#shes the only cat that has a black coat so shes more likely of getting harmed

[edith-is-a-cat]

im so afraid of my cat babies getting hurt its Halloween and i fed muffins gracie showed but bot oki i hope shes okay :(

[kudossi]

only god can write this script

“I��m, uh,” Lionblaze mutters, his tail sweeping behind him, “sorry for your loss.”

You would be, wouldn’t you, Dovewing doesn’t say, because she’s ex-ThunderClan, because she’s ex-prophesied, because his sister died for hers and because he’d wanted to kill her son, because she’s the leader’s mate, because her feelings about the cat who practically kidnapped her from her family to raise as a substitute for another are complicated and thorny at best. “Thank you,” she says at last, like she’s expected to. The diplomacy Tawnypelt has spent so long teaching her tastes rotten on her tongue.

Lionblaze wipes his mouth with one paw. Dovewing’s sister is ThunderClan’s deputy now, not him. She wonders how he feels about it. She wonders whether he thinks Hollyleaf should be there instead. She wonders if, just as she had been, Ivypool is just another substitute for a black cat with too-sharp eyes, too much potential. All wasted, of course, because StarClan was nothing if not good at wasting.

She wishes she knew why the she-cats suffered most. She wishes she didn’t know that they did.

She wishes Rowankit had been born a tom, sometimes, in her darkest moments. If he had, he wouldn’t be dead. “Simple as that,” she’d said to Ivypool last Gathering.

“Simple as that,” Ivypool had echoed, hollow. Bristlefrost had died for — what, exactly? So that more toms could live? So that the she-cat didn’t get the happy ending?

“There are never any happy endings for us,” Hollyleaf had murmured to her the morning of her death. The implication had been clear. Dovewing had stared at the only cat who ever understood her with wide, dry eyes until Hollyleaf had set her chin on Dovewing’s head, and then she’d been helpless not to lean in, a sob rattling her chest as she did.

“I approve,” Sorreltail had grinned at her as Briarlight had hissed defiance at the idea of being evacuated.

“Do I need it?” Dovewing had wondered.

“No,” Sorreltail had answered, simple as anything. “If it’s Briarlight, wonderful. But if there lies something for you outside of these borders — take it. Take it and never look back.”

It was the last time she had spoken to Sorreltail until she was cleaning her blood off of Lilykit and Seedkit as another panic swept over the camp. And even then, she was only speaking to a corpse, reassuring a cat who wasn’t there anymore that her kits would be okay.

(And Seedpaw had drowned to keep a stick — the closest memory of her mother she had — in ThunderClan’s possession. Dovewing had wept that night, inconsolable. Another daughter lost to the memory of her mother, a mother who had died because she had been expected to be a mother before a warrior, a mother despite the worst of wounds. A beaver’s dam bursts and is built again, over and over, until Dovewing’s coat drips with invisible blood.)

“Nursery work isn’t simple,” Ferncloud had smiled once, taking her through each task. Her demeanor was gentle, but the undercurrent was hard. Bumblepaw hadn’t taken this lesson. She knew that Lionblaze hadn’t, either.

“Why us?” Dovepaw had asked, looking up at her.

Ferncloud’s gaze, fixed on a point deep in the den, snapped to hers as if pulled there. “Because it’s only us,” she had said after a moment.

Less than a year later, Dovewing would step through Ferncloud’s blood to block a Dark Forest shade, all murk and mire and claws made of filth, from taking a bite out of her corpse.

“Don’t have another litter,” Lionblaze says now, callous in his way. “It never ends well for us.”

She knows — oh, does she ever know — that. No one star-touched could get away with a second litter, not if the stars had touched you young, even if they took the blessings they’d given away. Lionblaze’s first litter had led unremarkable lives — Hollytuft, despite her namesake, was quiet and unobtrusive; Fernsong had stepped a little farther than his bounds with Ivypool (and had paid for it, perhaps, with their daughter drowning in a lake made of rot); and Sorrelstripe’s history seemed to begin and end with her own litter (another dam, rising high; Dovewing looks away, now, because the alternative hollows her chest with rhythmic scraping of dulled teeth — pain comforted by pain). But the second? Two of them kittypets, the third an active rebel who had lost her mate to her own leader’s claws? A gentle fate, all told. They were all still alive, but what did that matter to him? Did the shame of having two living kittypet children outweigh the idea that both were alive, that both were happy, that he could visit them if he cared to?

“He shouldn’t have allowed it,” Jayfeather had said, his blind eyes staring into Dovewing’s soul.

“I shouldn’t have allowed it,” Lionblaze had said, anger toying at the end of every word.

But Dovewing had wanted, and now her tiny, perfect son is dead. “I won’t,” she says, hoarse. After all, she hadn’t ever been allowed to want. What had she expected? That StarClan would grant mercy to one who had only ever done their bidding?

“Guess some of us have to learn our lessons,” Lionblaze mutters. He scratches at an ear and averts his gaze from the direction of ShadowClan’s medicine den when someone stirs within.

Dovewing wonders if she can muster up the energy to be truly angry. She wants to be so badly, like one might want to escape sharpened claws dipped into soft flesh, but it’s hard to muster in this cruel, gray world without her son, with only callous gods to stare down at her. “Guess so,” she says, and wonders which god wrote this script she’s living. Her losses burn hot in her throat, the injustices as cold as ice, but Lionblaze could never fathom a story more unhappy than his own. “I guess so.”

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 3

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21.Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another. Masterlist to the previous parts! Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

The raindrops fell over the cobblestones, and, in particular, those falling from the gable were heavy against the small porch of the chapel where she waited. She breathed into her hands, seeking warmth as she tilted her head to the side. Now alone, she felt her curiosity begin to spark, like a cat finally let out of its carrier. 

The narrow side streets hinted at the town’s size and social standing, with only one main road that, incidentally, was the only paved one. She guessed that if the weather hadn’t been so dreary, she could have seen the end of it. Her more optimistic side blamed the weather, but the town struck her as dreadful. In the distance, her attention was drawn to the farmer who had been inside with them. 

He was talking to someone she assumed was his wife or another townsperson, with his horse beside him and a border collie patiently waiting against his leg. Eventually, both of them turned to look at her, and she stiffened under their scrutiny. 

‘Should I... wave at them? Don’t small towns know everyone? Should I start getting to know everyone?’ 

But as her mind filled with these thoughts, they turned back to talk to each other. She pressed her lips together, feeling time drag painfully. The coat over her head made her uneasy. Almost involuntarily, she took a few deep breaths, catching a faint scent in the air, and then another, more focused sniff. It felt like cheating somehow, though it wasn’t, as her nose itched from his scent, and her body seemed to process it more deeply. 

‘It’s deeper than Die...’ she thought melancholically. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t encountered many unmated alphas in her life, or at least hadn’t gotten close enough to catch their scent. ‘Well… isn’t he humanity’s strength? ...something like that. I guess it takes some strong genes to be called that.’ 

“All right.” Levi’s voice startled her, and she tensed, turning to see him. He was drenched from his search for horses but seemed to handle it with a calmness, like sheep who don’t mind the sky falling on them. His hand held the reins of two horses, and, if her mind hadn’t been elsewhere, she might have chuckled. 

The black horse was absurdly tall and elegant, while the other was a dirty white with grayish spots, shorter and with bulkier legs. 

“You can have the one I rented if you prefer,” Levi offered, handing her the reins. But she didn’t take them right away. 

“Um…” She hesitated. “Sorry. I’ve never ridden alone,” she explained. Then, feeling the need to clarify, she added, “I usually just take carts.” 

Levi quickly grasped the issue. After a brief consideration, he reached back and switched the reins. "Take mine," he said, extending the reins of the black mare instead. "She’s calm and obedient.”  Levi said, nodding toward the mare. “Scout-trained.”  

She looked at the tall, sleek horse in front of her, nerves clear on her face. He jerked his thumb at the other smaller, stocky white one. “This one, I don’t know.” 

Her hand tentatively moved forward to touch the mare’s nose. At her touch, the horse nudged forward, her dark eyes focused intently on her. The mare’s imposing size made her hesitate. “Can’t we just ride together?” 

Levi, double-checking the saddle, looked back and replied firmly, “No. Too much mud on the way. I don’t want to put extra weight on her.” 

When he finished adjusting the saddle, he held out his arm, gesturing for her to step closer. He gave her a once-over and instructed, “Take the cloak underneath. No point in wearing it now that it’s soaked.” 

‘Well… he does enjoy giving orders,’ she thought. 

Feeling self-conscious under his observant gaze, she removed his coat, then unfastened her cloak, which was heavy and sodden. Her cheeks flushed as she noticed the white dress beneath was now damp and clung uncomfortably. She quickly ran her hands over her arms, trying to cover up, but Levi moved smoothly, placing his coat back over her shoulders before tossing the soaked cloak over the mare’s back. 

She took her position beside the mare, gripping the saddle, though her uncertainty was plain. “But… with my dress and that saddle, it’ll be difficult to ride with my legs on the side.” 

“Ride with your legs apart.” 

She looked over her shoulder at him as he moved to help her up. Despite his short height, he hoisted her up smoothly onto the mare. She was perched high above him now, gripping the reins and feeling the unfamiliar weight of control. Levi stepped back and gave her a once-over, as though to make sure she was seated safely. 

“This isn’t very ladylike,” she murmured, her voice carrying a note of unease as the powerful animal shifted beneath her. 

Levi raised an eyebrow, still maintaining his stoic look but with a glint of dry humor breaking through. “Well,” he said, his voice calm and low, “I’m the husband now, and I don’t mind it.” 

But the silence that followed told him all he needed to know: she didn’t find it funny. 

“Just hold steady,” he advised, placing a hand on the mare’s neck in an almost fatherly pat. “She’s been through rougher trips than this.” 

The mare, as if responding to his touch, lowered her head, brushing her soft nose against his hair and disheveling it slightly, so that her dark fur mingled with his equally raven locks. 

With that, he took the reins and knotted them to the other horse and swung himself up with practiced ease, barely flinching at the wet leather. It struck her that he was completely in his element, as if he belonged here in this bleak weather and muddy roads, as if he barely noticed the discomfort. 

The rain pattered steadily, its soft murmur filling the quiet as Levi guided his horse through the thickening gloom of the forest. Her soaked white cloak hung limply from the horse’s saddle. The water on it was counterproductive to keep the warmth, so she took it off. The green trench coat pulled over her head helped more, but it was far from miraculous. Despite the rain, a thick fog was rising as they left the small countryside town and ventured deeper into the forest. Soon, the cobblestones ended, leaving the horses to trudge through thick mud. The road became nearly invisible just a few steps ahead, and she cast a nervous glance at the forest, which seemed to stretch on endlessly. 

“Captain… shouldn’t we wait? It’s getting dark, and it could be dangerous,” she murmured, eyeing the shifting shadows between the trees. 

Levi’s response was firm, almost cutting. “I told you to call me Levi, and don’t worry.” His tone was as sharp as his gaze ahead. She wasn’t convinced, her brows knitting together in silent protest. Y/N clung tightly to the saddle of the black mare Levi had called his own. His raven hair stuck to his forehead as the rain poured mercilessly on him without his trench coat. When she pressed again, “But—” he cut her off. 

“I wouldn’t do anything dangerous,” he declared, his tone allowing no debate. “If I say it’s safe, it’s safe. Understood?” 

She murmured a reluctant hum, clearly displeased, but he glanced back over his shoulder, eyes piercing. “I didn’t hear you.” 

She swallowed, muttering low, “Understood.” The word fell with barely concealed disdain, and under her breath, she added with a hint of defiance, “…sir.” 

‘He said it wasn’t that far...’ but as they continued, it became clear that the headquarters weren’t close by. 

Each step the horse took forward felt like moving deeper into an enclosure, further away from family and friends. Eventually, the rocky forest path opened onto the scouts' rustic facility—a large training field of neatly trimmed grass and a main building looming in the darkness, with smaller buildings in the back. She squinted, barely able to make them out through the thick fog but guessed they might be the barracks, possibly separated by gender. 

She thought they would stop at the main doors, but Levi guided the horses further. The place overwhelmed her—she didn’t know where to look, and the quietness, at least from the outside, only made her more curious. 

“Where is everyone?” she asked. 

Levi looked around the quiet training grounds. “It’s late. Most of the soldiers are in the mess hall for dinner or getting ready for curfew,” he explained, his eyes sweeping the area with practiced vigilance. “Especially in this shitty weather.” 

He dismounted near a back entrance, which seemed to be a service area littered with discarded training materials. When the horses stopped, she moved to dismount, glancing down to gauge the distance to the ground. 

“Need help?” he asked, already striding over with firm steps, his boots far better equipped for the weather than hers. He positioned himself behind her and said, “Let go, I got you.” 

With his hands under her arms, he lifted her down with surprising ease. She turned quickly to face him, but he just said, “Stay here. I’ll put the horses away.” before she could protest. 

Though Levi’s presence didn’t exactly warm the atmosphere, his absence made the cold settle in even deeper. She shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting around hectic —taking in the swaying trees under t the gusting wind, the flashes of lightning splitting the clouds. While the rain had momentarily stopped on the way back, it was obvious it wasn’t over. The forest sounds felt ominous in the dark, with only dim light illuminating the semi-open area at the back of the building. 

‘I feel like a doe... in the middle of a meadow.’ 

Ignoring Levi’s instruction, she opened the door and stepped inside. She glanced down both ends of the corridor, where yellowish candlelight cast a warm glow. The hum of distant voices filled the air, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘It stinks.’ 

It reeked of alphas—too many of them. Down the corridor to her left, she saw two young women, a brunette and a dark-haired one, passing by. The brunette noticed her standing in the hallway and looked back with a puzzled expression. 

‘Alright, maybe this time I should actually introduce myself.’ 

She raised a hand slightly, giving a tentative wave, but the brunette turned, calling out to someone— 

“I thought I told you to stay there.” Levi’s voice cut in from behind, firm with a trace of irritation as he locked the back door. Without further comment, he led her up a nearby staircase, his movements swift and purposeful. 

“But—” she started to object, glancing to the side, but he was already nudging her forward. His hand hovered at her back, as if nudging her without physically touching her, more a mental command than a physical push. 

As they ascended the stairs, Sasha, a brunette at the far end of the corridor, tugged on Jean and Connie’s arms. “See, she’s there!” she exclaimed. But when the three of them looked down the hall, no one was there—only a trail of muddy footprints. 

“...She was there,” Sasha insisted. 

Jean shot her a skeptical look. “Sasha, are you that hungry you’re seeing things... again?” 

Sasha frowned, clearly annoyed. “I saw her! I might be hungry, but I’m not imagining things.” 

“Well, she’s not there now, that’s for sure,” Connie said, stretching his arms behind his head. “Maybe a ghost?” 

“A suicidal one,” Jean added dryly. “Only higher-ups use the back door. And if Captain Levi sees that mud, he’d probably drag out a Ouija board just to kick that ghost’s ass for dirtying his floors.” 

Sasha and Connie started to walk away, but Jean paused, wrinkling his nose and sniffing the air with a puzzled expression. “...I do smell something strange, though.” 

Sasha and Connie shrugged, both of them betas, unable to pick up on any scent. But Mikasa, overhearing, joined them, her dark eyes narrowing. “Jasmine, berries, and coconut milk.” 

Jean shot her a smirk. “Well, I did switch to a new cologne…” 

But Mikasa ignored him, already walking ahead with a thoughtful expression, leaving Jean to trail off, his attempt at humor forgotten. 

As they moved through the winding corridors, she struggled to keep pace. Levi’s stride was steady and brisk, his attention fixed forward, but after a few glances back, he seemed to notice her struggle. With a subtle sigh, he slowed his pace focusing on her feet to match her pace.  

As he did so, he couldn’t help but notice the trail of mud they were leaving behind. Each footprint was a smear of damp earth and grime on the clean floor. His jaw tightened, and he clicked his tongue in irritation. ‘Focus on the important shit,’ he reminded himself. 

Reaching the door to his chambers, he patted his trousers absently, then checked the pockets of his uniform jacket. His brow creased in mild annoyance before he remembered: ‘The keys are in my coat.’ 

He moved closer to her, his face showing a rare hint of apology. “Sorry,” he murmured, reaching into the pockets of the coat she wore. She held still as he fished around, finally pulling out the key with a subtle nod. 

Before turning the key in the lock, he looked down at her shoes, now caked in mud. 

“Wait,” he muttered, holding a hand up. He gestured to her shoes with a short nod. “Shoes off,” he instructed, bending to remove his own boots first, leaving them by the doorway. She followed suit, slipping off her mud-caked shoes, which felt heavier with every step. 

She hesitated, glancing at the mud-covered shoes, but then leaned against the wall to remove her shoes. He did the same, tugging off his own boots and setting them neatly to the side. Once they were both ready, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, holding it for her to step inside. 

To be honest, she couldn’t say she was disappointed—her journey to his office had shown her this wasn’t the marriage she’d imagined. She’d heard the Scouts were… humble people. ‘A sweet way to call them low class,’ she thought wryly, fiddling with her loose ring, trying to keep it from slipping off her finger. Part of her almost wished the room would stay dark so she wouldn’t have to face reality, while another part hoped for a glimmer of candlelight to surprise her for the better. 

Levi shut the door behind him with a subtle sigh, closing his eyes briefly, as if gathering strength from somewhere unknown. ‘One task down,’ he reminded himself, as if safely getting her to the Scout headquarters unnoticed was his toughest mission yet. He shrugged off his uniform jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door. 

She stood, frozen in place, as he walked past her, lighting a few candles he’d set up earlier. He busied himself lighting more, methodically checking off tasks from his mental to-do list. “Why don’t you take a shower? The water should be warm,” he suggested. 

‘And... here it is,’ she thought, her pupils darting around the room as though afraid to turn her head, scanning the place as the light started to fill it. She tried to hide her discomfort, not so much from a lack of hygiene as from a lack of warmth. Catching his eyes on her, she forced a thin smile. “Very... modest.” 

‘…Empty and rustic, but the last thing I want to find out is what he’s like when he’s mad.’ 

The room had only two doors: one, she guessed, led to a small bathroom, and the other to the bedroom. The main space was an office with a single shelf filled with books and not much else. ‘Doesn’t he have paintings or decorations?’ She found herself searching for anything that might make the space feel less austere and more homely, something to give her a glimpse of who he was. The office seemed to be the most furnished part of the quarters, with a set of sofas, a coffee table by the fireplace, and a desk. The large arched window was probably his only indulgence, a feature suggesting he spent most of his time here. 

“Shower?” Levi insisted, “Don’t take it personally, but I’d like to shower too.” 

That snapped her out of her trance. “Oh—sure,” in a small voice. “Um... where did you put my luggage?” 

Levi’s brow furrowed, and after a moment, he realized he hadn’t noticed her lack of belongings. “Was I supposed to have it?” he replied, answering her question with another—not a habit of his. 

“I sent it ahead, two days ago,” she explained, “They told me it would be best.” 

His eyes flicked to the window and the rain still pouring down outside. ‘Well… I think it’s pretty clear why that didn’t arrive yet.’ 

With a weary sigh, Levi leaned against his desk, one hand running over his damp hair. He looked worn out, both physically and emotionally. “This is a rural area,” he said, “and with this rain, it could take a few more days. A cart wouldn’t make it through the forest right now.” 

Levi stepped over to his bedroom, opened a few drawers, and, without moving from her spot, she couldn’t resist sneaking a look. She leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse over the door frame. 

She couldn’t see much, but curiosity stretched her mouth open as she craned her neck. A chest of drawers held neatly folded clothes, a couple of books stacked on top, and a wardrobe nearby had boxes on top that reached the ceiling (probably he used it as storage) with boots lined up beneath it. There was a standing mirror in one corner and she could only see the wood footboard of a small bed against the wall. 

“Here, you can—” Levi turned back toward her, catching her in the act of peeking. She straightened up quickly, feigning innocence. He raised an eyebrow at her obvious interest. “It’s not as if it’s off-limits. Walk in if you want.” 

‘Like a dog caught digging through the trash,’ he thought, mildly amused by her guilty expression. 

“Anyway, here.” He handed her some clothes. “The rest is in the bathroom.” 

She took them with a distracted nod, disappearing behind the bathroom door. 

“Ah...” He let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding as he let himself collapse, boneless, into his desk chair. His hair was soaked, as was the rest of him, but he didn’t care. “A moment of silence.” 

Though she hadn’t said much, her silence was somehow louder than any words. Covering his eyes with his forearm, he felt drained—he’d been through expeditions to retake Wall Maria, yet this felt just as exhausting. But as always, Levi quickly pushed himself back up, pressing the bridge of his nose to calm the headache beginning to throb behind his eyes, and moved on. 

“I don’t have time to slack off,” he grunted to himself. He didn’t have much firewood left—it had been an unusually warm spring until today, and firewood was a luxury he was used to being frugal with, like nearly everything else in his life. 

'She should probably dry her hair before bed,' he thought, setting a kettle of water on in case she wanted tea. He considered making himself a cup but, as “going to bed” crossed his mind, the idea shifted to the liquor he had stashed in a cabinet. He poured himself a small glass, not intending to get drunk, but needing something that soothed him better than his usual caffeine. 

The fire began warming the room, and he placed his coat and jacket near it. He stepped outside briefly to bring in their shoes, cleaning them off and setting them to dry. The kettle’s whistle echoed in the quiet room, and he took it off the heat. That’s when a thought began to bother him. 

‘Should I check?’ He found himself near the bathroom door, ear pressed against it, straining to hear any sign of life. ‘What if she passed out in there?... or maybe she’s just constipated and can’t take a shit’ 

Knocking softly, he asked, “You okay in there?” 

“Yes, sorry.” 

Relieved but mildly exasperated, he shook his head. She’s using up all the water in the place, he thought, realizing she’d definitely not adapted to the military’s five-minute shower rule. 

Inside the bathroom, she was struggling to detangle her hair, but there was no conditioner, no hair mask, or anything remotely helpful. Her skin felt dry without any lotion, slightly raw from the harsh soap he had. Her hair smelled vaguely like cucumber, a tangled mess that only worsened under her frustrated attempts. 

“We are not going to cry, we are not going to cry,” she kept whispering to herself in front of the mirror. 

‘This was supposed to be my wedding night,’ 

For as long as she could remember, she had dreamed of her fiancé slowly, reverently helping her out of her wedding dress—a dress chosen just for him. She’d imagined him finally seeing her, her skin soft, her scent sweet enough to eat, a blend of lotion, perfume, everything. 

Instead, here she was, struggling with tangled hair and an uncooperative brush, her mascara still on because there was no makeup remover, wearing a baggy T-shirt and gray sweatpants, smelling like some generic soap, with her wedding dress stuffed in a dirty laundry basket. 

A million questions rushed through her mind. ‘What do I do?… Should I just lay there and let him do whatever he wants?’ ‘Is it going to hurt?’ ‘Would he force me to do something?’ 

“I could lock myself in here forever,” she reasoned, gripping the doorknob. ‘…Or could I?’ 

But eventually, she stepped out cautiously, slowly opening the door. He was sitting with his back to her, watching the fire from one of the couches. When he sensed her presence, he glanced over his shoulder. “Finally. For a moment, I thought you drowned in there.” 

Eyes downcast, she muttered, “Sorry.” 

Levi clicked his tongue. “It was a joke,” he grunted, feeling like nothing he said made the situation any less awkward. 

Levi noticed her standing there, looking unsure and uncomfortable, and with a small sigh, he gestured toward the couch. "Sit down," he said, his tone a bit softer than usual. "Dry up. It's cold in here." 

She hesitated but finally obeyed, slowly lowering herself onto the couch, her hands still clinging to her damp hair. Levi awkwardly stood for a moment, unsure of what to do next, before clearing his throat before speaking again. 

"Do you want something to eat? I can go see if there’s anything left from dinner," he asked awkwardly, already knowing she hadn’t eaten since the long journey. 

She didn’t reply immediately, only giving a soft hum as her response. Levi looked over his shoulder, brow furrowed.  

"That’s a no, then?" he muttered, then shifted his weight and walked to the desk. He leaned against it, sipping from his glass.  

"Fine," he muttered, “but I prefer when people actually answer me with words.” 

She didn’t respond. He glanced over at her, then added, “You sure? I can bring something. I don’t mind.” 

"No, thank you," she replied, her voice quiet but clear. 

Levi let out a small grunt of acknowledgment, not wanting to push her. He felt an odd tension in the air as he took another sip from his drink. “Alright then.” He paused before offering, "Tea, maybe?” 

"No, thank you." Her voice was quiet, distant. 

Levi exhaled a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his wet hair as he tried to focus on the fire.  

The tension lingered in the air, and after a moment, she spoke again, breaking the silence.  

"When do you think my things will arrive?" she asked, a note of uncertainty in her voice. 

Levi glanced at her, "Could take a while. The roads are bad, especially with this weather." He paused, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before continuing. "But if you need anything urgently, just tell me." 

She hesitated, her eyes darting away. Levi frowned slightly, sensing she was holding something back. He was starting to feel a little impatient. 

"Are you still on the rags?" he asked bluntly, unable to ignore the subtle discomfort in the way she fidgeted. "Need something for that?" 

Her eyes widened, a blush creeping across her face as she looked away, clearly embarrassed by the question. She seemed to shrink under his gaze, her shoulders stiffening.  

"I-I’m fine," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Levi raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by her answer. He didn’t know her well enough to be sure, but he was certain that something was off. He wasn’t about to let her go without offering help, though. 

"Look, if you need anything, just say it." He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice softening slightly, “I can be named humanity’s strongest and all that bullshit but I’m not a mind reader,” 

She didn’t meet his eyes, still hesitant, but Levi stood still, waiting for her to speak. ‘There’s no point dragging this out any longer,’ she decided. 

“No, uh—” she chose her words carefully, “I’m over it.” 

Levi still seemed confused, so she clarified, her face growing redder by the second. “I’m... ready for you… whenever you tell me.” 

Her words dropped into the room like the cannonballs once used to break titans’ necks. Levi’s first thought, admittedly, wasn’t his most noble: ‘So... she thinks people don’t fuck when women are bleeding or?’ 

Lost in his thoughts and the awkwardness of the moment, he didn’t notice how she bit her lip, glancing up at him shyly. “Just—please, don’t be too rough on me.” 

Captain Levi always had a comeback, a retort, a dry response. But now, he only pressed his fingers against his glass, eyes locked with hers, lips parted as if to speak but words caught in the back of his throat. Across his life, he’d seen people look at him in many ways—admiration, anger, pity, fear—but hers was different. Her eyes, reflective and tinged red, stared up at him with something close to terror. A terror filled with pure resignation, pleading him.  

His jaw tightened, and he felt a knot form in his throat. ‘I’m going to make those bastards pay for this,’ He broke eye contact, turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

It was painful, painful for him to think someone could look at him like that. To see him as someone who might treat her as an object, begging him that at least, if he was going to do that, not to be a brute about it. But the worst part, the thought that clenched his throat even more was: ‘Like my mother…’ 

The room felt silent except for the branches scratching against the window in the storm outside and the flickering firelight. He forced his voice to sound steady. “Just go to bed.” 

“Huh?” she asked, confused. “...Should I...wait for you there?” 

Levi shook his head. “I can’t do it. Just go to bed. You look like shit.” 

He wasn’t known for being the best communicator, and his words often got lost in translation.  She blinked, panic rising in her eyes. “I’m...not pretty enough? I tried to look my best—I didn’t mean to disappoint. Please, don’t call this off…” 

The thought of being sent back as a failure made her stomach turn. Her family, her younger sisters, her grandmother—they all depended on her. 

Levi raised his hand, stopping her mid-sentence. “Oi, oi, relax. I didn’t mean that—damn it! I meant you look tired.” 

“But—” she hesitated, moving a step toward him but keeping her distance. 

“Shit,” he muttered, his cheeks warming slightly. “It has nothing to do with that.” 

Her confusion was clear, so he forced himself to say it: “You’re...pretty, alright? That’s not the issue.” 

She still looked uncertain. “If you don’t…claim me…what will people say?” she asked. “People will look down on you as a soldier, as a man...as an alpha.” 

Levi chuckled, though he didn’t mean it. “Well, one good thing about who I am is that everyone’s too scared to say anything to my face,” he replied, almost gently. “I just can’t—not while you’re this scared.” 

The truth hung in the air, and she resumed fidgeting with her ring, frowning as she looked at the carpet and her voice grew quieter. “What if…I never want to?” 

Levi shrugged, too tired to pretend. “Then I guess we’ll wait until next spring when we’re both so damn drunk on hormones, you’ll be begging for it, and neither of us will remember it.” 

"Spring?" she echoed, her caution mixed with disbelief. "But that’s a long wait..." 

“Oh, well,” he said, with a dry humor, “we’ll just have to try not to kill each other in the meantime.” He gestured to the room. “Go to bed.” 

"Where will you sleep?" she asked, then added, almost disappointed, "Do you... have someone else?" 

Not that she was jealous, but she’d heard that “a good wife always knows.” 

This time, the question made Levi scoff, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “Good one. No, I don’t. I don’t even use the bed—I sleep at my desk.” 

‘That can’t be healthy,’ she thought, grimacing. But, like a mouse just freed by a cat, she walked cautiously toward the bedroom, unsure if this escape was real. That can’t be healthy, she thought with a grimace of disapproval. But with hesitant steps, like a mouse released from a cat’s grip, she headed toward the room, still unsure how real this escape was. 

Levi finished his drink, then readied himself to take his own shower, thinking, ‘It’s going to be a long, tense wait until next spring.’ 

A wait filled with mounting anxiety. 

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[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 🍒

Sometimes love doesn't make sense.

Tags/Warnings: Tattoo artist/Piercer Jungkook, Pastel!Reader, opposites attract, Strangers to lovers, Fluff, suggestive flirting, adult themes but no smut, consensual hand holding

Length: ~4k

There is no taglist for this fic.

Masterlist

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"Uhm-" you wonder, stepping inside the store to be greeted by the guy you know as Jimin.

"Hi, my friend has an appointment?" you say, and the artist stands up and walks closer. Your friend stays close to you, buzzing with the excitement of getting her first tattoo ever- too shy to say anything.

When it comes to that, you're a little ahead of her. As long as the person isn't intimidating, you're fine talking to them, asking for help or anything alike.

"Yeah, it was the dragon on her back, right?" and your friend nods. "I've got it all prepared already. Wanna come downstairs with me, I'll explain the rest of it there?" Jimin kindly says, taking her coat and leading her downstairs where you assume everyone works. "Oh, you can just wait in the back there, or stroll around town. It'll take a while." he says, and you nod, a bit unsure now after being left alone.

"Hm?" a voice chimes up, before he speaks again. "Oh, Thought I heard something." the guy comes into view, and suddenly you can't talk.

This is what you can't talk to.

Intimidating? Heavy boots and black clothes, silver chains and piercings and a fully inked sleeve including his hand present themselves to you, muscles free since he's only wearing a black sleeveless top that should be illegal for him to wear. His smile is the friendliest you've ever seen, reaching his eyes and his slightly wild hair just makes him look even better, sides buzzed down to mere millimeters left- you want to disappear from the earth and his memory forever.

Fuck. He's looking like every goth-girl's wet dream while you're dressed in a pastel colored dress and thick knee high socks to keep your feet warm in this cold weather. Great.

"You can sit here in the back with me, otherwise you'll catch a cold from all the cold air blowing in every time the door opens." he recommends, pointing to a couch in a corner that you assume is where they all spend their breaks. Awesome, he's a gentleman as well it seems, making it all even worse for you. "You want something to drink? I've got tea or coffee." he wonders, and you meekly press out a 'tea, please.', making him chuckle.

He probably thinks you're nothing more than a child, with the way you look so out of place.

You envy your friend in that department. She's got piercings, she knows cool friends, she has exciting stories to tell. Meanwhile you sit at home and knit sweaters and blankets, help out at the local animal shelter because you get to pet the cats and dogs all day, or work at the library where you aid tourists find the town's guide.

"Your friend was the tall girl, right?" he asks, coming in with two cups, one of which he sets down on front of you. "I'm Jungkook by the way." he introduces himself, smiling before he leans back in his seat. Of course he's interested in her, you think. She's exactly his type, though he looks quite a few years older than her.

Well- the least you can do is help her find a date.

"Ah, yeah, she's my friend. Best friend." you say, pulling the cup of tea closer. "Thank you, for the tea." you say politely, and he grins in front of you.

"No problem." he waves off.

"She's uh.. She works at a car-uh.. She does those paint jobs. Like, those complicated one's that look realistic and all that." you try and explain. "I.. Forgot what it's called though. But uhm.. You can ask her later maybe?" you say, and he shrugs, setting down his cup before he smirks impishly, tongue playing with his lip ring in a manner that you can only describe as illegal.

"I probably could do that-" he starts, before he tilts his head a little to the side, body leaning forward. "-but I'd rather get to know you a little more." he wonders, and you almost choke on your tea- but you're composing yourself. "Maybe I could start by asking if you've got a boyfriend?"

Well, so much for composing yourself.

Your wide eyes look at him scandalized, and he giggles at the sight of it. "I- uh, no, I mean no I don't have one, to be honest-" you laugh a bit nervously. "-guys don't.. I- most guys don't really look my way, you know. So I thought, you know, considering-" you motion up and down towards him, "-you'd be more interested in my friend." you ramble, and he just shakes his head, smiling.

"I mean, she seems nice- but, I don't know either." he shrugs. "Something about you- it's hard to explain."

You shift a little on the spot now, unsure what to do in a situation like this. Typically, you shut down guys quickly, scared of what's to come. But you also don't want to keep doing exactly that- not when you've got the chance of something right in front of you like that. For the first time, someone's actively interested in you. Someone who seems nice, that is.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, by the way." Jungkook suddenly rips out of your thoughts. He leans back again, giving you space, and it makes you feel a little deflated. Did you blow it already? Oh god you screwed it over, didn't you?

"No, you're not, don't worry." you say, looking down. "I just.. I'm not used to this. I'm usually always the wingman instead- or.. Wing-woman?" you think, and he laughs.

"Hard to believe, but I'll take your word for it." he says, still friendly. "So, I'm wondering- any tattoos? Piercings?" he wonders, and you nod- instantly making his eyes sparkle in interest. "Oh- can I ask what it is, or do you want to let me find out later?" he says, and you instantly turn red, making him laugh. "Sorry, sorry- I'll stop, promise." he waves off. "..for now."

You laugh at his antics, unable to keep a straight face by now. "You seem like you know your way around with girls." you say without thinking, before you hurriedly correct yourself. "I-I mean I don't mean that your like, a fuckboy or something or- maybe you are that's fine too! I don't judge but- oh god.." you put your head in your hand. "You know what? I'll just wait here for her, I'm so sorry." you mumble more or less.

But much to your surprise, he simply laughs, head thrown back for a second before he grins at you, front teeth slightly protruding, giving him a bunny smile.

"You're so cute, I swear." he says, shaking his head. "I- is it okay if I ask for your number?" he wonders, and you look at him for a good moment, squinting your eyes as if you test to see if he's serious.

"I.. Sure..?" you say, pulling out your phone with all the different charms attached. He grins and shakes his head amused, though clearly excited as you type in your number into his phone before calling yourself to make sure it's correct.

"So!" he grins. "Since your friend is gonna still be out of order for a good four hours downstairs," Jungkook stands up to hold out his hand. "You up for some boba for our first date?" he asks, looking down at you even though you're standing as well by now.

And you nod, walking next to him through the slight October fog outside in town, his hand warming up yours.

You don't even realize how.. easy it feels, right away. His hand holding yours is not demanding, giving you the option to let go at any point, but you don't mind holding it. It's warm, comfortable, and it also makes you wonder if that's something he enjoys. Did he date a lot already? He certainly looks like he got the choice, girls probably falling for him fairly easily.

Well.. you're already trusting him too. How ironic.

"Just tell me which one you want, I'll go order." he says later, holding out a hand in case you lose balance as you clean off the rain from your boots as to not bring it all into the small store. "I'll pay too by the way, no but's!" he grins, while you look up at him with a pleading look.

"No, I'll give you the money back for mine." you say.

"But then it's not a date!" he argues back, a whine in his voice as if to mock the way you just spoke to him. "then it's just- two people getting a drink at the same time."

"what's so bad about that?" you laugh, crossing your arms without thinking- an action he playfully copies, pushing out his chest, fabric of his jacket stretching over his biceps.

"That it's not a date!" he says, before laughing as he relaxes, talking more quietly now with a lower, more serious tone. "Alright, in all seriousness though, I'd still like to pay even if there's no date." he tells you.

"I- no, a date is fine, it can be a date.." you say. "I just don't want to.. Come off as a leech for taking your money if you end up not liking me-" you ramble, and he smiles warmly, holding your shoulders before his warm palms touch your cheeks for a second.

"You're overthinking too much." he giggles, before letting go of you. "right now, I like you very much. And even if we don't end up working out, I'm not that kind of guy to go around and talk shit about people." he shrugs.

You sigh at that, before pointing towards an item on the menu. "..can you- I don't like that much ice in mine.?" you say, and he nods, before walking towards the worker to order.

He's oddly okay with you, you've noticed.

Normally, people and especially guys get frustrated easily due to the fact that you've got trouble deciding things, or that you don't like ordering, or that you quickly feel bad because your brain thinks the worst about every single word that's said to you. But he seems nice enough, doesn't come off as annoyed or anything. Despite his way of talking and his outer appearance, Jungkook feels nice to have around.

You wonder how a guy like him can be single.

Or maybe he isnt? Maybe he's into the BDSM scene, a swinger, or in an open relationship, and he just want to offer you a threesome? He looks like he might be into that stuff, like a dominant guy that enjoys taking control over his partner in the bedroom. Does he tie people up? You've seen stuff like that before, and it's not something you'd be opposed to if he'd be the one to-

Wow, alright, exit was three miles ago.

"Everything alright?" he chuckles, snapping you out of your thoughts, amusing him as he notices the way you turn red. "Been staring at my ass? Can't blame you, honestly." he jokes, making you hit his shoulder playfully before you take your plastic cup from him. "Hey, this might sound super shady and you don't have to say yes-" he starts, stepping out the small store with you where it had started to snow again. "-but I've got my apartment a few minutes from here, and it's freezing cold, so-" he takes your hand and looks down at you. "-you wanna go to my place?"

You're nervous now, more than ever. Thoughts are entertaining, they're safe and most of all yours and not real, but the prospect of potentially going into an apartment you don't know, with a guy you don't know, is scary. What if he's actually a serial killer, or really into BDSM and you'll get involved in some shady fifty shades stuff-

"-you really don't have to say yes. We can just go back to the Tattoo shop and talk there, I don't mind." he reassures, and you still don't answer. "What's worrying you? Maybe I can help."

"I-" you start, unsure, and fingers already hurting from the cold cup as you both walk outside the small store, walking side by side. You enjoy this a bit more- without holding his hand, you feel safer having a discussion like that. "-you know, guys only take girls to their place for.. Stuff, and I'm not like that, but I also kind of want to be but at the same time it's scary-"

"Hey, no, I'm not out for blood if you mean that." he chuckles, holding out his arm to make sure you wait until a car has passed the road you're both trying to cross. "Like, I'm not gonna lie and say I've never had one-night-stands or quickies or whatever, but right now I'm interested in you, first and foremost." he explains, his rather blunt words causing an elderly lady to turn her head scandalized as she walks past. "Also, I'm into begging. I'll only fuck you if you ask nicely." he smirks down at you next to him, before laughing out loud at your wide eyes and red ears.

"I-" you struggle to form words. But you're also horribly cold. "Alright then. I mean not the fucking part, at least not right now maybe sometime in the fut- where was your apartment again?" you stutter, and he grins so hard his eyes almost close.

"You're so fucking cute, my god." he shakes his head, before taking your hand again. "It's right down this road." he simply tells you, before you both find yourself in front of an apartment building where he takes you upstairs to his door. "Ah, I didn't clean up, by the way. It's a bit chaotic." he sheepishly offers, before the door opens.

It's warm, inviting. Doesn't smell bad, and it's not as chaotic as he told you it would be, Jungkook walking inside before you walk around, inspecting the apartment.

"I've put your boots in my shower, in case you're wondering where they are." he says after emerging from his bathroom, opening a window a little to air out the apartment. "make yourself at home, don't be so stiff." he chuckles, smiling when you visibly relax.

He sits close to you on the couch, but keeps a respectful distance between the two of you. He watches as you inspect a hole in a blanket he's got on the couch, shrugging. "My friend has a dog. Small little shit tore a hole in there, but it's still good so I keep the blanket."

"It's an easy fix." you say. "If you take those two parts of the yarn and then those, you can just tie them together so it doesn't rip open any further." you explain, and he tilts his head a little.

"Oh? Do you knit?" he wonders, and you nod.

"I.. My hobbies are kind of lame. I knit, and I help at the shelter a little away from the town. Other than that, I just.. Kind of exist in my apartment." you tell him. "I work at a library near the main train station. So, I'm not really interesting." you say, while he shakes his head.

"Don't say that. I think that's all pretty cool." he reassures. "Sounds like you've made a cozy life for yourself. That's pretty impressive considering today's times." he says. "I've always been.. Unsatisfied. With almost everything." he shrugs, leaning back, socked feet resting on the edge of his couch you're both sitting on.

"How so?" you wonder, taking a sip from your drink, before putting it back onto the small table.

"I don't know." he explains vaguely. "I guess I always had way too big dreams and aspirations. And now that I'm at that age I back then wanted to be, I feel like I wasted all my time with nothing but short-lived successes and people who only wanted me for the moment."

"Kind of.. Reminds me of myself." you giggle. "I.. When I was young, even a teenager, I always said I won't have kids. But these days, I kind of think, in the future I want them. Not right now, but one day. I wanna have a family and stuff, live in a house and have a dog and a cat and a husband and all that." you giggle. "like I said, not right now- but in the future."

"Hmhm. I never wanted to marry either. Thought that's just bullshit." he says. "But now, after seeing some of my friends have that, I'm envious. I want that too. A partner for life, I mean. A boring life." he says.

You hum a reply, nodding to yourself, a bit of quietness falling over the both of you, before he moves again, sitting down more comfortably turned towards you.

"I.. Would really like to get to know you. Seriously, I mean." he starts explaining. "Like I said, I.. Don't know what it is exactly, but you're.. Fuck you make me all weird." he laughs. "I wanna stay in contact with you, if you'd like. We could watch a movie? Only Netflix, no deep-throating during commercial breaks, promise!" he jokes, before adding, "..except if you're up for it." he giggles when you hide your face for a good second, laughing.

"I don't even know how to do that!" you laugh, making him raise his eyebrows while playing with his lip ring.

"Oh I can teach you, don't worry about that." he teases.

"I'm sure you can.." you mumble more or less, sipping on your drink. But your sentence seems to make him curious, eyes gaining a challenging glimmer as he leans forward.

"No no no, let's rewind a bit there." he says. "Just so I know where I'm at. You a virgin?" he wonders, and you pull your legs closer to yourself.

"..no." you shrug. "But.. I highly doubt I'm as adventurous as you." you tell him, making Jungkook smirk a little, as if challenged.

"Are you? What do you think I'm into then?" he wonders. "I've got a feeling you've made up your mind about me more than I thought."

"I mean, I don't know?" you say. "You.. It's not that hard to have more experience than me. I only had sex like.. Twice, and it's honestly not really for me." you shrug. "it's weird to.. Ugh I don't know."

"No, you do know, you just don't want to say it out loud." he clears up for you, making you nod. "Did you ever have an orgasm?"

"Jungkook!" you bark out scandalized, making him raise his hands in playful defense.

"What? You gotta ask these days, men are shit in bed most of the time, I have to admit that!" he laughs, shamelessly talking about this as if it's nothing but the weather outside. "So? Did you?" he wonders, and you shrug. "So you didn't?"

"I- don't know!" you say, a little glad you can finally talk to someone about it, hesitation finally breaking as you get the chance to make your frustration some room. "It's different when I do it myself. Like, then I'm pretty sure I have one? But when I had sex it was different, like I was almost kind of there but also not.." you lean your head on the backrest of his couch.

"Sounds like you didn't then." he tells you. "See, there's women out there who can't cum from penetration at all. The key ingredient is being fucking attentive." he explains. "I got more than just my dick, is what I'm trying to tell." he says, wiggling his fingers in front of his face, several rings adoring some of them- and you laugh.

"You sound like you're trying to get me to have sex with you right now." you joke, but he just shrugs his shoulders, tongue poking against his cheek for a moment.

"I'd fuck you any day you'd let me." he simply answers, eyes on yours. "After all, I gotta check out those tattoos you said you have." he flirts, and you move around a little, air between you both getting thicker. At this point, you can't deny the attraction. And with the way he talks and treats you, you're sure you'd let him prove his point as well. Right now. No regrets.

He notices the way your eyes fall to his lips, getting attached at the silver piercings there for a good moment, before you find his warm eyes again. And even though he really did not intent to be so forward so fast, he still scoots closer, tests the waters, places his arms on either side of you before the tip of his nose almost touches yours.

"Been wondering for a while now.." he starts, licking his lips before he looks down to yours, face tilting a bit as he looks at you. "..what flavor that lipgloss might be." he jokes, before he can't help himself.

You've not been kissed often in your life, not even in relationships. But you know for a fact that there's no experience comparable to the way he kisses you- not only his lips, but also his hands craving you it seems, making you feel completely under his spell. He's not just kissing you with his lips. He's using his hands, his tongue, knows clearly how to create a moment.

Your phone rings.

His rings soon after.

He laughs- and so do you.

It's a little awkward for a second, before he sends a message informing his coworker that you're on your way back, his grin still evident, never vanishing it seems. "so..?" you wonder having stood up to go grab your coat.

"So?" he parrots back, standing up as well to walk closer to you.

"What flavor is it?" you shyly try and flirt, and he laughs, leaning down to kiss you again, just a peck, and another, and just one last one before he parts with laughter.

"I'd say cherry-" he grins, watching you tie your boots in his hallway before he cages you in at his front door again the second you stand back up, unable to resist you now that you gave him the chance to taste you.

"But let me make sure I got it right."

[hamsterclaw]

Yoongi’s a murder detective fighting burnout when he’s assigned the case that you and your former partner fucked up.

Paring: Yoongi x f! Reader

Genre: Detectives!Yoongi and reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of murder, bloodshed and assault, sex, depression and burnout, mentions of guns

The flashing blue lights in Yoongi’s window are followed by the wail of sirens cutting through the early evening bustle.

Yoongi looks out the window. He’s three floors up from street level, there’s raindrops tracking along the dirty glass, the faint smell of mildew that accompanies any rainfall in this filthy city.

Under the table, his good leather shoes, the ones he saves for weddings and funerals, have rubbed a hole in the skin over his achilles. Yoongi had worn them for his disciplinary hearing today, the part of him that still wants to be a cop temporarily winning over the part of him that doesn’t.

He wonders if this is what burnout feels like.

His superior, Kim Namjoon, had called him into his office after the hearing to tell him he was on probation, to clean up his act because he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get off next time.

The truth is, Yoongi had known while he was pressing the suspect’s face into gravel with his booted foot that it would come back to bite him on the ass.

He’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s never been kind to scum who exploit children, but his partner, Jung Hoseok, had seen something in Yoongi’s face that day that had made him report Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Hoseok has been his partner on and off for five years and he’s as sterling as they come. His moral compass is as strong as it was the day they graduated from the academy, despite all the fucked up shit they’ve seen.

Unlike Yoongi.

Yoongi was never black and white to begin with and now he’s so far into the grey he scares himself sometimes. It’s never been his goal to be the kind of cop who metes out his own justice.

Only madness lies that way.

Anyway now Hoseok’s been reassigned temporarily to narcotics, supposedly a break from homicide, and Yoongi’s partnerless.

Probably not for long, there’s always some hungry rookie wanting the credibility of working homicide.

Yoongi sighs, closes the file he’d been skimming. It’s well past seven, there aren’t any open cases that need his immediate attention and he figures he might as well go home to his apartment and his cat, Kenzo.

The pavement’s slippery under the smooth soles of his good shoes, Yoongi pulls his coat tighter against the early autumn chill as he walks the five blocks to his apartment.

The smell of fried wontons fills his nostrils as he passes a conduit street in the back end of Little China, Yoongi’s tempted to stop and pick up dinner.

He’s tempted every time and succumbed yesterday so he soldiers on, not without a pang of regret. He regrets food choices because he’d rather that, than think about his actual regrets.

The bang of a gunshot when he’d been two minutes too late to what then became a crime scene.

Fucking some girl with a cute face because he hadn’t been man enough to treat Mara the way she deserved.

Choosing to stay in homicide even after it had become clear to him that he had plumbed the depths of human depravity. Scarring his psyche repeatedly because it’s easier than making the active choice to request a transfer.

Yoongi unlocks his door, toes his shoes off, hangs up his coat.

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of grey fur as Kenzo skitters across the entryway, close but not touching him.

It’s the kind of greeting Yoongi can get behind.

He pours out a serving of dry food into Kenzo’s dish, heads to the fridge to reheat yesterday’s wontons.

Eats standing at the tiny kitchen island, cracks open a beer to wash it all down.

He catches sight of his face, pinched in the scowl it seems to fall into more often than not these days.

Jesus, is he getting old?

Yoongi avoids looking at his reflection again as he showers. Changes into the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for weeks, contemplates watching porn just to take the edge off, but decides he can’t be bothered.

He falls into sleep, deep and dreamless, wakes up with an almighty crick in his neck just before dawn from the way he’d been huddled in a tight ball under the covers.

He knows he’s not right, but he’s been not right for so long Yoongi wouldn’t even know where to start putting himself together again.

***

Redemption comes in odd packages, Yoongi thinks, as he looks up a case he worked on six months ago, a shady businessman on the fringe of organised crime who’d got high as a kite and beat a sex worker to death.

He’d been killed on the way to serving out his sentence in the cushy prison in Busan his fancy lawyer had managed to negotiate, crushed in the back of the transport vehicle when it had been t-boned by a lorry.

Apparently a freak accident, Yoongi doubts it but he’s also not going to look too closely, it’s out of his jurisdiction and he’s too jaded to mourn the loss of another brutal asshole. They’d had to identify the sex worker by her dental records and DNA, her face had been unrecognisable.

There’s a knock on the frosted glass panel on his office door, Yoongi looks up as Kim Namjoon walks in, followed by the latest hungry rookie angling for a stint in homicide.

‘Min Yoongi, this is Y/N L/N,’ Namjoon says. ‘She’s a new transfer in from the Seoul branch.’

Yoongi doesn’t have to fake his disinterest as he nods politely at you.

‘What’s the case?’ he asks.

Namjoon looks pointedly at the crime scene photo blown up on Yoongi’s screen.

Yoongi waits.

He can feel your gaze on him, but he’ll get to that later.

The anticipation of a new case never gets old, he’s been in homicide since he graduated off the beat ten years ago and he no longer thinks it’s sick of him to get excited about another murder.

It’s the thrill of the hunt that he lives for, the translation of nebulous facts and witness statements into a puzzle that he can solve.

Yoongi’s damn good at his job. It almost makes the sacrifices in the rest of his so-called life worth it.

Namjoon hands Yoongi a case file, crisp, sharp edges waiting to razor his fingertips open. Flat.

Inside, the standard cover page, then a note that makes Yoongi sit up straight out of his slouch.

He looks at Namjoon to find Namjoon’s already looking at him.

‘The reaper of Seoul?’

Yoongi realises as he says the words out loud how it sounds.

The capture and subsequent conviction of the serial killer who’d terrorised the citizens of Seoul for three years had made headlines nationwide.

Last year.

‘Yeah,’ Namjoon says, the tension in his jaw evident now that Yoongi’s looking at him properly.

Namjoon glances at you. ‘It would seem he never left.’

You shift your weight and your eyes meet Yoongi’s.

‘My partner and I broke the case,’ you say. There’s a brittle smoothness to your voice that Yoongi recognises as a paper thin facade over the hauntedness underneath. ‘Turns out we didn’t.’

***

The note in the case file is a single sheet of letter paper, lined in blue.

The handwriting is precise, neat between the lines.

Oh dear.

Better luck this time?

Best regards from your neighbourhood Reaper.

Yoongi looks at you, sitting across the room at the desk Hoseok’s temporarily vacated.

You’re staring at your screen, face backlit in blue, expression unreadable. You’re in black, nondescript knitwear, your hair pushed back from your face, eyes narrowed.

He clears his throat. ‘You worked the case with your partner.’

It’s a statement you answer to like a question.

‘It was the first case I picked up when I joined homicide,’ you say, turning to Yoongi. ‘It started with -‘

‘Kim Seulgi,’ Yoongi says.

You nod, almost grimacing at the name of the Seoul Reaper’s first high profile victim.

‘Her family wanted answers.’

Kim Seulgi had been born of Seoul’s elite, an architect with her grandfather’s firm who had picked up a number of accolades for her work on the National Opera House.

She’d been engaged to an equally accomplished classical pianist, Jeong Minho, and had been the only offspring of her wealthy parents.

She’d disappeared three days before her wedding, only to turn up on her wedding day, floating in the Hangang, dressed in the clothes she’d disappeared in.

You say, ‘She was an ambitious first target.’

‘Was she the first?’ Yoongi asks.

The flicker in your eyes tells him this isn’t the first time you’ve considered this.

‘My partner Kiho.’ There’s strain in your voice. You start again. ‘My partner, Kiho, and I thought he’d killed before.’

You shrug. ‘The captain felt we were wasting time looking back into his early years.’

Yoongi says, neutral, ‘Budgets are limited, your case must have passed the thresholds for plausible deniability.’

‘It seemed to fit,’ you agree.

Your eyes meet again. ‘Not all of it, though.’

Yoongi knows, intimately, what it’s like to not be certain. Sometimes all you have is your instinct. It’s one thing to build a case no reasonable person would doubt, but you’re also betting on your gut. You’re betting on being a good enough detective to know that the pieces fit, without forcing them to fit.

You’re betting on being honest with yourself, and Yoongi knows more than anyone how tempting the lies can be.

Now you’re the one watching him, taking the measure of him.

His email pings.

‘That’s the link to the full case file,’ you say.

You get up, carry a stack of notebooks to his desk.

‘Our notebooks,’ you say.

Yoongi looks at the stack.

Every cop’s got their own collection of notebooks, raw data and impressions that don’t always make it into official reports.

The equivalent of dirty underwear when you’re not expecting company versus lingerie when you’re down to fuck.

This close, he can smell your shampoo, bright and faintly floral.

You blink at him.

‘I need to sort something with human resources,’ you say. ‘I’ll see you later.’

In actual fact it’s 36 hours later when he next sees you, at 4am, at a crime scene.

***

The rain falling is more than a drizzle, enough that the tent around the victim is the first priority.

There’s an imprint of violence in the air, Yoongi knows you feel it too by the way your lips tighten as you duck under the yellow tape to join him.

You nod at him in greeting, then there’s silence as you enter the tent.

The victim’s on her front, face turned to the right, hand tucked under her cheek.

She hasn’t been dead long enough for livedo to set in, she would almost look asleep if it weren’t for the purple of her lips, the greyness to her complexion.

The bath of blood she’s lying in.

Yoongi can just see the edge of the gaping wound on her neck.

You wait until forensics turns her body over.

The top three buttons of her silk blouse are undone, her chest slick with blood.

Yoongi’s reading the crime scene like he’s reading you, and he knows what you’re going to say before you say it.

‘It’s him,’ you breathe. The devastation in your eyes makes it difficult for him to look at you. ‘Fuck, it’s him.’

***

You’re shivering visibly despite the hot coffee Yoongi’s poured you, despite the fact that he’s turned the heating in his ancient Hyundai up as far as it’ll go.

There are droplets of water in your hair, sparkling incongruously in the gloom.

You’re waiting till first light to knock on neighbourhood doors, the victim was found in a quiet cul-de-sac.

Two minutes from her own front door.

Not much chills Yoongi these days but that fact does make him pause.

The audacity of it.

He says, ‘I have a blanket in the trunk.’

You’re protesting but Yoongi gets back out in the rain anyway, grabs the blanket and gets back in.

Hands it to you, takes your cup as you drape the blanket around yourself.

‘It gets colder here than Seoul,’ Yoongi offers, handing you your coffee back.

‘We fucked it up,’ you say, and Yoongi knows that’s what you’ve been thinking since you saw the body.

He’s just been waiting for you to be ready to say it.

‘So make it right,’ he says, simple.

‘An innocent man’s in prison because Kiho and I fucked up,’ you say.

Yoongi doesn’t want to minimise it but he doubts the man you put away was completely innocent.

‘I read your notebooks,’ he says. ‘Who’s Jeon Bogyeol?’

There had been twelve murders before the arrest. All women in their late twenties to mid thirties, all living alone.

They’d all lived in the same part of Seoul, but apart from that there was nothing to link them that he could find.

You look at him warily. ‘He was a night watchman at the apartments of seven of the women.’

Yoongi waits.

‘We cross-referenced staff at all the addresses, and his name kept coming up. Like Jang Daeseong.’

You flinch at the name of the man convicted of the murders, as though it didn’t fall from your own lips.

You keep talking, though, your voice never faltering. ‘We never found any links between Jeon Bogyeol and the other five women.’

‘Did he have a history?’ Yoongi asks. He’s looking out the window at the first rays of sunrise, muted orange through the rain. His shoulder aches, an old injury he doesn’t think about except when he’s tired, and cold.

‘There was a neighbour,’ you say. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, a tell Yoongi’s noticed for the first time tonight.

‘She called the police once saying she’d seen Bogyeol taking a woman into his apartment against her will.’

You’re frowning. ‘The beat cops who responded to the call out said there was no sign of anyone else in his apartment. The neighbour moved away.’

‘Moved away?’ Yoongi asks, and you glance at him, understanding the sharpness in his tone.

‘I was going to look into it when the Chief shut us down,’ you say. It’s stated simply, like a fact, no sign of defensiveness.

Yoongi offers you more coffee from his flask.

‘Where’s Bogyeol now?’

‘When the new letter came in I looked him up,’ you say. The steam rising from your cup obscures part of your expression for a moment, but Yoongi can hear the tremor in your voice.

‘He’s less than fifty miles east of here.’

Dawn’s breaking, the rain’s finally starting to peter out, but Yoongi’s chilled anyway.

***

The morning sun is high in the sky by the time Yoongi and you finish interviewing the neighbours and the new victim’s friends and family.

Yoongi’s phone rings. It’s Namjoon.

‘Can you talk?’ Namjoon asks.

Yoongi mouths ‘Namjoon’ in response to your inquiring expression, puts some distance between you and him.

‘Yeah,’ he answers.

‘The post-mortem results are back, and the preliminary tox screen is negative. The ME’s put the cause of death as exsanguination.’

Yoongi processes this. ‘It’s the same MO as the previous Seoul reaper victims,’ he says.

Namjoon sighs. ‘Has anything new come out of your interviews?’

‘No,’ Yoongi says. The victim had been well-liked, none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and on the surface of it there were no conflicts he could see. Her boyfriend of two years had been away on a work trip, his location confirmed around the window of the crime.

Yoongi’s looking at you as you wait against the car, and when your name comes out of Namjoon’s mouth he’s already got an inkling of what Namjoon wants to know.

‘I reviewed the case,’ Namjoon says. ‘There are no obvious flaws or errors in their investigation.’

Yoongi grunts. ‘There was a lead that they didn’t follow up on.’

He fills Namjoon in.

‘I’ll follow it up.’

Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder where her partner’s working now.’

Yoongi’s surprised Namjoon doesn’t already know, to be honest, he’s always two steps ahead of Yoongi.

He flicks his gaze to you again. You’re still waiting against the car, and there’s a loneliness to your posture, a fatigued downturn to your mouth that makes him say, ‘Hey Joon, I’ll call you back, ok?’

He ends the call, unlocks the car.

‘We should get back and compare notes,’ Yoongi says. His voice has dropped the way it does when he’s tired, and shit, he is tired. He hasn’t slept well for a while.

‘Let me drive,’ you offer. You take his keys, and your fingers brush his for an instant.

The contact, brief though it is, makes Yoongi’s skin tingle.

He wonders if you notice his reaction, but you’re already sliding in, adjusting the seat, starting up the car.

***

Yoongi wakes when you’re parking the car, sits up, a little embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking to gauge your reaction.

‘Don’t be,’ you reply. ‘I would have done the same if you’d driven.’

There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of your half-smile.

‘You mumble in your sleep.’

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. ‘What’d I say?’

‘I couldn’t make out any words,’ you tell him, but there’s a twinkle in your eye that makes him wonder if that’s really true.

Mara is the only person who’s shared his bed in recent years, and she’d never mentioned anything.

You swipe your ID to get into the station, hit the lifts.

In the dire grey lighting you look almost as tired as he does.

‘Coffee?’ Yoongi offers, when you pass the vending machine on the way to the office.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re on your phone, frowning over a text.

Yoongi passes you a cup.

‘Problem?’ he asks.

‘Kiho,’ you say. You look at him. ‘My old partner. He wants to meet up.’

‘It’d be useful to talk through the case with him,’ Yoongi agrees.

Your expression is difficult to read. ‘He’s in a retreat a couple hours drive from here. He took time off after we closed the case.’

Yoongi gulps his coffee. ‘There isn’t anything else we can do here anyway, we’re waiting on leads.’

He reaches out his hand for the car keys. ‘I can drive.’

***

The retreat Kiho is staying in is set amongst the foothills of a mountain, rolling grounds all around, a view of the cliffs overlooking the sea.

It seems to Yoongi like a place only the very rich or the very damaged would live.

Unless you get better pay packets in Seoul he’s apprehensive about meeting Kiho.

You sign in at the front desk, the receptionist greets you warmly, like she’s met you a few times before.

You lead Yoongi through a huge lounge, through open patio doors and into a green. Yoongi’s looking around at the residents, scanning the area the way he does automatically whenever he’s in an unfamiliar place.

You’re waving a hand, and then you’re embracing a tall man tightly. Neither of you say anything but Yoongi can see the way your shoulders slump, like the tension’s draining out of you.

It’s only when the tall man looks up at Yoongi inquiringly that Yoongi notices the long scar running along his neck. Tracing the path of his jugular, vertical rather than horizontal.

Kiho extends a hand.

‘So you’re going to get our guy,’ he says.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.

‘We’re going to get him,’ he says, finally.

Kiho turns to you. ‘You haven’t told him,’ he says to you.

You’re looking at Yoongi.

‘We can tell him now.’

***

‘I started getting notes after Jang Daeseong was convicted,’ you say. You’re sitting in a gazebo with Yoongi and Kiho, mugs of coffee in front of you.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

You flick your eyes to his, then look away, unlock your phone.

Yoongi takes your phone, scrolls through a gallery of pictures.

Lined paper, handwriting he’s seen before.

Yoongi reads through the content, then returns your phone to you.

‘The originals are with forensics,’ you tell him. ‘The paper and ink are generic, impossible to trace. There’s no trace of DNA, not so much as a partial print.’

‘The notes stopped coming last month,’ you say. ‘Right around the time I moved.’

Kiho’s scratching his neck absently, Yoongi catches how your gaze drops to his scar.

The length of it’s longer than a stab wound, he thinks the surgeons might have had to extend the scar to repair the vessels beneath.

You turn to Yoongi.

‘We have to stop him,’ you say. ‘Use me to lure him out.’

‘He nearly killed me,’ Kiho says. His expression is sober, his tone flat.

He stops there, but Yoongi can hear his next words, loud and clear.

What’s he going to do to you?

‘We can’t let him keep going like this,’ you say, very gently.

Kiho meets Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi doesn’t falter.

‘He has to be stopped,’ he agrees.

***

The drive back to the police station goes quicker - there’s something about seeing your old partner that’s given you a bump of energy.

Yoongi can practically feel the adrenaline fizzing in your blood, coming off you in waves.

He’s worried about the crash when the adrenaline ebbs.

He sure as fuck hopes you can cope with the lows better than he can.

He’d put in a call before you left the retreat, Namjoon’s fast tracking a last known address on the neighbour of Jeon Bogyeol who’d moved away.

You’re typing an address into the satnav yourself, face drawn, eyes serious.

Yoongi doesn’t have to ask whose address it is.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asks.

His voice is as neutral as he can make it but he already knows that you’ve made your decision.

It’s written all over you, in the way your shoulders are squared, in the tilt of your chin, in the way your hands are tensed into fists in your lap.

‘I need to see this through, Yoongi,’ you say.

Yoongi takes a moment.

‘What happened to Kiho?’ he asks.

‘He didn’t see who it was,’ you answer. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, jaw tensed.

‘He was heading home in between shifts and he got jumped in the car park under his apartment. If he hadn’t been found by the car park attendant —‘ you voice trails off, and you shiver.

‘He was lucky the car park attendant called for help right away. That his next door neighbour, fresh off a shift in the trauma department, arrived home when she did and was there to take over. That he lives five minutes on blue lights away from the best trauma centre in Seoul.’

You look at Yoongi. ‘Kiho’s damned lucky to be alive.’

‘It’s a different injury from the reaper’s usual MO,’ Yoongi says slowly.

You nod. ‘He was toying with us.’

‘You said you received notes from the Reaper,’ Yoongi says. He’s watching you carefully in the rearview. ‘What did they say?’

Your lips press together in a line, but your voice is steady when you answer.

‘He said he’d been watching me, and that he was coming for me. That I’d be his final kill.’

***

The address you’ve put in for Jeon Bogyeol is a house in a run down suburban neighbourhood, the type of place Yoongi grew up.

The houses are haphazardly arranged, like a careless scatter on a Monopoly board, connected by a warren of roads too narrow for more than one car to pass.

Yoongi can see you tensing up the closer you get to your destination, and after he parks and switches off the engine, he places his hand on your arm.

Your eyes are expressive, more so than your voice.

‘We haven’t got grounds yet for an arrest warrant,’ you say, flat.

‘We’re working the case,’ Yoongi replies. ‘And if it’s right, we’ll work it until it’s airtight.’

Your response is to stare at him a moment, then to push open the car door.

Yoongi notices that you’ve unzipped your jacket, making your holstered gun more visible.

His own gun presses against his hip, the weight of it reminding him that although he’s only drawn it a handful of times, each time has been with intent.

He sure as fuck hopes neither of you will have reason to draw your gun today.

***

The address is little more than a shack, a rickety door that looks like it’ll give under a strong kick, a boarded up window that’s visibly cracked.

Yoongi knocks, identifies you both.

Follows procedure because he’s determined to get it all right this time.

Get the monster locked up where he belongs.

You don’t have grounds to break down the door, at least not until you go round to the back and see the pink tricycle upended in the dirt, streamers splayed tendrils of pink and white.

There isn’t much that sends Yoongi into the grey as much as the suggestion that a child might be involved.

He doesn’t really recall looking at you to confirm, just knows that one minute he’s outside in the chill and the next he’s inside the shack, gun drawn, the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat.

There’s nowhere to hide in the empty shack, Jeon Bogyeol is gone.

You do a cursory search but both of you know you aren’t going to find your answers here.

Then Yoongi must blank out, because the next thing he hears is your voice, firm, saying his name.

He’s panting, covered in sweat, back against a wall, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket to keep him upright.

He blinks, and you snap into focus. There’s ringing in his ears.

Your mouth opens, and the ringing stops. He hears your voice.

‘Let’s go, Yoongi.’

He lets you lead him out, folds himself into the passenger seat of your car, notes distantly how you put your hand on the top of the doorframe like you’re worried he’s going to bang his head.

You start the engine and then you drive, and Yoongi’s grateful that you don’t say anything at all, don’t ask for an explanation of why a fucking tricycle sent him into a tailspin.

Yoongi looks down in his lap because he’s not ready to see if you’re looking at him differently now that you’ve seen him wig out.

You put the radio on after a few minutes, stop at a drive thru after an hour.

It’s only when you hand him a coffee, silently, that he’s moved to speak.

He clears his throat, and you’re the one who speaks, still looking straight ahead, out the windscreen.

‘You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I’ll listen if you do, but you don’t have to.’

Yoongi chews on that a moment.

‘Three years ago I worked what we thought was a murder in Busan. It turned out to be an abduction.’

Yoongi laughs. There’s no humour in it.

‘We found her. She was still warm. If we’d been ten minutes quicker at figuring it out, if her fucking dad had told us about the business deal he had that had gone sour sooner, if I’d even just tried harder…’

His voice trails off.

He risks a glance at you.

You’re still not looking at him.

‘I can’t speak to whether you could have prevented it, Yoongi. All I know is that none of us come to work to do a bad job.’

Your hand lands on his forearm briefly.

‘Some days are just bad days at the office.’

It’s not the first time Yoongi’s heard it, but it’s the first time it’s been said to him with no judgement that he can hear.

***

When you get back to the precinct, Namjoon’s waiting.

He hands Yoongi another case file.

‘I got Jimin to follow up on those leads we talked about,’ Namjoon says, no preamble.

‘We visited Jeon Bogyeol’s last known address,’ you say. ‘There’s no one there now, but it hasn’t been long since he moved out.’

Namjoon says, ‘Keep me informed.’

He nods to the case file. ‘There’s some interesting information in there.’

As Namjoon walks off, you turn to Yoongi.

‘I’m going down to visit someone I know in forensics, see if they can check the house.’

Yoongi heads for your joint office.

There’s a cleaning cart parked just outside the door, which opens just as Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.

The cleaner apologises and bows politely.

Yoongi steps aside to let her pass.

‘You forgot this,’ he says, spotting the dusting cloth left on your desk.

He hands it to her and places the file on his desk.

Outside, it’s raining again.

***

Yoongi wakes with a jolt.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk.

‘You should go home, get some sleep.’

‘In the middle of an active murder investigation?’ Yoongi mumbles.

‘I’m one of the potential targets, remember?’ you say, grimacing. ‘He might come to us.’

At Yoongi’s expression, you say, ‘We’ve been doing nothing but following up leads since the last murder. The last investigation took months, almost a year. What are you going to do, not sleep until he’s caught?’

‘I don’t sleep much anyway,’ Yoongi says, but he knows you’re right.

‘I know you don’t,’ you reply. There’s an empathy in your tone that reminds him you’re a homicide detective too.

You exchange a look, and then you both speak at the same time.

‘I should go —‘

‘Do you like wontons?’ Yoongi blurts out.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Is this like inviting me in for ramen?’

‘What?’ Yoongi splutters. ‘No, not like that. There’s this place I go. They have��-‘

‘Wontons, I get it,’ you say. You get up. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

***

It’s been a while since Yoongi shared a meal with someone else, the last person was Hoseok, who could go straight from a crime scene to a steakhouse without turning a hair.

You’re chasing a wonton around your plate, fatigue lining the corners of your mouth.

Yoongi asks, ‘Where do you live?’

‘The other side of town,’ you tell him. ‘Near the financial district.’

‘Fancy,’ Yoongi muses.

‘More than I can afford,’ you say darkly. ‘If this case goes on for a while I’m going to need to move.’

You look up at him. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Close to here,’ Yoongi says.

‘Yeah?’

You put your chopsticks down. ‘I should —-‘

This time, Yoongi interrupts.

‘Do you want to come round for ramen?’

Your eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence. Then a pulse of connection that sends heat through Yoongi’s veins.

Your knee brushes his under the table.

‘Yeah,’ you answer, deliberate. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

***

Yoongi’s always hated the preamble to a hookup, in his line of work uncertainty is a thing to be avoided.

You work the case until you get an explanation no reasonable person would doubt.

He finds himself waiting, though, now that you’re standing in his apartment.

You’re looking around, and he wonders if his existence seems as lonely on the outside as it feels on the inside.

He’s wondering if you’ve changed your mind, if you really did think he meant ramen, when you reach out and grasp the front of his shirt.

Slip the tips of your fingers just under, hold the placket as you use your other hand to unbutton. Start at his throat, work your way down, slowly.

His skin prickles under the warmth of your fingers.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the base of his neck.

Yoongi reaches up, slides a hand around the nape of your neck, and you tilt your face to his.

Close up, you’re soft.

Yoongi traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part.

You don’t say anything, though, and that’s ok, because Yoongi thinks you’re as talked out as he is.

It’s been a hell of a fucking day.

You’re kissing his neck again, instead of his mouth, and that’s ok, because this isn’t love, it’s comfort.

A human connection in a day filled with monsters.

Yoongi sighs as your hands slip over his bare chest, round to his back.

He helps you lift your top over your head, admires your breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric of your bra.

He cups the weight of them in his hands, and you moan.

Yoongi’s cock is filling out, and you’re undoing his belt like you want to see for yourself.

You drop to your knees in front of him, press your mouth onto the length of him over his boxer briefs, sigh with pleasure.

‘Not too much,’ Yoongi warns, ‘not if you want me to fuck you.’

You look up at him, hair mussed, a smile curving your lips.

You tug his boxer briefs down, and Yoongi curls a hand around himself so as not to hit you in the face.

‘Just let me —‘

You open your mouth to take him in, and Yoongi groans at the feel of your warmth.

When did he last —

His crown nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow, and he loses his train of thought.

He grabs your shoulder, tugs you up, kisses the smear of his own stickiness at the corner of your mouth.

The light slanting in through the window is hues of gold and orange, filling in the hollows of your face, outlining the curves of your body.

Yoongi has to stop looking at you because he doesn’t want to cry at how much he’s missed being close to someone like this.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asks, voice taut.

‘Anywhere,’ you say. ‘Just turn these fucking lights out.’

***

In the dark, Yoongi’s most enraptured by the warmth of you.

Your skin is smooth, so soft under his hands as he wraps his fingers around the curve of your hips.

His cock glides in and out of the heat between your legs, and your moans are beautiful but what really gets him are the hitches in your breathing as he moves.

He turns you over, onto your back, and you pull him to you. Your mouth opens on his shoulder in what would be a kiss if you weren’t biting down. Your tongue flicks over his bruised skin, an apology.

You haven’t spoken to each other in words in a while but Yoongi doesn’t think either of you need words right now.

At least he doesn’t.

You’re tightening around his cock now, your cries quickening until you gasp his name in a tone that makes him grunt and his hips jerk, taking him deep as he can go.

Even in his pleasure he makes sure not to crush you as he collapses next to you.

Then you’re up, walking over to the window, pulling up the sash, lighting a cigarette without asking if he’s ok with it.

Yoongi admires the outline of your profile against the glass.

‘I needed that,’ you say, taking a drag, hunching a little to blow smoke out of his window.

‘Me too,’ Yoongi says, honestly.

He ties off the condom, gets up to toss it in the trash on top of yesterday’s takeout.

Pours you a glass of water on his way back to bed.

He half expects you to be dressed, and you are, but in his clothes, not your own, an old t-shirt he’d tossed on the chair by the bed yesterday morning before he left for work.

He can’t see your face clearly in the dark. It makes it easy to find his voice.

‘You should stay,’ he says. ‘We can get coffee in the morning.’

You’re quiet. ‘I want to.’

Yoongi climbs into bed, and after a moment you slide in next to him.

Your bodies aren’t touching at all, but somehow having you there with him is enough.

Yoongi means to check on you, but he’s asleep so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to.

***

There’s a basketball hoop set into the wall in the back end of the station, a concrete square with a chain-link fence.

The building opposite is a block of offices, as is the building next to it.

Yoongi makes the shot, and you grab the ball on its first bounce.

You say, ‘Forensics got nothing from Jeon Bogyeol’s shack. He bleached the shit out of the place before he left.’

Yoongi grunts, watches you point and shoot.

He’d read through the file Namjoon gave him on the neighbour - it’s incomplete but she was last seen alive twelve weeks ago in a coastal town.

There’s something niggling at the back of his brain, he’d suggested shooting hoops in the hopes that the activity might shake the thought loose so his conscious mind can make the connection.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Namjoon.

‘I’m going up to see Namjoon,’ he says. ‘You coming?’

‘I’ll stay here for a bit,’ you say. ‘I’ll be up in a sec.’

Yoongi shrugs, lets himself back in.

Takes the stairs up to Namjoon’s office on the third floor.

There’s a cleaning cart parked next to the staff kitchen as he rounds the corner.

Yoongi’s about to knock on Namjoon’s door when his scattered thoughts crystallise.

The case file Namjoon had given him had a grainy photo of Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour, the one who’d reported him and then disappeared.

He’s seen her face before, and recently.

Coming out of your office.

‘Fuck,’ he swears.

He grabs his phone out of his pocket, dials your number.

Your phone rings, and rings.

Yoongi takes off, down the stairs, back the way he came.

By the time he bursts out of the back door of the station, gun drawn, his heart’s thumping triple speed, but his hand is steady as he aims it at the man with a knife standing over you.

His finger goes from trigger guard to trigger.

‘Fucking drop it,’ Yoongi warns.

He doesn’t, so Yoongi shoots.

***

Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour who had reported him was called Seo Hyerin.

She was in her early forties, an ex-teacher who he’d coerced into helping him by turning up at her new place even after she’d moved to get away from him.

She’d been too scared to disobey him, but in forcing her to help him, Jeon Bogyeol had given her access to enough information to clinch the case against him.

Once she’d found out he’d been shot and was likely to go straight from hospital to prison, she’d shared all that information with Yoongi and you.

The pieces fell into place so easily there was no need to make any of it fit.

And now Yoongi’s sitting in the kitchen of your apartment, watching as you pack things up.

He’d been right. Your place was fancy.

You were being transferred back to Seoul to finish up, see things through with the case.

He realises you’re looking at him.

‘My new place is a couple hours drive from here,’ you say.

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi says, like he hadn’t already looked it up.

He’d also looked up timed automated cat food dispensers, just because it was one thing to have a neighbour drop in and feed Kenzo if he’s stuck with a case occasionally, but it’s another thing if he’s regularly going to be driving down to see you.

If he’s regularly going to be spending the night away.

It’s uncharacteristic, for him, but he’s hopeful.

‘I slept pretty well that time,’ you say, looking down into your box.

You look up at him, and the curve of your lips makes Yoongi think to himself that he’d like to kiss you, sometime.

‘In your apartment,’ you clarify, like he wouldn’t already know.

‘I make good ramen,’ Yoongi says. ‘I can make it again for you, you know.’

You laugh, and the sound makes Yoongi feel warm.

He realises that he’s smiling.

Fuck, it’s been a while.

[thecuriousbeauty]

Thank you so much! Yes, I will take requests🫶🏼

So Harry and yn are in a relationship but his family doesn't approve their relationship cause they thought yn is all uptight bitch as media has portrait her and it will be angsty like his family will fight with yn but in the all fluff and smut between harry and yn?? If only you want to write thank youu.💗

Harry Styles Oneshot- His Family Doesn't Like You

Word limit: 3,030

Author's note: Thanks for the request! I hope you like it:) Requests are open, guys. Feed back appreciated and please re blog if you like my writing!

Warnings: Smut, sweet sex, fluff, angst.

___________________________________________

You looked at yourself again and again in the mirror, making sure you looked perfect. You wanted to look flawless tonight. You were meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time. Harry always talks about them. He tells you about how kind his mom is, how she raised Harry and his sister Gemma all by herself. Harry's very close to his mother and he loves her a lot. He loves his sister too, he always calls her after a show, or if something exciting happens in his life. You were going to meet the two women who shaped Harry to who he is now. 

"You ready to go, baby?", Harry asks, coming into your bedroom, and you turn around to look at him. Harry looked handsome as always, in his patterned shirt and black pants, his hair neatly kept, a few strands falling over his face. His face breaks into a beautiful smile as he takes you in. "You look so pretty!"

"Yeah? Are you sure? Should I change into a dress or something?", you ask him, nervously running your hands down your skirt. Harry comes to you, placing his hands on your hips and tugging you closer to him. "I'm sure. Are you okay? We don't have to meet them today if you don't want to, no rush." Harry kisses your temple, and you sigh. You two were already in a six month relationship, and Harry had met your parents who absolutely loved him, but you hadn't met Harry's family yet. You both were busy. You work in the industry as well, and whatever free time you both get, you spend it with each other.

"No, I want to meet them. I'm just nervous.", you tell him. Harry strokes your hair away from your forehead, his gentle green eyes reassuring you. "Darling, they're really good people. You don't have to be nervous about anything. I love you, and they'll love you too."

"Okay.", you whisper, nodding slowly as he lifts your chin up for a kiss. "Yeah?", he checks, and you nod some more, pressing a kiss to his lips. He cups your cheek, and his lips envelop yours in a sweet kiss. His kisses could heal everything. You felt a a tiny boost of confidence, and you finished getting ready, then got in the car. Harry drove and kept his free hand on your thigh, talking to you about his sister and his mom. 

You got to the house, and Harry grabs your hand, sensing your nerves again as you stand outside the door, waiting. "I'll be right by your side, baby. Don't worry, okay?"

"Okay, sorry, I just really want them to like me.", you whisper, and he smiles, kissing your cheek. "How can anyone not like you y/n? You're an amazing person."

Just then, Harry's mom gets the door, and you smile at her. Anne was beautiful. Her brown hair laid over her shoulder in waves, bright eyes and a big smile took over her face as she sees her son.

"Oh come here my handsome boy.", she coos, opening her arms and Harry walks into them, embracing his mother tightly. "Hey mum." They kiss cheeks, and Anne starts telling him about the neighbour's cat, but Harry interrupts. 

"Mum, this is y/n. Babe, my mom.", Harry introduces with a smile, and Anne looks at you for the first time, giving you a small smile. "Hello, y/n."

"It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Twist." You wanted to go for a hug, but she put out her hand before that, so you just shook it. 

"Call me Anne, please. Come on in!"

She holds the door open for you guys. "Gemma! Harry's here."

Harry takes your coat to hang it behind the door along with his. "She just came in a few minutes ago.", Anne says as she walks to the kitchen. 

"It smells so good in here, mum.", Harry says, and it did. The lovely smell of hot stew and something buttery in the oven was wafting through the air. 

"All your favorites, of course.", Anne answers and Harry grins. 

"Can I help with anything, Anne?", you ask, and she shakes her head. "I've got it handled, thank you."

Another woman comes down the stairs. She was beautiful too, you saw the similarities between her and Harry. "Harry!", she smiles and rushes into his arms. "Hey Gem!", Harry squeezes her tight, kissing her cheek. "Long time no see!"

"You're the one who's always busy!", she says back, and he laughs. "Say hi to y/n!"

She turns to look at you, and you smile. "Hi Gemma."

"y/n.", she nods, her smile erasing a bit, and your heart drops. She doesn't seem to like you, you think. Harry saw that, and he comes back to your side. 

"What do you do, y/n?", Gemma asks you, even though she knew from Harry.

"Uh, I work in the industry. I'm a music producer.", you say. 

"You work for Harry then?", Anne asks you from the kitchen.

"I have worked with Harry, yes, but I work with a lot of people in the industry. Not confined to anyone.", you say, and she hums. That's how you met Harry. You worked on a song together. 

"She's a brilliant producer, anyone who gets to work with her is lucky.", Harry pipes up, kissing your cheek and you smile, squeezing his hand. "Thanks babe."

They ask you more about your work, and people you've worked with. Then Harry whisks you away to show you around the house, and you can't help but wonder whether they like you. They seemed pretty sweet when talking to Harry, but all you got were cold responses. 

"They're nosy, love, I'm sorry.", Harry says apologetically and you shake your head. "No it's okay, I like talking about work."

"I did tell them everything they need to know, I don't know why they're still asking you.", he frowns. "Why don't you take a look around while I have a chat with them?"

You nod. After you looked at Harry's childhood photos and smiled to yourself, took some photos on your phone to look at them again later on, you went back to them. On the way you stopped in your tracks, when you heard them talk about you.

"Mum, she's not like others!", Harry was saying.

"You don't know that yet, Harry. Everything starts out like this and ends up with you heart broken."

"Besides, it's just been six months, are you really that serious about her?", Gemma asks him, and you feel your heart tighten in your chest. 

"We did our research on her, and you have to see what the media has to say. She's so stuck up, and rude!", Anne said.

"And she might be secretly messing with your music, she could use them for her ideas.", Gemma says, and you resist the urge to scoff out loud. That would be the last thing you would do to Harry. 

"You mean she's with me to steal my music?! Mom, Gem, she's so talented, she doesn't need to steal anything! She wouldn't do that, either. She's such a good person. I don't care what the media portrays her as, she's not rude. She's quiet, but not with me. She trusts me, and loves me, she's her real self with me. She's funny, and beautiful and a lovely person.", Harry said, and you felt your eyes tear up. 

"You're blind, Harry. I hope you remember all the drama and rumors you caused with your previous relationships.", Gemma says. 

"I don't see a difference, she's just like everyone else you've dated before. I don't like her, Harry, I'm sorry.", Anne said. 

"You didn't even talk to her! You asked her about work! How can you decide that you don't like her?"

"Because this isn't the first time you've brought a girl like her to meet us!", Gemma said, and that was it, you had heard enough. You walked out, making everyone freeze and look at you.

"Babe-", Harry starts, knowing you heard it all by taking a look at your face.

"-I-I got a call, something came up. I-I have to go, Harry. I'll get a cab.", you say to him, your voice shaky as you go to the door. 

"No, no baby, they didn't mean it like that-" Harry grabs your arm. 

"-I have to go.", you whisper, looking Harry in the eyes and taking your arm away from his grip. "Okay. I'll come with you, you're not taking a cab."

Before you could stop him, he turned back to his mom and sister. "I don't know why you both behaved like that towards someone I love and respect, but that was awful. You taught us to respect and treat people well, that's not what you did to y/n today, mum. I feel so bad for bringing her here, she didn't deserve to hear all that shit. You can't just assume she's like everyone else. And she's not, I know her. I love her. She has been with me through tough times, my loses and my wins. I feel sorry for you both that you failed to see her. I don't want to hear anymore of this from either of you, don't talk to me until you apologize to y/n."

"Harry no-", you start, you didn't want to break up the family.

Harry took your hand, and your coats. "Let's go, love."

"Harry-", Gemma calls behind you, but he doesn't look back. He opens the door for you, and you get inside the car. Harry started driving, silently. He was fuming too. He couldn't believe they would talk like that about her, in front of her.

Now you're the reason for messing up their family. Then all the shit the media says about you. Everything hit you together, and you couldn't stop the tears. 

"y/n.", Harry whispers, moving his free hand to your knee. "Darling."

"I-I'm so sorry.", you croak, covering your face with your hands. "Y-You shouldn't have walked out and said all that."

"I shouldn't have stood up for you?", he asks, pulling over to the side. "What kind of a boyfriend would I be then?"

You sob into your hands, and Harry gets his seat belt off, reaching over to remove yours, and he scoops you into his lap without effort. "Hey, hey..sweetheart, look at me.", he speaks softly, all his anger melting away watching you cry. He hated watching you cry. Knowing that his family was the reason for your tears made him feel so guilty. He wanted you to meet them.

"I-I don't want to get in the way of your family. M-Maybe we should break up.", you tell him, and he pulls your hands away from your face so he can look at you. He looked hurt. "B-Break up? No, I love you!"

"I love you too, Harry, but I can't do this. T-They obviously hate me and they're all you have as family, I don't want another label. Family wrecker? I-I can't, Harry..", you cry, and he cups the back of your head, pushing your head into his chest. He rub his hand up and down your back, comforting you. 

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, please don't cry..", Harry coos, pressing kisses to your head. "This isn't gonna break my family apart, babe. I was angry, and they are naive, they read what the media says. But I know the real you! You're such a beautiful person, in and out. And anyone who knows you will say the same about you. The media says I'm a womanizer, I like older women, I have sex with everyone I see and what not! They just like to make people feel bad. I'll make mom and Gem understand. And if they don't get it, it's fine. I love you, right?"

You pull your head back, and look at him. He smiled softly, stroking his thumb on your cheek. "I love you so much. I can't live without you, y/n. I need you in my life. I will fix this, I promise. Please don't give up on us, baby, I can't go on without you."

You couldn't either, that was the truth. You put your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. "I love you too, Haz."

"I'm sorry.", he repeats, kissing your neck. 

"It's not your fault.", you tell him, closing your eyes. Harry held you for as long as you needed. You gave him a kiss and got off his lap once you were alright. 

"I'll show you just how perfect you are after we get home.", he promises, before he starts driving again. 

You wondered what he meant. When you got to your place, he took you up into his arms as he kissed you. This time, with more passion. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he took you to your bedroom, and laid you down on the bed, all while trailing kisses down your jawline and your neck, his teeth leaving love bites as a reminder. 

"Harry..", you moan as he his hand palms your breast over your bra, slipping his hand under your top. 

"I'm gonna make you feel good, baby.", he whispers, gently tugging on your top and you raise your arms for him to slip it off of you. Your bra follows, and he kisses your breasts, lips sucking your nipples, and his teeth gently nibbling on it. You get his shirt off, running your hands over his chest and his abdomen, eyes raking over his tattoos. You've seen it a lot of times, but you're always so astonished at how beautiful everything is. He is so beautiful. 

"I need you inside.", you whisper, moaning as his fingers feel around your wet folds. "Please Harry.."

"Whatever you want, baby." He slips your skirt down your hips, and your panties, before spreading your legs. "So pretty for me.", he praises, looking at your pussy. He brings his fingers to his mouth, getting some saliva on his fingers before rubbing it over your folds. "Everything about you is gorgeous, y/n."

You were tingling, aching for him. You needed to feel full. Harry slips his boxers off, and doesn't waste anymore time. He pushes into you, keeping one hand on your shoulder and the other hand holding his dick. You moan at the feeling as he pushes inside, completely, and he pauses, waiting for you to adjust. 

"You can m-move..please..", you whisper, closing your eyes and he moves in and out of you slowly, but deeply. They were hitting just the right spots, making you grab onto his shoulder, and whimper. "Open your eyes, let me see those pretty eyes y/n.", Harry grabs your jaw and you open your eyes, meeting his green ones. 

"You are perfect, you're my best girl.", he whispers before attaching his lips to yours, groaning as it felt so good. His tongue explored your mouth as you kissed, all your worries melting away as he made love to you. He kept kissing you and whispering praises until you both got close to your releases. 

"Oh fuck, baby I won't last longer..come on, cum for me..", he groans, and you moan his name out loud as your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head. Harry also cums, and he continues his momentum, carrying you both through your orgasms before he lays on top of you, still inside. 

"I love you.", you whisper, running your hand through his curls. 

"I love you more.", he whispers back, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Don't ever doubt yourself due to what someone else might say."

______________________________________________________________

"Love?", you hear Harry call as you go through some emails, and you hum. "Yeah?"

Harry comes to you, and holds out his phone. "It's mom, she wants to speak to you."

"What?", you whisper shout, and he was smiling, nodding as he pushes his phone to you. "Just hear her out for me, please?"

You nod, taking his phone from him and pressing it to your ear. "Hello?"

"y/n? It's Anne, love. I would like to apologize for what happened last night.", Anne says. "Gemma showed me the magazines and what the media says, and I believed them. I just want the best for Harry. I've seen his girlfriends cheat on him, drain his pockets, use him and then just walk out. I'm just protective. And I guess that clouded my brain. I shouldn't have made a judgement like that, without even getting to know you. I'm so sorry, y/n."

"It's okay, Anne.", you immediately say, and Harry smiles. 

"Harry talks about you all the time. You mean a lot to him. And I'm happy with anyone who makes my son happy. Would you want to maybe get lunch tomorrow? Gemma's sorry too, and we both would like to get to know you a bit, yeah?"

"Of course, I'd love that.", you smiled. "I understand your worries Anne, but I'm not like them. I love Harry for the person he is, not for anything else. He's an incredible person, and it's you behind who he is now."

After you finish talking, Harry hugs you tight. "Thanks for giving them another chance."

"They're your family, and I care about you, a lot. So yes.", you say, and squeal as he attacks you in kisses, making you fall back on the couch. "Babe! That tickles!!"

[maddascanbe-blog]

I can't believe they cheated us so hard on Sabrina here (and Rooster Bold, and Caprikid, and Minot-). They didn't give her a transformation sequence, and they even gave her miraculous to 2 other people! It's one thing if it was Ladybug and Chat Noir using them, but no. Both Alix and "Adrien" got to use Barkk's miraculous!

I don't think anything about any of the designs really scream Dog to me, but I think Sabrina's was the best in concept out of all of them. I think part of it is the colors, Plagg has the distinction of being specifically a Black Cat which combined with the green eyes makes it hard to mistake what animal the miraculous is based on. But Barkk has very similar colors to the Fox miraculous, and that definitely makes it harder to tell.

Personally I think basing the dog miraculous on a Dalmation, Cocker Spaniel, or Basset Hound.

But anyway onto the dog miraculous, I think I will also be changing the power. Instead my idea was that once the ball connects to something it can lead the dog user to the object via a trail only the user can sense. But the condition is, they have to know what object they hit. If they intend to track a person, they need to know that person's identity. So if Hawkmoth appears they would need to hit his cane or his miraculous in order to track them. But the trace on the cane would wear off as soon as he de-transforms. The one on the butterfly miraculous would last longer, but would wear off over time meaning he would just have to keep moving until then.

Gabriel is aware of this power, and knows it would be very useful if he could get his hands on it. But the risk is pretty high for him as well, since if they manage to trace his miraculous he'd be in trouble. So Hawkmoth is hesitant to appear in person.

As for Vanisher, I based on design on the Invisible Man. Specifically the 2005 french cartoon of the same name. I recommend it, I love Alan so much. She can appear as just the hat, glasses, gloves, and coat. Or she can turn completely invisible The akuma is hidden in the pin on her hat.

I like Sabrina's preppy style, so when I saw a pinafore dress in this dark orange shade I knew I wanted to use it for her Miss Hound design. I also love the beret, I wish they didn't steal it for Cani-girl. I did tie her hair back and altered the shade of orange to a more auburn shade. Her ball is attached to her bow, and I decided to keep the thigh high socks since they were cute.

[toruro]

— ✧ idubilu

pairing. xu minghao x reader

description. obligatory company dinners are never much fun, but you understand that your husband has to go through with them at the end of each month anyways. luckily, he knows just how to make it up to you once you two get home.

genre. smut (18+ / mdni) tags under the cut, ceo & husband minghao, fluff

w/c. 2.8k

a/n. yk i don’t rly like pwp but i needed to pay homage to the idubilu choreo. that's it.

✘ tags. oral (f receiving), petnames (princess, pretty), they're just rly horny 4 each other lol, reader wears a suit and she is SEXY! ✘ taglist. @synthetickitsune @ixayjun @leejihoonownsmyheart @dahliatopia @gyuswhore @hoeforcheol @5xiang @hajimelvr @miriamxsworld @blinkjunhui @lixiel0ver @josefines-things @mimisxs @ming-h0e @kawennote09 @bbyjjunie @rubyreduji @marzmeltdown @todorokiskitten @98-0603 @hipsdofangirl @nikkixpenguin @minnie-mouser22 @minhui896 @whippedforjihoon @yunjinified @nishloves @woozarts @ellesmoon @blurryriki @maknae00 @jjjzzzz @marzmeltdown @peachyaeger @shoulietaro (strikethrough could not be tagged) join my taglist here!

A tight lipped smile is the only thing you’re wearing tonight. Well, that and a stiff pair of dress pants and button up shirt; usually you opt for wearing dresses to these sorts of things, but the one you’d picked out earlier was itchy in all the worst spots and really, you couldn’t bother to choose another one so you settled for this suit. It’s definitely more comfortable, but your feet still ache in the confines of your heels as you wrap your fingers around the cool glass of champagne.

Your husband is in the corner of your vision, talking to some associate as you stand by the buffet table, as you contemplate if you even have the stomach to eat anything right now. You’re overreacting—you know you are—but after long hours at work and an even longer hours trying to clean up the mess your cat had made at home, you’re not the least bit thrilled to spend your evening hours (the ones you usually spend curled up by Minghao’s side) here.

The champagne fizzles out on your tongue when you take a sip, sighing as you lean against the wall. You want to leave, that much is obvious. Minghao can sense it from across the room—the way your arms are crossed over your chest and you look down at your shoes, only glancing up to flicker your eyes at him and then the clock.

“45 more minutes,” you mutter to yourself when he finally excuses himself and walks over with a plate of food in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says lowly when he’s finally within ear shot. “I know you hate coming to these.”

You let your shoulders deflate a little when you hear the sincerity in your voice, reminding yourself that this is your husband. “No it’s … it’s fine, these shoes just hurt,” you tell him honestly, shifting your weight from leg to leg as Minghao hands you his plate.

“Sit down and eat. I’ll wrap this up in half an hour and then we can leave.” You frown, taking the plate from his hands. “And remind me to get you new shoes if these ones suck—you know I hate seeing you in pain.”

You roll your eyes as he follows you to the nearest empty table in the hall. “Simp,” you tease, slipping into a seat and begrudgingly stuffing your face with one of the hor d’oeuvres.

“Whatever you say princess,” he sighs, stepping back. “I’ll be back in a bit, and then we’ll get going, ‘kay?” You nod and he walks off with a final wave, just as bored as before but a little less bitter. After all, Minghao’s sweet words and kind promises always leave a warm feeling budding in your heart.

Still, the next thirty minutes are long. You watch him not too discreetly now, getting lost in yourself as the night progresses. Minghao has long ditches his black coat, and is instead donned in a simple set of black pants and white shirt, nearly perfectly matching you. It’s a kind thought that occupies your mind for the remainder of your time—the fact that you and Minghao match each other perfectly.

You’re left with you and your thoughts, and although it’s a long wait, relief waves over your form when you hear Minghao thank everyone for coming. You make your way to his side while he does so, his arm secured around your waist as the two of you bow and wave everyone out as they shuffle out the room until it’s just the two of you left.

“Oh god, I thought I’d never get to take these off,” you huff, sitting on one of the round tables once everyone’s gone, slipping the tight heels over your sore feet. Your husband watches you sympathetically as he tucks his phone back into his pocket, workers making their way into the hall to clean up.

“I told you, we can go get new ones. Let’s go home now though,” he says, holding a hand out as you reach down to pick up your shoes. Minghao scrunches his nose up when you put your bare feet on the ground. “Ew. Don’t do that!”

You frown. “Why not! My feet hurt and I don’t care if it’s dirty—I can’t stand it anymore!”

Minghao sighs and shakes his head, and for a moment you think you’ve won this battle but then he’s turning around and tapping at his back. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“I am not g—”

Minghao shoots you a warning look, and you suddenly realize you’re too exhausted to care that much anyways. “I’ll give you a treat.”

Your tummy tumbles, and you’re glad he’s turned away so he can’t see the shit eating grin that creeps onto your lips. You don’t exactly understand what Minghao means by a treat as you climb onto his back, but when he secures his arms under your legs, you learn that you don’t need to.

You trust Minghao, more than anyone if you’re being honest, so as you curl your face into his neck as he carries you out of the company building and to the car, finally driving you home, you sit and smile because you know whatever he’s going to give you, you’re going to love it just as you love him.

So yeah, you’re not exactly surprised when Minghao pushes you onto the soft covers of the bed as soon as you enter your house, but then again, you’re not complaining either.

“You look really sexy in a suit,” Minghao murmurs, climbing on top of you as his fingers find his way up your pants and by its waistband.

“You don’t like it when I wear dresses?” you muse, shuffling up onto your elbows so you can lift your hips, Minghao yanking your pants down as you do.

“I do,” he says casually, sitting back on his heels as you kick the pants off and onto the ground, leaving your legs bare as Minghao settles between them. Slowly, he runs his fingers over them, the ghost of a touch as he traces over the inside of your thighs, circles around your knees, and smooths over your shins before finally curling them around your ankles.

You grow limp under him, letting his strong arms lift your legs up high as he runs his soft lips over the flesh of your calves. He whispers into your skin, the hot breath sending a ripple of shivers coursing through you. “Dresses are nice … but suits … fu-u-uck,” he draws out, placing open mouthed kisses down the inside of your legs.

You whimper when he shuffles down the bed and presses his face between your thighs, lips moving rougher and more fervent as he nips and lips at the skin. Minghao wants to drown himself in you—wants you to be the only thing he can taste on his tongue, wants you to be the only thing he can smell as he buries himself in the beauty between your legs.

“Fuck,” he groans, peeling himself away for a moment to stare down at you—your shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing the peek of your cleavage, and your lips are puffy, eyes blown out and hair all strewn as you await for more.

There aren’t words exchanged as Minghao starts to tug at his tie that’s starting to feel all too tight, the silk fabric tumbling between his deft fingers as he pulls it to the side and lets it fall onto the bed. He’s working through but buttons next, starting by the collar and working his way down, and you find yourself growing lost into sight of him.

From the way his adam’s apple bounces and jaw clenches when you whimper, to the way his shirt falls from his shoulders and leaves his pretty chest on display—you’re fucking entranced. Minghao rolls his neck back once, flashing you a hint of his chiseled jawline before craning his head back down and sucking your lips into a deep kiss.

His hands smooth under your shirt and press against your stomach as you grip at his firm shoulders as he mumbles against your lips, “Lemme eat you out.” God, the way he says it is so crude and so dirty, but fuck, if it doesn’t have you nuzzling your nose into his and nodding as your eyes flutter shut …

Minghao moves slowly, and it’s around now that you’d usually start to get impatient; you’d start to whine and squirm, chanting his name in hopes to get him to speed it up. Something in the air is different tonight, and as you close your eyes, you bask in the feeling of his body moving down yours.

You drink in the sounds of his soft pants and echoes of his mouth sucking against your exposed skin. Minghao is meticulous—he always is. It’s how he rose to the top in practically everything he did, and it’s how he’s making you crumble beneath his palms right now.

Your limbs move together in tandem, like you were both built for each other and each other only, bodies intertwining in a heated yet perfect mess as Minghao wraps his arms under your thighs and over your hips when you pull your soiled panties off. He’s done this more times than you can count, but not once has not left you in awe when he licks the first fat stripe.

Minghao knows you well—so, so well—better than yourself, you would add with no hesitation. He knows how to make you smile, knows how to make you laugh, knows how to make you writhe beneath him.

When his tongue delves between your folds and he sucks against the sensitive flesh, Minghao knows exactly what he’s doing. You glance down, finally parting your eyes, and are met with the sight of Minghao’s own heavy lids, and your stomach churns in the realization that he truly is enjoying this as much as you are.

Moans break free from your throat as he slides his tongue up and down, flicking against your clit and making out against your gaping cunt. The words on your tongue come out in a mangled mess, and Minghao can’t really understand what you’re saying, but then again, he doesn’t need to because he loves it.

Loves the way you’re whining from just a few subtle movements, loves how you chant his name like it’s the only word you know—fuck, Minghao loves everything goddamn thing about you and it’s driving him fucking crazy.

Minghao watches you grind upwards to meet the pace of his tongue and lips—it’s perfect. “The best,” he groans, parting his lips from your cunt for a moment so you can hear him better, although he’s not sure you’re even paying attention.

Your neck is thrown back and one hand is threaded through his hair, the other gripping at one of your exposed tits as white noise rushes through your ears. “Could live here,” Minghao says, not really to you but more to himself as he gazes down at your shiny folds before diving back in.

You, you, you, is all Minghao can think, and as he snakes one hand up your stomach, gripping at your other unattended breast, fingers flexing and clenching around the bouncy flesh. “Oh—Hao!” you whine out when he pinches your nipple. It’s not rough or harsh, but you’re so sensitive all over that even the brush of his hair against your skin has you jerking into his touch.

The cry of his name only eggs him on, and Minghao finds his eyes shutting tight as digs his face deeper and deeper into your slobbering core. Through the sucking, through the lapping, through the borderline making out with your cunt, Minghao starts to talk.

He tells you how good you taste, how pretty you sound, how fucking hard he is—his princess, that’s what he calls you. His pretty, pretty princess. Minghao doesn’t even know if you can hear him, but he also knows it doesn’t matter.

You’ll understand.

Minghao knows you’ll understand because everytime you moan his name, his hold on your tits tightens and his lips move with more and more vigor until you’re pulsing—fuck, he hasn’t even stuck anything in yet and you’re already being driven damn close to insanity.

It comes out in broken sobs—“‘m gonna cum, H-H-Hao! ‘m g’na—fuck!”

And he responds with equal passion, mutter into your wetness to, “Do it—fucking do it.”

Minghao devours you through the high that permeates your body, and you feel he might as well swallow you whole with the way his hands are all over you and the way you’re tugging at his hair (it’s painful, but Minghao concludes that this is the best kind of pain).

And then he’s kissing you, your sweet arousal mixing in a mess of both of your saliva as your tongues clash together. Your cheeks are wet as they press against each other and there you two are, rolling around on the sheets until your head is spinning, partly from the buzz of your orgasm but mainly from the pure passion that surges through your blood.

Your hands are in his hair, on his chest, sinking into his back, fumbling with his pants—they’re everywhere because, fuck, you just need to feel him. Minghao is no different because he’s also everywhere—unclipping your bra but still keeping your shirt on, sliding his hands over your tits and pressing against your neck, grinding into you as you shove his pants and boxers down.

You’re on top of him when he’s finally kicked his pants off, grinding down on the massive hard-on he’s wearing, swiveling your hips as he grips onto your tits as if they were a lifeline. “Put it in pretty,” Minghao moans, tweaking one nipple between his fingers as he uses his other hand to tap his thick, leaking cock against the base of your stomach.

He doesn’t need to tell you twice, and you’re pressing forward and lifting your hips. Again, Minghao knows you well. So well that it hardly takes him a second to find your dripping hole, aligning himself with you before jutting upwards.

You cry out at the sensation, sinking down on him almost immediately as your lips meet for another fervent kiss. It’s maddening, really, the way your clit rubs against his pelvis as you carefully rock your hips forward once you get adjusted to his side.

You moan into each other’s mouths and drink up the pleasure because that’s all you two know—in this moment, it’s only you and Minghao.

It’ll only ever be you and Minghao, because no one’s gonna be able to carve the shape of their cock into you like he’s doing so well right now. No one’s gonna lift their hips and swivel right back down, sucking him in and clenching him so tight like you’re doing so well right now. No one’s gonna ever share a moment like the two of you do right now, and as Minghao paws at your waist and threads his fingers into your hair, you both don’t need to say it, but you know.

Skin against skin echoes in symphony with your broken gasps and choked sobs as you begin to bounce over Minghao. He’s got you in a grip like a vise as he murmurs, “Princess—fuck, my pretty princess—feels s’good,” he slurs, to which you can only furrow your brows in pleasure and nod dumbly. You feel like you’re on fire, sweat all over as you chew down on your lip, trying to shake off the soaked dress shirt, but Minghao stops you with a firm hand on your arm.

“Keep it on pretty,” he whines, “Please.”

Something about the desperation in his voice has your heart strings strumming, and let your hand fall back onto him, shifting so his cock hits even deep inside of you. Your squeezing is more than he can handle, and Minghao wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close, lips ghosting over your neck and teeth sinking into your skin.

Through mangled whispers and hot skin, tangled limbs and melting lips, you two move through sheets languidly. For how long, you can’t say, but when you two reach your peaks together, it’s with words of love pushed through gritted teeth hard kisses.You two probably won’t be able to understand what the other is saying, but that’s okay because you don’t need to. You’ll know and Minghao will know—I love you.

[simonisferal]

𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝙲𝚊𝚝 — Interactive Follower Event

chapter one: black cat, green eyes

notes: sorry for not posting since may 😭, i forgot it existed and i had to make a 4 page google doc for it 😋 do NOT stay with heizou / also i didnt know that my little dividers stopped??? like huh???

masterlist

1.4k words

…Yes. I’ll take it as an apology for the way he acted yesterday.

Ignoring the confident look he gave you after you took his coffee, you take it and have a small sip. It was lukewarm, like he decided to buy it and then contemplate whether or not to give it to you for a few minutes. A very specific taste you’ve learned to like. You locked the front door and went with him.

You two don’t talk as he opens the passenger door for you and he walks over to the driver seat. You sit down, setting the coffee cup in a cup-holder and closing the door. 

Some blood drips down from your nose and you realize you probably look like a mess. You look to the side-view mirror, catching a small glance at yourself before seeing that Scaramouche was looking at you.

He snorts, holding back a laugh you could assume would be about your appearance and leans in. He takes a band-aid out of it before quickly shutting it back up with force, getting a yelp from you.

”So dramatic. It’s not like I’m gonna kill you or something.”

He opens the bandaid and covers your nose with it. It doesn’t really help with the faint bleeding but it’s better than a swollen nose. You hesitate to touch it, long after his hand has already backed away and is on the steering wheel, scared that it’ll probably hurt.

You touched it and it did. It’ll make a bad bruise soon but nothing too bad.

The car ride was silent besides the occasional static on the low-volume radio he had. His car was nice, not expensive but still something much better than your small Toyota you got from your friend's neighbor. You would scroll through social media if you had your phone.

You noticed around five minutes in the ride that you weren’t going to the department. The turns became more narrow and the streets started looking unfamiliar. “Where are we going?”

”A new case popped up. Turns out another murderer is on the loose.” He doesn’t look at you as he continues driving but you can’t help but notice the way his eyebrows furrowed.

”Sounds scary.” You say. Scaramouche scoffs but you catch the small smile on his face. “Sure.”

”Hey! Glad you guys could make it.” Shinobu welcomes you to the scene. It was in a moldy alleyway with an ill stench reaching your nose. There was a tarp over the victim and only a few cops around holding the crowd back. There were a few guys from your station, some from another’s and a few reporters, like Charlotte, that you saw blocked by the ‘DO NOT CROSS’ tape. Your partner went under it, gaining small cheers from the reporters. “Yeah. Who are the other guys?”

“They’re 724’s guys,” Kuki explained. They were honestly an average group of detectives but there was a diamond in the mud.

Shikanion Heizou.

He doesn’t really need an introduction, almost everyone in the force knows who he is. He’s almost too good at his job—the only reason he hasn’t been promoted or fired was because of his off-the-book investigations.

”Those guys? Please, it’s probably not that serious.” Scaramouche crosses his arms like he was offended. He was probably right, Shinobu did enjoy extra precautions and calling another department was a hobby of hers. She only sighed and looked at you.

She opened her mouth and before she could speak, someone else spoke. Speak of the devil…

“Oh, hey (Y/N)! I’ve been looking for you.” Heizou had a smile on his face and he reached his hand out to shake. His hand was gloved, and soaked in blood from probably touching the victim (even though everyone tells him not to).

“Oh! Uh…” You sheepishly smile at him back while sweating profusely, eyeing his hand and Scaramouche’s coat pocket. Your partner sighs, as if knowing what you’re saying, and takes out a random napkin from his pocket. He hands you it and you use it to ‘shake’ Heizou’s hand. “Yeah, nice to meet you too…”

Heizou backs away his hand, taking off the blue glove alongside the napkin and tossing it somewhere on the crime scene. Kuki gives him a side-eye glare and he brushes it off. “Relax! Me and the guys already took pictures and sent things to forensics. There’s nothing of importance here.”

Both Scaramouche and Kuki grumbled at his backhanded compliments towards his work.

”Anyways,” Heizou clapped his hands together, trying to rewind. “It would be most appreciated if (Y/N) comes with me, back to my department. I got something for them there.” His moles moved as he smiled. He was trying to convince you to go with him, you figured.

Kuki held your shoulder, “Come on then. Let’s go.” You, without much thought, let your department manager drag you into a van without letting you inspect the scene properly.

It was dirty, as if someone lived there, but it smelled rather nicely. One seat didn't even have a seat belt—instead duct tape and a magnet that probably wouldn't give you any form of protection in a car accident…

You made Scaramouche sit in that seat.

Unlike the previous car ride, Heizou and Kuki made some small talk about personal matters. They seemed to be close. "Co-workers or cousins?" You mutter.

"Might be both."

"Welcome to our department, 827. We hope to cooperate nicely." A woman, taller than both you and Scaramouche spoke. She had raven hair and the eyes of a hawk. She stood proud until she saw Heizou. A scornful look covered her face and she crossed her arms. 'Was she Shikanion's manager..?’

Heizou steps past her, "That's the Captain. Kujou Sara, meet Shinobu, Scaramouche, and (Y/N). You three, Sara." Everyone exchanges vague greetings and a short handshake before the burgundy hair detective grabs your hand. "I got something for you. It's important, 'kay?" He gives out another smile.

You sweat again. "Uhh, sure." You could trust him, right..? Some other guy, a blue-haired fellow with a mole under his lip, dragged Kuki and your partner away for something else. Scaramouche gives you a glance before following the guy.

"What's it about?"

The smile that once held itself on Heizou's lips shrank. "Can't say it out here, you know. It's like you've never been told a secret." He jokes but something tells you it's probably bad.

Like once before, you let yourself get dragged into an office. You internally curse yourself as he locks the door. He checks the blinds on his door, closing them but ignoring the outdoor windows’. What was such a big deal?

He sits down once he makes sure everything is secure, his eyes closed and his hands clasped together over his desk. He takes a deep breath. His demeanor went from the care-free cop you thought he was to a serious detective as he locked eyes with you. "What I say can't leave this room, (Y/N)."

The room instantly became cold and you felt a shiver down your spine. "Uhmm…what is it?"

Heizou pauses. He eyes you up and down, watching for any shift in your body language. "I, unfortunately, have a reason to suspect that our soon-to-be-serial killer might be going after you."

You blink. "...What."

"The murderer from the alleywa—"

He tries to speak but gets interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

The blinds shake and you let out a small scream, surprised.

"(Y/N)!" It was a voice you knew—Scaramouche's. "We're going back to our department." You don't know whether or not to feel relieved or even more scared.

Heizou groans, standing up and walking over to his office door. He unlocks it and stares dormantly at your partner. "Must you go so soon? (Y/N) and I were having a pleasant conversation." He smiles as if teasing the indigo-haired man.

"Yeah. I don't wanna be in this dumb department, let alone with the Kamisatos over there, when we have work to do and a case to solve." He snarls and he looks at you. "Come on. Let's go."

You tense up and freeze. Why did God always give you two options?! Although you'd love to leave and forget what shocking news Heizou told you seconds ago, if it's real…you can't risk dying because of your cowardness. Or maybe Heizou was wrong, in the one and a billionth chance he is.

Kuki was behind Scaramouche, a frown on her face. You didn’t know if it was towards you or Shikanion. “Heizou, leave them alone. You know they scare easily.”

“Oh, come on! I’m just kidding!~” His smile didn’t falter but his voice did crack, though you doubt someone else heard it. He held out his hands in defense as if he were joking before sliding them around your waist.

His voice lowered as Heizou whispered in your ear. ”What do you wanna do?”

masterlist — prev — next

[cowboydisaster]

I have a prompt idea if you're still looking for some! How about the reader finding and taking an itty bitty kitten that was orphaned and Arthur's real grumpy about it at first but then she finds him asleep on the couch with the kitten curled up on his chest and he's got a hand over it protectively or something. I know that's not really Christmas-y, but I thought it would be cute! Looking forward to all your writings as always 🥰

* ˚ ✦ Moonlight * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f! reader

word count: 1k

a/n: Sorry this was late, it's been a madhouse around here. Anyways, i love this prompt and it makes me want a house cat SO bad. i also love grumpy arthur and if you couldn't tell already, domesticity is my roman empire rn.

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: THREE days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

“No.” Arthur growls, voice stern, resolve set. Your eyes are as big as dinner plates as you continue pleading and begging. Your lip juts out, even, testing his patience, shaking his resolve.  Arthur is notoriously bad at telling you no. When you’d asked for a second baby, he’d willingly agreed. When you’d asked for the house, and the farm, he’d made it happen for you. But this?

“Please, Arthur… Where else is he supposed to go?” You whisper so as not to wake the baby, sleeping soundly in her bassinet. 

“I don’t give a damn. Not here.” Arthur grumbles, placing his tools from work on the table. You follow him around the kitchen like a shadow as he opens and closes cupboards and drawers, putting away all his items from the day. 

Arthur is pointedly trying not to look at the little black ball of fur nestled in your arms. He’s afraid that if he catches a glimpse of those big, sad eyes, he’ll agree with you, and he’ll have an extra mouth to feed.

“Where’d you find it, anyways?” Arthur says, turning, sighing as you push the teeny kitten up towards his face, holding it under its little armpits. 

“I found him stranded on the road back from the market. Look at him, Arthur. He’s not well. We’ll have to feed him.” You plead. Arthur’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he stops and turns around. You nearly run into his back, stopping just in time. 

Arthur gets a good glimpse at the little feller then. He’s just a little cat, probably only a few months old. He’s far too skinny, and his jet black coat is ruffled and dirty from the elements. You hold the cat out to show Arthur, and then he sees the little, white, crescent-shaped mark that adorns his forehead, right between his blue eyes. Arthur releases the bridge of his nose, sighing grumpily. When his eyes crack open, and he sees your pleading face, perfectly matching the cat’s expression, he gives up. 

“Goddammit, fine. Jus’ throw him in the spare room, n’ I’ll find him some fish or somethin’.” Arthur says, rather dramatically, in your opinion. You hold the kitten close to your chest, your spare arm wrapping around the man’s neck. 

“Oh, thank you, Arthur!!” You smile, kissing him quickly before popping down from your tiptoes. 

“Yeah, well don’t get all cheery just yet. We’re tossin’ him back out in the snow as soon as he’s good and healthy.”

— — — 

The rocking chair swings back and forth quietly. Your hand gently taps your daughter’s back, and you hum quietly. She’d woken you and Arthur up in a fit, hungry, raising her little fists into the air and giving you both hell. But now, her little belly is full, and a peaceful silence has fallen over the house once more. The moonlight streaking through the windows tells you that it’s early morning, and you sigh at another night’s lack of sleep. 

“Easy, baby.” You whisper, quietly and slowly standing from the rocking chair, swaying her in your arms until you reach her bassinet. 

“Good night, my sweet girl.” You whisper sweetly, pressing a kiss to her little forehead, brushing some peach fuzz out of her face. 

You push the nursery door open quietly, eager to find your place next to Arthur in bed again.  But a few steps down the hall,  you stop in your tracks, a familiar voice coming from the living room. 

“Yeah, well you’re a right bastard, y’know that?” Arthur whispers, and you suppress a laugh, peeking around the corner. 

Arthur is sitting on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. Laying on his chest, nuzzled against his thick arm, is the little kitten. He purrs loudly, eyes closed, awfully content in your husband’s arms. Your heart melts in its cavern at the sight, and you watch the scene play out with bright eyes. 

“The lady is puttin’ the lil’ one back to bed, I figure I might as well do somethin’. So, make no mistakes, partner. We ain’t friends.” He whispers to the kitten, but contrary to his harsh words, Arthur’s finger scratches gently behind the kitten’s ear, pulling deep rumbles and purrs from the little animal. A few moments go by with Arthur’s hand resting protectively on the little cat. 

“Y’know, you are kinda cute… But don’t tell the missus I said that. I don’t want her thinkin’ I’ve gone soft.”  

You suppress a chuckle. 

“I reckon we should call you Moon… cause you got a little one right between them big eyes.” Arthur hums, eyelids growing heavy the longer he rests on the couch. You clear your throat gently, making him aware of your presence before stepping into the living room. 

“Didn’t see you there.” Arthur says, sitting straight on the couch, cheeks tinted pink. 

“She’s asleep.” You smile, “I see you’re making friends.”

Arthur exhales sharply, a huff of a laugh, “Me and the cat? Nah, he uh– he wouldn’t stop hollerin’ so I tried holdin’ him.” Arthur excuses, hand still wrapped protectively around the sleeping animal. 

“Right.” You raise an eyebrow, “You comin’ back to bed, then?” 

Arthur hesitates, looking up at you, then down to Moon. 

“I’ll be in shortly, sweetheart. Just gonna stay out here a little longer with him so he doesn’t go wakin’ you or the kids up.”

You smirk, “Alright then, Arthur.” 

 A kiss is planted to his lips before you head to the bedroom, and he sinks back down on the couch with Moon tucked into his arm. 

Five minutes turn to ten, and ten to thirty. And when you wake up to start breakfast, your husband is still cuddled up on the couch. Snores fall from his lips, matching the time of little content purrs coming from Moon, sleeping in a little ball right on Arthur’s chest.  So much for not giving a damn. You chuckle to yourself.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola @calcarius445 [to be added or removed, shoot me an ask! :)]

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 49)

Even with the confirmation that this was in fact not Doll, and just some dude who worked with N, she didn't immediately relax the spines on her tail or take her hands off Tera. He was still a sudden intruder, and she still felt incredibly vulnerable from earlier, her core still fluttering and feeling a little numb.

“What do you want?” She snapped, and Guys eyes seemed to trail up her tail, the head was pointed at him, dripping it's acidic venom onto the floor. With the rest of the spines creating the equivalent of a barbed wire fence around both her and Tera.

“Uhm- I uh.” Guy stammered, loosing all semblance of the words he was about to say, red stained his cheeks as a warped smile took over his face.

Was he? Blushing? Over what? Her tail? Her spines? Didn't he know both of those were aggressively aimed at him?

She lifted a brow and put a hand on her hip before slowly relaxing the spines on her tail and back, moving it back to it's place behind her. The hell was this drones deal.

Without her hands protecting her, Tera was able to actually look at the new drone, she squinted at him, observing him. He was wearing a black t-shirt with a white windbreaker, it was baggy and too big for him. He also wore a dark grey pair of sports shorts and red sneakers. A red and white cap adorned his head.

“I'm so-so sorry about barging in unannounced! I just came by to uh, talk to N.” He finally managed to spit out, tousling his own light brown hair out of nervousness.

With a sigh, Uzi stepped out of the doorway to let the young man inside, closing the door with her tail behind him, Tera continued to stare at him with a suspicious glare.

Uzi turned towards the closed bedroom door. A hand to the side of her mouth.

“N! Someones here to see you!” She yelled out to her boyfriend. Only to get a “Just a second!” back.

“Uh… hey there, little one.” While Uzi was turned away, Tera still focused on the newest drone in the room. To the point that the drone felt he needed to speak to the toddler who he had caught the attention of.

Tera's glare got more intense, less suspicious, more hostile. A low growl escaped her mouth and she gripped tighter onto her mother, not that Uzi noticed.

Guy gulped and decided to lean against the center countertop, the ones in the middle of kitchens with a sink, and looked away from the strangely cranky toddler.

A moment later N opened the door to the bedroom, his coat finally completely buttoned but his hat absent, he was rubbing the side of his neck where Uzi's fangs had dug slightly into his casing and left small indents. Normally, his system would just repair it, but for whatever reason the marks weren't being flagged as damage, and thus, were still plainly visible.

Then his eyes landed on Guy. And the disassembly drones tail shot up to attention, his eyes narrowed, and something territorial and possessive rose into his core.

“Guy? What are you doing here?” He asked, there was no audible aggression, not yet. But seeing Guy in his home, next to Uzi and Tera triggered his instincts majorly.

Intruder, fight him. Show him who's boss. He can't be in here. This is your nest. He needs to leave.

He shook off those thoughts, even as his tail swayed like a cat getting annoyed.

“Wanted to talk to you. ‘Bout what I said?” Guy looked sheepish, getting the feeling he was very much not welcome here.

“And it couldn't wait until work tomorrow?” N asked, closing the distance to stand directly in front of the drone, his back was board straight, making him as tall as possible and loom over the rather average height of Guy like a rather scary dog.

“Hal sent me to apologize… to both you, and your girl… in person.”

“She has a name.” N barely contained the growl that accompanied that, but couldn't quite conceal the venom dripping from it.

“R-right. Uzi.” He gave a small wary smile to the woman in question, but her expression just seemed proud of her boyfriend, smirking at his attitude.

“I'm s-sorry about what I said, about… uh Uzi. To both of you, calling someone names is uncalled for.” Guy didn't meet either of thier eyes, instead finding the floor more interesting. Uzi crossed her arms, N didn't really look like he believed him.

“What did you call me?” Uzi asked, he voice didn't betray any emotion to the untrained ear but to N? Oh, she was upset, probably already was upset at an unwelcome visitor but even more so now.

“W-what?” Guy blinked, sweat beginning to bead on the inside of his visor. His focus on Uzi again, his eyes drifted to her tail again, which was still looking at him. And another red blush took over his face.

Something that N caught. And absolutely did not like. His clenched his fist hard to avoid switching into his claws and his eye twitched against his will.

He didn't know what was going on, or why he was being so territorial, but it was probably best he didn't say anything to the offending drone right now.

“People have called me a lot over the years. Bitch, Scitzo, Trash, Freak.” She explained nonchalantly, each word making N's fist unclench as he winced. Guy seemed to wince only at the last one.

“You winced. You called me a freak. Right?” She picked up on it immediately, giving him no room to say anything or defend himself, and took a few steps towards him after handing off Tera to N, Guy looked trapped, something that made him both gulp in nervousness and the flush on his visor grow brighter.

“I'm sorry. Yes, I-I did. I don't really think that though, I was j-just repeating stuff!” He put his hands up in a placating gesture, mostly aimed towards Uzi rather then N.

“Right. Sure, totally not just saying that because now I'm in front of you with a tail dripping acid.” Sarcasm dripped from her mouth, she was now close enough to touch him, her finger pointed at him as a small growl escaped her mouth, and at the mention of the tail Guy gave a small, seemingly unconscious smile.

“It's… acid?” He questioned, almost like he was excited by that prospect, and Uzi immediately took several steps back from him, catching his tone.

“I mean! No! No of course not! I'm being genuine!” He seemed to catch himself, backing up a bit himself before clearing his throat, sticking his hand in his pocket, pulling out a small, unwrapped toy.

“I even brought a peace offering! It's a toy for the little one!”

The toy was obnoxiously red, plastic, and the cheapest thing one could possibly get for a toddler. It was in the shape of a lizard.

He quickly closed the distance between himself and N holding Tera, possibly assuming that was a safer option then handing it to Uzi, he brought the toy up to Tera's face and-

Chomp!

Tera lunged forward and caught two of his fingers in her mouth, biting down with all the force she could. Guy screamed, dropping the toy and immediately ripping his hand away, cradling the injury.

Tera had broken his casing an astounding feat considering her teeth lacked any fangs, and oil was oozing out of several points, said oil also stained Tera's mouth, witch was unsettling in its own right, but the next one was more so.

Tera said her next two new words.

“Bad man! Bad man!”

Next ->

[ataraxiaspainting]

Cherry Wine.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: It is your last day of actual freedom, and Chrollo intends to have it end with a mix of your design and his own. Everything is perfectly set. All he has to do now is wait for you to come into the web.

Warnings: Yandere themes, a wild Feitan appears, stalking, drugging/restraining (chloroform/handcuffs), and kidnapping.

Word Count: 1k.

*~*~*~*

A familiar jingle accompanies the turntable’s rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Flowers. It is your keychain, moving with your key as you unlock your apartment door, moving as your feet shuffle on your doormat to get rid of the dirt the soles had acquired from walking. The sounds of tired sighs, your headphones being placed beside the rack where your jackets and umbrellas and shoes are placed. Chrollo knows all of these melodies by heart because those notes make up the beautiful orchestra that is you. 

He hears the little creaking noise of the door closing, along with the lock being turned, sealing your fate. A small sound of the closet you keep near the entrance, which holds your bags and fancier footwear like high heels. Chrollo respected the silent rule of never wearing shoes inside, something that is out of character for him whenever he breaks into other peoples’ homes, and had placed his own black loafers behind that one expensive purse you only used one time for a presentation you had to make for your professors and peers. 

He had Shalnark record the entire thing and has rewatched it multiple times, each one seeming better than the last.

Everything about you, from how you walked, how you were so expressive with your facial expressions, how you seemed to be able to befriend anyone, everything about you felt like it came from another world. Or perhaps he is the one who came from another world, metaphorically? Chrollo chuckles at the thought. It would make sense, really, Meteor City felt like another world, that is for certain.

One of your cats meows loudly, the larger but older one from the way the meow was scratchy like nails on a blackboard, most likely being right next to you. He is distressed, perhaps. Chrollo is an unwanted visitor, after all, and despite being more of a cat person, he had to deal with your cats more than your dog, oddly enough. While your dog cowered and hid under the table, whining like she had been reduced to that of the small puppy she was when you first adopted her, your cats teamed up to attempt to scratch his eyes out whenever they jumped on the kitchen table or couch, hissing and possibly screaming bloody murder. Somewhere deep within Chrollo’s heart, it hurts a bit.

He knows that because of your naivety, you will just pet the cat, take off your coat, and your boots, and go upstairs, where your dining table has been set by Chrollo. It’s a welcome gift, in Chrollo’s opinion, but also perhaps an apology one as well.

As soon as you walk into the kitchen, your fate is as doomed as a little fly caught in a spider’s web.

“Come on,” You grumble. “Already? Geez. I just got that bag too…” Are you talking to your cat? “What the hell? I know you have stomach problems but… gosh.”

Ah. Do you plan on switching out the brand of cat food again?

“I guess that’s my own fault though for getting a cat I knew has digestive issues, huh? I can’t be mad at you. You’re almost the same age as me and… that’s a lot in cat years.” Chrollo hears the sound of a yawn as he presumes you are stretching. You must be tired, you have been on your feet all day today helping out your peers with their assignments, as usual. “It’s just now I have to clean up all this puke… argh.”

Should I speed things along? 

A text message from Feitan, who has been outside your apartment door, though you didn’t see him, unsurprisingly. He is most likely getting annoyed, from the tone of the writing, because Feitan can be doing much more important things for the Troupe instead of helping you “settle in” as Chrollo put it.

That won’t be necessary. Trust me. Everything is going as planned so far, even if this is a minor setback.

The reason why Chrollo didn’t choose someone like Phinks or Nobunaga to help him with this task is because Feitan is the most silent. He can easily imagine the other two scaring you away accidentally if they accidentally lose their cover.

The table is set, with flowers and books and other things you love. All he has to do is wait.

You should have just brought Machi.

Chrollo sighs at that, just barely audible. But he knows Feitan is nothing but loyal to him, so he knows that he will not try anything that he does not like.

Machi is busy shopping with Paku and Shizuku for the other things I need for [First], it would be rude to ruin their own task, Fei.

With that, Chrollo’s message is left on read.

Everything is going according to plan, and Feitan will not ruin it, even if he had wanted to.

All that is left is to wait. You’ll come on your own.

Feitan is only here if you attempt to run afterward, after you see your gifts, after all.

He hears footsteps, coming up the stairs, at long last.

One.

Two.

A large meal is placed on the side of the table that has an empty chair. Chrollo sits across, smiling. Plates and bowls filled with things that are sweet, savory, and everything else in between. They are all your favorites, Chrollo double-checked with Shalnark before he had left. Other items are placed on the table as well, like that jewelry set you were eyeing last week but unfortunately was too expensive for you. You were trying to limit how much you spend, a good habit to build surely. It is a shame you will never get to use that skill, though. Unless Chrollo gives you an allowance each week based on how well you behave, an entertaining concept in his opinion, but if it ever becomes reality it will have to wait a few weeks at the very least.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Chrollo also had Feitan carry handcuffs, in case the chloroform does not work as it was intended to.

But that is after you two talk, it would be rude to not introduce himself and show off everything he has bought for you.

Seven.

[vvampirelust]

hi dear i biblically need a sub! shane fic from you, im begging on my knees 😊

warnings: smut, 18+, men and minors dni, oral (s receiving), dom!reader (ish), sub!shane, not proof read, i hope this is okay love xx

“please,” she spits behind your ear, deep breath following, “tell me what to do.”

shane has you underneath her, face pressed into your neck, hips rocking into yours. her grip on you is tight, arms wrapped around your shoulders, ever so silently begging you to take control. which you do. flipping shane onto her back, hand on her hip, bodies separated only by clothes within her tight hold. “just lay back,” you whisper, dipping down and attaching your hungry lips to shane’s neck, “i wanna make you feel good.”

shane can only release a moan in response, allowing herself to relax beneath the weight of your body atop hers. her cunt throbbing from your words, slick pooling between the thighs slowly parting for you.

it’s agony for her. as you take your time, exploring shane’s body, lips dancing over flushed skin. you’re surely to be scolded for the small bruises left behind by your mouth, but deep down the marks ignite a pleasurable but primal part of you. they decorate her skin like artwork, trailing from her collarbone to her hipbone. small, blushing red against pale skin. as if shane’s body were a dot-to-dot. you don’t stop there, teasing her as you all but worship her inner thighs. so reluctantly avoiding the glistening heat between her legs, you wished to make her beg for it. “gah, fuck babe, come on,” shane rasps, gripping the cream sheets at her sides, subtly spreading her legs further apart. your eyes are glued to her pink, throbbing heat, clenching around nothing. slick drips down between her asscheeks, squirming from the feeling. she huffs, barely audible whine slipping through, “please just do it!”

shane’s head hits the pillow in defeat, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. perk nipples still shining from your spit. “do what?” you ask her, sickeningly sweetly, your warm breath blowing over her cunt. making shane’s hips lift an inch in search of more. “fuck,” she sighs, pushing onto her elbows so she could look down at you between her legs, “make me feel good.” shane swallows when you gaze up at her face, looking dazed from the sheer amount of lust coursing through her. you’ve never seen her like this, so eager to be touched. her messy fringe sticks to shane’s forehead, the brown appearing black as sweat shines along her skin. plump lips are parted, flushing red and swollen, you don’t know which lips you want your mouth on more 🫢 you understand the amusement, smirking up at her, knowing you’re the one who got her like this. “just had to say so, sweets.”

she realises the wait was worth it when your hungry mouth meets her soaking pussy. hand shooting to take ahold of your hair. a strained, choked out moan pushing past her lips, “fuck, yeah!” your tongue laps up and down the length of her cunt, over and over, cleaning up the sticky arousal coating her folds, even as more pools in the split second absence of your tongue. sharp gasps escape with each light flick from the tip of your tongue to her clit, “feels good.”

“mmhm?” you hum, mouth enclosing around shane’s clit. her back arches, hips pressing down into the bed. you follow, nose nuzzling the dark hair decorating her mound as your face buries between her legs. her sounds are music to your ears, the scratchiness of shane’s voice making each pleasures grunt and moan that much more erotic. “shit, baby, your tongue!” she gasps, your tongue laid flat against her cunt, head moving side to side, rubbing her clit. occasionally pausing to suck hard, always earning a cried out moan as a reward. you can’t get enough of her. when your chin dips, cheeks dampening, pushing your face further into her pussy, tongue curling like a cat, searching for another taste of her sweet juices.

shane’s grip on your hair tighten, breathing becoming shallow, finding it harder to truly suck in a deep gust of air. she’s near stuttering, “gonna make me cum so hard,” she groans, hips rolling into your face, “holy fuck.” you’re smiling between her thighs, almost positive she knows it too, as her thighs attempt squeezing close. your hands are quick to stop them, fingertips digging harshly into the flesh of her skin, shane whimpers. your eyes meet her hooded ones, moaning into her pussy, that’s exactly what you want.

[demonslayedher]

Just thinking about how Chachamaru is a male calico, at least according the Taisho Secret right before chapter 195 that calls him manly. It really doesn't surprise me that he's male, because so many references to calicos I've seen in manga, mascots, and temple architecture specify that the featured calico is male.

This is because they are rare, and therefore considered lucky.

The figure that gets thrown around the internet is that supposedly only 1 in every 3000 calicos is male. (I'll bet the people who did the often quoted study at U. of Minn. College of Vet Med would love to tell you how it's more complicated than that.) This has long made male calicos popular not only in Japan, but in other countries as well. The thing is, though, the male calico might not always be so lucky.

To be very brief about why calicos (and some other multicolored cats) are almost always female, this is because, put very simply, one X chromosome gives us the black splotches, and one X chromosome gives us the orange splotches. That might leave you wondering where the white patches come from, and this is the part where I say that genetics is never simple and you should have fun reading about it. The important takeaway here is that in order to show this color pattern, a cat needs two X chromosomes, one from its mother and one from its father.

Typically, a male cat has an X chromosome (from its female mother, who only has two X chromosomes) and a Y chromosome (from its father, who had both an X and a Y), but because the calico coating can only occur with two X chromosomes, this male cat somehow got an X, a Y, and... hmm, another X somewhere.

So not a typical XY male, not a typical XX calico... this sterile XXY male calico has an extra chromosome, and mutations often are not ideal for the health of the animal with the extra chromosome. This particular condition is Klinefelter’s Syndrome, which can lead to a male calico having cognitive and behavior issues, weaker bones, increased risk of diabetes due to higher body fat, and perhaps a shorter lifespan.

Now, none of the fictitious lucky cats I've seen have ever been portrayed as anything less than smart and pleasant, though a lot of the maneki-neko are pretty round. For everything Chachamaru is tasked with, I have to assume he's above-average when it comes to intelligence, reasonably healthy enough to handle long-distance travel, and for a cat, he's extremely, extremely cooperative. For the record, the same Taisho Secret (as well as Yushiro's statement in Chapter 194) makes it clear that for most of canon Chachamaru was a regular cat, for he was not made into a demon until right before the final showdown with Muzan. Even with her hands full making the medicine for Muzan, she still put a lot of effort into changing Chachamaru so that Yushiro wouldn't be lonely. It's ironic that Chachamaru winds up immortal, rather than doomed to a potentially shorter lifespan due to his mark...ings. In the first place, was Tamayo perhaps moved with pity for a sickly kitten and nursed him to the health he's in now?

Or did she always keep her eye out for a male calico, wanting to put some faith in them being good luck?

Also, what sticks out to me in this Taisho Secret is that Chachamaru, not having a language in which he could communicate with Tamayo, had no choice in becoming a demon. Tamayo felt sorry about that. The word bubble over manly little Chachamaru says, with bravado, "Fine by me, if that's what the woman I'm smitten with wishes." If Chachamaru truly is that smitten with her, that perhaps accounts for what an unusually cooperative cat he is. But it also reminds me of a fan theory that I saw once (and found worthy of weight) which said that perhaps Tamayo's blood technique has an effect like makes others smitten with her, and Yushiro might had been under its influence, however strongly or subtly. If such a thing were the case, it might or might not had been something Tamayo was conscious of. If she was conscious of having some effect like that, she probably felt awful about it but found it a necessary precaution to keep any demon she made under control. If she wasn't conscious of such a thing, that means she might had subconsciously developed it out of loneliness, and had been trying to keep company at her side.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Sweet Justice

Coriolanus POV

Coriolanus hears the front doors close in a rather loud manner. It’s odd.

Odd because his wife, his angel, his Soarynn would never slam a door. Not in his house. Not when she’s so sweet and gentle in everything she does. No, she’s not one to be slamming doors.

She normally would already be tucked into bed with him, her cheek resting on his chest while he runs a loving hand through her soft blonde hair.

But tonight was a special occasion, a dinner with some of her closest friends so Coriolanus was the first to be ready for bed. Well, he should be ready for bed. He should be showered with teeth brushed and pillows fluffed but he decided to wait for her.

Everything is so much more fun when they do it together and that includes getting ready for bed.

Which is why he’s still dressed in the clothes he wore to work. His suit and tie, his shiny black leather shoes, and of course, the hidden gun.

It’s not that Coriolanus doesn’t trust the Peacekeepers of Panem to keep him safe, because he does. For the most part. But they can’t be everywhere, only in high traffic areas and Coriolanus isn’t one to take unnecessary risks. Not in his line of business.

Coriolanus Snow is a powerful business man who runs a large firm and an even larger underground network that provides services for those who prefer to remain anonymous. It’s risky work but it’s paid off.

It’s paid off their penthouse apartment, all the clothes Soarynn could want, and it’s paid for his peace of mind.

Soarynn knows very little of what he actually does. He keeps it hidden away from her, out of her pretty little head so that she doesn’t worry too much when he’s gone for “work trips.” It’s safer that way.

He checks his watch and it’s already past midnight. This must’ve been some dinner.

He waits for a few more minutes before he begins to wonder what on earth is taking Soarynn to long to come to bed. To come to him.

Finally, he pushes himself from the chair he’s sitting on and makes his way out of their bedroom and down the hallway towards the front entrance.

Just as he’s rounding the corner he nearly steps on Petunia, the most spoiled cat in the world. She normally spends her free time terrorizing him and eating his socks. He’s often contemplated bringing Petunia with him to work to frighten men who pose a threat to them.

Forget a guard dog, he has a guard cat.

And she’s very wound up at the moment, meowing the moment she sees him, even standing on her hind legs. Coriolanus scoffs at the behavior but then he notices something on her white fur. Something red.

Something that looks like…blood.

A shiver runs down his spine as he stares down at the cat who stares back up at him with urgency as if she’s trying to tell him something.

“Soarynn?” He calls out, caution in his tone, “Soarynn, where are you darling?”

All he hears in reply is a sniffle and he’s darting around the corner and nearly losing his breath when he sees the horrible sight that lies in front of him.

Soarynn crumpled in front of the front doors, her coat discarded on the floor and her entire body trembling.

A million thoughts race through his head but one thought persists more than most.

Who needs to die tonight?

He’s on the floor in seconds, carefully reaching out to assesses the damage. “My love,” he whispers, gently taking her face into his hands, “what happened? Who did this to you?”

Soarynn allows him to raise her head and he’s taken aback when he sees how bloody her beautiful face is. There’s a large patch of blood in her blonde hair, and several scratches on the right side of her face. Her right eye is slightly swollen and she has cuts on her lips. What angers him the most are the clear fingerprints on her neck, colored in dark bruises.

Her bottom lip trembles when she looks him in the eyes and tears begin forming in her blue-gray eyes. “Coryo,” she whimpers, causing his heart to shatter, “I…I didn’t see him…and then…he…he wanted me to…I tried to get away.”

It’s all too much for Soarynn who breaks down in his arms, her sobs echoing through the halls as he holds her, whispering sweet words of devotion whilst he plots the murder of the worlds stupidest man.

Soarynn clings onto him when he tries to pull away, her body racking with sobs, “Shhh, shhh, it’s alright Soarynn. You’re safe my darling, you’re safe.”

Soarynn chokes down another sob and slowly pulls away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, “He took my purse,” she mumbles, “he said…he said he wanted something else…” Her hands begin to shake and Coriolanus is quick to pull her back into his safe embrace, “Shhh, don’t worry darling. We’ll get to the bottom of this. No need to relive the moment right now. What’s most important is that we get you all cleaned up alright?”

꧁ ꧂

“I honestly can’t believe this happened, to one of us out of all the people,” mother says with the shake of her head.

Coriolanus keeps his focus on his wife who’s being tended to by the family doctor, a man who’s all too familiar with Coriolanus coming home with various scrapes and scratches from work.

He’s a good man who gets paid well to keep his mouth shut. He’s also the only man Coriolanus feels comfortable with when it comes to keeping Soarynn healthy.

Soarynn sits on the edge of their bed, her hands clutching the bedsheets while the doctor carefully dabs some healing ointment onto the side of her head where the majority of the blood was coming from.

It’s three in the morning and the Snow family is on high alert.

Coriolanus immediately phoned his own parents who rushed over to help. Well, he called them over for different reasons. He called his mother because she adores Soarynn and has always been a beacon of support for his wife.

He called his father because he’s taught Coriolanus everything he knows. Including how to kill a man.

Crassus Snow is a stoic man who shows no emotion. But Coriolanus can see clear as day how angry he is about something harming his daughter-in-law.

“We will get to the bottom of this,” his father promises, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Coriolanus watches Petunia hop onto their bed and swat at the doctor when Soarynn winces slightly from the pressure of his hand and Coriolanus feels small smile tugging on his lips.

He used to think that he was the most overprotective person when it came to Soarynn. Then they got Petunia and he quickly learned that he had been outdone by a cat.

Soarynn stares down at the floor, completely silent. This entire thing has shaken her up and Coriolanus wishes for nothing more than to put her to bed and deal with all of this as quickly as possible. But they need more information from Soarynn.

What did this man look like? What was he wearing? What street was she on when it happened?

He hates to reopen literal fresh wounds, but it has to be done.

The doctor finishes up applying some bandages to her face before he makes his way over to Coriolanus, “Well, she’s going to be just fine.” They all let out a sigh of relief when hearing that news.

Coriolanus leans forward, “What of her injuries? Is there any trauma?” The doctor sighs and rubs his hand over his face. The man must be exhausted but when a Snow calls you at three in the morning to help his wife, you answer the call.

“There’s minor trauma to the right temple, where most of the blood came from. I suspect she was shoved into a wall of some sorts, I’m quite surprised she made it back home without fainting. The scrapes will heal and I’ve left some ointment to speed up the process.”

Mother glances over at Soarynn and frowns, “What about her neck?”

That’s probably what angers Coriolanus the most. Someone choked her. Someone put their dirty fucking hands on his angel.

“Based off of the severity of the bruising, I would say the culprit attempted to choke her to death. Or at least to cut off her airflow for the time being. Nothing is swollen though.”

That’s good he supposed. Soarynn could’ve had serious damage to her neck or vocal cords. He can’t imagine a world where Soarynn can’t speak, can’t laugh or sing. Her voice grounds him.

Coriolanus stands up and offers his hand to the doctor, “Thank you for coming. I know it’s unprecedented but our family appreciates your loyalty.” The doctor gives him a tired smile as he takes his hand, giving it a firm shake, “It’s my pleasure Mr. Snow. If you’d like I can come back in about a week to check up on her healing.”

Coriolanus nods, “Excellent idea.”

He has one of the maids see the doctor out and Coriolanus slowly approaches his wife who looks so small sitting on the edge of their bed. So fragile. She’s still staring at the floor, not moving a muscle.

Coriolanus carefully gets down on one knee infront of her, infront of the only person he’d gladly bow down to. “Darling,” he says softly, taking her small hands in his large ones. The physical touch seems to jolt her from her thoughts and she blinks several times, “Hmm?”

He hates to do it, to ask her to speak of it but he needs to find out more so that this never happens again. “I need you to tell me more about what happened. About the man who did this to you. Can you do that for me Soarynn?”

She looks uncomfortable and he cannot blame her one bit. Not when she’s been through something horrible. She glances over at his parents who watch them from the small sitting area they have in their room and she slowly nods, “Yes.”

He gives her hands a gentle squeeze, “Thank you darling. Why don’t we go sit over there hmm? And we can get you some tea?”

Soarynn is hesitant to leave their bed but Coriolanus is able to coax her to stand and make her way across the bedroom. He orders one of the maids to bring her some tea and he covers her with a blanket after they’re seated. Mother offers Soarynn an encouraging smile, “You’ve been so brave throughout all of this darling. And the doctor said everything will heal just fine.”

Soarynn nods but the look in her eyes lets Coriolanus know that she’s so far away from here. He places his hand on her knee, “What happened when you left the restaurant Soarynn?”

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn POV

The air is cold and crisp which makes Soarynn glad that she went with her thicker coat tonight.

She really should’ve had their driver take her and pick her up from dinner with the girls but she doesn’t mind walking. It’s her husband who minds.

Coriolanus Snow captured her heart several years ago and he’s never given it back. He’s everything she could ever hope for. He’s kind, attentive, a good listener, he’s so very handsome and he protects her. Sometimes she thinks he’s a bit paranoid but she supposes that he has his reasons for everything.

And she’s not one to complain or question him. Not when he’s given her a life of comfort and luxury. A penthouse apartment, new clothes and handbags every week, fresh flowers. He even got her a cat which backfired in a way because her beloved Petunia always seems to go neck and neck with Coriolanus when it comes to vying for Soarynn’s attention.

Soarynn wraps her coat tighter around her frame as she walks down the dark Capitol street. She’s not too far from the Corso now, only a block or two. She can’t wait to get home and tell Coriolanus about all the gossip she just heard at dinner. Who’s sleeping with who, who got fired, who’s pregnant.

He claims to be uninterested in these things and yet she always finds him on the edge of his seat, asking question after question about the latest gossip.

Soarynn rounds a corner of the building and stops in her tracks when she nearly runs into a tall man, almost as tall as Coriolanus.

“Oh! Pardon me, I should’ve watched where I was going,” she apologizes, offering the man a kind smile.

He looks down at her and Soarynn feels…uneasy. He’s got dark brown hair and bushy eyebrows. He is not a well kept man. His face is covered in stubble from his beard and he reeks of alcohol. There’s a bruise on his cheek and Soarynn wonders where he got it from. His coat seems to be in disrepair.

He is not from this side of the city.

He flashes her a smile and he’s missing a front tooth, “It’s alright. Good luck for me to run into a pretty lady like you.” Normally Soarynn would blush at that type of compliment but she just nods and goes to move around him.

He grabs her arm.

Soarynn whips her head around and looks back up at him, fear in her eyes. “Where’re you going in such a hurry sweetheart?”

Oh no.

Soarynn tries to pull her arm free but he has an iron grip and a clear motive behind his actions. “Please,” she says, trying to keep her voice from trembling, “please I was just on my way home. I won’t speak of this to anyone if you just let me go.”

The man snickers and pulls her against him, looming over her, “Now why would I do that? And I know for a fact that you’re some upper class bitch who’s always so ready to be fucked. Your type always wants a good fucking but I bet your husband can’t give that to you huh?”

Her husband. Coriolanus will be wondering where she is. Is this how he’ll find her? Dead on the street after being defiled?

Tears mist in Soarynn’s eyes and she shakes her head, “No I…please just let me go. You can have my purse, I have quite a bit of money inside and I can give you whate—“

Within a second her head is being slammed into the brick wall next to her. Soarynn lets out a pained scream and her vision goes black for a moment. The man’s hand comes up to grab her by the throat and he squeezes hard. So hard like he wants to kill her.

Soarynn used to like it when Coriolanus would choke her during sex but if she makes it out alive, she can’t imagine ever being touched by a man again.

“Listen here you little bitch, not all of us can always get what we want so you better shut the fuck up and take whatever I give you. Got it?” He shakes her head like she’s a rag doll and Soarynn is completely limp as she sobs, “Please,” she gasps when her vision grows spotty.

She can feel his other hand slipping underneath her coat, trying to grope her and Soarynn feels a rush of adrenaline coursing through her. Coriolanus would want her to fight, to try and escape. Soarynn brings her hand up and scratches the man, aiming for his eye.

He lets out a shout and releases his grip on her neck and Soarynn crumples to the ground, coughing and wheezing. “You bitch!” He spits out, holding his eye. Soarynn although terrified, glares up at him, “Didn’t peg you for a feisty one but you’re just full of surprises,” he says, grabbing a handful of her hair.

Soarynn cries out again when her face collides with the wall and she reaches up to grab his hand, digging her nails into his skin. He lets out a groan before dropping her hair and Soarynn manages to push herself up from the ground and stumble back.

She takes in the scene, her purse lying on the ground, her coat barely on her body anymore, and the man now bleeding but barely. His eye looks bad but she’s sure that she doesn’t look any better right now.

“You think this is over?” He sneers, wiping his bloodied face with his hand, “I’ll fucking find you, I’ll find you and get what I really wanted.”

Soarynn fights the urge to throw up and she turns on her heel, running down the street, her vision blurred by both tears and blood.

Her head pounds as she pushes through the glass doors of the apartment lobby.

Her body aches when she presses the elevator button to take her to the twelfth floor.

Her hands tremble when she opens the doors, welcomed by a quiet home, no one aware of what just occurred moments ago.

Soarynn crumples to the ground the second she shuts the doors, her body twitching on the floor. She needs help, needs to be cleaned up and taken care of but all she can think of is the way he grabbed her, how he touched her. How he threatened to find her again.

This isn’t over.

She doesn’t know how long she lies there on the floor, maybe minutes, maybe hours. But she feels something soft pressing against her face and she hears…purring?

Soarynn pushes herself up and comes face to face with Petunia whose eyes reflect so much worry when she takes in the current state of Soarynn. Petunia lets out a soft meow and licks a cut on Soarynn’s face and Soarynn nearly breaks into tears again.

“Oh Petunia,” she whispers, reaching out to stroke her soft white fur. Petunia presses her head against Soarynn’s cheek and she leans into the soft touch, gladly welcoming the touch of her loyal pet.

She slowly shrugs off her coat, she’ll burn it once she collects herself. She needs to burn everything he touched. He still has her purse which has her wallet, her identification, the keys to the penthouse.

Are they even safe anymore?

Petunia’s attention is drawn elsewhere and she’s quick to disappear back down the hallway, leaving Soarynn alone once again. That’s the breaking point for her. When not even her cat wants to be near her. Soarynn sniffles and does her best to keep it together but she’s failing miserably at it.

Then she hears it. Hears him. Coriolanus.

“Soarynn? Soarynn, where are you darling?”

She doesn’t know what he’ll say, how he’ll react. But as long as she has him, she knows she’ll be alright.

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn wakes with a gasp, clutching the bedsheets. For a moment, it all feels like a dream. His hands, her screams, the cold night. But the throbbing in her head quickly reminds her that what happened to her was real. Very, very real.

Soarynn looks around their bedroom to find it empty. Coriolanus must already be working. She didn’t say much last night and he didn’t either but she could see how angry he was when she finally retold what had happened to her. He was furious. And that scared her.

Not that she was scared of him, no, she could never be scared of her husband. He’d never lay a hand on her, she knew that for certain. But Coriolanus has always had a short temper and hurting her was the quickest way to light his fuse. Whoever did this to her would pay the price. He’d alert the Peacekeepers who would arrest the man and put him behind bars for the rest of his life.

At least, she hopes they’ll find the man responsible for this.

Soarynn slowly finds herself getting out of bed and making her way into the bathroom, Petunia right on her heels. Last night had been a blur but she remembers Coriolanus helping her into the tub, gently washing the horrible events off of her skin before he helped her into some pajamas and got her to bed.

Soarynn can’t withhold her gasp when she sees herself in the mirror for the first time. She looks like she got beat up. Which she did but that doesn’t make her feel any better. Coriolanus is strangely the one who sometimes comes home with cuts and bruises on his face. Always claiming he had a run-in with some drunk at the bar. She’d pay good money to see this bar and its customers.

Her neck is still bruised, terribly so. Her eye is less swollen, she can see clearly out of it which she supposes is a good thing. The bleeding on the side of her head has stopped but the throbbing still remains. Her lip looks fine and any smaller cuts have already healed. She doesn’t remember what the doctor gave her but it seems to be doing the trick.

Petunia hops onto the counter and meows, batting a paw in the air. Soarynn sighs and scratches her head right behind the ears where she likes it, “I know,” she murmurs, “I look horrible.” Soarynn isn’t one for vanity, but she knows how attractive she is. And she knows how much Coriolanus values being presentable at all times.

How many times has he praised her beauty? Her youthfulness? Her perfect skin and soft hair? Her soft and toned body? Will he still think she’s beautiful?

Soarynn carefully touches her neck, feeling the tender skin and being cautious not to worsen the bruising. It could’ve been worse. He could’ve killed her. Or raped her. Or both.

Soarynn shudders and looks away from the mirror, walking into the closet to find one of her husband’s pullovers to cover up. She normally loves her nightgowns but she needs the comforting smell that his clothes provide. Soarynn grabs one of his favorites, a navy blue pullover, and brings it to her nose, inhaling the comforting and familiar scent of Coriolanus. Roses. It’s always been roses with him.

Once she slips it on, she already feels better. She should go find him though, talk about what happened when he found her.

Soarynn goes straight to his study where he almost always is if he’s working from home but she stops in her tracks when she hears voices. Several male voices. Coriolanus isn’t one to shy from having company over but she can’t help but listen in to their conversation.

“…as quietly as possible, don’t get the Peacekeepers involved,” Coriolanus says. She can hear several grunts in the room and begins to wonder how many people are here right now.

“What if we can’t find the right guy? A lot of people could match the description Soarynn gave you.” Soarynn recognizes Festus Creed’s voice and she takes another step towards the study door that’s slightly cracked open.

“She said he was missing a tooth, so if you have to open the mouth of every fucking man in the Capitol then do it. This isn’t a fucking game and I will see him brought to his knees for what he did to my wife.”

Soarynn swallows and takes several steps back, she’s never heard her eloquent, high-society husband talk like this before. It leads her to wonder a few things about him and his father. But now isn't the time to go poking around, not when her health and safety are still compromised. So she takes a few steps back and loudly makes her presence known this time, "Coriolanus? Are you in here?"

She hears the men shushing each other and the sound of her husband's chair scraping against the hardwood floor before he opens the door and looks down at her with nothing but love and tenderness in his eyes. "I'm right here darling," he says, his hands gently cupping her face.

Soarynn leans into the touch and closes her eyes, reminding herself that she's safe now. "How did you sleep?" He asks and Soarynn opens her eyes, staring into his piercing blue gaze, "I slept fine. My head is throbbing though." Coriolanus frowns and carefully touches her temple where she really hit the wall, "It hurts here? Or somewhere else?" Soarynn shrugs, "It hurts everywhere. Have they found the man yet?"

Soarynn watches his face very carefully while he answers, searching for any signs of a lie, "They haven't found any leads yet," he tells her, "but we will find the man responsible for this darling. I can promise you that."

She can tell he’s not lying, but she can’t tell how he’s going to handle this, handle the man who’s responsible for her bruised face. Soarynn goes to peer into his study and finds at least ten men inside, all staring back at her with somewhat curious eyes. She’s only ever met Festus and Felix whose eyes both dart to Coriolanus.

“Who are those men?” She asks, trying to dodge Coriolanus and his attempts to steer her away from his study. “No one darling, just some colleagues.” Soarynn furrows her brows because that doesn’t add up. “Colleagues? Shouldn’t they be at work then? Working for you, not with you?”

She’s not really one to push her husband's buttons and certainly not one to question his line of work, not when it pays for everything luxury she has but there’s just something about seeing all those men huddled in his study that have her questioning things.

Coriolanus gently pushes her towards the kitchen, “Believe it or not sometimes bosses work with their employees darling. We’re just going over some shipments. Now why don’t you ask the cook to make you some breakfast and I'll join you as soon as I can, how does that sound?”

Like you’re trying to distract me, Soarynn thinks to herself but she just nods and makes her way into the kitchen. The cook it seems, has been informed about what happened last night because she insists that Soarynn take her breakfast in bed. And with her head still throbbing, Soarynn doesn’t put up much of a fight.

Once she's settled back into bed, she tries to replay the events of last night's attack. It’s no secret that the Snows are a prominent Capitol family, and people can do horrible things to take down those who sit on the top but Soarynn knows that last night's attack wasn’t premeditated. It was rotten luck.

“Here you are, Mrs. Snow.”

Soarynn gives the cook a small smile and takes the silver tray she’s carrying, filled to the brim with all of Soarynn’s favorite things to eat at breakfast. “Thank you, Dorthy. Did my husband say anything about the men in his study?” Soarynn really shouldn’t bring the help into this but she’s curious to see if Coriolanus has put more trust into their cook than into her.

Dorthy shakes her head, “No Mrs. Snow. I didn’t even hear them come in. But I know he’s quite worried about you. So please let me know if you need anything else to be more comfortable.”

Soarynn’s not going to get anything out of anyone but the direct source, her husband. So she simply nods and begins eating her food, she hasn’t eaten since last night and Dorthy makes a mean scrambled egg. Petunia hops onto the bed, purring up a storm while she makes herself comfortable next to Soarynn.

“How are you this morning little lady? Did you sleep well?” Soarynn asks Petunia who merely blinks in reply. Soarynn would never admit this to anyone, not even Coriolanus, but she often talks to Petunia like she’s a little human. And isn’t she?

Soarynn reaches up to gently touch her head where it hurts the most and feels somewhat relieved that there’s no more blood. She’s pretty sure that the doctor came to visit last night, but she couldn’t be sure. So much happened last night.

Anxiety begins to build in her mind as she thinks about all the steps they’ll have to take to find the culprit. They’ll have to alert the Peacekeepers, she’ll have to give a statement. She might even have to see the man again to identify him. Will word get out about what’s befallen her?

She can see it now in the newspaper headlines: ‘Soarynn Snow attacked in the streets!’

Will people blame her? Her husband? Pin it on her family name and claim that she was always an easy target, that it was only a matter of time?

The Snows have been at the top since Soarynn met Coriolanus all those years ago. That’s simply how things are. But once you’re at the top, down is the only direction to go.

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus POV

"She's a curious thing, your wife."

Coriolanus shoots Festus Creed a lethal glare, he acts as if his own wife, Persephone isn't constantly pestering him with questions as well. It's strange to think that just last night their two wives had dinner with each other and now one of them is covered in scratches and bruises.

What if it had happened to Persephone instead? If Soarynn hadn't gone down that street and instead had the car come to pick her up?

No, he can't think like that, can't wish this pain upon someone else's wife. Soarynn would chide him for thinking of such a thing. She's too good for this world, his sweet darling girl.

And she's strong, she's strong even if he treats her like glass. He should go check on her but instead, he's holed up in his study plotting the murder of a stupid, arrogant, vile man. He sent every man he could to search for the culprit with specific instructions to not harm him, to simply bring him to their shop.

"She's simply confused," Coriolanus tells him, flipping through several files of men who have already been arrested for similar crimes to the one that Soarynn was subjected to. It would be way too easy if the man had already been behind bars before, then all Coriolanus would have to do is knock on the bastard's door and kill him.

But that would be too easy. And Coriolanus Snow loves a challenge.

That's one of the reasons he fell in love with Soarynn. She constantly challenges him, not in a disrespectful way but in a feisty way, and he likes that side of her. The side that isn't afraid to stand up for herself, to advocate for herself and others. She's always had a bit of spitfire in her but now he worries that her fire has been dampened by this attack. Will she be too scared to go outside now? He certainly will be.

Soarynn won't be going anywhere without protection anymore. Even if she hates him for it.

"What're you going to tell her when you find him?" Coriolanus has gotten far too good at lying to his wife but over small things that don't concern her. This definitely concerns her. It's all about her.

"I don't know," he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose, "but this can't go unpunished. He touched her Festus, he tried to...he tried to touch her," his voice goes dark just thinking about what that man truly wanted from Soarynn. He's thankful that she was able to fight back and didn't freeze under pressure. He can't imagine the type of person he'd become if he had found her lying on the street instead of in their home.

He'd burn this fucking city to the ground.

꧁ ꧂

"Try to hold still," he murmurs while slowly peeling back the bandage. It pains Coriolanus to see Soarynn slightly wince as he uncovers the nasty blow she took to her temple. But he's pleased to see that it's already begun to heal, and according to the doctor, it won't even scar.

Soarynn looks at him with uncertainty in her eyes, "Is it bad?" Coriolanus shakes his head and grabs the healing ointment, liberally applying it to the area, "It looks better than I thought it would," he admits. Petunia hisses at Coriolanus when Soarynn gasps sharply, "It's alright darling," she says to the cat, stroking her back to comfort her. Coriolanus only rolls his eyes in return at the feline's behavior.

"The doctor will be back at the end of the week to check on you again," Coriolanus says, carefully applying a new bandaid to the cut. Soarynn only hums in reply, she has that far-away look in her eyes again.

“Darling.”

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright? Do you want to go outside?"

It's only been a day since the attack but Soarynn has yet to venture outside of the penthouse walls, and that worries Coriolanus. Soarynn normally spends her days running around the Capitol with friends. She shops and dines as she pleases and Coriolanus is more than happy to fund her trips so long as it makes her happy.

Soarynn shrugs and reaches up to touch her bruised neck, "I don't think I want anyone to see me like this," she whispers. Coriolanus can't blame her for her hesitation, especially with her condition but she needs some fresh air, need some sun on her face. "Why don't we go to the garden?” Coriolanus suggests, knowing that it'll always be a safe space for the both of them.

Soarynn perks up at the suggestion and she nods, a faint smile on her lips, "Alright."

꧁ ꧂

"Do you remember the first time you brought me up here?"

Coriolanus smiles at her question and he nods, running his hand through her soft, blonde hair, "I do. You were a giggling mess if I recall." Soarynn blushes which only makes him smile wider, when he first met her she was always so bubbly around him, not at all scared of the big and bad Coriolanus Snow. Not that he was bad, oh no, not with his reputation on the line. He had to appear as a good man, an honest man, not some blood-sucking murderer.

And he's not necessarily a murderer, not by a long shot. But he can be a brute when needed and this specific situation calls for all sorts of violent solutions. He wants this man to pay for what he did to his wife. "Coriolanus?" Her sweet voice draws him from his murderous thoughts and he looks back down at Soarynn who's head is in his lap, "Yes my love?"

Soarynn bites her lip as if debating what she's going to ask him before finally speaking, "Are you...are you going to do something about it? Are you going to find that man?"

She knows. Or she's at least getting closer to finding out the truth and then Coriolanus truly doesn't know what he'll do. Soarynn has never known this lifestyle, she's never known what it's like to come home with cuts and burises until now and he's going to make sure that it never happens again.

He gazes down at her so lovingly, she truly doesn't know the power she holds over him, how he'd gladly burn all of Panem down to ground should she ask it of him. "Of course I'm going to find that man darling, we wouldn't want him to hurt someone else, someone who isn't from a powerful family like ours without connections." It's a twisted way of putting it but there's some truth to his words.

It seems to reflect on Soarynn's conscience  because she nods, pressing her lips into a thin line, "I suppose you're right. I wouldn't want some other girl to get hurt as well." A light breeze blows against them and Soarynn shivers, "Let's go back inside now."

Coriolanus doesn't argue with her, not after what she's been through. He wishes it weren't winter, at least then their rooftop garden would be in full bloom. Soarynn spends hours up here during the summer, pruning and gardening with Petunia chasing bugs around. It's a safe haven he's created, if only it could reach the Capitol streets.

| Part 1. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[xxwelxx]

I tried making my own similarity board for the cosmic opera set coz I noticed stuff (it’s mostly just the antennae)

I’ll try making it more legible under the cut

I’ve seen a few people mention this already, the devil n angel parallels btwn tsukasa n rui, I see it and agree amen

But what I haven’t noticed is the mention of tsukasa’s antennae having the same shape as rui’s cat drones. The feathery looking angle wing antennae can also resemble the wings of a pegasus.

There are stars present on them as well, rui on both, n tsukasa on his right one.

Moving on from them for now, emu’s antennae seem to include everyone. The colors and designs chosen are reminiscent of both tsukasa and rui’s old stage outfits. Her right one looking like rui’s old pink coat with the yellowy goop on it, n her left one having a similar blue color with yellow line accents to tsukasa’s entire old look. The new one kind of matches too, but the blue is darker and the yellow isn’t as stringy throughout.

When it comes to matching with nene, they have the same patterns on their antennae. Right is goopy, left has lines. Emu has 1 goop and 2 lines, while nene has 2 goops and 1 line. Both line designs are done in yellow.

On nene’s shoulder also appears to be an emu alien (the antennae match). Its body has all of WxS signature colors.

Even though tsukasa and rui have stars, they’re still in different colors. Tsukasa’s are white and rui’s are yellow. This also mirrors how emu’s goop is yellow when nene’s are white.

You may have noticed this already, if we flatten down their antennae, nene and rui would have 2 ridges and emu n tsukasa only have one. Oddball 1 2 reference maybe I dunno.

Nene and tsukasa both have a black base color. Nene on her left one, tsukasa on both. Rui and emu both have blue gradients. Emu on her left n rui on both. (Technically the blue on emu is a base color, but it doesn’t show on the card and in the 3d outfit it’s a gradient. There’s a gradient from tsukasa’s hair color to the antennae too so depending on how I classify emu’s situation it would contradict the language I used previously. But maybe, just maybe, no one actually cares that much and we can all move on from this) Tsukasa n rui have these on 2 ears while emu and nene have them on 1.

I think that’s everything! If I notice anything more I’ll mention it later :3

I think it’s very sad we didn’t get a nene in alien form. I know she’s just a two star, but couldn’t they have put her somewhere on emu’s card really far away or something :(( 2 stars are so heartbreaking, esp when their designs are so gorgeous.