#my day was boring and painful and i saw a drawing of me with massive round dark eyes like a kitten

[irl-morros-account]

This chart. This brilliant chart that I love and am amazed at its sheer existence. Where do you think you fall on it?

(I personally fall under Chaotic Good! I tried it the other day and it was so fun to just LAUNCH INTO CORAL)

Bonus!! Where do you think Lloyd and the other Ninja fall on this chart?

(Also hello! How was your day? Did Kai bug you much? I ask, knowing full well he probably did)

Oh that is beautiful. The artistry. Personally, I like to think of myself as a Lawful Neutral, because its fun and stupid and slightly rebellious, enough to excite me but not enough to get in trouble. As if i even care.

You seem like a fun person. How far do you think you could throw a shopping cart??

OOOH HAHHA REAL FUN. OK. IM COMPILING A LIST

Lloyd- Chaotic Evil or Neutral Good. You never know.

Cole- Lawful Evil 100%

Jay- Neutral Evil

Kai- Depending on his mood, a Chaotic Good or a Chaotic Neutral

Zane- Lawful Good

Nya- A Lawful Evil or a Chaotic Neutral

[daddyissuesyo]

Monsta X Yandere Headcanons

tw: implied sexual content, non-sexual consent violation, murder, suicide, emotional and physical abuse, harm/endangerment, severed ties with family, vulgarity

seriously guys this is intense

Shownu: The Protector

- you pique his attention and he asks you out, seemingly normal

- becomes obsessed after the first date and captures you on the second

- avoids physical harm unless absolutely "necessary" to keep you in line. manipulates you until feeling as though you failed him.

- reckless, unconditional love

- you can't help but reciprocate a little; he's just so caring & attentive

- vanilla sex, because he loves you

- funds EVERYTHING you could possibly want: fluffy comforters and a massive mattress, personal maids, deluxe coffee maker, stuffed animals that he doesn't let you name, etc.

- you thought your dynamic was normal until you caught him dragging the limp body of the postman that accidentally saw you changing into a shed

- from that day forth you feared him, yet didn't stop loving him

- "you are my entire world. my everything. we need each other. forever and then some."

- will not kill you unless he convinces himself others will and death by his hands is the better option

Minhyuk: The Deluded

- i n f a n t i l i z e r

- pities you, oh so much

- thinks you are a helpless baby in dire need of rescuing

- treats you like a porcelain doll & refuses to let you make even the smallest decision for yourself

- convinced you are just as infatuated and dependent on him as he is you

- on good days, he will draw bubble baths, play card games with you, and play G rated movies, pausing every minute to explain what happened

- on bad days, he will yell at you, bind your limbs, and carve his name into your flesh

- simply doesn't understand your disobedience and grief and takes it out on you, hoping to "knock sense into you"

- unlike many yandere archetypes, he enjoys parading you about like an accessory. has friends come over to admire you

- "i know it's too much for you to understand, but you need my care. where is this behavior coming from? don't you love me?"

- you'll kill yourself before he can, driven to the point of insanity

Kihyun: The Jealous

- no pets. no friends. no contact with the outside world aside from media he approves.

- shelters you like mother gothel

- insists you cut off all male contacts, even family (if you are lgbtq, it's best not to reveal this to him because then you won't even be able to speak to female family members)

- doesn't hesitate to murder any man you won't cut off. forces you to watch.

- comforts you afterward in a sick way

- you have to PLEAD to go anywhere

- if he allows it, you must wear a face covering and stay by his side

- tends to be rough in bed; he lets loose all his pent-up frustrations on you

- isn't COMPLETELY out of touch with his humanity; treats you well on birthdays and holidays and even permits a supervised phone call with your mother

- "you overwhelm me. you fill me with so much joy and so much rage. you'll never know the effect you have on me, sweetheart."

- inevitable murder-suicide in the end. i give it no more than 5 years.

Hyungwon: The Sadist

- it's all a game of cat and mouse to him; he kidnapped you while you slept after stalking for quite some time

- keeps you in chains in his basement

- decorates his home with your missing posters like a real sicko

- will torture the living shit out of you with no remorse. inflicting fractures, head trauma, slicing you open, digit dismemberment, drowning, strappado

- gets off on your fear more than your pain

- unlike the others, he recognizes when you're suffering; he just doesn't care

- destroys your self-worth and self-esteem by berating and insulting you. it's your fault you can't tell he means "I love you"

- sex entails bondage, degradation, and cruel laughter. incorporates pet names like: "bunny," "little lamb," "kitty," etc.

- may get bored of you and seek out a new victim, leaving you inexplicably desperate for his attention (which is all part of his game)

- always comes back to you after he's maimed and fucked who knows how many people. and you let him every time, holding out hope that he'll stay

- "you're never going to escape me. i hope you know that."

- would rather almost kill you and keep reviving you. you're in it for the long haul.

Jooheon: The Two-faced

- like shownu, things begin typically

- gradually shows his hand over time, but you're blinded by your feelings for him (he's a very good faux boyfriend)

- waits until your most vulnerable moment to attack

- strict and often overbearing; will beat you black and blue to the point of unconsciousness

- will actually apologize, but he doesn't stop

- tries to keep things around that you enjoy and allow domestic hobbies (congratulates your accomplishments but doesn't want to fuel your ego too much because then you'll leave him)

- struggles with internal conflict over how to treat you. wishes he could be more lenient but can't bring himself to

- allows you to have family and friends over while he's present

- very good at acting normal, it's scary. will flash you a psycho smile after they leave.

- "i'm sorry things have to be this way. if only you could see... i really do love you."

- kills himself in the end due to guilt

Changkyun: The Unhinged

- yes, yandere are psychotic, but changkyun is another level

- if you try to escape or resist him, he just stares at you with round eyes, slowly growing a grin that turns into a crazy laughing fit

- protects you from outside forces, unaware that he's the greatest danger in your life

- only upside is he takes you out on the town

- slaps across the face. sometimes at random, just to let you know he's in control

- you live on eggshells, unsure if he's in a loving or violent mood

- a strange dichotomy of worshipping you and craving your attention, yet feeling like you should be the one begging for him

- fucks hard and often, but can't look at you after

- owns an industrial freezer and locks you in there until you collapse from hypothermia III

- "w-were you trying to escape? FUCK no. what don't you understand, hon? you're my fucking property."

- will stab you repeatedly in the end, smiling with tears streaming down his face

Would anyone be interested in me developing these characters/storylines further?

[the-iceni-bitch]

Killing Floor

Pairing: dark!Mr. Freezy x dark!fem!Reader

Words: 4389

Summary: You run into Robert Pronge one night and end up tangled in a scheme together.

Warnings: DARK so, so dark, please do not read if these type of fics upset you! non-con (erring on the safe side), dub-con (for sure), very graphic violence (m to f and f to m), death, gore, explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, hate-fucking, cavalier use of a handgun), SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: My first dark fic! It got away from me for sure but I enjoyed it. Please, please be mindful of the content you are consuming though, this could very easily be upsetting! Because of this, I’m only gonna tag my fellow Freezy hoes here, as I haven’t updated my taglist doc to include dark!Fics.

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!

You eyed the Mr. Freezy truck warily as you carried your garbage to the dumpster behind your apartment building. This was the third time this week you had seen it outside your place, and it was setting you on edge. There were hardly any kids in your neighborhood, so you didn’t know why it was hanging out here.

You cursed under your breath as the truck moved to the mouth of the alley, blocking your exit. You pressed your back to the wall behind the dumpster, right as a man exited into the alleyway from the bar underneath your place to smoke a cigarette.

A massive man in a white uniform stepped out of the back of the ice cream truck and walked towards the smoker, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves as he made his approach. He asked him for a cigarette before pulling a silenced pistol out of his jacket and shooting his target three times in the chest.

You schooled your breathing as you watched him drag the body to the back of his truck, trying to remain as still as possible. He stormed back into the alley to search for the shell casings, turning his back to you as he collected them.

Your legs were starting to cramp from your crouched position, and as hard as you were trying to stay still, it was getting difficult. You tried shifting your foot, but your ankle rolled in your heels and you let out a hiss. The killer straightened up suddenly at the sound, cocking his head as he turned toward you with a sneer on his face.

“Is that a little kitty I hear?” He jeered as he walked toward you, his voice thick with a Boston accent.

You stood up from your hiding place, preparing to make a run for it. He saw you tense up and lunged at you, wrapping a massive hand around your throat and pinning you against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs and cracking your skull against the bricks.

“Nice try, sweetheart, but I can’t let you go just yet.” He pressed his body against yours to pin you, his other hand brushing his stringy hair from in front of his glasses. “You have got horrible timing. To think I almost got out of here without getting a look at you, kitten.”

You just glared him as he moved his hand down from your throat to dip inside your blouse, grinning as he pawed at you as he buried his face in your shoulder, grinding his crotch into you.

“Think I’m gonna have a little fun with you before I let you go. You’re being so good and quiet.” He panted against your neck. Suddenly he stilled and drew his face up to look you in the eyes. “Why haven’t you called for help?”

He had relaxed just enough to allow you to move and you drove your knee between his legs at the same time you shoved your hand into his jacket and drew out his pistol, whipping it across his face and sending him sprawling.

“You cunt!” He spat, bloody spittle flying from the corners of his mouth as he moved to charge you again, stopping short when you pressed his gun to his temple. “Oh, you stupid little bitch.”

“I’m the stupid bitch?” You growled at him. “You wanna tell me what the fuck a Gambino hitman is doing so far outside of their territory?”

“Shit.” He hissed between his teeth as he eyed you warily. “You’re with the Genoveses?”

“That’s right.” You said, drawing back the hammer on the pistol. “Now answer my question.”

“Alright, alright!” He raised his hands in supplication, showing you his palms. “Fella in my truck has a father who owes Marks a good chunk of change, and y’know, he needed a little incentive to pay off his debt.”

“Marks gave you the ok to take out this hit? The mans getting bold.” You snorted, releasing the hammer as you pulled the gun back. “Lucky for you, I feel like leaving this to the bosses to figure out. Get the fuck out of here.” He stood up warily and reached for his gun, which you pulled back with a tut. “No, I’m gonna hold onto this for now. Maybe I’ll give it back later.”

Mr. Freezy growled as he brushed off his uniform and stalked back to his truck, grumbling under his breath the whole time. You just winked at him as he drove away, heading back up to your apartment to call this in.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

  You saw him again 2 weeks later at a sit-down. Marks came to make amends to your boss for overstepping, hoping to find someway show his remorse for sending his man into the Family’s territory without permission. You were perched on a stool in the back of the room when the two men entered, and a small smirk teased your lips.

Lombardo liked bringing you to meetings as a distraction. Most of his comrades assumed you were there for eye candy, just the latest piece of tail the boss was wetting his dick in, too stupid to care about. But the real reason he kept you around was for protection. He loved the look of surprise that came over his enemies’ faces when you pulled out your garrot.

“Great to see you Leo!” Lombardo said warmly, moving to give the man a kiss on each cheek before sinking into his chair, gesturing for Marks to join him. “Y/N, grab us some wine sweetheart. Does your man want any?”

“No, I don’t like my men drinking while they work.”

You moved to open the wine when a massive palm wrapped around your upper arm.

“This is the bitch I told you about, boss.” The killer seethed as he wrenched you around viciously.

“The fuck are you doing, Pronge?” Marks hissed, giving you a chance to grab the corkscrew and press it to Robert’s throat. “Benny, I apologize for my man’s behavior, he’s been foaming at the mouth about some broad getting the best of him and it’s made him a little erratic.”

Lombardo just laughed as Pronge released you with a duck of his head. You kept the corkscrew where it was, watching a thin trickle of blood run down his neck.

“Let him go, Y/N.” He said with a wave of his hand, and you moved to open the wine, pouring two glasses and bringing them over to the seated men. “My girl has a tendency to elicit that type of reaction. It’s one of the reasons I keep her around!” He gave you a pat on the ass as you headed back to your stool, your eyes trained on Robert Pronge.

He was glowering at you maliciously as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his forearms flexing as he clenched his fists. You heard him growl from deep in his chest when you gave him a conspiratorial wink.

“You see my problem Leo, we can’t have Gambinos moving through our territory with impunity, as much as we can sympathize with the need to collect a debt. Fortunately for you, the boss is still soft on you fellas, so we’ve come up with a solution I think will work for everyone.”

“Ah, Benny, I can’t tell you how happy that makes me! Of course, whatever you need.”

“Excellent! We’ve got a little problem with one of Big Mike’s nephews. The kids an idiot and has been making some waves that are making it increasingly difficult to manage our operations, I’m sure you know the type.”

“There’s one in every family.” Marks said with a shake of his head.

“That there is. Anyways, Funzi wants us to deal with the kid under the radar. I’d normally send in Y/N on her own to take care of it, but as great as she is, the kid is surrounded by morons all the time. We also have a disposal problem. Funzi wants to make it seem like the kid ran off with some bitch, hopefully avoid a war, and we’ve heard that your man Pronge here is a disposal expert.”

“Oh, fuck no!” Pronge exclaimed. “I’m not working with this cunt!”

“You’ll do what I order you to do, or I’ll fucking end you, now shut the fuck up!” Marks roared at Robert, making him wince as he leaned back against the wall. “He’ll do it.”

“Glad to hear it.” Benny murmured, his nostrils flaring in anger as he gave you the signal to relax. “Let’s drink to our friendship while we let these two hash out the details.”

You stood up from your stool with a deep sigh as you moved towards your new partner. The man looked like he wanted to murder you, and you just gave him a wicked grin. He seemed to relax as you went over the plan with him, not really offering any notes, just grunting in acknowledgement as his eyes roamed over your body. You managed to come to a grudging agreement and made plans to meet in two days to carry everything out.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

  You had been waiting outside the club for 10 minutes when Pronge finally parked his sedan across the street. He leered as he walked towards you, eyes drinking you in. You looked extremely different than the last time he saw you, relaxed in a flowing dress that stopped mid-thigh and plunged almost all the way down to your navel.

“You always dress like a whore on the job?” He grumbled as the two of you headed to the entrance.

“Sure. You always dress like a clown?” You asked, wincing at the painful pattern on his shirt.

“Fucking bitch.” He muttered under his breath, not quite low enough that you couldn’t hear him.

“That’s right.” You said, your eyes roaming around the club as you looked for your man. “There he is.”

There was a group of young men in a booth at the back. The leader bent to snort a line of coke off the table before screaming for more drinks.

“What a fucking moron.” Pronge said from directly behind you. You could feel the suffocating heat of his body against your back as you stretched your neck. You sensed his eyes boring into you, searing over your bare flesh.

“Wait for my signal.” You muttered as you moved towards the dance floor, winding your way through the crowd smoothly until you positioned yourself in front of the mark’s table.

Pronge moved around the edge of the dancefloor as he kept an eye on you, you even danced like a slut. Your eyes were fixed on the mark as you gyrated to the music. It didn’t take long for the idiot to notice you. Your hands wandered all over your body as you swayed drunkenly, tracing the curves of your breasts and running over your neck languidly before dropping to your hips and teasing the hem of your skirt higher on your thighs.

He felt his dick starting to get hard as he watched you move, fighting the urge to pull you into an alley and fuck you until you couldn’t talk. His bitch wife had been refusing to put out for months, but ever since he first saw you in that alley, you’re all he could think about. He just wanted to shove his cock in that smart mouth of yours and shut you up for good. He had dreams about wrapping his hands around your throat as he ruined your pussy, marking your tits with his teeth as he split you open.

Fuck, he was so hard it hurt. He did his best to school his thoughts as he watched the mark move to join you. He felt himself tense as he watched the moron slot himself behind you and grind against your ass. His hands roamed over your torso until he was cupping your breasts, squeezing them softly as you dropped your head back against his shoulder with a moan, arching into his grasp.

Robert lost his patience and stormed towards the bathroom, slamming the door open as he strode inside. His did his best to control his breathing as he checked the stalls for occupants. He heard your laugh coming from the corridor and he scrambled to conceal himself, perching on top of a toilet and closing the stall door as you entered the bathroom.

You were giggling breathlessly as the idiot mouthed at your neck. He ripped the sleeves of your dress down your arms until your tits were exposed, and you sighed as your nipples pebbled in the air. Your mark bent to run his mouth over your chest sloppily as he fumbled with his belt.

Pronge lowered himself to the floor gingerly, splaying his palm on the stall door and pushing it open slowly. Your eyes shot open and did your best to swallow a hiss. Something must have tipped off the mark, because he straightened suddenly and turned around.

You growled at Robert and wrapped your arms around the mark’s neck before he had a chance to raise the alarm, squeezing hard enough that his oxygen was cut off. Your eyes bored into his as you choked the man, bringing him to his knees as you crouched behind him, your body curled tightly around his. Pronge’s cock was pressing painfully against the front of his pants as he watched you work. Your dress gathered around your waist and your makeup smeared all over your face as the muscles in your arms strained with the effort of strangling the man.

He finally stopped fighting you, and you moved to grip his head at crown and chin before wrenching your arms in two different directions, snapping his neck. You dropped the body to the floor and stood slowly to glare at Pronge, your nostrils flaring.

“You’re supposed to be in the alley.” You seethed as you pulled your dress back over your shoulders, moving to check the hall for any alarm.

“You moved faster than I was expecting.” He hissed, climbing one of the toilets to open the small window to the alley. He gripped a pipe running over the ceiling and lifted himself up enough to shove his legs through. He moved his hands to brace against the sill as he slid through the narrow opening, his broad shoulders just barely able to fit through the frame. He dropped into the alley and looked around, ensuring there were no witnesses.

It was only a few seconds before you were shoving the body through the window for Pronge to catch. He couldn’t deny he was impressed. You were stronger than you looked to be able to lift all that dead weight through a window 8 feet off the ground. He caught it easily and hauled it to the Mr. Freezy truck, shoving it in the back before moving back to the window.

He came back to find you with your legs dangling from the window as you slid through. You dropped softly on the balls of your feet, being careful not to roll your ankles as you landed in your stilettos.

Robert was leering as you strutted past him, your hips swaying suggestively as you made your way to the truck, wrenching open the doors and stepping inside. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, pulling out slowly as you worked to wrap the body in plastic sheeting.

The two of you reached the warehouse in a little under an hour. Robert backed the truck into the loading bay and threw it in park before moving around to open the dock doors. He opened the back doors of the truck and tossed the body over his shoulder as you stepped out.

“Just head straight through.” He instructed you. You gave him a nod over your shoulder as you headed in. He grinned wickedly to himself as he watched your ass swinging back and forth in those heels, moving to follow you.

You found the old slaughterhouse easily and lowered a hook over the drain in the floor as he came to stand behind you, close enough that he had you on edge.

Once the hook was low enough, you moved forward in tandem. You ripped the plastic sheeting off the body as Pronge moved to wrap the hook and chain around the ankles. Once everything was secure, you stepped back to raise the chain.

Robert was still watching like a hawk. You did your best to ignore his eyes on you as you stood with one hip cocked, one heel tapping impatiently on the slanted floor.

Once it was at the required height, you stepped forward to drain the body without an ounce of hesitation, pulling a hunting knife out of your bag.

He growled from deep in his chest as he watched you work, leaned against the railing surrounding the killing floor, his cock starting to harden again as you stepped back, wiping your blade on a handkerchief.

“Almost forgot, Pronge.” You said, digging your hand in your purse and pulling out a pistol. You grinned at the panic on his face before flipping the gun in your hand so the grip was pointed at him. “This is yours.”

He took it from you warily and shoved it into the waist of his slacks, eyes still boring into you as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

“We’ve got some time to kill sweetheart.” He murmured as you moved to walk past him, heading back towards the loading bay.

Just like that he was on you, one giant hand wrapping around your throat as he slammed you against the wall, your head cracking against the concrete and your teeth snapping together painfully. You brought your knife up whip fast and pressed it to his throat at the same time he drew the gun from his waistband and pressed it to your abdomen.

“You’re just turning me on even more, kitten.” He leered at you, slipping the gun down the curve of your hip and drawing the hem of your skirt up your thigh with the barrel. He brushed the edge of his hand against your panties, groaning at how soaked you were.

He brought his other hand down and shredded the thin fabric easily, tucking the ruins in his back pocket before digging his fingers into your hip, gripping you hard enough to draw bruises. He sneered at you as he slipped the gun between your legs, running the barrel between your folds and teasing it against your clit, making you arch into him with a hiss.

“God, what a fucking slut you are.” He chuckled as he slipped the cool metal over your sex, your arousal soaking the steel as you writhed against it. “Acting so stuck up, and here this cunt is begging for me. Maybe I should fuck you with my gun, would you like that?”

He pressed the tip of the barrel against your entrance and you spat in his face, pressing the knife further into his neck and giving a mock sound of sympathy as a drop of blood welled at the tip.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, fucker.” You ordered him, grinding yourself into the steel as another round of arousal seeped from your pussy as it clenched around nothing.

“Oho, you bitch. I’m gonna fucking ruin you.” He growled menacingly at you as you slipped your hand under the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one at a time at an agonizing pace as you kept your blade trained on his jugular.

“Promises, promises.” You tutted, the coil in your abdomen growing tighter and tighter as you dug your nails into Robert’s chest, drawing a moan from deep in his throat.

He pressed the gun against your clit violently and grinned as you fell apart. Your legs trembled as you release gushed over the now-warm steel. You bit your lip as you gave a low moan, your cunt fluttering as came down from your high.

“That’s right, whore.” He withdrew the gun from between your legs and brought it up to his face, running his tongue over the barrel and moaning at the taste of you. He tossed the weapon aside carelessly before bringing his hands up to wrench the sleeves of your dress over your shoulders, until it was pooled around your ankles.

“Just fucking look at that.” He murmured as his eyes raked over you. “No wonder the Genoveses keep you a secret.”

He brought one hand to dig painfully into your breast as his other slipped between your thighs. You removed the knife from his neck before slashing it across his chest in a quick motion, making him hiss as you ducked your head to drag your tongue over the wound, moaning as the metallic taste of his blood hit your tongue.

His backhand sent your sprawling, your teeth cutting the inside of your cheek as the knife flew out of your hand. You laughed darkly as you straightened back up, spitting the blood out of your mouth as you watched him strip off his clothes.

“I’m gonna split you open and break you apart, cunt.” He spat as he stalked towards you. His body had an air of menace about it, thick corded muscles stretched over his frame that was covered in scars. “And you’re gonna fucking thank me.”

You groaned as he pounced on you, his mouth moving to trace your breasts hungrily as his fingers dug into the small of your back. You sucked in a harsh breath and wrapped your fingers in his hair painfully as you felt him sink his teeth into you and he moaned into your soft flesh. He moved his teeth over your tits in a vicious trail, marking you with them.

“Fuck.” You hissed as a particularly deep bite had him drawing blood.

He wrenched himself up to glare at you and wrapped his hand around your throat tight enough that it was cutting off your oxygen.

“I don’t wanna hear another word out of that mouth of yours.” He growled, pressing you against the wall again. “I’d shut you up with my cock, but I wanna wreck that hole between your legs first.”

He slapped his swollen tip against your pussy once before spearing into you. He grinned wolfishly as he felt your throat vibrating under his hand and he bent to scrape his teeth over your jaw.

“God, this whore pussy is so fucking tight.” He growled into your ear. “You’re squeezing me so hard, you gonna cum already?”

He felt you stiffen for a beat and then you were quivering around him, a thin whine escaping from your tightened throat as you raked your fingers down the muscles of his back, drawing deep gauges with your nails.

He slammed your head against the wall hard enough to draw blood as your release seeped over his cock, leaking down the inside of your thighs as you fought the urge to pass out.

Robert released you suddenly, his hand leaving your throat as he pulled out. You only had a second to suck in a breath as he spun you around, tilting your hips just a bit before slamming into you again. You pressed your cheek against the wall as he plunged into you brutally.

You let out a series of small whimpers as he pinched your nipples harshly, tugging at them and pulling your tits away from your body. You fought the urge to yelp when he slapped them, making your pussy clamp down on his cock as he fucked into you.

“What a good little slut you are.” He hissed in against your hair, smearing his face through the blood seeping from your head wound. “Yeah, you love the feel of my big fucking cock inside you?”

The only answer you could give was a low moan, followed by a gasp as he wrapped a hand around to pinch your clit.

“That’s right bitch, cream all over me. God you’re fucking cock drunk, aren’t you?”

You just whined as he tweaked your clit one more time and you came apart, your legs giving out. Robert wrapped a hand around your thigh and drew it up to pin against your waist as your body quivered against him, your pussy milking his cock as your eyes rolled back in your head.

“Fuck.” He whispered as his cock twitched inside you and he sank his teeth into your shoulder as he came, blood welling into his mouth as you cried wordlessly and he shot his seed into you, coating your canal in thick hot ropes that seeped out over your thighs.

He kept fucking you through it until he started to soften, then shoved you against the wall violently, pulling away and spitting your blood out of his mouth.

He watched you closely as you turned around, doing his best to keep from hardening again as he looked at you. Your hips and thighs were covered in bruises that were sure to darken even more over the next few days. There was the trace of his hand over your neck that you were absentmindedly running your fingers over. The side of your face where he had slapped you was starting to swell, a shallow cut running along your cheekbone. Blood was leaking from the corner of your mouth and your chest was covered in angry bite marks, some of them bleeding.

You wiped your hand across your face as you stared back at him, wincing. He didn’t look any better. His chest was covered in deep scratches and claw marks, smeared with blood from the cut on his chest. A thin red trail was running down his neck from the shallow prick you had made under his chin. His face was smeared with your blood from where he had buried himself in your hair, and when he turned to collect his clothes, you admired the deep gauges you’d made in his back.

“That was something.” You murmured, catching your dress in mid-air as he tossed it at you. You flicked your head towards where the body was suspended and gave a deep sigh. “Where’s your bonesaw?”

A/N: Welp, I’m going to hell, but at least I’m taking you hoes with me!

Tags!

@stargazingfangirl18​ @starlightcrystalline​ @ozarkthedog​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @slothspaghettiwrites​ @sultrygoblin​ 

[the-broken-truth]

Senior!! May i ask you a question? Are the requests still open?

If yes, could you do a Donna Beneviento x Child!reader? (Platonic-Comforting). Okay so, one day, the reader is really Curious about their mother face because its always covered under her long black veil.

Since the reader wanted to know their mother real face even though the reader already knew from the picture that was displayed on the wall, having an opportunity when their mother is working on her new doll, the reader suddenly lifts her veil up and shows a mutant or a big scar on the right side of donna's face.

Knowing this, Donna immediately slapped their hand away and accidentally slapped her child until their cheeks turned red. Instead of crying, the reader suddenly hug her tightly and apologize for million times because the reader lifting up her veil without her permission.

Donna burst into tears and explained why she was hiding her face because she was afraid that the reader would feel embarrassed or disgusted with her. however, the reader assures their mother that they will not do such a thing and they're grateful that they can be her child

Andd if the requests are closed, please ignore this request and take your time^^ thank you very much, i hope you have a great day/night.

Mommy's Cloth Face - Donna Beneviento x Child Reader [Platonic]

Broken Truth: Hey, @snowflakestree! Just wanted to let you know that - yes, the requests are still open; I recently opened them and don't intend to close them anytime soon. Thanks for the ask and now I shall have to honor of writing this interesting request.

- Quick Key -

[Y/N] - YOUR FIRST NAME

[H/L] - HAIR LENGTH

Broken Truth: The Reader's Last Name shall be Beneviento and their age shall be 8. Eight years olds are very curious, at least I was at that age. Their hair & eyes will be black - the same as their mother's. As for their skin, they would be rather pale, living in the Valley of Mist doesn't give much sunlight

Curious black eyes stared at the large portrait that hung against the wall where the stairs rested; focused on the face of the Head of House Beneviento. Tiny feet were planted firmly at the top of the stairs, looking at the portrait as if to see something they had missed before; even though they've seen that same picture every day since they began aware of their surrounding but something was always drawing them to the painting of the Head of House Beneviento. They were going to question themselves when a suddenly...

"GOOD MORNING, [Y/N]!!!" A sudden loud voice shouted behind them, making them jolt forward with a chill up their spine as they began falling forward in the direction of the stairs. Black eyes narrowed as they turned to where their back was to the stairs and shot their hand out - sending 5 red strings shot from the tips of their fingers and nail into the wall, stopping their fall mid-air with their heels at the top of the stairs.

Broken Truth: What? You thought I wasn't gonna give them some kind of power? Please, what would be boring and the Broken Truth doesn't do boring.

[Y/N']'s Power: Puppeteer's Stingers - [Y/N] calls mental control links - that appear in the form of puppet strings from the tips of their fingers; whoever the strings touch, [Y/N] can control their every move or control the area around them.

"For the love of Mother Miranda, Angie, why must you scare me at the worst times?" [Y/N] asked as they pulled themselves back to the top of the stairs - the moment their feet touched solid wood, they lifted their hand to recall the puppet's strings.

"It's not my fault you were distracted. Besides, why were you just staring at Donna's painting like you? it's not something new, ya know." The doll said as she floated round the young master/mistress of House Beneviento.

"I know - it's something else." [Y/N] said as they turned on their heel and walked down the stairs to head to the study to look for their mother.

"What is it then?" Angie asked as she followed them.

"Mommy's always wearing her veil around - even in the house & around me; I wanna know why. The only thing I have to her face is that painting." [Y/N] said as he and Angie reached the study; the doll was quiet for a moment before she spoke in a softer voice.

"Some things are better to be left alone, [Y/N]. There's a reason Mother wears the veil and she doesn't want to take about it." Angie said, almost in a sad tone of voice.

"What could be so bad that Mom doesn't trust me with it?" [Y/N] asked with hurt floating in their black eyes.

"Sorry." That was the last thing Angie said before she floated away to do her own thing. [Y/N] just stood there with their hands clenched by their side, looking at the ground with hurt in their heart at the numerous amounts of questions that were floating around their 8-year-old mind.

'What is Mommy hiding from me? What is under that veil that she doesn't trust me with?' They stood there and through for a while before opening their eyes and making the choice then and there. 'I'm gonna see what's under that veil.' With resolve in their heart, The Future Lord/Lady of House Beneviento went off to find their mother - who happened to be in her creation room to make a new doll.

[Y/N] peeked around the corner of the threshold that led to their mother's Doll Creation Room - doll parts of many shapes and sizes hung from chains on the ceiling while other parts - like joints, sockets, eyes, and fingers - were kept in small drawers or jars tucked away in the shelf.

Sitting in the chair at the table - littered with doll parts - was the woman down in a black dress, a mysterious veil over her head - covering her face, and her hands - the only thing that remained uncovered - as they moved along the doll parts to assemble them into a body - that woman was Donna Beneviento - The Head of House Beneviento and mother of [Y/N] Beneviento.

The child took a calming exhale - to strengthen their nerves and resolve; they had to do this or they were going to go their entire life without knowing the truth.

"Mommy." [Y/N] called out to their mother as her hands froze over the doll torso she was connecting the legs to as she turned around in her seat to look at her son/daughter, who just stood in the doorway with nervousness in their small black eyes - eyes just like hers.

"[Y/N] Dear, is there something wrong?" Donna asked in her concerned motherly voice.

"No, Momma. I just...I wanna know - Why do you always wear your veil around me? Why don't you show me your face?" [Y/N]'s question made the breath in Donna's throat catch as she turned back in her seat, unable to look in her child's direction.

"Momma has some...issues and she prefers to wear the veil for the betterment of everyone. It's nothing to worry about, darling; just go play with Angie and the other dolls." Donna said in her low voice as she went back to fiddling with the incomplete doll; it became quiet in the room as if she was the only one left - [Y/N] must have listened to her and went to play with the other dolls.

Wrong.

The child still stood there - their mind running with thoughts - they weren't thinking straight. They were some in depths with their own mind that they didn't notice their body moving closer to their mother, nor did they feel their arm lift or their hand reaching for the veil before clenching into a fist.

It was the sudden "NO!" from their mother that made them snap back into reality and become aware of their surroundings, but it was too late. The veil was in their hand that was now at their side - revealing their mother's face to them...

As well as the massive growth of flesh that overtook the woman's right side of her face - completely replacing her right eye. [Y/N]'s eyes widened at their mother's face - the horror and fear in her eye - as they dropped the veil and reached for it; BAD MOVE.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!!!" Donna's voice yelled as her hand lashed out to slap her child's hand away from her face but in her disorder, she missed her child's hand but made perfect contact with their cheek, making them fall to the ground - sitting on the ground with their eyes wide and their hand on the sore cheek. Once again - fear took Donna's face - she just struck her child, her child saw her face; they would mostly be running away in horror if they weren't paralyzed in pain.

"Oh my god! [Y/N], I'm so sorry! I didn't been t hurt you! I...It was a reflex, I would never hurt you, ever!" Donna panicked, trying to come up with an acceptable excuse for what happened but she came up with nothing. Tears began falling down her face but before she could open her mouth to speak - the sudden weight of her child crashing into her mid-section and wrapping their arms around her while sobbing in her chest made her quiet; looking down at the child who held her for dear life.

"I'M SORRY, MOMMA! I DIDN'T MEAN TO SCARE YOU! I'M A BAD [SON/DAUGHTER]! I DIDN'T MEAN TO HURT YOU, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!" The child begged with tears flooding their eyes.

Donna was confused.

Her child wasn't afraid of her?

Her child was angry at her for striking them?

Her child was begging for forgiveness...for scaring her?

She looked down at the child who looked into her eye with tears down their cheeks.

"You...you're not afraid or disgusted with me, [Y/N]?" Donna asked in her low voice - this made the child look at her wide-eyed and confused.

"What? No, why would I be Momma?" The child asked - completely confused.

"Dear..." Donna rubbed the back of her baby's head. "So many people have hurt me because of my face. They would bully me and ignore me. When I started wearing my veil, people started befriending me but once they saw my face...they would abandon me. I didn't want to lose you over my looks, my child. I thought...once you saw my face...I would be alone again." Donna closed her eye - letting all the tears fall.

"Then all those people are idiots!" [Y/N] yelled, making Donna look at them again. "If they couldn't see the really awesome person you are, then they are the ugliest of all people! My Mom is the most beautiful person in the village...no, IN THE WORLD! NOT EVEN AUNTIE ALCINA OR GRANDMA MIRANDA CAN MATCH HOW PRETTY MY MOMMA IS!!" [Y/N] cried out as they reached up and placed a gentle kiss on the mass of flesh that took their mother's eyes. The head of house cried again before hugging her child for dear life as she thanked them for staying with her and loving her...as not even her own mother did.

As time went on, Donna would no longer wear the veil around the house or around her child. [Y/N] was happy to see their mom happy and now had the inspiration to draw pictures to show at the village school...which caused a few people to say mean things about Donna, resulting in [Y/N] being suspended for a week for nearly killing 5 students. When Donna asked them why used their powers to bend the bullies' limbs in inhumane positions and almost kill them, the child answered.

"They were talking crap about my beautiful Momma and that don't fly."

It got a lot worse when [Y/N] grew up and started going into the village to do teenage things - one negative whisper about Donna Beneviento would get your neck twisted the other way & it didn't matter if you said it around them.

Their little puppet ravens always find out who said what about his beautiful mother and they would pay...DEARLY.

[theredsuzuran]

Yandere Muzan x Reader

I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors, also for my crappy writing I hope It does not bore you lol. Slight mention of gore

It was the time of summer

A multitude of people hovering over one another in the vast space of the lively Asakusa city occupying the streets like tiny ants. Unfortunately it was same monotonous sight for kibutsuji Muzan progenitor of the morbid demon race, who seems to be roaming around uninterestingly looking for a suitable prey to hunt. The fleeting lives of mortals, their compassion, happiness, sorrow, pain held no value to him. They are pests who belong in the dirt or beneath his feet, inferior compare to a perfect being like himself. Nothing more than a tool that he won't hesitate to discard after his desires are fulfilled. All of a sudden his gaze felt upon a petite figure near a tailor shop, a large number of people gathering around her.

What's the matter, mister? Muzan inquired to a man next to him.

"if you are new definitely try her kimonos, now make way" the man said quickly as he rushed to the shop pushing all the people away. He was interested to know what the deal was about so he decided to stay for a while hoping it's worth the wait.

After a long delay muzan finally got the chance to view the women. As their eyes locked the dazzling city lights broader than the day itself felt dull in comparison for a moment, the once monochromatic world seems to change vibrantly with her luminous presence, As if goddess Amaterasu, the diety of sun herself have ascended from the heaven into the mortal realm. The demon lord stood there mesmerized by her breathtaking beauty, how can someone so close to perfection exist alongside those barbarians.

"How can I help you mister?" She questioned politely with her soft vocal. His endless thoughts were interrupted breaking the silence.

"Show me your kimonos"

And so his obsession started..

Days passed since his last encounter with the woman. He have come across numerous marvelous humans in everlasting lengthy life but never have his ruby eyes caught a glimpse of someone as alluring as her. The girl possesses an unique aura that differentiated her from the rest of the crowd, able to draw attention from the cold hearted creator of cannibalistic demons. At first muzan was just curious to know about that woman, possibly persuade her to become one of his underling because of the potentials she may carry. He frequently begun to visit her shop to but or sew different fabrics. Gaining basic information, like her name, likes and dislikes, etc. Her grandfather owned the tailor shop which sold finest quality garments from the beginning and were highly respected for their excellent tailoring. Continued by (y/n) at her family's will, who runs the shop with equal undying devotion.

She treated him with such kindness even though he was a ruthless demon not that she knew about it or let alone the existence of demons. The deepest corner of his dark heart illuminated with pure light whenever she was around and he came to the conclusion that she was the ray of sunshine he desires to perceive. Eversince he was cured from his fatal illness the only goal in his life was to conquer the sun which prevents him to achieve absolute perfection, in order to live an eternal and indestructible life or so he thought until that very day his eyes laid upon you. It would be stupid to think that demons are capable of experiencing love, concepts of feelings are completely foreign in their conciousness, it was more like obsession. His megalomania makes him believe he needs you no he wants you.

Alas, if only it was a fairytale. The king does not always gets what he desires and same goes for the demon lord when he finds out that his beloved darling already has a lover. As he witnessed the sight of you hugging your partner with passion. The way her eyes flutter infront of him when he caresses her cheeks making her turn away bashfully and how she hold his hand with her delicate ones while exchanging vows of love and loyalty towards each other made his blood boiled with fury. If anyone who can hold her fragile frame is none other but the demon lord himself yet there she was sharing intimacy with some filthy creature. His narcissistic self was put down with a lowlife, he cannot accept that his (y/n) was claimed someone else's. It was something he would never allow to happen.

"Kibutsuji san would you like to buy something today as well?" The women who now acknowledge his presence asked him cheerfully.

"Should I visit you later" a force smile graced on his pale features.

"Oh no, it's fine, let me introduce you to my fiancee" she said excitedly.

"Nice to meet you kibutsuji san" your fiancee said

"Pleasure to meet you as well" The demon scoffed under his breath but Kibutsuji was quite adamant he knew it was not hard to turn the tables anytime sooner as with a blink of an eye he can get rid of him by simply ordering his underlings without even hesitating to dirty his hands exclusive for his precious darling. But that was not what muzan was planning to do at all as his mind was engulfed with much sinister thoughts.

To insanity?

"You have been restless for a long time, what's wrong my child?" A man asked with a look of concern written all over his face looking straight at the figure of an anxious woman roaming around impatiently within the house.

"Its been a week father since he last wrote a letter to him" she mumbled softly disappointment painted across her features. The father could not help but laugh a little by her daughter's remark.

"Father please it is serious"

"I am sorry sweetheart but it might be that your fiancee is busy with wedding preparation" which made sense because the wedding would be taking place after three day and it was obvious that he was caught up with the arrangement. However there was a strange feeling inside her stomach which made her believe otherwise.

As the days passed the wedding day came close, with (y/n) still not receiving any message from her lover. Worried her to the core at this point all she wanted was to make sure of his safety as something constantly felt off. The guests came in one by one for the wedding ceremony but there was no sign of the groom.

It was getting unbearable for her to remain confined. Ignoring her father's request to stay inside she went outside in hope to check whether or not her lover was approaching but once again she was greeted with emptiness. Her eyes swell up with tears forming on both corners allowing her body to slowly hit the surface as she convinced herself that her lover will never come. The worst was yet to happen and before she could make any movement the ground beneath her feet started shaking and a shoji door opened consuming her into the darkness.

It was just the start of her miserable life under the demon's control.

"So you are finally awake", a sudden voice came echoing into her eyes as she slowly opened her eyes after regaining her consciousness. She moved her hands upwards in order to ease the headache only to find her hands tied up with shackles, a chilling sensation of overwhelming fear filled her entire senses as she remembered what happened prior.

"Where am I? Why am I chained?" Who are you?" she demanded furiously at the mysterious figure infront her which was now advancing at her direction from the dark corner of the dimly litted room.

"You are quite an impatient one?" The man gripped her chin roughly as her eyes protruded out with bewilderment.

"Can't even remember your daily customer?" A wicked smile curved across his countenance.

"K..Kibutsuji san" she parted her lips. Tears forming in her eyes once again. This made muzan even more irritated as he tightened his grip on her chin. (Y/n) whimpered with pain crying out loud.

"Your shouting won't help dear nobody apart from me can hear you scream" he said bluntly with his cold apathetic voice.

"Why?" (Y/n) lowered her head down holding his hand with her delicate ones trying her best to get a hold of him.

"Pardon?" Muzan inquired as he stared at your quivering form with his souless eyes there was no empathy in them or whatsoever although he felt pity. He cannot deny the fact that he was indeed attracted to her that's the reason why he put her into so much hassles.

"Where is my lover?" She asked sternly with her voice shaking a bit.

"Oh" muzan responded his hand still holding her chin tightly. This made her even more anxious she was unaware of the power he might possess and definitely she didn't had any intentions to risk her life.

"Why can't you humans move on and accept circumstances given before you?" it startled her as she cannot process what he meant.

"I don't.. u..understand" she said.

"Then you have to learn to accept me as your partner" muzan replied coldly (y/n) sat there looking at him with disbelief her heart and soul belonged to someone else and for a long time they have been together it's absolutely impossible to change the reality she was accustomed with just because some maniac wants to make her his partner.

"I can never" she murmured with disgust hinted in her voice. "I love him" throwing daggers in his direction not ready to submit her futile attempts of protest should pissed the demon lord even more but to her surprise she saw him smiling menacingly and in the corner of her eyes she saw the figure of her debilitate lover.

"Start from his fingers" muzan ordered one of his subordinate as they began chopping one of his finger making him scream in pain.

"No! please don't hurt him" trying to break free from the shackles she was tied with realizing it was fruitless she fell on the demon's knee begging with all the strength left within her in a last desperate attempt.

"You left me with no other choice, dear" he explained playing his sick games of manipulation on her. This was exactly what he needed to break her mind and she cannot help but rely on him pleading for his forgiveness feeding on his massive ego providing him ultimate satisfaction to witness the quivering frame of his darling clinging onto his knee in pure submission.

"Please I will do anything you say" she requested shaking like crazy.

"Anything?" Muzan questioned raising his eyebrow

"Yes" she replied without any hesitation.

"Be mine"

She already knew that he wanted this and she readily obliged in order to save her beloved, sacrificing her own life. Her only purpose was now to satisfy the demon lord, he was successful until the very end and it won't take long to make her completely his.

[the-void-i-scream-into]

White Tulips - Cut Chapter

Hey Everyone. I hope who ever reads this is happy and healthy. So I wrote this idea for my Han Seojun x Kang Sujin fanfic but it didn’t really fit the story at the time, even though I had set it up in the published story twice, so I cut it. But I still loved this idea so I wanted to share it here. 

I would have shared it earlier but I was trying to get the Joseon Era AU started before that but man, have I been struggling with that story. Writing historic fanfic is HARD! Anyway I still wanted to leave this here. Hope you all like it. 

Pairing: Kang Sujin x Han Seojun

Word Count: 1.7k 

Rating: Slightly Mature... or maybe PG 15? I dunno. I am bad with ratings

i.

For all of his flaws, Han Seojun had one thing going for him. He was unashamed. Unashamed of his slight lack of academic intelligence, unashamed of his troublemaker persona, and definitely unashamed of losing to Kang Sujin at everything imaginable.

“Ah-nee, how could you get so good at basketball?” He panted, pulling up his shirt to wipe his brow, not because he was sweaty, but because he wanted Sujin to stare at his abs.

“I was always good, Han Seojun.” Sujin said proudly, holding the basketball by her waist as she unabashedly eyed his abs. “I told you, I was just off my game that day.”

“You were distracted by my face.” Seojun smirked.

“Of course, I was. I had a massive crush on you.” She grinned, kissing him.

“Ooooh, chagi, you had a crush on meee.” Seojun teased like a school boy who had discovered her most embarrassing secret.

“We’re practically married.” Sujin pointed out dryly, the fact that they had been together for over a year now.

“Still.” Seojun grinned.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I finally did beat you.” Sujin countered.

Seojun didn’t tell her that he had let her win today. Her loved her competitiveness and the giddy way she grinned when she won. If Seojun could, he would let her win everything her heart desired. But this he would never tell her, mostly because she would kill him. And Seojun really wanted to live, especially now that he had someone else to live with.

“Technically, we’re at a draw. You only cancelled out your win from back then.” He stated. The two had started packing their things. Sujin dumped her water bottle in their gym bag.

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m about to win this argument.” Sujin grinned an evil grin, leaning closer. She spoke in a sing-song voice, “I know your big secret.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Seojun smirked. He was an open book, there was nothing he ever hid from anyone. And even if he did, there was nothing he was ashamed of.

Sujin took out her phone and pressed play.

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo,

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo

Really? Yes! Okey dokey yo

Say la la la la la la la la la la la

“Told you I would find out.” Sujin’s evil grin spread wide as Seojun’s smug smile wavered.

Oh no.

It turned out that here indeed was one thing that Han Seojun was ashamed of.

“Ya, Kang Sujin!” Seojun went for her phone but she bounced out of his way, skipping backward.

“What’s wrong, Seojun-ah? Don’t like this song?” She asked in mock innocence.

Oh God, the horror. The pain, the anguish! The embarrassment!

“Ya! Come here!” Seojun ran after her and she sprinted away from him, running around the court. “Stop playing that!”

“No way. This is my new favorite song.” Sujin shouted back breathlessly as she ran full speed. Seojun caught up with her and she squealed and laughed as he held her by the waist.

“Are you not going to stop?” He didn’t lunge for her phone. Instead opted to tickle her, making her squeal some more, laughing uncontrollably.

“I cave! I cave!” She said, her eyes tearing up from the laughing.

Seojun took her phone and turned off the song. Sujin was red from laughter and Seojun felt an ache to kiss her then and there. But he didn’t want to encourage her triggering the PTSD he had from that embarrassing incident in high school.

“Lim Jukyung is such a traitor. I can’t believe she told you.”

“I’m your girlfriend. Of course, she told me. Shouldn’t I know you were dancing around half naked in front of another woman?” Sujin wiped the tears from her eyes, still shaking from the aftershocks of laughing.

“Aish! That was so embarrassing. I never want to remember that happened.” Seojun admitted, going red as he thought back to when he had been dancing around in his house, wearing nothing but his underwear and had failed to notice that Lim Jukyung had been there with his sister the entire time.

“Waeeee? I find it funny.” And then she burst out laughing again. Han Seojun walked away in a huff. He couldn’t face the embarrassment any longer, especially not in front of Sujin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Sujin chased after him.

Han Seojun would have buried the incident again, along with his memory of that song but then there it was again.

That dreaded song.

They were having lunch with everyone; Jukyung, Suho, Taehoon, Suah and his squad with Chorong, when suddenly, he heard the tune faintly.

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo,

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo

Seojun thought he was imagining it. But then Sujin took out her phone and the song played clearer. That damn woman had set it as her ring tone.

That dreaded song.

“Oops, getting a call. Be right back.” Sujin said with just enough pretend innocence that it passed off as sincere to others, but he knew. He knew.

Han Seojun glared at Jukyung accusingly and she made an apologetic face. Luckily, no one else seemed to pick up on Seojun’s discomfort. Suho did give him a pointed look but Suho knew that he did not have the privilege of making fun of Seojun the way Sujin did. And that wasn’t a matter of Seojun getting mad at him. It was a matter of Kang Sujin destroying anyone who would say one syllable against her boyfriend.

“Sujinnie,” Seojun pouted like a child that night as they made dinner, “I don’t like your ringtone.”

Her phone had been ringing all day. A little too frequently, Seojun had noticed. It was almost as if Sujin had scheduled all of her calls to today just to mess with him.

“Oh, should I change it?” She asked causally, “Okay, you pick something you like.”

Seojun grinned and padded over to the counter, setting her ringtone to one of his songs.

That night Seojun had gone to sleep thinking that chapter of his embarrassing event was over. He dreamed peacefully of being on stage and serenading Sujin with the songs he had written for her. But then his dream was interrupted with that jingle again.

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo,

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo

Seojun woke up with a gasp. No, it wasn’t just his dream. The song was actually playing. Sujin stirred and shut off her alarm.

Her alarm that was set to play Okey Dokey.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooo! Seojun screamed in his head, cursing the storm he imagined himself drowning in. He loved Kang Sujin. He could never deny her anything, even if it led to his own torment.

But why, why out of everything she had to choose this.

Sujin got up, and didn’t even notice Seojun stuff his head in his pillow as she went to the bathroom.

“Hyung, are you okay?” One of his bandmates asked upon seeing Seojun’s dark circles and dead expression.

“Huh? I’m okey, dokey.” He responded dreamily. The band member backed away in concern.

ii.

Ever since they had gotten close, Seojun had stopped challenging her. True, they would still tease and play the push-pull game but it wasn’t like it had been before. Before they had felt like equals. Now it felt like Sujin had all the power and oddly enough, she didn’t like that. She worried it might get too boring for Han Seojun. She worried it wasn’t good for him to coddle her so much. He needed to have just as much of a say in things as she did.

She had meant the song to just stir some new challenge between them. He would respond with embarrassment and demand that she gets rid of the song. He would finally set a line for her; a restriction and she would comply to and balance would be restored. No longer would she be the one dictating everything.

But it had the opposite effect. Sujin hadn’t realized how it was torturing him till she saw him jump when they passed by a store that had been coincidentally playing the song.

“It’s following me.” Seojun had hissed. Sujin became worried she had gone too far. She hadn’t realized how much the incident had affected him.

Fortunately, Sujin knew what to do.

Come home early tonight. Sujin’s text came.

“Is everything okay?” He asked the second he entered. Sujin never asked him to be home early, knowing his busy schedule. He was lucky that his other band mate had gotten ill, and practice had been cancelled.

“Yeah, gimme a minute!” Sujin called from their bedroom.

Seojun threw his jacket on the sofa and unbuttoned his sleeves, getting ready to make dinner. But then he froze.

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo,

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo

He groaned, “Aaaaah, chagiiii! Geuman-hae already.” He turned and then froze again, dropping his phone on the floor.

In the door frame of their bedroom stood Kang Sujin wearing leopard print camisole and a blue bathrobe, striking an exaggerated dancing pose. The camisole reached just below her thighs. The rest of her long, long, long legs were available for him to gawk at.

Seojun gulped. Good God.

You ready?

I'm ready

Yea, okey dokey yo

Sujin began dancing to the song just like he had, singing along as she moved through the hallway with the graceful movements of a more practiced dancer. It was funny but all too captivating at the same time.

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo,

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo

She came in and danced her way to the fridge, taking out a water bottle, and pouring it over her head.

Really? Yes! Okey dokey yo

Say la la la la la la la la la la la

She didn’t have the chance to continue as Seojun picked her up in his arms. She squealed in joy as he kissed her.

“Ah, Kang Sujin that’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” He said, leaning her over as she laughed.

Seojun forgot all about the song as he bridal carried a squealing Sujin to their room. They both fell down on the bed, laughing. Sujin ran a hand through his hair.

“Hey, Sujinnie. Guess what underwear I’m wearing today.” Seojun grinned.

[fromthehellmouth]

Red, Hot Skin

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: mentions of a hot-water burn, fluff, a bit of minor tension

Drawing by me inspired by scenes from the story. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Overview: 

Tension ensues after you and Tom Riddle both attempt to retain your dignity following foolish mistakes. Tom risks breaking curfew to make up for a painful mistake of his.

Tom Riddle stood next to me at the workspace counter in the dim light of the potions classroom. His large pale hands planted firmly on the black counter, his sleeves rolled up below the elbow to reveal his toned forearms twisting slightly as I added the next ingredient to my simmering brew. It was part one of a group test where professor Slughorn would choose one student of a pair to perform the completion of a potion in front of the class. It was a way to test one’s ability to trust their partner, and would assure that both students equally understood the directions of the potion if they happened to be the one called to demonstrate. Professor Slughorn watched intently with a clipboard as I sprinkled the fine dust from my cupped palm into the cauldron. Reaching for the last of the peppermint sprigs, I extended my arm over the bubbling mixture when suddenly, Riddle aggressively grabbed my wrist.

“No!” he exclaimed, but it was too late, the thin leaf had fallen from my grasp into the boiling pot below. Slughorn jotted something on his parchment and looked at me, worry sinking into the lines of his face.

“Now you’ve done it.” Riddle all but growled next to me, taking a step back from the table in dismay. The mixture erupted and thick, red, oozing sludge sprayed from the cauldron, spilling over the pewter rims and onto the work table below. In my embarrassment I stood completely frozen, unable to scoop up the mixture with my hands because of the burns I would face as a result of touching the corrosive slime. So, I just stood helplessly, my eyes fixed on the mess before me.

“Oh dear,” Slughorn muttered, waving his wand and collecting the crimson sludge in a suspended bubble, eventually letting it plop back into the confines of the abused bowl. Slughorn scratched something else on the parchment in his hands and turned sympathetically to me with a soft expression. To my right I felt Riddle’s gaze boring into my face. I could sense the vast disappointment emanating from his glare and I had to force my attention on Slughorn to keep myself from glancing at his clenched fists.

As the students began to trickle from the classroom, I took my time in order to leave a comment with professor Slughorn about my performance for the day. I felt Riddle’s eyes on the back of my neck as he left the room and I was soon alone with Slughorn.

“I’m so sorry professor, I don’t know how the process could have slipped my mind.”

“The potion could have been botched by any student, but for next time I suggest you focus more on the ‘claims and cautions’ portion of the lessons, alright?”

I knew the words held little weight. It was a brew I should have mastered, and demonstrating my incompetence to the class was quite the blow to my psyche.

“Alright, thank you for the advice professor.” He nodded, and we exited the room together. Slughorn turned around, “I will see you next lesson--Oh, and Mr. Riddle, you as well.” Slughorn walked away and I turned around to see Riddle waiting outside the classroom, his eyes in shadow under his defined brows. “Why are you still--” but I was cut off, Riddle cornered me into the wall, glaring at me with piercing eyes. Startled, I felt hot under his gaze, my cheeks blushing bright pink, and my breathing faltered as I felt the pressure radiating from his eyes.  “No one spoils my reputation like that, do you hear me?” I nodded, looking at the floor. “Now, go study for the next demonstration.”

***

The next morning I was determined to memorize the next brew by heart, and I decided to get up early and visit the library before breakfast. The hazy purple dawn glowed through the beautiful gothic windows of the library, and streams of sparkling rays danced on the crimson-carpeted floor. There were rarely students in the library so early in the morning, and I was able to swiftly collect the edition of “Deadly Draughts and Elixirs” Slughorn no longer provided in his classroom. Swiping to the chapter on “Uses for Peppermint,” I pulled out my crisp parchment paper and began taking notes on Slughorn’s suggested reading.  

***

As students began to slowly appear at nearby study tables I quickly checked the clock, realizing I had completely skipped breakfast and charms was to start in 5 minutes. My heart racing, I quickly gathered my notes and my textbook, all but shoving them into my suddenly-very-small bookbag, and practically running out of the library. Professor Flitwick’s classroom being located on the third floor meant it took at least 7-8 minutes to reach--considering the staircases cooperated and no dreadfully slow first-years were infuriatingly placed in front of me at every turn. Practically sprinting, I exited the library’s massive entrance only to feel a sudden whoosh of air and a loud thud as I slammed into a tall firm body, and steaming hot tea splashed all over my chest. I let out a shriek of pain as the boiling liquid seared into my skin. I felt my eyes automatically welling with panicking tears--my breath coming out in shallow pants, and every nerve in my body tightened. The tears overcoming my stiff face and trickled down my hot cheeks, I pathetically glanced up to see who had collided with me. 

Tom Riddle stood before me, mouth gaping, aquamarine eyes timidly glowing with fear and confusion. Immediately thrusting his hand into my shirt, he pulled the stained fabric sticking to my skin toward himself, allowing for a brief moment of alleviated pain as the cool air filtered through my blouse. 

“I--” A single syllable escaped his lips before Madam Pince rushed from her desk to tend to my abrupt scream just moments before.

“What in Merlin’s name!” Pince cried out, gaping at my shell shocked expression, and noticing my frozen exterior she wrapped her arm around my shoulder, tightly gripping to my arm, and swinging me from the view of the boy who had spilled his morning tea into my tender skin. 

“We’re getting you to Poppy right this minute, Salazar!” The last part she whispered under her breath as she firmly guided me to the hospital wing where Pince exchanged my paralyzed body to Madam Pomfrey’s care. Submitting to the matron’s grasp, I realized I would be missing my charms lecture entirely. 

***

After the incident Madam Pomfrey guided me to a private bed where she told me to unbutton my top and drink a glass which she handed to me filled with a sloshing green liquid. She then applied a deep vermilion healing paste to my tender skin, her soft aged hands gently spread the cooling cream across my chest. Handing me a little black jar with the same red paste, she smiled gently.

“Apply this thickly every night, and whenever you feel the skin is unusually hot. Come back and see me in two days, alright dearie? If it starts to hurt badly you may most definitely see me sooner.”

I nodded, gently clutching the black jar in my hands as the paste slowly absorped into my skin revealing the red and irritated burn underneath.

“Now off to your next class.”

My bookbag hung heavy on my shoulder as I walked toward the exit of the hospital wing. I swung my bag in front of me to place the small black jar inside, and as I stepped outside I was met with the tall statuesque figure of Tom. His pristine uniform tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders, his shoes sleek black leather, his tie lay cleanly against his fitted white top. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked down at me with his eyes, not his face, so I could see the underside of his chin and the base of his defined jaw.

“I’m sorry, what business do you have by the hospital wing?” I muttered, looking away from his penetrating gaze.

“I have been waiting for you.” Emotionless. Smooth. Thick like the paste Pomfrey spread across my chest.

“And what is it that I can help you with, Riddle?” My voice was stern, my eye darting to meet his, my tongue running along the inside of my lips to keep my voice from exposing my irritation.

“I would like to offer my assistance for Slughorn’s partnered test.”

“We’re not allowed to help one another during the test, you know this.”

“Not during, before.” He finally lowered his face finally, so there could be a line connecting the angles of our jaws.

“You want to study with me?” My eyes narrowed. Yesterday the boy harshly told me to study by myself in the hopes of preserving is already pristine reputation. 

“You need my help, and...” 

“And what.”

“And I may owe you a new blouse.” He said smoothly, gazing at my brown-stained top where his cup had collided below my collarbone and above my breasts. I realized the top button was unhinged, partially exposing my sensitive pink skin. Quickly buttoning the little ivory disk and returning the eye contact, we were silent for a moment, and he took a step closer to me. 

“You will accept my offer.” 

“No I will not.” My lips pursed, and I crossed my arms, his sea-green eyes flickered with defiance, his eyebrows slightly furrowing to my nonchalant response. 

“I don’t think you understand the situation.”

“I understand the situation perfectly, Riddle. I don’t need your assistance for the test. I... I have someone else.”

“You have someone else.” He repeated coldly.

“That’s correct, I have someone else helping me study, but thank you for such a kind offer.” A small patronizing smile fluttered across my features before I could stop myself, and in an instant, I felt my heart sink. I saw his expression flash with aggression in a blink of unrestraint before quickly resuming to his normal critical glare. It felt almost powerful to have effected such a narcissistic little--

“Very well then,” he turned his head to the side, revealing the muscular tendons in his pale neck, where almost translucent skin lay atop cool blue veins. “I look forward to your... performance.” He cocked a brow and swiftly turned around, briskly leaving me at the entrance of the hospital wing. 

***

I had been planning on seeking out the help of professor Slughorn since the disastrous malfunction of my brew on the first day of the test, but after confessing to Riddle of my non-existent study partner, I decided to make my way to the dungeons to ask for his help. Down the stone staircases, the air seemed to dramatically drop in temperature, and the damp chilled corridor made my still-wet shirt stick to my skin with icy closeness. Knocking on the stone doorway to the potions classroom I cleared my throat. 

“Excuse me professor?” 

“Ah yes? What can I do for you?” Slughorn removed his glasses after placing a small golden stem of some kind into a minuscule vial with a pair of tiny tweezers. He smiled and I approached his desk. 

“I was wondering if I could ask for help before the test tomorrow.” I let my eyes stray to the numerous bottles, jars, bowls, and flasks filled with colorful liquids of differing viscosity that scattered the table. 

He hummed briefly. “I’m afraid I cannot help with that, it would be unfair to the other students if I offered help before a test to only one group, don’t you think?” 

“That’s ok professor, I just thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.” 

“Of course. Well, if there’s nothing else you need, at the moment I’m in the middle of quite a time-sensitive brew--”

“I understand, I’ll see you Friday professor.”

 I stepped out of the classroom, greeted with that all-too-familiar figure I had come to expect outside of doorways.

“Do you follow me, Riddle?” I made no effort to catch his eye as I began to walk back to the Slytherin common room. The heels of my shoes clicked with the sway of my hips as the sound echoed through the stone walls of the dungeons.

 “I wanted to see who your previously mentioned partner would be.” A small smile creeped onto his crystalline features slowly and unnaturally as if the sculptor forming his marble face was forcing emotions onto his art-like exterior. 

“And you got what you wanted, did you?” 

“My offer still stands.” Stopping a moment, I turned to face him. The light from a yellowing lantern glowed out from behind his tall shoulders, creating a blurry halo contrasting with his all-black clothing. The light conformed to the grooves in his face, appearing to drip down his hollowed cheeks and peek from behind his muscular neck. His eyebrows raised in anticipation. I said nothing and stood still when his hand stretched out to grasp the handle of my bookbag, relieving my shoulders of the stress they carried. He silently guided me to the common room, whispering the password and stepping in together, my eyes were met with the familiar glow of the Black Lake glittering in from the skylights above. Still holding my bag, we crossed the near-empty common room to the diverging staircases leading to his dorms and mine. He began up the stairs, looking down at me from an even higher advantage point than his normal towering height. He beckoned me with his eyes to follow. 

I am not going with Tom Riddle to his room, now, am I?

My legs obeyed and he led me to his four-poster bed, curtains draped. With a wave of his wand the thick velvety fabric cinched, revealing his bed, perfectly made, textbooks and parchment sat carefully in the center. The room was considerably darker than the common room, which was illuminated by softly glowing emerald lamps and light refractions glinting from the water above us in the Black Lake. The only light from the room came from the slanted skylights leading to the depths of the Lake above, the room coated in a thick pale green haze. It was as if he had been smoking an intoxicating musk, smelling of fresh sea foam and teakwood. He beckoned me to sit on his bed, and unpacking the books inside, he placed them next to his own materials on the cushiony mattress. He pulled up a chair from his desk and told me to pull out my parchment as we would be taking notes. There was something about being so close to him, silently obeying his requests that seemed strange. I felt as if my mind had been blurred, masked, like perhaps the intoxicating aroma wasn’t really a smell but an aura of attachment, and in that moment there was nothing more I wanted to do than to follow his every word. 

“What aspect of the test frightens you the most?” His words seemed to spill from his lips like warm sap dripping from the rough bark of a tree, I felt myself sticking to it, caught in its sweet trap, inescapable and cruel. Deadly. 

“Perhaps the timing of when to stir after the specific steps--and also how much of each ingredient... and maybe the order of when to stir versus when to add?” I felt my face growing hot.

“You need help with the entire potion, then.” His voice was icy, hinting at superiority and criticism. 

“No, just those few parts.”

“You just described the art of potion making in its entirety.” A small half-smile slithered across his cold features. I said nothing, looking down at the spread of studying materials, feeling overwhelmed and perhaps a bit ashamed that I had gone completely against my conscience and followed the boy to his room and sat atop his bed and--

“Firstly, I’d like to give you this,” he pulled from his pocket a small red square of paper, placing it in my hand. “It’s enchanted to find me once you write on it. If ever you have a question or need anything, I’ll know.”

I stared at the unassuming gift in my hands, wordless.

“It can’t be used during the test, or that would be cheating.” He added slyly, and I let out a small puff of air in response.

“Thank you.”

“Well then, back to the business at hand. Is there somewhere you would prefer to start?” He resumed his unnaturally rigid gaze, and gripped the sides of his chair firmly, he lifted and pulled the chair closer to my position on his bed, which caused the muscles in his toned arms to twist and pull and expose the sapphire veins which coiled across them like serpents. Transfixed still on the tiny red paper, I didn’t answer. In my silence he reached out, and touched my chin, cupping my jaw slightly in his hand. He slowly pulled my face up to his view. 

“No getting distracted, do I make myself clear?” His lips barely moved, but I felt weak to my stomach. My eyes fluttered shut, and I pulled my face from his touch. 

“Don’t do that.” I focused my gaze on his nightstand, forcing my attention on his little reading lamp which had rusted embellishments of snakes resembling vines curling along the base of the lamp. 

“Why not?” 

“It’s distracting.” 

Silence. 

“Lets start with the ingredients.” 

I wordlessly nodded, fumbling with the books until I found the one I had begun to take notes on before I left the library this morning. I handed him my notes, which he gracefully pulled from my hand, and eyed quickly. 

1. Shrivelfig

2. Porcupine quills, (as many as needed)

3. Peppermint sprig

“Your first mistake was when you added the peppermint sprig too early. This step comes after you stir four times counter-clockwise,” he looked down at my notes again. “I see you corrected this by noting that the mixture usually must be prepped before the leaves are added, very good.” I forced back a smile. “The peppermint is quite important to this particular brew, can you tell me why?” Lowering the notes, he stared at my nervous expression. 

“They balance out the intense feelings of...” I stopped dead in my tracks. 

“Euphoria.” 

“...which are induced as the wizard drinks the potion.” I finished, my breathing was shaky, and I felt uncontrollably nervous as he slowly shifted in his seat, leaning closer to me, I felt his hot breath on my neck as he silently exhaled. 

Pulling away from his intimate stance, I stepped off the bed. 

“Tom, I don’t think...” He mimicked my movements, also standing from the chair, his bed now lying between us, he put his knee and hands on the bed, and looked up at me from his lowered position. 

“What is the matter?” 

“I shouldn’t be here...” I walked backwards, finding the door with my hands, and hurriedly making my way down the stairs, completely ignoring all my books still on his bed as I rushed through the common room and out into the cool dungeons outside. My heart beat a thousand times a minute, and my breathing was coarse and shaky, I stood with my back to the icy dungeon wall, my hands traveled to my chest in an attempt to force my erratic breathing to slow. Feeling the hot flesh below my touch, the slight pain flowing back into my consciousness, I remembered I needed to apply my burn cream. Realizing I had utterly missed supper, I decided it would be best to have Madam Pomfrey take a look at my skin.

***

There was no chance I would be back in the common room tonight after what had just happened. I thought, as I swiftly walked up the dungeon staircase to the main floor where I would find the hospital wing of the castle. Following supper, the castle was quiet. Most students had gone up to their house’s tower or down to the dungeons if you belonged to Slytherin or Hufflepuff. The corridors were nearly silent except for a few students quietly walking up the grand staircase or whispering respectfully due to the general understanding that students shouldn’t loiter in the corridors approaching curfew. Still, I silently walked to the hospital wing, hoping Pomfrey would allow me to rest there for the night if there was room for me. Nearing the door, I caught her eye, and she motioned for me to come into the room. To my relief, the lines of beds flanking the central walkway were nearly empty, and Pomfrey led me to a private bed toward the back where a privacy guard had been placed to shelter the injured student.

“How are you healing dear?” She smiled softly and my hand went to feel the hot skin, causing me to squint with a twinge of pain.

“Still painful I see...” her eyes wandered, looking at the floor near me, and suddenly it occurred to me what she was looking for

“My bag! I completely forgot to bring it!” My hand flew to my face, a wave of worry overcame me as I wondered if I would need to go back to his room to get my jar.

Madam Pomfrey’s expression was calm, and as the soft clicking of footsteps drew nearer, the both of us averted our eyes to the figure who approached the guarded stall.

Tom stood at the foot of my bed, and smiled weakly as he pulled the familiar black jar from his pocket. His sea-green eyes glittered faintly in the dimness of the hospital wing. 

“I thought you might need this.” He handed me the jar, and underneath the glass bottom I felt something soft and crisp, looking down I saw the little red paper fall from the jar and into my lap, slipping it into the pocket of my uniform, our eyes connected and he opened his mouth as if to inquire something, but ultimately made no sound and exited the hospital wing. I was now alone with the matron, who noted at how lucky I was to have such an intuitive friend as she watched me apply the paste, critiquing my techniques, and explaining I should always go thicker if I’d like to be safe. 

“Do you plan on making your way back to the dormitories or were you planning on spending the night here since it’s already...” she checked the clock “Well it’s already 10:10, but if you’d like to hurry back to your dorm I can inform Mr. Filch you’ll be--”

“If you don’t mind Miss, I’d like to stay here if that’s okay.” 

“That’s certainly fine with me. I’ll be out, but if there’s anything you need, just ring and I’ll be back as quickly as possible. Sleep well, dear.” I watched her figure leave the hospital wing, and the dim lights overhead faded off, leaving only the faint glow of the moon filtering through the windows above the beds to shine geometrical patterns on the stone floor. I removed my shoes and socks, resting them at the foot of my bed, and undid my hair, feeling it coil around my shoulders. I placed the red parchment on the stand next to my bed, and slid my legs under the covers of the blankets. 

***

As I lied curled up, I watched the minutes pass, my body far from sleep. 10:40, 11:15, 11:50... My eyes were wide open, gazing at the ceiling far above me. No one stirred in the hospital wing, and hidden away at the back of the linear room behind the stiff curtain, I sat up, turning my eyes to that small paper Riddle gave me a few hours earlier. Playing with the soft red paper I felt the curiosity bubbling up inside me. I searched for a writing utensil and scratched a quick message neatly into the paper. As I finished the paper thrust itself from my hands and fluttered through the hospital wing like a butterfly, and out the door it went. Now my excitement was nearing the brim as I sat awaiting a response. 

15 minutes no answer. 

Could he be asleep? I thought as I pulled my legs up to an angle, causing my blankets to tent with the movement. 

15 more minutes. 

I began to assume he had gone to sleep for the night, and just as I lowered my legs and began to relax my position I heard the faintest sound of someone walking the corridors outside the open door to the hospital wing. My eyes flew open and I felt my heat pounding in my chest. 

Was he coming in person?! 

The steps became slightly louder, but still effortlessly soft and steady. Soon a shadowy figure met me at the foot of my bed. Stepping into the light, I felt my heart nearly throwing itself from my chest. The soft light of the moon that filtered through the windows above my bed seemed to veil him with its glow. His composure resembled that of a statue of an angel covered with ivy and carved from sparkling ivory that would sit untouched in an overgrown garden. It was delicate and somehow firm. 

“You’re lucky I am a prefect.” His whisper was barely audible, and as he again stepped closer to my bed he found his way to the chair next to me, and I could more clearly see his still pristine uniform was on, almost as if he had gotten ready to see me. I said nothing, and my eyes could not leave his face. 

“Is your skin feeling any better?” His words were soft and silky, and as he neared my seated position on my bed I realized we had unconsciously copied our exact position when I rushed from his room. “I realize I never apologized for spilling on you... that must have been very painful. I’m sorry.” 

“It still hurts...” I didn’t mean it as a way to force guilt into him, I just felt so strange by our hushed and intimate conversation I didn’t know what else to say to him. 

“May I help you with it?” Reaching for the black jar I did nothing to stop him, my mind swirled with anticipation and emotion. He delicately unscrewed the cap, his long fingers clutching the jar harshly, and the whites of his knuckles stood like snow-peaked mountaintops on his smooth pale hands. 

“Unbutton your blouse.” He softly commanded, and slowly my hands undid the highest three buttons of my top, fully exposing the reddened flesh below my collarbone. He was unexplainably addictive and enticing, and there was no natural reasoning behind the complete trust my body freely gave him. Dipping two fingers deep within the jar, and pulling them out, they were covered in the thick red paste. In a moment of searing eye contact he carefully placed his fingers onto my hot, waiting skin. I let out a soft wince as a spread the mixture across the affected area, a few times submerging back in for more of the wet cream. It was calming and yet exciting to feel him touch me so carefully and full of purpose. 

“Your heart is beating so quickly,” he whispered. “Are you nervous?” 

“Can I ask you something?” I attempted to dodge his question, but to no avail.

“Answer me first.” 

“Yes, very.” 

“Go ahead. What did you want to ask me?” I noticed the ghost of a smirk flash across his lips. 

“Why did you pull my blouse from my skin when the tea spilled onto me?” I watched his eyes stray and I felt like I could almost see him retracing his steps and accessing the memory. 

“I learned if someone has been exposed to a poison spill or a hot liquid the best thing to do is remove the item that the spill happened on. Fabric retains liquid by soaking it up, which would just allow the toxin to sit on your skin...” He caught my eyes. “But since I could not remove your blouse, it seemed the next best thing to get it away from your skin in any other way possible.” I nodded slowly, realizing that his quick thinking saved me from a potentially worse burn. “I learned it from personal experience,” he looked away.

“Someone burned you?” 

“No, I spilled a corrosive potion on myself a few years back.” I let out a muffled laugh. 

“Then what did you do? take your top off?” 

“Is that what you’re thinking about?” 

“No! just that you could have done something wrong in potions class...” I let slip a shy smile. 

“There are many things you don’t know about me.” A tiny but genuine smile danced on his face for a moment, before he returned his hands to my chest, carefully spreading the soft cream and blowing cool air to speed its absorption. The breath made a small chill run down my spine, and turning my eyes back on his face, I couldn’t help but fixing my gaze on his red lips. Red like my simmering potion, red like his crisp parchment square, and red like the paste he gently danced across my tender, red hot skin. 

tags: @tmr-simp-pride​

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - xii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: While Lord Rumlow is being tortured, his fellow disgraced comrade is found in another kingdom’s port. 

Warnings: underwhelming filler chapter, descriptions of torture, 

Word Count: 2.3k

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

The musical clattering of the coins in the cloaked man’s pouch were muffled beneath the several hollered orders. York’s docks were packed to brim with several ships that brought in various goods for the young prince’s name day. From what the man could make out, the king and queen were determined to make this the best name day the young boy had ever experienced. He was surprised to find out, it would be the young man’s last.

He overheard one sailor planning to ship off. Good. He thought. Put as much distance between me and Brooken. The man stopped the sailor, hailing him over and flashing him the pouch of coins. “Where to, old man?” the young sailor asked. The cloaked man scoffed, not used to being addressed in such a manner.

“Far.” The cloaked man answered, swallowing his pride. He thought his life was more valuable than a status or a label. “Wherever you’d take me, boy.”

The young sailor stared into the pouch. The coins shimmered under the hot sun’s rays. There were enough coins in the bag to help his aunt. He probably wouldn’t have to sail ever again. “I’m headed to the Old World, sir,” the young sailor explained. “I’m setting sail in a few hours or so.”

The older man grumbled a bit. He didn’t like the idea of staying in York for a few more hours. He remembered the advice he had told a young queen days before – the longer you wait, the slimmer the chances at escape became. But he was in no place to argue, and no other ship was leaving, so he agreed. “What’s your name, sir?” The young boy asked.

“Alex.”

As Anthony and his wife were busy with the name day arrangements, trumpets blared out a somber tune throughout the halls of Iron Tower. The king stopped midsentence, registering the meaning – a noble had died. An awful feeling bubbled in his chest as he began to think his son did not make it to his final name day.

Moments later, Ser James Rhodes pushed open the throne room doors. Anthony frowned when he saw the redhaired Natasha, who was supposed to be in Brooken at your side. It was her duty as one of your ladies in waiting.

“Your majesties,” Natasha bowed.

“What’s happened?” His wife asked with a similar confused frown that mirrored his own. “Is your queen with you?”

Natasha took a deep breath as she looked around the crowded throne room. All eyes bore into her, all wondering the same. They had all heard the low notes from the trumpet… Some had assumed it called for the death of their prince, but had Lady Natasha come to deliver the body of their princess, instead?

“No, your grace,” Natasha answered after long beats of silence. “My queen is safe in Brooken.” She wasn’t sure how true those words were, but after witnessing the pure desperation on King Steven’s face and voice as he tried to find you, she had a bit of hope.

“Then, why are you here?” Anthony asked the younger woman. “Why aren’t you with your queen?”

“She asked me to deliver the body of …” Natasha gulped. Saying her name made it all too real. “Lady… Lady Wanda, who recently …” She choked on her words, tears brimming in her green eyes. “Who recently passed.”

“Oh, dear god.” The queen gasped. She nervously clasped the pendent on her necklace.

The king’s frown did not relent. He stared down at the young woman. Her tears were justified – she had lost a friend after all – but her eyes spoke a different story. There was something more to the simple tale she spun. He waved off everyone in the room, dismissing them from the chamber.

“Tell me the truth, Lady Natasha,” he urged, “for I see a deeper sadness in your eyes.”

“Your grace,” Lady Natasha muttered. Under your orders, she was not to spread the story of Wanda’s assault. As gruesome and horrible as the events that lead to her death were, the mention of her losing her maidenhood before marriage would tarnish her reputation. York’s laws would call that she be buried in an unmarked grave alongside common criminals who had no family. “My queen has demanded my silence.”

“You may be my daughter’s lady, but you are in my court,” Anthony pushed. His tone menacing, but after being in Brooken’s court under the rule of the once hailed Cruel King Rogers, it did not phase her. “You can tell me yourself, or I can bring in someone who will force it out of you.”

“Tony.” Your mother scolded. She cast a look of pity to Natasha. “Please, Lady Natasha, speak freely.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The arrow whistled in the air as the arrowhead pierced through the massive wooden board. A loud thuck! echoed throughout the silent stables followed by a pathetic whimper. Three men watched in the sidelines as the queen pulled another arrow from her quiver.

“Do you think she’s taking this a bit far?” Lord Wilson, though thoroughly impressed with your archery skills, grew rather restless as his queen toyed with her prisoner. Another arrow sliced through the air and made a similar thuck sound.

“She hasn’t even hit him once,” Steven reasoned. He, too, was impressed with your skills though he was rather disappointed that you had yet to graze his cousin’s skin. “My love,” his voice echoed, “you can get much closer than that.”

“Is that a taunt?” You asked, readying another arrow. Your husband smirked and shrugged.

Rumlow, whose chin was previously tucked into his chest as he cowered in fear, raised his head and shot an angry glare at his cousin. “Steve, you son of a –“he gasped when an arrow flew right in front of his face, inches from his eyes.

“And before, you think you can run,” you called out. Rumlow didn’t even hear – nor see – you draw an arrow as he screamed out in agony. The pain shot through his body as his eyes found an arrow lodged into his knee. You lowered the bow and sent a smirk his way before walking off towards the castle. “Bring him back to his cage.” You ordered the two guards who were in charge of his imprisonment.

As they dragged the disgraced lord away, James sent a curious glance towards his king. “I’m worried about her.” James muttered.

“As am I,” Sam agreed.

“She’s angry,” Steven said. “Her anger is rather justified.”

“Rumlow should’ve already been executed for his crimes,” Sam reminded. “If you are keeping him alive to sate your queen’s vengeance, then I’m afraid you are the cruel king you’re painted out to be.” The men chuckled at his jest.

“We cannot execute a noble without a proper trial,” Steven sighed.

“You beheaded Sharon without – “

“She confessed to the king about her betrayals,” James explained. “Rumlow has not.”

Steven added, “(Y/N)’s merely trying to coax it out of him.”

“He’s a rather tough shell to crack.” Sam agreed. “How is she, really, Steve?”

The king sighed. He glanced to the castle to see that you had already disappeared within its walls. Steven could barely understand your grief nor your pain. In the days that followed Rumlow’s capture, he had expected it to be easier for you. You had the opportunity to lash out and torture his cousin, and, to his surprise, you gladly took it. Steven thought that after wreaking havoc on his cousin that you would finally open up to him and allow him to be there for you, but you barely spoke to him about the incidents that plagued your nightmares. In fact, you barely spoke to him at all.

“It’s as if I’ve married a ghost,” Steven shook his head. “She thrashes around at night. I fear she replays the terrors in her mind when her eyes close. I see it in her eyes. Beneath the anger, the rage… She’s … She’s broken.” He sighed and rubbed his chin, slightly missing the roughness of his beard. “Any word of Pierce’s whereabouts?”

“Some say he’s hidden within the ranks of Thanos’s army. Others say he’s fled on a boat, but we would’ve caught him by now if he had been…” James said.

“Has King Anthony been informed?” Steven asked.

“We sent word we were looking for him, yes, but I’m sure Nat would relay the current events that took place to him,” James sighed. “Perhaps, you should talk to your wife?”

Steven shook his head. He didn’t want to pressure you into reopening the wounds – though he wasn’t even sure if the wounds had healed, yet. He felt as if he were walking on thin ice around you. Too harsh of a step forward, the ice would snap, and he’d get lost in the cold. He didn’t want to lose you by pushing you too hard. He had to believe that you’d come back to him in your own time.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Steven slowly entered the bedchamber. He had expected you to be sitting on the bed or standing on the balcony – it had become one of your favorite places after the night with the lanterns. But you were nowhere to be found. The king began to worry about your absence when he heard sloshing of water coming from the bath.

He knocked on the door before he entered. “(Y/N)?”

“He has yet to confess,” you muttered. Your knees were pushed up against your chest with your head resting on top of them. You were growing increasingly annoyed by Brock’s resilience. You glanced up at your husband who had nothing but concern all over his face.

“He will eventually,” Steve whispered. “But I’m not concerned about his confession…”

“No,” you said. “You shouldn’t be. You should be preoccupied with finding Pierce.”

“I’ve sent men out to look for him.”

“They aren’t doing their job!” You snapped. “Pierce is a powerful man. He’ll bribe his way to safety! You have to –“

“(Y/N)…”

“No!” Steve’s tongue grazed the back of his teeth as he watched you thrash about in the water. “We can’t… I can’t… I can’t just sit and wait while he – they – get away with this.” Your voice shook as you took your head in your hands. “I … I don’t – I can’t.” He watched as the rage slowly receded as the grief took over.

Instinctively, your husband rushed to your side and wrapped himself around you. He didn’t mind his clothes getting wet – he was just concerned for you. He rubbed your back as he tried to soothe you, allowing you to cry into his chest.

“I want him dead, Steve,” you whispered, voice muffled into his clothes. “I want them both dead.” The words frightened you. You would’ve never wished death upon anyone, but the two men deserved it.

“As do I,” he nodded. “But we cannot execute him without a confession.”

“He will not confess.” You repeated.

“I will make him confess,” Steve promised.

“Is it awful that I want to be the one to swing the ax?”

Steve shook his head. “No. You deserve to be the one to put him into his grave.” He kissed the top of your head.

“I want him to look me in the eyes and tell me everything,” you muttered. “I want him to confess.”

“He’ll crack.” Steve promised. “You will make him crack.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Boy!” Pierce called for the young sailor – Peter was his name. “Boy!”

“What, old man?” Peter snapped as he loaded the cargo onto the ship. Peter grew rather annoyed with the man’s incessant complaints. If he got off his lazy ass and helped, maybe I’ll load these faster, Peter thought as he rolled his eyes.

“What’s taking so long?”

The sailor sighed as he looked over to see kingsguard searching every boat. Peter shrugged. “Can’t leave, yet.”

“And why not?”

“You hidin’ from somethin’?” Peter asked, arching an eyebrow at the cloaked man. He wondered why “Alex” wore a cloak… The sun was blistering hot.

“I’m just not fond of boats,” Pierce waved his hand. “Just want to get the travel over with.”

Peter sighed as the kingsguard approached. “Well, I think the king’s looking for something… or someone. He’s got kingsguard searching boats.”

“What?” Pierce’s eyes widened.

“You!” Ser James Rhodes stalked up to the young sailor. “Have you seen any strangers recently?”

Peter shrugged. “Just him.” He said, pointing to the cloaked man who was huddled up in the corner of the boat. “He’s just hitching a ride with me. What are you men looking for?”

The knight paid no attention to the young man’s question. His attention focused on the man in the cloak. “Odd choice of clothing on this hot day, sir,” Rhodes told the man. The boat rocked beneath his feet as he stepped onto it.

“You’re the one in a metal suit.” Pierce faked an accent.

Peter’s face scrunched in confusion. The man hadn’t spoken like that before.

“Well, you’re the one hiding behind a thick cloak,” Rhodes chided, faking a laugh. He took another step towards the boat. His hand clutched the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it if needed. “Please do reveal yourself, sir.”

“I’m fine where I am.”

“I’m afraid I must insist.” Another step. Another.

The cloaked man suddenly leapt up, a short dagger in his hand. He swung at the knight, who brought his sword up, deflecting the older man’s attack with ease. His sword cut through the man’s wrist. Pierce groaned in agony as his free hand shot up to grab at the bleeding stump. Rhodes grabbed Pierce by the cloak and hauled him off the boat.

“I believe the Brooken King has been searching for you, Lord Pierce,” Rhodes said. “But my king wants a few words.” He walked past Peter. “Thank you, kid. The crown appreciates it,” he told him. “Sorry ‘bout the boat.”

[julilihatfun]

Prompty prompt: Geralt is really struggling in a battle and Jaskier can't just stand by and watch anymore, so he goes up there and kinda saves Geralt, giving him the chance to finally kill the monster...BUT Jaskier is hurt in the process which he doesn't want to admit, being the hero for the first time. He hides it until he just passes out and Geralt takes care of him, mad at himself for letting the bard get hurt, but also thankful. Sorry it's not very original, but hope you like it!

Prompt request: Jaskier hits his head and is concussed and ends up moody, disoriented, and uncoordinated, maybe a bit nauseous, but Geralt never saw him hit his head and has to find out through a careful insoection when he realizes his travelling companion is acting strangely. 

Hey guys - sorry for disappearing for a while :( Everything is just really overwhelming at the moment and well :((( but I hope you enjoy this and I really hope, that you are safe and well!!! (I combined two prompts for this, because it kind of seemed fitting)

----------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier watched Geralt fight – at first, in awe (as always, because honestly: how can one fight so ferociously while looking that graceful), but then in concern, because the Witcher seemed to be in trouble. And that was something that Jaskier had never seen before.

The giant creature loomed over Geralts head – all bloodthirsty and monster-like – while Geralt frantically scrambled away from it and towards the heavy iron sword that had been smacked away from him a few moments earlier.

“Geralt!”, Jaskier screamed and he sounded hysterical and panicked, but he did not care at all. This was a literal nightmare come to life. 

“Stay down!”, Geralt roared, not even looking at the bard, because he was too busy dodging attack after attack.

And it did not look like the beast was getting tired. Which, in turn, meant, that staying down was not an option if he wanted Geralt to actually survive this shit.

He did not even have to think about it then – just jumped up and out of his hiding place with a loud, screechy screaming noise, that kind of betrayed his fear, and stumbled towards the fight.

He seemed to be much less interesting than Geralt (highly offensive, if you asked him – he did not wear those ridiculously colourful outfits to be ignored like this), because the huge thing did not even take one eye away from Geralts prone form.

Geralt screamed at him to ‘get the fuck back’, while Jaskier searched the forest ground for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. He had to be fast, because Geralt seemed to come no closer to gaining back control over the fight.

“Aha!”, he cheered, when he finally found something that could work.

And throwing a stone at the creature really did seem to finally do the trick, because it suddenly turned on Jaskier in an alarming speed.

“Oi!”, Jaskier bellowed, tripping over his own feet in an effort to get away faster. “Stop.”

He was not fast enough, of course, because he felt the thing yank his feet out from under him, making him fall hard. His head was catapulted forward in a sickening motion and bounced off of the moist ground, which definitely hurt a lot.

Jaskier turned around, seeing stars dance around his vision, just in time to see Geralt (who apparently was much faster than Jaskier) bring his sword down on the beast’s neck, effectively separating its ugly head from its massive body.

Jaskier barely had enough time to roll away when the thing started falling towards him and felt the ground shake beneath him, when the monsters mutilated form came down right next to him.

He stared at the beast for a long moment in silent wonder, then his gaze swept to Geralt, who was already staring at him.

“I take partial credit for this one.”, he said then, shakily, moving to pull himself up on a nearby tree.

Geralt huffed, still eying him grimly. He growled out a clipped: “That was incredibly dumb.”, which made the bard gasp in mock-hurt.

“Geralt how dare you? I practically saved your life back there! – quite heroically, if I dare say so myself.”, Jaskier snapped back jokingly. And he knew that he would have handled the situation better had he known even the most basic fighting techniques, but he did not have any skills and stuff somehow still worked out, so he felt pretty proud of himself.

Geralt closed his eyes in frustration and heaved out a heavy sigh, before surprising Jaskier with a grumbled: “I did not say that you did not save my life.” Geralt threw him a stern look. “But that does not make it any less stupid.”

Jaskier practically glowed with glee and pride. “I can already envision the glorious ballad! Brave Jaskier, the humble bard, fearlessly throwing himself into the raging battle of-“

“Jaskier.”

“Yeah?”

“You threw a stone.” Jaskier actually saw the bastards mouth twitching in the effort to hide a grin. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Hey! I threw that stone very bravely!”

Geralt actually huffed out a small laugh then, but when he took in the bards disgruntled clothes, smeared with dirt and grime, his face grew serious again. “You went down pretty hard. You hurt anywhere?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Warriors don’t get hurt.”

“You broke a toe dancing last month.”, Geralt noted dryly. “Well, come to think of it, I guess you did not get hurt as you’d already be whining about it if you did.”

“Hey, that toe-thing hurt.”, Jaskier pouted. “I normally am very pain resistant.”

“Sure are.”

And they left it at that. Although Jaskier knew how immensely grateful Geralt really was, when he offered him a spot on Roach (which Jaskier, obviously, happily accepted).

Riding, for some weird reason, made Jaskier kind of dizzy, so he could barely force down three bites of his stew, before he surrendered and pushed his plate towards Geralt.

“Can you get horse sick?”, he asked dreamily and immediately felt Geralts boring stare on him. He looked up. “What?”

“You’re sick?”, Geralt inquired suspiciously, having been wary ever since Jaskier fell oddly silent as soon as they had mounted Roach.

“I never said that.”, Jaskier exclaimed defensively. “It’s probably the adrenaline wearing off.”

“Hm.”

“Nothing a good pint of ale won’t be able to fix, right? And a good night’s sleep – we should really think about sleeping in real beds more often. You know, to get proper rest and socialize instead of wasting away in the forest.”, Jaskier rambled on, desperate to change the subject in order to not have Geralt on his case all week because of a bit on an upset stomach.

“Hm.”

“Spoilsport.”

They separated for the night shortly after; Geralt immediately retreating to their shared room and Jaskier spending some time wooing the small audience with carefully composed songs and mirror-practiced charms. Though, Jaskier did call it a night unusually early too, having promised himself that healing sleep will free him from all ailments that came with kind-of fighting alongside Geralt.

And well, he was wrong.

He woke up to a splitting headache.

“Yikes.”, he groaned as he sat up, bringing up both hands to massage his temples.

“Had a drop too much?”

And as Jaskier thought about it, he came to the conclusion, that he actually had no idea how much he drank the evening prior – not the normal blank he drew, when the evening blurred together in a mass of pints and shots and girls and… no, this was a complete memory lapse.

To him, it was annoying more than scary, really.

“Screw you, Geralt.”, Jaskier snapped, because Geralt sounded way too smug for his liking. Also, no matter how hard he tried, he could not draw up a single memory.

“Touchy, aren’t you?”, Geralt asked with an obvious smirk.

Jaskier snorted. “Are we leaving?”, he asked then, when his gaze fell on Geralts packed bags; took in the Witcher’s general impatient demeanour.

“Yeah.”, Geralt confirmed his fears. “Took you long enough to wake.”

He looked at Jaskier for a moment, as if searching for something. “Breakfast is on me.”

Geralt’s way of showing gratitude. Jaskier knew, that he should be immensely happy, but he just felt… kind of weird and muddle-headed. Also, still very nauseous.

“I feel so loved.”, he cheered weakly, mostly out of habit. He could probably stomach some food anyways – most times, it even helped him get over a hangover.

When Jaskier had packed up and they stepped out of the inn and into a small tavern, the smell of freshly cooked eggs and beans wafting their way, Jaskier changed his mind.

“Know what:-“, he choked out, dizzily. “I guess I’m not hungry after all. I’ll just… stay with Roach. Outside.”

“Hm.”, Geralt grunted dangerously. “You barely ate yesterday evening.”

“I’m watching my figure.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt watched the bards face take on a greyish-green hue and he grabbed Jaskiers upper arm roughly, dragging him outside, and nearly pushed him into a bush off the beaten path, away from prying eyes.

“Do what you have to do.”, Geralt said, and it almost sounded compassionate.

“I’m fine.”, Jaskier gulped, despite all logic and appearance. “Jus’ hungover or somethin’.”

“Hmm.”

“Seriously.”, Jaskier mumbled, still breathing heavily in an attempt to fight off the nausea.

“Right.”, Geralt sighed, watching Jaskiers face slowly morph into a more healthy-looking colour. “If you think so.”

“You going back in?”

“No.”, Geralt said, eying Jaskier warily. “Let’s just leave. We can eat later.”

“Alright.”, the bard sighed. His head still hurt and he suddenly felt exhausted. “Let’s, then.”

They walked towards Roach in silence and – unusually enough – it was Geralt who finally broke it, when he strapped his bag onto her back. “You wanna ride with me?”

Just the thought made Jaskier feel terribly ill again. “Hard pass.” He knew that walking would be tough on him too, but there was something distinct to the jostling motion on the horse’s saddle that made it particularly unattractive to him that day.

Geralt eyed him suspiciously. He did not often offer, but when he did, Jaskier never refused.

“You’re acting strange.”, he noted. “Well, more so than usual.”

“Ouch.”, Jaskier said, already a few steps ahead of the Witcher. “I’m great, and you know it.”

So they walked – or well, Jaskier walked. And he kept walking, even when he kept getting dizzier and more disoriented and his head started pounding in earnest.

It was when stars started dancing around his vision, that he knew that he was in real trouble. “Geralt-“, he breathed, hearing his own voice tremble and crack.

And he saw Geralt stop abruptly and turn out of the corner of his eye, before his vision went entirely black.

 When Jaskier woke up, the first thing he noticed was his still-pounding head. Then, something weird, wet on his still-pounding head. “Th’fuck.”, he mumbled in disgust, slowly moving to sit up.

“Stay down.”, a low voice growled.

“G’ralt?”

“Don’t want you doing more damage than you already did.”

“Ow.” Jaskier sat up despite Geralts warning because honestly, that’s just the kind of person he was, and one of Geralts old shirts, all wet and bunched up, fell into his lap with a splat. “Huh.”

He heard Geralt sigh. “Stubborn bastard.” Then, Geralts face was only inches away from his own.

“Uh, Geralt.”

“Look at me.” Geralt stared more intently into his eyes.

“You’re scaring me.”, Jaskier mumbled weakly. Focusing on Geralt was exhausting and the sun’s brightness was only making him feel worse.

Geralt straightened up again. “You hit your head yesterday.”

“Is that supposed to be a question?”

“Not if we both know the answer.”

“Right.” Jaskier continued squinting at Geralt. “I might have hit it.”

Geralt let out a big sigh. “Thank you for telling me right away instead of fainting in the middle of our journey.”

Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows (which made his head pound more fiercely, but well: worth it). “Are you… being sarcastic right now?”

“You were out for hours, Jaskier.”, Geralt snarled, clearly signalling that he was not to be joked with right now. “Wouldn’t wake.”

“I…”, Jaskier began, before letting his head fall into his hands. “Can we do this when my head does not feel like it’s splitting in two?”

He felt a warm hand on his back, lowering him back down, before it vanished for a second and returned with Geralts wet shirt, draping it over his face. Jaskier sighed in pleasure. The ground beside his sleeping mat rustled and he felt Geralt lowering himself down next to him.

There was awkward silence where Jaskier would normally chatter away. But he was to achy and tired to do so then.

“I should have noticed earlier.”, he heard Geralt grumble after a while, mostly to himself, as it seemed. He frowned.

“Stop, your self-pity is making my head hurt.”

“Your concussion is making your head hurt.”

Jaskier sighed, trying to snuggle closer to Geralt in search of comfort. A big hand settled on his shoulder. “Maybe that, yeah.”, he agreed, putting his own hand over Geralts.

The Witcher breathed out a gentle laugh. “Rest, Jaskier.”

[ssson-of-sparda]

WHAT FORTUNE GAVE - CHAPTER 1 (VERGIL X NERO’S MOTHER)

Summary: Vergil arrives in Fortuna and crosses path with a rebellious lady dressed in red. But even if he doesn't want pay attention, Fortuna seemed determined to intertwine their lives.

(PROLOGUE)

Tags: Romance / Angst / Fluff / Explicit Sexual Content / Explicit Language / Canon-Typical Violence / Blood and Gore / Religion / The Order of The Sword / Civil War / Rebellion / Demons / Action and Adventure / Sparda’s past

Author’s note: So, let me introduce you to Elissa aka Nero's mother. I've decided to make her rebellious and quite feisty to mirror Nero's impetuosity. After all, that kid had to take after someone, right? So why not mummy dearest? I know the story might seem slow to start but I need to set up the scenery for the events to come. Hope you like it anyway.

It all started on a Holy Thursday, on the first day of a most-welcomed vigorous spring that tinted the cityscape of the Castle Town of Fortuna in luminous shades of gold and blue. The cobbled streets were empty, the shops and cafes all closed, for all the inhabitants were gathered inside the Cathedral whose majestic dome overlooked the nearby Renaissance-style buildings, a sacred beacon calling the devotees to pray. But the religious establishment was nothing in comparison to the partially-veiled giant-like idol standing tall and massive within the ramparts of the city, a figure made of stone and marble with the face of Vergil’s father. It didn’t look very resembling to him. Sparda never had such delicate features, not in his son’s memories at least. But it did not matter. The young man wasn’t here to judge some clearly distasteful architecture. He was here for the answers and the promises of power that island kept in between its walls.             “The Order of the Sword, huh? They worship a demon as a god?” This reality sounded foolish, incomprehensible even. His father was no god. He knew that better than anyone. But what was religion if not idealisation, divinisation of a flawed man? Humans …

***

“Elissa!” A fearful whisper pronounced the girl’s name but it would take more than a whisper for her to stop her mischief. “Elissa! Come dddd-down!” The girl named Elissa smiled, enjoying the risk she was definitely taking. Degrading the Savior? Not her first time. But she had never climbed that high before. “What if sss-omeone sees you … sss-ees us?” She rolled her green eyes, weary of the perpetual anxiety shaking the already very trembling voice of her friend. “Agnus! Stop being such a pussy!” She shouted-murmured, not really knowing why she was murmuring at all. “Everyone’s at church!” Agnus fidgeted even more as he saw the young woman taking her time spraying blue paint on the statue, the tip of her rosy tongue out, an adorable display of her concentration and perfectionism. “Does it look like the Guard’s symbol to you?” She demanded, observing her rebellious art from all possible angles.     Agnus sighed and looked up, regretting to have left his lab for this childish yet dangerous adventure. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. He even had a woman and a baby daughter waiting for him at home. So why wasting time playing vandals with Elissa? He knew why. “You’re not looking under my skirt, are you?”          The man blushed, terribly uncomfortable. “What? Of cccc-ourse not!” But he was a scientist and scientists were curious beings. That’s what he was telling himself each time he was thinking about what was hidden underneath Elissa’s crimson clothes.The Cathedral bells rang loud, signalling the end of today’s mass. Soon, the people of Fortuna would invade the streets again to come back to their boring daily occupations. “We’re definitely gonna get ccc-caught.” Agnus told himself. “What am I gonna tell Marcus?” A suspect noise stopped Agnus in his alarming thoughts. It was coming from a few streets away. Squeals and growls of fury and pain. Demons? “Ddd-did you hear that?” Elissa listened carefully and recognized the screams. She had heard similar ones in Mitis Forest recently. She had shut a lot of them up too. They were demons alright but not the worst kind. “Just a few …scarecrows.” She tried to reassure Agnus but realised he was already gone. “Such a pussy.” She shook her head, slightly exasperated but not surprised. Agnus was not famous for his bravery, quite the opposite. He was a coward but Elissa was okay with it. After all, he had been providing the Guardians with very useful information concerning demons for a few years now, all that thanks to his natural talents as an alchemist. The girl jumped off the statue and, in order to remove the beige dust from the fabric, shook her old red dress typical of Fortuna fashion, one of the few clothes she had kept from her past life in the Order and that she now used to blend in among the Fortunans each time she would venture in town. She then cautiously pulled up her skirt to reveal a thigh belt hidden under the white petticoat and strapped the spray can, right next to a sharp curved dagger she kept in a thin leather sheath just in case.        “Hey! You!” Did we say cautiously? “Shit!” Time to run.

***

Yamato shone in the sun, casting a shadow on Vergil’s young face that even this small fight hadn’t manage to fluster, and once again the blade made one with the saya with a perfect clink that echoed like a lethal musical note in the demon-cleared street. “Just what are your true intentions?” He wondered out loud as he wrapped his blue frame under a linen cloak that looked foreign to anyone who would take a look.Elissa took a look, green eyes staring with curiosity from under her white hood she had carelessly thrown above her head in precipitation to cover her soft locks of fiery ginger when she had left the place of her previous mischief as fast as she could, successfully escaping the angry guards shouting at her.           She took a look, knowing exactly what this stranger had just done as she watched him crossing the crowd with purpose, alone, going up the street towards the Cathedral while everyone was walking down, their minds still lost in religious psalms.             She stopped in her track for a second to admire him, wondering who he was and where he came from. She imagined a distant city at first, somewhere far away from here, crowded with people who hadn’t been indoctrinated by the Order’s promises. But then, as she noticed his bearing, so stately and yet so lonely, she thought he wasn’t from a particular place but from many places. A wanderer, traveling the world, someone who held knowledge, who had seen what was beyond the horizon of Fortuna.            He probably noticed her stare as he concealed his face even more under his hood and slightly hunched his shoulders. So, out of respect and despite her devouring curiosity, Elissa walked away, certain that if Sparda wanted her to meet this mysterious strange again, then their paths would cross one more time.Vergil quietly made his way in the main avenue where the marble giant was standing and slowed down when he noticed a small crowd gathered by the statue’s feet. Everyone was gasping in shock, hands over mouths as if they were the witnesses of the worst sacrilege, the most terrible infamy.       Wondering what the fuss was all about, the Son of Sparda peered over everyone’s shoulders from a distance but close enough to spot a graffiti plastered on the leg of the thing the Fortunans seemed to call The Savior. It was a symbol of some sort, a pair of winged arms with sharp claws protecting Sparda’s horned head. It had been drawn with turquoise paint that was still running down the immaculate white stone and that was leaving a heavy odour of solvents in the ambient air, identical to the one Vergil had smelt when that girl who had stared at him with insistence had walked past him, an odour indicating Vergil when the degradation had been made and who had done it.He scoffed briefly, amused by the political provocation and the over-dramatic reaction of the bigoted crowd, and after glancing one last time at the spray-painted symbol, resumed his exploration of the city.       “Looks like appearances can be deceiving in this city after all.” Vergil said as he thought about the rebellious girl in saint clothes who didn’t seem to be new in the graffiti drawing business according to the devotees’ wrath. “Those rebels again! Soiling the image of Sparda with their belligerent propaganda. Hope the Order will find them soon.” They agreed with each other with angry nods. “They are worse than demons! They probably hide in shadows like the rats they are.”     Had Vergil just stepped in the middle of a civil war?

***

When her holy hood fell back on her shoulders, Elissa sighed in relief, glad to finally feel her soft ginger hair finally liberated from that awful religious cage of white cotton she couldn’t stand wearing anymore. Few more minutes and she would also get rid of that ridiculous dress that constricted her like a straitjacket. But right now, she had a meeting to attend.      Summoned by her leader, probably to claim responsibility for her new roguishness that had caused such a big turmoil in the city this morning, she pushed the door of Guardian Marcus’s office without an ounce of fear or apprehension. She knew full well she would not be reprimanded. She never was.  “Elissa! My child, come.” The white-haired old man welcomed her with wide opened arms and showed her a seat before him where she sat in silence and waited for him to say what he had to say.At first, he just stared at her, without a word but with half a smile and a look of amusement he couldn’t keep to himself. And finally he spoke with a cheerful tone. “You should have painted it red.” His loud laugh echoed in the room and he took a huge sip of the red wine waiting to be drunk in a fancy chalice next to his velvet armchair.            Elissa had a timid respectful smile; unable to act casual with this man who, even though was distant family, had been leading the cause she was fighting for for so many years, since even before she was born. “How did you find out?”           “Agnus told me.” He admitted and gauged the girl’s reaction who seemed more disappointed in herself than surprised. “Should have thought so.”    “Be careful who you surround yourself with, Elissa. Offering someone your trust can be as dangerous as any blade. Believe me, I know.” He traced the large scar along his wrinkled face, a reminder of an old betrayal that had made him lose, in addition to his left eye, a man he used to call brother and who was now leading Fortuna thanks to his lies and his dark secrets. Sanctus. “I shall remember your advice, sir.” “But you know what surprises me the most? It’s that Adel didn’t try to talk you out of this. After all, he follows you like a shadow … an enamoured shadow even.” Marcus smiled, trying to build complicity with this young lady, the granddaughter of the brother he had lost long ago, a child he loved like his own. Elissa smiled in return and shook her head, having trouble to believe she was having this conversation with her leader. “And yet you seemed keen on refusing his advances. May I know why?”        “I didn’t know this was a matchmaking appointment.” Elissa humoured, definitely amused by the situation. “I’m old and I’ve been at war for most of my life. So let’s say, the frivolity of youth and the burgeoning loves are like peaceful songs to my heart.”        Elissa sighed and her heart, in spite of this new attempt at making it yield to a man she didn’t love, once again refused to see Adel as nothing else than a friend. “I’m just not interested. Enamoured shadows are not my type.”         “ And what, pray tell, is your type?”

***

Vergil had visited many places in his short lifetime. Perpetually on the move – he refused to say ‘on the run anymore’ for running was for the weak – he had seen so many cities, so many different landscapes, some in shades of blue, some in shades of green and other in shades of gold, so many colours most men would have forgotten but that he had somehow always cared to remember. But there was something about Fortuna that made her unique, different from all the things he had had the chance to see.         Perhaps was it the anachronistic almost medieval atmosphere that had shaped the city architecture and the inhabitants’ lifestyle or perhaps was it because every edifice seemed to hold secret knowledge about his family.  Whatever it was, Vergil was sure of one thing; what made Fortuna special were clearly not the city’s filthy underground bars from Port Caerula, well hidden under the docks, away from prying eyes that would be easily outraged by the debauchery they held between their walls. That kind of place he was familiar with, despite his revulsion for them and the people frequenting them.           “Hello, sugar. You’re a new face.” An eccentric woman declared as she tried to take a peek under Vergil’s cowl, her voluptuous body leant against the bar. “And a handsome one. I would lower my price for a face like yours.” The young man glanced at the woman, shortly but long enough to see how she looked, the embodiment of repulsive tragedy that once looked beautiful.             Her makeup was smeared and barely hiding the bruises and the cuts on her young face and she was wearing a church outfit ripped at the thighs and purposely unbuttoned to reveal her generous cleavage. And in her velvet purse, she kept a wig made of dry artificial ginger hair some despicable men had certainly asked her to wear more than once.       “Not interested. Now leave.” Vergil’s tone was curt and cold but she insisted anyway.        “You’re sure? I make the best blowjobs in all Fortuna. Isn’t that right, Captain?” She nodded towards a young charismatic brown-skinned man carrying a crossbow on his back and drinking sitting the stool right next to Vergil. When he heard his name, he spared a glare at the prostitute and at the Son of Sparda as well for no particular reason but because he hated his occasional obscene deviations to be exposed. “He just looooves some naughty church girls. Do you like them too?” Vergil ignored her and focused again on his drink, lying untouched on the bar. He didn’t like drinking. “Or do you prefer them innocent and prudish? I can be either.”  “Quit with your lies and just leave, Pomona².” The dark-haired man ordered with a strong voice that made her smile.       “ Ha! Looks like I finally have my name back. See you around, sugar… Adel.” She winked and left to sell her body to someone else that would accept it in exchange of a bit of money.“You should not visit that sort of bar if women like Pomona bother you, stranger.” The so-called Adel warned before drinking from his tankard. He, just like everybody else here, could tell Vergil was not from around. All they had to do was looking at him. After all, everyone knew everyone else in a small reclusive island like Fortuna. “It’s sometimes the loudest, worst people that give all the information a man looks for.”     “So you’re looking for information then. About what?” Vergil was a curious man but he despised curiosity in other people, especially when he was the subject of their curiosity.            “Nothing a man like you knows about.”        The answer surprised the Moor who hadn’t expected such arrogance coming from a stranger. “Well, piece of advice. If you want information in Fortuna, there are two ways to get them. Either you don’t behave like an arrogant asshole or you pay for them.”     Vergil smirked slightly under his hood as he already knew how to react to such pathetic insult. Adel was not a difficult man to read. “Just like when you want a woman’s love, am I right?”             The provocation burnt and stang like the most vicious hot poker piercing through

Adel’s dignity and ego. It pushed him to stand up and grab his crossbow in retaliation.         But his weapon, as precise and strong as it was, was useless in close combat and it instantly met the sharp blade of a magnificent katana that would make any swordsman worth the name grow pale. And with a dexterous swift move, the crossbow flew across the room as if it was a paper plane.But the clients in the bar didn’t gasp at the legendary Yamato. They gasped at the silvery-white hair adorning Vergil’s head that had been revealed when he inadvertently had lost his hood in this express fight. “It’s the hair of Sparda.” People whispered, amazed.     With an expert graceful move, Yamato found his saya again and Vergil walked through the crowd, high-handed and resolved to escape this place and all those bothering eyes he felt upon him.But as he pushed the door of the establishment, he came face to face with the feminine figure he had noticed in the streets this morning. It stopped him in his track and for the first time in his lifetime, but certainly not the last, he looked into her deep green eyes.  They reminded him of an old poem he loved greatly, one he had read so many times and would never grow tired of, about a dark forest and a tyger burning bright³. And as he gazed in that girl’s look and witnessed that emerald wood, wild and dense, trying to conceal in vain the fiery fur of a predator, Vergil knew he would never read that poem the same way or imagine Blake’s colours in the shades he would normally imagine them.               And so he stared, longer than he wanted, almost the same way she gazed at the pale blue topazes and at the god-like silver hair crowning his head. But while fire is wild, the ice is timid. And thus, admiration only shows through the eyes of the red lady.    And when she finally opened her mouth to speak her mind, Vergil escaped into the night leaving lost shadows behind him. But that was fine. Shadows were not the lady’s type after all.It all started on a Holy Thursday, on the first day of a most-welcomed vigorous spring that tinted the cityscape of the Castle Town of Fortuna in luminous shades of gold and blue.      But among them there was this vibrant red and two sparkling amber-tinted emeralds reflecting brighter than anything else in a pair of icy eyes, a mirror who strangely wouldn’t mind seeing that reflection again.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: ¹ Marcus: derived from the name of the Roman god of war, Mars to highlight Marcus' status and personality. ² Pomona: From Latin pomus "fruit tree". The word "Pomme" is also the French for "apple", the fruit of temptation. Pomona will come back in other chapters. ³ a tyger burning bright : From William Blake's poem The Tyger

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc x male reader (1st person) sfw

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This was posted, completely unedited and hot off the keyboard, to Patreon at the beginning of June. It’s first person for a change, but male perspective.

Reader is the crown prince of a high fantasy kingdom, who was never expected to become king. His older brother was killed in action when he was 13 and he suddenly found himself shifting from the role of scholar to the role of soldier, a role for which the king things him ill-suited. It opens with him at aged fifteen, first meeting the orcish son of a local war chief, who accompanies his mother to the castle for peace talks with the king. Vilugh is about ten years older than the reader. The reader doesn't have it easy, and is extremely lonely, as I would imagine a lot of royals and people with important families would be, beneath all those expectations and responsibilities.

Hope you like it - I have more written and more I want to do with it. I know it's orcs, which isn't very non-humanoid (Patreon folks said they wanted more non-humanoid monsters), but I really enjoyed going with the inspiration for this one and was excited to share it with you first. Sorry for any mistakes - as I said, it's still mostly unedited.

(The orc’s name is pronounced ‘vee-lug’)

I was fifteen the first time I saw Vilugh, and my jaw dropped the moment he entered the castle bailey beside his mother. They both rode enormous war boars with tusks and ears as decorated as their orcish riders, and his mother’s had a great, spiked chain that dangled between them.

The War Chief swung down from her mount, landing light as a sabre cat in the rocky outcrops beyond the castle, though the myriad ornaments adorning her head gear and garlanded around her neck jangled and clinked. The blade of her double-headed axe flashed silently in the holster across her back. Bone and steel, ivory and gold flashed in the sun. Beside her, astride a colossal, russet boar with a great bristle-back mane and flashing, mismatching eyes, rode her eldest son. The orc was huge, even for young adult. With orcs and humans ageing at about the same rate, he had to have been in his mid twenties, in the absolute prime of life, and I was awestruck by his presence.

Silent, built like a bulwark, and with eyes that took in everything and revealed nothing, Vilugh glared around the courtyard. While many orc’s eyes were light as amber, his were a deep, colourless black from that distance, and I licked my lips as my heart rate shot up like a winter solstice arrow into the sky. He stared straight at me, unmoving. Evaluating me, with my scrawny arms and less than impressive physique, no doubt. He quickly dismissed me, assuming I was some kind of page boy, no doubt. His surprise when I was formally introduced to them later as the Crown Prince was certainly enough to draw a tiny, knowing smile from my lips.

They were here to begin peace talks, and, to everyone’s surprise, they went astonishingly smoothly. Few humans made snide remarks about the orcs, and none of my father’s people were decapitated in retaliation.

The orcish party came, spent hours walled up with my father and the royal council, I lingered around the door and behind the wood panelling in the great hall, scuttling along the wainscot like a stray castle mouse, sneaking scraps of conversation instead of cheese.

I couldn't take my eyes off Vilugh though. He sat with the presence of a dormant volcano; all that power barely contained within each gesture. Like his mother, he wore a mix of leather and fur, with a swathe of his large, green-skinned chest exposed beneath the cross of leather that just about covered his nipples and went up over his huge traps and down his back to meet at the waist of the loose leather riding ‘skirt’ favoured by orcs. Really though, it was more like rough linen covered with tattered layers of studded, off cuts of leather.

As a gesture, everyone left their weapons outside the doors, and as I passed by - bored after two hours of talking - I paused and stared at them. A royal guard eyed me cautiously, as if I were about to cause mischief that would get her into trouble, and her orcish counterpart standing on the other side of the small weapons cash narrowed his eyes at me. This orc was older than the others in the chamber, and stood at seven feet tall, with colossal shoulder muscles. Perhaps the most startling thing about him to me at that age was the fact that he had only one arm, and one of his tusks was missing on the same side.  He sneered down at me and I balked. I’d never seen anyone with injuries like that, and it shocked me deeply that someone could endure something like the pain of losing an arm.

I’d known orcs were tough, but that somehow helped to drive it home to me.

I had made it no further than six steps down the corridor that led away from the Great Hall when the doors creaked open and my father strode out, the orcish War Chief at his side. Trying not to look like I was on the verge of crapping my pants - which, I am ashamed to admit I probably was - I watched the party file past me. My father gave no indication of having even seen me, and marched past me as if I were no more than another rusty suit of armour gathering dust in the miles of castle corridors.

Vilugh, however, turned his gaze sidelong to me as he followed in silence, brooding as a thunderhead and twice as frightening. I managed to conjure a smile from somewhere, and he looked away. Everything about him looked dangerous, from the sheer size of his boar-like tusks to the massive curve of his shoulders, the definition of the muscles visible on his back and sides, the black rope of plaited hair, thicker than my two balled fists put together, that hung down to his backside, and the predatory set of his gait. Oh, and the two-handed axe now strapped to his back didn’t help much to soften him.

The orcs stayed in the castle - a first, I was informed in passing by Rigmore, the castle steward - but I didn’t eat with them. For some reason my father seemed ashamed of his scholarly son. My late brother would have been perfect for this; he’d been the warrior prince, the kingdom’s golden boy, the one destined to rule after father was dead. But Dannan was gone, and the kingdom had me now. I’d taken after my mother, apparently, though she’d died birthing me, so that was another thing my father seemed to hold against me.

I had expected to spend the rest of the day alone in the library, since it was the one day in the week when I wasn’t expected to be out in the training ring with the castle’s master at arms, trying to bulk up a body that didn’t want to take on muscle the way my brother’s had. Big burly Dannan with his head of golden curls and his biceps as big as an orc’s… Then there was me. The scholar-son. I was lean and toned after two years of trying to fill boots that would always be too big for me, but I showed no signs of developing any brawn to go with my brains. Too much of my mother’s side of the family in me, or so my father said.

With my head bent over a tome on the ancient language of our distant forbears, I didn’t hear the door open, but when a young page boy cleared his throat and squeaked at me, I jumped and spattered ink up my arm and onto my dark green linen shirt.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” the boy chirped, nervy as a sparrow.

“It’s fine,” I smiled, trying to reassure the kid. He was probably not even half my age. “You have a message for me?”

“Yes, Highness,” he said, bowing. “His Majesty says you’re to ride out with them. They’re going through the castle gardens and out into the deer park.”

“Oh. When?”

The boy grimaced. “Now.”

“Now?” I cursed and the boy blushed. “Thank you. I don’t supposed it would have killed my father to give me a little warning?”

The page boy didn’t know what to say to that, so I thanked him again and dismissed him, folding up my notes into the book and hurrying to my chambers to change into my riding leggings and something a little warmer.

By the time I jogged out of the main gates into the castle bailey, the party was just mounting up, my father swinging easily onto his enormous grey stallion as the beast pranced by the mounting block. My father was a soldier-son, first born and in the saddle before he could walk. I’d started a little later, but I wasn’t too bad. My mare was brought out to me, gleaming and brushed and black as midnight. The orcs were mounted on their boars and, despite the horses innate fear and hatred of the beasts, there wasn’t too much fuss about that.

The stable boy who led Starling out to me didn’t take her to the mounting block but brought her directly to me at the foot of the castle steps. Lean and light and fifteen years old, I sprang into the saddle and took the reins from him with a nod of thanks, nudging her forward with the merest squeeze of my lanky calves to join the others.

“Took your time, boy,” the king growled at me.

“I came as soon as the message was relayed to me,” I retorted sullenly. “I was in the library.”

“So I see. You’ve got ink on your lip,” he said as he reined Spectre around sharply. “Try to keep up and don’t fall off.”

My face heated at the comment but I ground my jaw. There was no point arguing. I risked a glance at Vilugh and found him staring with his unreadable expression at me. I flashed him a wide, boisterous, childish grin and asked Starling to go from a standstill to a fast canter with one easy command. She leapt forwards, following my father as he cantered away over the flagstones and out onto the sandy track that led from the castle around to the apple orchards and formal gardens, and beyond them, the deer park.

We were clearly not hunting that day, since no servants joined us, but the orcs still wore their axes strapped to their backs. Three joined us in total: the War Chief, her son, and the one-armed orc I’d seen outside the chamber. I’d obviously underestimated his significance, thinking him little more than a servant as he’d guarded their weapons and not been party to the peace talks within, but for him to be selected over the others in the party indicated otherwise. My trained mind quickly refiled the information and put it to one side.

My hair was growing floppy now that I had stopped cutting it. No one had noticed, and it now brushed my shoulders if it wasn’t tied up. In the library, I’d scraped it back into a ponytail where it bobbed playfully like a young plant’s first leaves, and now as we rode, it came loose, the little leather strap falling away to get trampled by the enormous hooves of the giant boars behind me.

Starling flew like her namesake, wild and graceful, turning at the slightest touch like a bird on the wing. I loved riding. I wasn’t permitted to go out alone, and no one ever had the time to escort me, so I only got to do it when my father decided he needed to skewer something deadly to let off steam, and now as we all picked up our paces, the horses keen to stretch their legs, I couldn’t keep the savage grin off my face. I felt feral for just half a moment, and it was glorious.

When we finally reined our horses back after a lovely canter along the smooth grass of the orchard road, I sat back a little and Starling responded by slowing her pace to a steady walk. I gave her her head, letting the reins fall loose and dangle, while Spectre pranced and jogged up ahead, snorting and tossing his head. My father always kept his reins too short, thinking it made his stallion’s crest of muscle look bigger. All it did was irritate the horse, but far be it from me to correct a king.

I glanced back and saw Vilugh’s boar raise its huge, pierced snout and let out a scream of what seemed to be like joy as it trotted along behind. My father’s horse spooked a little, and Starling skittered sideways. I went with her, absorbing the motion with my hips before she settled under my palm and voice. “Easy, they’re our friends now,” I crooned to her, and caught the flicker of her ears as she picked out my familiar voice. “There, see… just a big piglet. Nothing to worry about.”

At that, I heard Vilugh snort behind me and turned to grin at him.

“Shh,” I said conspiratorially. “She doesn't need to know what they can really do.”

His harsh face cracked a little at that and he nodded with a little smile. He probably saw me as a little child, I realised, and my face flushed again. I looked away and didn’t try to speak to him for the rest of the ride.

The orcs’ visit was brief, but it marked the beginning of an uneasy peace with their kind. I grew in my duties, becoming ever more isolated. I had no friends among the court, my father ignored me until he required me to be present for something, I trained, I rode my horse, I studied, I ate, I slept, and I read. For three years, the orcs did not return to the castle, though my father made one trip alone to visit them on neutral ground somewhere out on the plains.

When he returned, he seemed pensive, and I caught him staring at me a few times over supper that night, which unnerved me.

The year I turned eighteen was the year I discovered my new nicknames among our people. The “Silent Prince” and the “Royal Monk” had become my monikers, and my father hated it. Personally, I thought it rather fitting. I was still skinny, unable to put on muscle no matter how much meat I was given at supper or how many boars my father sent me to bring down. Of course, I couldn’t bring one down alone, but I managed once or twice with the help of a retainer or two. I wasn’t a complete disappointment. But I wasn’t Dannan.

My twenty first slid by, and my father showed no signs of slowing down. He expanded his territories to the east, and I saw war for the first time. Of course, I didn’t see it from the front lines. What I saw was strategy and numbers in the tents, and my tactics and suggestions won us three battles. They lost us one too, but to my surprise, my father started to take note of me then. He never said anything different, but he included me more in his business than he ever had. My hair grew a little longer, though I had it routinely hacked off when it got below my shoulder blades. It was nothing like the luscious head of curls my brother had had, so I could wear it long without it looking feral. Dannan’s had practically been a halo for him.

One morning, over our habitually silent weekly breakfast together, my father cleared his throat and announced, “Son, you’ll be heading off to train with Khraxh and her war band.”

I choked so hard on my scrambled egg that a servant actually had to step forwards and slap me on the back. “What?” I croaked the moment I had air enough in my lungs to articulate the word.

“You heard me,” the king said, his grey-blue eyes drifting down a list in front of him, the contents of which he had not deigned to share with me. As usual, I had brought a book with me to the table to entertain myself until he rose and left.

“I did, but… why?”

“I believe it will be good for you. Her son, Vilugh, will be here tomorrow to escort you.”

“I’m going alone?” Stupid question. I was always alone.

“Yes,” father chimed carelessly. “It’s time to toughen you up properly. Six months with them ought to do it.”

My mind went blank. “Six… Six months?” I stammered. “You can’t be serious.”

“What? You have something better to do than enhance our diplomacy with those beasts?” he sneered.

I was in the middle of translating one of the great Eddic collections of our people into the modern tongue for one, but I didn’t mention that. “Apparently not,” I said coolly, rising from the table after one last swig of water to wash down the startled remnants of my breakfast from my throat. “Excuse me,” I said, not waiting for his permission to leave.

Part Two

___

Please let me know if you’re interested in more! Some of the patreon folks were also interested in the one-armed orc, and don’t worry, he’s got more of a role to play too in the future.

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

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__

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[suite43]

"Shadow Striker! C’mon, get a move on!" Flamewar called, promptly jumping off the roof as she finished speaking.

Shadow Striker smirked, standing over the blue and white autobot, who in turn was staring up at her with a little bit of fear and a little bit of awe in her wide blue eyes. Shadow Striker leaned down close to the autobots audial fin, whispering.

"Better luck next time, I suppose."

Strongarm did not have time to process a response as the back end of the Riser's massive gun slammed into the side of her head and left her unconcious on the rooftop.

She woke up to Sideswipe kicking her in the side, not hard enough to break anything that wasn't already broken but hard enough to hurt goddamnit. She rolled over with a groan, finding one wrist cuffed to some structure or other, and her weapon missing, almost definetly taken by those brutes from the night before. Damn.

"-ngarm! Primus, Strongarm, did they knock your brain out or something? Helloooooooo?" Sideswipes annoying-ass voice faded in as her audial systems rebooted and she pulled herself up as much as she could.

"When did you get here?" She grumbled.

"Oh, like an hour or so ago."

"And I'm still cuffed because?"

"I thought it'd be funny," he said. "Got bored of waiting for you to wake up, though."

"Right. Where's Prowl?"

"Had, uh, 'more important concerns'. Bumper's with him, they're trying to track these Rise chicks. Javelin's downstairs, though, taking stock."

"And you're on babysitting? Figures."

"I know, right? When is that asshole gonna let me do something cool?"

"'Cool' isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Wanna trade? I'd love to get my ass kicked by some Risers."

"Tell that to my broken ribs," Strongarm muttered. "Now untie me, idiot."

///

Strongarm did not leave her shift early on account of any injuries. She would never dream of it. No, she was dismissed by her senior officer after giving an adequate description of the prior evening's events, and sent to a medic for minor repairs, who in turn insisted that she spend the next few days on bedrest. It was orders. She didn't have a choice.

That didn't make the hours upon hours of sitting around with nothing to do any less agonizing. Playing with her cat and idly switching between the three TV channels she got could only keep her busy for so long, and her mind kept drifting back to the night before.

It was circumstance that Strongarm had been there at all, really. She'd been in the area following up on something or other when alarms started blaring and the call was made. She pursued, and found a group of (presumably) Risers bickering over which of them was stupid enough to trip the alarm (Strongarm's money is on the two-wheeler. She seemed twitchy.). Among them was the known Riser and scary as hell Shadow Striker, brandishing a massive blaster, presumably from the weapons cache that had been broken into a few weeks prior.

Strongarm had no intentions to engage with a group of four incredibly well-armed and dangerous criminals, with only her small, non-lethal pistol, her lacking hand-to-hand combat skills and absolutely no knowledge of what backup, if any, was coming.

Unfortunately, Strongarm is not built for stealth, and Shadow Striker was very perceptive.

Strongarm plays the fight in her mind over and over. Shadow Striker had notoriously impressive marksmanship. She could've just shot Strongarm and been done with it. But she didn't. The more she replayed it, the wide shots and simple mockery, drawing Strongarm closer and closer, an incredibly powerful kick to the side of the chest, the shoving and running and chasing drawing them up to the roof where Shadow Striker finally seemed to stop playing with her food and go for the kill, it all seemed like it had been a game.

She had had Strongarm disarmed and completely overwhelmed. She had dug her heel into the plating of her chest, pointed the barrel of the gun right between her eyes, a small, satisfied smile on the stoic brute's face. Strongarm felt absolutely certain she was going to die.

And yet, she hadn't pulled the trigger. Non-lethal head injury only.

Better luck next time, I suppose.

Better luck next time.

Strongarm couldn't get the sound of it out of her head. The low rumble, almost like a purr. The slight brush of the exhaled breath against her fins. The absolute satisfaction that dripped from Shadow Striker's every word.

What the hell did that mean?

///

"You left her alive?" Flamewar said incredously.

"Killing Autobots in the city streets isn't exactly low-profile," Shadow Striker responded flatly.

"Yeah, neither is tripping the alarms," Hyperdrive chimed in. Flamewar shoved him.

"It wasn't my fault!"

Shadow Striker rolled her eyes and let them get to their bickering, sitting back in her usual spot to get to work dissasembling, cleaning, and reassembling her favourite gun.

She took a deep breath, letting herself fall into the familiar rythm of her work, the soft shuffling sounds of moving parts. She could do this with her eyes closed. She often did, in fact. Gathers the mind.

That Autobot. She could've killed her. Wouldn't have felt too bad about it. But when was the last time anyone had put up such a fight? Shadow's reputation preceded her, just a mention of her name got most rational 'bots running the other direction. Absolutely nobody smart would try to fight Shadow Striker alone, much less with three others there. And absolutely nobody landed a punch.

It wasn't for any skill the Autobot had had. It was wild, determined flailing that got her one good, solid hit across the jaw and a trickle of blood from Shadow Striker's nose. She'd laughed, despite herself. Knowing what the autobot was capable of made the rest of it much more fun. And she supposed that meant she owed the bot something of a reward. If, y'know, not killing someone counted as a suitable reward for... well, for anything, really.

Shadow wasn't quite sure about that. But she was certain, if the dull ache in her jaw was any indication, that she was looking forward to next time.

///

Strongarm found herself leaping at every mention of Rise activity for the next few weeks. She spent all of her downtime sparring with Sideswipe (who talked a big game but whined like a newlyforged at every dent he got) or Javelin (who never tried all that hard and usually lost within five seconds). She was determined that she would not be outmatched again.

Sideswipe told her it was a case of bruised ego. Strongarm told herself it was a desire to bring the Riser to justice. But she couldn't help but wonder if it was something else that made her stomach flip and her spark skip a beat every time she thought about her.

Perhaps it was fear? Disgust? Anger? Frustration?

Something like that. Surely.

Regardless, despite her best efforts, Shadow Striker always managed to outpace her. Always one step ahead, whip-smart, adaptable, experienced, and all around incredibly skilled. Strongarm had no chance.

She was stubborn, though, and she didn't quit. And, every time she saw Shadow Striker, she got her ass royally kicked.

Something was different this time, though. For starters, Shadow Striker was alone. The big warehouse out on the fringes of the city only had the one life sign, and a quick scan confirmed that there were no other visible mechs. Shadow sat casually atop a big metal crate of goods, idly examing her weapon, miming shooting it at things with a bored expression. Strongarm kept close to the shadows, behind a stack of boxes, determined to get the element of surprise.

"Oh, good, I was beginning to think you hadn't found the little clues I left you." That was different, too.

"Oh, come on!" Strongarm rolled her eyes. "You can't tell me your hearing is just that good. It's not possible."

"I set a tripwire around the perimeter. I was pinged as soon as you came in. You should pay more attention, Autobot."

"Pay attention to this!" Strongarm chucked the blade in her hand at Shadow Striker, who smirked as it grazed just past the side of her helmet, clattering to the ground. She set the gun aside and cracked her knuckles, getting ready.

"Right to it then?"

"Why, you have somewhere you'd rather be?" Strongarm threw a punch, Shadow sidestepping her without even trying.

"Mmm, no, I don't think so." She slammed her elbow into Strongarm's back. "Trust me, this is the most exciting part of my week."

"I could say the same," Strongarm said. "Can't take too long, though, I'm going to have a lot of paperwork to fill out when I bring you in."

Shadow Striker huffed out a laugh as she stepped out of the way of another blow. "You'll have to catch me, first."

The two continued in their fight, until Strongarm was on her back, pinned by Shadow Striker's weight holding her arms above her head.

"You're getting better," Shadow Striker muttered between breaths, voice low and close to Strongarm's audial. "You're strong. You have potential. Why not use it for something worthwhile? You'd make such a pretty Riser, you know."

Strongarm paused for a moment, her processer stalling on that last bit. Had she just been called pretty?

She shoved it out of her mind and jerked her head up as hard as she could, crashing her forehead into Shadow Striker's nose, the purple mech pulling away with a hiss of pain as a small trickle of energon dripped out, and Strongarm used the moment of weakness to flip the two of them over, pinning the slender warrior under her own weight.

"Don't get too comfortable. Arrogance makes you stupid," Strongarm grinned, just a little smug.

"Agreed." Before Strongarm could even blink Shadow Striker had pulled her arms free from Strongarm's grip and shoved the autobot off of her, stepping on Strongarm's chest to jump back up on her crate, grab her weapon, and climb up the pile of crates and shelves to one of the large windows near the top of the wall. "See you next time."

And then she was gone. Strongarm cursed, slamming one fist against the ground, hand clutching her side. God damn.

///

They saw each other again a few times, the banter and routine becoming familiar, Strongarm getting better and better at predicting where Shadow Striker would be and what she would do.

She did not ever predict that she'd see the Riser climbing through the window into her kitchen in the middle of the night.

"What the hell?! What are you doing here?"

"Didn't know where else to go," Shadow Striker muttered through clenched teeth. "Couldn't make it back. Too many eyes."

It was then that Strongarm noticed Shadow was clutching at a wound on her side, a cloth pressed up against it, absolutely soaked with energon. Her eyes widened as she tried to figure out what the fuck she was supposed to do. This was a criminal, in her apartment, where she had no right to be and how had she even found it in the first place and how long had she known the address? But it was also an injured Cybertronian, in need of help, and Strongarm felt like she had a duty. Shadow Striker needed to go to a hospital. Strongarm wasn't a doctor. But if she went to a hospital, well, she'd almost certainly be arrested. Which was... Strongarm wasn't sure how she felt about that. That was a bad sign.

"Do you have a clean towel?" Shadow Striker asked, snapping Strongarm out of her dumbstruck silence. "And a first aid kit. I can do the rest."

"I... Yeah. Yeah, I do." She went and gathered supplies, bringing them back to the kitchen, where Shadow Striker was peeling the old rag off of the wound, revealing a huge gash on the side of her stomach.

Shadow waved her over, taking the first aid kit from her hands. She was giving herself something of a patch job, but Strongarm couldn't take her eyes off the way her hands shook and the way her face twisted in a wince at every motion, jerky movements doing a rather shit job of fixing anything.

"Give it to me," Strongarm said. Shadow Striker gave her whatever passed for a skeptical look at the moment. "Just tell me what I need to do. I'm a quick learner."

Shadow sighed, handed over the tool she'd been using, and talked Strongarm through getting her to a point where she wasn't dripping blood and everything seemed more or less stable.

"This'll do. We have medics, when I get back they can do something properly."

"Where's 'back', exactly?"

"Ha, you're not getting anything out of me that easily," Shadow Striker muttered, still holding her side, voice exhausted.

"Well, it was worth a try." Shadow hummed in agreement, eyes closed, leaning back against the wall, still sitting on Strongarm's countertop. "Are... when are you leaving?" Strongarm asked.

"Whenever the heat dies down a bit."

"You know I'm technically 'the heat', right?" Shadow shrugged.

"Go ahead. Call your boss. I'll be halfway out of the city faster than Prowl can flip a table." Strongarm rolled her eyes.

"Eat something before you go, you sound exhausted."

"No. M'not taking your rations. Sentinel keeps you low enough on fuel as it is."

"You lost a lot of blood. If you leave like this, now, you'll probably pass out before you can get anywhere." Shadow Striker just huffed.

"Suppose I'm staying the night, then."

"What?"

"Kidding," Shadow laughed weakly. "My boss'd kill me if I spent the evening at an autobot's. Unneccessary risk and all."

"And I'd almost certainly be fired, or worse, if anyone found out about this."

"So it's our little secret then."

"So it is. And so's this," Strongarm said, handing her a small cube of energon. Shadow looked like she was going to protest, but evidently thought better of it, and took the cube.

They stayed there, talked for a bit, and eventually Strongarm was able to coax Shadow Striker into moving to the couch, which honestly wasn't a huge improvement from the countertop but it's the thought that counts, she supposed. Strongarm didn't intend for Shadow Striker to fall asleep there, and she guessed Shadow didn't intend for it either, but she looked strangely serene and Strongarm couldn't bring herself to disturb her. She left the lean purple mech there, trying not to stare too much at the way her strong features looked so delicate like this, her lips parted just so as puffs of breath slipped in and out, her red eyes shut softly, twitching and muttering as she dreamt.

Strongarm tried to ignore the fluttery feeling in her chest, and went to bed. Sleep was fitful, but when she heard the soft tread of someone sliding through her bedroom door quietly, she did her best to pretend to be deep in recharge. A hand traced delicately over the plating of her arm, across her inner wrist, tracing delicate cableing up her forearm and to the bulky armor of her shoulders, and she tried to stay still, even when that hand reached back down and intertwined slender fingers with Strongarm's own and a figure bent down to press a kiss to Strongarm's cheek, the ridge of her nose nuzzling softly against the warm plating as Strongarm tried so, so hard not to move and scare Shadow away, even as her spark was beating out of her chest.

After a long moment, Shadow Striker pulled away, letting out a long sigh, muttering a quiet what have I gotten myself into? under her breath, and Strongarm couldn't help but feel the same as Shadow Striker walked away.

When Strongarm got up for work, Shadow was long gone. When she came home from her shift, there was a cube of energon on the coffee table, labelled with a note.

Let's call it even. - SS

[helloprettybb]

wips

i have a lottttt, in queue so this is just a little preview of some things that are finished and will be posted within this or next month and things that are still being written.

captain idiot

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2.4k

status: completed and will be posted soon

You’ve had a massive crush on Steve ever since you joined the team. Actually, you liked him even before that, when you saw him on TV for the first time. You were only sixteen at the time, but seeing people like you saving New York inspired you. All of your life, you’ve been ostracized and cast out for your abilities. While your parents tried to be supportive, they still held some fear. You don’t blame them, especially after you accidentally split the house in half with a tree.

You were only seventeen when you first met Fury. He offered a position on the team. You wanted to attend college, so you declined, but you kept in touch. After graduating from university three years later, you decided to join the team. Tensions between the team were high as Steve, Natasha and Sam just rejoined the team and the Accords were dropped. But gradually, strain eased and the team seemed back to normal. Tony started talking to Steve and Bucky even joined the group. Everyone lived in harmony, until today.

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just be blunt.” Steve states his intense eye contact piercing into your soul. “I like you. More than just a friend.”

You try to remain calm, but you can feel the childish joy rise in your chest. Steadying your tone, you reply, “I like you, too.” For some reason, Steve doesn’t smile but looks more serious.

He sighs and asserts, “I was afraid you’d say that.”

slip of the tongue

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1.9k

status: completed and will be posted after captain idiot

Bucky makes it back to the Compound, but the pain is getting worse. Stumbling inside, he heads for the labs to look for a medkit. But of course, since it’s his lucky day, you’re there, too. You’re probably finishing the project that you were talking about for the past few weeks - something about particles accelerating, but Bucky didn’t care enough to ask. He hopes he can slip by unnoticed, but the gaping hole in his side draws attention to him.

Your head snaps up from your work and you see Bucky hobble by. “Heya Buck,” you start in your usual playful manner. But when you look at the state he’s in, your attitude changes immediately, “What the fuck happened?”

“It’s nothing.” he grumbles. You look down and see that he’s holding his side. His sweatshirt and fingers are covered in blood.

“Bullshit.” you say. Moving around the lab, you quickly find the medkit. “Sit down.”

“I don’t need your-”

“Shut up and sit down.” you interrupt.

vanilla

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2.1k

status: completed and will be posted after slip of the tongue

“Why do you think I’m boring?” he asks.

“Sorry?” you furrow your brows, confused as to why he randomly showed up at your room and by his question.

“I heard your conversation with Natasha.” Oh shit. “You said sex with me would be boring.”

“Steve, I’m sorry. That was just meaningless talk.” you apologize quickly.

“So you didn’t mean it?” You don’t want to lie, but now that Steve is in front of you, it’s hard to tell him what you really think. You stay silent and Steve seems to understand. “I see.”

You can’t tell if he’s hurt, so you apologize again, “I’m sorry. Honestly, I shouldn’t even think about having sex with my coworkers. That’s weird and I’m sorry to put you in this position-”

“I’m going to prove you wrong.” he interrupts.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going to prove that sex with me isn’t boring. If the only reason you don’t want to date me is that you think the sex is boring, I’m going to show you you’re wrong.” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Steve Rogers is offering to have sex with you.

“Steve, you don’t have to do this. If I hurt your ego or something, I’m sorry again, but-”

“It’s not just about my ego. I’ve thought about this for a long time. Not like this, but I have.” Steve just confessed that he liked you. “So, if you want, I can prove you wrong. If you don’t want me to, I can leave and pretend that none of this happened. But I don’t want you to have that misconception in your pretty little head.”

all i see

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 1.4k

status: completed and will be posted after vanilla

He consumes your thoughts all day and night. You hate yourself, truly. You resent your heart for allowing a man to have such a grip on you, but here you are, leaning against your apartment balcony with a cup of tea in your hand. Your tired eyes glance down at the city beneath you. For being the city that never sleeps, New York is pretty quiet at 3 a.m. The cars zooming below you are mostly semi-trucks with the occasional sports car.

You should be asleep, too. But every time you close your eyes, you dip into a dream about him. America’s golden boy, the ultimate patriot, Steve Rogers, your unrequited soulmate. You’re a rather closed-off person, but Steve made you believe it didn’t have to be like that.

“You know you can tell me anything?” he says randomly. It was late and you were at Steve’s apartment with an empty pizza box and a couple of beers. It’s become a sort of routine. Although the food and drink varied, the company never did.

“Yeah, Steve.” You smile, “I know that.” He smiled back at you as if he knew you didn’t completely trust your words.

“I know you’re not really open to people, but I just wanted you to know that,” he adds.

“Thanks, Steve.” you reply and you mean it.

warm me up

mystery of love

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

word count: 1.9k

status: in progress

“Hi, Draco,” you start, knowing it’s him without even looking up. Looking up from your book, you look at Draco for the first time and the smile drops from your first. He does not look good, especially since he seemed to be doing better lately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“I said it’s nothing!” he snaps. Red. All you feel is red, hot, burning anger. But you sense a hollowness to it. His anger is strong, yes. But there’s something else to it.

You furrow your brows and read his body language. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are shaking.  

“Can I hold your hand?” you ask.

“What?” A confused, sneer written on his face.

“Draco, you’re shaking. Just let me hold your hand.” you add, “Please.”

enticing

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: about 800

status: in progress

Bucky’s big arm is wrapped around your side and with the blanket strewn across your laps, you’ve never felt more content. You lean your head against his chest and Bucky kisses your forehead. It’s nice and domestic, until a scene starts. You’re thankful that Bucky is behind you and can’t see your widened eyes. The characters are ripping clothes off one after another until they’re practically naked. The man hovers over the woman and cages her between his arms. You can’t help but imagine that being you and Bucky. You feel your face start to heat up as lustful thoughts cloud your mind.

You must be squirming a lot because Bucky asks, “You okay, doll?” You nod against him and continue to watch the scene. Your jaw drops as the characters begin to simulate sex. It’s not the first time you’ve seen a sex scene, but you’ve never watched one with your boyfriend while he was practically wrapped around you.

As you continued to watch, you felt yourself heat up, undeniably turned on. It’s so embarrassing! Here you are trying to have a nice movie night with your boyfriend, yet you can’t control your horniness.

“Buck,” you say quietly.

“What is it, honey?” he asks nicely.

“Can you kiss me?” you ask meekly, like you're scared he’s going to reject you.

tongue so mean

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

word count: about 400

status: in progress

“I hate you.” Draco looks at you with a hard look in his eyes. He has the same frustration and annoyance as when you receive higher marks than him, but something’s different. The usual intense, angry passion that comes with your rivalry is tinged with a different kind of heat. One that equally terrifies and intrigues you. “But I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

You try to hide your surprise, but a small gasp slips out. “Draco?”

“You consume my thoughts. You are first on my mind when I wake and last when I sleep. And I don’t know why, but I can’t live like this anymore.”

“What are you saying?” you ask, even though you know the answer. You just need him to say it out loud.

“Don’t make me say it.” he looks away as if he’s disgusted with his own feelings.

“No,” you move closer, the gap between you two getting smaller. “Say it, Draco.”

Draco scoffs, “You already know.” He’s so close that you can smell hints of his cologne. Traces of musk fill the air, adding to the alluring atmosphere. You’re breathing heavy. His words shouldn’t have that much of an impact on you, but you can’t deny the pleasant images that fill your head as he speaks.

“No, I don’t” you reply, feigning innocence to tick Draco off. “I think you need to be more clear.”  

warm me up

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: about 600

status: in progress

“Hey babe, warm my dick up wontcha?” Steve asks right when you walk into his office. You look up from the file that you were sent to give him. Usually files were sent digitally, but since Steve was so terrible at technology, everything was given to him in paper form.

“There are nicer ways of asking that,” you lightly reprimand, walking over to his mahogany desk.

“Can you please sit on my lap and slide that pretty little pussy onto my cock?” Steve asks lowly. You can feel your face going red and heart beating faster. Just last year, Steve wouldn’t be caught dead saying those words, but now it comes so naturally to him. He can sense your flustered reaction as he gently removes the file from your hand and places it on the desk.

You move to straddle his waist and slot each leg over his thighs. Sitting down, you can feel that he’s already semi-hard. “I don’t know. You have a lot of work to do, honey.” you tell him and spare a glance at his desk, which is covered in numerous files. “I think I’d just distract you.”

Steve furrows a brow at your reply, “I won’t be distracted. Promise.” If you weren’t so close to him, you’d laugh at the neediness your super-soldier boyfriend displays. This man, who can rip logs in half and run 13 miles in half an hour without breaking a sweat, is nearly begging you to sit on his cock.

There are some more, but these are the main ones i will be focusing on.

[miss-choco-chips]

From Baby to Babe~

I once wrote this  https://miss-choco-chips.tumblr.com/post/190983954737/theres-a-point-in-all-the-rouges-gallerys-lives and @theturdis wanted a fic about it, so... Just remember, you asked for this hon. This ain’t my fault.

Tagging @animemangasoul who just told me to tag them the next time I wrote something. 

Fair warning everyone, I somehow did this in one sitting, and, I can’t stress this enough, there’s no edit whatsoever. Like, none. Enjoy, if you can ignore the eyesore of my multiple mistakes.

----.----

Bruce despairs in the knowledge of his sons growing up hot.

---.---

When Dick came back to Gotham as the new Nightwing for the first time ever… well. 

Bruce didn't like to think about the first suit, back then. All those feathers and glitter, the plunging V neck, the mullet… His son had insisted on it being the trend at the time. Bruce just couldn't grasp how was he supposed to blend into the night and take anyone by surprise. There was too much... everything, and not nearly enough stealth.

He was an innocent man, back then. He looked at a horse gift in the mouth and was completely blindsided when it raised on it’s hind legs and kicked him where it hurted.

When Selina approached him a few weeks after N had come to him with the blueprints of his new suit, he had been quiet relaxed. Or as relaxed as one can be when crouched like a gargoyle and looking over the city. He was just getting back on track after… Jason (it still hurted, and probably always would, to think about him), his new partner helping in ways he couldn’t foresee, violence tampered by Tim’s brilliant smile every time he came to Bruce with the answer to a particularly difficult riddle he had been having trouble with. He had to get his act together, because Tim was so bright, mind so beyond what Bruce could ever aspire to, and he was at such an impressionable age… If Batman allowed himself to fall deeper into despair, he would set a dangerously bad example to the kid, which could be really damaging… to the world at large. He was the kind of kid that B wanted on the side of Justice, because the opposite would be quite catastrophic.

So yes, he had been very distracted lately, merely glancing over Dick’s blueprints, noticing the lack of brilliantine and gold, and giving his wholehearted approval. 

Stupid, innocent man he was. He had needed Catwoman of all people to open his eyes.

(To this day, he still wondered about Alfred’s reason for not warning him sooner. Perhaps, and this was the theory he had running, the old butler had been just so delighted at seeing the Disco suit gone, he would approve almost everything in its place, and Dick’s virtue had never been his responsibility to preserve, so to hell with it.

Betrayal always hurted the worse when it came from those closest to you)

-Hey handsome.

-Cat.

She rolled her eyes, already beyond his brood, and just walked out of the light, joining him into the shadows with a sigh at his dramatics. 

-No theft today?

The woman grimaced a bit, letting herself fall at his side with as much grace as she did everything else. Diamond claws scratched at her scalp, carefully not tearing the frail skin, and Batman finally conceded and turned his head to look at her directly. She was never so hesitant.

-Look. I really, really don’t want to be the one telling you this. I would literally rather leave this to anyone else, but… it’s getting out of hand.

-What is it?

-Nightwing. Hadn’t you noticed anything about him?

That got whatever rest of his attention she hadn’t already caught. Speaking of his sons always had that effect on him.

-What happened to him?

-Nothing, just… He’s been out a lot, hasn’t he? I thought he didn’t operate in the city as much…

She was stalling, which was worryingly out of character for Selina. But since this was about Nightwing, he had to be patient and let her talk her way into whatever information she was going to lay on him.

-I’ve been… -training a new Robin, not that he could tell her that- busy, lately. He’s picking up the slack while I’m focusing on it -a.k.a helping him both patrol the streets and teach Tim. 

-I noticed the changes, yes, whatever therapy you’re doing is great for you -she encouraged, more honest than he thought her capable of. He could already see her deadpan when she figured out the reason for his change, his ‘therapy’ as she put it, was an eleven year old thrusting himself at this dangerous life of his.

-Hm.

-Well… Anything noteworthy about him lately? Crime Fighting related?

Since she was stressing the words so much, he gave them deep thought.

-He has been on a streak lately. A lot more arrests… What’s your point?

He could almost see the second she internally said ‘fuck it’ and just blurted everything out.

-That’s because his new suit is, and this is coming from me, B, indecent, and every criminal out there is focusing more on his ass than his punches and flips so he’s kicking ass easier.

Bruce kicked his way to the forefront of his mind, the father in him hip checking the vigilante out of the way so he could properly freak out.

What? He knew the suit was a lot more tight than the former one, but he’d been so relieved at it being mostly black he hadn’t given more than a cursory look… and he barely saw the man in it, often training together in workout clothes and coming and going to patrol at different times. He… wasn’t prepared for this.

-Excuse me?

-I’m sorry, someone had to tell you. Normally, I’d be completely on board with a suit change from boring to daring, and you know of my good relationship with leather, but I’ve literally seen that kid grow up. If I have to listen to Harley talking about Nightwing’s ass one more time, Ivy won’t need to worry any more about the Joker killing her, because I will do it myself.

He wanted to thank her for standing up for his son, but he was still busy internally screaming.

-You want to hear Riddle’s last work? While looking directly at N, he asked ‘is buttcheeks one word? Or should I spread them?’. And then he winked. Winked, B. At your eighteen year old kid. You need to get your ass on gear and make sure Nighting changes his. I mean, I’m getting used to it, but you’ve been doing great lately, violent wise, and I’d hate for you to relapse because you heard Zsaasz asking N to tie his ropes tighter and harder.

B… needed to go back to the cave and call N back early. They had to talk.

----.----

When Jason came back, the first thing to break past the ‘holy shit my son is alive’ wall surrounding his brain was just how tall he had grown. How strong, how broad, how big. The little boy he had picked up from the street, underfeed and hurting everywhere, had turned out almost bigger than B himself and twice as brave. The wave of pride he felt was massive, but the feeling was short lived. 

Jason was killing criminals, had even attempted to murder Tim. Even if the father in him could, in his desperation, try and overlook the first bit, the same side couldn’t get past the second. Tim was as much his as Jason, and he couldn't turn a blind eye to it.

The relief of him being back that overflowed from Bruce clashed horribly with Batman’s unbending morals, and the two sides warred for days for control. The attack on his youngest son had been the deciding factor in who finally won; Bruce couldn’t fight the darkness in him when he needed it to help protect Robin from his predecessor, as much as it pained him.

Theirs was a long road, a difficult path to come back together as a family after so many mistakes on both parts (more his than Jason’s, he knew, but admitting so was so hard…), but they had finally, finally came back together. All his children, sitting around the dinning table at the manor, throwing food at each other behind Alfred’s back, Dick failing to give Jason a noogie, Tim succeeding in elbowing his way past both of them to claim first picks over the brownies, Damian rolling his eyes while sneakily drawing in his notebook what B suspected was a portrait of the three of them, Cass and Steph laughing at their antics… His heart felt like it could give out.

Again, his mind was anywhere but in… that. Already used to the dirty looks aimed at Nighting, he focused his anger into strength behind every punch, taking care to kick specially hard when aiming at the criminal’s genitals as light punishment for the lust they aimed at his oldest, but not longer trying to essentially castrate them.

He had the hang of it, and it was just one child. He could do damage control with one, it wasn’t that hard. Stephanie wasn’t really his, just under his protection as a mentor, and even then, she was mostly Barbara’s; Cass could and would take care of anyone who dared look at her in a way she didn’t like, so she was also good. Seventeen year old Tim and thirteen year old Damian were babies, so they wouldn't be an issue for a long, long time.

And then. And then, Steph had opened her mouth.

-Why can’t Tim do this? -she had whined, raising the heels to eye level and studying them with profound distaste- I hate fighting on these. He’s much better than me at that anyway, and he makes a hotter chick than I when he goes full out on his undercover gig.

Red Robin, who was walking past her on his way to the training mats, high fived her.

Barbara’s voice came from the Batcomputer, Oracle’s voice filter not needed while they still were on the Cave.

-Because he and Jason can’t act like a couple for more than two hours before one of them breaks into hives or laughter, and this is an all night long gig. 

-Then why can’t Tim and Dick go? You just need a girl as pretty arm candy distaction, the guy is the one who’s gonna do the work, and Nightwing can take care of a few drug dealers himself.

-While Dick is certainly pretty enough to gain permission to enter this very private party -the man, stretching with Tim, stopped mid motion to give the computer finger guns. Barbara coughed to cover a laugh and kept going-, the goal is for him to be invited into the boss’s personal office, and we can only do that if he’s interested in what he sees. From what Tim gathered for me on his last recon, he favours… Jason’s body types more than Dick’s.

Bruce, who was just getting out of the locker room, suit fully in place except from the cowl, raised an eyebrow at that, stopping to analyze his second oldest. Tilting his head, and still as confused, he asked what would undoubtedly bring him an unhealthy amount of regret in the very near future.

-What does that mean? Jason’s...body type? You mean tall? Dick is also pretty tall.

There was total silence in the cave for a few moments. Dick and Tim got up from their positions, shared a look, and made a run for the showers, claiming they were ready for patrol (they weren’t, not warmed up enough, but he had other things to focus on now). Damian, already fully suited, tutted and dragged the hood of his cape over his face, almost completely covering it. Cass looked on impassively, and Stephanie seemed to be getting a worryingly amount of glee from whatever this was.

Jason himself was… blushing? What?

-Who’s gonna tell him? -finally asked Barbara, amusement breaking her professional facade.

-Oh, me, me! Let me do this!

Apparently still a naive man, he nodded at the blonde, ready for someone to clear this up for him.

He was regaled with a half an hour long rant about biceps, pecs, and thighs that could compete against tree trunks and win. It was supported by apparent citations from different criminals that ranged from appreciative to full on scandalous.

In the end, everyone left the cave, Batgirl with a notorious spring on her step, and Bruce had to stay home instead of going out, needing the night to fully process about his second son, almost twenty one but twelve in his mind’s eye, apparently featuring in multiple Arkham calendars. 

He came out of that realization a scarred man, to say the least.

-----.-----

It was barely a few months after his traumatic chat with Stephanie when it happened again. He’d like to say he was ready for this.

He wasn’t.

When Conner Kent found him, he was completely focused on his WE’s work. For once on the office, with the TV providing some white noise in the background, he was fully prepared for a day catching up. He couldn’t keep letting Tim take over most of the work, the kid deserved to have a normal (or as normal as any of them could achieve) teenage life.

He was of course notified the moment the meta breached the city’s limits, but figured he was here on Titan’s business or hanging out with Tim. The light knock on his office window was a big surprise.

-This is unexpected, Conner. What can I do for you? -he greeted after letting him in- Tim isn’t here today, he’s giving a press conference.

-Yeah, I know. I’m actually here for you. We, the team, heard from Tim you’re making the blueprints for his next suit.

This conversation was already going in a very confusing way. Why did they care about Tim’s gear?

-Yes?

-Well, you need to double check with us before you show anything to him -something akin to indignant surprise must have shown in his face, because the meta quickly raised both hands-. We don’t mean that as you needing our approval, of course you’d know better how to keep a non-meta well protected. We know jackshit about kevlar and armor. But it’s the… style, that has us worried.

He let the anger bleed out of him, replaced with puzzlement.

-What do you mean?

Conner looked down, as if gathering strength, then up and straight into Bruce’s eyes, a feat very few younger heroes could achieve. This was serious.

-Tim isn’t big like Jason, or as… stretchy as Dick, but he has… very, very attractive features. I won’t go into detail with you about how thin his waist is, how shapely his legs or cute his ass. That’s not something I need to say or you to hear.

Yes, it definitely wasn’t. Bruce was having an inkling as to where this was headed, and he didn’t like it. Tim was a baby! Barely eighteen and so damn small!

-But I do need to tell you, his ugly ass suits have been good at keeping that all on the downlow. We made fun of him for them, sure, but never encouraged him to change, because we know what will happen if he does. It would be awful. You think Nightwing and Red Hood have it rough? Tim has Ra’s Al Ghul’s undivided attention and appreciation. If we add attraction to it? Mayhem. Absolute mayhem. We can barely keep him from being kidnapped by older, nasty villains as it is. We don’t need the extra work, sir. I’m begging you on behalf of the team, don’t let him get anything that would look good on him. Like that Untranet suit he told me about, for example. That one would be so bad. Or the Red Robin one with tighter pants and a domino under the cowl so he can take it out and flash the world his luscious hair. 

Bruce fell back into his desk chair. Elbows resting on the table, he buried his face into his hands.

A long silence filled the room.

-You already approved and made one of those, right?

A small, shaky nod.

-...The Ultranet one?

A firm shake. 

-Fuck me. The Red Robin with tighter pants and domino?

Another nod. Conner sat abruptly on the empty chair in the other side of the desk, like a puppet with its strings cut.

-Well, fuck. 

Fuck indeed. 

Bruce despaired.

----.----

This time, he would be ready. He swore it on his honor, on his oath, on his parents.

So when Damian turned sixteen, growth spurt kicking in (he towed over Tim, and it wouldn’t be long until he left Dick in the dust as well), he made a thought but necessary call.

He phoned Talia.

-We need to talk. About Damian, and… sex appeal.

Her shock was evident even through the phone.

-Excuse me? My son is a child. He has no such thing.

He closed his eyes. Once, a long time ago, he’d been just as naive. Now he knew better. 

It was a hard lesson to learn, but she needed to. And quickly. Damian was growing faster than his other children. Time was of essence.

-Let me tell you what I wish I knew years ago, when Dick decided to change his Nightwing suit.

She was probably going to hate him for opening her eyes like this, but Bruce just couldn't do this alone. 

He could deal with Talia’s hate, but criminals lusting after his baby son? Hell no. He might actually go rouge.

[imma-potatoo]

Hello Hello friends!

This is going to be my first full fanfic which is written for k.c.cosplays_13 on tiktok. If you don't follow them you should. They have amazing sanders sides cosplays and are a really nice person.

*Logan is a dark side in this fic*

A Typical Movie Night

Ships: Loceit

Janus was running back and forth between the couch and the kitchen, stepping over the occasional blood spatter and thrown about crayons.

It was the dark side movie night; aka, the night where they watched horror and documentaries until it's three am or they pass out. After getting into a huge argument with the light sides, Logan refuses to watch anything disney or animated. Not that the others minded, they weren't a huge fan.

Humming a show tune that he could barely remember the name of, Janus slowly cut up a vegetable tray. Making sure that the pieces were even and arranged perfectly on the plate. He picked it up to put it with the rest of the food on their coffee table, only to slip on a crayon.

A huge bang sounded throughout the dark household, veggies were everywhere, a plate was broken and Janus layed on his back. Face mixed between anger, slight pain and annoyance. He groaned and went to stand up only to have a blue side leaning above him with a spreading smile.

"The vegetables are meant to go on the plate Darling, not on the floor," a slight smirk rised on his cheeks -slightly showing off a dimple- as he helped the yellow side up, brushing off a few peas.

Janus let out a massive sigh, twisting his neck so it let out a crack. "I'm not going to kill the other two if they keep making a mess like this," fixing his hat slightly, "I didn't just clean this morning!" Janus couldn't stay irritated, not when he saw Logan with a ear to ear grin and soft chuckles leaving his lips.

Logan was so much happier as a dark side. He still played the role of logic but he was free to be himself. He opened the buttons on his shirt, he left the tie hanging around his neck -instead of having it suffocate him- and he even wore ice blue makeup sometimes. Logan could use little nicknames and still be taken seriously. He didn't even have to worry about his Crofters being taken! Right now though. Logan just had his dress shirt with a few buttons undone and a little bit of blue eyeshadow.

Logan towered over his boyfriend. Grabbing Janus' hand and pulling his body to his chest. Wrapping the right arm around his back and using the left to remove his gloves. Logan raised Janus' hand to his lips and gave them a soft - almost like it wasn't there- kiss. Letting out a soft squeak as Logan dusted his lips across his hand, face flushing beet red. Logan's smirk grew as he saw the flustered side. Lifting up Janus' head, he leaned in towards his lips. Only to swerve and whisper in his ear instead.

"As much as I love staring into your beautiful eyes, you are still covered in broccoli. Go get changed, I'll clean up here." Logan pecked his nose with a kiss before stealing his hat.

"Logan don't give that back!" Janus wanted to keep down that grin but he couldn't keep the smile off.

"Nah, I think I'll keep it. It reminds me of you." winking to the already flustered side "now do get changed"

Huffing slightly Janus left his boyfriend to clean up.

Heading up the stairs and passing a orange door and a green door. Janus headed into the black door with a snake and a brain etched on to the wood.

Walking inside the room, ever changing constellations danced upon the ceiling with twisting galaxies with legions of colours lighting the sky. Blue and yellow roses sat on both sides of a elegant four poster bed. A whole wall was just full of bookshelves and two plush chairs were placed in front of a floor to ceiling window, a small tea set off to the side.

Pulling out a yellow T-Shirt (reading: 'What do you call a snake thats 3.14 Metres long? A PI-THON!') Logan would hate it.....It was perfect. He also pulled a pair of black jeans.

Changing quickly, Janus walked back out of the room, only stopping to adjust the roses in the vase. He walked up to the green door and knocked.

"Remus! The movie isn't almost set up, you don't have five minutes! Remember it isn't your movie first."

He continued to walk down the corridor. Stopping to knock on a bright orange door.

"Augustus, the movie isn't starting in five!"

Janus continued his journey to rejoin his boyfriend, walking down the steps and looking up to see the taller side playing on his phone.

The room was all set up. Fairy lights hung above the couch twinkling as the title screen for "Murder Beach Party" played on the television. The coffee table was covered in food. Nachos sat in the middle with chips and candy by its side. Chocolate covered pretzels (Janus' favourite) was the closest to his seat and a new veggie platter was next to it for Logan. Pillows and blankets were piled high and nearby was a multitude of different electronics and chargers in case Remus got bored.

Janus smiled as he looked at how his boyfriend could now freely wear his smile. Pulling a silly smile of his own he flopped next to Logan and put his chin on top of his phone. Logan looked up and beamed at the yellow side... Before he saw the yellow T-Shirt.

"Bee, you know how much I hate the shirt."

"And honey, you know how much I don't love it."

"Well, who am I to get in the way of your smile?" a smirk was growing on the blue sides face as he tugged Janus closer to him.

"A pretty rude one, considering how you don't cause it most of the time." Janus leaned forward and let out a purr like hiss. Forked tongue peeking through his lips.

This time, it was Logan who turned bright red. Fumbling over his words until he simply gave up and pulled Janus closer to him. Burying his nose in the deceitful sides blond locks. Janus in response, curling up in his lap.

They stayed like that for about half an hour. Then the concern for the two missing sides grew. They were about to leave the comfort of the blanket fort when Janus' phone rung.

Logan passed the ringing phone to his partner and looked in curiosity as he answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Remus, what don't you mean you got arrested again? And Augustus isn't with you too..."

"Remus! This isn't the third time this week you two have gotten arrested."

"Don't you 'JanJan' me"

"I totally care if the body didn't fit in the trash can."

"No, you and Augustus can stay in there for a few days to see if you two can't learn how to properly dispose of a body."

"Well maybe you two shouldn't pay attention when we are teaching you how to do those things."

"No Remus, Logan and I won't come get you tomorrow or the day after."

Pulling the phone away from his ear, the shorter side looked up at the blue side. "He didn't hang up on me..."

The two sides stared into each others eyes before they both started cackling. Tears leaking by the time they could stop.

Logan wrapped his arms around the smaller side, drawing him close before picking up the remote; wiggling the remote back and forth. He smiled and gazed into Janus' eyes

"Want to watch Remus' gore filled movie or find something else, my love?"

Janus tapped his chin in thought, "well, If we do change the film we get to spoil it for Remus, but if don't we might enjoy our date night."

Logan hummed in response, "So, different movie?" chuckling at the excessive nodding of the head. Logan switched it to a different movie.

Hamilton

Logan liked the rapping and clever word play. While Janus liked the songs and the story.

Snuggling in further Janus grabbed his chocolate covered pretzels before leaning up to kiss Logans jaw. "I love you Logan."

Logan ran his fingers through Janus' curls, stroking his fingers over his scales. "I love you too Janus."

~~~~~~~~

Well, thats a thing.

@mother-snake I did a thing! It has a lot of fluff...

@girl-with-many-fandoms you seem to really like my writing... Have some Loceit fluff!

[amerrierworld]

Wicked

Marvel (Thor Ragnarok) oneshot

For anon 

Summary: Thor sets you up on a date with Hela, and everything seems to go well until old high-school ‘friends’ interrupt your meal.

Characters: Hela x fem!reader, Thor, former high school friends (I haven’t given them names or too much detail, so imagine whoever you’d like :) )

Word Count: 2,107

Warnings: uh, annoying high school girls?

“Are you sure about this?”

“Of course!” Thor responded, trotting next to you. “Trust me, you’ll love her.”

“Hm, why am I finding that so difficult to believe?” you huffed, pulling at the sleeves of your shirt as you walked down the street. “If she’s anything like her brothers, I doubt I’ll be able to sit across from her without slapping her across the face immediately.”

“Very funny, Y/N,” he responded. “Give it a chance, will you? You’ve been single for forever. And Hela’s been single for, well, eternity.” 

“I can’t help but wonder if this is just a scheme of yours and Loki’s to try and keep Hela off your butts from what I’ve been told.”

The God of Thunder shot you a look as he led you inside a diner, winking at a few passing people who squealed in delight at recognizing him. You rolled your eyes.

As the two of you waited at the front of the diner for your date, you shuffled nervously, hugging your purse tightly.

“Just don’t question her power, you know?” Thor was going on about all the tips he could think of so Hela wouldn’t accidentally kill you and everyone else enjoying their lunches.

“And don’t bring up family, bit of a sore topic that. Steer clear of Asgard and the Avengers, she’s still a little salty about not getting to rule it and such. Oh, and don’t talk about me or our brother too much, she finds us really annoying.”

“I wonder why?” 

“Haha,” he said, bumping your arm. An easy silence fell between you two, and you glanced around to see anyone that might stick out to you as a god.

“What does she look like?”

“Oh, irritating, mostly,” Thor sighed. “Like an absolute pain in your ass, completely incoherent of understanding other people’s lives-,”

“Stop it, you doof,” you said, shoving him lightly. “I’m serious.”

“Right, well she looks a little like Loki- same dark hair, love the colour green. Bit of a copy cat if you ask me. Tall, just as tall as me-,”

“Intimidating, cunning, and absolutely bored to death by her little brother’s dialogue,” a smooth voice spoke up behind you. “Is this her, then?”

You turned around and stared, stunned at the sight in front of you. She was tall, with black boots adding an inch or two so she towered above you. With a tight, dark green tank top hugging her curves and showing off her toned arms and a pair of black leather pants she looked, frankly, delicious. 

You swallowed thickly and blushed as you met her gaze, piercing green eyes framed by a mess of black waves. 

“Hello sister,” Thor said dryly. “This is my friend, Y/N. Treat her nicely.”

“Oh, don’t worry little brother. I don’t bite... often.”

She gave you a coy smirk and you felt your face become even more flushed. Thor clapped your shoulder.

“Right, I’m off then. You two have fun,” he shot his sister a warning look and she smirked back before he was gone.

“Should we find a seat, darling?” Hela began, pressing a hand to your back. You nodded meekly as you watched her. She moved swiftly like a cat waiting to pounce. Either way, her sudden touch on your body sent your heartbeat into a wonderful overdrive as the hostess led the two of you to a booth.

-

“Do you do this often?” Hela asked, grumbling as she scanned the menu.

“What? Dating?”

“No, ordering food like this,” she said. “How are you supposed to just pick one?”

Her dark eyebrows were furrowed intently and you couldn’t help but giggle, making her look up.

“We can split an appetizer first, if you want,” you offered. “You don’t have to just pick one, but it’s not very common to go scrounging on like, three meals at a restaurant.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, her gaze flickering down to the menu again, almost nervously. 

“So what would you like to start with?” you asked. “The calamari is pretty good, unless you don’t like fish? Maybe nachos...”

“What are nachos?”

You blinked at her, stunned once again, but for a completely different reason. This time you burst into full-on snickering that didn’t dissipate for a solid few minutes, with Hela staring at you in confusion until you were done.

“What?”

You patted her hand. “We’re getting nachos. I can’t believe you’ve been on Earth with those two knucklehead brothers of yours and you haven’t ever had nachos.”

Hela was looking at your hands touching before a grin split across her face and suddenly she seemed more at ease.

“Nachos it is.”

-

Your meal with Hela was going wonderfully, which was a surprise for both of you. You steered clear of the advised topics that Thor had told you about, but found that conversation flowed easily enough without it; Hela was more intrigued about Earth and your every day routine than any realm-enslaving conquest she’d ever been on. When Asgard did come up, it was always in passing, or by her own choice, and you listened whenever she spoke of it, holding her hand tightly. 

You learned her favourite colour is green, that she had a pet wolf named Fenris that she couldn’t wait for you to meet and that she’d only been on Earth for a little while, so she wasn’t really sure how to act human around everyone. 

Nodding along, your hands intertwined easily and automatically. Hers were cool to the touch and you found yourself tracing her figure with your eyes as she spoke. The conversation turned to you, talking about your upbringing, and you were eagerly talking to her about your life when a high-pitched, god-awful squeal caught your attention. 

“Oh my god! No way! Y/N?”

Rising from a table a bit further from your booth was a trio of girls from high-school that you’d hardly talked to since graduating. Your stomach plummeted; they were the exact few ‘friends’ that you had during your four years that you avoided after leaving that school behind once you realized how horribly toxic they really were.

Your face paled as you forced a smile on your face, and your fingers suddenly had Hela’s hand in a trembling death-grip. She noticed, eyes scanning between you and the group, silently watching. 

“Girl, it’s so great to see you! How long has it been? God, you look so different than you used to!”

You grimaced and said a weak ‘hi’ to them. You pulled your hands from Hela’s and buried them under the table to wring them together, sweaty and trembling. 

“What are you up to these days? Do you work in the city? I never would have thought you would have made it, you know? None of us could have imagined it in high school! You were always so weird back then, right?”

The same preppy tones, glamour bags and glittery lip gloss stared at you like demons coming to haunt you again. You had been much different than their clique from school, and yet you had found yourself wound up in their drama and constant bickering anyways. 

Through your haze, you made out a clear, cool voice from across you speaking up.

“I’m sure Y/N wasn’t anymore weird than anyone else who went to that school of yours,” Hela chipped in. You came back to reality to watch Hela speak with the leader of the girl group, a loud and pretentious girl who had a way of making everyone feel useless without trying. Yet your date was staring at her with a feline look, waiting for something to happen. 

“And who is this, Y/N? Your girlfriend?”

“I’m Hela, pleased to meet you,” she ignored the question and reached to shake the girl’s hand. In a split second you saw her face contort in an ungodly pain from Hela’s grip. She struggled to pull her hand free and when she did she was huffing, clearly offended. You smirked a little.

“Huh, quite a grip there, lady. Martial arts?”

“No, just a lot of experience killing people.”

The girls chuckled nervously. “What, are you one of those Avenge folk or whatever?” they scoffed, cackling amongst themselves as if they had made the best joke of the century.

“No, but Thor, who spends a lot of time with them, is in fact my brother.”

“O. M. G. What! You know Thor? As in God of Thunder? Like, super-hot blonde dude with a hammer and stuff?”

“That’s the one. Although he seems more fond of Y/N than me, sibling-rivalry and all that.”

In an instant you were bombarded with questions how did you meet him? is he really that hot? god! isn’t he an absolute dream? c’mon Y/N let us meet him you owe us that much at least.

Your heartbeat sped up again and you found it difficult to breathe, clamping your hands together. Your leg was bouncing up and down until you felt a heeled foot press against your calf, rubbing up and down soothingly. 

“If you’d like, I could introduce you much faster you know,” Hela drawled, drawing their attention like a predator playing with its prey. “I can easily summon him if you want to come outside for a second. It’ll be too much of a commotion indoors.”

They were scuffling about like puppies begging for snacks as Hela stood up, towering over them. You felt nervous, wondering what she was going to do but she turned to you and winked before saying,

“Be back in a minute, babe.”

Once you got your bearings again, you shot up from your seat to follow and hurry outside, afraid to find three corpses littered on the street. You hated high school bullies, sure, but not that much.

As soon as you stepped out the front doors, high-pitched screaming erupted from the streets and you watched all three girls scamper for their lives, away from Hela and a massive black wolf that was growling and roaring at them by her side. A shimmering portal was pulsing behind Fenris, and Hela was nearly doubled over in laughter as they ran.

When she saw you approach nervously she stretched out a hand.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite either, unless I ask him to.”

She gave you the sweetest of smiles and your anxiety melted away. You placed your hand in hers and she pulled you closer to pet Fenris, who nuzzled your palm. 

“Off with you, now,” Hela said, patting the wolf’s head. “You don’t fit anywhere in this world.”

Fenris purred in protest and Hela tutted. “Now, now, I’ll visit soon. Thor keeps telling me if I bring you here they’re either going to hunt me or fear me, and apparently that’s not what the Avengers want right now. Scram now.”

Fenris turned like a wounded puppy and you giggled as he grumbled, before stepping through the portal and disappearing. 

“You alright, darling?” Hela asked suddenly, standing much closer than before, her face inches from yours.

“Y-yeah, I think so. Now that they’re gone.”

“They were absolute bitches, you know that?”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, they’ve always been like that.”

“Were you really once friends with them?”

“Yeah, surprisingly. I was a different person back then, and a lot of things happened that just weren't right. Eventually I locked them out of my memory but seeing them like that; that was the best revenge ever.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Though I’m afraid when Thor gave me a blueprint of ‘typical first dates’, summoning a giant wolf and scaring off old bullies wasn’t anywhere on the plan.”

“Oh, that’s alright. Regular first dates are boring anyway.”

She grinned again, a hand snaking around your waist and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You sucked in a breath.

“I couldn’t let them stand there and belittle you like that, it angered me so much.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t kill anyone,” you said, poking her playfully. “I consider that progress.”

She smiled at you.

“I had a wonderful time, Y/N.”

“Me too,” you breathed, before leaning up and pressing your lips to hers this time. She held you tightly as you kissed, her cool touch making you relaxed and dizzy all over.

You pulled away and brushed your hands through her hair, feeling the soft textures run through your fingers.

“Does that mean a second date is in order? Thor said a first kiss shouldn’t be until the third date, at least.”

“Thor is an idiot,” you mumbled against her lips. “I may owe him one for the best first date ever, but he’s terrible with dating advice.”

A/N: this was so much fun to write! thank you for the anon who prompted this <3 i don’t know about you, but I definitely had some specific people in mind when writing the hs girls and it made me very satisfied to write them running for the hills. let me know what you think folks!