#no truly i could scream and i could cry right here on public transportation

[airenyah]

und erst gestern abend, vor weniger als 24h hab i mi aufgeregt....

korrektur: i hass nd nur die wiener bims abgrundtief sondern die wiener linien generell

steig i grad ind ubahn, kommt die durchsage "wegen technischen störungen kommt es zu einem aufenthalt".

i hab an fetten koffer den i nu bei meine eltern abstellen muss bevor i in [datenschutzrechtlich zensiert] sei muss, i bin scheiße miad und fertig, mei zug fahrt dann, und die ubahn steckt an der station fest. natürlich. NATÜRLICH. was hab i ma anderes erwartet, wirkli. i rea glei

danke für GAR NIX @wiener linien

[mimibtsghost7]

Fuck you and all your little brain washed rats sending people hate because you cant take responsibility for your actions!! But go on stay silent like you always do, pretend its nothing of your business, keep being a fetishizing racist delulu like you love to be while pretending to be the best blog on tumblr!!!

NOT like anyone will see this but YOU will so LET’S GOOO!!!~~

TW: mental health and more (if you feel like this can trigger you, pls don’t read this, breathe in and out and listen to this HERE and remember I love you), loads of tea and Mimi NOT being a friendly and kind ghost. 

funny enough: 

I never pretended of said I was the best blog. But I guess the fact that you say it might be because you heard it frequently? Thanks for thinking so^^

I sent hate to no one and u r the one sending it to me rn ^^ In my whole 4 year journey on Tumblr I received a lot of love but also worse hate that you can imagine. Yes you are saying now you are receiving hate ... funny how it’s bad when It’s addressed to you but when it’s at me and my dear followers it is not. Still, I never told anyone to go hate on you. You were the idiot that tagged my old blog and as soon as my blog was gone pple searched me and found out you were the reason behind this. But as you keep hating on me. Let me tell you I am kind but don’t mistake that for me being a coward.

I am not into insulting others and I don’t care much if you insult me. BUT don’t YOU DARE touch my dear followers. Insulting ain’t hard. Let me try: The only rat here is you hiding in your hole as an anon. I went and compared your writing with this ask and previous hate asks. And it was you~ Good for you~ the sewers smell just like your filthy mouth spilling sh*t left and right. So on brand. However, I know who you are @hobisbeautifulass Hi ^^

Me racist? HAHAHAHAH you truly know NOTHING about me nor my ex-blog’s message. It was a place when you were welcomed no matter your skin color, religion, gender ... proof? well it got deleted thanks to you. but ask around this time and search for who reblogged my posts as they were always the top of the tags (even if I don’t trust how bad you are at research). I supported the BLM movement and still do and will always do but I did so veeery early without anyone telling me. Not for the notes but because of my humanity. I wished my dear followers’ happy holidays no matter their religions. And never cared about those things. Why judge someone on something based on religion or how they were born. As for the LGBTQ+ community, I was always and will always be there for love being love. I talked about mental health and opened venting nights. I helped left and right and when I was receiving hate because of people like you spitting lies about me. What did I do? Did I go online and called people bad? No. I looked back at myself and asked myself if I did anything wrong. I tried to educate myself and apologized sincerely when I had to. I read books and watched documentaries to learn how to become a better human. AND never repeated a mistake twice. You tend to forget that our cultures are different and sometimes you grow up to see some things as normal when they are not. This is not an excuse tho, so I always believed that I was lacking and if someone had something to say against me, there is a chance they are right and just in case I should reflect on myself. But for your case it was pure nonsense. ME? a stalker? how can I stalk when I have social anxiety and at that time couldn’t even leave my room? I am even afraid of taking public transportations and just the other days I was crying from joy when I took a taxi alone. they said I was in Japan stalking Jimin and Jungkook and took a pic when I was NEVER EVER was on that land. You put me on the same list as people who bought info about BTS’ flights to be on the same plane as them? I was stalked before and let me tell you it ain’t cute and fun. I am even scared of the idea of being followed. that’s why I never shared openly my age, country, or anything about me on my blog. that’s why I have no personal social media to this day and that’s why making my ex-blog was some sort of miracle in my life. 

Silent? yes I was silent when I received hate and didn’t even vent to my dear followers or pointed fingers. Why? because I thought as my day was hell I shouldn’t make anyone’s day worse. I was worried about my dear followers with mental illnesses being triggered. I tried to take my life so many times I lost count but I still came here and smiled. It was my safe place and you took it away. Yet, I should pity you? You hated on me first for no reason and you know it deep inside but right now you are trying to convince yourself that you are the angel and feel no guilt. Compared to you. I pointed fingers at no one and didn’t name you when my blog was gone. Why? because compared to you, I thought you will not be able to manage the hate and what was done .. I didn’t want you to suffer the same way I did when you are the one who made me suffer the most the past couple of days. But the kind Mimi is someone you will never remember because you dared touch the friends I love and calling them names. I don’t mind people insulting me but don’t you dare touch my people. I know myself best. My dear friends/followers know me best. I thought ... I could leave without this mess but you keep barking in my ask box and it’s annoying. I left this backup account just to talk to my friends and yet you are here to ruin things again? I should stop being kind to the ones who deserve non of it. I ignored you when I had so many followers and you went silent too because you were scared of me. But as soon as I lost my blog because of you, you went, edited and then reblogged that stalker post. How can I be a stalker? do you even know the definition of a stalker? do you even know shame? well .. I don’t think so.. you said it yourself. You are NOT ashamed (and you reblogged that so many time lol). 

Death threats? this is no competition but thanks to people like you I have been there and wish no one to be there not even you. The only difference is that you almost killed me for real. You were not the sole reason? Great job walking away from you beloved word: RESPONSIBILITY. And I didn’t get just anon hate, I got literal tagging by people like you, DMs, and people pointing guns at me. That’s why I didn’t mention you. I was worried about the one who took away what I worked for for 4 YEARS. I was more sad and concerned about the ARMY fandom here. Do you know how many rely on my updates? do you know how many people said I helped them? do you know any of that? do you think 200k people were “rats”? Do you think if I did and say wrong thing I will not be questioned by those people. I always told my dear followers: “friends, if I do or say anything wrong or share anything that hurts anyone please tell me. I am willing to learn from everyone.” But what did you know? what did you do? Well ..  guess you love notes? As the most notes you ever got and the most attention was when talking about me? 

Love how you talk about fetishing when my blog was what people call “family friendly”. I also like BTS. I love them for their music, talent, personalities and the happiness they give me. I also enjoy BTS’ bond and love their interactions. I posted content of all kinds of interactions JM X JK, JK X V, V X JIN, JIN X SG, SG X JH, JH X RM, RM X JM ... If you are calling this fetishing asian men just because I scream over BTS as a fan and love their bonb. Then aren’t you against the idea of being an ARMY? I was a clear OT7 and you were told that you weren’t right: 

 Then you answered this without even explaining the nonsense about me: 

idk .. I am trying to find sense in your nonsense so .. wait wait let me look at the definition of fetishism first. 

Fetishism /ˈfɛtɪʃɪz(ə)m/ noun: a form of sexual behavior in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, activity, part of the body, etc.

Then .. judging from your URL alone hmmm ... cute. I won’t even talk about the SMUT you write that is full of kinks and fetishism. Well I have no problem with fan fiction but the irony you spit is out of this world.

Also, I made money out of mimibtsghost? HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH no lil one. I worked day and night for FREE. At some point when BT21 just came out and there were no products on AMAZON or anywhere but S.Korea, someone reached out to me to offer 20% off or something for my dear followers. When they asked what I wanted I said what about international giveaways for my dear followers. Basically, made gifs, found content, updates, analysis, edits, and so on for free. Again, w-wait .. Aren’t you the one asking for commissions? Well .. It’s not wrong. But again THE irony. 

So, I went to see that post you made about me with “PROOF” and it was just another person who was salty as I got them blocked I can’t even recall who they were but oh well. Their arguments according to YOU and many should be taken as FACTS just because they said them?  You said HERE that your first comeback was MOST:7 that came in just last year (2020) SO what the hell do YOU know about what happened years before you came when all the proof you pointed at where baseless without any backing?

Let’s see this so wise person you used to delete my blog and what I have done ^^

The gifs: There is a story to this. The first week I came to Tumblr, It was my first time on this site and the first time I share anything. I shared some content and my analysis had a lot of notes for a small creator that started just a week ago. But I made a mistake, I found a gif and posted it while crediting the gif maker. At the time I had NO idea it was wrong. I logged off and after 5 hours I log in and there was a WAR for that ONE gif. The big blog had me blocked and her friend was telling me to take it off. As soon as the person told me I did IMMEDIATELY and apologized againa and again and told them to tell the original gif maker to deblock me as I want to apologize directly and that they can block me after that. They did and I apologized but they just kept insulting me. Of course it was MY mistake and that’s why I apologized. But for them. for a mere gif (yes I say a mere gif because I made so many gifs and they were used on all platforms but I never thought it was necessary to hate that much on someone like they did to me). That blog was big and had big blog mutuals. Thanks to that, I became someone you do NOT become mutuals with but block and never reblog content from. Without any big mutuals. Without any shoutouts. Only my love for BTS, my dear followers’ support and my hard work.. My blog, became bigger and FAST (I got 10k in less than 6 months after I started) and that brought loads of jealousy and thus more rumors. Even if, I apologized and since then made my own gifs. And I made SO many gifsets that I can’t remember how many there were. What I can recall is at some point I made them daily and many times a day.

Ships Jikook? I posted content of ALL the members interactions. I was here at a time where Jikook stans and Taekook stans where always fighting. BUT I posted about both and even made so many posts to encourage loving all the members and all the interactions. I also used the tags solely used for shipping with other big tags to show that BTS’ interactions are all important and their bond is beutiful. That our fandom shouldn’t hate on a member just because they are not part of a ship we like. And wait .. even if I shipped Jikook? I got called ALL those names by someone who ship the members with readers and write sexual scenes? Like, wait ... I am truly confused. Like, write fanfic and do all you want as long as you hurt no one I guess but why am I getting hurt for doing non of it? Like according to you, the person you should be cancelling is yourself?! I am also not into cancel culture like you so hahah whatever.

Posted stalker pics: well wow the story changes each time. Next thing you will hear that I was the one holding a camera for a member in a Vlive lol. Let me teach you about this update thing I was doing. I follow accounts I trust and that’s how we get info circulating fast. I always do reasearch but sometimes mistakes are made. For example when lately people shared pictures of BTS leaving their virtual concerts and schedules. There was a watermark of a news outlet. Normally we trust those but only later we realized that those people stalked BTS. You clearly can’t know it all. But I still didn’t share many pics related to many events (I will not name those as pple can search them even now because some pple never deleted those). And all big accounts shared many pics then deleted later. This happens all the time but it happened like ONCE for me. However, I am called a stalker for that? 

When Jonghyun passed away ... I don’t even wanna recall that night as the memories just ... when that happened I posted about it and send my condolescences. that post had over 10k notes and was at the top the tag. Why did I do that? I was devastated. Yes, many were but I will talk about me rn: I was suicidal the days before that and one of the songs that I listened to when I was broken where by him. I has been in the kpop world since 2006. And learned about his group since their debut with ‘Replay’. I was never a stan but I still knew of many groups and listened to all the songs I liked. I was very sad when he was gone and ANGRY mostly. Why is this angel leaving? Why is someone like me still here? Why did I not leave instead of him? How much did he suffer? And in the midst I posted a post from twitter that stated how agencies usually put down pple with mental illiness and hide it in the industry. Yes, that was important but NOT at that time. I shouldn’t have posted that and I realized after 5 min of doing so that it was WRONG. So I deleted it FAST but it kept being reblogged and I kept getting hate and people telling me: “Go kill yourself”... the sad part is that I almost did as my answer was “true ... why am I still here?” I apologized and logged off then to this day won’t forget crying at 3 AM while walking outside next to my dad. I was outside as I couldn’t breathe anymore and the idea of seeing the walls of my room was hell. I cried and cried and the teary eyes that my father looked at me with are something I am ashamed of to this day. To add one more thing while I am spilling the beans. I hate learning about someone dying. My grandma passed away sometime before that and it was so shocking to me. and some people came and told me when I was mourning her: Go follow that bitch of grandmother of yours. And for what? At that moment I didn’t think I would live to see the next year but I went to therapy and took medecine that was hurting and made me shake all day just to turn somewhat sane. No one knew tho ... I smiled all day and cried all night.. Even on the blog I fought no one of the ones who hated me. I just blocked them but even that was an insult to them?

Again, you said no one should defend me. Yet, you were ready to fight whoever touched anyone around you. What about changing your URL to beautifulassirony

Also THE hypocrisy. If you are sorry then why are you answering an ask of someone isulting someone you want to apologize to? Just make a post wher you apologize or ignore it from the start?

One more thing but surely not the last. You said you were good with research which you are NOT. So, let me show you what an OG detective ARMY can do. But first, as I was scrolling I saw some of your “work” (let’s not even talk about those gifs) and I am just giving my point of view here: I hate how you painted Namjoon as this horny-idiotic-make-dog. Like I get it it’s a fanfic or Namjoon as a dad but ... Namjoon is such a smart man who is very respectful and ofc he is a human with needs like many but what the hell is this way of portraying a character? Also a character is not cool, amazing, and a strong woman just because they curse and belittle their partner. 

Oh well, only you kept reblogging that as it show 36 reblogs when only 33 as still there when I looked and out of those 13 reblogs are yours? (you might have reblogged it more) but again some people might have liked ... people have different taste ... so ... whatever. 

Let’s continue, shall we ^^. You said you were the victim here when I was the one getting robbed right? How can I believe someone who reblogged the post below and was proud calling themselves an abomination or how the Oxford dictionary defines it:  a thing that causes disgust or loathing. For once you weren’t wrong.

What can you expect from someone who has the “I am not like others” kinda mentality while stating relatable things that everyone goes through?

This is getting pretty long. So to sum this up. You are now telling others that hate is NOt ok and that they should be ashamed of themselves when you yourself is not ashamed of hating on me?

I am not the type that sends anon hate. I might ignore some barking but the past days you came and bite me hard. I face the ones I have to face without fear. I know I am not the bad guy here and I don’t care much what you think about me. Even BTS got haters. This says a lot. BUT do NOT dare talk badely of my dear friends/followers. You said you do research well? Start by deleting the post below that was originally by ME from your blog ... oh how meticulous you are. From your baseless receipts to your twisted logic. Indeed people on the internet can say anything and it will be FACTS. You painted me as the devil and painted yourself as this researcher? What’s next you receiving a Phd in ‘pity me’ after your MBA in lies and irony? Whatever~ 

Whaaatever~ Karma will have upcoming talks with you. No need for you to apologize. I never cared about you and you only got attention using me. But I am not here anymore how will you get that blog running now? Are you gonna add me in a fanfic next? No need for you to send me my appearance fee when you do so~ And no need for you to apologize to me just apologize to you conscience if you have any left.  As for me @hobisbeautifulass​ you are just someone I will forget soon anyway~~ 

And because according to what you said HERE when you described the things you hate about people and I thought that was VERY close to how you treated me. Thus, you might really not stand yourself rn.

Do.Not.Worry. BTS are starting the Love Myself campaign again and just in time for you to jump in (you are good at jumping to conclusions about me so I won’t worry about you). I know you don’t like me or my friends but be sure to love yourself at least ^^ 

You are a Hobi stan? Then learn from Hobi to share some sunshine not bring the storm. Have a good day~

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 10: Used Tea Bags - Javier Pena

Day 10: Used Tea Bags - Javier Pena 

This takes place during season 3 of Narcos. Honestly I love season 3 Javier when he’s the boss and even more stressed and I just want to rub his shoulders and tell him it’s all going to be okay. 

Pairing: Javier Pena x reader 

Rating: 18+ language and implied sexual situations. 

November Writing Challenge Masterlist (Holy crap I am 1/3 of the way done!) 

Day 9: No, you don’t - Maxwell Lord 

It was late, the sounds of cumbia played through the open window from the bar down the street. The well worn kitchen table is covered in maps, half drunken cups of coffee, a chipped plate is covered in cigarette butts, some still smoldering, and on another is several used tea bags bleeding onto the plate. The world should be sleeping but not here, here there were plans to be made. 

Javier Pena kneeled next to the coffee table flanked by Trujillo, and Colonel Hugo Martinez on his left and Chris Feistl and Daniel Van Ness on his right. A map of Cali with different routes to the airport are highlighted. The Cali police force are crooked as hell so they needed a way around them, if they got in there and actually found Gilberto Rodriquez they needed to figure a way to get him out of Cali and back to Bogota without any corruption. The only way to do that was to plan everything in secret. 

You had been assigned to work with Javier upon his return to Columbia as his assistant. Everyone had warned you before he got there about Agent Pena, saying he was an asshole, womanizer, and should have gone to jail for his involvement with Los Pepes. But, you tried to go into it with an open mind. 

When you first introduced yourself the only thing that stuck out to you was how exhausted he looked and not just physically. His eyes held a weariness that couldn’t fade from only a good night's rest. He was reluctant at first to accept any help whether it be in the form of a cup of coffee, an ashtray, or a file he had left on your desk the night before. 

But you never gave up, always thinking one step ahead of him. You handed him a file before he even asked for it, you brought him lunch before he starved to death in his office, and you always knew when he was low on cigarettes because a new pack would appear on his desk. He tried to tell you he was quitting but you both knew that was bull shit. 

When Feistl and Van Ness made their connection to ‘Natalia’ the informant inside the Cali cartel things began to move quickly. It became apparent that they needed to work under the radar on this one. They needed to find somewhere they could meet but would also be discreet and before Javier could even asked you offered your apartment as ground zero for taking down Gilberto Rodriquez. The small government provided apartment wasn’t meant to hold more than maybe two people but over the past few nights it held at least ten at all times. Not only the Colonel, and Trujillo but Pena, the DEA guys, and several loyal members of Search Bloc. 

At this point you're sure your neighbors believe you’ve become a prostitute from the revolving door of men who come through your door during the night. Especially Senora Rivera who yesterday morning gave you a rosary before telling you she is praying that you don’t get any diseases from the men you keep company. What a charming neighbor she is. You're tempted to bake her some chocolate chip cookies and ask a few Search Bloc guys to deliver them but you know that will only make it worse. 

Javi is going over the plan for the twelfth time that night and you're in the kitchen making another pot of coffee. You yawn silently to yourself before pouring the steaming magic into the cups and putting them on the tray to bring them to the men in the living room. They nod there thanks and you return the gesture taking the remaining two cups over to the window and tapping lightly. On the fire escape are two armed Search Bloc members keeping their eyes open onto the street below. They take the cups gratefully before thanking you. 

“Estrella, can you come over here?” Javier calls you. 

You turn raising one eyebrow at the nickname but you don’t correct him, “Si, what’s up?” 

“I want you to sit down and listen to the plan, if there is anything you think we missed or does not add up I need you to tell me. People’s lives could be at stake if we make any mistakes.” 

Feistl sighs loudly running his hands over his face, “Pena why the hell are you going to explain this to her? She’s not going to understand any of this!” 

You have to bite your tongue before you say something you regret. Luckily the looks the other men give him are enough to shut him up. “Because idiot it’s good to get a fresh set of eyes on these things, and she can always see things before I even think them so sit down, shut up, and let her listen. I’m sorry Estrella, can you sit please?” he gestures to the seat across from him. 

You sit down and nod your head. Javier proceeds to go through the entire plan again. Describing the whole thing from beginning to end, it was truly brilliant to use a poultry truck to transport Rodriquez to the airport, no one would be looking for a poultry truck….Except for any of the crooked Cali cops that see him being arrested. 

You interrupt Javier, “What about two trucks?” 

“What do you mean Estrella?” 

You try to prevent the blush that is slowly creeping up your neck from the new nickname, “I mean using the poultry truck is brilliant but why not have two trucks a decoy to mislead them. Someone else can drive the other truck and lead the cops on a wild goose chase while the truck containing Rodriquez goes to the airport.” 

The Colonel grabs a new cigarette before lighting it, “that's’ damn genius, they will see the truck when we arrest Gilberto but they won’t know there are two. We get them to follow the wrong truck and we are in the clear,” he smiles at you, the first smile you had seen on his face. 

Javier is just about beaming at you from across the table and you listen for several more hours as they rework the plan to include your idea. When they finish each man feels like the best plan has been laid forward and they break up the group to go home. Tomorrow would be a big day for them all and they would need to be on the road to Cali by ten AM if they wanted their plan to work. 

You walk everyone to the door, and as they leave one by one they thank you for the use of your apartment until they are all gone except for Javier and Fiestl. “Hey boss, are you leaving soon? I want to have a private talk with our hostess,” Fiestl asks gesturing with his thumb toward you.  

You frantically shake your head no begging Javier not to leave you alone with the DEA agent, “Actually I have some more things to finalize before we leave tomorrow, just ignore me it will be like I’m not even here,” he smirks at you and you are half tempted to walk across the room and slap the smirk off his face. 

Chris turns to you, “So uhm listen, I know that this is all really scary for you, but I want to let you know that we are all going to be ok. And I was kind of wondering when we get back if you’d like to go out and get a drink?” 

You try not to let the cringe show on your face, “Oh uhm Chris, thank you but I don’t really drink and uhm…” you're trying to think of some other excuse when you lock eyes with Javier across the room. Gone is the smirk and instead you see something dark in his eyes, unwavering, and you know what to say, “I’m actually already with someone else, it’s not really a public thing but I’m really serious about him.” 

Chris’s right arm comes up to scratch the back of his head, and he lets out an awkward chuckle. “It’s ok, you don’t have to lie to me. I understand.” 

“I’m not lying. This guy he...he drives me crazy, he’s better than any drug on the market I...I’m already taken, I’m his.” You can feel the burning gaze of the man on the couch and it takes all your strength not to look at him, 

Chris lowers his head nodding before turning towards the door turning at the last moment to say, “he’s a lucky man then, goodnight,” before he leaves shutting the door behind him. 

You don’t turn away from the door scared to death of what you will see behind you. You are so focused on keeping your breathing level you don’t notice Javier has gotten up and is now behind you. You let out a small yelp when he spins you around to face him. “Did you mean it?” His voice is raspy and deep from years of smoking and his cologne is deep and strong in your lungs. 

You're worried your voice will betray you but you need to get this out, “Yes...you do drive me absolutely insane, but we both know what’s been going on here, I’m yours...I’ve always been yours,” you whisper. 

The hands on your waist slide against your lower back pulling you even closer to him. You can smell the smoke, and coffee on his breath and you try to calm down your heartbeat but it’s useless when he looks you in the eyes and says, “mine.” 

You crash together, his mouth is fused to your own and every single one of your senses is screaming Javier. His taste, his touch, his smell it’s all overwhelming and you cry out when you feel him grope your breast through your shirt. His lips move towards your neck and begin nipping as his tongue tracing along the same path to the curve of your ear, “bedroom?” The raspy question breaks you from the haze and you pull him towards the small bedroom. 

The whole way your lips never break from his skin even though you both aren’t the most graceful and when you both land in the bed with a small grunt that’s the last discomfort you felt for the night, from then on it was all pleasure. 

When the sunlight streams through the sheer curtains the next morning, illuminating the bed in the warm glow of the morning. Rough calloused fingers trace patterns over the top of your exposed back and you smile before nuzzling yourself further in the warmth of Javier’s chest. He smells like smoke, leather, and cologne; an intoxicating combination. 

“I have to leave soon,” his voice is raspy and heavy from sleep. 

“I know...but I really wish you didn’t have too,” you tell him, pulling back to look into his eyes, “but when you come back you will be the man who took down Gilberto Rodriguez.”

“This better work,” he sighs, “or else I will probably be sent back stateside, I messed up once already, they aren’t going to let me do it again.” 

“You're going to succeed! Don’t be so defeatist, your amazing at what you do your-” 

“Would you come with me?” he asks so quietly you almost don’t hear him. 

“What?” you whisper. 

He takes a few minutes to collect himself before he asks again, “if I get sent home, would you come with me back to Texas? I...I am not the same person I was when I first came here. Yes, I drink too much, I smoke too much, and I can be a real asshole but I’ve never been shy about what I want. I want you Estrella.” 

You have to remind yourself to breathe before you close your eyes letting out a small sigh, “Yes, yes I would go with you Javi. Remember what I said last night? I’m yours.” 

He pulls you back towards his chest, putting a finger underneath your chin and fusing your lips together he only pulls back once to repeat the same thing he told you the night before, “mine.” 

Day 11: Walking the dog- William Miller 

[lineffability]

// and the angel said unto them, do not be afraid // Luke 2:10

Aziraphale was in a good mood. Which was sort of his State Of Being, what with him being an angel and goodness incarnate and generally Holier Than Thou.

That was the way he liked to think of himself, anyways. He didn’t like to look past that thin, fragile layer into the burning depths out of which he had been forged. His goodness was the crust of the earth, the protective layer that made life possible on the surface.

What lay beneath was both life-giving and deeply destructive. Like God herself, in that way. Shaped in Her image.

Hellfire was not the most cataclysmic force around.

Like most angels, it was a part of him he kept under lock and had mostly forgotten (denied). Aziraphale had worked hard to shape himself into who he wanted himself to be. Who he had consciously chosen to be. 

He was a being of love, at the end of it all. 

And the things he loved and surrounded himself with were like the homemade, cross-stitched fabric of his soul: food and books and warm colours; softness and fondness and contentment; and Crowley. 

(Woe betide the fool who might try and rip a hole into this fabric, to snatch a thread and force it to unravel--to reveal what lay neatly tucked away underneath.)

Currently, Aziraphale was in particularly high spirits, because he had struck a most pleasing book deal, and was on his way back to his shop with a pack of chocolates under his arm, and was also very much looking forward to Crowley returning tonight from his little trip over to Wales where he was wreaking some Moderate Inconvenience for old time’s sake.   

He entered his shop with a smile on his face: a smile that died when he saw the tall, broad man clad in a perfectly-fitting grey suit standing right there in the centre of the room, waiting for him on the carpet that he knew hid a rather occult chalk sketch. 

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale fixed his bowtie, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This is a... surprise?” 

Behind the angel, Aziraphale could see the answering machine blinking at him from under a pile of books--an ugly device, really, but Crowley had pestered him to get one set up so much he had to give in at some point, that wily old serpent--and his thoughts involuntarily wandered off to the demon. Not exactly an appropriate moment. 

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel smiled his business smile, play-punching Aziraphale on his shoulder as he came up to him. The angels had kept their distance ever since The Hellfire Incident; this was the first time Aziraphale had seen the Archangel since that day, a few months ago now.  “Old boy! Just dropped by to update you on some stuff; keep in touch, right? Well, anyways, about the demon Crowley--”

Aziraphale straightened, lips parting slightly. 

“--well, about him, you’ll have to manage without him for a bit, nothing serious. No harm done, right? Well, no permanent harm, anyways.” He laughed, as if he’d made a little joke. He had, only Aziraphale was not in on it yet. 

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded weak to his own ears. 

“Oh, come on! You know we’re big on vengeance!” Gabriel beamed. “Of course, we honour our agreements, but a well-placed little discorporation has never hurt anyone, now, has it? Actually, scratch that, it hurts a little. Anyways, we acquired some fine murderers--aren’t humans just great? Murder by purchase, hilarious! They should be on their way to eliminate his earthly shell as we speak, just wanted to let you know.”

Aziraphale was barely listening anymore. The red light of the answering machine glowered at him from the depths of his consciousness like beastly eyes in the dark, its happy promise turned to bone-deep, spine-chilling dread.

Crowley, discorporated? His knees felt weak. 

"Oh don’t look so upset, now. He’ll be back in no time, the paperwork only takes a few years down there. Anyways, I gotta run, duty calls, and--”

He stopped dead when he caught the look in Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale had never looked at him like that. Perhaps Aziraphale had never looked at anyone like that. Gone was the pudgy little man with eyes so blue they must’ve been taken right from the perfect sky of a picture book. He looked like rainclouds, like a cold desert, like a stormy sea about to come crashing down to drown the entire world. He looked like The Fury Of God, and Gabriel took a step backwards, involuntarily. 

But just as suddenly as it had come on, the wave subsided (but oh, the dark sea remained). “It has not happened yet, you say?” His voice sounded strained. 

“Oh, no,” Gabriel started, but Aziraphale, staring at the floor, merely snapped his fingers, and the Archangel disappeared as the carpet below him incinerated and the chalk beneath glowed white.  

Another snap, and the answering machine started playing by itself. 

“Aziraphale!” A chipper voice piped up, and the angel suddenly felt so scared he wanted to sink down onto the floor. “So, I was wondering, since I can’t quite recall--was Wales one of yours or ours? I mean,” and here he laughed, “I do know who’s responsible for Llanfair­pwllgwyngyll­gogery­chwyrn­drobwll­llan­tysilio­gogo­goch--still proud of that one. Anyways, come over to my place tonight at 7, I’ve brought you some bara brith and a bottle blanc de blancs.”

The rest of the tape ran empty. “Dammit, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to convince himself that he was not about to cry. He rushed to the phone, and picked up the receiver. The right number started dialing by itself. 

The clock showed 6. 

“Angel? I know you miss me, but--” 

“Crowley! Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale closed his eyes, the relief was so big. 

“--really, gotta be patient only a little while longer.” Crowley’s voice was mischievous, a sentiment that currently went right over the angel’s head. “I still got some business to attend to in Hackney.” 

“Wait, are you back in London?!”

“Oh yeah, just about to meet up with some shady people, y’know, my favourite kind, they wanted to strike some sorta deal and--oh, gotta go!”

“Crowley, wait!”

“Toodeloo!”   

The line went dead, and Aziraphale, aggravated, threw the receiver down. It fell to the ground, so he picked it back up and put it on the holder, angrily. He felt like swearing. 

He had to get to Crowley. Before they did.

Crowley was expecting nothing. If they really were trained assassins, and if they acted fast enough, there was a real chance his demon was in serious trouble. 

It took half an hour to get from Soho to Hackney by cab or public transport. For a human. 

Aziraphale had been out of shape for six thousand years, but right now he didn’t have time to acknowledge that fact. Reality would just have to deal with it. So he ran. He ran as if the devil was on his heels, even though it was in fact quite the opposite. After a few steps he was barely touching the ground anymore, while an Old power deep inside him reared its tired head. Nobody took notice of him, nor of the flash of white feathers that flickered in and out of existence around him as he moved, ever faster, dragging his body along for the ride.

Ten minutes later he stood in a dark alley, gasping for breath as he tried to put himself back together: literally; rearranging his atoms and reattaching the patches of Soul that had spilled over like water out of an overflowing cup, like cotton out of a crude and frayed doll. 

He was close enough now, to feel him. Could sense the demonic aura. 

(That was good, right? That meant he still had an aura.)

It didn’t take long to track him down. 

Through a broken fence and along a wall full of horrendous graffiti and towards the entrance of an abandoned warehouse. It was a truly sinister place; no person in their right mind would meet up with strangers here. Except Crowley was no person (and quite possibly never in his right mind.)

(I don’t have a right mind, angel, Aziraphale could almost hear him say, I have a wrong mind. And I’m very much in it. Duh.)

The doors crumbled before him, evaporated into thin air that he could feel against his wings. He hadn’t bothered putting them away. 

“Crowley?” he called.

And Crowley turned around, surprise on his face, and as if they had been waiting for this moment the two people he was now facing away from drew their guns. 

Two shots echoed through the empty hall. 

They never reached their target. Aziraphale lifted his hand, and for a moment everything stopped. The wave of his righteous fury came crashing down all over again, and this time there was no stopping it. When reality resumed, the bullets had found new targets. 

With twin screams, the two henchpeople went down and writhed on the ground, their kneecaps shattered. When they looked up, they wished they hadn’t.

All they saw was bright white blinding fury, a vast nothingness so incomprehensible to the human mind that it burned their eyes and their souls, and inside that nothingness a million eyes staring right through them. There were whispers, in that place, echoes and ghosts and memories of worlds, and as the angel spread its wings they started screaming. 

They stopped, abruptly, when the demon Crowley let them fall into merciful unconsciousness.  

“Angel, that’s enough.”

The sound of Crowley’s voice reached him through a haze, and Aziraphale faltered. He turned towards the demon, and saw shock and worry on his face.

Crowley saw something else entirely: He saw Both. There was Aziraphale, tired and dishevelled and unbearably horrified and so very Human; and there was Aziraphale, blinding and manifold and unbearably Holy, and not human at all.

“Aziraphale,” he murmured, “it’s enough, now. It’s okay.”

And Aziraphale closed his eyes, and stood there as the light receded, and when he opened his eyes he was One again. And he looked terrified. 

“Oh, Crowley,” he said, and his voice almost broke, it sounded so feeble. “You’re, you’re alright.”

Crowley, on the other hand--now that he had his angel back, he knew it, saw it--looked at him... almost a little smitten. He stepped closer, steadying the angel before he could ask. Though he tried to look Casual, he still scanned the angel’s face intently, until Aziraphale looked away. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he finally said, and after another moment: “Should I thank you?”

“Better not,” Aziraphale answered with a weak smile. “I could get into all sorts of trouble...”

Crowley smiled: faintly, softly. (Almost, very almost, he touched a hand to the angel’s cheek.)

“So, care to tell me what this is all about?” he asked instead, carefully circling around Aziraphale, his touch never quite leaving him.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a fine line. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Silence settled around them, and both their gazes landed on the poor unconscious souls lying in a heap on the ground. 

“Well uhhh, alright, then,” Crowley spoke up, “So... Let’s get you home? I still have that sparkling wine in my Bentley, y’know the one.”

“Wait.” Aziraphale sighed, taking a few exhausted steps towards the two murderers acquired by Gabriel. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured as he took to healing their knees, “ When you wake up, you migth want to re-evaluate your choice of profession. And try not to believe what you saw.”

(Forgetting, he knew, was impossible. They would have to carry this burden for life. As did he.)

Crowley stood waiting, and then wordlessly walked by his side (his arm brushing against Aziraphale’s now and again, close enough to offer comfort with his presence, but keeping to himself.) He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this situation, wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he knew Aziraphale well enough to give him time.

He’d always needed time.

As they stepped outside, someone was waiting for them.

He was Gabriel--but not quite. A few inches smaller, a little lop-sided, with less of his perfect hair on his head. He looked like he’d been run through a pastry machine. And he looked pissed.

“You’ve really done it now, Aziraphale,” he snapped. “Discorporating an Archangel! Look at the fucking body they gave me!”

“You what?!” Crowley wheezed, incredulous and, not to his credit, looking absolutely delighted. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and straightened his shoulders, and suddenly looked like his old self. Like his softness was his armour. 

“I thought, despite everything, that you were still one of us... but I must have been wrong.” Cold anger sat deep in Gabriel’s eyes, and behind that, hidden, something like disappointment.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, instinctively, ready to go No, no, of course I still am, but then he glanced sideways at Crowley. And that was that. He knew.

They were still His Side... but right now, though he would never say the words out loud despite it all, there was only one thought burning inside him and it was:

Fuck My Side.

“No, I don’t suppose I am.” He said it as if he was realizing it only as he spoke, and a part of him did. Another part had known it for a long, long time. He looked Gabriel right in the eyes, holding his furious gaze with his own. 

Beside him, he saw (felt) Crowley’s head snap around, just impercetibly, a motion so small that Gabriel would never notice, but Aziraphale did. Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes had gone wide. 

So this was it. The moment he had been so very scared of for so very long, but now that it was happening he suddenly was not scared anymore at all. Determined, he took a step forward, positioning himself slightly closer and slightly in front of Crowley. He thought he saw the demon smile softly, for just a second, a little unsure twitch in his cheek. 

“I would appreciate it if you never did that again,” Aziraphale said, and somehow it sounded both like a polite request and a Threat. 

And Gabriel, The Trial still present in his mind--the image of Azirapahle standing in Hellfire and basking in it--thought he saw that same Aziraphale again now. The Archangel smiled, a short and humourless smile that was mere acknowledgement, and then he snapped his fingers and was gone. 

Crowley waved after him, a little wiggle of his fingers that he very much enjoyed.

Aziraphale felt all his strength leave him, yet at the same time he’d never felt stronger in his life. He exhaled, trying to wrap his mind around all that had happened. He had truly chosen his allegiance once and for all, and he knew it was the only decision he ever could have made. 

The power that had so forcefully reminded him of its existence, never quite forgotten, still tingled beneath his skin, but it was only a soft stream now, and Aziraphale gently led it back down. The fabric of Himself was still intact. With a little smile, and an even littler glance to the demon by his side, he clasped his hands contentedly in front of his stomach. 

Aziraphale knew who he had to thank for that. Wily old serpent, always meddling in his affairs. He’d better never stop. 

“He’s a real jerk, that one, isn’t he?”

Aziraphale gasped, looking scandalized, and completely missed the irony of that. Then he grinned, and laughed, and looked at the ground and then back up into Crowley’s face, a little unsure. 

“I guess you might, on occasion, have a point,” he conceded.

He smiled broadly, warmly, one of his best smiles, and Crowley, a little stricken, reciprocated. Suddenly nervous, he took off his sunglasses and tried to clean them with the hem of his shirt, before giving up and slipping them into his pocket, as had been his (very secret) intention all along.

They locked eyes, in the twilight, and almost seemed like bashful teenagers, ready to come of age but feeling very shy about it.  

“What’s this horrible feeling all around here?” the demon asked suddenly, looking around. “It’s making my stomach all upset.”

“That would be love, my dear.” Unadulterated.

“Oh.” Crowley said nothing more. 

But his hand brushed against the back of Aziraphale’s, just lightly grazing it, and the angel, as if by serendipity, turned his hand to face his--not quite taking it, but letting their fingers touch, and not pulling away. 

_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_

tagging the people in the OP who sounded like they would want to be tagged: 

@idinink @aangelphale @ohblessit @armoredavengers @e3105eb @ineffable-bisexual @cake-cow @snake-in-the-bookshop @crowleysscaredplants @the-best-pilot-in-the-resistance @crowleys--angel @qfantasydragon @aduckwithears @jesuisfabulous @azirafuck @snakecrowleyy @foolish-principalitee @crowleyraejepsen @azfellandco @on-our-own-side @imlowercasemad 

[faulty-writes]

Warning: Mention of death. Mention of Magic. 

Fandom: My Hero Academia 

Pairing: Prince!Oboro Shirakumo x Reader

[ Alright, ever since I read My Hero Academia Vigilantes I’m in love with this character. I’m also caught up with the My Hero Academia manga so. Let’s hope good things for our cloud baby in the future. 

Anywho, this is a prompt from @bnhabookclub​. I hope you enjoy. Also credit to morgan from the bnhabookclub for helping me with some of the plot. ]

Prompts used:

Kingdom AU and "You promised me!"

[ Hizashi, Shouta, and yourself once held the same dream. To become worthy knights of the Kingdom. Along with this, you all had a common and loyal friend. Prince Oboro Shirakumo. The very same one who happened to be your betrothed, but as many fairy tales go. The Prince was cast under a spell and though you were powerless. You were determined to figure out a way to awaken your Prince once more. ] 

It was said that Prince Oboro Shirakumo was like a breath of fresh air, while reckless in some sense. He was always determined to do what was right, he would go the extra mile for anyone that needed it. Kind and compassionate with a smile that shined brighter than the Kingdom itself. He was truly meant for greatness and many were looking forward to the day he would take over as King.

He had many friends and allies, but none closer than Shouta Aizawa and Hizashi Yamada. They were in a sense, The Big Three of their time. Each one possessing precious powers gifted by the Gods above. The Prince himself was blessed with the ability to summon clouds at will, Shouta had the power to render others useless with a mere glance and Hizashi was blessed with a voice capability that could make a person's ears bleed with ease.

The Prince was surely blessed with two great friends. However, there was one more that added something special to his life. You. Though you never thought yourself deserving of the Prince, you held a connection to him through Shouta and Hizashi who were merely knights in training at the time. You had tried your hardest to follow in the steps of a knight yourself, however, you were always turned down.

But you never gave up, for Oboro seemed to lift you up each and every time you fell. Such a thing was admirable to you and though the King and Queen knew it against the rules. They could see that their Prince was falling in love with you. Along with the time all three of you would spend with the Prince, he would make a special exception to spend extra time with you. Even if it meant neglecting his royal duties, which he didn’t seem to take that seriously in the first place.

Still, it was clear who the Prince had chosen to be his future spouse and so arrangements were made. It was shocking to the Kingdom when word spread that their precious Prince had taken someone at such a young age. But they underestimated just how equally of a shock it was to you. In fact, you didn’t know how to respond when they told you that from this day forth, you were to be known as the fiance(e) of Prince Oboro.

Though you had to admit, part of you was also happy. You did have feelings for the Prince and you were attracted to him. His beautiful wavy light blue hair and those striking eyes, his ability to create clouds which you had the wonderful opportunity to ride. But the thing you admired most about him was his smile, it was almost as if it could cure diseases and vanish sadness.

So much passion came from such a little thing and yet you loved it and you had the desire to be the one to make him smile. However, like many fairy tales, there was a villainous figure. Looking to end the happiness, to take away something that would cause the Kingdom to shatter. In this case, this villain was looking to end the Prince’s life. You remembered the day well, it was another day full of training under the lead Knight.

However, a distress call sounded and all available knights were to report for action. Including those in training and the Prince being as noble as he was, also joined in on the fight. Never allowing the citizens that made up his Kingdom to be hurt. You arrived on the scene of destruction, innocent people were screaming and some laying on the bloody ground, wounded and crying out for help.

Above in the sky, a screech sounded. All heads looked up at the winged beast who soared through the clouds. “A dragon…” you said, disbelief in your voice before you felt someone grab your shoulder and pull you back. You stumbled before colliding with their chest and looked up to see Oboro, a large grin on his face and somehow it made you feel at ease.

He placed his hands against your back and pressed you closer to him before he leaned down. Nuzzling his nose against yours playfully, “Heeeeey!” Hizashi screamed as he pointed his finger at the two of you. “Nooooooow isn't the time for that! Don’t ya see the winged dragon up there?!” he said, clearly in a panic though you knew when he put his mind to it.

He was a brave knight, same with Shouta though he needed to work on his gifted power. In this day and age, only those the Gods saw as worthy were granted magnificent power. You yourself were powerless and yet you still aimed to rise above the odds and prove yourself to be a worthy knight. A hero of sorts. Perhaps that is why you were chosen to be the Prince’s fiance(e) because, despite the odds against you, the fact you continued to try at all was admirable.

You felt Oboro’s chest vibrate as he laughed, “Oh, come on Hizashi! There’s always time for love!” he declared before shifting his attention back to you and reached over to cup your cheek. You smiled and gently placed your hand over his, looking into those eyes that you prayed you wouldn’t soon forget. “Just be careful out there, yeah?” he said before leaning close, he was known for sneaking kisses with you around the Kingdom but in this case, it seemed he wasn’t afraid to show his affection in public.

As soon as he pulled away, he stepped in front of you, “Alright! Let’s get all the citizens out of here, I’ll take care of the children and wounded.” he said before closing his eyes, his hands coming up to summon several clouds which were used to escort and carry the injured. You had decided to play defense, distracting the dragon away from the innocent and tried your best to avoid getting burned by the fire it produced.

Though you still got burned nonetheless, your armor only protected you so much. But the flames the dragon produced were blue in color and a powerful, unbelievable heat radiated from them. It was enough to melt the armor you wore so you decided to take cover using the crumbled pieces of what remained of the citizens' homes and business buildings. However, that is when you noticed a group of school children, along with their teacher who seemed to be in distress.

Cowering in fear and it looked like they were too afraid to move. You pressed your hand against the cracked wall of the building, prepared to use it as leverage to run over and guide them to safety. However, that’s when you saw your Prince leap into action. Pieces of his armor were melted and there were clear signs of a bad burn on his side. But one couldn’t tell how much it pained him because he seemed to move with ease.

He approached the scared children and manifested one of his clouds, his gift was a beneficial one. He could project clouds to protect, conceal, and transport whatever he desired. In this case, he urged the children and teacher to climb onto the cloud and from there he would guide them to safety. At that moment, you had almost forgotten you were battling against a fire breathing monster.

For your eyes were only focused on Oboro, he could be considered a God himself. Always putting others before himself and at that moment, you were reminded yet again of how lucky you were to have him. However, an evil chuckle broke your thoughts and you immediately jumped to your feet, striking a defensive pose. “Oh, what do we have here? A love-struck knight, no...a powerless, useless being in knight’s clothing. Oh yes, I know of you…” their voice sent a shiver down your spine and your eyes continued to scan the area of the ready to fall building you were standing in.

You gasped when you felt a slimy hand on your shoulder and quickly drew your sword, spinning on your feet as you tried to land a hit on the mysterious figure, surely the villain behind all of this. However, all you saw was a black blur before they reappeared in front of you. They were wearing a black hood that concealed their face but you could still make out the strange eye gear they had. It almost resembled that of a steampunk style.

“You...are you responsible for this attack? What purpose do you have for attacking innocent people?!” you demanded with a hiss, however, the figure just chuckled as if your words were somehow amusing. “Oh, you misunderstand. For I am only following the orders of my master.” your eyes widened and you almost dropped your defensive stance.

“W-What do you mean?” you questioned, the Prince was loving and kind. Who could possibly have anything against him or the Kingdom enough to cause such destruction? “Oh, you poor useless being.” They replied, “Let’s just say, the royal family has caused the Master much pain,” they explained, “After all, they harbored the employment of the number one knight in the world and my master views anyone in association with that knight as an enemy and therefore must be punished.” your stomach twisted at those words, what the hell?

“I don’t expect you to understand, young one...” they said before lifting their arm and you quickly pointed your sword at them. “Don’t you dare try anything!” you warned, though you hated to admit it. You were a little scared, the dark figure. The wizard, dragon summoner, whatever they were. Made you sick and you couldn’t let them do any further damage.

You had to stop them here and now. “You seem like a rather distracted knight, let’s fix that.” they snapped their fingers and while you expected something to happen. Perhaps magic to shoot out and knock you off your feet or even an army of henchmen to appear. Nothing changed and they took notice of your confused behavior with a happy chuckle.

“Watch out behind you,” they warned and a gasp escaped you, Oboro. You quickly turned, ready to run to him but somehow your body froze as you watched the dragon approach the scene. Oboro was still trying to evacuate the children and now had two clouds which proved to be a difficult thing to control. He could manifest one with ease, but when one turned into two and two into three.

The different sizes and connections he had to them and his overall control grew weaker and it was because of this that he failed to notice when the dragon landed on top of a nearby building. The children that he had saved were now floating peacefully on his clouds, but they were in front of the building that the dragon curled its powerful talons into and it caused a massive amount of crumbled pieces to fall toward the children. It flew away soon after, more than likely off to cause more death. 

You were still frozen and helpless as you watched your fiance run over. Forcing his clouds to move before a piece of the crumbled building hit him in the head, you screamed as you watched blood-splatter. The rest of the pieces came, effectively sealing your fiance’s tomb. Your throat was sore by the time you had finished screaming and your eyes were wide.

They seemed to be void of any emotion, just white and in clear disbelief of what had just happened. Your legs felt weak and you fell to your knees, “O-Obo...O-Obor…” you couldn’t even speak his name, and soon after you heard a loud crash behind you and screams of victory. The dragon was slain but at what cost.

You remembered the anger that filled you at that moment and curled your hands into tight fists, your nails began to dig into your palms and you felt lines of blood start to seep down. You growled and turned your head. Prepared to scream and even kill the one responsible for your betrothed's death. Yet the villain spoke first, “Fear not.” they said before approaching you and you wanted nothing more than to grab your sword and pierce it through their neck, but somehow you found yourself unable to move.

Damn, it must be their magic. You growled and continued to glare at them before they roughly grabbed a portion of your hair and forced your head to turn back to the pile of rubble that Oboro’s body was now laying under. However, you heard the snap of fingers and seemingly the pile that was once there vanished. You gasped and your anger disappeared, replaced by confusion.

“W-What…” your lip was trembling and the villain merely laughed, “I am called the good doctor for a reason my dear, my magic and abilities are beyond this world’s understanding and the one whose order’s I follow are not to be taken lightly. What you saw was a mere illusion.” your breath hitched and you felt your body tremble, “I-Illusion?” you repeated the word and felt the good doctor’s fingers curl tighter in your hair.

Almost like he wanted to keep your attention focused ahead and yet again you were reminded of how hopeless you were. Why didn’t the Gods grant you a power? If you were truly unworthy then why had you managed to make it this far and for what purpose? To be tortured like this? You hissed as the doctor forced your head to the side and a needle pierced your skin.

“You see, this was but a bitter reminder of what I am capable of. But fear not, your Prince is merely in a slumber. You may find his body in the royal family crypt but rest assured.” you cried out when you felt him push the needle further and a cool rush of liquid enter your body. Your muscles went soft and your eyes felt heavy. No, damn it. You had to fight it.

“He won’t be opening his eyes anytime soon.” you felt him release your hair before you fell forward and darkness clouded your vision. “Oboro…” you said, your hand digging into the dirt. “Oh...and just in case you didn’t already know, you’ll treat this as his death. Don’t tell anyone our little secret or else.” you felt a sob coming but your eyes slipped closed and you found yourself succumbing to the doctor’s poison.

It had been years since that day and you had grown from a mere teenager to an upstanding adult. Oboro’s parents were saddened by the news of their son’s death, however, you were the only one who knew the truth. Oboro’s sleeping body remained underneath the Kingdom. Cold and alone in a place meant for death. His absence could be felt within the very walls of the Kingdom itself and since he was an only child with no heir to the throne.

The responsibility had shifted to you, though originally against the rules. No one questioned the decision and your training began. You learned how to rule the Kingdom, you were adorned in the finest clothing, the finest crown, and the most delicious food. One could have only dreamed to receive the treatment you were given, but it all meant nothing if you didn’t have your Prince to share it with.

Shouta and Hizashi had continued their knight training and eventually became one of the few top knights in the Kingdom and taught the next generation of students. You saw them frequently, but you were always greeted with the same question. “Are you alright there!? You seem distracted nowadays, the royal life not what you expected or something?” Hizashi asked, his hands moving around like wildfire as he spoke.

He had gotten a side career as the newsman and used his gift to announce at high volume the latest scoop on the Kingdom, villains, and dragon sightings. You let out a sigh, leaning back against the wall of the window still you were currently sitting in. The view from the window was beautiful, you could see the large fountain that stood outside the front gates of the Kingdom.

But the statue of Oboro mocked you, it was molded in his likeness from the days of your youth. Every time you looked at it, you felt rage, anger, and disappointment. You took the doctor’s threat seriously and hadn’t spoken a word of what had truly happened, not even to the people that meant the most to you. This is why you wanted nothing more than to run away every time Hizashi questioned you and every time Shouta looked at you with those eyes of his.

The eyes that could strip you of your power, if only you weren’t already powerless. “Why do you always ask the same damn question? Doesn’t it get old?” Shouta commented, slumped over in a chair with his usual tired expression. But he had to deal with Hizashi on a daily basis so you couldn’t exactly blame him for appearing as if he were exhausted.

Though it was also due in part to his gift which tended to put a strain on his eyes, in fact, you could see the small red veins even from your position on the window still. “Is there a criiiiiiiime against asking a friend something!?” Hizashi replied and Shouta just rolled his eyes. You took a deep breath and slowly stood up, looking at Hizashi and then Shouta.

The two dearest friends you could ask for and yet you couldn’t tell them that the friend you all knew and loved was still alive. “It’s alright…” you said, despite every fiber of your being wanting to scream the truth. “He’s only being a concerned friend, as he implied,” you said before folding your hands in front of you. “I suppose, I’ve been thinking too much about...the Prince lately,” you confessed, feeling your heart sink inside your chest.

You wondered if it would have hurt this much if he had truly died that day instead of being put into a deep slumber. Hizashi frowned and Shouta glanced to the side, he wasn’t the ideal person to come to when you sought out comfort. Luckily Hizashi was there and he grabbed your shoulders gently. “Hey, it’s alright to miss him. Shouta and I miss him too, more than we lead on actually. But we have to keep marching forward, for his sake.” Hizashi spoke calmly as he placed a finger underneath your chin and tilted your head up.

“You’ve done a wonderful job, you took over as ruler of this Kingdom when it needed it most. That takes courage and dedication, you gave up your dream of becoming a knight for this, and that alone, grants you my respect.” much like Shouta, your glance turned to the side. Yes, you had given up your dream of becoming a knight.

Though part of you was doubtful you could even make it as a knight, part of the reason you had tried so hard was because of Oboro’s faith in you. His constant positive words and actions surrounded you and yet without him, you felt incomplete. As if you couldn’t go on, you wanted to figure out a way to break the Prince of his slumber. But you had tried countless times.

Spent hours just sitting by his sleeping form and talking, almost as if a certain word or phrase would break the spell. You had tried to shake him awake, plead with him as well. But it proved useless, you had no fear of anyone following you to the crypts as most respected the royal family and wouldn’t dream of disturbing the dead. Yet, despite your efforts, the only thing that greeted you in return was failure and it pissed you off.

Part of you wanted to blame the Gods, feeling as though they had a part in this. For failing to protect the ones that looked up to them the most, for failing to give you a power. Yes, you weren't much, but the Prince had chosen you and surely that meant something. It was a broken record with you, but every day it seemed your mental state was weakening and you longed to shift the blame to someone else.

To let all your anger and frustration out but to no avail. “Thanks, Hizashi.” you said before stepping back, “I think I’m going to go to my bedroom now,” your head hung low as you began to walk away. “Thank you for your continued dedication to the Kingdom, I’m counting on you guys,” you said, giving them a weak smile before leaving.

Hizashi continued to frown while Shouta just stared in the direction you had disappeared. “Are we going to tell them eventually?” the blond questioned as he turned to Shouta who shrugged. “I don’t think they need the increased burden, besides we need to meet up with True Man. He says he might have a lead on what happened to Oboro that day and we can’t afford to be late. Come on.” he urged as he quickly got up and left the room, Hizashi scrambled to keep up with him.

It was a wonder of a thing, the police force of the Kingdom was usually silent and worked underground to solve various crimes that riddled the Kingdom. Ever since the death of the Prince, villainous deeds had increased. They were usually dealt with by the knights of the Kingdom but the leftover mess went to the police force. Who analyzed and figured out the missing puzzle pieces in between.

True Man otherwise known as Naomasa Tsukauchi was claimed to be the best of the best, his dedication to his work was unmatched. He had been working on the Prince’s death case for a while now, despite the fact that many believed it was an open and shut case. But some things revolving around the death of Oboro didn’t match up.

For instance, many eyewitnesses claimed that the Prince was crushed underneath the rubble of a falling building. Yet when he arrived at the scene there was no such rubble pile to be found. In addition, there was no blood splatter that surely would have occurred if one was crushed to death. Furthermore, there was one eyewitness who claimed to have seen a dark figure with a knight, though the knight themselves were left unidentified.

Given the time and placement of the knights, Naomasa had narrowed it down to you. The Prince’s fiance(e) at the time, however bringing up the death of the Prince with the current ruler of the Kingdom would raise too much suspicion. So instead, he had made the choice to begin to question the two individuals that had spent an equal amount of time around the Prince and yourself.

Those two happened to be Shouta Aizawa and Hizashi Yamada. Throughout the years, they had pieced together the puzzle left behind and Naomasa enlisted the help of another power user. One who could manipulate and track energy at will, all he had to do was tell Hizashi and Shouta. “True Man.” Naomasa turned his head, watching as the rather grumpy black-haired man came into view, and trailing behind him was none other than Hizashi himself.

“Ah there you two are…” he said with a smile, “You uuuuuuurged us here in a hurry! What’s the big news?” Hizashi questioned as he pointed his finger at the man in question. “I believe we’ve found the whereabouts of the Prince, you see as we previously came to find out. Prince Oboro’s death made no sense and the newest information proves that he is very much alive.” he watched as the two men’s eyes widened, “Alive?!” Shouta exclaimed, despite him not often speaking out.

When it came to the matter of the safety and well being of those he cared about, he didn’t hesitate to open his mouth. Naomasa nodded, “We brought in a third-party source and with the use of their power, we tracked the Prince’s energy link.” Hizashi scratched his head, not quite following though he was more of a man of action. “And?” Shouta pushed further and Naomasa sighed.

“We tracked the source back to the Kingdom, more specifically the royal family crypt. We believe that he’s either being held there against his will, perhaps his fiance(e) was in on the plan all along to take the Kingdom for themselves…” he paused when he noticed the defensive expression Shouta was wearing and cleared his throat.

“Or...perhaps magic is at play, considering the fact of the absence of the rubble pile from the crime scene and various other unexplainable things from that day. There is a good chance that even the previously known League of Wizards is at play. I believe they now go by The Dragon Liberation Front.” he explained before placing his hands behind his back.

“I must ask if you two are willing to infiltrate the royal crypt. I understand it’s strictly against the rules to do such if you are not a member of the royal family, but I believe we can make an exception in this case.” Shouta clenched his jaw, he didn’t want to believe that you were involved in this. He refused to believe a friend would betray him like this, he knew how you felt about the Prince and his opinions wouldn’t be swayed.

“Let’s get goooooing! I’m ready!” Hizashi declared and Shouta nodded in response. “It’s nearing sundown if we want to be in the Kingdom before night we better move,” Shouta suggested and Naomasa agreed, quickly assembling his team before they set out. However, you had no knowledge of this incoming event.

Once your day was through and the sun was finally setting, you made your way to the crypt to tell your slumbering Prince about your day and bid him goodnight. You did this every single day before going to bed, some would think it pathetic. But you couldn’t help yourself as you stared at his sleeping face. Despite the spell he was under, he had grown just like you.

Though you had taken it upon yourself to change his clothes and wash his body, his hair had gotten longer and facial hair littered his chin which in a way you thought looked nice. But you felt horrible leaving him here, in a room filled with nothing but past Kings and Queens. You let out a sigh and reached out to cup his cheek, which felt cool against the palm of your hand.

“I wish you were awake, I wish I never had to keep this a secret,” you said, your voice echoing through the room. You frowned and leaned over, pressing your lips to his forehead. Thinking about kissing his lips only brought you memories of the horrid day he got cast under this spell. “Yet another night without you.” a frown came as you turned to walk up the stone steps that led up to the entrance of the crypt. However, you quickly came to a halt when you heard several people coming and a shiver ran down your spine.

What was going on? You panicked as the sound came closer and in a split-second decision, you ran to take cover behind one of the many coffins that littered the room. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the unknown individuals stumbled into the room. “Sheeeeesh! It’s creepy in here!” your eyes widened when you recognized Hizashi’s voice and you hesitantly took a peek, “Shut it.” Shouta warned before a third man you didn’t recognize came into view.

“I think his body is over here, come on,” he announced and you watched as several officers followed him, you had almost forgotten there was more than one form of justice in this Kingdom. Knights were used to protect and face down the evil that plagued the land while the Police ensured the evildoers were locked away for good. You found yourself so lost in your small moment of spying that you failed to notice you were beginning to stand up from your previous crouching position.

But you misguided the placement of your hand and ended up knocking a small vase off the table from where the coffin sat, you gasped as it hit the floor. Part of you was hoping that you wouldn’t be caught, but of course, as always life seemed against you and Shouta was the first one to you. “Freeze!” he demanded as he used his power and grabbed your arm.

Twisting it behind your back which made you cry out, “Stop it!” you hissed and felt his grip loosen. “Y/n?” he questioned before Hizashi ran up to the two of you. He pulled you from Shouta’s grip before grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. “What gives!?” he demanded, though you were too busy watching your vision spin. Hizashi halted his movements, which gave you a chance to recover.

“Did you know about this!?” he snapped as he pointed toward Oboro’s sleeping figure. You shivered and reached up to grab Hizashi’s hands, trying desperately to pull them off your shoulders. “I...I…” you yelped when he shook you once more, Shouta just stood by and watched while the unknown third man and his police officers began to look around the crypt for any more unusual findings.

"You promised me!“ Hizashi screamed before going to grab your shirt collar, you could hear the fabric of it tear as his fingers tightened around it. “You promised us!” he pointed between himself and Shouta, “That you wouldn’t hold anything back, that we’d always be honest with each other. Did you know about this!?” he repeated the question and you parted your lips to answer, despite the fact that you were trembling.

“Answer me!” he growled and Shouta placed his hand on his hip. “Keep roughing them up like that and they won’t.” he commented before shifting his gaze at you, “Just be honest, did you?” he questioned and your lip trembled before you forced out an answer. “Y-Yes.” you said, hanging your head low. “But it wasn't my fault! The wizard! Doctor, the good doctor said-” you watched as the third man approached, you wondered if he was with the police since they seemed to follow his every move.

Hizashi released his grip and stepped back, “Did you say wizard?” you blinked, “Uh...yes.” the man tapped his chin, “I thought this was the working of magic, but I couldn’t have been sure.” he said, his gaze still locked on you. “My name is Naomasa, I’m a detective with the police and your friends here. Helped me solve the case of what truly happened to your fiance, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to put you under arrest.” Shouta and Hizashi seemed just as surprised as you were by those words.

“W-What!?” you exclaimed as you took a step back, “Sorry, I find no joy in doing this. However, you kept critical information to yourself and failed to come forth with the truth. You concealed a member of the royal family which is punishable by death.” Hizashi quickly stepped in front of you, Shouta was right by his side. “Don’t you think that’s a little haaaaaarsh?” Despite the fact you had kept this a secret, Hizashi didn’t see the sense in chopping your head off because of it.

You clenched your jaw and tightened your fists, did they really not know why you had to keep it a secret in the first place? You knew you weren’t supposed to tell and you hated the fact that the doctor threatened you into silence. But if death was possibly awaiting you, then did you truly have anything to fear? A soft growl came from your throat before you pushed past Hizashi and stepped in front of Naomasa.

“I am the ruler of this Kingdom, regardless of what you do. It would be foolish to behead me when the true ruler still lays in slumber. Unless you think you can wake him up because I have tried EVERYTHING!” you screamed at the top of your lungs and your eyes watered over, “Nothing will wake him up! I was threatened by the doctor, that if I told anyone…” you trailed off and stepped away from Naomasa before turning to walk over to Oboro.

God, if only he were awake. You could only imagine what he’d have to say about this. You felt a tear run down your cheek as you stared at him, “There would be a dark consequence but since you’re threatening to take me away and end my life, I guess there’s nothing left to lose.” you explained as you reached over to run your fingers through his hair.

“Sorry if I betrayed you guys, unlike you I don’t possess a power. I wasn’t gifted, I am powerless. I am useless, I’m just a normal person. Yet, Oboro chose me all the same and I love him. I love him so much. I know it pains you to see him like this as well, but I have been dealing with this by myself for years. Keeping it a secret to protect him, to protect all of you because that’s all I could ever do.” you explained as more tears streamed down your cheeks.

Hizashi frowned, “Well, uh. You’re not powerless per se it’s just-” Shouta nudged him and shook his head, indicating for Hizashi to stop speaking. “I don’t know why the Gods didn’t bless me, I guess seeing how everything turned out. I truly am unworthy of holding such a thing,” you said, choking down a sob before you leaned close to Oboro. Your hand gently cupped his cheek once more and you stroked it with your thumb before grazing it over his lips.

The pain tugged at your heart, despite what you had said. Your fate was already sealed and in that sense, you might as well break your own rules. You sniffled before leaning forward and pressing your lips to Oboro’s. They were cold, unlike yours, and yet they remained just as soft as they were years ago. You swallowed before pulling away and droplets of your tears landed on his face.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more…I’m sorry I’m powerless,” you whispered before turning to face Hizashi, Shouta, and Naomasa. “Well?” you questioned, “Mister detective, aren’t you going to take me away now?” you questioned, failing to see what they were staring at. You blinked and raised your eyebrow before slowly looking over your shoulder.

A gasp left your mouth as you watched a yellow light engulf Oboro, it almost looked like mist and it seemed to be pulling some sort of darkness out of the Prince. Your hands clasped over your mouth as you continued to watch in amazement, did you do that? Were you responsible for whatever was happening? You almost wanted to apologize before the yellow light expanded and all of a sudden, a harsh energy wave came.

You along with everyone else got knocked back on their feet. You heard someone crawl toward you as the energy continued to come and the crypt gave eerie noises as if the walls themselves were trying to withstand the force. “I got you, don’t worry!” Hizashi said as he wrapped his arms around you, effectively shielding you from whatever was happening.

You curled yourself into his chest, your heart racing, and part of you was too afraid to see what had happened when everything settled back down. Hizashi’s arms were still securely around you and Shouta was near Naomasa. But when you heard a soft groan you struggled to get out of Hizashi’s grip and your head shot in the direction of Oboro.

“Uh…” your eyes widened as you watched him slowly sit up, he looked disoriented and confused. He slowly turned to look around the room while he rubbed the back of his head and gave a loud yawn. “W-What happened? What are you guys doing here?” he questioned before his eyes settled on you, he froze before reaching his hand out toward you. “Y/n?” he questioned, “What happened, you...you look older,” he noted as he tilted his head to the side and a voice rang in your head.

“Though you may think yourself powerless, even those without a gift have proven to have a purpose in this world. We did give you a power as we foresaw your future, though we may have deceived you. The power of awakening those you love was bestowed upon you with our blessing. Now go, live your happy ending.”

You came back to your senses when Hizashi began nudging you. “Hm?” you turned to face him, “Uh, he kind of asked you a question and can we get the man some cloooooothes, please!?” you failed to notice that Oboro had gotten up and sure enough the only thing that you could find to cover him was a thin white sheet as you found it too difficult to dress his sleeping figure.

“Oh relax!” Oboro said to his worried friend, “Witness the fabulous application of my power, it will conceal just enough.” he said as he pressed his fingers together and sure enough, a cloud that was blue-gray in color surrounded his hips and thighs. “There…” he said before his eyes settled on you and your heart skipped a beat as he approached, though from your position on the floor.

Your imagination could go wild at the almost naked man before you. He held his hand out to you, a large friendly smile on his face. “I’m sure you can fill me in on what happened, it feels like I’ve been sleeping forever,” he noted, and despite your heart racing and the soft blush that came to your cheeks. You hesitantly reached up to grab his hand but Naomasa seemed to want to interfere and grabbed your wrist instead.

“Sorry, but you’re still a suspect, and though it seems like you broke whatever spell the Prince was under. That only makes you more suspicious. You previously appeared and claimed to be powerless and yet what we just witnessed is in itself a power that you possess.” you trembled and tried to pull yourself from his grip but Oboro stepped in and ripped Naomasa’s hand away.

His normal happy expression was replaced with anger. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch my betrothed. They are innocent of any and all crimes, I know it in my heart. They would never hurt anyone and since they are my fiance(e) they are part of the royal family and well, it’d be kind of wise for you to treat the royal family with respect. Thank you.” he said before releasing his hold and helping you up, he pulled you close, and slowly the two of you made your way up the stone steps.

Sure, he’d have to catch up with Hizashi and Shouta as well, but you were the most important person to him and he needed to know what had happened. But, much like in the days of your youth. As soon as you were away from the others, he gently pushed you against the wall and pressed his lips against yours. A shiver ran down your spine but unlike before, only happy memories of your relationship with the Prince flashed through your mind.

You let out a content sigh and wrapped your arms around him, keeping him close. The future rulers of the Kingdom, one originally a knight in training and the other born with a silver spoon in his mouth though unselfish and brave in personality. One day this twisted fairy tale would be written into the history of the royal family, but for now. The present is the only thing that mattered to you, for you had your Prince once more.

[sansacherie]

my mother’s fury (makes mine seem nothing)

I.                

She had been in class for all of five minutes when Miss Unella pursued her lips and told Arianne to take herself to the principal’s office.

“Why?” Arianne was perplexed.  She hadn’t been doing anything- well how could she anyway, when Miss Unella’s class had barely started?  Arianne had come prepared with last weekend’s homework, as well.  Having the Faith of the Seven for first period was hardly the most riveting way to begin Tuesday morning – which in Arianne’s mind, already held the dishonor of being the most unfortunate day of the week. Although others might have considered Mondays to have that spot, Arianne had always liked the feeling of promise that a new week could bring, and it was also the same day in which Aunt Elia and her cousins Rhaenys and Aegon came over for dinner.  Wednesdays were “hump day” – the point in which the week was almost halfway over, and before you knew it was Thursday and Friday. In contrast, Tuesday was dull and drab.

But despite all of this, Arianne was a good student who always did her homework.  But apparently, that was not sufficient enough for Miss Unella.

“It’s your jumper. Or lack thereof.”

“Oh.” Arianne felt relieved.  Now she understood- one of the uniform rules at Naerys Academy was that students were expected to wear their school jumpers during the first term. It existed with other rules such as wearing their blazer to and from school if you were walking or taking public transport- because you were “the face of Naerys.”  Arianne wasn’t wearing hers- her brother Trystane had smeared jam all over it this morning.  As cleaning it in time was out of the question, Arianne’s mother had no choice but to write her a note explaining the situation which Arianne had given to her homeroom teacher.  “No, it’s fine. I already gave a note to Mrs Lynora explaining things.”

“Be that as it may. I cannot allow you to stay in my class, my dear.”

Arianne always hated when people called you dear. They were always bound to say the most condensing drivel.  And her teacher did not disappoint.

“I’m afraid that because of your body type, you need to be wearing the required uniform.”

“My body type?”   Arianne gritted her teeth.  So, this is what it was about.

“Yes, my dear.  I’m afraid that without your jumper- well, it would be distracting to the boys.” Miss Unella paused, then continued. “Furthermore, drawing attention to yourself in such a way violates the values of modesty that we are trying to instill in you.”

How dare she!  Arianne wanted to cry, but her classmates were all staring at her. Some in sympathy, others in amusement that was the inevitable result of teenage cruelty; but all would likely be telling their friends later on of this incident, and therefore she, Arianne would control how it was told.

“Well to be perfectly honest, you haven’t proven yourself to be a very good teacher in the time you’ve been with us.”  Miss Unella was in fact new- covering for Mrs Fossoway, who had left to go on maternity leave.  “So, I doubt the boys would learn anything of note, even if they weren’t supposedly distracted.”  

At this, the entire class erupted into appreciative sniggers, and Miss Unella’s face reddened. Good, Arianne thought spitefully. Let her know what it was like to be shamed publicly, like that.

“Miss Martell, do I have to ask you again to leave?”

“No, you don’t.” Arianne had risen from her seat, scooping up her books into her arms.  “Because I rather not be in the same room as you, if I can help it.”

She slammed the door on the way out.

 II.

“Well Arianne, what seems to be the problem here?” Principal Waynwood’s voice was kind, but firm.  Arianne knew she had to control herself here- but it was almost impossible; the injustice of it all consuming her.

“The only problem is that Miss Unella didn’t think my excuse for not wearing a jumper was sufficient.” Arianne explained the situation to Principal Waynwood, from her brother’s accident to the confrontation with Miss Unella. “Apparently, my body type means I cannot get away with wearing certain things- otherwise I’d be distracting the boys from learning.”

She hated that she was having to say these words, to this woman.  She hated how degraded she felt.  And most of all, she hated Miss Unella for being the cause of it all.

“I see.” Principal Waynwood sighed. “Miss Unella obviously did not handle things in the best manner that she could have. Because of that, I will be having a talk with her.  However, Arianne, your rudeness was still unacceptable.”

“What about the way she was rude to me?” Arianne raged. Why did it feel like everyone was against her?

Principal Waynwood put her hand up. “That’s enough, Arianne. I understand, but rudeness is not the way we communicate our feelings.”   Arianne wanted to scream. “As the bell for the second period is about to ring, you may remain here until it does.  In the meantime, I will write a note that you can use in case this uh, situation pops up again.’

When the bell rang, Arianne left the office, clutching the note.  The last place she wanted to be was school.  A small part of her had hoped that going to Principal Waynwood’s office would make her feel better. How completely, incredibly, brutally wrong she was.  

III.

What did make Arianne feel better was the outrage of her friends.

“I can’t believe she said that.”  Slyva stabbed her chicken breast with a fork; almost as if she was imagining Miss Unella’s face.

Andrey shrugged. “I can. Apparently, she’s more er, dedicated than Mrs Leonette ever was.” He smirked.

“It doesn’t matter how dedicated she is.” Slyva said. “She shouldn’t have embarrassed Arianne like that!”

“No, she shouldn’t have.” Tyene, Arianne’s cousin, softly agreed. She twirled her ring, carved in the shape of a snake. “And we need to respond. What do you say, Arianne?”

Arianne remembered Miss Unella’s words, how she had used religion to shame her. A plan was formulating in Arianne’s mind.

So, Miss Unella was concerned that she was failing to live up to the religious values of their school?

Well, Arianne knew just how to fix that.

IV.

Although Naerys Academy was a Seven-based school, you did not necessarily have to be religious to attend.  Arianne knew that applied to many of the students, whose parents simply wanted to take advantage of the resources that the school could provide for their children – for instance, seniors consistently performed well in the end of year exams; allowing students to get into some of the top-ranking universities- such as Trident Institute.

And well because of that, Arianne could hardly be doing anything wrong when she decided to do what she did.

By Friday, Arianne and her friends had put up posters all over the school – advertising a new religion.

It was called Martellism- in which Arianne was the prophet. The posters encouraged students to seek out Arianne, if they wished to find enlightenment. 

Arianne attracted attention, just as she wanted.  And attention came in the form of an irate Miss Unella.

“Miss Martell, can you explain what is the meaning of this?”

Arianne smiled brightly. “Of course.  You see, I was thinking and you’re completely right. I wasn’t dressed in a way that was living up to the school’s religious values.”  Had such sweet words ever sounded so poisonous? “And then it came to me.  Why not just make a new religion, with values that I do want to live up to, such as not criticizing the way a girl dresses, or shaming her body?”

Miss Unella narrowed her eyes at Arianne.  “You’ve just given yourself a detention, Miss Martell. Saturday next” Arianne could detect the faint triumph in the woman’s voice and knew she probably got some satisfaction from it.  After all, nobody liked detentions- but one after school was infinitely preferable to one on the weekend.

Arianne crossed her arms as Miss Unella walked away. For the rest of the day, she brooded.  She had tried playing the fool, and where had that gotten her?

Arianne thought of her cousin Rhaenys.  Rhaenys was all of twelve, long-legged, whose braces knew Arianne made her feel insecure but who had a wicked sense of humor in which nobody was safe from. She could still remember pushing a six-year-old Rhaenys on the swings, who giggled happily.

Would somebody else one day speak to Rhaenys the way Miss Unella did to Arianne- making her feel small and worthless? Would they attack her body?

She needed to talk to her mother.

V.

When she had told her mother everything, Mellario gripped the edge of the kitchen top very tightly.  Not only was Arianne not to attend that detention she said, but she was going to organize a meeting with Principal Waynwood.

The meeting was organized for Monday, after school. Mellario was fierce in defending her daughter.

“My daughter will not be attending the detention given to her by Miss Unella.” She said the name as if it was a curse. “Instead, I want this woman gone and a formal apology from this school for the abhorrent way she treated Arianne.  Sexualising a fifteen-year-old girl in front of her peers like that!”

Principal Waynwood looked so uncomfortable that Arianne couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her.  “Mrs Mellario, I understand you are upset,”

“You understand nothing.” Her mother interrupted.

“But as I told Arianne, I already had a talk with Miss Unella. I agree that her way of handling things that day was unfortunate. I am truly sorry for the way Arianne was made to feel.  But I don’t think we need to escalate the situation by firing her.”

“Mrs Waynwood.” Mellario’s lifted her chin.  “You’ll remember that Arianne’s father and I both come from prominent families. With that, I promise you, we will take full advantage of our positions to make life living hell for Naerys Academy.”

Principal Waynwood swallowed nervously.  Arianne could have kissed her mother.

In the end, Miss Unella was fired- speedily replaced with a woman named Miss Nysterica.  They got the apology as well, although truthfully it really should have come from Miss Unella herself.

Ultimately, though, Arianne knew she didn’t apologies from that awful woman anyway.

It was enough to know that her mother would always fight for her.

[demivampirew]

Don’t judge a book by its cover chapter 1.

A Cap. Syverson story.

Triggers: Violence; talking about xenophobia, white privilege, homophobia, misogyny; crying; cursing; slang words.

Synopsis: Rebeca is an Argentinian girl who a few months ago moved to the USA (Washington D.C) to study in university thanks to a scholarship that she was granted. She’s lonely. People don’t treat her well. Some could be understood but most of them just hate her for being a foreigner. She meets Syverson because he’s a man from the South and she has not had a good experience with people from there, but she may find out at the end that she shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

She was walking towards the book store. She needed yet another ton of books for English class, even though she bought several of them two weeks ago. She got a scholarship a few months ago, that as long as she maintains high grades, it will allow her to finish her studies on the University of Washington, with the full coverage of the tuition money and a plus for materials. But still, with all those privileges, being in college was expensive. The extra money that the programme gave her scarcely was enough to buy three-quarters of the materials she needed and let's not forget food and other necessary stuff. She got a job at a grocery store, that didn't pay much, but enough to keep her going and the owners were one of the few people that were nice to her and even allowed her to study if there were no clients in the store. On the weekends, she would help primary and high school kids with their Spanish homework. Incredibly, those few hours gave her more money than working all week at the grocery store, but those people weren't so nice to her and it wasn't a steady job as her week job was. She could always find a job as a Spanish tutor, though. Most of her clients were high middle-class families and most of them were Republicans and hated Latinos, but she was a "white Latina, so you were ok." That's something that one of her classmates told her, a Mexican girl - she wasn't at the same University because she also was granted a scholarship, but because her parents saved money since she was little for her to go to a good college-; It hurt, but she knew that it was right. It isn't like her life was a field of roses. Not at all. College was full of rich kids that hated her guts and made her life a living hell. They'd laugh at her if she made the slightest mistake when speaking English and insulted her if she pointed out that they also made mistakes and that it's their native language. They would scream "In this country, we speak English, bitch" and other things if they heard her speak in Spanish with somebody over the phone. Three times she had to change the window glasses from her small apartment because they'll keep throwing rocks at them. But still, she had to admit that she understood why the Latinos at college didn't like her much. If there was some trouble, no one would even look at her. And the only time they let her go out with them, they got stop by police to ask for their identifications but told her that wasn't necessary. Not only she was white, but also she came from Buenos Aires, Argentina and she particularly didn't have a thick accent so immediately catch on the standard American one. After buying the necessary books, she hurried to go to work. Her boss told her she could go buy the books she needed and she could stay late to cover the time that she used to do that. She truly needed a car. At first, she thought that'd be a waste of money because in her city you could use the bus to go anywhere you needed to go. There was always a way to go by public transport, but here it was more difficult and besides, she needed to save time. She rushed to cross the street before the lights turn red, but didn't make it on time and as soon as she took the steps into the street, the light changed and cars began to pass. A car stopped abruptly just as it was about to hit her. - Ma'am, are you insane? - screamed the driver of the car, as he descended to make sure she was fine. She took a few steps back to avoid being in the middle of the street and also because she was afraid of that man. He was tall, with a big back and big muscles. He had a beard and his head was shaved. He was wearing cargo pants and a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt. But his looks were not the thing that scared her, it was the strong southern accent and the authority in his voice. Every time she ran into someone that sounded like him, it turned out to be a misogynistic, homophobic, racist and xenophobic asshole. Some times it would be some of those qualities, but most of the time, they were all together. But in the last second, she had a sudden change of attitude. She decided that would be the day that she won't let an idiot treat her like shit. She stood up like she wasn't afraid of him and looked at him fiercely. - No, I'm not insane. I'm just running late and when I checked the light was still on the green, I didn't see it change, that's all. - she replied - It's very rude for you to scream at me that way after you almost run over me with your car. You must haven't been paying attention to the road ahead or otherwise, you would have seen that I started to cross when it was still green. - Are you blaming me for your stupidity? Do you understand that I could have killed you? - He asked her irritated. She slapped him on the face. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together trying to contain his growing anger. - I'm sorry.- she apologized, but after a second she changed her mind- No, you know what? I'm not. You deserved it. You called me stupid. You don't know me and you called me stupid?! How dare you? I'm fucking tire of people like you! Every single day of my life I have to deal with people insulting me and treating me like shit like I wasn't a human being like I didn't deserve anything that I worked hard for just because I wasn't born in this freaking country. Or maybe you think I'm stupid just because I'm a woman, I had heard that too. Every single fucking insult that your brain can come out with, I'm pretty sure I heart it daily. So, if you excuse me, I would like to continue my way before I lose my job that I really need. - she said and run away, wiping the tears that started to come from her face. She ran for a while, crying desperately. People on the streets stared at her, probably thinking that she was mugged or something like that. Two blocks away from her job, she stopped to give herself time to breathe and clean all the tears left on her face. It was hard to cover that she had been crying but decided to share with the store owner just the part that she got scared because she was almost hit by a car on her way there and that she cries due to the scary episode. Thankfully, that explanation was good enough for her and did not ask more questions. As soon as she ended her shift, she went straight to her apartment. She was about to open the door when a man outside called her name and she turned around scared. It was the man from earlier that day, the man than almost hit her with his car. - What are you doing here? How do you know where I live? How do you know my name?- She questioned, confused and terrified as the man was getting closer to her. - Stop there! I'm going to call the police! This is harassment! - she screamed scared. The man raised both hands to leave them to her sight and stopped walking towards her. - I'm Captain Syverson. I'm a military man, ma'am. I'm not here to hurt you or do anything to you other than to apologize for the way I treated you today. I would like to return this to you as well, you lost it when you left the place.- he said, reaching his pocket and getting your credit card. -That's how I knew where you live. As I said, I work in the military, so I asked a friend of mine to get me your address, I hope that's ok with you. But I truly wanted to reach you and let you know that was not my intention to mistreat you today. You'll see, I'd been in the war zone for way too long so I lost my touch on how to react delicately to certain situations. You're not one of the soldiers on my command, you're just a lady crossing the street that got yelled by a southern asshole, as I believed you called me.-he said smirking. -I won't steal any more of your time. It's late and I'm pretty sure you want to rest, so have yourself a good night. - he said and turned around. She thanked him for returning the card and he replied "no problem". The next morning she got up early to make it on time to get to the class. She had an important exam to took that day, so she did not want to be late. As soon as she crossed the door and closed it, a young man scream "good morning" into her ear, scaring her. It was Trevor. One of her classmates. One of the leaders of those popular fraternities that's always making parties and playing sports and fucking instead of studying. - What do you want? - she asked annoyed. - Becky, Becky, Becky...-he said playing with her hair and she grabbed it so he would stop.- Is it weird that a Latina has a name like Rebeca? - Isn't weird that you have a brain a never use it? - she replied, annoyed. He grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against the wall. - Careful, bitch. I could fuck you up if I want to.- he threatened her - Yes, I know. I then you'll call your daddy to clean the mess that you left behind, like you do every time, right?- she defied him and he got angrier and closed his hand into a fist and was about to punch her. She wanted to be brave but could help herself and closed her eyes, afraid waiting for the punch. It never came. Instead, she heard screams. Some came from Trevor, others came from another man with a deeper voice. Trevor's were from pain, the man's were insults and threats. Rebeca finally opened her eyes and saw Syverson beating the shit out of Trevor. She ran to stop him. He was a military man. Trevor was just a stupid frat boy; he could cause some serious injuries and might cost him his military range or something. It took some time, but she finally conquered her goal of making him stop beating Trevor. You had to call the police and an ambulance, the was no other choice. Great. If your neighbours did not like you much before, now probably hated you. Not only you were the cause of a major fight at 7 am but you also got the street with police cars and ambulance, blocking the cars from getting out so they could get to their jobs. - You shouldn't have done that - Rebeca told Syverson as they waited on the police station to give their testaments - Should I have let him hit you instead? - he asked her surprised and annoyed. Like there was no other thing to do but what he did. - Why were you there anyway? - she questioned confused - I wanted to talk to you. - You've already apologized - she reminded him - It's not about that. I wanted to know what did you meant when you said: "I'm fucking tire of people like you"? Who are the "people like me"? - Southern people - she replied - Do you hate southerners? - he questioned, surprised and amused. - I don't know. I mean, I'm yet to find a good one. Maybe you could be that one, although you have to admit that you are not giving the best impression - she answered, raising an eyebrow and he laughed. - Yes, I guess you're right. My bad. - Every time I run into someone from the South, they treat me like I was below them just because I'm not from this country. When I moved here, there was this old southern man in the same street where I live. He used to look at my ass and use degrading slangs. He was disgusting. His wife hated me. They were extremely religious and when they found out that I was bisexual and atheist, they actually had a church meeting outside my house, praying for "the devil" to leave the place. A few weeks later, the man died of cancer and the woman was put onto a care home by his son. I think no one bothered me anymore after that because they still believe that I'm actually the devil - she said rolling her eyes and Syverson laughed out loud. - Hush. You're here to be questioned about giving a guy the beating of his life, you should be laughing. - You're right. Well. I understand your point, but I should tell you, just because you were given a few bad apples by the store, doesn't mean that said store doesn't have some good in them. - What? - What I'm trying to say is that because you met a few of my people that were pretty shitty, doesn't mean that we are all that way.- he explained to her - Look, I did not only joined the military to serve my country, but I also did it to help people. When I was out there, in the war zone, I protected as many innocent people as I could, mine or not. I made a few friends work with locals there. People are people. Period. I don't care if you were born here or not, as long as you are a good citizen and behave good, that's fine by me, stay all you want. Also, I couldn't care less what people do with their lives. If a man wants to be with a man, it's his fucking business. And about religion, I'm believer, but I won't judge you if you don't, I'm sure you must have your reasons. - he said and smiled at her. She was so focused on her judgment that she didn't allow herself to really see how attractive he was, especially now that he was close and she could see his deep blue eyes.

They both went separately to give their statements about the incident. Some neighbours were also brought by the police to testify as witnesses. Luckily, the woman who lived across the street saw the whole thing and her testimony matched Rebeca's and the police marked it as an act of self- defence and she and Syverson were free to go. They took a taxi to the house so he could pick up his car. She called her workplace and told the whole story from the police station because she wasn't sure how much time she would be stuck there for questioning and her boss gave her the day. As soon as they made it to her place, with neighbours spying on them, she invited him for coffee and he accepted.

[sassy-pelican]

To Infinity: Part Four

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, sadness, humor, time jumps, canon typical warnings, a bit of everything. You may not read this story if you are under 18.

Tagging: @holyhumorliteraturelight​ @crushedbyhyperbole​

2014

           It was cold, you knew that much. Between the weather – New York in January isn’t the best – and the fact that the news was sending shivers down your spine, you felt cold in a way you hadn’t in years. HYDRA. You thought it was gone, of course, you would have known better if you had taken Steve up on the offer of becoming an Avenger, or even an agent really.

           You didn’t, and for that, you could kick yourself. But at the time, the small café and bookstore you own and run seemed like a good idea. It got you away from everything, let you process your past in a way Steve didn’t seem to understand. He came to visit, sure, but not as often as you would like. Fortunately, his friends seem nice enough, when he brings them.

           He told you about Peggy; you have yet to visit her. A part of you hates yourself for it, but you want to remember her how you knew her – young, vibrant, full of life, and seeing Steve has to be hard enough. Still, every Sunday you leave three hours open in case you decide to visit.

           The early rush has quieted, the people on their way to work have stopped already, to-go cup already in hand and sitting on their desks, most likely, while the late-comers are starting to straggle in. Maybe it’s those years with Peggy, in the war that led to believe your gut feelings, but today feels different.

           Five hours later, the afternoon sun just starting to lessen, Steve walks through the door, scowl on his face. Except, this isn’t his normal scowl, his annoyed-with-work look, this is his devastated look. “Y/N.”

           “Steve.” Setting your own book down, along with the mug of coffee, you walk over to him. “What’s going on?”

           “I can’t …” It’s then that you notice the tears in his eyes.

           “Steve?” It takes you back, to all those years before, to forty-five. The look is eerily similar, too similar. “What the hell is going on?”

           “J – B – he …” The unshed tears start to spill now. Without thinking you wrap your arms around him. “The Winter Soldier.”

           “Steve, come on, you can say it.” You whisper, almost afraid to hear the words.

           “The Winter Soldier, he’s … he’s Bucky.”

           “No … no.” You start to cry now, the realization that you left him there, in the cold, all those years in HYDRA’s hands, hitting you.           “James … for this long?” You ask, not really sure what the question is, but asking it, nonetheless.  

           “Yeah.”

           “Oh god, Steve.”

~

           You started reading the history books, the theories by people you always assumed were crazy. You even read most of the more classified SHIELD files that Natasha released to the public, the ones pertaining to the Winter Soldier in particular. Everything seemed surreal, too horrible to be true, but then again, only the good seemed to be lies.

           To your surprise, there were old files of you there too, the records of what you were, what happened. You always thought that experimentation done on you was off record, not that you minded, but it would have been nice to know.

           The bell above the door, one in which you repaired after Steve’s last visit, rings, signaling another customer. “Welcome to – Sam.”

           “Hey, got a minute?”

           “Sure.” You sigh, going over to lock the door and flip the ‘open’ sign. “What is it?”

           “I assume Steve filled you in some …”

           “If by filled in you mean that my husband is the Winter Soldier, then yes, he did.” You twirl the ring on your finger, one that hold no monetary value, but still held so much weight.

           “Yeah … that.” He takes a deep breath, obviously preparing to tell you more. “We’re going looking for him. Steve doesn’t want you to come.”

           “Oh. I suppose not.” Still, the tears welling in your eyes are enough for Sam.

           “Will you be okay, here?”

           “As good as I can be.” You pause, wiping the few stays from your cheeks. “Be safe, both of you. I’ll kill you myself if you aren’t.”

           “Of course.”

~

           It’s late, almost closing, the moon high in the sky and the last of your regulars all gone. The files are open, sitting on a table in the back, strewn across it, your eyes trying desperately to find something you didn’t see before. You don’t know why, it won’t change anything, will probably only make you feel more guilty, but you need something. The coffee in your hand, the only thing keeping you awake at this point, almost spills when the bell above the door chimes. You sigh, hoping that this person has a good reason for coming in five minutes before you close.

           “Hello and welcome to Connie’s Corner. What can I help you find?” The cheerfulness in your voice is noticeably fake, but you don’t care.

           “Do you have any history books on World War Two?” You know that voice, even if it sounds a bit different than before.

           The coffee mug drops form your hands, shattering on the ground as you stare at the face you dreamed about for so long. He freezes, his fight or flight instincts kicking in, you don’t notice. You can’t move, can’t seem to get your brain to function, but neither can he.

           “James?” The name is a question coming from your lips, barely above a whisper, but he hears it. He doesn’t respond, the panicked look only deepening. Your too lost in your own head, memories playing back in your mind and tears staining your eyes to notice when he runs.

           As you drop to your knees, pieces of the mug digging into your legs, you cry, you sob. Perhaps harder than you did when Steve told you, but it hurts. It hurts to see the man you loved so fiercely run from you in fear, in panic. It hurts to have proof, with your own eyes, that he’s alive, but so far from it at the same time. It hurts enough that you don’t notice the blood now staining the floor.

~

2016

           Steve explained everything, after the fact. The entire battle, what Bucky went through, the Accords, the disbandment of the Avengers, everything. You cried, even if you didn’t know them very well, you knew them, and knew what they meant to him.

           You hadn’t seen him since Peggy’s funeral, and even then, you didn’t stay long. You had the shop, and he warned you of the dangers of associating with him after his refusal to sign the Accords. Many times, you told him of your opinion, neither for nor against them, still you assured him that he could count on you if he needed to.

           You wait for updates about Bucky weekly. You’ve grown to think of Shuri, despite never actually meeting her, as a little sister. However, each update is much the same, she is working on him, slowly to make sure she doesn’t damage anything but the trigger words and the rest of his Winter Soldier conditioning. It keeps you up at night though, the not knowing, the inability to see him, to hold him again. The two years when Steve and Sam were looking for him were bad enough, but this is worse.

           T’Challa, Steve, everyone, has told you that a plane ticket to Wakanda after the events following the bombing will look suspicious, especially since technically, you and Bucky are still married. It eats at you though, even if you know the reason is good. You miss him. You miss the laughs, the simplicity, the comfort, the passion, the sheer rightness of everything. Still, you wonder if anything will be the same, even close to it; the two of you are different people now.

~

           It’s been months now, with nothing. Shuri assures that everything is working, but it’s far more complicated than she had anticipated; the Winter Soldier is far more than just trigger words. She told you that he made her promise to keep him under until there was no chance of him ever fulling slipping back into that persona, trigger words or not. You understood it, truly, that didn’t mean you had to like it.

           Now though, long after she told you that you could visit, no word has been sent back, either to deny or okay your request. Part of you worries that it’s him, that he’s worried about seeing you for the first time in so long. The thought has crossed your mind more than once, still does, but you’re still eager to see him again.          It comes in the form of an encrypted email the following week. Ominous in nature and it breaks your heart. ‘He needs you. – S’

           “Rose!” You call to your employee. Her head pops out from behind a shelf moments later. “I need you to cover the shop for a week or so, family emergency.”

           “Y/N … I’ve known you for years, and numerous times you’ve told me you have no family. What is it?”

           “I can’t tell you.” It’s the best you can come up with in your stupor. You’d completely forgotten that you had never lied to Rose, omitted a few things, but never lied. At the time, you didn’t have any family.

           “Did you get mixed up in something?” She asks, her warm brown eyes looking at you intently. It makes you want to tell her.

           “Yes, but not like you’re thinking.”

           “Alright,” she sighs, “be safe, okay?”

           “Always.”

~

           Shuri instructed you to wait for transportation at an old abandoned building on the outskirts. It seemed weird but figuring that everyone was on the run and Wakanda’s protective nature, it seemed within character.

           A sleek black jet-like thing comes into view, almost silent before your eyes. It was cloaked, far better than anything you’ve ever seen before. “Hello?”

           “Y/N!” The girl of the hour screams, bounding off the thing right at you. “I’m sorry for the hysterics, and I had to threaten my brother, but I’m here.”

           “I get it. I wouldn’t want the smartest mind wandering around either.” Your quip seems to ease her spirits.

           “Oi! That one hurt!”

           “What’s going on?” You ask, far more serious than before. She calms almost instantly.

           “I’ll explain on the way.”

           Grabbing your bags, you follow her. It’s nice, far better than flying commercially. Even as you stow your things where she directs, the unease sits like a rock in your stomach. “Shuri, what happened?”

           “Barnes, he … isn’t taking recovery well.” Her words are sad, and it worries you. “I was able to get everything possible, without damage out, but there are things left that bother him. He tried to explain it, as did I, but he refuses to see anyone. He isn’t a danger, not to others.”

           “What do you mean, there are things left?”

           “Parts of him that he thought were part of his conditioning, weren’t. They were already there, the darker parts of him that the war woke up. He’s having trouble coming to terms with it. I thought that maybe, having you there would help.”

           “He doesn’t know I’m coming does he?” You ask, almost scared of the answer.

           “No. He doesn’t.”

           By the time you land hours later, you’re a nervous wreck. The thought of surprising your husband doesn’t sit well with you, not with who you both are at this point. Nothing to be done about it though. You know you’re so much more than just his wife, but the moment, that’s what you’re hung up on. Does he even remember you?

           Steve and Shuri have told you, numerous times, that he remembers most of his life, all the important bits. What you don’t know, is if he remembers you the way you do him. Does he remember the little things; the quirks about you that he used to love? Will he still?

           “He’s called White Wolf here.” Shuri explains, breaking you from your head as she leads you to what she said was his hut. “Me, I just call him Broken White Boy.”

           “Really?” You look to her, and the humor in both your eyes is a nice distraction.

           “I truly am sorry about this being a surprise.”

           “I know. I just hope it doesn’t backfire on us.”

           They two of you don’t speak while you walk. She had warned you his place was far from the city, but  you didn’t think she meant this far. Although, as much as you loved the city, what you saw of it, you see the appeal of being out here. It’s quiet, vast, secluded, everything you picture James needing.

           “Sergeant Barnes!” Shuri yells, approaching a one-armed man tending to what look like goats. It makes you smile.

           “Yeah?”

           “You have a visitor.”

           “Tell Steve I don’t want another one of therapy sessions.” He calls back, not even looking your way.

           “I’m offended,” you reply, “I didn’t realize I looked that masculine.” The second he hears your voice he tenses.

           “You shouldn’t be here.” He says. You ignore him, waving Shuri off as you walk closer.

           “So, you remember who I am?”

           “Yes.” The word is barely above a whisper, but you catch it, and it hurts.

           “Then why shouldn’t I be here?” He doesn’t answer you. “Dammit James! I’ve been worried about you for months!”

           “Don’t. Don’t worry about me. I’m not worth it.”

           “Of course, you are!” His words hurt you, far more than you care to admit.

           “No, I’m not!” He yells, his one arm flailing around. “You know what I did, what I was! Hell, part of him is still there!”

           “No, he’s not James.” You mutter, tears in your eyes. “There’s nothing left but you.”

           “How do you know?”

           “Because I’m your wife Bucky! I fell in love with every part of you, good and bad. There was always a darkness in you. That doesn’t mean you aren’t a good man.”

           “But I’m not! I’m not good!”

           “James Buchanan Barnes! You are one of the best men I know!” You yell. “Present tense. Not knew, know.”

           “But-”

           “No buts! You were brainwashed! They broke you! For seventy years you were a prisoner of war, under various forms of mind control too. What you did under their rule wasn’t you.”

           “They could never fully take you away from me. You and Steve. You guys were the only people that were still there, slightly.” He’s crying and it takes everything in you not to throw your arms around him and cry too. “All I could think of those first few years was how you and Steve would be disappointed in me. How you’d hate me for letting them win.”

           “Bucky … I would never hate you. Steve would never hate you.” The words coming from your mouth are low, whispered, filled with tears.

           You watch, unsure, as Bucky’s own tears roll down his face. This time, you don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around him. He tenses, but lets you hold him. Minutes pass before he wraps his arm around you as well.

~

           “I made dinner.” He looks up from his position, eyes staring at the feed he’s scattering. Your words barely seem to register.

           “Okay.”

           “Are you going to eat?” Silently you add ‘with me.’

           “Yeah.”

           You nod, only allowing yourself to smile once you turn away from him. It unsettles him, how you’re so relaxed in his presence, so you pretend, for him, for now. You feign indifference, if only to get him used to the fact that you’re not going anywhere. The act breaks your heart though; you want nothing more than to hold him in your arms and love him until he can’t take anymore.

           It’s silent as you eat. Uncomfortable in every way. Both of you can feel the unsaid words between you, the truths that neither of you want to speak of. His pleading look is enough for you to sigh, knowing you have to break the silence.

           “Tell me.” He knows what you mean, even without you saying it.

           “It was cold, too cold. I think I laid there for days, bleeding, in and out of consciousness. I remember these men coming and dragging me away. I thought it was you guys, that you’d found me. It wasn’t. I thought later that I saw Zola, but I know it wasn’t him. Steve said you captured him after I fell. I don’t remember much on the arm, only after I woke up with it.”

           “Bucky …”

           “Everything was hazy, out of focus. It took them years, years of that chair to get me where they wanted me, mentally. They couldn’t erase the feelings of you and Steve though. Not completely. I remember someone saying that they could never send me after either of you, unless I was the only choice they had.”

           “Buck-”

           “I could’ve killed you! If they had found out where you were, I could’ve killed you.”

           “No, you wouldn’t have.”

           “How do you know that?”

           “Because you didn’t kill Steve. You didn’t kill Steve, even when you had the chance. Even when he was already half dead, you pulled him from the water.”

           He stares at you, a hard look on his face. One that makes you think he doesn’t believe a word you just said. Even as he helps you into his room before he makes his way to the makeshift bed on the floor, you know.

           “I love you.” You whisper it, hoping and yet not, that he catches it. It’s true, just as much now as it was when you first said it. You never stopped.

           “You shouldn’t.”

~

2017

           Once a month, for a week, you’ve gone to Wakanda to see Bucky. Each time, he seems better, more like the man you married. The domesticity of each visit is something new, something the two of you never got seventy-three years ago. It seems surreal now that you were married far less than a year before he fell, before he was taken, before you went under.

           He barely touches you now, even in passing. Hardly even a friendly touch. He’s scared of hurting you, of only having one arm now, you know it; that doesn’t mean his brushing off of you doesn’t hurt. You so badly want it to be like it was before, but it can’t, never will be. The two of you are different people, have been through far too much to go back to the way you were. However, at least these past few visits, he has greeted you when you landed. A big step for him.

           “You’re back.” He says with a bright smile on his face as you step off the jet.

           “Of course. I said I would be, didn’t I?” Your tone is teasing, but you both know your serious. He needs to hear it, that you didn’t leave him.

           “You did.”

           “How’ve you been?” It’s casual, but even you know that you mean it far more deeply than it seems.

           “Good. The goats miss you.” You hear his unsaid words, hear the ‘I missed you too’ even as he doesn’t say it.

           “Steve come to visit?” You try to make idle conversation as he starts walking back to his home, to your home now.

           “Yeah, left a few days ago. He loved the kid’s names.”

           “You tell him they were inspired by him?” You laugh.

           “Of course.” You hear him chuckle, truly for the first time in months. “He too offence to Rahat and Prost though. Said he was never shit nor a dumbass.”

           “Says the dumbass.”

           “I told him as much.”

           The banter is easy, normal. It feels almost too good to be true. As much as you want to believe Bucky is really doing this good, you know it’s only a good day, or week. It never lasts long. You grab his hand, the warm feeling of it encasing you makes you smile.

           “How’ve you been, really?” You ask, knowing the answer from before was only half.

           “Good, mostly.” He sighs. “I’ve been working on accepting that the darker part of me, is well, me and not him. It’s hard though.”

           “Tell me James.”

           “I hate them. HYDRA, the people that took me, everything. I want to kill every single one of them. Steve keeps telling me their gone, but I know better. As long as one believer is still alive, they will grow again.”

           “I hate them too,” you admit, “for everything they did to you. For everything they did to others. I hate everything about them.”

           “I just … everyone now is about forgiveness, letting go of the past. I can’t. I can’t forgive them for what they did, for everything that they did to not only me, but so many others. I can’t let go of what happened.”

           “Normally, I’d agree with them, tell you to forgive and move on. But no about this. This, what happened to you, what HYDRA is, it’s not something you forgive. And you’re right, even if they have an unplanted seed, it will grow. I have grown to truly dislike fighting, but this James, this I will gladly support you in. This is one instance where I think revenge might just help you heal.”

           “I’m not even sure if I want revenge. I just want all of them dead, so that they can’t hurt anyone else.”

~

           It’s the harshness of his breathing that wakes you up months later. The quiet moans and groans coming from his lips that alert you something’s wrong. Even in the forties, he was never a vivid dreamer, not unless they were nightmares. The sound of him thrashing around almost makes you cry.

           “Bucky?” You ask, sitting so you can see him on the cot. “James, wake up.” He doesn’t respond.

           “No.” It’s a whisper, barely audible, but you hear it. Without thinking, you jump up and rush to him. Placing your hand gently on his shoulder, you squeeze.

           “James … Bucky … wake up.” Still, he continues to move around, sounding almost like he’s in pain. It breaks your heart. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s just a nightmare.” You whisper, trying, even fruitlessly, to calm him in his unconscious state.

           For what seems like hours you lay there, whispering and murmuring reassurances in his ear. He calms, finally, and you continue to hold him, running your fingers through his hair. “Y/N?” You can hear the tears in his voice.

           “Yeah?”

           “Are you real?”

           “Yes Bucky, I’m real. I’m here.” He doesn’t respond verbally, only pulls you tighter with his arm and hold you.

           “I’m sorry.” He mutters, tears wetting your hair as he pushes his face into your neck.

           “C’mon, get up.” Slowly, you pull him up from his cot. “You’re gonna sleep next to me tonight.”

           “I don’t want to hurt you.”

           “James,” you stare at him with a bored expression, “you won’t. I promise. You didn’t hurt me earlier, and you won’t now.” Reluctantly, he nods and settles himself on one side.

           You fall asleep to his even breathing, arm slung over your waist, his breath tickling the back of your neck slightly.

~

           You were ready. You wanted him, badly. Despite the fact that it has been over seventy years since you last had sex at all, Bucky looking like he does, well, it doesn’t help matters. For months you’ve known not to push it, not to push sex and intimacy on him too quickly, but this week, your patience has been running thin. Maybe it’s the hot weather, maybe it’s the lack of shirts while he’s working, maybe it’s the fact that the last few visits, you’ve been sleeping curled up against his chest.

           Even now, you know you shouldn’t push him, but you can’t help it. It’s subtle, the hints your dropping, ones he doesn’t seem to catch onto at all. You’ve been wearing your nicer underwear, shorter shorts, tighter tank-tops, you’ve even used some of that perfume Natasha gifted you the last time you saw her. Even Rose commented on it when you wore it to the shop. Still, nothing. Not even a lingering glance that sets your panties aflame.

           “Bucky,” you start as he comes in the door, sweat dripping down his chest, “we need to talk.” His face drops.

           “You want a divorce.” As soon as the words leave his mouth you gape at him.

           “What?” You yell, positive that the sound echoes in the fields. “What the hell gave you that idea?”

           “I’m not the same. I’ve only got one arm, I’ve done terrible things, I haven’t exactly been a good husband, you name it.”

           “Is that it? You think I want a divorce because you’re not the exact same person I married over seventy years ago?” Disbelief colors your words. “You think just because you only have one arm and have done horrible shit – which we’ve had a discussion about – under brainwashing, that I suddenly don’t want you anymore!”

           “Yes! And you should!” He yells. “I was a monster Y/N, and I’m not the person you married, you don’t deserve to put shackled to me.”

           “Shackled? You think that’s what I really feel, that I’m shackled to you? Bucky … that’s not it at all.” It hurts that he doesn’t think himself worthy of being loved, by you most of all.

           “Then what is it?” He asks.

           “I – I …” Suddenly, even with all your bravado, you can’t seem to say it. Sighing, you go to start into the bedroom.

           “Doll?” He asks. It melts your heart.

           “I wanted to know why you won’t touch me.”

           “I do touch you.” You want to laugh; it seems he’s gotten clueless with his old age.

           “No. I wanted to know why you wouldn’t touch me.” This time, you do chuckle. “I’ve been dropping hints all week.”

           “I don’t …”

           “I want to have sex with you! I want to kiss you, I want to hold you, I want to love you. More than anything I want to make love to you again. I want to feel you.”

           “Why didn’t you say something?” He asks.

           “I didn’t want to push. I knew you needed to be comfortable with me, fully, but dammit James, it’s been over seventy years and I want to fuck someone! I’ve been wearing the skimpiest clothes I own in the hopes you might look at me. I even have on the perfume Natasha gave me; one she claims makes men go wild. I’ve been sitting closer to you, hugging you tighter, sleeping closer, everything I know how to do.”

           “I don’t even know how anymore.” He admits. “I don’t know how to do any of this anymore, sex, intimacy, love. It’s all so foreign.”

           “Kiss me.” You interrupt.

           “What?”

           “Kiss me. We can figure the rest out as we go, just please, kiss me.” You’re pleading now, practically begging. He nods.

           Both of you step closer to one another, and then it goes to shit. Apparently, neither one of you remember how to do this. Your foreheads bang together, noses bump, you step on his toes, and then, you’re laughing. You’re laughing harder than you have in a long time.

           “I told you I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

           “Oh, shut up Bucky.” You’re still laughing. “Apparently, you’re not the only one.”

           “No, I guess not.”

           “Okay, let’s try this again.” You look up into his eyes. “You, just, stand still.” He nods. Slowly, you move upwards, leaning in, and tilting your head, meeting his lips with yours.

           It doesn’t take long before instinct kicks in and the two of you are kissing like old times. A little sloppier and a bit more awkward, but still better than before. Your hands move hesitantly to his shoulders as his hand does the same to your hips. You tongue teases his bottom lip and you feel him tense slightly.

           “Just go with it.” You whisper, breaking apart for a much-needed breath.

           “Right.” He says, this time leaning in before you do.

           It feels like the old Bucky now. Tongues feeling each other, lips moving in sync, hands squeezing whatever it is they’re holding, at least yours are. His hand it just resting, grip a but tighter, but not moving. It feels good.

           “I love you.”

           “So, you don’t want a divorce?”

           “No. I don’t”

~

           You wanted Rose to be in the loop. She was your best friend, one of the few you had outside of the Avengers and Wakanda. She deserved to know why she was covering for you in the little store you owned.

           “Shuri?” You ask tentatively from over the secure line she has set up a few months ago.

           “Huh?”

           “I want to bring someone with me next time I come.”

           “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She asks.

           “No, but Rose deserves to know.”

           “Do you want me to warn Barnes?”

           “Yes. This isn’t something that should be a surprise.”

~

           “Alright, what’s going on?” Rose asks as soon as you tell her you want her to come with you for a few days.

           “I want you to know what I’m doing when you cover for me.”

           “You’re seeing a man hon, I thought that was obvious.”

           “It is, but you need to meet him, and everyone else.”

           “Look, you know I love you, but if this is gonna get me arrested, leave me out of it.” The slight bit of apprehension in her voice doesn’t ease your nerves.

           “Rose … please.”

           “Fine. Fine. I’ll go.”

           “Thank you.”

           Unfortunately, you didn’t tell her who would be picking you up, you mentioned it would be by private aircraft, but forget to mention that three former members of the Avengers would be your escort.

           “Stevie.” You smile at him, his bearded face and darker hair a bit of a shock, but not a bad one.

           “Y/N.”

           “Hold the hell up!” Rose calls from behind you, just as you were about to hug your old friend. “You mean to tell me you’ve been hanging out with Steve Rogers and company for how long?”

           “A long time and an ever longer story; one I tell you on the way.”

           “Who are you?”

           “Y/N Y/LN, first female super-soldier.”

           The stiff movements and shock from Rose as the three of you board the jet don’t ease you any. You knew you should’ve warned her, but you didn’t.

           “I think you should’ve told the poor woman something Y/N.” Natasha says from the cockpit, her now blonde hair swinging as she turns to face you.

           “Nat,” you say, “you’re probably right, but it’s too late now.”

           “Not only Steve Rogers then.” Rose mumbles.

           “Rose, meet Natasha and Sam.”

           “Um … hi?”

           “Hello!” Sam yells, although the extra volume isn’t needed, from his own seat.

           “Where are we headed?” She asks.

           “We are going to Wakanda, so that you can meet my husband, James Buchanan Barnes.”

[thecorteztwins]

Werewolf Shinobi @esteicy-blog! Also tagging @acaprioglino @shattered-catalyst @sammysdewysensitiveeyes because I think you’ll enjoy it, as it has your chaotic dumbass boy! Shinobi Shaw was not a good werewolf. The first time he transformed, he didn’t rampage, or attack livestock, or eat people. He just had a really hard time adjusting to having four legs and tottered around the house falling all over his own paws, then barked at the mirror for two hours. He then had proceeded to just hide under his blanket with his nose poking out. His next few full moons had not gone any better. And worst of all, got sprayed by a skunk. His human form was just as embarrassing. He got distracted by squirrels mid-flirtation. He was starting to get really into sniffing people at parties. He attempted to run after cars, but still wasn’t in good enough shape for it so he just got worn out and started wheezing and whining and begging anyone he was with to carry him. And while making out with a guy at his apartment, the man’s cat had walked in. Immediately, Shinobi had jumped down to all fours to chase it...only for the cat to beat him up. Needless to say, his pack leaders were not pleased. He was before them now in his wolf form, which looked more like a coyote-sized black fox that anything, slim and silver-ticked with white paws. His tail was tucked, his ears were drooping, and his amber eyes were upturned in supplication towards the trio passing judgement on him from the rocks above that served as their thrones. Emma Frost. Erik Lehnsherr. And Sebastian Shaw, Shinobi’s own father. The representatives of the three most powerful werewolf clans in the territory, and the sternest, hardest-hearted, scariest people that Shinobi had ever met...with his father being the worst in all three categories. It wasn’t just that he was mean, or yelled, or told Shinobi he was a worthless idiot every time he saw him. It was the fact he hit him in human form, and bit him around the neck as a wolf, every time Shinobi disappointed or failed him. Which was often. Shinobi was trying not to cry.

Luckily, it was Emma who spoke, otherwise he might have lost that battle, and no one wanted to see a wolf weep. ”Shinobi Shaw, three times you have been granted the opportunity to prove yourself worthy as a werewolf of the Hell’s Fire Pack. Three times you have failed---and in rather spectacular fashion, I might add.” It had indeed been spectacular. The first time had involved a lake, the second a tanker truck, and the third time....a grand but accidental fireworks display that had frightened off every prey in the area during a hunt. Shinobi still wasn’t sure how any of it happened, but he suspected that the “liquid courage” he had consumed beforehand to “calm his nerves” might have had something to do with it. ”Three chances is traditionally all one gets,” Emma continues, “And it is typically MORE than one ever needs.” His ears drooped lower and he slumped. ”However...” His ears perked up. ”When the three of us assumed leadership of Hell’s Fire, part of the mandate that united us was the belief that some traditions must be torn down or at the very least modified to better suit the modern age and to best serve the pups of this generation. Lone wolves are a risk not only to themselves, but our species as a whole, and we would prefer for such a fate only to be earned by malicious action, not mere incompetence. Thus, for the time being...you are permitted to remain here, though you are still counted not counted as having any rank or truly belonging to the pack. But you are also not counted as a cub either. You are...your own category. Until we figure out what to do next with you.” His own category? He looked up. He was unique! He was special! He was so clever and amazing they had to make a new category just for him! As delusional as that was, it was either that or face the sense of crushing failure that was weighing down on his slim canine shoulders, so he embraced it...and avoided the stony GLARE of his father from on high, silent at Emma’s side, opposite of the other male, Erik. He had a feeling that his father probably had NOT been the one to vote to let him stay. But he would show him! He would show them all! He was just having a rough start, but he would be the best wolf ever! The best wolf the Hell’s Fire pack had ever seen in HISTORY! Bounding off into the woods after his dismissal, ignoring the laughs and taunts of packmates, his slender chest filled with determination, with confidence, with courage! He was going to--- He stopped in his tracks, kicking up quite a few leaves from the forest floor, as he realized, fuck, he didn’t know what to do. How could he prove himself? Let’s see...he had failed three attempts at the Rite of Passage, in which a young werewolf was given a task to prove himself worthy... Aha! That was the problem! The challenges were wrong! He would just have to make his own! And to do that, he needed inspiration! And for inspiration, he needed...BOOZE! So he trotted down to town and went into the nearest bar....and was promptly chased out with a broom by the screaming bartender. Oh, right, he was still in wolf form. He shapeshifted into his human state, and went back in...only to get chased out again, this time because he was naked. Man, some people were so uptight! After procuring some proper attire---meaning he swung by the designer boutique up the street where he had a personal account, rather than just go back to his penthouse to get clothes he already owned---he returned to the bar, told them they had made a huge mistake and he would now take his business elsewhere, and asked if anyone could lend him a $20 for an Uber. No one did. Then he remembered he had a driver he could just call. So he asked if anyone could lend him their cell phone. Wolves really needed to develop pockets in their coats. Eventually, he did manage to get to the upscale club he had in mind, though only by taking public transport like a SAVAGE. But he’d felt unsafe on the subway was a beautiful and affluent-looking human, so he’d shifted back into his wolf form for the trip... Meaning that someone was on a subway car with a wolf that was wearing fabulous sunglasses (at night) and a big fuzzy brilliantly purple haute couture coat. He was probably responsible for a WHOLE lot of people thinking they were either on drugs, or needed to quit them. He shifted back, got into the club, and... That was the last thing he remembered before waking up in the dog pound, in his wolf form again and without his new clothes. Oh, well, no big, this had happened before, he would just--- ”Hello there.” A WOMAN IN A LAB COAT was looking down at him. Something about her reminded him of Emma Frost, and not just because she was an attractive blonde. His tailed wagged and he hoped for pats. ”Don’t play puppy with me, wolf,” she said in a smirking tone, and his eyes went wide. She knew! ”Yes, I know what you are,” she continued, as though she had read his mind, ”Just stay in your current form, and everything will be fine. I’m getting you out of here.” Oh wow, he had found an ally! The pack would be so proud of him! She had on the white coat so she must be a doctor, maybe a vet! That was great! They needed people like her! After she had filled out his adoption paperwork, she walked him back to her car on a leash, something he enjoyed IMMENSELY. Once he was in the passenger seat, he turned into his human state again, to let her see just what a gorgeous specimen she had procured for herself. ”Hey there babe. I’m Shinobi Shaw, and I’m all ready to be your new pet. Or should I say---” ”Oh, shut up,” was the last thing he heard as she sprayed a can of knock out gas at him and he collapsed. When he regained consciousness, he was in a cage once again. A lab this time. Even he could recognize that, with all the beakers and test tubes around with unpleasant looking fluids in them, not to mention the other animals and people---people!---in cages there too. Many of the animals were squeaking or crying in pain, but the people...they didn’t move. And they didn’t look good either. Their naked skin had strange green patches, almost like they were growing algae from their flesh. Skin tags the size of plums drooped at random places. Liver spots were swollen and growing small horns. Teeth were sticking out of places that were NOT there mouths. And some of them were...kinda oozing. It had the antiseptic smell of a hospital...mixed, paradoxically and disturbingly with the smell of rot. Rot, and radiation. What kind of crazy medical kink play had he gotten into?! ”Oh hey babe---or should I say Mistress? Doctor, maybe?” he posed in as sexy a position as he could in the cramped cage as the blonde woman entered the lab. A hush fell over it, the animals too scared to continue their howls and squawks, the people too far gone to speak. As soon as he tells me everything I need to know, I’m wiring his jaws shut and excising his tongue, thought Dr. June Covington. Out of all the supernatural creatures she was studying, she’d expected werewolves to be the most taciturn, thinking they would be more like animals than people....although, in a way, she was right, this guy WAS an animal. And a dumb one at that. “Shut up,” she said simply, just as she had in the car. She unlocked the cage, grabbed him by the neck, and hauled him out. As she expected, he went willingly; it was why she hadn’t used anesthetic on him as she usually did with such creatures. She’d thought that his enthusiasm might wane as the experiments began, and yet, it did not. He clearly enjoyed them, writing around and making kinky innuendo throughout. She finally muzzled him, and he just clearly enjoyed that. She began considering anesthetizing him just so she wouldn’t have to put up with this shit, but she went through a LOT of sedatives, it was unwise to waste it on him if she didn’t have to. She’d hate to find herself facing down a PROPER werewolf without enough sedatives on hand when she needed it. This proved to be a fatal mistake. When she turned him over to insert the thermometer meant to check the temperature changes involved in shapeshifting, that was when things went to hell. Oh, he didn’t resist it, quite the opposite, he was clearly HAPPY about it. Too happy. Though still in human form, his tail sprouted, and he began wagging it. Hard. Very hard. So much so, he knocked over a VERY precious combination of chemicals.... “No!” was all that Dr. June Covington had time to get out before the place EXPLODED. The next thing that Shinobi remembered, he was waking up in one of the caves that the pack used in their meeting place in the wolves, surrounded by the concerned faces of packmates. “He’s coming to!” said one of the healers. “He’s awake!” “He’s going to be alright!”

And then...they started cheering. Shinobi was very confused. More than usual, that is. In a daze, his packmates walked him to the clearing that was overlooked by the rocks on which the leaders perched. He was expecting a scolding, or worse, exile. Instead, what Emma said was, “Shinobi Shaw, you have proven yourself three times over and then some. You discovered, infiltrated, and destroyed one of our deadliest enemies. Dr. June Covington has kidnapped and vivisected thousands of our kind in her foul experiments, but you put an end to it---and for that, you have the gratitude of this pack, and all lycanthropes, all magical creatures, forever.” Shinobi stood there, stunned.

And he realized the best thing about this. It was a good excuse for a PARTY!

[lxveille]

if a tree fell in the woods, like i fell for you

s coups x reader

word count: ~ 2930 warnings: none a/n: roommates!au; part of the morning after shuffle

It must be fret that wakes you up. A nagging rumble through dreams saying you’ll be late that makes you snap your eyes open and reach out to your left to check the time on your phone.

Except your phone isn’t on your bedside table.

Nope. That’s not quite right. Rather: except your bedside table isn’t on your left. 

Your hand instead meets a warm shoulder, and the fact that you aren’t in your own bed jumps to the front of your mind. And really, it would be cause for panic if it wasn’t accompanied by the memory of how you ended up in your roommate’s bed instead of your own. Although as you blink a little further out of sleep and stare at Seungcheol’s back a little longer, you find yourself second guessing if you should be quite so calm about it. Waking up beside your roommate in little more than one of his old university t-shirts is far from the norm for you.

What time is it? The nagging reminds you of your priorities. 

The drawn curtains in Seungcheol’s room still allow enough light to filter in for you to gather yesterday’s shirt and jeans from off his floor without having to fumble. With your clothing bundled in your arms, you make your way out of his room. You only spare a brief glance back at where he’s still sleeping soundly in bed. The sheet still pulled halfway down his chest from when you’d gotten out from under it yourself. In that moment, it crosses your mind to pull it back up as if to tuck him in. You step out into the living room of your apartment without doing so. 

This room feels colder than his. A couple of empty cups are still sitting out on the table. The ‘bon voyage’ banner a friend had hand-drawn still hanging askew on the wall. There’s no crowd of friends springing up to shout surprise when you step in this time. Yet the sudden urge to cry comes creeping back up on you, just as it had last night. 

You continue on to your own bedroom before the feeling can truly settle in. Your suitcase and carry on are still where you left them, zipped shut atop your bed. You would have had to move them if things had gone a bit differently last night. If things had gone the way you thought they would have. If you and Seungcheol hadn’t stayed up after everyone else had left to clean up. If he hadn’t kissed you when all the dishes were clean. If you hadn’t kissed him back. 

You shake your head and scan the room for your phone. It sits unassuming -- and unplugged -- atop your mattress. You gather your clothing into one arm to pick up your phone. Now getting to dread not only what time it might be, but what level of battery it’s at as well.

10:48. Shit. 

You don’t even check the percentage left before tossing the phone onto your pillow and dropping the clothing onto the floor. Several curses come out under your breath as you hurriedly pull the baggy shirt off over your head and frankly put yesterday’s outfit back on again. Inside your head, you try to do the math on how long it will take you to get to the nearest metro stop. How fast you’ll have to run in order to make it there in time to feel like you still have enough room for unexpected delays on your way to the airport. 

You check your phone once more before rushing to the bathroom. Your reflection is a mess; hair that could really use a wash and circles under your eyes from a lack of sleep. It’s the least of your concerns. You brush your teeth for only as long as it takes for your mouth to feel refreshed. After a quick splash of cold water on your face, you groan in frustration into your towel while drying off. 

Just as you’re stuffing your toothbrush into the toiletry bag meant for your carry-on, you hear Seungcheol calling your name. A weight sinks in your stomach. 

Of all the nights for you to hook up with him -- of course it would be right before you leave for an extended business trip. You catch your reflection once more. It’s been two years since you ever worried about what Seungcheol would think of how you looked in the morning. Now you feel once again like you had in those first few weeks after you first moved in with him. Uncertain, nervous, and cursing every movie where people wake up looking refreshed and flawless. 

“Please don’t want to talk,” you mutter an aimless prayer before heading out the bathroom door. 

Seungcheol is leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee machine to kick into gear. “Everything okay…?” he calls after when he sees you rush across the living room back to your bedroom. 

“Not really!” you answer at the time as you double-check the contents of your carry-on. Toiletries, passport, tickets, wallet. “I have to get out of here by like, 11:00 latest or there’s no way I’m making the right bus to the airport on time.” 

Charger, you realize just as you finish up the words, and scramble to grab it out of its usual socket in your room. You’ll need it by the time you make it to the airport. While you’re shoving it into your bag, Seungcheol appears in your bedroom doorway. 

“I could give you a lift to the airport, you know,” he offers. “It wouldn’t take as long as public transport.” 

It isn’t the first time he’s made that argument. Still, you give the same refusal you had before, “I don’t wanna impose. It’s fine. Thanks, though.” 

This time you say it, though, it’s breathlessly and fairly unconvinced. He frowns, deeper than he had the previous times you’d turned down his offer. “It’s already 10:55,” he points out. You resist the sudden urge to scream. “If you let me drive you, you’ll actually have time to have some coffee and a shower before you have to go.” And get a bit of a charge on your phone. 

Not to mention, the longer you spend standing there staring at him skeptically, the less time you have to run to the subway. 

“We should check the traffic before deciding when to leave,” you decide. A smile of relief comes across Seungcheol’s face. Aren’t you the one who ought to be relieved? 

But that feeling doesn’t come for you until he asks if he should make enough coffee for two. 

Seungcheol follows your lead when it comes to choosing what time to go. The stray thought of a bumper-to-bumper standstill convinces you that it’d be best to head out no later than 12:30. 

But it’s an hour and a half that you’re grateful. 

And all the more grateful that some force in the universe seems to have heard your prayer. He seems just the same as any other morning you’ve spent with him. The only fracture in the illusion comes when he hands you a mug of coffee; his fingers lingering on the warm surface beneath yours a few seconds too long. You don’t say a word about it. 

The time passes quickly. Still, the chance to wash up properly and change into a fresh outfit for the flight has you feeling anew. 

New enough even to question when Seungcheol insists on carrying your suitcase down to the car for you. 

He’s always been courteous to you. It was part of the reason why you’d gotten comfortable with him so quickly after moving in. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’d want to help you with your luggage. And yet. 

Your mind rewinds back to his hands on your skin as he lifts the bag to head down the stairs. It carries on from there to recall the feel of his kisses, and the warmth of his breath beside your ear and upon your cheeks as he’d murmured all kinds of things. Things you cannot possible allow yourself to dwell upon right now. Your thoughts already have you lagging on the steps behind him as it is. 

“I can take it from here,” you suggest when the two of you step out your building’s front door. The temperature difference between the outside air and your apartment is immediately evident. Warmth spreads over your skin, sunlight tickling up your arms. Seungcheol squints in the light and refuses you. 

“I’ve got it. It’s not far anyway.” 

You wonder if you could be mistaken for a couple as he leads you down the sidewalk to his car. The thought buzzes around your head. And unlike summer mosquitoes, you can’t just flick your hand a few times to get it to go away. 

It’s little help that Seungcheol opens the passenger-side door for you. 

“I really appreciate this, you know,” you find yourself saying as he’s turning on the engine. “You probably wanted to sleep in. It’s my own fault for forgetting to turn on my alarm for this morning. Honestly, I should have set it ages ago when I figured out how I was getting to the airport anyway.”The words seem to just keep pouring out of you. Filling up the air with words that pretend as if last night had already sunk to the back of your memories. “How I was meaning to get to the airport, I guess I mean.”

Seungcheol laughs. You try to focus on the ticking sound of his turn signal instead of it’s warm rumble. “I already told you, it’s fine.” The car moves through the intersection moments after the light turns green. There’s no signal sound to distract you when he adds, “Besides, it’s also kinda my fault you overslept.”

You tell yourself to look out the window, but your eyes stay fixed on his profile all the same. He says it nonchalantly. Like it had been a late night chat or an insistence on one more episode on Netflix to blame. “I’m the one going away. I should be more responsible,” you point out. His eyebrows wrinkle and lips tug downwards, but his gaze stays steady on the road. You wonder if it's the going away or the implication that sleeping with him had been irresponsible that’s caused that shift in his expression. 

Both, of course, is a reasonable answer. One that you don’t quite want to linger on. There’s not enough time between here and the airport for all the questions it’d bring up. 

“I wish you weren’t leaving today,” Seungcheol announces. You look down to your lap, fingers fidget with the seatbelt in the silence that follows. His sigh makes you glance his way only to refocus your attention on the car in the lane next to his. There’s a lot of things you’re afraid he might say. Or say again, if all your recollections of his voice from last night are accurate. “You promise you’re coming back at the end of the trip, right?” 

That wasn’t something you’d anticipated. The tension that had avoiding looking his way snaps in that instant, and you can’t help but laugh at the question. “Of course I’m coming back.” 

“Promise?” he implores before flicking the turn signal and glancing back to change lanes. 

“You’re really that worried about losing my half of the rent, huh?” You try to peddle back to just being Seungcheol’s roommate. “I thought you’d be excited to have the place to yourself for a couple months.” 

“You never know. You could fall in love with the place and not want to come back at all. And then…” He doesn’t finish the thought. 

“Well, then I’d have to come back to pack up the rest of my stuff at our place first,” you fill in for him. “But come on. That’s not gonna happen.” 

“So you do promise?” The car carries on straight down the highway, and he takes the opportunity to let his gaze flit over to you for a split second. 

Your laughter does little to lift his serious demeanor. At least not until you speak through it to say, “Yeah. I promise. This isn’t the last you’ll see of me.” 

The rest of the drive almost passes for normal. Like it could be a drive anywhere, on any other day of your friendship with him. When the signs for the airport exit start popping up, a heaviness slips back into the air inside Seungcheol’s car. 

“It’s not the rent money I’m gonna miss. You know that, right?” 

“Yeah,” you respond, keeping your tone as light as you can. Refusing to let yourself come to the conclusion he wants you to. “Because I’m still paying for my half even though I’m gonna be away. You’re pretty lucky, you know?” 

There’s a chuckle from him. “I know,” he agrees, eyes scanning the signage ahead. “But that’s not what I meant.” 

You shift in the passenger seat and look up through the windshield to spot a plan descending towards the nearby runway. “Seungcheol…” You start without knowing what you want to say.  ‘Don’t’ occurs as an option. “It’s okay. Things don’t have to change--” You try to continue, but he says something of his own at the same moment. So you cut yourself short and lick at your lips uncertainly before prompting, “What’d you say?”

He hesitates. “I’m sorry I never said anything before last night.” 

“Look…” You don’t know where you’re going with it. Seungcheol waits. The traffic, however, does not. And the drop off spot for your airline is coming up. “I get it. It’s weird that I’m gonna be away for so long. And, like, feelings can be confusing. It happens. It’s fine.” 

“I’m not confused,” he tells you at the same time as he pulls up to the curb. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you.” You suck in a sharp breath of air. A panicked thought says to throw open the door and turn inside the terminal without even stopping for your suitcase. Still, you stay glued to your seat, one shoulder pressing against the car door as you stare at him. “And I know it’s maybe not fair to say that to you right here. Now. But I just… need you to know.” It sounds like something he’s been drafting in his head for at least half the drive here. Though the look on his face seems to say it hasn’t come out sounding the way he planned. 

You blink several times over and let your sight dart from him to the side mirror just outside the window, and back again. “What do you mean? We’ve lived together for, like, two years and suddenly you’re in love with me because we had sex?” 

“Not suddenly,” he rushes to clarify. Somewhere around you, another car blares its horn. You watch a flush rise in his face in disbelief. “For, like… a year and a half.” 

“I have to get through security,” you blurt out in your utter loss as to what you can possibly say. It hasn’t fully processed yet. How could it possibly be true? For it to be true for that long and for you to have never noticed? 

“I know,” he agrees. Another horn sounds, and he breaks his gaze from you to look into the rearview. His eyes snap back to yours only a moment later. Choosing to ignore the pressure to move along. “And now you know.” 

You turn in the seat to look backwards from between the two front seats as a different horn goes off. “What am I supposed to do with that?” you ask. When you turn your head to face him again, you find your new forward-leaning position has you much closer to him than you anticipated. Seungcheol looks at you, lips parted in thought. If he notices the way your attention lingers there, he doesn’t let on. 

“Whatever you want.” He doesn’t sound so sure. “I’ll be here when you come home.” 

Something inside of you falters. The buzzing in your head interrupted by another car’s nagging beeps. You pull yourself upright in the seat and click open the seatbelt. 

Seungcheol is out of the driver’s side just as your slamming shut your car door. He circles round to the trunk to take out your suitcase. You stand, short on thought and time, and watch him tug up the handle and wheel it over to where you’re waiting. 

You reach out to take it, and you let your palm come down over the back of his hand in the process. He stills, and looks you over with questions he knows he can’t ask right now. 

“I’ll call you when I land,” you decide suddenly. 

He isn’t entirely sure what to make of it. But it brings a faint smile to his face all the same. His hand slip out from underneath yours only to hold up his pinky. “Promise?” 

It feels normal. Not entirely the same -- but familiar all the same. You lift your free hand and gently twist your little finger together with his. “Promise,” you say quietly. 

He nods and lets you go. 

You only make it three steps towards the busy entrance before glancing back. 

He catches the moment, standing with the door to his car open and a whole background ensemble of horns around him. He grins and waves goodbye, and you think you might already know what you need to say when you call. 

[inverted-prompts]

LONG POST!!!! (like really, it is a long ass post)

Prologue:

Earth has been abandoned. Her resources gone, the human race had ruined her. The once blue sky now brown and grey, clouds swirling and wreaking havoc on the already abused islands and continents. Land masses nothing more than dry, cracked husks of what was once something beautiful. The seas, no longer deep blue and shimmering in the sunlight, are acidic and in turmoil.

No longer able to sustain life, humans have left earth, and are living in an entirely different galaxy. It’s a new age, a new time. A chance to start over. Humans now occupy the planet Gaea, a world nearly identical to earth. Life continues as it did back on Earth.

This is the diary of a 14 year old girl, where she shares her first hand experience with her brother, Trey Winters. In this diary, it is better understood the social effects of having lost one’s emotions.

December 7, 201 N.S.A

16:00

Dear Diary,

My algebra teacher sucks, he assigns way to much homework. I basically have to do 5 pages of problems, and graph the points we made in class! I can not wait until I graduate, then I will not have to worry about homework ever again! I will also never have to see Mr. Johnson’s stupid face again. Trey tells me I am being a bit harsh, but it’s true.

Trey was telling me that he is heading over to the hospital to visit mom, and that he would be back for dinner. He was putting on the long, deep maroon trench coat I got him for his birthday a while back, which made me smile. I am glad he likes it, I was so worried at the time that he would not. Anyway, mother had developed a cancer strain that was a rare mutation of the zelibrem virus. She only had months to live according to the doctors. Our father wasn’t dealing with it very well, but then again, who would? It was such a blow to the family, but we all tried to keep our minds off of it.

He was telling me to stay home, so I asked him why could I not go to the hospital with him, because that seemed dumb. I was talking to him as he was trying to leave, leaning against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. I am taking acting 3, so I put an overdramatic irritated scowl on my face. I could not put my hands on my hips because I was still holding my calculator and tablet pen, so instead, I crossed my arms and popped out a hip, trying to be as sassy as possible. I could tell Mr. Howard that I did, in fact practice.

Trey told me I could not go with him because I have homework to do. Well he does too, so his point was invalid. But he just shook his head at me! Trey just smiled at me as he tugged on his deep maroon red coat, buttoning it up to his neck. He told me it was also because it was cold outside. Because it was cold outside. So what?! I could just put on a jacket! But he ignored me and just grabbed the bouquet of flowers, and he inched his way out the door.

And then! The nerve of my brother, he tells me to tell father that he will be back in time for dinner! I am not some sort of messenger, I am his sister for God’s sake! But he just smiled, waving with the flowers at me, his greatly annoyed sister, as he slowly closes the door.

I told him that he owed me his dessert later tonight, and he promised me he would.

As soon as Trey closed the door, I ran upstairs to my room to put on my jacket and boots, which are brand new, by the way. The jacket was fuzzy on the inside, and zipped up to my neck. It was black, but I did not mind. I also had my boots match, they went up to mid calf range, so I feel pretty stylish! I gotta catch up to Trey, so once I do I will start writing again. Be right back!

16:00

It is freezing out. I know that it is the middle of winter and all, but for crying out loud, it’s like, -23°! Ridiculous. My breath curls into the air in puffs, which is pretty cool. It’s like I am a dragon who has run out of fire juice, just blowing out steam. It snowed both yesterday and this morning, so freshly fallen snow is coating the ground. Winter is Trey’s favorite season, for some reason. He tells me that he loves the sound of the snow crunching under his boots, and the joy of being able to bundle up against the wind. The more layers, the better, he says. He could just curl up in front of the fire with me, hot chocolates in hand, and watch our favorite movies. Which, I must admit, sounds like a lot of fun. It truly was one of the most magical times of the year, whether you like it or not.

I think Trey turned the corner, since I can not see him anymore. I need to catch up!

I caught up, but I am not too close so that he will notice that I am behind him. I feel like I am in a spy movie. Anyway, it was rather quiet out in the neighborhood, most kids inside doing their homework, and their parents still at work. However, there were a lot of snowmen in the yards of our neighbors. It would probably be busier in the actual city, although less snowmen which will be sad.

I have to try and catch up again, writing and walking is hard!

As I predicted, the city is fairly active. There were taxis and buses slowly hovering over along the roads, the hover-disks slower because of the cold. There were still many cars with wheels, because hover-disks are still a new development. So far, only public transportation and storage transports were allowed to use the hover-disks.

Oh my gosh it is Mrs. Howard. I love this woman, she is so sassy! Oh, she is stopping to talk to Trey, I will right down their conversation after they are done talking. I really hope she roasts him good.

Mrs. Howard: “Good morning Trey!”

Trey: “Oh! Good morning Mrs. Howard!”

Mrs. Howard: “How are the flowers I sold you? Have you killed them yet?”

Trey: “No Mrs. Howard. They are still as healthy as when you sold them to me.”

Mrs. Howard: “Hmph! They better be, boy! Only the best for your poor mother!”

Mrs. Howard is an old family friend, so she knew all about the situation our family was currently in.

Trey is moving on without me, so I am just going to put away my diary for now.

December 8, 201 N.S.A

11:00

Dear Diary,

I can barely write, my hands are shaking so badly. I don’t even remember what I was thinking, calling out his name like that. This is what the police officers said happened, from their analysis anyway.

               Trey looked up at the sudden jarring noise of hovers failing, and a hover carrier careened towards him. The hover jets had overheated, sputtering out. Unable to hold the weight of the cargo, the entire hover carrier spiraled towards him at 90 ppms (pulses per millisecond).

       I knew we should have just stuck with wheels. Hover-disks are too unreliable...

As the carrier collided with his body, the bouquet of flowers he was holding were thrown into the air, stems snapped and petals ripped off. Snow is flung up, sparkling and glittering in the sunlight. Trey is slammed into the wall of the store, coughing up blood.

I don’t know what I was thinking, I guess I just thought that that would be a good time to let Trey know that I was there. He would have had to take me to the hospital with him. Instead, I got to hear people screaming at one another to call the police. I could barely hear the sirens, because it’s just so mind numbing to watch your brother get hit by a hover carrier, you know?

Watching him get taken away on a stretcher by the paramedics, it was surreal. They wouldn’t let me into the ambulance with him. Even though I was crying and trying to convince them. I ended up running home took her father. He didn’t believe me at first, he thought it was just some dumb prank. But here we are. Waiting at the hospital, to see if Trey is OK.

A single petal, floats down from the sky…

December 9, 201 N.S.A

9:00

Dear Diary,

       I can hear the beeping of the monitor. It’s kind of irritating, but also serves as a marker of time passing by. All I hear is

      BEEP… BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…

        Doctor Shaun is the one who will be taking care of Trey. He seems like a nice guy, he was very polite to father and me. Now, father and I are waiting to see if Trey is OK. Dr. Shaw and is talking to him now, we are going to get to see him! It’s been a day but, it’s still a miracle that were able to see him so soon.

       I can hear Dr. Shaun talking to Trey. It’s kind of funny to hear Trey being called “Mr. Winters”.

        Doctor Shaun looked liked a stereotypical doctor. He had the normal close cropped brown hair, neatly trimmed. He wore his standard doctor’s uniform, all navy blue.

I hear him talking to Trey, saying something along the lines of “Welcome back, Mr. Winters. I am Doctor Shaun Maslin, but you can call me Doctor Shaun.”

I can hear Trey responding, but his voice is muffled through the door. I hope it isn’t too bad, Doctor Shaun said that he would make a full physical recovery. But he also said that there was something wrong with Trey’s brain. Something about his frontal lobe being damaged and how they have never seen something like this before. Doctor Shaun was very honest, something I think father appreciates. He is just got back from visiting mother, who is not doing to well either.

Oh my gosh, it sounds like we are allowed to come in now. I will write later, now, I get to see Trey!!

December 10, 201 N.S.A

06:00

Dear Diary,

     I now know what they mean when they said that there was damage to Trey’s frontal lobe. He is like a completely different person. He is not like the Trey everyone knew, he is like a robot. He has zero personality, no emotions. Doctor Shaun says that they are working to find out how to fix it, and I hope they find a way soon. It is kind of scary living with a person devoid of emotion.

Father is almost never home now. Constantly visiting mother or at the local bar. I would gladly, very gladly take a years worth of Algebra homework to make things go back to the way they used to be.

Hearing Trey for the first time was like a punch to the face. When Doctor Shaun motioned for us to come in, I was nervous. When I saw Trey, I was so happy to see that he was alive, I actually started crying tears of joy. Sure, he was in scary condition. His entire right leg was in a cast, his left arm also in a cast, his ribs were tightly bandaged, and he had gauze around his forehead. He looked like a mess, but he was alive!

But when he saw us he didn’t even smile. He was alive, but still devoid of life.

When he spoke, it was so monotone, so emotionless…. I didn’t know what to think. We are waiting for all of the casts to come off, he will be at the hospital for a while.

Today is a school day, so I need to get ready. I will keep updating, probably less now that I need to take care of both Trey and my father.

December 25, 201 N.S.A

09:24

Dear Diary,

Merry Christmas. Trey losing his emotions is so much worse than I thought it would be. He can not function in a normal social situation. Doctor Shaun has been running tests on his brain, trying to better understand his problem. He is currently working on a “fix” for Trey.

[bxebxee]

Don’t Cry Over Spilled Milk

Note: Cat!Hybrid Yoongi 💕 😼 You can read the first part HERE and the second part HERE. Thank you for being so patient with me posting all those tiny spoilers ages ago which weren’t really spoilers but just me getting ideas out. POV shifting, clichés, and ridiculous, unrealistic word porn ahoy. I'm guilty of doing that thing where I neglect exposition in favor of smut because I'm tired and this has been SITTING in a drafted state since literally 2016 while it's fkcinf August 2017. Also I typed this 99% on mobile so I'll edit formatting later. 

The specialiest thanks to @joondaily and @94hixtape for reading through everything and giving me amazing feedback. 

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: smut, hybrid au Warnings: graphic sexual content (fantasizing, masturbation, oral, penetrative - dear lord holy hell), hybrid smut Word Count: 10k (over ten thousand fucking words)  Rating: X, for eXtra graphic (MA/NC-17) 

*

Yoongi doesn’t get to finish his sentence or his thought because you tilt your head up to lick at the thin stream of milk that runs down his neck. Your tongue meets the soft skin covering his adams apple, and you move up towards his chin. You have officially lost your goddamn mind.

*

After sixteen long months of dating, Taehyung ends the relationship in the same room where everything started. You feel like the walls of his small room in the dog compound are closing in on you when he rushes out words that sound too eloquent to be something said out of a fit of emotion.

“You didn’t have to take it that far,” he lists as one of the reasons for breaking up, referencing yet another fight the two of you had in the recent past which you already forgot about. There's too many fights these days, and you can't keep track. “You just say things that go too far, and you think it’s okay. Because you’re a cat. And I can’t be with someone who’s that unkind about every little thing.”

Taehyung is beyond relieved to finally say it. Truthfully, he isn’t one bit sorry about breaking it off because the relationship was falling apart anyway. And maybe it’s because a little bit of your cattiness rubbed off on him during the time you were together, but he doesn’t want you to get the last word. The past three months had been hell with all the fighting, and not even the sex could mend anything. He doesn’t know if he deserved it for starting a relationship solely on the basis of sex.

You're only half-listening, stunned into disbelief.

Taehyung continues his little speech; the words that come out of his mouth fall into neat sentences arranged in perfect paragraphs. He introduces the subject (breaking up), lists the reasons why (there were too many for you to keep count), and concludes by saying he’d like to remain friends (fuck him).

There's emotional pain that causes you to teeter on the edge of your pride because you truly did like Taehyung - a lot.

But mostly it's just downright insulting because the mutt has the nerve to be the one to dump you.

“We were never friends,” you reply, voice trembling in an unholy combination of angry and hurt.

When you feel tears bloom around the corners of your eyes it’s as if the Dam of Sadness breaks through the Angry Kitten exterior you wear so well, and you start to sniffle pathetically. Taehyung looks at you with pity, and you’ve never wanted to cause someone physical injury as bad as you do right now.

“Kitty…” Taehyung's face is pulled into a sympathetic grimace.

You see red when he calls you that familiar term of endearment. You feel the snap coming because it starts like an ulcer in your gut and spreads faster than a fever. And your hand is raised before you know it, coming down hard across Taehyung’s handsome face. It’s unclear whether it’s by design or by chance, but your claws are not retracted when the hits lands.

You leave the dog compound with the browning residue of Taehyung’s blood underneath your claws; and Taehyung sits quietly on his bed after you leave, alone, with only the four small, diagonal scratches on his left cheek to remind him that you and he ever had anything at all.

It's only when you're outside, smelling fresh, non-canine infested air that you want to take everything back. You didn’t want to hit him. The faint scent of blood on your hands and the regret that wrenches at your heart are enough to make you sob as you walk down the street.

“Idiot,” you hiccup with an angry huff, aware of the looks from other people on the street. “Such an idiot.”

You regret hitting him and then up and leaving. You regret not holding on to him. And you certainly regret proving his point right about your tendency towards meanness.

When he told you he wanted to end it you should have fought it instead of accepting it and leaving him with a slap to the face as the very last memory he’d have of you. But it’s too late to go back now because your pride doesn’t allow for that. So you do the next best thing and lean against a dirty light pole covered in weathered bits of paper advertisements, crying until your head feels like bursting. Everything about you screams Pathetic Girl Who Just Got Dumped, but nothing matters right now because all you feel is pain.

Everything Taehyung had said was true, and it only hurt you because he's right.

You arrive at the cat compound an hour later, face a mess of tears and smudged makeup, your feet bleeding because you walked all the way home in heels instead of taking public transportation or an uber like a normal person. Jungkook, your best friend from the litter days, is the first one to see you.

“I wish you wouldn’t cry over that damn dog,” Jungkook sighs after you spill your soul to him, “The mutt’s not worth it.”  

You sniffle and let your tears fall freely. “He may be a mutt, but he’s my mutt,” you wail.  

“Was,” Jungkook corrects. “He was yours, but now he’s not.”  

“You’re being incredibly unhelpful. And insensitive.” You glare at your best friend who just rolls his eyes.

“Sorry,” he tells you, voice surprisingly sincere. “I know it sucks, but you won’t find coddling with me. And you know that already.” This is true. Jungkook had never been the type to offer empty words as a flimsy band aid, so why would he start now?

But you want the empty words. You want him to tell you that it would be okay. You want Jungkook to tell you that everything would get better soon. You want him to lie to you – just a little.

“Wanna know why Taehyung dumped me?” you ask, rhetorically of course.

“Not particularly,” Jungkook answers, getting off the bed and rummaging around in one of his desk drawers.

“Prick,” you scoff, deciding to tell him anyway. “He called me mean.”  

Jungkook pauses from whatever he’s doing to look at you. “What?”  

“He dumped me because he said I was too mean,” you repeat, frowning as you relive the moment.

“What the fuck,” your friend fumes, face contorted in some semblance of annoyed camaraderie, “I mean he was dating a cat.  The hell did he expect? We’re not sheep.”

You love him, but Jungkook doesn't help at all.

*

You take it as a personal insult when Taehyung hooks up with some hamster girl nearly overnight. What did you even expect showing up to a rodent-hosted party after hearing that his frat would be attending?

“We should leave,” Jimin sighs pulling at your arm to distract you from the sight of Taehyung shoving his tongue into that lucky girl's mouth. You remembered all too well what that tongue felt like. Your human friend might not possess all the senses that you do, but he still had eyes. Jimin could see quite clearly that you were obsessing.

“Sure,” you agree easily, smiling sadly at your friend who was doing his best to make the hurt go away. “Let's go.”

“Where the hell is Jungkook-” The words barely leave Jimin's mouth before the two of you spot him with his hands up some girl's skirt.

“Let him be,” you tell Jimin when he takes a few steps towards the pair. You take one last look at Taehyung, hoping he'd make eye-contact. He doesn’t.

And you thought dogs were supposed to be loyal.

*

You feel the exhaustion creep into your body like an unwanted cold when Jimin drops you off at the cat compound. He wants to walk you to the door, but you bolt faster than he can say a word. You needed comfort, and Jimin would understand. You feel a little bit bad at your abrupt departure, but right now what you needed was something Jimin couldn't provide.

It takes about thirty-seven seconds for you to move from the front of the house up to Yoongi's room where you barrel into his chest as he's sleeping.

Yoongi’s first reaction is to hiss when the unwelcome force jolts him awake at such an ungodly hour of dawn.

“What the f-” He stops mid sentence because he smells you and your tears. He senses how distressed you are, and he goes silent. There’s no point in asking what’s wrong because you're hysterial, and Yoongi knows questioning you right now would be pointless. You'd tell him when you’re ready.

“I'm sorry,” you hiccup, burying your face into his chest, “I'm so-hic-orry.”

Yoongi acted like an older-brother-slash-caretaker to most of the younger cats who moved in when they attended this college. Cat hybrids rarely left their family homes, so moving out for college was something difficult and jarring to most. He was a helpful and caring upperclassman, albeit unassuming in the way he cared for others. Yoongi had been here for longer than most of the cat hybrids living in the compound since he was working on his DMA, so he was sympathetic to the struggles of being away from home.

You and Jungkook had taken to him almost immediately after move-in day, and Yoongi would be the last one to admit he held a soft spot for the two of you. (It was pretty obvious though.) Yoongi also had the most comforting purrs you'd ever had the good fortune to experience. Jungkook came nowhere near close to the volume or vibrations generated by the older hybrid, not that the prick even purred for your comfort these days anyway.

So when you sniffle into Yoongi's chest, all he does is hold you and purr despite wanting to pass out and never wake up. (Because comforting you will always come first over sleep.)

“He called me mean, and now he's fucking a mouse,” you sigh into Yoongi’s chest after you've calmed yourself. You cringe because it sounded so juvenile, but calling you “mean” hurt you more than anything else he had ever said to you.

Taehyung had called you worse things in the heat of sex (with your consent, of course) or any of the times you’ve flirted or fought. But this time Taehyung had called you too mean to stay with. You suppose your boyfriend, no, EX-boyfriend had a point because being nice wasn’t your main thing.

Yoongi is silent, but you feel him rub your back soothingly. He doesn't even need to ask who you're referring to because there's exactly one asshole that works you up to the point of tears ever. Yoongi can put two and two together.

You sob drily against his chest when the tears stop coming out, breath drawn in deep with ugly, harsh swallows. You notice Yoongi's chest is wet from all your tears, but he makes no effort to push you off or express disgust.

“He’s an idiot,” Yoongi finally says, knowing full well that while words didn't fix anything, you still wanted to hear something to hold onto. He shifts away briefly so that he can look at your tearstained face. You look ruined in the worst way possible. He wishes he left a permanent mark when he scratched up the unfairly symmetrical-looking mutt the first time he found out the two of you were dating.

Yoongi spends the rest of his precious sleep time comforting you with purrs and fingers threading through your hair, and you absolutely adore him for that.

*

You start to visit Yoongi in his room anytime you feel down because he offered, and you know Yoongi doesn’t offer unless he has every intention of keeping his word. Sometimes all you do is nap on his bed while he works on his music or finishes school work. Sometimes you talk.

(And sometimes you wake up encased in his arms because you slept over in his bed again. He smells good and you can feel the outline of his soft dick press up against your butt. You usually slip out of his bed with a thrumming heart whenever you catch your mind wandering.)

On campus he even lets you hide into his shoulder anytime you see Taehyung coming.

Taehyung, to his credit, isn’t rude to you or particularly harmful when the two of you have to interact directly for class. But he does date that cute hamster underclassman he tongue-fucked at the party, and you feel irrational and bitter about his trend of entering into relationships with girls he's hooked up with at parties. (That was YOUR thing.)

“She's ugly,” Yoongi says one day when he catches you making sad eyes when you catch a glimpse of them making out by a fountain on campus. “The idiot downgraded big time.”

“Appearances aren't everything,” you say unconvincingly. After a few seconds of awkward silence you ask, “Am I prettier?”

Yoongi chuckles, ruffling your hair gently. “Yes, you compliment-fisher, yes, you are prettier. Overwhelmingly so.”

If it were anyone else that touched your hair that way, you'd swipe your claws at them. But any touch from Yoongi feels…nice.

You try your hardest not to smile at the confirmation of your appearance. And then you remember you've given yourself permission to be as mean as you wanted, so you settle for donning a smug smirk.

*

Over time it hurts less and you find ways to occupy yourself. Your grades had never looked this good before.

The one thing you find yourself missing to the point of unhealthy, obsessive daydreaming is the physical intimacy you shared with Taehyung. In the sixteen months you dated the dog hybrid, the only time the two of you went more than three days without sex was when you had an internship to finish in a different city.

And it's not really the orgasm you miss. Orgasms were easy and fleeting. You know what goes where better than any third party participant, and how much pressure is needed, and the exact number of seconds it takes to get you from point A to point O.

But what you do miss is the scent of an aroused boy rubbing his dick against your thigh. Canine origins aside, Taehyung really did smell nice. You miss the way he tasted, and how he used to whine and shiver and beg anytime you ran your tongue over his dick. You miss the pre/during/post-sex cuddling.

And it's not like masturbation was some easy fix because fucking yourself into satisfaction proves to be difficult when your brain makes you feel mildly sad at thoughts of Taehyung instead of aroused. Missing sex but physically unable to get turned on confuses and frustrates you. A terrible, nagging voice in the back of your head reminds you about the fact that the most recent time you've felt the stirrings of arousal was when you woke up to Yoongi's erection poking into your back instead of his usual soft dick. And, of course, you fixate.

“I'm out of my mind,” you mutter to yourself in the dark of your room, hand creeping underneath your panties. This isn't new. There may have been a time or two when you've rubbed one out to thoughts of Yoongi, but that was in the very distant past. You hadn't had these thoughts for years.

Your fingers slide past your clit to touch your entrance. Wet. You're already wet from your brain supplying you with endless, graphic fantasies of Yoongi fucking you awake with his morning wood. It's beyond ridiculous, and Yoongi would never, but when you close your eyes, you can practically feel him sliding the fabric of your underwear aside to nudge himself inside you.

One finger goes in with a squelch, and you feel more relieved than anything. You swirl your finger inside, purring softly when you catch a nice rhythm of in and out and in and out and-

“Ngh-” You catch yourself from getting too loud when you grind the heel of your palm against your clit.

Oh Fuck.

You want to drag this out because you haven't had a decent orgasm in months, and this finally, finally feels like a situation where you can edge yourself and really play. But the clock also tells you it's way too late to fuck around.

The finger comes out, and it only takes you fifteen seconds to rub your clit in practiced circles before you're cumming silently, body singing from mild satisfaction. You'd give yourself a B minus on that one.

Yoongi is the first person you see in the morning, and he asks if you've slept well - alone.

“I did,” you admit with a small smile. You are not at all mortified to come face to face with the object of your masturbatory fantasies from last night; you only feel…oddly grateful. Yoongi's nostrils flare slightly when he finally catches the unmistakable scent of pheromones mixed with sex fluids hovering around you even though it's fast fading. Masturbation is normal, and logically he knows you probably indulged yourself every now and then with some healthy self-love.

You smile sheepishly at the look of understanding that passes between the two of you. You know Yoongi could probably smell a little of what you were up to last night since you didn't shower this morning. But that small fact doesn’t bother you too much. At least he’d know you went to bed relaxed

“I'm glad,” he finally tells you, reaching over to ruffle your hair while you wait for the coffee to finish brewing. “Not that I mind you sleeping over, but I want you to be happy and steady on your own.”

“I know,” you reply, resisting the impulse to grab his hand when he pulls away.

*

One evening as you sit next to a bowl of half-eaten ice cream in the communal kitchen, the longing for something more than fleeting pleasure from your fingers gets bad enough to the point where you’re tempted to set aside your famous pride and call Taehyung because all you want is a Body To Fuck. Judging from how the hamster girl he was fucking seemed to be avoiding him, you assume he's single again.

But seeing Yoongi walk in for a glass of milk makes you pause from reaching your hand towards the treacherous phone and texting a contact marked as “DO NOT CALL UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES” with something you'd regret for the rest of your life. Yoongi is sweaty, you notice. His hair sticks up in five different directions while other sections lay matte against his scalp from the sweat. His shirt is near-drenched, and you wonder what on earth he did to look like that.

He looks so handsome and vascular with his veiny hands gripping the milk carton. All thoughts and desires to call Taehyung fly out the window because you've already decided that you'll probably just touch yourself again tonight.

“Remind me never to work out with Jungkook again. Ever,” he groans.

You raise your brows at the news. Your friend was known to go overboard with the health thing. He even gave up fish for a good two months because he read some article about unhealthy mercury levels (or something).

“Why would you do that to yourself?” you chuckle, spooning another healthy scoop of ice cream into your mouth. You track a bead of sweat that trails down his neck, and you nearly give yourself brain freeze from swallowing too fast. You’ve never gagged on swallowing anything befo

“Oh, you know… Vanity,” he smirks with a sardonic lilt to his words. “Some people aren't born with naturally toned bodies, and I have to keep up appearances.”

“I don't know, you look pretty good to me,” you speak carelessly before you have a chance to really process what it is you're saying. “You certainly felt good.”

And Yoongi knows you're talking about you using him as a pillow for whenever you're sad, but it still makes his mind move towards a dangerous direction. He lets it go after a beat.

Yoongi abandons his search for the bag of disposable cups after a minute and looks at the ice cream bowl in front of you pointedly.

You move it towards you as a silent warning. Just try it.

“You’re gonna get ulcers from eating all that sweet shit,” Yoongi lectures half-heartedly when you refuse to share, and instead sips his milk directly from the carton. He miscalculates how much is left in the carton because it tips back too much, and he ends up with a face full of milk.

Yoongi splutters and swallows the milk, pouting cutely as he looks for something to clean up the mess. You would help him except you’re a little preoccupied with ogling at the way the milk dribbles down his throat, mingling with the slight sheen of sweat that remains after he wiped down most of it.

Your heart feels like it's dropped to the ground because suddenly you can't really see or hear anything besides Yoongi's soft cursing and drenched state. You get up slowly and walk over to Yoongi before he grabs the paper towels.

“That’ll teach me not to eat too late,” he sighs, “Hey hand me some napkins, would you?”

You ignore the older hybrid and grab his wrist.

“What-”

Yoongi doesn’t get to finish his sentence or his thought because you tilt your head up to lick at the thin stream of milk that runs down his neck. Your tongue meets the soft skin covering his adams apple, and you move up towards his chin. You have officially lost your goddamn mind.

Yoongi freezes at the sensation, mouth falling slightly open as he realizes what you’re doing. The carton crumples in his hand. When you pull away, you meet his eyes nervously, heart a hammering mess.

“You better not have done that because you were hungry,” Yoongi warns with a hoarse voice, feeling stupid and out of sorts because what the fuck... He feels the uncomfortable sensation of milk on skin melt away rapidly, only to be replaced by desire.

Yoongi isn’t mad, you notice with a relief. He’s not mad that you temporarily lost your mind and licked at his neck. And dare you even hope…he looked like he actually… Liked it. And just because you are an impulsive, reckless mess of a cat, you decide to tongue his neck again, this time licking a streak of nearly-dry milk, making Yoongi’s skin unnaturally shiny and sticky.

“You taste good,” you murmur, heart hammering at the thrill of what you've just done, what you are currently doing.

The voice that first pushed you into masturbating to Yoongi a few nights ago is practically cheering at this new turn of events. Yes girl, it shouts, pursue your dreams.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, more to yourself than at him.

Yoongi looks down at you with hooded eyes. So much for guarding his mind from The Deep End of Lust. “I’m going upstairs to take a shower to wash this shit off me,” he tells you, “And when I get out, I want to see you in my room.”

“Okay,” you reply, your heart beating so fast you're convinced he could find your pulse without even getting too close.

Yoongi leaves the kitchen without cleaning up the milk on the floor. The empty carton lies crumpled on the counter next to your ice cream which is now slowly melting. You stand still for a good couple of minutes processing what had just happened.

You had licked Yoongi’s neck. And it wasn’t any ordinary, playful, or innocent lick either. But he still let you do it (twice). And then he ordered you into his bedroom. Your mouth goes dry at the possibilities that rush through your brain. Even though you know the caretaker is going to yell at you tomorrow, you leave everything behind and rush up to Yoongi’s room.

As you sit on Yoongi’s bed waiting for him to come back from the communal showers on his floor, you realize that you’ve been in Yoongi’s room nearly every day since the Break Up. Whether it was for ten minutes or a whole afternoon or overnight, you’ve pretty much invaded his space for the past two months. Try as you might, you don’t feel bad about how accustomed you’ve become to being around him. You note with a tiny, selfish leap in your heart that his room even smells like you live there. You could have theoretically navigated the room eyes closed without bumping into anything, but it was more fun to leave understated remnants of your scent on his personal effects. Call it marking your territory.

You like being around the older cat hybrid, and you’re pretty certain he likes being around you too. Min Yoongi was a lot of things (blunt, sarcastic, curt), but he never pretended to like something or someone when his heart wasn’t in it. Why else would he tell you to be in his room after he got out of the shower?

The bedroom door opens, and Yoongi steps in toweling his wet hair, his shirt sticking to his body with dark spots from the water that hadn’t quite dried off. He looks like he threw on his clothes to come back as soon as possible.

“Hi,” you greet him, a wave of shyness hitting you out of nowhere. He looks soft and ridiculously handsome even with his hair sticking up in all different directions. Yoongi smiles at you fondly, and it makes your heart leap to know that he smiles this particular smile just for you. (Because yes, you have been making it a recent habit keep track of Yoongi’s smiles, and yes, when he smiles at you it’s different.)

*

It’s something straight out of one of Yoongi’s wet dreams to see you waiting for him in his bed wearing his t-shirt and a pair of obnoxiously skimpy shorts. He recognizes the shirt immediately as the one you stole from him during one of the many nights you've commandeered his bed. It's from the very first concert he ever went to, but he decides he's not at all upset with your theft.

Your shy little “hi” has him grinning because a particularly good dream from three nights ago, which he had unfortunately tried to repress per concerns that you wouldn't appreciate it, started just like this.

(In his dream you had shyly asked him if you could suck his dick, and Yoongi woke up with a painful hard on to the fading memory of jerking off on your face in his dream. Thankfully, you were gone when he woke up, but he also smelled residual traces of your pheromones in the space where you slept. He had wondered if he was just projecting.)

“You came,” Yoongi says instead.

“You told me to.” You stretch on the bed and yawn, shooting him an inviting smile. “Did you enjoy the shower?” The loaded question is asked with an impudent wink.

“I didn’t jerk off if that’s what you’re getting at,” Yoongi snorts, tossing the wet towel in your direction. He likes how you giggle and relax. If he could make you laugh at his expense, then it was pride well spent.

But the two of you still had unfinished business from downstairs…

“I didn’t jerk off because I want to cum inside you,” Yoongi states factually as if he were stating the weather. It's bold, but after you licked him so sexually downstairs smelling like you wanted him, he had decided to let go of any hesitation he had held onto while shampooing his hair furiously in the shower and consciously ignoring his dick.

The smile on your face freezes, replaced by a joyful curiosity “Yoongi…”

"Or on you,” he continues. “I’m not that picky.”

It is so like Yoongi to skip through all the bullshit. You feel the stirrings of excitement bloom in your stomach as you watch him sit on the bed and pat the space next to him. You sit up with a smile and sidle next to him eagerly.

“So?” he asks, “Which one do you want?”

You shouldn’t find it so sweet that he’s letting you choose where he’s going to cum, but your heart can’t help but to beat faster at his words.

“As much as I would like it inside,” you sigh, hesitating for a just a second, “I think I might be fertile right now. Best not to chance it.” Yoongi looks the furthest thing from disappointed, but you can’t help but to curse your cycle. “Next time maybe?”

“Next time,” he hums, chuckling at your blush. “Next time when?” Yoongi whispers this directly into your ear making you flinch from the unexpected air gracing the side of your face and neck. It’s a heavenly mixture of a tickling sensation and arousal.

Was it a week? Two weeks? When did your fertile period end again? It’s a little hard to think with Yoongi so close in such a different way.

You are a vision in front of Yoongi. He sees the way you squeeze your thighs together, and he wants nothing more to slide his hand right between them and finger you until you shake. He bets you’d look really adorable cumming.

There are times these days when he feels odd and old because you were so young when you came to the cat compound for school. You and Jungkook had been the babies at the time, and everyone practically spoiled you (Yoongi included).

And Yoongi could honestly say that he never had a single sexual thought about you until about six months ago.

(You had come home late after your date with Taehyung, and Yoongi had been on his way to the nearby convenience store to buy some late night snacks. When you passed him by the door after a perfunctory hello, he caught the unmistakable scent of semen mixed in with soap and perfumes.

It had really hit him then that you had grown up - graduating from sneaking in delivered chicken past quiet hours to fucking guys on dates and washing up before coming home to cover it all up.

“You-” Yoongi had caught himself before he said anything that could piss you off.

“Me?” you had asked cheekily. You had even reapplied your makeup, he noticed.

Yoongi had not known what to say that night, so he had brushed past you without a word, intent on forgetting about the whole thing.)

Although Yoongi finds some of the changes in his life to be tiresome, he had learned to accept that his growing feelings for you weren't going away anytime soon. He would have to just learn to repress or get over you. But then that stupid dog did the unthinkable and had the audacity to dump you.

His fucking loss.

“You smell good,” you breathe out as Yoongi nuzzles your neck wearing a wide grin on his face.

He’s not doing anything really; there’s barely any contact. And yet you find yourself short of breath from anticipation. You can feel the heat pool between your legs. Licking his neck in the kitchen feels so long ago and so foreign because you had caught Yoongi off-guard. He had been frozen under your tongue, and you had stupidly thought that was how it would be when you met in him his room.

And you are wrong - so wrong.

He lets out a half-hearted chuckle that was more exhaled air than actual laughter. “Yeah, that’s what showers do.”

He overwhelms you just by sitting next to you, hair still damp from the shower. The warm puffs of air gracing your neck do more than tickle; they send small shivers down your spine as you fight to keep yourself from throwing yourself on top of him.

You fidget unconsciously as you grow wetter while your mind rummages through all the dirty fantasies you’ve had of the older cat hybrid growing up. You wonder what Yoongi would do with the knowledge that the first time you ever touched yourself in your entire life was a month after meeting him in the cat compound during freshman year.

“Why are you so wound up?” Yoongi mutters, pulling away to look at you.

“I’m just…..” You gape at how good he looks, cheeks tinted with just a hint of pink from the shower and arousal. You look down and see him hard against his sweats if the tent in his pants meant anything.

It’s not like you haven’t felt Yoongi’s dick before. You've always liked curling up on his lap, and hugging him, and being platonically, physically affectionate - not to mention most recently the nights sleeping on top of him and spooning. All of these things have led to accidental dick touches, and it wasn’t like you were trying to grope him.

But you suddenly feel the smallest bit shy when you see him in this state because he's fully awake now. He's not nursing a boner while sleeping. This one is consciously for you. This is not a fantasy. You squeeze your thighs together because you just need something to tide you over; because you’re dying to feel him slide inside you and thrust until he’s satisfied.

“See something you like?” Yoongi reaches over to stroke your cheek, running his thumb over the soft line of your jaw.

“Yoongi,” you swallow, throat feeling thick and tight. You reach up to remove his hand from your face and place it over your breast. You squeeze over his hand, but Yoongi remains still.

To put it bluntly, you only put Yoongi’s hand over your breast because you're a giant horny mess, and you're also feeling a little overwhelmed that this is happening at all. It’s kind of hard to think around him. With Taehyung it was so easy to be blunt because that was the nature of your relationship. You gave just as good as you got. But with Yoongi everything feels different and awkward.

“I…” you trail off, unsure of what you're going to say because he chooses that moment to squeeze gently. “Oh,” you sigh, eyes closing.

Yoongi is beyond pleased because you’re so honest in your reactions. There is no artifice in the way you let yourself cautiously enjoy what's happening. He knows you’re not playing coy because you want to put on a facade of innocent seduction, but because you genuinely don’t know what to do.

You licked him in the kitchen because you wanted to, you came up to his room because you wanted to, and now you’re feeling out of sorts as you’re actually about to fuck him. He gets it.

Because Yoongi feels pretty much the same.

Yoongi continues to squeeze gently and rubs his thumb over your nipple slowly, feeling the smooth, rounded tip through the fabric of the t-shirt. You practically push your breast into his hand and let your hand fall to your side to grip his sheets.

“No bra,” he remarks quietly with a satisfied smile. You crack open an eye to look at him shyly, hoping he'll do a little more without you telling him. Yoongi's not having that though. “You good?” he asks. “We can stop-”

“Don't,” you quip, cutting him off and shaking your head vigorously. “Don't stop. Please…” You bite your lip and gather your courage. “You said you wanted to cum on me… I want it too.”

Yoongi lets out an unsteady exhale and pulls you directly on his lap facing away from him. He cups both of your breasts, and you want to fly away in happiness. The touch is firm and confident, and Yoongi's finally dropped any pretense of assuming you'd break.

“Just so you know,” he mutters, toying with your earlobe with his teeth, “My first priority is you. I'm gonna make you feel good, okay?”

You whimper, fidgeting on his lap. Yoongi plays with your nipples through your shirt, and the sensation of the fabric dulling the pinches and pulls makes you lean against him desperately.

“Okay,” you finally say, completely late to the game while distracted by his soft teasing. The palms of his hands are only just barely supporting the weight of your breasts, and he's not even touching you skin-on-skin. “You can do more…”

You wanna die because this isn't how your fantasies go. Fantasy!Yoongi usually just gets right to it. Not that you remotely minded what's happening right here and now, but…

“I know,” Yoongi huffs, amused by your impatience and your cute way of demanding more without all the explicit details he wanted to hear. “But I don't want to just yet.”

“Why not?” you pout, turning your head to look at him.

Yoongi's eyes fall on your lips, nostrils flaring just the smallest bit from the proximity. “Gotta ease you in,” he trails off, throat going dry from the desire to kiss you.

You lean closer to his face, actively offering up yourself for everything he wanted to do. “I'm not some inexperienced virgin,” you remind him. Kiss me, damn it, your mind shrieks.

He pinches your nipples. Hard.

You gasp, mouth falling open in shock and body tensing up from unexpected pleasure. So much for easing you in anywhere because he takes that moment to take your lower lip between his own, and sucks. And it takes literally no time at all for you to forget the shock and kiss him back.

Yoongi knows how it started with you and Taehyung – how you entered into a relationship with the dog hybrid because of the events surrounding your late heat. And Yoongi’s fucked others during heat before, and he knows what it’s like. The overwhelming need to get off (repeatedly) is simultaneously wonderful and terrible. Quite honestly, he doubts the dog hybrid would have been that patient with you (but it’s just a guess).

There is no way he's fucking this up with you by rushing anything, no matter how much you begged for it. He detaches himself from your lips to press soothing kisses down the side of your face and neck.

“Be good,” Yoongi mutters, slipping his hands underneath your shirt to feel you properly. Your ass is pressed to his crotch, so he feels the way your fidgeting changes with the way he plays with your tits at will.

You sigh, the desire between your thighs mounting. “Yoongi, this is…”

He kisses the side of your forehead and offers, “Good?” to which you respond with a deliciously enthusiastic “yes” that has him grinning.

“It's good, but-”

“No buts.”

On your part it’s the most pleasant torture you’d ever felt. It's only torture because you’re dying for him to touch you elsewhere. But objectively speaking, the whole thing is perfect because this slow build up is something you had never gotten to experience with Taehyung.

With your ex it was always instant gratification (even if you fucked for hours). Taehyung may have teased briefly you in the past, but it wasn’t like this. No, what Yoongi is doing riles you up so slowly that you're barely aware of how much it's keying you up until he does something different - like now, when he wrenches a True Moan from your throat after dragging his thumb nail across the tip of your nipple.

And other than the sudden moan, it’s pretty quiet save for the sounds of soft, mingled breathing from the two of you.

You can feel how hot and slippery you've gotten between your legs, and he's done nothing but prod and play with your breasts. You grind your ass into his lap, the desire almost painful now because Yoongi is right there, all hard for you. If you took off your sleeping shorts and panties right now, and pulled down his sweatpants, you could sit on his dick and feel him stretch you out.

“Can you… do something else?” you beg softly. You're beyond wound up at this point, wet and desperate to feel something (anything) penetrate you.

And that’s when he knows you’re ready. Yoongi tilts your head towards him and kisses you without any reservations. While you looked adorable and all too fuckable squirming on his lap, he too wants relief from your incessant rubbing.

You are so worked up and past the point of embarrassment that you reciprocate his kiss too easily, moaning when he slips his tongue inside your mouth for a short three seconds just to tease. He gives your nipples another hard pinch that has you panting.

“I bet I could get you to cum just like this,” he pants against your neck, nipping your neck gently while rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “You’d probably hate me, but I bet you could do it.”

“No I fucking couldn't,” you gasp, panicking because what if Yoongi, for some random reason you couldn't comprehend, decided to stop here? You'd die.

You beg him with a piteous whine, exposing your neck to him enticingly and gripping his wrists to stop him from teasing you any further. Yoongi sucks on your neck, yanking his hands free to continue touching you.

“Please, Yoongi,” you whisper, feeling the stickiness seep through your panties and onto the thin fabric of your shorts. When you grind on him, you can feel your panties wedge up further against you, and soon all you need to do is clench repeatedly to feel soft pressure on your clit. It’s nowhere near enough, but you’re desperate.

Yoongi loves seeing you horny and begging for him. God, it’s such a turn-on to see you like this. So far he’s denied himself the pleasure of seeing your body, but judging from the way you smell and feel, he knows you’re going to look beautiful. And suddenly he’s hit with the astoundingly clear visual fantasy of you naked on his bed, spreading your legs to show him your wet pussy and begging for his dick.

And oh, he’d give it to you.

“Okay,” he finally relents, “Lay on the bed.”

You could cry in happiness. You listen to his words promptly. He removes your shorts and underwear in one smooth pull, and without him prompting you to do so, you fling your t-shirt off too.

“Jeez…” Yoongi licks his lips at how eager you look. “Spread your legs,” he orders in a choked voice.

At this exact moment in time, you would probably do whatever he told you to do if it meant getting fucked. You obey Yoongi, spreading your legs slowly so that you're completely open and exposed to his gaze. And all he does is look at you, and it's enough to make you cream from excitement.

You see the way Yoongi’s gaze fixates on the spot between your legs, and you, being the overachiever that you are, hike your legs up higher and use your hands to spread yourself apart to show him your shiny, wet center.

“Please,” you swallow, “I want you, Yoongi.” As if it weren't the most obvious thing in the world.

“You really-” he cuts himself off with a shake of his head and a short laugh. He adores how obedient you're being. “Fuck this.”

He moves quickly, shedding his shirt before crawling over the bed to where you lay naked and wet and waiting for him. Without so much as a “heads up” to let you know he's about to give you head, Yoongi bends down and gives your clit a gentle kiss.

Yoongi practically eats up the gasp you let out and takes in your smell with a soft smile. You’re so wet, and it’s all because of him.

“Relax for me,” he tells you, gently pushing away your fingers that haven't moved from their position in exposing yourself to him. You let your hands and legs fall to the side as Yoongi coats his lips with your arousal, nearly purring at how soaked you are.

Yoongi runs his tongue over your entrance, and you very nearly cum just from that sensation alone. You inhale sharply when you feel the rough ridges of tongue for the first time. It shouldn’t be a surprise because you know how much Taehyung loved your tongue. And yet to feel it first hand is something entirely different.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, “Oh fuuuuuck…”

Yoongi rewards your obscenities with another good lick. He places another small, soft kiss on your clit before laving your opening using the flat of his tongue. This wrenches a piteous whine from your throat, and he nearly shushes you. The walls are somewhat soundproofed since it is a hybrid house, but it’s not the best quality. Sounds of loud sex are easily noticed.

It's not polite, but he's feeling selfish enough to want everyone to know you're going to cum because of him. Yoongi drags the tip of his tongue over your entrance, teasingly poking it in and drawing small circles on your skin. It’s maddening and wonderful.

You reign in as much as you can, but your unintelligible groans still escape your throat in stubborn intervals. And you notice Yoongi has a tendency to tongue you down harder with every sound that claws its way out of you. Positive reinforcement, you notice.

When you clench, he sees it, and Yoongi wants nothing more than to be inside you to feel that beautiful motion firsthand. He wants you clenching down on his length while you're out of breath from riding him. But Yoongi is not ready to do that just yet; not when he still wants to make you lose it on his tongue first.

When Yoongi finally goes in, licking and sucking and shoving his tongue inside your damp heat, you can’t help but to pant and buck your hips into his mouth. And he lets you do whatever the fuck you want because he's completely gone, drunk on the taste and smell and sounds of you. You are tangy and bitter, but he adores it – adores how you taste just like how sex should taste. And he feels like he’s going to blow his load when he feels just how tight you are around his tongue and how plump your aroused pussy feels against his lips.

“I-I-I, oh god-” You are an incoherent, stuttering mess. A fool.

You can’t look at him. It takes everything in you not to scream because waking up the entire compound through the sounds of you screaming Yoongi’s name is Not on your college bucket list. You fix your eyes on the ceiling as you grasp at his bed covers. Yoongi’s grip on your shaking thighs isn’t hard at all, but he holds you open with a firm enough hand.

He sees you trying your absolute best to keep it together which makes him want to ruin you more. Yoongi is a contrarian by nature, so naturally that provides him with enough impetus to flatten the roughest part of his tongue against your clit and press down hard.

Your sharp inhale is not enough, not nearly enough, and he rubs his tongue in a rapid pace, centralizing all the pressure on that one, magical spot. You want to scream and cry because this is beyond anything you'd ever dreamed of, but you need to be mindful of your volume.

So you do the next best thing and pant – loudly. Your chest heaves as you suck in air, and Yoongi is captivated by how erotic you look. You are dying to call out his name, to scream it. You want to shout at how good he's fucking you up.

Come on, Yoongi thinks, curious to see if he'd really make you scream from this.

The panting makes you dizzy, and coupled with the expert cunnilingus and overload of oxygen, you somehow manage to cum silently, legs twitching and back arching off the bed. You grip his pillow with both hands, scrunching and twisting the fabric.

Yoongi takes the opportunity to slip his tongue back inside you, groaning at how you spasm around his tongue. He knows you’d feel perfect around his dick. Too bad he can’t cum inside you tonight, but he’ll take what he can get.

You did say you'd take his cum somewhere on your body.

A tear leaks out from the corner of your eye because it had taken everything in you not to be a shrieking mess. Your neck feels tense and tired from the strain of your orgasm, and you finally let yourself let out quiet, staggered moans that filter through your breathing. It's music to Yoongi’s ears.

When he pulls away to see you looking wrecked, he feels a warm combination of affection, pride, and horniness.

“You look beautiful.” And Yoongi means it. It’s a sight he wants to see all the time. He lays down next to your recovering body, swiping his wrist at his mouth to wipe off the residue of your pleasure.

“You too,” you smile, turning your head to look at him warmly. Without any consideration as to where his mouth just was, you turn your body towards him fully to give him a quick kiss on his lips. They're still mildly damp from him eating you out a minute ago, but you note that Yoongi is a relatively neat eater compared to Taehyung. The unconscious, offhand comparison your mind supplies you with gives you pause precisely because of the lack of nausea and heartache that usually accompanied thoughts of your ex. You guess that’s progress. Or maybe it was the orgasm Yoongi just gave you.

Yoongi pulls you into his chest, and you gratefully cuddle up to his form. You nearly swoon. This is it. This is what you missed so much, the feeling of physical closeness with someone who you were completely into.

“Thank you,” you tell him, “That was… really good.” A weak description, but true nonetheless.

“It’s hardly something to thank me over,” Yoongi scoffs, snaking an arm around your waist to have you even closer to him. “I probably enjoyed it more than you did.” Evidence of Yoongi’s enjoyment is in plain sight beneath the fabric of a pair of well-worn sweatpants. You swallow with desire.

Because honestly, now that you have had a taste of Yoongi - though the more accurate statement would be that he had a taste of you (semantics) - you want more. That was warm up for you because you haven’t had sex in what feels like ages, and you’re just getting started.

“Impossible,” you contradict, pulling him in for another kiss that turns heated all too soon. Yoongi tastes and smells like you; the feeling of the tip of his tongue coaxing yours out to play and knowing that the same tongue was buried inside you only moments ago is enough to rile you up again. This time you want more than his tongue. You place your hand on top of his covered erection, rubbing softly and feeling the way his warmth radiated past the fabric. No more waiting.

Your wanting consumes you with too many desires competing for prominence. You'd give everything you owned to have him inside of any part of you right now, thrusting away until he spilled his seed wherever he wanted. You want him in your mouth, in your hands, in your ass - anything.

“You're so hard,” you whisper, voice dropping an octave as you continue to fondle him through his sweats.

Yoongi grabs your wrist when you get bold enough to reach inside his pants. He kisses your fingertips – one at a time. It’s a gesture that makes your heart thump, and before you know it, your face feels hot from arousal that won’t quit. You want him so, so bad it hurts.

“You have condoms, right?” you ask, and the plural doesn’t go unnoticed by Yoongi.

He kisses you for a hot two seconds before bolting off the bed and rummaging through his desk drawer. He comes back with four. “The rest is somewhere,” he explains, “I'll find them later-” And he resumes his kiss, covering your body with his and enveloping you with warmth. Yoongi is softer and smaller compared to Taehyung’s frame, but you know for a fact you'd willingly submit to him in a heartbeat. During your time with Taehyung, you had thought you tried everything under the sun. The dog hybrid was adventurous by nature. But you never considered that the Who was just as important as the What.

Yoongi's weight feels like it belongs there on top of your body. If he were a little less clothed down south it would truly be perfect. And you tell him this in no uncertain terms.

He feels fan-fucking-tasic when you complain about his dressed state. “You are adorable,” he laughs, loving your pout at his descriptor of choice to define you.

“I'm also horny.” There's not a trace of embarrassment left in your system from earlier after Yoongi licked you to completion. Yes, you are still feeling very much overwhelmed, but the caution has melted away in favor of reckless desire that screams now, now, now.

“Greedy,” he teases, not meaning it at all because if anything, he's the greedy one, wanting nothing more than to see you writhing on his bed in ecstasy again and again. “But okay.”

He strips, pushing down his sweats and giving you a second to ogle the sight of his straining length outlined along the fabric of his boxers with some cute design with bears on them. Yoongi grasps himself through the fabric because you look hot, for lack of a more concise term. You are naked as the day you were born and waiting for him to come fuck you - a literal dream come true.

“You're going to have to put the condom on yourself,” you tell him, “My hands are too shaky.”

Off come his boxers, and you take in everything without looking away. His dick looks suspiciously nice, skin smooth and dark purple, a sharp contrast against his paler stomach and thighs. He grips himself, sliding his fist over the tip of his penis teasingly because he sees you following his every movement.

“I wanna do that,” you sigh, unconscious of how you're rubbing your thighs together.

“Do what?” Yoongi smirks, ripping open the condom package with deft fingers.

“Play with your dick,” you admit as you nearly salivate at how he stretches through the latex of the condom. You look up to meet his eyes. “I really want to jerk you off.”

That admission sends a thrill of arousal down Yoongi's spine. “I'll let you jerk it anytime you want,” he chuckles, moving towards you slowly and settling his naked weight over your body. Finally.

“Not right now though,” you amend, adjusting your body so that he settles in comfortably. “Fuck me first?”

Yoongi doesn't answer, choosing instead to lower his mouth over your neck and suck his way down to your pulse, worrying a hickey onto your skin. His condom-covered length is pressed right up against your wetness, and you take the moment to roll your hips upward to really feel him press into you.

“Just like that,” Yoongi encourages as you rub against him enticingly, “I'll fuck you soon, okay baby?”

“Okay…” You close your eyes and wrap your arms around the older hybrid and continue your motions, letting out soft, barely-audible pants that drive him crazy. You can feel the moisture of your arousal and his saliva seep out of you, mingling in with the barely-there lubrication from the condom.

Yoongi knows this is dangerous territory because if he's not careful he could probably cum just like this, pressed up tightly against your opening. But he also loves the way you feel under him, squirming and so damn cock-hungry. You move desperately, trying to catch as much of his dick with every buck, and it's both heaven and hell for Yoongi feeling the slippery rub between your pussy lips.

He stills your motions with a hand pushing down your hips and a nip to your chin. And if your pleading eyes weren't enough, you actually purr for him. Yoongi swallows and reaches down to line up his length with your entrance and slowly sinks inside of you.

You don't even blink when Yoongi enters you for the first time. Your eyes are locked on his, mouth falling open with pleasure at how fucking right this feels. And Yoongi is in complete agreement with that sentiment even though you don’t voice a single word. He can read it in your expression. His stomach tightens because he's about five seconds from losing it from all of the self-inflicted teasing and foreplay, and from the scent of your pheromones clouding his senses and egging him on to discard the condom and just impregnate you.

The baser need to procreate wrenches a growl from his throat, a muddied sound that is a cross between a groan and a hiss.

“Yoongi, please,” you beg, still motionless but dying for him to fuck you properly.

And he doesn't need anymore encouragement, slamming his lips over yours and thrusting to his heart’s content. It's an abrupt departure from the way he entered you so slowly, but you squeal into his mouth from satisfaction. His hands leave your hips and tangle up with your own over your head.

The two of you are silent save for the smacking of your lips and scattered pants. There is no room for words when your minds are too occupied with chasing your mutual pleasure. Yoongi rolls his hips downwards as you arch your back, and he presses in so deep on that thrust you feel like he could stay there forever. Your toes curl from the thought.

Yoongi plays a game in his mind, counting the number of seconds it takes for you to release a choked sound from your throat and resetting the counter when you do make noise. It's for his own sanity because he's too close to the end, and it's barely started.

You grip harder on his hands when he resorts to grinding down on your clit to calm himself down. You practically see stars from his action. With a desperate squeal, you disengage your lips from his and throw your head back on the pillow to mewl. Loudly.

He should remind you to be quiet, to be mindful of others who are trying to sleep. But there is a part of him that wants you to be loud enough to wake the entire house and maybe the neighbors as well. She's being loud because of me, Yoongi wants to brag, Not that dumbass dog.

“Yoongi,” you let out another high-pitched mewl, baring your throat for his gaze.

“You want to know something,” Yoongi grunts mouth running over your pretty neck as he pushes in and out of you rapidly.

“Wh-w-what?” you manage to get out, “G-god, what?”

“Smelling that dog on you really-” There is a particularly hard thrust.

“-really-” And another.

“-really pissed me off,” Yoongi finishes, biting down gently on your neck for emphasis. “And as soon as you're not fertile, I'm going to cum inside you regularly so that you walk around smelling like me instead.”

You tighten at his words, choking on your own spit at his dirty talk because yes, yes, and yes you wanted that too. Extra points if he came inside you just in time for Taehyung to take a whiff too. But you can't do or say anything else to respond except nodding vigorously since Yoongi chooses that precise moment to sit up and move his hands down to your thighs to push them up.

“Oh,” you gasp, “F-fuuuck…”

His hands are damp from clammy hands and your thighs are no better with the sheen of sweat. But it still works out, and Yoongi still manages to press your legs up to your ears with his dick lodged inside of you.

The change in angle makes your head spin. Yoongi makes a few experimental thrusts, letting loose a filthy string of muffled curses when you whine about how good it feels.

“Touch yourself,” he orders. Your hand is shaky while you obey, fingers bumping into his penis as you rub wet circles on your clit. Yoongi goes completely still as he feels the way you keep tightening around him. You are a sight for sore eyes with your legs spread out and up, pussy fully opened up to him, and playing with your clit.

He swallows, letting go of your thighs and pulling out slowly, much to your disappointment.

“Keep going until you cum,” he says when you pause. Yoongi peels off the condom.

Oh.

Your breathing picks up as Yoongi rubs himself on you, coating his bare length with as much of your wetness as possible. He spits in his hand for good measure before pumping his length in rough, practiced strokes. You forget yourself, mouth agape and fingers stilling once more.

“Keep. Going. Don't make me repeat myself again,” he warns you.

You bite your lips and resume, holding one of your thighs open as you show him how you touch yourself in private when you want to get off as fast as possible. Yoongi's not playing around either. His strokes are far from teasing grips meant to tease you. No, this was a man who was giving in and actively doing his best to spill his load on you.

Yoongi moans low and steady, the sound a sharp contrast to your high-pitched gasps. He feels the familiar stirring in his gut, the pull to strong to ignore. And without so much as a warning, strings of milky-white fluid splatter against your mound and fingers and clit. Right where he wants it.

You don't stop touching yourself this time as he cums rather silently. It's an awful, beautiful mess with his cum mixing with your arousal. You crush the desire to stick your cum-covered fingers inside of you.

He looks spent and ruined as he gazes upon your prone form with tired yet satisfied eyes. And it's ultimately his soft smile and encouragement that does you in.

“Be a good girl, and cum.” And oh yes, you do.

After, as you let your legs relax on the bed, Yoongi rummages around his room to retrieve things that look like shower stuff.

“Two showers in one night,” he mutters, “I'm on a roll.”

You don't say anything because you're too busy staring at his naked butt.

“As much as I'd love for you to stay just like this,” Yoongi sighs, “We should probably get you cleaned up. Dried cum is not fun.”

You nod in complete agreement because you know firsthand how unpleasant dried cum felt.

“Help me up?” you ask, holding out a soiled hand. Yoongi helps you up out of bed without even a glance at the mess. He plays crutch, bodyguard, and lookout as he escorts you to the communal showers. Thankfully, no one out in the hallways to see the two of you hobbling around naked.

*

*

*

He fucks you again in the showers. Of course.

*

*

*

(Some Time in the Near Future: Yoongi gets to see another one of his wet dreams come to life when you corner him after finals wearing nothing but another one of his shirts. You beg for the chance suck on him, and who is he to deny his cute girlfriend when you ask so nicely? And after your talented mouth and hands get him to blow his load in record time, Yoongi decides you look pretty fucking amazing with your face covered in his cum. You don't let him take a picture, but you do promise he could do this to you regularly.)

[nolimitsongrace]

November 6: The Power of Miracles

The Power of MiraclesNovember 6, 2019

Then Philip went down to the city of Samaria, and preached Christ unto them. And the people with one accord gave heed unto those things which Philip spake, hearing and seeing the miracles which he did. For unclean spirits, crying with loud voice, came out of many that were possessed with them: and many taken with palsies, and that were lame, were healed. And there was great joy in that city. — Acts 8:5-8

On April 12, I told a bit of this story, but it so impacted my life that I want to share it in greater detail today and give you the reason why miracles often occur on a massive scale, or among large crowds of people.

It was the conclusion of five amazing days of meetings — the first large public meeting that Denise and I had ever conducted in the former USSR. Of the 32,000 people who attended the event, 7,000 people came forward to receive Christ and 926 people received water baptism — and we witnessed scores of healings, miracles, and deliverances. The meeting reminded me of Acts 8:5-8, which says:

Then Philip went down to the city of Samaria, and preached Christ unto them. And the people with one accord gave heed unto those things which Philip spake, hearing and seeing the miracles which he did. For unclean spirits, crying with loud voice, came out of many that were possessed with them: and many taken with palsies, and that were lame, were healed. And there was great joy in that city.

*[If you started reading this from your email, begin reading here.]

In those five days of meetings, we preached Christ to 32,000 people, and the people literally “gave heed unto” the things that we preached. As a result, we saw miracles that week — including the expulsion of many unclean spirits that cried out as they were expelled from people by the delivering power of Christ. Many who had various types of sickness were healed, including the lame. And just as Acts 8:8 says, there was great joy as a result of all these happenings.

Yet there was one man who was obviously in need of a miracle, but had not received a healing touch in the meetings. He came into the meetings each night after the meeting had started so he could get to his reserved seat without fighting the crowds that swarmed into the big auditorium. Because he came in late each night, I saw him each evening. I couldn’t help but notice his desperate and sad physical condition and the distorted look of pain in his face.

I later learned that this man had been paralyzed from his waist down as a result of falling off his house 19 years earlier. For 19 years, he had used crutches like legs. He would swing his body on his crutches as he slowly moved forward one “crutch step” at a time. Once he would finally reach his seat each evening, he would collapse into his chair, exhausted from his “crutch walk.” Because he had come in after the rest of the crowd was seated, many people had watched him come into the auditorium each evening and — they were aware of his extremely disabled condition.

That week we had witnessed many instantaneous miracles. Ears of the deaf were opened. And as Christ came into people’s hearts, we literally heard demons scream as the power of Christ drove them out. It was everything I had read about in the book of Acts, but it was happening here and now — in our meeting! Denise and I were speechless at the wonder-working power of God we saw in those services.

Now it was the last night. Oh, how I longed for that paralyzed man to receive a miraculous touch. As that last meeting concluded, I stood to dismiss the crowd and bid them farewell. Suddenly I heard a lot of commotion to my left, and I turned to see what the disturbance was all about. I turned at the exact moment the man on the crutches suddenly shot straight up from his chair and threw his crutches into the air!

Before I could even catch my breath, the man jumped and began walking — free of crutches! The bottom half of his paralyzed body had suddenly come alive. This was the first time this man had walked in 19 years without the assistance of his crutches. He literally went walking and leaping and praising God all the way to the front of the auditorium, where he threw his crutches on the stage and then stood there jumping for joy!

There was a crowd that night of approximately 8,000 people. When they saw this miracle happen right before their eyes, hundreds rushed the stage for more prayer. Only God knows how many more people received miracles that night.

When the auditorium authority said it was time to shut down the meeting, people didn’t want to leave and had to be forcibly directed out of the arena and onto the street. People clung to us, asking for more prayer, but it was time to leave, so we quickly left the stage through a private back hallway and a door that opened right to our transportation. However, when we exited that exterior door, several hundred people had already surrounded our vehicle, wanting one more opportunity to receive prayer.

Later as I meditated on the miracles we saw that week, I kept going back to Philip’s experience in Samaria in Acts 8. It specifically says, “…The people with one accord gave heed unto those things which Philip spake…” (v. 6). This is precisely what had occurred with us, so I opened my Greek New Testament to study what these words meant in the Greek.

The words “one accord” is homothumadon, a compound of homou and thumos. The word homou usually points to a moment when something happens at one time or simultaneously. The word thumos here carries the picture of passion. The people were excited about what Philip was preaching. The Greek word tells us they were completely stirred up and excited about what they were hearing. And it wasn’t just a few of them, but all of them at once were caught in the moment — in an eruption of thrill.

The crowds were so enraptured by what Philip was preaching that Acts 8:6 says they “gave heed” to the things he was speaking to them. The words “gave heed” are from the word prosecho, a compound of the words pros and echo. The word pros means near, and the word echo means to hold or to embrace. When the two words are compounded, the new word prosecho means to hold near or to draw near. It is the idea of giving one’s full attention to what is being spoken and heard — and drawing as near to it as possible. In other words, all those people under the sound of Philip’s preaching were fixated on and undistracted from his message.

Prosecho can also be translated to give one’s full attention to a matter, to apply the mind to a thing, or to give serious consideration and contemplation to what is being heard. This was not a light-listening moment in Philip’s ministry in Samaria — those people were listening with 100 percent of their hearts and souls!

No wonder Philip’s crowd experienced so many miracles! Romans 10:17 says, “So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.” As they listened so intensely to the message of Christ, faith came exploding into their hearts — and where faith explodes, the supernatural takes place.

This truth, by the way, provided my answer for why we saw so many supernatural signs and wonders in that big meeting in the USSR. The crowd was fixated on every word we preached from that stage. And where the message of Christ is really heard, faith comes. That explains why miracles started occurring all over that vast auditorium. The people heard, believed, and received.

This shows how important it is that you really listen when the Word of God is being preached. If you’re talking to your neighbor, writing notes, sending text messages, thinking of something else, or merely not listening, the Word can have great effect on the people all around you, yet have no effect on you. If you want to see the supernatural, you must be totally focused on the message that’s being preached, for faith comes by hearing — really hearing — the Word of God. And when the message has been heard and embraced by 100 percent of a hearing heart, the environment becomes right for the supernatural to start taking place!

MY PRAYER FOR TODAY

Father, first of all, I repent for each and every time I’ve been where the Word is preached, yet I disrespectfully allowed myself to be distracted by other things in my mind by writing notes, by sending text messages, or by visiting with my neighbor. Father, Your words are life. Each one contains the power to save, to heal, to deliver, to transform, and to make all things new. Forgive me for not giving Your Word the full esteem and utmost regard. I’ve been wrong for not totally focusing on the message being preached. For this, I truly ask You for forgiveness. I ask You to help me discipline my mind to focus as I respond with ears to hear and a heart to receive what is being preached so that the message will impart faith to my heart!

I pray this in Jesus’ name!

MY CONFESSION FOR TODAY

I boldly confess that each time the Word of God is preached, I give it my full concentration. I refuse to be dull in my hearing or to negatively influence the atmosphere of a meeting with hardness of heart and unbelief. Instead, I shove all other thoughts aside, and I fixate on the Word being declared to me. As a result, faith is ignited in my heart, for faith comes by hearing — really hearing — the Word of God. As I mix my faith with what I hear, I not only see and experience supernatural results in my life, I also affect the atmosphere and help create an environment for the supernatural power of God to explode around me so others can hear and be healed, saved, or transformed by the Word of God. Such supernatural occurrences were not meant just for Bible times. They are for anyone in any generation who will draw near to the Word, focus on it, and receive an influx of faith. And I confess that this is a description of me!

I declare this by faith in Jesus’ name!

QUESTIONS FOR YOU TO CONSIDER

Have you ever been in an atmosphere where miracles were taking place? How did it affect you? What kind of miracle did you personally observe?

From what you’ve read today, can you describe how vitally important it is for you to allow no distractions when you’re hearing the Word of God preached?

What can you do personally to help create an atmosphere for the Word to have a great effect both on you and those around you? What do you need to stop doing while the Word is being preached so that you can be more attentive and get more out of the message?