#or if you should be tossed out for not publishing enough

[brokendownhearse]

working in research definitely gives people this sense of mystique about what you do, until they overhear you whingeing about how your new field (psychology) has way more salami slicing than your old field (neuroscience) and you have to give them a horror deep-dive into how academia works.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

THE SOUND OF SILENT GRAVES (X)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XI

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 15.5k

WARNINGS: Angst, threats, exploitation, stalking behavior, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations, body issues, scar descriptions, mentions of past intimacy, broody/stubborn Nikto, brief smut, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your mind doesn’t remember the first time you looked in the mirror and saw the beginnings of the flaws. Perhaps your nose was a bit too strange—lips a bit too…there the second you turned thirteen. Maybe fourteen. Fifteen. You know it started slow, like all poison does; the point to where you actually begin to pay attention to the chains around your neck. 

Your eyes hadn’t left where Nikto’s sweatpants sat so well over your hips for at least five minutes. Usually, you’d pick at those flaws here, on the cold bathroom tile with the black and white wash of nothingness. But this is distraction enough to block it out, at least for now. 

You smell like him. 

You’d noticed after you had woken up for the second time and had found Nikto gone—his thigh no longer the firm pillow to your skull. It startled you, admittingly, and you thought it was unlike him, but then your ears had picked up on the barked Russian sentences outside the bedroom door, drifting in from under the wood as your haze cleared. Best guess? He was on the phone with someone while you kept getting the rest he said you needed; you could only speculate how he got out from under you without making your eyes snap open. But, yes, it was undeniable that every ounce of your skin was bathed in his scent; marked, branded as if a sheep. 

Rotting wood coated in gunpowder, and gnawing metal that peels back flesh. 

It’s stuck in your nostrils as you itch at the side of your nose, blinking away from your reflected visage as if it’s on fire. 

Focus, you plead, and you don’t even know to whom. 

So much had happened, that the thought of your brain calming down was impossible. Nikto knew. He knew about the purpose of the parties, he knew about your doubts and fears, he knew your body. 

As you exit the bathroom, your mind slips into a dark thought—maybe learning to care about someone turns you into a bit of a stalker of your own. No one else could say they knew you as well as Nikto now does: your fears and your hopes. Not even Alyona, you flatten your lips at the realization, and you consider her your best friend. 

“Jesus,” you groan quietly after a moment, pushing your palms into your eyes with a heavy sigh. 

It can’t be past noon now, and you can’t run from this forever. 

The phone on your nightstand is taken up, and, sitting back on the bed, your eyes dart and skate past the tossed party dress on the floor, wishing someone would go out and burn it already. As the visible tear in the lace catches your attention, along with the slashed corset, there’s an unmistakable twitch at your lips, that only makes your chest tighten immediately after.

Clearing your throat, you turn back on the device and try to give it your undivided, though anxious, attention. The sound of sharp Russian beyond the door gives a sliver of comfort. 

But still…why hadn’t he woken you up? There’s a sliver of confusion that takes place in your mind, but you push it back softly.

The first wave of notifications is expected, and exactly the same as it had been before breakfast. 

Kliment Fedorov, Alyona, your Mom, even the investigators—texts and calls, ranging from clipped sentences to long paragraphs. Thumb hovering over the screen, you raise your opposite hand and rub at the base of your skull, a low sound in the back of your throat. There was so much, you didn’t even know where to begin. You should be worrying about the stalker, not your job. 

But…when had you not been worried about your job?

Just another thing to make me lose my mind faster, you think. God, this is getting to a point where I’m starting to not care if they get rid of me—at least then I’d be able to make my own decisions. You start with Aly, and you quickly slap the call icon just to ease your shaky fingers of the stuttered typing they would have had to do otherwise. Phone to ear, the ringing only persists for two seconds before there’s the hurried panic of static and a frantic voice. 

“Seraph!” 

“Aly—” You try to quickly calm her down, mouth open with the half-formation of speech.

“Bastard! Why did you not call me?!” The woman snaps, and your ears twitch, your body flinching at the guilt that grows. “I have been up all night and worried most of the morning—damn you. Everyone at AMA is silent and Fedorov won’t let me into his office.” 

That’s right, you had told her you’d call her after the party—when you’d talked to her after seeing Nikto’s back tattoo. 

After you’d touched his ravaged flesh. 

Your face heats slowly, head tilting to the floor as you clear your throat. It was all wrapped in tissue paper, those memories. The storage room, the way those pale eyes had dug into your form in that damned dress, wanting to try and compliment you in his own strange way but being unable when you degraded yourself so consistently—unsure of himself. It was addictive seeing such a frenzied and numb man walking on cracking ice.

But that doesn’t make you any more sure of yourself.

“I meant to,” you hurry into your explanation, waving a hand even if she can’t see it. “You know I wouldn’t leave you wondering unless I had a good reason.” 

Alyona huffs over the line, silence falling as her anger tapers into a line. “...I need to put a bell on you, Солнышко.”

You close your eyes and sigh, fingers moving to push into your nose bridge. 

“Yeah,” your mouth utters. “Honestly, it’s not a bad idea, Aly.” 

It isn’t long before there’s the low plea—that heavy insinuation. You know she’s still now, waiting for you to begin. “Tell me, then.”

Face tightening, you pause and listen for Nikto. You still hear the muted conversation, and occasionally, the stomp of heavy boots along the floors. He’s pacing. 

What’s going on out there? Who was he talking to? You wonder silently, perplexed. Nikto had made many phone calls before, and while he preferred to be in a nearby area and speak in his mother tongue, they hadn’t been as long as this—nor as snappy. Shaking your head, you suppose it’s a problem for later, and in the back of your mind, every word that he’d ever spoken to you rattles like rocks. 

You were nervous around Nikto now, and that doesn’t make any sense to you.

Doesn’t the nervous part come before getting touched in the back of some dark storage room? 

You grunt under your breath, clenching your jaw; becoming more and more like Nikto as the days pass, it seemed. 

“I didn’t sleep with Tarkovsky,” your words are breathy and low. Trying to hide. “...Nikto stopped it.” The heavy pause is enough to make your palms sweat. “Aly?”

“Perhaps I judged the beast of man too early.” You blink, tilting your head as your eyebrows draw in. “Christ, Seraph. I’m relieved, of course I am, but what will Fedorov do once he finds out?”

“He already knows,” you relay. “Nikto wasn’t…subtle about his refusal to let me go.”

“Blood?” Aly asks.

“And bone,” you sigh. 

“Shit,” the woman over the line grumbles. “Do you…” she trails off slowly. “Do you think AMA will keep you on?”

“This hasn’t happened before,” you shrug to yourself, hearing Nikto speaking louder. Your eyes dart to the door, and as you blink, your fingers run your thigh in a self-soothing motion. “I don’t know. Right now I’m debating if it’s even worth it.” A painful chuckle. “Any advice?”

“Keep the bastard around long enough to break someone else's bones.” Aly’s laugh is sharp and smooth. “Show them what happens when they do anything he doesn’t like.”

“The night wasn’t all bad,” you try to defend his personality a smidge. “He’s not some monster, Aly.”

“I wasn’t implying that,” there’s the sound of moving fabric from over the call, and Alyona is most likely in a fitting room herself, taking up your call as she rushed out of a photographer’s shoot at light speed. “...You like him, then? Truly? Or are you just enamored by his capacity for violence?”

Your body slows at the obvious jest, taking it seriously. Face stilling, you blink at the wall across from you. Everything else blurs for a moment, memories slashing to every opened car door and meal made with expert hands. Organized magazines on your tables and cleaned dishes. There was something funny about the way you enjoyed the stretch of his sin coating you like blood over the visible flesh of a masked face.

Nikto wasn’t a good person. You knew that.

“Yes,” you whisper regardless, feet shifting below you. “How can I spend so much time with someone and not like them?” Your words try to reason.

“Very easily,” the Russian woman scoffs, not wasting time. “You know what I mean, Little Seraph. Don’t try to push me off like I am stupid.” A low hum. “When you talk about him, your breath goes light.”

“It does not,” your voice tightens. 

“Denial,” Aly sighs. “The first sign.”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” you groan, standing up and beginning to walk the room casually. You enjoyed the banter—the teasing: you two were good at that. 

As soft chuckles waft around, your lips twitch into a smile. “He’s not horrible. That’s all I’ll say.” 

“No beast?”

“No, no beast. A stubborn brute of a dogish ex-soldier?” You roll your eyes, and the commotion outside of the door takes on a different tone. You pay it no mind. “One hundred percent.”

“You like strays, yes, Seraph?” Alyona’s line crackles.

“I was burdened with a good heart,” you joke with a chuckle, nodding. As the second of silence draws, you reluctantly push out, “I need to check in with everything else.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” is the easy reply. The next sentence is troubled. “...If you’re kept, will you have to go to the rest of the parties?”

You don’t get to reply, because there isn’t a moment to think above the sinking in your gut and the sudden shove of the door. Head snapping up, the phone is tilted from your face as your eyes bug wildly. 

Iakov makes it three steps into the room, searching for you, before a growled shout and a ruthless hand connected with his suit’s collar. Watching wide-eyed, you see the way the pale-haired man is dragged out with a loud call of alarm.

Mouth agape, all you utter is a quick, “I’ll call you later,” before rapidly hanging up and moving as fast as you can to the door.

Shoulder hitting the frame, you stutter as you right yourself swiftly. “Nikto?”

“Go back to bed,” the black void grunts, gloved hand releasing Iakov with a violent shove. The two men are in the living room, your guard glaring with venom at your media coordinator as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor. 

“She can’t!” Iakov meets that fire with fire, strengthening himself. His face is a tone darker—eyes sharply snapping. “Fedorov has been waiting all day to have a meeting, and I won’t have my job on the line because of some entitled bra—!”

Nikto’s hand re-wraps itself around the man’s collar, jerking the fabric, and in turn, the smaller body forward until the rough fabric of the lower half of his mask is nearly brushing Iakov’s nose.

“I will cut out your tongue,” Nikto eases out far smoother than you’d heard thus far in your many days together. 

Your heart skips a beat.

“...Okay,” you say under your breath, face on fire as your coordinator freezes like a bird under a cat, a flash of rage simmering in his expression. The tension was palpable.

Truth be told, you’d never seen Iakov so unmanaged before—hair this way and that, suit ruffled not only from Nikto but from the apparent running of hands. He was always so put together. You swallow down your shaky worry. 

You’d never known him to be anything but respectful. It was like a knife to the chest to see such a rabid switch of emotions—of personality. Christ, it was damn near wrong.

“Nikto,” you say quickly, and the brute only tilts his head your way, not looking at you as his fingers tighten. Your tongue darts to wet your lips. “Please.”

Iakov is pushed back once more, and your guard grunts, light gaze unwavering as he backs up only a half-step nearer to you, widening his shoulders as the trunks of his arms cross his chest. Suddenly, thoughts of sex, power, and a stalker boil down to the sight in front of you instead, and the great confusion gets larger still.

Nikto is back in full gear, and here you are in sweatpants and an oversized shirt. When had your Russian bear managed to change? Had he left the bedroom far sooner than you’d thought? And…why? Keeping the Russian in the side of your narrowed eye, you take a breath and quickly address the greater problem. 

I thought Nikto was only on a phone call.

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is low, riddled with exasperation and a tinge of stiffness. Would Nikto even have let someone in without talking to you first? It seemed unlikely.

Iakov sneers, clenching his jaw—the void beside you is silent. 

“Key.” Long fingers disappear into his suit, peeling out the gray face of a hotel room key and holding it between two fingers. Eyes pierce you, narrowed with a wave of horrible anger and swirling contempt that makes your breath hitch as if under the scrutiny of a wolf.

Your lungs hold themselves in your ribs like prisoners at the confession; eyes widening. 

Key?

Nikto levels out slowly, shifting with canid-like movements. “Walked in when we were speaking to the investigators over call.” He breathes out a rumble. “Nearly shot his head off.”

“You would have had a harder time than that, Хуй,” Iakov barks, dress shoes clicking as he slaps a foot forward. 

Heart hammering, your anxiety dances—questions muddling. Paranoia. Why would Iakov be allowed to have a key to your room? Had he always had one when you were sent out to parties?

What if he’d walked in before….?

Shaking your head at the implication, you step in before Nikto has a chance to jump the man, snapping out in a fashion that was unlike you, but came from both a place of desperation and nervousness. Your face pulls into a sharp display of panicked anger.

“Both of you shut up and listen!” Nikto freezes, eyes flashing instantly to shock. After a moment, any discernible emotion vanishes from his pale eyes, and he blinks down to you; shoulders lowering as if a display of submission.

While you can’t see it, Nikto’s heart sputters. He hadn’t expected that from you. 

Even back in Yekaterinburg, you were more prone to letting the course go calm—letting others lay themselves over you to avoid confrontation. You were still like that, of course; that was plainly seen in your unwillingness to explain before the party what was going on, but an outburst like that Nikto had never seen before. 

He watches you closely but remains mute even if his throat cages in a grunt of surprise.

Iakov freezes as well, neck snapping over like a fish on a hook. He was rageful and arrogant, you could now see it plainly. Even if he was always composed, you weren’t blind to the looks he would give you when he passed you in AMA—the discreet touches to the back of your shoulders or arms when you’d be given schedules face-to-face. 

You were stuck in a circle of distrust and lustful eyes, and the only reprieve was a man with more blood on his hands than a butcher holding a pig’s heart. 

Trying to calm yourself, you shake your head softly.

“Iakov,” you utter at the glaring face, hate and disgust stuck behind pupils. “Explain it to me.”

“You fucked it all up,” he growls, and Nikto’s gaze snaps to return to a pale face. Yet he still doesn’t interfere, hanging around like a puppy lacking his needle teeth. Muzzled. It doesn’t stop his eyes from sparking, however. “There is no deal with Tarkovsky! You know what that means, Seraph?” His hair is flattened down by a fast hand, tongue licking at his lips. “No money. Fedorov is wringing my neck! Why have you not answered the phone?!” 

“I was resting,” you mutter stiffly, face a tension-ridden mess. Glancing at Nikto and his tight pupils, the Russian doesn’t look over, only his hips moving in a small shuffle. You clear your throat with a small ache starting to form at the base of your skull. “Just got up.”

“It is past noon,” the shorter man barks. “This is absurd!” 

“Lower your tone,” Nikto utters. 

“I will speak what I will,” Iakov’s expression is like a knife as you stuff your shaky hands into your pockets. “Seraph needs to listen to what I tell her to do before—”

“Before what,” your guard interrupts, tilting his head. Around him is a false calm that somehow seems more violent than if he was yowling like a mutt. Your lips thin into a line. “Hm? Speak. You were doing it not a second ago.” 

Your coordinator stills and he wisely keeps his tongue from flapping.

“We will say it only once more,” you watch Nikto from the corner of your eye, breath trapped in your throat as his hips tighten and arms slip to hang by them; gloved hand flexing where the lack of a digit is glaring at you. “Watch your tongue.”

“I’ll call him,” you comply to Iakov’s complaints after a moment of heavy silence, face on fire and your chest being hit by every palpitation of your heart. Your mind is airy, and that scent of rotten wood is back as your legs push in on themselves. “I’ll explain what I can and—”

“Too late,” is the hissed answer. “He already gave me my workload. You’re going out tonight if you still want your job.” Your spine goes rail-straight. “This is the last chance, Seraph,” the pale-haired man spits. “This is it—you’ll put on what I have for you to wear, you’ll give yourself to the man who wants to invest into AMA, and you’ll keep doing what I tell you to. Your dog,” Iakov stares at Nikto for a long while, opening and closing his hands like he wants to say more, but only growls, “will do as he is ordered.” 

Nikto is about to punch him, you can tell by the roll and shake of his wrist. In an instant, you have your hand grabbing at his bicep, barely applying pressure beyond the initial grasp and yank. It does the trick though. 

Nikto’s body halts.

“Give me the key and get out,” you say in a monotone to the raging coordinator. 

Iakov looks like he’s going to fight on that, and your unease at his presence gets larger. The knowledge that he had access to your hotel room the entire time makes your muscles writhe with something dangerous—alarm bells. But the stalker isn’t here with you, is he? He’s back in Yekaterinburg unless there’s something you don’t know about.

Before you can pull on your guard’s arm again, Nikto pounces and slaps the key to the floor, which skids along the white tile as you gasp softly. Great hand connecting with a shouting Iakov’s collar, Nikto doesn’t let go as he begins dragging the man away like a toddler with ease, dress shoes scuffing the floor. 

Face loose, your eyes follow as the Russian grasps the door handle, yanks the barrier open, and tosses the coordinator out with a snarl. 

“You need to obey what I tell you—!” The scream is cut off as the door is slammed shut in Iakov’s face ruthlessly. A lock clicks in place, and that’s the end of it. 

Nikto stays to stare through the peephole, eyes beady and chest heaving with heavy breaths. Under the mask, his skin is taut with feral tension. 

In his youth, the Russian had been unswayable in his anger—a fact that resulted in many a school fight and bloodied faces, usually not only his own. It’s what brought him to the military, to be completely honest with himself. A lust for something he could control like a pocket knife in his hand, but bigger than two teenagers wailing on each other in some field while a gaggle cheered them on. Split knuckles and cut lips. One thing never got any easier, though. 

That damn spark of animalistic loyalty.

He’d formed some bond with you, that was certain. Mutual gain? Who knows. Bodily need? Maybe. Actual care? …Curse him, but perhaps. Yet, hold his toes over a fire if he didn’t feel a horrific rage at some man he could break over his thigh speaking to you like that. 

He feels your gaze on the back of his head even now, as he watches that media coordinator scurry off like a rat, and he flashes to the ongoing gag the two of you had formed. 

Looks like a Shrew. Little rodent.

Nikto sighs under his breath, fingers coming up to rub at his covered chin, scraping gloves against the thick canvas. He backs up with a scoff and stalks away. 

“The man is weak,” Nikto says to you, keeping a tight side-eye. “Get a better one before we dispose of him.”

You strangle down a quick laugh, mouth slowly opening as you think over your words. The comment, said in that rough and sandpaper-like accent, flows through you like water. You should be put off by it, you think to yourself in the back of your brain, especially after the explosion in the bakery and the death of your three previous guards; of Yefim.

Yet…

Your throat tightens. “You think he was being serious?” You ask. “About the party tonight? My job?”

“You are not going.” It’s immediate. 

“Nikto,” you frown, stepping forward as he brushes past you to grab his phone that was sitting on the coffee table. “There are parts that I won’t be a part of again, but I know that you know, that I need to keep my position at AMA. With any hope, showing up will be enough—I can speak, persuade, the person who—”

“Why?” he spits, shoving the device away as his pale eyes glare, head tilting. 

If you knew any better, you’d compare this to a boy pouting. Just perhaps a bit more serious. 

“Oh,” you vaguely motion with a hand, sarcastically uttering as your heart slows now that it’s only the two of you. “I don’t know—food, rent, the ability to live comfortably. You know, the usual.”

Nikto huffs, taking out his baretta and placing it on the table before the cleaning rag is slipped from his belt. He sits down near the neatly folded blanket and perfect pillows, silent. You’d have to keep this conversation going later, there was a low curiosity in your stomach. His phone—the speaking you’d heard from the bedroom. 

“Who were you talking to before I came out?” Walking forward, you listen to the click of dark metal as Nikto takes apart his gun piece by piece, setting them all down in a well-thought-out order. He glances up, and you see his lashes dip in a blink. As usual, his expression is unreadable while behind that mask. You almost missed the balaclava—at least you could see the outline of his lips that way.

“Anything important?”

“Investigators,” Nikto grumbles. “They have taken Sergi into custody, but can get nothing out of him,” he pauses, troubled though you can’t see it as your eyes widen, body going to sit beside his own before intently listening. 

“That’s perfect!” You speak, a smile overtaking your lips. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten any more texts from the stalker. Do you think that they’ll keep him there?”

“No,” you still, smile freezing. “They cannot.” Pale eyes stare into your own smoothly before they break away. Nikto clears his throat, fingers twitching as more bits and bobs are polished. “DNA does not match those found on the letters from your lockbox. It is illegal to falsely detain someone for over forty-eight hours. He will be released unless further evidence is discovered.” 

It’s a slow moment before you swallow down the sharp disappointment in your gut, attention darting from the silent Russian to the table. 

“Oh.”

Nikto’s muscles tense the longer this silence permeates, eyes unconsciously darting back from his gun to you. After a long while, he sighs aggressively, dropping the rag and the slide he had been polishing without thought as it thumps to the table.

“Птичка,” he turns, and you blink back to him just to notice the instant tension as your eyes lock. 

Such grays and blacks make up his being, that you wonder if color even mattered when it came to him—you already know those shades of in-between things, and Nikto could certainly be described as in-between. The activities of the storage room flash behind your vision, and your lips part softly. 

But something isn’t right. 

You’d thought that maybe Nikto would always be something of a blank slate to you—obviously, you could tell when he was frustrated and such, but anything beyond that was still up to your imagination. But it’s especially telling when you can understand the way he hesitates to touch you when his hand rises. 

The limb moves to your bicep before the Russian drops it back down, turning back to his rag, and gets back to work with the lines beside his eyes visible as if grimacing. Beyond the anxiety, and the paranoia, you find the hurt burns sharper than those two ever could.

Not to mention the uncertainty. 

You stare openly for upwards of three minutes, hesitant with the white noise in your brain overtaking your thoughts. 

Nikto’s head is thumping—attacking every ounce of common sense to be found. The picture on his phone; the implications. The stalker wasn’t Sergi, because Sergi was at this very moment still detained and had been since last night…how could he tell you that? A man who was already horrible with words, so used to barking out his true feelings to soldiers and civilians alike. He can’t be that with you. Not anymore. He doesn’t want to be. But he’s stubborn—he’s prideful. Arrogant. It’s easier for him to figure it out himself than burden you, and in many ways, you were the same beast.

Mutt, mutt, mutt. Golden chains around supple flesh.

Nikto opens and closes his mouth many times, not knowing how your heart is cracking piece by piece; so averse to speaking about yourself. He’d left while you were still asleep to make the phone call himself to your investigators, not able to stare at your face any longer or feel your flesh. It had made his attention slip, and his focus fail. 

The lack of control where he already had so little. He couldn’t take it, and in that, he felt dirty. Tainted. 

The knowledge that someone had a picture of you in perhaps the most vulnerable moment he’d ever seen you in was worse, still. Like the blood on his hands was smearing itself over you, dipping along your waist and hips; sinking its dripping knuckles into the tight clutch of your welcoming walls. Fingerprint marks over your navel, clawing. 

Nikto flinches subtly in his seat, a low sound echoing in the back of his throat. He wishes he’d never known the color of blood if only to not be able to imagine it along your pretty skin. 

The Russian had only been thinking about it when you were sleeping, a slow infection seeping in as it always did—the stalker had been just behind him and he hadn’t heard a thing. The thought was enough to nearly make him vomit.

It was an utter disgrace to his skills. 

He can’t be distracted anymore; not now. Not when he feels the fingers digging into his scars, the cuts, the drags of knives, and the burn of fire. He needs that control back. Some semblance of stability. 

You try not to show how much you’re taken aback—how much Nikto’s sudden distance is a physical pain to you. The dead air settles, and you feel your pulse through your skin like a wound. 

“...Anything else, Nikto?” Your voice is deathly still. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you had pushed something too far. 

“...Нет.” The Russian’s fingers are hovering over the pieces of his gun, dismantled and laid bare to the overhead light of the blinding hotel. This place is cold; sterile. You’d said it before and you’d say it again—this was not a place you’d want to live. Now…even less so. Nikto clears his throat as you stand jerkily, sending a glance that lands on your throat and not your eyes. “There is nothing.”

You nod quickly. 

“Good. I’m, uh,” your tongue wets your lips, and pale eyes try not to follow the motion even as he finds it like a siren call. Control. “I’m glad. I’ll figure out the details about the party tonight and get back to you.” 

Nikto’s shoulders froze, but by the time his damaged brain had caught up with his mouth, you were already back in the bedroom and shutting the door with a soft hand. 

A blue gaze sticks to the barrier, but not a single sound creates so much of an echo as the seconds draw into minutes. 

“Enough,” Nikto orders himself, turning back to the table. Lips shifting into a deep frown, there’s little in the way of understanding his own actions, but wasn’t that the norm? Distance lets him think—thinking means solutions. Solutions for you; solutions for him. 

But the feeling of your warm flesh is addictive, and there are moments in between the flashes of bloodshed that circulate when your brushing fingertips scrape down his back—a bear to a deer, but now he’s not too sure which is which. There’s a need to consume and eat down sustenance until his face is bloody and raw again, that half of a Glasgow smile ripped open and hanging, brutality ingrained into his psyche by way of pain and pleasure. 

You touching him was both.

Being near you was both.

Knowing about that picture he’d been sent was worse than the former.

Nikto had thought to tell you, he’d been getting better with that, but then he’d truly thought it over and in his own way wanted you to be safe from just one more violation. It was how he was—a silent, brutish, mutt-like hired gun. He was smart, though. 

And, damn him, he liked it when you smiled. 

“Focus on the task,” he grunts, his knuckles under his gloves surely white from how hard he handles the metal of his beretta, stress cleaning even if he doesn’t know it—doesn’t acknowledge it.

His tight-pupiled eyes keep dragging themselves back to the door.

—

The hotel stayed in a suffocating silence even as the stylists came and went. They didn’t say a word as the hours lengthened—nervous, if you had to guess. The story of ‘the guard who snapped a man’s wrist in one motion’ had made its rounds quickly; gossip always on loose tongues. 

You’d had a call with Fedorov. You think you had only gotten through it because you’d dug your nails so hard into your hand, that the initial scrape of cartilage had distracted you from the threat of being fired. The beady-eyed CEO had been less than pleased, and that was all you wanted to comment on; to even think about.

“I’ve heard troubling things, Seraph. Very troubling. What is this about your guard? I had thought we had come to an understanding about it. Tight leash, yes?” 

Your fingers skate the smooth front of the newest dress you’ve been given, and you play with the dangle of cold metal around your fingers. Rings. You don’t know if they’re gold or silver, nor the gems set into them, but you know they’re elegant—just as the fabric you wear is.

There’s no great slit here, not in this form-fitting sleeve of white. Two pieces of fabric move up to cover your breasts and meet at a collar around your neck of the same silk, the train extending from the back of that collar that trails the ground. Lace, of course. Your shoulders are bare, just as a good ninety percent of your back is; only stopping at the small of your back where the fabric is once more tight to you. Pearls and feathers create a beaded version of a corset, tantalizingly caressing your bare flesh. 

Your first thought is that you’ll freeze in this, but the second is how you’re going to walk in the heels—a silk strap looping your ankle before a big bow meets your eyes.

And the third is even worse.

“I think I’m losing my job tonight,” you whisper, blank-faced and knowledgeable of Nikto once more waiting where he had been before. A vicious repeat, a hopeless deja vu. 

A pawn in someone else's game.

Your fingers tap your abdomen in broken intervals. There had to be a way out of this, you try to tell yourself. 

Think. 

But your mind always drifts back to the damn ex-soldier that’s in the living room. His attitude today—his distance from you was like taking a bullet to the gut. You should be celebrating the detainment of Sergi, of possible breakthroughs even if the DNA didn’t match. 

The baker’s boy knew something, that was a fact. 

But nothing. No joy—no jokes or sarcasm. 

As you look at yourself now, you can only now recognize the expression of utter defeat you wear so plainly like a burial shroud. This was a cruel game. But there was something truly frightening about how close you and Nikto had become in such a relatively short period. Akin to soulmates finding one another, except for the simple fact you didn’t believe that was what the two of you were anymore. 

It had been a brief hope, truly. But one that you’d wanted more than anything, and you don’t know why. You don’t know why you let him touch you; let him be so near—it runs around your brain to speak itself in tongues just like the rest. Problem after problem. 

One at a time, you turn and exit the room, not looking at yourself longer than you have to. 

Nikto stands stiff by the door, already in his suit and balaclava—M13 and Beretta back where they belong respectively. The knife, you have no clue, though you know it’s somewhere. 

There are no compliments from the two of you. No speaking. So quickly something flipped on its head. Pale eyes dart, but when they meet yours, drip and drag away to the coat rack as you grab for your jacket. As your attention tries not to linger, you see him momentarily peel back his eyelids at the sight of your elegant dress but say nothing beyond a garbled sigh.

The air was so thick, that it was nearly enough to display how idiotic and childish the two of you were for acting like this.

You open your mouth and push out, “Ready to go?” 

In the hours you’d taken to get ready, the Russian had come up with a plan. 

He nods to you now and opens the door, allowing you out as he stays behind, making sure the lock clicks as you glance over your shoulder. Beginning to walk with him just a foot away, Nikto runs over his idea once more. 

With any hope, the stalker now had a personal vendetta against him for getting physically involved with you—he’d been looking up studies in his spare time while you were getting dressed; tapping his fingers along his phone stiffly. 

Only one sentence stood out to him, and it still stands out now as you go to wait in the elevator ahead of his looming form, eyes to the ground and hand massaging the back of your head. 

‘Stalkers like to get their target isolated; they’re selfish. They want the person all to themselves and dislike anyone who can possibly get in the way of that. Whether it’s a romantic partner, family, or friends, if they pose a roadblock for the stalker it can result in added stress or an urgency to act.’

Nikto moves to stand beside you, shoving a firm finger to the ground floor button and glaring at the wall, lips stiff from under fabric. 

If the man would come after him, then it would get you out of the spotlight at least for a short amount of time—perhaps it would even be enough to catch him. 

Maybe tonight, Nikto wonders silently, eyes narrowing as his feet settle. He will be there. We need to be ready. 

Your lungs breathe down a slow breath, taking in oxygen until your chest rises with the swell like a bag in the wind. This feeling is something you don’t know if you’ve experienced before beyond the sensation of having to relearn your limbs after your accident; an expectation and a draw, something just there but out of sight. 

Inebriating instability. 

Instead of your hands being shaky, now your mind was. 

Nikto is so close—so there beside you. You wanted to reach out to him, to hang off of his arm. To be something. It was pathetic of you, especially after he’d already assured you that you both would deal with the uncomfortableness of your prior affair. 

Was this his way of dealing with it? Avoidance? He didn’t seem the type, and you’d already known that he wasn’t. 

So it’s bigger, your face pulls in. But what? Why this…hesitation?

Your eyes spark. 

Hesitation, no. In the elevator, your arms tense as the small sound of the metal box meeting the ground floor echoes; Nikto also darts his head up, deep in his thoughts. You both share an unexpected side-eye, before the doors open and you hurry out on unstable feet as your face burns. This is fear. 

“What are you afraid of?” You whisper to yourself, hearing those boots behind you. 

At the Russian’s unease, you find your own doubling just as simply. 

Who could make a bear afraid of the forest?

—

As you enter the party, you go about business and try not to stay on the fact that you have just gone through one of the most uncomfortable car rides you’ve ever experienced.

Passing off your jacket and hearing the doors close behind you, your curated smile dims to an imitation of happiness, shoulders drooping. 

Nikto had only touched your arm to guide you along the sidewalk to this more humble residence—not at all like the previous party you’d been to. Every step and click off your heels had welcomed the same nervousness, however. 

You still didn’t know what you were going to do, but right now, it was more important to just calm yourself to a state of taking it moment by moment. If it all came down to it, would you need Nikto to guard you again? Order him to break more bones? Welcome the spray of black fluid and gray meat? 

“Nikto,” you address the Russian as he blinks over, fixing his hold on his M13. He doesn’t like this either—he doesn’t understand why you don’t listen to him and go to events like this. Nonetheless, he’ll follow and steer you clear of any situations you shouldn’t be in. It was his job to watch you, not force your hand.

Pale eyes level with you before they go to survey the foyer. “What is it?” 

“When all of this is over,” you utter, walking forward. “What will you do?”

The Russian pauses, heart stuttering. What would he do? That wasn’t the question he thought you were going to ask, but it’s a welcome distraction from the mess of his head. 

“Go back to KorTac,” he breathes, elbow brushing yours with his voice like rocks. “The contract will be over. I will not be needed anymore, да?”

You tilt your head, licking at the corner of your lips to push back the bead of fear that had settled into your stomach. “That makes sense,” your mind pulls a flat-falling tease. “But who will tell me what color of the paintings on the wall?”

Nikto’s hidden face is a stiff reflection of your own, scars tight. It’s a strange thing, he understands, the pressure on his chest that grows stronger. He’s so used to keeping secrets…why was this so hard for him?

“The blonde woman will be at your side, no doubt,” he grumbles, looking away from the image of your beauty and the silk of your dress. “She will tell you. I am not the only one able to understand the need for it.” Those feathers and pearls make a strung corset of utter angelic purity. 

Blood on my hands. 

He’d already tainted you enough, hadn’t he? When did sex suddenly become important to him? Weighted with…with care. There were so many times he could carelessly get his fill and leave with nothing mattering to him—just another way to get off and forget the formalities of waking up next to someone and making breakfast. 

But wasn’t that exactly what Nikto had willingly done with you? Willingly sat near you for breakfast, willingly allowed you to coax him into bed to be a pillow, willingly touched you? Like a loyal beast, he had. He had. 

You were a horrible creature. A beautiful, lovely, creature. Disgusting. Awe-inducing. As holy and as blasphemous as all of the monsters that sit on his shoulders; the ones he cannot name.

Nikto’s fingers pull into soft fists, and his gloves stretch. He grunts as your face falls a bit at his reply, your head nodding as he clenches his jaw until his molars scream. 

You were messing with his head again. It wasn’t like he wanted you to not understand his motives—he needed to focus. 

“I didn’t think Iakov was like that,” you change the subject as you both awkwardly move into the party, voices moving along the airwaves as you enter the large living room. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”

“Men like that care about money and power,” Nikto answers, keeping your body nearest to the wall as he sticks to your right. “He will never forgive you for letting him lose it.” Pale eyes jump from one set of curious gazes to another. “It is not in his nature. Waste of skill.”

“Isn’t money what everyone wants?” You mutter, staying close to him and nodding politely at those who look your way with digging gazes. “That's why I’m here.”

“You are not the same,” is the swift answer, shifting vision stilling on a man with blond hair that moves through the crowd, camera sitting around his neck as dark eyes meet Nikto’s own. The guard blinks, and the individual is lost to the crowd.

Looking at you, the Russian’s eyes narrow. “You are not selfish, did we not explain ourselves enough earlier?” 

“You said I was good,” you explain slowly. Not good enough to keep?

“I did,” Nikto grunts. “I say what I mean. We do not lie.”

“Too prideful for that,” your mouth pulls into a smile. “Aren’t you, Big Guy?”

His eyes swirl, low amusements littering the pale orbs like a sly cat. “Да, вот именно.” 

You huff, not understanding the words, but knowing they’re agreeing with you. It’s as if a glass wall is dissecting the space between your bodies. You can see Nikto—hear him and feel his presence, but you can’t touch him; can’t get the smudges off without a rag. A blurry mess of black and white, not a slash of color to be understood. 

This separation was thin but still there.

“What aren’t you telling me?” You have to finally push as you stop near the back of the room, as far away from anyone as possible, but it isn’t at all private. Eyes turn and fingers shift over wine glasses. It was quieter here, too. Not so blatant in its display of choking wealth, but still rich if decor was anything to go off of. 

Nikto’s amusement vanishes instantly, and he’s back to a careful blankness.

Stopping as well, he only waits a second before uttering, “I do not tell you many things, Seraph.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you bounce off of him, hands moving up to motion softly as your face twists. Shame hits you in the chest, and you take a shaking breath. “...I knew it would end up being like this if you found out about all of it. All your job stated was a simple protection contract, not some—”

You stop yourself. 

Pale eyes don’t blink once as they keep themselves tight to you. Nikto lets his mind calm before he speaks. “Why are we here?” 

Your brows shift, and you open and close your mouth. “I don’t know. I’m hoping my boss might give me some credit for just showing up and not—”

“Then we are going now,” he growls, attention flying from one prying person to the next. There are too many eyes here—too many ears. Nikto knows who might be lurking. 

“Why,” you lightly push back, chuckling sarcastically. “I’m not in any danger, Nikto. At every turn, there aren’t any stop signs at the side of the road—at least here I have a grab at good wine and company that doesn’t hide the truth from me.”

Pale eyes flare. People start to turn your way. There’s a pause as if there’s something the Russian wants to state, but it fails on lips that you barely see rise from under his balaclava.

“I told you I do not lie, woman,” Nikto grunts, stature ridgid from where it spreads like a steady corruption; a shadow lengthening. 

You had always avoided confrontation—always. You hated it, and, currently, you hated this as well. But the stress was getting to you, the threat of losing everything on top of your own life. Nikto had become a lifeline, and now he was trying to pull back. 

Why?

Your face turns, and you stalk away. “Then do me a favor and stop telling me half-truths.”

—

If steam were able to come out of your ears, you would have filled the room with that heavy layer of your anger. Nikto was still stapled to you—unable to leave after what he now understood might come to fruition at these events if he did. 

So, you both stood. 

Silent.

Stoic.

Unsatisfied.

A dog without a bone left longingly glancing as if its eyes could speak all the words that needed to be explained on a human tongue. 

Your hands push at the base of your skull, massaging the forming headache that had grown from when Iakov had let himself into your hotel. You can’t wait until these parties are over—until you can get another call from the investigators saying that your stalker has been apprehended with Sergi’s statements. There needed to be a happy ending to this; needed. 

This can’t be all your life is meant to be. 

You didn’t come here thinking that you would be sleeping with someone. Currently, as you’re sipping down the second glass of wine brought to you, you can see the head of the man you’re supposed to be attending to. 

Borya Belov, or something close to that. Your coordinator had sent a text, but you’d barely looked at it and the picture attached. Large and middle-aged, he was up and coming in the city, generating impressive amounts of money and influence through his iron and steel plants. He knew your CEO, too—old family friends. 

Your eyes tear themselves away before he can look in your direction, frowning heavily. A rock and a hard place. 

You were foolish if you thought that by you being here it would allow you to keep your job without handing yourself over. It seems you’ve been foolish a lot lately. Your gaze sneaks to look at Nikto and only finds a rigid pole in his place. No under-the-breath jokes or knowing glances. No indecipherable emotions. It was just blank.

Shaking your head lightly, you bring the wine glass to your lips and take a large sip, letting the swell of it fill your mouth before it slips into your throat; tasting the bitter edge. With all of the blatant mess of emotions, it wasn’t any wonder why anyone hadn’t come over to talk to you. 

“All of these things are the same,” you speak to yourself quietly, trying not to sweat as Nikto’s body shifts closer when Iakov walks past the two of you stiffly. The pale-haired man sends you a dark look and you bite your tongue, eyelids narrowing with unease. 

Get dressed, speak gossip, get used, repeat. 

Already the trap had settled, routine following like a pet. 

Your fingers run over the glass in your hand, nails dragging as Nikto’s eyes stare from the side, thighs tightening before he rips his attention back to the party. He grunts and tilts his head, shoulders rolling. 

Focus.

It’s in the atmosphere of a taut rope that you hear the thin conversation from not that far away. 

“Look at him.”

Your ears quirk, but you don’t think of it much as you drink down the last dredges of your wine, licking at the corner of your mouth—careful of the lipstick. It was a group of women all turned into one another, muttering quickly and giggling even more so. 

“Which one?”

“The big bastard, obviously. How much do you think he eats, hm? I’m betting an entire kitchens worth a day.”

Pausing, your spine slowly begins to straighten up, face stuck staring into the wall far across the room. 

“I bet he’s hideous under all of that. Look at the mask—see?”

The round of muffled laughter behind silken gloves makes your heart jerk inside of your ribs as one of the photographers passes by Nikto and you, fiddling with his camera in his hands.

Beside you, the Russian either hears what’s going on and ignores it, or can’t and is simply not moving because he found someone in the crowd to pay attention to. 

Looking over now, you’d place your bet on the first. 

Nikto’s eyes are void, tiny pupils stuck in on themselves as he stares at nothing—his M13 is strangled under the grip of black gloves, and that little sliver of skin you see from his wrist has visible tension in it. He cracks his neck silently, sets his feet, and pretends.

Watching as he’s so apt to do to you, your anger-ridden face steadily freezes the longer your ears strain themselves to hear above the clink of glasses and useless chatter. Work and pleasure are zapped from your mind.

“You think so?”

“I am willing to bet on it—a thing like that is hiding its face because it has to. No soulmate, either. Go up and speak to him; I want to see.”

“But…what if he does have a soulmate? That woman beside him, isn’t that the one from Yekaterinburg? They could be—”

Nikto’s fingers twitch, eyes flashing. 

“If I had a soulmate that had to hide his face from me, I would think he was a beast. No one would want to be within five feet of that.”

Few things made you angry. 

Liars, cruelty, and the rest of the normal points that were on the list everyone keeps. But there was something particularly special about how you hated someone talking about Nikto like that. Forget him hiding something from you, forget his distance and his inability to speak about his emotions—you still cared about him deeply. The words he’d said to you, how he carries himself; his blunt honesty. 

Your heels are hitting the ground before you can remember you’re here to not make a scene.

“Excuse me,” you say, slipping into an easy smile as you nearly trip over your own feet as you settle near the group. All of their eyes widen, some turning around to lock gazes with the sudden arrival. “Could you repeat yourself for me?” You chuckle without humor. “I swear I had thought I heard you talking about my guard over here.”

Your chin moves to allow your eyes to settle over your shoulder, looking back at Nikto who had walked two steps after you initially before seeing where it was you were stomping to. His wide eyelids are snapped back like book covers, darting from you to the women as if utterly confused.

“That one,” you point casually before turning back. “The, uh,” your body leans a bit closer, hand coming up to your grinning mouth, “beast.” 

The gray shade on some of their faces darkened, a few stuttering through a Russian and English jumble of words. 

You blink at them as a familiar shadow begins to sit over you, heavy boots connecting to the floor. Your face burns, but there’s truth in your words—in your conviction. 

“Seraph,” Nikto says quietly in warning. 

“One moment,” is the response he gets. Pale eyes are stuck to the back of your head. He doesn’t know what to do, but in his throat, there’s an airy feeling stuck there that he can’t describe. It swells in his chest first, spreading through his veins.

Nikto was always used to being the one to stand in front of you. 

His heart is pounding, and he doesn’t know how to tell you to stop—that it doesn’t matter. The bigger question he should be asking is if he wants you to. The man wasn’t unused to comments. He can take it. But that fire behind your eyes rendered him speechless.

“His name is Nikto,” you say firmly. “Not that I expect you to remember it,” you tilt your head, looking them up and down. “In fact, I think it would be better if you didn’t.”

Huffing, you’re acutely aware of everyone watching, and your previous anxiety over your work is null. Disgust breeds like death flies. 

None of this was worth it. 

“Nikto,” you utter purposefully, setting your glass down on a side table and stepping behind. One of the Russian’s hands hovers over your back, the weapon resting on his chest clicking as it shifts. “We’re leaving. I don’t know why we came in the first place. There are more important things to worry about.”

“...Understood,” he levels, voice deep. Nikto blinks a few times, face under his mask layered with heat. There was no focusing when it came to you—his iron will was being smoothed down like a rock in water. 

You push past Borya Belov without a glance, looking to the side to see a shock-stricken Iakov burning you with his orbs. There was nothing for you here. 

Heels clicking over the floor, your dress ripples out behind you, unable to think beyond the deep insult you had taken on Nikto’s behalf. What gave those women the right to say anything? Especially about his appearance. 

When physical looks meant so much to you, you dreaded that being placed on someone else as well. Even if it was apparently obvious that Nikto suffered just as you did.

“You did not have to do that, Птичка.” A hand grasps your upper arm and guides you away from the table you were about to run into as you both enter the hallway stiffly. “It does not affect us. Useless opinions—they do not reflect my character.” Jumping only slightly from being ripped from your thoughts, your head darts over. 

You frown into a hidden face, Nikto stuck on the site of your pulled expression. 

Cute, he silently thinks in that jumbled mess of a brain before his memories flash to the sight of that picture on his phone. The hand leaves you in an instant, moving back to his M13.

“I know I didn’t,” you breathe sharply, shaking your head. Closing your eyes, your shoes halt as you stop.

Nikto follows suit, pausing before turning back with a furrow of his brows.

It’s a special thing, the way your desperation bleeds into your sentence. “Will you tell me what’s going on with you, or not?”

He stares, body pausing under your attention. 

“Nikto,” you breathe, far enough away from the main living room to indulge in a bit of horrific truth. “I like being with you,” your words slip. “I mean with you, with you. Y’know? I like you near me—watching over me. I don’t want this to become something that jeopardizes what we’ve built up. I’m not asking for a relationship, or even for you to tell me that you care about me, I just…” you fail to finish, eyes breaking off to glare at the floor; fighting against the sting. “You’re making my head spin,” your words dip lower, and Nikto flinches. “Just…tell me what’s wrong. You’re not acting right, and you’re worrying me.”

You don’t think you’ve been looked at this intently before now. Not by boyfriends, not by flings, or crushes. It’s a bare thing, Nikto’s eyes. A landscape of pale gray tundras and white snow—you don’t know what he’s thinking as he stands there like some Greek statue; Aries personified and dropped right in front of you.

You want that blood of his, that malice and incurable damage. Not to fix it—not to change what’s already scored into flesh—but just to see those eyes soften as they had a handful of times before.  

A war god and a white bird. 

Nikto’s throat bobs in a slow swallow as you finish, pulse hammering as his gloves suddenly constrict his hands far too much. He doesn’t want to tell you. He doesn’t want to explain why his distance is more for his benefit than yours. 

You push once more.

“What are you so afraid of?” 

“You.” He grunts stoic-like, and all of it falls into a swift silence thereafter. Your breath is taken on one great rapturous theft. Nikto stares as your jaw slackens, mind going blank. 

He darts his eyes away and tilts his head. 

“...Come. We do not want to be here any longer.” The Russian’s body is next to yours and in a fast movement, you find yourself being gently prodded along to the front door, jacket grabbed from the side of it and settled over your shoulders. 

Grasping at the corners, this moment is verging on irreparable—you’ve never found yourself so thrown off course besides when the inevitable advances from the stalker had come to you. 

Your hands shake in unsteady intervals as you blankly stare ahead. 

Me? 

The car is cold when you get into it, pulling your jacket closer as you slip across the seat—Nikto grabbing the long trail of your dress and making sure it stays inside. The man sits next to you, grabbing and slamming the door with a fist thumping the window twice. 

Under you both, the engine starts up and the tires push against the concrete. 

Your eyes ogle Nikto, and not once do they leave them even as the Russian pointedly ignores you by keeping his head locked forward. His body moves to the turning of the car, and your phone in your jacket pocket is going wild with call after call as his feet shift to steady himself unconsciously. It’s all a blur of needless sound and emotion. 

“Me?” Your voice finally finds itself; breathless. 

Nikto doesn’t react, spine so straight, the seats of the vehicle don’t touch anything. His fingers over his gun twitch before he grasps the cold metal harder to stop them. 

The Russian tries to halt the way his eyes want to gravitate to meet yours, trying to think over every face from the party and who had made any attempts to get near to you; just in case something pops up tonight. Yet, the hitting pain in his ribs is akin to something ripping them open with a fork, mutilating an entrance to his heart just to take and grasp it in soft hands.

He was never taught gentle love. Nikto was taught to grab and rip at it, to claw into it with fangs until there was blood on his face, seeping down his throat to settle in his stomach—hoping it might find a way to spread to his soul. 

Iakov had a key, the man catalogs, trying to fight his quivering fingers as you just can’t seem to look away from him with those eyes of yours. Does he have motive? Perhaps. We need to add him to the list regardless. I did not see any repeating faces from last night here unless they were in another room or waiting outside. 

Pale attention briefly pauses to the driver of the car, strong jaw clenching.

Drivers? Stylists? Who else could be here and not be noticed even by me? 

Eyes flash to the previous party again, back to the crunch of bone under his grip. Hands trailing flesh, ripped lace, and silk that pools at his dress shoes. The feral rubbing of a gun between two panting bodies. It should have been enough stress relief for the both of you—Nikto wasn’t lying when he equated the affair to something he could look past. He wasn’t new to flings; he considered himself a master of them in his youth. It wouldn’t have made him think any differently about the job, except for that one pin-pointed problem:

He was right behind us. 

Nikto’s mouth goes dry, anger brewing. He blinks to stare out the window, and your gaze is still present as if a knife to his throat.

It doesn’t leave once.

—

The hotel room is seeped in an eerie level of silence. 

You’d long since called Iakov—said a firm and swift answer of, “I’m done with the parties,” and hung up before the yelling could start again. 

You’re not even sure if you still have your job at AMA, but that’s for a later date, it seems. Not having an income was worse than the emotional turmoil that had settled right on your chest.

Leaning in the window seat of the bedroom, you keep your legs tucked in close to you with the curtain stuck at your back, head resting against the glass. White lights twinkle, but the places that aren’t illuminated are too dark to focus on—an amalgamation of shadows like a veil. The night was always difficult for you and your sight, but right now you think it’s best to just sit here and stare, even if it’s at nothing. 

Your eyes drag slowly along the thin view of the street below, feeling the cold seep in through the glass, softly easing the headache that pulses at your temple. 

“He’s…afraid of me?” The door to the room is slightly ajar, a sliver of light from the living room making its way in. Your face twists. “What does that mean?” 

You pose no threat to him without something like a gun, so it couldn’t be that. And what had changed since this morning? He’d let you lay next to him—see a part of his face. You’d traced his tattoo with willing fingers; Nikto hadn’t pushed you away then. 

What had happened? 

There’s a small squeak of the metal hinges of the bedroom door, and your head rises quickly. 

Nikto stands there, in only a white button-down shirt and his dress pants; normal mask re-stiuated. Blinking gently, a thick pause emanates before you glance down at his hands and see a soft display of an olive branch. 

The gruff hired gun holds a tiny, white, tea-cup. 

“Magnolia,” he huffs, not moving an inch as he motions with his hand, the ceramic material clinking. 

You stare, oversized shirt all to cover you besides your undergarments. You’d long since lost the sense of embarrassment of bare skin—particularly yours. 

Pale eyes slip to caress the image of your flesh bathed in the sliver of warm light, your curious eyes stuck on him as his feet re-situated themselves. 

“You remembered?” You ask, trying to sound casual beyond the surprise. 

Nikto blinks, voice muffled. “I do not forget when it comes to you,” he hums, accent thick. “Drink.”

Softly standing, your bare feet hit the coldness of the floor, yet you feel it little. Walking over to stand in front of him, your hand reaches only to bounce off the small tea plate instead, fingers flinching back lightly from the miscalculation. Your face heats, and you’re about to utter a quick apology before Nikto’s hand captures yours. 

Gasping under your breath, the warmth that seeps through his glove goes bone-deep as he manually wraps your digits around the handle. Nikto grunts in satisfaction and lets you take it to you, keeping the plate which he lowers his hand with.

After a moment, you clear your throat and say while staring down at the liquid, “Where did you get this?”

“Bag.” Your brows tighten.

He sighs gently. “We packed it. You forgot, yes?” 

“Oh,” you nod. “Yeah, I didn’t even realize I had left it behind. Thank you, Nikto.”

The Russian nods once, and then pivots to walk back to the living room, leaving you standing there as the sound of rummaging items in the kitchen echoes. Holding the mug, the tea rippling under your unsteady grasp, your head shakes itself in slow exasperation. The man wouldn’t talk about this unless you pushed him…but would that break the unsteady relationship you’d been trying to build?

“All of this is so confusing,” your lips mutter before your body follows after Nikto, slipping out into the light of the room as you blink rapidly in response. 

Locking sights on Nikto as he cleans up the counter, your form is wracked with an impending sense of nervousness. Damn him and his mask—you didn’t have something you could hide your emotions behind. 

It was times like these when you wished your mother was warm enough to ask advice from, that your father wasn’t back in the USA with limited involvement due to the peaceful contact order. You were alone here, except for Aly. But this was something that only a parent could help you with, and you were fresh out of those. You doubted that your mom knew everything going on—you weren’t about to tell her you’d allowed a ruthless killer to get you off in a storage room after you’d seen him snap a man's wrist back. 

Nor that you enjoyed it. 

It falls on me, your breath is thin as you breathe it down, steadily moving to set the teacup to one of the many tables holding useless decorations. You scowl at the boring interior design unconsciously before your focus locks in. 

What you had to do was bring up your points clearly and smoothly—

“Why are you standing there doing nothing,” your eyes widen as Nikto fluidly turns to look over his shoulder directly at you. His gaze narrows behind Kevlar and canvas. “If you want to say something, speak.”

“I want you to tell me what’s gotten you acting like a constipated bear,” you blurt out. 

It’s almost funny the way his eyes flinch. 

Nitko grinds out, “We do not understand.”

“You do,” you huff, crossing your arms as your voice bounces off the walls. “I don’t have infinite patience, believe it or not.” Inside of your sockets, you feel your gaze soften; voice lowering to the level you’d raised it. “I think I’ve been honest with you, Nikto. I’m not trying to push you into a corner. You know that. I need an explanation,” you take a breath, “and you’re going to give it to me.” 

Pale eyes move to the side, and you visibly see the large Russian’s body fighting itself both internally and externally. You had noticed a few things from the time you’d come under his protection, some obvious—Nikto valued cooking and a clean place to rest; he liked reading, and a silence built on mutual respect. Nikto’s fingers twitched when he was either nervous or trying to focus. He tilted his head when he needed to think. 

You liked to think that you knew him quite well, despite it all. You especially knew his fraying patience. 

Nikto’s shoulders roll, bones cracking from under the button-up. His masked face is the only thing he feels gives him protection. A cover. 

“It is not something,” the man begins slowly, trying to convince you, “that you need to concern yourself with.” 

Your lips thin out, feet taking you forward as you shiver from the cold of the hotel. 

“Nikto,” you utter again, softly knocking your side into the counter before you can stand in front of him yourself. He looks down at you, chest moving up and down in slow breaths. 

You know the horrors that live under that fabric. The great scars—the burns that had slipped into your dreams as you’d laid on his thigh like a child afraid of the dark. You can remember the dips of them under your fingertips; the trauma that bleeds still. 

You’d called him beautiful, and of course you had, but the very base of it still left you cold with a betraying sense of sickness. Same with the lower half of his face, which you’d only chosen to see a glance of. It was a deep rolling of your stomach. You cared more for the marks he had put on, willingly, himself; the tattoos. Dark ink.

But that didn’t stop you from reaching out to him—responding to that addictive pull that had always seemed to be there from the moment you’d first met him in the Consulate Building. 

Your fingers hover over Nikto’s pec, right above his heart as you swallow saliva and stare with parted lips. Piercing eyes give way to nothing, but there’s a knowledge in the heart that beats above your waiting touch. 

You tilt your head and wait silently.

Nikto’s pulse moves his flesh, and he can feel every drop of blood under his skin. 

“It does not need to be explained to you,” he tries again, his firm words now only comparable to the sensation of rocks thrown along the sand. Salt-stained throat raw as your fingers brush his shirt. “Seraph,” Nikto attempts a tone of authority.

“Call me by the other one,” you mutter, and it’s pathetic the way he responds to your request in that hotel kitchen. Like a soldier following an order. A whining little dog beholden to a white-lace collar.

“Птичка.”

Your smile makes him want to rip himself away from you and take a cold shower, maybe stare at his scars; even break his mind again before it slips away to thoughts of your curling lips and your shining eyes. 

“That’s it,” you whisper, and your hand flattens over his heart as his gaze breaks away to the simple contact, blinking in confusion as his flesh pulls tight. “That’s the one.” 

But he was more surprised when he didn’t flinch rather than when he shivered. 

It’s only after a small moment of nothing that he lets himself bathe in the warmth of your skin and the scent of your perfume as it slips under his mask. A mask that has seen far too much death for you to bear. Then he’d want you to bear.

Your words make his bones ache.

“Tell me,” you urge, as perfect as a bird’s dew-coated feathers.

Nikto’s vision is stuck only to you, and his greatest fear is that this is all it will ever be bound to—not by honor, the man had no such thing, but by utter devotion. There was no lying about it now as his lips parted, those cut and torn-up things like a ragged jigsaw puzzle of pain. He cares not about soulmates or brain trauma. Blood or bile.

He cares about the sound a silent grave will make when his bones are the ones that chain themselves to rest beside yours. 

Mutt.

Now that, maybe, would seem an honor-coated title to carve into his corpse, but only if it was in reference to his affection for you.

“Picture,” Nikto grinds out, fighting to step closer to the addictive sensation of your touch. The warmth. The pound of blood. You listen silently, and not once do those eyes separate.

“Sent to my phone.” He pauses, and suddenly his voice is very low—you can feel it in your chest as it rumbles the walls, the floors; the bedroom door. It’s difficult to say how you feel when he explains it to you, there’s something relieving in knowing, though. Yet, it still makes your throat close in on itself. “Of us.”

“From the stalker?” You ask, already knowing the answer but hoping it might have just been a fluke. 

Pale eyes don’t blink.

“Да. From him.”

You take a large breath, nodding as your fingers quiver over Nikto’s dress shirt, creasing the fabric slightly. He takes a quick glance down at them again, and his own twitch at his sides.

“...Don’t tell me the details?”

“Never,” the Russian sighs, clenching his jaw. “Я бы этого не сделал. We did not want to explain, regardless.” 

You shrug as well as you’re able, hand beginning to slowly slide off of him. “Still,” your lips pull into a steady smirk, though it lacks enough amusement to make it convincing. “I’m glad you told me—I was getting worried that it might have been by fault you were acting strange.” 

“My emotions are,” Nikto struggles for the correct word in English, grunting as his mouth closes under his mask. He glares at the wall behind you as if a toddler without a snack.

You tilt your skull, tiny chuckles wafting out of your mouth. 

“Stuck, Big Guy?”

“Enough,” he grumbles, feet re-situating themselves from under him. 

Your hand is only a millimeter away from his flesh before his grip finds your wrist and brings it back, digits caressing to press into your pulse. You blink quickly, air getting stalled in your nose. 

Nikto’s eyes slowly dip to stare at your hand, and you notice the shades even more clearly now that you’re so close to him—though they’d always just be pale gray to you, there were moments when you wondered the true color. A silly dream, seeing as you wouldn’t know how that color would look anyway, but, still. 

The Russian’s large fingers turn your wrist. 

“Your heart is racing,” he mutters. If having your bodyguard check your pulse was something that you found attractive, now was only the realization of it. 

Your face suddenly feels like you’re walking on the sun, and a small noise in the back of your throat makes Nikto’s attention leave the fast thump of your blood.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Your breathless question eases out past your lips like a soft flutter of wings. 

“Hm,” Nikto hums, and you can also see his throat bobbing. His hold squeezes, his face looming just the tiniest bit closer to yours. 

The Russian takes a chest-rising inhale and speaks.

“I am not good,” he mutters, eyes moving the dips and drags of your face—it feels like his gaze is touching you when he stares like that; studying your visage as if he’d be tested on it. “We are not…” He blinks, and his pupils are small voids of inky corruption. “Perfect.” 

You wonder how often he’d found you in his mind, and feel both foolish and hopelessly lost in his shadow.

“I never said you were,” you murmur back, seeing the wickedness in his heart. Painted on his skin. “I think it’s lovely.” 

Here is where this should end—you’d both had your fun previously. You’d been sipping your sugar water like a little hummingbird; reveling in the intimacy of that storage room. You should be thinking about the stalker, about your job, about what will happen tomorrow when you open your eyelids to light through the curtains. 

Not about how Nikto’s fingers would feel digging into your hips. Not the panting of fast breaths. Not how the color of his eyes would be, perhaps, the most beautiful shade you could ever hope to imagine in your damaged brain. 

“Nikto,” you breathe, body light. He’s as still as a statue above you, not saying a thing. “What color are your eyes?”

“Blue.”

And then you’re being picked up as if a doll by the back of your thighs and hefted up with a throaty huff akin to a boar. Your forehead connects with his, and your arms wrap his neck to hang off with crossed wrists. 

“Blue?” Your legs tighten around his waist, squeezing as the man’s nose pushes into yours. Breath bounces off the mask, your eyes flutter at the firm press of fabric prodding at your underwear. You fight a small whine, bodies tight to one another. “Your hair?”

“Brown,” is the puff from under the mask, and tiny pupils dilate the longer you hold eye contact.

Your hips roll, and Nikto’s strained grunt reverberates against your chest. “Tell me it in Russian.”

“Карие.” He growls, fingertips digging into your flesh like the teeth of a bear trap. Nikto thumps past the place where you’d set your tea, completely forgotten by everyone just like the previous tension was. 

When the two of you were together, things managed to get out of hand quickly—at least, emotionally-wise. You both were utterly hopeless, just as the room was now far from the cold monochrome wash of white. It was bathed in spraying sparks lit behind your eyes when one of Nikto’s hands staples itself to the base of your back, just above the curve of your tailbone, and angles your core further into the growing prod of his erection. 

You gasp as your pelvis jerks, face twisting up with your pulse impossibly increasing. 

“You are curious,” Nikto pants, pushing past the bedroom door with a shoulder as the handle smashes into the wall. Not that you care. “You push me, Woman. Leave my head loose and my body aching.” You feel the way your core burns, aches, nearly, as your underwear gets wet with the anticipation of flesh. 

Your lips sear Nikto’s soul when they push to the canvas of his mask—just as they had in the storage room though now it’s harder to feel. 

“Don’t act like you don’t like it, Big Guy,” you whisper, tongue darting out to lick at your lips, eyes half-lidded. 

That pull between the two of you only seems to increase as you’re dropped back to the bed, head pointedly planned to slap a pillow as you involuntarily gasp. Your shirt is ruffled up to your breasts, and the sheets are around you like a cocoon of expensive finery—eyes darting to Nikto, you find his gaze easily standing beside the bed. 

He stares at you like you’re the greatest meal ever placed in front of him. Forget the items he cooks, forget the things he’d eaten, even forget the way it satisfies him; nothing could compare to even the thought of what he now has. 

You’re staring at a man with blood on his hands and wishing he would spread you open already. 

Nikto’s chest bounces with a pleased noise, gaze shifting to study your bare legs and arms—the stain that coats your underwear, spreading by the second as your thighs tighten in on themselves to trap the chill. Your face is on fire, and your lungs heave.

His ravaged hand grasps at your knee, coaxing them back open as he says a simple order with a raw voice, “Keep them open.” 

You’re not embarrassed with how you listen, letting the limbs be forced back to display your instinctual need to the large Russian. Your thin whine is choked back as his fingers run up and down your clothed core, teasing. 

Nikto chuckles, and you shiver. 

“We do like it,” he breathes out in response to your previous comment. Pale eyes dart to find and lock with yours—not leaving as his index and middle finger find your clit, pressing firmly and lightly rocking up and down. Your hips jerk as you bite on a shocked moan, relishing in the sudden ricochets of electricity that run your bones. 

Head tilting back, you bite your lip and pant out, “Nikto, yes.”

His fingers leave just as quickly as the words do you, and your desperate eyes move with near pain until your hand darts to grapple onto Nikto’s wrist like a cat. He lets you try and guide him back firmly, to no avail, before you grit your teeth and glare at him, opening your mouth.

Yet, the Russian’s hidden face finds your ear with no trouble and leaves your upcoming words frozen.

“But we like it better when you are too choked on pleasure to think at all.” 

Nikto moves back, taking his other hand and making yours release him before he steps away. He blinks, watching your aroused state as you stutter over your sentence; smirking to himself and tilting his head as if you’re an exhibit in a museum. The man grunts, now free grip able to slide to his belt slowly and fiddle with the buckle.

“Y-you’re horrible,” you grumble, eyes unable to stay on the image for long before you have to slash it away so you can breathe. The clinking of metal

“We did warn you,” Nikto pauses, his voice so laced with smugness that it seemed an insult. “Птичка.” 

Your lower body shifts, trying to satiate the urge for stimulation. 

Breathing heavily, you raise your forearm and put it over your eyes, expression tight as you try and focus. Your ears twitch to Nikto’s steady undressing, hearing the pull of dress pants and the unclipping of a thigh holster. Each sound sends a pulse directly to your weeping slit, and it becomes so strong that Nikto can only watch as your other hand slips under the elastic of your panties. 

He stops himself instantly, his eyes pulling back as he pauses. Slipped out of everything besides his shirt, boxers, and obviously his mask, Nikto’s shoulders tense wildly at the sight in front of him.

Your body is tight as you begin to breathe heavier, lips slightly open as your fingers idly roll your bundle of nerves a bit harder. Hips jerking every so often, your fingers stretch the fabric of your garment as your toes curl. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, jaw clenching and eyes closed from under your forearm. 

Nikto is firmly planted, the firmness in his boxers now seemingly to a point of no return—his fingers twitched to dig into your skin, his eyes stuck to how you were playing with yourself. Clothed in only a large shirt that was bunching up further to allow a glimpse of your breasts and hearing those tiny little noises escape your mouth…

“Harder,” Nikto grunts, his own hand slipping into his boxers as he hisses in pleasure at the state of himself. Firm in his grip as he wraps his fingers around the hot pulse of his cock, groaning when his thumb slips along his tip to collect the beads of pre-cum.

Your breath hitches and through your soft pants, you sigh as your arm slides, “I think I know how to—”

Your fingers twitch harshly as your eyes flutter open to lock onto the scene in front of you, causing you to moan before it strangles off with a quick noise in your throat. Eyes wide, you watch Nikto begin jerking himself off one slow stroke at a time, his thighs tense as his other hand moves to unbutton his shirt one at a time.

There was something so inherently intimate about seeing the other in the throws of self-pleasure, half-clothed and desperate for something that can’t be named. The chain of events was building, and some concerns needed to be addressed, but it isn’t fair to have to put your life on hold for them—necessary, yes, eventually. But Nikto’s eyes were so hellishly pale, and your hands were shaking, and the scent of sex was permeating inside of your nose. It’s different than the storage room, it’s hinged on the knowledge that this bear of a man is afraid of you, which in and of itself is unfathomable, and that he was in such a sour mood simply because he had been trying, once more, to spare you from the unseen threat. 

He had done it with the birds in the box, he’d done it when you’d gotten the first pictures sent to you, and he did it every time he let you hang off of his arm. 

You push your digits across your clit harder and whine out as Nikto’s open dress shirt slips to his waist, the cuffs rolled up as bare skin meets the darkness of the room. That sliver of light from the door was all that was needed, the barrier having slowly crawled its way back from where the Russian had shoved it, to witness the bulge and dip of scar tissue—the shades of hyperpigmentation. 

And you wanted to drag your nails along all of them.

“Смотреть на себя,” Nikto’s chest heaves, the bulk of his frame just the same as when you’d touched along his back. His hand inside of his boxers stutters, and his eyes flinch closed for a moment, masked face tilted. “Хорошим слушателем. Good for us, hm?”

“Touch me,” you ask, unconsciously mirroring Nikto’s pace as the sensitivity of your core heightens, leaking out to stain your underwear to the point it’s no use to keep them after this. Your spine is tight—begging to be arched just as your cunt begs to be filled. It tightens over nothing, and you whimper with a push of thin breath. “Please, Nikto, you filled me so well last time.”

His eyes glint, that Russian pride bleeding to fill the cup in his abdomen. Nikto smirks, but you can’t see it above the large hand that goes to grip your face, angling it to him as his other hand continues with the wet slapping of his cock. You want to see it—you want to watch it. Damn him he’s making this into a game of cat and mouse.

“What is that? You like when we fill your tight cunt, Птичка?”

Your face burns, and your eyes study his own as your pace below increases—rotting wood taking root beside sweat and pheromones. 

Nikto’s grip squeezes and you hear the rutting of flooded skin more clearly as he looms over your body, both fucking yourselves for no other reason than liking the sight and the sounds of the other.

“Answer.”

“Yes,” you stutter, unable to stop the thin noises from your mouth that follow—the cord in your abdomen pulling until taunt. “God, yes.”

“Not God,” the Russian chuckles before he groans, forehead connecting with yours as it rocks to the rabid abuse of his own hand, trying to imagine the sensation of your walls against them instead of his calloused fist. Your flesh would be softer than his ever could be, and the knowledge of that is enough to reduce him to a mindless beast. His breath hitches tightly, his hand moving rapidly, unconcerned about how fast his release is finding him just by hearing your little pleas. “No, Seraph, there is no God in this room.”

When he drinks down the sounds you give him he feels your body tense one final time, your lips flattening as your eyes flutter—only seconds away from your orgasm, perhaps. 

Nikto’s hands leave your face, and so does his forehead. You barely notice, truth be told until it’s not a second later that fingers are gripping the hand down your panties and dragging it out just as your hips begin rising off the bed. 

“No!” Your desperate keen echoes off the walls, eyes snapping open to rip your head down to the scene. Nikto was lacking his shirt, boxers are gone, and as he staples your arm beside your head, his body drags itself atop yours until his weight is as firm as stone. “Nikto, why did you—?”

“Hush,” he utters, knocking your leg up over his hip in a swift thrust that leaves the leaking tip of his dick prodding against your sopping cunt. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation, painting only to have your breasts shove into a sweaty chest.

“So close,” you beg, the feeling of your release draining away, leaving you irritated and unsatisfied. 

Your hips roll in a play to find friction, and the feeling of Nikto’s happy trail seems promising as you grind up into it, but there’s only so much you can do when the man’s other hand snags your waist and pushes you down.

You glare heatedly up into blown and smug eyes. 

You know better than to ask him to remove the mask, and now that you look at it, maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. There was something alluring in those eyes, set into the dark void around them, deadly and numb, yet showing more emotions than anyone else would be able to tell besides you. 

“Let us help,” Nikto pushes himself up, grinding into your core as your glare breaks away into blown need. “I have something better than fingers. Show you how good it can be, yes? Show how you are supposed to be treated, Little Bird.”

Your hands slide up to his shoulder blades and he groans under his breath, taking in the sensation of nails along flesh, catching on the scars until they settle. Had he not imagined this before? Had he not fantasized? Desired? Sinful, yes, but he’d do it again if he could still feel the wet fluids of your arousal coating his abdomen. If this was the outcome of Nikto becoming locked in his own stoic emotions, there was a part of him that was greedy because of it.

There was no possible way that this was going to continue…right? 

His ears twitch to your voice as your legs shift to wrap the top of his hips, dragging his pelvis ever closer until he’s fighting the wave of agony by not having your cunt pulse around him. 

On your part, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation.

“Then show me.”

It’s easy to slip the tip of himself inside of you—there’s enough fluid to render even the thought of dry friction impossible. Nikto's body shudders at the sensation, though it’s only a small portion of what you both need.

Your head rocks back, fingertips digging into the Russian’s shoulders as you both curse at the stretch of your folds. You hadn’t been able to gawk at the build of the man tonight—both too desperate for release—but thinking about how he gives small thrusts to help himself along, his eyes not moving from you unless to blink, you’d safely say he was well-endowed.

“Fuck,” your lips quiver, sweat at your brow. Through the whimper, you moan, a large thumb finding your clit and rolling as the sound of squelching echoes between the groans and whines. You’re both nothing but damn animals. “Could have,” you gasp, and Nikto stops before you shake your head and pull him closer. “Could have given a girl a warning, Big Guy.”

His strained chuckle only makes your core welcome him more, and the feeling of textured veins and warm flesh steadily driving itself home was addicting. Sex had never felt as fun as this. As safe.

Nikto made it safe.

“Apologies,” he grunts out, great form above you before you feel the nested base of his pelvis connect with yours. 

You both shake and your face is open with a pleasure-driven emotion as the Russian slides his head to your shoulder, his breath echoing from under his mask into your ear. He licks his lips, grip on your waist and arm pulsing with steady intervals of—tense, release, tense, release…

“Are you—”

“Fucking hell, please start moving,” you gasp out, grinding into him as the string on Nikto’s caution flees like a loose animal. 

His hand travels back from your waist to your hip, the other to the back of your neck, and as he staples his forehead to yours, he grinds out a quiet, “да,” and moves himself out of you nearly all the way as your eyes roll to the feeling. 

When the bed starts knocking the wall, there’s little to the imagination as to what’s taking place, and the steadily rising sounds mean nothing as sheets rustle and skin slaps faster, both sensitive from such near releases earlier. There are mutters in Russian, fast, harsh things that hold no venom—slow mutters that make your legs go numb long after both of you had finished. 

Nikto was right: for such a brute, he did know how to treat a woman. Well, maybe he just knew how to treat you right. 

Multiple times.

TAGS:

@anna-banana27, @random-thot-generator, @midwesternwitchery, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @halfmoth-halfman, @alpineswinter, @blingblong55, @cryingnotcrying, @lxne20, @not-eclipse, @theecoffeebean, @phoenixhalliwell, @h3ll-guttz, @tiinkerbell, @genjilvr, @azush4rp, @escapefromrealitysm, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @finnigansxz, @cowboybaby2, @delaynew, @doggydale, @zapphir, @littlemisstrouble, @xxtmoe, @grizzersmamma, @andreas-river, @blogdddxx, @jade-jax, @emthegrace, @lovebugmsyd, @makariaspresence, @noisyprofessorhoundsalad-blog, @scythebot, @blueoorchid, @kra-rino4ka, @caramlizedtomatoes, @strawberymilk,@frazie99, @homicidal-slvt, @develised, @crispyhusband, @cathnoneofyourbusiness, @ghostslittlegf, @generalcloudtraveler, @azsteris, @rvjaa, @creminemisinthehizzyforshizzboy, @comsyki

[rafesbabyg1rl]

The Watcher ~ Part Two

Part One, Part Three

Summary: Rafe Cameron x Reader, Stalker!Rafe x Pogue!Reader Your parents work late on Friday nights, which you spend alone. Except you haven't been alone in a long time, not that you know of at least. Rafe has watched for years, he's very good at it. His idea of staying an anonymous stalker is ruined when you catch him in your bedroom one Friday night. Rafe has to figure out how to fix his mistake before he loses the only thing that makes his life worth living. After you find the surprise he had left for you, you choose to believe that his threats were empty and try to turn him in. But, your plans are interrupted and you take an unexpected visit to Tannyhill.

Warnings: Rafe stalks reader...that's literally the plot. Strong & descriptive language, suggestive themes, death threat(?), manipulation, kidnapping (?). If I missed anything from this part that I should include in the warnings, please let me know!

Word Count: 3.5k

Author Note: Part Two is here!! I know this chapter is shorter than the previous, but I figured it's better to get what I had out. Also...I'm not sure if I like where this is going, so please share your thoughts about this part and ideas for future parts. Thank you all for the support on the first part of this story. Especially with this being my first work I've published on tumblr, I am very pleasantly surprised with how everyone has reacted to it. So, please enjoy and feel free to leave feedback! I love you all, thank you so much!!

CREDITS: The foundation of this fic was heavily inspired by/ based off of one of @faiszt 's bots on character ai. So, if you like this and you like character ai, I greatly suggest that you check out the bot!

The blinding morning light shines into your room through your curtains. You sit up and rub your eyes. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand which currently reads: 10:34 am. Those sleeping pills really worked, you think. Your parents are already at the restaurant, probably just getting over with the morning rush. 

Your eyes begin to focus, your brows furrow as your eyes land on one of the posts of your footboard. You lean forward to grab the pair of panties you had just worn yesterday which are hanging from your bedpost. You’re pretty sure you had put these in your hamper last night and wait, why are they sticky…? You wonder, you examine them and come to the realization of what it is. Immediately you toss them away, that was not from you. It was your stalker, it had to be. Of course, the first night you spend alone since four weeks ago and he already breaks in. And he does this? You think about his words, “tell anyone and I’ll come back and fuckin’ kill you”, shivers roll down your spine. 

You hadn’t even had time to realize how horny you had been when you had woken up; and now that you have you feel so wrong. But your dream…oh god your dream. You can still remember it vividly, even more so the longer you think about it; you can see the face of the man who fucked you stupid in your dream. You know who it was, who your subconscious mind let you fuck while you slept. It was your stalker. 

Without another thought, you’re in the shower scrubbing the shame and disgust from your skin—or at least attempting to. When you feel somewhat satisfied, which also happens to be when the water begins to run cold, you finally get out. Wrapping a plush towel around your freshly clean body, you lean over the bathroom sink and wipe the condensation from the mirror leaving just enough space to see yourself. Before the glass fogs back up you’re able to see a small part of what appears to be a bruise poking out from underneath the towel wrapped around your chest. You lean in closer using one hand to re-wipe the mirror and using the other to pull your towel down past your boobs. Looking back at the bruised area on your chest, you can see that the closer you look at it, the more it looks like a hickey. You just about stumble backwards at the realization. 

You’ve had enough. After you quickly toss on some clothes, you grab your keys off your dresser with a shaky hand. You rush out towards your car and get inside, pulling out of your driveway carelessly and speeding off. When you arrive at your destination, you take a few moments to rethink this plan. You have to do this. You can’t keep living with some creep sneaking in your bedroom and touching you as you sleep. You twist the keys in the ignition and pull them out, you confidently strut towards the entrance of the building. When you feel the vibration of your phone in your pocket you pause, sighing as you reach back to take it out. When you read the random number, with the same Outer Banks area code as you, your brows furrow. Typically you wouldn’t answer a call from an unknown number, but something in you is telling you to answer. As you press the green button and bring your phone to your ear, you glance up at the building you were about to enter which reads, ‘Kildare County Sheriff’s Office’. 

“Hello?” You ask warily.

After a few long seconds, the person on the other side of the line answers you. “Stop.” The man’s voice sends familiar chills down your spine. 

“Excuse me?” You respond, your voice audibly shaky. “Who…who is this?”

“C’mon pup, you already forgot what I sound like? It’s already been that long?” Your eyes widen at the realization of who this voice belongs to. You’ve heard it one other time, well one time that you remember.

As your head darts around the parking lot looking for your stalker, your voice comes out in a tone that easily betrays you, revealing your fear, “No…no…what the hell do you want?”

Rafe smirks from his truck as he watches you from afar. “I want you to turn around and get back in your car, m’kay princess? And I highly suggest you do what I want.” 

“Or what? What’s stopping me from walking in? Or from yelling for help?” You take a step closer to the building’s entrance.

“Stubborn, stubborn girl…” the man chuckles, “If you don’t get back into your fucking car right now, you’re gonna really fuckin’ wish you had just listened to me. I’m gonna get what I want no matter what, baby. You’re mine.” And with that, Rafe hangs up the phone, still watching you from a distance. 

As much as you want to just run into the building and beg for help, you know that unfortunately since you’re a pogue, the cops aren’t going to believe a single word that comes from your mouth. In their minds, all pogues are liars and thieves. And since you don’t have the slightest clue on who the man you saw in your bedroom is, you figure there’s not much they’d be able to do even if they did believe you. So you reluctantly turn back to your car and get inside. The moment your door shuts you inside, your phone buzzes yet again with another call. It’s coming from the same number, but this time you don’t answer. This was your second mistake. 

Rafe’s already pissed off. You went against his rules, you didn’t listen to him, none of this will work if you don’t listen. He thought he had been threatening enough that you’d behave, but clearly you need another scare. You need to be taught that disobeying him does nothing but hurt you more. When you don’t answer the phone when you definitely know it’s him calling, this is just the cherry on top; the icing on the cake. Rafe is fuming. 

You drive out of the parking lot, breath heavy as you stay on high alert–searching for him. A truck suddenly pulls behind you, tailing right on your ass. You can’t see through the truck's front windshield due to the dark tint. You being paranoid, step on the gas and speed up a bit, well exceeding the speed limit. A few quick seconds pass by and you jump at the sound of sirens. It doesn’t take long for you to check your rearview mirror and realize that the sirens are coming from the truck behind you, which is flashing its red and blue lights. You let out a breath of relief. You’re being pulled over yet you’re relieved because it means you aren’t being trailed by your stalker. The feeling is short lived as you flick your signal on and pull off to the side of the road. You roll your window down and shut off the engine.

The officer approaches you and goes through the typical routine and you try to calm your nerves. All sound is drowned out as you get lost in your thoughts. 

“Ma’am?”, the officer repeats. “Do you know why I’ve pulled you over today?”

The sharp and unintentionally threatening voice of the deputy snaps you out of wherever the hell it was that your mind had taken you to. “Yes, sorry sir, I…I was going over the speed limit.” You submit, wanting to get this over with. You can’t help but worry what your stalker would think if he saw this, he’d probably think you’re turning him in. But, you’re not. Really this whole thing was a misunderstanding, but you can’t explain that to the cop. 

“And why is that?” He questions you ever further, his gaze staring at you intensely. You get nervous and want to look away, but you worry that might make you look guilty of something. You’ve been pulled over before, it’s not usually a big deal for you. However you’re just so goddamn nervous and need this moment to be over. You feel like you’ve done something wrong; like you’re hiding something. But you aren’t.

“I–I thought…I just got distracted sir, wasn't thinking about speed. I apologize for the inconvenience.” You catch yourself, technically you aren’t lying; you just aren’t explaining why you were distracted. The threatening words of your stalker still echo around your head. The deputy gives a small lecture as he writes up a ticket for you. Once he gets back into his truck and drives off, you rest your head back against the seat and let out the breath you’ve been holding. When you start your car back up and finally open your eyes, you look straight out across the road. You can see a tall man leaning against a truck parked across the road, staring right at you. The familiar grin on his face has you sick to your stomach. 

After making direct eye contact with him, you pull off the side of the road and do an illegal U-turn so that you’re heading in the opposite direction, leaving the man behind. You know that he’s following you, so you drive around aimlessly until you get another call from the same unknown number. You want to decline, but you’re too afraid to face the consequences that might follow. 

“What do you want?” You ask, voice full of faux confidence. The only thing you hear on the other side of the line is a heavy breath that causes your skin to become full of goosebumps. 

After you’ve had a few moments to panic, he finally speaks, “Keep driving”. His words are not said lightly. This is undoubtedly a command, not an option. 

“Keep driving to where?” You stammer with nervousness. 

“Tannyhill.” He replies strictly. 

“Tannyhill?” You question before being able to stop yourself. You can’t help the attitude that slips into your voice. When a few more moments of silence pass, you get more and more anxious for his response. “Hello…?” You ask quietly, wondering if you lost connection. Still nothing. “Hello?” You ask again with more volume. After another minute or two, you hear the phone beep; the call disconnects. 

Why the hell does he want you to go to Tannyhill? It doesn’t make any sense. But you don’t exactly have a choice. He’s following you either way and it’s not like he doesn’t know where you live…and just about everything about your life. So, it’s probably best to just play along and obey his commands. 

When you get close to the general destination, your phone rings with yet another call. You answer, already knowing who it's from. This time you don’t speak first, you wait to hear what he has to say. It takes a few moments, almost like he’s trying to wait long enough that you’ll talk. The silence starts to get unbearably awkward, but your mind is set on waiting for him to speak and Rafe doesn’t have the time to wait; having to give you directions and all. When he finally talks he doesn’t greet you. His voice breaking the silence startles you as he instructs you with the directions to get wherever it was he was forcing you to go. 

“Wait…turn left h-here?” You ask, confused at his directions. You had missed the beginning of what he said since you had to collect yourself after being frightened. 

He sighs in impatience, “No dammit, the next one. Were you not listening?” 

“I…no I-I was listening–” you stumble over your words as you turn onto the street he wanted you to. 

“Bullshit. You need to learn how to fucking listen to me, don’t you?” When you don’t respond, trying to focus on remembering the directions he gave you, it only serves to piss him off even further. “Huh?! Don’t you?!” He shouts into the phone as he follows behind you.

You whine in fear, “No..I can listen. I promise I can listen to you.” You practically beg. “J-just tell me where to go?”

Rafe directs you to his house, which you of course recognize as the Cameron’s mansion. You’ve heard about the Cameron’s, but you wouldn’t be able to point them out in a crowd or anything. Besides from the father, Ward Cameron, whom you’ve seen on the news several times. Is he a Cameron? As you park in the large driveway, you rack your brain trying to recall the name of the Cameron son. 

His truck parks behind you, blocking your car in. He quickly kills the engine and exits his vehicle. You don’t notice him walking up to you until he’s yanking your car door open and pulling you out by the arm.

“R-rafe?” You mumble insecurely. He pauses to look at you, chuckling at your words. He mutters a quick ‘smart girl’ before retightening his grip on your arm and continuing to pull you into the large mansion. You start to cry, getting overwhelmed as you imagine the many possible scenarios that may occur. “P-please,” you manage to choke out. “What do you want?”

Unlike the last time you cried to him, this time he doesn’t stop. He drags you up one level of the large, spiral staircase; pulling you into his bedroom. As soon as you see the bed, you’re already feeling it beneath your back when he shoves you down just a few seconds later. As if you hadn’t already embarrassed yourself enough, you can’t help the tears that begin to stream down your flushed cheeks at a flooding rate. 

“Wait…no, please, please!” The way you keep shouting and choking back sobs causes you to gag from how worked up you’ve gotten yourself. All the Cameron son does in response is lean back to get a full view of you as a smug grin spreads across his face. “Please, I—oh god, I’m gonna be sick…” You mumble, which is quickly followed by another gag that interrupts your constant sobs. 

Rafe snakes his hand up from your arm to your hair, wrapping his first tightly around a large section of it. He tugs on your hair to force your head to look up at him, causing a small whine to escape your lips. “Shhh…baby, shhh…” He mumbles, his ‘worried’ tone working to oppose his previous amused expression. “Calm down, alright? Calm down. Ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t want, m’kay pretty girl?” The way he says that last part…you’ve never heard his voice sound like that before. You didn’t even think he was capable of talking in that tone. He sounds like he might actually truly care about you. You’re relieved; maybe even a bit…comforted by the fact that he might be telling the truth about not doing anything you don’t want. Well, besides having you basically held captive in his home. 

“What…what are you gonna do?” You manage to choke out between sobs, trying to catch your breath so you can calm down.

“I just wanna talk to you baby. Alright?” Rafe mumbles your name into your ear, allowing you to feel his hot breath against the side of your face. Immediately you’re taken back to the first time you had met him, in your bedroom a few weeks back. You try to push that aside and bring yourself back to the present; the memory only brings back the feelings of complete and utter fear you experienced at that time. Not that the present was any better, hell, it was worse. 

Hesitantly, you nod. He waits a few minutes to speak; waiting for you to catch your breath. Once you’re calmer, at least on the outside, he finally starts to talk. “I wanted to talk about my proposition…” He looks down at you, bringing his hand up to cautiously run through your hair. “Last time I got cut short…remember that?”

You nod. “I…I tried to warn you my parents would come home. I-I swear I didn’t tell them anything.” You say frantically, trying to prove your innocence.

“Hey, shh…it’s okay babe. I know. I know.” Rafe speaks slowly, his eyes never leaving your lips. He pauses to momentarily dart his tongue out to wet his parted lips. “I know. You haven’t told…you’ve been a good girl and listened to me, hm? Haven’t you baby? Haven't you been a good girl?” 

You nod frantically. “I…I’d never turn you in…” The false seductiveness in your voice turns him off, if that’s even possible. 

He pulls back from you and sighs, “Shut up.” He runs a rough hand over his buzzed head and begins to quickly pace across his bedroom. 

“B-but you wanted to talk…” You remind him. The way his attitude was constantly shifting in great amounts had you furrowing your brows as you tried to figure him out. 

“Yeah, I do. But not to a goddamn filthy, lying whore.” He retorts, a large grin appearing on his face while he watches your beautiful features move on your face, displaying your thoughts  as you take in his words. “Just be yourself alright? I can always tell when you’re not you.” He says almost sincerely. “I want…I need you to want this. Don’t try to pull that fake crap on me ever again, yeah?” 

Immediately you nod. “I…yes-”, you stammer, instantly regretting even trying to talk in the first place. Rafe chuckles, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He stops pacing and lets out a long sigh, turning to face you again. His steps pause when he’s standing just before you. 

He leans down to whisper in your ear. “I really need this to work, okay…? This is good, this can be good for the both of us. I can help you; we can help each other, baby.” A silent tear rolls down your cheek from the fear of what’s to come. “I know…I know I messed up, alright? I know. But, you don’t have to be scared, baby. It’s all gonna be okay.” He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Please…I just wanna go home, let me go home!” Your cries are ugly, and very, very real. The fear in your voice only worries him. Worries him that you may never get past this. But you have to. You don’t have another option. And he really, really doesn’t want to have to hurt you. That was never his intention. 

“But you are home, baby. You are home.” He mutters as his fingers brush over your cheeks, smearing your tears. Your breath hitches at his words and your eyes slowly move up to meet his. This cannot be happening. Why is this happening? You think.

“No…please I…just let me go home. I won’t tell. I promise I won’t. I’ll…I’ll never tell anyone about any of this okay, I’ll never say anything about you.”

“I can’t do that, baby…you know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I swear, I’ll never ever breathe a word of this to anyone.” You say enticingly.

Rafe sits down besides you, causing the mattress to dip and make you lean towards him. He puts an arm around you and his hand lands on the back of your head, pulling it into his chest.

He leans down to speak into your ear while his hand pets over your hair as you cry into his chest. “Because I need you baby, I need you. And I need you to let me take care of you, yeah? I know…I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. Just trust me okay…we’re gonna be so good together baby.” He tugs at your hair, gently guiding your face to look up at him. “Just listen to me and nothing will happen, I don’t wanna have to…do anything. I just need to know that you’ll listen to what I say.” Immediately you nod, going along with what he says. He tugs on your hair harder, eliciting a gasp to fall from your lips. “Ah ah, I know you can talk. You’re a big girl, now fucking act like it.” He says forcefully.

“I-I’m gonna listen, I’ll listen to you, just please, please don’t hurt me.”

He smiles softly as his eyes dart across your face, unable to pick a feature to focus on, everything about you is just too damn perfect. “Don’t worry I won’t hurt you, not as long as you listen.” His grip loosens on your hair again. “But you’ll be begging for it soon enough.” Rafe’s whispers are enough to make your sobs start again; in which he pulls your head back into his chest. Your tears soak into his shirt as you have no choice but to cry into him.

To be continued...

Thank you for reading! I hope this was enjoyable. This part took quite a bit for me to finish, since life has been a bit busy and I haven't had much time to plan or write. I apologize for the short chapter, I'll try my best to make up for it with the next part! I never really feel done with anything and as I said before I'm not sure if I'm a fan of this part or not. So, if you have literally ANY feedback, questions, or suggestions, PLEASE feel free to let me know! I don't really have any solid plans for this fic so if you have any ideas I just might include them in future parts. And there's not much I won't write!

[ponderingmoonlight]

Can you do a tengen uzui x jealous reader like she tells as if he’s been ignoring her and distant but at the end it’s all good

Hehe I love that request as I already wrote something pretty similar a loooong time ago and this is the perfect excuse to publish it. Hope you like it even though it's a little more than what you've requested <3

(y/n) finding out her boyfriend Uzui Tengen cheated on her he did not

Pairing: Tengen x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,7k

Synopsis: Catching your boyfriend Uzui Tengen with another woman mid-action shattered your heart into pieces and made you leave him without hesitation. But is what you've seen the whole true?

Warnings: mentions of cheating, language, this is one of the first fics I've ever written in english (worked on it last in june lol) so please let me know what you think, a loooot of angst, comfort in the end

The way his fingers linger through her hair makes your stomach turn. Tengen’s touch traces down her neck, to her shoulders, before grabbing her hips passionately. You know the look in his eyes all too well, the fire inside them. It is foreseeable what will happen next.

Of course you know, given the fact that you are his girlfriend, his fiancé to be precise. Only you should know these intimate truths about his behavior, that his fingers will trace around her bellybutton next before gently pressing against her lower back. But you’re standing in the ice cold rain at night while she sits on his lap and enjoys his caresses.

You’re heart goes numb, the only thing you are able to register is your own blood rushing through your ears and the heavy rain running down your spine. You never expected that he would cheat on you. He is an attractive and strong man that is well liked by the ladies, but you are a striking and powerful woman yourself. A hashira, a former kunoichi. You thought that was adequate for him, that you were enough for him. Well, obviously that was not the truth.

Actually, you shouldn’t have been here at all. He left for an important mission this evening, stating he’ll be back in the morning. He gave you his usual breathtaking smile, devoured you in his strong arms. He said he loved you. But how can he love you when he touches another woman like he touched you a few hours ago?  So the weird feeling that brought you here was right.

Thick anger begins to radiate through your whole body, making your hands shake uncontrollably. You can’t let him get away with this. You are far too valuable to put up with his behavior. He needs to know that you caught him, that you are well aware of his affair. And this bitch should know who she messed with. After all, his engagement ring is still sitting unmistakably on his finger. 

Without thinking twice, you toss your throwing knives into her direction with usual precision. You never miss your aim, not even when you whole body shakes in rage. She cries out cowardice, the sleeves of her kimono caught under your blades before she is able to touch his stupid perfect face.

Fuck. His heart begins to race in panic. Tengen doesn’t have to look up to know it’s you with your signature rushing past his ears. Why the hell are you here? He told you he’ll be back in the morning. Your enraged face makes him swallow noisily, the way your dark hair sticks to your face, your uniform soaking wet from the durable rainfalls of the night. You look like a kunoichi ready to kill.

“How could you?”, you breathe out, locking your eyes dreadfully with his.

It hurts him to see you like this. He swore to never hurt you, always keen to never break this promise. But now you’re standing in front of him, your face twisted in anger and pain, the veins on your forehead pulsate hazardously.

“(y/n), what are you doing here? Let’s talk about it at home.”

Another throwing knife crashes just millimeters from his ear into the wall behind him. Fuck, you’re absolutely furious. To be honest, he would be too if he were in your place. Damn, why are you here?

“Arrogant boy, this is the end. I will never speak a word to you again. We are strangers.”

He frowns. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This shouldn’t happen, you shouldn’t be here, you-

You are gone.

Frantically he jumps up from the futon, not the least bit interested in the cries of the woman behind him. Tengen’s mind races, his hands begin to tremble in pain. He knows you well enough to realize that you’ll make your words come true.

-(y/n)’s POV-

You run. Through the dusky forest, away from him and this sight. Your heart scorches with pain in your chest. How could he do that to you? If he at least told you the truth beforehand, if he had stated you that there was another woman for him…You would never had thought that Tengen Uzui is a cheater. He treated you so well, the loving gleam in his eyes seemed so convincing to you this morning.

Now it’s all a pile of shards. Your past, your future - all gone. Bitter tears of disappointment burn your eyes and mix with the pelting rain. You really thought you knew him, that you knew his heart better than anyone else. Oh, you were so wrong.

Your unfocused feet stumble under a root, making you fall to the ground before you are able to react. Your hands clench in the sodden forest floor while your face contorts in pain. No, it’s no longer possible. You can’t hold it back any longer. A pained, bloodcurdling scream echoes through the lonely woods. Tears now take your sight completely, desperately trying to forget what you just saw. You were always so strong, so confident, but now you feel like your emotions are ripping you apart from the inside. He tore your heart into a thousand pieces, you wish it would stop beating within your longing chest. Why? Why does he just throw your life away like that? You thought you gave him everything he needs. Was it not enough for him? Did you do something wrong?

Your gaze wanders up into the starry sky. No. You gave him everything you have. It’s not your fault that this coward can’t see what you’ve had in each other and decided to betray you. Stand up, pick yourself up from the dirt and keep your head held high for at least a moment. You stand up gradually and look ahead.

“Mayumi.”

Your crow immediately sits on your shoulder at the sound of its name, briefly rubbing its head against yours. Normally you’re both not good at expressing your feelings to each other, but today she seems to understand you without further words.

“Lead me the way to the butterfly estate, please.”

“Of course, (y/n)-san”, she squeaks immediately in response and flies in front of you a few meters ahead.

As always, you move quickly and gracefully through the opaque forest around you, so you soon arrive at the butterfly mansion. This is the only place you want to be right know. Shinobu is a good friend of yours, never pushy or too curious. She always seems to truly care about you and your wellbeing, even though you seem a bit cold to some people. She understands you – hopefully also this late at night.

You knock on the door stridently. There’s no way you’ll be going home tonight, not if he could be there. But what if she doesn’t open the door? Where should you go then? Maybe Rengoku, but you couldn’t stand his optimism, Mitsuri surely burst into tears, Sanemi-

“(y/n)-san, we didn’t expect to be honored by your presence tonight!”

The little girl in front of you, Sumi you assume, breaks out in a sweat.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t announce myself beforehand. Is there any way to talk to Shinobu-san and stay here for the night? Of course I don’t want to impose my-“

“That is absolutely no problem, we are honored to invite you for the night, (y/n)-san! Please let me show you your room and call Shinobu-san!”

“That would be perfect, thank you so much”, you even manage to gift her with a small and rare smile.

The little girl leads you to a small but well decorated room with a freshly made futon in the middle. This room would be anything but flamboyant enough for him…You shake your head rigorous. No, you need to stop thinking about him. He isn’t worth you thoughts, your tears, your time. What he did was unforgivable.

“I didn’t expect to welcome you at my estate this late my dear. Oh, you are soaking wet! Sumi, please bring our guest a fresh yukata!”, Shinobu’s kind voice echoes through the room.

“I’m truly sorry for interrupting your peace this late at night, I just couldn’t go home”, you reply bitterly while staring into the distance.

As much as you want to forget him, he always catches up with you. Damn, why is this so hard? Isn’t his betrayal enough to keep your strength and self-respect?

“You know that I would never impose myself, but you are always welcome here and if you need a talk, just call for me.”

“He betrayed me, Shinobu. I saw him with another woman tonight”, you breathe out.

Her eyes widen in horror. Now she understands why you visit her in such a state. Without hesitation, she crosses the room and sits next to you on the futon.

“I shouldn’t feel sad, ashamed or guilty. What have I done? Why did he feel the need to run into another woman’s arms? I know my worth, Shinobu, but it truly haunts me. I really thought he loved me, I thought we had a future. It just…hurts.”

The cracking of your unusual composed voice causes Shinobu’s heart to drown in compassion. Oh, you didn’t deserve this at all. Even though you seemed a little cold from time to time, she knew too well that you have a heart of gold. You could always be counted on – both in combat and in private. As a former kunoichi it wasn’t easy for you to break with your old habits from time to time. Nevertheless, all other Hashira knew how dearly you loved Tengen. You two were even engaged. How? How can he just throw all of that away?

“I thought Oyakata-sama entrusted him with a mission tonight. Oh, (y/n), please…Don’t you ever blame yourself for the things you have seen. You are a truly outstanding woman with striking beauty and a heart of gold. Any man would be lucky to have you by his side. It’s not your fault in any way that he can’t see your worth!”

Her words leave you speechless for a moment, tears swell up in your eyes once more. The emptiness he left inside you makes it hard to breathe. Now that Shinobu has said it again and you’re sitting in her mansion, it’s getting too real. You will never wake up next to him, soak in his sleep drunken smile, his arms will never wrap around your waist so tightly again. You loved him so much. His betrayal shattered your heart into a million pieces.

  “I loved him and our life together so much. We-we…we wanted to get married next year in the cherry blossom season. All the things he said to me were worthless, as well as the life we built up together. He threw it away this night. He hasn’t even tried to explain himself for me, he just said that he will talk to me at home.”

You can’t help yourself. Crying seems to be the only thing that feels right at the moment. Shinobu holds onto your shaking frame tightly, not daring to let go of you for even a second. No, you didn’t deserve this. But if this is what you need, she will gladly sit beside you and hold you in silence until your heart feels lighter. 

A ray of sunlight hits you in your face harshly. Your eyes seem to be glued together, you are only able to open them with difficulty. A gaze around makes you realize immediately that you are at the butterfly estate, with Shinobu curled up in a small ball on the futon next to you, breathing softly. The pain of this night hits you like a wall all over again when your sleep-drunken brain begins to realize why you are laying here and not in Tengen’s arms.

“Important message! Important message! Oyakata-sama desires to see all the Hashira for an important meeting at his estate! Please hurry!”

The sound of Shinobu’s crow wakes her up from her sleep immediately.

“Oh, I must have fallen asleep here. I hope you didn’t feel disturbed by me, (y/n). A meeting you say? But we just met. Well, maybe something important has happened. We shouldn’t let them wait any longer!”

Your stomach twists in disgust. A meeting of all Hashira means that Tengen must come too. No, you’re not ready to see him yet, you might break down when his gaze wanders to yours. Your hands start shaking all over again.

“(y/n), listen. I understand your anxiety at the thought of this meeting, but it’s not worth making you feel this way – he is not worth making you feel this way. You are the strongest woman I know with a tough will that is unmatched. If anyone is capable of coming forward immediately after a betrayal like this, it’s you. He doesn’t deserve the pleasure of your grief. Stand up, put on your uniform and clean your face from the stain of tears. You are strong, you are brave and you are a Hashira. You are more than enough by yourself, (y/n).”

Shinobu is right. You are a warrior, your abilities outstand those of other demon slayers by far. It is not your reputation or attitude to let your grief show. Tengen should see what he has lost.

“Give me 10 minutes to get myself ready. I’ll meet you outside”, you instruct Shinobu with your usual firm voice.

You put on your uniform, wash your face and brush your hair. In the mirror you look like the woman you generally are. Only the faint hint of dark circles and your slightly red-shot eyes tell a trained gaze that you’ve had a rough night. As you position your throwing knives in your belt, you lift your head with one last look in the mirror and step out into the fresh air of the morning.

You will get through this meeting and build your own future afterwards.

-the meeting-

Tengen is uneasy and more than concerned. You didn’t come home tonight. Well, considering what you saw it would have surprised him if you had, admittedly. But where are you? Are you alright? Dark circles decorate his face. As if he could have just closed one eye not knowing where you have been. You weren’t supposed to see him like this, in the arms of another woman. He knows you well enough to be aware of the fact that he is dead for you. But he has to explain himself, you have to at least give him a chance to see you, to talk to you. Will you be present at today’s meeting? No matter how hurt you are, your sense of duty will surely not let you miss it.

“Shinobu, (y/n), it is so nice to see you again! I feared you might not come when Uzui showed up alone!”, Rengoku’s strong voice shouts out.

His eyes snap up immediately to catch a glimpse of you. Damn, you look so good. Even with the slightly blood-shot eyes that betray your flawless face, you’re appearance is still breathtaking and composed. But your eyes don’t even look for him in the crowd of Hashira. Instead, you greet Rengoku with a small smile.

“Well, the last time wasn’t too long ago. I wonder why we meet again so soon. Something important must have happened”, you reply calmly.

You can sense him immediately, the way his eyes dart all over your body the second Rengoku announces your entrance. Your heart almost beats out of your chest, your knees go soft as butter. A new wave of aching and wrath washes over you and leaves you dizzy. No, you must stay focused. Don’t let him throw you off course.

“Welcome, my children. Please join me inside, the clouds in the sky look like rain”, Oyakata-sama announces calmly.

Out of instinct, you bow down in front of him immediately. You didn’t even see or hear him coming. Focus on the meeting, don’t look at him. You will get through this.

Shinobu gently grabs your arm and pulls you back up to follow the rest of the Hashira inside.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you”, she gently murmurs into your ear.

You can’t help but gift her with a smile and squeeze her arm softly. You can’t thank her enough for being such a great support to you during this difficult time. Will you ever be able to reciprocate with her?

“Thank you for blessing me with your presence, even though we just met a few weeks ago. I’ve tasked Tengen with a special mission that will bring us closer to our goal of finding and slaying Muzan Kibutsuji alongside his Upper and Lower Moons. Tengen, would you mind explaining to all of us what you have accomplished?”

Out of instinct, you glare at Tengen’s back in front of you while your mind is battling uncontrollably. A special mission? Closer to our goal of finding and slaying Muzan Kibutsuji? Why didn’t you know about all this? What mission does Oyakata-sama mean?

“I have been observing and investigating the area around the entertainment district for some time. Unexplained deaths, countless attacks in the nights, women that leave without explaining. A place that only comes alive in the darkness seemed like the perfect place for a demon, maybe even an upper ranked one. And given the fact that I am the flashiest men within the pillars, I decided to examine further. I talked to the women there and let my flamboyant charm play so that they dared to tell me something. Tonight I was able to find out that one of the oiran seems to be particularly cruel and females who got in her way always mysteriously disappeared or were found dead. Unfortunately, I could not find out the name of said woman, but I am almost certain that she is a part of the Upper Moons.”

You threaten to spill the contents of your stomach down Giyu’s neck in front of you. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is that why he met this woman? Is that why he put up with her caresses, to get information? Your ears are ringing deafeningly loud while you can’t help but stare at Tengen in disbelief. All of this pain, his betrayal, your tears, all of this was a lie?

“Oh my…”, Shinobu breathes out next to you, covering her mouth with her hand.

Is that really true? Was all of this for nothing? Now what are you supposed to do with this information? Your head begins to spin in confusion.

You need to get out. Now.

“Sorry, I need a moment”, you mumble under your breath, stumbling awkwardly into the direction of the door.

“(y/n), wait!”, his strong voice shouts behind you.

The last thing you want to do right now is talk. You are absolutely confused and furious. If it was all about a damn mission, why didn’t he tell you before he flirted with that woman? He hasn’t told you a word about his investigations. Not.a.single.word. You thought you were partners, you trust him with your life. Why did it have to come to this?

“(y/n)…”

You see nothing but red. With a swift motion, your small frame lunges over and pins him to the text wall, your throwing knife pressed against his neck.

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

For the first time since last night, your eyes lock with his. Oh, he looks absolutely gorgeous with his hair a little messy and his sorrow-filled gaze. But no, you can’t break your façade now. He trampled on your trust, your feelings, your relationship.

“I’m sorry I had nothing to say that night, but it was-“

“That night? You lied to me the whole time! You infiltrated the entertainment district every day for weeks without telling me! How can I trust you? How do I know that what I saw last night was just an act?”, your toe-curling yelling echoes through the estate of Oyakata-sama.

Fuck, you couldn’t care less about the fact that everyone just heard you. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, desperate for air. Suddenly he grabs your arm smoothly with one hand, turns you around and now pushes your frame against the wall he used to lean on a moment ago. Your throwing knife falls to the ground rustling.

“I did this to protect you!”, he taunts tormented, his face now only inches away from yours.

“You don’t need to protect me, I’m a pillar-“

“This ain’t no walkin’, (y/n). It’s one of the upper moons, the strongest demons to ever exist. Exposing you to this danger, allowing you to interfere…I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror anymore if I’d allowed that”, he interrupts you with unusual low voice.

“I thought you were cheating on me, that everything we built was a lie. When I saw you in her arms…”

You have to stop mid-sentence with hot tears swelling up your eyes once more. This night was the ultimate hell for you. If felt like you’re dying from within every time your thoughts wandered to him of their own accord. You tried to be strong and independent, told yourself over and over again that you don’t need him when in reality, all you hoped for was for this to be a misunderstanding.

“I would never cheat on a woman as flamboyant as you. (y/n), I hope you understand that I had no other choice. Both you and me know all too well that you couldn’t have held back, risking the mission’s success along with your life. Let me handle that, trust your flashy fiancé and his skills”, he whispers, gently caressing your cheek.

God, his touch burns like a thousand fires on your skin. All this time you thought you’d never get that pleasure again. You can’t help but snuggle your face in his hand, eyes closed to allow yourself this intimate moment. While you won’t easily forgive him for keeping you in the dark, you’re just glad that your dark fears of tonight are not reality.

“Just be glad I missed on purpose”, you mutter into his hand.

[ifancyharry]

Close as strangers

Harry hurried down the hallway all the way to his room, sliding the key card against the key-reader, unlocking the door and pushing it open with his palms pressed against it.

He quickly removed his shoes, tossing them near the door, before plopping down on the hotel bed, his back against the headboard.

He fished out of his skinny jeans his phone, grimacing at the screen that read 3 missed calls from ‘Angel <3’.

He sighed as he unlocked it, typing hurriedly the number he knew by heart on the keyboard, and putting it on speaker, too tired to hold the phone to his shoulder for the call.

He waited for her to pick up as he listened to the incessant ringing of the line.

“Pick up, pick up” he whispered, biting at the skin of his thumb to suppress his sighs.

He knew he was late. And he felt like he could only imagine the disappointment YN felt when he didn’t answer her call.

He and YN had picked out a specific time throughout the day where the both of them had to be available. No matter what the other was doing, at 7 o’clock they had to answer the phone, which was a pretty understandable rule, and Harry had found it easy to comply to it at first, excusing himself to take a call or getting covered by his band mates if he couldn’t make up an excuse quickly enough. But with time, his schedule had gotten really busy.

And he sometimes missed her calls.

He wasn’t the fresh out of XFactor sixteen year old he’d been when they first started dating. He was Harry from One Direction now, and despite him feeling as the same shy guy that worked in a bakery, life around him had changed, and with it, his relationship.

He knew how she was; he knew she wasn’t answering because she was upset. And Harry really didn’t blame her, but he just didn’t find it reasonable to be upset (“stubborn little thing! — he’d say, once she had calmed down and answered the phone — It doesn’t benefit neither of us if you don’t pick up ‘cause you’re mad!”).

He rolled his eyes once the line went dead, and opened the text app instead, typing quickly with his fingers.

Baby pick up I wanna talk to you

After a couple of minutes, he wrote again: please

I miss you

And after that, he tried the line once again. This time, she picked up after five rings with a small “hello?”, her voice sounded croaky distorted from the phone.

“Hello angel. I’m sorry I didn’t answer.”

“It’s okay”, and Harry felt her sigh through the phone, “i was thinking we should push back the calls until you’re back…”

“What?”

“I know you’re pretty busy,” she said, sternly, “and I don’t want to bother you.”

“What?” Harry repeated, and once he realized he already asked that, he cleared his voice and said: “you could never be a bother”.

YN couldn’t see him but she knew he was shaking his head. She tried not to picture the frown in his brows and the pout in his face, otherwise she couldn’t possibly keep going.

“Things are different now—”

“No.” He cut her off, “don’t say that, angel. Nothing’s changed. It’s still us.”

“Harry” she softened her tone to make sure he really understood her, “it’s still us. — she nodded firmly to herself — I think it’s best if we stick to texting for now. It’s okay.”

“Okay… okay, if that’s - if that’s what you want. Okay.”

“It’s better this way” she sighed once again and Harry felt her breathing through the phone, her shaky breath loud in his ears as if it were his own.

“But we’re good, right? Tell me we’re good.”

“Yes, of course we’re good.”

Harry nodded, staying quiet as the words she’d just spoken lingered in the air between them. Despite being so far away he could almost feel her right next to him as she kept talking, unaware of the heavy weight he felt on his chest making it a little harder to breathe, the sudden realization that maybe they weren’t good after all.

Hi lovelies!!! I was cleaning my drafts and I saw this thing I wrote ages ago, based on Close as strangers by 5sos. Lmk if it’s something you’d like to read and I will publish the whole thing!

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

POV u gave your s/o a naughty photo book

Seventeen edition

Literally nobody asked for this but the concept has been living in my head rent free so im posting it so you can all suffer with me.

Warnings: suggestive themes throughout, and some mention of orgasms and other sexual topics, this is literally about giving someone a published book of your nudes so minors pls don’t interact. There are no sex acts described.

Seungcheol

It's Seungcheol's birthday, and all of his friends have left. With shaking hands, you had approached him to offer him "the last gift of the evening."

"I'm interested," he said, with one eyebrow raised. He got *that look* in his eyes -- the one where you knew the thoughts in his head were taking a nosedive into sin. You had given him a soft half-smile, the kind you knew made him crazy, before pulling the book out of your purse and handing it to him.

He looks...confused? Upset? It's hard to read his expression as he thumbs through the pages of the *book* you just handed him, his brow furrowed, a broad hand covering his mouth.

After awhile you just can't handle the suspense. "Do you...like it?" you ask him, trying to sound amused, but hearing how worried your voice comes out.

He looks up at you. "I've never seen this set before," he says quietly, gesturing at one of the pages.

You're a nervous wreck at this point — you think he might actually be angry with you — but you also have an inkling that Cheol is just trying to tease you, turn you on…and you have to admit it’s working. He’s got you blushing and stuttering and trying to keep him from being too angry. "It's new," you explain. "I got it for the shoot."

"Hmmm."

Cheol calmly shuts the book, standing up and walking over to you until he's standing directly in front of you. "You're gonna need to come with me," he says, and suddenly he's slinging you over your shoulder like you're Saint Nicholas's sack of toys.

He explains as he walks back to the bedroom with you. "Saying I liked the book is not quite the right word. Not strong enough. It's more like after seeing that book there was only one possible way the rest of this night was gonna go. It's that kind of book." He pauses. "And I'm appalled that this is the first time I'm seeing you in that set. How much time do you have tonight?" he asks.

"I've got all night," you giggle.

"You'd better have the set with you right now," he says as he tosses you onto the bed like a ragdoll. "We're gonna recreate every single pose in that book in person."

Jeonghan

“What is this?” Jeonghan asks you curiously, coming out of the bedroom with a package wrapped in black paper tied with a red bow. His eyebrows shoot upward as your eyes widen.

“That’s one of your birthday presents,” you say, trying to be smooth and failing.

“Huh,” he says, still watching you carefully — one might even say suspiciously. “Can I open it?”

“Is it your birthday?” you reply.

“In a month,” he says, casually slipping the ribbon off the package. “Why’d you get it so early? And why are you acting weird?” He fidgets with the tape in a vaguely threatening manner.

You deflate. “Well…maybe you should just open it now,” you allow, blushing red. “I’m leaving the room, though.”

“Why?” he calls after you. “Are you embarrassed?”

“Yeah,” you admit, flinging yourself onto the bed in the spare room.

"Huh," he says, suspicious. There are soft ripping sounds, and then...

"Holy *shit*," he curses from the other room, softly enough that you can tell he isn't angry, but loud enough for you to hear.

You hear a page being flipped. "Holy shit," he repeats. "Are they all like this?"

"That's the point of the book," you say, dying of embarrassment and shoving your face into a pillow.

"Honey, I'm gonna need you to come here," Jeonghan finally says.

You don't respond. You can hear him coming after you, and you lay still, hoping he'll think you somehow fell asleep in the last 3 seconds.

He doesn't buy it. "Come here, my love," he nearly purrs, his voice soft and tantalizing. "Don't make me beg."

Hesitantly, you turn your body to meet his eyes. He's leaning against the doorframe, and in his gaze is a kind of cat-like, predatory hunger you're not used to seeing on his graceful features.

He beckons you to him with two fingers, and you sit up to join him. In a swift move, he pins you to the doorframe by the neck -- gently enough that you can still breathe, but your knees go weak as you stare him down.

He grins at you wickedly. "This was payback for Cheol's birthday party, wasn't it?" he asks, waving the book in your face. "Well, I've got a couple of ideas for how to even the score once again."

Joshua

"This is a special gift," you say to him, "to commemorate our first Christmas together."

It is Christmas Eve, and you have just returned home from your parents' house, where you've been celebrating all day. You had told him about your family's tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve, and he had agreed to participate. You'd picked your gift first -- it was a locket with his photo in it -- and then asked if you could pick his for him, to which he had agreed with a smile.

He makes a show of shaking the package, his eyes wide in anticipation. "It feels like a kid's picture book," he predicts. He rips the paper off the glossy, pure white cover and looks at you. "What is this?" he asks.

You smirk. "Open it," you say.

He does, and his jaw drops. "Baby," he says softly. "This is...wow." He continues to flip through the pages, looking up at you in open-mouthed awe as he does. "This one? Are you *kidding* me? You look so *good* in these photos!"

Your heart is thumping in your chest, a flush rising in your cheeks from his incessant praise of your lewd photos. "Oh, this one is art," he says, flipping the book around to show you. "Wait, let me show you which one was my favorite." He turns back a couple pages to let you look.

You beam at him. "You like it?"

"I *love* it, baby. Thank you." He pats his thighs, an invitation for you to come to him. And you can't help but listen, because his eyes are shining in those Christmas tree lights and making fireworks erupt in your stomach. You straddle his lap, facing him, as he gently places the book down and winds his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck. "You're so beautiful. That was such a thoughtful gift, and I'm so glad we get to spend Christmas together."

He looks up at you, pushing your hair out of the way so he can see your face better. "Do you *want* one more gift from me?" he asks you carefully.

You laugh. "I want everything you've got, Joshua Hong."

Jun

“I was waiting for a special occasion to do this,” you say. “And I figured getting engaged to you probably qualifies.”

The room is lit up by a million fairy lights strung overhead. Jun is reclined on a huge bean bag, grinning up at you, the glint of his new engagement band in the dim light making you almost dizzy with joy.

A big projector screen is behind you, hooked up to a PowerPoint presentation you’ve displayed on your laptop. The title: 46 Reasons Why I Deserve Multiple Orgasms Tonight.

“Whew,” Jun laughs, looking up at you. “Do I need to hear all 46 to get your point? That’s a lot of reasons.”

“Are you saying you’ll do it?” you ask him.

“Now, hold on,” he says. “I want to see the PowerPoint.” He takes a sip of his champagne. “But you can expect that we probably won’t make it past the 20th reason.”

You shrug. “Fair enough.” You flip to slide one. There’s a QR code there for him to scan, which he promptly does, waiting patiently for it to load.

And when it does, he opens his mouth in awe. It’s a link to your boudoir gallery, and just the first image of you is enough for him to stand up and grab you by the face and start kissing you like he hasn’t seen you for months and he might never see you again, with enough passion that you’re dizzy.

“46 reasons,” he says in your ear as he lifts you up off the ground. “That first picture deserves 46 orgasms all to itself.”

You laugh. “Did you see any of the other 45 pictures?” you ask as he plants kisses all down your neck to your chest.

“Nope, but i think we’ll just have to settle for me being in debt to you for as long as we live,” he says, and fumbles with the buttons of your shirt.

Soonyoung

You’re doing the dishes in your sweats and a sports bra when Soonyoung comes hurtling around the corner in absolutely nothing but boxers and a bathrobe. “Honey?” you say, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“What is this?!” he asks you, his voice an octave higher than it normally is.

Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you see what he’s holding in his hands.

“Oh,” you say. “Um… it was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday, but then I lost it,” you admit, embarrassed in more than one way, since his birthday was six months ago. “Where did you find it?”

“Never mind that,” he says, waving you off. “We need to talk about how these pictures have made me feel.”

“Do we?” you ask nervously.

He puts the book down on the counter and scoops you into his arms, his hands finding your bare waist. “Weirdly enough, my first thought when I saw those photos is that I don’t want anyone else to ever get to see you like that but me,” he says. He leans down and pecks you on the lips.

You stand on your tiptoes to kiss his nose. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried,” you tell him, tracing a hand down his chest and over his abs before you slide your arms all the way around his waist.

“I think we should get married,” he says, and you freeze.

“Really?” you finally say after a long while. “If that’s all it took, I would have done a boudoir shoot ages ago.”

Wonwoo

You’re standing in the doorway, hesitating. Wonwoo hasn’t spotted you yet - he’s busy playing a computer game, his mouse clicking at furious speeds. You can tell he’s engrossed, and decide to come back later, but just as you’re leaving, he calls your name. “Don’t go,” he says. “I’ll be done in a second.”

True to his word, half a minute later he removes his headset to turn and look at you with a smile. Your new relationship is still a little foreign to both of you, and the sudden fear of rejection is strong as you consider what you’re about to do.

“Hey, honey,” he says, reaching for you and pulling you into his lap, where you wordlessly bring your hands from behind you to in front of you, revealing the book. “What’s this?”

You take a deep breath. “Are you gonna laugh at me?” you ask him seriously.

“Only if you’re funny,” he replies.

You open to the first page. “I got them done a little bit ago and just got them back,” you say quietly. “I…wanted to show you.”

He looks up at you, his gaze curious. “Did you do these for me?” he asks, thumbing through the pages.

“Actually,” you say honestly, “I did them for me. We weren’t together yet. And I hadn’t been feeling very good about myself, so I did these. And it actually gave me the courage to talk to you.”

He’s silent for a minute, drinking in the sight of you on every page. Then — “they’re beautiful. *You’re* beautiful.” He gently presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Thank you.”

He throws the book onto the bed behind you and pulls you in so you’re fully facing him, straddling his lap. He reaches for you, kissing you like you’re air and he’s drowning, trying to tell you without words just what he meant when he said you were beautiful.

Jihoon

You’re relaxing on the couch after a long day, and Jihoon has just come over to you, wordlessly positioning himself on top of you and resting a head on your chest. You run your fingers through his fluffy hair and press a quick kiss to his forehead, using your other hand to scratch small shapes into his back.

You love that he’ll do this with you — you know he’s a bit shy about touch because of how it was when you’d first started dating, but you admire the progress five years, a marriage, and a whole child between you can make.

“Is she asleep?” you ask him now, and he nods against your chest.

“Just needed a brief daddy visit,” he says, yawning. “Oooh, I’m tired.”

“Can I wake you up?” you ask him softly.

He pushes himself up onto his forearms so he can look at you. “I’m listening,” he says casually, but his eyes are eager.

You laugh at how cute he is, and he grins. “Well,” you start, “I know we’ve both been busy lately…you know, with work and keeping a tiny human alive, and I wanted to do something special to reconnect.”

He sits up then, facing you on the couch. “Go on,” he invites.

You reach down and grab the book from under the couch. Jihoon watches you curiously, still looking at you as you hand it to him. “What is this?” he asks you.

“Open it,” you say with a mischievous look in your eyes.

He does, and he gasps. “Oh,” he says, and a blush heats his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you on the glossy pages — in the black velvet lingerie set he got you for Christmas last year.

He keeps looking from you to the book. “What are you thinking about?” you ask him, your soft voice making him shiver.

“I’m thinking about how I’ve seen you like this several times,” he says quietly as he flips through the pages, “and I’m still not sick of it.”

“That lingerie set was an investment,” you agree, and he smiles at you broadly.

He places the book down. “What are the odds you’re wearing it right now under your clothes?”

You laugh. “Why don’t you come find out?”

Minghao

“Remember those photos I took that one time?” you ask him while the both of you are sitting opposite each other on the couch, a mess of limbs tangled together.

“I think I’m gonna need you to be just a little more specific,” he says.

“The ones you encouraged me to take when I wasn’t feeling very good about my body.”

“Oh, those photos,” he says. “I remember them *and* what we did after.”

You blush. “I’m sure you do,” you say. “Well, I just got them back. Wanna see them?”

“Of course I do,” he says, reaching across the couch for your phone.

You hand it to him and watch as he scrolls through the gallery, his expression growing gradually more proud and impressed.

“Baby, these are amazing. Killer editing, and a perfect model.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to minimize your feelings, but it’s pretty incredible that someone who looks like you can think you aren’t beautiful.”

“Really?” you ask him with a smile.

“Really,” he says. “Come here, sit by me.”

You obey, relaxing your head onto his chest. He kisses your forehead before continuing. “You know I have an eye for beautiful things. I love art, and I love to look at things that have the power to move your emotions. I mean, I’ve seen statues of the goddess Aphrodite in person. And yet the best thing I’ve ever seen is still your naked body. So it’s pretty crazy that you’re better than every piece of art I’ve ever seen and you sometimes still can’t see that.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow to look at him, and he kisses your nose, sending your heart into flips. “Well, I’m not saying that repeating the post-photoshoot activities would help me feel validated, but…” you say, trailing off.

Minghao gets the hint instantly, climbing on top of you and pressing his lips to yours. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he says between kisses.

Mingyu

“Uhhh…Gyu?” you say, poking his arm. “You haven’t moved a muscle in like…fifteen minutes. Are you okay?”

He doesn’t respond, so you come around to his side of the bed. His eyes are fixated on the book in his hand. You know what’s happening now, and you kneel down in front of him, prying the book from his fingers. “Gyu, baby, look at me,” you say gently.

He meets your eyes with awe. “How?” is the only thing he says.

“How what, honey?” you ask him.

He clears his throat, shaking himself. He cups your face in his hands. “How did you take those photos without me noticing?” he asks in a strangled voice.

“It was literally so hard,” you admit. “Thank goodness for remotes so I could do them myself. It was a couple weeks ago while you were gone.”

“They’re edited in my style, too,” he says breathlessly. “The things you do to me.” He leans back, letting his eyes roam over your body, in a tight black dress you had planned on wearing out to your anniversary dinner. You stand up and lean toward him.

“Would you like dinner or dessert first?” you murmur to him.

He grins, a slow grin that lets you know he’s debating. “Hmm…let’s still go to dinner. It’ll give you time for me to let you imagine what I’m going to do to you when we get back.”

Seokmin

You are both already undressed down to your underwear and kissing ferociously when the doorbell rings. The two of you look at each other in a panic before standing up and throwing on bathrobes, giggling. Your heartbeat is in your throat as you look out the peephole and see a package on the porch.

“It was just the delivery guy,” you whisper back to Seokmin, who’s in the hallway looking dazed in his silky robe.

“Then come back here,” he begs you. “You’re driving me insane.”

But something is telling you to grab the package first. You slip your hand out the door and slide it inside, inspecting the address on the front.

Your eyes light up with recognition and you run to hand the package to Seokmin. He gives you a questioning glance. “Why?” He simply asks.

“Trust me, you’re gonna want to see that before we go any further.”

His eyebrows shoot up as he rips the package open. They widen as he opens the first page of the book. And with every photo he sees, you can feel the tension in the room boiling hotter. He’s grinning. “Oh, *honey*,” he says.

“Just for you,” you say, lightly dragging your nails over his shoulder blades.

His eyes roll back, and he shudders, smiling blissfully. “Cancel your meetings for today. You won’t be coming to work.”

You laugh. “Why not?”

“You won’t be able to walk after I’m done with you,” he says, pulling you into his arms and picking right back up where you left off.

Seungkwan

“Gosh, seriously…” he mutters under his breath, over the phone with you. You’re just a city away while he’s filming, but it is your birthday, and he feels terrible for missing it.

“It’s okay, love,” you reassure him. “We can celebrate tomorrow.”

“But you got *me* a gift?” He asks you incredulously. “For your birthday? Who does that?”

“I do!” You reply with a giggle, and he nearly curses at his phone again.

“I miss you too much,” he says.

“You won’t have to for much longer,” you say, and just then someone hands him the package you sent him on set.

“Do *not* open it around anyone,” you warn him.

“Okay,” he agrees, shutting himself in the bathroom. You can hear the sounds of him unwrapping the book.

And then he moans.

And then you hear what sounds like…clapping?

And then his voice is in your ear again. “Baby,” he groans.

“Umm…hello?” you ask, one part amused, one part worried.

“I’m here,” he says in a choked voice. “But I’m about to come home.”

“No, wait, you have to stay!!” you say, panicking.

“Like hell I do,” he retorts. You hear him leave the bathroom, hear him shout to the room, “I’ve just come down with a terrible bout of IBS, and I’m leaving!”

“You still there?” he says, and it sounds like he’s running.

“Yes?” you ask, torn between laughing and scolding him.

“I’ll be there before you know it, and you’d better be prepared for a long talk.”

The way he says “talk” makes it clear that very little will need to be said.

Vernon

He’s so mild-mannered that you’re hoping the photo book will do it for him. You’re hoping he won’t just say, “that’s nice, love,” as he peers with a clinical gaze at your lewd photos.

And you aren’t disappointed. Because while Vernon isn’t loud, his facial expressions certainly are. His jaw drops comically when he opens the book to a full page, practically nude photo of you. And he just keeps on getting more and more flustered, blushing harder and harder, and saying “damn, baby! These are *gorgeous*.”

He takes his time working his way through the book - stopping to trace the outline of your body on the page, in a way that makes you blush as though he’s doing it for real. “I love this color on you,” he exclaims, holding up a photo of you in an electric purple bra.

“Thank you,” you say, holding your hands up to your red cheeks.

He laughs. “Are you embarrassed?”

You giggle a bit. “Yeah, a little,” you admit. “The shoot, the book… it was all kind of a bold move.”

He nods, looking proudly down at the photo book. “Yeah, it was, baby. Don’t be embarrassed. I love it.”

He stands up and pulls you into a huge hug, resting his head on top of yours. When he pulls away, he grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “While we’re making bold moves,” he says softly, bringing your mouth up to his for a kiss. And then, completely uncharacteristically of him, he lifts you off your feet into his arms to continue kissing.

Chan

You come home to see Chan pawing through a book laying stomach down on the couch. Every turn of the page, he erupts into quiet laughter and kicks his feet.

“What on earth are you reading?” you ask him, putting your keys in the dish and moving toward him to get a peek.

And then you gasp. “What are you doing with that?” you ask him, your face a mask of horror as you try to snatch it from him.

“This is for me, right?” he says, fending you off easily with one arm. “What’s the occasion?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you grumble, giving up on the snatching as Chan pins you to his side. “No occasion, I just…thought you’d like it.”

“You thought right,” he says. “This is great.” He kisses you on your cheek. “I have a question, though.”

“Ask away,” you say.

“Did you feel like you had to do this, or did you want to?” He sounds genuinely concerned. This is one of the things you love so much about him — he asks you all of your thoughts and doesn’t seem to mind any of the answers you give, so you know you can always tell him exactly what’s on your mind.

“I wanted to,” you assure him. “It’s just, you’re gone so often, and I wanted you to feel like you didn’t have to miss seeing me…well. Seeing me like this, I guess.”

He slowly leans backward until he’s holding you on top of him. “I am gone a lot,” he agrees thoughtfully.

“You are.”

“But I’m here now,” he finishes.

Your gaze drops to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “You are here now,” you repeat.

“So,” he says, a question trailing at the end of his thought, one he won’t ask out loud.

You kiss him before he knows what’s coming.

[tiedyeflannels]

Dating Rumors

Jeon Jungkook x reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Genre: Angst, Hurt/ No Comfort

Dating Rumors: pt.2

Main Masterlist

A/N: Hello there! Thanks for stopping by! I'm not the best at writing angst even though I absolutely love reading it, but I thought I would give it a try when my brain came up with this idea. Also, I'm not sure if I should write a part 2 for this... Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Wha-

I slowly opened one eye when I heard the sound of knocking. Peeking over to the clock on my nightstand to know what time it was, I read…

2:15 am.

I sighed, closing my eyes to go back to sleep when another round of knocks came, this time a bit louder. I sat up this time, looking for my glasses, and putting them on once I found them. 

Still feeling groggy, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, tossed the blanket to the side and got up from my warm bed to see what the commotion was. As I was making my way through my apartment yet another round of knocks came again, but this time they were non-stop.

Who the hell would be knocking at my door at 2 in the morning?

I grumbled as I looked through the peephole in the door to see that it was none other than Jeon Jungkook. I sighed as the frantic knocking persisted, but finally opened the door only to reveal a disheveled Jungkook. 

“Kook, what are you doing here? It’s two in the morning,” I asked, still rubbing my eyes.

His eyes looked desperate for some reason and it’s most likely the reason that he’s standing in my doorway this early in the morning. 

“Would you mind if I came in,” he asked.

Now I’m starting to worry about him because of the way he’s acting.

“Ye-yeah, of course!” I ushered him inside and looked out of the apartment in case someone was following him.

Luckily, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, sans for the stray cat that always sleeps on the balcony railing.

I finally closed the door and turned back to him.

“Are you okay? What happened,” I asked while I followed him to the kitchen.

He ran his hands through his hair and looked at me with a worried, almost scared expression.

“They’re not true. None of them are true, Y/n.” 

“Kook, what are you talking about? What isn’t true,” I asked, confused at how he’s acting right now.

He started pacing a little, which did not do anything to calm my nerves about this whole situation so I walked over to him and gently grabbed his hand.

“Kookie, I’m going to need you to calm down so you can tell me what’s going on.”

I gestured for him to take a seat at one of the bar stools near the kitchen island and told him to take deep breaths while I walked over to the fridge, opening it up.

“Do you want something to drink before you tell me what’s happening,” I looked over my shoulder.

He nodded, still taking deep breaths while I grabbed two water bottles and walked back to him. I handed him his water bottle as I leaned against the counter in front of him, taking a sip. He took a few gulps, almost finishing half of it before looking back at me.

“Are you calm enough to tell me what’s ‘not true’?”

“Okay so… a few articles were published a couple of hours ago with a video of me and a girl in my house hugging and-”

“Wait! Someone was stalking you,” I asked. This is not something new to him and the members, but it never fails to surprise me everytime it happens.

“Yes, but that’s not the main point right now,” he shook his head, disregarding the stalking for right now.

“Anyway, they were saying that she could be my secret girlfriend because all of the evidence is pointing to the person in the video actually being me. Not saying that it wasn’t, but as soon as I saw the rumors I had to tell you that they weren’t true in any way so… I booked it all the way from my place to here.”

I slowly nodded, trying to process what the hell he just said because I was still tired from being woken up this early.

“So… what you’re saying is that there are some dating rumors swirling around with you and another girl and you booked it here at two in the morning to let me know that they aren’t true when you could’ve just sent me a text that I would’ve read when I got up?”

He nodded, looking a little sad. I couldn’t put my finger on it when I felt a little sad when he told me that he was with a girl, but that didn’t stop a sly grin from forming on my lips.

“So… you were with a girl?” 

“Y/n/n, that’s not the point,” he sighed, placing his water bottle on the island, “What I’m saying is that nothing that you might read in the news is true.”

“Look Kook, who you’re in a relationship with is none of my business, your decisions are yours and as your best friend, I should be supportive of you.” 

He stood up so fast that it almost knocked over the chair and took two steps to stand in front of me, looking at me in a way that was pleading for me to understand.

“Y/n there’s nothing for you to be supportive of because we aren’t dating.” 

I looked at him, trying to figure out why he’s saying this, but ultimately shook my head in confusion and started to move away from him. He grabbed my wrist just as I was about to walk toward the living room, pulling me to him.

“You have to believe me.”

His voice was starting to sound frustrated and I started to feel the same as this conversation went on.

I huffed, “Listen, I don’t understand why you’re trying so hard to tell me that you’re not dating that girl!”

Quickly, he let go of my wrist, but cupped my face just as fast.

“Because I’m in love with you! Not some random girl that came to hang out with me at my house!”

My eyes widened at the confession. Everything became quiet and it felt like time had stopped around us. We stood there for what felt like an eternity just looking at each other. 

“What,” I whispered, though it sounded way too loud in the deafening silence that had surrounded us.

He took his hands away from my face and let them drop to his sides as he sighed, “I’m in love with you, Y/n. I have been for a while. That’s why I was trying so hard to convince you that the articles aren’t true.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying. He was in love with me?! As much as I wanted that to be true, I still couldn’t believe it.

I shook my head, “Kook, you’re sleep deprived, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Y/n, I know what I’m saying. Don’t you believe me,” he asked.

I started to slowly back away from him, “No, because it’s super late and you should get some sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

I turned around to walk to the living room. He followed me, “Why can’t you believe that I’m in love with-”

I whirled around to face him, “Because that can’t happen!” 

Tears started to well up in my eyes as I continued, “We… can’t happen.”

He looked visibly confused at my statement. I sighed, willing away the tears before they could fall.

“We can’t happen,” I repeated. He took a step towards me, “Why not?”

“Because, Jungkook, you’re an idol. You’re famous, but I’m not. Sure I work with you and the others, but no one knows me. And think about ARMY, do you really think that they would be okay with you being in a relationship with someone that they don’t know?”

He thought for a moment, “I think that they would be happy for me.”

“Do you really believe that? That some of them wouldn’t come after me because I’m some rando who’s dating one of their favorite idols? That they would peacefully let us be? Because I don’t think they would.”

He was going to say something, but I interrupted him, “and as much as I would love to be in a relationship with you, I think that being friends is about as much as I’m going to be a part of your life, Jungkook.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “So that’s it? We know each other’s feelings, but we can’t be together?”

I sadly nodded. He crossed his arms and I leaned against the back of the couch. We stood in silence for a few moments before Jungkook sighed and walked over to lean against the couch next to me. 

“So what do we do now,” he whispered.

I glanced at him and sucked in a breath, already regretting what I’m about to say.

“You go home, we get some rest, and forget about this night.”

He gently took my hand and I closed my eyes to stop the tears that were forming again. 

“I don’t think that I can do that, Y/n.”

I looked at him and saw his eyebrows furrowed like they usually do when he’s tearing up.

“We’re gonna have to for now, but maybe one day when things settle down we can try this and see where it goes?”

I wanted to give him some sort of hope, but I wasn’t sure if I completely believed what I was saying.

He slowly nodded at my statement as I reluctantly pushed off the couch, letting his hand fall from mine and made my way over to the door, placing my hand on the cold handle.

“But I think it would be for the best if you left now. It's late and we still have work tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s gaze fell to the ground before trudging over to the door. I opened the door as he came closer, stepping to the side. He started to walk out, but paused in the middle of the doorway and turned to face me.

“Are we okay?”

I put on my best smile and nodded, “Of course we are, Kook. Now get some rest, okay?”

He nodded, “Goodnight, Y/n/n.”

With that, he left. I sighed and whispered to myself, “Goodnight, Kookie,” before closing the door.

I stood with my back against the door. What just happened, I thought.

I felt like crying, but there wasn’t anything to cry about because I was right. I didn’t want to get attacked or followed just because I was in a relationship with him, no matter how much I really did want that relationship.

Realizing that thinking about it won’t help, I pushed off the door to make my way toward my room to get some sleep and avoid overthinking.

This really is like the ‘right person, wrong time’ trope, huh?

I scoffed as I settled into bed. “God, I hate that trope.”

[a-book-of-creatures]

Can you explain why fly fishing is as bad as golfing? Never heard that before and I'm curious

They're different kinds of bad but they have the same root cause that makes me associate them with each other. Namely, they attract rich, entitled upper-class twits.

Disclaimer: I'm sure there are plenty of fine, upstanding golfers and fly fishers out there. Real salt of the earth folks that wouldn't harm a (heh) fly. This doesn't invalidate the fundamental issues that I'm going to talk about here.

You've probably heard about how golf takes perfectly good land that could be used for parks and turns them into sterile, boring, manicured lawns for rich assholes to toss their balls around.

Fly fishing... there's probably a lot you could say about sport angling as a part and why it's bad for fishes and the environment, but I'm focusing on fly fishing, and this book is largely to blame.

Published in 1895, this accumulation of dead trees was what pushed the idea that a good fishing fly should be made of exotic feathers, the more exotic the better.

And with anglers being a superstitious lot (perhaps as superstitious as professional athletes, who we all know are the most superstitious people in existence), it makes it far more likely that those with the means will shell out top dollar for feathers from rare, even extinct birds. They will buy research skins from museum collections for the sole purpose of tearing them to bits and making gaudy simulacra of insects that may bestow a higher chance of a salmon biting them.

This is what led to a guy breaking into the Tring Museum and stealing almost 300 bird skins to sell off on eBay for fishing fly materials. And it's happened elsewhere too. I know this because one of the museums I worked at had a researcher walk in to look at birds, and when they left a number of skins were gone. There are still enough people out there ready and willing to pay for those feathers that the market is there.

[0oolookitsme]

Falling in Love

Type- One-Shoty Blurb

Verse- Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count- 1.3k

Warnings- Just sweet, sweet fluff and a very light description of the anxiety that comes with falling in love.

A/N- This one, y'all, is a special one.

This fic celebrates more than one occasion. I published my first ever fic on this site on July 20, 2021. And this is also a goodbye to The Love On Tour which ends today, July 22. I chose (Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n) for this, because it is the first universe I ever created, and Harry is a singer in this au, so that kind of fit as well. Also, you people never failed to show your favouritism when it came to any fic I posted in this 'verse -- I love you, and thank you so much for that. I'll be honest, this isn't the original the fic I wanted to post today, but I had to because somehow, I wasn't able to finish it in time. Maybe by the next weekend I'll have it finished, don't mark my words on that though.

So, I really hope you enjoy this fic, which depicts a scene from (Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n)'s early stages of relationship, when they'd just started falling in love.

I love you and thank you, a LOT ;) -A.

A little out of breadth Y/n climbed in her car, immediately turning on the AC on full. It was a melting hot day in New York, and she couldn't be more frustrated.

Sitting in the car, she switched on her mobile data for her playlist to start singing. But just as she hit play, a text from Harry popped up on her screen, a smile stretching out on her mouth just in time. She scrolled down her notification bar to see what it was, and it made her sad, the fact that she couldn't smile any wider.

Obviously, he was trying to make her insides churn -- why else would he ask her: 'would you like some croissant, mon chouchou?' Her nose scrunched up as she let her head hit the headrest of the seat, trying to swallow down her screech of giddiness.

With fists clenched tight because there was no other way she could express her ecstasy right now, she allowed herself to open her hand and loosen-up her jaw. 'I'd very much love some! Where are you right now?' She texted back, hoping she could pick him up.

Driving out and straight onto the main lane, she stopped about mid-way through, the street packed with cars and bikes.

Y/n looked up once again, to make sure the traffic light really was red, and right as she was about to look back down, they turned green -- and this is the first time she's been mad about that. Tossing her phone on the passenger seat as she turned her car on the left, she hoped that Harry would reply before she reached the U-Cut.

And while her full attention was on the road, she couldn't help but look at her phone screen from the corner of her eyes. Should she just call him? She slowed down her speed, waiting and waiting and immediately stopping on the side of the lane when he finally texted back: 'Cornelia Street, why?'

Her whole face scrunched up in confusion, as she quickly typed: 'what the hell?' She hit send too quickly, but still kept on typing. 'it's like an hour away! how are you gonna make it? the metro-station will shut down soon!' She texted him again, starting her car again to start driving.

The quicker she reached him, the better. She just hoped that she wouldn't have to stop at a red light again.

'I dunno... maybe get an Uber?' Her screen lit up with his text. 'Anyways, which one do you want?' He texted again, this time attaching 2 photos.

Y/n lightly shook her head, not able to believe that she's going to be driving for an hour to pick up this weird man she seems to have developed a huge crush on, when all she wanted to do leaving the office was to pass out on the lovely forest green sofa in her living room. And she only gets more confused when she sees her phone light up from the corner of her eyes again.

'Pick up whichever one you're eating, H' she sent him a voice message, not careless enough to text him that while driving at this speed. But just as she turns on the next road, a groan rumbles from the back of her throat when she sees another traffic-jam. It sure isn't as hideous as the previous one, but it's making her late, nevertheless.

Rien Que Toi et Moi started playing on low volume in the car as she picked her phone again, going straight to the text Harry had sent her.

'okay, you're clearly too busy to type 'gruyere croissant'. So, I will buy it for you even though I'm taking a chocolate one' was the first text, and the next one made her grin quite wide in slight embarassment. It said, 'Cause someone needs to be sweet to keep your salty ass sane'

'Don't get all grumpy with me now, we both know you can't live for even a day without salt' she texted back, chuckling already. 'And don't book any taxi, I'm on my way to pick you up!' She wrote again, now suddenly embarrassed.

This time, she threw her phone on the seat for once and for all, determined to stop only when she's on Cornelia Steet.

And as she drove, her mind was still on Harry. It hadn't escaped her, the fact that he remembered her favourite croissant, and knew she wanted that one only, even when she didn't say so. She knows that he too knows he'll be eating half of hers and then offer her a half of his'. Staying with her, he'd grown to like a lot of her favourites.

But what he's surely got to notice, is that a lot of his favourites, are now Y/n's as well. It's more than often that she's caught doing things that he loves to do, learning about things that he always talks to her about. And she remembered something flashing in his eyes when she told him that she's only doing it so that she can chat a little more about it with him.

Driving with her window rolled down, Y/n slowly and slowly felt herself calming down and little by little, falling for Harry -- with his little quirks and habits that make him who he is. But still there was a slight tightness in the midst of her chest that frightened her, a little alarm that always went off blaring every time her eyes landed on Harry, screaming at her to turn around, that she still had time, and her heartrate would go impossibly high.

But she knew, she had nothing to lose. The most that could happen was that he'd break her heart and people will stop murmuring about how she's got some colour in her face and a small smile on her mouth every time she walked by. And the gossips about her being cold-hearted would return. She didn't have anything more to lose and for some weird reason whenever she saw Harry, something inside her, maybe her heart, pointed at him and whispered without a pause in her ears, 'that's the one, that's the one.'

It's when she passes the board-sign with 'Cornelia Street' written across it that she parks on the side of the lane again. Picking up her phone, she texts Harry 'I'm in front of the 'Books and Lattes' cafe. Where are you?'

And it was like Harry was already on his phone because he responded right away. 'Should be visible on the first zebra-crossing you stop at!' his text said, and all of a sudden, a hint of giddiness bubbled inside her at the realization that finally she'll be seeing him.

And Y/n did see him, just as she slowed down as she neared the crossing. She looked to her left fist, out the passenger side window and in a split second her eyes found the pair of forest-green eyes that she longed to take a walk in all the damn time.

His Cheshire-cat grin so charming, it felt as though he had aimed it straight at heart, as he walked towards her. And just to poke fun at him, she didn't unlock the door -- rolling down the window instead. He waved at her with a dimpled smile, just a few steps away and as he went to open the door, "hey there, beau" she teased.

Harry rested his elbows on the sill, looking at her with a mockingly intense gaze. "Lose your croissant or unlock the door," he said quickly and laughed at her groan as he went to sit beside her. "I'm hurt that you'd choose a croissant over me!"

"I'm surprised that you're surprised," Y/n said, while backing up just a bit to turn into the other lane.

She heard him sigh and then saw him dramatically rub his forehead. "Disappointed, but not surprised," he said.

"Oh, c'mon darling-"

"I'm not your darling when 'm pissed at you!"

Letting out an amused laugh, she intertwined their hands in the heat of the moment, and that same old alarm went off blaring. "Now look who's being salty," she stated as a matter of fact, shaking her head when Harry muttered, 'you're never going to let that go, are you?'

And somewhere on the inside, a little voice in her head mumbled, "uh oh, I'm falling in love."

Tagging: @reveriehs &lt;3 MASTERLIST :)

[okaylorrainee]

her way of water

characters. neteyam & female metkayina reader. sully family. tsireya.

synopsis. neteyam and his family left their clan to seek uturu from yours. on their first night, neteyam wanders by the shore to clear his mind. he finds himself away from everyone’s marui pods and comes across you as you bathed - he couldn’t get you out of his mind since then.

contains. aged up characters but only by a few years. timeline and some parts of the plot of the movie may be ignored. sometimes out of character.

note. hello! welcome to my first avatar ff :)! this was supposed to be a one shot, but as i wrote it, i’ve decided one part isn’t enough. sorry if any parts of the story seem weird. i still have a lot to learn about the na’vi. do they even bathe? idk. english is not my first language so please feel free to correct me if i get anything wrong! also, this may be the first avatar ff i’ve ever written and published but it might not be the last so stay tuned!

Ch 01 [ masterlist . next ]

he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. a low grunt left his lips as he sat up in frustration. he looked around and his family was in deep slumber, perhaps due to exhaustion from all of the water training they’ve done all day. he wished he could be the same, then at least he’d silence the sadness he felt from leaving his home. 

neteyam didn’t want to voice it out too much. he knew it was harder for his parents, especially for his mother whose whole life was the forest. he refused to burden the family with his emotions, so he suppressed them, like the responsible eldest son he always was.

he sighed, making his way out of their family pod. he didn’t know where he was going at this time of the night, but he just allowed his feet to keep going. wherever he’d end up, he’d just make sure to find his way back again before the sun rises. because tomorrow was another day to learn the ways of the metkayina, to be one of them. 

neteyam uttered not a single word, and nothing but the sound of waves surrounded him. the breeze accompanied him as he walked, his hair flowing with the wind that the beads braided with them collided every now and then. he found the air relaxing, that every time he inhaled he felt like his lungs were being cleansed from how fresh it was.

awa’atlu was indeed a very beautiful place, but neteyam adored his clan’s forest more.

neteyam found himself by the edge of the shore. beside him stood the palm trees that formed the forest he has yet to explore. thinking he had gone too far away from the village, neteyam was about to turn and walk back, until he heard low humming come from his left, the parallel of the village’s front. 

curious, he carefully approached and followed the sound. the humming got louder as he got closer. and soon, a figure came into view in front of him. it was a silhouette of a metkayina na’vi, waist deep within the water, staring into the vast ocean in front of her.

neteyam hadn’t felt his eyes gape at the sight of her. she was undressed, nothing but her long hair covering parts no one but only her future mate should see. her skin was wet and the freckles all around her body made her glow. this kind of scene should not be new to him, after all, he too had freckles that glowed in the dark. but for some reason, neteyam seemed to be so mesmerized by her that he found it hard to look away. only when her whispers of singing reached his ears once more did he realize that he was staring at this naked na’vi woman. he immediately turned away and hid behind a palm tree.

neteyam’s cheek burned from embarrassment. just what was he doing? but actually, what was she doing? at this time of the night while the rest of the clan was asleep, she was here apparently bathing at the opposite side of the village’s island. for someone who spends so much time in the water, this metkayina woman had the thought of washing herself in the middle of the night - neteyam found it a bit odd.

however, he stood still from his spot. he didn’t want to walk away, he was curious as to what she might be up to. this wasn’t weird, right? it’s not like he was watching her. he was simply… waiting.

a couple of minutes passed but nothing else happened. she continued doing whatever it was she was doing by the water, creating small splashing sounds here and there while humming another song different from the previous one. this whole time, neteyam was leaning on the tree, staring at the sand and doing nothing. but he had to admit, instead of being bored out of his mind, he enjoyed his time listening to her voice.

soon enough another gentle splash came from behind him, it sounded different from the ones before, indicating that she might be leaving the water. neteyam felt a sudden wave of nervousness, worried she might find him. so without looking back, he quickly ran to the direction of the village, moving carefully to not alert her of his presence.

it had been long since then. hours had passed and the sun had risen. neteyam and his siblings were once again under the care of the olo’eyktan’s children to learn about metkayina customs. today, they were polishing their riding skills with ilus.

tsireya and her brother were watching the sullys from near the shore, both mounted on their ilu companions. ao’nung spent most of the time snickering as he watched lo’ak fail over and over, and tsireya would smack him to make him stop. she flashes a gentle smile to lo’ak when he peeks to look in her direction, and he nods at her trying to appear cool before getting thrown off once more for losing focus. she giggled, lo’ak appeared very cute to her.

tsireya shifted her eyes to the others. kiri and tuk, who were accompanied by ao’nung’s friend, rotxo, seemed to be doing better than their brother. tsireya noticed how kiri appeared to be a natural at everything they have taught them so far, and she thinks it may be because of the special kind of connection kiri had with nature. but tsireya didn’t comment on it any further, she had only met them yesterday.

meanwhile, neteyam was alone on the far right of the group. tsireya noted how neteyam was quick to adapt and learn, and that it wasn’t difficult to teach him. compared to his brother, neteyam took things slow at first and it made him grasp the idea of riding the ilus easily. 

tsireya hadn’t missed how distracted neteyam looked today. he was paused above the water, staring at it in deep thought as he held his ilu in place. tsireya wondered if something was wrong, so she motioned her ilu to swim to neteyam’s direction.

“hey, neteyam.” she said to catch his attention.

the said man lightly jolted before turning to her. “oh, tsireya, hey.”

her brows furrowed in worry. “is everything alright, neteyam? it seems like you are unable to concentrate today.”

neteyam’s cheeks flushed. “i am okay, tsireya. there is no need to worry.” 

she hummed, still not convinced. “well, alright. but if there is anything we can help you with, let us know.” she turned to swim away. but before she could get farther, neteyam called her.

“actually, tsireya, there is something that’s been on my mind for hours now.” he started. “but you must not let anyone know.”

curious, tsireya went closer to him. “what is it?”

he let out a deep breath before shooting her eyes a serious look. “last night as i was taking a walk by the shore, i came across a woman who was alone at the opposite side of the village.”

tsireya pulled away in shock and interest. “metkayina? what was she doing?”

neteyam nodded then gestured for her to lean closer again. he whispered, “she was bathing, i think.”

“bathing? that is strange.” she tilted her head in confusion. “did you approach her?”

neteyam shook his head. “no. i could not bring myself to interrupt her. she was undressed after all. how would she react if a man came to her while in such a state?”

tsireya nodded in thought, agreeing to what he said. “you are right. did you see what she looked like?”

neteyam sighed. “no, but i listened to her sing.” he spoke. “she has one of the most beautiful voices i have ever heard. her tone almost made me fall asleep from how relaxed i was, you see. and her skin,” he sighed once again, “tsireya, i had only caught a glimpse of it because i had to turn away. but i could not forget how divine she looked around the glow of the bioluminescence surrounding her.”

tsireya couldn’t hide the smirk that was growing from her lips as she listened to him talk. when she didn’t respond, neteyam turned away in embarrassment when he realized what he was saying. tsireya covered her lips and giggled. “so, you have developed a crush on this woman you saw last night. is that it, neteyam?”

“be quiet, tsireya! the others might hear you.” he scouted the surroundings and saw that everyone else was still busy with their training. “but… i don’t know for sure. i told you because i don’t know what she looks like, and i am hoping that you might know who she is.”

tsireya shook her head. “i am sorry, neteyam. i do not know who you are talking about.”

a slight frown becomes visible on his face. neteyam’s shoulders dropped in defeat. “oh. that’s okay.”

“but hey, do not worry.” she placed a hand on his arm as a gesture to comfort him. “i will help you look for her. there is not anyone in this village i am not familiar with. perhaps with more details, we can figure out who she is.”

neteyam gives her a small smile. “thank you, tsireya.”

she smiles back. 

loud laughter from everyone else in the group interrupted their conversation - lo’ak had fallen off his ilu once again because ao’nung had taunted him. tsireya and neteyam exchanged looks before heading to the commotion.

-

tsireya enjoyed spending time with the sullys. she thought they were a very fun bunch. when they arrived, her days became something she started to look more forward to.

because she believed this arrangement would be permanent from now on, she thought it would be important for an acquaintance of hers to be introduced to the sullys as well. it would happen eventually anyway since they would become fellow clan members soon. 

also, tsireya believed this acquaintance of hers would be a great addition to the sullys’ circle, especially from all the trouble her brother and his friends were bringing them. tsireya was sure that a kind and open-minded na’vi would make her new friends feel more welcome. that, and she needed another capable hand to help teach the sullys better.

“sister, are you here?” tsireya peeked inside the marui of her friend.

you turned your head to her direction, away from the new top you were working on. a smile appears on your face when you see your friend. “tsireya, it is nice to see you.”

©️ okaylorrainee 2023. please do not re-upload, translate my content anywhere without permission.

ch 01 [ masterlist . next ]

[supersoakerfullofblood]

Beta Reading, Workshopping, and Peer Editing for Indie Writers: a Guide

Beta reading is a term you might hear tossed out as a vague buzzword, kind of like how people talk about "character development" and "worldbuilding"; I've made a bunch of posts to demystify words in that latter category, but beta reading is a different type of term. Where those latter words and their ilk are terms of craft, things we can discuss in theory ("this is how I think characters are developed best"), beta reading is about a novel after its first draft and first wave-ish of edits. Pretty much everything before and after the production of a novel or story is purely up to what works best for the writer, so this post will introduce beta reading if it's new to you, and I'll give you my process if you want to tinker with it!

Beta reading is when interested readers work through your polished manuscript and make workshop comments so you can make an extra wave of edits. Publishing houses usually have two waves of this type of reading--alpha reading (AR) and beta reading (BR). If you can find enough people to alpha read for you (and you want alpha readers), go for it! But if you're confident in your grammar, your ability to craft a scene and characters, and the other formalities of creative writing, alpha reading isn't a requirement (as an indie. If you ever query your work to a house, it'll probably go through alpha reading).

Alpha reading is to catch grammar and syntax slips, mischaracterizations, character development that doesn't add up, excesses of adverbs and adjectives, and other craft faux-pas that the average reader wouldn't catch. Your alpha readers should pretty exclusively be other writers.

Beta reading is to gauge what your audience is thinking or feeling while they read your work. If your beta readers want to make alpha reading comments ("I don't feel like [character] would do that here"), that's A-okay, especially if you didn't have alpha readers, but that shouldn't be your chief concern with your betas. These are your audience surrogates! The job of beta readers is to tell you what they think or feel: "I like this," "I don't like this"; "This paragraph hit me hard"; "This word is confusing"; etc. If they add more words to their comments, that's A-okay ("I like this because these words go well together" or "This word is confusing--does it mean X or Y?") but not necessary! If your beta readers are your audience and not people who really get how writing works, then you should be taking any reasonings in their comments as loose, loose suggestions. Maybe those words that go well together to one reader feel, as you look at them a second time, cliche. Or perhaps the confusing nature of a word or phrase was by design. In any case, try to see your beta readers as a "live audience reaction" and not a "live reactionary critique."

One aside about alpha/beta reading: "this is bad" and "this is good" comments are toxic and should be avoided at all costs. Tell your readers to avoid these before they start writing. No good can come from these. Even "I don't like this" and "I like this" are worlds better, though still not great. But absolutely warn your readers against using objective blanket statements like "good/bad" as they read.

Now that we've laid the foundations, I'll go into my own process so hopefully everything above makes more sense.

Before I give my manuscript to beta readers, I go through 2-3 waves of revision on my own. After I finish my first draft, I wait about a month to let the dust settle, to gain at least a little emotional distance from the project so I can look at it a little more objectively. Then, I read it through, revising for content: cut this scene, add a scene here, chop paragraphs and sentences, add paragraphs and sentences, move this chapter here, make sure this character actually functions as he should in the narrative, etc. These are my macro edits.

Then I let it sit a week or two and go into line editing: punctuation and syntax, word choice, tweaking figurative language, etc. Close pruning of your work. Filing your nails after you've clipped them.

The third read-through is at a normal reading pace, as if you were a reader, to catch anything that may have slipped past during your close edits and revisions. This third read-through is likely the first time you've read your manuscript as it should be read--a book! This step, then, is a victory lap, but it's also one last troubleshoot. You might not find the errors in a computer program until you run the program. So too it is with writing.

This is a lot of work! You might want to relegate these tasks to your readers, but DO NOT!!! If you're still heavily revising and editing your work, don't let your readers to the table. This is your work and your story, and outside influence will stray it from what you want. Own this. Buckle down. Read.

Once you've got your polished draft, it's time to contact your readers! I would recommend 4-6 readers total unless you think you can handle more cooks in your kitchen at a time (I cannot). I typically just ask some of my friends to beta for me. Here's an example text:

"Hey all! I finished that book about church camp a while ago and was wondering if you'd beta read for me! Basically, I'd just need you to read through the book and make comments in the sidebar whenever you like something, don't understand something, are excited or intrigued by something, or other general impressions. You can comment however often or little you feel comfortable with--some people make one comment a chapter, others make multiple comments a page--anything works great. Really all you shouldn't comment are blanket statements of "this is bad" or "this is good," but feel free even to say stuff like "I like this" or "I don't like this." Just avoid objective language when possible.

I don't have any money for this, so sorry in advance, and if possible, I'd love for all of my beta reading to be done by the end of summer.

Let me know if you're down or not! :)"

I really have had readers comment that much and that little on my manuscripts. This is normal. If your readers are supposed to comment whenever something in their attention triggers, different readers' attentions will trigger differently.

It's also a wise idea to form your beta reading group (again, especially if you aren't doing a wave of alpha reading) as a mix of people from different backgrounds and writing experience. My church camp novel group is below:

Person A who went to church camp with me, is into poetry

Person B is into fanfiction, little church experience, mindful of social issues

Person C has little church or writing experience, mindful of social issues

Person D is very into writing, pretty into church

Person E is very into social issues and church, not a writer

I would advise to find a similar balance of people who are into your subject matter and those who aren't.

It's also helpful to give them a timeframe to read by, and make this longer than they need. I gave people ~two months for my ~60k-word novel.

Also, as a little incentive for your readers, plan something for when everyone's done! A post-beta party! Something like this will also encourage you through the process :)

Once you have your betas' comments, it's time for one last wave of revisions. Compile these comments however you like, and start tweaking. I like to have each beta's document open so I can cross-reference while I work through my own doc. And remember: these are audience comments, not writer comments (unless you explicitly brought writers on). If someone says something confuses them, that might just be their cross to bear. If none of your other betas were confused by it, or if one of your betas compliments the same section, it may be worth ignoring that first comment. Try to rule with the majority when you can, and take everything with a grain of salt. "I don't like this" doesn't mean it needs to be changed. It means you should figure out why that reader doesn't like it.

If you have any questions, my asks are open! Again, this is a pretty open concept where anything works as long as it works for you, so don't feel pressured to "get it right." But if you have any questions or suggestions, I'm all ears :)

Hope this helps!

[fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes]

Part 4 of Gotham Characters React to You Getting Easily Scared by a Movie 👻☠😈😨🎃:

Oswald Cobblepot, Renee Montoya & Carmine Falcone <-last part (part 3) Part 1

Oswald Cobblepot is the only one who gets angry — but only because he cares about you. Your reaction has him insulting the people who didn't put enough warnings on the movie, in true Gertrud Kapelput style! 😌😠 He also questions whether he does you good...

You're glad that you have someone to cling to as the movie gets scarier. No doubt Oswald would frighten the villains. Ah! Why does this movie have to be that scary? Oswald notices right away that you aren't fully enjoying yourself. He knows how strongly you usually hug him and this is harder than usual. You too realize that you're almost sinking your nails into him, and try to relax.

He pauses the movie and diverts his attention to you. "Are okay, dear?" Oswald looks you over, his sea-green eyes mirroring a fracture of the TV's light. You try to smile. "I'm just more easily frightened than you are." "Do you want to stop watching?" "Yes, if it's alright for you—" "We'll stop right away."

He presses few buttons until the TV is off and then tosses the remote control to the other side of the sofa.."Why wouldn't they put warnings before this?! Now you had to suffer! Not to mention: no doubt lots of children will be watching this too, allowed or not. Whoever's responsible should be fired, incompetent fools!" He makes a wild gesture, furious in an endearing way, and catches your look. "What?" "You can be so cute when you're protective, even if you're angry." "I—" he feels warmth spread in his chest, "I'm glad you feel safe with me."

Perhaps you shouldn't: what scared you on screen is often his reality. If this was already hard to watch for you, then— You give him a kiss. "Now I know who I can turn to to fight off movie inspectors." He chuckles. "That you do, my dear."

Renee Montoya has seen her fair share of horrible things but watching something spooky around Halloween or autumn is such a classic date idea that she really wanted to try it. Having her arms around you, bringing you a mug full of tea or hot chocolate or another beverage of your choice, and leaning back to for once get frightened by something fictional seems like a perfect pastime...Until she finds out how you feel about it.

The evening starts getting uncomfortable for you when the story picks up its pace, the vibe becoming creepier and creepier. At first it's bearable, Renee leaning towards you and giving you some warmth, but then she gets up to bring you something to drink, insisting that you can continue watching, and now you're shivering in front of the television.

"There you go," she announces, and hands you a warm cup, which you take with quivering hands. "What's wrong?" "I'm scared." "Of the movie?" "Mhm." "We can stop watching. You don't have to do this to yourself." You sigh. "Thanks, that's best decision, I think." She strokes your back and kisses you. "It is."

Carmine Falcone doesn't want you to feel as if you were the odd one for being scared. He knows how resistant he's become to horrific occurrences because of his position, and wants to preserve your justified reactions to these things where he can.

You're trying to be patient, wait a little. Maybe the movie turns out to be less scary than you think. But right now it is definitely scary. Suddenly the film pauses and you feel his hand on your shoulder. "Let's stop here. There are classier movies, my dear." You're sure he means less frightening, but nod regardless, glad that he took the initiative.

______________ Author's note: Everything after the beginning of Carmine's part was written after Halloween, so that's the upside to me not publishing these headcanons/one-shots then 🤗 ->part 5

[loreleismusings99]

Two Body Problem

Ch 5

[Masterlist]

In which your students know more about how the two of you feel than you do, and Hana and Colin form a plan.

This has been in the works since December of last year, but this semester's been a doozy and a half and I didn't have a whole lot of time to work on it. So, before getting into the description and the fic itself, I would like to apologize for how long it took to get this done and also for it not being as long as other chapters--this might be the shortest chapter? I'm not 100% sure. I'm working on chapter 6, slowly but surely. I should have that done at least a bit more quickly and will hopefully have that published by the end of the month.

As always, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this! if there's anything you're curious about or would like me to address or fix, or if your have any comments at all, please let me know. Your feedback means the world to me and keeps me motivated to keep writing this <3

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

The steel lab bench stool was cold and harsh, causing Marta to squirm in her seat to find a more comfortable position. She adjusts her stationery and lab notebook carefully before looking up and to her right to start taking notes on the current demo the TAs are setting up at the front of the lab. You’re standing behind the desk, looking down past the fireproof tabletop at what must be the source of the clamoring and clanking sounds emanating from the front of the room. Mark pokes his head up from under the desk and carelessly tosses a bottle of what looks like isopropyl alcohol that you frantically catch before it rolls off the table and onto the brutalist concrete floor.

“Mark, be careful!” you whisper-shouted at what is presumably the other TA crouching at your feet to retrieve reagents stored in the cabinetry behind the desk’s front facade. “Do you need help down there?”

“Nope! I’m fine, totally fine.”

“We were supposed to start 3 minutes ago.” You crossed your arms, still talking to the floor.

“That means I have two more minutes before this starts getting weird--”

“It’s already weird.” You whisper matter-of-factly before crouching down to join him on the floor. The other pre-meds sitting at Marta’s table let out an audible sigh in exasperation, the freshman in question choosing to channel her annoyance into a more silent and harder-to-notice eye roll. The two lab instructors obviously have had a thing for each other since the beginning of the quarter; Marta’s had to sit through nearly two and a half months of the two of you getting under each others’ skin in what had to be the most flirtatious way possible within a professional setting. At first, she thought you two were already together--given the rather marital nature of your arguments during office hours--but after the last few weeks, Marta became certain neither were you two together nor close to admitting there’s something other than loathing brewing between the two of you.

At least, not yet; bets have been floating around the class on how long it would take either you or Mark to notice the obvious crush the two of you have on each other and how long it would take for one of you to do something about it. So far the leading guess was around 3 more weeks of pining before something gave. Which, at this point, was far outside the time left before the quarter ended--meaning Marta had to likely continue to sit through admittedly cute but still infuriating mishaps like the one unfolding before her now. She watches on as Mark sets up reagents with you organizing them in his wake and telling the class what each one was.

Mark finally reemerges from below the desk and hastily writes the name of the lab the class is working on on the board behind you while you explain the lab, lifting his palm off the board to avoid erasing what he's already written. “I strongly suggest that you finish making your agar gels by the end of lab today to give yourselves enough time to complete the rest of the packet next week. As always, please make sure you address every question in each problem statement.” You say, finally drawing Marta's attention away from Mark's entirely capitalized handwriting and back to the demo the two of you had started.

  The rest of the students are halfway through the first part of their lab while Marta completes the rest of the written portion of the lab, having finished the necessary prep before the rest of her table. She lets her focus wander for a second, trying to think of the best way to describe the process of microwaving water and what was essentially inedible jello mix, when her gaze falls upon you helping one of her classmates with their gel preparation. Mark, evidently not having any other students to help, follows you around a shadow. After resolving an issue the student was having with the magnetic stirrer hot plate, you stand from your position leaning over the desk and accidentally bump another student’s flask with your arm, sending it into a precessing spin before Mark catches it, uttering a “Woah!” that catches your attention.

You pivot slightly to see if any damage was done before apologizing to the student And turning to Mark. “Thanks, good catch,” you say through a relieved sigh and a chuckle, patting Mark gently on the back of his arm. The man in question smiles and nods with a hum, seemingly lifting his hand to pat you on the back in return before becoming visibly flustered and stuffing his hand into the back pocket of his chinos, a vibrant flush dawning his barely freckled cheeks. Marta rolls her eyes while you fail to notice this, just like you have since the start of the semester--oblivious to his obvious affection for you.

☆☆☆

Exhaustion tugs heavily at Mindy’s eyes, the calm quiet the grad office had settled into not helping while Mark looks over her completed homework assignment that's due in about two days. ‘Take o-chem,’ they said, ‘it'll be fun!’ they said. This is the worst; I'm a Mech E, I shouldn’t have to subject myself to this… she thinks, trying not to lament that she can't yet legally drown her scholastic sorrows in White Claw. You're sat next to him, working on what looks like grading from last week's homework assignment, somehow having most of the sizable pile done in what felt like maybe 4 days.

“This looks good so far, Mindy. Though, you want to be careful with this question here,” Mark turns the paper around to show her the problem in question; one on the indomitable Krebs Cycle. As he is explaining where she went wrong in this particular exercise, a stray few locks of hair fall into Mark's face, partially obscuring his eyes from view.

Mark tries and fails to toss his hair out of the way of his line of sight, but succeeds in catching your attention. There was a rumor floating around the class that the two of you were an item, but given how much the two of you argue, Mindy found that hard to believe. Well, she used to at least. The last couple of weeks, the way you've been looking at Mark suggested the two of you somehow achieved a level of familiarity that Mindy didn't think you two were capable of. Looking up, you tsk softly before reaching over and tucking the rogue hair behind his ear. “You need a haircut,” you say plainly before returning to grading. You rest your chin on the hand you used to brush back Mark's hair and regard the paper in front of you with a soft pout, resuming the grading that you’re in the middle of.

Mindy looks back at Mark only to see him sort of just… frozen in place, looking off into the distance through the table with a dumbfounded twist to his otherwise blank features. “...You okay?” Mindy asks carefully, not sure what to do with the sudden stillness.

Mark looks up at Mindy before smiling and saying, “peachy--” and continuing to walk her through the rest of the problem, with Mindy gawking incredulously at Mark, her face twisted into a slight sneer.

  “Thanks, I think that's it for now. Can I email a scan of this to you by tomorrow morning for you to look over before I turn it in?” Mindy asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder and adjusting her backpack on her other shoulder. She was thankful to be done, her stomach rumbling along with her intense craving for the leftover bibimbap she packed from her last visit to her mom's the weekend prior.

“For sure,” Mark responds with a smile. “Good luck; I know it's hard stuff, but you're doing great, don't get discouraged.” Mindy laughs out an ‘I'll try’ before walking out of the combined cubicle space you and Mark have taken up. A soft scoff causes Mindy to turn around and look back at the two of you. Mark is halfway sitting on the table you're sitting at, now looking up and away from your pile of grading at the man in front of you. Mindy can almost physically see the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at Mark, visibly trying to stifle your laughter at whatever Mark is saying. Mindy rolls her eyes before she turns back around, shaking her head at how cute the two of you are likely unknowingly being.

☆☆☆

Despite the faint squeaking of the dry-erase marker against the whiteboard, Sid’s eyes continue to droop, threatening to whisk them away into a deeper slumber than they should be in considering they’re in the middle of an organic chemistry lab. I really need to stop pulling all-nighters… they think, succumbing to a small hypnagogic jerk and almost falling off their stool. The jolt gives them a new wave of lucidity that allows them to focus their eyes on you reading what must be class notes, arm frozen in mid-stroke as you read the packet you’re clutching in your left hand.

“That’s too many s’s,” Mark says, interrupting your train of thought. He’s leaning nonchalantly against the fireproof tabletop of the desk the two of you are behind looking directly at the ‘asssignments’ underlined above the checklist you’re writing on the board. You let out a huff and rewrite the word before continuing to write out the due date for the last lab.

The dirty-blonde man stands up from his previous position halfway sitting on the fireproof table top of the desk at the front of the lab room and leans across the exceedingly short distance between the two of you, presumably to read over your shoulder. “You okay? You're more quiet than usual,” he whispers under his breath, trying and failing to conceal his concern for you.

“I'm peachy…” you pause and look to the side at Mark before inhaling surprisingly deeply and turning back to the board. “Just tired.”

Mark ‘tsk’s before turning His attention back to the whiteboard. “You've gotta get a better sleep schedule, you look like death.”

This causes you to pause your writing and turn your torso around so you're facing Mark fully. “You and I both know you have no right lecturing me on my sleep patterns,” Mark opens his mouth to retort and is stopped by you raising a hand between the two of you, your index finger forcing his mouth shut, “especially not after last night.”

This causes everyone in the class to perk up; Sid tries their best not to participate in the bet on your and Mark's relationship status, but the intrigue is too much for them to ignore, and the distraction was a welcome one given the stress that comes with ending a quarter. Naturally, they had their money on the two of you cracking before the end of the month, and they were starting to get desperate with finals week merely a couple of weeks away. Common you morons, I could really use the extra money…

Mark frowns and talks in a muffled slur through the pin your finger has his lips in. “You don't know my sleep schedule; for all you know I could be the healthiest sleeper on the planet--”

“So the person who called me last night asking for help on the Carnot engine homework due tomorrow was actually just some rando who looks and sounds exactly like you?” You interrupt, retracting your hand to rest it on your hip and sending the classroom into a poorly concealed fit of giggles.

The two of you snap your heads towards the audible glee and suddenly become aware of the class seated in front of you. You cover your mouth trying to suppress giggles of your own when Mark utters a pained, “Come on guys, don't laugh at that, it's not funny--”

“It kind of is” Sid pipes up from their spot in the back of the room.

“It totally is not, please don't encourage them,” Mark says, forcing his response through the beginnings of a laughing fit of his own.

“Alright, alright--” you interject, waving your hands in surrender, “let's get started, folks.”

☆☆☆

Hana lets out what has to be the biggest yawn she’s ever had and tries to rub the sleep from her eyes. The episode they’ve just completed winds to a close as Colin reaches over and lazily turns off the television and slumps back into the cushions of Vanessa’s Lazyboy she thrifted what feels like forever ago. I need to call her soon, she was supposed to be back by now… Hana thinks solemnly before looking over her shoulder at you and Mark fast asleep on the futon next to her spot on a beanbag between the two pieces of furniture.

“God, they’re hopeless…” Colin whispers in exasperation as Hana takes in the sickeningly adorable display before her. You and Mark are practically wrapped around each other; you’ve leaned back and the curve of the futon’s armrest is canting your head and face into Mark’s hair as he uses your torso as a pillow, his arms wrapped around your middle. “What’s worse is that they’ll probably wake up like that and act like that never even happened. Either that or they’ll isolate themselves from each other. Whatever serves their denial more.” Colin laments.

“My money’s on them isolating themselves,” Hana points at the two of you with her thumb before continuing, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did you know their students have a running bet on how long it’ll take for either one of them to make a move? I ran into one of them in the quad and they asked me if I knew them and if they were together yet; they looked genuinely disappointed when I said they weren’t!”

“If only we could lock them in here, then they’d have no choice but to work it out,” Colin chortled silently.

“... Actually, that’s not that bad of an idea--”

“Locking them in here? Hana, that’s a terrible idea, there’s an equally as high probability that they’d rip each others’ heads off--”

“No, we can’t lock them in here, but we can leave them alone to work this out for themselves.” Colin frowns at Hana, tacitly asking her to explain herself before Hana continues. “I have work tomorrow, I can take you back home on my way over, but what if we just leave them both here in the morning?”

“Hana, that makes no sense, they’ll see through this instantly. And what if they still do nothing and remain comfortably in the emotionally constipated status quo they’ve cultivated?”

“The ball would be in their court at that point, so what happens happens. If it doesn’t work then we can try something else…”

“... Are you suggesting what I think you are?” Colin asks incredulously, voice still low so as not to wake the sleeping lovebirds.

“If you think I’m suggesting a full, multi-step intervention to get the two of them together, then yes absolutely,” Hana exclaims in hushed excitement. “This has been going on for too long, I think my brain will actually melt if I have to listen to either one of them deny their feelings any longer,” Hana grumbles to Colin who has to stifle a laugh before he nods.

“Alright, I’m in, but I still think leaving them alone here together isn’t gonna do anything.” Colin crosses his arms before kicking his feet up onto the coffee table in front of him.

“You never know,” Hana retorts almost silently, “maybe this is what they need to finally get the gears turning in their heads and stop lying to themselves about how they feel.”

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Taglist:

@oliviabelova , @anna-withnn , @chelseyyouraverageluigi , @celesoba

DM me to be added to the tag list!

[heroescore]

Heroes

Chapter 3 - Heck of a Ride

<prev | masterlist | next>

Phil couldn’t get a hold of Aiden after work. It was getting pretty late after all, so he was probably busy working and had put his phone on silent. Too excited to be hungry, Phil took a taxi to The Joint, bursting in while Aiden was eating a muffin while waiting for the next customer to come in.

“Fuck— Welcome to— Oh, it’s just you,” he said, wiping the crumbs off his cheek with his sleeve.

“Hey, just you is a paying customer,” Phil said, pulling his wallet out and slapping a couple bills on the counter.

“Fuck off, Phil,” Aiden said, rolling his eyes, “what you want?”

“Decaf,” Phil said, “as you can see, I’m already hyped enough and I can’t afford a heart attack right now.”

“I’m not supposed to judge customers, but why in the name of everything that’s sacred would you force me to make decaf?” Aiden said.

“Because I just basically got a huge promotion and I think my heart already exploded a little, let’s not make it worse,” Phil said.

“Duuude, why didn’t you open with that?” Aiden asked, tossing a dish rag at him.

Phil caught it and put it on the counter as he sat on one of the counter seats.

“Because I kinda need a bit of a favour,” Phil said.

“For the last time, I’m not creating fake accounts to upvote your stuff, that’s cheating,” Aiden said.

“No, no, listen,” Phil said, “with the interview with Mirage that’s being published tomorrow, they also wanna advertise towards supers to approach us for interviews where their privacy will be top priority. I might have to meet in sketchy alleys and such, but it gets me my own office and a new computer.”

“I’m not playing bodyguard in sketchy alleys,” Aiden said, serving him his decaf coffee and returning to his muffin.

“No worry, because to get that far, I really, really, really need a good first response to that first ad,” Phil said, “so I was wondering maybe, um...your friend could help me out with that?”

“First off, that would only guarantee one response, and secondly, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to jump onto something like that this early in his career. You should find someone more popular.”

“Dude, you— Your friend is literally my only lifeline into that world,”  Phil said.

“And my friend barely has any connections too,” Aiden reminded him, “I’m sorry Phil. but this endeavour will have to rely on your own luck and skill.”

“I hate it when you get all wise with me,” Phil said, rolling his eyes, but he knew his friend was right.

But then he remembered something his friend tended to tease him with.

“So...when does Mirage usually come in for her coffee?” he asked.

“Random,” Aiden said, “if you wanna wait for her, go sit in a booth, I don’t want her to know you know me.”

“Fine, but I’ll want one of them muffins, because I haven’t eaten yet,” Phil said, taking his coffee and finding a booth.

Aiden rolled his eyes and prepared a small plate, dropped a muffin on it and brought it over.

Phil waited quite some time, burning through three muffins, many cups of decaf, and two phone calls about the arrangements for his promotion. Then finally, after he was about to give up and try and get some food before he would starve, a familiar superwoman stepped into the cafe.

“Good evening~!” she chirruped.

“Ah, welcome, Mirage. The usual?” Aiden asked.

“Yes, but first. I want to show you a modification to my suit~” Mirage said, turning a bit and showing a small, almost invisible zipper near her hip. “Ta-dah~!”

“...a zipper?” Aiden slowly asked.

“A pocket!!” Mirage said, zipping it open and pulling out a surprisingly large wad of bills, “or integrated wallet if you want it to sound cool and technical.”

“What a great idea,” Aiden said, “so now you can pay the three-fifty for your usual order~?”

“Yes! And I’m not sure how much I owe you, so just consider this a tip,” Mirage said, placing the whole wad of cash on the counter.

Aiden blinked for a moment.

“Ah, th-that’s very kind, but I’m not sure I can accept—”

“I insist!” Mirage said.

“If you don’t take it I might,” Mr Ecker said as he happened to step out of his office at that exact moment, carrying a box with fresh beans and storing it beneath the counter.

“Hgnn...I-I don’t know what to say, Mirage. Thank you,” Aiden said, somewhat shakily taking the money and tucking it away in his tips pocket.

While he went to prepare her coffee, Phil approached Mirage.

“Fancy meeting you here~” he said, trying to slip in smoothly, but almost tripping over one of the chairs.

“Oh! Hey Phil, what a coincidence!” Mirage said, “or wait. Who told you I’d be here?”

“Well, social media is a bitch,” Phil lied, “anyway, I wanted to share some amazing news with you if you have a moment?”

“Sure! Nothing in our area is on fire yet, so…”

“Great! Have a seat!” Phil said, pulling her to his booth, “ah, sir, could you bring her coffee there? Thanks!”

Aiden discreetly rolled his eyes and quietly brought over her coffee while Phil told Mirage about the impact of her interview, and that while it hadn’t even been published yet!

“Oh that’s wonderful news!” Mirage said, “and they’re going to place an ad for more interviews?”

“Yup,” Phil said, “I’m getting new stuff, my own office...they’re putting my face on the cover. And it’s all thanks to you!”

“Oh my!” Mirage said, “when I became a hero I imagined helping people as in pulling them from burning buildings, not...getting promotions.” she giggled a bit, “Although one shouldn’t just go into a burning building, it’s far too risky when you don’t have protective gear or powers, although there was that one time the fire department couldn’t reach someone and there was only smoke in the room so far so… what were we talking about?”

“Nothing, really. Talk away,” Phil said. Mirage raised a brow, then laughed a bit.

“You’re very cute, Phil. But I better get going~” She grabbed her coffee, winked at him, and disappeared.

“Cat!”

Black Cat rolled her eyes a bit, not even startled as Mirage suddenly appeared behind her and shouted her nickname. She came up next to her, sitting down on the ledge of the roof they were on, and bounced in her seat a bit.

“You’ll never believe what just happened!”

“I dunno, Mirage, after those murder chickens I might just believe anything,” Cat said with a shrug, “what happened?”

“Fair point,” Mirage said, before shaking her head and pulling a hand through her hair, “I called a boy cute.”

“...I assume you mean a guy your age? We’re not in high school, be specific,” Cat said.

“Sorry, yeah, a guy,” Mirage said, “he’s a columnist, I met him when taking Cross home the other day, and he asked if we could do an interview, and I thought heck why not? And he was so respectful with his questions, like he didn’t ask me about my job or daily life, really just things about my life as a hero instead, like Mirage is a separate person.”

“And you called him cute for that?” Cat asked, struggling to follow her line of storytelling.

“No, I did that earlier when I happened to run into him at The Joint, and he told me my interview got him a promotion, and I started rambling and I don’t even remember about what, so I was like ‘what were we talking about?’ and he goes ‘Nothing~ Talk away~’ looking all mesmerised. I think he has a thing for me.”

“And then you called him cute?” Cat asked.

“And went straight here to tell you about it,” Mirage said, nodding.

“Aight,” Cat said, grinning a bit, “when’s the first date?”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, I— Mirage can’t date, that’d be...so complicated.”

“Why, are you already in a committed relationship in your daily life?” Cat asked.

“God I wish,” Mirage said, “nah, I’m a single pringle in both lives, but like...what if things go bad and he outs me?”

“Then you don’t date him,” Cat said with a shrug.

“You make it sound so easy, girl…”

“Yeah, well, we both know it’s never easy,” Cat said as she got up, stretching a bit, “let’s go. I have a feeling something’s about to go down.”

The next morning, Phil woke up in the best mood. His face was on the magazine’s cover that was being printed today, and a preview of the interview and the ad Mr Leblanc suggested were already available online. #MirageInterview was trending on several socials by the time he left the apartment to go to work and size up his new office and equipment.

He had even been allowed to keep his old work laptop and use it privately, so he was planning to wipe it clean at the end of the day and give it to Aiden so he wouldn’t have to worry about his class notes.

Speaking of, when he went to wake his friend for class, he only found a note on his pillow with the words: “early shift before class.”

“An early shift after a closing shift?” Phil asked no one in particular, “that old man’s gonna work you to death if you’re not careful…”

Still, he didn’t let it ruin his mood as he locked the apartment door and headed out. He put in a pair of earbuds to listen to his favourite tunes as he headed towards the nearest subway station.

It was quite busy as was normal at this rush hour, but having to squeeze yourself between two sweaty businessmen to give up a seat for an old lady for about twenty minutes until his stop beat having to stand still in traffic for possibly longer...right? Not to mention the cost of getting a driver’s licence and owning a car.

No. Subway was definitely better, Phil told himself as he resisted the urge of suggesting deodorant to the businessmen. Fortunately they got off before him, and he got some breathing room to start moving towards the door, since he had a two-minute window to get off the train and squeeze himself into the next.

However, as he braced himself for the train to slow down...it didn’t. And when they reached the station, the train simply sped through. Phil frowned, stopping his music and taking his earbuds out, turning to the young woman next to him, who seemed equally confused.

“Did I miss an announcement?” Phil asked.

“No, there hasn’t been any announcement besides the stations,” the woman replied.

Phil cursed and looked around, for an emergency break of some kind. Two young men were already yanking on one, but it didn’t seem to be working. Phil made his way over to them.

“Hey, check the breaks in the other carts, I’ll go to the front and see what’s up,” he said.

They agreed right away and they parted ways again. Phil made his way to the front cart, nearly falling over as the train was clearly going too fast for the track. There were no drivers in the trains, as they were all controlled remotely, but there were supposed to be plenty of fail-safes in case said control was lost. But it appeared none of them were working.

When Phil finally made it to the front, where the main control panel was installed, he found a rather famous super pacing before it; Black Cat. It appeared she had already broken open the door and tried to override the controls, but nothing was working; emergency breaks, alert buttons, or even the intercom system to ask people to stay calm. Cat seemed to be on the phone, looking rather annoyed as she tried to get through.

“Miss?” Phil said.

“Stay in your seat,” she replied dismissively, trying to dial again.

“You’ll only have a signal near or on platforms,” Phil informed her, “you’re better off sending a text and retrying until it goes through.”

“I fucking hate providers,” Cat grumbled, but she followed his advice and sent a text instead.

And sure enough, when they sped past the next station, she managed to get it sent.

“Great, thanks,” she said, “now even though the emergency precautions seem to be broken, I’m sure they know they have a runaway train and cleared the tracks for us. So we shouldn’t have to worry about collisions. However, at this speed…”

“Keep it down, people will freak out,” Phil said.

“But they should be allowed to come to terms with the worst possible outcome,” Cat said.

“I’m sure some already are,” Phil said, “who did you text?”

“My partner. She can teleport people to safety,” Cat said.

“Are you sure that’s the best course of action?” Phil questioned, “there’s dozens of people on this train, she could exhaust herself before saving everyone.”

“....you’re the guy that did that interview,” Cat concluded.

“Yes, Phil Winter, huge fan, but for real, is there nothing else we can do?” Phil said, shaking her hand briefly.

“Sometimes hard choices need to be made,” Cat said, “even with our advantages we can’t save everyone. When Mirage gets here...we’ll do it Titanic-style. Women and children first, young before old. We should prepare the crowd.”

“...you’re right,” Phil said, “though I don’t like it one bit...we should warn them for the side-effects too.”

“Yes. Almost forgot. Everyone listen up!”

She explained the plan, asking people to pass it to the other carts. Some didn’t seem too happy with it, but most were just praying that there would be enough time to get everyone off. Some younger people offered to let an elderly citizen take their place, and before they knew it everyone was shouting at Cat.

Phil had seen it coming, considering she could be rather blunt while these people were scared and vulnerable. However, she couldn’t help them when they all yelled at her, so he got up on a seat and tried to shout over everyone.

“Everyone! Guys! Calm the fuck down!” he yelled, waiting for people to quiet a little before continuing, “they probably know they have a runaway train and the tracks should be cleared for us. We’re not going to crash into anything, so we got plenty of time to get everyone off safely, understood?”

People settled down a little at that, and Cat gave Phil a little nod. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he decided to take it as gratitude. At that moment, Mirage finally popped up beside them.

“Oh! I made it!” she said, “sorry for the wait Cat. After getting your text I had to find out which train you were on and where it’s headed so I went to headquarters and— Oh hi Phil!”

“Focus!” Cat snapped, forcing her friend to look back at her, away from Phil, who waved a bit awkwardly.

“What’d they say?”

Mirage answered in a hushed tone, not wanting people to panic.

“It’s bad.” she said, “They managed to clear the tracks as much as possible, but it seems they’re dealing with some kind of virus and they’re able to do less and less. They could eventually reroute this train back onto the track with another.”

“Better get to work then,” Cat said.

Mirage nodded in agreement.

“I’m taking you to the 124th so you can coordinate where to pick people up. They’ll need help after the jump.”

“Got it. What channel you on?” Cat asked.

“Six,” Mirage said, tapping her own ear piece, “I’ll only have clear reception above ground so, communication will be short.”

“And chaotic, I’m used to that,” Cat said, “you coming Winter?”

“M-me?” Phil asked, “no...stick to the plan. Titanic-style. Women and children first. I’ll stay here to keep people calm.”

The two masked women nodded, before disappearing. Barely two seconds later Mirage was already back to pick up a young mother with her newborn, followed by a young family with three young kids.

While she kept popping in and out, Cat had met up with Captain Carnahan of the 124th and coordinated with her to pick up the victims. Whenever Mirage dropped someone off, she yelled a landmark, so they would know where to send a unit.

Back in the train, Phil tried his best to help people stay calm, and warning them for the side effects of Mirage’s teleporting.

“It won’t hurt, really. You’ll feel nauseous and dizzy for a bit, but only for a minute or so.”

As the automatic announcements called another station coming up, Phil got his phone out and sent an SOS text to Aiden. He didn’t give any other info. But that wasn’t necessary. When they both finally got their hands on a decently working smartphone, they installed an app with which they could track each other. In case something happened to one of them; a sudden disappearance, mugging or an emergency text.

Phil wasn’t quite sure how well it would work while he was in the subway, but at least his friend would know something was up. Just after watching his text get through, he was suddenly thrown off his feet as the train switched tracks. And barely a moment later, Mirage appeared behind Phil, catching her breath a bit as she was already at her limit.

“HQ called…” she panted, “Switched tracks...other train ahead…”

“Oh shit,” Phil said, “how many people did you get off?”

“Less than half,” Mirage answered, shaking her head, “I-I don’t think I can do this…”

“Okay, okay, take a deep breath,” Phil said, “what about a caffeine booster?”

“They only make me stronger, not faster,” Mirage said. Phil nodded, thinking for a moment.

“How much stronger?”

“Uh...I dunno I never really tested?” Mirage said.

“Strong enough to move the whole train and everyone in it in one jump?”

“...not with precision, but maybe?”

“Let me think...we just passed Hunter College,” Phil slowly said,

“Central Park is just a block over, if they can clear an area for you, I’d say just plant us there. It’ll be a soft landing, if everyone braces themselves, worst case someone gets a concussion or a broken arm, so maybe some place near a hospital?”

“Mount Sinai hospital is right across the East Meadow,” Mirage said, “I sunbathe there on days off— I’ll tell them to clear the place, you tell people to brace themselves!”

She disappeared again, and Phil sent someone to spread the word in the other carts. Loose items were tucked under seats and tied in place with belts, coats, vests and shirts. Some old lady threw her groceries out the window, saying she would rather buy new ones than to be taken off the census by her melons and a pack of butter.

Meanwhile Mirage popped back up above ground and called Cat.

“Hey, tell them to clear the East Meadow asap, I’m taking the whole train there.”

“Jesus girl, how much time they got?” Cat asked, having put her on speaker, so the officers listening in immediately began calling.

“I dunno, a couple minutes?” Mirage said, “I’ll be aiming for the centre, pray for us!”

And then her signal went dead as she jumped back onto the speeding train, making sure everyone was prepared before finding Phil again, taking out her caffeine pills.

“If this doesn’t work…”

“Don’t go there,” Phil said, “if anyone in this city can do this, it’s you.”

“Right,” Mirage said, “do or die.”

With that in mind, she dry-swallowed two pills, told Phil to brace himself, and teleported herself to the front of the train. On the outside. There was barely enough room for her to stand on the ledge, but the wind pressed her against the window. It took a bit of struggle to turn around.

Through the window, she could see the people in the front cart all peering hopefully at her, ready to tuck in protectively should she manage to move the train or fail. She locked eyes with Phil, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Come on, Mirage,” she muttered to herself, “if there is a god…”

A light reflected off the window as they raced towards the other train. So it was now or never. She braced herself, but instead of a lot of pain, she found herself flying off the ridge as the train abruptly slowed down while its wheels dug itself into the dirt, daylight blinded her, and the grass that normally felt so gentle and soft bruised her as she tumbled off quite roughly. She spit some dirt out of her mouth as she looked up, finding the whole train had come to a stop on the grass.

“I...I did it…” she said, before everything turned black.

Inside the train had been pure chaos. People hanging on and screaming for dear life as the train collided with...something? Daylight blinded them too, the jump disoriented them, and many breakfasts were lost as soon as people dared to let go.

Phil only just about managed to keep his down as he made his way over to one of the broken windows, cutting his arm as he slipped through and stumbled past the train. A helicopter was hovering over them, telling people to stay put and that help was on the way, sirens were closing in fast, but Phil’s main concern was the woman who had just saved them. He found her some ways from the train, fearing the worst as she wasn’t moving.

“Mirage!”

He called out her name as he closed the distance between them, dropping to his knees next to her, and gently putting his head on her chest to listen for a heartbeat, or breathing...anything! It was hard to hear over all the sounds, and he was so focused he almost missed the approaching of hooves as a rather famous super approached them.

“Step away from her, sir!” he called as he dismounted his horse.

“She just saved a lot of people’s lives, I’m tryna see if she didn’t lose hers in the process!” Phil snapped, “I think she’s breathing— Ranger?!”

“If you really want to help her you’ll have no time for fanboying,” Ranger said, sitting next to him and searching for a pulse, before feeling her forehead. “She’s fine, just exhausted herself.”

“Will she need a hospital?” Phil asked.

“Technically, yes,” Ranger said, “but they’ll completely disregard her privacy. So unless she starts bleeding in places she shouldn’t be bleeding, we better get her out of here before the ambulance gets here.”

“Need a hand?”

Phil whipped his head around upon hearing the familiar voice, finding his best friend (in disguise) landing smoothly behind them. Ranger shot him a suspicious look, but a familiar voice in the back of his mind told him to trust the new super.

“Take her somewhere where she can rest safely,” he said, “stay clear of that helicopter, I’ll summon a distraction for you.”

“I’ll protect her with my life,” Cross said nobly, while behind Ranger, Phil mouthed ‘I’ll see you later.’ at him.

He gently took Mirage in his arms, carrying her bridal-style before taking off.

“You sir, with the wings! Do not leave the area!” someone shouted through a speaker from the helicopter, but Cross ignored them, while Ranger put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly.

Quite literally out of nowhere, a very large flock of birds showed up, flying between the helicopter and the super, making it impossible for them to follow him without crashing themselves. Phil gaped a bit, before snapping back to the present and turning towards Ranger.

“Say...I don’t suppose you’d like to give an interview for my column?”

“I think not,” Ranger said, “but some kids that frequent Times Square might love to take that offer.”

He took his horse by the reins and approached the police to report on what he knew about the incident, while Phil was coaxed into an ambulance to get checked for injuries.

Several hours later, he finally arrived home, having been given a ride by the police after being questioned extensively at the hospital. Since a lot of people pointed him out as having helped Black Cat and later Mirage, they decided he was their best bet to complete the picture of what had happened.

By the time he arrived home, the late afternoon news was already reporting some details of the incident, explaining that it had been the work of a hacker, but that things were back under control and subways were running as they should be again.

They showed amateur footage of the runaway train appearing in the middle of the meadow, the hype of Ranger’s very brief involvement, and someone was so popular he got his own item.

“Next up: An angel in New York City definitive proof of God? Theologists are skeptic.” a reporter said on the TV while Phil entered the apartment.

Aiden was pacing in front of the TV, while Mirage was passed out on their couch. When spotting Phil, he turned the TV off.

“Dude, I’ve been trying to call you for hours,” he said, “are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’ll live,” Phil said, “and I lost my phone in the chaos. Gave the police your number in case they find it.”

“Okay,” Aiden said.

“How is she?” Phil asked.

“Um...about an hour after I put her down she got up, ate a spoonful of coffee grounds, then nearly missed the couch when she passed out again.”

“Damn,” Phil said, “is she...unconscious?”

“In a sense? I think she’s just sleeping,” Aiden said.

“And she didn’t recognise you from The Joint?” Phil asked.

“Not yet,” Aiden said, “but that doesn’t matter. She’d have to be really fucked up to rat me out after all this.”

“Fair enough,” Phil said, “Ranger seemed to trust you too.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what’s cooler, killing a T-rex or meeting Ranger and...well, sorta working together? He did cover my escape~”

“High five!” Phil said excitedly, holding up the hand he’d cut when crawling out of the train.

Aiden didn’t notice the bandage and enthusiastically smacked him right on the cut.

“AH! FUCK!” Phil yelled, holding his hand and cursing a lot more as he sat down on one of the chairs.

“Oh Lord, I’m so sorry— Hey, leave Jesus out of this!”

“You hit me on my wound, I’m sure Jesus will forgive me for slipping up!” Phil said.

“Don’t be so dramatic, I’ll grab you some ice,” Aiden said.

He headed over to the kitchen, finding a bag of frozen peas and tossing them at Phil. He reluctantly took the bag, holding it in his injured hand. Other than that, he got off pretty well, with only a couple bruises. Everyone on the train had gotten off very well, since the worst injuries were a couple concussions and a broken hip. And all thanks to Mirage, who slept off her exhaustion on their couch.

“Coffee?” Aiden asked.

“Fuck, please, yes,” Phil said, “hospital would only give me water.”

“You’re probably not insured for hot drinks,” Aiden said.

“Yeah, I declined pain relief too to keep the bill to a minimum,” Phil said with a sigh, “remind me to call my insurance when I get a phone back.”

“That comes later, you should rest now. You’ve been through a lot too,” Aiden said, getting out the French press, since it was Phil’s favourite, and he looked like he could use a pick-me-up.

“Thanks man...you’re right, it’s a lot to process, but it’s kind of hard to focus on that when we have a famous superhero sleeping on our couch!”

Aiden shook his head a bit as he waited for the coffee to settle, before pressing the plunger slowly and pouring a cup for Phil. As he walked past Mirage to give his friend his coffee, the scent seemed to rouse her from her sleep as she stirred a little.

“Hng...can I get a cup...of that?” she mumbled, before blinking her eyes open.

Her sight was a bit blurry, but she recognised the horribly undecorated room, and the young man in the chair.

“Phil…? Why are you holding a bag of peas?”

“Cut my hand,” Phil said, “how are you feeling?”

“Like I teleported a whole ass train,” Mirage said, slowly sitting up, while Aiden tried to be invisible, pouring her a cup of coffee and putting it down in front of her.

“Oh, thanks— YOU!”

She smiled gratefully at him, before gaping in shock as she recognised her usual barista. She looked between him and Phil.

“You two know each other?”

“He’s my roommate,” Phil slowly said, after receiving an affirming nod from Aiden.

“Your roommate?” Mirage said, “but then— Oh my God you’re—”

“Don’t drink the last sip, that’s French press coffee,” Aiden said, distracting her before she would blurt something out.

“Thin walls,” Phil said, detecting some confusion on the super’s face.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry!” Mirage quickly said, “jeez, now I feel like I owe you so much more than just a bunch of unpaid coffees!”

“Well, you did save me from getting eaten the other night, so let’s call it even,” Aiden said, “also your huge tip gave us a breather in paying rent.”

“Had I known you lived here I would’ve urged you to spend it on home improvements instead,” Mirage said, taking the coffee and carefully taking a sip.

“We’re getting the AC fixed?” Phil said.

“Good for you, but you’ll need more than that,” Mirage said.

“Why?” Aiden asked, “nothing else is broken?”

“Men,” Mirage sighed, “anyway, um...why am I here though?”

“You passed out after saving us and Ranger said the hospital would be a bad idea,” Phil said with a shrug.

“Whoa,” Mirage said, “I missed Ranger? Did you ask him for an interview?”

“Tried and failed,” Phil said, shaking his head sadly, “anyway, at that moment Cross showed up and Ranger told him to take you somewhere you could rest safely, so here we are.”

“Oh you boys are a Godsend,” Mirage said, “literally?” she added, looking at Aiden.

“I wish I knew,” he said with a shrug, “but I like to think God blessed me with these abilities so I can help people.”

“I can’t say I fully agree,” Mirage said, “but if there is a higher power out there, it’s nice to know they’re looking after us.”

“To each their own,” Aiden said, “when you boil all religions down to their core, we all believe in the same idea in the end; a higher power creating earth and its life, peace after death, etcetera.”

“...huh. You can even apply that to science,” Mirage said.

“See?” Aiden said.

“Okay, okay, very enlightening,” Phil said, “since you two are all buddy-buddy, any chance you can keep us in the loop on what happened on that subway?”

“Oh, the news said it was a hacker,” Aiden said.

“I heard, but like, what was their motive? Was there a ransom demand? Were they just psychotic?” Phil said, “I want answers!”

“Supers don’t typically investigate things unless they’re specialised in that,” Mirage said, “Cat and I...we typically just deal with a situation then hand everything over to the police.”

“Aren’t you ever curious?” Phil asked, “or ask follow-up questions? Like, don’t you want to know how the heck three dinosaurs suddenly appeared in the middle of New York-freakin-City?”

“Well, that’s different, since I’m a scientist and my lab happens to be investigating that,” Mirage slowly said, “but it’s worth a shot asking the police maybe? They’ll be more inclined to tell me than you so...”

“Girl I would love you forever if you could get me anything,” Phil said.

“She saved your life earlier, isn’t that enough?” Aiden asked, with an amused smirk, “and before you even met her you were already fangirling—”

“Yeah we get the picture dude, just let me express my gratitude however I want, thank you,” Phil said, his ears turning red a little.

Aiden chuckled a bit, before getting distracted by a rapping sound from his room. He raised a brow and went to check, finding a familiar super standing outside his window on the fire escape. She was probably there for Mirage, so he quickly went to open his window to let her in.

“Hi, how did you get up here?” Aiden asked, stepping back so she could climb in without stepping with her shoes on his bed.

“Climbing,” she said, before looking him over, “you look familiar…”

“I...work at The Joint,” Aiden quickly said, “you ever been?”

“Not in costume, but yeah, now that you mention it,” Cat said, “anyway, I’m here for Mirage and Phil.”

She held up a cracked phone, which Aiden instantly recognised.

“You found his phone!”

“Yeah and this address was logged. He needs better security on this thing,” Cat said, heading into the living room, “sup?”

“Cat?!” Phil said surprised.

“Oh hey Cat!” Mirage said cheerfully.

“Good to see you’re yourself already,” Cat said, before handing Phil his phone, “I took a call from some Wilson guy. You’re letting your boss yell at you like that?”

“Oh God,” Phil said, feeling even more embarrassed, “I am so sorry, he’s got a bit of a temper, like his job is so stressful, always having to make sure people make their deadlines in time—”

“I don’t care, I told him to shut it and show some respect.” Cat said with a shrug, before parking herself on the couch next to Mirage, “You don’t deserve to be talked to like that.”

“Preach!” Aiden said.

“Luckily his boss has taken a liking to me, so he can’t fire me for that,” Phil mumbled as he looked through his missed calls.

There were a lot from Aiden, and a couple from Mr Wilson. Then he checked his email, and found a message from HR that they had received a complaint from Wilson, but that they had disregarded it in light of his involvement with the East Meadow incident.

Relieved, he quickly shot them a message that he was unharmed and would be back to work tomorrow, before putting his phone away.

“What a day,” he sighed, “I should be losing my mind over having two heroes in my living room, but I’m pretty damn tired.”

“Oh you should really take your rest too, Phil.” Mirage said, before finishing her coffee, “We should leave you two alone now, I feel like I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Nonsense,” Aiden said, “stay as long as you like.”

“I’d like to leave now!” Cat said loudly, “if you’re up for it.”

“Yeah, I should be good to go,” Mirage said, “but first, I wanna give you my phone number. Both of you, if there’s anything, literally anything, you can call me, just not this week because I will be hibernating to recover from today.”

She held her hands out until the boys handed her their phones so she could save her number in their contacts. Then she thanked both of them with a hug, before taking Cat’s hand and disappearing.

“I still can’t believe that just happened,” Phil said, “pinch me, Aiden, I must be dreaming!”

“...she took our cup,” Aiden noted, pointing at the empty coaster, “I guess she forgot she was holding it…”

“I’ll text her,” Phil said with a sigh, “that was our only cup for visitors…”

<prev | masterlist | next>

[shady-tavern]

A little poll to help me decide

Just so you know, I will still write both, but you guys get to decide which one gets to be finished and published first!

Little WIP excerpts for both stories under the cut (subject to change, these are still rough outlines, so be aware that the final product might look different):

Fantasy Story (currently only titled "nyeh!"):

You had once heard that being cursed was the worst thing in the world. To be twisted into something else, to no longer be capable, to lose your youthful beauty, your voice or whatever else you valued. To be forced to hide in the dark and stare longingly at people going on about their day.

How happiness was leeched away, food tasting lackluster and smells itching in your nose and nothing felt right anymore. Like looking through cracked glasses.

But curses weren't anything you had to content yourself with. They were about as important to your life as distant kingdoms and great battles with heroes slaying equally great foes, of dragons nesting on top of mountains and fae princes stealing away mortal women to make their queens.

That hadn't always been the case for your family, however. Your ancestors had been great mages and adventurers, people with big names and bigger legacies. People who had awed and charmed and impressed the populous to the point where they were still spoken about, their portraits found in history books.

There was even a portrait of one of your great-great-grandma's in the local library, painted by someone with magical powers, for it looked like she was going to leap straight out of the painting on her horse.

She was a gorgeous woman with a kind face and a brave set to her shoulders and she had protected the entire barony you lived in against an ancient evil. She had been the first to make a name for herself and all her children followed in her footsteps.

Well, until your grandparents and their children. Every time you walked past her portrait on your way to class, you wondered if she was disappointed. If she had known that the greatness in her bloodline would run dry like a river.

Your parents certainly thought so, the bitterness and fear over being mundane well instilled into them by their already magic-less grandparents. Family gatherings were a tense and somber occasion and you hated them. Every time you were asked if your magic had shown already. If you were, finally, at long last, the one to break the streak of misfortune.

As though they could claw their way up to greatness through you. Even at a young age, you realized you didn't want that. Their expectations felt like boulders being strapped to your person and then being told to go climb a mountain.

Looking at the painting, at the regal woman portrayed who had saved so many and had been humble all her life, using her skills to better those around her, you decided that she would not have been disappointed in you.

Sometimes you imagined her voice when you sat curled up at your desk, eyes heavy from studying and your parents voices echoing in your head, telling you to look at more magic tomes. As though they could will magic into your veins by tossing as much spell theory at you as possible.

You imagined that your great-great-grandma would gently pat your head and tell you that it was alright. You had done well and should go to sleep, she'd take care of things. You imagined her saying all the things history books had written down and that bards sang about even to this day.

How she would cradle the week, encourage the cowardly and shelter the injured. 

Your other ancestors were just as impressive, but...she was always seemed more present than they did. It was probably because of the painting, though. You knew your family's history well enough, you had studied everything trice over.

Sometimes it frustrated and hurt you, that your parents and grandparents couldn't just be happy. They had more money than they could ever need, the people still spoke highly of your family and they were welcomed warmly. Your uncle was even advising the king despite having as much magic as a dresser drawer.

"I'll leave when I'm old enough," you told the portrait in a whisper. "I'll go somewhere no one knows me and I'll be happy."

If a painting could look encouraging, this one did. Or, so you imagined.

*.*.*

Hero/Villain Story (currently titled "Heart Song"):

The world was full of music and to you, that was beautiful. Everyone you met was surrounded by a melody, some louder and some quieter, some sad and some joyful, some struggling and changing tunes as they tried to find themselves and others marching forward, no matter the mismatched tones and half-broken sounding lyrics.

It had been a struggle, growing up, to not get lost in the music constantly. Your parents hadn't understood what was going on, dragging you to doctors and trying out different medication, until you had been old enough to find the words, the proper explanation, to tell them how you saw the world. 

A gifted child, your lot were called. People born with abilities that showed as early as when they were infants or sometime late in their adulthood. But the powers always revealed themselves and very, very rarely were not put to use.

You had found yourself responding to melodies that had wanted to be heard and seen and recognized even before you understood what they were, singing back at them clumsily until they had lost a hurt edge, until they had found meaning, until the song surrounding a person's heart rang like clear bells with the sounds of hope-relief-healing.

Becoming a hero had, in a way, been the only sensible conclusion. You wanted to help and you could help, so why wouldn't you? Why wouldn't you help sand down rough edges, help people over a bump in their road, help someone hurting to find the strength to reach out?

Your parents had thankfully been the sensible ones and had cautioned you against accepting just any hero gig, any contract that was extended to you. You had been so excited you had nearly accepted the first offer without question.

But...hero contracts, as you had quickly learned, were rather intense. There was so much red tape surrounding everything and your parents really hadn't liked some of the wording of some of the passages and with great reluctance and perhaps a couple of tears, you had tossed the offers for a job into the trash.

Right up until Redemption & Recovery had reached out to you. They had been a comparatively tiny organization back then, doing their best to help others with the funding they got. Almost all members were volunteers and they offer they extended had, admittedly, looked pitiful compared to the promised salary of the big hero offices.

But their offer had been just what you had looked for. Next to no red tape and your values and their aligned. The moment your parents gave their tentative green light you had called them straight away, telling them you wanted to work with them.

In the years that had followed, you had made quite the name for yourself and the organization, which had grown in members and funding until it was one of the biggest. You were so proud of everyone and their hard work. 

While you had become the face of R&R, fighting and going to interviews and fan meetings and doing your best to be present online, everyone else had been hard at work behind the scenes. Networking and outlining and signing contracts and keeping the unyielding desire to make the world better alive, no matter how big the organization got.

Redemption & Recovery focused heavily on not only offering recovering villains all the tools to keep healing and improving, but they also offered services to the public to help people stay away from the villain business in the first place.

You still didn't have much of a salary compared to other famous heroes, but that worked just fine for you. You rather donated as much as you could feasibly give to R&R, to help finance the services they offered, the therapists and doctors they had on the payroll, as well as housing aid and financial advisors to help people get back on their feet.

You still received offers from the big offices, who hoped to poach you from R&R and the latest offer had you choking on your breakfast when you had seen the salary and other perks they had offered. It had still gone into the trash, because the red-tape situation had been as bad as ever.

Besides, you were perhaps a bit...unique, among the heroes. The big offices would probably find working with you rather headache inducing.

You raced around a corner, heart in your throat at the sound of hurt-terror-helplessness that filled the air ahead of you as thickly as the dust and smoke that had yet to settle. You leapt over rubble and debris, your breath catching when you heard another bit of building crumble somewhere to the left.

And among the injured civilians, the panicked people, one melody rang louder than the others. Loud enough to drench everything in agony-hatred-despair like a wailing siren.

You had heard bits and pieces of this particular melody in the past and you knew exactly who it belonged to. Eclipse, a high-level villain known for laying waste to entire city blocks whenever he appeared. 

He was one of the villains who broke heroes left and right if they weren't strong enough to stand up to him and who had endangered many a civilian carelessly. No death count yet, but he was getting closer and closer to it every time he appeared.

Official sources weren't sure if he even had full control of his powers, considering the often haphazard destruction and his at times visible frustration. Whatever was going on, however, everyone agreed that he needed to be stopped before he ended up killing, no matter if it was intentional or not.

Eclipse's focused face turned into a mask of fear the moment he noticed you from the corner of his eye, head snapping around to stare at you.

[burnwater13]

Cad Bane standing outside on Tatooine. From The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 7, In the Name of Honor. Calendar by DateWorks.

Note: This story was originally published on January 16, 2024. Since this story already mentions Cad Bane, it fits today's image. Plus a cold is just kicking my butt and my head hurts (properly medicated and expect to feel better tomorrow.)

Grogu only knew what the files at the Jedi Temple had said about Cad Bane and of course the few words that Daimyo Fett would waste on him when they were sharing gorgs after their fishing expeditions. The Daimyo was surprisingly good at fishing and Grogu was glad of that. His own dad was not very good, although he tried.

That had given Grogu the opportunity to ask the Daimyo about where and when he’d learned to catch fish, given that his dad was typically wrestling with lures, lines, and leaders most of the time they were fishing at the Pica Oasis. The Daimyo told Grogu about being raised on the ocean world of Kamino.

Grogu was really impressed by that. No place was going to offer better fishing that a world covered with an ocean. The Daimyo emphasized that fishing on Kamino was nothing like fishing at the Pica oasis. Some of the fish were big enough to swallow a human whole, according to his Mandalorian friend. Others, like the krill, were so small that even Grogu would need to eat dozens of them to have a decent snack. 

Eventually, the two of them got around to talking about the Daimyo’s father, Jengo Fett and the circumstances of his death. Grogu was horrified and apologized to his friend for the actions of the Jedi.

“I have had many years to consider what happened that day, little one. The Tuskens teach that when you are defending your family, your duty is to do everything you can, including giving up your life to protect them. That is what my father did and only a Jedi could end him. He did his duty by me. I bare no grudge to you for the actions of others. Your people paid an even heavier toll at the end of that whole mess. You and I have the opportunity to show people how we can be at peace with the past and work not to repeat it.”

Grogu had nodded and patted the Daimyo’s knee. Then his line tugged and he chirped in surprise. He had a strike! There was some sort of something tugging on his line and he began to reel it in, with the master bounty hunter coaching him through the whole process. It was an excellent example of cooperation, right up to the point where Din Djarin came over, got his big boot tangled up in the line and pulled the rod out of Grogu’s hands, whacking the Daimyo with it as he tried to untangle himself. 

“Din Djarin, have you ever considered that fishing is not a skill you possess and until you develop mastery of it, perhaps you should leave it to Grogu and I?”

Grogu thought the Daimyo was well within his rights to say, but considered Fennec’s brisk, ‘Mando, I didn’t peg you for this much of a klutz’ to be unnecessarily harsh. His dad had clearly not been taught to fish by any of the people responsible for this education. 

“You don’t become a master of things you don’t practice.” Grogu’s dad had complained at them.

“Now you sound like Cad Bane. Any little thing I didn’t do perfectly, I did until I was perfect at it. He regretted that at the end. Never teach your student enough to be the end of you.” 

The Daimyo had seemed both proud and sad about that as far as Grogu could tell. Fennec had told him a little about what happened when Boba Fett’s old mentor had ended up on Tatooine trying to ‘fix’ things for some syndicate or other. By ‘fix’ things he knew that meant threaten people until they agreed to do whatever they were told to do. It was very Sith-like behavior and Grogu could not imagine the Daimyo ever agreeing to such a thing. 

“Kid, you’d be surprised at the sort of things the Daimyo has agreed to do. Of course that was all before he was tossed into that sarlacc pit and then re-educated by the Tuskens. Cad Bane hadn’t planned for that and that’s where he failed. You never take on an enemy that you don’t know everything about.”

Fennec seemed to be grudgingly respectful of those changes. Grogu wondered why and asked his dad about later when they were getting ready to sleep. 

“Buddy, you remember that kid, Calican? He left Fennec for dead in the desert. I thought she was dead too. But the Daimyo? He checked. She wasn’t dead yet and he took her to the person who put her back together with those… uh… modifications. Boba Fett didn’t have to do that. He chose to. Because he was once left to die in the desert and the Tuskens saved him. That sort of thing changes a man and in this case for the better. Cad Bane went after the old Boba Fett. The bounty hunter. Who he met was Daimyo Fett, the better man.”

Grogu was just glad that he got to meet ba’buir Fett, the Mandalorian who knew how to fish. His father’s son. After all, being a bounty hunter and fishing weren’t all that different, from a certain perspective.