like a feast for him and him alone. How he would savor you. How he wouldn’t let you up until he was more than satisfied. A glutton of lust.

The cold metal of the door knob jolts him out of his thoughts. “I’ll be out back.” The crisp air, the brisk breeze, blow your scent from Temar and clear his head. He nearly sighs with relief as he walks off to the right, purpose in his steps, a reminder of his duty as he follows the familiar path.

“Here.” Its clear no matter where you thought he was leading you “pit” was not on the list. Your eyebrows lift nearly to your hairline as you stare down, allowing him precious seconds to gaze at you without a mask of stoicism or frustration, only naked hunger.

“You asked where I weathered heats of the past?” Temar neglects to mention that the first couple years in town rendered his heats short and taxing. Just a handful of nights around the late summer full moon, when the first chill to the air heralding the coming winter. Between his beast’s discomfort with new territory and his own war memories haunting him, his heats were not a concern. It’s only last year that his heat was how it used to be in his youth.

Wild. Hungry. Enduring.

This year is worst yet, not only because of the tight grip it has on him and how he can tell, despite more than a week in, that he has days to go, but also due circumstances outside of his control.

You’re smart enough to spot it. “Did something happen to this…?”

Temar puts you out of your awkward misery. “There was a flood after that storm a couple weeks ago. It dislodged that tree and a wall collapsed.” He’d hoped his heat wouldn’t return with the vengeance it did and so had put off excavating. “In the end, the den took longer than I thought to rebuild, to dig deep enough again. Still not sure I have,” he confesses when you look at him with such open, receptive eyes.

You frown and squint down at the den and Temar doesn’t like the reminder of how dark it’s getting. This entire evening has been a distraction, from the knock on his door, to the meal, to now. He ought not neglect the den any longer, not let his beast draw this out until it can overpower his conscience.

He puts down the ladder, hands grateful for something to do besides itch to settle on your hips. “I’ll be needing to get everything out of here, before the moon finishes rising.” Temar descends as quickly as he can, jumping the last few feet and turning to survey the den.

It was nicer before, he thinks with some dismay, some shame at you seeing such a bare hole in the ground. It’s primarily filled with tools for digging and fortifying, none of the minimal furs and blankets that should be givens for a den. The roof had been damaged when the tree fell in so he hopes it doesn’t rain. Temar resigns himself to waking up covered in dew. It’ll still be better than waking up covered in blood, even after verifying it was all from livestock.

“Temar?” His name on your lips draws his attention back up, like a flower to the sun, like a fish to water, like blood to a bear.

“Can I help you clear it out?” Temar just stares at you, part of his mind still surprised you’re here. Still here. Still offering to help. Help him. You cross your arms again and Temar wishes it didn’t look so good on you, the way it pushes up your chest, makes your arm muscles more prominent. What sort of shop did you say you had again? “Look, I’m another pair of hands, ain’t I?”

“Technically,” he allows, speaking without thinking. All his thought concentrated on your form above him, ripe for the plucking.

You seem to take that as permission and start climbing down the ladder. Temar turns so quickly to avert his eyes from your ass that he forgets to forbid you from coming down. You touch down lightly and Temar reluctantly faces you again, a puppet on the strings of his inner beast, to soak in the sight of you in its den.

The cabin belongs to Temar, the man. The den belongs to Temar, the beast.

Something of that must come across on his face as you pause, one hand on the ladder. “Does it break a rule, for me to be down here?”

A den is a personal, sacred space, with only those closest allowed entry. The beast does not allow you to lie. “No.” A prospective mate is more than a natural allowance. It’s expected.

You nod with satisfaction. The beast preens in approval at your persistence, at your ease in its den. “Then I’m helping. What’s next?”

Wordlessly, you point to the table with the hand tools.

“All of these?” you ask, even as you begin to gather them.

Temar turns away, unable to watch you ascend, and focuses on the final wheelbarrow he needs to move out, the planks he’s using as ramps he’ll need to remove. “Gotta get everything out of here so it don’t get broken.” Also so he can’t use it to escape. When he’s more beast than person, the use of tools doesn’t come naturally, but he’s relentless. Safer to keep them out of reach. That’s the real challenge—keep himself out of reach.

“Right.” There’s a pause while you move around behind him. Temar tries to focus on the feeling of the smooth wood of the wheelbarrow handles, the shudder of the wooden planks below as he moves it out of the den. “How come the walls are like this?”

You must be gesturing to the flat stones embedded in the dirt walls. “Harder to climb, although I haven’t had time to finish the back wall that collapsed yet. Claws don’t do well on smooth stone. A lot if the grout needs to be redone. Something for tomorrow.”

“Smart,” you say, sounding impressed.

Temar grunts in response, trying to focus on pulling the crude ramp out of the den and not on puffing up at your approval. Not seeing how else he might earn your esteem, might otherwise impress you.

“What’s it like,” you ask, quietly but clearly. Temar had been wondering if you’d ask. Waiting. “When…”

You trail off so he’s not sure if you meaning being a werebear or being one in heat. He supposes the answer isn’t terribly different. “Simpler, harsher, more vivid,” he says, “Less control when in heat than the rest of the time. In the army, we were trained to control the transformation, taught how to keep our minds more intact—it doesn’t work like that for heat. Getting locked up is how it was dealt with even there.” Not that they lasted long back then for anyone.

“I’ve heard of the loss of control.” You don’t specify if you mean in general or in heat, but Temar supposes it doesn’t matter either way.

Perhaps this would be a good time to remind both of you what’s at stake, how dangerous Temar is in heat to anyone vulnerable around him. “Just a beast at that point.” Temar doesn’t look you in the eye as he keeps talking, heading back down into the den now the planks are out and it’s the only way down. “Can’t understand human speech. Can barely tell human from animal. No reasoning with me. I’ll do what I want when I want to. Damn anyone else.”

Not that you’re as intimidated as he wishes you were. “What about other weres?”

“Aye.” Temar doesn’t mind confirming that, not when he knows it can’t encourage you. “Thats a mite different. We can handle each other better, can find that sliver of common ground. Family can calm you, your own territory, and of course, if you’ve got everything you want, you won’t go roaming for it. Won’t get angry and frustrated you can’t find it.”

“That all the time, or just in heat?” He can still hear the shyness in your voice whenever you say heat, but its obvious your curiosity is too great. Temar surveys the den while he considers his answer, hands you left over plates and cutlery from his noontime meal, eaten down in the den while he worked furiously to get it ready for tonight. He’s careful not to let his fingers brush yours, not to look you in the face, lest he see some fear there that hadn’t been before. Lest the beast see a lack of such fear. Temar truly felt caught between a rock and hard place.

He can see the question you’re dancing around and cuts to the quick, praying you’ll be sensible and leave since he wouldn’t be able to make you anymore. He’s not sure he even could back on the porch. “Its dangerous for any human to lay with a werebeast. Injury from strength or claws or teeth is impossible to prevent. Even if you’re mates.” He reminds himself as ruthlessly as tells you. It was rare, but it happened. Heartbreaking accidents. “Even if you’ve known each other for years. Someone in my troop had killed their husband in a heat frenzy once.”

“Not always though,” you reply, too hopeful by far, too logical not to notice the exaggeration. “It can’t be or weres would have died out.”

“No, not always,” Temar allows. “The tendency towards multiple children in a litter helps. But usually longer held relationships fare better. If the were isn’t in a bad mood, isn’t stressed—if the partner cooperates right.”

He hands you the last item that needs out and once you get to the top, he says, “Pull up that ladder, now.”

You pause, standing stock still and for a second he wonders if you’ll even listen. Temar’s not sure he has the strength to ask a second time.

“Sure.” You pull up the ladder.

His human mind eases at that, at the sight of you more than seven feet overhead, out of reach. His beast disagrees, seething in displeasure and unfulfilled lust. Naturally, you can’t leave well enough alone and sit down, legs dangling into the den. He knows he could grab your ankle at this, yank you down and—

Temar turns to study the den once more. It won’t stick in his mind with you clouding his judgment the way you are. He narrows his eyes, forcing himself to assess if its deep enough, the walls defended enough. “I still need to get the cover fixed, if that damn blacksmith ever manages to be around when I stop by. The back wall needs to be stoned, but if I try to climb it like it is, it’s just as likely to crumble which’ll keep me in just the same. It’ll do. It had better more than satisfy those bastards on the council.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it will.” You shrug, as if you’d forgotten about them. “Will you let me visit? After I leave in the morning—” you add swiftly as if to cut off a correction Temar for once wasn’t offering. “In case there’s anything else I can help with? I meant it when I said we could help each other out. I admit I do not relish the chore of fetching all fuel for my fire in these coming months and perhaps I can provide something for you? I’m a skilled weaver in addition to my work with dyes. If you would not be opposed?”

How can you forget the council so easily? Dismiss them offhand like that. Why do you speak of ‘after’ so lightly? As if you expect to see him again, as if that’s something you might want. Temar’s thoughts turn in circles once more over your duress. He must remember you cannot be here by choice. It’s getting harder by the minute. By each minute you sit on the edge of his den, not a care in the world. Not a notion of his steadily deteriorating self-control. His lack of giving any indication of his growing need has gone from helpful to sinister, a wolf in sheep’s clothing no longer trying to reassure, but to lure closer its prey.

“Perhaps,” he manages to say.

You continue to talk, but the words’ meaning slip through his fingers. The change is pushing itself on him while he wiles away a few more minutes in your presence. Just to try to burn off excess energy, Temar turns to push one of the stones in better, to align it flat with the rest of them. Except… he can feel your eyes on his back while he does so.

Your scent to spikes.

He wheels around, wildly, and belated realizes the height you’re at, brings your loins far more to a height with his nose than ever before. Did his display of strength inspire something of lust in you? His beast roars for you once more at this indication of receptiveness.

The moonlight colors your hair, emphasizing your etherealness, the wonder at your very presence. How much Temar wants to hold you in his hands, claim you for his own. How much he wants to bring you down to earth, push you under him and take his pleasure from you.

He takes a step closer and it feels like the first sprung leak in a dam. The first domino to fall. The spark of fire on dry, dry tinder.

“R-un.”

In retrospect perhaps the most provocative thing Temar could have done was instigate a chase. Actually, the most provocative was definitely you listening and running.

You pull your legs up swiftly, battling your skirts to get your feet under yourself with a haste that surprises even yourself. Only one word and a glimpse of those glowing eyes, and you’re dashing for the cabin. Adrenaline pours into your veins as you the image of the fur rippling out over Temar’s body as he gave that last command fills your mind. 

In retrospect, the fur had been spreading steadily since you’d taken away the ladder without you fully registering it. His voice had been changing, although that you’d noticed plenty. The lower tone was a little harder to make out, even more pleasant to listen to, stirring up those lascivious thoughts that hadn’t left your mind since the town meeting was called. You swear his muscles had swelled too. The way they had moved beneath his shirt, which fit tighter with each minute that had passed. You’d felt spellbound, even though you swear that’s not a rumor associated with weres, and unconcerned by said compulsion.

Given the seriousness with which Temar gave the order as well as his earlier apprehension, you feel guilty for the mad sort of excitement rather than fear that courses through you. A roar, harsh and throaty, comes from the den behind you. It's one of rage and frustration. A beast that’s just realized it's been trapped. That it can’t get to what it wants. A loud thud follows. A growl of continued frustration hurries you on, feet pounding the ground as you run. You can almost trick yourself into thinking you hear your own name mixed in with the next roar that comes from where you’ve left Temar behind.

Due to your haste and unfamiliarity with Temar’s land and the fallen gloom, you end up missing the door along the back of the cabin and re-enter through the front. You lock that door with shaking hands and a pounding heart. The sounds of nature, of wind, of the echoes of Temar’s growl, are replaced by quiet solitude and the crackle of the fire, still burning in the hearth. You attempt to catch your breath. You try to let the mundane familiarity of the cabin and the silence calm your nerves. It’s not working very well.

You’re not sure what prompted his yell or his roar. Temar had said if he had everything he needed, he wouldn’t want to go searching for it, so it must have been his inner beast’s continued frustration at the lack of a desirable mate, which you continue to attempt not to take personally.

You’re still keyed up from the experience and seeing him actually start to transform, which still held some magic to you having never witnessed such a thing before, as well as all your interactions with him this evening. Temar seemed somewhat open to the idea of being friends, which was nice, you remind yourself. He is still immensely fascinating to you—this night has only made that more apparent. He feels less onerous to be around than some of your other acquaintances. He doesn’t put up any fronts and you feel like you don’t have to either. Even when he was clearly frustrated or angry—which you believe is exacerbated by whatever physical and mental toll his heat is putting on him—he never raised his voice. Temar only ever physically moved away from you, not towards you. 

Speaking of physicality, he was so strong. The way he moved, carried, and shoved the tools out of his den had been impressive. The skill and strength it must have taken to make it in the first place, from the manual labor of digging it out, to stonework, to the manner of transportation in and out were all impressive. You’ll have to make sure to stop by Nicolas’ forge tomorrow to ensure Temar can get his roof fixed. But for now, your mind’s eye lingers on how his muscles had flexed, how easily he might be able to move you about, lifting you, arranging you to best please him.

You shake your head to try to rid yourself of such thoughts when none of them are going to come true. Temar is the one who’s having a hard time, not you here in his home. He hadn’t complained about the den, but you can tell it must be a far cry from what it was before the damage, it saddens you to think of him out there and alone. You long to comfort him, even though you know he doesn’t want your comfort. His roar had only proven his frustration and unhappiness, how unfulfilled he must be, stuck in the pit. You swear you can still hear yet another roar mixed with your name. 

You take another look around the room and sigh, finding it far less interesting without him present. You’re still wound up from today’s jostling ship ride of events. Your hormones are out of balance after plans and hopes of helping Temar through his heat. While ending your night alone in Temar’s cabin, in his bed, while he’s stuck out in a hole in the ground isn’t where you expected or how you wanted the night to end, you suppose it's better than him still out in the woods where he might cause more damage or hurt someone.

Your hands go to your buttons as you start to undo them. An early night is in order. Just because Temar doesn’t want you, doesn’t mean you have to go unsatisfied. Your outer clothing drops to the floor, leaving you in your underthings. Draping the cloth over the couch, you wonder if he might be able to smell what you get up to in the morning. Would it be cruel to leave such a trace behind? you wonder as you slip over to the bedroom door. Or would it be your due after his refusal?

Something to worry about in the morning. You’re too hot and bothered to care much now. You turn the knob and enter the dark room. Your eyes just barely adjust enough to make out the outline of his large bed of furs when you’re pushed back against the door, slamming it shut. 

An almost subsonic growl fills the small room as you look up and up to meet glowing yellow-green eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, even faster than it had when you’d been running only a few moments ago. A cloud moves from in front of the full moon and the beast that Temar must be now looms over you.

Heavy hands—or are they paws now?—pin you to the wall, one spread over your sternum and the other engulfing your hip. Your hands reflexively reach out and curl around his arm, fingers sinking into dense, soft fur. With the hand pressing against your chest, you barely manage to make a sound more than a surprised inhale, anything else compressed by Temar’s savage strength and your own shock. 

Fight or flight seems to have tried to kick in only to unexpectedly leave you both at ‘freeze’ while you stare one another down. The moonlight illuminates his face, throwing into relief the complex mix of man and beast Temar now is. The same black salted with gray that had been evident in his beard is now more evident in the thin layer of fur covering his face. His jaw is larger to accommodate the sharp teeth and prominent fangs now present. His mouth is open as he pants and huffs, eyes fixated on you. You can still see the man in the beast, but he’s more than he was only moments ago.

You hold perfectly still as Temar leans down and starts to huff and sniff at your neck, shifting his fingers as he does so. You can feel his claws snag in the looser weave of your chemise as he does so. Has he always smelled like the forest? you think in a shocked haze, like the pine trees and the freshly turned earth with an undercurrent of musk. He growls into your neck while you stay pinned like an insect on a card, unable to do anything else when confronted by the reality of his transformed appearance, of his touch when he had recoiled from you so vehemently before.

You jolt when he manages to do more than growl, when you realize it isn’t your imagination that puts your name on his lips. Heat sears through you to hear the need in his voice, the demand, by the idea that you’ve managed to make such an impression on him that he managed to speak at all. Then those lips cover your own in an uncoordinated but wanting kiss. Instantly, your mind is wiped clean of rejection, and disinterest, and undesirability. Those ideas can’t exist in tandem when he kisses you like he’s starving. 

When you break apart, you breathlessly gasp out his name, a hand cupping his jaw. You suck in shallow breaths, as if you only just stopped running, as if he’d been chasing you since he’d told you to run. You tremble with shameless lust at being sought after specifically—he hadn’t just been demanding after vague wants but for you.

He manages your name once more, tongue and jaw and teeth making the word hard to understand except that all your senses are straining for him, desperate for anything to help you understand him, to understand this change. “Mate.” 

You don’t know if it's a question or not, but it's all you’ve been offering since you first showed up on his doorstep. “Yes,” you reply breathlessly, suddenly more desperate than ever in his hold. Desire burns through you for him. You tug futilely at his jaw, push desperately against the massive paw on your chest to reach him. “Temar. Mate.”

You don’t fool yourself into thinking your strength is what moves him, but perhaps your words do manage to penetrate his mind because he presses his lips to yours once more, immediately deepening the kiss. He fucks into your mouth with filthy promise. Your head is held between the door at your back and him, hot and massive, crowding you, boxing you in, cutting off any escape. Escape is the absolute furthest thing from your mind.

His grip on you strengthens, the hand on your sternum moving to bracket your neck. His thumb rests lightly against the column of your throat, the claw drawing a line of danger on your collarbone. His fingers hooked over your back, their claws digging into the meat of your shoulder. They haven’t broken your skin but you know they could, the sting of them makes you want to arch both away and into them. 

You tremble as you realize how securely and sinfully caught you are by this werebear, by Temar. You know that he could hold onto you like this for hours and nothing you could do would be able to force him to let go. You never want him to. Instead you melt in his hold. His hand pinning you by your hip is likely the only thing keeping you on your feet and not just a pool of lust at his.

His need is evident given the way his hips rock against your own. The press of him against your whole body is unlocking some hidden need in you and you attempt to push back, to rut against him in return. You feel desperation growing in your bones, in the heart of you, something wild and wanting that can only be sated by him. Temar rumbles his approval, moving more deliberately against you until a growl of frustration escapes him.

When he pulls back, readjusting his hold on you, you open your mouth to protest, to say something, anything to get him back. It’s reflexive after how this night has gone, but unnecessary now. Temar picks you up with no apparent effort, only impatience, and tosses you onto the bed. 

You land with an oof, scrambling to think around the rolling heat that moves through your body threatening to drown you at such a display. You’ve barely made any sense of yourself after being flung through the darkness when he’s dropped low and moved on top of you. His movements are strong and decisive as he pushes your chemise up. He noses his way between your thighs, spreading them apart to make room for him. You barely have time to consider being embarrassed about being exposed, at how wet you know you are, when his wide tongue, inhuman roughness obvious, covers your cunt.

Your yelp of surprise turns into a long drawn out moan as he licks at you, vigorously, hungrily. He places a massive hand on each of your thighs, claws stinging just enough to quicken the pulsing need between your legs. You twitch and shiver as he pushes your legs further apart to accommodate his bulk. Your heated skin finds the remaining fabric bunched around your waist too much and you hastily try to shuck it the rest of the way off as fast as you. It's the most uncoordinated you’ve ever felt due to the manner in which Temar is concentrating on sucking your mind out of your head via your cunt.

Free at last of the uncomfortable and restricting garment, you reach down, fingers threading into Temar’s wild mane of hair on instinct alone. You don’t kow if you’ve even stopped moaning since his tongue attached itself to your cunt. Simultaneously, it's too much and not enough and all you can do is try to hang on for the ride he’s determined to take you on. Sweeping you down into the heat of feral lust with him. 

One of his hands leaves your thigh to clamp down across your stomach and hold down your hips. Your fingers tighten as he holds you in place to take what he wants from you. His unwavering focus is on eating you out, so starving for you that for now even the beast is content with your taste, leaving his hips rutting against the bedding. 

Temar wrings sounds from you know you’ve never made before. You never want anyone else to even try. Fuck, so good, you think. Or maybe you say aloud because you swear he grunts his approval and his tongue somehow manages to reach deeper. 

The black pad of his thumb rubs your clit perfectly and you scream you shatter. He growls triumphantly as he greedily drinks down every last drop of your release

You feel unspooled and languid, molten in your pleasure. Temar too seems satisfied with the meal he’s made of you for now as he pulls back, licking his lips. His fingers tighten their hold on your hips as your only warning before he flips you over. Dazedly, automatically, you try to brace yourself. He grunts in approval at how he has successfully maneuvered you onto your hands and knees. Right where you wanted to be ever since you first understood that he was in heat without a lover. Since you realized you wanted to be that lover.

One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke up your spine and you shudder at the feeling of calluses, iron strength, and claws. Instinctively, you arch into the motion, wanting to encourage him to touch you as much as possible. You’re so grateful you’ve already tossed your chemise gods know where. “Please,” you gasp out.

He rumbles with approval and as if having heard your unarticulated thoughts, drapes himself further over you. He pulls you against the cradle of his hips with one firm motion eliciting a squeal from your lips. It's evidently not close enough, as he wraps his fingers around your shoulder and pulls again until he can rut his cock against where you feel oh so empty. 

With you where he wants you, Temar releases his hold on your shoulder to lurch you both forward, him bracing you both with that hand on the bed. It leaves you clearly trapped under him. You close your eyes to savor the position and you’re struck by the image you two would paint, were you able to see. Perhaps that should be more intimidating or even frightening than it is, but you like the heavy weight of him, the power evident in his body as he cages you in. 

The ache between your legs only grows more acute. “Temar,” you plead, attempting to move your hips against him despite the hold he still has on one of your hips. The gnawing hunger and persistent emptiness are starting to hurt, desire buzzing along your every nerve. 

“Mine,” Temar proclaims as the head of his cock finally catches perfectly and he starts to drive into you. The stretch and ache of him causes your moan to fracture under the strain. It’s been so long, but you're so wet it almost doesn’t matter. He’s so thick, so long, you’re losing all sense of anything outside of where the two of you are joined. The last few inches cause a pleasurable burn as you clench around him. Gods it's been too long since you were filled like this, if you’ve ever even had someone with his girth before. 

Temar growls contentedly once he’s fully seated inside you and you gladly take the precious few seconds to adjust. Soon enough, he pulls nearly all the way out of you causing a desperate whine to build up in the back of your throat until he thrusts back in, ripping a ragged sound from your throat that might resemble his name. 

He picks up speed with each movement of his hips, getting surer and stronger each time. You feel your whole body move and jolt with his each and every thrust. Your hands scrabble fruitlessly at the bedding under you, trying to brace yourself or get a grip but you can’t, uncoordinated and weak from your previous orgasm as well as the overwhelming way Temar is fucking you. 

He’s going to ruin you and you’re going to thank him.

His control seems to be fraying the longer he’s inside you. You can see the claws tipping his fingers get longer where they dig into the bedding and you can feel the way they dig into your hip. The pain is the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure of him finally hitting that perfect spot inside. You can feel your inner walls flutter from the sensation. Temar must like that because he groans and makes a noticeable effort to strike that same spot repeatedly.

The unrelenting attention pays off immediately as you can feel your need wind tighter and tighter while your mind empties of thought except for the sensation and heat Temar is bringing forth from the depths you. The continual barrage of his cock finally shoves you over the edge of pleasure once more and you obligingly shatter.

He groans as your clenching around him seems to be all he needs to let go. He hilts in you one last time and you feel him come hard. He fills you up with his seed, warmth spreading, and continuing to make little half thrusts, as if trying to make sure it stays deep within you. You’re still coming down from your orgasm but the sense of satisfaction expands in your chest now that Temar’s reached his peak too.

You close your eyes, limp underneath him, but more content than you’ve felt in ages, in perfect harmony with your werebeast mate.

At some point, you feel him tip you both over onto your sides, though he keeps his cock firmly seated within your heat, keeping you full. Temar’s rumble is full of satisfaction and he engulfs you in his hold, making it clear neither of you are separating anytime soon.

You don’t know how long you lay there on your side, blissfully fuck out, still full of him. You don’t care. You enjoy floating in the hazy afterglow. Eventually he slips out of you, pulling a gasp from you and a whine from him. He nuzzles against you, as if to comfort you. You’re too boneless and witless to do anything more than nuzzle him back. 

At some point you do notice him start to move against you once more. His large hands are running along your body, as if committing it to memory. It’s not until he starts to focus on your nipples, rubbing his thumb in increasingly tight circles. Desire starts to zip through your sluggish veins and you whine, twitching in his loose hold. He seems to appreciate your reaction, nudging your head with his until you turn it to face him better. He catches your mouth in a consuming kiss, more coordinating than any previously but just as hungry. It's deep and filthy and leaves you vibrating for me.

His hand covers your cunt, still swollen and wet from your combined cum, in addition to the desire within you he’s stroking back up into a blaze.  Your sensitivity causes your hips to stutter as you’re caught between wanting more and being too tender for it. He loses interest in using his hand once you’re pushing towards him more than you are moving away. Pulling you down his body once more, his fur causing goosebumps to ripple across your flesh until you’re back where Temar at least seems to think you belong: in the cradle of his hips.

“Oh! Temar, you—mm, o-oh,” you attempt to say something to address the reignition of his desire, but before you can, his stiffening cock has managed to press against your cunt just right, moving through your lingering wetness and the spend that’s leaked out of you since said cock last left you.

“Mate,” he intones, lust certainly back into his voice. He pulls you up off the bed, securing you to his chest with the hand still clutching your chest. You’re not sure his other hand he's left your hip since it settled there. “More.”

“I, yes,” you reply, trying to pull yourself back together. Of course while in heat, he’d want to—you cut your own thoughts off with a surprised moan as he pushes back into you. Your fingers clench in the sheets as your sore, but slick muscles allow him back inside. The overstimulation is giving your head a rush. 

Luckily, this time Temar seems more deliberate and rhythmic with his thrusting rather than frenzied and desperate. His other hand resumes kneading your chest and rubbing against your stiffened nipple. The change in angle seems to keep him from going too fast and luckily requires none of your strength. In fact, the sensation of him fucking you while you lay limp in his grasp is quickly bring your own lust back at a dizzying pace you don’t expect.

He shifts and the angle gets even better, causing you to moan loudly in encouragement. You sag against him, your bones feel liquid from the way he’s been relentlessly thrusting within your cunt. His grunts and your pants fill the room. You’re still so hot, with sweat rolling down your back only to be absorbed into his fur. The sensation ensures you never forget who and what is taking you. You glory in it, in knowing he chose you.

You feel like he’s determined to fuck you until you can’t see straight, can’t move and you’re beyond willing for him to try. 

Gods, he’s going to make you forget your own name.

Something curls deep in you, winding around itself with each passing second he continues moving within you. He hunches forward, just enough to press against you, to change the angle some minuscule amount, and that spring releases. You fracture around him. As before, that appears to be all he needs to push as deep as he can and spill his seed in you one more time. The sensation of his release, of the desperate way he continues to try to fill you are the last things you remember before the pleasure pulls you under.

-/-

In the morning, or given the angle of the sun, the afternoon when you wake after a sleep longer than an hour, Temar surrounds you still. You’re in no rush as you take the time to regain your bearings and take stock of your aches. Without opening your eyes you can tell he’s looking at you. “Regret?” you ask simply, stock still in his hold, voice scratchy from overuse. You lost count of how many times aTemar fucked you last night. It's all a blur of heat and desire.

“No,” Temar rumbles, adjusting his hold. “Mine.” The added growl behind the words even in his human form sends a shiver down your spine and reignites the ache in your muscles in the most pleasing manner. 

It's more than you were hoping for, and yet you can’t help but ask, cautiously, “For the rest of your heat?” Some small part of you is still expecting to be sent on your way far sooner than you’d like to be. 

“I suppose you’ve convinced me,” Temar replies, the amusement in his voice unable to stay hidden under his put upon reluctance. “If you’ve made this foolish choice, I suppose I’ll let it stand—for now.”

“You may be stubborn, but I think we can agree I won this battle,” you point out. You finally blink your eyes open for long enough to look over your shoulder and meet his brown ones. He looks indulgent when you cup his cheek. “What makes you think you’ll fare better in the next one? I’m not sure I want for this to end with your heat.”

“I thought you’d say something of the sort,” Temar replies with a roll of eyes. He nips at your ear and pats you on the hip. “We can discuss after your bath.”

You hum, pleased immensely by the prospect. “See? Perhaps it’s you who is mine after all.”

---

Extra thanks to everyone who followed along with the original posting! all your comments and tags and asks were super encouraging!!

[ebony-blood]

OH MY GOODNESSS I was wondering, if you can pretty please do a lost boys X reader (poly if your comfortable with it) but she’s a wallflower? Like maybe she moved to Santa Carla and she’s bullied? Maybe a sprinkle of insecurity but ends up meeting the lost boys at the boardwalk and they just. Can’t. Leave. Her. Alone? She’s their mate and she’s so flustered cause the HOTTEST guys she’s ever seen are paying attention to her? Pretty pretty please?🥹🥹🥹 I’ll love you forever

Poly! The Lost Boys x Shy! Fem! Reader

Author's notes!: I had to look up what 'Wallflower' means lol, for those who don't know, a Wallflower is basically someone who kinda hangs back during parties because they are too shy. TW: READER IS FEM!! Bullying, mentioned violence, vampire stuff, the boys being obsessed right from the start. I tried so hard not to describe Reader in this, I try to be as inclusive as I can, but if anything is mentioned it's because I'm tired lol, I'll fix it, just bring it up in the comments and I'll track it down o7. This probably sucks, I'm sorry.

You had moved to Santa Carla looking for a fresh start a few weeks ago. You weren't used to the weird styles, the smell of weed and gas that seemed to constantly cover the streets, the loud boardwalk parties, none of it. So naturally, you kept to yourself, hanging back during parties and avoiding eye contact, unfortuantely, Santa Carla was not a place people like you, shy wallflowers, were treated right. 

Some people ignored you at best, they’d glare at you when you waved or smiled at them, they’d ignore you if you asked questions, they avoided you. But a lot of people were downright cruel to you. They mocked you at parties, some openly tried to take things from you or would push you around. People were never openly violent with you, at first, but after a few weeks they started getting more violent, pushing you around and screaming in your face. It was mostly the people who were either on drugs or drunk. It was mostly the men and their girlfriends who were openly hostile and mean to you. You wished you’d never moved to this place, it was gross, the people were indifferent at best and downright cruel at worst, and you missed people you knew in your past. You wish you weren’t like you were, so quiet and shy. Hell, it had been years since you could look in the mirror and see someone you didn’t view as hideous looking back at you, but Santa Carla made it so much worse.

It was yet another late night in Santa Carla. Another night of wandering the boardwalk while you tried to avoid the harassment you got from people. You weren’t surprised every time you were shoved aside, or shouted at by a familiar group. Honestly, you didn’t wanna deal with that tonight, you wanted to walk around, maybe go see whoever was playing a show that night and see if they were actually good, and then head back to your apartment, but it seemed whatever form of fate you believed in had a different idea, because the group just wouldn’t leave you alone, shouting random shit, from ‘Weirdo’ to one girl just straight up calling you ugly. You were fighting back tears.Why the hell were people so needlessly cruel? Whatever, it’s nothing new. 

You stopped by some area where people on the beach park their bikes. You took the biggest breath you possibly could when you realized your tormenters weren’t following you anymore, so you could finally breath. 

That was until you heard voices, four guys, you guessed. You looked in their direction and, for the first time since moving to Santa Carla, you got that butterfly feeling in your gut. That wasn’t a thing you had felt since high school. You swore the bullies you faced then laughed the feeling out of you, but these four seemed to knock the breath you had just taken out of you. Damn, they were hot. Three of the four men were blonde, one had curly hair, one had fluffy hair, and the third guy had a haircut that kind of reminded you of Billy Idol, he was smoking a cigarette. And then there was the one that seemed to be trailing behind, observing people around them while the other three, mostly the ones with curly hair and fluffy hair, laughed and joked. The fourth guy had long, dark brown hair. You stared for a minute longer before snapping yourself out of whatever daze you had been in. 

They had stopped walking, they were staring right at you, and you immediately prepared your apology in your head. Quietly standing up, and then one of the four, the fluffy-haired one, said something you assumed wasn’t meant to be said out loud.

“Holy shit, Marko, she’s hot.” 

You looked over at the four, confused, the man was immediately smacked across the back of the head by the one with the cigarette.

“Don’t say shit like that out loud, dumbass.”

You were staring at the four, your face suddenly warming up at the idea that they were talking about you. You figured it was a stupid thought, there were other hot girls around the boardwalk, why would any of these four think you were hot? Then, the one with the cigarette cleared his throat.

“Sorry about that, doll. Paul can’t seem to keep his mouth shut around pretty girls.” He said, glaring back at the one with fluffy hair, you assumed he was Paul.

The one with curly hair snickered a bit and looked over at Paul, before the one with the cigarette spoke up again, he quickly shut up then.

“I’m David, The guy behind me is Dwayne, and those two are Paul and Marko.” He said

You nodded softly, even their names were hot, what the hell? David and the other three were staring at you with a confusing amount of attention. 

Paul had an almost immediately obsessed or enamored look in his eyes, like you were just the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, Marko also looked absolutely in love with you already, both had the same look in their eyes, the other two, Dwayne and David didn’t seem in love, if they were, they were hiding it well enough. 

“So, where ya off to, sweets?” Paul said, giving you a soft grin.

“Oh, I was about to head home,” You reply, and they all suddenly seem to perk up a bit.

“Oh, really? Well, maybe, instead of that, you could come and hang out with me and the guys?” David asked, motioning to their bikes. 

Something about these four felt…supernatural. They carried themselves with such confidence, and something unseen seemed to be pulling you to them. You thought for a minute. Was it a good idea? Maybe not. It felt too good to be true, four hot boys, paying attention to you? They stared, waiting for your answer. Against your better judgment, you made your choice.

“Sure, I don’t see why I couldn’t.” 

Paul and Marko got visibly excited. Paul grabbed your hand quickly and led you over to their bikes, the other three following behind him, laughing at Paul’s excitement. You were carefully put on the back of one of their bikes and David got on in front of you, looking back at you when you wrap your arms around him.

“Hold on tight, alright?” 

You could only nod before the four sped off, David following behind the more rambunctious two, with Dwayne behind him. 

At the time you didn’t know it, but come the end of the next week, you’d be theirs, and you’d have no complaints about it.

This got so long lol.

Sorry it ended like it did, it's 4 am here and I'd dying.

more coming tomorrow <333

[osamucide]

closer

i wanna fuck you like an animal!

NSFW CONTENT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 1.6k

cw: switch!atsushi, d/s dynamics, gn+ada!reader, teasing, corruption kink, overstimulation, dry humping, mentions of edging and semi-public sex, dirty talk, name calling both ways (whore, slut, bitch, good boy, pretty, mine), spit, choking, unprotected sex, cum, everything is safe mostly sane and absolutely consensual just filthy and fucking nasty sorry

reid: what was supposed to be a <500 word blurb/concept turned into uh this. whoopsie! but come onnnnnn nnhggghsshnghhh sweet tiger boy i just wanna make him feral. lowercase intended

. . . .ᐟ

he’s so beautiful. he looks like an angel, with his silver hair and wide, pretty eyes. it’s hardly your fault that he caught your attention from the moment dazai dragged him into the office.

and he’s far from naive to the capacity this world has for destruction, dazai tells you. and yet, you watched the way he threw himself at that bomb so selflessly. the way he flustered at the barrage of praise for being so qualified, so compassionate, such a perfect fit for the agency.

you watch atsushi for weeks to come as he blushes at any physical contact or verbal affection from anyone. you watch the way he stumbles into your desk and knocks over a cup of pens. he drops a few of his papers in the process, begins apologizing profusely, and reaches to tidy up your space before worrying about his own things. he’s stuttering as you help. your hand brushes his and he seems to glitch before smiling and saying sorry for that, too. you say it’s okay and bite down on the inside of your cheek; it’s all you can do to stifle the amusement from creeping onto your face. he’s just so cute.

you want to ruin him.

you know that, despite that angelic exterior, he already knows depravity.

but the depravity that he knows - as you come to understand from talking to him, going on assignments with him, helping him acclamate to the office - is violent. neglectful. he’s had hostility misplaced upon him for as long as he can remember. the horror he’s been exposed is what made him so meek and obedient, you deduce, and it breaks your heart a little bit, because you know there's an animal underneath all that.

you want to show him the good - the pleasure - to be found in the depraved.

so it begins with your invitations to meet at the café before and after work. you have sweet conversations; you banter and flirt and talk about life with him and bat your eyes and he gets all blushy and tries to talk back, but he's just too inexperienced. he's never had someone care to get close to him quite like this! and even though he likes it, likes you, he can't deny that you make him nervous.

you make your way into his proximity at work by plopping yourself on his desk to toy with his fingers or kissing his jaw when you pass him in the hallway. he's enthralled - with the sparkle in your eye, your hand brushing his waist, the wink you send him when kunikida berates you both for slacking off - and it barely takes any time at all. you make it all just subtle enough that it leaves him squirming with this unfamiliar ache.

you soon catch a glimpse of a certain ferocity in him; dazai's making you laugh a little too hard one day, and something in atsushi snaps.

he takes care to clock both of you out exactly as your shift ends, neither of you lingering in the usual way that you would, before dragging you along behind him back to the dormitory.

“atsushi? are you alright?”

he doesn't answer, just yanks you inside his apartment. you don't have time to breathe before his lips are on yours, messy and unpracticed.

“i want you to be mine,” he gasps into your mouth, pressing his hips to yours.

he wants you to be his, huh?

you chuckle, more than happy to oblige. you tell him you don't know if he realizes what he's in for, and he says he doesn't care. he wants you.

and it continues with his increasing neediness. he needs to know you still want him, needs to know you still like him, needs to know he’s enough. and the cruelest part is that you work him up - you let him wonder.

you let him wonder until he can’t take it anymore.

you send him coy smiles. you teach him how to use his tongue while he kisses you. you stroke his thigh under the table at meetings, wrap your arms around him just to squeeze his ass, shamelessly plant kisses on his neck in public, and it has him painfully hard when he shouldn’t be. atsushi understands what you’re making him feel - what he doesn’t understand is how deliberately you’re doing it, or where he should go from here.

he’s late one day. he’s never late. he’s a good boy, always fulfilling his duties on time and with a smile, so it’s alarming for the others in the office (save for kunikida, who’s annoyed) that he’s absent without warning.

so you make your way over. his apartment’s unlocked; his coat’s crumpled on the floor beneath the rack next to his untied shoes, almost as if he went to leave but then doubled back for something he forgot. you hear . . . something coming from his bedroom, and you call his name before going to investigate.

and you find him face down in his futon with his hips grinding furiously against the comforter bunched up between his legs. what's more? he’s crooning your name.

and you grin. you’re one step closer to accomplishing what you’ve been wanting for weeks.

“feel good, atsu?”

the yelp he lets out is adorable. he scrambles to flip himself over, cover himself up; you lean against his doorframe, arms crossed, and he pelts you with apologies. he’s sorry! he’s so sorry you’re seeing this! what are you doing here? how’d you get in? why are you looking at him like that? he’s redder than you’ve ever seen him, his chest is heaving, and all you can do is tsk.

skipping out on work to hump his bed at the thought of you? how filthy he is, you tell him. as you approach him you take note of the concerning amounts of cum staining his blankets, smearing across his stomach and chest, dripping down his fingers.

“well,” you say, “don’t stop just ‘cause I’m here.”

he almost cowers under your gaze as the worlds tumble out of his mouth.

“please, please just help me!” he begs you, whining your name. “you make me feel so- so- you're the reason I'm- ugh, I can’t- I need you to t- touch me! please, it hurts so bad . . .”

so you do, disregarding the cast of waiting characters who will undoubtedly see through whatever excuse you come up with when you return to the office with atsushi, flushed and clinging to you, in tow.

and after the first taste, he’s insatiable.

"please, please please please make me cum, please . . . !" "I'm yours! I'm all yours, I'm your good boy . . . !" "want it s' bad, I want it s' bad . . . !"

he wants you on him all the time. everyone's going out for lunch? he'll look at you, begging you to stay at the office with him so you can ride him on the couch. he drags his hand across your desk on his way to the bathroom as his way of saying meet me. ranpo charges someone, anyone, with a snack run since he's too lazy to do it himself, and atsushi's burning holes into you with his gaze, silently pleading for you to offer to take him with you and go so you can find somewhere on the way to suck him off.

and for the most part, he's so good for you. he quiets down when you clamp your hand over his mouth and tell him to shut his whore ass up before someone hears. he accepts your edging and your overstim in stride, thanking you when you let him cum, biting back his complaints when you don't. he takes everything you give him; whether he's your nasty little slut or your good boy he agrees, he worships your body every chance he gets, he laps up the spit you dribble onto his tongue. he's a dream. he's an angel. and he's usually so good.

but when he's bad, he's terrible. and it's just as beautiful.

"this is your fault," atsushi growls into your mouth as he’s fucking his third? fourth? load into you, so overstimulated that there’s tears running down his sweet face but so entranced by the way his dick disappears into you that he can't stop. you dig your nails into his arm and stroke his face with your other hand and giggle through your moans because it is your fault. you made him like this.

he eventually realizes how easily he can overpower you. he realizes he can pull you in by your shirt collar and call you a needy little bitch just as simply as you can him; he's a smart boy, atsushi, and it takes him a minute, but he figures you out. you're choking him? he's doing it back, and he's got a shit-eating smirk on his face as he leans in again to kiss you, hungry and well-taught. he stops twiddling his thumbs and looking at you with the word please on his face and starts sinking his teeth into your neck when he wants, sitting you on his thigh when he wants, spitting in your mouth when he wants. he learns he's allowed to take, too, and this is when you know you've freed the animal from its cage.

"you're mine. you're mine, you're mine, I love you . . . !" "jus' like that, jus' like that, you're takin' me so good . . . !" "we're done when I say we're done, pretty . . . !"

and it repairs that crack in your heart to know that he feels loved and cared for enough to ask for what he wants from you. at the end of the day, it's debatable who has who wrapped around their finger . . . sure, you ruined him first, but he's more than eager to return the favor. <3

[norrizzandpia]

Masterlist 2

Lando Norris:

It’s Your Birthday. Of Course, I’m Here

It’s Lando’s birthday and Y/n can’t make it. Or so he thinks.

A Sign Of My Love

In which Lando chooses the most obvious way to declare his love for his best friend and she is the only one who doesn’t get it.

All He Needed Was Her

Following the Vegas ‘23 crash, Y/n and Adam find Lando in his hospital bed, yearning for the comfort of his girlfriend’s touch.

A Second Chance

Secrets are a hard thing to live with, they always come out in the end. When it comes to Y/n and Lando, their loved ones struggle to understand what occurred between the two when both of them refuse to discuss it. What happened that night that warranted two people so in love to separate? What triggered Lando to become so violent, so hostile? Why is there a lone engagement ring lingering in Lando’s apartment when it’s meant to rest on Y/n’s finger? What’s happened?

You Were Never What I Wanted, Pt. 2

Lando and Y/n have never liked each other and it’s only the distaste the world has for them when McLaren forces them to “put on a show for the public��. At first, a few hand holds and light, quick kisses seem to be tolerable, yet feather light touches turn into longing stares and, suddenly, they’re falling in love. Although, hatred is a powerful emotion. Can love really trump it?

Ski Trips and Smiles

A proposal on a snowy ski trip.

Showing You My Love

McLaren’s forced Lando into a PR stunt of a relationship and his girlfriend, Y/n, back into hiding just when she was ready to go public.

One-Sided Fake Dating Pt. 2

When Y/n has continuously been used for the image that has pristinely been constructed for her and the connections she has through relation to her parents, she has cultivated a dark image on the world, especially on love. However, when Lando comes into her life and shows her what it’s like to be wanted for who you are and not what you can provide, she begins to open up and she begins to explore what it’s like to be loved and to love. Although, nothing is permanent and what happens when the man she had thought to be better than everyone who had previously screwed her over turns out to be worse?

Love You the Way I Do

When Y/n starts to pull back, Lando knows exactly what to do.

When?

Apparently, to Lando, it is not a question of if he will marry Y/n, it is when.

Safe With Me, Love

When a man at a club makes Y/n uncomfortable, touching her, grabbing her, Lando’s the first to stop it.

The First Time

In the midst of the dirtiest act, Lando’s loose lips stall his impending orgasm.

Let Me Be Happy. Don’t Be Mean.

Y/n is not experienced in the realm of dating. For years, she has convinced herself that no man sees her as lovable. So, when a guy steps into the picture who checks off all the boxes, making her feel secure in his feelings towards her, she’s elated. However, when she goes to share in the excitement with her best friend, he ruins it all, along with it her happiness, by uttering three small words.

My Coat, Your Coat

Y/n is freezing. Lando is her boyfriend. There’s only one remedy.

Whatcha Readin’?

It was a good story, that was her only argument.

Look How Amazing You Are

After Lando’s disastrous qualifying in Qatar and redeeming podium just hours later, Y/n is there to remind Lando of where his worth truly lies.

Sparkling Eyes

When Y/n is distracted, Lando usually takes the opportunity to admire her. Although, this time, he has an audience.

She Calls Me Daddy Too

When Y/n and Lando are having dinner at her house with her parents, Y/n asks her father to pass the salt. Too bad she didn’t specify which one she was referring to.

His

When a fun pool party turns into a hurtful disaster, the only good thing to come from it is two confessions.

I’ve Got You

In the midst of the FIA determining whether his lap times will be deleted, Y/n finds her boyfriend sitting in front of multiple cameras, but that doesn’t matter, he’s upset and she’s got him.

Lala

When Y/n meets Lando’s family for the first time, Lando warns her about his niece who glues to his side whenever he’s around. What she isn’t expecting, however, is the heart melting nicknames he has been given. It prompts some interesting confessions.

My Name

Y/n and Lando have a painful past together. When they go their separate ways and are left to pick up the pieces, Lando realizes he can no longer hear the woman he loved’s name without feeling deeply ashamed.

We Can Be Kids For Right Now

When her week has tried to suffocate her, Lando turns up at her door and forces her to remember just how worthy she truly is.

Wrong Number, Right Person

A wrong number leads Lando right to Y/n, but even the beautiful love they find together struggles to stand a chance against Lando’s lie of identity.

HE WON! LAN WON!

A long awaited win warrants a shouting Y/n, the proud girlfriend of Lando Norris, 2024 Miami Grand Prix Race Winner. Not only that, but also a smiling Lando now ready for questions about their future.

Olive

After a massive loss, Lando and Y/n find themselves losing sight of the love they once shared. A ghost town in a house they once imprinted their love in is riddled in pain and grief. Right at the edge of the cliff, ready to give up and part ways, an anniversary pulls them back together and reunites them in what they once had.

What Died Didn’t Stay Dead

Y/n’s close to fatal car crash and the epiphanies that followed.

Can You See Me Using Everything To Hold Back

Lando and Y/n have always been as close as can be, but unresolved and disregarded feelings threaten everything they thought they once knew.

Oscar Piastri:

British v. American

In which Oscar tries to teach his girlfriend how to drive in England. The only catch? She’s never driven on the other side of the road. Oh, and she’s never driven anywhere else except for California.

Don’t Worry Everyone. I’m Alive.

The fans love her, so when they hear their favorite driver, her boyfriend, killed her, they aren’t happy.

Sleeping Buddies or Dating?

Oscar and Y/n love to sleep next to each other. They don’t love each other. That’s it.

Storms

Where Y/n hates thunder storms and Oscar’s the only person who can calm her down.

Let’s Have A Baby, Baby

There is nothing Oscar wants more than for Y/n to get pregnant with his kid, and everyone knows it.

When’s It My Turn

When Oscar can’t find Y/n and realizes she’s off with Logan, he gets possessive over how much time his girlfriend has to give.

Chuck a Uey

Blurb when Non-Australian!Reader misses a turn and Oscar tells her to “chuck a uey”. Long story short, she has absolutely no clue what that means.

To Be Loved Is To Be Seen

Oscar knows his girlfriend well and it’s obvious to him when she starts breaking down. He’s happy to help or, more specifically, remind her how worth it she is.

Just Benefits Right Now

It’s common knowledge they love each other. Just not to them - even when they’re sleeping together.

Y/n and the Piastri Sisters, the Piastri Sisters and Y/n

Oscar knew that Y/n and his sisters were close, but to wake up on a Saturday morning to find all of them gone, he wonders if he really underestimated how much the girls loved each other’s company.

[space-blue]

Feyd thoughts from Fenring scene

I was sharing thoughts to a friend while rewatching the Feyd and Fenring scene and figured I'd share it here too, it's my blog innit.

He's walking on his own in a completely empty corridor. Upon being followed he ambushes and pulls a knife, meaning he immediately assumes he's in danger. Calm and collected attitude at this prospect, clearly not his first time.

But he also doesn't toy with her, doesn't threaten her beyond asking about her presence, he's not showing any sadistic traits.

He openly asks if they've met because he recognises her, isn't being coy.

Instead of being violent, he tells her the rules: 'You're not allowed in this section', meaning at least he knows not to be openly hostile to guests.

He's suspicious she got past the guards. He asks about that in a higher pitch, but extremely bland face. He doesn't sound upset or happy or angry. More like low key worried.

From there Margot uses the voice.

She reveals he's shunning his own celebrations, AND he refuses to say why despite being asked with suggestive voice.

He immediately recognises the use of the voice on him and calls her a Bene Gesserit. How? He doesn't answer when she asks what makes him say that. We have to keep in mind that his mother (who he killed) was BG, and since we don't know when she died, it's possible he received some training from her.

He instead says he dreamt about Margot, harkening back to Chani dreams from Paul. Meaning we can safely assume he's just as plagued with semi-visions as Paul was in Dune 1 before going to Arrakis, and we can safely assume that's not common knowledge.

Immediately goes 'Don't mock me woman' when she teases him. BUT crucially, she says "a pleasant dream I hope?" which is not mockery but closer to flirting? It's like he genuinely takes that as a literal tease, when the actual teasing is when she says "I wouldn't dare!" which he doesn't comment on, maybe because he's used to many forms of grovelling.

He also reacts as if the voice is a physical pressure, like when you come down on a plane and your ears get blocked, and tries to shake it off:

Again with 'I know your BG tricks'

Margot asks, again, and gets no reply, again. She even says "tell me" in a normal voice. There is no cut or weird editing afterwards, so we can assume that Feyd didn't answer either time he was asked.

Instead he takes his bearing and looks around. He is not aggressive or panicked when he admits to not recognising the place.

Dude is designed to blend into his surroundings. Bonkers he doesn't wear gloves at this stage.

Risk taking : he steps unprompted in the door entrance, and she then says "come to me, kneel," etc. BUT we know he KNOWS about the BG tricks, so we can suppose that he's actually making the decision to go in despite knowing full well she can and will control him.

There's plenty of hints that he may still be heavily under her charm, but there's also evidence he can resist the voice she uses on him (he never answers her repeated questions, tries to fight it off).

He never reacts agressively. He says "where are you going?" with some heat when she leaves though, which to me hints at loneliness. He was all alone avoiding every harkonnen under the moon on his birthday despite being the king of the night, meets a random chick he dreamt about, and now she leaves? Spiced suggested though he may ask because he's not used to people leaving without being dismissed. But imo these can blend.

I lean towards Feyd being quite resistant to the voice because they sent Margot in the first place. Yes, Mohiam wants a child made, but in her excuses, she does't say "I want him bred". Instead she says she's a motherly figure and he might have killed her because he killed his mom. If the voice was such a perfect tool of control, that wouldn't really be an issue, especially once you have him under the Gom Jabar.

There may be an element of "These men [Paul and Feyd] are one generation away from the KH and can't be toyed with carelessly".

He also killed his BG mother, which means he's capable of killing a sister and not any small fry.

So they send a sexy woman to woo him and yet she still has to ask multiple times about what he knows of the BG.

Regarding his dreams, it's also possible Feyd is so compliant and keen to follow Margot because he might have foreseen a freaky good time with her.

One is left to wonder if he looks at Mwaddib walking into the throne room with such intensity not because he's hot for him (he doesn't yet know it's Paul), but because he may have SEEN this scene in dreams. We know Paul was very affected by the spice in the air and food on Arrakis. We also know he made frequent false visions (Jamis helps but it ends up being Chani. Chani and him cut ambiguously in the killing scene. Seeing himself in Chani's place in the final combat scene...) So we can also imagine Feyd may be overconfident in taking in the Emperor's challenge because he's dreamt of this too. Just spitballing.

The BG call him a sociopath with a side of hollywood competency. He has a bit of the BBC Sherlock and Hannibal Lecter disease. He should not be as tame or as competent as he's described and shown if he had the full disorder.

It's very interesting to look at the Fenring scene with sociopathic traits in mind and see how they apply or don't.

He's not getting his need for validation avoiding the party, but he just survived an attempt on his life by his Dear Uncle before getting his freedom dangled in front of him. Lots on his mind.

He's not prone to anger outburst in general. His behaviour isn't very erratic either. Both of these classic traits were probably curb-stomped by the need to fit the mold imposed by the Na-Baron position.

But he definitely has a high sense of his superiority and is opinionated. He speaks up unprompted during the Baron's interview, and again behind the Emperor with 'he's bluffing'

High propensity for violence: check. Whole film, basically. He can be prompted by anger (against Rabban), perceived threat (arena), reactive/defensive (against Margot trailing him). Violence in reaction to fear isn't shown.

Difficulty maintaining relationships : the only people he seems fond of are his once shown, once mentioned pets he brings with him. His family relationships are what they are, and he has no friend to go to on his Birthday.

Generally fearful, vulnerable to anxiety and rejection, easy to humiliate : what a cincher. This is him reacting defensively to Margot's flirting. The BG say fear of humiliation is one of his levers, and if you give him a strong attachment to an honour code, it's very easy to manipulate.

IMO this feeds into his displays of vanity (black teeth, tailor made pretty pets). Also since black is seen as a rich and beautiful colour on their world, his all black outfits with clean cuts may not be as muted as we think they are.

the end... for now.

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 15: Powerless

prev | masterlist | next

🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: It's time to make the fight on your terms.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.4k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence, violence with superpowers, murder, this is the most violent one, swearing, injuries, discussion of homelessness, discussion of crime

a/n: If you didn't read the warnings!! Or even if you did! This is your warning for on-screen murder. It's not very gory, but it is very much there. (spoiler, but) we kill our villains in this one lads, it was kind of the whole point of this thing :))) also most of the word count on this one is the fight so help me lmao, why do I do this to myself🤣 With that out of the way, I am super excited for this chapter!! Protective Jungkook now applies to yn maybe more than anyone and hello yes I am here for it (ofc bc I wrote it ksdfghfl) Enjoy!! And do let me know if you like it!💜💜

Jungkook’s hand was still clutched in yours as you crept together through alleyways. Far, now, from your usual haunt, you recognised none of these streets, but Jungkook never hesitated in his steps.

Sure enough, he led you round a cluster of dustbins on one corner and stopped at last in front of a heavy door. Graffiti was scrawled over the entrance and across the entire wall. If you were to arrive here in the dark, you may not have noticed the seam marking out a doorway at all.

“I thought he might choose this place,” Jungkook muttered to you, “this is where Namjoon first picked me up, after I got my powers. He operated from here until his partnerships brought in enough money for the place in town.”

He turned to knock on the door. All you could do was squeeze his hand, eyeing the surroundings. Things must have changed from before. This was where your team had begun, long before you came into the picture.

The door swung open. Jin’s face emerged, morphing instantly from hostility to relief when he saw you.

Then his eyes moved down, and lingered on your clasped hands.

If you weren’t mistaken, a faint smirk lifted his mouth, but he closed his lips matter-of-factly and forced it away. Only a telltale raise of his eyebrows made you chew your lip as he let you both past him and inside.

A murky corridor led to another sturdy door, and then you were in a larger room. It was bare of furniture, the most notable features the peeling paint and a threadbare carpet lining the space. The walls either side of you sported large windows, but the curtains remained drawn; Yoongi could be the only explanation for the room being fully lit regardless. There were no bulbs in the fixtures.

Something in your chest loosened at the sight of your whole team gathered inside. Everyone had got here before you. Namjoon was pacing in the centre. Hobi slumped against the far wall, Jimin beside him, clothes bloody but a beaming smile on his face.

At the clunk of the door, Namjoon whirled around, finally stopping his impatient strides.

All eyes fell on you. A similar reaction to Jin’s outside swept the room. Reluctantly, you and Jungkook let your fingers slide apart, although you shifted a little closer to him.

Namjoon’s stare, intense and unreadable as always, left you in such suspense that you had to look away. Unfortunately, it brought you eye-to-eye with Jimin, who was being the least subtle of them all. His cheeks were plump with the force of his smile, and he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You bit back your own grin.

Namjoon, for his part, shook his head and resolved to ignore it. Or deal with it later, at least.

“What did you guys do?”

Or maybe not. Clamping your mouth shut, your eyes widened a fraction. What were you supposed to tell him?

“We, uh-” Jungkook stammered out, before Namjoon pinched his brow.

“I mean with the monster that attacked us,” he cut you off.

You sighed in relief.

“Oh, that…” Jungkook laughed, sheepish.

In three brusque strides, Namjoon marched closer, towards an old television in the corner behind you. A red glow surrounded it as he rapped on the top, and then images flickered to life on the screen.

Blue lights and smoke washed over vehicles rammed haphazardly into a street. Your street.

You didn’t bother reading the fast-scrolling banner below the picture, letting the voiceover fill you in.

“Reports were made of Bolt heading to stop a creature, which he claimed to have escaped from within an operating villain base…” the reporter read, “but on arrival, the beast appears to have been tamed. No damage was sustained to surrounding properties, and a team is working to sedate and control it…”

The screen flashed to a blurry close-up of Frank as you had left him, snoring among the wreckage.

“How the hell did you stop it?” Namjoon demanded, the device blinking back to silence as he turned back to you and Jungkook.

“Well, Y/N, um…” Jungkook gestured for you to take over.

“It’s one of Kuyang’s,” you explained, “there’s this patch behind his ear, it sends him right to sleep. It’s just… a bit difficult to get to.”

“That thing has ears?” Jin echoed.

Namjoon folded his arms and took in the both of you.

“Good work, then. That was lucky. At least it’s lessened some of what Bolt’s trying to pin on us. But this was more than a simple attack.”

He paced again to the centre of the room.

“Bolt doesn’t act on accident; he’s showed us that much. He tried to take us out directly today. He wants to eradicate us. That’s his message, and it’s final. He’ll keep coming for us until one side is destroyed.”

His words bristled around the room, but not with fear. You sensed the rage and determination you shared with your brothers.

You weren’t backing down.

If Bolt was going to make it us vs them, you would just have to win that fight.

Turning, Namjoon met eyes with Jin, who stepped forward to stand beside him.

“At least we know what Bolt has at his disposal,” Jin said, “and what he doesn’t. We know the weapons we’re up against, so I think we can take on any fighters he sends our way. What really counts is the man himself.”

“We’re going to him, right?” Yoongi spoke from his place leaning against the curtain. “I don’t want to wait for him to come after us again. He wants the fight; we make it on our terms.”

Regarding him seriously, Namjoon nodded.

Meanwhile, Jin’s words were stirring something else in your mind. Something you had forgotten in the blur of defeat and panic that had ensued since your fight with Monsoon.

We know what weapons we’re up against…

“Wait,” you breathed. It was enough to snag the group’s attention, tense gazes all finding you. Closest was Jungkook, frowning down at you.

You gulped, and met their eyes.

“When I went after Monsoon,” you began, “I found the shield ray, even if I didn’t get hold of it. But that wasn’t all… He had a collection. And I recognised another one, too. I thought I had burned it up, in the parking lot, but there was another one.”

You had to admit that some nerves crept in at the unsettled silence that followed. Namjoon stared.

“No…” he shook his head, “you’re saying they have the Razer?”

“The one that takes your powers…” you replied, “yes.”

Namjoon swore.

“You definitely destroyed it?”

“Without a doubt,” Jungkook cut in, “I felt the shockwaves in that fight.”

You nodded along with him. Namjoon wasn’t asking to doubt you, though, and took you at your word. You had seen the broken, lifeless shell of that awful gun. No, they had gained another somehow.

“They must have got hold of a blueprint, or a prototype, somehow,” Jin suggested.

“However they did it, it’s best we know what we’re going up against,” Namjoon resolved. He looked around, meeting everyone’s eyes. “You all know what it looks like?”

Nods met him.

“Then watch your backs. We’re still doing this.”

“What was it like?”

By now, you were acquainted with the view from this spot, sitting against the wall in a corner of this place. But how different had it been, when the boys still lived here?

“Hm?”

Jungkook turned to you, resting his head back against the wall. The two of you sat not far from the others, all of you sitting around waiting for Hobi to heal up and for Jin to get whatever results he was hoping for from a beat-up laptop he had pulled from somewhere. You had no idea if he had brought it with him, found it in here, or stolen it. You wouldn’t ask, either.

Though the room was wide open now, you still sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook like you had in that cramped hallway. It was difficult to keep the same feeling at bay too. His presence lit you up where you touched, but in front of the others you had to keep up some semblance of sanity, and keep from pouncing on him.

“When you first came here,” you forced your eyes away from his softly quirked lips, and to the room. “What was it like?”

To your dismay, his brows pinched into a frown. He eyed the walls, traced them up to the ceiling with its patches of damp.

He shifted his arm against yours in a shrug.

“It was a roof over my head,” he murmured, “at first.”

“Oh,” you stammered, quiet in your shock, “sorry…”

With a blink and a shake of his head, you watched him pull himself back to you. He shot you a disarmingly genuine smile, albeit small.

“Not your fault,” he assured you, “I never told you.”

Instantly, you knew what he was talking about. Just like you, Jungkook must have first moved in after he got his powers. Of course, the balm of the support from (most of) the others had eventually smoothed over the wounds that heralded your arrival.

They wouldn’t be forgotten though.

Nor would you forget your brothers’ wounds. Jungkook had yet to entrust you with his story, the knowledge of those probably painful moments. He had hardly let you near it, all this time.

“You don’t have to-” you said hastily, but he surprised you.

You spotted his jaw tighten, but his voice was level.

“After my dad… I had nothing. The first time I met Namjoon, I didn’t have powers. I did a job for him. I used to steal; it was about the only thing I could do. My dad taught me to fight, once, after he was home late and some older kids tried to break into our place. I fell in with a certain crowd, but half of them were backstabbing sneaks.”

You weren’t sure he even knew he was scowling as he said that. Despite your horror, you couldn’t break your gaze away from Jungkook as he told the story, spelling out what you had always wondered.

He looked over to Namjoon then, snarl easing.

“I guess he thought I was good. He gave me more jobs, paid good money. It wasn’t one of his where it happened. We were taking some kind of reactor – I can hardly remember the plan. Someone wanted power out to rob a string of banks, I think… All that matters is it went wrong. It wasn’t safe, and it… blew up.”

Your chest tightened along with his voice, hearing him straining to keep his throat from closing.

He slumped back against the wall then. Fixed his eyes on yours.

“I got the brunt of it. Two of the others died. One of them ran away when I woke up and asked him to help me. And there was this… this burning I didn’t understand…”

“I remember,” you whispered.

Slowly, he closed his lips. His eyes bled with recognition. You felt it too, conflict constricting your chest. Appreciation that you could share the feeling, understand one another without the need for explanation, mingled with the strain in your heart of knowing he had been subjected to the same torture.

Here you both were, on the other side of it.

Jungkook took a bracing breath, shifted up where he had sagged down the wall – towards you.

“Namjoon found me.”

His voice brightened almost immediately, and he was looking around the room with new eyes of the old memories.

“V came along not too long after I did… It was the boys that made it home. They still do.”

A soft smile took your lips without thought, and you followed his gaze fondly.

The moment your eyes fell on Jin, you saw him perk up, straightening his back. Then he let out a cheerful “Aha!”.

He was the centre of attention that instant, and went on without prompting, fingers still clacking away at the laptop.

“I managed to get into our own system – and Bolt’s taken something!”

“And that’s… good?” you questioned his jubilant tone.

Keeping his eyes trained on the screen, he quirked his head.

“It means I can see where he’s taking it.”

Namjoon came to hover over Jin’s shoulder until they were satisfied. Soon enough, you found yourself refreshing the mental list of what you were about to go up against.

“If he even manages to get it up and running before we get there, it only has three charges per round. This is the first time I’m glad I haven’t improved it yet,” Jin chuckled, telling you about the newest addition to Bolt’s arsenal, the one he took right from your lab. “Jungkook or YN’s powers will take it out easily.”

And so he went on, through power-extending shurikens to the shield rifle Monsoon had stolen, all the things that had slipped through your fingers and how to defeat them.

“And the Razer…” Jin landed on the last one, but tailed off and exchanged a look with Namjoon.

“Just don’t get hit,” the leader said.

Several eyebrows raised in trepidation. You shuddered with an echoing memory of the gun’s piercing cold.

“Hobi,” Namjoon turned away from the subject, “how are you healing up?”

Shifting to sit away from the wall, Hope pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the skin where Frank had slashed him. It was still pink, but completely closed by now.

“Better,” he beamed.

“Okay,” Namjoon fixed him with a stern eye, “but check in. If it’s putting you at a disadvantage, I want you out of there.”

“Yes boss,” Hobi replied with a grin and a mock salute.

From that alone, you were sure he was feeling better.

“I say” – Jin shut the laptop with a clack – “we’ve waited long enough.”

You couldn’t help but agree. It felt good to get on your feet again. Inside your chest, the warmth of your powers bubbled alongside your bristling determination. Just enough for you to feel them, to assure you.

A private smile stole across your face, and you turned towards Jungkook.

He found you first. A gentle touch on your wrist made you glance down. His thumb ran firmly, softly, over the skin there, and when you looked up his eyes were dark and affirming.

You realised then, that his defensive ring of fire had never burnt away. You were only on the other side of it, one of the ones he accepted in. His look was one of complete trust. When he nodded, you nodded back.

Let’s do this.

Having been inside for some time, the lot of you know marched out to find it night, the city drenched in the darkness of who-knew-what hour. Your ‘march’ was actually more of a light-footed sneaking. Setting off any alarm bells just yet would blow the operation. Together, your group wove through shadows out of this part of town, unnoticed thanks to the camouflage Yoongi effortlessly provided.

Up ahead, Jin checked around corners and led you on, the buildings rising further above you at every turn. Neon screens flashed through the night in these neighbourhoods, where the inhabitants had money to spare.

The walk couldn’t have been long, but you were a world away from the run-down hideout by the time Jin stopped, facing one of many high buildings of polished glass and chrome.

“So this is it?” Jimin asked, head tilting back.

Your eyes, instead of trailing up the building like Jimin’s, found a looming structure beside it. A pylon planted firm in the ground, standing just taller than the building itself, up to a spidery convergence of wires webbed over the city rooves.

“Well, that sure is handy for someone like him,” Jin scoffed.

Hobi rolled his neck, already striding towards it.

“And now it’s handy for us.”

His leap up three rungs was unnecessary, really. The rest of you followed behind like the mere mortals you were, clambering as silently as you could between the intersecting beams, the metal cold beneath your hands.

You looked back once, finding Namjoon and Jin still on the ground.

“I’ll see you afterwards,” Namjoon was telling him grimly, “all of us have to fight.”

“I know,” Jin agreed. Then he punched him in the arm. “And I had better, alright? See you afterwards, I mean.”

Your leader nodded, then stepped forward to the pylon. You looked ahead and pushed on upwards.

It shouldn’t have surprised you to find Bolt in a penthouse. Following the others, you hopped from the pylon onto the skyscraper’s rooftop; only Namjoon stayed behind. It wasn’t so tall as Kuyang’s lab had been, but it felt miles above. In the darkness, a few glimmering lights dotted the edges of what appeared to be an eerie garden of sorts, although no plants were in sight. Dark tile slabs ran underfoot, broken up by sculptures you couldn’t discern beyond shadows.

The rooftop was halved, your group gathering on the lower segment while a set of stairs rose another floor to more of the same; Bolt’s viewpoint over the city.  Though your eyes darted between the statues, each one playing tricks on you as if they were people watching, your gaze rested eventually on two large glass doors beside the stairway.

A distant light from further inside showed just enough for you to see beyond the glass. An entire wall was decked in little plates, things you vaguely recognised as city awards, only seen on the screens and papers.

A trophy for each life Bolt had taken would have filled the whole building, let alone a feature wall, you thought.

The small huddle of you poised still, hunters, waiting. In the last few seconds before that silence would be broken, you felt Jungkook step behind you.

“This ends now.”

The voice coming over your shoulder was made of everything he was. Electricity, cold and bitter like metal, aflame with determination. The rows, fists and shouting, the tentative midnight whispers, his kisses.

His hurt and all the things he covered it with.

Namjoon didn’t even have to ask his soldiers if they were ready. He raised his arms and slammed palms back down against metal, and a red glow silhouetted you all like a sinister halo.

Everything went dark.

The meagre light inside the property blinked off. The glare of signs across the road plunged away to nothing. Only the dotted perimeter lights, which must run on for emergencies, remained.

Footsteps behind you brought Namjoon through the pack to its head.

Ahead, something moved beyond the glass. Your gaze sharpened on it as the handle turned, the door swinging soundlessly outwards.

While not in full gear, as he had been when he first attacked you, Bolt’s blue mask was in place. Otherwise, he wore dark, comfortable clothes. Internally, you celebrated the small evidence that you really had caught him unawares.

“I should have known,” his voice carried over to you, inflated with arrogance. “Flush out the rats and they’ll have nowhere left to run.”

In your ear, a sharp inhale sent your eyes to Jungkook for a second. His fists tightened at his sides.

“You’ve taken enough, Bolt,” Namjoon spoke. If you didn’t know him, you may not have caught the dark rage burning below his even words.

Then he raised his arms, stretched them towards the man in blue.

A great gust whisked from behind you, snatching at your hair, but you stood firm. In front of you, Bolt was thrown backwards by the air, colliding with the glass behind him.

The starting gun had been fired.

As your enemy crashed through a shower of glass, you began to run. Shards of it scattered, glittering, under your pounding feet. You skidded to the doorway just as Bolt drew back to his feet in the shadows.

Raising your arms to continue the offensive, you were cut short. A startling flash blazed in your vision. In that split-second, it illuminated a smiling Bolt, gun ready at his hip. Just long enough for your heart to sink.

The shield rifle, the very one you had failed to protect.

It seemed only right that you should pay the price.

Its impact slammed against you, wrenching your outstretched arm backwards. The pale sphere it had fired, glowing and crackling, caught hold and took you with it, ensnaring your wrist like a constricting snake. Helpless to detach yourself, your body flailed through the air behind it.

Someone called your name.

Just as fast, you jerked to a stop. Below you, your feet flung out above nothing. Your heart jumped.

Looking around wildly, you found the forcefield had snagged on the wall, stuck fast to it just like it did your arm. It was the only thing holding you here.

Somewhere behind you, above you, grunts and thuds assured you that the fight continued. For now, you had to get out of this trap before Bolt could reach you again, attack you in this helpless position.

“Y/N!”

Jimin’s voice rushed closer. It was an effort to crane your head up to see him. Pale pink hair poked over the ledge.

“Grab on!” he called.

You didn’t hesitate. Swinging yourself up with a kick, you grabbed desperately for the hand he reached out. Finding it clumsily, you clutched to his wrist with clammy fingers. Next moment, he hauled you up, clamping both hands around yours until you rolled over the wall and your feet stumbled against solid ground.

But you still weren’t free.

The forcefield bit at your arm when you tried to drag it free. You cursed.

“It’s just energy,” Jimin spoke, frowning at the luminescent mass.

Then he took a breath, frowning in concentration. With one push of his hand, the sphere shifted, as if it was simply a ball from training.

Resisting, you pulled the other way. For a second, it constricted harder, making your heart clench in dread of following it. Then all at once you were falling free, tumbling to the floor as the forcefield rolled out of sight over the edge.

Hurried hands tugged you up and you were wheeling around to face the battle.

“Thanks,” you quickly clapped Jimin on the shoulder. A brief grin from him, and you dived together back towards the fray.

More shining energy fields pulsed against one wall, but it seemed the others had dodged them. You ran past the discarded weapon on the floor. But there were more where it had come from.

A bright blue jet, just like your own, fizzled against a statue and sent it thundering to the floor. Behind it, Yoongi leapt out of the way just in time. He came sprinting towards Bolt, eyes burning white.

In an instant, the hero let out a yell, clutching his eyes. Staggering, he slipped onto one knee. But in his blind panic, he whirled around, lashing out again even without a target to aim at.

Blazing blue roared outwards. Namjoon had been marching towards the fallen Bolt, but was forced to duck for cover. The lightning sliced clean through the top of the stone figure he hid behind.

Even as Bolt’s attack died, something else caught your eye. Fast as a spark from a flame, he tossed a blade into the air. It whistled, carving a streak of seething blue through the night.

A shout shot echoed across the rooftop, straight to your veins. Yoongi.

Falling from his invisible cloak of darkness, you saw a glowing blue shuriken whizz along his back. The current flew outwards across his body, throwing his pained grimace into haunting relief. The blade skittered, useless, to the ground, having wreaked its injury.

“Yoongi!” you screamed as he fell, blue light dancing over his spasming body.

Staring in horror as you were, the next flash of blue nearly caught you. Running on pure instinct, your body retaliated before you did. Snarling, your powers leapt from your palms, clashing against Bolt’s in mid-air. Blue on blue.

In the flare of sparks, Bolt smiled slowly. Never breaking the connection, he took a step forwards, cocking his head.

“So it’s true,” he spoke, “I heard about you.”

Heart hammering now, you pushed back with all your might, feeling his hostile powers wrestle with yours. They may look the same, but they felt all wrong.

“Tell me,” he took a step closer. You barely resisted the urge to draw back. “How did you do this?”

Steeling yourself with a breath, you unleashed a surge of rage, your electricity hissing through the air. It should have satisfied you to feel his power startle, stutter at the sudden attack.

All you could do was glare. He had no idea. He never thought twice about who he killed, what he took.

But as you stared, there was movement behind him. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on Bolt, willing his attention to stay on you. As it was, he had no idea that Jungkook was stalking towards him.

“I didn’t do this,” you blurted out, needing to keep him focussed. Buying Jungkook time as his face came into sharper focus, closer to the battling blue lights between you and Bolt. “You did this to me.”

You spat your words with all the venom locked inside, ready for one last push as you watched Jungkook raise both arms-

WHOOSH.

You snapped the connection, staggering backwards as Bolt whirled around.

It had not been gold that fired. In a blur, Jungkook was slammed to the ground by a column of water crashing into him.

Everyone on the rooftop turned to its source.

“Shit-” you heard someone curse.

“No,” you breathed.

Feet touching to the rooftop up ahead, among a flood of water, was Monsoon.

Another cold, arrogant grin met you all. You stared in horror. Only Bolt laughed, stepping forwards to climb to his ally’s side. They faced you all from the staircase, looking down.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jungkook’s eyes blazed gold beneath dripping strands of hair.

“Jungkook! No!” you cried, but too late.

Gold split the night, but against Monsoon there was no use. Water surged instantly towards him again, and though your powers protested, burning in your chest with the need to act, you could only stand by. You couldn’t fight him.

Shimmering water engulfed the gold strands. Soon they would immobilise Jungkook, the moment it made contact…

Instead, a red glow sprung up in front of Jungkook with only a split-second to spare, sending the deluge spraying around the shield.

“Let’s start with you, then,” Monsoon smirked.

When you looked back to him, you swore your heart stopped beating.

Raised in one hand, pointing straight at Jungkook, was the Razer. Its eerie white form stood out starkly against the night sky.

The dead white light at its centre jumped to life. A whirring began, menacing and low. It rose at the same rate the strands of light started spinning within the sphere, preparing to drain its victim of all power.

It was stupid. It was stupid, you had already failed once before. You had watched Jungkook fail just seconds ago. There was nothing you could do, yet you had to do something.

You fired at Monsoon.

Easily, he raised his free hand to deflect.

But as the water rushed towards you, Jimin sprinted towards Monsoon. Thrusting an arm forward, he sent a fallen statue flying between you, a silhouette. Your eyes widened in realisation.

The inundation hit the stone with such force, you almost thought it would crack. But no – it sent the writhing water shooting straight back at its commander.

Darting forward, you shot without hesitation. Blue burst from you. The bright tendrils wove into the stream, flying like darts through the current and towards Monsoon. There was no time for him to react; only a fleeting shadow of shock stole over his face before the electricity caught him and his eyes rolled back.

You knew how it felt for your muscles to lock in place, for your body to leave your control entirely. You watched as it took hold of him, too, and smiled.

The force of the water, with no way to resist it, knocked him backwards until the floor no longer held him. A blond blur flew past you, just before the white-clad figure that was Monsoon dropped out of sight forever.

Lowering your palms, your chest heaved. Adrenaline rushed through you; this still wasn’t over.

Your eyes narrowed in on Hobi, whose feet made impact with the roof on landing. Clutched in his arms was the Razer, scooped from Monsoon’s arms just in time.

Bolt, apparently, had got over his ally’s demise already. His grief lasted the space of one step, away from the edge, before he swung round. Like you, he honed straight in on the weapon.

And then everyone moved at once.

Diving out of the path of a sinister blue bolt, Hobi rolled away on the floor. Bolt himself thudded closer, making your friend dodge again, leaping up and out of his reach. The air crackled by Bolt’s hand, but before he could summon electricity to chase Hobi down, a sheet of purple fire swept like a curtain in front of him, the fleeting shadow of V disappearing within the flames.

You were already sprinting at the enemy when Hobi touched down next to you. Stumbling around, he glanced behind him with a curse.

Confused, your eyes first darted over your friend. He didn’t seem to be more hurt, so then what-?

A clatter of metal rung through the spitting flames. Frantically searching, you quickly found the deathly white streak of the Razer on the ground, spinning away. In the desperate fumble to escape Bolt, Hobi must have dropped it.

It didn't matter how it got there. Darting to the side, you changed course towards the weapon. But you weren’t the only pursuer.

Bolt was a silhouette in front of the fire, growing rapidly in the corner of your vision. Your feet thudded as fast as you could make them, heart pounding out the same rhythm, and you were almost there, but Bolt was coming in fast-

A flash of blue. Instinctively, you pulled back, letting it cut through the air in front of your nose. Precious distance you couldn’t afford to waste.

Throwing your weight back further, you followed your body’s momentum. Your hip met the tile and you let your speed carry you, sliding over the tiles and kicking out-

Your toes met the weapon hard, snatching it from right under Bolt’s fingertips as he lunged down. His furious glare shifted to you, but he did not stay to fight. Both of you watched, panting, as the white gun hurtled over the staircase, resounding against each step out of sight.

Then Bolt was off again with you not far behind, jumping to your feet. Stairs flew beneath you as you surveyed the scene.

Bolt charged a decisive line towards the still-falling gun. Namjoon, Jimin and Jungkook assembled on the lower part of the rooftop, ready to strike.

With relief, you saw Jimin move first. Raising one hand, he brought the gun arcing through the night. Though you kept running, something loosened in your chest the closer it came to the hands of your leader.

So focussed on the gun as you were, you almost missed it. Just as the Razer landed firmly in Namjoon’s grip, something glinted in Bolt’s hand, inches ahead of you.

A sizzle of blue. Another shuriken sliced through the air. Namjoon dodged to one side, the blade sailing past him, a spark of blue losing itself in the darkness of the city.

But another blade followed.

Namjoon clearly decided not to hang around. The low whirring began again, piercing your senses straight away as if it was a chainsaw roaring. White light pounced against the glass containing it. Close as you were to Bolt, you couldn’t help the jolt of nerves fizzling in your chest.

Lifting his gaze from the weapon, Namjoon’s eyes widened a fraction. There wasn’t enough time to react. The blue lightning raced straight for his heart.

The image of Yoongi, stricken and fallen, flashed through your mind then. Helplessness burned through every part of you – even as you pushed yourself to sprint, there was no catching it.

Until a shadow leapt in the way. Obscuring your view of Namjoon, they turned in mid-air to face the shuriken.

Jungkook.

Your heart punched into your throat. In a single beat, the blade found its target.

A twitch of pain spasmed across Jungkook’s face. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. Your trembling heart choked you, the world falling silent for a deathly second.

Then his feet thumped onto the roof, the clatter of the thin blade following a beat later. Though he stumbled against the outer wall, he remained standing. Utter, blank shock painted on his face, he brought a hand up to his chest.

There, a thin red line was spreading where he had been cut. Nothing more.

Heart still hanging on a precipice, you were suspended in your shock. Numbly, you glanced down to the still-spinning shuriken lying powerless on the floor. Powerless. No more sparks surrounded it. No hint of blue, no colour at all.

Where a heartbeat ago there had been panic, now came no movement at all. Your lungs ached for air after your short race, but you hardly dared to touch the silence by breathing. Shakily, you drew in cool air, turning, as you all did, towards Bolt.

Standing in front of the shattered entrance to his home, he was equally still.

You expected some kind of joke. For him to laugh in your faces, or lash out again.

Instead, he looked down in horror. His hands steadily rose, tuning over in front of him. A downwards turn tugged at his mouth when he raised his face.

Then it turned into a snarl, and he lunged, flinging a hand straight towards you. Everyone on the rooftop jumped.

To your shame, you almost stepped back. Phantom burning, from months ago as you fell from a skyscraper like this one, rocketed through your mind. But the pain you braced for never came. No flash of blue. You stayed rooted there, disbelieving eyes tracing the air which should have been ablaze, and instead was dead and dark.

And you noticed another thing: the whirring had stopped.

Glancing to one side, you saw Namjoon lowering the Razer, face hard and a grim glint in his eye.

“You!”

Bolt’s voice brought you sharply back to him. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and his voice was sharp.

To your alarm, his rage-filled eyes, though devoid of blue, were fixed right on you.

“Give them back to me! Right now!”

With a sudden start, he marched towards you. You actually stepped back this time, in no hurry to be the target of his new warpath.

“You- I gave you those powers!” He ranted, “My powers! You can give them back to me the same way. Do it now!”

Disgusted, you could only shake your head.

Another step and he was right in front of you, reaching for you. That same face which hadn’t looked at you twice when he sent you hurtling to your intended death. The man that had since become the face of your elusive fear, sending others to attack you, never getting his hands dirty unless for a media-worthy cause.

His hand on your arm made your skin crawl.

“I made you what you were,” he pleaded – you saw it now for what it was – “you were nothing before I gave them to you-”

“Get off me!” you snapped, yanking your arm roughly from his grip. When he made to reach for you again, you barely kept control of your powers. You were sure to let just enough slip through that your eyes would light up blue with a reminder.

It clearly found its mark. He stilled, stunned. He had never been in this position before, unable to fight, and he would do well to remember it.

“I was someone before you,” you spoke, low and level.

Bolt seemed robbed of words.

Then his glare flicked to the side. Jungkook stalked up to stand beside you, drawing himself up to his full height. There was a special venom in his eyes, reserved only for the man who had ruined his life.

“Don’t touch her,” he spat.

Something in Bolt snapped. Closing his mouth, his feet scrambled beneath him. He hurried in the opposite direction, staggering a few desperate steps backwards before wheeling around, racing to get inside.

You didn’t move. Any one of you could easily kill him from where you stood – in any case, it wasn’t needed.

Someone was waiting for him.

Stepping from the dark hallway, broken glass crunching underfoot, Jin emerged into the dim light of the rooftop.

He reared back a fist, and brought it down in a blur to collide with Bolt’s face. The moment the fallen hero hit the ground, Jungkook strode forwards. Bolt’s usually vivid mask was finally dislodged, lying dull against the tiles where Jungkook’s boot crushed it against the floor.

Calmly lifting a hand, he fired gold, but not right at Bolt. Instead, you watched the molten light latch around a large shard of glass. The burning ring made dappled gold ripple in the glass, a golden dagger, the brightest thing on this dark rooftop.

Unsteadily, Bolt was getting his hands beneath him again. His ragged panting almost stirred pity in your chest. Almost.

Jungkook pushed his palm forwards, his power moving with him. The dagger struck Bolt’s back. You did not smile, but watched as it plunged ruthlessly into him, making his back arch and drawing a pitiful cry from his mouth.

No one was around to hear it, or to care. Tonight was as desolate as the night you had woken, alone and afraid, in a dark alley, left to die.

It wasn’t painless, but it was quick. Looking to Jungkook as Bolt fell silent, you found his hardened face awash with gold, like it was made of the metal itself. Only the twitch of his jaw as he yanked the glass from its victim belied the impression.

A thump as the body slumped among a soft chorus of grating glass.

The gold faded from Jungkook’s eyes. They turned to you, and you took his hand.

Thank you for reading this far into the series and sticking with it!!💜💜

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[neocrias]

really nice guy who only hates you

Summary : Jeno hates you and always makes it clear, but you don't care because the feeling is mutual. Until one day, your mutual friends set you up and the unwanted encounter ends in a way neither of you could have imagined.

wc: 4,6K gênero: fluff; kind of haters to lovers; slightly suggestive

Jeno doesn't know why he hates you so much, but he definitely hates you.

From the minute you walked into the arcade, walked into the hangout of his friends, clinging to Jaemin's arm and pretending to be all cute and innocent, he knew he didn't like you and decided to make it clear. Jeno didn't look in your direction when you spoke, he didn't laugh at your jokes - even though his whole group of friends thought it was funny - and whenever he had to talk to you he was harsh and rude.

He never bothered to be at least a little polite to you and there were many times when he bumped into you on purpose just to annoy you. He succeeded every time, by the way. 

Also, you were never a very patient girl and this only worsened the hostile atmosphere between the two of you. 

Maybe it was your very confident manner, or your different style, maybe it was the way you gestured when you spoke... Jeno doesn't know what it was, but he knows he hates you. And if he could do everything he wants, surely, "spill a bucket of paint when you pass him in the hallway" would be the first thing. Oh, he longed for the moment when he could tear the confident, self-centered expression off your face, removing all the happy sparkle from your eyes was his biggest dream.

You hated it too. So maybe the enmity was reciprocated, but you knew it wasn't. You didn't hate Jeno, not in the same way he hated you, but you sure hated the way he treated you.

He never bothered to be even a little polite to you and there were many times when he bumped into you on purpose just to annoy you. He succeeded every time, by the way. You were never a very patient girl and that only made the hostile atmosphere between the two of you even worse.

One day you went to see the new cafeteria that opened on the university campus.

At first the whole group would go, until everyone, one by one, canceled. Leaving only you, Jaemin and Jeno to go alone. Of course, none of the three bothered to check the group chat conversations, so the reaction of disgust you and Jeno had when meeting each other was too dramatic and annoying even for Jaemin – who has always been very patient and playful with your mutual hatred.

That day, however, he didn't want to hear about the bullshits between you, feeling too tired to deal with it. Jeno didn't take the hint and made sure to hit the bottom of your glass when you went to drink your juice, consequently dirtying you on purpose. You also didn't act as polite as you should’ve and on impulse threw all the rest of your cold drink in his face in retaliation.

— I told you, man — Jeno commented when you shot back. The boy wiped his face with his hands and then twisted his wet shirt with an arrogant look and proud of the reaction he managed to get out of you. He was talking exclusively to Jaemin, his best friend, as if you weren't by their side. — She hides behind this sweet girl façade, but she's stupid.

— YOU are stupid, stupid asshole.

— You don't even know how to curse —  Jeno crossed his arms, being the arrogant bastard he's always been with you. He had a sneer gracing his thin lips and an eyebrow raised in defiance.

You wanted to rip that evil smile off his face in the most violent way, but you prioritized your friendship with Jaemin and only for that reason you made an effort to have a greater tolerance for the boy's teasing, unfortunately you lost control this time and already felt the guilt because of the disappointed look Jaemin gave you.

— Jaem… — you called in a restrained voice, pouting your lips when your eyes filled with tears of anger and frustration, you tried to hold back the tears, refusing to cry in front of Jeno.

The blond let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples hard, looking at you with the most tired and annoyed expression. — That's it, let's go.

— Oh, what's up!? — Jeno complained nervously. — Are you going to stay by her side even when she does shit?

— You're the one who started it — Jaemin warned.

— It was just a joke — Jeno said.

— A joke, my ass — you grumbled and Jeno gave you an angry look, silently yelling at you to keep your mouth shut.

— I'm tired of you two — Jaemin complained. The blond chattered endlessly, complaining about you at such a fast speed that the two of you missed half of the scrambled words. — Act like an adult at least once in your life and stop messing it up for everyone.

This happened a few weeks ago. About the same number of weeks you don't see Jaemin, or the other boys in the group. It's not that they're purposely excluding you. You're just too ashamed of your lack of control to face any of them, especially your best friend.

Even remembering it makes you angry. Because of the damn Lee Jeno you don't even have the courage to look at Jaemin and what makes it worse, is the knowledge that he's only like that with you.

You see how Jeno is so kind to everyone else, always offering to help anyone who needs it, even the ones he doesn't know, always promoting group study sessions for friends who are struggling, and you've been actively excluded from all the sessions by him. Jeno has even driven his car over a puddle of water just to get you wet, when earlier that same day he handed over the umbrella to a pair of freshmen to get home without getting wet.

Tired of feeling lonely and miserable, you decided that you would go after Jaemin today. You felt the need to apologize for your behavior before, even after the boy asked you incessantly to have a little more patience.

The walk to Jaemin's dorm was very quick, taking no more than 15 minutes at a slow pace, and the cool spring weather was an incentive for his apology. Without realizing it, you arrived in front of the small and old dull yellow apartment, the doorman didn't even bother to announce your presence, already used to you wandering around the building. Tired of feeling lonely and miserable, you decided that you would go after Jaemin today. I felt the need to apologize for your behavior before, even after the blond asked you incessantly to have a little more patience.

— I haven't seen you in a while! — he greeted.

— Hi, Mr. Choi — you replied with a sympathetic smile. — Is Jaem home?

— Oh, yes. He arrived a few minutes ago, you were lucky. 

With a restrained thank you you took the stairs up to the third floor, where he shared an apartment with Renjun, a design student, and Jisung, a freshman in the dance course.

You give three rhythmic knocks on the door, his trademark and after a few minutes of waiting, Jaemin appears disheveled and with swollen eyes. 

— Thank God, I thought you were going to run away from me forever — he complained, but he wasn't mad, and pulled you into a tight hug. 

— I was embarrassed — muttered. — I know I promised I wouldn't do anything stupid, but…

— But Jeno won't give you a break — Renjun shouted from the couch.

— You didn't have an internship today? — you asked. 

— I traded my time off with Soohee — he replied simply.

— That's weird, you know? — Jisung, who was coming back from the kitchen, eating another one of his many packages of ramen, asked rhetorically. — Jeno hyung is usually very nice and kind, I don't understand why you guys are like that... 

— Because he hates me!

— That's the problem, Jeno hyung doesn't hate anyone.

— Well, there's a first time for everything, I guess.

Jaemin remained silent during the conversation and sat down next to Renjun on the couch, going back to paying attention to the movie they were watching before you arrived.

— I’m really really sorry, Jaem

— Don’t be. He had it coming — Jaemin comforted you, pulling you to sit with them and watch the movie. Suddenly, everything was fine again.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

— Dude, I think you're crossing the line with her — Chenle complained about the drama between Jeno and Jaemin's best friend.

The Chinese didn't understand what his friend had against you, in fact, Chenle liked you. To him, you were a nice, funny, decisive girl, you knew very well what you wanted and you didn't give much confidence to anyone who wasn't your friend. This, of course, gave you a bad name in the halls of college during integration week, some upperclassmen didn't like being continually let go by you, so they made up a rumor or two out there, but you never cared. Chenle admired that. 

— Fuck, even you, dude? — Jeno was unhappy. No one was on his side, and he began to question whether he was really overreacting to you. This made him hate you even more, again for no reason.

— At this point it just seems like you can't control that you're like SUPER into her — Haechan proves.

— Not everyone is a weirdo like you who likes to make girls cry, Haechan — Jeno pinched the tip of his nose.

— Not everyone — the brunette agreed — but you sure do.

Chenle let out a loud laugh, amused by Jeno's irritation, but he couldn't help but think about how Haechan's theory made a bit of sense, so the Chinese asked incredulously. — Dude, are you seriously into her?

— Of course not, idiot. 

— So you're intimidated by her? — Chenle insisted once more, and that only made Jeno even angrier. Jeno rolled his eyes hard and crossed his arms uncomfortably and replied with an arrogant voice.

— Intimidated by what?

— Well, she has a reputation.

— So? 

— SO you are afraid to get dumped by her? 

— Ugh! As if!

The two boys continued arguing heatedly as Jeno grew more and more annoyed, which only amused Chenle more and more and made the Chinese man laugh loudly. Eventually, Jeno got up and locked himself in his room, slamming the door hard to make his anger clear.

Haechan smirks and Chenle realized right away that their older friend was planning something bad – or good, if seen from the right point of view. 

— What are you planning?

— Only good things — Haechan replied. Then the two exchanged complicit glances and smiled mischievously at each other, already knowing where they wanted to go and immediately agreeing to the plan.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

haechan created the "genius idea" group haechan added renjunnie haechan added Jaemin

jisung: I don’t think this is a good idea, hyung

haechan: Don’t be a pussy, jisung

Jaemin: no, he is right, haechan-ah that’s a terrible idea

haechan: Jaemin, trust me a little, ok? I know what I'm doing, man!

Jaemin: i don't think so… rejunnie: maybe he’s right

haechan: I’m always right, man.

chenle: My thought exactly

Jaemin: i should know you’ll be involved on this you little brat

chenle: You know what they say: great minds think alike

haechan: Come on, he’s so into her. It’s getting stupid!

renjunnie: what could go wrong? they already hate each other…

jisung: So… what do you think, hyung?

Jaemin let out a tired, thoughtful sigh. He knew that this was definitely not a good idea, but maybe it was a necessary move.

If Haechan's theory was right and in fact Jeno was into you and just didn't know how to react, then maybe it would change things for all of you and for the whole group to be honest. But if Haechan was wrong...

Jaemin doesn't even like to think about that possibility.

In the end, he decided to give his - almost always - well-meaning friend's crazy ideas a chance. Without giving it much thought, Jaemin typed his reply:

Jaemin: fine let’s do it

Now he just needed to talk to the two of you, especially you. 

It would be easy to convince Jeno to go out with the group, all he needed to say was that it would be a date with the boys and the brunette would be there in a flash. But it was different with you. 

You two hung out a lot, Renjun and Jisung joining you often, but when Haechan and Chenle got together, it meant that Jeno would join in too. And you'd been avoiding him like the plague ever since the incident in the cafeteria, wanting to ignore him at all costs. So it would be hard to convince you to go out with the whole group again and Jaemin was the one responsible for thinking of something to change that.

He called you earlier that evening, biting his nails anxiously at having to lie to you when one of his promises was never to lie. Guilt was already coursing through him, so he hoped it would pay off.

— Jaem? Did something happen? — your sleepy, soft voice rang out on the other end of the line when you picked up after the fifth ring. — Are you all right? Do you need help?

He only realized he'd been too long without answering when you started firing off questions in a hurried and worried manner. Jaemin let out a nervous, breathy laugh before answering. - I'm fine. A bit anxious, actually.

— What do you want now, Na Jaemin? — you asked from the other side, this time in an impatient and accusatory voice.

— The boys are going to have a meeting at the usual arcade, to celebrate Haechan's scientific initiation…

— No — you cut him off, knowing full well that he was going to ask you to go along and, normally, you would have accepted, because you liked going out with the boys, but now you were avoiding Jeno like the plague.

— Please, I need you there! — Jaemin hurried. — Yuki's going and she hasn't left my side for months, I kind of need...

— That I help you get her off your back? — you cut him off once again. — Why don't you just tell him you're not interested? 

— I've already tried!

— Jaem, I don't know if...

— Please, for me? — Jaemin knew it was a low blow, but if he wanted you to go he'd have to appeal to the emotional. Anyway, it's your fault for being a butter heart.

He heard her heavy sigh on the other end of the line along with annoyed grumbles, cursing herself for being so soft.

— Okay...

— Yes! I love you, you know that, right? — he thanked you, and imitated various kissing noises. You laughed tiredly and hung up on him, not wanting to put up with any more of your best friend's mushiness.

Okay, you've gone, now all that's left is Jeno.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

You entered the arcade alone after waiting for Jaemin for long minutes outside. You also flooded his number with messages and calls that he deliberately decided to ignore. 

— Na Jaemin, I swear to God... — you grumbled, entering the vintage arcade that no one knows how it has managed to hold together over the decades and looking for the boys at the tables in the integrated cafeteria, but finding no one.

You picked up your cell phone again and checked the time: it was just after 6 p.m. "Maybe I'm too early," you thought to yourself, calculating the possibilities and deciding that this was what had happened.

To pass the time, you ordered a strawberry milkshake. You were happily savoring the sweetness of your frozen dessert, feeling minimally happy at the start of the evening, but your happiness didn't last long because it was at that moment that you noticed Jeno entering the arcade, also alone and angry.

— Of all people… — you grumbled, rolling your eyes.

If the boy saw you here, he made a point of not showing it and walked straight past you. Jeno sat at the last table, sprawled on the brown leather sofa and typing furiously on his cell phone, his thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration until he raised his face in confusion, feeling that he was being watched.

So your eyes met and he made a sneer that was promptly reciprocated by you. When Jeno raised an eyebrow, as if to silently say "what are you looking at?", you responded with an exaggerated roll of the eyes and turned away from him.

The arcade was still partially empty and therefore quieter than usual, so it wasn't hard to hear the sound of heavy boxes falling to the floor in a loud thud, followed by a thin scream that aroused your attention and concern.

— Oh my God! Are you all right? — you asked hurriedly and got up from the bench you were sitting on. Just as you were about to lift the mobile bench to help the attendant, Jeno pushed you, getting in front of you to get to the little accident faster.

— Idiot — you grumbled.

— Are you all right? — he asked, gently lifting the girl off the floor and checking that she had no apparent injuries.

— I'm fine — the girl replied quietly. — I was startled by the boxes falling, but they're all empty, so I'm fine.

She let out an embarrassed laugh, looking at Jeno and then at you with cheeks red with embarrassment. You realized that there was no point in trying to help her, thanks to Jeno who monopolized the girl's attention with his exaggerated worries, so you decided to pick up the boxes that were scattered on the floor and the few packages that fell out of them.

— Thank you, you've been very kind — she thanked you for what seemed like the fifth time in a row. — You can order whatever you like — she suggested, looking hopefully at the two of you as you gathered outside the counter again. Seeing your refusal, she insisted — It's on the house.

— I've already eaten — You pointed to the half-empty glass of milk shake.

— My friends aren't coming anymore, so I'm leaving — Jeno denied it and you turned your face away in confusion, looking at him in shock and denial. 

You took your cell phone out of your pocket, looking for the group chat and frantically reading the messages in search of answers. You refused to believe Jeno, but Jaemin's singular message apologizing was the cruel confirmation you needed.

— Shit! — you both complained together - which surprised both of you - but the reasons were quite different for you.

You were stressed that Jaemin had let you down, you felt angry and disappointed that he had lied to you and used the "for our friendship" card to manipulate you into meeting the tormentor of your nightmares.

For Jeno, the situation was a little worse, as his stalker was walking towards him with a wide, frightening smile that didn't reach his glazed blue eyes. In the same minute he felt his breathing become heavy and his knees give way, he looked around, thinking of the best way to get out of there without the girl catching up with him.

You noticed your enemy's desperate face, trembling hands and ragged breathing after noticing the foreign girl approaching. You looked at him, then at her, then back at him and decided that you could revel in the suffering of the boy who was too nice to everyone but you. So you turned your back on him and picked up your bag, preparing to leave and leave him behind.

Jeno didn't react with anything other than frightened glances and an unsure step backwards when the girl started to come closer and try to touch his face with her pale hands. You wanted to punch yourself in the face for worrying about the boy who had been nothing but cruel and rude to you, but his cowed reactions got to you.

Jaemin was right, you do have a heart of butter.

With an exasperated sigh you moved back closer to the boy, entwining your arms with his and stared at the girl with your typical cold, sharp eyes that you wore as your personal armor against the harassment you suffered from seniors at the beginning of college.

The blonde girl looked at you with the same fury in her eyes as you looked at her, but you didn't let yourself be intimidated. She was no match for you anyway.

— Is something wrong? — you asked with disinterest.

— Yes! — she was impatient and clenched her fists in a firm, furious grip. — You're touching my boyfriend!

— Your boyfriend? Are you sure? - you replied condescendingly. — Because it seems he can't even stand to look at you and neither can I.

— You don't know who you're messing with — said the girl, trying to look intimidating.

You just smiled mischievously in response and took two steps towards her, towering over her who is considerably smaller than you. With your chin held high and a glint of pure evil in your eyes, you replied: — And do you know who you're messing with?

You must have looked really scary because she blinked in shock and staggered backwards, her eyes blinking nervously, trying to understand what had just happened. Jeno was also surprised - and a little scared - by your attitude, suddenly remembering the feeling he had when he first saw you on campus.

Contrary to what he remembered, it wasn't with Jaemin. On the first day, the veterans organized a hazing to welcome the freshmen and you were there, looking all proud and fearless for refusing each of the challenges they proposed until the leader got too angry to deal with you and sent you away with a simple wave of his hand and a tired sigh. 

That day he realized that you were everything he wanted to be and would never be: able to stand up for yourself. That day he also realized that he was jealous and intimidated by you, so when you showed up behind Jaemin, acting completely different from when you were alone, he decided that he didn't trust you and therefore hated you.

Now, Jeno couldn't feel more grateful for your duality. Thanks to you, Ava was gone and he could return home without having to deal with the girl's obsessive and stalkerish attitude.

He sighed with relief. But the feeling only lasted a brief moment, because as soon as he looked at you again, he saw the way your eyes looked worried. Worried about him.

Without understanding what he were feeling, Jeno got angry again and shoved his shoulder into yours as he walked away. You snorted in disbelief and glared at him angrily, watching his broad back move away towards the alley where he had stashed his bike. 

In an impulse of rage, you went after him, stepping heavily as you were equally annoyed, running a little to catch up with him.

— Is that what I get for my thanks? — you shout marching after him and when all he does is walk faster without looking back, taking the bike key out of his jacket to leave, you feel even angrier and run after him, pushing his back hard.

Jeno stumbles, but manages to balance himself and turns to you with a red face and furious eyes. — I didn't ask for your fucking help, okay? — he shouts back and towers over you.

You don't back down, in fact you take another brave step forward, coming face to face with him. — You couldn't do that even if you wanted to. You were acting like a puppy who'd lost its mother — you teased, pushing his chest with your index finger. It wouldn't hurt, but if you were going to annoy him, you'd take your chance. — You missed peeing your pants, scaredy little puppy.

He pushed your shoulders back in retaliation and, after a shocked sigh, you retaliated by doing the same thing to him. The two of you repeated the childish act a few times, never too hard to hurt, but enough to cause a nuisance.

— Dude, what's your problem with me? What the fuck have I ever done to you? — you shouted. Lucky for you, the street was empty, except for a trio of friends who had passed you both earlier without caring. — Apart from getting you rid of that crazy bitch, of course!?

— You get in my way all the fucking time. You've wormed your way into my group of friends, into my life and now I can't even hate you in peace because you can't stop being the Miss heroine who has to save the day, can you?

You laughed out loud, throwing your head back. — Have you heard yourself? — you asked incredulously. — You sound like you're into me and you don't know how to ask me out.

You tried to joke, hoping that sarcasm would be able to get you out of this weird and confusing situation you've gotten yourselves into, but Jeno was serious. Staring at you in shock and realization, expressions that you were quick to copy the next second.

Before you could say anything else, Jeno grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you eagerly. It was quick, strong and desperate, like the first impulse to breathe after drowning for so long. You gave in almost automatically, your body instinctively knowing what to do, accepting him as if he had always been yours. In fact, he was, he just didn't want to admit it.

You melted in Jeno's warm hands. The boy's soft lips tasted like paradise itself. You almost felt your knees give out when he circled his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. 

You encircled the boy's neck with your arms and propelled yourself on tiptoe so that you were at the same height, making the kiss more comfortable for both of you. You pushed back, trying to make space between you so that you could breathe.

Jeno wasted no time and trailed kisses down your cheek, jaw and neck, sending shivers down your spine at the ghostly sensation of his touch. Everything was so new and intense for both of you that all you wanted to do was give yourself to each other right then and there.

He took precise steps forward, pushing your body back until you were leaning slightly against the leather seat of his motorcycle. His right hand went to the back of your neck, gripping your hair to keep you where he wanted you.

Your lungs were burning from lack of air, and although you didn't want to, you pushed back, trying to make space between you so that you could breathe.

But Jeno wasn't satisfied with just that. When you pulled away, he wasted no time in trailing kisses down your cheek, jaw and neck, sending shivers down your spine at the ghostly sensation of his touch. It was all so new and intense for both of you that all you wanted to do was give yourself to each other right then and there.

— I can't fucking believe it, Lee Jeno — you complained, but this time your voice had a tone of amusement, causado by the situation and the playful little bites the boy was leaving at the base of your neck.

— I don't believe it either… — he replied and gently brushed the hair from your face. — I still hate you, just so you know.

— It's mutual — you replied teasingly and they both smiled mischievously.

— Yeah? — he replied before coming closer once more, surrounding you with his scent. His lips brushed against yours so lightly that you leaned in, wanting to kiss him again.

Você acenou com a cabeça em confirmação, o que só fez Jeno sorrir ainda mais.

— That's even better.

[intersexcat-tboy]

It's so silly to think that trans men have "an easier time claiming womanhood" when "trans men can't be lesbians" and hostility as a masc in feminine spaces exist (transandrophobia includes the bigotry butches face btw, bigotry isn't limited to a specific identity)

TERFs and GCs claim to include trans men, but it's only the idea. Once they actually meet us and talk directly, they treat us as predators. Once we're there (by choice or force), they ask us to leave (often violently).

They automatically treat gay trans mascs as rapists trying to enforce conversion therapy on cis gay men.

It also ignores race, like how black women already have to fight for their rightful place and are constantly degendered and (perceived as) hypermascualized. (I often hear some black trans men talking about how they aren't women, but they are still Black Women bc Black Woman is its own expierence bc of intersections). How difficult it can be for trans mascs to get gynecologic care, from dealing with insurance to dealing with people.

I see far too many posts talking about how people often stopped talking to them, started being mean, outright losing their entire support system by being kicked out of (or ghosted from) friend + support groups.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Hi! What do you think would happen if there was a disease that turned people into yanderes and the reader is immune? So she’s the only sane one, which everyone around her falls in love (romantically and platonically) and turns obsessive?

Hrmm I'd like to take a different approach to this than the original *yandere apocolypse* of which I was thinking. Just wrote down some odd thoughts for this one!

Perhaps two thirds of the world has been inflicted with this specific disease-- making this new population become violent, deranged and utterly--obsessively, in love.

There's the beginning stages of violence and death of course, causing a great chunk of the world to go mad as some yanderes who must share a darling cannot do so. Celebrities, idols, and your local barista who's friends with everyone in town, are constantly in a tug of war battle between their yanderes.

But life seems to somewhat settle down. Everyone still functions as they would in society-- going to the bank and paying their taxes, remaining at their 9 to 5 jobs. But there are far more murders, laws are no longer followed; the daytime has become just as dangerous as the night.

Our dear reader, a cashier for a chain grocery store, has so blessedly not been affected by this newfound disease. They know their residence in a large city and with a social job would not leave them unharmed by this new change to the world. So, they begin to attend support groups for 'darlings,' the victims and (mostly) sane population that has been left. At first the other victims were people they had never seen before, seemingly innocent and normal people who just wanted to go on with their lives. They all seemed to lead a much harder living, with their unending stalkers and vicious pursuers that made them sob for hours as everyone else listened to their woes.

Reader had yet to be targeted, of which offers them a sliver of relief-- until they fear perhaps they have been affected by the disease. But their life continues, without any impulse or desire to snatch anyone up, and without any stalkers or murderers on their trail. Life is almost, weirdly, normal.

They don't watch the news anymore, they go home before it gets dark, and refuse to take any extra shifts with anyone who's been affected by the outbreak. They continue to go to the meetings, out of solidarity and precaution in case they begin to hear footsteps behind them when walking from home or find eyes peeping behind their curtains. However, the support group seemed to have slowly begun to change. Its regular members were beginning to dwindle, less and less showing up regularly. And, there seemed to be an addition of.... hostility, amongst the newer members.

The support group "leader", a man who has thrown reader off since day one, seemed to be far more invested in hearing their experiences with these "attackers" as he called them. As was everyone else, of which were slowly becoming vaguely familiar faces. Not familiar enough to mention it, but to the point where it was beginning to get eerie.

It wasn't until they went to their next shift for work, did they realize why everyone seemed so odd. Customer after customer came up, all purchasing odds and ends that could be suspicious if one paid close enough attention. But all that reader could focus on, was how the eyes of each person seemed to linger upon them, taking notice of their loose work shirt and unkempt hair. It was a common sound to hear heavy breathing from the other side of the counter, odd compliments on how beautiful their eyes were, or deafening silence from customers that didn't utter a word but stared in complete captivity. The next support group meeting, those nameless faces seemed to be far more recognizable. At this point, the original members of which reader had originally met, were nowehere to be found. All that remained, were the uncomfortably familiar customers, and the oddly charismatic leader.

Every eye seemed to be on them, each waiting for them to speak on their experience. But despite the creepy, lustful gazes and hateful glares at one another, there was some form of supportiveness that came from the group. They gave reassuring pats and squeezes, some getting a little handsier than others.

There were a few that reader recognized more than others: the silent, dark haired man that came to their register everyday, the businesswoman who always seemed to loosen her scowl once she saw them, and the couple who seemed a tad more than "friendly." Out of all of them though, reader felt the most reassurance from the group leader-- the man who seemed to dote on them like a parent would, though there was still fear over his constantly nagging questions and downward stare behind his glasses.

It was once reader decided to stop showing up to the increasingly more recent group sessions, did things start to turn sideways. There would constantly be a knock at the door, asking why they weren't there, if something was wrong, if a stalker had gotten to them. But it wasnt until recently did they feel they were being watched, followed, stalked.

Things started to go missing, from their favorite pair of underwear to little knickknacks kept on their desk. Reader had never felt the effects of the disease and its victims, but ever since the uncomfortable shift in the support group, life hadn't been the same.

One fateful afternoon, there came another series of knocks. Reader couldn't take it anymore, and had long given up on answering the door. The knocking continued, however. Thered be a pause, a moment of hesitation, before the pounding began again. Muffled voices could be heard outside readers front door, and suddenly there grew a great fear in their chest.

Not long after, the knocking seemed to occur in other areas around the house. The backdoor echoed as glass was banged on, the windows of their bedroom seemingly pressured by fists that begged to be let in. Their name was called from outside, small and booming voices all begging to be let in, promising that they were only there to help.

Reader covered their ears, crawling under the blankets and rocking themselves to the hope that the noise would go away. And eventually, It did-- only to be replaced with the sound of shattering glass and rushed footsteps.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Thinking about Ed has never had anyone who he can trust to react normally and appropriately when he sets a boundary.

Izzy in s1 constantly pushes Ed to behave in the ways Izzy wants him to and refuses Ed's right to determine how he wants to present himself to others, and he screams at him and tells him he's better off dead when Ed tries to state very clearly how he would like to behave. Entitled White people on the party boat reach into his personal space and try to touch his hair, and laugh at him when his reaction makes it clear he doesn't like that. Calico Jack breezes right past Ed's every attempt to set boundaries with him, ignoring Ed when he says he doesn't want to talk about certain things and when he suggests calling the party to a stop, and pushing when he says he doesn't want to drink. In the gravy basket, Ed's memory of Hornigold acts like Ed's in the wrong for being confused and upset when Hornigold refuses to play along with Ed's hotel game without being hostile to him.

Every time Ed sets a very normal and reasonable boundary - I don't want to kill this guy I have a crush on, I want other people to call me by my name, I want to dress and act in a way I find more comfortable, I don't want you to touch my hair, I don't want to discuss this heavy, traumatic topic over breakfast, I don't want you to be a dick to me - then other people act like he's unreasable, like he's in the wrong, like he's a terrible monster of a person for communicating very basic boundaries. When Ed is annoyed with others for trying to push past his boundaries and control his behavior, they use his anger as a reason to claim Ed is irrational, insane, or violent, and that he's defined by those things.

And that's why it's such a big deal that not only does Ed feel safe asking Stede to take it slow, he knows Stede will listen and behave appropriately. It's very tentative, really - "can we take it slow?" instead of a more definitive option such as "I want to take this slow," but the important thing is he knows he can ask and that Stede is not going to yell at him or pressure him.

It says so much that Stede is so respectful of the boundaries Ed sets. When Ed says he maybe doesn't like being Blackbeard anymore when they first meet, Stede is immediately respectful and offers alternative solutions instead of telling him what he should feel. He allows Ed to define his own feelings and desires. He gives Ed time to consent before touching his hair or deepening kisses. He gives Ed space to just be Ed, making him feel comfortable and safe by just being his sweet self.

Stede is one of the very few people in Ed's life who have ever treated him like an actual person with his own feelings, thoughts, and desires.

[hannahbarberra162]

Under the Microscope, part 2 (Yandere Sabo x Reader)

18+ MDNI on Ao3

No smut, but some not great behavior from Sabo.

All other chapters

You caught yourself getting excited for your next shift guarding Sabo. It was sad, really, if you thought about it. You’d resorted to being friendly with convicted prisoners to relieve your loneliness. You were no stranger to being on your own, you had been since childhood, but the active hostility from the other Marines on the base had taken its toll on you. Was it so wrong to look forward to someone who was excited to see you? Who shared common interests? You decided to stop beating yourself up and to enjoy Sabo’s company while he was here. Soon he’d be transferred and you’d be all alone once again. 

You didn’t have a shift everyday, today you were just working on your research in your office. It was slow going, you wished you’d been given a research partner. You’d always done better when you had someone you could bounce ideas off of. But the nature of your assignment meant that you had to work alone. The other scientist at the base was a Marine biologist and your work didn’t overlap at all, so you couldn’t even use him as a sounding board. You had a lot to do, so you rolled up your sleeves and magnified until your vision swam. You weren’t any closer to figuring out the genetic sequencing and the meeting with Admiral Sakazuki was getting closer. Not only that, your hands were shaking so badly you couldn’t hold your cup of coffee. You decided to take a break to try to refocus.

Going outside, you realized it was already late at night. You missed lunch and dinner again, working in your office in complete concentration. You weren’t hungry anyway, your stomach twisted in knots. You sighed and looked up at the night sky. You’d always loved the stars and constellations. Your devil fruit had only enhanced your love, allowing you to see deep into the beauty of the cosmos. Your hands were shaking but you tried to magnify some of your favorite constellations. After a few unsuccessful attempts, you were able to see the Andromeda galaxy clearly. It had been your favorite since childhood, allowing you to remember that your problems were so very small and the universe so very large. You’d also loved the story about the princess in chains being rescued from a monster by a brave hero, and their happily ever after. Of course, such things only ever happened in stories, no one was coming to save you from your own life. 

You magnified the galaxy several times, enjoying the swirling stars in motion. The hairs on the back of your neck raised - you had the feeling someone was watching you. Looking around, you couldn’t see anyone in the darkness. But you couldn’t shake the feeling, it was unnerving you. You flicked your hand through the magnification, erasing it. You felt like an animal snared in a trap and you wanted to get away quickly. With a heavy sigh, you went back inside to continue working. You wouldn’t see Sabo for a few days, so you needed to concentrate while you had unbroken blocks of time.

~~~

You had barely been sleeping during the nights, and had early morning guard duty with Sabo a few days later. Well, not with Sabo, guarding Sabo. You had to keep reminding yourself that he was dangerous and violent, not someone to pal around with. You yawned as you entered the room, saluting to your fellow officer as he left quickly. You’d heard the other ensigns talking about how they didn’t like guarding Sabo, that he creeped them out as he silently stared through the bars. That they didn’t get within a meter of the cell for fear he’d hurt them. It was hard to reconcile that image when he spent most of your shift trying to talk to you and had been so relaxed when you’d stupidly gone inside. 

You took a huge gulp of your hot coffee and slumped down on the guard bench, dropping your papers next to you. You leaned your head back against the brick behind you and closed your eyes, taking a moment to settle in for the next few hours. Sabo was already lounging by the front of the cell, ready to engage with you.

“Good morning Sabo,” you stated, not opening your eyes. You could feel his stare already.

“Good morning, Mag. I’m so glad to see you again,” Sabo said exuberant. At least he had a positive attitude. You yawned again, covering your mouth with your arm. “Still tired, hmm?” Sabo queried. You cracked open your eyes. Not this again.

“Like always, I’m fine.” You knew you looked like death, but you didn’t have to admit it.

“Have you made progress in your work?” You stiffened. You still couldn’t talk about your work with Sabo. Besides, it was a sore point and you felt defensive. You hadn’t gotten as much done during your break from guard duty as you’d hoped. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand.”

“Your wounds look better,” you said, glancing over his body. You were glad to see he was healing. Sabo hummed, uninterested in that line of conversation. His eyes flicked over you for a moment.

“Are you aware you’re losing weight?” You frowned and looked down at your uniform. You hadn’t noticed at all, but he was right. Your uniform was baggy and loose, you might have to go ask for the next size down. You often missed meals when you were working, but even when you noticed it was meal time your anxiety decreased your appetite to practically nothing. 

“Oh, um, I guess so.”

“Do they not take care of you? Along with working you half to death?” You bristled at his patronizing words.

“They don’t need to take care of me. I’m a grown adult, I take care of myself.” You said testily, narrowing your eyes. You knew you weren't at your top physical condition, but you didn’t need yet another person to tell you that you were helpless and weak. Especially not someone who was currently in seastone cuffs and behind bars . Your hands started to shake, which didn’t help your point.

“Not very well, it seems. But that doesn’t matter. When we get back to the Revolutionary Army, I’ll take care of you.” You snorted out a laugh. Sabo was just referencing his joke from the other day, he was only kidding. You felt better, he wasn’t criticizing you or your lack of self care. You rolled your eyes and smiled at him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sabo said cryptically. 

“Probably not, but go ahead.” You never knew what Sabo was going to say.

“You think I can’t take care of you, because I look like this,” he said, gesturing to his frame. “Rest assured, when I get back, eat more and resume my training, I’ll be more to your liking.” You thought you were going to pass out from all your blood suddenly rushing to your face. That was nowhere near anything you were thinking about.

“Oh, uh, right. Sure. I mean, I can - uh - ask for you to get supplemental food, uhm, if you want,” you stammered. What on earth were you supposed to say to that? 

“Always so kind, Mag. You’re a diamond in the rough. But there’s no need.” Sabo gave you a soft smile. You supposed there wasn’t, it wouldn’t be approved by the higher ups. You drank your coffee to end this conversation and hopefully never bring it up again.

~~~

An hour later and your eyelids were barely open. The room was warm as always, but because of the early morning chill, it felt wonderful. The room was calm and peaceful, and you were leaning against one of the supports by the bench. You’d decided to give Sabo a long article you wanted to read but hadn’t had the time. It wasn’t specific to your research, so you didn’t see how it could hurt. It was better than him being bored and saying embarrassing things to you. He was reading in silence on his metal bed, and you on your guard bench. The quiet was comfortable, punctuated by the sound of turning pages. You had your book open in front of you and were re-reading the same paragraph for the eighth time. Your eyes kept sliding closed, your head lolling forward. You couldn’t fall asleep - that was the entire point of guard duty. If you were caught, you’d be in huge trouble. So you tried to keep reading, blinking rapidly to maintain your focus.

Sabo POV

Sabo watched you drift off to sleep, happy you were getting some needed rest. It warmed his heart to see that you felt comfortable in his presence, enough to let him watch you while you slept. You had dozed off leaning against the wall, your face now relaxing. You looked younger without anxiety clouding your features. You always insisted you were fine, but it was obvious to him that you were working yourself to the bone. He knew you’d taken offense at what he’d said, but he had meant it. You weren’t taking care of yourself - the weight loss, the sleeplessness, the anxiety, your shaking hands, all of these would take a toll on you the longer it went on. He couldn’t wait until he could leave the jail and take you with him. 

You were such a delightful person, Sabo couldn’t believe you’d become a Marine. In his experience, Marines were weak, idiotic fools who were sacrificing themselves for a government that didn’t care if they lived or died. They didn’t even see the issue in doing so, as long as they got to beat down some poor villagers now and again. But you were different, so very different. You were brilliant, even if no one saw that here but himself. You were kind, having helped him with his shoulder for no reason other than empathy. It had been a foolish choice on your part, Sabo could have easily killed you. But that was something he liked about you - you were completely clueless to the way the real world worked. You were so eager to learn and understand the world but so helpless within it. You’d be alright now, you had Sabo to look after you. You didn’t understand what kinds of people lived in the world and what they would do to such a weak little thing like yourself. Luckily Sabo had found you, and he’d keep you safe. 

Sabo had been to Bayonette on assignment from the Revolutionary Army a few weeks prior to his “capture.” The Army had gotten a tip off from a mole at the base that a gifted scientist had been tasked with isolating the gene associated with the Will of D., the practical application unknown. Sabo was supposed to derail the scientific progress in any way deemed necessary, including assassination of the scientist leading the project. Given the delicate nature of the research, he had assumed the lead scientist would be heavily guarded, with a large support team to help them with their work. Imagine his surprise when he found that the bright researcher was you, working alone, in a regular office. You didn’t have any additional support, guards, or even a lab. He supposed he shouldn’t have been that surprised, the Marines had never been good at resource allocation. Or anything, really.

He’d watched you from afar for about a week, monitoring your every move. He quickly realized the strength of your Devil Fruit, as he watched you poring over DNA for hours. Your fruit, combined with your intelligence, made you an incredible research scientist. He had no doubt that if given enough time, you’d be able to sequence the Will of D., to the detriment of the world. Yes, you needed to be stopped, but you didn’t need to be neutralized. Sabo didn’t think you had malicious intentions, he wasn’t even sure you knew why the Will of D. was important. He could refocus your work to something more beneficial to the RA, he was sure of it. 

You were unintentionally difficult to get access to - you didn’t leave the base or take missions. The only way he was going to see more of you was from inside the base. So Sabo had allowed himself to get “captured” by some weaklings and sent to jail to get closer to you. The more Sabo interacted with you, the more he liked you. You were smart, sweet, well spoken, and alluring. You drove him to distraction and he couldn’t always reign himself in when you were around. He felt like a boy again, always putting his foot in his mouth around a crush. He’d been kicking himself over his “darling” comment, along with a few others. Sabo hadn’t made such a bad slip up since he was a teen. He could tell he had embarrassed you and that you didn’t understand he was trying to flirt. You had just met Sabo, or so you thought, and were still reserved. That was ok, Sabo would have plenty of time to woo you once you were with him.

Sabo quickly realized why you weren’t utilizing your fruit as a spy or for counterintelligence. You were completely oblivious to almost everything. You didn’t notice him spying on you, you didn’t notice the way the other Marines looked at you lustfully, you didn’t notice when it was time to eat, you didn’t notice when others were jealous of you, you didn’t notice when he’d made it into the jail. You didn’t take stock of anything besides your work. You were so unperceptive, it was endearing. Even little rabbits knew when they were being cornered, but not you.

What did surprise him was the absolutely terrible state that the Marines pushed you to. Given your mild and intellectual nature, he thought they would have taken better care of you. Instead, he could feel the anxiety and loneliness radiating off of you. You were losing weight rapidly and looked like you hadn’t slept in months. Your fellow Marines treated you like garbage, speaking down to you and roughing you up. Sabo adjusted his gloves thinking about those who had hurt you physically and emotionally. It was a tell he’d tried to get rid of without much success. Dragon had warned him time and time again that it telegraphed his desire for violence, but when he saw you get checked in the guard room he couldn’t contain himself. He wanted to hurt anyone who made you feel less than - whoever told you that you weren’t beautiful, whoever had made up that gauche nickname, whoever told you that you weren’t useful, whoever was giving you more work than you could handle alone. Sabo had already taken care of Koji, and he was planning on returning to the base for some additional retribution in the future. It had been irritating allowing Koji to strike Sabo but he didn’t want to make it seem like his own attack was unprovoked. After all, he didn’t want to have to break free before his plans came to fruition. 

~~~

Your POV

You awoke with a start, immediately realizing two things. First, you had fallen asleep sitting up during guard duty. You prayed to a higher power (caffeine) that no one had seen you. Second, Sabo was staring at you again from within his cell. 

“Don’t worry, no one came in,” Sabo said calmly, assuaging your fears. 

“Ah, thank you. I… didn’t sleep much last night. I, um, didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You were feeling self conscious at the thought of him watching you sleep.

“I should hope not. What if I had escaped? Or caused some mayhem?” Sabo asked teasingly. The truth was, if either of those happened you wouldn’t be able to do anything. You’d have to call for help. But you felt comfortable joking back since it seemed he might keep your secret.

“Maybe I would stop you by boring you to death talking about my research,” you chuckled.

“Oh, no. That could never happen. I find it all very fascinating. In fact, I wanted to discuss this article with you.”

“You finished it already? It was over 60 pages long.” How long had you been asleep?

“Mm, I couldn’t put it down, it was engrossing.” He talked about the scientific article like it was a novel. The only other person who thought like that was, well, you. You came and sat in front of the bars, close enough where he’d be able to reach you if he wasn’t wearing cuffs. You brought your now half full coffee with you, wanting to finish the cup before you got another.

“I haven’t read it yet, actually. Can you give me the synopsis?” Maybe Sabo could help you just a little bit in getting your work done. He didn’t know the exact implications of the article, and it was publicly available. It would be no different than giving him a random book from the library.

“Sure!” Sabo said, grinning. He spent the next few minutes telling you about theories regarding Next Generation Sequencing, a way to look at many DNA fragments simultaneously. You nodded along and took a few notes. Without the right equipment available, it was unfortunately pointless for you to try. You peppered in a few questions, which Sabo was able to answer easily.

“I think that kind of sequencing could only be done by Dr. Vegapunk,” you mused. “I don’t even have a real microscope here, I do everything by hand, so to speak.” 

“Or, maybe you could try to expand the use of your Devil Fruit,” Sabo suggested. “You know, awaken it.” You frowned. You had heard rumors of what that meant but hadn’t met anyone who’d done it. You’d try to research it in your free time after your assignment. You drank deeply from your cup.

“Well, it’s interesting either way. I hope they use it to help sequence some of these Grand Line viruses, to help cure them.” Sabo laughed bitterly and your face fell.

“You don’t really think that’s what they’ll do, right? It’s always about control and power. It would get used to create biological weapons for warfare, something like that. Destroy some island without having to be there.” You looked away, thinking about Sabo’s words. You knew that your work wasn’t always used to benefit people, but surely some of it was. Or maybe you were just deluding yourself. The voice in the back of your head had often asked what your work was being used for, you just squashed it and took your paychecks. Your hands started to shake in your lap.

“I’m sorry, Mag. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want you to think of yourself -” Sabo started to say softly. 

“It’s fine, I can’t - it’s just a job,” you finished lamely. You looked at your watch, you only had a few more minutes with him anyway. You got up and collected your things quietly, thinking about the implications of your work. You weren’t told exactly what the “D” you were looking for came from or what it was connected to, that was outside the scope of your work. You were just a pawn, doing what you were expected to do. “Thank you for reading the article, I enjoyed discussing it together.” It almost felt like having a lab partner again. You hesitated - you wanted to give Sabo more to read but didn’t want to get in trouble. It had helped you to have a synopsis without having to do the work yourself, maybe it would be good for both of you. He'd have something to do and you could get some use out of his intelligence. 

“Can you - I can give you more to read, if you’d like,” you offered. Sabo nodded his head enthusiastically. You approached his cell, extending a textbook through the bars. He gently took it and smoothly turned it to look at the cover. It was about tryptophan receptors in centromeres, or how to turn key DNA on and off in difficult locations. Yes, it would confirm that you were working on genetic sequencing, but he had already figured that out. “Read as much as you want, we can talk about it my next shift.” With that, you left Sabo’s room. You were out the door for the changing of the guards when the other Marine stopped you before entering the cell room. Officer Shiff was cordial to you, you didn’t mind speaking with him.

“Are you taking the rest of Koji’s shifts?” Shiff asked. 

“For the next week, yeah. He assigned them to me,” you tried to keep the grimace off your face. Shiff looked at you confused.

“Mag, what are you - he was severely beaten, he’s in a medically induced coma right now. Koji attacked the Flame Emperor from within his cell, underestimating his strength. Koji’s not going to be working for months, or maybe ever again. You might have to cover for him until other arrangements are made.” Your eyes opened wide. Sabo had done that? While wearing seastone cuffs? You glanced back at him through the window in the door. He had taken off his tophat and was reading the textbook you’d given him. He looked up at you and grinned. You trembled and your hands shook so hard you dropped your papers. You quickly picked them up and scurried away back to the safety of your office.

~~~

Despite finding out the extent of Sabo’s fighting capabilities, you couldn’t stop yourself from enjoying your shifts with him over the next week. You had been right, Sabo was an excellent lab partner. He quickly understood any material you presented him with and you could discuss deep scientific ideas together. He was funny, polite, charming and so handsome. He hung on your every word - you didn’t think anyone had ever given you so much attention. But it wasn’t like he had a choice, you thought, he was literally your captive audience. Still, he seemed to enjoy your company as much as you did his. Sometimes you played with your Devil Fruit, showing him his own DNA or random cells and molecules. You showed him the cosmos, your favorite pastime, and shared your favorite stars. To do that, you had to get near the bars. You’d been more uneasy since you’d heard what he did to Koji, but you couldn’t resist. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

One evening shift, you had been magnifying space for Sabo, just for fun. You had brought an extra large coffee, filled to the brim with cream and sugar. The two of you spent hours looking through the cosmos, talking about space and making other small talk. You’d ended up showing him Saturn’s enchanting icy rings, magnifying them until you could see individual chunks of ice and rock. You sipped the last of your coffee and tossed the paper cup into the trash. It had kind of a salty aftertaste. Must have been a bad batch.

“Absolutely stunning, right?” you said, watching the icy rings.

“Mmm. Nothing compares,” he replied. You turned to look at him, and he was watching you. Your face heated. 

“Sabo, don’t.” He hummed and reached for you between the bars. His hand slipped through, uncuffed from the other. You froze. Sabo didn’t seem concerned, just brought his hand back and reapplied the cuff to his wrist. 

“They - they’re broken?” you whispered. You wanted to bolt from the room as fast as you could. You didn’t want to be the next Koji.

“Mm. I broke them before they were put on me. The seastone still works, though, if I keep them on.” Sabo was speaking conversationally, like you were still talking about Saturn’s rings, not about how he was completely free to do whatever he’d like. 

“That’s just to escape, right? You’re not going to hurt us?” you whispered, head down. You were truly scared.  You weren’t sure why he’d waited so long to leave. If he could break the seastone cuffs, he’d easily be able to break through the iron bars of the cell. There was nothing keeping him away from you. You would have maybe a second to react if he decided to do anything. 

“Not you - never you,” Sabo breathed to you. You glanced up at the earnest and dashing man in front of you, looking at you like you were worth something. There were many things you could do, many choices you could make. You should have rang the alarm, had others come in to fight the Flame Emperor. But the truth was, you didn’t want Sabo to have to fight, to be sent to Impel Down. You didn’t want him to be tortured, you didn’t want him to be hurt. Tossing and turning in your bed at night, you had occasionally thought about the possibilities if you had met Sabo in another life. If he wasn't second in command of the Revolutionary Army and you a Marine. If you would have been friends, or colleagues, or even lovers. You made your final foolish choice.

“They’re transferring you soon, you need to leave,” you said quietly. You looked at him imploringly. Sabo took his hand out from the cuff once more and cupped your cheek, to your shock. He smiled kindly at you. Your vision was wavering, maybe you were more tired than you thought.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be gone soon. I was just waiting for an RA ship to be close enough for us to leave easily.” You pulled back with difficulty from his grasp. Maybe he was still joking?

“I’m, um, staying here. I can’t come with you to the Revolutionary Army. I’m a Marine.” You had hoped to speak firmly but both your voice and hands were shaking. Your voice felt foreign to you, like someone else was controlling it. Sabo smiled at you condescendingly, like you were a small child.

“Mag, do you know what the other scientist on the base does?” You weren’t sure where he was going with this. It was becoming difficult to concentrate on his words.

“Mark? H-he’s a marine biologist. He’s working on s-synthesizing some kind of s-secretion from crabsss.” Mark’s research wasn’t classified, but you didn’t know how Sabo knew about him. You also didn’t know why you were slurring like you were drunk.

“That’s correct. Mark specifically works on synthesizing a toxin from Grand Line Blue Crabs that can be used as a benzodiazepine. He’s had a lot of success. He’s created a scent and odor free drug that can be added to liquids. Its use is primarily as a surgical anesthetic, but can also be used to drug unsuspecting victims, causing them to pass out quickly. It is highly effective, even in small doses.” You were glad you were already sitting down, your legs felt numb, like they were detached from your body.

“It has a slight salty taste, but if diluted in say, coffee with cream and sugar, it is rendered nearly tasteless.” You nodded, but which Sabo should you talk to? There were two now. And they both seemed to be leaving the cell.

“Go to sleep. I'll keep you safe.” You nodded again. That sounded like a great plan. You were carefully lifted from the ground and held tightly. “You’ll never have to worry again. I’m going to take care of you from now on.” You fell asleep to the sound of a crackling fire and the sensation of being carried by strong arms. 

[nobody-zero3000]

Yandere Batfamily x Amidala! Reader

Inspired by the Yandere Damian Wayne x Alien Leader reader by your-regular-toast-enjoyer. But also because I like Padme Amidala and Star Wars. I want to use the Gotham Knights video game version of the Batboys, Batgirl, and Batman. Since Damian Wayne is not in there, I was thinking about Damian Wayne from the Injustice 2 video game but older. I'm going to change and add a few things from the Star Wars Universe and add a few new things to Amidala's character.

Warning: yandere, age-gap.

Earth heroes have encountered a different galactic system not far from Earth's solar system. The Justice League has made contact with a planet that's part of the galactic government system, also known as the Intergalactic United Republic, and has agreed to send someone to the planet to at least show that Earth and the Justice League offer peace.

In the watch tower, the heroes are having a meeting about who should go on this diplomatic mission. Some voted for Green Lantern, Martin Manhunter, or Superman, but the results show that the best candidate for this mission would be Batman.

Martian Manhunter was a bit disappointed because he had heard about her reputation through some holo-nets and was eager to meet her. As well as introduce her to his niece, Miss Martian since she is a fan of her work.

"Then it is settled: Batman shall be the one to go on this diplomatic mission and talk with the queen." Wonder Woman had declared.

The meeting is adjourned. Batman boomtubes back to Earth to discuss details with the rest of the Batfamily.

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In the Batcave, Bruce calls in Robin, Red Robin, Nightwing, Batgirl, and Red Hood.

"As you all know, I summoned you here for an important reason. I have been chosen to lead a diplomatic mission for a planet called Naboo. But I'm not planning on going alone." Bruce pulls up pictures of the planet.

"This mission has to be taken seriously and delicately. Any hostile behavior will endanger Earth along with millions of civilians. Do not show any violent or hostile behavior, and do not engage or cause any conflict that may lead to dangerous consequences. Do I make myself clear?" Giving them a stern, firm glare to each of them, especially Damian and Jason.

Jason shrugged. "Got it. No violence unless they start it first, then we consider violence."

Bruce narrows his eyes at him.

Jason puts his hands up in mocking surrender. "What? I'm kidding. No violence, don't cause trouble got it."

Tim looks at the Bat computer screen, looking through the information. He looks over to Bruce and asks, "Question. Do you have any information on the ruler of this planet? Any photos of what they look like."

Bruce pulls up photos, "These photos were taken at the Watchtower when we made contact with the planet. We are still looking into other information from J'onn and Hal's research."

It shows a female, (Y/H/C), (Y/E/C), and the areas where white makeup is not covering are your hands, which are (Y/S/C). She was sitting on a throne, dressed in royal clothes and wearing white makeup with red dots on both cheeks. She stood straight and had a blank look. But her eyes showed kindness, patience, and seriousness.

The boys and girl are taken aback by how young the female is. They were expecting someone much older. Not just that, but how beautiful you were. It was like looking at an angel. If someone were to ask about the definition of an angel, they would show them a photo of you. But for some reason, if they had a photo of you, they would not want to share it with someone else; they want to keep you to themselves.

For Bruce, it took a lot of strength and restraint to not laugh at their expression and keep a straight face. He couldn't blame them. When he first saw you, he was shocked not only to find out that someone as young as you would be ruling a planet but also by your beauty. He has seen a lot of beautiful women (Selena, Talia, Diana, Lois, etc.), but you pretty much outmatched them all as well as caught his attention and kept a hold on it.

Snapping out of it, he puts away the photo, much to the family's displeasure.

"So that's who we're all going to meet. If I had known that, I would've been more 'ready to go' for this mission." Dick grins and crosses his arms.

"She's really beautiful, and she must be very smart to rule the planet by herself," Tim said, blushing and smiling.

"Is there any more information on her?" Barbara is very curious about this young woman.

Damian finally asks, "When do we leave for this mission? Most of all, who will be watching the city while we are gone?" At this moment, he doesn't care if they leave the city unguarded, as long as they leave soon. He is curious about this alien leader.

"While we're gone, I managed to get some League members to watch the city, as well as other independent heroes to keep an eye on the crime rate. Now that is settled, all of you pack your bags. We'll be leaving in 2 hours.

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The Batfamily boomtubes to the Watch Tower, and from there, they enter the Javelin spacecraft (which upgraded to travel at a speed of light thanks to Hal, other Green Lanterns, and Cyborg). Once they are settled in the ship, Batman sets the coordinates for the planet Naboo, and on they go.

"Coordinates for Naboo are locked. Prepare yourselves for light speed." Everyone is strapped in. Soon the ship takes off.

After the ship comes to a stop, everyone, besides Batman who is used to space travel by now, groans from the lightspeed, some felt either really tired or sick.

Red Hood groans and hunches over. "I'm starting to regret eating that Bacon Ultra-belly combo."

"You should wait afterward, Todd. We were going to travel through space at a fast rate. What did you expect, imbecile?"

"Shut it, demon-spawn."

"Alright, that's enough, you two. We're here that's all that matters." Nightwing lightly scolded them.

Batgirl decides to get into the conversation. "Besides, what did Batman say about bad behavior."

Red Robin includes, "What part of no hostile or violent behavior are you two not getting here?"

They all start to bicker until Bruce switches to autopilot. Turns the seat around to face them. "Enough" in a firm and stern voice. Narrowing his eyes gives them his famous Batman glare.

The bickering stops, and they turn their attention to him.

"Let me make myself clear, be on your best behavior and do not start trouble. Once we land, stay close by my side. Do you understand?"

Red Robin, Nightwing, and Batgirl nod their heads. After a few moments, Red Hood and Robin show they understand by nodding their heads, too.

Batman turns back to the front window and starts to move the ship toward the planet.

Realization starts to overcome the bat family members, and they all look to the front to see the planet.

Tim and Barbara had excited expressions since they were about to visit a different planet and would meet the ruler soon. While Dick, Jason, and Damian were shocked to see the planet and about the possibility that they were about to go to a different planet.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Meanwhile in the throne room of Naboo---------------------

A guard's com beeps, he answers, and a few words are exchanged. He nods and turns to the queen.

"Your Highness, the Earth's ambassador, has arrived and is now entering our planet."

"Very well, prepare refreshments and send starfighters to guide the ship to one of the land platforms."

"Yes, Your Highness." The guard leaves.

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As the Javelin enters Naboo, they are encountered by starfighters.

Batman presses a button that allows him to speak to the Starfighters. "This is Batman, Ambassador of Earth."

"Batman, this is Captain Olie; we are ordered by Queen Amidala to escort you to Theed Royal Palace. You can just follow us."

The starfighters fly ahead but not far from the Javelin. Batman starts to follow them.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As they fly to the palace, all of them look out their windows to look at the new environment. Tim and Barbara show excited and awe expressions. Jason and Dick are in awe too. And Damian, even though he tried not to show it, thought the planet was beautiful too and a bit excited to experience a new environment, a new planet!

Bruce had to admit it was beautiful, and it looked peaceful.

Once landing in a near landing platform, they exit the ship wearing their superhero suits. As they exit the Javelin, a handmaiden and two guards walk toward them.

"Sir Batman, Ambassador of Earth, I am here to escort you to the throne room to meet with Queen Amidala." She gestures for them to follow her.

The other bat members give each other glances. Batman just starts to walk with her as the others follow him.

They reach the throne room, and the guards open the doors for the guests. (Pretend there are more chairs.)

On the throne sat the queen of Naboo. On both sides beside her are two handmaidens in their own seats. On her left is Captain Typho.

The batboys and batgirl look at the queen in complete awe. Batman just gives a neutral expression, but on the inside, he feels different.

'She is even more beautiful in person.'

"Batman, Welcome to Naboo. I hope you managed to travel here safely with no complications."

"Queen Amidala. Thank you for inviting us to your planet and agree to meet with us."

"The Council of Naboo, Chancellor Valorum, and I have discussed and created a peace treat, but I would like to discuss it more with you."

A servant brings in a tray of refreshments. (Y/N) notices the other masked heroes.

"I see that you have brought company with you. Would all care to introduce yourselves, please?"

The others glance at each other, finally, Robin decides to introduce himself.

"Robin, I aide Batman on his missions and patrols around Gotham City. It's a great pleasure to meet you, Queen Amidala."

She nods in his direction before looking at the person next to him.

"Nightwing, protector of Bludhaven, former leader of the Teen Titans. It's very nice to meet you." He offers her a kind smile.

She nods her head and gives a small smile back, but gives a curious look. "What is a Teen Titan?"

Then shifts her gaze to the female hero.

"Batgirl, formerly known as Oracle. Thank you for inviting us here. You have a beautiful home planet!"

She gave Batgirl a grateful smile, "Thank you." Then she looked at the other male hero; he looked a bit younger than her, maybe around her age.

He shyly waves to her, "Hi, Red Robin. I also help Batman, as well as the other bat family members. Y-you have a really lovely home, you're beautiful, I-I-I mean your home is beautiful. Not saying that you're not beautiful because you are." He continues to stutter.

Robin rolls his eyes. "Smooth, Drake. Very subtle."

Queen Amidala just looks a little amused and tries not to laugh. She offers a smile and raises her hand to him, which gets to him stop. "It's alright, Red Robin. I understand, and thank you. You flattered me."

Red Robin opens his mouth but closes it and blushes.

She then looks to the last hero. He's physically well-built and has his arms crossed. She notices the blasters strapped to both sides of his legs.

"Name's Red Hood, vigilante of Gotham. And I got to say, you are way more hot in person compared to the photo that was sent to us." He complimented with a hidden smirk and gave a noticeable wink in your direction.

The handmaidens give a soft offend gasp and Captain Typho stiffens and clenches his fists.

Queen Amidala, however, is thankful the makeup covers her blush. She gave a confused look, but there was a fluttering feeling in her chest. She snaps back to reality and fixes her face into a neutral expression.

"Thank you, Red Hood. As much as I am flattered by your...compliment, we should probably go into the discussion about the treaty."

Batman, after sending a scolding glare to Red Hood (who does not show any regret about what happened but instead smugly looks to the other bat heroes who are glaring at him), looks to the queen.

"I agree; I do have a few questions and concerns."

"Of course, let us begin."

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After discussing and reviewing the treaty, it was dusk. The Queen had adjourned the meeting and would talk with the Council of Naboo and Senator of Naboo tomorrow about the treat.

"I'll have some servants show you to your rooms that you will be staying in for a while. Once you have settled in, I'll have a couple of my handmaidens come to escort you to the dining room for dinner."

"Thank you, Queen Amidala." Batman gives a small bow.

Six servants show up in the throne room. Each of them escorts the heroes to the royal guest rooms. Bruce, Tim, and Barbara are neighbors; across from them are Dick, Damian, and Jason. All get comfortable with their room.

Near evening, two handmaidens come to each of their rooms to take them to the dining room, where the Queen is sitting at the end of the table waiting for them.

On the table are plates of food that seem questionable to the Batboys and Batgirls since this is their first time trying alien food. Bruce doesn't show it but even he seems to question the food but is curious to at least try some.

"Welcome, come every one, sit down. Enjoy the food."

Thinking for a moment, (Y/N) wonders if she should help them with which food is the best. After all, it is probably their first time trying food that was outside their planet.

"I would recommend the Shaak pot roast or the tip-yip but if any of you do not eat meat then I would try the Xizor salad or Aquaris Broth. Please let us know if you have any questions on the other food items."

The Batfamily sends appreciative looks toward her and starts to dish out. The servants that were about to dish out plates for them stop as they see this. They look to the queen, their expression partially asking, "What do we do?"

The queen just smiles and waves a hand to them. "It's alright. Let them dish out by themselves. It's getting late; why don't you all grab a plate and then retire for tonight or head back home to your families."

The servants smile at the queen and bow to her while both say. "Thank you, your highness."

The servants sit down and start to dish out as well.

There are different emotions running through the bat family. For all of them, there's admiration. For a few, there's surprise, confusion, and approval.

One who was most confused was Damian. It wasn't normal for the young adult to see a royal figure treating their servants like they were their equals.

His taught by his grandfather and mother that as royal figures, they are superior and therefore do not see non-royal figures, servants to be exact, as their equals.

But the more he thought of it, the more he started to admire the young ruler. This action showed that she was kind, generous, and fair. It made her even more beautiful.

They just eat their food for a while until one of the heroes decides to ask a couple of questions.

"So, what is it like being a queen? And how did you get the throne early? It just...you seem rather young...not that is a bad thing, but wouldn't your parents still be the ones running the throne?" Red Robin had asked.

Red Hood was about to scold him for asking those questions in the middle of dinner but stopped because he was curious, too. He wanted to know more about his sweetheart, about her.

The other masked vigilantes were curious as well.

(Y/N) stop mid-bite and set her spoon down in the bowl.

"Being queen can have hardships, but it can also be rewarding. I serve my people, and I do what is best for them. I've got to meet many different people and make connections and friendships with a few of them. As for how I got the throne, I wasn't born of royalty blood but rather I was elected by the people of Naboo. As for my parents, my father is an excellent builder, educator, and relief worker, while my mother voluntarily works in a variety of social services roles helping the underprivileged. I would sometimes go with my father to his relief missions to aid other people on different planets. It's what encouraged me to pursue this role."

Tim listens closely and pays full attention to her. He's actually surprised but amazed about her being elected for this role.

"Wow!...you must be very intelligent to have gotten such a role. It's amazing, and from the sound of it, you like to serve. Where did you go to school? Is there a specific school you have to go to? Different programs? It's amazing some your age could do this! I mean of course, I'm around you as well,...possibly. I mean I not old..not that I'm saying your old! Because you're not. You are young. Look young. B-beautiful, k-kind, and generous, and fair, amazing.

"Calm down there, Red Robin. I think she gets the point." Nightwing said.

"Stop. You're embarrassing yourself and us, for that matter." Robin said to him in a blank and annoyed tone.

(Y/N) just looks on in amusement and covers her mouth a little with her right hand but cannot control the small giggle that escapes past her lips. Even her servants find this amusing but manage to keep themselves from laughing at this event happening before them.

The Batmembers stop talking and freeze as they listen to her laugh. They thought it was a very nice laugh and couldn't help but smile. (Bruce and Damian gave small smiles, of course. But it is still a smile.)

Once (Y/N) got control of herself, she stopped giggling but still had a content smile on her face. She actually felt grateful for the young hero, it's been a while since she had even laughed.

"Thank you, Red Robin. You still continue to flatter me, and it's been a while since I laughed. You are one of a kind."

Red Robin couldn't stop the large grin growing on his face. He ducked his head and looked away, trying to hide his blushed face.

Unnoticed by the young queen, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin try but fail to hide their envious expressions. While both Batgirl and Batman look a bit amused but also a bit jealous.

"Who does he think he is, making my beloved her laugh like that?"

"I could have found a way to make her laugh. I have great charm, too."

"I compliment her and get a negative reaction. But when he does it, they find it amusing and harmless. Back off, Tim."

"She has an adorable laugh. But, ugh!...serious, how does Tim do it?"

Bruce felt amused, but he felt something else that made him frown at the same time. He can't help but stiffen a bit. Now, he feels disgusted with himself and scolds himself.

"I should not feel this way. It's wrong. Disgusting. She is around Jason's age.

Bruce lightly shakes his head a bit.

" It's nothing. It will go away. Right?"