#please please please ignore the fact that I CANT DRAW HAIR NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY! WHY IS IT SO DIFFICULT???

[iisuya-simps]

Can I get Headcannons for Ichiro, Rosho and Jyuto with an S/O who’s an idol

A/N: ooooooh yes let's go :D

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Ichiro Yamada

Ichiro was at the convenience store to grab some snacks

when you both reached for the last bag of candy

"Sorry, I-"

his eyes lit up when they met yours

he knew exactly who you were

no, I'm totally not ripping this off from mlqc shut up

"Y-you're-" you cover his mouth with your hand

"Shh, don't blow my cover, otherwise we're gonna draw a crowd."

"Y-you can have the candy if you want! I'll get something else!"

"Why don't we just share it? Hehe."

*Ichiro blushes and SWOONS

you bought the candy and took a walk down a secluded road and bonded a bit

Ichiro loves how down to earth you are, this is like a dream come true

and when the candy is gone you both continue your conversation for an hour or so until your agent calls

"whoops, I have to get going. Here's my info if you want to reach out." You give him a wink as you round the corner to the black van

dID I juSt gO oN a dAtE wITh mY fAVoriTe IdOl??!

*head explodes*

after staring at the number you gave him for a few days he works up enough nerve to message you

"Hey uh, this is Ichiro Yamada, we met at the convenience store the other day"

"Oh hi, listen I'm in the area, do you want to meet up?" :)

You literally show up at his front door

"Y/N!!?" "Nice place you got here. My agent doesn't even know I left, hehe." "I'll be right back!!"

you follow Ichiro into his room to see him rushing to take all of his posters of you off his walls. aw, how sweet~

once caught he'll open up and show you his collection

after a few more surprise visits like this, you become close friends

then he's your secret boyfriend

Ichiro will help you practice choreo for shows

he might even teach you how to rap for fun

Jiro is probably very jealous when Ichiro introduces you to the bros

he can't help but gush about how amazing and talented you are

even though his brothers have heard this rant 12million times before he even knew you

he loves to watch you play dress up when picking out outfits for shows and events

he loves going to your photo/video shoots

seeing you get dressed up in all kinds of crazy clothes is exciting for the both of you

"Hey, hands off! I need this outfit wrinkle-free for the shoot!"

"I can always iron it after babe" ;p

when you show Ichiro a song that you wrote for him dumbfounded and a little teary-eyed

"I can hear all of the emotion you put into this... thank you" *big hug and kiss

when the tabloids start spewing fake facts about you Ichiro is going to be mad but try and keep his cool

"Ignore them y/n, just know that I think you're amazing"

but being an idol is very exhausting

after a long day, you may sneak away to the Yamada household to collapse on the bed in each other's arms and pass out

at the end of the day, Ichiro can't believe that he's with someone that loves and appreciates him as much as he does you

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rosho Tsutsujimori

It was your dream to become an idol for years

you've been dating Rosho since highschool

he knew you would make it big because you were the best student in theatre, dance and choir

you even got first place in the school talent show for your singing and dancing routine

Rosho was finishing his bachelor's degree when you got signed to a label and went on to become of the biggest idols around

not only is Rosho an amazing boyfriend and support

he may even help manage some financial matters that your agent doesn't handle

Rosho is first to hear your songs when you come up with them

you always confide in him for new song ideas

mostly because you cant stop humming around him

"I can't help it Rosho, you're my muse"

he blushes brightly not knowing how to accept the compliment

one of his students asked why he had a charm of you on his desk

he said he was a really big fan

"What? You Mr. Tsutsujimori? *then proceeded to quiz him the rest of the class

"Please settle down now." "But what about-" *sigh*

If the press is spreading lies about you Rosho will try and talk you down

"Calm down, it's not worth it y/n, let them think whatever nonsense. I know the real you and that's all that matters."

he will help you prep for concerts making sure you eat properly, get enough water and do stretches and voice exercises

the farthest he got to see you live was backstage

which was still a pretty big feat for him considering

he doesn't know how you deal with being surrounded by crowds all the time plus perform in front of them...

you inspire him to work on his stage fright and public speaking

even if its just little things

he is in awe of you and loves the fact that you worked so hard to get to the place you were today

he finds your idol persona just an extension of yourself

he knew that you weren't just a cute bubbly idol

but an intelligent cute bubbly idol :p

Rosho is so touched when you sit him down and show a song you wrote for him

"Is this really for me? y/n... it's amazing. Thank you so much"

he prefers to stay at home for dates as opposed to going out and possibly having someone recognize you

even though your lives are completely different you still

you'll have deep chats about life and your future

you love and support each other the best you can and have a beautiful relationship

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jyuto Iruma

You first meet Jyuto he pulls you over on the highway for speeding

"License and registration miss."

He noticed you in full hair and makeup then raises a brow

"Please sir, I'm going to be late for my concert. I'll pay any ticket you give me but I just need to get to the stadium"

"I suppose I can let you off with a warning, if you give me a front-row seat"

"Follow me officer" *wink

He tails behind you to the stadium and the guards wave you both through

"I'm not a bodyguard y'know."

"I know, but you can be my police escort!"

your agent yells at you for being late and you scurry around backstage when you trip over a loose cord!

luckily he catches you in his arms

"Ooh, sorry sir. I've always been a bit of a clutz..."

he tries his best to bite back a flirty come back to keep it professional

but says it anyway

"Fallen for the officer already have you?"

you were drawn to his dry wit and charming personality

Halfway through the concert, you come backstage to see him getting ready to leave

"Hey I'm still on duty so I can't stay, but you're really talented and I enjoyed the show so far."

he hands you his contact card

"I suppose we could have a coffee sometime, after all, if you weren't there to catch me I would've sprained my ankle and the show would've been cancelled."

You're both pretty busy but find some time during the day to sneak away for a coffee date

one turns into two, then five

sooner than you know it the officer has won you over and you fall head over heels for each other *literally*

when you show Jyuto a song that you wrote for him he's going to be amazed

"Wow, I'm so thrilled that you feel this way, now come here so I can show you my thanks

*tackles OwO

If gossip comes out about you Jyuto will scout out the lowlife who write the article and bribe them to stop

"It's ok y/n, they'll know the truth soon enough."

"How do you dance in those heels all the time?"

"I wonder what else you can do with them..."

"Jyuto!!!"

Jyuto likes to listen to your music on the way home from work

You may not see each other as much as you want to

but when he sees you on the tv or the stage he knows how lucky he is to have you and he'll do anything to help support you and your dream

and the nights you do spend together are filled with longing and passion

it's a great way of relieving the stress of a hard day's work

⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆

Thank you for reading!

[secretsniper2]

Holiday Hell: Part 2

“Mnnnn fffkkkk! cccnnnn iii cmmmmm?” a bound and gagged Hazel moans through her gag as April continues to ram harder into her lovers pussy! Looking out the window as she pounds the poor pussy beneath her the notices the sun has started going down, glancing at the clock the confirms the time as 5pm, almost puzzled as April could have sworn she had only been fucking Hazel for 30 minutes but apparently its been a solid 2 hour fuck with her mindlessly slowing her thrusts down to keep Hazel at the end of release the entire tine, almost automatically, having a chuckle April impressed herself at the woman below her, sweat covering every inch of her body and not a single orgasm to show for it. Leaning in the remove the pesky gag Hazel lols her jaw around for a moment before begging.

“please M-Mistress, p-please let me cum..” the blind beauty says with a ragged breath.

Leaning nice and close, lips almost touching Hazels ear, “You asked for it.” she says with a smile.

Gripping Hazels hips with both hands her cock slams once again inside the gushing pussy, completely intent on breaking it with the orgasm its going to have, thrust after thrust into Hazels body she can feel her orgasm building as her mistress grinds her hips in at each thrust. Moving a hand to the poor bound clit April begins to rub it between thrusts with her thumb, knowing just what to do to get her little bound sub cumming hardest. In anyone else's hands it wouldn't be as easy but in the hands of her mistress she was mere putty, and with the fucking and clit rubbing combination she's brought to orgasm only seconds later, April quick to cover her mouth turning what would have been a loud scream to a muffled cry as Hazels legs tense up noticeably.

Giving Hazel a kiss on the lips at first the 2 women lock lips  as their tongues dance in each others mouths, Aprils cock still nuzzled deep in Hazels pussy, any real cock would surely have cum many times by now, but this lovely toy would never soften, almost always to the benefit of Hazel as it usually ends up buried deep in her pussy. Continuing the kissing April rolls over expecting Hazel to follow to continue the kiss, pausing mentally to remind herself that Hazel physically cant move to follow no matter how much she wanted to kiss her, instead she raised a eyebrow and removed the strap on, she other lips that could do with some action.

Shuffling over Hazels blind head she slowly lowers herself onto her bound lovers face, instantly Hazel gets to work by pushing her tongue straight into her wet pussy, her chin grinding against her clit every time her jaw moved to allow her own tongue access to the sweet bud before diving deep again. April raised her hands up and ran them through her hair in a pleasurable stretch before reaching up and leaning forward, there's a empty pussy for her to snack on now, and she knows for a fact its hypersensitive. A simple probing with her tongue delivers the gasp of surprise and arousal from between her lets and she continues her ventures between the bound open legs. “a 69 among 69′s” April though to herself.

Deliberately edging Hazel with her tongue she cums all over her blindfolded face and rolls off her and stands up and looks down at Hazels face, her cum sticking to her face, covering her mouth while a bright red pussy rests between her legs, a heavy orgasm followed by a edge, nasty way to keep her horny she walks back beside her and pushes a dildo gag in Hazels mouth and ties it in, standing back yet again to watch her dear sub suck on the dildo locked in her mouth she smiles at her exhausted handiwork and moves to sit down and relax abit but is stopped at a knock at the door.

Walking over to the door April asks “Who is it?”

“A complementary room service, from the manager” a man responds.

Looking over her shoulder at the bound Hazel on the bed she makes a point to not open the door too wide, but as she begins to open the door the man pushes in and closes it behind him, sweeping April off her feet and onto the floor with a hand covering her face, her bare breasts pressing into the carpet she feels a sharp sting in her bare ass and moments later the world goes black..

Waking up to the sounds of muffled screams April opens her eyes to something new to her, she is bound with her arms behind her back, breasts pushed out with her legs tied over the arms of the chair, effectively pinning her in a horribly exposed position, though her situation isn't as bad as Hazels as the man who tied April up is currently fucking her lover on the bed, still bound just like she left her, gagged and blindfolded she clearly knows that this isn't her mistress inside her, as she is shaking her head as best she can as she screams dully into her gag, white cum leaking out of her pussy, the man has clearly been in her for a while before she woke up. Hands squeezing her breasts, Hazel moans as another orgasm crests and runs out her pussy as the man leans in, his beard brushing her neck as he sinks in and begins biting at her, pulling squeaks from the poor bound woman. Grunting as he continues to thrust inside Hazels pussy he leans in close and grunts out.

“Guh! cumming here was a great idea huh ladies! bet you were just waiting for me to fuck your cunts!” Drawing muffled screams from both bound women.

“I'm going to enjoy fucking you 2 bitches, i suggest you relax and it'll feel better!” He grunts out as he puts another load of cum into Hazels pussy.

Pulling his cock out of Hazels pussy he turns and locks eye with April for a moment and then gazes at her breasts then further down to her tight pussy, taking a few steps forward he lowers himself and lines his cock up and with little warning he thrusts into the fresh pussy at his disposal. Grunting like a animal again as his cock drags almost all the way out only to thrust deeper inside Aprils pussy, her head launching back over the chair as the sensations mount and she can feel her impending orgasm at the hands of this monster.

“Fucking hell! Tiny Tits over there was a fun fuck but your tight cunt takes the cake! i guy could get used to this!” He said with a laugh as his cock slides in and out of April with practiced ease.

“fuck it, i think ill keep you both! got a nice house with some lovely cages, you slaves are going to love it!”

Hazel and April both turn their heads at the word “slaves” as he pulls out of April and gets dressed before taking the key to their room and walking out, April taking the time to look over her brutally raped lover, bite marks all over both breasts and cum leaking out of her pussy she swallows knowing that she will likely receive the same treatment.

Waiting only a few minutes the monster of a man returns with 2 large bags, big enough to fit a human inside with room to stuff other things in too, looking up to April he simply says “for later” which made her skin crawl at which he returned his clothes to the floor and looked around the room, easily finding the bag with the toys inside he pulls a roll of tape and the Hitachi from their bag and walks over to April who begins to struggle harder in her bondage as he places the head of the Hitachi against her clit and wraps tape around the handle then her thighs, locking it against her clit. Turning the Hitachi on a teasingly low speed he stands up and turns around, setting his sights on Hazels pussy once again.

Walking over the the unsuspecting woman on the bed Hazel begins pulling against the ropes in earnest as her thigh receives a hard slap, leaving a handprint on her tender innermost thigh he moves up and slaps her stomach 3 times to gauge her reaction, clearly enjoying his newfound toys he pushes his cock once again into Hazels dripping pussy and proceeds to thrust into her while squeezing her breasts hard, paying close attention to her nipples which he pinches hard forcing a muffled screech from Hazel while April helplessly watches as her own torment begins to take its toll as her clit is stimulated with no way out and a potential orgasm hours away at this speed.

A whole Hour passes as April watches on as her closest friend is raped right in front of her while her own torment is distracting her from focusing on a solution, the man had fucked Hazel so much he decided a power nap would be his best call, sleeping on top of Hazel with his hard cock still deep in her pussy, keeping all his cum trapped inside as she moans beneath the large man. April struggling to get a grip and ignore the vibrations assaulting her clit but its ultimately impossible as she cums at last and after another 30 hellishly teasing minutes the man wakes up.

Looking out the window its dark now, dark enough the man assumes as he begins to open up 1 of the bags and gathers a few dildos and vibrators and walks back to April with the toys in hand, removing the Hitachi and turning it off he instead pushes a large dildo up her pussy, and another in her ass, a bullet vibrator is taped to her clit and nipples and her legs are then untied. Kicking wildly but uselessly as the man easily subdues Aprils attempts and ties her legs together then forcing her into a ball and adding tape to completely seal her in a ball and turn her vibrators on before picking her up and placing her in the bag and zipping her up in darkness.

Turning to the bound and still blind and mute Hazel the man slowly unties and reties her in a tight ball and fills her holes with her own vibrators, turning them on her loads her into the other bag and covers her in the remaining toys they brought with them and zips her up. Lifting both bags the man walks down the hallway with his 2 prizes and out the front door, no one would even know they were gone till they were surely lost. Out the front door they are loading into the boot of a car and taken away, likely a life of pleasure and hellish pain awaits them both and April starts to cry, some holiday this turned out to be..

[hokeytheelf]

The First Gryffindor #BW2

First Kiss, Blackinnon Week day two.

Sirius, to put it simply, was a player. 

He had girls running after him, and he made sure it didn't go the other way around. He toyed with girls hearts like he toyed with his hair, he knew the game. He knew just how many girls are pursuing him just like he knew all the strands of hairs in his head, and when he combed his hair with his hands he knew he was being watched.

But one person seems to have the same amount of attention from boys.

Marlene McKinnon, to put it simply, was hot. He knew this fact because out of all the girls Sirius knew, Marlene seems to be the most interesting, the most pleasing to look at. There is just something about Marlene McKinnon that made Sirius so fascinated by her, which he would never admit.

One morning, however, when Sirius and his friends were talking about James’s favorite subject (that is Lily Evans) during breakfast in the Great Hall, James said something that seemed to irritate Sirius. He didn’t know why, it just bothered him terribly.

“D’you notice that all the blokes McKinnon had ever dated or snogged were never a Gryffindor?” said James as he chewed the last piece of his toast, “I was beginning to think Gryffindors just aren’t her type,”

“What do you mean Gryffindors not her type?” asked Sirius, failing to hold back his question.

“Well, you know, just like how guys say they prefer brunettes over blondes, Marlene preferred boys who aren’t Gryffindor,” said James.

“Yeah, like how Lily preferred boys who aren’t James,” Peter chimed in,

“Like how girls like boys who aren’t Peter,” James answered and Remus chuckled. Peter and James threw a few jokes but Sirius had a hard time listening to anything, which is very unlike Sirius. Nevertheless, Sirius shrugged off the matter and try to focus on more important matter, anything would do really. Besides, he’s a busy man.

They have a map to finish. James Sirius Remus and Peter are sitting in the library, they were discussing the map they're about to make. They’ve been spending a lot of time drawing lines and performing spells, Sirius was getting bored.

"I cant take this anymore Prongs!" Sirius scratches his head and ruffled his hair, "Let's go have a little break,"

"A trip to the kitchens would be nice" said Peter, and Remus answered with a huff.

"We're close Sirius, I can feel it." James said seriously, making Sirius groan.

"James?" said a voice from behind. The boys turned their heads to look at Marlene McKinnon standing with her bag on her shoulders.

"Can we help you, McKinnon?" Remus asked, and Marlene narrowed her eyes.

"Do you know Lilys book? The one she reads over and over again last week?" She asked, more to James than to the boys.

"Yes... But what for?" James asked her, his eyebrows raised,

"I think she may be up to something. Need to find out what it is." Marlene folded her arms,

James stared around his friends, "Well i'm a little busy here," He stared down to his planning of the Marauders map, then his eyes went to Sirius.

"Sirius'll show you."

Sirius walked along shelves of book with Marlene on his side, "Heard Mr. Prefect fancies you"

"None of your business." She hums and Sirius ignored.

"Have you shagged him yet?" He asked "Bet you did. Where? Is it in the Quidditch changing rooms? Is it?"

"Why do you care so much of my love life, Black?" She asked and Sirius stopped his steps right in front of her. Then he leaned closer, they were breathing each other.

"I guess you interest me." He said and Marlene looked up at him with a devilish smirk. “and the fact that you don’t snog Gryffindors, which is traitorous.”

"Jealous aren't you?"

They were one inch apart and it's hard for them not to just close the gap. "I have plenty of girls chasing after me, McKinnon."

"Shame I'm not one of them," said Marlene as she puts her arms on his shoulder to tease him. “But just so you know, I have no preferences.”

Only a few things could surprise Sirius, one of them was Marlene taking a step forward and kissing him. He liked it.

“I guess I’m the first Gryffindor,” said Sirius.

[reesewestonarchive]

chapter eight / rem belongs to @forlornraven / masterpost / mature content

“…where would you go?”

Rem’s voice is a stark difference from the mixtape playing through frankensteined speakers from Rem’s Walkman. Nakoa opens his eyes, peers at Rem’s face—calm, pleased. “Hm?”

Rem dozes on his side of the bed, a hand out between them in an aborted attempt at touching Nakoa’s stomach. His words are slurred, though, and there’s a tired, distant look in his eye when he lifts his gaze to Nakoa.

Not a second later, his eyes are closed again. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

Loaded question. Nakoa thinks there are plenty of places he’d like to see, plenty of places he could live, but would any of it matter if Rem weren’t with him? “Dunno. Hawaii. Or… European countryside, maybe.” Or Russia, if it weren’t so fucking cold. That’s the thing about the midwest that Nakoa doesn’t miss—the fucking winters. “Some place warm, probably.”

“Bahamas,” Rem says. “You’re miserable when you’re cold.”

“I have bad circulation,” Nakoa says, staring at the ceiling. “Can’t help it.”

Rem lifts his hand, pinches the skin at Nakoa’s hips gently, and says, “‘Cause you’re so fucking skinny. I bruise you when we fuck.”

“You’re one to talk.” Nakoa draws his fingers across thumb-shaped bruises along his own hips. A gentle stir of desire blooms in his stomach—maybe he can give Rem a matching set later. “What about you?”

“What about me?” He burrows closer, presses his head against Nakoa’s neck. He sighs.

“Where would you go, if you could go anywhere?”

“What’s wrong with right here?” Rem drops an arm around Nakoa’s waist. “Mm. Maybe…” He sighs; his breath tickles Nakoa’s chest. He mumbles a response, but Nakoa doesn’t hear it, doesn’t ask for him to repeat it.

Instead, he hums along to Rem’s mixtape. Rem didn’t say it, and Nakoa’s not sure if it’s on purpose, but Nakoa’s since sussed out that the songs are love songs.

For a guy that can’t verbalize the word, Rem’s really fucking good at saying it.

There are plenty of unanswered questions—if anyone’s chasing them, if it’s Michael or Rem’s bad decisions. If it’s… something else. Some asshole on their tail for being as open. Nakoa knows the attitude, knows whatever this is between them makes other people angry, disgusted.

He also doesn’t give a shit. Anyone’d be hard pressed to find someone Rem wouldn’t fight.

In the room, with Rem wrapped around him, basking in the glow of sex, Nakoa forgets about all that. Forgets that there’s a world outside the motel, a world outside of Rem and himself and the bed they’re lying on, in the dark with The Cure playing softly in the background.

Nakoa tests the words on his lips again; soft, against Rem’s hair. I love you. He mouths along with the lyrics for a verse, then hums. Rem curls closer, a pleased noise escaping his throat.

A whisper when Nakoa says, “I love you,” his voice barely louder than the music. Rem says nothing, his breathing even in sleep.

Nakoa lets him rest.

-

In the cold, misty morning, they pack up from the hotel overlooking the ocean, and Rem uses the last of his own money on a pack of cigarettes. Nakoa steals one from Rem’s lips, ignores his squawk of disagreement, and says, “Where to?”

Rem sighs, stares down at the map. “Fuck if I know.”

Nakoa remembers his mother—tries not to; the thought of her still at home leaves his chest tight—and how she would always say that the journey means as much as the destination. They don’t have the money to go much farther, and soon, the midwest is going to be covered in snow. Soon enough, anyway.

Nakoa thinks of the Grand Canyon, of Yellowstone, of Niagara Falls. Of ghost towns and abandoned houses, amusement parks and mountains and the Atlantic Coast. He thinks he’d follow Rem to hell—if he asked.

“Might as well hit all the stops,” Rem says. “Right?”

Nakoa watches his brow crease in thought. He doesn’t want to, but he says, “Pretty soon we won’t have money for food. Eating out’s fucking expensive.”

A glint sparkles in Rem’s eyes as he pulls the cigarette from his lips, smoke exhaling with each word, “That’s not true. I eat you out all the time.”

“Mm. Think you’re pretty fucking clever, don’t you?”

Rem shrugs, tugs Nakoa against him by his belt loops. “Sometimes. Hey—about the money thing.” He raises an eyebrow, grin wide across his lips, and says, “We could rob a bank.”

Yeah, right. Nakoa has a difficult time imagining that. “Or scare small children.” He shoves his knuckles against Rem’s ribs. “Give me your lunch money, punk.”

Thoughtfully, Rem asks, “Ever thought about porn?”

Nakoa doesn’t say the only person he wants to fuck is Rem. Instead, he says, “With your jealous streak, yeah fucking right.”

Rem scowls, but there’s a layer of mischief underneath. “I don’t get jealous.”

“Yeah?” Nakoa licks his lips, then says, “All right, cool. I’ll go get dicked down by some big fucker with a selfish attitude to match yours.” He makes a show of peering around the parking lot. “What kind of job do you think I can get around here? Or is that something I need to go to Portland for?”

Rem makes a noise in his throat, tugs Nakoa back against him, grips Nakoa’s wrists in his own. “Fuck no. You’re—” He sighs. “Fine. You win.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d I win?”

“I’d offer myself up as prize, if I was worth anything.” He squints, plucks Nakoa’s sunglasses from atop Nakoa’s head, and puts them on. Nakoa almost days, “Don’t sell yourself short,” but Rem continues with, “Blowjob?”

“Tsk,” Nakoa says. “Like I don’t get those from you on the regular anyway.” He smiles, lopsided and pleased. “What else you got for me?”

But Rem’s attention has shifted, from Nakoa to something across the street. His skin is white, fear-lined, and there’s a  Nakoa frowns, tries to turn back to see it, but Rem’s grip is tight and he won’t let Nakoa move.

“Could—” Rem clears his throat, looks back at Nakoa and smiles. “—let’s get on the road, hey?”

He still doesn’t let Nakoa turn back to see what he was looking at, holds Nakoa’s hands together.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Nakoa asks. He shakes out of Rem’s grip, turns, and— “Oh, fuck—”

He can’t get to the van quick enough. Rem, somehow, is already inside when Nakoa finally shuts the door behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know!” Rem jams the key into the ignition, turns it—the van stalls. “Fuck!”

His heart beats, hard, fast, in his chest. “Rem,” Nakoa says, still staring at the old, beat-up Bronco sitting across the street, at the guy sitting outside of it.

Michael.

“How’d he find us?” Rem mutters. “I didn’t think—”

The van roars to life—for a split second before stalling again. Nakoa’s heart climbs his throat, and he feels like he’s going to throw up.

But the van’s not starting, and Michael’s moving forward, now, towards the car. Nakoa moves through the van, out through the back. “I’ll find you,” Nakoa says, “later, okay? Just—I’ll find you. When we lose him—”

And he goes. Out the back door, and he books it, as soon as he hits the asphalt. Rem yells his name, but Nakoa goes anyway, down the parking lot and through the alley towards the boardwalk, where maybe, fucking maybe, he can get away.

He hopes, stupidly, that Michael doesn’t go after Rem instead, that he follows Nakoa. Rem’s already in too deep into Nakoa’s bullshit, and—

Someone stands at the end of the alleyway, blocking his escape, so he turns back around, stumbles over his own feet into one of the buildings. Breath catches in his chest, terror holding him tight as he stares ahead, at Rem, held in his father’s grip.

“You leave a messy trail, Nakoa.” Michael’s voice is quiet, calm, and Nakoa hears footsteps behind him, encroaching on his space, unsurprised when he feels the cold metal of a gun press against his neck. “Nice to see you again.”

“Let him—” Nakoa says, but the gun presses against his neck, harder, cuts him off, and he swallows. Waits.

“Rude to interrupt your father.” Michael, after a beat, does release Rem—only to send him reeling against the brick with a fist to his stomach. “Tell me, Nakoa. Did you think I would let you leave?”

Nakoa says nothing, eyes trained on Rem. Michael sighs, and, as Rem is bent over, coughing, knees him in the stomach. This time, Rem goes down. “Answer me.”

Yes; Nakoa figured, it’s been long enough since he heard about the secrets, since he’s been involved in any of Michael’s work; he should have been safe. He should have been fucking safe. And if it weren’t for Michael knowing someone fucking everywhere, a network of I-know-a-guy, Nakoa would have been.

He should have convinced Rem to fly out of the country. Maybe remote Russia isn’t so bad.

“No,” he lies, because Michael shouldn’t want to waste resources, not time or money, on Nakoa. He steps forward, ignoring Rem behind him, coughing.

Michael’s taller than he is, though not by much; Nakoa slouches. Rem still towers over him.

Rem could take him, if he was smart about it.

“I thought I was clear,” Michael says. “You are to stay with me. This is what we do, Nakoa. I can’t have my only son disappear, after all, can I? Even if he is a miserable excuse for one.”

Rem stumbles to his feet, croaks out a, “Hey, asshole—” before Michael turns, gun still in hand, and Nakoa can’t turn away fast enough, waiting for the sound of a gunshot that doesn’t come.

Instead, Michael winds up and slams the butt of the pistol into Rem’s head, turning back before Rem has even hit the ground. Blood surfaces from A gas on Rem’s forehead immediately, runs down his face, and… 

Nakoa watches Rem, tunnel visioned. Is he okay. Is he okay there’s a lot of blood already and his chest is rising and falling but is it too much? Not enough—

“Can someone take that one back to the car,” Michael asks, “handcuff him and put him in the trunk?”

It’s not a request. But Nakoa still says, “He needs help. You—”

“Shut up.”

“He could be—”

“Easier if he is,” Michael says. “I’d rather not have to cut off his attempts at a Disney rescue. You are mine, you know. No other man you throw yourself will change that fact.” Michael pulls Nakoa’s chin up, forces him to look Michael in the eye. “It’s best for you at home. You keep poor company.”

Nakoa keeps poor company. That’s almost laughable. “Pot calling the kettle,” Nakoa says. “I promise I won’t say shit, okay? For fuck’s sake, Rem doesn’t even know.”

He wonders maybe if Michael knows that, or if he doesn’t care. If his sole concern is of Nakoa giving out pieces of Michael’s secrets, or if it’s…

Nakoa swallows. Waits. 

Michael stares at him, expression blank, before he says, “You know, Nakoa. You haven’t proven yourself very trustworthy. You ran away from home. What am I meant to think?” He steps forward. “No. I think it’s best for you to stay with me.” He glances back towards Rem, still unconscious on the ground. “Your… friend, too.”

If Michael knows, he doesn’t day anything. Instead, he snaps his fingers, and the gun at Nakoa’s throat disappears. He tries to leave, get away, grab for Rem and shake him awake, but his before he can, his wrists are bound by zip ties.

Michael retreats down the alleyway, lighting a cigarette, and Nakoa opens his mouth—unsure what he’s going to say—but doesn’t get to call after him. Instead, there’s a burst of pain at the back of his skull, and the world goes dark.

[dcbicki]

10: “ We cant keep this up forever. ” Dan and Amy, please and thank you!

Set mid-season four. AU in which they were totally boning on the regular. | Took over two months but like I’m finally finishing these prompts so there’s that at least. And, not gonna lie about it, this was really fun to write. Enjoy!

-

They fall into a pattern shortly after she comes to work with him. He gets her the job, she sets the pace and lobbies circles around him.

They take their clients (shared, sometimes) out for drinks, get them sufficiently liquored up enough to settle for an offer inferior to what they’re entitled to, to what they probably deserve.

They stay for one more round, as Dan puts it – which generally means they end up staying for two more – and they stay drinking long after said clients have dispersed and gone home.

They stay longer than they probably should given their hectic schedules and the business breakfasts they have to bullshit their way through every other fucking morning.

They drink more than they probably should given their history and their fucked up yet-to-be-defined tension, and the way Amy is a lot more touchy when she isn’t so sober, something Dan only notices when it’s the morning after and his head is pounding from all the scotch and all the tequila and he has nails marks down his arms and across his shoulder blades.

“We can’t keep this up forever, you know?” She’s pulling on her heels, one finger tugging at the back of her shoe, wiggling her foot. It slips on, and she stands with a flick of her hair, tucking slick blonde locks behind her ears, “We have to stop.”

“You said that last week.” He nods to reminisce, to remind her, “And now look where you fuckin’ are.”

“Yeah, well, if anybody asks I’ll deny it.” She says, glaring down at him, still lay on his bed, dick barely covered by his sheet, arms stretching out as though it’s going to wake him up any more. “I’ll put the coffee on.”

“Decaf’s in the cup-”

“I know.”

They fall into a pattern shortly after she comes to work with him. He gets her the job, she sets the pace and lobbies fucking circles around him. She gloats about it, too.

He retaliates by fucking her good, good enough and hard enough to make her forget for just a little while how fucking screwed up she is, how messed up they both are.

Good enough that she can pretend she doesn’t loathe his guts but crave his affections all at once. Hard enough that he can pretend he doesn’t give a single flying fuck about her, despite constantly longing, vying for her attention.

It’s simple enough. Or, at least, it used to be.

First, they would just drink a little more after having drinks, snacking on bar peanuts and French fries that he’d order when her stomach would let the whole fucking building know that she hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day.

They’d drink, and they’d talk, and they’d plan, until eventually they’d end up sharing a cab, his hand on her thigh and her foot wrapping around his calf.

He’d hold her, and touch her, and she’d make a point of avoiding his eyes, of pressing one hand against his cheek whenever he’d make for her lips. She’d return the kiss, and she’d moan, and they’d be a complete wreck; a clumsy, lazy mix of gums and teeth and tongue, and the cab driver would ban them for using his cab later that night.

They’d be a tangled mess of uneven limbs and bruised lips by the time they reached his apartment – hers, on occasion, rarely – and she’d have him shoved through the doorway before his keys had even left the lock. She’d push at his back with small hands, and he’d tease her about her height, then say it didn’t matter because she was still her and she was still gorgeous and she was still completely, totally fuckable.

The door would slam and his keys would fall and she would be in charge. But only long enough to make her feel in control, and before she could even notice the change, the table’d been flipped and suddenly he’d be the one stripping off her tight dress, tugging her panties only so far down her legs until they reach her knees. He’d be the one impatiently fucking her over his kitchen counter, and she is little more than the pretty blonde who wants it, begs for him, pulls him closer.

It’d been simple enough, easy enough, until it became a little too routine, until it started happening a little too often, until they were a little too sober.

It’d been simple enough, except now he’s the one ringing her doorbell at three in the morning, and she’s the one showing up at his place whenever she’s feeling a little lonely, a little horny. There’s no need for the liquid courage anymore. It’s all just so inevitable.

Only things aren’t so easy now, things aren’t so simple, because he’s the one who strips her and she’s the one who rides him, fucks him, milks him, and he’s the one who lets her, only flips the table and flips them over when she can’t quite reach climax, when she can’t get there without him being the one to take charge, to grab the back of her neck and slam-

“Are you gonna fucking get up or what?”

It’s sick, really. This new pattern they’ve fallen into.

She tosses a pillow at him, picking it up off the floor, trying but failing to ignore the fact that her stomach does some kind of weird girly flutter when she remembers how she’d bitten into it last night, hands almost tearing it apart just as he almost did her, knuckles as white as her cheeks were pink.

“Already up.” He stifles a laugh, and she hates him. But she hates herself more for actually finding him charming – in some way, in some disgustingly twisted way, and it’s complete bullshit because he is not charming.

Fuck, she feels sick.

“What, you mean you don’t wanna fuck again?” He raises one brow, and she wants to slap his face so fucking badly. God, he’s so smug. And, because he knows she likes it, likes him, he won’t change.

But then he sighs (and it’s light, and long), and she can only watch as his grin turns to a smile and his smile to an expression she hasn’t ever seen on his face before now.

Is that… wait-

“What?”

“You know you’re,” he pauses, and seems to be gathering his thoughts just as she’s gathering her belongings off of his dresser.

She slides the top drawer open, pulls out a fresh pair of her panties and slips them on beneath her blue dress, questions why she chose to put her heels on first. Oh, fuck.

“You know I-”

Yeah. Fucking endearment.

She definitely feels sick.

“Dan?” She bats her lashes, widening her eyes to stare at him until he’s watching her, until his attention is solely on her face and not her ass or her legs or her tits, “You and your limp dick need to wake the fuck up and get in the shower. We’ve got a concrete deal to cement.”

She pulls her lipstick from her purse, moving out of his way when he finally draws his covers back with a boyish huff and fucking slides out of bed, all bare balls and pasty ass.

“Jesus.” She groans, rolling her eyes until she’s staring at the ceiling, avoiding him. “Do you own underwear?”

“Weren’t saying that when you had my dick in your mouth last night.” Dan mumbles, but she knows she’s meant to hear it. Then he smacks her ass and pulls on her waist, draws her back into him, and her fucking curves are moulding into his frame as though it’s normal.

“Stop.”

“Yeah?” He kisses the side of her neck and she can fucking hear his breath, and fuck, if it doesn’t send make her skin- “Amy.”

“Seriously, go shower. You smell like death had you for dinner and shit you back out.”

She writhes, pretends she isn’t comfortable in his arms, isn’t calm when he touches her. She likes to pretend that she isn’t slowly becoming fucking putty when he so much as grazes her elbow, stands closer than should be acceptable.

Fuck him, honestly.

“Fine.” He kisses her again, and his mouth lingers, and she can feel the smirk forming on his lips because he must have noticed her shiver, watched her tremble (slightly, try as she might to avoid it). “I’ll just do it myself then.”

Because, yes, his goddamn dick is pressing up against her ass, and it’s so hot, and she is so tight. But-

“You get a halfway decent handjob and that’s it.”

“Fine by me, sweetheart.”

They really need to stop doing this.

[heddofon-akuta]

This Evening

Characters: Takane, Haruka Ships: HaruTaka Genre: Hurt/comfort, romance, fluff Rating: K Word count: 4000+

Tomorrow story about a girl who, finally, tells the truth. 

Today, I was tired.

I was so tired, and I wasn’t even sure why. I mean, yeah, I stayed up late—but this kind of tired was way worse than normal (which was saying something, at least for me.) I wanted to cry at the simple idea of opening my eyes; I’d long since decided I wasn’t getting out of bed today. However I was soon rudely provoked otherwise by a voice that had entirely different plans in mind.

“Good morning, Takane. ♡” That soft, however cheerful sound echoed in our otherwise silent room. I didn’t need to look to know whom it belonged to. If the sun was up and about, so was he. “Or should I say, afternoon!”

My boyfri—  I, I mean, my, lov—wait. My, romantiii—…?  Ugh. My… 

Haruka.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” he said in a sing-song voice. Normally, I’d have just ignored him, but he pulled the window’s drapes open, and the sun rays poured brightly across our formally darkened room. Loudly, I hissed—then shielding my face with my blanket. 

“Leave. Now.”

He emitted a small disappointed sound as I felt him sit on the edge of my bed. “Don’t be like that,” he said softly, making my feelings of resentment seem almost trivial. “You should really get up—at least for a while, okay?”

“No,” I said adamantly, “I’m tired.”

“You’ve been asleep for fourteen hours.” He pulled the covers off my face, looking at me with a worried sort of expression that was hard to say no to...

But, being myself, I found a way.

Again hiding my face, I growled. Appearing on the wide-screen TV mounted across the room, a drastic change in my voice was heard. “Ahhh, you’re so needy!” Floating upside-down, I lazily kicked my feet (or rather, lack there-of) back and forth. I wasn’t keen on any measure of consciousness right now, but at least I wasn’t on the verge of physical exhaustion like this. “Are you happy now?”

“You know what I meant, Takane,” he replied, sounding concerned. “It’s not good for your body to stay in bed for so long. Inactivity breeds inactivity, you know?” (Pul-lease. I was inactive for two straight years. I’ve all but perfected the art of being dormant; at this point, I’m basically a pro.) “You should get up, and get some exercise.” (No.) “We should go somewhere, or do something fun!” (No, no, no.)

“Yeah, and we can do that with me in your phone!” I brushed off his suggestion. “And besides, don’t you think I’m just so much cuter like this?” I tried to bait him—using my hands to frame my face as I bat my eyelashes in his direction. Vague attempts at flirting were a lot easier behind a screen, I had to say.

“Hmm…” He looked back and forth between my real body and the screen a couple times, eventual to conclude, “Nope. Because Takane’s always adorable.”

Y’know...?

It didn’t matter if I was real or virtual—when he said stupid things like that, he never failed to make me flustered. “Y-You—!” I puffed out my cheeks and pouted at him in annoyance, and he seemed to preemptively know I was about to fuss at him, because he cut me off.

“In fact, you’re so adorable,” a somehow innocent sort of smirk (an expression only he could manage,) flickered across his visage, and he leaned down to hover over me slightly, “I think I could just kiss you.”

“…W-Wha—?!” 

Even though it’d been a few months now, since we’d gotten into a… relaaation—this… this, relay—ugh. 

It had been a few months since we’d gotten, eh-hem… together, (—was it possible for a human-turned-anime-esque virtual entity to throw up in its mouth a little bit? Because I’m pretty sure I just did—) but I’d had yet to find the courage to so much as kiss Haruka’s cheek thus far. My virtual head started spinning just thinking about it. 

While he certainly gotten close (what with his face being not an inch from mine,) I stopped him before he could do anything. My eyes snapped wide open, and with my heart racing a mile a minute now, I clasped my hands over his mouth and pushed him away. 

Did he really just embarrass me into waking up?

“A-Alright, alright! I get it!” I glared.

With his mouth still covered and his voice muffled, he was cheerful to ask, “So you’ll get out of bed?”

I nodded in defeat, to which he seemed delighted. I soon realized that any sort of movement provoked a headache from my irrational sleep deprivation, but I could only groan and sit upright. He was sure to give me a good-morning/afternoon hug—which I specifically didn’t return. I wanted him to know just how inconvenient he was being. 

But, of course, he didn’t seem to get the message as he went on without concern, “I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Not hungry.”

“You should eat anyway.” (What are you, my babysitter?) “And you should change out of your pajamas. I’ll even help you brush your hair before we leave,” he told me, putting his hand atop my head before running his fingers through my waist-length mess of tangles. I felt my face heat up, but as I was still too out-of-it to complain; I could only stare in annoyance as he soon disappeared out the doorway.

After he was gone, I put my fingers to my lips, reflecting on what’d just happened—both his gracious attitude... and my bitter one. Despite technically being together, ours hardly seemed to qualify as a real relationship. There were still so many... things, we’d yet to do, and, perhaps more-so—so many things I’d yet to say. 

I groaned, pushing all related thoughts to the back of my mind before flopping back down on the bed. Despite everything, I somehow only felt more tired than before.

Regardless of my constant whining for an alternative, he eventually convinced me to go for a walk. He’d said he’d had a nice place in mind—that place being fairly peaceful and quite with all things considered, as it was somehow isolated from the rest of the city. Naturally, to that—I didn’t argue. 

However when we got there, I could only look upon this place with a vacant visage, as if surprised. I got a strange kind of feeling upon gazing at the sky projected above the green landscape; it felt like it wasn’t the first time in my life, that I’d stood in this exact spot. I mean, I guess... it probably wasn’t? 

After all, it was that little hill next to the high school we used to attend.

As Haruka made his way to the hill’s peak without me, my confusion shifted something resembling distress... or desire—but I could only cant my head to the side, trying to understand the situation. It was as if there was something important to be remembered here, but I just wasn’t quite sure what that was.

“Aren’t you coming?” Haruka asked, looking back at me.

“Ah,” I responded softly, “Yeah.”

Regardless of was escaping my mind, the area was otherwise tranquil as promised. It’d be a good place to kick back and listen to the radio for a while, but... glancing over to Haruka from the corner of my eye, I couldn’t quite bring myself to physically put my headphones on. 

Regardless, still resentful, I didn’t engage him in conversation, but he didn’t seem to notice or mind. As per usual wherever he went, he brought it sketchbook, so he was occupied.

Shifting my gaze, I glanced down to the paper. He seemed to take notice, as he hid the picture against his chest, wearing a distinctly guilty expression. Quite fittingly, in fact, as I’d seen enough to know what he was doodling.

“What have I told you about that,” I narrowed my eyes, to which he, naturally, grew downcast and discouraged.

“But… I love drawing you.”

I felt a sudden fluster, having never quite realized the fact for some reason. I growled at him, visibly angered—then crossing my arms with a huff. I turned away, so he couldn’t see my face. “Well, I don’t care! Draw something else!”

“Hmm…” he pondered for a moment, not letting my mood get to him too extensively. From the corner of my eye, I saw him look around, eventually setting his sights. It wasn’t long before I heard the sound of his pencil tracing across the page—but just to be safe, I waited a few minutes before looking back to him (...but I swore to God—if I looked over and saw the back of my head on that page, I’d smack him right in the fac—)

Oh? “What’s that?” I asked bluntly. It was a strange sort of picture that I couldn’t quite make out yet. (Oh, gosh—don’t tell me it was an abstract picture of the back of my head?) However he didn’t seem discouraged by my untrained eye, as he only smiled and held his sketchpad out at arms length—comparing his picture to the original subject. 

“It’s the sunset, see?”

“…Oh. Oh, yeah, I kinda see now,” I replied.

Suddenly, I realized how late the day had gotten. I must’ve slept a really long time… and yet—

I was still so tired.  Why did I have to be this way? 

The thought only proved to make me more upset, so naturally—throwing some of that pessimism Haruka’s way—I asked, “Isn’t it kinda impossible to draw something like a sunset with just one color?”

“Eh? You think so?” he tilted his head a bit. “Well, I say it’s only as impossible as you make it seem,” he stated in contradiction, pointing his finger in the air.

I shrugged, because, well—what did I know, right? Guess that’s why he was the one with the sketchpad here. Though I was pretty sure it had more to do with my sour attitude (which, naturally, didn’t stop there.) I only continued to discourage him, or maybe I was just testing how far his optimism went. “It just seems boring to me.”

Even though I’d all but insulted him just now, he hardly seemed phased; he just laughed my comment off. “Then I’ll make sure to bring colored pencils next time, so you like it more—okay?” To which I narrowed my eyes—feeling oddly annoyed as he suggested going out of his way to please me. Regardless, he went on to explain, “I just wanted to draw the sunset today, too. Since I couldn’t draw what I really wanted, I picked the next best thing,” —he could’ve sufficed in saying, but naturally—that wasn’t enough for him. He laughed quietly to himself, as if he preemptively knew how I’d react to his next statement. He smiled, timidly holding his sketchpad against his chest.

 “It’s close, but even the sunset couldn’t be as beautiful as Takane.”

“Eh?!” I shouted... to which he laughed once more, and I instantly smacked his sketchpad out of his hands. I hissed in his direction, fixating a harsher kind of glare. “Stop laughing, idiot!” 

He didn’t. “But, I mean it!” he said.

Bitterly, I tried my hardest to hurt his feelings. “W-Well—! I hate the sun!”

Reading me like a book, he was forward in explaining myself to me with a smile. “When you say you don’t like something, I know it means you love it.”

I was caught off-guard and was without words for a moment. “I… I do not,” I finally said... perhaps only furthering his point. “Whatever! You’re just an idiot!”

“And when you act mean like that, I know you don’t mean it either.”

“Wh-What?!” I stuttered, offended, as if I had no idea what he was talking about—to which he only smiled as if he’d proven me right. I wasn’t entirely sure, but I think this is what the “Haruka” equivalent of smugness looked like. I grit my teeth, growling at him. Even though he was just being honest, it made me bothered. I leered at him and stood abruptly. “Whatever,” I muttered in frustration. Turning back in the direction of the base, I’d decided I’d had enough “physical activity” for today. “I’m too exhausted for this.”

While I didn’t want him to try to stop me, in the back of my mind… I was silently hoping he’d follow. And as if on cue, he seemed to have known that—as I heard him pick his things up before soon trotting at my side.

Without permission, he reached for my hand to hold. Though I was kinda relieved by it, I jerked my arm away regardless. I could’t let him think he was off the hook. But, again, he didn’t seem bothered by my behavior at all—as I was surprised to feel him reach for my palm once more. I gave him an apparent questioning look, as if I was saying, “What are you doing, don’t you know I’m mad at you?”

But acting as if nothing was abnormal at all, he only smiled sweetly in reply—a smile that still resentfully made my heart race to this day. In fact, it made me feel… kinda light-headed. Regardless, I only made myself feel worse, as I tore my hand from his once more.

And again, he reached for it.

...Why? Hadn’t I been nothing but a rotten brat to them like I have today? I mean, hadn’t I done everything in my power to push him away all afternoon. With a glare plastered to my visage, I didn’t give myself the chance to think before shouting my first reaction in his face. “Can’t you take a hint for once?! God, I just can’t stand you some days!”

I expected my words to injure him, but he just stopped in his tracks, narrowing his eyes in a way that looked somewhat pensive, or maybe just blissful. Acting like my rage had no validation, he gave me that angelic smile once more.

“I know, Takane.” I recalled our prior conversation; as if on cue, he put his hand to my cheek. “I love you, too.”

Hearing him say that, feeling the gentle touch of his hand—it sent chills down my spine, and a drowning wave of emotions over my head.

How can you excuse my behavior so easily? It makes me so mad; if you acted this way to me, I’d punch you in the face and never speak to you again. Your attitude makes me furious, outraged, disgusted with anger.  You’re such an idiot.

I just wanted to start screaming at him like I often did—shouting my frustrations for him to hear. But, just like always, that didn’t feel right.

Instead, tearing my hand away again— I said something even worse.

“Then why didn’t you know I was in love with you two years ago?”

And to that—suddenly, terrifyingly, that look of understanding had all but disappeared from Haruka’s face, replaced with his utmost confusion. “Wh… what—?” he stuttered—to which I looked off to the side, and once more toward the peak of that hill, though he no longer stood at the top. I took a step back from Haruka.

“You’re such an idiot...”

And... at the same time, you make me so happy, I feel as though I’m about to cry. What did I do to ever deserve to be so happy, with you?

Unable to slap any kind of filter over my mouth at this point, I didn’t have the willpower to control anything I said.

“Maybe if you weren’t so stupid, I wouldn’t have been so stupid!” He flinched a bit as I smacked the sketchbook out of his hands once more. “Maybe we wouldn’t have died if you had just realized it sooner—!”

“T-Takan—”

“—because you know I basically died because of it, right?!”

His eyes widened with fear; mine was a statement to which he took a visible step back. Hearing myself after a momentary lag—tears now burned on the corners of my permanently unpleasant eyes. 

Truly, however, my death was the farthest thing from my mind right now.

Even now, I was just looking for yet another way to pin the blame on him. He’d done nothing to deserve such harsh words—not this evening, yesterday evening, and even tomorrow’s too. Ever single day, he was doing everything in his power to make me happy. He did that just by being himself…

And there would never, ever be an evening where I deserved any of it.

I knew the reason, that ours hardly felt like a real relationship... and it had nothing to do what we had or hadn’t done. Believe it or not, It was because what I hadn’t said either. Of course, without the truth, our relationship hardly was one...

But, moreso, even with the truth, it hardly was one.

“You know… you died because of it, right?”

For what was maybe the first time in my life—it was nearly impossible to lie. 

“I was… pretending to listen to my headphones—“ I said though the tears, and it sounded so stupid when I said it aloud, “because, I… I wanted you to notice me, to ask for my attention.”

When a person immerses themselves in their own world and someone around them starts doing something else, they can’t help but feel lonely, right? Yeah—talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

“Y-You… you had a stroke, and I could’a done something about it. B-But, I just…!” I should’ve stopped. It felt like I was going to start hyperventilating, and I needed to catch my breath—but I didn’t let myself. “I just ignored you the entire time—!”

Confessing it aloud made my chest throb, but I’d never quite know what a hurting heart felt like—at least, like he did. In response to all this, he hadn’t said a word; the moment was otherwise silent besides my audible sobs.

“Haruka. You died…” I paused, finally forcing myself to mutter through my tears, “because of me. You died, you literally died, because—”

Because I wanted your attention, because I ignored you, because I just couldn’t tell the truth.

“—because I loved you.”

Both mentally and physically, I felt disgusted. Cowardly, I couldn’t at all look his way, and I was somehow surprised to feel Haruka reach over after a moment—gently placing his hand on my shoulder. Suddenly, I felt my adrenaline start to rush once more, because for some reason, in this god-awful situation—he was the one who was consoling me.

I jerked away from him. I turned around as if to run off, but he stopped me in my tracks—grabbing my wrist firmly. “Stop it!” I demanded, and while he wasn’t anything close to aggressive, he just didn’t let me overpower him this time—and he pulled me into a secure embrace. Naturally, I did everything in my power to try to break away from him, pushing and shoving him while I hissed through gritted teeth. “Get away from me!”

God, just get it over with. Just hate me alread—

“—Takane!” he finally said, his voice cracking and sounding alarmingly distressed—so much so that I was caught off guard and I ceased in my struggling. It just enough so he could pull away and look at my face. His eyes were glowing red, undoubtably so he was strong enough to deal with the currently difficult me—but what was more alarming were the few tears that were streaming down his face.

For the first time in my life, Haruka was...  crying in front of me.

And just when I though I couldn’t get any more surprised, he leaned forward as if he had no control over his actions. I froze instantly, my eyes wide and staring without focus. With a moment of realization setting in, I was instant to calm down—because just as gentle and innocent as he was a person—Haruka kissed me.

My heart raced a mile a mine. Eventually, my eyes narrowed to a close to match his, and forgetting everything that happened up until now—I kissed him, too.

He pulled away, just enough to speak—and what he said seemingly made no sense at all, but for some reason, I think I believed him.

“Takane… it wasn’t your fault.”

I’d imagine he’d opened his eyes to look at me, but upon being unable to do the same, I finally realized why I felt so tired today—and that was because, I didn’t feel much of anything at all. My body included.

After a moment, I heard him say my name quizzically, the tone of his voice suddenly growing more distressed. Just as I was about to fall to the ground, Haruka caught me before I could.

For the first time since getting my physical form back, I was having an attack... At what might have been the literal worst time possible.

He knelt, propping my body against his chest. He said my name a couple times, shaking me a bit, and the only reason I knew was because I’d instantly transferred myself to my phone. I peeked up at him from my own pocket; he seemed to take notice, giving a weak smile as he reached for me. I attempted to hide, though I didn’t have anywhere to go. I whined a bit as I held my sleeves up to cover my pouting face.

“I’m sorry.” Looking down at my unconscious self, he (almost guilty) added, “I... I shouldn’t have done that.”

With anyone else, I’d be aggressively vocal in agreement. Even with him, in most cases, I’d be in agreement. But, truly, his physical actions weren’t what caused this to happen, but rather his words.

My arms fell to my sides, I didn’t bother to flaunt my virtual persona. The tone of my voice reflected that of physical body’s. “Even if you don’t blame me, it was still my fault.”

Again, the look on his face fell to concern. He was silent for a moment, though it looked as though he had something he wanted to say. He stopped looking at the phone, only to look down at the “me” he held in his arms. He reached up, brushing the hair from my eyes.

“No, Takane, it wasn’t” he finally said. “I, I was going to die,” his words passed with slow and hesitant intonation, perhaps more serious than I’d ever heard him, “no matter what.”

My eyes widened, the pixels around my mouth shifted to a gaping expression. Confused, I could only mutter my response. “W...What?” To which Haruka gazed off to the side, as if he couldn’t bare to look at my real nor artificial face. He grit his teeth, seeming hesitant but sure to continue.

“And what’s worse, I... I knew it. I had known it for years—long before I even met you.”

I stared blankly. For a program of seemingly artificial intelligence, I don’t think I could quite comprehend the meaning of what I’d heard. Overwhelmed, it was my first reaction to blurt all the questions coming to my mind. “W-Why? Why? Since when? How? Ah, ah—“ With digital tears forming in the corner of my virtual eyes too, I could only ask in fluster, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to, Takane—but I couldn’t,” he was instant to explain, gritting his teeth with a pained expression. “I could only tell Shintaro-kun, because something about the idea of telling you just... made my heart stop even faster.” He grit his teeth with a pained expression, as if remembering something. After a moment, I knew why. 

“Maybe it’s for the same reason I didn’t… I didn’t realize how you felt. Because I knew... I was going to die, and I couldn’t be with you.”

A confession to which I choked on my words, unsure if I felt more or less guilty than before. My breath hitched, as I was unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Haruka did.

“Takane...” he exhaled my name, “if there’s one thing I’ve never wanted, it’s for you to blame yourself. Because we died together, I have the chance at a real life, with you.”

It took me a moment to understand his meaning, but the moment I did, I felt my cheeks heat up. My real cheeks. I felt my consciousness somewhat regainable. Slowly, I opened my eyes, still damp from tears, and looked up at him. He returned my gaze with red irises, which made sense as he soon stood, holding me in his arms like a bride.

His final statement left me with yet another new sensation throbbing in my chest. Without a second thought, I reached up, grabbing Haruka by the collar, pulling him into another kiss. After a moment of mutual surprise, I felt his hold around me grow my firm, as he cradled me tightly in his arms. He kissed me back.

Feeling bold for what might’ve been the first time in my life, it was all but impossible to restrain myself. But, also, for the first time in my life... I didn’t feel like I had to.

“You’re not the reason I died, Takane. You’re the reason I’m really alive for the first time in my life.”

[faunusrights]

Intersection (a Carnage AU ficlet)

Another short fic for Carnage AU/The Art of Immolation. Hand-writing this huge fic means I don’t get to post any tidbits, but there’s always shorts to post! So have Blake and Velvet meeting for the first time. You can also read it on AO3.

“Blake.”

It’s hard not hear Adam’s voice from the other end of the warehouse, especially when it’s so empty tonight. Almost everyone’s got some sort of mission today, it seems, but Blake’s got nothing to do and their hands are itching from the inactivity. They’re not enough of a rookie to take on jobs better made for gophers, and they’re not enough of a veteran to take part in some of the larger undertakings that require a whole team and the command of a Lieutenant. So, they sit somewhere in the middle, picking up the scraps where they can grab them.

As such, they’re not the type to ignore Adam, because he’s usually the one giving them things to do.

Blake doesn’t look over right away, though - instead, they fold up Gambol Shroud back to its pistol form, shoving the blackened rag they were using to clean the blade into the pocket of their hoodie. It’s almost meditative when they maintain their weapon, scrubbing dark metal into a polished sheen, no matter the dents and dings that’re scattered over the surface. It looks impressive, intimidating, so Blake straps it to their back and hops off the empty crate they were sitting on, finally catching Adam’s eye as he strides over.

He’s not alone. In Adam’s shadow comes another Faunus, one Blake’s never seen before. They’re almost Blake’s height, if you ignore the single lupine ear that adds near half a foot. The left ear is but a stump, however, cut at an angle and close to their scalp, and Blake has to swallow down a wince before they finally look to their face.

They’re young, like Blake. Maybe within a year or two, if they had to make a guess. They’ve got a glower that knits their brows together, through Blake’s hoping it just stems from curiosity. Perhaps an attempt to intimidate them first. Not that they need to - they’re wearing just a bloodied tank top and loose cargo shorts, and the curve of muscles and array of jagged scars are enough to convince Blake they’re a fighter. They haven’t got any weapon they can see, either, but a glance down to their hands - flexing in and out of fists - show scars on their knuckles too.

A bare-fist brawler. Blake’s always wary of those kinds, because there’s never a moment they’re not prepared for a fight.

“This is Velvet Scarlatina,” Adam starts, so Blake finally tears their gaze away just long enough to stare up at his mask. It’s only polite. “She’s going to be joining our ranks, but I need someone to show her the ropes. Can I entrust her to you?”

Blake blinks. Usually rookies are given to more experienced officers, which isn’t necessarily how they’d classify themself. “Really?”

“Of course.” Adam’s smile is rare, but it’s always pleasing to see. “You’ve come a long way.”

It’s hard to not lose composure in front of Velvet, but Blake manages it, limiting their smile and offering just a stiff nod of acknowledgement. Adam looks back to Velvet again, putting a hand on Blake’s shoulder.

“Blake can show you everything you’ll need to know. You haven’t unlocked your Aura yet, right?”

Velvet shakes her head, and Blake’s surprised. It answers the question of how she got all her scars, but fighting without an Aura in this day and age is a death sentence. No wonder Adam had picked her up.

“We’ll sort that out soon enough. For now, how about you two get acquainted?” Letting go of Blake, he cants his head in their direction. “Blake can show you where to go if you need me.”

With that, he turns and walks away, his coat giving him a dark and narrowed figure. Velvet still doesn’t say anything, taking the time to look Blake up and down instead, and they’re feeling a little awkward beneath her gaze so they clear their throat to draw her attention upwards again. “So. Guess Adam recruited you?”

It sounds a little more pointed than they meant, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Velvet when she shakes her head, making long red hair wave behind her. “No. I joined up.”

Her accent isn’t local to Vale, nor from the likes of Mistral either. In fact, it sounds a whole lot more like-

“You’re from Menagerie?”

The question sort of drops out of Blake’s mouth before they can help it, and they snap their jaw shut with an audible snap of teeth. It’s not really their business who anyone came from, not when they’re all bleeding for the same cause anyway. That doesn’t stop her from offering a narrow smile in response, though. “Yeah. Came over with my parents for a protest last year.” Her smile gets distinctly sharper. “Until the police thought to mow everyone down, them included.”

Blake’s pretty sure they know what protest she’s referring to. They hadn’t been there, though they’d heard the stories of guns being pulled, of the bodies in the streets. Protest signs made black with blood.

They understand now. “Me too. Different protest, same shit.”

Something softens in brown eyes then, and Velvet swallows thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Blake half shrugs, and then they offer forward a hand. It just feels like the thing to do, really. “It’ll be good to work with you.”

Velvet scrunches up her nose, and then her palm presses to Blake’s. Her grip is strong and marred with calluses that mirror Blake’s own, and Blake suddenly gets this good feeling about her. “Looking forward to it.”

Maybe it’s unfounded, but Blake reckons they’re gonna do some interesting stuff together in the future.

It’ll be six months down the line that Velvet saves their life. It’s because of some random, human motherfucker who thought they could pull a knife on a White Fang officer and get away with it. Blake’s off-guard and their Aura’s down and right as they feel the prick of blade cutting through their clothes, Velvet’s turned on her heel to smash an elbow right into his nose. He drops the knife as he crumples to the ground, but you can never be sure with morons like this so Blake takes it and shoves it right between his ribs.

And then they go, leaving him to either get help or bleed out, depending on whichever comes first.

Once they’re far away and alone down a narrow street, Blake stops and catches Velvet’s arm, gloved fingers holding tight. They want to say thanks, but it comes out as, “I always had a good feeling about you.”

And she just grins, and the white mask on her face is luminescent under the light of a broken moon. “Always had one about you too, partner.”

And Blake thinks that they’d be happy if everything stayed this way forever.

[thejamesoldier]

Heyooo. I absolutely adore your writing and look up to it so much, and I just wanted to put a request through if you don't mind. I was thinking about a Bucky or Seb x reader, where he's some sort of a dark angel king, or a dark immortal of sorts (not vampire though), and he develops a strange fascination with the reader, and the rest is up to you. ☺

Hi anon, I hope you enjoy this!! I know you said you didn’t want Seb/Bucky to be a vampire, and he’s not, but I hope you don’t mind that I included them in the story as other characters? (If you don’t like it then I can rewrite this to your liking :D xx) Anyway on to the story!

(oh and one of my favorite hoes and wife Kumi aka @mellifluous-melodramas wrote a fic about Unseelie!Seb first, so GO READ IT HERE!! It’s amazing and also completely different from this story so don’t worry xx)

No Faith, Trust or Faerie Fucks

Pairing: Unseelie Fae King!Bucky x Y/n (as Tony & Pepper’s daughter)

Summary: Y/n Stark is in the wrong place at the wrong time as unsavory characters come out to play.

Overall Tags: lots of lore and shit I hope its not too confusing, ANGST (sorry i cant help it), smut, fluff to make sure I don’t murder yall’s hearts, and the usual humor

Tagged Lovlies: @captain-chimichanga, @creideamhgradochas, @evilmermaidsinc, @buckyandsebsinbin, @simplyme8308, @notsoprettykitty, @ryverpenrad, @whintersoldiers, @mini-muffin-mountain, @the-one-and-only-vampcake, @james-bionic-barnes, @badassbaker, @kenobi-and-barnes, @fangasms101, @almondbuttercup, @mar-gega, @vacam79, @nenyakj, @angryschnauzer, @rosegoldarmour, @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @takemetoneverland91, @jenairedale, @musichowler, @seargantbcky, @mllx-anazra, @amrita31199, @jenna-luke

Chapter 1 - Just a Spoonful of Y/n

Your feet ache like the Devil himself kissed them.

Uneven roots, spiteful twigs, and bitterly sharp rocks take turns stabbing against the thin worn down leather souls of your shoes as you run. The gnarled forest canopy sneers down at you as you tear through prickled bushes and low-bearing branches, the dark leaves hiding you from the worried stars twinkling frantically above them. The constellations sprint across the moonless map of black sky trying to keep up with you as you move with silent terror through the smirking chessboard of tree trunks.

You are filled with an inescapable sense of dread, knowing that no matter how far you run he’ll always be a breath behind you.

Sensing the chase, ancient life that has lived in this forest for centuries awakens with an elemental inhale; it goes unnaturally quiet (you swear even your own breath and pounding footfalls became muted) before a loud breeze rises seemingly out of the grave of the forest floor and howls as it gathers body and slithers its way through the bark maze, weaving – hunting – ominously like a snake in grass until it finds you. Your throbbing lungs heave against the burden of the unforgiving pace you have set for yourself when the wind finally slices past you. It scrapes its sharp chilled fingers across your cheeks, like claws of ice digging in and actually breaking the skin, leaving your face stinging, numb, and wet. Whether or not the wet was from your terrified tears or drawn blood you wouldn’t ever know. You would have cried out in pain and fear had you any air to spare.

With your instincts leaving you no choice you continue ripping through the evil growth around you praying to any higher power who may be listening to please deliver you to safety. The long, heavy material of your skirts betray you by getting caught under your already unsure footing, listening to the sick spell this dark wind is whispering into the quality winter wool. Those same ice claws snag and pluck at the hem of your dress as well, the hissing breeze fluttering and galloping along the forest floor by your feet. With a wheezing grunt you fist your hands in your thick skirts and lift up the material and continue running, ignoring the branches snapping at your now unprotected face and the shrubbery that takes bites out of your exposed ankles as you rush by.

After what seems like an hour of running you begin to feel yourself being herded by the wind at your ankles, at your back, at your sides; if that’s even possible. The constellations are loosing sight of you as you start veering away from the thinning edge of the forest you were desperately making your way towards, and unknowingly begin slowly arching back to the middle and thickest part of the forest. Under the influence of the ancient darkness that lives in every cell of life here, you start to lose sanity and sense, forgetting the original direction you were going in.

He’s coming, Your mind shrieks at you in full fledged panic when you still haven’t reached the forest line, I can feel him!

The wind nips at your heels like loyal hunting hounds as you start stumbling. Your body is weak and shaky and you are lost. You can feel that fear in your body spreading like a chill down your spine – inevitable and inexorable. Cool mercury inks through your veins, smooth and silver and fatal.

A fated root finally gets the better of your frantic footing and you crash to the ground with a surprised huff knocked out of your chest. The tears flow silently and endlessly down your cheeks, but you are much too frightened to notice as you spit dirt out of your mouth and struggle to breathe. The flight instinct slowly transitions to fight as the chill in your veins and heart starts to petrify your limbs to a solid stand still. The loose dirt under your hands starts to – impossibly – turn to sinking mud, working to shackle you in a prison of wet cold earth and sure death.

The wind bellows with rage as it tries to push you back down when you attempt to rip yourself free, drawing its icy fingers into fists and punching holes in your determination. Once you allow your body to fully release the instinct to run a switch flips, and in one deep esoteric breath your soul absorbs the only other option left to it. Your heart beats thunderously under your ribs as you grit your teeth and stand.

You find that fighting is a much less frighting instinct to embody. Instead of fear souring your stomach and pumping poison into your heart, clean pure merciful fury replaces it. This fury gifts you strength, a clear mind freed from the trap of ethereal darkness surrounding you, a clarity to see the full chessboard in front of you. You see the entire spider’s web now and instead of fearing death you can see the spider.

It’s just a forest.

It’s just wind.

It’s just dirt.

It’s just a spider.

It’s just a man –

“I am no man.”

The wind suddenly dies down and stops whipping around you like a flock of angry vultures. A cold foreign sensation ripples through your body as you swivel on your newly recovered feet and see the spider – him, the man who you were running from. Or not a man…

You try to frantically squint through the shadows where this, this creature hides in, not daring to move from your spot and holding your ground this time instead of running. That fury reignites in your chest as silence stretches between you two, and spreads hot and powerful throughout the rest of you, lending energy to your exhausted muscles and air to your throbbing lungs and burning throat. Your fists clench at your sides and your lip snarls up to expose your teeth.

“You sound like a man.” You speak with a clear cut voice, the rage you feel exposing itself through the violent wobble in your tone.

The anger hides your lie. He did not in fact sound like any man you have ever heard. His voice seems to be made up of the howl of the wind that had chased you all this way, the rustle of dead leaves in the trees, the creak of ancient roots in the earth; a dark melody manifested by nature itself weaving into a baritone so delicately sinister it made the small hairs all over your body stand up, and your skin prickle like you had been dipped in a boiling pot of ants.

“Step into the light you coward!” Comes your growled demand as the largely uncomfortable feeling that he can see you and you can’t see him gets the better of you.

The man-creature says nothing in response and doesn’t make to move out from the thick convenient shadows veiling him from you of everything but his silhouette. His tall frightening black shadow remains a few strides away and only cocks his head to the side a tick.

“I am no coward.”

That fear from earlier batters at the high walls of your fury now, begging to be let back in. Let me in! Let me in! Run I say! RUN!

You swallow stiffly but don’t let yourself falter. If you run again you have a feeling that you will end up in the same place you are now. Until you face this man-creature you weren’t leaving this forest. The trees seem to bow towards him, the leaves fluttering to graze him in worship, the branches arching protectively over him, the bushes fluffing at his feet. With a start you realize he is almost part of the forest itself, a personification of the nature around him.

Having never encountered a supernatural creature before you were a little at loss for what to do, but you have heard many stories from the people of the village and at Court. Tales of vampires, shifters, werewolves, kitsune, and if you’re lucky: Fae.

You did not in anyway gather a goodness from the being before you, so that cancels out Fae-folk. The only tales you have ever heard people recount about Fae were ones of hope and protection and hard-learned lessons that always ended up exposing you to truths. With a shaky breath you readjust your footing below you, bracing yourself,

“Are you a vampire then? Hunting me for my blood?” You question the darkness in front of you, his silhouette murky in the ever present black fog that mists and blurs the strict lines of the shadows.

A scoff emits gently from the blackness, “I am no vampire.”

A part of you relaxes but then you stiffen again,

“A werewolf? Are you hungry for my flesh?”

Something akin to a bored, exasperated sigh whispers out from the shadows this time.

“Humans never cease to disgust me with their base, vulgar minds.”

You’re stumped at what to say or do. The rage is starting to simmer out of your system as this stalemate un-nerves you further with each second. Your fury gave you strength but each moment you spend talking the more that shakiness begins to re-settle in your bones. With a desperate attempt to reclaim your weakening strength you try another tactic.

“Vulgar I may be, but a coward you still remain sir,” You hesitate before pushing yourself forward and charging right at the darkness, “Afraid a base human will see you? Cowering in the shadows like a deer before a cougar–,”

Before you can take an official step into the shadows a hand as pale and hard as marble, and as cold as packed glacial ice comes out of nowhere, securing fingers of granite around your neck.

You make a tiny choked sound of surprise and it takes you a shocked second to realize that this hand isn’t coming from the shadows, but beside it. There are two beings here not just one. Out of reflex your hands come up to grasp the forearm of the offending hand at your neck as the hand lifts your feet easily off the ground and your mind scrambles to adjust to this new frightening information.

You didn’t even know – didn’t sense – that there was more than one creature. The panic breaks the damn of your anger in an overwhelming avalanche as you frantically scour the trees and darkness around you wondering if there were more hidden creatures. The face and body that belongs to the hand around your neck appears out from beside the shadows after a moment of you dangling. When it comes into full view your throat clogs as you try to gasp against his tight fingers.

It – he – is beautiful.

He wears a quality navy tunic with a cream undershirt that sprouts frothy lace at his neck-collar and wrists; his pants a deep calico to abruptly stop above bare feet. No shoes. The skin you can see is as bright as a full moon, flawless, like milk being poured into a cobalt glass goblet. His eyes seem carved directly from the horizon of a crisp winter sky – a blue so bright and unearthly it has to have been stolen directly from the Gods’ own minds. His features are too perfect: high proud cheekbones bordering a straight long nose that points down to full, impossibly soft looking lips that are framed by a sharp chin and chiseled granite jaw. His hair is short and shines gold like wisps of sun atop his head, hair so fine it looks like it would feel as soft as a sun ray’s kiss. He isn’t real.

He isn’t human, Your mind corrects.

Before you can think of how to respond to everything that is happening, the fingers at your neck tighten just a hair more,

“My Master is no coward.” This impossible blonde creature somehow hisses down at you even as he raises you above his head. His frame is so tall and packed with dangerous muscle you fight the urge to faint with fear.

You instead stare wide eyed at him, eyes ready to pop out of your skull, hands futility clutching at the white marble skin trying to breathe as pressure builds steadily in your face from lack of air.

The silhouette of the man-creature still shroud in the shadows whispers something in some ancient tongue, the words almost caressing the very air around you like they’re alive.  

Immediately the supernatural blonde releases your neck and you drop to your knees and fall forward onto your hands, swallowing thirsty gulps of air down and coughing harshly when your throat fails to adjust. Your hands subconsciously fist the dirt below your hands as you frantically try to gain bearing on what’s going on. One anonymous supernatural creature you could maybe escape from, but two?

Not a chance in hell.

And the fact that you pissed them off?

Yeah, double no. You’re dead meat…literally.

The fact that you are going to die starts to steadily push down on your shoulders, coaxing you to just lay down on the ground and give up. Your ears are mute to the hushed old-world words being exchanged by the two man-creatures who are calmly discussing your fate.

You barely have the energy to be startled as the same cold stone hand grabs the skin at the back of your neck and lifts you to your feet like you are a runt of a pup litter. You hadn’t even noticed the beautiful blonde had moved behind you while you heaved on the ground. With a fearful spark in your gut you realize the first man-creature still hasn’t moved out from the shadows and you still can’t see him – it, whatever the male-creature is. You wonder after a dazed moment if maybe he can’t step out of the shadows, like its a cage, but you quickly shove that note aside because its the middle of the night and there is no moon tonight. If light was his concern there isn’t any to hide from at the moment, only concerned stars peeping down through the dark canopy trying to catch a glimpse of how you’re fairing.

“My Master desires you to live,” The blonde practically hisses behind you, his hand still unnervingly gripping the back of your neck, once you gather your balance atop your shaking legs and the quiet has set in for a nice long uncomfortable stretch of heart beats. These supernatural creatures wield silence like a knight does his sword. “In return for sparing your life, My Master requires payment.”

What is left of the warmth in your body drains and seems sucked out by the ice touch at your neck.

“He will require a…” The pale male-creature trails off a tad frustrated, murmuring more ancient words seemingly to himself rather than to his ‘Master’, almost like he’s trying to find the right translation.

As he struggles for the words you shake violently under his hand and stare petrified at the shadows in front of you, trying to make out eyes or a hand or a shoulder while simultaneously hoping you aren’t successful in your search for a physical presence. Seeing the creature would only make you even more scared but a sick curiosity keeps twisting out of your attempts to catch it. You knew that whoever is behind the shadows is most definitely watching you though, his gaze feels like a branding iron against your soul but instead of unbearable heat it feels so cold that it burns. Another wave of renewed never ending unease shimmies down your spine when the beautiful creature behind you gives a soft ‘ah’ of triumph.

“My Master requires a, a slice of your soul.”

Your heart gallops through the resulting field of silence as what the blonde says sinks in, and then the muscle within your chests freezes solid.

“A s-slice of my soul?” Comes your whisper of naked horror.  

The shadows in front of you somehow grin.

The blonde man-creature behind you does not respond, doesn’t even sound like he’s breathing. Your mind scatters into chaos trying uselessly to find a way out of this situation. You have never heard of a creature who eats souls other than the Devil himself and his creations.

You jump out of your own skin when you feel the lips of the creature behind you brush the shell of your ear,

“Do not fear. To be owned by My Master is not painful or meant as a punishment,” With disgust you try to wrench yourself free of the hand but to no avail. “It is only rightful payment.”

“I’ll die first!” You cry at the two of them as you continue to struggle knowing you won’t get away but it feels good to try anyway. Before you can register anything else the shadows waft swiftly away from the black silhouette and your vision suddenly goes dark.

James steps up to this human woman with slight distaste and mild irritation. He grips the sides of your cheeks with his hand hard and tilts your face up at him, watching your open eyes dart around with rising panic.

“Why can’t I see?!” You shriek as your face burns under the freezing touch of a new hand at your jaw, the one at your neck still and unmoving.

A bored snarl curls James’ upper lip as he looks down at you.

Humans, he thinks.

He glances up at Steve behind you and nods in warning. The blonde vampire closes his eyes and braces himself, he never did like this part.

James lowers his lips to yours, just barely allowing the skin to touch, not wanting to contaminate himself with the filth of humans more than he has to. But he’s hungry and you’re right here. And since he cannot possess a soul without that soul’s permission, your life force will have to do. For now.

You jump helpless and pathetic under the unyielding pressure of two deathly cold hands as you feel a sensation against your lips. In your blindness you at first can’t fathom what it is, because its too cold to be skin and too soft to be anything but the wind.

James connects his gaze with your blind milky one and he inhales.

White hot flames suddenly lick at every vein, muscle, cell in your body. You try to scream but find your lungs incapable of breathing in any air, like you have a feather down pillow being pressed over your face. You’re being suffocated then.

What an odd method of killing, considering they’re supernatural creatures, A strange disconnected part of your mind notes.

Your insides feel like they’re being turned inside out, like a hook dragging your guts out through your mouth. The muscle of your heart beats in a wild un-synchronized symphony of panicked thuds. James remains perfectly calm if not a little grossed out at having to be so close to you. But as he gets the first real taste of your life force – your energy – pulsing into him like liquid sun pouring into his hollow black-hole of a soul, he realizes he can’t get enough. Its not enough.  

James can sense Steve’s rising unease as he continues inhaling from you longer than he planned to. Aside from the usual sweet flavor of fear, there’s an undeniable spice to you that brings James to life in a way he hasn’t felt in centuries. Like a finger curling at him, urging him to take more, to take it all.

“Brother, please,” Steve hushes to him in their mother tongue over the top of your head, an ancient Celtic language long since deceased. “You promised me.”

At this James abruptly stops inhaling and glances away from your eyes to meet Steve’s, his azure irises true and just as bold as they were when he was a human. The Unseelie Fae King let’s go of your face, steps back, and gives Steve a small but reverent bow. A show of the highest respect, especially coming from him who bows to no one and nothing.

Steve nods back in acceptance of this silent but profound apology and slowly lowers you to the ground. You have long since passed out by this point.

“She still owes me a part of her soul.” James states not really at anybody but just a promise for the forest to remember and hold you to. The trees rustle above them and eagerly accept the honor.

“Yes Master, perhaps we should take her back to her family so she may recover.” Steve agrees, suggesting the gentlest option for you as they both stare down at your limp body curled on the forest floor at their feet.

A sage expression gathers on James’ face, “I shall claim my debt after, then.”

The blonde vampire bows his head in acknowledgment and is about to scoop you up to return you to your home when James holds up his hand. Steve freezes in submissive patience, waiting to hear what his Master – his Sire, his Bond Brother – wants. James only steps forward and picks you up bridal style himself. Steve furrows his eyebrows at this, knowing James despises humans most of all among the creatures on this earth, but his expression stutters into grateful reverence when James adjusts you so your head drops to hang back, exposing the elegant line of your neck.

The Unseelie King handles you like a chef would a tenderly prepared meal.

“I fed, and so will you Bond Brother.” James hushes in that gorgeous ancient tongue as he takes one grand stride to stand right in front of Steve.

James arranges you so your feet touch back to the ground and your back rests against his broad chest, your dead weight no more of a burden than carrying a feather would be. He wraps a hesitant arm around your middle and cups the side of your face as your head falls to one side with an impossibly smooth palm. Steve’s eyes glow impossibly bluer as he stares ravenously at your neck, veins pulsing under the strain of your heartbeat trying to recover from the events of the evening.  

“Devour.” James whispers knowing Steve waits for his permission.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to smooth a cool hand down your neck before licking over the skin thinnly shielding his favorite artery, like a doctor would wipe with a towelette of alcohol before sticking a needle in. The vampire snaps his fangs out while opening his mouth. As Steve is one of the original vampires his fangs are so long they are near the length of a human child’s pinky. James holds you steady, watching his Bond Brother fondly, before Steve hunches down over you. He opens his jaw wider and sinks his teeth into you like steel through warm butter.

The second your blood spurts against his lips Steve groans in absolute ecstasy as his eyes roll up into he back of his skull. He makes sure no blood gets on your clothes or his, having had much practice with this, and sucks from you like a man dying of thirst at a fresh cool spring. James leans forward and presses a brief but caring kiss to Steve’s forehead while his vampire continues to drink, lost to everything but the taste of your blood.

James smiles as the familiar feeling of intimacy at having a human’s essence pulse through their bond starts to come to life like rivers of mercury slowly weaving their way into a sea of blue. He can feel you inside himself and coursing through Steve, he can feel your leftover fear and fury, feel your subconscious panic even though you’re not awake. He can sense it all, like you’re part of him. Of course this connection will fade, not his bond with Steve but the bond you have temporarily formed with the both of them.

From the look on Steve’s face, he’s not tasted a human as delicious as you in a while. James mulls over this fact. His desire to possess you only grows as he casually strokes some of Steve’s hair out of his face when the golden strands fall over his closed eyes.  

You will be his, and by extension Steve’s as well (when James feels like sharing). Though as you begin to pale in James’s arms he feels a strange urge to be selfish, to have you all to himself. Usually him and Steve share all their meals but as your eyelashes flutter in pain and the echo of your heart beat in James’ own hollow chest starts to weaken considerably, he shoves Steve off you.

Albeit gently but still a shove. Steve looks a little shook as he stumbles back from you, fangs red and dripping, but regains himself quickly from the frenzy of blood-food-meal-warm-life.

James looks down at you limp in his arms and before he knows what he’s doing, ever so lightly touches the tips of his free fingers to the assaulted skin of your neck, watching with foreign satisfaction as the skin heals instantly. Steve stares at James for a second consumed by a wave of shock. A shock that, when James looks up and sees, speaks of a side to the Unseelie King long since forgotten.

James hasn’t healed anybody (and never once a human) in centuries.

With monumental self disgust James sneers and chucks you to the ground, shivering like your touch revolted him. Before you can crash to the ground Steve catches you with unnatural speed and holds you bridal style tight to his chest, gently licking up the leftover blood on your neck under the careful eye of his Bond Brother. Steve always has been a compassionate drinker, feeling the urge to be tender to the human who’s blood courses through his dead veins.

James visibly relaxes when Steve pulls his lips away from your neck. Steve notices and sees right through him.

“Get this blood bag out of my sight.” James scoffs with regal distaste when he catches Steve staring at him with suspicious wonder.

Steve only bows obediently and takes off at a sprint, following your scent trail out of the forest and all the way to your grand home estate. You weren’t royalty, but your family’s money made you the closest thing to it apart from having actual royal blood. He easily picks across the vast gardens and grounds and jumps in through an open window that permeates your scent once he reaches the main house. Steve quickly gathers that you are a wealthy young lady of status by the grandeur of your family’s estate and the magnificence of your chambers. Steve lays you down on the silk sheets of your large four poster bed, hearing several heartbeats thudding out of sync to their own master’s rhythm throughout the house.

As he arranges your head to lay at a comfortable angle against your multiple feather pillows he can’t help but brush his fingers over the spot on your neck where his Master healed you. Steve doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels a distinct tug in his chest.

James is calling him.

Steve sighs internally (as he doesn’t actually breathe) before jumping back out the open window as silent as an owl with the moon on its wings. Just before Steve turns to sprint unseen back to the cover of the ancient forest he catches the name ‘Stark’ carved in a flourish on a stone crest sitting atop the stone wall boarding the estate’s main house.

Stark, Steve thinks as his body whispers through the night, No wonder she tastes so good.

Okay!!! So there you have it, the first chapter to my unseelie!bucky fic! Lemme know what you think pretty please? xxx

Masterlist (mobile)

[alfreedomm]

IGNOREIGNOREIGNOREIGNORE

orry for all the reblogs and stuff

And now a vent too??? Brice how sad are you?

...very sad...

First,,, Alex damn you for showing me The Magic Stone omg the aNGSTTTT- but anyway, im gonna try to keep this vent very short and im on my laptop so screw apostrophes and capitalization- aesthetics bro...

okay so what is this vent- it’s about comparing yourself... my recent reblogs have been mainly about comparing yourself to other people and all that stuff and i just dont know really what im suppose to say here other than the fact that i dont like comparing things that much, especially my art.

and what sucks is that no one tells me that my art is bad- ive never gotten any comments from people that someone has better art. all this negativity is just from myself and it can come as simply as scrolling through your instagram feed... or your tumblr feed, youtube feed- whatever feed- comparing yourself comes anywhere at any time. and with a lot of things.

you compare yourself, your art, your writing, your talents, your work- and of course in some cases thats good. its good to compare yourself for motivation to get better but of course a lot of people (including myself) mainly compare ourselves in a negative way.

this is gonna be so cheesy but whatever.

so recently ive been getting back into instagram and i really regret it omg- every time i scroll on my art account i see so many people post their artwork and its so... GOOD! ITS REALLY GOOD ART, THE SHADING, ANATOMY, LINEART- EVERYTHING! and they have so many likes and comments and followers and please dont give me that “your notes dont define you” thing because.. of course they dont. but admit that whenever you get a notification that someone commented something nice or that something youre proud of gets a lot of likes that it just feels... nice.

im gonna be honest and say sometimes i feel as if im not good enough if something i post doesnt get comments or something and then my friends meanwhile get likes and followers and comments every day... it really brings down my confidence... a lot...

and thats usually with instagram posts of pictures of food or something- its worse for me when it comes to my art because that is really the only thing that i think im good at. and what im proud of. and when no one even bats an eye at it, it really feels... sucky- not a good word but whatever. and its not like i wanna go out and ask all my friends if they like my art to fish for compliments because yes, of course theyre gonna like it, theyre my friends... and id rather have someone tell me they like my shit because they genuinely like my shit.

where am i going with this? i never even talk about the actual problem to why im talking about this every time i vent about it.

okay so theres this artist on instagram... very good art. very clean and nice and they have a lot of followers on their spam acc and main acc and their style is cute and omg their shading and copic techniques are beautiful and im actually in tears as im typing this because i remember what their art looks like and i immediately just compare it to my own... and to make it better??? THEYRE THE SAME AGE AS ME- well they turned older today but sAME THING! 

usually whenever i compare my art i reassure myself that this artist is older, had more experience etc. etc. but this artist, same age almost, almost same materials and all that but theyre still so much better. and i hate comparing myself to THIS SAME ARTIST ALL THE DAMNED TIME BUT I JUST REALLY CANT. IVE CONSIDERED UNFOLLOWING COUNTLESS TIMES SO I DONT HAVE TO SEE THEIR ART BUT I DONT WANT TO BUT I WANT TO AND I CANT STOP COMPARING MY FREAKING ART TO THEIRS AND I KNOW IT SHOULDNT MATTER BUT IT DOES.

i know it shouldnt matter but it really does.

ive watched a lot of videos and seen a lot of text posts saying you shouldnt compare yourself or that you should motivate yourself to be better but trust me when i say that i try. ive try to better my art and my art style but i still cant even draw side portraits or get my freaking hair right. and instead of liking what i draw i just point out all the flaws and whats wrong with it. and i try again and the cycle just... continues.

then later its okay and i forget about the comparisons and just draw whatever i like... but then i open instagram and see the same artist with their art- im trying my hardest to not dislike this artist because im being childish and petty but HANIOHFOAFSAG ITS REALLY DIFFICULT.

and then my irl friends also draw better than me- hell this girl painted this nice rooster painting a year ago... and i still envy it. and this other girl is really good at realism and this dude is good at creativity stuff and kitkat is good at side portraits and obsidian is so good at shading and anatomy and coloring- AND STOP COMPARING YOURSELF BRICE HAHAHAHA- i cant stop omg.

and people say that practice makes perfect and legit kitkat just aced drawing in like 5 dAYS- HOW DID YOU DO THAT AGAIN???? ok practice does make perfect but sTILL.

i need to go watch advice videos on how to stop feeling like crap.

sometimes i feel bad for hating my art because some of my friends get mad at me for not liking it because its better than theirs but boi stop ok i see you saying youre fat when im here like 64.7 like whaaa??? 

great to know i dont only compare my art now 8′D

where is this even going? i meant to make this all sentimental and say how to try not to compare but im just rambling in the end... cool.

so tldr, try not to compare yourself in the negative way. i know its freaking hard but try.

...i think im gonna unfollow this artist until i get out of this feeling thing.

now please ignore my existence and let me wallow in my sorrows

-b

but have some videos on how to stop comparing yourself:-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PleXpEbRjk https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BuvaF8ymUog (these two actually really did help me))

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27kcO5GURDw https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7y3p2c1IMJE